Egyptian Realms

MIDNIGHT SHOWCASE
Erotic-aah Digest Vol. 06-32

Egyptian Realms

MIDNIGHT SHOWCASE
www.midnightshowcase.com

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Published by
Midnight Showcase
PO Box 300491
Houston, TX 77230 USA

www.midnightshowcase.com

The Soul Jar Monkey, Copyright  2006-2007 Olivia Lorenz

Never Say Die, Copyright  2006-2007 Anna Fallon
Ancient Jems, Copyright  2006-2007 Bridghid Parkinson
Entombed, Copyright  20062007 Mae Powers

Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are

products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond
the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book
may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,
without permission in writing from the publisher.

ISSN 1555-5496 Vol. 06-32

Credits

Editors: Bridghid Parkinson & Anna Fallon

Copy Editors: Jane Carver & Mae Powers
Format Editor: Jewel Adams
Cover Layout: Mae Powers

Printed in the United States of America

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Egyptian Realms

The Soul Jar, Olivia Lorenz

Lucy goes to Egypt to mend her broken heart. Her salvation comes
from an unlikely source – Khnum, god of creation. Khnum needs
Lucy's help to fashion a new soul-jar for Osiris, king of the
Underworld, but Seth, Lord of Darkness, is determined to stop them
from their task.

Never Say Die, Anna Fallon

Imagine year 2150, spiritually enlightened, demons common as mud.
Violet and Tyler wake up dead, apparently trapped in a tomb...but are
they?

Ancient Jems, Bridghid Parkinson

Jemmie discovers a hidden cavern at a student archeology dig when
the cavern collapses beneath her feet. Can she resist the heated
temptations of Egypt?

Entombed, Mae Powers

While searching for a rare type of marshmallow plant, Callie Owens
comes across an ancient underground tomb, complete with a cursed
mummy, who puts a delightful hex on her heart and body and
entombing her within his immoral crypt.

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The Soul Jar

by
Olivia Lorenz
Lucy goes to Egypt to mend her broken heart. Her salvation comes
from an unlikely source – Khnum, god of creation. Khnum needs
Lucy's help to fashion a new soul-jar for Osiris, king of the
Underworld, but Seth, Lord of Darkness, is determined to stop them
from their task.
http://www.triqueta.net/olivialorenz

