Book of the Dead (Gods of Egypt 2)

by Nadine Nightingale

  Seth yanks me back a step. “Watch it.”

  I crash against him, all set to yell when I catch sight of the white cobra, lazily snaking out from under a rock. “Thanks. I didn’t see it.”

  He sighs heavily. “You have to stay focused.” He holds me tight. “This isn’t a playground. It’s the Underworld.”

  His eyes are softer. I catch a glimpse of something that looks like worry. The snarky reply I’d formed in the back of my mind is forgotten. I blame his racing heart for it. “I will,” I assure him.

  His gaze drops to my lips. “You still smell like jasmine.” He closes his eyes, taking a long sniff. “You always loved them.”

  I still love them. What I don’t love is him knowing what I love.

  I move away. “How much farther do we have to go?”

  “We’re here.” He tilts his chin at a row of caves dug into sandstone walls. “The tombs of El-Berhseh.”

  There are hundreds of caverns hiding in the belly of the small mountain. Too bad they don’t come with nametags. “Which one is Gua’s?”

  “That’s for you to find out.”

  “And I thought you were here to help.”

  He leans against a massive rock, crossing his arms casually. With the sun illuminating his high cheekbones and that glittering midnight hair, he looks like a young rock star. “I wouldn’t waste my time.” He cocks a daring brow. “You don’t have much of it.”

  I hate him. That realization causes a whole lot of rage. I hate him so much I want to murder the obnoxious, cold, selfish jerk. What I hate most, though, is the voice in the back of my head, whispering, “You turned him into this.”

  Chapter 14

  “Take your time, Princess. It’s not like we’re in a rush.” He is still leaning against that dumb rock, looking all teen idol, but I spot the fresh burst of frustration rolling off him.

  I will not grace his comment with a reaction. Two can play this game, and I shall gladly offer him a taste of his own bad medicine. Besides, what does he expect? The tombs are identical.

  I search for clues. There are none.

  “Tick tock, tick tock.”

  Jesus Christ, really?

  “Tick—”

  “Will you shut up? I’m trying to think.”

  He gives me a killer grin—killer as in I-want-to-strangle-him—and pretends to lock his lips with an invisible key.

  I close my eyes and clear my mind. Gua. The name rings a bell. How do I know you?

  The wind rushes over rocks and sand dunes, ruffling my hair. “Remember,” a voice like distant wind chimes sings.

  Mom?

  “You have to remember, Princess.”

  I stagger down the stairs, half asleep, dying of thirst.

  The hallway is dark, but I don’t need light. I grew up in this house, know every nook and cranny by heart.

  “Are you sure we should both go to London?” my mom’s voice drifts into the hallway. “I could—”

  “Aaliyha,” Dad cuts her off. “We’ve been over this, haven’t we?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts,” he says softly. “She’s going to be okay. V and Amara will take care of her.”

  I stand near the door, feeling uneasy for eavesdropping. But it isn’t like I hear anything new. Mom has spent the last two weeks trying to convince me and Dad she should stay home. They’re going to London tomorrow, and leaving me by myself doesn’t sit well with her. I don’t get the fuss. Aunt V and Izzy are going to come over, and Amara promised to keep an eye on me, too. Isn’t enough for Mom. She has a hard time with the whole she’s-growing-up thing.

  “Fine,” mom says. “But I still think it’s a bad idea.”

  Dad laughs lightly. “Helicopter Mom doesn’t suit you.”

  “Shut up.” She snickers. “Everything suits me.”

  “True,” he confirms.

  I push the door open and wander in. “Why are you guys still up?” I ask, yawning like a lion.

  Dad points to his research papers on the kitchen table. “We have to add a few things to our lecture.”

  I grab a glass and open the faucet. “I thought your lecture was ready?” They’ve been working on it for weeks.

  Mom cocks a brow at me. “Your dad’s a perfectionist.”

  He smiles at her. “Why do you think I married you?”

  She hides a grin. “See what I have to put up with? All that charm is killing me.”

