by Jim Johnson
His own natural hekau, the true way, pinged in his mind as he got a read on his blade. He moved a few more steps up the river, and then waded into the chilly waters and fished around the sandy river bed. He had to take a breath and dive before he wrapped his hand around the leather grip and surfaced.
Zezago took a deep gulp of air and then waded back to shore with the blade held high. He shook water out of his ears again, and flicked the blade to clear it of most of the water. Using his sodden clothing to dry it would be useless. He sheathed the blade, making a mental note to tend to it as soon as he could. He glanced at the river in distaste. There weren’t such large rivers in his homeland. Traveling over or on this one was a necessary evil of invading Kekhmet, at least until he could secure other means of entry into the broken empire.
He glanced up and down the shore as far as he could see in the growing dusk, and then whistled a sharp tune. He paused to listen, then whistled again. After a moment, a whinny sounded from farther north along the river and then the sound of hooves on the ground reached his ears.
Soon enough, his beloved mare, Kubela, came into view, trotting along the river toward him. Her mane and tail looked matted, as if she’d been trudging through the brambles and briars along the tree line. Her legs from hoof to shoulder were matted down with water and her nose and chin were still dripping.
Zezago reached out to take hold of the reins and gently pulled his mount’s head down to scratch her between the ears, on her tiny white mark in the shape of a crescent moon. “You foolish thing. What have you gotten yourself into?”
He held onto Kubela’s bridle and reached up to comb his long fingers through her long, supple mane, but they got tangled up on brambles and other bits of debris. He bumped his forehead against her cheek. “Don’t have time to clean you up now, my girl. It’ll have to wait.”
Kubela whuffled and nudged him with her nose. Zezago patted her nose again, and then stepped up into the saddle and settled on her back. “Flattery will do you no good right now. There’s much to do.”
He pulled Kubela’s head around to the north and got her walking, then trotting. He found a break in the trees and went through it to return to the old trader’s road. He followed the road north for a few minutes, lamenting the lost time chasing after that Ranger and the remnants of the villagers, but knew it was necessary. He had to see to his fallen servants.
The first body appeared in the darkening light just ahead on the road, several more sprawled out on the road behind. He dismounted and secured the reins to the saddle pommel, leaving Kubela to graze. He approached the first body, which turned out to be one of the villagers.
He stood over the body for a few moments, surprised to feel a vestige of respect for the man. To fight so hard against an enemy you didn’t know and who had decimated your village…impressive. He knelt down to better examine the body. This one had been taken down by a gunshot to the chest. He reached down and tore open the man’s shirt, then pushed up his own sleeves and plunged a finger into the ragged hole in the man’s chest.
Zezago poked and prodded the wound, ignoring the thickening blood leaking out and around his fingers and hands. The bullet had chipped a rib and then caromed into the man’s heart. A good shot made better by a fortuitous ricochet. He pulled out his small knife and made two neat incisions, then put the knife aside. He took a deep breath, focused his hekau, and then with a whispered litany tore the man’s chest open with his bare hands, pulling muscle and sinew apart to expose the rib cage.
Then, grabbing a long rib in each hand, he flexed them until he had enough room to reach in and grab the soggy meat that remained of the heart. He held the bloody mass of flesh with one hand as he took his knife and then worked it inside the man’s chest to detach the grisly prize from its housings. With one last cut through the thin flesh, the broken heart came free. Zezago raised it up to his eyes, taking in the tubes and chambers that had been violated by the bullet.
Once he’d seen all he wanted to see, he unceremoniously tossed the heart aside. It landed in the dirt with a wet splat. He reached into the satchel slung over his shoulder and rummaged around for a heart scarab. He wiped what blood he could off his hands and onto the limestone scarab, doing his best to coat all sides of the thing with the brownish fluid. He rested one hand on the body and cupped the scarab in his hand, and closed his eyes.
