EXCERPTS

The gods were in an uproar. Rumour ran the length of the Nile, from the Delta cities of Egypt to the Aswan Dam. Even those deities still dwelling in the remote regions beyond the Fourth Cataract heard of the calamity, and all hastened to Luxor to take part in the council.

Bes, the squat, ugly god of protection and childbirth, hitched a ride on Sobek’s felucca. He knew even as he clambered aboard that it was unlikely that they’d make it to the Temple of Karnak in time to sit at the council. As usual, any decision would be made by the highest members of the pantheon, and the rest of them would just abide by their decision. But Bes still wanted to go to Luxor, even if he’d get there late. It had been centuries since the gods had convened like this, and he hoped to catch up with some old friends.

He settled himself on a cushion close to the helm, where he could keep a watchful eye on Sobek. Now there was a mean-looking devil! Tall and rangy, he had a long, saturnine face that could transform into a crocodile’s head whenever worshippers were nearby. In the glory days of Egypt, he’d ruled over the annual inundation of the river, representing both its positive and negative aspects. In the modern world, the flooding of the Nile was controlled by dams and sluices. Bes had heard that these days, Sobek earned his living by organising river cruises for tourists.

It was a bit of a comedown for a god, but it had happened to them all. Ancient deities worshipped for millennia had been rejected in favour of monotheistic religions. Bes had seen it before, when the heretic pharaoh Akhenaten had tried to impose his crazy idea of a single solar cult upon his subjects. That hadn’t lasted very long: the people had preferred the comfort of having many gods, from whom they could pick their favourites.

But then had come Christianity, and, after that, Islam, and over time, the old gods had been forgotten. Temples and shrines lay empty, the only offering being the gradual creep of sand. The descendants of high priests tore down the temples and carted away the stone to build their houses.

As the worshippers and rites dwindled and died, so too did the power of the old gods. Bes shuddered to remember those dark times. Gods could not die unless at Heaven’s command, and so instead they’d withered, become shadows of their former selves. They’d watched the monotheistic religions flourish and divide, until finally, some people began to return to the old ways.

Archaeologists came to examine the temples and tombs. Nobles and even an emperor came from afar to pay their respects. And then had come the discovery of the tomb of Tutankhamun—heir to that fool Akhenaten, of all people—and the modern world had gone crazy about ancient Egypt.

Of course, worship these days wasn’t so much from following the proper rites and making the correct sacrifices. It was more slapdash than that. Any attention, be it academic or New Age, counted as a kind of worship—but the gods had moved with the times and were slowly regaining their power. The major deities of the pantheon, such as Re, Osiris, Hathor, Isis, and Horus, still seemed to be the most popular gods, just as they were back in the New Kingdom.

It was the more minor deities like Sobek who missed out, Bes thought. It was hardly fair, but then, fate was a strange thing. He stopped thinking so much and stretched out his rotund body on the cushion. It was a pleasant day in early spring, and the sun was blissfully warm on his skin. Bes smiled.

“What’s so funny?” growled Sobek from the helm of the boat.

“I was just remembering the good old days,” Bes said. “What fun we had back then! That business with Horus and Seth and the lettuce… It still makes me laugh to think of it.”

Sobek snorted. “You shouldn’t laugh. Seth was tricked.”

“It was fair enough after what he did to Horus,” Bes argued.

“It’s in the past. Let’s not talk about it.” Sobek turned away and stared at the wash the felucca made as it cut through the water.

Bes rolled over on the cushion to look at the crocodile god. Sobek was a miserable devil, but if there was one thing guaranteed to get him talking, albeit in complaint, it was a discussion of the good old days. For him to be so silent was out of character. Bes watched Sobek pick at a splinter of wood on the helm and wondered what was wrong.

He was about to ask, when suddenly Sobek jerked on the helm and the felucca veered sideways. He squawked in protest as he tumbled from the cushion. “What are you doing?”

Sobek nodded towards the right bank. “There’s Khnum. Thought he might want a ride, too.”

“Khnum? I haven’t seen him in twelve centuries!”

Bes jumped back onto the cushion and peered over the side of the boat as Sobek tacked it closer to the riverbank. He waved enthusiastically at Khnum, the ram-headed god of fertility and creation. In the old days, they’d worked closely together, with Bes passing on information about which couples had conceived so that Khnum could fashion in clay the forms of the babies. Only when he’d lovingly sculpted each child would he hand it over to the greater gods, who would breathe life into the clay figures.

