Vampire

by Kevin Ashman

  Sekhmet laughed again.

  ‘Oh, Ramesses,’ she said, ‘do you not listen to anything I say? You can fall upon me right now if you so wish. If it makes you feel better, carry out your threat, for I have suffered worse in my life.’ Suddenly, she seemed to glide effortlessly over the floor and into the light of the burning bulrushes. She grabbed his wrist holding the knife and lifted the blade up until it pressed against her own chest. ‘Don’t you think I have thought of release, Ramesses, dreamed of it, begged for it, even sought it out by my own hand, but always the hunger pulls me back.’

  Ramesses held back the urge to flee as he gazed closely into the hag’s eyes close up for the first time. The effect was mesmerizing, as the blackness seemed to be an empty void of nothing that threatened to drag his soul into their endless depths. The yellow skin over her skull was parchment thin and bore the wrinkled lines of age from unknown eons of time while the stink from the rotting flesh between her jagged teeth was nauseating.

  ‘Do it, Ramesses,’ she whispered, pushing against his blade, ‘kill a goddess. You are the all-conquering Ramesses, smiter of the Hittites and ruler of all lands. Thrust your blade, great king and be rid of the one being in this world who would call you servant.’

  Despite the urge to do as she bid, Ramesses stepped back, breaking her evil stare.

  ‘No, Sekhmet,’ he said, ‘I will not take this route. I am not just a great king, but also a great ruler. A sovereign does not take the life of a subject with his own hands and that is what you are, Sekhmet, a subject. I am Ramesses, the greatest king that ever lived and I decide when someone dies or someone lives. Today, it is my decree that you live.’

  Sekhmet looked down at the floor for several moments before lifting her head to stare at him once more. This time, Ramesses felt a twinge of fear as the look on her rotting face was one of evil and impending danger.

  ‘Your arrogance knows no bounds, Ramesses,’ she said. ‘Yet it is I who decrees that you live this day, not the other way around.’ With a flick of her hand, she sent a signal to the shadows and a group of bedraggled women in stinking shrouds emerged from the darkness to fall upon the tethered slaves. Knives slashed across veins, rocks smashed in skulls and jagged teeth ripped at throats as the sisters tore the men apart in their terrible need for blood and flesh. Within seconds, the brutality ended, and Sekhmet’s acolytes either lay or knelt around the mutilated corpses like a pride of lions around the kill. The noise of the assault was gone, only to be replaced by the sounds of teeth, tearing through flesh and tongues lapping at flowing blood.

  ‘When the hunger rises, Ramesses, it cannot be stopped. Even now I feel the aches that announce the onset of my eternal desire and you should go before my need to feed outweighs my need to talk.’

  ‘One more question,’ said Ramesses, ‘and I will be gone from this place. If this was the case all along, then why ask me here? If immortality is beyond me, then why tell me all that you have?’

  ‘I have said before, Ramesses, your arrogance amuses me, yet there is something else about you. A sense of destiny that I have rarely seen before and I believe you will truly be the greatest mortal man ever to reign over these lands. A king so powerful, that all will tremble at your whim and with such a man, my sisters can once more take our rightful place in the temples of the gods. We are the true immortals, Ramesses, not the images of the false priests or the tales told to children, but nightwalkers. We see the same men born, live and die while we do not age, yet it is us who are banished to hide amongst the rocks of the wastelands. I cannot give the gift you seek as it is not mine to give. Yet there are other gifts that are within my power.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘My sisters and I can become part of your rule, Ramesses, becoming a silent blade to all upon whom you cast a disapproving eye. An instant and terrible retribution that calls in the dead of night yet is gone again by rise of the sun. Imagine hundreds of your enemies dying in a single night, yet no guilty hand upon which to lay blame. No fortress could withstand our silent assault and the people of your enemies will turn on their kings to rid them of the curse that takes the lives of their children. Nations driven by fear will fall to their knees and beg you to accept them as subordinate. No wars, Ramesses, no expensive armies to empty your treasure houses, just endless tribute to build your palaces dedicated to your name. This is the gift I offer, Ramesses, invisible wings of death that will sweep you on your way to become truly, the greatest king this world has ever seen.’

