It is the beginning of a new year. And what a year it will be! The scouts
          we had sent out three years ago have found our long-missing Messenger
          and are escorting Her Grace back home to her people. It has been six long
          years since My Lady’s disappearance after her mother and father’s deaths,
          and her brother has been so worried about her. It will be good to have the
          Messenger of the Gods back where she belongs, and on her nineteenth
          birthday as well.
          The rest of my news is grievous to record, I’m afraid. The super-Christian
          Conservative organization called the “Light” keeps pushing at us, eager for
          us to convert to their way of life – as many other groups around the globe
          are doing. We are a small number, and I do not think we will be able to last
          much longer. Khanh Heru from the Clan of the River Guardians, our elected
          Ambassador, has expressed great fear that our way of life may be riding on
          its last breath. He has already scheduled a meeting with the Messenger to
          appeal to her for advice. As the long-ago designated spiritual leader for our
          people, she may be able to help him to discover a way for us to keep our
          freedoms. The seers at Luxor have predicted hard times ahead for us, and
          these do not help the morals of the clans.
          It is evident now…a storm is coming to Egypt.

             - From the keepings of the Tomb Keeper Clan.
             January the first, the year 2013

*

Cairo was a hot, cramped, and noisy city – filled to the very brim with business and activity of the living. The heat of the sunlight warmed the faces of the natives who wove to and fro through the throngs of traders, merchants’ carts, livestock, tourists, and all else with the skill of those accustomed to the hustle and bustle that made up the city’s name. Wandering children, dogs, and chickens running underfoot with shouts, barks, and squawks – would-be purchasers shouting protests at the prices of that which they would buy making up the inconsistent noise that accompanied the chatter and laughter of everyday conversation. Cairo – the shining fruit of all Egypt…though within, that fruit lay rotten.

There was another side to Cairo. The side that appeared only after the sunset blanketed the land in shadow. Then out came the true heart of the city – drugs, drink, and sin. Substances such as liquid morphine, ecstasy, methamphetamines, vodka, bourbon, rum, and countless others were bought and traded among those that dared risk their own safety to venture outside at dark. Prostitution lined the streets ranging from the pricy and haughty to the cheap and desperate. Both male and female alike, waiting to snatch a customer into their clawing hands, whether willing or un. Few of the good people wandered out onto the streets, leaving the city’s beautiful nighttime air to the wolves of the criminal underworld. Only the very brave or very foolish let themselves set foot into the web of filth that made up the true feel of the city.

Though not thinking himself especially brave, Karim Khaimera was no fool. He passed through the back alleys with silence, staying to the shadows and paying no heed to those he passed, or the haunted eyes that followed his form as it walked with measured steps. Only when a young girl stepped out of a dark niche to wrap her arms about him did he visibly see the world around him. He was quick to untangle her grip, but careful to be gentle as he did so – the girl was skin and bones, her clothes tattered and her face caked in far too many layers of cosmetic to be considered truly pretty. “Off with you,” he said to her, determined to pass.

“Please, Sir,” she whimpered, gripping the front of his robe with shaking fingers. “I’ll give you anything you ask, just, please, I have children to feed—”

He paused, easing her thin fingers from their claw-like grip at his clothes. “You’re naught but a child yourself. I have no need of your services tonight. Here, now, none of that.” He held up a hand to her in order to still the tears in her eyes – dark, shadowed irises weary with exhaustion – and dug into the pocket of his simple white robe. The cloth was unadorned and thin, of a fair quality; nothing a noble would wear, but it was enough for him to ward off the chill of the city nighttime. “There. Feed your little ones and take a night off.” Stepping to the side, he swept past her with a polite nod. He didn’t much care if she was lying to him, using the excuse of children in order to weasel something out of him, nor did he care if she used the money for drink or some other harmful substance. It didn’t occur to him to care that night. Normally he would, but there were other things on his mind than the many possible ways a back-alley prostitute could squander his hard-earned wages. He just walked on, hurriedly treading though shadow and patches of hard, electric light to get to his intended destination.

The girl looked down at the money that had been pressed into her hand, eyes widening with surprise and gratitude. Whirling around to stare at the retreating back, she called, “Gods bless you! Bless you, Sir, bless you!” But he seemed not to hear, only kept walking on until his image melted into the darkness of the night.

*

“Aha! Finally!”

Karim looked around after he shut the tavern door behind him and was met with a steady, dark blue gaze; the eyes of the person that had cried out. The man was nothing out of the ordinary – short black hair and lightly tanned skin swathed in a robe and wrap of deep blue to match his eyes, a youthful face and body. Not anything out of place in a tavern like that. It was the cunning, arrogant upturn of the lip that assured Karim that he had found the man he was looking for. He crossed the rowdy tavern floor with caution, knowing that the patrons here were not picky when it came to assuming fights, or when or with whom. It wasn’t that he didn’t think he could defend himself, but he wasn’t really in the mood to brawl. So he crossed without injury and settled into the chair directly across from the smirking male.

