Well that plan was well-formulated; Cleo chastised herself. Brilliant, truly brilliant. So now she was stuck up a tree, so to speak, in the dark, surrounded by scarabs and a creature that would most likely kill her. As if that the odds of survival weren’t bad enough she’d raised the stakes by hitting him. On the bright side, maybe she scared him off…
“Still the fighter I see.”
…or maybe not.
The expected spike of fear never came. In fact the exact opposite occurred and all the fight in her melted, the sound of his voice washing over her like gentle rain. The familiar scent of exotic spices wafted through her nostrils as he closed in on her once more, visions of the garden they shared drifting lazily through her consciousness. Through the dreamy haze she felt a feather light touch drift down the nape of her neck followed by whisper soft kisses behind her ear. Dream and reality became one and she yielded to him, melting back into the cradle of his arms and resting heavily against his chest. Her body tingled as she turned her head to the side offering him the delicate skin of her throat.
“Please,” she whispered, twisting in the goddess’ arms, reaching out for him. Enchanted by the symphony of senses she let her fingers follow their own course gliding lightly over his shoulders pushing away some sort of cloak as they went. As it fell to the floor their lips met. Soft, gentle kisses that deepened as she accepted them. His hands slid under her hair, down the bare skin of her back and then up, pushing the thin straps of her camisole off her shoulders. With virginal alarm, she released her hold on his neck to stop him, grabbing his hands and moving them back into her hair. Then suddenly he was gone, only his scent lingering in the air.
She called out to him in Egyptian, “Please, don’t leave,” as her eyes frantically searched the darkness. Still there was no answer, just the intoxicating scent of incense. She called again urgently, “You promised you would never leave me. You swore it.”
Nothing but silence answered her; not even the scarabs made a sound. She ran her fingers down her neck and felt the lingering moisture of his kisses. She licked her lips tasting him. They were reunited, just has he had promised her. But why had he left? “How can you walk away from what you fought so hard for?”
“What do you know of my struggles?”
Dream and reality that had so seamlessly merged separated once more taking wildly diverging paths. Her first thought was to thank the gods that the man of her dreams had not left her. The next and more lasting thought was that he was also a frequent villain in her nightmares. She knew all about his ‘struggles’ and the consequences of them. All thoughts of romance died in that moment leaving in their wake bitterness unlike any she had ever known. She had been tricked, manipulated in the most vile way possible.
Her anger burned hot and her face flamed with her indignation. The love struck, dreamy side wanted to finally lay eyes on the face she never remembered. The angry, defensive side wanted to know what she was up against. Underlying both was the notion that seeing him at all, no matter the reason, was the kiss of death. In the end, her internal battles were moot. He made the decision for her and every torch blazed to life, blinding her for a moment.
As her eyes adjusted she heard him sigh, “Very little I see.”
Cleo opened her eyes and her jaw dropped in unison. He stood a few feet from her in a pool of firelight. There he was, the man from her dreams, the face she could never quite remember when she woke, and he was as beautiful as she’d always known he would be. He was a masterpiece of human flesh, a work of art with eyes as black and deep as the Book of the Dead. Unreadable emotions swirled in their glittering depths, drawing her in. She involuntarily leaned forward, yielding to his pull. He smiled, acknowledging her appreciation.
Arrogant bastard, she silently cursed him realizing that not only was she staring, her mouth was open. Smooth, very dignified, she berated herself. Well, no more of that. Raising her chin, she hardened her expression and spit, “I know plenty. I know you tried to kill my mother!”
Pushing Apis, her traitorous dog, away from him, he took several steps toward her, watching her struggle to keep her composure and distance herself from his approach at the same time. He stopped, only a few feet from her, his eyes going from hypnotic to penetrating in one blink. “True enough. Do you remember why?”
She said nothing and his face turned to stone as he glared at her. It was a stare designed to turn people into puddles and she was no exception. With effort she fought against his power, refusing to fall apart. Giving him an ugly look she hopped down from the goddess’s arms, slammed her fists painfully into her hips imitating her mothers favorite pose, and gave him her most defiant sneer. “You expect me to admire you because you wanted to sacrifice my mother to resurrect some…some wicked whore? Well, I can’t do that. I wont do that. Nor will I be next in line for a day at the altar, thank you very much.”