  ‘And what would you expect in return?’

  ‘Only that already offered. Give me and my sisters the tomb of Amenemhat and freedom to take our place amongst your people.’

  Ramesses stood for an age, staring into the black pools of hell that passed as eyes in this creature of the night. Finally, he spoke once more, breaking the unearthly silence between them.

  ‘At the next full moon, I will break the seal of Amenemhat myself. Bring your people, Sekhmet, for now it is I, who offers everlasting life.’

  ‘Then leave this place, Ramesses,’ said Sekhmet, ‘for my hunger is upon me.’ She disappeared into the shadows and Ramesses turned to make his way back through the tunnels.

  Soon he was outside, breathing deeply of the cool night air. Atmar appeared out of the darkness and stood slightly distant, staring at his king in a strange manner.

  ‘Is it done?’ asked Atmar.

  ‘Do not fret, Atmar,’ said Ramesses, ‘I am still the same person that entered this cursed place. I am untouched by her curse, yet I am not disappointed. My greatness will be nonetheless, yet still be holy in the sight of Ra.’

  ‘Then it was a wasted trip?’ asked Atmar.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Ramesses, ‘in fact it was far more productive than I could ever have desired. Come, we need to get from this place before the nightwalkers emerge. We have preparations to make.’

  ‘Preparations?’

  ‘Yes, we have a long dead king to visit.’

  ----

  Yafeu, the stonemason, stood in front of the official of the king’s court. He had deliberated long and hard before making the decision to report the death of Serapis to the authorities. Like everyone else, he had heard the legends of the nightwalkers, but had always put it down to unsubstantiated stories. Now, having seen the evidence with his own eyes, his days were filled with worry, and his nights were filled with terror. His son had fled the town to escape his debts, and because of the sleepless nights, Yafeu had lost work at the quarries. He knew he couldn’t go on much longer as he was, and had finally decided to report what he had seen to the local priest. At first the priest was sceptical, but when the reports of the missing trader had started coming in, he had referred Yafeu to the court of the king.

  The king’s official had listened carefully to the stonemason’s detailed representation, before leaving him alone in the antechamber. Yafeu was exhausted and though he knew there would be a price to pay for the intended crime, the thought of being sought out by the nightwalkers was far, far worse. Finally, the official returned and spoke to him again.

  ‘I have consulted with the appropriate authority in such matters,’ said the official, ‘and your story intrigues us. There are many stories of these so-called nightwalkers and it is the king’s wish to allay the fears of his people. In his mercy, the king’s authority feels that although you went out that night with dark intentions, you ultimately committed no crime. However, as there was intent, it would not be in the interests of justice should any man feel free to set out to commit a crime without fear of retribution.’

  Yafeu’s heart sank.

  ‘Your punishment will be to attend the tomb of Amenemhat at dawn, and there you will be tasked to work under the attention of the priests attending the majesty of the old king’s memory. There are various tasks therein that have need of your skills and you will fulfil that need until further notice. You will not receive recompense for this work; though you will receive food and shelter. Such is the punishment bestowed.’


  Yafeu looked in amazement. In the greater scheme of things, this decree could hardly be deemed as punishment. The work suited his skills and he would be under the supervision of the priesthood while working in a holy place. Surely, even the nightwalkers would hesitate at the door of a Pharaoh’s tomb.

  ‘If there is nothing more,’ said the official, ‘then you may leave. Present yourself at the tomb of Amenemhat at dawn.’

  Yafeu left the temple in a much lighter frame of mind. He knew he had escaped relatively lightly, and as long as he could make it through one more night, then surely his burden would ease.

  ----

  Three weeks later, a team of donkeys pulled a solitary covered cart through the backstreets of Itjawi, containing a creature older than the pyramids. In the surrounding streets, fleeting shapes of half-seen figures, seemed to float from shadow to shadow, following the route of the cart. All the citizens of Itjawi stayed within their homes and the streets were empty by king’s proclamation.

