they repeated the process several times, wrapping and painting, until Star's arms and legs were rotund.
'Herbs.'
A sweet-spicy basket was brought. In it were crushed petals and stems of fennel, hyssop, bee balm, sour chamomile, woodsy sage, and other plants. Onto the resin was now sprinkled this herbaceous mix, so for a second Star thought of a garden in sunshine, and realized once more that she'd never see sunshine or flowers again.
Hours passed as sweating acolytes tugged, smoothed, and daubed hundreds of yards of linen. Eventually Star's hands were pinned by her sides and her legs tucked together, then bound tightly and smeared with brown pitch.
'Cartonnage, then the gilded linen.'
Cartonnage was gloppy wet papyrus pulp laid on Star's wrappings with a trowel. Over that went fresh wrapping soaked in gilt paint for a luminous yellow sheen.
'Carefully now. Off the right side. You fetch the mask.'
Seven acolytes were needed to slide Star's multilayered body off the table. She was propped against a cedar framework tilted at an angle. For the first time in hours, she felt a tingling in her muscles. The petrifying potion must be wearing off. She could blink slowly, though her eyelids were weighed down by salty salve. Testing, she could almost waggle her jaw and wrinkle her nose. This tiny movement, a small act of resistance, lifted her spirits a fraction. Still, she felt as heavy as a turtle, as hot as a hard-run horse, and as dense as a rhino. Crushing terror and stress made her weak, but she felt in control, a little. Only by dying could Star escape these ghouls, and she prayed it would come quickly.
An acolyte entered the room bearing a gilded mask. As it was set on the table, Star felt new trepidation. Fashioned of layered cartonnage, the mask bore her face, down to her pouting red lips, insolent dark eyes, and beaded cornrows, or rather, what her face had resembled in life, before the vizars- shaved and smeared her. The princess swallowed a sob. She'd been beautiful and free only hours ago.
'Behold our Protector! The painted eyes let one see out… do you see?'
After hours of quiet mumbling, the grand vizar's loud jibe jarred Star, even with ears muffled.
'But a few steps remain, the most important now. Fetch them, my willing hands!'
Acolytes shuffled from the lab. For the moment, Star was alone with the newly crowned grand vizar. The sexless woman had so far bustled, busy and businesslike, but now her cruel nature erupted like bile.
'Moonstruck ghouls, are we?' she sneered. 'Ice-hearted bloodsuckers? Twisted tarantulas? You'll regret those words, samira. You'll learn who truly wields the power in Cursrah-us, her most potent artisans, masters of life and death!'
A scuffling and jangling sounded out the doorway. Star wondered who came, since now only vizars occupied these depths. Everyone else had been sealed up tight.
She was wrong.
Seven priests dragged in Gheqet and Tafir in chains!
'Star-what?' Gheqet goggled. 'Anachtyr's Tongue, is that you?'
'They-shaved your head!' Tafir's eyes were red, wide with terror. 'Why are you-You're swaddled like a mummy!
What are they doing to you?'
Amenstar tried to speak, but she only croaked and drooled like an idiot. Tears burst from her eyes. Her only comfort had been that her friends were safe, and now they were prisoners too. Truly, she lamented, the vizars had stolen her body, then crushed her heart and spirit too, and it was all her own fault…
'Down!' commanded the grand vizar, and Tafir and Gheqet were shoved to their knees. Gheqet still wore his grimy work shirt and kilt, and Tafir the stolen tunic of Oxonsis. Iron manacles locked their hands behind their backs and were chained to their ankles, so they hobbled or hopped like frogs. Now vizars yanked their chains so taut the prisoners' foreheads were mashed against the floor.
'Soldiers smashed down our gate!' Tafir called to Star. 'They knocked my father sprawling, said the bakkal ordered I come, then hauled me here with Gheq! What will they do to us, Star? Star?'