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The Soul Jar

by
Olivia Lorenz
The gods were in an uproar. Rumour ran the length of the Nile,
from the Delta cities of Egypt to the Aswan Dam. Even those deities
still dwelling in the remote regions beyond the Fourth Cataract heard
of the calamity, and all hastened to Luxor to take part in the council.
Bes, the squat, ugly god of protection and childbirth, hitched a
ride on Sobek’s felucca. He knew even as he clambered aboard that it
was unlikely that they’d make it to the Temple of Karnak in time to
sit at the council. As usual, any decision would be made by the
highest members of the pantheon, and the rest of them would just
abide by their decision. But Bes still wanted to go to Luxor, even if
he’d get there late. It had been centuries since the gods had convened
like this, and he hoped to catch up with some old friends.
He settled himself on a cushion close to the helm, where he could
keep a watchful eye on Sobek. Now there was a mean-looking devil!
Tall and rangy, he had a long, saturnine face that could transform into
a crocodile’s head whenever worshippers were nearby. In the glory
days of Egypt, he’d ruled over the annual inundation of the river,
representing both its positive and negative aspects. In the modern
world, the flooding of the Nile was controlled by dams and sluices.
Bes had heard that these days, Sobek earned his living by organising
river cruises for tourists.
It was a bit of a comedown for a god, but it had happened to them
all. Ancient deities worshipped for millennia had been rejected in
favour of monotheistic religions. Bes had seen it before, when the
heretic pharaoh Akhenaten had tried to impose his crazy idea of a
single solar cult upon his subjects. That hadn’t lasted very long: the
people had preferred the comfort of having many gods, from whom
they could pick their favourites.
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But then had come Christianity, and, after that, Islam, and over
time, the old gods had been forgotten. Temples and shrines lay empty,
the only offering being the gradual creep of sand. The descendants of
high priests tore down the temples and carted away the stone to build
their houses.
As the worshippers and rites dwindled and died, so too did the
power of the old gods. Bes shuddered to remember those dark times.
Gods could not die unless at Heaven’s command, and so instead
they’d withered, become shadows of their former selves. They’d
watched the monotheistic religions flourish and divide, until finally,
some people began to return to the old ways.
Archaeologists came to examine the temples and tombs. Nobles
and even an emperor came from afar to pay their respects. And then
had come the discovery of the tomb of Tutankhamun—heir to that
fool Akhenaten, of all people—and the modern world had gone crazy
about ancient Egypt.
Of course, worship these days wasn’t so much from following the
proper rites and making the correct sacrifices. It was more slapdash
than that. Any attention, be it academic or New Age, counted as a
kind of worship—but the gods had moved with the times and were
slowly regaining their power. The major deities of the pantheon, such
as Re, Osiris, Hathor, Isis, and Horus, still seemed to be the most
popular gods, just as they were back in the New Kingdom.
It was the more minor deities like Sobek who missed out, Bes
thought. It was hardly fair, but then, fate was a strange thing. He
stopped thinking so much and stretched out his rotund body on the
cushion. It was a pleasant day in early spring, and the sun was
blissfully warm on his skin. Bes smiled.
“What’s so funny?” growled Sobek from the helm of the boat.
“I was just remembering the good old days,” Bes said. “What fun
we had back then! That business with Horus and Seth and the
lettuce… It still makes me laugh to think of it.”
Sobek snorted. “You shouldn’t laugh. Seth was tricked.”
“It was fair enough after what he did to Horus,” Bes argued.
“It’s in the past. Let’s not talk about it.” Sobek turned away and
stared at the wash the felucca made as it cut through the water.
Bes rolled over on the cushion to look at the crocodile god.
Sobek was a miserable devil, but if there was one thing guaranteed to
get him talking, albeit in complaint, it was a discussion of the good
old days. For him to be so silent was out of character. Bes watched
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Sobek pick at a splinter of wood on the helm and wondered what was
wrong.
He was about to ask, when suddenly Sobek jerked on the helm
and the felucca veered sideways. He squawked in protest as he
tumbled from the cushion. “What are you doing?”
Sobek nodded towards the right bank. “There’s Khnum. Thought
he might want a ride, too.”
“Khnum? I haven’t seen him in twelve centuries!”
Bes jumped back onto the cushion and peered over the side of the
boat as Sobek tacked it closer to the riverbank. He waved
enthusiastically at Khnum, the ram-headed god of fertility and
creation. In the old days, they’d worked closely together, with Bes
passing on information about which couples had conceived so that
Khnum could fashion in clay the forms of the babies. Only when he’d
lovingly sculpted each child would he hand it over to the greater gods,
who would breathe life into the clay figures.
For millennia, Khnum’s potter’s wheel had kept turning,
populating Egypt with pharaohs, slaves, nobles, scribes and workers.
Then, when the crisis of faith happened and the people turned to
monotheism, Khnum and other creator gods had realised that mankind
could reproduce without divine assistance—or, if divine assistance
was needed, humans simply called on their single God.
Bes thought it was a shame. It was his opinion that humans
created without Khnum’s help were ordinary looking, without a spark
of true beauty. There were exceptions, of course, but in general, he
preferred the times when Khnum would painstakingly create each
new individual, using all of his considerable talent.
Now Bes looked forwards to a good gossip with his former
colleague. He grinned as Khnum waded out into the river and hauled
himself onto the deck.
“Thanks,” Khnum said with a nod to Sobek, who just grunted in
reply.
Bes eyed his old friend. When he wasn’t sporting the curly-
horned ram’s head, Khnum was rather a handsome fellow, with
straight, regular features, a full mouth and wide dark eyes that
occasionally held a faraway expression. Today, they were wary and
resigned, his state of mind emphasised by the way he hunched his
body as he sat on the deck between Bes and Sobek.
“So,” Bes asked, “what have you been doing with yourself all
these years?”
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Khnum shrugged. “You know. This and that.”

“No, I don’t know. Tell me what you found to do in these modern
times. I hear Hathor is making a lot of money—and more importantly,
she’s collecting worship—with her beauty products and sex toys
business. And, of course, Re went into the whole solar energy thing—
predictable, but gaining in popularity. And Bastet, what a clever girl
she was…”
Sobek gave an exaggerated sigh, interrupting Bes’ monologue.
“Didn’t you ask Khnum a question?”
Bes sat up straight. “I did. And he didn’t answer it.” He clapped
his hands at Khnum. “Come, come, lad! Let’s hear it. What have you
been up to? I imagine you’re a famous potter or craftsman now. Our
sacred Nile clay hasn’t changed in two millennia, so you must still be
making wonderful ceramics, even if you can’t fashion mankind from
clay any more.”
Khnum shook his head, lifting his powerful shoulders in a shrug.
“I haven’t done anything.”
Bes stared at him, puzzled. “Nothing at all?”
“Nothing.” Khnum smiled at him, but he looked dispirited. “I
spent a lot of time out in the Western Desert, and then this past half-
millennia, I’ve been beyond the cataracts in the kingdom of Nubia.”
“Not much to do out there,” Sobek remarked.
“No,” Khnum agreed. “I was repairing some of the old pyramids
and tombs out there. The ones the archaeologists will never find
because of the sand cover. But we know where they are.”
“Not much point in fixing something that no one will see.”
Bes glanced at Sobek in irritation. “You know as well as I do that
the ba-birds of those who rest in those tombs see them. More than
that, they need them.” He turned and gave Khnum a beaming smile. “I
think it’s admirable that you should spend your time rebuilding
tombs. After all, if you can help birth mankind then you can help
them to maintain their status in the afterlife, too…”
Sobek snorted, but Khnum smiled gratefully.
“So you both heard the summons, then?” he asked.
Bes raised his eyebrows. “Summons? No, I just heard a rumour
that Osiris’ soul-jar had been destroyed, and that Banebdjedet was
loose with nowhere to take shelter. No idea how it happened. You’d
think that Osiris would be careful with his soul. It’s confusing enough
that he split himself into two separate entities, but to keep part of

