Chapter Twenty-One: Confrontations

 

 

***

 

Evy walked slowly down the palace corridor, the dusty rags in her hands.  The Pharaoh’s palace in the old days had been bustling, full of slaves, servants, advisors, guests.  With Nefertiri’s memories, Evy knew that this was odd, like the palace of a dead Pharaoh.  In fact, the sinister quality of the poorly lit hallways made it feel like a tomb.

 

She entered Imhotep’s chambers, starting with the ornate furniture.  Every time she entered this room, it reminded her painfully of her father’s chambers.  Perhaps Imhotep had done that on purpose, modeled his rooms after her father’s to cause her pain.  Whatever the reason, she always found a lump in her throat, a dam of unshed tears for a man, who, in this life, she had never even known.

 

Evy turned to clean the desk, but stopped short.

 

She couldn’t believe her eyes.

 

There, lying innocently on top of papyrus sheets, was the Book of the Living.  It gleamed, the light from the candles bouncing off the smooth gold cover, the light fluttering and twinkling...almost as though the book was winking at her. 

 

Evy walked forward, running her fingers over the familiar cover, her fingertips molding to its contours and grooves.  It was cold to the touch.  She remembered when she had first held it.  She had been young, on her first expedition to Hamanuptra.  When she had met Rick.  How little she had known then!

 

She picked it up, her arms aching slightly because of the weight.  But holding the book was, in an odd way, like coming home again.  They were destined to find each other, in life after life. 

 

As she gazed at it, Evy felt as though she were welcoming home an old friend.

 

But the book revealed nothing, just gleamed in the torch light, and Evy shifted her weight, examining it to see if it had changed as much as she had in their time apart.  But that was silly because the book was eternal, unchanging.  It was and it would be. 

 

It was a sleeping demon, harmless in its undisturbed slumber.  But when awoke, it could unleash awesome, unspeakable power...

 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” a voice suddenly cut through her thoughts.  Evy whirled around to face Imhotep, only a few feet from her.  Imhotep, noiseless and lethal as the shifting sand, silent and sinister as slow death.

She did not respond, but her body tensed, her gut tight and fluttering with nervousness.

 

“You wouldn’t be thinking of trying to use that book, would you, Princess?”  He seemed to be mocking her, but his black eyes revealed nothing.

 

Evy stood straight and looked him in the eyes.  “No.  But without the key, I doubt you are thinking of using it either.”

 

His lips twisted into a wry acknowledgment of her statement.  “No one will be using it, Nefertiri.”

 

“Unless,” she said carefully, placing the book down gently on the desk, “someone comes along who has a way of opening it.”

 

“That’s impossible,” Imhotep replied, looking down on her seriously.  “The key is destroyed or buried in the depths of Ahm Shere.”

 

Evy paused.  “What if,” she began cautiously, “the key isn’t destroyed?”

 

Imhotep’s eyes turned cold.  “It doesn’t matter.  There’s no way anyone can get the key past my guards and to the book, open it, and read the one passage that threatens me.  It’s impossible.”

 

Evy shrugged.  “Whatever you say, Imhotep.”

 

She sidled past him and started walking towards the door.  “Wait,” he ordered, and she stopped and slowly turned around.  “What are you implying?”

 

Evy shrugged again.  “Nothing.  Except that no one ever got anywhere by underestimating the books and the key.”

 

Imhotep regarded her, his face blank and maddeningly expressionless.  “You mean like you did?”

 

Evy evaluated him, her eyes sweeping up and down the Priest’s trim form.  “As high as the Gods have placed you, Imhotep...that is how low they can bring you.”

 

Imhotep’s handsome face twisted into an ironical smile.  “Indeed, Princess, that is where we do agree.  The Gods themselves have given me the world to rule.  How can you suggest that some mortals will come along with the key and defy the powers of the Gods themselves?”

 

Nefertiri reborn glared at her captor.  “You were once a mortal yourself, Imhotep, forget that not.  You have power, but it is power of unholiness, not the power of the Gods.  They have tolerated you, but they will not tolerate you forever.”

 

Imhotep looked at her disdainfully.  “Tolerate me?  I am fulfilling the wishes of the Gods themselves.  They themselves put me on my throne.”

