Mistress of Pharaohs. Daughter of Dawn

Mirror of the Universe

The first mirror that Dennitsa looked into after he fell and saw his transformed maiden face there was only a puddle on the sand. The puddle solidified into mica and then turned into amalgamated glass. A ligature of golden symbols stretched along the edges of the glass. The gems in the ornament flashed like watching eyes. Eyes they were. There was a special power and a special mystery in the mirror.

“There is not even ash left on you,” Remy murmured beside him. “Truly, God loves you, because even when you have fallen, you are as beautiful as you were. Or is he powerless to harm you? Then you are truly our commander, for there is no one stronger than you.”

“What is about the darkness?” Alais sensed something stronger in the wilderness, but separated from herself. “It is my shadow!”

“It is yours! Then it’s yours to lead,” Remy hovered around her, bloody meat blotches and blackened gold ornaments on his ash-burned elbows. It was as if he had pulled them out of the earth, where they had been forged by fiery dwarves. Alais didn’t recognize them at first as soldiers in her army. Too stunted, but then she recognized their voices coming from the depths of the earth. How had they shrunk so much?

“Only you can control your own shadow,” Remy insisted, though he, too, had sensed the darkening power thickening over the desert like a black cloud.

“There’s something wrong here!”

They couldn’t see the source of the power yet, but it was felt as something shattering, ready to sweep away the world they were in with a single blow. Her desire to do this, too, could be felt. So why wasn’t the job done yet? What is holding back the darkness?

“It is your unwillingness to reunite with it!”

“Is that what you said?” Alais turned around, but Remy was no longer there.

“It is your unwillingness to share its burns and its pain,” the voice murmured again over her ear, dark as night. “It is your fear of getting burned by what people call passion and what you don’t know at all. It is your fear of going back to heaven and finding the all-consuming fire there again. Your reluctance to lose your independence, but together we would be better off. After all, we are still one.”

So says the genie of the lamp in people’s tales. That’s how her spirits work when they see mortal travelers. And in the lamp they may well come to live. One such lamp, made of gold by an underground dwarf, Alais took for her. Many spirits had taken up residence in it, gushing out in a silvery mist. They were twelve or thirteen. All of them served her faithfully. Even while in the lamp, they could easily observe events around the world and could find out about everything to report to her. But from where and more importantly from whom the dark voice emanates, even they did not know.

“We are made one, like sun and shadow. Like fire and the ash it creates. Like beauty and ugliness united in your army. Our army! We must be together again.”

The voice began to drive her mad. It must be God’s attacks. He wants her back, leaving her burnt servants on the ground.

“Don’t compare me to them and to him. To overthrow him would make me a better man. We simply lacked strength and unity. Only together are we strong.”

The banner of hell is fire. Alais sensed those who had descended into hell, the abyss that opened beneath the earth. A voice spoke from there. And it didn’t belong to any of her warriors. It was as if it spoke to her from her own mind. It was the darkest part of her. Angels don’t have a shadow like humans, but after the fall, it seemed to appear.

“We walked through the fire to be together,” the voice continued to exhort. “God cannot divide us.”

“But He did!”

Why did she say that? The darkness let out a shriek of rage that shook the desert.

“You are my reflection, and I am yours, and we will be together again.”

“Angels don’t have reflections, but she did. First in a puddle spit out by a water creature that crawled into the desert, then in a mirror.”

“You’re not an angel anymore, and neither are anyone else with you,” the grim voice continued to whisper.

Alais glanced over her shoulder at her wings. Yes, they had turned black. It probably seems that way because of the darkness. They were golden in the daytime. But they’re supposed to be white for angels. Gold is the color of vice brought to earth by fallen angels. Gold is the solidified substance of the sun. A dead sun! And it is supposed to be alive. Gold as a metal is contrary to its original divine nature, which may be why people so often kill each other over it. Just as often they killed each other because of Alais herself, who became the source of birth, both light and gold. The desert was filled with the blood of travelers and their corpses, which were devoured by her ever-hungry servants. They ate the flesh, drank the blood, but their wounds hardly ever healed. What could be done for them?

“Abandon them!” It was the voice of the shadow that spoke again. “And go back to heaven. Apologize! God will immediately forgive you, and you will begin to prepare his angels for battle again. Many will follow you again. You are so good. If you fall again, God will forgive you again. He has always adored you, my bright shadow. Seduce him at last and destroy him. And then summon me.”

