Spinning, Djeserit had clearly sensed the threat from behind her, only to come face to face with another sila. One like it had just taken the life of her closest friend. Her eyes turned feral as she bared her lengthening teeth at it in fury.
Djeserit snarled into the Djinn’s face in despairing fury and backhanded it as it leaped at her. The force of the blow sent the thing tumbling back into the darkness. She bounded after it.
The spell Banafrit had been conjuring was released, unchecked, as she died.
Irisi cried out in denial, in grief and sorrow.
A tremendous burst of wind slammed into the ground to the west of the camp between the oncoming Djinn and the army bracing for the imminent assault. An explosion of sand, it caught up everything before it with the enormous power of a dying priestess and blew the Djinn deep into the desert.
Caught off guard, the Djinn lost nearly half their number in one moment.
Darkness fell as suddenly as the wind had struck.
Knowledge exploded within Irisi, a great burst of it not unlike the downburst of wind out on the desert plain, the sacred knowledge of all the High Priestesses who had come before her were released within her. It was nearly overwhelming at a time when she couldn’t afford to be overwhelmed. Frantically she fought to absorb the knowledge as she fought to keep it from being her undoing, scrambling mentally for the spell for light that Banafrit had cast.
On Banafrit’s death that, too, had disappeared, plunging the camp into near darkness lit only by the lurid glow of the distant watch fires and the firebrands Irisi had tossed out among the Djinn.
The army was fighting blind.
Khai looked up as darkness fell and his heart froze. Suddenly he couldn’t see. Nor could his men.
More importantly, what did it mean? Which priestess had cast that spell and which had fallen? Banafrit or Irisi?
His heart seemed to freeze in his chest, aching.
Just as suddenly Light surrounded them once more, silvery light as if from the moon. Isis’s light once more showered over the encampment.
Khai had no time to look back toward the tents to see who stood there…and who didn’t…
He shouted orders to his men to prepare them to meet another attack by the remaining Djinn.
Another, smaller burst of wind swept along their left flank, catching up the Djinn to blow those, too, out into the desert.
At least one of Isis’s priestesses was still alive. He wasn’t certain whether to be relieved or not.
What had happened?
Nebi spun, snarling in warning into the shadows as something rushed toward them. Khai turned to face the new threat.
The numbers of Djinn were so much fewer after that windstorm. Hope filled him.
A hail of arrows cut through the ghul and ifrit, decreasing those numbers even further, as cold iron swords drove back the sila. Whatever form they took, the iron in the steel of the swords was enough to daunt even them and the few Marid.
There was a chance they would survive.
To Irisi’s relief she could see the joined forces push back the remaining Djinn. It seemed to her that the Djinn sensed it, too. One minute they were there. The next they were gone.
Once more the army staggered, as bewildered at this sudden withdrawal as they had the last, everyone staring around looking for an enemy to fight.
The Djinn were gone.
For the moment, at least, it seemed it was over.
Irisi felt scoured inside and out, as if she’d been turned inside out, as everything she’d known and much she hadn’t swept through her and from her, leaving her empty before knowledge flooded back into her, an enormous rush of it. It burned through her, searing, incredible… Faces. Dozens of them. Priestesses and Priests. Generations of knowledge, of spells and skill…
Opening her eyes, she looked down into Banafrit’s serene face. Banafrit’s dark eyes closed as the last of her life fled her.
Shock and grief rocked Irisi.
Exhausted, stunned, clutching Banafrit in her arms, Irisi looked out over the battered encampment.
Bodies were strewn everywhere. The wounded cried out softly and then with greater force as their pain penetrated. Horses wandered loose, trailing reins and the scraps of their chariots. Some of the soldiers stood in bewilderment, looking around in evident confusion and relief at the sudden withdrawal of their foe.
Irisi felt much the same.
To her relief she saw Kahotep get to his feet by his tent, Emu beside him watching warily as Djeserit reappeared from the shadows.
By the command tent chaos reigned with no one to give orders.
