BOOK ONE: Shifting Saharan Sands
PROLOGUE
What is it, little one?
My good little one,
My brave little one
My dear little one
What is it, little one?
Be still, I will stroke your fingers
I kiss the sweat from your brow
I will stay near you
You and I belong together
--Tuareg lullaby
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Near the end of the Age of Gemini, about six thousand five hundred years ago on the grassy, but drying, Giza Plain
Kysen stood on the Giza plain and tears ran down his face as he watched the scenes of the future. The plain on which he was standing was barren and dry as the shore along the Great Green and the plain was dotted with massive triangular shaped stone buildings. The limestone faced buildings then exploded into bits of dust. He had raised his hands to shield his face when the voice spoke.
"I am called Imhotep. If not stopped, these events will occur near the end of the Age of Pisces," a male voice intoned over the sounds of explosions; to Kysen's ears, the explosions were like the sounds of the volcano on the island in the Great Green. "The Dark One shall call to His side a misguided folllower, one who will try to destroy the Ma'at of Egypt. You will need to procreate a son, in whose bloodline will run the strength and courage to oust the Destructor of Ma'at and stop the Pyramids from exploding."
"I have begat only daughters, Imhotep, God of Egypt! Eleven of them!" Kysen cried, holding his arms out.
"And Ma'at will smile upon your daughters, for they will be prosperous in the coming years. You will live long enough to see the son born who will beget the Restorer of Ma'at to Egypt in the Age of Pisces," the male voice told him. "Take a second wife. Priest Tefibi will be told to allow it, but this son of Egypt must be born, and born soon," the God of Egypt's voice told him, fading.
The man looked down at himself. His long hair was more silver than black now. Along the Nile, his eleven daughters laughed and played, the oldest daughters looking after the youngest daughters. .
How he'd wished for a son! During the years in his teens and early twenties, he and his tribe had wandered from the western shores of the land where the Great Green met a large salty ocean. His tribe had headed towards the lands to the east, for an illness had ravaged the lands and Tefibi--a year younger than Kysen and newly appointed Priest-- had declared the western lands unclean.
Few children had been born to the other men in his tribe, for most of the women had died during the pitted scar illness that had struck his tribe when Kysen had been fifteen summers old.
He shook his head and headed down to the Nile to play with his daughters, thinking about the three eligible women with whom he could mate. Abana? No. At seventeen, Abana had her eyes for Yey. Tais was sixteen, and in love with Min. Those two women had not yet married, for Priest Tefibi had ordained they could only marry when the tribe had settled in their new home.
Khuta? She would have been beautiful but a fire that had swept through the savannah had burned half her face into a thick mass of purple scar tissue. Khuta was of marriageable age at sixteen. She was possessed of intensely dark eyes, eyes with depth, and a steely reserve that he'd only seen in the warriors of the nomadic tribes he'd met wandering the grassy savannah. Her countenance was almost as if the fire which had destroyed her beauty had hardened her soul into the soul of a warrior.
"Yes...Khuta," the wind seemed to whisper in his ears and Kysen started. "She has the soul of a warrior and a warrior is what will be needed to oust the Destructor of Ma'at near the end of the Age of Pisces," the wind whispered to Kysen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Age of Taurus, about 2630 BC, Djeba, Temple of Nuit, late summer, near dawn
Imhotep came out of his trance and looked around. He was sweating profusely, despite the cooling wind which swept through the open air temple. Entering the Crossroads of Time was strenuous, for the Crossroads was meant only for the recently departed souls who were on their way to be judged against Ma'at.
While in the Crossroads of Time that night in this very temple sixteen years before, Imhotep had helped Ardeth restore Ma'at to Egypt. He'd followed Nuit's command and had managed to gain access to the Crossroads, albeit by ingesting a large amount of the mushroom. Since that day sixteen floodings before, Imhotep had tried every month to gain access again, but thus far he'd failed. Until tonight when he'd been in Djeba again for the first time in sixteen years.
When he'd gained access to the Crossroads earlier in the night, he was stunned again to see his own Pyramid, and the Great Pyramids, exploding just as the Pyramids had exploded in his vision that night sixteen years ago.
