Blood flowed through the reeds, her blood, slowly draining out of her… Her lifeblood, the rich coppery aroma of it filled the air, mixed with the scent of the herbs in the Water of Life as they were drawn into her.
It must be and they both knew it. She was the one who must go and he the one who must stay.
Egypt needed her only surviving General.
Irisi’s successor had already been chosen.
Slowly, he touched his lips to hers, the kiss soft as the priests and priestesses chanted around them. Her hand was warm on his face as their lips found each other. Grief lay heavy on his heart. Duty lay heavier. He couldn’t bear to let her go and yet he couldn’t keep her, however much he wished it. He, too, served the will of the Gods. And he could see no other choice, no other way.
The herbs, the potions, flowed into her, burned in her veins. Irisi fought the pain of it with warm feel of Khai’s lips, so long forbidden, on hers…and with the surge of love that washed through her.
“Irisi,” he whispered. “You are my heart.”
As he was hers but she could no longer speak the words or break the chant that echoed endlessly in the back of her mind. It had taken long months of practice to see the characters of the Book of Emerging into Daytime even as she listened and observed, a skill few achieved and the mark of a priestess.
The stone of the altar was cold and the chill seemed to soak slowly into her flesh.
Around her Irisi could hear the chanting, feel it echo in her bones, and with it sense the minds and voices of the priests and priestesses raised in support of her and of those who fought below, mixed with the drone of the Horn in the chamber beneath them.
It had taken some little time for Irisi to achieve the light trance state necessary to endure what was done, yet still remain aware, so some of the pain and the weakness seeped through to batter at her will. As did the will of the creatures in the darkness of the chamber below―the magic of the Horn and her own will, joined to these others, was all held them there. She must balance them all and she dared not falter.
Her lifeblood seeped away as the embalming fluids flowed in. The natron and herbs bit sharply into her veins. They burned as it went but she turned her thoughts away from that as she turned them away from the other things they did.
Nafre folded her arms across her breast with a hand on each shoulder as others bound her so tightly with lengths of linen Irisi could barely breathe. Her hair was coiled up as the cloth was wrapped around her throat, her mouth and her forehead. Cold fluid brushed across her belly, to be followed by numbness. Something pressed just below her breastbone, there was a sharp sense of invasion as they finished wrapping her body in the last long lengths of linen.
Deliberately, she forced herself to concentrate on the words from the Book.
Warm fluid soaked her from collarbone to feet. It drenched the linen and stung sharply in the cuts they made.
A cry echoed from the darkness below. That, too, fell on the deaf ears of those around her. None here would pity that one. Not after what he’d done.
She bit back her own cries. Fought the sense of being constricted.
Khai…
Remaining still by an act of will she kept her eyes focused on his dark ones, sought the gold within them, the warmth as her own drained away. His will melded to hers, lent her the strength she needed to do this as the weakness grew, until he stepped back as, finally, he must.
Her heart struggled in her chest to draw the sacred herbs, natron and fluids through her veins even as it pumped her blood out. Mixed among the herbs was the blood of the one who lay below so she would be bound to him and he to her.
The last length of linen went across her eyes. The stars disappeared behind the linen to take her down into darkness.
Pain flashed, sharp and sudden within her to leave a sense of absence, a stillness within her.
It would go quickly now and she was grateful for that. She kept her mind locked on the words of the Book. She dared not think, dared not let her mind stray, or all would be lost. She couldn’t allow herself to acknowledge loss. Or grief.
She wished, though, for one last glance at Khai’s face, for one last chance to look into his eyes with their hint of warm gold, even as she remembered that first night he had touched her. He could have taken her, but he hadn’t. Instead, she’d offered herself to him. Her heart ached as her body grew colder.
There was little time. She felt them raise her to carry her swiftly out.
A coughing roar echoed down the tunnel that led outside. They followed that sound down that entry, she knew.
The lions, her lions…
They had been gifts of the Goddess Sekhmet when that Goddess had turned her away, sending her to Isis’s service instead. They would come with her, her lions, to keep her company through her long duty so she wouldn’t be utterly alone. For that, she was grateful.
Watching, Khai looked away as they tipped her up for he couldn’t watch as her linen wrapped form slid with a splash of the Water of Life into the hollow in the stele they’d carved for her.
He could wish this had been done in sunlight for his Irisi was a creature of light not darkness.
His light…
Irisi.
Grief burned. If he could have gone in her place…
He couldn’t, he was no priest, he had no magic. Nor as Egypt’s only surviving General could he leave his country and its people undefended any more than Irisi could have refused this.
Duty and honor wouldn’t allow it.
He laid a hand against the cold stone, listened as the hammers beat above him with a sound like a heartbeat, listened as they pounded the sealing stone into place with steady rhythmic blows. Sealing the stele with Irisi inside it. What was it like for her there, in the darkness filled with the Water of Life? It would be like drowning.
He willed her the strength and courage to endure. Like the rhythm of her heart, each blow of mallet on stone echoed from the distant walls, whispering back over the grassy hollow.
Above, through the narrow break in the cavern roof the stars glittered coldly.
Desperately Irisi’s lungs sought air, her body fought even as she clung desperately to trance, to the endless mental chanting of the words from the Book of Life, the secret book of the priesthood. She had to hold against her grief and fear, the close space that surrounded her.
What lay below, him and them, battered against her will.
Khai was still here, though, her beloved Khai and these others she loved. Kahotep, Djeserit, Awan, and all the priests and priestesses with whom she’d served over the years. Even poor foresworn Saini in the distant chamber below, seeking his redemption in this act as he watched the last faint light disappear as the doors shut on him, sealing him in among the Dark, among Them…
She could almost pity him, not knowing which of them suffered the worst fate.
