Michael glanced wryly at his tea, but the caffeine had barely scratched the surface of his fatigue. He wondered if he was coming down with something.
After agreeing to meet Azizi at eight o’clock, Michael followed the labyrinth of hallways to his room in the main palace building. He loved staying in the old section of the hotel, with its sudden steps up or down, checkered carpeting, and honey-colored paneling. When he arrived in his room, he found a gilded headboard on the bed in the shape of a round mandala. Too bad Anne wasn’t with him this trip.
He showered and unpacked, finding Anne’s surprise tucked between his shirts. It was a picture of the last sonogram, taken from an angle that left the child’s gender unidentifiable. She’d written “Come back soon, Daddy,” on the picture. He tucked it into the corner of the gold frame of the mirror and checked his watch. He had two hours before going to the site. He set an alarm and lay down on the bed.
Sleep came immediately, and a dream. Towering Neters whispered to him, looming dark forms, their faces hidden. Try as he might, he couldn’t make out the words. The alarm sounded and he woke, still tired. He grabbed a quick snack, then headed outside.
Azizi lounged on the front wall and stood when Michael came out. “Let’s take the short way.”
They walked up the hill in front of the hotel. Azizi showed his ID and pass to the guard and they made their way up to the parking lot in front of the Great Pyramid. Across the now empty paving stones, a cluster of aspirants dressed all in white waited near the door of the giant structure to be let in for their private session. Azizi and Michael slipped through the shadows over to the causeway and walked down toward the Sphinx, her cone shaped head just visible in the growing dark.
“Looks like Cayce might have been right,” Azizi said casually.
“What? But—”
“I know, I know.” Azizi held up a hand. “You said you’d opened the Hall of Records already, that it was a spiritual place and not physical. But there is a hallway in the uncovered temple that goes over to the Sphinx toward a chamber.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Right beneath the right paw.”
“How can you tell?”
“It matches the ground-penetrating radar done a few years back. That crack the Antiquities Director made fun of?”
“The 45 x 45-foot perfect square? The crack was in his head.”
Azizi laughed. “The hallway goes straight toward it.”
People just couldn’t let go of the Hall of Records, Michael thought. But maybe there was something stored in that square room. Still, he’d known deep down they’d opened Cayce’s famed hall last time. And it had not been artifacts or lost technology from Atlantis. It had been an exalted state of consciousness—powerful enough to bring a huge energy surge into the earth’s grid. Many things had changed for the positive afterwards, but the dark forces had redoubled their efforts.
“How about the staff of Osiris?” Michael asked.
“The real one that’s supposed to open all the secret chambers in Egypt?”
“The very one.”
“I think the Sayeed family already did that for us.”
“The Ring of Isis?”
Azizi shook his head.
“Or the Seeing Stone from the great oracle of Ammon in the Oasis.”
“But that’s way south.”
“It’s never been found. Perhaps it was moved. Hidden away here in the North.”
Azizi patted him on the shoulder. “Who knows what we’ll find, my brother? Who knows?”
They walked in silence, the sand soft beneath their feet. A group of men waited close to the new fence near the ragged hole in the ground. Rubble from the house sat on the side. The front stoops of adjacent houses had been boarded up. Michael could only guess how these people got in and out of their residences now. The street up to the new fence was empty. Maybe the army had evacuated the whole neighborhood.
Michael spotted a tall figure in a flowing woolen galabeya, a white turban on his head. “Tahir!” He sprinted forward and grabbed him in a rough hug.
“Michael, I am so glad you came. Who knows what we will discover.” His eyes gleamed.
A man with a muscular build and sporting a traditional beard stepped out of a knot of soldiers. “Azizi, is your group ready?”
“Yes. Eiham, this is Dr. Michael Levy, curator of the Egyptian collection at the Metropolitan Museum in New York.”
Former, Michael thought, but decided not to correct him. “Pleased to meet you, Eiham.” They shook hands.
“You know Tahir Nur Ahram, of course.” Azizi nodded toward Tahir.
