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Young Rhiannon in the Temple of Isis Part 1

Hello dear readers. As you know, the entire Wings in the Night Series is re-launching with a book every two weeks and a brand new bonus story in the back of every one. These, taken as a whole, will tell Rhiannon's origin story,

Life being fun, and never dull, we had a snafu right off the bat. (Pun intended!) Book 1, TWILIGHT PHANTASIES was missing its bonus story for the first day or two it was on sale. We quickly uploaded the correct file, with the bonus story, which you can get by re-downloading the book. But that's a pain in the butt, so I'm posting it here.

To be clear, the other bonus stories will not be posted or free anywhere. They WILL be released on their own once they are all done. But that could take some time because I'm writing them as I go along (one-handed because, did I mention, I broke my wrist?)

Releasing 25 or so stories at two-week intervals will take about a year, and that's when the stories of Rhiannon's childhood will be completed. After that they might become a book of their own.

And now, with apologies for our opening day snafu, here is...






Rhianikki stood in a straight line with the other five-year-old girls, and not even at the front of the line. They were all dressed the same, too, in white linen dresses with straps over both shoulders. No apron, no gold adornment, no precious stones. Our sandals were woven papyrus with long, pointed toes that curled up and back around—every pair, just the same.

I hated it!

We’d been told to line up here, in the temple garden, which was rife with fruit trees, fragrant herbs, and flowers of all sorts. There were twisting stone paths all through it, with wider stone floors for gathering. It was was open to the summer sky above, but surrounded all all sides by the gleaming Temple of Isis. Walls made white stone blocks bigger than I, blazed like the sun itself when the rays of Ra hit it just before sunset.

In the garden’s center was a fountain with a pool at its base. A golden statue of Isis stood on a raised stone dais as tall as a person, her wings spread wide. Her face, arms, and flowing skirt were carved of smooth black onxy. Her glorious wings, skirt, arm bands and headpiece, pure gold. Water flowed upward, as if by magic, bubbling out around her feet, tumbling down into the circular pool below.

Priestess Elana, a beautiful, dark-skinned woman with long black hair that hung in a thousand braids, stood before us. She wore white linen too, but the front of her dress was pleated. Over one shoulder, she wore the red sash of the temple, and around her waist, the girdle of her station, a black cord with shot through with threads of silver and gold.

Priestess Elana walked slowly in front of us, pausing to examine each of our faces for long moments. When she came to me, I gazed right back into her eyes and did not blink. She did, though, and then she moved on.

“You have been given by your families in service to Isis, and to this, her temple. How you serve here reflects upon your family’s honor.”

My family. I seethed at the word. I was firstborn to Pharaoh, but my mother died. My father said that tainted me. He had taken a new queen, who had born him twin sons. At first, I had adored the babies, despite their incessant squalling. But soon, my father had sent me away from the palace to serve in the temple. His heirs, he said, would be the new Queen’s sons, in order of their birth.

A breeze stirred the air, and I heard the ringing of chimes as the beautiful priestess went on.

“You must not be angry with your families for sending you here,” she said, and her words caught my attention despite my rage. “Gifts to the Goddess must be the finest and the best we have to offer. The first fruits. Anything less would offend the goddess and invite Her wrath.”

I tilted my head and listened more closely.

“Only the best, the most gifted girls and boys are sent to serve the gods. You are special, each and every one of you.”

Some more than others, I thought, looking at the girls around me. None of them had divine blood. I was born of Pharaoh, a god himself, if a cruel and shortsighted one. I would be ten times the leader those mewling runts could ever be.

“Here you will learn of the gods, their stories and their history. You’ll learn how to properly serve them, and you will learn the secrets of magic.”

My head swiveled toward her and I blurted, “Magic?” Then I clapped a hand over my mouth. My father would have slapped me interrupting, had he been the one speaking.

But Priestesss Elana smiled at me. “Yes. Magic.”

Something in her eyes spoke to something in mine, but only for a moment. It was as if she recognized my greatness already. “That is all for now. You may enjoy your breakfast here in the garden and then we will begin your lessons.

I saw servants carrying trays laden with fruits and breads into the garden. These, they placed on flat topped onyx pedestals.

The girls around me scattered, rushing to gather all they could carry. Some even used their skirts to carry more. Each went to the fountain, to offer the very best piece to the goddess before finding a spot to sit and eat their own. I alone stayed behind, watching them.

“You are pensive, Rhianikki?”

I was stunned at Priestess Elena’s familiarity. “I am called ‘my lady, my sun, my princess,’ or ‘my goddess.'”

“Yes, by those who served you in the palace. But here, you serve. In that way, you are equal to the rest of us here.”

I blinked very slowly, because her words made no sense to me. None of the people here was my equal. Not Priestess Elana—not the High Priestess herself. I was no longer convinced that even my father was my superior, having made the sand-headed decision to send me here.

To serve. Ha!

“You are only five years old. You will come to understand, in time.”

Oh no I would not. But maybe she would. “I will eat now.”

“Yes, you may get some breakfast.

“I was not asking.” I lifted my chin as I went toward the nearest tray of food, the ridiculous sandals slapping the stone as I walked. A mountain of fruits and breads made from the grains grown along the banks of the Nile awaited me. I took the very biggest, most moist looking slice of bread and brought it to my mouth.

“Rhiannikki wait!”

I froze, thinking there must be a wasp about to sting or a cobra about to strike.

It was the High Priestess herself who’d shouted, I realized as I found her with my eyes. She had come out into the garden, and stood near the fountain that splashed endlessly by whatever magic lived in this place. Her hair was long and jet black, shot through with white as if she’d walked through a forest of spiderwebs. She wore it in a single braid that fell across her right shoulder. Her skin was sun-bronzed and wrinkled. She was making her way toward me. Both red and gold sashes crossed over her linen dress, one over each shoulder, draping well past her knees, and her corded girdle looked to be mostly made of gold threads. In spite of it all, she still wore the stupid papyrus sandals. Apparently there was no hope of graduating past them here.


She raised her eyebrows where light and dark seemed to be at war, maybe due to the note of impatience in my tone. “We give offerings and thanks before we eat. The gods must always be fed first. No doubt you chose the very best slice of bread. Bring it along, over here.”

She turned, pointing. The statue of the great goddess stood there, wing and arms open wide. She looked like me, I thought. There was a basket on the dais above the water, for offerings.

As soon as High Priestess Naiya turned and started toward the Goddess, I swapped my bread for a different slice.

She looked behind her. I held the bread in my palms in front of me, and looked up at her with as much innocence as I could fake. Her eyebrows bent low, but turned around again and kept walking, and I followed.

We stopped before Isis. High Priestess Naiya bowed deeply. “Accept this offering, O great goddess Isis, lady of the dog star, eye of Ra, adored by men, envied by women, I offer you the finest part of my meal. Thank you for providing for your people, oh great Isis.” Turning her head slightly, she said, “Repeat.”

“Oh mighty Isis—”

“Oh great Isis,” the high priestess corrected.

“Mighty is a far superior word to great.”

She blinked down at me, then lifting her eyes slightly, looked past me. I glanced over my shoulder in time to to see Priestess Elana, her hands over her lips in an effort to hide her smile, but I could see it clearly in her eyes.

“Nonetheless, child—”

“Princess,” I corrected. And then I repeated her stupid words verbatim,