Chapter 7

Some things defy description. 

This was absolutely one of those things.  The gaping maw cut into the side of the dune had been bizarre.  The brittle wall falling away to open a doorway into the catacombs of hell itself was more than either Cleo or Marcus could comprehend. 

As both hesitantly debated the appropriate next step Apis blew past them into the dark passageway.  Somewhere deep in the darkness he yelped a mournful cry and then silence settled heavily.

That made Cleo’s decision for her.  She retrieved her dropped torch and notebook, shifted her pack and started into the corridor calling after her dog. 

Marcus hung back at the entrance watching her gracefully stride deeper into the mouth of hell encapsulated in a pool of firelight.  He had no love for the dog and was perfectly happy to never see him again if he could be so lucky. 

“I am not going in there!” he called after her, still rooted to the floor in the antechamber.  It was much safer to think about fame and fortune on his side of the doorway.

She stopped just before rounding a corner and looked back.  Silhouetted in the torchlight she cajoled, “So you would rather let a woman go by herself?  I thought you were a gentleman.  Where is your chivalry?”

Remembering in stark detail the words written in Evelyn’s journal, he guiltily caught up to the young woman silently cursing himself for being such an honorable man.  It was sure to be the death of him.

~~~~~

“Hey, look down there.  Is that it?” Rick drove with his knee so he could point to the spot in the distance. 

Pulling binoculars from her bag and fumbling with them for a moment before she was able to secure her hold, Evelyn raised them to her eyes.  “I believe so.”

At her words, Jonathan reached out and plucked the binoculars from her hands and focused red eyes on the dig site.  He didn’t see the people milling about or the hole in the side of the mountain.  Instead he saw all the boxes and grand statues.  They actually found the treasure, he thought jealously.  That they might also have roused the creature didn’t cross his greedy mind.  All that gold.  It was his second trip to Hamunaptra and again he would leave empty handed.  Irritated, Jonathan slurred, “Would you look at that?  It seems they did find the treasure.  Blast them.” 

Evie ripped the binoculars away from her brother with a withering look and surveyed the boxes and statues glistening in the midday sun.  “No, no Jonathan.  That is treasure of a different sort.  They found Seti’s mortuary temple.  What you see there is his temple equipment.”

Rick frowned, looking past the dig site and asked, “Up on the dune.  Do you see what I see?” 

“Oh, yes!  Rick, it’s the Med Jai.  They are here.  Thank God.”

~~~~~

“Did you hear something?”  Marcus asked fearfully for what seemed like the hundredth time as his eyes scanned the darkness.  They had been walking for what felt like forever, following the occasional yelps and barks of Apis.

“Shut up Marcus,” Cleo whispered, standing absolutely still and listening hard. 

He didn’t hear anything.  Apparently neither did she.  Pushing past him she continued down the hallway. 

They rounded a corner and were presented with a choice.  The tunnel forked and there were no road signs pointing the way. 

Marcus waited restlessly behind her.  He really wanted someone like Charles there with them.  Well, maybe not Charles given his peculiar behavior, but a contingency of guards would be nice.  Big, brawny men who would protect him.  He debated turning around and going back.  There were two problems with that course of action.  The first was that although Marcus was not the most admirable of men, he considered himself a gentleman.  Gentlemen did not abandon women.  Second, and much more important, he was lost.  The hallways and passages twisted and turned like a maze.  If he separated from Cleo he would be both lost and alone.  Given the choice, if he had to be lost, he preferred to be lost together.

They heard it again.  This time the high-pitched, squeaky, chittering sound coming from behind them was undeniable and getting louder.  Marcus had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with his raging hunger and everything to do with Evelyn’s journal.  Both sets of eyes grew wide as Marcus’ suspicions were confirmed and the glistening carpet of flesh-eating beetles poured into the corridor.

