“Their bond to our kings is an ancient one. Aryesbokhe will attempt to destroy the Bearer’s body to weaken Sutekh, but not before he himself has gained mastery over the Hammer.”
“It injured him when he touched it,” Rhenna said. “Can he command its power?”
“Not without great risk. Even if he succeeds, the Hammer will eventually turn against him.” Dakka’s black eyes rested on Tahvo. “You come from a distant land, priestess, but my soul tells me that you are beloved of the gods. Can you help us?”
Tahvo rose slowly, leaning on Rhenna’s arm. She opened her mouth and repeated a single word: “Aset. Aset. Aset…”
The goddess came so swiftly that Rhenna was not prepared for Tahvo’s transformation. A soft light radiated from her stout body, stretching Tahvo’s torso and limbs into a semblance of elegant beauty that had never belonged to a humble healer from the Northlands. Her face was copper-skinned and alluring, unmarred by any imperfection.
She opened blue eyes and turned to examine the priests who had fallen to their knees before her, each of her movements casting reflected torchlight from her jeweled collar and the long, intricately embroidered sash about the waist of her sheer gown. The horned sun-disk balanced upon her golden headpiece burned with its own inner luminance.
The priests pressed their foreheads to the ground. “Great of Magic, Restorer of Asar, Mother of Heru,” Dakka intoned. “We beg you to accept our undying gratitude—”
Aset lifted her hand, fixing Rhenna with the leashed power of her gaze.
“Rhenna of the Free People,” she murmured. The delicate black crescents of her brows etched a frown across the smoothness of her forehead. “Are you the one?”
Rhenna glanced at Dakka, trying to make sense of the goddess’s words. The priest shook his head almost imperceptibly.
“I am the companion of the Bearer of the Hammer,” Rhenna said, holding the goddess’s stare. “We know of Sutekh and how he threatens the soul of our friend. I am told that you and your fellow devas have the power to drive Sutekh from his body.”
Aset clasped the looped cross at her throat. “We were not prepared for this assault,” she said. “The king’s priests have demanded much of us to protect the prophecies from our enemies. We have not left the city since its foundation. Our powers…” She seemed to shrink, shadowed by a pall of vulnerability. “We cannot destroy Sutekh.”
Dakka raised his head from the ground, keeping his eyes averted. “Yet once, Great of Magic, you won for your son Heru the rule of Khemet with no more than your own cleverness.” He turned toward Rhenna. “When Asar, King of the Gods, was cruelly murdered by Sutekh, his heir, Heru-sa-Aset contended with the Red One for the throne. As they debated upon the merits of each claimant, the Divine Council forbade Lady Aset from speaking on behalf of her son. But she disguised herself as a mortal woman, a herdsman’s widow, and approached Sutekh with the tale of how the herdsman’s son was being deprived of his inheritance by a usurper. She begged the Red One to render his judgment, and he declared that the son was indeed entitled to his father’s property. In so doing, Sutekh condemned himself out of his own mouth.”
“I remember,” Aset said with a sad smile. “Those days are long past. And yet…” Her gaze grew hooded. “Your healer believes that Sutekh’s forces of chaos may be set against the Stone God. If one mortal shape can bear two bau…”
“Cian can’t go on as he is,” Rhenna said. “If you wait, he’ll be driven mad before he regains command of his body. Aryesbokhe must not carry the Hammer. However the priests have bound you in the past, now you must fight for the survival of devas and men.”
Aset’s face darkened with anger and just as suddenly cleared. “You speak without the reverence befitting a mortal,” she said, “but Ma’at resides in your words. I must consult my husband.” She closed her eyes, and her graceful form melted into another—undeniably masculine, his clothing more like snug wrappings than the long gown of his mate-black-skinned and bearing a tall crown fringed with feathers. In his hands he carried a crook and flail.
“Asar, Wenenefer, Lord of the Living,” Dakka whispered.
The god regarded Rhenna with obsidian eyes and walked past her to Cian’s side, his steps short and confined by the restricting cloth wound about his legs. “Sutekh,” he said with a long sigh. “My brother. My murderer.”