Khai. Irisi’s heart wrenched with fear.
Where was he? Or Baraka? She’d seen Akhom fall. Who now would command the armies?
She was nearly sick with fear and grief at the thought of another loss, her gaze searching the battlefield for a familiar form even as she rocked Banafrit in her arms.
A solitary figure stepped through the smoke and the shadows, making his way across the encampment. His waving black hair streamed down to his shoulders, his dark eyes were tinged with gold and he had a young lion at his heel.
Khai.
Irisi’s heart beat again. She very nearly wept.
She saw that he, too, looked around incredulously, as if trying to believe that, for the moment, it was over and he was alive.
Resolutely, Khai walked toward the tents situated on the rise. He had to know…
Then he saw her, Irisi’s golden hair a beacon in the silvery light, even as she saw him... His heart eased, the relief immense.
Their eyes met, his and Irisi’s.
Even as Khai saw her, he saw who it was she cradled in her arms. Grief and relief warred within him. It hadn’t been Irisi who’d fallen but calm, sensible Banafrit, an icon of his life who’d been among those few Khai called friend.
He remembered their meal of only a few hours before and Banafrit’s blatant matchmaking. The memory made him smile even as his heart ached.
Khai saw an even greater grief and sorrow in Irisi’s eyes and relief as she watched him walk toward her.
Looking toward Akhom’s tent he saw the old man was also among the fallen. One of Akhom’s adjutants crouched by the body, the younger man’s face a mask of shock and horror. The bodies of two Djinn lay nearby. Akhom had died a soldier’s death, though, taking some of the enemy with him. It was as Akhom would have wished. Although they’d never been close, Khai had respected the older man and he mourned his loss. Egypt had lost a steadfast warrior.
He and Irisi both had their griefs, it seemed.
Banafrit, though… His soul cried out. She should’ve been allowed to stay among her people, at peace in her temple to the great Goddess, not fighting out here on the plain…
After the deafening clamor of battle, a silence had fallen. Sound returned slowly. With it came the soft cries of the wounded, a reminder of their responsibilities, not just his, but Irisi’s, and the other priests and priestesses.
He saw that knowledge in her pale eyes.
That knowledge was reflected in the eyes of the others.
Djeserit straightened carefully as Kahotep turned to walk toward them.
Kneeling down beside Irisi, Khai gathered Banafrit into his arms.
“If she’d let me bring my swords…” Irisi whispered helplessly. “I might have saved her. I couldn’t conjure them quickly enough.”
Khai didn’t need to say the words, they were both warriors. She knew. It had, perhaps, been simply fate. He looked at Irisi, understanding.
A soft cry of denial escaped Kahotep as he watched, his heart wrenching. He hurried to join them as Djeserit, also bereft, lifted the tent flap aside to allow Khai and Irisi to pass within.
Irisi joined Khai at Banafrit’s cot as he laid her on it, covering Banafrit’s face with a corner of her kalasaris.
Kahotep burst into the tent behind them. And stopped, looking at Banafrit, at how still she lay. She who’d always been so vi
tal, so strong. Seeing all the blood.
Grief struck him, hard.
And there was Awan. He would be shattered by this. They’d been devoted to each other, Awan and Banafrit, one to the other.
Outside the tent, life returned with the rising of the sun.
Bowing her head, Irisi offered up a quick prayer to the Goddess for Banafrit’s soul. It would have to suffice, have to hold until they could return her to the temple and prepare her for her journey to the Afterlife properly. She wanted to weep, to cry out her grief, but there was no time.
This was all the time any of them could take, this brief moment. Duty called. There were wounded to tend…and little time for grief, with so much yet to be done for the living.
Khai touched her hand, a small gesture of comfort.
Irisi looked up, seeing in Khai’s dark eyes what she knew was in her own, grateful for the gesture.
Then she nodded, turning to Djeserit and Kahotep. They had work to do.
Girding herself, straightening her shoulders, Isis’s new High Priestess and High Priestess to all the Gods took a breath and went to do what needed to be done.