“You believe I could do such a thing to you?”
‘You bet I do’, was the truthful answer but ‘of course not’ was perhaps the wiser one. No matter what she said she lost. Perhaps she should start running again. The debate about which was quicker, her tired legs or her sharp tongue, was a short one. By virtue of exhaustion, she elected the later to do battle for her. Hoping to gauge her audience she looked up at him, meeting his black gaze for a moment. The stoic expression was the same but the strangely bright light in his eyes might be playfulness. Then again it might be mayhem, she couldn’t tell. Defiantly avoiding his question she shifted her gaze to his chin and launched a kamikaze verbal attack. “I know you are a liar who would say or do anything to get what you want. You shouldn’t bother wasting your time. What would be the point? She's dead. Not even you can do anything to change that fact now. Your ‘struggles’ are worth nothing because the prize you fought for is nonexistent.”
The moment the words passed her lips she would have given nearly anything to take them back. She felt frozen, completely unable to move as her fear battled her pride and lost. Unable to meet the eyes that were burning into her flesh and equally unwilling to bow her head she continued to stare at his chin hoping that he would be swift in his vengeance. It was one thing to die; it was another to die slowly.
His reaction was as bizarre as it was immediate. There was no outward indication that her cruel words had any effect but he instantly became the epicenter for waves of rage and pain that pounded against her soul keeping a cruel rhythm with her heart. She gasped and closed her eyes against the torment of it, almost falling to her knees, only her rebelliousness keeping her upright. It was all she could do to stand there as every inch of her fought off the desperate need to cry and scream at the same time. It felt like forever before it began to subside, shuddering to a stop, an especially brutal epileptic fit drawing to its close.
It was replaced by a terrible stillness.
As she waited for him to act, pride and fear reached a compromise. The time for begging in a most imperial tone had come. Making her face a mask of indifference she said, “My tongue got away with me I’m afraid. Perhaps, it would be better if I left, don’t you agree? Will you excuse me?”
“If that is your wish.” His chin finally dropped, a bitter half smile on his lips. He took a step away and turned his back, the circle of scarabs retreating before him.
What was she supposed to think? He was just going to let her leave? After what she had just said she found that highly unlikely. But then he had always had a penchant for the unlikely hadn’t he? He was as unpredictable as he was beautiful. Then there was the realization that she knew he would demand nothing of her. Instead he would wait until she willingly came to him. Well, he’ll be waiting for another 3,000 years if that’s what he wants, she thought.
Straightening her clothes and turning her ring nervously she whirled to go and almost fell over Apis. The pain that knifed through her heart this time was hers and hers alone. It tore her heart to shreds to know that Apis was an extension of the Priest, a pawn in his sick play for love and revenge. Very near tears she glared daggers into the Egyptian’s retreating back. “Don’t forget your dog.”
He stopped and turned. “My dog?”
Blowing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes she gave Apis another hard shove. It nearly broke her heart to see his liquid brown eyes look at her in injured question. Choking back a sob, she replied, “You think I’m stupid? I do not want your dog. I want nothing of yours.”
“As you wish.” He met her angry stare with one of his own before he beckoned to the dog. Apis reluctantly trotted to his side and gazed at her with sad eyes, hurt by her rejection and whining quietly. The priest ran a graceful hand over the dog’s broad head and looked up at Cleopatra again, his gaze equally pained. “If you truly want nothing of mine, leave the ring as well.”
Cleo hesitated for just a moment. The ring was hers. Yeah, just like the dog is, she thought as she tore it off her finger. Without thinking she threw it at him as hard as she could, hitting him square in the chest before running to the closest exit, the scarab horde parting before her.
~~~~~
“Look, I am not leaving Cleo down here with that thing. We are getting my kid first. Then we’ll get the book. That’s all there is too it.” Rick laid out the general position of his side of the debate.
“And do what for her? How can you save her without the book? The inscription must be read first.” Ardeth rebutted with the Med Jai position on the issue.