  “I think you like my charm.” He winks at her. “It’s okay. You can admit it.”

  She is ready to give him a little grief, but my brain can’t handle their bickering at three in the morning. “So”—I sit down—“what are you perfecting?”

  Dad’s eyes light up. They always do when he speaks about Egypt. “The British Museum acquired two new coffins from the Twelfth Dynasty. Your mom and I have the honor of showing them to our students.”

  “Coffins, huh?” I hate the bitterness in my voice, but while I love Egypt as much as my parents do, I’m not a big fan of all things death-related. For obvious reasons. “What’s so special about them?”

  Dad pushes a photo across the table. On it are two wooden boxes with colorful markings and a set of eyes—Horus’s and Ra’s (left and right, sun and moon). “The coffins of Seni and Gua,” he says.

  “Wer swnw,” mom adds. “The great physicians.”

  “Wer swnw,” I repeat Mom’s words.

  Nasty winds blow past me.

  Something cracks.

  A thunder-like noise comes next.

  One of the sand plates has been split in two, exposing a dark cavern.

  “About time,” Seth says, pushing past me and into the darkness.

  I suppose I should be thrilled I found the tomb. I’m petrified instead.

  “Hey.” He looks over his shoulder. “Are you growing roots or—”

  “Coming,” I mutter, forcing my stuck feet to move.

  Chapter 15

  I should have known better than to judge a tomb by its entrance. What appears to be a small chamber from the outside is anything but.

  We pass through the first dark, square room into the belly of the mountain. The path is narrow and pitch black. Afraid I might break my neck in the darkness, I feel my way along the cold walls, listening to Seth’s even breathing. Unlike me, he moves about as if he has night vision. Sticking close to him keeps me from bumping into walls.

  Darkness and silence aren’t my favorite cocktail flavors. Especially when combined. I keep looking over my shoulder, wondering how fast I can get out of here if I need to. Not fast enough, that’s for sure.

  What happened to you? Seth’s voice roars through my mind. All that constant whining, the lack of confidence… I hate that his opinion matters enough to replay like a broken record. But—

  He has a point.

  That monstrous crocodile was just the beginning. The Underworld, without a doubt, has grizzlier things to offer. Long story short: if I want to make it through this, I need to grow a backbone. Like, right about now.

  I draw a deep breath, harden my heart, and move like I believe in myself.

  Drop.

  Drop.

  Drop.

  “Do you hear that?” I inch closer to Seth. “Sounds like—”

  “Shh,” he hisses, stopping dead in his tracks.

  I nearly walk up the back of his feet. “What is it?”

  “The first trap,” he replies calmly.

  “Trap?” I parrot, blood draining from my head.

  His bitter laughter roars through the blackness. “Did you really think the gods would just hand over the map?”

  “I—” didn’t think at all. Ironic, bearing in mind my brain is my best asset. Or it was until I found myself in the Underworld with the man of my nightmares and asked him to be my dang guide. Yup, not my smartest hour.

  Drop. Drop. Drop.

  The sound is closer.

  He grabs my hand. “Whatever you do,” he warns, “don’t let go.”


  I open my mouth, a million questions on the tip of my tongue. Then whoosh.

  We’re hit by icy water. The monster wave floods the tunnel, pulling us under.

  I try fighting the current. Pointless. Water pours into my lungs. For the second time today, I’m drowning.

  He squeezes my hand. By some kind of miracle—which might be connected to Seth’s superhuman strength—I move against the deadly liquid.

  A faint light at the end of the hallway invokes hope. Swimming toward it, I give it my all.

  Despite my aching muscles, and with Seth’s help, I reach a dimly lit, large chamber. The water only reaches my waist, and I finally get to fill my lungs with air.

  He watches me carefully. “Are you okay?”

  I cough the remaining liquid out and nod. “Where are we?” My throat feels like it’s been worked over with sandpaper.

  “Not even close to where we need to be,” he says.