Gripped by instant panic, Marcus took off, all thoughts of chivalry completely abandoned. 

~~~~~

As he stood in the doorway, Charles could clearly see the hole in the wall.  If he strained his ears he could also hear the barking of Apis deep in the catacombs, but neither were important. 

A stiff breeze tore through the chamber emanating from deep within Hamunaptra.  It blew out his torch and he panicked – but did not move.  Charles was by nature a brave man, not given to flights of fancy, but he was absolutely convinced that he was about to die.  He would have given anything to run out of the antechamber, back into the light of day but he couldn’t.

Charles acknowledged that in his greed he had made a terrible mistake.  Not reading the fine print on any contract is foolish.  Paying no attention to the strings attached to a supernatural pact is at the very pinnacle of idiocy.  The voice in his head continued to assure him that as promised he would be a god.  The fine print on that offer was that only his body would be making the transition. 

Charles would have given anything to back out of his deal with the devil but found himself in a rapidly decreasing position to argue.  His companion was a warrior cut from the same mercenary cloth as Charles.  With the zeal of Napoleon, it was systematically taking over his entire mind.  From its minor foothold taken days before it’s power had spread, battling him back, pushing him out of his rightful place in his own head.  It forced him to do and say things that even he would have considered too harsh.  It had sparked an awful internal war, the alien presence stronger than he ever could have imagined. 

Now, completely against his will, he felt his hands swing his burnt out torch like a club breaking through the lower portion of the wall.  Then his mental roommate made his body crawl through the opening and into the vast chamber. 

The Holy of Holies.  A candle burst to life providing a small circle of light.  The room was empty save one large statue of Seti with a huge table before it and a throne atop a gilded staircase.  Guided like a marionette on strings his body made a beeline through the dark for the monstrous table and the scroll illuminated on top of it. 

His companion forced his lips to move and he read.  Green hieroglyphs glowed as his finger traced over them.  Color exploded though the chamber. 

As the words fell from his lips Charles struggled against the inevitable.  With each word the struggle weakened until the last word was spoken and he was gone.  His body belonged to the other.

Finished reading, the other ascended the gilded stairs leading to his throne.  He turned and sat, hands resting on the ornate arms of the chair.  He closed his eyes. 

They snapped open again, black rather than blue.  His body writhed as long narrow limbs rounded and compacted.  The buttons of his perfectly tailored shirt popped open as his concave chest deepened.  Jodhpurs tore as chicken legs bulged with new heavy muscle.  He reached up running a strong, stubby hand over his head taking the hair with it.  With a flick of his wrist the greasy hair flew into the sand.  He tugged at his goatee, and it elongated, black rather than brown.  As suddenly as the transformation started, it ended.  He reached over his shoulder and grasped the cold chill of a tall golden spike rising high above the back of the chair. 

Pulling the lance from its scabbard, his glazed eyes greedily took in every nuance of the ancient weapon.  A terrible smile spread across his face.  His pompous, groundless arrogance galvanized into the posture of a man who indeed possessed ultimate power and the character, or more likely lack there of, to weald it with complete disregard for anyone who dared challenge his authority.  His demeanor was that of a king.  With a last adoring gaze at the lance he slammed it, blunt end down, onto the golden floor.  The sound echoed through the chamber as did the dark laughter that followed.

Seti had returned to rule.

~~~~~

Cleo didn’t follow Marcus, instead following the sound of her dogs suddenly urgent and loud barking down the other hall.  Flying down the corridor like a bat out of hell she skidded into a dead end. 

There was nowhere to go. 

Cleo screamed like a banshee as the swarm of beetles flowed toward her.  Her back pressed hard into the wall as she willed herself to become one with the cold stone.  Something shifted behind her and the wall opened.  She fell back, still screaming.  Her torch flew from her grip and went out.  The trapdoor closed behind her.

As pleasant as flat on your back in pitch black darkness may be at home in your bed after a long days work it is certainly not when you’re alone in the City of the Dead. 

