by Jasmine Walt
His story . . . he’s going to tell me about him and Set. That’s what’s putting him in such a bad mood. I almost laughed with relief, but managed to contain myself. I crossed my legs and waited, recalling what I knew of the myth.
The Contendings of Heru and Set is one of the more well-known Egyptian myths, and like many ancient stories, it sounds a little odd to modern ears. It chronicles the struggle between the two gods to decide who would be Osiris’s successor and rule over all of Egypt and her deities. Since some of the gods favored Heru and some favored Set, the two were required to engage in a series of contests. At one point, Heru’s mother, Aset—commonly known as Isis—attempted to aid Heru, but she backed out in the end, unwilling to hurt Set. This apparently enraged Heru, and he cut off her head. As punishment, Set gouged out one of Heru’s eyes, though another goddess replaced it. The competition between the two gods finally came to a head when Set tricked Heru into having intercourse with him. He believed that if he could prove he’d planted his seed inside Heru, the other gods would see him as the dominant of the two and name him as Osiris’s successor. Heru, however, was even more clever than the duplicitous Set. When Set ejaculated, Heru caught his semen and later fed it to him disguised as food. The other gods ruled in favor of Heru as the rightful king of Egypt and her deities, and he became a symbol of the divine right to rule.
Finally, Marcus began telling me his version of the myth—the true version. “My father, Osiris, ruled the Council of Seven for decades, from Nuin’s death until his own,” he said in his silk and stone voice. “He was the last son of Nuin, so the succession of his throne fell to the grandsons. Set and I were the two oldest and most powerful among them. Most of the Council thought I deserved to take over because my father had been the last ruler, but Set and one other member of the Council believed he was the rightful successor. He argued that he’d been the patriarch of his line for many years and knew how to lead. I argued that my father had groomed me for the position, and that because of his guidance, I already knew everything required of the position.” Marcus gave a sad laugh and shook his head.
“The Council ruled in my favor—unlike in the myth, there were no trials or contests—and I became the rightful ruler of our people. However, two days after my coronation, Set approached me, claiming false friendship. He attacked me and gouged my eyes, rendering me blind for a time. He said he wanted me to die slowly, losing my life piece by piece until everything was taken from me, like it had been taken from him. I didn’t understand this change in him—I still don’t. Before my father’s death, we’d been the closest of friends. Sometimes we’d even shared lovers.” He watched me, searching for some sort of a reaction. Inside, I felt queasy; outside, I was granite.
“We became enemies unlike any the world had ever known. Aset—who was my sister, not my mother as the mythology claims—found us fighting, or rather, me dying slowly and blind. She launched herself at Set, distracting him long enough for her servants to carry me away. I’d loved her dearly for hundreds of years, and he killed her, not me—the myth has that wrong as well. I would never have hurt Aset. I wanted her beside me for eternity.” He sighed, deep and heavy with longing.
“My eyes healed and I regained my sight the following day, and then I resumed leadership of the Netjer-At. I moved my court and the Council to Hierakonopolis and ruled for many peaceful centuries. The humans knew of us in those days, and considered us gods for our ‘immortality’ and abilities to know the past and to predict the future. They worshiped us, just as some still believe they should. And that is the truth behind the myth.” Marcus fell silent, letting me digest his words.
“I’m sort of surprised by the accuracy of the myth—fighting over Osiris’s throne, Aset dying, your eyes . . .” I said. “Thank you for telling me.”
He nodded. “Sometimes the humans get it right, or mostly right. Though I never understood why they cast Aset as my mother,” he pondered aloud. “Maybe it made her seem a more sympathetic character?”
“I have to tell you something,” I blurted, before he distracted me with another tale or before I lost my nerve.
Marcus blinked several times, then raised a single, arched eyebrow.
I took a deep breath. “I, um . . . I’m pretty sure Nuin could actually travel through time, not just enter the At,” I said with one eye squeezed shut and the other barely open to observe his reaction.