For millennia, Khnum’s potter’s wheel had kept turning, populating Egypt with pharaohs, slaves, nobles, scribes and workers. Then, when the crisis of faith happened and the people turned to monotheism, Khnum and other creator gods had realised that mankind could reproduce without divine assistance—or, if divine assistance was needed, humans simply called on their single God.

Bes thought it was a shame. It was his opinion that humans created without Khnum’s help were ordinary looking, without a spark of true beauty. There were exceptions, of course, but in general, he preferred the times when Khnum would painstakingly create each new individual, using all of his considerable talent.

Now Bes looked forwards to a good gossip with his former colleague. He grinned as Khnum waded out into the river and hauled himself onto the deck.

“Thanks,” Khnum said with a nod to Sobek, who just grunted in reply.

Bes eyed his old friend. When he wasn’t sporting the curly-horned ram’s head, Khnum was rather a handsome fellow, with straight, regular features, a full mouth and wide dark eyes that occasionally held a faraway expression. Today, they were wary and resigned, his state of mind emphasised by the way he hunched his body as he sat on the deck between Bes and Sobek.

“So,” Bes asked, “what have you been doing with yourself all these years?”

Khnum shrugged. “You know. This and that.”

“No, I don’t know. Tell me what you found to do in these modern times. I hear Hathor is making a lot of money—and more importantly, she’s collecting worship—with her beauty products and sex toys business. And, of course, Re went into the whole solar energy thing—predictable, but gaining in popularity. And Bastet, what a clever girl she was…”

Sobek gave an exaggerated sigh, interrupting Bes’ monologue. “Didn’t you ask Khnum a question?”

Bes sat up straight. “I did. And he didn’t answer it.” He clapped his hands at Khnum. “Come, come, lad! Let’s hear it. What have you been up to? I imagine you’re a famous potter or craftsman now. Our sacred Nile clay hasn’t changed in two millennia, so you must still be making wonderful ceramics, even if you can’t fashion mankind from clay any more.”

Khnum shook his head, lifting his powerful shoulders in a shrug. “I haven’t done anything.”

Bes stared at him, puzzled. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing.” Khnum smiled at him, but he looked dispirited. “I spent a lot of time out in the Western Desert, and then this past half-millennia, I’ve been beyond the cataracts in the kingdom of Nubia.”

“Not much to do out there,” Sobek remarked.

“No,” Khnum agreed. “I was repairing some of the old pyramids and tombs out there. The ones the archaeologists will never find because of the sand cover. But we know where they are.”

“Not much point in fixing something that no one will see.”

Bes glanced at Sobek in irritation. “You know as well as I do that the ba-birds of those who rest in those tombs see them. More than that, they need them.” He turned and gave Khnum a beaming smile. “I think it’s admirable that you should spend your time rebuilding tombs. After all, if you can help birth mankind then you can help them to maintain their status in the afterlife, too…”

Sobek snorted, but Khnum smiled gratefully.

“So you both heard the summons, then?” he asked.

Bes raised his eyebrows. “Summons? No, I just heard a rumour that Osiris’ soul-jar had been destroyed, and that Banebdjedet was loose with nowhere to take shelter. No idea how it happened. You’d think that Osiris would be careful with his soul. It’s confusing enough that he split himself into two separate entities, but to keep part of himself in a jar… why, it’s almost like being human, isn’t it? The spirit contained within a clay form.”

Khnum laughed. “You make it sound so poetic. What about you, Sobek?”

The crocodile god corrected their course and squinted up at the sails. “I heard a rumour, too: that Seth caused the jar to break. Then I heard that the gods would convene at Karnak, and so I set sail at once to see if it was true.”

“We still won’t get there in time to hear the final decision,” Bes said with a disappointed sigh. “Not at the speed we’re travelling.”

“We’re sailing against the current,” Sobek reminded him. “If you wanted to get there faster, you should have taken the chariot with Sekhmet.”

Bes shuddered. “No, thank you! A lovely lady, but she’s in with those war-mongers, and let me tell you, it’s difficult enough being the god of protection as it is these days without inviting trouble by hanging around with a crowd like that.”

