The Cult of Sutek

by Joshua P. Simon

  To Jahi’s surprise, Andrasta took it easy on him their first day back on the road, stopping several times for him to stretch, eat, and apply more of the salve to the remainder of his blisters and bruises. Though he wanted nothing more than to push a harder pace for Dendera’s benefit, the fever had sapped him of energy, and his thighs and rear reminded him how much he needed that slower speed.

  Just after midday, they came upon a small, haphazard town where buildings had been constructed with no real roads or paths. It was like the citizens had never expected the town to grow in size.

  Few people were in town, unsurprising with hours left in the day to work the fields. Rondel did his best to ask subtle questions about the Cult of Sutek as they passed through, hoping to glean some sort of information that might help them make up for lost time.

  The friendly faces that first greeted them turned dark at the mention of the cult’s name. The women out washing clothes pretended ignorance and quickly made excuses to rush playing children inside.

  The obvious fear of those in town did little to ease Jahi’s worries.

  Andrasta led them to the town’s stables to buy feed for the horses. She dismounted. “This is a waste of time. We’re not getting anything out of these people.”

  “People are too scared to talk about the cult. I’ve never seen so many turn down good coin,” said Rondel.

  “Cult? Which cult?” They spun toward a thin, old woman pitching hay into a stall. Despite her age, she used the tool like someone decades younger. She straightened and looked their way. “Khepry? Min? Wosret? I know them all.”

  “Sutek,” said Rondel.

  She bobbed her head. “Ah. Now I see why you ran into so much trouble. They’ve got a nasty reputation. Still, no reputation is strong enough to frighten me, especially when it means adding a bit of money to my pocket.”

  Andrasta tossed the woman a silver senyu. “There’s more if we like what we hear.”

  The old woman squinted at the coin. “It’s a start. What do you want to know? Rumors? Truths? Half-truths? Fairy tales?”

  “Everything,” said Rondel.

  The old woman spoke for some time about everything and anything she had ever heard about Sutek. Rondel redirected the conversation as needed when she veered off topic. Most of what she spoke of, they already knew from Jahi’s past research. However, they listened anyway, making sure there were no significant differences in information. Eventually, the old woman spoke of things less familiar to them.

  “And then there’s the sacrifices,” she said, making some strange sign in the air like she was warding off spirits.

  “We know about them,” said Jahi.

  “Do you boy? What do you know?”

  “That the cult uses them to gain power from Sutek.”

  She bobbed her head. “Yes, do you know how they get that power?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They ingest the flesh of the victims after Sutek blesses the offering.”

  “What! Cannibals? Great,” cursed Rondel.

  Jahi’s stomach rolled. He held back a sob, thinking about Dendera. Eating human flesh had not been something he believed would return with the cult’s resurgence.

  People are supposed to be more civilized now.

  “Yes, cannibals,” said the old woman. “And it will get even worse than that if they start bringing back more of the old ways.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Jahi. “How can you get worse than cannibalism?”

  “Well, it’s what they do beforehand. Awful things. Rape. Sexual and physical torture. I won’t get into specifics though. There’s no need. Just use your imagination and hope you never see them. Sutek apparently feeds off the pain of his sacrifices.”

  “How do you know all this?” asked Rondel.

  She shrugged. “I’m old. Live as long as I have and you just pick things up along the way.” She began to snicker. “Gods, I can’t remember the last time I took a bath, but I remember all that stuff about Sutek. What a life.”

  “I like you, woman,” Andrasta said. “You don’t have the same fear as others around here.”

  “At my age, the fear of closing my eyes each night with the uncertainty of whether I’ll open them again in the morning is far greater than what the Cult of Sutek could do to me,” she said with a chuckle. “Torture? With my heart, I’d die long before they put me through anything worse than what I’ve already suffered in this life. And being sacrificed? Well, I don’t fit their ideal description.”

  “What is the ideal description?”

  “Young. Beautiful. The same as any other cult. What god do you know prefers their women old and ugly? And, of course, the sacrifice must be a virgin. Someone pure.” She rolled her eyes and cackled. “It’s been decades since I called myself that. And even then I was lying.”

  Andrasta grunted, wearing a faint grin. She tossed the old woman payment for the horse feed.

  “You never told us where the cult resides,” said Rondel.

  The old woman shrugged, wild hair bouncing. “That’s because I don’t know where. Not with certainty. Some say east. Others west. Most north.” The old woman picked up her pitchfork and began turning hay. “That’s all I have. You could try one of the larger cities down the road.”

  “Any in particular?” asked Rondel.

  She paused and tossed her head to the side, thinking. “Meir.”

  “What’s in Meir?”

  “It’s the place to go for information. Especially at this time of year. Some person calling himself Imenand is usually there.”

  Rondel’s eyes widened. “What does this person look like?”

  She shrugged. “Gods if I know. I’ve never met him. Just telling you what I heard.”

  Jahi listened patiently as Rondel tried to coax more information out of the woman, but it was obvious she had told all she knew.

  As they left the town, Rondel spoke. “Meir, then?”

