Chapter Text
Have fun, Mr. Bruener said. Explore the newest exhibit at the museum, Mr. Bruener said. Come back with something story worthy. Explore your interest in Ancient Egypt, Mr. Bruener said.
She dressed down for the rare afternoon off, trading her office heels for tennis shoes. She slipped her cell phone into the small purse she solely used for her necessities – her cell phone, her important cards, and the barest makeup in a plastic sandwich bag. She always carried a bit of cash just in case, a small hair comb, and spare hair ties.
Traveling by bus to the museum, Sara Westcott allowed herself to turn off the ‘work’ brain and enjoyed the socializing without wanting to extract information for another story. People watching amused her until the stop a block from the museum. She speedwalked the rest of the way and let down her dark brown hair from the high ponytail. Shaking her hair out, she happened to catch a stranger’s eye and playfully tossed her hair over her shoulder. A hint of a smile touched the man’s lips.
He leaned against a lamp post, wearing a neutral desert tan cotton tunic and dark blue jeans that hugged all the right areas. His dreamy brown eyes ultimately pulled her to a full stop. He smiled easily.
“Hi.” Her breath caught in her throat.
Gods, he looked like a glass of cold water on a hot day. Dreamy brown eyes, kissable lips, sun kissed skin and the Mr. Clean sexy baldness owned and mastered. He smelled like a desert flower, a scent that relaxed any remaining reservations she might have harbored.
“Hello.” He replied.
His accent intrigued her. “I um I was going to spend an hour or two at the museum. Did you want to join me?” She dared, her heart racing like a mad woman.
His smile widened and revealed off-white teeth. “My name is Tarik.”
“Sara.” She held out her hand. “Journalist. You?”
“Religious scholar.” He replied. “Specialization in Egyptian History.”
She perked up. “Actually, I was going to visit the new exhibit the museum has. They’re hosting a new exhibit from Cairo. They discovered a plundered tomb belonging, supposedly, to a priestess of Kebechet.”
“You don’t say.” He said and charmed her with another smile. “I think I will join you if you do not mind- “
“Not at all.” She clamored to reassure him. “ A museum is meant to be appreciated by groups of people. Two is a group.”
He laughed with her. She started in the direction of the museum, paid for his admission, and struck up conversation about the goddess herself. He listened intently and contributed sparingly. Her adoration unveiled the untapped treasure trove of knowledge she gathered over the years on Ancient Egypt and its many gods and goddesses. They reached the Kebechet exhibit mid-admiration of Anubis and his pop-culture explosion.
The dull quiet of the cool corridor hushed her enthusiasm.
Tarik pointed at the funerary markings on the plain sarcophagus. She leaned forward and squinted to identify the individual markings. He brushed his hand along her shoulder. The sarcophagus enclosed behind glass splintered away in disorienting warm and darkness. The chill of the museum disappeared, replaced by a warmth so familiar and foreign to her it baffled her. Where light once cast upon them, a darkness now overwhelmed her and made her feel small and helpless.
“And then there was light.” Tarik’s control of the Egyptian tongue surprised her. She put together his accent and his general appearance to assume he was of Egyptian lineage or markedly similar.
Torches lined the narrow corridor that stretched into the natural darkness. She recognized the blue faience tile and limestone after her eyes adjusted. She tried to read the hieroglyphics, except she never properly learned how. She regret that now as she moved to touch the walls and run her fingertips over the grooves in shock and awe.
Tarik’s eyes pinned on her. “I apologize for the subterfuge.”
She turned toward him. “Pardon?”
“For this.” He gestured to the tunnel that led further down. “We are not far from the entrance to the Underworld. We must traverse it together.”
Her mind caught up with the reality. She tapped the wall, solid stone, and then stomped the floor, also solid stone.
Oh, this was real. But how? And more importantly, why?
“Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Imhotep. Priest of Osiris.” He held out his hand politely.
She stepped back, the hairs on her neck raised. “Impossible.”