Rhenna quickly joined him. “Cian never harmed you, Lord Asar,” she said.
He smiled at her, full lips curving in his mild face. “My beloved has told me,” he said. “It is as she has said…we who remain in the city have given all our power to protecting the ancient writings of those who came before us. We have little left with which to fight. But today you bring us hope in your mortal body.” He touched Rhenna’s scarred cheek, and she felt the blood surge in her like a hot tide. “How strange it is to know that an outlander and unbeliever will return our son to us.”
Rhenna flinched away. “I don’t understand you.”
Without answering, Asar knelt beside Cian and passed his crook and flail over the still form. “Long have we served the kings of the People of the Scrolls,” he said, “even from the days of the first pharoah of Khemet. Now that time is past. The true Bearer must rise to do battle in our name.” He brushed his palm over the webbing above Cian’s mouth, and it peeled away like the scales of a molting serpent. He placed his lips on Cian’s, exhaling strongly so that Cian’s chest rose with the force of his breath. His arms and legs jerked once, then lay still again.
Asar withdrew, his skin dry and brittle as if he had expelled all the moisture in his body along with his breath. “I have given what I can,” he said, rising. “As once my brother and I fought for the rule of the Earth, so now Cian must fight for his ba.”
“How can I help him?” Rhenna asked.
The god gave her a long, strange look, as if she ought to know the answer. “The love of my lady restored me to life when all hope was lost. So will you restore him you love.”
His shape faded, and Aset reappeared. “I, too, have a gift.” She opened her hand. On her palm lay a tiny bronze sculpture no larger than Rhenna’s thumb, intricately formed to represent a seated woman nursing a child. Though the figure wore the horned disk of Aset’s crown, the face was almost featureless. The child wore a circlet set with the head of a hawk.
“This image has much power,” Aset said. “It is life itself, and the continuation of existence. As Heru avenged his father and defeated Sutekh, restoring Ma’at to the Two Lands, so Sutekh fears the harbinger of the child’s rebirth.” She took Rhenna’s hand and folded her fingers around the figurine. “Hold this close to your heart, and a part of me will travel with you.” She smiled at something only she could see. “We will put ourselves beyond the reach of the king’s priests. You will not see us again.”
Dakka scrambled to his feet. “Lady Aset…”
A dark mist gathered about the goddess. When it had dissipated, Tahvo stood in her place, trembling and pale. She staggered to the wall and heaved until her stomach had nothing left to expel. Rhenna helped her to sit.
“They are all gone,” Tahvo whispered. “I did not hear them. Did they help Cian?”
“I don’t know.” Rhenna tucked the figurine into her belt and looked at Dakka. “What did Asar do to him?”
Dakka paced on unsteady legs, his brow furrowed. “I have…never seen the gods as I have today,” he said. “There are no writings of Asar appearing to any priest of our people. He is among the most powerful of our gods, master of death—”
“A god of death?” Rhenna said.
“As Asar was reborn, so he is the god of resurrection,” Dakka said. “I believe the Lord of the Living lent a part of his ba to the Bearer, giving him strength to fight Sutekh. But his gift comes with a price, like the power of the Hammer.”
Rhenna balled her fists to keep from grabbing the priest by the scruff of his neck. “Hasn’t Cian given enough?”
Dakka bowed his head. “If the Watcher regains hi
s soul, he will always bear a part of both Sutekh and Asar within him.”
Rhenna walked away, imagining Cian forever changed, lost, his very being entangled with the souls of creatures beyond her comprehension. She had believed she could endure the ending of a love she had never fully acknowledged, but she had been wrong.
Asar had said that love had saved him. Rhenna could fight with nearly any weapon put in her hand, but this…
“Leave me with Cian,” she said to Dakka. “Take Tahvo to your Archives and help her find what she needs.”
The priest searched her eyes. “I do not doubt your courage, warrior of the North,” he said. “But are you certain—”
He broke off with a gasp as every light in the chamber died. When he finally summoned up his magic flame, his startled gaze told Rhenna what the fire would reveal.
