The Mazes of Magic (Conjurer of Rhodes Book 1)

by Jack Massa

  “Ha-ha!” Amasis laughed. “Forgive my playing with you. You are my lost grandson from the bathing pool.” He clapped Korax’s shoulder with startling force.

  Harnouphis’ face expressed bewilderment.

  “Oh, I met Seshsetem once before,” Amasis explained. “He wanders the grounds late at night, and sometimes so do I. But I’m not sure why a healthy young man should be so restless.” He turned a meaningful look on Harnouphis. “Almost as if his nerves were charged with unusual stimulation.”

  Harnouphis’ smile seemed plastered on. “He never fails to surprise me.”

  Korax found his voice. “It’s true I sometimes have trouble sleeping. It seems to harm no one if I walk about a little.”

  “No harm,” Amasis assured him. “I see no harm whatsoever in this young scribe. Come, let us stroll in the garden.”

  Amasis put on a disheveled wig and picked up a walking stick. He led his guests down the terrace steps and along a winding path of white pebbles. Ferns and palm fronds filtered the bright sun, casting speckled shade. Insects whirred in the flowering shrubs.

  In answer to Amasis’ questions, Korax repeated his reasons for seeking initiation: that he felt an inner calling from the Goddess Isis, that he had mastered his current duties and sought to offer higher service. He made no mention of his scrying for Harnouphis, though of course Korax had already disclosed this activity to the old “doorkeeper” at the bathing pool.

  Harnouphis in turn affirmed that Seshsetem had proven himself a dutiful scribe, and that his talents might indeed benefit the temple should he receive training in the sacred scriptorium.

  The three men rested at the side of a cement pool, where silvery fish swam lazily beneath floating lily pads.

  “The recommendation of your esteemed master bears much influence in the House of Life,” Amasis told Korax. “But before we decide on your request, I want to be sure you understand what it would mean. As a candidate, you will first undergo an initiation ritual, which we call the Welcoming at the Threshold. Most men find this experience unnerving; many are utterly terrified. The rite has been known to drive some weak-minded individuals to such a state of distraction that it took them months or even years to recover. Obviously, those men were not meant to study here.”

  The knot in Korax’s belly tightened. “I understand.”

  “After you have passed initiation, you will be given scrolls to copy, to introduce you to the sacred writing. You will also be assigned daily meditation rituals, which will begin to attune your body and mind to a higher kind of functioning. In all this, you will be guided by a mentor, who will answer your questions and oversee your progress.”

  “I have volunteered myself as your mentor,” Harnouphis said.

  “Yes, an extremely kind offer for a servant with so many other duties,” Amasis remarked.

  Korax detected a note of reserve in the statement, as if Amasis would have preferred to assign a different mentor but could not refuse Harnouphis’ offer.

  “When you are judged perfect in your knowledge of the sacred writing, you will be eligible for advancement into higher grades of initiation. The first phase normally requires several years to complete—the exact time being dependent on the candidate’s talent and how hard he works.”

  Amasis set a hand on Korax’s shoulder. “In all your efforts Seshsetem, you must strive to adhere to Maat. As ours is not your native language, I must make certain that you understand this concept. Maat is the name of a goddess we worship. She personifies truth; that is, the divine truth behind the net of appearance that makes up the visible world. Maat is order; the divine order that regulates the daily journey of the sun and the yearly rise and fall of the river. Maat is law; the divine law that shapes the destinies of all. As you progress in our sacred knowledge, Maat will be revealed by your studies, by your mentor, and by your own inner guidance. Sometimes it is hard to adhere to Maat and tempting to stray. But departure from Maat introduces impurity; and impurity leads inevitably to failure and chaos.

  “Having heard all this, Seshsetem, are you still determined to enter the House of Life?”

  His certainty had only strengthened during Amasis’ last speech. “I am, your Excellency.”

  “Splendid! I will make the arrangements. Your initiation will commence at dawn three days hence.”

  * * * * *

  “That is amazing news indeed!” Katep exclaimed. “Congratulations, Seshsetem.”

  Korax nodded, smiling as they sat together in the scriptorium. “It will not alter my duties here. We will continue to work together.”

