Servant of the Gods (35 page)

There were murmurs of approval from those assembled.

Only a few cringed at the notion, including Awan himself. He looked to the other priests and priestesses, including Irisi. Her expression stark, knowing, even she nodded.

“And so, the Horn must be sealed safely away, where even a thief cannot steal it, the Djinn held where they cannot do us harm, and a guardian set so none can penetrate to release them once again. So the world can be safe from the depredations of the Djinn and Kamenwati justly punished for his crimes in a way that doesn’t release his control of the Horn, before the Djinn mass again for an attack we cannot defeat…”

The room went still as Awan spoke the fear none of them had yet dared raise.

Khai took a breath. Only he had dared.

He looked to the King. Who knew it as well.

If the Djinn were to mass and attack that very day, the army would fall. The last battle had claimed too many men, they were far too few. Of that Khai had no doubt and so he’d informed his King.

His eyes went to Irisi.

It had been Irisi’s fear as well. And if so, Khai would go to fight it as he must, though failure was certain.

The thought made her heart ache...

“Even now, we struggle to contain them. If they come again in any force,” Khai said, looking around the room, “the army will almost certainly fall.”

There was a collective gasp from those assembled, all eyes staring at him.

What he didn’t tell them, for fear of panic, was that it would be more than a year before the army would be ready to face any kind of force. Egypt was vulnerable as it had never been.

They’d lost too much and too many in that battle, more than men, but knowledge and skills as well. It would take time to replace the men, to give them that experience...

Especially with Baraka gone as well.

“And yet prophecy guides us,” Awan said, carefully, and slowly.

Khai went still.

The prophecy…

Something in Awan’s voice, a heaviness, sent a chill over him.

Khai’s eyes went to Irisi, sitting suddenly so still, like a statue. She might have been carved from purest alabaster. This day she’d let her hair down. The gilded shimmer of it gleamed around her shoulders. Her blue eyes were so sharp, so clear.

His heart caught.

Irisi heard it, too, the sense of inevitability in Awan’s words.

She looked to Awan, even as the weight of his words, the sure knowledge of his meaning, settled over her, and the hands of fate came to rest on her shoulders.

He’d laid his case before them, brick by brick leading them down this path. And yet, it was the only solution.

Echoing Kahotep, knowing what it was he did, Awan intoned, “A darkness rises, O King, 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.”

To Irisi it was as if each word were a hammer sealing the lid of her sarcophagus over her, even as the truth of them rang within her, and so she kept her silence.

Even Narmer went still… The implication took his breath away.

The other advisors nodded, heedless of the personal price another would pay for their safety, especially those who remembered the prophecy when it had first been spoken. Relief and hope were on their faces.

If the embattled people of Egypt knew of it they would demand it, too, Narmer knew.

Even or especially those who’d made no sacrifice at all as yet, in fear of having to do so. Could he blame them for not wanting to consign their sons and daughters to such a destiny? He thought of his own son and prayed he’d never face such a trial, or such a decision.

Narmer was not so blind that he hadn’t seen what passed between his General and the High Priestess. And yet, it seemed he would be forced to ask for another kind of sacrifice from them. His cousin had much to answer for, and his fate seemed less terrible with each moment Narmer reflected on it.

“To stand against the darkness for all time,” Awan repeated. “So the prophecy says.”

He paused, torn, but he could see no other path.

“There is a way. It doesn’t have to be forever. Their power, Kamenwati’s power, must surely fade over time. And they would each and all have the choice to return to the grace of the Gods.”

“How?” a voice demanded.

A dozen faces turned to Awan in hope, while others went still.

Kahotep’s heart clenched.

Of this Awan had said nothing, nor could Kahotep deny it… He felt the force of prophecy as much as he wanted to pretend he did not.

Her eyes closed, Djeserit wanted to refuse it as well and couldn’t. She’d already lost one beloved friend to fate, now she would be asked to surrender another.

Awan’s voice was steady, for all the abiding grief in him, for his beloved Banafrit, and now for another. “It can be done…”

Irisi’s throat tightened and her breath caught as the net of reason and logic closed ever more tightly around her.

Everything Awan said was true. She and Khai had talked of it late into the darkest hours of the morning once the Djinn attacks had begun. His fears and hers…but never this.

The arguments continued, but to an inevitable conclusion.

Knowing nothing of what it truly meant, the councilors were strongly in favor of it.

Khai argued desperately and found his own words turned against him. Nor he could deny them.

No matter how they argued, the conclusion remained the same…

The Horn must be sealed away where it couldn’t be found, the Djinn and Kamenwati with it, and a guardian set over all so neither could be unleashed on the world again.

Irisi’s breath came short.

Suddenly she felt cold, and rubbed her arms against it, but couldn’t dispel the chill. Her throat was tight. Her gaze went to Khai, longing for his arms around her, but she knew even he couldn’t warm her now.

Nor could she deny the simple truth of it. This was what the prophecy had meant all along.

She’d seen what had been left behind in Aswan after the Djinn… She’d been to the sites of the recent attacks as both High Priestess and healer.

