December, 1936

Well, I "celebrate" exactly two months of being in this condition today. Not exactly something worthy of celebrating, but here we are. My dreams have steadily become less comprehensible. I've gotten somewhat thinner. The cold makes me want to sleep until spring. The snakes don't like the cold. Their activity has slowed significantly since a snowstorm blew through Cambridge. They now have a tendency to sit, not move, and just look around aimlessly. Poor things. They're cold. So am I. So… so… cold.

I overheard Michael getting scolded about his marks, followed by a lengthy discussion about how he is to conduct himself during Christmas. My mother couldn't host Christmas dinner because of me, so they were going elsewhere for the holiday. Michael begged to stay home and take care of me, but that wasn't going to be the case. I was only going to be home alone for a few hours. I would be fine.

Right?

Christmas wasn't going to be very enjoyable that year, I could already tell. Michael was doing his best. He brought me treats and blankets and continued spending long hours by me whenever my fever spiked. At the worst of times, all I could feel was him pressing a cold, damp compress to my forehead. My vision was hazy, and I could faintly hear him talking. He sounded so tired. Maybe that was just me. I couldn't tell.

When my fever broke, I stirred and awoke to find Michael asleep with his head in his arms while kneeling by my bed. I didn't want to wake him as I turned to get in a more comfortable position. I gave his hair a gentle tousle, and tried to go back to sleep.

This sort of thing became a regular occurrence, and it was nice, as it was becoming plainly clear that I wouldn't be involved with any Christmas traditions. Michael would smuggle treats upstairs to me whenever I was hungry enough to try. My mother warned him to be mindful of that because of how volatile this illness was. So far, throughout December, I had been a bit less prone to nausea and vomiting. It was more… fatigue than anything. Fever and fatigue, mostly.

It was concerning because the snakes in my dreams had become nothing more than decorative pieces scattered about my bedroom. They would shift a little, but for the most part, they wouldn't move. Were they responding to my own fatigue, or was I responding to theirs? Were they simply too cold and trying to hibernate?

When I wasn't thinking about the snakes, I was lamenting the fact that I was very likely going to be spending Christmas in bed. I could hear everyone decorating, and my mother had come home one afternoon with a new wreath containing bells. The bells would sound whenever someone opened the front door. I was also constantly smelling biscuits and breads and puddings that only came about this time of year. One can imagine this was torturous, and they'd be right.

Doctor Sutcliffe visited two weeks before Christmas, and noted that while I seemed to be improving, he was still perplexed as to what I was experiencing. Again, I refused to discuss the snake dreams.

My father had begun investigating the possibility of supernatural influence. It wasn't exactly unheard of, and with how many tombs and artifacts we had handled over the years, something may have come up. I was still hesitant to discuss the snakes, because even though they had posed no threat, the fact that so many people fear snakes and see them as something evil or dangerous made me worry about what would be done to me. So far, his investigation yielded nothing that provided any answers.

Michael spent the day of Christmas Eve with me, and promised to bring something when he came back. I was then left alone in the house, and would be alone for several hours. I expected to sleep, but instead, I found myself wanting to do something else. Nothing specific, just something else. Anything else. Anything other than lying in bloody bed all night.

I typically bathe daily, but with my dizzy spells, that turned into bathing every few days instead. It wouldn't surprise me if that contributed to my overall feeling of malaise. I probably shouldn't have attempted to get a bath on my own, but I was desperate and bored enough to try. My only company was Osiris, who was sitting out in the hallway with his eyes half-closed. He opened them and watched me shuffle along like I was three times my age along the wall after leaving the bedroom with a change of clothes under my arm. I realized that if something happened, the only person around to help was a cat, and last I checked, Osiris isn't a polydactyl cat, nor would he really know how to use his extra toes if he had them. I think. I've learned never to doubt the intelligence of an animal.

Osiris wanted to accompany me, and trailed after me, making a chirping sound. I left the bathroom door partly open for him, and he hopped up on the sink. I turned the water on, letting it run until it was pleasantly warm, then got undressed. Osiris groomed himself on the sink, washing one paw and wiping his face with it multiple times before moving on to the next one. I began shivering as soon as I took my robe off. The longer I stood unsupported, the dizzier I became. Black spots danced across my vision, which blurred abruptly. The next thing I knew, I was catching myself on the side of the tub.

