Daughter of Ra

by M. Sasinowski

  From his expression, Paul took little consolation from Renley’s words. “Go on the Society’s ship, pretending to be part of their crew?” He lifted his arms in exasperation. “Are you out of your bloomin’ mind?” He blushed at his words. “With all due respect,” he added.

  Alyssa put a hand on Paul’s arm. “Do you think this could really work?” she asked Renley.

  “Well, there is the matter of training you two to be stewards,” he replied. “And of altering your appearances sufficiently to not be recognized. The latter being the smaller of the two matters, I should wager.”

  Paul laughed out loud.

  “What’s so funny?” Alyssa snapped.

  “Nothing,” he had a hard time keeping a straight face, “it’s just that picturing you as a chamber maid…”

  Alyssa punched him in the arm. “Watch it!”

  “Ouch!” Paul said, rubbing it. “Easy there, divine one. No smiting the mortals.”

  “Even if we somehow managed to get on board as part of the crew, how would we access the information?” Alyssa asked.

  Renley’s eyes crinkled with a hint of smugness. “I took the liberty to solicit an outside expert opinion. I was advised that if you were able to obtain physical access to the hardware, a remote connection could be established that would allow a third party to successfully hack into the data server.”

  “Did somebody mention ‘hack’ and ‘data server’ in the same sentence?”

  Alyssa whirled at the voice ringing from the doorway. Her lips stretched into an ear-splitting grin. “Clay!” she yelled. She jumped up and rushed to him, wrapping him in a tight hug and planting a big kiss on his cheek.

  “Now that’s a welcome that’s worth leaving my desk at the WHO at a moment’s notice,” Clay said, flashing a wide, toothy grin and returning the warm embrace. “Well, that and the daily ‘stipend’ from Lord Renley that’s worth more than my monthly fellowship.”

  Paul came up and shook his hand then pulled him into a bearhug. “It’s good to see you, mate,” he said.

  Clay patted Paul on the back affectionately then strolled up to Renley and shook his hand.

  “Thank you again for the offer, Lord Renley,” he said. “It looks like I was interrupting something important.”

  “On the contrary, Mr. Obono, your timing was impeccable, just as I had hoped it would be,” Renley said. “We were discussing the electronic security challenge I had outlined to you. Were you able to review the specifications on your way?”

  “Ah, yes,” Clay said. “Well, sounds like it’ll be a doddle, if somebody can get their hands on the network port of that server. We hook up a remote gateway, sprinkle on some homegrown technomancy and Bob’s your uncle—we’re in.” He ruffled his thick curls. “So, what server are we going after and how do we get to it?”

  Alyssa filled him in on the plan. After she finished, he stared at her, unblinking, his mouth slack. After several seconds he shook his head in dismay.

  “You are still just as nut-cracking bonkers as you were when I last saw you. That ten-thousand-year old Ra juice apparently doesn’t add any bonus points to your wisdom.” His eyes darted to Paul. “And you’re going along with this?”

  “Clay, something is happening,” Alyssa jumped in before Paul had a chance to reply. “There was a break-in at the genetics institute. The Society stole the virus. Two weeks later twenty of them turn up dead, infected by the virus, like they were part of some weird ritual.” Alyssa swallowed. “And that’s not all. Their genes contained Hybrid markers.”

  Clay stared at her. “What? How?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

  Clay shook his head, trying to make sense of what he heard. “Still, we have stocks of the cure at multiple WHO sites throughout the world. Even if another outbreak were to occur, it would only be a question of time before the cure would be administered to all infected individuals. It’s not going to catch us with our breeches around our ankles again.”

  “There is no cure,” Alyssa said.

  Clay’s face dropped. “Come again?”

  “The cure that was developed for the Horus epidemic isn’t effective against this strain,” Alyssa replied, her face glum. “There is no way to stop the virus.”

  Clay stared at her wordlessly. He sank into a chair. “We’re royally bollocked.”

