CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I came into being as I came into being. I grew as I grew. I changed as I change. My mind is fire, my soul fire. The cobra wakes and spits fire in my eyes. I rise through ochre smoke into black air enclosed in a shower of stars. I am what I have made. I am the seed of every god, beautiful as evening, hard as light. I am the last four days of yesterday, four screams from the edges of the earth—beauty, terror, truth, madness—the phoenix on his pyre.
In a willow I made my nest of flowers and snakes, sandalwood and myrrh. I am waiting for eternity. I'm waiting for years to pass before I dance on flame, turn this desert to ash, before I rise, waking from gold and purple dreams into the season of god. I will live forever in the fire spun from my own wings. I'll suffer burns that burn to heal. I destroy and create myself like the sun that rises burning from the east and dies burning in the west. To know the fire, I become the fire. I am power. I am light. I am forever. On earth and in heaven I am. This is my body, my work. This is my deliverance.
--Excerpt from "Becoming the Phoenix", Egyptian Book of the Dead
as translated by Normandi Ellis
The room was pitch black, and though he tried, Imhotep could see nothing. The preternatural sight that had allowed him to see just as well in total darkness as in broad daylight was gone, taken from him along with his immortality, and he was as blind as any mortal would be, trapped underground with no light source. He moved his hands, finding the edge of the slab of stone, and traced its perimeter, realizing that he was lying upon a table of sorts.
As his hand moved down the edge of the altar, his arm brushed against the cool metal of the Scepter of Osiris, and he stopped, grasping the shaft of the spear with one hand and tracing its length, from the opening in the stone from which it protruded and up for as far as he could reach. All that his fingers encountered was smooth, cold metal. The spear itself, when fully extended, was over two meters in length, and the star emblem at its end was well beyond his reach. Giving up his exploration for now, he let his hand drop back to his side.
He closed his eyes again, waiting a few moments for his other senses to adjust and compensate for the lack of vision. He could feel the dank air against his skin; he could smell the musty, stale odor of age and rot all around him; and he could hear…he paused, listening more intently, and levered himself up onto his elbows. Breathing! Through the darkness, the slow, rhythmic rasp of breathing floated to his ears, coming from somewhere in front and to the right of him.
Slowly, carefully, he sat up, and for a moment, he forgot about the sound, as he felt his muscles effortlessly respond to the command of his brain, and his body move once again with long-forgotten grace and power. The Hom Dai curse, in addition to its terrifyingly powerful gift of immortality and the almost limitless mental and physical abilities it gave its bearer, had allowed his body to be endlessly regenerated. This regeneration was bought at a terrible price—a human price—and resulted in living tissue flowing smoothly and perfectly over a withered, rotten core. The immortality of the Hom Dai was a beautiful mask covering and obscuring a living nightmare. But this time…such was not the case, this time. This regeneration was completely different from the previous two.
With an awed sense of wonder, he moved his hands over his arms, his chest, his face. He was whole, he was restored, and for the first time in countless ages, he felt…human. His heart was beating, his lungs were drawing in breath, blood was coursing hot through his veins, and his mind was whole and sound, not twisted up in the tangles of rage and perverse power of the Hom Dai. He was mortal. Not just mortal in the sense of only having powers and capabilities within the range of normal human beings, for he had experienced that before, in his two previous awakenings, but mortal. Mortal. Flesh and blood mortal, life and breath mortal. Human again, after three thousand years.
For a few moments, a curious mixture of emotions coursed through him, as he remembered his just-ended exchange with the great god Amun-Re. Disbelief was the most strongly felt of those emotions, but it was fading rapidly as his eyes and hands and mind assessed and catalogued the changes in his physical and mental state. It was fading into a sort of wary acceptance, a distrustful and cautious hope that was afraid to trust too soon that the nightmare was finally ended, the curse lifted, and his torment within the pit finally at an end. Could it really be that simple? Surrender his immortality and unnatural powers, perform one task for the gods, and then finally be allowed into the lands of the West? He was afraid to hope for too much, but the evidence was mounting that what the god had told him was true.
And that would mean it was also true that he would have a choice in the eventual outcome. Briefly, he considered his already-made decision to complete the task and then surrender to the balm of death. Was there truly nothing worth holding onto in this newly restored life? Images from his past life flashed before him—his childhood, his youth, his years in service to Osiris, and lastly, his ill-fated love affair with Seti's mistress. What was left of that life to go back to? His family and friends were gone now, waiting for him in the afterlife. The temples of ancient Egypt were crumbled to dust, testimony to the relentless passage of years and the death of a once-great culture. And his love for the woman. That too was gone, burned from his heart by the bitter flame of betrayal. In the end, she had not loved him enough. She had not done for him what he had unquestioningly done for her, all those centuries ago. No, his past was gone, wiped from the slates as cleanly as his name had been wiped from history's records when the curse had been invoked, and he became He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.
As for the present, he had no idea where he was, or what year he now existed within. He had a task to complete, but once that was done, what was there for him here? From his last two awakenings, he remembered the outside world, and it was a vastly different place and time than his own. There were the technological marvels, of course, and he briefly remembered the flying machines, and the train, and the automobiles. The thought of learning what had happened in the world, and exploring some of the miracles that the curious and clever hand of humanity had wrought held some appeal for him, but it was an academic appeal only, speaking to his inquisitive mind, not to his pummeled, still-raw heart.
And the people of the present were much the same as the people of his time. There were those who were greedy and grasping, people who would sell their mothers and sisters and daughters if the price were right. Those people existed in any era, and had served his purposes well, when the need arose. There were also those with excessive bravery and courage, those with great heart and humanity, those to whom honor and service were real, concrete things, not just frail, intangible concepts.
Imhotep was suddenly reminded of O'Connell, and his woman, Nefertiri reborn, and his son, who had to have been one of the bravest boys he had ever encountered, in all of his lifetimes. A small smile grew on his lips when he remembered the boy's unwavering courage in the face of what had made grown men go nearly mad with fear. O'Connell and his family. His mortal enemies, in both of his previous awakenings. In the end, it was their simple and selfless love and courage that had defeated the Scorpion King and his minions, and saved them all. For a time, the curse had afforded Imhotep the power to destroy O'Connell and his loved ones—destroy them utterly. He could have done so with a thought, a word. But what had happened when the scales had tipped to the balancing point, when they had been rendered equals, and the only power to be called upon was love, and commitment, and honor? He knew that answer only too well, and the pain was still too raw to dwell much upon.
No, he had had enough of living. He had had more than his share of living, and dying, and living again, and he was tired of it. He was bitterly tired of it. He had no wish to experience any more life, or hope, or pain, or betrayal. He laughed silently, inwardly mocking himself. Three attempts at it were enough for any man. More than enough. Perhaps in the afterlife he could finally experience true peace.
But the recollection of the final moments of his last awakening had brought with them a vague awareness of where he could be, and he began to wonder if it would really be that easy. Could it be that he had been brought back to the very same place where he had last stood, as a more-or-less living being? Could he still be within the Pyramid of Ahm Shere? And given what he remembered of the last moments of that life, the horrendous carnage and destruction taking place all around, what would face him when he tried to make his way out of the pyramid?
A soft moan floated through the darkness, and brought his attention back to the present. He paused, listening intently, and again picked up the sound of shallow breathing. Shifting to the edge of the slab of stone, he braced himself on his hands and lowered his feet to the ground. The world spun dizzyingly, sickeningly, for a moment when he first stood up, and he waited for a few moments while his body adjusted to standing upright, and his equilibrium was soon restored. He turned in the direction of the breathing, and carefully picked his way through the debris and fallen rock, making his way slowly but resolutely towards the source of that sound.
And then he found her. First, his foot fell upon a soft mound of fabric, and he stopped, not necessarily wanting to harm the person, whoever it might be. From the shallowness of the breathing, and the moan, he assumed that they were hurt in some way, and he had no reason or desire to injure them further. Reaching down with his hands, blindly seeking in the dark, his fingers fell upon the bare skin of the woman's arm, and he recoiled in shock at the electric surge of recognition that shot through him. Somewhat tentatively, he reached out again, prepared this time, and again the same tingle of energy pierced his skin and traveled straight to his heart.
