by D.A. Dean
Chapter 6: Seht Despises Failure
A fierce, gritty wind blew in from the savannah's swath of desert, tearing at the sparse grasses and scrubby bushes. It circled, moaning, before continuing forward into the oasis to thrash from side to side the wide stretch of tall, thin grasses and thick bushes. It pressed on to the palms, bending then beating their long green fronds against their spiky beige trunks. Relentless, it bore down on the village.
Men crooked their burnished arms over their faces and hurried to secure the village's meager food and shared shelters. Women, their ankle-length, rough-woven tan gowns whipping around them, rushed to gather children, pulling them from yellowing frond and palm cane lean-tos, pushing them into sun-weathered tents and huts of thick mud brick.
As if satisfied with the fear it had inflicted, the wind, its moans becoming howls, charged farther on to a compound of stone and mud-brick squares. It neared the compound's open-roofed, rough-sided rectangle of a prison. The strongest of the men inside the enclosure bent to the muddy remnants of grass that served as the prison's floor and covered their heads. Those weaker curled onto their sides, struggling against the sand and debris that burned their eyes, closed their throats.
Pausing, the wind seemed to consider a small group of men moving toward the enormous white and gold-washed stone structure at the center of the compound. Bowing his head into the wind screaming around him, its grit biting into his flesh, the hunched young man in the middle of the group closed his eyes, following blindly on.
As if tiring of the man, the wind rose, lifting high the banners decorating the structure's towering front and lofty corners. It dropped, scratching peeling paint from the reliefs carved into the structure's stone before slipping beneath the structure's high, gilded double doors.
On it moved along a white-washed, stone-block path, through a courtyard of sand and twisting rock, through an imposing covered row of columns, till it reached an enormous double door of cypress and gold. It pushed back the warriors standing guard and entered.
In the center of a vast hall, filled with stretching murals, massive columns, and thick slabs of stone the color of night-lit sand, sat a low-backed throne of solid gold. The wind moved to touch the arms and feet of the god who sat upon it.
The gloss of his red-black hair and the sheen of his nails catching the reflection of the chamber's gold, Seht leaned into the throne's rounded back, the highly-developed muscles of his golden arms and bare chest rippling. Biceps flexing, he readjusted the heavy gold cuffs that lay over his wrists and upper arms.
The glittering midnight-blue of his eyes darkened. His gaze flashed over the warriors standing guard around his temple's inner perimeter, the commanders standing in readiness for his orders, the black-haired female servants hovering in short gowns of thin linen beside the tables, piled with golden trays of food and pitchers of wine, lining the side of the hall. All was as it should be.
Seht brushed at his fine linen kilt and crossed his leg over the rail of his throne. His gaze settled on the young woman standing nearest the pitcher-laden table.
Her kohl-lined eyes widened. "May I bring you wine, O King?"
"Stay where you are. I have another service in mind for you later."
The crushed-stone rouge painted over her lips couldn't hide their paling. "As you wish, O Most Powerful—"
Seht leaned forward, and a tremor ran through the woman's shoulders and down her arms, shaking her thigh-length gown. "Is that how you acknowledge generosity?" he demanded.
Falling to her knees, she lifted her hands. "Mercy, O King. It is my honor to serve however pleases you."
"Better," the god said and sat back. "Practice it."
"It is my honor—"
"Not aloud." The humans were so simple. Seht tilted his head to the hulk of a man standing a short way off to his right. "Yes, Netum," he said and waved him closer.
Re-adjusting his sash of red streaked with black and gold then his sheathed metal knife, symbols of his high station, Netum strode forward and bent to whisper.
Ignoring the jangling of the white-striped black stones around Netum's neck, Seht stared at his favorite section of mural, crocodiles waiting among swaying reeds, and permitted his counselor to lean nearer, conveying the information he'd been waiting to receive.
"Khies failed."
Seht straightened. Jerking his hand, he motioned away the words he didn't want to hear.
Lips pursed, Netum smoothed his unruly brown hair. "He is waiting outside, O King."
"Silence." Seht had to think. He fixed his stare to Netum's dark green eyes.
Netum backed away.
Seht's crocodile had failed. Surely Nephthys hadn't sabotaged the effort? He moved his gaze from the white plastered walls, with their half-finished murals, to the scarred, elder warrior who stood at attention beside him. "Find my wife. Tell her I wish to speak with her. Harian, if she is attending to her duties, impress on her I wish her presence."
"O King." Harian bowed low and marched off toward the broad, gold-lined hallway that led from the temple to Seht and Nephthys' inner rooms. His footfalls echoed and faded.
Finally, frowning, Seht nodded to his counselor. "Yes, Netum. Bring him before me."
Netum leaned to stare into Terin's clear blue eyes, half-hidden beneath his black hair. "Commander. You heard your king."
Terin clapped his hands, and the guards moved to shove open the temple's heavy doors.
The sky was dark-grey. Suitable. Seht lowered his leg from the throne's rail.
