The Isis Knot

by Hanna Martine

  Not that anyone would miss her here anyway. The lone almost-friend at work didn’t really count.

  For the thousandth time, her chest constricted and her nose tingled. She squeezed shut her eyes, willing the tears away. She’d gotten really good at that.

  “Miss Wilhemina?” Nasir rapped softly on the glass balcony door before opening it slightly. She’d adopted the alias in the wake of Malik’s death. It kept her anonymous and gave her a part of William, even if only in name. “I have everything arranged for tomorrow. If you won’t be needing me the rest of the evening, I’ll go to my room.”

  “Of course, Nasir. Thank you for today. I know I thank you every day, but I always mean it.”

  “It is my pleasure. I will see you tomorrow at nine o’clock. A car will bring us down to the boat. Leila Sa’eeda. Good night.”

  Though age drew deep lines across Nasir’s face and the corners of his eyes drooped dramatically, his hair was still full and richly black. He wore baggy clothes like most men in Egypt, but she could tell he was thin. He always smiled, so happy to share the history of his country with such an interested visitor. From Alexandria to Luxor and now, finally, to Aswan, he’d been not only her interpreter, but also a true companion and a bottomless container of knowledge.

  Now she knew about countless other deities as well as her Isis and Osiris and Horus.

  Tomorrow would be the culmination. Tomorrow she would visit Philae and the Temple of Isis.

  As the hotel room door clicked behind Nasir, she settled deeper into her chair and cracked open a bottle of water. She felt full—of power, of child—but also empty and alone and without a home.

  And she missed William constantly.

  What had happened to him the moment after he’d sent her away? Had the soldiers taken him into custody, only to hang him later? Or had they killed him right then and there?

  Now the restrained sob escaped, bubbling up despite her attempt to keep it in. Once it was out she couldn’t stop the rest, and she sat there, crying and heaving, until the sun disappeared and she was finally dry.

  At last she leaned back and patted at her swollen eyes. She caressed the cuff through the thin linen of her long sleeve. Though Isis had remained silent these three months since Horus’s victory, Ramsesh was ever present. Every step Sera had taken inside ancient temples and over sacred grounds had elicited deep emotions of praise and homecoming.

  Ramsesh yearned for Amonteh as strongly as Sera did for William, and it doubled her sense of hopelessness.

  One amazing thing? William’s child had created equilibrium inside her. With Seth’s ka tucked safely among the stars, little Horus watched over the chaos still churning inside her, keeping it in check. She no longer felt unstable. If anger or frustration swooped in, she could easily control the bloodlust. When anxiety or sorrow flared, a strangely familiar male voice always came to her. Easy, mother. I’ll love and watch over you as you will for me.

  She would leave Egypt soon, she decided suddenly. After tomorrow, after Philae, she would return to the United States to have her baby. And she would raise him alone in a country that now felt alien, and work at a job she didn’t love just to make money to survive in a time that was empty of the one person she craved most.

  Chill came with night in the desert, and she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. As she’d done every night since Malik’s death, she turned her face to the sky and found Sirius. Every night she asked Isis for word about William’s fate. If he’d suffered. If he watched over her now.

  Every night she received no reply.

  #

  After breakfast the next morning, Nasir collected Sera at the main entrance of the hotel. As usual he was rather chatty about the city as their private car swerved around townspeople and animals and other cars. In this country there seemed to be no rules of the road. She’d grown used to and even a little fond of the craziness.

  During a pause in a story about the construction of the Aswan high dam, he said, “You are quiet this morning, Miss Wilhemina. Are you not feeling well?” He glanced at her belly.

  Though she didn’t look pregnant to the casual eye, she’d confided to him about her condition. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you excited to see Philae?”

  She glanced out the car window where children ran alongside the vehicle, waving and smiling and holding out their palms. She’d never really paid attention to children before, not because she hadn’t cared, just that they’d never been within her sphere of awareness. Now she searched every one’s face, looking for hints about the boy her son would be.

