Opener of the Sky

by Mary R Woldering

  Stunned, the prince tried to mask his wonder. He didn’t realize he had continued to inch closer, until Ari glared at him. An evocative glow moved up over Marai’s hand and into his face. Maatkare shook his head in disbelief, his attention riveted by the seeming contradiction of a man who looked so powerful yet now appeared as tender as a new mother is to her child.

  No. That’s ecstasy work. My stupid cousin Wse works this gift, and Grandfather was his tutor. Could he have seen a talent and taught it to him, but for some reason denied me the training? he asked himself.

  Slowly, the swelling and discoloration disappeared from Djerah’s face. Marai and Ariennu very carefully, raised his limp form into an almost seated position so he faced the box of stones in front of Deka. Gently enough to not disturb him, they removed his stained and ragged loincloth so that he lay naked on the bedding with his legs slightly apart.

  Marai and the henna-haired woman touched various places on his body to check his life.

  “Goddess, it’s too late.” her face fell for a moment and she shook her head. She touched his throat for a moment then looked to see if there was any indication of breath in the ruin of his face. Her eyes appealed to the sojourner.

  “No. Ari, we can still do this. Bring him back. Believe it,” Marai urged. He stopped for a moment to touch her shoulder, but she insisted.

  “No. He’s dead, Marai. It’s over. No heart, no breath. He has the one eye that fixes on nothing and stares. I’ve seen dead men before. I know.”

  “I could…” Maatkare almost wanted to check the young man himself, out of perverse curiosity, but stopped himself before he realized he had been ignored. Then, for the first time in ages, he felt a dull ache in his chest. He understood that feeling.

  Which of these wretches is sending me remorse? Bastard shouldn’t have come at me. I’m a trained warrior; a leader of king’s men. It’s my blood, damn you all to the nasty jaws of Ammit! You don’t try to make me a villain in this, his thoughts growled.

  Naibe gasped and looked up for a moment. She knew what he thought. Her finger went to her lips to hush his subconscious ugliness.

  Maatkare stared again, completely astonished. He had seen adepts heal the sick and feverish, but he had never seen anyone care for a man’s head so zealously. In some cases of injury, he had heard of small holes drilled in the bones of the head so that the fatty matter inside would not become corrupted with fluids and constrict the flow of blood to the senses. Wise men knew this stuff in the head had something to do with the regulation of the heart and breath, but was otherwise worthless.

  Young Naibe had told him to be quiet.

  No, woman. You don’t you shush me, you failed sorceress. It’s still your fault. He could be enjoying a hero’s place in the afterlife for enduring all, even if it was ill -conceived and stupid, but for you, but for what I have made to grow in your belly, I might have killed you. Yes. I know your secret and knew it since the night I saved your worthless life. So you go on and lie to yourself that by act of the gods it is of this man Marai’s seed, if it makes you feel better, he chided Naibe in silence. She lowered her open gaze, mortally offended, but the snarl he felt emanated from Deka.

  He turned his gaze to Marai and Ariennu again, almost forgetting that Deka still lay in his arms governing the healing in her own way.

  In his own irritation, he had bragged about impregnating Naibe to Deka.

  So you see, then, he sent the woman in his arms a message. How I am with you, depends on you. I have no need of a child from you for the next few moons. I have better plans for us. If she births successfully we shall see if it comes out howling.

  “So, Sojourner Marai. You intend to bring the dead back to life? Still?” he asked, but was once again ignored.

  Marai cupped the base of the young man’s skull in his warming hands, as he searched for signs of life. The prince observed the air near the big man’s hands shimmer like distant sand in the bright sun. As he focused on anything he could learn, he saw Marai’s hands pass over and shape the man’s face, crushed nose, and jaw as if they had been made of wet clay. The fourteen stones that hovered like orbs of colored light, moved to hover above the lotus points on the young man’s body without touching his flesh.

