Spell Bound (A Fairy Retelling #3) (15 page)

The sound of bubbling water draws her eyes down to the waters of the pool swirling and foaming in deep shades of green and blue. A hieroglyph shines on the surface of the water. Aniya recognizes it from the palace of the gods of the Duat, sitting above the goddess’ throne. Isis. With a flash of light, the goddess appears on the water of the pool. Isis’ image shimmers, flickering in and out of existence as if she is fighting between being in the land of the living and in the Duat at the same time.

“Isis?” Aniya breathes.

The goddess lifts her ruby eyes to Aniya. “The gods need your help, Aniya.”

“My help?”

“Osiris is gone. Anubis, too. I saw them fade away with my own eyes. I can feel it happening to me as well. Even now I am not wholly here nor wholly in the Duat. I am ceasing to be. All of the gods of Egypt are fading into nothingness.”

“What can I do?”

“You must bring back the worship of the old gods. It is your prayers which give us strength and life.”

“But the queen and the high priest…”

“They must be stopped.”

“How can I stop them? I’m just a spirit separated from my body. No one can even see me.”

“You need to find the Book of the Dead.”

“The what?”

“It is a very powerful book of magic and spells. It is the only thing I know of that can help you. Use the spells to locate your son so that this ritual never happens.”

Aniya nods along, grateful to finally have something she can do to help save her son. “Okay, the Book of the Dead. I can get that. Where do I find it?”

“At the bottom of the Nile.”

“Where?” Aniya says in a half cough, half laugh of disbelief.

“The last priest to use the Book of the Dead hid it at the bottom of the Nile where it is guarded by gods of the four winds.”

“Four winds, so four gods?”

“Yes, but they are minor gods in the form of crocodiles.”

“Four crocodile gods?!” Aniya shouts at the goddess. “I have to get the Book of the Dead from the bottom of the Nile where it’s being guarded by four crocodiles?” A feeling of helplessness washes over her, drowning the seed of hope that had just begun to sprout.

“Aniya,” Isis says gently, “You can do this. I wouldn’t ask it of you if I didn’t believe in you. Now, give me your hand.”

Aniya looks at the goddess shimmering above the water of the pool, squares her shoulders back and places her palm against the flesh of the goddess. Isis’ hand seems to be firm one moment and made of light and air the next as she flickers in and out of existence. Isis closes her eyes and warmth travels up Aniya’s arm. The power of magic courses through her. She recognizes the sensation she first felt when Nehi flowed magic into her in the dungeon of the palace. Though Aniya hasn’t used magic since the fateful day when Pharaoh asked her to be his wife, the feeling is familiar and welcome.

“Only someone with a powerful ability to bend magic could enter the Duat on their own,” Isis says, releasing Aniya’s hand. “I could sense it in you. Soon you will learn to feel the magic that is continually pulsing all around you, and you’ll be able to garner it for yourself. For now, I will give you what magic I have flowing within me. Use it to find the Book of the Dead. Save your child. Save yourself. Save the gods.”

Isis’ form flickers and then vanishes. Aniya wonders if the goddess has returned to the Duat or has vanished completely. What will happen if all the old gods disappear? Will Ma’at, truth and order, remain? Or will the world be thrown into chaos? The power of the magic courses through her, and Aniya vows to do everything she can to keep that from happening.

“Shabti!” she calls to the remaining clay soldiers, “It’s time to go. We’re going to need another boat.”

The streets are even more full of people as the sun reaches late afternoon. Aniya finds herself walking against the tide of people as she makes her way back to the river’s edge.

“Keep your eyes out for a boat,” Aniya says when they finally reach the Nile. She thinks to herself that she could probably use Isis’ magic to create a boat from river reeds, but there is only so much magic, and once it’s gone she won’t have any more. Isis’ words that magic is all around her ring through her memory, but Aniya can not sense any magic other than what she already possesses. She needs to be careful and save every bit she has to find the Book of the Dead.

