by SL Hulen
“What?” You did just hit her in the head, he thought. Please, please, let her be out of her mind.
She looked at him, her eyes tired. “So busy chasing those bracelets,” she muttered feebly. “Didn’t you ever wonder how she came to have them? They were hers,” she told him. “Princess Khara, daughter of Pepy the Second and Co-Regent of the House of Pharaoh.”
“You’re lying.”
“You saw her disappear. Where do you think she went?”
Mieley had no answer.
“Still, you have the other two,” she reminded him.
“They’re useless to me without the third.”
“Pity.”
Mieley watched her closely, how her lips curled in an infuriating smile. Without meaning to, he put his hands around her neck and pushed her to the ground, squeezing harder and harder as her face turned blue and she slapped at him. He watched with satisfaction as her eyes rolled backward, intent on waiting for the last tendril of mortality to leave her when something knocked him off of her. For an instant, his heart leapt. She’s come back, he thought, to try to save her friend. Now I’ll kill them both. But as his eyes focused, they grew wide with panic. It was not the small, brave girl, but a man with fire for eyes and teeth curled back in a snarl, an oozing line of stitched flesh over his brow. Suddenly Mieley knew he would never leave the top of this mountain alive. He allowed himself a vision—the reversal of his disgraced life. She would have been the find of the millennia…
Elias Barrón paused to inspect the bloody end of the tree limb, lifting it like a baseball bat.
Mieley knew better than to plead. When you encountered a larger, stronger predator, you lowered your head and acted submissive.
“Is this what you hit her with?” Elias roared. He moved toward Victoria who lay motionless.
Something shone through the shadowed daylight—a slim ring of gold underneath her sleeve. Mieley saw it, and it gave him the will to live. A man who has lost everything and gained it all back in the space of a few seconds can have the speed of Hermes. The sight of the last bracelet fueled and blinded him to danger. He lunged for Victoria with everything he had. He had almost worked it loose when he felt a draft of air, followed by a blow that laid him out flat beside her. The pain in his side made it difficult to breathe. When at last he did inhale, he took in a mouthful of dirt. Gagging and spitting, he could hardly breathe, though that did not stop Elias from grabbing him by the collar and dragging him to the edge of the mesa.
“I never meant to hurt her. Elias, please!” Arlan bleated. “Now we have all three! Do you know what this means?”
Luckily, Elias was not a man of conviction. He let go of him near the edge.
“Shut up, Arlan. I cannot hear any more of your lies. Asesino. Murderer.”
“But the old woman begged me to end her pain! As god is my witness, she did!”
“And Max. Did he also ask you to take his life?”
“Forget about him. That girl just vanished into thin air! Think, Elias, think of what this means! We’ve found the gateway to another dimension.” As Mieley spoke, he felt the ground behind him. At last, his hand closed around a rock—not as big as he would have liked, but if he used it cleverly…
He had always envied Elias his grace of movement, the way he almost danced when he walked. Still, he was surprised when Elias dodged his attack. Suddenly, Mieley was the unfortunate beast and Elias the skillful matador, watching his head and eyes for what he might do next. Mieley pulled the pocketknife from his shoulder, his head swimming as it came loose, and lifted himself up, knife in hand. Elias took a step forward, his face calmer now, with the limb in his hand.
A knife in one hand and a rock in the other; for once, Arlan Mieley was feeling good about his chances. He calculated that a series of two passes would turn the table. As he stepped backward to gain leverage for his first strike, the earth gave way beneath him. The knife and rock fell as he scrambled to gain a foothold on the earth littered with fragments of pottery and pebbles. “Help me!” he screamed, holding out his hand.
Elias’s face was stone. “For sinners like you and I,” Elias said, moving to the edge, a look of quiet acceptance on his face, “Urraca Mesa is not the portal to another dimension; it’s the portal to Hell. Go to Hell, Arlan.”
“Don’t let me fall, please…”
“You fell a long time ago. And you almost took me with you.”
Elias turned away from his partner’s pleading eyes. Mieley screamed, and then there was the briefest silence before the sound of his body hitting the rocks reverberated throughout the cliffs. Elias would come to think of this echo of death as a warning, and would be haunted by it for the rest of his days. He rushed to Victoria and, pillowing her head on his lap, kissed her forehead and took her hand in his and kissed it; it still felt warm.
