The Cult of Sutek (18 page)

She paused and tossed her head to the side, thinking. “Meir.”

“What’s in Meir?”

“It’s the place to go for information. Especially at this time of year. Some person calling himself Imenand is usually there.”

Rondel’s eyes widened. “What does this person look like?”

She shrugged. “Gods if I know. I’ve never met him. Just telling you what I heard.”

Jahi listened patiently as Rondel tried to coax more information out of the woman, but it was obvious she had told all she knew.

As they left the town, Rondel spoke. “Meir, then?”

Andrasta shook her head. “No. That’s right after crossing the border. We don’t need to draw attention to ourselves so soon after entering Menetnashte’s lands.”

“What other option do we have? We need to make up for lost time.”

“I’ll find the trail. We just have to keep going north like she said.”

“I think I might know this Imenand. What’s the harm in going to Meir and—”

“I said I’ll find the trail,” snapped Andrasta. She clicked her reins and rode ahead.

Rondel gave Jahi a helpless glance. Jahi wanted to add his opinion, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the horrors described by the old woman.

What are they doing to you, Dendera?

* * *

Dendera never learned more about her kidnappers or their intended destination. No one volunteered any information, and the captain’s threat pressed against her mind like the weight of a millstone whenever she thought about asking a question.

“There are many ways to inflict pain without leaving cuts or bruises.”

In the days since, his words haunted her dreams. She would wake up cold, yet drenched in sweat. More than once she would look across the dying embers of the camp fire to see Harsaf’s narrow eyes staring at her with hatred unlike any Dendera had ever known. She liked to tell herself the man had been up because it was his turn to keep watch, but she doubted that was always the case.

It’s enough my imagination runs wild while I dream. I don’t need it to dominate my waking thoughts.

Two days earlier they had entered Menetnashte’s lands and her kidnappers grew more lax in familiar surroundings. Though no one spoke to her unless issuing the rare order, she suspected their travels were coming to an end as the cultists began to laugh and tell stories around the campfire like soldiers in her father’s army.

With nothing to do but listen, Dendera soaked the stories up. It wasn’t until late in the evenings when they talked about the cult itself that she wished once more for their silence.

“Captain, is it true what they say about High Priest Menetnashte? Is he immortal?” asked one of the younger men.

Menetnashte is the High Priest?

Captain Haji snorted beneath his face covering. “No. He isn’t immortal.”

“He looks so young for someone so old.”

“That’s because Sutek has blessed him.” He paused. “You know, many did not like him when he first joined us.” The captain cleared his throat. “I was one who fell in that group. What he first suggested when joining us was much different, risky even, to what we had always known. Remember, there had always been talk of returning to the old ways, but talk was all it had ever been. Menetnashte was adamant that it was the only way to please Sutek. He said that our watering down of Sutek’s ways is what caused us to lose so much of our power.

“Though many died in the conflict of him becoming our high priest, we are stronger because of it. In fact, we have not been this strong for centuries. Menetnashte’s transformation to the younger man you know is proof of Sutek’s approval.”

The followers all made some sign across their temple, chest, and stomach with their left hands. It was too quick for Dendera to make out, but their movements were identical.

The young man spoke again. “What about Nizam?”

“What about him?” asked Haji.

“Well . . . the rumors. Are they true? Is it true Menetnashte conjured up a demon for a bodyguard?”

The captain made a clicking noise in his throat. “He looks like a man, walks like a man, talks like a man, but . . .” A long pause followed his trailing voice. “I’ve seen Nizam kill many men, several at once, and with his bare hands while they were armed. It was amazing, almost unnatural. I have never seen his equal.”

“So, it is true.”

“I don’t know. Either way, he too is blessed by Sutek. That should be enough.”

The followers bowed their heads again, once more making the same ritualistic sign. Dendera caught a few of the movements this time—an X over the head, a circle and star over the heart, a wavy line over the stomach. She knew they all symbolized something within the cult. However, as she continued to listen to their foolishness about Sutek and the belief that he was infallible, it meant something far different to her.

These people are mad.

* * *

Days later, Jahi still felt somewhat ragged. More of his strength returned each morning, but not as fast as he wanted.

Each day they traveled longer and farther than the one before, but they still had no way of knowing how close they were to Dendera. He could see the frustration on Andrasta’s face as she tracked the cold trail. The sharp looks she cast his way and the lack of interaction told Jahi that she blamed him for their delays.

And she’s right. At least in part.

Jahi explained to Andrasta that leaders in the Cult of Sutek were known to have mystical powers. That was why she had smelled old death before the attack on his father. It was possible that those that took Dendera were using some sort of sorcery to mask their trail and hinder their efforts.

But none of that seemed to matter to Andrasta.

The woman’s pride was wounded because she had trouble finding the path the cultists took with Dendera, and the lack of certainty regarding their course bothered her.

He drifted off in thought as Andrasta studied a pile of horse dung in the road.

Dendera had looked out for him like his mother once did before her death. Jahi barely remembered his mother.

But I remember the sorrow.

His sister had cried the day of their mother’s funeral, but never again as far as he knew. She had been his rock, his source of strength. When he was younger and had a nightmare, he went to her room to find safety. Never did she turn him away, and never did she treat him with anything but love.

