Servant of the Gods (24 page)

Nor would Paniwi allow Kamenwati or any of his people anywhere near the child.

Wisely, as he had to concede. Even so a burst of anger exploded through him at the thought. Such interference was infuriating.

So be it.

If not by fair means, then by foul, as his vision had foreseen. He’d tried patience, had tried more subtle methods but he was getting no younger. If he were to see the throne of Egypt his, he would have to move, and soon.

Assassination hadn’t worked and now there was this child. An heir.

His cousin the King was now the inconvenience. Another assassination attempt though was foolish. It was too dangerous. He risked turning the people of Egypt against him. That was always unwise. Not when he had another alternative in mind – one that would give him another weapon as well if it worked. A whole army of them.

If the King were to die in battle, then he, the Grand Vizier, would be Regent over Paniwi and the child. Not quite King, but young boys were impulsive, prone to accidents and illness. It was easily managed once all other obstacles were removed and once proximity gave him access.

For the King to die in one, there must then be a battle.

And if Narmer survived?

If he couldn’t have Egypt by guile, Kamenwati would take it by force. Although none would know it…for now circumstance would determine whether he would appear either as savior or conqueror.

And after Egypt…

He turned.

Secure in iron cages were two Djinn, a ghul and an ifrit. Both glared at him in impotent rage and frustration, each in their own true form – roughly manlike without their glamours.

From the shadows stepped the marid Djinn, in the shape of a beautiful man, his features unblemished, perfect, from the smooth expanse of his forehead to his lush lips. Only his dark eyes betrayed his nature. Coal-red, a spark of fire eyes glowed within those eyes.

Tonight they would summon a sila and then Kamenwati would have representatives of three of the lesser Djinn trapped. All that remained was the greater Djinn, the marid… beautiful, wily marid. But he didn’t need to summon one as he was already here, although this one didn’t know of Kamenwati’s plans for him as yet. Nor did he need to, he would discover it soon enough.

On a table nearby sat the last and final piece of Kamenwati’s vision, the method with which he would command. It was bound now in supple ropes of copper – not the gold of the Ra’s sun nor the silver of Isis’s moon but blood-red copper – and studded with rubies as bright as drops of freshly spilled blood, black diamonds, black pearls and pieces of jet.

It was a beautiful thing, for all its dark and deadly purpose.

Tonight the sila.

It would take a great deal of concentration and skill to bind the creature to Kamenwati’s will, a great deal of power, but he was almost there.

Only then, at the time of the blood moon, would he bind the last of them to it.

Then darkness would truly come…and this time it wouldn’t flee.

The desert to the south and west lay before them, a broad expanse of hot sand and stone that spread around the funeral party. Soon in the far distance, they would see an immense dark wall of sandstone towering against the horizon, standing against time and the desert. There had been little time for Irisi to settle into her role as High Priestess, nor would she truly yet, there was this one last duty she would do, must do, for Banafrit – send her on her journey to the underworld, to the land of Osiris and thence to the afterlife, where she would await Awan.

So it was Irisi found herself riding southward once again at the edge of the deep desert toward the Southern fort…and Khai.

Chariot wheels rumbled over the sand as the wind blew against the towering, waving palms, their leaves rattling, and Thebes fell behind them again.

She’d sent word ahead to those now manning the fort to warn them their party was coming.

To her right rode Awan as both High Priest of Osiris and Banafrit’s husband.

Awan’s grief, for all it had been quiet, had been and was both profound and terrible. All the more so for understanding that, in light of the prophecy, his beloved Banafrit’s death had been inevitable, although he hadn’t spoken to Irisi of that prophecy yet.

For in order for Irisi to be the crowned servant of Kahotep’s prophecy she must first be High Priestess. As she now was.

It was no fault of Irisi’s, Awan knew. He loved her like one of his daughters and if that part of the prophecy were true, then more grief and sorrow yet awaited all of them. And her.

At Irisi’s left rode Kahotep, with Djeserit and Rensi, High Priest of Anubis, the escort of the dead, to her right. Behind them trailed the lesser priests and priestesses who’d served Banafrit over the years.

