The Way of the Seed_Earth Spawn of Kalpeon

by Richard Dean Hall

  Ay slapped the reins and headed out. The other two chariots wheeled out behind him, and together the three chariots bumped and shook toward where Ott and Cha lay. In a rocky depression, Ott was on his back unconscious, while forty yards ahead Cha lay bleeding from multiple cuts and scrapes.

  Well ahead of the chariots, but far to the side and out of sight, the lion had picked up the scent of Cha’s blood. A few seconds later he spotted her as she stirred. Ignoring the fleeing horses dragging the smashed chariot, the beast locked eyes on Cha, dropped its massive head, and bounded straight for her.

  Ay and Graf spotted the lion at the same time it crossed into their line of sight. They slapped at their reins, hoping to cut the beast off before it could reach Cha. Beside Graf, Yaan clutched the side rail and tracked the lion as it twisted around rocks and bounded over boulders. She knew it would reach Cha before they could cut it off. She pulled her bow from her back as Graf urged the horses forward.

  Flat on the ground, Cha regained her senses and rose to a sitting position while looking over her bloody torso and legs. As she extended her left arm and ran her hand over the cuts and scrapes, she spotted the huge head and flowing mane loping toward her. Eyes widening in panic, she struggled to rise, but her feet flew out from under her and she slammed back to the ground. The beast was closing fast. Cha again struggled to rise and scramble into the cluster of boulders to her rear, but she slipped and fell back against a large rock just as the huge cat pulled to a stop yards in front of her, lowered its rear haunches, and sprang.

  Cha squirmed and kicked as the lion slammed down and bit through her tunic and into the flesh at the side of her waist. The lion shook her so violently that the tunic ripped free and she was tossed a few yards back into the rocks. Naked and covered in blood, Cha slumped against a rock as the beast lowered its haunches to spring again and savage the kill a last time.

  Thirty yards away, Graf and Yaan leapt from the still-rolling chariot at a full run and pulled arrows from the quivers strapped to their backs. With the lion in full view, Graf and Yaan stopped and loosed their arrows. As the beast sprang, claws extended, the razor-sharp obsidian tip of the shaft disappeared in the thick mane, between the shoulder blades, and sliced through the spine. Graf’s shaft angled in behind the upper front leg and penetrated the heart.

  Cha flipped to her side as the beast crashed down next to her and thrashed in violent spasms. For several seconds it clawed and slashed at the ground, thrusting its head toward her and roaring. The roar turned to a continuous loud bellow as it rolled on its back and pinwheeled its hind legs, claws shredding the air. Finally, as Cha scrambled away, the beast let out a loud, coughing grunt and dropped to its side, dead.

  The other two chariots were only a few seconds behind. Tutankhamun, Ay, Horemheb, and his driver had witnessed the entire attack. Now, as Graf retrieved Cha’s tunic, they stood in silent awe and watched as Cha stood, glared down at the dead lion, then turned and nodded to Yaan with a smile. Tutankhamun shook his head. Cha seemed unhurt, showed no signs of shock or hysteria, and apparently felt no pain even though she was covered in blood.

  Horemheb stared at Cha’s naked and bloody body. Something strange was happening that the king would not notice, but Horemheb did. The general was a military man and was familiar with all types of wounds. In his vast experience on the battlefield, he had seen thousands of men bleed, but as he looked at Cha he realized he had never seen bleeding slow so quickly. Although covered in blood, the wounds had stopped running and the blood flow was reduced to a trickle. It was as though her lacerated skin were healing as he watched. Even the deeper bite wounds had stopped gushing.

  As Graf handed the torn tunic to Cha, his eyes snapped wide. “Ott,” he shouted. In all the excitement, no one had looked for Ott. Everyone trotted back to where he had been thrown from the chariot.

  In the rocky basin, Ott’s eyes blinked open as he regained consciousness. He stared up at a stark blue sky then sat upright, shaking the last of the grogginess from his head. He pressed his hand to the lump over his left ear. It was tender, but not painful. Next, he inspected his body. A few cuts, scrapes, and bruises, but nothing serious. He surveyed the area around him. It was low and strewn with rocks. Peering back over his shoulder, he eyed a four-foot-high rocky formation full of holes and sharp crevices. The impact could have been worse. He had been lucky. Leaning back on his palms, he listened to his name being shouted. A moment later, everyone was staring down at him.

