Year Two
Journal of Bennu, Who Runs
I could track the months of our journey on my face, in the fading of the circular scar around my mouth and in the dark beard that had begun to cover it and darken my entire jaw. When I saw my reflection in puddles now, I saw not a naive young boy but a man, seasoned and changed by a year of endless peril.
Khent, too, had grown a beard, though due to his strange nature, it grew far thicker and wilder than mine, mottled as if to match his beastly counterpart’s pelt. He weathered the winter with greater ease, seemingly hardened against the ice and wind that drove at us constantly as we crossed a narrow channel by boat and continued north along the coast of this strange island. Its people were hardy, friendly, though coarsely dressed by our standards. They had strange blue markings in paint and ink on their bodies, and buried their dead in fields of raised furrows. When trade became necessary, we communicated with them only through hand gestures. We ranged over these areas quickly, keeping to ourselves as much as possible, mindful not to step on the sacred barrows of the locals, following the Sky Snake when it appeared, resting in crude shelters of branch and stone when it eluded us.
“Do you think we are the first of our kingdom to the south to find this place?” I asked Khent one morning. Our journey’s end felt near, for how much farther, how many more odd lands could we cross?
It rained steadily. Khent’s hood had long ago become soaked and useless.
“I think it will not matter, because we will never see home again to tell the tale.”
Months ago that statement would have wounded me, but I saw the wisdom in such skepticism. We had barely survived to this point; a return trip might kill us both, if only from exhaustion.
“A long rest,” I said softly. “That is what we both need.”
“I could sleep forever,” Khent replied with a snort. “Mother’s mercy, I have forgotten what comfort feels like.”
“And I have forgotten what it feels like to be dry. We will be among friends soon,” I told him. “And then we can sleep to our hearts’ content.”
I had never seen such wet days. Even during the rainiest seasons of home, the storms came in short bursts, never these days upon days of dreary damp. It kept the pastures lush, and we hopped many low stone enclosures where huge brown sheep grazed and watched us go by. The villages were few and sparse, though some had larger rings of low stone houses and even markets, markets that endured through the persistent fog and rain.
The morning wore on, the terrain stagnating, rolling field after rolling field, and in the distance what looked like a fortress from afar. As we neared it, I saw that it was merely a collection of pillars artistically arranged, some balancing straight up and down, others placed on top, almost like roofing slats.
“A sacred place,” Khent whispered. We had both stopped to marvel at the circle of stones. “It looks like a bunch of, I don’t know, doors. Gates.”
“Maybe we should go another way,” I suggested. “If it’s sacred we could be trespassing.”
But he ignored me, hefting his pack and pointing above us. “There. You see? She wants us to go this way.”
“The Sky Snake is a girl now,” I teased, following with a sigh. I had grown stronger over the months, but the pack still weighed heavily on my shoulder, and the bruises and scars there from the burden would never fade.
“She was sent by Mother to guide us, mm? It just seems right.”
The stones loomed larger, gray and dappled, gates for giants. I had stood in wonder at our own great sphinxes and pyramids, but this, too, was a marvel, simple, stoic, but awe-inspiring to behold. Khent pushed on, running his hand along one of the massive stones and ducking underneath into one of the gates.
“We could shelter here,” he said, gazing up at the gray sky.
“I don’t like it,” I replied, glancing in every direction. “It’s out in the open. And if it’s sacred . . .”
“All right, Bennu, you win. We will find somewhere else,” he grumbled. “If only this accursed rain would end.”
We passed under one stone gate and into the circle where it was clearer. Those who had built the sacred circle had left markings in the grass and bits of stone, swirls and circles, intricate and precise. I wondered if we should be walking across them at all, but Khent did not hesitate, casting his head back and watching the giant snake above us, angling his path toward its tail.
“See how she flies more quickly?” Khent called to me through the rain, pointing. “We must be close. She’s eager to take us there.”
“Eager? Ha. If she wants to get there faster, she could allow us to ride.”
“That’s the spirit,” he joked. “You are Bennu the Runner, yes? Not Bennu the Flier.”
“You gave me that name! I see no reason to abide by it.”
