"Snake God"
By Amanda Swiftgold

Part Seven: Lord of the Blood

      Six cycles of the seasons had come and gone. The right of the new lord of Kaze had now been uncontested for three years. In the first part of his reign, Sekhmet had been forced to put down a few rebellions as well as keeping his neighbors from turning on him and taking his lands. It had been a very trying time, but now all was relatively peaceful.
      There was still war, of course, but it was happening farther and farther away. The fortress and its village below had become a town, and Sekhmet had to give most of his attention to governing the town and his conquered lands. Consequently, he let his generals lead the battles, sending them directions from home. And they had been successful, and his people had grown rich.
      On a dark, clear summer night, Sekhmet prepared to sleep. He looked out the window a moment, at the sleeping fortress, and then turned back. As he crossed the room, he noticed something on the low table under the window and picked it up. What is this doing here? he wondered, rolling it between his fingers.
      In his hand he held a small green orb on a chain, fastened to it by golden snakes. He frowned at it suspiciously until he remembered what it was. The small piece of crystal was a soul-orb, supposedly capable of capturing a person's soul inside it.
      Sekhmet half-smiled. He'd gotten this from a would-be ally at his wedding two years ago. It had been a marriage of state to unite their two families, and since that time he'd only seen his wife twice. She preferred to live at the house in Edo, and he didn't really care one way or the other. He got the impression she was a nagging bitch anyway.
      He put the orb back on the table and continued across the room, glancing around the area once more out of habit, making sure there were no assassins around. But then, in a shadowy corner, he noticed a shape low against the ground. He brought the torch over there, hand on the knife he always kept with him.
      There, sleeping in the corner, was a large black-scaled snake speckled with gold. Sekhmet blew out his breath in a sigh of relief. It was summer; there were snakes all over the place. He yawned and decided to leave it where it was, since it wasn't hurting anything. Absently, before he put the torch out, he reached out to the snake's mind with his own. He was stunned.
      It--it's thinking! he realized, quickly recovering. The snake was moving now, sliding away from him. He lunged forward and grabbed it, narrowly missing the fangs. A green symbol began to glow on it, and his own appeared, bathing the room momentarily in a pale green light.
      "Appear in your true form," he demanded, pressing the point of his knife right underneath the place its jaw met its skull. "Or you'll be dead."
      Reluctantly, the snake-form shimmered and changed, growing outward until suddenly he was holding a tall, slender woman by the neck. Immediately he pushed her back against the wall to prevent her from disappearing, although he wasn't positive it would work. She didn't vanish, however, and with his knife still at her throat he looked at her.
      The snake-goddess, for that was what she was, without a doubt, glared back at him with midnight-blue slitted eyes. Her skin was a dark olive color where it was not covered with black and gold scales, and her dark hair, also streaked with gold, reached a bit past her waist, strands moving around without cause. She said nothing, and in annoyance he snapped, "Why are you spying on me? Who sent you?"
      Still she didn't answer, only staring at him, and he almost couldn't break away from her gaze. He pushed the knife closer, and she tried to pull away. He shoved her back roughly, snarling, "Tell me now, or you'll die. I don't care what you are. I'll do it."
      Finally she sighed and stopped struggling. "I wanted to watch you, Sekhmet, son of Essah. I was intrigued by you. Most of the half-breed children do not live as long as you have, and none have ever become as successful. I wanted to see what you were like, what made you different from them."
      He frowned and then let her go. She stepped quickly away from the wall, touching her neck briefly, but, to his surprise, stayed. He stood where he was, gazing at her as she began to wander around the room, looking at the various things he had sitting on tables and in corners. When she came to his sword hanging on the wall she reached up and touched it gently, watching as veins of green sprang up across its surface.
      "What is your name?" he asked finally, and she looked at him and smiled, hand still raised in the air.
      "I am called Aoi," she replied, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. She touched the blade again and the glow stopped. She then continued around the room, and he watched her. The room was silent, for a while. He couldn't think of anything to say to her at all, and she wasn't saying anything herself.
      When she paused he walked over to her and grabbed her wrist. "Aoi. Tell me why you're really here," he said.
      She glanced down for a moment and then back up, turning her own hand to grasp his wrist. "What I'm really here for... I'm supposed to ask you to join the Dynasty. And if you're unsure... I'm supposed to take you there. By force."