But this time, there was no warrior of Egypt return the Ring of Nuit to her Temple and thwart the Destructor of Ma'at. Imhotep had watched the lone silver bird fly around the Pyramids and then had seen a long line of silver birds, so many that they filled the sky and large silver nuggets were dropped from the sky onto the Pyramids, and onto the city that surrounded the Pyramids.
The screams of the newly departed souls rent Imhotep's own soul and the cries of billions more souls pummelled Imhotep's ears and he put his hands up to cover his ears.
When he'd looked up again, he happened to look behind him, and had discovered why the Warrior of Egypt--the Restorer of Ma'at--wasn't in this vision of the future: the man responsible for begetting the progenitor of the Restorer had failed to procreate a son.
Imhotep instantly saw the reason why: the strictures of Kysen's tribe mandated one wife to one man, despite the deaths of most of the women from the pitted scar disease. Most of the young women in Kysen's tribe were his own daughters, and he was forbidden to marry one of his daughters.
Imhotep stretched his soul and had found Priest Tefibi trying to communicate with the Gods. He'd spoken to Priest Tefibi and instructed him to allow Kysen to take a second wife.
"You must dream the future and tell the leader about a dream that this young girl needs to marry Kysen and beget a future warrior," Imhotep had told Priest Tefibi. "Tell your leader that this evening there will be a star that will streak green towards the Great Green," Imhotep said.
"And when the green star streaks, my leader shall believe my dream and allow me to marry Kysen to a second woman even though Kysen has a wife?" Priest Tefibi asked.
"Yes. I can not emphasize how important to Ma'at this future warrior is," Imhotep told the Priest. "His progenitor must be born before the next flooding, or else Ma'at, and Egypt, shall be destroyed," Imhotep told Priest Tefibi, and Imhotep had left Priest Tefibi alone in his temple room, blinking his eyes in wonder and awe at having spoken to a God of Egypt.
Imhotep had then gone to Kysen and had instructed him in what to do regarding his future son.
As he lost his grip on the Crossroads of Time, a fragmented thought from Kysen echoed in the Crossroads: "Khuta?...hardened her soul into the soul of a warrior..."
Imhotep had whispered with the last of his strength: "Yes...Khuta. She has the soul of a warrior and a warrior is what will be needed to oust the Destructor of Ma'at near the end of the Age of Pisces." And Imhotep had seen in the waning light of the Crossroads of Time that Kysen would indeed marry Khuta and beget the progenitor of the Restorer of Ma'at.
Standing up, and stretching out his arms in supplication, Imhotep looked up towards the dark belly of Nuit. Her Daughters were flashing their light at him, and Imhotep smiled as a feeling of rightness--the restoration of Ma'at--settled over his soul.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
15,000 feet above London, August 24, 1940 (Age of Pisces), near the end of a sunny day
"Ack Ack bearing down on five!" the pilot shouted into the radio.
The pilot, Squadron Leader Michael O'Mara, had been shocked to see a Luftwaffe bomber plane flying near London. Ramsgate, Dover, Portsmouth, Birmingham, the north-east of England and several airfields had seen heavy Luftwaffe activity today.
Although the air battles over Britain had been raging for almost two months, since July 10 when the dogfights started, London had so far been spared the sight of German bomber planes.
Now, for the first time since 1918, when Squadron Leader O'Mara was a toddler of two, the skyline of London was witnessing bomber planes on the horizon.
Michael O'Mara vowed he would do everything he could to prevent London from being bombed. But he realized that might not be possible.
A dark foreboding washed over Michael's heart. He frantically radioed again to Fighter Command, "Ack ack bearing down on five!" he repeated as he raised the sights on his ack-ack: a Hurricane I anti-aircraft plane that he affectionately called Black Storm.
He pushed the button.
And hoped the gun camera would catch the Messerschmitt's demise.
"Mark!" O'Mara shouted in relief as the Messerschmitt 109E suddenly veered off to the left, and then plunged down in a twisting spiral, black smoke trailing above the falling plane.
Michael watched the plane make contact with the ground--an empty field. "Whooooo hoooo! Flight Command, Black Storm has one Messerschmitt down!"
