Servant of the Gods Read online

  He didn’t know her name, whatever name she’d been born to, and he didn’t need to know. She was a slave, property, and had been for more than a year now. She’d gained him considerable prestige, acclaim and honor, even more gold, and the dark energies of greed, bloodlust and desire.

  Now she would bring him even more.

  She wouldn’t like his instructions and knowing that gave him a pleasure all its own. Obeying would bring her even more under his control and humble that proud spirit, knowing she couldn’t refuse him.

  Kamenwati had taken note of the lengths to which she would go to keep from killing her opponent in the ring, even to the point of taking wounds herself. As a slave though, she must obey his order; she dared not defy him – the penalty for such was harsh. Very harsh. He smiled at the thought. He knew she went warily of him. And he enjoyed knowing it.

  Attention from the slave-master, with Kamenwati watching from above, boded ill. Eres had reason enough to fear.

  In no way did she indicate how terrified she was. She kept her emotions firmly in check as she’d learned to do over the past year. The price for failure was too high…far too high.

  Had Kamenwati tired of her services in the ring? If he had, if she was to become a house slave… Another kind of fear moved through her.

  She waited.

  “You’ve performed well,” the slave-master said. “The Master is pleased.”

  Her body bore the evidence of her battles in the ring, a dozen or more scars than before she’d come here. Her scars were testament to those clashes.

  That was some little relief. Eres waited, still prostrated before him. Why then had he come to her? She couldn’t ask. A slave didn’t speak unless spoken to.

  “This next fight,” the slave master said, “must be to the death.”

  Shock rang through her and her blood ran cold.

  By no means did she show her horror.

  She’d never fought in the ring to cause another’s death. Fight, yes, but this was a game, it was for a wager – sport, entertainment, nothing more. No man’s life should be forfeit to sport. It was wrong. Even in battle, she hadn’t fought to end a man’s life, but to win, to survive, and for those she fought with to survive with her. She’d fought to first blood or disarmament, in this game. Not death.

  “Do you hear me?” he demanded.

  Something else was going on here...

  Above, she felt Kamenwati watching, felt that will batter against her own. He needed her consent, her acquiescence to his orders. It was merely the first step in her downfall.

  “I hear you,” she answered, softly, obediently, giving nothing but assent, not consent, and hoped it would suffice.

  It did...for the moment...or else the slave-master missed the import of her words.

  He waved her away negligently and she backed away.

  A breath of relief sighed out of her.

  How long it would last? How much time did she have before they realized she hadn’t truly agreed?

  Not long.

  Bowing, she rose to her feet, her head lowered as he departed. The sense of presence above her was gone.

  Fear raced through her as she considered what had been laid on her.

  According to the law in these lands, her soul wasn’t in peril until she took another’s life. In these lands she must appear so spotless she could appear before Ma’at – the Goddess who governed the balance of light and dark – and her heart would weigh as nothing compared to a feather, unstained by darkness.

  So far, she thought she could as she’d never killed in anger or in thoughtlessness. But after this? To knowingly take a man’s life, not through the accident of the ring but consciously, knowing what it was she did?

  She couldn’t. It wasn’t in her. Honest battle, yes. Deliberate murder, no.

  What could she do?

  Nothing…

  According to Egyptian law, if she took the life of another, her own would be forfeit, even if as a slave she was following her master’s orders. It was one of the questions in the Book of the Dead, when souls appeared before the Gods in judgment. Osiris or Anubis wouldn’t ask if her master had ordered it, only whether she’d done it...for the choice in the end was hers to make.

  Yet, if she disobeyed, Kamenwati had the right to kill her in whatever manner he pleased. She’d heard tales of what went on below the stairs and the thought terrified her as nothing else did. She’d heard the cries and screams of a night, the wails of horror.

  If it became known she was willingly killing in the ring, she would be brought before the judges. Before the eyes of the King, it would be seen as her hand that had done the deed, hers that held the sword…not Kamenwati’s.

  It was her life, her honor, at stake.