  “I am glad of that,” Katep said. “When the harvest comes, we’ll need you more than ever. But we must celebrate your accomplishment. Why not come to dinner tomorrow at my house?”

  So it was arranged, and the following afternoon Katep and Korax left the scriptorium together. They exited the temple complex through a service gate in the south wall. Except for a few formal processions, it was the first time since his arrival that Korax had been able to venture outside the Mansion of Ptah. He wore a fresh linen tunic, gray sash, and white sandals on his feet. On his head was a plain black wig, which he had been given but seldom wore. He had stopped short of applying rouge or darkening his eyelids with kohl, as a young man might typically do for a social occasion.

  Still, he knew he looked very much the Egyptian scribe that he had become. The thought both pleased and needled him, pride at his adaptability mixed with a gnawing dismay at the dwindling of his Greek self.

  The two friends walked past broad plazas and ceremonial avenues with their pillared halls and towering obelisks. They entered a residential district of close-built houses and winding streets. A fat orange sun was settling over the roofs when they reached the house of Katep.

  Shouts of excitement greeted them as they entered the foyer. Katep’s two little daughters ran up and hugged their father’s legs.

  “Here are my darlings, Ipwet and Kiya!” Katep cried with gleaming eyes. “And here is my son, Baufre.”

  The boy, older than his sisters, greeted the two men with a dignified bow. Baufre had the traditional shaven head and sidelock of a preadolescent Egyptian boy.

  “And this is my dear wife, Hetepher.” Katep touched her lovingly on the hip and kissed her cheek.

  Hetepher was a slender woman with dark, serious eyes. She extended her hand, palm down. “Welcome to our home, good sir.”

  Korax touched her fingers lightly and bowed in courteous greeting. “I am honored by your invitation.”

  Hetepher smiled. “My husband has told us much of Seshsetem. Your knowledge and hard work have spared him much trouble and worry.”

  The lady ushered them through a comfortably-furnished living room and out to a tiny garden. Stools had been arranged beside a small lotus pool, and low tables set with bread, dates, and tumblers of beer and water. The aroma of roasting meat drifted out from the kitchen.

  The party relaxed beside the pool, Hetepher sitting on a footstool and leaning against her husband’s knee. The little girls played in the garden, running over occasionally to receive a caress from their parents. Baufre sat nearby, listening attentively to the adults’ conversation.

  At first Katep and Korax discussed their work. With the harvest approaching, their labors would intensify. Many of the scribes would be dispatched to the temples’ far-flung estates to assist auditors in counting and recording. At the same time, more correspondences would need to be written and long inventories tallied and reported.

  But after the steaming plates of roast lamb had been served and everyone had eaten their fill, Hetepher requested that the conversation change. “Dear husband, you can talk about your work with Seshsetem any time. Tonight is a celebration.”

  “You are right, of course,” Katep said. “What should we talk about then?”

  Hetepher offered a coaxing smile. “Well, we know Seshsetem is a well-traveled man. We would love to hear him tell us about the places he’s visited.”

 
; “Yes, please!” Baufre exclaimed, as though he had been dying to hear that suggestion.

  “Now wait.” Katep held up his hands. “He is our guest. We must not impose.”

  “Not at all,” Korax replied. “It would be my pleasure.”

  He still could not remember what happened to him after he was attacked by Patrollos, still had no idea how he had come to Egypt as a slave. But memories from his earlier life were steady and firm. For the next hour, he drew on those memories, recounting his travels in the Aegean and Greece. From his early teens, Korax had sailed on the family’s trading ships in the summers. He entertained Katep’s family with descriptions of the fabulous tomb of Mausolos in Halicarnassos, and the towering beauty of the Parthenon in Athens. He talked about differences and similarities in how people dressed and spoke, what they ate and drank, how they worshipped the gods.

  But when the subject turned to his homeland of Rhodes, Korax’s heart grew leaden, his tone wistful. “Rhodos is not the largest or most splendid city that I can recall. But to me, it is most beautiful.”