Sobek grimaced, indicating Khnum.

Bes frowned, and then his brow cleared and he hurried to apologise. “I’m so sorry, Khnum. I completely forgot about that business with your wife.”

He felt guilty as he saw a shadow pass over Khnum’s face. Obviously, the creator god was still sensitive about the messy divorce that had taken place back in the Ptolemaic period of Egypt’s history. Bes could have told his friend that it would all end in tears: the marriage of Menhit, a stunning, savage Nubian war goddess, and the thoughtful, artistic Khnum had little chance of working. None of the gods had been surprised when Menhit ran off with Onuris, a war god who hung out with Sekhmet and the other dangerous deities who liked causing trouble. Khnum had been left with a young son, Hike, whom he’d fashioned himself on his potter’s wheel.

Thinking of the lad prompted Bes to ask, “And how’s Hike?”

Khnum smiled, his expression alive for the first time that day. “He’s great. You remember he was promoted to a minor magic and medicine deity? He decided to continue in that field. He’s a surgeon.”

“How delightful! And the gratitude of his patients is worship enough for him, I imagine. It must be the same amount that I get, although Hike is earning it in the modern way, and I’m just lucky.”

Khnum looked at him. “Where childbirth and babies are concerned, I guess all women remain superstitious.”

“Not just women, but men, too,” Bes said fondly. “Did I tell you I had fifteen offerings from men last month? Mostly locals, of course, but these days, there are plenty of foreigners who come here to ask for a child or to ask my blessing on their newborns…”

“I’ve never understood why those foreigners should want to come here,” Sobek said abruptly. “Egypt is only a narrow strip of black earth surrounded by red desert. This is a place of death, not life.”

“You’re such a misery!”

“Look at it,” Sobek continued, gesturing at either side of the riverbanks. “Cliffs to the left and collapsing temples to the right. Scorching sun overhead. There’s nothing to recommend it.”

“Apart from a fascinating history and a vast pantheon of gods,” Bes said, sitting up and jabbing a finger at Sobek. “And you’re one of those gods. Hathor’s tits, you ferry tourists up and down our sacred Nile practically every day!”

“Maybe I’m bored with it.” Sobek’s expression was dark with disappointment. “This is my river. I know I share it with Hapi, but it was mine first.”

Bes rolled his eyes. “I thought it was Khnum’s first.”

The creator god raised his hands. “Don’t look at me. I can barely keep track of the different spheres of our influence. I started out as the god of the inundation a long time ago, but I prefer getting my hands dirty in a more creative way. I’m happy with my potter’s wheel and a lump of Nile clay.”

“You might be happy, but I’m not,” Sobek snapped. “The Nile is supposed to flood on my command. The people are supposed to bring me gifts to encourage good harvest. It’s all right for you, Bes. Your sphere of influence is on something mysterious and divinely important. No man would ever dismiss childbirth to a planning committee the way they did the Nile, especially if it was his child growing in the belly of his woman.”

“The modern world does have ways of ensuring conception,” Bes told him. “Men like to think they can control many things in nature, but they cannot. Just because they build dams to control the Nile flood, or they make babies in test-tubes, it doesn’t mean we’re not wanted or needed any more.”

“Wait.” Sobek stilled the helm and stood with his head cocked to one side. “Do you hear that?”

Bes listened, hearing the chatter of dozens of divine voices.

“They’re annoyed that I didn’t reach Karnak in time for the council,” Khnum said quietly. “Re will make an announcement in a moment.”

“You were summoned?” Bes asked, frowning.

Khnum nodded. “Yes, I told you…”

“Shh!” Sobek held up a hand for silence, and they all looked up towards the face of the sun high above them.

Re was the head of the gods for the sole reason that his rays saw everything that happened on the earth, at least during daylight hours. Bes had always found him to be rather pompous and unapproachable, but he tried to look attentive as the sun god made his announcement.

Gods of Egypt, boomed Re in his dry tones, hear the decree of the High Council of the Upper Pantheon! Know this, o denizens of Kemet: that on this day, Osiris, the Lord of the Underworld, did have broken his most precious possession—the soul-jar of his spirit Banebdjedet, who now does roam without substance or home through the ruins of Karnak…

Bes yawned. “By Min’s balls, I wish he’d get on with it.”

