Servant of the Gods (37 page)

Khai would miss Nebi’s faithful presence as well. He’d become accustomed to having the great cat at his side, watching his back when Irisi could not…

Grief shot through him, nearly driving him to his knees.

Irisi…

Gone but still here…forever…

He stepped outside entrance to her tomb…

With levers and effort, the priests and priestesses rolled the great outer stone into place, sealing it forever.

Or so they hoped.

Time passed.

Within the tomb there was only the stele, stillness, and time…standing guard… Days passed, months… Years.

The physicians could tell Khai nothing he didn’t already know. His time was short. He found he couldn’t grieve for that. In fact, he was almost eager for it.

He looked out the window of his estate house to the south and west. It wouldn’t be long, but he couldn’t be sorry for it, or mourn. He’d given three sons and a daughter to a widow who mourned for her husband as deeply as he did Irisi. All she had missed of her husband had been children and so he’d given them to them both. His sons were strong and skilled, his daughter a warrior. He took pride in that. They would see that he was laid to rest as he wished.

Years before, but not long after the Djinn had disappeared, he’d contracted with Sinuhe the architect to build him a tomb. It stood just at the entrance to Irisi’s. If he couldn’t protect her in life, he would protect her as much as he could in death.

So his own tomb awaited him outside hers.

Awan, of all the priests, had preceded him in death, joining his beloved Banafrit at long last, as Khai longed to join his Irisi.

Of all the statues commissioned of him, every one showed the empty place beside him, all showed his undying love for her.

And though he knew Irisi still lived, in a way, at least now he could watch over her, guard her, or at least the entrance to her tomb, and that of the Djinn.

It was midday, but the light grew dim.

Khai sighed.

His children appeared at his side. His daughter brought his sword to him, laid it at hand.

Looking at her, his Kemisi, he smiled and clasped her hand.

He loved her well, as he loved his sons.

“I’m proud of all of you,” he said. “Remember.”

They were the last words he spoke in life.

His children took him to his last rest, with Kahotep and Djeserit in attendance.

The wind blew down into the little hollow and across the grasses, ruffling them in the stillness of the night. Like dancers the palms swayed high above. Moonlight touched the marble figures of lions, limned the lines of the stele in an argent glow.

Peace reigned.

A sound broke the silence, broke the endless waiting….a scraping…

Something…a sense of greed, avarice…covetousness…

The spirit in the stele awakened as it should.

What lay within shivered briefly, then stepped down from within the stone to take up the swords that waited there…

Curious…it stalked through the night…

Darkness and shadow, dappled with moonlight…

She frowned.

Another small sound… She smiled tightly, it felt good to move again after so long still...

Effortlessly, silently, she moved toward the sounds…

There was another…more… the warmth of a body… She’d been cold so long.

With a gesture, she summoned Nebi down from his pedestal and set him to stalk the others, following the small sounds nearby…

She could almost smell the thief…the grave robber… His movements were stealthy, tentative.

The darkness unnerved him.

Curious, she followed, aware of the others with him…

His name was Djal.

The thought of the gold and jewels they might find in this place had Djal’s blood running hot and quick. Still, there were rumors of curses and such about this place. Supposedly, there was a sacred guardian of the temple within. There was always such talk about these places. This wasn’t the first tomb he’d robbed. Nor would it be the last, it was easy work. He liked the thrill and excitement of it. There was the pleasure of prying open the tomb and seeing the first glitter of gold.

A spark of light startled him, a strange red glow, but he realized it was just the reflection from his torch.

So far he hadn’t found anything good, though, no gold, no jewels, nothing.

This wasn’t the temple yet, it was just the open place before it. He’d never seen anything like it before though. It was kind of pretty in the moonlight.

It was a little eerie with the statues of the lions on their high pedestals staring down at them from between the palm trees, and too open to the sky above. One of the pedestals was empty. For a moment a frisson of fear touched him.

The statue must have fallen off into the high grass, he told himself.

Even so it felt as if he were being watched and yet there were only the cold stars above him and the others with him.

Following, the Guardian found herself panting like Nebi, drawing in the scent of the man as much through her mouth as through her nose. Tasting him in the air, musky, warm.

She was suddenly incredibly hungry and thirsty. So parched, so dry…and so very, very hungry.

Her need was so intense it was very nearly sexual. In a way, she was aware, conscious, but only faintly. She moved more on instinct than thought.

She could hear a faint drumming sound…his heartbeat…

Fascinated, she drew closer, listening as it hammered, quickening as he sensed her presence.

She was so thirsty…

The man was there before her, nearly close enough to touch, almost as if he were etched in red against the night sky.

His pulse pounded so hard she could hear it and little else.

She turned her head a bit to hear it better. It throbbed in her ears…a little rapid, eager, but steady…excited. His blood was hot, pulsing in his veins.

She needed to take him swiftly and silently, so he wouldn’t warn the others…

Quick as a snake, she struck, a hand over his mouth to prevent his outcry, drawing him back into the deeper shadows beneath the crooked break in the stone above. Her hand over his mouth drew his head to one side, leaving his throat bare, exposed…and vulnerable. His pulse beat there, steadily…

Her eyes locked there, enthralled by the throb of it…

Satisfaction filled her as her fangs pierced the thin skin, felt it part and give beneath them, and she knew what it was for Nebi, the others, to feed this way. Her teeth drove deep as warm coppery fluid jetted into her mouth. The glorious taste of him overwhelmed her, filled her, so rich, so sweet… She was so thirsty, so parched, so hungry. So very hungry. His hot blood hit the back of her throat, coursed down it. Wonderful. So good. She sucked, drew on him. There was no time to savor him – she was starving. Instinctively her throat worked. Her eyelids fluttered with pleasure as the man moaned softly, ecstatically. The taste changed, shifted, deepened… It was wonderful. She clasped him more tightly against her as he sagged, trembling deliciously against her.

