Going Forth By Day

by Mary R Woldering

  Wserkaf’s only hope in Marai triumphing was that nothing in this adventure and the women had been predictable thus far. He had thought Marai was dead at one time. He had firmly believed Naibe would never appeal to him. He had known for certain the king would live to be very old and that he and his beloved Khentie would age gracefully in this beautiful garden estate, greeting their grandchildren when they visited and watching them grow, too. He had believed Hordjedtef to be truly wise and truthful in his teachings and writings – that they reflected the way the elder lived his own life. After so many errors in his perception of the way things were, Wserkaf had begun to question his own wisdom and ability. Of all strange conclusions, this self-doubt gave him hope.

  Wserkaf got up to go to the larder near the servants’ row to see if anything could be gathered for a leftover meal. He didn’t want to rouse any of the cooks. They had worked all day and through the early evening to prepare food for the mourning guests, who would begin to arrive by the following evening.

  “Lord,” a tired voice issued from the closed pantry.

  “Oh, is that Rephtet?” the inspector startled when the chief cook moved into the dim light of the moon. When he saw the man wearily nod, he continued. “If there is a platter of yet unsalted meat and some bread not crumbled, my guest and I would like some,” he requested, but almost regretted it as soon as the words left him. He’s really worked hard today. I should give him an extra day and portion to be with his family in town during this time of sorrow. “I’ll take it if you can fetch it for me,” he continued. “Then, you go get some rest. Tomorrow will be needfully hard for all of us.”

  While the inspector waited for the cook to get some meat from the light salt, he thought of the way his life had changed in so little time. Four months ago he felt an odd and unexplainable sensation in his chest. At first it was a thrill-like feeling. Then, it became gnawing doubt of the journey toward wisdom he was undertaking. Ever since the day after the celebration of the Sailing of Bast, when he had been sent to investigate the rumor of a strange sojourner who had brought immeasurable success to the Kina-Ahna market, he had become increasingly suspicious of his teacher Prince Hordjedtef. That suspicion had defined his last months and fundamentally changed him as a person.

  Hordjedtef, a man he once felt to be wonderfully wise with an acid wit and wry sense of humor, was no longer as intellectually stimulating or even funny as he once had been. Khentie had suggested that, as his elder aged, perhaps his wisdom was fading. Wse didn’t think so.

  Ever since he had been a youth and in awe of his teacher’s knowledge, he had heard the old man’s stories of the Ta-Ntr. Wserkaf had always thought the tales of these beings were metaphors or legends; a remnant of stories from the “First Time” when the gods were here on Earth. His teacher and he hadn’t dwelt on the stories until a week or two before he went to check on the people at the market. At first, Wserkaf didn’t think there would be any connection between the people he met and the legend his teacher liked to repeat; that changed almost instantly.

  He saw Marai ease an old woman’s suffering with the touch of his hand. That would have been stunning enough, but the essence that shone and surrounded the man made him at once fearsome, yet irresistible to behold. When that man stood tall in the sun, he looked like a god; a creature made of silver, gold, and shining stone. His sunny and cheerful manner and the grace of the women he called his wives spoke of another world. When Marai had come to them to study, Wserkaf has seen him “put down for his own good” by the teacher he had always trusted. The man had died, but had come through his death to walk forth by day. Those facts brought everything the inspector had been taught into question.

  Gods of legend, not men, defeated death. The Divine Bull Asar returned from death to mark the change of the seasons. If the inspector wanted to believe that Marai was Asar walking in flesh again, it meant Hordjedtef was walking in the role and legend of Seth, who strove to defeat him. The priest shuddered, remembering the dinner party that celebrated the former shepherd’s demise, and the way he had been locked up in a box. All events in his recent life imitated the legend.

  What does this mean? Is Marai the god walking? Am I the one to stop all of the evil set in motion by Hordjedtef and whatever forces he truly serves? he asked himself. So much of the future was now undetermined. It’s pointless to speculate. I need to focus on all that is in the physical dimension, not this. I am now to be the Great One and I’m blood royal, too. It’s my duty to stay close to my new king and our wife, lest harm finds them, too. I can only go with the body of poor Menkaure to the ibu. There, I’ll make certain there was no murder. After that, maybe I’ll think about Marai and his dear Naibe again. Wserkaf grew sick at heart the more he thought about the possibility that the old man’s medicine had been used to murder the king. If poison had been used, it would leave some kind of mark or odor on his holy organs that could be known as the body was prepared. What’s the use? he continued to contemplate. If I see something, who will I tell? Shepseskaf? Khentie? Hordjedtef is too well respected. He’s one of the most beloved priests in all of Kemet – more loved than my brother who now wears the sacred pshent. Only one thing to do: watch and keep record.

  Dismissing the cook, he carried two platters of food out to the pool. When he set them down, he darted to his chart room for “a few more things” and then returned to enjoy a somewhat cooled meal of roast duck, fruit, beer, and flat bread with his friend. It was a quickly-thrown-together feast.

