Thought Made Flesh
‘To live without dying… to suffer without end… that can’t be too easy. Do you truly seek the destruction of being, O Horus? Or do you seek your own destruction?’
Ashlar lowered his head. ‘The two are interwoven, little slave. In life and in death I am bound to creation. One cannot exist without the other,’ spoke the Gold Mask Man, his eyes affixed onto the setting sun. ‘Here, take this,’ he added, extending the alien shard of iridescent metal. ‘Save your Master. Finish the mastaba. Regain your slave honour.’
Kunai stared at the jagged object in the palm of his hand. Whatever the orange-glowing metal was, it seemed unable to take heat from his skin.
‘What you now hold in your hand is thought-made-flesh, Kunai un-Nefer. Keep your most dominant thought at the front of your mind, and that thought shall come true,’ Ashlar instructed, pressing his falcon-shaped mask onto his nose. ‘I shall return before daybreak to marvel at the sight of your hard-earned success.’
Kunai lifted the shard, his eyes full of amber. Some yards away, a mudstone brick took flight. He craned around, willing to wave the Great Elder goodbye, only to find himself looking down a stretch of empty desert. Like a thief in the night, the gold mask stranger had vanished.
To be continued...