Opener of the Sky

by Mary R Woldering

  “She wants to make that change, Ari. She wants to be apart from us. You know she told us again and again she wasn’t really like either of us,” Naibe tried to explain. “Maybe this is what the Children of Stone want her to do.”

  “What? Let him make her his priestess, like he’s already appointed himself the Lord of Death?” Ari realized she was getting louder and stopped talking for a moment, hugging the younger woman. She watched Deka seize the prince and bring his lips down to hers for a brief, passionate kiss. That gesture left the prince so intoxicated and breathless that he staggered back a step.

  “Maybe she’s making him her priest…” Naibe suggested noticing the way the back of the prince’s hand went to his own lips in stunned delight and contemplation each time she released him. “Looks like he can be surprised by her, too; so maybe he’s not so much in control as he is becoming controlled.”

  Ari noticed the prince sit heavily in his camp chair to think about everything that just happened. When he casually noticed the blood from the scourged men had spattered over his legs, Maatkare beckoned for one of the grooms to secure the remaining men and then come wash him. While the man did this, he extended his hand to hold Deka’s hand as if it was he who needed support. After the groom finished, the prince shared some of his breakfast with her. Soon they finished eating and he pressed her hands to his face in incredible tenderness. For a few moments he drew into his own quiet meditation.

  “See that MaMa… She is casting a spell of her own on him,” Naibe quietly gasped, but Ari disagreed:

  “I don’t know. It still looks like it’s bothering her.”

  Deka’s calm and rigid gaze thinly masked the turmoil flitting through her eyes. She sat bolt upright at Maatkare’s side with the Wdjat gleaming at her throat, but the crystal had taken on the color of blood as if it’s prismatic radiance had consumed the gore they shared. The bright rainbow luminance was gone.

  The prince sat straighter, renewed and ready to continue his inquiry. Four remaining captives sat on their heels. To their right Djerah, visibly weak from his wounds and loss of blood hung as if crucified on the ladder frame. Maatkare noticed one of the remaining boys weeping. He nodded, with a slow smile, and went to him.

  “You,” Maatkare walked around the kneeling boy, his voice sounding almost paternal. “I know your face. You’ve grown tall in the past year,” he smoothed the tightly braided rows on the youth’s head. “Still angry that your mother came to me for a few days last year? She was nice, but as you see I have others now, so you need not concern yourself.” He continued, but paced a few steps, then turned back toward the boy, continuing. “Most women I choose are glad of this honor. If I like a woman, I praise her family and pay for any trouble her absence may have caused. So, tell me how you have suffered in this honor I gave her. Tell me how you have come to seek revenge over it. Does your mother know you have committed this crime? Did she send you? Do you want her to weep unconsoled when she learns what I had to do?”

  Ari and Naibe watched the youth’s head turn toward Djerah, as if he was making some kind of an appeal. The stonecutter struggled in his bonds and gasped for breath again, but cried out in misery.

  “Uh-oh. That bruise on his side, Babe. Now I know it’s a broken rib scratching at his insides,” Ari hugged the young woman and whispered more earnestly. “Poor thing can’t draw a good breath without it making him suffer.” She tried to think of a distraction that would allow her to get the young man loose before it was too late to save him.

  “She’s dead!” the youth blurted out. “You killed her.”

  Damn. Trail of ghosts following him, Ariennu clucked to herself. First the princess, then that guard that he killed at Sokor, now this boy’s mother. How many others are there?

  “I told you, Ari. There’s hundreds,” Naibe answered aloud. “That’s why being with him in his bed makes me weak as a sick kitten. He feeds those ghosts on the love I magnify… I see the souls of them massing near the portal every time. He nourishes them from my joy and then drinks their essence back to gain power over me.” Naibe hid her face again as if her thinking about the misery the prince caused her gave it more power.

  “Dead? Not my doing,” the prince answered too quickly. “She was well when she returned home. Did she not teach you the danger of telling lies?” Maatkare suddenly raised one slanted eyebrow when he spoke to the boy again. “Oh. Her.”

