The Skin of the Gods

by Phil Armstrong

  “For once in your life Adu, you have to trust me. You have to request an audience. If the Nesu thinks this is a frivolous waste of his time, he will decline. It will be risky for him to leave the palace. I cannot leave this bed. So the choice will be his. You can inform his aides, that you have no knowledge of the purpose of this meeting. You’ve been informed that it’s of grave importance. Then it’s out of your hands. I’ll not let you down, that I can promise.”

  “We’re talking life and death. It better be good, you know that right?”

  Ete looked at the panic stricken face of his brother. “I know. I wouldn’t put you in this position, if I didn’t think it were that important.”

  Was this the request of a delusional dying man, or was there some validity to the request? Would the Nesu take instant offense to the trivialization of his precious time? Would he punish him? After some persuasion, Adu contacted the aides of the Nesu. He demanded a personal visit. To Adu’s surprise, this request was granted immediately. The Nesu, and a considerably large security entourage, visited the dying Ete. Within the small house, a conversation between the Nesu and Ete took place. A guard remained inside the house. The rest of the group waited patiently outside, protecting the Nesu. Ete met with the Nesu in a back room, where his sleeping quarters were located.

  Adu offered the guard some wine and food. After 30 minutes he reluctantly accepted, giving in to his stomach’s hunger pangs. The mid afternoon wore on and still the private audience continued. The guard became sleepy and weak. He looked around the room and located two chairs, near the entrance to the sleeping quarters. He decided to rest his weight for a while, in one of the chairs. He would still be strategically placed, to provide protection for his Nesu. Eventually the effects of the food and the wine started to kick in. He was soon snoring in deep sleep, as his large frame slumped across the chair. Adu was curious. What would his dying brother know, that would keep the Nesu engaged this long? What were they talking about? His curiosity got the better of his cautious restraint. He feared being caught, but he could not help himself. He moved to the chair, adjacent to the guard. He closed his eyes, slumped and pretended to be asleep. With his sight gone, he focused his senses on his hearing. He could just hear the faint murmurs of the conversation from the next room. Ete was weak and his voice was not strong. Adu heard enough to comprehend the power of the Amulet. He strained to hear the explanation of the Amulet’s origins. Anubis had given Ete the Amulet. He finally got an explanation for the scars on his brother’s leg.

  Adu was an active member of an underground society. His reluctance to approach the Nesu also stemmed from his fear of being exposed. What he heard convinced him that the Nesu were not Gods. They were mortal, but with one important difference. This family of mortals now had access to an Amulet, with powers from the Gods. What other God given artifacts did this family have access to? Was it merely privileged access to items from the Gods that made them powerful? The secret society discussions had centered on the topic that the Nesu were indeed mortal. They were not Gods. This seemed more reasonable, after what he had just heard. The priority now, was to track and locate the Amulet, to gain this power for himself. With knowledge this powerful, it could change the hierarchy within Egypt and the world forever.

  A sound, resembling the dragging of a chair, woke the snoozing guard. In a panic, he sprung to his feet and quickly got his bearings. He had dozed off and would be punished if found wanting. He looked at the slumped figure of Adu, who clearly was waking from a deep sleep. Adu remained seated, faking his waking routine for the guard. The door to the sleeping quarters opened and the Nesu emerged, carrying a small Golden box. He glanced at the slumping body of Adu and then the standing erect body, of the guard. Walking quickly, he passed them both, as he exited the small dwelling.

  The guard followed, trying to hide the relieved expression etched upon his face. Adu did not wait. He immediately approached his brother, only to find that he had passed away. The guards returned instantly, they informed Adu of the Nesu’s instructions. Later that evening, they removed his body and prepared him in a way far exceeding his social status. Adu remained skeptical of the Nesu’s powers and the claim that he was a God. He remained active in his secret society and changed their main purpose. He would use this group to obtain the Amulet. He named the society, The Order of Ra: after a true God.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 11: The Book of Byblos

  City of London, England, 1890.

  The fire raged, illuminating the night sky in the east end of London. Residents were concerned that stray embers would be carried by the generous evening wind. The rain had come and gone, providing little assistance to those who fought the fire. The sounds of shouting, and panic stricken voices could be heard upon the street. People ran to the flames, trying to assist. A small wooden building, owned by the Parkinson family, ignited. The dry wooden structure was soon engulfed, and with it went the family business. The small cobblers shop would not assist people with running repairs, for a while. A crowd of locals had gathered to fight the fires. It was now seemingly contained; they were gaining the upper hand. A stroke of luck had helped save the original building. The fire had started in the older section, at the rear of the house. Thick walls, made from stone, had surrounded and contained the flames. The fortunate part of the night’s events occurred when a main support beam gave way, collapsing the roof. The older section of the roof came crashing into the house. This preserved the remaining section of the roof; it prevented the rest of the house from burning. The library and the newer section of the house were saved.

