by Dana Fredsti
A broad-faced giant looked down upon him, filling his field of vision.
“Gods of my father…” he swore quietly, riveted by fright.
Kha-Hotep put a comforting hand on his back, looking over the Celt’s shoulder.
“Show him no fear, little brother,” he whispered. “Let him see what great hearts your tribe have.”
The scarlet-skinned titan stared down at them with cold, implacable eyes. He wore an Egyptian headdress striped with gold and cobalt, topped by a golden cobra, and sported a long, narrow plaited beard. His massive body was that of a lion, each of his outstretched paws as big as a longhouse.
Cam felt a jolt of embarrassment. “Only a statue.”
Kha-Hotep clapped him on the back. “A most fearsome figure, is he not?” The two kept their voices to an undertone.
“Who is he?”
“We call him Hor-em-Akhet, Horus of the Horizon.”
Before them, the great stone man-lion lay recumbent, with the largest of the pyramids for his backdrop. As they watched, the procession made its way through the courtyard between the temple and the colossal statue, entering a passage-space between the outstretched lion paws.
At the very end of that passageway, just below the giant’s long plaited beard, stood an upright sarcophagus. In the crook of each of the man-lion’s forearms sat a large bronze bowl. A pair of acolytes bore their candles down the walkway and reached up to light the oil within. Both bowls blazed to life, suddenly illuminating the colors of the giant’s head and torso.
Music began, rattling sistra and strumming harps. The high priestess led the rest of the softly chanting procession down to the waiting sarcophagus. The increasingly edgy Cam and Kha-Hotep crept up behind them as closely as they dared, all under the unsettling gaze of Hor-em-Akhet. They hid behind a great stone paw and spied on the proceedings.
The priestess halted at the sarcophagus and bowed low before the brilliantly decorated burial case. She waited for the chant to come to an end, then spoke to the believers.
“It is written in the Book of Coming Forth into the Light—or the Book of the Dead, as some so name it—that ever since the sky was split from the earth and the gods went to the sky, the earth below should slowly turn in cycles of renewal, to the joy or woe of Man. Yet, it is also written that there would come a time when, after countless rises and falls, the world we know was destined to end.
“We have seen the end of the old world. We were witnesses when the doors of the starry firmament were thrown open, that fire and lightning might rain down from the sky. Ma’at, the divine order was taken, with chaos left in its place, and those of us who did not perish mourned, with much fear and great wonder. Yet lordly Atum-Ra and great Osiris did not leave us with naught but chaos. On that same terrible day was also given a precious gift unto us.
“We found that gift of hope, freshly come down from the heavens, and with love and devotion, we bore the coffer of burnished silver with its treasure to this holy place, laying it to rest here against the bosom of Hor-em-Akhet, the Leonine, the Horus of the Horizon. Here we adorned it with jewels, sacred images and hieroglyphs. For herein is Siu-Netherit, born of Osiris, who shall rise again and call forth the new world into being.”
“Who is this… Siu-Netherit?” Cam whispered. His implant translated as “Star Eyes.”
Kha-Hotep shook his head. “No god I ever heard of.”
As the sky paled, the first rays of the new dawn glazed the far horizon behind them. The high priestess turned again and bowed low to the sarcophagus, then raised her arms wide in an invocation.
“O Siu-Netherit, starry-eyed god of the night! Hearken to the voice of thy priestess! Thou who speaks to us in our dreams. The herald of Osiris, who shall bring forth the new worl—”
She stopped short, staring off into the distance.
Cam followed her gaze.
Out on the eastern horizon, like a shaft of sunlight cutting through clouds after the rain, yet a thousand times mightier, a pillar of pure light split the sky from earth to the heavens. Then, rising up from the earth, another joined it. Then a third, leagues away.
A tear trailed down the priestess’s cheek.
“A miracle,” she breathed.
* * *
This is the end, Amber realized. Her tunnel abruptly made a turn to the right—and ended in a featureless wall. Great. Now she’d have to turn around and go all the way back to where she started, wherever that was. All that for nothing. Sleepwalking, her freaky dreams, voices in her head…
Maybe I really am going crazy, she thought in frustration.
No, the voice said.
