Infinite Sacrifice (3 page)

The surgeon grasps a thin knife
with a long handle, pulls my foreskin forward in one hand, and
slices off the small piece of flesh with the other. I inhale
sharply, registering the hot flash of pain. The surgeon throws the
flesh into the fire, then places honey-soaked cotton with thyme
around the wound, and covers it with a linen wrap. Turning to the
priest wrapping a linen loincloth around my waist, I bow as they
bow back.

I am one of the priesthood
now.

Chapter 2

Years later, my palm-wood-sandaled
feet trot along the stone path through tall desert trees that
provide much-needed relief from the dry heat of the land. I come to
the end of my purification walk from my family dwelling outside the
sacred city of Memphis. My thirty days of service is about to
begin, and I’m eager to reclaim the position of my late father and
his father before that. I already feel strength from my fast. I
walk steadfast under the towering statues of Ra lining the walkway
to the temple entrance. I’m beginning to feel alive again, every
muscle tingling.

Above the door
bears the sacred inscription: “The House of Life—The Learned Ones
of Library Magic.” Every time I pass under that engraving, pride
consumes me.
I’m the high priest of such a
temple
. The six guards at the entrance
step aside and bow to me, allowing me access. I point for my
lagging slave, Nun, to go to my sleeping chamber and prepare it for
the evening. The interior of the temple drops twenty degrees, and
my sweat cools instantly, causing a slight chill. Torches
illuminate a path down the corridor as the smell of incense engulfs
me.

Another guard opens the massive
cypress door and bows on one knee while holding the heavy door
open. Inside the high-ceilinged room stands an imposing statue of
Serapis, God of Dreams, to which our temple is dedicated. All
around the statue, offerings of fruit, nuts, beer, wine and
fresh-killed lamb are piled up. Expensive oils and incense are
burned in wide pots at the perimeter of the vast room, casting
light on the papyrus plants, lotus, and palm trees painted to the
top of the walls. I look to the flying birds and stars painted to
the greatest height across the vaulted ceiling. A harpist plays
soft music while beautiful virgins dance slowly. I walk to the
altar and bow as a priestess wafts a cloud of incense and natron
around me.

I head through the pyres to my
right which lead me to the cleansing pool. I stand at the pool’s
steps, waiting with my arms out, as a stolist priest unties my
cotton loincloth. Naked, I kneel down as another stolist lathers my
head with scented lotion and shaves my hair to my scalp. I stand
again as he shaves all of my body, hand-plucks my eyebrows and each
eyelash.

As a viper feels after shedding its
skin, I breathe deep and glide into the cool, pure water, then sink
beneath. Breaching the surface and rubbing the water from my eyes,
I catch my reflection in the golden mirrors lining the edge of the
pool. Water runs down my brown skin, causing a glistening effect in
the glowing dimness of the room. With all my hair gone, my features
look chiseled, emphasizing my prominent nose and thick
lips.

As I exit, the priests anoint my
body in balanos oil and tie a clean white linen loincloth around my
waist. I bow my head as one places the moonstone eye of Serapis
around my neck and a gold arm cuff around my biceps. I turn to
another who paints my eyes, brows, and lips black with kohl out of
a lotus-shaped glass container. To finalize the cleansing, I rinse
my mouth with salty natron water and spit into an alabaster flask.
The priests bow to me as I walk back into the central room of the
temple, again bow to Serapis, and continue to the dream-incubation
chamber. I am to prepare the evening’s special ceremony to find
Nebu’s—God Wife of Serapis—adopted Royal Daughter.

I walk into the large central
chamber, where two lower priests are tending the giant fire pits on
either side of my podium that holds my sacred books. I take my
place at the altar, enclosed by the thick, stone columns, to review
the last priest’s journal entries. The tended fires blaze,
illuminating the carvings of the dream gods carved on all four
walls. Gods who are waiting for pharaohs, priests, scribes, wealthy
merchants, and commoners to come to scry for cures, magical spells,
hex removal, fertility, and prophesy. I hold their most vital hopes
and dreams in my hands.

The two priests finish with the
fires, refill incense oils, and then bow as they back out of the
chamber; I wave them away.

Hearing sandals clicking down the
corridor outside, I can tell it is Nebu’s quick light feet as she
comes to greet me. She is beautiful, as all of the wives of gods
are expected to be. She wears her gold-and-lapis lazuli collar,
gold headdress, and gold-painted long skirt wrapped around her
hips. I bow before her, appreciating every inch of wasted splendor,
since no earthly man can ever have her.

“Sokaris,” she says with her hands
out for me to grasp in greeting, “I hope your leave was
restful?”

“I grew fat and bored as always,
and I’m eager to dedicate myself again.” I hold her hands and bow
with her.

She begins to walk, silently
commanding me to follow her down the corridor.

“It is time for me to pass down my
position, but I do not want to choose poorly. I need to adopt an
apprentice who will not merely fulfill my wifely duties but also
please Serapis.”

As we are approaching the main
chamber, Edjo—Nebu’s favored apprentice—comes limping down the
corridor in tears. As Edjo is normally a graceful and tranquil
beauty, this is an abnormal event. Her tears cause her kohl to make
black rivers down her fine-featured face, and her amber eyes look
beseechingly to Nebu.

“Most High, I awoke this morning
with a large and painful lesion above my knee.” She points to a
festering wound seeping clear fluid down her right leg. “It is a
curse, I tell you! I dreamed of a jealous enemy last
week!”