  Andrasta shook her head. “No. That’s right after crossing the border. We don’t need to draw attention to ourselves so soon after entering Menetnashte’s lands.”

  “What other option do we have? We need to make up for lost time.”

  “I’ll find the trail. We just have to keep going north like she said.”

  “I think I might know this Imenand. What’s the harm in going to Meir and—”

  “I said I’ll find the trail,” snapped Andrasta. She clicked her reins and rode ahead.

  Rondel gave Jahi a helpless glance. Jahi wanted to add his opinion, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the horrors described by the old woman.

  What are they doing to you, Dendera?

  * * *

  Dendera never learned more about her kidnappers or their intended destination. No one volunteered any information, and the captain’s threat pressed against her mind like the weight of a millstone whenever she thought about asking a question.

  “There are many ways to inflict pain without leaving cuts or bruises.”

  In the days since, his words haunted her dreams. She would wake up cold, yet drenched in sweat. More than once she would look across the dying embers of the camp fire to see Harsaf’s narrow eyes staring at her with hatred unlike any Dendera had ever known. She liked to tell herself the man had been up because it was his turn to keep watch, but she doubted that was always the case.

  It’s enough my imagination runs wild while I dream. I don’t need it to dominate my waking thoughts.

  Two days earlier they had entered Menetnashte’s lands and her kidnappers grew more lax in familiar surroundings. Though no one spoke to her unless issuing the rare order, she suspected their travels were coming to an end as the cultists began to laugh and tell stories around the campfire like soldiers in her father’s army.

  With nothing to do but listen, Dendera soaked the stories up. It wasn’t until late in the evenings when they talked about the cult itself that she wished once more for their silence.

  “Captain, is it true wh
at they say about High Priest Menetnashte? Is he immortal?” asked one of the younger men.

  Menetnashte is the High Priest?

  Captain Haji snorted beneath his face covering. “No. He isn’t immortal.”

  “He looks so young for someone so old.”

  “That’s because Sutek has blessed him.” He paused. “You know, many did not like him when he first joined us.” The captain cleared his throat. “I was one who fell in that group. What he first suggested when joining us was much different, risky even, to what we had always known. Remember, there had always been talk of returning to the old ways, but talk was all it had ever been. Menetnashte was adamant that it was the only way to please Sutek. He said that our watering down of Sutek’s ways is what caused us to lose so much of our power.

  “Though many died in the conflict of him becoming our high priest, we are stronger because of it. In fact, we have not been this strong for centuries. Menetnashte’s transformation to the younger man you know is proof of Sutek’s approval.”

  The followers all made some sign across their temple, chest, and stomach with their left hands. It was too quick for Dendera to make out, but their movements were identical.

  The young man spoke again. “What about Nizam?”

  “What about him?” asked Haji.

  “Well . . . the rumors. Are they true? Is it true Menetnashte conjured up a demon for a bodyguard?”

  The captain made a clicking noise in his throat. “He looks like a man, walks like a man, talks like a man, but . . .” A long pause followed his trailing voice. “I’ve seen Nizam kill many men, several at once, and with his bare hands while they were armed. It was amazing, almost unnatural. I have never seen his equal.”

  “So, it is true.”

  “I don’t know. Either way, he too is blessed by Sutek. That should be enough.”

  The followers bowed their heads again, once more making the same ritualistic sign. Dendera caught a few of the movements this time—an X over the head, a circle and star over the heart, a wavy line over the stomach. She knew they all symbolized something within the cult. However, as she continued to listen to their foolishness about Sutek and the belief that he was infallible, it meant something far different to her.

  These people are mad.

  * * *

  Days later, Jahi still felt somewhat ragged. More of his strength returned each morning, but not as fast as he wanted.

  Each day they traveled longer and farther than the one before, but they still had no way of knowing how close they were to Dendera. He could see the frustration on Andrasta’s face as she tracked the cold trail. The sharp looks she cast his way and the lack of interaction told Jahi that she blamed him for their delays.

  And she’s right. At least in part.

  Jahi explained to Andrasta that leaders in the Cult of Sutek were known to have mystical powers. That was why she had smelled old death before the attack on his father. It was possible that those that took Dendera were using some sort of sorcery to mask their trail and hinder their efforts.

  But none of that seemed to matter to Andrasta.

  The woman’s pride was wounded because she had trouble finding the path the cultists took with Dendera, and the lack of certainty regarding their course bothered her.

  He drifted off in thought as Andrasta studied a pile of horse dung in the road.

  Dendera had looked out for him like his mother once did before her death. Jahi barely remembered his mother.

  But I remember the sorrow.

  His sister had cried the day of their mother’s funeral, but never again as far as he knew. She had been his rock, his source of strength. When he was younger and had a nightmare, he went to her room to find safety. Never did she turn him away, and never did she treat him with anything but love.

  He had been heartbroken when she ran away, but not angry. Many claimed she was selfish for denying their father’s wishes to marry King Kafele. Perhaps they were right. However, Jahi could only think that she deserved to do something for herself after always doing so much for everyone else.

  Rondel climbed down from his mount and walked to Andrasta. The warrior had barely moved in the last several minutes. No longer examining the dung, she rubbed her brow.

