The Mazes of Magic (Conjurer of Rhodes Book 1)

by Jack Massa

  The pivoting slab stood ajar. Korax leaned his head inside and listened. He heard nothing, only smelled the cool air rising. He stalked inside and descended the spiraling steps.

  Reaching the bottom, he set the torch in a bracket and proceeded in the dark. His best hope lay in taking his foes by surprise, striking before they could react. He didn’t remember all the turns in the passageway, but his inner sense and the scent of moisture guided him.

  Soon he rounded a corner and saw flickering light in the distance. He crept noiselessly to the next intersection and peered around the wall. Ahead stood the chamber of the black pool, lit by fluttering torchlight.

  Korax edged along the wall. Staring past the stone door, he spied Harnouphis. Bedecked in black and gold, the high priest waved a long censer in front of the statue of Set. Baufre knelt beside him, naked and still. The bronze axe rested on the altar slab.

  Korax leaned back, catching site of Mehen. The scribe moved along the edge of the pool, scattering lustral water. Korax slipped back into the shadows, waiting, hoping to catch both men with their backs turned.

  The preparations continued. Mehen walked to the front of the altar, sprinkled the stone, then dashed a few drops over Baufre’s head. Harnouphis lit two red lanterns. He nodded solemnly at Mehen, then faced the god and raised his hands in adoration.

  Mehen took a final look around. He hastened across the floor and took a position midway between the altar and portal.

  In the passageway, Korax leveled his spear.

  Harnouphis lifted the serpent staff and called out to his ally. “Homage to you, O great god of the Palaces of Night ...”

  Mehen raised his hands in worship and sank to his knees.

  “... Terrible Lord of the Abyss ...”

  Korax charged out of the tunnel. He aimed to drive the spear through Mehen’s back. But midway, he changed his mind.

  “... Set, Bebht, Smy ...”

  If the point went deep, the spear might be impossible to free in time to wield it against Harnouphis.

  “... Apep, Typhon ...”

  Running, Korax twirled the spear around. He thrust the butt hard into the back of Mehen’s neck. Mehen collapsed with a muffled cry. Harnouphis heard and whirled around. Korax pointed the spear and rushed him.

  “No! You cannot!” Harnouphis roared, brandishing his staff.

  The power of his voice stunned Korax, and he stumbled. As he scrambled to his knees he glimpsed Baufre, snapped from his trance, peering about in confusion. Then Harnouphis stood over Korax, the serpent-headed staff leveled at his face.

  “You cannot challenge me. You cannot challenge the god!”

  Korax’s arms went numb, the spear slipping from his fingers.

  But then his own power surged through his nerves. He lifted his voice in defiance. “I am Horus of the Horizon.”

  Doubt flickered over the high priest’s face.

  “Horus the avenger!”

  Korax snatched up the spear and stabbed with all his strength. The point pierced Harnouphis in the belly. He staggered back, lost his feet, fell hard on his backside. His hands clutched the wound, blood seeping between his fingers.

  Korax jumped up and lifted the spear, ready to finish his enemy.

  A loud splashing made him spin in the other direction.

  A crocodile had clambered out of the pool. The enormous creature stalked toward the place where Baufre stood, while the boy watched in amazed horror.

  Set had taken a new form, determined not to lose his offering.

  Shocked for just a second, Korax leveled the spear and charged at the crocodile. Weapons-training from the school fields of Rhodos guided him—the proper alignment of legs and shoulders, the savage yell unleashing all strength to the thrust.

  The monster turned its head to face him, jaws opening. Korax plunged the point deep down the throat. The jaws snapped and the head twisted, tearing the spear from Korax’s hands and flinging him to the ground. The beast rolled over in frenzy, struggling to shake the weapon loose.

  Korax gained his feet, ran to Baufre, shook him by the shoulders. “Run for the door, Baufre. There!”

  The boy blinked, nodded, started to run.

  Korax wheeled and drew his sword. Harnouphis was on his knees by the altar, face ashen, struggling to rise.

  The crocodile smashed its head on the edge of the pool, knocking the spear free. The creature rolled onto its feet. It eyed both Korax and Harnouphis.

  Korax glanced down at his sword. It would not be enough. He turned and fled.

