Opener of the Sky

by Mary R Woldering

  During these last days of the hunt, before Marai and the others had arrived, Deka had plenty of time to think of Raem. Two weeks ago, she had moved to one side of the royal tent. He still entertained himself with the others, but he liked to drink and fight with Ariennu and overpower Naibe until she cried for mercy. Gradually, he had begun to treat her as a kind of prophetess. Now that her sisters were gone, there was no such interplay.

  Each day she would re-think and almost resent him by noon, but scramble eagerly to him by the time he approached after the duties of the day. When she was with him, the feelings of being in the arms of something strong and dark had only grown more intense. What Marai had awakened, he had multiplied in her. She felt a strange peace and sense of power when he would lay her down, despite the savage and almost desperate couplings that ripped her own sense of self away in a wash of never-ending eruptions of pleasure. He would take her until she begged to die, grab her and force her to take more until she was senseless. If he had ever stolen energy from Naibe and Ari, he now donated bits of it… just enough, to keep her barely conscious and able to yield even more to him until he was fully sated and allowed her to rest.

  That moment of ecstasy they shared was like victory in battle. It felt as if she stood atop a hill to await a storm that would surround and consecrate them both. The moment any part of that subsided, he assured her he had just begun to give her pleasure. As she lay helpless and recovering, he lay beside her. He licked and kissed her. The instant her senses returned, he stripped them from her again and brought her into an agony of so much more.

  Just thinking about being with him on his return left her gasping and squirming in delight.

  Marai had caused her storms to well up, but was always too considerate to take them or to command them. She had struggled so hard to release them so that she would one day be able to partake of his love and gentleness, but it had never happened. Maatkare welcomed her storms like the scent of blood and matched them with his own.

  The stones waited for her in the tent. When she returned, she watched their color ripple into redness and heat at her touch as they read her patterns of ecstasy. She ran her hands over the stones, then felt a moaning keen rising from her chest and escaping her lips.

  Prevail, my love, and come to me.

  In the back of her thoughts a wind had begun to stir. She closed the box, then took a spare bow out to practice.

  The men paused briefly that afternoon, under the shade of a clump of trees, no closer to the goal than they had been in the morning. After a brief round of beer and dried beef, they tightened their sandals, re-strapped their armor and crept into the deeper grass.

  Toward evening, when under usual circumstances he would have quit stalking any beast and returned to camp to sulk and drink, Maatkare decided the lion was almost certainly as tired as he had become. He was astonished that the creature had been able to outlast and out maneuver them all day long and almost wondered if it might be enchanted. They saw it had slowed and that it stumbled some of the time. Most of the time it faded out of sight into the grass.

  Go into far the grass, young prince, Maatkare thought he heard a whisper. Go into the grass and don’t come back for a moon.

  “Eh? What?” he shook his head. “The heat…” he muttered under his breath, beckoning for one of his men to bring him a skin of diluted wine. Won’t be long before the old wretch gives up and lets me take him.

  The new men who had risen above being Nefira’s guards were serving as trackers. They crouched back and glanced side to side as if they themselves were beasts in the presence of a superior animal.

  Growling like big cats, too; like they know something. He must be near. Maatkare thought.

  His remaining guard had taken notice of something else in the wind, just as the Wawati had, but spoke his objections through his teeth.

  “Your Highness, it’s enough.”

  “Wuenre, you amaze me,” Maatkare snarled a little over his right shoulder as he crouched lower. “You get me out early with no manners and now you turn coward on me. And all this after I tore off more than a couple of rounds of that red-haired piece of trouble for you!” He focused his eyes on the perceived shift in the tall grass ahead. “She infect the nature of your balls? Make your rump sprung? I notice you haven’t been much good to me lately, even let that Akkad ass-rider pick off Rekenre. Now there was a loss. Where were you when that happened?”

