'Metjen?

A jet-lag of a magnitude measuring in light years was assaulting his brain. So many voices. So many colours, emotions, smells—so much of everything, all at once. So many possibilities born and dying before his inner eye. The mirrors could not prepare him for this. Nothing could. And above it all the voice of Ra, the things he had been told... . Nauseous was how he felt; lost, lonely and terrified of the light.

The smell was only irritating by comparison, that stink of burned metal, of acid biting into his senses. With cardamom as a finishing touch.

Burning metal and cardamom? Metjen tried to hold on to the thought and the amazement that came as an aside. So pleasant to still harbour emotions.

It's the signature of your magic, Iseret's voice rang through the din. I much prefer my myrrh.

He lost it again. Whirling along in a raging river, every air bubble a world of its own... .

Something mind-slapped his cheek. You need to focus better. We have no time for these musings of yours.

Yes, the emotions were still functioning. He was royally pissed off. 'Thanks, Iseret, for being your usual supportive self.'

You are most welcome!

Metjen felt the feathery touch of fingertips on what had to be his forehead. A strand of now stood out in the whirling chaos; Metjen sensed Imhotep's presence, latched on and emerged from the maelstrom in his mind. Feeling his feet on the ground made the world cease its fiendish spin. It helped that he was standing and not moving around. Trying to think while shifting limbs still comprised a major challenge at the best of times; it made him feel like an overgrown toddler lost on a magical super highway.

Metjen controlled his ragged breathing and got his bearings; he appeared to be hosting the full circle in the council chambers of the late high priest of Ra. This luxurious environment felt a trifle oppressive, but it would be a while before he was in any position to exorcise the taste of his predecessor. And no matter what, he would never use that bathroom at the back. The holiest of holies also gave him bad vibes, but that place would be harder to avoid given that it was a natural habitat for a high priest.

'You need to be able to find your focus quicker than that,' his ancestor said.

'Brother Metjen was not doing so badly until he attempted to create three portals in a row,' the high priestess of Isis pointed out while rocking gently in mid-air.

'Give me a few minutes, and I'll try again.' Metjen sunk onto one of the plump cushions in his predecessor's suite. 'My powers ran away with me for a moment, now I know what to expect. And while we're waiting for me to recharge, maybe somebody can explain that business with Pharao again. I still haven't sussed out the finer details, I keep getting distracted.'

Imhotep for once was not hovering. Instead, he was roaming through the hall, his lips compressed into a single line. 'If you refuse to take his Majesty with you, his life will be forfeit.'

'I find it hard to be believe the Queen really wants to kill that kid,' Metjen said.

Iseret's voice echoed through the remains of the turmoil in his brain. It is not murder she has on her mind, it's worse. She wishes him to marry one of his half-sisters. Those few possibilities the circle can behold indicate that his death would be the ultimate consequence of such an action.

'Okay run, this past me once more. I understand the Queen isn't Pharaoh's birthmother.' Metjen noticed he was chewing his thumb and decided such a habit was out of synch with his new position. He dropped his hand.

'This is correct, the first Royal Wife died soon after his Majesty was born. The old Pharaoh got the daughters he wanted from the current Queen, to carry on his bloodline,' Imhotep's voice carried from the far end of the chamber, causing the tapers to flicker wildly. Woodsmoke joined the olfactory melange.

'Eh?' Even to Metjen's befuddled consciousness there was a distinct lack of logic in this statement. 'I know there was something about the right to rule being carried by the females, but if that's the case, why would they need the boy at all?'

It should be very obvious, even to you, Iseret intervened again. The old king married his cousin, as was proper, and Pharaoh is his offspring. Only the men can wear the double crown. Foolish, if you ask me, but this is the way of the world. Not the temple. And not always. Where was I? Ah, if Pharaoh wants one of his sons to inherit the throne, he needs to marry a female with royal blood. Any royal blood. He, however, does not wish to bed either of his half-sisters.

Metjen pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to concentrate. 'Can't blame the bloke. Before I was so rudely interrupted by this unscheduled trip to the universe, I gathered he was scouting for alternatives in my own family.'

Your younger sister is eligible.

'It would be a great honour for house of Suka.' Bent-Anta, the high-priestess of Selket, joined Imhotep in his prowl of the underground chamber. 'The dark priests would not appreciate this turn of events, and will do their utmost to negate the move. Even if it costs Pharaoh his life.'

