by Wilbur Smith
‘Leave us now, good Meren. Take your rest but stay within call,’ Taita said, as he sat down beside Demeter to watch over him. But his own body betrayed him and dropped into the dark oblivion of sleep. He woke again to find Meren shaking his injured arm insistently. He sat up, groggy with sleep, and snarled. ‘What ails you? Have you lost all sense and reason?’
‘Come, Magus! Quickly!’
His urgent tone and stricken expression alarmed Taita and he turned anxiously to Demeter. With relief he saw that the old man was still sleeping. He scrambled to his feet. ‘What is it?’ he asked, but Meren was gone. Taita followed him out into the cooler air of dawn and saw him running towards the horse lines. When he caught up with him, Meren pointed wordlessly at the pile of rocks that had covered the serpent’s carcass. For a moment Taita was puzzled, until he saw that the rocks had been moved aside.
‘The snake has gone,’ Meren blurted. ‘It vanished during the night.’ He pointed to a depression in the sand left by the python’s heavy body. A few globules of blood had dried into black balls, but that was all that remained. Taita felt the hair at the back of his neck lift, as if touched by a cold wind. ‘You have searched thoroughly?’
Meren nodded. ‘We have scoured the ground for half a league around the camp. We found no sign of it.’
‘Devoured by dogs or wild animals,’ Taita said, but Meren shook his head.
‘None of the dogs would go near it. They whined and growled and slunk away when they smelt it.’
‘Hyena, vultures?’
‘No bird could have moved those rocks, and a carcass that size would have fed a hundred hyenas. They would have made the night hideous with their shrieks and wails. There was no sound and there are no tracks, no spoor or drag marks.’ He ran his fingers through his dense curls, then lowered his voice: ‘There is no question but that Demeter was right. It has taken its head and flown away, without touching ground. It was a creature from the void.’
‘An opinion not to be shared with the servants and camel drivers,’ Taita warned him. ‘If they suspect this, they will desert us. You must tell them that Demeter and I disposed of the body with a spell that we worked during the night.’
It was several days before Taita judged that Demeter could resume the journey, but the awkward gait of the camel that carried his palanquin aggravated the pain of his cracked ribs, and Taita had to keep him sedated with regular draughts of the red sheppen. At the same time he reduced the pace of the caravan and shortened the marching hours to avoid causing him further distress and injury.
Taita himself had recovered swiftly from the worst effects of the serpent’s attack. Soon he was at ease on Windsmoke’s back. Occasionally during the night marches he left Meren to attend to Demeter, while he rode ahead of the caravan. He had to be alone to study the skies. He was certain the momentous psychic events in which they were caught up must be reflected by new omens and portents among the heavenly bodies. He soon discovered that they were in evidence everywhere. The heavens blazed with the vivid trails of fire left by flocks of shooting stars and comets, more in a single night than he had seen in the previous five years. This plethora of omens was confusing and contradictory: they spelled out no clear message that he could discern. Instead there were dire warnings, promises of hope, dread threats and signs of reassurance all at the same time.
On the tenth night after the serpent’s disappearance, the moon was full, an enormous luminous orb that paled the fiery tails of shooting stars, and reduced even the major planets to insignificant pricks of light. Long after midnight Taita rode out on to a barren plain he recognized. They were less than fifty leagues from the rim of the escarpment that led down to the once fertile lands of the Nile delta. He would have to turn back soon, so he reined in Windsmoke. He dismounted and found a seat on a flat rock beside the path. The mare nudged him with her muzzle so he opened the pouch that hung at his hip and absently fed her a handful of crushed dhurra meal, while he turned his full attention to the skies.
He could barely distinguish the faint cloud that was all that remained of the Star of Lostris, and felt a pang of bereavement when he realized it would soon disappear for ever. Sadly he looked back at the moon. It heralded the beginning of the planting season, a time of rejuvenation and regrowth, but without the inundation of the river no crops would be planted in the delta.
