Young Writers Society

Deep in the frozen heart of Ordadus, tucked in the warmest room of the ice pyramid, Repharaoh was trying to fall asleep. His servants hovered flickering torches back and forth across his body, the orange glow approaching and receding across his face like waves on the sand, catching glimpses of a craggy, pale face, with thin eyebrows and hollow cheekbones, and a forehead that was creased with frustration. A short and neat plaited beard protruded from his chin, and a dusting of charcoal on his eyelids glimmered metallically.

When a spark skipped from a torch to his skin, his eyes opened and even in the orange glare, the irises were undeniably and brilliantly violet, sparkling with malice. The servants cowered and averted their gazes, whispering their apologies. 

They had long since been conditioned to respect and fear the color purple, most especially with the pharaoh.

With an angry huff, Repharoah closed his eyes. His long body was draped on a couch cushioned with mangal wool, and his head rested on a pillow stuffed with the fur of llargo tails. It was so comfy (save for the errant sparks) and he felt so content that for a few minutes he forgot what he had been brooding about. Instead he thought about his pillow.

Repharaoh was very proud of his pillow, which was called the Repillow, as he had come up with the invention himself. Llargos made wonderful pets, but in the crowded pyramid, their useless, ugly tails were apt to wag violently and knock over things. So, early in his reign, Repharaoh had ordered that all llargo tails be docked. Not wanting the tails to go to waste, on a whim he requested that a pillow be made with the white, fluffy fur.

He hadn’t used another pillow since. Many of his brothers and his eldest son also enjoyed the luxuries of their own Repillows, and he expected that many great pharaohs to come, reclining in their rooms, would praise him for his brilliance.

But...would it be enough? No, of course not.

Repharaoh: the god of pillows. Hah!

With that his face turned sour again, and the frightened servants glanced at one another, wondering what they had done wrong with the torches to displease him.

Repharaoh had returned to brooding over the one simple fact: he wasn’t a young man anymore, and he didn’t have much time left to leave a mark on Ordadus. He needed something that would help him be remembered and adored for eternity, like the great Cropharaoh, god of the Iris Code and of the stars, or Ipharaoh, god of white faelks, or Thopharaoh, god of llargos. He often wondered what it would be like to starve in the afterlife because no one bothered to pay their respects at his shrine of pillows.

Despite the torches, he shivered. He himself visited the most well-known shrines frequently, as did many others, to sacrifice a mangal or even the occasional faelk colt. But there were many, many shrines for forgotten pharaohs whose altars were half buried in snow, and whose sacrificial fire pits were mere chalices of ice.

Of course, the Repillow wasn’t his only accomplishment. The problem was, he was rather drowsy and couldn’t actually think of any of the others. There were others, surely, but...he was asleep before he could remember any.

Suddenly, his brother Husani burst into the room. “Pharaoh!” he cried. “There’s a new star!”

Repharaoh, jolted awake, thought he had only dreamed Husani’s words. But when he cracked his eyelids open, he indeed saw his brother in the room, his face flushed with color, so excited that he wasn’t even kneeling. Repharaoh ignored the offense, and sat up on his elbows. “What did you say, Husani?”

Husani had to take a moment to catch his breath. “Amosis was the first to see it - a new star. I’ve seen it for myself.”

Repharaoh scrambled from his couch, scattering the torch-bearing servants in his haste. “Great Cropharaoh!” he said. “Where is it?” He felt a little dizzy, having risen so quickly, and had to lean against the wall, cold and icy as it was.

Husani’s expression darkened slightly. “Between dodeks two and three, unfortunately. At this time it’s almost night there. Chances are the Earthling is already dead, or will be soon.”

Repharaoh straightened himself and smoothed the front of his robes. “Well,” he said, “there’s only one way to find out.”

As he issued orders for a search party, Repharaoh tried to remain calm, but - Great Cropharaoh! - his heart was drumming madly, and his hands were quivering in excitement.

If the Earthling survives, this might just do it, he thought. This might just do it.