The Bloody Frontier (Pistols and Pyramids Omnibus Book 1)

by Jim Johnson

  Herikhet glanced at the pile of stuff. "Sure. Ain't gonna blow up in my face, is it?"

  Tjety slumped back down onto the cot and rested his head on the pillow. "I sure as shit hope not." He managed a half-hearted wave. "G'night."

  Herikhet stepped over to the pile of gear and reached down for the worn leather strap connected to Tjety's satchel and swung it up onto his shoulder. He left the room with another glance at Tjety and then shuffled his way to his own quarters. That Ranger looked about as beat as he felt. He should be getting some sleep as well, but what the Ranger had said made him curious.

  He got to the entrance to his quarters and glanced down the hall toward Usemi's quarters, but her door was shut and he didn't see a light glowing from under the door. Figured she had to be tired too. He left her to her sleep and entered his simple quarters, and closed the door behind him. He struck a match and lit his battered oil lamp, then settled onto the small wooden stool set in the corner of his room and dropped the satchel onto the floor in front of him.

  Damn thing was heavier than it looked. He unbuckled the large flap and opened the satchel, and a quick glance at the contents made him understand why it was so heavy. He reached in and pulled out a pair of dirty limestone scarabs. Both were chipped and cracked. He turned them over in his hands. If his eyes weren't deceiving him, he'd swear the dirt spots were remnants of lead and the cracks and chips…

  These scarabs had been shot and damaged. He frowned as his curiosity deepened. He put the two broken scarabs on the floor carefully, so as to not damage them any farther, and then continued his rummaging in the satchel. There were some odds and ends of jerky, tough and sour-smelling. A small folding knife, two bristly bone-handled brushes, one presumably for Tjety and a much larger one, probably for a horse. Some other odds and ends, and another limestone scarab, or at least the pieces to one. This one had been shot square on and had split into three uneven pieces.

  He pulled those out and pushed the satchel to the side with his foot. He laid the three broken pieces together in a rough semblance of what it might have looked like whole, and then moved the two less-damaged ones to either side of the broken one.

  Herikhet stared down at them, at a loss as to what he was looking at aside from crudely-carved scarabs. He rubbed grit out of his weary eyes and turned up the dial on his oil lamp, bringing in a little more light to the proceedings. He leaned down toward the scarabs, poking at them with a long finger. Felt like limestone sure enough. He scratched at one with a grimy fingernail. A little bit of the white powdery surface came off and lodged under his nail.

  He shook his head and then poked at one of them to roll it over to expose its flat side. His eyes widened. Tightly-spaced hieroglyphics in the old tongue stood out against a darker background, as if whoever had made the thing had carved the words and then done a quick black-wash over the surface to make the lettering stand out better.

  His eyes skipped over the writing, right to left and down, and then he focused on the beginning of the text and squinted his eyes to make sure he got each symbol and letter right in his head. He read it through twice, the exact translation uncertain without some dedicated research, but the intent of the spell seemed clear enough—something about enabling the unwalking to walk and the dead to work.

  Some glimmer of suspicion grew in his mind, and he dredged up a tendril of hekau and channeled it down his finger and then touched the most intact of the three scarabs. A little jolt went through him when he touched it with his finger and his hekau, almost like a super-charged spark of static.

  He pulled his finger back and shook it, and looked at it. The tip of his finger was red, but not burned. He stuck it in his mouth and sucked on it, and stared at the scarabs with greater concern than he'd felt just a few moments ago. These damned things still had something of a hekau charge about them, and the ramifications of that hammered at his mind one after another.

  "By the gods, what have you brought into my temple, Ranger?"

  CHAPTER 17

  AFTER SETTING A FEW NEW COMMANDS into his construct and leaving some gifts for his soldier thrall, Zezago finally gathered his gear and pulled himself up into the saddle. He directed his beloved war mare Kubela to work down the path leading away from the old sun temple and into the forest bordering the temple complex. He passed a speculative glance along the fort’s walls as he rode away, confident he wouldn’t be seen by any curious soldiers. He had tapped into his new thrall’s mind to gain access to the regular patrol routines. Slipping away in the night was a simple effort with that information in hand.

