The Cult of Sutek

by Joshua P. Simon

“I have only two impressions of Dendera. One of a snot-nosed little girl and the other of a spoiled teenager angry at her father. I’m willing to bet the girl you know is much different than both. Am I right?”

  “She isn’t spoiled if that’s what you mean.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’m not saying her behavior isn’t a little selfish. It is. However, I think she has a right to be that way. After our mother died, she never really asked for anything from Father. She knew he was busy, more so with Mother gone. Whatever Father asked of Dendera, she did. Whatever she thought Father might need, she got for him. She was no different with me. She acted like a servant, except everything she did for us was out of love. Like she was trying to replace Mother and be that rock for us.” He grunted. “Not many young children can manage a household and entertain guests, but somehow she did that and so much more.”

  “Who was that rock for her?”

  “I don’t know. I never considered it.” He grunted. “I guess that doesn’t speak much of me.”

  “What you’re doing now does.”

  “Maybe. Last year Father went to Dendera and said he wanted to do something special for her as a way to show his gratitude for all she had done for him. He’d give her anything she asked. Without hesitation, she asked that when it came time for her to take a husband that she be allowed to choose. Can you see why she was so hurt? I know a lot changed politically in the last year for my father, but in her eyes it was the one thing she had ever asked for, and it was taken away. He just as soon told her that he didn’t love her anymore.”

  “That does shed her in a different light. Thanks for sharing that.”

  “Your welcome. I didn’t want you to judge her based on one small moment of time when she was at her worst. Not when she’s done so much good for others.”

  “Good point. Unfortunately, not everyone can claim their ratio of good and bad is as heavily weighted as your sister’s appears to be.”

  I should know.

  * * *

  Rondel held the last note of the Ballad of Qurosh until he felt as though he would pass out.

  Then he held it a moment longer.

  He took a knee, head bowed before the throne as his lungs screamed for the air he had denied them. To mask his sudden heaving of breath, his fingers danced across the neck of his lute, finishing the epic with a rapid flourish followed by a drawn out vibrato.

  The hall erupted as the note faded. A cacophony of hands clapping and attendants cheering echoed in the space. Rondel savored every sound though he dared not let himself show pleasure. Instead, he stayed bowed, waiting for the prompting of King Ursey of Spurgal to rise.

  He didn’t have to wait long as a hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up, surprised and excited to see that King Ursey had left the throne to meet him personally. It was a rare honor.

  “You are blessed by the gods, Rondel. Please, stand.”

  Rondel obeyed. “Your Majesty is too kind. It pleases me that you enjoyed the performance.”

  “A man would be mad not to. How long will you be staying?”

  “Only a few days.”

  His eyes widened. “Only a few days? That’s not nearly long enough.”

  “Well Your Majesty, I have plans to visit King Josiah just weeks from now.”

  “That old lout. There must be something I can give you that might encourage you to stay a while longer.”

  “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. But I would hate to go back on my word.”

  Ursey leaned in close. “Come now. There must be something. We’ve had a good crop this year and the coffers are full. What say I double the gold promised you?” He paused. “It would mean a great deal to the princess. Once my daughter heard you were returning, she’s been unable to talk about anything else. Your performance last time left quite an impression on her. That’s the whole reason I asked you to return to us so soon. She’s getting married next month, and for a wedding present she was adamant to have you entertain us again.”

  Rondel shifted his gaze behind the king to where his daughter stood near the throne. The young woman wore a light-blue dress, cut dangerously low. He did his best not to dwell on what he had discovered beneath the garment on his last visit. But when his eyes drifted up to her face where thin, red lips held a devilish grin, he couldn’t help but recall the late nights he had spent in the princess’s chambers.

  He quickly looked away before he embarrassed himself. Meeting the king’s eyes helped him regain control.

  Rondel put on his best smile. “Your Majesty, how could I possibly deny your dear daughter’s request?”

  “And Josiah?”

