“He” had been a “she.” The little warrior was instead a little princess… though an edgy little dart of energy she was. Akana loved her to death. At last, in a house of boys, she had an ally. Of course… she hadn’t been an ally at first. She’d just been a normal little suckling of an infant, needing care and regular changing.
But now, at six summers, Irisi was everywhere. Taking care of chickens, weaving, sweeping the hard-packed clay of the floor, and occasionally participating in quick and vicious wrestling matches with her older brothers.
It was uncanny how many she won.
Akana could see the strangeness in her eyes, however, and wondered if Djal would notice. If he did, he said nothing. He was a hard-working man, a good man, and, in a time where all infrastructure had been destroyed, a life saver.
As far as they knew, there were only two other families left in the land - those saved by the hands of Ra. They had banded tightly together, forming exploratory parties and sharing their limited resources – but as of yet, they seemed very much alone. Ra rose and Ra set, every day without fail; yet the world of the glorious past was gone forever.
Akana sat weaving and humming to herself, loose threads in her mouth. She missed the fine, dyed stuff she used to own and wished they’d have been able to pack more in the salvation machine.
The smell of bread filled their mud house. Food, shelter, clothing… all the important needs were met.
Suddenly, Irisi crashed through the door.
Akana grinned. “How’s my little woman?”
“Fine.”
“Fine? Are your brothers still with Papa?”
Irisi nodded.
“But you didn’t want to help?”
Irisi shrugged. Akana noticed her hair was getting long. Deep brown curls rolled down her bare sun-browned back. “Are they almost done?”
Irisi shrugged again. She was often like this… so quiet as to be a bit irritating. “Why don’t you talk to your mama, daughter?”
“I don’t have anything to say, mama.”
Akana realized with irritation that she’d cross-threaded a portion of her weaving. She started tugging it right and then noticed something strange.
“Irisi?”
The girl looked up at her from where she sat on the bare floor.
“What’s that mark on your arm?”
Irisi feigned ignorance. “What mark?”
“That one, darling. It looks like… a bite?”
The girl cocked her arm at an angle and studied the small red and purple imprint. She looked at her mom and shrugged yet again.
“Irisi… what happened? Tell me or you’ll not get dinner!”
The girl sighed, crossing her legs under her and putting her head in her hands.
Akana sat silently, waiting for the explanation. Finally, the girl talked, looking out the door as if in another world.
“It was a dog, mama.”
“A dog?”
“One of the yellow ones that Papa chases away from the pens. Scrap dog.”
Akana looked at her with concern. “It just bit you?”
Irisi shook her head. “No, not at first. At first they came close.”
“They?”
“A… flock of them.”
“Pack of them,” Akana corrected, then kicked herself for interrupting. If there really were dangerous dogs about, Djal needed to know. And they needed to keep a much closer eye on the children. Usually the “scrap dogs,” as the children called them, were the furthest thing from aggressive. And wait…
“So – more than one? A group of dogs?”
Irisi continued her tale. “Yes, mama. A flo… a… pack of them came to me when I was picking flowers. By the little pond outside the wheat field.”
Akana had quit her weaving and focused her attention completely on her daughter.
“What happened?”
Irisi looked at her intently. “I think... they came to worship me.”
“Worship???”
“That’s what it looked like. They came in a bunch and made a circle, then came up and were sort of kneeling on their front legs, like we do at the altars. One even put a little animal bone at my feet. It was like a little dog party or something. I was their goddess. It was fun! But then when the mean falcons came, the dogs got upset.”
“What? Falcons? And how did they get upset?”
“They were trying to keep the falcons away from my hair. They kept diving and diving at me. I lost my flowers. The dogs tried to bite the falcons and then they went away. But one bit my arm.”
“A falcon?”
“No, a scrap dog. But it was a mistake. It was trying to get a falcon. That’s when I dropped my flowers in the pond.”
