Eater of souls lm-4

by Lynda S. Robinson

Eater of Souls had come to destroy him. His only hope lay in the failure of the demon. But surely an instrument of the gods wouldn't fail to destroy its quarry. Did this failure signal that the creature wasn't of the netherworld? Or was Eater of Souls playing with him?

  He should examine what he knew instead of indulging in fearful speculation. What did he know? The creature had extraordinary strength. He was no longer certain that he'd fallen from the pavilion during the attack. Perhaps it had picked him up and thrown him. He hadn't been able to escape it, for Eater of Souls had the speed of Wings of Horus and more skill than the most skilled of warriors. That ax, it had nearly crushed his skull.

  But he had touched Eater of Souls. He'd smelled it, heard it. He had touched skin, the skin of a living man- or woman. He'd smelled mortal flesh and perfume oil amid other, stranger smells. And those howls and grunts. Those could have come from a real throat. But he'd also seen a yellow eye, a golden-brown mane. And he'd felt his flesh being slashed by knifelike claws.

  Its size. It had been big. Taller than he was. Meren remembered having to look up at it, but then, he'd been on the ground most of the time. Still, the creature hadn't been so large that it couldn't have been a tall man, or a very tall woman. But it had moved so quickly, and with such strength…

  He started when the garden gate opened. Kysen shut the door with deliberation and came to stand beside him. They both contemplated the reflection pool. There was a plop in the water that made Meren jump again. As the toad began to croak, Kysen turned to him.

  "It seems we both have much to report."

  Meren smiled ruefully. "It is as the old writings say. I will show you the land in calamity. Great ones are overthrown. The land is destroyed and the river of Egypt flows not."

  "Surely it's not so evil."

  "That depends, Ky, upon whether the gods have lost patience with us or not."

  A foreigner entering the city of Memphis on this morning would ask if this was indeed the fabled capital of the Egyptian empire. Streets normally teeming with pedestrians and herds of donkeys, goats, and sheep bore only light traffic. Vendors at the city markets who usually argued with customers at the top of their voices used subdued tones. Most of the citizens had vanished, leaving behind deserted houses, half-empty temples and palaces.

  A curious visitor who searched for them would find that the crowds had left the noisy domain of the living for that shadow city of Memphis, the vast stone city of the dead. Here, on the desert borders, balancing between the world of mortals and gods, people had clambered over crumbling mortuary chapels and scrambled between statues of dead kings and queens to reach the step pyramid.

  Thousands stood shoulder to shoulder, bent back their necks, and shielded their eyes against the morning sun to catch a glimpse of the unparalleled sight. At the top of the pyramid, Nebkheprure Tutankhamun, the living Horus, son of Amun, Egypt's intermediary between men and the gods, was performing sacred rites of magic to banish evil from the city and protect his people. Pharaoh had already summoned the high priests of several gods whose magic and power were fabled-Isis, Selkhet, Ptah, Toth, and Amun, the king of the gods. Even now priests performed rites of banishing in the dark shrines of the city's temples.

  The royal bodyguard lined the edge of the summit of the step pyramid, their spear tips gleaming in the sun. Within this protective wall stood the king, his most trusted courtiers and relatives, the high priests, and Meren. He hadn't wanted to come. His men were still searching the city for Eater of Souls. He should be doing the same, but pharaoh had insisted he be present, saying that after the attack Meren needed magical protection.

  So here he was, standing in the middle of a square ring of royal guards. Inside this formation whirled dozens of priestesses. They danced and plied sistrums and ivory clappers. The noise and stamping of the dance drove off evil spirits, but it also made Meren's head ache. He watched the women move in a line, stamping to the beat of drums, their robes heavy with beads that clattered, their arms raised high as they directed the cacophony up and across the necropolis to the city.

  These weren't ordinary priestesses and singers of the temple. Each was a noblewoman or princess and the divine adoratrice of a temple. And one of them was Ankhesenamun, the Great Royal Wife. It was she who led the dancers, assuring the attention of the gods by her presence. At her side danced Princess Tio. Meren was certain neither would have participated in any ceremony that might benefit him, had they a choice. Ankhesenamun whirled past him. Each time she came near, he glimpsed the loathing in her slanting, date-shaped eyes.

