A Life of Death: Episodes 9 - 12 (11 page)

Fifteen

Saving Nakhti

September 17, 2011

“Khered, you’re such a strapping young lad. Isn’t he?” asked a grandmotherly voice that began as the Ancient Egyptian speech I recognized, although, the latter question seemed directed at someone else.

As the dim light of a room with mottled, red, mud-brick walls revealed itself, I felt a wide hand on my slim shoulder. I blinked, clearing dark spots from my vision, and stared into the warped, copper mirror her wrinkled hand held in front of me. Through the waves of polished metal, I could make out my straight, dark hair and a few specks of white decorating my tanned skin. The onyx eyes staring back at me through dark lashes were hardly more than a child’s.

A man harrumphed from behind me, but I couldn’t tell whether it was in agreement with the old woman. She had enough wrinkles and gray curls to be over a hundred.

I spun to face the voice and asked in a childlike voice, “Father, when did you get here?”

“Now what did I tell you about calling me that?” replied the bald man in a white, linen tunic. He cradled a carved, ivory wand in the shape of a crescent moon. His forehead was wrinkled, and years in the sun had sunken his cheeks, however, his eyes flared with life.

I dropped my head to stare at the dirt floor. “Sorry, Fa—High Priest Senbi,” I said, catching myself.

“So why did you call for me, child?” the man mumbled.

“High Priest Senbi,” I said, raising my eyes to meet his narrow glare, “I wondered when I could come to the Temple of Ptah to worship with you.”

“You want to be a priest?” Senbi said with a chuckle, as though the idea were absurd.

I nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes, Fa—I mean, High Priest Senbi.”

“Aunt, leave us,” the high priest commanded.

The elderly woman patted my shoulder and gave me a pitying look. I returned it with a halfhearted smile then looked back at my father. My stomach was doing somersaults, and I felt a bit woozy, having mustered the strength to finally summon my father for the request.

“You know, Khu wants to follow in my footsteps,” he mumbled, his lips curling into a subtle smile at the admission.

Images of a dark-haired boy a few years younger than myself flashed before me, sporting with the other boys in the village, something I was never allowed to do. I could be a priest, though, be revered by the people, and help them. My magic could be the strongest in Upper Egypt. Senbi had named me for my strength. Raising my chin and attempting to straighten my crooked back, I said, “I know, High Priest Senbi, but I am your firstborn. I am Nakhtiokpara. Do I not have the right to choose first? I am almost fifteen.”

Senbi spat on the hard-packed floor. “You are to never speak of our relation. You know this. How many times do I have to tell you? You’re an abomination, a freak. You can’t even walk straight. How would you kneel at the stone pool? You have to be clean to even enter the Temple of Ptah. How will the people trust you to heal them if you can’t even heal yourself? You’re a cripple and will die soon.”

I bit my lip, clenched my jaw, and lifted my face to meet his. “I am strong. You and the others have said I will die by year’s end ever since I can remember, but I live on. Let me help others. Teach me,” I pleaded.

A glint flickered in his brown eyes and then softened. He took a quiet step toward me and wrapped my bared chest in his arms. He flinched, drawing his hand away from my back and side where bone had grown in place of skin after a particularly brutal scrape while wrestling with three older boys. That was when we learned the extent of my ailment; it was also the last time I played with others in the village. Senbi’s hand settled on an undamaged portion of my back. I smiled and hugged him, feeling his aged ribs creak in my slender arms.

He hissed down to me, “You are unclean, cursed, and impure. You are a stain on my reputation… on my life.”

The words hurt, but I’d grown used to hearing such things from the other boys. However, hearing it from my father was too much. I tried to stop the tears from welling in my eyes, but could more easily have straightened my contorted back. The only thing that hurt more was the sharp pain of something suddenly plunging into my side, just below my ribs.

Senbi angled his engraved, ivory tusk up and thrust it deeper, into my chest cavity. My breathing came in ragged gasps, and it felt as if I were drowning in the Iteru like I almost had years before, but this time there was no water to surface from. Warm liquid coursed down my side as he pulled his staff free.