Strength and life flowed in her veins, her mind was working again, but oh dear gods he tasted so good.

Drawing great draughts of his blood into her throat, she drew in more, listening to his heart hammer, shudder, slow, her hand over it to feel it, and it was glorious.

She drew harder on him, seeking every last drop and still didn’t feel sated. It was incredible…

More. She wanted more.

Her mouth worked, drawing every last delicious drop out of him, listening to his heart hammer, trying to pump the fluid that filled her mouth, but finding nothing there. Her tongue slipped over her lips to lap up every drop of what she’d missed in her eagerness.

Suddenly she felt energized, every cell awakened, springing to life…

In the distance she heard Nebi’s coughing roar and a sudden shout.

She smiled and drew her swords…

Nebi had found the grave robbers.

There were others invading the Tomb.

She couldn’t, wouldn’t allow that.

Still hungry after all the centuries, she feasted on one after another.

When it was done she faded back into the stele again…to wait…

It had hardly been a challenge.

Even so she felt more aware, a part of her awakening again, remembering who she was as she fell into the dreaming once more…

Years passed, decades…

Irisi dreamed of the world, and of the past…of Khai…

Pain moved through her, grief as he passed…and she did not…

Khai.

If she’d had tears to grieve…

Time passed, but not her grief…now there was only her duty, and Egypt.

The old thief had searched for years for this particular tomb. It was legendary. Many had sought it, none had found it. He’d heard rumors over the years, rumors that it contained a cache of gold, jewels, and a ruby as big as a man’s fist.

Now, at last, Abdul believed he’d found it. He smiled and rubbed his hands together in satisfaction.

They’d already found one treasure trove and looted it, minor though it was. An outer tomb, surprisingly. It had contained some jewels and some nice statuary, most particularly the one in his hands. Made of gold and inset with jewels, it was clearly a depiction of a priestess of some kind, with her hands on the heads of the lions to each side of her.

His tent set up, Abdul went to sit in the entrance out of the heat of the sun as one of his slaves hurried to bring him food and water.

He waved his men into the cleft in the rock.

“You know what to do,” he said. “Watch out for traps.”

There were always traps; the old ones had been wise to men like him.

But men like him were wise to their ways, too. There were old thieves and bold thieves, but few bold, old thieves.

Abdul was old. He let others be bold. Like Hakim.

Hakim flapped a hand at him. “We know, old man.”

As his right hand man that one needed to show more respect.

Abdul smiled.

“If you know so much you take the lead, then,” he said and settled on his rug to wait, folding his arms. “I’ll wait for you here.”

The other man’s face set only slightly but it was clear he was less than pleased.

As the one in the lead, Hakim was the one most likely to find the traps. He was also the one most likely to miss one or trigger one but Abdul knew Hakim dared not show his dismay in front of the men or else lose face.

Now he would pay the price for his arrogance.

They’d already lost one man to the outer tomb. Even that had been protected.

Just the presence of that tomb had been enough to fool some into thinking they’d found what they sought. Only to fall prey to the protections on it, as they’d seen by the skeletons and detritus around it.

To Abdul it was simply proof he’d been right and a greater tomb awaited if they could but find it.

He believed they had.

With a grim nod, his torch held high, Hakim led men into the cleft in the rock.

For long moments there was silence, just the sounds of the sand in the desert, the tick of warming rocks, the sound of the camels as they shifted and chewed while the sun beat down on those who waited.

Then thunder.

A massive rumble and clatter.

Dust spewed from the cleft and Abdul shook his head.

With a wave he sent more men into the rift.

“Clear it,” he said.

It was a dangerous business, raiding tombs. The old ones had been wise, setting traps for those who would raid their places of burial.

Hakim, despite his name, had not been.

A man came running, bowed respectfully and waited.

“Is it clear?”

The man nodded.

It was clear but the passage was not easy.

Abdul set more of his men to clearing the remainder of the stone as they picked their way over the rubble.

As he did so he saw Hakim, his eyes wide, dead beneath a massive stone.

Abdul shook his head. 

Fool
.

Abdul stepped out into the cavern, surprised at what he found there.

Still, he waved his men forward.

It was said this tomb had a curse on it, but then they always said such things of tombs. If those who stole from tombs died more often than other men, it was because they risked more. There was no other reason.

Across the enormous bowl and against the soft silence of the great desert behind the wall came the sound of stone grating on stone.

Then a coughing, rumbling roar, the sound of a lion on the hunt.

Lions? There were no lions in this part of the desert, where then lions?

A tinge of alarm went through Abdul as a breath of wind moved past him in this vast windless place.

In the distance, he heard a cry. A short scream echoed from the stone that vaulted above them.

Another scream, this one longer, faded in a gurgle Abdul could hear clearly and then died on a sound that drew Abdul’s manhood tight against him.

A deep cry of pleasure, unnatural in this place.

“Rasul!” Abdul shouted.

There was no answer.

A man shouted.

There was another roar and a man shrieked.

Abdul blanched and backed toward the entrance to the split in the rock. He didn’t know what was going on but he was wiser than Hakim. He knew when to give in, and when to flee.

From the shadows one of his men came running and Abdul froze in absolute shock at what stalked the man.

That wasn’t nearly as frightening as what caught him.

Fear was like lightning. His balls drew up tight. With a desperate effort he kept from screaming as he turned and fled, pushed past those clearing the cleft in the rock. Perhaps those lives might satisfy what lay within.