PROLOGUE
The Egyptian desert, north of Amarna
April, 1887
The clouds shrouding the moon helped Onora slip through the tent encampment undetected. Only now, descending the ramp between tall banks of sand, making her entrance into the temple, did she dare uncover her lantern.
Even by its meager light, the palette of yellow, turquoise, and apple green was remarkable, hues paintedmore than three thousand years ago within the monumental pylon walls, evoking a frieze of Nile reeds, palms and lotus blossom, crocodiles and hippopotami, and the barely clad figures of men and women.
She moved from the confined space to an open courtyard—the one portion of the temple she knew from above. For months, she’d watched as the men heaved their buckets of sand, sending them out first via a chain of hands, then vertically, on ropes and pulleys, uncovering portion by portion the smooth limestone of the floor. It was strange to think how long all this had been buried beneath the sand, like the rest of the ancient city, located to the south.
Hearing a distant shout, Onora cloaked the lamp once more and darted behind one of the perimeter columns, squeezing between its bulk and a solid wall of stone—once built to keep out prying eyes, now shoring up the weight of sand beyond. Her caution was unwarranted, for none appeared to follow her. Still, she kept to the darkest portion of the courtyard, moving stealthily.
Her triumph rose as she reached the far side, slipping into thehypostyleof the temple. This offering hall was modest in size compared to the courtyard, though still impressive. Here, soaring columns ran through the central portion, densely engraved with hieroglyphs. How she wished for greater illumination than her paltry lantern, that she might see the decoration her father had told her spanned the ceiling. The whole night sky had been painted upon a layer of plaster, the constellations each in their place, symbols of the order of the universe—influencing all aspects of life, connecting the divine and the earthly. However, despite its majesty, it was not for a glimpse of this place that she’d come.
All that she’d seen so far was freely spoken of and, soon, when her father deemed the site safe, he’d bring her in himself. Yet the final room—the sanctuary—he refused to be drawn upon.
The wooden gates were still intact, though unsecured.With effort, she pulled them open and, standing upon the threshold, peered in.
The darkness was still and silent, but her lantern illuminated several solid shapes, each about three feet tall and rectangular.
Sarcophagi? In a temple?
Where Onora stood now reached far beyond the external excavations, an untold weight of sand remaining upon the roof. She’d always felt herself to be stout-hearted. Nevertheless, she wasn’t brave enough to close the doors, shutting herself within the sacred room. Against all logic, she feared being unable to push them open again. Her mind strayed to the possibility of being trapped, the chamber growing stale and musty, the lamp extinguishing.
It was stifling. Her jacket was too tight and the neck of her blouse choking. She yanked at the collar and several dainty buttons tore away. Gripping the doorway, she pressed her head to the cool, hard stone.
There’s nothing to be afraid of, and I must see what’s here.
I need to see.
She moved forward, past the slabs. There was another portion of open floor and then…Some twenty feet tall, the statue was a naked woman clutching snakes in both hands, and with a crescent moon over her head.
Who are you?
Not Isis, for she would have wings. Not Sekhmet, either.
The latter was associated with snakes, often having a cobra crowning her head, but bore the facial features of a lioness.
Onora had a sense of the statue’s painted eyes boring into her, as if taunting her to say its name, and then to bow down.
The puzzling thing was that the goddess—whoever she might be—shouldn’t be there at all. From all Onora knew of their site, on the far outskirts of the ancient city of Akhetaten, all temples would have been built at the behest of Pharaoh Akhenaten, as part of his plan to solely worship the creator sun-god Aten. If any statue were to occupy the sanctuary, it would be one of the pharaoh himself—or a sun-disk, its rays becoming hands holding ankhs, as symbolized life.
Onora prided herself on her knowledge of Egyptology, having studied everything since the days of Napoleon’s invasion, then Belzoni and Champollion, through to the recent discoveries west of Luxor and those south of their own dig, but this filled her with confusion.
In her wonderment, she’d almost failed to notice a sixth sarcophagus, placed slightly apart and directly before the statue. Setting her lantern upon the lid, she saw that it bore an embellishment absent from the others: a line of twelve small ovals, embedded in the stone.
Running her finger over the protrusions, she was surprised to find them warm to the touch.
What are they made of?
Leaning in, she determined them to be some shade of red, slightly mottled.
Red jasper or carnelian?
Drawing the lantern closer, the details became apparent.
They’re etched in the form of beetles!
