“Why did you do it?”
Rhys wasn’t sure to what Gillian was referring. “It” could be any number of things.
“Do what?” he asked.
“Join the per netjer of Set-Sutekh.”
“Ah.”
They were wrapped in his Bedouin cloak, lying in each other’s arms on the warm sand and gazing up at the vast blanket of stars that twinkled overhead in an obsidian sky. Neither was in any hurry to face what awaited them at Khepesh, so they pretended it didn’t exist. For now.
“I mean, you were a British lord, a man of considerable wealth and privilege, with a life anyone would envy. What made you give it all up, for...for this?”
He pushed out a breath, casting over the memories he carried of his birthplace. The cold images and feelings had softened with time, but none were particularly content or happy, even seen through the tempering lens of a century and a quarter.
“I don’t see it so much as giving up anything, but as gaining something else. Something much better.”
“What?” she asked. “What did you find here that you didn’t have before?”
“A home. Family. People who understand me and need me.”
She canted over his chest and rested her chin on her hands. “But your real family seems nice. The ones alive today, anyway. They care about what became of you.”
He made a face. “They care about the Kilpatrick name,” he corrected. “Heaven forbid my legacy besmirch it. Which reminds me, you should send a report to them saying you didn’t find my grave. The last thing we need is some nosy Kilpatrick showing up looking for it, or you.”
She nodded. “I will. But I still don’t understand what made you choose Khepesh as your home. You could have just run off to America or Australia and lived like a king. Why join a cult in an uncivilized country, serving a god you don’t believe in?”
“Egypt is hardly uncivilized. It’s the very cradle of human civilization,” he reminded her.
“Don’t tell that to the Mesopotamians,” she drawled.
He chuckled and pressed a kiss onto her forehead. “And I never said I don’t believe in Set-Sutekh. To me, he’s just one aspect of the all-encompassing God of creation. His personification might appear primitive to us, but the meaning he carries is just as relevant today as it was when mankind first emerged from the caves.”
“A message of darkness?”
“Darkness is the natural state of the universe. Just look above us. All dark, except for an insignificant scattering of burning cosmic dust. Darkness is the glue that binds it all together. To hold it in awe is to pay homage to the mystery of creation.”
She digested that for a moment. “But...doesn’t it follow, then, that Re-Horakhti, the God of Light and Sun, represents knowledge and the rise of consciousness?” she persisted. “Why not choose the god of reason and enlightenment?”
“You’ve met Haru-Re, right?” he asked drily.
She half smiled. “He’s just the priest, not the god.”
Rhys sighed. “I suppose.” He thought for a moment. “I guess I was drawn to the darkness because of my dissolute lifestyle. Back then, I was a rake and a hellion, and thrived in the nightlife that supported my less-than-gentlemanly tendencies. But I’ve come to realize that darkness itself has nothing to do with wickedness. Wickedness resides solely in the man who exploits it.”
She quietly digested that, too, then asked, “Then why the two gods? What is the true difference between darkness and light?”
“There is none,” he said. “It’s what men make of them that counts. It doesn’t matter which aspect we serve. In the end, mankind needs both the darkness and the light to survive.”
They watched the unfolding of the sky for several long minutes, content in their closeness, two matched souls in the vast solitude of the desert night.
“So...” she said at length, drawing her finger lightly down his body. “How wicked were you, exactly? Back in the day?”
He smiled, his body stirring at her touch. “Very wicked.”
“What kind of sinful things did you do?” she asked.
“Oh, all sorts of very, very naughty things.”
“Tell me,” she whispered. “Tell me everything.”
“Hmm,” he murmured, rolling her under him. “I’d much rather show you.”