      He dropped her hand. "It always comes down to this," he spat. "Are all you snake-gods part of the Dynasty, or will one of you someday actually say 'hello' without having anything to do with Talpa?"
      "Yes," Aoi said softly, and he gave her a look of confusion. "We are all a part of the Dynasty. We are all enslaved by Talpa." She raised her hand to a thick iron chain necklace around her neck. At the end of it was a clear crystal. "If I tried to run, he would find me."
      Thoughtfully, he sat on the floor, and she sat across from him, her loose pale brown robe flowing around her. "What about Essah? Does he have... one of those?" Sekhmet pointed at her necklace, and she shook her head, an expression of sadness on her face.
      "No, he does not. Essah-- he joined the Dynasty willingly. The master trusts him not to run. He--" Aoi stopped suddenly, as if she wanted to say something more but wouldn't, or couldn't. Instead she looked up at him from under her eyelashes and smiled seductively.
      He tried to ignore it, and asked, "Well then, why is he always warning me not to join it? Does he want to keep the power for himself? Damn it, I'll never understand him!" Sekhmet pounded the floor only once with his fist before she stopped him, her hand over his. Aoi slid closer, next to him, and shrugged.
      "The Dynasty is a very dreary place, Sekhmet. It's much nicer here on Earth." She wrapped her arms around his waist, and he made no move to push her away, surprised only for a moment that her hair wasn't brown, like... hers had been. Foolishness, Sekhmet, Lyonta's been dead for six years! he reminded himself. Slowly, he ran his fingers down her back and through her hair, kissing her deeply. She held him even closer to her and kissed him back, pulling at the sash of his robe.
      When the kiss broke, he asked close to her lips, "So, is this something else you were sent here to do?"
      Aoi did not reply, merely reaching up to kiss him again.

      It was later, pale, fading moonlight shining weakly into the room through the open window. Sekhmet woke up with a yawn, and blinked. He carefully disentangled himself from Aoi and rolled to his side, leaning on one elbow. He watched her sleeping, and reached out with his other hand to touch her necklace speculatively, tracing the iron links.
      She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. "You sure you can't take this off?" he said quietly. He sat up and crouched over her. I could break it, I'm sure of it... it's not that strong.
      "Yes, I'm sure," she replied. "Try pulling it, just not too hard. I don't want to heal more of you than I have to."
      He grasped it with both hands and tugged gently. As soon as he put pressure on it, a wave of pain ran through him, and the crystal turned red. He let go hastily and it returned to normal. His hands felt burnt although they looked all right, but she held them between her own and they were healed.
      He sighed and laid back down, lightly touching the scales on her face with the backs of his fingers. She turned to him and began playing with his hair. There was more silence. "Aoi," he asked again, "was this something you were sent here to do?"
      She stopped, giving him a long look. "Yes." He closed his eyes a moment. He'd expected it, so why did hearing it out loud make him feel like he'd just been cut open?
      "But I didn't have to," she went on. "If I had wanted to, I could have taken you back to the Dynasty without any problems." She raised her hands, and a green light crackled between them. "But I decided not to. Stay here, Sekhmet. I'm not going to force you to come with me."
      "Thank you," he said, gently brushing her lips with his. She smiled very slightly.
      "I will be punished," she responded, sliding her hand into his. "Perhaps even killed. Talpa is very determined to have you join the Dynasty."
      "But why?" he said, sitting up. "Why me? Why not someone else?"
      "Destiny," Aoi replied, also sitting, and reached for her robe. She shrugged into it and fastened the sash. "Essah thinks he can change it... and I hope he is right. I hope I never see you again."
      He was startled. "Why?"
      "Because if I do, then I know you'll be his, body and soul. And that is something I don't want to live to see." She embraced him, her cheek against his. "Farewell, Sekhmet." she whispered in his ear. "For you I face my master's anger." And then she was gone.

      Aoi was the last non-human visitor he had for three years. Essah did not come, had not for a long time, and even the Dynasty soldiers failed to make an appearance. But all that changed one early autumn afternoon.
      Sekhmet was riding through town, surveying the area. Satisfied with what he saw in the residential districts, he rode out into the countryside, leaving all his retainers and servants behind. He was glad to have some peace and quiet away from the cacophony of human voices. Here near the river it was peaceful, warm and, above all, quiet.
