by Bill Hiatt
Sophia nodded. “Very much so. He didn’t share the details with me, but I divined them on my own. Tal, link my mind to everyone else’s, and see what I have seen.”
I was expected some kind of vision. Instead, a rough map unrolled in my mind. Two red Xs pulsed on it.
“Hafez has two blast points from which to activate the magic. One is this pyramid. The capstone contains the trigger. The other is his hotel in Orcutt. It’s also the capstone that will unleash destruction. Both areas are also loaded with subtle magic designed to spread the effect of the spells as fast and as far as possible.
“Overcoming the magic is difficult. It is Apep’s malice in concentrated form. Countering it would take tremendous power, and both triggers must be disarmed or neutralized within a minute of each other. If only one is eliminated, the other will go off automatically. The process will take longer, but either one by itself will eventually destroy all life in the Santa Maria Valley.
“Counting Ceridwen and Creirwy, we have six casters,” said Tal. “If we put three at each location and coordinate them—”
“You will most likely fail,” said Sophia. “Even connecting the two groups and somehow amplifying both with the Lyre of Orpheus, the odds are good that you’ll trigger one or both of the capstones before you can succeed in neutralizing both. The difficulty of balancing the power between two locations in such a way that both triggers are shut down more or less simultaneously is massive.”
“I take it you have a better idea,” said Tal.
“Use the staff. Hafez wasn’t anticipating someone else who was able to wield it getting ahold of it. Nor was he anticipating Celtic portal magic when he put the system together. The staff can shut down one of the triggers easily enough. If you already have a portal open to the other location, you can get the staff wielder there in time to shut it down as well.”
“But can we trust Amenirdis not to use the staff for her own purposes if we let her wield it?” asked Shar.
“Ask her yourself,” said Sophia. “Despite what you were told, she’s been in control of Amy’s body almost ever since the defeat of Hafez.”
Surprise!
“No!” Sophia yelled as Tal moved to reactivate Arianrhod’s spell. “You lose all chance of getting her cooperation if you suppress her. As for you,” she said, glaring at me, “give me a chance to explain. No blinding us, cooking us, or blowing us over, agreed?”
I nodded. Surrounded by Tal’s warriors, I would be grabbed before I could throw a decent spell at them. Besides, Magnus had them well protected against aggressive magic.
“This very deception suggests she can’t be trusted,” said David. “And if you knew what she has done—”
“I do know,” said Sophia, raising a hand. “And it was horrible…so horrible that she herself realized how wrong it was. She is not the same woman who first awakened in Amy.”
The others seemed unwilling to believe how truly sorry I was for the pain I had inflicted. All of them except for Magnus eyed me with undisguised disgust. I looked down, unable to face their stares.
“We only have about twenty-four hours before this whole area becomes a lifeless desert,” said Sophia. “That’s not enough time to find and prep someone else who could wield the staff. It is she—or it is no one.”
“I don’t like—” began Magnus.
“Much of anything, from what I can tell,” said Sophia. “Be patient. You’re always an advocate of doing what must be done, however unpleasant it may be. Well, this is what must be done.
“Amenirdis, as far as I have been able to discern, you are a moral woman, though you may understand morality differently than we do.”
“I will always do what is right in the eyes of the gods—though you spoke the truth, Sophia. What I did to Tal and the rest of Amy’s…friends was…was not what the gods would have wanted. I could spend a whole lifetime time atoning, and it would not be enough.”
My contrition was met by silence more profound than that of the grave. As far as I could tell, only respect for Sophia restrained some of the others from spitting on me.
“Ah, yes, the gods,” said Sophia. “Yet it has been millenniums since you have communicated directly with any of them, has it not?”
“I do not have to be told that every step I take is the right one, for I have been trained to know what the gods would want.”
A second later, I realized I had just undermined my own apology.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Nobody cares what you meant,” muttered Michael, his tone so much like Magnus's normal bitterness that I cringed.
I could feel the tension around me as if I were a mindreader. I tried to look them in the eyes and was sorry I had. It was not just the hatred. That I could have accepted as just penalty for my actions. It was the raw, oozing pain. They had pretended with Amy because they didn’t blame her, but for me, they showed no such mercy. Their wounds were as large as the mountains, as deep as the ocean. If not for Sophia’s restraining influence and their friendship with Amy, they would have struck me down.
“What if you could communicate directly with Amun?” asked Sophia.
“I…How could you make such a thing possible?”
“As I think you have been told, when God seals off a particular plane of existence, He leaves loopholes to allow for the operation of human free will. The process is never easy, but the staff is one such loophole.
“The staff does not contain your gods themselves, only their powers, filtered through many generations of priests. However, it can be used to open a line of communication to the gods.”
“I felt no such contact when I held the staff.” Sophia, too, was a moral woman—but not above tricking me somehow if she thought it was the right thing to do.
“That’s because this particular loophole requires two wielders to use the staff simultaneously—one from the pharaonic line, and one from the mosaic line.”
“That’s not much of a loophole,” said Shar.
