Servant of the Gods

by Valerie Douglas

  All four lions ranged around her. One lolled at her feet, the lioness’s huge paws waving in the air, looking for all the world like any common house cat asking for a belly rub.

  Idly, Irisi reached out with a foot to comply.

  With a small chuckle, Banafrit sighed in resignation. It was useless to protest. She knew Irisi would follow even if she forbade it. Prophecy or no, Irisi would come and Irisi had yet to be told of the prophecy. Come she would, then, but not as a warrior, not if Banafrit could help it. This time Irisi would come only as a priestess of Isis. They’d risked their one hope quite enough for Banafrit’s taste.

  Banafrit went down to the temple where her priests and priestesses prepared her adored Goddess for the morning. She looked up into Isis’s benevolent face, nodding a greeting to Saini as he read from the scrolls, welcoming the Goddess to the day.

  Oddly, he didn’t look at her, his gaze shying away.

  The gesture was disturbing, but there was no time to ask about it. She’d become aware of tension between Saini and Irisi. Saini had made assumptions he shouldn’t have. It would need to be straightened out, and soon, but with all else that was on her mind she kept putting it off. The last thing she needed or wanted was a confrontation at this moment. It seemed she couldn’t put this one off much longer, though.

  Another time, then. She would speak to him about it later. Once they returned.

  Bowing her head, she sent a prayer to the Goddess, seeking guidance, strength and aid.

  Her chariot and Irisi awaited her. As did Djeserit and Kahotep. Save for Irisi, few folk rode. Horses were better suited to chariots.

  Irisi looked at her, one foot still rubbing the lolling lion’s belly and awaited permission.

  The look held, before Banafrit smiled and shook her head in amusement. “Do they come, too?”

  Irisi looked at her lions.

  “Nebi did well against the Djinn,” Irisi said, quietly. “And they are children of Sekhmet, too, after all.”

  It pained Irisi to put them at risk, but Nebi had fared better than she. His wounds had healed better and quicker than hers had. Sekhmet looked after her own.

  They would need to use every resource they had.

  Khai and the army were out there, facing a horde of Djinn. She owed him much, or so she told herself.

  “Very well,” Banafrit said, eyeing her acolyte.

  This next would be difficult. If the prophecy was true and Irisi was the one they awaited, the one who would save them in the end, they must needs keep her as safe as they could against the time when they would need her. There was too much risk among those who fought the Djinn face to face. They’d already come too close.

  “But if you would come then you must leave your swords behind.”

  Startled, Irisi could only stare at Banafrit in shock.

  Without her swords. The very idea… Irisi felt…vulnerable…without them. She took a breath to protest.

  “There will be warriors enough, Irisi,” Banafrit said, gently, a spell sending Irisi’s swords to her quarters. “It’s the priestess of Isis they’ll need, not another warrior. This day you fight with magic not metal.”

  Which all was also true.

  If this was the day of the prophecy, they would know it soon enough, but if Irisi was their only hope they dared not risk her again so close to the enemy until they knew for sure what her role should be, or all might be lost.

  Although Irisi rarely carried them in daily life anymore, for this she felt nearly naked without her swords.

  She also knew that what Banafrit said was true…

  But Khai and his people were out there facing a multitude of Djinn.

  It was also clear that Banafrit would not be moved on this. Irisi nodded.

  Turning her head, Banafrit looked up at the veranda outside her rooms and found Awan standing there, his familiar and beloved long, thin face more grim than usual, his strong spare body a comfort to her. Her heart ached as she looked at him, wondering if she would ever see him again.

  Even so, she signaled to her charioteer. The chariot driver shook up the horses.

  Awan watched until Banafrit’s chariot disappeared around a corner. He didn’t know if he would see either his beloved wife or Irisi again, and a small tremor of fear whispered through him. A fear he couldn’t banish.