“And yet we were a moment ago in what your people call a museum. Is that not impossible?” He presented a clear-cut case she couldn’t argue against. Years of working the job and covering more than one gruesome story left her with images and accounts she did not want to recall and inevitably recalled at the worst times – secondhand trauma as she liked to call it – and yet this did not qualify for that classification. This was something else entirely.
“Imhotep.” She repeated cautiously. “As in the Chancellor to the Pharaoh – Not Tutankhamun. Pharaoh Djoser?” It clicked in her head, and she immediately felt stupid for not connecting the name to the pyramid and vice versa. “Architect Imhotep?”
He smiled and nodded.
“I feel like I’m being pranked. I must be- “
He walked toward her. She rooted to the spot. Impossibly her feet lifted off the ground until only her toes touched stone and dust. “I am Lord Imhotep, High Priest of Osiris, Chancellor of Pharaoh Djoser, a being cursed by the Hom-Dai, and once more resurrected for the power struggles of the foolish. Do you believe me now?”
Sara didn’t know what to believe except she floated without strings, and he spoke with complete confidence. She smiled uneasily. “Okay, okay…Can I stand on my feet again?” She asked.
He lowered his hand in perfect match to her feet touching the ground. “You look disturbed, Ms. Westcott.” He remarked.
She wanted more coffee to properly wake up. This had to be a dream. Had to be. Nothing else properly explained this.
“That’s probably because I am.” She mumbled.
“Speak louder, Ms. Westcott.” He ordered.
She cleared her throat nervously. “That’s because I am.” She addressed him directly, the journalistic spirit emboldening her.
His hand caressed her cheek playfully and he smiled in that charming smug fashion that irritated and made him more attractive. “Good.” He whispered and withdrew his hand. “Come. We have a journey ahead of us.”
She jogged after him. “Why me?” She demanded.
He never looked back. She noticed the torch light died out as they walked further away from it and relocated to continue to light their path ahead and downward at a gentle slope. “Why not?”
“Assuming I take you at face value, what do I offer aside from…” She attempted to stall, her mind refusing to put together an excuse and explanation that half assed into reason and logic. “Existing.” She finished disappointed.
“Do you not feel it in your bones?” He stopped. She walked right into his outstretched arm. His eyes judged her in ways that made her skin crawl uncomfortably. “Imhotep knows that your soul is special.”
“Referring to yourself in third person is poor taste, Chancellor.” She countered equally serious. “I can’t take you seriously if you do that. Why are we here? Why are we entering the Underworld?”
“To access the Oasis of Life within.” He answered.
Her wasteland of Ancient Egyptian knowledge met expectations and failed her. Her journalistic hunger for more stories and adventures charged to the rescue. “What is the Oasis of Life? What’s it look like? Who’s the lord of it?”
Imhotep’s pleasure at her inquisitive nature softened his harsh behavior. “They say the Lord of The Oasis of Life was once the noble escort himself, Anubis. Anput, his wife, loved him so that they conceived their daughter, Kebechet, in the pool of life.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong but Anput was the protector of Osiris?” She asked.
“And the goddess of the 17th Nome of Upper Egypt.” He nodded along.
She imagined the wheels spinning in his head. For a moment, she wondered what she inhaled at the museum. The staunchest defender of reality as she knew it refused to believe this entirely real. A bad acid trip, perhaps, but not reality.
“Kebechet is the goddess of freshness, purification. She, like her mother, assisted in embalming. We will meet her in the Hall of Two Truths.”
Her heart twinged. “Will we?”
He raised his hand to touch her hair. He played it along his fingers in what could only be described as idle interest. “You may soon find out.” He promised her.
A creepy whisper ethereally haunted their rear.
She pulled away from him. The hairs on her arm stood up. With nothing better to do, she marched onward determined to not look behind her. Just in case. They couldn’t jump scare her if she didn’t turn around. Right? Right???