It was a three to three stalemate. It had also been an ongoing argument for quite some time. At this rate they would never accomplish anything. The only way they would ever meet either goal was if Cleo ran by them carrying the book, a highly unlikely scenario given that the book out weighed her.
Mohamed, the young Med Jai, could no longer contain himself. Taking a page from Rick’s tattered, time worn book, he didn’t care what they did as long as they did something. “Perhaps we should get moving and see if we can find either of them. We might run into the girl anywhere but we know where the book is. Let’s try and find our way to the book and hope we find her along our journey.”
Everyone stared at him in various states of surprise.
Under the hot glare of Ardeth’s accusing gaze he shrugged, “We are accomplishing nothing standing here. At the very least we could walk while we argue.”
“The kid has a point. Let’s get going, but you better understand that Cleo is the priority here. People first, books second.” Rick turned and surveyed the chamber. There were two holes in the wall. “Evie, which way should we go?”
Evelyn looked around her. The paintings were remarkable. She noticed the crumbled wall with a long corridor behind it. Hamunaptra. She noticed the other hole cut into the base of a long inscription written in green ink and stepped forward to investigate. Her mood plunged a little further as she silently read the hieroglyphs.
“Evie, honey, which way?”
Without a word she pointed to the opening leading to the temple proper. As she crouched to crawl through, Omar, the third in the Med Jai trio, pushed her out of the way and entered first followed by Mohammed and Ardeth.
“I say, that was rather rude,” Jonathan declared as he crawled through behind them also before his sister.
“How about you? Would you like to be next?” Evelyn asked her husband. What ever happened to ladies first?
“No, ladies first. I insist.” Rick grinned.
“I knew there was a reason I loved you.” Evie smiled and planted a kiss on Rick’s scruffy cheek before crawling into the next room.
It was a vast chamber and would have been of great interest to her if she hadn’t first noticed the gaping hole cut into the bottom of a huge mural depicting a Pharaoh bearing a long staff standing the entire height of the wall. The Pharonic image was not that unusual but the giant snake flying over the desert with bodies lying about beneath it certainly was. She held her torch aloft and felt her heart skip a beat as dread coiled around her curiosity.
Before she was able to get close enough to read the hieroglyphic script someone screamed.
Evie spun around quickly to find Dr. Rosemond pinned against the throne, Omar’s hand over his mouth and Mohammed’s scimitar at his throat.
“Dr. Rosemond?” Evie asked incredulously as her husband scrambled through the hole in the wall.
“Thought you were dead. Anybody with you?” Rick asked, his tone implying that dead was just fine in his opinion. Nodding to the warriors they let the curator go and the old man slumped heavily against the gilded stairs.
Taking a swipe at his throat and checking his fingers Dr. Rosemond replied, “This place is cursed. There are scarabs everywhere. They eat…people! Have you ever heard of such a thing? They ate everyone. Look!” He pointed frantically at the mangled body of a guard in a corner. His eyes were wild, his red hair an unruly halo around his sickly white, frightened face. His glasses had fogged over, his breath rapid and shallow escaping from his mouth.
“Why don’t you tell us something we don’t know, like where Cleo is?” Rick deadpanned.
“Dr. Rosemond, are you alright?” Evelyn’s initial fear had passed and been replaced by concern. He was awfully gray, beaded with sweat and swaying in his shoes.
“He’s fine. What the hell is this place Evie?” Rick had no such sympathy for Dr. Rosemond. Holstering his gun he stared expectantly at his wife.
Evelyn ignored him and moved to the doctor’s side helping him sit on the stairs to the throne. She removed her scarf and wiped the sweat from the old mans brow. He gratefully gazed into her face and quietly mumbled, “I am sorry I doubted you.”
She smiled, accepting his apology as a signal that the past was behind them and that he was finally recognizing her as his peer. Offering him her canteen she returned her attention to the huge mural that had fascinated her before. Her husband cleared his throat reminding her that he had asked a question.
“I’m not sure what this is. It’s like nothing I’ve seen before. Ardeth have you any idea what this is?”
“This is the mortuary temple of Pharaoh Seti the First.” The Med Jai warrior answered slowly.