  “More than you know,” she murmured.

  On the boat that crossed the Nile to the island, Nasir asked, “Did you know this is not the original Philae?”

  She gasped. “No. What do you mean?”

  “The first Philae Island, the original, is now underwater because of the dams. To preserve the temples, the entire complex was moved, stone by stone, to Agilika Island.”

  She tried to stamp down rising panic, her plan turning to ash in her mind. “Is it…the same?”

  In Nasir’s enthusiastic manner, he illustrated his words with dramatic hand gestures. “Oh, yes, yes. It is exactly the same. Stone by stone.”

  When she stepped off the boat on the south point of the island, she saw for herself that he spoke the truth. A part of her had been here before. Isis’s presence crackled in the air.

  The long western colonnade stretched on her left, framing long windows of blue water. On her right stood the unfinished eastern colonnade. Directly ahead rose the great slanted pylons signifying the entrance to Isis’s temple.

  When Ramsesh had lived, the columns had been whole and brightly painted. Starting with the Romans’ defacement, the structures now showed their age. Their colors gone. The sharp edges worn down.

  Yet it was still the same and it was still stunning.

  “Why do you not bring a camera?” Nasir asked. “All the Americans, they always have cameras. This whole trip, you have not taken one photo.”

  She smiled and pointed to her heart. “It’s all here.” And then to her head. “And here.”

  They meandered toward the first pylon, Nasir discussing the small Temple of Imhotep nearby. A large group of British tourists followed their guide toward Trajan’s Kiosk, a striking, fourteen-column square just to the east. The rolling sound of their accents made her heart pinch.

  “Shall we start at the north end?” Nasir steepled his fingers. “The Roman quay and gate, perhaps?”

  Sera waved him off, her eyes trained on the pylons. “I’d like to see the Temple of Isis first. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to go in alone. Will you join me inside in a few minutes?”

  He looked perplexed, but nodded just the same. She didn’t think he’d have a problem standing there when she was paying him so handsomely with Mitchell Oliver’s money.

  “Fifteen minutes,” she said with a smile.

  She knew the way to Isis’s temple. As she walked through the first set of pylons, Ramsesh’s memories layered themselves over her own vision. She saw simultaneously the hushed nighttime scene in which the scared Egyptian woman had made her final hetep, and also the bright daylight as it struck the chipped hieroglyphics. All around her floated the sound of tourists’ conversations and laughter.

  In both scenes, magic swirled everywhere.

  Through the first pylon stood the birth house. From her days with Nasir she knew that a birth house was where rites for the god-kings were performed, and royal marriages and the kings’ births were recorded. The birth house on Philae was covered with images of Horus: as the falcon-headed god, proud and crowned as an adult, and also as a child being breastfed by Isis.

  Sera ran a loving hand over her belly and she could’ve sworn she felt him move in response.

  The second set of pylons loomed beyond. Just outside their entrance stood the Roman-built Christian chapel. The source of so much pain for Ramsesh and Amonteh. The start of everything, re
ally.

  On the other side of the pylons grew a forest of giant stone columns—what Nasir had called a hypostyle hall. Ramsesh had rushed through here, frightened and worried that she hadn’t prepared herself properly to enter the antechamber and temple. Indeed, Ramsesh balked at entering now; Sera could feel the woman’s resistance.

  Sera, however, harbored no such doubts and refused to listen to anyone else’s, and stepped into the cool dimness of the roofed temple.

  Modern ground lights illuminated the intricately carved walls and doorways, all pointing toward the sanctuary at the very back.

  Save for a French family—two teenagers and parents—the sanctuary was hushed and empty. At last the family wandered out, their mouths and eyes opened wide in amazement, leaving Sera alone with a grand pedestal void of Isis’s effigy.

  She didn’t need a stone version of the goddess. She had Ramsesh’s memories and her own faith in what must be done.