Things went silent. My heart was beating fiercely against my ribs. Osiris had paused his groom to watch me. I released my breath, and slowly lowered myself into the bathtub. Oh, the water was so perfectly warm, and I was bitterly cold. I submerged myself briefly, then surfaced for air, and to add more hot water. The hotter, the better. The steam filling the bathroom added a comfortable warm humidity, something I had been missing for months. It felt so good!

I lay there, taking in the pleasant sensations of a hot bath, and found myself wondering if this was the key to becoming well again. A feeling of fear squirmed in my stomach, a worry that I would never be able to get well.

A sound above me made me open my eyes and pulled me out of my watery trance. Anxiety gripped me when I realized I was staring into the eyes of a large, white cobra. There was an almost ethereal appearance about it. A faint blue glow surrounded its body. Static burst into my brain. Painful static. I grabbed my head, and remembered I was completely alone in the house. No one would be able to help me if the worst happened and I had a seizure right there in the bath. The terror of drowning overcame me, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to fight the static. It dug sharp talons into every inch of my brain, and I prepared to scream in pain.

The static stopped abruptly, and I heard a female voice saying, "Are you alright, honey?"

I didn't recognize the voice, but the pain had vanished, and I opened my eyes. The white cobra was still there. Its head was tilted, and there was an expression akin to concern on its face.

"Poor thing," the cobra said. "Oh, you poor, poor thing. You are not ready."

I tried to ask what she was talking about, but no words were coming out.

"You are not ready."

"Ready for what?" I gasped. "For what?!"

"Not ready—" The cobra's voice was cut off by a surge of static. "—things to come."

I grabbed my head again. "What?! What things to come?!"

The cobra was silent, but I heard her whisper, "Poor thing. Let… guide you. Sleep. Dream. Dream… dream…" She slithered down from the shower curtain, and disappeared.

Osiris had been watching her, but as soon as she was gone, he looked over at me, keeping watch over me as I continued laying in the bathtub.

I remained there until it started getting cold, and got myself out slowly. After drying off and getting a set of clean nightclothes on, I went out into the hall. I felt somewhat better. Less dizzy. Less nauseated. Less feverish. All was quiet aside from the old grandfather clock sounding off downstairs, marking the hour. I was confident enough to try going down and making a cup of tea.

The clock didn't stop ringing. I shuffled over to it, curious as to what the problem was, but the longer I stood there, the stranger things began to feel. My blood froze when I saw a pair of black snakes coiled around the large pendulum inside, swinging back and forth, back and forth. The ringing abruptly stopped when the white cobra smashed through the clockface, looking down at me. Her eyes glowed a bright bluish-violet, and her hood was spread wide.

"Time is a precious thing," she said. Her voice was somewhat deeper now, and it resonated through me. "Your time has not come. A curse has been set upon you. It has ripped open parts of your mind you do not yet understand. Come. I must undo what has been done, or this will be your state now and forevermore."

"A… curse?" I murmured. "But—"

The cobra held out her tail. "Come, my child."

A metallic scent filled my nose. I instinctively tilted my head back, bracing myself for a nosebleed, but nothing came. I swallowed nervously, and touched the cobra's tail. I suddenly felt as though I was being yanked. Bright lights flew past me, and then I felt like I had been thrown high in the air. My stomach flew in my throat when the sensation of falling came over me, but I somehow landed on my feet.

The white cobra was in front of me. We were both in a very lush place. The weather was pleasant, and the air smelled clean and sweet, as though hundreds of lightly scented flowers had bloomed. As nice as it was, something about this place felt… strange. It was familiar and unfamiliar. Beautiful but otherworldly. Comforting but disturbing.

I couldn't believe it. All along. It was a curse. My illness had been caused by a curse.

The cobra beckoned for me to follow her. I noticed I didn't feel nearly as sick here, and that made it tempting to stay. She turned to face me when we came to a long, wide river running through the land. "You must drink from the river. Drink, but do not swim in it."

"Why?" I asked.