Only when her voice cracked and her wind was gone did her screaming subside.  Heaving several breaths she screamed again, a choked, garbled sound that did not have the strength to carry through the catacombs.  She was totally alone, and totally lost, just she and the blackness of Hamunaptra. 

A bark echoed through the labyrinth.

Thank God!  Strengthened by the sound, Cleo righted herself and crawled toward what she hoped was the wall.  Her fingers brushed against her bag, earning it a hug.  Pulling out her matches she groped about for the torch and found it without much trouble.

Once again bathed in the comforting glow of the fire she weighed her options.  Any sane person would run like hell for the surface, assuming she could find it of course.  She, however, would not, could not, abandon Apis.  Willing her heart to beat at a more reasonable pace she climbed to her feet and turned in a slow circle wondering which way to go now.

Apis rounded the corner and stopped in the shadows.  His head cocked sideways as if he was being given orders that he had to strain to hear.  He barked again.

Whirling she stared at the only real friend she’d ever had.  With giant strides she closed the gap and fell to her knees wrapping her arms around Apis’ neck.  Crying into his fur she allowed herself to fall to pieces for a moment.  He waited, rested his head on her shoulder and whined impatiently. 

~~~~~

Turning in endless circles and wearing a distinctive path through the sand Seti paced.  Not giving to long bouts of contemplation the monarch was uncharacteristically worried.  He had been in this very chamber long ago observing the building of his mortuary temple.  The walls had gleamed, bright colors giving an almost cheerful glow to the morbid chamber.  It had been beautiful then, easily worthy of a king.  His question at the time had been, was it worthy of a god. 

The point was moot now he thought crossly.  He turned another slow circle glaring at the decay of what should have been an active temple replete with priests, priestesses and worshippers.  The chamber was in ruin.  Rubble littered the floor.  The ceiling was kaleidoscope of crags and cracks.  Nothing gleamed but his spear and dust covered throne.  The gloom was oppressive and extremely disturbing.  There was no evidence of intentional destruction, worse it spoke eloquently of time and neglect.

How could his people have forgotten him?  The greatest of all Pharaohs, they had called him.  So where were his loyal people now?  Curse them for abandoning him.  His promise to return was fulfilled; theirs to wait forgotten.  They would pay for their failure to honor their word, as surely as he was a god, they would pay.

A god. 

It was a very difficult thing for even the most twisted soul to comprehend.  He was then struck by the realization that for such a thing to be true, he was in the afterlife.  He was dead.  This was not his body.  His recollections of its rightful owner were dim and unimportant.  Instead, his attention focused razor sharp on how it could be that he had come to such a pass.  What had happened? 

It hit him with the painful force of the concubine’s first blow.  Ankhsenamen!  Evil wench!  She had been the crown jewel in his collection of precious stones.  Theirs had been an entertaining battle of wills.  A struggle for dominance as demanding as any battle fought against the Hittites.  Hers was an unbreakable spirit, a true challenge.  Their relationship had been built on a battlefield, nurtured in combat, won in death. 

The evil wench had a lover.  Together they had conspired against him.  Pharaoh, the Living Horis.  They had conspired to take his life and succeeded.

Her lover had been…Imhotep!  His best friend, most trusted advisor and confidant.  The man whose wisdom he had relied on countless times, a man whose character was beyond reproach.  Imhotep had always had the best interest of Egypt in mind.  Seti was Egypt. 

~~~~~

Marcus skidded to a stop in a room with a very low ceiling.  It was a dead end.  He could hear the chittering behind him, the volume of the sound rising quickly indicating how close behind the flesh-eating horde was.  Frantic, he scanned the chamber.  Nothing, no exit and nowhere to hide, except…  There was a massive coffin leaning against the wall.  It would never have been his first choice for a hiding place but beggars can’t be choosers.  He tossed the torch to the ground and ran across the chamber as fast as his hugely swinging belly would allow.

