The call of Anck-su-namon was growing stronger with every step. Zane had to control himself so that he would not run. Memories that weren't his filled his head. Some of them were from the visions he had seen, but there were other things: the feel of her skin, her smell, the way she tasted . . .
And then he was standing a few feet from where she had fallen, where she had died for the second time. His heart was pounding in his chest, and the air in the room began to get very heavy. "Stay on this side." He said quietly to Imhotep. The High Priest remained silent. He knew the feeling of magic in the air. Zane leapt over the crack in the floor. He could sense the presence of Anubis behind him, and he felt the energy of the ritual already beginning to flow through him. With the gold book in his arms, he knelt at the edge of the large crack. On the other side, Imhotep did the same. Imhotep could also feel the presence of Anubis in the room, and he did not like it. He had done much to incur the wrath of the gods. Anubis himself had taken away his powers when he was last within this pyramid. But the energy of the ritual was flowing through him as well.
The two of them opened their respective books, turning the pages to the correct ritual. Imhotep was drawing on knowledge, Zane was drawing on instinct. Imhotep began to read first, the words almost forming like solid things in the air. The shadows in the crack began to move, rippling like water. As Imhotep continued to speak, a form could be seen moving beneath the surface, hunting for escape, eager. Imhotep paused and Zane began reading the ancient Egyptian text as if it were English. A disconnected part of him marveled at the beauty of the language. Power was flowing into the room, into the crevice. He could feel barriers shifting, weakening. Imhotep was reading again, the two spells flowing together, combining, becoming one.
Zane reached the end of the passage and stopped. Imhotep had finished as well. They looked at each other across the small rift as silence descended. It wasn't finished. Something was missing. "What's wrong?" he asked. Anubis drew more distant, and Zane could sense a hesitation in him. It made Zane nervous. "What is it? What else do we need?" Still the hesitation. Zane got to his feet. He was afraid, and angry. In his anger, he called his patron by his Egyptian name, "Yinepu! What aren't you telling me?!"
The god's voice came, quietly whispering across the room like fall leaves blown over concrete. Sacrifice . . .
The strange words had stopped. Adeem stood just outside the room, his knife at the ready. There was now another man with the American. He looked strong and dangerous, but no matter. Adeem would have the treasure here, and no one else must find out where it was hidden.
The boy was standing now, screaming at the air. He must be insane. Adeem would be doing him a favor. The moment was now. Adeem tightened his grip on the knife and rushed forward.
A chill filled Zane. Who or what was going to be sacrificed? He looked across the crack at Imhotep, and the priest suddenly yelled and pointed. Zane turned and saw a man holding a large knife running at him. Before he could react, he was grabbed around the waist with the knife to his throat. "Don't move!" Adeem yelled. Neither Zane nor Imhotep spoke Arabic, but they understood what the man meant. Zane swallowed, feeling the blade so cold against his skin. Was he to be sacrificed then?
Imhotep raised his arm and pointed it at the intruder. Nothing happened. He had indeed returned as a mortal. Separated by a crack that was perhaps three feet long, he was helpless. But why did he care? This boy was nothing to him, just another human like so many he had killed or left to die. If the spell failed with his death, he would simply find another way to bring Anck-su-namon back. He was Imhotep, High Priest of Osiris. He could do anything. But he did want the boy to live, even if he didn't understand why. "Anubis, will you not save your servant?" He called. There was no answer.
One of Zane's arms was trapped in Adeem's grip, but the other was free. If he could move fast enough, maybe he could grab Adeem's knife arm and hold it back. Of course if he was too slow, his neck would be slashed. Fear kept him immobile. Then he got an idea. "Move closer!" He said to Imhotep. The priest took a step toward them. "Stay where you are!" Adeem yelled, but for a second his attention was off Zane. As quick as he could, Zane moved his arm out and back, jabbing Adeem in the side with his elbow. In the same motion he brought his hand up and grabbed Adeem's knife arm. Imhotep jumped the gap and punched Adeem in the head, giving Zane a chance to escape. Zane ducked under the knife and twisted his other arm free. He stumbled back a step and felt his foot touch the edge of the crack. Quickly he moved aside and around Adeem. The intruder turned to face Imhotep and Zane, his knife held out protectively in front of him. He took a step back to steady himself. Even two on one, the knife held them back. One of them could be killed or seriously injured before they could disarm him.
Still focusing on Adeem and the weapon he held, neither Imhotep nor Zane saw the shadowy hand reach out of the crack and wrap itself around the man's ankle. Adeem was pulled forcefully down, landing on his face. Zane watched in shock as the would-be thief and murderer was dragged screaming into the churning blackness of the rift.
Just as his hand, still holding the knife, disappeared, the almost liquid shadows began to boil. Out of the center of the pit, a figure rose as dark as the shadows around it. Without thinking, Zane bent and picked up the Book of Amon-Ra, turned the pages and began to read. He spoke the words without truly knowing them, but he caught a few things here and there. "A life for a life . . . take this sacrifice and give to me a body . . . a vessel for her soul." As he read the figure became more distinct, the shape becoming more female and then taking on color. The shadows in the pit calmed and faded until they were nothing more then normal shadows. Anck-su-namon lay at the bottom of the fissure, dressed as she had been at her second death.