  Here only the Gods had more power than the King…Kamenwati’s cousin.

  Only the Gods could save her now.

  If they would take her…

  As a favored slave she had some rights, some freedoms. She’d served faithfully for over a year. As distinctive as she was, everyone knew it would be difficult for her to escape, and the punishment for attempting it was severe. While she might have gained some distance if she traveled at night, she couldn’t flee Thebes easily. The desert was unknown to her.

  If she tried to escape and failed? The punishment would be left to Kamenwati. She’d seen that as well, his lips peeled back from his teeth in a savage grin as he beat the slave to death for attempting to run away. She’d seen and felt the dark pleasure he’d taken in the task.

  Now, though, she was willing to risk death to escape, as she risked it now anyway.

  Wrapping her swords in an old slave-shift, she slipped out of Kamenwati’s compound, telling the gate guards she needed to take her swords to be sharpened. It wasn’t an unusual request and deemed too demeaning a task for the slave-master.

  Her swords were the only things of value she owned of herself. What little else had come from Kamenwati or as gifts from those who bet on her. She couldn’t use them as an offering to the Gods.

  The city of Thebes was only somewhat known to her. She’d learned the language but there had been few valid reasons for her to leave Kamenwati’s estate. She had, however, noted the locations of the temples of the Gods on her few excursions.

  It had taken time for her to understand those Gods, although it turned out they hadn’t been so foreign as her own Gods had been much the same, if with different names.

  She hadn’t much time, though, for if she took too long her absence would be noted. Her explanation would only hold for a brief time.

  One temple in particular she sought, the red-washed walls distinctive among the others…

  For only a moment, she looked behind her toward Kamenwati’s compound and then she stepped into the cool depths of the interior. A breeze moved softly around her, seemed almost to sweep her inside.

  The priests and priestesses paused in their devotions as she stepped into the cool shadows within the temple.

  Resolutely, aware of their eyes on her, she walked to the altar at the feet of the Goddess and laid her swords upon it in offering. She bowed as she looked up at the lion-headed Goddess under whose sigil she’d been born. Slowly, she sank to her knees and prostrated herself.

  This was the warrior Goddess, Sekhmet. Surely she would understand…of all of the Gods, this was the Goddess most likely in need of a warrior.

  After a little time a priestess came to kneel beside her.

  That one sighed.

  She was a woman of strong visage as befitted a priestess of Sekhmet, her skin darker than many in these lands, her features aquiline, her dark hair smooth and straight, glistening where it fell to her shoulders.

  Very softly, the priestess said, “My name is Djeserit.”

  Djeserit had watched the girl step inside the temple. Her coloring was exotic, foreign, her movement graceful, her body strong. She’d heard tales of this one, even seen her fight. With that hair and a warrior’s scars, there couldn’t be more
than one like her in all of Thebes. The Goddess she served moved within Djeserit, making her tremble. She felt the force of prophecy… ‘The golden one who would face the coming darkness…’ as Kahotep, High Priest of Horus had said.

  She could almost see it and was grateful she couldn’t see so clearly, despite being Sekhmet’s priestess. In that vision, she could hear terrible cries, the wail of horror and death. It was coming, though, and soon enough.

  Then the Goddess was gone from her.

  Shivering a little in response, Djeserit looked to the girl lying on the floor before her. A whisper to one of her priestesses sent the woman running.

  “Rise child,” Djeserit said. “Tell me your name.”

  Eres looked at her, rose to her knees. “Eres.”

  Tipping her head a little in a benediction of sorts, the priestess handed Eres the basket a priestess brought to her.

  With a smile the priestess Djeserit said, not unkindly, “The Goddess thanks you for your offering and gives you these in gratitude but bids you to understand that this is not your temple…you don’t belong here. Not yet.”

  Bewildered, Eres looked at her, her heart sinking. Desperation drove her to question.

  “I don’t understand…”

  “It’s not for you to understand,” Djeserit said with a small laugh, touching the girl’s hand in sympathy. “It is the Gods. It’s Isis, though, that you seek, Isis you should serve…”

  Isis, the Goddess of love, of magic, of the winds.

