He'd tried to convince himself that it was a mistake, that he'd just wake up and nothing would've happened―Wraith tried to get his head around the fact that he'd encountered a Son of Horus; the girl mustn't have realised it, but Wraith could, he saw it from the colour of his eyes and from the way he surrendered without question.
"So you decided to tell us this now?" Nathanial sat on the table in front of Isfet, folding the scrolls into paper planes, tossing them around the room. "You could've gotten information out of the guy, or had Azizi take his soul like Anubis said."
Wraith started to pace again, fiddling with the Khepesh on his belt. He'd requested all of his Sons in the library to discuss the 'situation' with them. Wraith turned his attention to Anuka, "Is she awake?"
One of Nathanial's paper planes flew at Anuka and nestled itself into his hair, "Not since the last time I checked. The Ancient Art you advised to put on her will surely make her unconscious, and I've put her in a bind of linen, she can't move even if she wanted to."
"Was that truly a Son of Horus? Didn't look like one from memory," Isfet paused his rummaging to grimace. "Was it wise to keep him alive? We don't want a repeat of the Eighteenth."
"We cannot abuse the treaty, I would've devoured his spine otherwise," Wraith continued his robotic pacing. "I assume he was her protector, but she seemed completely unaware as to who we are. But considering he is a Son of Horus, she is an enemy."
"Don't you think it's strange though?" Anuka loosened the bandages around his throat. "He gave her up without a fight, regardless of the treaty. If they were as close as you assumed, there would've been resistance. She smells pure to me. . .perhaps she knows nothing."
"And Ungifted don't have scents," Isfet chimed in. "There seemed to be recognition in her features when we showed ourselves. If she were Ungifted, tonight would not have happened."
Wraith nodded but still had more questions than answers.
"She did have a strange aura about her," Nathanial tossed another plane. "Please tell me that you guys saw it too."
"Is this another gift that the Great Father has given you?" Wraith noted that Nathanial could create Shabti without the need of the vocal command, and as much as Wraith distrusted him, his talents were exceptional.
Nathanial gave a one-shoulder shrug, "It was like picking up a scent but with colours," he gestured to Wraith, "Your aura is black, grey and white in the shape of a jackal. It's like a cloak around your Ka I suppose. The Son of Horus' aura was blue, green and gold in the shape of a falcon. Though, the girl's didn't have a precise shape, it was almost clouded when Wraith grabbed her, and it didn't outline her Ka like the others. Her colours were red, orange and black. . .it was almost like she stood in a fire that only I could see."
Wraith scowled, "Did you pick up on anything else when you saw her?"
"Yeah, there was one other thing," Nathanial rolled onto his side. "Her cloak spoke to me, well it didn't really speak, it like, murmured things."
Isfet pushed out of his chair and moved to one of the many bookshelves that filled the library to its high ceilings. He placed the discarded scrolls back in their nooks before picking through more, "I thought auras were a myth comprised by Ungifted priests to feel somewhat special." He sat back in his seat with a new bundle, "What did it say?"
'I am the one who sees all. I am the one of justice. I am the End.'
Nathanial rubbed his black hair and looked at Wraith with an exasperated expression, "Doesn't sound like a Daughter to me."
Isfet swept his hand across the table to discard the smaller scrolls until one large papyri remained. He stood and toted it beneath his arm, "I guess we'll just have to ask her."
• • •
Ziara had gotten out of the bandages easily, all she had to do was flick her wrists, turn onto her side and then she was free. She stood in one of the many hallways, wandering aimlessly to perhaps find an archive room or library or an exit. All of the corridors looked the same to her―black obsidian with torches mounted on the walls.
Red Mother, the voice echoed. Ziara had no clue what it meant; she wasn't proficient in prophecies. She deduced that it could've been another hallucination since one moment she was suspended over a fiery lake and then the next she was bound to a mustaba bench. This gang certainly went back to their roots, was it some sort of hoax to get her credit card pin?
"Egyptology on the brain," Ziara muttered to herself and kicked a wall angrily. It was just her luck to get into a mess such as this just when she made a breakthrough on Imhotep. Now, she'd have to bargain with her captors on letting her go so she could forward her research to Mariette back in Luxor.
