Seti's Heart (22 page)

 
Chapter Nineteen

The going had grown more difficult when Seti reached the river. The ground near the banks of the stinking water was a slurry of thick, black mud that sucked at the soles of his feet, slowing his progress.

Cloying, the air near the river was thick with the stench of death and clouds of small, biting insects. They swarmed around Seti’s face, irritating his eyes and nose. The smallest of the Underworld’s predators, the mosquitoes and gnats were the first to taste Seti’s blood. Swatting at them did little good – there were too many. For every one that Seti brushed from his skin, there were thousands more to take its place.

Seti drew heavily now on his warrior training, his mind racing backward through the millennia to the time when he ruled the sands of Egypt.

For a moment he saw himself in his inner eye: a youth whose chin was barely dusted with fuzz, naked save for a penis sheathe and armed with a simple wooden staff. He faced his father on the golden sands of the training arena, a man whose body bore the scars of countless battles. Kindness had been banished from his father’s eyes; instead he wore the fierce expression of a warrior who would take no prisoners.

Seti’s father’s voice rang in the ears of his memory.

Focus on your target - nothing else matters. Be alert. Your enemy is always poised to attack. You may know not where or when he will strike.

He remembered the pain of his father’s staff striking his shoulder, and the shame that had ripped through him. Seti had not been paying close enough attention, had been daunted by the size of his opponent and distracted by their familial relationship. The blow brought him to his knees.

Listen. The largest enemies may make the smallest sounds. Act. React. Do not pause. A heartbeat’s hesitation is enough time for your enemy to cleave your head from your body. Do not doubt your abilities.

A swift dodge left Seti’s staff striking nothing but air. He had not been fast enough, had given his opponent too much warning of his attack. Another blow, this time to his upper back, threw him facedown in the dirt.

Breathe. Scent the air for your enemies, let your skin feel for the heat of their bodies on the wind.

Seti learned many painful lessons on the training field, but they had left him a warrior to be reckoned with, and fully capable of assuming his father’s crown. Added to his magical inheritance, Seti’s training allowed him to become a force that had blown across the sands of Egypt, conquering everything in his path.

His bearing shifted and he stood taller, more confident as he plugged along the mucky riverbank. He was still Seti. He was still the fierce warrior he had once been.

A small, bubbling sound caught his ear and he turned to look toward the river. A ripple stirred the water a few feet out from the bank, no more than a small disturbance in the surface, but enough to put Seti on guard. His grip tightened on the haft of his dagger, pointing the sharp blade toward the water.

It came quickly, bursting up through the surface of the water in a leap that brought the crocodile nearly to Seti’s feet. Its jaws gaped as it hissed, its short, thickly muscled legs quickly closing the distance between it and Seti.

Half again as long as Seti was tall, the beast’s wide jaws were lined with wicked teeth. It snapped at Seti’s legs, angling its head to sink its teeth into Seti’s flesh. One snap would seal Seti’s doom, and he knew it. The crocodile would clamp down tight, dragging him back into the water. Spiraling in a death roll, the creature would keep Seti underwater until his lungs filled with the murky, putrid liquid of the river and he drowned.

Seti was far too familiar with the behavior of crocodiles and reacted with the instinct of one born and raised among them. The Nile had been thick with them, ferocious beasts that preyed on anything and everything that they could catch. Birds, wildebeest, camels, men - even lions were not immune to the crocodile’s jaws.

Moving quickly, Seti sidestepped the animal’s attack and straddled the scaly monster, plunging his dagger up to the hilt into the top of its broad, flat head.

The crocodile bellowed, its body twisting violently from side to side, jaws snapping up in the air, trying to reach the blade that bit deeply into its brain. Eventually, its movements grew jerky, then stopped as the great beast slumped into the mud, lying still.

Seti worked the blade out of the crocodile’s skull. If he had still been king, he would have skinned the beast and taken its teeth as trophies of his kill. But, now, he had no time for such vanities. Leaving the enormous carcass behind for the scavengers, he pressed on.

Seti had no idea of how long he walked. Time had no meaning in the Underworld. Ra would not allow the rays of the sun to touch the fields of the dead; Night, and her son, Dusk, ruled the withered plains and foul river. Without the sun there was no way for Seti to mark the passing of the day. There was only varying degrees of darkness. It felt as though he had been walking for days.

His feet blistered, his shoulders and legs ached, but he kept on. To stop, to rest, would leave him open to attack. The scavengers knew he was tiring; they were smart, staying close but just out of reach of his dagger, waiting for Seti to misstep.

A pack of hyenas kept pace with him. He could hear them snuffling in the bush, their mottled coats blending with the dried, brown stalks of tall grass.

Vultures circled above him, gliding on the air currents in slow, lazy circles. Seti could feel their sharp eyes watching him, waiting patiently for their chance to tear at his flesh with their cruel, hooked beaks.

All around him the hiss and clicks of scarabs and scorpions whirred, heard but unseen in the waist-high grasses.

Doggedly, Seti pushed on, forcing himself to move faster.

Finally, blindingly white domes shimmered into view in the distance, rising from the desolate, brown landscape like an oasis in the desert.

The sight of Setekh’s palace gave Seti heart and the strength to redouble his pace. Breaking into a jog, his braids beat a rhythmic tattoo against his back with each step. Sweat dripped into his eyes, burning them, but he ignored the sting. He kept his eyes trained on the palace, not daring to look away, praying that it was not a cruel mirage.

