Redemption

by Renee17

Seventy years have passed since the destruction of Ahm Shere. In the Sudanese desert, an archaeological team's discovery begins a chain of events that could end an ancient curse, or unleash a new one upon an unsuspecting world. COMPLETE.

15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Might of might. Splendor of splendor. This is the terror inherent in love; that such power may exist without reason, that death may be feared and lusted for as a woman, that passion gives rise to passion. I am moved by desire as if a boat transported me from horizon to horizon. What I have done for love, let it be held against me. I am a man whose heart is full.

--Excerpt from "Adoration of Ra", Egyptian Book of the Dead, as translated by Normandi Ellis

The full moon rode low on the horizon, just over the tree line, shining silvery yellow in the vast blue-black canvas of the night sky. Stars shone in the background, mute supplicants worshipping at the feet of the goddess of the night. A cool breeze drifted through the trees, fanning the jungle with blessed relief from the day's humidity. No sound broke the silence of the night, save the rustling of leaves and grasses in the wind. The jungle was as quiet as a tomb.

Eliana stirred to wakefulness, opened her eyes, and took in the scene spread out before her. She and the priest were lying on a narrow ledge, high above the floor of the ravine they had fallen into. Below, the green carpet of the jungle spread out in waves from the cliff face, painted silvery gold by the moon's illumination. Less than a meter behind her, the sheer rock of the cliff rose nine or ten meters straight up, forming a jagged, unscalable wall. Though the ledge they were on was narrow—perhaps two meters across at its widest point, it was long, stretching along the entire length of the cliff like rocky wainscoting. If they walked along it, Eliana thought that they might be able to find a point at which they could either climb up or down.

She looked over to her left, where the priest lay near her, one arm crossed over his chest, the other stretched out on the ground beside him, his head turned slightly towards her. She didn't remember much about the fall, except that he had managed to catch her hand at the last minute, pulling her with him up onto the ledge and to safety. After that, memory failed her. If she had to guess, though, she suspected that he had deliberately placed himself between her and the edge, once again using his body to shield her from danger. How many times, now, during the course of the day they'd spent together, had he protected her in such a way?

The priest was either asleep or unconscious. His eyes were closed, and his chest rose and fell deeply, evenly. He didn't seem to be injured in any way, but Eliana knew that a fall like they had taken could produce injuries not visible to the eye, and she was concerned that he was not awake. Propping herself up on one elbow, she turned to face him, studying his features in the bright moonlight that washed over them. That he was the man that had haunted her dreams, she no longer doubted. The questions she carried with her now involved the whys and the hows, not the whos or the whats. The answers to those questions had been staring her in the face for the past twelve hours or so, and she had simply come to accept them. Ahm Shere had been restored, the pyramid had been raised up from its resting place beneath the earth, and she had somehow managed to bring this man, this ancient Egyptian priest, back from whatever place he had been consigned to, after Ahm Shere's violent death many years ago.

Each time she looked at him, Eliana was struck anew by the sheer masculine beauty of his face and form. Now, with his features relaxed in sleep, his full lips slightly parted, he looked years younger, the characteristic arrogance of his expression softened and smoothed into one of almost boyish innocence. That hint of vulnerability spoke to her heart more than any show of strength could have, and with a hand that trembled slightly, Eliana reached out and gently traced the contours of his face—the sculpted planes and angles of his high forehead and cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, the strong line of his jaw, the soft fullness of his lips. Trailing her fingers over the smooth golden bronze of his skin, she memorized his features with her touch, committing them to her mind and heart. Had he been awake, her own inner cautiousness would never have allowed her to touch him like this, for she sensed the danger he represented to all of her carefully laid out guards and defenses. Asleep, though, he was non-threatening, irresistibly approachable, and she selfishly took full advantage. It was almost as though her senses had taken control of her mind, banishing her doubts and fears to a dark corner, allowing her deepening emotions full reign. Her hand dropped to his chest, partially exposed by the opening of the black robe, and once again, she traced over the warm bronze skin, lightly exploring the smooth contours of the flesh beneath.

She knew his name, had heard it many times in her dreams, heard it come from Ardeth Bay's lips, spoken with the same venom one would use in uttering a curse, but as yet the priest's name had not crossed her lips in this lifetime. She was almost afraid to utter the word, as though by giving a name to the man, she would be irrevocably setting forth on a path she didn't know if she could follow. Giving voice to the name meant accepting what had happened, what he was, what she had been. And yet, the syllables hovered on her lips, almost alive themselves, and finally, she released them on a sigh.

"Imhotep…"

As she whispered his name, her breath fanned his face, and she lifted her hand to once more touch his face. But so engrossed was she in the feel of him, the texture of his skin under her exploring touch, that she failed to notice his eyelids flicker and his breathing subtly change. Suddenly, with the speed of a striking cobra, her hand was trapped in his, his fingers wrapping around hers in a grip of pure steel, effortlessly holding her hand immobile. Shocked, her eyes flew to his, and her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the hot gleam in his eye for what it was…desire. Desire that was reluctantly, begrudgingly bestowed, and tinged with a bitter anger and an obvious distrust. She could see the emotions warring in the deep brown of his eyes, see the play of expression over his features. That he desired her was obvious. That he was disgusted with himself because of that desire was equally obvious.

She tried to pull her hand from his, but his grip was unrelenting, an iron shackle covered in silk. The heat of his touch permeated her skin, burning through layer upon layer of the shell she had painstakingly built around herself over the years, until it touched the raw nerves and from there traveled cell by cell through her entire body. Tears formed in her eyes as he gently but inescapably moved her hand and pressed it to his heart, holding it there with his, letting her feel the heat of his skin, the thud of his heart. Slowly, keeping her eyes locked with his, he raised her hand to his lips, pressing each fingertip to his mouth, unhurriedly taking his time, his lips tracing over every whorl of each of her fingerprints, tasting their unique shape and substance.

Once he had finished wreaking havoc with her hand, he slowly, inexorably increased the pressure on her arm, pulling her towards him until she was leaning over him, precariously balanced on one arm, looking down into his dark eyes, her reddish-brown hair falling forward over her shoulders, brushing against his chest. With a quick jerk, he pulled her off balance, and she collapsed on his chest, struggling to hold herself up and away from him with one hand. It was a useless struggle, though, one that she couldn't win, and if she were honest with herself, didn't want to.

Imhotep watched her closely, saw the answering desire in the green of her eyes, and saw the fear there, too. In a perverse, mean-spirited way, he was happy that she feared him, happy that she recognized that he was a danger to her, happy that she was as caught between conflicting emotions as he. This woman had caused him no end of grief, no end of trouble, and he was through with it. He would never again make the mistake of loving her, trusting her, believing in her and their love. Ah, but desire…desire was something else entirely.

It was odd…in this incarnation, she was as different from the Anck-su-namun he remembered as she could be, but he still felt the same craving for her that he always had. Anck-su-namun had been fire and ice, the burning heat of the desert at midday, the cold depths of the Nile at deep midnight. She had loved ardently, hated passionately, shone in the court of Seti like a captured star that had been brought down from the heavens. This woman was none of those things. She was still beautiful, but her beauty was that of a soft moonlit night, the scent of hibiscus floating over the water, the warm breeze of a harvest afternoon, the light of a spring morning. She did not burn at all—if anything, the fires within her were consciously, fiercely banked, held in check by a stubbornly rigid spirit. If Anck-su-namun had been a captured star in her old life, she was now a star that had never been permitted to become, one that had never managed to breach its own internal barriers and reach a temperature that would allow it to burst into flame.

And yet, different as she was, she was paradoxically still the same, and he still hungered for her. His lip curled down in self-disgust. This need, this yearning, it was a sickness in his soul, a depraved sort of obsession that not even the Hom Dai had managed to rot out of him.

"So you finally allow yourself to speak my name," he observed, and at his words Eliana realized that he had been awake for much longer than she had known. That bit of insight made her cheeks burn with shame, and she berated herself for her foolishness. How long had he lain there, letting her touch him, run her hands over him, caress him like some long-lost lover? But you are, a part of her mockingly interjected.

Again, she tried to pull away, and again he held her to him, her puny struggles worth nothing against the strength of his arms. Still holding her with one hand, he raised the other to the nape of her neck, curving it around the base of her skull, sliding his fingers into the silky waves of her hair, massaging the tense muscles of her scalp, sending shivers of longing coursing down the entire length of her body. He was like a master musician playing a familiar instrument, and he easily coaxed from her the music he desired. Her eyes drifted shut, and she expelled her breath in a long sigh.

"You are no longer Anck-su-namun. Who are you?" He had asked the question before, and had been content to let the matter rest when she had not answered him. Now, he would have the answer, and he was well aware of how to make her tell him. Pulling her even nearer, so close that she could feel the breath as it left his lips, so close that she could see the tiny golden flecks of reflected moonlight in the brown depths of his eyes, he continued to caress the nape of her neck, letting her hair tangle and weave around his fingers. His other hand relaxed its grasp on hers, and he let their fingers intertwine, lace together in a tingling, seductive hold. "The name the Med-Jai used—Eliana? That is what you are now called?"

Her throat was dry, she felt paralyzed, frozen—there was no way she could force a sound from her mouth. Mutely, she nodded, and he tested the name once again, lips forming the syllables, the low, husky murmur of his voice giving the simple name an almost indecent intimacy.

"Eliana." Then, a note of puzzlement crept into his voice. "It is a Hebrew name, is it not?"

She nodded again, this time managing to croak out an audible reply. "My…my parents…were Jewish."

Imhotep mentally saluted fate yet again—Anck-su-namun being reborn into the lineage of the slaves was yet another one of the thousand little ironies that were woven into this tapestry. Yet, it mattered not what her ancestry or parentage was—it was, at this point, simply an interesting observation. There was no future for the two of them—she would go on with her life, whatever it was, and Imhotep would complete his task and enter the afterlife. And even if there had been something between them, some hope for a future, her ancestry would not have been an issue. Imhotep had never been among those who had ridiculed or felt contempt for the slaves. Oh, he had wondered at their slavish devotion to their One God, for in his time, at least, all of their praying and fasting had not seemed to make much difference in freeing them from their plight. He had, though, admired their resourcefulness and sheer endurance in flourishing as a captive people among the ruling Egyptian culture. There were worse fates—much worse—than being born of such stock.

"Eliana. Does the name have a meaning?" His hand continued its mesmerizing journey through her hair, over her scalp, and she had to force herself to concentrate.

"It means…it means 'God has answered'."

He laughed, then, and the sound was a harsh interruption of the spell his caressing hands had woven around them. God had answered? How? When? Maybe God had answered Anck-su-namun in some way, and maybe he was in the process of answering Imhotep as well, but it had taken him a small eternity to finally get around to it.

Eliana was confused by his laughter, startled by Imhotep's abrupt change of mood. She looked into his eyes, and when she saw the laughing mockery there, she cringed. She had been a fool, a stupid, blind fool, letting his hands and the moonlight weave a fog of sorcery around her, making her forget who she was, where she was, what she needed to do. With a forceful push on his chest, she levered herself up from where she was lying, half sprawled over his body, and this time he let her go, his hands falling to his sides.

She sat on the rocky ledge, arms wrapped around her knees, fighting back the angry tears, furious with herself, furious with him, stubbornly refusing to even look at him when he rolled over and stood up, towering over her, fastidiously brushing the dirt from his robe. Finally, when she could ignore him no longer, she met his eyes, and the cool amusement lurking in them fanned her anger even more. With the sardonic twist of his lips that she somehow knew so well, he reached down a hand to help her to her feet, and when she angrily slapped his hand away and stood up on her own, he raised an eyebrow in mocking condescension.

Ignoring him, she began to follow the narrow ledge as it ran along the cliff face, calling over her shoulder as she went, "Let's get moving. I don't want to spend any more time alone in this jungle with you than I have to."

An amused smile playing at the corners of his mouth, Imhotep moved to follow her, carefully staying close enough behind to catch her, should she stumble or slip on the rock-strewn ledge.

---

They found the cave an hour later. It was on a narrow part of the ledge, set back into the cliff face, its mouth gaping open and a trace of cool, musty subterranean air wafting up from the depths. The entrance was fairly large—three meters tall at its highest point, and at least five meters wide, as well. Eliana unhooked the flashlight from where it was clipped to her belt loop, and stepped a half meter or so into the entrance, shining the light around inside. The cave appeared to widen as it burrowed into the mountainside, and the ceiling rose as well. The light wasn't bright enough to penetrate all the way to the back wall, so it was impossible to judge the true size of the cave, but this first room seemed to be large, and fairly dry.

She turned back to the priest, who was no more than a few paces behind her. During the past hour, they had not spoken even once, but now she asked, "Do you want to stop here for a while, or keep going?"

Imhotep looked over her head, into the cave. If it had been solely up to him, he would have chosen to continue on, but a quick glance at Eliana showed him that she was in no shape to go on. She was past the point of exhaustion—her skin was pale, almost translucent looking, her eyes were underlined with shadowed smudges, and her whole body was starting to sag. The last hour had not been easy traveling, the ledge not making the most consistent of pathways, and they had often been forced to either move piles of fallen rocks or climb over them. Once, they had had to jump over a two meter gap in the ledge, and Eliana's boot had slipped on the other side. Imhotep had been unable to reach her, and although she had recovered her balance and ended up secure on the other side, he still shuddered to think of how close she had come to plunging down into the ravine. It had been a long day yesterday, followed by a long night, and although the moon was full, and lit the path brightly enough to travel by, they would be wise to stop and rest until morning.

