The Cult of Sutek (21 page)

I’m letting it happen already.

Chapter 12

Dendera watched the large mountain rise out of an unforgiving landscape of rock, sand, and dirt. Very little vegetation littered the mountains in the Talmis Range. In fact, other than a few mice, snakes, birds, and insects, the only true sign of life she saw was when they passed The Blood Forest on their way into the mountains.

Like most people in Iget, Dendera had never seen The Blood Forest before. She had no reason to. Even from a distance, the sea of red leaves sent a chill up her back, especially when the wind picked up. The swaying branches made the forest appear as a pool of spreading blood.

Though they gave The Blood Forest a wide berth, entering the Talmis Range through the main road, she still shuddered from the proximity of the place.

More than a mile away and I still feel its dread.

Through a series of valleys and concealed paths off the main road, they reached a cave at the bottom of the highest mountain within the Talmis Range. Six men walking abreast could easily pass through the mouth of the cave. Ten cultists stood guard at the entrance.

She thought of the horrors recently associated with the Talmis Range.

If this is the base of the Cult of Sutek, no wonder they’d been hearing stories in Girga.

Guards took their mounts and led the animals to a side passage not far from the mouth of the tunnel. Someone had carved alcoves out of the stone and filled them with hay. Dozens of other horses waited inside. The smell of manure and old straw overpowered her as she passed the underground stables.

The rest of her kidnappers had been dismissed, leaving her alone with the captain. He grabbed her arm and jerked her forward.

An assortment of oil lamps and torches rested in wall sconces every fifty feet. It wasn’t enough light to mimic the outside world, but more than needed to illuminate their path.

They walked for what felt like miles into the cool caverns, going up and down stairs carved into limestone, in and out of numerous side corridors. In some places she had to duck or turn her body sideways to pass. In others, the tunnel widened enough for two wagons to pass without touching.

How is the mountain still standing with so much of it hollow?

Everyone seemed to have somewhere to be or something to do inside the underground network. Some cultists guarded doors. Others stacked barrels and crates. Several sparred and exercised in groups while more prostrated themselves before the numerous shrines of Sutek.

There must be hundreds. Maybe even thousands. Gods, this is worse than Jahi imagined.

Eventually, the captain halted outside a pair of double doors and knocked. A moment later, both swung inward.

The person that answered the captain’s knock blocked the entrance in much the same way the two doors did. He stooped slightly so as not to bang his head on top of the doorframe. His shoulders were wider than any she had ever seen, limbs thick as tree trunks, chest like a barrel. Yet despite the man’s size, he did not look fat. In fact, his waist tapered inward.

She recalled the stories her kidnappers had told at the campfires toward the end of their journey.

Nizam.

Dendera looked into the man’s eyes and immediately wished she hadn’t. They were not dark brown as was common among her people. Nor were they rare blue or green.

White. Completely without color.

She wanted to look closer to be sure she hadn’t missed a hint of brown, but when Nizam caught her staring, she quickly turned away, shrinking back under his scrutiny.

The captain started to open his mouth, but a voice came from inside. “Let them in.”

Nizam stepped aside, and Haji led Dendera into the room.

Her mouth dropped in amazement once she gathered the nerve to raise her head. Shelves lined every wall of the room. On them sat the most beautiful works of art Dendera had ever seen. Statues of gold and precious metals, pottery painted in vivacious colors, and jewelry of rare gems crowded the space.

At a second glance, however, the marvels brought her horror. Looking past the materials used to construct them, she saw what they depicted—sacrifices and unspeakable tortures. Legends and lore commonly associated with the Cult of Sutek were detailed on the pottery or mimicked by the jewelry and statues. The beauty of a polished ruby meant little to her when it represented a heart ripped out of a young boy.

Dendera cast her eyes down, feeling faint. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, swallowing the welling of saliva as it filled her mouth.

A small chuckle sounded. “I take it your father does not have such works of art in his private collection.”

Dendera looked up. The man across from her wore the same black and gray garb as others except his included ornate symbols of pale yellow over the chest, arms, and head. A neatly trimmed beard framed his lean face. She estimated he had not yet seen forty summers.

“No.”

“Probably destroyed like most others found by the populace. Too bad,” said the man. “Even if one does not honor the great Sutek, I find it sad that so few can appreciate fine craftsmanship. But people are superstitious and believe that once the material is used for something they deem to be evil, it should never be used again.” He snorted. “Funny how no general feels that way on a field of battle. They square off against an enemy they believe to be evil and in victory, armor and weapons are gathered and redistributed among their own, replacing those damaged or of lesser quality.”

“I wouldn’t know . . .” She stopped herself from calling him what she wanted to truly say, thinking it best to at least maintain an air of civility toward her captors.

The man gave her a knowing look. It chilled her. “You may call me High Priest Menetnashte as others do.”

She leaned forward. This man who claimed to be Menetnashte had the barest of wrinkles around his eyes and only a hint of graying in his beard. “You’re too young to be him.”

Menetnashte raised his hands and bowed his head. “Sutek has blessed me generously for returning his people to the old ways. His rituals bring us all strength which is why our numbers have grown. And after the Heka we will be strong enough to no longer hide. Iget will serve Sutek above all others.”

Heka?

“And you will rule Iget afterward?”

A twinkle shone in Menetnashte’s eye, then quickly faded. “As always, I will do as Sutek wills.”

How noble.

“So, I am to be a prisoner?”

“Until the Heka. Then you will be a participant.”

“I would never participate.”

“You really don’t have a choice.” He nodded to Haji. “Take her to the chamber with the others.”

“Wait,” said Dendera, trying to jerk her arm away from the captain’s grip as he pulled her back. “Will I be released after the Heka?”

Menetnashte smiled. “In a sense.”

