and stones sat before me in a semi-circle, all so highly polished that they sparkled and emitted an otherworldly glow. Between myself and the thrones was the Ark, its Mercy Seat spinning above it, and the Ring of Testimony still poised in midair glowing with pink brilliance.
An utterance and rattling sound alongside me drew my attention. There was Molier, still trapped in the breastplate that was chained to the floor. He was cursing under his breath, as he could not seem to get his chains to unfasten. ‘This is a cock-up of cosmic proportions!’ He looked at me and, although agitated, he was not fearful. ‘You shouldn’t be here…and neither should I! You should have perished, and I should be back on Earth wielding the divine power and knowledge of the gods!’
‘Well, I guess all those scribes and prophets through the ages, whose knowledge your brotherhoods have managed to buy or steal, didn’t know everything…or a least they never recorded the entire truth for prosperity.’ As I stood up, seven women appeared before the seven thrones and seated themselves. They were all identical in appearance and dress.
The women were clearly Egyptian and clothed in tight-fitting silver garments that fell from beneath their exposed breasts; the straps going around their necks were crowned with silver wing-like necklaces. Only the centre female wore the traditional headdress of Hathor—bull horns with a sun-disc in between—and carried her staff of power. These must be the seven faces of Hathor, the seven goddesses of destiny, who constituted the grand council of the ladies of the Elohim.
‘What is the meaning of this!’ Molier challenged the council, frustrated that he could not break free of his bonds. ‘I have won possession of your Ark and its gifts without question. The porthole between our worlds should have been shut down!’
‘Only if the Ark detects a stronger negative than positive influence in its presence will the gateway be destroyed.’ The woman wearing the headdress of Hathor spoke on behalf of them all. ‘Clearly this was not the case in this instance.’ She motioned to me.
‘She should have perished, for I wear the breastplate,’ Molier persisted.
‘It is only men that require protection from our Ark. And as you have brought a challenger to our realm with you, it would seem a contest is in order.’
Molier looked to me, insulted by the suggestion. ‘This girl is hardly any match for me in battle,’ he scoffed, confident of a win.
‘Our daughter has brought forth a champion who wishes to fight on her behalf.’ The goddess drew our attention to the sack beside me, which had begun to wriggle.
My heart stopped beating as a skeleton rose out of the sack.
‘Albray?’ I uttered, mortified, and the skull on top of the bones nodded.
‘Oh dear,’ commented the goddess. ‘This will never do.’ She pointed the jewel on the head of her staff at what remained of the knight. A light-beam passed through the levitating ring to produce an even more powerful ray which collided with the skeleton. The process of bodily erosion began to reverse, and organs, body tissue, veins and finally skin, reconstituted.
My horror turned to elation to see my knight as alive as he’d appeared in my dreams—he was also buck naked.
The goddess smiled in approval. ‘Much better.’
‘That’s hardly fair…he’s dead!’ Molier objected to his arch-rival’s resurrection.
‘And you should have died centuries ago,’ the goddess decreed. ‘The challenge seems perfectly fair.’
It took a moment for Albray to realise his circumstances. ‘Ladies of the Elohim, it would be my honour to rip this beast apart with my bare hands. However, I would prefer it if the rest of me was clothed.’
The head of the council pouted in protest as she considered whether to grant the knight’s request. ‘It seems a great shame to cover such a work of perfection.’
I had to admit that I agreed wholeheartedly.
‘Ladies,
‘Are you in a hurry to die?’ Albray asked as, with a thump of Hathor’s staff on the floor, my knight was supplied with a pair of trousers just like the ones he usually wore. The rest of him was left naked—a nice compromise on the goddess’ behalf, I considered.
The golden breastplate that had been restraining Molier vanished, along with all his clothing bar his trousers.
‘Now you are truly on equal terms,’ Hathor was pleased to announce. ‘Let the battle for our Ark and its treasures begin.’
‘Wait a moment,’ I protested, unfamiliar with the terms of such a contest. ‘What will become of the loser of this duel?’
‘The fate of the loser is decided by the victor,’ the Great Mother informed me.
That was what I was afraid of. I turned to Albray, feeling responsible for the position he was now in. ‘When I saved your bones it was to divert the fate Molier would sentence you to. I didn’t realise I was awarding him a second chance to have his way.’
Albray took my hands in his to reassure me. ‘I have waited many centuries to atone for my failure in life, and I am indebted to you, Mia, for securing me the chance to end my curse.’ He looked at Molier.
‘The feeling is mutual, Devere,’ our adversary retaliated.
‘No need to ask by what manner of contest you both desire this challenge to be resolved.’
‘By the sword,’ both men replied in unison, as they glared at each other.
‘So be it. Let the Wheel of Fate take combat form to decide this,’ the central goddess decreed, thumping her staff twice on the floor.