  Eres stared at her doubtfully. “That makes no sense, my Lady. I know nothing of the ways of Isis. I’m a warrior…”

  “You will,” the Priestess Djeserit said with a kind smile and reached for the basket. “These may give you some comfort.”

  Taking it, Eres looked inside.

  Four small lion cubs peered out. Barely weaned, they squealed and grunted, their dark button eyes looked up at her. One squeaked and then took her finger into his mouth to suckle. Eres’s heart wrenched. They were so tiny. Her heart went out to them, knowing that one day they would be predators, but now they were hers.

  Djeserit nodded. The instinct to love was there. Whatever she was, this one wasn’t a destroyer, she was a creator. She didn’t belong to Sekhmet.

  “Go to Isis,” Djeserit said. “Sekhmet is not yours, not yet…”

  And Djeserit thirsted, there was such strength, such energy in the girl, she was so bright in spirit, so strong in will…

  With a nod, the young woman took up the basket and her swords…and went in search of the Temple of Isis.

  Behind her, the High Priestess of Sekhmet whispered, “May the Gods be with you…Nubiti.”

  Golden one.

  Chapter Six

  As befitted the greatest of the Goddesses, Isis’s temple was enormous. It shone brilliantly white beneath the harsh midday sun, glowing almost blindingly in the bright light. As Eres entered that place, something moved within her. She felt a great peace descend, as if she had indeed come home. As if this was where she belonged. Walking into the lush grounds with the palm trees towering high above felt oddly familiar – as if she’d been long gone and had finally found her way home once again.

  To one side priests and priestesses fed the hungry with the offerings made to the Goddess by those more fortunate. Children played in the courtyard. Other priests and priestesses saw to the sick and to those in need of care.

  It was a place of peace, something Eres hadn’t known since she’d been a child. Stepping inside the temple, she looked up into the serene face of the Great Goddess, the mother Goddess, Isis. Her statue was so beautiful, so real, that it looked as if she might step down from her pedestal to lay her hand on Eres’s head in benediction. A benediction she felt as an ephemeral caress.

  A soft breath of awe escaped her.

  Once more, all activity within came to a standstill as she walked to the altar, knelt before it, although she was as oblivious to it this time as the last. She laid her swords at Isis’s feet and sat back on her heels to wait. She slipped her hand inside the basket beside her to pet the cubs. Each seized on a finger to suckle. They were hungry, but she had nothing to feed them. Not yet. Her heart opened to them, to those tiny lives within the rushes.

  Quietly, one of the priestesses slipped away.

  A woman came to kneel beside her, clearly a priestess and a woman of great power. Her skin was dark, much darker than some of the other folk Eres had seen but her features were soft and warm, rounded, beautiful in their own way. Her eyes were the clearest green and lovely. She was dressed simply but well, her jewelry fine. Precious gold sparkled at her throat and ears.

  Smiling, the woman looked at Eres and said, softly, “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  Almost defensively, Eres said, “I’m a warrior. I know nothing of love or of magic…”

  “Don’t you?” the priestess said, as she reached into the basket to stroke one furry little head.

  In the Priestess’s eyes, Eres could see compassion, warmth…and a great sorrow.

  “Do you think Isis doesn’t need warriors to defend those she loves? You are welcome here,” the woman said. “I am Banafrit, High Priestess.”

  With a gesture, Banafrit summoned the priestesses and priests, to give Eres welcome. They surrounded her.

  “I’m a slave…” Eres said.

  Banafrit nodded, her eyes shadowing.

  “To the Grand Vizier, to Kamenwati. This we know. But no longer. He will be informed that Isis has accepted you into her service.”

  Relief at escaping Kamenwati’s presence and plans was such a great tide through Eres that she very nearly wept.

  Kamenwati. Banafrit hid a shudder at the thought of him.