Perhaps he was fully human, fully mortal, once again, but even mere mortals are possessed of certain abilities. And Imhotep, in his first lifetime, had been a high priest of Osiris, a man of great learning, and power, and discernment. Knowledge of the arcane, the spiritual, and the mystical was part and parcel of his trade, as servant to the lord of the underworld, and Imhotep had been a gifted priest. So the simple act of recognizing an agonizingly familiar aura was child's play for him.
But what was she doing here? Why would she be lying here, not three meters from where he had been brought back? Imhotep thought back over his last moments again, quickly, and he was sure that he remembered the chain of events with clarity. How could he not? They were branded on his heart. He was not wrong. She had turned and fled back down the tunnel, heading for the pyramid's entrance. So finding her here, lying so near to him, could only mean one thing, and he felt a faint stirring of hope blossom somewhere near his heart.
Gently, he reached out again, running his hands over the woman's bare arms, up to her shoulders, and then he rested the palm of his hand against the smooth skin of her cheek. His voice, when he could finally find the words, was nearly choked with emotion, the smooth, musical baritone ragged with grief, and hope, and some other emotion, which he refused to name. The words, when they finally emerged, underscored the whole, heartbreaking history in a single phrase, spoken in the ancient language.
"Anck-su-namun? You came back? You came back for me?"
Ardeth stood in the stygian darkness of the great hall and released his grip on the chunk of collapsed wall. It was all that had saved him from being swept away by the ferocious wind that had stormed through the pyramid. For now, the wind seemed to have died down, but the light had faded away also, and he was left with no way to navigate in the dark. He stood there, hands stretched out to the sides, wondering if he could manage to feel his way forward and not trip on one of the innumerable chunks of debris or stumble into one of the many cracks and crevices that pitted the floor. He was not willing to leave without Eliana, but his options seemed fairly limited at this point. In truth, he wasn't even sure if he could manage to find his way back to the exit, since the total darkness had managed to disorient him thoroughly. Cursing himself again for his foolhardy move in coming here unprepared, he thought back on what he had done so far, and all the things he could have done differently, if he had simply thought before acting.
He had hurled himself through the opening into Ahm Shere's golden monument, barely an hour after Eliana had entered through the same doorway, and for a moment, he was nearly blinded by the sudden transition from light into dark. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, and then opened them again, this time able to see a short way into the murky gloom. The light filtered in through the opening, but the passageway stretched off into darkness, and he suddenly realized that he had brought nothing with him to light the way into the pyramid. Cursing his lack of foresight in running off without a flashlight, or lantern, or any form of light, he continued down the corridor. He had simply run off, going on instinct and his gut instead of reason and forethought, and now he was paying the price for letting his emotions get involved in this whole sorry mess. Mentally kicking himself again, he moved on into the gathering darkness. Hopefully, he would find Eliana soon, not too far into this pile of rubble, and she would have a light with her. At any rate, it was too late to turn back. He had to find her, and find her quickly, before her father and the other men got here and unleashed some slumbering, ancient power. Or before she did.
Using touch alone, Ardeth managed to grope his way to the end of the passageway and find the door to the interior. He had taken perhaps two steps into the great hall, and was feeling around with outstretched hands to try to navigate further, when he heard the screech of the wind. It came from behind him, almost as if it had originated from outside, from across the wasteland surrounding the dig, and tore down the exterior corridor, knocking him aside like a rag doll when it stormed through into the great hall.
He fell to the side, grabbing for a handhold on the wall, and holding on for all he was worth as the tempest stormed around him, buffeting his robes, whipping through his long hair, picking up dirt and small stones and flinging them wildly through the air. It was like being caught in a desert sandstorm; all he could do was hang on and try to outlast it.
Suddenly, the wind died, and the calm was somehow more frightening than the raging whirlwind had been. From far off, across the hall, down the stairs and through a tunnel, Ardeth saw a brilliant white light flare into life, and he felt fear, down to the bottom of his soul. There was no light source known to man that would glow that brilliantly, streaming through the cracks and fissures of the ruined pyramid like a newly birthed sun. A light like that was a sign of the gods moving among men, and signaled the release of some enormous, terrible power, and the thought of what it meant curdled the blood in his veins.
He had no time to spare. He must find Eliana and try to repair whatever damage she had inadvertently caused, before it was too late. Running now, navigating by the glow that streamed down the tunnels and lit up most of the great hall, he called out to her as ran down the steps three at a time.
"Eliana! Stop! Whatever you are doing, stop!" But his words were washed away and drowned in the deafening roar of thunder that shook the pyramid to its core. No sooner had the echoing rumble died away, than the wind returned, stronger this time than before. It whipped and roared through the confined space of the hall, and Ardeth was spun around in its wake, groping for a handhold, an anchor to hold him in place while he rode out the storm.
For endless minutes, the wind battered him, and he feared that if it lasted much longer, he would lose his grip and be carried off. Finally, after a seeming eternity, it died to a mere whisper, and then simply faded away. Cautiously, he had scrambled to his feet, and now, here he was, stranded in the unnavigable darkness, for the light had faded along with the dying wind.
He was reluctant to turn, fearing it would disorient him further, so he simply looked around, hoping to see something, anything, even the merest hint of a glow of light or even an area of less dense darkness, which could point the way to the entrance. He resigned himself to going back for a flashlight, for there was no way he would be able to find Eliana without one. It would cost him valuable time, and force him to explain himself to the others, who would surely be up above by now, tinkering with the diamond capstone, but there was no avoiding it. Something had happened here, and he had to find Eliana and get her out, before things got any worse. And that meant he needed a light.
He turned his head to the right, and his eyes, now used to seeing only dark, picked out a faint trace of light coming from that direction. It occurred to him that this was rather strange, since he had come down the stairway to get there, and it seemed that the light should have been coming from above. But this light was at his level, and in the opposite direction from which he thought the entrance was located. Suddenly, he realized that it could well be Eliana with a flashlight that he was seeing, and he turned in that direction, slowly making his way towards the far off glow, in a hurry but unable to hurry, and he fumed in disgust at his helplessness.
And then that light, too, faded away. Ardeth was alone in the dark yet again.
Eliana moaned again, and screwed her eyes shut tight against the pain that throbbed through her head. It felt like she had split her skull wide open. For the moment, the pain was centered near her left temple, but the rest of her didn't feel much better. She felt like she had been tossed around in a hurricane, and she wouldn't be surprised if she was one solid black and blue bruise when she finally got out of there. And she meant to get out of the pyramid as soon as she found the damn flashlight.
So, the Scepter of Osiris, if that's really what it was, was a hoax. It hadn't worked. Had she really expected it to? Here she was, lying in the dark, flashlight gone, head bruised and bleeding. So much for flights of fancy. There was a lesson to be learned in that, somewhere, but for now she just wanted to get out. She'd think about what had and hadn't happened later, when she was back at the camp, safe and sound. Blinding flashes of light? Rushing winds? A lot of what had happened after she had placed the spear into its receptacle on the altar was a blur, mixed up and confused after the blow to her skull, but she definitely remembered the light flashing from the spear, and the wind. How could she forget the wind? And she remembered the vision she'd had—thought she'd had—prior to any of those things.
The rational, logical Eliana sensed a weakness and moved in quickly, categorizing and explaining away most of the phenomenon. The vividness of the vision, the life-like quality to it, could be attributed to its being a waking dream of some sort, brought on by the ongoing stress of the dig itself and Eric's illness. Who knew what kind of tricks the mind could play when it was stretched to the breaking point? The light? Well, it could have been a reflection of the flashlight's beam off the spear, magnified and focused by the planes and angles of the star on top. The wind? That was hardest to explain, but given a few moments, her adept brain came up with a reasonable answer, after all.
There was a phenomenon in some caves—and the underground pyramid could be considered a cave of sorts—where the wind rushed in and out in response to changing air pressure on the inside and outside. Eliana remembered one cave she'd visited, during her teen years, in the Black Hills of South Dakota—Wind Cave, she thought it was called—where the constant changes in pressure not only created a powerful wind that streamed into and out of the cave at times, but also caused a high-pitched scream as the blast of air exited the cave's mouth. Certainly some sort of phenomenon like that could be at work here. As for it all having happened simultaneously, well, that was obviously a very strange coincidence.
Now that she'd tied the whole series of events up into a nice, tidy package, Eliana sighed. There was no reason for her to feel depressed, except for the fact that she was trapped underground in a partially collapsed pyramid without a light. There was no reason for her to feel alone, except for the fact that no one in the entire camp knew where she was or how long she'd been gone. There was no reason for her to feel guilty, except for… Well, she didn't know why she felt guilty. She felt desolate, horribly alone, and an unremitting sense of guilt was hovering like thick fog all around her, shrouding her soul. None of any of it made sense, and she couldn't think of it now, or she'd go crazy. Now, she had to get out of here.