      He dismounted as he neared the river, kneeling on the bank and removing his gauntlets, dropping them to the ground along with his helmet. He cupped his hands and drank, splashing water on his face, enjoying the cold feel as droplets ran down his neck. When Sekhmet looked up, the sky was dark. He frowned in confusion, and then there was a sudden terrified whinny from his horse. As he sprang to his feet, it charged off through the river and away.
      Sekhmet cursed and spun around, reaching for his sword but not yet drawing it. A man in armor stood in front of him, having appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The armor was strangely made, looking as if it was made out of a single sheet of metal instead of plates sewn together, and over it he wore the armor surcoat of a general or lord, colored black and bright yellow. In his hand he held a kusari-gama. There was an unmistakable feel about him, and Sekhmet knew instantly that this man was Dynasty.
      They stood there for long moments, simply watching each other, and then the other man said, "So you are the famous Lord Naaza Sekhmet."
      Sekhmet looked back at him coldly. "I am. What of it?" The armored man laughed at him, and he tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. "What is it you want?"
      He pulled off his helmet. revealing long red-brown hair. He held the helmet in one hand for a moment, and then it disappeared. Sekhmet was surprised, but he kept his expression exactly the same. It gave the enemy an advantage if he knew what you were thinking.
      "Not impressed? You will be, my dear daimyo. I am Douji Anubis, the Warlord of Cruelty."
      Sekhmet merely raised one corner of his mouth. "Warlord?" He leaned back against a convenient tree.
      "Yes. I have come on behalf of my master Talpa to invite you to join the Dynasty."
      Sekhmet looked back at him in amusement. So, it's finally happened. They decided it was no use grabbing me, so they decided to take the chance of asking me instead. But... should I? The gods know Essah's cautioned me about it enough... He half-expected Essah to appear in front of him with his infernal warnings.
      He focused his gaze on the younger man staring patiently back at him. "Indeed. And why should the Dynasty be so interested in me?"
      Anubis shrugged. "Fortune holds us all, Lord Sekhmet. Talpa has learned of Fate's plan for you."
      "Which is?"
      "To join the Dynasty and become a Warlord. You are the commander of the greatest mortal army in the country. You are feared and hated by all your enemies, and your people are fed and happy. You already have the beginnings of glory, but that is all. Don't you wish for more?" He began to walk away from the river, pausing only to let Sekhmet catch up with him.
      Only the beginnings of glory? "More," he stated flatly. He fell into step beside the warlord.
      "Yes!" Anubis exclaimed. "A change for revenge against those who have slighted you. And, what's more, pure and total power. Talpa offers you a chance at that power... the chance to become a Dark Warlord!" Abruptly the red-haired man stopped and turned, hefting the scythe and chain in his hands. "Allow me to demonstrate!" He leaped high into the air.
      Sekhmet yanked his sword free of its sheath with a curse and held it defensively in front of him. Anubis, in the same moment, shouted "Quake With Fear!" and cast the clawed end of his weapon into the ground. The chains multiplied and sprung up around him, crisscrossing in the air.
      Sekhmet leapt aside, dodging two of the chains before he was caught by the neck and pulled into the air. He was astonished, and the chains were biting hard into his throat, slowly choking him. Gritting his teeth, he tried to hack through the chains with his sword, the other hand reflexively pulling at his neck. Anubis hovered in front of him, laughing. "Now are you impressed?" he snickered.
      Managing to pull the chains away a little, he pointed his sword at the other man and concentrated as well as he could under the circumstances. The beam of green light hit him squarely in the middle of his chest, but he didn't seem injured in the slightest. It wiped the smile off his face, however. I don't understand! I've seen that explode a man into pieces! It must... must be the armor! he thought wildly, trying desperately to keep his consciousness from fading.
      Anubis yanked back on the kusari-gama. The chains vanished into the air, and Sekhmet plummeted to the ground. He twisted frantically as he fell and was able to land on his feet. He gasped in lungfuls of air, his throat burning, as Anubis came back to earth. As soon as he had landed, he rushed at the warlord, and their weapon blades crashed together with a flare of light.
      They struggled, neither of them was able to gain any ground on the other, and then Sekhmet mentally nudged the clawed end of Anubis' weapon, sending it flying back in the other warrior's face. Anubis disengaged, twisting away to avoid the weight, and in that second Sekhmet charged forward, slicing downward with his sword. Anubis caught it on the blade of the scythe, and they were back where they had started.