Among those now unseen and far distant granite and sandstone cliffs was the sacred place Banafrit had chosen to pass into the afterlife. Preserved by Irisi’s spell, there in that sacred place they would begin the process of mummification, to set his beloved wife on her last journey, putting Banafrit’s feet on the first step of her path to the underworld. It was a consolation to know that she would be watching over him and their children soon.

The knowledge of that place, along with so much else of Banafrit and those who’d gone before her had settled finally and firmly into Irisi’s mind.

Which brought to her mind another question to which she needed answers.

It was time for her to hear them.

Frowning a little, Irisi took a breath and turned to Kahotep as they rode.

“Tell me of this prophecy,” she said quietly.

Eyes turned to her, and not just those of Kahotep. Djeserit looked at her with concern while Awan’s hands went still on the reins to his chariot.

Irisi glanced from one to the other of them, awaiting an answer.

All had gone still save Kahotep, who eyed her in assessment.

Kahotep met Irisi’s gaze as she studied him with those otherworldly eyes, fairer and clearer than those of the nomads that wandered to the north and west.

It came as no surprise to him, and shouldn’t have to the others, that she would ask. It had been inevitable. Banafrit’s knowledge would have passed to Irisi as her chosen successor. He’d expected as much, he simply hadn’t known when she would ask.

While she had Banafrit’s memories, she would still need to hear this from him herself.

As it should be. It was his responsibility, on his shoulders lay the duty to tell her.

“It came in a dream on the night before Narmer’s coming of age and official naming as heir to his father’s throne,” Kahotep said, remembering that day all too well.

As with Irisi this day, he’d only just come into his position as Horus’s High Priest, above all the others.

He could have wished Narmer would have been older when his day had finally come, and more settled, with his heirs around his feet, but it was not to be.

“As will be done for this new heir, on the day he comes of age.”

The memory was so clear.

“Stars shot across the sky that night. The vault of the sky was ablaze with them. That night was full of light, an auspicious evening, full of portents. A night of a full moon, too, though it had not yet risen. And there were the stars. So many of them scattering across the heaven that the eyes were dazzled. One couldn’t see them and not know they foreshadowed something great and terrible. It was a night of magic and prophecy.”

He sighed with wonder, remembering.

“We knew then that Narmer could achieve greatness…”

 He paused as once more the vision swelled within him.

“If he survived this trial he would unite all of Egypt beneath one crown, and pass that on to his son…” Again he sighed. “But first he would be tried. We would all be tried…”

His heart shuddered in his chest.

“And if we failed? Darkness. A darkness as great and terrible as Narmer’s greatness would have been.”

None among them could not but see it, caught up in his Vision.

“A dream and a prophecy,” Kahotep said, his resonant voice nearly a whisper, and yet still it rang out across the desert. “This is what I saw… this is what I spoke…this is what I know…”

He paused. He could see that vision once again, so clearly.

“A darkness rises, O Pharaoh, to be unleashed upon the world. It comes as a shadow rising from the desert to lay waste to all Egypt, scouring the earth as it passes. Death and destruction follow in its wake. 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.”

Like a bell, his words rang over the sands.

Kahotep could still see it, the figure of his dreams radiant, blindingly bright, a light against the darkness, holding the shadows at bay.

“One with hair of gold and eyes the color of the sky, bearing Isis’s crown.”

A shiver went over Irisi as he spoke, a sense of foreboding. Prophecy. The weight of what they expected from her settled over her shoulders. She let out a breath.

Banafrit had believed that golden one of Kahotep’s vision to be her. Clearly Kahotep did as well. How many of the others did Irisi didn’t know.

Servant of the Gods – all priests and priestesses were so called. A crowned servant was the High Priest or Priestess who ‘wore the Goddess’s or God’s crown’, the ones who spoke for the God or Goddess. Crowned by Isis. In other words, the High Priestess.

And now Irisi was High Priestess,

Letting out a breath, she nodded.

To stand against the darkness. What did that mean? She had the oddest sense of having seen or done something like it, if only in dreams. It was an oddly disquieting thought and gave her a great deal to think about on their journey. She wasn’t sure how she felt about any of it. A thread of uneasiness touched her.

