Wardens of Eternity

by Courtney Allison Moulton

  “Thank you,” I replied. “I wish I knew what happened to them.”

  He cast me a reassuring smile. “They saved you.”

  The corridor was very long, and I ventured this was one of the colonnade wings I’d admired from outside.

  “I went ahead and prepared for you the rooms that had once belonged to your mother and father,” Tariq explained. “This was their home when they weren’t deployed in Kent or elsewhere. They were quite devoted to each other, your parents. They went everywhere together. Here we are.”

  He stopped to open a door, revealing a beautifully ornate suite decorated in shades of bright turquoise and rich ochre. We stood in a sitting area full of brocade furniture and fabrics woven into beautiful, colorful patterns. The ceiling was high and inlaid with mismatched beveled wood, and the floor was cool stone beneath my boots. On the other side of a gorgeously carved marble archway was the adjacent bedroom with a fireplace against the golden ochre stucco wall. An armoire and a desk were placed on the wall opposite the enormous window and balcony which overlooked the courtyard.

  “No one has told me what my parents were like, only what they did,” I admitted.

  “Have you ever seen a picture of them?” he asked. When I shook my head, he beckoned me toward the nightstand by the canopied bed. He picked up a frame and handed it to me.

  I greedily absorbed the image of my mother and father, Satiah and Qadir. They didn’t look much older than I was, and they smiled at the camera with their arms around each other. Tariq was right; I looked like my mother. Her face from my single memory of her flashed into my mind. Now that I saw her with such a happy, carefree expression, I could identify the naked anguish she wore when I saw her last. It hadn’t been raining. Her face was slick with tears. Why? Because she had to leave me? Because something terrible had happened, or would happen? Where had my father gone that day?

  “Did they surprise you?” I asked, looking up at Tariq. “When they left?”

  A peculiar expression came over him. His brow furrowed, and his gaze fell and darted around the floor a few times. When he lifted his head to look at me, he said, “That’s an interesting question. With perfect honesty, yes and no. I understood their decision, because I am a father, but I was astonished to find they went through with it. Your parents loved you even more than they loved each other.”

  His words warmed my heart, and at the same time a sense of loss grew in my chest like a huge void. I was left with a feeling of longing, because I’d never know how much my parents had loved me. I ached to know what that felt like—to love and be loved, to know how it felt to have a love you’d kill and die for. How could anything possibly incite such a beautiful violence?

  “Thank you,” I told him, knowing the simple words could never articulate the extent of my gratitude.

  “Of course, darling girl.” He dismissed himself and turned to leave.

  And I was alone in my parents’ suite. The air in the room had a soft, warm scent with a light, spicy musk beneath a breath of jasmine. Is this what they’d smelled like? The furniture was finely carved and gave an antique impression. The wood paneling alternated between engraved wood and hand-painted murals of Egyptian gardens. Stuffed bookcases stretched to the ceiling. Framed paintings depicting daily life in a Cairo souk hung on the sitting room wall on either side of the double doors leading back into the hallway.

  In the bathroom, the wall sconce gave the cream marble flooring an amber glow. A few items sat on the vanity, including a cosmetics box. I peeked inside to find it neatly organized with brushes, a kohl pot, several lipsticks, and a palette of eye paint. I imagined my mother sitting at this very mirror and applying her purifying kohl for battle. These were her things, I was certain of it.

  Thinking of my mother made me feel heartsick for Sayer and Nasira, who knew and loved their mother before she was torn from them so violently. Perhaps there was something that could be done. I had connections after all.

  The jackal amulet was cool in my palm. “Anubis?” I said aloud, hoping he’d hear me.

  “Yes?”

  I jumped and spun around to find Anubis standing in the middle of the room wearing a serene expression. Something changed in his face after a moment and he looked around himself in bewilderment. “This is the Pyramidion. I’ve been summoned here once before, but I wasn’t aware it could still be done. There have been wards against immortals over the Pyramidion for eons.”

  I cringed. “I didn’t break a rule, did I?”