A man wearing a red sash and carrying a fading palm frond stepped forward. Behind him followed four men draped in black and red robes, a tall warrior with high cheekbones and a strong jaw, and a man wearing only a loincloth and necklace of iridescent green beads.
"Malik," Seht said, nodding to the newly-promoted commander before fastening his gaze to the man wearing the loincloth. Tipping down his head, making more menacing his glare, he motioned him closer.
Trembling, the man inched nearer. He fell to his knees and bent to kiss the golden laces of Seht's sandals.
Seht kicked, flipping him back and sending him flailing across the stone.
Servants rushed forward to lift the trays of fruit and pitchers of wine from the threatened table, jumping back just before the man crashed into it.
"Khies." Seht returned his leg to the throne's rail and, waiting for the man's filmy brown eyes to clear, tapped his fingers over his knee. "Tell me. Was your mission successful?"
Khies crawled back to his king and fell forward, his tangled black hair tumbling over his black-brown face, drawn tight. Forehead pressing the stone, he trailed his hands over the floor out from his sides to extend in front of him, the blood covering his palms painting twin arches.
"Yes, yes, that's the proper gesture. It doesn't answer my question."
Khies held position. "I did as you commanded. I went to the island. I found the boy."
Stretching, Seht stood, stepped forward, and pressed his foot against Khies' head. Twisting his foot, he ground the side of Khies' face against the slab.
The clattering of Khies' teeth sounding surprisingly like the drumming of fingernails over a small, silver-lacquered mirror.
Seht increased his foot's downward pressure. "The rest?"
"Mercy, O King. I will do whatever—"
"You were transported to the island. That was no accomplishment on your part. Once there, you could hardly help but find the boy."
"I will return. I will—"
Seht further shifted his weight, and Khies moaned. "Two questions. First, did the magic you received allow for the transformation we discussed, and second, what force recalled you here?"
Blood began to ooze from Khies' nose and upturned ear.
"Did—the—magic...?"
"Y-yes."
"And what recalled you here?"
Khies' blood-tinged eyes began to glaze.
"Do you wish to live, Khies?"
"Then answer. What broke the spell?"
"Don't...know."
Seht lifted his gaze to the false sunset painted in purples and blues across his temple's ceiling. "You really are useless to me, Khies."
A strong female voice rolled through the temple chamber, "He does not know more than he said. I can tell you what happened, O King."
Seht turned to the woman wearing a sweeping gown of emerald green and scowled. "Califah. I wondered when you'd show up."
Califah bowed, her light-brown hair falling loose from her cloak's hood.
"I'm looking forward," Seht said and angled his head, "to hearing your version of things. But first things first. Counselor. You have a task. You know what to do."
Netum rushed forward, demonstrating an agility his bulky frame would seem to preclude. He glanced at Khies, still pinned beneath Seht's foot. "O King, how—"
Seht lifted his eyebrow. "In front of the prisoners."
"Yes, O Most Powerful Seht, that is understood. My question was only how long?"
"Ah." Rubbing his gold-ringed fingers over his chin, Seht considered. "A good show is always called for, but in this case I understand if you're unable to draw it out."
"O King." Netum bowed.
Khies had begun to twitch.
Seht returned his attention to him. "Perhaps you'll be of some use to my counselor."
Khies' eyes widened, his mouth moving to form insensible gasps and grunts.
"Yes, I thought that would please you. I know you want to be of service." Seht bent and clutched the back of Khies' throat. He rose, Khies' head, shoulders, chest, lifting from the stone. Slowly, he curled up his arm, Khies' back bowing.
Nearing the point Khies' spine would snap, Seht halted, following Malik's keen gaze to note Harian's pallor, Terin's wince, the guards averting their eyes, the servants covering their faces and bowing their heads, Califah, lips pursed, turning away. Damn her haughtiness.
He clenched his jaw. And damn Nephthys, like Isis, for encouraging—ah, but Netum leaned forward. Netum, the first human to offer assistance, complicity, in Osiris' murder. Yes, Seht could always rely on him to see things his way.
Seht tore the necklace from around his failed servant's throat, Khies' back breaking with the necklace's string. The grinding crunch and sudden hard pop was like...yes, a crocodile's snapping through bone to marrow. Turning his gaze to a bowl of figs, he released his hold and waited.
The thud of Khies' body contrasted the high-pitched clatter of the beads bouncing across the stone. Ah, the little auditory pleasures. A shame there wasn't to be another countering thud. Seht shifted his attention to the servant kneeling before him.
The beads disintegrated. It was just as well. This servant had her uses. He selected one of the small brown fruits from the golden bowl she held out to him and returned to his throne. "Terin, have your guards assist."
"Khies is still alive?" The horror in Terin's voice was clear.
"For now." Seht took a bite, allowing the fig's sticky sweetness to smooth his irritation. "I wouldn't deprive Netum his pleasure."
Terin fixed his gaze to the floor.
"Oh, and Netum." Seht took another bite and tossed the fig aside.