  Yuri Korzo waited as he was instructed. The shirt was pasted to his back, the humidity mixing with his own perspiration.

  His heart sped up when he saw a car approach in the distance. The white Mercedes Maybach rolled to a smooth stop alongside Yuri’s SUV, and a tall man wearing a black suit and sunglasses exited from the passenger seat. He opened the rear door and beckoned Yuri inside.

  Yuri swallowed around the lump in his throat and approached the car. The golden-eyed woman glanced at him from the rear seat. Yuri slipped into the opulent leather next to her, and the man closed the door.

  The woman studied him in silence for several moments before speaking. “You did well in Cairo,” she said. “You have dealt the Society a significant blow.”

  No less than they deserved after taking my son from me. He simply nodded.

  “I am aware that altering the virus in such a short time frame was not an easy task,” she continued.

  “It could not have been done without your guidance,” Yuri replied, truthfully. The technical knowledge the woman had shared with him went beyond anything he had ever seen.

  “I require another modification,” she said, handing him a tablet.

  Yuri scrolled through the document. He stared at the specifications for several moments before grasping the potential implications. He gaped at the woman.

  “The applications of this would be—”

  “Limitless,” she completed.

  He did not deem her words an exaggeration. Still… “The technical challenges are… significant,” he said.

  “I am not interested in excuses,” the woman responded. “The information I shared with you until now is trivial compared to the knowledge I hold.”

  “I will do my best,” he said. “If it can be accomplished, it will be done.”

  “Of that I am certain,” she said. “Grief and revenge are powerful motivators.”

  And common enemies make unlikely allies, he thought wryly.

  “If you are successful, this will help us wipe out the Society,” she said, dismissing him.

  Or anything you choose to… he thought as the door opened and he stepped out.

  Alyssa trudged up the stairs, barely able to keep her eyes open. Paul and Clay walked on either side of her, not looking any better than she felt. Her head buzzed with the new information and the presence of her trusted friends. They had discussed several options deep into the evening but decided to postpone any decision until tomorrow morning when they could think about it with clear minds. Right now, all she could think about was the plushy bed in her room.

  They crossed the long corridor and stopped at her bedroom door. She faced Paul.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. She turned to Clay. “And you.” She gave him a long hug. “I don’t know what I would do without you two.”

  Clay gave her a tired smile.

  “Get some sleep,” Paul said. “We have some decisions to make in the morning.”

  She nodded and stepped into her room. She fell into the oversized mattress, yawning deeply and stretching out her arms and legs as far as they could go, relishing in the softness and fresh smell of the linens.

  Ahh… a little slice of—

  The soft knock on the door interrupted her brief respite.

  “Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow,” she mumbled, half asleep.

  The knocking repeated, louder.

  She groaned. “Leammelone…”

  The knocking turned into banging.

  “It is time—Horus.”

  My eyes snap open at the words, the voice
harsh and guttural.

  So’bek lifts his ceremonial was staff as the last echoes of its rhythm against the marble floor fade into the recesses of the great hall. More beast than man, his towering figure dwarfs my small body, looming above me from behind the sacred shrine. His reptilian eyes stare down from beneath his hood as I kneel in the center of a triangle facing the altar.

  Three individuals hold stations at the three vertices of the triangle. Even though my blood is too young to have been blessed with an animal sentinel, I can sense their presence, soothing me and giving me strength for the trials I am about to face.

  A ring of Hybrids surrounds the four of us, dressed in white robes, their faces solemn, but their eyes warm and reassuring. I take comfort in remembering my mother’s words that no Hybrid has been rejected by a sentinel since before I was born six years ago. Still, the thought that I may be the one makes my stomach heavy with fear and nausea.

  So’bek nods. I rise and turn right until I face the first member of the triad that surrounds me. It is my mother, the queen of our people.

  “Isis, Daughter of Ra,” So’bek’s voice rings through the chamber, “what parting gift will you bestow upon this child as he embarks to face the Trials?”