 

“How do you know that this, this broken world is what they want?” Evy cried.  “Have you personally spoken with Amun-Ra?”

 

“Do you truly believe that anything happens that is not the design of the Gods?” Imhotep asked scornfully, turning and walking towards the window.

 

“Then what kinds of Gods do you worship, that they desire mindless bloodshed and terror, poverty and death?”

 

Imhotep turned around, his face dark and angry.  “Ah, Nefertiri, so naive, so self-righteous!  You haven’t changed my Princess, not at all.”

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Evy exclaimed, advancing across the room towards where Imhotep stood.

 

“It means, sweetheart, that the entire story of human history has been filled with bloodshed and poverty and death.  Life is brief and cruel.  You were lucky–you were born to royalty.  But most of humanity has found life to be short, cold, and dark.”  Imhotep gave a short, callous laugh.

 

“That’s not true–” Evy began, but Imhotep interrupted her with a slashing downward motion of his hand.  She fell silent.

 

“Do you not remember what life was like, Nefertiri?  Or were you too sheltered, Seti’s spoiled little brat?” his words dripped with scorn.  “Do you know what the rule of your father was like for the millions who were peasants, or the millions who were slaves?”

 

Evy backed away, shame seeping through her body.  She hadn’t, she suddenly realized, known was life was like for them.  She hadn’t even thought about it.  And she felt a repugnance for the woman she had been, for part of the woman who she probably still was.

 

Evy managed to find her voice.  “If life is so cold and dark, why don’t you use your power to change that, Imhotep?”

 

He turned and looked at her, and for the first time since taking his throne Imhotep appeared to her as almost...human.  “My powers are given to me by Osiris.  I take my orders from him.  This is the world that he wants.”

 

“The world that he wants, or the world that you believe he wants?” Evy whispered.

 

“Does it matter, Nefertiri?  I am as I am, as the Gods created me, no better and no worse.”

 

“It does matter, Imhotep.”  Evy lowered her eyes, but she spoke with utter certainty.  “Because you will pay for your sins against the world.”

 

He laughed, a laugh full of bitterness.  “Will I?  You say so.  And yet you caution me for thinking I know the will of the Gods.  Do not think you are more than you are.”  He looked her up and down, his mouth twisting into a contemptuous smirk.  “You are nothing but a scared slave.”

 

Evy’s mouth dropped in surprise, but she quickly regained her composure, anger seeping through her body.  Her voice rose as she retorted, “I am the woman who sent you back to your grave twice!  Do not underestimate me!”

 

“Of course I won’t underestimate you, Princess.  Let’s see, what were you?”  Imhotep took a few steps, pretending to ponder his own question.  “Oh, I remember now,” he continued spitefully.  “You were a Pharaoh’s daughter, a royal trinket, a whore to provide Egypt heirs.”  At Evy’s gasp of pain he continued sarcastically.  “Don’t tell me you don’t remember your illustrious past!”

 

Evy‘s face filled with pain, but she could not bring herself to speak.

 

“You lay under your own brother and you were patted on the head when you produced a son.  Was that fulfilling or noble, Nefertiri?” Her mouth opened slightly, her face filled with misery and the rush of ancient memories. 

 

Evy shook her head violently, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.  “It was noble, Imhotep.  You would give up everything for love, but you know nothing of duty.  I fulfilled my duty to the land of my ancestors.  I would never abandon my oaths like a traitor!”

 

Imhotep glared at her, his memories of the Princess resurfacing, vivid and potent.  “Then you know nothing of love!”

 

“Of course I loved him!” she cried, wiping tears from her eyes.  “I had to live the rest of my life knowing every single moment what I had lost.  I put my loyalty for Egypt above my love for him.  That is sacrifice, Imhotep.”

 

Imhotep clenched his fists, his temper flaring. “You talk to me of sacrifice?  I sacrificed my very humanity for my love!  You wouldn’t give up anything, Nefertiri!”  He straightened, seeming to look down on her from a great height.  His next words dripped with loathing and they flew like daggers into Evy’s heart.   “Menmet would have died for you.  But you gave him up for a crown.”

 

“I did not–” she began furiously, but Imhotep had been roused, fury coursing through his veins like blood, and he could not stop himself. 

