Heretic of Set

by J. Steven York

  Is this my Stygian blood speaking? If so, I do not like it. At last a great dome appeared, bulb-shaped and covered with gold, atop which a relatively humble (at least by the standards of the Great Temple of Set at Khemi) statue of Set looked down upon the surrounding city.

  The temple itself was surrounded by a stout masonry wall and guarded by tall, slender towers, each topped with its own, smaller, golden dome.

  They approached an arched gateway, flanked by open doors, stout and reinforced with iron bands. There were nearly a dozen heavily armed guardians of Set there, who eyed them suspiciously as they approached. Only when they had spotted Anok’s acolyte robes and golden yoke did they relax their guard.

  Anok jumped down onto the cobblestone street. He looked up at Barid. “I’ll need you to come back for me later.”

  Barid nodded. “When they have concluded their business. I will wait for you here.”

  Anok watched as the carriage pulled away. Fallon turned and leaned over the back. “We’ll save some wine for you!”

  13

  AS THE WAGON pulled away, Fallon waving like a fool, Anok frowned and glanced to see if the guards were paying any attention. The men were grinning, though their smiles vanished as soon as he looked at him.

  Curse that woman! He liked Fallon, and part of him was glad of both her company and her sword, but he wondered if having her with him in Kheshatta was going to be more trouble than it was worth.

  His was a mission of stealth and deception, neither of which seemed to be concepts she was much familiar with. Her clumsy attempt to pass herself off as a noblewoman had only lasted as long as her drunken unconsciousness. She was anything but inconspicuous.

  Anok turned his attention to the waiting guardians of Set. He stepped up to the ranking man of the group, identifiable by the golden serpent pin on his sash. He was tall, dark-skinned, hook-nosed, obviously of relatively pure Stygian blood. Anok glared. “Haven’t you ever seen a woman before?”

  The officer looked at him uncertainly. “Rarely such as that one, acolyte.”

  Anok tried to look stern, but he was uncertain of his status here, both as a stranger to this temple and with the guardians. Technically, they were only answerable to the priests, but they all knew that his acolytes yoke marked him as one rising in the cult. If they angered a full acolyte today, it could well cause them trouble when and if that acolyte was advanced to priesthood.

  “Well, there aren’t many like her. She’s a Cimmerian, a warrior born. She’s my bodyguard, so see that you treat her with respect.”

  The officer nodded. “We meant no harm, acolyte.”

  He softened his expression. “I’m sure you didn’t. She is striking, but be careful around her.” He grinned. “Trust me, you never want to taste her sword.”

  The officer grinned back, “Certainly not, acolyte!”

  “I’m just in from the Great Temple at Khemi, and I wish to announce myself to the priests.”

  “Welcome to Kheshatta, acolyte. Today is a day of study, so the priests are all over the compound, but they will be meeting with the High Priest in the audience chamber shortly. It’s past the altar, to the left, and up the stairs. Shall I send one of my soldiers to guide you?”

  “I’m sure I can find it. I’ll speak well to them of your service.”

  “Thank you, acolyte. My name is Menmaat, if I may be of service.”

  Anok walked by, secretly pleased with his new air of authority. He was no longer a virtual prisoner within the temple but a force unto himself, with some small authority and freedom of movement.

  As he passed through the gate, he felt a tingling in his left wrist, as though the Mark of Set somehow knew it was home. Unlike before, the sensation was neither painful nor uncomfortable.

  In a way, it was almost pleasant. When he thought of it, which he had to admit was not often, he was distressed at how comfortable he was becoming with the mark.

  The courtyard of the temple was dominated, not by a statue of a great serpent as in Khemi, but by a great sundial, its brass upright in the shape of a rearing snake about to strike. Inlaid into the stone, strips and castings of metal marked a series of lines and circles around the upright. The hours of the day were clear to Anok, but the meaning of many of the lines and markings were unknown to him.

