Chyna Stone Adventures: First Three Novels

by K. T. Tomb

  At dawn, they carefully loaded all their things into the Jeep and said their goodbyes. Amira was sad to see them leave but she could hardly wait to see what they would bring back with them from Qena. Nassir, on the other hand, pleaded with Chyna to take one of Mohammed’s people with them.

  “They know the desert well, Chyna, it would be better for your safety if one of them went with you.”

  Chyna smiled wryly and pulled aside her vest so he could see her holster. “I hardly ever need more protection than this guy right here can offer, Nassir. Thanks for the offer though. We’ll be back in a few days whether we find anything or not.”

  “Take care,” he said to them all. “We will see you in a few days, if Allah wills it.”

  They drove out of the compound and took the road back into Luxor. After crossing the city they would get on the northbound highway and head straight up to Qena. As the Jeep left the compound, none of them noticed a small group of horses standing on the hilltop that overlooked the camp. There were six of them, black horses with riders dressed in black. It was still dark and the figures looked like shadows on top of the hill.

  “They have found Imhotep Ta-Akhenaten’s body inside the chambers; the scoundrel Ay’s misdeeds are still being revealed to us three thousand years later,” Mohammed said.

  “We always knew his mummy had been stolen and not just lost, but to find it here is just astonishing,” Jamila added. “Why would he steal Imhotep’s mummy along with the codex?”

  “Ay was a very suspicious man, Jamila,” Mohammed replied. “Perhaps he thought that Imhotep’s spirit would remain in the Afterlife if his body were still near the Book as opposed to being separated from it.”

  “But Imhotep Ta-Tutankhamun was searching for it at that time to record the king’s passing.”

  “He didn’t want the record to be completed,” Ali interjected. “You see, Ay was not your usual usurper. He wasn’t interested in becoming royalty anymore; he wanted to destroy them and if history is the witness, he succeeded. Egypt never had another ruler of royal blood again.”

  “Ay hated the royal family,” Mohammed explained. “It was something that was as much a part of him as his own personality. He had gone through an identity crisis his entire life; borne of a royal princess but fathered by a wealthy nobleman. He found that neither his mother’s proud lineage nor his father’s immense wealth could earn him a royal title and he watched bitterly as his sisters married princes and kings. How was it that their heritage was strong enough for them to be accepted and yet he was not.

  “Ay followed in his father’s footsteps by kowtowing to his brother-in-law, Amenhotep III and he was richly rewarded with position at court, responsibilities and respect; but it was not enough for him. When his father died, the king granted Ay all of his father’s titles and wealth; but still he was not satisfied. His sister was known as Queen Tiye, Royal Wife of the Pharaoh and he wanted to be called Royal Brother of the King or at least Royal Brother of the Queen. Was that so much to ask? Surely, he deserved it. He served Amenhotep III until his death, then he served Akhenaten and still no title was bestowed on him. So when Akhenaten died and Tutankhamun took the throne, Ay began to concoct his devious plan.

  “He murdered two princes of the blood to get to the throne; one Egyptian and one Hittite, and then he murdered the last princess of the realm. From the ashes of the Thutmosid Dynasty, Ay founded a commoner’s struggle for the throne of Egypt that lasted until the Romans took their country away from them.”

  “Perhaps he was Egypt’s first sociopath,” Jamila joked.

  “Perhaps,” Mohammed laughed, “but now what should we do about Chyna Stone?”

  “We are only the ‘Watchers’, Mohammed,” Ali reminded him.

  All six horsemen murmured their agreement.

  “This is true, so we shall watch but we shall also send word to Istanbul. The Guardsmen will need to know that the princess’ trail has been found and that it has been found by a very capable adversary.”

  “Yes,” said Ali. “Perhaps the time of the prophecy has come. Our watch may be coming to an end soon.”

  “Do not speak like that!” Jamila shouted at him.