  Ari saw the light of recognition filter over his face. “Now I remember, something about her being taken by a crocodile and yet, here you blame me?” He drew closer, seized the boy’s chin and appeared to read his thoughts.

  “I see. She went mad? Went out wading at night? How was that me?” he reiterated, caressing the youth’s head. “How? Unless her need for me drove her to seek me in a dream. That has happened before…”

  He paused, stroking the boy’s head again.

  “Oooh!” Naibe ached and hid her head in Ariennu’s arm. “He did to her what he does to all of them, but her wits broke and he doesn’t care?”

  “It’s alright… I…” but Ari’s thought was interrupted by a howl of despair from the youth.

  “No… ooo. Please don’t kill me...”

  Ari saw Deka’s arms stiffen by her sides when the boy cried out, as if she felt the terror in the sound of his voice. Maatkare must have sensed her concern because he glanced back over his shoulder.

  “No one has to die,” his growlish voice suggested. “Just tell me why you came with these men and why they came to kill my men.”

  “I don’t know why the others came,” the boy wailed, tears starting down his face. He shivered in terror as the prince made his way to the stonecutter again.

  “True?” The prince cuffed Djerah lightly under the chin so that his head bumped up.

  “He knows nothing,” the stonecutter gasped in pain. “I told them nothing; that it was Yah blessed. I told them I fought for the gods. Take me instead. I have nothing,” he begged.

  “Sutek, now Yah. Do you even know what you are doing? Who you are calling? I think not, you uneducated fool! Your kind wouldn’t know the first name of a god unless one of the divine ones pointed to his image and spoke it to you.” The prince raised a forefinger to the groom, “and know this. I am the Lord of Death.” The groom snapped the boy’s neck, finishing him. “His and at some point today, yours.” Maatkare bounced back to the boy’s body, checked him and clearly spoke a blessing over his lifeless body.

  “May the Gate of Souls open for you. Safely rest in your Mother’s arm; she comes to welcome her good son.” He raised his face to the sun and turned to Ari, Naibe, and the remaining men who knelt between the two tents. He explained why he hadn’t blessed the other men.

  “This young one was a hero. He alone, so far, had a reason to come here, albeit foolish. Had it been my own mother, I might have come like this.” Then, he addressed the men who were removing the dead. “Treat the poor young fool with respect. Do not cut off his hand or burn him with the traitors.” Maatkare sighed, “I will send gold enough to pay for a good burial for him out of respect for his mother’s memory.”

  “Demon!” Djerah shouted, making another valiant struggle against the ropes that tied him to the uprights.

  “And he finds his voice for the second time. I will have you finish your tale before you speak no more.” Maatkare rose, then turned on his heel toward the mat of grisly devices near the brazier. Next to the bloodied whip lay a short stabbing spear. He picked it up, briefly showing it around to the women and the wider circle of men assembled to witness the discipline which had already turned into several executions.

  Close quarter kills, Ari sighed to herself. Now he’s going to do his own wet jobs.

  “Naibe,” she whispered, making sure no one saw her lips. “There’s going to be a lot more blood now. I thought he would have calmed down the way he was letting Deka soothe him.”

  Naibe shook her head. “No, I already know what happens when he gets quiet like that. It scares m
e even more.”

  The prince heated the blade on the coals for a few moments, then advanced. His groom jerked another youth to his feet. This time, without asking him any questions, Maatkare gutted him and left him screaming and clutching his bowels as he crumbled in the sand and bled out.

  Naibe squealed in shock and buried her face in Ariennu’s arm.

  The grooms dragged the next two men up in succession. Prince Maatkare gutted one. The last youth gasped a little, knowing his life was ending. The prince extended his hand to the youth’s dark, panting belly, as if he traced where the spear would go, then leapt forward and slashed the boy’s throat.

  “Now you see what you have done,” Maatkare hissed at Djerah. “Talk to a royal son. As if of gods would listen to you? A peasant?” He turned away and walked to the mat of tools with the blade. The grooms followed and removed his blood sprayed shenti, then wrapped him in a black square robe, belting it once. “Night will come howling for your soul for that, but first…” he quickly went to the last boy, who lay dying on the brick pad, and put both hands over the slowly gurgling wound. When he beckoned to Deka, she shot straight toward him and threw one arm over his back for support.

