24 Bones (10 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Near Wadi Halfa, Sudan

S
am knew it was a test.

After flying with a tourist group to Abu Simbel, the site of Ramesses II’s greatest work, she crossed on horseback into northern Sudan near Wadi Halfa at the southern tip of Lake Nasser, Egypt’s southernmost point. As the lake ended and the Nile meandered into the Sudan, the handiwork of the Shemsu Seth was evident. The Nile ran with a rusty tint.

Sam dumped the contents of her waterskins and took deep breaths to swallow bile and retain the precious fluids she had already consumed.

The remainder of the trip to the Nubian village devoured the better part of a day. In full sun, the wasteland was craggy and cracked. Heat rose in steady waves from baked rock and sand. She tottered with thirst. At the edge of a slim trail that wound through boulders and scrub, she hid behind an outcropping.

Sam watched her quarry, a thin boy of about twelve. The boy was evidently special, or might be special. It had been all she was told. But to Sam, the boy’s slack jaw and flaccid muscles hung wretchedly in the afternoon light. The boy would be taller than Sam if left to grow, not stunted by her crossbow bolt.

Her chest tightened. To kill the boy was different than killing Tariq. In her mother’s apartment, she had made the only possible decision—Tariq or her mother. This wasn’t sacrifice. Sam watched the boy draw in the dust with a stick. This was murder. In the depth of her being, from where she drew strength, she knew this murder would change everything.

Sam could justify murder for the right reasons. Justification was the difference between wrong and evil. Evil was noble. Pharaoh had said that the boy was to be killed for a
special
purpose and should already be dead. The Shemsu Seth had struck Nubian villages. In their efforts to maintain secrecy, their blows were sweeping and non-specific. Devised to look accidental, the strikes left no witnesses. In one case, they had poisoned the village’s water supply. In another, wholesale slaughter appeared to be due to a tribal feud. The river ran with the results.

This boy’s village had been poisoned, but his father, the local shaman, lived apart. His family had survived. In the Shemu Seth’s harvest, the scythe had missed a sheaf of wheat. It reminded Sam of her mother’s stories of Egyptian myth. When Seth had dismembered Osiris, Isis was already with child and her baby had had to be hidden until he could rise to power. Horus was hidden in the reeds of a papyri swamp. Sam ran her fingers across her veined cheek.

The sun would soon lower over the hills, and the cool quarter-moon would rise and draw the heat from the rock. Sam wished the moon were gone. Its light would trace her path down to the hut. Chickens and a few goats milled about the dusty property. Each night this week, Sam had climbed to the city’s surface from the underworld of Seth to watch as the moon slowly waxed.

A girl exited the hut. She skipped and mock-chased her brother, the chickens scattering.

Sam felt ill. The girl would also have to die. There could be no witnesses.

Then a boy wobbled out from the entry.

Sam slouched against the outcropping.

The toddler tripped over a lazy goat and tumbled, crying in the yard. The goat bleated and the eldest, Sam’s mark, bent to cuddle his brother, tickling him until tears of laughter replaced those of grief. His giggles reached Sam’s crag, but the actions of the girl caught Sam’s attention. She made strange motions to her older brother—sign language
.
It was crude and nothing that Sam understood. But it made clear that the boy was mute. She shook her head.
The Shemsu Seth had nothing to fear from a mute boy.

Sam unslung the crossbow from her back. It balanced well on her forearm, a fine weapon. She had trained to fire it with one arm so as to leave her left arm free for her ankh knife. It would be easy to aim and lodge the bolt into the boy’s skull, heart, or throat. From this distance, she could make the shot. No survivors. No witnesses. This was Pharaoh’s rule. And it required wet work.

Sam stretched her neck, relaxing and tensing, readying for the night that lay ahead: three children, their father and their mother. Seth’s stomach would be bloated before the moon reached its zenith.

