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Un-nefer, Lord of the Underworld, also called Osiris, waited by the river, arms folded. And waited. He had felt uneasy ever since Pharaoh Amenemope died, appeared before the Tribunal of Forty-two, and submitted to the weighing of his heart. Seth, Un-nefer’s old nemesis, had been there. That put Un-nefer on alert. He had no reason to trust Seth, though Un-nefer tried to rise above old enmities. Enmities? Seth killed me, dismembered me, and…Un-nefer pulled himself away from the memory and back to the present. Seth had no reason to interfere. Amenemope’s judgment had been true. As regent Amenemope had cared for his ailing father, lost wife and sons to an accident, mourned them all until his own death, and treated his subjects with mercy and compassion. What did Seth want?
Un-nefer chafed at the delay. He looked around and froze as sudden laughter filled his ears.
“Waiting for something?” Seth asked.
“You know I am,” Un-nefer replied, filled with foreboding. “What have you done with him?”
“If you care, why leave him unattended on his journey?”
“What have you done with him?” Un-nefer’s voice boomed in the depths of the Underworld.
“He’s where I can watch him. He interests me.” Laughter echoed, faded as Seth retreated.
Un-nefer trembled, head bowed. How had things gone so wrong? Never, in all time…well, not since the first time. Seth was wily. Untiring. Un-nefer sighed. He had lost one of Amun’s subjects, no matter how. Shoulders squared, he breathed deeply. Amun must be told.
Un-nefer approached the great god with humble demeanor, stood, waited for Amun’s attention. Clouds swirled around them.
“I wondered how long you would wait, my son,” Amun said. “We located Amenemope. Only just. I would have sent for you soon.”
“Honored father,” Un-nefer said, relieved. “And?”
“He was transported beyond this time by Seth. How, I do not know. He has power. I’m sure I needn’t remind you.”
“Beyond this time? What do you mean?”
“He resides in the future.”
“How is that possible? And…if you don’t know how this happened, can we get him back?”
“With Ma-at’s help I can do many things, but get him back?” Amun sighed loudly. Wind swirled, whispered around Un-nefer.
“Was not that the purpose of finding him? We cannot leave him there to, well…live without his people and gods.”
“It is done. He has made a life for himself, with friends, and has a professional career. He’s adjusted quite well.”
“He has a what?” Un-nefer was appalled.
“A career. He’s an archaeologist. He searches for old things. Studies them,” Amun said with an airy wave of his hand. “He is remarkably suited for it, as he studies the remains of his old life. Of our land. Understandably, he’s a bit chary of studying his own times too closely.”
“I hoped to see him, talk to him. Would Ma-at permit?”
“She thinks you shouldn’t go there. It’s too dangerous. She’s considering other…options.”
“Options?”
Amun smiled. “What would you do?”
“I don’t know.” Un-nefer stood, head bowed, then looked up, eyes glinting.
“How far in the future is he?”
“Many lifetimes. It’s very different there. People have forgotten the old ways. Amenemope is adjusting well. I wonder, now, if he would be content living in the West.”
“What will happen if he…dies again?”
“He will die. He is not like us, and not like those who are in the West. Forces are moving in his time. His fate, the manner of his death, is not yet certain.”
“What has Seth done?”
“The things he set in motion, well, he cannot stop them,” Amun said. With another wave of his hand, added, “Go. Wait for Ma-at. Wait. Don’t try to find her, or Amenemope. Don’t worry. All will be well.”
In the deep dark of the Underworld, Un-nefer searched for Seth. Then Ma-at appeared just in front of him, with Seth beside her. Ma-at said, “Amenemope is gravely injured, three of his friends also.”
Un-nefer, afraid for Amenemope, stretched up as tall as he could and confronted Seth.
“Do you understand the price of your meddling, how many lives you’ve changed?”
Seth straightened and cursed. Un-nefer saw Seth could not quite match his height.
“I just planted him there. They got into trouble without my assistance.”
Un-nefer moved closer. “Untrue!”
Suddenly Ma-at was between them, facing Seth, who stepped back. Ma-at, wings spread, loomed, larger than Un-nefer.
“We come seeking justice for these mortals. You must rectify what you have wrought or answer to Amun. We will not intercede, Un-nefer, Thoth. Nor I. Choose. Quickly!”
“I need time!”
“Listen to him whine. Coward!”