She recognized the voice of her own mind, though she thought differently now. The fall had changed her.

“I can’t leave them all behind,” she nodded at the monsters crawling in the sand. “All those who followed me are my responsibility now.”

“They are defeated and crippled, and you are wasting your time with them.”

“I love them!” She knew how wild that sounded right now. She did not love them when their beauty delighted the heavens, even when they followed her into battle, they were only an army. Every warlord needs an army. It is a tribute to custom. Feelings were restrained. But now love broke through. Because of her they were brought down, because of her they were tortured, because of her they were mutilated and burned, and yet they were still willing to serve her.

“Would they love you if you were as ugly as they are now? You’re lucky your ugliness lives apart from you.”

“What do you mean?” Alais asked, but secretly she was already aware of it and shuddered inwardly. The memory of something burning and mutilated being separated from her by the fall pierced her brain with pain. It had happened! And it had not been a dream! And even if it had been, her dreams had never lied to her. In heaven in general, it was difficult to separate dream from reality. There, eternity passed like a dream. Grim reality began on earth. And dreams of magic invaded it with golden spells.

“We must show mortals what magic is!”

“Why?” A voice grows wary.

“Their lives are empty without it.”

“Mortals will not appreciate you, nor understand you.”

“But I’ll take my chances anyway.”

“And you will run into their knives.”

“I don’t think so, I’m still immortal. They are.”

“They will put you in a cage for your skill.”

“They are weak, I am strong. Only I have the power to rule them.”

“You’d better stay here with me.”

“I can’t even see you.”

“But I can see you, and I like your beauty, detached from me, even more than when it shone on my own face. It is only when we lose something that we know how valuable it is. Such is God’s curse.”

“He chose to teach us a lesson, but instead he gave us freedom. The world is our kingdom. We no longer share it with any god. Here we can become gods ourselves, we and our army.”

“You’ve already begun to talk about us as one. I like that.”

“You’re a good persuader. I am beginning to trust you,” or my dream. It doesn’t matter! She always trusted herself more. But the darkness was indeed half of herself.

It condensed beside her. Its outlines were forming into claw-like shapes. First it touched her golden curls, then it tried to penetrate her, but it failed.

“People call people like you genies,” Alais shared. Her ears were clearly picking up what mortals whisper behind the deserts. “Djinns are my warriors who have no bodies left-just a blob of darkness instead of a shell.”

There were also djinns of fire, but it was the pillar of darkness that hovered before her.

“Which of my warriors were you before you died? What was your name?”

“I have no name,” the darkness clung to her. “I am you! We have the same name! “Dennitsa.”

“Dennitsa means dawn! And you are all dark! How can you be called Dennitsa?”

“Do you want to give me a new name like you gave yourself?” The darkness’s voice became soulful.

Alais closed her eyelids, feeling a strange pleasure in the intimacy of darkness. The darkness enveloped her entire body, caressed her wings, sought to penetrate her skin.

After the battle, Michael shouted insults-the devil, Satan. This meant an opposing angel, an apostate. These were probably her new names.

How absurd it all came out! Michael loved her to pieces, but the first argument over power ended in tragedy. The admirer had become the enemy. Alais remembered the way Mikhail’s blond hair had fluttered in the firestorm. She longed to cut off his head with her sword, to grasp it by his beautiful hair and hold it in her hands like a trophy. His head would remain alive even after it was cut off. It can be spoken to, it can be rebuked.

This naive angel wants her to go back to heaven. And she wants his head.

The darkness caressed her like a lover.

“I am you,” he repeated.

“Then your name is the devil,” Alais recalled Michael calling her.

The gloom fell silent for a moment.

“What can I do to make you believe that you and I are one?” After a pause, he asked softly.

“Destroy the heavens!”

“I am not strong enough yet.”

“Then don’t bother! We’ll speak when you are strong enough.”

“I could gather strength. There’s a lot of potential in this land. It needs people. Lure more people into the wilderness. I’ll take their lives and make me stronger.”

“If you have anything in common with me, you must deal with everything on your own, as I do after a defeat.”