  Darkness washed across the desert toward the army counter to the wind. It ran over the flats and flowed over dunes like water. In it those who watched – Khai, with Akhom, Baraka and the Army of Egypt around him – saw the myriad, ever-changing face of the Djinn, shapes and forms that shifted and twisted. As that horrific shadow grew closer it became easier to pick out the individual forms, if they would only have stopped shifting from one to another. Ifrit, ghul and marid changed from men to hyena, smoke to men and other things... Ghul changed from man to animal, ifrit from hyena and back, sila according to their very nature – they who were the smoke, the fog, concealed the others. Only the marid were vaguely human in form, with two arms and two legs. Some appeared as men…uncommonly handsome men, strong and armed with swords like any others. They had little else in common.

  Others had clearly once been men. They moved like disjointed puppets, arms and legs all akimbo as they staggered and stumbled amid the others.

  It was disturbing to look upon.

  Standing on the rise, Khai, Akhom, Baraka and their aides and lieutenants watched as the Djinn came across the desert.

  Darkness flowed into day, shadow swallowed light.

  Akhom could only stare, shaking his head in disbelief and yes, horror, before his jaw tightened.

  It was his duty, his honor and responsibility to defend Egypt. Defend her he would against whatever came, man or demon. Even against such as these.

  His resolve made their numbers no less daunting.

  “How many do you estimate?” he asked, looking out over the mass of Djinn that boiled within the smoke and shadows.

  With no separations by division or group, it was hard to judge.

  Baraka glanced at him sideways. “Two thirds of our force, perhaps?”

  Tall, slender and wiry, Baraka was an intelligent man, his gray eyes unique among their folk but sharp. His voice was unusually deep. Where the charioteers were concerned, Akhom knew him to be a more than capable general. A good man in the estimation of most. if it weren’t for his unfortunate association with the Grand Vizier, Kamenwati.

  Encouraged, Akhom concurred.

  “Don’t underestimate them, my lord General,” Khai cautioned, remembering the brief battle at the fort. “They’re more formidable than you may think.”

  Khai feared his words fell on deaf ears, that Akhom sought reassurances no man who hadn’t seen the Djinn fight could give.

  Standing beside Akhom, he looked out over what would soon be a battlefield. It did their men credit that the line didn’t waver an inch in the face of what came.

  Ululating cries, eerie and chilling, and a thin sound like and yet unlike the baying of hounds, shattered the silence.

  His heart sank despite himself even as he willed his resolve to strengthen.

  Then came a sound that lifted his heart as no other could have, although he had no reason for it – the familiar screeing cry of a hunting falcon. It was a good omen, a sign of Horus’s blessing. To his astonishment, another echoed the first. A third gave voice as a thrill of excitement sent goose bumps racing over Khai’s skin.

  He looked up, as so did the army.

  Their jaws dropped in wonder as not one but a whole flight of falcons flew over them, dozens of them, maybe hundreds, casting a shadow of their own that clashed against that of the Djinn.

  In all his life Khai had never seen so many of the birds flying together. It was against their nature to hunt in numbers more than pairs. He’d never seen anything like it. It was incredible. Nothing else could have spoken so much of Horus’s will in the matter.

  Across the battlefield, their men stared now, too, some pointing upward.r />
  From behind them another familiar sound echoed – deep, throaty growls that became snarling roars, the sound of hunting lions in pursuit of their quarry.

  Four of the great beasts raced past them, bounding through the army, two shaggy-maned males, two females, racing past the men toward the front lines. Some staggered back in fear but the lions were far too intent in their purpose to be distracted.

  Only one person came accompanied by lions.

  Khai’s heart lifted even more as he smiled.

  Now perhaps they had a chance.

  He, Akhom and Baraka turned.

  They came fast and riding hard, a dozen or more priests and priestesses of Sekhmet in their familiar reddish kalasaris. Their chariots flanked a central group and one solitary mounted rider. Irisi’s brilliant hair flagged in the breeze like captured beams of sunlight. Her kalasaris and shift were so white they were nearly blinding in the sunlight. She rode as if she’d been born to ride on horseback.

  Beside her rode High Priestess Banafrit herself, with the priest Kahotep and priestess Djeserit to each side of them.