  As he started to stand, he caught sight of Cha. She was covered in blood and clutched the torn tunic to her body.

  “I am not hurt,” she shouted, reading the concern on his face.

  With a nod and a hint of a smile, Ott stood. Relieved, everyone walked down the incline while at the far side Ott brushed himself off. With a smile breaking, Cha quickened her steps, and then froze midstride. Her smiling mouth fell agape as she stared in abject horror at what was rising behind Ott.

  83

  In the strange mix of magic, mysticism, ritual, and religion that made up the culture of the kingdom, the king cobra was revered in its deistic incarnation as a protector god of the king. But in the reality of its earthly existence, it was feared as the deadliest creature in the land. Each season, particularly after the floodwaters receded and the planting began, hundreds of workers were bitten by the aggressive serpents. None survived. The snake’s neurotoxic venom was so deadly that each year more people died from cobra strikes than from crocodiles, hippos, lions, and scorpions combined. The deaths were always horrific and quick. A mature cobra could reach a length of over eight feet and carried enough venom in one bite to kill twenty men. When agitated, a cobra would become hyperaggressive and could raise its body to a man’s height before striking with blinding speed. The venom was injected through the two curved, needle-pointed, hollow fangs at the front of the upper jaw, and once it flowed into the victim, the toxin took immediate effect and destroyed the central nervous system. Within seconds, dizziness and confusion would set in, followed by vomiting and loss of all motor function. With all muscles paralyzed, lung function ceased, and the victim died of respiratory failure. The king cobra was certain death to anyone it struck.

  The two cobras rising behind Ott had been agitated when he had slammed down near the opening to their den in the rocks. They had slithered out behind him, and now, as the shouting became louder, their agitation turned to aggression. The deadly vipers rose to striking stances, necks flared to full hoods and forked tongues darting.

  At the scream rising from Cha’s throat, the snakes struck in a flash. Everyone watched in horror as the first snake struck the back of Ott’s arm just above the elbow and the second buried its fangs in his right calf. As the fangs penetrated flesh, the muscles surrounding the venom sacs constricted and compressed the sacs, forcing the deadly venom through the hollow fangs and into Ott’s body with the efficiency of hypodermic needles. In an instant, enough venom was coursing through his body to kill several normal men. But Ott was no normal man. The synthesized proteins and amino acids Robfebe had designed to protect him from all toxins known on the planet began to neutralize the venom as it was being injected. Within seconds, it had been broken down on the molecular level and rendered harmless.

  Everyone watched in stunned silence as Ott raised his left arm straight out, grabbed the snake below its head, and ripped the fangs free. Then, while gripping the snake in his right hand, he lowered his arm and yanked the other one from his calf. Holding each snake just below the head, he squeezed. The reptiles withered violently as he strangled them, their jaws wide open and pulsing venom into the air. Ott tightened his grip as the snakes thrashed about, and then, within seconds of each other, the vipers went slack, bodies dangling limp to the ground. Ott squeezed harder and shook the cobras to make sure. There was no movement. They were dead. With a whiplike snap, he tossed the bodies to the ground.

  As Ott walked to Cha, Tutankhamun exchanged silent, wide-eyed glances with Horemheb and Ay, and then
looked to where Ott stood with Cha. Blood dribbled from the puncture wounds in his arm and calf. No one had ever survived the bite of a cobra. He should be on the ground dead, yet there he stood talking to Cha.

  Ott brushed the blood away and looked to the king, Ay, and Horemheb. They had seen everything, but there was nothing he could say. There was no way to explain and nothing they could understand. He nodded at the three men, indicating he was fine, and pointed back toward the oasis.

  As Ott, Cha, Graf, and Yaan walked toward the chariots, Tutankhamun murmured to himself, “Heka bau”—magic of the gods.

  When they returned to the oasis, the king’s physician suggested Cha’s wounds be cleansed with sour wine and smeared with raw honey. It was a common treatment for preventing infection, and everyone knew wounds that festered ended in death. But Cha waved the physician aside as she and the others proceeded to their quarters, where they undressed and slid into the large pool.

