Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Army of Anubis

 

 

***

 

Imhotep’s eyes flew open.

 

Suddenly, and without warning, his chest heaved in the dim light and his entire body began trembling.

 

He lay on his huge canopied bed, a down comforter thrown over his muscled form.  Beside him Anck-su-namun slept soundly.  He could sense her aura next to him–she was relaxed and lost in dreams.

 

She did not feel what he felt.

 

Ancient magic surged through his body, painful and raw.  He gasped in the dim morning light, his body racked by painful spasms.  Even as the agony rushed through him, he knew it was not a physical pain.  The pain was entirely spiritual.

 

The ancient words from the black book had been spoken aloud.  As Lord of the Dead, Imhotep felt the surge of life flowing through his deceased brethren course through his own body like blood.  Even though the spell no longer affected him, he could still feel the tingling in his bones, the after-effects of unholy power unleashed on the world of the living.

 

As the pain slowly subsided, a small knot of dread wrenched at his stomach.  They were coming for him.  He couldn’t define who they were, or what exactly they would do.  All he knew was that they had come to challenge him for his crown.  He could feel the air shivering with power.

 

His body trembling, Imhotep sat up quickly.  He jumped out of bed and wrapped his black robe around his body.  The bed jostled and Anck-su-namun stirred, only her black hair visible above the white blankets.

 

Anck-su-namun was blissfully unaware of what was happening in the world outside.

 

But she could still sense him.  Feeling the bed jostle, and feeling the warmth of his body gone from her side, Anck-su-namun woke slowly.  She turned over and rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn.  Blinking up at him rapidly, she immediately noticed he was standing, tense and agitated.  “What’s going on?” she asked sleepily.

 

“I must go,” Imhotep said, speaking the first thing that came to his mind.

 

Her eyes narrowed in apprehension as she sat up slowly.  “What are you talking about?”

“There is a battle underway.”  Imhotep’s eyes locked with hers.

 

“A battle?” Her eyes widened.  Her black hair was unbound and messy, flung carelessly over her shoulders.

 

“The battle for possession of the world,” Imhotep replied slowly, and as the words left his mouth he suddenly knew that they were true.

 

Anck-su-namun gasped in the dim light.  “They are attacking you?”

 

He nodded, his eyes roaming over her face.  For a second he felt he was unable to breathe, the pain lancing sharply through him.  Gods, it seemed that they had only been together for a heartbeat!

 

“I must make ready and prepare for this fight.”  He moved towards her, sitting himself on the edge of the bed.  She leaned forward, and they sat, their foreheads touching gently.

 

The seconds stretched.  Time slowed.  Could they not stay like this forever?  Imhotep gently brushed his fingertips against her cheek.

 

She reached up and caught at his hand with her own.

 

“My love,” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat.  “What can I do?”

 

He memorized her face, the proud nose, high cheek bones, lips full and soft.  He peered into her eyes, and what he saw there broke his heart.

 

He saw struggle, and fear, and pain, and sorrow.   And yes, there was still love, a deep and unyielding love.  But he knew that they were both tormented, they were both struggling for happiness.

 

They could never be happy while he suffered from the Hom-Dai.

 

But what twisted the knife in his heart was the searing knowledge that they were no happier than they had been three millennia ago.  They had traded chains of servitude for crowns of gold, but they were still tormented; trapped in the lives they had built for themselves.

 

Imhotep closed his eyes, trying to squeeze away the pain.  He had struggled and fought so hard for this woman’s love.  He had wanted to give her the world.

 

But he had failed.  He had failed utterly and completely.  He swallowed, the taste of ruin bitter on his lips.

 

There was nothing left for him.  Anck-su-namun was mortal and good.  The purity radiated off of her skin, sharp against the growing corruption and evil in his soul.  He looked down, unable to meet her eyes.

 

“Imhotep,” she said again, touching his chin, pulling his eyes up to hers.  Her voice caught, rough as though from disuse, and he could see the torment in her eyes.  “What can I do?”

 

Even in death and defeat she would go with him.  He did not deserve her loyalty, nor her love.

 

“Find the Book of the Living, and protect it,” he replied softly, clutching at her hand.  At least that would keep her out of the way.  Perhaps, if she lived through this, she could find somewhere to be happy in this new world.  He had brought her nothing but pain and ruin.

