Opener of the Sky

by Mary R Woldering

  Oh but these are dead worlds now. Be happy for me Marai. I am finding myself.

  Deka…come and play with me.

  The child voice which had called itself Ameny, the voice of the child she would give the prince, whispered from inside the little moonlike light just as it floated in front of her.

  Come down. We want to see you, pretty woman.

  The voice transformed into the gentle warble of an older man. It led her closer to the men on the stone porch, then plunged down with her as if it wanted her to get a better look at them.

  “Marai, my Man Sun” she breathed aloud “I do see you. Do you see me?”

  He nodded, but didn’t focus on her. A man who looked like the stonecutter her beloved had punished stood with him, but he had changed. His hair was lighter; his beard appeared smoother than she recalled. She sensed the pulse of something pale and moonlike on his brow.

  You have a stone, now. You have replaced me to him. It heals you, but you are weak still. Deka felt a coldness envelop her heart because Marai and the others were moving on without her.

  “Marai. Look. Do you see her; the spirit?” she heard the younger man ask and saw him point.

  “It’s her,” Marai answered with a little laugh that sounded sad. “It’s our lost Deka on a spirit journey.”

  “No,” her spirit answered. “I don’t want to be seen by you…” but she was distracted by the sight of a tall dark man who stood with them. “You. I know you,” Deka gasped.

  She remembered a hot and dusty day in the market and a tall young priest of Djeuhti who had evoked her dance. When she got up to move for him she had remembered the steps from a ghost of memory. That action had set everything else into motion. It was the day everything changed.

  A smallish, older man pointed up at the sky and beckoned to the little orb of light that had led her to them. She sensed familiarity, but she didn’t think she knew him until she felt the name Metauthetep Akaru Sef whisper through her stone:

  Know him.

  It said.

  The man Marai was to meet? The Akaru Sef is supposed to be a mystic and leader of people in this sepat. My beloved says he is a worthless coward. But, she wondered, do I know him more than that somehow?

  “Deka.” Marai’s gentle voice in a singsong question. “Are you ready to come to us?”

  Of course he would know I was looking, but not that I was regretting. She looked away and was about to send another thought to him when the small old man beckoned to the orb, then dispersed it in a sparkly flash.

  “Ah! I thought it was you. I do know you. You are the woman of this place who has been searching for her lost spirit. I have felt your call for so very long,” the man moved closer to Marai and raised his hand as if he was pointing out her spirit -shape to the others.

  Has this been a cruel game? Deka tensed. This was the light she had seen in her camp when the child’s voice spoke from it. Now this old man appeared to control it.

  Marai, stay away from him. He’s dangerous, she rushed at the group of four men.

  She saw the young man Djee stagger, then rub his eyes as if his head ached. He turned away, about to fall, but the tall dark priest supported him.

  Marai turned to him and warned:

  “Djerah. Don’t. You’re still not set inside. Make your thoughts blank. Go over there, sit down and practice that.”

  As Deka watched, the tall one moved the young man to one side and made him sit with his head down and hands crossed up over his shoulders in an attitude of self-calming. The young priest stood and frowned in his own sense of recognition.

  “She’s the one,” he started. “…the same one who danced our women’s dance for green growing, as I told you, Grandfather…”

  Deka gasped, feeling a pulse of energy that she had been correct. Instantly, a wave and a distant music fluttered in her heart. The elder had started to hum a tune as he pointed at her floating image.

  The music drew her closer to the older man. Your old voice is music; music of a thousand rising out of the Land of Grass. How do I know you? she asked, her wings settling into a quiet skirt again in her dream. No, I do not. I cannot know you, she turned away but felt his gentle thoughts push into her like early-season wind.

  Oh, come to me, my pretty one. You are far lovelier than the woman in my dreams. You should not have stayed away from us.

  She saw the elder’s eyes lower then raise again. His hands suddenly went up to her.

