Recreated (3 page)

The bang of pots and pans in the kitchen woke me up way earlier than my body would have woken naturally. I wrapped a worn robe Nana kept for me in the closet around my body and headed into the kitchen. Nana was already dressed and wore a sturdy pair of work boots. “Would you rather make breakfast or milk Bossy?” she asked without turning around.

“I'll take Bossy,” I answered with a yawn.

“All right. The pail is hanging on a hook by the door. Give her a good amount of hay. It distracts her while she's being milked.”

“Sounds good.” I quickly pulled on the work clothes she kept for me at her house. If I'd ever tried to take them home, my parents would have burned them immediately. Also my nana insisted that my regular clothes were entirely too “froufrou” to work on a farm, so she'd bought several pairs of sturdy pants and thick, long-sleeved shirts that were stored in the guest bedroom drawer. They should have been a little tight on me by now, since the last time I visited was my sophomore year in high school. The pants
were
too short, but I'd lost weight in the last few months, so the clothes still fit passably well.

Stifling another yawn, I made my way out to the barn and groped in the darkness for the hanging chain to switch on the light. “Hey, Bossy,” I responded when the cow mooed in my direction. “Hold your horses.”

After filling her trough with fresh-cut hay, tying her to the stall, and positioning the pail and stool, I washed my hands and then sank down next to the cow. Pressing my cheek against her soft side, I steadied the bucket, hoping I remembered the right technique. After an irritated bawl and a few mistaken attempts, I figured it out and got into a comfortable rhythm.

Half an hour later, my fingers felt a bit stiff but I had two and a half gallons of milk and a happy cow. I patted her back, fed the horses, gathered the eggs, and headed toward the house with my prizes. After I set the pail and basket of eggs on the counter, Nana grunted her thanks and pointed her spatula to the table. “Hope you're hungry,” she said. “I did the fancy one you like.”

“Crème brûlée French toast?” I asked, my mouth turning up in a hopeful grin.

“Of course. You've also got cheesy eggs and bacon, so eat up.”

There was something to be said about a hearty breakfast after manual labor. I managed to wolf down three pieces of French toast, a giant portion of eggs, a full glass of frothy, fresh milk, and four slices of bacon before I groaned and pushed away from the table.

We washed the dishes together, and when I asked what was on the agenda, Nana handed me one of her famous lists. I was a list maker, too, and while perusing hers, I wondered if I'd picked up the habit from her or if there was something in our genes that made us feel a sense of satisfaction when we checked off the little boxes for the day.

Nana's list included weeding the garden; harvesting the tomatoes and zucchini; bathing the dog; exercising the horses; making a cake for her brother Melvin's birthday; and visiting Grandpa's grave.

When the farm chores were complete, we made Melvin's cake. He preferred strawberry and Nana not only made his cake from scratch but she also filled it with her own homemade strawberry jam. Somehow she thought it would be a good idea to kill two birds with one stone and ride the horses over to deliver the cake.

When I asked her why we were making a cake for Melvin and not both Melvin and Marvin, she said that when the twins were younger, they insisted that their parents celebrate their birthdays separately just in case they got any wild ideas about combining birthday presents. Marvin's favorite cake, a lemon treat so sour nearly no one could stand it but him, had been dropped off the week before.

Nana inexplicably determined that I, the less experienced rider, should be the one to hold the confection on the trip. Though the cake was pretty much bombproof, tucked safely into her old-school plastic, hand-me-down cake container from the 1950s, I still worried that I'd, at best, mess up her frosting or, at worst, drop it in a pile of cow patties.

Somehow I managed to keep my hands on both the reins and the cake and we made it all the way out to Melvin's house on the far edge of the property without incident. After the inevitable hour-long visit with Melvin's family, the polite inquiries about his kids and grandkids, Nana's proud displaying of her newly graduated granddaughter, and the exchange of various seedlings and return of a few salad bowls, we were finally on our way home.

When I asked Nana if she wanted to go directly to Grandfather's grave, which was close enough to the house on horseback, she shook her head. “He likes it when I get dolled up,” she said.