Cian stood among the shredded scraps of his gossamer bindings, his clothing and jewelry cast away, his eyes and flesh and hair as red as iron-shot earth. He thrust out his hand. Dakka fell, his limbs sealed to the floor as if some great weight bore him down. The other priests sank to their knees.
Rhenna seized her spear and stood before Cian, desperately seeking the man behind the god. “Listen to me, Cian,” she said. “You’re strong…stronger than you ever believed—”
He smashed the spear out of Rhenna’s hands, nearly wrenching her arms from their sockets. Pain boiled the blood in her veins and robbed her of sight. Clawed fingers caught Rhenna about the neck, squeezing the air from her throat.
Somewhere beyond the roaring in her ears she heard the sharp yapping of a dog, incongruous and absurdly ordinary. Cian pushed her away, and she saw the small, sharp-eared dog she had seen near the palace racing back and forth at Tahvo’s feet.
“Eshu,” she whispered.
The dog grinned and began to run dizzying circles around Cian, barking all the while. Cian’s mouth twisted in fury. He stumbled back toward the chamber door, and a tinge of gold pierced the red of his eyes. His skin turned pale and then black. With a wild cry, he spun and plunged into the darkened corridor.
Rhenna retrieved the spear, snatched a torch from the wall and started after him. “Find the prophecies,” she called to Tahvo. “And take care with that dog!”
Tahvo followed Rhenna as far as the door and listened to her retreating footsteps. She knew she could do no more to help Cian. Healing him was beyond her power.
She prayed it was not beyond Rhenna’s.
The dog trotted about the chamber, calmly sniffing the walls. He did not speak to refute Rhenna’s cryptic warning.
“What creature is this?” Dakka asked, tracking the animal’s movements with wary eyes.
“He is Eshu,” Tahvo said, “a spirit of the Western forest with whom we had some dealings. He…” He cannot be trusted, she thought. But he had just saved Rhenna’s life, and she sensed no hostility in the god. “He must have followed us in our journey, but his purpose here is unknown to us. It is best not to hinder him in any way.”
“I understand,” Dakka said. He cleared his throat. “Are you ready to proceed to the Archives?”
“Yes.”
His sandaled feet brushed across the floor, and she felt the pressure of his fingers between her eyes. Light shot inside her skull.
“I have but a small gift to send you on your way,” he said. “I pray its effects will last until you escape the city.”
He withdrew his hand, and suddenly Tahvo could see Dakka’s face and the great statues behind him. He acknowledged her gasp of surprise with a smile that quickly vanished.
“This chamber and its secret passages are known to only a few of us,” he said, “but the scrolls are accessible to any of the priesthood. The king’s servants may be there even now.” He spoke to his brothers in the Meroite tongue. “Four of my men will go ahead to make certain the Archives are safe.”
He faced the door between the panther statues and waved his staff. The stone slid open with a grating rumble. The four priests went through, Eshu darting ahead into the passageway.
The moments of the priests’ absence crept by with painful slowness, but at last one of the men returned. “There were two of the king’s priests in the Archival chamber,” Dakka said to Tahvo. “They have been dealt with.”
“Eshu?”
“The beast has disappeared. Come with me.”
Dakka led Tahvo into another maze, lighting their way with the glow from the golden head of his staff. A sealed door opened into a huge room supported by gilded columns painted with strange symbols. Against every wall, and on the shelves of wooden cupboards set in rows along the length of the room, were hundreds of yellowed scrolls. The room was lit by no source that Tahvo could see. The air thrummed with ancient magic.
“If not for the enchantments worked by the priesthood,” Dakka said, “the scrolls would have crumbled to dust two thousand years ago. Not one papyrus has ever left this chamber since the founding of the city.” He pressed a small metal object into her hand. “The prophecies you seek have been set aside in the cedar chest marked with the ram’s head of Amun. Fit the end of this ankh into the ram’s mouth, turn it thrice, and the chest will open.”
“The gods have given me the gift of tongues,” Tahvo said, “but I do not know if I can read your writings.”
“Two of my priests keep watch at the main entrance of the Archives. When you have retrieved the scrolls, continue straight ahead and up the stairs, and you will find the door to the street. The priests will get you out of the city and aid you with the translation once you are safe.” He seemed to hear her thoughts before she spoke them. “We will not abandon the Watcher or his companions. Have faith, little sister.”