      Suddenly Anubis's face relaxed into an infuriating grin. "You fight well, daimyo," he said with a laugh. "My master's offer still stands. The power is there, waiting for you to claim it. You were destined to fill the armor of a Warlord. You know this is true! Not even that snake Essah can prevent what Fate has decreed will be!" He chuckled at Sekhmet's involuntary frown. "Yes, I know of him. He has tried his hardest to change your future, but he cannot succeed. Think well on this, Sekhmet! Master Talpa will know your answer."
      Suddenly, in a flash of light, Anubis was gone. Sekhmet stumbled forward before catching his balance again. "Come back here!" he shouted. "Come back here and fight me, you coward!" But his cries fell to the wind. He glared around at the land about him, wondering if what Anubis had said was actually true.
      "Damn!" he shouted angrily, kicking an unoffending rock. He added a few more choice curses dealing with Anubis's mother, his manhood and his sexual practices before beginning to calm down. When he'd finished, Sekhmet whistled sharply, but his horse was either still afraid or out of hearing range. He sighed in irritation and retrieved his helmet and gauntlets, beginning the walk back to town.
     
      Despite his being so tired when he had returned to Kaze, it was still early when he woke up the next morning. The sky was tinted a light pink, the clouds purple from the light. It was the kind of sight other men made poems out of, but not him.
      Not hungry yet, he went outside, waving away the sleepy stablehands. His horse had returned to him during the night, and he saddled it himself and rode out the gates and into the town. He needed to think.
      He walked the horse at a slow pace through the streets as the sun slowly rose. He was still unsure as to whether or not he should join the Dynasty. Oh, it was the evil Dynasty, to be sure, but somehow that didn't matter as much to him as he would have thought. Sekhmet knew that he had seen only a portion of the power a Dark Warlord could command, and that promise of more was what enticed him and kept him awake, wondering.
      There were high-pitched children's shouts coming from a short way down the street, and he paused. There was no one else around, and yet he heard it again. He wondered briefly why they weren't all in bed like everyone else before taking the horse at a trot towards them.
      He could see clearly the situation now. A group of boys, tattered and dirty, were crowded around another child who was lying on the ground, beating and kicking the prone form. Sekhmet felt a momentary twinge of pity but did not move to intervene. It was a fact of life that children would fight each other, and, besides, if he rescued their prey the others would only find him later and continue.
      He started to continue past them when he noticed the victim's hair, spread out over the ground. It was quite long and very unusual, colored red, black and yellow. His interest piqued, Sekhmet reined in the horse in front of the group.
      Gradually the boys noticed him, one by one, and stared up at him in horror. A few kept glancing between him and the child on the ground, and then the whole band tore off in the opposite direction.
      He dismounted and walked to over to where the child was laying. Now he could see that it was a girl, about six or seven years of age. He had to check twice to be sure that she was still alive, for she looked like a corpse. She was suffering from starvation and was bleeding from several scrapes and cuts, wearing nothing but a rotting torn rag. Sekhmet knelt next to her. It was a pitiful sight, but it still did not explain the strange colors of her hair, which was dull and limp.
      He reached out to touch her gently, but when her eyes fluttered open he drew his hand back in shock. It was if he was looking at his reflection. Her eyes looked like his, pupils completely surrounded by the whites, although hers were a bit more diamond-shaped. He knew he was looking at another half-breed like himself, left to rot by the snake-gods and the humans, and along with the pity he felt anger that they should let this happen, wherever they were.
      She stared at him in obvious amazement. "You look like me," she rasped, her voice rough and parched. He nodded and lifted her into his arms. She weighed no more than a sack of feathers.
      "I'm going to take you somewhere safe," he told her, and she blinked slightly. Already people were beginning to come outside and stare. He cradled her against his shoulder, and she put her arms around his neck limply, that one movement seeming to exhaust her. He mounted the horse very carefully and walked it back to the fortress so as not to jostle her too much. It would be safer for her if he walked, but he felt that it would cost time she didn't have.
      Ignoring all the other people in the streets, he asked her, "What is your name?"
      The girl frowned. "Name?"
      "What they call you. My name is Sekhmet."
      She closed her eyes, too exhausted to keep them open for long, also speaking in short sentences to conserve energy. "Girl. They call me 'girl'. Nice lady who had me said 'little one'."