  I drink in my surroundings. Two torches illuminate the chamber, shedding light on the stone walls covered in aged black hieroglyphs. What’s missing, though, is an exit. There’s got to be a door somewhere. How else are we supposed to continue our journey?

  “Careful,” Seth roars as I trace the hieroglyphs. “One of those will get you out of here.”

  “And the others?”

  He sighs like a full-blown drama queen. “Do you really want to know?”

  Do I? “Nah.” I really don’t. My imagination knows no boundaries. Why fuel it? “How’s this going to work?”

  “What did I just say?” He’s annoyed.

  “That one hieroglyph will get me out of here?” I hope that’s what he said. Frankly, my ears are still full of water.

  “Good. You’re not deaf, then.”

  Frustrating bastard! “My ears are just fine, thank you very much. Your guidance, however, could use a little work.”

  You’d think a statement like that would upset him, that it’d crack the bored façade. It doesn’t.

  “Is that so?” He grins.

  Keep calm and hit the wall. Keep calm and look around. Keep calm and—

  Know what? Screw keeping calm. This guy is pushing my non-violence beliefs like nobody’s business. “Last time I checked, you wanted your immortality as much as I want to free Izzy. How about you drop the bitch act and tell me what I’m looking for?”

  “Are you asking me for help?” He squints. “Because if you are, I’m happy to tell you how to get out of here. But after that, you’ll be on your own.”

  Shit, I shouldn’t waste my golden ticket. “I don’t want your help. I can do this on my own.”

  He chuckles. “Sure you can.”

  Asshole.

  Before I do something stupid, like going full-blown ninja on the douchebag, I turn my attention to the black markings. The ones that haven’t faded tell stories of the old gods and their feuds with humanity.

  The first story is about Sekhmet, the Lioness, dancing on severed heads, drinking from a lake of blood. Bottom line: the hieroglyphs on this side of the chamber are like an invitation to a gruesome death.

  Across from Sekhmet’s grisley story, written in the same fine hieroglyphs, are Ra’s daily battles with Apep. Every time the sun sets, Chaos rises, and the mighty Ra forces it back into the Primeval Waters. Considering that Ra comes out on top, I’m less afraid to touch those walls. Yet something—call it intuition—tells me it’s not what I’m looking for.

  Determined to find a way out, to prove myself to the obnoxious jerk, I search for anything that doesn’t exude deathtrap and spot a horizontal line with two shorter vertical lines cutting across it—the hieroglyph for door bolt.

  It can’t be that easy, can it? I’ve seen the Indiana Jones movies. Easy almost always gets someone killed.

  Despite the you-really-shouldn’t warning, I reach for the hieroglyph. I just can’t help it.

  The instant my fingertips connect with the drawing, the wall moves. The remaining water escapes through the opening, leaving me wet and cold but a little proud, too. I, Nisha Blake, found the exit. All by myself.

  Seth should apologize. I get the feeling the Lord of the Underworld doesn’t do apologies, though.

  “About time.”

  Good thing I’m not fishing for compliments.

  He approaches the escape route, eyeing the marble tiles, engraved with the images of gods and goddesses. “A word of advice?” He smirks like the devil himself. “You’d be wise not to let a trivial success swell your head.”

  Trivial success? What the heck is wrong with him? One minute he wants me to be confident, the next he’s making sure I stay as small as possible. He better make up his mind, because my head’s starting to spin from his mood swings.

  “Nebt-Het,” he screams as I push past him into the room. “What are you—”

  I spin to give him a piece of my mind when something shoots past my eyes. Whatever it was blows my hair into my face and makes my heart drop. “What the—”

  “Don’t move!” His jaw is clenched.

  “W-what is going on?”

  He tilts his chin at the left wall, where an arrow is sticking out of the stone. The same arrow that barely missed my head. “Watch your bloody step.”

  I look down. Anubis is smiling at me from the tile I just stepped on.

  Shit! This is an Indiana Jones movie, and I’ve involuntarily become the protagonist.

  Relax, Nisha. Think this through. What would Indy do?

