Lonely
Moon
I am lonely like the moon
You are away as the earth
Now you say I light your thoughts
Night after night
Soon you forget
15.
It’s a very tender age. An age where childhood is cast off in favor of the up
and coming. At this age, you become aware that your body and mind are changing,
and things that were invisible to the eyes of babes are now slowly brought to
light, and we understand. That which was mysterious or uninteresting before, now
holds some token of excitement. And everything is viewed in a new light to the
eyes of a child who has reached the age of 15. These were the eyes that one
certain girl now looked through. And who is this certain girl? Non other than
Nefret Anuxanamoon of Egypt, Priestess of Hathor! Yes, she had been looking
through theses eyes for near 5 months now, and still she was learning and seeing
that which held so much ambiguity just the year before. Her peers also reaching
this age found themselves finally coming out of their awkward shells, but not
Nef. She had never been in such a shell, she had always possessed grace, whether
natural, or the result of the rigorous training she received at the temple to
fulfill her position as an entertainer and singer, that would never be known.
For she had been dancing at the temple since almost before her memory faded off
into uncertainty. Sometime when she was 5. Her memories of the life before were
not completely forgotten however, and she clung desperately to what she
remembered of her father. So no, it wasn’t so much that she was finding the
grace of adulthood, more like just getting into the mindset. Seeing what she had
been missing. And it was what she saw at this particular moment in time is
something she decided she could go her whole life without witnessing.
The chariot raced oblivious to the fact that a small cat had gotten
it into his mind that the middle of the road was the perfect place to stop for a
quick bath. The horses neighed and shook their heads violently in protest to the
sudden sharp pull of their bits. The driver let out his breath suddenly
realizing he had been holding it. Slowly he looked over the horses to meet the
eyes of the obstacle blocking the road. A girl, or perhaps more appropriately a
young woman clutching a cat to her chest protectively. Her eyes shown bright
with anger as he slipped out the side of the chariot and approached her.
“Now just what the hell are you doing? Jumping out in the middle of the
street, are you crazy?! All for the sake of a cat?” He ran his hands over the
noses of his anxious horses. The cat scurried aside as her hands rushed to her
head and pulled off her black plated wig, reveling her natural hair. It was one
of the oddest but most beautiful he’d seen. Thick and curly and it shone a
strange purple shade in the hot Egyptian sun. But he didn’t have much time to
admire her as the newly removed wig crashed down upon his head and continued
it’s senseless beating on his shoulder and chest. Lucas, for this was the name
of the boy who had found himself under attack, was also just entering adulthood.
Though he had a jump on Nefret by a few years and was now 17. And like so many
of his age and nationally, had found himself enrolled in the army. It was his
career that had brought him to the city of Dendera Egypt, and apparently into
the confrontation with this young plum-haired woman. The girl was only halted in
her beating as she was hauled up by both wrists. They started at each other for
a moment, each almost as surprised as the other.
“Just a cat? Don’t you know anything?!” It was only then she looked
him over, his hair was cropped short and he wore a red and white kilt and shirt
with a small cape attached to the light armor on his shoulders and chest. “A
Roman. How typical! You never have respect for the beliefs of the people who’s
land you enter.” Her breath returned to normal, but he wasn’t going to risk
letting her go. “Don’t you understand the punishment for killing a cat? You
would have been put to death!” She exclaimed. His grip on her wrists waned and
she her feet once more stood flat on the ground.
“Than who is I owe my life to? What is your name my Nuwayra?” She
reared at the name. Who did he think he was!? With a vile look she turned and
stomped off leaving him grinning in the middle of the street.
We are drifting
in this dance
I can feel you circle my heart
Keeping such a graceful distance
So close but somehow apart
No,
perhaps she wasn’t so grown yet. For an adult would have most likely dwelled
on this little tiff. Fuming until their blood could boil them alive. Nefret
however quickly forgot when she was caught up in the excitement of the evening.