Faintly through the stone she could hear the preternatural echo of the Horn as he blew endlessly, drawing air through his nose while he blew out through his mouth. That sound must not falter until the doors were shut and sealed. Forever. And he knew it.
Beyond, outward, there was all of Egypt, all of the world. Helpless before what lay within the chamber below.
They could not let what resided so restlessly within that chamber escape to lay waste over their beloved Egypt and all the world. She could not set what lay within that tomb on the peoples of this world, not with what they knew of them. Those below would devour it. They would turn the people of the Nile, the distant people from whom Irisi had come and those of all the lands where she’d served and fought as a mercenary, into chattel, something to feed upon…and their feeding…the torment of it…
Horror shook her.
If they were to be free, safe, then she must hold, even as her body bucked, fought for air…
And so she held. It seemed an eternity, yet it was only minutes.
She remembered…and clung to her memories, lost herself in them, held them against the fear and the pain, against the cold that seeped into her flesh. The cold and the darkness.
Alone in the dark she remembered the ones, the one, that she loved and would always love.
His hand upon the stone, Khai remembered his beloved Irisi with her swords flashing, her hair swirling around her as she did battle as she had that first day he’d seen her, and all the days thereafter. He smiled at the memory, despite his grief, his sorrow and pain. Priestess and warrior. So lovely, strong, so seemingly indomitable. It was her laughter though, that rang in his memory most. That beautiful hair, her glorious eyes…her laughter and her joy.
In grief and sorrow he touched the features carved into the stone of the stele, then laid his forehead against that graven forehead as he would have done with her in life.
His fingers traced the words engraved there, the chants for Coming Forth into the Day, for Going and Coming Out of the Realm of the Dead, and For Taking on Any Shape. She would need to know them.
He willed her strength and he willed her love. How did she fare within? Was her struggle over yet, had the Gods taken her, given her surcease? Were her ba and ka free of her body?
Tales were told of one’s life flashing before one’s eyes as one died. But Irisi was not dying…nor would an afterlife await her… For that she would have wept, but there were no tears left to her.
In the darkness of the cavern far below, the great iron doors slowly closed. The sound of it echoed through the chambers above it. Bands of gold and silver were hammered across it to secure it with the powers of the Gods Ra and Isis. The seal, carefully balanced, was placed in its niche to enclose that which lay within, hopefully forever.
The chanting didn’t end…it wasn’t done, not yet.
As one, the priests and priestesses left the Tomb and closed around the stele. Each lay their hand on the stone and willed strength to the one who stood within.
The Gods came, all of them but Set, each of them to render her a gift.
Sekhmet was the last.
In the chamber below the great iron doors were closed and sealed, and she set to stand guard over it, to ensure it remained sealed, forever.
Alone through the ages to come.
Chapter Two
In the time of the early dynasties
The old thief had searched for years for this particular tomb. It was legendary. Many had sought it, none had found it. He’d heard rumors over the years, rumors that it contained a cache of gold, jewels, and a ruby as big as a man’s fist.
Now, at last, Abdul believed he’d found it. He smiled and rubbed his hands together in satisfaction.
They’d already found one treasure trove and looted it, minor though it was. An outer tomb, surprisingly. It had contained some jewels and some nice statuary, most particularly the one in his hands. Made of gold and inset with jewels, it was clearly a depiction of a priestess of some kind, with her hands on the heads of the lions to each side of her.
His tent set up, Abdul went to sit in the entrance out of the heat of the sun as one of his slaves hurried to bring him food and water.
He waved his men into the cleft in the rock.
“You know what to do,” he said. “Watch out for traps.”
There were always traps, the old ones had been wise to men like him. But men like him were wise to their ways, too. There were old thieves and bold thieves, but few bold, old thieves. Abdul was old. He let others be bold.
Hakim flapped a hand at him. “We know, old man.”
As his right hand man that one needed to show more respect.
Abdul smiled.
“If you know so much you take the lead, then,” he said to Hakim and settled on his rug to wait, folding his arms. “I’ll wait for you here.”
The other man’s face set only slightly but it was clear he was less than pleased.
As the one in the lead, he was the one most likely to find the traps. He was also the one most likely to miss one or trigger one but he dared not show his dismay in front of the men or he would lose face.
Now he would pay the price for his arrogance.
They’d already lost one man to the outer tomb, even that had been protected.
Just the presence of that tomb had been enough to fool some into thinking they’d found what they sought. Only to fall prey to the protections on it, as they’d seen by the skeletons and detritus around it.
To Abdul it was simply proof he’d been right and a greater tomb awaited if they could but find it.
He believed they had.
With a grim nod, torch held high, Hakim led the men into the cleft in the rock.
For long moments there was silence, just the sounds of the sand in the desert, the tick of warming rocks, the sound of the camels as they shifted and chewed while the sun beat down on those who waited.
Then thunder.
A massive rumble and clatter.
Dust spewed from the cleft and Abdul shook his head.
With a wave he sent more men into the rift.
“Clear it,” he said.
It was a dangerous business, raiding tombs. The old ones had been wise, setting traps for those who would raid their places of burial.
Hakim, despite his name, had not been.
A man came running, bowed respectfully and waited.
“Is it clear?”
The man nodded.
It was clear but the passage was not easy.
Abdul set more of his men to clearing the remainder of the stone as they picked their way over the rubble.
As he did so he saw Hakim, his eyes wide, dead beneath a massive stone.
Abdul shook his head.
Fool.
Abdul stepped out into the cavern, surprised at what he found there.
Still, he waved his men forward.
It was said this tomb had a curse on it but then they always said such things of tombs. If those who stole from tombs died more often than other men, it was because they risked more. There was no other reason.