Well, hello. Long time, no speak. I have been debating coming out of hiatus for a fair while. To everyone who has still reviewed and favourited, I see and appreciate you. Here I am, here this chapter is. Take it for what it is - an exercise in getting back into the swing of things. I am determined to finish this story and perhaps share a few new ones…
I don't expect to be pushed away from O'Connell so violently, what with my focus held by the ghoulish and intimidating warriors that stand before us.
I suppose it was over-confident - cocky almost, of me, to think on the alter that that many mummies couldn't make swift work of O'Connell.
Even as the priests advanced, he didn't seem phased, and from my limited position I knew that there could have been double the priests there, between us, and that he wouldn't hesitate to take them on to reach me.
I feel exhausted but hopeful, hand in hand with a man I am growing to love, as we stare down the undead before us. His shoulders rise and fall, his stare fixed ahead. I don't know what to do, what to say. Behind us, a creature so devious that it would not hesitate to kill me to reinstate his lover's soul into the world, commands, and waits. Before us, sworn servants to a Pharaoh long since dead.
I don't have to do anything, as he lets go of my hand. I turn to him, confused.
O'Connell keeps stepping backward, increasing the distance between them and us. Where my hand once rested, his arm reaches sideways to usher me back. I comply, reaching forward to hold him, to steady myself, and to ground us both. Touching him makes this real and not a nightmare. Without thinking, I feel myself take his hand again.
As I do so, he instinctively tightens his grip. His calloused palms feel heavy against my own, dusty fingers and even as I heed his rushed, whispered words and stand behind him, I absently allow my other hand to brush his shirt. I feel dampness - a mixture of sweat and blood. He's taken a beating already, how much more could one make take?
There is this overwhelming desire to fight, by his side, and to live. It rises inside me, and I don't know how I am going to do it, but I am going to face down these awoken warriors with him.
We have had our moments, but surely there must be more to come? This can't be it. I'm by his side, empty-handed certainly, but not without valour. I shall follow his lead.
The creak and crack of bone jolt me to attention before the push itself. The noise is vile and nausea sweeps through my stomach before I can react. The force does not match its source, and I can only deduce that it is the abnormal strength that causes me to lose my balance, born from the mystic forces and magic that are at play around us. As I stagger and stumble forward, I hear O'Connell's sharp intake of breath as our hands lose each other. It's for the best, and I let out an involuntary yell.
I am now closest to the warriors, and before he can reprimand me he sees her, lunging at me. His eyes widen and he looks doubtful.I scream as he tries to follow me, but manage to evade her steps - sand is not kind to shrunken limbs and dried skin. In that moment's respite, I afford him a stern look. Our eyes meet fleetingly before I manage to dance out of her reach once more. I will be facing this adversary alone.
We are divided but not conquered. Out the corner of my eye, I see him stop in his tracks before reluctantly turning back to the warriors. He looks to be having an internal battle, as he keeps glancing at me, indecisive, before glaring at them. Outnumbered, but never out-witted, at that moment I decide that his willingness to save me has to be matched by my willingness to save myself. I hear rather than see his shriek as the millennia-old concubine advances towards me, and the clatter of metal announces that the warriors are advancing upon the American. My American.
I dart and weave further away from O'Connell, unaware of my brother's location. I dare not turn my back on my pursuer, as each time I go to she warns me with the glinting blade in her left hand, slicing the air with one target in mind. Her empty sockets never leave my face. Her cries make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Momentarily my mind wanders; if she had been cast behind glass, lit with the glow of hundreds of candles, then I suppose I could appreciate her beauty. Condemned to a life on display in a museum, to in some way live forever might not have been too harsh a price to pay. Her life must not have been a pleasant one, and by all accounts her death was not either. She has waited patiently for this moment, and though the love of the high priest is admirable, and not too dissimilar to the heroics demonstrated by O'Connell and my brother in aid of rescuing me, of the two of us, only one woman can walk away from this and I know that despite my adverse opinion on conflict, it has to be me.
To beat her, I need to use my wits. I need to think like O'Connell. I need a weapon.
