Servant of the Gods

Servant of the Gods

By

Valerie Douglas

Published by the author as a member of the

Alexandria Publishing Group

Servant of the Gods Copyright © 2010 Valerie Douglas

Cover art by Mallory Rock Art

Formatting by RikHall.com

Discover other titles by Valerie Douglas

Fantasy

The Coming Storm

A Convocation of Kings

Not Magic Enough

Setting Boundaries

Heart of the Gods

Romance

Dirty Politics

Directors Cut

Irish Fling

Two Up

Nike’s Wings

The Last Resort

Dedication

To Trey and to Bay, who were faithful Alu and Nebi in life

to Erin and Angela, without whose assistance this book wouldn’t exist

and to Mateo and Maria, who kept me believing

Egypt, 17th Year of King Narmer’s Reign, Early Dynasty

Torchlight flickered over the stone walls of the immense cavern, bathing them in a soft golden glow. That light danced over the massive figures of the Gods, giving the faces of the statues the appearance of expression. It illuminated as well the faces of the priests and priestesses gathered around the stone pedestal that served as an altar. The air was pungent with the scent of burning incense. Chanting echoed throughout the chambers, a sound that rose and fell, a low atonal hum that resonated in the bones.

Mummification had never been intended for use on the living but it was as it must be and none of those gathered there could gainsay what was about to happen. Not General Khai, nor any of the priests and priestesses of the Gods, nor even the High Priestess Irisi herself. Who were they to second-guess the Will of the Gods?

Irisi could not and would not.

It was as the prophecy had decreed however much they wished to deny it. Kahotep’s prophecy, he who was High Priest of Horus, the Falcon-God whose Eye saw everything.

“A darkness rises, O Pharaoh, to be unleashed across the world. It comes as a shadow rising from the desert laying waste to all of Egypt, scouring the earth as it passes. Death and destruction follow in its wake, and the cries of the people of the world are terrible. From the north comes a warrior, a crowned and golden servant of the Gods with eyes like the sky, bearing swords in hand to rise up and drive the terrible darkness out of the world, and to stand against it for all time.”

That shadow had risen and the battles had been terrible. Now they had a chance, one chance, to end it. Here.

Servant of the Gods. Irisi was that, she was priestess to both Isis and Sekhmet. To stand against that Darkness for all time? What was prisoned in the chamber below would live forever. And so, therefore, must she. There was no other way, and there was no other to do it. Only she, both warrior and priestess, could, however terrible it was.

And so, this.

To have any chance at success, Irisi knew only that she must accept her fate without protest, willingly, she must give it both her Ba and Ka, her heart and soul, to the Gods and so she steeled herself to face it. Even as that other below, Kamenwati, did not. He fought them, writhed and screamed in protest, in outrage. He chanted spells against them even as Awan, High Priest of Osiris, Kahotep, High Priest of Horus and Djeserit, High Priestess of Sekhmet struggled to contain him and his terrible magic. In the back of Irisi’s mind she chanted the words of the two Books she knew so well, the Book of Life, known only to the priests and priestesses of the temples…and the Book of Emerging in Daytime – what some called, wrongly, the Book of the Dead.

Of the priests and priestesses, only Rensi, High Priest of Anubis and gentle Nafre, priestess of Hathor, stood with her in the upper chamber. Representatives of their Gods, each had their task. Rensi made certain the rites done this day were done as they must be to keep Irisi’s soul alive against all the odds and to preserve her body in the hope that someday she might reach the afterlife.

Nafre gave comfort to help ease her passage.

And then there was Khai, her beloved Khai.

She looked up at him from where she lay on the cold stone of the plinth.

Her breath caught as it always did when she looked at him. He was so beautiful and she loved him so much. Her heart ached at the thought of leaving him.

Gleaming black hair streamed in shining waves to his shoulders and framed his strong, handsome face, high cheekbones and beautiful, long-lashed dark eyes. Deep within those dark brown eyes was the hint of warm gold she knew so well. There was grief in them, the sure knowledge of what they were about to do to her. She knew what it cost him to stand aside and watch, how little he loved to feel helpless, but for once his strength and courage could avail him nothing. This was for her to do, and her alone.

She longed to touch him once again, treasured the memory of his hands on her, his body against and a part of hers. The thought was bittersweet. In that Kamenwati had succeeded, he’d kept them apart for so long. Surely the Gods wouldn’t deny her this much? In her heart of hearts she felt the sweet benediction that was the blessing of her Goddess Isis who, having lost her own beloved Osiris for a time, understood her fear and her pain at having to give up her own beloved.

Here, finally for this one time and with these trusted few around them, they could do as they’d wished for so long to do openly.

Kiss.

While Irisi had been Kamenwati’s slave, that hadn’t been possible. Or while under his threat. Only that had kept Irisi away, the sure knowledge that Kamenwati would kill Khai had he but known of their love.

His lips touched hers, so warm, the feel of them firm but gentle, a soft caress.

Reaching up, Irisi touched Khai’s stern, handsome face for one last time even as the sharp pain of the reeds lanced through her wrist, her ankles. She wouldn’t cry out, not looking up into that beloved face. It wasn’t in her to make him suffer any more than necessary. She loved the Gods, she loved Egypt her adopted home, but above all else she loved Khai. It was only for her duty, for Egypt and its people, and the people of all the lands she’d known, that she would leave him.

The Gods understood.

As did he.

“You are Nife-an-Ankh to me,” she whispered, “and Nomti…I love you. I will always love you. Forever.”

Breath of life and strength he was to her. Her heart.