"Stop." Eliana did her best not to show how relieved she was to hear that word, but he could see that she was pleased. "We can stay here until morning. Come inside."

Taking her by the elbow, ignoring her instinctive pull away, Imhotep led Eliana into the cave. The flashlight offered feeble illumination, but it was sufficient for them to see that the cave was uninhabited—nothing lurked inside that would be a danger to them. Gently prying the light from her fingers, Imhotep walked around the circumference of the large room. It seemed to be all there was of the cave—no tunnels leading to deeper levels, no hidden cracks or crevices leading to recessed hideaways. Just this one large room. It would do for what remained of the night.

Returning to her side, Imhotep handed Eliana the flashlight and pointed to one of the walls. "The ground over there is of sand—it will be softer for you."

Eliana looked up at him. In the dim light she couldn't see his features well enough to read his expression, but he had to be exhausted as well. Or maybe he wasn't. Maybe he was perfectly fine, and resented the fact that she was here, slowing him down. And inexplicably, that bothered her. "Are you sure about staying here until morning? If you want to continue, there's no reason not to…"

With a gentleness that seemed at odds with his mocking derision of an hour ago, he tilted her chin up with the fingers of one hand and brushed her hair back with the other. "We both need rest. Come—lie down. Sleep if you can." Crossing over to the wall, pulling her with him, he sank down to his knees, settling himself as comfortably as he could on the sandy cave floor, leaning his back up against the rocky wall. Eliana watched him warily, unsure of whether she should sit or lie down. In truth, she felt like crumbling into a heap on the floor and sleeping for a hundred years.

With a small sigh, Imhotep raised his arm for her, holding out his hand in invitation. She stared at him for several seconds, unsure of whether or not to trust him, but then her weariness won out, and she took his hand, letting him pull her to him and wrap his arm around her. She felt ridiculously comforted by the small gesture—comforted and protected. With a sigh, she dropped her head onto his shoulder and was almost instantly asleep.

Asleep, her defensive guards were down, and she instinctively settled more securely in his arms, snuggling her face into the curve of his neck, curling her body into his, laying her hand on his chest. For the longest while, he simply held her to him, listening to her breathing, watching the way her hair fell around her shoulders, taking in the creamy whiteness of her skin, feeling the way her small, petite frame nestled against his much larger one. So different…yet so painfully the same.

Finally, Imhotep closed his eyes and felt the pull of sleep beginning to take him as well. But before he drifted off, he pulled Eliana more securely against his side and caught up the hand that rested on his chest in his much larger one, curling his fingers protectively around hers.

---

Some sound, some noise, awakened Eliana, and for a moment, she was disoriented, panicked. Sometime during the night, Imhotep had moved, leaving her curled up on the sandy floor of the cave, asleep and alone. She sat up, rubbing her arms against the chill of the cool night air in the cave, and looked around, seeking some sign of him in the darkness. But the cave was quiet, deserted. Had he gone? Had he decided that he could move more quickly without her and simply left her there?

"Imhotep?" Her voice was small, tentative, scarcely more than a whisper as she spoke his name aloud for the second time. A second went by, then two.

"Over here." His voice came from the direction of the cave's entrance—low, soft, but immensely reassuring as she realized that he was still there with her. He hadn't left her and gone on by himself.

Looking towards the entrance, she saw him standing off to the side, leaning against the stone arch that formed the mouth of the cave. He was merely a shadow there in the night, the ebony robe he wore billowing slightly in the night breeze and blending in with the shadows, darkness upon darkness. She stood and walked to him, brushing the sand off her clothes as she went. Silently, she watched him as he gazed into the sky, a distant look on his face. It was early morning, still dark, but the moon had already sunk below the horizon, and the sky to the east was beginning to fade from the deep blue-black of midnight to the indigo of dawn. Above, the brightest of the stars still shone, their glittering light far away and cold against the dark canopy of sky.

Eliana had spent the last few hours sleeping in the priest's arms—now that she was awake again, though, she felt the old fears come crawling back, cautioning her to stay away from him. But he looked so alone standing there, staring up at the heavens with such a bleak look on his face, that she forced her doubts away and reached out, placing a tentative hand on his arm.

"What's wrong?"

At her words, he looked at her, but the glance was fleeting and distracted. He seemed far away, caught up in thoughts and memories from eons ago, lost among murky roads traveled thirty centuries past. He shook his head, as if to clear it, but the shadows remained in his eyes, and with a sigh, he resumed his study of the heavens.

"They say..." he began, and then cleared his throat, fighting to keep the emotion out of his voice. When he began again, the slight huskiness was gone, his tone once more cool and aloof. "They say that when the Pharaohs die, they ascend to the heavens and take their rightful place among the gods. They become the stars, and shine down upon us lesser mortals for all eternity." He laughed, a cold, humorless sound that was filled with despair. "If that is the case, then Seti is surely laughing at us now, as he looks down from the heavens."

Eliana was well aware of the ancient beliefs that Imhotep referred to, but all cultures had their myths and legends, and the viewpoint that held to the inherent divinity of kings had died in her world a long time ago. "In the religion I was raised to follow," she offered, her hand still on his arm, her eyes taking in the bitter, desolate look on his face, "we believe that all men are equal—kings are worth no more or no less than the most humble of servants—each has intrinsic value, each has inherent worth. When we die, we will be judged, but each person will be judged according to God's standards, not the rank or position they attained, or were born into, here on Earth."

"This God you speak of—He is the One God of the Hebrews?" He spared her another glance, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"Yes."

"I have never understood their beliefs." He shook his head. "Where was their God when they were taken into slavery? Where was their God during their years of oppression?"

"Where were your gods when you needed them?" The words were not meant to hurt, but she could see that they did, and she regretted them instantly.

"My gods did not abandon me—I abandoned them, centuries before." He turned to her, and his eyes burned into hers, his voice filled with bitterness. "And I did not need my gods that last time you and I were together, during Ahm Shere's final moments. I needed you."

Eliana dropped her hand from his arm and turned away from the acrimony in that statement. The vision she'd had in the pyramid was still fresh in her mind—she could still see him there, hanging on that ledge, she could still see the body she had been in running away—and she knew without a doubt that he was referring to how she had betrayed him there. Maybe not her, exactly, but who she had been. The notion of past lives was becoming more and more real to her with each moment she spent with him. But her acceptance of the past did nothing to change it. There was nothing she could do to change any part of what had gone before. There was nothing left for her to say that wouldn't sound woefully weak and inadequate. But still, she would try.

"I'm sorry."

He ignored her, choosing instead to resume his study of the constellations.

"I'm so sorry. I don't know what else to say." The words were useless—much too small and insignificant to come near to repairing the damage that had been done.

"There is nothing else to say. It is the past. I am surprised you even remember it, much less acknowledge it."

"I remember very little of the past. I trust these memories very little—they are all so vague, so incomplete. Quite honestly, I don't even know if I can trust my own sanity any more. This has all pretty much pushed me past the limit of what I can believe…"

"Why do you doubt your sanity? There is more to the universe than any of us can possibly hope to understand. Why is it so difficult for you to believe that you have lived before, and before that as well?" He was genuinely curious as to why this modern world, with all of its marvels and miracles, had so little faith in the spiritual. Had they embraced science and technology so thoroughly that they only believed in what they could see in front of their eyes, feel with their hands? Had they completely disavowed the mystical, the supernatural, the magic that was everywhere? How could a society have progressed so far only to regress even farther?

"There was a time when I would have willingly accepted it all," she sighed, "but that was a long, long time ago. I was only a child."

He nodded, understanding that, at least. "Children have a unique gift for being able to accept seemingly unexplainable truths, which are truths all the same. That is why children are brought into the temples as acolytes at such a young age. Waiting too long before beginning training in the priesthood hardens the mind against the possibilities of the spirit."

" I am trying to accept this. I am. There is just so much to accept."

"You do not remember your life as Anck-su-namun, or as Meela, do you?" The words were a statement, rather than a question.

She shook her head. "I remember very little. I remember bits and pieces of dreams. I remember the vision I had in the pyramid before I used the Scepter to…to bring you back. That vision was about the clearest thing that I do remember."

"And what did you see in this vision?"

"I was in another body—myself, yet not myself. I saw myself watching Ahm Shere self-destruct. I saw you and another man fighting. I saw you both fall into the pit. I saw a woman—I knew her, somehow—race to help the other man. I heard you call out to me. I saw myself…" Her voice broke. "…running away. The vision changed, then. I was no longer trapped in that other body. I was…separate, somehow. I was able to see you, even though I…the 'other' me…had already left. I saw you let go, tumble into the pit." She stopped for a moment, closing her eyes to the memory. When she continued, her voice was low, hoarse. "The look of betrayal on your face is something that will never leave me. It is something that I will carry in my heart forever."

"As will I." The look he gave her was hard, cold, and she was filled with the knowledge that her act of selfish cowardice in another life had cost them both deeply. She could say nothing more, so she turned to face the night, wrapping her arms around herself in a gesture that was a response to more than just the chill in the air.

Much as a part of her wanted to ignore it all, though, the analyst inside her head wanted nothing more than to keep picking away at it, until she was satisfied with the answers. "So this is real, then? All of it? The dreams, the vision, the…memories?"

"Real? Yes." The priest's words conveyed no doubt whatsoever. "I do not know what you have remembered of the past, save what you have told me, and I know nothing about who you are now, but I do know that you were once the woman I knew as Anck-su-namun. Part of her still lives in you."

"How? How does this work? What part of her is in me?" She turned to face him again, and there was a trace of desperation in her voice. "I need to know this. This…this sense that I am someone else, that I am trapped in someone else's life—it's frightening. Look, I know you don't owe me anything—God knows, you don't—but you're the only one who can answer these questions for me. Please…"

He had no reason not to tell her. "You and Anck-su-namun share the same ka, the same soul. Although your ba is different from hers, the underlying essence of who you are, who she was, is unchanged. It is the part of you that I recognized as Anck-su-namun, the part of you that lasts through the ages, even though you are very different from the woman she was. The ka is eternal. The ba changes from incarnation to incarnation. It is what makes each lifetime unique. After death, the ba and the ka are separated, only joining together again in the afterlife, if one is fortunate enough to pass the test of the scales." Up to this point, his voice had been neutral, devoid of emotion, the words those of a teacher presenting a rather simple lesson on basic theology. Now, however, it took on an edge. "I am surprised you have not learned of all this from your friend, Ardeth Bay, the Med Jai."

"Ardeth? Why would Ardeth be able to tell me anything about this?" She was truly confused now. She knew that Ardeth played some part in all of this, but what? And how would he have been able to answer these questions?

"The Med Jai would have recognized you for who you are immediately, just as I did. Surely he must have reacted in some way when you first met." Imhotep sounded almost bored, as though he was explaining the most obvious fact in the world to a rather stupid student. "If he chose not to confront you at the time, he must have had some reason. But believe me, while you may consider Ardeth Bay your friend, he is no friend to Anck-su-namun, and he knows that you were once Anck-su-namun."

The priest's words put a chill in Eliana's soul. Ardeth knew about all of this? He knew, and he hadn't told her? She had revealed more of herself to Ardeth than to any other person in the world, and all the time he had been playing some elaborate cat-and-mouse game with her? He had allowed her think that he was a simple man of the desert, just an unremarkable part of the crew of laborers her father employed, letting her believe that he was her friend, while all the while he had been watching her, studying her, hiding things from her…

Eliana shook her head. No. She could not believe that about Ardeth. There must be some other explanation, some reason why he had not been honest with her. But he had known Imhotep, and that in itself gave credence to what the priest had told her. Eliana's inherent loyalty fought with her gut instinct, and the struggle ended in a miserable tie. She wouldn't let herself believe that Ardeth was not what he seemed, but there was no other way of explaining his reaction when he saw the priest. Still, even then, even when he was confronted with a man he obviously abhorred, he had tried to protect her. How could this all fit together?

"You keep referring to Ardeth as a Med Jai. What is a Med Jai?" And then, "Why do you hate each other?"

"Hate?" He laughed. "Hate is a puny word to describe what I feel for the Med Jai, Seti's puppets." Seeing that she had no idea what he was talking about, he went on. "The Med Jai are an ancient order, sworn to serve the Pharaohs of Egypt in life and death, down through the millennia. Ardeth Bay is a Med Jai. His hatred for me is his legacy, passed down through his Med Jai ancestors from age to age."

"Seti the First ruled Egypt during the late 13th century BCE…" Eliana stopped, doing the arithmetic in her head. "You mean this dates back thirty-three hundred years?" She had known they were talking about vast amounts of time, but putting a number to it, and the name of a particular dynasty, gave the whole strange tale a firmer claim on reality.

