"Soldier of Sidon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wolfe Gene)

6

MY WIFE, MY home, my parents-everything I once knew came rushing back-my service to the Great King and the death of my friends. I know this because Muslak and Myt-ser'eu have told me. Now they say that I must write, as I do. This is what I remember now.

We were at this inn. A woman came, a strange and silent woman whose eyes do not move as other women's do. She spoke to Muslak, saying that we were to go with her at the setting of the moon. Neht-nefret was afraid, and Muslak would not go. She spoke to me, the last time I heard her speak, saying that if I wished to remember I must come with her. Myt-ser'eu and I said we would both go, but sleep a little first, for the moon was not yet high.

I wrote. Afterward we went to a room here, barred the door, and made love. It was long and slow and very good, for Myt-ser'eu knows much of love. When it was done, I slept.

I woke. Myt-ser'eu slept beside me, and the silent woman sat upon a stool on the other side. I supposed that Myt-ser'eu had admitted her while I slept. She says she did not.

The silent woman woke Myt-ser'eu and beckoned to us. We followed her; her name is Sabra. She led us very far, through dark streets, to the house of Sahuset. It is a small house in a large garden. I held Sabra's hand and Myt-ser'eu mine; even so, it was hard to keep to the path. There was an animal that watched us, or something that appeared to be an animal. It did not snarl or roar, but I saw its green eyes gleaming like emeralds in the shadows.

Sahuset's door stood wide. Someone I could not see lit a lamp as we entered, and Sahuset entered from another room. That was when he dismissed the silent woman, calling her Sabra. I expected her to leave the room; she did not, but went to a corner and stood motionless there, regarding Sahuset and us with an unseeing stare.

"You cannot remember, Latro. I have asked you to come here that I might help you." Each time that Sahuset uttered a word, one of the crocodiles hanging from his ceiling stirred.

I said that if he could help me see again the days now long past, I would be most grateful.

"I seek your gratitude. I seek the good will of this woman and of all who will be with us in the south, too. But yours I desire most of all. You have been cursed by a god. That is an ill thing, for you. Yet numinous."

Seeing that I did not understand, he added, "To be cursed by a god is to be touched by a god. To be touched by any god is to share divinity in some small measure. When the high priest leaves the sanctuary he strips off his clothing and bathes. Did you know that? His clothing is burned."

I said that I did not. Myt-ser'eu said she did, but I think she lied.

"He does not wish to infect the worshippers with divinity. Were they so infected, what need would they have of priest or temple? I myself am a priest, a priest of the Red God. Do either of you know of the Red God?"

Myt-ser'eu shook her head. I said that since I was a soldier I might be a servant of the Red God.

"The ignorant masses believe the Red God evil," Sahuset taught us, "because he commands the evil xu. If he tells an evil xu to leave a man, that xu must go. They are compelled to obey him in all things." He sighed. "The Red God is the desert god."

Silence filled the crowded room that seemed too big for that small house. In it we said nothing.

"The horse and the river-horse, the pig and the crocodile are sacred to him. He has a great temple in the south-"

"Set!" Myt-ser'eu sounded frightened. "This is Set."

"The Red God has many names." Sahuset spoke as those speak who calm a frightened child. "You may use whatever name you wish. The names of gods do not matter, because no one knows the true name of any god."

"I think we'd better go," Myt-ser'eu told me, and took my arm.

I shook my head.

"You are a man of courage," Sahuset said. "I knew it. None but brave men have value. I have told you that I will earn your gratitude, if I can. You have not asked why I want it."

I said, "Then I ask now. What favor do you wish from me?"

"Only your favor," Sahuset told me, "only that. Suppose that we found a scroll in the south, a yellowing scroll inscribed with long-lost wisdom. Would you keep it for yourself?"

"Yes," I said, "if I could read it."

"If you could not?"

I shrugged.

"Bring it to me, and I will read it for you. Will you do that?"

"Certainly," I said, "if you wish it."

"Or a stone so inscribed? Any such thing?"

I nodded.

"That is all I ask. You will remember your promise to me-or I will remind you of it. Now take your hand from that."

I looked down at my left hand, and saw that it was holding a winged fish, carved of black wood. I had not been conscious of picking it up, but must have taken it to toy with while I spoke. I put it down as Sahuset asked.

"I will require a drop of blood from you," he said, "and a drop of blood from an impure woman."

"I will gladly give you a drop of mine," I told him, "and go into the city to find such a woman for you, if you wish it."

From a drawer Sahuset took a long, straight knife with a thin blade of bronze, the tongue of the crocodile of green stone that formed its grip. "I doubt that will be necessary," he said.

He took my left hand in his and examined all its fingers, looking, as it seemed to me, for the places in which they had touched the fish. At last he pricked the fourth finger, and squeezed drops of blood into a small red bottle.

"And you," he said, motioning to Myt-ser'eu.

She came forward, trembling. He did not search her fingers as he had searched mine, but pricked the palm of her hand, caught her blood in the blood-groove of the blade, and crossing the room to the corner where Sabra stood, presented it to her.

She dabbled her fingers in it and dabbed it on her face, reddening her cheeks with it. That was the last time I saw her move.

When it was done, he poured water into a wide bowl and dropped the red bottle that held my blood into it. From a metal box he took dust the color of old blood, which he sprinkled with great care over the surface of the water.

