“Shh.”The sound from Elyas’s lips shivered like an evening breeze through papyrus reeds. The old man’s eyes were wide open, bright within his filthy, bloodstained face.
Sita was astounded.
Aya grasped her grandfather’s hand, oblivious to the imminent danger they were all in. “See? He’s only hurt! You can fix him like you fixed Sami!”
Sita should have been afraid. But the molten agony of losingKarim for the second time hardened into ferocity.Choose, the voice of her soul demanded. Will you fight? Or will you die?
Aya pleaded with her. “We can’t leave without my sabba!”
As the stone butcher approached, Sita set the serpent staff upright and stood to face him. “We’re not going to.”
Shesmu loomed over them, his blades awash in blood, the mottled brown-black stone of him spattered in gore. The face hidden within the lion-skull helm had a savage, leonine quality, but his expression was as placid as any Khetaran statue, unbothered by all the slaughter he’d wrought. He raised his knife to strike but hesitated when he noticed Sita’s staff.
Sita felt the wood pulse in her hand like an extension of her body, alive and eager to perform.You know the names, it seemed to say.Use them!
Sita thrust the staff aloft and spoke in a voice that echoed through the streets of Perset.
“I name you, Shesmu the Butcher! Mutilator! Dismemberer!” she boomed. “I name you, and I say to you: By the power of Isis, you shall not enter this circle!” With that, she brought the staff down. When its tip struck the ground, a beam of white light burst from each side of the staff, encircling Sita, Aya, and Elyas within its brilliance.
The light closed around them as Shemsu’s knife sliced down with terrifying force. There was a flash, and the next thing Sita knew, the butcher’s blade flew backward through the air, clattering to the ground beyond Shemsu’s reach. His orders unchanged, the butcher raised his other knife to strike.
The noise attracted Setnakht’s attention.
The ancient pharaoh looked up from Karim’s body, and his expression shifted from triumph to astonishment. More than that, his face shone with recognition.
“Anet?” he said.
Setnakht dismounted and walked toward Sita, the clash of man and stone parting before him, creating a clear path. Shesmu withdrew, lowering his knife.
“I watched you die,” Setnakht said, his eyes locked on Sita’s face. “I buried you in the Temple of Night. I sent your spirit across the Lake of Flowers to the Field of Reeds for an eternity of eternities. You cannot be standing here before me. You cannot, and yet you are no illusion.”
Sita labored, trying to respond while concentrating on maintaining the protective magic. “This staff may have belonged to Anet,” she said through gritted teeth, “but I am not your queen.”
Setnakht said, “You may not have used blood magic as I did to rise from my tomb, but only Anet could wield that staff. The twin serpents obey only her.” A pained, wistful longing crossed his face. “You are not my queen, but her ka lives on in you. I see her spirit, her fire, in your eyes.” He reached for her, and to Sita’s dismay, his hand passed through the circle of light.
The spell was directed at Shesmu, so it affects him alone, she realized.
The pharaoh caressed her cheek. His hand was as cold as death.
Summoning her heka voice, Sita cried, “I name you, Setnakht! I name you, heretic king! Within this circle, you can be only what you truly are: an abomination against the gods of this land!”
The circle of light intensified, shimmering from white to gold.
Sita watched in amazement as the flesh began peeling away from the ancient pharaoh’s fingers, dropping from his bones as if a thousand years of rot were unfolding in an instant. The decay ate away at his hand and had reached his wrist when Setnakht recoiled, hissing with pain. Outside the protective light, the decay receded, and his greenish flesh returned, unbroken.
Setnakht flexed his fingers, his nostrils flaring with barelycontrolled rage. The next time he spoke, his voice was soft. “You could stand by my side again, Anet. Act as the sovereign’s left hand, as you once did. Do you truly wish to waste yet another lifetime in opposition to your destiny?”
Sita frowned. “Opposing youismy destiny.”
Setnakht closed his eyes and smiled bitterly. “Even after hundreds of thousands of sunrises, I see nothing has changed.”
Sita’s body trembled with the effort of holding the circle, yet she couldn’t help but wonder at the pharaoh’s words.What does he mean, “nothing has changed”?
Setnakht turned from her and began walking back to his mount. As he did, his spell-casting voice reverberated through the courtyard. His words to Shesmu held no mercy, and he did not look back at Sita as he spoke.
“She will weaken. She always does. When her power fails, kill her and throw her body into the Temple of Night where it belongs. Then follow me and the rest of the army north.” He mounted his horse in a single fluid motion, his crimson cape flapping in the wind at his back.
“As for the rest of you,” Setnakht said to the few remaining ushabti in the courtyard, “Ensure that this city is emptied; then stand at the gates to make sure none return.”
