See… You see
Feel it
It is you
Taste it
Yourself in power
You become a god.
The voice spoke, but is sounded like a growl mixed with his own voice. “I know,” he whispered aloud to the internal spirit voice. “You’ll teach me then?”
Learn…
You are your own teacher…
As all are…
You are opener of the way,
Open what is in your own heart
See with new eyes
The voice in his thoughts trailed away as the flesh on his face rippled back into its normal shape. The prince reveled in the momentary silence that followed, then checked to see if his rustling around on the mat and the growling had waked Deka. It hadn’t.
Maatkare noticed the shimmer of the stones had changed after he handled them. The white, blue, and green light he had assumed were normal colors had become primal energy colors of red and orange the moment he ran his hands over them one more time.
At once, a surge of fire ran up his arms, engulfing them in the same kind of flame that had surrounded Deka when they had traded sexual energy. It warmed, but it did not burn his skin. Once again, his breathing sped up and his body drew on the energy of the fire image on his arms. Maniacal laughter came to his lips, but stopped in an abbreviated gasp just short of making a sound.
Something magically formed in his upturned palms that had rested on his knees in an opening pose. Maatkare took a deep breath to seize control of his thoughts and to slow the ecstasy of the moment. When he opened his eyes, he stared down at a beautiful dagger made of a strange crystalline metal. It had apparently formed from the few stones he had taken up in his fingers. When he turned it over, it gleamed like a sun-glass and metal combination; made of an ore he had never seen. It was not gold, copper or even bronze. The hilt was in the form of a crouching wolf with the blade extending from its jaws. He stared again, but the moment he focused on the wolf and the blade, it dissolved.
Snorting, growling, and panting filled his chest. He couldn’t catch his breath again…
“Again? The wolf? Oh be cursed, een nau… nauu… you little bastards…” he hissed through his suddenly pointed fangs, knowing he couldn’t risk waking the woman on his bed. Maatkare’s struggle to free his hands now drawn to the rest of the stones became a war of wits. Part of him wanted to keep the box open; to continue learning, but his senses told him: No. Do not open again. Enough for today. He slammed the box shut, stashed it under his bed and scrambled, without even thinking about it, to Deka’s resting form. Oddly comforted, he clung to her and held her until his breathing slowed.
CHAPTER 25: DJERAH REBORN
Marai snuggled Naibe-Ellit, deep in adoration of her as goddess, woman, and as the mother of his child. Each time he woke, he turned to her, stroked her hair and then carefully touched her belly, still awed by her beauty. Remnants of the energy emitted by the Children of Stone had continued to rouse him throughout the early evening.
The prince is meddling with them, he commented to himself through tired-but-beauty-dazzled eyes. Wonder why they aren’t exacting some kind of punishment. There’s another plan in this, damn them. Wish they would let me know more.
At some point, Naibe turned to him. When he looked into her eyes and then into her soul he knew she hoped he could erase all of the memories she had took on during the months he had been gone. He was right.
You healed young Djee. Now you heal me, my Marai. She whispered into his heart, commanding him with her golden eyes and soft mouth. I’ve waited for so long since I knew it possible that somehow you lived. Now, if I wait another moment, I will surely die. Her thoughts hushed into the silver of his beard. He gathered her up quietly, kissing her, clasping her gently then draping his travel cloak over them. Soon they were lost in each other’s tenderness.
Djerah tried to look through the crusted slits of his eyes. He had become aware of a dim lamp light that flickered nearby, but his eyelids felt glued shut. They itched mercilessly, but when he tried to rub them, he discovered he couldn’t move his arms. Oddly, that sense of weakness comforted him. That he couldn’t move didn’t frighten him and neither did the prismatic shimmers that blurred his vision when one eye cracked open slightly. He felt safe. A vague whispering sound inside his head lulled him, taking all of his interest in movement away.
It’s all right, he told himself. Rest. I need to be still. Sleep. He closed his partly opened eyelid and welcomed the red and black pulsing of the vessels inside it. A dull ache under the skin on his face felt like a sunburn.
