by Unknown
Linda Saint Jalmes
The Curse of Kalaan
A novel
“The curse of Kalaan is a thrilling story, masterfully told with humor, love, friendship and adventure, set in Egypt and France that had me hooked since the first page. This book will delight you as well as her author. Come and discover a wonderful French author.”
Carine Verbeke – Ceres Books World
Copyright © Linda Saint Jalmes 2016 Curse of Kalaan
Translated from the French: Original title: “Les Croz, tome 1: La malédiction de Kalaan”
First published in France in 2015 by Rebelle Éditions
English translation copyright © Ann Elizabeth Norton, 2016
Illustrator © Jon Paul Ferrara, 2016
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this work partially or in its entirety
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Author's Note
Ichose to open this novel in Egypt because, after Scotland and the Celtic universe, ancient Egypt is my second greatest passion.
Please note that in 1828, when the story begins, the major discoveries that continued to take place up to present day were only in their infancy. Jean-François Champollion, the decipherer of hieroglyphs and the Rosetta Stone played a major, if not the most important, role.
It was the name of Ptolemy that he first translated on a cartouche in 1821 thanks to his knowledge of ancient languages and his excellent knowledge of history. It was Cleopatra's name he deciphered next, on the Philæ obelisk. Things moved quickly from that point on, and many more illustrious figures from Ancient Egypt were brought back to life.
Back to life because, from the Roman era with Emperor Theodosius the Great (347-395) and through the early Christian era, the knowledge of hieroglyphic writing was lost as pagan places of worship were closed and the Egyptian priests were decimated (for example the massacre of the priests in the Serapeum[1] of Alexandria in 391).
Fourteen centuries of obscurity, loss of priceless knowledge, and destruction or burial of remarkable sites, separate the Roman era from Champollion's arrival. It took fourteen centuries for the true history of the marvelously bewitching Ancient Egypt, its pharaohs, its rituals, and its great monuments to reappear.
On September 14th, 1822, a few months after identifying the names of Ptolemy and Cleopatra, Champollion deciphered the cartouches of Ramses and Thutmosis, two of the greatest pharaohs. He succeeded by using the Coptic language as a basis and then adding phonetic equivalents to express an idea (an ideogram) or a sound (a phonogram). That day he exclaimed "Je tiens mon affaire!" (By George I’ve got it!) before fainting from emotion at his brother's feet.
On September 22nd, 1822, in his famous "Letter to Monsieur Dacier", he set forth the principles of hieroglyphic writing.
In 1824, in Turin, he went to the Egyptian museum to study and draw up a scientific description of the royal collection there. After a year of unrelenting work, he succeeded in reconstructing a partial chronology of the dynasties. To this day, the list continues to grow thanks to new discoveries. On his return to France, The government of Charles X agreed to purchase the British Consul's Egyptology collection and create the Egyptian antiquity department in the Louvre Museum.
So now you have a brief explanation of the "Egypt" part of this story, which shows you the extent to which I find the subject fascinating.
As for the setting of the other part of my novel, I chose Brittany, and in particular an invented island, to serve my purpose. The island in question is largely inspired by the Isle of Bréhat, in the Côtes-d'Armor region of France.
You will also learn a little Ar Brezhoneg (the Breton language of that region) and, so as to make your reading a little easier, the translations will be in footnotes and not in a glossary at the end of the book.
Now that I've clarified these few points, all that remains for me is to wish you an enjoyable reading experience.
"Misfortune to the living who violate the tombs.
Death shall come on swift wings to he who disturbs the pharaoh’s rest."[2]
Prologue
Tell el-Amarna, Egypt — November 7th, 1828
The waters of the Nile sparkled under the sun's caress and shimmered like mercury dappled languidly by gentle bluish gray waves. This wide liquid ribbon flowed from south to north through the regions of Lower, Middle and Upper Egypt and, in the summer, during the annual flood season, she generously fertilized her banks with a rich black silt which the people called "kemet." The contrast between the sumptuously rich plant life on the riverbanks, sprung from this nourishing source, and the desert plains in the background never ceased to astonish visitors.
