Heir of Ra (Blood of Ra Book One)

by M. Sasinowski

  “Kade said the filters in the suits were rigged,” Alyssa interrupted.

  “He what?”

  “The filters,” she repeated. “He said somebody deactivated them.”

  “What? How? And how can he be sure?”

  She stared at him silently, brows pulled in.

  “And even if that was the case, Alyssa, that would require access to biosuits… which we currently lack, and a really good plan for getting past the security at the site… which we also currently lack.” He gave her a pained stare.

  “We can try to get close,” she said. “Once we’re there, we’ll think of something.”

  Paul’s voice shook. “This isn’t like breaking into a storage room! We’ll either get caught before we get inside and get thrown into an Egyptian prison, or—worse—actually make it inside and get infected by some ancient killer bug.” He paused. “Neither of those sounds particularly appealing… or conducive to a thriving, heterosexual adolescence!”

  Alyssa looked at him for several moments then shrugged dejectedly.

  “What Kade said—about the filters,” she said. “We can at least start there. If somebody actually tampered with them, it must have been somebody close. Somebody with access to the suits.”

  “We don’t even know if he’s right about the filters.”

  Alyssa swung her legs down and leaned forward in the chair, a scheming smirk on her face.

  “Why do I have the feeling you already have something in mind?” Paul asked.

  “So, Clay is the smartest guy you know, right?” she asked.

  Paul pressed his lips together in a tight knot. “And why do I have a distinct feeling I won’t like where this is going, either?”

  “He could test the filters, and we’d know for sure.”

  He scowled. “Yep, I was right.”

  “We don’t have anything else, Paul. You have to ask him.”

  Paul stood and paced toward the door then spun and returned to the sofa. “How is he even supposed to get his hands on them? After everything that happened!”

  “Paul, it’s our only lead.”

  “After what we put him through, I expect him to just tell me to go to Hell. And with good reason.” He started toward the door again but stopped and turned in mid-stride. He stood quietly, looking out the window.

  He remained motionless for a long time, the conflict plain in his face. Finally, he gave a long, low sigh and pulled out his phone. He dialed a number and hit the speaker button. The phone rang several times before it was picked up.

  “Paul! How are you? How’s Alyssa?” Clay’s voice rang through the speaker.

  “Hey, Clay. Things are… a bit tense.” He grimaced. “Listen, mate, I need you to do something.”

  “What is it?”

  “I need you to check Kade Morgan’s biosafety suit.”

  “You… uh… Come again?”

  “The filters may have been tampered with. I need you to examine the filter in the suit.”

  “Are you…? How do you suppose…? And just how am I—"

  “Mate, please—”

  A ripple of groans echoed from the speaker. “Everybody is arse over tit about what happened last night! I’ve already been shot at… and now you’re trying to get me arrested for tampering with evidence?”

  Paul pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “Alyssa’s dad’s life is at stake. Maybe countless others.” He forced a deep breath. “Clay… we’re gutted… It’s all we’ve got.”

  Clay was silent for a few seconds. “I am so going to regret this, aren’t I?”

  “If anybody can pull it off, it’s you.”

  Clay groaned again and hung up the phone.

  Paul pushed the speaker button. “Well, that was blinding…” He collapsed on the sofa and rubbed his neck.

  “Strong work,” Alyssa said and moved over to him. She stepped behind the sofa and put her hands on his neck.

  He spun, startled.

  “Relax.” She smiled. “Let me.” She began kneading the muscles at the base of his neck.

  Paul closed his eyes and a soft moan escaped his lips.

  She moved her mouth close to his ear. “’Thriving heterosexual adolescence,’ huh?” she whispered seductively.

  Paul jolted. He opened his mouth an instant before her grin hit him like a ton of bricks. Alyssa looked at him like the cat that ate the canary.

  “Not funny,” he said, his skin flushed. “For a second I really thought you were coming on to me.”

  “Disappointed?” she asked, smoothing her long hair away from her neck before moving her hands back to his shoulders, pressing down hard.