“I know that but what are these paintings? I have never heard of anything like these in a Pharonic temple – or burial for that matter.” The warrior’s hesitance was not lost on the petite scholar. She had also taken due note of the nervousness of the other Med Jai.
With disdain he said, “They are nothing special to me.”
Evie was about to ask Dr. Rosemond for his opinion when her husband cut her off.
Rick’s voice was sarcastic as he began herding the unhappy little army toward the hole cut into the wall beneath the giant serpent. “Can we focus here? I’m sure they’re very interesting paintings. Why don’t we talk about them after we get Cleo and the books? Now people. Move it.”
~~~~~
Imhotep had retreated with Apis deep into the catacombs to a room still undisturbed. It was a small, simple chamber furnished with only a desk and chair. The inscriptions on the walls had been defaced in ancient times. He glared about the space for a moment and then slammed his fists into the table. Miraculously it survived, earning it another thump before it’s owner slumped into his old chair.
His chin on his fist, Imhotep stared at a defaced inscription commemorating his involvement in the building of Hamunaptra. His name had been stricken from the histories, his efforts no doubt credited to Seti and Ramses. The Egypt he had known was gone, in its place a world that he could not comprehend and had no place in.
That was not an unfamiliar circumstance for the Egyptian. He’d had no place in 19th dynasty Thebes either. He had created his place. He would do so again, this time with the woman he loved by his side. With deliberant care Imhotep focused on the dogs soft fur under his fingers, using the tactile sense of touch to focus his attention. He needed to be objective, something he had not been the last time.
When he finally raised his head, his eyes were clear. It was rather ironic, he thought with a smirk as he took in his old office again. The familiarity of the space combined with the eradication of his name and likeness made the room a fitting place for him to contemplate the situation he had risen into.
He’d had millennia to consider what he would do when he was freed. The time had passed slowly at first, each moment more painful than the last. Bound in almost every way possible, the only freedom he still possessed was in his mind. The battle for it was the hardest he had ever fought. Insanity stalked him in dark corners. It took many forms but it’s most horrendous manifestation was rage. Much like the scarab’s tore away at his flesh so rage tore away at his thoughts. Struggle though he did, in the end his mind and heart were just as shredded as his body. Magic might have restored his physical beauty but it would take something far more potent to restore his ravaged psyche.
As tenacious in death as he had been in life, his thoughts relentlessly circled Ankhsenamen. His memories of her were vivid and rich, a cornucopia of emotion and color that passed oceans of time. Love and hate. Pleasure and pain. Joy and sorrow. Empathy and scorn. Vengeance chummed the waters and the coppery scent of blood filled his nostrils. Every fiber in his being cried out for justice against those that had caused her pain. The last twenty or so years had taken the broad idea of revenge against the world and narrowed it’s focus to three people. That was where the problem lay. It was yet another irony and sadly one he had created himself.
The love of his life had been reborn the daughter of his mortal enemies. He had known it was possible but hadn’t really considered it, so certain was he that he would succeed. It was the nature of the spell to irreversibly bind the spirit of the dead to the sacrificial body. The price would be paid, if not by the selected sacrifice then by the next generation. A life for a life. Cleopatra and Ankhsenamen were one. Thus, she lived – not as his ancient lover but as the child of people he would have taken great pleasure in killing. He wondered vaguely if they had come with her to the City of the Dead.
Never one to wallow in self-pity his thoughts turned toward strategy, the location of exploitable weaknesses in his reborn mistress. They were plentiful. Foremost among them was the obvious internal conflict between past and present. She remembered and she was fighting it. It was apparent to him that she loved him still, even if she did not currently possess such clarity. Of that, he had no doubt. Ancient familiarities and modern moral codes had waged war but he’d called the fight in the early rounds aware of the consequences of interference. She was not a woman who could be forced.
It had taken more patience than he thought he possessed to win her heart so many years ago. Unlike all that preceded her, she had refused to bend to his will. Instead she had forced him to become less like stone and more like water. Water negotiates the twists and turns with grace and agility rather than resolute immovability. That lesson had been her unwitting gift to him.