A celebration, a positive feast had been prepared for some dignitary or
something like that who would be visiting the temple of Hathor. Or that is, she
would have forgotten if, when she began her dance to entertain their guest and
his entourage she hadn’t caught glimpse of the chariot driver among the
guards. She found the strength to continue however, though she never felt as
self-conscious as when she felt his eyes burn into her. Her heart clamped down
in her chest as she noticed him slip away as she retreated to the garden. Sure
enough he popped out of a nearby bush and did a comical twirl before plunking
down on the raised brim of pool.
“Good evening my Nuwayra. The fates seem to want us together don’t
they?” He mused. His face faulted
as she breezed past without so much a acknowledging his presence. He rose to his
feet and strolled confidently along side her, as if he had been invited to do
so.
“The fates may want it, but I do not.” Her voice betrayed her. She
found this funny, or at least ironic.
“Can’t fight fate.” He sighed placing his hands on his hips as he
walked.
“Said the spider to the fly.” She mused. He looked at her and smiled.
“My name is Lucas. I’m a soldier in the roman army assigned to
Dendeara!” He pushed in front of her forcing her to stop. And who are you
Nuwayra?”
With a deep breath she gave up. “I am Nefret Anuxanamoon, priestess of
Hathor.” Now normally the next line in her introduction speech was ‘call me
Nef’ but not this time. “And call my Nuwayra again and I’ll pull out your
tongue!” He beamed and she rolled her eyes.
I want to find
the way to your soul
Kissing the sun when the morning comes
You don't seem to count the hours
When we are not together
Yet I've seen a tender fire in your eyes
Friendship
was something young Nefret had always treasured above all else. She had learned
long ago that things can change in a blink of an eye, and entire futures can
crumble to dust in an instant. But through it all friends where the water that
nourished that dust and made it possible to support life again. So when another
person offered a pillar of support, she gladly accepted it. Even if it came from
a man she had once beat down in the middle of the street with her wig. They
shared so many good times in the span of a few months it would be impossible to
retell them all here, but be assured the two got along well. He was one of the
few people who could put up with her sarcastic tongue, taking all her sharp
comment in stride. Looking past the harsh words to the emotion she put behind
them. He understood her, and she him. And between her sarcastic mouth and his
self-important attitude they found a good mix. And oh the banter flew, always
with sharp tongues and soft eyes! But as with any good friendship they soon fell
into a comfortable balance and the banter was restricted to only their most
playful moods. Now they felt at home in each other’s presence enough to let
their guards down.
Perhaps their guards where a bit to relaxed that one, fateful evening.
Nef sat across from Lukas studying the senate board. Oh how she hated senate!
She could wipe the floor with anyone at Hounds and Jackals or any card game, but
for some reason she lost every senate game she had ever played. With a huff she
took he only available move, right into an unlucky spot and back to the start of
the board.
“Ahhh!” she growled and slammed her head in her hands in pure
frustration. Her eyes rolled up as she felt a funny sensation on her head. Lukas
had reached over and was pulling the wig off her head. She jumped back and he
soon had it completely in his grasp. “What the…..don’t tell me because
I’m losing your now claming my belongings!” she ran her fingertips through
her unruly curls, not that it helped much. Her tresses seemed to do as they
wished.
“Now, would I do that to you? You have so little already.” He mused.
And indignant cry sounded, followed by a game piece hitting his shoulder. Half
angrily her caught her wrist in his hand. Pulling her top half over the senate
table towards him. “I did it cause that damn wig looks so hideous compared to
your own hair. You shouldn’t wear it.” One of his fingers tugged
thoughtfully at a purple lock. Her throat flashed as their eyes caught each
other in an unbreakable stare. “Or maybe, just not around me?” His voice was
low. “Nef..”
She shook her head and twisted her arm away so he was no longer holding
her wrist, but her hand. “Call me Nuwayra.” They both seemed surprised by
her words. Yes, even Nefret couldn’t believe what was coming out of her mouth.
Perhaps those words had always been there, and she just hadn’t felt them, or
allowed herself to feel them. Or perhaps they were new, she didn’t know, or
care. For at this moment all that mattered was what his words would be.
“No, I wont call you Nuwayra.” As he spoke her eyes closed in pain.
