Book of the Dead (Gods of Egypt 2)

by Nadine Nightingale

  “What the—” Shaggy cuts himself off as the fabric of my sweater dissolves, exposing my birthmark.

  A dull click. A stone moves. And there, in the center of the obelisk, hidden behind its stone surface, is a black book.

  The constable rushes toward it, no longer aiming his gun at my sister. He grabs the book, and I jump him from behind.

  “What are you doing?” he yells as I bend his arm to the breaking point, forcing him to drop his weapon.

  He screams in pain as his bones crack under the pressure. I’m far from done with him. Spinning him around, I punch him so hard, his head flies against the obelisk. I repeat the action over and over, that same cold rage I felt when I assaulted my sister’s tormentor surging through my veins.

  “Blaze,” Jade screams. “Stop. Please.”

  That bastard would have shot her. His people are responsible for Nisha and Izzy’s martyrdom. I don’t want to stop. I want to kill him.

  Just when I launch another punch, someone pulls me off him. “Don’t do it, Blaze.” Oz’s warm voice chases some of the hate away. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it.”

  “He’s right,” Jade says, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You’ve suffered enough because of me. Don’t add this to my conscience.” She cries uncontrollably. “I couldn’t take it.”

  I let go of him. He drops to the ground like a puppet without strings. She hugs me, chasing all the wrath away.

  “Shit,” Shaggy says. “We have to go.”

  Voices—at least four—reach us. They yell something about a “book” and “enemies.”

  More of Seth’s men.

  “Grab the book,” I order Scooby.

  Then we run as fast as we can in the opposite direction.

  The Desert

  Chapter 31

  Nisha

  I tear linen strips off my skirt and wrap my feet to protect them from the scorching sand. My sandals stood no chance against the brutal desert. I abandoned them, along with the memories of what Horus’s Eye showed me.

  My mouth is dry and rough, like freshly sawed wood. I’d give an arm for a gulp of water. In the desert, water is as rare as saffron.

  You need salt if you want to make it out of here alive, says the part of my brain that recalls every survival documentary I’ve ever watched.

  I grit my teeth and lick the sweat off my arms. Yes, it’s disgusting, but it beats dying by a long shot. Moisture helps, but only for a few fleeting moments. I have no idea how much longer I can handle this valley of death.

  It’s been three sunsets since I left the Temple of Air and entered the desert by myself. Time, in this cavern, moves differently. It was always day in the other regions. Here, day and night kiss each other goodbye frequently. It’s almost impossible to keep track of how long I’ve been here.

  I focus on my burning skin and the blisters covering my arms and face, rather than the maddening thirst, and keep moving.

  The sun, a malevolent, unblinking observer, beats down on me. Not a single cloud comes to my rescue.

  Scorpions, snakes, and lizards take shelter in the sand, where the fireball can’t reach them. I, too, want to dig my way through this godforsaken place. If only I could.

  Forcing one foot after the other, I scan my surroundings. The vastness of the desert, and the odd silence haunting it, gives me the creeps. That dark feeling I’ve been struggling with since I got here returns full force.

  Something else is out here, waiting to launch a vicious attack. The warning is a constant echo in my ears.

  “Keep walking, Nisha.” My voice is like sandpaper, husky and low. But the words, even when they’re my own, are a comfort in this tormenting silence.

  I wander for what feels like hours as the sun slowly sets behind a dune. Nights in the desert are their own kind of hell. The air cools rapidly, the wind howls like tortured wolves, and the loneliness becomes an ocean of horrific fantasies. Images of sandworms, gigantic cobras, and evil demons settle in. They keep me awake and on high alert at all times.

  The first few nights, I kept marching. Actually, it was more like a slow jog. Then came thirst, hunger, and pain—three assailants that robbed me of my energy and forced me to slow down. Soon, I found myself resting at night, searching for protection in a place where there is none.

  Brushing sticky hair out of my face, I sit. Darkness falls. The scorching heat is forgotten when the icy wind blows sand in my tired face.

