Servant of the Gods

by Valerie Douglas

  Then one went down as a Djinn ripped its throat out and Khai was falling. He rolled, tumbled clear…

  On the rise by the command tents, Irisi saw Khai go down, her heart in her throat.

  She summoned up her quiver and called the wind. No one had said anything about her bow.

  With a gesture, she sent the arrows up into the air like falcons, launching them one after another into the eye or throat of any Djinn near Khai that she could see and take with a clear shot.

  Nebi leaped over Khai’s head to take a ghul and Khai rolled away to face another of the Djinn. He swung at the marid, carved a slash across its chest… It glanced down and snarled in fury at the damage done to its perfection. Khai drove his sword into the thing’s throat as it looked up, its face transforming into a hideous snarling mass of flesh.

  Banafrit called up the wind.

  Djinn were fire elementals, creatures of that element. They wouldn’t like water.

  As Isis had once upon a time, Banafrit called up a storm and brought it raging from the Nile to batter the battlefield. There wasn’t much water, it being the wrong season for it, but it was something.

  Unshifted marid gave out an unearthly wail as the cool liquid struck their heated, friable skin. A chance strike by one of the fighters hit one. The creature’s arm shattered with a sound like a shriek of stone over metal.

  Pain wasn’t something marid Djinn knew well, she knew, and they didn’t like it.

  It infuriated and frightened them, their shock clear. In the next moment they were gone, leaving their brethren.

  The disappearance of the marid clearly heartened the army. With a roar they attacked the other Djinn with renewed enthusiasm.

  Startled by the desertion of their compatriots, the remaining Djinn wavered reluctantly, obviously confused, as if they fought some compulsion. Snarls of fury and wails of helpless rage echoed as they looked at the army in frustration and hunger. With no more warning than that with which they’d come, the remaining Djinn disappeared into the deep desert.

  A gust of wind scattered the smoke and with it the enemy.

  Left with no one to fight the army stood stunned, bewildered and confused by the sudden withdrawal. Confounded, all they could do was stare at each other in amazement and then in growing relief as they realized they’d survived.

  Djeserit called back one of her people from pursuit of the enemy even as some of the captains of the army did, bloodlust nearly overtaking both priest and soldiers.

  With a shake of his head to clear it, the priest bowed to her somewhat shamefacedly as he returned.

  Across the battlefield the bodies of the dead and the wounded lay strewn in a great crescent, dotted here and there by staggering wounded, limping horses and shattered chariots. The sand drank up the blood as some of the survivors found their feet again. A moment of shocked silence held, before the cries of the wounded and dying lifted up to be carried away by the breeze.

  Men had been ripped to shreds. Some held their viscera in their hands, shock and dismay on their faces as they looked at the end of their lives.

  Healers ran to give what succor they could to both the wounded and the dying, and to give passage to the Afterlife to those who’d been tainted by the Djinn. Cries of denial and grief echoed across the dunes.

  Irisi looked out over the field of battle, searching for Khai, and to her relief saw him in the midst of his men. Something within her eased… She thanked the Goddess for that small favor as she summoned her cats back to her side.

  Watching the lion go, Khai followed its path back to its mistress, to Irisi, with his eyes.

  As always her golden hair blew like a banner in the sunlight, marking her presence as it waved in the breeze.

  She, too, was safe, was still alive.

  Even at that distance their eyes found those of the other and met. Khai bowed his head a little in relief, and in thanks for his four-footed guardian.

  With a small smile, Irisi let out a breath and lowered her head just a little in return. Small gestures. It was all she could do for him, to keep him safe from Kamenwati.

  Then, along with the others from the temple, she turned to set herself to healing the wounded as best she could.

  Most of the wounds would putrefy as hers had; they knew that now. Even Healing wouldn’t stand against it. With so few of Sekhmet’s priests and priestesses at hand there was only one solution for many of the wounded – cauterization, burning out the infection so it didn’t spread. It was agonizingly painful to receive and heartbreaking to do. And there was the horrific smell of burnt human flesh.