“A very small one, but who knows? In creating it, God may have foreseen this very situation. His motives have not been revealed to me, though the loophole itself I have seen in visions—not once, but several times. There can be no doubt in such a case.”
“I cannot…I cannot be party to communing with false Gods,” said David.
“And you won’t be,” said Sophia. “You don’t have any access to the staff, except that it recognizes you as a wielder. The light comes from God. So too will the communication. All you need do is hold the staff at the same time Amenirdis does.”
“I have never known the Mrs. Weaver in my world to lie,” David replied. “As you seem to be like her, I will accept your word.”
“Then hold out the staff to her. Let her take the tip in both hands while you hold on to the other end.”
“Are you sure—” began Magnus.
“That nothing can go wrong?” asked Sophia. “No, but this is the only chance we have. David, go ahead.”
David held the glowing staff in my direction. I didn’t know why, but I dreaded to touch it, as if its light was somehow a betrayal of Amun.
“Take it, dear,” said Sophia. “Take it, and your wish to speak with Amun will be fulfilled.”
I gripped the tip of the staff with both hands, but I almost let go when the light engulfed me.
“I feel only what I felt before.”
“I think you have to ask to speak to Amun,” said Sophia. “That’s what one of my visions suggested, anyway.”
In ancient Egyptian, I made my request. The staff twisted in my hands, and the hieroglyphs inscribed on it shone with the sunlight of Amun-Ra. Though my body remained standing exactly where it was, I felt more and more distant from it, as if Amun’s wind had picked up my soul and blown it far from where Tal’s group watched me expectantly.
My vision blurred. When it cleared, I saw the sacred mountain at Gebel Barkal in Nubia. During my lifetime, the mountain had towered above an impressive temple complex. Though n
ot as magnificent as the one at Karnak, it stood out boldly against the desert, proclaiming our faith in Amun; his wife, Mut; and their son, Montu.
No more. The mountain looked much the same, and I was sure I would recognize the Nile if I hiked to where it was. Everything else was as it must be today. The temples had been white, with artwork in all the colors of the rainbow. Now all that was left of those structures were the bleached bones, broken stone bits the same color as the desert that surrounded them. I stood among shattered columns with the cracked remains of a stone floor beneath my feet. In the distance I could see the statue of a ram-headed sphinx, so eroded that I knew what it was supposed to be only through my memories.
Why had Amun granted me an audience here instead of in some intact sacred place? For that matter, where was the god? I was all alone here. I spun around and could see nothing but ruins and desert in any direction. Even the modern village Amy’s memories told me was somewhere nearby wasn’t visible.
A bluish light flickered nearby, more faint at first than the ghost Jimmie summoned had been. As I watched, it expanded and solidified.
The figure’s flesh was blue as lapis lazuli. He wore a crown with two tall plumes representing upper and lower Egypt. He was clothed in linen, with a pattern like metal scales across the top. The kilt had a pattern of long, dark lines. In one hand he carried an ankh. In the other, he held a staff as a symbol of his authority. Except for the blue skin, he might easily have been taken for a pharaoh, but the color of his flesh marked him as Amun. The rams that flanked him and the lions that stood behind, though less substantial than he was, also made his divine nature clear.
I knelt before him, relieved to finally be in his presence again.
“Rise, Amenirdis. Rise and hear me.”
His voice was like the wind, but I had no difficulty understanding his words.
“You have come to me for guidance, so guidance you shall have. However, it will not be what you expected.”
“Whatever it is, I will receive it gladly.”
“So be it. You are a steadfast woman, willing to risk your life to do my will. A person of such noble spirit needs a better cause.”
“My lord?” I felt stupid, but I must have misunderstood him. What other explanation could there possibly be?
“Look around you, for I have picked this scene with great care. What do you see?”
“Loss…ruin—but this does not have to be the end. It is for this reason that I will restore you to the world.”
One of the translucent lions snarled, and Amun raised his staff to calm it. “I and all my kin, we had our chance. That was long ago, and we wasted it. Hence, we are cut off from the human world. The barriers that imprison us are many times more powerful than all of us together.”
“But there is a way to bring them down.”
“Yes—but think what will happen when such powerful walls come crashing down. The harm would be incalculable. Even one such as I could not begin to assess the cost.”
“When I summoned the Orisha Chango by mistake, no walls came crashing down.”
Amun nodded, but so slightly that his plumes didn’t move. “Orishas are not entirely barred anymore. The restrictions on them are as different from those on us as choice is to chain.”
“I…I don’t understand.”
“The strictures that bind them are enforced mostly by their own wills. You could still do harm by summoning the orisha against his will, but not as easily—and not as vastly.
“With us, it would be different. Your only option would be to tear down those walls. Even if none of us came into the world, the damage would be done. And Apep will come through. You know this.”
“Have you ever considered why Apepi is willing to take a chance on you? Even if you do not do exactly what he tells you, your plan will lead to the same result as his. Inevitably, it must.”
I rose slowly. “This is a trick! You are not truly Amun but some counterfeit dreamed up by that seer.”
