9 Incarnate: Caitlin Diggs Series 4

by Gary Starta

  Real nice, huh?

  My phone would connect with Brahms’. I knew he was sitting on pins and needles probably waiting my call right now. Yet I couldn’t break my tether to this mammoth artifact. I believed I was communicating with the structure in some form. I couldn’t risk upsetting it. It probably acknowledged me as Isis using its retina scan. I didn’t think goddesses used sat phones so I suppressed my mental itch.

  The white marbled hallways ended at a T intersect. We could proceed right or left, we had a choice. I took Briana’s hand into mine for guidance. Was the structure giving us a choice? Was this choice either gainful or fateful?

  I tugged on my hat to buy time. I so didn’t know what to do until my shoulder blade burned.

  Bastet advised a left turn. I could only hope it was really her voice and not a trick. Who knew what had been absorbed into my system during the joining with the map?

  Things only became more surreal when we entered a room. It consisted solely of crystal skulls, as if some ancient diamond warehouse. The kind of skulls I had read about when researching my alliance with the crystal pendant. You know—the same pendant which I’d used a teen to kill for it, and the same crystal pendant which later gave me paranormal abilities along with the genetic code for Isis. These crystals had great power to heal and provide knowledge. They also had great power to kill. For that reason, my hand which would have instinctively reached for tactile touch, resisted.

  Briana smiled at my resolve. I was too freaked to return the sentiment.

  I mouthed, What are these? But no one answered. Not Isis, nor Bastet, nor the shadowy figures that had slathered along the Labyrinth’s walls.

  I finally raised a shaking hand over one of the skulls. I wasn’t going to touch it. I knew whatever was inside could probably easily body-jump. Possibly, it could do so without tactile touch. Now I hope you understand why my hand shook.

  But I needed to know what everything was and what everything did in this elaborate maze of illusion if I was to keep it from being used to fuel a plan to birth New Egypt.

  So I allowed my shaking hand to advance closer to the skull. I skirted away from Briana who attempted to pull me away from the crystalline artifact. It was alluring, beautiful and pristine, the colors of the rainbow cascading through the base of the skull to the protruding chin. Atlanteans were said to have left skulls as a means to provide a record of their lives. If so, these were exquisite memory cards.

  I had fallen to my knees by the time I realized the connection had been made. I was “seeing” a video displayed in my mind. It showed the pyramids, their construction, including the same methodology used to make Tut’s tomb. It was inspiring and heart-stopping all at the same time. I shuddered at the power I witnessed. It could be used for good and bad—on a massive scale. I realized after my heart stopped palpitating that hieroglyphics ran along the bottom of my mental view screen. I was only perceiving half the data; I so needed to read Egyptian or whatever dead language the ancients used back then. I willed the images to stop but they played on. Without a narrative, I was expending time humanity didn’t have. A goddess with a pointed headdress and winged ears appeared…

  It faded from my mind. Briana aided me to my feet. I explained as best as I could what transpired. My partner agreed we needed to decipher the code. But how?

  So we proceeded onwards to another grand room with the highest ceiling I ever witnessed. No. Wait. That’s not true. I had seen this room before in my dream vision. My eyes scanned the room for the cylindrical structure I’d observed. The tube had contained a woman’s body and an iridescent substance I likened to amber. The woman inside the tube resembled Hathor, the goddess whose eye colors imitated the color spectrum found in rainbows. It seemed so magical, so scientific, all at the same time. It reminded me I needed to contact Brahms soon.

  But this tube was empty. I stared at it for quite a long time until a voice in my head made me jump. It was Bastet.

  This machine you perceive to be a God Maker is real, Agent Diggs. If you are to understand the hieroglyphs, the ancient language of The Labyrinth, you must enter it and give Isis dominance.

  I braced myself to reply affirmatively. I was so not ready to do this. That’s when I got a slight reprieve.

  You will not be able to just walk into this machine. It has a key. One I fashioned as a failsafe. Find it and you may commence.

  Okay, Bast. Mind telling me where it’s hidden?

  I can’t. I forgot. But I know it’s in the vicinity of the Labyrinth.