  Dare he question me! Maatkare grumbled. He didn’t care that the tall guard seethed in indignation. This is worse than war fatigue over one dumb beast, he was exhausted. I should go home, get roaring drunk and ride a different animal, but I can’t give that monster the satisfaction now, even if he just dies from the run we’ve given him and we see bird’s circling in the morning.

  “Men,” he turned and addressed the few in the hunting party he had not released. A double handful of men remained. Most guarded each side of the prince and brought up the rear. Porters of the refreshments had been dismissed to go ready the late night celebration. “I expect your best. Stand with me to the end and you will be rewarded in a double share of beer. Even some wine...” His voice urged over the sudden roaring cheer as the men resumed the serpentine marching through grass that had begun to lay flat under their feet.

  When the sun gave way to the rise of the full moon in the early dark, the prince felt a twinge of power enter his hand as if it searched for the mystical blade stowed safely at his side.

  Where is he? The prince’s head orbited like the head of a hawk. No one had seen evidence of the lion since the dark fell on them. Has he run off? Are we so sure he’s weary that we’ve missed that? Is this a joke? If this is push -back from the lion man I will cut his withered hands off and cram them down his throat before I pull his head off and send it on a staff to his young priest grandson in Buhen. Dare he use his pitiful sorcery against me! Once he was a friend. Now he’s just old and in my way.

  “Move, men! I see… There, moving in the grass, see him thrash!” Maatkare felt the energy suddenly leap through him.

  Prevail, my love and come to me!

  Deka’s voice called on the wind.

  Battle spirit Sekht, he felt her thoughts move through him in Deka’s seductive voice. We drink the blood tonight. We drink the blood.

  The prince pushed his men harder now that the end was in sight. Something was rising above them like dark lightning. The men lit torches and formed a circle around the perimeter, watching for the beast to move in any direction.

  “Stay with me, men. You break now, I will kill you myself!” He screamed curses at them. They pushed inward, drumming and stalking in tedious steps around the confused animal as it crouched in the long, stinging grass.

  At first, Maatkare thought he’d overdone it. He felt giddy, but ignored it. Something descended in a sheet of power then rose, taking the last of his wits. Lights flashed in front of his eyes.

  Go into the grass and don’t come back for a moon, it said. Better yet, go back home another way, before the gods take notice of your evil heart.

  A little light? Has the sun blasted my eyes? See a little ball of light… What?

  “Highness… there see…” the equally exhausted guard pointed.

  “What?” he snapped. “Don’t distract me. Push in, damn you! Get the net ready! Get the net…”

  CHAPTER 32: LION

  When the sun sank below the horizon and the purple of Nut’s mantle followed from east to west, the men knew from many years of experience that it was too dangerous to continue the hunt. To break ranks and go against the prince, however, was fatal. Against all good sense, he ordered the outer perimeter of his men to light torches so they could tighten a circle around the beast and start the final advance.

  Go. Go. I’m tired, you bastard; you ruiner of days. He gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath, more than convinced that he had been circling and chasing a demon from another realm that had taken the shape of a scarred old lion.

  “He’ll
make a mistake, soon. He’s tiring. I smell his old blood. We’ll net him and end this day of nonsense,” the prince convinced them. “Then, my spear will split his evil heart…”

  He knew he needed to win this, even if he took home only a mere symbol. He wanted to enjoy the ritual of bringing the lion down and painting the faces of his men with its blood. They would cheer and dance as he joyously ate the animal’s heart raw while it still beat its last. He owed them, and this beast owed him his life. He sighed, then rallied his men for a last charge.

  Something barely moved in his sight line.

  “Net!” The prince shrieked.

  Men scrambled and flurried.

  Out of nowhere, the beast leapt on him. He vaulted away with what he thought was a minor scratch. The lion pounced again, then turned to maul the guard who had frozen in shock beside him.

  Maatkare sprawled backward in the grass, momentarily dumbstruck and breathless. He winced in pain and grabbed at his bleeding upper arm.

  Torn. Gods. My hand goes down into the meat of my damned arm. It’s bad, damn it! Then, he croaked aloud: “Wuenre, you snail… I will crush you.”