  “Hush, woman,” Mohamed admonished. “Who are we to question the Will of Allah? We all knew that the time would come one day when we would put down our swords and turn the Book over to the one who was worthy of it. This was destined to happen ever since the fall of Egypt. From the moment we had stopped looking for a pharaoh to come, we started looking for the Seeker to arrive. Perhaps it is she.”

  “Send the bird to Qena, the Watchers there will know what to do next,” instructed Mohammed.

  Jamila quickly wrote the tiny note and placed it into the metal tube. Ali took it from her, tied it to the pigeon’s leg and released the bird. As it flew North, the watchers sat on horseback on the hill overlooking Luxor and watched the desert sun rise over the beautiful horizon.

  * * *

  The streets of Istanbul were deserted, which was not uncommon for that time of night. As the cloaked figure made its way down Yerebatan Road, past the Basilica Cistern towards the plaza in front of Sultan Ahmet park. In the shadow of the Great Mosque, nothing was visible but he knew the four guardsmen would be waiting for him and when he turned toward the fountain, there they were seated around its edge.

  “As-salamu alaykum,” he greeted, as he approached them.

  “Wa-alaykum salaam,” came the response.

  They hugged and kissed each other as was customary and retreated to a park table to talk further.

  “The news from Luxor is not encouraging brothers,” the cloaked man started. “It seems there are some Americans there who Nassir has hired to find the Book.”

  “Yes,” one of the others confirmed, “I have heard the same from our desert friends.” He was the Eastern Guard.

  Yet another man chimed in, saying, “I believe that it is just as it was prophesied, so we have gathered to make the decision whether the time has come for us to relinquish the stewardship of the Book or continue to keep our secret.” He was the Northern Guard.

  “What do we know of these Americans?” the cloaked man asked, clearly he was in charge.

  “They are led by a woman called Chyna Stone,” the Western Guard answer. “She is a very well known archaeologist and adventurer who has been involved in the recovery of lost artifacts all her life.”

  “What are her values?”

  “She takes much pride in her work, always ensuring the treasure is returned to its rightful place and then properly displayed for the enjoyment of the people.”

  “Her work seems noble.”

  “Yes Sayyed, she is not a mercenary or a treasure hunter,” finally the Southern Guard had spoken.

  “As you all know, we were given the task of keeping the Book safe until there was a royal house in Egypt to return it to,” the cloaked man said. “Our forebears were never satisfied that this criteria had been met and that is why it remained in our care.”

  “They were all just commoners; a dirty pack of warriors, conspirators and thieves, not a drop of royal blood in their veins.”

  They all nodded and murmured their agreement.

  “The age of our princess is long gone, gentlemen and I believe that the time for us to surrender the Book came a long time ago. However, what we have truly been waiting for has been the right person to turn it over to. Do you men believe that Chyna Stone is the right one?”

  Again there was nodding and murmuring among the group.

  “It is unanimously agreed,” the cloaked man announced.

  “It is important that she prove herself by following the princess’s clues, she must prove herself worthy to the Guardsmen before we turn over the Book.”

  “Of course,” the cloaked man agreed. “Though our watch is at an end, we do still have standards to uphold.”

  The group laughed at his words and nodded in agreement.

  “Then let us remain close to the crypt and allow our fr
iend Chyna to find us. If she is successful, the Book is hers, the only stipulation is that it must be returned to Luxor and put into the hands of the proper authorities. Thank you for coming brothers, I’m not sure if you feel the same but I am relieved that we have made this decision; I believe it to be the right one.”

  “As-salamu alaykum,” he said to them in farewell.

  “Wa-alaykum salaam,” was the response.

  As he made his way along Kabasakal Road back to his apartment, the cloaked man was smiling to himself. So many years of watching and waiting seemed to be coming to an end. In a way, their mission had failed since the Book never made it back to a royal house of Egypt, but on the other hand it would be going home after all. Maybe they could trust that Chyna Stone would ensure it was used to enhance the knowledge of people who were as passionate about the history as they were. If that alone was achieved, he would be able to die in peace.