Just as the living tide began to trickle into the room he jumped into the coffin.  He could have extended his arms all the way above his head and touched nothing had they not been wedged by his sides.  The coffin was very tall.  Unfortunately it was not particularly wide.  His expansive girth almost made shutting the coffin impossible but with tremendous effort he sucked his gut in far enough to lock his body away from the mandibles seeking to devour his flesh.

Marcus held his breath as the sound of the beetles amplified and then began to fade.  When he finally began to breath again his body screamed for air.  Huge heaving breaths pushed his girth painfully against the coffin lid with such force it should have opened but it didn’t. 

Once he regained control of his bodily functions claustrophobia set it and he decided he wanted out.  It was at that moment that the realization he was stuck asserted itself.  Most coffins do not have interior latches.  The assumption, of course, being that anyone placed in one would be dead and therefore have no need for such a device.  This one was no different.  All control was again lost.  Wailing and screaming, he struggled against the hard wood of the coffin, his terror blinding him and then enveloping him in visions so real he lost all sense of self.

Tongue-less he was unable to scream, choking on his own blood.  His struggles increased in intensity as he realized his limbs were strapped down and he was little more than a wrapped package, a living offering to angry gods.  He could feel tiny feet crawl over him, as hundreds of beetles cascaded down on him.  They were everywhere, covering his body like a second skin.  Sharp jaws ripped into his flesh and the sound of their tiny voices became a deafening roar.  The coppery scent of blood filled the confined space.  His blood.  He tried to scream and was choked by the flow of beetles into his open mouth.  In the only retaliation available to him he chewed them, eating them, swallowing them.  Eating and being eaten.  Consummating the curse, binding them together for all time. 

The bandages holding his arms fell free under the relentless feeding frenzy and he raised his torn and bleeding hands, pushing hard against the lid of the coffin, his bloodied fingers digging into the wood, embedding toothpick sized splinters under his fingernails.  It was frantic, excruciating, horrifying.

His fingers found grooves in the wood.  Marcus struggled to focus on the carving, vainly attempting to rise from the undertow of the vision that was dragging him into the depths of insanity.  It might have been a good plan had the reality been slightly more pleasant.  The carvings were words.  Hieratic script carved deep into the ancient wood.

“Death is only the beginning.”

The words echoed in his head.  They tried to force their way through the glut of beetles in his mouth to be spoken aloud.  Fear gave way to rage.  Pain galvanized into vengeance.  Roaring through the choke of insects he pushed with all his might against the coffin lid.

It popped open with a burp and he darted out of the confined space and bolted across the room.  His hands scrubbed at his clothes in an effort to remove the imaginary beetles as he ran into the wall.  It hurt, but not that much, by comparison anyway.  The vision was gone.  He ran his hands over his quivering, gelatinous flesh finding himself completely intact; the only blood a small amount coming from his raw fingers.

None of it was real.

He was alone in the room.  Safe.  Or at least as safe as one could be in the City of the Dead.  As his breathing became more controlled and he again regained authority of his body and mind, he retrieved his miraculously still burning torch and stared at the coffin. 

Marcus was a logical person at heart, a skeptic by nature.  None of it had been real.  Never mind that it completely fit with the detailed description in Evelyn’s journal.  If he were to believe her insane ramblings then the coffin belonged to He Who Shall Not Be Named and there was an inscription inside proving the man had been buried alive.  But that was insane.  The carving was nothing but a figment of his imagination.  His bizarre experience was the fruit of the story he had read in her journal.  Her crazy tale had inspired his nightmare. 

None of it was real.

To prove his point to himself he tiptoed back to the coffin and looking inside the lid.  Blood from his fingers glistened in wet streaks.  New scratches left by his fingernails glowed white in the ebony of aged wood.  See, he thought, nothing but my own mess.  He began to relax a little.  He pushed the torch a little closer thinking he saw a strange flaw in the dark wood.  Small pools had begun to coagulate in the deeply carved words. 

