Queen of the Heavens (4 page)

“Which ending do you believe?” I asked Maya one day as we discussed the story while taking a midday meal under the yew tree.

“I believe the battle continues, for the forces of darkness are everywhere,” she said. “Sometimes they attack us from without as Seth attacked Osiris. Other times they attack us from within and try to make us do their evil deeds.”

My teacher’s comment frightened me, and tears formed in my eyes. “I don’t want the forces of darkness to hurt me, Maya.”

“They cannot hurt any of us, Tuya, if we always remember that at our core we are joyous and loving like Isis. Even those whom we call evil have inside them the spark of Isis’ love, but sometimes it’s buried so deeply they are unaware of it.”

“Is Pentu the scribe a force of darkness?” I asked.

“No,” Maya said, smiling at my question. “He is but a feeble old man who knows no better than to be gruff and short with you.”

“Then I have never met the forces of darkness.”

“You will someday, and when you do remember the three laws Isis gave to the world. ‘Know that the Divine is everything, love no one thing more than another thing, and see beauty in all things.’ ”

“See beauty in Seth? How is that possible?” I inquired.

“Because he is part of the Divine Pageant,” Maya answered. “We are all a part of this pageant, which is designed to test our souls.”

“Test our souls?” I said.

“The Judgment awaits us all, Tuya. Our worthiness to ascend to the realm of bliss will depend on how well we meet the challenges put before us on the earthly realm. Your challenges will be many, my dear. Whatever happens, face them with the love of Isis in your heart.”

I often felt that love inside me when sitting alone by the Nile, watching its sacred waters flow by with barely a ripple, giving life to the land. One day while doing so, a frantic neighbor boy ran up to me.

“Come quickly, Tuya. You must help us,” he said

I followed him a short distance up the riverbank.

“I didn’t mean to do it,” another boy said, while sobbing beside a supine body near the water. The body was that of my cousin Rahotep, who lay motionless, his skin a pallid shade of blue.

“What happened?” I shouted as I knelt next to my unconscious relative.

“It was an accident,” said the boy who had fetched me. “Huya and I heard rustling in the reeds and thought it was a bird, so Huya cast his throwing stick. We found Rahotep face down in the water, the stick floating nearby. It must have struck him in the head.”

I spied a fishermen mending a net some distance away.

“Quickly,” I said. “Run to that man and bring him here.”

The boy did as commanded and the fisherman rushed to our assistance. He picked up Rahotep by his ankles and shook him violently. Water drained from my cousin’s mouth and gradually the bluish pallor turned to a sickly gray, but he remained unconscious with but a shallow breath.

“We must get the boy home,” the fisherman said as he slung Rahotep over his shoulder like a sack of wheat.

“Follow me,” I replied, then led the fisherman to my cousin’s house.

Aunt Sitra saw us coming and ran to meet us.

“What happened to my son?” she asked, panicked at the sight of the unconscious lad to whom she had given life.

“A throwing stick struck him in the head and he collapsed in the water,” I answered.

“He must not die,” Aunt Sitra cried.

“He will not die,” I declared, although I had no idea why I spoke these words since my cousin’s condition was grave.

The fisherman carried Rahotep into the house and laid him on his bed.

“I’ll get Mother,” I said to my aunt, then rushed to my own home.

When I related what had happened, Mother at first was as frantic as her sister, but she soon managed to compose herself. “I must go to Sitra immediately,” she said. “Run to the homes of our other relatives and have them come to your aunt’s house. We must gather to pray for Rahotep.”

I did as instructed, then rushed to the vigil myself. I sat cross-legged on the floor next to Mother, in the room where Rahotep lay. The soft scent of myrrh filled the room as it burned on an altar before a small statue of Horus. Night was descending, so candles cast ghostly shadows on the walls.

A physician had been summoned, and he examined Rahotep in front of us. “I have no potions or techniques to help the boy,” he said. “I will stay with you as we pray for his soul.”

The physician’s words caused wails of grief from my aunt and mother and the other women present, but I felt no compulsion to join in such vocal expression. Instead, I sat still and repeated in my mind the spells I had memorized from my manuscript that assisted the soul on its journey. As I did so, all became violet once again. I was quite aware of the sadness in the room, but I felt the peace and tranquility I had felt before, on the night Isis had spoken to me. Then I heard Isis’ voice.

