Horus woke to searing heat slicing into his forearm. He sat up, clutching at the spot, grunting. From between his fingers, blood, bright red and stinging hot, seeped out.

"What is it?" Baalat asked, rousing, her voice thick with sleep. He nodded at his arm. Pushing her tousled hair back, she lifted herself onto her elbow. He peeled back his fingers. A fresh upwelling of blood slid through the gash and trickled down his fingers.

"It's happening again," Baalat said, tight, as she slipped out from under the coarse linen sheet and went to the basket where she kept her healing ointments and salves. She tucked it under her arm and brought the lamp's flame closer, placing it on the mud-brick ledge beside their narrow bed.

Horus sat up. She took his arm in her hands, and turned it from side to side, examining him. She glanced up at him, her eyes dark in the dim light. "It's deep. You are going to need sutures."

"Not again," Horus muttered, eyeing her as she poured water into a bowl, and took a towel from their small store of linens. She paused on her way back to heft the wineskin from a hook.

She handed him the wine and knelt beside him, bathing his arm, his blood staining the towel. He unstoppered the wine with his teeth and drank, straight from the spout while she threaded her needle.

"What have we done, my love?" he asked, wincing as she slid its point into his flesh.

"Would you wish to go back?" Baalat answered, soft, biting her lip, concentrating as she pulled the suture through. Horus let out a small hiss, the thread tingled in a most unpleasant way. He took another deep pull of the wine.

"No," he said, after a long silence, "I would not have that existence again." He waved his hand holding the wine skin to encompass their one-room hovel, the wineskin's contents sloshing. "It is worth it, to be able to feel the things I can feel now."

"Even this?" Baalat asked, teasing, holding up the hateful needle, its tip glistening, black-red in the lamplight.

"Even that," Horus said, grunting as Baalat's needle reached the center of the gash, the suture tugging his flesh back together.

"Almost done," Baalat smiled, pausing to clean away a fresh upwelling of blood with the towel. "You would think you would be used to this by now."

"Never," Horus muttered, bitter. "At least you are bound to someone who suffers nothing more than her monthly pains." He eyed her smooth skin, free of his growing collection of scars.

"I would happily trade your few minutes of discomfort for four days of headache, back pain and cramping every single month," Baalat said, wry.

"No, you wouldn't," Horus said, clenching his teeth as she finished her work, tying off the final knots. "You have no idea how much a blade hurts--or how uncomfortable your needle on my flesh is. These mortals are so fragile, yet so violent. Why can they not choose to live in peace?"

"We're mortals now, remember?" Baalat chided as she smoothed a precious salve of honey across his arm, given as payment for her services as a healer.

"Hm," Horus muttered, noncommittal, as he looked at his raw flesh puckered together, caught in the thread's stitches. Another blemish upon his once-perfect body.

She caught his eye as she rolled a bandage. "Do you never wonder why this continues to happen?" she asked, placing the end of the linen against his arm. Her fingers moved, deft, as she unfurled the wrapping, smoothing out the creases, pulling it tight.

"You mean suffering what they suffer?" Horus asked as she tied it off.

Baalat nodded; a golden ring of lamplight reflected against the crown of her black hair. He took hold of Baalat's chin and tilted her face up so her eyes met his.

"Because this is not finished?" he asked, low, suspecting she had already long-dwelled upon the question and knew the answer herself.

An imperceptible nod. "I started to suspect it when we were in Pi-Ramesses," she said, quiet, "after the pharaoh's court departed for Waset. It was worse for me than for you, the weakness and fatigue. Perhaps it manifests in different ways."

Horus waited while she turned to pack her things away, careful and conscientious. She set the basket aside and joined him on the bed, her head against his shoulder. He handed her the wine. She waved it away. He drank instead, his arm burning, hot and sore. It would ache for days. He eyed the bandage around his arm, sour. Was this how it was to be for the rest of his mortal life, a mirror to Sethi's injuries, suffering every time he did? He glanced at Baalat, at the dark circles shadowing her eyes, the droop of her shoulders. She worked hard. They both did. He in the fields and she as a healer in the villages surrounding the verdant river belt of Waset. Life as a mortal was hard, especially for mortals with no connections or family. But in between their labors and travails, moments of joy, pleasure. Happiness.

He turned and kissed Baalat's brow. "We came to Waset, and you regained your strength."

"I did, it's just--" she stopped, uncertain. She took a breath and tried again. "Last week, I had a dream."

Horus took another pull of the wine. "About?"

"I dreamed I was in the Immortal Realm again and was once more using the vision pool," Baalat answered, soft. "I saw myself sleeping here, beside you, both of us mortal. The view moved north, to Pi-Ramesses, then turned east and flew across a vast, bleak desert until it came to another city straddling the banks of a river. It slowed over a massive stepped pyramid, covered in blue tiles and surrounded by lush gardens. The view slid into the top of the pyramid and sped downward, past its foundations into a fortress buried far beneath it. It stopped in a vast cavern filled with Marduk's ships. One of them opened and he stepped out, wearing that black armor of his--" She shuddered and met his eyes. "Do you remember it?"

"I remember it well," Horus said, cold. "Impenetrable, granting our enemy far greater strength than he possessed." He drank again, but only tasted bitterness. "And then?"

"I saw Marduk walk up a long corridor into his residence--an enormous palace, filled with opulent rooms. He went to a room filled with those devices and weapons of his, and then he--" She stopped and bit her lip, wary.

"Tell me," Horus said, setting aside the wine, his skin prickling with prescience.

"He went to a door and unlocked it using a device on the wall. Inside, imprisoned within a luxurious suite--" she paused, and shook her head, incredulous. "I don't know how it could be, but I know who I saw: Thoth."

"Thoth?" Horus repeated, taken aback. "Here? How?"

Baalat lifted her shoulders and let them fall again. "Who can say. But if what I saw was no dream but a warning from the pool, then Marduk still lives, and he has Thoth, who must be mortal now, just like us."

"How can Marduk still be alive after all this time?" Horus burst out. "It's been hundreds of thousands of years. No, more. It must be near to a million since we left."

"He had remarkable things. Wonders," Baalat sighed, resigned. "And the weapons he used against us. Incomprehensible. Our powers were nothing against that."

"So evil can outlive even the gods," Horus erupted, bitter. He got to his feet, and paced the dirt floor between the reed-woven door and the bed. "Perhaps he is the true reason we are here," he said, his heart awakening, filling with purpose, "not to languish in the mud like insects, but to seek him out and finish him--" he slammed his fist into his palm, grinding it down, vicious, ignoring the pain in his arm, "--forever."

Baalat looked up, a warning look in her eye.

"What?"

"The city is very far from here."

"And?" he asked, wishing she would be plain for once, and not speak in riddles.

"If we attempt to go so far from Sethi and Istara, I am certain we will sicken and die."

Horus stared at her. "Then why tell me this? Why torment me with this knowledge then say there is nothing I can do about it?"

"There is something we can do," she said, getting to her feet, going to him. "If everything we have gone through is part of a much greater plan then there is only one way we can reach Marduk and Thoth."

Horus sensed the pieces sliding together, the picture taking shape, seamless, perfect, frightening. He sank down onto the stool. "Sethi and Istara are destined to go there," he breathed, "and we are meant to go with them." He looked up at her. "But how will I ever get close to Sethi? He is Egypt's commander."

"And you are Horus," Baalat answered, soft. "You will find a way."