Providence (Statera Saga Book 3)

by Amy Marie

  “What’s that?” Dylan asks.

  “If he had cursed himself with the dagger, he would need the necklace to be able to become mortal again. The necklace was lost presumably from ancient Egyptian times all the way up until 1955. If everything we know is correct—”

  “Flamel would still be alive today,” Besim catches on to Rafe’s logic and finishes the explanation for him.

  “What if he is alive?” Char asks.

  “Can’t be,” I say. “The fire soul had already passed on to Shkote’Nsi. That’s when the dagger mysteriously turned up in the hands of the destructors, or the first that I remember it anyway. Something had to have happened to Flamel before that time.”

  “How long ago was that?” asks Joe.

  “It was all around Eleanor and Darcy’s time, mid-to-late 1700s. Shkote’Nsi’s prophecy sent him to find a messenger. We always thought that meant Gabriel.” I turn to single Joe out. “Darcy had a dream about an air soul from back then. He was studying in Paris around that time. He went on to become the first pilot to fly a hot air balloon.”

  “If he was in Paris, maybe he met Flamel?” Tara points out.

  Joe shrugs. “I’m not sure. Darcy told me about his dream once. I’ve had nightmares of fiery hot air balloon crashes. It’s the one form of flying I’ve never been able to muster the courage to attempt.”

  “If we can account for the air soul from back then, what about the earth and water? Maybe they could remember something about Flamel and how the soul moved on to Shkote’Nsi’?” Dansé suggests.

  “I think I can account for the earth,” Rafe says.

  “Really?” Tara asks, interested to know her connection to that time.

  “Pilâtre de Rozier had a fiancé who was supposed to meet him on the other side of the English Channel when he was killed trying to cross it in a hot air balloon. Her last name was Dyer. I dug into the story a little more after Darcy’s dream. There was an article that said she died shortly after he did. I checked it out. Her first name was Hermione, it means earthly in Greek.”

  The elementals grow silent at the reminder of past tragic endings.

  “That just leaves the water,” Dansé says after a moment, turning to Dylan.

  He shrugs in response to her questioning look. “I’ve had plenty of strange dreams, but I can’t narrow it down a specific time like that.”

  “Maybe as you two spend more time together, it will stir up some memories,” Tara suggests to the young fire and water souls, prompting a blush from each.

  “Okay guys,” Inigo says, rejoining the group. “Nora’s phone shows we’re just northeast of Alexandria. I just got off the phone with an old friend from Cairo, he should be able to get to us in just a few hours.”

  “Everyone should get some rest in the meantime,” I suggest. “I’ll keep watch.”

  “Are you sure?” asks Rafe, forehead scrunched in worry.

  I nod. The last thing I want to do is fall asleep and trap myself into a connection with Darcy.

  “I’ll keep her company,” Char offers.

  “Absolutely not,” Tara cuts in, saving Rafe an argument. “That baby needs some rest.”

  “Do you mind if I keep you company?” Inigo asks.

  As if my nodding response is the cue, the others move to the shelter of the downed plane’s shell to get some rest.

  Chapter 22

  Afraid to sit down in fear of exhaustion, I decide to pace the shoreline keeping an eye on the plane that shelters my friends. Inigo follows without question, enthusiastic to discuss what he considers the miracles of the Statera.

  “Professor Besim was saying that this is the first time you know of where you’ve gathered all the souls of the elements?” he asks.

  “Yes. I still can’t believe it,” I admit, though I’m distracted scanning the beach for any possible threat.

  “You’re on edge,” he observes.

  “I’m easy to read,” I nod with my reply.

  “Still, you have to admit, it’s a hopeful situation,” he says with a grin.

  “Ever the optimist,” I return his smile with a quick one of my own.

  “Guilty as charged. A curse of the family, I suppose. We pay attention to the signs, and they give us hope. My Aunt Leya was even worse than me, if you can believe it!” he says.