The dark Djinn couldn’t be allowed free…

If all their fears were true…there was no choice at all.

“Prophecy has spoken. There is only one,” Awan said, “who is both priest and warrior, who holds both swords and crown. … A guardian who is both warrior and a servant of the Gods.”

All eyes turned to Irisi.

Staring across the bowl of garden outside her chosen tomb, Irisi reflected that she hadn’t thought she would see it again so soon. It was still beautiful, a precious cup of life hidden amidst the stone in the heart of the desert. The palm trees waved in the breeze from the escarpment above. Around her grass grew thickly, in rich greens and brilliant golds.

What creature or chance of wind had brought the seeds for these here
, she wondered.

It gave her something to think about other than their purpose here.

Four marble pillars stood, larger and higher than she’d anticipated, each imprinted with the cartouche – the ran or name – of her lions. Ashai’s doing. Grief whispered through her. She didn’t know his true fate, only that none had seen him since the first attacks by the Djinn. The southern fort had become a nest of dark Djinn and so had been abandoned rather than risk the lives necessary to reclaim it.

Nebi nosed at Alu’s pillar before spotting something in the grass beside it and pouncing on it. Real or imagined, Irisi didn’t know. She smiled. The others were exploring.

Then Khai was beside her, sliding his arms around her waist to draw her into his arms. She was glad he did; her knees were oddly weak.

She looked up into his dark eyes as she slid her hands over his shoulders, feeling the sun-warmed skin beneath her hands, seeing the pain and the love there as he must see the same in hers.

Khai wrapped his arms around her as her arms draped around his neck. She pressed her face against his throat. His tightened his arms around her. He heard the sound of the others coming and loosened his grip. He looked into her blue eyes and bent his head to give her a quick kiss.

Taking a steadying breath, Irisi welcomed the warmth of Khai’s mouth as she touched his face briefly, her thumb brushing across his bottom lip.

All save the new architect waited respectfully, but the architect’s impatience was nearly palpable.

With a glance of wry resignation at Khai, Irisi let out a breath and nodded. Her hands were cold. She clenched them together.

Awan hesitated, his heart wrenching each time he looked at her, even knowing she’d accepted that it had to be done.

They all did. The attacks by the Djinn increased daily.

Irisi looked at him.

She couldn’t fight this, nor could she deny it, that was useless.

“Tell me what it is you plan,” she said, Khai at her side as they walked into her tomb in the wake of the architect, who was already striding ahead of them.

Her courage nearly broke Awan’s heart.

Progress had already been made, the floor leveled, the walls smoothed and plastered. Painters were at work on the hieroglyphics, trying to finish as quickly as possible. She wouldn’t need them for some time, she hoped… But someday, perhaps… Someday she could begin her journey to the afterlife, and see Khai again once more. At least when he passed, and she prayed that his passing would be a long time coming, he could see and watch over her.

The thought gave her a measure of hope.

She knew part of what was planned, if only because she’d participated in the basic rituals herself.

Some of it she could guess, but out of respect, Awan, Kahotep, Djeserit and the other priests and priestesses hadn’t discussed the details of what was to come and they didn’t now.

Anticipation would make it no easier, no better. It would not be easy.

It was Kahotep who spoke, finally, his voice as even as he could keep it.

“The lower chamber, the one we didn’t explore on our first visit, is quite large as we thought. That’s where we’ll call the Djinn when the time comes and we’re ready.”

He looked to the architect, Sinuhe.

“I’ve been assured the entrance to the chamber can be closed, securely?”

The man nodded, impatiently. “The gates are iron, as you instructed, a great deal of iron, banded with silver and gold to seal them, but they
will
close, and the locks
will
secure them.”

Iron to hold the Djinn, Isis’s silver and Ra’s gold would fortify them, while a series of measures would insure the doors would not be opened easily.

“Kamenwati will be interred in the chamber before it, with his Books and his canopic jars stored in niches within the final chamber,” Awan said.

The sacred Books couldn’t be destroyed and so had to be hidden. The changes Kamenwati had made to the spells were too dangerous and explained too much of what he’d done. No other would be allowed to repeat them.

“Once he’s ready, a signal will be given to the one with the Horn. That one will blow the Horn, summoning the Djinn. Once the Djinn have entered, we’ll close the doors and seal them. It will have to be done quickly.”

The implications rang through Irisi’s mind – the reason for the quickness – but she wouldn’t think of it, her breath clogging in her throat at the thought.

Below them they heard the workmen setting the great iron doors, others in the passageway to the lower chamber, and yet still more outside.

A gentle hand rested on her shoulder.

Awan.

“This room will be prepared for you, for the time when you can set down your swords and join us in the afterlife,” he said, his eyes soft.

She let out a breath, smiled a little.

At least there would be that.

Someday.

“You know the spells you’ll need?”

Irisi nodded. She’d memorized them while they rode, to be sure of them.

Without them…

A thought occurred to her.

“Who will blow the Horn of the Djinn?” she asked.