      "You have no name?" The anger flared to new heights. That they would deny her even a name... he had to fight this time to suppress his rage.
      "Not like you do."
      "Do you want one?"
      "Yes."
      He lowered his eyes a moment and considered. None of the girls' names he knew seemed to fit her, so he put random syllables together in his head until he found one that felt right. "How does Chadih sound?"
      "Chadih," she repeated softly. "Good. I like it."
      Sekhmet smiled, although the gesture was lost on her because she couldn't see it, and he shifted her gently. "Where did you come from?" She had to have arrived in Kaze very recently, because he knew he would have heard about it if she had been here for any length of time. Chadih thought for a moment.
      "I dunno," she said finally. "A dark place first, with lots of people not like them. They said 'girl' for name. Then one of them. Nice lady who took care of me. No name for me then too. They killed her. I ran. Hungry. Came here. Got hit a lot." Her life story summarized, she coughed suddenly, wracking her whole body with convulsions.
      "Stop talking," he said worriedly. "We're almost there." Chadih pressed her face into his shoulder and was silent for the rest of the trip. This is wrong. Someone needs to take care of her... I have to do it. But what if Essah put her here so I'd stay out of the Dynasty? It sounds like something he would do.
      They arrived at the fortress, and he slowly dismounted, letting the servants take the horse. He carried Chadih into the house, not looking at the myriad people at all, and into a secluded room where she wouldn't be bothered by noise. He sat down and held her. She eventually opened her eyes and looked around.
      "You let me stay?" she asked, moving one stick-like arm feebly.
      "Of course I am," he said reassuringly, unable to tell her the truth. How can I tell this child that she's not going to live to see tomorrow? he wondered, feeling a strange tight feeling in his chest. Sekhmet realized suddenly that she had no mark like the one Essah had given him when he accepted him as his son. Chadih had no parents, or at least none who cared.
      "Chadih," he said softly, and she turned her head to look at him. He winced internally at the sight of her sunken face, but just hardened his resolve. She would be one of the snake-gods before she died, and have whatever was rightfully hers that came with that. He explained to her what he was going to do.
      He reached for his knife, and she closed her eyes in anticipation. He had no clue how to perform the ritual, but as he focused on his intention and held the knife against his finger, the words came to him. "I accept you as my daughter, not of blood but of spirit. Bind soul to soul, protect one with the other. My strength to you, your pain I take. Put this upon me, soul entwined."
      He tore open his finger and streaked the blood across her face in a pattern. It was different from any of the other snake-god symbols he had seen, although similar to his own, but he knew he was doing it right. She gasped slightly as the warm blood touched her face, and then relaxed.
      There was a sudden glow as her symbol sprang into brilliant light, his echoing in intensity. Sekhmet was suddenly hit with an odd feeling, and an exclamation of surprise escaped his lips as he realized that he could hear her thoughts, although scattered and unclear, in his head. Could Essah hear me? he asked himself as the glow died away.
      But that particular thought left quickly, unremembered. He was swamped with a sinking feeling, and he knew that Chadih was very, very close to dying. But, somehow, she felt his presence as well. He didn't know how he knew it, but Chadih felt him with her and struggled to stay alive.
      He touched her face, lightly stroking it. "You don't have to stay, Chadih," he whispered. "You can go. When you wake, you will have been reborn. You will be happy, with parents who love you."
      She stopped fighting and went limp, a smile on her face.
      He felt as if he had just been stabbed. Sekhmet had the sensation that his soul was being ripped apart, and his world exploded into a green glow. He cried out in pain and slumped forward, the green receding into a deep fathomless blackness as he began to fall unconscious. But a voice at the back of his head told him that if that happened, he would die, and so he fought against it, finally snapping back to reality.
      He gasped violently, trying to reorient himself, when several servants and aides burst in, gawking at him. He looked down at the body in his lap and then back up at them. He commanded them to prepare for a funeral, and the servants hastily left to obey. But the others, men with rank which made them feel important, staying, hovering in the doorway. "Get out!" he shouted angrily, and they scurried away.
      He sighed, brushing back her hair. Sekhmet knew that he couldn't wait seven days to bury her as custom dictated. That was to allow the soul to depart, but he thought that what he had felt was her soul departing, wrenching itself away from his. He couldn't even bring himself to put her down now as it was, and he needed to bury her as soon as possible so that the hole inside him could begin to heal.

