Servant of the Gods (18 page)

By morning the dream was forgotten.

In the chamber above, Djeserit rejoined Banafrit and the others as Banafrit consulted with the other priests and priestesses, looking from one to another.

“She sleeps,” Djeserit said, not wanting to think about how sweet Irisi had tasted.

It was the battle all Sekhmet’s people fought, the blood madness that could consume them, damn them for all eternity. The thirst. It was a double-edged sword, healing on one hand…and on the other? When the Goddess herself had gone mad, she’d nearly wiped out mankind. It had taken Ra himself to end what he’d begun.

Now, though, they faced another equally dire threat…or perhaps a greater one. She’d recognized Irisi’s wounds, and knew the taste of that particular poison. Where Sekhmet had almost wiped humankind out, the dark Djinn would enslave them, turn all of humanity into cattle… including her own people.

Who would stop the Djinn, who answered to no Gods save when they chose?

Nodding in response to Djeserit, Banafrit looked to the others. “Is there a way to fight Djinn, other than with magic alone?”

The shock of her words reverberated around the room. It was repeated by one or another of the priests and priestesses, their horror reflected on their faces

“Djinn?” Awan repeated, his expression dumbfounded and horrified.

Kahotep stared at her, appalled.

“Djinn,” Banafrit confirmed.

Kahotep let out a breath. It was beyond imagining.

“But,” one of the other, lesser, priests said, “Djinn are never found together.”

“They are now,” Banafrit said. “And they face a good part of the army of all Egypt. Who will go with me?”

Scrambling to make sense of it, Kahotep said. “No single weapon or spell will defeat them that I know of, but they can be killed, with much effort. Fire and salt will weaken them.”

He looked to Banafrit. “I’ll come.”

“As will I.” Taking a slow deep breath, Djeserit added, “My people may be nearly as strong as Djinn. You’ll need that strength.”

Certainly Sekhmet’s blood-thirst was nearly the equal of that of the Djinn. It was a bitter thought.

That strength wasn’t something she spoke of often. Like the blood-taking, it was something those who served the Goddess Sekhmet didn’t discuss, as it tended to stir…distress…even among other priests.

Worse, though, to put her people in the midst of so much bloodletting, to give them prey that would challenge them, stir up the bloodlust? Which would be worse in the end?

Djinn.

She sighed.

Nor could they send simple soldiers to do battle with the things alone. At least the priests and priestesses with their magic had some chance against the Djinn.

“Is this then the prophecy come to pass?” Nafre asked, tremulously.

Looking out into the growing darkness, Banafrit said, “I fear it may be…”

Following her gaze, Kahotep spoke simply but certainly. One word only, dropped into the growing darkness.

“Yes.”

In the courtyard more than a dozen men and women waited patiently, volunteers all, as Banafrit had requested. Guards and healers. Reluctantly, she turned away from the warmth Awan offered in the bed beside him with a sigh. Their fingertips touched, their fingers twined briefly, and then Awan let his beloved wife go, as he must.

However much he hated the necessity, not all of them could go. As High Priest of Osiris, he head to stay.

Curling into the sheets, he watched as she prepared, brushing out her long black hair until it gleamed nearly blue-black in the dim morning light, painting her face as carefully as she did for the Goddess. She dressed lightly, but for battle.

He feared for her, although he didn’t speak of it. She didn’t need to hear it.

Banafrit, he knew, had Isis’s magic…but against Djinn? Even she was vulnerable.

Then he looked out in the courtyard, into the golden morning light and smothered a smile.

It seemed Banafrit wouldn’t go alone after all. And he knew that the one below would defend his beloved Banafrit with her life, prophecy or no.

Seeing his gaze shift, Banafrit looked down into the courtyard again as well.

Irisi stood waiting patiently, her lovely face pale, her golden hair nearly glowing in the pearly light, her swords strapped to her back. The bandage on her leg, peeking out beneath her shift, was stark white in the pale glow of dawn.

All four lions ranged around her. One lolled at her feet, the lioness’s huge paws waving in the air, looking for all the world like any common house cat asking for a belly rub.

Idly, Irisi reached out with a foot to comply.

With a small chuckle, Banafrit sighed in resignation. It was useless to protest. She knew Irisi would follow even if she forbade it. Prophecy or no, Irisi would come and Irisi had yet to be told of the prophecy. Come she would, then, but not as a warrior, not if Banafrit could help it. This time Irisi would come only as a priestess of Isis. They’d risked their one hope quite enough for Banafrit’s taste.