Akana was completely bemused. As far as she knew, falcons didn’t attack people and dogs didn’t worship little girls. But, then again, much in the world had changed. The animals no longer communicated like before the waters of chaos… and there was no longer any energy bubbles to keep the harsher elements of Geb at bay.
Akana pondered the story for a long time, and often asked Irisi if she’d had more contact with dogs or falcons… but the answer was always no.
That is, until Irisi turned thirteen.
Showing posts with label Egypt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Egypt. Show all posts
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Bloodline: The Cult of Anubis (Pt. V)
They couldn’t be far, Qatil kept telling himself. He hurriedly explained his fears to Tikka, and for once, she was sober. Or at least wearing her “professional” face. Either way, maybe there might still be hope for her…
It was the morning after the attack, and Qatil’s heightened senses had led them to the edge of the long desert. They were following its edge, not committed to jumping into the wastes without a clear sign. Somewhere out there in the packed clay and sand were the remaining bandits. For what wasn’t the first time, Qatil cursed his lack of preparation. No bows and arrows… improper clothing… no salves or liniments… the list was too long. He reminded himself to pack next time he left his life’s calling.
“Why do you hate women?” Tikka’s voice took him by surprise.
Qatil turned. “What? What do you mean?”
“Women.”
Qatil shrugged. “I don’t hate women.”
Tikka frowned at him, shaking a delicate finger in his face. “Oh yes you do. You joined the men of Anubis and forever swore off us! AND, you treat me like I’m a tree!”
“A tree?”
“A tree.” She huffed at him.
Qatil liked trees. He tried to gain the high ground. “But… I rescued you. If I’d hated women you’d still be getting beaten by that priest. And getting ravished by travelers and pilgrims.”
She spit on the ground in a rather unladylike fashion. “And that is somehow worse than being stuck in the desert, unloved, surviving on low rations, and being captured by bandits then rescued by a monster who’s now taking me BACK to the bandits he took me from?”
Qatil was silent. She did have some valid points. After rescuing her, he’d realized she wasn’t the girl he thought she was… and his feelings for her had shifted. At first he’d thought her noble… he’d thought her abused… taken from her family… used; but then, once he had her in person, he’d been horrified by her crassness… her scatological bent… her silly and stupid ways. He’d wanted her to be a lady… but she’d never learned how… and he was judging her for it.
Of course… he’d never really learned to be a man, either. Raised from when he was young by grandparents, then committed to the god… slept with a prostitute… once… never learned to work the ground, or –
“I see footprints, animal-boy!”
She was right. They’d been following the edge of the brush and in a break to their left, the clear indentations of sandals leading off into the barrenness.
“Are we going out there?” she asked, a note of disbelief in her voice. “We’ll dry up or maybe walk right into Duat!”
Qatil nodded. “We have to. I gave them the blood on accident. But I wouldn’t worry about us ending up in the house of the dead… they’re the ones that’ll be going there.” The thought of a fight tickled through his veins, stimulating something primal and canine. “We have to get them.”
“Or else what?”
Qatil looked her in the face grimly. “Or else the god blood becomes part of man forever… and the rulers will come down from heaven to destroy us.”
She laughed. “Think they’ll need whores?”
Qatil almost rebuked her… then remembered his recent thoughts and repented.
“I need one, Tikka.”
She looked at him wide-eyed. “You do?”
“Yes – you.”
She grinned and swooshed her skirts about. “Right now? Right here?”
“No! Not like that!” Qatil groaned. “Look… you already found the footprints for me. Now we need to figure out how to get the bandits without any getting away. With two of us, and with my powers, we should be able to get them all. I just can’t risk having one flee.”
Tikka smiled. “Your powers? By the gods… I’ll use my powers! It’ll be easy. Just get us close!”
Qatil didn’t think it would be easy… but together, the two of them trudged into the wilderness. The bandits couldn’t be far.
