Fallon laughed. “I went to the camel station with the intent of selling her, but I could not bear it. Fortunately, our friend Havilah, the caravan master, and his sons were there. I was able to hire his youngest son, Moahavilah, to ride Fenola here by the quickest route possible.” She looked up at the great animal with pride. “Fenola is the fastest camel in the desert, and they arrived this morning.”
Anok looked around. “Is Moahavilah still here?” The young nomad had more than proven his courage and mettle when their caravan had been attacked by bandits on the way to Kheshatta, and Anok had grown to like and admire him.
“I saw him but briefly. As Sabé said, boat passage is easy to secure, and he is already on his way to meet his father and brothers in Khemi.”
Anok shook his head in amazement as he walked away. Some things, some people, he thought he would never see or hear from again, and yet they reappeared.
It was good that there were such small pleasures on this dark and fearful day.
On his way to the gate, he passed the stockade, and saw the prisoners being escorted away toward the Great Pyramid. They seemed frightened, but they shuffled along beside their guards, on their way to meet their fate.
The gathering, such as it was, turned out to be mainly an entertainment for the elders, to increase their excitement for attending the actual ceremony later that evening. Anok could not figure why his presence was required, but he could hardly leave while under the watchful eyes of the local priests. Ramsa Aál was conspicuous in his absence. Anok had to wonder if it was make-work, or some kind of distraction.
Other than whipping the elders and locals into a frenzy of enthusiasm, the main function of the assembly was to introduce the newly promoted High Priest for Luxur. Anok heard amazingly few questions or comments about how this had happened, or what had become of the old High Priest. Assassination was not unknown, or even that unusual among the priesthood, but in Khemi it had always fueled lively gossip both inside and outside the temple. Not here.
Among the priests and acolytes he overheard or talked with, there was a strange mix of fear and anticipation in their voices. They all seemed to understand that something of huge consequence was about to happen, but they were too concerned about their own well-being and status to see much beyond that.
Though they did not speak directly of the sudden replacement of their High Priest, it was indirectly a topic of great concern. Regime changes often offered possibilities for promotion and advancement, and all were positioning themselves accordingly.
Overall, it was a strange and pointless experience. The elders were already excited, and responded to anyone wearing even an acolyte’s robe. Any local and low-ranking priest could have presided over the ceremony with equal success. This is not right.
Thus, he returned to the villa after midday with a feeling of unease. As it turned out, his feelings were justified.
Teferi met him at the door. “Sabé is missing!”
Anok looked around, hoping they had misread the situation. Everything in the villa seemed neat and in order. “He said he was leaving for the docks. Perhaps he is already on a boat to safety.”
“He gave me a bag of magical trinkets and some tablets, as he promised, but when I checked later, all his other belongings were still in his room.”
Fallon entered through the back door. “And I was out front with Fenola all morning. I did not see him leave.” She gestured at the door. “I have searched the grounds of the temple and did not find him or anyone who would admit to seeing him.”
Anok walked up the stairs and checked Sabé’s room. The others followed. “I see no sign of a struggle.” He held out his hand, feeling the room with his mystic senses. He frowned. “There has been magic here recently, a spell of concealment, perhaps even the Walk of Shadows that I myself have used.”
He turned to the others. “You were right to be worried. I think he was taken by Ramsa Aál or his agents. I was sent to this useless ceremony this morning to get me away from the villa.”
Teferi frowned. “The spell might not have worked on me, but I was away buying camels and supplies.”
“Or,” suggested Anok, “it might have worked because it was not intended to harm you directly. Remember, Ramsa Aál knows you are Zimwi-msaka. He would have adjusted his plan accordingly.”
Teferi frowned, a look of grim determination on his face. “We must find him.”
Anok shook his head. “I must find him, and it will not be difficult. Ramsa Aál will have taken him to the pyramid, of that I am sure, perhaps for the specific purpose of ensuring I do not try to leave with the third Scale of Set.”
