Menes was well established in Memphis. The city was indeed white, as the name communicated. Even the royal palace was built entirely of white stone. In hot climates white is practical because it does not heat up as much in the sun as materials of all other colors. But that’s not why Menes chose white. The white stone had gold ornaments embedded in it everywhere. Apparently, this combination reminded the king of a deity he had once met in the desert that had helped him win. Alais knew perfectly well that people think of angels as being composed of two colors: white and gold. No matter how she looked, she still retained her angelic appearance. Pharaoh Menes did not discern the darkness that enveloped the angelic silhouette. Had he decided that Alais was a good deity? Could he have been deluded at the sight of her beautiful appearance as to decide that a good deity was capable of raising dead armies from death?
People exhibit mental blindness at the sight of the beauty of angels. Rumors reached Alais that Michael was fooling the heads of mortals to use them as his puppets. She appeared in Memphis to put an end to this. From now on, humans are just her puppets. It is everyone, starting with Menes.
Menes founded a kind of cult of worship in his palace for the deity he once met. The wall paintings vividly displayed the story of how the pharaoh had met a deity in the desert. Alais could hardly recognize herself in the drawings. Human artists could not convey angelic beauty as well as human sculptors. The golden statue in the niche looked only roughly like Alais. Bundles of flowers were fragrant at its foot. Some worshippers were already praying to her. The appearance of the living deity came as a shock to all.
Listening to people’s thoughts, Alais learned that Menes had declared himself a living deity as well, and that all future pharaohs should be worshipped as gods as well. Apparently, the treaty with Alais had had this effect on him. Menes decided that by accepting help from the deity he himself had become related to the gods.
The dead serpent crushed by Urey also became part of the king’s symbolism. Now Urey was a wreath in the form of a serpent, which the pharaoh himself wore.
Menes was waiting for her. Alais sensed that he was counting the minutes until she arrived. His heart was beating like a caged bird. Why does people’s heart beat so hard when they want to behold a deity? Alais always kept her cool, even as she flew into battle in the heavens. Today, for the first time, she was nervous. The image of the handsome, swarthy warrior who had lost his army did not leave her memory. Now she would see him again. Only now he is not a wanderer, but a pharaoh. She cannot bestow upon him more than she has already bestowed upon him. You could say she put him on the throne. Angels are not supposed to share their power and authority with anyone, but she did. She went against heaven again. Pharaoh is her proxy.
The doors of the throne room swung open before her. Fanciful ornamentation on the doors repeated the story of how a destitute pharaoh had actually been adopted by a desert deity. Now all pharaohs are considered children of the gods.
Alais entered the throne room and was embarrassed for the first time. Instead of the handsome young man she remembered, some old man sat on the throne. The luxurious pectoral, Urey, and wig could not hide his ugliness. It wasn’t Menes! Alais recoiled from the insignificant man who happily extended his arms toward her. This is some kind of impostor. There are wrinkles stretching across his skin. He is not attractive at all. Jewelry is the only attractive thing about him. And then there are the eyes! Alais was stunned to notice Menes’ beaming eyes on his wrinkled face.
So this really is him? But why had he changed so much? What had happened to him? Was it Michael’s jokes? Did he take away Pharaoh’s beauty so there would be no one to be jealous of?
Menes sent away the slaves with their lampshades and the courtiers who had brought some reports. He wanted to be alone with the deity.
Alais’s first impulse was to fly away from here, winging away. The changed Menes was her first great shock since she’d fallen to earth.
“Didn’t you know, mistress?” Remy held her back. “People get old!”
“Are they aging?” Alais didn’t understand what the word meant. It had never been applied to angels. “What do you mean, they grow old?”
“Time breaks down human bodies,” Remy began to explain patiently. “The longer people live, the more their physical makeup deteriorates. The skin dries and wrinkles, the body becomes weak – this is called old age. There is no such process with angels.”
“Has anyone tried to reverse the process?”
“It can’t be reversed, it can only be completed. It usually ends in death. Once a person is too old, he dies. But Menes isn’t too old,” Remy hovered like a blob of darkness over Alais’s shoulder, whispering in her ear. “Pharaoh is sixty years old, if I’m not mistaken. It is not yet the latest phase of old age. But you have come just in time to see the ruler alive.”
Alais didn’t listen to him anymore. It turns out that people are even more fragile than she thought they were. Such a concept as aging shocked her. Angels didn’t grow old even after hundreds of thousands of years, but humans take half a century to shrivel up and turn into living relics. How awful!
So the beautiful warrior with the blue-black hair will never come back to her again. Menes is here, near, and at the same time he is gone. There is an old man on the throne.
Overcome with disgust, Alais walked over to him, leaned over the throne, and hugged him lightly.
“I have come to take what I promised,” she whispered. “From now on you and all your descendants serve me!”
Pharaoh said nothing against her. He had no intention of bargaining from the start.
“Does this mean you’ll never leave me again?” He said, almost triumphantly.
“Yes it does,” he nodded, “but perhaps you won’t be happy about it.”
The beginning of the reign
She was wrong. Menes had many problems that only a god could solve.
“I have long been planning to build you a temple in the middle of the desert, but I cannot find the place where we first met,” Pharaoh said. “The temple must stand there, and the pilgrims must come to it in droves with gifts and petitions.”
Such pomp was not part of Alaïs plans. Why would she want a temple in the middle of the wilderness and crowds of worshippers?
“Let’s leave it for later.”
“It would be too late for me.”
Alais glanced at Menes’ wrinkled hand touching her shoulder. Indeed, he’s running out of time. His body is deteriorating. Old age is taking its toll. It’s a good thing angels don’t age. Though can’t the way they are burned be compared to old age?
At the thought of those mutilated wingless angels still crawling in the deserts and eating lizards, Alais felt sick. How is it that she feels the pain of her legion as if it were her own? Why had her all-encompassing love for the angels only awakened in her when they found themselves defeated and mutilated? Is this nonsense? Or is it punishment for rebellion? Love is like a knife in the heart.
Her feelings for Menes also began to awaken gradually. He proved to be clever. Alais began to respect him. Would he be gone in a couple of decades?
Menes didn’t think of himself as old. He was still out hunting. He seemed to love hunting hippos. She guessed it’s not hard to hunt with an entourage. The aged Pharaoh’s body was still mighty, but it was no longer beautiful.
As a member of the angelic race, Alais valued beauty above all else. The strong feelings awakened to the mutilated creatures struck her herself. She now knew that old age disfigured humans no less than heavenly fire had disfigured her angels.
Could Menes be made young again? And why would she need to? Just to have a servant who is pleasant to look at?