The fellows didn't realize Amenstar's tongue was paralyzed by dumbcane and petrifying potion. Strangling in despair, Star thought it just as well she was mute. What could she say? How could she apologize for endangering their lives? How explain that, simply by associating with a princess, they'd doomed themselves, unfair as it seemed? Nothing in her family's mad decisions made sense, and they'd even hurled their own daughter to perdition. Now the only friends Star had were also swept away in the storm of destruction. Star was to blame for this too, yet helpless to change anything. Unable to speak, Amenstar could only weep as her friends shivered on the cold stone floor.
The grand vizar crowed with evil pleasure, 'Cursrah, the lion of Calimshan, has been pulled down by jackals because some hapless fools ignored their responsibilities. Now Cursrah's finest citizens sleep until our city can again stride forth in glory. Until that day, while Cursrah sleeps, she must be protected! This Protector must be strong enough to endure untold ages.'
Stained brown robe swishing, the grand vizar walked between Tafir and Gheqet, gently entwining her bony fingers in their light and dark hair.
'You understand the need for sacrifice, don't you, citizens? To be strong, the Protector must draw upon the strength of others, for one lonely soul could never endure. In a long, long not-life to come, the Protector will need kindred spirits, spirits of those who were closest and dearest in life. You two have been selected to serve Cursrah's greatest endeavor. Be honored.'
'H-honored!' The word was torn from Gheqet's throat.
'Honored,' mimicked the grand vizar. 'You two are the most important components in the Protector's enchantment, and I, who will bind the spirit itself. A trinket is needed too. Fetch the pillow!'
Pillow? wondered Amenstar.
An acolyte brought forth a pillow topped with a bundled handkerchief. Amenstar recalled her birthday, when she'd received the moonstone tiara. This pillow looked much the same. Why?
Reverently unfolding the cloth, the grand vizar removed a large necklace. Amenstar gaped. Double chains of fine-wrought silver supported a plain setting that held a multifaceted fire opal, a girasol mined only in the hottest, most desolate deserts. Glossy and milky, much like a moonstone, the stone winked red deep inside, as if licked by fire. Why did it seem familiar?
'The Star of Cursrah,' hissed the grand vizar, 'crafted for the royal family's eldest daughter, a gift for her wedding day. A double chain to symbolize two souls joined. A girasol to rival the moon, yet lit with a red and rebellious spirit, like the princess herself. Her marriage, it was hoped, would protect Cursrah like a benevolent star smiling from the heavens…'
A gasp escaped the princess. When her mother presented the silver tiara, she'd mentioned a 'matching piece of jewelry-a surprise for later.' So long ago, it seemed.
'… gods decreed otherwise,' the vizar droned on, 'for no wedding shall there be, yet one Star of Cursrah shall be wedded to the other Star of Cursrah, and the double chains shall symbolize the union of two souls. The red fire will serve a rebellious spirit, as it sleeps from one life to the next.'
What did this babble mean? Amenstar wondered. She watched, fascinated, as the grand vizar coiled the gaudy necklace in a shallow silver pan with the fire opal centermost. Stooping, she slid the pan under the noses of Gheqet and Tafir, as if to show off the necklace. While the prisoners strained against their chains and captors, the grand vizar summoned an acolyte.
'Sickle.'
A curved blade, razor edge winking in lantern light, was given to the vizar. Amenstar tried to scream, but only gargled spit.
'With the blessings of Shar, Goddess of the Under-dark,' intoned the grand vizar. 'Here you shall remain, here you shall serve, here you shall obey. Let two lives be joined as one by a river of blood.'
Bending, chanting obscenely, the vizar slipped the blade under the friends' chins. Gheqet and Tafir made a mighty effort to break their bonds, to hurl off their chains, to scramble to their feet and run.
Struggling against her thick mummy wrappings, Amenstar howled an anguished, 'Nooooo!'
Glimpsing the blade's keen edge, Gheqet and Tafir screamed with Amenstar. With one deft slice, the grand vizar slit their throats. Pinned by chains and claws, the young men barely wriggled as hot blood gouted from their necks in a blazing crimson waterfall. Amenstar heard strangled sobs from severed windpipes, a ghastly whistling,