“Everyone knows Tahir,” Eiham said. “Shall we go down?” Without waiting for an answer, Eiham walked behind a pile of rocks twice the height of a camel’s head and picked his way down the steep drop. The cave ceiling closed over their heads. Electric torches lit the way forward.
“They’ve been busy,” Michael pitched his voice for Tahir only.
“Very,” he answered. “Many trucks.”
Michael knew this meant the top black market dealers had already had their pick. They’d leave some things for the museums and universities to study, but given the difficult economy, Michael imagined the site would be more picked over than usual. What they’d left stopped the group in their tracks.
In front of them stretched a level area, blue and white marble tiles showing here and there between piles of sand and rock. In the middle rose an enormous statue of Osiris, his crowned head stretching maybe twenty feet, almost to the top of the cavern, his hands folded in front, the crook and flail resting on either shoulder. Dust still covered the head and shoulders, but the gold gleamed beneath it. The eyes seemed to shift as Eiham played his flashlight over the statue.
“Amazing, yes?”
“Beautiful,” Michael breathed.
“The house stood there.” He pointed the flashlight up, illuminating a gutted structure, stairs rising up to a precariously perched bedroom, the door to an armoire open showing what looked like children’s clothes. “We think they discovered this tomb.”
Eiham moved his light down on what now looked like a cave pockmarked with niches. One wall was painted with typical feast scenes. A wooden sarcophagus stood unopened and several gold statuettes littered the ground. That these had been left told Michael how rich the find was.
They turned back to the towering statue of Osiris. The piece dominated the cave, standing like a good shepherd ready to guide his sheep—or goats in the case of Egypt. Michael walked around the statue, marveling at the careful etching in the folds of his garment, the inlaid turquoise and coral in the crook and flail held in his crossed arms. “It’s a miracle this statue survived. It looks untouched,” he said.
“Over here is the Anubis chapel.” Eiham walked to the west, behind Osiris, but Michael was drawn to the south where the workers had just cleared another entrance.
He walked across the even tiles, avoiding a pile of rubble near the wall, and stood in front of the chapel entrance. Inside, the great lioness regarded him quietly, her lotus staff blossoming just at her heart. This Sekhmet had a gold disk on her head.
Eiham gave out a low whistle. “Would you look at that?”
Michael stiffened at Eiham’s intrusion. He’d rather be alone with Tahir down here. Even Azizi’s presence was a bit of a distraction. Eiham had no metaphysical training. Azizi had studied some, but he was a natural. He’d probably been a member of a mystery school in a past life. Now, he was down-to-earth, concerned with making a living for his growing family, as Michael would be if he hadn’t married into money.
Michael snapped a picture of the newly revealed Sekhmet, apologizing to her for the impertinence, but he feared the disk that topped her head would disappear. At least he’d have evidence. One look at Azizi was all it took.
“Eiham,” Azizi called from near the ramp. Thankfully, the man walked toward him. After a brief discussion, Azizi called out. “An hour?” his voice echoed off the walls, setting the large space reverbe
rating.
“That would be excellent,” Michael said in a softer voice. The sound carried as if he held a microphone.
“Shokran,” Tahir said.
“Yes, thank you,” Michael said.
Michael stood in front of Sekhmet and steadied his breathing. He stepped over the threshold of the chapel and dropped to his knees before her, silently asking her permission to search the area and for her protection. She stood quietly for a long moment, regarding him. Michael felt the same urge he always did before this great mother. He stood and leaned his head against her staff, his forehead resting between her breasts. She was the same height as the Karnak statue.
Be prepared, my son. A great test awaits you.
Michael wondered what it might be. Resisting the wealth that lay all around him? Documenting the find before the black marketers stripped it clean? Perhaps he’d discover something entirely new, unknown to Egyptologists before now.
Go West.
He bowed his head to her and walked toward the Anubis shrine, hardly hearing Tahir tell him he would try to get through the crack and enter the chamber to the East.