  Step one: know what you’re dealing with. That’s an easy one. All it takes is a glance in the direction of the arrow to understand that stepping on the tile was what fired it.

  Step two: find a solution for the problem. I scan the tiles. The faces of various deities grin back at me. Some I recognize as dark lords—Anubis, Sekhmet, Apep. Others are good and loving—Ra, Horus, Ma’at.

  Step three: come to a conclusion. If the Anubis tile almost got me killed, the ones of the “good” deities should keep me safe. Theoretically. God, I hope my theory holds up.

  I jump from Anubis’s tile onto Ra’s and land in one piece. No arrow whatsoever.

  Jumping on tile after tile without getting killed, I make it to the other side in under a minute. Even the jerk offers me a smile. “I see you’re not completely helpless.”

  “No.” I flash him my teeth. “But you are completely hopeless.”

  “Better hopeless than pathetic,” he says, hauling me down another narrow tunnel into the tomb of Gua.

  A coffin rests in the center of a small chamber filled with gold and jewels. In case there’s another trap, I stick close to Seth.

  The impressive coffin is made of cedar wood and glows with a soft fire. The photos my dad showed me have nothing on the real thing.

  “Now what?”

  “What do you think?” He cocks a brow. “Open the coffin.”

  “What?”

  “Open the coffin, Princess.”

  On top of all the stuff I’ll have to answer for when I’m dead, he wants me to add disrespecting the final resting place of a physician to it.

  I dig my nails into the wooden lid. The surface is smooth and cold. I push, putting my whole weight behind it.

  The wood whines like an old widow as it comes off. A bluish light floats out of the coffin, illuminating the chamber. It’s warm and peaceful, unlike anything I’ve seen down here so far. I can’t not look at it. It’s too dang beautiful.

  I bend over the coffin, determined to bathe in the godly glow, when a sing-song voice floats through the chamber. “My dear little Nebt-Het.”

  “I know you,” I whisper. “Your voice… it’s….” Beloved. Dear to my heart. “Familiar.”

  “It took you a thousand lives to return to me,” the light says. “But I never doubted you’d come home.”

  Either I’m losing my mind, or that light is messing with my senses. Whatever it is, I can’t deny the truth in her words. This—I look around—is home. She is home. I just don’t understand how. “Who are you?”<
br />
  She laughs. “I am the sky and the stars. The water that gave you life, my child.” She pauses. “And today, I shall be your light so you may find your way back to us.”

  “I—” Haven’t got the slightest idea what to say.

  “Don’t be afraid,” she goes on. “In due time, you will understand why this is how it was always supposed to end, with you returning to your rightful place among the kings and queens of our beloved Egypt.”

  “I don’t want to return,” I counter quickly. Her words leave an emptiness in my heart I can’t quite comprehend. “I’m here to do—”

  “The Trials. We know. It’ll be my honor to show you the way, but there’s something you must hear first.”

  Seth grunts. “We don’t have time for this.”

  “Seth.” The light floats higher, as if it’s trying to catch a glimpse of the man behind me. “My child, it’s been too long.”

  His expression hardens.

  “You have always been our pride, son, even when you lost your way.” Her voice darkens. “We can still feel the love you have for her. It’s not too late to—”

  “Enough.” His eyes are redder than hellfire. Not that I know what hellfire looks like, but the way his eyes blaze, I have a pretty good idea. “I am not your son. I was a soldier who fought your wars for years, and when I asked you for one thing in return…. Doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. Just show her the path, and we’ll be on our way.”

  I hate the way he talks to her, but I can’t bring myself to yell at the rude guide. Not when I feel pain coming off him in uncontrollable waves. The light—whoever she is—hurt him badly.

  “Very well, Lord of the Underworld.” Her voice has lost the softness. It’s replaced by a razor-sharp edge. “I will show her the path home, but remember everything comes at a price. You, of all people, should know that.”

  What the heck are they talking about? I feel like an actor who never got to read the dang script.