Bakt Nanuet held a heavy, stone-tipped mace in her left hand, and a knife with a golden handle in her right. The princess of the Nile knew well how the pharaoh, her father, would use these tools. But the princess of the Nile was not her father, nor was she still a baby. The ritual sacrifices to the gods were Bakt's job now, and she would do them her way.
Bakt approached the tied up form of the man to be sacrificed to the gods. He wore the mask of solemn duty, his face blank as he quivered but did not struggle with his binds. For now. The princess placed her heavy mace across the man's legs, just in case, then glided forward to meet his eyes. Bakt's own mask fell. A wicked smile formed on her face as she dipped the knife into her victim's chest, shallowly, to open him up while taking care not to disturb the racing heart beneath the surface.
The man's expression changed. First he winced at the sharp heat of the knife entering his chest. Tears spilled from his eyes, his trembling turned to convulsions that nearly made Bakt's knife slip in her hands. The princess's smile only grew. With her victim's chest fully opened, Bakt looked up to address the gods. She could not look directly at Ra's blazing form, but the princess gazed at a nearby cloud, close enough to make her aim clear. "O god of the Two Horizons, take this heart as offering of thanks..." Bakt began, trying her best not to giggle in her thrill. The words of the ritual were not her own, as they poured from the mouth of a young woman not there when they were written. Yet the fervor within was Bakt to the core. "Guard my people from every evil curse, every evil plot, every evil imprecation, every evil attack, every evil rebellion, every evil plan, and every evil thing!"
No sooner had the words left her mouth that she drove her hand into the man's chest, fingers clenching tight around the throbbing mass of muscle that still bound him to this life for the last, briefest moment as she tugged, ripping it from his chest. Feeling the heart continue to beat in her hand, she held it high over her head, breaking into a great roar that reached the gods above.
The crowd around her burst into cheers.
From the moment she returned to her palace, Bakt's mind kept drifting back to the ritual. Slicing open a man's chest, watching his mask of solemn duty slip off to reveal the animal terror underneath, feeling the thick blood drip down her fingers as the man's heart continued to pulse in her hand... It was a thing of beauty. To be surrounded by death, to master it, made Bakt feel alive. Forget the money, forget the servants at her beck and call, forget the reverence of the people who hailed her as a descendant of the gods, this was what made being the princess great.
But as the thrill faded and the weeks passed between each ritual sacrifice, Bakt began to feel as dead as the mummies and ghouls she commanded. The princess lived in opulence, grateful for all of it, but able to enjoy nothing.
The most luxurious food the Nile had to offer tasted like the desert sand. Music scraped in Bakt's ears. Games with her attendants were unbearably dull. Paintings lost their color, gems and gold lost their glimmer. Bakt laid in bed for hours after sunrise, wide awake but unable to summon the strength-- or the will-- to get up and move about her vast palace. The only thing that got the princess to stir at all was the fleeting memories of the sacrifice ritual, and the distant hope of the next one to come. Three weeks away. It felt like an eternity.
She longed for it. To feel the blood running down her hands, the faint and final pulses of the muscle that gave life as she ended it thrumming against her fingers. The roar and cheering of her people unheard by the rush of blood in her ears. The desire was looming, unbearable... alas, too many things stopped her from simply rising from the bed and killing whoever she desired. Though they could not cure the princess of the poison in her mind, these people still meant something to her. That, and her father would not take kindly to Bakt going berserk and murdering any who stood in her way.
Only so many people could be sent to the gods. The rituals weren't enough, were too far away to sate her desperation. For Bakt to fill the endless chasm between sacrifices, she resorted to her other way to spend time among the dead.
In the deepest hours of night, when nothing living dared to stir, Bakt Nanuet rose from her bed like a mummy bursting free from its sarcophagus. She slipped through her many servants-- though they felt more like guards, keeping her within the prison of her mind. She weaved past the intricate tapestries and ornate furniture that lined the walls of her vast palace. She brushed her hand across the hanging vines and flower petals that filled the palace grounds with life and color the princess couldn't see. She glided through the moonlight for what felt like hours until the stone floors beneath her feet gave way to the desert sand, and the cool breeze of midnight ran through her hair. Her father would be furious if he knew. He didn't need to know.