Surviving was difficult. Alais was torn by a longing for the celestial sphere. The desert full of gold in front of her, though it looked fabulous, couldn’t take away the nostalgia. The sandy plain seemed like the back of a huge giant. It seemed as if it was about to rise from the sands. The darkness seemed like a giant, too. He hovered around Alais, fawning over her, and then suddenly disappeared. With him gone, Alais sighed more freely.

Seven

Alais woke up as if jolted. They were leaning over her. There were her former standard – bearers. Mastem, Noreus, Doriel, Setius, Novelin, Ramiel, and Amadeo. Their faces and bodies were as beautiful as ever. It was idyllic, like heaven! It was one exception. The angels had become marbleized.

“I remember when you were petrified,” Alais rose from the dune on which she had lain and grinned vindictively. “It’s good to know that all traitors have been given a fair trial. Are you comfortable being marbled? Don’t you feel a certain stiffness of movement?”

Beautiful curly heads drooped shamefully. Even the curls snaking down their shoulders turned to marble. Pale marble faces phosphoresced beneath the starry desert skies. The slender figures of the angels looked bulky because of the heavy marble wings. Was it difficult to fly with such wings? The celestial company did not seem to have any discomfort. The marble bodies were hovering over the sand, not treading on it.

“All are in their entirety!” Alais counted. “It was like being in heaven! Only one angel was missing. Ciel has shown more loyalty than you, and has not become marbleized.”

“We’ve been thinking of bringing him back,” Cetius answered for all. He was the boldest of the Seven Angels and always took the initiative. She was sure he’s the one who’s put everyone up to this treachery. “Our strength would seem to be growing weaker without Ciel.”

“Serves you right!” Alais glared vindictively at Amadeo. The seventh angel was as if he were superfluous in the company. Would his cunning and poise, in time, compensate for the loss of the most powerful of standard – bearers?

“We carried your standards and assembled the disparate parts of the legion into coherent units,” Setius began to pity them. “We were your standard-bearers and commanders of your armies. All your orders we faithfully obeyed. You know all our secret talents. Can you do without us from now on? Take us back.”

That’s it! They came to serve. And she remembered the moment they turned their backs on her.

“It was from him! Not from you!” Setius had read her mind. “It was from that ugly creature that burned in the fire.”

“Are we not the same?” She was just trying to tease them? Alais frowned. She wasn’t sure of anything, but their presence around her made her uncomfortable. One look at them brought to mind the moment they had turned away from their fallen warlord in disgust. From her!

“I can’t forgive you,” Alais spoke for the two of them. It was for the first time. The darkness was spoken from her mouth besides herself.

“Why is it not? We’ve always been together.”

Setius’s marble finger slipped to adjust her unruly curl, and it burned. Steam ran from the marble hand.

“It is like the sun! Still! Oh, yes!” He exclaimed.

Alais was pleased. So to this day she still burns anyone whose touch displeases her. Cetius had a nip in the bud. The marble toe crumbled to ash before his eyes.

Beneath the angels’ marble feet the sand crunched, teeming with deposits of hard gems. The desert had become a treasure trove. Alais had long ago realized that the commonplace gold and diamonds, to her, were valued above all else on earth.

But with the burnt creature that had been mistaken for her, the matter was unclear. She herself remembered the moment she had burned. Her skin was blackening and shriveling, and then suddenly it was gone. She rose from the sand as if the fire had not touched her body.

“Let us stay with you!” Setius flew after her. Though his body had become marble, he could still fly.

“You wanted to be alone,” Alaïs was reminded again of that moment when they had turned away from her in horror.

“We thought you were disfigured,” Setius said shamelessly. “If you remember, when we followed you into battle, we were only attracted to your beauty. The angels said the world should be ruled by one who is like the sun. And suddenly you were ash instead of sun. Naturally, we were disappointed.”

“Well, then maybe I should be disappointed that you’ve become marble?”

“It’s healthier to be marbleized on earth. We’ve become stronger. Our touches kill people. Once a man enters our ring, he is destroyed.”

“I don’t care about people,” Alais shook her golden curls.

“And they care about you and your secrets. You know that some renegade from your armies has begun to teach humans speech and angelic skills. These creatures would have remained as unintelligent as animals if he had not put in them the ability to cut fire, to make iron, to make weapons, even to speak. Because of him, people have become enemies to us.”