Banafrit went down to the temple where her priests and priestesses prepared her adored Goddess for the morning. She looked up into Isis’s benevolent face, nodding a greeting to Saini as he read from the scrolls, welcoming the Goddess to the day.

Oddly, he didn’t look at her, his gaze shying away.

The gesture was disturbing, but there was no time to ask about it. She’d become aware of tension between Saini and Irisi. Saini had made assumptions he shouldn’t have. It would need to be straightened out, and soon, but with all else that was on her mind she kept putting it off. The last thing she needed or wanted was a confrontation at this moment. It seemed she couldn’t put this one off much longer, though.

Another time, then. She would speak to him about it later. Once they returned.

Bowing her head, she sent a prayer to the Goddess, seeking guidance, strength and aid.

Her chariot and Irisi awaited her. As did Djeserit and Kahotep. Save for Irisi, few folk rode. Horses were better suited to chariots.

Irisi looked at her, one foot still rubbing the lolling lion’s belly and awaited permission.

The look held, before Banafrit smiled and shook her head in amusement. “Do they come, too?”

Irisi looked at her lions.

“Nebi did well against the Djinn,” Irisi said, quietly. “And they are children of Sekhmet, too, after all.”

It pained Irisi to put them at risk, but Nebi had fared better than she. His wounds had healed better and quicker than hers had. Sekhmet looked after her own.

They would need to use every resource they had.

Khai and the army were out there, facing a horde of Djinn. She owed him much, or so she told herself.

“Very well,” Banafrit said, eyeing her acolyte.

This next would be difficult. If the prophecy was true and Irisi was the one they awaited, the one who would save them in the end, they must needs keep her as safe as they could against the time when they would need her. There was too much risk among those who fought the Djinn face to face. They’d already come too close.

“But if you would come then you must leave your swords behind.”

Startled, Irisi could only stare at Banafrit in shock.

Without her swords. The very idea… Irisi felt…vulnerable…without them. She took a breath to protest.

“There will be warriors enough, Irisi,” Banafrit said, gently, a spell sending Irisi’s swords to her quarters. “It’s the priestess of Isis they’ll need, not another warrior. This day you fight with magic not metal.”

Which all was also true.

If this was the day of the prophecy, they would know it soon enough, but if Irisi was their only hope they dared not risk her again so close to the enemy until they knew for sure what her role should be, or all might be lost.

Although Irisi rarely carried them in daily life anymore, for this she felt nearly naked without her swords.

She also knew that what Banafrit said was true…

But Khai and his people were out there facing a multitude of Djinn.

It was also clear that Banafrit would not be moved on this. Irisi nodded.

Turning her head, Banafrit looked up at the veranda outside her rooms and found Awan standing there, his familiar and beloved long, thin face more grim than usual, his strong spare body a comfort to her. Her heart ached as she looked at him, wondering if she would ever see him again.

Even so, she signaled to her charioteer. The chariot driver shook up the horses.

Awan watched until Banafrit’s chariot disappeared around a corner. He didn’t know if he would see either his beloved wife or Irisi again, and a small tremor of fear whispered through him. A fear he couldn’t banish.

Darkness washed across the desert toward the army counter to the wind. It ran over the flats and flowed over dunes like water. In it those who watched – Khai, with Akhom, Baraka and the Army of Egypt around him – saw the myriad, ever-changing face of the Djinn, shapes and forms that shifted and twisted. As that horrific shadow grew closer it became easier to pick out the individual forms, if they would only have stopped shifting from one to another. Ifrit, ghul and marid changed from men to hyena, smoke to men and other things... Ghul changed from man to animal, ifrit from hyena and back, sila according to their very nature – they who were the smoke, the fog, concealed the others. Only the marid were vaguely human in form, with two arms and two legs. Some appeared as men…uncommonly handsome men, strong and armed with swords like any others. They had little else in common.

Others had clearly once been men. They moved like disjointed puppets, arms and legs all akimbo as they staggered and stumbled amid the others.

It was disturbing to look upon.

Standing on the rise, Khai, Akhom, Baraka and their aides and lieutenants watched as the Djinn came across the desert.

Darkness flowed into day, shadow swallowed light.

Akhom could only stare, shaking his head in disbelief and yes, horror, before his jaw tightened.

