The Celestial Conspiracies

by Talhi Briones

  Ookami was patient. “I’m sorry, your highness, but I have orders. I can’t let you leave my sight if you’re outside your quarters.”

  “One of these days I’ll have ten men at the foot of my bed to protect me from nightmares.” Then she noticed the open door. “Damon! Thank the gods! Save me from my watchdog!”

  Damon let her inside. “Don’t worry, Ookami, I’m taking over. Here, have a chair for your leg.”

  Ookami gracefully accepted the chair and sat next to the door.

  Inside, Soromeh had gone directly to Naími and was telling her about her latest annoyance. The oracle listened, trying to hide her amusement.

  “Weren’t you two sworn enemies?” asked Damon.

  “Weren’t you supposed to get better rooms?” snapped back Soromeh. “I’ve seen sarcophagi with fresher air. So, what am I interrupting? A secret affair?”

  “You saw straight through us, your majesty,” answered Naími in a monotone. “We are caught in a fiery passion that all the water of the Nile could not extinguish.”

  “The palace women will put a price on your head, poor girl. Don’t fear. I’ll keep your secret.”

  She smiled at her. Naími hesitated and smiled back.

  “I’m glad to see you both on good terms, but we need to work,” said Damon. “Soromeh, if you want to stay, you need to behave. Lady Naími, where were we?”

  She pointed at a papyrus. “I was explaining this vision. It’s a long-term prediction, which can take up to a full generation before coming to pass. I would have removed it from the report, but… it’s worrisome. See for yourself.”

  Damon read, his face becoming more serious with each word.

  “I see some scary terms, like river of blood and fire from the sky. Or this one: The blood of the sons will pay for the blood of the sons. I don’t understand.”

  “Nothing's carved in stone. Mortals make choices, and every choice places them closer or further from the path that we oracles see in our dreams. Everything can still change.”

  “And if nothing changes?”

  “Then Egypt is in grave danger, sire.”

  She pointed out two series of symbols. Soromeh leaned over to see better.

  “The prince of water and the prince of land,” read Naími, “are the main characters of this prediction. Their fight will provoke a war unlike anything Egypt has ever seen or will ever see again.”

  “A war? Against who, the Hittites?”

  “Visions are never so literal. The word ‘war’ may mean an internal conflict, a change of government, or a family dispute.”

  “Maybe it’s Sethy and Kamilah,” suggested Soromeh. “Fire from the sky, river of blood—that sounds like them.”

  Damon went back to the papyrus. “And this, can you explain? The blood of the sons will pay for the blood of the sons.”

  “It’s still imprecise. There’s a feeling of balance, of a debt to pay… The debt of a people to another.”

  “In blood,” said Soromeh. “With such happy dreams, I’m not surprised that you don’t sleep much. Are you sure this doesn’t apply to us?”

  “Yes, your majesty, I’m sure. The events of this prediction is still far away. You’ll probably be comfortably installed in your tomb at that point.”

  While Soromeh stuck out her tongue, Damon took another papyrus. “I think that, after this one, we’re done for the day. The wedding of the prince of Mycenae and the daughter of the king of Egypt—look, it’s about us, Soromeh—needs to happen before the warriors leave for the front lines—are you serious?”

  “Of course,” said Naími. “All my predictions are serious. This one guarantees victory only if the wedding happens before the troops leave. I don’t know what battle it’s speaking of, but I am certain this is about your wedding to her highness, sire.”

  “Soromeh, how long do we have before your fifteenth birthday?”

  “It’s the next season. We still have time. Why are you worried?”

  “Because our troops are currently laying siege to a key city of the country of Amurru. We planned to send the royal fleet to put a quick end to it. If we have to organize a whole wedding before we leave, everything will be set back.”

  “Wait, you and Sethy are going to leave?” asked Soromeh.

  Damon didn’t answer. He assembled his scrolls, gave instructions to Naími, and left.

  “Thank you so much,” said Soromeh, sarcastically. “Your predictions pushed my wedding even closer.”

  “I didn’t know the troops were leaving so soon, your majesty. I don’t remember everything I dictated. Maybe there will be another prediction that will add some nuance?”

  She started looking through the remaining scrolls. Soromeh just sat there, frowning.

  Naími clucked her tongue in annoyance. “This implied your help, your majesty. I won’t reread everything myself.”

  “I don’t know enough symbols to understand all this!”

  “Don’t you know how to read?”

  “Yes, I do! Some words. My name, the names of my ancestors. I know how to recognize some things—like this, see, that’s a lion. Well, the front part of a lion.”

  “That is also the sound hot,” corrected Naími. “Next to a human, like this, it makes the word prince.”