  “There, Nefira Sekht, be your sacred name,” he whispered to her. He took her face in his hands and turned her glance from his face to the gaping wound on the boy’s neck.

  “Goddess…” Naibe murmured quietly. “Don’t do it.”

  Ariennu’s arms wrapped around the younger woman. She took a deep breath and grew cold inside.

  Deka’s eyes flashed up at them as if she had become irritated with their horror. She turned her gaze to the youth whose hand had just fallen away from his throat.

  “See how he accepts his fate so bravely.” The prince squatted by the boy, still supporting Deka. “Still alive, but see how his life goes quicker now. Give him a kiss. Guide him to his Amenti as the way opens. Taste that small bit of his soul, as you long to do. His journey will help you know and remember all,” he whispered.

  Deka bent close to kiss the bit of blood that had sprayed out of the boy’s mouth and onto his shivering, cold lips. She felt the last tremble of the boy’s lips and the stillness that followed.

  Both women saw the flash of fire in her eyes when she lifted her head. A tiny drool of the young man’s blood crept out of the corner of her mouth. For a moment she transformed into a dark cloaked she-beast, crouched as if guarding a meal. The fright of that image ripped the protective field from Ariennu’s and Naibe’s thoughts and opened them. Their stones linked and the sensation of death, the blood, and the exhilaration passed through them like a dark wave.

  Power. MaMa she’s getting her power from this. She’s letting him in… not fighting. Naibe sent her thought and didn’t care if Deka felt it. The Ta-Seti woman’s glance narrowed as if she knew the thought, but no longer cared.

  Ariennu held the younger woman tighter, rocking her.

  Shhh. Just don’t let it get to you, Babe. She sent her thought, but now she noticed a defensive glare from the prince.

  Maatkare and Deka gripped each other passionately for a few moments, consuming each other’s energy as they knelt by the dead prisoner. When he released her after several moments, she rose and drifted to her chair. Djerah remained. He shook his head in regret and sobbed aloud, but not in fear.

  Maatkare paced a little in front of the rattan fixture, then beckoned to the tall guard, motioning for him to cut the ropes on Djerah’s hands and feet.

  Run. Go! Naibe’s thoughts begged, even though she knew it was pointless. She hugged Ariennu, who mournfully shook her head. As they both watched the young man staggered away from the frame and fell flat in the dust.

  A groom lifted and inspected the next weapon, then brought it from the mat to the prince. It was an elbow length leather glove fitted with brass ridges, rings and spiked knobs – a torture device.

  Maatkare put it on moved toward the women in the tent, brandishing it, then paraded by his assembly of men who had gathered behind and to the side of the dais and the mat. A ripple of excitement moved through the crowd. It would be a last resort.

  “So no one of these ten has yet given me a good reason for this attack. One defies the god-ordained rule of the black land. He is dead. Another avenges my part in the madness of his mother – and her death. It cannot be proved. Perhaps it was a thing she ate – a moldy flour that gave her a vision. The scale of truth weighs her child’s heart over this pointless crime.” He announced, narrating the crimes the men had committed and why they had been executed.

  “Serpent’s tongue. Easy to see whose seed you reckon among your ancestors,” Ariennu huffed, feeling nauseous the longer she listened to the prince’s words.

  “So, four tens of men came and we sent all but these ten to eternity. Though they took a good number of our men and friends with them. Such a waste of life must still be answered.” He began to parade in front of his men assembled behind the dais and then to the women’s tent so Ariennu and Naibe could see.

  “This is a gift from the Wawat allies called the Punisher’s Hand.” He waved the glove in front of Naibe, who tensed, repelled by the spirit of pain emanating from the dark leather. “Good tanned leather, firm padding inside, smart knobbing and knuckle bracing.” He smacked his open palm with it. “I just hope he will say something I want to hear while he can still talk.”

  “Why should he?” Ariennu spat at the ground near his foot. “Seems like you’re going to kill him anyway. If it was me I wouldn’t tell you a damn thing.”