  Djeserit’s Healers had developed poultices that worked on lesser wounds, but for the greater, there was only this.

  Only some few needed more intense and more direct treatment, such as could only be applied by the priests and priestesses of Sekhmet.

  Her red-tinged eyes worried, Djeserit watched over her people cautiously.

  With so many to heal, it would be easy for blood-lust to overtake them, to drag them down into blood-fever and madness. Even Djeserit fought it, standing there on the battlefield amidst the scent of so much blood. Her stomach clenched, growled.

  With a wave of her hand, she sent the young soldier she treated into sleep so he wouldn’t remember what it was she did. That she took sustenance from it as well was a small matter, what did matter is that her body could ingest the poison and expel it. Still, she fought the same battle all her people did, learning the lesson of their Goddess.

  Her gaze wandered the battlefield, finding the known.

  There was her friend Banafrit, acting like any other healer, bending over the wounded. Beyond her was Irisi, smiling reassuringly at the boy whose shoulder she’d just bandaged.

  Irisi turned to the next patient, only to find Khai waiting as patiently as any other common soldier.

  He would. It was his way.

  A half laugh escaped her.

  She looked into his beautiful dark eyes and shook her head at him.

  Looking into his dark eyes again, seeing the glimmer of gold there, Irisi took a breath.

  The scratches across his broad chest and arm were already livid.

  There was so much trust there. He knew what she would to would hurt, as it must.

  Irisi hesitated, looking at him. The idea of hurting him wrenched at her but it had to be done.

  Khai met her gaze evenly, feeling the pain and the fever move through him but there was Irisi’s eyes, her strength, her touch on his skin…

  He’d waited so that it was Irisi he saw, Irisi who would do what needed to be done. Because she would do it, and do it right, for him.

  She bit her lip as she stroked a hand down his arm just shy of the scores on it.

  Azure eyes met his.

  Khai set himself, his eyes locked on hers.

  Their gazes met and held and Khai saw the brightness in hers. Even so… Her hand was as steady as rock.

  Irisi bowed her head briefly in answer to Khai’s steady gaze.

  Her breath came short but she reached for the hot iron. As steady as she could and must make it. Bracing one hand on his shoulder, she felt his good hand close over her forearm.

  She brought the hot iron against his skin, wincing a little as his jaw tightened against the pain, as the smell of his burning skin seared her nostrils. His fingers closed around her forearm painfully. She nearly cried out against it but his pain was so much the greater. She held the iron in place long enough to burn out all the infection. Then thrust it in the fire to heat it for the next.

  The pain was as shockingly intense as Khai had anticipated, and more. Far more than the wound that had caused it. He locked his jaw against the agony of it.

  With her eyes on his wounds, Irisi laid the cleansing iron against his skin. Pain seared through him, but he didn’t flinch. He wouldn’t flinch.

  As quickly as she could, Irisi sent Healing coolness through the burns. This she could heal, and did, as quickly as she could. The scars would fade a
little in time.

  But they would never go away completely.

  Khai let out a shaky breath, looking at the thin marks that remained on his skin, his pain easing at her touch.

  To his dismay, though, it took an effort for him to unlock his fingers from around her wrist. He’d left bruises on her fair skin. He looked into her eyes. She’d never flinched and didn’t now as her gaze met his.

  Gently, her fingers brushed across the healed scars on his chest and something within him tightened.

  Someone called – one of Akhom’s adjutants.

  Khai let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and nodded at the adjutant in response to the summons.

  Once again, he wished he could stay a little longer.

  Irisi smiled softly. That one touch had been enough…almost…

  From a small distance, Banafrit watched the exchange approvingly as she aided another of the soldiers. Her attendants began erecting their tent – hers and Irisi’s – near that of the generals.

  She noticed something else as well – the amulet around General Khai’s neck. Small and seemingly undistinguished as such jewelry went, it looked like a keepsake, nothing more, a charm such as a mother or sister would give. But Banafrit recognized the familiar curves of Isis’s knot encircled by another, now familiar, type of knot work. Irisi’s handiwork, in the style of her homeland.

