Ancksunamun saw him, Sahure, off in the distance, over the mounds of golden sand that blew across the Sahara. It was sunset; the sky was the color of pomegranates and his skin like wet blackberries under the failing light. He moved, agile and patient, seeking. She sat on the altar, knowing that her body must be sacrificed and he would be the one to perform the ritual.
His shoulders were broad, and his hunter legs were scratched and pierced, decorated with the markings of his tribe.
Before she could greet this prince that would usher her to the other world, she heard him speak with a voice that made her heart beat quickly.
He said, “Ashura hanti bemba.”
She stared into his eyes hoping he would understand that she was fine.
“Shembi libara bemba yoturi?” he said.
She nodded. She was ready.
He took her hand and motioned for her to stand. She could feel his breath on her face. It smelled of almond oil. She closed her eyes not knowing what to expect. The scent of almond enveloped her. His hair brushed her face. It was filled with the smell of gardenias. He ran his hands over her shoulders and across her neck, all the while whispering in her ear, “Baruti shengala bemba tumani?”
Yes, she thought. I want it. I want to be sacrificed.
Then Sahure prepared her body for the sacrifice. Her suri fell in a bundle at her feet. He lifted her and placed her on the altar, spreading her legs to prepare her for the other world.
“Bemba turi membi acoa.” His voice spoke from a far place.
He had come close enough to smell the pungent mix of cocoa butter and her waters–she had prepared for this, scooping gobs of butter on her skin, imagining it seeping down to her bones, lacing everything with the aromatic glide of rich oils. Now he was stirring her flesh and like a swamp in the noonday sun, her vapors rose to meet him, to intoxicate him, and even supine like this, she could feel the power of the sacrificial lamb.
She felt his tongue pierce her cheuwa, forcing her to moan with delight, begging for the sacrifice to continue. Now the scent of acoa made her drunk, as she moved without fear into the other world.
The gods were watching, smelling the acoa, knowing that she would soon be gone. They sent the rain. They were pleased.
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