My neck arches back as we pass through the stone threshold of the temple, the sun disappearing behind it.Thank God.
At the sight of the temple’s soaring stone columns, surrounding me like ancient sentries, I let my guard down. My mouth drops open a little as well. I’ve been to dozens of temples around the world by now, but their vastness never ceases to fill me with an overwhelming awe. The intricate hieroglyphics carved into the high walls and imposing pillars inside this first hypostyle hall create a fascinating roadmap to the ancient past—one I hope to spend time studying while we’re here.
I gape at the scene before me. It’s humbling, the sheer volume of sweat and tears and blood that went into constructing even a quarter of this place. The true nature of the beast is how much bloodwasspilled to build this temple.How many bodies of slaves are buried in these walls?I flinch at the thought. Somehow, the idea of pharaohs dried out and tucked awayin their tombs doesn’t frighten me, but the exposed bones of nameless slaves packed into the walls does.
It’s the suffering that unsettles me. The great suffering of those unable to reap the benefits of their labor.
The coolness of the cavernous room slowly freezes the sweat on my brow, under my arms, and along my lower back, the salt hardening on my skin. I sigh in relief, not caring if Claude hears me. Although I made a point to curse the sun, I don’t mind the desert heat—I’ll take it over the oppressive humidity I endure every summer in Michigan any day.
I recognize the faint, clean smell of water nearby, but we’re not close enough to the west bank of the Nile for that to be the source. Though it’s more than welcome after driving those few hours in a car with my guide.
I’m sure I don’t smell like roses either, not after a transatlantic flight with nowhere to wash up.I don’t dare smell myself to confirm or deny it.
As the hall darkens the further in we go, Claude fumbles with the matches in his hand before finally lighting the oil lamp he brought. Firelight illuminates the temple walls in a flash of lambent yellow flames. The lamp’s low light casts flickering shadows onto the hieroglyphics etched on every available surface, revealing the towering, cracked-stone columns valiantly upholding the slab ceiling. I can almost imagine ancient Egyptian priests walking up and down these same halls.
I wrinkle my nose at the acrid stench of the match—before he carelessly drops it on the ground. My eyes fall into slits and I straighten, once more reaching into my pocket for my switchblade.A lover of antiquity wouldneverlitter inside an ancient temple.With each passing moment, I become more and more convinced that Claude has been lying to me.
Definitely not the emissary from the museum.But, then, who is he?
Squinting into the growing dark, I do a quick mental check of whether or not I brought my flashlight. I remember the glint of the bulb when I shoved it into my knapsack at home, but I haven’t thought of it again until now. Batteries have proven themselves to be more reliable than fire anyway, and if something happens to Claude’s lamp—or Claude—at least I’ll have something to light my way. And potentially a secondary weapon.
Because there’s no way in hell I’m leaving here without what I came all this way for. Certainly not because of an inability to see in the dark.
I stare at the back of his head, preparing myself for a fight, even as I recognize my body isn’t quite prepared for one. Not after hours of sitting in a cramped plane and then that damned car. If my Jujitsu fails me, I could pull a muscle or throw out my back, and then where would I be? Helpless, in the dark, and without a ride out of here.I’d be right at home with the mummies.
I attempt to fill the pressing silence as we pass into the second hypostyle hall. “What can you tell me about this place?”
My voice reverberates shrilly through the vacant temple. I wince at the sound; I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I already learned all I could about this temple and its history back home, of course. But, perhaps if I keep him talking, he’ll reveal his true intentions.
He clears his throat. “This temple, the pharaoh Seti the First built it in 1300 BC. Was once the center of worship for Osiris, god of the dead.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the crook of the famous Egyptian god he speaks of carved into a nearby column.
“Tombs of some of the first pharaohs were discovered here,” he continues, leading me down a shallow flight of steps. “Peoplewantedto be buried in this temple.”
“Who knew a mortuary would be so popular,” I mutter.
He doesn’t reply.
Stopping so quickly that I nearly run into him, he points into the murky half-light before us. I squint past the rows of pillars to see what he’s gesturing at, finding only carved stone.
“Behind these walls is the Osireion, cenotaph to Osiris. The god himself is supposed to be buried inside the hidden room.”
The Osireion is where the museum said I’d find the artifact. They were very clear about it in their telegram. A few pieces of the puzzle of my purpose here click together as he leads me down another half dozen steps.
I almost ask him about the amulet I was sent here to retrieve. I bite my tongue instead, my steps faltering at the reminder that Claude isn’t who he says he is. Though he hasn’t tried anything yet, there’s a chance he means me harm. Keeping my purpose here hidden does nothing except delay the inevitable, but I also don’t want to physically hurt him if I end up being wrong.
He continues, his English markedly improved. Odd. “The chamber has supposedly been filled with water for years, from a nearby aquifer”—sothat’swhy I smell stagnant water—“including the sarcophagus chamber. No one has been able to enter that part of the Osireion in the modern age. I imagine that’s why you’re here.”
My breath stalls in my chest.He should know exactly why I’m here—he shouldn’t have to imagine it.
Fuck.
Fear whips my pulse into a frenzy as my grip tightens around my switchblade.
Thinking about stabbing this man if I have to, sinking the blade into his flesh… I realize I can’t kill him in cold blood. I’ve never even threatened anyone with it, much less stabbed someone, especially with the intent to kill.
Soon, though, I may not have a choice.