“Do what I tell you to do and say what I tell you to say. Follow my instructions precisely.”

Isis. Isis. Are you there?
I asked silently, but the Queen of the Heavens did not answer and I questioned whether I heard Isis speak or merely thought I had.

Rahotep’s shallow breathing became labored for a time, then stopped. The physician walked over to the bed and placed his cheek near my cousin’s lips, then his ear to his chest. “The boy does not breathe and his heart does not beat,” he said to my aunt and uncle. “I’m afraid it is over.”

“No! This cannot be!” Aunt Sitra sobbed. My uncle tried to hold back tears but was unsuccessful at doing so. Mother walked over to comfort the two of them. I sat quietly, still ensconced in violet, and again heard Isis’ voice.

“It is not over. Rahotep will live.”

No, Isis
, I said through my thoughts.
His soul has passed to the beyond.

“Rise, and repeat my words, Tuya,” Isis commanded.

I did not want to do so. A physician had declared Rahotep to be dead, and who was I to question such a learned man? Yet, controlled by a force inside me, I rose and against my will proclaimed in a loud voice, “It is not over. Rahotep will live.”

The room fell silent as all looked at me. Following the instructions of Isis, I walked to the side of the bed and knelt next to my cousin. Through the violet hue that filled my consciousness, I saw a lifeless aura of gray and brown surrounding my cousin’s body. As Isis instructed, I removed a cord from around my neck that held a stone amulet of a scarab and placed it in the center of the boy’s chest.

“What is she doing?” my aunt asked my mother.

“Let her be,” Mother responded.

“Bring me oil of frankincense and a coconut with holes from which to pour the milk,” I commanded, though I spoke to no one in particular.

“Stay away from my son,” my aunt protested.

“No,” Mother said to the frantic woman. “Tuya is a special child who has spoken with the gods. Perhaps she can help.”

Fortunately, my uncle was willing to trust me. “Do as Tuya says, and quickly,” he told a servant.

In a short time the servant returned with the items I had requested and placed them on the floor beside me. I took the frankincense oil, contained in an alabaster jar, and anointed a point between Rahotep’s eyebrows. Still following Isis’ instructions, I rubbed frankincense on his neck and crown and navel, then lifted the coconut and poured the milk over the scarab amulet that I had placed on Rahotep’s chest. After that, I bent over the boy and expelled three breaths from my mouth into his nostrils.

“May the power of Isis heal Rahotep,” I said.

The drab aura surrounding my cousin quickly began changing to red and yellow and indigo, and orange and blue and green. The colors danced and glowed and sparkled, and formed vortexes at my cousin’s crown, forehead, throat, heart center, solar plexus and groin. The vortexes swirled more and more rapidly as the energy of the Cosmos entered my cousin’s being.

Gradually the colors and vortexes began fading from my vision, as did the violet hue, and I saw that my cousin’s skin had turned from deathly gray to its normal tan.

“You see,” I said as I stood up. “Rahotep lives.”

The physician walked to the side of the bed opposite me and again placed his cheek to the boy’s lips and ear to his chest. “Tuya speaks the truth,” the surprised physician said. “He breathes, and his heart beats strongly.”

Rahotep began to stir. His eyes opened. “Why am I in bed?” he asked. “I was just at the river.”

“You are alive! My son, you are alive!” my aunt declared as she embraced Rahotep with joy in her heart, just as Mother had embraced me some years before after my soul had returned from the realm of the Neters.

“Tuya has worked a miracle,” my uncle shouted.

“I have done nothing,” I said. “Isis has worked the miracle.”

“Allow the boy to rest, and be alone with his mother and father,” the physician advised.

After we had left the room, some of my relatives came over to hug and praise me, but others remained distant, with expressions of disbelief and even fear on their faces.

The physician approached.

“This belongs to you,” he said, as he returned the scarab amulet I had placed on Rahotep’s chest. “The Neters have blessed you with the gift of healing, Tuya. Use your gift well.”

For a few moments, I found myself unable to respond. Isis had been with me this night, guiding my way, but it had been years since she had first spoken to me. Would it be years until she spoke once more?

