“Yes. It was a gift from the god Intarabus.” D’Molay took it, wiping it off on his already ripped and blood stained shirt. Geirronul cleaned her hand off on the creature’s cloak and then pulled it aside to reveal a twisted grey body.
“This was a man once. Now . . . who knows what to call it?” She stood up, tapping the spear on the ground three times. A yellow glow appeared at the pointed end. As D’Molay watched, it became orange and then turned to flame. The air around the spear tip began to waver as the heat from it continued to increase, though no heat seemed to pass into the shaft of the spear, leaving Geirronul unaffected by it.
“Step back.” She held the flaming spear over the dead thing and then lowered it to touch the corpse. D’Molay heard a loud sizzling noise as the body was engulfed in red flame. Within a few seconds the remains dissolved in the fire, leaving only a dark mark on the road. The Valkyrie lifted the flaming spear back up, tapping it on the ground three more times. The flame went out and the glow faded until it was gone. “That takes care of that. One last thing. What’s in that box you’re carrying?”
He gave her a slightly embarrassed look. “I don’t actually know. I’m not permitted to open it unless the recipient gives permission.”
“Yes, I thought it would be something like that. You can go.” She walked over to her stallion. “Stay out of trouble if you can, eh?”
D’Molay smiled weakly. “I’ll try.”
Geirronul mounted her horse and urged it forward. “See that you do.” The horse spread its wings and with a running start they flew off into the midday sky.
After checking to see that the small box was still safely tucked away in the cart, D’Molay climbed in, grabbing the reins and starting to ride forward. One look at his gore-covered hands caused him to make a u-turn. He was a mess; he couldn’t visit a goddess looking as he did. The cart rolled over the dark stain that had been a servant of Lamasthu as he changed his plan.
D’Molay made his way home, dropping off the cart in favor of walking. If anyone else was following him, they’d be looking for a man on wheels. Without the vehicle, he could more readily hide in crowds and stay in the shadows. D’Molay thanked his luck that the cart hadn’t been destroyed during the fight. He wouldn’t have wanted to pay for those repairs.
Still smarting from the fight, but none-the-less victorious, D’Molay walked down the quiet winding lane towards his small, gray two story home. As he rubbed dirt out of his hair, he realized his shirt sleeve was badly ripped. Multiple cuts and bruises showed through the torn shirt. Most would heal in a day or two. The small black box was snug in his bag, safe and sound.
D’Molay’s home was a little more run-down than the other wood and stone houses on the street. It looked more like it was a vacation home, infrequently used by its owner. There were weeds growing in some of the cracks in the path that led up to the entrance, and some of the slate had fallen off the roof. D’Molay bent down, picked up a tile and looked up. He would have to fix that soon, or endure leaks from the next season’s heavy rains. Putting the tile down by the front door, he got the key out of his leather bag.
He had been granted the house by the Council for his aid during a war a few years back. His old partner Sergius had been granted a similar boon, which he had managed to trade for an equally shabby tavern across town. They had both almost died that day. Had it not been for their efforts, the entire Council and their grand meeting hall would have been destroyed. Yet all he had to show for it was this unimpressive house. D’Molay shook his head at the whims of the gods.
As he stepped inside, the familiar smells of candle wax, saddle soap and leather greeted him. These scents made the shelter feel like his home, rather than just some place he stayed. In his spare time, D’Molay enjoyed leather working. The vest he wore and the bag he carried had been made here. Such things were easily bought in the City, so his hobby was more a pastime then a necessity. This was fortunate, because he had little time to enjoy the craft.
He put his bag down on the nearby wooden table and exhaled wearily. D’Molay brushed more grit and dirt off his leather vest, but realized those efforts were not going to be enough to set right his clothes. He had work to do. Turning back, he bolted the door shut behind him, something he should have done immediately, he chided himself. Anyone could have followed him inside.