* * *
They’d been walking for about an hour and the dusk was gathering when they first glanced a figure up ahead, surmounting some rocky crags before disappearing down over the edge. Along the way, Tikka had gathered up a few buzzard feathers and a white animal skull she’d found in the sand. Qatil didn’t know his animal skulls, but Tikka claimed it was from a goat-sucker. He was skeptical.
When they spotted the figure, Tikka snickered.
“What is it,” asked Qatil, curious. “Why are you laughing?”
“I’m going to have a ridiculously great idea. I can feel it.” she responded.
“An idea?”
She nodded like a bird. “Mmmhmm. Get us over to those rocks – quick! Carry me!”
Qatil willed the transformation and felt the rush of power. Filled with new vitality, he set Tikka on his shoulders and raced on quiet feet to the edge of the rocks. They were further than they appeared and the night wrapped around them quickly.
There, below in the gloom, the group of bandits had already lit a small fire. Its yellow tongues sent licking light across the crags above them. Qatil and Tikka lay on their bellies and listened in to the conversation.
“Craziest thing, that animal,” said a bandit in dull red wool, “like a man-jackal.”
“Yep,” said another from across the fire, “He took that woman away and ripped out Awi’s guts. Awi still owed me 20 pieces, too.”
A laugh echoed up to them. A bandit in a dark-striped shawl threw a stick into the fire and took a swig from a clay jar. “He’s in pieces. Why didn’t ya take some?”
They all laughed.
“My arm’s still killing me,” said the bandit in red. “See the bite?” He showed it, a black gash on a brown arm in the orange firelight. “I feel like I’m getting a fever, too. Chills, like.”
The man in stripes laughed again. “You want chills? Lemme tell you all a story…”
The men leaned closer as the man lowered his voice. It was obviously a tale of the supernatural… and the men were obviously enjoying being both scared and fascinated at the same time.
“…from heaven into hell… grabbed the child… no head… blood like a pig… she ne’r saw it… babies always getting… blinded a man…”
Qatil looked over at Tikka. She was GONE!
“Tikka?” he whispered. “Tikka…?”
Down in the camp there was a movement outside the firelight… and a howl!
“Aaaaarrrrrriiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaiiiiiieeeeee!”
Qatil shivered all over and the men jumped up in fright. An apparition!
“Meeeeeeeen of theeeeeeeee blooooooody swoooooooords!” came a horrible female voice. “I haaaaaaave coooooooome!!!”
Qatil saw it coming closer, suddenly knowing it must be Tikka. The men clutched each other in fear, superstitious like most bandits and barbarians.
She stepped up to the edge of the light. A shining white skull covered her face, and a necklace of feathers lay over her bared chest. She looked like a goddess of lust and death. Qatil hesitated. The men were all looking her way… could he get down behind them?
“Yooooooooouuuuur bloooooood iiiiiiiiissssss miiiiiiiiiiiiine!” she wailed, then screamed at Qatil. “Jump, you sissy!”
Qatil did – right on top of the nearest bandit, quickly dispatching him before he could yell. The others were still transfixed by the half-nude demon goddess.
“Thaaaaaat’ssss riiiiiiiiiiiight,” she wailed, “looooooook at my seeeeeeeexiiiiiiiiineeeeeeeees!”
Two down, three, four… the last turned around too late and met Qatil’s flashing claws and razor teeth. He stood over the dead, panting… a pile of human wreckage illuminated at the borders in flickering copper.
Tikka threw down the skull and laughed. “See? Hilarious!”
Her hips and warmly-lit breasts were suddenly too much for him. The jackal blood leapt.
“Be my woman!” he yelped at her.
“Your woman? Not your whore?”
“Woman! Lady!”
She pressed up next to him. “What about… wife, meanie-head?”
“Wife!” he yelled, lust gripping him.
She laughed, spit on the corpses, and pulled him down to the ground on a pile of blankets prepared for the night by the now-dead bandits.
At some point in the midst of their wild lovemaking, Qatil remembered something important… and then forgot it.