  “Well, he will just have to accept my apologies for my tardiness.”

  The king breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. My daughter is a hard girl to please.”

  Rondel’s mind jumped to places it had no business going. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself, Your Majesty. Young women her age are not nearly as hard to please as you might imagine.”

  * * *

  “Rondel! Wake up!”

  Rondel opened his eyes to Jahi shaking his shoulder.

  He sat up fast, blinking in the predawn light, wiping away sleep. The hint of smoke from dying embers hung in the air, tickling his nostrils. “What’s wrong?”

  “I hear fighting,” he hissed.

  In the distance, through the woods, he heard the echoes of steel upon steel.

  A scream ripped through the air.

  The sound of someone dying.

  Rondel grabbed his sword while climbing to his feet. “Where’s Andrasta?”

  “She was gone when I awoke.”

  Rondel cursed as the clashing of steel renewed. “Come on!” he called, loping off into the woods toward the sound of battle.

  A racing heart pumped blood through his limbs. Nervous sweat sprouted from his skin as the fighting grew in volume. He ducked beneath low hanging branches and jumped over exposed roots and rocks like a man possessed.

  Ronde looked left as the sound of moving water rose above the crunching leaves under his feet.

  He entered a clearing and briefly came to a halt. In any other circumstance, he liked to think he would have acted immediately, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

  Andrasta stood naked in the soft morning light, wet hair plastered to her head, neck, and back. Water dripped off her exposed limbs as did blood from a cut on her upper arm and another on her side. Despite her situation, she held her bloody sword out and ready.

  Two men, one with an axe, the other with a sword, squared off against her. They wore boiled leather and mail, but it was obvious from their stances, the advantage did little to bring them comfort. They shuffled sideways, forward and backward, looking hesitant.

  Rondel’s eyes drifted down to the dewy grass between Andrasta and her opponents. A man lay dead, another crawled toward his friends, moaning for help. Andrasta jammed her sword into the crawling man’s back. She pulled it free, and he went still.

  “By the gods,” Rondel heard Jahi whisper as he came up beside him. He gave the kid a quick glance. Jahi’s eyes had widened to epic levels, and Rondel wondered what part of the scene held his attention most.

  He is fourteen.

  “Focus kid. Do some sorcery.”

  Something like a mumble came out of the boy’s mouth but Rondel had no time to ask for clarification as he saw another man enter the clearing carrying a long spear.

  Rondel was sure that if he and Andrasta’s roles were reversed, the woman would have already acted.

  Granted, I’d be dead by now. No way I’d last more than two breaths against four men with my armor, let alone without.

  A guttural scream ripped from Andrasta’s lungs as she attacked the man with the axe. Rondel swore and sprinted past her. He charged the spearman who had been trying to flank her. The way the spearman darted backward, it appeared that he had not seen Rondel at the forest’s edge.

  He slowed with his last few ste
ps, careful not to be reckless in his attack. The spearman darted toward him.

  “Watch the hips with a spearman. It’s where they get their power.”

  He remembered Andrasta’s words and stared at the man’s belt as his opponent came at him. He recognized the feint, and slipped to the left. The spearman retracted the spear and slid his feet right while simultaneously lowering his hips. The next thrust would be the real thing. He brought his sword down as the spearhead came forward, blade striking the shaft aside.

  “After the initial clash, move in close and take away his advantage of reach.”

  Rondel turned his sword and lunged. The spearman stepped back to avoid the thrust, but tripped. Rondel’s first attack missed, but the second, an overhead hack at the man’s neck, connected. A spurt of blood followed the wet thud, and the man fell like a windblown stalk of wheat.

  I did it. By myself. He thought of the first man he killed when escaping prison. And by the gods, this was not pure luck.

  Rondel wanted to shout in elation at his success but with his opponent dead, he became aware of the sudden silence. He wheeled back toward Andrasta, ready to help, but she wasn’t there. Four dead bodies lay in the clearing. Each bore wounds brought on by the cut or stab of a sword.

