The man’s nod was barely discernible. “I must blindfold you.”
Iker tensed. “We cannot climb without seeing the dangers before us.”
“Not without aid, you can’t. So my men will guide you.” The man’s gaze slid sideways.
From the starless night emerged a legion of men, their clothes as black as the shadows.
Sanura sent a nervous glance to Iker. Adopting a warrior’s stance, he steeled himself against revealing any emotion. “We will also require your help in gathering items we need for the ritual.”
Their guide flashed a rare smile and bowed his head. “Since we learned of your arrival, we have been preparing. All is in readiness, awaiting your arrival.”
Sanura gave a regal nod. “The goddess Bastet thanks you for your service. Please lead us there.”
A flash of lightning lit the Valley, an instant of daylight that allowed Iker a brief search for other intruders. None that he could see, though he had no doubt they were there, or soon would be. The vizier would certainly have planned for their visit, and set up an unwanted welcome party for them.
Two men came forward with black silken strips, which they fastened first around Sanura’s head, then Iker’s. He braced against the forced blindness, but put up no struggle except to demand one thing. “Bind my wrist to hers.” Despite their assurances, he had to ensure her safety. If he couldn’t see her, he would feel her.
After a pause, someone grabbed his arm and tied fabric around his wrist. A few tugs, and she slid her palm across his.
“Great idea,” she whispered.
His heart light as a feather, he lightly squeezed.
Thunder rumbled across the sky. Their guide said, “A storm brews. We must go now.”
Hand in hand, they marched upward. With a silent prayer to the gods for safe delivery, Iker held tight to Sanura. Every step took them nearer to their destiny, and to danger.
Chapter Sixteen
In chambers more luxurious than Sanura could have imagined existed, hidden deep within the Theban hills, a half dozen women flowed in and out carrying gowns, towels, small jars of toiletries, and pillows cradling gorgeous jewelry. All there to help her prepare for the ceremony.
And she was okay with that. She put up no arguments, no ‘I-can-do-it-myself’, none of the usual awkwardness. Even when they gathered around her and stripped her of her clothes.
An olive-skinned woman with large eyes of blue-green rimmed in kohl smiled up at her and tugged Sanura’s blouse away. “You must leave behind all traces of the outside world. Our soaps will purify you, and our ointments will anoint you.” The wall torches gave a soft sheen to the turquoise silk of the woman’s dress.
In another time, this woman might have been Sanura’s sister. A pang of regret shot through her heart. How she would have loved to have sisters. A real family.
Sanura only nodded, then followed them to the square tub of white marble. Though she warned herself not to get used to the royal treatment, she couldn’t help feeling just a little bit like a princess. She stepped into the reclining seat of stone and slid into the bath’s fragrant water. “This smells wonderful.” She rested her head in the marble bowl and closed her eyes as the women combed out her hair and began lathering soap through its strands. Wish I could take some of this shampoo home with me.
A sardonic chuckle slipped out. If she managed to get home. Here, fear didn’t touch her. Only serenity, enveloping her like the bathwaters. The old Sandy would have been mortified for strange people to touch her naked body, but the women’s smooth strokes along her skin relaxed her even more. Their gentle pats cleansed, then dried, her face.
A girl could get used to this treatment. Too bad there weren’t any spas at home offering these services. “You should all come home with me to Philadelphia.” When the women exchanged confused glances, Sanura explained, “The city where I live in America. I could help you launch a business doing this. You’d clean up in more ways than one.”
“No,” the woman said. “We may only use our special preparations on high priestesses and royalty.”
Or those about to meet the gods and goddesses of death. Sanura’s eyes flew open. “Oh.” She returned the woman’s benevolent smile.
They drew Sanura out of the tub, wrapped her in white towels and led her to a chair. Two worked on her hair, and two more spread out small jars and brushes. With delicate strokes, they painted her face.
“Henna?” she guessed.
