Kiya and the God Of Chaos

  Philippa Bower

  Copyright ©2016 by Philippa Bower

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Chapter 105

  Chapter 106

  Chapter 107

  Chapter 108

  Chapter 109

  Chapter 110

  Chapter 111

  Chapter 112

  Chapter 113

  Chapter 114

  Chapter 115

  Chapter 116

  Chapter 117

  Chapter 118

  Chapter 119

  Chapter 120

  Chapter 121

  Chapter 122

  Chapter 123

  Chapter 124

  Chapter 125

  Chapter 126

  Chapter 127

  Chapter 128

  Chapter 129

  Chapter 130

  Chapter 131

  Chapter 132

  Chapter 133

  Chapter 134

  Chapter 135

  Chapter 136

  Introduction

  Kiya and the God of Chaos is a condensing of the three books that make the Ka of Osiris Trilogy. These books are available in hard copy and provide a fuller version of the adventures of Kiya as she battles gods and monsters in her quest to save Egypt from the wrath of the god Seth, with whom she has an unexpected connection.

  Chapter One: Kiya

  Kiya woke with the sun hot on her face. She turned her head and saw that her parents’ beds were empty. With dismay she realised that she had overslept and scrambled up, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She found her shift among the tangle of bedding, stepped into it and pulled it up over her breasts, feeling the rough linen harsh against her skin. As she fastened the shoulder straps, she looked over the parapet of the roof.

  Her father was harvesting barley in the field below. He straightened with a sigh, dropped the scythe and pressed his hands into the small of his back. He was getting old, thought Kiya with a pang. Soon her parents would expect her to marry and bring home a young man to help work the farm. Indeed, if she hadn’t insisted on becoming a dancing girl she would already have been pressured into marriage. She gave a pout of distaste at the thought of being tied down to domestic drudgery for the rest of her life.

  Kiya stepped over her parents’ beds and hurried to the narrow staircase that led down from the roof into the living room. How she wished she could live at the temple instead of having to come home each night. She wanted to forget the mundane world and dance before the gods forever.

  Kiya descended the uneven steps with care, going from the warm sunshine into cool dimness. She saw that her mother was already seated at the loom, leaning forwards to peer at the shuttle.

  "Good morning, Mama."

  Ramala looked up from her work, her face still lovely despite her long illness. She smiled and said, “Good morning, Kiya. You have overslept again."

  “You should have woken me, Mama.” Kiya kissed Ramala on the hard angle of her cheek. “I will be in trouble if I am late for dance class."

  “You will be in more trouble if you make your father late for market. He should have finished cutting barley by now.”

  Kiya ran out into the walled yard, where a trough of water stood. She stripped off her shift and washed with a linen rag. The warmth of the sun dried her skin even before she put her shift back on. She picked up the bone comb from the top of a brick cupboard built against the wall. There was also a kohl stick, a pot of red ochre and a mirror, but Kiya ignored them - there was no time for make up. She quickly ran the comb through her hair, being careful not to break the delicate bone teeth. Refreshed, she re-entered the house and checked the kitchen area. A bowl of porridge stood on the counter. She ate a mouthful, but it was cold and it would take too long to heat it. Instead, she grabbed a handful of dates from the side plate and returned to sit near her mother.

  “Life would be much easier if you let me stay at the temple, Mama.”

  Ramala sighed. "We have been through all this before, Kiya. Your father only allowed you to become a temple dancer on condition you live at home."

  “I want to be with Eopei and the other girls.” Kiya could hear her voice rise as she repeated her long-standing plea.

  “You are welcome to invite Eopei here," said Ramala.

  Kiya hesitated. Eopei was a Nubian princess, used to living in great luxury. She looked around the tiny room where her family lived, cooked, ate and stored their few belongings. Everything was made from mud bricks, the only wood was her mother’s loom which took up most of one wall. From the door of the adjoi
ning barn came the smell of cow manure.

  Eopei had visited the farmhouse a couple of times, but Kiya had sensed her contempt and was reluctant to invite her again. She altered her line of argument.

