by Jim Johnson
Tjety watched her disappear into the darkness, and then adjusted his sling and stood up. He moved over to the picket line and busied himself with tending to Heker, taking some time with his beloved horse after all that had transpired.
He then grabbed his bedroll and found a clear spot of ground to spread out upon. He raised his weary eyes to the rising moon. After musing over divine Khonsu’s glow for a time, he turned his focus onto a bunch of birds preening on one of the large cedars at the outskirts of camp. A mix of birds hopped from branch to branch, grousing at each other for space or for dominance or for something beyond his understanding.
One of the birds in particular caught his attention. As he focused on it, a strange shiver rippled through his hekau. The bird, a massive brown owl, stared at him with hard, unblinking eyes.
He frowned, sensing something distinctly unnatural about that bird. The feeling was unlike anything he’d experienced before, and the more he focused on it, the more he realized he hated the fearful crawlings it rose up in him. He drifted his hand down toward his pistol grip, but then checked himself. He had better things to do than let himself get spooked over some gods-damned dirty bird. He reached down for a small rock and tossed it toward the birds. Most of them scattered. Except for that big owl.
The bird tilted its head to and fro as it stared at him, as if taking his full measure. Finally, with a powerful sweep of its wings, it launched into the air.
Tjety’s eyes followed the strange bird as it wheeled up, higher and higher, until its dark form blended into the dark sky and disappeared from sight. He stared at the multitude of stars above, wondering if his exile to the frontier had been a blessing in disguise, or a curse for all time.
Pistols and Pyramids #2:
FLIGHT TO THE FORT
CHAPTER 1
A HARSH SHAKING ROUSED TJETY OUT of his stupor. His fitful vision of a massive sand dragon tearing deep into his body and ba abruptly came to a halt. For a moment, he thought he was back in that rocky den chasing down Meret, getting buried in an earthquake, but then his weary senses filtered out his name being repeated, over and over.
“Tjety! Come on, you water-skimmer! Wake up!”
He cracked open crusty eyes and focused on the girl who’d helped save his life and those of her fellow villagers. “Ruia?” He saw the consternation in her expression and pushed himself upright, feeling a twinge of pain from his shot-up arm. “What’s wrong?”
Ruia knelt next to him and snorted. “What’s wrong, he says. Other than everything we’re dealing with? Things are just fine, sand-dancer.”
Tjety pushed himself up into a sitting position, the blanket he’d appropriated from a dead bandit sloughing to the ground. He adjusted the sling around his wounded arm and winced as the motion generated a fresh spear of pain. “What time is it?”
She shrugged. “Morning, yet. Maybe an hour past sunrise.”
He stared at her, blinking grit out of his eyes. “Ruia, that other night, the one where you escaped the bandits and went running, the night before you found me…did you feel an earthquake?”
Ruia stared at him with confusion plain in her eyes. “Earthquake? No. I don’t remember anything like that.” She stared away. “Of course, so much was happening, but…I’m sure I would have remembered.” She focused on him again. “Why?”
He met her glance and then looked away. “By the gods, I have no idea. I just…I was chasing after Meret and got caught in an earthquake, or a landslide or something, but there was something that felt very wrong about it…” He tried to puzzle out his thoughts, but no clear picture came into focus. Fuck.
“Anyways.” Tjety glanced at their makeshift camp. Most of the villagers who were mobile were focused on one task or another. “How are you and the others holding up?”
Ruia shrugged and then sat down in front of him. “Well enough, I guess. Most of them didn’t get much sleep.” She rubbed her red-rimmed eyes. “I didn’t either, for that matter.”
“I don’t think any of us did. It was a damned hard night.” The fight against Meret and his bandits and those strange unliving creatures had been brutal. They’d managed to win the night but at the cost of another four dead villagers and more wounded survivors.
Tjety gestured toward the Iteru, Kekhmet’s largest river, flowing nearby. “Did we get the last of the bodies into the river? I think I passed out at some point.”
