Kiya and the God of Chaos

by Philippa Bower

  Chapter Twenty Nine: Ceremony of the Bones

  Qelhatat led the way out of the courtyard and along a passage. She beckoned to Kiya to walk beside her. “We are going to visit the shrine of Anubis,” she said. “It is a holy and secret place forbidden to all but the High Priestess.” They passed closed doors and turned down another passage. “You will make this journey once a month on the day before the full moon,” said Qelhatat.

  Kiya tried to memorise the route, but this part of the temple was like a maze. “What if I get lost?” she said. “Please walk more slowly, so I can try to remember.”

  “There is no time to waste,” said the High Priestess. “Do not worry. Urshu will lead you, until you are familiar with the way.”

  At last the High Priestess stopped in front of a door. “This is the shrine of Anubis. No one else is allowed to enter, apart from the slave who lights the oil lamps and brazier on the day of the ceremony.”

  “What about Urshu?” asked Kiya as she watched the High Priestess push open the door.

  “Even Urshu must wait outside,” said Qelhatat. “Follow me, child.”

  Kiya followed her into the shrine and looked around with interest. Oil lamps on the walls lit the windowless shrine with their yellow, flickering light. Their smoke blackened the frescos above them but the rest of the painted walls showed Anubis, bright and clear, performing the imagined rites of his godlike status. Here, he supervised mummification, there, he helped Thoth weigh the hearts of the dead. In one scene he was shown throwing the heart of a sinner to Ammut - a monster with the head of a crocodile and the rear of a hippopotamus.

  Qelhatat led the way to a full-size marble statue of Anubis, before which burned a brazier of scented wood. On a plinth beside it stood a golden box and a scroll of papyrus.

  “You will perform the Ceremony of the Bones here once a month,” Qelhatat told her. “It is fortunate that you have been discovered in time for the ritual - there need be no delay in handing over.” Qelhatat took the scroll and unrolled it slightly. “Here is written the designated prayer to Anubis. You will soon be able to repeat it by heart.” She showed the scroll to Kiya, who peered at the hieroglyphs and hoped she could remember what they meant.

  “Our beloved Anubis.” Qelhatat’s voice slowed and deepened into ritual chant. “Lord God of Death, smile upon us, we beseech you. Let your mercy shine upon this temple. Please accept our humble offering. May her flesh be the bread of life, may her blood be like wine. Our sister will sustain you and make you happy to stay with us. For thus it was ordained by Amun.”

  Kiya shivered as she heard the words. To her fevered imagination it seemed as if the eyes in the paintings swivelled towards them as the gods listened to the prayer. Kiya watched Qelhatat kneel, open the golden box, and scatter its contents on the stone floor. Within the box were ribs and long bones, all yellow with age. They fell in a complex pattern.

  Qelhatat rose to her feet and handed Kiya the scroll. “Which of these hieroglyphs has been copied by the bones?” she asked.

  Kiya unrolled the scroll and examined it. Below the prayer to Anubis were columns of hieroglyphs, written by an amateur hand, very different from the exquisitely-inscribed prayer. Many of the hieroglyphs had been crossed through and those she ignored, but among the remaining, she found one that matched the pattern. “This one,” she said.

  Qelhatat looked at it and then she looked at Kiya. “You understand, Kiya, that each of these hieroglyphs is the name of a dancer.” Kiya nodded, she had come to that realisation. This must have been how she herself had been selected for sacrifice. Qelhatat continued to look at her and there was something in the High Priestess’s expression that chilled her blood. “I am sorry, Kiya. I know she is your friend, but the gods have decided to test your resolve to the limit. The hieroglyph chosen by the bones is... Eopei.”

  Kiya stared at Qelhatat. “There must be some mistake,” she cried. She hunted through the hieroglyphs but could see none other that resembled the pattern of the bones. When she looked up, Qelhatat was watching her with pity in her eyes.

  “This is not of your doing, Kiya. The gods have spoken.”

  “Please, can we throw the bones again?”

  “No. It is not allowed.” Qelhatat held up her hand to stop any further protests. “The judgement must be in the hands of the gods alone. That way you are saved from the agony of remorse.”

  “What about grief?” said Kiya, thinking of Eopei’s happy smile and the soft warmth of her embrace.

  “Nobody can prevent your grief, Kiya. As High Priestess you will carry a heavy burden. But you must save others from pain. It is up to you to tell the remaining girls a lie. There are many reasons a dancing girl might leave the temple. Perhaps she has gone to dance elsewhere, perhaps she has retired and returned to her parents, perhaps she has got married, perhaps she has been dismissed.”

  Kiya remembered the girls who had departed. “What about Makara?” she said. Makara had been a beautiful Cretan girl, who had looked after Kiya when she first became a dancer. Makara returned to Crete to get married. So swift was the proposal that she didn’t have time to say goodbye, but she left the dancers a flagon of wine with which to drink to her happiness. Qelhatat nodded but said nothing and Kiya felt tears spring into her eyes.

  “Your resolve will soon harden,” said Qelhatat, taking the scroll from her and rolling it up once more. “You may retrieve the bones, but do so with care, they are fragile.”

  Kiya knelt on the floor and picked up the bones. They felt greasy against her fingers and had a strange warmth that made her skin cringe. She placed them into the casket and handed it to Qelhatat.

  “Our task here is finished. Tell nobody what has happened in this room,” said Qelhatat as she returned the scroll and casket to the plinth. “Come now, we must make haste.” Qelhatat led the way out of the shrine and Kiya, with a heavy heart, followed.