His approval shook hands with her self-preservation. They walked downward into the earth. She smelled the moisture before she felt it on her skin. The bedrock gave way to an underground river that stretched into the never ending darkness. Rippling water delicately echoed in the void. Her eyes climbed the non-visible walls to the cavernous ceiling above that dripped down in contradicting spikes and expansive smoothed areas. The eerie calm prickled along her skin.
She squinted into the blackness. She rubbed her arms down nervously. Vague people shaped shadows flitted in and out of the dominant darkness. A narrow bow of a boat visualized as if on cue.
“Im-“ She turned toward the priest staring down the boat. “Door to the Underworld?” She asked optimistically.
“He has arrived.” Imhotep breathed and dropped to one knee.
She slow turned toward the boat’s enclosed cabin spanning the boat’s deck. A striking muscular figure of a brown skinned man with the head of a jackal. Her hands pulled together of their own will, and she grinned. “It’s him. It’s really him.” She breathed.
“Kneel!” Imhotep ordered hoarsely.
An invisible force pushed her onto one knee and bowed her head. She defied that force and eyed up the long, narrow solar boat gliding toward shore. The people shadows congested around the boat, creating a fog she wanted no part of.
The image of a solar boat parted the congested shadows and advanced towards them pushed by unseen winds. A jackal head atop a man’s form stood in the center of the boat, it’s gaze fixated on them.
She tapped Imhotep’s arms excitedly. “It’s Anubis.” She whispered. “Oh my god. It’s really him.”
Another invisible restriction stilled her incessant, exhilarated tapping.
Dream or not, this was…amazing. Absolutely hands down the best mind-vacation ever. Of all of the adventures to daydream, this topped the charts.
Anubis. The absurdity of it heightened her appreciation. Imhotep. Anubis. Who was next? Ra? Isis? Osiris? Bastet?
“Hush, young one. You are in the presence of a god.” Imhotep scolded.
“Two, technically.” She quipped in pure excitement. “Do we meet Ra too? Are our souls going to be weighed?”
He placed his hand over her mouth and shushed her.
The solar boat stopped short of the shore and Anubis motioned them forward wordlessly.
Imhotep sighed heavily, as one would dealing with a child they wanted to discard and were unable to. Once again, she wondered why he wanted her to tag along if he could manage this task alone.
Anubis stepped off the solar boat, walked on water, and planted his bare feet on the shore they kneeled upon.
Best value of her hours, hands down!
She didn’t know what she expected, the deep authoritative voice touching her ears certainly wasn’t it.
“The young one is not ready to cross over.” Anubis’s deep voice bespelled her. “Her time is not yet come.”
“We seek the Oasis of Life.” Imhotep said.
Sara stared at Anubis and Anubis at her. Imhotep closed her mouth for her. She continued to mouth “Anubis is real.”
She completely forgot about their location, the fact she couldn’t seriously believe this to be reality, that she couldn’t swim, and how much she didn’t want to forget this fever dream of a reality either.
“And the young one?” Anubis demanded.
Her voice sputtered to a start. “Yes. Absolutely. What’s the Oasis? It’s sounds lovely. Can we go?” She speed talked.
Imhotep’s heavy sigh amused her.
“Excuse me, Anubis, sir. Is it true you have a brother? Wepwawet, a war deity? Are we on a river of the dead? Are all gods valid? Or is it just applicable to those who believe- “
Imhotep’s head swiveled slowly in her direction, the dirtiest of dirty looks passed onto her.
“-in you? Does your power stem from the amount of believers or simply because you exist? Do you mind if I ask questions? I can be quiet if it offends you.” She barely allowed herself to breath.
If a jackal could smile, it smiled. One hand touched her head and in that briefest moment, raw power washed over her. Imhotep audibly sighed in relief. “The first steps are afoot. May your ka stay strong.”