  Mehen had regained his senses. On hands and knees, he had caught Baufre by the foot and tripped him. Now he grasped an ankle as the boy tried to pull free.

  Korax skidded to a halt. He swung the sword over his head and chopped down, cleaving Mehen’s forearm to the bone. Mehen screamed and let go of Baufre.

  Korax picked the boy up and they ran. He thrust Baufre ahead of him into the passageway, then turned and shoved hard against the pivoting door.

  As the slab moved, Korax glanced back into the chamber. The crocodile stalked menacingly across the floor, in between the two men. Mehen had seen it now and was backing stiffly away. Harnouphis leaned on the altar, clutching his stomach, eyes wild.

  Abruptly, Mehen gave a shriek of terror and bolted for the tunnel. Korax closed the door just before Mehen could reach it.

  Leaning his weight against the stone, Korax searched for the hidden levers. As he pulled them one by one, he could hear Mehen wailing within.

  Soon there came other, louder sounds—screaming, roaring, snapping and chomping. Korax kept his shoulder braced against the stone until all was still, until he knew for certain that no one—no being—was coming out.

  Then he found Baufre’s hand in the darkness and led the boy out of the underworld.

  Chapter Thirty

  The disk of the moon rode high above the desert, spreading a pale glimmer over the temples and crumbling ruins of the necropolis. Korax walked along the ancient causeway, leading his donkey Mehen. Beside him walked Baufre, dressed in sandals and spare tunic from Korax’s pack. The boy’s terror and relief had flooded together into a wild elation. He chattered incessantly.

  “I knew what was happening all along, but I couldn’t help myself. I said and did whatever Harnouphis wanted, even though I tried not to. I was like a puppet, like a piece on a game board.”

  “I’ve been under his control myself,” Korax answered. “That you were even aware of it and struggled testifies to the strength of your mind.”

  “I could see him, the god Set, hovering behind Harnouphis’ like a ghost. And then, when you arrived in the vault, I saw Horus swooping in behind you. Horus and Set fought each other, just like in the stories.”

  “Indeed, they did.”

  “You are a great warrior and a mighty magician, Seshsetem.”

  “Oh, well ...” He laughed quietly. “Call me Korax. That is my true name.”

  “Korax! What does it mean?”

  “It means blackbird, actually. My mother gave me this name because I was black-haired and swarthy, compared to her Thracian kin, who tend to a pale and ruddy complexion.”

  “Korax, blackbird—an excellent name!”

  Ahead in the distance, a lantern burned at the crossroads. As they passed over the bridge, Korax discerned two men waiting—a round shape and a narrow one. Drawing closer, his curiosity turned to a wary surprise as he recognized Amasis standing beside Katep.

  “Baufre!” Katep rumbled forward and hugged his son. “Are you all right?”

  “I am now, father. Harnouphis was going to kill me, to give my blood to Set. But Korax saved my life.”

  “Korax?” Katep frowned in bewilderment.

  “Seshsetem,” Baufre laughed. “Korax is his true name.”

  Katep wrapped both his arms around Korax. “Thank you!” he cried, bursting into sobs. “Thank you for saving my son.”

  Amasis watched with a placid smile. “Ah, Korax. May I have a word with y
ou please?”

  Korax bowed to the first servant. “Your Excellency, how surprising to find you here.”

  “I am sure.”

  Amasis inclined his head for Korax to follow. They walked off a little distance. Amasis spoke in a muted voice.

  “Can you perhaps tell me the whereabouts of Chief Treasurer Harnouphis?”

  Korax sighed. “He is in a chamber under the ruined Temple of Set. Or, he is in the belly of a crocodile, which might be Set. Either way, I expect he is dead, along with Mehen, his servant in villainy.”

  Amasis nodded, somber but serene. “You have done well, grandson. Somehow, I knew I could count on you. I only regret I could not help you more.”

  “What do you mean?” Korax demanded.

  “Well, at my age, a man is no longer of much use in battle—be it a struggle of arms or of magic. But he can still oppose evil in more subtle ways. Fortunately, I am still capable enough to attract the aid of powerful beings.”

  “You left me the papyrus in the Chapel of Isis,” Korax realized. “You gave me Thoth.”