"You will know in good time, and it will not be something you will ever forget. There are great things in store for you. Things you are not yet ready to understand, but great things nonetheless." The cobra gestured to the river with her tail. "Kneel. Drink. You will be overcome with pain when the curse breaks inside you, but it will break. You will awaken in your own home, healthy."

The promise of being healthy was enough to make me get down on my hands and knees on the riverbank. I first tasted the water with the tip of my tongue. It was quite sweet. I had expected it to be fresh, given that it's a river after all, but I wasn't expecting sweet. Not sugary sweet, but sweet in a way only water could be. Simply put, it's difficult for me to describe.

The sweet taste convinced me to keep drinking. I drank until I couldn't anymore, when I started to feel a hard cramp in my stomach. At first, I assumed it was due to drinking so fast and in an awkward position, but the cramping feeling quickly spread and changed. I fell onto my back, my whole body gripped in violent shivers. The pain was everywhere, from the center of my gut to the very ends of my extremities. It burned, it stabbed, it felt like I was being struck with lightning. Most horrifying was the feeling that my bones were being twisted and cracked open, even though, thankfully, that wasn't happening.

I found myself unable to move my head as visions rushed by. The sight of sand. The sound of screaming and gunfire. The smell of blood. The hot, heavy air of the desert. Faces of people I didn't recognize flashed by, but they were too blurry to form concrete details. I was dimly aware of the fact that I was screaming, and the white cobra watched. She looked like she wanted to help, but something was holding her back. The visions stopped, as did my screaming. My throat was raw, but I was still gripped in pain and tremors. It was starting to taper off. Was it over? Please, tell me it was over…

The last horrible sensation felt like my sternum had split open down its center, but I was able to look down and see that wasn't the case at all. I was quite sore as the pain and shivering finally came to a halt. My vision blurred, and large black spots began spreading across it. I can't remember if anything had happened afterward, but I do remember slowly waking up on the floor in the middle of the hall just outside the parlor. The house was pitch-black, and the smell of blood was strong. My face was wet and sticky, and I realized that I must have had a nosebleed while passed out. Turning the lights on revealed just that.

The clock started chiming. I half-expected it to keep going, but instead, it stopped like it normally would. The clockface was also undamaged, and there were no snakes hanging on the pendulum. Everything that had happened was most definitely a dream, but… it felt too real. It can't have been just a dream. I kept asking myself that while standing and examining how I felt. I could walk without dizziness. I didn't feel feverish or nauseated. After all these months, I expected that recovery would be a joyous occasion, but instead, I felt a very muted sense of relief. The revelation that this had been caused by a curse had happened very fast, as did the cure. I wanted to know why and how, but when I looked at the carpet, I knew it was going to have to be replaced. My nightclothes, too, were completely stained and would have to be thrown out.

I was in the process of trying to clean up when my parents and Michael came home. My mother screamed at the sight of the blood on the carpet. I was upstairs in the bathroom, trying to wipe the blood from my face and body.

"Jack!" Michael called. He came running upstairs. "Jack? Where are you?" He pushed open the bathroom door, and breathed a sigh of relief. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"I'm alright. I… passed out while getting a cup of tea, and must've hit my nose on the floor," I said.

"As long as you're okay. That's all that matters." Michael grabbed some washrags to help me clean up. "You actually look like you've got some color back in your face."

"That might just be from laying on the floor for a while," I said.

"Maybe, but… something feels different. Can't quite tell what."

I wanted to tell him that I felt better, but I wasn't prepared to explain how. I doubt I ever would be.

January, 1937

I spent the week after Christmas getting some normal sleep and reintroducing myself to regular food. I tried to take it slow, but that was remarkably difficult, especially with all the Christmas treats we were still going through. Nothing was as nice as actually going back outside, though. There had been a considerable amount of snow this winter, and it was too cold to stay outside for very long. Still, outside was outside, and I enjoyed getting some fresh air after spending months indoors.