  Night.

  Day.

  Night.

  Day.

  I’m trapped in a never-ending cycle that is slowly killing me. My worst enemy in this wasteland is not chance encounters with snakes or scorpions, it is loneliness.

  Eventually, the dunes turn into people. The massive rocks are homes, inviting me in for a quick visit. I find myself speaking to sandcastles, pretending they’re the people I miss and love. Despite the fact they don’t engage in conversation, it makes me feel less hopeless, less… lost.

  Another day passes, and nothing in this hell has changed except my state of my mind. It goes from frenzy into depression.

  What if I can’t find my way out? What if I’m bound to wander this place for all eternity? What if I never hear the voices of my family and friends again? What if… what if… what if….

  It’s dark again. The crescent moon is a slice of silver in an eternity of blackness. I am running out of time.

  Everything looks identical. How am I supposed to know which way to go? The brutal truth is I can’t. So I keep moving, praying I’m on the right path.

  Looking at the endless sea of sand, I head down a small crest as quickly as my broken feet allow. At first, it’s the same ol’, same ol’: sand, sky, and me.

  Then I hear a quiet whisper. “Nishaaa.”

  It’s just the wind.

  “Nishaaa.”

  “The wind,” I assure myself. “Just the—”

  “Nisha!” The voice is louder, clearer. “Please… help me!”

  I smell blood. The iron crawls into my nostrils, turning my stomach upside down. The sickle moon is red, like a canvas painted with the most gruesome shade of sangria. The radiant light illuminates the sand. Illuminates—

  Oh my god.

  Chapter 32

  Nisha

  I have seen death in its ugliest forms. Bodies so badly burned they were nothing but charcoal lumps. Skin melted like chocolate, exposed to the sun. I’ve witnessed murder and suicide, accidents and heart attacks. Nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to what I am seeing right now.

  In front of me is a mass grave. A killing field World War II soldiers would be petrified of.

  Limbs and bones are scattered across the sand. Slices of rotting meat pave the way to lifeless shells, resting face-down in the desert. The ground is an ocean of blood, the blood a permanent stain on the sand. I can’t think of a single battle in the history of mankind as vicious and gruesome as this.

  “Nisha,” shouts the voice. “Help me.”

  I fight the urge to puke and scan the horrific scene for survivors. It takes a lot to drink this in, but I refuse to close my eyes or pretend I didn’t hear that heartbreaking plea for help.

  “Where are you?” I croak, my voice barely above a whisper.

  No reply.

  “Can someone hear me?” I shout, louder this time.

  Nothing.

  I’m seconds from running and never looking back when I hear it again. My name, screamed like a desperate prayer. Fear and courage battle inside me.

  Run, fear begs.

  Help, courage orders.

  What if the roles were reversed, my conscience argues. Wouldn’t you want someone to come to your aid?

  My mom used to say, “Treat others like you want to be treated.”

  “Where are you?” I make my way through the killing field. Doing my best to ignore the corpses isn’t good enough. The stink of death and blood won’t leave me be.

  “Help! Please.” The voice—clearly male—is closer.
It’s familiar. In my mind, I pray he’s a stranger.

  I move quickly, but the bloody sea seems to grow bigger and vaster. There’s no end in sight. No finishing line I can conquer.

  Soon more voices float through the night.

  “I was going to go to college.”

  “We were going to get married.”

  “My wife was pregnant.”

  The dead speak to me.

  “This is your fault.”

  “You did this to us.”

  “You killed us.”

  “No,” I scream. “I didn’t do anything.” I would never take a life.

  A hooded, shadowy figure appears out of nowhere. “Except you did.” Its voice is metallic, neither male nor female.

  I stumble back. My ankles slam against something slick and wet. The impact catches me off guard. I lose my balance and fall on the bloody sand next to a severed head.

  Hollow, glazed-over eyes stare at me. For a split second, I think I see a smile on the young man’s lips. I blink, and it’s gone.