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himself in a jar… why, it’s almost like being human, isn’t it? The
spirit contained within a clay form.”
Khnum laughed. “You make it sound so poetic. What about you,
Sobek?”
The crocodile god corrected their course and squinted up at the
sails. “I heard a rumour, too: that Seth caused the jar to break. Then I
heard that the gods would convene at Karnak, and so I set sail at once
to see if it was true.”
“We still won’t get there in time to hear the final decision,” Bes
said with a disappointed sigh. “Not at the speed we’re travelling.”
“We’re sailing against the current,” Sobek reminded him. “If you
wanted to get there faster, you should have taken the chariot with
Sekhmet.”
Bes shuddered. “No, thank you! A lovely lady, but she’s in with
those war-mongers, and let me tell you, it’s difficult enough being the
god of protection as it is these days without inviting trouble by
hanging around with a crowd like that.”
Sobek grimaced, indicating Khnum.
Bes frowned, and then his brow cleared and he hurried to
apologise. “I’m so sorry, Khnum. I completely forgot about that
business with your wife.”
He felt guilty as he saw a shadow pass over Khnum’s face.
Obviously, the creator god was still sensitive about the messy divorce
that had taken place back in the Ptolemaic period of Egypt’s history.
Bes could have told his friend that it would all end in tears: the
marriage of Menhit, a stunning, savage Nubian war goddess, and the
thoughtful, artistic Khnum had little chance of working. None of the
gods had been surprised when Menhit ran off with Onuris, a war god
who hung out with Sekhmet and the other dangerous deities who liked
causing trouble. Khnum had been left with a young son, Hike, whom
he’d fashioned himself on his potter’s wheel.
Thinking of the lad prompted Bes to ask, “And how’s Hike?”
Khnum smiled, his expression alive for the first time that day.
“He’s great. You remember he was promoted to a minor magic and
medicine deity? He decided to continue in that field. He’s a surgeon.”
“How delightful! And the gratitude of his patients is worship
enough for him, I imagine. It must be the same amount that I get,
although Hike is earning it in the modern way, and I’m just lucky.”
Khnum looked at him. “Where childbirth and babies are
concerned, I guess all women remain superstitious.”
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“Not just women, but men, too,” Bes said fondly. “Did I tell you
I had fifteen offerings from men last month? Mostly locals, of course,
but these days, there are plenty of foreigners who come here to ask for
a child or to ask my blessing on their newborns…”
“I’ve never understood why those foreigners should want to
come here,” Sobek said abruptly. “Egypt is only a narrow strip of
black earth surrounded by red desert. This is a place of death, not
life.”
“You’re such a misery!”
“Look at it,” Sobek continued, gesturing at either side of the
riverbanks. “Cliffs to the left and collapsing temples to the right.
Scorching sun overhead. There’s nothing to recommend it.”
“Apart from a fascinating history and a vast pantheon of gods,”
Bes said, sitting up and jabbing a finger at Sobek. “And you’re one of
those gods. Hathor’s tits, you ferry tourists up and down our sacred
Nile practically every day!”
“Maybe I’m bored with it.” Sobek’s expression was dark with
disappointment. “This is my river. I know I share it with Hapi, but it
was mine first.”
Bes rolled his eyes. “I thought it was Khnum’s first.”
The creator god raised his hands. “Don’t look at me. I can barely
keep track of the different spheres of our influence. I started out as the
god of the inundation a long time ago, but I prefer getting my hands
dirty in a more creative way. I’m happy with my potter’s wheel and a
lump of Nile clay.”
“You might be happy, but I’m not,” Sobek snapped. “The Nile is
supposed to flood on my command. The people are supposed to bring
me gifts to encourage good harvest. It’s all right for you, Bes. Your
sphere of influence is on something mysterious and divinely
important. No man would ever dismiss childbirth to a planning
committee the way they did the Nile, especially if it was his child
growing in the belly of his woman.”
“The modern world does have ways of ensuring conception,” Bes
told him. “Men like to think they can control many things in nature,
but they cannot. Just because they build dams to control the Nile
flood, or they make babies in test-tubes, it doesn’t mean we’re not
wanted or needed any more.”
“Wait.” Sobek stilled the helm and stood with his head cocked to
one side. “Do you hear that?”
Bes listened, hearing the chatter of dozens of divine voices.
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“They’re annoyed that I didn’t reach Karnak in time for the