"Yes." He seemed completely unimpressed with the span of years, completely unruffled by the bizarre tale he was spinning. "For over three thousand years, you—Anck-su-namun—and I have suffered under the curse placed upon us by the Med Jai. Anck-su-namun's curse was to suffer through cycle after cycle of rebirth, her ba lost forever, wandering through the underworld, unable to rejoin her ka, unable to enter the afterlife, the blessed lands of the West." He paused, a grim smile playing over his features, making him look almost frightening. "For me, the Med Jai reserved a special gift. I was given the honor of becoming the first person in history to be subjected to the Hom Dai."

"The Hom Dai?" Eliana wasn't sure she wanted to know, but she was compelled to ask. "What…"

He waved the words away, anticipating her question before it was asked. "The Hom Dai is the most odious curse that can be placed on an individual—it is elegant, almost beautiful in its simplicity. 'See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.' The accursed individual's tongue is cut out, his name is wiped clean from history's slates, and he is mummified alive, entombed within a sarcophagus filled with hundreds—thousands—of flesh-eating scarab beetles. There, he never dies, but ceases to live, doomed to rot in silent, hopeless torment for eon upon eon. Unless, of course, he is set free…" The smile was back, an almost evil smirk, and Eliana was afraid to hear more, yet unable to stop herself, for the horrible story was fascinating in a repulsively macabre way.

"That, of course, is the danger, and that is why the Med Jai had never used the curse before. They doom themselves as well as the individual they are cursing. If the accursed should be set free, he has the power to command the elements, bend the forces of nature to his will, bring down plague upon plague to his enemies. Because of that, the Med Jai are doomed to be forever vigilant, watching constantly to ensure that 'The Creature' is never awakened, never released."

All of the color had drained from Eliana's face by the time he had finished speaking. She was horrified at his words, horrified at what he had suffered, horrified to have been a part of anything so overtly evil. "That's what Ardeth called you—'The Creature,' she said, almost to herself. With an almost courtly nod, Imhotep inclined his head, accepting the moniker with another sadistic smile.

"But then, you mean…are you saying that you have all of those powers?" Her voice was barely more than a squeak.

He shook his head. "When you invoked the powers of the Scepter of Osiris to bring me out from the Pit, the curse was broken. I am mortal, with no special powers, save those I possessed when I was a man, three thousand years ago. The gods, however, have not finished with me yet." He was unsure why he was willing to tell her all this, but he could see no harm in it, either, so he continued. "According to the great god Amun-Re, I must still perform some duty for him before the curse will be lifted in its entirety, and I am allowed to finally enter the afterlife."

"Enter the afterlife? As in—die?" She was horrified, even more so than before. He spoke of dying as though it was something he wished for, lusted after. He threw her an amused look, although there was nothing humorous in the words that followed.

"You speak of death as though it is a curse itself, rather than a gift. I wonder if you would feel the same, had you been subjected to the same punishment. If you had felt the scarabs feasting on your undying flesh until it fell from you in strips, rotting from the bone, and still you could not die. Would you not lust for death even then?"

"Stop!" Eliana covered her ears, shaking her head at the nauseatingly gruesome picture he painted. "This is too much to believe. I can't believe it! I won't believe it!"

At that, he finally turned to her, spinning angrily to face her and gripping her shoulders with fingers that dug in deeply, painfully. "You cannot believe it? You will not?" He shook her once, clearly restraining himself from anything more violent. "It is not for you to believe or not to believe. It is the truth. Because of you, because I loved you—loved Anck-su-namun—because of that, I became the 'creature' the Med Jai guarded against for three thousand years! What you choose to believe or not believe is irrelevant to me—meaningless! There is finally some hope that after all these centuries, after all this misery, I can perhaps be free of this hideous curse. I will complete this task for Amun-Re, and I will choose death. It will be over." With one last shake, he released her, and turned his back to her, his anger still visible in the tension of his shoulders, the stiffness of his posture.

She stared at him, taken aback at the vehemence of his words and the uncharacteristic lapse in his iron self-control. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Eliana was tired of saying the words, tired of how hopelessly futile they were, of how ridiculously inadequate they sounded. But to believe this story would require a leap of faith of gigantic proportions, and she didn't know if she was equipped for making such a leap. But if it was true, what on earth could they have done to deserve such punishment?

"Imhotep?" She couldn't blame him if he ignored her, but she had to ask.

"What do you want?" The reply was less than welcoming, but at least it was a reply.

"What did you—we—you and Anck-su-namun—do? What would make the Med Jai invoke such a horrible punishment?"

"What did we do?" The words came out in a laugh, one that held no humor at all. "We committed the most heinous crime that could be committed in our culture. We conspired, plotted, planned and committed regicide. We murdered Seti."

---

"What? We killed the pharaoh? Why?" Eliana was appalled, sickened at the thought.

He turned to look at her once more, and this time his expression was dispassionate, aloof. "This story is an old one, and I am tired of its telling. I have no wish to relive this yet again."

Eliana was not about to let this go, though. Uncaring that he flinched away from her touch, she grabbed his arm, clutching it with both hands, looking up at him with wide green eyes, eyes that reflected the revulsion and disbelief that she felt at his words. "Please! You can't just leave it like this! I have to know what happened—I have to!" She was almost sobbing. "Isn't there anything you can tell me about why you—she—we—would do such a thing? Isn't there anything you can do to make me remember it? All of it? Not just the bits and pieces, or the…the end?"

Imhotep looked down at her, at her fingers gripping his arm, and he stepped back, so that her hand fell away and the contact was broken. "The only way to restore the memories of your life as Anck-su-namun in their entirety would be to invoke the spells in the Book of the Dead, and that I cannot do. The Book is gone, lost when Ahm Shere sank beneath the earth seventy years ago. And even if the Book were in my possession, I would not use it. Anck-su-namun's ba is gone, and I will not bring it back. Whatever is left of her is in you, in the ka that you share."

Hot tears welled up in Eliana's eyes, and she turned, walking away from him, back into the cave. "So all that I am to know is whatever bits and pieces return to me in dreams, and the little you have told me?" She sounded lost, without hope, and something inside him twisted painfully, deeply, even as he viciously willed away the unwanted sentiment. "Answer me this, at least—what were we to each other in the past? I know that we were lovers—I remember that much." His heart lurched at the pain in her voice when she admitted the memory. "But was that all? What was I to you except that, and an accomplice in some hideous crime?"

Foolishly, Imhotep had thought that this woman had already hurt him as much as she possibly could. He had been wrong. Her carelessly chosen words, words that reduced their entire history to one of carnal desire and murderous violence, wounded him almost as much as her betrayal at Ahm Shere. He stared at her back, at the way she held her head down, at the defeated sag in her shoulders, and felt his chest constrict in pain, the ache radiating out from his heart to every other part of his body. Eliana barely heard his words, when he finally spoke, but they stopped her in her tracks.

"What were we to each other? I do not know, anymore, what I was to you. But you—you were my life, my heart. I loved you more than I thought it possible for a man to love a woman. I loved you more than life itself. You were everything to me." He ended on a whisper. "Everything."

Slowly, Eliana turned to face him. The sorrow in his eyes, the raw pain on his face, tore at her heart. Every instinct within her urged her to go to him, put her arms around him, take away his pain in some way. But she held herself back, some part of her warning her away, telling her that he would not welcome it if she were to approach him in that way. Instead, she lifted her chin, looked into his eyes, and once more, asked him to give her back the past.

"If I meant that to you, if I was all those things to you, then will you please, please tell me the rest? Don't you understand? I need to know."

Imhotep sighed, recognizing a bit of the old Anck-su-namun in the stubborn set of her chin, the determined look in her eyes. He knew that she would not give up until he had told her the whole, sad history. Closing his eyes, steeling himself against the aching pain that the memories caused him, he began the tale.

---

The dancer had been introduced as one the Hittite merchant's slaves, a creature of unsurpassed loveliness and unrivaled grace—a true jewel of the desert. Bored, but doing his best to appear delighted at the prospect of watching the girl perform, Imhotep leaned back against the silk cushions, preparing himself for the spectacle. The girl was probably fat, clumsy and stupid. Although this was the last place on earth he wanted to be, he knew what was expected of him, as an envoy of Pharaoh Seti the First. He would sit through the interminably long exhibition, applaud politely, and be ready with insincere compliments and flattering lies as to the girl's rare beauty and exquisite charm after she gave the obligatory performance.

Not for the first time, Imhotep regretted being persuaded to accompany Seti on this journey over the Sinai Peninsula into Syria. Why the Pharaoh had needed to bring along such a retinue of retainers and advisors on a simple journey, Imhotep would never understand. Seti's announced goal for the journey was to purchase some of the fine stallions raised here in the Syrian desert. His covert mission was to assess the military and political strength of his rivals. He could have accomplished that with a delegation one-fifth the size he had brought. But Seti enjoyed flaunting his supremacy, and bringing such a huge entourage with him made an irrefutable and impressive statement about the powers at his command.

At the last minute, Imhotep had tried to back out of the journey, but Seti would have none of it. Imhotep was a skilled diplomat, possessing an uncanny ability to see through other men's subterfuge and puffery. He had a gift for untangling the most convoluted knots of politics and intrigue, and seeing straight to the heart of an issue. Seti knew that about him, and valued it highly. This trip was important to the Pharaoh, to the legacy he hoped to build, and being able to accurately assess his adversaries' strengths and weaknesses was crucial to him. So Imhotep had come along.

Grimacing at the coarse manners and vulgar talk of the disheveled desert men that filled the large, lavishly appointed tent, Imhotep scanned the gathering. Although the tent was filled almost to capacity with laughing, festive men, Seti was nowhere to be seen. Imhotep was not surprised. Seti was no more interested in seeing the merchant parade his bevy of ugly but marriageable daughters in front of the Egyptians than was Imhotep, or in seeing the man's slave girls perform. But unlike Imhotep, Seti carried the rank to be able to escape from the distasteful duty. Instead, he had ordered Imhotep to stay behind, whispering to his newly appointed high priest and grand vizier that he would be out with the horse trainers, inspecting the stallions he hoped to procure. Impassively, Imhotep had nodded, although inside, he was seething. He had better things to do than sit here and watch this pathetic display…

A huge, ebony-skinned Nubian slave walked into the tent, somberly walking over to a large gong and striking it with a heavy wooden mallet. The reverberations echoed through the tent, almost instantly hushing the crowd, and dragging Imhotep's unwilling attention back to the evening's performance.

The portly Hittite merchant, their host for the evening, beamed with possessive pride as a wiry old servant, who looked ninety years old if he was a day, hobbled out, walking to the center of the tent, where the dancing would take place. In a voice that was surprisingly strong and deep to be coming from such a feeble-looking body, the old man announced the evening's star performer.

"Distinguished guests of Hattullis of Kadesh, most honored visitors from Egypt, may I present to you one of my lord's most prized possessions, whose beauty shines more brilliantly than the light of a thousand stars, whose grace is more poetic than a million songs, whose dancing leaves the gods to weep." With an elaborate flourish, the old man bent at the waist, sweeping his arm to the side in a courtly bow. Imhotep almost rolled his eyes, hoping that the frail old man wouldn't fall over on his face while trying to stand up again. Glancing towards the merchant again, Imhotep saw that the man's ruddy, jovial face was turned in his direction, looking at him as if to ask whether he was suitably impressed by the unfolding drama. Imhotep smiled politely, inclining his head in a small bow of acknowledgement, and then turned his attention back to the circular area in the center of the tent, stifling a yawn.

A drum began to beat slowly, rhythmically, and several more slaves circled the tent, extinguishing half of the torches. Smoke from the snuffed out lights billowed through the dimly lit tent, giving the place an almost otherworldly look. Next to the drummer, another musician began to pluck a stringed instrument, the melody soft, lilting, the music flowing through the air like silk over velvet and enveloping them all in its haunting spell.

A small figure entered the torch lit circle, entering from the rear of the tent. Her steps were so light and lithe that she almost appeared to float, an illusion that was enhanced by the many layers of scarves that swathed her body. Once the girl had reached the center of the circle, she stopped, her eyes downcast, her dark hair gleaming in the dim light, her arms at her sides. She seemed to be waiting…

Suddenly, the music altered, changing from the soft, melodic tune into one of almost primitive abandon, its rhythm pulsing and primal, and Imhotep watched, transfixed, as the girl came to life. Her dance was powerful, mesmerizing, a wordless tribute to the earth and the elements, the sun and the stars. She danced as though she were one with the entire universe, her limbs moving effortlessly, almost bonelessly, the movements themselves an erotic form of visual seduction. Imhotep shifted uncomfortably. The tent suddenly felt stiflingly hot, the air inside insufficient to fill his lungs. He was unable to tear his gaze away from the girl, who continued to twirl and weave around the circle, the scarves floating away one by one, to reveal ever more of her sinuous, supple body.

The boneless grace with which she moved, seeming to be all soft curves and flowing limbs, Imhotep knew to be a mesmerizing illusion, for the skill with which the girl danced revealed an athlete's dedication to training and endurance. Underneath all of that soft, silken skin would be well-built, powerful muscles, developed through years of conditioning and exercise. Although as she danced, the girl appeared to be every man's idea of the perfect woman, yielding and submissive, Imhotep knew that anyone who could perform with this degree of skill had the stamina and self-control of a warrior. And he was spellbound.

