Hur and Ra

He stood at the edge of the mighty behemoth. It was on level with his feet. Water lapped at his toes. His legs were starting to feel the stinging that comes when your muscles are stiff. They were about to fall asleep. He looked up at Ra, if there was anyone that could help him now, it was him in all of his golden majesty. He looked down with a sigh. He knew no help was forthcoming. Indra was angry. Indra is what the natives called it. Not that his captors would know anything about that.

He stifled a laugh. And failed. It burst out of him, uncontrollable. Loud. Raucous. His sides ached, his legs trembled. A slap on the head, he saw stars. He felt a warm liquid in his mouth. He had bit his tongue. Not that it mattered anymore. He kept laughing. His captors now waited in silence.

It had been a strange journey. Hur had been born in ancient Egypt, the son of a wealthy merchant. The unruly son. He had wanted to see the world instead of to take over his father’s business. So he left. Packed up the meager belongings that he could carry and left. He didn’t think most things in the house were his, either way. So it didn’t matter to him that he was leaving them. He had packed up and left. Travelled to ancient lands. Little did he know, he was on the trail that the great conqueror sikander would follow soon. He ended up at the land of the Indus. A civilization far greater than his own. More cultured. If one had the eyes to see. His captors were blind.

He had been captured and brought back his home country as a slave along with several natives of the lands of the Indus. The Egyptians refused to believe that he was one of them. He had been set to work on building a pyramid. Things he had seen but never had the misfortune to be part of the workforce making them. Before he could plan his escape, a power drew him in. The stone drew him.

He sucked in a deep breath. The river gushed along. Loud. Currents magnificent and mighty. Indra was hungry. He was hungry for that power. He could see the purple glow. And nothing else in his vision. He could hear the throbbing of the stone. Could smell the history, the future, could smell the power, and it was driving him mad. His fingers were tingling with electricity. The ground was shivering underneath. He opened his eyes.

Nothing but the river. It was beautiful. But it was a disappointment. His legs buckled. He fell on his knees, about to topple over. They grabbed him by his hair, he refused to scream, as he wanted to. They kept him straight. He laughed. He had been drawn by the power, a slave in his own land. And it had consumed him. He had served the purpose of the mage. And he had been sent back to the Indus to die.

His captors spoke behind him. It was time. Ra was in the right spot. They kicked him, and with a grunt he fell into the river, arms and legs tied.