The vast pyramids that made her ancestors' royal tombs-- the sites of the one thing that made the princess feel any emotion but numb-- were her compass in the dead of night. Her ritual knife in hand, Bakt kept walking. The slightest flutter of emotion started to form within Bakt's heart. The moonlight reflecting off those faraway pyramids glittered like silver. The sand beneath her shoes felt like diamond dust. The pounding of her footsteps was like a drumbeat, accelerating with excitement as Bakt walked faster, yet faster, until, against her better judgement, the princess of the Nile broke out into a sprint.
Bakt didn't stop running until she was well within the shadowy embrace of those royal tombs. The princess lit her lantern and slipped through the labyrinthine catacombs that formed her second home.
By layout alone, Bakt could tell which pyramid had invited her to explore its depths tonight. This was her mother and grandmother, sharing a royal tomb so that they would reunite in death. The memories of Pharaoh Nefertari and Grandma Tiye were hazy in the decade since their deaths, but in these walls it felt like they had never passed at all. Each clacking step of the princess's shoes against the stone floors of the pyramid's innards reached her foremothers through the afterlife. Each echo reflecting back at Bakt reached her heart. The princess needed no words, no necromancy, to communicate with her mother and grandmother. Her footsteps alone spoke for her, and sent the message: "I am here. I am home."
The sounds of the catacombs sent a message in turn: "Welcome back."
For the first time since the ritual, Bakt smiled. The dim light of her lantern and her familiarity with the vast tomb were all that the princess needed to reach the lowest depths, where her foremothers and their servants laid to rest. Bakt brushed a hand past the simple coffins of the many servants that lined the edges of the enormous room. Guarding Nefertari and Tiye so that they may be protected from those who wished to loot the dead. Bakt was only here to visit her foremothers, and the princess's gentle touch let the guards know that it was her, returning home in peace.
Bakt then made her way towards the center of the tomb. Here, the golden sarcophagi of her mother and grandmother rested among the many tools and trinkets that had served them well in their journey to the afterlife. For a moment the princess only watched. She watched the painted eyes of her mother and grandmother gaze lovingly into her heart from within their elaborate tombs. She watched the dancing flames of her lantern bounce off the gold that had finally found its glimmer. Bakt's heart raced. Her tiny smile bloomed into something more. To be surrounded by death, to master it, made Bakt feel alive.
But enough staring. It was time to get to work.
Bakt's need for stealth and quiet forbade her from bringing the brazier used for this kind of ritual, but Bakt had been here many times before. She had left one in a nearby room in preparation for just such a purpose. She placed within it the implements for divination. Two stones, one of glass and one of lapis. The heart of a hare. A jade amulet depicting the striding form of Nephthys. A mass of coals to fill the brazier with its golden light.
Once lit, Bakt kneeled to place the burning brazier in front of Nefertari and Tiye's sarcophagi. The princess watched the flames shimmer and dance as she whispered the spell of Demotic divination. "Speak to me, speak to me... every spirit, every shadow who is in the west and the east." Bakt paused for a moment. She lifted her head, staring at her mother and grandmother in the painted eyes of their golden coffins. "Do it, O she who has died. Awaken to me, awaken to me."
The vast catacombs were deathly silent.
The princess's breath trembled. A line outside of the ritual escaped her lips. "Come home to me."
The golden light of the brazier's flames turned bright green. The sarcophagi of Pharaoh Nefertari and Grandma Tiye rattled with excitement matched only by the shaking of the princess who called them back from the afterlife. Bakt itched to rip open those golden prisons and let them out, but she stayed her hand. Her foremothers would emerge when they were ready. They always had.
After what felt like an eternity, Tiye pushed her sarcophagus open and slowly, slowly, climbed her way out. Nefertari followed only a moment later; the only indication they had departed this life was the loose bandages that covered their bodies. Bandages that needed replacing, from the look. The two gazed at Bakt, the dullness that lurked deep within her ebony gaze.
Bakt may have left her palace in a rush, but she was at least prepared enough to care for the dead she had awakened. The princess quickly pulled a fresh roll from her bag and rushed to her mother's side. As Bakt's ritual knife sliced through the old, rotting bandages from Nefertari's body, the former pharaoh's chocolate eyes wormed into her own. There was so much that Bakt wished she could say. So many feelings only a mother would understand.