council,” Khnum said quietly. “Re will make an announcement in a
moment.”
“You were summoned?” Bes asked, frowning.
Khnum nodded. “Yes, I told you…”
“Shh!” Sobek held up a hand for silence, and they all looked up
towards the face of the sun high above them.
Re was the head of the gods for the sole reason that his rays saw
everything that happened on the earth, at least during daylight hours.
Bes had always found him to be rather pompous and unapproachable,
but he tried to look attentive as the sun god made his announcement.
Gods of Egypt, boomed Re in his dry tones, hear the decree of
the High Council of the Upper Pantheon! Know this, o denizens of
Kemet: that on this day, Osiris, the Lord of the Underworld, did have
broken his most precious possession—the soul-jar of his spirit
Banebdjedet, who now does roam without substance or home through
the ruins of Karnak…
Bes yawned. “By Min’s balls, I wish he’d get on with it.”
Khnum put a hand over his mouth to stop from laughing out loud.
Also on this day, continued Re, we did summon the High Council
and also several amongst our number whom we thought could help in
this matter. May it be noted that Seth, Lord of Darkness, did not
respond to our summons…
Sobek turned the helm, and the rudder made a small splash.
A decision was reached without some of our council being
present, Re droned, and this is what was decided. That Banebdjedet
should remain in Karnak for his own safety, and for the safety of
Osiris, for the soul and the god should not be separated. I myself will
safeguard Banebdjedet during the day; at night, the ba-birds of our
most noble pharaohs shall keep watch alongside Khonsu.
“Stuck in Karnak!” Bes exclaimed. “Well, at least he won’t get
bored there. All those tourists, and, of course, the son et lumiere.
That’ll drive any self-respecting ba mad within a few days.”
These measures are temporary. Re’s stentorian voice drowned
out the rest of Bes’ comment. We are commissioning a new soul-jar,
the finest and most beautiful that can be made; and even though our
potter did not deign to show himself, we are certain that Khnum can
create a worthy home for Banebdjedet within a few days.

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Bes glanced at Khnum. “You okay? You don’t look too happy.
This is the commission of the millennia. You won’t have had a project
like this since you made Osiris’ original soul-jar.”
“I know,” he said, dejection rather than excitement in every line
of his body.
Sobek leaned on the helm. “So what’s the problem?”
Khnum sighed and raked his hands through his hair. “You want
to know why I went into the desert for so long and rebuilt tombs
rather than do anything creative? It wasn’t because of Menhit and the
divorce. It’s not because I’m lacking inspiration, either. I simply don’t
have the motivation. That’s my problem—no motivation.”
Sobek raised his eyebrows. “The most senior members of the
pantheon told you to make a new soul-jar in a few days. Isn’t that
motivation enough?”
“It doesn’t work like that.” Khnum gazed at them both, his fists
bunched in frustration. “I can’t create something without a spark.
Even for the simplest jar, there needs to be something divine.
Inspiration is one thing; the act of creation needs to be nurtured if the
finished piece is to be a thing of beauty. It can’t be forced. It just…
happens.”
“Like falling in love,” Bes said softly.
Khnum nodded. “Yes. Like falling in love.”
Sobek shook his head and returned his attention to their course.
“Heaven save me from you artistic types,” he muttered. “I don’t
understand you at all.”
****
She was here at last—Egypt, the land of the pharaohs, realm of
Rameses and Cleopatra… and the source of deep red Nile mud.
Lucy Tomlinson suppressed a wry grin at the last thought. The
other people on this ten-day holiday all seemed to be here as part of
some long-held fascination with Egypt, whereas for her, it was a
convenient escape and, hopefully, a place that would inspire her.
She’d joined the tour last minute after browsing through several
web sites in search of an all-inclusive, get-away-from-it-all deal.
Egypt had never figured in her holiday plans before, but when she’d
seen the itinerary, something had stirred inside her, and so she’d
booked it there and then. With only a week before her flight to Cairo,
Lucy had bought a few books on Egypt, and admired the simple yet
striking pottery of the earliest periods of its history.

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As a ceramics artist, she was always looking for new ways to