 

“And you found him in this life, didn’t you?  O’Connell was your Med Jai, was he not?  And he would willingly have died for you in this life, too.  Did you ever tell him of your ancient past?  Or were you too ashamed?”

 

Evy gasped as if wounded.   “I am not ashamed, Imhotep!  I made a choice!  Do you not realize how much easier it would have been to abandon everything like you did and run away with him?”

 

“I could never have lived with myself if I had given up pure love to serve a man such as your father, to live my entire life a lie,” Imhotep continued angrily.  “When the Gods give us a gift, we do not question it.”

 

Evy’s face softened.  “But look how you suffered,” she whispered.

 

He looked into Evy’s eyes, and the turmoil she saw there made her start.  He looked almost human, as though the old Imhotep was inside him somewhere, grappling with the demons that had invaded his soul.

 

“Yes, I suffered.  But now, after three millennia, we are together again.”  He straightened, composing his face to mask his raging emotions.  “I do not regret the choice I made.  It is long past.  It is only for the Gods to judge us now.”

 

They stared at each other, the room spreading and widening and creating a chasm between them that seemed to go on forever.

 

“And judge you they shall,” Evy whispered.

 

Silence filled the room, and for the first time since her capture Evy felt...well, she didn’t know what she felt.  She was confused, she was angry, she was upset.  But it was as though the air had been cleared between them, the ancient demons let loose and finally allowed release.

 

She could never like him, but at least she could understand him.  Faced with the same choice, they had each made different decisions.  One chose love, one chose duty.  And they were still living with the results of those decisions.

 

“No,” he murmured softly, looking at her face.  “You haven’t changed.”

 

“Yes, Imhotep, I have changed,” Evy said quietly, drying her tears.  “I am not Nefertiri, although in some ways she is a part of me.  And you are not the Imhotep that I knew.  You are not the Imhotep I–I liked, the Imhotep I respected.”

 

“I am the same man, Princess,” he replied arrogantly, but Evy interrupted him.

 

“You believe a human man can undergo the Hom Dai and emerge unscathed?  Parts of the old Imhotep are in you, surely, but the new Imhotep–the dark, unholy being you have become–is the man I see before me.”

 

“You throw meaningless words at me.  I am as I am!”  Imhotep stepped back.

 

He stepped away from her, his face partly obscured by shadows.  “Plot and scheme, Nefertiri.  Judge my soul.  I care not.”  His face disappeared into the shadows.  “I rule this world.”  The words, and their inescapable truth, echoed in the dim chamber.  He turned and disappeared into the dark.

Evy stood alone in the quiet, her heart slowly returning to its normal beat.  She took a deep breath, the tension coiled inside her body slowly beginning to dissipate. 

 

She acknowledged his statement.  He did rule the world.  He held her son’s life in his hands.  He could kill her husband at any instant.  He could destroy the entire world and rule nothing but a barren wasteland.

 

But risks had never stopped her before.

 

Her husband lived.  Her son lived.  And it was enough.

 

She would fight Imhotep.  She would never surrender to him.  And someday, in the hereafter, she knew in her heart, she would find Rick, and Jonathan, and Ardeth–and they would be free.

 

 

***

 

Alex sat alone on the floor of his little chamber.  He leaned his head back against the wall and relaxed, sighing deeply.  His mum had gone off to clean more desks and tables and bureaus, leaving Alex to amuse himself.  Although he had started trying to build another mouse-trap like the one he’d constructed at home, he had eventually given up.  His heart just wasn’t in it.  Mulling over his situation instead, he tugged at the long strands of blond hair that fell forward over his eyes.

 

He hadn’t seen Imhotep or the evil lady in weeks, and it make him glad.  He wasn’t afraid of them, exactly, but he was afraid of what they could do to his mum or dad.

 

For the first time in his short life, he understood what his parents had always been trying to protect him from.  Alex had never faced the reality of losing a fight.  He and his family had never lost before.  They had won, every time.

 

He had always wanted to be in on the adventures of his parents, and they had tried to hold him back.  He almost never listened.  He had thrown himself into battles, doing everything he could to help his mum and dad, putting himself in harm’s way.  He had stood up to Imhotep.  He had shot rocks at the men trying to trap his parents in the temple.  And he had even outwitted Loch-nah more than once.  In adventure, he saw only bravery and glory, and he had believed that it would always be like this.