  “Thoth, is it?” The old priest’s eye popped open in surprise.

  “Yes, my magical ally.”

  “Well, grandson. You never fail to amaze me. But, no. I only gave you the scroll. Thoth came as your ally because you are gifted—even more than I had guessed.”

  Korax bowed his head. “I owe you a great debt, esteemed Amasis.”

  “On the contrary. It is I, and the Mansion of Ptah, who owe you thanks. You have destroyed a great evil that might have strangled us all. But what happens now, Korax? I could not help but notice that you appear decked out for travel.”

  Korax straightened his shoulders. “I am leaving Mem-Nephir. I am going back to the Greek world.”

  “Hmm.” The old priest squinted. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to reconsider? There is much you could learn in the House of Life. For a young man of your talent, the possibilities are boundless.”

  Korax had already weighed the idea of changing his plans. With Harnouphis and Mehen gone, his life here would be much easier. Perhaps Amasis himself would act as his mentor. The learning he might acquire was immensely tempting.

  But no. If he stayed, he reckoned that Korax the Greek would disappear forever. His memories were still incomplete. He needed to discover who he was really was. Perhaps it was the divine energy of Horus that lingered in him. But above all he yearned for freedom, to spread his wings and fly.

  “I appreciate the offer—more than I can say. And I do thank you for all you have taught me. But my heart was never in this place.”

  “Oh, well. I expected as much,” Amasis replied. “Fear not, I will do all I can to assure that no one searches for a runaway slave named Seshsetem. Also, I packed a few papyruses for you, magical texts you might find useful.” He removed a satchel from his shoulder and handed it to Korax. “There’s also some silver, to help cover your expenses. I really ought not to give you that, with the temple finances in such poor condition. But it’s a paltry amount in the scale of things, and I’m sure our Sem-priest can cut back a little on his personal expenses.”

  Korax dropped to his knees and kissed the high priest’s hand. “Honored lord, I will always remember your kindness to me, and your wisdom.”

  “Remember to seek the guidance of Maat, grandson. That will do me honor.”

  They strolled back toward the lantern, where Katep and Baufre waited.

  “It’s a pity you won’t change your mind about leaving,” Amasis said. “With the harvest on us and Harnouphis and Mehen both gone, think of the workload you’re leaving in the House of Records for poor Katep and your fellows.”

  “Not for me,” Katep answered. “Your pardon, Amasis, but I am leaving Mem-Nephir also. My wife, Hetepher, has long wished that we should move to one of the new cities of the Fayum. From now on, I am going to be ruled by her judgment.”

  “You are wise, my friend,” Korax clasped his hand. “Give my respects to your lady and to your little girls.”

  “You will be cherished in our hearts forever, Seshsetem.”

  “Korax, father!” Baufre cried. “His name is Korax.”

  With a nod to Amasis, Korax picked up the donkey’s tether and pulled. “Come on, Mehen.”

  “Mehen?” Katep exclaimed. “You named your ass Mehen?”

  “He has the same sweet temperament,” Korax answered with a shrug.

  Katep and Baufre started laughing, and soon Amasis joined in. Korax walked his donkey over the ridge and down into the dry streambed. The laughter of his friends followed as he walked off under the moon.

  * * * * *

  Korax followed the streambed north for many miles, walking between the fertile land and the desert, the villages of the living and the city of the dead. The peace of Isis filled his heart. He feared neither man nor ghost nor god, for Thoth’s wisdom reigned in his mind and the courage of Horus in his body.

  At sunup, he reached the plateau of Giza, the place of the great pyramids. He scrambled up a hill of loose sand and stood facing an enormous sphinx. Peeling paint marred the face of an ancient king. Only the head and shoulders stood above the drifted sand.

  Korax had been told that Bedouins and Egyptians both shunned the environs of the Great Sphinx, believing it haunted. This made it the perfect place for him to stop and rest for the day. He unpacked the donkey and tossed the bundles in the bowl of sand under the statue’s head. He gave Mehen water, tied on his feed bag, secured his tether. After feeding himself on bread, figs, and dried cheese, he curled up under his cloak and slept.

  He awoke in the late afternoon, exhilarated by the unfamiliar taste of freedom. For a long time he gazed down at the dark, fertile valley and the silver sweep of the river.

