See how they loved him, Great One. This is so very sad! He sighed, but his elder silenced him. The red sash with the little gold bulls slipped from the tunic in Ariennu’s hands. She felt it move, but in her frozen rage she couldn’t grab it.
Darting forward, Deka seized the sash before it touched the floor, as if letting it fall would have been a sacrilege. Grabbing the sash from her, Naibe took it in her own trembling hands and clutched it to her breasts, but the feel of the cloth made her stiffen. Her eyes shut and her mouth opened. Little choking and gagging noises came from her throat, as if she had decided she would no longer breathe the same air as the men in this lovely plaza breathed. Ariennu knew what the young one was doing, but this time she wasn’t going stop her.
Yeah, go to him, Baby… I’ll be along as soon as I can send these devils straight into Sheol! Ariennu resolved even though she knew Marai had made Naibe promise the day before to never again will herself into the sleep of death, even if he was gone. The former shepherd could not bear the thought of any of them dying, and had told them as much. The death of his own first wife eons before had almost killed him with grief, and he never wanted them to suffer that way.
“No, Brown Eyes, you promised him. You promised him…” Deka gripped the young woman tightly, her throaty voice soothing her, but trembling with uncertainty as she spoke.
Ariennu couldn’t take any more. She knew these men might kill her, but also knew it would be so satisfying to make them do it; to go out of her life fighting and in a rage the way she had always lived her life before Marai had tamed her with his unconditional love. She strode quickly forward and then spit in the old man’s face. Before she finished raising her fist to strike him, the peacekeepers fell on her, seized her, and slapped her soundly. She fought them as they tried to bind her arms behind her back, but her anger had overcome her. Wrenched arms, kneed testicles, and savage bites resulted until more guards came to hold her down. The old man raised his hand carefully, Ariennu cackled hysterically as she felt an agony rise inside her head, but it really didn’t hurt because of her rage. In the men’s grip, she sagged and stumbled, suddenly unable to control her hands or feet. The old man’s gesture had somehow thwarted her energy and brought her struggling to a halt.
One of the peacekeepers gripped a war mace and waited on a nod from the high priest that would order Ariennu’s death. Instead of making the call, the old man merely looked bewildered. He smiled a little, the edge of his worn teeth showing.
“You’re smiling at me, you sick little bastard. Damn you!” she screeched. Ariennu tried again to struggle in the men’s grip. She tried to overcome the sudden paralysis the elder’s spell had visited on her. Unfortunately, her legs folded helplessly under her body as the guards dragged her. Venomously, she sagged hard in their grip, made herself heavy, and resisted them. “Go on! Beat me, you fools! It won’t be the first time I’ve been beat up!”
Unconcerned with the woman bound before him, the old man looked up expectantly as one of his attendants hurriedly rushed forward from a room off to one side with a linen towel to wipe the old man’s face. As if he had already been told what to search for, another attendant quickly sorted through some of the baskets the other peacekeepers had brought in and found the box containing the Children of Stone. Obediently, the young man brought it to the high priest and his inspector. Grinning, the old-man looked at the box and wordlessly communicated his reason for no longer being concerned with Ariennu’s show of rage.
Further manhandling Ariennu to keep her constrained, one of the guards lifted her bound arms high enough behind her that the elder wife’s body bent forward. Suddenly, she remembered the stones in the clutch beneath her sash. Worried that these specially selected Child Stones would be discovered if someone stripped or raped her while she was spellbound by the old man, Ariennu remembered what the voices of the Children of Stone had said:
Listen to what they tell you.
Hold the others in your hand
Her bent position would make it easy for the guards to split her head with that heavy mace, if it was suddenly ordered. Throughout this whole display Deka gripped Naibe, as if holding her fast would somehow keep her from sinking further into unconsciousness. Not wanting to give up, but fearing for losing her sister-wives and the eight Children of Stone that she carried, Ariennu gradually forced her rage to turn into grief, so the old man would release her from the nauseating pain in her head.