He motioned for them to board the solar boat. Imhotep’s will over her physical movements dissipated. She climbed to her feet, head in the clouds. Imhotep levitated her to the boat and avoided the water entirely. The people fog parted for them, observant creepy silent wisps dedicated to serving Anubis. Anubis followed them, a powerful presence neither could ignore.
Anubis raised his hand, and the solar boat reversed its course across the dark water. The quiet rippling pulled her to the edge. She peered over into the water, a shadow morphing and playing out in a strange, captivating play that made no sense to her. She happened to look up and locked eyes with Anubis. She gestured to the water and the shifting people shadows in question. Anubis stood in silent witness to her muted concern.
She turned toward Imhotep. “Where exactly are we?” She demanded of him.
His hard stare drilled through her. “We are physically leaving the underground complex of the Pyramid of Djoser and entering the Underworld to enter the Oasis of Life.” He answered annoyed.
A shadow hand clasped hers in the void.
She yanked her hand back instinctively and positioned herself closer to Imhotep. She tried to hide her discomfort. “How does one access the Underworld if 1. You’re not allowed there and 2. I’m ready to pass through yet?”
“Lord Imhotep is permitted among those passing into their next life, when it is his time.” Anubis corrected her. “The first test is the weighing of your souls. If you are unworthy, your heart will be devoured by Amenti.”
In the middle of the ceaseless dark, guided by the trusted hand of Anubis, the world existed in its own bubble. Time stretched impossibly thin, until the fabric itself gave way to another world.
A garden bursting with greenery. A pool of sparkling water. A waterfall cascading in the background. The smell of desert flowers. A warmth that made clothes unnecessary.
The solar boat bumped against a dock. Anubis motioned for them to disembark.
She waved to Anubis once she set foot on the dock. He regally bowed, the solar boat drifting away from the dock to greet another on their way to the next step in life.
Imhotep lifted her over his shoulder and fireman carried her away from the water, the people fog, and along a torch lit path that curved through high smooth walls lined with hieroglyphic panels instructing the dead how to reach the Field of Reeds.
From her awkward angle, she took in the other wayward souls making the journey to the scales. The shoreline and its dark waters disappeared in short order. She tapped Imhotep’s back for him to let her walk. He placed her on her feet and looped his arm through hers and forcibly guided her along at his pace.
Their pace slowed dramatically when an inevitable line to the Hall of Truth intercepted them. Several individuals walked up and down the line. Her heart clenched and her gaze strayed to Anubis standing at one of his many posts showing people to their weigh-in. In the far distance, barely glimpsed, Sara counted a handful of individuals gathered around two individuals – one she assumed to be Osiris and the other Thoth?
“Excuse me-“She tried to tap the person’s shoulder in front of her.
A gorgeous woman stopped next to them and angled her attention directly on Sara. Sara pulled her hand back to her side in trepidation.
Sara’s gaze shyly lifted upward until she looked Nephthys in the eyes. “Hi…” She waved shyly. “Might I ask a question?” She whispered.
The woman smiled at Sara’s escort. “Imhotep. You once again return. Why?”
“I am ready to confess my negative sins and enter the Oasis, as is my duty foretold by Ma’at.” Imhotep replied dutifully.
“And this stranger, this one who is of blood but not of ancient blood?” The goddess criticized. “Was she made aware of her destiny as well? Or are you hoping to enter through her trial of the heart?”
Imhotep just smiled.
Sara glanced between the tense Imhotep and the smooth woman. She extricated her arm from Imhotep’s grasp. “Excuse me…”
“Nephthys.” The woman supplied. “I am to offer comfort, but you are not here to be judged. No. It is not your time. Ma’at does not wish it.”
Sara snapped her fingers. “Ma’at, goddess of truth, justice, harmony, and balance. As Ma’at is akin to ostrich. And Nephthys, protector of the dead, Goddess of Air. And – and…Osiris usurped the position of older gods Andjeti and Khentiamenti by the people. But if the gods are really real, and the mythos changes from Old to Middle to New Kingdom, what is true? What is false?”