Every man in the room faced the center of the tent in rapt attention, silently watching as scarf after scarf fell to the ground, leaning forward in almost panting adoration as inch after inch of gleaming olive skin was revealed. Finally, with a flourish of drums, the girl cast off the last scarf, and let her nearly naked body crumble slowly, elegantly to the floor, ending the performance.

The applause was thunderous, but Imhotep did not join in the raucous noise. Instead, he sat silently, rapt, unable to look away as the girl finally moved, lifting herself effortlessly from the floor, standing once more in the center of the tent, the light glistening off her skin. Her head was bowed subserviently, modestly, but as the applause continued, she lifted it slowly, until her chin was tilted slightly upwards, staring at the crowd of lusty, clapping men in almost contemptuous disdain. But her scorn was hidden well behind a beautiful face and lips that curved in a seductively enticing smile, and the men were well deceived. Except for Imhotep, who watched her with a smile of his own, and secretly applauded the girl for both her skillful performance and her mocking acceptance of the men's adulation.

From the back of the room, another watched as well. He, too, had noted the lithe grace and supple poise of the girl's performance and he, too, had recognized the scorn in the girl's eyes as she stood before the crowd. He, like Imhotep, had been pleased to see it there, but for reasons that were less admirable. Unlike Imhotep, this man took pleasure in collecting rare treasures, and then bending and breaking them to his will. The more unattainable, the more difficult to possess, the better, the more satisfying his ultimate victory would be. He had just seen something unique, priceless, and he would have it. Nothing was beyond his command, nothing was beyond his reach. He would have the girl, and immensely enjoy wiping that condescending, scornful look from her eyes.

---

Imhotep walked towards his tent, enjoying the cool breeze that fanned his skin, admiring the brilliant light of the stars over head. There was nothing like the desert for reducing a man to his most essential nature. Its barren beauty and primal wildness called to him, reminding him of who he was, apart from the pomp and politics of Seti's court. It was a humbling experience, being out here in the midst of this vast panorama of earth and sky. Many of the men who had accompanied Seti on this trip considered the desert an arid wasteland, speaking contemptuously of the flat, windswept sands, missing the cool green of the Nile River valley. Imhotep knew that it was otherwise, knew that the hot sands of Syria cloaked and disguised a seething cauldron of life that bubbled and fermented just beneath the surface. The desert was alive, pulsing with energy and vitality, and simply being here among it all was a spiritual experience.

He had almost reached the comfortable tent he had been given, when a peal of feminine laughter reached his ears. It was a light, musical sound, drifting to him on the night, the clear, pure tones striking his ear like the sound of rain on the tiles of the temple courtyard. He turned towards the sound, drawn to it, pulled to its source as surely as the tide answers the call of the moon.

The young women were congregated at the well, giggling and laughing as they gathered water, teasing each other and talking among themselves. Imhotep smiled at the sight, slowing his footsteps, then stopping altogether and beginning to back away so as not to frighten them. Some sound, some movement gave him away, though, and one of the girls looked up. Seeing the tall, handsome priest watching them from the shadows, she let out a startled shriek, and the girls scattered into the night, disappearing amid a flurry of legs and arms, dresses and veils. All save one.

Imhotep's breath caught in his throat as he recognized the girl who had danced for them earlier in the evening. As he stood there, unmoving, watching her, he saw her chin tilt up and her jaw jut forward in defiance. She stared at him with eyes so dark they were almost black, and in those eyes he saw rebelliousness, distrust, and an almost palpable challenge. She tossed her head back and her long, silky hair fanned out over her shoulder, its glossy thickness daring a man to run his hands through it, tangle his fingers in its length…

He cleared his throat, casting aside those thoughts, and stepped forward into the light, towards her, but not so close as to appear a threat. Despite her bravado, he could see that she was frightened of him, and he had no wish to drive her away. Trying to reassure, he held his hands out, palms forward, in a gesture that he hoped communicated his harmlessness. "Forgive me, please. I did not mean to startle you." He spoke in the Hittite dialect, one of the many languages at his command. Surprisingly, she answered him in Egyptian, the grammar and vocabulary correct, the accent perfect. Another revelation.

"You did not startle me. You may have frightened off those meek fools, but I am not afraid of any man." Her voice was low, husky, and sounded incredibly seductive, even when she was issuing a clear challenge. Imhotep walked closer, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Any man would be well advised to approach you with caution. There is more to you than meets the eye, I think." He reached the well, leaning back against the hip-high stone structure. "You do not mind if I join you, then?"

The challenge in her eyes had not abated, but the fear had faded somewhat. "Do as you will. I am almost done here." Her words were careless, indifferent, and as she spoke, she continued gathering water, pouring it from the well bucket into several clay jars. Imhotep watched her as she worked, noting again the inherent grace of her movements, the unconscious seductiveness of her bearing, even in a task so mundane as gathering water from a well.

"Your dance tonight was…inspiring." He was quite sure it had inspired most of the men in the room. He was equally sure that she knew it had, as well.

"It does not take much effort to…inspire…in such a way," she replied, looking up at him in obvious contempt. So she had picked up on the double meaning of his words. Imhotep was pleased, delighted with the girl's obvious spirit. It was a rare quality in a female, doubly so in one who was considered a slave. But Imhotep doubted that this girl had acted like a slave even once in her life.

He nodded, accepting her judgment on the men who had watched her that evening. "You are right, of course. It is relatively easy to arouse men's…interest." Again, the play on words, purposely intended to provoke her. "But then, your dance was more than that, was it not? You perform with a skill and athleticism uncommon to most dancers." This was the truth, and he gladly paid her the compliment.

"Thank you." Her voice faltered, as though she was unsure of whether or not this had been a compliment or not, as though she was unused to being paid compliments in the first place.

He waved off the thanks. "There is no need. I simply made an observation. You have been trained in more than just dance, have you not? Your movements this evening had a look of the East about them, a look of some of the more graceful forms of combat." He watched her reaction to his words, a measuring look in his eyes. "Indeed, I wonder what it would be like if you danced with weapons instead of scarves? A most deadly entertainment, I suspect."

Her eyes shot to his face, startled. How had he picked up on the motions and movements underlying her performance? Most men simply watched her body as it writhed and flowed through the dance, oblivious to the skill or concentration required in executing the precise movements. This man had obviously watched the art beneath the surface, as well. "You know the Eastern arts, then?"

He inclined his head. "I have seen combatants face each other in such a way, yes." He watched her as she absorbed this information, her eyes never leaving his face. "I am curious, though, how you came to be trained in such skills."

Her face took on that defiant cast again. "I was tutored by a master in the art, one who traveled through this area and stopped to deal with Hattullis. I saw him practicing his art early one morning, and I asked him to train me. He was only with us for several months, but he was able to teach me bits of his skills, and I have continued the training on my own, improvising where necessary."

"I am surprised that Hattullis agreed to this," Imhotep observed. Women in this region, especially slaves, were not encouraged to progress beyond what was considered their station in life. Essentially, that meant a life of subservience and submission to their men—either their husbands or their masters.

"He did not know. The man from the East was…progressive in his thoughts. He saw no reason why one who was skilled enough to grasp the art could not be taught it, regardless of their gender. We met in secret, either in the early morning, or at night." She laughed. "The knowledge enhanced my dancing, as well. Hattullis was pleased. He did not question the source of the improvement."

Imhotep watched as she spoke, his eyes drinking in her beauty, his mind appreciating her wit and intelligence. What was a woman like this doing out here in the desert, under the thumb of a man like Hattullis? It did not make sense. She spoke Egyptian flawlessly, she was obviously intelligent, and she was unintimidated by men. Unusual traits, to say the least, for a Hittite woman.

"You are not Hittite, are you?" It was more a statement than an actual question, and Imhotep was not surprised when she answered in the negative.

"No. I was born in Egypt. Thebes." Although hearing that she was Egyptian was not particularly astonishing, that she had been born in Thebes itself was startling and she must have sensed that, for she continued the explanation. "My father was a merchant. Not very successful, but a good man. He and my mother died when I was eight years old, and I went to live with my mother's brother, farther north along the Nile. He had no use for another child, so he took me away and sold me to a passing trader just before my ninth birthday." Her voice was blank, expressionless. "I believe he received two camels in trade. Several months later, that man sold me to Hattullis."

He would have said something, made some gesture of sympathy, but Imhotep sensed that by doing so he would offend the girl's fierce pride. So he said nothing, simply watching her as she continued to talk.

"I have been here for ten years, now. So long that I scarcely remember Egypt." She looked at him, but her eyes were far away, remembering. "Tell me—is the Nile still as blue? Are the valleys near the river still as green and fertile? Is the city still as magnificent? Sometimes…" She stopped, and her eyes fell. "Sometimes I wonder if my childhood in Egypt was a dream, something that I conjured up during my early days here simply to stay sane."

"Egypt is beautiful, as always. The Nile still as blue, Thebes still as glorious." He watched her as she sat, drinking in his words. "But this land is not without its own kind of beauty. It is wild, free…"

"It may be free, but I am not," her voice was bitter. "This land will always represent captivity to me, and I will be happy when I can turn my back on it for all time."

"There are those who would say the same of Egypt, and happily return from there to here." His voice was mild, unchallenging, but she reacted as if he had slapped her.

"Then let them return here, to the sand, and the scorpions, and the endless, flat horizon." There was fire in her eyes, burning hot and angry, and he was struck anew at how breathtaking she was. She was like a living flame, trapped in a glass cage, and he wondered what she would do, were she to suddenly find herself free, able to go anywhere, be anything she wanted.

"Is your life here so harsh, then?"

"My life here is drudgery, servitude. Hattullis is not an evil man, and I am not mistreated, but there is so much more that I want from life…" The wistfulness in her voice, the yearning he heard there, spoke to his heart, and he would have given much to be able to offer her hope, but there was none.

"Tell me—if you were free, what would you do? Where would you go?"

Her answer was immediate. She had obviously given this much thought already. "I would return to Egypt. I would find a way to gain an education, train more in the Eastern arts. Perhaps enter one of the temples as a novitiate. I understand that the priestesses of Isis are learned women, educated and resourceful. They are not dependent upon any man."

He had dealt with those women himself, and Imhotep had to agree. In fact, remembering some of his recent dealings with the High Priestess, he had to very much agree. The woman was near seventy years old, had a razor-sharp intellect, and a tongue that was just as sharp. If ever a woman was not dependent upon anyone, man or woman, it was she. He laughed. "You would find the priestesses much to your liking, I think. Worthy role models."

She watched him, unsure as to whether or not he was teasing or serious. He saw her uncertainty, and reached over, taking her hand in his. "That was meant in all sincerity. You are just as intelligent, just as gifted, as any of the priestesses in Isis' temple. You would make a worthy novitiate." He watched her intently, the brown of his eyes locked on the almost black of hers, and at that moment, something fluttered into being between them. It was small, new, tentative, but very real, and it left them both a bit breathless, shaken. The girl pulled slightly away, hesitant, but as she realized there was no danger in his light hold, she relaxed, allowing him to hold her hand in his, run his thumb over the smooth skin, caress her palm in a slow, rhythmic massage. It was the lightest of touches, on the surface almost completely innocent, but the simple gesture communicated much more.

They were silent, the priest leaning back against the well, the girl standing in front of him, her hand in his, their eyes locked on each other. The moment lasted only seconds, but each second was an eternity, and each instant of that eternity served to reinforce the inexplicable connection that had formed between them. He stared at her, transfixed by her beauty, warmed by the fire inherent to her nature, and gave in to the spell of the night, and the moonlight, and the woman before him. It was an intoxicating combination, and he was powerless to resist its heady compulsion. With the lightest of pressure on her hand, he pulled her towards him, and she took a hesitant step forward, staring at his eyes, his face, his mouth. Her eyes widened, her breath came faster, her lips parted, and the distance between them evaporated.

A girl's high pitched yell shattered the moment. "Anck-su-namun! Where are you? Where is the water?" They heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and the girl sprang back, a panicked look on her face.

"I must go." She hesitated, then pulled her hand from his and reached out tentatively, shyly, and traced a path in the air in front of his face, almost as if she would touch him in a caress, but was afraid to, somehow. The innocent gesture, though, hung in the air between them, shimmering, erotic, more powerful, almost, than a physical touch, and he closed his eyes as he felt its impact deep in his soul. Something in him had changed, and would never be the same again. From the look in her eyes, it was the same for her.

Then the moment was gone, and she was picking up the full jugs of water, balancing them expertly, gracefully. She gave him a small smile, and turned to go. Suddenly, he was desperate to keep her there, unwilling to see her walk away.

"Wait—before you leave—what is your name?" It was amazing that he had talked with the girl for this long, felt such a powerful connection with her, and had yet to learn her name. In the overall scale of things, mere names had not seemed so important.

She smiled at him, an almost shy smile, but it went straight to his heart, planting itself there and sending out roots that went deep. "Anck-su-namun. My name is Anck-su-namun." Smiling again, she turned and ran off into the darkness. Imhotep watched until he could no longer see her shadow moving through the darkness, or hear the sound of her footsteps. Then he, too, moved away from the well, heading for his original destination.

