It was a clash of climates. Njord, the Vanir god of the sea, stood on the deck of a Viking longship entering the Nile delta. He brought the North Sea weather with him—gray hail and biting winds. Covenant's Storm.
Isis stood on the papyrus reeds. She wore the sun disk. She was the mistress of all magic.
"Your wind is rude," Isis shouted over the gale.
The Storm-Breaker
Njord laughed, his beard full of icicles. "The sea goes where it pleases!" He raised his hands, and a massive wave rose to swamp the delta. Noatun's Calm (inverted).
Isis didn't panic. She knew the secret nature of things.
She raised the Ankh. She spoke.
Utterance of the Secret Name.
She didn't speak to Njord. She spoke to the water. She spoke the true, primordial name of the Wave.
The water froze in mid-air. It didn't turn to ice; it just paused, obeying a higher authority. Then, gently, it lowered itself back into the riverbed.
"The wind," Isis continued, speaking another word of power, "will now behave."
The biting northerly gale instantly transformed into a warm, scented breeze.
Njord lowered his arms. He looked at his calm sails. He looked at the sorceress. He realized he was outmatched in the subtle arts.
"Well played," Njord grunted. He tossed a chest of amber onto the shore as tribute. Isis nodded, and tied a Tyet Knot of protection on his mast, allowing him to dock in peace.