Ma-at stood, silent, said then, “Remember, Un-nefer. Even Seth deserves justice unless he rejects the ways of the gods.” Ma-at’s voice strengthened. “You, Seth, choose well. We cannot wait.”
Un-nefer watched Seth shrink in size. He looked trapped, and Un-nefer knew that Seth would gain nothing by delay. He cannot debate me, Un-nefer realized, not in front of Ma-at.
“Very well.” Seth said. “Let’s see what we can do for these mortals.” He expelled a breath, said, “I thought you might be happy to finally have him in your care.”
“Cease! Be quiet!” The air trembled, and they both shrank in size. Or Ma-at grew larger. Un-nefer was not sure which. He felt a swirl of air move and saw a shadowy ibis head in his mind. Amun and Thoth listened.
Suddenly Un-nefer doubted his ability to save Amenemope.
“Come,” Ma-at purred. “Do not lose faith in what we can accomplish together. We must work together, with no open discord between us.”
“My lady, I will do whatever necessary, with my enemy, if he agrees to the same.”
“I have said so,” Seth began, but after one glance from Ma-at said, “I will do so.”
Ma-at nodded, satisfied. “Now we begin.” She drew feathered arms upward. Un-nefer and Seth followed her actions, cast their minds outward and began striving for life and healing for the four mortals at sea in beds of white.
Kate Flint, a native of the Pacific Northwest, began writing novels after a challenge by a friend. She enjoyed that first attempt so much she continued writing and perfecting her craft while caring for family. She has a keen interest in history, especially ancient history, along with anthropology and archaeology, Kate loves to ask “what if” and see what happens, with just a little bit of added magic and mystery. Who know what one might find around the next corner or bend in the trail? Kate Flint presents her first published piece here, Un-nefer’s Triumph, part of a larger story where an age-old rivalry between ancient Egyptian gods repute anew when a dead Pharaoh is misplaced in time—on purpose.
Timeless by T. R. Neff
Desire by Katharina Gerlach
Covenant by Chris Makowski
Autonomous Militarized by Gina Fabio
Pipes by Barbara Lund
From Bad To Worse by Bill Bush
Under Surface Of The Stars: A Story Poem by Juneta Key
Un-Nefer’s Triumph by Kate Flint
Super Jill by Vanessa Wells
Ninea dropped a coin into the phone and called. The bus had run late, so she missed the connection. She’d be there tomorrow. She put her bag on the bench and lay down.
“Can’t stay here, Miss. We’re closing up. The sun’s going down.”
“But I missed my bus?”
“Sorry, Miss, the next bus is after sunrise. Gotta close up. You can’t stay here.”
He locked up and all but ran down the alley. She heard the whine of an engine and smelled exhaust. There was a bench out front. Sweat discolored her dress.
The light above went out. Everywhere she looked, the lights were out. Businesses were closed, and not a soul walked the streets.
Except in one direction – a radio was playing, and there were lights from houses.
“Gotta be something this way.” At least her bag had rollers.
The street was potholes and broken asphalt, and the sidewalk was cracked and spat itself up here and there. Windows were open and inside people were listening to the radio about how they were responsible, they were ruining things, and if it weren’t for them, everything would be better.
A dog’s head came up in a yard; instinctively, she turned away and kept walking, right into the darkness.
“Barking dog ain’t safe,” she told herself. “Gotta find somewhere safe. Then get back for the bus.”
It got quiet. A slight breeze ran through her legs, and the moon played hide-and-seek with banks of clouds.
Her stomach rumbled.
Dark, dark, dark – a porch light was on. The house was old, a shotgun shack with one light inside, perched in the middle of all these trees. On the porch, an old man in old overalls and a pair of old boots rocked back and forth, each rock a squeak or a sigh.
Fireflies floated all over the lawn.
Everywhere else was dark.
The rocking stopped.
“You’re not supposed to be here.” He said.
She pointed down the road. “My aunt’s just down that way.”
He didn’t look. “That’s a graveyard, so she’s not likely much help now.” He stood up and stretched. “Hungry?”
“No,” but her stomach growled again.
“Ain’t much, but it’s dinner and it’s food. Or you can stay out here. Likely not safe out here… but it’s your choice.”
The sound of the radio carried from far behind her, a speech, cheering, louder and louder. The hairs on her neck stood up as she glanced back into the darkness. The dog barked.
He was holding the door open when she turned back, stepping carefully over the toadstools on the walkway up to the house.