  What do you mean by vicinity?

  It’s outside. Buried in the sand like the Labyrinth was.

  I pictured the feline goddess digging into the desert sand as if it were a giant litter box. Thrashing and throwing sand about. Mercilessly burying the secrets of humanity’s past. It was noble. But it also pissed me off at the moment. This meant I had to backtrack and leave the structure, exposing myself to hot sand and whatever else might be lurking just outside the perimeter of humankind’s greatest laboratory.

  She instructed me to locate a rod device, known as a was. I was to use the device like a divining rod, it would light when I found the location of the key which turned out to be in one of nine sistrums—recall the rattle device Charlize played at her concert—buried in sand. I would then hurl a boomerang-like object into the air and it would find the sistrums by boring into sand as if a drill, retrieving the sistrums as if magnets and placing them into my hands as if it was a robot.

  I half-believed this to be true for the sake of my sanity. I refused Briana’s offer to come with me. No way. We couldn’t both be jeopardized outside. Not to mention, we couldn’t lose our access to the Labyrinth. I made Briana promise she would continue seeking ways to gain control of the Labyrinth if I were to perish. She agreed, barely. I gave her some more assurance by offering mindsight. She would join minds with me like before but this time she would see through my eyes. But for safety sake, I grabbed an arc-shaped device Bast assured me it was a high-tech weapon. We then induced contact and I shuffled down the same marble-tiled hallways as before, their magnificence no slighter than when I first saw them. They provided resolve in some ethereal form I couldn’t explain. But I kept moving on, which was what mattered most.

  Once outside, I attempted a sat call to Brahms. After failing to make contact, I proceeded for the first patch of sand I thought might hide the keys. Bast assured me they wouldn’t be too far. At most, half a click away from the Labyrinth itself as she didn’t have much time to bury them, she maintained. I envisioned the battle, the visitors in alien craft battling the Ennead and their Entourage to the death. If Isis had memories of this, she might be privy to more than just operating the Labyrinth. She would hold all the information of the Ennead’s past. The same past not one of the other eight deities saw fit to explain to humanity. Yet they swore they were here for our good. But was that truly the case? Was this for their good? Were they in hiding? Would unearthing this Labyrinth eventually plunge us all back into the same peril I had witnessed via dream vision? If so, I gained even more resolve to find the hidden sistrums despite the relentless heat and burning sand. Sweat trickled inside my shirt, seeking exit. I attempted to use my mind to control it. For some odd reason, I believed the knowledge I had gained via the map might be lost in perspiration. So I pictured a cooling fan as I strode along, boots shuffling in and out of sand. My rod pointed with purpose to all known points—East, West, North and South.

  * * * *

  “I got a light!” I shouted it, failing to consider other metaphysical espionage might be at foot.

  It didn’t seem to take as long as my rationale mind projected. I hurled the boomerang into the air and moments later, just as Bast explained, it was boring a hole into the sand, scattering dirt here and there, it was on a mission.

  I heard the sistrums rattling from below as they were carried to surface, remotely. There was no tether between the boomerang and the sistrums I could discern. They lingered and hovered in the air.
My first impulse was to grab them as if a greedy shopper. But on second thought, the heat simmering off the objects gave me some much needed pause. I didn’t need to add burnt hands to my laundry list of problems.

  And while I waited, I spied something coming towards me. It was aerial. It was shiny. It was so not good.

  * * * *

  I recognized it as an Entourage shuttle. The same type used to abduct Brahms. It would be futile to attempt to flee. If I ran, I would sink in the sand and there was no way I was going to abandon the rattling, levitating sistrums I worked so hard to find.

  I fumbled for my sat phone. It rang and then produced static. I pulled a mini satchel from around my waist and implored the sistrums to fall into it. They weren’t cooperating and the visitors were gaining ground, dipping and sloping their craft as if coming in for a landing. Sand blasted upwards from its approach crashed like salt against my glasses. I shook my head and continued to will the sistrums to fall into my case.