  Kahotep, the High Priest of falcon-headed Horus. The priest gestured, and the falcons circled.

  Behind rode dozens of priests and priestess, temple guards, healers and warriors.

  Irisi had indeed brought help, just as she’d promised and just barely in time.

  Looking up at the falcons gathered in the sky above them, at the enemy spread before them, Akhom suddenly found he couldn’t find fault with the unexpected presence of priests and priestesses.

  This then was the true might of Egypt, its people, its army, its priests and priestesses, fighting for all.

  As they drew near, those of Sekhmet parted around Akhom and the other generals. Dismounting as their chariots came to a halt, they ran with astonishing speed toward the front lines with bows and swords in hand to take their places among those there.

  Her head high but throat tight, Djeserit watched her people go with pride.

  With a slight bow to Akhom, Banafrit said, “My lords General. We’ve come to lend what aid we can.”

  “Any aid you can render will be much appreciated,” Akhom said. “Do you know a way to stop those things?”

  Banafrit shook her head, noting in one corner of her mind that General Khai seemed distracted, his gaze going past her shoulder to Irisi standing behind her… Priestess of Isis that she was, what she saw in his expression was clear…and interesting… Was that the way of it, then?

  Well, she thought in surprise and pleasure.

  She liked the handsome General. He was a good man. Irisi was far past the age to have found love and be wed, nearly twenty and four as nearly as the girl herself remembered, and yet there had been no one for her.

  As for Irisi? That remained to be seen.

  Banafrit was caught, though. And if Irisi was the One of the prophesy?

  In the face of that how could she deny Irisi this solace, or Khai? There was nothing in the prophecy that said she must stand alone…

  She tucked those thoughts away. There was no time for such things now…but later, if they survived…

  In answer to Akhom’s question, though, Banafrit shook her head.

  “I’m sorry I can bring you no better news. There’s no other than what you know, sword and salt. They bleed. They can be killed like men, depending on their form. They’re just stronger and harder to kill. Deal them a mortal blow and they will die. If there’s another way we haven’t yet found it.”

  Akhom’s heart sank as he looked out at the darkness that rolled steadily toward them over the dunes against the sun’s light and his men standing before it. Fight, then, they must.

  He lowered his head, accepting it. “We’ve sent for reinforcements but it’s unlikely they’ll reach us before the Djinn.”

  He looked to Khai and Baraka for confirmation. He nodded in confirmation at what he saw in their eyes.

  “It’s time, then,” Akhom said.

  Both Khai and Baraka acknowledged Akhom’s command with a salute. Khai swung up into his chariot to take the reins, turning it toward the front lines as Baraka mounted his, taking up his bow as he gave his charioteer a glance. The man snapped the reins.

  Seeing Irisi without her swords was strange but a relief for Khai. At least he wouldn’t have to fear for her. She wouldn’t be among those who fought at the front.

  If there had been time... but there wasn’t, there was only time for that one brief meeting of the eyes. He saw hers warm at the sight of him.

  Irisi’s gaze met Khai’s for an all too brief moment, but it was enough. It had to be enough.

  ‘Be safe,’ she prayed silently as he went past, his horse’s hooves driving into the sand.

  She noted he still wore her charm as he’d promised. That was something. She didn’t know if it would protect him here, but it gave her some comfort to see it on him.

  “Nebi, my friend,” Irisi whispered, looking to the lion in the distance, “keep him safe.”

  Somewhere out on the field of battle, she heard a coughing roar in answer.

  It was all she could do.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Banafrit saw where Irisi’s gaze wandered but kept her smile to herself. So it wasn’t Khai alone in that…

  She looked beyond them.

  The flood of Djinn paused only momentarily on the rise of the nearest dune as they saw what awaited them.

  Undaunted, undisciplined, with a great blood-curdling howl made of equal parts fury and hunger, the Djinn broke like a wave on the shore and raced toward the army, their ancient enemy, brandishing stolen swords to make them glitter in the sunlight.

  An answering scream came from high above as with a gesture Kahotep set the falcons loose.

  The birds tucked their wings close and stooped.