One of the shabti points to a small vessel tethered to a dock, and Aniya and the clay soldiers make their way to it. Though she knows no one can see her, the act of stealing a boat in broad daylight makes her feel conspicuous. She and the shabti stay low in the reeds until she’s sure the area is deserted. Once she’s certain they’re alone, they sprint for it and all clamber inside.

It’s a small, narrow boat, made only for two or three men, but the shabti and Aniya all fit comfortably inside. “Where are the oars?” Aniya looks to the dock, but it’s empty. “We can’t row out to the middle of the river without oars. Wait here.”

She runs back to the shore and drops to her knees in the middle of cattails and papyrus reeds.

Just a little bit of magic. Just enough to move stronger and faster.

She tears off young, green stalks and deftly weaves them together, her fingers moving in a blur. In just a few moments she creates two tightly woven paddles. She looks over her work briefly. They look water-tight. Only one way to find out.

Aniya dashes back to the boat, her newly-formed paddles sticking out like wings. She scrambles into the boat, gives the shabti captain one of the oars and takes the other. Together they row the boat out into water. She gives a sigh of relief when the paddles seem to hold up perfectly fine against the waters of the Nile.

“Guide us to the Book of the Dead,” Aniya whispers under her breath. The boat seems to hear her and obeys. Their course is redirected to the south, toward the Red Desert and against the current. Aniya and the shabti row, and though the current is slow, it isn’t long before the queen’s arms begin to burn.

The great capital of Waset becomes smaller and smaller as they move farther away from the city. Aniya looks behind her. The palace looks tiny from this distance. The sun is dipping lower in the sky. It won’t be much longer until the naming ceremony for her son begins. To her left, a cloud of dust rises from the desert. A small dark line snakes through the desert to the Valley of the Kings. The people of Egypt are making their way there for the ceremony.

“So many people are coming to see my son receive his name,” Aniya muses aloud. She doesn’t give voice to the thought that if Rahotep and Nefertiti have their way, the people will witness her son being sacrificed so that a god can make his home in the baby’s body. Aniya shudders with fear and anger. That can’t happen.

The boat stops moving forward and begins to spin in a lazy circle.

“We’re here,” Aniya says. “What now?”

The shabti look at her with blank expression. One makes a swimming motion. Aniya sighs.

A prickling sensation creeps up Aniya’s back. She looks out across the water. A few boats dot the river here and there, but she doesn’t see anyone in particular. She knows she could use the magic to see if anyone is following her, but it would be another waste of what precious little magic she has. But the prickling sensation of being watched doesn’t go away. Aniya tells herself that it’s impossible. No one was able to see her as she walked through the city. Surely they’re safe.

Aniya looks down into the water of the Nile. It’s not black and oily like the waters of the Duat, but is still murky and brown with silt and soil. She has no desire to go down into it. Magic pulses through her and she realizes she doesn’t need to go down to the book. She can make the book come up to her.

Aniya holds her hand out over the water and focuses her mind on the task she wants to perform, pulling the Book of the Dead from the bottom of the Nile to the surface of the water. At first, there is nothing, but gradually she senses a pulling sensation. She tugs harder with her mind. The book is not merely sitting at the bottom of the Nile, it’s buried deep in the soggy soil below the river.

Sweat beads on her forehead and she closes her eyes, trying to focus the magic even more. It’s coming. She can feel the book pushing its way up through the mud and working its way free. She imagines a rope around the Book of the Dead, and pulls at it with her mind. There’s a splash and a wooden statue of Osiris pops to the surface of the Nile, bobbing along with the choppy water.

“The Book of the Dead,” she says, wiping the sweat off her brow. “That wasn’t so hard,” she says to the nearest shabti. He nods as if he agrees.