  Khai made his way among the wounded, looking across the battlefield in the hard clear light of the setting sun, estimating the number of wounded and dead as the unwounded gathered them up – the wounded to be carried to the healers, the dead to be returned to Thebes and their families for proper burial.

  So long as they stayed dead.

  A part of him shuddered at the thought that some might rise as ghul.

  To save others from that task, Banafrit, Djeserit, Kahotep, Irisi and the other priests and priestesses moved among the dead, insuring passage to the afterlife, doing what needed to be done to keep that horror at bay.

  He saw Irisi lean against one of the wagons, her hand over her eyes, and then her hand shifted to cover her mouth as she fought back tears of sorrow.

  It was in him to go to her but he couldn’t, a voice called… They needed him… General Akhom demanded his presence…

  They’d lost nearly half their number to a lesser force in a matter of only a few hours and far fewer of the enemy lay dead than they. Far, far fewer.

  The sun had just kissed the horizon as the last of the wounded were healed and those who died were given release. A lasting release such as would allow their families to bury them properly and safely, without fear that they would rise again.

  Khai, though, eyed the sun worriedly.

  As, he noted, did Banafrit, Kahotep, Djeserit and Irisi. Looking to the west, worriedly.

  The near west, whence the Djinn had fled.

  It wasn’t over. Somehow he knew it. They’d simply withdrawn to lick their wounds. He could feel it in his bones, in his heart and soul. It couldn’t be over. How could it be when they didn’t know how or why it had started? Or why it ended?

  Night was the time of the Djinn, darkness their nature and their element. Khai couldn’t shake the feeling that they hadn’t fled, they’d merely deserted until the field of battle more closely suited them.

  At night his men would be all but blind and Horus’s falcons useless. Only Sekhmet’s priests and priestesses and the lions would have some advantage of sight and smell. Even Banafrit and Irisi’s magic would be somewhat constrained by the lack of light.

  He feared and rightly so. A glance to Banafrit, Irisi and the others confirmed it. He saw his concern mirrored in their eyes as well.

  Khai sought out Akhom near where the Generals tents were being erected. He knew he would never convince Akhom. Not alone. But he had to try.

  With a gesture to the others to join her, Banafrit followed.

  “We can’t stay here, safely,” Khai said. “The Djinn will return.”

  Banafrit added, “General Khai is right, my lord Akhom. The Djinn will return. Nor can we leave with so many wounded. We need to protect ourselves.”

  By no sign did Khai show his relief at her support.

  “We dealt them a resounding defeat,” Baraka said, satisfied. “They fled.”

  Kahotep shook his head emphatically. “With all due respect to my Lord Baraka, no. They were winning.”

  He gestured out toward the battlefield. To the dead and wounded there.

  “They left of their own free will. They ceded the field of battle. It’s not the same. They’re Djinn. Fire spirits. Nearly immortal and answerable only to the Gods at the time of judgment, as we are. They don’t reason the same as we do. We have no more idea why they left than why they attacked. You saw them. Many didn’t want to leave with so many of their natural prey before them. Djinn aren’t accustomed to losing. Even so, are you willing to take the chance they won’t? The night is their time far more than ours.”

  Akhom remembered too well his men falling before the Djinn like wheat to a scythe. He, too, was aware of the number of wounded. Despite Baraka’s sureness, he not only couldn’t take the chance, he wouldn’t.

  “Fires will help,” Irisi suggested quickly, seeing Akhom waver. “Around the perimeter. Raise them up on mounds. At least we might be able to see them when or if they come. At least we won’t be completely blind.”

  “We need to set watches in any event, Akhom,” Khai added, persuasively. “A perimeter guard if nothing else.”

  “Do it,” Akhom said, looking to both Khai and Baraka.