“You did, but we managed well enough. We did like you suggested—stripped the bandits and tossed them into the river. We took more time with our people, and…” Ruia drifted off, but then shook her head and refocused on him with a flinty look in her eyes that both surprised and impressed him.
“And we gave our people their last rites and sent them all into Hapi’s embrace. They’re on the way to the Duat now. May they find peace and joy at the Lord Osiris’s gentle judgment.”
He echoed the prayer, then asked, “Your da was among them?”
Ruia dropped her gaze to the ground but then lifted it up again. Without tears, she nodded. “He was. And my brother Paneb. He was in that wagon as well. I’d missed seeing him earlier. Hopefully they’re with my ma now.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what happened to my sisters. They weren’t in any of the wagons.”
He frowned. “I didn’t find any youngsters in my search of the village after the attack. Maybe they found a place to hide.”
She stared toward the river again, then turned back to him with another shrug. “I hope so. I don’t know.” She gave him what looked like a half-hearted smile. “Can we find them by using this hekau power you think I have?”
Tjety nodded. “If we were rested and closer to the village? Possibly.” He sighed. “But do you think it’s the right choice to go back to the village to look for your sisters?”
She stared at him but didn’t seem to be looking at him. After a long moment of silence, she refocused on his face and shook her head. In a flat voice, she said, “No. We get everyone to Fort Sekhmet and then figure out where to go from there. I guess it’s the responsible thing to do.”
He got his feet underneath him and stood on shaky legs, pleased that he didn’t have to throw his good arm out to her for support. He was tired, hungry, and weak. He needed rest and food to recharge his battered hekau reserves, but it was what it was. He’d have to make do.
“I know it’s a hard choice to make, Ruia. Sometimes we have to do what’s responsible even when it’s not what we want.”
She stood as well. “I know that. One of the things you pick up as you become an adult, I guess.”
He glanced at her and grunted an assent. She still wore the sidelock of youth, but she was rapidly turning into and sounding like any other adult he’d known. The shit she’d gone through the last few days must have aged her prematurely. He shook his head. So much for a gentle coming of age.
Tjety stared toward the west. Somewhere out there was the person responsible for sending the bandits and those creatures after her village. He was going to find that fucker and balance the scales. It could have been his village, his people.
He pulled his thoughts back to the present. He and the villagers had managed to kill ten bandits and about a dozen of those unliving creatures. He glanced at Ruia. “Did any of your people turn up the body of that scarred man, Qebsenuf?”
She led him toward one of the fires, around which most of the villagers were eating a modest breakfast that stank like warmed-over slop. Tjety’s nose wrinkled in distaste even as his empty stomach lurched with longing.
Ruia said, “No, a few of us spiraled out from the camp and checked the trees, the old trader’s road, and walked up and down the river coast a couple hundred steps in both directions. No other bodies. There are at least a couple horses missing from the picket line, aside from the ones that are dead.”
Tjety nodded to some of the villagers as he found a seat among them. One of the men handed him a dented plate of food and a dirty spoon. Without thinking too hard about what exactly was on the pla
te, he sniffed the food then shoveled it into his mouth. It tasted awful, but it was hot and felt damn good going down.
Tjety glanced at Ruia, who was also working her way through a plate of food. “So I guess Qebsenuf got away.” He glanced at the other villagers, who looked at him with a mix of curiosity and weariness. “Which means he’ll be riding hard back to this quarry of theirs and reporting in to his master.” He pointed toward the trader’s road. "And then I suspect he and his allies are going to be coming back here with a vengeance."
Ruia stared at him, the worry evident in her eyes. "Can we get out of here before they return?"
He met her eyes, and held her look for a long moment as he considered the variables. "Damned if I know, Ruia. If your people do as I ask and keep moving, I think we can make it to Fort Sekhmet. If not, then we may well get ambushed during the day or sometime tonight.”
He glanced around the fire at the various villagers. “If that happens, I don't think we’ll all make it to the fort alive." He paused, took a deep breath. "We may lose more folks before we get there."