But as he walked through the cool night air towards his tent, he couldn't help but notice the change. Compared to the spell of light and enchantment woven by the girl, the desert was suddenly a less magical place, and some of the brightness seemed to have faded from the stars overhead.

The next day, Seti announced that his objectives had been met, and that they would return to Egypt before nightfall. Of the girl, there was no sign, and Imhotep was unable to find her before they left. By evening, the tents of Hattullis' clan were miles behind them, lost in the shimmering heat waves that rose from the desert sands.

---

Imhotep walked briskly from the palace towards the temple, his silver trimmed black robe billowing out behind him, a frown marring his countenance. He didn't pause to admire the royal gardens, or to appreciate the morning sunlight glinting off the Nile's blue waters. His mind was on other things, matters of the temple, issues relating to the coming harvest celebration. He was busy, and glad of it, for when his mind was occupied, it had less time to stray to other, more distracting thoughts.

Weeks had passed. The Syrian delegation had returned to Egypt, and life had gone on, much as before. Imhotep was kept busy with the affairs of the temple, and his duties as vizier to Seti. He had little time to think, less time to ponder, but even so, memories of the girl crossed his mind with alarming frequency. Most often, they would come upon him late at night, as he lay in his chambers, alone, or when he wandered in the temple gardens in the evening. He tried to push them away, relegate them to the shadows of the past, where they belonged, but found that he could not do so. The few moments he had spent with her, the minutes he had spent watching her dance, seemed to have made an indelible impression on his mind, and he was powerless to erase them. So he allowed the memories to linger, not fighting against them, simply letting them exist as they would, and with the passage of days and weeks, the details had faded, and the whole incident took on an almost dream-like quality. Imhotep began to wonder if he had imagined the girl, and their conversation, and the hold she seemed to have on his heart.

He had almost reached the gate leading to the temple courtyard when he heard the commotion coming from the main square. A shout, followed by a man's loud grunt, and then the unmistakable sound of a slap. This last noise was followed by a long moment of silence, and Imhotep had almost turned to continue through the gate, when the barrage of cursing reached his ears. That someone should be cursing in the main square was not in itself remarkable—Thebes was a large, busy city, the political and cultural capital of Egypt—and many people of all walks of life frequented its streets. No, what made this cursing unique was that the diatribe was an odd combination of Egyptian and the Hittite dialect, and that a female was giving voice to it. And that captured the priest's attention.

Imhotep spun around, only managing by sheer force of will to hold himself back from racing towards the small crowd of people gathering around the source of the commotion. As he approached, a deliberately stern look on his face, the swarm of onlookers disbursed, casting nervous glances in his direction, their fear of unnecessarily drawing the attention of the High Priest of Osiris apparently overpowering their curiosity. He reached the center of the commotion without delay, and quickly assessed the situation.

A half dozen of the palace guard stood in disarray, surrounding a small form crumpled on the ground, holding a hand to her reddening cheek, the tears running down her face in odd juxtaposition to the stream of invective pouring from her mouth. The guard she was at the moment condemning in two languages to a long, torturous death followed by an eternity in hell shifted nervously from foot to foot, obviously unsure of how to handle this situation. Another of the men was off to the side, hopping on one foot and clutching his groin, in obvious pain. It was laughably obvious what had happened, and Imhotep would have found the circumstances funny, had the woman not at that moment looked up and saw him, staring him full in the face, her dark brown eyes widening in shock. Her mouth was still open, but the cursing stopped immediately, and no sound at all came from between those perfect lips. She looked like she had been frozen in place, part of some grotesque tableau.

Imhotep caught his breath as he recognized her, but was careful to keep any sign of that recognition from his face. Thankfully, except for that first, brief moment, he saw that she, too, hid any sign that she knew him. At this moment, that knowledge would do neither of them any good.

He folded his hands behind his back, purposely keeping a cool, regal look on his face as he turned to the ranking officer. The guard, still disconcerted from the situation with the girl, now found himself eye-to-eye with the high priest, the second most powerful man in Egypt, and almost visibly stifled a groan. Imhotep glared at him for several seconds more, intentionally trying to intimidate the man. When he spoke, his words were cold, haughty.

"What in the name of the gods is the meaning of this? Have you no respect for the sanctity of the temples you are near?"

The guard visibly winced, bowing low, almost groveling before the tall, dark-robed figure of the high priest. "Lord Imhotep, I most humbly apologize for the disturbance." He threw a glance at the now silent girl. "Please believe me, it will not happen again."

Imhotep continued to glare at him. "What are you doing with this woman? Where are you taking her, that she is driven to such…outbursts?"

The guard shot a venomous glance at the girl. "My lord, we are delivering her to Pharaoh Seti. She has just been delivered by the Hittite merchant who sold her to him." Only through sheer willpower was Imhotep able to conceal his shock, but at the guard's words, his whole body had gone icy cold. Still, his outward demeanor reflected nothing of his inner turmoil, and he raised a questioning eyebrow at the guard.

"She does not appear to be at all pleased to have been the Pharaoh's latest acquisition." Again, the guard gave her an evil glare.

"The girl is unbalanced, if you ask me. No sooner had the merchant delivered her to us and driven off, than she turned into a wildcat, screaming and raging, and…" He glanced at his comrade, who was still clutching himself, moaning. "And kicking. She nearly cost Asim, here, his future children. I…I slapped her, my lord, but only to prevent her from doing him any further injury. It will not happen again, I assure you."

"You slapped her?" Imhotep spoke slowly, deliberately. "She belongs to the Pharaoh, and you dared to strike her?" The man cringed. "You know what the penalty is for such an offense, do you not?" The man obviously had a very good idea, as he nodded miserably, and stood, silent, as the priest spared him another scathing glance, and then looked down at the girl. "You." Gods, how he hated speaking to her like this, but he had no choice, none at all. "Stand up."

Silently, slowly, she stood, her eyes never leaving his. He kept his hands behind his back, even though he ached to help her to her feet, pull her into his embrace, offer her some comfort. "What is your version of this tale, woman?"

She met his gaze with her own, unfaltering, unafraid. The only thing that betrayed her was a slight tremble to her chin. Her voice, when she spoke, was steady, the tone as cool as his own. "It is as they say."

"You have been sold to Pharaoh Seti? You are to be his…" He could not bring himself to conjecture what she might be, so he left the question unfinished. The girl filled in the blank herself, seeming to interrupt him, much to the guards' gaping disbelief.

"As I understand it," she explained, her tone bitter, filled with derision, "I am to be his whore." Imhotep winced at the raw term, this time not caring if the guards saw his reaction.

"He has taken you as his concubine?" The official term was a euphemism, a prettier name for what was essentially the same thing, and Imhotep knew that the girl was well aware of that.

"He has bought me for such purpose." Again, bitterness filled her voice. "He has yet to take me."

Imhotep watched her, carefully trying to weigh how far he could go in trying to help her. He gave the guards a measuring look, then turned to the captain. "I wish to speak with her. Alone. Perhaps I can offer some…spiritual guidance…that will convince her of the inappropriateness of her actions, and her…" he almost choked on the next words, but the guards seemed not to notice. "And her good fortune in being chosen by the Pharaoh." He waited, as the captain warily nodded, but stood unmoving, clearly unconvinced that the priest could handle the hellion standing before him. Again, Imhotep raised an eyebrow, and the captain of the guard took the hint, backing off immediately and signaling the others to do the same. Imhotep waited until they were out of earshot to speak.

"Are you hurt?" His voice, cool before, detached, now reflected his concern.

She shook her head, her eyes huge in a face gone pale, except for the red mark where the guard had struck her.

"Hattullis sold you to Seti?" Imhotep balked at using the man's title, and the girl seemed to understand the significance. For the first time, her eyes mirrored a glimmer of hope.

She nodded, and her thick, ebony hair swung over her shoulders, glinting blue-black in the hot sunlight. He tried, in vain, not to notice.

"When did this happen?"

"The arrangements were made the morning you left. The pharaoh—Seti—was apparently much taken with my performance the evening before. Before you left, he and Hattullis came to an…understanding." The bitterness was back in her voice. "My price has gone up. I understand Hattullis was paid in gold, not in camels."

Imhotep's heart was being torn in two, and yet he could do nothing, absolutely nothing, to right this situation. If it had been any other man, he could have intervened, bought her himself, matched almost any price, set her free. But she had been delivered into the hands of the one man he was powerless against…

"I am sorry." The words sounded hollow to him—he couldn't imagine what they sounded like to her. "If I could help you, I would…"

She stepped forward then, and the hope was back in her eyes. "But can you not help me? You seem to be a powerful man in your own right. Is there nothing you can do?" As she spoke, she reached out, as if to grasp his arm. Imhotep steeled himself against her reaction, and stepped away before she could touch him. If she belonged to Seti, he could not even touch her, or allow her to touch him, without fear of bringing death to them both. His abrupt rejection stopped her instantly, and her hand dropped to her side, her eyes falling to the ground as well.

"I am sorry," he repeated. "If it were anyone but the pharaoh, I would do anything within my power to help you. I would buy you myself, set you free…" He stopped, unwilling to torment either of them any further with the hopeless wishing. "I can do nothing."

She looked up at him, then, and there were tears in her eyes, although she attempted to laugh. "I told you that I would return to Egypt one day, did I not?"

He ignored the reference to their last meeting. It had no meaning here, could offer no comfort. The best he could offer her was a weak reassurance. "The palace is beautiful, and you will be well provided for, all your needs fulfilled." Save her burning need for freedom. "You will not be treated as a servant—there will be no expectations of you…" He stopped, unable to go on. What would be expected of her, though unsaid, hung in the air between them, looming large as a mountain.

When she finally looked up, her features were composed, and there was no more pleading in her eyes. The hope was gone, as well. The fight, the rebellion, had left her, replaced by a serene calmness that was somehow even more disturbing. Her last words to him, before she turned and walked back to the waiting guards, rang in his ears long after they had taken her away to the palace.

"A slave is still a slave, no matter the name. And a cage is still a cage, no matter how gilded."

He stared bleakly after them, filled with a helpless, hopeless rage. So Seti had acquired a new toy. Imhotep considered the pharaoh, a man he knew well, and reflected on his childish temperament, his frequent fits of rage, his selfish possessiveness. He recalled all this, and wondered despairingly how long it would take for Seti to break this toy before moving on to the next one.

---

It took less time than even he would have expected.

She was brought to the temple the next week, delivered by a frowning Med Jai into the hands of Kamuzu, the chief healer among the priests. The injuries were not life-threatening—several cracked ribs, contusions to the face and arms, and assorted bruises—but they were painful, and the ribs, at least, needed to be bound. The Med Jai was not pleased when the healer informed him that the girl would need to stay at the temple for at least a day, so they could monitor her for any signs of internal injury, but at the old man's insistence, he finally agreed, and brought word of her confinement back to Seti.

She had been there for several hours already before Imhotep learned of her presence, and her injuries had already been tended. He found her with the old priest in a small chamber at the back of the temple, one of several rooms reserved for such cases. He entered in a swirl of black, and his face had the look of a thundercloud.

"What has happened?" Unruffled, the old man looked up at Imhotep, his eyes steady as he took in the younger man's stormy demeanor. Slowly, stiffly, he got to his feet and approached the high priest.

"The girl did not please Pharaoh Seti, my lord. He saw fit to…reprimand her." His opinion of Seti was obvious from the distaste in his voice when he spoke the man's name. Seti's other women had all made their way through these chambers, at one time or another, until they learned how to avoid his temper.

Imhotep's face reflected his concern. "Will she recover?"

"The injuries were not serious, my lord, but they were painful. She will be with us for at least one night, so we can be sure that no other harm was done." As he spoke, the old man carefully pulled up the light blanket around her, gently tucking it around her body. He was a kindly man, well suited to the healing profession, and Imhotep was glad that Anck-su-namun had been delivered into his hands. His eyes had scarcely left her since he had entered the room, but now he turned to the old priest, and his voice was gentle.

"Leave us, Kamuzu." His eyes flicked back to the girl. "I wish to speak to her."

The old man hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with leaving the two alone. That the Med Jai had left Seti's woman alone with him was one thing—he was eighty years old, and was clearly no threat to her or her virtue. Imhotep, however, was a much different matter—he was young, handsome, and his emotions were obviously entangled in this matter, somehow. Still, he was the high priest, and as such, commanded obedience. "Are you sure that is wise, my lord?" That was the furthest the old man would go, by way of objecting.

"I am not at all sure, Kamuzu," Imhotep answered him, honestly. "But it is a risk I am willing to take. I would speak with her alone, please." He spoke to the old man respectfully, with the deference due the man's advanced age and great experience, and the old priest finally nodded.

"I will be just outside, if you have need," he said, and then left, quietly closing the door behind him.

Imhotep was at her side immediately. "What has he done to you?" He knelt by the bed, taking her hand in his, not caring if he was forbidden to touch her. His only concern at the moment was her, and the injuries done her by Seti.

She managed a weak smile. "Nothing I did not expect. I did not imagine that a pharaoh would take kindly to his attentions being…rebuffed." Imhotep would have guessed as much, and her words did not surprise him.