“It is the Scale he wants,” said Teferi. “Leave it with me.”
“I will need the Scale to bargain for Sabé’s life. We will continue with our original plan, only we will free Sabé and take him with us as well.”
Fallon studied his face. “Something more is bothering you, Anok, I can tell.”
“I was just thinking of what Sabé said last night. He spoke as though he’d had some vision or foresight of today’s event. I think he knew this was going to happen. Perhaps that is why there was no struggle. He simply is fulfilling his own destiny.”
Teferi spat on the floor in disgust. “There is no such thing. The future is not yet written!”
Anok sighed. “Until yesterday, Sabé believed the same.”
WHEN ANOK ARRIVED at the Great Pyramid of Set, he found that both the tent and the long tables within were gone. Set in holes among the stones in the forecourt, and on either side of the stairway leading up to the altar, many oil lamps raised on metal stanchions had been positioned to illuminate this evening’s ceremony.
There were many workers busy at preparations, and already there were a few elders milling about. Nothing about the scene suggested that it was a trap.
As Anok neared the pyramid, he realized that one of the waiting elders was Dejal’s father. Again he tried to slip past, but there were few enough people there it was impossible to avoid being seen. He saw the look of recognition on Seti Aasi’s face.
“Anok!” The man called after him. “Anok Wati!”
Anok walked quickly past, ignoring the man, and was soon at the entrance where several guardians stood watch. They ignored him until he asked about Ramsa Aál.
“The Priest of Needs is within the pyramid.” The guardian helpfully provided directions. Apparently there were many passages within and under the structure, including an interior stair leading up to the altar.
As he traveled the pyramid’s dark, stone corridors, he felt a strange tugging at his spirit, like the one he had felt when Parath had looked at him the night before. He had no doubt the false god was here somewhere, in one of the pyramid’s hidden chambers. But it was Ramsa Aál he found, not the brass serpent. The priest was, as the guard had told him, meditating in a torchlit room whose walls were covered with pictograms of Set and his serpents.
He looked up as Anok entered, and smiled. “My pupil, you have come, as I knew you would.” His smile faded. “The time for games is over. I need the third Scale, and I know you have it. Give it to me.”
He tried to look innocent. “Master, what makes you think I have the third Scale of Set?”
“Because your friend Dejal swore that you did, and that if we brought you into the cult, seduced you with its power, he could obtain it from you. He was willing to wager his life on that fact.”
He smiled sourly. “Unfortunately for him, that was a wager he lost. But I have always believed as he did, that you possessed the third Scale of Set. I had hoped Dejal was right on the other matter as well, that as you were welcomed into our cult, tasted the fruits of power and the aptitude for great sorcery that was already your natural gift, you would give it to us freely.” His expression turned dire. “I have no more time to wait for that.” He held out his hand. “Give me the Scale!”
Anok stared at him. “No.”
Ramsa Aál chuckled. “Then we will trade for it. Guards!”<
br />
A hidden panel opened in the wall behind him, and two guardians emerged, dragging the battered and bloody form of Sabé. He had clearly been beaten and tortured. They took him to the far wall of the room and chained him there.
The guardians then withdrew and stood alertly at Ramsa Aál’s side.
“Your scholarly friend and I have spent an enjoyable morning together. I would have liked to have a talk, but he has been reluctant to keep up his end of the conversation. Not a wise decision for one so . . . fragile.”
Sabé managed to lift his head, and laughed a weak, gurgling laugh. “I told him nothing, Anok. Do not deal with him.”
“I will trade the third Scale for your elder friend’s life. And if his life means as little to you as it apparently means to him, then I will have your Kushite servant and your barbarian whore arrested and brought here as well. Then we will see how you value their blood.”
Anok still hesitated. He knew that Ramsa Aál planned to kill him once he had the Scale, and that in handing it over he would lose any leverage he had over the priest. But he could see that Sabé was badly injured. Whatever was to happen, it had to happen quickly.