We both laughed, and my heart gladdened from the sound and from the sudden change of fortune in our favor—the rain lessened to a far more tolerable drizzle. When we were again in silence I heard the distant humming of bees, and cast about for hives. There had been few insects at all with the steady rain, but now I heard what sounded like a massive swarm.
Khent put out a hand, my chest bumping into it as he tilted his head to the side. He had heard it, too. We had not yet crossed the clearing in the stone circle. Had we angered the locals and invoked some kind of curse?
“A swarm?” I whispered, clutching the satchel with trembling fingers. “From where?”
“There, to the south; do you see those shapes that move across the clouds like cranes?”
“Bigger than cranes,” I murmured. “Swifter, too.”
They were indeed creatures of the air, though as large as men and hurtling toward us at great speed. Before I could see them clearly or speak another word, Khent grabbed me by the shawl and pulled, urging me into a run.
“Look above you, friend. Do you see the moon? We are in no position to make a stand, not in daylight,” he huffed. He was faster than I was, and I struggled to keep up. Reaching over, he pulled the satchel from my shoulder, and I was grateful to be relieved of it as we fled.
“We cannot outrun them,” I panted, glancing over my shoulder and feeling my heart stutter, not just from the chase but from the sight of three winged monsters diving toward us. I shrieked and ducked my head as one swooped low, a hard talon scraping across the top of my hood.
We dove toward one of the stone gates, finding meager cover from our pursuers.
Khent dropped the satchel between us, backing up against one of the pillars and grabbing me close to his side.
“That sound,” he whispered, staring up with wide, frightened eyes as the winged things hovered and circled, the hum of bees loud enough now to drown out all other sounds in the valley. “Wasps. Wings. Servants of Roeh, no doubt, but none like I have ever faced.”
“They’re chanting,” I replied, cowering at his shoulder. “What are they saying?”
“I don’t know.” Khent ducked down and peeled off his own pack, rummaging inside and coming up with a crude bronze knife he had bartered for days ago. “And I don’t care. Chanting will do nothing to stop the bleeding.”
I did not share his confidence, staring up in mute terror. There were three of them, each with six massive white wings. The feathers looked more like knives than tufts of soft white. One pair of wings stretched around from the shoulders, covering their faces; another pair of lower wings wrapped around to hide their feet, almost demurely, their torsos draped in white shrouds threaded with gold.
And they had not come unprepared. Each of them wielded a sword, a long, honed blade of pure silver.
Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus . . .
The chanting was like a drone, a drone intertwining with the rising hum of the bees. That sound emanated from within them, as if they were being held aloft by the power of hundreds of buzzing little creatures. Khent brandished the knife, daring one to come forward.
“Watch our backs,” he hissed. “We mustn’t let them flank us.”
“Khent, we are outnumbered. Look at those swords.”
“I have noted the swords, Bennu; watch our backs!”
“Sanctus!” One of the creatures, face still hidden, screamed its chant louder, a piercing call that preceded its charge. I felt the wind on my face as its massive wings beat the air, diving down and forward, sword raised. As it neared, the wings obscuring its face parted, and I fell back in fear against the stone pillar. It was a man’s face, or would have been, but for its maw, larger and hungrier than any normal man’s mouth. There were no eyes, no eyes at all, just a crown of jagged shards protruding from its skull, bleeding gold.
“Back!” Khent lunged with the knife, and the winged horror parried.
They traded blows until Khent earned a lucky slash, catching the thing’s sword arm, forcing it back to scream and chant and hold its gushing wound. It was only a temporary victory, as the other two came to retaliate, screaming their chant at us in a rising chorus, slashing blindly with the swords.
“Agh!” Khent staggered into me, cut. “The book. Protect the book . . .”
“I won’t let you die,” I shouted, taking the knife and propping him up.
But they were too strong. The creature Khent had wounded dove again, this time revealing its clawed, hideous talons. It risked flying low enough to duck beneath the stone gate, and crashed into us with so much force my lungs felt as if they would explode. We were being crushed into the stone, Khent scratching and punching at the thing’s back. Then it scrabbled in the dirt at our feet until its talons found the satchel. It released us, mud splashing as it kicked up, satchel clutched in its feet, and climbed high into the air.
