Chapter 18
Sita
Sita adjusted Sami’s arm around her shoulders as she spoke to his mother. The boy could put a little weight on his injured leg, but not enough to walk by himself. “I’ve got him. You attend to Miri, all right?”
Sami’s mother stared into the distance, while all around her, women and children ran in terror, carrying the few belongings they’d managed to gather before fleeing their homes. Nearby, Elyas’s elderly wife, Miri, leaned against a house, her chest already heaving with exertion, her face gray.
Sita reached for the young mother’s hand. “Look at me,” she commanded. “You are going to lead Miri out of the city and join the others. Take shelter among the desert hills until the rest of the tribe rejoins you. Do you understand?”
Sami’s mother shook her head in dismay. “I can’t!” she cried.
Sita squeezed her hand. “You can, and you will.”
The words seemed to steady Sami’s mother. With a nod, she went to the elderly woman and began leading her away. Sita and Sami followed at a slower pace, one labored step at a time.
“W-what’s that?” Sami asked as the rhythmic stamp of footsteps grew louder behind them.
“Don’t look back,” Sita told him. “Keep walking.”
Sita led him down a side street, hoping to get away from the approaching threat. In the shadows, the bodies of two women lay close together. A basket of figs had spilled from the arms of one, littering the ground with fruit.
“Keep your eyes ahead, Sami,” Sita urged.
The boy nodded, tears rolling down his face.
The side street opened onto another main road, where they were nearly run over by a blood-drenched man tearing toward the city’s limits.
“Thanks be to Amun!” Sita exclaimed when she saw it was not one of the ushabti. “Where are the rest of the men? Have they already fled?”
The man’s voice was rough as gravel. “Only some got away,” he said. “Others…”
Dread dropped into Sita’s stomach like a cold stone. “What about Karim? Where is he?”
“He’s still back there.”
Sita tightened her grip on the serpent staff. I must go to him.
“Here,” she said, transferring Sami’s arm to the man’s shoulder. “Follow the others and make sure he gets out of the valley safely.”
Neither Sami nor the man made protest as she left them, taking off toward the village center at a run.
She dashed through the side streets, alternating from one to the next to avoid the ushabti marching through them, searching for survivors. Sita had almost reached the main courtyard when she saw a small, familiar form huddled in an alleyway.
“Aya?” she said, touching the girl on the shoulder.
Aya gasped, then burst into tears of relief when she saw who it was. She reached out for Sita, who gathered the girl into her arms.
“You’re all right,” Sita said soothingly, rubbing her back. “What happened to Zev? Why aren’t you with him?”
Sniffing, Aya said, “Once he found Elyas, he told me to run home and join the other children. But the stone men came, so I’ve been hiding, and…and…” She became too overwhelmed to speak.
“Aya, you must get out of the city. The others went—”
“No!” Aya shrieked. “I’m staying with you!”
“Aya…”
The girl clung to Sita’s arm. “Please.”
Sita sucked her teeth in exasperation. “Fine,” she said, not wishing to waste any more time arguing. She grabbed Aya’s hand. “Come on!”
They had only taken a few steps when Setnakht’s booming voice echoed through the alleyway. “Kill him, my ushabti,” the voice said. “Make a home for your blades in his flesh, so that his body may better remember its demise.”
Sita knew at once to whom the spell was directed.
Heart thumping, she ran as fast as she could, pulling Aya behind her.
Almost there, Sita thought. Almost—!
They arrived in the courtyard in time to see the first spear go through Karim’s body.
Sita gasped.
No!
She collapsed against a wall, shielding Aya’s face from the sight as the second spear struck its mark.
She felt the third and final spear in her own heart as it shattered to pieces.
She watched Karim fall to his knees and slump forward, the spear in his chest preventing him from tumbling to the ground.
“No…not again,” Sita moaned. I already lost you once, she thought, despair claiming her. Didn’t I order you not to die?
“Sabba?” Aya said.
The girl was peeking between Sita’s fingers at the bodies strewn across the ground.
“Sabba!”
Before Sita could stop her, Aya ran into the courtyard and dropped to her knees beside Elyas’s still form. In the courtyard, Shesmu and the ushabti continued to hunt and kill the men who remained. The girl’s movement attracted Shesmu’s attention, and he started toward her.
Sita rushed to Aya’s side. The girl had her arms around her grandfather’s body, her head on his chest as she sobbed, calling his name.