 

“I must go,” he whispered.

 

Without speaking she reached for him, pulled him into her arms, and as he felt her soft form fold against his body he knew that this was his final chance.  Her lips pressed against his and he forgot everything but his love for her, his desire for her, his need to protect her and care for her.  He had wanted nothing but to give her a true life.  A life away from Seti.  A life where she could live with him in peace and happiness.

 

He tasted her, the feel of her mouth familiar and yet, now, somehow utterly sad.  He felt himself on the verge of tears as he pressed his tongue further inside her, needing her beyond what he could voice into words.  She sensed his urgency and wrapped her arms around his back, needing him too.

 

Oh, that this moment could go on forever.  That this moment could be stretched into hours, that he could preserve the feeling of her against him, that he could somehow always remember her like this.

 

Somewhere on the line between ecstacy and grief, he slowly drew away.  Her black eyes gazed back at him, haunted and desperate.  Somewhere, deep in those luminous orbs, he saw a flicker of fear.

 

He would do anything to protect her.  And he knew what he had to do.

 

To save her life, to protect her, he had to sacrifice his soul.

 

The time had come.

 

 

***

 

 

“Let’s go!” Rick shouted into the wind.  He began running, with Anjelica and Pierre close behind him, towards the Med Jai army.  All around him were the other escaping prisoners.  Some were running away to safety, some were standing and gawking at the sight before them.  But many were running behind Rick, their unspoken leader, running with him towards their liberators.

 

And in the front of the army of the dead strode the Med Jai.

 

Rick breathed heavily as he ran, feeling Anjelica pumping beside him, her long brown hair flowing in the wind.  As they ran, and the army marched towards them, the gap between them quickly closed.  As they neared the invading army, Rick could make out the faces of the Med Jai, the black tattoos contrasting sharply with their copper skin.

 

Suddenly, from the huge mass of marching bodies, the shout was heard.  “Halt!”

 

A Med Jai voice issued the command, and within seconds the thousands of marching bodies came to a halt.  The Med Jai and the dead stopped in the desert, only a mile from Imhotep’s palace, waiting for the freed slaves to join them.

 

Rick slowed, approaching the front ranks of the black robed warriors, and as he approached a man stepped forward, his scimitar gleaming in the dark air.

 

A man who looked achingly familiar.

 

“Ardeth!” Rick called, his heart thrusting up into his throat.  His brother lived.  Ardeth was alive.  He had freed him and they would fight Imhotep once again, like in the old days, when they were all young together–

 

“My friend.” Ardeth’s smile stretched across his entire face, and Rick could have sworn that no time had passed since they had been together.  The two men embraced as more than brothers.  They embraced as Med Jai.

 

No words were necessary.  Rick and Ardeth broke apart, looking each other over at arms length.  Had it really been two years?

 

“I am so glad to see you safe,” Ardeth began, as more and more slaves reached them, standing behind Rick expectantly.

 

“Me too, old chum.”  Another figure stepped out from the black robed warriors.  Rick had been so intent on Ardeth he had completely missed the second man.

 

“Jonathan!” Rick enveloped the other man in a huge hug.  Jonathan sputtered good-naturedly in Rick’s steel embrace.

 

“I didn’t know you missed me this much,” Jonathan got out, squeezed tightly in Rick’s arms.

 

“I’ve missed everything,” Rick said, releasing his brother-in-law.  “And boy am I glad to see you all.”  Rick’s grin was plastered across his face as he felt his entire body swell up with happiness.  Here he was, back with his old friends, fighting Imhotep like in the old days.  He no longer felt helpless and trapped.  He was out in the open, ready to fight with a sword in his hand.  He felt hope and happiness surge through him so strongly they were almost painful.

 

Med Jai warriors quickly began handing the freed slaves the remaining extra weapons, and Rick watched as the various men and women, newly armed, joined in with the Med Jai ranks.  It was almost unbelievable.  After waiting for so long the battle was finally here.

 

He turned and met Anjelica’s eyes, and he knew that he might not have made it this far without her support.  “This is Anjelica,” he said motioning to her.  At Ardeth’s nod, Rick continued the hasty introduction.  “And this is Ardeth Bay and Jonathan Carnahan.”