“All and none, young one, all and none.” Nephthys assured her sweetly. “Come. We need not subject you to Osiris, Thoth, and the forty-two judges. Ma’at has declared you not ready.”
Sara accepted the extended hand. Imhotep quickly fell in step behind her.
One moment Sara touched the hand of the gorgeous Nephthys and the next she stood centered on a golden scale. Imhotep placed the palm of his hand on the small of her back. She dared to look to the right and eyed the floating ostrich feather.
“We must make forty-two negative sin confessions.” Imhotep instructed her in a whisper.
She started to wish that this really were a bad nightmare. The dream quality wore off the moment it started to feel all too real. This reality felt more akin to her soul than the reality as a journalist.
“We or me?” She asked.
“Above all, one must not be covetous. There are many sins in life.” Imhotep instructed in a hushed whisper.
She laughed. “Do you not covet the Oasis of Life?”
“I do not.” He replied gravely serious. “I wish to restore it.”
“The Oasis of Life needs restoring?” She joked. “It’s called the Oasis of Life. It should be full of…life.”
“It is not. There is a legend. Would you like to hear it?” Imhotep leaned in close enough for her to smell the delicate cologne. “A legend of Anubis, Anput, and Kebechet. The Oasis if Life, home of the Ankh, the sacred Ankh.”
She rolled her eyes. “The ankh is heavily associated with life. It’s one of the most popular designs in mythology and religion. The tear drop top is genius if you think about it, because water is the giver of life.”
Imhotep bowed his head and began the negative confessions. “I have not forsaken Osiris, Lord of the Underworld, and faithfully bend my knee to him.”
Sara was sorely tempted to joke around, because in the smallest cavities of her consciousness she doubted this was real. It made for one hell of a story, but it didn’t feel real. He took it seriously, and she wanted his general approval.
“I have not forsaken my co-workers in time of duties.” Sara matched his seriousness. “I may not like them all the time, but I’m willing to work with them.”
“I have not forgotten my priestly duties and perform them as permitted.” Imhotep side eyed the cooperative modern woman. She pretended to not notice.
“I have not skipped family dinners on Sunday except by inclement weather or poor health.” Sara struggled to separate negative sins from the real sins, naturally gravitating toward admitting the sins she committed. Clearing her throat, the growing weight on her soul heightened the present anxiety second by second. “Mom makes a great casserole.”
“I have not allowed myself to forget my divine destiny.” Imhotep declared proudly. He puffed his chest out.
“I have not lied to my readers and avoid sensationalism to the best of my ability, although my editor disagrees with my approach on more than one occasion.” The truth hurt, and she hated sensationalism. It benefitted no one.
The back to back confessions continued seriously for several more minutes, each confession raising the difficulty and stakes for Sara. She kept count of the confession quantity, although she distrusted her own ability to track the number of confessions without written tallies.
Sara counted the confessions on her fingers in tedious arithmetic. She gave up after the fourth recount and a forming headache.
“While we’re here, why were you allowed to join me for this weighing of the soul?” She asked, hoping Osiris, Thoth, the forty-two judges, and Amenti didn’t notice the miscount.
“Before the Hom-Dai, I too had a destiny.” Imhotep whispered.
“Why were you cursed with the Hom-Dai?” She asked.
“I coveted another man’s mistress. Love is the cruelest mistress of all.” He admitted. “I was raised from the dead by – of all people – a librarian. A true scholar. Evelyn O’Connell. As fate would have it, we met once more, once more as foes. My love, my love abandoned me to the Underworld. I gave myself to the fate of the Hom-Dai and spit forth into the world once more. This time, evil and love failed to move me. I am cursed, but I am not helpless.”
“Why haven’t I heard about this…in the news? On some crackpot conspiracy site? Anything like that.” She slid her hands into her front pockets and faced him. “That seems like something that would make the news.”