“Why, Father?” I asked.

He let go of me and backed away as if I were a curse to be shooed away with one of his spells. “You have shamed me for too long, Nakhti. Why couldn’t you just die? Now I will have to spend hours cleansing my wand of your cursed blood. It may never work right again.”

I crumpled awkwardly to the floor, my stiff left leg jutting out while my eyes focused on the bloody wand with engravings of Ptah, Osiris, and other gods he often used for his spells. My blood dripped from its tip and coated half the wand. The engraved depictions stood out darker in the murky, red liquid, as though soaking in my essence. “But, Father—”

“Don’t ever call me that, you cripple… you cursed fiend. You could never be a priest, and now you will no longer stand in Khu’s way.” Wiping the wand on a spare tunic that lay next to my sleeping mat, he muttered, “I need to at least make sure your spirit leaves. We can’t have you hanging around causing trouble.” Lifting his smeared wand in the air, he began chanting, waving, and leaping on one leg, calling to Anubis and Osiris.”

While taking my final shallow breaths, I smiled as Senbi spoke the spell to reincarnate me in Ptah’s image.
Maybe I will be strong like the Apis bull.

* * *

My eyes fluttered open to find a muted conversation taking place between Dr. Kamal and Dr. Mayna. Their words slowly filtered to my ears, growing easier to comprehend, but before they noticed me once more, another gust of wind swept through the room with the words, “
Em hotep nefer
,” floating on it as light as a candle flame.

Shaking off the fogginess that seemed to have renewed my alcohol-free hangover from the previous night, I said, “Dr. Kamal, what does ‘
Em hotep nefer
’ mean?”

Their banter stopped as though an anvil had dropped, and they both stared at me. The Egyptian professor thought for a moment, his eyes drifting into the distance. Then he replied, “Be in great peace.”

I smiled and muttered, “You too, Nakhti. You too.”

“Don’t tell me,” Dr. Mayna quipped, “that was—”

“Nakhti,” I supplied.

“A ghost, I was going to say.”

I shrugged and nodded. “That too. Nakhti is the real name of the guy you call Curly. Dr. Kamal was right. Oh, and by the way, he didn’t have curly hair. Didn’t even make it past fifteen.”

“What happened?” Dr. Kamal asked in his rich accent, his deep voice flushed with excitement. He and Dr. Mayna both leaned forward on stools that had appeared in my mental absence.

I readjusted myself on the stool and leaned over to glance out the window. The sun had moved a good distance farther into the sky and was now almost directly overhead. “Well,” I said, turning back to the professors, “I get the feeling that Nakhti is happy someone took notice. Most of the time, the ghosts don’t interact, but two of your three bodies have. They must’ve been waiting a long time.”

We circled the stools and settled into a powwow between the recently vacated table and Nakhti’s remains. “Okay, go on,” he said, his dark his glittering under the phosphorescent lights in the stark room.

“Firstly, his bones weren’t always like that.”

Dr. Mayna gave me a quizzical look. “They had to be. I don’t know of anything else it could be.”

“Apparently he was born healthy, like anyone else—at least, that’s the impression I got.”

She frowned, having just gotten settled, and glanced back at the computer on her desk. “So, the bones grew over time?” she muttered, turning back to me, but I could tell she ached to search for the disease and discover what ailed young Nakhti.

“Yes. Any time Nakhti was injured, his body somehow grew bone there. That’s what caused his back to twist and become partially covered in bone.”

“All those extra pieces…?” she asked.

I nodded. “They were part of his back. His left leg was also basically fused together—at least, that’s what it felt like.”

“How did he die?” the Egyptian professor asked, greedy for answers.

I smiled, but it was a sorrowful memory. “While he didn’t want to die, it was still a relief. The disease had been so hard on him that when Senbi—”

“Senbiwosret?” Dr. Kamal interrupted with a curious tilt to his bushy head.

I nodded.

“He was a high priest, wasn’t he?” Dr. Mayna asked, her attention refocused on the story.

