24 Bones (29 page)

“No,” she shouted. “My son!”

Sam slipped, legs buried to her knees, the ceiling neared. Below, only the lip of the sarcophagus was unburied. Her mother screamed as she dug. Sand usurped the hole as quickly as she dug it out.

“David, my son. Dawid. My dear Dawid.”

“Son?”

Her mother turned to meet Sam’s confused stare. The sorrow and anguish in Tara’s eyes broke through the rage that ruptured in Sam’s heart. She saw a shattered mother, a woman who had made terrible choices.

“My brother.” Sam leapt forward. She stretched both her hands to the roof and grabbed the reins of the Fullness and the Void. The pyramid shook and sand cascaded over her shoulders.

“My brother!”

Tara jumped back, eyes wide and mouth open as she stared up into the immortal figure of her daughter turned Wedjat.

Sam’s hands shot forward and sand plumed, leaving a crater and a half-buried David. Tara scrambled forward, embraced her son, and hauled him down the steps. Energy, blue-black and golden, shimmered against the twin waves of sand. When David was free, the walls collapsed and Sam turned to part the channel of sand down the stairwell. David leaned on Tara as they descended through the corridor. Sam’s hands stroked gritty walls, and, as she passed, they fell inward and blocked return.

Sam exited the pyramid.

Tara cradled her son at the entry.

Sam recalled her mother’s story of her dream and the comforting older Sister of Isis, and she understood how twisted the sisters’—her mother’s—strategy had become. Tara had given up her son to be raised by his father, and then by strangers, and her daughter to be raised by evil. David had fallen farthest from her nest, but myth had returned him.

“Wedjat,” David called between breaths.

Sam leaned closer.

“For a time, I ruled the world. For a time.” He smiled; the Void was dim in him.

Tara brushed hair from her son’s cheek. “Now we can rule together, Sam,” Tara said as tears glimmered in her eyes. “All of us, a family again.”

Sam sensed Tara’s use of the twining to calm and control her emotions.

“And you, the Mother Isis,” Sam stated.

Tara nodded.

“Never, Mother.”

Tara’s eyes flashed.

“I follow him, and they follow me,” Sam stated.

“Wedjat,” a cry from the battlefield lifted.

Companions’ sundiscs blazed with Fullness. The silver scimitars of the sisters hacked, wielding both Void and Fullness equally. At the head of their army, the bishops commanded battalions of Copts armed with shovels and hoes, which prodded a wounded Sobek and ushered aimless crocodiles away. The last of the Shemsu Seth ran to the necropolis; those not captured by soldiers and police escaped into the tunnels and the darkness.

Zarab was no longer mute or deaf. On the same platform where Pharaoh and Seth had stood, and before a gathered crowd, he preached of unity, of truth and strength in the collective. As people in homes across the world watched and believed, the Fullness grew in power. The Void waned.

Dawn threatened the horizon, but to Sam’s relief it was clear of the gathered thousands of souls. She let go the Void and Fullness and fatigue wrapped about her shoulders. She pulled a cloak from a dead sister and huddled in the cloth.

A wisp of Void drifted past Sam’s gaze, a vestige of her connection, and she wearily rose to complete her final task.

Sam
trudged through the tunnels below Cairo. Even with her injuries healed, her body ached and her head lolled. The broken Shemsu Seth did not hinder her passage as the police or army might have. Through the City of the Dead and then back into the life of Cairo, she pushed herself.

The blank moon set and Re rose again.

When she reached Coptic Cairo and her childhood home, she stepped into the room that had once quartered her mentor. In the early light, Faris lay ashen on the bed. His fingers clawed and bunched at soaked sheets.

For a long time, Sam knelt at his side and watched him growl. Faris would not stop, wouldn’t allow his thirst for blood to be quenched, like the Sekhmet of old. A bloody tear oozed from Sam’s missing eye.

Pills from Faris’s bottle of pain medication tinkled into a cup. Sam crushed them into a powder and, with a spoon, blended the result with honey.

Faris licked at the coated spoon as the ancient Sekhmet had lapped from a pond dyed the color of blood.

Sam stroked his forehead.

He nuzzled into her palm. When his eyes flicked briefly open, they held an animal’s patient trust. He kissed her hand.

Her tears, clear and tainted, dripped onto the twisted bedspread. She sobbed and threw herself across his chest. His arms wrapped about her.

First, his breathing slowed and then his heartbeat. Finally his grip loosened. She listened to the morning chirp of birds and the buzz of traffic beyond Coptic Cairo’s gates.

Sunlight through the window draped itself across her shoulders.