He removed his father’s medallion from under his robe, twisted it open, and presented the Scale to Ramsa Aál.
Ramsa Aál examined the scale. “Hidden in cold iron. I suspected it might be something that simple, but I did not need the Scale until now. In fact, having it would have complicated my dealings with Parath immensely.” He glanced up at Anok. “I am grateful you have kept it safe for me.”
Anok stepped back, raising his hands defensively. “I know well that you plan to kill me now that you have the Scale. You may find that task difficult. Take the Scale and leave Sabé and me alone. It will be much easier that way.”
Ramsa Aál looked at him calmly and without fear. “A curious thing about the design of the pyramid. These rooms at the base of the structure, at the center, and the catacombs below, were once used to torture and imprison sorcerers. You see, magic works poorly here, if it all.” The guardians drew their swords.
Anok laughed, drawing his own swords. “You think this is better for you?”
“Yes,” said Ramsa Aál, “I believe it is.” He casually slid his foot to one side, pressing a particular stone, which moved downward.
There was a click, and the floor opened under Anok, plunging him into darkness.
27
ANOK NICKED HIS thumb on the edge of his sword, and pulled a Jewel of the Moon from his bag. As the blood touched the stone, it immediately began to glow, revealing that he had landed on the sandy floor of a cavern running beneath the pyramid.
Fifteen feet above him, a light rectangle marked the trapdoor through which he had fallen. Ramsa Aál peered over the edge. “It’s true, Thoth-Amon told me to kill you, but this is more amusing, and more fair. At least here, you have a chance of survival.” He sat cross-legged at the edge of the opening and calmly began to thread the third Scale onto the chain with the other two.
“You can’t use the three Scales,” said Anok. “No mortal can do so and live.”
“Oh,” said the priest, “I’m sure I know more about the Scales of Set than you do. It’s true I can’t wield their full power and live, but I can carry them, and use them in a very limited way. It will be enough for my plan.”
“You have thought of everything.”
“Indeed. For instance, you are not alone down there in the darkness.”
Anok thought he heard something move far down the cave, shuffling footsteps.
“You see,” he continued, “I had my agents follow you when you traveled to the Tomb of Neska. After the tomb collapsed, they went into the rubble and found what was left of Dejal. I gave him to Kaman Awi for his surgeons and alchemists to play with. He was badly broken, but repairing him was such a challenge, they could not resist.”
“Dejal is alive?”
The priest laughed. “He is no longer alive. But then, he isn’t precisely dead, either!”
“Now,” he said, standing, “I must go prepare for the ceremony. I will come back to check on you two later.”
He stepped on a particular spot on the floor, and with a grinding noise the trapdoor swung shut.
The footsteps were closer now.
Anok picked his swords up from where they had fallen on the floor, putting the plain sword back in its scabbard, freeing one hand to hold the Jewel of the Moon. Anok held up the Jewel, straining his eyes into the darkness, the Sword of Wisdom at the ready.
He saw something move, a man-sized figure in a ragged acolyte’s robe, hood pulled over its face, baggy sleeves hanging low at its side.
“Dejal? Is it you?”
He heard something like an angry sob. The figure tilted back its head so that the hood fell back.
It was not Dejal.
It was what was left of Dejal.
The eyes were those of his old companion, mad with rage and pain. But the face was a mutilated patchwork, stitched back together at odd angles, the skin patched with iridescent snakeskin. It opened its mouth, revealing countless needle-sharp teeth within.
Then it raised its arms, and the sleeves fell away—
In their final magical duel, Anok had caused the Rings of Neska on Dejal’s fingers to explode, destroying his arms. Kaman Awi’s surgeons apparently had found what they considered to be suitable replacements. They had grafted on the front parts of two great snakes, hybrids from the First Temple of Set, which writhed and hissed in anger.
“Anok,” said the Dejal-thing, finally recognizing him. “Anok look what they have done to me!” Then the voice changed, filled with anger. “Look what you have done to me!”