  One or two of them did, it seemed in reluctant defiance. I couldn’t just scurry away with one or two. I needed all nine, assuming one was biometrically crafted to the key appropriate for Isis to use.

  The craft began to land. I didn’t believe my heart could pound any louder in my ears. Another three sistrums fell into my grasp. Why were they resisting? Could these marauders from the air be responsible? I hoped with all my might it wasn’t the Entourage back from an early mission or even any one of the other Ennead gods and goddesses. All could be quite detrimental to my objective. And as the shuttle landed, the occupants disembarking, I saw greater trouble than I had imagined. The men were garbed in the white robes known more to be connected to the Knights of the White Temple than to any run-of-the-mill desert tomb raiders. The red insignia on their chests confirmed my terror.

  I watched in slow-motion horror as the last of the sistrums spiraled toward me, both empowering my quest but also threatening to give admission to other less philanthropic souls. Ones who probably didn’t want to put any end to plans for new Egypt. The abduction of Brahms proved the Knights were in league with whoever of the Ennead lusted for Earth’s water supply. If I had to die, I had to make sure the sistrums were destroyed before I succumbed. But another part of me cursed in defiance. Who was I to kowtow to mere humans? I was part Isis. I had some of her powers at my disposal. But shit! I recalled my mindsight connection with Briana. I felt for her. She was inside watching me, helpless to thwart the Knights. There were only three of them. But it could have been three thousand. They fanned out, instinctively assuring that at least one of them would successfully subdue me. It seemed from their tactics, they still retained some fear of me. But from what, my Isis connection—or maybe, something a lot more banal? My hand dug into my backpack. Yes, the backpack aptly named for its carrying position. It was behind me. I had to reach around awkwardly fumbling for the weapon I had taken from the Labyrinth. One wrong move and I might blow myself to pieces. I didn’t fear the realization, only hoping it would take all the sistrums and their contents with them. I imagined Briana, in her last connection with my sight, witnessing the horror on their faces. Without the sistrums, they couldn’t gain access to the higher functions of the Labyrinth. And without a goddess inside of them, I doubted they could gain access at all. But…I had to be certain.

  With less than ten meters separating us, my hand found purchase. I wrapped it around a weapon I could not identify, then pointed the weapon at the triad of men hoping to commit a rape of the paranormal kind. They didn’t want my body. I could see by the blind gaze of obedience in their eyes they were working towards a higher cause. It wasn’t the body they sought, but the mind. The mind provided ultimate control. Brahms’ theorizing all made sense to me now. How minds manipulated matter. I so wanted to manipulate these men right now. But I didn’t desire an outright kill. I was still an FBI agent. I just needed to subdue them. So I waved the weapon which produced gasps of disbelief. I squeezed it hard, as I couldn’t find one resemblance to a trigger of any kind. It pulsed and grew warm. I continued to aim away from the men, at a dune of sand.

  It exploded as if the god of thunder hammered it with the holiest of golf clubs.

  The men squealed like helpless pigs despite the fact my satchel was open and exposed, laying on the ground, with at least one sistrum hanging out of it.

  Two of the men began to retreat, running for their lives, for the shuttle.

  I guess they really believed I was going to vaporize them or whatever this handy dandy weapon of sufficient destruction did. I didn’t have to squeeze it again. The men stumbled in the sand towards their craft.

  Two of the men hurled themselves at the ramp and crawled crab-like toward their means of escape. But the third toppled awkwardly into the sand, landing hard on his knee. It seemed from his scream, it was bent or twisted at an uncomfortable angle. He was down and out for the moment. I didn’t need to worry about him. But I did need to worry about the craft now powering up to leave.

  I couldn’t let these men escape. Who knows what they would tell the deities. Maybe my cover was already blown. Maybe someone unscrambled the signals for the sat phones. Whatever it was, I didn’t need to make things worse.

  The weapon was at my ready. But I witnessed its power. It would blow them to smithereens. I didn’t need blood on my hands as either an FBI agent or the woman semi-possessed by an Egyptian goddess. I implored Briana to give me access to her magic, or at the very least, use me as a medium.

  Can we work a containment spell? I asked her in mind, not really privy to just what that entailed.