  “The scribes tried!” snapped Soromeh, crossing her arms. “Dozens of them, but not a single one managed to last more than a few days. Even Master Pamiu, who taught all the other royal children, gave up on me. It’s not my fault I was unable to sit still!”

  “You must have learned something. You had the country’s best tutors.”

  “And the best from the neighboring countries. What I really wanted was to learn combat, with Sethy and Damon. I managed to get a few swimming and sailing lessons, but the nannies noticed. ‘You should learn to play an instrument instead!’ they told me. Kamilah tried to fix things when she came of age, but out of all the people she picked to straighten me up, the only one that didn’t make me want to vomit was Misha.”

  At the mention of her late lady-in-waiting, she traced the lion with a finger, her face painted in a now-familiar sadness.

  “Misha wanted me to find a tutor and try again. She said I was very smart, but apparently not smart enough to use it.”

  “It’s not too late,” said Naími. “Nothing stops you from going to the library and getting a tutor. Now that you’re an adult, you can even pick one yourself.”

  “You’re right. If I learn the letters and numbers, history, genealogy, science, and law, no honey fly will be able to take advantage of me. Maybe people will finally listen to me, instead of reporting every single one of my actions to my father, my brother, or my betrothed. Kamilah is educated, and no one ever doubts her word. Do you think I can be like Kamilah?”

  “I think you can aspire to many great things, your highness, but to become your sister’s copy would be a waste.”

  A scratching sound interrupted Soromeh’s answer. A sand-colored cat had crawled in the space under the door and jumped onto the table.

  “These cats are everywhere. We’re invaded,” said Soromeh. “Look at this one, with a necklace of actual gold and— are those emeralds? Your master is pretentious, cat! Come on, leave, before you get the scrolls covered in hair.”

  Naími raised her head from a papyrus. Upon seeing the cat, she jumped to her feet, grabbed Soromeh by the arm and placed herself in front of the princess, dagger drawn.

  There was a flash of golden light. A moment later, a woman with the head of a cat, wearing a green dress, was crouching on the table, holding two sharp sickles.

  “I can get the girl before you take a step,” warned Bastet.

  “You can’t kill humans!” shouted Naími.

  “No, but I can cut her pretty face ear to ear, blinding her for the rest of her short life.”

  Naími swallowed back her fear. She wouldn’t be able to protect the princess from a Netcheroo.

  “Let her go, and I’ll cooperate.”

  �
��You’ll cooperate either way. But to prove my good faith, she may leave.”

  Naími pushed Soromeh to the side. They hugged the wall until they reached the door. Bastet’s eyes stayed on them.

  Naími opened the door, shoved Soromeh outside, and slammed it back shut. Before she could turn around, Bastet jumped and jabbed a sickle in the wood. The other was thrust under Naími’s head, the blade tracing a fine line of blood on her neck.

  “I have just one question,” said Bastet. “Where is Anubis?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He was here!” roared the Netcheroo. “His scent is in your quarters! Tell me what you did with him!”

  “I don’t know where he is!” repeated Naími, wincing from the pain. “He came here a couple of days ago, that’s true, but he left immediately!”

  “Where?” she asked, pressing harder.

  “Hell!”

  Bastet squinted, her ears lowered back.

  “What is he doing, over there?” she asked in a menacing tone.

  “I won’t tell you anything else!”

  “I don’t care about your schemes! I know your secrets, I know what you’re doing, and it doesn’t interest me! I just want to find Anubis!”

  Naími whined in pain, her eyes tearing up. Bastet had pressed too deep, and the wound was now freely bleeding. The Netcheroo lowered her weapon and cut a piece off her dress, handing it to the oracle.

  Naími took it reluctantly and pressed it against her wound. “He wanted to help. He went to Hell to find a soul.”

  “What crime did the mortal commit?”

  “That has nothing to do with—”

  “If I want to find Anubis, I need to know which level of Hell to search.”

  “It was a murderer, but—”

  Bastet was not listening anymore. She grabbed her sickle from the door, transformed back into her animal form, and jumped through the thin window near the ceiling. Naími took a moment to gather herself.

  She opened the door and found Soromeh, who was waiting, her face pallid. The guard Ookami was next to her, looking lost.

  “Lady Naími,” he asked, “is everything all right? Her majesty left the room and has not said a word since.”

  Soromeh threw herself at Naími and hugged her with all her strength. The oracle placed a tentative hand on her head. With the other, she pressed to her neck an impossibly delicate fabric.

  * * *

  A wooden barge floated silently on the underground river, carrying a handful of silent souls. Bastet stood among them, feeling awkward.

  “Are we arriving soon?” she asked, fixing the hood of her cape.

  The ferryman did not answer. He was a gaunt being who did his work and nothing else.

  They reached a wider part of the cave. The ferryman tied the barge to a rickety dock, and the souls climbed down. Bastet followed them, fascinated by the gates to Hell.