“Wh—”

“Silence,” hissed the captain while dragging her through the door. “You should consider yourself lucky that Sutek’s high priest would even speak to you. Quiet or I will keep the promise I made to you on the road.”

They reached the chamber after several winding twists and turns, most of which led her farther into the mountain fortress.

They stopped at a door guarded by two men, each carrying a spear. The guards opened the door and pushed her inside without a word before shutting it.

Dendera froze inside the vast chamber filled with dozens of young girls. The young girls all dressed in simple white gowns, smelling of lavender. Many had been sitting or lying down but all rose to their feet and turned toward her.

Unlike the rest of the rooms and passages she had traveled, she could see that this place had been created naturally. Four large stalagmites rose from the ground some ten feet at the room’s center. Up higher, smaller stalactites descended downward like giant drops of water.

A sobering thought struck her as her attention returned to the hopeless expressions of the girls.

“Gods, what are we here for?” she whispered, the question was one she meant to speak to herself, but in her alarm said it aloud.

“That’s an answer you may not wish to learn,” came a voice to Dendera’s right.

A young woman with black hair, deep brown eyes, and perfectly tanned skin walked toward her.

The Emperor’s daughter.

“Princess Oni?”

Oni nodded as she approached, stopping several feet from Dendera. “Given Menetnashte’s dislike of your father, I knew it was only a matter of time before he sought you too. I had hoped you might have been able to get away. But I should have known better. It’s impossible to run from the cult.”

Dendera blinked away her daze. Though her head spun by all that she had seen since reaching the mountain, the shock of seeing so many young women held against their wills, the Emperor’s daughter among them, sent her mind reeling with questions.

“I . . . What . . .” started Dendera, unsure what to say next.

Oni reached out and gave her a warm embrace she did not expect. It brought her comfort. Oni released her and took her hand. “Let’s find a seat. We have much to talk about.”

* * *

Andrasta came at Rondel in a flurry of cuts and thrusts. He shuffled back, ducking and weaving away from her darting blade. Occasionally, he managed to deflect an attack with his sword, but not once did he have time to counter. He stepped into a hole and fell. He expected Andrasta to give him a moment to right himself. He looked up with barely enough time to dive away from her descending sword.

Rondel rolled to his feet. “By the gods, are you trying to kill me?”

Andrasta renewed her attacks, faster than before. Rondel ceased with shuffling, practically running backward to avoid the blows, maneuvering all around the space they fought.

“What’s the matter with you?” he yelled.

Andrasta’s even breathing contrasted against his racing heart as she drove him back with cold eyes narrowed. Never had the woman come at him while carrying the look of death she wore when facing others.

She’s lost it. And I’m going to die.
In the past such a revelation may have caused him to falter and give up.
No. Never again.

Rondel lunged in desperation. Andrasta tapped his blade aside. He stepped to the left, swinging his sword up to her head. She blocked it. He tried to twist away before Andrasta countered, but she caught his wrist and disarmed him. In one fluid motion, she spun him around, came up from behind, and rested the edge of her sword against his throat.

Rondel held his breath.

Just get it over with.

She released him. “Your defense has improved. However, you still let your emotions get the best of you when you attack. We will need to focus more on that.”

“Wait, what? That was all a test?”

“Of course.”

“Gods, I thought you were trying to kill me!”

“If I wanted to kill you, you would have been dead long ago.”

“Then why not tell me it was a test? You’re never that intense unless you’re trying to disembowel someone.”

“Because people fight differently when they think their life is on the line. I wanted to judge you by that.”

“You’re insane.”

She shrugged and walked away.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered before following after her. A thought struck him. “Wait a minute. You gave me a compliment.”

She gave him a confused look.

“You did. You said my defense had improved significantly.”

“I never said significantly. I also said your offense is not where it should be.”

“Regardless,” he said, huffing for air. “You gave me a compliment and the moment we come across a quill and ink, I’m marking the occasion.”

Andrasta came to a halt. She ignored his remark. “Go and run. Your breathing is too heavy from our sparring.”

Rondel scowled while noticing she favored one side. “Fine. But you need to rest.”

“I have to train on my own.”

“You’re not helping yourself heal by training that hard with an injury.”

“Still, I must.”

“Why do you have an obligation to kill yourself each and every day? Is it because of what you said back in prison about women in Juntark being strong fighters? Are you trying to maintain their reputation?”

“Piss on their reputation,” she spat.

Rondel took a step back at her tone.

“They should be concerned about tarnishing mine. Women in Juntark are only strong when it’s easy for them to be. They never make a stand if they think it’ll draw the ire of the men. The women of Juntark can rot in hell for all I care. The men too.”

Gods, what brought that on?
“But you said—”

“I know what I said. I was trying to convince you to escape. I would have told you the sky was green if it would have worked.”

Once more, I learn something new about her, but it answers none of the questions I had before. In fact, many are now irrelevant.
He paused, quickly thinking of where to take the conversation. He wanted to ask her more about Juntark’s culture and the people she grew up with, but knew from past experience that if he pressed her, Andrasta would say no more.
She likely only said what she did because I hit a nerve.

Rondel cleared his throat. “All right. Then why do you push yourself so hard?”

She stared back at him but said nothing.

“Come on. Why are you so afraid to tell me anything?”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Embarrassed then? It can’t be any worse than what you’ve learned about me.”

Andrasta clenched her jaw, then relaxed. “I must be the best.”

Rondel waited, but she said nothing more. “All right. I can understand that. I felt the same as a bard. I can’t tell you how many times I practiced until my fingers bled.”

Her eyes brightened. “Then you understand. I cannot accept being second to anyone.”

“So you’ve always trained this hard?”

“No. Not long after I left Juntark I grew too confident and my training lapsed. I won’t allow that again.”