Ruia met his eyes. He saw something hard slide down over her face, some degree of toughness that he saw every time he looked into the river.
The eyes of a gods-damned survivor.
Ruia said, "The old and the weak will die. The rest of us will make it."
Some of the villagers gasped or muttered quietly amongst themselves. Tjety quirked a smile. "We'll do what we can to make sure as many of us as possible make it to the fort. We don't leave anyone behind if we can do anything about it. We're not them." He gestured toward the flowing river and where the bandits had been tossed.
Ruia licked off her spoon and dropped it and the plate onto the ground. “I’ve already had people gather what supplies and weapons we could find. And we fed and watered the horses.” She offered him a brief smile. “Your Heker is doing all right. I think he’d like to see you.”
Tjety’s spirits perked up at that. He dropped his spoon and plate onto hers with a clatter and wiped his hands on his dirty tunic. “Much obliged, Ruia. Thank you for tending to him.” He stood up and cleared his throat, spat aside the sludge he’d produced.
He gave the group a glance and said, “I know the last few days have been hard going. I ain’t gonna lie—today and probably tomorrow will be worse. Stick together as you have, and follow me and Ruia. We’ll get you to the fort.”
Some of the villagers nodded, but he saw a lot of speculative looks and outright fear writ large on most of their faces. And he fucking couldn’t blame them. He shrugged his wounded arm, wincing anew at the pain. What kind of confidence could they have in a wounded Ranger just as bloodied up as they were?
Tjety focused on each of them in turn. "I have no inspiring words for you. Just honesty and truth. I think you deserve that much. The men that attacked your village were cultists of some sort, possibly a new cult of Apep."
Some of the villagers made warding signs while others gasped in surprise or shook their heads in fear.
"I checked the bandits I killed in the village and a couple we killed last night. They were each missing an ear and had similar snake-head tattoos. I’m guessing they’re all cultists, but it’s clear they’re not a disciplined bunch."
He shifted the sling on his shoulder. “I’ll be fuckin’ honest with you all—if I were here alone, I’d grab a rifle and my horse and go riding after this Qebsenuf and shoot him down before he reached that quarry. But, when I was in your village, among your people… I laid the seven of them to rest in your communal hall and I made a promise.”
Tjety glanced at Ruia. “I promised them I’d see you all safely to Fort Sekhmet and that I’d balance the scales so that whoever was responsible for the attack on your home, for the hurts you’ve suffered, would pay for what they’d done.”
He rested his good hand on the pommel of his pistol. “And as a Ranger of Mayat, I make that promise to you as well.”
The villagers glanced at each other, some palming away tears while others just stared, tired or sullen or wounded. None seemed interested in speaking up. He was afraid most of their spirits had been squashed.
Ruia moved to stand next to him and addressed the others. “Tjety’s done a lot for us, and we’ve all worked together. Let’s pack up and get moving. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”
She turned away from them and reached out to squeeze his good arm. “Thanks for your words, Tjety. They mean a lot, even if none of them say so.”
He glanced down at her and patted her shoulder. “Thanks. I’ll check out the weapons and the horses. Get the supplies and your wounded loaded up into the best wagon.”
She brushed her hands off on her shift dress. “Already started. But thanks. We’ll get rolling soon enough.”
Tjety rested a hand on her shoulder and smiled what he hoped was an encouraging smile, then moved over to the now-empty buckboard wagon, where the villagers had stacked up the weapons and ammunition they had scrounged from the bandits.
There were six pistols and four lever-action rifles, fairly old by modern standards but entirely functional. There were enough rounds for one reload per pistol, plus about twenty rounds left over that he placed into a small canvas bag. The rifles were fortunately of the same caliber and there were enough rounds for each rifle to have three rounds. His own pistol was fully reloaded from the supply out of his satchel that had somehow stayed strapped to Heker's back all through the encounters over the last couple of days. But beyond that he had just seven more rounds, and none of the other pistols in the wagon were of the same make or caliber as his. Once he’d shot these thirteen rounds, he’d have to resort to another pistol or rifle, or hope that he could get into blade range and make use of his khopesh.