"How did you get out?" a voice hummed right near her ear, a slight playful purr echoed in the intruders tone.
It was the man with the jackal. His hair was cut haphazardly across his face. Part of it covered his left eye while the rest was tussled into a mass of gelled spikes. He had two deep scars above his eyebrow which certainly made him look rugged like the gang member she perceived him to be.
Beneath his half-open grey hoodie, she noticed a faded black t-shirt with no visible emblem of the gangs that stalked Luxor's street for sure. All of that plus the black tattoos that recited the passages from the Opening of the Mouth from the Book of the Dead, compiled with the heavy layer of kohl beneath his eyes, made him look like a mix of traditional and new-age rebel.
"You need to tie your knots better," Ziara took three steps back to distance herself from Nathanial, who obviously had no comprehension of personal space. She considered whether or not to punch him but decided against it when the jackal growled at her.
He cocked his head to the left and licked his lips, "You were under a powerful Ancient Art and Mummy Man put you under a bind. . .how could you have freed yourself?"
"This isn't funny. I'm Ziara Massit, daughter of renound professor and Egyptologist Harry Massit―does the name ring a bell?" she tried to scoot around him but Nathanial blocked her every move, "Let me go and I won't go to the police."
Ziara mentally slapped herself; these barbarians wouldn't care if the military burst into wherever they were with tanks. She stuck her bottom lip out in frustration and took in her surroundings, recognising the obsidian and carvings, dating them to around the Third Dynasty but some of the passages came from the Nineteenth―could Imhotep have constructed the...Cynopolis too? Ziara's eyes widened as she stared at the ceiling, she stood in the Cynopolis of Anubis, the cult temple. Was this real?
"Call the cops by all means, see if I care," Nathanial's eyes challenged. He then smirked after catching on that Ziara had figured her surroundings out, "I've dated a few that claim to be Egypt-whatever's, but they don't know half of our history."
"Egyptologist," Ziara corrected with an eye roll. "Why did you bring me here?"
"Fucked if I know, I'll give you a tour of the place instead," Nathanial tugged on her arm.
She followed him towards a large rectangular room thinking it was an exit. Inside, were papyrus reed mats which lined the stone floor, wooden targets and various sharp weapons mounted the walls. Hieroglyphs were carved heavily into the stone and depictions of warriors and armies actually moved.
Ziara observed a scene where Ramses II rode on his chariot as his horses pelted across what looked like a battle field; he notched an arrow into his bow. It faded and became a scene where Ramses held a Nubian enemy by their thick hair and was ready to decapitate him. The depiction reset its movements before the Nubian was slain and Ramses stood back on his chariot.
"You were chosen," Nathanial replied blandly as he led her along. "For what, I'm not sure."
The next set of rooms looked like sleeping quarters. White linen beds and lone bedside tables were the only furniture and adornments in each room. It was simple living, warrior living―it seemed like she'd stumbled back into the past. Yet Nathanial seemed to be the only modern one in the Sons of Anubis.
They turned down another hallway. There was only one rectangular room which opened into an empty corridor. In the centre was a large Sennet board―the Egyptian version of chess―the pieces were stacked neatly and in order with the black jackal headed stick to one end of the board and the white lion's heads to the other.
Both walked in silence for a few moments until Nathanial stopped in front of a large room. A statue of Anubis stood tall; it was carved in black alabaster with a gold filigree kilt that shimmered in the torch light. Anubis held an ankh in his left hand and a was sceptre in his right, showing off his authority as a god.
Though it was made from rock, Anubis' head looked velvety almost as if it were made from fur, its eyes were ringed in white paint to represent kohl and the pupils were painted an eerie amber, Ziara could've sworn they blinked at her.
"From the architecture the Sons of Anubis seemed to hail from every dynasty up until the Eighteenth, were you guys thrown out of commission when Akhenaten rose to power?" Ziara stated, rather than asked.