  She was the kind of woman who could enter a room and turn a man's mouth into a desert, but she was also the kind of woman who hated learning new things. What she knew already, she considered as sacred as the hieroglyphs on the walls of a temple. And she didn't change, no matter what new knowledge was presented to her. It was this aspect of her nature that worried Meren.

  Ankhesenamun might be courting her royal spouse in search of reconciliation, but she hadn't changed her nature. She passed by him again, and he lifted a brow. She stumbled a bit, glared, and moved her lips in a wordless curse. Even the curse of Eater of Souls brought some blessings. Meren had to look away quickly, or he would have committed a terrible breach of etiquette and smirked at the Great Royal Wife.

  A few yards away, Tutankhamun stood surrounded by high priests. He was clad in white linen, the color of ritual purity and sanctity. He wore a gold-and-silver headcloth, necklaces, bracelets, belt, and uraeus diadem, all of gold. The flesh of a god was gold, the color of imperishable eternity and the sun. The bones of the gods were silver, the color of the moon. Moving slowly under the weight of his magnificent raiment, pharaoh recited incantations before a statuette of Eater of Souls.

  Meren eyed the figure, trying once again to envision what had attacked him two nights ago. He still couldn't say what it was. When pharaoh had been told of the incident, he'd demanded an answer. Was it demon or man? And Meren hadn't been able to give him a reply.

  The frantic search had expanded in a circle with the house at its center. It had led to the discovery of several wandering dogs and a nobleman's son who had passed out in the street from drink, but nothing else. Pharaoh had summoned priests who deluged Meren with questions and offered learned opinions.

  That's when the worst of the trouble began. The high priest of Amun, Parenefer, had arrived from Thebes. Still feeding himself on hatred born of Akhenaten's persecution, Parenefer seemed much too pleased to be able to claim that Eater of Souls came to avenge the wrongs done to the old gods. The high priest of Isis, a cheerful young man who had recently taken his father's place in the office, had disagreed.

  "If Eater of Souls could be brought because of those wrongs, she would have appeared many years ago. My divinations proclaim this evil originates within the living. An evildoer seeks to hide beneath the guise of a demon."

  "No, no-no-no-no!" The high priest of Selkhet-a fierce and temperamental goddess-was excitable. "Possession, that's what it is. An evil spirit has possessed someone and causes the sick one to do these things without knowing it. I have consulted the sacred writings as well as divinations and oracles."

  Meren had listened to all of them. That was the trouble. The priests couldn't agree. Without their guidance, he was left to struggle alone. And still he wasn't certain whether the thing that had attacked him had been someone in a disguise or a demon.

  Would a demon have been frightened away by Bener's screams? The high priests and their most learned magician-priests differed in their opinions on this matter as well. When he'd touched the creature, Meren had felt hide as well as flesh. The flesh told him that he faced a man, possessed or not. But the hide, rough yet pliable-had it been the skin of a demon?

  His heart was full of conflict. And contending with Isis hadn't helped. Yesterday he'd stopped her from leaving to take up residence with Lord Reshep, who was still a guest at Prince Djoser's villa near the palace. He didn't even want to remember the quarrel that had ensued. Isi
s had accused him of caring only for his own interests. She'd said he thought her negligible of wit. He'd protested that he thought her quite clever but young and foolish.

  This remark had not endeared him to his youngest daughter. At the moment she was shut in her bedchamber and refused to speak to him. Not that he wanted to engage in another such conversation. Still, he loved Isis too much to allow her to win this argument. The men he'd sent to investigate Reshep should return any moment. After he heard their reports he would brave Isis's wrath. But how could he make her understand that the thought of her ruining her life was more frightful to him than facing Eater of Souls?

  Prince Djoser prevented him from finding an answer to this question. Not that he really had an answer. Djoser left the group surrounding the king and paced slowly toward Meren. He held in his hands an incense burner, a long bronze rod shaped like an arm and hand. The hand held a bowl into which burning incense had been placed. The prince reached him and swept the incense around Meren's body while he chanted prayers.

