Magic of the Nile

by Veronica Scott

  “What can I do about time?” Sahure felt ready for anything at this point in the mad adventure. He took Tyema’s arm and brought her to her feet, in preparation to depart the boat landing area before Ra got there and took umbrage at the presence of humans.

  “Hope Sekhmet remembered the issue and established her portal in such a way as to place you back in the correct moment.” Duaen shrugged. “There’s no other remedy I can offer. Such things require a Great One’s power and I’m only Ushabti. But I thought you should be aware of the possibility. Sekhmet can be a bit careless in her arrangements.”

  Sahure held out his hand. “Thank you.”

  Duaen’s clasp was strong as he said, “I wish you well. Perhaps we’ll meet again one day, when your ka has traveled to the Afterlife properly.” With a half wave, he walked in the direction of the activity surrounding the boat. In Duaen’s absence the trees and the bench behind Sahure vanished as if they’d never been, a slight breeze springing up as the items disappeared.

  Sahure linked hands with Tyema and set off at a fast walk, skirting the lake. He kept glancing at the amulet on his wrist, noting how the enamel was fading, losing its vibrant blue color. Only the eye at the center retained its original brilliance.

  “I think one of the statues twitched as we went by it just now,” Tyema said, her voice low.

  He showed her his wrist. “Sekhmet’s magic is nearly gone.” Pulling the flail from his belt and drawing his sword, Sahure fell behind Tyema by a step or two, turning to check behind them.

  The eyelids of the baboon sculpture they were passing snapped open, revealing glowing red orbs which the guardian immediately focused on his face. Sahure raised the flail as the creature shifted from stone to flesh and fur, the transformation moving rapidly from face to haunches. The guardian bared its impressive teeth at him in a deceptive yawn. “Can you see the last of the statues yet?” he asked Tyema over his shoulder.

  “I think so. Maybe ten more.” Her voice was so weak he had to strain to hear her.

  They were hurrying past the next baboon, already awake on its pedestal of frozen flame. Snarling, the animal reached toward Sahure with one paw, snatching it back when he showed it the flail, golden Knot flaring a bit brighter. Still glaring at him, the creature subsided. “We’ve got to go faster,” he said to Tyema.

  They broke into a run. The next baboon was in the act of climbing down from the pedestal. Sahure heard snarls and the pattering of many footsteps behind them. Grabbing Tyema, he said, “Stop. Stand still. Be ready to run if I tell you to, but right now I think we’re acting too much like prey, rather than beings who have a right to be here.” Moving with great deliberation, he turned, sword at the ready, flail clutched in his fist. What he was facing set him to swearing under his breath. “Set’s teeth!”

  A pack of baboons confronted him, their ranks swelling by the moment as more of the statues came to life and swarmed to join the group. The alpha male at the head of the pack was impressive, nearly five feet tall, long canines exposed in its doglike face as the creature growled at him. Sahure focused on this baboon, showing it the flail. The alpha’s eerie eyes flicked their gaze to the symbol of authority for a moment and back to Sahure’s face. I can almost see it thinking I’m not the proper owner of this. Sahure straightened. “We pass through these lands by the authority of Sekhmet and the permission of Isis,” he said to the baboon, putting as much authority into his voice as he could muster. Well, we’re here by permission of Isis’s captain. He felt no embarrassment to be addressing an animal as an equal. The alpha baboon held his life and Tyema’s in its grasp. “Walk forward,” he hissed to Tyema, giving her a nudge in the ribs with his elbow.

  They traveled on, Sahure guarding Tyema’s back, the baboons following them, keeping just out of reach of his sword, silent for the most part, red eyes glowing. Occasionally one or two of the younger ones would make a threatening noise or gesture but the alpha maintained his icy silence, never glancing away from Sahure. As he and Tyema passed the last of the pedestals, the baboons stopped, forming a line.

  Making it clear we’d better not try to retrace our steps. Gods willing nothing ever pitches me or Tyema into this cursed realm again. Taking a deep breath, he turned his back on the throng of deadly baboons, although the move required every iota of his willpower, and took Tyema’s hand. “We’re close to the portal,” he said, recognizing some of the particularly spectacular rock formations. “There’s a steep staircase. Can you manage?”