Khnum put a hand over his mouth to stop from laughing out loud.

Also on this day, continued Re, we did summon the High Council and also several amongst our number whom we thought could help in this matter. May it be noted that Seth, Lord of Darkness, did not respond to our summons…

Sobek turned the helm, and the rudder made a small splash.

A decision was reached without some of our council being present, Re droned, and this is what was decided. That Banebdjedet should remain in Karnak for his own safety, and for the safety of Osiris, for the soul and the god should not be separated. I myself will safeguard Banebdjedet during the day; at night, the ba-birds of our most noble pharaohs shall keep watch alongside Khonsu.

“Stuck in Karnak!” Bes exclaimed. “Well, at least he won’t get bored there. All those tourists, and, of course, the son et lumiere. That’ll drive any self-respecting ba mad within a few days.”

These measures are temporary. Re’s stentorian voice drowned out the rest of Bes’ comment. We are commissioning a new soul-jar, the finest and most beautiful that can be made; and even though our potter did not deign to show himself, we are certain that Khnum can create a worthy home for Banebdjedet within a few days.

Bes glanced at Khnum. “You okay? You don’t look too happy. This is the commission of the millennia. You won’t have had a project like this since you made Osiris’ original soul-jar.”

“I know,” he said, dejection rather than excitement in every line of his body.

 Sobek leaned on the helm. “So what’s the problem?”

Khnum sighed and raked his hands through his hair. “You want to know why I went into the desert for so long and rebuilt tombs rather than do anything creative? It wasn’t because of Menhit and the divorce. It’s not because I’m lacking inspiration, either. I simply don’t have the motivation. That’s my problem—no motivation.”

Sobek raised his eyebrows. “The most senior members of the pantheon told you to make a new soul-jar in a few days. Isn’t that motivation enough?”

“It doesn’t work like that.” Khnum gazed at them both, his fists bunched in frustration. “I can’t create something without a spark. Even for the simplest jar, there needs to be something divine. Inspiration is one thing; the act of creation needs to be nurtured if the finished piece is to be a thing of beauty. It can’t be forced. It just… happens.”

“Like falling in love,” Bes said softly.

Khnum nodded. “Yes. Like falling in love.”

Sobek shook his head and returned his attention to their course. “Heaven save me from you artistic types,” he muttered. “I don’t understand you at all.”

Never Say Die
Anna Fallon

Halloween night, 2150

Ty’s lips felt aflame with passion anytime he managed to press them to Violet's mouth. He loved her plump, raspberry-colored lips, but Violet allowed him very little kissing opportunity. His every emotion needed to be conveyed through this kiss. The moment proved to be one of those lucky times when Ty enjoyed a little more freedom. No woman affected him like this, not only did he want to kiss her endlessly; he wanted to fuck her mercilessly. She drove him crazy, took his temper and his sexual want to the edge of reason. Women always came to him easily, with the exception of Violet Symons. The one Ty wanted and needed the most. He’d never been past first base with Violet, unless second base meant her stinging slaps to his cheek. If only his ass cheeks rang with those slaps, he would be in heaven!

Burning with inhuman lust, as she allowed his lips to roam over hers, Ty hoped tonight to be the night she accepted him as her lover. He welcomed her response as her mouth opened, giving his tongue access. Knowing his chance might last only a few seconds, he tried to pass on his feelings. Hopefully the hint would not be subtle. Their last shared kiss did not do the trick. A whole six months ago and not so much as a quick peck since. Violet played it cagey and demonstrated extreme resourcefulness to avoid his advances. The words 'give up' simply did not exist in Ty's dictionary, not when it concerned stealing an opportunity such as this.

Making the most of this newfound freedom, he touched her soft tongue with his. His cock immediately sprang up, ready for action. Remembering the time her hand gripped at his erection only served to inflame his desire. Chancing a little daring exploration, his fingers ventured to a hardened nipple. Ty longed to suck the elongated nub into oblivion. He knew Violet loved the touch because her pelvis thrust forward as he gently squeezed. Maybe this time. Hoping he would get to show the depth his passion to her repeatedly with his cock and by feasting on her dripping pussy. Perhaps this time, the woman he loved and respected more than anyone else in the world would let him show her how deeply he loved.