  While the Great Temple of Set in Khemi was tall, deep, and relatively narrow, this temple was wide and, but for the great dome over its central chamber and the various smaller towers and domes projecting from its roof, no more than three or four stories tall. The wings had open galleries on every level, and he could see many doors within, suggesting that the wings were divided into numerous smaller rooms.

  He passed through the main doors, flanked by a quartet of guards at attention, through the entry hall, on into the ceremonial chamber. He was immediately struck by its beauty. The inside of the dome was open, gilded with gold, then painted with great murals of Set battling and humbling other gods. A circle of small, arched windows under the rim of the dome admitted light to the room.

  The altar itself was round and located under the center of the dome. A tall golden statue of Set, five times the height of a man, stood in the middle, flanked with rearward-facing snakes that leaned against his shoulders. Benches surrounded the altar in concentric circles and were spaced far enough apart so that worshipers could kneel and prostrate themselves before their snake-god.

  He walked past the left side of the altar, down the aisle there, and through an arched doorway. To his left he immediately spotted a curving marble staircase and ascended to the next level. There he found a wide hallway with several doors. He had to stop a novice acolyte for directions to the proper room.

  The chamber was round, with a high ceiling and a cupola ringed with windows to admit light and fresh air. Most of the room was occupied by a large, circular table surrounded by two dozen straight-backed chairs. Four heavy tapestries hung around the room, red with gold symbols, one marked with the sun and the moon, one with a skull, one with a serpent curled around a staff. The final tapestry had two glyphs, one meaning “lead,” the other “gold.”

  Near the head of the table, a lone priest tinkered with some unknown apparatus, an earthenware jar and some strange bits of metal.

  The man was short, round of body and face, his skin pasty and nearly white beneath his dark beard. His robes and yoke marked him as a ranking priest, but the style was different than that used in Khemi, and Anok was unsure of their exact meaning.

  The device on the table consisted of a large pottery jar, a lid with some kind of metal projections on the bottom, and a polished shaft connected to the lid by a flexible rope seemingly made of spun strands of copper. Anok had never seen anything like it before.

  The priest glanced up at him, assessing his interest, then turned back to his work. Anok leaned closer to watch. “Master, my name is Anok Wati. I have just—”

  The priest cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I’m busy here. If you’re going to stay, make yourself useful.” He picked up the brass rod and handed it to Anok. “Hold this.”

  The metal was cool in his hand. He turned it, looking at the curious metal braid connected to it.

  As he was examining it, the priest dropped the lid onto the jar.

  There was a cracking noise.

  Something seemed to explode.

  Anok suddenly found himself on the floor, his arm numb, his hand tingling and numb where he’d been holding the rod. He struggled to reach for his sword with the other hand, but he saw that the priest hadn’t attacked him. In fact, he hardly seemed to notice Anok at all.

  The priest carefully removed the lid from the jar and set it on the table. Only then did he look down at Anok. “You’re still alive. Good.”

  Forgetting all protocol, Anok replied, “Your concern is touching.”

  The priest walked over and offered him a hand up. After some hesitation, Anok took it.

  “What was that?”

  “Lightning in a jar!”
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  Anok staggered to his feet and shook his numb right hand. The tingling ran up his arm almost to his shoulder. “I’ve had some experience with lighting. It didn’t hurt so badly last time.”

  The priest cocked his head. “Who did you say you were?”

  “Anok Wati, sent from Khemi to continue my studies here.”

  The priest raised an eyebrow. “Ramsa Aál’s pup.” He reached out and grabbed Anok’s left arm, pulling back the sleeve. “So it’s true. The Mark of Set! Well, it didn’t help you much against my lightning, did it?”

  He pulled his hand back, using it to rub his numbed right hand. “Was that a test?”

  “Not an intentional one, but it was interesting. If you plan to flourish at this temple, you’ll learn that you need keen powers of observation. From observation comes knowledge, and knowledge is the most valuable commodity here in a city rich with valuable commodities.”

  “So what did you learn?”