The woman in turquoise nodded. “Like the goddess Bastet, you will appear a lioness tonight.”
“Oh cool.” If only this place had a mirror. She’d love to see the design. But she didn’t have her cell phone, so could take no selfies. Not that anyone in the real world would understand her disguise. She could just imagine the comments on Instagram.
Oh, who cared? Small minds would never bother her again.
The women stepped back, and one helped her stand. Sanura gasped when four approached with a sheath of opalescent white. They slipped the feather-light gown over her head until its hem skimmed the floor.
Atop her shoulders, they fastened a sheer white cape held in place by a heavy necklace of seven rows of smooth gems. Then a gold arm band with swirls, large gold hoop earrings, and sandals decorated with delicate gold and white beads. They dabbed the essence of blue lotus on her neck, wrists and ankles.
Finished, they stepped back. One by one, they filed out of the room.
The woman in turquoise silk curtsied. “We leave you now.”
Sanura wanted to embrace each one of them, but only said, “Thank you.”
The costume empowered her. Sexy and powerful, she embodied the goddess Bastet.
An image of herself in the get-up flashed through her mind. Self-doubt washed over her, and stripped her confidence. Who am I kidding? I’m no better than a five-year-old at the county fair’s face painting booth. I can’t do this.
A shimmer of green and gold lit the room, and the goddess Bastet appeared in front of her. “You can, dearest Sanura.”
She might have shrunk to the size of a flea. She hoped her voice wouldn’t shake. “But I’m not the right person to call upon Egyptian gods and goddesses and ask them for help. I’m seriously not worthy to hold the fate of another’s soul in my hands.” Or risk Iker’s life.
The expected huff of disgust didn’t happen. Instead, a benevolent, generous smile spread across Bast’s face. The goddess took Sanura’s hands in hers. “If you consider yourself unworthy of helping another, how will you ever help yourself?”
Did Bastet mean to taunt her? Or had they brought her here to find her true self in addition to performing the ritual spells? The goddess’s words had great weight, but rather than burying Sanura deeper, they lifted her.
“The power of right flows through you. Unleash it to free Hatshepsut’s eternal soul, and free yourself.” Bastet kissed Sanura’s fingers and released her.
A deep breath steadied her. “I will.”
Bastet must have peered into Sanura’s soul and glimpsed the pathetic girl, Sandy, quivering there, shielding herself from insults rather than standing up for herself. Sanura could never go back to being that wilting flower of a wannabe goddess.
Bastet spread her arms wide and chanted something in an ancient language. Behind her appeared a flowing river of light. The glowing waves receded, separating into the figures of women. Women who looked familiar, yet Sanura had never met them.
One by one, she searched their faces until she stared into what could have been her mirror image. Braced by shock, she couldn’t speak. Mom.
Beside her mother stood Sanura’s grandmother.
Whether Bastet silently imparted the knowledge, or some inherent instinct informed her, Sanura understood who these women were—her family throughout the ages.
One by one, their voices entered her head to tell her their stories. Their hushed tones mingled, each a tale of hardship. Of dedication—to ensuring Sanura survived, so she could reach this moment.
Finally, her grandmother spoke. “I’m sorry I had to leave you, Sanura. User took me from you.”
Then her mother. “User killed your father and me, too, baby. I’m so proud of you for standing up to him.”
In unison, they said, “We all are.”
A soft cocoon of love enveloped her. Strengthened her. As she gazed into each woman’s eyes, she understood the individual sacrifice and vision that brought them together. The importance of the moment struck her with great clarity.
And great weight. So great, something deep inside her cracked, split wide open. In this instant, she would either fail to follow through—a choice that would nullify each of these women’s existence—or she’d raise her head high, assume the mantle of goddess and fulfill her destiny, no matter the outcome.
If she didn’t try, her own life would cease to have meaning.
No words were necessary. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and gave a solemn nod.