He placed his hand on her shoulder and leaned over. “I was summoned by the very organization that hid the world’s supernatural secrets. To help them find a gem of power in South America. I refused to hand them power they did not earn nor need.”
She nodded along. “So, your destiny is to restore the Oasis of Life. And you intend to do that how?” She asked patiently.
“You are the Ankh. The ankh must be returned to the Oasis.”
“An ankh is an item, not a person or a soul.”
“You stand on a golden scale and weigh your heart against that of a feather belonging to Ma’at. You traversed from the Underground Complex of the pyramid of Djoser and entered the Underworld. You have met several beings of immense universal authority, and yet you do not believe?” He protested.
She shrugged. “Look, Imhotep, or whatever name you wish to use. I wholly understand all of this. The Underworld, the scale, the roles everyone assumes. I understand all that. I’m not discounting that it’s a valid belief for people. What I’m saying is that the Ankh is an item. It’s what you hold when you pray. It’s merely a representation of life, in general.”
He placed both hands on her shoulders. “Sara, you are the Ankh, the lost Ankh. According to legend, after a heated argument, Kebechet abandoned the Oasis of Life. It upset the balance. Without the heart of the Oasis of Life, the Oasis withered. Anubis and Anput tried to reset the balance and failed.”
“I’m not even half-blooded Egyptian.” She argued.
“You do not need to be. You were chosen, as was I before the Hom-Dai.”
“I don’t wholeheartedly believe this like you do. Even if it is my place, I can not place the appropriate weight and respect into it as you do.”
The scale sank and rose with their discussion.
“You only need to look into yourself and realize that this was always meant to pass. That your true home was not the lives you have lived beyond the days of Kebechet but here. In the Oasis of Life.”
“I’m not saying that I don’t support the mission, Imhotep. Only that as real as this all is, I still don’t fully believe I’m physically here. That this is my ka instead of …whatever the word is for my full self. I believe this is just a comatose dream or a way for myself to accept that I am dying and to not fight it. But I don’t believe this is real. Really real.”
He cleared his throat, head still bowed. “You were in my visions.”
“Sara Westcott was in some ancient Egyptian’s visions?” She asked skeptically.
“I saw a face, but I knew nothing more. Until I met Mr. Bruener. And then as it was predestined, I knew who would restore the Oasis of Life.”
She cleared her throat. “The meeting in the street-“
“-was not accidental.” He answered as expected. “And you were pulled to me as I was to you. As this was meant to be.”
She closed her eyes, breathed, and told herself to anchor herself-
The image of a brown skinned woman with dark brown hair holding a baby flashed across her mind. A man joined her, a face that warmed her soul. Home. Father and mother.
Shaking her head, she plucked Imhotep’s hands off her shoulders. “We’re here. If it’s real, it’s real. And if I’m dying, I’m currently having the adventure of a lifetime. What number were we on?” She sassed.
The scale dramatically lifted on their end.
“Did we reach forty-two yet?” She asked seriously.
He thought too long.
“So, we’re doomed to Amenti eating our hearts then.” She asked. “Or is Ma’at playing games with us?”
The feather sat several feet lower than them on the opposite side of the scale. A corridor appeared within view, out of reach, on their side. A light stretched toward them, unable to penetrate the damnable darkness.
“Ma’at does not ‘play games’.” He scolded.
He motioned for her to continue listing the negative sins. She reached within herself to self-reflect. She noticed around number thirty-something, Imhotep scraped the bottom of his barrel too. The feather lowered to the golden scale. Imhotep gripped her arm. She stilled her breath and glanced around the black void that surrounded the scale.
“Do we keep going?” She whispered.
“What number were you on?”
“I stopped counting and hoped they wouldn’t notice.” She admitted ashamed.
He prayed under his breath.
She leaned on him. If this were the end, they tried.
“I’m sorry for not informing you the true purpose of this trip.”
