SHORT STORIES

The Asp

The gardens of the palace are populated with shading trees and statues of the dead and animals I have never seen. The stone back of a lion is warm and pleasant as I lie against it, soaking up the sun. The breeze off the sea swept through the grove and over me, bringing the scent of fishing boats, unrest and bad omens. Lifting my head to meet these smells, the sound of a scream from inside the palace rang out, echoing through the columns. Intrigued, I slipped down from my place and make my way up to the palace. Up dusty steps and through dry, rustling grass, I make my way into the shadow of the building. I have never done this before, the cats that lie around the palace always made me nervous, they too have long, needle like teeth and are fast when they are not being lazy. Weaving my way thought the halls, I can smell the anguish, like the scream is still echoing, radiating out for me to follow. A great sorrow is pulsating over me, I can feel it getting stronger as I chase after it. I am not usually so nosy, but this is such a strong emotion, I cannot help but find out who is feeling it. It is like the striking of Ra's staff, rippling out, hot and consuming. I am deep in the palace now. I stop, the tremors of foot steps vibrate up though the stone. I rush to the shadowy corners of the halls and hide. A woman in fine clothing runs past, clutching her dress so as not to trip over the hem. I shoot across the floor and into the room she has just left. Another woman lies upon a bed. Her chest heaves with heavy sobs and her face is hidden by her left hand, her wrist musical with golden bracelets. Her hair is twisted up and upon her brow, an ornate band of gold. I move closer, eager to see her face for it must be beautiful too. Up the legs of the bed, I find my way into the sheets, hiding among the cushions and embroidered linens. In her right hand is a letter. She holds it as if it is the body of a small bird, careful and barely grasping it. She lifts her head from her hand and glances at the letter. Her eyes do not move, she is not reading it. She simply stares at a single sentence. I crane my neck in an effort to see it.

"He is dead"

A glittering tear makes a path down the curving incline of her nose. I am frozen in place, her dark eyes, although stained red with tears, are so divine in shape and depth I cannot move for shock. Paralysed, my gaze falls to her bowed lips and her golden skin, like the pots made from the clay of the Nile. She lets out a shaking breath, so full of grief, my heart swells and breaks for her. Made foolish by my transfixion by her, I move closer still, out of my hiding place. She does not notice me yet. Her head rolls back, her hair breaking loose of its pins and falling down her shoulders. She lets out a soft cry and the tears meander and split away like forking streams down her neck and onto her breast.
"How can I live without him" She wails to the walls. I yearn to comfort her. If only I had hands to hold hers with, lips with which to speak soft words to her.
Suddenly she sees me. Her eyes snap to mine, ceasing her weeping for a moment she looks almost scared. But something shifts in her gentle features and she smiles just a little. I am unable to move, so scared and so taken aback. Her eyes, dark as unmixed wine, stare into mine. And in her human language, not so different sounding to mine, she raises her eyes heavenward and mutters a prayer.
"Isis guide me, let me be with him in the Duat"
And her slender fingers reach for me. Still frozen, my heart beats faster, what is she doing?
Her hand wraps around me and at once I am out of my hypnosis. I struggle and twist, trying to escape. Her hands are warm and her grip not too tight. I wrapped my tail around her fist and cease my fight. She was stronger than I could ever be. She brought me to her neck. She smelled of charcoal, honey and the oils of flowers. She whispers, the warmth of her breath rushing over me.

"Please, dear asp, bite me and end my pain"

I could not, I would not. How could I infect her? Pollute her body with my attack. I could not kill something so powerful, so beautiful. Her eyes were closed, she awaited the blow, the sting of my teeth. I could not. My body was still in her hand and I felt her grip become tighter. I could feel my lungs squeezing together I could not breathe. I squirmed, I would not strike her. More tears were rolling down her face as she squeezed tighter and tighter. She knew she was hurting me. I knew what she was trying to do. I thrashed my tail against her wrists, how could she make me do this? I wished I could cry out, scream for someone to stop her.
But snakes cannot speak and they cannot scream.

My heart thrummed against her palm, my breath escaping my hissing mouth. I could no longer bare it. I could not stop myself and I tasted her flesh. Her blood filled my mouth and the sharp flavour of my venom passed through the pierced spot. She gasped at the pain, her hand released me and I flickered away, back into the sheets. I watched in horror as her eyes opened. Her hand went to the bite, a red welt upon her breast, seeping blood and venom. She looked to me and smiled softly.

"Thank you"

But her voice was not as before. It was like the wind through the olive tree, rasping. She lay down beside me, her head on the cushions. She closed her eyes and I watched as she began to die. She looked peaceful, as if only asleep. After what felt like a lifetime, I could smell her blood slowing down, her heart becoming quiet. If snakes could weep there would be a new Nile flowing from the eye of an asp. I heard footsteps and knew I needed to be gone from this place. I looked one last time at the still face of the queen. My face to hers, my tongue flicked over her lips, a kiss the only way a snake knows how.

Some time after the screaming of the handmaids had stopped. After the many dark nights of weeping. After I managed to get the taste of her from my teeth. I had tried to escape the thought of her. I had not killed a human before. These people respected me, they wore my likeness upon themselves and painted images of my kind on their houses. I had had no reason to end one. But in those days that had passed I had made my home away from those beautiful gardens. Somewhere where the flowers were different and where the honey bee did not make its hive. I could not bare those scents any longer. Even the suckling foal made me think of her. Each night as I closed my eyes to sleep I saw that last smile. I tasted the carmine on her lips. The salt on her breast from her tears.

Oh, why an asp?