As I weave in between relics and statues, she is persistent. I can feel the anger emanating from her and yet in this moment of peril, my concern builds for O'Connell. Yells, cries and roars echo throughout the cavern we are trapped in. They intensify, and my bearings are lost. My mind races.
I cry out for my brother, to try and locate him, to try and tell him to help O'Connell. My hands frantically trace the walls and monuments we pass, neither of us knowing where we are going. It's a sickening, frantic dance, one that neither of us wants to continue. The woman behind me is suddenly before me, both of us visitors in a place that Imhotep knows by heart.
As I evade her I try to reach for a rock, but time is not on my side. My foot slips but I regain my footing. My heart beats faster, my chest burns with stale air and sand. As we brush through cobwebs I think I see a blade leaning against a wall, but before I can reach it I have to duck her advances and avoid her swinging blade.
I don't know how O'Connell has the stamina for it.
"Evie! EVIE! I can't figure out this last symbol!"
My brother's shrill voice pulls me out of my reverie lets me know that he is alive, frustrated but alive. He is clearly unaware of the danger I am in. I feign a turn and hide behind a pillar, catching my breath as cobwebs cascade around me. Anck-Su-Namun is nowhere to be seen, and for a short moment I know I am concealed.
If I shout to him, I will reveal my location. If I don't help him, he may not decipher the symbol and should we live, I will never let him forget to brush up on his hieroglyphics. It isn't really a choice, so I shout. I shout to help my caddish brother in his brave attempt to outwit the high priest. I shout to let O'Connell know I am surviving. I shout because I know I have to beat her, and not just evade.
"What does it look like?" I yell, as I hear a large thud and feel, rather than see, O'Connell grimace.
"It's a bird, a stork!"
I hear her bones creak and sand shuffle. Stagnant air is displaced. She cries out and I know she has heard me.
The concern wells up in me again, and it is not for myself. Despite being unarmed, all I want is for our trio to be together, a force to be reckoned with as we face the unfaceable. I am not thinking clearly. My knowledge, O'Connell's brawn and dear Jonathan's ability to riffle undetected could come in useful if only we were able to help each other out of our own dire predicaments. I need to do something…
I cannot decipher the cries that ring out around me, so I flee my hiding spot, trying to circle around to reach Rick. Unsurprisingly, I am cornered. She tries to speak to me in Egyptian but her mouth is so rotten, I cannot make out the words. She lunges for me and I swing, seemingly trying to offer a right hook to her face that misses. I slip, forgetting to plant my legs as O'Connell once tried to teach me, and find myself scraping my arm along a wall drawing blood. Her mouldy hands reach for my neck and as I clamber and scratch at her arms to free myself, dust, skin and bandages mingle then crumble like powder. Her grip shouldn't be this firm.
"Ah - ah - AHMENOPHOUS!" I spit, feeling the bones that were once her fingers grate against my skin. I can feel the shards cutting at me over and over, putting pressure on my throat. The smell of her overwhelms me and I manage to blurt out - "Stop… stop -" But it is too late. She raises her other hand high, dagger ready to strike, and I start to feel my head throb.
I cannot breathe.
Before the weakness sets in, I try once more to punch her, this time aiming low and feeling my fist embed itself in her stomach.
I would cry out in delight if I had the air in my lungs, and if I wasn't aware of centuries-old muscle clinging to my fist like a grotesque trophy.
She cries, and staggers back, pushing me against an inscribed wall, her last hurrah.
My brother calls out, but I can't make out the words. I rub my throat to ease the ache, turning wildly to try and find Jonathan, O'Connell, anyone.
She stands clutching her stomach, dagger still in full view. Here movements curiously much less fluid now. Imhotep cries out, and I hear the clatter and clutter of armour draw nearer.
The warriors. Much fewer of them now. O'Connell had been hard at work. My stomach drops. Who is the target of their advances?
Mine and Anck-Su-Namun's eyes meet one final time, before she turns, frozen with her weapon raised, to face her demise once more.
I flee before I see the warriors descend upon her.