  “Not unless someone finds out,” he said, with a certain darkness in his playfulness.

  My heart pounded, but I forced myself to find courage. “I have a request, or maybe it’s even a deal, if that’s how these things are done. I’d like to make a deal with you.”

  He eyed me, not with suspicion, but cool interest. “I don’t make deals with mortals, but you may make your request.”

  “I need to learn a particular magic,” I elaborated. “And it’s not for me. I have nothing to gain from it.”

  “What kind of magic?” he asked, intrigued, but cautious now.

  “Creation.”

  Anubis frowned, his brow wrinkling over those beautiful eyes. “Ziva, the only way for mortals to create life is to have a child. No magic can do what a woman can.”

  “Then you must do it,” I begged him. “Bring Haya back. There must be something that can be done. Nefertari died thousands of years ago and she can be resurrected. Why not Haya? Her family needs her. The ritual for her entombment is tonight and I’m out of time to make this right.”

  “Set used very, very dark magic to enable Nefertari’s resurrection,” Anubis explained. “Magic we don’t fully understand yet and could be darker than we can even imagine. A Medjai can use creation magic to bring a wax bird to life, but it has only a life force.”

  “But it would be alive,” I insisted.

  He shook his head. “If you were to use magic to give life to a human body, the mortal flesh, the heart might beat but the person isn’t there. There is no unique character or self, no soul. They possess no emotion or intention. Those creatures are shells. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” I felt heavy, deflated and sorrowful. “It would be cruel.” I remembered the poor cats I resurrected at the British Museum. They had become monsters. I couldn’t imagine doing that to someone I cared about.

  “I’m sorry,” Anubis said. “Truly. I know why you want this magic and I sympathize. Those who’ve died can’t return to the mortal world without a powerful god’s interference and that interference has consequences.”

  I nodded. “Nefertari can only be resurrected in a very specific way in order to be whole.”

  “I wish I could help your friends too,” the god of death admitted, and I believed him. “Try not to despair. Death is only the beginning. It’s the gateway of a mortal’s transcendence to immortality. Death is not always beautiful to behold, but the endless peace awaiting a soul is indeed.”

  “And for those left behind?” I asked. “They suffer. Nasira and Sayer suffer. What about all the experiences they’ll never have with their mother? What about everything I never had with my own parents? Death is the end of dreams.”

  His voice and expression gentle, he replied, “Death is not the end, but only a change. Those left behind will bear the weight of sadness, but you bear it and walk on. This is what makes life so precious. You must remember nothing would bring more happiness to the loved ones you’ve lost than for you to live a beautiful life. Miss them, but live.”

  Anubis’s compassion filled my heart with so much love and hope and peace. I had imagined the god of death to be dark and fearsome, rather than more human than us all. And I understood what he tried to explain. Sadness was all right to feel. I had my own life to live and couldn’t let that sadness bury me. My own dreams would continue, as my life would continue, even when those of my parents and Haya had died with them. And yet—who decided what was worth the death of dreams?

  “Ziva.”
Anubis frowned. “You look troubled. What’s the matter?”

  “Nasira said something to me I don’t suppose I’ll ever forget,” I told him. “She said I don’t know what’s worth dying for, because I’ve never loved anyone before. She’s right. I had a friend in New York, but Jean wasn’t my mother. Losing her isn’t like Nasira losing her mother. I had hoped to find family when I agreed to go with her and Sayer. I want friends. Someone to love. Someone to love me back.”

  My eyes burned from the salty sting of tears I knew were coming. I supposed that was the trouble with holding in all your emotions. One day they’d break free, all of them at one time, a broken dam. I sputtered through my tears and loosed a long wail, mourning everything I should’ve had and was stolen from me, mourning what I could’ve had with Jean if I’d let her become my family, mourning what my friends had brutally lost. I couldn’t have been the only person in the world who felt so desperately alone that they’d do anything not to be. My fists were so tight my fingers grew numb and cold; relief came when his warm hands pried mine apart. Anubis let me squeeze his hands as hard as I needed to until I’d cried myself out. When I calmed down and all my tears were smeared across my cheeks, I opened my eyes and looked into his face.