Bastet approached holding a band of gold and white beaded strands with a silver ankh. She slipped it onto Sanura’s head. “The ankh over your third eye will channel the power you need for the ritual. We will meet again before you begin.” One step back, and a swirling column of green and gold enveloped the goddess. She became transparent and slowly vanished.
The spirits of Sanura’s ancestors faded. Her lips parted, wanting to cry out for them to stay. But despite her sudden solitude, their love had remained. She stood a long time, letting it wash over her and fill her.
The headband was light around her head, but enough weight she was aware of it. Especially the ankh atop her third eye. Her brow chakra, the eye of knowledge. From what Sanura had read, the third eye enabled visions and out-of-body experiences. Coupled with the mystical symbol of an ankh, who knew what powers it might yield?
She reached up for the oversized charm, hovering her fingers just above the sign of eternal life, the giving of life. From goddess to goddess, or goddess to mortal soul. Her duty was clear.
When the knock came at the door, she opened without hesitation. Iker stood on the other side. His eyes flared wide, and traveled her length.
She let his gaze anoint her like the sacred waters had, bathing her in reverence, consecrating her in fire. When his gaze met hers again, she said, “I’m ready.”
Chapter Seventeen
The sight of Sanura stunned Iker. He should have fallen to his knees but instead, brazenly drank her in, inch by inch. Her transformation was complete, girl into goddess, strong and confident and powerful. He hoped with all his being that her heart had not changed in any way.
Bowing his head, he pressed his fist to his chest, her willing servant and protector. He had no other means of expressing the emotions overwhelming him, so stepped aside.
More regal than any queen, she glided past him. The fragrance of blue lotus filled his senses, and he closed his eyes against its strong allure. The vision of another time blossomed, and he steeled himself against the image of the queen pharaoh beckoning him to follow.
The satchel hanging from his belt grew heavy, a reminder of the burden he carried—a carved stone box containing the queen pharaoh’s preserved heart. He needed no reminder that today, he served Hatshepsut above all others. “I will see my vow through to the end, queen pharaoh.” And in doing so, he would free himself from Hatshepsut’s service forever.
Until then, he would not forsake Sanura in her time of need. Following her into the corridor, he forced aside all sentiment. Their guide had posted guards at key points, but the vizier employed many types of soldiers—men and serpents who carried out User’s will through his sorcery. Who knew what monsters such a madman might enlist in his ranks? Iker must triple his guard and trust no one.
This night, long-awaited, would last an eternity. Not until Sanura had completed the ritual and he ensured her escape would he rest.
Her grace and composure exposed no nervousness. If strangers gazed upon her, they would see a queen, perhaps strolling to inspect her lands. Not a woman who would soon call upon ancient gods for service—a dangerous task. Would the gods grow angry at the request for judgment of Hatshepsut’s soul? Punish them for performing the ritual thousands of years after her death?
With so many unknown risks, he would not begin to know how to warn Sanura. Despite threats of consequences for doing so, he should have. She deserved as much. To understand that what she was about to do, no one had ever done before. Failure could mean execution by the vizier’s men, or death by furious gods. He might never get another chance to tell her—
From nowhere, a man stepped in front of them, black robes swirling.
Iker had whipped out his blade and pressed it to the man’s neck before recognizing their guide.
The man smiled. “I see why the queen pharaoh chose you, Excellent One.”
“Apologies.” His heart pounding, Iker sheathed his knife.
“Tonight we travel by the most secret tunnels.” The man stepped back to reveal a narrow passageway behind a wall of rock, nearly imperceptible to view in passing.
Sanura brushed against him. “Lead us.”
Iker braced his arm in front of her. “How will your men guard us through such a place?”
“Inside the passageways, they are less able to shield you. But this corridor leads almost directly to the tomb of Hatshepsut. Once we emerge, my men will protect you on the last leg of the journey. Throughout the night, we will remain outside to bar entry by our enemies.”
Iker studied the space. “The structure is sound?” If User somehow learned of their location, he could use many methods to try to stop them.