Vowing to remain vigilant, he looked at his appearance in a mirror on the wall. He was a mess; he could not go to see the cat goddess looking as he did. D’Molay winced from his various wounds as he removed his vest. His shirt was bloodstained, muddy, and ripped. He threw it into a wooden crate filled with rubbish then took a closer look at the brown leather vest. He could salvage it with some brushing and cleaning. His pants and leather boots were merely scuffed and dirt-covered from the tussle.
He went over to the hearth to retrieve a brush and remembered the last time he had used the fireplace. Perhaps he shouldn’t have discarded his oldest possession, but he truly felt it had no meaning for him anymore. Maybe it never had. A feeling of betrayal and loss ran through his thoughts. When I think of all the years I wasted with it on Earth - what better place for it to end than my own fireplace. D’Molay turned away from the cold, empty hearth with bitter conviction.
Looking around the rest of the place as if seeking something else to condemn, he realized he had never really lived in any one place for very long. Yet now he actually had a home, one that should be organized the way a home should be. Resolving that a good first start would be cleaning himself up, he took his vest upstairs to set his clothes in order and get dressed.
An hour later, D’Molay visited the stable to rent a new cart. From there, he rode straight to the Egyptian Temple compound. Many found it surprising that it was the largest temple complex in the City, considering that the Egyptian pantheon possessed an entire realm across the lake. But many gods of Egyptos had come to prefer the cooler climate of the City to the hot, dry deserts of their own domain.
Almost all of their buildings in the vast City compound were made of orange sandstone. The largest was a pyramid nearly fifty stories tall. Unlike the Egyptian pyramids on Earth, this one had windows and balconies where the gods and high priests could enjoy the view. Around this main pyramid were numerous smaller ones planted among temples, parks and outdoor courtyards. Many of the buildings were painted white with brightly colored borders and images of the gods decorating the walls. Numerous palm trees stood between the buildings, towering over a sandstone wall that surrounded the entire compound. On the outside of this wall were thirty foot tall statues of each of the Egyptian gods, spaced about every forty feet. In total, there were several hundred of these hand-carved monuments, an awe-inspiring sight even to those who saw them on a regular basis.
D’Molay drove the cart to the gate and was stopped by a guard. The soldier wore a white tunic topped by leather chest armor and a thick metal belt decorated with green and blue stones. A bronze dagger was at his side in a leather sheath, but his main weapon was the long pike he held upright in his left hand. He had tawny bronzed skin and a well-honed muscular frame. His black pageboy hair style made him look a little younger than he probably was.
“Take your cart to the stable guard. He’ll escort you to the main entrance.”
D’Molay nodded to the man as he drove the cart in. He checked in with the stable as he had been told and moments later stood at the main entrance of the great pyramid. Scholarly scribes, slaves and elaborately dressed priests were going in and out on various errands and tasks for the gods. D’Molay observed the activity, curious to see if any gods might make an appearance. He had met other Egyptian gods in the past, and was fascinated that they all seemed to be part animal in some way. Today, however, there were only humans busily at work. He wondered what the cat goddess would look like.
He ascended fourteen polished steps to the pyramid’s entry dais. In the center of the dais was the symbol of Horus, the all-seeing eye. It was about twenty feet in circumference and was made with
carefully inlaid stones of various shades of green. The pyramid’s opening was at least twenty feet tall and twenty feet wide, with towering decorated columns on either side. Stationed in front of the columns were four guards dressed just like the other he had met. One of them approached.
“State your business.”
“I’m here to see the goddess Sekhmet. She’s expecting me.” He knew it was important to stress he had an appointment, or they would make him wait for hours. The guard gave D’Molay an appraising look, sizing him up.
“You’re a Freeman, aren’t you? Do you have a pass?”
“Yes, and no. I was sent here to deliver something to Sekhmet. I’ve never needed a pass before.” D’Molay was surprised by the question. It seemed they were increasing security.
The guard ignored his comment as he turned and called to a scribe standing nearby. “Heptlac, over here. Bring the list.”