  “I’ll have to.” She stumbled badly and he caught her.

  He examined her in his arms, did a double take as for a moment she seemed almost transparent to him, like a will of the wisp or a mirage in the desert. He blinked and she regained form in his eyes. They dodged around stalagmites. Sahure knew he was dangerously focused on Tyema, but her fragility alarmed him. From time to time he heard slithering noises, saw eyes gleaming yellow in the crevices of the cavern, but thankfully they weren’t attacked by any of the other terrors the Book of the Dead listed as dwelling in this region. Maybe the flail conveys more protection than even Captain Duaen realized. I’ll have to make sacrifice to Isis in gratitude for his help.

  They reached the base of the staircase. “I can’t carry you, not even on my back,” he said, sheathing the sword. “The angle is too steep. But I’ll be right behind you, should you slip.”

  “How far is the portal, once we get up there?” Tyema bent over, hands on her knees, breathing hard for a moment.

  “Not far,” he said, trying to remember exactly. “I can carry you through the tunnel. And then we’re through the spirit door and safe in the palace where we belong.”

  Straightening, she came to him, putting her arms around his neck and pulling his head down so she could kiss him. For a long moment there was only the warmth of her embrace and the feel of her body against his. Sahure savored the closeness in this awful place. Pulling back, she framed his face with her hands, rubbing his nose with hers for a moment. “I love you. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you what I was doing in Thebes, my true mission from Sobek.”

  A throng of questions crowded his mind but the priority was to get to safety in the Upper World. He hugged her. “I won’t deny I’m angry to have been under suspicion of black magic. I’m also furious with your god for sending you on such an errand, so unprotected. But do we have to discuss this here?”

  “I’m fading, Sahure. I might not make it back to the real world.” Allowing her hands to fall to her sides, she leaned on the rock wall next to the stairs and closed her eyes.

  Not liking the defeat in her voice, he gave her a gentle shake. “I refuse to listen to such words. We need to be going if your weakness is so overwhelming.”

  As if waking from a nap, Tyema blinked. “I couldn’t even smell the food, back at Ra’s ship. I’m not hungry or thirsty. I just feel…empty. I’ve been here too long perhaps. Maybe I can’t leave.”

  Seriously alarmed, he hoisted her in the air to put her bare feet on the third step. “Climb. No more talking, save your breath.”

  She went up about five risers and stopped, breathing hard. “I need to tell you what I know, in case I don’t make it, in case this realm won’t release its hold on me. I think I can risk giving voice to the name now. Pharaoh needs to know who the sorceress is. You won’t like the answer,” she said, moving slowly up a few more stairs as she continued to speak. “But you must believe me.”

  “Keep climbing.” He put his hand in the middle of her back, to urge her onward and to give her a boost. His own balance was better than most and he’d no fear of falling.

  “Nidiamhet,” she said as she toiled up a few more of the stone steps. “With some help from Jadikiria, the daughter of the Minoan attaché.”

  “Two more unlikely candidates to be all powerful sorceresses I can’t imagine,” he answered. “I’m not doubting you, but the Nidiamhet I knew was a sweet, gentle girl who thought only of her music and poems. How would she be able to wield black magic associat
ed with the Hyksos god? Enough magic to send you to this hellish place as a sacrifice?”

  “I can’t explain it to you.” Tyema kept moving upward. “I know what I saw. She’s the traitor.”

  “No more talking right now,” he said, grappling with the idea Nidiamhet was the cause of their current danger. Her involvement fit with the circumstances under which Tyema fell ill, and he’d certainly had misgivings about the woman’s behavior toward him in the past few days. I need to hear Tyema’s evidence, I need to know what caused Sobek to send her to accomplish this task, but she’s barely moving on these stairs. He took a glance at his amulet in the gloom and found reassurance in the fact the eye remained colorful, even as the rest of the bracelet had faded to dull silver.

  “I see the top of the stairs.” Tyema’s voice was a mere whisper.