  Djoser was acting in his capacity as a priest of Isis, a role he played much better than that of warrior. He could perform the rituals and remember the protocol of the dozens of ceremonies, and he knew the mysteries of the House of Life in the temple. But Meren knew Djoser still secretly longed for the renown of a warrior. Perhaps his unhappiness with his nature caused Djoser to seek out posturing and flamboyant knaves like Reshep.

  He hadn't realized he was staring at the prince. When his attention returned to the present, Meren found Djoser glaring at him. Caught off guard, he felt a jolt of surprise, for he could almost feel the heat of Djoser's rage. Was the fool still angry with him about Reshep?

  Djoser recovered himself and shoved the incense burner in front of him. Meren nearly choked on the sweet smoke. His eyes stung, and he blinked as he caught another whiff of the scent used to attract the attention of the gods. Its recipe was engraved on the walls of temples to preserve the knowledge. Meren had read the hieroglyphs once and had been surprised to find it called for juniper berries, sweet flag, cassia, and cinnamon as well as precious frankincense and myrrh.

  He drew breath again as Djoser finished, but this time the sweet scent reminded him of Eater of Souls. It was the myrrh. Those who used it sometimes kept the smell about them for hours. If it was in unguent, it would last until the wearer bathed. Surreptitiously Meren wiped away the tears the smoke had caused, even as he wondered whether a demon would smell of old incense. No, this he doubted.

  A priest standing beside him turned and handed Meren a set of golden cords. Meren took them in both hands.It was time for his part in the ritual. With Djoser leading the way, he approached pharaoh and the effigy of Ammut, the Devouress. Kneeling, he held out the cords. Pharaoh took one and tied several knots in it while the high priest of Amun recited spells. This was the ritual for binding Eater of Souls. The knots provided a barrier across which the demon could not pass.

  As the dancers kept up their protective din, pharaoh tied the knotted cord around Eater of Souls. He then placed the figure inside a tall chest made to resemble one of the towers of a desert fortress. The priest of Isis came forward bearing a heavy rope. He and Parenefer tied the rope around the closed door of the chest, then held the two ends together while pharaoh applied a clay seal. Next, to the accompaniment of chanted spells, Tutankhamun pressed the bezel of the royal seal ring into the damp clay.

  Thus the demon was imprisoned, its might sealed away and kept impotent by the most powerful force in Egypt, the living god. The dancing, chanting, and clapping rose as pharaoh lifted his arms. Meren blinked when Tutankhamun shouted a command with such force that it was heard even above the drums. All noise ceased at once.

  Meren, who was still kneeling, glanced down to find he was still holding a golden cord. Why had they given him two cords if pharaoh needed only one? The dancers stood in their ring around the king. The priests, the courtiers, awaited pharaoh's signal for the party to leave the summit of the pyramid. Tutankhamun ignored Parenefer's whispered hints.

  Turning his back on the sealed chest and the old priest, pharaoh signaled that Meren should stand. Meren glanced at Djoser, who shook his head to indicate ignorance. Meren had no choice but to stand before the king holding a useless length of gold cord while everyone stared at him. Then pharaoh came close, took the cord, and began knotting it while he chanted the protective spells. There was a stir among the dancers. Meren glanced at them to find that the queen had stepped forward as if to object. She was restrained by Princess Tio.

  "Keep him from harm who is bound by my protection," the king chanted. "I beseech the god my father, I beseech Isis, Osiris, Toth, and the golden ones. Keep this Lord Meren from harm. I set my protection about him. The power of my majesty shall keep you safe from any action, any interference, any harm."

  Meren had no choice but to allow pharaoh to slip the cord around his waist and tie it. Bener had insisted upon calling a priest to ward him with protective spells, but he'd never suspected that the king would provide one of his own. Tutankhamun finished tying the last knot and stepped back.

  "There," he said under his breath. "Let Eater of Souls contend with the power of the son of the great god."

  "Majesty, I-"

  Tutankhamun almost smiled, but he appeared to remember his godlike dignity before others.