Malik gave a stomp toward the servant hastening to fetch the discarded fruit. He glanced at his king. "Forgive the interruption, O Mighty Seht. I hope it did not displease you." He pulled back his shoulders and bowed.
A calculated risk to get himself noticed? So, Malik was ambitious, as Netum had said. Seht returned his focus to his counselor. "After you've finished with Khies, you'll do what with the prisoners?"
Netum answered, "It is my pleasure to do as you have instructed, O King."
Seht dropped his arm over the throne's back. "Which was?"
"Any who still claim to follow—"
Seht jerked his head.
"Any who refuse to bow to you, the king," Netum quickly amended and then paused, waiting for Seht's nod, "are to be tortured until dead."
"Excellent." Seht gave a pointed look toward the pitchers of wine, tapped his fingers impatiently against his throne's rail, and then snatched the goblet from the proffered tray. He took a deep drink and spit. How great a difficulty could it be to blend and ferment grapes? A greater difficulty, apparently, than his servants were capable of surmounting. Perhaps he should have told his followers to spare Osiris' wine.
Oh, well, Nephthys would herself fix some for him later. Where was she? She was always slipping away. Frowning, he waved his hand toward the broken human stretched at his feet. "Remove it."
Netum hoisted Khies' body over his shoulder and trudged through the foyer into the courtyard. Three of Terin's warriors hurried behind.
Emerald green flashed from the edge of the chamber. The priestess. Seht's frown deepened. "I didn't call for you."
"No, O King. I am sent by your queen."
"I see." Eyes narrowed, Seht smiled. "Come. Explain."
Califah drew a breath, as if steeling herself, and glided forward. "It is her desire to honor your request. She asks your grace and understanding as she completes her morning's ablutions. I am to provide any information I may in her delay."
Seht refrained from rolling his eyes. Nephthys and her morning rituals. Nephthys and her priestesses. Surely he must love her to bear these. "Tell me."
"Khies was transported successfully. He was transformed successfully. He was unable to complete his mission."
Eyebrow arched, Seht waited. "You try my patience. Not wise, even for a priestess."
Califah lifted her chin. "Great King—"
"Tell me what I don't know."
"The island moved."
Damn Isis' tenacity. Seht clenched his jaw. "My dear sister-in-law."
"No, O King."
Someone else had interfered? Seht gripped his throne's rails. "Who?"
"That is not known."
"Find out."
"We cannot."
Seht lowered his head, gaze fixed to hers, and snarled.
Paling, Califah took a hard step back. "We will continue to try."
"I suggest you succeed. Pass that along the strands of your web, Priestess." Seht leaned forward and quietly added, "Pass it to your spider."
Califah lifted higher her chin. "Surely, you're not—"
"I'll escort you back to your queen now, Priestess," Terin said, hastening toward her. He wrapped his hand over her arm.
Califah yanked it away. "You dare touch me?" Eyes flashing, she turned to Seht. "You permit this?"
Terin bowed his head. He moved his fingers toward his knife. "O King?"
Califah glanced at Terin's hand. "This is foolishness. I am a Priestess—"
"You can be replaced," Seht noted evenly.
The flush faded from Califah's cheeks.
Yes, Nephthys' priestess wasn't so haughty now. "Tell me the rest."
Califah hesitated. "There is nothing more to tell, O King."
"My counselor knows secrets beyond a priestess?"
Terin withdrew his knife from its sheath.
Seht shook his head, signaling him to hold. "How's your daughter, Priestess? You see, I know secrets, too. I trust," he said and turned to the guard to his left, "I will find her well."
Califah pressed her silver and symbol-covered fingers against her lips.
The guard nodded and took a step toward the door.
"Wait," Califah said, dropping her hand. "There is something more. There is another way I may assist you. I am your queen's priestess, after all. Doesn't a queen serve her king? Therefore, do I not serve you?"
"Indeed." Seht motioned the guard back and for Terin to return to position.
Releasing a breath, Terin sheathed his knife.
"I have received news," Califah said.
"I don't doubt it. I don't doubt you receive much news. Tell me, why should yours
interest me?"
"The news concerns," Califah continued and paused, as if weighing what next to say, "not the boy but the father."
Netum hadn't mentioned anything about Osiris. Neither had Nephthys. "Come closer."
Califah stared at the floor.
"I don't repeat my commands, Priestess."
Pulling back her shoulders, Califah moved stiffly toward the throne. Fingers clasped together, nails pressing her flesh, she bent, whispering.
Alive? Seht thrust forward his hand, his shove sending her flying backward. She hit the far wall and slipped to the ground, unconscious. "Remove her. Remove her!" Seht commanded, rising from the throne.
His guards rushed to comply and retreated.
Fury building, Seht strode toward the hallway and stopped. Where was Netum? Damn it. He called, "Terin."
Terin hastened to him. "O King?" His eyes were wide.
Did Terin care about Califah, or did he simply not have the nerve to face killing her? Either way, that potential complication was of little consequence. Seht ordered, "I want her kept alive."
Terin brushed his fingers over his lips and bowed. "Yes, O King."
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