  A few moments later she was proven correct as first she and then Sahure reached the last step and moved into the tunnel. Picking her up, he took off in a dead run, worry gnawing at him that Tyema’s time was nearly done. Noxious fumes had them both gasping and the heat emanating from the walls of the tunnel was worse than he remembered, but fear for his lady gave him extra strength. Soon he saw the portal glowing red in the distance.

  “Thank the gods, the door still waits for us,” he said, shifting Tyema in his hold. She mumbled something but seemed almost unconscious, limp in his arms, her head lolling against his chest.

  Sahure burst through the portal with so much force he fell, managing to cushion the impact for Tyema at the last moment. Sprawled on the floor of his bedroom, Tyema lying on top of him, he slowly rolled her off his body, onto the floor as the first rays of the dawn sun reached through the door to his private patio. The mysterious portal to the Afterlife vanished before his eyes. The original detailed frieze of hunters covered the wall, unbroken, as if nothing else had ever been there.

  “Where are we?” Tyema asked, putting a hand to her forehead.

  “My room in the palace.” Rising, he drew her to her feet with him, gasping in shock as he saw the bed. His gut ached as if he’d been punched by an enemy or kicked by a mule.

  His body lay stretched on the mattress, arms flung carelessly, legs akimbo. Touching a hand to his chest to reassure himself, Sahure watched in horror as the man on the bed, which was also him, snored and rolled onto his side. “More black magic,” he whispered.

  “No, I don’t think so. Didn’t you say my body was still in my bed?” Tyema asked.

  He nodded.

  “I think our souls journeyed to the Afterlife while our physical bodies stayed safely here. Like a scribe’s tale.”

  I could have sworn I rose from the bed in bodily form at Sekhmet’s command. Swallowing hard against the nausea at the idea his ka had been sundered from his physical being, he took another quick glance at the sleeping man. “How do we get back into our bodies, then?”

  What Tyema would have said he was never to know. Some undeniable force jerked her from his grasp, like a crocodile taking prey. Eyes opened wide, screaming soundlessly, Tyema became a wisp of blue smoke even as he reached desperately for her. The Tyema-shaped cloud rearranged itself into an arrow shape, passing through the wood of his door as he stared. I pray her ka goes to reunite with her body. Now I’ve got to figure out how to do the same for myself.

  He doubled over in pain as violent cramps assaulted him, as if someone was trying to pull his body’s entrails out. Falling to the floor, he crawled to the bed, using all the strength left in his sinews to fight the agony. Clawing at the webbed mattress, Sahure managed to get to his feet, staring at his own oblivious, sleeping form on the bed. He tried to speak, to curse or to pray, but no words emerged. A glow from the amulet on his wrist drew his eye and then he found he couldn’t look away from what was left of Sekhmet’s gift. The colors seemed to expand, filling his entire field of vision, while the bodily aches and pains grew more intense. Collapsing on the bed, he saw nothing but the vivid blue of Sekhmet’s symbol, not able to feel the surface below him. All he knew was the agony. He realized black was creeping in at the edges of his vision and then he knew no more.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Gods, what a nightmare.” Rubbing his forehead to soothe an incipient headache, Sahure groaned and sat up. He ached from head to toe and he coughed, feeling as if he’d been breathing fumes from a particularly badly tended campfire. But what if it wasn’t just a dream? Tyema! Worry for her got him moving, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, standing up while steadying himself by clutching one of the carved posts. His foot brushed against something on the floor and, bending over, he saw an unfamiliar black and gold officer’s flail. Duaen’s. So, not a dream. The sword of Sekhmet lay beside the far wall, where the ka door had been. Of the shield there was no sign. Grabbing the wine flask on the bedside table he drank directly from it to slake his raging thirst before grabbing his uniform and struggling to dress as fast as he could. Despite his terror for Tyema, and what he might find in her room, he couldn’t roam the halls of the palace naked.

