The Cult of Sutek

by Joshua P. Simon

  “That’s Menetnashte,” said Jahi.

  “Are you sure?” asked Andrasta.

  Jahi narrowed his eyes. “Without a doubt.”

  “The Heka used to be performed each year. Over time, followers of our god grew scared and bowed under the ridicule and threats of outsiders. They gradually reduced the frequency of this holy ceremony until it disappeared entirely. They were afraid to keep the old ways. Afraid to do what Sutek ordered us to do.” His voice went low. “No wonder, we lost his favor. No wonder we lost our power. But not after tomorrow. You’ve seen yourself how much stronger we’ve become in the short amount of time since I became Sutek’s mouthpiece. This is only the beginning!”

  The cult cheered.

  “In the old days when Sutek was pleased with his followers, he would grant his priest unrivaled powers. With the Heka, you will see that tenfold. All of Iget will be ours. And in time, so will the rest of Untan!”

  The cultists erupted in cheers. It slowly faded back into chants. Menetnashte walked away, disappearing into a side corridor. A monster of a man, standing a head taller than the high priest, left with him.

  That must be the bodyguard Horus spoke of.

  “This is worse than I thought,” whispered Jahi.

  “Why?”

  “The Heka. It’s a very old practice. Barbaric. From sunrise to sunset, they will sacrifice one hundred women, one after the other.”

  Andrasta swore.

  Jahi swallowed. “It gets worse. Sutek’s followers rape the women before they sacrifice them.”

  Gods, what did we get ourselves into.

  “Well, there is some good news in all of this,” said Rondel. They looked to him. “They need a hundred women to perform the sacrifice. That means Dendera is likely alive.”

  “It also means this place is bigger than we thought. Think of the space needed to keep that many people captive along with all these worshippers.”

  “And those are only the ones we’ve seen. There are possibly others elsewhere.” Rondel winced knowing what was coming next.

  “We need to split up after all,” said Andrasta.

  I knew it.

  * * *

  Jahi mostly listened as Rondel and Andrasta formulated a quick plan, deciding which routes each would take as Andrasta found several other tunnels sloping downward. They all assumed the tunnels would lead them to the lower part of the cavern.

  Jahi took the one on the far right. He had been frightened by the horrors of The Blood Forest and revolted by the sacrificial scene, but as he slowly worked his way down the looping tunnel he learned a new fear.

  He knew he could defend himself with his sorcery, but the uneasiness of not having Rondel or Andrasta at his side, had him constantly looking over one shoulder. Even that fear was nothing compared to the fear of failure. Part of him knew that Dendera was dead and that everything he did was a waste. However, another part of him would not give up hope. That part of him thought about all his sister had done for him.

  Even with no skills, I could see her doing the same thing that I’m doing now if it meant she might save me.

  The chanting stopped. Unlike before, silence did not follow it. Instead, dozens of conversations erupted among Sutek’s followers. The ease with which they laughed and spoke reminded him of the soldiers in his father’s army. He edged to the tunnel’s opening which led to the vast chamber. He discovered the reason behind the merriment stemmed from conversations about which virgin would be theirs on the morrow.

  “I like the short one from Meir.”

  “The one with the soft face.”

  “Yes. And the big brown eyes.”

  “Let’s see how big those eyes get tomorrow, brother.”

  The two snickered and walked down one of a dozen tunnels that led away from the cavern floor.

  Jahi took a breath to calm himself, feeling heat rise in his palms.

  If only I had the power, I’d bring this whole mountain down on them.

  He shook away his thoughts as several figures appeared near the tunnel entrances carrying buckets. They wore loose robes of tan and offered water to the followers of Sutek who passed them.

  Jahi noticed the lack of respect given to those in tan.

  Servants.

  One of the servants turned toward Jahi. He was pleased to see the face of a boy near his age.

  A way in. But how to distract one long enough to take his robes?

  A thought came to him.

