The sensation of flying through the sky alleviated any lingering upset their argument had caused. She knew better than to think their relationship would be anything more than what it was, but she had let hope override her rationality—and she would never let it happen again. She swooped across the village she often visited in her younger days, deciding to land and recharge.
It was nice to see the humans laboring fruitfully, to observe their race thriving. She didn’t recognize any of their faces, letting her know the length she’d been absent, but she was still grateful to see them. She felt their eyes on her as she wandered around, but it was quite a different reaction than what she was used to. Many looked away, fear flickering across their faces as they murmured amongst each other, trying to shrink from view.
Dismayed, she headed towards the edge of the village where she observed an older man, sitting on a stone bench in the shade. “Do you know who I am?” she asked him.
He nodded. “You are the great goddess Nephthys.”
“Why do the humans look at me with such fear in their eyes?”
“Do not be dismayed by them,” he told her. “They only fear you because they fear death. They fear the trials that lay before them in Duat, that their hearts will weigh heavier than the feather of Ma’at. They fear the dark parts of themselves.”
“They fear Set,” Morrigan realized.
“Though you are his wife, the oldest amongst all gods, remember you are a kind and gracious goddess,” the old man assured her. “Your heart is good.”
They were interrupted by the sound of screaming. Morrigan left his side to dart into a nearby hut, observing a woman with a fully pregnant stomach laying on the ground, surrounded by two others. One held her hand, while the other lingered by her spread open legs as she wailed in agony. The women noticed Morrigan’s arrival, immediately bowing their heads in fear.
“What is happening?” Morrigan demanded.
“Please, please do not take my baby,” the laboring woman managed to gasp.
“Why would I take your baby?”
“You are the goddess of death,” another woman responded in a shaky voice. “Your presence here means you have come to collect a soul.”
Morrigan didn’t have a chance to correct her, for the woman began to scream again, a fresh stream of blood appearing from between her thighs. Morrigan watched in quiet reverence during the entire process, hanging in the shadows as the women held each other during the birth, dampening the wailing mother’s forehead with wet cloth, and changing the linens which quickly became saturated with crimson.
After several hours, when Morrigan was certain the woman would die from the pain, she let out a shuddering cry and went limp, the oldest gently lifting her child from her womb. The baby was completely still and white. The older woman sighed, still wrapping it lovingly in blankets. “I am so sorry,” she told the mother as she cradled the baby to her bosom.
The mother let out a sound that chilled Morrigan to her core. She turned to flee but before she could go, she heard a tiny cry, realizing the child’s spirit was in her arms. She looked back up at the humans in surprise, meeting expressions that dripped with loathing.
“It was not me...” she tried to explain, but the infant’s soul was pulling at her, needing her guidance to find its resting place. She flew out of the hut, back through the village, and to the river’s edge. The baby’s soul gazed up at her adoringly with its tiny dark eyes. She gave it a kiss on its forehead as she lowered it gently into the river, letting it peacefully float away to the Underworld, where she knew it would be safe. Death was a gift, a transition like all others, but humans could not see it. The grieving mother would not see the soul of her child existing in perfect happiness, only knowing the pain of its departure.
Morrigan headed back across the desert on foot, trying to shake the dread that had settled over her. She plodded up to the palace, no longer concerned if Set found her. Any residual anger she felt had been replaced by sorrow. The humans no longer wanted her near them like they once had. They believed she was a monster, a harbinger of death, a goddess to be feared, to be hated. They saw her just as they saw him.
She walked under the towering palace dome to see her sister, who brightened immediately. “Nephthys! You have come for a visit.”
She forced a smile. “I have.”
“How is the Underworld? You have been gone for so long, I am excited to hear how things have been.”
Morrigan didn’t have the heart to tell her, remaining quiet as she let her sister guide her deeper into the palace.
Suddenly, Osiris strode in from the gardens. His appearance was like a fresh, rejuvenating breeze, immediately lifting her spirits. She tried to temper her elation at seeing him, wanting to appear composed in front of her sister. She could tell he was lost in a similar battle, his eyes struggling to stay focused on Isis as she spoke.
“Nephthys has graced us with a visit,” she told him.
“I heard you and my brother were quarreling,” Osiris said softly, finally letting his eyes land on her. Morrigan shivered, although the day was warm.
“Set can be such an intolerable fool,” Isis commiserated before Morrigan had the chance to reply.
“You are welcome to stay here as long as you need to,” Osiris offered, as casually as he could muster. “This is still your home, after all.”
Morrigan struggled to maintain her own facade. “Thank you.”
Isis beamed, blissfully unaware of the tension between them. “Come, let us get you some clean clothing. We can share my room, like we used to in the days before.”
Morrigan nodded, allowing her to lead her away. Though she had once lived in their palace long ago, she never paid it much attention. As she followed Isis down the halls, she felt as if she was seeing it with new eyes. The walls were impossibly high and painted into bright designs, the ceilings cut into patterns that opened to allow light to stream through. The current sunset pulled reddish orange into the space, glinting against the bronze and gold effects that created the interior. Columns lined each room, interrupted by extravagant arrangements of plants and statues of wild beasts. She imagined Osiris designing it in the same way Set had once constructed their palace under the earth, bringing a smile to her lips.
Isis led her into her bedroom, a chamber that dripped of her sister, from the sheer white fabric that draped the open windows and bed, to the clusters of flowering plants in each corner. Birds drifted in and out at will, twittering as they flitted around the brightly colored blossoms.
“Please get comfortable,” she told Morrigan as she removed her headdress, setting it between towers of jewelry that reflected in the polished silver mirror of her vanity. “Tell me what happened between you and Set.”
“Sister, I can no longer play goddess of death,” Morrigan told her as she folded down to the floor. “The humans detest me now, just as they detest him. I cannot blame them; I can barely stand him myself.”
Isis frowned, sinking down next to her. Morrigan liked to see her without all her glittery effects, for it reminded her of the days of old when they both were wild and untamed. She longed for their simplicity; the memories were becoming harder to remember, grains of sand slipping through her fingers.
“I thought you both enjoyed each other,” she said.
“My body feeling good is not the same as my heart,” Morrigan explained. “There is a disconnect.”
“One does not go along with the other?”
“How is it with Osiris? Do you feel connected to him in your heart as well as your body?”
Isis laughed. “Oh no, we do not do those things.”
Morrigan was taken aback. “Truly?”
