Stolen Souls

by Sackett, Jeffrey

  Make haste, he thought as he turned the key in the ignition. You told the lord Sekhemib you would make haste. Make haste.

  Hadji backed the car out of the driveway and drove aimlessly away from the house. He did not know the area, but he knew that a wooded rural area was what he needed for the immolation. As he drove out of town and the number of houses lining the road grew fewer and fewer, he glanced at the laundry bag lying motionless on the seat beside him. He will catch fire and burn like dried wood, like paper, he thought. He smiled.

  In a very short time Hadji decided that he was in an area sufficiently isolated for his purposes. He pulled to the side of the road, and after looking around to make certain of his privacy, he pulled the laundry bag from the seat beside him and carried it into the woods. He found a small clearing without any low overhanging branches and took a few minutes to clear away the dead, dry leaves. Satisfied that nothing remained to spread the fire he planned to set, he opened the laundry bag and dumped the body unceremoniously onto the brown earth. Hadji drew the lighter fluid can from his pocket and doused the body generously with the clear, pungent liquid. He took a pack of matches from his other pocket, struck it on the matchbook cover, and tossed it onto the corpse.

  The explosion of flame and smoke startled him and threw him backward a few feet. He had expected the body to catch fire easily and burn quickly, but the suddenly huge, brilliant fire which confronted him was a matter of concerned surprise. The flames rose so high that they licked the branches of the trees which reached out far from the ground, and he watched with dismay as they began to smolder and smoke.

  Hadji panicked. He ran back to the car and leaped into the front seat. He started the engine and pulled back onto the road in a rush, sending billows of dust into the air. He made a quick and ungraceful U-turn and sped back toward Greenfield. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw the orange glow of the incipient forest fire growing steadily stronger. Damnation! he thought.

  As he drew closer to the town he calmed himself. There is no danger, he assured himself. The fire will certainly eliminate all traces of the body, and there is nothing to connect me with the blaze. All is well. All is well.

  Still, it had not transpired as he had planned. He resolved not to mention to the lord Sekhemib that his disposal of the remains had not gone as cleanly as he had planned. It makes no difference, Hadji thought. The remains of the tekenu are destroyed. Sekhemib's power is secure.

  Hadji presently pulled back into the driveway and ran back into the house. He found Sekhemib, dressed in the clothing he had procured for him, walking slowly about the living room examining every object with obvious curiosity. Sekhemib looked up at him as Hadji entered. He stood stonily, questioning Hadji with the expression on his face.

  Hadji was out of breath. "The remains of the tekenu are no more," he panted.

  Sekhemib smiled with satisfaction. "Excellent, excellent. Now we must go to the others, to Yuya, Meret, Herihor, and the others. Then we shall find the slave, and then we shall leave for Egypt."

  Hadji paused and licked his lips. How could he explain to the lord Sekhemib things like passports, visas, airplane tickets, the complexities of shipping six crates containing Egyptian mummies? "My lord," he began carefully, "we cannot do this alone."

  "We will have the slave," Sekhemib said casually.

  "I beg your indulgence, my lord, but we must have help from our friends in our own land. There is a man named Haleel Haftoori. He is the current priest of Anubis, the leader of our small number." He saw Sekhemib's eyes begin to glower and he added quickly, "In your absence, of course. He is your servant, as I am. It is he who sent me to this land to find you and bring you back to Egypt."

  Sekhemib considered this. "And what service can he provide which is needed to depart from here?"

  "We need documents which will disguise our identities. We need to arrange transportation, and we cannot do it all from here."

  "How far are we from Egypt?"

  Hadji thought carefully. He did not know the manner of distance measurement from the ancient times, for such learning was of no importance and had never been taught to him. He made a very quick and highly inaccurate estimate and said, "We stand now thirty times the distance from Thebes to Nubia." He was pleased to see Sekhemib's eyes grow wide. He had impressed the priest. "You can see that the journey will be long and complicated. Arrangements must be made both by us and for us. The service of the woman will not be sufficient."

  Sekhemib frowned, disturbed by this revelation. "I must rely upon thee, Ahmed Hadji, for it seems that we must sojourn in this land for a long time. How long will it take for a messenger to reach he whom thou saist sent thee here?"