  Safely home, he hung his cloak in the hallway closet and removed his shoes. He was glad to be home, the city was always dark and cold at night. It was not often that he and the Guardsmen were all together in one place and the feeling of brotherhood he had enjoyed with them that night was priceless to him. Soon there would be no need for them to gather; maybe after they disbanded some would leave Turkey all together. It was well known that the Western Guard was getting increasingly homesick; he had gotten engaged recently and was ready to return to his home in Tennessee. There would be no need for him to apply for another tour in the Middle East when his current assignment was up, probably he would even retire from the Army all together.

  As for the Northman, for years he had wanted to take his newspapers fully digital and return to Sweden where he could retire to the life of hunting and fishing he enjoyed so much.

  The rest were already home, having either been born in Turkey or immigrated there permanently years before. It was why they sympathized with the Northman and the Westman so much. Being uprooted from ones’ home and past was painful for any man of value. But now their legacy was at an end. Their little secret society had existed for over three thousand years but now would no longer be needed. He marked it solemnly as the end of an era, but even as profound as the implications of their decision tonight were, Rashid Imhotep Abdullah could feel nothing but relief as if a great weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders.

  Chapter Three

  When the caravan arrived at Qena, Ankhesenamun was finished crying for her country; all she wanted was to get out of it and out of harm’s way.

  She was hungry and thirsty and she knew the orchards and date trees in the oasis there were always in fruit. Melia and her other servants were anxious to leave the wagon and explore; they were also quite famished. Ankhesenamun made the first move, throwing back the curtains and stepping down onto the warm sand. There was a tribe of Bedouins on the oasis preparing to make the long trek back across the desert to the Red Sea.

  In the shade of the palm trees and tall bushes, the Djoser oasis was a true wonder. A steady stream of clean, cold water flowed from the aquifer, running over the black rocks into the pool below. The girls drew water from the pool in leather buckets and washed their faces, hands and feet; then they spread a cotton veil over a stone and helped the princess to sit. The women joined their veils together and held them up around the princess while Melia, her handmaid, stripped the dirty dress and wig from her body and washed her from head to toe. Clean clothes were brought and Melia dressed her, replaced and combed her hair and placed jewelry about her neck, wrists and ankles. Fruit was brought from the orchards and dates were picked from the palms. The women washed them and paced them on platters and they all sat to eat. Melia brought a platter to Ankhesenamun and kneeled to serve her.

  “Eat with me, Melia,” she said quietly. “We are all fugitives here, and we are all the same.”

  A little girl approached them carrying a large flat basket on her head. When she neared the princess, she kneeled and gave the basket to Melia. The women of the Bedouin tribe had sent them food. There was flatbread, still hot from the stove and pieces of dried meat and fish. A bowl of green olives and another of pickled cucumbers completed the meal. Melia called the others over and shared the food among them. When they were finished, Melia washed the bowls at the pond, gathered up the basket and started over to return them.

  “I will come with you and thank the women personally,” the princess said.

  She went to the wagon and took out a small bundle wrapped in cloth, then she took two buckets to the pond and filled them with water. One of the servants came to help her put the straps over her shoulder and she stood shifting the weight of the buckets until she was comfortable. With the bundle in one hand and the two buckets over the other shoulder, Ankhesenamun walked with Melia across the oasis to where the women sat in their little camp.

  She set the buckets and her bundle down and filled the camp cistern with the water before turning to the women and lowering her head in respect to them that they may touch it. She knelt with them on the grass and placed her package in front of her, and then she spoke.

  “Thank you for the food,” she started. “We were very hungry and we are grateful to you.”