Looking up as Ariennu tried to get over her paralysis, Deka watched the elder priest clear his throat, sit down in his throne-like black chair, then almost indifferently sip a bit of tea that the third clustering attendant had brought him. The old-man exuded a feeling of regal, yet quiet satisfaction at the grief he had caused to sweep over all of them. In her memory, Deka found a memory when she had been in the high priest’s position and had enjoyed the same cruel satisfaction at someone’s misery. Ah, you see me, old one? Know I am older in my soul and will take the keenest joy in seeing you one day as you see us now, her thoughts whispered, I will take all of your dreams and destroy the last of your hope.
The old man frowned at the resonance of Deka’s thoughts. He would have laughed at them as madness and demented boasting… a feeble attempt at returning his spell through such a threat. Somehow, though, he felt he needed to end the meeting before any of the women gained confidence. He needed them gone. “Take them to the dry storeroom near the garden until they have gathered their wits,” the elder brushed at the air with his fingertips. “Have the guards with them the whole time so they do not run amok,” he added, with a glance at the inspector. “When they have managed to calm themselves, I will put them in the women’s common and have them properly attended there,” he sighed almost petulantly. “Let me think for a while about what to do with them,” the high priest indicated for his assistant to lift a chair to the wide dais and sit next to him as he turned his attention to the prized box in his hands.
As Ariennu saw the old man lift the box, she needed no further explanation of what these men had done. You lie! You both do! You had no trial or gods to punish my dear man. You did it. You both did it all, she began, hoping the elder received every vitriolic thought she sent forth. Your evil stinks of the scheid you vomit out. I smell it coming from your ugly old round night jar of a head, Ariennu continued to think loudly as she glared at the men. She knew, at least, that Marai had been fooled too. His messages of confidence in the men had been real, not forced. Perceiving more, the elder wife knew the younger one, the inspector wasn’t part of the plan. He had been made to comply. Ariennu knew their invitation here was all about the carved wooden box containing the Children of Stone. Now she understood why the Children had whispered to her this morning:
Take the eight
As soon as there were no eyes on her, she told herself that she would clap that sheath of stones between her legs. If forced, she knew she could insert it. She could claim she was menstruating, and that the bag was a sponge. It was known as a kuna-case in the thieves’ trade. Though desperate, such a trick insured that the eight special stones would stay with her.
These men killed Marai. It makes no sense. Aren’t we supposed to be almost invincible? How could the Children allow this to happen? The elder wife asked herself, as her arms were twisted behind her. She hoped the Child Stone in her brow would give her an answer, but it didn’t. Are we thrown away now? Is this be the end for us too? Ariennu knew she, at least, wasn’t finished. The high priest had the box of child stones. Everything the priests did from start to finish, even fifty-five years before when the priest first learned about the Children, was designed to bring the box to him.
“Why don’t you go and open the box, you greedy old keleb,” she shrieked at the old man. “Take ‘em all out and play with them! I dare you!” she laughed as the elder glowered back at her. On his silent order, the guards pushed, shoved and kicked her down the hall while dragging the other two women after her. Little Kina-Ahna; and the comfortable life the women had
as a sojourner’s wives had fallen apart. Marai was gone, cursed, and even unburied the men said. Though she wanted to give in to mourning, Ariennu knew there would be no point to it. She had the eight stones, at least. If she calmed her storms long enough, she knew the whispers would begin once more.
CHAPTER 2: LAMENTATIONS OF THE SPIRIT
Relax, Marai. This is not real. He can’t beat you, if you don’t accept defeat. Marai lay entombed in a chamber near the deep winding passageways where Prince Hordjedtef and his fellow priests had led him. He remembered the anxious thoughts which had passed through his heart when he sank into the trance for this ritual of scrutiny. The half-giant of a man had no idea how long he had lain in the dark stone box, but he sensed he was still alive.