Around the statue were garlands of sweet smelling wild flowers, among the blossoms were cakes and offerings of food. Two large clay vats of beer were placed at the base of the statue. There were no moving depictions or carvings chipped into the walls, but large papyri hung with scriptures from Anubis himself.
"We don't get wasted, in case you're wondering," Nathanial took a right turn down a highly lit hallway. At the end was a blank wall with no visible entrance, just a cluster of torches on each side.
He pulled out a sharp looking hooked instrument, a copper rod from what Ziara could deduce. It was one of the hooks used to remove the brain for embalming. Nathanial slit his palm with the instrument and in moments, blood slowly dripped to the stone floor.
Ziara watched as Nathanial pressed his hand against the wall and held it there for a moment. As his blood slid down the surface, part of the wall parted like cogs in a clock, to reveal an inner room. Ziara averted to eyes to his palm; it was free of any injury.
"Here's the ritual room, don't touch anything or Wraith will literally gut you," Nathanial ruffled her hair with a smirk and stepped through the opening.
Ziara followed him over the threshold and the stone flicked shut behind her. The interior replicated a cave, and was beautiful to see. No torches illuminated the space; it was filled with natural light from an unknown source. A large rock pool filled the centre of the room and was filled with luminous blue water that fell in a silent cascade from a dark void in the ceiling.
Ziara gave the ceiling a rough estimate of eighty-two feet high. The surrounding damp cave walls were hidden behind statues of the major gods, the forty-two judges to observe the forty-two sins of man stood at least twelve-feet high. On the pathway were gold painted hieroglyphs to invoke incantations along with other scriptures that spoke of Pharaoh's and their loyalty to the forty-two deities.
"Sorry for being late, we took the scenic route," Nathanial led the way up the pebbled path where the rest of the Sons stood. They simply nodded at him, not caring the reason for their late entrance. Nathanial brashly pushed Ziara forward towards the rock pool.
"This is the―" Wraith was cut off.
"Water of Truth; purified by the feather of Ma'at and is used when those have done such evil that their heart can't be weighed," Ziara looked up at the blue cascade, "I've only read of this once when I stumbled across a passage containing information about a massacre and the forty-two gods couldn't decide on a verdict to give the culprit."
The man with the scroll gave a throaty grunt behind Wraith. His comrade, the one with the blade, nudged him harshly in the shoulder as some kind of gesture to remain quiet.
"Trivia won't save you," Wraith sounded annoyed, "I don't know why you're here or why my Shabti directed me to you, but something isn't right about you. Come forward."
Ziara walked towards Wraith and rolled her shoulders slightly to ease the tension coiling through her muscles. He gestured for her to sit on the edge of the rock pool next to him and she complied silently with a smirk. Wraith obviously didn't like women that left his speechless; he didn't acknowledge her cockiness in any way.
"Ma'at judges your truth," Wraith picked up a clay cup and scooped up the water that lapped at the edge of the pool.
Wraith placed his hand behind Ziara's head and poised himself slightly above her; it surprised her by how gentle he was with his movements, she knew that could change within in instant if she said the wrong thing. Wraith's black eyes held hers as he began to pour the Water of Truth down her throat. It tasted horrible, like cough medicine mixed with motor oil and other foul smelling things. It made her cough and gag until her body shuddered violently.
"What is your name?" Wraith asked.
"Ziara Massit," her reply was immediate, as if she couldn't hold her tongue.
"Do you know of the Sons and Daughters?" Wraith continued.
"No," she replied.
Behind him, the scribe wrote all of the facts down on papyri. From the way he angled the tip of the stylus onto the parchment, he wrote in hieroglyphics. Most people struggled writing or even translating hieroglyphs since it was a verbal language and only consonants were mostly only written, Ziara couldn't help the excitement in the pit of her stomach.
"Have you encountered anyone like us before?" Wraith forced another mouthful down her throat.
"From the way you spoke to Carn, I assume you were familiar, so yes I have encountered people like you before, but I don't know who you are," she sputtered.
He scooped up more water and fed it down her throat; he learnt about the general workings of her life: age, place of birth, profession and family. His questions seemed uniformed, well-rehearsed, until Ziara caught the twinge of desperation when he asked a personal question, one that he urgently needed an answer to.
