Her mane brushed a wooden beam as she lifted her snout. The west wind escalated. Howling out of the land of the dead, it screamed with the voices of countless dead and damned souls. Eater of Souls could hear their fury. These she had not devoured; deprived of tombs or ancestors to feed their spirits, they wandered the desert without sustenance, condemned to eternal starvation.
Eater of Souls lifted herself onto the obelisk. She crouched on her haunches and tasted the wind with her snout. The stench of the living was gone. Leaping across beams and then to the quay, she slithered back into the street shadows.
Time to find the evil one. This transgressor caused terrible hurt to the favored one by its very existence. This one sinned in a thousand ways. First, there was the sin of beauty; the outward visage flaunted its perfection before the favored one. Second came a rank so high that it brought unequaled magnificence and wealth and made the favored one seem a beggar. These transgressions paled beside the third-for the evil one possessed power, godlike authority, a majesty of ka that taunted the favored one into black misery.
All admired the evil one. The fiend walked a golden path surrounded by precious jewels, countless slaves, servants, admirers. Where the fiend went, awe, praise, and fascination followed. The creature existed in a silvery mist of splendor and eminence that was slowly poisoning the Favorite.
Eater of Souls paused in her journey into the city as the pain of the favored one reached her. She backed against a wall, scraping hide and fur. From her fanged jaws issued a rhythmic grunting that ended in a hollow moan. The emptiness and desolation enveloped her, deeper than the abyss of the netherworld, more horrible than Eater of Souls herself.
Then she snuffled into silence, listening to the west wind howl. A message from the pantheon soared on the scouring blast, entered her nostrils and curled its way to her heart. Now, at last, she understood the great quest that had drawn her to the land of the living. Above all, she must destroy the one who was a lethal Nile cataract, a granite barrier concealed in churning, frothy white water that reflected the brilliance of the sun. Because it captured the rewards, glory, and worship that belonged to the favored one, this creature was the most dangerous. Every moment it existed, the fiend ripped from the favored one's ka the treasure to which only the Chosen was entitled. Each robbery, each stolen bit of praise, pierced the Favorite like a javelin, and the emptiness swelled.
Terror lurked in this emptiness. Terror and perpetual agony. She had to destroy the cause of this desolation before it obliterated the favored one. As the desolation churned like a sea storm in her gut, Eater of Souls pointed her snout to the stars, howled, and bounded down the deserted street toward the place of the transgressor.
Meren still couldn't sleep. He dropped a pile of reports beside his chair, rose, and went to the table bearing Sit-Hathor's alabaster lamp. Beside it lay the tray holding the two feathers and the text about birds. The feathers were quite ordinary looking, neither longer than one-third the length from his fingertip to his elbow. To him they looked like those of a goose or swan.
He unfurled the bird papyrus. It was a long text with painted illustrations, their colors still bright. Although the papyrus had darkened, it was still strong. It had been written by a royal scribe, who stated that he was setting down the words of the overseer of pharaoh's bird keepers, Snefru, twelfth day of Inundation, Year One of Seqenenre Tao. Seqenenre Tao had ruled over two hundred years ago. He must have liked fowling.
"Now," he said to himself, "which birds have white feathers? Owls, but the white ones aren't long enough. Not ostrich feathers, although if this murderer truly does weigh the heart against the feather of truth… hmm, the feather of truth."
Meren set the bird papyrus down and placed polished stone weights on it to keep his place. He hurried to another of the great chests in which the documents and texts were kept. This one was set apart from the others and made of precious ebony inlaid with ivory. Scenes on its sides depicted the ruler of the netherworld, Osiris, and his companions, Anubis, Toth, and Horus, son of Osiris, and his wife Isis. Stopping beside the chest in which sacred writings were stored, Meren whispered a prayer of praise as he pulled out a thick roll. Opening the Book of the Dead, he began to skim the chapters of spells.
He skipped over the hymns to Osiris and Ra, the chapters devoted to restoring the dead, not letting one's soul be taken from him, the ones that opened the tomb and allowed the dead man to go out into the living world. More hymns, a spell for being changed into a falcon of gold.
"Here it is."
Meren held the papyrus closer to a lamp mounted on a column. This was a new copy of the Book of the Dead, and the papyrus from which it had been made was thin, yet strong, and of so fine a quality that his father had refused to let Meren touch it until he had completed his education as a scribe. The scene of the Hall of Judgment stood out in brilliant colors-red for men's skin, yellow for women, pure white clothing. Registers of sacred black hieroglyphs bordered a painting of a balance scale. Anubis knelt under one arm of the scale. In one pan lay the heart of the dead person. In the other, the Feather of Truth, its shape resembling that of an ostrich feather.
"But the killer hasn't used ostrich feathers." He started to roll up the papyrus, but his hands went still when he saw the beast crouching behind Toth, the recorder of verdicts in the Hall of Judgment. "Ammut, the Devouress."
A fantastic monster was Eater of Souls. She was composed of the three most deadly animals-the crocodile, in whose jaws so many Egyptians perished; the lion, whose claws ripped flesh as if it were melon pulp; the hippopotamus, giant terror of the waters, who could crush a victim flatter than a papyrus sheet with one stomp. This demon lurked by the balance scales, ready to devour all who were not judged true of voice.
Closing his eyes, Meren imagined Eater of Souls. Wet yellow teeth, stinking breath. He knew the pain of a lion's strike and still remembered the lacerations across his ribs. Faint, ragged white lines in his skin reminded him of the agony he felt when those claws ripped through his flesh. As they cut, his skin and muscle tugged. Then they were dragged along with the claw as it moved, making him feel as if he were being peeled.
The papyrus snapped closed. Meren blinked and looked down to find that he'd been rolling up the book while deep in the memory of the lion attack. He replaced the book and went back to the bird text. While he read, he muttered to himself.
"The evil one has no ostrich feathers. Too poor to get them, or too clever of heart to reveal that he has such a luxury? White-feathered birds, white feathers. Heron, egret." He'd seen egrets following a farmer's plow and eating insects turned out of the soil by the blade.
He moved a weight stone and revealed a drawing of the sacred ibis, beloved of Toth. The bird had a pure white body, black neck, bill, legs, and wing tips. Black and white; good and evil.
"An appropriate choice," Meren said.
There were more white birds. The spoonbill, which was used as a decoy in fowling, and the Egyptian vulture. This was a disgusting bird with a bare-skinned head and hooked bill. It lurked in rubbish piles and fed on the excrement dumped there.
Meren let the papyrus roll closed. This was a useless study. Egypt teemed with birds, especially when foreign places of the north turned cold. They flew to the land of the Nile seeking refuge, and anyone could collect feathers, anyone who could hunt or who could purchase a freshly killed fowl in a market.
Feathers were used to adorn dresses and to make fans, as stuffing for cushions to cover chairs and stools, as pallets and mattresses for beds. Birds of all kinds were kept in walled yards, pens, and cages, fattened, and then slaughtered. Birds inhabited the desert, the Nile, the swamps and marshes. The royal menagerie was full of birds, as were those of many nobles. All over the kingdom they were collected and sacrificed as offerings to the gods. Unfortunately, white-feathered birds were almost as numerous as flies.