  “Any luck?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you said yourself the trail is cold.”

  Andrasta clenched her fist. “I’ve followed a trail this cold before. Just give me a moment.”

  “I have no doubt you can follow an old trail. But remember, there is also sorcery to contend with.”

  “That shouldn’t matter.”

  “But it does.” Rondel looked up to the darkening sky. “Night’s coming in fast. What do you say we make camp? Traveling in the dark isn’t going to make your task any easier.”

  Andrasta stood. “We’re behind enough as it is.”

  “So, stopping now isn’t going to make a difference. A good meal and a full night’s sleep will do you some good. It might help you see something you missed before.”

  “I didn’t miss anything,” she growled.

  “Of course not. A poor choice of words.”

  Andrasta gave Rondel a hard look. If he was bothered, he masked it. She finally looked away, went to her horse, grabbed it by the reins, and led it off the road without speaking.

  Rondel took a long, slow breath and faced Jahi. He forced a smile. “I guess that settles it.”

  * * *

  Rondel stretched out on the bare ground near the warm flames of the campfire, tired after a day’s ride and an evening of sparring with Andrasta. He rolled his right shoulder, massaging it with his left hand, rubbing out a kink from the last set of drills the infernal woman had put him through.

  He had known the session was going to be tiring as the length and difficulty always seemed to correlate to how angry Andrasta had been that day. He couldn’t wait to experience a day where the reverse occurred.

  I’ll be waiting a long time for that. The woman is likely to work me harder out of the sheer enjoyment then.

  Beyond the light of the fire, Rondel heard Andrasta panting in the darkness. She had dismissed him some time ago, yet continued to torture herself with drills. He used to watch her practice when they first traveled together, marveling at her speed and skill. But eventually, he grew tired of it. He could never figure out enough of her technique in order to learn anything he could apply to his slowly growing repertoire. Watching Andrasta train also made him more aware of his own inadequacies.

  I don’t need any more reminders of those.

  Music had always been the one thing that calmed his soul. But thanks to Duke Engren, music no longer held the same joy it once did. No matter how bright, every note contained a painful reminder of his past.

  How can I enjoy something I can no longer create?

  The lyrics of Summers Gone by Ignitus, one of Rondel’s early influences came to mind.

  When a man is no longer what once defined him,

  he becomes a leaf drifting in the wind.

  Searching for answers,

  trying to find the hole in his soul to mend.

  He wrote that just before he died. I never fully grasped what that meant until now. He sighed. Except Ignitus’s skills faded naturally over time. Mine were taken.

  Without music to soothe him, Rondel spent each night at the fire thinking, which lately turned out to be less than ideal. The more he thought, the more he considered his current life. He knew it could be worse. In fact, it had been worse when he had rotted away in prison.

  Gods, my thoughts grow worse by the minute. I need to find a hobby.

  He closed his eyes, hoping his dreams would at least be pleasant. After another disappointing day on the road, he could use something positive.

  A faint sniffle, followed by a concealing cough caught his attention.

  Rondel cracked an eyelid and turned toward Jahi. The boy faced away from the fire, head down. Hunched over, Rondel felt a twinge of guilt for his
own self-pity.

  I’m over here feeling sorry for myself, and I keep forgetting it’s his sister we’re going after.

  He climbed to his feet and moved over to Jahi. The boy heard him coming and quickly wiped his face. Rondel sat next to him, pretending not to notice the dampness still present on his cheeks.

  “How’re the legs?” he asked.

  Jahi cleared his throat. “They’re toughening up. Just tired, mostly.”

  “That’ll start to go away in time.”

  “Do you know when? I could use something to look forward to.”

  “Hard to say,” Rondel snorted. “I’m still waiting for that to happen to mine. I was just repeating something Andrasta told me.”

  “Was she lying?”

  “Nothing like that. I just have the misfortune of having a slave-driver for a business associate. Any time I start to get used to something, she makes me do something harder or different.”

  Three rapid thuds hummed over the crackling fire behind them.

  Jahi wheeled. “What was that?”

  “Andrasta throwing knives at some tree unfortunate to draw her ire.”

  “In the dark? How can she see anything?”

  “I have no idea.”

  The woman hissed something faint.

  “Great.”

  “What happened?”

  “She must have missed one of her targets. That means she’ll be practicing half the night. Oh well, I guess you and I won’t have to worry about taking the first watch.” He noticed something in Jahi’s hand. “What’s that?”

  “Oh. Well . . . I . . .”

  “It’s all right. You don’t have to tell me if you’re embarrassed.”

  Jahi straightened. “I’m not embarrassed. It’s a piece of a scarf Dendera gave me several years ago. I keep it under my shirt.”

  Rondel realized that he had forgotten the boy’s youth. His height and intelligence made it easy to think of him as more mature.

  Doesn’t even have whiskers yet. Brave though, he thought, considering everything he had done. Broke us out of the dungeon. Ventured off into unknown and dangerous lands. Already suffered a great deal of pain.

  “Tell me about her.”

  “Why? You know her.”