Anubis stood in the shadows, his dark skin barely reflecting the light of Michael’s flashlight. He held a gold ankh in his left hand. His was staff gleamed dark mahogany. The jackal head peered down at him, quartz crystal shining back from the iris. This ancient technique made the eyes come alive, giving the viewer the feeling of being watched.
Michael stood in front of the statue, silencing his mind, waiting. He intoned a sacred sound, letting it fill his body and the chamber.
Nothing stirred.
He intoned the sound again, willing himself to patience. Michael listened as the tones filled the room, ringing like a bell at first, then softening as the vibration stretched out, thinned, and disappeared, leaving silence.
Something took a long, shuddering breath. Then the breathing steadied. Became regular and deep.
Michael opened his eyes. The statue’s chest rose and fell.
The Great Opener of the Ways shifted in the dark.
Reached out his left hand and pointed the shaft of the golden ankh at Michael.
Michael steadied himself internally, then grasped it.
The Neter stepped down from his pedestal and led Michael back into the yawning dark cavern behind the chapel.
Chapter 2
Anne leaned over the white kitchen counter to smell the freshly ground coffee beans.
“Want me to make you a cup?” her grandfather Gerald asked, emptying the grounds into a paper cone.
“Can’t.” Anne patted her protruding belly. “I can only smell them.”
“I’ve always thought they smell better than they taste, anyway.” He poured steaming water over the beans.
Anne took a deep whiff. “I wish. I’m so sleepy these days, I can hardly keep my eyes open.”
Estelle, the cook, looked up from the sink where she was peeling potatoes. “You should rest as much as you can. Once the little master is born, you’ll be wishing for some uninterrupted sleep.”
“You think it’s a boy?” Anne ignored the ‘master’ part. Estelle was incorrigible when it came to social status. She took her pride from the family’s position.
“I’ve always been right.” Estelle pointed her peeler at Anne.
She hoped Estelle was making her famous potato leek soup. Not only was she sleepy, she couldn’t seem to eat enough. Potato leek soup with crusted country bread and butter. Her mouth watered.
“I knew you were a girl and that Thomas, God rest his soul, was a boy.”
“I wish he were here,” Anne said. “He would have loved being an uncle.” She still thought about Thomas every day. Death was something the Le Clairs were all too familiar with. She’d lost her uncle and aunt to assassinations.
Gerald squeezed her hand and she straightened her shoulders. “Grandma thinks it’s a girl,” she said.
Estelle snorted. “She might be the famous psychic, but I know babies.”
Anne smiled, a little surprised that Estelle had taken to speaking so openly about family secrets. The public thought of the Le Clair family only as a political dynasty. Not many knew they were founding members of an ancient mystery school. And then there was the bloodline controversy. Garth, her late Aunt Cynthia’s lover in Glastonbury, had scoffed at that. Said the evidence was scanty. She didn’t much care one way or the other, but Grandmother Elizabeth was adamant that it was true. She said Garth was a plebeian, her favorite word of late, whose ignorance could be excused. The aristocratic families of Europe knew the truth.
Estelle pulled leeks out of the refrigerator.
“Yum! My favorite.”
“Now you two skedaddle so I can finish this up.”
Anne grabbed a glass of water and they left Estelle to her own brand of magic. Gerald carried his coffee to his study to finish the day’s business. Anne pulled herself up the stairs and walked to their section of the house. Now that she’d married and was expecting, she’d exchanged her room for an apartment inside the rambling mansion.
Each family had their own contained space, with bedrooms, bathrooms, sitting rooms, and an office. The family shared some rooms—library, dining room, and den. The public face of the house—the reception hall, formal living room, and ballroom—got dusted regularly, but was rarely used except for events.
The family ritual room, which Anne had only discovered when she’d become a Keeper of the Crystal after Aunt Cynthia’s death, opened off the ballroom, the entrance well camouflaged. Grandmother Elizabeth called it the temple. The job of cleaning it fell to the newest initiate, in this case Anne. She’d passed it off to Michael, but figured she’d have to give it a go over sometime this week. A few other ritual spots and a labyrinth dotted the grounds. They all passed as gardens to the casual visitor who might stumble across them.
