Sins of the Soul

The Underworld, the Territory of Sutekh

ALASTOR PAUSED ON THE sandstone gallery, wondering what the bloody hell he’d been thinking. His task successfully completed, the darksoul harvested, he’d meant to leave Naphré to rebury the corpse. Instead, he’d stayed and watched the High Priest slink from the shadows at the edge of the graveyard. Watched Naphré spot her, evaluate the threat.

Though he’d quickly ascertained that she needed no help from him, he’d been loath to go. In fact, he’d followed her home, and he had absolutely no explanation for the why of that. Butcher’s darksoul bobbed and twisted on its leash of fire just above his shoulder, then dipped to touch him before rising once more like a gas-filled corpse in a shallow pond. The damp chill of it settled on his skin even through his jacket and shirt as he studied those in the courtyard below, letting the angle and the shadows veil him. The line of supplicants snaked through the courtyard, then spilled beyond the walls to the rolling dunes of the desert sands. They were souls in search of entry to the afterlife and lesser deities who wanted to beg a boon of Sutekh.

He wondered if the souls understood the price.

Most of them would be denied entry. They were the lucky ones, sent off to roam the lakes of fire for eternity.

The unlucky ones would be lured by whatever guise of beauty Sutekh chose to don that day, they would be beckoned closer and offered soft words and encouragement. In this realm, Sutekh allowed them corporeal form, and they invariably took mistaken comfort in the familiar. They would pledge themselves to their own vile fate with willing lips and full hearts. They would think they had done something wonderful.

It was not that pledge or even the subterfuge of Sutekh’s promises that sat heavy and ill on Alastor’s shoulders. Truth was, Sutekh would choose to ingest only those with darksouls that were evil to the core. Hence, whatever fate they received was the one they’d earned.

No, it was the doom the unwitting fools heaped upon those they left behind—children, lovers, friends—adding names and generational debt to be inscribed in Sutekh’s book. They doomed them just by uttering their names. It was that betrayal that Alastor felt like a knife because once, a very long time ago, he had had a human family: father, mother, sisters and a horde of nieces to whom he played the doting uncle. Alastor had believed that the humans he left behind when Sutekh came for him had been the warranty of his cooperation in the early years, held in peril should he fail to follow Sutekh’s will. That if he behaved, they would be allowed to finish out their mortal lives in full.

He’d been so foolish then. So naive.

In point of fact, Sutekh had never made that threat, or that promise. Not directly.

Time passed differently in the Underworld and Alastor’s mortal family had been dead and buried for decades before he understood he’d been duped. He’d never seen them again.

He’d accused Sutekh of both lies and betrayal. In retrospect, he was surprised that he’d been that brave. Or perhaps only that stupid. But then, in the early years, when he first discovered what he was and what was expected of him, he had wanted to die.

But Sutekh had not granted him that. In his soft, calm voice, he had pointed out that he had offered a warning about the passage of time. Alastor had just been too new to the Underworld to understand exactly what it was that his newly discovered birth father was telling him.

Alastor pushed aside thoughts of the past. He was about to turn away from the stone balustrade that offered the perfect view of the line of supplicants when he caught sight of a figure, veiled and gloved and draped entirely in what appeared to be gray velvet. The woman—for despite his inability to discern either face or figure beneath the drapings, her movements made him believe she was female—was striding briskly up the line toward the front. She did not pause or look to either side, though the souls in line spoke out against her rapid progress.

She was not tall, not intimidating in size, and she made no menacing gestures. In fact, she appeared to completely ignore those she passed.

Yet they recoiled from her.

Not in fear, he realized after a moment. In disgust. Their revulsion was clear in both expression and body language. Even the lesser deities appeared repulsed.