“Pray tell, Lex, what makes you think this?”
I started to babble. “Because he visited me when I was five years old . . . and then again . . . and again . . . thousands of times as I grew up. He blocked my memories every time he left so I couldn’t recall anything about him when he wasn’t there. Obviously a little bit slipped through . . . you know, with my obsession with ancient Egypt and all. He taught me his language, which is probably why I’m so good at deciphering ancient texts, and he used to keep me safe from Set when he would come after me . . . probably trying to kidnap me. I think Set wanted to raise me as his perfect little obedient daughter, and not have me grow up to be, well, this,” I said, pointing to myself.
“Anyway, Nuin visited me in an echo while I was sleeping last night. He released his memory block, and now I remember everything.” I fell silent, holding my breath for a long moment before releasing it. “Please, say something.”
“This is bad,” he said, his voice cold and level.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“No,” he said. “It’s not your fault that Nuin—” Abruptly, he laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “Gods, Lex, you probably know him better than I do. He was never an easy man to know.”
I frowned, wondering if we were really talking about the same man. The Nuin I knew was kind, wise, and gentle.
“What’s bad,” Marcus continued, “is what’s locked in that temple. Now we know why Set wants the ankh-At so badly.” His tiger eyes flashed with rage, or possibly fear. “He wants the power to travel through time.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered. “Then he could change anything.”
23
Mother & Child
Breaking just about every traffic law possible, we sped along the freeway into Seattle and through her soggy streets. Jenny, as it turned out, wasn’t my only younger sister. That title also belonged to none other than Genevieve’s daughter, Kat, who was my half-sister through Set. Traffic was predictably heavy as we made our way toward Genevieve’s shop, the Goddess’s Blessing, further darkening Marcus’s stormy mood. He wasn’t happy that I hadn’t told him about Nuin as soon as I woke up that morning.
“Why don’t we just not go to Egypt?” I asked for the umpteenth time. He’d yet to grant me a response more verbose than a grunt and a shaking of his head. “If I don’t go . . . I don’t have to choose to obey or defy him. If ‘nobody but the girl-child can access the ankh-At,’ then Set needs me to be there to get to Nuin’s time-travel power. So . . . just take me out of the equation!”
“That’s exactly what the man who shot me said during his interrogation. ‘Kill the Meswett—take her out of the equation.’ I killed him for those words,” Marcus told me, his tone cold.
“What? When did you see the prisoner? He’s already been killed? By you?” I asked, aghast.
Snickering, Marcus mocked, “Poor Little Ivanov . . . still feeling squeamish about killing?”
“I wanted to be there,” I said, gritting my teeth. I watched you die.
Marcus’s hands tightened visibly on the steering wheel, blanching the skin covering his knuckles, but he said nothing. Neither of us spoke for the rest of the drive.
Marcus easily parallel parked the car in a spot I was sure would prove too small. With the engine still running, he unbuckled his seatbelt and lunged over the low center console, pressing me back against the passenger seat.
Hot and urgent, his lips found mine. He invaded my mouth with his tongue, and when I tried to reciprocate, he tightly gripped the back of my neck and growled. The kiss was about more than lust or passion, it
was about possession—about Marcus’s need to make me his. In that moment, with each thrust and caress of his tongue, he owned me . . . and I liked it.
“I’m beginning to understand the meaning behind ‘she-falcon,’” Marcus whispered against my cheek. “Would you have killed the gunman yourself for what he did, Little Ivanov? Do you think you could have?”
Unable to form the words, I nodded, earning a rough, animalistic sound from the man pinning me against the seatback.
“Nuin’s prophecy says nothing about his power being what destroys the world, either in the case of your death or your obedience to Set, only that his power—the ankh-At—must be accessed and that you obeying Set is the end of mankind,” he said, finally answering my question. “Set’s had enough time to acquire weapons of mass destruction, be they nuclear, biological, or other, and is psychotic enough to hold the world hostage with them. I guarantee that he will do something along those lines if you don’t continue, especially since you are his only chance at accessing Nuin’s power. We must proceed with the excavation, enter the hidden temple, access the ankh-At, and get it out of Set’s reach. There are no other options.”
