The Call of Eternity

65 | GO TO HER

Behind the screen, a pair of wooden doors stood recessed in the wall, one plain and one embossed with gold. Marduk went to the gold-paneled door and pushed it open. Within, a long, straight corridor, slanting downward, its end too far to see. Along its walls, curious white globes sat in metal cones, illuminating the way with clean, clear, smokeless light.

Marduk strode ahead, walking fast, purposeful, power emanating from him. Adjusting Imhotep's weight on his shoulder, Sethi followed Marduk into the long, endless corridor. A quiet hiss came from behind him. He cast a look back. Horus bent his head under the door's lintel and stepped over the threshold, Ahmen stumbling beside him, his head lolling. His eyes dark, Horus eyed the length of the corridor, loathing tightening the slant of his jaw.

Sethi pressed on, hauling Imhotep alongside him. They walked a long time, the slope delving deep into the earth. He looked back as the mud bricks of the corridor's walls, floor, and ceiling gave way to enormous ashlars fitted together, flawless, precise. Behind, the door from the king's office had vanished with distance. The corridor widened, its slope slanting to a steeper angle. Imhotep stirred, coming to.

"Marduk," Sethi said, low, tilting his head toward the black-clad man striding ahead of them. "Walk, don't talk."

Imhotep nodded, taking in the tunnel's features in silence, a tiny rivulet of blood trickling from a gash across his eyebrow. Behind, low voices. Ahmen walked now, too, his fingers probed, gentle, against his scalp, exploring a broad gash across his temple and brow, the blood still congealing.

They walked on, the interminable monotony of the walls and lamps claustrophobic, unending. Just as Sethi wondered if the tunnel would never end, he spotted the gleam of gold, far ahead. He narrowed his eyes, making out its details as they neared: double doors, embellished with a massive seven-pointed golden star.

Marduk stopped before the towering doors and pulled off his helmet. He looked no older than Sethi, the planes of his regal features hard, determined. His eyes--the color of carnelian, the pupils long and thin, like a cat's--met Sethi's, impassive, then moved on to Horus, hardening, darkening.

"Welcome to the Etemen'anki," he said, elegant, courteous, despite his dark look. He spoke into a device on his wrist, in an exotic language Sethi had never heard before. A click deep within the doors answered and they swung open, creaking with age. Within, the warm, dazzling sheen of gold, layer upon layer--the accumulated wealth of thousands of years of the empires of men. Furniture, gems, textiles, jewelry, daggers, swords, shields, armor, statues, bowls, platters, jugs, cups, ingots of silver and gold. A fortune piled in reckless heaps throughout a vast, pillared chamber--as large as the second hall of the Temple of Re--more gold than Sethi suspected all the kings of all the empires possessed together.

Marduk threaded his way through the heaps, following a narrow path, his black-shod feet crunching over several stray pieces of jewelry, breaking their fragile designs into fragments. Sethi felt his heart clench. Just a fraction of Marduk's stashed gold would pay for endless campaigns--with it, Egypt could conquer the world. He eyed Marduk, beginning to understand just how powerful Horus's enemy had become during the long absence of the gods--how powerful he must have been to drive them away.

At another pair of doors, Marduk spoke again into the device on his wrist and the doors slid open, quiet. Inside, the sprawl of an underground palace. Its rooms spread away, arrayed with elegant furniture, tapestries, and gleaming items of virtue.

"I must prepare for our journey," he said, walking ahead, his helmet tucked under his arm, leading them through one sumptuous room after another until they entered a long corridor. "In the meantime," he said stopping beside a closed door bearing no handle, "I suggest you make your farewells. You will not have a second chance." He spoke into his device, sharp, abrupt.

A grinding sound of metal came from within the door. It swung open. Sethi looked inside, noting the empty, but well-appointed suite, all the doors leading from it, closed.

"Whatever you have planned, you will not succeed," Horus said, tight.

"Is that so?" Marduk asked, unimpressed. He glanced at the device on his wrist. "You have one hour. No more. Best make good use of it, for it will be your last with those who await you within."

"There is no one here," Sethi said, turning back to face Marduk, suspicious. "Where is Istara?"

"I imagine you will find her behind one of those doors, with the one who calls himself the King of Hatti," Marduk said, dry, a hint of satisfaction glinting in his amber eyes.

Sethi glanced into the room, willing Marduk to be telling the truth. If he was, Istara was just a heartbeat away. Silence seeped from the suite, heavy, oppressive.

"No," he said, easing back from the doorway, "I want to see her first."

One of the doors opened, a quiet creak. Sethi turned. Baalat emerged, looking down at her feet, her hair unbound and tousled. The neck of her gown slipped down her shoulder.

"My love," Horus breathed.

She looked up, startled, her eyes moving past Ahmen and Imhotep to Horus. They widened, incredulous. With a strangled cry, she took several steps toward him, holding out her hands, reaching for him, trembling, anguished, tears glinting in her eyes. He went to her, closing the space between them in a heartbeat, taking hold of her, dragging her against him, his arms enveloping her, moulding her body against his.

"You live," she sobbed, shuddering, clinging to him. He tightened his hold on her, his blood smearing across her gown and over her skin.

Picking her up in his arms, he shot a scathing look at Marduk, cold, hard, hatred pounding from him. Without saying a word, he turned and shouldered his way into her room, kicking the door closed behind him.

"Satisfied?" Marduk asked, arching his brow toward Baalat's closed door.

"No," Sethi answered, his heart tight. "Give me your word: If I go in, I will find Istara."

"You have my word," Marduk said, low.

Imhotep slid past them and went to a side table. He hefted a jug from the floor and poured water into a basin. Cupping the water in his hands, he began the work of cleaning his wounds. Casting a final look down the corridor, Ahmen let out a resigned sigh and joined Imhotep.

"She is in that room." Marduk tilted his head at one of the doors, closed fast.

Sethi glanced at the door, his heart pounding, erratic. Istara.

"Go to her," Marduk whispered.

Sethi shoved his way in, his throat so tight, it ached. He reached the door. Behind him, the grind of metal against metal. It came to a halt with a heavy thud. One hour. He had one hour.

He pressed his palm against the door, and called her name.