Reawakened (The Reawakened Series) (23 page)

I was lost in questions that I knew I’d have to wait to ask, so I mentally cataloged them, hoping I wouldn’t forget anything important. We said our goodbyes, and had begun making our way down the path toward the tourist booths when Dr. Hassan asked his own question, one that caused us to freeze in our tracks.

“How many days has it been since you have risen, Great One?”

Alarmed and frightened murmurs ran through the crowd after King Heru finished his speech. There were shouts that the three princes must be saved, while others raised their voices to say that the sons must be sacrificed. One of the queens sitting on a nearby throne screamed and fell to her knees. The other two clung to her, their sobs spreading to people in the crowd.

The people strained forward against the line of soldiers. Waving their arms, they yelled to be heard over the din, but the three kings heard none of it. Full of sorrow, they stared at their wives and then turned to their sons, who were quietly conferring.

As one, the three young men approached the dais where their fathers stood. Heru’s son addressed the crowd in a loud voice, “We three agree to be sacrificed to protect our homeland. With the blessing of our fathers, we will do what the formidable god Seth asks.” The people responded with stunned silence for only a few seconds before once again filling the air with questions, cries of protest, and tears.

Heru spoke, putting his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I do not ask this of you. Indeed, I would rather die a thousand deaths than live through the death of one I love as much as you. No.” Heru turned to the crowd. “I ask you, my people, is it your will that we submit to these demands? Shall we allow the god Seth to strip us of our future?”

Though there were a few frightened people who advocated sacrifice, it was obvious that the majority wanted to save the princes, however steep the cost.

Heru addressed the crowd. “The people have spoken.” His wife approached, and he gripped her hand, brushing her tears away while insisting, “We will find another way.”

As the queens made their way toward their sons and the families began to confer, the priest Runihura stepped from the curtain’s shadows and chanted in a low, menacing voice. Emerging from the curtain behind him was an impressive gathering of priests. Their eyes were black and they moved as one, heads turned toward Runihura. In their hands they clutched wicked daggers, which they raised as they advanced on the royal families.

Women in the crowd screamed as Runihura waved his hands slowly, conjuring a cloud of black smoke around him. His countenance darkened, and angry clouds formed in the brilliant blue sky, covering the sun.

“Fools!” Runihura bellowed with the sound of a thousand drums, leaving a frightening thrum in every heart. Lightning bolts struck the ground near him, and another face obscured the priest’s features. “My wrath will be poured out upon you! I offered you a chance to pay homage, but you have turned against me. Be it known that I will take the lives of your young men. You will suffer for the insult you have paid me!”

Runihura thrust his fingers into his eyes and yanked the bloody orbs from their sockets. As the people watched, horrified, he squeezed each eyeball, then opened his hands, a puff of light rising from each palm. The light undulated in the air like a snake, and, with jaws gaping, one arc of light shot toward the son of Nassor, the other toward the son of Khalfani.

The light pierced their foreheads, and the boys cried out as the dark magic lifted them into the air and threw them across the temple. As the kings raced to the sides of their sons, the son of Heru drew his sword and barreled toward the evil priest. The once peaceful and pristine temple became a chaotic mash of clashing swords, screams, and slick blood.

Heru’s son raised his sword, but before he struck, he asked, “Why? We worshipped Seth. We did what was asked. Why have you done this?”

Firestorms lit the empty eyes of the priest of Seth, who, with a crocodile smile, said simply, “Chaos. Egypt was once a wild, powerful nation, but I have captured it, domesticated it, and lulled it into complacency. For twenty years, I have tended it and spoiled it. And now I have led tame Egypt to the altar. It is time to throw the fat into the fire, a final sacrifice that will do in your once-great nation, utterly.”

The son of Heru could stand to hear no more and plunged his sword into the traitor’s chest, but the dying man just clutched the sword and laughed as he collapsed to his knees.

“Runihura was just a vessel,” the possessed man uttered. “True, he was a devoted disciple, but”—he paused and gestured to Heru’s son to come closer—“others will rise to take his place. Between you and me, young prince, the world as you know it will end. The three of you are the keys and one way or another you will submit and bow your heads beneath my heel.” Delighted at the prince’s horrified expression, a crazed Runihura began to laugh, but the sound quickly diminished as the man slumped weakly to the temple floor.