      The funeral took place that night under a bright full moon. Sekhmet stood alone at the top of a low hill, underneath the one tree there. A few kanji had been carved into its bark by one of his men, spelling out her name. He would have preferred to have taken care of the whole thing himself, but he had never been taught to write, or read, and it was too late in his life to learn, at any rate.
      He stood in front of the grave that had been dug in the shade of the spreading branches in daytime, holding Chadih's body in his arms. She was dressed in a white cotton shroud, her hair and body washed and clean of dirt and blood. Her long tricolored hair flew like a banner in the breeze.
      Sekhmet bowed his head a moment, finding his control again before kneeling and placing her on the cloths spread out inside the grave. He wrapped the ends around her body, covering her face from view. He didn't know any prayers to say, and didn't really think they'd help anyway.
      Sekhmet gazed down at her one last time. And what legacy will she leave? How many more of my kind will die in the streets, thrown into rivers and left to rot unburied? Who will remember Chadih? I will remember, and the night will remember, and when I am able I will make the snake-gods remember and pay for their negligence.
      He was forced to pause once more before taking a handful of dirt, ready to throw it down on the body. Before he was able to, Essah appeared next to the tree. Sekhmet glared at him balefully, letting the earth slip through his fingers.
      His father glanced down into the grave, and with a frown knelt and flipped back the cloth from Chadih's face. The frown grew deeper as he looked at her.
      "So, is she one of yours?" Sekhmet asked caustically. Essah turned his golden gaze back to him.
      "You are my only child, Sekhmet."
      "Well, the world should be thankful," he snarled back.
      "I did not come here to discuss a corpse," Essah snapped, his expression shifting to one of worry. "I came because I felt you die this morning, and was unable to come to your aid."
      He must have felt it as Chadih's death affected me. If I really died, he'd know it, the same way I did. He didn't say anything, simply glaring at his father and wishing that looks really could kill. Essah frowned again at him and looked into the grave once more, closer this time. Chadih's mark glowed as Essah neared her, even in death.
      In confusion, Essah asked, "Who marked her? I never--"
      "I did."
      His eyes widened in realization. "Sekhmet! That was an incredibly... stupid thing to do! Binding your soul to that of a dying child..."
      "I don't care," he answered defiantly. "I wanted to. No one else will take care of their bastards, so the bastards have to take care of each other."
      "You could have died. You almost did."
      "I don't care," he said again, and Essah turned his gaze away from him and back down at Chadih. A speculative look crossed his face, and suddenly he held his hands over the body. His face went blank, and his hands and eventually his whole body began to glow. Sekhmet felt a flicker of hope arise as the glow spread to Chadih. Perhaps he's resurrecting her... he thought, but then he realized that she would be happier dead than alive here, even as his daughter.
      "Essah!" Sekhmet demanded angrily, "what are you doing?" His father either didn't hear him or was ignoring him, and he began to let his anger show. Trying to get his attention, he tugged at his arm. He felt strange, as if whatever Essah was doing to Chadih's body was affecting him as well, and he knew that some kind of bond was still there.
      Nothing was working, and so finally he tried a new tactic. "Oh, did you hear the news, Essah? I got invited to the Dynasty yesterday by some... oh, yes, Anubis was his name. They want me to be a Warlord. Can you imagine that? So I guess I'll be seeing you up there, because it sounds like a very good deal, and--" He smirked as Essah broke off and whirled to face him.
      "I forbid you to join the Dynasty!" he cried.
      Sekhmet laughed at him. "You can't tell me what to do, Essah."
      The snake-god glared at him. "I'm warning you! You cannot!"
      Suddenly, Sekhmet asked, "How did all the snake-gods come to be enslaved by Talpa, Father?" He knew he had hit a nerve, and grinned as Essah looked down and did not answer, instead turning back to the grave and finishing what he had been doing. "See, unless you can tell me the truth, I won't listen to your warnings. You can't expect me to follow you blindly, oh exalted one. Give me a good reason."
      Essah looked at him sadly. "I can not do what you ask. Not yet."
      He shrugged. "No deal, then." Essah disappeared without another word. Sekhmet peered closely at Chadih, but nothing seemed changed in the slightest. With a sigh, he picked up a handful of the dark earth and cast it down on the body.

