The Ka

by Mary Deal

  A pang of guilt ran through her as she thought about secretly taking something. But Tauret made her promise to take it. Invited into an otherworldly existence both voluntarily and involuntarily, she felt compelled to obey. With hands that no longer trembled, she lifted the chain over her head and felt the scarab fall into place inside her shirt. Just as the beetle came to rest over her heart, blinding radiance obliterated everything else and expectation filled her. A powerful brilliance beamed from the center of her being where the scarab came to rest. She saw nothing but light.

  The energy filled the room and began to shimmer like a million tiny stars bursting. Then Pharaoh materialized before her, not the Boy King, but…

  …Tutankhamon, the man, in all his glory and regalia.

  Their eyes met. What a magnificent presence! His sensual touch on her arm made every cell of her body tingle. The golden scarab amulet pulsated like a throbbing heart. The King stood emoting an eternity of thankfulness for her bearing his heir. He reached right through her shirt and grasped the golden scarab into his fist.

  Chione felt her love intensifying, burning. She longed to be Tauret, who teased her Pharaoh by feigning obedience. She wanted to take him again to her bed. She sent him a mental message.

  I am your servant, O Great King, now and forever, forever, for… ev… er….

  The promise had long ago been made. Chione did not know when. She, as Tauret, loved Pharaoh with all her heart and remembered their lovemaking and knew this was her destiny.

  Pharaoh's likeness began to fade. She longed to follow him. They will take me too! she said silently from somewhere deep within. Wait for me, while I cast a spell for your heir! The priestess knew life on earth for the two of them was about to end, yet, vowed the child would live, even as she ached to die with her King and share his afterlife. They will take me too! she said, screaming it from her heart.

  Chione heard the others as if they were far away. Or was she the one detached from them?

  From the Offering Chamber, Dr. Withers voice said, “Show me. Just show me where you saw that.”

  As the sparkling energy dissipated, Aaron materialized in front of her looking deep into her eyes… standing right where Pharaoh had stood!

  Chione did not understand why she was to wear the scarab. She became Tauret whom Pharaoh had loved and Pharaoh just thanked her for carrying his child.

  Her head reeled. Was this scarab any different than the one she already wore? Perhaps the gift from her parents was solid gold too. Could it have been looted from a tomb somewhere? Why did Tauret want her to wear the scarab gifted from Pharaoh? And why had she seen the vision of Tutankhamon immediately upon wearing it?

  Marlowe's crying dissipated the reverie as the others returned. She held the side of her head. “There,” Marlowe said, pointing as they reached the sarcophagus. Everyone crowded around.

  Dr. Withers bent low near the side of Tauret's head. “Someone bring a light over here.”

  Marlowe crept around the coffin and came to lean on Chione's shoulder. “Chione, they killed her!” Marlowe said quietly as she whimpered. “She's the woman I dreamed about with black hair… murdered!”

  “What are you saying?” Chione asked.

  “My headaches. They killed her just like they murdered the King.”

  “Aaron,” Dr. Withers said. “Get your young eyes down here. Tell me what you see.” While Aaron examined, Dr. Withers turned to the others. “Rashad, you and the good doctors better have a look.”

  When Aaron straightened and stepped out of the way, his sympathetic expression confirmed something tragic had happened to Tauret.

  Dr. Asim bent down. “Under the jewelry,” he said finally. “Would seem to be something matted in her dark hair. Is it blood then?”

  Dr. Kent turned to Marlowe. “What makes you think someone's done her in?”

  The question put Marlowe on the spot. She would not know how to respond. She could not say the headaches stopped when she realized they were not her headaches, and that the pain belonged to someone who had been struck. She had not even shared the speculation with her husband till moments ago.

  “She had a recurring dream,” Chione said quickly, covering for Marlowe. “Similar to the one I had that led us to this tomb. The dream was of someone being struck on the side of the head.”

