Trueth shoved the straps of her sheath dress back up on her shoulders for the tenth time in the last hour. The ancient Egyptians really should have spent more care on their wardrobe. The infernal straps were forever slipping, and the dress bulged in the wrong places.

She started—but nobody had sensed her digression.

Trueth had found out the hard way that living among people of her kind came with certain disadvantages. Fortunately, most Servants were too polite to invade her head. Or they were not capable of doing it. She filed that under consolation.

She swore her oath as they wanted her to, repeating words that first sounded like empty noise, but uncoiled their true meaning as she got deeper into her three-month initiation period. Trueth wished this would not happen. It was getting harder to look into what passed for a mirror in this place and to see somebody familiar.

Not that they did anything to her hair or her eyes, she thanked the resident deities for that. Apparently she would only be obliged to have herself shorn if she became an actual priest—or Pure One as the Servants called it. And the blindness was part of another ceremony entirely, even though she deemed Blessing to be a misnomer. It was not something she would ever consider.

Iseret's idea of penance for Trueth's vanishing act reminded her of primary school, She had been told to copy and memorise relevant passages from the pyramid texts several times. This would make sure she knew them by heart when her time came to take that last bark, felucca or whatever conveyance they used here to travel to the underworld.

She would have preferred to duplicate ancient fairy tale. Or even a poem. Why that text? Instead of strengthening their tenuous hold on existence, the servants were obsessed with the afterlife. Being a diligent disciple, Trueth did as ordered. Only after finishing her task did she realise that the fruit of her labours comprised seven adorable papyri covered in neat processions of cursive script—as if an army of squiggly ants was invading the white space. Somebody had been in her mind after all and adjusted her writing skills. She could only hope it was not a permanent arrangement.

The finished documents got presented to their frightful leader who was highly pleased with her efforts. Iseret patted Trueth on the back and gave her a special task that even came with a title. It sounded good if one spoke ancient Egyptian but not so much in a more modern language. She balked at the thought of having to tell people she was "Sister Broom".

The rituals themselves were not her favourite pastime either, these offerings, as well as the singing and dancing, made her dizzy. Maybe this effect was caused by the incense, or maybe it was the clattering and pinging of sistra and cymbals. It could also be an effect of crowding so many people into the underground spaces.

Two of the sisters reminisced about the past; back then the statues of Ra and Hathor would have been taken above for a real procession. Nowadays they dared to do so no longer. The fear of discovery had become too strong.

Trueth learned that an even longer time ago, when the big temples still provided a haven on Earth for the ancient gods, they had enjoyed festivals that spanned several days. Back then, people flocked to the sanctuaries from afar to watch the processions and enjoy the festivities.

But this was all in the past.

Iseret let her read endless rolls of papyri on an even greater number of deities, in confusing permutations and for conflicting purposes. Even if they would leave her in the desert to dry, she could for the life of her not work out whether Ra was in his bark—the statue seemed to suggest that, if he was riding a chariot, as a few of the old texts maintained, or if he was a giant scarab beetle, rolling a glowing ball of dung across the skies.

She must have appeared particularly perplexed one day when Her Wisdom sneaked up on her from behind.

You cannot take it that literally, the belief developed in different parts of Egypt during the long bloom of our civilisation. Local lore got amalgamated into a national cult. Let it not cloud your ka—what you would call spirit.

Trueth dropped the scroll on the floor in her panic where it curled all over the place. Next, she tripped on the hem of her dress as she tried to get up, thought better of it, and threw herself again in front of Her Wisdom. Trueth heard a tearing sound from her back as her dress betrayed her yet again.

Cover yourself sister, your behind is showing. Iseret sniggered, for once showed tact and floated away.

When she was not wrestling with her attire, she spent her time with Nebmutef to develop her talents. She discovered to her great surprise where her true powers lay— in healing, though humans rather than engines.

Iseret did something extraordinary—she smiled for all of two seconds when she heard the news. Trueth realised with a start their high priestess could be a charming little person, dimples showing in her pinched face and her expressive hands fluttering in the still air. But she did not give her a new title.

It was not only the lessons and the endless rolls of papyri that kept Trueth occupied. She spent much of her time in the back storage rooms. There, she tried to sort things out and create an inventory of what at best resembled Ali Baba's treasure cave and at worst could pass muster as an archaeological car boot sale. Of course, no cars were involved, they only owned two dissembled chariots and two spare spoke-wheels. They did not match.

'Our brothers and sisters in the past were in much hurry to get these out of the temples when the invaders were pounding on the gates of our gods,' one of the sisters wailed, sorrow and age pulling deep lines into her gentle face. Trueth did not want to ask whether she had been present on the occasion. She certainly looked it.