 

Anjelica did not speak.  She only nodded her head to Jonathan and the Med Jai chieftain in respect.

 

“Thank Allah you are safe!”  The familiar voice interrupted their thoughts as another man came up from behind them.  Adil’s breathless face suddenly came into view as he stood next to Rick, panting heavily.  “I was fighting the mummies and lost track of you.”

 

Ardeth gave a silent sigh of relief at seeing young Adil safe, and he made a place for the young man at his side.  Adil joined the Med Jai ranks proudly as Ardeth turned his attention back to Rick, knowing that the time for the battle had come.   “There will be time for reunions later, my old friends.  Now we must fight.”

 

Rick, Anjelica, and Pierre fell into ranks beside the Med Jai.  Clutching their weapons, the army made ready.  “March!” Ardeth cried out.  His command echoed.

 

Once again the Med Jai and the army of the dead advanced.

 

 

***

 

 

Imhotep could feel the very air around him shivering with magic.

 

He raced towards the balcony in the back of his palace.  He knew that time was running out.  If he was to succeed, he needed to act quickly.

 

He rushed through the dark hallways, turning the corner abruptly into the dim light of the morning.  He slowed, blinking in the light, as he stepped onto the balcony.  Placing his hands firmly on the railing, he stared out into the desert.

 

He watched as thousands upon thousands of the dead walked towards his palace.  It was impossible.  Yet there they were, marching towards him.  In the back of his mind something flickered with understanding, and Imhotep realized that they had found the Book of the Dead.

 

“My lord!”

 

Imhotep turned slowly, ripping his eyes away from the sight below him.  “What?” he asked roughly, facing the messenger who stood trembling before him.

 

“My lord, the gates to the slave compound have been smashed open.”  The man stood, the beginnings of hysteria obvious in his shaking hands.

 

“The slaves have escaped?” Imhotep mentally calculated how many men he had imprisoned.

 

“Yes, sire, they have all escaped.  The slaves compound is practically deserted.”

 

“Damn,” Imhotep muttered, turning back to watch as the army of the dead continued to slowly march towards him.

 

“But that’s not all, my lord.”

 

Imhotep turned around slowly.  “What else?”

 

The man hesitated, deathly afraid.  “It was the Med Jai, Sire.”

 

Imhotep drew in his breath sharply.  “The Med Jai?” he asked, his voice going dangerously quiet.

 

“Yes,” he stuttered in response.  “The Med Jai.  It was they who smashed open the gates to the slaves’ compound.”

 

Imhotep turned back.  His eyes searched the thousands of marching men.  And, yes, near the front, to the side, were men in black robes, men and women marching in black robes, with swords–

 

With black markings on their faces. 

 

The Med Jai had returned.  They had freed his slaves.  They had raised the dead.  And they were attacking him.

 

For the first time, Imhotep realized that he was afraid.

 

 

***

 

 

Evy rushed to the back of the palace.  She could feel the power in the air, shimmering all around her.  She knew, deep in her heart, in the fibers of her body, that this was the final battle against Imhotep.

 

She ran to a balcony in the back of the palace, Alex running at her heels.  In her fear and excitement she hadn’t had the heart to tell him to stay behind.  He was ten years old now, it was his life too: he had a right to see what the future of the world would be.

 

“Alex, here,” Evy whispered urgently, pushing aside the heavy red brocade curtain.  Murky light flooded the small hallway as mother and son stepped beyond the curtain and onto the balcony.

 

Before them, the army of dead advanced.

 

Alex gasped, and Evy reached for him unseeingly, her eyes locked on the advancing army.  Her hands found his small shoulders and she hugged him against her body.  But she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight before her.

 

...the dead marched towards her, their eyes staring sightlessly ahead, boils on their rotting skin...they were coming to kill her, kill her and Jonathan and Rick and Ardeth...they were chanting, their words cold and toneless...“Imhotep, Imhotep, Imhotep”...it was night, the darkness closed all around her, and the dead followed him, stalked them, cornered them...the walking dead offered them up to their dark leader, the Lord of the Dead...ah, he were coming to sacrifice her, to take her life so that the woman he loved would live...