Did I die? I remember fighting and shooting. I took an arrow, no, two in me. Yah, it hurt so much! Better now. Is this Paradise? He wanted to sit up and to see where he was, but the ache inside his head increased slightly as a warning that he should remain motionless.
Flashes of memory passed unmercifully through his thoughts as an ongoing explanation of why he should rest. A demonic face that resembled a slavering wolf merged with the face of a petulant cherub complete with fang-like teeth danced through his thoughts. He remembered that face.
Royal. Must be someone royal who hurt me. Looks like the royal family a little. Do they all look like the statues, or just the highest of them? He wondered at the sudden fluidity of his unspoken thoughts. I am a craftsman. I can cut and polish stone. He remembered both too much, and not enough at the same time.
Why am I thinking about my craft on top of some battle I fought? It doesn’t make sense. Who was that man who hurt me? The hitting. The blood. Djerah recalled the horrid crunch sound the bones in his face made and that he felt agony the first time. He reviewed the numb but audible thuds that came again and again until the power to hear left him, along with the ability to see. After that, only a feeling of something pushing hard on his face twice more came before there was nothing left to feel.
Why did Yah not strip that memory from me along with the name of the man who did it to me? Why can I remember other men dying with me, but not his name? A twinge pulsed at the young man’s brow, followed by a reverberating ache. Something in his head whined, and a higher pitched whisper that sounded like a child singing recited:
And one… And One… it pulsed.
Sigh in – hear the voice. Sigh out.
A higher voice, like a little girl’s repeated the phrase this time.
Shhh. Djerah! Oh, Djerah… it called with a titter.
He felt more pulsing. Hearing other intense whispers, he tried to crane his head up just a little, but still couldn’t manage it. He sensed passionate speech, lovers as they spoke to each other in a most gentle voice. The words swept through him like a warm touch so full of love that it filled the entire tent.
A few more horrible moments returned to his memory. The young man wanted to moan in rebellion, but only succeeded in gasping in a little more air.
On your knees, murdering wretch! His Highness will deal with you first, then I will enjoy finishing you. Some guard was jostling him where his foot had been shot and punching a sharp wound in his side to make it hurt more.
Made me watch. Highness. A prince, then. The men followed me here. Why would I waste good men’s lives? Doesn’t make sense. Savta Houra was here, but I saw her the way Marai showed her to me… young. He remembered the darkest of moments when it didn’t even hurt at all any more. She had rushed to embrace him and perhaps guide him to the afterlife.
In that instant, he had known her entire lifetime of misery and trial; the way she had been raped by the slavers in trade for the lives of her husband and their boys. He saw her working so hard to lift him and his ancestors up from poverty in and around Ineb Hedj. The pall of his heartbreak and the regret that he had died so miserably and so young melted in the glow of an eternity of her love. They had been walking into the light when the whirlwind had forced them apart. He knew that force.
It’s just cruel sport for anyone to keep me alive. I’m ruined. A blood fever will come. If I live, I�
�ll be useless like father and grandfather were. Marai. My kin. Strange man who walks like a god… says he was Savta’s brother. I remember that name.
He squeezed his eyelids tight, because the next thought that came to him was more painful than any wound this prince or his men could give him. The man named Marai was one of the loving whisperers. He’s lying with the pretty young woman from the market who made the honey dates… Naibe? I know her voice. She is his wife. How is she here? I have a wife, too. Raawa. No. Not anymore. A peacekeeper took her heart while I worked across the river. Djerah knew he would never again feel love as passionate as the two people nearby felt now. Perhaps I should have noticed that my wife was not so welcoming at any point in our marriage. I thought she was just tired from her work and from chasing the little ones. Hopeless tears welled in his eyes. It’s no good. My heart is dead. Why must I live to remember that?
A gentle hand touched him as if it sensed his trouble, then checked his bound head. He opened his eyes more successfully this time and tried to focus on something like brightly patterned fabric, open, but draped over ample, mature breasts then tucked into a wide leather belt.
