Metjen leaned on the ornamental balustrade and contemplated the objects littering the ground floor. Backlit by floodlight from the outside, confusing shadows criss-crossed the collection of statues and sarcophagi crammed into the atrium. As expected, he did not sense anybody nearby and the little cameras of the alarm system were blind. Any rustling or creaking in the corridors was due to the stresses and strains of an old building settling for the night, not resident rodents, guards--or animated exhibits roaming the museum.
Observing the relics of the past made him wonder what the denizens of the 21st century would think--or do--if they knew that somewhere far away it was indeed only yesterday. And that nothing but a defective portal stood between them, another world and a new beginning. Or the final countdown.
Their ancestors had cheated. Had called in the dark hordes and left this world to its own devices. Only the so-called civilisations had counted. Not all those people out there. In the wastelands, the jungles, the steppes of the East. You had either been in on the ruse--or out there with the demons.
Out here.
Metjen sighed.
Already his stint in the past felt like a fever dream and he found himself back in the harsh reality he had been born into. All things considered, mankind in this world had done astonishingly well. Still, this version of Earth was a festering wound, crawling with demons that would like nothing better than to worm their way into Kemet as well.
And this was not the end of it. The darkness was spreading, not only on their planet, it was winning everywhere, Ra had said. And he, Metjen, was to lead the forces of the light in yet another battle to end them all. Not on his own, though. That would have been too easy.
Why me? Metjen thought as he strode along the open corridor towards the Tutankhamun exhibits.
The showcase at the far end of the room held the collection of walking sticks. Metjen had known what he would find, but his father had insisted that he verified things were still as they should be. This was indeed the case; he found the same selection which had been gathering dust for years. His all time favourite was the staff in gilded bronze, its handle decorated with the joined torsos of two bound foreigners. When the clubfooted king had gone for a walk, he would have supported himself on the bodies of his enemies.
As beautiful as the piece was, it projected the prejudices of its time. Also, it was not what they were looking for. The object of their desire was either hidden in one of the boxes Seisi was still mind-hefting around in the cellar or Howard Carter had smuggled it out of the country a long time ago.
Carter's triple-great grandson, Francis, had been a trainee archaeologist at the Al-Nour excavation. While Carter junior had been nothing more than a general nuisance, he had idolised Metjen's father. Their only hope was that the guy could be convinced to let his erstwhile professor rummage through some of the family's treasures. If need be, with a mind-nudge from Metjen.
Unless they discovered something downstairs, the next stop in their journey would be Britain. On the other hand, having to travel to the UK would allow him to keep closer tabs on Trueth once she set off on her quest. He still was not convinced it was a good idea to let her go, not after the demons had flexed their muscles.
If only he was able to discern the possible futures, he would have a much better idea of what to do. The strands with myriads of possibilities were right there, spread out in front of his mind like a glittery cable tree reaching all the way into the universe. But every time he tried to focus on one string, it slipped away as if greased. All he got was flickering images. With demons showing in far too many of them.
Metjen banged his fist on the glass of the showcase in frustration. It cracked, the sound echoed in the room and he held his breath.
Nothing happened.
He exhaled again. He would not be able to prevent Trueth from meeting with the other descendants of the witchfolk, these so-called people of the mist. He had spoken to some of them once, and considered them to be low-level magical beings at best. They knew very little about their origins and had no clues whatsoever about either their purpose or a possible future for their kind. Other than succumbing to another bout of depression, meeting with them could not do Trueth any harm. If their ancestors had disappeared from this world without a trace, she would have to return to Kemet if she wanted to find out more.
Hopefully, this simple fact would make her think twice about staying behind in the demon world.
Or would it?
Metjen lifted his fist once more but stopped himself in time. He would have to find a way of staying connected without her finding out, otherwise he would never forgive himself if she met with any harm. Maybe she would accept Seisi's company. He seemed to be doing not that badly at all.
There was something else Metjen had to do before returning to the cellars. He focussed once more, drew on both sun-flow and divine energy and shot another message into the universe. It would take a while, Imhotep had said, but they would hear him. How long was a while? He had not received any response to his previous broadcasts.
Imhotep, I am calling you. Again. The demons are after Trueth, they have sent her a message. She wants to find out where her ancestors are. I will stay mind-linked, but cannot prevent her from leaving. Please advise.
There was nothing else he could do, so he turned and made his way towards the basement. Just as he was about to put a foot on the top step, the possibilities exploded in his head. One strand stood out clearly, showing the cellar room with Seisi in front of a pile of crates, Trueth behind--and a number of men in black uniforms with flashlights. And guns.
Their weapons were pointed at his friends, the man at the front pulled the trigger, fired... .
This is only one of the possible futures.
Metjen raced down the steps. He stumbled on a broken tile, caught himself and dashed into the dim basement.
The men raised their hands and fired.
In two of the futures.
Three.
Gasping for breath, he charged along the corridor as fast as he could, dodging old furniture, containers and other obstacles on the way.
Where was Iseret?
I am here. It is not good if I stay behind, without a body yielding sun-flow my skills are very limited!
Four.
He ignored her griping. Who are they?
By now his sides were burning. He had not been exercising enough lately. Difficult to do if one was either cooped up in a tower, or roasting in the sun.
Methinks we are dealing with the guards. I tried to keep the veil as low as possible, it appears some sounds slipped through. Halt your steps!
Metjen sprinted around the last bend in the corridor and nearly stumbled over a pallet as the command took control of his limbs.
They have not noticed you yet. Do something, but do it quick! And contain your sun-flow lest we attract unwanted attention.
Do what?
I leave that up to you!
Frantic thoughts whizzed through his mind. They bounced off the skeins with the possible futures, turning his brain into spaghetti junction. Shots ricocheted through his mind, followed by screams. How was he supposed to help if he was not allowed enough magic?
Now there were many possible futures where blood flowed. The blood of his friends.
More shots rang out in his mind.
An idea flared up. Spelling his environment would register on the demonic radar. Spelling himself was far less likely to do so.
He called for the protection of Osiris, shifted and shuffled towards the cellar entrance.
What ARE you doing? Iseret's astonishment was almost tangible.
What you told me to do!
Say something! Iseret had recovered quickly.
The nerve of her. His mind was blank. There was only one thing he could recall: His mother's inventory of the luggage they had brought back from Kemet.
If you liked this story, please leave me a vote or a comment. Or both XD. Wattpad writers write for feedback. We thrive on it! Thank you so much. If you REALLY liked it - maybe you can tell your friends about it?
***
This chapter is dedicated to my reader, popetc Thank you!
The media above is a relatively recent photo of the atrium but things might have got reshuffled again. Still, I hope it will give you a good impression of the place as seen by Metjen from the first floor.