  “Sekhet Meri Netert, my memory’s sweet voice calling to you above the battle. Is that truly who you are?” The Akaru spoke aloud and his words riveted the other men standing with him as if he had repeated an utterance. “Yes I do know you so well. I know how you want the taste of life now, how it marks you and burns your insides. But you must tell our father this one thing. Do not bring the storm today; do not bring it so soon or so many of his own creation will die. It is your sacred duty and why you must come back to us,” the old man whispered his thoughts into the air. Deka felt so comforted by them, marveling that this old man she didn’t know spoke to her so easily.

  Sekhet Meri Netert ...Sekhet beloved goddess he called me. Is that it, then? Our Father? Who? She never considered that she may have had a father. A storm? He expects me to go to him and delay it? She withdrew, but noticed a smiling face looking poignantly up at her, sadness and joy in his wrinkle-lined eyes.

  “You know it is, and that you should come to us, sweet one. You should not be apart from your sisters and brothers, and yes, I have always been one of you, waiting here. I have been calling to you forever.”

  Marai reached up to shape the outside of his vision of her. She saw him bow his silvery head, then the smaller man grip his arm in support as if his utterance to her had weakened him.

  Marai. Sweet Marai. I see I’ve hurt you so. But you see me now. You see how it has to be, you all do. She began, but something horrid drew her back like a screaming snap when as she noticed one of Akaru Sef’s eyes had blazed green in a deep lowing howl of wind. Something else appeared, like a golden orb on his eyes. For the quickest of moments, she heard the scream of the wolf that merged with the wind. It howled at her back and yet a voice in the front still echoed:

  Ha-go-re! Akh-go-re Nejter Deka Nefer Sekht Meri Netert

  My name is sung ever-present

  Though I am here.

  I fly to you, I come

  On dark but burning wings I walk on air

  Open the sky to me

  Ha-go-re Ta-te

  CHAPTER 34: FIRE IN THE BLOOD

  When the triumphant howl drifted over the camp, Deka froze, roused from her journey. In all of the times past, the howl of a wolf or a jackal that rose in the distance meant there had been a final kill. Soon after that, the prince and his men always marched back to the camp. They celebrated and imitated his victory cry with their own hoots and howls. This time there was no sound of men on a joyous-but-weary return.

  After an agony of quiet, Deka heard distant yipping and tittering of hyenas; these were real scavengers, not human imitations. She closed the box, put it on the trunk, got the lamp, and then went to the tent flap to look out.

  Men had begun to stream back to the camp, but as they arrived they motioned for others to run out to the grass and give them some help.

  Raem? Where is he? Deka’s heart pounded in her chest. She knew something had gone wrong when she had been swept away to visit Marai. “What’s going on? What’s happened?” she asked the commotion of men who hurried past the tent opening. She wasn’t answered until a stoic older man followed by an assistant squeezed rudely past her.

  Neither man looked back to indicate Maatkare was following or apologized for their behavior.

  “Excuse me? Why are you here?” Deka felt an uncanny amount of rage start to build in the pit of her stomach. “This is his Highness’ private area. Has he asked you to be here? Where are his regulars?” she followed the men around the tent as they bustled with the setting up of healing supplies, then real
ized they had begun to remove the fine bedding from the luxurious padding.

  “He’s been hurt?” she asked, but neither man looked up from their preparations to verify her suggestion.

  After long tense moments, while Deka watched and tried not to tear at her hands, Rutiy and Sutiy, the mute Wawati, shuffled out of torch-lit darkness. They carried the senseless prince into the tent and carefully deposited him on the bed, which was now draped with tanned hide. At the sight of him, her heart seized because so much blood drenched the prince’s rumpled shendyt, chest armor, and greaves; he looked as if he had been skinned and laid open.

  Dead! She felt a momentary giddiness at the sight of the blood, then a dread speculation over what force might have caused such grievous wounds. Her thoughts raced back to her flight to the observatory and the Qustul settlement. The wind. The old man has done this. Why have you killed him? I knew he would do something and I warned Marai, but I should have been here at the hunt to protect my beloved. He distracted me with his spell of light!