Nebu turns to me, and I nod in
validation.

“I also have a rash that has spread
all over my face and down the back of my neck.”

We lean closer with a torch and see
her skin is indeed raised and red.

Nebu shakes her head with
disappointment. “I am sorry, Edjo, but these are all signs the gods
do not find you fit for this position.”

Edjo crumples to Nebu’s
feet.

“Once you are healed and purified,
you are welcome to be one of my esteemed dancers,” Nebu says as she
pats her heaving back.

Edjo begins kissing her feet.
“Please, Nebu, please see this for the treachery it is! I have been
groomed for Serapis, raised to be his wife! I am Edjo, the daughter
of Amun! This is my birthright! My family will be
shamed!”

Nebu shakes her off her feet and
starts moving down the hall to the other dancers.

Edjo shrieks from behind us, “I
cannot bear this shame! I am going to drown myself in the Nile, and
the one that has cursed me will be damned!”

Neither Nebu nor I give her a
second look.

Nebu whispers under her breath,
“Clearly not ordained.”

The rhythmic drums and cymbals are
heard from the corridor, and the chamber is filled with movement.
Twenty royal dancers twist and turn to the beats, striving to stand
out and impress Nebu. They can all turn the head of any man, but
they dull like the dust stars next to the brightest and shining
star. I stop hearing the music when I see her.

She watches her hands and the
intricate movements they’re making as her hips click with the beat.
I don’t know which part of her to watch first. She is the waves
rolling from the center of the sea with no end and no beginning, an
unrelenting ripple of her whole body. She starts with a large
movement of her middle and lets it flow to an undulation out the
tips of her hands and then back down to her toes. Her body reflects
all of the flickers of the fire, making her cast a marbled glow.
Her motions hypnotize me, and when I find the music has stopped—I
want more.

I shake my head to break the spell
and look to see if Nebu notices the trance she put me under, but
she too is watching the girl. She claps her hands. “Satisfactory.”
Then, motioning to the harpist to begin playing, she commands,
“Sing for Serapis.”

When it’s my dancing girl’s turn to
sing, she doesn’t have perfect pitch, as did other girls, but she
sings quietly and so sweetly. Her eyes! Her eyes are large, honey
pools you can fall into and never climb out! She is the most
intriguing and captivating woman I’ve ever seen. Something is
different about her—something powerful—something mystifying. She
moves, and my eyes follow; she speaks, and my ears tune out all
other sound. I feel far away from her and want to be closer. I wish
no one else were in the room.

Nebu interrupts my pain. “I see you
agree with my choice.”

I pretend to be only slightly
interested. “There are many talented girls for you to pick from,
but one does seem to have a magic air to her.”

“Ah, you have noticed. Yes, that is
a good way to put it.” She smiles while gazing upon her. “I wonder,
though, if she seems devout and disciplined enough?”

“That is hard to see in the arts.
We will need to probe deeper and let our ancient knowledge guide
us.”

My heart races at the thought that
I’ll get to spend some time alone with her.

“Yes, we will have to trust the
ancients—and you, Sokaris.”

I leave to take my place in the
dream-incubation chamber before Nebu sends her. I have to regain
composure and steady myself for the important task ahead. I look up
at my reflection in the brass incense burner, and I see her float
in behind me. I turn, avoiding her eyes, and stare at my
papyrus.

“Name?” I ask.

“Bastet, daughter of Ketuh.” Her
voice is melodious.

“Age?”

“Fifteen and a half
years.”

She’s older than most royal
daughters, but it is not unheard of for someone her age to be
considered. Her blue glass ear studs catch my eye.

“Let me see your palm.”

She outstretches a fragile,
long-fingered hand and slowly turns it within my palm as she looks
directly in my eyes. I feel a charge at her touch but continue my
task. She has many great talents on her hand but carries three of
the most ominous signs: a weak and broken lifeline that foretells a
short life; she lacks the gift of willpower whorl on her thumb; and
most intriguing to me, her mount of Venus is well padded, showing
immense passion. Normally I wouldn’t even let a candidate stay
after this miserable reading, but I can’t stand the thought of her
leaving.

“Please follow me to your chamber
for the night.”

I lead her to the smaller chambers
where dream incubation takes place. I motion her to enter the room
first, pushing aside the urge to pull her to the bed with
me.

She sits down on the side of the
linen-draped bed and asks, “Who is looking upon me as I
sleep?”

I freeze at her unabashed
forwardness but thaw when she points to the carving on the
headboard.

“That is the midget god, Bes: the
Dream Protector.” I motion her to come to the table beside me. When
she nears, I can smell the remnants of scented wax in her braided
wig releasing its sweet perfume. “Tonight you must pray to the god
Serapis to send you a fortuitous dream, one that can tell us of
your destiny with him. Please write his name on the
papyrus.”

She obeys with some skill, and I
roll it up and place it in a lamp beside her bed.

I pray, “Will it be granted that
Bastet, daughter of Ketuh, be Royal Daughter to Serapis? Reveal it
to me; answer this little written prayer.”

I light the papyrus to burn while
she sleeps. She bows, and I leave her chamber to attempt to retire
in the chamber next to hers. It must have been hours before my body
relaxed enough to sleep, knowing she is so close.

I’m getting back
into bed and am fixing the scroll with my god’s name when I feel
something move by my leg under the sheet. I throw back the sheet to
expose a writhing mass of snakes crawling and hissing on top of me.
I scream as they all bite into me at once, igniting me in
flames
.