  Later that night as they joined everyone at the king’s table, Horemheb and Tutankhamun turned their attention to Cha. She wore a long, flowing linen dress that covered most of her body, but her arms were exposed. As the king and Horemheb looked over Cha’s arms, their eyebrows arched. All blood had been bathed away, but instead of fresh and oozing wounds, the cuts and scrapes were now sealed over by a smooth, pinkish covering of new skin. All her wounds were practically healed. The king remained silent at the sight, but his mind was full of wonder. Cha offered no explanation, and Ott remained silent.

  Two days later, as they departed the oasis, the king watched as Cha stepped into a chariot. There were no signs she had ever been injured at all.

  84

  Several months went by. With each passing day, the things Tutankhamun had witnessed played in his mind, stirring confusion and a growing sense of wonder. The image of Ott strangling the deadly vipers after being struck twice was burned into his consciousness, and Cha’s wounds healing within mere days was nothing less than heka bau, the magic of the gods.

  On many different occasions, Tutankhamun had spoken with Ankhesenamun and Horemheb about the enigmatic nature of Ott and the others. The consensus was always the same: they were strange beyond measure. But just realizing they were different wasn’t enough to satisfy his curiosity. As he pondered everything he had observed and come to know, he concluded it was not about who they were, but what they were.

  For over fifteen hundred years, the kings of the Remeth had believed they were deistic incarnations destined to rule in life and join the gods in their eternal afterlife. As king, Tutankhamun knew he was the embodiment of Amun, the greatest of the gods, but he also believed in the existence of all the lesser gods. Now, as he considered Ott and the others, he wondered if, in fact, other lesser gods could be walking in this life—and if they were, for what purpose? Could Ott, Cha, Graf, and Yaan be neteru, gods themselves? And if they weren’t gods, could they be bau, messengers from the gods? What message were they bringing? Tutankhamun would not wait for them to reveal themselves. He would confront them and demand the truth.

  Days later, his curiosity piqued to its fullest, Tutankhamun summoned Horemheb to an evening meal. When the general arrived that evening, he was greeted by attendants and led to a private dining hall. As the attendants bowed away, he entered the silent chamber and found the king and queen sitting at the head of a long stone table. Bowing from his shoulders, the general approached, and the king motioned for him to sit to his side.

  Horemheb had dined with the king and queen many times at numerous festivals, ceremonies, and rituals, but tonight was different. There were no other guests. The king had wanted a private conversation, and the general suspected it would be about Ott and the others. He personally had grown tired of the subject. Yes, they were from another unknown land, and beyond any doubt they were mysterious. What he and the king had witnessed at the oasis was beyond comprehension and without explanation, but they seemed no threat. To the contrary, they and their families before them had only brought a wealth of trade goods to the land and contributed significantly to the prosperity of the kingdom. Horemheb wished the king would be finished with his fascination, but the king was the king.

  Tutankhamun glanced to the queen and then leaned closer to Horemheb. “General,” he started, “do you think Otteri and the others could be . . . neteru or bau?”

  “Could they be gods or messengers from the gods?” Horemheb rested his chin on a closed fist and pondered the question. “The gods reside in the netherworld and the afterlife,” he began. “In this life they only appear as their incarnations—as you do as Amun, Anubis as the jackal, Aker as the lion, the cobra, the vulture, and all of the others. But only you walk among us as a human god.”

  The king glanced to Ankhesenamun and then back to Horemheb. “If not gods, then could they be bau?”

  “Bau only appear in dreams, and almost exclusively to the high priests,” Horemheb answered.

  “You have witnessed what I have, general. If they are not gods or bau, how do you explain what happened at the oasis, their knowledge of ancient times in the kingdom, or their ability to read ancient writings? Who are they or what are they?” The king frowned, perplexed.

  Horemheb opened his palms and shook his head. “I have no answers. I only know what I see, and I see them as wealthy traders with abilities I cannot comprehend. But I do know that they reside in this land, and as king you can ask as you wish of anyone, including them.”

  “And I shall,” the king said. “Send for them.”

  “That won’t be necessary. They arrived by boat and docked yesterday with a shipload of copper ore from the lower regions. They are in the palace now. I was informed they would be staying until the cargo is off-loaded and for the beginning of the harvest festival, which starts in two days.”

  “Good. Invite them to join my table for the banquet.”