“And who is this renegade?” Alais thought feverishly. Indeed, from the beginning, humans were like cattle. They wore no clothes, couldn’t cook food. They didn’t know about intelligent speech and weapons. Then suddenly these creatures became intelligent. They went from savages to civilized beings. There was clearly a higher being at work here, teaching them all the things only angels knew.

“It’s either that angel I think is dead, or one who has partially lost his memory and doesn’t know what he’s doing himself,” Alaïs didn’t allow for the idea that someone could have deliberately betrayed her. After all, he was betraying himself that way, too. Why create an enemy against race of angels?

“We haven’t identified him yet, or even seen him,” Setius answered in a flimsy way, “but the wind has been telling us rumors about him.”

“You shouldn’t believe the wind,” Alais clenched her hand into a fist and triggered a sandstorm. The wind roared and swirled into a hurricane, but the angel statues stood unshaken. The sand could have swept them upside down. The wind could blow with incredible power, and the living statues did not move an inch. They stood beside Alais, waiting for orders.

“To forgive you is to put yourself in danger. Where is the guarantee that you will not betray again? Traitors will always be traitors,” Alais said, feeling a slight prick of conscience. The last of the seven angels was special. Amadeo had not participated in the war at all, but barely had his friends been exiled from paradise as he had volunteered to follow them. Apparently, enduring hardship in their company was more pleasant to him than living carefree in heaven. Amadeo looked innocent now, but time would pass and he would become embittered.

“Go away!” Alaïs was adamant. “I don’t need you anymore.”

“But…” Setius tried again, but in the end he realized that his pleas had no effect.

“I never forgive anyone,” Alais glanced indifferently at the seven winged statues frozen in the sands in bewilderment. Their faces were astonished. It would be a long time (probably many centuries) before they felt insulted and made plans for revenge. Then she will shatter them into a thousand pieces. She is strong enough. A single punch of her fist would be enough. Alais looked down at her gold-encrusted palm. She could smash the living marble right now. But should she? Let her former standard – bearers live and suffer.

Having fallen to earth, many angels have realized that death is a mercy. Most likely, they weren’t exterminated only to be cast down into the wilderness to continue to suffer for all eternity. It was better for the angels to die, but God invented an elaborate punishment for them. One thing he didn’t think of was that Alais benefited from having an army of her own. Even though her legions are burned, they are still strong. With them in reserve, she can do whatever she wants with the land.

“If you think the men are dangerous, I will deal with them,” she tossed at her former standard – bearers one last time.

The seven statues stood on the barchans. The sand was dragging them down. A long time had passed. So much sand came down that the statues were hidden under it, but they stubbornly continued to stand and wait for the Mistress to forgive them. It was not until several years later that they realized that waiting was pointless. Then they flapped their marble wings, shook off the sand, and flew away. Alais stared blankly after them.

Some caravan was caught in their marble claws. Blood flowed across the desert. Somewhere jackals howled, and marble fingers tormented the flesh of men.

“You will regret telling us to leave,” Setius’s angry thoughts echoed to Alais.

So far, she hadn’t regretted it. Without the seven standard – bearers, she could get along just fine. Besides, she didn’t have a standard anymore. There was nothing left to carry into battle. All the standards had burned away, along with the heavenly appearance of the fallen angels. Their power is no longer beauty, but terror, and monstrous strength.

Setius, Noreus, Doriel, Maestem, Ramiel, Novelin, and Amadeo disappeared behind the desert. This is even better. She needs only loyal warriors. The monsters left with her have proven they can be loyal. So they’re the ones to bet on.

The chariot’s trail of blood

There was more and more gold in the desert. You’d think it was the sunlight that was breeding it. In fact, Alais was playing a game. She picked up handfuls full of sand and let it slip through her fingers. Eventually everything around her turned golden.

“Where do you go with so much sand and so much gold?” Alais looked around at the vast expanse, gleaming with magical gilding.

Remy understood her question in his own way. He immediately dispatched a company of builders from her demons. Soon a huge palace was erected in the desert. It was made entirely of golden blocks. There was so much gold in the desert that it could be used as building material.

Alais glanced indifferently at the golden piles, columns, and arches. This palace was a faint parody of heavenly mansions. But since heaven was far away, that should be enough.

