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The fight was almost over. Ardeth was exhausted, and when he allowed himself to think that the odds looked hopeful, his focus must have slipped.
He never knew what hit him. Something did, though; his knees buckled, his lips touched the sand in a farewell kiss, and the world was gone.
What came instead was a familiar sight, even though he'd obviously never been dead before. He was in a vast hall made of light, about midway between the center with the nine thrones and a deep, circular moat. He could see movement in the water; that must be Apep the giant snake, although he was safe from it for some reason.
He had expected to have to fight the snake off, and even that was supposed to come after a long, dangerous journey. Well; maybe the myths were not completely accurate, or maybe the nature of things was beyond his mortal understanding. He wouldn't be the one telling gods what they should do. The reason he was there was the opposite.
He shivered, realising who he was about to face, but made his way to the half-circle of thrones without hesitation and bowed deeply to the nine. Osiris was in the middle, of course, with his sisters on each side, life and death personified; they didn't move but Shu, the god of air and wind, whom Ardeth’s tribe worshipped as their patron, gave him a small nod.
The nearby cloud of faint sparks moved with him. Others didn’t have anything of the sort, and Ardeth assumed those were the souls of his ancestors. He just hoped he wouldn’t let them down.
“I have come to be judged, and I submit myself to your judgement.” Again, these were not quite the words he'd learned when he was alive, but his soul seemed to know what it was doing. “I have not committed sin. I have not stolen. I have not—”
He wasn't too sure of the order, but the gods waited patiently, and he let himself hope the mistakes were not grave beyond measure.
Forty-two times he said I have not, and forty-two times he hailed a deity. Now came the time for the most important part.
Obeying a gesture from Osiris, Anubis brought in the scales and put them in front of Ardeth. “If you’ve told us the truth, your heart should not be heavier than the feather of Maat,” the jackal god reminded. Thoth raised a hand with a stylus, a plate in his other hand, ready to record the result.
Ardeth stood there, staring at the empty cup before him. Remembering. He wasn’t supposed to remember, not at this moment, but there wasn’t much else he could do.
He'd been ready to die since the moment he took his vows. At least he'd thought he was ready. The myths had never mentioned anything like this—
“Take your heart,” Osiris repeated patiently, “and place it on the scales.”
Ardeth looked up at him and said truthfully, “I can’t.”
“Be not afraid, mortal. You swore that you didn’t sin. Do you mean to tell us you swore wrongly?”
“No, I mean—I told you the truth. But my heart, I just don’t have.”
“Everyone has a heart.” The feather turned back into Maat, and the goddess looked at him from her cup in understandable scepticism. If he was trying to deceive gods at the most important moment of his soul’s life, that wasn’t a good sign.
Ahemait must have thought the same, judging by how she was grinding her crocodile teeth together, waiting for the meal.
Ardeth spread his arms, just as surprised at his own words as the gods were. His hands were empty, and he was wearing but a loincloth; there was nowhere to hide anything of importance. “I did, O mighty. But I gave it away.”
Seth was understandably intrigued, given his supposed interest in deceit and lies. “You did?” he said, leaning forward. “But what did you get?”
“What do you mean, O mighty?”
“You gave up your heart, so clearly the reason was important enough. Someone accepted it, too, and I assume it wasn’t someone present here. I’ve heard of people trading away their souls in pursuit of wealth and power, or giving up their lives to protect their families. The heart is a much rarer loss among those who remain faithful in these godless times, because you know how important it is. What were you promised, mortal, for giving it up, and what was it you got?”
Ardeth tried for a smile but it turned out small and shy. He knew exactly how foolish his answer was going to sound. “N-nothing?”
Anubis growled. He was clearly getting tired of the charade. “What kind of a deal is that?”
“It wasn’t a deal,” Ardeth murmured, ashamed to disappoint the gods but strangely warm for some reason. “It was love. That’s all the reason I can give you, I’m afraid.”
Isis smiled at that, but not everybody was as pleased. Shu stood up from his seat, clearly fed up with his follower’s nonsense. “Do you at least know where it is now?”
If you don’t know, then I sure don’t either, Ardeth thought, but bit his tongue. “I am the least wise of all in this room, O mighty. But I think it should be in the mortal world.”
“Then go back to the mortal world, you fool! And don’t come back unprepared like this again!”
A mighty arm grabbed him—he couldn’t quite see whose it was, but more than one god present had a reason to be upset with how he’d messed up the ceremony—and threw him back to where he’d come from, and the world went out in a flash.
And then everything hurt.
Especially in the chest. Especially on the left side. Because—
“Got it,” a voice rumbled.
“He’s breathing, too,” another voice whispered back.
The rhythmic pounding against his ribs stopped. Chest compressions, Ardeth realised. There were fingers on the side of his neck, pressing against the pulse point hard enough for him to feel it too. His breathing was shaking and weak, but every breath vented some of the fog from his mind, and maybe even the pain was worth it, because it meant he was—
“He’s alive.”
Someone gulped. “Ardeth, old man, you scared us for a moment there—hey, can you hear me?”
A light hand grabbed his and squeezed, rubbing the cold numbness away. He moved his fingers a little—every one weighed like a mountain—and then, by some miracle, cracked an eye open, already knowing who he’d see.
Evy was pale, biting her lips together in clear worry, still rubbing his hand like that alone was supposed to keep him alive. Rick’s face was pinched, tears standing in his bright blue eyes; he felt for Ardeth's other hand and squeezed it hard enough to hurt.
Looking up at them, Ardeth knew he was in good hands. His heart was in good hands, too, and those weren’t about to let it go.
Not that he insisted.