  The animal picked up the scent of fresh blood and grew strangely renewed. It rallied and turned.

  Screaming. Who screams? “Wuenre!” Maatkare saw something thrash in the grass. “You take my curse to your Amenti, you gutless wretch. Cover me now… Redeem yourself… you didn’t…”

  He sensed nothing from his men, flipped, turned, and dug his feet into the ground to push forth on his belly through the grass. He reached the last place he had seen the guard.

  “Net the bastard! For the love of the gods…” he squalled. Roaring and thundering filled every shred of his conscious thought. The lion was around, in front of, on, and behind him. Something gave way in his own heart that blotted out everything but himself and the menace in the grass. He was alone except for another screeching lump of humanity on the ground beneath the beast. It screamed, begged, and thrashed as deadly claws and teeth bit and tore.

  Maatkare rolled away hard, knowing he couldn’t save the man next to him, then focused on saving himself.

  “Idiots!” the prince screamed at his men, his mouth paled. “Cursed cowards!! Get to me! Get to me!” He clawed and swam in the blood-slippery grass, then drew the strange gold dagger of Wepwawet from its temporary sheath at his belt. This! Do the heka against this beast. Do it… Eeen Nauu Eeen Sekht een Anhur Saba… Oh Aanpu… aid me send this monster to the great nothing!

  He hadn’t planned to use it. He’d taken it, as a battle favor to honor the coup over Marai and his anemic little attempt at a challenge.

  Burns!

  The prince felt the knife go weightless and transform as he gripped it. It acted as if it had fainted and fallen into his hand so that the end of his arm became a giant, rending claw. He wanted to see what had happened, but in the waving light of torches and the din of men shouting he couldn’t.

  Can’t look now…Changing. His good hand gripped hard while, at the same time, he tried to ignore the fire that blistered his wound and paralyzed his left arm. As he seized the blade with his right, the thrill of his transformation into the great wolf dog swept through him. He felt himself leap into the air, suddenly wild, furred, and snarling. His last human thought was about his men. The men. They can’t see me do this… then Death!!

  Men screamed and cried out in terror. Feet slipped and pounded in wild disarray as they scattered through the grass in sudden panic. Maatkare seized the lion’s mane as the beast pounced on him. He struck downward with the magical blade that had become a claw and reveled in the agonized roar followed by an unholy death-agony screech that filled his sharpened ears. He couldn’t breathe. Blood filled his throat. The panic of strangulation became a very human thought.

  Choking me out again, bastard. No!! I will live! The massive animal weight fell on him. Through gore-blurred vision, he saw the black lion face transform into a dark wolf and finally settle as the moonlike hide of the black-faced war bull. Once again a lion, its teeth and jaw clamped and bloody spittle slobbered down.

  Cursed thing. Damned vision. Seize it. Still it and eat.

  Red thoughts raced through his flesh and teeth. They itched to bite and snap. He wrestled from beneath the crazed and wounded beast, straddled it and began to rend and tear into its fur in savage glee. The hot, salty pulse of blood gushed in his face and streamed down his neck, but he craved more of it. The lion was dead. Some of the men may have been dead.

  Another man cried for mercy somewhere, but no one came to help either of them.

  Men? Come… He felt darkness swirl around him, suffocating him with delight.

  Nefira, his thoughts cried. He fell forward on his prey, slipped, and almost fainted to one side as he gored at the breast of the twitching creature. He sank his jaws into the exposed and steaming fleshiness of its breast, and wagged his head back and forth with a strained growl until he felt the hair and skin rip and the wetness surround his face. He tore out more meat with his teeth, ripped with his claws that now only gripped the blade for assistance.

  Eat. It is good.

  The prince bolted down the sinewy tissue and lapped the blood. His head sank back to the carcass, exhilarated then he threw back his head and howled long and loud before he devoured his rest of his meal.