  Maatkare’s lower lip jutted. “How soon you forget. I recall you promised me much one night not so long ago that you would do anything.” He turned his back and returned to Deka for another moment of tender caresses.

  Ari wanted to leap out of her skin, spitting and scratching. “You make me sick!” Ariennu muttered, “but you’re right. You know I did it for Baby, so you would save her.” She felt the younger woman squeeze her hand in gratitude.

  “And that has been good for me, until now, but your fierce tongue, were it not so useful otherwise…” his naughty expression seduced her with a left-handed compliment “…needs to be ripped out of your head. You do seem to forget who I am,” his eyes rolled, mocking, then hardened again as he began a slow stroll to Djerah.

  Now he’s going to kill him for sure, Ari thought to herself. I just wish I knew why he came here and what he wanted.

  Djerah had fallen to one side in the dirt, as if he had been destroyed by the pointless deaths he had been forced to watch.

  Ariennu felt Naibe raise her own shield of secrecy over the thoughts that would be exchanged herself and the young man

  Why did you come? Why? Did you not understand it would be suicide? Naibe’s thoughts begged.

  All is gone, Djerah’s pained but tentative thoughts rose.

  But what about your wife? Your family? Naibe tried to console, to give the young man a reason to fight.

  Gone… his thoughts grew weaker then stopped.

  Maatkare released Deka and extended his forearm so a guard could secure the glove. As he trotted down from the dais he pointed to the grooms to lift the stonecutter into a kneeling position.

  “Talk, damn you!” he punched Djerah’s face and head four times, each in a different direction. “Why are you here?” he demanded. “Did the Akaru Metauthetep send you?!” he struck again. The spiked glove began to make a sound on the young man’s face as if it pounded a wet sack.

  Ariennu had seen many grisly beatings and had even cheered her men to do their worst long ago. When she had participated in the torture of the other victims, she had been able to strip them of their humanity because they were strangers. This was different. This man she knew. She stared and shook at the sight of the prince’s violent frenzy.

  He walked slowly around the man, sullen and controlled, but said nothing further. Between steps his fist swung and crashed down on Djerah’s head or face.

  What are you doing? There’s no point. He can�
��t talk… her eyes grew larger and the place in her lower throat grew harder. Through the wash of pouring blood she saw only reminders of what had been a nose, lips, and the orbit of an eye. Blood oozed from both of the man’s ears. Each blow spun his head almost to the snapping point.

  Goddess that’s how he’ll do it. Snap his neck the long way… she panted in horror.

  Naibe’s face had turned to open-mouthed stone. Deka stood rigid on the dais. Maatkare whirled, about to strike but thought he heard a sound.

  The guards let the young man fall backward.

  Ariennu saw one of Djerah’s hands jerk into a rise. Hideous bubbles formed when he tried to speak.

  “Ah… now you want to talk as you breathe your last!” Maatkare motioned for the grooms to stretch Djerah out on the brick pad, then kicked him mightily in each side. The kick in the injured side almost caused the young man to seize. The prince straddled his chest and put his ear close enough to hear the struggling man’s voice. “I will give you quick peace if you tell me why.”

  A moan rose from Djerah’s swollen throat and wrenched neck.

  “Ie…” his mouth hissed, “O… au-mck” He sank into oblivion, unable to say another word.

  “Damn. Useless. He shouldn’t have made me mad like that.” He raised his gloved fist a last time and was about to give a final blow when Naibe shrieked once and jerked his arm back. She had rushed out of the tent to stick her head between Maatkare’s fist and Djerah’s head.

  “No! You will not kill him. I’ll tell you who he is,” the young woman cried, tugging the bleeding, senseless man’s arm.

  “Bitch! You let me be. Eeen…” Maatkare screamed in frustration. He began to utter the control words. He raised his gore and hair drenched glove to strike her face, but she turned and grabbed both of his hands, freezing his effort.

  Ariennu rushed forward to grab Djerah’s limp form. She saw Naibe’s dark blue stone fully emerged and heard Naibe’s compelling voice. Its sound was indescribably sweet and seductive on one level, but commanding on another; it was her ‘hundred voices of the goddess’ whisper.