“Seers have no such power. Nor does anyone alive today. Amenirdis, think! You sensed my presence many times when you lived. That kind of experience is unique. The only way for someone to copy that sensation would be to probe deeply into your mind—and you would have sensed that violation.
“Is not what you sensed in life what you sense now? Am I not then truly Amun?”
I wanted to say no. I wanted to scream it so loudly that the lions would run away in fright. But I could not. What I felt then was what I was feeling now. This was Amun before me.
My heart exploded into as many pieces as the scattered temples in whose wreckage I stood. Amun had ripped my entire purpose from me and left me nothing to replace it.
“Look not so downcast,” said Amun. “Apepi pulled you back into the world thinking to use you for evil, but his purpose is not the only one. Nor is the one you chose. You have honored me all your life. Now honor me again by choosing differently. There are many possible paths. No, you cannot summon back old gods whose purpose is long-since gone. Find a different path…a better one.
“The powers that you had in life you will retain, to use yourself or to lend to Amy. But you will no longer be a god’s wife of Amun. I free you from that bond… from that curse.”
I opened my mouth, but what could I say? I could not renounce my loyalty to the god I served—yet he was ordering me to! He had cast me aside as if I had no worth. But arguing with him would be disloyal. I had no way to resolve the paradox that was tearing my life to shreds.
Amun waved his staff, and he, his sacred animals, and the entire scene dissolved into sand blown away by his wind.
I was back in my body. My eyes were filled with tears, and I was shaking so hard I nearly lost my grip on the staff.
As if the others sensed in my pain the echo of their own, they looked at me with softer eyes. It was almost as if they pitied me. But I didn’t want their pity.
I wanted revenge for the trick they had played on me.
That had to be what it was. The image of Amun, saying exactly what they needed him to say—did they really think I could be so easily fooled?
David was so preoccupied acting as if he cared that snatching the staff away from him was easy. As soon as I did that, we were plunged into darkness, and the confusion that plagued us in the labyrinth seized us again.
No, not quite the same. There it was designed to keep us from navigating the labyrinth successfully. Here it felt stronger, more general—a last line of defense against someone who somehow got to this point. It felt as if it would keep anyone from moving toward what they wanted. That didn’t bother me because I already had the staff, but it would make it difficult for anyone to grab me. It would make it difficult for me to flee as well, but I did not need to flee. I only needed to do what I had been reborn to do—open a path for the real Amun into our world.
Reversal
“Stay where you are!” yelled Sophia. “You’ll only injure each other if you try to stop Amenirdis.”
“But we have to—” started Tal.
“Trust me!” For a petite woman of relatively advanced years, Sophia’s voice echoed powerfully in the pyramid. I didn’t know why she was helping me—perhaps she really was on Hafez’s side after all—but I didn’t care. I cared only about one thing—fulfilling my vow to Amun.
“Amenirdis, stop!” yelled Lucas.
Anyone else’s voice I would have ignored. Lucas’s made me hesitate. Was I still entertaining thoughts of making him my consort? I could not allow those to interfere with what must be done.
“I know you. I know Amy. I saw doubt in your face when you were surrounded in the light God sent into the staff through David. You can’t be sure this is the right thing. And why were you crying? Why did you look so devastated when the vision ended? You heard or saw something you didn’t want to deal with.”
“I heard the words of a false Amun crafted by magic or by the trickery of your god.” I raised the staff. I could hear people shuffling around near me, but I did
n’t think any of them were close enough to pose a threat. The magical misdirection would likely move them away from me if they tried to come toward me.
“No! I saw your face. You don’t really believe any of that.”
“Tal! Shut Amenirdis down!” yelled Shar.
“There’s too much background magic,” said Tal. “I can’t connect.”
“We don’t need to shut her down. She’s going to do the right thing. Aren’t you?”
Lucas might have been a convincing actor, but his voice touched me in ways I wished it hadn’t. He sounded as if he trusted me, but why would he? I had been deceiving him since the moment we met, though in a good cause. Even Amy had been deceiving him at first.
Arms folded around me, and I jumped despite myself. I did not need to see to know that they were Lucas’s, but how could he have found his way to me?
He made no attempt to struggle with me, even though he was physically stronger and could easily have broken my grip on the staff.
His arms felt warm and oddly comforting. I wanted to complete my duty to Amun. I needed to. But I could not. Despite the urgency, my arms weakened, and the staff drooped in my faltering hands.
Amun’s shocking words echoed over and over in my head. His presence had felt just as it always had. Could someone else have counterfeited that sensation? I didn’t think so, but I couldn’t believe Amun really wanted to stay imprisoned.
I tried to pray to Amun for guidance, but my words whispered into the darkness. Amun was not there. He was locked away still, or perhaps he was staring out over the ruins he had made me see.
White light burst from the staff so suddenly that I had to shut my eyes for a second. David had grabbed it from the ground, but he made no hostile move against me the other end, but he didn’t try to rip it away from me any more than Lucas had.
I opened my eyes and looked into that light. It was like my doubts had been made visible. I could see Amun again, staring at me with forbidding eyes. He was disappointed that I had defied his last words.