  She steps forward and peers down at me, her feline eyes calm and full of confidence. Her hands hold a golden amulet. I bow my head, ready to accept her gift and blessing as she hangs the talisman around my neck.

  “Your animal sentinel will find you,” she says, the warmth of her voice matching the love in her eyes, “and you will return home safely.” She places her hands on my forehead in the traditional blessing of our people, her forefingers and thumb forming the sacred triangle that represents the rays of the sun.

  I wait until she lifts her palms then turn to my right again and face my father, our king and sovereign ruler of the Hybrids.

  “Osiris, Son of Ra,” So’bek’s voice rings out again. “What shall be your parting gift to this child?”

  My father regards me for several heartbeats, the fierceness in his golden eyes giving me strength. I lift my head and hold his gaze, unblinking. An acolyte approaches him with a tablet of black ink and a golden reed. He dips the reed into the ink and traces a cartouche on my forehead. I feel its power and warmth spreading through my body, melding with the amulet around my neck.

  When he speaks, his voice is deep and full of pride. “You are Horus. Son of Isis and Osiris. You shall know no fear.”

  I bow my head, and he repeats the blessing of our people.

  I turn to the right a third time and face the front of the triangle once again, gazing at the child who completes the triad. He is my companion, my most trusted friend. I look into his blue eyes.

  “Set, Prince of the Pure Ones,” So’bek calls to him. “What shall be your parting gift to Horus?”

  Set approaches me and holds an onyx dagger before me. I grasp it with my right hand. It is heavy and cumbersome in my young grip, but I know it is perfectly balanced and shall fit my hand flawlessly as I mature. Forged by the Pure Ones’ royal master smiths out of ore that fell to our island from the sky, its edge is sharper than any hardened steel and more durable than gold.

  “May this dagger drink of the blood of those who shall attempt to harm you or your kin,” Set says, the solemn words at odds with his young voice.

  Our gazes catch and one corner of his mouth tugs into a sheepish smile.

  “Brothers forever,” he says, and he repeats the triangle blessing of my people.

  “Brothers forever,” I reply.

  So’bek lifts the was. “The parting gifts of protection, courage, and strength have been bestowed upon you by those you love,” he calls out. “May they guide your journey as you enter the Trials of Valediction. May they help you and your sentinel find each other and bring you safely back home.”

  So’bek lifts the was and strikes the marble three times, and the circle around me parts as the sound rings out.

  The knocking grew louder.

  “Miss Morgan,” Jacques’s voice rang through the door.

  Alyssa’s brain took a moment to make sense of the words.

  “Miss Morgan,” Jacques repeated. “Lord Renley kindly requests your presence at the breakfast table.”

  What? I just…

  Any lingering haze of sleep vanished from Alyssa’s mind. She opened her eyes—and blinked at the bands of bright sunshine flooding in through the wooden shutters.

  “Miss Morgan? Is everything in order?”

  “Yes… yes, thank you, Jacques,” Alyssa managed to mutter. “I will be down as soon as I can.”

  “Very well, Miss,” he replied.

  Alyssa sat up. She still wore last night’s clothes, and the bed covers were tucked in. She checked her phone. Seven forty-five in the morning.

  A cold wash swept through her, raising goose bumps on her arms.

  What is happening to me?

  She sat up and hugged her knees tightly, tears threatening. A pressure built inside her chest. She fought back the tears and sat perfectly still, too afraid to move, waiting for the pressure to pass. When it did, she took a trembling breath, trying to clear her mind, then slid her feet to the floor and lumbered to the bathroom.

  5 Renley Estate

  Paul and Clay hunkered down at the table, engrossed in their Eggs Benedict. They glanced up and mumbled a quick greeting when Alyssa entered the room before turning back to their plates.

  Boys… Alyssa thought.

  Renley stood. “Good morning, Miss Morgan. I trust you had a restful night.”

  “I need coffee,” she said and plopped into a chair.

