The Destiny Code: The Soldier and the Mystic

by Hollingsworth, Suzette

  “As well it should have. I would do so now if I could reach you.”

  “Oh, no, Grandmamma. I shudder to think how we would be getting along without Lord Ravensdale,” Alita countered. In point of fact, the area was swarming with natives, both guides and beggars, including hundreds of mere children begging for candy, tobacco, and coin. Several had attempted to steal, but the earl’s formidable appearance and ready command of both the Arabic and African languages created a barrier of protection around them.

  “I’ll thank you not to interrupt me while I am on a tirade, Alita. The truth is that Captain Ravensdale greatly understated the situation. Surely there must be houses of debauchery exhibiting more refinement than this…this…”

  “This global treasure.” A smile formed on Val’s lips even as he scanned the pyramids with his eyes. He was clearly more at home here than he was in the British Consulate.

  Lord Ravensdale is in his element. Amidst these ancient artifacts, he was focused and enthused. In his frequent glances she read unconcealed excitement about this ancient world. His mind had come alive. She had grown accustomed to being startled by this man, but, here, she felt the magnitude of his intellect surround her.

  She felt the delight of being in the presence of someone who was spiritually home.

  “Treasure?” the duchess huffed. “I think not.”

  “The environ is chaotic and intense, Your Grace, because a simple lady’s handkerchief can bring enough food to live on for a day,” he explained, motioning to a child begging nearby.

  In her previous encounters with Valerius Huntington, Alita had experienced the full force of his attention. She felt it still, and yet his interest shifted to include their surroundings without any reduction in the attention he lavished on her.

  As if she were the diamond in a beautiful setting. How odd that this man who never flattered her with language could make her feel so complimented in merely being himself.

  “Don’t you dare, Alita!” Marvella commanded, quickly ascertaining the lay of the land as Alita reached into her reticule. “A lady should never be without her handkerchief.”

  “The duchess is correct, Miss Alita.” She began to protest when Lord Ravensdale intervened. Her hand stopped midway into her reticule, where she had, indeed, been searching for her Belgian-lace handkerchief.

  “But it means so little to me, and so much to a child.”

  “So little? A lady without a handkerchief is no lady at all,” her grandmother insisted.

  “I agree with your intent, Miss Stanton. But wait until the end of the day when you will likely no longer have need of it. Then dispense of it.”

  “When it is…dirty?”

  He chuckled. “Not so very dirty. The child will wash the handkerchief and have a sense of earning the money instead of being given charity. To further the Egyptians dependence on the English—on those who enslaved them to begin with—decreases their sense of self-worth.”

  “Yes, I see,” Alita considered. “At the very hand of the very people who took their independence from them.”

  He nodded. “Always ask for some service in exchange for your gift, no matter how small. Do not deprive these people of their pride.”

  “All this harm from a handkerchief?” Marvella muttered. “Better to keep it, then,” clearly disdainful that Alita should forego her finery.

  “The three pyramids are Chephren, Cheops, and Mycerinus.” Seeking to divert the dowager duchess’s attention, Val motioned behind them to their surroundings. “Cheops is the first pyramid constructed and also the largest. It is some 480 feet high and contains almost 6.8 million tons of limestone.”

  “How long ago were these pyramids built?” Alita asked, finding this new side to Lord Ravensdale very much to her liking.

  “So long that it no longer pertains.” Marvella remarked disinterestedly as she straightened her Tuscan straw bonnet’s sheer wine scarf so it covered her face. Alita felt some guilt as she watched her grandmamma, an explosion of claret satin bows remarkably visible against the beige sand.

  “The Sphinx was built by the fourth-dynasty pharaoh, Khafre, who lived 2558-2532 B.C.,” answered Val. “So roughly forty-four hundred years ago.”

  “But what of the human element, Lord Ravensdale?” Alita asked thoughtfully while staring at the Sphinx. “Can you tell us of the story behind these incredible structures?”