Not moving too quickly, because any sudden motion sent a sharp blast of pain shooting through her head, Eliana groped around on the floor for the flashlight with her free hand. She was still clutching the robe with the other, and for some reason, she still couldn't bear to let go of it, irrational or not. So one hand would have to do. She knew that the flashlight had fallen near her, and it was only a matter of time before she found it. Then, she could only hope that it had been the switch that was hit in the fall, and that the light still worked. If not, she didn't know what she would do, because she certainly couldn't manage to get out of here with no light. The memory of picking her way across the chasm on that toppled pillar was still fresh in her mind, and she had no desire to repeat the experience in the pitch dark that surrounded her now.
After sweeping across the floor several times, she was finally rewarded when her fingertips touched the cool plastic barrel of the light. Reaching, stretching, she gathered it up and was about to test the switch, when she heard the movement. The sound of soft footsteps coming towards her. The sound of breath being inhaled and exhaled. She realized she was not alone in here, in the dark, and panic overwhelmed her. Someone, something, was inexorably making its way towards her, and she was terrified, frozen into place, trying to breathe only the shallowest of breaths, to somehow pretend she wasn't there. Who was there? A thought, a possibility, flashed through her mind, causing a funny little leap in her heart, but she immediately squashed it. No, she was not going there, she wouldn't even consider the idea.
Suddenly, she felt the person, the thing, whatever it was, step onto the folds of the robe she cradled in the crook of her arm, and she was trapped. Whatever was there was too close for her to get away, and she doubted that she could move fast enough anyway, even if the distance had been greater. The only course of action left open to her was to play opossum and remain as still as possible. She held her breath, waiting for what would come next, gripping the flashlight in her hand, ready to use it as a weapon if necessary.
And then he touched her. She felt the brush of fingers over her bare forearm, and at the touch, ripples of awareness swept through her, lighting fires along every nerve path in her body. It was like touching a live electric current, or being struck by lightning. The shock, the jolt of the connection, was so strong that she thought surely her skin must have been scorched by it. She had felt something like this—a blinding flash of knowing that transcended mere visual identification—when she'd met Ardeth. That moment of pure, primal recognition, though, was as different to this one as the moon was to the sun. She knew this man, and she knew him well, and her soul had been forever changed by the knowing.
He must have felt something as well, for at the first brush of skin against skin, he jumped back, and she could hear his breath catch, and then start up again, harsher, quicker than before. He seemed just as disturbed by the contact as she. But then, seconds later, his hands were back, unbelievably gentle this time, closing over her wrists, sliding up to her elbows, up towards her shoulders, and then one of his warm, strong hands was cupping the curve of her face.
For one last time, Eliana's logical brain screamed at her to get up and get out of there. But the tiny, puny argument it made—that she had no idea who he was, or how he had gotten here, or why he was touching her in such a familiar and intimate way, was swept away utterly by the sheer, joyous welcome that shouted from her soul and echoed through her mind. Her body, too, welcomed his touch, reacting to the feel of his hands on her skin like wax in a burning candle, melting away into a pool of liquid heat, her insides growing warm and heavy, and constricting in a not unpleasant spasm of sensation.
She closed her eyes, and rubbed her cheek against his palm, and then she heard his voice, and the words he spoke, and the lilting, melodic cadence of the ancient tongue washed over her. The words themselves made no sense, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. All of her senses were focused on the touch of the hand cradling her cheek, the warm, musky scent of the man kneeling in front of her, and the sound of his rich, beautiful voice. She felt cradled in a cocoon of pure sensation, pure emotion, and she never wanted the feeling to end.
Had the Scepter worked, then, in the end? Had she somehow managed to unleash its dark magic and bring the priest back to her from whatever hell had imprisoned him? Or was she simply dreaming again? She thought she was awake, but perhaps not. Perhaps the blow to her skull had been more severe than she'd thought. Either way, he was here with her, and right now, that was all that mattered.
She reached out, loosening her grip on the robe, and felt it slide out of her hand and to the floor, forgotten. Her palm touched warm flesh, sliding over the smooth muscles of his shoulder, down his bare arm, skimming over his ribcage to his chest, and ending up over his heart. She felt him draw in a breath as she touched him, and his hand fell away from her face. Seconds later, his grip on her shoulders tightened, and he was pulling her up from the floor and into his arms, crushing her to him in a fierce embrace that stole her breath away. She welcomed the irresistible strength of his arms around her, and turned her head so that her lips pressed lightly against the bare, smooth skin of his chest, savoring the warmth and intimacy of the contact.
Still murmuring to her in the old language, he gently put his fingers beneath her chin, and tilted her face up to his. She paid no attention to what he was saying at all, the melodic cadence of the words simply becoming a background symphony to the pounding of her heart and the rushing of her blood. The flow of words died to a whisper, she felt his warm breath on her lips, and then he kissed her.
When their lips touched, softly at first, gently, Eliana thought that the world had stopped turning. Or maybe it had begun to spin faster. Whatever the case, her own personal world had been knocked off its axis, and was rotating in some crazy orbit, blindly spinning around this man, this moment, the feel of his lips on hers. In this instant of time, he was the center of her universe, and nothing else mattered. Her lips parted under his, and the kiss grew deeper, more demanding, filled with a passion and an aching desperation that she felt to the depths of her soul. The kiss itself was purely erotic, druggingly sensual, his lips and tongue moving over hers in seductive perfection; but it was the feeling of absolute rightness of being in his arms, the feeling that her soul had finally found its missing half that carried the real power. The darkness of the pyramid's interior wrapped around them like a warm, soft blanket, shielding them from reality, surrounding them in a hazy twilight world of feeling and sensation, and she surrendered herself utterly to the kiss, and to the man. There was nothing else, no one else.
She lifted her arms around his neck, to hold him more closely to her, and as she did so, the flashlight that she still gripped fell away, hitting the stone floor with a resounding thud, and the fickle switch turned on, flooding the small space around them with light. Startled, they separated, the kiss ending abruptly, both of them pulling back from each other, blinking at the sudden brightness. Senses still reeling from the kiss, Eliana raised her hand to her lips, and her eyes to his, and in them she saw…
Confusion. Puzzlement. A perplexed bewilderment that gave way first to uncertainty, then to doubt, then to shock, and then finally, slowly, to a careful neutrality of expression that was frightening in the degree of control it bespoke.
Imhotep leaned back, his hands on his knees, cautiously putting a distance between them, not sure what to believe, yet, or what to think, or what to hope. He had been so sure, so positive of who she was, and from her response to his touch, she had known him as well. But now, in the light, he could see that she looked nothing like Anck-su-namun, nothing like the woman she had been—in either her first life, or her reincarnation as Meela. But what did that mean? He had touched her; he had recognized her aura, her soul's signature. She was Anck-su-namun. Surely he had not become that desperate, that deranged, as to imagine it all…
Carefully, he reached out and lifted her hand in his, and the tingle of awareness surged through him again. No, the aura was the same, he had not been wrong. He stared at her hand, turning it over in his, eyes taking in the light skin, the short, neatly trimmed nails, the calluses on the palms. These were not Anck-su-namun's hands. Anck-su-namun's hands had been long, elegant, with slim, graceful fingers and smooth, olive skin. These were the hands of a stranger. Lifting his head again, he met her eyes.
"Who are you? You are not Anck-su-namun. Who are you?" Then, as an unwelcome fragment of possibility came crawling into his mind, he asked another question, perhaps more pertinent than the first. "What year is this?"
Eliana gaped at him. All of the warm, languorous feelings that still lingered from the kiss drained out of her in a nauseating rush and left her with a sick, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. She stared at him, taking in the bronze, bare skin, the handsome, arrogant features, the aura of power and command that he wore so effortlessly. Without a doubt, this was the priest from her dreams. Without a doubt, they had just shared a mind-numbing kiss. Without a doubt.
Suddenly, the colossal impossibility of the whole bizarre situation came crashing down around her, and she was filled with doubt, and uncertainty, and fear. Good God, what had she done? What had happened? What was still happening? There were two possibilities—either she was awake, or she was dreaming.
