Echo Prophecy

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  “No way!” I exclaimed, my voice hushed. “No freaking way!” Nuin, the Great Father, the man who had started our species, visited me when I was a little girl. It wasn’t possible—he was supposed to be dead … like, thousands of years dead. Marcus saw him die.

  “Alexandra.”

  At hearing my name, I swiveled my head to the left and found another version of the same man standing only feet away. Shocked, I accosted him with words. “You’re Nuin! But everyone thinks you’re dead! Can you help us? Can you help me? The prophecy … your prophecy … it must be wrong! Why did you choose me?”

  Nuin shook his head and said something incomprehensible, his words ancient and alien. I had to remind myself that, despite the resemblance, the man standing beside me was not Marcus. Nuin pointed to another part of the yard, a place young me couldn’t see. A now-familiar and very pissed-off man was lurking behind a tree. It would have been comical, like a scene taken from an old Sunday morning cartoon, but for the identity of the man—Set.

  “No! He might hurt her!” I exclaimed. I realized the statement was moronic as soon I voiced it. I hadn’t been hurt by Set as a child. In fact, I’d never even seen Set until the first time I entered the echo in the fertility clinic.

  Nuin, ancient and radiating some otherworldly power, raised his hand to touch his first two fingers to my forehead. Instantly, I remembered … everything.

  I remembered waking up to find Nuin sitting in a chair in the corner of my room, watching over me as I slept … protecting me.

  I remembered catching sight of Nuin in the distance while I rounded the turn of a slide at the park.

  I remembered repeating and practicing unfamiliar sounds as Nuin taught me his language during long, sleepless nights.

  I remembered Nuin—dressed in modern clothes—sitting side-by-side in the bleachers with hundreds of parents and high school students at the homecoming game during my junior year of high school, watching me watch the game.

  I remembered the feeling of Nuin’s lips pressed gently against mine as tears dried on my cheeks. I’d been sixteen, horribly ashamed that a boy had yet to kiss me, and had just learned that my best friend was dating my crush.

  I remembered smiling down at Nuin, who was clapping enthusiastically from the front row at my final ballet performance.

  I remembered Nuin holding my hand during the entire fifteen-hour plane ride from Seattle to Minneapolis to Rome. It had been my first time flying internationally, and I’d been all alone.

  Thousands of memories bombarded me, exploding into and merging with my own, redefining my identity. In a young, naïve way, I’d loved Nuin deeply … I probably always would. I wondered if Nuin had been the reason that so few boys, or as I grew older, men, had interested me. None could compare, in looks or substance, to the glorious enigma that was Nuin … my Nuin. Well, none until Marcus.

  In his ancient language—a predecessor to Old Egyptian—I asked, “Will you take them away again?” Every time Nuin visited me, he left by sealing my memories, only to unseal them again on his next visit.

  “No, my Alexandra,” he said sadly, a tear sliding down his chiseled face.

  “What’s wrong?” Without hesitation, I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arms around his neck, standing on tiptoes to bury my face against his collar.

  “I am weary. I have lived for too long in this body and my time is coming to an end,” Nuin whispered into my hair. “I have done the best I could … kept you safe from he-who-would-use-you until my grandson, Heru, could take over. He will protect you now.”

  I pulled away and gazed into his color-changing eyes. Remotely, I realized that they resembled the swirling colors in the At. “Heru?” I asked, my mind taking longer than usual to register that he was talking about Marcus.

  Nuin nodded solemnly. “I hope to see you once more, but I will miss you, my Alexandra,” he remarked, kissing me lightly on the forehead.

  “I don’t understand,” I admitted.

  With a humorless laugh, he said, “I know. If everything works out properly, you will understand soon. Sooner than you’d like.”

  “You’re going away … possibly forever,” I stated, making sense of his forlorn looks and cryptic words. “That’s why I get to keep my memories of you, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Before I could wallow in the sorrow of losing him, a hidden constant in my life, he asked, “Do you love him?”

  “Do I love him? Who?”

  “Heru.”

  I frowned and glanced down at the grass. “I don’t know … I think so, but I barely know him.”

  “Oh, my sweet Alexandra. Love isn’t about knowing, love is about feeling.”

  I thought about his words and about Marcus. I knew I loved Nuin, but my feelings for Marcus were different—searingly raw. Nuin had been my comforting, wise companion while Marcus was rage and intelligence, strength and sex, all wrapped up in an enticing, black and golden package. In the past few months, Marcus had made me feel more alive than I’d ever felt before. I craved taking the next physical steps with him like a drug addict looking for a more powerful hit. Around Marcus, my emotions were unusually volatile—anger, lust, joy, and frustration all waiting eagerly for the chance to explode. So, do I love him?

  “I admit, he is young and inconceivably proud and ruthless, but I believe time may temper his rougher qualities. I must pass your care into the hands of another, and there is no better man.” Nuin looked around momentarily, as though he could hear something that I couldn’t, and briefly smiled. “I must leave you now, my Alexandra. I have a guest awaiting my attention.”

  “But—”

  “All will work out—I’m certain of that now.” He looked around thoughtfully, and then his gaze sharpened, focusing on me. “There are three things you must do to survive what’s coming: no matter what, do not trust your father, never say his name in the At, and keep your younger sister nearby at all times.”

  “Jenny?” I asked, surprised at the mention of my sister. “Why?”

  “Not Jenny.”

  “But—”

  “I will see you again,” he promised and kissed me lightly before disappearing. It was the chaste kiss of a cherished friend. Other than a healthy scattering of gentle pecks and a few hotter, heavier kisses at my more needy moments, my relationship with Nuin had been mostly platonic. Nuin was, and would always be, my first love. But those feelings had been grossly eclipsed by more mature, ferocious versions … for Marcus.

  I watched the past version of Nuin hover protectively around my five-year-old self for a while, wondering who Nuin could have possibly meant by my “younger sister,” if not Jenny. Eventually, regular, restful dreams replaced the echo.

  ***

  The following morning, I entered Marcus’s bedroom feeling anxious and a little ill. I had no idea how to tell him about seeing Nuin in the At … about everything I now remembered. I started to laugh, a shrill, slightly hysterical sound as I approached Marcus. He was seated at a small, round ebony table by the window on the left side of his bed, watching me. He looked himself, if still a little thinner than usual. His face was carefully composed—expressionless—but there was a pitiless glint to his eyes. Is he mad about something? Oh God … does he already know about my history with Nuin? How?

  Stopping behind the chair opposite him, I opened my mouth, then closed it again. How was I supposed to start? With the truth, I told myself. I took a deep breath, then said, “Marcus, I think—”

  He held up his hand, stopping my words. “Sit, Lex.” It wasn’t a request.

  Hands shaking, I pulled out the chair and sat. Seconds passed, and still, Marcus simply watched me. I cleared my throat, preparing to try again.

  He beat me to it. “I owe you a story … my story.” He looked away, focusing on something beyond the window pane. “One of my stories,” he said, correcting himself. “It’s not a happy tale, and I don’t enjoy telling it, so you’ll have to forgive my shortness.”

  His stor
y … 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.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  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 Mar
cus’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.