  Hadji blinked, and then realized what Sekhemib was thinking. "Oh, no, my lord. We have devices today which enable us to communicate, speak to other people over long distances. I can contact my master Haftoori in Egypt without leaving this dwelling." Sekhemib looked at him disbelievingly, and Hadji added, "Please allow me to give you proof. Please come with me." He led Sekhemib to the telephone which hung from the kitchen wall. He picked up the receiver and said, "This is connected to many other similar devices all around the world. By speaking to a series of people, relaying the identity of the person with whom I wish to speak, I can quickly make contact with that person and speak to him and hear him through this device." Sekhemib stared at him, not knowing what to make of Hadji's outlandish tale. "Allow me to demonstrate, my lord." Sekhemib nodded his wary assent. Hadji dialed for the operator and waited for a moment.

  When the tinny voice said "Operator," he said, "Hello?" and quickly placed the receiver near Sekhemib's ear. "Operator. Your call please." Sekhemib leaped back away from the phone.

  "It is a power from the gods!" he gasped.

  "Not so, my lord. A device of men." He spoke into the phone. "Operator, I would like to place a person-to-person call to Mr. Haleel Haftoori in Cairo, Egypt. The number is 46— 687-5344." As the connections began to be made, he said to Sekhemib, "My master has devoted his life to the gods and the search for you. He will wish to speak to you. Is that agreeable to you, my lord?"

  Sekhemib gazed skeptically at the telephone. "From this I shall hear a voice from Egypt?"

  "Yes, my lord. My master Haleel Haftoori speaks the old tongue as I do. I beg you, my lord, grace the old man's ears with your words."

  "National Institute of Reclamation," he heard from the earpiece. "Mr. Haftoori is on the line."

  Hadji waited for a moment and then heard the soft voice of the old man say in Arabic, "Yes?"

  "This is Hadji," he replied in the same tongue.

  "Greetings, my son. What is the status of your mission?"

  Hadji decided to indulge his flair for the dramatic. "I have someone here who wishes to speak to you." He held the phone out to Sekhemib, saying, "Please greet my master in the tongue of Egypt. He is speaking the Aamu tongue as I was just doing."

  Sekhemib took the receiver carefully from Hadji's hands and placed it very slowly against his ear and mouth as he had seen Hadji do. "I am Sekhimib, voices from the device."

  Hadji could hear the cry of joy which burst from Haftoori's lips. He heard the old man's voice speaking loudly and rapidly in the ancient tongue, and Sekhemib threw the receiver away, backing off from what to him was a strange magic. Hadji picked up the receiver and said, "He lives, my master." He spoke in the ancient tongue so as to reassure Sekhemib.

  "The gods will bless you through all eternity, Ahmed Hadji." The old man was weeping. "Homage to the gods!"

  "Homage to the gods," Hadji repeated. "Master, we need help in returning to our land. I am suspected by the local authorities, and—"

  "I began to make all necessary arrangements after you called me the other day," the old man broke in, speaking in Arabic. "Will you be able to bring the lord Sekhemib and the others to the city of New York?"

  "Yes, master. I see no reason why that would present a problem." He also spoke Arabic, and he said to Sekhemib, "I ask
your pardon, my lord. We must speak in the Aamu tongue to make plans." Sekhemib nodded his assent, and Hadji returned to his phone call. "Yes, master, we can reach New York."

  "Good. Go to the Egyptian Consulate there and ask to speak with Fatima Razheed. All arrangements have been made through her. She will provide you with passports and shipping documents. You will not be going directly to Egypt. We have charted a course for you which will inhibit anyone trying to follow you."

  "Where will we go, master?"

  "From New York by train to Washington, and from there by plane to Hamburg. A ship will be waiting there. You will then set sail for Alexandria, sailing around Europe and past Gibraltar."

  Hadji smiled. "Yes, good. I fear I may be followed. Such a route will increase our security"

  "That is the intention. You must make the lord Sekhemib understand the need for his identity to be kept secret. Remember, Ahmed, he is a man accustomed to ruling. You must strive to make him understand the dangers which confront us in this present age."

  "I shall do all I can."

  "Good. Will he speak to me again?"

  Hadji looked at Sekhemib, who was standing nearby, his face bearing an expression of suspicion and anger. "I think not, master. He grows annoyed at our conversation. I must go."