Panicking, Eliana grabbed the flashlight and shone it around the room. The familiar ruins of the temple sanctuary surrounded her. The black robe lay by her side on the floor. She touched her head, and gingerly felt the painful lump on her left temple. Were you supposed to dream in this kind of detail? Were you supposed to be able to touch, smell, see and hear with this kind of vividness in a dream? And don't forget taste, she added, with a tinge of self-mockery. The taste of his mouth still lingered on hers, a vivid reminder of what had just passed between them.
No, Eliana thought, answering her own question, dreams are not this real, this vivid. The entire situation was feeling not very dream-like, and that left her with only three frightening possibilities. Either she had hit her head extremely hard and done some real damage that was bringing on this life-like hallucination, or she had gone completely mad and was making up some alternate reality, or she had worked some sort of ancient Egyptian hocus-pocus with a banged-up, dented artifact, and the man from her dreams had walked straight out of her subconscious and was at this very moment sitting right in front of her. Yelling at her in some strange language.
No, not yelling. Asking her something. She could tell that much from the inflection alone. But what? She assumed that the language was ancient Egyptian—which, in theory, she knew—but her confused mind wouldn't cooperate and make sense of the words and the phrasing. He spoke too quickly, and the sound of the words of a dead language actually being spoken was vastly different than reading them on paper. It was easy to translate his words in her dreams—effortless, even. The subconscious had amazing abilities. But doing so in reality was something else entirely. And why was she even worried about translating his words? Either one of the first two possibilities—that she was either severely injured or quite mad—were eminently more believable, and acceptable, than the third. But they didn't feel quite as accurate.
Yanking her hand out of his and holding both of her palms out towards him, as if warding him off, she scooted backwards, shaking her head in confusion and dismay as she increased the space between them. He watched her as she backed off, and he was silent now, that blank, inscrutable look still on his face. Imhotep could see that the woman was frightened, not necessarily of him, specifically, but of something. And she was injured. A thin trail of dried blood snaked down from the small gash on her temple, and he could see the bruised welt there. With an emotional self-control that had been honed to a steely, absolute resolve in the timeless crucible of the Hom Dai, he forced his useless, pointless emotions away, relegating them to the ashes, where they belonged. Finally, he spoke again, deliberately softening his tone, making it less accusatory, less emotionally charged, but no less relentless.
"Who are you? We are in the Pyramid of Ahm Shere, are we not? What are you doing here?" And then, softer still, "What year is it?"
The language was the same, but he was speaking more slowly, now, and Eliana could almost make sense of it. Almost, but not quite. Shaking her head, she reflexively answered in English. "I'm sorry; I don't understand what you're saying." I don't understand what he's saying, I don't understand what's happening, I don't understand any of it. God, what is going on here? She tried to calm herself, but the panicked thoughts kept racing through her mind, over and over. This simply couldn't be happening. It was impossible—all of it was utterly impossible.
Imhotep grimaced. Not again! Once more, the harsh, foreign sound of the English language accosted his ears. Was it possible that the language of Egypt, the greatest civilization on earth, had been so completely replaced by this unmelodic, guttural tongue? There could be no other explanation. The only people he had been capable of communicating with in the old tongue during his last two risings had been the academics, the scholars, those who specialized in the study of the great kingdom and its language. Evelyn Carnahan. The museum curator. And, of course, Anck-su-namun. Fiercely, he pushed the thought of Anck-su-namun from his mind. He would not, could not think of her. Not now. Scowling, he remembered that he had also managed to speak in his language to the boy, O'Connell's son, but that was due to the telepathic sleight-of-hand afforded him by the Hom Dai, and the openness of the child's mind. That option was no longer at his disposal. He considered again. Maybe…and a memory clicked into place.
He switched to Hebrew, the language of the slaves. "Is this language familiar to you?"
Imhotep saw comprehension dawn in Eliana's eyes, and he knew that she had heard him, and understood, although the fear was still in her eyes. How the language of the Hebrew slaves had managed to survive the millennia, while the language of the great Egyptian culture had apparently died out, he couldn't imagine. But at least the language barrier could be breached.
"I can see that you understand. Answer me, then. Who are you, and what is this place? Why are you here? What year is it?"
"Who am I?" The perfectly accented Hebrew flowed smoothly off her tongue, her nimble linguist's brain easily making the mental translation, now that she was working with a language she knew well. And with the switch to the familiar Hebrew, all of Eliana's mental defense mechanisms slammed into place, going into a panic-driven lock-down mode. All of the openness to possibility and wonder that she had embraced in the moments before she'd used the Scepter were gone, banished by the practical, twenty-first century mind that she had determinedly sculpted for herself over the course of her life, in reaction to her childhood trauma. And that mind took stock of this situation, and totally rejected it. This man couldn't be who he seemed to be—he simply couldn't. That left her with the unappetizing, but very real, possibility that she had just been passionately kissing a complete stranger, and a potentially dangerous one, at that.
"I think that the better question is: Who are you?" Her words were clipped, indignant. "And 'this place' happens to be the middle of my father's dig. Ahm Shere. We're in the pyramid. But you must have known that. How else would you have gotten here? And what do you want? And what on earth do you mean, what year is it? It's 2001."
Imhotep closed his eyes tightly when he heard the year, knowing that he now had his answer. It explained so much. Why her mind reacted to him as a stranger, while at the same time her body responded to his like a lover. Why he recognized her as Anck-su-namun, and yet she so obviously wasn't. Not always did reincarnation result in identical features and appearances, as it had in her rebirth as Meela. Apparently, that was the case this time.
He stared into her eyes for a long, timeless moment, and he knew. She may have been Anck-su-namun, and Meela, and countless others before that, but she was now someone else entirely. And even though at some deep, primal level her soul still knew his, the rational, conscious part of her mind had no idea who he was, or who she had been. Her ka was identical, unchanging, but the ba, the essence of Anck-su-namun, the spirit that he had finally managed to bring back and join with her ka in the body of Meela, was gone once again, lost somewhere in the tangled paths of the underworld. He told himself not to care, for through this revelation, he had another answer, as well. His rash, futile hope that she had, in the end, returned to help him withered and died, and was gone. He had been right in the first place. She had left him to die, hanging on that ledge in the crumbling pyramid.
So be it. Imhotep was nothing if not a survivor. He had survived before; he would survive now. He would complete the task that Amun-Re had set before him, and then he would enter the afterlife. It would be over, then, for good, and perhaps his soul could find peace.
Imhotep stood, towering over her, and Eliana shrunk back. He was tall, taller even than she had imagined, and for the first time she noticed what he was wearing, and mental warning bells went off again. From the top of his clean-shaven head to the bottoms of his bare feet, he was the image of an Egyptian priest, and a high-ranking priest at that. The scarab pectoral resting on his chest, the kilted loincloth fastened around his waist, the leather gauntlets, the braided cords tied around his biceps… All added to the picture, and the picture was a familiar and poignant one to Eliana. He was the living epitome of the man she'd dreamed of, seen in her vision. Every detail, each small nuance of looks or mannerism was captured in perfect detail in this flesh-and-blood man standing before her. How much more proof do you need, she wondered silently. How much more is necessary before you finally accept what has happened?
He watched as the woman cringed away from him, and he was suddenly, fiercely angry. Angry with the gods, for putting him in this untenable situation; angry with her, for what she had done to him in her past life, and for looking at him now with such fear and loathing, as though he were some sort of vermin; and angry with himself—first, for being such a fool those three thousand years ago; and now, for allowing himself the luxury of anger. No more. Foolish sentiment was the real curse—it was the first link in this endless chain of suffering, and he would no longer allow it to exist within himself. Again, he clamped down on his emotions, and focused instead on what he must do to answer the god's demand.
He now knew where he was, and what year it was, but nothing more. If he were to have any hope in accomplishing this task, he would need more than that. And she was going to have to give him the answers he required. It was the least she owed him, he thought, grimly. Going over in his mind what she had already told him, he pondered over the unfamiliar term she had used to describe Ahm Shere.
"You said this was your father's 'dig.' What is a dig?"
"A dig?" The sudden change in his demeanor, and the deliberate, controlled calmness with which he asked the question, threw her. She understood him perfectly, but her expression was puzzled, confused, and she stuttered over her response. "A dig is, you know, an archaeological site…" She frowned, wondering if she was somehow using an incorrect word. "Scientists digging in the earth to uncover artifacts from ancient civilizations?"