The green landscape that cradled the Nile in its arms was full of lush grasses, papyrus, eucalyptus, weeping willows, palm trees, and date trees, as well as lotus and reeds. And when the eyes finally broke away from the bewitching green to look beyond this belt quivering with life, high sand dunes and dark rocky peaks, covered in beige sand reflecting the sun's glare came into view.
Any smiles were dulled, and then completely erased, by the barren scene that managed to freeze the blood of mortals despite the high temperatures. Its message was silent, terrifying and macabre: "From this point on, all life ends." In places like this heaven and hell fought for their share of the world and man was nothing more than an insignificant pawn — at best a spectator, at worst a victim.
In ancient times along one of these waterfronts, on the eastern bank of the Nile, boats belonging to Akhenaten, the tenth pharaoh of the eighteenth dynasty, and his royal spouse, the great Nefertiti would dock.
It is also in this place that he who would come to be baptized the ‘heretic pharaoh’ built his new capital, completely dedicated to the cult of the sun god Aten[3] and gave it the name of Akhetaten or "Horizon of Aten." Akhetaten was a spectacular city, with magnificent architecture, in red bricks and talatats[4]; and within four years it had a population of over twenty thousand. The city was, without a doubt, worthy of the cult of Aten, easily meeting the expectations of its ruler.
Three thousand one hundred and eighty eight years later, in 1828,with the passing of time and changing ideals, after having been deserted at the end of Akenaten's reign, the capital was no more than a pile of ruins swept by the burning desert winds, and watched over by its boundary steles. Nothing remains of the great pharaoh, or of the original name, not even a hint of the beginning of a story[5].
Now on the banks there are other boats, more modest than Akhenaten's, however just as well designed for the visitors they transport: two maasch[6] —the Isis and the Horus— and a small felucca[7].TheIsis and the felucca belonged to Jean-François Champollion's Franco-Tuscan expedition, which had just arrived at the site, while the Horus belonged to Kalaan Phoebus, Count of Croz, a French nobleman and Egyptologist, who had been in Egypt for the past eight months.
In this mythical place called Tell el-Armana, an unexpected encounter would permanently change these two men's destinies.
Chapter 1
The encounter
"My dear Kalaan! I'm delighted that fate has finally brought us together here in this country!" exclaimed Jean-François Champollion, two hours after their unexpected encounter at Tell el-Amarna. He had briefly toured a section of the extensive ruins, first with the members of his expeditionary corps, then accompanied solely by the count.
After a moment of thought, he spoke again.
"These ruins are true to the descriptions the Jesuit Claude Sicard published in his letters in 1714. And Mister Jomard's[8] report from thirty years ago
is just as truthful; what we have here is utter desolation. There is good cause to believe that all the pillaging these ancient sites are being subjected to has worsened their condition. My colleagues and I have observed that time was not the only culprit in the destruction of the remains. Men armed with pickaxes and hammers have made a considerable contribution to this dilapidation. ’Tis such devastation! There is nothing left to raise and the few reliefs, hieroglyphs or fragments of statues that we've spotted, have all been severely damaged."
"In the two days I've been here, I have come to the same conclusion," sighed Kalaan gloomily with some bitterness in his voice, his amber-green eyes scanning the ruins across to the steep chalky cliffs rising to the east. They loomed just above what had once most certainly been the foundations of an immense ancient Egyptian city.
"Anything new on this Akhenaten's identity?"
"No, my friend, and it saddens me somewhat," replied Champollion wearily, pursing his lips. "For the life of me, I simply cannot place this mysterious figure in the long list of kings, queens or pharaohs. I admit I am starting to feel the same as my colleagues, who affirm that Akhenaten was, in truth, a woman. It's quite odd... as if the world had resolved to erase all trace of her, or him, and her reign — or his. If ever there really was a reign."