  CHAPTER 33: OPEN THE SKY

  In her vision, she flew away again. There wasn’t much else to do.

  Fly away. Fly away.

  Deka knew she had gained the admiration of the few men in the camp who hadn’t gone with the prince on the lion hunt. She read their thoughts and their impressed disbelief as she drew a bow heavy enough to wrench the shoulder of anyone but a trained archer.

  They don’t dare help or speak to me without my beloved present. At first it thrilled her that men feared her enough that they wouldn’t assist or teach her. She was there for Prince Maatkare, now as the only concubine. Then, the thought that her companions had moved on struck her. Am I your concubine, Raem? She thought at the empty air, or am I still caged by you, even though I will it?

  He hadn’t returned. If the first hunters who trickled back in had been enthusiastic, the next men no longer praised his efforts in the field. Deka listened from inside the tent as men openly worried that the prince had taken leave of his senses in his zeal for triumph. Someone would end up dead before the foray was over, they said. The lion was no mere wounded animal; it was an elder god. His insistence on doing battle with it would mean nothing for any of them but doom.

  Deka was worried. Maatkare had been distant after Marai and the others left, as if their departure hemmed him in and constantly accused him of failure. There hadn’t been an easy victory in this hunt either. She knew he thought about losing his prowess, and wanted to encourage him somehow.

  Raem. Be safe, beloved. Know when a challenge is too great. I will love you even if you fail to bring in this beast. Your men will still praise you. She sent a thought into the air but no response returned.

  Concerned and bored with possibility of just waiting and doing nothing, she sat on the bed, took the box of stones from the top of the trunk, and opened it again.

  Help me see. Help me go to him and give him the strength of a god. She placed her hands on top of the shimmering mass and felt the instant jolt of separation as a spirit walk commenced. This time, her flight felt different from the personal journeys and dreams she had undertaken most of her life. She felt herself rise up in the darkness of the new night sky.

  I just wanted to escape from the boredom, the waiting for him to come home, but this is not the same. This is about me and proof of what I am. I can feel it. Tonight I learn! She exited her trance-swept shell of a body and flew by campfire lights in a circle below.

  Is this the hunt? Is it finally finished? Will they be coming home soon? She took a deeper breath, relaxed and soared once out over the great river. Coming back into herself for a moment, she swooped down and back. He will arrive soon! He will have
me anoint him with perfume, after his men have bathed a day and evening of sweat and dirt from him. I will run my hands over him…

  She reveled in the memory of the raw power of his muscles; the way they never relaxed too much, as if his skin was packed to the limit with incredible, bulging strength. Just a touch from him always left her fainting with delight. It had been that way from the first night they were together, and was part of her desire as she waited.

  She shut her eyes again because she had been determined to send her spirit out to follow him in. Once again as she rose, she found herself drawn to the small village on the waterfront where they gone to bathe that time shortly after they arrived.

  Despite her efforts to return to the hunting party, her black overskirt transformed into smoke-like wings and carried her gently to Qustul Amani.

  But I must go to him. Wait. Is that a fire burning? Where are the men? Why do they run and cry in terror?

  When she received no answer, she shrugged. She continued to float to the little town where another force called out to her. A little light formed. At first, Deka thought it was the full moon on the horizon and that the fires below were lights like the stars. She focused on a dozen other lights that bobbed toward the licking fire but then felt wrenched toward walls and a porched building with Marai standing there. His moon colored hair framed his swarthy, copper face as he peered up into the starlit sky. He looked every bit the silver-hided and black-faced war bull in human form tonight. Three men stood with him.

  Friends are with him now. Look... she felt a tug of loneliness and remembered the window in her apartment in Ineb Hedj. When she had been there, she had always stared at the very same stars to see if anything of Ta-Te remained in this world. In that memory, Marai was always with her, gentle as a father. He stroked her arm and pulled her backward just a little so she could look higher up in the sky without falling. She thought of the way they had almost kissed at the well before he left, and how much she had wanted that kiss, but couldn’t accept it.