“Stop it!” Grabbing her head between her hands, Amber leaned against the wall for support, only to have it pivot away from the pressure. She stumbled through the passage into light.
The secret door had opened to the pre-dawn sky, and a corridor with red walls on either side. Directly in front of her stood a large stone stela. In a numb daze, she came around for a closer look. Upright against the slab rested an even larger shape—rectangular, but with rounded edges, like a giant lozenge, and bigger than a refrigerator.
Running a hand over its surface, Amber discovered that it was constructed of metal, not stone, gleaming like silver in the glow from a pair of bronze oil lights on the walls above. Its surface had been freshly decorated with paint and bits of shell and glass, all forming the detailed figure of a hawk-headed man. His glittering eyes appeared to be made of amethyst.
Something overhead caught her eye, a shape like a stalactite, and she looked up to see the face of the Great Sphinx looming above her. Staggered, she snapped out of her daze and slowly turned to take in the rest of her surroundings… and gasped, holding her breath.
A tall Egyptian woman stood with her back to her, close enough Amber could almost reach out and touch her. A whole audience of worshipers was there as well, but none of them saw Amber. All were staring off into the horizon at a trio of energy beams, like towering bundles of lightning bolts, spearing upward to light up the sky.
Three blazing aftershocks of the Event, burning up time and space.
“We’re too late,” Amber murmured. “It’s the end of the world.”
52
“Look! It’s her!” Cam whispered urgently as he caught sight of Amber rounding the silver sarcophagus. Only Kha-Hotep’s firm hand on his shoulder stopped him from rushing to her side.
“Easy, my brother,” the Egyptian said quietly. “If we are careful, the three of us may leave this place with none the wiser.”
* * *
“It’s the end of the world.”
The priestess whirled about in surprise at the sound of Amber’s voice, kohl-dark eyes blazing with outrage.
“Interloper! How dare you traverse our secret ways and profane the sacred gift?” Her two lions roared, tensing their bodies to spring upon the strange woman at their mistress’ command. Amber froze, speechless.
* * *
Cam leapt to his feet and rushed forward, sword in hand. Kha-Hotep swore, but quickly joined him, the two of them scattering the startled worshipers.
The priestess turned on the new intruders, their death sentence clear in her eyes.
“To be here so armed is sacrilege.” She looked at her lions, already baring their teeth at the two men. “Sheshmu, Maahes,” she called. “Kill them!”
Swords out, Cam and Kha-Hotep braced themselves to fight the great cats.
“Wait!” Amber shouted, even as she thought, what do I do now?
“Leave these men alone,” she continued with an authority she didn’t feel. “They… they are my servants!”
The priestess whistled sharply, and the lions halted instantly. “Who are you?” she demanded in a voice that said she was accustomed to obedience. “Tell me at once!”
“I am Amber of San Diego! I, who killed the crocodile god—” what did they call it? “Petsuchos!” she continued, improvising as fast as she could. “I have come a great distance to find you.
In fact, the gods have sent me here with a message! Hear me!”
“You lie,” the priestess hissed. “You shall feed my lions and go down to death in pain and tears! There the Eater of Hearts shall feast upon you for all eternity!”
Thinking fast, Amber pointed to the three aftershocks in the distance.
“For your impudence, I will take away these three stairways to Heaven!”
The aftershocks continued to blaze away like tornados of fire and light.
Shit.
“Now!” she shouted. “They are going away!”
Nothing.
“Now, I say!”
After one last painfully long delay, the three aftershocks winked out, one by one. A gasp went up from the crowd, but the priestess remained unimpressed.
“I do not think that was your doing, Scarlet-Hair. I think you are some demon-creature of chaos sent from Isfet and Set.”
“I’m here to help you,” Amber insisted. “All of you!”
“Prove your honeyed words are true, then, False One!”
“I can prove it!” Amber did her best to ignore the liquid growls coming from the lions. “I know the god you serve. He speaks to me in my dreams. I have seen his dark face and silver hair. I have seen the falling stars in his eyes.”
A change came over the priestess’s face. Her expression softened, and her gaze turned curiously intense as she gazed at the younger woman.
“You speak the truth?”
Surprised by the question, Amber could only nod mutely, at a loss for what else to say. The priestess continued to stare intently into Amber’s eyes, as if she could find the truth there.