“It’s fine. I wouldn’t have believed you anyway. I mean, who would really believe you were a deity and that you could travel at the..whatever it is you do. It’s all fantastical. Like a movie.” She shrugged off her earlier misgivings. “Plus, I met Anubis. Maybe my favorite part so far. And then I got to meet Nephthys. And you. Maybe Ma’at? Does a feather count?”
Imhotep thought about it too. “It may.”
“I mean, I wanted to meet Isis and Ra, and it would have been an honor to meet Nebet, the first female vizier, but all things considered – “
They rose by several inches without noticing.
“What pulled you toward Egyptian mythology in the beginning?” Imhotep asked gently.
She laughed. “I’m third generation Egyptian-American. My half-blooded mom married a white man. I wanted to touch roots. Mom isn’t Muslim. She rejected the religion early on. Dad was her…escape from my grandparents. They get really preachy about their religion. I think the term ‘Fatwa’ was said once or twice, and that was when she decided we wouldn’t have contact with them. I didn’t miss much if I’m being honest. You must cut out the toxicity.”
“You escaped into the ancient past.” He assumed.
She nodded. “It started with Isis. I thought about how insulting it was for a terroristic organization to assume her name. In reality, the name is ISIL, but so many people co-opted Isis for the organization I felt bad for the goddess and her believers. The insult, the horror of those…people attached to her name. Then I just fell down the hole further.”
“Those people.” He vaguely agreed.
“Everyone loves Anubis. He’s legendary. And you can’t forget Ra. Of course I obsessed over Pharoah Tutankhamun and I read up on Akhenaten, and it’s not hard to learn about the Ramesses and Thutmoses. Old, Middle, New Kingdom. How were the pyramids built? Was slave labor involved? Was the reason the pyramids’ placement because that’s where the Nile was at the time, and it shifted over time? Not to mention the incredible detail to astronomy and how the pyramids line up with the stars.” She rolled her hands in the air.
He nodded along in good humor.
“Obviously slave labor isn’t exclusive to Egypt and naturally Egypt’s expansion absorbed the gods of nearby neighbors. Plus, the mythology shifted and changed, and the worship of it all is just so sincere. It wasn’t fake or lip service. The monuments survived the test of time. I mean there’s so much of ancient Egypt to love and admire – maybe not idolize, but it’s so – so iconic. And it was one of the more progressive areas for women back then too. Next to Japan, maybe. Because a woman in ancient Egypt and older times of Japan hand more rights than she did anywhere else.”
The scale continued to rise on their side. They finally looked over to see the sinking feather.
“Are we- “Imhotep asked in confusion.
She nodded soberly. “But how?”
A stone corridor lined with Hieroglyphs from the Spells for Going Forth by Day. Imhotep helped her off the scale the moment it leveled with the corridor’s floor. She looked over her shoulder. The scale leveled out again, the floating ostrich feather a reminder of Ma’at’s presence.
“I’m not asking.” Sara decided. “Better that we push forward with this insane mission.”
“Onto the Field of Reeds.” Imhotep motioned for her to go first.
She walked toward the light without further coaxing.
Exiting the darkness and entering blinding light, they took a moment to recognize the Pyramid of Djoser in its prime. They walked away from the Pyramid, past the building complex, toward the place their gut instincts pulled them. They walked and walked until the desert offered a hidden cave set against the setting sun. Her gut pulled her deeper into the depths, the darkness urging them to take one step after the other. Much like the corridor under the pyramid of Djoser, they followed the downward slope until the air thickened with an energy that gave pause to the most curious mind.
An impossible site existed before them. Sara’s mind knew that they were underground. Imhotep knew they were underground. A barren wasteland with sandy dunes dominated the limited view.
They approached the barren wasteland. Sandy dunes shifted with the breeze. Sara’s attention pulled toward the center of it, this subterranean crater cave that defied laws of physics and logic. She looked upward to the ceiling. The mid-day sun illuminated the crater in blinding brightness. Her eyesight adjusted to the natural brightness.
She stepped forward a second too late for Imhotep to grab her arm.