Suddenly Taita sat up straighter. He felt the chill that always preceded some dire occult event: gooseflesh prickled his arms and the hair stood up on the back of his neck. The outline of the moon was changing before his eyes. At first he thought it an illusion, a trick of the light, but within minutes a thick slice had been swallowed as though by the jaws of some dark monster. With startling rapidity the remainder of the great orb shared the same fate, and only a dark hole remained in its place. The stars reappeared but they were wan and sickly, compared to the light that had been blotted out.
All nature seemed confounded. No night bird called. The breeze dropped and was stilled. The outlines of the surrounding hills merged into the darkness. Even the grey mare was distressed: she tossed her mane and whinnied with fear. Then she reared, jerking the reins from Taita’s grip, and bolted down the track along which they had come. He let her go.
Although Taita knew that no invocation or prayer would have any force with cosmic events in train, he called aloud on Ahura Maasda and all the gods of Egypt to save the moon from obliteration. Then he saw that the remains of the Star of Lostris showed more clearly. It was just a pale smear, but he lifted the Periapt on its chain and held it towards the star. He concentrated his mind, his trained senses and the power of the Inner Eye upon it.
‘Lostris!’ he cried in despair. ‘You who have always been the light in my heart! Use your powers to intercede with the gods who are your peers. Rekindle the moon and light the heavens again.’
Almost at once a thin sliver of light appeared where the rim of the moon had vanished. It grew in size, became curved and bright as the blade of a sword, then assumed the shape of a battleaxe. While he called upon Lostris and held aloft her Periapt, the moon returned in all its splendour and shining glory. Relief and joy flooded through him. Nevertheless, he knew that even if the moon had been restored, the warning conveyed by its eclipse remained, an omen that cancelled these more auspicious auguries.
It took him half of the remaining hours of darkness to rally after the harrowing sight of the dying moon, but at last he hoisted himself to his feet, took up his staff and struck out in search of the mare. Within a league he came up with her. She was browsing the leaves of a scrubby desert bush beside the track, and whickered a greeting when she saw him, then trotted to meet him in a show of contrition for her unconscionable behaviour. Taita mounted her and they rode back to rejoin the caravan.
The men had witnessed the swallowing of the moon, and even Meren was having difficulty controlling them. He hurried to Taita as soon as he saw him returning. ‘Did you see what happened to the moon, Magus? Such a terrible omen! I feared for your very existence,’ he cried. ‘I give thanks to Horus that you are safe. Demeter is awake and awaits your arrival, but first will you speak to these craven dogs? They want to slink back to their kennels.’
Taita took time to reassure the men. He told them that the regeneration of the moon signalled no disaster, but instead heralded the return of the Nile inundation. His reputation was such that they were readily satisfied, and at last, quite cheerfully, they agreed to continue the journey. Taita left them and went to Demeter’s tent. Over the past ten days the old man had made a heartening recovery from the mauling that the python had inflicted on him, and he was much stronger. However, he greeted Taita with a solemn mien. They sat together quietly for the rest of that night and discussed the significance of the moon’s darkening.
‘I have lived long enough to witness many similar occurrences,’ Demeter said softly, ‘but seldom have I seen such a complete obliteration.’
Taita nodded. ‘Indeed, I have seen only two such disappearances
before. Always they have foreshadowed some calamity – the death of great kings, the fall of beautiful and prosperous cities, famine or pestilence.’
‘It was another manifestation of the dark powers of the Lie,’ Demeter muttered. ‘I believe that Eos flaunts her invincibility. She is trying to cow us, to drive us to despair.’
‘We must linger no longer on the road, but hurry to Thebes,’ Taita said.
‘Above all, we must never relax our vigilance. We can expect her to unleash her next onslaught upon us at any time of day or night.’ Demeter studied Taita’s face seriously. ‘You must forgive me if I repeat myself, but until you come to know the witch’s wiles and artifices as I do, it is difficult to understand how devious they are. She is able to plant in your mind the most convincing images. She can return your earliest infant memories to you, even the images of your father and mother so vividly that you cannot doubt them.’