Seven days later, Sekhmet was asleep when he was suddenly jolted awake by a feeling that something was clutching at his insides. He sat up straight, staring into the darkness, and knew that something had happened to the body. Gasping out a curse and his father's name, he pulled on some clothes. He glanced around the room for the thing he wanted, too much in a hurry to light a torch.
      "I know I left it somewhere... ah!" he exclaimed, snatching something from a table and stuffing it into his sleeve. He raced from the keep, making sure to take his sword, and went to the stables, grabbing the first horse he saw. He rode, uncomfortably bareback, out to the burial site. He knew what he would find there.
      The grave had been opened, and Essah knelt over it, glowing and chanting in some strange language. Sekhmet leapt from the horse and dragged him back from the body. His father struggled to pull away, eyes unfocused. "Damn you, leave her alone! Let her have her rest, you bastard! Just leave her alone!"
      Essah came back to himself and yanked his arm out of his grip, baring his teeth. Sekhmet unsheathed his sword and stood between the snake-god and the grave.
      Essah summoned his sword as well. "Let me pass."
      "Not on your life."
      Essah lunged forward, and he parried the blow and pushed him back. Suddenly Essah sent energy through his sword, causing it to glow, and Sekhmet's sword responded, jolting him. He dropped it and leaped, shoving his father to the ground. Calmly, Essah placed his hands against Sekhmet's chest and shocked him with some kind of crackling energy force, knocking him out cold.
     
      When he woke up he did not move, peering at Essah who was again kneeling over the grave. Slowly, carefully, Sekhmet reached into his sleeve and pulled out the thing he had taken from his room: the soul-orb. I hope this works as well as he said it would, Sekhmet thought as he pushed himself to his knees and began the chant to activate the orb. Essah finished his own chant, and Chadih's glowing body rose out of the grave toward his outstretched hands.
      He shouted the next part of the chant, and Essah turned to look at him, surprise and sadness written across his features. Sekhmet made a gathering gesture, and Essah cried out in pain, holding the body reflexively closer to him. That cry was music to his ears, and exultantly, he grinned and said the last word. His father gasped violently, and, in a flash of green-black light, vanished.
      The orb glowed brightly, and Sekhmet collapsed. When he was able to move again, he peered into the orb. Inside, something was swirling where there had been emptiness before. He laughed shortly and hung the orb around his neck, crawling over to the grave. There was a heap of cloth next to it, but nothing else. Chadih had disappeared as well as Essah.
      He spat away the blood that had trickled into his mouth from his forehead and looked at the sky. Spinning destiny, the whirl of chaos -- it all confronted him in that moment, and in that moment he chose.
      "Talpa!" Sekhmet called out to the swiftly darkening sky. "Hear my choice! I choose the Dynasty! I choose to be your servant for eternity! Hear me! I accept!"
      There was a rumble from far beneath the ground, and the earth began to tremble. It shook more and more violently, and if he hadn't already been kneeling he would have been knocked to the ground. In front of him rose a tremendous red gate, and as its doors opened Sekhmet could hear a deep-voiced laugh echo all throughout his mind.
      A gale of winds swept from the gate, lifting him into the air. He closed his eyes as a strange tingling feeling enveloped him. The winds spun him around as his clothes dissolved and his subarmor formed around him. Sekhmet cried out and laughed in the same breath, flinging his arms open wide. Pieces of red and green armor began to form around his body, thick and yet strangely lightweight, and four swords appeared in the sheaths at his sides, two more crossed on his back.
      He gasped, and the sudden absence of the wind made the noise even more conspicuous. He looked out from under the helmet of the armor and saw that the winds had stopped, but he was still floating in the air. And yet he was not afraid of falling, filled with the strange and yet familiar feel of the armor. With a laugh Sekhmet propelled himself through the gate.
      Once he was inside, the gates clanged closed and the world shifted. He found himself standing in a large, dark throne room. The blue-flamed candles in the room flickered at his appearance and then just as suddenly returned to normal.
      As he looked around, he saw Anubis standing to one side of the throne, regarding him with mild curiosity. But he was ignorable for the moment, because on the throne a giant spectral helmet appeared, red-masked, white hair falling down to rest on non-existent shoulders. "Welcome, Sekhmet, my Warlord of Venom," Talpa boomed.
      Sekhmet knelt before the throne. "I greet you, my master," he responded. "I look forward to serving you."

Part Eight