But then his attention was diverted to a shiny glint he caught out of the corner of his eye. The bottom of a Messerschmitt had opened and a bomb was being dropped on London. Squadron Leader O'Mara's mouth dropped in an "O" of horror. "Noooooooooo!" he screamed.
"Germans are bombing Central London! Red alert! Repeat: Germans have dropped a bomb over Central London. Germans have dropped a bomb over Central London!"
"Copy! RAF coming to assist. Flight Command out," responded Flight Command but Michael's attention was riveted to a group of bomber planes coming from the east--from the direction of the North Sea and Germany.
He took a deep breath, and levelled the plane as he readied himself for another dogfight. He heard, rather than saw, other planes from the twenty two year old RAF taking off, ready to defend Britannia from the invading German bomber planes.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
HQ, Luftflotte 3 (St Cloud, France) August 25, 1940
"A navigation mistake?" Schlotter asked. "How could there be a navigation mistake? The Thames has a distinctive shape. Even at night, a pilot can't miss the Thames. The pilots were told to stay to the north-east of the Thames."
The young SS officer squirmed. He was merely the messenger. "The RAF managed to get pilots up in the air. Our spies say that one pilot was already up in the air and shot down the first plane. That downing gave the RAF enough time to get more pilots in the air and repel our forces," the young SS officer informed him. His face looked grave. "That pilot was O'Mara."
"O'Mara. Yes, yes. We'll deal with him later. I'm sure old Winston will attempt to retaliate. But nevertheless, we inadvertantly bombed London when the bombs were jettisoned," Generalfeldmarschall Schlotter commented. He looked thoughtful. "How many did we lose?" he asked, looking at the young SS officer.
"Thirty eight, sir."
Schlotter stroked his chin. "A navigation mistake could turn out to be the event which brings down England. Once she falls, we'll have most of Europe under our control."
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm not following."
Schlotter looked up. "Oh you will. The entire world will understand, soon. Very soon. Dismissed." He drummed his fingers on his desk before pushing the buzzer on the intercom.
PROLOGUE
What is it, little one?
My good little one,
My brave little one
My dear little one
What is it, little one?
Be still, I will stroke your fingers
I kiss the sweat from your brow
I will stay near you
You and I belong together
--Tuareg lullaby
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Near the end of the Age of Gemini, about six thousand five hundred years ago on the grassy, but drying, Giza Plain
Kysen stood on the Giza plain and tears ran down his face as he watched the scenes of the future. The plain on which he was standing was barren and dry as the shore along the Great Green and the plain was dotted with massive triangular shaped stone buildings. The limestone faced buildings then exploded into bits of dust. He had raised his hands to shield his face when the voice spoke.
"I am called Imhotep. If not stopped, these events will occur near the end of the Age of Pisces," a male voice intoned over the sounds of explosions; to Kysen's ears, the explosions were like the sounds of the volcano on the island in the Great Green. "The Dark One shall call to His side a misguided folllower, one who will try to destroy the Ma'at of Egypt. You will need to procreate a son, in whose bloodline will run the strength and courage to oust the Destructor of Ma'at and stop the Pyramids from exploding."
"I have begat only daughters, Imhotep, God of Egypt! Eleven of them!" Kysen cried, holding his arms out.
"And Ma'at will smile upon your daughters, for they will be prosperous in the coming years. You will live long enough to see the son born who will beget the Restorer of Ma'at to Egypt in the Age of Pisces," the male voice told him. "Take a second wife. Priest Tefibi will be told to allow it, but this son of Egypt must be born, and born soon," the God of Egypt's voice told him, fading.
The man looked down at himself. His long hair was more silver than black now. Along the Nile, his eleven daughters laughed and played, the oldest daughters looking after the youngest daughters. .
How he'd wished for a son! During the years in his teens and early twenties, he and his tribe had wandered from the western shores of the land where the Great Green met a large salty ocean. His tribe had headed towards the lands to the east, for an illness had ravaged the lands and Tefibi--a year younger than Kysen and newly appointed Priest-- had declared the western lands unclean.