"Anck-su-namun, you must listen to me. I know Seti. I have known him for a long time. He is a dangerous man for you to cross." As he spoke, he lightly stroked her hand, his fingers seemingly unable to stop caressing hers, his eyes devouring her face. "I wish to the gods that there was something I could do to help you, but there is not. There is no other way for you to avoid his wrath. All that my priests and I can do is repair whatever damage Seti chooses to inflict. We cannot stop him from inflicting it."

"What are you saying?" Her eyes narrowed to slits, the dark brown irises appearing almost black in the dim light of the room. "That I should submit to him?" In case there was any chance of him not understanding what she meant, she continued, spelling it out in graphic detail. "You want me to lie submissively beneath him, while he uses me like a rutting boar? Until he spends himself within me, slaking his lust with my body? You wish me, perhaps, to welcome him in that way? That is what you wish me to do?"

Imhotep went pale, the crude picture she drew with her words nauseating him with its sickening detail. For a moment, he couldn't speak, and simply stared at her. Finally, he spoke. "No. That is not what I want. That is as far from what I want as the east is from the west." He stopped, drawing a breath, looking down at the ivory blanket covering her bruised body, and in a moment of pure insight, realized that he was at a crossroads in his life. Whatever happened in this moment, whatever path he chose, would mean that his life ever after was irrevocably changed, its course altered forever. For a second, no more, his sense of self-preservation fought a losing battle with his heart, and in the end, gladly submitted to the loss. When he met her eyes again, he shielded nothing from her, deliberately allowing her to see the full extent of the emotions raging in him, to see into his soul. "What I want is completely meaningless," he continued, his voice bleak. "What matters is what you must do to simply survive."

She said nothing, her eyes locked on his, her face pale, her lips trembling.

He began again, trying to make her understand. "Seti owns you, Anck-su-namun. There is nothing that I, or anyone else, can do to change that fact. It is not right, it is not fair, but it is the truth, and it is inescapable. In one way or another, he owns us all. His is the ultimate power in Egypt, do you not understand? With a look, a word, he has the power to destroy us all—you, me, anyone who crosses him. I cannot help you in this. You must do it yourself—you either choose to live, and accept what that brings with it, or you choose to anger Seti until he eventually tires of the game, and destroys you. It will happen, believe me. It has happened before." He saw the fear in her eyes, the disgusted revulsion for the choice she had to make, and he was sickened by it. Still, he had to help her survive this, in whatever way he could. Gently, he put his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face up towards his, refusing to let her turn away from him. He could see the shame she felt for what she must do to survive, and he would not let her turn this against herself, would not let her turn her revulsion inwards until it festered into a bitter self-loathing.

"There is no shame in this Anck-su-namun. We all do what we must to survive. There is no shame, do you hear me?" He could see the tears fill her eyes—huge, shining drops that spilled from the corners and streamed down her cheeks.

"You are saying that if I do this, if I…submit, I will not be his whore?" The tears continued to flow, and every drop was like a spear in his heart.

"You are no man's whore, Anck-su-namun. You are a strong, intelligent woman who will refuse to let circumstances, no matter how horrible, overpower you. You are a woman who will do what she must to survive, and be stronger for it. There is no shame in that."

She watched him for a long time, staring silently into his eyes, as if she were trying, somehow, to look within his very mind to gauge the sincerity of his words. Finally, she heaved a shuddering sigh, and wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. When she looked at him again, he saw that she had made her decision. She confirmed it with her next words.

"I will live, if only to await the day when I can finally have my revenge on him." Had he not felt so miserable, Imhotep would have smiled at her ferocity. As it was, all he could manage was to grip her hand more tightly with his own, willing some of his strength into her.

"When must I leave here?" She asked the question hesitantly, not really wanting to hear the answer, and when he told her, he could see her unhappiness. For all that she had made her decision, it was not one that she looked forward to carrying out. Imhotep sighed, frustrated that he could do so little. He wished he could keep her there longer, somehow—give her a refuge of some sort. But the Temple of Osiris was not that sort of refuge. If only…

Suddenly, he had the answer. He could not deliver her from her fate, perhaps, but maybe in the end, he could give her a place to retreat to when she needed to escape from it, if even for an hour. There was a refuge he could offer, after all.

"Do you remember the Temple of Isis, Anck-su-namun? Were you ever taken there as a child?"

She nodded, clearly unsure where this was going.

"When you are healed, I want you to go there. Tell the women who look after you that you are going there to learn more about the goddess, to assimilate yourself more fully into our culture. Tell them that you do this to please the Pharaoh. Tell him that, if you must. He will not care. As long as you do not cross him, he will not question your sudden interest in spiritual growth." Imhotep held back a grimace. If Seti thought she did it to please him, he would probably encourage it. The man was entirely too predictable in his narcissism. "Once you are there, ask for the high priestess. She is an old woman, and has held her position for many years. She is direct, blunt to the point of rudeness, and she harbors no love for the dull-witted or stupid. Her wits are sharp, and her tongue even sharper. But she is kind, and she is discreet." He smiled, recalling some of his dealings with the woman. On more than one occasion, he had come out the worst in such altercations. Still, he respected her, valued her opinion, and most importantly, he trusted her implicitly. And he knew that she harbored no love for Seti. Seti was notorious in his slighting of the goddess she served, overlooking her temple and her priestesses again and again, instead heaping adulation on Osiris and Amun-Re, the masculine deities. No, the servants of Isis bore Seti no special love.

"I will speak to her, so that she will know you when you come to her."

"I can do all this," she said, a puzzled frown on her face, "but what end will it serve? What good will this do?"

"I cannot keep you from your fate," Imhotep said, and as he spoke, he lifted his hand, brushing her hair back from her face. "But I will do what I can to make it bearable for you. There is a place," he explained, "between the temples of Isis and Osiris—a secluded place, accessible only via a hidden passageway between the two buildings. It is a meditation chamber, surrounded by a small courtyard, which is reserved for the exclusive use of the high priest and priestess of the two temples. Only we, and the temple caretakers, know of its existence. Only we are allowed its use." He himself used the place infrequently at best, preferring his meditation chamber in the temple proper, but it was there, and it might finally be of use to him.

"It is a beautiful spot, the gardens within well tended and peaceful. If she is willing," he continued, "and I believe she will be, the priestess can show you how to find the tunnel from within her temple."

"And you would give me access to this place? Allow me to escape to it at times?" She anticipated his offer, reading his thoughts with an ease that should have troubled him.

"I can do so little for you, Anck-su-namun. All I can offer you is a small refuge, a place you can visit briefly to find some peace when you need it most. A place where you can go and be free, if only for an hour or two." He shook his head, and sorrow filled his eyes. "I only wish I could do more."

"It is enough. It is more than enough. I will go there, and I thank you." She tilted her head to the side, her eyes not leaving his. "But why, I wonder? Why would you do this?"

He was not sure of that answer himself, and he stood, avoiding her eyes, avoiding the question itself. Gently, he released her hand, placing it carefully on the bed at her side. Some impulse, some compulsion, though, made him crouch down beside her once again, and she watched as his hand traced a gesture in the air over her face—the same gesture she had made weeks before, when they had first met. For a long moment they watched each other, not speaking, the silence serving to deepen their growing bond. Finally, Imhotep stood again, and this time, he made it to the door.

"Rest, Anck-su-namun, rest and heal. For now, you are safe. Nothing will harm you here."

She smiled at him and closed her eyes, burrowing more deeply into the soft mattress. He left, then, walking out the door, signaling to the nervously pacing old priest that he could once again see to his patient. As the heavy door closed behind the healer, Imhotep shuddered, and although he was no seer, he felt a ghostly premonition flit through him. A part of him had stayed behind with the girl in that room, and he left it with her gladly. He was unsure what had passed between them there, but whatever it was, it had changed him, marked him forever.

Whether that change was for the good or ill, only time would tell.

---

They managed to keep her in the temple for two more days, until Seti's Med Jai guards angrily waved the priests aside and took her with them. She did not protest, going with them willingly, stopping only for a brief moment to thank the kindly old priest who had tended her injuries. He patted her hand, a worried look on his face, and his voice was gruff as he wished her well.

"Go now, my lady, and be well. May mighty Osiris watch over you, may the goddess Isis be with you, and may the glory of Amun-Re light your path. Be well."

The leader of the Med Jai, impatient with this display, cleared his throat, signaling to her that her time here was unquestionably at an end. With one last, sad smile at the old man, she turned and went meekly with the men. Within moments, they were gone, the temple courtyard echoing with the sounds of their passing.

---

A week later, Anck-su-namun entered the temple of Isis, her lithe body draped in a concealing robe, her face and hair swathed in scarves. At her entrance, one of the temple novitiates approached her, recognizing her from her clothing as a resident of the palace, offering to be of any service she could in matters of worshipping the goddess. Anck-su-namun thanked her, and quietly asked to be taken to the high priestess.

"I have a weighty spiritual matter to discuss with her." The novitiate, although surprised at this request, nodded, backing away and going in search of the old woman. Occasionally, the high priestess deemed to meet with members of Seti's court, on matters pertaining to the goddess, and the young girl assumed that this must be one of those instances.

While she waited, Anck-su-namun roamed through the common area of the temple, admiring the magnificent building, the well-tended grounds, the lovingly sculpted statues of the goddess, the painted murals depicting scenes from Egyptian myth and religious lore. It was a beautiful temple, gracious and filled with light. In contrast, the temple of Osiris was stark and plain, majestic rather than beautiful. Even here, in the common area, Anck-su-namun could feel a certain peace flowing through her, seeping into her pores and slowly working its way through her body. If only…

"So. You are Anck-su-namun, Seti's concubine." The gruff voice came from just behind her, making her jump in fright. She had not even heard the old woman approach, so silent were her footsteps.

"I am. And you are the high priestess?" Anck-su-namun spoke with deference, but refused to be cowed by the intimidating old woman. Her voice, respectful but cool, was reflected in her bearing, as well.

"I am Mukarramma, High Priestess of Isis." The old woman's eyes were like those of a bird of prey—sharp, intelligent, missing nothing. She took in the regal stance with which the girl held herself, the cool grace with which she spoke, the stunning beauty that the concealing clothing did little to disguise, and she smiled. So this was the girl that Imhotep was willing to risk so much over. "You are welcome in the temple. Come."

Turning, the old woman led the way through the common area, walking at a leisurely pace, but with purpose. Anck-su-namun followed, silent, carefully noting when and where they turned from the large hallway, making sure to carefully observe her surroundings. Once they had turned down a secondary hallway, the old woman stopped, and once again spoke.

"You know where we are going?" Her beady eyes watched closely as Anck-su-namun nodded. "Good. Imhotep has asked me to allow you access to the area reserved for us alone. Although I have reservations, I will do so, as a favor to him, and because I sense you have great need for such a place." She watched as Anck-su-namun again inclined her head.

"I am grateful, my lady." Although her head was bowed respectfully, her eyes lowered, her tone respectful, again Mukarramma could sense no subservience in the girl's voice, and she was strangely pleased. The old woman had grown weary, over her many years in service to the goddess, of the endless bowing and scraping that was offered her by others. She had no use for it, grew impatient with it, and cared little for those who groveled. But this girl had spirit, and the old woman felt herself warming to her.

"I wonder, girl, if Imhotep told you also that I have been gifted by the goddess with the sight?" Anck-su-namun looked up at that, shaking her head, curious as to what the old woman meant.

"You mean that you are able to see into the future? Sense what is yet to come?" She had heard of people possessing such powers, and she was intrigued.

"I can." The priestess nodded, then continued with an explanation. "The images I see often do not form a complete picture, but I am sometimes able to see a pattern in the images that offer insight into the road ahead." The old woman stared at her, not sure why, but feeling compelled, for some reason, to reach out and take the younger woman's hand. "If you would allow me to, I would attempt to read your aura in such a way. There is something I sense…" Her words trailed off. Anck-su-namun didn't hesitate for a moment, simply placing her hand in the old woman's wrinkled, claw-like one. At the contact, the old woman let out an audible gasp, closing her eyes to the images that flooded her mind. Anck-su-namun felt nothing but the cold, withered fingers closing over hers.

For an endless moment, they stood there, frozen in the strangely intimate contact, the young woman watching curiously as the older one held her hand, swaying back and forth, eyes closed, face pinched, as the visions battered her from within. Finally, the high priestess' eyes opened, and she dropped her hand to her side, almost giving in to the urge to wipe it on her robe. Anck-su-namun stared at her, mystified at the old woman's sudden pallor, suddenly worried for her.

"My lady, are you all right? What came to you in this vision, to upset you so?" Her voice reflected her concern, and she reached out to help the old woman. Before she could touch her, though, the old woman stepped back, holding out a hand to ward her off.

"No. Do not touch me yet. Give me a moment." Anck-su-namun backed off immediately, waiting silently as the old woman composed herself. After several moments, she spoke.

"I am sorry. It is not often that the visions are so…vivid, so clear. It…" she paused, searching for the right word. "It startled me."

"But what did you see?" Anck-su-namun was curious, naturally, about what the old woman could tell her. She was disappointed when the priestess shook her head.

"There is much I could tell you, but I will not. It is better, sometimes, to not know what the future will hold, lest you be an unwitting accomplice to fate."