"Digging in the earth? Why would these people be digging for anything in the Oasis of Ahm Shere?" His tone was disbelieving, scoffing. "There is nothing below it but the sands of the desert from which it sprung."
"You've got that a little backwards, haven't you?" Eliana looked up at him in true bewilderment. "The desert's on top. Ahm Shere is buried beneath it. We're digging it up."
Suddenly, the last minutes of his life, and Ahm Shere's terrible implosion became clear to him. With the Scorpion King's defeat, his kingdom had gone with him, back to the desert, erased from the face of the earth. "Ahm Shere is buried beneath the sand? The Oasis is gone?"
Eliana nodded, and then added, "Well, it's gone until my father replaces the diamond capstone. There seems to be some evidence that it is the key to restoring the Oasis." She kicked herself mentally. Now why did I tell him that? What we do at the site is none of his business, no matter who he is.
At her words, Imhotep felt a chill. They would bring back the Oasis of Ahm Shere? After the gods had seen fit to bury it once more? Could this be what would unleash the plague that Amun-Re had foretold?
"They have not yet done this thing? They have not replaced the diamond?" His words reflected a deep concern, regardless of his determination to remain aloof, distant from the situation.
Eliana stared at him, surprised and taken aback by his anxiety. Why should he care about the diamond, or about Ahm Shere? Her answer, when it came, was slow, measured. "The diamond is not here. It is in a museum in London. It is being flown here, and then it will be replaced. As far as I know, it hasn't arrived yet."
The relief in his eyes was obvious. "When will it arrive?"
"I have no idea. The man who's bringing it could be here at any time. What difference does it make?"
Imhotep had no desire to explain himself, especially to her, and so he simply ignored the question. If the diamond wasn't here yet, he still had time. Time to find out what he could about this excavation, time to learn more about what they had already discovered, time to formulate a plan. Time, even a little, was all he needed. And time, of course, was the one thing fate was determined to take from him.
The trek from the camp to the dig was not a long one, and the four men made it quickly, although they walked at a normal pace. John Bernstein led the way, flanked by Akil Hamid and Charles Harvey. As they walked, Hamid explained what they had uncovered so far, and what they still hoped to find, and in his own quiet way, reinforced Bernstein's more succinct and less tactfully stated opinion on the importance of the Carnahan diamond. Robert Price followed behind, content to simply listen and observe, his diplomat's eyes and ears missing nothing in the body language or verbal nuances of the men.
Charles, who was still suffering from a bruised and smarting ego thanks to his week-old phone conversation with Bernstein, said little, simply nodding and occasionally emitting a noncommittal one word response to Hamid's monologue. Bernstein, on the other hand, wasn't paying any attention to the conversation at all. Now that he was actually on his way to doing something constructive, something exciting, all his attention was focused there. Thoughts of other people's egos, his daughter's whereabouts, and even Eric's illness faded into background noise. Ahead, a sleeping Ahm Shere waited for them, patiently resting beneath the sands, its gleaming, golden beauty only partially uncovered. All that was needed was them, and the key they carried with them, to awaken it from its slumber. Or so they hoped.
The little group finally reached the dig, and Akil Hamid played the tour guide, pointing out where they had found the Pygmy skeleton and the many spots they had begun to dig in but had then given up on. Finally, he pointed towards the central pit, and the pièce de résistance, the pyramid of Ahm Shere. Even Charles, confirmed cynic and desktop archaeologist that he was, couldn't stifle the gasp of appreciation when he first saw the sunlight winking off the gleaming, sloped sides. Even buried almost up to its tip in sand, the structure was still beautiful, and the small portion of it that they had cleared simply emphasized the teasing promise of what remained hidden below.
Cautioning them to be careful and watch their step, Bernstein led the way down the rickety ladder that leaned against the side of the pit, offering access to the pyramid. Once he was down, and the case containing the diamond was safely resting on the ground, he waited for the less sure-footed Charles to slowly pick his way down the ladder. Robert Price followed, and Hamid picked up the rear. Finally, the little group was assembled on the floor of the pit, and Bernstein retrieved the case, waving to the others to follow him. He stopped at the base of the pyramid, and gently laid the case on its side. Slowly, almost reverently, he opened it, and Hamid and Robert gasped when they saw what it contained. Hamid, of course, had seen the diamond before, but always in a carefully maintained museum environment, never out in the open, brilliant light of the desert, and the magnificent glare from the many faceted gem momentarily blinded him. Robert had never seen it at all, and he was simply struck dumb by the sheer size of the thing. Bernstein was silent as well, but more from a sort of awed wonder—the kind of reaction that one usually reserves for moments spent in the presence of a holy artifact. Clearly, to him, the diamond could be considered such an item. Charles, of course, knew perfectly well what was inside the case, and had seen the diamond many times, so the only reaction from him was a sort of disdainful huffing sound.
Another ladder leaned against the side of the pyramid, and, still staring at the huge gem, Bernstein pointed it out, telling the others how he wanted to handle replacing the diamond. "Akil, you go up first, and find a spot near the top that offers a good foothold. Charles and Robert will follow you, and I'll come up last, bringing the diamond. When we're all there, we'll put the thing on top and see what happens."
In his usual agreeable manner, Akil scrambled up the shaky wooden rungs of the ladder, finding a suitable spot at the top, and motioning to Charles and Robert to follow him. Soon, the three of them were perched above, watching as Bernstein carefully removed the diamond from the case, wrapped it gently in his coat, and carefully made his way up to them.
The very tip of the pyramid was flat, as they had discovered before, and contained the strange circle of glyphs that Eliana had translated. Now, Hamid produced a small brush from his coat pocket, and swiped it over the surface several times, removing most of the dirt and grime that had settled there. He looked expectantly at Bernstein.
"John, are you ready? I assume you would like to do the honors?" This last was said with a hint of humor, since Hamid knew full well that Bernstein would likely kill anyone who tried to usurp his role in placing the diamond on the pyramid's tip. It was his rightful role, after all—this was his dig, his pyramid, and his little magical experiment. Smiling at Bernstein's glare, Hamid waved him forward. "Come, come, John—I was simply teasing you. Please. Set the capstone into place."
Leaning his hip against the sloped side, Bernstein carefully unfolded his coat from around the diamond, exposing it to the clear sunlight of Northeast Africa. Its glare was brilliant, blinding, glorious, as though it was a small sun that had come down from the heavens to grace them, for a moment, with its unmatched beauty. They had to shield their eyes from the sheer radiance, and still it dazzled them, its light shining out like a beacon.
Bernstein looked at each of the men in turn, measuring their readiness for the undertaking. "Are we ready, then?" he asked, wanting to make sure they were prepared for whatever was to come. "Akil has filled you in on what the inscription said, is that correct?" At their nods, he went on. "We don't know what, if anything, will happen when I put this thing in place, but we have to be ready for anything. At worst, nothing will happen. At best, Ahm Shere will be reborn." He repeated his first question.
"Are you all ready?" One by one, they nodded. "All right, then, boys, here we go!"
With a grunt, Bernstein heaved the heavy diamond up and into place on top of the pyramid, where it rested, slightly off-kilter, twisted sideways, not resting properly on the flat top. With a sharp pull, he levered it into position, squaring it up against the sides of the structure itself. It fit perfectly, sliding nearly effortlessly into place, and the alignment was straight and true, as if it had indeed been made to fit. With a small cry of triumph, he crowed to the others, "See there? Look at that, then! No question but that it was made to fit!" Rubbing his hands together in glee, he radiated sheer jubilation and excitement, looking into the faces of the other men, expecting to see the same emotions reflected in theirs. What he found was nothing of the sort. He looked at them again, then back at the diamond capstone, and then he scowled.
"What is the matter with you people? Look there—it fits!" He pointed to the diamond, which twinkled brightly back at him.
"Um, John," Charles cleared his throat. "I hate to be the one to tell you this," and his slightly superior tone gave lie to that statement. "But I must say, old man, that nothing seems to be happening…"
Bernstein's gaze snapped to Charles. "Are you blind, man? The thing fits on there perfectly! Like it was made for it! We just need to give it a bit of time…"
Charles voice was mocking. "Ah—the recipe for restoring lost oases calls for a specified amount of time, then? What amount of time would that involve, John? An hour? A day? A year, perhaps? A few millennia?" He snorted, trying to hold back his laughter.