  “Ah, so that your interest, Miss Stanton? Why does that not surprise me?” Val placed his hand under her elbow, leading her forward. She gasped as he increased his proximity to her, lowering his lips to her ear so that she felt his breath on her cheek. “You are interested in power and manipulation. What did people want, and how did they go about getting it?”

  “Naturally.” Marvella perked up.

  “The entire story of all of mankind lies here before you, impossible to ignore in its magnificence.” He gestured to the sight before them with his muscular arms.

  “As you can see, your Grace, we are surrounded by futile attempts at power.” Val took the straw hat from his head and fanned himself with it, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead as he did so. “The desire to remain immortal.”

  “Immortality,” Alita murmured. “Of course.”

  “Many died building these pyramids so a very few might attempt to prove their divinity to themselves.” He motioned to the pyramids. “The greater the lie, the greater the smokescreen. Behold the magnitude of the illusion.”

  “The irony is the pharaohs were immortal with or without the pyramids,” Alita said. “It wasn’t necessary to work anyone to death to make themselves immortal. God had already done so.”

  “Only if they had accepted Christ as their savior,” remarked Marvella, suddenly interested in the conversation.

  “But they lived before Christ, Grandmamma. So all of God’s children who lived before Christ are condemned to hell?”

  “We all are condemned to hell in one form or another,” Val stated without apology.

  “But are we all immortal?” posed Marvella.

  “That is the relevant question, your Grace.” Val shrugged, appearing to have no opinion on the immortality of the soul despite his ready opinions on every other subject.

  Alita studied the captain of the 7th Princess Royals intently. He was tormented with misery at the same time he functioned with extreme competence in the world. Val Huntington had the greatest capacity for pain of any person she had ever encountered.

  “Let us begin our tour of the pyramids, shall we?” Val offered, his voice suddenly light. She couldn’t help but stare at the top button of his shirt—unbuttoned! Outside of the natives, she had never in her life seen a man in such a casual form of dress.

  Or seen a man’s bare chest. It was positively unnerving.

  “Your Grace, please allow me to support you.” He turned to take the duchess’ arm as well, showing her the proper deference. He took everything in and was perfectly capable of managing the entire party—even her grandmother. Never mind the 7th Dragoon Guards, the duchess of Yarbury was surely his greatest challenge.

  “Well, don’t dilly-dally then, Lord Ravensdale!”

  “You look fatigued, ma’am. I’ll procure some water for you.” Val studied the duchess’ face with concern. He found a stone where she might sit and rest, motioning to his attendant. Val fanned the older woman while Flora held her parasol over the duchess until Val’s attendant retrieved the water from his pouch.

  Handing the fan to his attendant and directing him to continue fanning the duchess, Val then wet his handkerchief. He handed it to Flora, instructing her to pat the duchess’ forehead.

  Alita was surprised Grandmamma obeyed, even as the captain continued issuing commands. Once the duchess had partaken of water, she found her voice. “You two take a turn about the pyramids without me. I need to rest.”

  “Grandmamma, you look peaked.” Alita grew puzzled; generally Marvella could out-run the ladies half her age. “We should return home.”

>   “Nonsense, child, you go on. I’ll be fine here,” she proclaimed with a wave of dismissal perfected on her servants. Her face grew stern. “Don’t vex me, girl. It will do me much more harm than allowing me to rest here by myself.”

  “We most certainly will not depart, your Grace,” stated Val. “You will rest until we are assured that you are well and ready to proceed. In addition to our concern for your well-being, this is far too interesting a trip to deprive you of the experience.”

  “Young man, I shall give the orders here, do you understand?” Marvella’s lips formed a tight line, a warning Alita knew all too well. “You shall find a suitable beverage for me—do you think you could locate a cold tea or lemonade?”

  “I can and I will.”

  “Good. Then you will proceed without me. You are both provoking me beyond endurance. I am likely to have a seizure.” Her voice was harsh, but Alita could see the look of approval in Marvella’s eyes as she studied Lord Ravensdale.