The dunes compressed into the desert-like ground. Sandy soil exposed itself. Her head swiveled left to right. She turned toward Imhotep who steadfastly refused to cross the threshold of the crater. He eyed the ground intensely.
“You alright?” She called out.
His gaze lifted from the ground to her face, fear in his eyes.
Her brow lifted. “It’s fine. It’s not quicksand.”
“This place is different.”
“You called it the Oasis of Life. Of course, it’s different. The name implies it.” She said sarcastically. “If you want to stand there, stand there.”
The ground rumbled and shifted. A rocky hill erupted in the middle of it. Both tracked it to an impressive, impossible height for the crater’s original height. A shallow pool rounded out at the base of the hill.
She stepped back and threw her arms out to balance herself.
A hissing sound added to the landscape of madness. Water seeped in the pool. A weak stream of water dripped down the hill’s crest and into the shallow pool. The volume increased rapidly. She blinked and the weak stream turned into a steady downpour drilling into the now filled shallow pool. Reeds poked out of the water around the edges.
Imhotep crossed the threshold of the crater.
His soul and body recognized the touch of divinity long before his eyes recognized the trance that pulled Sara to the water. She walked forward into the water and stopped abruptly.
He advanced toward her and the water with purpose.
Sara spread her arms out and closed her eyes.
Water cascaded down the rock face into the large shallow pool. Strange smells hit Sara ’s nose at once in an oddly comforting medley she never smelled before. She closed her eyes, a sense of belonging wrapping her in a warm breeze that rustled the reeds around her calves.
A hand touched her shoulder. She looked over and up the brown hand and arm into the mask of a jackal.
Father. Her father.
“Kebechet.” A deep voice emanated from behind the painted mask.
“Papa.” She spoke fluent ancient Egyptian, in awe of the surreal experience.
“You have returned.” He removed his mask. An ordinary man’s visage hid beneath the jackal mask, forgettable face that filled her soul and heart with joy, love, and hope. “Come. Your mother is waiting.”
Sara opened her eyes. The Oasis of Life continued to grow around her, grass sprouting from sandy soil. Desert trees reached for the sunlight and sank their roots deep into the desert’s wellspring within. She looked in the direction she previously witnessed the human Anubis and saw nothing.
“Imhotep?” She called out. “Can you hear me?”
Silence answered her.
“Imhotep?” She stepped out of the water. Bare feet padded across soft grass. She paused at the edge of the grass and turned in a circle. No Imhotep in sight. “Lord Imhotep?”
The breeze called out Kebechet’s name. Her soul twinged.
She closed her eyes and followed the feminine voice.
“Mama?” She called out.
A woman underneath the waterfall’s flow motioned her forward. She returned to the waters, the mud beneath her feet a minor annoyance. She waded into the highest depth, her waist, and reached for the brown skinned woman. “Kebechet. You are home.”
Home. She was home.
“I am home, Mama.” She replied sincerely.
Imhotep kneeled in the pool of water. Sara ’s feminine form transformed before his eyes, taking the head of a serpent before entirely disappearing. The thriving Oasis spread across the sand and stopped at the edge of the rock beds in a now visible distance. The imperfect circle attracted the attention of a bird listlessly drifting by overhead. It swooped down with purpose.
He felt rather than saw the forces beyond his material form.
A reflection on the water caught his attention. A father, mother, and daughter grouped together by the edge of the splash zone. The daughter waved in Sara -like manner. The light bounced off the flowing water, the image disappearing.
He bowed his head once more, the water rippling in the middle. A brown skinned young woman with flowing dark brown hair rose from the water. Her eyes fixated on him. She offered him an earthen ware bowl of water.
“Will you meet your end, Lord Imhotep?” The woman whispered; the snake head unmoving.
He allowed himself to accept the bowl of water and welcomed the eternal rest.
The curse of the Hom-Dai lifted from his soul until all that remained was the man. In his last breath, he remembered the best of times and nothing more.