Part 5: Common Threads

 

 

Oshay sheathed her naginata and coiled her whip to put it back at her side.  She turned and walked towards Sekhmet hesitantly.

 

Sekhmet brought his swords up in front of himself.  Who was this woman?  She wasn’t H’ris.  She had no scales, beady eyes, or forked tongue.  But that green hair…and the claw.  An image flashed in his mind, one almost forgotten in his long life--his little sister, M’sara, looking down at her clawed hand, asking Sekhmet why the villagers hated them just for being different.  Was this woman a half-breed, too?  He faltered for a moment, but she did not come any closer.  

 

Oshay bowed to Sekhmet.  “My name is Oshay.  I am honored to fight at your side.  Accept my assistance in your quest…kinsman.”

 

Sekhmet turned away abruptly.  “You are mistaken, girl.  Go home.  I have no family.”  He started walking westward again.  She was following him.  Why did he feel this strange connection to her?  Something in his very blood called out to this stranger in a way that was a little like what he felt when the H’ris were near, but more like another kind of bond that he hadn’t felt in a long time—the one he’d shared with his brother and sister.  Sekhmet didn’t want to be reminded of things that only brought him pain.  “Are you deaf?  I said go away!”  He pressed on, but she still followed.  Sekhmet turned on her with fury.  “Leave!”

 

Oshay looked at him as an indulgent mother would her bad-tempered child.  She folded her arms.  “I am going with you, so you had better get used to the idea now.  You need help.  What kind of person would I be if I turned my back on family?  I would be a disgrace to the name Kataran.  Don’t worry, Uncle.  I can take care of myself.”

 

“Do not call me that!  You’re mad or stupid to try to claim kinship with me, girl.  No sane person would seek such a thing.  Would you tie yourself to a murderer, a monster?”

 

“Since I have been both myself, I do not think associating with you will ruin my reputation.  And the name is Oshay, not ‘girl’.  I did not mean to insult you by calling you ‘Uncle’, but among my people that is a term of respect for someone who is probably of my father’s generation.  I can tell you are far older than you seem—as am I.  Perhaps ‘Grandfather’ would be more accurate in terms of your age, but I am sure you’d consider that to be even more insulting.”  She smiled slightly.  “Besides, you act very much like my father—stubborn and proud—even though you look more like my brother, Ket.” 

 

Sekhmet was puzzled by something, not realizing he spoke aloud.  “Ket?  Kataran?”

 

“I am of the Clan Kataran, descendants of the Children of the Dragon.  Surely you know this?  Our clan is named for Kataran.  He and his sister, Mimsara, intermarried with the Chen Ma people of the east, birthing the families that eventually made up the Clan Kataran.  But you’re obviously related.  Why do you look so surprised when I say these things?”

 

Sekhmet collapsed to the ground.  His brother, K’taran, and sister M’sara, had lived?  They escaped to the east and…lived.  They weren’t killed!  “CURSE YOU, TALPA!  YOU LIED TO ME!  I LET YOU BLACKEN MY SOUL FOR A LIE!”  Sekhmet let out a huge burst of energy from his Armor of Venom as he screamed to the sky.  All the plants in the valley around him withered and died.  When his energy subsided, he just sat there, staring into space.

 

Oshay was glad she was wearing magically protective armor.  The Kataran immunity to most poisons was also a handy trait to have at the moment.  She said nothing, merely waited.  He was definitely one of her kin, but he must have been raised away from her homeland not to know anything of their family history.  Maybe that was why he seemed so empty, so bereft.  She made a silent vow that she would show him the value of family. 

 

When some time had passed without him making any effort to move, Oshay walked over to him and held out a hand to help him up.  He brushed it away in disgust.  She didn’t budge.  “Accept my help, Uncle.”

 

Sekhmet snorted and slowly rose to his feet unaided.  His voice was strained, but held some of the haughty tone of before.  “Don’t call me that.”  He said nothing more, simply picked up his pack and headed west.  Without a word, Oshay followed him.  He ignored her as the two traveled together in silence.

 

The sun quickly set and the two of them stopped to rest for the night.  Oshay helped Sekhmet hunt and prepare a fire.  As they worked, Oshay chatted away.  Sekhmet didn’t pay much attention until she mentioned the Sentinels and Ronins.

 

“Wait!  You have met them?”

 

“Yes.  I fought them while I was under the influence of the Children of Nyx (see SW2: Children of Nyx).  They saved my life.  They asked me to stay, but I couldn’t.  I still felt such hatred for Anubis and…”

 

Anubis?  “I think you should start from the beginning.”  As Oshay told him the story of her life, Sekhmet found himself wondering how strange the universe was.  To take everything he had away, and then give him something back after all this time--especially now when he was coming full circle.  He was going to kill the H’ris.  Every last one if he could.  He knew he would probably die in the attempt, but the thought didn’t bother him as long as he could die feeling he had avenged his family in some way.  He still couldn’t believe it!  K’t and M’sa had lived!  Here was the proof before him—living proof that they had not only survived, but thrived.  If he had known, he never would have let Talpa get a foothold in his soul.  Several times during the day, he had caught himself staring at her because she reminded him of his little sister.  Impudent, proud, spirited little M’sa who had just enough innocence to make one overlook her temper.  He shook himself out of such reverie.  His parents were gone.  M’sa was gone.  K’t was gone.  And so was S’kmet—the young man whose family was all he’d ever needed.  This Oshay could never bring any of them back. 

 

Oshay started to tell him about the legends of the founding ancestors when she noticed a stony look come over his face.  She’d thought he was warming up to her.  Had she said something wrong?

 

Sekhmet hardened his expression.  He didn’t want to care anything for her.  He didn’t want to feel these crippling emotions.  His voice was cold.  “I am tired.  It is late and we will need our rest.  Go to sleep.”

 

“But…”

 

“You talk too much, girl.”  Sekhmet lay down on the other side of the fire.  He rolled away from her to stare out into the darkness.  After a time, he heard her sigh and lay down to sleep.  Sekhmet found himself awake for some time.

 

When he finally did drift into sleep, it was a restless slumber.  His dreams were assaulted by waves of mocking faces and images of pain.  He kept seeing the angry villagers pelting him with rocks and fruit, their insults and curses cutting like knives.  Then suddenly his father was surrounded by H’ris, fighting for his life.  There was fire.  His mother engulfed in flames.  A sword suddenly pierced her stomach.  He cried out, running to her, but it felt like his legs were made of lead.  He didn’t see K’t or M’sa.  Where were they?  He felt dizzy.  Why couldn’t he see straight?  He screamed as his flesh was cut and burned.

 

“NNNNOOOO!  I’ll kill you!  I’ll kill you all!”  Sekhmet jerked awake.  He was covered in sweat and his heart was racing frantically.  For a moment he was disoriented, not sure where he was.  A familiar face was suddenly there next to his, full of concern.   Oshay.  She put a hand on his arm.

 

“Uncle, are you alright?  What’s wrong?”

 

“I…I will be fine.  I just…I will be fine.  It was only a dream.”  But he noticed he was shaking slightly.

 

Oshay’s voice was low and hesitant.  “Do you want to talk?”

 

“No.”

 

“Oh.”  She backed away dejectedly, ready to return to her place on the other side of the fire.  He gestured for her to remain.

 

“I do not want to talk.  I want you to talk.  Tell me about your ‘Kataran and Mimsara’.  Tell me everything you know about them…Oshay.  I find I am not as tired as I thought.”

 

Oshay smiled with relief.  She started to recount all the old stories she could remember.  When she stopped to parch her dry throat, Oshay was surprised to see the bright blues and reds of a morning sky.