  With a grateful glance to Banafrit, Kahotep, Irisi and the others for their support, Khai followed Baraka from the tent. He couldn’t escape the feeling that there wasn’t much time left.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Secure in their tent, Banafrit eyed Irisi curiously as they prepared their dinner together. The scent of lentils, vegetables and spices cooking was soothing, almost homey, easing their fears somewhat with the familiar aromas and tasks. There was no better time than now for her to speak.

  “What is this between you and General Khai?” she asked, gently, and was stunned by Irisi’s reaction.

  A look of utter shock and horror kindled in Irisi’s eyes, her face going nearly white, although she covered it quickly.

  For all that, Irisi’s voice was even, although Banafrit could sense the struggle within her.

  “Nothing,” Irisi said, firmly. “There’s nothing. Leave it be, my Lady. Please.”

  Fear clutched at Irisi’s heart as it hadn’t on the battlefield. She remembered Kamenwati’s threat. Nothing that Khai could face squarely, an honorable risk with an even chance at survival, but a sly and secretive assault? Khai was safe against dark magic, but against poison or an assassin…?

  If Banafrit had noticed, who else had?

  Irisi’s vehemence was startling.

  Nothing? Banafrit thought.

  It wasn’t nothing. Banafrit had seen what was in their eyes. General Khai was a handsome man, capable, and it was clear there was something between them. He wasn’t married, so there was no dishonor there.

  Leave it be, Irisi asked.

  Why? It made no sense, no more than her fear did. Banafrit sat back and looked at the girl. She couldn’t leave it be.

  “Perhaps it would be best if you’d tell me what it is you fear,” Banafrit said, gently.

  From the look in Banafrit’s eyes it was obvious to Irisi that her friend, her priestess and High Priestess wouldn’t let it alone.

  Nor could it be left alone, not now.

  “What did you see?” Irisi asked, worriedly.

  “Enough,” Banafrit said, gently and reassuringly. She took Irisi’s cold hands in her own. “I’m Priestess to the Goddess of women, love, magic and mothers. She’s given it to me to see such things with clearer eyes than many. As she will you when it’s your time. Tell me, Irisi. There can be no secrets between us. I’ve made it clear you’ll be High Priestess after me. You e
arned it. No one, not even Saini, knows the worship of our Lady better, no one can recite the Book of Emerging into Daytime or the Book of Life better than you, but there is this…So… Tell me. Talk to me, Irisi. You shouldn’t deny yourself what you and he both so clearly desire.”

  Irisi’s breath caught at the thought.

  You and he… It hadn’t been just her imagination, then, her own wishful thinking... The ache in her heart returned.

  Lifting her eyes to meet Banafrit’s level gaze, Irisi let out a breath.

  “Shortly after I was initiated, the Grand Vizier Kamenwati came to me in the market. He was angry. He made me a vow. He said I was his by right, that he’d bought me and if he couldn’t have me then no other would. There would never be another in my life. If there was, that one would die, by assassin, magic or poison, but they would die.”

  She took another breath, to steady herself. “It was no idle threat.”

  No, Banafrit thought, knowing Kamenwati, the Grand Vizier, it wouldn’t be.

  So much suddenly made sense.

  There was a bitter irony here – that a priestess of Isis would be denied the very love and affection the Goddess she served offered…

  Kamenwati.

  Banafrit had little doubt the Grand Vizier would keep his vow no matter how many years went by, remembering his anger and rage when the Goddess had accepted Irisi into Her service. He was spiteful enough for it. So he’d found another way to punish Irisi for it, as, by his lights he must – or others see his loss as weakness.

  “That’s why you’ve made no close friends among the others, why you’ve stayed apart,” Banafrit said, suddenly understanding.

  It had served her well for Irisi to do so, but to think of it…to hold oneself so apart from others…to feel and be so alone…

  Kamenwati would do as he’d sworn, of that Banafrit had no doubt, as Irisi did. And they needed Khai. With Baraka in Kamenwati’s pocket and Akhom’s loyalty unknown… Banafrit could curse Kamenwati himself for this but that was dark magic and she wouldn’t lower herself to his level.