Trying to fuck anyone else now proved impossible. Once upon a time, he could. Just after he and Violet first met, he still saw other women. Before long, he imagined Violet was with him each time he had sex with another woman. He longed for Violet to be with him each time. Others only acted as poor substitutes. This left him disappointed afterwards, and no woman deserved to be treated like that. If he couldn’t give one hundred percent to any woman, even if only for the night, he wouldn’t give anything at all. And so began this torrid game of cat and mouse.

The kiss continued. Usually by now the slap landed, and they'd argue over nothing. She proved to be feisty to say the least. Violet had been emotionally hurt. Ty didn’t know how, and he never asked. God! I don’t have that much of a death wish!

Perhaps, on this Halloween night, common sense would finally prevail and she would take him to her soul, here in this alley. Wishful thinking, his fingertips plucked at the captured nipple causing her luscious body to push against his. Her tongue gently massaged along his as a small moan escaped her throat. It took all of his concentration not to throw her down and make her take him.

He let the thought of her moist mouth on his swollen cock linger a little, but he knew he would come prematurely if he even imagined such contact in the slightest. Home in the shower is okay, but here in the flesh? Definitely not cool. Ever so lightly, Ty’s hand left her breast and traveled lower, to brush her mound. Violet’s leg came up to wrap around his. Bingo!

A neon glow penetrated his eyelids. He popped his eyes open. An eerie glow filled the alley way. I've heard about getting the green light, but this is ridiculous! A small, pointy horned demon, colored a deep shade of green, waved a crystal, and Ty felt a searing pain inside his head. Fuck, of all the timing to be usurped by a demon! Their lips parted now, he felt Violet's hot breath on his cheek.

"What the f...?" she started.

Feeling his consciousness drift off, he heard a distant, booming voice. Tyler struggled to really understand what the voice said, it just sounded so relaxing. His heartbeat slowed, and he let himself succumb to the darkness

Ancient Jems
Bridghid Parkinson

A Prayer of a Chance

Chaperoning students through a cheap survey, some Egyptologist I turned out to be, huh? Jemmie couldn’t contain the thoughts running through her mind.

She craved that choice tidbit in her research she could use to get the grants that would eventually lead to bigger research assignments and a better position. A master’s degree got her a position with the Molina-Hammond Research Foundation, for clerical work for the research teams, and part time teaching at the university. Little fieldwork graced her resume, she’d only been to Egypt twice, and it was in school. Completing her degrees became a slow process between student financing and the need to work.

Trying to keep her mind quiet in the days before departure, she loaded the hand tools and checked her list of supplies. The most needed items were the cameras, computers and the boxes of batteries for the cameras. The facility thrived on having a dozen people look over a group of digital photographs. With modern technology, the need for travel dropped, and lab work was more common.

The surveys to get the pictures examined in the lab were often specially arranged packages with students. Though this was the first excursion with students, she wanted the choice assignments in a dig and she knew it would come once she proved her skills.

On her list, she thought they could use more brushes, but that would only be if they actually found anything. Chances were tiny, but a few shards of pottery would be the best that these guys could hope for in the surveys scheduled or in the tours planned through Luxor and the well-excavated Valley of the Kings.

She tried to get the tour changed to the area of Abydos with emphasis on the Eastern side of the Nile; an area she surveyed in detail in satellite images, but there was no hope of a change the tour to a less traveled region. Random digs turning up anything significant were a fanciful dream. Proving the need for a dig took significant research and applications for grants from rich foundations before anyone bought a shovel. Jemmie kept working in research and preservation, but she wanted to find her own dig site.

Meeting the students at the airport was a pleasure because they all arrived early or at least arrived with enough time to spare to keep the group from feeling rushed.

On the flight to Egypt, she enjoyed the last bits of civilization. As she lifted her bourbon and soda, she admired the manicure that should be gone soon. That’s the way it should be. Maybe next time you can convince Drew about your survey.

Drew Hammond, Director of the foundation. Recluse. The director’s office wasn’t on the research campus so she never saw him in daily work, but she could quickly reach him on the phone. The old researchers were entitled to be as eccentric as their subject was.

With the empty glass on her tray, she nestled back as the students chatted excitedly. The flight sounded more like a distinguished dorm room or well-educated tourists debating the relationships of the kings and coregents within the major dynasties of Egypt. Even the quiet young man, Bill, joined in the debates of the Kings.