  Paul Smith had managed to escape through the rear of the house. His torso and neck were badly burned. His clothes had seared into his skin; he was in excruciating pain. He managed to stagger back to his lodgings, with every step hurting beyond the next. He wrapped himself in an old cloth that he found on the street. It looked like a canvas sack; the type merchants would wrap produce in. The fresh night air felt like a thousand daggers, piercing his exposed burned skin. He staggered through the crowds, trying to evade attention. Back in his room, he managed to partially undress. It was painful; removing clothing attached to his skin was unbearable. He looked at himself in a mirror and could see the damage. It was bad; his body was going into shock. He had to do something, but what?

  Paul was no Doctor but he knew he could clean his wounds with alcohol. He had a large bottle of Scotch in his room. He poured the amber liquid over his neck and shoulder area. He recoiled instantly from the pain. It was like pouring hot oil onto his torso. He screamed loudly; he was surprised nobody came to investigate. The Scotch continued to burn; he would not repeat this on other parts of his body. He raised the Scotch bottle and gulped a large mouthful. Perhaps it would dull the pain? The heat in his throat was nothing compared to the tight heat his body was feeling. He was in bad shape and he needed something to distract his mind, from the constant pain.

  He walked gingerly over to the bed and managed to lie on his back. The pain was blistering, his exposed skin felt raw. He had shoved the book, retrieved from the library, into his jacket pocket. He reached for his jacket and fished out the book. It looked old and was covered in Egyptian symbols. Some of the pages had text, but it was not written entirely in English. He flipped to a page that he could read. He read as much as he could, gingerly turning the pages and trying not to move his badly burnt arms. He concentrated, trying to comprehend the ancient text. For a while, he lost himself in the book and managed to block out the burning pain. It was like a river, forever forging a path to his brain. Eventually no matter how hard he would try, the pain would wash into his brain and swirl around in an uncontrollable manner.

  After reading for an hour, he let the book fall to his side. He lay silent and tried not to move. Movement was painful, very painful. He lay still, with his eyes closed. He tried to regulate his breathing and think through the pain. It seemed to work for a while, until the river of pain would swell and flood his brain. He tried to think
of Claire; how beautiful she looked. She would not find him desirable now; a burnt shell of a man. He felt fluid in his throat and coughed violently. He raised a painful hand to his mouth and saw blood. He coughed again and this time felt no pain. Eventually his body gave out, his heart stopped pumping. He took his last long breath and slipped into unconsciousness. Lying motionless on his bed, he passed away with the precious book still at his side.

  It was the following morning, when Anne the chambermaid, found Paul Smith. She came to work happy; her wedding day approached. She had known Joseph for two years and was certain that he was the one. He had ambition, having started as a barrow boy. He had worked hard; he now owned his stall at the market. He was a bright lad and was going places. She had confidence in his abilities and she loved him. Joseph had fallen in love with Anne the moment he had seen her. She came to the market to buy fruit. It did not take them long to realize they were meant to be together. There was instant chemistry. They each felt the attraction; it had not faded yet. Joseph adored Anne; they were soon living over the broom. It was an arrangement of convenience. London was an expensive place to live. Anne wanted to legitimize their relationship and so they saved. They both took night jobs, to earn a little extra. Joseph did not come from a wealthy family but they were happy. She was a slim woman and was described as having a slight frame. From an early age, she had to work hard to earn her keep. Anne always had a job with a physical aspect to it. From her time as a little girl, she had to work hard. She was small and slim but exceptionally strong and fit. Joseph wore the same clothes each day to work in the market. It was often a dirty job, frequently exposed to the elements. Anne tried to imagine Joseph wearing new clean clothes; having freshly bathed. The morning of the wedding would be magical. She had his face on her mind as she entered her next room to clean.

  Anne knocked on the door, wrapping her knuckles. “Hello, Chambermaid.” She waited for a response and heard nothing, “Chambermaid?” The lack of a response signaled an approval to enter the room. As soon as she entered, the strong pungent smell of burnt cloth entered her nostrils. Her focus went to the bed, where a motionless figure lay silent. “Please accept my apologies Sir. I shouldn’t have entered.” The phrase fell from Anne’s lips, almost by habit. She had walked in on guests before. Some guest’s sleep, some are hard of hearing. Something felt wrong. She did not turn and leave right away she continued to stare at the figure on the bed. It was an odd scene. He was lying on the bed, his bottom half was fully clothed, including his boots. He was naked from the waist up and reeked of Scotch. His body looked blackened and covered in sores. His chest was still, no rise and fall. Anne inched forward; she walked around the bed to take a closer look. She could see a pile of burnt clothes, crumpled in an untidy heap on the floor. She could smell the burnt fabric and see the singed cloth. She looked at his torso, neck and arms. This poor man had sustained considerable burns.