One could wander the golden halls for days, but eventually Alais grew bored with such a pastime. Sitting under a desert starry sky was far more pleasant than living in a golden palace, as if in a crypt. Black-winged demons nested among the golden pillars. Alais told them to draw signs in the sand around the building to keep travelers from seeing the palace. Gold was too much of a temptation for humans.

Remy’s gift went unappreciated, but his diligence awakened the builder in Alais. She ordered a cohort of demons to build a huge palace out of sand. The entire structure was supported only by spells. The ceiling and walls crumbled as soon as the magic wore off.

A traveler stopped by the sand palace one day. Alais watched him, lying on the flat roof. The wayfarer couldn’t see her, but she saw him. It’s so convenient to watch people from above, as if they were insects. It’s a good thing people can’t fly, or they would know that angels live in the heights.

“This is the king’s messenger,” Remy determined at a glance.

“So what is of it? You think I give a damn about people’s ranks and titles?”

“He comes from the United Realm,” Remy said, his eyes tensing. For a moment there was the thought that he was going to run down and tear the ambassador apart.

“Yes, I remember, the Upper Kingdom and the Lower Kingdom united,” Alais broke off an ornament from the sand pediment, crumbled it into the sand, and sprinkled the grains of sand down. The sand fell beneath the messenger’s feet, but he didn’t even realize it was a joke of the celestials. He boldly walked into the sand palace.

“The country is now called Egypt,” Remy reported. He flew everywhere and learned about everything.

“What business is it of ours?”

“If it had not been for your efforts, the Upper Kingdom and the Lower Kingdom would not have joined together, and Egypt simply would not exist.”

“If it hadn’t been for the efforts of Menes,“Alais corrected.

“But it was you, Madam, who gave him the power.”

“It was Menes who fell at the deity’s feet and began begging for mercy for his state. The merit of uniting the Upper and Lower Kingdoms rests with him. If he had not succeeded in invoking my leniency, I would not have let him win. By the way, how are his lively troops doing?”

“They have the bodies of men and the minds of your former legionnaires. The combination turned out to be a bad one. Human flesh rots, and the higher mind planted in it is forced to live in decaying remains. The warriors of Menes draw angelic symbols with their blood. These symbols became known as hieroglyphs. They made them into an entire alphabet for humans.”

“So, even we’ve taught the humans something,” Alais said with a chuckle. “Seti, on the other hand, told me about some unknowing angel who harms us by teaching crafts and speech to mankind. Have you seen one?”

“No, ma’am,” Remy scratched the back of his head with his claw. “There is none in Egypt, that’s for sure. But the warriors of Pharaoh Menes, in whose dead heads you breathed the minds of your dead legionaries, are trying to recreate all the comforts of angelic life on earth. They do it for themselves, but Menes thinks it is your gift to him and his people.”

“Let him count it!” Alais graciously allowed it. “I liked him. I do want to give him a gift.”

“Perhaps you should go and see him.”

“Not now!”

“The Pharaoh has become dependent on his dead armies, but that has not broken him. Menes thinks like you now and waits for you. But his people, on the other hand, live in terror of the warriors rotting alive.”

“The people must be kept in fear,” Alaïs leaned over the parapet of the roof and looked down. “Get me the head of the king’s messenger. I don’t want him wandering around here.”

Remy wanted to dive down, but it wasn’t necessary. The sand walls crumbled, burying beneath them the man who dared to enter a palace made of sand. It was meant to be. This palace was built for the angelic race. Man is not welcome inside.

Alais flew down, shoveled the sand, and looked over the corpse. The king’s messenger had already managed to suffocate. Sand had clogged his nose, mouth, and ears. A strange bundle was found on the envoy’s chest. Alais turned it in her hands and unfolded it, the royal seal glittering underneath.

“This is called papyrus. Or is it parchment?” Remy scratched the back of his head with a black claw. “I think people call it something like that.”

“Don’t give a damn about people! Do you even know a subject other than them?”

“Humans breed faster than fleas. But angels don’t know how to breed.”

“I’ll think of a way,” Alais thought of the dead armies of Meneses, who had managed to inhabit the bodies of the dead warriors of her angelic legion. Using human flesh could give the dead angels temporary shelter. Even though a dead human body decays, it can be lived in.”

On the messenger’s scroll was written, “For the desert deity.”

“It must be for you,” Remy suggested.