Relations between me and my father hadn't improved, even though my health had. He didn't seem to know how to feel about all this, especially since I refused to explain what happened. I deliberately made it seem like a rapid, but natural recovery. Doctor Sutcliffe even said that I was in the clear, but to be slow while getting my body used to my normal routine again. My mother was greatly relieved that I had recovered, and despite her being the last person to disobey a doctor's orders, she made me a large sticky toffee pudding. Michael was extremely happy to have me back, and that I wasn't going to die anytime soon.

I made an attempt to talk to my father partway through January. It was a decent day out, with the sunlight causing the snow on the ground to sparkle. My father was in his den, going over some papers from the university. He didn't look at me when I walked in, and the air became more and more tense. Eventually, I cleared my throat. "Do you have a moment?"

"A moment for what?" my father asked.

"Well… to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"I think there is plenty to talk about." I closed the door, not wanting Michael to hear and feel obliged to help me. "Are you not in the least happy that I'm alive and well?"

"Oh, I'm happy you're alive, but I'm not happy that you're going to be lounging around on your bum until this coming autumn."

"That doesn't have to be the case. Are there no digs that I can go on?"

"No."

"Are you serious or are you just saying that?"

"Are you trying to challenge me, Jack?"

"As a matter of fact, yes!" I snapped. "I can't believe how you treated me while I was ill. I simply can't. I know no one knew what was wrong, but you couldn't for once put aside your duties as a professor and give a damn about your own son! You accused me of malingering, you forced me to do assignments even though Doctor Sutcliffe said I needed to rest, and you never once checked on me or asked me if I was doing alright!"

"You're not a boy anymore. There was no need for such coddling."

"Coddling. That's what we want to reduce this to. Coddling." I clenched my fist, and pointed at my father. "Let me promise you this—if I ever have children, they won't know any of this rubbish, because I'm going to actually love them."

"You can't even maintain a girlfriend, Jack, what makes you think you'll ever have children?! Fair enough—you might not be a boy anymore, but you're still immature and harboring delusions."

"Am I really the one acting immature, or are you the one harboring delusions of me being your perfect pupil? That was never going to happen! You yanked the joy out of everything! I don't have friends, I don't have hobbies, I can't hold a girlfriend. Everything has to be about my bloody studies! I was actually looking forward to going to Cambridge when I discovered that I enjoyed the desert as much as you did, and you had to take the fun out of that, too!"

"Life isn't about fun."

"Only to miserable people such as yourself." I resisted an urge to slam my fist on the desk, and swallowed my anger before saying, "If this is how it's going to be, then I never want to speak to you again. I will speak to Mother, and I will speak to Michael, but not you." Tears choked me. "I can't believe it's come to this. I did what I was told. I sacrificed everything I enjoyed to get the highest marks. It was never enough, was it? Nothing was enough. You even had to hound me while I was so sick I couldn't even stand up." I shook my head. "I can't think of anything more heartless."

I could tell from my father's expression that he was thinking, but I wasn't sure if he was genuinely thinking about what I was saying, or thinking that I was bonkers. When he said nothing, I turned and left the room.

I went up to my bedroom, thinking long and hard about what to do. I could just go back to the university. I had to wait. Then again, I could still go and talk to some of the faculty, and I knew exactly who I wanted to talk to. Someone who was always willing to answer questions and talk about what troubled people without judgement. That someone was Professor Tannenbay, whose field of study was similar to my father's, but his focus was Biblical archeology. As a result, he doubled as an unofficial chaplain.

Cambridge was still on holiday break, but it was still open, as there were professors and researchers doing work now that Christmas was actually over. I wasn't sure if Tannenbay would be there or not, but I knew I could ask around. When I entered, I could feel people looking at me. A lady who I recognized from the library gave me a look of sympathy. "Oh, it's good to see you on your feet again, Jack. You gave everyone a scare when you fainted in the hallway, poor dear."

"Yes… that… um… I feel much better now," I said.

"You do still look a bit pale, and you've gotten so thin. Oh, you were a skinny little thing before, but you're all bones now. Could I get you a crumpet?"

"N-No, thanks."

The lady looked quite disappointed. "Oh, are you sure, Jack?"

"I'm positive. I… I'm looking for Professor Tannenbay. I know he has tea and biscuits."

"He should be in his classroom. Good luck, and do take care of yourself. If you need anything, just ask."

