Silk Over Razor Blades (27 page)

Breaking the surface, he blinked the
droplets from his eyes and concentrated on staying afloat, this
time with one hand feeling ahead.

His fingers waved through the
darkness.

Saar gasped and waved his hand again.
Hope made him shout aloud and the sound bounced back at him, over
and over until it filled his head. He didn’t care . . . he could
see his fingers.

Encouraged by the thought of light and
an exit, he pushed off from the wall and began to swim, aiding the
current in taking him forward. With each stroke he saw his hands
plunge in and out of the water. Around him the walls began to
glitter, tiny mineral deposits lined the rough surface. The ceiling
lifted away gradually, until the sound of his breathing echoed
around him. Saar had just the time to recognise the difference
before the water fell away and he plunged into another pool.

Shafts of silver light stretched across
his face and high above long spikes of jagged rock pierced down
from the rocky ceiling. Between them he saw flashes of night sky,
dotted with stars. To the left, the walls of the tunnel stretched
back and widened, a large opening with a flat, sandy floor. Beyond
that, a flickering orange glow made Saar cry out again. Twisting in
the water he swam towards the torch light.

A lifetime later he dragged himself on
to the sand, squeezing the damp grains beneath his fingers. It hurt
his skin, but Saar didn’t care, clinging to the earth like he once
grasped his mother.

Gradually his breathing slowed. Muscles
relaxed. His teeth chattered and though Saar could see his fingers
digging into the sand he could no longer feel them. Reaching his
feet took several attempts but when he did, he inched towards the
golden light. Another tunnel. But for the single torch at its
entrance, no light fell here. Though dry, flat and straight, Saar
could see nothing once it angled away.

Another tremble from his legs convinced
him that an attempt to climb through one of the holes in the
ceiling would be foolhardy. So he took the torch from the wall, put
his free hand on the wall and walked on. Brisk walking soon chased
away the goosebumps and dried his clothing. Eventually his shivers
lessened, then stopped completely. A bead of sweat slipped down his
back.

So soon after the fear of drowning,
Saar pondered the depth of his new course. The distance from his
home. The stillness weighed on him like three layers of armour
until his steps became slow and shuffling.

The tunnel began to curve. Beneath his
fingers, the walls changed from rough-hewn rock, littered with
jagged edges, to smooth stone with faint ridges. Seconds later, he
realised that his fingers traced not the natural contours of rock,
but the man-made etches of carved glyphs. They arced up then down,
a constant stream he could just see vanishing beyond the nimbus of
light thrown by the torch. Beyond that light he might well have
stood on the edge of the Underworld and never known it.

‘
I knew you would come.’

Saar yelped when he heard the voice. He
dropped the torch. The flame died, plunging him into darkness.

Shame rose quickly to mingle with fear
and he placed both hands over his chest. They were clammy, the
fingers trembling as he flattened them to his skin. He heard
panting, and several seconds passed until he understood it was his.
Until that moment, he hadn’t fully understood the silence of the
tunnel. ‘Who’s there?’

‘
Come closer.’

From the direction of the voice came a
new glow, just visible as Saar’s eyes adjusted to the loss of his
torch. He hurried towards it, telling himself that the haste in his
steps was to do with impatience, not fear.

As he left the mouth of the tunnel, he
saw a circle of waist-high torches with purple flames grouped
around a vast stone altar. He gazed at the stone slab, mentally
measuring it as at least his own height in width. Twice that in
length. On the altar lay a dagger. The blade was long, perhaps a
foot in length with an edge that formed a sinuous wave on both
sides. The flats of the blade were marked with curious shapes and
spirals, perhaps a dialect, but not one Saar knew. Smooth gold
formed the handle, studded with gems of white and blue with a
pommel at the end in the shape of a skull. From its jaws a long
tongue protruded, a thin coil of silver.

Tearing his gaze from the weapon, Saar
took in the rest of the chamber. Smooth walls, built in a domed
shape with a small hole at the top through which more stars were
visible.