  “That's a lot of trot,” Dr. Kent said. “How do dreams tie to Tutankhamon's demise?”

  “Remember Tutankhamon?” Rashad asked, turning to Dr. Kent. “You've seen his mummy and the X-rays of the hole in—”

  “Yes, yes. But you seem to be implying this person might have been murdered in the same way?” That what we find here confirms Tut having been done in? His cheeks puffed as he blew out a disbelieving breath. “A lot of trot!”

  “Not since the reliefs and glyphs in this tomb tie this woman to that King and his family,” Chione said.

  “Murdered?” Dr. Kent asked again, sucking air through his pipe. “I find that hard to swallow.”

  Chione knew better than to press her luck and say more. If he could not entertain the clues written thousands of years ago, he certainly was not open to anything paranormal that she might add.

  45

  An eerie calm pervaded that evening. Darkness began settling. Christmas Eve was upon them. Everyone was free to come and go as they pleased.

  Aaron's preoccupation with watching her had generalized to watching everyone else. Chione hoped he was learning a lot about human nature in the process, specifically, how the individual team members adjusted to the paranormal. His attention momentarily elsewhere helped her relax despite feeling woozy.

  Laborers gathered more dry branches and sticks for the crackling bonfire; from where was anyone's guess. Musicians strummed. They seemed to have accepted some of the team's American ways of showing feelings. Dr. Withers and Marlowe sat wrapped in separate blankets, swaying to the dreamy rhythms. They smiled lovingly at one another; looks meant only for each other.

  Chione tried not to watch. “Not a lot of conversation tonight,” she said. No one seemed in a hurry to talk. They smiled, stared at the fire, and savored their drinks.

  “I heard Dr. Kent requested a DVD of the glyph and mural analyses,” Dr. Withers said finally.

  “Plus a lot of the photos,” Chione said. “He'll have to burn the midnight oil to get through that mass of information.”

  “I hope you gave him copies we can part with. He's leaving in the morning.”

  “So soon?” Aaron asked.

  “Wants to spend what's left of the holiday with his family at home in Heliopolis.”

  “Can't say I blame him,” Chione said. “I ran duplicates.”

  “Did you hear what he did late yesterday?” Aaron asked.

  “Something we should know?”

  Aaron could not keep from smiling. “Dr. Kent spent a bit of time down at the beggars' camp. He came back wearing a gallibaya and a colorful headwrap.”

  Dr. Withers looked smug. “Another one returning to the fold.”

  Jibade tried his hand at a few musical instruments. He was quite good. Bebe and Kenneth went for a walk to enjoy the pastel dusk. When Chione next saw them, they were sitting by themselves by the end of the mud shacks. Off in the distance, Clifford squatted with a group of locals, all boisterously playing a betting game on the ground, the way many of the local men passed free time.

  “Poor Kendra,” Chione said, whispering to Aaron. “She doesn't have time for friendship anymore.”

  “I hope Bebe's been able to console her,” he said. “You'd think Royce would send word to his wife.”

  “Kendra doesn't think she'll hear from him again.”

  “We're being deserted,” Randy said, joining them and placing a couple of small branches on the fire. He rolled out his mat and lowered himself to the ground. His new groomed appearance still took everyone by surprise.

  “No one left but the die-hards,” Dr. Withers said.

  Carmelita's high-pitched whine drifted
toward them from time to time.

  “Something wrong over there?” Dr. Withers asked through a crooked smile.

  Randy stifled a laugh. “Carmelita's purchased too much stuff and can't get her suitcases closed.”

  The two Norwegians returned to their own jobsite, disappointed they could not lay claim to the ruins of the village they discovered.

  “I've given some thought to that village down there,” Dr. Withers said.

  “Something else we should know?”

  “Not now. Wait till we regroup. After I've been in contact with California.”

  What could the professor have in mind? Chione really did not want to concern herself now. Christmas Eve was a time for putting aside work and its cares, a time for rejoicing.