Uttering the ancient words of his House, he tapped into the deep reservoir of hekau contained within his ba and flowed a stream of arcane energies into the matrix he’d developed within the limestone scarab, activating its charges and pathways. He felt the drain from the core of his being, the issuance of personal power almost an orgasmic release. Zezago controlled his breathing as he worked the spell, and then with a final push, closed off the hekau flow from his ba to the scarab.
He worked a simple leather thong through the small hole drilled into the scarab and then with both hands shoved the scarab into the body’s open chest cavity, and with nimble fingerwork, tied the thong securely to what remained of the body’s spine. He pulled his hands out and rested them both on the ribcage.
He began the closing litany, and cried out the closing verse. “And as your sunset becomes a new sunrise, awaken to your new life and new prosperity!” He shot a surge of hekau into the scarab, activating the scarab’s intent. The body convulsed under his hands and then shook a couple times, a new life flowing into its limbs.
The man’s eyes, half-lidded in death, snapped open, and rapidly took on an iridescent green glow that started dim then brightened. Zezago smiled down at his creation, and then stood up. The newly-made construct stared up into the sky, as if taking stock of its new essence, then looked at him with its new eyes.
“Rise, my son. Rise, and do as I bid you.”
Zezago held his hands out to either side as the construct, somewhat awkward in its new form, got to its unsteady feet. He smiled at it again, then gestured toward the other bodies down the road. “Bring the three largest bodies to me. I have to create some fellows for you.”
The new construct simply turned and shuffled toward the other bodies strewn out on the path. The Ranger and his allies had fought hard, as had the troops that had ridden with him from the quarry. Some of the bodies left on the road would be fortunate enough to serve him in a new form and a new life. If there was a more generous gift he could have given them, he didn’t know of it.
He knelt down on the road near the drying pool of blood that had been the man’s life, and pulled the three remaining scarabs out of his satchel. There were more than three bodies on the road, but he had the means to build just three more constructs.
He regretted the loss of additional raw materials, the bodies he’d leave behind, but there was nothing to be done for it. The wooden amulets he had experimented with just could not hold enough hekau to be effective. He suspected it had something to do with the natural life-energy the trees themselves created, but he wasn’t enough of a theoretical practitioner to know.
As it was, he found limestone to be among the better resources for his work, even though he suspected that there had to be something better. The constructs he built using the limestone scarabs were generally effective for the uses he needed them for, but more and more he was finding that he needed living slaves to do more work. He needed more time to study and to experiment, and more materials to experiment with.
His new construct reached down and started dragging another body, one that had been a woman, toward him. Zezago rested his hands on his knees and reached inward to gather up more of his hekau. He’d bring three more children into this new world and then he’d get back on the hunt for the Ranger and his remaining allies.
As he finished building his new children, hooves on the road to the north sounded and he focused on them as he stood, his robe sleeves pushed high up on his arms and his hands covered in gore. One of his men, a sergeant whose name he didn’t recall, rode close and wheeled around, his horse clearly spooked at the blood.
“Master Deshi! We’ve been looking for you for more than an hour, and…”
Zezago raised his hands. “No matter, sergeant. I am here, and as you can see, well enough.” He dropped his hands to his side. More of his men rode into the area and paused to stretch saddle-weary legs or to pass a waterskin or flask among themselves.
Zezago focused on the sergeant. “See that the men water their horses and eat something quick. As soon as I am clean, we ride hard. The Ranger and his allies cannot be far ahead.”
The sergeant nodded and moved over to the men to relay the orders. Zezago took one last look at his new creations, then moved toward the river to wash away the gore. He glanced at the setting sun. He would face that Ranger in battle again soon.
CHAPTER 13
RUIA RODE HARD WELL INTO THE moonrise. Every time she stopped Heker along the road for water and rest, she thought about turning around, but she had a feeling, she guessed it had to be through her hekau, that she needed to get to the fort quickly. Her people needed her, and she couldn't let them down after everything else that had happened.