  “I already have. They will be there.” Horemheb stood, bowed, and took his leave.

  85

  Of the numerous festivals held each year, the harvest festival was the largest and most joyous. The celebration lasted a full seven days, and the festivities were held in every city, town, and village along the entire river. In Thebes and all the other larger cities, hundreds of priests conducted ceremonies and ancient rituals giving thanks to the numerous gods of the fields and the great river that provided their bounty.

  It was the first night of the festival, and as Tutankhamun prepared to join the celebration, he smiled and thought proudly of the kingdom he ruled. The people were well fed and content. The size and beauty of Thebes was unparalleled, and with the sound defeat of the Mitanni and the strength of Horemheb’s forces, the kingdom was at peace. Maat was the way of his reign.

  The king’s table seated over fifty guests in a sequestered area with ample room for guests to rise and mingle about. More than a thousand guests enjoyed the celebration at other tables in the cathedral-like expanse of the throne room. In other adjoining banquet rooms and throughout the palace complex, including the plazas and gardens, another five thousand of the city elite reveled in the festivities. At every table, platters piled high with meats, vegetables, fruits, and breads were being enjoyed with ongoing servings of beer and wine while young women danced to music from harps, lutes, drums, and flutes played by more than a hundred musicians.

  In the flickering light of hundreds of sconces, Ott, Cha, Graf, and Yaan enjoyed the food and chatted with people around them. They ate and drank modestly, and then, as was custom, stood to walk about exchanging greetings and acknowledging others they had come to know at the royal court. They had attended many banquets, and over time they had developed a comfortable routine. They would mingle for a while, and then, as the drinks flowed and the crowd became loud and boisterous, they would retreat to the comfort of their quarters for a restful sleep and an early start the next day for the trip home. But this night, their usual routine would be interrupted by an unexpected request.

  As they were preparing to leave, an attendant approa
ched Ott, bowing his head. “The king wishes to speak with you, Otteri.” He gestured back toward the throne.

  Ott looked back in time to see the king and queen disappear around the base of the throne platform. “Does the king wish to speak with all of us?” he asked.

  “No, Otteri, he wishes to speak with you only.”

  Ott looked to Cha, Graf, and Yaan and shrugged. “I will speak with the king and return to our quarters.”

  Ott followed the attendant down a long walkway flanked with high columns interspersed with the usual statues of various gods. At the end, they turned and proceeded along the base of a high stone wall and stopped at an arched entrance leading to the royal veranda. The attendant faced Ott.

  “The king and queen await you,” he said with a bow, and then turned and retreated.

  They had come a good distance from the banquet room. The raucous clambering was just a distant murmur as Ott stepped through the entrance.

  The expansive veranda was awash in the soft, shimmering glow of a full harvest moon backed by an endless black blanket of sky littered with twinkling stars. In the shadowy mist of moonlight, Tutankhamun and Ankhesenamun sat at a table beneath a copse of high palms. The light of flickering torches and oil lamps enhanced the ethereal ambiance, and the entire veranda was silent save for the distant sounds of the banquet room celebration. Aside from the king and queen, the entire veranda was deserted.

  Ott approached the table, where the king motioned to a chair close to his side. Ott sat and waited for the king to speak.

  “Otteri,” the king began, “there are things I wish to know.”

  Ott viewed the king and queen, saying nothing. He knew what to expect, but he wasn’t sure what to reveal. He had grown fond of the young king and the way he ruled the kingdom. Tutankhamun cared for his people and in all his decisions strived to maintain and further the order, peace, and prosperity of the land. Ott wasn’t sure maat was what Barjeen had meant as “the way,” but he had not seen such beauty and contentment in a land since the ancient times in Catal and Antakya. Perhaps by revealing what he could, he would assure the king that his rule was as it should be. But the revelation was not without risk. Ott’s life and those of Cha, Graf, and Yaan could be in real danger. No one was permitted to even suggest there were entities more powerful than the gods or the god incarnate Tutankhamun. If Ott divulged the truth about himself and the others, the young king might order their deaths to eliminate the threat to his authority and the divinity of the gods. Would it be better to reveal the truth, or remain silent and leave the kingdom? Ott mulled the situation, then made a decision. It was a decision he would come to regret.