work with that most basic and malleable material of all—clay. Based
in the Lake District, her small gallery and workshop attracted
hundreds of visitors every year, and each season, she tried to offer
something new and unusual as well as the old favourites that always
seemed to sell.
She’d hit on the idea of making a range of ‘around Britain’ items
from the clays of each region, and when that had been a success, Lucy
had decided to work with specially imported clays from around the
world. It was her philosophy not to imitate the pottery-work of the
country whose clay she was using, but to adapt it to her own style.
After all, she might be using clay from Japan, but it was moulded by
English fingers with water from British lakes, and so she aimed for
the merging of two cultures in each creation.
Recently, although she never had a problem finding inspiration, it
seemed that her muse had grown flabby. She’d put it down to the
stress of her collapsing relationship with her long-term partner Dave
and had embarked on creating pieces that became more intricate and
complex. But when they were finished and stood on display in her
gallery, Lucy found them strangely unsatisfying. It was as if
something basic and elemental was missing.
Looking at the pictures of ancient Egyptian pottery, she thought
she’d found the answer. She’d been so busy concentrating on details
that she’d forgotten the most simple thing of all—how to throw a pot
and feel it take shape under her hands. It had been too long since
she’d made a pot for the purpose of it being a container rather than an
empty shell to be admired on a shelf.
The glossy burnished ware of early Egypt was simple yet
timeless in its design, made for utility and not beauty. She decided to
take inspiration from their shape and colour. In Egypt, she would
purchase some clay and find a local potter who could help her re-learn
the skills that she now took for granted.
When she’d told her friends of her plans, they’d been
encouraging in all but one aspect—men. While it was okay if she
wanted to flirt with any unattached fellow tourists, they’d warned her
off Egyptian men, pointing out that with her pink-and-white
colouring, reddish-blonde hair and blue eyes, not to mention her
curvaceous figure, guys would be flocking after her. “I heard ten
camels is the going rate,” one friend joked. “But you shouldn’t settle
for anything less than twelve.”
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Lucy had rolled her eyes. “Ten camels for a young twenty-two
year old babe, maybe, but I’m thirty-five next birthday. I’d be lucky
to get four camels.”
“You’re still young,” another friend said. “All those sheiks want
is a son. Give him a child, and you can ask for as many camels as you
like!”
Lucy had laughed, hiding the pain that those careless words
brought. Only her closest friend knew the real reason why she and
Dave had split up. It wasn’t because he’d run off with some bimbo
he’d met at the gym. It was because he’d got his bimbo pregnant, and
Dave wanted to be a dad more than he wanted to be with Lucy, who
was, as he’d come to describe her during the last few painful months
of their relationship, “as sterile as the Sahara.”
Perhaps that was why she’d chosen Egypt as her getaway trip.
Surrounded by two seas and the vast red desert, she’d seen it as
symbolic of herself: trapped by too much emotion and her own
infertility, yet still with the capacity to enjoy life.
The first few days of the tour had been spent in Cairo, exploring
the city, visiting its museums, and making excursions out to the
pyramids and the Sphinx on the Giza plateau. Optional trips took in
the burial sites of Dahshur and Saqqara, by which time Lucy was sure
she never wanted to see another pyramid, stepped or otherwise, ever
again.
Then had followed a lazy cruise down the Nile to Amarna, site of
the ancient city built by the heretic pharaoh Akhenaten. Lucy had
decided not to go on the optional trip to see the ruined city. Instead
she’d sat on the boat and watched the river for an hour, and then she
disembarked and wandered along the bank until she was away from
the concrete and wood moorings. There, with her feet on bare earth,
she’d crouched down and prodded her fingers into the rich, dark soil.
The lecturer attached to the tour had explained on the first night’s
talk that the ancient Egyptians called their country Kemet—‘the black
land’, named from the colour of the soil after the inundation of the
Nile. All around it lay the red land, the desert, ruled over by the god
Seth, Lord of Chaos and Darkness.
Lucy had wanted to ask if the polarisation of their kingdom into
black and red, good and evil, was the reason why the earliest pottery
of Egypt was also coloured red and black. She’d started to raise her
hand but then had thought better of it.

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As she knelt on the ground and rubbed the earth of Egypt through
her fingers, she concentrated on the feel and scent of it. Already she
could imagine how the clay would feel, wet and slippery between her
hands as she worked at it. Each type of clay has its own distinct
texture and smell, and even though the river was polluted and the
detritus of cruise boats lapped at the banks, Lucy could still inhale the
deep, sensual scent of Nile clay.
She’d gone back aboard the boat with grubby fingers and a
smooth, oval-shaped pebble. The distinctive blacktopped Badarian
ware had been burnished with pebbles like that one, and Lucy wanted
to try the technique for herself. She’d looked forward to their arrival
in Luxor, ancient Thebes, where they’d have a stopover of a few days
and where she hoped to find a potter with an old-fashioned kiln.
And now here she was, straw hat on head and a notebook tucked
into her bag, dressed modestly in loose green trousers and a white vest
with a cream shirt over the top. She’d slathered on some sun lotion
and now, her mind full of pottery and the possibility of creating an
articulated clay crocodile, she went down to the hotel lobby to meet
the rest of the group.
Mr. and Mrs. Stephens waved to her, and Lucy noticed their
relieved expressions. A fifty-something couple from Manchester, who
both spoke with loud, thick accents, they’d taken a shine to Lucy on
the first day of the holiday. She’d joined them for dinner, but after
that, they expected her company every night and frequently invited
her to accompany them on the optional excursions.
It was still difficult at times to get used to being alone again,
especially on a guided tour like this where she was the only single
amongst a dozen couples. At first, she’d thought that Mr. and Mrs.
Stephens only invited her to eat with them out of pity or from the
group mentality that viewed all loners as gold-digging chancers or sad
losers. Later, she realised it was because they were afraid of their
exotic holiday, which had been an anniversary gift from their
children. Mr. and Mrs. Stephens had never been abroad before, and so
they clung to Lucy as something familiar.
Now Mrs. Stephens took Lucy’s arm as they walked to the
minibus, starting on one of her monologues about the heat, the flies,
how they weren’t ungrateful really, but this was a strange place, and
Lucy nodded and made the right noises at the right time. Her patience
unwavering, she listened to Mrs. Stephens all the way out to Karnak,
the vast, magnificent ruins of the temple dedicated to the god Amun.
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Surrounded by soaring pillars, cyclopean blocks of masonry,