  She’d heard talk of him, of the things he did to raise power. Of dark magic, She’d tried to warn the King, to no avail. Kamenwati was his beloved cousin. All the priests and priestesses could do was to increase their protections on the King and warn his guards. Those things had been done. All they could do was wait until Kamenwati showed his hand.

  Her mouth tightened.

  Banafrit stroked a hand down the girl’s long golden hair, the ripples of it soft beneath her palm. The color was striking. It was like caressing warmed silk, as if it trapped the heat of Ra’s sun in the curling, sunny lengths of it.

  As for the girl, she’d been the talk of Thebes for some time. Few didn’t know of her, the foreign warrior with hair the color of sunlight and eyes like the sky whom no man could best in the ring.

  Had that to do with the prophecy?

  A darkness rises in the desert, the golden one who would come, a warrior, a servant to the Gods…?

  She looked at this girl, at the brilliant ripples of her hair, at her pale golden skin…was this the one? Was the time now?

  The thought made Banafrit want to weep. She prayed not.

  Feeling the touch of the Goddess on her, gentle and loving, her heart trembled a little. It was that time, but not yet. This one had a great deal to learn. There was time. Time to teach her what she would need to know in the days to come.

  To look on this girl with her golden hair, her pale skin and those eyes…the colors of the Sky Goddess herself…

  “We shall call you Irisi – fashioned by Isis,” Banafrit said. “And Nubiti.” The golden one.

  Startled, Eres looked at the High Priestess. There was a heavy import behind Banafrit’s words. Yet even so… Irisi, Eres. She hadn’t told them her name but they were so similar it might have been fate, indeed, that had led her to this place. A disturbing thought. One didn’t meddle in the affairs of the gods.

  Her troubled gaze met Banafrit’s.

  The older woman nodded, smiling softly. “Later, Irisi. We’ll speak later. For now, a bed, a place to belong, a home, some food…”

  Each word was a wonder for one who’d spent so many years rootless and wandering.

  Inclining her head, Banafrit gestured to the others.

  They gave Irisi Sanctuary and a home, someth
ing she hadn’t truly known in years.

  Chapter Seven

  The tally of donations and tributes to the Goddess was quite satisfying, Banafrit thought as she looked over the morning’s offerings. The Goddess would be pleased. There would be plenty to feed those who served the temple as well as those who had little or those who came for spells or healing – preferring the priests and priestesses of Isis to the servants of Sekhmet, sometimes, sadly.

  “My lady,” one of the priestesses said as she ran up. “My Lord Kamenwati is here. He demands an audience.”

  Unsurprised, Banafrit looked at the young priestess.

  Demands. Of the High Priestess of Isis. The Grand Vizier dared much.

  There was only one reason Kamenwati would be here and that was Irisi. It was madness. The girl had been chosen by the Goddess herself. That couldn’t be questioned and couldn’t be undone. Even Banafrit couldn’t undo it had she wanted to and she didn’t. Some of what Irisi had told her of her days as Kamenwati’s slave only confirmed Banafrit’s worst fears and suppositions. Some surpassed them. She had little doubt now that he did dark magic within the walls of his house.

  “Where is he?” she asked.

  “In the temple,” the girl said.

  Banafrit was grateful Irisi was undergoing her initiation and was therefore secluded and unaware of the Grand Vizier’s presence.

  She nodded. “Very good. Tell him I shall join him shortly. Saini, would you take over here?”

  The priest nodded.

  Glancing down at her simple gown, Banafrit shook her head and hurried to her quarters. That wouldn’t do. Lord Kamenwati would have to wait a moment or two more. It would serve him well to do so and perhaps give him a few moments of contemplation on the wisdom of demanding the attention of Isis’s High Priestess in the Goddess’s own temple.

  A few minutes later, dressed in a fresh gown and kalasaris, her makeup carefully reapplied, and her jewelry sumptuous enough to impress the Grand Vizier, Banafrit stepped into the temple proper, sending the priestesses and priests there away with a wave. She looked to Isis and bowed to the greatest of the Goddesses, the wife of Osiris, daughter of Ra and mother of Hathor, before she turned to face the Grand Vizier.