Marai reviewed the words of the ritual in growing terror. The priests changed the words.
Be aware of me, O God;
If you know me, I will know you.
Prince Hordjedtef, had told him how important it was to be exact in the recitation of the ritual, but as Marai recalled the words, he realized that the men had changed them. The invocation should not have been an assertive statement; it should have been a softer, humble request:
Be not unaware of me O God.
Be not unaware of me, O God;
If you know me, I will know you.
Be not unaware of me, O God;
Of me it is said: “He who has died.”
Be not unaware of me, O Ra;
If you know me, I will know you.
Be not unaware of me, O Ra;
Of me it is said: “He has been completely destroyed.”
Be not unaware of me, O Djehut;
If you know me, I will know you.
Be not unaware of me, O Djehut;
Of me it is said: “He who rests alone.”
That was the way the words should have been spoken. The High Priest and his attendants had woven a spell to place above the ritual tomb as Marai lay inside it. The use of new words was meant to shame, trap, and kill Marai.
In his terror, Marai thought of all the other ways this whole ritual had been profaned by Hordjedtef and his priests. A candidate would never be given the ritual of death and rebirth without being tested in a series of other scrutinies. Prince Hordjedtef had also profaned the Ben with a different combination of herbs. This ritual drink was designed to open the candidate’s thoughts to visions or prophecy. The high priests intent was to open Marai to the afterlife instead.
The strong, gifted man sensed a dull ache that had evolved from the burning sensations and spasms which he had wracked him at first. To save his own life, he had sunk into a deep and dangerous trance. It may have been a mistake. In slowing his body functions through this trance he had slowed the effect of the poison. It was waiting with its full potency to attack him if he came out of the trance, just as a lion would wait for a victim to stray too far from a hunter’s camp. Marai didn’t fear facing an advanced scrutiny early; he felt ready. He did not truly fear the poison either. Its use by the high priest was merely another obstacle to overcome. The entire circle of priests altering the ritual words and cursing him before the gods, however, was such a great profanity that it truly shocked and scared the former shepherd. Hordjedtef could have masterminded every other profanity without the knowledge of the other priests, but they all participated in the incantation. It was horrifying to Marai that so many enlightened men could willingly take part in such savagery. All of this because I wanted to ask to study from them? Am I really that much of a threat to them? Marai asked himself.
Focusing on his trance, Marai quickly sought to correct one of the wrongs that had been done. If I repeat them properly now, I might save myself. The thought of the wording was at once beautiful and rapturous, but the moment Marai tried to speak he felt the extraordinarily painful pang of the poison in his gut. Had he risen to consciousness for a moment in his fervor to recite the words properly? Marai couldn’t tell, but he quickly buried all thoughts of reciting and resolved to stay within his trance until it was safe to arise.
Was this part of your plan? Marai addressed the Children of Stone through the stone in his brow. He had thought the new strengths they had given him long ago would make him strong enough to withstand the priest’s actions. The Children had whispered into his heart that when he came to Kemet he would need to abandon any ego or pride in order to submit to the famed training for the priesthood known as “The Way of Life”. He knew it would be followed by several ritualized trials filled with tricks that would seem wrong or evil. Once he completed the study, he would understand his next steps and would be able to truly embrace the wisdom the Children of Stone would later require of him.
Did you know this would happen? Did you make me strong enough? He asked, but in the depths of his trance the gifted man’s perception of time had been completely warped. Sometimes it felt as if he had floated in the black silence of nothingness for ages, and at other times he feared that only a moment had gone by in the waking world and he would be forced to suffer for several more eternities before he could awake. To pass the time he found solace in the ritual words that echoed through his thoughts:
He lives… your servant lives…
I have gone up in Pe to the Souls of Pe,
I am girt with the girdle of Heru,
I am clad with the garment of Djehut,
Aset is before me and Nebt-Het is behind me,
Wepwawet opens a way for me,
Shu lifts me up,
the Souls of On set up a stairway for me
in order to reach the Above,
and Nut puts her hand on me
just as she did for Asar on the day when he died
You go, this sojourner goes…
Pain overwhelmed him again. It rose above the dull agony that was the norm of his entranced existence. He hated these waves of pain, but at the same time felt relieved because the suffering meant he was still alive. Once again, Marai felt the involuntary lurch of his consciousness as his spirit pulled out of the confusion that permeated his earthly form. Fear tightened his heart as intensely as it had the first time.
