Chapter XL #3
I consider the analogy. “So you’re saying the Overseers aren’t the ones who know everyone in Duat—it’s these central iunctii, this ‘Nomarch,’ who do,” I say slowly.
“They’re the mind. The ones in charge. And the Overseers will only convey information to it if the Nomarch first tells them there’s a reason to? ”
“Exactly.” Netiqret’s nod is approving. “If an alarm were already raised, the Nomarch might instruct the Overseers to check everyone in the area. Dedicate more of its focus to verifying identities. But otherwise, it only screens people where it has to. It is always purposeful, never wasteful.” She stands, offering me a hand. “So are you coming?”
I don’t reply as I contemplate the black-clad figures in the distance. I knew they were less than human, at least partly. Was aware of their utter predictability. This still paints them in a new, somehow more horrifying light.
More importantly right now, though, I’m fairly sure Netiqret hasn’t told me this simply to be helpful.
The ululating screech of the paid mourners finally dies as we pass through the obsidian gates unchallenged and into a massive courtyard, twice the size of the Quadrum back at the Academy.
Unlike much of the rest of the city’s east, every surface in here is polished-smooth obsidian reflecting golden light.
Spare and beautiful in equal measure. A dozen different exits lead deeper into the complex, each with a different symbol on its door.
Each one closed, and manned by Overseers.
At the far end of the courtyard, above the heads of a gathered crowd pungent with the smell of beer and unwashed sweat, I can see the shaven-headed priest and the rest of the procession standing in front of the bridge.
Another massive obsidian double gate, also closed, shining scarab symbols filigreed into each side.
The priest is intoning the rites behind the bier.
The iunctii who carried it stand mute and straight behind him.
“You want me to get to Duat’s Nomarch.” The crowd around us is not so tightly packed or attentive that we cannot speak privately. When Netiqret arches an eyebrow at me, I shrug. “You know what I can do. You must know where it is. And you must have a way in,” I continue, extrapolating quietly.
The tall, grey-haired woman just smiles, keeps her eyes ahead. Body language natural. She’s been at this a long time, I suspect. “How many Overseers do you count?”
I look around casually. “Twenty?”
“Twenty-three that I can see. And those are just the ones in the open.” She sounds unconcerned. Like she’s discussing the weather. “This is the most protected structure in all of Duat. Tricky, if you want to get further in.”
“I never said I did.”
“You do if you want to reach the Nomarch.” She looks at me, now. Unflappable and certain. “I don’t know what you want, Siamun, but it doesn’t matter. With what you can do? Get in there, and the city is yours for the taking.”
I watch the proceedings at the bridge. Men unshaven.
Women with black streaks running down their cheeks, their clothes torn.
Some of the grief is real, I’m sure. “And of course, you’ll be needing something for yourself.
” If there really is a group of iunctii acting as a guiding mind for the Overseers—and the Gleaners as well, I imagine—then it makes sense that they’re in the most secure area of Duat.
I’m fairly sure Ka is in there, too. But this might give me the chance to be certain. And to actually be prepared for whatever I am to face in that massive pyramid of his.
“We will get to that,” Netiqret concedes smoothly. “But first, I need to understand how you control the iunctii.”
“No.”
In the distance, the priest finishes his final threefold invocation and the massive obsidian gates swing slowly open.
This is the closest I’ve been to the bridge.
Thin, polished black stone underfoot. Fifty-foot statues towering on either side, looming over any who walk it.
As is usual, it is completely empty. The dead alone are allowed to travel its length—the only time they are supposed to remove their face coverings in public.
It is a parade of white in the early morning and late evening as iunctii travel from west to east and then back again.
Silent and still at almost all other times of the day.
I look at those around us and am struck, not for the first time, at how breathlessly they watch the proceedings.
How uncomfortably fervent the light is behind their eyes.
A different, far more intense kind of belief compared to the staid rituals and recitations that I’m used to from Caten’s adherents.
One, if I am being honest, that makes me uneasy to be so thickly surrounded by.
The ululating begins again and the iunctii raise the bier.
Commence solemnly carrying the corpse into the green-tinted gauntlet of sullen statues.
I squint at the white stone archway they’re moving beneath; I hadn’t spotted it before but there’s something inscribed on it.
Vetusian, I realise with a start, not written in the glyphs I’ve become accustomed to here.
Death is the door to life.
I frown, distracted. An old Vetusian quote. The first writing of any kind I’ve seen here that is familiar. An echo of home.
Gods, I wish Caeror was here to talk to.
Netiqret hasn’t reacted to my refusal, watching as well. As the gates slowly shut again, concealing the dead man’s journey to the west, she sighs. Beckons, and we join the gradually increasing flow of people exiting the courtyard.
Once we’re outside the temple again, Netiqret leads us along the river. “Tell me about ‘Ahmose.’” She says the name as if I’ve made it up, for some reason.
“Ahmose?” I look at her blankly.
“Short? Nervous all the time?”
“You know all there is to know, I think. He was a craftsman until about a decade ago, when he died suddenly. Spent most of the past ten years working the upper level. Then one day he woke up, and the all-loving Ka was trying to replace his arms with swords.” I smile tightly.
The crowds are thinning; the air near the Infernis is faintly corrosive and most avoid this route. Soon we find ourselves in relative isolation. Netiqret seats herself on a low wall and pats the spot next to her. “Are you the one who brought him back?”
I snort as I sit. “Of course not. Only the priests—”
“Fine. Fine.” She looks relaxed. “How much do you want for him?”
I stare at her. Don’t really understand for a long few seconds. “He’s my friend.”
“Friend? You two don’t seem to have much in common.”
“That’s not how friends work, Netiqret.” I say it irritably.
“Gods’ graves. He’s a good man. Trying to be better.
Trying to come to terms with the fact that he lived his entire life believing a lie.
In easier circumstances, we might not have had much to do with each other. But we do, and I respect him.”
She purses her lips at that. Leans forward, watching the pulsing lines of light running along the river.
“Remember that he is also only a iunctus, Siamun. Most in Duat would tell you that Ka always protects the ones who should reach Aaru and that any he does not, have simply failed their trials. And that their loss has already been properly mourned.”
A long silence as my heart drops. The golden light of Ka’s pyramid subtly brightens. The marker of the changing of the hour, heading into afternoon. “What do you mean?”
I know what she means.
“I am sorry, Siamun,” she says quietly. “But the Nomarch is looking for him. He is just too much a risk.”