  "The gods speed you, Ahmed, my son." The phone clicked off and Hadji replaced the receiver in its holder.

  Before he could speak a word, Sekhemib said, "Thou wert long in a strange tongue, Ahmed Hadji." He was clearly irritated.

  "I regret that, my lord," he said, bowing. "As I told you, the Aamu conquered our land many centuries ago, and we still speak their tongue today, even those of us who worship the gods and maintain the ancient rituals. The plans for our return to Egypt are so important that I had to speak in the language which is natural to me."

  Sekhemib seemed slightly, but not entirely, mollified. "And what are these plans?"

  "We will take a long and complicated journey. But we will be home before long, before one cycle of the moon has passed."

  Sekhemib nodded, satisfied. "I must trust thy knowledge of this new age. I know not how so long a journey, thirty times the distance from Thebes to Nubia, can be made in so short a time. But I must trust thee, and so I shall trust thee." He had spoken these last few words pensively, gazing off into space. Now he turned his eyes to Hadji and said, "Let us now go and retrieve the bodies of my companions, lest they be defiled."

  "Yes, my lord," Hadji replied. "There are chariots in this age which need no horses. We shall travel in one of them to the building wherein the other lords rest in death."

  "I saw such chariots moving along the pathway before this dwelling," Sekhemib said. "This is an age of great wonder and magic."

  Hadji shook his head. "All these wonders are merely devices. In your day, devices were simpler—waterwheels, forges, and the like. All the wonders you have seen—and you will see many more—are like unto them, devices fashioned by the hands of men, nothing more. You have the great power, my lord. The great wonder is in you."

  Sekhemib accepted this wordlessly. Hadji opened the door of the house and led him out to the automobile which was parked in the driveway. He opened the door for Sekhemib, who climbed awkwardly into the front seat and appreciatively stroked the upholstery. He started slightly when Hadji turned the key in the ignition, but showed no other reaction. What confidence, Hadji thought, what self-possession. He is fear less, as well he should be. If a man need not fear death, what can disturb his tranquility?

  Hadji drove directly to the college, allowing Sekhemib to observe without comment all of the strange and alien sights which confronted him in the small town. He turned off the headlights as he drove slowly to the side of the grounds building and parked the car on the grass. "This is where they rest, my lord." Hadji led Sekhemib from the car to the front door of the building. He took a hammer and a crowbar from the trunk of the car. In the company of Sekhemib, Hadji felt no fear of detection, no need to sneak through windows. He had switched off the headlights as a simple precaution, but he intended to smash the padlock from the door regardless of the noise it made.

  He succeeded merely in making a loud clamor and nearly shattering his wrist. Hadji was a man of many talents and great dedication to his cause, but he was not particularly agile. He tried once more to break the padlock, positioning the crowbar tensely between the loops of the lock and bringing the hammer crashing down upon it, but the hammerhead glanced off the smooth metal shaft and pounded loudly but uselessly upon the door of the building. Hadji looked shamefacedly at Sekhemib, who returned his look with one of his own, a look of impatience and irritation. He pushed Hadji roughly aside and grasped the padlock in his hand. He closed his eyes and stood motionless for a moment. Then he ripped the lock from the door.

  Hadji's mouth fell open in astonishment as Sekhemib tossed the shattered metal casually onto the grass and pushed open the door. He muttered to Hadji, "I trust my need of thee is not beyond thine abilities."

  "How—how—" Hadji stammered.

  "Didst thou believe that the powers of the gods which flow in my veins travel only to my mind and not to mine arms?" Sekhemib shook his head sadly. "So much of the knowledge of the priesthood has been lost during my long rest. It sorrows me greatly." He walked past Hadji and into the darkness of the grounds building. Hadji followed sheepishly behind him.

  Once inside, Hadji felt with his hand on the wall beside the door and switched on the lights. The sudden flooding illumination startled Sekhemib, and he gazed upward at the light bulbs which lined the ceiling. "It is but another device fashioned by the hands of men, my lord."

  "Does it burn?" Sekhemib asked wonderingly.