We headed home and returned the horses to their stalls and since it had been a hot, sweaty, dog-bathing kind of day, I headed to the shower when I got back, too.

After saying my hellos to Grandpa and replacing the dead blooms with the new ones we'd cut that day, I left her alone and stood under the shade of a nearby tree to wait. Once in a while I caught the sound of her quiet voice in the breeze as she spoke with her late husband. I wondered what she was talking to him about. Was she sharing what had happened in her life since she last visited? Was she telling him how much she missed him? Or just that she loved him?

I ran through the things I'd said to Amon and regretted that he hadn't heard me say I loved him. He should have. It should have been the first thing I'd said. Instead I'd just asked if what I was seeing was real. What a waste. I'd squandered an opportunity to really talk to him and instead I'd just pestered him with questions. What was happening and why it was happening wasn't as important as telling him how I felt. Next time, if there ever was a next time, I'd tell him I loved him first.

As I climbed into bed, I knew that Nana was right. Living your life as best you can and working hard could help numb the sting of losing a loved one. I dug the heart scarab Amon left me out from my bag and rubbed my fingertips over it. The green stone twinkled as the light from my lamp reflected off it. It was warm and there was a slight pulse, like the faint beat of a heart, emanating from within. I pressed my lips against the stone, wishing it were Amon's golden skin instead, and then placed it over my heart, the position Anubis would have left it on when preparing Amon's mummy.

Yanking the covers up to my chin, the bottom tucked in tight, I folded both arms across my chest, palm over the precious jeweled piece, and wondered if this is what it felt like to be mummified. Despite my morbid thinking, it wasn't long before I drifted asleep, fingers clutching the scarab, but instead of meeting Amon in my dreams as I hoped, I was startled awake by a bright light and a deep, resonating voice. “It is time for you to arise, Lilliana Young.”

Jerking awake, the scarab still clenched in my fingers, I scooted all the way back against the headboard and scanned the room. With the blackout curtains drawn, it was darker than the inside of a sarcophagus. I couldn't see the intruder but I felt his presence as surely as I felt my heart slamming inside my rib cage.

“Who's there?” I hissed in an alarmed whisper, knocking the book I'd been reading before bed off the nightstand.

“Have you forgotten me already?” The man chuckled quietly.

As I groped for the light switch, I heard a dog's whine and froze. If I hadn't already guessed who was in my room, the dog would have given him away. Winston did not sound at all like this dog. Actually, there was only one dog I'd ever met who had a reverberating sort of power behind his woof.

My trembling fingers finally managed to switch on the light, and there, standing before me in all his godlike glory, yet still looking like he fit in at a farmhouse in Iowa, was the Egyptian god of mummification, Anubis. In the museum, he'd worn a modern business suit. This time he was dressed in a fitted pair of jeans, a white button-down shirt that was perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders, a pair of dark cowboy boots, and a denim jacket.

He looked like
GQ
gone country. He even had a very appealing dark shadow of stubble on his face. Anubis appeared to be a man's man who could toss a bale of hay, ride a bucking bronco, hang with the guys at a grill, and still knock every farm girl from eighteen to eighty off her feet without breaking a sweat. I wondered if that was something uniquely Anubis or if it was a sort of godlike power to blend in and yet command attention at the same time.

Though he was still as undeniably handsome as the last time I'd seen him, there was something in his eyes, something grave, that belied his casual, devil-may-care expression. Whatever his reason for visiting me, I was sure it wasn't a social call.

Clutching my covers to my neck and sliding Amon's scarab under my pillow as inconspicuously as possible, I tried to look a little more regal and in control than a mortal girl could hope to look wrapped up in her nana's country quilt with thick mismatched socks peeking out from under the covers and a pair of dusty overalls hanging on a hook by the door.

“Anubis. Why are you here?” I asked, distrusting but somehow hopeful at the same time. “Did something go wrong with the ceremony? Did you decide to do a memory wipe on me after all? Are you here to make me a mummy, too?”