Having finished off the other possessed priests, soldiers surrounded Heru’s son, who had gotten down on one knee to better hear Runihura. The prince grabbed the evil man’s tunic. “What do you mean? How are my brothers and I involved?” he demanded.

Wheezing, Runihura answered, “You will find out for yourself soon enough, I should think.” The disciple of Seth touched bloody fingers to his forehead. “I have turned my eye of vengeance upon you,” he said in a rasping voice to King Heru, who had finally reached them. “Be warned that I demand the lives not only of your three royal children but of all the young men of Egypt.”

The dying priest gathered his remaining strength and spat. Blood and saliva splattered across the king’s cheek, spraying his white robes with red.

In a burst of anger, King Heru surged forward and plunged his own dagger in the neck of the priest, whose body finally slumped in death.

Heru’s son let the body fall to the ground and was about to stand when he saw a gleaming light in the center of Runihura’s forehead, where a third eye would be. Before the king could react, the light shot toward his son like a snake and pierced his forehead. With a brief shriek of agony, he collapsed in his father’s arms.

The evil priest was dead, defeated, the cost being the lives of the three young princes, a price more than their families could bear. But Heru was king, which meant he needed to set his suffering aside and try to figure out a way to help his people. Though Runihura was dead, the king was not a fool. He would take the warning about the young men of Egypt seriously.

Everyone, king and soldier, queen and handmaiden, scribe and farmer, dropped to their knees and prayed. They did not, however, pray to the one who had caused the destruction of the young princes. Instead, the queens encouraged the people to seek the aid of the gods they’d long abandoned. And at the dawn of the next day, their prayers were answered.

Amon stood very still. I’d linked my arm with his and was now digging my fingers into his forearm, deathly afraid for the two of us now that we’d been found out.

“You assume much…Grand Vizier,” Amon quietly replied.

I sucked in a tremulous breath. I’d suspected there was more to Osahar Hassan than met the eye, and by the lack of response behind us, I knew that the pronouncement was right. Dr. Hassan had a much bigger role to play than that of simple archaeologist.

Glancing up at Amon, I noticed the tightening of his jaw. He still hadn’t moved, and I wasn’t sure what to do.

“Come, then,” Amon demanded.

A desperate shuffling ensued, and a moment later the older man threw himself at Amon’s feet. The archaeologist lifted his head, his face filled with wonder.

“I knew it!” Dr. Hassan called out, quickly dropping his gaze in a submissive gesture once again. “None of the others believed in the old stories. But I did not doubt. To have you rise in my generation is…it is a blessing beyond hoping for!”

“Is your man Sebak in the order as well?”

“He is, though he joined recently. He will be so happy; they will
all
be so thrilled!”

“Have you shared your knowledge of my identity with him?”

“No, Master. I did not want to say anything until I was sure.”

Amon took Dr. Hassan’s hand and bid him to stand. “I wish for you to keep this a secret for the time being,” Amon said. “Can you do this?”

“Yes, Great One.”

“First, you must not address me in such a manner. It is too obvious. Please continue to call me Amon.”

“Yes, Mas…I mean, Amon.”

“Very good.” Amon graced the man with a smile, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the hero worship Dr. Hassan was displaying. I glanced at Amon; though he seemed to handle his role of a god who walks among men like it was old hat, I could tell that he was uncomfortable. I wondered if he had always felt like that, or if it was somehow different now.

Sebak crested the dune before we could speak further, and Amon took the arm of Dr. Hassan. He whispered, “Where can we meet with you…alone?”

Dr. Hassan reached into one of his cargo vest pockets and withdrew a business card, flipping it over so he could write on the back.

“Here.” He thrust the card and a set of keys into Amon’s hands. “This is my address in the city. I will be there as soon as I can. But please, go and rest there as long as you like. I have no family, so you will not be bothered. Help yourself to anything you need.”