Tjety then turned his attention to the string of horses, smiling in spite of his weariness at Heker’s perked-up ears and snorts of welcome as he approached. He ran his hands along Heker’s neck and rested his forehead against his mount’s head. “Damn good to see you, buddy. I hope you got more sleep than I did.”
Heker snorted, then nudged Tjety’s chest with his nose. Tjety scratched at a spot between his ears and enjoyed a few precious seconds getting lost in his long friendship with Heker.
Tjety offered a prayer to Amun-Re for the good fortune surrounding Heker, then stroked Heker’s flank. “I don’t know how you managed to survive everything that’s happened over the last couple days, but I’m damned grateful all the same.”
Heker wobbled his head and nearly knocked him over with another nose-butt to the chest, but Tjety maintained his feet. He patted Heker’s nose, and then pulled away so that he could focus on the other horses. The sun was rising in the sky and they were losing valuable time. A tickle in his hekau suggested that they had to get moving soon. It was going to be a damned hard day.
CHAPTER 2
A STREAM OF ANCIENT KEKHMETIC HIEROGLYPHS floated through Zezago’s mind’s eye, connecting and disconnecting in patterns and then rushing past in random fashion. The steady flow of glyphs and strange meanings burned off the lingering weariness he felt and then faded from view. He pushed himself to full wakefulness. He had indulged in a slow morning, recharging his hekau after a long night monitoring that Ranger and the survivors of the little battle that had taken place during the night.
His thin lips settled into a scowl. He opened his eyes and glanced around the interior of his large canvas tent, and focused on his silent construct standing to one side of the closed door flaps. The mummified form, its glowing green eyes and heart scarab pulsing softly in the shadows within the tent, stood with a carafe of wine in its hands and Zezago’s chain of servant’s ears draped around its neck. The moldy wrappings encasing its body were tattered and hung off it in fragments, and the thing had a dank, earthy smell that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
Zezago focused on the chain of trophies, reminded of the soldiers who had pledged their service and their lives to him. Many now lay dead because of that Ranger and his newfound allies.
“Explain to me how an upstart Ranger and a slip of a girl manage to stage a counter-attack and win their freedom against my soldiers and your kin.”
The construct simply stared at him, though he fancied he could guess what it was thinking. “Indeed. Where there is a will, there is a way. Their will to survive was stronger than my men’s collective will to complete their task. Unfortunate.”
Zezago pushed himself up to a sitting position, stifling a cough as he waved the construct over. He took the carafe of wine and downed a couple mouthfuls of the water-weakened vintage, smothering the next few coughs that threatened to spasm his chest. He handed the carafe back to the construct.
“Clearly we need to obtain more dedicated soldiers, or I need to work harder at instilling stronger discipline in the ones I have.” He glanced at the construct sharply, imagining a faint rebuke.
“Oh, no, I don’t blame your kin for the failure. They were ineffectively built. It’s not their fault I have inferior materials upon which to work my hekau. Had I something better to work with than this quarry’s soft limestone, the spells and incantations might set better, but…” Zezago waved the next comment aside. “No matter. We’ll continue to scout or trade for better quality stone. Hush now, and let me think.”
The construct took a few steps back to stand by the closed tent flaps. Zezago rested his sandaled feet on the ground. The only survivor of his from the battle was his overseer, Qebsenuf, who was already on his way back to the quarry camp. He’d seen the man sneak away from the fight leading a horse. He’d be back in the camp later in the day, most likely, but Zezago didn’t have time to wait for his return.
He glanced at his construct again. “I’m tempted to discipline Qebsenuf again, but no. He is too valuable to waste.” He mused on the matter at hand, and then nodded. “I’ll need his help in the field, and beyond that, his services will be required more than ever here to get the slaves working hard again.”