The places my mind went to were a little scary, but at the same time, the knowledge that this man had the power to allow me to see Amon again trumped every frightening scenario. I didn't dare ask the question I really wanted to know. The inquiry burning on the tip of my tongue was related to Amon's safety, and I was fearful that in asking, I'd be giving too much information away.

Anubis gave me a bemused look that diminished the solemnity in his eyes as he folded his arms across his wide chest. “It is only on very rare and very special occasions that I am called upon to do actual mummification, Lilliana Young. And as you are not dead, it would seem your supposition is unreasoned. Nothing went wrong with the ceremony. Seth is safely contained for the foreseeable future. And the last thing I want to do is take away your memory. If that were my intention, you wouldn't be seeing me now.”

“Okay. Then what are you doing in my bedroom in the middle of the night?” The black dog nudged my hand and I reached out to stroke his head. When the dog hopped up beside me and wriggled his head under my arm so I could scratch his back, Anubis moved closer and took a seat at the foot of my bed. He regarded me with a mixture of curiosity and bewilderment.

Finally, he said, “I…we…need your help.”

I sputtered, “Y-you, as in the Egyptian gods, need
me,
a powerless human girl, to help you? What could I possibly help you with?”

Anubis glanced at his dog when he thumped him with his tail, licking my arm. “He does not usually enjoy being around mortals.”

“He seems to like me well enough.”

“Yes. He does.”

“What's his name?” I asked.

“Abutiu.”

“Huh. That's an interesting name for a dog.”

“Abutiu is not
a
dog—he's
the
dog.”

“Is that the same kind of thing as
the
horse, as in Nebu, the golden stallion found by Horus?”

“They are the same in that they both have power beyond that of a mortal animal, but Abutiu was the first of his kind, whereas
horse
is much too simple a concept to apply to Nebu.”

“So Abutiu's like the original dog?”

“Something like that.”

Anubis shifted away from me on the bed and continued. “We need you to find Amon.”

“Find him? What do you mean find him? You lost him?” I folded my arms. “Does this have something to do with Amon quitting the mummy business?”

The dark eyes of the god of mummification pierced me, rooting me in place. I swallowed, suddenly uneasy, and berated myself for showing my cards.
Nice one, Lily.

“So. You know,” he said. “I must admit I'm not surprised. How often have you seen him?”

At that point I wasn't sure I should be saying anything more. I gave him a noncommittal shrug and zipped my lips.

“It does not matter if you tell me or not. I know that your connection is still viable. In fact, I'm counting on it being so.”

“What difference does it make either way? He's not going back.”

Anubis caught my wrist and squeezed it slightly. “He must, Lilliana Young.” Startled, I gently pulled away from his grip. He looked down at his hand as if surprised that he had touched me in the first place and then rose and walked the length of my room, pushing the curtains aside to look out my window at the moonlit night.

“Why do you need him so badly?” I asked. “Isn't there someone else you could charm into serving Egypt for a few eons?”

Still facing the window, he shook his head. “The three Sons of Egypt are bonded. To break that bond is to render the three of them powerless. Without all of them, the cosmos is vulnerable.”

“So you're saying Seth could possibly find a way to get back in.”

“Yes.”

“Well, why didn't you share this information with Amon before? He thinks you can just find someone else to take his place.”

Anubis turned, and a scowl flashed across his handsome face. “He never had an issue with his work, never wavered before. We only tell the Sons of Egypt enough so that they may do their duty. Frankly, I thought if any of them would give over their immortality for a woman it would be Asten.”

“No. Asten would never abandon his brothers. Not even for a woman.”

Frowning and running a hand through his hair, Anubis said, “It's worse than I feared. You've bonded with all three of them.”

“Wh-what?” I sputtered incredulously. “I'll have you know I'm not that kind of a girl.”

He waved a hand in front of himself, showing his irritation. “I am not speaking of the physical, although there are manifestations of the bond on the physical plane.” He peered at me in the dim room. “Isis was right. You are unique, Lilliana Young. It's fortunate for you that you are. It gives me hope that you might survive the journey.”