“Do you speak the truth, Amber of San Diego?”
“I… I…” Amber wasn’t sure what was happening, but something had changed, and the woman’s quiet intensity was damaging her cool. She tried to think of something else to say, anything, but no words would come.
Nefer-Tamit, came an unbidden thought.
“What?” she said aloud, confused.
Her name is Nefer-Tamit, the familiar voice in her head prompted her.
“The god tells me… your name is Nefer… Nefer… Tamit,” she blurted out.
The priestess stood quiet for a long moment before speaking again.
“You have seen Siu-Netherit, the starry-eyed god.” Leaning in, she kissed Amber’s forehead.
53
The Base of the Great Sphinx
Dawn – Nine days after the Event
The first light of morning touched the giant’s face and descended like a curtain to illuminate Amber, the priestess, and the shining silver sarcophagus. The brightness of dawn spilled across the eastern sky. Cam and Kha-Hotep stared, uncertain of what had just happened, and still wary of the lions poised between them and their friend.
“Amber!” Cam called. She hesitated as if listening to something only she could hear, then turned to him.
“It’s alright now, Cam,” she said. “Don’t worry. I know what to do now.” She reached out to touch the sarcophagus. “I just need to open this.”
The crowd gasped, as did the high priestess Nefer-Tamit. She made a graceful bow, low and reverent, this time directed to Amber. Her lions turned and padded up to join their mistress, meekly lying down at her feet.
“O holy consort, show us the will of Siu-Netherit.”
“Amber, please step away from that coffin,” Cam urged.
“Listen to him, Amber,” Kha-Hotep joined in.
“Silence your tongues!” The high priestess turned on them, her eyes flashing, and she made a sharp sidelong chopping gesture. “She shall do as her lord commands her.”
“Amber, there’s a god in there!” Cam cried out. “Don’t do it!”
He was too late. Amber was already in motion, stooping and then running her hand along the right side of the sleek metal casing. She felt around, not looking, as though relying on muscle memory alone, but her fingers found what they were searching for all the same.
She pressed a short series of buttons, and then quickly stepped back as an odd electronic whirring sound came from within the metal box. At the same moment, a brilliant line of light appeared along its side, forming a vertical split as the lid and base of the sarcophagus separated.
The lid swung open.
A murmur of awe came from the crowd of worshipers, and they prostrated themselves, bowing low before the sight. The lone occupant lay upright and unmoving, cushioned in a foam padding. His clothing looked both modern and military, like his haircut. Amber and Cam stared at the body, stunned by what they saw. They knew the man.
A sudden wave of vertigo slammed into Amber. She fought to stay on her feet as the world spun.
He opened his eyes.
It was János Mehta.
* * *
Mehta stepped out of the capsule and regarded the crowd with a curiously pleased look on his face. Enraged, Cam drew his sword.
“Murderer!” he yelled as he lunged forward, drawing his arm back to cut the man down. Mehta made no move to defend himself, but simply looked over at the attacking Celt, locking eyes with him. Cam instantly froze in mid-strike, and then crumpled to the dusty flagstones.
* * *
Kha-Hotep leapt to his feet as well and charged Mehta’s other flank with a wild swing of his khopesh. Mehta turned his gaze on the Egyptian, and Kha-Hotep only had a split-second to marvel at the man’s violet, star-streaked eyes before his sickle sword clattered on the pavement and he toppled to the ground beside Cam.
* * *
Amber watched in horror as first Cam, and then Kha-Hotep collapsed to the ground without warning and lay unmoving.
No no no no no no…
Were they still alive? Or had she just lost the only family she had left?
Mehta turned her way.
Oh god.
Oh god—it’s my turn now. She braced herself for the worst.
Ignoring the priestess, her lions, and the crowd of worshipers—all of whom stood there, transfixed—he took a step closer, and then another, his eyes never leaving hers.
Amber wanted to look away. Hell, she wanted to run, but she couldn’t do either. Paralyzed with fear, she could only stand there, thoughts racing, as the man calmly, almost gently, moved in on her. How could János Mehta be the man who’d haunted her dreams all this time? Was he even human?