Will this be the last thing I feel? he asked. Naibe, my beloved, his thoughts whispered into space in the hope his youngest wife’s soul could hear his cry. If she did, she might be able to soothe his troubled spirit. She had known a similar terror the day Inspector of the Ways, Wserkaf, came into their lives. Marai thought of how he had almost lost her that day. Now he knew that fear firsthand as a new vision formed.
He saw himself dangling suspended in midair over the same stone coffin in which he lay. The dark box transformed into a raised well with no floor or pit at the bottom. Only the roar of empty space formed beneath him, waking a terror of a long and endless fall into nothingness. His consciousness tensed, filled with terror once more, but the vision changed again. Now he saw himself hanging upside down by one leg with his arms bound behind his back like the image of the hanging man. The tomb had transformed into a vaulted cave.
Feverishly, he recited the words of the incantation again:
The doors of the horizon open themselves, the bolts slide…
Now the cave around the tomb which had become a well vanished. Open, starry sky appeared above him.
May you allow this wise one to seize the Cool region.
standing over the places of the first ocean…
His image of himself flipped upright and unbound again, enveloped in cold blue fire, yet burning inside with a hotter flame as he now straddled the well over the void. The stars above his head became waves beneath his feet. One false step… Marai thought about his impending doom. He remembered the coolness of Deka’s dark cinnamon-colored hands placed on his hot brow. That filled him with renewed hope. He had not thought of her so far in this interminable time of suffering, but he knew she, the second of his three wives, might calm Hordjedtef’s poison. When she sang her healing song to him in her lulling Ta-Seti tongue, his thoughts soared. He thought of all three women: her, his beautiful
Naibe, and his caring Ariennu. The whirling visions subsided and he was left again in the empty blackness of his trance. The thought of them had saved him.
To Marai, his wives were a greater blessing than anything the children had given him. He called all three of his wives MaMa, because to him they were all some aspect of the goddess he had always worshipped. My unsung one, MaMa Deka. He thought of his second wife again as he remembered Hordjedtef’s teachings about the divinity of woman as mother of all creation. Even though the old priest and he mistrusted each other, Hordjedtef had passed on some great and wise concepts. Hordjedtef had spoken of how even the mightiest of men, fallen in battle, called out to his mother as he breathed his last. This time, the thought of breathing his last no longer frightened the sojourner Marai. If he was with them, with his beloved wives, it didn’t matter whether this breath was his first, his last, or any other of the countless breaths between.
As he relaxed in the thought of their comforting spirits, a crystalline form materialized in front of his inner eye. At first, something shaped like two of the pyr akhs, the Eternal Houses for the dead kings, set tip to tip appeared. As the two shapes moved together, they began to intersect and form through each other. This final ten-sided shape, rolled toward him and halted as if he was expected to step into it. Then, the sharp, harsh edges of the shape softened. It began to resemble the Children’s glowing sleep pod in which he had rested for so many years. The sojourner stepped up, turned, and sat in the shape as it transformed into a flying throne. The weightlessness he had felt in the faraway sleep pod all those years ago returned to the forefront of his thoughts as the throne closed around him. A spinning sensation overtook him and suddenly all worry, terror, pain, and time fell away. Rays of light sifted through the shape, bending through and inside him, and then streamed out of the other side of his body in rainbow colors. He felt as if he had grown large enough to incorporate all of life and time itself in his heart.
Going Forth By Day Page 3