  Anne prodded the man with her fingers as she watched him lay motionless. She knew he was dead. “Oh my, what have you done?” she said quietly, out of respect. Anne looked at the bed. She saw his lifeless body; now at peace. She took a good look, starting at his feet and working her way up. His arms were resting at his sides. Propped against one of his forearms, appeared to be a book. Anne reached for the book and lifted it from the bed carefully. It looked old, with symbols she could not understand. She flicked open a couple of pages; it appeared to have some writing in English. She recognized a few words; she never managed to grasp the art of reading. Joseph could read, he would know what this said. The book looked old and different. She had seen books before, this looked different. It contained pictures that seemed to be hand drawn. The book smelled of fire. She had heard about a fire a few streets away, she wondered if this man had been burned while trying to help? With the book in her hand, Anne faced a decision that tortured her for the rest of her life. She was a good woman and not prone to stealing. This book looked old and expensive. Who would know if she took the book? Joseph knew people in the market, people that collect this type of stuff. Perhaps it might be worth a Bob or two? Any money would certainly help with the wedding right now.

  She agonized for over a minute, until she realized that she was in danger of being found with the body. She could lose her opportunity. She tucked the book deeply into her pocket and sounded the alarm. When the men arrived, she left the room to transfer the book to her other coat. After a short while, a man in charge wanted to question her. She returned to the room, barely able to look at the body. It was quickly established that she was an innocent person in this intriguing case. The chambermaid provided details of her discovery willingly. She was soon dismissed, as the dead body was clearly upsetting her and making her nervous. The owner of the hotel gave the chambermaid the rest of the day off.

  “Go home and pull yourself together. I’ll expect you back here first thing in the morning.” He smiled sympathetically, then turned and shook his head at her delicate constitution.

  “Yes Sir, thank you Sir,” said Anne still feeling guilty.

  Anne did not go straight home; she headed for the market with the smoke filled book burning a hole in her pocket. Was she doing the right thing? Would she get caught? Would the inquisitive man, back at the room, figure out she had the book? Would this implicate her in that man’s death?” She raced to the market, tightly clutching her coat to her body. When she reached Joseph’s stall he was busy. She managed to catch his eye; she seemed concerned. He served a customer, and then made his way over to the side of his stall.

  “Are you okay? Is there anything wrong?” he asked, expecting her to be at work.

  “They sent me home. I’m okay, a man died in one of my rooms and I found him this morning,” she stammered.

  “Come on governor! I can’t wait all day. Do you want me to buy something or not?” said a large man holding some apples.

  “I’ll be right there.” Joseph looked at Anne and pulled a face. She could tell he was busy and had to go. He wanted to stay and talk but he had to sell his produce; he had people waiting to buy. Customers could easily go to other stalls, so he had to go.

  “Come straight home tonight, it’s important, promise me,” shouted Anne above the noise.

  “Sure,” said Joseph, trying to juggle too many tasks.

  At the end of a long hard day, Joseph closed his stall for the night and hurried home. It had been a good day. His takings were twice that of a normal day, a welcome bonus this close to the wedding. He arrived home to find his meal on the table, Anne looked awful. She looked worried and concerned. She paced throughout dinner, as she watched him eat his food. He knew something was wrong, he could feel it. “How did the man in the room die?”

  “It looked like he suffered from severe burns and came back to his room. He died from his burns, I think.” Anne twirled her hair around her fingers.

  “This has really upset you, right? Have you seen a dead body before?”

  “That’s not it,” said Anne, finally looking at Joseph.

  Anne explained to Joseph what had transpired, that fateful morning. She described the book and her feelings around taking it. He listened intently and finally spoke. “Can I see it?” Anne went to her coat, to retrieve the book. It felt dirty to her now; she did not want to touch it. She gave it to Joseph. The book still had the pungent smell of burning, still clinging to its pages. The smell reminded her of that poor man. Joseph examined the book’s cover; he turned it over to look at its back. “I think it’s old.”

  Joseph studied the pages and read the text. That night, he read well into the dark hours. Anne hated herself for what she had done. Joseph refused to pass any moral judgment. He read the contents out aloud, so Anne could understand the book. They both looked at the hand drawn diagrams and followed its contents. As books go, it was an interesting tale, with no real conclusion. The book described a secret society, consisting of two principal characters.

  The Soul Collector was a person responsible for protecting a Golden box. A dia
gram of the box was drawn on page 14. The Keeper had the responsibility of keeping the Amulet safe. The Amulet looked like a dog’s head, according to the drawing on page 18. The story talked about the Golden box and the Amulet. The Keeper and the Soul Collector wore identical rings. A diagram of the rings was meticulously drawn on page 24. Anne could not recall if the burned man was wearing a ring. The book told a fanciful tale about the consequences of the Amulet being placed within the Golden box. If this were to occur, a gateway to another world would be opened. Some of the words had little meaning to Joseph. Perhaps an educated man could make sense of the script. It talked about Anubis and Duat. Duat was the other world. It was a fanciful tale, but it had no real ending. Perhaps this was a novel still under development. The appeared to be old; the author was not identified on either its front or spine. The last completed page, was a drawing of a wooden paneled wall. The drawing looked recent, with library shelves and books. An arrow pointed to the carving of a dog’s head. The head was shown to rotate. Another drawing within the side margin, showed a hidden compartment. It was an odd book. It seemed to be part story, part illustrations. The book appeared to be a collection of random thoughts. Different people had added material over the years. Perhaps each person would add to the ongoing evolution of the story. A clever concept, which leaves the story fragmented.