''I,'' intones the dark god. ''Precisely. I, and only I. The rest of you will be long gone while I continue to preside over the eternal dead. And thus I will endure, until the stars wink out and the very last trace of heat ebbs from the cosmos and there is nothing but eternal icy nothingness. Here, in my realm of souls, I will outlast you all. You may burn brightly now, great Ra, but you cannot burn forever, whereas I in all my coldness and restraint have countless eons ahead of me.''
''So you do not care, is that what you're telling me?'' says Ra. ''You do not care about family or happiness or peace in the world?''
''Why? Why should I? Eventually, in time, I will have no family left. Happiness is a fleeting emotion and, in my judgement, overrated. As for peace in the world, it is a figment, an illusion, a desert mirage. Unattainable. Humans fight. It is what they do. What they do best, moreover. Even if by some miracle you were able to stop the Pantheon's quarrelling, humans would simply find other justifications to hate and kill one another. There would still be wars, waged for reasons of money, philosophy, skin colour, territorial gain, any or all of these.''
''Perhaps the wars would not be so intense, or so continuous. Perhaps there would be periods of relative calm. Lulls in the bloodshed.''
''I doubt it.''
Ra tries a fresh tack. ''So you will not intercede between Osiris and Set, and you do not see the point in peace,'' he says. ''At the very least, would you consider looking a little more kindly on your fellow gods? I know you hate all of us-''
''Not all, Ra. You, for example, I am merely indifferent to.''
From Anubis, this is tantamount to a declaration of love.
''I'm honoured,'' says Ra. ''Still, what I'm asking is-''
''Could I try not to resent my relatives quite so much?''
''I'd be happy if you could manage it with even just one of them.''
''Which one, though? Not Osiris, the hypocrite. Not Isis or Nephthys, those deceitful shrews. Horus? Huh. There's nothing to Horus. He's hollow, a thing of bluff and bluster. And as for those wretched children of his…'' Anubis mimes a shudder.
''That leaves one person. Set.''
''Him?'' The god of the dead sneers, and his teeth are many and they are sharp. '''Daddy'? Him I would find it hardest of all not to dislike.''
''You're similar in many ways.''
''That would be why, then. Ever heard of magnets? Aligned alike, we repel each other.''
Ra heaves a sigh. His third attempt to bring about a change of mood within the Pantheon, his third failure. It's useless. It really does seem that his quest is futile. Perhaps he should simply give up. Doubtless that's what Thoth would counsel. Maat too. Wisdom is knowing when you're defeated.
Then Anubis says, ''Try not to be so downcast.''
''Is it that obvious?''
''Your light has dimmed. I can almost bear to look directly at you. You're aware, aren't you, that unusual events are occurring on earth?''
''I've been somewhat preoccupied. What events are these? Tell me.''
''In the place they call Freegypt. Look there. What do you see?''
Ra is the sun, the ever-open eye. Ra gazes down in rays and beams, and the world lies spread out below him, laid bare, and he sees into every corner of it. He focuses his attention on Freegypt, where no member of the Pantheon holds sway, the land where their worship arose and where by mutual agreement they leave no tread. A birthplace for all, a home to none. The empty nest. The tiny speck of territory that reminds them of their origins and of how far they have come.
Freegypt's entire history, its recent past, what has happened there during the last few days — in an instant Ra perceives it all. He takes it all in. He observes and comprehends.
''Ha,'' he says. ''Ho. Interesting.''
''Is it not?'' says Anubis. ''A small but significant shift in the status quo. I only noticed it myself when a handful of Freegyptian souls appeared in Iaru. Unbelievers always make their presence felt when they come here. They just aren't expecting it. I sense their startlement — like an itch in my extremities — though it soon subsides as they adjust and fall to work alongside their fellow dead. These ones, however, were killed by Nephthysians. They bore the mark of Nephthys's ba on them, which naturally made me curious. Investigating, I learned the whys and wherefores of their dying, and that led me to discover the desecration of temples belonging to Wepwawet, Sobek and others, and thence to the existence of this man calling himself the Lightbringer.''
''The Lightbringer,'' Ra says. He frowns, pensively. ''Yes. I can discern very little about him. I can hardly see him at all, in fact. There is something about him, a — a kind of pearlescent aura. It shifts and shimmers, like fog. He disguises himself. How?''
''This troubles you.''
''Of course it troubles me. As does his chosen name. Am I not the one who brings light?''
''There is an element of hubris there, I agree. Perhaps of challenge too.''
''The situation,'' Ra says, ''merits further enquiry. Thank you, Anubis. This hasn't been a wasted trip after all.''
''I am, O Ra, indifferent to you, remember?''
''And I feel the same way about you, Anubis,'' Ra says, with warmth.
David gunned the throttle, and the trail bike responded with a tremendous tinny roar, fishtailing in the sand as it accelerated. Zafirah was parked ahead, waiting for him to catch up. She sat astride her bike domineeringly, comfortable in the saddle. She rode it much the same way.
David wished he was half so confident. Back home he'd owned a motorbike once, a Norton Mongoose. It was a touring model, sturdy, stately and sedate, a prudent choice of machine, promising a safe level of adventure for the not-very-adventurous. Its 1150cc engine was great for cruising along A-roads and motorways, but around town the Mongoose was sluggish, nothing like as nippy as its animal namesake. At times David, reclining in the seat, felt as though he might as well be at the controls of a car. He'd had no regrets about selling the bike back to the dealership after three weeks.
The trail bike was another story. Lighter, livelier, it skittered around on its narrow, knobbly tyres, sensitive to the slightest shift of its rider's weight. Its unpredictable handling meant you could over-steer without intending to and skid onto your side. You could also, because of its lack of weight, easily over-brake and risk pitching yourself headfirst over the handlebars. In the first hour of riding, David had fallen off three times, much to Zafirah's amusement. He had since mastered the bike but he was still wary of it and would drop cautiously into third or even second gear if the going got rugged.
As the Lightbringer's army trundled north, it was David and Zafirah's job to scoot back and forth alongside the column of vehicles, making sure all was well. If a car broke down, they alerted a mechanic via shortwave. If they found stragglers, they guided them back to rejoin the main body of the column. David likened their role to that of sheepdogs. They kept the flock together and travelling in the same direction. Sheepdogs with two-stroke engines.
It was some flock, too. The column stretched a good five miles from the Lightbringer's lead car to the petrol tankers that brought up the rear. In between was a hodgepodge of civilian automobilia — rusty taxis, vans, pickups, off-roaders, puttering family saloons and station wagons, several motorhomes, a limousine that had seen better days but still exuded an air of battered, imperturbable elegance, and even a couple of buses — all overloaded with passengers, weaponry, plastic water kegs, tents, and non-perishable food. The captured military vehicles rolled in