He stopped just a few feet from her. Still she remained fixed in place, unable to escape. His alien eyes, with their familiar scintillating gaze, remained riveted on hers, though his expression stayed strangely empty, unreadable.
“Amber.” he said softly. It was almost a question. Then he nodded as if satisfied. “Amber, right?”
He smiled.
This wasn’t the cheerfully soulless smile of the imposter who’d stolen the Vanuatu and killed Merlin. It radiated genuine warmth and relief, as if the weight of the world had dropped off him at the sight of her. Closing the distance between them, he gently laid his hands on her shoulders as if they were old friends. And maybe they were. She didn’t know what to think anymore.
“Merlin…?” She held her breath, hardly daring to hope.
He stared at her blankly. “Merlin? Who’s Merlin?”
Her heart sank. He shook his head and gave a small laugh.
“Never mind, it doesn’t matter. But you and I need to talk. We…” he hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “We have work to do.”
Amber’s fear lifted, and she realized she wasn’t paralyzed at all. She found her voice again. “What do you mean?”
“I think…” he paused again, as if uncertain. “I think you and I are going to save the world.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Once again, mega thanks to Steve Saffel, our Dark Editorial Overlord. Steve, your skill and understanding of what your authors are trying to create always results in a better book and we appreciate your willingness to travel on the sometimes rocky road of Edits with us.
Having a good agent is a gift, and the gratitu
de we have for our agent Jill Marsal continues to grow.
As always, thank you to the crew at Titan Books, especially our stellar copy editor Jess Woo, who made some truly excellent catches! Thanks to Nick Landau and Vivian Chueng, Davi Lancett, Paul Gill, George Sandison, Hannah Scudamore, Julia Lloyd, Katharine Carroll, Lydia Gittins, Jenny Boyce, and anyone we may have missed.
Many thanks to the following people for their help with research and motivation: Aaron Adair; Susi and Uwe Bocks; Lisa “Jei Jei” Brackmann; Dr. Richard Carrier; Sue Erokan; Bill “Willy P” Galante; Gwenola le Garrec-Cooper; Jessica Hanselman Gray; Ray Harris of The History of WWII Podcast; Krista Itzhak; Yaprak Ergurman Kenger; Alisha Koch; Yasmine Mohammed; Faisal Saeed Al Mutar; Minas Papageorgiou; Adrienne Mowery Poirier; Les Soeurs Sautez, Maud y Michele; Mark Scioneaux; Kristina Sellers Shaw; Miryam Strautkalns. And thank you, voice artist Aaron Shedlock, for bringing our characters to life! Thanks, all!
* * *
Enkati’s song, “The Love of the Beloved,” is a real ancient Egyptian one; taken from Barbara Mertz, Red Land, Black Land: The World of the Ancient Egyptians, Rev. ed. New York: Dodd, Mead, 1978.
* * *
The non-science-fictional parts of the El Alamein section are based off of the real accounts from tank crewmen from both sides, esp. Maj. Robert Crisp’s Brazen Chariots (1959), Brigadier C. E. Lucas Phillips’ Alamein (1962), as well as the war letters of German tank gunner Karl Fuchs (1987) and many more. Many other history books, much more than we can easily list here, were helpful here as well; especially Jack Coggin’s The Campaign for North Africa, Stephen Bungay’s Alamein, and Wolfgang Schneider’s Panzer Tactics: German Small-Unit Armor Tactics in World War II.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Dana Fredsti is an ex B-movie actress with a background in theatrical combat (a skill she utilized in Army of Darkness as a sword-fighting Deadite and fight captain). Through seven-plus years of volunteering at EFBC/FCC, Dana’s been kissed by tigers, and had her thumb sucked by an ocelot with nursing issues. She’s addicted to bad movies and any book or film, good or bad, which includes zombies. She’s the author of The Spawn of Lilith, Blood Ink, the Ashley Parker series, touted as Buffy meets the Walking Dead, the zombie noir novella, A Man’s Gotta Eat What a Man’s Gotta Eat, and the cozy noir mystery Murder for Hire: The Peruvian Pigeon. With David Fitzgerald she is the co-author of Time Shards and Shatter War, and she has stories in the V-Wars: Shockwaves and Joe Ledger: Unstoppable anthologies.