  “Maybe.” He paused for a heartbeat. “Besides, I’ve ticked off enough people already. Don’t need to add Jacob to my list.”

  “Jake?” Alyssa stopped kneading.

  “Yeah, you can’t seriously tell me that there’s nothing—”

  “He’s like… my big brother, Paul.”

  Paul digested her words. “So… there isn’t somebody?”

  “With all the traveling—somebody—would be…” she searched for the right word, “complicated.” She started drumming her fists on his upper back. “Enough with the interview.”

  Paul was quiet while she continued working on his back. The silence felt comfortable as he sat quietly, the tension ebbing from his back under her hands. He yawned. “How long has it been since we got some real sleep?”

  Alyssa glanced at the clock. “I dunno. Thirty hours?”

  “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow, isn’t it?” He looked up at her.

  Alyssa met his gaze halfway, her dark, serious eyes silent.

  “You sure your dad would approve?” he asked. “Me staying here?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. If I can’t trust you by now to behave yourself—”

  “I was more worried about you.” Paul stretched out on the sofa. He grinned to himself as his head hit the pillow. He was asleep a moment later. He didn’t see Alyssa’s mouth falling open, glaring at him with mock indignation before her expression shifted into a tired smile.

  She turned her head to the window and surveyed the city. The sun was beginning to set, its brilliant bands of red and purple a gleaming contrast to the bleak reality of the last three days. She lazily pushed her head against the armrest of the plushy chair and yawned, struggling against her heavy eyelids before finally drifting off.

  Jacob’s butt ached. He shifted in the wooden chair, trying to ease the throbbing, and adjusted the screen of his laptop that sat on the old metal desk. The single working light bulb in the four-bulb overhead lamp barely managed to illuminate the cramped hotel room and keep him awake. He reread the headline of the last article in the stack of images of old newspapers that filled his screen: Blueblood Explorer Perishes in Ill-fated Expedition!

  He zoomed in on the picture, cropped it, and pasted it into the email message when he spotted another headline. Arab Revolt? He opened up a Wiki page.

  Jacob ruffled his hair and shifted again. He took another swig of the coffee and reached for his phone. Alyssa answered on the second ring.

  “Jake!” he heard her voice as she stifled a yawn. “What have you got?”

  “Turns out the griffin was the sigil of Lord George Renley. I just sent you an email.”

  A few seconds later he heard Alyssa draw in a sharp breath. “The picture looks just like the man we met on the plane. So it was his grandfather! That’s where I saw the sigil—on the ring in the video!”

  “What?”

  “The video, from the dig! Did you find anything else?”

  Jacob opened up another window on his desktop. “I also looked into the time frame of the expedition. It took place a year before World War I and the Arab Revolt. The entire region was in upheaval.”

  “No wonder nobody went looking for them and all traces of the expedition vanished!” She pondered for a moment. “Wait, World War I? Wasn’t there a big epidemic right after it?”


  “Hang on,” Jacob typed into the web browser. “1918 Flu Pandemic, also known as the Spanish Flu,” he read. “Believed to have been brought to Spain by soldiers returning from Egypt.”

  “The Spanish Flu?” Alyssa’s voice sounded aghast. “Jake, that pandemic killed over fifty million people. What if the expedition was the cause? Somehow released the virus?” Jacob heard her collapse into a chair. “My God, what if these events are somehow related?”

  Jacob shook his head, dumbfounded, trying to find words.

  “Thank you, Jake,” Alyssa said and ended the connection.

  “Alyssa?” Jacob called out. “Alyssa!” He shook his head and threw the phone on the desk, trying to ignore the painful lump growing in his throat.

  Alyssa sat in the chair, staring at the wall.

  The Spanish Flu? If Renley’s dig and that pandemic are somehow related…

  She pinched her bottom lip. It wasn’t until she felt something wet on her fingers that she realized she’d been biting it so hard it bled.

