The small statue now has an ankh in the grip of her right hand. Her footing still changes when I glance away. There are no extraneous marks on the statue. Nothing that would suggest a name, a dedication, or other identifying symbols. The focus of her chest-piece probably carried such information, but with it destroyed, her social status is erased. The destruction of her face destroyed her identity.
Someone wanted her removed from history.
Snake suggested the appearance of the ankh was because now that I was giving her attention and treating her as a person, my attention was breathing life into her spirit again. “Feeding her ka.”, he said.
I told her I wouldn’t be able to bring her identity into the Waking even should I uncover it. I’m on the wrong continent, and speak the wrong language, and come from the wrong culture to even have the barest of hopes of sneaking into the Valley of the Kings.
We were never buried there, the statue spoke without sound. We never left our lands. The black stone moved. The broken left eye seemed to water. She lifted her right hand and turned her head so the ankh was in view of what remained of her left eye. The gods are watching. My life in flesh is over. I have no wish to return there. I do not want to be forgotten!
“You won’t be forgotten. I do not know your name, but I know you now. You are not forgotten.”
I arranged some gear on the table and with Snake’s assistance, tried to scry more about how the statue appeared before the vandalism. I saw a scene of someone frantically hiding small statues in what appeared to be a granary. Placing them behind large clay jars and throwing bundles of dirty mats over them.
One of the small statues had once been on a pedestal, but the pedestal was removed before the statue was hidden. In that rushed scene, I saw the chest-piece. It was a quick glimpse, but it was enough for me to make out large features. The design looked like it would change between dynasties and ruling powers. I could probably look it up, to narrow down the woman’s living period.
Sadly, the hand that tucked the statue away also covered the face. I heard whispers that needed no translation. The emotion was enough. “I’m sorry. I’ll come back for you as soon as I can. I promise.”
The session ended. I closed my eyes from sudden pain. Yes, this is mine! I look up to see the chest-piece on the statue had been recovered. Her face was still chiseled out, but the necklace/chest-piece(/mankhet?) was now intact. (And I’m keeping that detail to myself for now.)
I told her I could do no more for now. That I needed to look up references and consult with others. I was happy to see the statue partially restored, but I would not be satisfied until her face was restored as well.
She nodded. The 8-inch statue returned to silent rigidity. I put the statue on the shelf while Snake put away the scrying gear. I bowed respectfully at the statue before turning to leave the lair.
“You mention being suddenly aware of the multitude of divination devices around you in the Waking. Have you considered you are also suddenly acquiring ancestral spirits?” Snake turned the statue slightly, squaring it with the shelf.
“She’s not…”
“Nearly every European, and Americans of European descent, can trace a genetic lineage to Charlemagne.”
“And Africa is a helluva lot larger than Europe, and contains a helluva lot more ethnicities.”
“Cowrie shells.”
“Huh?”
“You have traced your maternal lineage to Margaret, who was shipped out from the area of Ghana in 1864. But by then the western portion of Africa had been stripped bare of ‘useable’ slave stock. Instead, raiders were kidnapping from tribes from the east and middle of the continent, driving them to the stocks in the west, and selling off the survivors as good breeding stock. Tell me again, where Ifa divination came from.”
He turned to me. “Tell me again, why Benefe’s family called you [Cousin] when they saw you.”
“Stop. Snake. My blood is too mixed. I have no lineage. The slavers saw to that, the Conquistadores saw to that, American culture saw to that, my own parents have seen to that. The only continent that I can say that does not have a gene mixed in mine is Asia, and to be honest, it wouldn’t surprise me if I had genetic markers for Genghis Khan as well.”
“So the ground around your well is broken and cracked, then.”
I knew where he was headed with that statement. I raised a finger in silent warning not to continue. But he only smiled and bowed. “Have a good day, Weaver. Be well.”
I left the lair to find I was surrounded by blue skinned, naked, voluptuous, Reubenesque nymphs. And by surrounded, I mean kidnapped and taken away to some underground cave and quickly stripped.
“Are y’all planning to eat me? Cuz I’m not in the mood for that. There will be fire involved if you try.” I was not happy after leaving the lair.
“Well…” A ripple of giggles surrounded me. “We could do that too.” Hands started touching me everywhere. “But not in that way… in this way…” A hand rested on my butt and gently squeezed.
“Ladies, normally I would be quite eager for play, but not today. I’ve been abused by my insecurities lately, and to be honest, all this flesh pressing against me with y’all wants more naked than y’all breasts is very close to triggering a panic attack.”
The roving hands stopped. “You say that now but once the fun starts…”
“No.” A flash of plasma rippled over me in punctuation. “I get it, y’all wanna get y’all fuck on until the sun and moon are jealous. I’ve had my body’s physical reactions used against me as a weapon too many damn times already. I don’t care how wet I am getting in autonomous reaction. My mouth is saying, ‘No’, my body posture is saying, ‘No’, and my will is saying, ‘No’, and I will not allow my body to be used against me again. If you proceed, I will take this as an act of war, and respond accordingly.”
The nymphs came to a stop. Sudden cold surrounded me as their sexual desires were cooled off by the heated declaration. “We were sent. To entertain you.”
“By who?”
“We can’t say.”
“Entertain, distract, or stall?”
“Entertain… and comfort.”
I had to admit, their skin was very soft, and they had a faint smell of cold water flowing off of them. And the feel of naked flesh was… nice.
“Y’all aren’t going to let me go, are you.”
“Not until you have to leave.”
“Stalling then. I need some sleep, will y’all allow me sleep?”
“If you allow us to touch you. You feel nice.”
“Hell, y’all breasts and asses are reaching more than y’all hands. Okay. Tell you what. No probing of crevices, holes, or mucous membranes. And let me cuddle up against y’all. Because, god damn, this is nice.”
Compromise agreed, the nymphs cuddled up around me again. I wondered from what cold place did their home river run. They were chilly, but I was warm, and in the comfort of naked snuggles, I slept very well.