  Finally, the cart left the dusty streets of the main town behind and trundled onto the paved roadway leading to an enormous temple complex. Statues of Amenemhat lined the roadway along with Stelae recording the tales of his reign, tribute to the great achievements of the long dead king. As the cart entered the archway of the outer courtyard, a thousand priests prostrated themselves on the ground in supplication, lying in silence as the cart made its way to where a solitary man waited before the temple itself. Finally, the cart stopped and a few moments later, an old woman descended from beneath the cover accompanied by a beautiful young girl. Together, they walked up the steps toward the waiting man.

  ‘A momentous occasion, Ramesses,’ she said.

  ‘As befits your kind, Sekhmet,’ said the king.

  ‘And who are these people?’ she asked, half turning to gaze over the throng, now face down in the enormous courtyard.

  ‘They are the priests allocated to revere your name and see to your whims.’

  ‘I need no priests,’ she said.

  ‘What goddess does not have priesthood?’ he asked. ‘They will look after your needs and protect you during the hours of the day when you are at your weakest.’

  ‘And if my sisters are tempted by the blood within their veins?’

  ‘They are yours to do with as you wish,’ said Ramesses. He turned his head toward the girl.

  ‘It is good to see you again, Nephthys,’ he said.

  ‘And you, great king,’ she answered.

  Ramesses saw that veins of black had appeared in her eyes and looked over at Sekhmet quizzically.

  ‘It was time;’ said Sekhmet, answering the unanswered question, ‘a new era demands a new goddess.’

  ‘She will be a suitable successor,’ said Ramesses, ‘but we delay, your temple awaits.’ He stood to one side and allowed the two women to walk through the enormous doors. Inside, they entered a lavishly decorated labyrinth, lit by rows of oil bowls with floating wicks.

  Outside, twenty nightwalkers glided between the prostrate figures, the lightness of their footfall gentler than that of a desert cat. Hungry black eyes peered down at the men at their feet, but without the say of Sekhmet, their blood would remain un-tasted. Each walker made their way toward the labyrinth that was to become their home, but as they walked, one paused and stared at the nearest priest lying at her feet. Slowly, she reached out a bare foot and pulled back the edge of his robe, unveiling a military sword strapped to his waist.

  Her hellish eyes widened in anger and she snarled out a warning to her sisters.

  ‘Treachery,’ she hissed, and all around the men leapt to their feet, throwing off their robes to reveal the full leather armour worn by the king’s elite troops.

  ‘We are found out,’ shouted Atmar, discarding his own disguise. ‘Cut them down. If any escape, then we will all die.’

  With a roar, the soldiers fell upon the women, showing them no mercy and though it took many sword thrusts to have any impact, eventually the force of numbers took their toll. Within minutes, every nightwalker had been hacked into pieces by the soldier’s blades.

  ‘Bring the brushwood,’ ordered Atmar and a line of slaves ran into the courtyard, each carrying a tied bundle of firewood. Quickly they built a bonfire as Atmar gave his orders to the captain of the guard.

  ‘On pain of death, you will carry out these orders exactly as I say. First, set the fire ablaze and keep it going through the night. Cut every one of these women’s bodies into pieces small enough to fit into a fist. When that is done, throw the pieces into the flames. Repeat it with any of our own dead and wounded.’

  ‘Our wounded, Sire?’ asked the captain.

  ‘Yes, anyone who has as much as a scratch on their skin must be executed straight away and fed to the flames. Do not fail me on this, Captain, or you will share this fate. When it is done, have every man strip and check them yourself for any hidden wound. If they bleed, they die; it is as simple as that. When you are sure, there is none with as much as a bruise, burn your uniforms. Fresh clothes are located in wagons nearby. I cannot emphasize this enough, Captain, no matter how long it takes; I want nothing left of this night, but ashes smaller than the finest flour. When it is done, you will divide the ashes into no less than a thousand sacks and send each off to a different fate. Spread them on seas across the known world, bury them deep underground, or pour them to the seven winds. I care not, but ensure that there is never more than one sack disposed of in each location. Then I want a list of where every one went and who carried out the task. This is something we cannot afford to get wrong. Have I made myself clear?’