Puzzled, disappointed as well, Anck-su-namun watched as the priestess made a visible effort to collect herself. "There is nothing you can tell me? Nothing that I may know of the future?"

"I will tell you this, my child," the priestess offered, searching the younger woman's face with eyes that were ancient, all-seeing, filled with a sad knowledge. "The freedom that you so yearn for will come." As Anck-su-namun's face lit, the old woman made a quelling gesture. "It will come, but it will be bought with the edge of a blade, paid for at great cost. You will find love in this lifetime and in others, but death will stalk your footsteps, and betrayal will mark your soul. Not only your life hangs in the balance, but another's, as well. Mark my words, and learn from them if you can. Fate will have its way, using us mortals at its pleasure, but the end is never cast in stone. There is always a choice to be made."

Anck-su-namun would have asked for more revelations, more guidance, but she could see from the set of the old woman's face that she would receive none. Silent, she waited as the old woman began walking down the corridor, gesturing for her to follow.

They passed through a number of successively smaller hallways and chambers, finally stopping next to a pillared alcove, overhung by a large tapestry. Stopping, Mukarramma held the intricately woven wall hanging aside, gesturing for Anck-su-namun to enter the alcove, following her inside. Once out of sight of anyone traversing the hallway, the old woman reached out a hand, pressing against a shallow indentation in the wall. With an almost inaudible click, a rectangular-shaped hairline fissure opened in the wall, quickly widening into a concealed doorway that opened smoothly and silently into a narrow hallway, lit only by a solitary torch. Mukarramma pointed to the hallway.

"Through that hallway lies the path to Osiris' temple. Take the torch inside and continue down its length for two hundred paces. There, you will find an alcove similar to this, and another doorway, which opens in the same way. Through that door is the garden, and the chamber we spoke of. You may use it when you can, as often as you wish, whenever you are able. No one else knows of it—you will not be disturbed."

Anck-su-namun peered down the dimly lit hallway, and felt a twinge of fear begin to blossom within her. The priestess' words had disturbed her more than she was willing to admit, even to herself, and she felt an overpowering sense of foreboding.

"You are sure you wish to do this, my lady?" She would not put the priestess in this position, if the woman had any doubts at all.

"The deed is already done, and I do not regret that I have played a part." She hesitated, not knowing whether or not she should continue, but she followed her instinct, and revealed the rest. "This first time, you will not be alone in the chamber. When I learned of your arrival, I sent word to Imhotep, who wished to know. He waits for you there, now." She watched the girl's face as she spoke, and as she had known it would, the news brought a flush to the young woman's cheek and a brightness to her eyes, both of which had been noticeably absent before. It was as she had feared, and she sighed inwardly. Fate was at work here, and had its talons sunk deeply into not just one life, but two.

Anck-su-namun did not hesitate any more at all, quickly slipping inside the narrow doorway and removing the torch from its holder on the wall. She turned to the high priestess.

"Thank you, my lady. I am much in your debt." With a respectful nod of her head, and a quick smile, she turned and nearly ran down the hallway towards the hidden garden and the priest who waited there.

Mukarramma watched as she disappeared into the gloom, the light from the torch rapidly fading, swallowed eagerly by the darkness. With another sigh, she closed the concealed doorway, making sure that it was tightly shut. Bowing her head, she said a quick prayer to the goddess, asking that Isis watch over those two, that if it were within her power, she shield them from what Mukarramma's vision had revealed. But within her heart, the old woman knew that fate would have its way, as it always did. In the end, no man was immune to his own destiny.

Slowly, the high priestess left the alcove, and as she walked away, her footsteps were slower, less sure, and her age more apparent than ever.

---

Anck-su-namun reached the doorway to the garden quickly, setting the torch into a waiting holder, opening the door with no hesitation at all. It swung out, into the garden, and for a moment, she was blinded by the bright sunlight that struck her eyes after the dimness of the tunnel. Shielding her eyes from the light, she walked through the portal, and into the garden, her feet encountering the softness of grass, the scent of lotus, the sound of running water.

After a moment, her eyes adjusted to the sun's radiance, and she dropped her hand, looking around the small courtyard, instinctively seeking and finding the tall, black-robed form that waited within. Seeing him, her heart seemed to skip a beat, thudding in her chest and then picking up speed, pounding in her ears and sending the blood rushing through her suddenly over-warm body. Now that she was here, actually in his presence, she was suddenly shy, awkward. For much had changed since the last time they had talked, and she was bitterly aware of those changes.

The priest saw her as well, turning away from the fountain and its serenely splashing waters that had engrossed him before she arrived. Slowly, he walked towards her, hands clasped behind his back, fighting against the urge to reach out and take her hands in his. He reminded himself that he had only come for a moment, to reassure himself of her continued health, and then he would leave her. He must.

"You are well?" He spoke quietly, his low, beautifully modulated voice washing over her ears, soothing and gentle. Unfortunately, it only served to remind her of its stark contrast to another voice, and the joy she had experienced when she first caught sight of him evaporated in a tide of despair. He was everything that she did not, could not have, and his nearness magnified that loss, made it all the more heartbreaking.

"I will survive," she said at last, bowing her head, refusing to look at him, not willing to meet his eyes, and he understood her meaning. It was done. She was Seti's. His gut clenched at the thought, but he forced the feeling away. She spoke truly. She would survive, and that was the important thing.

Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, he drew closer, and with one hand tilted up her chin. "Nothing has changed in how I think of you, Anck-su-namun. Nothing that has happened will change that." He tried to show her with his eyes, with the gentleness in his hand, that he spoke the truth. "You are still the person you always were, and my…feelings for you, they are the same as well." He wondered at the wisdom in what he said, what he did, but he was very nearly past the point of wisdom.

She looked up at him then, and he felt himself falling into the dark depths of her eyes, drowning in them, unable and unwilling to save himself. When she spoke, it was a whisper. "Why did you come here? Why did you wait for me?"

He opened his mouth to answer her, to tell her that he had only come to see for himself that she was safe and well, but he realized that the words he had carefully prepared were a lie, and even if they were safer than the truth, he would not dishonor her by speaking falsely. Instead, he reached out, removing the veil from her hair, brushing its glossy thickness back from her face, his eyes hungrily memorizing each curve of her face, each feature. "I came because I could not stay away."

He heard her indrawn breath, and then she, too, reached out to him, touching him this time, not just tracing a gesture in the air, her long, slim fingers tracing the curve of his cheekbone, the line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips. He closed his eyes to the pleasure her simple touch gave him, and his hands found her shoulders, fingers gripping them with a gentle strength, then sliding down her arms to take her hands in his. He opened his eyes to see her standing closer to him than ever, head tilted up towards his, lips slightly parted.

"My lord…" The words were a whisper, a sigh. He brought his hand to her lips, stopping her words.

"No. There are no titles between us, no barriers. Here, in this place, we are simply two people who…who care for one another, who can find some solace in each other's presence. Use my name, Anck-su-namun—let me hear you say my name…"

Her eyes darkened, growing even wider than before, and she granted his wish, his name flowing past her lips like a caress. "Imhotep…"

There was one moment when he could still have managed to pull away, still have left her there alone, assured of her safety, and chosen the safer path. But he hesitated, and the moment was lost, submerged beneath the inescapable wave of desire, and his feet settled with finality on the path fate had lain before him, had set out for them both. His grip on her hands tightened, and he pulled her to him, narrowing the space between them to a breath. His eyes never left hers, watching as the kohl-lined lids fell closed, as she lifted her mouth to meet his. And when their lips finally touched, that kiss, the union of their lips and mouths, the physical manifestation of the joining of their spirits, sealed the bond between them, the connection that had begun in the moonlight of the Syrian desert, had deepened in the healing chamber of Osiris' temple, and was now an indelible mark upon both their souls. The kiss deepened, growing in passion and intensity, and they gave themselves over to it, surrendering themselves into fate's hands.

---

Imhotep was the first to draw away, pulling his lips from hers after a final, lingering kiss, using all his considerable willpower to steady his breathing, calm his racing heart. He felt as though he had been dropped from a great height, as though he were caught in a free fall, as though his soul had left his body and taken wing. Never before had a woman's touch affected him in such a way—never before had he felt anything remotely close to this. He was proud of his legendary self-control—he depended upon it, relied upon it while conducting the political business and social games inherent to his position—and yet the slightest touch from this woman, this girl, stole it away effortlessly, as though it had never existed in the first place.

He looked down at her, her lips red and swollen from his kisses, her eyes filled with the drugged lethargy of passion, her skin flushed with the heat of desire, and he wanted nothing more than to carry her into the chamber beyond, lie down with her upon the rugs and pillows scattered about the room, and show her what the union of a man and a woman could be—what it should be. He could take her back from Seti, use his own body to wipe the memories of the pharaoh's possession from her mind, from her body, from her soul.

But he would not, because to do so would be condemning them both, sealing their fates as surely as if they had taken up arms against Egypt. A union between them was treason, punishable by death. What they had already done was enough—to do more was to thumb their noses at the gods.

He took a step back, intending to put a safe distance between them, opening his mouth to list the many reasons why they could not continue down this path. But she stepped with him, hanging on to his robe, pressing her supple body up against his, and he felt his resistance begin to fracture, huge chinks and fissures appearing in the armor of his will, and when she spoke, it began to crumble away.

"No! Please—do not leave me. If this is all I can have, all the freedom that is available to me, then stay here with me. Show me that there is more to love than the perverted acts forced upon me by Seti. Please…" As she spoke, her fingers found the opening to the high collared robe he wore, finding where it fastened and loosening it so that it fell open, revealing the smooth, bronze skin of his chest, leaving her free to touch him. And touch him she did, running her hands over the hot skin she had uncovered, pressing her lips to his flesh in a lingering kiss that was erotic in its innocence.

He groaned, feeling the answering swell of his desire, and the last of his resistance fell away, crumbling into the useless sand it had been made from in the first place. He dragged her to him, lowering his mouth to hers once more, and this time the kiss was demanding, forceful, wringing a response from her that she seemed all too willing to give.

His hands moved, removing the rest of the scarves that swathed her body, loosening the flowing robe that she wore, and the garments fell away, leaving her standing there naked before him, her chin up, her dark eyes smoldering with need, willingly offering him what she had managed to deny Seti. More than her body, more than a carnal joining together of the flesh—what she offered, and what he in that moment accepted, was a gift of the spirit, a joining of the body, a union of the soul.

For a moment, he simply stood there, his gaze traveling over the perfection of her flesh—the long, slim legs, the flare of her hip, the tiny waist, the generous curves of her rose-tipped breasts, the beauty of her face. Then, unable to wait any longer, he shrugged out of his robe, letting it drop to the floor, unfastening the loincloth that covered him from waist to thigh. When that garment fell away he, too, was naked, offering himself to her just as she had done for him.

Her eyes ran over his body as well, taking in the strength of his limbs, the smooth beauty of his golden, shaved skin, the burgeoning evidence of his desire for her. With a small, almost shy smile, she raised passion dark eyes to his face, and held out her arms to him, an invitation so erotically seductive that it took his breath away.

In one swift move, she was in his arms, and his lips were closing on hers in a slow, scorching kiss. He swept her from her feet, carrying her through the garden and into the room beyond, laying her down on the pillows, fanning her ebony hair out around her head, tangling his fingers in the silken strands, lifting it to his face to feel its softness, inhale its scent. He ran his hands over the length of her, probing, exploring, plying her body with an expertise that drove her wild, working her into a fevered state of need. Finally, at last, he covered her body with his, holding himself over her, poised at her entrance, searching her countenance for any sign of hesitance, any hint of regret, but finding nothing save a hunger that matched his own. Slowly, with infinite care, he lowered himself onto her, his hot, hard length sliding into her moist, welcoming flesh. Closing his eyes to the pleasure, he drove deep, filling her entirely, stretching her body to conform to his.

She cried out at his possession, but not in pain, and the tears that ran down her face were not tears of sadness. As they moved together, legs entwined, mouths and lips blazing moist paths over willing flesh, eager hands searching, seeking, hips rocking together in a primal rhythm, the last of the barriers between them evaporated, and their destinies were sealed. They were no longer two creations, but one, and fate smiled as she wrapped them lovingly in her fatal embrace.

With a cry, Anck-su-namun felt the world shatter around her, and raised her hips, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him deeper within, her body convulsing around his. Eyes open, Imhotep watched her as she climaxed, rejoicing in her fulfillment. With one last, deep plunge, he allowed himself to cross the threshold as well, feeling his own shudder of completion, and with a groan, he spilled himself into her.

Later, as she dozed on the silken pillows, Imhotep went and collected their scattered clothing, returning dressed in his loincloth and carrying his robe. He used it to cover her lush curves, watching as she smiled and stretched in her sleep, gathering the robe close about her, inhaling his scent that wafted from its folds. His answering smile was tinged with sadness, and he walked to the doorway of the secluded garden, looking up into the blue sky of Egypt, wondering what the future held for them. Wondering what it could hold for them.

---

Life went on, as life will, and the days grew into weeks, the weeks into months, the months into years. Their affair went on as well, and they continued to meet as often as they could, at first only daring to come together in their secret rendezvous, later carrying out their trysts in Imhotep's chambers within the temple, or even Anck-su-namun's quarters in the palace. This last was most dangerous, and they only risked doing so when Seti was gone from the place, taking most of his Med Jai guard with him.