She pushed east along the road, doubting herself at every mile marker. What if she was going the wrong way and somehow missed the fort in the dark?
She rolled that question around in her mind for a while as she prodded Heker along the road, spinning herself up into the worst-case scenarios—that she would miss the fort completely and end up lost in the deeper frontier, or worse, end up in Hesso territory and be captured and sold into their slave trade.
The comfortable sway of the amulet around her neck distracted her, and she realized that she was getting herself worked up for no good reason. She approached the problem piece by piece, as her ma had taught her. First, the simple evidence in front of her was that this road led directly to the old ruined sun temple the fort had been built near. As long as she kept to the road, she'd eventually come to the fort.
Second, a small town had been built up next to the fort, and people at night usually meant lights, even candlelight in windows or torches on a fence or lanterns lining the streets.
Third, and most simply, the Ranger had told her to follow the road to the fort, and that, if nothing else, should have been enough for her to know she was on the right track. ‘Common gods-damned sense’, as her brother Paneb might have said.
She took a gulp of water from her waterskin, smothering the thought of her brother, and then heeled Heker down the road.
She lost track of the time in the darkness, as a low bank of clouds moved in and partially obscured the moon. The shadows started to play tricks with her mind, and she pushed Heker harder, though she could feel him heaving under her legs and knew that he'd need to rest soon.
She felt strangely comfortable on Heker. Tjety rode bareback like her and most other Kekhmet riders. It was good she was comfortable on his back because it gave her one less thing to worry about. Every tree along the road looked like a threat about to leap out at her, every branch the arm of one of those unliving creatures that had attacked her village.
She saw a faint glow ahead through the trees, which grew in size and intensity as she rode closer. The tree line ended at the edge of a clear, narrow field, and a short distance beyond the treeline was the outline of a tall stone wall stretching out into the darkness. Farther in the distance, on a tall rise overlooking the fort, the town, and the field all around, loomed the ruined spire of an ancient sun temple. The road she followed paralleled the wall, so she followed them along, marveling anew at the sheer size and height of the fort’s thick stone walls. She seemed to remember one of the village elders saying that the fort’s walls had once been part of the sun temple complex.
As she moved along the road, a section of the wall sloped up and up into a massive pylon form, set against one side of the fort’s closed wooden gates. Another massive pylon squatted on the other side of the gates, with another long stretch of stone wall beyond that.
Encouraged by the sight, she put her heels to Heker and urged him onward. "Come on, boy, just a little farther and we'll get you something to eat and drink."
He whuffled and pushed on under her command.
As she neared the gates, she saw movement on top of the walls. It was clear that she was being watched. She rode up to the gate, unable to stifle a feeling of awe at the massive stone pylons erected to either side of the tall wooden gates. The pylons were faced with unadorned plaster and seemed to glow in the moonlight. The walls themselves were likewise unadorned plaster, but there were places where the plaster had cracked or fallen away. She guessed that the pylons and the gates had been added to the much older walls.
She shook off the wonderment, remembering her task. Without waiting for someone to call down and challenge her, she yelled out. "In the name of the Rangers of Mayat and the pharaoh, open the gates!"
A face appeared out of one of the small wooden guard towers perched precariously atop the walls. "Ho, there! Did you say Rangers?"
She called up. "I did. I'm on Ranger business. Open your gates!"
The head lingered for a moment, then ducked out of view. She heard two whispered voices talk back and forth, but the muffled voices plus the intervening distance and walls between conspired to hide the words from her.
After what sounded like heated discussion, the face appeared again. "Hold there a moment. We'll open the gate."
The face disappeared from view again. Sounds of bodies moving over wood slats echoed in her ears, followed by the rhythmic sounds of feet falling on a wooden ladder. Whoever had been in that tower was coming down to ground level.
The footsteps padded over to the gates, and then the sound of several metal bolts being cranked open echoed in her ears.