When he remembered the next day… he hoped against hope that it wouldn’t become a problem.
But it was too late.
It was the morning after the attack, and Qatil’s heightened senses had led them to the edge of the long desert. They were following its edge, not committed to jumping into the wastes without a clear sign. Somewhere out there in the packed clay and sand were the remaining bandits. For what wasn’t the first time, Qatil cursed his lack of preparation. No bows and arrows… improper clothing… no salves or liniments… the list was too long. He reminded himself to pack next time he left his life’s calling.
“Why do you hate women?” Tikka’s voice took him by surprise.
Qatil turned. “What? What do you mean?”
“Women.”
Qatil shrugged. “I don’t hate women.”
Tikka frowned at him, shaking a delicate finger in his face. “Oh yes you do. You joined the men of Anubis and forever swore off us! AND, you treat me like I’m a tree!”
“A tree?”
“A tree.” She huffed at him.
Qatil liked trees. He tried to gain the high ground. “But… I rescued you. If I’d hated women you’d still be getting beaten by that priest. And getting ravished by travelers and pilgrims.”
She spit on the ground in a rather unladylike fashion. “And that is somehow worse than being stuck in the desert, unloved, surviving on low rations, and being captured by bandits then rescued by a monster who’s now taking me BACK to the bandits he took me from?”
Qatil was silent. She did have some valid points. After rescuing her, he’d realized she wasn’t the girl he thought she was… and his feelings for her had shifted. At first he’d thought her noble… he’d thought her abused… taken from her family… used; but then, once he had her in person, he’d been horrified by her crassness… her scatological bent… her silly and stupid ways. He’d wanted her to be a lady… but she’d never learned how… and he was judging her for it.
Of course… he’d never really learned to be a man, either. Raised from when he was young by grandparents, then committed to the god… slept with a prostitute… once… never learned to work the ground, or –
“I see footprints, animal-boy!”
She was right. They’d been following the edge of the brush and in a break to their left, the clear indentations of sandals leading off into the barrenness.
“Are we going out there?” she asked, a note of disbelief in her voice. “We’ll dry up or maybe walk right into Duat!”
Qatil nodded. “We have to. I gave them the blood on accident. But I wouldn’t worry about us ending up in the house of the dead… they’re the ones that’ll be going there.” The thought of a fight tickled through his veins, stimulating something primal and canine. “We have to get them.”
“Or else what?”
Qatil looked her in the face grimly. “Or else the god blood becomes part of man forever… and the rulers will come down from heaven to destroy us.”
She laughed. “Think they’ll need whores?”
Qatil almost rebuked her… then remembered his recent thoughts and repented.
“I need one, Tikka.”
She looked at him wide-eyed. “You do?”
“Yes – you.”
She grinned and swooshed her skirts about. “Right now? Right here?”
“No! Not like that!” Qatil groaned. “Look… you already found the footprints for me. Now we need to figure out how to get the bandits without any getting away. With two of us, and with my powers, we should be able to get them all. I just can’t risk having one flee.”
Tikka smiled. “Your powers? By the gods… I’ll use my powers! It’ll be easy. Just get us close!”
Qatil didn’t think it would be easy… but together, the two of them trudged into the wilderness. The bandits couldn’t be far.
* * *
They’d been walking for about an hour and the dusk was gathering when they first glanced a figure up ahead, surmounting some rocky crags before disappearing down over the edge. Along the way, Tikka had gathered up a few buzzard feathers and a white animal skull she’d found in the sand. Qatil didn’t know his animal skulls, but Tikka claimed it was from a goat-sucker. He was skeptical.
When they spotted the figure, Tikka snickered.
“What is it,” asked Qatil, curious. “Why are you laughing?”
“I’m going to have a ridiculously great idea. I can feel it.” she responded.
“An idea?”
She nodded like a bird. “Mmmhmm. Get us over to those rocks – quick! Carry me!”