She wasn't the only person giving me looks of sadness and sympathy as I headed through the university hallways to get to Tannenbay's room. A few others, including some students who were there doing extra work or research projects, even looked at me funny.

"Blimey, never thought we'd be seeing you again, Jack," one of the lads from the chess club said when I walked by. "You look… well, better than how Michael described you a few months back."

There was something disingenuous in his voice, like he wanted to say something else. I was tempted to tell him to just be honest. "Thanks. I feel better, too."

"Michael mentioned you won't be coming back till the autumn semester. I mean, it makes sense. The year barely started when you took ill."

I nodded. "And I… couldn't keep up. I tried, though."

"Oh, well. Hope to see you next year. What'll you be doing until then?"

"I don't know."

"If you're looking for a job, I can help—"

"Thanks, but I'll ask when I'm ready." I turned and kept going. When I reached Tannenbay's classroom, I expected the same thing—the same sympathy and asking if I needed help—but instead, the older man simply said he was glad to see me again, and, like he did with everyone, asked if I wanted a cup of tea.

"I would, thanks," I said, taking a seat. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, not at all. Actually, I had a feeling I would be seeing you quite soon, after your father told me you'd begun to recover from your illness."

"What gave you that idea?"

"The way Nicholas talked about you. He sounded frustrated. Your brother, too, has been visiting me on occasion. It appears you and Nicholas are no longer getting along."

I shook my head. "No, we haven't. I don't think we've truly gotten along in years."

"Yes, I've noticed the fondness he spoke of you before you began attending Cambridge has… faded. I would have assumed that you becoming sick would foster a bit of warmth and caring, but it seems the opposite occurred." Tannenbay stood before the kettle began whistling. "Would you like some biscuits, Jack?"

"Yes, please." I took the tea and the small, decorative dish the cup rested on, and gave the bag inside a gentle stir before letting it steep. The smell of the herbal blend inside was delightful and calming.

Tannenbay held out a box of biscuits. "Take as many as you like." After I took a handful, he closed the box and set it in a cupboard under the kettle.

"Father and I had an argument just before I came here," I said. "I… I said I didn't want to speak to him anymore. I was so angry because he had accused me of malingering and wanting to be coddled and that I wasn't trying hard enough to keep up. It all just… blew up, I guess. I expressed my anger at how he had treated me, not just when I was sick, but all throughout secondary school and entering Cambridge."

"Michael said something very similar the last time he was here. He said that he was tired of watching your father treat you this way."

"He's not wrong. I'm tired of it, too. I'm just not sure if I'm making a good decision in saying I don't want to speak to him anymore."

"Are you planning on coming back for the autumn semester?"

"I don't know. It would mean having to take classes under him, and I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Right now, I certainly don't think so, but you do have eight months on your hands, so I wouldn't make a decision right away."

I nodded in agreement. "I was tearing up when I was yelling at Father, because… deep down I don't want to not see him again."

"But you do need some time apart."

"Yes."

"I think that's a good compromise, and I imagine after being cooped up inside for three months, you're ready to spend some time outside."

"It's a bit cold at the moment."

"True. It's very cold here, but you could go to a place where it's not so cold."

"North Africa?"

"If you'd like."

"I… I think I would like that." I glanced up at the oversized world map on the wall. "Perhaps that is exactly what I need." I turned back to Tannenbay. "Professor, I'm going to walk from Cairo to Casablanca."

Tannenbay nodded. "If anyone can do such a feat, you can. You had a good teacher, after all."

"Yes, and I'm not going to throw that all away. I want things to get back to the way they used to be, and if time apart is what we need, then so be it."

"That sort of trip does still carry a great deal of danger. Are you sure you want to undertake it?"

"I do, Professor."

"Alright. I'll still bid you good luck, be careful, and I hope this helps. I'd hate to see you and your father drift apart."

I estimated that such a trip would take me roughly forty days to complete. It would be long and dangerous, but I was determined to pull it off. That, and I felt like having that length of time away from home would be a decent amount for both me and my father to clear our heads.

Perhaps I should have thought about it longer, but I made my decision that I was leaving that same day. I packed some clothing, books, and some miscellaneous survival gear, then headed downstairs to bid my mother and brother goodbye.