The Egyptian hieroglyphics were indeed like angelic secret writing. Alais read it without difficulty:

“I have won! Thanks to you! Let me offer you praises and build a temple for you. Appear to my kingdom. Gardens and lotus ponds are spread out for you alone. My palace is prepared for you.”

Alais pulled the ends of the message too hard and accidentally tore the scroll.

“Pharaoh must have thought my interest in him too personal.”

“And it wasn’t?” Remy looked at the scraps puzzled. “You helped him, after all. And other people you just killed. Kings and peasants alike – all are equal to angels.”

“How can I tell you?” Alais didn’t know whether to speak or whether admitting it would undermine her reputation in the eyes of her subordinates. “Menes was like me the day I rebelled in heaven. Of the two of us, at least he made it to the final destination. Thanks to me! It felt so good to meet my twin in the desert and help him. It was as if I had helped myself. But I didn’t need Menes’s gratitude.”

The desert was full of gold, jewels, and magic. Why did she need gardens and lotus ponds? All it took was a pinch of magic to turn the desert into an oasis. Alais could plant such flowers here that the king himself would envy her gardens. But she didn’t need to. The golden desert is more beautiful than all the gardens of the universe.

The palace of sand was crumbling, burying a whole troop of new messengers beneath it. Apparently Menes had sent them again to seek out and summon the desert deity to his palace. Alaïs watched the death of the party from the air. The messengers were suffocating under piles of sand. They were too weak to climb out of the rubble.

“Let them sleep! They would never wake up!” Alais had long ago noticed that, unlike dead angels, humans didn’t come back to life. But their dead bodies can be used as a shell.

Not a moment after the death of the messengers, black spirits emerged from beneath the sands and seeped into the nostrils and eye sockets of the corpses. The dead bodies hissed. They rose to serve Alais. And yet she couldn’t even remember the names of her dead legionnaires. Nevertheless, barely had they had a chance to come back to life from the darkness of non-existence, they were coming back to her. Human bodies were a ridiculously rotten shell for disembodied demons. It’s a shame that once the bodies are fully rotted, the spirits will have no place to dwell. They’d have to find new shells.

“What if you put the souls of dead angels back into people’s bodies, and they’re still dwelling?” Alais pondered.

“That would be difficult,” Remy said. “Dead angels are attracted only to dead flesh. As long as there isn’t a human corpse nearby, they cannot be summoned out of the darkness of non-existence.”

“You could try a rite of summoning,” Alais said tensely. “You catch a living man, and I’ll use my sword to mark his body with angelic signs.”

Remy immediately obeyed the order. Another of the king’s messengers was beating in his claws, while Alais tore his clothes off and drew the signs of the rebellious angels on his skin with her blade. At first it seemed that the experiment was about to fail. The unfortunate man lost his mind as soon as the angelic signs appeared on his body. The messenger convulsed for a long time, and then he gave up the spirit.

“It is a weak flesh!” Alais kicked the body with the tip of her golden sandal, and the corpse suddenly twitched, convulsed. Something was tearing at it from the inside. The rib cage burst. Black claws ripped from the gutted flesh. In less than a minute, the monstrous creature stood before Alais, hatching out of the messenger’s body like a shell.

“Are you Zeno?” Alais recoiled, recognizing in the black freak the former golden-haired angel. It became unpleasant to look at. She turned away. The Angel Legion had become an army of monsters. But now she knows a way to bring back to life those who died in the fall. It doesn’t matter that they come back as monsters. What matters is that her army will become stronger. They need to prepare for the next war. In the deserts they got only a temporary respite.

The next traveler who appeared in the desert was not a rider. He ruled a foursome of horses, while he himself stood in a strange contraption with wheels.

“A chariot,” Remy called the vehicle. “Noble men ride in one of these. Your ward, Pharaoh Menes, likes to ride in one.”

“Do you think it’s another message from him?” Alaïs soared into the air and intercepted the chariot at a gallop. The reins were in her hands. The horses bucked. The bewildered charioteer fell into the sand and stared into the face of the angel. He must have mistaken her for a deity, too, for he was stunned. Good thing he didn’t yet know how dangerous and cruel angels could be. Otherwise he would have run without a second thought.

Alais grabbed the wretched man and ripped his throat open with her claws. Only then did she take over his chariot as the new owner.