It was also something she had tested with regularity and a habit obviously retained. The small ring hitting his chest had the impact of a shotgun blast, testing the limits of his self-control. She may be a new woman with a new name and a new life but the past dies hard and destiny does not change. They were meant for each other no matter how hard she fought it.
He had waited 3,000 years. What were a few more days?
~~~~~
The inscriptions on the walls danced macabre in the gloomy shimmer of the torchlight as Cleo rounded yet another corner. Then everything went black. It was obviously a wrong turn. Since her rapid departure from the amphitheater she had been treated like a mouse in a maze. Each right turn was rewarded with a new torch; each wrong one resulted in blackness replete with scary noises.
Adding insult to injury, each time she pulled a torch to go her own way it blew out like a match in a tornado. Only if she followed his path did she have light. In keeping with her defiant nature she had wandered off on her own, tracing her hand along the wall in the blackness only to hear the ominous sound of the scarab horde ahead of her. That finally put an end to her rebelliousness. It did nothing to improve her mood nor did the painful twist of her ankle as she tripped over a small piece of rubble.
Keeping a running tally of all the insults, injuries and assorted misadventures she’d suffered since chasing Apis into the catacombs she determined that today was by far and away the worst day of her life.
Almost instantly her heart disagreed. There had been another day far more ugly. Fear and rage slashed through her as she groped her way forward. She trailed her hand along the wall steadying herself as she fought back the encroaching memories. In the dim firelight she watched her remarkably dirty fingers streak muck along the way. In a blink she realized that it was not a trail of dirt her hands were leaving but blood. She blinked again and her arm was dripping gore. Looking down, trying to clear her head, she witnessed another horror. An abstract pattern of glistening red, gold and black covered her bare legs. Her feet stood in a sticky crimson pool. She tried to scream but her throat, having been reduced to sandpaper, refused to make a sound. It was, however, more than willing to choke off her wind. The sound of her convulsive coughing echoed through the tunnels like thunder. After a veritable eternity, they finally died away, leaving her more tired, dehydrated and miserable than she had been before.
Leaning against the wall with her face in her hands, she sobbed. It was a remarkably dry event, lacking both tears and runny nose. A low mumble echoed through the catacombs. Raising dry red eyes, she glared down the tunnel into the noisy darkness. “You stay away from me,” she hissed, “leave me alone!”
~~~~~
Rick pushed his little group deeper into the catacombs.
“So, we do have a little time right? He’ll have to find four more people right? Regenerate again?” Jonathan asked with an odd mixture of hope and resignation.
“He needs but one,” Ardeth replied. It was likely that the creature would be fully regenerated when they finally found him. Odds were he’d already killed the girl. Seti would not be pleased. They had little time if they were going to retrieve the books.
“Only one?” Evie asked.
Ardeth was more than a little agitated. Racked with uncharacteristic indecision his mind was spinning at the speed of light. This know-it-all woman was the key regardless of the direction he finally chose. He could ill afford to alienate her. With a deep calming breath he responded, “He fulfilled the curse, those that opened the chest are dead. From the dawn of time the black book has required a human sacrifice to complete each spell, including his resurrection. A life for a life.”
“Shhh…” Omar hissed, his ear cocked down the hall.
Rick and Evelyn visibly relaxed. Rick asked, “Evie, it’s Cleo! Thank God! What’s she saying?”
Evelyn frowned as she translated, “She said ‘stay away from me, leave me alone.’ Oh Rick, we have to help her!”
Ardeth was frozen by his uncertainty. All of it was madness. He was torn between his lifelong purpose and the one recently demanded of him. Seti’s wrath against the Med Jai would be negated if he brought him the girl, the daughter of his allies, his friends. But the Priest lived once more and he would surely threaten Seti if he discovered the monarch also lived. Ardeth had liked his life much better when there had been a singular focus. Still, the Priest was the most immediate danger. “We should press on. We will return for her when we have a way to fight him.”
“Like hell we will! Cleo is the priority here, buddy. We’ll go for the books after she’s safe.” Rick adjusted his pack and started down the corridor towards the light and the sound of his child.