Chapter Fourteen

Deir Abd-al-Aziz, Near Nag Hammadi

“A
ll I know,” David said through clenched teeth, “is my girlfriend is missing and the Shemsu Seth are trying to kill me.” He felt as though Jehovah Witnesses had knocked on his door and barged inside his home. His skin was blistered from the sun. He had tried to enter their temple for shade, but they offered only the shadow of its crack-paneled wall. David tore a piece from a loaf of pita-style bread called
aish baladi
. His lips smacked as he chewed.

“Faris told me you thought the slaughter of the companions analogous to the story of Herod slaying the children,” Askari stated, tugging at the tip of his beard. A dozen men stood and stared down at David, their expressions fixed and fierce.

More like an alcoholic’s intervention than a religious recruitment, he decided. Askari reminded him of his father, the way the man’s jaw set when he registered disappointment.

“It was just an idea,” David replied.

Askari held up his hand. “A good idea, it is possible that the Shemsu Seth recreates ancient myth and is using myth as a basis to eliminate a perceived threat. It is possible they have not eliminated that threat.”

He stared at David. Other men nodded, as did Faris, who crouched at Askari’s side. Haidar stood with his arms crossed. David, meanwhile, stopped chewing.

“And you think that the threat is me?” David started laughing. “Me, the baby hidden in the reeds. That’s a good one. Maybe we should be painting lamb’s blood on our doors, too?”

“Horus is mentioned in the prophecy, David.
Thou shalt find the Wedjat standing by thee like the watchers, which he must gather in the thousands,
’” Askari recited. “You are found, the Wedjat, the Eye of Horus, and by a watcher: Faris.”

Silence filled the yard. They were serious. Him—Horus.

This galled David. He thought he’d been hunted for being the son of a companion. Now they were saying he was Horus in the myth?

“How handy is that, Obi Wan Kenobi? Luke arrives on your doorstep?”

The sarcasm confused Askari, whose English was otherwise remarkable.

“Askari, we waste our time here,” Haidar said. “We have our plan of attack. We must strike before the Shemsu Seth grow more powerful. Our law requires that we restore balance.”

David lifted a palm in approval. He had come here to garner their protection, but the further he traveled from Cairo, the more he wished to return to try to contact Zahara. They didn’t even have a phone in this place and a wireless signal was a pipe dream.

“Faris has confirmed that they are collecting the Osiris,” Haidar continued.

Leaning casually against the wall, Jamal, High Priest of Deir Abd-al-Fu’ad, spoke: “We mourn our fallen, Haidar. But the Osiris cannot be fully assembled.” Everyone turned. “In ancient times, there were twelve companions of Horus, plus Seth—the betrayer—Isis, and Horus.”

In the shadow of the wall, no one saw David’s astonishment. Twelve deirs. Twelve companions. Twelve apostles including the betrayer, Judas, Mary, and Jesus. Perhaps he should have listened closer to his father when a child. He filed the information away.

“When the spine was divided the companions retained twelve parts. Horus held the spinal cord; Isis, the seven neck vertebrae; and Seth, the five parts of the lower back,” Jamal explained in English, clearly for the benefit of their guest. “Based on reports from those who escaped the massacres, we retain only four, at most seven. This means they have acquired five of ours for certain, and we must assume they have the pieces attributed to Seth and Isis. Horus only knows where the spinal cord resides.”

“So it is a matter of protecting what we have, retrieving what was taken, and discovering the location of the spinal cord kept by Horus,” Askari stated, but David read the doubt in his eyes.

“The imbalance cannot be ignored. Can’t you sense it?” Haidar stared at them all, eyes scorning. “Void is at its zenith, while the Fullness fades. We are Re’s guardians. Our duty is to retain an equal share of the day, to retain the balance.”

“Of course we feel it,” Askari shot back.

David looked around and searched for the missing feeling. He mouthed the words
Void
and
Fullness
, but he also remembered the scythed dog, the dwarf, and the pain in his chest.

“We will only have one chance to win back our portions of the Osiris, Haidar. The southern deirs have not reached Deir Abd-al-Aziz. We need them, and the tablet may yield knowledge.” Askari pointed back to David.