  “She seemed to be a wonderful woman,” I say, thinking of the few memories of Aurora’s life that included Inigo’s Aunt Leya.

  “She always told me, ‘Inigo, of all the things in life, your hope will never abandon you.’ I never understood what that meant when I was young. As I got older and faced various hardships, it was her advice that set the tone of how I handled things. I learned that no matter what life threw at me, I could only control myself and my actions. As long as I never lost hope for myself, I managed to survive.”

  “You sound like Professor Besim. He keeps telling me not to lose faith,” I say, mulling over the similarities.

  “Sorry.” He ducks his head, sheepish. After a moment of reflecting he adds, “Though faith is another matter altogether. Faith is what you’re willing to believe, even though you’ve never had proof. It’s what you deem to be true, right here, right now. Hope is what you desire to be true in the future, what you strive for, what you sacrifice for. Hope keeps us going because it’s the path to supposing good will overcome.”

  I glance at the older man. He’s young enough to have plenty of life ahead of him, but old enough to have gleaned some wisdom in his middle age.

  “And hope has never abandoned you?” I ask.

  “I’ve had close calls.” He dips his head in acknowledgement. “I’ve loved and lost. Survived divorce after an inability to have children. There have been plenty of reasons to lose hope. But I never let myself, and sure as can be, hope never abandoned me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I sigh, listening to the sound of the waves rolling in. My eyes focus on the grains of sand, countless as the problems we all collectively face in life. I’m reminded again, that I’m not the only one who’s had a rough path. None of us ever really suffer alone.

  “You’re going to be the one who won’t let me give up hope then?” I ask.

  He smiles. “If you’ll let me, I’ll be that beacon.” We stumble along together a few more minutes before he speaks again. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you really do look like a walking zombie. Please, let me keep watch while you get some rest. You need to recharge for what lies ahead. After all, ‘Providence has given us hope and sleep as a compensation for the many cares of life.’ That’s a quote from—”

  “Voltaire,” I cut in after recognizing the quote, my heart warming. Voltaire was Uncle Mike’s favorite philosopher. He and Darcy used to quote him all the time. If I’m to believe in signs, I’ll take that as one to heed Inigo’s advice. “Thank you.” I grasp his hand with a grateful squeeze before turning to seek much needed respite in solitude.

  My eyes flutter open to again recognize my favorite spot by the river. It takes me a few moments to remember that I must be dreaming if I’m back here. This time though, I hold on to the hope that I can just relax undisturbed as my body rests in slumber.

  After a countless amount of dreaming time has passed, a disruption in the brush from the other side of the river has me jumping up in alarm.

  I’m working myself into a panic, not ready to face Darcy after what happened. I close my eyes, willing myself to wake up, but it doesn’t work. One eye peeks open to glimpse what exactly I’m going to have to face. Though the man who waits on the opposite bank is even more frightening than Darcy.

  “Talbot.” My heart seems to stall out.

  “One of many names you know by now. Do not forget, I was the first light.”

  “What you were doesn’t matter. You’re nothing now, back in the void where you belong,” I practically snarl.

  “Then how am I here?” he asks, spreading his arms to mock me.

  “I’ve always been plagued by nightmares,” I say. “It�
�s nothing new.”

  “You know that is not true. You do not want to admit it, not even to yourself, but I am most certainly a part of you,” he says, enjoying his game.

  “I will never be like you,” I growl this time.

  “It is funny. We are more alike than you will ever know. I had my own faith in the balance, hope for our existence, surrounded by those I loved. I even had a soul mate. But then I found the eye. That kind power can transform you.”

  “Your lust for power was your downfall, and your soul mate destroyed you,” I remind him.

  “The darkness will do the same to you. Mark my words, lady of light, I was doomed to fall, you will surely do the same. Look at what you already have done. In your thirst for victory, you sacrificed an elemental.”

  “No,” I deny it, but a small pang of guilt stabs my heart.