  This man had been in the back of her dreams, she knew, but she had constantly pushed him out and away from her. He was a dream that became part of her reality the day the priest visited and cast his spell. When they were in his house on the way to the mines; when she and Raem had activated the Wdjat, he had lurked. He was there, but invisible. She had felt nothing that night in his house but an almost demented need for Maatkare to claim and then reward her. Tonight, the man had shown not only his face but so much more. He had answered her questions, but now she didn’t want to know those answers.

  Tell our father, he said? Lies! Our father? As if he is my brother? A brother? No. No. Nooooo No No brother. There was never a brother. Maatkare is my sworn brother and my love. Maatkare! Be well and defend us… she felt a sob catch in her throat …dead? Oh no, not yet... not now, my sweet. Her inner voice froze at the sound of a gurgling little cackle that rose from his body as the guards deposited him on his bed. He shivered and trembled in shielded agony. When she turned, she saw that he still clutched the golden dagger in a death-grip.

  He’s alive. Deka pushed her way back into the main area of the tent, then knelt beside his bed to cover his quaking form with passionate kisses. She lapped at the blood to clean him in her own way. Oh blessed thrill, Maatkare, my hero. You are truly a god now. She wept, touched him, and held him up, weak with joy. When his head lolled backward, she gathered it and pulled it up so she could kiss his eyes. He rallied slightly, but soon lapsed into senselessness. Blood steadily welled and ran onto the hide bed cover.

  “You have to let us help him,” the physician bent to her arm and urged her to get up.

  “No. Not yet,” she wrenched her arm away from him. “I have to see his wounds. I have to see how bad they are. He would want me to know how it is with him.”

  The elder shrugged, then ordered the big guards to get stilled water and salt. With a glance, she made sure he understood he ought to give her more time. When the grooms arrived with it moments later, Deka bid them sit quietly beside her while she bathed the prince’s face and unbuckled his shredded armor.

  It’s bad. His arm and chest were torn open by that demon… but he beat it! He will survive. He has to. Her fingers moved quietly to the open gouges and tried to smooth the ribboned skin over his breast so the edges would lay straight. Tears of her joy dropped onto his heaving chest and her shoulders shook with sobs, overjoyed that he at least responded to her by tightening the grip of his right hand. She raised up.

  “Let me take this, beloved one,” Deka’s hands grasped the sticky knife he still gripped in his left hand. “I will clean it and put it away for you,” she whispered, then spoke to his thoughts: I will respect it, because it saved you and brought you home to me.

  The elder physic returned and touched her arms gently.

  “Let us help him now… we mustn’t wait any longer. We will bathe his hurts and make him comfortable.”

  She looked up, as stunned as if she had been dreaming, then glanced back when she heard the prince make a weak grunt of pain.

  “See? It’s a long gash. He bleeds from many claw marks at his shoulder and arm, a bite tore his skin, but see how he fought until he was victorious! He will defeat this hurt, too.”

  She read the physic’s thoughts far too easily and knew neither he nor his assistant agreed.

  Poor creature. Her grieving has caused her thoughts to deny that he will die soon.

  She sensed them thinking. A low growl issued from her throat. Did they dare claim he would fail so easily. They are traitors. All of them.

  “You’re wrong. I know your thoughts. If you haven’t the skill to heal him, leave at once and I will do it,” she focused an evil stare at the physician who froze for a moment.

  Deka knew she had frightened the man, but despite her outward show of confidence, she worried. Maatkare’s wounds bled steadily from a dreadful raking over his beautiful left arm and part of his upper chest. If the bleeding couldn’t stop, he would continue to weaken. The cuts were deep. She bent to give him some strength with a kiss and tasted the blood from his feed in his mouth.

  No. What? She frowned, recognizing the taste of a man’s blood. My love, what have you done? The back of her hand went to her mouth. She moved back, gagging. The taste is off. It’s not the blood of a beast or an enemy. If he’s tasted the blood of one of his own men he’s brought a curse on himself ! She didn’t know how she knew that, but at that moment she accepted it.

