Servant of the Gods (38 page)

He could only pray so.

Racing for the light, he burst out into the open.

“My camel, quickly,” he said, desperate, clapping his hands for his slaves as he ran to his tent. “Hurry, hurry. Mustafa, Najib, with me.”

His people hastened to do his bidding.

Hastily he gathered his most precious booty, his fingers caressing the small figurine of the priestess, praying to her for salvation. He leaped onto his saddled camel, set heel to it without a backward glance.

“We go,” Abdul hissed to the other two men, his guard.

The remaining men, puzzled and disturbed, turned to look back toward the great crack in the rock face.

A sound like the wind in a storm whispered from the crack in the great wall of stone.

From within the rift came cries and shouts, the screams of those within it.

Those outside fell back. Some turned to run, far too late.

A great cloud of dust and stone erupted from within the escarpment to swallow up those beyond. Voices cried out in horror, and in pleasure.

That sound followed Abdul across the desert, raising prickles over his skin.

After a time, silence fell as the desert swallowed the sounds up.

It was a shaken, terrified and desperate man who stumbled into the little temple to the shock of the priests and priestesses who served there. His face and hands were scoured and bloodied by the desert.

Abdul ignored them, prostrating himself before the figure of the Goddess. The priests and priestesses couldn’t help him, only a Goddess could.

They’d lost Mustafa in the desert that first night.

At first Abdul thought it safe to rest and so they’d stopped to set up what camp they could.

The wind had come up.

All of them had looked up, knowing the signs in the clouds, in the haze in the sky behind them.

It was a sandstorm.

They found what shelter they could and hunkered down to weather it out.

Still something sent a shiver down Abdul’s back. He weighed his chances.

Something told him they were better in the sandstorm.

As the first rush of blowing sand reached them, he leaped for his camel.

Seeing him, Najib followed.

Mustafa had not.

Even over the sound of the storm they heard him scream in abject terror and then in delirious bliss, a dying gurgle of immense pleasure.

And yes, there was something about the sound of that ecstasy that drew their manhood tight and sent a chill through them. Even as it called to them.

Najib’s eyes had turned white at that cry.

It had been a race then, to see which camel could run or be goaded faster against the fury of the storm.

Once again, Abdul won, his fingers clenched around the figurine of the little priestess as he heard the cry out of the darkness.

Even so he couldn’t shake the idea he was still hunted. He could feel it.

Desperate, he raced into the first temple he found and threw himself on mercy of she who ruled there.

All he had to offer was the golden figurine of the priestess.

“Take it,” he said to one of the priests, thrusting it into his hands. “Take it as my offering to her, to Sekhmet.”

The Goddess of War.

Instead the priest looked toward the open door of the temple and his face grew grim and set. As one, he and the others backed away, disappeared into the shadowed depths of the temple.

Nearly weeping with terror, Abdul slowly turned.

Sand swirled through the entrance. Something stepped out of it.

He looked from the figure in his hand to the terrible one who stood in the doorway.

The Guardian of the Tomb.

They were the same.

His cry was first of sheer terror and then of a deep and horrifying ecstasy.

When silence came once again to Sekhmet’s temple, the priests and priestesses emerged.

All that remained of the old thief was a dry and empty husk.

The wind gusted and swept the temple clean.

A noise awoke her. The Guardian found a barrel filled with red-dyed beer and shook her head…

That had been the Goddess Sekhmet’s downfall, and while she served both Goddesses now, she wasn’t Sekhmet…that trick would only work once…

It didn’t work this time, as the grave robbers who’d been unlucky enough to stumble on the tomb discovered to their dismay and horror.

Time passed.

When next she found a young man tethered inside the garden her fury was nearly unbounded…

He had been staked near the entrance to her gardens.

Warily, she looked around, her mouth tight.

She could sense his pulse pound, scented him, and her hunger roared. But there was no malice in him, no greed, just fear, a terrible fear…

Those that waited just outside, they were another matter.

With one strike of her sword she slashed the ropes that bound the boy…for he was little more than that.

She looked at him.

He was frozen with fear. The scent of it filled the air enticingly.

Once, and only once, had she tried not to feed, to resist Sekhmet’s gift… She shivered, remembering…

Looking at him, she said, “Run.”

The man just stared at her, terror holding him trapped.

She fixed her gaze on him. “Forget you were ever here. Now, I’m very hungry, so…Run…”

Eyes widening, he looked at her, the eldritch glow of her blue eyes glimmering.

“Run,” she shouted.

He did…

Fury spurred her – that they should sacrifice an innocent to her as if she were some dark goddess…

Deliberately she went in search of the leader, stalked him, tormented him, herded him…so he should know what it was like to be hunted.