“I’m so sorry, little one,” Sita whispered, softly, gently, each word suffused with sorrow. “I’m sorry, but we must go. We can’t help him now…” Her words trailed off as Elyas’s bloody, trembling hand lifted from his chest to rest on the back of his granddaughter’s head.
“Shh.” The sound from Elyas’s lips shivered like an evening breeze through papyrus reeds. The old man’s eyes were wide open, bright within his filthy, bloodstained face.
Sita was astounded.
Aya grasped her grandfather’s hand, oblivious to the imminent danger they were all in. “See? He’s only hurt! You can fix him like you fixed Sami!”
Sita should have been afraid. But the molten agony of losing Karim for the second time hardened into ferocity. Choose, the voice of her soul demanded. Will you fight? Or will you die?
Aya pleaded with her. “We can’t leave without my sabba!”
As the stone butcher approached, Sita set the serpent staff upright and stood to face him. “We’re not going to.”
Shesmu loomed over them, his blades awash in blood, the mottled brown-black stone of him spattered in gore.
The face hidden within the lion-skull helm had a savage, leonine quality, but his expression was as placid as any Khetaran statue, unbothered by all the slaughter he’d wrought.
He raised his knife to strike but hesitated when he noticed Sita’s staff.
Sita felt the wood pulse in her hand like an extension of her body, alive and eager to perform. You know the names, it seemed to say. Use them!
Sita thrust the staff aloft and spoke in a voice that echoed through the streets of Perset.
“I name you, Shesmu the Butcher! Mutilator! Dismemberer!” she boomed.
“I name you, and I say to you: By the power of Isis, you shall not enter this circle!” With that, she brought the staff down.
When its tip struck the ground, a beam of white light burst from each side of the staff, encircling Sita, Aya, and Elyas within its brilliance.
The light closed around them as Shemsu’s knife sliced down with terrifying force. There was a flash, and the next thing Sita knew, the butcher’s blade flew backward through the air, clattering to the ground beyond Shemsu’s reach. His orders unchanged, the butcher raised his other knife to strike.
The noise attracted Setnakht’s attention.
The ancient pharaoh looked up from Karim’s body, and his expression shifted from triumph to astonishment. More than that, his face shone with recognition.
“Anet?” he said.
Setnakht dismounted and walked toward Sita, the clash of man and stone parting before him, creating a clear path. Shesmu withdrew, lowering his knife.
“I watched you die,” Setnakht said, his eyes locked on Sita’s face. “I buried you in the Temple of Night. I sent your spirit across the Lake of Flowers to the Field of Reeds for an eternity of eternities. You cannot be standing here before me. You cannot, and yet you are no illusion.”
Sita labored, trying to respond while concentrating on maintaining the protective magic. “This staff may have belonged to Anet,” she said through gritted teeth, “but I am not your queen.”
Setnakht said, “You may not have used blood magic as I did to rise from my tomb, but only Anet could wield that staff. The twin serpents obey only her.” A pained, wistful longing crossed his face.
“You are not my queen, but her ka lives on in you. I see her spirit, her fire, in your eyes.” He reached for her, and to Sita’s dismay, his hand passed through the circle of light.
The spell was directed at Shesmu, so it affects him alone, she realized.
The pharaoh caressed her cheek. His hand was as cold as death.
Summoning her heka voice, Sita cried, “I name you, Setnakht! I name you, heretic king! Within this circle, you can be only what you truly are: an abomination against the gods of this land!”
The circle of light intensified, shimmering from white to gold.
Sita watched in amazement as the flesh began peeling away from the ancient pharaoh’s fingers, dropping from his bones as if a thousand years of rot were unfolding in an instant.
The decay ate away at his hand and had reached his wrist when Setnakht recoiled, hissing with pain.
Outside the protective light, the decay receded, and his greenish flesh returned, unbroken.
Setnakht flexed his fingers, his nostrils flaring with barely controlled rage. The next time he spoke, his voice was soft. “You could stand by my side again, Anet. Act as the sovereign’s left hand, as you once did. Do you truly wish to waste yet another lifetime in opposition to your destiny?”
Sita frowned. “Opposing you is my destiny.”
Setnakht closed his eyes and smiled bitterly. “Even after hundreds of thousands of sunrises, I see nothing has changed.”
Sita’s body trembled with the effort of holding the circle, yet she couldn’t help but wonder at the pharaoh’s words. What does he mean, “nothing has changed”?
Setnakht turned from her and began walking back to his mount. As he did, his spell-casting voice reverberated through the courtyard. His words to Shesmu held no mercy, and he did not look back at Sita as he spoke.