  Alive? Still? I was certain I felt his spirit coming free. Maatkare wanted to demand an explanation, but knew no one would give one to him even if he ordered it. To him, it looked as if they were going to use the floating stones to attempt a full cleansing and regeneration of the body before them. In his own discipline, the preparation of the dead including placing amulets and scarab shaped stones on the body, as it was wrapped. It aided the spirit and gave it a good and protected passage through the afterlife. If a similar technique of placing stones worked on a man who was dead with the intent to restore him, it would be an unknowable miracle. It would be a step toward immortality for anyone who controlled the Ntr stones and learned the technique. It would also be dangerous in the hands of foes. If enemies could be healed and regenerated they might get up and avenge themselves for the inconvenience and the suffering they had endured.

  Prince Maatkare Raemkai had been taught the thirteen points of light and color in the body, each corresponding to a god or goddess. Each could be strengthened and energized, to heal a particular ailment or injury governed by that region. It was considered impossible to work more than one or at the most, two points at the same time because each progressed through the other. Healings of this kind needed several sessions. Anything more courageous could kill the patient or drive the more empathic healers mad with the suffering they drew into themselves.

  If he does have enough life in him, these untrained fools will just… he saw Marai raise a forefinger to one of the orbs, then speak a phrase. Ariennu and Naibe repeated it as a soft chant. A stone drifted downward. Naibe released her grasp and moved away from Djerah.

  Hmm. She is protecting the child within then. How does that play if it’s mine? She says it isn’t. It might be. I should like to see her prove it is not, Maatkare mused briefly then muttered internally before turning his attention back to the miracle of regeneration taking place through the stones.

  One stone, a red one for HetHrt, was placed at the young man’s sack, an orange one just above the ben for Aset, yellow just above the navel for Sekhet, green at mid-heart for Bastet. Each time they placed a stone they whispered in the Akkad language first, then his own Kemet tongue. They named the parts of the body each stone governed, as if they instructed the fallen man to pay attention and allow the healing to take place.

  The way our own ritual is done for the newly dead. We instruct. He sat perplexed, then realized he still had a firm grip on Deka when she whimpered a little.

  “Do you regret you are not with them, Nefira?” he whispered in her ear.

  “No, Raem,” she answered quickly.

  Too quickly he thought.

  She knew his doubt instantly and shut her eyes as if she was in pain.

  As they watched, Marai placed the turquoise stone at the base of the man’s throat for Nt.

  The prince noticed that the stonecutter’s nose was less discolored and had a better shape, but the blue stones rested around the nose and continued to leech out the old blood and discoloration. They darkened, bloated as if they were drinking the old blood, and then expelled the fluids so that they ran down the sides of the young man’s face. Ariennu dabbed the gore with any clean spot on the cloth she found.

  That’s all? I haven’t seen his chest rise or fall since Red Sister told this Marai he was dead. Then again, I’ve seen people deny someone’s death out of grieving. Thank the gods I’ve never been slain with such mourning since the dog… Maatkare’s thoughts grew solemn again. The deep purple stone was at his brow, the point of HoRa. The crystal one, NefertM floated above the top of his head.

  Suddenly, the prince noticed the little crescent shaped stone Deka had found in the dirt near the ladder where this man had been tied. It floated up, the last in the group of fourt
een, then paused a hands width above the stonecutter’s head. A spark shot down to his forehead at the point between his eyebrows.

  “Wait. I wanted that one. It’s a fourteenth, but there are only thirteen regions. Who said…?” Maatkare objected aloud.

  Naibe scooted back to include herself in the circle around the man. The sojourner and Ariennu hurriedly welcomed her and joined their arms to hers. A tone, part whisper, part music, and part whistle sounded in the prince’s thoughts. At that instant, a wave of energy swept over him, knocking him backward and leaving him light-headed enough to lose his grip on Deka.