"You ignorant fool, can't you see that this diamond is obviously the capstone?" Bernstein was angry now, his raised voice issuing a clear warning to Charles. "Have you buried yourself in paperwork for so long that you are completely oblivious to the finer points of field archaeology? Or are you just stupid?"
An angry retort was just forming on Charles' tongue, when Hamid's hand on his arm silenced him. Turning to the Egyptian, fury in his eyes, he saw that Hamid was quietly pointing upwards, towards the sky. His gaze following the gesture, Charles froze, open-mouthed, and the rebuttal he had been about to make to Bernstein's insult died in his throat.
"Gentlemen, I suggest that you look to the sky," Hamid's voice was hushed, reverent, as he addressed the men. He continued to point upwards. "It seems that something is happening, indeed."
As one, the men turned their faces towards the sky over them, and as one, they gaped. Storms in the desert were rare, but they happened, and no one would have thought the presence of a few clouds over this patch of southeastern Sudan to be that unusual. But this was different.
The sky above them, which had only moments ago been clear blue and cloudless for as far as the eye could see, was now boiling with a thick, ominous cloud cover. The clouds had come from nowhere, and from everywhere, billowing in from all directions into a thick, writhing morass of condensed moisture and air that circled, funnel like, directly overhead. The circling thunderheads were slate gray tinged with black, holding all the promise of nature's fury and magnificence. Within them, thunder rumbled threateningly, and streaks of lightning arched through them, painting them from within in shades of pinkish orange gold. The wind, which moments before had been a mild desert breeze, was gathering strength, and gusted strongly against them.
Bernstein looked at Hamid, his usually robust manner strangely subdued. "When did this blow in?"
Hamid's voice held the same tone of fearful awe. "They started building the moment you wrested the capstone into place."
Just then, lightning streaked down from the clouds, hitting the ground a half-mile away from them, and a clap of thunder split the air in a deafening barrage of sound. From the direction of the lightning strike, the smell of ozone drifted to them and lingered in the air. Seconds later, another lightning strike rent the air, followed by a third, and a fourth, and suddenly, lightning was dancing all around them, coming from all directions, moving closer and closer to what seemed to be the focal point of the storm. The pyramid. And them.
"Get the hell down from here! Now!" Bernstein roared, his voice drowned out by the nearly continuous roll of echoing thunder. "This thing is one big damn lightning rod—get the hell off! Move it!" He flung his coat away, and slid down the ladder to the ground, in a move that would make much younger men envious. He left the diamond in place, not giving it a second thought. Wasting no time, Robert Price followed him down, and Charles awkwardly followed. Only Hamid was left.
Just as the Egyptian was about to turn and go down the ladder, the sky directly above the pyramid boiled even more furiously than before, and the circular movement of the clouds intensified. From above, thunder crashed and roared, and a deathly beautiful, immensely powerful flash of lighting streaked down, hitting the capstone dead center, jarring the entire structure, and knocking Hamid off balance. Arms flailing, legs kicking, he flew backwards, hitting the ground below with a sickening thud.
Bernstein moved to help him, but then stopped, his eye caught and transfixed by the diamond on top of the pyramid. Rather than being shattered by the lightning strike, it glowed more brilliantly than before, its surface nearly transparent, its depths glowing and roiling with an immense power, almost as if it had managed to suck up all of the potency of the lightning and absorb it into itself. It glowed, sun-bright, and suddenly, from all of its facets, in simultaneous splendor, laser-like beams of pure energy burst forth, emanating in all directions, shining as bright as the light of a million stars.
Bernstein dropped to his knees beside Hamid, still staring at the spectacle, and his mouth dropped open in awe. It was like watching the birth of a sun—beautiful, horrible, awesome—and the sheer majesty of the scene left him speechless.
Suddenly, with a mighty quake, the earth moved beneath their feet, and the ground quivered, as though some mighty beast were coming awake deep within the bowels of the earth. Tiny cracks and fissures began to appear in the dirt floor of the desert, fanning and spreading out in a lace-like pattern in all directions. For a moment, the storm subsided, and silence lay all around them, the air thick with an abnormal heaviness. Their breathing rasped into the hushed stillness of the waiting desert, and they were afraid, rooted in place with stark terror.
Then, the earth heaved again, and the tremors began anew. Bernstein pointed wordlessly at the pyramid, and the four men watched as it began to rise, shaking off the covering of a million metric tons of sand and dirt as easily as if it had been air. From the outer edges of the pyramid's rapidly reappearing base, a hint of a green glow began to build, and another flash of lightning struck the diamond capstone.
Within moments, a wave of verdant green swept out from the pyramid, and the lush foliage of a tropical oasis began to thrust up from the arid desert sand. Huge trees burst forth from the ground, their trunks piercing through and climbing for the sky, their canopies blooming and spreading as they raced upwards. The tidal force of life rippled out in concentric circles from the pyramid, which continued to rise in a glorious, petrifying spectacle.
Bernstein gaped for a few more seconds, then picked up Hamid and slung him over his shoulder in a fireman's hold, not bothering to worry about whether or not he was injuring him further. Within a few seconds, they'd all be dead, anyway, if they didn't get the hell out of there right now. He turned to the other two men, and pointed into the rapidly thickening jungle growth in front of them. "Run! Run like hell, and don't look back! Head for the camp!" Not waiting to see if they followed, he plunged into the trees, Hamid bouncing on his shoulders.
Behind them, the pyramid continued to rise, as the Oasis of Ahm Shere effortlessly birthed itself from the womb of the barren desert.
Sabir, the cook, began preparing the evening meal. As he worked, he hummed tunelessly to himself, refusing to give in to a fit of temper. Everyone had disappeared earlier in the afternoon, leaving him to guess as to when dinner had to be ready. It was nothing he wasn't used to, though, so he tried to pay no attention to the inconvenience. He would simply make the meal, and they could eat it when they returned. If it was hot, that would be wonderful. If it was cold, it was their own fault, for not letting him in on their plans. Either way, he would be finished with his work.
As he stirred the bubbling pot of stew, he muttered to himself, going through a mental checklist of ingredients and spices. Realizing that he had forgotten the salt, he put down the ladle and walked towards the boxes where he kept his supplies. Usually, he had help with meal preparations, but the laborers were too skittish, and made him nervous, and so he had impatiently dismissed them all, shooing them off and telling them not to come back until they could manage to find their missing common sense.
Sabir pawed through the boxes, looking for the elusive spice, when a sudden movement caught the corner of his eye. He turned towards where he thought he had seen the disturbance, and saw that the only box in that corner was the storage crate where Eliana's Pygmy mummy was wrapped up, waiting to be packed and taken away to a museum somewhere. So what was over there? Some desert creature, wandering in to see what it could scavenge from the supplies? With a frown, Sabir turned and picked up the heavy ladle again, intending to scare off whatever interloper had traipsed in, looking for an easy meal. Stealthily, he made his way towards the crate, the ladle held menacingly overhead.
He looked behind the box, and saw nothing. He looked to either side, and saw nothing as well. He had seen no movement since that first flash of motion, and began to wonder if it was only his imagination. Still, he told himself, he should take a look in the crate to make sure that nothing had gotten in there to disturb the artifact.
Tentatively, with a healthy respect for the variety of creatures and insects that make the desert their home, Sabir reached out and removed the light scrap of cloth that covered the tiny skeleton. He quickly looked around in the box. No, there was nothing there. Ah well, he told himself. Better to have checked…
He laughed to himself, but the laugh was cut short in amazed terror as, with a flurry of tiny bones, the small skeleton suddenly gathered itself up and leaped out of the crate, landing on the edge and looking in an almost panicked manner in all directions. Seeing the horrified cook, the little Pygmy skeleton hissed at him, and made a menacing move forward. Suddenly, though, its attention was caught by something outside the tent, and with a last look and hiss in Sabir's direction, it ran off into the desert, heading in the general direction of the dig. Sabir watched, mouth gaping open in appalled shock, still holding the ladle over his head, as the Pygmy ran off towards the excavation.
He shook his head, trying to clear it, for surely his eyesight must have failed him. The middle-aged cook could have sworn that while it was running off, the skeleton was actually beginning to grow skin—with sinew and flesh forming spontaneously and flowing over the little body. Then, as he continued to watch, even as the unbelievably regenerating skeleton faded off into the distance, his eyes grew even wider, and he let out a terrified yelp of sound, dropped the ladle and ran for cover.