"Were you told of a prophecy?" he pulled her head up, harder this time, his patience thin.
For the first time since the interrogation started, Ziara hesitated. Her mind reeled back to when she was unconscious, to the fiery lake and the feline voice calling out to her as the Red Mother. Was it connected? She questioned herself, unsure of what to say―the voice was merely directing her instead of foretelling a future.
"Well?" Wraith shook her.
"No," Ziara gulped down the last mouthful of the cup and exhaled, preparing herself to die in excruciating pain by Ma'at, but she felt fine.
Wraith looked extremely disappointed. His black eyes became dull, glassy almost as he pushed away from her and threw the cup across the pool in anger. However, the Son of Anubis had the courtesy to remain silent, the anger only radiating in his movements.
"I think that's enough for now. The Water of Truth is dangerous if you over do it," the scribe tapped Wraith on the shoulder cautiously. "Besides, we have other tests to conduct."
Other tests?
"My name is Isfet," he moved forward as Wraith folded his arms. "As you may know, each of us has a talent. I'm an Arts user. If you'd let me, I'd love to delve into the recesses of your mind."
She began to get edgy, squirming uncomfortably beneath Isfet's stare.
"I'd rather go home, I have a lot to discuss with Carn," Ziara shook her head.
Isfet placed his scriptures on the side of the rock pool, "I don't want to upset you more than my comrades; I want you to relax for me and clear your mind."
"I've already told you everything I know," she protested with a vicious snarl, "I'd like to return to Luxor and forget this happened."
"You must understand that this situation has never happened before. If you were chosen to be a Daughter of a goddess, you must've been picked up by them, seeing that we are Sons and belong to a male-only order. We're just trying to figure out why you're here, just clear your mind for me," Isfet tilted her chin up.
"I said no," Ziara tried to step back but she physically couldn't move, trapped beneath Isfet's stare.
"I'll warn you once, girl," Isfet stepped forward so their noses were almost touching. "Don't make me repeat myself."
"Fu. . ." her eyes rolled back.
Isfet rested his hands on either side of her head and grinned, "Sacred Art."
They both hovered on the bank of a fiery lake, the one that Ziara recalled from her dreams. The fiery lake bubbled as smoke furled around the edge of the precipice, flowing into an abyss of darkness.
It was the Lake of Fire, where the damned souls are cast into to burn for their untruths. It was a worse fate than being eaten by Ammut. Instead of having your heart devoured in one go, the Lake of Fire peeled away the eight parts that created life: Ka, the body. Sahu, the physical boundary of the soul. Ren, the divine name that is the foundation of an individual. Shwt, the shadow or shield of protection. Ba, the force of a human being, their soul. Akh, the part of the person that becomes a constellation to await the Ba and Ka. And finally, Ib, the shell over the heart.
"Son of Anubis," purred a voice.
Black vultures swooped and clawed at each other behind the faceless goddess. As the birds flew into each other to give more depth to the goddess, she solidified once the birds were absorbed into her body. The woman stood in a red gown with a strangely angelic human face. Feathers were braided into her black hair that fell in a pristine sheet to her hips.
"Is this a memory of yours?" Isfet looked startled.
"Not exactly," Ziara glared at the woman. "Nekhbet?"
"Don't flatter me with the guardian of the Necropolis," the woman hissed. The goddess averted her attention to the cowering Isfet, who stood slightly behind Ziara on the bank. "Very bold of you, Son of Anubis." The woman's eyes shone brighter than the magma beneath her.
"It can't be," Isfet gasped. "You're―"
"―I am many things, Son," she cackled. "You certainly have worth Ziara Massit of Luxor. Your scorching temper is promising, very promising indeed."
Before Ziara could rip a piece out of the goddess, Isfet clamped his hand over Ziara's mouth.
"I request a favour of you, Red Mother," she grinned.
"What?" venom dripped from Ziara's voice as she kicked and writhed against Isfet's hold.
The woman's image faded, as did theUnderworld around them, "Wake up my dear child, this place isn't meant for the living."