With a huge, resigned breath, I nodded against his cheekbone, and only then did he pull away.
Marcus had turned off the car, exited, and was around to open my door in a matter seconds. He extended his hand and helped me out. “Shall we continue on our business, then?”
I laughed, adjusting my coat. “You are unbelievable. Just like that”—I snapped my fingers—“you’re all business again.”
He leaned into me, pressing me against the car, and whispered, “Not all business.”
I could feel the hard length of him nudge against my hip. Damn . . . “You should really do something about that,” I purred.
He chuckled, a low, rough sound, but didn’t say anything.
After another moment of smoothing and adjusting clothing, we were making our way up the block to the magic shop, Marcus’s arm latched possessively around my waist. His mood had lightened considerably.
Tinkling bells announced our entrance into Genevieve’s magic shop, earning a “Be right out!” from the back room. While we waited, Marcus followed me from shelf to shelf, from table to table, as I examined the many curiosities. He stood far too close behind me, making my hands shake with the anticipation of his touch.
“Jittery, Little Ivanov?” he whispered, his lips almost touching my hair. He seemed to savor the affect his proximity had on me.
Turning my head, I looked up into the black-rimmed gold of his eyes from inches away. “I must just be excited about our business,” I said pointedly. “Are you still excited?”
“When I’m around carmine-eyed temptresses,” he said, daring me to close the distance between our mouths, “I’m nearly overcome with excitement.”
Just as I was leaning into him, Genevieve’s husky voice intervened. “How can I help you?” she asked, pulling a dolly stacked high with boxes through the beaded curtain.
Marcus barely brushed his lips across mine before pulling away. “Ah, Gen, I thought we were closer than that,” he said warmly. “‘How can I help you?’ is a little impersonal, is it not?”
Genevieve immediately let go of the cart, standing noticeably straighter. “Marcus!” she exclaimed, facing us with a joyous smile. “And . . . I’m sorry, but I don’t recall your name,” she added, letting the curve of her mouth turn faintly bitter as she addressed me.
“Lex,” I supplied.
She nodded. “Welcome back to the Goddess’s Blessing, Lex. I hope you found your answers. What brings you back so soon, Marcus? Why, it was just a few weeks ago that you were here!”
Eyes narrowed to slits, I studied Marcus. If he’d visited the shop a few weeks ago, that meant he’d been in town before he’d met up with me after the trial. How long had he been back? How long had he been avoiding me?
Marcus stared back, unblinking, though the corner of his mouth rose infinitesimally. Something about my reaction pleased him.
I took a deep, calming breath. “Are you going to explain what brings you back so soon, Marcus, or shall I?” I asked, only the tiniest edge of frustration apparent. If anything, the corner of his mouth rose further.
Genevieve, whose smile had returned to its original exuberance during our exchange, seemed to deflate when Marcus said, “No, my darling, I can take care of it.” She looked like she’d just sunk her teeth into a furry, rotten lemon.
After quickly locking the shop’s door, Marcus gave Genevieve a brief update on my entrance into and involvement with the Nejerets over the past few months. “It’s time, Gen, and we have to make sure Kat’s safe. She’s an easy target for Set,” he told her. What he didn’t say was that I needed to keep Kat close because Nuin had traveled through time to tell me so.
“But she’s only a teenager! It’s her senior year, she—” Genevieve started wringing her hands. “Why would he come after her? Why now?”
Marcus stepped closer to her and squeezed her upper arms. “Gen . . . he’s unpredictable. You know that as well as anyone. He’ll use any tool he can get his hands on, and he’ll see Kat as a valuable tool because he knows I care about her, and about you.”
