Scroll of Saqqara(192)
“You have not answered my question.” Hori faltered, although if he had been strong enough he would have fled in screaming horror from that place. I have been inside a corpse, he was thinking. I have made love to dead flesh like one of those madmen who loiter about the House of the Dead. And what of Father? His life has shrunk to a single force, the ecstasy of possessing Tbubui. Even Sheritra is defiled. All of us, we have committed unnameable sins no one else in Egypt could understand. Were these three always like this? he wondered. So predatory, so utterly without scruple? Or has the mysterious alchemy of a forced resurrection taken something human from them, some component necessary for a blameless life, a good judging, and then peace in the paradise of Osiris? Is the price of such a resurrection also a rejection by the gods? Have we also, all of us, been rejected? Nenefer-ka-Ptah had begun to pace again.
“Your question?” he said. “Oh yes. Why you. We were grateful to your father for rousing us, and if it had been left to us we would simply have retrieved the Scroll and gone on living quietly in Memphis. But Thoth …” He seemed to be searching for words. “Thoth had become my master. The Scroll was his creation, and in acquiring it I came under his direct domination. It is not a good thing, to come under the unblinking contemplation of a god. Much more than mere adoration is required. Oh much more. His beak is sharp, young Hori, his shining eye remorseless. One becomes a slave. ‘Khaemwaset has sinned,’ he said. ‘He no longer serves any god but himself. He must be destroyed. Your ka is forfeit to me in exchange for the Scroll, and Khaemwaset’s for his arrogant plundering, his continued desecration of hallowed places. See to it.’ One does not disobey a god, and I must confess, Prince, that I have enjoyed tearing your complacent, haughty little family apart. We all have. For me it has been a chance to practise magic again, and for Tbubui, an opportunity to play the game at which she is most accomplished.”
He looked directly at Hori, and at once desire for Tbubui flared in him, hot and immediate in spite of his pain. “You are abominations, all of you,” he cried. “Give me back my life!”
“But you are tainted too,” Nenefer-ka-Ptah pointed out, grinning. “You have been inside her. There is no salvation for you.”
Hori felt the knife in his hand, solid and somehow comforting. “I do not deserve this!” he shouted. “I refuse to die! I refuse!” In a frenzy that lent a superhuman strength to his arm he launched himself at Nenefer-ka-Ptah, knife held low. Nenefer-ka-Ptah stood impassively, his face completely blank. Screaming, Hori jabbed the paring knife up under the man’s chin, pushing it with a grunt until the hilt met flesh. Nenefer-ka-Ptah did not even flinch. Hori doubled over, weeping and trembling, then looked up. Nenefer-ka-Ptah was watching him, and all at once he yawned. With a despairing horror Hori saw the blade caught in the back of the man’s throat, clean and dry. Impatiently Nenefer-ka-Ptah reached up and pulled it out. It came with a slight sucking sound. He tossed it onto the table. “I am already dead,” he said equably. “I thought you understood that, Hori. I cannot die a second time.”
Weakness swept over Hori and he cowered on the rough floor, weeping with impotence and pain. He was about to pull himself upright when there was a convulsive movement by the open door. Through eyes blurred by tears of agony he caught a glimpse of Sheritra, open-mouthed, frozen in shock. Antef was behind her. “I saw!” she screamed. “O gods, Hori, you were right! I saw!” Hori began to struggle up. He sensed Nenefer-ka-Ptah bowing.
“It is the delectable little Princess Sheritra,” he said. “Welcome, my dear. Would you care to join our modest feast? I have little to tempt you but scorpion husks and dead mice, but perhaps you would prefer to dine on your brother Hori’s ka? Very fresh and juicy it is.”
“Hori!” Sheritra cried out. He was on his feet now, shocked almost beyond bearing, but still capable of coherent thought.
“Get out of here!” he ordered. “Antef …” But it was too late. With a shriek of terror Sheritra had turned and fled along the passage. Hori struggled to follow, and as he came to the door Antef rushed to support him. Together they emerged into the corridor in time to see the further door open, flooding more light into the darkness, and Sheritra cannon into Merhu, who had stepped out and was standing in the way. Sheritra threw herself into his arms.
“Tell me it isn’t true!” she was screaming hysterically, clutching him, burying her face in his neck, her body pressed rigidly against him. “Tell me that you love me, you adore me, we will marry as soon as the contract is drawn up.” She raised a terror-stricken face to his. “Tell me that you did not know about your mother, about Sisenet, any of it! Tell me, Harmin!”