  "Is the great Eyes of Pharaoh speechless? Then I am recompensed for having to learn so many endless spells, chants, and prayers for this ceremony."

  Meren felt his features settle into a courtly mask. "Does thy majesty know what he has done? He has made me at least a dozen more enemies at court than I had before."

  "Better a few more enemies than a hole in your chest where your heart should be."

  With this pharaoh turned and signaled the end of the ceremony. Meren was left to follow. The significant result of pharaoh's actions didn't occur to him until the royal party had descended the step pyramid and returned in procession to the palace. Ankhesenamun and her retinue continued on to her own palace. The queen hadn't liked the king giving his magical protection to Meren, but now he understood what he'd seen in her eyes. Not just enmity, not simple hatred, but jealousy.

  Meren hadn't considered this possibility before, and he didn't like it. But he had too much to deal with. He wanted to leave. The search for Eater of Souls continued; Kysen was at the house, supervising and overseeing the continuing searches of the docks, the foreign quarters, and the district around Meren's house.

  Back at the palace Meren found himself obliged to attend a royal consultation. With pharaoh presiding, Ay, several other ministers, and the priests were discussing Eater of Souls yet again. Meren's attention strayed. He tried to think about the attack in a different way-who hated him enough to try to kill him?

  Well, that list was as lengthy as the carvings on a temple wall. Just recently he'd managed to offend the Great Royal Wife, Princess Tio, Prince Rahotep, Djoser, Lord Reshep, poor Mugallu, and General Labarnas. Those were the ones he could remember. Only the gods knew who else had reason to hate him. His duties made certain that he caused inconvenience, even harm, to many of whom he wasn't even aware. Stifling a groan, Meren turned his attention to the men around him and found the priests still quarreling.

  His patience was disappearing quickly, and the longer the high priests argued about the significance of the killings and why the demon had appeared, the more restless he became. Old Parenefer, frail and brittle like an insect, clutched his staff of office and spoke above the competing voices.

  "The reason we can find no purpose to these deaths is that they are divine judgments of the gods, who have read the hearts of those who have been killed and found them evil. Because of Egypt's suffering under the heresy of the old pharaoh, the gods have lost patience and have sent the Devouress to carry out punishment." Parenefer swiveled around to stare at Meren. "Eater of Souls has been sent to rid Egypt of corruption."

  "Then she should have begun with you," Meren said lightly.


  He shouldn't have spoken, but he was sick of listening to Parenefer whine about how much he and the righteous had suffered because of Akhenaten. Over Parenefer's head he caught the king looking at him. Tutankhamun's eyes crinkled at the outside corners, and Meren thought he glimpsed a fleeting curve of his lips. He was going to hear his own counsel of diplomacy tossed back at him the next time he was alone with the boy.

  The high priest of Isis, whose family was far older and more noble than Parenefer's, rolled his eyes and let out a sharp sigh. "We don't even know if this really is the Devouress. It could be someone who hides behind the guise of a demon to fool us. There was a case in the Hare nome of a farmer who moved the boundary stones of eight different fields and blamed it on the angry spirit of a dead woman."

  Several ministers nodded, and discussion erupted again. Prince Rahotep joined Meren, nudged him with an elbow, and growled at him.

  "So, you're an evildoer already condemned by the gods. My commiserations."

  "You're not amusing, Rahotep."

  "If you'd have sent for me the night before last, I could have had my infantry hunt down this bastard killer, and we wouldn't be here listening to that old vulture Parenefer."

  "I forgot," Meren said.

  Rahotep folded his arms over his chest. "You didn't forget. It's like you to think you can combat even a fiend from the underworld by yourself, just you and your fabled charioteers. The Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh, whose name is known throughout the empire, whose spies and informants are innumerable and as hidden as the secret names of the gods."

  "You're still angry at me. I told you the truth about meddling between pharaoh and his queen."

  "I'm not angry," Rahotep said. "You were wrong, if you can imagine it. The golden one was most gracious in his thanks for my advice. Oh, and I hear your Isis is to marry that strutting ostrich Reshep."

  Meren stared at the prince. "Don't be absurd."

  "Then it's not true?"

  "Of course not."