‘In my case that will present her with some difficulty.’ Taita smiled wryly. ‘For I never knew either parent.’
Although the camel drivers had stepped up the pace, Taita was still consumed with impatience. The following night he left the caravan again and rode ahead, hoping to reach the escarpment of the delta and look down into his beloved Egypt after all his years of absence. His eagerness seemed infectious for Windsmoke kept up an easy canter, her flying hoofs eating the leagues until at last Taita reined her in on the rim of the escarpment. Below, the moon lit the cultivated lands with silvery radiance, and highlighted the palm groves that outlined the course of the Nile. He searched for the faintest gleam of silver waters but at this distance the riverbed was dark and sombre.
Taita dismounted and stood at the mare’s head, stroking her neck and staring raptly down upon the city, the moon-white walls of the temples and palaces of Karnak. He picked out the towering walls of the Palace of Memnon on the far bank but resisted the temptation to continue down the slope, across the alluvial plain and through one of the hundred gates of Thebes.
His duty was to stay close to Demeter, not leave him to race ahead. He squatted on his haunches at the mare’s head, and allowed himself to anticipate his homecoming and reunion with those he held so dear.
Pharaoh and his queen, Mintaka, held Taita in the deep affection usually reserved for a senior family member. In return he cherished an abiding love for both of them, undiminished since their childhood. Nefer’s father, Pharaoh Tamose, had been murdered when Nefer was but a child, too young to succeed to the throne of Upper and Lower Egypt so a regent had been appointed. Taita had been tutor to Tamose, so it followed that his son would be placed in Taita’s care until he reached manhood. Taita had seen to his formal education, had trained him as a warrior and horseman, then instructed him in the conduct of war and the direction of armies. He had taught him the duties of royalty, the lore of statecraft and diplomacy. He had made him a man. During those years a bond was forged between them, and remained unbroken.
A draught wafted up the escarpment, cool enough to make him shiver. In these hot months it was unseasonable. Instantly he was on his guard. A sudden drop in temperature often presaged an occult manifestation. Demeter’s warnings still echoed in his mind.
He sat still and searched the ether. He could discern nothing sinister. Then he turned his attention to Windsmoke, who was almost as sensitive to the supernatural as he was, but she seemed relaxed and quiet. Satisfied, he rose to his feet and gathered her reins to mount her and ride back to the caravan. By now Meren would probably be calling a halt to the night march and setting up camp. Taita wanted to spend a little time in conversation with Demeter before sleep overcame him. He had not yet fully tapped the old man’s treasury of wisdom and experience.
Just then Windsmoke whickered softly and pricked her ears, but she was not seriously alarmed. Taita saw that she was gazing down the slope and turned. At first he saw nothing, but he trusted the mare and he listened to the silence of the night. At last, he glimpsed a shadowy movement near the bottom of the slope. It vanished and he thought he might have been mistaken, but the mare was still alert. He waited and watched. Then he saw movement again, closer at hand and more distinct.
The dim shape of another horse and rider emerged from the darkness, following the path up the escarpment towards where he stood. The strange horse was also grey, but even paler than Windsmoke. His memory stirred: he never forgot a good horse. Even in the starlight, this one seemed familiar. He tried to think when and where he had last seen it, but the memory was so remote that he realized it must have been long ago, yet the grey paced like a four-year-old. Sharply he switched his attention to the rider upon its back – a slight figure, not a man but a boy, perhaps. Whoever he might be, he sat the grey with élan. There was something familiar about him, too, but, like his mount, the boy seemed too young for Taita’s memory of him to be so faded. Could it be that this was the child of somebody he knew well? One of the princes of Egypt? he puzzled.
Queen Mintaka had presented Pharaoh Nefer Seti with many fine boys. All bore a strong resemblance to either their father or their mother. There was nothing ordinary about this child, and Taita could not doubt that he was of royal blood. Horse and rider drew nearer. Taita was struck by several other features. He saw that the rider wore a short chiton that left the legs bare, and they were slim, unmistakably feminine. This was a girl. Her head was covered, but as she drew closer he could make out the outline of her features beneath her head shawl.
