Two Eyes Cenote necromantic dancing

Ghosts haunted their halls.

Akhtar feverishly painted, slathering the walls in murals that had no beginning and were not yet ending. He was consumed in the fervor, he did not sleep, he did not eat.

For three days he carried like this. The third night, mouth dry, paws shaking, he stepped away from his murals and stared, unseeing, at the great ibis facing him from the dark. It inclined its head, and vanished when he blinked.

I’m seeing things. He declared to the midnight air, leafen bowl near falling apart when he shoved his paint-matted paw back into it.

can cats see ghosts and gods? fictionalized,

the cat can see them.

they sit curled almost on top of the priestly paw, their eyes dilated to a thousand degrees as they stare at the proud figures of dead wolves prowling around the ceiling.

now the Ibis is given a quiet "mrowl." the cat is up! they trot toward the corner, for the Ibis clicks its beak and beckons.

don't toy, Thoth.

i'm not!

the pumpkin eyes blink once. 

he can't see you and you know it.

and what does that matter?

i'm fond of him. find your fun somewhere else.

such a spoilsport, Bast! you always were!

the cat stares at nothing, flicking their tail in annoyance against the ground.

The priest moves shakily, nosing the bowl further down the wall. Akhtar’s eyes were glassy, his ears tilted to hear the scrape of pawpads across the ground.

Little Bast.

His head turns, to witness the dark shadow of a creature staring into the shadows.

What do we see, blessed one? His voice is a rasp, a hiss. In this night where the land of reeds casts its river through the cenote, Akhtar feels the eyes of those long past prickling at his fur.

Perhaps his parents are here, gliding past their son.

His eyes catch on what seems to be dark scales and he flinches back-!

It’s nothing. A shadow. Akhtar presses a paint covered paw to his chest.

What do we see? He breathes into the air, his legs giving out and bringing his haunches to the ground with a great thump.

a long blink.

you see nothing.

the cat kneads their paws against the wolf man's shoulder. they want to hear his breathing slow, the fear dissipate.

the cat rises. they stand and walk off, meaning to leave the underblue of the palace for the true glow of a desert night.

the wolf man will follow.

Bast begins to leave, and Akhtar’s voice strangles in his throat.

What leaves him is a reedy little sound, the croak of a frog, but he scrambles to shaking legs to follow. He feels the press of grasses, phantoms of things that do not exist.

Some night creature howls in the distance, and Akhtar’s teeth itch to hear it. He speeds his step to walk beside Bastet, the priest walking in tandem with the god.

The reeds press close. He mumbles in an offhand aside, paranoid eyes darting to and fro.

the cat purrs to soothe the dog man.

he is so fearful. he is ripe with it. this was unbefitting his place.

the cat is unafraid. bast fears nothing.

a crevasse looms in the side of the white mountain. the cat looks to the priest. 

they are swallowed by darkness, tail flicking follow.

The sky bleeds.

He can see it, a distant orange casting a ghoulish light upon the moon. He walks through the reeds, feeling them touch his chest, his stomach, his flank.

Ahead, a golden barge cuts through the night. He averts his eyes, knowing it is not for his mortal sight. A crocodile looks at him from the bank, secondary membrane rolling over its eye. A lioness raises her head from a meal and wipes gristle from her maw with a sandpaper tongue. A massive scorpion duels a hippopotamus.

Akhtar observes it all with only the dull notion that priesthood won’t save him if he missteps.

Ahead, Bast seems to stretch and change, adapting into a dark panther.

The goddess beckons. The priest follows.

the dog priest follows.

the gods test you.

bast can see him in the dark. Bast can taste his fear. it is goatish and unbecoming.

you must accept.

a turn. another. black to grey to the seeming pulse of bloodspill light. moonlight fills a room without a ceiling, turning a thousand studded red stones to the color of old wounds. 

what do you see?

He cannot hear the cat, but he knows the pressure against him. A thousand eyes, seeing him, peeling his skin back to look inside. The gods watch.

He puts his fear into the pit of his belly and stands tall. It is a clever disguise.

I will accept what you show me here!

He calls into the dark, the dark does not speak.

He sweats in place.

it was him.

the priest somehow would see his own face, a wall of polished stone.

when is the last time you looked at yourself? into yourself?

the round eyes blinked.