  ‘You have, Sire.’

  ‘Then let it be done. Now, get me ten of your best men and follow me.’

  ----

  Ramesses continued into the labyrinth with Sekhmet and Nephthys, unaware of the carnage that was happening outside. At every junction, stood a long-robed priest holding a torch and though the king knew that each was really a trusted soldier, he still felt very vulnerable now that he was so close to the prize. Finally, they rounded a corner and stood before a sealed door, complete with funerary inscription.

  Here lies Great King Amenemhat III

  Slayer of the bewitched

  Protector of the innocent

  King of Kings

  Death falls swiftly on all who disturb his sleep

  A nearby stonemason passed him a hammer and Ramesses turned to Sekhmet.

  ‘I am a man who keeps his promises, Sekhmet,’ he said and smashed the age-old seal with a single stroke of the stone hammer.

  Two of the disguised soldiers pulled the door open and stood to one side to allow the party through.

  ‘Light,’ Ramesses ordered, and the stonemason grabbed a burning torch from the wall.

  ‘Lead the way,’ ordered Ramesses and the man stepped into the room, closely followed by Sekhmet and the girl.

  Yafeu the mason held the torch up high as he walked deeper into the tomb. His heart was racing, as he realized he was honoured to be the first man to step inside this place for over five hundred years. Close behind, he heard the footfall of the two women as he continued along the spectacularly decorated corridor. Suddenly, a great crash echoed through the chamber and all three spun around to see the cause. Yafeu’s heart leapt as he saw the door had been slammed into place behind them. Sekhmet and Nephthys stayed still, but Yafeu ran back to the door in terror.

  ‘Wait,’ he shouted, banging on the door, ‘what are you doing? Open the door.’ He continued to bang on the door until a soft voice behind him spoke.

  ‘Be silent,’ hissed Sekhmet.

  Ramesses’ face appeared in a hole in the wall above the door, formed just the previous day at the command of the priests. Yafeu stepped back and held up the torch so they could see the king.

  ‘So this is the way of a so called great king,’ said Sekhmet, her voice dripping with venom, ‘treachery and deceit. All this time, I had you marked as different, Ramesses. Yet you are no better than all the
rest.’

  ‘On the contrary, Sekhmet, I have already succeeded in doing something that no other man, king or god has managed to do.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘Wiped your kind from the face of this land.’

  ‘There will always be my kind, Ramesses. My sisters will drink your blood before the sun rises.’

  ‘Your sisters already burn in my soldiers’ fires,’ said Ramesses.

  ‘You lie.’

  ‘It is true, but your belief is not something that matters.’

  ‘You claim greatness, but what sort of king goes back on an agreement?’ asked Sekhmet.

  ‘I have honoured my agreement,’ said Ramesses, ‘and delivered my promise. Are you not within the tomb of Amenemhat?’

  ‘But we agreed.’ said Sekhmet, ‘We would become your blade, defeating your enemies without the need for war.’

  ‘I made no such agreement.’ said Ramesses, ‘Scour your memory, for this was an offer made, but not accepted. I did think about it, Sekhmet. For a long time I deliberated over your proposal, but when all is considered, what is a king without a war? Be grateful, Sekhmet, I have allowed you and the girl to live. All of your other sisters burn as we speak. At least you will have eternity to ponder on my greatness.’

  ‘Without blood, we will wither away,’ said Sekhmet, ‘eternally dying, yet never dead. Why would you inflict such a fate on any being?’

  ‘Don’t preach morality to me,’ hissed Ramesses. ‘How many people have you sent to hell in your time?’

  ‘Then at least release the girl,’ shouted Sekhmet. ‘Leave me here to rot, but let Nephthys go.’

  ‘It is too late,’ said Ramesses, ‘I have seen her eyes, and she is as you. No, Sekhmet, your time is done. As soon as I leave this place, my armies will destroy the temple above, leaving no trace of its location. This whole valley will be filled in and planted over with crops. Mention of Itjawi will be forbidden on pain of death, and within a generation, no one will know this place even existed.’