It was not long before their relationship had deepened to the point where they were unable to call it anything but what it was, if in truth it had been anything less, and they became lovers in word as well as in deed. So long as they managed to keep their relationship secret, they were safe from Seti's wrath, safe from the terrible punishment they both would face should he ever discover the truth. And so time passed. And with time came comfort, and with comfort came routine, and with routine, complacency.

Over time, Anck-su-namun grew resigned to her place as Seti's concubine, and stopped fighting against it, even in her own mind. She despised Seti, still felt occasional pangs of disgust at what she had been reduced to, but as long as she had Imhotep, as long as they had their time together, she was content to live a double life, serving Seti at his convenience, all the while thinking of the man who held her heart. And Imhotep lived a dual existence as well, carrying on with the façade of being a faithful servant to his god and his pharaoh, all the while he was blaspheming them both with his duplicity, however well intentioned, however purely motivated by the love he bore Anck-su-namun.

Seti, too, settled into the routine of his relationship with Anck-su-namun, forgetting their early days, thinking of her only as a beautiful and willing female, seeing only what she chose to let him see, growing to value her youth and beauty for more reasons than one. As time passed, he allowed her greater freedom, giving in to her request to offset her boredom with palace life by training in Sai, a form of combat more resembling a deadly form of acrobatics than a true brawl. Eventually, when he saw how skilled she was at the art, he even requested that she begin training his oldest daughter, Nefertiri, and took great pleasure in watching them spar. His daughter learned quickly, and Anck-su-namun was a gifted teacher, patient with the younger girl's initial clumsiness, encouraging as she grew more skilled.

Seti watched all this, and began to ponder his advancing years as well, and shortly before Anck-su-namun's twenty-sixth birthday, he informed his most favored concubine that she would be given the great privilege of becoming his wife, the mother of his future children. Indeed, he had hinted as much before, and rumors of such an alliance had begun to circulate throughout the palace. He was pleased to validate those rumors, pleased to give her this gift, for he had become genuinely fond of her, content with their relationship, happy with her willing submissiveness to his every whim, pleased that she had become a friend to his daughter, whom he loved dearly.

As he informed her of this, and watched her react to the news, he missed the brief flare of true emotion in her eyes, and saw only what he wished to see. He saw her smile, her beautiful face beaming up into his, her ripe body pressed against him, and he was pleased. Had he seen the expression on her face when he pulled her to him, Seti might have wondered, for the look was deadly calm, a layer of pure ice underneath a beautiful mask, and the cold, ruthless calculation in the black depths of her eyes would have made even Imhotep himself question her motives.

---

Eliana watched as Imhotep fell silent, staring off into the pre-dawn sky. The story had been a long time in the telling, and night was fading quickly. Soon, the sun would rise, and the night would be over. Soon, they could be on their way again. But not yet. She put her hand on his arm, letting it linger, asking him to finish.

"You haven't told me the rest. Why would you—we—have killed Seti? Why not just continue the affair, even after he had married Anck-su-namun? You were safe, secure in your positions. He trusted her. He trusted you. Why risk so much?"

"There was a…complication. The potions supplied by the palace midwives failed her, and Anck-su-namun became pregnant. Much as she despised Seti, much as she abhorred the idea of becoming his wife, she became obsessed with the idea of the child growing up in the palace, being the pharaoh's heir. Even though Ramses stood to inherit the crown after Seti's death, her child would be a member of the royal family, virtually untouchable, protected by the Med Jai, able to enjoy all the benefits and privileges of being a son or daughter of the gods' own emissary on earth. And to some degree, Anck-su-namun herself would be have been more secure within the palace, as well." He shook his head, remembering the fierce argument they had had, when Anck-su-namun told him of her plan.

"She would not listen to me, no matter how much I begged her to. I pleaded with her to let me take her away—to use the wealth I had accumulated over the years to help her escape the palace and spirit her away to someplace safe. Somewhere far away, where she and I could live together in peace, and raise the child together. Perhaps back to the Syrian wilderness where she had lived before—where I first met her. We would have given up much, but at least we would have been together, and free of Seti's clutches. But she would have none of it. She had no desire to return to the desert, no desire to leave Egypt. She was completely driven by the desire to ensure this child's future as a member of the royal family. I told her many times that it was a futile dream, but she would not listen. I should have been stronger. I should have simply taken her away; forced her to abandon her scheme." He sighed, and Eliana could see how reluctant he was to revive these memories, even with a distance of thirty-three centuries separating him from the actual events.

"You know already, from what I have told you, that Seti was a harsh man, a vindictive man, rigid and set in his ways, and even though he had already informed Anck-su-namun of his intention to take her as his wife, he did not wish to make the formal announcement solidifying their relationship until the time came that he deemed appropriate. He wanted to wait for several months, making the announcement during the festival at which his daughter, Nefertiri, would be named official guardian of the Bracelet of Anubis." He paused, seeing her questioning look, and answered the unasked question. "Yes, the bracelet that is central to the Scorpion King legends. Nefertiri was its guardian, its protector."

"Why would Seti care if Anck-su-namun were pregnant?" It felt strange to talk about Anck-su-namun in the third person, under the circumstances, but there were no memories associated with this part of her past life, and Eliana felt no connection to it at all, save for the sympathy she felt for the priest. It didn't feel like something that had happened to her. "Didn't he want to marry her in the first place because she was young, and could give him children?"

"You are not thinking like the ruler of a dynasty," Imhotep cautioned her, and she could almost see a sad smile hovering on his lips. "Seti did not wish to—would not—change his plans and marry Anck-su-namun before the appropriate time. And if a child were born to her too early in the marriage, it would be forever tainted by the stain of illegitimacy, even though no one would question its parentage. For it to have been conceived without the benefit of the gods' blessing on the union would have been enough to guarantee the damage. Her entire reason for wanting to marry Seti was to give this child all of the opportunities she had not had, the freedom she had craved all her life, and she was desperate to accomplish that. She had learned much about Seti's…tastes…over the years, and thought that she could change his mind, seduce him into relenting, into marrying her immediately." He looked down, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "I knew better. I had known Seti for years. I knew he could not be dissuaded. She would have had a greater chance of success if she had tried to convince Osiris himself to come down from the heavens and carry her and her unborn child off into the West with him. Still, I let her persuade me to do nothing, to wait for her to work her wiles on Seti, to let her try to have what she so desperately wanted. I was a fool to do so."

Eliana could barely breathe. The tension in Imhotep was palpable, pouring from him in waves. She almost asked him to stop, but found, in the end, that she couldn't. The story he told was too gripping in its sheer hopelessness, and she had to know the rest. "She was unable to change his mind?"

"Utterly. Seti knew that she was young, healthy, and that she could produce any number of children—legitimate children—for him in the future. This child meant nothing to him, save for the problems it was causing. He demanded that she go to the Temple of Isis and see the priestesses there." The irony of Seti sending her to that particular temple was not lost on him, or on Eliana. "They had herbs, potions—any number of tonics—that could be used to end a pregnancy, to cause her to lose the child. She refused. Seti was incensed by her stubbornness, her unwillingness to yield to his wishes."

Eliana knew that the worst was yet to come, and found that she was holding her breath, trying to calm her pounding heart, as she waited for the climax to this tragedy. When it came, it was worse than she had expected.

"Seti beat her horribly. He had always been quick to use his fists to get what he wanted, and Anck-su-namun's tenacity in insisting that he claim the child infuriated him. I should have known, I should have remembered how he had first treated her, but it had been years since he had harmed her in that way, and I thought…I thought…" His voice broke, and he shook his head, clearly fighting back the emotions that came with these memories. "He was mindless with rage, and he beat her until she was covered in bruises—broken, bleeding, nearly unconscious." He closed his eyes, unwilling to recall the image, but powerless to stop it. "The Med Jai brought her to the temple—my temple, where the priests were trained as healers, as well as clerics. She was half dead when they brought her to me. I scarcely recognized her. My priests and I—we used all of our skills, all of our spells, all of our magic arts, but the damage was too great. We were able to heal Anck-su-namun, repair the injuries that had been done to her. But the child…it was too late, the injuries were too great, and the child…was lost."

Eliana's hand was at her throat, her mouth open in shock, tears welling in her eyes. Even though this was, in a way, her story, she felt no connection to it, save the sadness anyone would feel at hearing such a heartbreaking tale. She had no memories of the events, no residual emotions, nothing. But she could plainly see that such was not the case with Imhotep. The priest stood near the rock wall of the cave's entrance, his mouth a tight, rigid line on a face deliberately wiped clean of emotion. His eyes, though, gave lie to the careful neutrality of his expression. Even though he stared fixedly at some unknown spot far off in the distant jungle, studiously avoiding looking at her or meeting her eyes, Eliana could see the glimmer of unshed tears.

"So Seti beat Anck-su-namun so badly that he killed his own child?" It was hard to believe that anyone could be that cold, that vicious, that heartless. Just then, Imhotep looked up at her, and the pain in his eyes was more than she could bear. She moved nearer to him, intending to offer him some sort of comfort, but his next words froze her in place, appalled.

"The child was conceived during Seti's campaign to Kush." A memory stirred in Eliana's mind, far off, distant, a fragment of a dream. Her heart seemed to stop, then started up again, racing this time. Oh, God, she thought. No…it couldn't be… "He was gone for weeks." Imhotep stopped, then raised his hand to his face, rubbing it over his eyes. When he looked up, Eliana could see the tears shining in the brown depths, tears he no longer made an effort to hide.

"The child was not Seti's. It was mine—ours. The bastard beat you almost to death and he killed our child." His face suddenly hardened, turned vicious, brutal. "For that, he died. We waited until Anck-su-namun had recovered completely, until Seti's accursed festival was over, until the announcement had been made, and then we killed him." His voice had by now lost all expression, all emotion, and the matter-of-fact way he spoke the next words chilled Eliana to the core.

"We killed him in his own chambers, with my priests standing guard, with his Med Jai guards lurking outside. By killing him, we virtually sealed our own fates. There was only one small chance for us to avoid the consequences of our actions, and as fate would have it, that chance was denied us. We were found out, and the rest, you know."

He watched her as he spoke the last words, searching for some expression on her face by which he could gauge her reaction. All he saw was horror, and sadness, and pity. No trace of memory. It was as if he had told the story to a stranger. He sighed. What had he expected?

"Seti died, and you and Anck-su-namun were discovered, and cursed by the Med Jai." There was more to this than he was telling her, she could sense it, but she couldn't bear to make him talk about it any more—not now. The pain in his eyes was too raw, too fresh. Whatever was left of the story could wait. His eyes bored into hers, and she could see his hatred for the long-dead pharaoh burning in them, like two twin flames from hell.

"Yes. We killed him, and we bore the curse. And if I were able to go back and relive those moments, I would happily kill him again. If ever a man deserved to die, it was Seti."

Eliana could stand it no longer. She crossed the distance separating them, and wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him tightly to her, burying her face in the folds of the robe that covered his chest. For a long moment, he stood there rigidly, hands at his sides, not willing to accept the embrace, or the emotion that had prompted it. Finally, slowly, he raised his arms and put them around her, at first simply holding her loosely within the circle of his arms, then pulling her tightly against him. Eliana burrowed closer, willing him to feel the warmth and the comfort that she freely offered. He laid his cheek against the top of her head, and for just a moment, she almost imagined that she felt the wetness of tears against her hair.

They were still standing in the mouth of the cave, holding each other, when the sun rose over the horizon, turning the sky from the indigo of dawn to the bright pinkish orange of early morning. The light bathed the jungle, awakening it from its slumber, and a new day dawned on Ahm Shere.

---

Author's Note:

Just a quick note to thank all of you who have taken the time to post a review. I can't tell you how happy it makes me to know that Redemption was remembered and missed even after all this time. Thank you!

RenegadeWriter: I am humbled and moved by the dedication you made at the beginning of your story, Accepting Fate: Love Lost and Passion Found. To know that Redemption played a part in inspiring someone else's creativity... I am deeply honored. Thank you!

Firebrand: Thank you so much for your kind words! I remember you from the first time around with Redemption--I always loved getting your reviews! Glad you found the story again and are enjoying the re-read!

nepuchuun: I'm glad that the characterization of Eliana is working for you! I have to admit--reconciling the differences between Anck-su-namun, Meela and Eliana, while at the same time managing to portray them as different manifestations of the same soul, was probably one of the more challenging bits of writing Redemption. Thank you!

Juliya: Thank you for the review! I'm glad you're enjoying the story.

Antonia: I don't know if you're out there or, if you are, if you're reading Redemption again, but if you are... I fixed the units of measurement problem! Everything's metric now. Thanks for pointing that out, and glad you enjoyed the story.

And last but not least--Calli, if you're out there, and still reading fan fic, and if you happen to find Redemption again, please know that I think of you often. The note you sent after I finished writing and posting Redemption in April 2002 and the e-mails we exchanged after that moved me deeply, and I was so happy to know that Redemption brought you some happiness during a terrible time. I hope you're okay,and that time has healed as much as it can. Take care, and be well!