  She turned to Paul sleeping on the sofa and watched his chest rising and falling in slow, deep breaths. She pressed her lips together, the taste of blood pushing her to dismiss the fluttering feeling in her stomach. Slowly, she stood and moved quietly to the bag with the VR gear. She picked up the bag and tiptoed toward her bedroom, locking the door behind her.

  Alyssa was too aware of the sound of her heart throbbing against the cage of her chest when she took out the LIDAR and the VR set. She booted up the laptops and opened the control software, scanning the parameters. She didn’t realize her hand was trembling until she moved to adjust one of the sliders.

  Laser Beam Intensity: 90%

  She put the VR helmet on her head. I’m sorry, Paul, she thought and toggled the switch.

  18 Atlantic Ocean

  The stars flicker on the surface of the water as the twin bows of the catamaran slice relentlessly through the waves under my watchful vigil. At three hundred feet long, each one of the two hulls of the Ra is larger than most ships, easily accommodating the four hundred warriors who spent the last six weeks with me on the flagship of my fleet. The pyramid-shaped structure built into the sixty-foot wide center deck is home to my palace and my personal guard.

  I raise my head and scan the darkness ahead, toward our destination, toward the island kingdom I called home in another life. Empty water stretches for miles. I focus the gaze of the falcon into the distance, and a tall tower rises from the horizon, bringing evidence that our long voyage is nearing its end.

  My breathing slows as memories take over, filling my senses with images that will forever be engraved in my mind. My body tenses as my thoughts turn to the last time I gazed upon that island. The night my mother was murdered, the night my grandfather and I were forced to abandon our home. The last time I looked at the place of my birth, my eyes were filled with tears. Tonight, they are filled with rage.

  A deep voice breaks the silence. “It is time, my Lord.”

  Slowly, I turn to the man who spoke the words. His black eyes are at one with the night, set deeply into his finely chiseled features. His head, face and eyebrows are shaved, a single long braid the only hair growing from his head, his mark as the general of my armies. His only other mark is a red scar he bears on his left cheek, a reminder of his failure to me.

  One long year he has spent in exile, searching for my son. It was not until after my grandfather’s burial that he returned, alone and nearly starved, clutching a map to the island kingdom in his hand. Within days of his return we set out for the long journey west, to the place of my birth. Now, after weeks at sea, we are almost upon it.

  Horemheb gazes at me, as if to read my thoughts. “We shall bring him back.” His voice is strong, his jaw set.

  I remain silent but grasp his shoulder and look to the stern of the Ra. Hidden behind the pyramid is the secret that will lead us to victory in a fight against an island thought to be impenetrable. I breathe slowly, trying to steady my racing heart.

  I nod, and his command rings out into the night. Twenty soldiers move as one, forming a line before me. Dressed in the color of the night, they are more shadows than men, their faces painted dark, only the whites of their eyes shine brightly in the darkness.

  I step closer and study each face. Their gazes meet mine, their eyes unwavering.

  “Each one of you was chosen by Horemheb.” My voice is quiet. “Each one of you a warrior worth dozens of ordinary soldiers.” I point my hand east. “One year ago, your prince, my flesh and blood, was torn from his home. Your queen, my wife, was slain where she slept.” I hesitate as memories return. I am Horus. Son of Isis and Osiris. I close my eyes. I shall know no fear. When I open them, my voice rings out into the vast darkness. “The hour of recompense is upon us. On this night, we shall descend upon our enemies and answer their savage attack. We shall finish their treachery the only way it can end. We shall destroy them and bring back my flesh and blood and return to our homes with honor. On this night, we shall not know failure. On this night, we shall not know fear!”

  My gaze falls upon Horemheb in a silent command.

  “Prepare the airship,” he says, his voice steady. Twenty men work as one as they lift the platform, revealing an airship in the shape of a falcon, a marvel constructed by my grandfather. Black and silent as the bird of prey it embodies and lighter than the air through which it glides, it shall carry us as we slip undetected past the island’s formidable defenses and descend upon our enemies like a wraith from the sky. Two dozen men, strong as an army, with their king leading them to victory.