  Dizzy. How dare they… He felt instantly drained as if the magic this sojourner employed had cut through every defense, attached itself, and had begun to pull his own energy from him. As the feeling grew into full-fledged disorientation, Maatkare fought to stay conscious. Light. Light broken into colors, he reveled in new visions. A band of prismatic light extended up from the three sojourner’s brows and hearts, then extended out toward Deka who remained in front of his arms. When it reached her, it bounced back again. Her own light joined theirs. The tone grew in strength and volume, and a slight glimmer surfaced over the young man’s head.

  What the… No… not allowing this… Maatkare gasped, starting to position his hand in a defensive gesture. You can’t have her. You can’t.

  A rush of a small whirlwind, spun between the three then returned downward into the stones as if they had breathed out. Banded color like a miniature rainbow glimmered upward from the stones poised over the man who still seemed pale and dead. A spark returned upward from his forehead and for a moment the prince thought he saw the man’s chest rise. Then, an instant later he saw it fall, then rise again.

  He breathes. Gods…

  Maatkare stared, open-mouthed, and unable, by this time, to believe anything that had paraded before his eyes.

  Deka trembled in an involuntary spasm as her own light burst forth. She fell back against the prince and hung, head thrown slightly back and open-mouthed as if she were a lifeless vessel for the force that had suddenly issued from her.

  Force of Atum’s dark! I command you to stop this! He incanted deliberately, but without any outward display of fear.

  She didn’t respond to his words, but inched forward with the box of stones in her hands.

  Maatkare gestured the command with his fingertips, then lunged forward to grab her, but a bolt of black lightning tripped from the gently whirling source. It ignited her, encasing her in a flame that didn’t burn or appear to hurt her. The fire seemed as ordinary as the skirt she wore. The fire arched to his thickly muscled arm, down his chest, over his belly, and into his loin, sensing and arousing him as if it had become a lover’s touch.

  Find the pain that makes your spirit hard

  I could not, when I was walking

  A small, low-voiced woman whispered inside his thoughts.

  When you truly understand love,

  You will live among the gods

  Fire. Saw this before when she lay with me in ecstasy. Maatkare wanted to touch the woman; to hold onto her because he felt dragged away from the scene before him by forces he couldn’t comprehend enough to counteract. He couldn’t touch her or even sense enough of his feet so he could dig into the earth of the tent floor. Something didn’t want him there. It filled his eyes and pulled him further away from his place on the skin. He growled and fought as Deka rose and slowly moved toward Marai, the young man, and the other women.

  Faithless wretch… he thought for an instant that she was still trying to break free of him.

  No, beloved, Deka’s thoughts broke through his confusion, a coy expression in her eyes. I am with them in this for the moment; to show you all that awaits us with the use of the Ntr children. I will return to your arm when it is complete.

  A spirit double of her body drifted in front of him while her physical form walked with the box in her hands to sit at the young man’s feet. The spirit danced between his body and her hers, bathed in the illusion of flame. Her eyes slanted and ears rose slightly. Her teeth pointed.

  Lion, he smiled and for a moment he wanted to say something but found himself drawn back into the world of healing.

  Marai felt everyone who sat in the circle around the young man breathe in and out like wind as it rushed in a storm. That draft of air raced through their chests, went around the circle in one direction, then reversed, going out through their brows and the tops of their heads. Their breathing formed an encircling fiery ray. For a moment, his thoughts drifted back to his cave home at Wadi Ahu and to a mystical night when the Children of Stone greeted him from the firmament. He no longer saw Naibe’s sweet face beside him, Ari’s concerned expression, Deka’s embarrassed humility, or Maatkare struggling with unseen forces on the nearby sheepskin.

  Shine for one who begs to serve you

  Return to the night…

  His gentle tone lifted the words above the nearly silent melody. It made him ache for a simpler time but he knew he never really wished to go back to being that humble and ever-depressed shepherd who mourned a wife that had endured him more than loved him. This was the reality he wanted; his hands becoming beacons of light that worked as healer’s tools.