Carter, the leading male of the group, took pride in knowledge of the dynasties. “The Twelfth Dynasty ended…Queen Sobekneferu didn’t produce an heir. With all the inter-family marriage in royalty, it’s amazing they could produce children at all. She was the first queen of Egypt. Her sculptures are defaced and there is no mention of how she died, she may have been murdered.”

Another student pointed out. “She was not the first, Nitocris in the Sixth Dynasty…”

“Sure! She lived long enough to kill the people that killed her brother-husband King…oh, heck…what was his name?”

Jemmie wasn’t opening her eyes to join in the conversation.

She kept her eyes closed and focused on the persistent memory of the satellite image. West of Dendara the Nile River snakes around to a village called Balabish within the black land along the riverbank. East of Balabish laid a ridge with the most unusual segment of stone, it looked like a flat wall, but all of the ridges in the area lacked the same distinction and characteristics. Most of the sand had eroded the sides of the ridges to a slope, but this feature remained perpendicular. Full review of the area weather patterns indicated winds should have worn back the upper edge of this ridge over the last two to three thousand years, but even then, the base would remain prominent.

The slight vibration of the airliner only lulled Jemmie into a light sleep clouded with the warmth of bourbon. She took comfort in remembering the many digital photos taken by tourists and experts along the larger temples and tombs, she’d compare her translation of the glyphs to existing references. She could read, with some help in references, the hieroglyphs and the hieratic scripts.

Her mind became foggy as sleep began to overtake her.

In a temple with tall columns, she began to read the inscriptions to the Goddess Hathor, Goddess of Love. On the ground at her feet lay colored marbles, baskets of flowers, dishes with strong incense, and lanterns filled with oil.

The inscriptions were brightly colored with fresh paints over the carved inscriptions and pictures. The stars with five points in several of the pictures described a prophesy of a woman coming with great beauty from the heavens. Her visit, a gift of the Gods.

Pictograms on the door described more. Cats. A picture of a pool with a man and a woman bathing near a large well. A picture of a man hugging a woman. The man had no hair, he was a priest purified for special duty to the Gods. A pictogram of a house or a temple above the man and woman. Hathor. Ma’at. Isis. Wings spread over the gardens. Protection. A temple. Lush gardens against a desert ridge.

Jemmie looked up and saw the decree over the door. The cartouche of Hathor and a directive declared that she would be the gift of the Gods. The name was inscribed within a cartouche—Nmsth. Royal or devine, this person became highly revered and only one priest tended to her.

A woman’s voice rang out, echoing through the temple. She comes. Sardotep, you have three days until she arrives.

A man ran to a large bowl and gazed to the water within.

Jemmie saw his face clearly. His skin smooth, and his eyes were dark, reflecting his wonder. The contrast of his white robes against his dark skin shimmered in the ripples around him. His angular facial features were as chiseled as the stone temple behind him.

Don’t be afraid. The woman’s voice echoed. He is pure. His strength in his hands and in his staff, he will serve you with the same faith he has given the Gods.

“I knew you would come,” a man’s voice said. “Nomesteh, The Seers have foretold it before I was born. I made preparations.”

On the wall behind him, another pictogram showed the naked priest holding the woman in white robes, and her head looked up to the heavens, a drawing of the moon and stars. His staff stuck out from behind his body, however, the curled end was not on the other side. Not a literal staff, it’s his staff…his penis.

The pitch and sensation of falling terrified Jemmie from her dreams. She gripped the arms of the seat and realized she wasn’t in a temple, she was on an airplane over the Atlantic Ocean, on their way to Luxor, Egypt.

“Sorry about that folks,” The Captain announced, “it’s just a little turbulence as we pass over a storm.”

Jemmie immediately reached for her carry on luggage under her seat. In the folder of images she printed from the Temple of Hathor, she found the same image of a woman, held tight by a priest, her face looking up to the heavens, and his staff was not seen except for a short length behind his body. Jemmie knew in the late dynasties that the Egyptians began to replace potentially offensive glyphs, including the pictograms for birth and death, with a generic slash. This was the first time she’d seen evidence of a celebration of sexual power.

If only we could get closer to Dendara and the area of Abydos.