Jean-François distractedly took a whitish object from his pocket, which aroused the Count of Croz's curiosity.
"What's that?"
"Hmh?" Champollion, who seemed preoccupied, looked up at Kalaan and stared at him questioningly. "Oh! This? Just a fragment of crystallized limestone. Notice how it is polished to perfection. From its shape we assume it belonged to a knee from a statue, probably that of a woman, which would confirm that Akhenaten was a member of the weaker sex. Here again, we may well never know."
"Maybe, or maybe not," replied Kalaan, enigmatically. "Have you forgotten that I wish to share one of my recent discoveries with you? And what if I announced that it could provide many answers to our questions?"
Champollion’s disbelief was visible and his brown eyes sparkled with keen interest. However, Kalaan had already turned away and with no further explanation, was striding towards the banks of the Nile, where the boats were docked. The rascal! He was so certain he had succeeded in sparking his colleague's curiosity that he didn't doubt for a moment he would follow!
And how could Champollion not follow? Kalaan's strong charismatic aura as well as his physical appearance commanded respect. He was endowed with an impressive stature, and moved lithely among the ruins of Tell el-Amarna like a feline reveling in the sun. He was dressed in a white linen tunic, close-fitting light-colored suede breeches and high boots crafted from thick leather — essential attire for protection against the snakes and scorpions that abounded in the area.
To protect himself from the sun, Champollion had only brought an ordinary straw hat, whereas Kalaan had opted for a black cheich[9], which did not, by any means, tarnish his stately bearing, quite the opposite, in fact. His appearance was enhanced by the fabric that concealed his dark sun-streaked chestnut brown hair. The young count’s locks were worn longer than was fashionable for the period and he kept them tied at the nape by a simple leather cord.
His face did not exactly meet the beauty standards of the period, which admired men who had softer, more feminine, features. His chin was a little too strong and his lips a little too full. All together his features were intensely masculine. Despite this, Kalaan was still one of the most handsome and sought after specimens of the time.
A lock of hair was constantly falling across his wide forehead, which gave him a rebellious look. His dark expressive eyebrows could easily switch from displaying determination, to derision, to deep annoyance. His alluring amber-green eyes were magnetic and the people around him often found them unsettling. Kalaan was a formidable adversary for his male colleagues and a fawned upon rake for women.
Unlike the dainty aristocrats who cultivated their pretentious delicate features and never did anything useful with their hands, Kalaan spared no efforts in digging the earth, lifting rocks, and carrying heavy weights just like the laborers he employed on his excavation sites. As a result he had a magnificently proportioned athletic body for which his men had nicknamed him 'the Lion of Egypt.'
Scarcely half an hour later, after reaching the camp on the eastern bank of the Nile, the young count slipped away from the members of Champollion's expeditionary force, which included his closest friends Ippolito Rosellini[10] and Nestor L'Hôte[11].His mysterious attitude was starting to annoy the linguist.
"All this mystery concerning your discovery is somewhat agitating, if you don't mind my saying so," murmured Champollion, whose brown eyes were shining with elation. "My Italian friend and colleague, Rosellini, must certainly suspect that we are not going to inspect a mere 'hole in the desert' as you have just led him to believe."
"Infested with snakes and scorpions," Kalaan teasingly added, in his warm, deep voice.
Under his tan Ippolito Rosellini had turned very pale after hearing Kalaan's words and hadn't insisted on accompanying them despite the immense curiosity that was tormenting both him, and Nestor L'Hôte. And yet this was neither the first site the two men had visited with Champollion, nor would it be the last, and they had already seen more than their share of reptiles. The men displayed their disappointment and their eyes never left Champollion and his friend while boarding the Horus where the Count of Croz had invited them for refreshments.