Finally, one of the large gates slowly swung open toward her. The same face poked out from behind the gate, followed by an arm clad in a leather bracer and a short-sleeved military tunic. "Come in, come in. Hurry."
She heeled Heker forward and passed through the gate. The soldier, who didn’t look much older than her, waited for her to pass before pulling it shut behind him.
She leaned forward and stretched her sore muscles. Once the guard locked the gate, he walked over with a long rifle in his hands. The curiosity on his face turned to suspicion when he got a good look at her in the fire light.
"Now I think you've been fooling me, miss. No offense intended, but I'm thinking you're far too young to be a Ranger." He looked her up and down. "Not unless things in the south are far worse than we know."
She shook her head at the question in his voice. "You're not wrong. I'm not actually a Ranger." She quickly rose a hand to show she meant no harm, and pulled Tjety's headcloth out of her satchel. "However, I'm here at a Ranger’s request." She offered the bunched-up blue fabric to him.
The soldier stared at her and then raised his free hand as if to ward away the offering. "I don't know nothing about taking requests from Rangers. I think..."
She cleared her throat. "I think you need to take me to the captain."
Their exchange had attracted some attention, and she glanced to the side to see a pair of soldiers, one young and one old, pause in their travels to stare at them. The older one pushed the younger one on toward a long, narrow building. "Get yourself some sleep, Nefer. I'll be along directly to lock up."
The younger of the two soldiers nodded and headed toward the long building, giving her a couple curious looks before focusing on his destination.
The older soldier approached and waved toward the guard who had let her in through the gate. "Go on, Meritamun, go back to your post and keep a watchful eye out. I'll take her to the captain."
The gate guard took a step back and saluted the older man. "I'll leave her to you then, Sergeant." He turned to head back to his ladder and his tower.
The sergeant hooked his thumbs into his kilt belt and nodded at her. "Name's Sergeant Bennu, my dear, but you can just call me Bennu, or Old Bennu if you're feeling charitable." His eyes twinkled in the fire light over an impressive bushy
beard with ample salt and pepper sprinkled throughout.
She offered him a tired smile, his tone and demeanor making him instantly likable. "Thank you, Bennu. I'm Ruia."
He nodded at the bunch of blue fabric in her hands. "Unless my eyes deceive me, that there is a Ranger headcloth." He looked at her with curiosity clear on his face.
She offered the headcloth to him. "It is. A Ranger gave it to me and asked me to bring it here, with a message. He indicated that it would be sufficient for me to gain access to the fort, and, if needed, the fort's captain."
Bennu held up a hand to refuse the headcloth. "Hold onto that. I'll take you to the captain." He indicated which direction to walk down the main thoroughfare through the fort and town, and fell into step next to her.
Ruia tried to focus on the steps ahead, but everywhere she looked were one- and two-story buildings made of a mix of stone, wood, and mudbrick, with garishly painted doors, windows with what appeared to be real glass, and signs everywhere touting wares from fishhooks to baths. She hadn’t been to the town in years, and the place was foreign and intimidating. Nothing like her humble little village.
He glanced sidelong at her as they walked. "You're clearly not a townie, Ruia. Mayhap you're from one of the fishing villages nearby?"
She nodded. "My village is to the south, beyond the bridge and the crossroads. Or was, anyway."
When he offered her a questioning look, she added, "We were attacked and wiped out by bandits. There's hardly any of us left."
Bennu stopped her in the street. "Attacked? When?" His eyes seemed to express genuine concern.
"Two mornings ago, I guess. Maybe three? I've lost count."
“Oh, gods. I had no idea. Come on!” He grabbed her arm above the elbow and pulled her toward several small one-room mudbrick homes lined up alongside the thoroughfare. One was slightly larger than the others, and the military pennant planted outside of it on a stout pole painted gold suggested it had to be the captain’s home.