  There was little time. The island was crawling with tourists and Nasir would find her soon. This was her last chance, her final plea.

  Approaching the pedestal, she reached into her bag and took out the thick slice of bread she’d stolen from the breakfast buffet that morning. She knelt as Ramsesh had done and closed her eyes.

  “Isis, I bring you a humble hetep, as Ramsesh did once. I offer it because I have done all you asked. I fulfilled what you chose me for, even though I didn’t want it.” She touched her stomach. “I love what you’ve given me and promise to cherish it the rest of my life. But…” The words choked out and she swallowed several times to bring moisture to her dry throat. “I need to know. I need to know what happened to him. If he knew that I…loved him.”

  Nothing moved except for Sera’s chest, her breath laboring. She waited. And waited.

  He knew.

  The whisper rolled in from the darkest corners of the sanctuary, gathering like a storm.

  Sera fell forward, clinging to the pedestal base and staring up at the emptiness on top. “Please. Tell me more. What happened after he sent me away?”

  In the heavy pause, Sera could just barely make out a shift in the atmosphere atop the pedestal.

  He died. They hung him.

  A deep sob racked her body, sending the awful sound bounding about the chamber. Once she started she couldn’t stop. She’d come to this place specifically to hear this answer. Now that it reverberated in her ears, she wished she could erase it.

  And she started to hate Isis because of it.

  The tears sputtered out. “I want you to do something for me this time. I was given this thing”—she raised her arm with the gold and her sleeve fell back to reveal it—“against my will. I was thrown about, used. I was invaded by magic I didn’t want, and a presence who isn’t me.”

  Isis was silent, the pedestal empty.

  Sera kept going. This was why she’d come, and she wasn’t backing down now. A goddess didn’t scare her. “I want you to take it all back. Your ka and Seth’s awful powers. Ramsesh, too. Let me keep my son, but take all the rest. You don’t need me to have them anymore, and they only make me think of what I was forced to leave behind.”

  After a great pause, Isis asked, You truly wish this?

  “Yes! Please! I did everything you asked. You manipulated me into having a baby for your own purposes. You won, but this child is still mine. You owe me this.”

  The quiet that followed was thick and heavy, and Sera started to curse herself for letting her mouth run…but then she stopped. Because even if she didn’t get what she wanted, nothing else would change. She’d still leave Egypt and go back to the U.S., have William’s baby, and—

  Very well.

  There was no transition, no more questions, no time to ponder.

  The world blacked out. In the darkness Sera sensed the division of her body and mind, as Isis pulled Ramsesh’s ka from her body. For the briefest of moments, Sera could see the other woman standing before her. Gorgeous and young and sad, draped in beads and braids. And then Ramsesh disappeared, taking Isis’s magic with her.

  The temple burst back into light and Sera swayed on her feet. Though the pedestal was still empty, she gazed up at the space.

  She touched her head and her heart, noting the absence there. The purity of her thoughts.

  And the remaining ache for William.

  Not Ramsesh’s love for Amonteh, but Sera’s own longing for the man who’d jumped in front of a bullet and had touched her like no one else ever possibly could. She’d warned herself not to love him, but she did. So very much. And not having the excuse of Ramsesh’s presence and influence to fall back on made everything hurt that much more.

  Do you still want William, now that Ramsesh is gone? Isis’s voice was monotone, almost detached.

  This time Sera didn’t cry as she drew herself up and stared hard into the emptiness. “Yes.”

  It seemed to Sera like the goddess sighed. Then…I will give you the chance to save him.

  Sera blinked, sure she hadn’t heard right. “What?”

  Do you want William more than the life you have here?

  Her heart pounded, the sound nearly deafening in her ears. “I want him more than anything. I want our child to know his father. I want William to live, to have the life that was taken from him, too.”

  The ensuing silence stretched an eternity.

  I will send you back.

  This time when the tears leaked out they tasted of happiness. Of fathomless relief.