  Tales of men of any rank being bitten by beasts and then inclined to take their shape sometimes against their own will were always bantied about watch fires of the encampments. It would be her duty to see such evil never took hold. No, I won’t let you be a slave to this. In our kind, it’s a gift, not a curse! You taught me that.

  “Do what you can for him.” She looked up and addressed the physician who hovered nearby. “When you have threaded his deeper wounds I will stay with him through the night.” She faded into the background of her part of the tent addition to think about whose blood she had tasted on his lips. The big Wawati stood guard outside the tent. She hadn’t seen the tall guard who used to annoy Wise Mama and preen for his Highness to allow him permission to use her.

  Wuenre. Now where is he in all this? She frowned, then unable to sit still while the physician and an assistant worked on the prince’s arm, she cut through the edge of the main room and exited the tent.

  She moved to one of the guards, touched his arm gently and looked into his eyes so that he understood her thoughts. The other guard turned and followed both of them to a place just outside the main circle of the tents.

  Talking fingers, she gestured, knowing that these men still might not understand her. She would send thoughts along with the gestures, hoping it worked. They were intelligent, she knew, but they were different. Deka was only beginning to sense what the oddness they possessed was about.

  Because you are brave protectors, we understand each other. She gestured while pushing the thought to them. I will reward you in ways you may not know once all is returned to me.

  MaMa, the first one addressed her. Protect.

  What happened out there? Why do the men shy from me, yet wish his spirit to go free? She placed her hand on the big dark man’s throat, giving him the thought it would help him speak.

  Wounds kill the heart. His face turned away, but Deka knew the man was not sorrowing. He guarded a far different emotion… a kind of envy.

  Let me read what your eyes saw in the battle, she looked into his eyes. Her other hand touched the second guard, who had been looking over his shoulder and attempting to sense and interpret some of the chatter in the camp.

  When the window into their memories opened, she saw animals thrashing and screaming. Maatkare slashed and struggled under the weight of the beast, then emerged with something in his hand that looked like raw meat and glistened in torchlight.

  He didn’t walk as he held it. Suddenly on all fours, he crawled, growled, and snarled
, curious that the bravest of men scattered. Then, he found a weak one, already injured by the beast.

  The scene faded with his senses, but Deka understood through her Wawat spies that Maatkare had eaten his kills and drank their blood down hot according to his ritual. That was expected, but he hadn’t stopped. Along with the heart of the beast he had eaten the hearts and lungs of the fallen guard Wuenre and started to take another of his men who was wounded but not dead.

  Battle fever.

  Frenzy.

  Has taken a curse in his heart that will make him become a beast.

  Better if he dies, than lives to remember.

  Better we die than see how self is changed by the gods.

  It shouldn’t worry him, she thought on sudden impulse. Blood is blood and it is life. Drink the blood of our enemies including those we see as cowards among our own. Are all of these men cowards to cringe at his justified ravage? His victory over his weaker nature? You have done well, my love. You, my two helpers, she sent a thought to the men, know that I understand you now and what is on you. Know that one day you will be free. Go run the camp and listen for more who may speak against us. They are afraid of us now. They will whisper loud and often.

  Deka blessed the two men when they bowed to her by gently touching their throats again before they took off running. She knew they would be back before they were missed. Her head turned at the sound of a gentle, almost pathetic whine that issued from the tent. When she looked inside, she saw the assistant and another burly man she had missed entering the tent holding the prince down while the physician sewed the deeper slashes in his arm closed. His head thrashed back and forth in misery and his lips drew back in a permanent snarl that showed more blood and darker matter in his teeth.

  Be strong, beloved. Rise above the pain. You are mighty. It cannot hurt unless you allow it.

  “Look.” one of the men holding him called to the other who was wielding the fine copper needle and linen thread. “His eyes have become beast eyes. If highness lives, he will be foaming and mad. See the dog face he already assumes?”