  Talbot only laughs, but his evil laugh is an empty, hollow sound. He mocks me further as he begins an uncharacteristic sing-song chant:

  “You let the medicine woman die to get the fire,

  You let the fire die to save your heart’s desire,

  Refusing to explore your greatest power of all,

  True sign of pride before a fall!”

  “They died fighting the evils of the emptiness,” I argue. “Don’t tarnish their sacrifice!”

  “Ha. Sacrifice. It is not a modern concept, but my how the view has changed. It has turned into something weak people fear. Viewed as something being lost or taken away. Selfishness has skewed the notion. True sacrifice is a power of its own. It allows free will to be part of the game. That kind of power… it cannot be described. Some would foolishly call it love, but that concept only scratches the surface. Sacrifice holds true authority, the ultimate protection, the elusive element. Wait and see what else you’ll be willing to sacrifice.”

  “I’m not like you. I don’t want that power,” I deny fiercely.

  “Tell yourself what you will. Your heart knows the truth, and you are so afraid of your buried desires, you refuse to realize that you have awoken the heart and eye’s thirst for sacrifice. There will be a call for more blood. Just you wait.”

  With those words, he disappears into the trees.

  Chapter 23

  The ride into Cairo gave me plenty of time to reflect on my dreaming conversation with Talbot. In the end, I decide not to share the dream with the others, thinking it was likely a projection of guilt after what happened with the fire soul. After Lilly sacrificed her other half to take on the full power of the emptiness, I need to remember that Talbot really is gone.

  When we arrive at the excavation sites, we gather outside the passenger van that brought us into town.

  Inigo raises his hand to gather our attention. “I called ahead and made the arrangements with my old team from my digging days,” he announces. “They can give us about an hour to check out the tomb. We just have to be very careful and we can’t wander, because they still have some active digs. My friend, Rashidi, has volunteered to be our guide.” He gestures to our driver, a short and stout robed Egyptian man.

  We put on our safety gear and follow Inigo and Rashidi down a path that leads deep into the earth. The sensation of being somewhere so ancient, yet somewhat familiar has my mind playing tricks on me with shadows dancing in my peripheral vision.

  The air is stale and full of dust, yet I detect the hint of a sickeningly sweet scent. My mind is jumping to make a connection to a memory, but my heart is heavy to recall that this path sealed my fate the last time I walked it wearing the necklace hidden in my bag. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been afraid to wear it.

  “It is just ahead,” Rashidi whispers in mannered English.

  As we wind through the antechamber, we step into a room that I recognize to be the tomb. The song of the necklace hums in lament. The hum seems to have grown stronger since we arrived in Cairo, or maybe it’s the combination of the dagger and the necklace, finally reunited.

  Without thinking, I automatically wander to a spot on the far side of the room where a small alcove has been carved into the wall. Closing my eyes, I can picture the alcove just as it was before, holding the chest of canopic jars.

  “That’s where they said the jars were found,” Inigo says to me.

  I glance up to the wall where hieroglyphics have been carved above. “What does this say?” I ask, pointing up.

  Rashidi is the one to answer. “It’s a story of sacrifice. This temple was used as both altar and tomb.”

  “Human sacrifice?” Dylan asks.

  “Yes,” Rashidi says. “It was ceremonial.” He points to the wall. “The ritual was to pay homage to creation. The book of the dead claims the primordial god cut himself and his drops of blood created the first humans through the sacrifice. Most temples paid homage to that tradition with various sacrificial ceremonies.”

  “That’s similar to the Aztec creation story,” says Rafe. “The Aztecs believed the world had been created and destroyed several times. Each time the sun and the moon must sacrifice in order for the renewal to begin the next cycle. They believed that’s how our days were created. In honor of that, they would make offerings of sacrifice in return.”

  “That sounds like some of the ancient Native American beliefs, except ours includes the phoenix sacrificing itself to be reborn. Though there are several variations,” says Dansé.

  “All good versus evil stories have similar themes. The same holds true with creation,” says Besim. “People always concentrate on the differences instead of embracing the similarities.”