  Paul looked up. “You okay?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “What is it?”

  She held up her hand and waited for Jacques to pour a steaming cup of coffee from a silver pot and set it in front of her.

  “I am more of a tea drinker, but Jacques assures me it is quite palatable,” Renley said. “I hope he brewed it to your satisfaction.”

  She took a sip and let the richness of the taste spread through her mouth.

  “It’s delicious, thank you,” she managed to reply.

  “Another dream?” Paul asked.

  She nodded then took another couple of sips.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Alyssa shook her head.

  Renley cleared his throat. “Have you considered our next course of action?” he asked.

  “Please tell me that sleeping on it put some sense into you,” Clay added, pleading.

  “Do we have any other options?” Alyssa asked.

  Silence filled the room.

  “Very well,” Renley said. He gave a brief nod to Jacques who stepped out and returned a few moments later. A tall, middle-aged woman wearing a black floral dress accompanied him.

  “This is Mrs. Brandenthorpe,” Renley said. “If you and Mr. Matthews are to have any chance of succeeding aboard the Valediction, you must have at least a working knowledge of the etiquette and manners becoming of a steward.”

  He nodded at Clay. “Mr. Obono, here, will assume the role of your principal during your education.”

  Clay chuckled and reclined in his chair. “Brilliant! I always wanted to have minions!”

  Alyssa grumbled. “Call me minion one more time, and you’ll be wearing this coffee in your lap.”

  “Miss Morgan!” Mrs. Brandenthorpe gasped. “First rule: we never, ever talk back to our principals.”

  “But he started it!” Alyssa said, exasperated. She looked to Renley for support.

  Renley turned and headed for the door. “I shall leave you to it, then. I have some phone calls to make.”

  “But…” Alyssa trailed off.

  Clay grinned at her shamelessly.

  “He’s so going to enjoy this,” Paul moaned.

  Mrs. Brandenthorpe moved into the middle of the room. She possessed a long face with a deeply etched forehead, a road map to decades of furrowed brow.
Her pointed nose held a pair of floral-print glasses, from which she seemed to look down at them, sized them up with poise that conveyed class, intelligence, and motherly concern all in one.

  “If I may have your attention, then,” she began. “I shall attempt to convey to you an abridged account of stewardship, including international protocol, proper salutations, clothing and valet care, and culinary expectations. We shall start with instructions on the silver service.”

  “Silver service?” Alyssa asked.

  Mrs. Brandenthorpe gave a heavy sigh, the look of disappointment making Alyssa feel like she just spilled tea on the woman’s favorite table cloth. “Silver service, my dear Miss Morgan, is the highest form of stewardship. It is the cornerstone of…”

  Alyssa clenched her jaw as Mrs. Brandenthorpe continued her lecture.

  Perhaps being captured by the Society isn’t the worst that can happen to me.

  Three hours later, Alyssa struggled to ignore her grumbling stomach—and the random impulse to stick a fork in her own eye as Mrs. Brandenthorpe reviewed the key facets of the bishop’s hat napkin fold. If I have to fold that napkin one more time—

  “Miss Morgan?” Mrs. Brandenthorpe looked at her expectantly. “Shall we run through the serving order while practicing our folds?”

  “Of course,” Alyssa said, contorting her face into a smile. “We start with the principal, who will be seated at the head of the table,” she recited. “Serve from the left, clear from the right. Use the right hand to clear a used plate and left hand to slide in a fresh plate.”

  Mrs. Brandenthorpe nodded. “Very good, Miss Morgan. Except when…?”

  Alyssa stared at her. “Except when… uh…”

  The woman waited a moment before turning to Paul. “Mr. Matthews?”

  “Except when the patron is obstructing,” he replied. “We never lean across the patron. To avoid it, we remove plates from the left.”

  “Outstanding, Mr. Matthews,” she replied, giving Paul a satisfied smile and simultaneously raising an eyebrow at Alyssa. How did she do that?