“Well, well, Khaimera,” the blue-eyed man greeted, still smiling his rather crooked smile. “I didn’t expect to hear again from you so soon.” He put a small cup to his lips and drank deeply before speaking again. By the tang that snapped at the air he inhaled, Karim could tell that the ingested substance was a strong liquor. “So, what’ll it be this time? Another woman to seduce? A man, even? More information to gather for the Tomb Keepers of Alexandria?”

Karim held up his hand to still the other man’s working tongue. “Hold on, Radam. I never said I was here with a job.”

The azure eyes rolled in bored annoyance. “So then what did you call me out for?” he yawned. “If it’s for something stupid, I’ll have you kicked out.”

Karim sighed, eyeing the man opposite with a mix of irritation and fondness. He knew Radames Entreri well enough to expect such an attitude. Radam was crafty, shrewd, and good-looking, and he knew it very well; he used his talents for his own pleasure and gain. He reveled in the knowledge that many a woman would give a great deal of money for a night with him, and even some of the men, finding absolute joy in his reputation as a sort of Don Juan de Marco of Cairo. But for all his flamboyancy and act, Radam was a good friend. He also hailed from an old religious family, and had secretly devoted himself to helping the ancient clans by accepting jobs of seduction-aided interrogation. He also happened to be an expert at dream-reading, since his mother had been a seer. And this was the reason Karim had come to him.

“I had a dream, Radam.”

Radames sat up, interest and curiosity piqued, leaning over the table. “Tell me.”

“Well…I had hoped we could go somewhere private—”

“Good Mother Isis. Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed about a dream? No one here cares, and no one’s listening but me,” Radam adjusted the collar of his robe and gave Karim a pointed stare. “Out with it.”

A sigh slid passed Karim’s lips. “I was…in a temple. I don’t know where or why – just a temple, plain-looking, like it was being cleared out for demolition.” Dark eyes were vacant now, blank with the effort it took to remember. The dream had come twice the past two nights, but each time, when the world of sleep faded away, the dream’s vivid imagery went with it, and he had lapsed into a brooding hour of attempting to puzzle out the meaning behind what he remembered. “There was graffiti on the walls, and I would walk around the perimeter, reading it, though I can’t remember what any of it said now. When I came to the place I started, I’d look down, and I would be clothed all in black, unfamiliar clothes.” He paused, taking a breath, brow furrowed slightly, “and then there was a woman, just appearing out of nowhere, taking my hand and leading me to a staircase that was broken and cracked, trying to lead my down it. I would tell her no, and she would smile…”

The blue-eyed Radames eyed his friend and companion with a studying look, taking in the softness that seemed to line Karim’s expressive face, the delicate slide of his breath when his voice dropped off. When Karim made no indication of speaking again, he prompted patiently, “she smiled?”  

“Yes. And it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Like light and goodness compressed into a human form – like one of the gods themselves standing right in front of me.” Karim shook his head vaguely, his eyes still far away, veiled by the strands of dark hair that fell into his face, which he ignored. “I would fall to my knees in front of her, and she would lean down, kiss my cheek, and then…” he flushed faintly, gently tanned skin tinged with a pale pink of mild embarrassment, “then all I remember is being on the floor.”

The other man gave him a disbelieving look. “That’s all?”

Karim returned the look with an exasperated one of his own. “You know what I mean, Radam.”  

“Yeah, yeah, sex on a temple floor,” an impatient wave of a fine-fingered hand. “But is that really all you remember?”

“Yes…no. The last thing I remember is blue hair.” Karim thought for a moment, his eyes pondering, searching his memory of the dream, and then nodded. Finality rang in his tone as he said, “that’s all.”

Reclining back into the cushioned back of his lounge chair, Radames yawned, stretching his lean arms above his head while his friend watched, waiting for the explanation to come. “Well, the fact that you saw this happening to yourself means it’s a prophetic dream, or future-telling, however you want to put it, but there was nothing to tell about a any kind of number or date or anything, so I can’t help you there. The temple indicates that whatever the event or sequence of events are, they have something to do with religion or belief, and the graffiti stands for some kind of slander – a black mark on the face of something believed to be pure or clean, but old and probably condemned, which explains the cleared-out state of the room. As for the woman,” he shrugged, adjusting the sleeves of his robe, “not much to read there. I believe that this is one of those that are trying to tell you what you desire, because you didn’t see any clear features, did you?”