“My future is in Isis’ hands,” I finally said to the physician. “She will determine whether I ever heal another.”

“The love and power of Isis flows through you,” the physician replied. “Don’t doubt yourself, or Isis. You will heal many others, and all in Egypt and even beyond will know of your greatness. Of this, you can be certain.”

There was no moon that night, so rather than walk home in darkness Mother and I lay down on the sandstone floor in one of the rooms of my aunt’s house. I fell asleep quickly and awoke at first light as a cock began to crow. I sat for a time, my back against the wall, giving thanks to Isis through my thoughts and asking for her blessings.

The Queen of the Heavens said nothing to me, but I was not concerned. I knew in my heart Isis was still inside me, guiding me, causing my life to blossom like a lotus.

IV

Before leaving for home I visited Rahotep. He lay in bed weakened but alert, and well on his way to complete recovery.

“Mother told me what happened,” he said. “Thank you, Tuya. I’m alive because of you.”

“Praise and thank Isis,” I replied. “It was she who brought your body back to life.”

I helped Rahotep out of bed. He walked slowly, but without undue difficulty to a chair by the window.

“My memory is returning,” he said as he sat down. “I recall seeing a white light in the distance and walking toward it. Two people standing in a mist urged me onward. I couldn’t make out their features, but I somehow knew they were our grandparents.”

“They wanted you to know you needn’t be afraid as you approached the trials of the afterworld,” I surmised.

“I wasn’t frightened, not at all,” Rahotep continued. “I desired to be with them, but I didn’t want to leave Mother and Father for I knew how sad they would be if I did. As I thought of my parents, I found myself being pulled backward through the blackness of a cave. When I opened my eyes, I saw you beside me.”

“It was not yet time for you to depart the earthly realm,” I said. “You’ll face The Judgment later, after you’ve completed your role in the Divine Pageant.”

“When it’s time to die I won’t be afraid,” Rahotep told me. “There’s no reason to be.”

I stroked my cousin’s forehead. “Isis loves you. Keep Isis’ love in your heart. If you do this, your soul’s journey will take you into bliss.”

“I’ll pray to Isis three times a day,” Rahotep declared. “I will forever honor her.”

“Isis will be pleased,” I said. “Of all the Neters, none is more worthy of your love.”

When Mother and I returned home we found Pentu waiting impatiently at the lotus pond. On this day, I did not want to concern myself with hieroglyphs or have to deal with the bitter old man. I wanted instead to rest and pray. Mother concurred with my wishes and asked Pentu to return in two days.

For a time I sat beneath the yew tree, then retired to the house to play the harp for Isis and pray before her statue. Though I did not exert myself, exhaustion overtook me, so I went to my room and fell asleep with the sun still high. The next morning, I rose early and meditated in the garden as I awaited the arrival of Maya. I ran to my teacher as she walked through the courtyard gate.

“Maya, Maya, I have something to tell you,” I said.

“About your cousin?” she asked.

Her words stopped me abruptly. “How did you know?”

“People throughout Memphis are talking about the girl who brought her cousin back to life.”

“What are they saying?” I inquired as we walked by the lotus pond.

“Different things. Most praise you for your power.”

“What of the others?”

“Some say your cousin was not really dead.”

Maya’s words stung like a wasp.

“A physician declared Rahotep to be dead. Don’t people know this?” I said, as we sat down on the stone bench under the yew tree.

“They claim the physician was mistaken. They say your cousin’s heartbeat and breath must have been so faint as to be undetectable, but that he always was alive and that his body healed by itself.”

“How could anyone doubt the power of Isis?” I asked with anger in my voice. “Isis told me what to do. The embalmers would be working on Rahotep right now if this weren’t so. You believe me, don’t you?”

“Of course I believe you, but there always will be doubters. Some people are born this way. Don’t concern yourself with them.”

I tried to do as Maya suggested but the anger seethed inside me. Maya gave me a lesson on the flute, but I made many mistakes. We danced and played the
sistrum
, but I did so with little passion.

“You must not allow the doubts of others to affect you,” Maya said, sensing why I was out of sorts. “All that matters is what you know to be true. Isis is with you and you are destined for great things. Trust Isis, for all is as it should be.”