Darren Craske - The Eleventh Plague

One: the letter was unopened.

Two: the letter was addressed to her.

And three:

'This is my handwriting!' she gasped. Not even Cornelius could have managed an illusion this good. 'What manner of trickery is this?'

'No trickery, my dear! The letter simply is what it is,' said Ahman. 'Why do you not open it up and read what lies within?'

Destine's hands were shaking, and her heart was beating out of time. As she slid her finger under the envelope's flap, she could almost feel the stability of her world shuddering slightly, like the rumble of distant thunder. She brushed her fingers over the letter – written in French – and gathering her strength, she translated aloud:

'23rd October, 1833

My dearest Destine,

If you are reading this note, then my visions were correct, and I have returned to Egypt to complete the task that I have been forced to abandon. Two nights past, I was witness to a terrible massacre, and I must leave word of what transpired. I fear that I am pursued, and have no choice but to lead you to the truth. I have placed three markers along the path that will take you there.

'My employer, Aloysius Bedford, has been betrayed, and tricked into disturbing something in the desert – something that was not meant to be disturbed. I watched many men die as a result, and due to my connectivity to others' emotions, I felt every death as clearly as if it were my own. Such an abundance of misery has caused my mind to cloud the memory, and even as I inscribe these words to you, I can feel it slipping from my grasp. I fear that if I do not commit this task to paper all might be forgotten. My premonitions have warned me that dire things are to come unless you succeed in this quest, but I have faith in you, Destine, faith in the future…in my future.

'Yours, Destine.

'PS. If by some miracle my dear Cornelius is still alive, give him a kiss for me.'

Madame Destine's quivering fingers laid the letter upon the table. It was like reading a message from a complete stranger, but a stranger who was as close to her as a twin sister. The words – her own words – carried such a strong resonance within her mind, yet still they failed to fan the embers of memory.

'I was here…in Egypt, some twenty years ago…just as you claimed, Ahman? So why can I not recall it? This letter speaks of events I have no memory of. I cannot even remember writing it, let alone witnessing them. It speaks of a task…a path to the truth…truth about this man's betrayal. How can I possibly know where to begin if my memory draws a blank?'

If Destine were to accept the facts as presented, her younger self had been to this country before. Something had happened, something bad, and her memory of the event was clearly waning. Yet she had known that she would one day return to complete the task. As fantastic as it sounded, the letter was undeniable proof of that. But she had not returned to answer her younger self's call…she was in Egypt to defeat the Hades Consortium. The two were unconnected, surely. What were the chances of her coming to Egypt twenty years later, being lost in a labyrinth in the bazaar, stumbling into Ahman's carpet store to pick up the pieces of this puzzle?

The carpet trader let the silence get comfortable before he spoke.

'You really have no recollection of this? Nor when you came to me in distress, begging me to keep the letters safe?' Ahman asked. 'Then we must help you remember, my dear Destine, for if I understand its meaning correctly this letter is far more than just a letter…it is a warning.'

'A warning? A warning of what?' Destine asked.

'In your own words, Madame, of dire things to come,' said Ahman.

The Comfortable Prison

TROTTING ALONG A sandy track that led from Hosni town into the flatlands, Cornelius Quaint was sat astride a mule that was past its prime to say the least. He looked down at his beast of burden, sheer disgust evident on every inch of his face. Alexandria rode next to him on a dapple-grey horse, taking amusement from his discomfort. The dusty track presented a large pile of white rocks with a single palm tree growing between them, and it seemed an excellent place for them to rest. Alexandria dismounted first, and took a large blanket and a canteen of water from a pack on her horse's saddle.

Quaint glanced at her as the gentle breeze toyed with her pirouetting curls, and he was reminded of their time together in the past. What they had shared was fleeting, what some might call a whirlwind romance. Of course, the problem with whirlwinds is that often they tend to leave a lot of devastation in their wake.

Alexandria tapped Quaint's shoulder, offering him the canteen of water.

'You were miles away,' she said with a smile.

'Actually, I was right here,' replied Quaint, taking the canteen. 'Just not right now. So, what about you, Alex? I'm surprised to see you are still in Hosni. I would have thought someone would have come along and offered to take you away from it all by now.'

'Where would I go, Cornelius?' Alexandria asked. 'Egypt is my home. It is where my heart is…and once was. All my memories are here. Both good and bad.'

Quaint licked his lips, wondering how best to broach a thorny subject resting upon them. 'So…I take it that you've still had no word from your father? It's been so long. I'd hoped that he would have contacted you by now.'

'So had I…once. But like the Nile eel, hope is a difficult thing to hold onto when it wishes to be free of your grasp.' A coil of her hair fell down across Alexandria's eyes and she valued its concealment. 'I will never know what the hardest choice for my father was – deciding to leave…or deciding never to return.'

Quaint rubbed furiously at the back of his neck. 'But I just can't fathom the man! More than my old tutor – we were friends! Your father was an intelligent man who loved his family dearly. I can't believe he'd just simply up-sticks and vanish without so much as a word.'

'Why not?' Alexandria asked. 'You did.'

Quaint reeled with the blow. 'That's different.'

'Your memory of him seems to be at fault, Cornelius. My father was far too busy with his obsession to worry about anyone's feelings. He cared more for digging around old desert tombs than being with his own family. Evidently…that is fact.' Alexandria fought back the urge to cry. She could not dare let her anger falter, for then it would only be replaced by sadness and she would not allow that. 'Joran was but a year old when my father left. He has no memory of him. He carries no anger inside his heart and I envy him for that. But my own anger is not something that I can discard so easily.' Alexandria's tone may well have been cold, but the emotion was all the more evident by its absence. 'What is past is past. My father is gone. If he wanted to return, then he would have already done so.'

'Unless he was unable to,' offered Quaint, hoping that Alexandria had at least considered that fact. 'Did you know that he was the reason that I came to Egypt in the first place? At college, his teachings ignited a passion for this country's history that still burns within my heart to this day. He was the best tutor that I ever had. If not for him…I would never have met you.'

'So now I have two things to blame him for,' Alexandria said.

'Twenty years is a long time to hold a grudge, Alex, especially against someone you can't make amends with…and I don't mean me, I mean your father, by the way. If you offer hatred shelter inside your heart, it will only end up taking permanent residence there. It will eat you alive…one little piece at a time. Believe me, I happen to be somewhat of an expert in that field.'

'My hatred is the only thing I have left to remember him by, Cornelius, do you not see? It is my only protection,' said Alexandria.