 

Evy blinked rapidly, forcing her consciousness back to the present.  That time in Cairo had been over twelve years ago.  And the dead weren’t calling Imhotep’s name.  They were marching towards the palace menacingly, as though they meant him harm.  Was it possible?  But who had summoned the dead?

 

“Mom, what’s going on?” Alex’s small questioning voice cut into her thoughts.

 

“Honey, I don’t–” Evy stopped.  Her eyes had caught some men in dark robes marching next to the dead, men with swords–mortal men.  Live men.  Med Jai.  “The Med Jai live,” she said slowly, not believing her eyes.  Could Ardeth be alive?

 

Could Rick be with them?

 

Her heart swelled with hope.  Maybe they could end this nightmare, once and for all.  Maybe it really was possible.

 

Imhotep was being attacked.  The army of dead would certainly distract him.  Suddenly, in a searing stroke, Evy knew exactly what she had to do.  She saw her role in the battle as clearly as if Ra himself had shown her. 

 

“Alex,” Evy began slowly, ripping her eyes away from the advancing dead.  “I have to go take care of something.”  She knelt before her son until they were eye to eye on the balcony.

 

“Mum, I’ve been through this before too, you know.  I’ve faced Imhotep.  I can help.”  He looked at her bravely, and Evy knew that her son was cut from the same cloth as she was, as his father was.  She felt her heart ripping painfully at her chest.  Love and fear and hope surged through her. She gathered her son into her arms, feeling his growing body next to hers.

 

He was so young, he was still a growing boy...Evy clutched him to her, her entire body filling with love for him.  Could she explode from too much love?   “Alex, you’re all I have left.  If anything happened to me I would never forgive myself.”

 

“Mum, I want to do something.  It’s my life too.”  His small body trembled in her arms, and Evy clutched him tighter.

 

“No Alex.  Go back to our quarters and stay there until I come for you.”  Evy pulled away slightly, her eyes roving over Alex’s young face.  Yes, in his eyes, she could see Rick, staring back at her–

 

“But I can help daddy fight–”

 

“Honey, no,” Evy interrupted him tenderly.  “This is for your father and I to fight.  This is our battle.  Not yours.  Do you understand?”

 

Alex took a deep breath.  Finally he bit his lip and nodded slowly.

 

“I love you so much,” Evy got out, almost unable to speak for the blinding emotions swirling through her.  She held her child, the few seconds stretching into a timeless moment.

 

Finally, knowing it was time, Evy stood.  She took one last look at her child, planted one last kiss on his brow, and walked out towards her destiny.

 

 

***

 

“It can’t be this easy,” Rick muttered to himself as he advanced, striding forward, his hand on the hilt of his blade.  The army of Med Jai and the dead were marching unopposed across open desert towards the palace.  No sign of resistence had yet been spotted.  The mummies had all disappeared back inside the palace.  Where was Imhotep?

 

“Patience, my friend,” Ardeth cautioned from his side.  “Imhotep has not yet responded to our attack.  He will.”

 

And in his gut, Rick knew he was right.  Imhotep would strike back.  The only question was how.

 

 

***

 

 

Imhotep stood on the balcony of his golden palace, watching as the dead and the Med Jai army slowly advanced towards him.

 

For the first time, he understood what it was to be the hunted.

 

They were coming to make him mortal.  And then they would kill him.

 

Ruling the world in this day was nothing like ruling the world three millennia ago.  He had thought that he could bring about a rebirth of Ancient times, that he could complete the cycle of history by bringing the Egypt of the Pharaohs into the new modern world.

 

He was wrong.  It was a different time.

 

He had failed.

 

But he would not fail in this final battle.  Imhotep hardened his heart.  The past did not matter.  He was not the man he had been.  He was the new Imhotep, ruler of the world.  And he would defend his crown and his queen, no matter what the cost.

 

He knew that if he were to triumph, if he were to find any semblance of peace, he would have to embrace the evil in his soul.  He would have to become his destiny: a walking plague upon the bleeding earth.

 

He turned slightly from the light, hiding part of his face in shadows.

 

If that was his destiny–to forever be “The Mummy”–then he would fulfill it.  Thousands of years of torment had led him up to this single moment.

 

And Imhotep stepped out into the light. 