Entombed
Mae Powers

Cally Stevens lay in the darkness, dazed and coughing up dust. She felt her insides shivering unexpectedly. A strange tingling suddenly encompassed her. Her senses had never failed her yet, but this sensation boarded on all-consuming. It slowly moved up her arms, down into the pit of her stomach and then settled on her toes. Her eyes scrunched instinctively, going from the bright sun and into the dimly lit tunnel, then she blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the dimmer light supplied by the florescent rocks fluctuating around the area.

She groped for her backpack, and pulled it off. Rummaging inside, her hand closed around her small flashlight and pulled it out. Adjusting the pack on her shoulders, she slowly stood up and turned on the tiny battery operated light.  Her uncle always said to have a flashlight handy, when she was a little girl, and Cally had always carried one since. Now she felt glad. Thankfully, its range lit up a good deal of space.

She got up, beaming the light ahead of her, and saw she stood in a very small rounded chamber with only one tunnel leading out of the cavern. A small tunnel, sloping downwards, barely wide enough for her tall form to fit through. She ducked her head slightly, to avoid being hit. She followed the jagged trail for a while before she felt the floor sloping upwards and the cavernous corridor turned sharply to the right.

The tunnel seemed to narrow and she almost ventilated with fear. The bottom of the cavernous tunnel became less gravelly and she felt the softness of sand shifting beneath her dragging feet. Using the flashlight, she noticed the granite walls were lined with jagged cracks as if dark lightening struck them.

A loud chattering noise made her halt in her tracks. Rapidly the fear rose from the pits of her stomach and shoved up into her throat. What was that noise? What creatures of the night prowled this hidden pathway? A pain of fear shot through her. Calm down, she told herself, you’ll find a way out of this dungeonous labyrinth, if you just calm down.

She forced herself to move further into the dark lit path. For a few moments, only the dark eeriness was her companion. She pushed herself to move faster, almost at a jogging pace down the ancient pathway. The air became humid, and musty smelling the further she moved. She swayed the flashlight in front of her, and couldn’t remember if she’d changed them since her last backpacking expedition. Why had she gone on this foolhardy adventure now? Oh, yes, to please her uncle, to find him a rare plant reported to be in the area. A rare type of Althaea officinalis, the marshmallow plant. If she and her uncle hadn’t both been marshmallow nuts, she might not have done this. She kept the sweets in her backpack at all times, along with a tall plastic bottle of Oasis Spring water.

Cally had mapped out the area, and didn’t mean to go too close to the marshland, where some species bloomed. Then she’d spotted  one on that slippery mound, and even trying to catch her bearing, she still fell. The ground gave away and she’d landed in this dark foreboding place. Wherever the hell here was.

Then she heard a different sound, more eerie, more droning. Cally halted abruptly and flashed the light around. She found herself in a clearing, a smooth cavernous, rounded area. Moving the light from side to side, she discovered several old torches lined along a wall. Cally dug in her pockets and was glad she’d left the matches there in her jeans.  She tentatively moved over to the ancient stick lamp and fired up a match. It was a wonder, she thought, that it took after trying a second match.

She turned off the flashlight to conserve the batteries and took the torch she’d lit. She used it to light several more. Stepping back, she observed her surroundings, and the reality made her gulp. Before her, looked like what seemed to be an ancient Egyptian tomb or chamber. She slowly moved around the enormous stonewalled room. Near her, she saw walls with hieroglyphs of women and men in various garb, as well as exotic birds she’d never seen before. Yet, there was something she’d never seen before in her textbook studies. These were neither really Egyptian or Mayan hieroglyphics, but a combination of both plus another culture she didn’t recognize.

She moved closer to a wall containing only one long picture. She peered closer, and the flickering light from the torch danced across what she soon realized was the face of a mummy buried within a wall. It seemed so life-like, almost as if it beckoned to her to do something. But what? She thought, peering closer. Then that strange tingling sensation washed over her again.

She took a step back and it stopped. Cally held the torch higher and she noticed a jewel embedded within the chest of the mummy’s stony picture. It was oval and surrounded by a star shaped border. The border glittered like diamonds, but when the light of the torchlight fell upon it, the oval jewel glowed like a tiny flaming sun. The feeling encompassed her again, but this time she didn’t move away immediately. She felt a sudden shaking followed by a creaking.