  “Which god is this?” I point to the picture of a figure that’s stabbing a snake. The figure has a bird’s head, holding an ankh in hand. A circle sits above the head similar to an angel’s halo.

  “One of the sun gods, right? Atum or Ra?” Rafe asks.

  “We do not speak of Atum,” Rashidi says. “The first light burned out. Ra was the one true sun deity.”

  Sounds just like Talbot’s downfall.

  “What happened to Atum?” asks Joe, thinking along the same lines.

  “Chaos took over. The snake enemy, Apep emerged.”

  That name rings a bell. “That’s the god of destruction,” I say.

  “The enemy of Ra, and bringer of chaos. Yes.” Rashidi nods.

  “Can you tell us more about Apep?” Tara asks.

  “This is his symbol here.” Rashidi points to a hieroglyph of a snake coiled into an unfinished circle. “I do not like to speak of him in places such as this. You can find out more about him in The Book of Overthrowing Apophis,” he says.

  “That what?” both Rafe and I say together.

  “The Book of Overthrowing Apophis, another name for the serpent Apep. It was originally part of the Book of the Dead. But the story was developed. Apep is the only god that couldn’t be defeated, only temporarily subdued. So, because he was the enemy of Ra, the other gods worked to find a way to defeat him. They recorded the instructions into a book to be passed down.”

  We all exchange looks of disbelief.

  That sounds familiar!

  “Are you able to tell us more about this book?” asks Rafe.

  The man shuffles nervously, obviously uncomfortable to be speaking about this inside the temple’s tomb. “The book’s purpose was to instruct the reader to create idols in Apep’s serpent image and destroy them in rituals. But sure enough, Apep would always return. The book says in order for Apep to be defeated for good, Ra would need help from the other gods.”

  “Like the elements?” asks Char.

  “The ennead,” Rashidi replies, pulling out his smartphone. “It’s the sacred nine,” he says after searching for an image and holding up his phone. “Here is a picture from the book.”

  It’s very similar to the Statera. There are two figures in the middle, except this picture has more than just the four elements. There are seven figures gathered around in a jumbled circle, similar to the drawings in the Statera. But in this story, there’s a cat battling a snake outsid
e the circle where the symbols of the emptiness would be.

  “The most famous record from The Book of Overthrowing Apophis is on the Bremner-Rhind Papyrus,” Rashidi tells us. “I believe it’s in London. I don’t know of any copies nearby.”

  I feel the tension in the room as the elementals shuffle uneasily. Are we supposed to find more people to make up this ennead? Where do we even start? For now, I think everyone is anxious to get out of the tomb.

  “Why don’t you guys go ahead and go back up? We’ll have to check out that lead. I’m right behind you, I just have something I need to do really quick,” I say to the others.

  Rashidi leads the others back through the entrance. Rafe lingers long enough to get a reassuring nod from me before he follows them out.

  When they’re gone, I turn back to the spot that I know Khepri died after she hid the necklace. I take out the dagger and necklace, holding one in each hand to make a better connection to the past. Kneeling to the ground, I say a silent prayer. My head snaps up when a voice interrupts me.

  “Nora?” Char’s timid whisper startles me. “I just didn’t want to leave you. Are you alright?”

  “Yes. Sorry. Just thanking them for their sacrifice,” I say, waving my arm vaguely to encompass too many past souls.

  “It’s a terrible thing, isn’t it?” she says with a shiver, gazing around the tomb.

  “It’s certainly powerful,” I say.

  She stares at me a long moment.

  Uncomfortable under her scrutiny, I ask her what’s wrong.

  “Sorry, it’s just you’re so different now. Stronger. I can see the change in you. But at the same time, you’re still just the same. I understand now.”

  “Understand what?” I ask her.

  She looks to the ground before continuing. “Do you remember when we were seniors in high school, and we had to read Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra?” she asks, surprising me with her train of thought.