  Jahi remained where Rondel had left him. What’s wrong with that boy? “Where’s Andrasta?” he called.

  The boy said nothing and Rondel ran toward him. “Jahi!” The boy jumped. “Where’s Andrasta?”

  He raised an arm, pointing. “She ran into the woods.”

  “Why?”

  His eyes drifted back to the bodies on the ground.

  Rondel swore. He didn’t do anything. Scared?

  “Stay here,” said Rondel as he turned. “I’m going after her.”

  Rondel hated leaving the boy alone, but he had no time to comfort him with Andrasta off doing only the gods knew what. He entered the trees at the opposite side of the small clearing, ducking under a small sycamore. He wasn’t sure if he was even heading in the right direction until he saw small, bright splotches of blood adorning the lush hanging leaves of a willow.

  A wet hacking followed by a weak gasp caught his attention. He slowed his pace, carefully edging out into the next clearing. Andrasta lay on her side, holding the back of her thigh with part of a cloak she had torn off a dead man’s shoulders. Two corpses rested beside her. Seven horses stood farther away.

  She lifted her sword at the noise Rondel made entering the clearing, lowering it after recognizing him. She yanked the loose part of the cloak up to her chest, positioning it to cover herself. A deep scowl sat on her face as he hurried over.

  “You’re hurt.”

  “Without my boots, I slipped.” She nodded. “That whoreson got under my guard and sliced into my thigh.”

  Rondel glanced at the one she pointed out. The man’s left leg had been hacked off near the same spot Andrasta held the cloak on hers. A stab through the throat had finished the job.

  “Well, at least you returned the favor.” Rondel kneeled beside her. He reached for her leg. She pulled back from him, somehow managing to raise her sword to his chest while keeping herself covered.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “The wound needs tending.”

  “I can do it myself,” she snapped.

  “Really? You plan to tend to a wound you’re practically contorting yourself to reach, all while keeping that cloak over you? Oh, and let’s not forget you need to keep your sword at hand in case someone else comes strolling by. That sounds like a splendid plan.”

  She pressed the tip of her sword against his chest. “I’m in no mood to be mocked.”

  He slapped her blade aside. “And I’m in no mood for this. The wound needs attention, and as you’ve mentioned before, this is one of the few things I’m ‘adequate’ at.”

  Rondel didn’t move, letting his words sink in. Her scowl grew deeper, the scar across her face becoming more prominent as her brow furrowed.

  She set her sword down.

  He was ready to make another quip about her going soft, but decided that might not be the best idea given the situation.

  Andrasta eased the cloak away, exposing a long, horizontal cut across the back of her thigh. Blood ran from the wound without pressure, streaking down her dark-brown skin. He bent and examined the cut, trying to determine its depth. After a moment, he put her hand back over the wound.

  “Well?” she asked as he stood.

  He hurried over to the horses of those Andrasta had killed. “You’re lucky,” he said, while searching their packs. “I don’t think its deep enough to cause any permanent damage. However, it may take some time to heal considering its location.”

  After some digging, Rondel found some needle and thread as well as a clean shirt he could use for bandages. He gathered the supplies and walked to Andrasta where he began ripping the shirt. Done with the shirt, he threaded the needle.

  Kneeling beside her, he asked, “Do you need something to bite on? I think I can find a stick or—”

  “Just do it.”

  He moved her hand away from her thigh. The bleeding had slowed but would start again the second Andrasta placed weight on the leg. He cleaned it quickly.

  She jerked slightly as the needle first pierced her skin, but afterward remained calm. He looked up once to make sure she was all right. The woman had her head down and eyes closed as if somewhere else. Her breathing remained steady while he stitched.

  Rondel tied the thread off with the aid of his teeth and cut it. He grabbed a skin of water from the horses, washed her thigh, and wrapped her leg using the rest of the shirt.