Chapter Twenty One
Darkness settled softly over Thebes. Kamenwati looked back over his shoulder. He was hardly afraid as the Djinn stepped from the gathering shadows. Half a dozen slaves and three of his best men stood between himself and the dark Djinn – a Marid in the form of a particularly beautiful man. Had he been a lover of men, even Kamenwati might have found himself drawn. As it was one of the women slaves swayed involuntarily toward the creature, compelled by the beauty of it. Taking a handful of her hair, Kamenwati brought her to her feet by it and propelled her toward the thing with a quick thrust.
“A gift,” he said, smiling.
The Djinn caught the woman, little more than a girl, and sniffed around her like a dog.
“Sweet,” it said, its voice harsh.
Catching the girl by the scruff of the neck as one would a kitten the Marid lifted her. He, it, breathed in the girl’s scent again. It looked at the others cringing against the floor, one beginning to weep as the slave realized his fate.
“All? For me?”
Kamenwati said, “Yes.”
Its gaze on those who awaited, the creature opened its maw and buried its teeth in the girl’s throat. Slowly, it bit down. And suckled.
As Kamenwati watched the slave’s eyes widened in a kind of hideous ecstasy, her hands clutching wildly at the thing as it fed on her. Far too late her hands beat at its shoulders as wet sucking sounds filled the room. Her eyes rolled like those of a goat at the slaughter. A few drops of her blood pattered to the floor. Her hands scrabbled, but those movements weakened swiftly then fell away as her body convulsed, quivering wildly in mixed pleasure and horror.
The sounds that came from the Djinn were unspeakable, yet Kamenwati found them oddly exciting.
Lifting its head, the Djinn smiled and let the body drop carelessly aside. What little blood remained soaked into the floor, joining that of many others.
The remaining slaves whimpered in terror.
The Marid Djinn’s eyes hardened as it looked to Kamenwati.
“Djinn are now scattered to the ends of the earth.”
Kamenwati shrugged. “Those that joined you. They will be called back.”
He was calm, unconcerned. Now he understood. Once the army returned, with Baraka at its head, even Narmer would have to bow before him.
“You have a plan,” the Djinn said, eyeing him.
Kamenwati smiled as he stepped away from Set’s altar and the protection it had offered as the Djinn fed.
He’d called up the dark power of the God and now he basked in it. He’d seen what was to come, a dream, a prophecy of his own making, of a great and terrible Darkness that rose to sweep across Egypt, to own it and to master it. His Darkness. He smiled. Kahotep’s dream, his prophecy, but now it was Kamenwati’s.
It had come to him in a dream and in that dream, in his Vision, he’d seen it all, seen this Darkness rise at his command…
This was only the beginning. Now he knew it could be done. And how.
There simply hadn’t been enough Djinn, only those that this Marid Djinn and the one within him could call. It wasn’t enough, but there were many, many more dark Djinn. And they were weak. He needed a way to summon them, to bind them to his will.
Now he had it.
In his dream, his vision, he’d seen it, envisioned it…
The army would be his, once it returned and Baraka was named chief General, all the armies of Egypt would be Kamenwati’s.
“It will take time,” he said, “and a great deal of power. There will be sacrifices…”
He looked at the Marid Djinn. If the creature had a name, Kamenwati didn’t know it. He didn’t need that knowledge.
Smiling, the Djinn looked at the slaves and hostages, mistaking Kamenwati’s intent, and Kamenwati allowed it.
Knowing what the Djinn wanted, Kamenwati reached for another of the women, who whined, mewled and shrieked as Kamenwati tossed her to the creatures.
One look into the Djinn’s beautiful, unfathomable eyes, though, and all her resistance faded. The woman melted into the creature’s embrace, slid down to settle by his feet like a faithful dog, waiting until it was ready for her, although she quivered with fear.
“Fear not,” it said, “I have other uses for you.”
The Djinn reached down to pet the cowering woman at its feet.