“Joaquín, can you hear me, brother?” he sobbed. “Remember, you always referred to god as el jefe? How irreverent we were… Well, I need you to talk to him for me. I know he’ll listen; a better soul than you never walked this earth. Tell him it’s not her time.
“I never meant to get you into this mess,” he told his niece. Rocking her back and forth he looked into the distance, into the sky that had gone quiet again, recalling how angry he’d been; how unwilling to consider what she had tried to tell him. “Breathe, Victoria” he implored. “Please, child.”
He removed his coat and covered her. As he was contemplating joining Mieley at the base of the mountain, he heard a single raspy breath. Elias thought he was hallucinating, but with each barely discernable rise of her chest, a small part of his crumpled heart unfolded. “That’s my girl,” he blubbered, stroking her hair. “Can you see,” he asked his long-dead brother, “how much like you she is? We need her back. I need her back…”
A sweep of light engulfed them. Victoria coughed and sputtered and spat blood and, finally, welcomed a full breath into her lungs.
Chapter Fifty-three Victoria
Marta dampened Victoria’s lips with a washcloth and squeezed a few drops of water into her mouth.
She heard a man’s voice. He stood near the door in semidarkness. “How are you feeling, hija?”
“¿Papí?”
Victoria pushed the cloth from her lips and tried to sit up. “I saw them take you.” Her words were sluggish, and she didn’t recognize the rough, torn-sounding voice as her own. Even so, the accusation was clear.
“It’s the pain medication,” Marta told him softly. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
“You killed Celeste.” Elias approached the bed with faltering steps. Suddenly, an image flashed through Victoria’s mind. Had it been her uncle or her father—or had they been together? Yes, that’s how she remembered it. A gentle voice coaxing her back, holding her hand, lifting her up.
Elias stood at the end of the bed. “Bea told me where to find you, but I was too late. The police mistook my desperation for guilt. Thankfully, they didn’t hold me long.” Her uncle saw the question on her face. “Mieley’s dead.” There was silence for a moment, and then Elias began, “Victoria,” coming nearer so she could see the gash on his head, “what happened to Khara?”
“Gone.” Victoria slumped back; the edges of the room were going black.
Her uncle smoothed her hair away from her face. “Rest now.” Victoria smelled the leather of his jacket, the strong smells of cologne and antiseptic. “I’ll be back to check on you soon.”
She drifted in and out of consciousness. At times she awoke to see the ochre hills and purple sky of Egypt exactly as Khara had described them. It was a quiet world before automation with oceans of suspended time, the warmth of sand, and endless skies bright with stars. She felt that at any moment her friend would appear.
As the days passed, her wounds healed; the aching of her heart remained.
One night, when the nurses’ station was quieter than usual, Victoria awoke with a start. Sensing Khara’s presence, she closed her eyes and emptied her mind in
hopes of finding her, but it was no use. Sunrise would come soon. Wanting to catch the first glimpse of the new day, Victoria tried to sit up, but was still too weak to do anything other than turn her head. The next thing she knew, everything was dark. She looked to the table on her right, which had been crammed with hospital equipment. Now, everything was gone, and she was in a cramped, dark, silent place. And she was not alone. In spite of her surroundings, her heart leapt.
“Khara!”
“Shh, I am right here.”
“Where are we?”
“Underneath the palace.”
“Why?”
“I vowed not to seek vengeance,” she said, and then added, “but I see no harm in teaching Menefra a lesson.” She was as real to Victoria as the day she first appeared at the Center for Help. There was something akin to mirth in her voice as she lit another torch and placed it in a ring fastened to the wall. Although the space was small, it offered a cot and several baskets that Victoria suspected held food and water. Khara’s hair was loose, and she was dressed in a white linen shift and leather sandals. Around her neck hung the tiny gold cross. A few feet away, a glimmering vestment filled the room with a soft glow. “That is my coronation cape. I used these passages to remove it from Menefra’s quarters.” She laughed and squeezed Victoria’s arm.