“Journey? What are you talking about?”

“The journey you must make into the netherworld to rescue Amon and bring him back to the afterlife.”

“Aren't the netherworld and the afterlife the same thing?”

“I really don't have the time to explain this.”

“I think you'd better make the time if you expect me to help you.”

He peered at me, eyes narrowed, for a moment before giving in. “Very well, but you will get the abbreviated version.”

“Fine.”

“I govern the afterlife. It is a type of staging area where the hearts of the dead are judged.”

“Okay.”

“Part of it is a paradise where those with good hearts live out eternity in a state of bliss and happiness.”

“Right. So it's heaven.”

“Yes. Of a sort.”

“So then that would make the netherworld…”

“The closest thing you might compare it to is hell or purgatory.”

“I see. And this is where Amon is trapped?”

“Yes.”

“Well, why didn't he go to the afterlife instead? Didn't you judge his heart worthy?”

Anubis turned away and fingered a straw hat hanging from one of my hooks. “The Sons of Egypt were not supposed to be judged. Not until their duties were complete.”

“I take it something else happened, then.”

“The goddess Ma'at decided that his bond with a human warranted a”—he seemed to search for the right word—“a checkup.”

“She wanted to weigh his heart.”

“Correct. Amon was asked to place his heart upon the Scale of Truth and Justice. Instead, he leapt to another realm. As you know, he is in possession of the Eye of Horus and he used its power to gain entrance to the netherworld.”

“Was there any risk that his heart would be found…uh…evil?”

“There is a certain amount of darkness in every human heart. What is weighed is the balance of a person's life. If they have learned from their mistakes and have more frequently given heed to what is right, then they are judged worthy.”

“Then that shouldn't have been a problem for Amon.”

Tilting his head, Anubis considered me. “Your assumption is not incorrect.”

“Then why did he run?”

“I suspect he ran because he was no longer in
possession
of his heart.”

My body went cold, and though I tried to channel a poker face, I was sure Anubis could see right through me. Swallowing nervously, I said, “I don't understand. I mean, how could he live?”

“He doesn't. Not in the way you are thinking. He has no need for a physical heart. You might believe that a heart is merely an organ, used to circulate the blood and to beat quickly when one feels love for another, but in truth a heart is much more than that. It is the place where memory and intelligence are stored. It holds that which is most sacred—the true name of its owner.”

“Um, I'm pretty sure you're talking about a brain, not a heart.”

“No. I am talking about the essence of a person, what makes an individual unique. You can call it a soul, a heart, a brain, or any number of things. In Egypt we call a fully united soul bearing his true name an Akh. Without his heart, Amon cannot merge the different aspects of himself. Each part that defines him drifts apart like a broken boat out at sea. It makes him…vulnerable. In the afterlife, such a thing might have gone unnoticed if he had not been asked to produce his heart, but in the netherworld…”

“It puts him in danger.”

“Yes. To the point where he might experience a second and final death. Something we cannot allow to happen.”

“A second death?”

“Amon died his first death many centuries ago. He was granted a sort of immortality because he was willing to serve the gods, but heading into the netherworld without his heart was the most dangerous thing he could do. It would seem he courts an end to his existence. If he dies a second death, he is lost to us forever.”

I remembered then how tired, how weary Amon looked in our dream. Maybe Anubis was right and Amon didn't want to live any longer. I knew for sure he didn't want to serve the gods, but giving up his life? What was worse was a part of me knew his dissatisfaction with the status quo was my fault. Distracted, I asked, “So Amon is now…what, exactly?”

“A wandering shadow. A facet of his former self. And without uniting the shadow with his true name, I am afraid he will be lost.”

“I thought you said it was no big deal if he was missing his heart scarab jewel when you mummified him.”

“It isn't. The amulet only leads his Akh back to his body, which he will not need for another thousand years. With the Eye of Horus in his possession, he will be able to find it on his own, but a shadow cannot return to the mortal realm.” Anubis paused, then rubbed his fingers together, looking at them instead of me. “Do you want to know my theory?”