From the direction of the dig, a tidal wave of green was heading straight for the camp, obliterating everything in its path.
Imhotep looked at Eliana, wondering how best to extract the information he needed. He stubbornly pushed away the nagging pain that even looking at her caused him. His only concern, the only objective left to him now, was to ascertain how to fulfill the god's demand and move on to the afterlife. But he had no idea where to start. Amun-Re had told him of a plague. What plague? Was it somehow tied to the Oasis that these men were foolishly trying to restore to the living world? If so, he must find out quickly, and stop them. He looked away from her, glancing around the temple sanctuary, trying to determine, in the feeble light provided by the flashlight, what secrets could be hiding here, apart from the ones he was already intimately and horribly acquainted with.
His gaze drifted back to the woman, and he opened his mouth to ask her the most obvious question—What had they had already discovered during their explorations of the pyramid? His words, though, were cut short by a deep, grinding rumble that emanated from the depths of the earth beneath Ahm Shere. His gaze locked with Eliana's, and when he saw the panicked look in her eyes, he suddenly knew that he had run out of time. Somehow, fate had managed to once again win a round in this unending Senet game, blocking his move cleanly and with an almost poetic grace, before he could even form a strategy.
Eliana struggled to her feet, dragging the robe with her and grabbing the flashlight. For a few, precious seconds, they stood rooted to the ground, and silence blanketed the air all around them. Then, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, Ahm Shere's golden pyramid shuddered, a shaking, heaving quake that traveled from its tip to its foundation. The tremors continued to build in intensity and duration, and finally, with a last, final heave, the pyramid began to rise, resurrecting itself from the desert grave that had held it for almost seventy years.
Ardeth struggled through the darkness of the debris-littered great hall, trying to make his way towards where he had last seen light, still hoping that the dim glow might have been Eliana with a flashlight. It was impossible to navigate in the black gloom, though, and he was becoming increasingly worried that not only would he not be able to find her, but also that he would be stranded inside until someone else came in with a light. And Allah only knew what would have happened by then. With a muttered curse as his foot struck a fallen pile of stone, he was forced to stop, his searching hands determining that a fallen pillar completely blocked his path forward.
Had he been a lesser man, Ardeth would have simply given up and sat down, waiting until someone came to rescue him. He was a strong man, though, toughened by years spent living in the unforgiving desert and heartened by his Med Jai training, and he was not of a mind to give in. Conceding to fate's whimsy was simply not in his nature, no matter how hopeless the situation seemed. Steeling himself, he traced the line of the pillar with his hands, and slowly made his way around. Hopefully, this little detour would not seriously impair his sense of direction once he'd made his way past the obstacle…
Suddenly, the whole pyramid began to shudder, a series of small quakes wracking the structure from its tip to its foundation. Ardeth stood up, and the ground beneath his feet moved with the first shuddering tremors of Ahm Shere's awakening. For a moment, there was nothing, and he wondered if the structure had simply settled further down into the sand. In the next second, though, he knew that was not the case, for with the next series of rumbling quakes, the floor of the pyramid began to rise.
They have replaced the capstone. The thought raced through his mind, and filled him with panic. If they had indeed turned the mystical key that would result in the restoration of Ahm Shere, heaven only knew what other powers they had unwittingly unleashed. He was momentarily paralyzed, caught between his desire to find Eliana and get her to safety and his desire to get back outside to see what kind of chaos had been set free. But there was still the problem of being without a light, and now the situation was suddenly immeasurably worse. Not only was he trapped in the pyramid's inky blackness, but the pyramid had suddenly come alive, and was struggling to free itself from the earth.
And then Ahm Shere itself, in a kindly display of generosity, removed his biggest obstacle. In a wave of renewal that started from its very core and swept inexorably outwards, the pyramid effortlessly restored itself. In a blinding sweep, the tide of regeneration flooded past him, and Ardeth watched as the wall torches blazed into light, and the cracked and damaged walls came together, the lines and fissures growing together and then fading away, the paint of the murals brightening, becoming as vivid and colorful as the day they were completed, scores of centuries ago.
With a grinding roar, the pillar in front of him righted itself, as though an invisible giant's hand had suddenly picked it up and set it into place, and Ardeth jumped back, watching in open-mouthed shock as tons of debris, huge chunks of wall and ceiling, were all lifted effortlessly into place, the cracks and damaged areas left behind healing and fading away as though the stone itself were a living thing, being miraculously restored and rejuvenated by some divine surgeon.
Rocks and chunks of stone flew everywhere, and Ardeth covered his head and face with his arms to avoid being struck. Whatever the aging archaeologists had done up above with the diamond, it seemed to have had the effect they desired, for the pyramid of Ahm Shere was coming back to life in a frenzied fury. But where was Eliana? That she could be trapped in here, stranded in the middle of this chaos of renewal, horrified Ardeth, and his decision was made. He had to find her, and he had to find her now. The diamond be damned, the pyramid be damned, all of Ahm Shere be damned. He would not leave her alone in this nightmare. Whatever damage had been done, he would repair later. If they had somehow managed to raise more than just Ahm Shere, he would deal with it in good time. For now, finding Eliana and getting her out of here was his only concern.
Finally able to see, Ardeth turned towards the interior of the pyramid and ran deeper into the structure, dodging and ducking as chunks of rock sailed over his head, fitting into place in the walls and ceiling like the pieces of some colossal three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle. Eliana was down there somewhere, and he would find her. Everything else would have to wait.
"My God, the diamond must have arrived. They must have replaced it…" Eliana's voice as she stated that obvious conclusion was the barest whisper of sound. She stood rooted to the ground, her green eyes wide with shock, her face drained of all color. Around them, Ahm Shere groaned and shook with the pains of its own rebirth. Suddenly, every torch in the temple sanctuary blazed into flame, and the room was awash in light and fire.
There was no more time. If they didn't leave now, Imhotep knew that they stood a good chance of being killed in the paroxysm of renewal that was sweeping through the pyramid. If they could make it outside, it would be possible for them to find safety, even with the dangers he knew lurked everywhere in the jungle oasis. In here, they were sitting targets. He glanced at Eliana, and with a quick, assessing look sized up her capabilities. She was in an obvious panic, and he didn't know if she'd be able to move fast enough or think clearly enough to get out of here on her own. And she would undoubtedly slow him down. On his own, he stood a good chance of making it outside. Should he simply leave her? Abandon her like she had abandoned him? It would certainly be an elegant sort of poetic justice…
For a moment, he let a swift stab of anger towards her, towards the woman she had been, flare within his heart. Yes, it would be fitting retribution, indeed. She had left him alone to face Ahm Shere's death; he could leave her alone to face its rebirth. And yet, something held him back, some part of his heart unable and unwilling to abandon her to her fate. No, he would not leave her here. Whatever this woman had done as Anck-su-namun, or as Meela, no matter how deeply she had betrayed him, he could not, would not, leave her here. Once outside, once she was no longer in danger, then he could leave her, and his conscience would be clear. After all, what was she now, but a stranger to him? A new face, a new body, a new ba…the only thing left of Anck-su-namun was the soul, the ka, and that part of her was obviously deeply buried in this woman's subconscious. No, they were virtually strangers to each other, and it was just as well, for he didn't think he could ever forgive the betrayal. Now, allowing that they made it safely to the outside, he could walk away and not look back, and do so at least peacefully, if not happily. But if he left her here, trapped in this madness, he would never be free of the guilt.
With a quick lunge, he grabbed Eliana's hand, pulling her forward just as a chunk of rock careened past her, heading for a hole in the ceiling, where it fit itself into place and was absorbed. The forward momentum propelled her into him, and she fell forward, her body pressing up against his, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, sending a quick surge of awareness through her. She looked up into his face, where the cold glitter of his eyes and the hard line of his mouth told her that he was every bit as aware of their proximity. He put his hands on her shoulders, in a move that both steadied her and moved her away from him, and she didn't know whether to be relieved or upset. But a quick glance at the chaos surrounding them convinced her that she could worry about the state of her emotions later, when their survival was ensured.
"We must leave here, and reach the outside," he spoke quickly, urgently. "Once we are in the jungle, we can make our way to safety."
"J-jungle? There's no jungle out there, just miles of desert," The protest died a quick death under the scathing look he gave her.