 

He raised his face to the heavens, stretching out his arms.  He spread his arms like wings, the fingers spreading and reaching upwards.  This was his final chance to save Anck-su-namun and his rule of the earth.  If he had indeed been fulfilling his destiny, if he had indeed walked the path chosen for him, then the Gods would protect him.

 

He felt his heart fill with pain as he opened his mouth.  Whatever was human in him would be gone forever.  But perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad.  At least he would have peace.

 

Offering his physical body up to the heavens, Imhotep began to speak.  He cried out into the desert, as though the very winds and sands of his home would hear his plea.

 

“If I am truly of you, oh Gods,” he cried out, “then give me what is my due!  Give me your greatest army, so that I shall conquer and triumph over my enemies!”

 

His cry echoed in the desert.  In response, thunder rumbled in the distance.  Imhotep watched, spellbound, as the weather grew gray and stormy.  Wind began whipping past his head.  He could feel the power of the desert flow through him.

 

Lightening cracked in the distance, a jagged streak of light that flashed across the sky.  The earth rumbled.  The world darkened before his eyes, the sun obliterated behind the growing storm.  Imhotep could see the desert sands sliding and churning.

 

He waited, standing, his arms thrown out to the sides, his body splayed.  He stood as a supplicant, offering himself to their whims.  He was offering his soul for victory.

 

But nothing happened.  Where was the response?  Had all of the Gods abandoned him? 

 

Lightening again streaked the sky, a sharp flash of illumination against the graying world.  Wind ruffled his robes as the army of the dead continued to march mindlessly towards him.

 

His own death flashed before his eyes. 

 

In a final act of desperation, Imhotep screamed out his last prayer.

 

Screaming into the stormy desert, Imhotep demanded what was his.  He demanded the response he deserved, the protection of the Gods who had punished him, who had rewarded him, who had played with his mind and soul.

 

“You placed me here, you gave me this crown!  You must fulfill your end of the bargain!”  His voice cracked, harsh and feral.  He bellowed the last command, desperation and anger screaming out of his throat.  His eyes flashed in the growing storm as he spread his arms in a final gesture of supplication.

 

“Defend your chosen one!”

 

His cry echoed in the barren desert.  For a single moment, Imhotep truly believed that he had been completely and utterly abandoned.

 

But then his prayer was answered.

 

With a roar, the very heavens split open.  Imhotep looked up, his arms splayed to his sides, and his eyes widened in fear.  The sheer power that emanated from the sky humbled him.  He wanted to bow his head in respect, but he could not rip his eyes away from the sight.

 

The dark clouds parted and lightening from the sky of God cracked and struck the harmless sand.  Wind rushed all around him and Imhotep felt his black robes billowing around his body.  The sky flashed with electricity.

 

And then, from the arms of the Egyptian’s darkest God, came Imhotep’s immortal army.

 

From the cleaving heavens, a great black tornado descended to earth.  The black cyclone was a writhing mess.  It churned and thrashed as though alive.

 

The spinning wind tunnel, black as night, descended slowly to the sand.  It fell slowly to the earth directly in front of Imhotep’s palace, forming between the huge castle and the army trying to invade it.  There was no mistaking what this was: an army to defend and protect the Pharaoh of the world.

 

The sinister hurricane suddenly stopped spinning and spread out, leaking through the air like black water.  It looked like a dark blanket had suddenly been draped cruelly over the desert.  The wind whipped so hard Imhotep took a half step back from the balcony, watching stunned as his army formed before his eyes.

 

Imhotep saw the advancing army of dead and Med Jai halt, watching spell-bound.  They all watched silently as the Gods reached their long shining hands onto the earth and changed the fate of the world forever.

 

The screaming black wind draped itself over the sand....and then it seemed to turn into sand itself.  Imhotep strained to see what was happening as the heavens, raging and screaming, slowly closed themselves up again.  Lightening cracked and blinded his vision.

 

When he could see again warriors were rising out of the dark sands.  They were jackals with golden collars, brandishing huge curving swords.

 

Imhotep closed his eyes.  He flickered them open again, looking down upon his army, an immortal army of man-dogs hell bent on blood.  He gave a short, harsh laugh, throwing one last look up to the heavens.  He knew exactly what had happened.

 

He had begged the Gods for an army to lead him to triumph.

 

And only Anubis had answered.