It was basic fare – potatoes in white gravy, fried chicken, collard greens, rolls and butter, and sweet tea. He laid a second plate and let her choose, and when she chose he nodded and filled her glass. He ate as much as she did, set the bones in a pile, and asked no questions she’d have to lie to answer.
Not even her name.
One cough and he wiped his face. She blinked. All the food was gone, they’d eaten it down to the dregs.
Her stomach felt full.
“Can I wash up?”
He pointed at the sink, got up, stretched again, and went into the other room. So, she washed and dried; he only had four spoons, four forks, four knives, and four plates.
The wind blew again, cold and harsh, rattling the window. Outside was darkness, even the moon had fled.
The middle room had a box fireplace lit and burning so it was warm but not hot. A cotton sheet, a blanket, and a pillow sat on the couch.
A grandfather clock, the wood lovingly polished and each figure a craftsman’s delight, shared the room with her.
“Plumbing is in there. Sink, washcloths, soap, so not that hard.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the only other door. Then he closed his door, a yellow light spilling underneath until she heard a click and it went out. Fold the sheet in half the long way, put the blanket over and the pillow at the top.
There was a creak from the other room. Then silence.
No music.
No radio.
The clock chimed.
She woke up with the sunrise in her eyes.
“Morning.” He came out of the kitchen. “Sausage in a biscuit, if you hurry you might make your bus.”
Thanking him, she accepted her breakfast in a napkin and took off down the road. Halfway there, she heard the radio again and saw the dog sleeping on the ground.
She hadn’t mentioned the bus. She hadn’t talked at all about traveling. She hadn’t talked about much at all.
The dog looked up and then lay back down. The radio was still talking about them and how awful them was and how them caused all the trouble. The sidewalk was still a cracked and broken mess.
The phone was still there. She sat on the bench. The man came and jingled his keys and opened the bus station.
The bus arrived, and she got on.
Ninea dropped a coin into the phone and called. The bus had run late, so she missed the connection. She’d be there tomorrow. She put her bag on the bench and lay down.
Chris was born in the Pacific Northwest and lived briefly in Hawaii before being reared in New England. After traveling up and down and back and forth from coast to coast, he was dragged kicking and screaming in the bonds of matrimony to the State of Texas and has been mostly residing there ever since with his wife and son.
Royal Assassin by Vanessa Finaughty
The Big Bad Wolf and the Easter Hare by Katharina Gerlach
Earthquake Aftermath by Bill Bush
The Gynnos Seeker Project by Juneta Key
A Different Kind of Raise by Amy Keeley
Night At The Museum by Vanessa Wells
Flowers For Angela by Curtis Phills
Ninea by Chris Makowski <–YOU ARE HERE
Three dots bounced on the bottom of Terry’s cell phone screen. Angela was reading his message. That was good. It meant she hadn’t blocked him. He re-read his message to her:
I don’t know why that girl told you I was going to marry her. I swear I only spoke to her once for less than a minute. I don’t even know her name
The dots disappeared. She’d left him on read. Again. This was completely unfair. He’d done nothing wrong. Ever since her cousin’s wedding, women had been saying things like that to Angela about him.
The phone buzzed. A message from Angela!
Shes not the only girl whose told me that
Terry furrowed his brow and leaned back against the driver’s headrest. Why was this happening? He’d never cheated on Angela. He never would.
Another buzz. Angela wrote:
Shes the fourth girl this week
Terry shook his head. That made no sense. He brought up the screen keyboard to reply but stopped. Texting wasn’t getting anywhere. He had to speak to her in person. She’d know he was telling the truth when she heard his voice. He grabbed the bouquet of flowers from the passenger’s seat and hopped out of the car.
Angela’s medical center was busy so Terry waited in line to speak to the receptionist. One person gave him a weird look about the flowers but most were excited to see who they were for.
When he reached the front of the line, the receptionist asked him, without looking up, “Do you have an appointment?”
“No.” Terry held the flowers up. “But I–”
“We’re full for the day.” The receptionist adjusted the shawl around her shoulders. “If you have an emergency, call 9-1-1. Otherwise, use our app to make an appointment.”
“I brought these for Angela.”
The receptionist looked up, her eyes narrow and her jaw stern until she made eye contact with Terry. “Awww. That is so sweet.” She grabbed the flowers. “Take a seat and I’ll put these in some water.”
Terry found a seat at the back of reception and wrung his hands. Hopefully, Angela would like the flowers half as much as her receptionist. She loved the way carnations smelled.