The golden tablet lay upon his pack, dull in the shade. After Faris had reminded David of the Shemsu Hor’s ancient tongue, he had hoped it was the reason why he couldn’t translate the text on its opposite side. This was not the case.

“It’s meaningless to us all,” Haidar replied. “The southern deirs may never arrive. Deir Abd-al-Malik was destroyed down to a single companion—Katle, and he was turned against us.”

“Without the spine, the prophet’s vessel cannot be found, and without the vessel, Osiris cannot return,” Jamal said. “Our priority is for riders to collect the three remaining Shemsu Hor pieces of the Osiris of which we are uncertain. They are to be returned here for protection. I require three volunteers.” Faris leapt up, but Jamal picked through the dozen companions who vied to accept the charge. It would be Bisher, Faysal, and Nassar. Those selected huddled with the three remaining high priests, Jamal, Michael, and Rushdy, to discuss the locations of the vertebrae. Faris slumped to the ground. Haidar stomped away.

“You will each take a falcon to provide communication should it be necessary,” Shen said, rushing over to the clutch of companions. He wore his thick gauntlet and, in it, a falconer’s feathered lure.

“So be it, take a falcon and may Horus be with you,” Jamal called as the clump dispersed, the three riders departing to prepare. Shen left to retrieve their respective birds.

David ripped free another hunk of the tough, but tasty bread.

“We could use another warrior, David.” Askari crouched by his side.

“This is all nuts.” David swept his hand over the departing companions.

“Is it?” Askari pursed his lips.

“Sure, you’re basing a theory of the present-day murders of your community on a religion that stole parts of Egyptian myth. It’s a circular reference. This Shemsu Hor business preceded all Christianity. Long ago I realized that half the world’s population believed the ancient beliefs of those they had attempted to stamp out.”

“So?” Askari asked.

“So, religion is a lie. And if the Christians stole, then why not Egyptian myth? From what legacy did it steal?”

“Who says the Christians are thieves?”

“That Christianity stole from Egyptian myth, among others, is not in dispute,” David dismissed. “It made it easier for conquerors to defeat a people if they allowed them to keep their sun symbols in the form of halos, their ankh in the cross. In time, the cross became sacred and the ankh forgotten.”

“You are mistaken, Doctor Nidaal. Christians didn’t steal anything from Egyptian myth. Egyptian priests influenced Christianity.” David eyed Askari. “Why do you think that the Egyptians, after three thousand years or more of consistent, virtually homogenous beliefs, accepted a new belief system with barely a fight?” Askari smiled.

David’s jaw moved, but nothing came out. He hadn’t considered this alternative. He was dizzy from sunstroke and the information seemed to swim in his head. An evolutionary theory swept years of research away, if it were true.

“No.” He shook his head. Askari waited. “Christians killed those Egyptians who did not convert.” David wiped his brow.

Askari nodded. “Some resisted directly, but mostly the Egyptian priesthood adopted a passive approach. When Christianity arrived, the Christians closed the temples, resulting in two outcomes. Trusted and wise priests were without a home, and the peasantry was without direction. The peasants began to resort to household deities, in local worship, rather than the true Egyptian gods, and this led to claims of paganism.”

David remained silent, sucking in his cheeks. Askari continued. “The priests had two choices, to be killed or to regain a measure of their power through conversion to Christianity. They elected to become the priests the Christians needed. The concept of martyrdom is Christian. The Egyptians are a practical people, and the priests controlled the masses. The Egyptians formed the first monasteries. These monasteries under Pachomius in the fourth century A.D. grew rapidly. In the tradition of the Egyptian temples, monasteries were the source of medical care, education, religion, law, and writing.”

“Of course.” David slapped his knee. “The monks became the eventual keepers of the Bible.”

“Yes, the monks, as scribes, had the chance to rewrite the Bible over a period of approximately four centuries, during its formative years.”

“Monastic communities were not new. They were Egyptian temples, a resurrection of their prior lives,” David whispered.