“Power can be obtained,” Kamenwati said, “even from one such this. I will need your help, though.”
The Djinn exposed its teeth in what passed for a smile.
“I am yours to command,” it said, stroking the woman’s hair.
It looked down at her, then at Kamenwati.
Settling back in his chair, Kamenwati waved his consent. He watched in pleasure as the Djinn made proper use of his offering and that of the others.
It was late in the night before the screams stopped and the Djinn was sated. Then it was time to work.
Chapter Twenty Two
It took all morning to get the encampment set to rights, to arrange care for the wounded and transportation for the dead. No one would be left behind in this place even though this, too, was technically Egypt. Khai couldn’t bring himself to leave those who had fallen here where that darkness had touched. Even with all the priests and priestesses in attendance, they couldn’t be adequately prepared for the Afterlife here. He would return the dead to their families, as was right and proper.
Their losses had been staggering.
If the Djinn had hit them again, Khai wasn’t certain they would have survived the assault. All he could hope was that they wouldn’t come again soon.
With Akhom gone it was Khai who was now the most experienced General in the army. Pending the King’s approval, the responsibility for the Army as a whole lay now on his shoulders. That he was now the ranking general was a difficult concept for him to grasp, nor was there time for him to do so. All he could do was keep doing what needed to be done, setting one foot in front of the other until the next demand was made and met.
That Baraka intended to contest him for the position was obvious and unavoidable but few could argue that it had been Khai who’d brought order once again to the camp and not his fellow General.
Surrounded by Akhom’s adjutants, Khai looked out across the camp as Irisi straightened from tending to the last of the wounded. Her golden hair streamed in the wind, her hand going to her lower back as she listened to Djeserit, Kahotep standing nearby. Even at this distance and with blood on her clothing she was still beautiful to his eyes. He wished he could join them but there were things yet to be done.
Irisi listened as Djeserit spoke.
“I’ve lost three of my people,” Djeserit said, wearily. As well as Banafrit, the closest to anyone that Djeserit could call friend.
All but one were clearly dead on the battlefield. For that alone, Djeserit was bitterly gr
ateful. At least those two were truly gone, and although she grieved for them it was a better fate than that of some.
“One, though, is missing.”
Rami, who’d come so close to losing himself to blood fever the previous day. He hadn’t answered her call when Djeserit summoned them back. Either he’d been swept up in the Great Wind Banafrit had called up just before she died, or the blood fever had taken him finally, and he’d fled into the desert as the madness drowned him.
It was that last she feared most.
“Is there anything we can do?” Irisi asked, gently.
Slowly Djeserit shook her head with a sigh, her eyes on the distant desert.
“We hope he’ll return to us,” Djeserit said, but a part of her feared that as much as the other.
Some few of her people went mad from blood-fever and returned to take vengeance on their brethren for what they’d become, or simply returned, mindless, after the desert and starvation had taken their toll.
All she dared do was hope.
Irisi put an arm around her, giving her a small tight hug. “I’m sorry for your losses, Djeserit.”
The gesture was simple and a surprise, yet Djeserit welcomed and was grateful for it. It was something Banafrit, too, would have done. Her heart ached for the loss of her old friend and for Awan, who’d lost even more and didn’t yet know it.
“Banafrit will be sorely missed.”
Irisi nodded, sighing, her own heart still hurting from the loss. “Yes, she will.”
She’d put a spell on Banafrit’s body to preserve it so she could be returned to Awan as he remembered her and to keep her for proper burial.
Tears burned at the thought.
Kahotep laid a hand on her shoulder in comfort and shared grief, seeing the shadows in Irisi’s eyes. His old friend had chosen well.
Turning her head into his hand, Irisi brushed her cheek against the back of it in consolation. It was all she could offer, he knew.
Irisi drew strength from the simple gesture, and then she patted Kahotep’s hand.
She watched Khai retreat into Akhom’s tent with two officers at his heels.
Servant of the Gods Page 18