  In general, the duchess had a highly trained eye. She could read a gentleman’s interest like a bloodhound could sniff out his home territory. There was much in life which Marvella Lawrence missed, but her awareness of the opposite sex was fine-tuned and second to none.

  Alita also knew better than to argue with the matriarch of the family. “Lord Ravensdale, it is truly for the best to honor Grandmamma’s wishes.”

  “Your Grace, if I defer to your wishes, it is because I choose to. Let me assure you that I am in charge of this expedition and shall remain so.”

  “You may be, but I am no longer in your expedition,” Marvella said. “I refuse to continue. You are now the leader of an expedition of one.”

  “Mutiny, is it?” He smiled, nonplussed by this development.

  “It is.”

  Surveying the two women before him, he spoke authoritatively in a tone of voice which communicated he would brook no argument, “Very well, Duchess. If you are to rest rather than partake of the tour of the pyramids, you shall rest on a bench inside one of the pyramids. It is much cooler, and I have no intention of returning you to Shepheard’s with heat-stroke. There are also some interesting hieroglyphics within view, which may catch your interest.”

  “There is little chance of that, you young upstart,” she retorted, but her eyes had recaptured some of their sparkle.

  “Are we now of one mind on this matter?” Val asked as he scrutinized the duchess.

  To Alita’s surprise, Marvella nodded agreement. Val instructed his attendant to procure liquid refreshment and to meet them at an agreed-upon location. Marvella was quickly established in much cooler quarters, beverage in hand.

  If the increase in her decrees was any evidence, the duchess was much revived. She issued ultimatums to Val’s attendant, who fanned her energetically. Marvella motioned to Flora, whispering something in her ear, and the three departed for Cheops.

  Alita Stanton believed in the spiritual realm. She had heard of the “Curse of the Pharaohs”, but she never expected it to touch her party. Everything could be explained.

  Little did she know.

  23

  Hidden for Millennia

  “What an unlikely picture,” Alita murmured, stunned into silence.

  “Miss! It’s a very strange animal. And so big,” Flora warned, following her mistress as slowly as could be arranged without actually standing still.

  English ladies in bustle skirts bobbed on camels next to Khafre’s four-thousand-year-old pyramid. Alita scurried forward to obtain a closer look at one of the camels being offered by the Egyptian guides as a potential vehicle. The camel turned to look at Alita, offering her an expression of great kinship.

  The camel spat. He locked eyes with Alita, clearly asking her to show her solidarity by spitting.

  Mesmerized, Alita determined then and there to procure an extra treat for this unusual and magnificent animal. If one could not spit with one’s friends, the highest form of validation, one could at least bestow gifts.

  الحفاظ على مراقبة على الجمل. Val shook his head at the camel’s keeper, speaking in Arabic to him as he took Alita by the elbow and guided her forward.

  “What is the camel’s name?” Alita twisted to turn back, looking at her new friend.

  “Musharif,” the guide replied, apparently knowing that much English.

  “Do you have any questions thus far, Miss Stanton?” Lord Ravensdale attempted to regain her attention. “I can assure you I have a thorough knowledge of the area.”

  “Oh, yes. Indeed I do.”

  “Proceed.”

  “What do camels like to eat? And did we bring anything?”

  Val burst into laughter. “We are in the midst of these magnificent surroundings, and you are worried about feeding the camels?”

  “Worried? Not at all. I’m merely waiting for the answer.” She waved good-bye to Musharif, promising to return.

  “Ah.” He cleared his throat. “I do not think camels are especially particular.”

  “That is not my impression.”

  “I will ask my attendant to extract a treat for the camel from our lunch. I am certain we have some satisfactory vegetables,” Val reassured her.

  “Thank you, Captain Ravensdale.” She felt deeply grateful and somewhat touched that he did not argue the point with her, bowing to her wishes. She certainly wouldn’t have expected this of him.

  “It is my pleasure, Miss Alita.” His hand tightened on her elbow, which sent an unexpected tingle down her arm. “Not being well acquainted with you, I am curious to know if this is your usual level of excitement, or if you feel more energized here in the Valley of the Kings?”