  “I believe we can go on the river a short way tonight. The water is still of a fair enough height that we might not get trapped in the silt.” He handed Marai a plate, then sat by the water with him again. “I can get boatmen to take my boat up the river just far enough tonight, then turn around to ferry me back to the dock at the Royal Palace, the priest decided. “Your people in the Little Kina-Ahna, that young stonecutter and his family, would they hide you for a few days? I could get word to you when it’s safe.” Wserkaf knew the words he said were just hollow promises and wishes. If he had been able to keep a promise in the past, he would have fetched Marai three days after he had been entombed, cleansed him of the poison, implicated his senior to the king, and proven Marai’s right to pursue further training perhaps in the House of Ra along with him. “I still wish I was free to go with you. You’ll need someone who knows the governors along the way, or you’ll be challenged by warriors at every step.”

  Marai listened to the inspector, tearing into the roast duck with much more energy than he had possessed earlier. “Don’t even wish to go, Wse,” Marai spoke with his mouth full. “I have to do this on my own. I don’t even know if Djerah and his family will accept me. I do know I’ll just push on if that happens. You just have to stay here and keep Hordjedtef off of me. If he tries anything else, I will kill him. So, don’t stand too close,” Marai reflected. “Maybe I’ll do it anyway, if my wives have suffered as much as I think they have. The stones on him… bending them into common servants of the body and learning how to thwart all that had become strong in them through the Children!”

  Suffered? Wserkaf thought, then Great One is already dead. He poured the last of the beer into the two cups.

  “We have to go, soon.” Wserkaf reminded Marai as they continued eating the meal. His thoughts rioted in frustration. “I need to tell you more, even what I only heard in tales and rumors. I need to stop time, to master it like Lord Djehuti who walks through it and around it. If this was any other night I could hide you myself and then get a writ from Shepsesi so I could to Ta-Seti with you. With Our Father dead, there’s no way in the heavens or on earth I can escape the mourning or the preparations. I’m not going to be able to keep the fact that you live a secret much longer either. I have to tell Hordjedtef you live, or that someone stole your body. Either way, he’ll know my hand in it, punish me, and then not rest until he either controls or kills you.”

  The anxiety of the inspector’s words made them clear to the sojourner. He knew the dilemma
the man faced. “Damn him,” Marai pressed his lips into a flat line suddenly. “I wish I had it in my power to stay and take care of this too. I can’t, though. I have to get my ladies back and into safety before I do anything else”, he started, but then thought of something that hadn’t occurred to him before. “How does your elder know things of you? I know the man has his powers and wisdom, but you’re no weak acolyte. Certainly…”

  “The trances,” Wserkaf quickly replied. “It was always my special gift. I had powerful dream-visions, even as a child. When I came to study with him, we made a fealty pact that I would always be open to him.”

  “And you’ve never shirked that duty? Protected even a small secret? You seemed quite good at hiding them from me when we met. Only young Naibe…” Marai thought of Ariennu and her ability to hide everything from the light of wisdom and knowledge. He also thought of the loving way Naibe could open them up and could see into anyone’s dark corners.

  “Naibe,” Wserkaf began, saddened again. “Yes, I know she could do that, but when we were together it was good for her to see me. She knew my truth right away and knew I wasn’t playing with her heart. Great One can open me too. During your training, when we argued, I tried to close my thoughts. Each time he used the control he had instilled in me when I was new in his tutelage. I haven’t found a way to close my thoughts from him completely. I just have to be careful of what I think when I’m around him.”

  Marai remembered the silent syllable under a word Hordjedtef had used to give him a blinding headache, dizziness and nausea when he first visited the elder’s estate. The same thing had happened when the Ta-Seti sesh found him and the women in the market. Marai recalled the sesh had acted as if he thought he was being watched. Either the sesh knew the control, or he had allowed Hordjedtef access to his thoughts in the same way Wserkaf allowed it as he wandered the booths that morning.

  “The tall dark sesh who works for your teacher; he has a fealty pact too?”

  Wserkaf froze, his cup half-tilted to his lips. “Young Aped’meketep? I didn’t know about that. I know he has partly divine lineage though, so I’m beginning to see why he might have asked that of him.” Worried, he drew closer to Marai as if he thought old Hordjedtef might suddenly hear his thoughts. “I just… It makes more sense to me now, given what I’m learning about his hand being in so many things,” Wserkaf shook his head and shifted, uncomfortable with their continued idling and the passage of time.

  “Like the southern armies?” Marai asked the inspector to continue. He silently gestured that time had not been passing. “Tell me about this general – his grandson. I thought I knew the names of the princes who were close enough to the king to command anything.” Marai drained the rest of the beer and stood, stretching his arms tall to the sky.

  Wserkaf stared, still impressed by the innocent tall stretch he’d seen more than once. It made the man seem even taller than his half-giant height. Tonight, Marai appeared tall enough to reach those stars with one hand. Strangely, when the inspector blinked and kept staring, the stars seemed different and the moon had migrated to an earlier post.

  Marai went to inspect the gate frame where he, in the half-form of a bull had run against it. New brick would have to be laid in and it would have to be plastered and painted. It would never be ready for the security of guests by the following night. Only temporarily mystified, he returned his thoughts to the character of the general and the idea of Deka becoming a concubine. “Is he a decent man?” Marai asked of the general.