She looked up at him with hope-filled eyes, and I had to turn away. Even though it was clear that she had feelings for Marcus, I didn’t like watching anyone’s hopes being dashed. I stared through the glass door at the outlines of the two bodyguards who’d positioned themselves outside, pitying Genevieve.
“Gather what things you both need from upstairs. There’s a van out front that will take you to pick up Kat from school and then bring you both to my compound. Do you understand me, Gen? You must do this!” Marcus urged, his voice vehement.
While Genevieve packed the bare necessities for her daughter and herself, Marcus and I waited in the shop, standing close to each other but not talking. I was feeling too pensive for casual conversation. Why didn’t he come back to the Heru compound as soon as he was back in town? Why did he visit Genevieve? Again, I wondered if there had ever been something more than friendship between Marcus and the sultry shop owner. Kat had denied it months ago, but a mother wouldn’t tell her daughter about her sex life. What if . . .
As Marcus escorted Genevieve to the waiting van, I stayed with the guards. Marcus swiftly returned and walked me to his car, again offering silence and letting me lose myself in thought. It wasn’t until we were on the ferry back to Bainbridge Island, standing on the starboard deck, that he broke the silence. He was behind me, his arms wrapped around me to insulate me from some of the chill carried by the brisk sea air. “Tell me your thoughts,” he said, and I could feel his jaw move against the side of my head.
I didn’t want to ask the one thing that kept dancing through my mind. I’d never been a jealous person, and I didn’t like that my relationship with Marcus was bringing the ugly emotion out. But I also wasn’t interested in a relationship based on lies or half-truths, so I asked, “Were you ever involved with her?”
“Jealous?”
What do you think? “Should I be?”
Marcus sighed and held me more tightly. “Gen and I have been involved since she discovered she was pregnant with Kat and Set left her. I looked out for them, assuring they had everything they needed. I told you all of this earlier,” he reminded me.
“So . . . ?” Was that a ‘no’?
“If I said yes? If I told you that Gen and I had shared a bed many years ago . . . or merely months ago, would it matter?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself not to cry over something as mundane as past lovers, because Marcus sure as hell had plenty of those.
Marcus seemed to read my mind, and though his words stung, his voice was soft. “And what about the hundreds—thousands—of women I’ve had over my long life? Do they matter? Do they change anything?”
Thousands? How can I possibly compete against thousands of women? Throat parched, I said, “No. I just . . .”
�
�Just what?” he persisted.
“I hate them,” I said, feeling pathetic.
“And there it is.” He sighed. “You are no virgin, correct?”
Discomfited, I replied, “Um . . . yeah. I mean, no . . . I’m not . . .”
“I don’t care how many men you’ve . . . been with” —Four . . . and not one was worth it—“I’d gladly cut the balls off of each and every one,” Marcus proclaimed with more vicious chill than I’d ever heard in his voice. “But no,” he added, “I’ve never been intimate with Gen.”
I felt like a thousand-pound dumbbell had been lifted off my chest. I hated thinking that Marcus had slept with her, and then brought me to her shop and flirted with me in front of her. It would have been remarkably cruel. He was serious and severe and very lethal, but I didn’t think he was cruel.
“Thank you for telling me,” I said into the wind. Below, the choppy gray-blue water of the Puget Sound undulated and foamed, and a little ways off, a seagull flapped and coasted, flapped and coasted, almost keeping up with the ferry. “Have you looked after all of Set’s abandoned women and children so well?” I asked with genuine curiosity. How many half-siblings do I have?
“No,” Marcus said, and the single word rang with finality. “We’re getting close.”
I let him take my hand and lead me back down a narrow staircase to our car. I didn’t know why, but I’d just banged on a closed, dead-bolted, and padlocked door. Marcus really didn’t want to tell me something, and I was getting the feeling it was extremely important. It was deal-breaker important. I needed to break through that door. I needed to find a battering ram.
24
Struggle & Survive
“You have to decide,” Neffe told her father in her haughtiest voice. “Cancel the field school, or don’t, but I need to know ASAP. I mean, we leaving in the morning!”