Nodding, Amon slipped the card and keys in a pocket, waved at Sebak as if nothing was going on, and took my arm purposefully, quickly guiding me away. When we rounded a mountain of sand, I asked quietly, “How did you know?”

“That he was the grand vizier? I knew it from the moment he approached us in the temple.”

“But how?”

“I was unable to control his mind.”

“I wasn’t aware you were trying.”

“Yes. At first I was grateful for his help, but then when I knew you were recovering, I tried to make our escape. He would not hear of it, though I insisted as stridently as I was able.”

“So you knew what he was talking about? You understood all that stuff about Hatshepsut?”

“Do you remember when I told you that we once were honored with feasting and song on the day we awoke?”

“Of course. Wait a minute, do you mean these are the guys who do that?” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder, indicating the men we’d left behind.

Amon nodded. “As far as I know, the Order of the Sphinx is new, but the chief priests, including the grand vizier, have been around for centuries. When I was a prince, our royal family had a vizier. His job was to serve the king. When Anubis took my brothers and me, my father charged the vizier with watching over us, or rather, over our tombs, and a vizier has always done so, no matter what century. The vizier has always been immune to mind control. It was a blessing given by Anubis. For what purpose, I know not.”

“Then if you knew who
they
were, why didn’t you want them to know who
you
are?”

We reached the tourist section as Amon was pondering my question. Not even using his hypno-power, Amon politely asked a man on the street, “Where can we find a taxi?” Not
golden chariot
but
taxi.
Amon was picking up life in the modern world very quickly.

The man pointed toward a small square.

“I have learned to be more careful from watching you,” Amon finally answered. “No matter his title, it is not wise to simply trust that a person is honest and forthright. The devious shabti was a surprising example of the need to hide our identity. We must be exceedingly cautious.
Especially
where you are concerned.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? And while I’m thinking of it, why are we taking a taxi?”

“Though I care little for my own life, I will not risk yours. You say you are recovered, and yet I can sense the trauma I have caused. You need time to heal. Besides, manipulating a driver is far easier than traveling by sand. It was my fault that you were exposed to the toxin in the first place, and I will not test you further today.”

“Your fault?”

“When I confronted the shabti, he blew the red dust hoping to disable me, but it did not work. My body cannot be poisoned.”

“But mine can.”

“Yes. I am sorry, Nehabet. I wrongly assumed your body would be resistant as well since we are tied together, but sadly this was not the case. To err in judgment once regarding the shabti could have been devastating, but to err twice in assuming you were safe shows a lack of clear thinking on my part. Being close to you has…distracted me. I assure you that I will make no such mistake again.”

“They say to err is human, Amon. A mistake or two just means you’re like us mortals.”

Amon looked away. “The desire of my heart is for that to be true, but alas, it is not. I am not like a mortal man, Lily, however I wish it to be the case.” Turning to me, he lifted his fingers and grazed my cheek. “Please believe I would not have put you in harm’s way had I known.”

“It’s okay. I believe you.”

Sighing deeply, Amon grasped my hand. Sensing the blame he was feeling, I tried to distract him. “Thank you, by the way, for saving me. I know it was you who kept me going. I fell asleep faster than Dorothy in the poppy fields.”

“The toxin was not a simple sleeping potion,” Amon corrected. “A little shuts down your body as if you are in a deep sleep, one that closely resembles death. If you breathe it in too deeply, are exposed to it for a lengthy time, or it seeps through a cut in your skin, it can kill you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I had to suck the poison from your body and take it into my own. I suspect this is one reason Dr. Hassan assumed I was more than a mere mortal. He knew what the toxin was, and was very careful not to come into contact with it. He used gloves to wipe it away from your skin, and then he disposed of the gloves. When he wasn’t looking I was able to remove the residual traces from your hair and clothing.”

“He knew? But he said—”

“That you would awaken.”

“Was he confident that I hadn’t inhaled too much, or did his trust reside in you?”

“Perhaps it was a combination of both.”

“So he risked not sending me to the hospital to test his theory that you were going to save my life?”

“It would seem so.”

“He’s a zealot, all right,” I murmured as a taxi pulled up. “Lucky for me his theory panned out.” Amon passed the driver Dr. Hassan’s card and spoke to him briefly before finally settling back next to me.