  As he thought of Deka and the General, he remembered many eons ago, when he first met a bony, spider-like woman who had been living in what was once his cousin Sheb’s hut. Of the three women he found, she had offered her body to him first. It had been a reward for saving them from the men who had held them. She had been devoid of any emotion in the offer. Embarrassed, he had refused. When they wakened, transformed in the glowing pod and filled with the crystalline forms of the Children of Stone, she came to him again. That time he had been shy. After that, she withdrew from him and even from the companionship of Naibe and Ariennu. She never approached him or any other man again.

  “Will he treat them well?” the sojourner asked, but before the phrase was out of his mouth he felt the answer come to him.

  “He might… if it suits him,” Wserkaf quipped. “Walk with me though, before you decide to send his death through the sky, too. You should know he’s not so easily killed, just as I would not be so easily overtaken by you. All princes have a degree of native as well as trained skills, and he has been a chaotician since youth. You may not easily predict his true feelings or actions on any matter.” Wserkaf walked with Marai to the servants’ row with the platters, put them down quietly, and left. This time, no servant stirred.

  Marai tried to quell the second rising of rage at the situation. The more he learned, the less inclined he was to hear the rest. If this “general” is hurting my ladies in any way… he thought to himself. He tried to sense the women again by bowing his head and casting out a cry for them, but quickly realized he still couldn’t sense them through his own Child Stone. The “One Heart” link he had forged between the Children of Stone, the women and himself had been mysteriously severed.

  The inspector handed him a worn, dark brown cloak to wear. It was miserably short on him, but generous enough to hide the sight of his shining silvery hair from passers-by. The men would be walking down the public causeway to the dredged-out inlet where the nobles moored their boats. It was important that no one become suspicious enough of them and think of rushing to the palace with the tale of silvery-headed giants.

  “It’s not good, Wse. I still can’t feel them. I should be able to.”

  “Prince Maatkare Raemkai may have done something about that, if one of them tested him, even without knowing you live. He has a nasty temper to him and a strange, cruel manner,” the priest had gathered up a few random items to put in a basket that could be slung over his friend’s shoulder, “but, he’s a bright tactician and an excellent hunter and warrior. No man of Kemet looks finer. He has a bloodline, similar to my own, but sometimes things happen that can get in the way of a man’s finest ambitions.”

  Soon, the two men had gone down the steps and headed into the path outside the walls of the inspector’s estate. One of Wserkaf’s servants walked ahead of them, lighting their path.

  “Don’t I know it!” Marai’s expression grew wry “But you mean this general, don’t you?”

  “Seven years ago, the king even declared him his son, but he soon fell out of favor,” the inspector continued his tale as the men walked.

  “Declared him son, but he’s not actually his son?” Marai paused, one eyebrow raised in wonder. “If the king declared him his son, then why am I just now learning of him? The Great One never mentioned him, except in passing and then as if he had brought shame. What did this man do?”

  “I didn’t know him as a child. I was away in training when he was born. As children, we had all of us played in Our Father’s yard and studied with our teachers in his plaza. By the time I was a sesh he had come and gone. His father began to train him to one day take over the southern campaign. Still, Father Menkaure loved him and would deny him nothing. When his son Prince Kuenre died, young Maatkare became first consort of his very young and childless widow. Our Father adopted him and allowed him to rather quickly claim Princess Mery as wife. She was to give him the title of Crown Prince,” Wserkaf shuddered in realization. “I always knew Great One was behind bringing him to Ineb Hedj to re-introduce him to her.”

  “Goddess, wait,” Marai halted them. “Why did I just hear of this? A princess named Mery? Not only had I not heard of this general being part of the royal family, but not the princess either?” he looked down at the inspector in disbelief.

  “I’ll tell you then.” The two men continued down the path together. “Princess Merytites was Our Father’s daughter, older than Khentie by only a year. From birth, she was the joyous one and Khen
tie the more studious. She was the first one designated ‘Daughter of the God’ and ‘Mistress of the Sycamore’. She and the General Maatkare Raemkai desired each other from the instant they met, but theirs was a stormy and passion filled bed, so much so that it became unsavory and embarrassing to the rest of the royal family. It ended badly less than two years later. Great Menkaure has been keeping Maatkare on distant missions and distracted with women, since his daughter…” Wserkaf’s voice trailed, bringing up the unpleasant memory “…killed herself. She put her breast bands about her throat and leapt from their upper porch one afternoon.”

  Marai stood, in stunned silence. If the young princess did commit suicide, then there was truly no one to blame unless someone had been there to prevent it. That this young prince had been sent away led Marai to think he had been suspected of some kind of wrongdoing. It didn’t make any sense. If he had in any way caused his own wife’s death, especially with her being the daughter of the king, justice would have been instant, unquestioning, and fatal. An excuse would never have had time to come to his lips. “You’ll have to explain to me why this man is still breathing then,” the sojourner almost laughed but realized just in time that the subject of this tragedy was still quite painful to the inspector.