  * * *

  Andrasta dressed quickly in the black and gray attire of a Sutek cultist. The difficult part had come when trying to extract information from the man before killing him. She had jammed a knife into his mouth so he could not pop loose the suicide pill hidden in his teeth. She had done this while persuading him it would be in his best interests to give her the information she sought.

  She had worried for a moment the man would be so callous from his participation in Sutek’s disgusting acts, that he would be unphased by her threats.

  But things change when the blade is held against your skin.

  A prick at the man’s crotch, just enough to pierce his leathers and draw blood, had him whispering every piece of information he could think of about the cavern.

  Andrasta had considered the suicide pill again. Perhaps they take it so quickly not out of devotion to Sutek, but because they have no backbone to speak of.

  Once she got the information she needed, she allowed him to swallow his precious pill so she would not have to worry about concealing spilled blood or putting holes in his disguise.

  She adorned herself with the last of the man’s garb, a black head covering. Up close she saw it was decorated with silver etching. With only her eyes visible, she doubted anyone could tell who was underneath. For once she was thankful not to be a full blooded Juntarkan. She hoped that the brown tone visible around her eyes would mirror the sun-baked skin of many she had come upon in the region. The scar crossing her eyes would probably aid her in keeping her gender a secret. She snorted, thinking about how many times the painful memory had served her.

  She left the man’s body in the small alcove and drifted out of the tunnel into one of several main corridors. She headed in the direction the man had said they kept the virgin captives.

  Within five steps someone shouted at her from behind. She wheeled as a man hurried up to her.

  “I’ve been looking all over for you, Wati,” the man hissed, hurrying her forward. “Come, they should be passing by any minute.”

  A few moments later, Andrasta walked at the back of two columns. Each consisted of ten cultists. The man who caught her walked to the left.

  Her eyes flicked in his direction as he kept throwing dissatisfied looks her way. Face uncovered, he had thick caterpillar-like eyebrows with a neat, black beard. Her hand casually drifted to the hilt of her sword.

  “Where were you this time?” he whispered.

  Andrasta shrugged.

  “This is the last time I cover for you.”

  “Silence,” someone snapped up front.

  The man next to Andrasta scowled, but said nothing more. She lowered her hand from her sword. They were headed in the direction she wanted to go anyway.

  * * *

  Rondel made his way down a long, dark corridor, wearing the standard black and gray garb he had seen earlier. He was surprised at how quickly he had killed the man, surprised further that he had the strength to drag him out of sight before beginning his search for Dendera.

  He had already walked through several of the cool passageways, doing his best not to appear suspicious, but it was getting harder to pull off as most others traveled in groups.

  Maybe splitting up was a bad idea.

  Regardless, he felt like he was making strong headway in his search as the current corridor he traversed was the first with doors over the openings. He opened the first couple easily enough, finding no sign of Dendera or anyone else. The rooms were stacked with food and other supplies.

&nbs
p; Happy to find something that wasn’t human flesh within his reach, he gobbled down a handful of sweet, black cherries, spitting out the pits rapidly while stuffing a few apples and dates under his clothes.

  The next door was locked with no obvious way inside. He pressed his ear against the door and heard nothing. He decided to take a chance and rapped his knuckles against the hard wood. After no response, he tried again, harder than before. Something slammed into the door with a loud thud, knocking him back. Thick snarls and skittering scratches sounded behind the door.

  I doubt a hundred virgins would sound like that.

  He continued checking each door until the corridor branched off in three directions. He chose the one on the left as he heard footsteps approaching from the two others.

  The first door was unlocked. He eased inside to find another storage room, this one filled with large wooden barrels and shelves of small clay containers varying in size.

  He expected to see a label for salted pork or brined fish on the barrels. Instead, the chemical symbol for phalogen, a half circle intersected with a right triangle, had been burned on a lid. He checked another barrel and saw the symbol for kilogen, a bowl with smoke drifting upward. At this point, his curiosity got the better of him and he continued checking the other barrels until he ran across one that caused him to step back carefully. A sun surrounded in fire stood bright on the barrel’s lid.