For that person it was a sure death, their chance of passage through to the afterlife much diminished without the Book of Emerging into Daytime to read from, to give them instruction for their safe passage through the underworld. Ironically, that one would be buried, in a way, in the soil of Egypt…but their fate once they stopped blowing the Horn, trapped with the Djinn…

Even with her own fate known, that thought made her shudder.

Below she could hear the scrape of metal, the thud of mallets pounding the pins for the hinges into the holes in the rock that had been prepared for them.

Other workers moved around them, setting the pillars for the figures of the Gods. The Gods would stand here to aid and guide her, and as further seal and protection against what lay below.

Carefully the priests and priestesses of each brought in the precious statues wrought of precious ivory, stone or carved wood, painted and gilded so each seemed almost alive, and set them in their appointed places around the room.

They chanted, calling to the Gods, waking them…

It was going so quickly but that was probably best.

Around her more priests and priestesses swarmed, laying out the things she would need for her journey to the afterlife, should she ever achieve it…

The plates and dishes for the food she would need, the coffer that held her jewels, a fine new kalasaris…

Khai slipped his hand into hers, finding her fingers cold now as they rarely were.

She glanced at him gratefully.

As much as his heart cried out that this couldn’t be and shouldn’t be, he couldn’t stop it. Not now.  There were moments when he just wanted to snatch her up into his arms and carry her away somewhere where they couldn’t do this.

There was nowhere they would go in any case, and nowhere they could, that the Djinn couldn’t find them.

If the Djinn weren’t checked here they would find them sooner or late anyway as the Djinn spread…and then he and Irisi would fight them alone…

In honor neither of them would, not least of which because of all the deaths they would carry on their souls.

It was their duty, their honor. It was the King’s order, the fate of all of Egypt, and all of those outside of it, in their hands.

Once word of this reached the people of Egypt – and it had – there had been no stopping it. They clamored for protection, for security, and prayed to the High Priestess for help.

No other solution had been found.

If Khai could have stood in Irisi’s place he would have, but he hadn’t been chosen by the Gods of Egypt, he wasn’t a priest, nor did he have magic…and so he could not.

No more than he could leave her alone with this, however terrible it would be for him to watch…

In answer to Irisi’s question, Kahotep shook his head. “We haven’t chosen that one yet. We thought to do it by lot, a drawing of straws…”

An unfamiliar voice behind them said, quietly, shakily, “I will do it.”

They all turned.

Irisi’s breath caught as she saw the one who spoke. Her heart ached at the sight of him.

“Saini,” she said, softly.

The older Healer looked battered and disheveled. He wore little more than a grimy loincloth. It was clear he hadn’t eaten for some time, he’d grown much thinner, nor had he been grooming himself. He was filthy.

Her heart went out to him. Whatever punishment there might have been for his aid to Kamenwati, it could never match what he’d done to himself.

When Irisi’s eyes settled on him, the kindness and sympathy in them made Saini bow his head in shame. He wanted to grovel but he didn’t. He’d come for a better purpose.

Learning what they meant to do, he’d followed their train out into the desert, alone.

He lifted his eyes to meet hers.

“I’m sorry, my Lady Irisi,” finally naming her title as he should have from the first. “Give me this task. It’s only right.”

No one could have denied him that, nor would they.

If the Goddess Ma’at were kind it would perhaps even his scale with her, if he ever reached her to be judged.

Irisi looked at him, and then laid a hand on his shoulder. She looked into his eyes.

Saini met her gaze as steadily as he would. No worse torture was there than his own thoughts. He would blow the Horn, and keep blowing until Egypt was safe once again.

Irisi tightened her hand on his shoulder, understanding, and nodded.

She desperately needed fresh air.

A new addition stood in the garden outside, a stele, stood tall on a low pedestal.

Coming around to look on the face of it, Irisi’s breath caught once again.

It was so strange to find her face carved there, a good enough likeness that it was like looking in a mirror. She stood frozen a moment. There were slots in the pedestal base for her swords.

Her mouth tightened involuntarily, feeling the weight of them at her back.

As was proper the priests and priestesses feasted with her that night, and although she couldn’t eat, she was allowed to drink wine – heavily laced by Djeserit with the water of life and herbs both calming and preparatory.

Irisi, tasting them in her cup, gave her friend a grateful glance. There would be more laced wine in the early hours of the morning. For now, she didn’t want to drink too much or too deeply, but both the wine and the herbs eased her enough so that when they retired to their tent she could think only of Khai, her beloved husband, on this their last night together.

She wanted only to look at him, to gaze into his dark eyes to find the traces of gold there and to touch him, running her fingers over his face, tracing his beard and lips with her fingertips. She ran her hands over the strong muscles of his chest, curling close to feel his body against hers one last time.

Grief tore through her.

Khai looked at her, his beloved Irisi. His throat was tight as he caught a strand of her silky hair in his fingers and let it run between them. He looked into her face, so beautiful to him, and into the sky-blue eyes that had haunted him from the first, wanting to touch and hold her again. To possess her once more. And forever.

As if she’d read his mind, she opened for him, her legs tangling around his as he filled her. Her smile was radiant, and his breath caught at the beauty of it, of her, of the feel of her…