drifted sand and numerous other tour groups, Lucy listened to the
practised spiel of their guide while she let her gaze travel about her.
She took out her notebook and began to make quick sketches of
shapes and objects that intrigued her: the majestic papyriform pillars
of the hypostyle hall; the swirl of sand around a lump of fallen rock; a
crumbling section of wall with only a few hieroglyphs still legible.
She heard the guide say that they’d meet back at the minibus in
three hours. He’d be leading a more detailed tour around the temple,
if anyone was interested. Lucy shook her head and indicated her
notebook, smiling at Mr. and Mrs. Stephens as they joined the smaller
group.
Free at last, or at least for the next few hours, she strode quickly
through the sign-posted main sections of the sacred complex. She
wasn’t so interested in hearing explanations of what this temple was
and who had built it: all that mattered was the sheer beauty of the
place. She hoped she could do justice to the sense of enormity and
space, the dazzle of the sun warming the stone and the dry, sharp
breeze that whispered past. To recreate the intangible in ceramic art
was always a challenge, but it was one she loved.
Lucy followed the map on the sheet their guide had handed to
them. Karnak had two sacred lakes, so she wandered down to the one
enclosed within the precinct of Mut, the goddess-wife of Amun and
mother of Khonsu, the moon god. In ancient times, the people of
Thebes had worshipped this family unit: the mother and father strong
and powerful in their own right, but joined together with their son,
they were truly mighty, an example for all people.
A crowd of tourists buzzed around a shrine, blocking her path.
Lucy forced herself to think of other things. Children would never be
part of her future. While the doctors said there was always the chance
she could conceive naturally—“Miracles do happen,” one specialist
said, “usually after IVF has failed, funnily enough”—that wasn’t a
strong enough reason for Dave to stay with her.
Lucy gritted her teeth as she felt the familiar dull weight of pain
settle around her heart. She tried to shake it off. Here she was on a
holiday of a lifetime, and all she could do was mope! Angrily, she
wiped her eyes and took a deep breath, looking around to see where
her footsteps had led her.
An avenue of ram-headed sphinxes lined the path to the Tenth
Pylon, the immense gateway to the central precinct of Karnak. She
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went close to one of the stone creatures and touched its plinth,
glancing around in case someone shouted at her. Then she climbed up
onto the stone alongside it and caressed the sphinx’s paw, leaning on
it as she examined the noble shape of the ram’s head. Their guide had
told them that the ram was one of the animals sacred to Amun and
had been considered a symbol of fertility by the ancient Egyptians.
Lucy stepped back and sketched the ram’s profile. Solid, strong
and patient, it had crouched there for centuries, undisturbed by the
millions of gawping tourists. She almost envied it. Capping her pen,
she patted its paw again before she clambered down onto the path and
made her way back into the main precinct.
She was studying a series of reliefs in the temple of Khonsu when
she heard the sound of a child crying. Automatically, she looked
around at the small group of people who were inside the temple with
her, but none of them seemed disturbed by the noise. They were too
busy talking amongst themselves to even notice it. Lucy frowned,
tucking her pen behind her ear and closing her notebook. She went
into the next section of the temple, peering around the columns.
The crying continued. Lucy felt her heart squeeze tight. The poor
mite, he sounded so afraid. She didn’t stop to question why she
thought the child was a boy; all she wanted was to find him and
restore him to his parents before he got hurt. She’d have a few words
to say to his mother, too—allowing a young boy to run off
unsupervised in a huge place like this! Why, he could fall into a hole
or climb a wall and slip off, not to mention disreputable people could
snatch him… Lucy shuddered and followed the sound of the weeping,
anxious to find the boy.
It took all her concentration to find him. As she moved through
the precinct of Amun, the sound would die away, only to return
louder than before a moment later. The number of people who seemed
unconcerned by the sound surprised Lucy. It was as if they couldn’t
hear the distressed wails of the little boy. She couldn’t see his parents,
either—surely people should be searching for the lost child?
Finally, she tracked down the sound to the temple of Osiris Hek-
Djet, a tiny building tucked away against the sanctuary wall behind
the temple of Amun. By now, the boy’s shrill cries had given way to
slow, sad sobs. Lucy rushed into the temple, looking around
desperately.
“Where are you?” she cried. “It’s okay. I’m here to help you…”