  He set a path back to the limestone quarry and settled in for the long ride. While he very much wanted to return and see how Qebsenuf had handled things in his absence, he was confident his overseer was doing what needed to be done to keep the slaves in line and production moving forward.

  Thinking of the slaves at the quarry made him think of his thrall in the fort. He had no idea how much longer the soldier would prove useful—every man bent to actions against his will eventually broke—but he suspected it would be long enough.

  He had prepared some surprises for specific individuals in the town, surprises that should, if all went as hoped, destabilize the town long enough that when he returned with his new constructs and his troops, he’d have no problem sweeping through the town and fort and then getting down to the hard work at hand, with a whole new cadre of thralls to do his bidding or to act as fuel for his needs.

  Zezago eased into the saddle and spent an hour or more just ruminating and riding. The two days spent at the sun temple had been long and draining days, but worthwhile given the information he had been able to gather through the senses of his thrall.

  The Ranger yet lived, though it was impossible to know what his short-term and long-term prognosis might be. He lived, and he had allies. The villagers and the priests of the town and that fascinating young girl from the fishing village had all contributed to the healing ritual conducted by that old priest, something he hadn’t expected someone out here on the frontier to be capable of. That priest was a curiosity and a threat, though he had put plans into motion that should take care of that particular issue.

  And that girl. Ruia…Ruia of the fishing village. He wondered if she had any idea of her own potential, and suspected that either the Ranger or that priest would figure it out soon enough. But, the question then was would they do something about it or would she be yet another wasted latent talent, doomed to roam the frontier or the broken kingdom for some menial life beneath her potential and calling?

  The things he could do with her! She had talent that needed only to be shaped and molded, either to his own needs or to introduce her to the mysteries and joys of service to the Great Mother, the Lady of the House of Gintenka.

  Yes, the more he thought about it, the more he downplayed the idea of simply turning her into a powerful battery for his hekau-related needs. No, she had far too much potential for that. It had been hard, exhausting work to project the tiniest of sensory threads toward her during the healing ritual through his thrall. He had wanted to be very careful to not tip off either priest of his presence, and he had left the thrall to contribute his life-force to the spell while he, connected to the thrall via the medallion, had been free to evaluate the ritual from within the outer warding sphere. He couldn’t have affected anything directly—the wards had been too powerful for that—but he had been able to observe.

  What he had learned was that the girl had talent to spare. And, not only that, she appeared to be a natural at flexing her hekau to do things she had no right guessing she could do. That suggested that she was creative, daring, and also very brave. He had guessed she had those traits since she had survived the initial attack on her village and all the things that had occurred on the trail and in the fort town since then.

  Yes, that Ruia was strong, talented, and young. A thrill coursed down his spine. She still wore the sidelock of youth and probably was yet young enough to be influenced and molded by an a
ssertive and gently aggressive adult who could promise her all the power and wealth she could imagine, and more besides.

  He had spent little time in recent months thinking of taking on a formal bailo, an apprentice, but she was the first person he had encountered in this gods-forsaken frontier that might just fill that role. He could train her to be a brilliant bailo and then mentor her on her road toward full status as a deshi. Together, they could lay waste to the old empire and usher in a new one, all for the greater glory of their House.

  But…what if she resisted? What if she refused to serve him and the Great Mother?

  He snorted and patted Kubela’s neck. “If that little bitch dares to defy me and refuse my offer of training with power she could barely even imagine, then I will bend her to my will piece by piece, and then use her as a living tool to bring about the beginning of the end of Kekhmet.”

  He nodded to himself as he guided Kubela along the road. And, if nothing else, he could just convert her into a mindless thrall and send her to the quarry to mine limestone scarabs. But, that would be such a disappointing end for her. It would be a shame to waste her talents.