He slowed only when the wide steps that led up to Set’s palace loomed into view. Panting, he took a moment to regroup himself, to catch his breath.

The hesitation nearly cost him everything.

It came from behind him. Perhaps it had been waiting, coiled in the deep black shadows cast by the palace, or perhaps it had tracked Seti unseen from the beginning. In either case, the attack came the moment Seti paused.

A hiss that blew hot air against the skin of his back was all the warning Seti received as a monstrous form struck out at him. Only instinct saved him from being impaled on the creature’s needle sharp fangs.

He twisted to the side, throwing himself to the ground and rolling, his body responding to the threat even as his mind struggled to process the fact that he was being attacked. A flat triangular head, as large as Seti’s sarcophagus had been, struck so close by that he could feel the rush of air the beast displaced with its startlingly swift movement.

Slowly, arrogantly, as if already assured of its next meal, the cobra lifted its head. Soulless black eyes watched Seti with the crafty gaze of a predator. Rearing, it towered over Seti, its body as thick around as a tree trunk. Mirror-like scales shimmered with swirls of iridescent green and gold, Seti’s face reflected in them a thousand times over. The snake’s fangs were each as long as Seti’s forearm, and razor sharp. Strings of viscous venom dripped from each, its breath reeking of death.

The great cobra’s hood rose, exposing its fierce, kohl-lined false eyes, casting dark shadows over the beast’s face. A long, sinewy black tongue flicked out from between its jaws, its forked end tasting Seti’s scent in the air.

Seti’s fist squeezed the dagger haft tightly. He barely had time to take a deep breath before the cobra struck again, its massive head snapping toward him. Again, he rolled to the side an instant before the creature’s fangs would have pierced his flesh, this time bringing his arm down in an arc. The blade of the dagger sunk deeply into the cobra’s left eye.

Scrambling up and away, Seti bent low over the stairs, trying to stay out of the way of the cobra’s head as it convulsed, wildly swinging, first in one direction then the other. Seti ducked and rolled, trying to keep from being crushed by the weight of the cobra’s mighty head.

As the cobra’s head repeatedly struck at the unyielding, cold stone steps, the tip of one of its fangs broke off with a sickening crack. It lay on the step in a small pool of translucent venom.

Arching up off the ground, the cobra twisted away into the tall grass, flattening a large swath in the crisp, brown stalks as it slithered away to nurse its wound.

Seti’s heart pounded in his chest as he pulled himself to his feet. His dagger, his only weapon, was gone, still embedded in the eye of the great snake. He turned, looking up at the entrance to Setekh’s temple from over his shoulder. There was no time to chase after the snake, even if the wound he’d inflicted had proven fatal and he was able to retrieve the dagger from the snake’s carcass. Logan was in there, with Setekh. Seti needed to act now.

Then he spotted the piece of ivory-colored fang lying on the step near his feet. It was as sharp as any dagger, and a better weapon than none at all. Carefully, he picked it up, holding it by its blunted, broken end. Three fingers wide, as long as his hand, Seti knew that one scratch from the venom-drenched fragment would be more than enough to kill.

Whether one could kill a god was a mystery Seti did not have an answer for, nor did he want to think about the possibility that nothing he did could harm Setekh. All he knew was that he had to do something, anything to get Logan away from him.

Seti took a deep breath and ascended the stairs to the archway that led into the palace of Setekh.

 
Chapter Twenty

“SETEKH!”

Logan struggled to remain conscious, clawing desperately at the fingers that squeezed around his throat. A familiar voice bellowed the name of the god who held him firm, but it sounded far away to Logan. Miles away. No doubt it was just his imagination trying to conjure up the one person who might have been able to save him from Setekh.

Seti.

He hadn’t had enough time to get to know Seti. Logan knew that now. He belatedly realized that while he’d blamed Jason’s death on Seti, it really hadn’t been Seti’s fault at all. The only one who could be blamed for his death was the god whose hand wrapped around Logan’s neck.

As he lost his battle with consciousness, Logan’s last thoughts were a wish and a prayer. A wish that he could have told Seti as much, and a prayer that Seti would find his way in the modern world. That he would be happy.

Suddenly, Setekh’s fingers loosened their hold and Logan felt himself fly through the air, his back smacking hard against the wall. Gasping for air, his hands automatically massaging the bruises at his throat, he blinked at the sight of the man who stood framed in the archway that led out of Setekh’s palace.

It couldn’t be. He’d left Seti back in Jason’s apartment. How could he have known where to find Logan? How had he managed to follow him here? And why?

Logan tried to call out, to warn Seti away, but all he could manage with his ruined throat was a weak rasp that even he could barely hear. “Seti! No!” his mind thundered, although his voice was less than a whisper.

“So, you have followed your whore-toy to my demesne,” Setekh growled. Logan watched with wide eyes as Seti squared off against the much larger, omnipotent god. “I suspected that you would be foolish enough to do so. You were always weak when it came to your playthings, Seti. Did the last five thousand years not teach you that what I take, I keep?”

“You will not have him, Setekh!” Seti roared, taking a step into the room. His eyes never left Setekh, his body looked tightly coiled and ready to strike.