A bald man in his early fifties wearing a belted white robe walked over. He was thin, with a small, pointed white beard. He glanced at D’Molay briefly before consulting a parchment scroll.
“What’s the name?” he asked in a casual way.
“D’Molay. D’Molay the Tracker.”
“Hmm. Saneha, Amasis, Kamenophis . . . ah, here, D’Molay. Yes, he’s on the list of expected visitors.” The scribe looked from D’Molay to the guard, waiting for orders.
“Very well, take him to Sekhmet’s chambers. Stay out of trouble while you are here, D’Molay.” The guard gave him a final look and then walked back over to his place by the column. D’Molay had little time to mull over what the extra security meant before Heptlac was ushering him on.
“Come on then, I’ll take you to her. You’ll never find your way around here without a guide.” Heptlac seemed very proud of the size and complexity of the pyramid he served. As they went further in, Heptlac gave the scroll he was carrying to a younger scribe standing nearby. “I’ll be back in a blink of the great eye. I’m taking this Freeman to one of the goddesses.” The younger scribe took the scroll and before he could even say anything Heptlac had moved D’Molay on.
The first room inside the pyramid was huge, with a thirty foot high ceiling and polished stone floors. Large columns with intricately carved hieroglyphs were cleverly arranged in long rows to present an illusion that their lines went on endlessly. There were dark ebony life-size statues of Egyptian priests, kings and nobles at the base of every column. Some of the silent characters were standing, while others were seated on thrones. A wide central pathway with a long, shallow pool of water and fountains cut the room in half. There were quite a few people in this area, mostly going from place to place, but D’Molay saw that some were paying their respects to some of the dark statues. They placed flowers or small strips of papyrus, probably with prayers written on them, at the feet of the wooden figures. This was no doubt why the chamber smelled of incense and flowers. He couldn’t help but notice the topless Egyptian girls dangling their feet in the pool and giggling to each other as they chatted in their native tongue. “Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was here.” D’Molay said, trying to break the silence.
Heptlac looked back over his shoulder as they walked. “We are at the heart of the Egyptian soul, and that, Freeman D’Molay, is eternal. Why should perfection change? Now come along, you can stare at the girls another time,” he said with a sarcastic tone to his voice.
“Am I that obvious?” D’Molay felt foolish. The man’s easy sarcasm reminded him of Kafele.
“I must confess, Freeman, that I enjoy their beauty as well. Usually I don’t escort visitors, but I grew weary standing at the entrance checking names and I thought the walk would do me good. I never grow tired of seeing the grandness of this place.” Heptlac turned to lead him up a sandstone staircase that spiraled up into the pyramid.
“This really is one of the most impressive places in the City,” D’Molay agreed as he followed the bald scribe up the stairs. He paused for a second as he approached a flaming brazier that had been placed to light this dark corner of the stairway. For a moment he stared at the fire, unable to move his gaze away from the dancing flames.
“Are you all right?” the priest asked, touching D’Molay’s shoulder.
“Sorry. Just remembering something.” D’Molay managed to turn to the priest who was already on his way to the next flight of stairs. He briskly closed the distance between them.
After a few more flights of stairs they exited onto an upper floor and into another hallway. This one had windows running along one side and large golden-clad double doors on the other side. A burgundy fringed rug as long as the hallway ran down the middle of it. The doors were covered in real gold, and by the symbols, appeared to belong to different gods.
“Don’t worry, we’re almost there,” Heptlac said without looking back. Near the end of the hallway, he stopped and turned around, sweeping his hand. “These are Sekhmet’s chambers.”
D’Molay paused at the door for a second to look at the craftsmanship. The gold had been molded to represent images of the goddess. Apparently, she was a cat. There were also images of her servants and other smaller cats, along with numerous hieroglyphs, probably telling of her great deeds or her life story. D’Molay ran his fingers along a panel, noting how it was much like tooled leather rather than formed metal.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” Heptlac said mechanically and impatiently. “Each door is different. Now go on in, Sekhmet surely has kept her day open to meet with you. I don’t know what interest she might have in a common Freeman, but you’ve obviously gotten her notice.” Heptlac seemed annoyed to be ignorant of Sekhmet’s favor toward the man.