The same was true for Grandma Tiye. The sage of the palace. The one whose amber eyes held secrets beyond the gods. The one who knew best how to heal the poison in Bakt's mind. The princess's many questions for her grandmother tumbled around her heart. Bakt kept working, replacing Tiye's bandages with as much care as she had replaced her mother's.
Despite all the things Bakt wanted to say, no words came out. No words could reach across the chasm of the afterlife.
With her work done, the princess stepped back from the mummies that stood before her. The only sounds that came from any of them were the shuffling of footsteps and Bakt's soft, joyful laughter. Tiye and Bakt danced around the room, Nefertari clapping her hands to some unheard rhythm. The princess hummed the melody of a song only three people would ever know. Her childlike smile grew with each step, each swing, each time Bakt's soft hands latched around her grandmother's bony fingers.
It made Bakt feel whole, bittersweetly. Playing with her mother and grandmother as if Bakt were still a child, if the decade between when she was seven years old and now had never happened... No words could cross the endless chasm between here and the afterlife, yet no words needed to be spoken for their love to fill and reignite Bakt's dull, listless soul.
The princess savored this moment as long as she could. More dances, more games, more time among the company of the dead. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
Soon, too soon, Pharaoh Nefertari and Grandma Tiye each clasped a hand onto one of Bakt's own. The princess knew what was coming, but every step towards the exit of her foremothers' tomb felt as painful as the first time she'd ever left them. The soft smiles of the former pharaoh and the sage of the palace told Bakt that they felt that pain just as much. It was why they never wanted the princess to see them climb back into their golden prisons. At the sound of the rattling sarcophagi, Bakt ran back to the palace, and returned to her bed as if she had never left.
Dreams of the ritual to come filled the princess's heart. Just three weeks away.
Groaning dragged Bakt from her sleep. Groaning, punctuated by the jumbled speech of many voices all at once. The princess remained still, her face pressed to the cool silks of the bedding. Would those damned servants quiet down? Nothing was happening today. Nothing would be happening for weeks. There was no need for this. Bakt had half a mind to scold them for trying to rouse her with such insolence, but... she didn't have the energy.
Bakt pressed her pillows to her head, but the voices still scraped in her ears. With each second they grew louder, and clearer. Those weren't the servants. The voices were unrecognizable as anyone Bakt knew. The princess lifted her head and turned towards the sound.
It was... a foreign queen and her attendants. The queen was the one in red. She wore an opulent crimson and black gown covered with round rubies, matching those on the iron crown that adorned her pale head. But why were they--?
Realization struck. Bakt scrambled off the bed and summoned as many ghouls as she could-- not many, in the palace during the bright hours of day-- to defend her while she ran. The princess didn't even have time to turn around, before a wave of the queen's staff effortlessly brushed them off. Bakt braced herself for another attack, but soon noticed the queen was not making a move to advance. Instead, a deep scowl formed on her face.
"Have you no manners!?" The foreign queen spat. "We've come to talk, not sling spells like a bunch of children!"
Bakt took a moment to compose herself. "You speak to me of manners, but you've barged into my bedchambers without so much as a word of notice." Foreign royals were always difficult to talk to, with their strange customs and proclivity to struggle for the power they commanded in their home lands. And Bakt's patience for formalities was already dry. A scowl of her own formed on the princess's face. "Is this how diplomacy works in your land, or is your case so urgent that it warrants such disrespect?"
"It is urgent." To Bakt's surprise, the foreign queen bowed before her, and the attendants quickly did the same. "My deepest apologies, princess."
"Very well. Let's make this quick then, shall we?" Bakt's irritation grew, mixed with a sort of tainted relief. Foreigners who claimed urgency were more demanding than most, but at least they were usually out of her hair as quickly as they came. "From what land do you hail, and..." She couldn't do it. The lines Bakt had rehearsed countless times evaporated on her tongue. "And what the hell do you people want?"
The foreign queen and her attendants glanced at each other. Their faces softened into that mask of diplomacy she had seen foreign royals wear countless times.