She took him down like a lion with an antelope, letting him know that to her he was food, prey, nothing more, showing him as much mercy as he had the boy, feeding from him in great gulping swallows…

His fear turned the taste brilliant, heady, glorious… more…

In horror, she stepped back, her breath catching as she realized what she’d done, what she was doing…

Only the stars saw her tears…

Present day, Gilf Kebbir, Egypt

The last of the thieves fled the menacing shadows, bursting out into the early morning sunlight that spilled through the cleft in the rock above them. It had taken all night but they were the last of those that had come. It had been centuries since she had awakened. A thousand images spilled through her mind – the gifts of Horus and Hathor, that she would dream of the world beyond this place.

So much had changed.

But this man puzzled her…

Laughing with relief, he looked around at the sunlight that surrounded him as he spun to face her.

“Dawn. It’s dawn. I’m safe, safe. You can’t touch me now. I’ll be back,” he shouted, “and I won’t be alone. Your time is over. Over, do you hear me?! Too many know, too many are looking. Even you, even the Guardian of the Tomb cannot stand against so many. They’re coming. It remains only to be seen which comes first – the Americans? The German and his fanatics? The Egyptians? Or those who watch and follow all of them? If nothing else, they’ll bomb this place down around your ears.”

Frowning a little, baffled at his words, his conviction, she stepped out into the sunlight, wishing she could feel it on her skin, truly feel it, the warmth of it…

He gaped, all of his bravado running out of him abruptly as he stared in shock and horror.

“That’s not possible,” he whispered.

Light poured through and into her.

Frowning, she looked at him.

“Why would light deter me?” she asked, advancing on him with her lions at her heels. “I am and have always been a Servant of Light. That is my purpose. To defend against the Darkness of that which lies below. I have no fear of the Light of Ra.”

After all the long years of dreaming there was little else she knew about herself.

She was the Guardian, her will held those below, she still defended…but her sense of self had faded, her name, her memories…had vanished…

Even this man’s terror held nothing for her. It stirred neither pity nor remorse and somewhere deep inside of her some part of her grieved for that, longed for what was gone, for what she’d lost and was losing…

She looked to Nebi, who brushed his great head against her hand and felt a stirring within her of something she couldn’t name…

It was clear this man believed what he said, as he’d believed she couldn’t face him in sunlight… But his belief in the other, despite the obvious contradiction of his first assumption, seemed irrefutable.

Considering it, she approached him.

“I would know more…you will tell me.”

There was no emotion in her face, it was as still as the stone of the stele, as cold and blank…save for a slight frown.

#####

Valerie Douglas is a prolific writer and a genre-crosser, much to the delight of her fans. A fan of authors from almost every genre from Isaac Asimov to Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, she writes classic fantasy, romance, suspense, and as V.J. Devereaux, erotic romance. Who knows what will pop up down the road!

Happily married, she's companion to two dogs, four cats and an African clawed frog named Hopper who delights in tormenting the cats from his tank.

You can find more information at

http://www.valeriedouglasbooks.com

Other Novels by Valerie Douglas

Fantasy

The Otherling series:

The Coming Storm
– A Epic Fantasy – in the tradition of J.R.R. Tolkien’s the Lord of the Rings trilogy, comes the epic tale of Elon of Aerilann, Elven swordmaster, his true-friend Colath, the archer Jalila and the wizard Jareth, as they, with the aid of Ailith Heir of Riverford, try to discover why the creatures of the borderlands do battle with them, and why?

A Convocation of Kings
– sequel to The Coming Storm. One war is over, but fifty years later another begins just as Elon is reunited once again with his lost love. Is it coincidence she has returned just as there are signs an old enemy has returned as well?

Heart of the Gods
– In search of the ancient Tomb of the Djnnn, archaeologist Ky Farrar awakens its lethal, and lovely, guardian. Unfortunately, Ky isn’t the only one in search of the Tomb and the danger to the world that lies within it.

Romance
:

The Millersburg Series

Irish Fling
– Ali was the smart one, but brains didn’t stop her from crashing and burning. A desire to connect with her roots takes her to Ireland, and a chance meeting with internet mogul Aidan O’Connell. Even brilliant Ali with her nearly photographic memory doesn’t see the danger lurking when she sees the wrong thing.

Dirty Politics
– Returning to her hometown, practical Cam Kenyon discovers that teenage crush Noah Denton is running for D.A. When she discovers that his opponent is going to indulge in dirty politics, she throws her support to him, accidentally resurrecting an old enemy.

Director’s Cut
– When bad-boy director Jack Tyler comes to town to rediscover his passion with the local community theater group, teacher and theater geek Molly has to decide whether to take a chance on him. When his past catches up with him and he seems to be returning to his old bad habits, she has to decide whether to fight his demons alongside him.

Two Up
– Sculptor and welder Jesse was always the wild child, her only family her three friends. A chance meeting with novelist Mitch Donovan gives her a chance to make a new life. For Mitch meeting Jesse gives him new inspiration, but that new inspiration comes at a terrifying price.

As V. J. Devereaux – available from Ellora’s Cave Publishing

Cherry’s Jubilee

Special Delivery

In the Flesh

Demon’s Kiss