  Zezago glanced up at the moon far overhead, then focused anew on the road ahead. “I will have her, one way or another, but she will be mine.”

  CHAPTER 18

  WITH MOONLIGHT STREAMING IN THROUGH THE open windows of her borrowed room in the senet house, Ruia sat on the wooden stool in front of the mirror, turning her head from side to side, evaluating herself more critically than she ever had before.

  She caught Teteri's eyes in the mirror and then lowered her gaze, feeling self-conscious.

  "What are you thinking, Ruia?" Teteri was seated on the bed, nibbling on a piece of bread taken off the platter of food she had brought up. Merow was on the floor under the windows, gnawing at a chunk of pork.

  Ruia's voice caught in her throat and she cleared it as her brother would, then felt embarrassed and swallowed. Women probably didn't spit in this house.

  "I…I've never really looked at myself like this before. It feels…strange."

  Teteri stared at her through the reflection. "You mean you've never really looked at yourself, never really seen yourself?"

  Ruia shook her head. "Not like that. I used to catch my reflection in the river when the sun was just right and the water was still, but no one in the village had a mirror like this one."

  Teteri chuckled quietly. "Well, my dear, take a good look and tell me what you see."

  Ruia stared at herself in the mirror. Dark lines surrounded her eyes, evidence of how tired she felt and of all the struggles she had endured over the last several days. She had emerged different, and largely unscathed, though she was definitely not the girl she had been just a few days ago.

  Her eyes grew wide as unbidden images flashed into her mind, assaulting her senses. She felt caught up in a horrible show of cascading images. Her brother getting cut down, her ma and da falling to those terrible shambling creatures, the dreaded wagon full of dead villagers that she had to hide in to survive, so many bodies…

  She started to sob, and held her hands up in front of her face, visualizing torrents of blood running down them and onto her body, mixing in with her monthly flow and drowning her in crimson that would never stop…

  "Ruia!" She felt a shudder go through her body, then another. Her mind snapped to full awareness, and she found herself sitting on the wooden floor. Teteri was kneeling next to her, both of her hands in Ruia's, a look of fearful concern on her face.

  Teteri shook Ruia's hands again, none too gently. "Are you all right? You're so pale!"

  Ruia stared at her and then felt like she stared beyond her. "I see blood…so much…up to my neck…drowning…"

  Teteri reached down and hoisted Ruia up onto her knees, and then grunted and managed to pick her up off the floor and stagger over to the wood-framed bed. She deposited her onto the bed with a whoof of expelled air.

  Ruia bounced slightly on the firm mattress. The wood slats under the mattress squeaked with alarm. Merow leapt up into the open window and disappeared into the night.

  Teteri rushed over to the wash basin, then came back with a wet towel. She sat down on the bed next to Ruia and wiped at her eyes. Teteri finished the gentle cleaning of her face, and then got off the bed long enough to grab a bone-handled brush off the vanity.

  She sat behind Ruia on the bed, and pulled the simple leather thong off her sidelock and started to brush her hair.

  More tears welled up in Ruia's eyes. "My mother used to brush my sidelock."

  Teteri continued to brush her hair. “Stay with me, Ruia, here at the senet house. I’d be happy to brush your hair every day.”

  Ruia reached up and grasped Teteri’s hand, stopping her brush stroke. “You mean for me to become one of your…entertainers?”

  Teteri met her eyes. She didn’t have to say a word. Ruia saw the answer reflected in those dark pools of intelligence.

  Ruia tore her gaze away from Teteri’s as another flow of images crossed her mind, ending with her staring at herself in the mirror, her childlike form with the sidelock transforming into someone different, someone older and wiser and more assured.

  She wanted to know that person, to be that person. It was time.

  She reached out and took hold of the brush. "Do you have a knife I could use?"

  Teteri stared at her with wide eyes. "Why would you need a knife?"

  Ruia felt the strength of her hekau surging within her. "It's time for me to move forward."