Metjen snorted. 'Not sure a certain female member of my family would see this as an honour, but let's ignore her for a moment.'

He sent his vision upwards, penetrating tons of stone to observe the puny figure with its blue and gold head scarf seated among the colonnades of the central temple courtyard. The king was guarded by a bunch of soldiers who seemed convinced loyalty was best expressed by adapting a grim mien.

'And he sought sanctuary in the temples he so despises?' Metjen asked. 'To escape his stepmum's wedding plans? Poor lad, I almost feel for him.'

He heard laughter bubbling around him. Despite their supernatural powers, at least some members of the holy circle seemed to be clinging on to their sense of humour. Maybe all was not lost yet.

Imhotep nodded once.

'Where else would he have fled to?' Asnofru, Hathor's high priestess, pointed out. She was new herself, had achieved her position only a week before he had been priestnapped. Her curvy person appeared well-preserved, raven braids and ebony skin glossy with health, yet he expected the woman to have at least a decade on him. Iseret had so far refused to reveal any details on her successor. Metjen wondered why.

'So, what do you want us to do next? Hide the king in my home world? That's risky. He'll stick out like a knife from a dead body, you know,'Metjen said.

'It would not be for long,' Ahmose, the rotund high priest of Sobek said. He bore no semblance to the deity he was serving, if anything, his appearance evoked the image of an oversized hamster. He certainly was hirsute enough to supply a whole colony of cute but bald rodents with fur. Before he attained his current position, he must have spent more time shaving than praying.  'We just need to, eh, work on the Great Royal Wife for a bit.'

Imhotep returned from his hike to the gold-panelled northern wall. 'We need to prevent the Great Royal Wife from inviting the hand of a foreign prince for her daughters. She is already thinking that way. She believes marriage between the siblings is not healthy.'

'She is correct,' Bent-Anta said.

'We need time, we need him safe, the safest way is for him to go with you. You shall not be gone more than a few weeks. By then we will have found a solution,' the high priestess of Isis said.

'I still don't think it's a good idea to park him in my homeworld. It's ... .' Metjen noticed movement in the corner of the upstairs courtyard where Seisi was leading the members of Metjen's family through the temple. His father broke from the formation and dashed towards the pathetic youngster who was supposed to be king. The Medjay defenders stepped aside without shifting a single muscle in their rigid faces. Dad sat down next to the youth, leaving Metjen's mother, siblings and friends stand among their boxes, looking anxious.

A thought popped into Metjen's mind. 'Does my mob know we will have to drag the king along? Does he know?'

'Yes.' The first prophet of Osiris joined Metjen on the silky cushions. 'Brother Imhotep has told your family, your father then informed the king... .'

Metjen studied the scene unfolding upstairs which now involved a procession of servants carrying boxes.

Boxes? There were a lot of them, far too many in fact. What was his gang up to now?

The idea was to hop across into the 21th century briefly, find the prop they needed and ensure some permanent quarantine for the Kemet civilisation. And, oh yes, drop off Trueth while they were at it. Or convince her to scupper back demurely into the world of antiquity, once she had had another dose of the shambles that had been their home. Dragging along a surplus king was exactly the type of complication he could do without.

There was progress upstairs; Pharaoh had deigned to lift his royal posterior from his chair and was trotting along with the others into the corridor that led to the flying bridges.

'They are coming.' Metjen withdrew his consciousness.

'Yes. You better try once more opening an access before they arrive, so we are assured you can do this without losing your mind,' Imhotep said. 'You will be on your own when you go back.'

'Thanks for this vote of confidence, it makes me feel that much better.'

Imhotep bowed.

I will do my best to guide him. At least I will try!

Imhotep bowed once more.

Metjen decided he had better get cracking at that bloody portal. Only a small, non-permanent one. Something for them to slip through and seal immediately. And, hopefully, safe enough not to attract the unkind ministrations of errant demons in the process. No big deal. Just a tall order right now.

He focussed once more, merging his sun-flow with that cord of divine power now permanently latched to his self, visualised a mirror, thought of breaking through –and the air in the council chamber ripped apart with a dry sound showing—nothing.