  “Irisi,” Banafrit said, gesturing. “Call up the wind…”

  Nodding, Irisi spread her arms like Isis’s wings as she chanted the spell, her hands snapping backward to their greatest reach and then she swept her arms forward.

  A great gust of wind caught up the sand in front of the army and flung it toward the oncoming horde of Djinn to blind them and smother those who burned.

  Summoned by Banafrit, serpents boiled up out of the sand to bite and tangle the feet and ankles of the Djinn.

  A few screamed in fury and frustration, some tumbled and fell.

  Still they came, undaunted, seemingly unstoppable…

  All the defenders knew the Djinn must be stopped, and here, for behind them, defended only by the city guard, was only Thebes and then all of Egypt.

  Signaling his men, Khai commanded his archers to let fly. With a sound like a thousand wings, arrows rose into the air. The falcons followed them down to savage the Djinn with claw and beak. As if commanded, the lions leaped forward at the same moment, bounding over the sand to tear into the oncoming horde, lashing out with their teeth and claws to ravage any of the Djinn within reach.

  With a roar, the army of Egypt ran to meet their enemy.

  The two armies came together with a great shout and a sound not unlike thunder, a great meaty crash, accompanied by the clash of steel against steel amid cries of pain and fury.

  It was terrible, making normal battle seem almost clean by comparison as swords flashed and slashed. Claws raked and blood sprayed while swords hacked at creatures that looked like men save for their claws and teeth, some with hyena heads, their hideous laughter ringing over the sand. Screams echoed and a great ululating wail rose to freeze the blood.

  In those first few moments, the front line of the army disappeared like grain before the scythe. It simply vanished before the juggernaut that was the Djinn. It was a bloodbath. They were savaged. Some of the Djinn stopped to feed on the dead…and the living…

  Screams rang out, terrible in their fear and horror.

  The archers aimed for their fellows in revulsion, to put them out of their misery…and Khai couldn’t blame them.

  For a brief
moment one solitary man stood in the fore, fighting like a man possessed, and yet he wasn’t. His sword glittered as he hammered at the creatures before him.

  Then he vanished before the onslaught of the Djinn.

  Akhom closed his eyes briefly in disbelief and then opened them again.

  Suddenly the front of the line was in front of Khai.

  He shouted to his men, exhorted them to greater effort, knowing they were already giving it. They were giving everything they had. Their lives, their very souls, depended on it and he knew they knew it.

  A Djinn ripped the head off one of Khai’s men.

  In return, one of Sekhmet’s priestesses put an arrow into it. When it didn’t fall with a scream of fury he watched as she leaped for the thing, taking it down with her bare hands. Both disappeared among the struggling fighters.

  Hacking and slashing, Khai battered at the horrific things that assaulted his men. One leaped for him, only to be met in mid-air by a mass of golden fur and feline fury. The young lion savaged the ifrit, leaving it bloodied on the sand before turning on his haunches to swipe at another of the creatures with one big paw, hamstringing it.

  Snarling, the ifrit squirmed on the sand, turned into a huge snake to strike at the lion. Nebi feinted aside, his great jaws closing over the snake’s throat to shake it viciously.

  Worse for Khai was to watch a sila overwhelm one of his own men, possessing him. That one attacked his fellows. He found himself forced to kill his own man to keep him from slaughtering the others.

  Another Djinn charged a chariot, leapt for it, its claws sinking into the wood. It threw itself backward, taking the chariot, the charioteer and bowman with it. The harness tangled the feet of the horses to take them down as well. The Djinn threw itself on the hapless archer, as others savaged the horses and the charioteer despite a hail of arrows.

  Others of the Djinn changed shape and form, from some lion-faced thing to something that resembled hyena, savaging his men even as the archers filled them with arrows and swordsmen hacked at them.

  Khai laid waste around him liberally, his sword cutting at any Djinn that came close.

  His horses – trained to fight – lashed out with hooves and teeth, defending themselves as much as him from those that attacked him. He could see their hides twitch instinctively in reaction to the unnatural creatures…