This time she took several steps back, and when she did, she felt something crunch beneath her feet. She turned to run from the room, and that’s when she noticed the shelves with odd shaped jars upon them, some stacks of cloth, and prong like devices. She looked then at the slab arising up in the middle of the room, that couldn’t be more than waist length to her. She gulped. How had she gotten in an ancient tomb, a place where perhaps mummies were mummified?

She heard the scuttling sound again, and looked down as something scraped softly against her leg. Then a slither against her ankle made her nearly jump backwards. Her heart thumped with a dreadful shiver of angst and she lowered the torch to get a better look at what had touched her. Slithering, crawly creatures like cross between a snake and a rat squirmed around her on the old floor.

She screamed out and the echo seemed to startle them. The echoing, creaking noise sounded again. That’s when she noticed the ancient wall she’d touched earlier was open. She tuned towards it, the dancing lights of the torch flickered off the wall revealing a the gap.

No, she thought again, an opening, as if a door had been pushed slightly ajar. Moving closer to discover only a small closet-like recess, just big enough for some one of maybe seven foot to fit into. What ever had been in there was now out.

The chattering and tiny snarls of the creatures snapped her attention back to her immediate predicament. She took a quick wary step backwards and tripped over what she’d only guessed to be a small boulder behind her. Cally fell backwards certain she would succumb  to the heaviness of doom and darkness.

Then two hands grabbed her by the back of her waist, preventing her fall.  She tilted her head back and her mouth gaped open. The torch fell from her hand, but the lights still flickered with some life allowing her to see who, not what steadied her.

A bandaged face with glowing orange eyes regarded her closely. Foul breath came from it’s slit of a mouth and nostrils blared down heavily at her. She gulped again as she realized the tall cloth-wrapped creature was indeed a living mummy. Like any she’d seen in the movies, or books, or at a museum. The eyes shone ominously down at her.

It creaked and groaned all over as it looked from her, around the room and back again, as if suddenly becoming more aware of the surroundings. The feeling of something unusual once more washed over her. The face now seemed to be more animate, or what it had of one, and it acted as if were coming out of a long deep thought. It waved a hand towards the creatures slithering on the floor and they immediately dispersed.

She looked in both fear and amazement as the creatures scuttled away.  Pullin from the  slight hold, Cally could sense the maleness before her. He glanced around the room as though taking the place in for the first time. His arms came out in a wide arc and he staggered, moving stiffly forwards towards the altar in the middle of the room. She noticed the jewel pendent on his neck glowing. It resembled the one on the outside of the tomb-closet. She wondered if her having touched the door’s jewel set him free.

Moreover, she wondered why she just stood there as if nothing strange were happening to her. Yet she couldn’t seem to move. It’s as if she must stand there and watch the mummy shuffle away from her and make it to the altar. With bandaged feet scraping the ancient earthen floor, it shift-walked towards the slab. He groaned painfully with each step, mastering the movement, until he slowly gained more of his bearings.

Fright and fascination moved her forward. She followed unwittingly, yet knew she should run in the opposite direction, but also knew he meant to harm her, he would have already. Her fear lessened, but only a tad bit. Finally reaching the slab, he swayed then fell upon it. She moved away momentarily and picked up her fallen torch.

When she turned around he was half sitting, half lyingon the slab, glancing with those orangish spheres as if searching for something or seeking someone. She shivered as his eyes rested upon her once more, as if becoming completely aware of her. She had a distinct feeling, she was the object he searched for.

She drew closer, warily, just a little closer. He groaned and half sat up at her approach. On a boulder nearby she found a crook in which to set the lamp and for some reason she pulled off her backpack. He looked weary but from what she wasn’t sure. Still she felt he needed something from her, perhaps some kind of nourishment.

She knew it was idiotic to do so, but she still moved closer to him, albeit cautiously. She realized she took one step too many when he lashed out and grasped her wrists. She cried out as he brought her up against him. Then before she could stop him, his mouth, or what there was of it or should have been besides the slits, came down over hers. The musty, strong breath suffocated her and as she tried to gasp for air as well as fighting him of, the mummy breathed in the fresher air from her lungs.

She felt paralyzed with fear and dread. His large banded arms came around her and his hands held her head in place as he continued to suck the precious air from her lungs. She became dizzy and her head spun, and darkness soon followed.

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