  The unlocking of the secrets, he shook his head, inspired again. Energy to the Children. Our will from us to make him live. The asking of it, if it is possible. He understood everything he needed for the healing of the young man, but on a level he would never be able to put into words or even remember once he broke deep contact with the Children of Stone. The tiniest components of the young man’s physical body transformed into a map of the innermost parts of the symbolic flower of life. It looked the same as if had been when he had meditated on it and walked the spirit path into the center.

  This time, the vague outline of the interior of the young man’s head presented beneath the path. Some parts were dark and corrupt, others disconnected and painful. As he walked, he breathed and whispered to the places that looked damaged.

  He whispered: Be well, be strong. The women joined the chorus and finally the masses of Children from all the far reaches of anything in the greater parts of the sky joined. There are so many of them! He almost distracted himself, then recalled the young man lying in the grasp of death. Each particle received sparks of renewal from the crescent shaped stone Marai had positioned on Djerah’s brow. As it worked in concert with all of the voices, it sighed in sad pity and began to whisper.

  He has waited too long

  Just past the threshold.

  There is still a way

  Do you understand what I ask, Man of Ai?

  I whisper to you that I am willing

  The gentle whispers changed tone and by the end of the phrase the voice had become Djerah’s. The stone changed to an oval shape and sank into his skull. At that moment the high pitched hum varied through the chorus of words that came through loud and then faint. The hum sounded like ears ringing, or wind whistling.

  Marai hadn’t wanted to give him a stone that way, but knew there was no other way to heal him. He had died. Marai knew he had been dead the moment he looked him over and saw that the bubbling froth at his lips had faded. Maatkare had stalled him too long, because he wished them to fail.

  Ari is right. Houra told me it too. They knew. I just wasn’t ready to let him go. And then, Houra told me he had a great purpose and that this was going to be his first day of a new kind of eternity.

  He regarded the ongoing repair the stone made as it became familiar with Djerah’s body. Their breath signal sighed like the opening of a lotus in the morning and its evening closing just before it submerged beneath the surface of the water.

  It was why those in Kemet revered that flower. It died and rose again as much as they wished it to. Light opened and shut; spilling out multitudes of jeweled, colorful raindrops. Multicolored flames erupted from the places where the rest of the stones lay.

  Gradually Marai’s breath grew shallower and he began to detach from
his deep trance. He opened his eyes tentatively to see Maatkare staring holes into Deka while he rubbed at his upper cheeks and temples to regain some stability after what the big man sensed had been some kind of spiritual struggle.

  Ariennu and Naibe roused themselves and looked to him for further instruction.

  Djerah lay peacefully on the slightly bloodstained linen. Other than some discoloration and greenish bruising on his face and newly built nose, he seemed to be dozing.

  Ariennu stretched a little and frowned at Naibe-Ellit’s expression of fatigue. Marai saw her start to slump and reached for her, but she straightened.

  “I’m all right. A little weak,” she stroked the very slight rise in her belly, then acquiesced and let him hold her. The healing had worked, but not without cost to everyone. The young man’s brow pulsed slightly where the small white Yah stone had dug bloodlessly into his head. Layers of new skin already formed over it.

  Marai’s heart pounded in his chest. He closed his eyes again and touched the place where the Child Stone had buried itself. The images of healing raced through him. Smallest parts of the blood, bone, skin, hair, and bundles of sparking lightning received new messages as Djerah’s new stone and the others still positioned on his body worked together.

  Won’t work. Djerah’s too much like Sheb. He’s far too sensible to do well as a host, he thought. He wouldn’t want to be like me. He said as much on the trip up here.

  It is something new

  That never has been done before.

  His internal chorus reminded him that Children had worked the first part of the miracle in an open, dusty tent.

  We don’t have to go to your vessel? You can just… He started, but they finished.

  Uncertain.

  Each one is new.

  Quiet and rest for now

  His chosen one struggles