  “That power, even great power, is no certain shield against my lightning.”

  “Then if you can simply get your enemies to stand next to you and hold that rod, you can certainly administer them a powerful stinging.”

  The priest smirked. “This jar is little more than a toy, court magic of the sort used to impress kings and other fools. But if I could make one bigger, and learn to cast lightning as the clouds do, then I might have a useful weapon, one that could stand even against mighty sorcerers. As of yet, I do not know how to do this, but through trial and observation, I may yet learn.”

  Anok looked at the jar. “This is a curious kind of magic.”

  “In truth, I believe it is no magic at all, but an application of natural laws that we do not entirely understand. This is my special interest, the application of natural law to create devices of power, to use against sorcery, or more importantly, to enhance it.”

  Anok nodded appreciatively. “You know my name, but I do not know yours.”

  The priest raised an eyebrow. “I am Kaman Awi Urshé, your new High Priest.”

  Anok’s eyes went wide. He’d made a terrible mistake. He immediately bowed and averted his eyes. “Master! Forgive me! I did not know!”

  “Stand up! Stop making a fool of yourself! I am but a priest with a lofty title and little taste for ceremony.”

  Anok stood straight and met the High Priest’s gaze. “I’m sorry, master. It’s just that in Khemi, we rarely even saw the High Priest, and when we did—”

  He waved his hand. “Yes, yes, I’ve been there. And the reason that you rarely see him is that he fears assassins. The High Priest of Khemi always has many enemies, many priests who covet his job. Doubtless, the High Priest there has lain awake many nights thinking troubled thoughts of your master, Ramsa Aál. But that is Khemi, seat of Set’s power, and this is Kheshatta.” He shrugged. “Few would covet my position, and there are really only two kinds of Set worshipers here, those who wish to stay for reasons unrelated to power and those who wish simply to leave. We will see which you turn out to be.”

  “I will try not to disappoint, master.”

  “And no more of this ‘master’ talk. I have a name. Use it.”

  Anok nodded. “Kaman Awi Urshé.”

  “Kaman Awi is fine.” He gestured Anok toward a door at the rear of the room. “Come, let me show you what we do here.”

  Anok followed him through the door and out onto a balcony overlooking a large atrium. “Most of our priests and acolytes here are engaged in scholarly pursuits related to the study of natural law as well as magic.

  “The wing to our left is where study is made of astrology, the sky, and weather. Those curious devices on the roof are used to take measurements and observations of the sun, moon, stars, and other celestial bodies.

  “To the right we study alchemy and the secrets of earth, rock, and water.

  “Across the courtyard our surgeons study the human anatomy, for purposes of healing, torture, and transformation.” He smirked. “I assume it is located in the farthest wing so that we need not listen to the screams.”

  “I assume there is one more?”

  Kaman Awi gave him a curious, sidelong glance. “What makes you think that?”

  “There are four tapestries in the room, four sides to the courtyard, and you have mentioned only three bodies of study.”

  The High Priest grinned. “Very good. Yes, in the rooms below us some study of the poisoning arts takes place. The study is more limited, in that most knowledge of poisons is closely held by the poisoners themselves. We have attempted, with only limited success, to convince them to come here and join us in our pursuit of knowledge.”

  “Why not just buy the poisons you need?”

  He chuckled. “Because my belief is that the greatest application of knowledge may be gained by the combination of various studies.

  “For instance, my lightning jar combines knowledge of lightning gained by observation of the sky and the properties of metals and certain natural elixirs gained through alchemy. Neither alone is sufficient to bring it into being. If all four areas of knowledge could be combined, then forged together with our already great knowledge of sorcery, who knows what could be done?

  “We could level mountains, humble armies, part oceans.”

  “And place Kheshatta firmly under the control of Set?”

  The priest smirked again. “Perhaps, though that would be more difficult.” He studied Anok for a moment.