“How safe can she be with the creature still alive? How do you plan to save her? What are you going to do? Shoot him? That worked well the last time. Our only weapon against him is the gold book.” Ardeth could not understand why they would charge into battle armed with nothing and think that they could do anything more useful than die in fruitlessly. He wanted to save the girl too. In fact, he had to save the girl – the lives of his people depended on it.
Taking the torch from Omar and pushing past him, Evelyn ended the debate. “I am not leaving my child with that thing.”
~~~~~
Cleo glared down the corridor looking for him. She thought for a moment about running, but gave up on the idea when her legs informed her brain that they had taken their very last step. Her heart and lungs also sided against her, both pleading exhaustion. If her pride would have allowed it, she would have slumped to the floor.
“What do you want?” she shouted down the corridor toward the sound, as she leaned heavily against the wall thankful for it’s support. Cleo’s luck with walls continued to crumble, quite literally, the wall caved under her weight and she fell into darkness once more.
“I hate this place,” she muttered as she found herself flat on her back in total darkness for the second time in a day.
~~~~~
“Oh dear,” Evie breathed as she rounded the corner and spied her daughters limp form. Running the last few feet she fell to her knees at her daughters side. Lifting Cleo’s head into her lap she checked for a pulse. “Thank God. Give me a canteen. She needs water.”
Rick and Jonathan crouched into the sand beside the girls as Jonathan fished through his pack for water and found only scotch. Feeling desperate and guilty he was grateful when Mohammed finally handed Evelyn a water skin.
“Hey, where is that damn dog?” Rick asked, scanning the corridor searching for his child’s near constant companion.
“And what happened to her ring?” Jonathan asked. As a man who could not keep track of which day of the week it was, it was no small irony that he never lost his flask and never forgot the presence or absence of gold. He found the pale skin where the ring always was far more worrisome than the missing dog. She almost never took the ring off.
“He has them.” Cleo mumbled as the water brought her back to life a little. “They were his anyway.”
“Who has them, dear?” Asked Evelyn even though the expression on her face said she knew the answer already.
“Imhotep.”
“Cleo, darling, how do you know that name?” There was an edge of hysteria to Evelyn’s voice. None of them had ever uttered his name. Jonathan wouldn’t have used it even if Evie hadn’t decreed that he could not. She had not even used the name in the journals he stole. There was no way Cleo could know it.
Cleo didn’t answer, her eyes locked with Ardeth’s. A very small, very disturbing smile tugged at her lips.
And to Jonathan’s amazement, the fearless Med Jai warrior swallowed hard.
~~~~~
The surface was a blessed sight for the weary band. The night had grown still, not even a light breeze shifted the desert sands. The gnats had long since departed leaving the camp in tatters. It had become a ghost town occupied only by a few unimpressed camels.
Ardeth, unsettled by his new knowledge and trying hard to distract himself from the task he knew he had to perform, set about creating some kind of camp out of the ruins of the dig. Dr. Rosemond’s trucks had been destroyed in the battle. It was an arduous job digging through them and even worse schlepping the meager supplies from the Dusenberg down to the campsite. Omar and Mohammed worked without complaint. The same could not be said for Jonathan.
Evelyn was frantic and in dire need of a distraction herself. She found three such distractions that were too wounded to escape her – not that they didn’t try. Evelyn’s first stop was her daughter. Exhausted as she was, Cleo fought off all her mother’s efforts to engage her in conversation. Instead she sat silently by the fire sipping at a cup of water, staring at the glaring white line of skin on her finger. Frustrated, Evie turned to her husband who proved even less cooperative. Rick, whose wounded pride was causing him more pain than his broken hand, had little interest in allowing his wife and her well documented talent for causing more damage than she fixed anywhere near him. The option of last resort was Dr. Rosemond. Terribly ill, he was unable to dissuade her from attending to him. Not long after the makeshift camp was erected the weary band settled into exhausted slumber.
All, that is, but Evie.
She was physically spent, but her mind had continued its spiral into the ancient and the unknown. Defying all things reasonable, she made a decision.
Peaking out of the tent, Evie found Omar seated by the fire with his eyes at half-mast and his head lulling. Uncharacteristically surefooted, she sneaked past him into to tunnel to the temple chamber.
~~~~~
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