‘I know her. I know her well!’ he whispered to himself. A pulse in his ears beat faster. The girl lifted a hand towards him in salutation, then thrust forward with her hips to urge the grey on. It swung into a canter, but its hoofs struck no sound from the stony path. It came up the slope towards him in eerie silence.
Too late, Taita realized that he had been lulled by a familiar appearance. He blinked rapidly to open his Inner Eye.
‘They throw no aura!’ he gasped, and had to place his hand on the mare’s shoulder to steady himself. Neither the grey horse nor its rider was a natural creature: they came from a different dimension. Despite Demeter’s warnings, he had been caught off-guard again. Swiftly he reached for the Periapt that hung at his throat, and held it in front of his face. The rider reined in and regarded him from the shadow of the shawl that covered her face. She was so close now that he could make out the glint of eyes, the soft curve of a young cheek. His memories rushed back.
Small wonder that he remembered the grey horse so well. It had been his own gift to her, chosen with care and love. He had paid for it fifty talents of silver and considered he had the best of the bargain. She had named it Gull, and it had ever been her favourite. She rode it with the grace and style Taita remembered from all those decades ago. So profound was his shock that he was unable to think clearly. He stood like a pillar of granite, holding the Periapt as a shield.
Slowly the horsewoman lifted a shapely white hand and threw back the fringe of the shawl. Taita felt the fabric of his soul ripped through as he looked upon that lovely face, each detail perfectly rendered.
It is not her. He tried to steel himself. This is another apparition from out of the void, like the giant serpent, and perhaps as deadly.
When he had discussed with Demeter his dream of the girl on the golden dolphin, the other man had been in no doubt whatsoever: ‘Your dream was one of the ruses of the witch,’ he had warned. ‘You must not trust any image that feeds upon your hopes and longing. When you cast back your mind to a joyous memory, such as an old love, you open the door to Eos. She will find a way through it to reach you.’
Taita had shaken his head. ‘No, Demeter, how could even Eos have conjured up such intimate detail from so long ago? Lostris’s voice, the set of her eyes, the quirk of her lips when she smiled. How could Eos have copied them? Lostris has been in her sarcophagus these seventy years past. There can be no living traces of her for Eos to draw upon.’
‘Eos stole from your own memories of Lostris, and gave them back to you in their most convincing, compe
lling form.’
‘But even I had forgotten most of those details.’
‘It was you who averred that we forget nothing. Every detail remains. It requires only occult skills, such as Eos possesses, to retrieve it from the vaults of your mind, as you retrieved from me my memories of Eos, her voice as she uttered the incantation to fire.’
‘I cannot accept that it was not Lostris,’ Taita moaned softly.
‘That is because you do not want to accept it. Eos seeks to close your mind to reason. Think a moment how cunningly the image of the girl on the dolphin was woven into her evil schemes. While she lured and distracted you with false visions of a lost love, she sent her spectral serpent to destroy me. She used your dream as a distraction.’
Now, upon the escarpment of the delta, Taita was confronted with the vision again: the image of Lostris, once queen of Egypt, whose memory still ruled his heart. This time she seemed even more perfect. He felt his resolve and reason wavering, and tried desperately to check himself. But he could not prevent himself looking into Lostris’s eyes. They were filled with enchanted lights, all the tears and smiles of her lifetime in their depths.
‘I reject you!’ he told her, in a voice as cold and stern as he could muster. ‘You are not Lostris. You are not the woman I loved. You are the Great Lie. Get you hence into the darkness from which you sprang.’
At his words the sparkle in Lostris’s lovely eyes was replaced by a vast sorrow. ‘Darling Taita,’ she called to him softly. ‘I have existed without you through all the sterile and lonely years that we have been parted. Now, when you are in such mortal and spiritual danger, I have come far to be with you again. Together we can resist the evil that hovers over you.’