"There may not have been jungle when you came here," he agreed, "but there will certainly be jungle when we leave this place." Not giving her a chance to argue further, he spun her around and pushed her towards the moat. He clearly intended for them to cross over the chasm via the bridge formed by the downed pillar before it had a chance to right itself. Eliana wasn't sure she liked that idea, but she didn't think they had many other choices, either. She ran towards it, looking quickly back over her shoulder to make sure he was following. And then her gaze fell on the altar. She faltered, and then stopped abruptly, and Imhotep grabbed her arm as he went by, pulling her along with an impatient look.
"Wait!" Eliana pulled her arm from his grasp and turned back, racing up the steps to the altar. She dropped both the robe and the light, and, frantically grabbing the shaft of the Scepter of Osiris with both hands, she yanked it out of the recessed opening that held it. Gathering up the other things, she raced back towards the moat, tossing the spear to the priest as she went by. "Here—take this!"
Had she looked back, she might have been gratified to see the look of shocked amazement on his face as he held the battered talisman in both hands, questions racing through his mind. How had he missed seeing this? And, more importantly, what had she been doing with it in the first place? But as more and more debris flew through the air, he realized that both questions would have to wait. Tearing his eyes away from the weapon, he looked up, to see her already halfway across the pillar. A look that might have been grudging admiration worked its way across his face, and then vanished, to be replaced by one of grim determination as he waited for her to jump off on the other side before making his own way across. He had taken no more than two steps off the makeshift bridge when it suddenly lifted and rose into the air, gliding smoothly into place on the far side of the chasm.
"Which way should I go?" Eliana screamed to him, but her voice was drowned out by the cacophony of sound surrounding them. Shielding her eyes from the flying bits of dirt and debris, she saw him point to the central tunnel. They ran for the tunnel opening, Eliana weaving along in front, trying to avoid the flying rocks, and Imhotep pushing her from behind. When at last they reached the relative calm of the tunnel, Eliana stopped, gasping for air. Roughly, Imhotep grabbed her by the arm and pushed her forward.
"We cannot stop. You cannot rest now. Move!" With a hard shove, he pushed her clear of the tunnel, and into the looming expanse of the great hall. Quickly looking around, Imhotep surveyed the interior of the vast room, running through decades-old memories to help him remember the way out. As he did so, he twisted the shaft of the spear in his hands, sliding the telescoping pieces together, transforming it effortlessly from spear to scepter. Collapsed in on itself in such a manner, the talisman was much easier to handle. He turned to Eliana, a look of grim determination on his face.
"We must cross the entire hall, go up the stairway, and down another passageway. Once there, we will find a tunnel to the outside. We cannot stop. Do you understand?"
Eliana stared at him, and at that moment, she didn't care who or what he was. She trusted him, trusted him implicitly, and if he had told her that they would need to climb up to the top of the pyramid and jump from its peak, she would have done so. There was something about him, some aura of command, of latent power, of unbridled competence and authority, that made her feel that he could do anything, and through him, she could as well. She nodded.
"Yes. I understand." He might have smiled, a small, brief flicker of encouragement, but Eliana wasn't sure, since he turned almost at once and dragged her after him, making for the stairs, and the exit. They sprinted across the hall, dodging this way and that as the remainder of the debris flew by, stopping only when they reached the seal of Anubis at the base of the staircase. There, the priest hesitated, coming to a brief halt as he stared for a moment at the gold and black mosaic. For a second only, he looked unsure, almost as if he were afraid to step on the intricate design. The moment passed, though, and with a quick shake of his head, the uncertainty was gone, and the expression of fierce determination was back. He stepped forward, again pulling her with him, and they crossed the seal without incident. Taking the steps two at a time, they reached the top quickly, and headed for the passageway down to the tunnel.
And at that moment, Ardeth Bay reemerged from the side tunnel leading to the temple sanctuary and saw them. At first, he couldn't believe his eyes, and stopped for a moment, frozen in shock. No! That was not possible! He had just been down to the temple, and no one was there! And then he realized that they could easily have passed each other, with them leaving through one of the other two tunnels as he made his way in via the third. His first reaction was relief, gratitude that Eliana was obviously safe—someone must have realized she was here and sent one of the workers in to get her. Thank Allah, she was safe!
"Eliana!" He yelled her name from across the great hall, starting across it at a run, thinking to catch up with them. Keeping his eye on the pair, he raced forward, darting through the flying rocks. Just a few steps more and he would reach the staircase.
At the top of the stairs, Eliana and Imhotep stopped, startled. Who on earth was down there, calling out to them? Imhotep saw him first, and stiffened, his face going rigid with hatred and a cold, icy fury. Even with the distance that separated them, he recognized the distinctive clothing and facial tattooing of a Med Jai, and apart from that, this man was the living, breathing image of another, one that had been the bane of his existence in the past. Ardeth Bay! How had the gods managed this little twist of fate? He stood and watched, eyes filled with loathing, mouth pulled into a grim line, as Bay reached the bottom step.
As Imhotep turned towards him, Ardeth got his first full glimpse of the man with Eliana, and froze, his steps faltering, coming to a halting stop at the bottom of the staircase. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, his dark skin lost most of its color, and he felt icy with fear. Could it be? But he already knew. Even without the visual clues—the kilted loincloth, the gleaming scarab pectoral, the shaven head and hairless body—he would have recognized The Creature anywhere. He had had the image of the priest burned forever into his consciousness through the rich, vivid history of his Med Jai forebears, passed on in stories and songs told round the campfires during ten thousand nights spent under the starry desert sky.
Stricken, he looked at Eliana, who had finally turned towards him as well. She looked confused, her glance darting between the two men as they simply stood in the hall, watching each other, neither making a move, even though the storm of Ahm Shere's rebirth was building to a climax all around them. They stood there, frozen in time, their gazes locked on each other, scarcely breathing. And then Ardeth broke the silence, his voice a mere whisper, as he gave name to The Creature before him.
"Imhotep."
The priest lifted his chin, and a haughty, arrogant look passed over his handsome, sculpted features. With a mocking little half-smile, he nodded in a defiant salute to the man standing below.
"Med Jai." The words were a curse, spat out through clenched teeth.
"Ardeth?" Eliana looked down at the Med Jai, the man she'd once feared, but had grown to care for and trust, and started towards him. She was stopped by the priest's iron grip on her arm. Glancing back at him, she swatted at his hand, trying to pull away, but his hold was unrelenting. He turned the cold, heartless brown of his gaze on her, and slowly, uncertainly, she stopped trying to pull away. "What's wrong?" The words were a whisper.
Ignoring her question, Imhotep pulled her tightly back against him, his hand going around her waist and resting possessively across her abdomen. Ardeth winced at the gesture of casual ownership, and stared into Eliana's eyes, his own brown gaze beseeching her to trust him once more, no matter how crazy his words would sound.
"Eliana, you must believe me. You cannot trust this man." He paused, uncertain how to continue. "He is no man—he is a Creature…"
Still holding Eliana against him, Imhotep glared at the Med Jai. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a large fragment of crumbled rock begin to move, shifting and rocking as it readied itself to move into place. Given a few more seconds, if the Med Jai were distracted…
"I am no more Creature than you, Med Jai. The curse placed by your forebears has been lifted, by the great god Amun-Re himself. You have no business with me. Now leave us!" As he had expected, and hoped, his words were enough of a distraction to keep the Med Jai from noticing the danger to himself. Suddenly, the huge boulder shifted, levitating effortlessly and flying through the air, making straight for the gaping hole in the fractured stairway, making straight for Ardeth Bay. At the last second, the Med Jai saw the peril he was in, and flung himself to the side. But he was a few moments too late, and the rock glanced off his leg as it wheeled past, knocking him off his feet and to the floor, where he rolled, clutching his leg in agony.
"Ardeth!" Her voice shrill with concern, Eliana tried frantically to pull away from the priest, but he held her with a careless strength and watched as Ardeth writhed on the ground below. Finally, when he was sure the Med Jai could see him, Imhotep pulled Eliana back towards him again, this time swinging her effortlessly up into his arms. He paid no attention to her struggling, simply ignoring her kicking legs, her pounding fists, and her angry demands to be put down. Instead, he smiled again, first at her and then at the wounded man, and the scornful derision in the twisting downturn of his lips managed to transform a simple facial expression into a slap.
With a last, mocking nod, Imhotep turned, still carrying the struggling Eliana in his arms, and headed for the passageway to the outside, leaving the wounded Med Jai to whatever fate, and his god, had in store for him.