  The men are quiet as they move into the airship. If there is hesitation in their hearts, their eyes do not betray it. Horemheb follows his men. I glance at the Ra one last time then step inside. Before I can count to a hundred, the lines tying it to the Ra are cast off, and the catamaran grows smaller beneath us while we rise silently into the darkness.

  I look to the east, at the single column of ships trailing the Ra, stretching behind us as far as I can see. The formation masks our true numbers as we approach the island. Four hundred ships. Forty thousand men. All sworn to me, all willing to die without hesitation.

  We ascend for a long time and glide toward the island. Silently, we cross the outer ring, the first perimeter of the island’s defenses. We pass high above the sentries watching the sea. I know that they cannot imagine an airship, gliding silently through the night air, hundreds of feet above their heads, and the twenty-two men who slip undetected across their border.

  I turn to the men, recalling the lessons from my grandfather.

  “Two separate landmasses enclose the center island, forming almost perfect concentric circles around it.” I keep my voice low. The cool air carries sound far into the quiet night. “The combination of the outer and inner rings creates a formidable defense against any ships that dare to mount an attack from the sea. A single channel has been dug into each ring on opposite sides of the island, both of them heavily fortified. Any ships that could penetrate the outer ring will be trapped in the waters between the two rings, exposed on all sides.”

  I point to the single spire rising high above the island, still hidden in the darkness. “Yet the most devastating weapon on the island rests upon the crown of that tower. A vast mirror and lenses constructed to harness the heat of the sun and turn it upon any fleet of ships that threaten the island, trapped between the two rings. Any enemy ships doomed to be within its path will be burned instantly.

  “The island has but a single weakness. They cannot conceive an attack from above. We shall destroy the weapon, enabling our fleet to mount an attack on the island. And while all will pay heed to the battle rising from the sea, we shall strike from within and reclaim your prince—my son.”

  Once again, I center the gaze of the falcon on the tower in the distance. Four men stand on the large platform that makes up the apex of the spire, each pair of eyes focused on the dark ocean stretching below them.

 
“Four sentries,” I whisper. Horemheb waves four men toward us, each of them with a crossbow strapped to his back. He speaks quietly and they reach for their weapons. Each crossbow is equipped with a farseeker, giving ordinary men a sight almost worthy of the falcon. They are my best marksmen, but I know even with the farseekers they cannot yet spy the sentries, so we wait as we silently descend upon the tower.

  Minutes seem like hours as the men stand motionless, unblinking, fixed on the tower. One by one, they raise their crossbows and focus their sights on the targets in the distance. I hold my breath. A single missed shot, and our raid is at an end before it has begun.

  “Make your shots true,” Horemheb says when the last man raises his weapon.

  “Loose.”

  Four bolts whisper as they fly. A second later four dead bodies collapse on the platform. The raid has begun.

  “Anchors,” Horemheb orders. The men aim two large crossbows mounted on the bow of the airship at the tower and fire. A pair of metal bolts, each the length of a man’s forearm, fly for the tower, each dragging a thick line behind it. The sound of the metal striking the stone rings out into the night. The men pull the lines tight and move out, each attaching a small pulley to the thick line before sliding down to the tower. My breathing quickens as I follow them, grasping the wooden grips of the pulley.

  I step onto the side of the airship and push off. I squint as the wind whips my face, and my body races for the tower, hundreds of feet above the ground. When the flat surface of the tower appears beneath me, I release my grip and drop onto the stone, my feet striking hard. I turn my fall into a roll and come up, one knee on the ground, a curved dagger in my hand. My breathing slows as my eyes find Horemheb.

  “The sentries?”

  “Dead before their bodies hit the ground.”

  I nod and rise. We stand on the apex of the tower, a large circle, sixty feet across, a raised platform in the center. I approach the structure in the middle. The mirror is in the shape of a bowl, made of polished steel. Its diameter as large as three grown men standing head to toe. The enormous glass lenses in front of it complete the terrifying weapon.