Anne settled down in front of the fireplace and checked her text messages. Michael should have arrived already.
Checked in. Going to the site when the sun sets. Love you both.
She typed an answer: Hope you discover wonders. Then hurry home. Love you, too.
She turned on the TV and surfed through the channels. Her concentration had suffered, so she’d given up on serious reading until the baby arrived. She wasn’t in the mood for the news. Maybe she’d binge-watch one of the shows her friends liked, a spy show or the latest Sherlock. She found the series and started with the first season.
She chuckled over the dry, British humor, but found her eyes closing. She jerked awake at a loud bang from the TV. The shoot-up scene. Rubbing at the creak in her neck, she gave in and took a nap. The big bed felt empty without Michael. She called the two Egyptian Maus, Viviane and Merlin. They’d been a gift from Thomas after her divorce a few years back. She called again and Viviane appeared. Then Merlin popped out of her closet. Anne held up the covers and they snuggled down, their purrs sending her off to sleep again.
After some time, from far away, Anne heard someone calling her name. She turned over and pulled a pillow close.
Anne. The voice came again, faint but distinct.
She strained to hear.
Come to me.
Anne looked around and was surprised to see a long hallway. A dim light escaped from under a door at the far end. She briefly wondered why it wasn’t still daylight, but the thought faded away with another call of her name. Anne followed the light down the hallway, pushed open a door, then walked downstairs, her bare feet chilled on the marble floor. Why was the house so dim? It had been late morning when she’d gone back to bed.
Anne Morgan.
“Yes?” The sound of her own voice woke her up enough to open her eyes, but not enough to find it strange that she was walking through the formal living room into the ballroom. She paused in the middle of the hardwood floor and tried to shake herself fully awake, but the seductive voice called to her again, soothing her back into her dream-like state. She walked to the secret panel in the left wall of the ballro
om and pushed the lever. The wall swung open.
Anne entered the family’s temple, not thinking anything of the lit candles marking the quarters. She moved toward the center of the room to lay her hands on the family’s ancient crystal ball. A family story claimed the crystal came from Atlantis and had stood in the main temple of the Crystal Guild. She reached out her hand to steady herself with the ball’s firm presence, but instead she found a statue standing in its place. She jerked back, almost waking once more, but the voice soothed her back.
Welcome, Anne Morgan Le Clair.
She opened her eyes—or had she? Either way, somehow she saw a Celtic warrior standing before her, glaring. A rugged beard covered his lower face. His hand hovered over a sword sheathed at his side. An elaborate Celtic knot decorated his belt buckle. He was wrapped in a rough wool forest green cloak.
“Who are you?” Anne whispered.
The statue stirred. A deep, malevolent intelligence lit the eyes.
You have come. Kneel.
“What is your name?”
You don’t recognize me?
A name swam into Anne’s mind. “Mordred?” she asked. But how could this be? What was Arthur’s murderer doing standing in her family’s temple? What did he want?
Kneel before your true king.
Anne strained against the commanding voice, but some part of her wanted to obey, to kneel before this man and swear him fealty.
“No,” she said and tried to take a step back, but her limbs were heavy, her feet sunk in a pool of energy that felt like quicksand. She struggled against its grip.
Kneel, Guinevere. The time has come to answer for your deeds.
Yes, Anne thought. That was my name.
Mordred drew his sword. It gleamed in the dark. A name seemed to flicker on the blade. Excalibur.
No, it couldn’t be. That sword was safe in Arthur’s hands. Buried in the hollow hill in the tomb Vivienne had made for him. He would bring it back with him to save England—maybe the whole earth.
Mordred touched her shoulder with the glowing sword and the force pushed her to her knees.
“Please, no,” she whispered.
Return of the Grail King Page 2