And just like that, everything fell away, leaving Victoria with a sad smile and wondering if they would ever meet again. Maybe…
Later that day, she looked up to see Elias sitting in the corner. When he saw that she was awake, he scooted the chair next to the bed. “There’s my girl. Feeling better?”
“Tio, I’m sorry I ever thought—”
Elias raised his hand. “Given what Mieley told you, it made sense. Why didn’t you come to be right away?”
“He made it sound like he had your approval.”
“And you believed him.” Victoria hung her head. “He said things that made me suspicious. Of everyone.”
“And yet you believed in Khara. A total stranger.” He shook his head.
“I couldn’t help myself. Despite unbelievable loss and betrayal—heck, the sheer implausibility of her predicament— she was only misplaced for seventy days.” Victoria looked down. “I’ve felt that way most of my life.”
Elias looked at her quizzically. “I’ve brought you something,” he announced softly, and took a fold of gray felt from his pocket. Unwrapping the bundle, he placed two bracelets in Victoria’s lap. “Mieley was never as smart as he thought he was; I knew exactly where to look. I leave their fate in your hands,” he told her, and his expression turned intense. “A search of Mieley’s warehouse turned up more pieces that should be returned to their countries of origins. Most of them I had nothing to do with, but there are a handful—well, I may be implicated—”
At least you’ll have good representation,” she assured her uncle through tears, hugging him tightly.
Chapter Fifty-four Khara
Menefra sat upon the throne wearing only a wrapped linen skirt, her naked skin painted to mimic a rotting corpse. The pharaoh’s mask around her eyes was a rancid shade of purple, as were the tips of her fingers and toes. It was impossible to see her wrists, such was the expanse of gold and lapis, but her favorite, malachite, was best represented. Khara could not remember ever seeing Menefra with her hair pulled back so tightly, but the Atef—the feathered, white crown of Osiris—had been meant for a man.
Commander Zener opened the door to the crowded chamber with a small but honest smile. He bowed deeply, and then turned to address Menefra. “There is one more official matter, princess.”
“Can’t you see that I need to rest before the ceremony? Whatever it is, it will wait.”
Khara stepped from behind the commander. “The matter has already waited seventy days.”
She approached slowly in her simple tunic and rough leather sandals. One by one, pharaoh’s guard fell to their knees as she approached the throne. She saw the High Priest’s face turn a pallid shade of grey. But there were nods of approval, even encouragement, as she made her way through the room to the raised platform.
Menefra’s gasp cut the silence. She leaned backward until the front legs of the throne lifted. “I saw you vanish from this world with my own eyes!” she exclaimed.
“But now I’m back. And you, girlfriend,” Khara whispered, wishing that she could affect that unpretentious combination of sensitivity and sarcasm that she would forever miss, “are sitting in my seat.”
Menefra screamed, fell to the ground, grabbed Khara’s feet, and kissed them.
Khara lifted her from the floor. “What have you done to yourself?” she asked, searching her sister’s eyes only to find a stranger.
“It keeps them at bay. They all want something from me. It never ends, and I don’t have the strength for it. You do, Khara; you always have. But Father wasn’t entirely correct—I make them afraid. Oh, sister, I’m so glad you’re back! You said you’d find a way for us to stay together, and here you are. If father were here, everything would be perfect.”
“Father is dead.”
“But so were you,” she answered thoughtfully. “The gods have answered my prayers!” she shouted, baring her teeth, the whites of her eyes showing. “Even Osiris does not dare defy me!”
“You murdered him.”
“Did I? Commander Zener has all but accused me publicly. His endless questioning…I don’t remember anything.”
“Another of your convenient memory lapses?”
“I remember the Vizier, though. He was in pieces!”
“You forget how well I know you.”
The vigor drained from Menefra’s eyes, exposing a glimmer of her former self. “I suppose you’ll put me to death. I welcome it,” she admitted as she clutched Khara’s shoulders. “I have visions of chariots flying through the sky. There are strange lights everywhere, and things are missing. It’s made me mad, Khara.”
She loosened Menefra’s grip on her shoulders. “You’re not going to die. You will do as father said and marry the Assyrian King.”
“No!” Menefra shrieked and stepped away, her lips pressed together in a grim purple line. “You’ve changed, sister.”
“You cannot imagine how much.”