  Urilaudium. Gods, Maskini was right. Rondel thought about how no one at Horus’s party had believed what the minor noble said about Menetnashte having access to the substances. That’s always the way. We ignore the ones who actually know what they’re talking about. And usually for stupid reasons.

  He eyed the barrel again. Why of all places was this door not locked? Rondel knew urilaudium and kilogen together would create something scary, but he couldn’t quite remember phalogen. It struck him.

  It is a natural stabilizer. So that means the other chemicals can be mixed safely until heat is introduced to the compound.

  A small breath passed his lips while trying to relax. It wouldn’t matter how many mercenaries Horus manages to buy. If Menetnashte brought this to the battlefield, it would be over before it ever really started. Gods, how did he even come by this much urilaudium? And why even bother with some crazy cult and sadistic ritual? Who needs some god that’s fallen out of favor when you can just blow up your enemies with this?

  Voices came from behind.

  “Why is the door open? Didn’t you lock it?”

  “We were coming right back.”

  “You idiot.”

  Rondel spun as the door swung inward, striking the stone wall. Two cultists entered the space. They came to a halt. The surprise in their eyes told him he better have a good reason for being in the room. The taller one on the left started to open his mouth when Rondel cut him off.

  “Wait, this isn’t the privy,” he said, hunching over as if in pain.

  The man on the right blinked. “The privy?”

  Rondel groaned. “Yes. Something isn’t settling right with me. I think I had one too many toes for dinner.”

  “What does that have to do with you thinking this is the privy?”

  “Grab him,” the other said. “We’ll take him to the high priest for questioning.”

  Rondel hunched over further, backing away from the man, pretending he needed to vomit. He moved his hand away from his stomach, over to his sword hilt. “No. I’m just a bit dizzy is all. Forgot where I was. You know how it is when you start eating people. You have a glass of wine to wash it down. Then one glass turns to two . . . .”

  He yanked his sword free and lunged, piercing the man closest to him in the groin. The cultist gasped as he went down next to a barrel of kilogen. Rondel yanked his sword back as the second man stepped away quickly, reaching for his own sword. Rondel swept his blade around. It sliced across his opponent’s forearm, causing him to lose grip on his half drawn weapon.

  The man stepped back with a yelp. Anger flashed across his face. He charged. Rondel braced his legs, but the weight behind the charge threw him up against a stone wall. The man cursed, his breath lined with the awful stench of cooked human flesh Rondel had smelled earlier. They wrestled for Rondel’s sword.

  Using the wall behind him, Rondel leveraged himself so he was able to raise one of his legs without falling over. He slammed the heel of his foot down on the instep of his opponent. The man faltered. Rondel threw the cultist to the ground, freeing his sword once more. He chopped down across the man’s neck, half severing his head. The first opponent still lay on the ground groaning, unable to muster enough energy to move while both hands pressed against the blood streaming from his groin.

  “Tell me where the virgins are and I’ll make it quick,” said Rondel, staring at the man.

  The injured man met his eyes and spat. He worked his jaw and leaned his head back. Rondel realized what the man was doing. He hurried to stop him from using the pill, but a white froth dribbled down the corners of his mouth.

  The cultist stopped breathing.

  “Crap.”

  Rondel looked at the two bodies and realized that eventually people would begin looking for them. He walked toward the door, pausing for a second at one of the shelves. Clay containers already mixed with the chemicals inside the barrels rested within reach. He placed several of the containers in pouches on his clothes, hoping he wouldn’t have to use them. That hope didn’t stop him also grabbing a nearby sack and making sure he had gathered a few more of each size, signifying the strength of the compound within each clay container.

  He peeked into the hallway, saw no one, and slipped out of the room, careful to latch the door behind him.