And if it were true?

What else could she do? She would face whatever came when it came. What else was there? People needed her. She had her duty…

She was grateful to see the walls of the fort rising ahead of them late in the day, anything to lighten her thoughts.

And Khai was there.

With a smile, Irisi flicked her reins, urging her horses onward. Beside her chariot, her lions loped in easy rhythm.

The fort was a much different place than she’d seen only a few short weeks past. Much had changed; even the very atmosphere around it seemed different.

Khai had wasted no time in refitting it.

His efforts were easier to see as they drew close. Smoke from cook fires rose into the air to be tugged away by the breeze while soldiers patrolled the walls and manned the once empty towers again. Signs of life.

Normal life.

Even so, she couldn’t help but feel a little apprehension as she rode through the gap in the first wall, past that first gate and then defensive wall beyond it, remembering her last visit. No bodies of men and Djinn were scattered by the gates, cleared by Khai’s men no doubt, nor did greasy smoke and hideous shadows slip from out of the walls to surround them.

It wasn’t until she saw the soldiers going about their everyday chores, though, that she truly relaxed.

Over by the barracks men honed their swords, repaired weapons harnesses and sandals, or fletched arrows. From somewhere nearby, beyond the first buildings she heard the clear sound of soldiers drilling. On the walls above them the people of the army talked desultorily, the wind snatching their words away. Sunlight shone on them.

It was all so normal…

A movement at the door to the commander’s quarters caught her eye, sending a shiver through her until she saw Khai at the doorway.

Her breath caught and something warm went through her at the sight of him.

In relief, she smiled.

He wore only a simple pleated kilt, the uniform of any common soldier, his skin tawny in the sunlight, his upper body and legs bared against the heat of the day. The beauty of him, of his face and form, made her heart stop in her breast. He smiled to see them, to see her, his teeth so white against his golden skin, and then her heart did stop.

If only…

He came to greet them, reached to take the reins of her horses.

Irisi smiled down at him, her throat oddly tight but her heart lifting as their eyes met.

It didn’t matter how many times she saw him, he was still beautiful to her eyes, his dark eyes glinting with gold, meeting her look as a smile touched that full mouth. Something in them sent a pleasant shiver through her.

“Welcome,” Khai said, his gaze traveling over them all. “We have places prepared for you.”

A gesture from him brought soldiers running to take their horses, allowing those riding chariots to disembark. They led the lesser priests and priestesses who had accompanied the main party to quarters at the back of the compound while the high priests and priestesses remained in the forecourt.

“My Lady Irisi,” Khai said, inclining his head respectfully.

His  greeting was perfectly proper for the High Priestess but his eyes warmed even further as they found hers again. A better greeting for the woman she was.

Letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, Irisi bowed her head in return.

“General Khai,” she said, her voice soft.

Khai raised a hand to help her down from her chariot.

He’d been waiting for most of the morning, watching from the cool shadows of the commandant’s doorway, his eyes on the soldiers on the wall for the moment when they saw the distant visitors and for the view he would see between the two sets of walls.

Even so, after the days away it struck him once again how beautiful and exotic Irisi was with her long golden hair rippling like liquid sunshine and those incredible eyes, framed now by kohl, brilliant and lovely. Her features were fine and pure, save for the slight crookedness of her nose, the result of an ill-timed blow when she’d fought in the ring.

Dressed in a simple white pleated gown that swung and swayed around her body, with a low collar beaded in lapis and gold, she took his breath away.

Setting his hands around her waist, he lifted her down from her chariot as the others dismounted around them, and his people took those horses away, too, to the stables.

For a space of moments, a bare breath of time, it seemed time stood still as he looked down into her eyes, and then the horse shifted and moved as a man came to take it.

Khai’s hands were warm and strong around Irisi’s waist, and if they lingered for just a moment too long no one seemed to notice but her.

She took a breath, looking up at him.

“Things have changed since you were here last,” Khai said, recalling himself as he gestured around them.

He was proud of what his people had accomplished.

With a smile, Irisi said, “It’s quite amazing, my Lord Khai. They have indeed.”