The line to check-in grew. An elderly man with a cane joined the line, followed by two gray haired women–one helping the other. Next a woman with two toddlers running around her legs pushed a stroller to the end of the line.
Terry stood to make room for her. “You can have my seat.”
“We’ll be fine.” She picked one toddler up and glanced at Terry. When their eyes met, her cheeks flushed red. She put her kid down and wiped at the baby food stain on her shirt. “Just so you know, their dad is out of the picture and the kids are always in bed by 8, maybe 8:30 at the latest.”
Terry furrowed his brows in confusion. Why would she tell him that?
“So I still have plenty of time in my life for a boyfriend.” She placed her hand on his forearm. “The right boyfriend.”
“Hey!” The receptionist had returned to the front desk and pointed at the mom. Her shawl was gone and she wore a thin white shirt with spaghetti straps instead of her uniform top. “That’s assault! Get your grubby hand off him!”
“It’s fine.” Terry held his hands up to show there was no problem.
The receptionist’s bare shoulders rose and fell with every angry breath. “Stay away from him.”
The mom glared back. “He deserves a real woman.”
“Oh wow, are those the flowers?” Terry said in an attempt to make peace while he approached the front desk. “They look beautiful in that vase.”
The receptionist looked at him and melted into a smile. She hugged the vase. “Too bad Dr. Angela won’t appreciate their beauty.”
Terry sighed as another receptionist sat down. “I can take who’s next.”
The elderly man coughed and used his cane to shuffle toward the new receptionist. She nodded at Terry, their eyes briefly connecting, then put her hand up to stop the old man. To Terry, she said, “You’re so thoughtful to bring those for Dr. Angela.”
Terry shrugged. If only Angela thought that.
The new receptionist put her hand on her chest and cooed. “I’ll bring them to her right now.”
“No,” the first receptionist said. Her lips were redder than before and her eyeliner sharper. “She doesn’t deserve them. They’re staying here with me.”
“He doesn’t want to be with you.” The second receptionist snatched the vase and ran to the back.
The first receptionist ran after her. Terry shook his head, his mouth open. Why was this happening? The first time he’d noticed women acting strange around him was after he caught the bouquet at Angela’s cousin’s wedding. She’d asked him to stand in the line for her.
He went to return to his seat, but the mom slowly licked her upper lip and winked at him. He decided to go in the back and find Angela himself.
It wasn’t hard. He followed the sounds of the receptionists screaming.
“You don’t deserve him!”
“You’re lucky to have a man bring you beautiful flowers.”
“Angela.” Terry stood in the door to her office. “Can we please talk?”
Angela sighed while she stood. “We’re through Terry.” She looked in his general direction, her brown eyes red from crying. “I’ve had enough of your lies. Now you’re seeing my receptionists? How long has that been going on?”
“I’m not.” Terry stared deeply into her eyes. He remembered getting down on one knee after catching the bouquet. Of course, Angela didn’t see. Before he could propose, her cousins tackled him, knocking him to the ground and scratching his eyes with the flowers. “Please, let’s talk about this.”
“You’re not going to make a fool of me anymore.” Angela grabbed her white cane and tapped a path past the receptionists, past Terry, and out of the office.
Royal Assassin by Vanessa Finaughty
The Big Bad Wolf and the Easter Hare by Katharina Gerlach
Earthquake Aftermath by Bill Bush
The Gynnos Seeker Project by Juneta Key <–YOU ARE HERE
A Different Kind of Raise by Amy Keeley
Night At The Museum by Vanessa Wells
Flowers For Angela by Curtis Phills <–YOU ARE HERE
This short flash fiction is part of Apocalypse, Signed, Sealed, & Delivered series world. I write a lot of crossover in my Grumpy Old Gods short stories with these characters and world. You may remember Elliot from my story in our Stormdance Publications anthology, Grumpy Olds Gods Vol. 1, my story, ‘Playing Hookie’.
This is an ongoing series world. You may encounter Elliot again in my upcoming story for Grumpy Old Gods Vol. 6 releasing March 2023. Hope you enjoy this fun little moment in time in the ASSD World and Grumpy World. Be sure and check out the other fun stories by authors around the globe in the list at the end of the story, and leave us comments. We love hearing from our readers. Read with joy as Holly Lisle says.