Qatil willed the transformation and felt the rush of power. Filled with new vitality, he set Tikka on his shoulders and raced on quiet feet to the edge of the rocks. They were further than they appeared and the night wrapped around them quickly.
There, below in the gloom, the group of bandits had already lit a small fire. Its yellow tongues sent licking light across the crags above them. Qatil and Tikka lay on their bellies and listened in to the conversation.
“Craziest thing, that animal,” said a bandit in dull red wool, “like a man-jackal.”
“Yep,” said another from across the fire, “He took that woman away and ripped out Awi’s guts. Awi still owed me 20 pieces, too.”
A laugh echoed up to them. A bandit in a dark-striped shawl threw a stick into the fire and took a swig from a clay jar. “He’s in pieces. Why didn’t ya take some?”
They all laughed.
“My arm’s still killing me,” said the bandit in red. “See the bite?” He showed it, a black gash on a brown arm in the orange firelight. “I feel like I’m getting a fever, too. Chills, like.”
The man in stripes laughed again. “You want chills? Lemme tell you all a story…”
The men leaned closer as the man lowered his voice. It was obviously a tale of the supernatural… and the men were obviously enjoying being both scared and fascinated at the same time.
“…from heaven into hell… grabbed the child… no head… blood like a pig… she ne’r saw it… babies always getting… blinded a man…”
Qatil looked over at Tikka. She was GONE!
“Tikka?” he whispered. “Tikka…?”
Down in the camp there was a movement outside the firelight… and a howl!
“Aaaaarrrrrriiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaiiiiiieeeeee!”
Qatil shivered all over and the men jumped up in fright. An apparition!
“Meeeeeeeen of theeeeeeeee blooooooody swoooooooords!” came a horrible female voice. “I haaaaaaave coooooooome!!!”
Qatil saw it coming closer, suddenly knowing it must be Tikka. The men clutched each other in fear, superstitious like most bandits and barbarians.
She stepped up to the edge of the light. A shining white skull covered her face, and a necklace of feathers lay over her bared chest. She looked like a goddess of lust and death. Qatil hesitated. The men were all looking her way… could he get down behind them?
“Yooooooooouuuuur bloooooood iiiiiiiiissssss miiiiiiiiiiiiine!” she wailed, then screamed at Qatil. “Jump, you sissy!”
Qatil did – right on top of the nearest bandit, quickly dispatching him before he could yell. The others were still transfixed by the half-nude demon goddess.
“Thaaaaaat’ssss riiiiiiiiiiiight,” she wailed, “looooooook at my seeeeeeeexiiiiiiiiineeeeeeeees!”
Two down, three, four… the last turned around too late and met Qatil’s flashing claws and razor teeth. He stood over the dead, panting… a pile of human wreckage illuminated at the borders in flickering copper.
Tikka threw down the skull and laughed. “See? Hilarious!”
Her hips and warmly-lit breasts were suddenly too much for him. The jackal blood leapt.
“Be my woman!” he yelped at her.
“Your woman? Not your whore?”
“Woman! Lady!”
She pressed up next to him. “What about… wife, meanie-head?”
“Wife!” he yelled, lust gripping him.
She laughed, spit on the corpses, and pulled him down to the ground on a pile of blankets prepared for the night by the now-dead bandits.
At some point in the midst of their wild lovemaking, Qatil remembered something important… and then forgot it.
When he remembered the next day… he hoped against hope that it wouldn’t become a problem.
But it was too late.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Bloodline: The Cult of Anubis (Pt. I)
“Bring the sacred bowl!”
Qatil did, trembling hands betraying his Initiate status. The priests were gathered tonight to send one of their own on his journey to the beyond.
The object of their ministrations was an emaciated and ancient figure, bare-chested and remarkably hairy. Stretched out on a stone slab before the great image of Anubis, the dying man clutched a large golden ankh in his hands, eyes shut, breathing heavy.