It roared and charged at him, the snake arms whipping toward him, jaws snapping.
He dodged to one side, fending away one of the snake heads with his sword. As he did, the mouth opened, and a spray of stinging venom caught him across the face.
He cried out in pain, dropping the Jewel of the Moon, wiping the stinging fluid from his eyes with his sleeve. But so great was the agony, despite his many experiences with the venom, he could barely keep them open. In desperation, he called on the Mark of Set to heal him. It responded sluggishly, as though having been wakened from a deep slumber.
Still, it helped a little, and he opened his eyes just in time to see Dejal before him, a coiled arm striking at his neck.
His vision blurred, Anok swung his sword instinctively. The snake head was severed, sent flying into the darkness.
Dejal screamed, the headless arm suddenly coiling powerfully around Anok’s waist, spewing him with warm blood, lifting his feet off the floor.
He still held his sword and desperately fended off the other arm’s attacks. But his right eye had taken the brunt of the venom, and it left him with a blind spot on that side. Distracted as he was by the arm’s repeated strikes, he never saw Dejal’s biting attack, only felt the crocodile teeth as they clamped down on his shoulder with crushing force.
He screamed. Dejal had clamped down on him with the tenacity of a snapping turtle and could not be pulled free.
But Dejal was distracted as well. The undamaged arm, until now in constant motion, hovered before him for a moment, mouth open.
He thrust forward the Sword of Wisdom, deep into the serpent mouth and out the back of the head. It whipped away, yanking the sword from his hand.
He felt Dejal’s body jerk in pain, but still his teeth dug into Anok’s flesh. He reached for his dagger blindly, found it with his fingers, and, in one motion, pulled it and stabbed it deep into Dejal’s back.
The Dejal creature stumbled back, bellowing in pain. He swung his less-damaged arm, Anok’s sword still embedded in it, at him. Anok ducked, just as the point of the blade nearly found his neck.
He pulled his second sword, holding it in both hands, his damaged eyes seeking the shadowy form of Dejal. He saw the outline of his body. Unsure if he was striking at Dejal or his shadow, Anok drove his sword forward with all h
is strength.
There was a wet crunch, a sting in his gripping hands, as the sword plunged deep into flesh. Warm blood spattered him, drenching the Mark of Set, whose energies seems suddenly revitalized. Anok could feel it beginning to work at his bleeding shoulder, damaged eyes, and the blisters across his face.
The Dejal-creature stood there, looking down at the sword rammed through its body. Then it looked up at Anok. “Brother,” it said, “it is like old times.”
Then it fell back, the body lifeless, the arms still twitching weakly.
Even with such a rich blood sacrifice to feast on, the Mark of Set was weakening already. For that, Anok was grateful. The blood of a friend twice-betrayed was powerful and evil magic indeed, and keeping the Mark of Set in check would have been difficult otherwise.
He recovered his blades and staggered over to lean against the cool rock wall. Even with the healing magic, he hurt everywhere, especially his shoulder, and his vision was only now clearing.
He was still trapped in this cave, and his sister and Sabé were still prisoners in the pyramid above.
“Anok Wati!”
The voice came from above him, and he did not immediately recognize it, only that it was neither Ramsa Aál nor one of his friends. He was aware there was light coming from above as well, and he squinted upward.
At some point, the trapdoor had been reopened. It could have happened at any point during the fight, and it was doubtful he would have noticed.
He saw movement at the lip of the trap and a knotted rope tumbled down to hang a few paces away. He grabbed the rope, and slowly, painfully, was able to climb up it. As he neared the top, hands reached down and helped pull him the rest of the way.
As he rolled over onto the floor to lie on his back, he looked up and his eyes focused on a white robe. The figure turned away from him and looked down into the pit.
“Anok Wati,” the voice was suddenly familiar, though he could not yet identify it, “look at what I have done.”
The man turned away from the pit, and Anok saw his face clearly for the first time.
The Venom of Luxur Page 23