A Kina woman wore that style back at our new home in Little Kina-Ahna sometimes. She was a healer. Said it honored her ‘bastard father’ out of Keftiu.
The touch, he thought, as pliant hands sent warmth and healing into the side of his face near his eyes. A woman gathered him up into her arms, gently easing his head as she lifted him up.
Know her too. Aree. The other one called her Ari. Why is she here? Where is here?
“Don’t hurt yourself,” her voice quietly urged. “You have to let the healing set.”
“Ah,” Djerah’s voice whispered weakly. His throat was so very dry. He struggled, suddenly terrified that he was unable to raise his head higher than the woman was lifting it. He still couldn’t bring his hand up to touch his face or to examine why it felt bloated, puffy and very much felt like something was crawling around under his skin.
My head, he projected thoughts tentatively. Thoughts clear, but… He was surprised at the sudden ease of his efforts. The noise between his ears; a whine-like ringing wrapped in whispers rose.
“He p…” Djerah tried to say ‘He put something in my head’ but his words didn’t work.
“Easy, Djee. It’s Red Ari. You know me, right?”
He tried to nod, but only his lids flickered.
“And yes we did,” She added. “We had to.”
He closed his eyes. When Djerah thought of the woman soothing him and heard the gentle sighing from Marai and the other woman in the tent, he thought of home, remembered his discovery that his wife had abandoned him and swallowed hard.
“Why?” the air rushed out of his parched lips, but his thoughts screamed: Why? Why save me? I do not deserve to live. I want to die; to hold my savta’s hand again.
“Djerah,” he heard the woman call his name again, this time the tone purred and sang.
He felt the woman tipping a cup to his lips, then cursing a little that he couldn’t drink yet. She dabbed at his lips with a cloth, but just the act of her moistening them felt wonderful. Her caress continued, spreading the coolness onto his intermittently aching eyelids. He felt her inspect a place on his brow that felt puffier and had its own peculiar pulse.
“The little stone you brought with you will help you heal more quickly than we could. It asked to be part of you now. It will teach and guard you. You were dead, but it wanted you to live. We nearly lost you.”
He felt her put his hand to her mouth to kiss it, open-mouthed and fully passionate, then lick his palm and breathe on it.
“No,” Djerah tried to resist. “I…”
“Oh, my,” her voice laughed gently but sounded naughty. “Maybe not yet, but you could use it, you know. I won’t force you. And Marai? He won’t mind. He knows better than anyone that no man owns me. Prince just thinks he owns me, but he’s about to learn…” She turned his hand and kissed the other side, her eyes gazing intently to see his expression. “We’re all part of each other; one with the Child Stones inside. We know each other’s thoughts more than mere friends or family might, but we are also free. In your own way, so are you now. He doesn’t have to tell me, but Marai thinks of you as the son of his heart.”
When Djerah strained to open his eyes a little more, he saw her face more clearly in the light. The rainbow shimmers had parted in the middle, allowing clear sight. She smiled, but when he saw her face it seemed like the image was both young and old at the same time.
“I should let you rest instead of worrying you.” She smoothed his face, “Hmm. Your eyes…” she started, puzzled, and then shook her head full of hennaed curls as if she felt a shiver of sensual delight. “Makes sense, I guess.”
Djerah wanted to frown but the puffy part of his brow forbid movement. Her words puzzled him and that gave way to worry. Eyes. What does she mean? Things look like crystal is over them with the colored lights, but that’s fading. I see better than I recall. I worked on the lime faces high up… polishing. Working like that in the sun will frost a man’s eyes after a while.
The woman had piqued his curiosity. He sensed she knew that.
“Umm…” she hesitated, still whispering. “I don’t want to scare you, but when you get a Child Stone given to you, your looks start to change. I don’t know how you will change or how much, but I saw your eyes get a blue cast to them, like day-sky over the black. You had to, uh… grow new ones. The prince put one of them out for you and the other wasn’t good,” she paused. “Now try to rest. I just didn’t want you to worry when you saw yourself.”