  “You have a quick and inquisitive mind, Anok Wati. I would be pleased if you were one of my students in the natural laws. But yours is another path, and such studies would be useless to you.”

  Anok was almost disappointed. Much as he was hoping for independence from the temple and the freedom of action that came with it, these “natural laws” interested him. “Why is that mast—”—he corrected himself—“Kamin Awi?”

  “Such subtle studies are not in Ramsa Aál’s plans for you. You carry the Mark of Set, and you are, to say it simply, a magical blunt instrument.” His words had a certain tone of regret. “You are here to study the old texts for spells of great power, spells more suited to you abilities.”

  I will study the old texts, not to gain power, but to control what I already have. Anok felt no desire to learn more spells. He made little enough use of the ones he already knew and felt himself poor and weak in their application. The power that flowed through the Mark of Set was different, and his application of it seemed almost instinctive, in a way that was as much frightening as useful.

  “How am I to find these texts? In Khemi, the temple had a great library, but I am told that here the libraries are scattered all over the city.”

  “We have a library here as well, and it is at your disposal, but the emphasis is again on the natural laws rather than pure sorcery. The scrolls and books you seek are mostly to be found elsewhere. Finding them is not easy, and interpreting those written in ancient and forgotten tongues even more difficult.

  “Amahté Remmao, our Priest of Troves, will be here shortly, and I will make introductions. He will provide you with gold to live and to hire yourself a scholar.”

  “A scholar?”

  “To guide you in finding texts and in reading them. It is a highly respected vocation in Kheshatta. They are as common and as valued as scribes. There are many, but you could be wise to find an exceptional one.”

  “Who is the best in the city?”

  Kaman Awi roared with laughter. “There is one, but you will not be hiring him!”

  Anok nodded. “I’m sure he demands more gold than I can afford, even with the temple’s stipend.”

  “If it were only a matter of gold. The blind scholar Sabé cares little for the Cult of Set. If he could be bought so easily, I would have hired him myself.”

  “I can be persuasive,” said Anok.

  Kaman Awi chuckled. “I like you, Anok Wati! You do not shy from the limits of the possible!”

  “I thought,” he replied, “that was a sorcerer’s job.”


  HIS PURSE FATTENED considerably, Anok found Teferi, along with Barid’s carriage. Teferi seemed pleased with himself, having secured them a villa across the street from a large private library.

  “You should see it! Shelves of books! Racks of scrolls that extend to the ceiling!”

  “I don’t suppose you know what’s in any of them?” Teferi looked surprised. “Does it matter? There are many!”

  “Of course it matters. Knowledge is not measured by weight. If you wish to learn how to read and write, you’ll discover that it matters greatly.”

  “Fear not,” said Barid. “It is in a good district. Close to many libraries, and there are many friends of Set nearby.”

  This latter bit of news didn’t exactly delight Anok, but perhaps it would be safer that way. He didn’t want to spend all his time in Kheshatta fighting the enemies of Set, who might someday be his allies.

  “How much is this fabulous villa costing me?”

  “Fifty silver pieces a month. I talked him down.”

  “My brother would have taken forty,” said Barid.

  Anok’s eyebrows raised. “Brother?”

  Teferi looked annoyed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Barid looked incredulous. “He’s my brother. Besides, he was right there, listening!”

  Anok cut them off. “Fortunately, the cult has been generous. Of course, I may have other need of my gold.” He looked around the carriage. “Where’s Fallon? Back at the villa?”

  Teferi smirked. “She’s gone to make the rounds of the nearby taverns. She promises to return with a full report, as well as food and drink for later. Should we go wait for her, or better yet, go join her?”

  Anok shook his head. “Do as you wish, but I have other business to attend to.”

  Teferi’s smile faded. “I’m here to be your bodyguard. My place is at your side.”

  “You act as though I need protecting.”

  The corner of Teferi’s mouth twitched. “Who said I was protecting you?”

  Anok couldn’t help but grin. He turned back to Barid. “Do you know of a scholar named Sabé?”