Proof of the outside world eased some
of the tightness in his chest. After so long below ground in such
deep, thick silence, it was easy to doubt the existence of a world
beyond that immediately around him. When cool air breezed through
the hole in the ceiling, Saar inhaled deeply and reminded himself
of home.

In the middle of it all, behind the
altar, stood a figure he recognised well.

‘
Kazemde.’

The old man smiled. He approached from
the far side of the altar, both hands hidden within his voluminous
sleeves. With the hood thrown back he looked as he had in the
market place, though darker. Colder. More . . .

Saar shivered.

‘
Power. That’s what you
feel.’

‘
You know my thoughts?’

‘
I read your body. Reading minds is
for higher creatures.’

He stepped closer. ‘You tried to kill
me. You sent me to fall to my death.’

Kazemde spread his hands. ‘And yet here
you are.’

‘
I almost drowned.’

‘
But you didn’t. You survived. As
always. The gods favour you.’

‘
Luck favours me.’

‘
Few men have the “luck” you have.
All these years, so many battles. But you need more than luck to
save your city.’

Talk of Alexandria reminded Saar of why
he had made this terrible journey in the first place. He chewed his
thumbnail.

‘
Antony has returned. He plans to
marry the queen.’

‘
Of course and in so doing he will
become king at her side.’ Kazemde appeared unconcerned.

‘
He’s already married to Octavia. Do
you think her brother will let such a slight go unpunished? But
Cleopatra is besotted, she’ll do anything Antony asks, even if it
means war.’

‘
A delicate situation.’

Saar pounded his fists against the
altar. ‘Then help me.’

Kazemde bared his teeth. ‘What do you
know of Horus?’

‘
You insult me. Horus is the god of
the sky. The sun. The moon. God of war. He watches me above all
others. Why?’

‘
What of his relationship with
Set?’

Saar’s eyes narrowed. ‘Even the
smallest child knows the tale. Set killed his father, Osiris, and
scattered the bloodied remains. What does that have to do with what
you offer?’

‘
Everything.’ Kazemde bent and
retrieved a large stone bowl from behind the altar. The sides were
etched with pictures, symbols Saar recognised as those for both
Horus and Set. In the dim light, he struggled to see what liquid it
held but for the fact it was black and thick.

‘
Horus attacked Set and sliced from
him those dangling sacs with which he might one day bear a child of
his own. In retaliation, Set pierced and stole the left eye of the
falcon-headed warrior and so their battle ended. From the last
battlefield Set collected the spilled blood and kept it as a
reminder of how jealousy can spiral out of control. How war between
two can infect the lives of many.’ Kazemde set the bowl on the
altar and stepped back. ‘This is his gift to you.’

Saar snorted. ‘That bowl contains the
blood of Horus?’

‘
Blood of the gods, cherished over
the years to be gifted to one worthy of its power. Look around you,
read the messages on the walls. This was once a temple.’

He shook his head. Unease lifted the
hairs on the back of his neck as he gazed into those steady red
eyes. ‘You mean to make a fool of me.’

‘
Why would I stand before you and
waste my time? Yours? Though I have many years’ claim in this
world, I’ve none to waste in bringing gifts such as these before
weaklings and non-believers. Hundreds of men have died for this
power. Others have killed to possess it. Only those strong enough
to use it may do so. Many have tried, all failed.’

‘
Many? Like who?’

‘
Sensuret. Ramesses.’

‘
Lies. These Pharaohs lived before
your time.’

‘
Really? How old am I?’

Saar stiffened and looked more
critically at the figure before him. ‘Forty summers. No more than
that.’

A laugh. Kazemde coughed, wheezed and
beat his chest. ‘You flatter me.’

‘
How many then?’

‘
Two thousand.’

The room seemed to pitch and dip.
Fingers splayed, Saar clutched at the altar and held on, waiting
for his knees to regain their strength. ‘Impossible.’

‘
Believe what you wish, but I have
seen many things. I know many things. And this,’ he nudged the
bowl, ‘is your only hope.’

‘
No.’ Yet even as he spoke, Saar
remembered the startling accuracy in Kazemde’s words about Antony
and his union to the queen. He licked his lips. ‘You’re a
spy.’