Few children had been born to the other men in his tribe, for most of the women had died during the pitted scar illness that had struck his tribe when Kysen had been fifteen summers old.
He shook his head and headed down to the Nile to play with his daughters, thinking about the three eligible women with whom he could mate. Abana? No. At seventeen, Abana had her eyes for Yey. Tais was sixteen, and in love with Min. Those two women had not yet married, for Priest Tefibi had ordained they could only marry when the tribe had settled in their new home.
Khuta? She would have been beautiful but a fire that had swept through the savannah had burned half her face into a thick mass of purple scar tissue. Khuta was of marriageable age at sixteen. She was possessed of intensely dark eyes, eyes with depth, and a steely reserve that he'd only seen in the warriors of the nomadic tribes he'd met wandering the grassy savannah. Her countenance was almost as if the fire which had destroyed her beauty had hardened her soul into the soul of a warrior.
"Yes...Khuta," the wind seemed to whisper in his ears and Kysen started. "She has the soul of a warrior and a warrior is what will be needed to oust the Destructor of Ma'at near the end of the Age of Pisces," the wind whispered to Kysen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Age of Taurus, about 2630 BC, Djeba, Temple of Nuit, late summer, near dawn
Imhotep came out of his trance and looked around. He was sweating profusely, despite the cooling wind which swept through the open air temple. Entering the Crossroads of Time was strenuous, for the Crossroads was meant only for the recently departed souls who were on their way to be judged against Ma'at.
While in the Crossroads of Time that night in this very temple sixteen years before, Imhotep had helped Ardeth restore Ma'at to Egypt. He'd followed Nuit's command and had managed to gain access to the Crossroads, albeit by ingesting a large amount of the mushroom. Since that day sixteen floodings before, Imhotep had tried every month to gain access again, but thus far he'd failed. Until tonight when he'd been in Djeba again for the first time in sixteen years.
When he'd gained access to the Crossroads earlier in the night, he was stunned again to see his own Pyramid, and the Great Pyramids, exploding just as the Pyramids had exploded in his vision that night sixteen years ago.
But this time, there was no warrior of Egypt return the Ring of Nuit to her Temple and thwart the Destructor of Ma'at. Imhotep had watched the lone silver bird fly around the Pyramids and then had seen a long line of silver birds, so many that they filled the sky and large silver nuggets were dropped from the sky onto the Pyramids, and onto the city that surrounded the Pyramids.
The screams of the newly departed souls rent Imhotep's own soul and the cries of billions more souls pummelled Imhotep's ears and he put his hands up to cover his ears.
When he'd looked up again, he happened to look behind him, and had discovered why the Warrior of Egypt--the Restorer of Ma'at--wasn't in this vision of the future: the man responsible for begetting the progenitor of the Restorer had failed to procreate a son.
Imhotep instantly saw the reason why: the strictures of Kysen's tribe mandated one wife to one man, despite the deaths of most of the women from the pitted scar disease. Most of the young women in Kysen's tribe were his own daughters, and he was forbidden to marry one of his daughters.
Imhotep stretched his soul and had found Priest Tefibi trying to communicate with the Gods. He'd spoken to Priest Tefibi and instructed him to allow Kysen to take a second wife.
"You must dream the future and tell the leader about a dream that this young girl needs to marry Kysen and beget a future warrior," Imhotep had told Priest Tefibi. "Tell your leader that this evening there will be a star that will streak green towards the Great Green," Imhotep said.
"And when the green star streaks, my leader shall believe my dream and allow me to marry Kysen to a second woman even though Kysen has a wife?" Priest Tefibi asked.
"Yes. I can not emphasize how important to Ma'at this future warrior is," Imhotep told the Priest. "His progenitor must be born before the next flooding, or else Ma'at, and Egypt, shall be destroyed," Imhotep told Priest Tefibi, and Imhotep had left Priest Tefibi alone in his temple room, blinking his eyes in wonder and awe at having spoken to a God of Egypt.
Imhotep had then gone to Kysen and had instructed him in what to do regarding his future son.