  "No. Well, yes, but—" Hadji frowned. Electricity. How to make this comprehensible? "It is like unto lightning—" Then he remembered that except for a narrow strip along the Mediterranean coast it neither rained nor thundered in Egypt. "My lord—"

  "Enough, enough. We will have much time for thee to explain all these wonders to me. But for now, let us gather up the bodies of my companions and—"

  "Hold it right there!" an angry voice shouted in English. Hadji spun around to find Gus Rudd standing in the doorway, his pistol drawn and leveled at him. "One move from you or your friend and I'll blow you both away!"

  Hadji cowered instinctively from the revolver, but Sekhemib regarded Gus with amusement and curiosity. "Tell me, Ahmed Hadji, what device he holds."

  "What'd you say?" Gus asked. "What are you talking about? That Arab talk?"

  "It is like unto a bow, my lord, but more deadly. It shoots pieces of molten metal at a great speed."

  "Interesting," Sekhemib said and, began to walk slowly toward Gus.

  "I said hold it. I ain't kidding," Gus warned.

  "How does it operate?" Sekhemib asked, drawing ever closer to Gus and the barrel of the gun.

  "There is a lever of release. His finger grasps it even now"

  "And it can kill?"

  "It can kill." Hadji gulped.

  "Good," Sekhemib smiled. "Let us see this wondrous thing."

  Gus cried, "Halt!" once more. Sekhemib was less than a yard away from him when he squeezed the trigger. Sekhemib rebounded slightly from the impact of the bullet, but he did not fall, he did not bleed. Gus fired again and yet again, and then his eyes registered fear. Sekhemib was standing uninjured before him. He was so drawn into the amused serpentine eyes that it was a moment before he realized that he was positioning the barrel of the revolver in the direction of his temple. He tried to stop, tried to force his hand away, tried to cast the gun from his grip, but it seemed as if his body was not his own. He felt the hot lip of the barrel press gently against his head, felt his finger beginning to depress the trigger. Then he froze.

  Sekhemib had noticed the condition of his hand. "Ahmed Hadji," he said softly, "this is a tekenu."

  Hadji was taken aback. "Are you certain, my lord?"

  "Behold, his flesh withers. It is as always when the axem
begins to drink the soul." He waved his hand and Gus fell senseless to the floor. "Where are the others?"

  Hadji looked quickly around the large room and saw the four crates and the two uncrated sarcophagi. "Here, my lord." He ran over to them and pulled the lid from one of the sarcophagi.

  Sekhemib shook his head angrily as he walked slowly toward his ancient compatriots. "Such coffins! Paupers' graves. The Hyksos are barbaric. Were barbaric," he corrected himself. He stood over the first open sarcophagus and looked down. "Yuya," he whispered. "Yuya, my friend." He looked at Hadji. "He is dust and decay. Was I thus before thou settest the tekenu beside me?"

  "Yes, my lord."

  "And yet I live. And thou shalt live, my friend, Yuya, beloved of Set." He reached down and placed his fingers gently upon the temple of the mummy. "He drinks," Sekhemib whispered. He looked up as if feeling something in the air, something disturbing. Sekhemib walked to the second sarcophagus and flipped the wooden lid easily from it onto the floor. He smiled. "Meret, child of Isis." He touched her temple also and said, "She drinks. He"—and he pointed at the unconscious policeman behind him—"is her tekenu."

  "But then who is the other?" Hadji asked. "There is no way for me to learn! I have not been able to keep watch on the other lords. Anyone might have touched the lord Yuya! And if the tekenu begins to lose its life unguarded—" Hadji seemed to be beginning to panic. "This could be our undoing," he whimpered. "I saw you touched by your tekenu, my lord, and so I knew for whom I had to search. But this!" He cast a despairing look at the mummy of Yuya. "What can we do? What can we do?"

  "Ahmed Hadji!" Sekhemib snapped. "Thy weakness shameth thee and maketh me wroth! Art thou in truth a priest of Thoth, or art thou a timid old slave with dung between thy toes? Command thyself before thou seekest to command others!"

  Hadji bowed his head. "I beg forgiveness, my lord. I grew fearful, for I know not how to seek out the tekenu of the lord Yuya."

  "We_shall not seek out the tekenu," Sekhemib said. "The tekenu shall do my bidding and shall come to us." Sekhemib closed his eyes and concentrated, sending a command through the mummy of Yuya out to the stranger who had dared to touch the face of the priest of Set.