  “Don’t be afraid of the truth,” the apparition says, approaching me. “We must all face the consequences of our actions. You, Princess Nebt-Het, are no exception.”

  I pay no attention to the blood on my skin, ignore the eyes of a man who was beheaded. “W-what are you talking about?” I shake my head, trying to wake from this evil nightmare. “Who are you?”

  “Who I am is no concern of yours. All you need to know is that this”—the apparition turns to the killing field—“is who you are.”

  Maybe the sun has fried my brain, but I can’t, for the life of me, understand what the apparition is saying. “You’re not real. You’re just a figment of my imagination.”

  The figure laughs dryly. “Like Anubis?”

  Whatever morbid test this is, it’s not funny. “Shut up.”

  “Are you saying you don’t want to hear the truth?” The faceless apparition turns to me. “Are you such a coward you can’t face the repercussions of your decisions? The outcome of your selfishness?”

  I want to cover my ears, close my eyes, and hum a lullaby. I want to get on my feet and run, pretending this never happened. I can do neither. Whatever horror story this thing is about to share, I can’t escape it. “What are you saying?”

  “Look around you.” It points at the rotting bodies, the lost lives. “All this misery is on you.”

  “No.” That’s a lie. “Whatever happened to them, I had nothing to do with it.”

  “But you did.” It moves away.

  “Hey.” I push myself off the sand. “Where are you going?”

  The figure stops and looks over its shoulder. “You may follow me, Princess, but beware, verity isn’t for the faint of heart.”

  Verity. Truth. It’s all… Ma’at.

  “Wait,” I say, moving toward the figure. “I’m coming.” Not because I want to, but because Ma’at is what rules the afterlife. I have no choice but to face it if I want to find my way out of here.

  Chapter 33

  Nisha

  Treading on the apparition’s heels, I move past disfigured bodies and unmoving corpses.

  There has to be thousands of dead people here. Each and every one of them, slaughtered like they meant nothing. They did, though. Some of them still speak to me, sharing their tragic stories to bury me under an avalanche of guilt.

  “I never got to tell her how much I loved her.”

  “My new job was going to turn my life around.”

  “I can’t find my mother. Where is my mother?”

  I try to block the voices out. Even cover my ears, applying so much pressure my brain’s about to burst. Doesn’t help. I can still hear them, still feel them. Their anger, their hate, their helplessness—it’s all directed at me.

  “Hurry,” the apparition urges, quickening its pace. “He doesn’t have much time left.”

  He? Who is he? I’d ask, but the figure halts and my question is answered.

  “Princess,” Blaze cries, lifting his sliced hand. “Please….” He coughs blood, spilling it down his battered chest. “Help.”

  Two things happen simultaneously. One: my heart ceases to beat. Two: I freeze.

  Blaze is dying. The massive round hole in his chest speaks volumes. The best doctors couldn’t save him. No one can.

  He reaches for me, more blood leaking from his mouth and chest.

  Shock gives way to panic. Like a cheetah, I run toward him, dropping on the ground beside him. I take his hand; his fingers already cold. “What happened?”

  His face is the epitome of pain. Every move he makes sends a fresh burst of hurt all over it. “L…” He swallows. “Lo”—a deep breath—“st.”

  Lost? Who or what is lost? I want to ask him, but he is in no shape to answer. Every word he speaks will drain the life out of him, causing a quicker death. “Shh.” I run my hand down a cheek sticky with blood and sand. “Don’t talk.” I look up. “I’ll get you out of here.”

  His hand circles my wrist. “I-it’s o… ver.”

  “No.” Tears run down my face. “You can’t give up. You’ve got to try. Remember?” I can’t tell if he’s smiling or wincing in pain

  “Too late.”

  A shallow breath. His tongue lolls. Then his heart stops beating.

  I shake him violently. “Open your eyes. You’ve got to open—”

  “He’s gone,” the apparition says. “They all are.”

  I turn around. What I see kills me.

  Oz torn into pieces, Shaggy and Scooby impaled by a spear, V and Rob holding hands in death.