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And then she stopped, her mouth open. Instead of the small,
huddled child she’d expected to find, she’d come face to face with a
gorgeous Egyptian man—and he looked angry.
****
Khnum had been deep in discussion with Banebdjedet all
morning. The soul of Osiris had been unable to tell him much about
what had happened the day before, when his home had been smashed.
Banebdjedet hovered around him, insubstantial and cloudy, as Khnum
paced back and forth in the little temple.
“Make me a new soul-jar,” the ba cried. “Say you’ll do it,
Khnum!”
“I have to do it,” he said. “It’s too dangerous to leave you
unprotected like this. If anyone were to attack you, or to capture you
for their own purpose, Osiris would stop functioning. Can you
imagine what would happen to the Underworld if the King of the
Dead were… well, dead? The Egyptians of modern times might look
to monotheism for their spiritual needs, but when they die, they still
pass through the realm of Osiris. Without him to judge each soul, the
Underworld will be in chaos!”
Banebdjedet curled around his shoulders like a pet cobra. “Chaos
would appeal to my brother, Lord Seth. He’s already killed Osiris
once and was furious when Heaven ruled that Osiris should be king of
the Underworld. Then there was that business with him and my son
Horus—it was a long time ago, but he’s never forgotten it. Seth has
been planning his revenge for centuries, Khnum. I’m certain this is
part of it. That’s why you must make me a new soul-jar at once—one
that’s better than the old one, with more magic in its creation to
protect me.”
Khnum brushed off the ba with an anxious gesture. “You think
Seth is behind this? That complicates matters. I agree, you need a new
soul-jar immediately—but these things take time. The last one I made
for you took me a whole year.”
“But you are so much more skilful now!” Banebdjedet coaxed.
“That may be true, but last time, you and Osiris didn’t separate
until the soul-jar was ready. It’s a pity you can’t slip back into his
body to wait this time, too.”
Banebdjedet sighed, a gusty draught spilling around the temple.
“We already discussed that. If I reanimated Osiris’ body, he’d have to
die again to enable me to separate from him. He’s done it before, of
course, but still, who wants to go through the trauma of dying a
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second time? Plus Isis isn’t too happy with the idea. You know what
she went through last time, collecting up those pieces of Osiris’
dismembered corpse, and even then she couldn’t find his penis…”
“Yes, yes, I remember,” said Khnum. “All right, I’ll do it. But I
need time, and that’s what worries me—that while I’m making the
soul-jar, Seth will try to snatch you away.”
“Re and Khonsu will keep watch,” Banebdjedet said.
“Seth is a powerful god,” Khnum said, rubbing a hand through
his hair wearily. “We don’t know how much stronger he’s got in these
modern times. The world seems to be plagued with wars and
disasters—things the Lord of Chaos loves more than anything. I’ll
have to be careful in the creation of your new home…”
“You could always ask for help, if you find yourself lacking
inspiration.”
“It’s not inspiration I lack, my lord ba, it’s motivation.”
Banebdjedet curled around a pillar. “Then perhaps competition
would encourage you to find your motivation.”
“Competition!” He snorted, turning away from the spirit; and
then he heard footsteps, and a woman cried out, “Where are you? It’s
okay. I’m here to help you!”
Khnum’s irritation at being so rudely disturbed faded as soon as
he saw the woman who’d come running into the temple. Her hair was
the colour of molten gold, with streaks of sunrise caught in it. Her
eyes were the shade of the sky on a bright summer’s day; her skin was
like cream and rose petals. And her body…
He stared, entranced, imagining her modest modern clothes
replaced by a simple bleached linen gown adorned with jewellery.
Yes, the old garments would suit her well, would show off the
generous curves of her breasts, hips and thighs. He wondered if her
nipples were the same delicate pink as her lips, and if the fleece
between her legs was the same shade as the fire-gold of her head; and
then he realised she was speaking to him.
“Excuse me,” she asked in English, “have you seen a young
boy?”
He frowned, his erotic imaginings cut short by her question.
“No,” he said, replying in the same language. “Why? Have you lost
your child? You should take better care of your son in a place as big
as Karnak.”
The woman flushed with annoyance, her skin pinkening prettily.
“I would never let any child of mine wander unsupervised around a
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bunch of ruins! Not that I’ll ever have children to worry about like
that, but obviously someone has let their little boy out of their sight. I
heard him crying.”
“There’s no one here but me,” Khnum said, and then he felt
Banebdjedet tickle past him as a gentle breeze. He heard the soul of
Osiris giggle naughtily and suppressed a sigh. This was why he’d
stayed out in the wilderness for so long—beyond the Nile cataracts he
was safe from the matchmaking wiles of Isis and Hathor. He certainly
hadn’t expected Banebdjedet to get involved, considering the fragile
state he was in without the protection of the soul-jar.
The woman came closer, looking around the small temple with a
puzzled expression on her lovely face. “I don’t understand,” she said.
“I heard him crying on the other side of the precinct, and I could have
sworn the sound came from here.”
“Maybe he was just playing a game,” Khnum suggested,
glowering into the air where a swirl of mist marked Banebdjedet’s
form.
“Maybe,” the woman agreed, looking doubtful. “But he sounded
so upset. I was worried that he’d fallen and hurt himself. Perhaps he’s
run back to his parents.”
“Let’s hope they give him a good hiding.”
The woman looked startled. “You don’t like children much.”
“Me? I am Egyptian. We love our children. They are gifts from
the gods. But I admit I enjoy making them more than caring for
them.”
It was only when he saw the woman blush in astonishment that
he realised how his words might be interpreted. Khnum felt
embarrassed, as much for himself as for the woman he’d just
offended. Now she would think he was a crass, sex-obsessed fool. He
had to make amends.
“I have a son,” he said, hoping to distract her. “He is a doctor.”
She gave him another strange look. “Don’t you mean he’s
studying to be a doctor? You don’t look to be more than in your late
thirties, and, in England, it takes several years to do a medical
degree…”
Khnum smote himself inwardly again. He’d been away from
society, especially human society, for too many years. He’d forgotten
how to behave as a god amongst mortals. No wonder he was making
so many basic mistakes.