She’d loved him from almost the first moment she’d seen him that long-ago day in the desert, standing surrounded by her dead and his. He’d offered her honor, then, as one warrior to another. She loved him for that, for his honor, courage and for his great heart.

He was beautiful to her in all ways.

“Irisi,” he said and lowered his proud head to hers.

Khai looked down at his beloved Irisi laid out upon the altar and wanted to cry out his denial of what was to come but he could not. Leaning over her with one arm braced on the stone he touched her face, looked into her lovely eyes, at the glorious length of her hair as it spilled over the sides. So beautiful, so alive…

Breath of life and strength as she was to him as well.

Blood flowed through the reeds, her blood, drained out of her… her lifeblood. The rich coppery aroma filled the air, mixed with the scent of the herbs in the Water of Life as it was drawn into her.

It must be and they both knew it. She was the one who must go and he the one who must stay.

Egypt needed her only surviving General.

Irisi’s successor had already been chosen.

Slowly, he touched his lips to hers, the kiss soft as the priests and priestesses chanted around them. Her hand was warm on his face as their lips found each other. Grief lay heavy on his heart. Duty lay heavier. He couldn’t bear to let her go, and yet he couldn’t keep her, however much he wished it. He, too, served the will of the Gods. And he could see no other choice, no other way.

The herbs, the potions, flowed into her, burned in her veins. Irisi fought the pain with warmth of Khai’s lips, so long forbidden, on hers…and with the surge of love that washed through her.

“Irisi,” he whispered. “You are my heart.”

As he was hers but she could no longer speak the words or else break the chant that echoed endlessly in the back of her mind.

The stone of the altar was cold and the chill seemed to soak slowly into her flesh.

Around her Irisi could hear the chanting, the minds and voices of the priests and priestesses raised in support of her and of those who fought below, mixed with the drone of the Horn in the chamber far below.

It had taken some little time for Irisi to achieve the semi-trance state necessary to endure what was done, yet some of the pain and the weakness seeped through to batter at her will. As did the will of the creatures in the darkness of the chamber below – the magic of the Horn and her own will, joined to these others, was all that held them there. She dared not falter.

She felt her lifeblood drain swiftly away even as she felt the embalming fluids flow in; the natron and herbs bit sharply into her veins. The fluid burned as it went but she turned her thoughts away from it as she turned them away from the other things the priests and priestesses did.

Her arms were folded across her breast with a hand on each shoulder and bound so tightly with lengths of linen that she could barely breathe. Her hair was coiled up as the cloth was wrapped around her throat, and then around her head to cover her mouth and forehead. All but her eyes.

Cold fluid brushed across her belly, followed by numbness. Something pressed just below her breastbone. There was a sense of invasion as they finished wrapping her body in the last long lengths of linen.

Warm liquid soaked her from collarbone to feet. It drenched the linen and stung sharply in the cuts they’d made.

A cry echoed from the darkness below. That, too, fell on deaf ears.

She bit back her own cries. Fought the sense of being constricted.

Khai…

Remaining still by an act of will, she kept her eyes focused on his dark ones, sought the gold within them, the warmth in them even as her own drained away. His will melded to hers, lent her the strength she needed to do this as the weakness grew within her until he stepped back as, finally, he must.

Her heart hammered in her chest, drawing in the sacred herbs, natron and fluids through her veins even as it pumped her lifeblood out. Mixed among the herbs was the blood of the one who lay below so she would be bound to him and he to her.

The last length of linen went across her eyes.  The light disappeared behind the linen to take her down into darkness.

Pain flashed, sharp, sudden, within her to leave a sense of absence, a stillness within her.

It would go quickly now, and she was grateful for that.

And it did.

She felt them raise her to carry her swiftly out.

A coughing roar echoed down the tunnel that led outside. They followed that sound, she knew.

The lions, her lions…gifts of the lion-headed Goddess Sekhmet when that Goddess had turned her away and sent her to Isis’s service instead. They would come with her during her exile, to keep her company through her long duty so she wouldn’t be utterly alone.

Watching, Khai bowed his head and looked away as they tipped her up, for he couldn’t watch as her linen-wrapped form slid with a splash of the Water of Life into the hollow in the stele they’d prepared for her.

He could wish this had been done in sunlight as Irisi was and always had been a creature of light and not darkness.

His light…

Irisi.

Grief burned. If only he could have gone in her place…

He could not, he was no priest, he had no magic, nor as Egypt’s only surviving General could he leave his country and its people undefended any more than Irisi could have refused this.

Duty and honor wouldn’t allow it.

He laid a hand against the cold stone, listened as the hammers beat above him, pounded the sealing stone into place with steady rhythmic blows so much like the sound of a heartbeat. Sealing the stele with Irisi inside it. What was it like for her in there, in the darkness filled with the Water of Life?

Like drowning.

He willed her the strength and courage to endure. Like the beat of her valiant heart, each blow of mallet on stone reverberated, echoed from the distant walls, to whisper back over the grassy hollow within them.

Above, through the narrow break in the cavern roof Khai could see the stars glitter coldly.

Desperately, instinctively, Irisi’s lungs sought air. Her body fought…even as she clung to trance, to will, to the spells in her mind, to the endless mental chanting of the words from the Book of Emerging into Daytime – the Book of the Dead.

She had to hold against the grief and the fear, the close space that enveloped her. What lay below, him and them, battered against her will.

Khai was still here, though, her beloved Khai and these others she loved, Awan, Kahotep, Djeserit, all the priests and priestesses with whom she’d served over the years. Even poor Saini in the distant chamber below, seeking his redemption, watching as the last faint light disappeared as the doors shut on him to seal him in among the Dark, among Them…