“Look here,” the priest went on. “Above the dying lamb isthe symbol of Khnum, a ram—meaning that this creature represents the god on earth. And above the man is a mesedjer—an ear. Which tells us that the man is meant to listen to the word of Khnum and bring his message to the people.”
“So, what’s the message?” Karim asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
Pa cleared his throat. “That is not so easy to answer. Not that I and a hundred priests before me haven’t tried. The writing here is quite vague and open to much interpretation.” He began to read from the writing on the side of the images.
“‘Beware,’ it says, ‘for soon the Great River of Khetara will turn to blood. Lies will grow fruitful as wheat in the fields, and where once there was order, chaos will reign. A secret shall rise from beneath the earth, and the Red and the White Crowns will be forever broken.’
“It goes on a bit more about general disaster, but nothing in the way of dates, names, or specific details. Other than that, all we have to go on are these four scenes that surround the central image.”
Karim’s stomach twisted at the ominous words, but before he could think more about it, Pa continued, pointing to the scene painted directly above the lamb. Three figures stood in profile, two men and one woman standing between them.
“I believe these are King Amunmose’s three children: Meryamun, marked with a red cobra; Sitamun, marked with a black cobra; and Bakenamun, marked with the seated Anubis animal. Though I cannot tell you why Sitamun is painted larger than the other two. Perhaps she is connected to the oracle in a way her brothers are not?”
“What’s that she’s holding?” Karim asked, squinting at what looked like a jar with square handles on either side.
“That is an ieb—a heart. That which is weighed against the feather of Maat at the time of judgment.” He sighed. “You know,I went to the king seventeen years ago, once the news of his children’s miraculous birth reached me. Triplets! Clearly, it was a sign that the oracle would come to pass during their lifetime. It was my duty as a Priest of Khnum to tell the pharaoh. So I left this place under guard and traveled to Thonis to see him. But when I was finally granted an audience, he dismissed the oracle entirely!”
“‘Khnum has no power in the City of Amun,’ the king sneered, as if I were some common spell-scroll salesman from the market. ‘It has nothing to do with me or my family.’ He accused me of darkening his house with gloom and sent me away, commanding me never to return.” Pa sneered with obvious disgust. “The fool! He calls himself a god-king, but he is nothing but a pretender.”
His dread deepening, Karim studied the image below the lamb. It depicted a group of men, some wielding spears and knives, some on their knees with their wrists bound behind their backs, and others prostrate on the ground, felled by their enemies’ arrows. All the figures wore identical white schentis except for one—a woman in a white sheath dress, who was painted larger than the men.
“What kind of weapon is that?” Karim indicated the blunted spear in the woman’s hand.
“Not a weapon, exactly,” Pa answered. “It’s a sekhem scepter, a symbol of Sekhmet, the lion goddess. Whosoever holds it is said to wield great power and strength. Sekhmet is the warlike side of Bast, the patron goddess of Bubas. The two are like day and night—one loving, one fierce—but both great protectors, particularly of women and children.” He pointed. “Bast herself appears in the third scene on the right.”
In it, a cat-headed goddess placed a feather above a bald-headed child.
“The feather of Maat?” Karim guessed.
Pa nodded. “Not bad for a thief,” he said approvingly. “Thechild appears to be a priest of some kind, though it would be rare for one so young, and a girl too.”
They were both silent as they gazed once again at the painting to the left of the lamb, of the man and the black box. Karim desperately wanted to believe everything the priest had told him was superstitious Khetaran nonsense, but he couldn’t deny the image right before his eyes. It was undeniably him, and it had apparently been there for more than a thousand years.
He remembered the relentless pull he’d felt toward the tomb back in the valley. Was it his gift for finding treasure that brought him to that hidden door? Or something else?
“You must tell me everything that happened down in that tomb,” Pa pressed him. “You promised to give me answers—now is the time to deliver them. I cannot stress how important it is not to miss a single detail, thief. It could be important.”
Karim sighed. “As you wish,” and he began the story.
He told Pa about the hidden door. About the treasure room and the chariots and the wine. He told him about the statue and the little soldiers, and the black coffin where he found the amulet. But when it came time to tell the priest about the blood, and the dark presence that rose from its grave, Karim hesitated.
He glanced back at the painting, a testament to his crime. In the rendering, the man’s expression was passive as he reached out to whatever was hidden inside the box.I didn’t reallysummonit, did I? I know nothing of Khetaran magic. How could I have done such a thing? All I did was open the box!He rubbed his finger, still smarting from where he’d cut it on the chisel.
“Well?” Pa asked, impatient. “Is there more?”
Karim opened his mouth to continue, but found himself saying, “No, that’s all. Djet went back with the other Jackals after we fought, and that was the last I saw of him.”
Liar.
Pa regarded him with suspicion. “Are you sure there’s nothing else?”
Karim shook his head.
Coward.
He wasn’t exactly sure what kept him from telling Pa the whole story. Fear of retribution? Of judgment? Or perhaps it was simply easier to tell a version of the story where he hadn’t released a terrible curse into the world. A story where Djet hadn’t died alone in the dark.
He shivered, remembering the chill he’d felt down in the tomb, when he’d been certain the thing had been lurking just behind him.Where is it now?he wondered.