“Yes,” Dr. Kamal and I said simultaneously. Then he glanced at me with a surprised, but knowing, smile. “He did much for his people. They lived on the outskirts of Giza, what they called Kher Neter, the Necropolis. He was also a trader and made a good living from what we can tell.”

“At what cost?” I asked.

“What do you mean, Detective Drummond?” he inquired.

“I mean, his eldest son was Nakhtiokpara, and High Priest Senbi murdered him.”

The Egyptian professor’s eyes widened. “If that’s true, then that would change a significant piece of Egyptian history, at least for the people of that region. I grew up near there, and his name is on the temple list of revered high priests.”

“Well, if you really wanted to shock them, you could just analyze his ceremonial wand. It was this large tusk with engravings running along its surface depicting the best forms of the gods.”

“It is nice. I have seen it,” Dr. Kamal said. “But what would that prove?”

“So it still exists? In my line of work, we call it the murder weapon.”

His eyes widened further, this time threatening the boundaries of his thick eyebrows. “He wouldn’t.”

I nodded. “Stabbed Nakhti in the side with it, jabbed it up under his ribs and into his lung.”

“But their wands were sacred.”

“Yeah, but he called me—I mean, he called Nakhti cursed. He said having a son like that shamed him. When Nakhti expressed a desire to follow in his footsteps, to be a priest, Senbi took him in his arms and stabbed him from behind.”

Both professors stared at me in shock.

“He did say he would have to clean his wand to try and cleanse it of Nakhti’s cursed blood, but with any luck, it might still have traces in the grooves. I doubt it’s still viable for DNA, but you might be able to at least prove it’s human blood. That would be of some support to anyone interested in knowing the truth.”

“They won’t believe it, even if there is blood on the wand,” Dr. Kamal mumbled.

“Well, you’re probably right, but we can get started anyway,” Dr. Mayna said, rising to her feet. “It’s back in the gallery.”

This time my eyes widened. “Seriously? Here?”

“Yep, everything uncovered by that archeological dig is here temporarily,” she answered over her shoulder, heading back through the doors and toward the front. Dr. Kamal and I leapt up to follow.

In the dim light of the gallery, each artifact was illuminated by its own special set of lights inside the glass enclosures. Between a large Was staff and a carved depiction of a pharaoh’s head sat the carved, ivory tusk I’d seen only minutes before. Dr. Mayna knelt before it, staring at the engravings. It looked just as it had in my vision, although I didn’t get a good enough look to make out the details. Now I saw that a bull was pacing along one end, its rear replaced by another identical head. On the center and pointed half of the tusk were depictions of a stalking leopard, a spread-winged eagle, and what appeared to be a human-like lizard carrying a sword. The lizard creature even had a ruffled frill coursing down the center of its head and back, and its tongue flicked out from between its jagged teeth. The oddest part of the image, however, was that it seemed to be smiling. Looking at the thing sent a chill down my spine.

“I can’t believe it’s right here,” I muttered, staring into the glass box. My side twinged, remembering the moment it entered my flesh, and I had to remind myself that was Nakhti, not me. I pointed a third of the way from the point. “The blood coated up to here.”

“His name’s on the back,” Dr. Mayna said, watching the object with a look of wonder on her face, “along with engravings of other beasts.”

“So will you test it?”

She nodded.

“But carefully,” Dr. Kamal reminded her, “and under my supervision.”

Her shoulders slumped an inch, but a moment later she smiled up at him.

We admired the staff a few minutes more and then returned to the sparsely decorated room. “So how will you convince them, Dr. Kamal?”

He shook his head. “I really don’t know. First we’ll see what we can find on the wand. Then we’ll take it from there.”

“I’m really not sure where to go from here either,” Dr. Mayna mumbled, taking a seat in her computer chair and punching away at the keyboard. “I was curious as a child, but eventually gave it up, choosing scholarly science. However, I always wondered if there might be some truth to mysticism and ghosts. What you’ve told us is just incredible. It’s really overwhelming,” she continued, staring at the computer screen and multitasking, her voice a bit more distant. “I don’t know how people react to your approach, Detective Drummond, but I’m sure they will be very skeptical.”