As he lost his grip on the Crossroads of Time, a fragmented thought from Kysen echoed in the Crossroads: "Khuta?...hardened her soul into the soul of a warrior..."
Imhotep had whispered with the last of his strength: "Yes...Khuta. She has the soul of a warrior and a warrior is what will be needed to oust the Destructor of Ma'at near the end of the Age of Pisces." And Imhotep had seen in the waning light of the Crossroads of Time that Kysen would indeed marry Khuta and beget the progenitor of the Restorer of Ma'at.
Standing up, and stretching out his arms in supplication, Imhotep looked up towards the dark belly of Nuit. Her Daughters were flashing their light at him, and Imhotep smiled as a feeling of rightness--the restoration of Ma'at--settled over his soul.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
15,000 feet above London, August 24, 1940 (Age of Pisces), near the end of a sunny day
"Ack Ack bearing down on five!" the pilot shouted into the radio.
The pilot, Squadron Leader Michael O'Mara, had been shocked to see a Luftwaffe bomber plane flying near London. Ramsgate, Dover, Portsmouth, Birmingham, the north-east of England and several airfields had seen heavy Luftwaffe activity today.
Although the air battles over Britain had been raging for almost two months, since July 10 when the dogfights started, London had so far been spared the sight of German bomber planes.
Now, for the first time since 1918, when Squadron Leader O'Mara was a toddler of two, the skyline of London was witnessing bomber planes on the horizon.
Michael O'Mara vowed he would do everything he could to prevent London from being bombed. But he realized that might not be possible.
A dark foreboding washed over Michael's heart. He frantically radioed again to Fighter Command, "Ack ack bearing down on five!" he repeated as he raised the sights on his ack-ack: a Hurricane I anti-aircraft plane that he affectionately called Black Storm.
He pushed the button.
And hoped the gun camera would catch the Messerschmitt's demise.
"Mark!" O'Mara shouted in relief as the Messerschmitt 109E suddenly veered off to the left, and then plunged down in a twisting spiral, black smoke trailing above the falling plane.
Michael watched the plane make contact with the ground--an empty field. "Whooooo hoooo! Flight Command, Black Storm has one Messerschmitt down!"
But then his attention was diverted to a shiny glint he caught out of the corner of his eye. The bottom of a Messerschmitt had opened and a bomb was being dropped on London. Squadron Leader O'Mara's mouth dropped in an "O" of horror. "Noooooooooo!" he screamed.
"Germans are bombing Central London! Red alert! Repeat: Germans have dropped a bomb over Central London. Germans have dropped a bomb over Central London!"
"Copy! RAF coming to assist. Flight Command out," responded Flight Command but Michael's attention was riveted to a group of bomber planes coming from the east--from the direction of the North Sea and Germany.
He took a deep breath, and levelled the plane as he readied himself for another dogfight. He heard, rather than saw, other planes from the twenty two year old RAF taking off, ready to defend Britannia from the invading German bomber planes.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
HQ, Luftflotte 3 (St Cloud, France) August 25, 1940
"A navigation mistake?" Schlotter asked. "How could there be a navigation mistake? The Thames has a distinctive shape. Even at night, a pilot can't miss the Thames. The pilots were told to stay to the north-east of the Thames."
The young SS officer squirmed. He was merely the messenger. "The RAF managed to get pilots up in the air. Our spies say that one pilot was already up in the air and shot down the first plane. That downing gave the RAF enough time to get more pilots in the air and repel our forces," the young SS officer informed him. His face looked grave. "That pilot was O'Mara."
"O'Mara. Yes, yes. We'll deal with him later. I'm sure old Winston will attempt to retaliate. But nevertheless, we inadvertantly bombed London when the bombs were jettisoned," Generalfeldmarschall Schlotter commented. He looked thoughtful. "How many did we lose?" he asked, looking at the young SS officer.
"Thirty eight, sir."
Schlotter stroked his chin. "A navigation mistake could turn out to be the event which brings down England. Once she falls, we'll have most of Europe under our control."
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm not following."
Schlotter looked up. "Oh you will. The entire world will understand, soon. Very soon. Dismissed." He drummed his fingers on his desk before pushing the buzzer on the intercom.