It was his duty, his honor and responsibility to defend Egypt. Defend her he would against whatever came, man or demon. Even against such as these.

His resolve made their numbers no less daunting.

“How many do you estimate?” he asked, looking out over the mass of Djinn that boiled within the smoke and shadows.

With no separations by division or group, it was hard to judge.

Baraka glanced at him sideways. “Two thirds of our force, perhaps?”

Tall, slender and wiry, Baraka was an intelligent man, his gray eyes unique among their folk but sharp. His voice was unusually deep. Where the charioteers were concerned, Akhom knew him to be a more than capable general. A good man in the estimation of most. if it weren’t for his unfortunate association with the Grand Vizier, Kamenwati.

Encouraged, Akhom concurred.

“Don’t underestimate them, my lord General,” Khai cautioned, remembering the brief battle at the fort. “They’re more formidable than you may think.”

Khai feared his words fell on deaf ears, that Akhom sought reassurances no man who hadn’t seen the Djinn fight could give.

Standing beside Akhom, he looked out over what would soon be a battlefield. It did their men credit that the line didn’t waver an inch in the face of what came.

Ululating cries, eerie and chilling, and a thin sound like and yet unlike the baying of hounds, shattered the silence.

His heart sank despite himself even as he willed his resolve to strengthen.

Then came a sound that lifted his heart as no other could have, although he had no reason for it – the familiar screeing cry of a hunting falcon. It was a good omen, a sign of Horus’s blessing. To his astonishment, another echoed the first. A third gave voice as a thrill of excitement sent goose bumps racing over Khai’s skin.

He looked up, as so did the army.

Their jaws dropped in wonder as not one but a whole flight of falcons flew over them, dozens of them, maybe hundreds, casting a shadow of their own that clashed against that of the Djinn.

In all his life Khai had never seen so many of the birds flying together. It was against their nature to hunt in numbers more than pairs. He’d never seen anything like it. It was incredible. Nothing else could have spoken so much of Horus’s will in the matter.

Across the battlefield, their men stared now, too, some pointing upward.

From behind them another familiar sound echoed – deep, throaty growls that became snarling roars, the sound of hunting lions in pursuit of their quarry.

Four of the great beasts raced past them, bounding through the army, two shaggy-maned males, two females, racing past the men toward the front lines. Some staggered back in fear but the lions were far too intent in their purpose to be distracted.

Only one person came accompanied by lions.

Khai’s heart lifted even more as he smiled.

Now perhaps they had a chance.

He, Akhom and Baraka turned.

They came fast and riding hard, a dozen or more priests and priestesses of Sekhmet in their familiar reddish kalasaris. Their chariots flanked a central group and one solitary mounted rider. Irisi’s brilliant hair flagged in the breeze like captured beams of sunlight. Her kalasaris and shift were so white they were nearly blinding in the sunlight. She rode as if she’d been born to ride on horseback.

Beside her rode High Priestess Banafrit herself, with the priest Kahotep and priestess Djeserit to each side of them.

Kahotep, the High Priest of falcon-headed Horus. The priest gestured, and the falcons circled.

Behind rode dozens of priests and priestess, temple guards, healers and warriors.

Irisi had indeed brought help, just as she’d promised and just barely in time.

Looking up at the falcons gathered in the sky above them, at the enemy spread before them, Akhom suddenly found he couldn’t find fault with the unexpected presence of priests and priestesses.

This then was the true might of Egypt, its people, its army, its priests and priestesses, fighting for all.

As they drew near, those of Sekhmet parted around Akhom and the other generals. Dismounting as their chariots came to a halt, they ran with astonishing speed toward the front lines with bows and swords in hand to take their places among those there.

Her head high but throat tight, Djeserit watched her people go with pride.

With a slight bow to Akhom, Banafrit said, “My lords General. We’ve come to lend what aid we can.”

“Any aid you can render will be much appreciated,” Akhom said. “Do you know a way to stop those things?”

Banafrit shook her head, noting in one corner of her mind that General Khai seemed distracted, his gaze going past her shoulder to Irisi standing behind her… Priestess of Isis that she was, what she saw in his expression was clear…and interesting… Was that the way of it, then?

Well
, she thought in surprise and pleasure.

She liked the handsome General. He was a good man. Irisi was far past the age to have found love and be wed, nearly twenty and four as nearly as the girl herself remembered, and yet there had been no one for her.