  They were tall enough to disappear in the darkness of the cavern, made of a black metal that absorbed light, carved with faces grimacing in pain.

  The doors opened by themselves and let the souls pass. Bastet stepped forward but stopped upon hearing a menacing growl.

  An enormous dog, bigger than an elephant, was tied to a stalagmite. Its three heads were turned in her direction, dark blood oozing from its jaws. It was eating the guts of an equally massive dead creature.

  As soon as the dog’s attention faltered, a dozen smaller demons jumped from every dark corner, stole pieces of meat, and hid again just as quickly.

  Bastet watched them leave. They stared back, their eyes shining in the dim light.

  “Demons, I have an offer for you,” she said in a clear voice.

  She lowered her hood. They started muttering between themselves.

  “I am Bastet, from the Netcheroo clan. I am looking for a guide. In exchange, I will give—”

  She pricked her finger with a sickle.

  “—A drop of my blood.”

  The bravest ones stepped into the light. Others caught up to them, and soon, there was a full brawl in front of Bastet. She watched them tear each other apart. The winners crawled towards her and begged.

  Bastet grimaced in disdain. Then something moving caught her eye. Someone was hiding in the shadows near the ceiling.

  “You, come closer.”

  The figure did not move. Bastet threw a sickle with enough strength to embed it in the rock, near the creature’s head. The demon let out a shrill cry.

  “The next one is aimed at your forehead,” warned Bastet. “Come down.”

  The demon fell and opened a pair of leathery wings. It was human-sized, half bat, half waifish woman. Her skin was dark and hard like leather, covered in scars; her hair was shorn close to the head, and she was dressed in rags. As she flew closer, her strange face became clearer, with its upturned bat nose and oversized triangular ears.

  She landed, dropped the sickle at Bastet’s feet, and immediately jumped several steps back. Her yellow eyes observed the goddess with suspicion.

  “What is your name?” asked Bastet.

  “...Aïden,” growled the demon.

  “Aïden. Good. You will guide me through your kingdom.”

  The demon recoiled even more. “No! The others don’t want me inside. They’ll punish me for entering!”

  “The others, like them?” asked Bastet, pointing at the pile of demons whining in pain.

  Aïden grew frustrated. “No! They’re worse, powerful, more powerful than you are!”

  “If you’re not allowed to enter your home, how can you access Hell’s power?”

  The demon just sneered and hunched her shoulders.

  “Oh!” exclaimed Bastet. “Oh, you poor thing, they’re starving you! Come, help me, be my guide, and you can drink my blood. A single drop would quench your thirst and make you more powerful than you ever were.”

  “A drop would force me to obey you!” snapped Aïden. “You give me your blood willingly. That means I have to follow you! I’m not dumb!”

  “Demons like contracts, don’t they? Here’s my proposition: help me get my friend out of Hell, and I’ll give you back your freedom.”

  The demon thought for a while, staring at the blood. She eventually nodded and approached.

  Bastet placed the drop on Aïden’s lower lip. The demon licked it off and shivered. She stretched her winged arms and stood tall, her face shining with an unbelieving smile. When she saw that Bastet was watching, amused, she curled back into herself and hissed.

  “My part of the contract is done. Now comes yours,” said the Netcheroo. “Lead the way.”

  Aïden stepped over the unconscious demons and approached the door. The dog showed its fangs with all three heads.

  “He attacks only the ones who try to leave,” said Aïden without looking at it. “Hurry before the door closes.”

  They slipped inside and found themselves in a cave that was hotter than an oven, and too dark to see where it ended. Hundreds of silver souls walked around without a goal, but a cluster had formed around a tall metal structure. Aïden led them both there, her back hunching over with every step.

  The souls moved out of their way. The structure was a tower of black metal with a mechanism of pulleys. Enormous demons pulled the chains, lifting something from a deep hole in the ground.

  It was a large cage made of bones, with an opening on one side. A handful of souls climbed aboard. The demons locked the chains and took a small break.

  “Oi, runt!” shouted a demon covered in pustules. “You’re not allowed to be here!”

  He stepped closer and lifted a hand full of claws. Aïden jumped at him, grabbed his face with her claws and bit his ear off. She spat it back towards the others, who seemed bored. No one paid mind to the demon’s screams of pain or the bleeding wound he was covering.

  Aïden went back to Bastet, who was clapping politely.

  “The others will leave us alone,” said the demon with a touch of pride. “Maybe they’ll even throw him
out, now!”

  She wiped her mouth and led Bastet to the cage. “Stay away from the sides,” she warned.

  The other demons lowered the cage slowly. Soon, there was only the silvery sheen of the souls to light their way.

  “Where is your friend supposed to be?” asked Aïden.