  On the last knot he paused. Stupid fingers.

  “I need your help on this one. I won’t get it tight enough on account of my hand.”

  “It’s fine.” Andrasta sat up, somehow managing to keep herself covered while grabbing both ends of the cloth, and tying the knot herself.

  “Do you want me to look at the cuts on your arm and side?”

  “They can wait. I just want to get back to my clothes.”

  Andrasta started to push herself up but couldn’t figure out how to do so while keeping the cloak about her. Rondel wanted to laugh at the contrast in the woman’s behavior.

  She kills four men on her own, runs through the woods naked to kill two more, and now, you’d think she was a maiden on her wedding night the way she’s covering herself.

  The realization gave him pause and made him see his partner differently. It was easy to think of Andrasta as a cold-blooded warrior. She certainly lived up to the reputation of savagery rampant within the lands of Juntark. However, watching her struggle with the cloak reminded him she was still a woman.

  And should be treated as such.

  Rondel offered her a hand. “Please.”

  She looked up, but did not reach for it.

  He sighed. “Please tell me we aren’t going to go through this again. Look, you can go back to being the loner who shrugs off all forms of help and scowls with general displeasure after your leg has healed. Or at least until you get your clothes back on. For now, just let me do some small part to repay you for all that you’ve done for me.”

  She hesitated as if confused, but eventually took Rondel’s hand. “It’s not like you to be so demanding.”

  He smirked. “What can I say, you’re rubbing off on me, I guess.”

  She snorted. “Just don’t make it a habit.”

  He helped her up and threw her arm over his shoulder which she surprisingly allowed him to do as they limped back through the woods.

  “What have I done for you?” she asked, her voice taking on a thoughtful tone.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said that you wanted to repay me? I don’t understand. I’ve done nothing to warrant repayment.”

  “You got me out of prison.”

  “You helped.”

  “Barely. You’ve also taught me to fight. Granted, I have a long way to go,
but I never thought I would be able to dispense of a spearman as I did earlier.”

  “I was wondering if you were going to do anything or seize up like the boy.”

  “Sorry. It won’t happen again. I was uh . . . taken aback by what I came upon.” He felt Andrasta’s stare and reddened. “Anyway, I don’t feel as useless with a sword. And you do most of the hunting and cooking.” He cleared his throat. “I’m just trying to let you know I appreciate everything.”

  Andrasta grunted. Nothing more.

  What is that one supposed to mean?

  He thought for a moment, trying to categorize the sound among the others he had filed away in his head. The sound had been low, even contemplative, like she was considering his admission.

  That has to be a good thing. Right?

  They entered the next clearing. The bodies lay where Rondel had left them. Jahi stepped out from behind a large sycamore. He held a sword in his hand.

  Why bother with a sword when you can call on fire?

  Jahi walked toward them, relief washing over his face.

  “I thought you might have been killed.”

  “So you cowered behind a tree?” snapped Andrasta.

  “I . . . Are you hurt badly?”

  “Bad enough, no thanks to you. You said in Girga, we could count on you. I—”

  “She’ll be all right with a little rest,” cut in Rondel, seeing the wounded look on the boy’s face. “There are some horses in the woods. Why don’t you lead them back to our camp? Make sure to bring the supplies with you. We can use a good bit of what’s there and sell the mounts at the next town we visit.”

  Jahi hesitated.

  “There isn’t anyone else to worry about,” Rondel assured him.

  “It isn’t that. It’s just . . .” He shifted his gaze to Andrasta. “I’m sorry.” He turned and disappeared quickly through the woods.

  Andrasta muttered something in her native language Rondel could not understand. He only knew it to be a curse by the tone and frequency he had heard the words uttered.

  Usually directed at me.

  He walked Andrasta over to a fallen willow and set her down. “Ease up on the boy.”

  “Ease up? He’s supposed to be a sorcerer. Yet, he didn’t do anything.”