  I heard a faint compliance to my request. And then, something really weird happened.

  Charlize stepped out of thin air and onto the sand before my very eyes. And then, the same thing occurred, but this time the arrival was Brahms.

  I mouthed, how? But there was no time. Assessing the situation, Brahms grabbed the weapon from my hand and trained it on our fallen guest. Charlize joined him, attempting to heal the man’s leg. Even in this mess, with an enemy at her feet, Charlize was the loveliest creation I could ever imagine. Compassion didn’t even begin to describe her. Before a tear could well in my tear duct, I felt magic roiling through me. This was about a hundred times the magnitude of the map meld, and honestly, I don’t know how I remained conscious through it.

  But I wished I had fainted because in mere seconds the spell proved successful and disastrous all at the same time.

  I witnessed a wall of light, cube-shaped and dimensional, encompassing the craft. But the chicken-shit occupants weren’t about to submit to capture without a fight. And in their haste and futility to escape, I observed their shuttle bouncing off the great cube of light, illuminating the consequential crash, highlighting its grievous defiance, belittling its capacity to escape and finally, searing the shuttle in two before it evaporated, eaten by angry shards of fire.

  Oh, shit.

  I killed them. What’s worse, I made Briana do this. A person who knew better; a person I loved like family. I fucking fucked things up.

  I’d fallen to the ground at some point. Brahms urged me to my feet, his parental grip on my arm provided me comfort I didn’t deserve. Charlize scooped up the trophy bag, counting all nine sistrums inside of it.

  “Sweet treasure chest!” she exclaimed with her innocence still intact.

  I waved a hand and mouthed something at her as if I were a feeble old woman. Brahms seemed to already understand. “Charlize, guard those instruments with your life.” He grimaced and I perceived he already despised his choice of words. But that’s what makes parents, parents. They screw things up and say awkward, inappropriate things. I could feel his love simmer in the acrid confines of our endless desert. We so needed to catch up. But that would wait until we were back inside. I hoped once I had the access door open again, it would admit all of us, including our hostage.

  As we ambled towards the sphinx paw, Brahms began questioning our limping hostage. He only offered his name at first. “It’s F
enton,” he said. He used a tone as if Brahms should have known. Perhaps this man knew Brahms had once worked for the Knights. Brahms’ face was red, but from weather or shame, I couldn’t discern.

  As we approached the wondrous gate, I employed an FBI tactic.

  “Look, if you don’t have intel,” I said to Fenton, “you are useless to us. I think we’re going to leave you at the door. Maybe a nice cat will drag you away—if you’re lucky.”

  His hands began to shake. My emphatic abilities led me to believe this was from fear of frying alive rather than the pain in his leg. “If you cooperate, my friend,”—I pointed to Charlize—“will continue healing you. Sound good?”

  Shit, this scumbag probably even knew Charlize was on the Knight’s most wanted list, simply for being a demon sympathizer. I had heard Charlize sing while magic poured through me. This man probably damn well knew who she was—the gifted singer who could inhibit demon violence. But the damn Knights didn’t want to ease the demon’s plight. They wanted confrontation. So if this little scumbag Fenton were left to run away I was sure he would spill her identity, not to mention Brahms’ and of course, what the fuck we were all doing in the middle of the desert with the coveted and fabled Labyrinth. Okay, so he needed to remain a hostage. Of course, I wouldn’t make good on my promise. But for all he knew I was the embodiment of Isis right now, not the FBI Agent Caitlin Diggs. And I bet he had to squirm just a little knowing his fate was in the hands of a goddess.

  I let the bug squirm, literally, for a while. He was back on the ground, writhing in pain.

  I nodded towards him. “Deal?”

  He writhed some more, holding his knee, then he nodded back.

  I padded Charlize on the shoulder. She began singing in dulcet tones.

  I let her continue for another moment, and then gave the “eye” to the ancient Peeping Tom who acquiesced and opened the fan-like gate once more. It swirled and swooshed. I motioned my hand for everyone to enter before me since Brahms and Charlize were dressed a lot less like Indiana Jones than I was.