  “Oh, yes. There is an amazing vitality here.” She glanced sideways at him, catching her breath. “As if one were standing in an electrical storm.”

  His eyes opened wide, revealing he shared her feeling. “You are not alone in that. Even those who do not admit to it nonetheless display far different behavior once they arrive.”

  “You have observed changes in behavior, then?”

  “Frequently.”

  “And how do you explain the change?” she asked demurely, knowing full well he did not give credence to the spiritual realm.

  “Many tourists to the area are convinced the ghosts of the pharaohs still dwell here and that all the mysteries of the universe can be unraveled in this one spot.”

  She noted the skepticism in his tone. Valerius felt the change dramatically—being utterly drawn to the place—and yet he was a disbeliever. “What an interesting study in human character these tours must provide for you, Lord Ravensdale.”

  “Fascinating,” he replied dryly. “You don’t share that opinion, Miss Stanton? And what is your explanation? With your mystical leanings, I am curious to know if you agree.”

  Alita watched Val intently. She knew he did not believe she had the sight, but he nonetheless wished to hear her answer, she felt that strongly. Ever since they had departed Shepheard’s, his interest in her had increased and warmed. This had taken her by surprise, to say the least.

  He continued, “I have seen many Europeans beside themselves over these tombs. Your reaction, though animated, strikes me as somehow distinct.”

  “I feel a force of power here. It is…” Slowly she formulated her thoughts. “Provocative and strong. But no, none of the pharaohs were able to make themselves immortal. Or, rather, I should say, they already were. And they don’t dwell here.” She looked away. “Most of them don’t.”

  “Most of them?”

  Alita hid her eyes underneath her parasol. She did not wish to lie, but neither did she wish to be the subject of his ridicule.

  Flora was trailing behind them, as if she’d rather be anywhere else. “The only question of any interest to me, Lord Ravensdale, is how the Pharaohs impacted their souls by requiring others to die in order to glorify them.”

  “Precisely my question.”

  “Whatsoever one does in this life imparts something to on
e’s soul, the only treasure transported from this life,” Alita said quietly. “All else remains behind.”

  “So essentially their quest for immortality damaged their immortality.”

  “In my view, yes. It is the human condition.”

  “Since you have expressed an interest, Miss Alita, I must tell you that Khufu was progressive for his time. He forbade sacrifices, making him unpopular with the religious orders,” Val explained. “There is also evidence to support that he provided for his workers and was well thought of by them.”

  “Amazingly advanced for a person raised to believe he was a god,” she considered.

  They reached Khafre’s pyramid, and Val took her arm to assist her inside. The air was cool once they reached the inner chamber. She looked around to see that they were surrounded by mysterious drawings.

  He ran his hand along the cold, porous stone, and, as he did so, she was, once again, stunned at the size of the blocks. Captain Ravensdale was dwarfed by them, and he was a tall, solid man, slim with wide shoulders, which tapered into a muscled waist.

  Flora stood anchored at the entryway, appearing apprehensive at the sight of the hieroglyphics. Alita motioned to her maid to enter the tomb.

  “I must caution you both, as I do everyone on my tours,” Val said.

  Flora put her hand on her mouth, suppressing a scream.

  “There now, Miss Flora, there is nothing here to frighten you,” he reassured her.

  “What are you cautioning us about then?” Alita asked.

  “Miss Stanton, do you believe removing something from the tomb would provide you with power?”

  “Naturally I do.”

  “I must request that you not do so.”

  “A curse!” Flora moaned. “A curse!”

  “Certainly I would not remove anything. That would be thievery.” She turned to Flora, leading her to a seat. “Calm yourself, Flora. Sit and rest on the bench.”

  “I am relieved to hear it.”

  “There is much to be learned here, but I wouldn’t dream of stealing one of the artifacts from this tomb. I wouldn’t wish to deprive anyone else of an experience of mysticism.”