 

He missed himself then.

 

Everything was different.  He no longer had his home or his friends to play with.  Uncle Jon was no longer around to help him tease his parents.  His mum was different than she used to be.

 

And he missed his dad terribly.

 

His mum had explained that he was still alive, and that they had to be brave and strong and wait for him.  He could hear his mum’s voice, repeating what had become her token phrase: “Your dad has saved me every single time I ever needed him.  He’ll come for us, sweetheart.  I know it.”

 

But Alex was not eight years old anymore.  He was nearly ten.  And he understood more than his mum thought.  But he didn’t tell her, because it would only make her upset.  She was trying desperately to protect him, to shield him from the terrible truths in their lives.

 

Alex wasn’t deceived.  But he wouldn’t hurt her by letting her know.  He loved his mum more than anything, and she was all that he had left.

 

And deep down he was afraid that he would never see his dad again.  He had always been the bravest man Alex had known, barreling in with his guns blazing and battling the bad guys to save his family.  But where was he?  He should have rescued them by now.

 

Alex was afraid that he would live the rest of his life in this cold palace, with nothing.  And with time, even his memories would fade.  Soon he would lose his dad altogether.

 

Alex closed his eyes and allowed tears to slowly fall down his cheeks.

 

He sniffled and then angrily wiped them away.  He had never lost his courage before, and he wouldn’t lose it now.  He was the son of Rick O’Connell and Evelyn Carnahan, for Christ’s sake.  He remembered Uncle Jon’s comment and smiled in spite of himself: “Whoa, Alex, you’ve got some genes.”

 

He remembered how he had spoken to Imhotep on the train, how he had thumbed his nose at what had made grown men cower in fear.  He stuck his lower lip out defiantly.  While his mother was still brave, and his father and Uncle Jon and Ardeth all struggling to free them–he wouldn’t lose hope.  He would be brave until the end, just like his dad and mum.  He wouldn’t let them down.

 

The Priest could take away his childhood, but Alex was still one hell of a kid.

 

 

***

 

Imhotep turned, walking briskly away from the chamber, his hands clenched at his sides.  He strode down the long hallway, his face a perfect mask.  But underneath his calm exterior a fierce battle was being waged.  He approached the library, banging open the ornate wooden doors, and pacing up and down the room.

 

He wanted revenge on Nefertiri, he wanted to see her in pain, he wanted to condemn her actions.  And yet, some part of him, some niggling essence of his former humanity, clawed at his soul.  He had sacrificed everything for love.  But was it enough?  Had he made the right choice?

 

Nefertiri had abandoned earthly love, and in her latest rebirth she had been rewarded with the mate of her soul.  Which choice was right?  Was there any answer?  Would there ever be an answer?

 

He had always been so sure of himself, of all of his actions to conquer the world and defend his rule.  He had never questioned it, he was so sure it was what the Gods had designed.  For the first time, Imhotep grappled with his decisions.  And his confusion made him go nearly wild with rage.  The Gods themselves were toying with him...

 

He suddenly stopped, growling with frustration, and with a sweep of his hand, turned and forced a huge pot off the table and onto the floor, where it shattered with a resounding crash and sent pieces flying.  He stood, sweating, looking at the destruction on the floor.  But it appeared to have alleviated some of his anger, for he looked more calm and composed as he considered the chaos he had created.

 

“My Lord?” A timid voice asked from the doorway.

 

“What?!?” Imhotep raged, turning around to look at the messenger, furious that someone had witnessed this rare lack of self-control.

 

“Forgive me, my Lord,” the little man said, bowing obsequiously and fluttering his hands nervously.  “But I have important information, information they insisted I bring to you at once.”

 

“What is it?” Imhotep growled.

 

“We have captured a Med Jai, found wandering in the desert.”

 

Imhotep turned and looked at the little man more carefully, considering, his anger waning.  This was very interesting indeed.

 

A surviving Med Jai could tell him what he wanted to know about the survival of the tribe, and about the fate of Ardeth Bay.

 

“Bring him to me.  Now,” he ordered coldly.  He would no longer think.  He would act as he had been.  The world was his.  Why should he worry about some choices made long ago?

 

 

***