“Death is only the beginning.”

He ran screaming from the room – lost - but determined to escape the chamber where someone had begun an eternal death, the promise to return repeated with every beat of his vengeful heart.

~~~~~

As fast as Seti’s rage ignited it chilled. 

There was an overwhelming malignance building in the chamber with him.  The earth shook, sending cascades of sand down into the room.  The wall across from him exploded and a cyclone of wind tore through the chamber.  Sand stirred in violent circles for a moment, pummeling the ancient king in his modern body.  Seti closed his eyes to guard against the sting.

Suddenly it stopped.  The only sound to be heard was the massive inhale and gusty exhale of something enormous.  Seti’s eyes opened and were greeted by a reptilian gaze. 

Huge coils of demon flesh circled the Pharonic throne, giant cobra head poised as if to strike.  The monstrous snake waited, black eyes sucking the light from the candle out of the room, creating a darkness more oppressive than any Seti had ever felt. 

The gateway was open and Apophis and had accepted his invitation.

~~~~~

The earth shook and Cleo tripped over something.  Regaining her balance she proceeded forward willing herself not think about what might have caused the minor quake and not to look at whatever the obstacle had been.  Both were born of an instinctive awareness that her throat might not survive another bout of screaming. 

Apis was ahead of her, just outside the circle of light cast by the torch.  She was relying on him to behave like Lassie and lead her to safety because she was completely and utterly lost.  Thus far he seemed determined to lead her deeper into the mouth of hell, but as Marcus had already learned, beggars cannot be choosers.  Lost together was better than lost alone.

She tripped again, this time landing face first on something brittle that shattered while breaking her fall.  Screwing shut her eyes she dropped the torch and moved to push herself up.  Shrieking with sudden pain she jumped up grasping her palm closed against the sticky flow of blood already dripping from her clenched fist.  In pain, she glanced down at the floor seeking the offending sharp object. 

Every hair on the back of her neck stood at attention as a chill paraded though them on its way down her spine.  Smashed and broken in a pathetic heap lay the remains of a woman whose fist still clutched the handle of a terribly familiar knife. 

Apis stepped out of the shadows, taking a seat between past and present.  He raised his huge head, liquid brown eyes watching his girl’s reaction to the history that lay broken and empty in the sand.

“Ankhsenamen.” 

The whispered name fell uninvited from her lips.  This woman had had a name and it had been Ankhsenamen.  How in the world had she known that?  Why did that name keep popping up?  Frightened and inexplicably angry, she bent down, reverently pulling the blade from the shockingly firm grasp of the ancient mistresses long dead hand.  The lapis lazuli grip fit into her palm as if it had been tailor made for her.  Alien thoughts crept on spider’s legs from the farthest recesses of her mind recalling a desperate blind chase around this very room, blade in hand…

She blocked the vision before it came but, like a river, her mind simply changed course and continued its jaunt down memory lane with all the zeal of Jack the Ripper traipsing through the dark alleys of White Chapel.  Memory conjured visions of a long dead, most hated Pharaoh whose blood dripped red from the same blade held in her white knuckled fist.  Oh gods, God she mentally corrected. 

Apis moved to her side, leaning heavily against her hip.  His big head forced its way under her hand.  Focusing on the physical sensation of his fur through her fingers she tried to push out the unwelcome memories…no, dreams.  With no small amount of willpower, scholarly objectivity forced its way to the surface from under an ocean of denial and accompanying oil slick of fear. 

The important thing now was getting back to the surface.  Looking about the amphitheater as if seeing it for the first time she was astounded by the sight.  The chamber itself was amazing and exactly as her mother described.  It once had been a beautiful room, she thought, even if now it looked more like a dungeon the Tower of London would have taken morbid pride in.  Pieces and parts of a battalion of mummies were scattered about the chamber.  Her father had not been exaggerating when he told tales of the battles he fought here.  The vivid images her mind conjured were also a testament to her mother’s story telling she thought ruefully.