“I…” Djerah struggled to speak and winced. She noticed that, too.
“Damn. Too much.” she muttered to herself. “Look, just don’t think about it right now. Just rest.” He felt the woman lie next to him again keeping her hand over his heart so that it slowed a little and began to beat evenly.
How gentle she is, he thought, then relaxed some more.
Naibe-Ellit drifted between laughter and tears. She trembled in Marai’s arms, almost desperate for more of his touch, but saved by the thought of how much she was in love. The young woman traced the sojourner’s gently closing eyes with her fingertips and cradled his radiant head to her breasts. Neither of them spoke, as if words would spoil the rapture they both felt.
“Marai?” she voiced a thought after long moments of silent adoration. She felt him nod for her to say anything she wanted to say into his bliss. “Don’t ever leave me again. I wanted to die without you at my side. I tried to die, so no memory could come in front of those I had with you and so many tried. I could never forget this beauty we have together now, to look for it in other arms. It was only about you the whole time,” she crooned.
“I’m here, now,” he pulled her close.
Naibe thought she might vanish if he didn’t hold her.
“My heart breaks to think I could ever be without you again, my goddess,” he smiled.
Loving him had never been better than this. In his arms she could easily push away all of her troubles.
“You stopped time to keep Djerah with us. I felt it. I talked to your sister. Ari doesn’t know,” she whispered, then felt him tense a little in surprise.
“Houra?” he asked. “You saw? What did she say?” Marai suddenly worried.
“Shh. Don’t tell her, or anyone else. I want it to be a secret way for us.” She meant it. In those moments, she wanted to use all of her magic to stop time for both of them. If she could have frozen time the same as he did on his approach to the camp she would have chosen the quiet moments when they held each other after they had loved. It had always been her favorite time.
Another gasp of pleasure shuddered through her as he pressed her.
“Marai, oh my sweet love. When I die, promise to be with me in the Garden of Eternity where the still water flows. No more being apart. Never. No more.” Her eyes widened, wondering why such a thought of death had come to her at the
time of greatest joy.
“Yes, I promise,” she heard him whisper. “Today and always, I will be with you.”
CHAPTER 26: AMENY
Maatkare grew drowsy. The energy that flooded him when he examined the Children of Stone drained away as he came to his senses.
Odd that just touching these stones strengthens, then weakens me. It doesn’t hurt me, though. He thought about all that had just happened. That knife came back to me! It seemed made of nothing from the world of men. I know it must have been created by a god. Folly! It fit so easily into my hand, as if it had grown there, then it vanished! I still know they made it for me.
He had seen a knife that resembled it when he had just been a child. It hadn’t been as fine. It had been a rather crudely made relic he had discovered in a cache of hidden junk at his grandfather’s Nekhen estate. The blade had been dark and corroded by the weather. He never spoke of his find to his elder or even his father, but he vowed he might have one crafted like it one day. Having safely re-hidden it, he was only mildly dismayed a few years later when he learned it had been discarded by some hapless servant. This evening, it had just appeared in his hands as if drawn from the ghost of his memory.
Maatkare gingerly eased himself to his feet, still shaky from everything he had experienced, but determined to appear strong to his men. Orders had to be given, so he straightened his clothing and exited the tent to request food sent to the women’s tent. He told the men that no one was to concern themselves with the people inside unless it looked as if they were trying to escape. Then, after a brief inspection of the encampment, he trudged back to the tent.
The sun had lowered into the horizon. Deka had stirred by that time and was putting together the trestle board so they could eat. She had hammered her face into an almost expressionless mask allowing only her exhaustion to show.
“Tired?” he asked, a sly smile emerging as he sat on the edge of his bed again. With child after all, is my guess, but doesn’t want to say it to me unless she’s certain. “Now, eat the food the servants brought, unless your gut is sour.” He turned away from her, sending her the clear message that he wasn’t going to put up with any of her feminine troubles whether she decided to speak about them or not.
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