As Kalaan had politely suggested, "To slake your thirst and take shelter from the heat..."
It was all only ruse and diversion, and Champollion was bursting with impatience to lay eyes on the troubling discovery that had not yet been disturbed by any human presence other than the count's.
Kalaan and Jean-François embarked on a felucca to cross to the west bank of the Nile where Salam, Kalaan's faithful Tuareg friend, was waiting for them, with Lil' Louis, the count's right hand man who followed him on all his expeditions, as well as the count's henchmen.
"Really... a hole?" teased Jean-François once more, as he took his seat on the small boat."
Kalaan shot him a cryptic look, a sardonic smile on his full lips, and took the helm of their little boat, steering it in the right direction. His gestures were calm and sure, as though he'd been doing this all his life, although he was only thirty years old. Seeing him in this light, as a hardened navigator, no one could ever doubt his Breton origins.
It was a secret for no one that the young count, as well as being a renowned Egyptologist, had been a buccaneer. He began in the service of Napoleon Bonaparte when he was only fourteen and then went on to serve Louis XVIII and Charles X, following the Restoration of 1814, which had brought back the Bourbon monarchy.
Kalaan, whose father had been a buccaneer before him, followed in his father's footsteps; but the old Count of Croz had disappeared at sea during a dangerous mission against the British, well before the new King of France returned to the throne.
A buccaneer is exactly how Champollion, who never tried to hide his admiration, saw Kalaan, imagining him upright and proud at the helm of his frigate, unaffected by the cascades of salt water pelting down on him, while facing the unleashed elements of a powerful storm.
The two men had run into each other several times in Paris, usually at the Louvre Museum. Their most recent encounter was during the inauguration of the Musée Charles X, where eight new rooms in the south wing of the Cour Carré, were devoted to Egyptian and Greco-Roman antiquities. At the time Jean-François hung on every word the count said after returning from one of his numerous expeditions to Egypt, whereas Champollion, the ‘decipherer of hieroglyphs’ only dreamed of discovering that faraway land that called to him. His dream had always slipped through his fingers just as he thought it might come true.
It had finally happened! Champollion was living his adventure and savoring every minute of it. Sumptuous Egypt seemed to open her arms and constantly thrilled him with her rich and mysterious histo
ry. And now, on this seventh day of November in 1828, adrenalin was rushing through his veins again and he was getting restless waiting to hear what it was that Kalaan so wanted to keep secret.
Unable to control himself any longer, Jean-François asked questions rapidly, one after the other, and only stopped when he realized he hadn't given the count, who was looking at him with amusement, the chance to answer — as if he would even deign to do so.
The small boat shook as its hull slid squealing onto the sand of the west bank. They were already at their destination and Kalaan's men were quickly pulling the felucca to higher ground. They helped Champollion out onto land while Kalaan, who had jumped into the water before they hit the sand, was heading towards the dry desert zone that could be seen just beyond the lush green belt. Despite being a nobleman, the Count of Croz, totally lacked the manners and courtesy that would have him wait for his guest. Only Lil' Louis, the young aristocrat's sturdy right-hand man, who was well into his fifties and Salam, Kalaan's mysterious Tuareg friend, stayed back with him, exchanging embarrassed glances. Kalaan's lack of good manners obviously disturbed them.
"Lil' Louis!" exclaimed Champollion, warmly shaking the man's large hand. "What a pleasure to see you again!"
"Likewise," the old seafarer replied cheerfully, "Mighty pleased t'see ye. The sooner ye get the lad outta this hole, the sooner we go home. Oy'm fed up with guzzling sand!"
Champollion burst out laughing at Lil' Louis’ outspokenness. With his graying hair, pudgy cheeks and round belly, the little fellow, whose trousers were always falling, cut a comic figure and, with Kalaan, the two of them formed an odd couple. Jean-François cleared his throat to regain composure and turned to Salam, whom Lil' Louis quickly introduced.