  “You aren’t alone,” Anubis urged, his hands tightening on mine. “I am so deeply sorry you have hurt like this your whole life.”

  I pulled my hands from his and wiped my tears, unable to shake my embarrassment. I hadn’t wanted anyone to see so deeply into my heart, to see all of the vulnerability spilling out of me. Now that I had, I saw the value in letting someone see my pain. I’d always been so afraid that receiving someone’s pity and sympathy would make me feel weak and sorry for myself. I’d been so wrong. This was compassion, and it made me feel like I wasn’t alone anymore.

  “Why do you hide your feelings from people who care about you?” Anubis asked.

  I shrugged, sniffling. “They have their own problems to deal with. I don’t want to be one more.”

  He studied my face earnestly, his gaze digging deep. “You’re not a burden, Ziva. Your pain doesn’t make you unworthy of love. You’ve survived, and you’ll always live with it. Wear your past and your pain like a medal of honor. Your friends can help you with whatever you’re going through if you communicate with them.”

  “Thank you,” I told him, sniffling like a child. “I know I’m not alone. Even though Sayer is going through so much, he’s looking out for me. It ought to be the other way around right now.”

  Anubis softened with sympathy. “He cares for you because he’s a good friend. I’m sure your presence comforts him too. Everyone needs to have that person.”

  “Who’s yours?” I asked, but I wasn’t prepared for the startled and unsure look on his face.

  “My mother, I suppose,” he replied.

  “Do you have any friends?”

  “No,” he said. “I’ve known mortals, been familiar with them, but they die.”

  I couldn’t believe I’d asked him such a thing, to remind him of all that he’d lost. But that had never occurred to me. “I—I didn’t mean—”

  “Death is natural,” he assured me.

  My cheeks felt hot. “I know someday I’ll die . . . but if you need a friend . . . I’ll be there for you.”

  He smiled, and his gaze faltered for a moment before raising to meet mine again. He was a terribly beautiful creature and so much more human than I would have expected. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

  “What’s she like?” I asked. “Your mother.”

  His expression grew pensive. “Nephthys is the powerful Nile, and nothing can control her. She is the beautiful and imperishable and loyal moon illuminating the night. She is the stars, promising endlessness to the universe and guiding us through the dark and the desert.”

  “I’d love to meet her someday,” I said with a smile. “What is your father like?”

  A troubled look came over him and his brow bunched tightly, darkening his eyes. “My father . . . is not my mother’s husband. She is married to Set. Has been since nearly the dawn of creation. Not long after they were united, the netherworld was threatened by the great serpent Apophis. Set was the greatest warrior of the immortals and he destroyed Apophis, but he betrayed us all with a terrible act of greed. He subsumed Apophis’s power—and the evil along with it. Set made himself a monster.

  “My mother continued to love him, but he had changed,” Anubis continued. “She tells me of how sad and lonely she was. She longed for a child’s love, not because she thought it would save their relationship, but because she wanted to save herself. After what he’d done, Set had been corrupted and couldn’t give her a child. She turned to Osiris, the King of the Dead. Already jealous of Osiris’s position and power, Set discovered Nephthys had conceived, and he murdered Osiris. He tore the corpse into a thousand pieces and those thousand pieces still weren’t enough to slake his fury. His unconditional love for Nephthys let him forgive her. He’d saved every last drop of his rage for Osiris.”

  I swallowed hard, troubled by Anubis’s story and the despair it brought him. “But your mother has you. And she’s happy now.”

  He mustered a weak smile. “Yes. I believe she’s happy. Magic resurrected Osiris, at a cost, but Set would love to tear him apart again.”

  A thought struck me, one that chilled my bones. “The queen’s heart Set was promised when he made the deal with Nefertari . . . It possesses a great power, one that could immortalize her. Possibly make her a goddess. What if Set wants to use it to go after Osiris once more—for the last time?”