We waited for a time that seemed long to me. At length the surface was disturbed, as if by a frog or some such creature swimming below it. This persisted for a time, then ceased. Sahuset peered intently at the pattern of floating dust, sighed, stroked his chin, and last picked up the bowl and dashed its contents on the floor. "You have been cursed by a foreign goddess," he said, "a goddess of the north."

Myt-ser'eu inhaled sharply.

"There is little I can do here, but I will do what I can-if you wish it."

"I do," I said. "You spoke of gratitude. You will have mine, if you can do anything to help me."

Sahuset shrugged. "I can give you a xu to fight the curse. He will enter into you. Do you understand? You will be two, a thing that you may not enjoy."

I said, "Do you mean that there will two of me?" (I am not sure I understood all that Sahuset said correctly. I give it here as I understood it.)

Sahuset reached out to tap my forehead. "This is a house, a tomb. One dwells there, and you say 'Me.' Two will dwell there, Me and Xu. You may not like sharing the house in which you have lived alone for so long."

"But he will lift the curse?"

"He will, for as long as he remains with you."

Myt-ser'eu asked, "How long will that be?"

Sahuset shook his head. "Until he is expelled, but how long it will be I cannot say. Nor can I tell you, now, who or what may expel him. He will have to tell me that."

Slowly, Myt-ser'eu nodded.

"Do you wish it, Latro?" (The tails of all the crocodiles moved, as if they swam.)

"Yes," I said, "I wish it."

"Very well. I must prepare." Sahuset turned to go. Already his closely shaven head gleamed with sweat. As he reached the doorway he added, "Wait here. You may sit in this room, but you must not lie in it. Open no chest."

Myt-ser'eu began to look around the room as soon as he had gone. It seemed to me that she was looking for something to steal, so I made her sit down upon a high stool brightly painted with the picture writing of Kemet. I myself went to the woman in the corner and spoke to her. She did not reply. I touched her forehead then, in a place where Myt-ser'eu's blood had not been smeared. It was wax. When I touched her hand, her eyes saw me. It was as if I had awakened her from sleep, though she did not move a muscle. I backed away.

After that Myt-ser'eu and I waited a long time, kissing once or twice but saying little.

When Sahuset returned he laid a finger to his lips, and with a rod of ivory motioned for us to follow. We did, saying nothing. He led the way through several rooms and down a steep winding stair to a dark chamber where the air was cool but without life.

It must have been far underground. The floor had been strewn with black sand, or perhaps with sand mixed with ashes. A tall box shaped like a man stood there. A man's face had been painted at the top, so that it almost seemed the man stood before us, a hard and handsome man who had lost something else before losing life, and told himself many times that the thing lost was not important. This box was painted as the chests and other things had been, though this paint was old and dull. In places, it had fallen away. In some, the wood was cracked.

Sahuset put my hand upon Myt-ser'eu's shoulder and hers on mine, indicating by signs that we were to stand so. Then he drew a circle around us with his ivory rod, he himself standing always on the inside of this circle he drew. Three lamps stood in his circle too, near the edges of it. He drew a triangle whose points were these lamps, and kindled them by tapping each with his rod and muttering words I did not understand and could hardly hear. As he spoke to each, its flame sprang up, yellow and bright. Strange fragrances came and went in that chamber.

After that, we waited again.

Soon it seemed that someone walked in the house above, the footfalls sounding only faintly down the steep stair. I supposed that it was the wax woman, Sabra, who walked there; and perhaps it was. After a time, it came to me that the walker was searching the house, going from room to room in search of someone or something. Someone screamed, but the steps came neither faster nor slower.

Steps sounded on the stair. The flames of the lamps sank, turning green, then blue. Something or someone taller than Sahuset descended the stair. It was not a man but was like a man. It wore a mask of fresh leaves.

Sahuset spoke to it in a tongue I did not know. It answered in the same tongue, uttering three words each time it spoke, neither more nor less.

"The xu will remain in you until the wind that stirs the grain is in your face," Sahuset told me. "Then it must depart." With these words he took my hand, led me to the edge of the circle, and indicated by a gesture that I was to step out of it. I did.

I will not believe this when I read it, but after that I remember little. What I do remember, I set down here. I walked a dark street with a woman I did not know, and talked loudly and very fast. The faces of my father, my mother, and my sister floated around me. I knew our farm again, every meadow and field, and I relived the deaths of my friends. The woman beside me spoke often to me, but I did not heed her, only telling her everything that raced across my mind-a thousand things I have forgotten once more.

At last I recalled Justa and struck the woman. "You're a whore!" I remember shouting it. I drew my sword and would have killed her, but she cowered and I could not strike.

She led me to this inn. I was speaking loudly all the time, but in this tongue, not in hers. Men stared at me and laughed, thinking me drunk. We climbed many steps to the roof, where there were two bright tents and a hundred flowers that lifted lovely faces to the rising sun. She turned me from it. "Look!" she said. "Look, Latro!" I looked and the morning wind was fresh in my face, cooling it, drying my sweat.

"What is it?" I asked in her tongue. "What are you pointing at, Myt-ser'eu?"

"At the Imperishable Ones-the stars of the north. They're almost gone." She kissed me. "And you're mine again!"