“Because you are not just a Nuwayra, you are my Nuwayra. Aren’t
you?” Nefret’s eyes flashed open and she nodded in conformation. Lukas
smiled and leaned in close for a kiss.
Sometimes I cry for you
Knowing you don't want me to
Sometimes I whisper to the stars up in the sky
First
love is always the sweetest. However, since this was first love for both of
them, none could tell if the saying was true. And secretly Lukas hoped he would
never find out. He never wanted another love, he was determined Nefret would be
his first and last. And even though they had never been in love, they didn’t
find it so hard, in fact it seemed rather natural. Just as Lukas said, you
can’t fight fate. And just as the fates had brought them together, they saw
fit to drag them apart, for at least a month or so anyways. Lukas was called
back to Rome for a short tour of duty, and Nefret would stay in Dendeara to help
with the festival of the beautiful embrace coming in the spring. It pained them
both to say goodbye, but it as subdued by a few simple words.
“I’ll be home soon my Nuwayra.” And so he was off. There wasn’t
much time to dwell on the situation however as they both found themselves caught
up in duties. His of a military kind, and hers her duty to her goddess.
Perpetrations for the festival were all consuming. And somewhere in the rush and
confusion Nefret turned 16. She left it all but unrecognized however, Lukas
would be home in a few days and she would celebrate by his side.
Yes, he was almost home, and she grew more excited with each passing day.
Then the big day arrived! It arrived and………….passed. Another day dawned,
and ended. Those two days somehow dragged themselves into a week, and still no
sight, or even word of Lukas. But, not to worry. These roads, the bad whether,
inefficient military schedules. There were a thousand different reasons he could
be late. And within a few days an
important man did enter the Temple. No, not Lukas, but another man that would
prove to be an important part of Nefret’s life. Mozenrath.
Mozenrath
laughed to himself as the crowd of priests’ priestesses and worshipers’
clustered to one side of the room. Their eyes were all large and fearful, and
that made Mozenrath swell with pride because he knew they understood the extent
of his power. Then a rather surprising thing happened. Out of the crowd stepped
a young woman. Her black wig had been blown off and her dark maroon hair hung in
chaotic ringlets around her head. Her eyes were focused and confident as she
walked toward him. Mozenrath smiled in amusement as she stopped and held her
head high and balled her fists. He could make this girl run for cover with a
snap of his fingers!
“What
else would you take but the lives of our precious priests?” Her voice rang out
without much hesitation. Mozenrath put his hand on his chin and thought a
moment. He ran his eyes over her form, she seemed fit, and she certainly was
brave and possessed a certain pluck. She was perfect for his purposes! He walked
forward. The woman’s eyes wondered a bit as she flinched in concern, but she
held her ground. “And what is your name my over presumptuous flower?” He asked.
“I
am no ones flower!”
“Very
well. Who are you my spirited shrew?”
“My
name is Nefret Anuxanamoon, Priestess of Hathor.”
“Well
Nefret I think we can work something out. How would you like to add to your
title? Perhaps assistant of the Lord of the Land of the Black Sand?”
Yet when I'm gone you carry on
I float in this emptiness
Till at last love returns
With the night
And the lonely moon
And so Lukas’s Nuwayra was taken
away even before she knew what happened to him. Oh, and she does wonder. Did he
finally come back to Dendera? Or was he late because he was dead? Yes she
wonders, I wonder. For you see, I am Nefret. I am his Nuwayra, his little
fire. And while I have moved on, I have been forced to, I do often spend my
nights wondering. But I know the truth, though I wish I didn’t. He is dead.
How else would he visit my dreams each night? How else would he sing his sweet
song in the back of my mind? He tells me that he had always hoped I’d be his
first and last love, and I am. But in the same breath he says he will not be
mine. And he is all right with that. And I’ve come to except it to. So he
looks over his Nuwayra, and if you listen closely, you might hear him sing to me
while I sleep. Good night.
I love the warm emotion you bring
Though there is pain, I don't complain
How you can inspire me
Whenever we're together
Ev'ry time it's like a new song
You move me so
I think you know
I won't even say a word
In your arms or far from sight
I'll be your light
Like the lonely moon