  “We all believe Set would do anything to take from Osiris all he holds dear, especially the throne,” Anubis agreed. “If Set could channel the power of the queen’s heart to do so, then his actions would make a dark quantity of sense.”

  “The queen’s heart must have limitless powers if Set would use it to destroy another immortal,” I said, my voice low with fear. “He seems desperate to get it before Nefertari’s resurrection. Perhaps it will lose its magic afterward, or she will become too strong for him to carve it from her chest himself.”

  “This may seem hard to believe, but,” Anubis said, “even though Set’s nature is dark, he is not inherently evil. He was terribly betrayed by those he loved. He was wronged, and he has done wrong in return.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’s allowed to drag innocent people into his vendetta,” I told him. “I won’t let him hurt anyone else.”

  A knock came, and I looked at the door. Cyrene’s voice called, “Ziva. It’s time.”

  “Coming!” I replied.

  When I turned back, Anubis was gone.

  CHAPTER

  17

  Deep beneath the Pyramidion and the busy streets of Cairo, was the khertet netjer, hidden catacombs where the bodies of Medjai were prepared for their journey to the afterlife and then entombed for eternity. Every one of us who died, regardless of whether he or she had perished in battle or succumbed to natural causes, was given the same rites after death and the same spells were performed.

  Once the bodies were placed within the preparation rooms, we dressed in ceremonial hem-netjer clothing. My dress was made of fine linen, my sandals of papyrus. A jeweled collar with a linen shawl wrapped around my shoulders and was pinned at the center of my chest. Women wore blue sashes over their dresses, while men were bare chested beneath their shawls and their skirts were held with a jeweled belt at their waists. Cyrene, as high priestess, wore an ancient leopard skin over her shoulders and atop her head were poised two falcon feathers.

  As rituals were carried out, Cyrene read the spells from a modified version of the Book of the Dead written for Haya, ensuring she would live for eternity in the netherworld among the gods. We recited the incantations along with Cyrene and beside me, Sayer’s voice broke on several occasions. As his mother was wrapped in linen, he gazed upon her for what would be the last time, the expression on his face quiet and stoic.

  When we finished
, we returned to the surface and I to my room to change out of the ceremonial hem-netjer clothing. In my broken heart I knew this wouldn’t be the last funeral we’d conduct. I was as certain as the coming night that I would see more of my friends and family laid to rest within the many levels of the cold, dark catacombs.

  Days and many hours of studying hieroglyphs and combat training later, Cyrene summoned me to the library of the Pyramidion. It was a gigantic hexagonal room large enough to rival the one boasted by the British Museum. Though it lacked the unique wagon wheel spoke bookshelves, every wall was packed to the ceiling with books. The dome above allowed elegant acoustics and was painted night-sky blue with a smattering of white stars. Egyptian and Hellenistic art decorated open spaces on bookshelves, desks, and end tables between plush, well-worn, leather couches and wood-and-iron desks filling the middle of the room. A stone Assyrian relief and Carthagian busts of women with pleated hair were also displayed with care and I wanted to take a closer look at them. In the center of the gleaming marble floor was a circular mosaic of elegant azure lotus blossoms emerging from the Nile, each tesserae glittering in the daylight.

  Cyrene led me to a desk surrounded by a small crowd of Medjai, all of whom inspected two canopic jars. I recognized the baboon head of Hapy on the lid of the jar I found at the British Museum. The second, undoubtedly the one the Medjai had possessed all along, sported a human-shaped face as its lid.

  “Imsety,” I said, pulling the information from my memory. “Inside is Nefertari’s liver.”

  “Well done,” Cyrene praised.

  “The translated hieratic on Imsety confirms Dr. Sweeney’s claim of finding Hapy at the Ramesseum,” Cyrene explained. “Imsety’s inscription tells us the third canopic jar, Qebehsenuef the falcon, was buried at the feet of Ramesses II.”

  “We believe the inscription refers to the Ramesses II colossus discovered in 1820,” Tariq added. “It’s quite possible the referenced canopic jar may be the one in the Egyptian Museum’s possession. With luck, it will reveal the location of the fourth and final canopic jar—”