R. LaFevers - Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos

Cobras and asps, too.

It takes a surprising amount of courage to place one’s hand into an unseen area when your mind is thinking about vermin.

Gritting my teeth, I brought my other arm up so that I could hoist myself onto the ledge. I pulled upward with my arms and felt the soles of my boots leave the security of the ladder. My feet scrabbled for purchase, trying to gain an additional boost up.

I strained and pulled, wishing mightily that I had stronger arm muscles. (I made a note to myself to take up boxing when I returned to London, or possibly arm wrestling with Henry.)

With a long, sharp scrape across my midsection, I finally managed to haul myself up onto the ledge. I lay on my stomach, my feet still hanging out into thin air, panting and letting my weak, trembling arms recover.

“Is miss all right?” Nabir called up.

I quickly scooted away from the edge and turned around so he could see my face (instead of my knickers; I made another note to myself: trousers would be nice). “Yes, Nabir. I’m fine. Thank you.” I held up two fingers. “Two hours.”

Nabir smiled, toddled over to a bit of shade, and made himself comfortable.

When I stood at the mouth of the cavern, a strange prickling sensation ran over me, and every hair on my body stood on end. The air was so thick with ka and heka, I was half afraid I would choke on it.

The daylight barely penetrated the darkness of the shaft, so I stopped long enough to pull a torch out of my pack and light it. There was an ancient, crumbling stairway leading downward, and I could only hope I wouldn’t slip and break my neck.

Stepping onto the first stair, I tested it to see if it would hold my weight. When it didn’t collapse, I held my pitiful light up to the walls and proceeded cautiously.

Figures in bas relief danced in the flickering light thrown off by my torch, but I couldn’t make out what they were. I dragged my gaze away and pushed onward, promising myself that once I had returned the Heart of Egypt, I would study these more closely.

I reached the first corridor (where the walls were covered with more stunning carvings), which led to a second set of crumbling stairs, also leading downward. At the end of the second stairs was a deep shaft. I stared into the yawning blackness at my feet. Why on earth was it here? Did it have some earthly purpose, such as diverting water in case of flooding? Or was there a ritual magic purpose, such as catching falling spirits, perhaps?

Luckily, Mother’s workers had fashioned a plank bridge to cross the chasm. I went forward, placing each foot very carefully, horribly aware of the great darkness gaping beneath me.

Once safely across, I found myself in a larger chamber. I took another step, then tripped over a pile of something long and thin — bones, was my immediate thought. I cringed at the incredible racket they made, and the phrase “loud enough to wake the dead” came painfully to mind.

I swung the light around, relieved to discover it was only a pile of torches. Well done, Mum! Of course she would leave some means of lighting her way.

I quickly lit another torch and saw that Mother’s team had rigged holders in the walls. I placed one of the lit torches in it, then lit enough to fill all the holders scattered around the chamber.

It’s amazing what a little light can do for one’s morale.

Most of the chamber walls were covered with carvings. The east wall was covered with hieroglyphs. It looked to be the complete text of The Egyptian Book of the Dead. The next wall showed Thutmose III being taken by the hand by Anubis. In Anubis’s other hand was… the Was scepter! Hesitant, I reached out with my hand and ran my finger over Anubis, marveling that nearly four thousand years ago, some ancient Egyptian worker had cut this image into the stone.

Enough! I scolded myself. I was never going to get the Heart of Egypt to its final resting place and restore the fate of Britain at this rate.

Resolute, I crossed over to the doorway that loomed darkly on the far wall. Holding the torch firmly in my hand and shoving back a sense of trepidation, I crossed the threshold.

A whispering noise rushed by me, as if a thousand ancient voices in long-forgotten tongues fluttered past my ears, invoking gods and curses and blessings. The thickness of the magic and power swarming around gave me goosebumps.

As I made my way down the stairs, the ancient magic was so powerful it felt like swimming against a current. The thousand voices rose slightly and moaned, whether in warning or resignation I couldn’t be sure. I found myself whispering back, “ Don’t worry. I’ve come to return something that belongs to you. ”

The whispering quieted a bit and the resistance in the air around me grew weaker. Fascinating!

I squared my shoulders and came off the last step into an even larger chamber, gasping at the sheer force and weight of the magic in the room. It pressed down heavily on me, so much so that I feared my knees would buckle. How could Mum and her team bear this? It was like trying to breathe under water.

I ignored the sensation as best I could and held my torch up high. The burial chamber of Thutmose III glowed eerily around me. An enormous red sarcophagus sat on the other side of the chamber.

Wouldn’t it be lovely if all I had to do was lay the Heart of Egypt in the sarcophagus and be on my merry way? But of course that wouldn’t work. The first person to come in here after me would find it and the wretched curse would begin all over again.

I walked past an image of Osiris waiting patiently while Anubis weighed Thutmoses’s heart — the Devourer sat with his wide, gaping crocodile jaws, hoping for a nice snack — and moved on to the eastern annex, the one that led toward Mum’s most recent discovery: the Minister of War’s tomb.

The air in this corridor was even worse. The magic that hung in the air was different; heavier, blacker, smelling slightly of sulfur. I ignored the feeling of a whole battalion of icy-footed beetles storming down my spine. Luckily there was a fresh supply of torches in this chamber, so I lit a few and set them in the holders on the walls.

I could see that Mum had barely touched the surface of Amenemhab’s cache. Piles and piles of artifacts were scattered on the ground. Only the most rudimentary sorting had begun. At first glance, I saw nothing that looked remotely like the Was scepter. But there was loads of stuff to look through. It could take hours.

Hours I didn’t have.

Hoping the paintings on the wall might tell me something about the Heart of Egypt and what I had to do to put it back, I turned my attention to them, then stepped back with a gasp.

These walls were covered with war scenes, grisly and terrifying. Thutmose III stood out, towering over his enemies, his feet crushing their heads, his spear piercing their breasts. Slain bodies lay at his feet, detached heads all in a nearby pile. The tomb artists had given themselves over to a garish job with the red paint. It spilled everywhere on the walls, as if the artisans had truly wanted to indicate the bloody nature of Thutmose’s reign.

As I studied the carvings, I heard a shuffle of feet on the sandstone steps. I froze. “Nabir? Is that you?”

There was no answer. It was possible that the noise was just the tomb shifting and settling. But if that was the case, why were all the fine hairs at the back of my neck standing straight up?

I glanced wildly around the burial chamber, looking for a hiding place that wouldn’t end up being my tomb.

Not the altar. The cupboard underneath it would hold me, but would most likely be the first place they looked. (Plus, that’s usually where the Canopic jars were kept, and I really didn’t want to hide next to Amenemhab’s entrails. My nerves were skittish enough.)