“Arkases has served his god throughout life – and now will continue to serve him in death. Let us mingle his blood now with the blood of Anubis in divine communion!”
The speaker was the high priest. Carefully, he removed a silver dagger from its sheath. Arkases opened his eyes and put forth his hand. High Priest Kalut handed him the dagger. Arkases kissed its blade, clutched it to his heart for a moment, and handed it back to Kalut. Then he shut his eyes and collapsed back onto the slab. His time was near.
A young slave brought a muzzled jackal into the chamber. Two priests grabbed it as Kalut pronounced the sacrificial words. Six more priests uncapped the marble well before the feet of Anubis as Kalut suspended the jackal above its blackness and let the blood flow into its maw.
The priests chanted and wailed. All forty of their number were gathered tonight to watch the transition of Arkases. His breathing grew more labored, ragged gasps replacing even breaths. His form shifted, at once like a man, and then like a wolf, and back again. A priest lay a cool rag on his sweating forehead as he mumbled incantations of peace.
Finally, it happened… with a final rough intake of air, the man breathed his last. Kalut started the chant of infinity – the song of Anubis and the netherworld. Kalut then transformed into a magnificent black were-jackal, and howled a final piercing goodbye to the company’s fallen brother.
Quickly, they then pulled Arkases’s corpse up on the table and carefully slit his throat, allowing the hot blood to gush forth into the bowl. They eased his body down slowly and raised the tilt of the platform, letting the sacred crimson fill the receptacle almost to its rim.
After an eternity, the final drops fell. With a last chanting of blessing and sanctification, the priests removed the body of Arkases to the embalming chamber.
“Join, join and mingle! For now, faithful priest, you become one with your god!
The blood of Arkases was poured into the well. The thirty-nine remaining priests bowed before Anubis as Kalut returned the golden ankh to his hand.
Qatil did, trembling hands betraying his Initiate status. The priests were gathered tonight to send one of their own on his journey to the beyond.
The object of their ministrations was an emaciated and ancient figure, bare-chested and remarkably hairy. Stretched out on a stone slab before the great image of Anubis, the dying man clutched a large golden ankh in his hands, eyes shut, breathing heavy.
“Arkases has served his god throughout life – and now will continue to serve him in death. Let us mingle his blood now with the blood of Anubis in divine communion!”
The speaker was the high priest. Carefully, he removed a silver dagger from its sheath. Arkases opened his eyes and put forth his hand. High Priest Kalut handed him the dagger. Arkases kissed its blade, clutched it to his heart for a moment, and handed it back to Kalut. Then he shut his eyes and collapsed back onto the slab. His time was near.
A young slave brought a muzzled jackal into the chamber. Two priests grabbed it as Kalut pronounced the sacrificial words. Six more priests uncapped the marble well before the feet of Anubis as Kalut suspended the jackal above its blackness and let the blood flow into its maw.
The priests chanted and wailed. All forty of their number were gathered tonight to watch the transition of Arkases. His breathing grew more labored, ragged gasps replacing even breaths. His form shifted, at once like a man, and then like a wolf, and back again. A priest lay a cool rag on his sweating forehead as he mumbled incantations of peace.
Finally, it happened… with a final rough intake of air, the man breathed his last. Kalut started the chant of infinity – the song of Anubis and the netherworld. Kalut then transformed into a magnificent black were-jackal, and howled a final piercing goodbye to the company’s fallen brother.
Quickly, they then pulled Arkases’s corpse up on the table and carefully slit his throat, allowing the hot blood to gush forth into the bowl. They eased his body down slowly and raised the tilt of the platform, letting the sacred crimson fill the receptacle almost to its rim.
After an eternity, the final drops fell. With a last chanting of blessing and sanctification, the priests removed the body of Arkases to the embalming chamber.
“Join, join and mingle! For now, faithful priest, you become one with your god!
The blood of Arkases was poured into the well. The thirty-nine remaining priests bowed before Anubis as Kalut returned the golden ankh to his hand.
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