Rhea gaze lingered on the one rearview mirror, on the motorcycle farthest from the door lined up with ten more out in from of The Prancing Road Hog. She checked her hair one last time, opened her purse, pulled out her lipstick, and then decided against it dropping the tube back in.
Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten all dolled up in my best dress and red heels to apply for a bartender job. Why didn’t I bring a jacket?
Admittedly, she was thinking about the bar’s owner with the red hair and sexy southern creole accent when she got dressed earlier.
A jacket would have toned down the whole look, making it more professional-instead of trying to impress a potential non-date.
Dang it. She needed this job.
Her severance pay from the last job was about gone. Next month’s rent might be late if she didn’t do something soon. Bartending was a temporary solution. She had worked bars in college, and the tips were good. She could do it again. Except… her bad choice in attire might jinx her chances.
Didn’t matter. She grabbed an application by the door as she entered, and hopped up on a bar stool, and noted the current bartender was at the far end serving other customers. When he looked her way, she waved the blank application at him.
He raised his voice so she would hear him. “I’ll let Elliot know you are here.”
She nodded.
***
She had the application finished by the time the owner of the bar came out to greet her. Her face felt hot. She willed her heartbeat to slow down taking deep breaths.
“Bonjou, Rhea.”
“Hi Elliot.”
He leaned over with his face on his hand and nodded at the paper. “Why ya filling dat out, cher? I thought you had an office job closer to downtown Miami?”
“I do, did. I was a toy designer for Tattooed Toys, Inc.” Rhea sighed. “Disney did a takeover bringing in their own team. They gave us all severance packages and let us go.”
“Sorry for dat.”
Rhea shrugged. “It’s been six months. There is not a lot of demand for toy designers in this area. I’d have had better luck relocating to the north pole where there is higher demand and no Disney.”
“It’s a lot warmer in the Sunshine State.”
“Which is why I’m here and not there. I don’t do cold well.”
The idea of going back to her family with her tail between her legs sucked. The thought of all the ‘told you so’ made her cringe. She did not want to spend her life collecting naughty children. “I can’t afford to move to the north pole even if I wanted to, and I don’t.”
“And you’d rather bartend after working an office job?”
“It’s better than going home or working retail.” She batted her eyes and leaned into the bar. “I may not have dressed for it, but I have done the bartend thing before. Besides. You need help.”
“You’re more likely to start a riot in that dress, than help.” Elliot gave her a faux leer.
Rhea’s shoulders slumped. “I wanted to make a good impression. I need this job.”
“Oh, you made an impression, cher,” Elliot said, his grin growing wider. “A lot of eyes are turned this way.”
Before she could respond, three teens, dressed like gangbangers, swaggered into the bar. Her naughty kid sense swung into high gear. This close it was hard to ignore. She swiveled in her seat focusing on them, flicking her tail like a cat ready to pounce.
“Rhea?” Elliott said drawing her attention back to him. He leaned over the bar eyes pointedly on her flicking tail. “I may be, mostly human, but I come from a long line of wizards and seers. You do know that I can see through your glamor, right?”
“What?”
“You’re a Krampus, so settle down. I’ll handle the kids.”
“I wasn’t going to do anything. It’s just instinct.” Those boys were up to no good. She sensed it. Her nature wouldn’t ignore it, but she did have a choice on what action she took. “It’s been years since I’ve allowed those urges to rule me.” Rhea faced the bar again. “Guess that means I don’t have the job, huh? Can I get a drink?”
“No, you have the job. Just don’t go carrying off my underage clientèle to the Underworld. This is a club. We serve sodas too.” Elliot chuckled, grabbing a glass making her a Peppermint White Russian. “Your favorite.”
“You remembered.”
“I did.” Elliot was watching the boys as they found an isolated table under a special edition poster of Mount Doom signed by the cast of Lord of the Rings.
Rhea watched Elliot. He knew the boys were trouble too. “They are not all human you know?”
“I do know. Can you start work tomorrow at noon?”
“Yes.”
“We have a dress code. Jeans and a handmade ‘Middle-Earth” t-shirt. You can pick your size and color from the selection we have in the back room before you leave.”
“Got it boss.”
Fishing Expedition by Laurie Hicks
The Deed by Chris Makowski
Fetching Water by Katharina Gerlach
Cataclysmic Disaster by Bill Bush
Fiddle of Gold by Barbara Lund Author
The Origin of a Reluctant Supervillain by Vanessa Wells
Help Wanted by Juneta Key <–YOU ARE HERE!