Why they had not found the time for spring-cleaning was beyond her, but apparently a meagre couple of millennia was not enough for this monumental task. She however enjoyed touching the silky wood and soft fabrics, carefully rearranging the gem-encrusted vessels, alabaster objects and furniture inlaid with mother-of-pearl, simply relishing the gaudy opulence of it all.

Trueth did not enjoy the nightmares.

It started with the same insistent buzzing she had overheard during her first stint down in the temple. Somebody or something was trying to reach out to her. She inquired—nobody slept well, but for other reasons. Nobody heard any whispering either. That only appeared right at the beginning. Their high priestess had intervened, may the Lord Ra—or Lady Hathor, depending on who she talked to—scatter her path with garlands. Now everything was quiet.

Trueth got introduced to the holy object the Servants hushed about and listened to many recollections of that memorable ceremony from her brothers and sisters.

The obelisk might not look much by itself, but the idea it had been devised by Imhotep himself and still be in working order filled even Trueth with awe. At least this was the consensus, and she too could see those three blue lights gleaming at them. If this relic had been a modern household device, it would have disintegrated right after the end of the warranty period. The Servants seemed to believe even Imhotep's deluxe customer service ran out too early.

None of this helped her nightmares, in fact they were getting worse. Weird images joined the voices sighing through her nights, gone when they had woken her up, only to restart the moment she sank away again.

The soft glow of the brazier in her tiny cell threw dancing shadows on the murals, making them come alive in her dreams. She saw priests in long robes that resembled nothing she had ever seen, files of people dressed not quite like ancient Egyptians were going into houses that also appeared to be at odds with historical facts.

Next, the Pharaoh disappeared into what must have been his palace and the priests in their gaudy garments were entering temples unlike everything she had encountered so far. And then they came out to start the whole parade all over again. And again.

The voices were still telling her about those sleepers. But they also tried to convince her of something else. This was no dream, this had once been real, could be real again, but it would soon be lost forever... .

Trueth woke up with a start.

Her initiation was over, and she would be allowed leave from the temple. Nebmutef had told her these three months were the hardest part, and he had been right—but she felt proud at having prevailed.

Most likely somebody would leash her with a locator spell once she got out, and she could guess who this somebody was, but it mattered no longer. Instead, it made her feel safe.

Metjen, who she had seen, but rarely spoken to, would accompany her back to Maadi, where her old room was waiting. And other things she had taken for granted. Like air not tinged with incense and daylight enjoyed more often than the hour they were allowed on the surface each day. Or food other than the endless bowls of boiled fruit and cereal mashes which made her want to gag.

Trueth did not fancy any more murals. As stunning as they might be. Thinking of murals reminded her of something, just as Metjen was zipping in and out of traffic on their trip home to Cairo.

'Metjen, could you please slow down and not lean on your horn like that? It gives me much—uh—I mean, it's bloody scary—watch that camel!'

The unwelcome addition to the local rush-hour gently swayed into their path, turning its placidly chewing face towards them. Metjen manoeuvred his vehicle around the quadruped's solid form. The obstacle vanished from sight and the thought trickled out of her brain like grains of sand.

Her memory had been in perfect working recently, why did that particular problem have to start again? The memories kept eluding her all the way back to the Al-Nour mansion.

Upon arrival, she was met with savoury smells coming from the kitchen, boisterous greetings from the twins and their parents and careful sniffs from two felines who, with a bit of coaxing, deigned to recognise her again.

A proper shower was a luxury after having spent the last months in a bathing stall pouring buckets of lukewarm water over her head. And drying herself afterwards with a dishcloth that had ideas above its station. Trueth looked at the toilet and shuddered. That hole in the ground back at the temple made her sanitary arrangements in Amersham appear like the mod cons they were not. She washed oil off her body, rinsed incense from her hair, applied make-up in front of a real mirror and felt awake again.

Mish-Mish greeted her with a contented purr as she stepped out of the shower. She moved her furry companion as he was occupying the jeans and T-shirt Trueth wanted to wear—no slippery dresses for a few weeks.

====

Image is from Wikimedia commons , copyright hajor Dec 2002

Here she comes again. And we are getting much closer to the mystery as well as the mid-way mark of the novel. If you enjoyed this chapter, please push that little button and do let me have your feedback. I truly value your opinions! 'Underground' is dedicated to @abby727ad - in LAWIG: Verge of Dystopia she has created a truly scary world even if it is above the Earth!