“No…” Karim’s expression was blank. “I desire sex?”

“Don’t we all?” Laughter rang from the whore’s throat when Radames caught the look on his friend’s face. “Only joking. No, I think what you desire, is love. Since you said you mentioned something about her smile being likened to the gods. No one ever talks about someone else that way unless love is involved, so I only assume that your heart is searching for the love of another.”

“And what do you think about that?”

Radames shrugged again, leaning back and propping his feet on the chair beside him. “Love is an illusion to me. I deal in what some would call sin, and love seems like a fool’s wanton longing to me. But it’s not my job to determine the innermost wishes of other men, so perhaps we should change the subject if this is but a mere talk among friends?” Karim nodded, brow only slightly creased as the other man switched topics, accepting the shift of direction due to his desire to remain on good terms with Radam. It irked him that the whore had no belief in things like honor and virtue, which had been engrained into Karim’s head since he had been an infant – and it had been a long-standing difference between them, but they had never let it undermine their friendship. “I heard that the search party from your clan discovered the whereabouts of the Messenger of the Gods.”

Lost in thought while attempting to count back just how many years they had been associated, Karim didn’t realize that he was being spoken to for a moment. “Hmm? Oh, yes. Yes, they did.”

Radam smiled slyly, leaning forward to murmur, “and have you seen her?” The question was simple, but all the same disturbed his friend.

“No,” Karim stated shortly, tone curt and hinting at a mild irritation spurred by the suggestion in Radames’ comment. “She hasn’t arrived yet. How could I have seen her?”

“One of my last customers was a tourist from America and had a newspaper. The front page was all about the discovery of the Messenger in some town in Japan; I took a look at the pictures. Amun above,” Radam whistled, shaking his head. “Such a woman I have never seen the likes of before. I tell you, Khaimera, I’d pay to bed her.”

Karim snorted dryly. “I’ll be sure to warn her when she comes. For your sake, mind you. I have no respect for petty politicians, and I’d almost like to watch you twist her. But I also know her guards. Hakim and Ray won’t let someone like you anywhere near; and if you somehow manage to, they’ll make you pay with your life.”

A thin black eyebrow rose in surprise. “Are you telling me that you, a devout to the gods, son of the Khanh of the Tomb Keeper Clan, hold no respect for the Messenger?”

“That post has no meaning anymore,” Karim responded, tone dry and laced with a thin layer of disappointment. “The girl left her people, Radames. Abandoned them without a word as to why. Who can say that she really cares about the position she has or the people that look up to her? No. She’s only a scared child with a lust for the power her family’s name gives her.” He gave a wry smile lacking in any form of warmth. “Beauty doesn’t give her brains, or morals.”

Radam nodded, but his smile was just on the edge of being impertinent. “Perhaps. Or perhaps not; who’s to say?”  He took the moment of silence that followed his remark to swing the subject slightly backwards a pace. “So you know Her Grace’s guards personally? And will you be added to that guard?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Karim’s sharply carved face twisted with disgust. “I am no bodyguard.”

Blue eyes darted to the side, over Karim’s shoulder, and Radames nodded again. “Well, I hope they agree with you there. I’ve never thought bookworms were much good for guarding people. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see I have a customer.” He winked at the other man. “It’s been good talking with you. Meet me here again when the Messenger arrives. We can…see what kind of trouble we can cause, eh?” He didn’t wait for a reply, but swept past Karim to approach the woman that had been giving him eyes from another table, walking gracefully over to her with a rustle of blue cloth that slid expertly down from the curve of one smooth masculine shoulder.  

Karim sighed, rubbing his temples with a weary hand. Well, at least he had gotten something from the courtesan, if not a lot. And that didn’t include the promise to drag him out to watch the soon-to-come celebration that would accompany the arrival of the Messenger of the Gods. He hadn’t planned on attending, but it seemed that he didn’t have much of a choice now. Oh well. Calmed mentally, and having grown weary of the tavern-scene, he stood and began to make his way toward the door – pointedly ignoring the barmaid sending him a glance accented with the flutter of eyelashes. He was not in the mood for false affection tonight. A session of deep thought and sleep awaited him at home, not to mention preparation for the Messenger’s return. His father had stepped down from the position of Khanh last week, leaving Karim with the responsibility of starting the reorganization of the massive amounts of records and scrolls in the Clan’s keeping, and also with the weighty task of juggling the political details surrounding the troop of guards sent from the many warrior tribes who were being housed in his care. It was bound to be another busy week.

With a final nod to Radam, who gave a wave in return despite his preoccupied state, Karim left the tavern to descend back into the darkened streets of the Cairo night.

~*~