  Chione hummed and sang softly along with the musicians. She had heard all their songs enough to know them by heart. Occasionally, she pressed the front of her shirt, feeling the pendants hanging inside. Then she remembered that Aaron no longer doodled. He had not brought a notepad to the fireside even though he always carried one.

  Aaron leaned close and whispered, “You've never been one for public displays, yet you've been singing a lot lately.”

  “I feel so compelled.”

  “What happens to you?”

  “Singing sort of alters consciousness, I guess. It's deeply peaceful. I sometimes wonder if I'm the one doing the singing.”

  Jibade interrupted softly. “We'll be leaving after Christmas.”

  “Oh, no,” Chione said. “Don't you want to share the rest?”

  “We're wearing out our welcome,” Helen said.

  “We're going back to Cairo,” Jibade said. “We'll stay with friends through Ramadan, and tour a week through the Holy Land before going home.”

  Christmas morning, Chione did not eat much at breakfast nor did she have any energy. Must have been the heat. She napped most of the day, coming out for the group's Christmas dinner and gathering around the fire. She did sing though. Aaron studied her curiously.

  The next day would be another Arabic Sabbath, which meant a slower workday, allowing time enough to open the coffin again. Removal of the remains would happen after more film processing and when more workers were available.

  In the morning, while waiting for the last batch of the film from several days earlier to be returned, the team members said their goodbyes.

  “We're experiencing a mass exodus, folks,” Clifford said.

  Reporters and crews from Exploration Magazine, the Stockton newspapers, and the London News-Herald departed. In the initial agreements, they conceded rights to filming of the tomb's occupant to the San Francisco Sentinel, who now had the pictures they needed. The others would receive secondary rights photos to publish at a later date. Aaron drove a hard bargain the others were forced to abide by in order to get the privileges they did.

  “We're having trouble saying goodbye,” Helen said. “We feel like a part of the group.”

  “That means we've stayed too long,” Jibade said.

  A little later, Chione asked, “What's Carmelita doing now?”

  “She's insisting they ride in that rusted-out Mercedes limo,” Aaron said, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Parker ought to throw her on a camel and let her hump her way home,” Clifford said.

  Just then, Rashad arrived in a jeep and the San Francisco Sentinel crew hailed the driver to take them away for the last time.

  “They're going too?” Chione asked.

  “Yeah, you'd think our priestess scared everyone off,” Clifford said. “They'll all be back when we've opened the parents' tomb.”

  Ginny rushed over with photos in hand. “Get a load of these.”

  Close up photos showed the lapis lazuli scarab in full glorious detail. Several photos exposed different angles.

  “Nice work you do,” Aaron said.

  “You don't see it?” Ginny asked. She was in a huff. “The impression, do you see it? Did someone move the scarab between the time I took the first photos and the next set?”

  Fright rolled through Chione's nervous system. How would she explain what she did, and why she did it?

  “I doubt it,” Aaron said. He looked closer. Ginny pointed again. They compared sets of pictures. “Hey, you're right.”

  “Look at this second set,” Ginny said. “Looks like that impression in Tauret's cloak is where the scarab had rested. It's been moved.”

  “Who would have touched anything?” Clifford asked.

  “Someone must have jarred the coffin,” Aaron said, passing it off with a wave of his hand.

  Later, and again inside the tomb, they would lift the lid for the second and last time to view the priestess before preparing her body for transport. Given the fact Tauret was not mummified, it was decided to ship her remains to the Museum inside the sycamore fig coffin. After measuring, they learned her coffin could be lifted catty-corner through the portcullis shaft in order that she not be tilted and instead remained lying prone. A specially prepared sledge was built and lay waiting on the floor in the Offering Chamber. Finally, the team and several helpers gathered in anticipation.

  The sun had been strong since Christmas and Chione still felt woozy. She entered the Burial Chamber behind the others to hear Dr. withers asking where she was. Then he saw her. “What's with you?” he asked.