Tahvo closed her fingers around the ankh. “Thank you for all you have done.”
“I am blessed to witness the fruition of the prophecies in my lifetime,” he said, “and to serve the holy Bearers.” He bowed deeply. “The gods go with you, priestess.”
“And with you.”
He straightened and turned back the way they had come. The door closed behind him, becoming part of the wall.
Tahvo walked into the room, drinking in its austere beauty. It was indeed a holy place. She would have given much for a few days with one of the priests to reveal the marvels that must exist here. But the gift of sight was too precious to waste on anything but survival. She passed by the stacks of scrolls and looked for the chest. She found it at the foot of the wide steps rising between heavy columns at the end of the room.
In a chamber so unadorned, the chest stood apart with its workings of gold and the raised embossing of a crowned ram’s head upon its lid. The sides were painted with scenes of leaping panthers. Tahvo crouched beside the chest, fitted the end of the ankh into the ram’s mouth and turned it three times. The top lifted easily in her hands.
But the chest was empty. Tahvo fell back on her heels, sick with shock. She ran her hands along the insides, certain that her newly restored sight had deceived her.
“You will not find them.”
She turned at the voice, expecting one of Dakka’s priests. But the man who stood behind her was no native of New Meroe. He was scarcely taller than Tahvo, and beneath his head cloth his hair and eyes were pale as moon-silvered ice.
She recognized his face. She had seen it before in a small room in Karchedon, when she had begged to save the lives of her friends. She remembered the sound of his laughter.
“So you know me,” he said with a strange, cruel gentleness. “I would know you anywhere, sister. It is almost like looking in clear water.”
Tahvo got to her feet, shaken by the pounding of her heart. “You are real,” she whispered.
“As real as you.” He smiled. “Did you think you could escape me forever?” He held up the leather sack hung from his shoulder. It bulged with brown-edged scrolls. “Your quest is over. When I return to Baalshillek, this city will be dust. And you…” He made a negligent gesture with one hand, and Tahvo felt the blood in her veins grow
sluggish. “You will no longer claim the power that should have been mine.”
“How…are you called?” she asked.
“I am Urho.” He made a fist, and Tahvo’s heart gave a lurch, struggling with every beat. “Do not fight, sister. It will be easier.”
Gasping for breath, Tahvo remembered how she had cured Rhenna of the shivering sickness by seeking and eliminating its cause in the waters of the warrior’s blood. Now Urho was drawing the water from Tahvo’s body as easily as he might net fish in a river, and there were no gods remaining in the city to lend their magic in her defense.
Yet the simple, elemental spirits had not abandoned her. She used the last of her strength to summon tiny particles of moisture from the air of the room, shaping and crystallizing them into a slender spear of ice. It was a slight and paltry weapon, but it was the only hope she had left. The moment it had hardened to solidity, she cast it directly at Urho’s chest.
The dart distracted Urho for a precious instant. He paused in his attack to bat it aside, and Tahvo flung herself forward on rapidly numbing legs. She clawed at the sack, dragging it from Urho’s shoulder.
Urho laughed as she fell. “Foolish woman,” he said. “Do you believe—”
His question ended in a yelp of surprise. A small prick-eared dog darted between his reaching hand and the satchel, snatching the bag in its jaws. Tahvo thanked the spirits and crawled to the foot of the stairs. At least the scrolls would be out of Urho’s hands. Whatever Eshu did with them, he would surely not deliver them to Baalshillek….
The light wooden cupboard above her rattled, warning of the tremors just before they began to roll under Tahvo’s hands and knees. The building groaned. Dust sifted down from the ceiling. Urho looked up, bracing his legs apart as the ground heaved and rippled.
“The Hammer,” he said, cursing in the Samah tongue. His pale gaze returned to Tahvo. “My allies are within the city, sister. They will see to your companions, and I will find that beast—”
“Look no further, fool.” Eshu reappeared, grinning with sharp canine teeth. “Come and get me.”
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