Kazemde smiled. ‘Would a spy know of
the blemished skin beneath your seat shaped like the curve of a
lion’s fang? The mark which convinced your mother to enlist you as
a solider before you finished nuzzling at her breast?’

Saar gripped his right thigh, high up
beneath his buttocks. ‘Nobody knows of that mark.’

‘
Just your slave-whore, Kiya?’
Kazemde smirked. ‘And Cleopatra, I suppose.’

Growling, Saar lurched across the altar
to grab the laughing figure. Eel-like, the old man wriggled out of
range, with speed that belied his frail frame.

‘
Now I know why you insisted “no
weapons”, you knew I would kill you.’ He clutched his head with
both hands. ‘Antony will kill me for what I’ve done today. I’ll
never see my loved ones again. And for what? Lies, tricks and
insults.’ Spinning on his heel, Saar walked to the mouth of the
tunnel and back into the darkness.

‘
And if you return to the city with
no aid? Antony won’t let you defend the city, so how do you expect
to save it?’

He froze. ‘That was a private
conversation.’ His steps dragging, Saar returned to the altar. He
leaned over it, flinching back when his fingers touched sticky
patches of blood. ‘What have you done?’

Unconcerned, Kazemde shrugged.
‘Nothing is free. You of all men should understand that. The power
of blood is bought
with
blood. Take
it if you dare.’

‘
Why me?’

‘
The fact that you ask makes you a
perfect candidate for such power. You’re strong. Kind. The good of
the city is your only desire and that makes you pure. That purity
gives you the power to use this gift. Imagine what you could do
with the blessing of the gods.’

Saar touched the bowl. So smooth
beneath his fingers. Cool. The black liquid within clung to the
sides like ichor and left dark smears in its wake.

Over the faint crackle of torch flames
he imagined the sound of whispers. A soft voice calling his
name.

He shuddered. ‘How does it work?’

‘
Drink it.’

The whispers intensified.

Saar picked up the bowl and brought it
close to his face. Rank waves rose from the liquid’s dull surface,
bringing to mind rotten food and dead things baking in the sun.

He gagged. ‘Why does it smell so
foul?’

‘
I’ve waited many years for a man
suited to this gift. Even great things cannot last
forever.’

The whispers grew louder until they
were no longer whispers but clear voices. Saar whirled as they
called his name. Shivered as they demanded he drink.

‘
Who’s there?’

‘
The way to this temple is shut. It
is but you and I here.’

Again he turned. His gaze darted to and
fro across the chamber. Shadows took on sinister shapes in the
corner of his eye, but each time they shifted before he could face
them. ‘I hear others. They tell me to drink.’

Kazemde’s eyes widened. ‘Why do you
resist?’

‘
I fought my men to reach this
place.’ His fingers trembled on the sides of the bowl. The dark
liquid within sloshed up the sides. ‘I hurt one and crippled
another. If not for the water their blood would stain my hands and
face.’

‘
Then you’ve already paid with
blood. The gift is yours. Take it. Drink. Become all that you can
be.’

‘
What will it do to me?’

‘
You’ll see like an owl, hear like a
cat, smell like a wolf. Tastes will become stronger for you. Your
body will be more attuned to the changes in the air. You’ll be
sensitive. Faster. Stronger.’

Saar straightened. ‘Stronger?’

‘
Like no other man on earth. Touched
by the blood of gods, their strength will mingle with
yours.’

Still he hesitated, staring into the
dark depths of the stone bowl.

‘
Drink the blood of the gods and
you’ll be as close to them as one can be and yet remain human.
You’ll be all powerful. Long-living.’

‘
I just want to save my
homeland.’

Kazemde nodded. ‘Powerful men make the
decisions. You know that better than anyone. With this gift you’ll
be able to fight Antony with the gods at your back.’

Cool stone touched Saar’s lips. He
hadn’t noticed his hands rising until the gritty rim met his mouth.
The smell grew worse, tangled with the scent of old blood on the
battlefield. A smell he knew well.

His hands shook. ‘Will I still be
me?’