  “Oh, don't mind me.” She felt unsteady.

  Quaashie and Naeem did the honors again. Tauret lay in all her glory. Yet, somehow, vibrancy of the first viewing was no longer present. No energy burst forth from the coffin like the day before Christmas. Her perfume was barely perceptible. Chione directed Aaron's attention to the aging spot on Tauret's cheek that now seemed darker. Chione felt pangs of sorrow. Finding Tauret, moving her, could well be the end of the continuance she intended for herself in the Afterlife. Chione felt great remorse. Her mind raced and her head spun much like she always felt before merging with Tauret. Then she was suddenly aware that she was…

  …pregnant Tauret, majestically standing not two feet from Aaron, with a very full womb inside her belly. She reached for Aaron's hand and placed it on her stomach. But only a wife or concubine would dare reach out first for the hand of Pharaoh!

  She realized he was not Aaron. The man who stood before her was Pharaoh!

  Chione viewed what happened from the eyes of both herself and Tauret. Aaron became Pharaoh. In a few seconds, she became herself again. “Aaron?” she asked quietly.

  He, too, seemed lost in the moment and jolted back to reality as he saw his hand pressed against her stomach. He gasped and quickly withdrew it. His eyes widened. He looked at her belly. “You'll never guess what I just saw,” he said, whispering in disbelief.

  “Wouldn't I?” she asked.

  “Hey, Aaron… Chione…” Dr. Withers's voice seemed coming from a distance. “You with us?”

  “Look at the area around the scarab,” Ginny was saying. “I'm sure the scarab's been moved.”

  The scarab definitely left an impression in the soft pleats of Tauret's cloak where it rested for centuries. Now it sat at angles with the indentation. “I still don't think anyone would have touched it,” Aaron said. “We're professionals.”

  Rashad and Dr. Withers were discussing how best to lift out the coffin. Aaron turned to say something to them but seemed having difficulty. Again, he looked at her stomach. “Tauret's energy is gone,” he said, again quietly.

  “Tauret knew what she was doing,” Chione said, though she, too, felt unsure. “Trust her.”

  “Chione,” Dr. Withers called impatiently.

  Clifford called to Aaron. Chione did not wish to be distracted. They had plenty of time to move the priestess. Right now she wanted to explore the possibilities with Aaron, tell him what she had just seen and learn what he might have felt. Somehow she knew all would be okay despite any delay. “Yes, sir?” she said, responding to Dr. Withers's growing impatience.

  “We're counting on your opinion here, okay?”

&nbs
p; “Yes, sir.”

  “Our priestess was preserved under that diorite pyramid. What happens when she's not under that peak?”

  “She's still under a pyramid,” Chione said, pointing to the ceiling.

  “But no longer sealed,” Randy said. “When you did those experiments back in California, once you removed anything from under a pyramid, it wilted, disintegrated, if we didn't eat it right away.”

  “Exactly,” Dr. Withers said. “My concern here is that if we don't keep our lady under a pyramid to transport her, we'll lose her somehow.”

  “We could put the diorite lid over the transport box,” Chione said. “But first, Dr. Asim should examine the remains to see how durable they are.”

  Dr. Asim shook his head. “I must admit, I am now perplexed. How does one begin to examine such a specimen?”

  “We'll need to know if the body will hold together during transport,” Clifford said.

  “You've got to feel her,” Kendra said. “We pick up mummies all the time. There's no other way.”

  Bebe moaned and turned away. “How can anyone touch her?”

  “We could spray her,” Clifford said with a silly grin. “Stabilize her with fixative, then cart her off.”

  No one in archaeological history ever dealt with a situation as this.

  “It could only happen to us,” Randy said. Everyone looked his way. “We were meant to handle this situation, because of who we are.” It was something to think about as everyone paused a moment to reflect on Randy's profound metaphysical statement.