  “Things have changed since you were attacked in the shrine of Osiris. We cannot be alone there now.”

  Ramala sighed. “I love you, Kiya. You are my only child and I could not bear anything to happen to you.” She sat slumped in front of the loom and Kiya stared at her in exasperation. This was how her fragile mother won every altercation.

  “Is something wrong?” Teos entered through the door to the cowshed carrying a large pot of milk and a sheaf of barley. He looked anxiously at Ramala’s hunched figure. “Have you upset your mother, Kiya?”

  “No, Papa, we were just talking.” She turned to her mother for confirmation. “Weren’t we, Mama?”

  Ramala straightened and lifted the shuttle. “Yes, dear. I’m fine.” She managed a wan smile and Kiya was grateful. She went over to her mother, put her arms around her shoulders and hugged her.

  “Good,” said Teos. “Fetch my mat, please, Kiya. We must get to Thebes while there is still time to find a selling space.” He kissed Ramala. “Goodbye, my darling. Do not overtire yourself.”

  Kiya rolled up the rush mat then followed her father out of the house and along the path that led to the main road. The fields on either side had been harvested and were now bare, weeds already encroaching upon the rich, dark soil. She breathed in the fresh morning air and watched a flock of starlings search for food among the stubble. Disturbed by their passing, the birds rose in the air and whirled around in a great circle, before heading towards the escarpment that marked the edge of the valley.

  When Teos reached the road to Thebes he paused to readjust his burden. Kiya joined him and they gazed back across the farm to where the Nile sparkled in the sunshine, half-hidden by reed beds and date groves.

  “It looks beautiful,” said Kiya.

  Teos grunted. “All too soon the river will start to rise. I must finish harvesting the fields before the flood.” He sounded tired and Kiya seized her opportunity.

  “I’m sorry you have to waste time collecting me from the temple every night. If you let me sleep in a dormitory with the other girls...”

  “No!” He gathered up the milk pot and barley sheaf, then walked away so quickly that she had to hurry to keep up with him.

  The trodden-earth road was smooth and wide. They were passed by a trotting donkey with a man on his back.

  “Hail Teos,” called the man.

  “Hail,” called back Teos and grunted. “Fortunate fellow. What would I not give for such a beast.”

  Farmhouses identical to theirs were dotted along the route, barely two field-widths separating them. On the other side of the road was scrubland, fit only for goats. Kiya looked beyond the dry grass and twisted bushes to where the great cliffs that bordered the valley stretched high. She would never leave this valley, never know what lay beyond. Sometimes the cliffs seemed like the wall of a prison, other times like a protective barrier, saving her world from the unknown that lay beyond.

  There were many people on the road in front of them, all heading towards the city and most burdened with goods to sell. Other farmers joined the throng, walking up the track ways from their farms.

  The road narrowed and became hemmed in with houses. It was no longer made from beaten earth but paved with bricks. They had reached Thebes.

  The market was in a much wider street, lined on either side by shops with awnings on wooden poles under which were arranged all manner of goods. The smell of freshly-baked bread reminded Kiya that she had not eaten a proper breakfast. She longed to pause and buy a spiced roll but her father hurried on, past the fishmongers, the fabric stalls and the fruit and vegetable sellers until he reached the farmer’s area where sacks of grain, jars of milk and small honey pots were laid out upon rush mats.

  “Move up, my friends, and give me a space,” said Teos. With much grumbling and good-natured banter the other farmers included him in their midst. He put down his milk and barley and took the mat from Kiya.

  “Greetings, Kiya,” said one of the farmers. “My son is looking for a wife.”

  “Looking to inherit my farm more like!” said Teos. “My daughter has another year before she leaves the temple. There will be no thoughts about marriage until then." He turned to Kiya. "Now hurry, girl, before you get into trouble.” He gave her a brief kiss on the cheek and started to unroll his mat.

  "Goodbye, Papa, I will see you tonight." Kiya tried to run but her ankle-length shift hobbled her. Abandoning dignity, she hitched up her clothing and sprinted like a child to the sound of appreciative whistles from her father’s friends.

 
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