"Are you alright?" One of her attendants, the one with a slim purple gown, had the audacity to speak to royalty like they were equals. "We saw you face down on the bed... did something happen?" The peasant sounded so soft. Pitying, almost. Every word lashed at Bakt like the foulest of insults.
Bakt said nothing. The princess gave an expectant glare towards the foreign queen.
"Hello?" The attendant waved her hand as if trying to attract Bakt's attention. "We were speaking to you."
"And who said the peasants could speak?" Bakt growled.
The foreign queen stepped forward. Foul magic radiated from the tome that floated at her side. "Do not talk to my Coven with that tone. An insult to them is an insult to me."
"Hmph. Very well." The princess conceded, but her glare was no less sharp. "This was supposed to be urgent, your highness. Get to the point or get out of my sight."
"Such petulance. We've come to help you--"
"Stop playing games." Venom dripped from Bakt's voice. She was seconds away from reaching over there and smacking the insolence from this witch.
The foreign queen let out a deep sigh. She and her attendants regrouped in a far corner of the room, whispering to each other.
They were scheming. Bakt watched them all like hawks, waiting for their next move.
After what felt like an eternity, the foreign queen stepped forward once more. That soft mask of diplomacy had returned to her face. "Princess Nanuet, we are here to seek your assistance with some necromancy work."
"Does your homeland not have sorcerers who could do the job?" The princess raised an eyebrow.
"My homeland was invaded. Its necromancers were slaughtered or forced into hiding long ago." Though the queen's story seemed suspicious, there was a pain and sadness to her voice. "Your ghouls are quite powerful, princess. We need someone like you, well-versed in these magics, to help us take revenge."
Ah, so this is what the foreign queen wanted. Her power. Bakt had many questions about the nature of the task. Why ask for one necromancer instead of an army? Why come to the princess and not the pharaoh? Most of all... "You claim this is to help me?"
"Yes, princess." A wicked smile formed on the foreign queen's face. "We don't have to bother your pharaoh or risk your people for this war. We can just get you out of this hole and to a place where you can realize your true potential." It felt disgusting to listen to. As if to add an extra layer of slime, the foreign queen gave a cheeky wink to punctuate the end of her twisted offer.
"This hole?" Bakt hissed, taken aback by the slight. "In what world is this palace a ‘hole' to you people? I am surrounded by gems and gold, dozens of servants wait on my every need, every desire I could have is fulfilled the moment I ask for it--"
"Are you happy, though?" The foreign queen's voice was a mixture of piercing and gentle. "Does all of that... complete you? Are you fulfilled by your piles of riches?"
The words couldn't make it out of Bakt's mouth. Of course she was happy, not a day went by where the princess of the Nile was not grateful for every ounce of luxury the gods had blessed her with. Why couldn't she say it? Why couldn't she say yes? Why couldn't she break through the poison in her mind? What was wrong with her?
The foreign queen straightened her back. She wore a different kind of smile now, a kind often worn by Pharaoh Nefertari before her passing. "I can show you a realm where you can truly be yourself. Here, you are forced to contain your true nature, the excitement you feel when that wondrous red elixir pours down your hands. Where I-- where we-- can take you, you can destroy as much as you please. Rip the hearts out of any man you desire. Unleash your wrath on people who are disposable."
The thought gave Bakt pause. The princess had much to lose. Her riches, her servants, her family, her people-- but, in that same breath, those were four things that barely gave her the energy to get out of bed. Little gave her such strength; the only things that truly awakened the princess in body and mind were visiting her foremothers... and the rituals that she so desperately craved.
This was the hole. Not Bakt's palace, but her mind. If running away from home for a little while to dispose of people who meant nothing to her was how she was going to climb out of it, then... "So be it. When do we leave?"
"Whenever you'd like." The distinct smell of ash drew Bakt's attention.
Her eyes met a portal, where a bedroom seemed to have been prepared for the princess. It was incredibly tiny-- this was truly a hovel, hardly fit for royalty. Yet there was love in every decoration. Every papyrus scroll, every sandstone brick, every small gem that filled the corners of the desk. It was almost cute. Bakt covered her mouth before the foreigners could hear her improper giggle, or see the wicked grin that grew behind it. "Let's do this."
Chapter 7/30