"You look like you're going away for a weekend," my mother said.

"You'd be partly correct," I replied, "But I'm not going away for a weekend."

A concerned look came over my mother's face. "Jack, you're not leaving for good, are you?"

"No, but… I need time away from home."

"Is this because of your father?"

"Yes, and I feel like I need time to think about what I really want in life."

"You already know what you want. You're not running off. You and Nick need to sit down and talk about your problems like the grown bloody men you are!"

"After we've had time apart." I didn't want to raise my voice to my mother. "We're not ready to have any sort of civilized discussion yet. I'll be back in about two months."

"Two months?! No, you're not leaving for that long!"

"I'm sorry. This is for the best." I turned and went to find Michael. He was outside, taking care of Father's horses. I really didn't want to say goodbye to him, and he was the only reason I was having second thoughts. "Michael?"

"Do you need something?" He turned to face me.

"I'm… going away for a little while."

Michael was quiet for several long moments.

"I just got back from talking to Professor Tannenbay about what's going on, and I've decided that it'd be best if I spend some time away from home. I'm going to Egypt, and I'm going to walk across the desert until I reach Morocco."

"You just got better." Michael's face reddened, and tears filled his eyes. "Bloody hell, you shouldn't have to leave! Take me with you!"

"You've never gone to North Africa. Such a journey would be too dangerous for you."

"So you teach me!"

"Michael—" I struggled to stay calm, "This is something I want to do alone. I have to. I'll come back."

"I nearly lost you once! I'm not going through this again!"

"I will come back. I'm sorry."

Michael gave me the longest hug he had given me since he was little. I was beginning to reconsider what I was about to do, but my stubbornness, anger, and sadness won out. I eventually turned away, and didn't look back.

I've nearly run out of paper for this particular journal. As I sit on a boat taking me to a port in Cairo, I'm hoping that things will change when I go home. I've spent enough time in the Sahara to know how to survive, even alone, despite that typically being ill-advised. I still feel this is what I have to do, and despite all my anger and frustration, I'll nurture that tiny candle of hope that things will be better.

Present Day, 1966

Moffitt closed the journal rather slowly. He let out a sigh, and turned to Jules, who looked deep in thought. "Strange, isn't it?"

"So… your illness… all along, it was due to a curse?" Jules asked.

"I guess so. I find it odd that I couldn't fully remember that, but I suppressed so many memories involving Michael and I've been hit on the head quite a few times that other memories became accidentally locked away."

"Now that you mention it being a curse, I might know what it is," Anah said.

"What?" Moffitt asked.

"Wasting malaise, and it matches your symptoms almost exactly. However, in most cases, it will progress rapidly and kill its victims if not properly treated with potions. In your case, it progressed quite slowly, and I think I know why—your snake spirit. It was fighting the curse along with your body. That was why you were having so many hallucinations."

"I still don't understand where it could have come from, though. My father checked our most recent digs. There was no record of cursed items."

"This was before your friend Evelina got her college set up. Records of cursed items would have been less clear. You might want to talk to her about this."

"I will, actually." Moffitt stared down at his journal. "I wish I had taken Michael with me, and… I wish I had trusted him with the snake visions." He sighed again. "Little late now." He looked at Jules again. "Are you alright?"

Jules nodded. "Yeah, just… still hard to believe you and Grandpa were so angry with each other at one point."

"I know. It really is hard to believe sometimes, but as painful as leaving was, it did ultimately lead to things changing. We're all better for it." Moffitt kept his focus on his son. "Don't hesitate to ask any questions, alright? Even if you think of them later."

"Okay. Thanks." Jules released his breath. "I guess I should first say that I'm glad you came out of all that okay."

"Do you wish you didn't know any of this?"

"No. It's… It was frightening, but interesting, in a way. I know when I have kids of my own one day, they'll want to know about the magpies, and I'll have to tell them—well, when they're old enough of course."

Moffitt nodded in agreement. After Jules left the room, he put the journal on his bedside table, so he would remember to bring it to the university tomorrow. He had a long list of things to do now that the memories associated with his illness were slowly becoming untangled, and the first was visiting his parents.