  Quiet settled over the garden, now lit by flickering oil lamps. The little girls dozed against their father’s knees. Young Baufre stared at Korax with rapt attention.

  “Perhaps you will have the chance to return someday,” Hetepher remarked softly.

  “Perhaps,” Korax said. “It is a strange fate that has brought me to this ancient city on the Nile. But at least I have learned one thing: good people and good friends can be found in every land.”

  “I drink to that!” Katep lifted his beer. “But you have learned many other things also, my friend. And now you will be initiated into the House of Life, and I am sure will learn much more.”

  “Yes.” Korax’s face brightened. “An opportunity I have longed for.”

  Hetepher shifted in her seat. “I am happy for you, Seshsetem. But I feel you would be wise to regard the opportunity also with caution.”

  “Now, wife. We don’t need to worry him with that story,” Katep admonished.

  “I speak from my heart, husband. Would you have it otherwise?”

  Katep frowned but held his tongue.

  “Please speak, “Korax encouraged her.

  Hetepher sighed, her voice taking on an edge of sorrow. “It concerns my older brother. He was a scribe at the temple, like Katep. He aspired to enter the House of Life, and when the chance came, he was initiated. For a few years, everything seemed well. He would not speak much about his studies, but he appeared bright and enlivened. Then things changed. When I saw him, he acted moody and short-tempered. It almost seemed he had become a different person. One night, when he had drunk many cups of beer, he boasted that his mentor raised powerful spirits, that these beings would bring all within his circle wealth and greatness. That was the last time I saw him alive. The following month brought the Festival of Ra, when Ptah is taken downriver to visit his fellow god at Iunu. During the return voyage my brother drowned in the Nile. They said it was an accident, but I feel in my heart that he might have jumped—or even been pushed.”

  “Or perhaps he simply got drunk and fell overboard,” Katep said. “Most scribes who enter the House of Life do not end up drowning in the river.”

  “I did not say the case was typical,” Hetepher answered. “And I don’t mean to discourage Seshsetem. I simply urge caution. Not all the men who study in the House of Life are above evil magic. Not all of them are true servants of Maat.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Korax entered the House of Life in the still hour before dawn. Barefoot and bareheaded, he wore a tunic of black linen tied with a black sash. Harnouphis marched beside him, dressed in vestments of white and gold, a ceremonial headpiece augmenting his height. Tiny lamps flickered in niches along the corridor. Only their muted footfalls and the rustle of their garments disturbed the quiet. At the end of the hallway they stopped at what seemed like a blank wall. Harnouphis rapped on the floor with his staff. A moment later, Korax was startled as the wall panel slid aside, revealing a lightless passage. Harnouphis took out a strip of black cloth and tied it securely over Korax’s eyes.

  “Speak not a word,” the high priest warned. He placed the end of a rope into Korax’s hand. “Follow my lead, and tread carefully. We will descend many steps.”

  Korax heard his master move forward. When he felt a tug of the rope he followed. Heart pounding, he edged ahead until his toes touched the top of a step. Cautiously, he moved down the stairs, which seemed to turn in a spiral. The air grew cool and moist, possessing the sweet tang of incense. Finally, the steps ended. Korax followed the rope across an open space paved with smooth tiles, cold under his bare feet.

  Abruptly a hand shot out and stopped him. A deep and hollow voice sounded. “This one is unpurified. He cannot enter our sacred hall.”

  Harnouphis spoke a ritual reply: “He is a man of courage and a devotee of Maat. I ask that he be purified.”

  Fabric whispered as another priest stepped close. Dense, perfumed smoke floated into Korax’s face.

  “I purify thee with fire and air, the gifts of Ra.”

  The smoke dispersed. Drops of cold water splashed over his head and hands. Another voice sounded.

  “I purify thee with water and salt, the gifts of Geb.”

  The first of the voices spoke again: “Proceed, O seeker. Thou art justified.”

  The rope tugged forward, and Korax advanced. Through the blindfold, his eyes faintly perceived a brightening, as though they had entered a well-lit hall. He sensed many people standing and watching. From some distance ahead he heard the voice of Amasis.

  “Who is the Enterer on the Threshold?”