“Thank you for the escort, Heptlac, was it? Will you be here when I’m done?”
“Yes. And no,” Heptlac smirked, imitating D’Molay’s earlier answer to the guard which he had overheard. “I won’t be here. I’ll have an attendant wait for you to escort you back. May the gods smile upon you, D’Molay.” With a bit of flourish, Heptlac opened the door and gestured for him to enter.
“And you. Goodbye then.” D’Molay walked into the darkened chamber.
The door closed behind him and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He could see that there were columns and a few torches in the room and a throne at the far end. Fortunately, the torches were far enough away that he would not be distracted by their flames. He decided to bow as a sign of respect in case Sekhmet was watching. As he did, a feminine but formal sounding voice echoed out of the dark.
“Come forward, Freeman D’Molay.”
As he advanced, he could see that Sekhmet had appeared on the throne at the end of the large room. He stopped about ten feet away, knowing it was best to keep a respectful distance from a god. It was one of the first rules he remembered being told when he first arrived in the City so long ago.
Sekhmet was an exquisite blend of human and feline. A cat-like face and ears graced the tall, lithe body of a beautiful dancer with a lion’s tail. She had golden orange skin, and though she was covered by a white linen gown with a turquoise silk belt it was quite obvious that she had four breasts. Sekhmet sat on a dark granite throne atop a dais at the end of the room. Like most Egyptian deities, she posed very formally with her hands placed exactingly on the arm rests. On either side of her throne were two large stone columns inscribed with her cartouche and smaller praises to her grandeur. The walls behind her were hung with turquoise and orange banners and several torches that provided light to the darkened antechamber. The room had no windows or other exits, save the one D’Molay had come through.
The grand room and its furnishings seemed perfectly suited for a goddess. Only one thing didn’t fit. Seated on the floor next to Sekhmet’s throne was a pink, bat-winged girl with small gazelle-like horns and long dark hair. She seemed oblivious to D’Molay’s presence as she played with a kitten. She sat curled up, wearing little more than a belt and some scraps of teal green fabric.
Sekhmet spoke as D’Molay came near. �
�I am told that you have an item of interest for me?” She raised an eyebrow ever so slightly as she gazed at him, as if she expected an answer beyond her actual question.
Even though Sekhmet had the face of a cat, D’Molay found her indeed beautiful in her own way. “Yes. I was asked to bring this to you, my lady,” he responded. D’Molay held out the small box he had obtained at the curry vendor’s. He knew better than to mention aloud who had asked him to deliver it. His discretion was one of the reasons the gods often sought out his services. Sekhmet probably knew exactly who had sent this item. If she didn’t, she would surely ask.
She peered at the box from her throne and then turned toward the pink winged girl on the floor. “Can you go fetch it, little one?”
The girl looked up, “Hmm? Oh sure.” The strange girl put the kitten down, stood up, and noticed D’Molay for the first time. “Hello,” she said.
As she stood up, D’Molay saw her pointed tail and shiny black cloven hooves. He instantly realized that she must be some kind of demon! He had occasionally seen similar creatures in Purgatory, though they had all been male and very unpleasant and dangerous.
As she moved toward him, he was ready to fight her to the death. But he could see by her causal, lackadaisical walk that she was no threat at all. Perhaps she was the cat goddess’s guardian or a trusted slave. As she approached, he felt his worries lift and a strange attraction to her well up within him. The way her hair moves as she walks, her smile . . . she’s so . . . cute, he couldn’t help but think as she came within arm’s reach. As she stood close to him, he felt a rush of warmth spread over his entire body. He hadn’t felt anything like it since he was trapped in a cell with a Fairie Nymph. He also knew this was a much more powerful feeling.
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