The last time nothing had been, well nothing much at all. This time it had edges glowing in royal blue, like a back-lit flaw in a glacier.

The high priest of hamster clapped him on the back. 'Well done, boy!'

A hollow banging sounded through the hall; a couple of temple servants slipped through the door and did a belly-flop onto the floor, announcing the arrival of Pharaoh and his retinue.

The circle centered their attention on Metjen.

He started. 'Oh right, my pleasure I suppose. Enter!'

His father came first, guiding the king who was looking over his shoulder, presumably searching for his pet soldiers. Seisi brought up the rear and Metjen felt a spurt of energy, as his friend nudged his protegees into a proper greeting. The king stopped in front of them all; feet planted wide and a defiant look on what could only classify as a pimply face.

'What is that?' Pharaoh asked and pointed at the portal. 'Your Wisdom,' he added rather belatedly. Coming from that particular mouth, the title sounded good. Metjen decided he would insist on it. He would also let the brat stew a little bit longer. For good measure, he cocked an eyebrow.

'Don't be like that,' his father said. 'Your Majesty, this is the gateway that will lead us to the world we all came from. The Queen can't find you there. And you will be able to visit the tomb of your parent.'

Pharaoh nodded; a wistful look stole into his eyes. 'We heard your tales with pleasure. We would very much like to behold our sire's resting place. We will consent to going in your company, but we need to be reassured that we can return.'

'Say something,' father hissed through clenched teeth, addressing nobody in particular. Which was most likely the reason why nobody responded at first.

Trueth opened her mouth, and Metjen winced. 'Your Majesty, the master of ancient learning has explained things already. I promise you once more that the circle will want to have his wisdom back. I don't know why, but I happen to know they do. So rest assured that not only is there every intention of securing your return, but it must also be physically possible.'

Pharaoh had started nodding. 'Yes, Lady Thueris, we think you are right. We did not realise his wisdom would go with us. It is not custom for the first prophets to stray far from their temples.'

Metjen inclined his head. 'This one does. I will also be your captain for the ride. So you better start trusting me, whether I'm a priest or not.'

Pharaoh glared at him. 'We understand, you are very new at this?'

If that bugger continues in the same vein for very much longer, I'm going to turn him into a frog, Metjen thought. He refrained from speaking his mind, he had more pressing problems. 'I can't keep this portal open forever, so if you would please be so kind as to move on.'

'I'm not going first. I did last time, and it wasn't a pleasant experience.' His father had retreated a couple of steps.

'Dear, where is the exit of this thingy going to be? Are you sending us to that horrible place under Djoser's pyramid?' mother asked.

'No, I'm not. That's demon territory now. We'll go to the old shrine of Ra. I need to break the seal and have a look round.' Metjen decided not to mention a certain headrest that might or might not be lying around there.

'You sure this works?'Rani-Ra was edging closer to the portal, a mixture of excitement and doubt clouding her clear brow. If his family did not believe in him, who else would?

'It does. Pray, let me demonstrate.' Seisi took charge as they had agreed the previous evening. He drew a deep breath, stretched out his hands before him and walked into the rift. He disappeared as if snuffed out.

The performance had the desired result. Metjen's mother, sister and brother waved at the circle and followed suit without a word. Father stretched out a hand towards the glowing gap, as if holding open a door. 'Your Majesty, shall we?' Pharaoh clenched and unclenched his fingers, then straightened and marched through the portal. Metjen nodded at his father, who smiled, sketched a bow and exited stage centre after his charge.

'Good,' Trueth observed. 'No bloody sparks this time.' She chewed her lips in indecision, turned around and bowed at the high priestess of Selket. 'Your Wisdom, I understand I owe it to you that I am being given this reprieve.'

The high priestess smiled briefly. 'You are. I want you to join us, but I also want you to do so willingly. You should not do it because you fear the alternatives.'

'I might not come back,'Trueth said with vehemence.

'I know,' the high priestess responded.

Trueth bowed once more. Metjen was sure he had seen something wet on her cheek. The strain of maintaining the link between the worlds started to bruise his mind, he could not hold out much longer.

'Go!' he shouted.

'Thank you,' Trueth said and vanished through the portal.

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Okay, a long chapter, but I found it hard to break this one up. So I didn't.

This chapter is dedicated to my reader, JessShimin. Thank you!