‘I have thwarted the chance of Seth, the mighty one of strength. Hail thou who makest pleasant the world and who watch over the babe in his cot when he next cometh forth unto thee.’

-Egyptian Book of the Dead

Epilogue

“S
andra, hello? I understand you have a special pledge?”

“Mmm–hmm, yes, Father John,” the old lady’s voice burst across the prayer line.

“Go ahead.” He smiled even though he was in a hellish mood. The second installment of the Pharaoh’s five hundred thousand had not cleared, and it would take many kind-old-ladies to pay for a prime-time network spot—five thousand to be exact.

“A miracle, Father, my cat … You remember Jingles? … He was dying of cancer. And … well … I was praying last night for that nice Pharaoh fellow who was so generous …”

Father John’s face darkened.

“And this warmth came over me, this feeling of … I don’t know … goodness … no that’s not it ... ecstasy! Yes—Jingles is healed, Father. I just wanted to …”

“Alleluia,” he tried, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Another hundred dollars and all my prayers. Thank you.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart, bye now,” Father John said. He sighed and waited for his earbud to announce the next caller.

“I hate cats,” the earbud complained and then put the caller through.

END

Acknowledgements

It may take a village to raise a child but that’s nothing when compared to this book. In the development of
24 Bones
I am indebted to many, many people.

Deena Fisher for her criticism, editing, support and artistic prowess. To friends, David Ain, Chris Pannell, Michael McCarthy, Kendra Brown, Gabrielle Wilson, for their comments and encouragement in equal measure. To Martin Stiff, what a great cover. And finally to Catherine Adams of Inkslinger Editing, you are indeed amazing.

I am also indebted to the writings of Tom Harpur, James M. Robinson, Jean Doresse, Gawdat Gabra, Dr. Robert M. Schoch, Jill Kamil, Elaine Pagels, Dr. Carl Jung, and for the wonderful database at:
www.sacred-texts.com
.
In Egypt, thanks to my guide, Michael Valentino, and all of the guards that let me do crazy things without too much
baksheesh
. (Try humming while lying in King Chamber’s sarcophagus, truly a transcendent experience!) Thanks to the authors who have mentored me, Cathy Vasas-Brown, John Terpstra, and Paul Quarrington. As well as to the Inkbots whose support has been remarkable.

To my family for bestowing on me a restless spirit and the opportunity to travel. To all of my daughters, whose father’s time they forego in lieu of writing, I am grateful. Last, but never least, first reader and editor, greatest supporter, best friend and love of my life, Andrea.

About the author

After crewing ships in the Antarctic and the Baltic Sea and some fun in venture capital, Michael anchored himself (happily) to a marriage and a boatload of kids. Now he injects his adventurous spirit into his writing with brief respites for research into the jungles of Sumatra and Guatemala, the ruins of Egypt and Tik’al, paddling the Zambezi and diving whatever cave or ocean reef will have him. He is a member of the International Thriller Writers and SF Canada, and the author of Assured, Destruction, 24 Bones, The Sand Dragon, Hurakan, Ruination and several award winning graphic novels for young adults. Find out more about him on his
website
.

THE SAND DRAGON

If you enjoyed 24 Bones, you may also enjoy THE SAND DRAGON. Michael’s horror novel.

The discovery of an immense pterosaur skeleton lures paleontologist Kim Axon to the tar sands near her childhood home of Fort Mic. But Kim’s not the only one drawn to the find’s siren call, and the others are coming for a very different reason.

Fort Mic, where Kim’s father was murdered long ago, is both blessed and cursed by the shadow population who gravitate to the area for cheap trailers while they mine the sands for oil. Townsfolk begin to fall sick. Fearing the spread of the strange disease, the new doctor quarantines the town.

Now alone, the broken community must rise above its past to battle outsiders who do not fear the return of an ancient evil, but worship it.

Some Nice Words

“I could go on and on and on listing all the different things that worked for me about this story, but I’ll leave it up to you to read the book and enjoy the creepiness for yourself.”
Blog With Bite.

“Each character had their own flavor and world building that was exemplary. Their bleak lives were thrust at you with nothing hidden, open for you to relate to, sympathize, or hate. I almost believed that this was a non-fiction, the characters were so very poignant. Not only that, his story telling was gritty and in-your-face that will leave you shivering and begging for more…”
Parajunkee’s View

“Ancient evil …modern terror. Stewart weaves a terrific tale!” Derek Gunn, author of
Vampire Apocalypse
and
The Estuary
.

“The Sand Dragon is a top pick and solid recommendation for fantasy readers.”
Midwest Book Review
.