“I cannot guarantee the vizier will not attack,” their guide said, “but the longer we delay, the greater the risk.”
Sanura laid a hand on Iker’s arm. “If this is the shortest route, we should use it, and go now.”
Indecision weighed on him. Sanura was right; they must act now. “Two more men ahead of us, and two more behind. With torches and weapons at the ready.” Any more bodies in such a tight area might present another hazard. He waited for the leader’s nod before lowering his arm to allow Sanura to pass.
At the man’s sharp command, four others joined them. Two marched toward the entryway.
Iker punched an arm out to halt them. “Call a warning at any sign of trouble—anything unusual at all.” Because User himself belonged in the realm of the dead, Iker had no doubt the vizier would employ the most unimaginable strategies at his disposal, from this world or beyond. At their nods, he released them.
Their guide entered next. Iker gestured Sanura ahead, and shadowed her closely. The last two fell in line after them, their trudging steps magnified by the small enclosure. Barely wide enough to accommodate Iker’s shoulders. Because of their bulk, the guards ahead moved sideways around corners.
The light of the main passageway faded too soon, leaving only torchlight, which cast eerie flickers of shadows. The rough walls created the illusion of faces floating within the stone, masks of the dead in silent watch.
So long as they remained silent—and lifeless—Iker would tolerate them. He couldn’t promise the same for the arid, thick air, or the cramped quarters, which put him in mind of his own shallow grave. Already, he wanted to burst out of this hellish tunnel into the sweet, fresh night.
In her flowing white gown, Sanura glided like a spirit ahead of him, uncomplaining and unquestioning. Her strength lent him the good sense not to grumble. Her fair complexion caught the firelight and captured the glow on her skin. Each glance over her shoulder struck him like lightning in his bones, her electricity a current pulling him forward.
The cry of a soldier ahead took him by surprise.
Their guide pressed closer. “What is it?”
“Maybe nothing. I thought I saw—ach!” The guard swiped at his arm.
The second stomped the ground. “Scorpions!”
Iker pulled Sanura against him. “Use your torches. And march faster.” They couldn’t wal
k side by side, so he twisted her behind him, holding her arms around his waist and swinging his torch as he plowed ahead. “Hurry.” He’d climb over the three men if they didn’t move faster.
Mimicking Iker’s motions, the other men swept the walls and floor of the tunnel with fire. Pained gasps sounded from the men every few feet.
Something slapped against Iker’s shoulder, and he brushed the bug off. A glance back, and he flicked three off Sanura’s dress in quick succession. White silk proved useful in highlighting black insects.
A sharp hiss, and she pierced one scorpion climbing his back, then another, with her nails.
“Thank you.” She had the reflexes of a cat, to be sure.
“No problem. Can we get out of here though? I’m getting the willies.” She rubbed the gooseflesh from her arm.
“Indeed.” The term might be unfamiliar to him, but the sensation was not.
The scorpions that weren’t incinerated or crushed under their boots were driven back. After the last insect had receded, Iker urged them to keep their fast pace. The sting of one scorpion wouldn’t kill a man, but the venom of hundreds might still their hearts.
“How much farther?” he asked the leader.
“We should reach the end in, perhaps, another six minutes? I’m uncertain. We haven’t used this route in decades.”
“Did you not send scouts through to inspect it before tonight?” What if they had encountered a barrier?
“Of course. Two traveled the length in thirteen minutes, but I’ve lost track of the exact time.”
So had Iker. Emergencies, and dark tunnels, tended to have that effect. “We are about halfway.” He’d hoped for better progress.
“Yes,” the leader agreed.
The two men ahead limped along. At a sharp turn, they disappeared. A thump, a clunk and groan sounded, then another.
Iker unsheathed his knife and held it at the ready, then leapt ahead. “Oh no.” He scanned the ceiling, which had begun to rain down upon their heads. Chunks dropped around the men, leaving a trail of dust.
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