“No!” I lurched after it, running, arms flailing as I cried and cried. “No!”
We had come so far! How could we come so far only to lose the book now? A year. A year of evading death and starvation, nations and tribes found and crossed, seas braved, only to stumble and fall with victory in sight. My knees gave out and I fell, defeated, not caring now if those things slashed me to pieces.
Behind me, Khent roared in agony. They were going to kill him.
I stood and decided to face them, for I should rather die defending my friend and on my feet. The creatures had descended, dancing in and out of range of the knife, taking easy, cruel slashes where they could. Khent leaned against the pillar, bleeding badly, and I could see his strength fading as he weakly jabbed with his weapon.
“Leave him alone!” I shouted, throwing myself in front of Khent.
Their huge mouths grinned as they readied their swords, preparing to give the death blow. We all four of us paused, for the sound of humming bees had dimmed with the departure of the monster who had stolen the book. That sound returned, and fast, too fast. I turned just in time to see a ball of white slam into the earth beside us, cratering, a shower of white feathers filling the air.
The book tumbled out of its grasp, abandoned and intact in the mud.
But how? I would not release Khent but ducked us both down as a shadow draped itself over the stone circle. The cry it gave deafened me as it descended, like a hawk the size of a mountain screaming to its hatchlings. Through half-lidded eyes I saw the colossal red-and-black tail flecked with yellow. I saw its clawed hands, its wings the size of clouds, its pointed face, beaked like Horus, a decoration of feathers and scales cresting over its forehead.
Steam rose in sinuous gray ribbons from its nostrils.
The Sky Snake. It stamped the ground, shaking the pillars. Khent’s eyes rolled skyward, and he nudged me, weak but alive.
“The book,” he whispered. “We run. Now.”
I pitched forward, scooping up the book into my arms and putting every last ounce of strength into my legs as we pelted away from the stones and into the wide field beyond. There was no solid earth to run on with the Sky Snake pounding out its anger. I heard the screaming chants and glanced behind, watching as the monsters were flung through the air. The Sky Snake was toying with them now, and snatched up one with its beak, tossing it up before snapping it clean in half, a rain of liquid gold pouring to the sacred stones below.
“I cannot . . . I cannot go any farther,” Khent wheezed, tumbling to the wet grass and rolling onto his back. The cuts were everywhere. I shrugged off my shawl and began tearing strips off it, binding his wounds as best I could, listening to the stones creak as the Sky Snake slammed one of the monsters into a pillar. It was right of us to run—for the very gate we had been sheltering under collapsed, the cross stone sliding faster and faster until it smashed into the ground, pulverizing the winged thing beneath it.
“I will not leave without you,” I said. “We will find a village and rest until you are healed.”
“Don’t be stupid, that will take too long. You must go on, Bennu, you must take the book north.”
“No!”
That same massive shadow drifted over us again, and I watched through the drizzling rain as the Sky Snake launched into the air again and then coasted across the field toward us, landing lightly, though even that shook the ground like a clap of thunder. It lowered its head, watching us with its intelligent bird eyes, a high chittering chirp vibrating out of its throat.
“Thank you,” I said to the creature. It had come close enough to touch, and carefully, with nervous and shaky fingers, I put my palm on its feathers just above the black beak.
The Sky Snake shook off my hand and craned its long neck, touching the tip of its beak to Khent’s head. It bumped him as gently as it could, then flung its nose backward, gesturing from where we lay to its back.
“I . . . think it wants us to go with it,” I murmured. “Can you stand?”
Khent groaned and coughed as I got to my feet and urged him up, up, balancing the book satchel under one arm and him with the other. My clothes were stained heavily with his blood, and his eyes drooped as I helped him limp toward the Sky Snake. He put one hand on its scaled and feathered belly, giving a wan, exhausted smile as he patted it in thanks.
“Well, friend, it appears you will be Bennu the Flier after all,” he growled, and climbed onto the great beast’s back. He grew still there, his breath just a weak flutter. Blood soaked into the Sky Snake’s back as Khent stared up at the rainy heavens, dying.