The statue bobs in the water next to the boat and Aniya leans over to pluck it out of the water. Her fingertips brush against the container just as she notices the book is not actually floating. It’s being carried. It’s sitting on the snout of the largest crocodile she has ever seen. Aniya yanks her hand away, but she’s still leaning too far over the boat. If it wants to, it won’t take just her hand, it will take her whole body. Just before the crocodile’s great jaw snaps, the shabti pull her back into the boat. Aniya tumbles backward on top of them, more grateful than ever to have them with her.

Aniya pulls herself back up and four of the remaining shabti each stand on a side of the boat. Out in the water, the Book of the Dead continues to bob on the small waves. It’s getting farther away. Aniya tries to pull it toward her with the magic, but there is only a trickle of it left. She focuses the remaining power she has stored and the waves of the river begin pushing the book closer to the boat, but it’s still too far away.

The rear of the boat lurches up out of the water and comes crashing back down. The force of it throws Aniya back down to the floor of the boat, and the shabti hold tight to the sides. Aniya scrambles next to the shabti captain at the bow of the small vessel and follows his gaze into the water.

There isn’t just one crocodile. Isis said there were four guarding the Book of the Dead, and Aniya sees her words were true. The four giant beasts circle around the boat. One lashes out a tail and smacks the hull of the small boat. A crack sounds through the air and the vessel tilts dangerously to the side for a moment, but then rights itself. Another tail smacks the opposite side, and the boat threatens to roll over again.

“They’re going to capsize us! We have to get the book and get out of here,” she yells at the shabti. The leader nods at the queen, and points to the others. In unison, they stand, bow briefly to her and all five jump into the water.

“Wait! What are you doing? Don’t leave me!” she yells, but they’re gone. The water ripples around the backside of the boat as one of the crocodiles breaks through the surface of the water. It’s swimming right for her. Without the help of the shabti, Aniya knows the boat will certainly spill into the Nile. She’ll be as good as dead.

The thought strikes her as funny for a split second.
After all, I am just a soul separated from my body. Can a soul really be devoured by a crocodile?
She looks again into the water and sees the eyes of the great beast looking directly at her. There is no hiding from these creatures. They are not merely crocodiles of the Nile; they are gods of Egypt. Aniya swallows back a lump in her throat. Her soul knows that it can indeed be consumed by these beasts.

The crocodile aims directly for her. If it rams her, it’s large enough to break the boat in half. Aniya pushes her body as far as she can to the other side of the boat and tenses her muscles for the impending impact of the crocodile’s massive body. Just before it strikes, one of the shabti shoots up out of the water and lands on the crocodile’s back. In the blink of an eye, the shabti crawls up over its back and hugs its arms round the crocodile’s snout. The beast shakes its head back and forth to dislodge the clay soldier, but the shabti’s grip is anchored tight and the creature’s mouth is sealed shut. The crocodile sinks beneath the water, taking the shabti with him, and Aniya is left to wonder what is happening just under the surface of the water.

All around the boat she sees the same thing happen again and again. The shabti have found the crocodiles and are attacking them, fending them off of the boat and giving her a chance to get the Book of the Dead. Aniya grabs an oar and paddles over to the cylinder still bobbing up and down on the water. The boat pulls up next to it and Aniya reaches down. Her fingers just graze the clay casing when the boat lurches upward and spills into the muddy water. A crocodile’s massive tails hits her on the back and she’s tumbling down into the water. She sees nothing but murky, green darkness.

Aniya’s lungs burn with the water she breathed in and her body bucks as she struggles against the urge to take a breath. Tumbling through the water, she can’t see which way is up. Something grazes against her arm. She pulls it tight against her body, briefly wondering whether she’ll drown first or if one of the crocodiles will devour her before that happens. She’s bumped again, this time on her head. It’s hard, but doesn’t feel like a crocodile. Again, it hits her head, almost persistently. Aniya reaches up a tentative hand. If it’s a crocodile, she’s doomed anyway. Her fingers reach up through the muddy drink as she’s hit in the head again. She grabs it. It’s not a crocodile. It’s thin. Hard. Wooden. She takes hold.