  Izzy...

  “No!” I get up and rush to her side. “Izzy, please. Not you, too.”

  She’s lying on her back, her heart residing in her palm.

  Desperation turns into pure wrath. “What have you done?” I scream, charging the figure. “You killed them.” I aim my fists at the figure. I only hit air.

  I continue my rampage until my arms drop from exhaustion, and until my knees give in and refuse to carry me any longer.

  “You chose your path,” the figure says calmly. “Now, you must face the consequences.”

  “I didn’t choose this.” I point at the bodies of my friends and family.”

  You didn’t want to hurt your parents, either. And yet, they’re dead. They died protecting you. Maybe—

  “No!” I’d give anything to change that fatal Devil’s Night. I would have gladly traded places with Mom and Dad. But I didn’t pull the trigger. I didn’t kill them. Thornton did.

  The figure waits patiently for me to calm down. It eventually breaks the silence. “You may not have wished this fate upon them, Princess Nebt-Het, but you contributed to it nevertheless.”

  “How?” I croak, swallowing tears.

  “Come,” it orders.

  Without hesitation, I get on my feet. Whatever I did that led to this, it might not be too late to stop it. Maybe, just maybe, I can still save them.

  The killing field is out of sight. In my mind’s eye, I still see the bodies of the people I love, along with those loved by someone else. I doubt I’ll ever get the stink of sour vinegar, iron, and spoiled meat out of the back of my throat.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “We’re almost there,” it says as we conquer a dune.

  Moments later, the desert is gone, replaced by stone walls and ceilings and decorated with golden ornaments and hieroglyphs. We move down a long hallway, which invokes a sense of familiarity I only ever felt with Blaze and Seth.

  I am stunned by the majestic sculptures of old gods, rising to the ceiling. I’ve been here before.

  The apparition stops next to a door that is ajar. My curiosity gets the best of me, and I sneak a peek.

  Seth is standing near a window overlooking the garden. He seems worried, but he can control himself better than most. Those who don’t know his softer side would see a warrior.

  Footsteps echo through the chamber. A girl about my size approaches him fro
m behind, throwing her arms around his waist. “I’ve been looking for you,” she says.

  Seth turns, his eyes bright. “You found me.”

  “I did.” She kisses his hand.

  Seth’s eyes remain on her face, but a shadow falls over his features. “Love,” he says, voice tainted with sorrow. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  “What is it?” she asks.

  Seth hesitates, his amber eyes growing more distant by the second.

  “Hey.” She cups his chin. “You know you can tell me anything. No secrets, that’s what we swore to each other.”

  He nods, a hint of guilt in his expression. “You must know how I feel about you, don’t you?” She nods, and he continues. “Without you, my life has no sense or order. I can’t… I won’t live in a world where you aren’t mine.”

  “I am yours,” she assures him. “Always have been, always will be.”

  He shakes his head, the softness gone. “We both know you can never be mine as long as I am human. You and I can’t be together unless—”

  “No.” She stumbles back. “Don’t you dare say it. I won’t have it. I just—”

  He pulls her to him. “It’s too late, my love. I spoke to your parents this morning, and we agreed the Trials are the only way for us to be united.”

  “Are you insane?” she yells. “No one has ever survived the Trials. You—”

  “Nebt-Het. Can’t you see? I would rather die than live a single moment without you by my side.”

  “You could have stopped him,” the figure whispers in my ear. “But you didn’t.” It points to the couple. “This is how it started, how you caused the beginning of the end.”

  My gaze darts back to Seth. He’s holding her tight against him. “Don’t ask me to be a coward. Don’t take away my only chance to love you. If you do so, you might as well take my dagger and kill me this instant.”

  “I could never kill you,” she says, sobbing.

  “But you did, didn’t you?” The figure mocks me. “Only it was too late by then.”

  The thing turns me around. The chamber and hallway are gone. I’m standing in the midst of my vision—The Chamber of Eternal Life.