  Beyond that, I cannot help you. If you do not get to him in time or if you fail to save him from the gallows, you cannot return here. Ever. His time will become yours.

  Her answer came almost immediately. “Yes, Isis. Please. Take me back.”

  Shuffling footsteps approached from the antechamber behind her. “Miss Wilhemina?” Nasir. “Miss Wilhemina, are you all right?”

  She slowly turned toward Nasir, wiping away her tears. He wore a faint look of exasperation, the same one he’d used when looking upon the foolish hippie types they’d encountered in other temples. The ones who wore store-bought ankh charms and prayed with false words.

  Suddenly all sound was sucked into a great vacuum. The drumming heartbeat that had overtaken her moments earlier now fell deathly silent.

  The edges of her body began to dim and blur. She held out her arm to watch it happen. Nasir’s eyes bulged, his expression transforming into worry. Then fear. The sanctuary flickered like a dying lightbulb. Her heart raced. Nasir reached for her, stumbling forward, but his mouth moved silently.

  She whirled back to the pedestal. There, in all her golden glory, rose the goddess. Isis was massive and beyond beautiful, her skin perfectly smooth, her eyes black holes in her emotionless face. Her body and features resembled a human, but she was plainly something other.

  Isis lifted a bejeweled hand in a movement that defined grace. The gold cuff around Sera’s arm opened along an invisible seam and fell away. Sera caught it before it struck the dirt, and clasped it to her chest.

  She wondered, fleetingly, if the few people who knew her back in Seattle would actually miss her. If Nasir would spread the story of her disappearance. What sort of speculation would abound in her absence.

  When she lifted her eyes to Isis again, the goddess had disappeared.

  And soon after, so did Sera.

  CHAPTER 30

  Someone shook William’s shoulder, jerking him out of the emotionless void of sleep. He came awake instantly, rolling out of the hammock. Feet planted on the plank floor, fists up, he was ready. Ready for another fight. Whether it was Richard Riley or another one of the many convicts who’d wanted to test a walking dead man.

  He’d been fighting for four days, ever since Sera had dissolved into briny air in his arms. Four days since he’d been beaten senseless by the Crown’s soldiers up by Fort Philip and dragged to Hyde Park Barracks.

  The man who stood on the other side of the swaying, empty hammock was neither Riley nor one of the other foolish
convicts. He was a barracks’ guard.

  William glanced up at the high windows, noting it was still the darkest part of night. All around him resonated the snores of the other criminals.

  “You’re early,” he said low, glaring. “I’m not scheduled to hang until midday.”

  The guard held a sword, his gun strapped to his back. Killing a prisoner by blade would be quicker and quieter, William supposed, but he wouldn’t go without a fight. Surely this guard, who’d watched William beat every single one of his challengers, should know that.

  Then, strangely, the guard put a finger to his lips and nodded toward the staircase leading down to the main level. He crept toward it, assuming William would follow.

  Curious despite himself, he did.

  If four days of extra life—granted to him only because he’d been questioned over and over about the woman who’d reportedly vanished in his arms—would end in this way, under the cover of night, he would be sorely disappointed. He’d been prepared to look with defiance on the faces of those who condemned him, and who would never know or understand the truth of his existence.

  He’d been prepared to gaze out over the harbor and Sydney Town and the Rocks, and imagine Sera walking through the lanes one last time.

  Downstairs, the guard silently gestured for William to exit the humid confines of the barracks. No weapons, no threats. He edged outside, careful not to give the guard his back.

  The crisp New South Wales night air still carried remnants of the previous day’s labor smoke. He inhaled.

  This is it. The last night I will smell anything.

  The thought, shockingly, came to him as a matter of fact. Something a gentleman might say with a shrug and a tip of the hat. But he was no gentleman, and he refused to accept things in that manner.

  The guard pointed to the main gate—somewhat repaired since the day Sera had unleashed Seth’s wrath—and whispered, “Through there. Go with those men.”