stairway that
led down to Prince Khenty’s workshops. His black eyes were narrowed in anger and his
hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as he flung open the stairwell door and
started down the curving stone steps to the bowels of Anubeion for he had taken in the
delicious odors coming from the dining room.
Flickering rushes placed along the old stone wall lit the way down the serpentine
stairs. The smell of resin wafted through the air and the atmosphere grew cooler the
lower the taricheutes descended. The cuffs of his white trousers dragged over the wet
stone and in places the steps were so slick he had to reach out to grasp the iron railing
stapled to the wall.
In the distance came the sound of water lapping against an unseen shore and the
tang of salt filled the air. Now and again low moans would echo against the stone and
piercing shrieks—far off and sounding hopeless, terrified—would reach the taricheutes’
ears. With each new sound, the taricheutes would shiver and dig his fingernails into the
creases of his hands. Such woeful sounds were part and parcel of his profession.
Darkness loomed up at the bottom of the stone steps and Bahru was careful to
stretch his foot forward to feel for the level ground ahead of him. He stepped cautiously
around a massive stone jutting up before him for the faint glimmer of light flickered
beyond.
The closer the taricheutes came to the light, the colder the air became. He was
shivering by the time he reached a small room with a low ceiling in which several
people sat on gilded chairs.
“You took your time in joining us.”
Prince Khenty’s voice was pitched low and threaded through with annoyance.
“I would have been here sooner, Your Grace, but—”
“Sehkmem, rise and come to me,” Khenty cut him off.
A young man got up from one of the chairs and came forward. His eyes were dull,
his face expressionless and the loincloth he wore barely covered his thin hips. Barefoot,
he made no sound as he walked to the prince.
Khenty took the young man in his arms and lifted him, carrying him easily into The
Pure Place to a long stone table that stood in the center of the next room. Placing his
burden on the cold slab, the prince put his hand over the young man’s face. “Thy brow
is under the protection of Anubis, and thy head and face, O beautiful one, are before the
holy Hawk. The Great God looketh upon thee and he leadeth thee along the path of
happiness. Sepulchral meals are bestowed upon thee, and he overthroweth for thee
thine enemies, setting them under thy feet in the presence of the Great Company of the
Gods who dwell in the House of the Great Aged One which is in Anu.”
A slow exhalation of breath issued from the young man’s mouth and his eyes
closed slowly. He lay perfectly still, death gathering him to Her bosom in the blink of an
eye.
51
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Black as the night, a large man came from the shadows, startling Bahru. In the
giant’s hand was an obsidian knife, the gilded hilt all but hidden in the massive palm.
“Prepare his body with care and gentleness, paraschistes,” Khenty said quietly, and
stood back, his arms crossed over his bare chest. “Taricheutes, begin your
preparations.”
Bahru bowed low and set about taking off his white trousers and kameez until he
was bare of all save the white linen kilt that covered his hips. The paunch of his belly
extended over the waistband of the kilt and jiggled as he turned to take the instruments
of his trade down from shelves ranged along the stone walls.
Khenty looked with distaste upon the embalmer who had been sent to him from
Asaraba. Not only did the man’s protruding gut and spindly legs offend the prince,
Bahru’s adherence to the old ways of shaving away all his body hair emphasized the
taricheutes’ effeminate nature.
“Things have changed a great deal over the centuries, haven’t they, Your Grace?”
Bahru asked as he laid his
Caitlin Crews, Trish Morey