  Once they were over the initial shock, they welcomed her and reached out to touch her feet. It was plain to see that they knew who she was, but instinctively, they said nothing about it. They were astonished at Ankhesenamun’s humble demeanor. She and Melia sat and chatted with the women for a long time. Soon the other women of the princess’ household joined them and began to help them prepare their afternoon meal. As she sat watching them, a little girl approached Ankhesenamun. The princess noticed her immediately. She looked remarkably like the royal princess Neferneferure, when she was a child of that age. The girl came up to the princess, put her hand to her forehead and then to Ankhesenamun’s feet, in the common way for a young person to greet royalty. She hugged the little girl and picked her up, sitting her on her lap just as she used to do with her younger sister. The girl threw her arms around Ankhesenamun’s neck and whispered in the princess’s ear.

  “Princess, they are coming to take you back to Luxor. You know what has to be done, so do whatever you must.”

  Shocked, Ankhesenamun looked into the girl’s eyes questioningly just as a woman comes and takes the child from her.

  “She told me that someone is coming for me. Tell her I would like to know who is coming,” she said to the woman.

  But the woman shook her head in bewilderment.

  “That is not possible, my princess,” the woman explained. “This child was born without making a sound; she cannot speak.”

  “Where is the tent of your priest?” she asked the child’s mother.

  She pointed to a tent at the edge of the camp, the only one that was decorated with the red, yellow and blue colors of the gods. Ankhesenamun stood up, smoothed out her dress, picked up the bundle and walked serenely to the tent. When she went inside, it seemed as if the priest had been waiting for her for a long time; he even seemed to be getting a little impatient.

  “Princess, you don’t have much time,” he said.

  “The child told me someone is coming for me,” she replied. “Who is coming?”

  “Why, Ay of course!” he retorted. “Who else are you expecting? Did you bring the Book with you?”

  She was visibly shaken by the question, How did he know why she had come to see him?

  “Princess Ankhesenamun, if we stop wasting time wondering why this is and how I know, then we may actually be able to secure the Book before your caravan is ambushed and you are taken back to Luxor. There is no escape for you but we still have a chance to keep the royal records out of Ay’s hands.”

  Stunned, she picked up the bundle at her feet and carefully handed it to the priest.

  “What do you want me to do, Princess?” he asked respectfully.

  “I cannot rely on the hearts of kings for my safe keeping or for protection for the Book. Many men have played me false, priest, but
you are a man of the gods and I have never found the gods to be false. If we are truly going to be attacked then I would rather be separated from it so long as I know that I have ensured its safety; Ay’s men will be sure to search among my things for it. Take it with you priest, keep the Book among your people until you reach Hattusa. Secure it among King Suppiluliumas' treasure and safeguard the knowledge of its whereabouts until the time comes. When royalty rules this land again, you must take it to the palace of that King. What is the name of your people?”

  “We are the Hharazi, Princess; the watchers.”

  “How appropriate,” she said. “My command is that you guard the Book well and watch for the Pharaoh to come.”

  “Very well, princess, I will do as you have commanded.”

  “Thank you,” she replied.

  “But what about you, Ankhesenamun?” asked the priest. “Will they call you princess until the usurper cuts your throat and casts you to Sekhmet?”

  “What do you mean, Priest?”

  “Your great mother was such a mighty woman. She ruled this country as well as any man could have. Why can’t you see that you have her strength, her passion, her wisdom? You are her child, Ankhesenamun, her only remaining daughter, and you are destined to rule this country. Go back to Luxor and stand before the people; if you do not know it yet, they will tell you that it is true.”

  She stood and left the tent feeling exhausted. She was among a very mystical tribe of people. Everywhere, she could sense a certain power about them that couldn’t be explained. With Melia at her side again, they walked to the top of the aquifer and looked for the head stone from which the underground stream flowed. When they found it, Melia handed Ankhesenamun her stylus. She carefully carved the words of her message at the base of the rock.

  “Why do you make these cartouches, princess? I thought you wanted the Book to remain hidden but at the same time you are leaving directions,” Melia said.

  “I have been tricked by so many men in my life, Melia,” she replied. “These messages are my security. If anything happens to me or this priest decides to betray me, then I can still hope that one day there will be someone who is clever enough to follow my trail and find these words. If they are wise enough, they will find the Book and do what needs to be done with it.”