  Understanding seemed to flash in Teteri's eyes. She glanced around the room, then settled on the vanity. "I don't have a knife, but I do have a pair of scissors." She stood up and went to the vanity, then returned with the pair of long-bladed silver and gilt scissors.

  Ruia glanced at them. "We didn’t have a pair this large in the village. We had smaller ones of more modest make. Our smith wasn't all that talented."

  Teteri offered them to her handle-first. "I have mine sharpened every week by the smith in the fort."

  Ruia reached out for them, but Teteri held onto them, keeping her from pulling them out of her grip. "Are you sure about this, Ruia? I can get a couple girls up here to work those knots out. We can get your sidelock cleaned up and free of tangles, and flowing freely again with some scented oil and braided flowers." She ran a finger along Ruia's brow. "Would you like that?"

  Ruia stared into her eyes, lost for a moment, but then recovered and filled her heart with steel. She shook her head firmly. She stood up and pulled the scissors from Teteri's grasp.

  "No, but thank you for the offer. Children wear sidelocks until they become adults, and then are shaved so that they can begin to act as such." She stared into Teteri's eyes, seeing the flintiness of her own reflected back. "I'm a child no longer."

  Ruia moved over to the mirror and gathered up her sidelock in one hand. "I have reached sixteen years, and I've seen more blood and death and horror in the last week than most adults see in all their lives."

  She pulled all her hair together into one thick bunch, then opened the scissors with her other hand and set it so that the blades were on either side of the mass of hair.

  She met Teteri's eyes through the reflection in the mirror. "You are my witness, Teteri." She then focused on her own reflection. "I, Ruia, fisherman's daughter, am an adult in full body, mind, and spirit. The gods have guided me through my transition and may they continue to guide me on my new path forward."

  With that simple litany, she closed the scissors on her childhood, and worked the blades back and forth, cutting through the coarse fibers of dark hair she had worn since she was a swaddled babe.

  It took longer than she thought to cut through it all, but soon enough, the deed was done. She turned to face Teteri with the scissors in one hand and her severed sidelock in the other. She dropped the scissors onto the vanity with a clatter, and glanced at the sidelock in her hand. She moved over to the low bench under the windows and dropped the tan
gle of hair onto it, then picked up her holstered pistol and slung it around her chest, feeling the weight of it and her decision.

  She glanced at Teteri once more. "It is done."

  Teteri locked eyes with her. After a long silent moment, she nodded slowly. “It is done, Ruia.”

  Ruia didn't know what the future had planned for her, what successes and failures awaited her, but now she would face them as an adult. She’d closed one chapter of her life and begun a new one, here in this little borrowed room in a senet house on the blood-soaked Kekhmetic frontier.

  THE END OF THE BEGINNING…

  Afterword

  Thanks so much for reading this book and trying out an indie author. If you enjoyed the read, please consider leaving a review on Amazon.com. Until another system comes along, reviews and word-of-mouth remain the best means for writers to gain a readership.

  I’ve been an avid fan of Westerns since I was a little ‘un, particularly those on television and the big screen. I read my share of Louis L’Amour and Zane Grey and the various and sundry series out there, but it was the television and movie Westerns that really captured my imagination. You’ll have no doubt noted that this book and series is also heavily influenced and inspired by ancient Egyptian mythology, something I’ve had an interest in for most of my adult life. There aren’t many stories out there that combine the traditional American Western with ancient Egyptian culture and mythology, which seems odd to me. (If you know of any, please drop me a note at jim@scribeineti.com and let me know. I’d love to hear about them.)

  You may also note that I’ve played it pretty fast and loose with both the traditional Western tropes and the ancient Egyptian elements. If you’re a student of either and note discrepancies between this story and reality, please remember that this is a piece of fiction, and not even historical fiction at that. I think I got most of the details fairly right, but the ones I didn’t are either a gaffe on my part or an intentional alteration of what’s in the history and archaeology books. Either way, I hope you enjoyed your time in Kekhmet, and truly hope you’ll return. You’ll always be welcome.