  Twilight gathered. Time to go on soon ... but where? He had not exactly decided.

  The moon appeared on the horizon. The presence of Thoth slipped into his mind.

  “Great god of magic, you are still with me?”

  The translucent, ibis-headed figure hovered before him in the moonlight. “I am your ally.”

  “Where should I go, now that I am free?”

  “What is your will?”

  Korax pondered. “I wish to go home to Rhodes and find my family, to learn why my ransom was never paid, if that is in fact what happened. Indeed, I need to discover if my memories of family and home are even true. And yet, if what I recall is true, I have enemies in Rhodes … And I do not feel ready.”

  “What will you need to be ready?”

  “To master my magic.” He gazed down at his hands and arms. “And, I need to find a gymnasium and transform this pudgy Egyptian back into a Greek gentleman. And, I need—I wish—to enjoy myself, to watch plays, to kiss pretty girls, to play music.”

  “Hmm. Magic, exercise, culture, pleasure.” The ibis-headed god folded in the air, transforming himself into human shape. A curly-haired, keen-eyed youth, he smiled sardonically—Hermes of the Greeks.

  “There is one city above all others in the world that I would recommend to you. Luckily, it is not far.”

  “Yes,” Korax whispered. “Alexandria.”

  Excerpt from

  The Lights of Alexandria

  A Conjurer of Rhodes, Book 2

  Following his escape from the Temple of Ptah, Korax has come to the new Greek capital of Egypt, Alexandria. As a runaway slave, he has deemed it wise to concoct a new identity. His hair grown, his body honed by the gymnasium, fashionably dressed, he now displays the appearance of a young Greek gentleman. He has dispatched letters to the family he remembers in Rhodes and, while awaiting a reply, has determined to pursue his study of magic.

  The Paneum was a curious, tall, circular structure, resembling nothing so much as a gigantic pinecone. Neither Greek nor Egyptian in design, its architecture echoed certain hive-like mounds known in Ionia and the islands of the North Aegean—shrines dedicated to the worship of archaic gods. But the structure raised by the Ptolemies was far grander t
han those. A colossal mound of gray and white stones, it towered nearly eighty feet against the limpid Alexandrian sky.

  Korax arrived there in mid-afternoon, having retraced his steps along the Canopic Way and trekked past the Tomb of Alexander. The grounds of the Paneum bordered on the winding streets of Rhakotis, the old Egyptian quarter. A rugged stone fence enclosed a park of sloping lawns dotted with stands of cypress and sycamore, tiny shrines, and grottos. At the center, a spiral ramp led up the outside of the giant mound, rising to the top where priests conducted the rites of Pan.

  The summit afforded a spectacular view of the city and the sea, and had become an attraction for tourists and idlers. Wandering across the grounds, Korax passed many who fit that description, but spotted no one who seemed to have official connection with the temple. He entered a small columned pavilion near the base of the mound but found it empty save for a granite statue of Pan, laughing deviously over his pipes.

  Pan, the shepherd's god, was a special patron of Ptolemy's Macedonian ancestors. The Paneum, with its artificial mountain wilderness, reflected that overt aspect of the god. But Korax understood that in philosophic circles Pan carried another, esoteric meaning. He embodied the concept of all the gods or, alternately, the God of All. It stood to reason that a society of scholars pursuing the Mysteries would choose his temple as their meeting place.

  But how to find them? The grinning face of the god offered no clue.

  Korax set a coin at the feet of the statue. He uttered a brief prayer, asking Pan for his blessing and guidance. Then he returned to the daylight.

  Lacking another plan, he started to climb the spiraling path of the mound. From the base he could see that it circled seven times before reaching the summit. In places among the boulders, grass and shrubs clung to the steep slope, adding to the naturalistic effect. Korax half-expected a mountain goat to come romping down the trail.

  He had completed the fourth circuit when he passed a narrow recess. Under a rock lintel, a small door of blackened bronze led inside the mound. Korax surmised the door must lead to a storage vault, perhaps used for groundskeepers' tools. But an inner prompting tugged him from the path. He stepped down into the recess and tried the door. After a firm shake of the handle, the latch gave and the door creaked open. Cool air flowed from the blackness within. Korax decided to investigate.