  * * *

  Jahi had thought himself clever by taking the servant’s clothes, but quickly realized the disguise made it nearly impossible for him to venture off on his own.

  The moment he tried to search a tunnel, a cultist yanked him by his collar, and struck him across the face. “What are you doing away from your group?”

  He sputtered. He hadn’t realized that servants only moved in groups. Jahi opened his mouth to speak, but an open hand struck him across the face. “You dare speak in my presence?”

  Jahi ignored the sting across his check. The man struck him again and Jahi had to fight off his inclination to turn the man into a pillar of flame. He kept his eyes down to hide his anger, knowing the guard would take it as a sign of defiance to do otherwise.

  The guard clicked his tongue and he threw Jahi down. “Get back to your group.”

  Jahi scrambled to his feet, catching a glimpse of others dressed in tan, farther down the corridor. He hurried toward them, thankful that no one acknowledged his presence. If all servants were part of small groups, it would be obvious that he was not the boy he had stolen the clothes from. He drew his hood up, keeping his head down. He stared at the floor while cursing himself.

  I’ll never find Dendera like this.

  “Hold,” said a strong voice.

  Jahi stopped behind the servant in front of him. He risked glancing up, eyes peeking over the edge of his hood. A cultist spoke with one of the servants.

  “Bring warm water, scented oil, and fresh clothes to the virgins. High Priest Menetnashte wants to ensure they are deemed suitable in the eyes of Sutek tomorrow.”

  The guard pivoted and left without waiting for a response. The servants began walking again at an increased pace.

  Jahi took a slow breath, excited at his turn of luck, hopeful that Dendera would be among those held captive.

  * * *

  Many of the cultists marching in front of Andrasta peeled off into the maze of corridors. By the time they reached a set of large double doors, only five in her group remained, including the man who had been upset by her tardiness.

  The captain stepped forward and knocked. A moment later she entered behind the others and took a place along the wall, as they did.

  The High Priest of Sutek sat behind a solid desk, paint
ed in dozens of grotesque scenes, some of which would make the cannibalism she had witnessed earlier seem innocent. She ignored Menetnashte for a moment, fascinated by the horrors in front of her. The colors used in depicting the scenes were dull, muted as if a hint of black had to be added to each. The only color that truly stood out was the dominant dark red used to represent blood.

  Her gaze moved back to Menetnashte. He did not match Jahi’s description. He looked younger than Rondel, a contrast to his supposed seventy years of life.

  Next to the high priest stood the huge figure she had seen near the altar. She was reminded of Duke Engren’s bodyguard, Fern. Fern and Nizam were close matches in size with the exception that Menetnashte’s bodyguard carried an additional twenty pounds of muscle.

  All in the neck.

  The bodyguard looked relaxed to the untrained eye, but she knew better. Even through his clothing, she could see him poised to move quickly—knees, ankles, and elbows slightly bent.

  A part of her wanted to forget all about her current obligation, yank her sword free, and challenge the man in single combat, hoping a victory might wash away her failure at defeating Fern without help.

  But then what? Even if they allow such a fight and I win, I won’t be allowed to escape.

  She took in the rest of the room. Precious metal and jewels decorated the shelves, each shaped into some devilish mold she was sure related back to the sadistic cult. She fought an urge to snatch one. Just one would be enough to finance her mission to retrieve the Jewel of Bashan.

  I could forget about Dendera, steal a horse, and be on my way to Bashan by morning with a pouch full of coin. She also thought of Jahi and Rondel. Her urge retreated. Why do they matter so much to me? Why should I care about them? Because they helped me a few times? So what? I’ve more than helped them.

  She could hear her master’s sharp voice, the way he accentuated each word when talking to her, reprimanding every little thing she did wrong. “As I told your father, he would have done better by marrying you off to some pig farmer. At least he would have gotten some meat for your dowry. Here, he has nothing. What does that tell you, Amani? You are nothing to him. Not even worth a few pigs. Why are you here? You are too pathetic to be a warrior!”