She gazed around the chamber once more, concerning herself with exits and finding five. 

There was one at the top of a grand staircase that was at least three stories tall.  Centered between colossal statues of Osiris, Isis, Horis, Anubis, Hathor and other deities that supported the vaulted ceiling were four more.  Each bridged it’s own disgusting pool of black vitreous filth.  She had found the center of the maze.  So which one would it be?  In this place, nothing good lurked behind doors numbers one through five.  It was a matter of guessing as to the lesser of five evils. 

She pushed Apis away from her, hoping that he would start moving and he did.  Breathing a sigh of relief she began to follow him.  Maybe he would finally lead her to the surface.  Instead, he stopped at the strange altar in the center of the room.  Like everything else there, it was black and covered in carvings.  Here her mother had been shackled beside her, she thought vaguely as she watched Apis rear up on his hind legs.  Resting between his paws on the smooth surface sat a huge black book.

The Book of the Dead.

Cleo was still for a time staring wide-eyed at the volume, frozen by the flood of emotions that washed over her.  It was at once both repulsive and irresistible, much like its owner.  It was beautiful, the dim torchlight caressing the translucent stone.  Even at a distance, if she looked hard she could see through the delicately carved cover to the magic riddled pages within. 

Not nearly as impressed as Cleo, Apis used his nose to push the volume over the edge of the altar.  It fell open as it hit the sand before her feet; black magic radiating from is thick pages.  He came around the altar and crouched beside the open book, his eyes boring expectant holes into hers.

Crouching on the far side of her dog Cleo reached around Apis to close the book in hopes of shutting herself off from its intoxicating power.  But it throbbed like a beating heart as her hand touched the page.  The powerful symbols, translucent and deep pulled her in, dragging her down into a dark abyss.  Enchanting.  Hypnotic.  Demanding. 

Several torches leapt to life, casting new light on the black pages.  The familiar breeze that had so often guided her steps during periods of indecision stirred the stale air, carrying with it a soft, intimate whisper.  The voice from her dreams spoke, ancient words caressing her ear.  The breeze wrapped soothing arms around her tired shoulders, the strength in those imagined arms reassuring. 

Slender fingers slid over the cold stone, lightly caressing the sacred words she dared not read. 

~~~~~

A wise man would have been terrified, but as his long dead advisors could have attested, Seti was not a wise man.  Cunning and ruthless certainly, but not wise.  So in the face of Egypt’s ultimate evil, Seti postured like the megalomaniac king he was. 

To a more rational intellect, dealing with the devil might have seemed somewhat foolish, thoughts of Faust might leap to mind but Seti had no such reservations.  Perhaps it was because the story postdated him by a millennia or two, or perhaps it was just his nature to fly in the face of reason. 

Regardless, with grand, sweeping gestures he explained his offer to the demon coiled around him.  Seti would not make the mistakes that Ra had made when dealing with the snake.  He would take command quickly and authoritatively.  The demon would accept his terms or return to the underworld from which he came. 

But the negotiations proved to be more complicated than Seti had expected.  In the end it had boiled down to threats.  Seti held out the gilded spear as a reminder to the great serpent demon.  He was in control.  The earth was his and the snake his humble servant.  As he had served Seth so would he server Seti.

Apophis hissed, a sound that caused the walls to tremble.  It was a good thing the walls were shaking, otherwise Seti’s quaking legs would have been obvious. 

The snake was clearly not pleased but he acquiesced.  With a last, irritable flare of his hood, Apophis’ coils unraveled and he slid out of the chamber so fast he might have disappeared. 

When the sand settled Seti took a deep breath and tugged on his goatee wondering at the dots of blood that had seeped through the bandage on his forearm.  He had to remind himself that he was now a god, untouchable and all powerful.  He had nothing to fear, but those that defied him would.

The stage was set.  The time had come for him to reacquaint himself with his people. 

~~~~~

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