 

 

***

 

 

Ardeth looked grimly at the army forming before them, an army he recognized.  He turned and met Rick’s eyes.  “I must stay with my people to fight the army of Anubis.”

 

Rick nodded.  “I have to go to the palace and find Evy.”

 

Ardeth nodded quickly, understanding how each of them had different roles in this fight.  It was not his place to fight Rick’s battles, nor could Rick stay behind and fight with Ardeth.

 

Not many people understood the bond between the two different men, but they truly were brothers in spirit.  Ardeth could feel it in the air, palpable, as though he could touch it with his fingers.  He could almost feel Rick’s frenzied heartbeat next to his own.

 

“Take Jonathan,” Ardeth insisted, nodding his head at the Englishman.  “He has the key.”

 

Jonathan swallowed, feeling the key resting heavily in his pants pocket.  He had dreamt about this moment for months, and now that it was finally here he was consumed with conflicting emotions.  He was afraid, he was mindlessly afraid.  But he had never wanted to help Evy more in his life.

 

“I’m ready, old boy,” he got out, his hand instinctively going to the handgun in his holster.  And as he said it, he knew that it was true.  He was ready.  He felt a small seed of comfort steal through him.

 

Rick nodded, then turned quickly to Anjelica.  He hated to leave her, but she was not meant for the palace.  That was his fight, and Evy’s fight, and even Jonathan’s fight.  Not hers.  She was not involved–her soul was not inextricably interwoven with their turbulent past.  “Stay and fight with Ardeth.  He needs you here.”

 

Anjelica nodded, obeying his command.  She sensed something in these men; knew that their souls were interwoven in a complex tapestry she could never completely understand.  She was an outsider here.  She would help in any way that she could, but it was not her fight.  She nodded again, reassuringly, and drew her golden blade from its sheath.  It sliced through the crisp air.

 

For a last moment, Rick stood, watching as the army of Anubis formed in front of them.  It was truly an incredible sight.

 

With a determined sigh Rick turned away.  He gave Anjelica one last encouraging nod as he grabbed Jonathan’s arm.  “Let’s go,” he said. 

 

“You got it, old boy.” Jonathan clapped Rick on the back.  Without another word, Rick and Jonathan began running towards the palace.  They skirted wide around the forming sand-jackals, running around the side of the palace at top speed.  They were looking for a way in.

 

“Make ready!” Ardeth’s cry echoed and he could feel his fellow warriors tensing.  There was nothing left to do but wait, and fight.

 

 

***

 

 

Imhotep watched silently as his army formed from the black sand.  As each jackal came fully into being it shook sand from its head and growled, baring razor sharp teeth.

 

He was no fool.  He knew that he had been abandoned by Osiris, his own God, the God he had loved and served all of his natural life.  He had turned away from him.

 

But Anubis remained at his side.  He was honoring the dark power in Imhotep’s soul and offering him a final chance.

 

And Imhotep took it.  He had been given his chance, and he would defend his throne to the last.  He wrapped himself completely around the evil in his soul.  It was him now.  And it was time.

 

From somewhere, Imhotep heard the dark laughter of the Gods echoing in his ear.  And suddenly Imhotep felt his very soul twist and scream inside his body.  Pain shot through him, as though someone were trying to rip out his very heart.

 

They were taking his humanity away.

 

He had pledged his soul for the Army of a God.  And now he must fulfill his end of the bargain.

 

As the human part of his soul was ripped away, Imhotep felt a gaping emptiness fill him.  He gasped and clawed at his chest as part of his being was torn away.  He gasped, feeling hollow inside.  He felt deserted and empty and meaningless.   For a searing moment, Imhotep fully understood just what he had sacrificed.

 

But then, slowly, the pain subsided.  He felt his mind cloud and darken.  And he felt the hole inside of him slowly press back together, now filled with an evil hunger for death and destruction.

 

And Imhotep finally succumbed, after three millennia, to the unholy curse in his soul.

 

He had been given power, and it flowed through him, a drug, a waterfall of force and vengeance.  He heard his voice echo in the desert as he issued his final command.

 

“Attack!” he screamed, his voice harsh against the burning wind.

 

His new army turned in formation, eagerly baring their teeth and growling for blood.  In unison they drew their weapons and began to march towards the army of the dead.