  Once more, Harnouphis answered: “Here is one lost in darkness who searches for the light.”

  The voice of Amasis drew closer. “To find the true light he must quit the scintillating darkness. To enter the House of Life he must die to the illusions of the world.”

  Harnouphis said: “His will is firm, and his heart is strong. He is willing to risk the terrible journey.”

  Abruptly, a hand lifted the blindfold. Korax saw Amasis inches in front of him, dressed in robes of scarlet and emerald green. About them stood a candle-lit hall, a crowd of men in white tunics. A large painted coffin lay on a platform a few yards ahead.

  Amasis lifted an alabaster bowl. “Drink of the waters of the blue lotus, that your eyes may be opened.”

  Korax parted his lips as the drink tilted toward him. He swallowed as fast as he could, but some of the potion spilled over his chin. Amasis waited till the vessel was drained completely before taking it away. Harnouphis tugged the blindfold down.

  “Let our brother be slain,” Amasis cried, “that he may rise again.”

  Korax’s feet were yanked from beneath him. Strong hands gripped his arms and shoulders. A drum started beating across the hall, and voices chanted. His body was laid on a stone and rolls of linen bandages wrapped around his limbs and torso. His arms were folded over his chest and more bandages used to secure them in place. Finally, the priests wound the bandages around his head, leaving only a small opening at his nostrils.

  The chants mounted, loud and bellowing. Hands lifted him up and carried him, then lowered him into the coffin. Amulets were placed over his throat, chest, stomach and groin. Korax heard the coffin lid closing.

  All was now blackness and silence.

  He strove to hold on to his nerve. He reminded himself this was only a ritual. Yet terror loomed inside him. Suppose they left him here too long by accident? He would die of suffocation. His shade would wander forever on the banks of the Nile. He tried to slow his breathing, to regain his composure. The air was parched, his throat full of dust. The blue lotus had dried all the moisture from his body. Perhaps it was turning him into a mummy. Perhaps he had failed to understand the literal meaning of the rite. He actually was meant to die, to be transformed into an animated corpse, no longer human, no longer alive. Dread crawled along his spine and sank talons into his heart.


  Korax never knew how long he lay, tormented by fear and the suffocating darkness. But suddenly it ended. The coffin lid creaked open. Daylight shone and he could see.

  Amasis smiled down at him. “Get up, grandson! You’ve lain there long enough.”

  The blindfold and mummy wrappings had vanished. Korax wore only the black tunic and sash. The old priest gripped his forearm and helped him climb from the coffin.

  “It’s time to begin the ritual,” he said. “Follow me.”

  Amasis started off, still clad in the dazzling robes of red and green. A gold ankh sparkled at the tip of his walking stick.

  They proceeded across the now-empty hall and entered a winding corridor. The towering walls were ribbed with granite. The polished floor sloped gently upward.

  After a time, they came to an iron gate. In front of the gate stood a monster with the sinewy body of a warrior and the head of a black hound.

  “Who are you?” His growl made Korax shudder.

  Amasis held up his staff, the ankh flashing. “I am one who wanders in darkness, seeking the light of Maat.”

  “No one can pass here except he speak my name.”

  “Creature of the Gate of Night is your name. Dark One of the Abyss is your name. I know you and fear you not.”

  The guardian shrank back. “Thou knowest me. Pass on.”

  When they had stepped through the gate, Amasis turned to Korax. “Release all fear from your soul, grandson. Respect and honor all beings, but fear not men nor beasts nor spirits nor even gods. To fear is to fail before you have begun.”

  They walked on.

  A while later, they approached a gate of gleaming copper. A lithe, voluptuous woman in a purple gown and silver collar barred the entrance.

  “You may not pass unless you know my name.”

  Amasis answered: “Bright One of the River of Life is your name; Child of Joy is your name. Though my heart yearns for you, I will pass on.”

  “Thou knowest me.” The lady backed away into the shadows.

  When they had passed the gate, Amasis said: “Embrace the fleeting pleasures of the world but lightly. For if you try to hold them, they will instead hold you, and your heart will shrivel with sorrow. Come.”