He had been heartbroken when she ran away, but not angry. Many claimed she was selfish for denying their father’s wishes to marry King Kafele.
Perhaps they were right.
However, Jahi could only think that she deserved to do something for herself after always doing so much for everyone else.

Rondel climbed down from his mount and walked to Andrasta. The warrior had barely moved in the last several minutes. No longer examining the dung, she rubbed her brow.

“Any luck?”

“No.”

“Well, you said yourself the trail is cold.”

Andrasta clenched her fist. “I’ve followed a trail this cold before. Just give me a moment.”

“I have no doubt you can follow an old trail. But remember, there is also sorcery to contend with.”

“That shouldn’t matter.”

“But it does.” Rondel looked up to the darkening sky. “Night’s coming in fast. What do you say we make camp? Traveling in the dark isn’t going to make your task any easier.”

Andrasta stood. “We’re behind enough as it is.”

“So, stopping now isn’t going to make a difference. A good meal and a full night’s sleep will do you some good. It might help you see something you missed before.”

“I didn’t miss anything,” she growled.

“Of course not. A poor choice of words.”

Andrasta gave Rondel a hard look. If he was bothered, he masked it. She finally looked away, went to her horse, grabbed it by the reins, and led it off the road without speaking.

Rondel took a long, slow breath and faced Jahi. He forced a smile. “I guess that settles it.”

* * *

Rondel stretched out on the bare ground near the warm flames of the campfire, tired after a day’s ride and an evening of sparring with Andrasta. He rolled his right shoulder, massaging it with his left hand, rubbing out a kink from the last set of drills the infernal woman had put him through.

He had known the session was going to be tiring as the length and difficulty always seemed to correlate to how angry Andrasta had been that day. He couldn’t wait to experience a day where the reverse occurred.

I’ll be waiting a long time for that. The woman is likely to work me harder out of the sheer enjoyment then.

Beyond the light of the fire, Rondel heard Andrasta panting in the darkness. She had dismissed him some time ago, yet continued to torture herself with drills. He used to watch her practice when they first traveled together, marveling at her speed and skill. But eventually, he grew tired of it. He could never figure out enough of her technique in order to learn anything he could apply to his slowly growing repertoire. Watching Andrasta train also made him more aware of his own inadequacies.

I don’t need any more reminders of those.

Music had always been the one thing that calmed his soul. But thanks to Duke Engren, music no longer held the same joy it once did. No matter how bright, every note contained a painful reminder of his past.

How can I enjoy something I can no longer create?

The lyrics of
Summers Gone
by Ignitus, one of Rondel’s early influences came to mind.

When a man is no longer what once defined him,
    
he becomes a leaf drifting in the wind.
    
Searching for answers,
    
trying to find the hole in his soul to mend.

He wrote that just before he died. I never fully grasped what that meant until now.
He sighed.
Except Ignitus’s skills faded naturally over time. Mine were taken.

Without music to soothe him, Rondel spent each night at the fire thinking, which lately turned out to be less than ideal. The more he thought, the more he considered his current life. He knew it could be worse. In fact, it had been worse when he had rotted away in prison.

Gods, my thoughts grow worse by the minute. I need to find a hobby.

He closed his eyes, hoping his dreams would at least be pleasant. After another disappointing day on the road, he could use something positive.

A faint sniffle, followed by a concealing cough caught his attention.

Rondel cracked an eyelid and turned toward Jahi. The boy faced away from the fire, head down. Hunched over, Rondel felt a twinge of guilt for his own self-pity.

I’m over here feeling sorry for myself, and I keep forgetting it’s his sister we’re going after.

He climbed to his feet and moved over to Jahi. The boy heard him coming and quickly wiped his face. Rondel sat next to him, pretending not to notice the dampness still present on his cheeks.

“How’re the legs?” he asked.

Jahi cleared his throat. “They’re toughening up. Just tired, mostly.”

“That’ll start to go away in time.”

“Do you know when? I could use something to look forward to.”

“Hard to say,” Rondel snorted. “I’m still waiting for that to happen to mine. I was just repeating something Andrasta told me.”

“Was she lying?”

“Nothing like that. I just have the misfortune of having a slave-driver for a business associate. Any time I start to get used to something, she makes me do something harder or different.”

Three rapid thuds hummed over the crackling fire behind them.

Jahi wheeled. “What was that?”

“Andrasta throwing knives at some tree unfortunate to draw her ire.”

“In the dark? How can she see anything?”

“I have no idea.”

The woman hissed something faint.

“Great.”

“What happened?”

“She must have missed one of her targets. That means she’ll be practicing half the night. Oh well, I guess you and I won’t have to worry about taking the first watch.” He noticed something in Jahi’s hand. “What’s that?”

“Oh. Well . . . I . . .”

“It’s all right. You don’t have to tell me if you’re embarrassed.”

Jahi straightened. “I’m not embarrassed. It’s a piece of a scarf Dendera gave me several years ago. I keep it under my shirt.”

Rondel realized that he had forgotten the boy’s youth. His height and intelligence made it easy to think of him as more mature.

Doesn’t even have whiskers yet. Brave though,
he thought, considering everything he had done.
Broke us out of the dungeon. Ventured off into unknown and dangerous lands. Already suffered a great deal of pain.

“Tell me about her.”

“Why? You know her.”

“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.”