It hurt to watch Menefra lose her struggle with reality; she scarcely resisted as they led her away. At last Khara understood why father had never burdened Menefra’s fragile mind with astronomy or mathematics. But there was no time to consider the many ways her heart had been broken, or the friendship she missed so much. She took hold of the small cross around her neck just to take a breath. A short time later, Commander Zener returned. Across his arms, the coronation cape lay in gleaming folds.
“It is time, Princess,” he said, his voice a mixture of encouragement and adoration. “The people of Egypt wait.”
Chapter Fifty-five Victoria
Most days, Victoria contented herself with the notion that things had turned out the way they were supposed to, but she was never sure. The injustices she encountered daily seemed no worse or better than before, and so she concentrated on trying to find some historical evidence of her friend. She pored through every issue of Archaeology, looking for the latest tomb discoveries; she joined the International Foundation for Art Research so she could be involved in helping restore artifacts to their country of origin. Unscrupulous collectors, eager to sell pieces without proper documentation, feared her. To make up for his past transgressions, Elias became a powerful warrior against artifact smuggling in Mexico. But none of these things answered the question that kept her awake through the night. Had Khara’s return prompted Egypt’s rise? Might it have happened anyway? Sometime she felt the answer was so close she could almost touch it. Elias told her that perhaps the answer was simpler than she was making it.
On a Wednesday in March, just as the first blossoms began to show themselves after a bleak El Paso winter, Victoria looked up from her desk to see Gracie standing in the doorway.
“You’
re going to want to see this,” she said, laying a tabloid on her desk.
“I’ve been following that story; it’s nothing.”
“It isn’t ‘nothing,’ Victoria. It’s the part those dirt-diggers aren’t saying anything about.” Gracie’s pout was a little fuller these days, but other than that, she was as bossy and demanding as ever. “In a gossip rag? I find that hard to believe.”
“Read it, and then tell me it’s just another story.”
Gracie’s pained expression made Victoria go for a cup of coffee. When she returned, she closed her door. Her shaking hands unfolded the magazine to reveal the headline, “Mummy of Egyptian Queen a Hoax!”
“Oh, no,” she muttered. Just then, her cell phone rang. She ignored it as she studied the photo, obviously taken in a tomb, of a relatively simple sarcophagus and the diminutive, bandaged form that lay on top. She began to sweat. “No, no, no,” she muttered.
Her cell phone rang again, and this time she looked at it. Her uncle was calling. She looked from the ringing phone to the printed page and swallowed.
Known in ancient times as the “Seat of Beauty,” the Valley of the Queens has offered up its latest mystery. Dr. Shenouda, famed Egyptologist who has spent thirty years excavating anonymous tombs of Egyptian nobility, has hit paydirt in his latest find. The tomb’s exact location is secret for now. Though the inscription has yet to reveal the name of this queen, Shenouda felt confident that when the mummy is unwrapped the mystery of her lineage will be solved. Victoria gasped, hardly breathing as she forced herself to read on. Last week, the who’s who of the archaeological world crowded together for the unveiling, heralded as the biggest find since King Tut. But the joke was on them. In the most amazing archaeological hoax since Piltdown Man in 1912, Dr. Shenouda says, “Everything was in our favor. The location of the tomb, the less distinguished mummies who were undoubtedly her attendants—all of them checked out. But our queen’s body was most likely stolen and replaced with a modern mummy. How do we know? Well it’s simple,” Dr. Shenouda said disappointedly. “She wears a golden cross around her neck. We have dated the other artifacts in the tomb at around 2114 BC, a time that precedes Christianity and the cross as a religious symbol by approximately two thousand years.” Dr. Shenouda went on to detail the elaborate ruse. “Perhaps the entire tomb is a joke, meant to distract us from a more significant treasure in the area, but I’ve never seen anything like it,” Shenouda reports. “There was another item that completely discounts the possibility that she was Egyptian. Her outer shroud was not the traditional resin-soaked linen; she was wrapped in cloth, and the markings on her shroud rather resemble the more intricate patterns of Native Americans. At the moment, we’re looking at the individual symbols to see if we can match them to a specific nation. As much as we’d hoped to bring this discovery to the world, we have returned the mummy to her tomb and sealed it. It has been a terrible waste of time and resources.