“What was that about?”

“Just gleaning some useful information.” He turned to look directly in my eyes. “My intention is for you to relax for the remainder of the day.”

“Um, okay. And what exactly did you have in mind?” I asked.

Amon frowned. “I think it would be best to hire some women to tend to your bathing.”

Shrugging, I picked up his hand and stroked the back of it. “Too bad. It would be fun to be waited on by my own personal sun god.”

Amon’s eyes narrowed as he gently pulled his hand from my grip. “I am not a sun god, I am a—”

“I know, I know. Would it kill you to humor me once in a while?” I sighed. “A bath does sound good but I assure you, I’m completely capable of bathing sans servants. Sorry you have to be in such close proximity to my odorous self.”

He was quiet for a moment and I thought he’d drifted off, but then, in a soft voice, he said, “The truth is, if I could bottle your water-lily scent and carry it with me as I wandered the desert, even if I was sick from the sun and dying from thirst, only to be saved by a desert sheikh who wished to barter for it, and even should the trading of it save my life, I would not part with it for all the jewels, silks, and precious riches of Egypt and all the lands surrounding it. So to say your scent is pleasant to me is an understatement most villainous.”

The emotions I sensed coming from him were confusing. Regret mixed with a deep-seated yearning was paired with frustration. I couldn’t even form a response to a statement as touching as his. Men didn’t talk like that. Not real, flesh-and-blood men, anyway.

What he’d just said to me was swashbuckling-guy-gets-the-girl, ride-off-into-the-sunset-together level of charm. I didn’t think it was possible for him to actually mean what he said.

“Where’d you get that one? Off the inside of a sarcophagus?”

Amon shrugged but wouldn’t look at me. “Those feelings are the truth,” he finally admitted.

I studied his face, but there was not even a hint of humor in his expression.

“Oh,” I said lamely. “Well, thank you.”

Amon grunted, leaning back against the seat as he closed his eyes. Before too long the driver pulled over and pointed to a nice stucco house. We got out, and Amon’s fingers clung to mine as he leaned in the window to talk with the taxi driver. Because Amon seemed to be taking his time conversing, I wriggled my fingers out of his and pried the keys from his other hand. He gave me a brief look that said
Don’t wander too far
and turned back to his conversation.

I walked up the short drive to the house, grateful for the trees shading the path. The large sycamores provided a respite not only from the heat but also from the glare of the sun. Osahar Hassan’s home was a small two-story, each floor with an overhang of interlocking red tiles.

Finding the right key, I unlocked the door and stepped inside. Despite the many large windows, the sun wasn’t too intense, so the house wasn’t too hot. Upon closer inspection, I saw that the windows were covered with a dark film that probably deflected the sun’s rays.

Though the outside of the home appeared clean and pristine, all boxy lines and sun-swept tile, the interior was completely different. Every surface was cluttered with Egyptian treasures, from crackling parchment covered in colorful brushstrokes to large carvings. The knickknacks and collectibles were scattered haphazardly, with no design aesthetic whatsoever, and most of them needed a serious dusting. I wasn’t able to tell if they were replicas or the real thing, but I suspected that a man given the responsibility of grand vizier over a centuries-old group of priests might have access to things others did not.

I was crouching, studying a gorgeous cat statue, when Amon came up behind me. He hadn’t made any noise, but by now I was so attuned to him, I could feel his presence. I sensed his warmth as if the sun were at my back. Amon knelt next to me and ran a hand over the head of the cat. “Cats are revered in Egypt,” he said. “Some were even trained to go on the hunt with their masters, capturing birds or fish. When a beloved feline died, the owners typically shaved their eyebrows in mourning.”

“Interesting,” I murmured, now more focused on the man beside me than on the statue.

“Yes. When the eyebrows grew back, the time of mourning was considered over.”

“So seeing as how you are a bird now, are you a cat lover or a cat hater?” I asked, standing up at the same time as Amon.

“I am neither, I suppose.”

Boldly, I reached up to trace one of his eyebrows. “Have you ever loved something enough to shave your brows in mourning?”