  Going to the sword, he found it covered in a light film of ash. Shaking the dust off, he buckled it on in place of his normal weapon. A gift from the goddess, the blade had more than proven itself in the underworld. In passing he noted the golden hieroglyphics no longer moved on the surface of the blade, but had settled into a pattern praising the power and beauty of Sekhmet, which brought a faint smile to his lips, even in this dire moment. He hesitated over the flail. It doesn’t belong to me, and it won’t be recognized here as a symbol of my rank. He decided for now to carry it, in case there was any lingering magic attached, which he might need before the situation with the sorcerer was resolved. The Knot of Isis on the handle was plain, beaten gold now, no unearthly glow of magic remaining. Later perhaps Tyema and I can present it to the temple of Isis as an offering.

  Hurrying into the halls, he found only a few sleepy servants and yawning guards. He made the trip to Tyema’s rooms in record time, answering the crisp salutes of the soldiers on duty before pushing the door open and going inside. Heart pounding, he ran to the bed, pushing aside the draperies.

  She lay there, seemingly sound asleep, hands at her sides, head pillowed comfortably on the curved headrest. He thought there was more healthy color in her cheeks this morning.

  “Gods, Tyema, you don’t know how relieved I am to see you,” he said, sinking onto the bed next to her, kissing her cheek, relieved to find no fever burning. Gently he shook her shoulder. A sinking feeling crept into his gut as she failed to respond.

  “Her fever broke just before dawn,” whispered Renebti, coming into the room barefoot, wrapping herself in a thin robe over a plain cotton gown. “She cried out, a single gasp, and I came running but she was still asleep. She rests more comfortably, at least.”

  “She’s got to wake up.” Sahure scanned the room, hoping some solution would present itself. Does the niece know anything about this black magic situation? Or how to summon Sobek? He assessed Renebti as she bent over the cradle, checking on his son, tucking the covers more closely around him as he slept. No, she was just what she seemed, a good hearted rural maiden, not even a fledgling priestess. “I have an idea,” he said. “Where are Sobek’s Tears?”

  “In their case.” Renebti pointed to one of the small tables, where the beautifully decorated jewelry box sat.

  Rising, he went to get the gilded box, hesitating a moment. But the container was just painted wood, no matter how miraculous the contents might be. Carrying it easily, he returned to the bed, sparing a glance for the baby as he passed the cradle. I thought I might never see you again in this life, my son. Too worried about Tyema to hesitate now, he opened the box and lifted out the golden collar set with the crocodile-shaped emeralds. Putting the box aside, he laid the diadem on her chest, arranging the links to lie flat. With some difficulty he fastened the necklace securely behind her neck and then sat back, taking one of her hands and rubbing his thumb across the soft skin. “Great One Sobek, if you’re lis
tening, your priestess needs your power and protection now,” he said, repressing his anger at the god for the danger Tyema had been placed in. Please let this work.

  It seemed to him the largest emerald glowed more vividly than the others for a moment. He bit back a curse as a thin gray mist congealed in the air above Tyema on the bed, as if pushed from the pores of her body by the gem’s flickering green light. Renebti screamed and he put out a hand to shush her. Sparks flew from the emerald, and the cloud eddied, recoiling from any contact with the green fire. There was a faint odor in the room now, reminiscent of the stench in the demons’ part of the Underworld. Horrified, he watched as the miasma flowed off the bed and across the floor. The doors to the balcony flew open of their own accord and he saw a puff of mist drift into the dawn skies before he was distracted as Tyema drew in a long, shaky breath and her eyes fluttered open. “Thank the gods,” he said, bending to kiss her.

  She returned his kiss a bit distractedly, struggling to sit up. Immediately Sahure braced her with his arm as Renebti, weeping tears of joy, rushed to give her aunt a hug.

  Patting the girl’s shoulder at an awkward angle due to her position, Tyema met Sahure’s gaze. “I’m fine, truly. Just tired. And hungry, I believe.”

  “The best sign of all.” Sahure laughed, sheer relief flooding over him like a cool wave. “What do you remember?”

  “All of it, even things I’d rather forget.” Her answer was flat, but she smiled as the baby whimpered and then broke into full cry. “Someone else is hungry as well, it seems.”

  “I’ll bring him to you.” Renebti rushed to the cradle. “Let me change his body linen first.”