 

Here, on this day, on this desert, Imhotep and the Med Jai would battle for the final time.

 

 

***

 

 

In the air, the light, and the shadows, the divine voices spoke, observing the shattered world beneath them.

 

“The battle has begun.”  The Goddess stated the fact dispassionately.  The voice, beautiful as the glimmer of sun on raindrops, flowed through the air. 

 

The younger voice beside her mother remained silent.

She continued.  “Each player is fulfilling their destiny.  Many will fight, some will die, all will complete the task required of them.”

 

Suddenly, the wind changed, and the two voices were no longer alone.  A darker, stronger voice suddenly filled the air.

 

“So you have finally taken back the Book of the Dead.”   It was a cold voice, a sound laced through with harsh mockery.

 

The feminine voice paused.  “It has fulfilled its purpose in the world of mortals.  It can do nothing more but harm there.”

 

“And what of the Book of the Living?” the younger voice broke into the conversation, the youthful sounds lilting through the breeze.

 

“It still has a purpose in the world.  More shall soon be revealed...”  As the Goddess spoke her voice slowly faded away, melting into the shadows.

 

The dark God’s tones rumbled through the air.  “You returned the Book of the Dead to the world when it should have stayed with us.  We have already reclaimed the Scepter and the Bracelet.  The time of the books is rapidly coming to a close.”

 

“You speak truth, brother.  The rest of the ancient regalia must be reclaimed, must return to the place from whence they were forged, many millennia ago...” the ancient voice faded like paper as she drifted off into memory, intoning the end of a story thousands of years in the making.

 

“But I came not for that.  I know that you favor the Med Jai and the Princess, sister, and I came to explain my actions.”

 

“What have you done?” the younger voice asked melodiously, with the curiosity of a child.

 

“I have loaned the Priest my army, for a short time, while he has need of it.”  The deep voice rumbled, heavy as a raincloud, neither proud nor dismayed, neither happy nor glad.  It was, and it would be.

 

“You know as well as I that the Priest must fall,” the ethereal voice responded.  “He no longer belongs in the world.  Even your army cannot change that fate.”

 

“Perhaps I cannot change his fate.  But how could I abandon my chosen one?  How could I not protect one chosen of my flesh?”

 

“But you did not choose the priest, my brother,” the Goddess pointed out wryly.

 

The deep voice laughed harshly.  “It is as you say.  I did not choose him.  Mortals chose him for me, and bound him to me.”

“There are some spells so powerful they rebound on their maker...”    If she had possessed any physical form, one would have seen the twist of irony about her lips.

 

The dark God continued, the sounds low in the cool air.  “The Priest has a part of me in his soul.  Three millennia ago the Med Jai stole a fragment of my essence–my terrible power–and gave it to the Priest to curse him.  I have waited long.  It is time for me to reclaim what is mine.”

 

“No mortal should know the dark essence of a God.  It has destroyed him,” the Goddess observed, the sounds sliding and dancing in the very air.

 

“So you have sympathy for the Priest, sister?”

 

“Now and always.  I have sympathies for all mortals who are caught in the webs of history and destiny.”  The divine words slid along the wind like silk against skin.

 

“But soon his torment will be over.  By accepting my army, he has surrendered his soul.  No longer is he half man and half beast.  He has completely absorbed my dark power.  He is now my chosen one...”

 

The jackal-headed God turned to the younger being beside him.  “I granted him my army, child, and now his soul belongs to me.”

 

The feminine voice spoke once again, relating the priest’s story, a history thousands of years in the making.  “Three millennia ago he was transformed–from human to unhuman, from mortal to immortal...he became The Mummy.  Finally, after two failed attempts, he is completing the destiny required of him, the destiny of the unholy flesh eater, the destiny of the walking plague over the bleeding earth...

 

“He did not make the choice to become The Mummy.  By finally fulfilling that destiny, by completing what is required of him, he can find peace...”

 

The dark rumble of agreement echoed.  Indeed, if they had possessed any physical form, one would have seen the eyes of the Goddess and the God meet over the head of her daughter...and share a twist of a smile.

 

The Goddess then turned from her dark kinsman, once again addressing her child.  “But we shall meddle no more.  As always, my daughter, we must remain shrouded in mist, cloaked in gossamer and light...”

 

 

***