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He smiled and took out his wallet, searching through the notes for
the small picture he kept of Hike. The woman came closer, as he’d
wanted. He inhaled her scent, a heady, delicate fragrance overlaid
with a sweet floral perfume, and he admired the fall of her red-gold
hair as it glittered over her shoulders and breasts.
“This is my son, Hike,” he said, showing her the picture.
“Goodness. He takes after you—he’s very handsome.” She
leaned closer, the side of her breast brushing his arm accidentally.
“He does look grown-up.”
Khnum felt a shock of awareness go through him. He made some
quick calculations based on human reckoning and tried to keep his
voice level as he replied, “Yes. He is twenty-two. Just starting his
career as a doctor.”
She nodded, glancing up at him. Her gaze was direct, unlike that
of the women, mortal and immortal, he’d known before. “You must
have been young when you had him. You and your wife must be
proud.”
“I don’t have a wife. We divorced many years ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. That must have been difficult.”
There was compassion in her voice, an understanding that made
him realise that she’d been hurt, too. He’d heard that in some parts of
the modern world, it was common for couples to separate and divorce,
sometimes several times in one lifetime. Why should it bother him
that this young woman had suffered such a fate? He shrugged,
annoyed with himself for caring.
“Divorce is unusual amongst my people,” he said. “We marry
young, the match usually arranged by relatives. But perhaps I was too
young, blinded by the beauty of my wife. She was an outsider. My
friends warned me not to marry her, but I was in love.”
Khnum sighed, offering a wry smile. “She was wild. We didn’t
suit at all. I thought having a baby would calm her, but instead she
seemed to resent Hike. In the end, she ran off with one of her own
people. I guess her new man must make her happier than I ever
could.”
“You seem to have taken it rather well.”
He swallowed a laugh. “Yes. It was a long time ago. You learn
from your mistakes, do you not?”
“You’re supposed to.”
Khnum looked at her, intrigued. Not many mortals could hear the
voices of the gods, even when they were called. While the gods
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inhabited human form, as he was doing now, they could interact with
mortals. But for a non-corporeal god like Banebdjedet to have made
contact with this woman… She was obviously someone fated to play
a part in Banebdjedet’s future, and as she’d spoken to him, too, then
perhaps destiny was at last smiling upon him again.
He put away the picture of his son and held out his hand in
formal greeting. “My name is Khnum.”
The woman took his hand, smiling. “I’m Lucy. Lucy
Tomlinson.”
As soon as she put her hand in his, he felt another flash of
awareness. He held onto her fingers, turning her hand palm upwards
so he could examine the shape of her hand. “Lucy, you have the hands
of an artist,” he said in wonder. “You are a potter?”
She stared at him, amazed and impressed. “How did you know
that?”
“I can tell.” Reluctantly, he let go of her hand. “You see, I am a
potter, too.”
****
Lucy gazed at him. It seemed that fate was smiling on her at last.
Her fingers still tingling from his touch, she said, “You’re a potter?
What a coincidence!”
He smiled. “There is no such thing as coincidence, Lucy. It is a
message from the gods.”
“Really?” She shot him a twinkling look. “And what do you
suppose the gods are trying to tell us?”
Khnum seemed a little nonplussed, and she realised at that
moment that she’d actually been flirting with him. She felt herself
blush as she tried not to giggle. So much for all those warnings from
her friends! But then, Khnum wasn’t the type of guy they’d been
imagining—he wasn’t fat, fiftyish and moustachioed, for a start. In
fact, he was quite the opposite.
Taller than her by a head, Khnum looked to be only a few years
her senior. The only sign of his age were a few fine lines around his
eyes when he smiled and a certain wary distance in his gaze when he
wasn’t looking at her. He had a handsome, comfortable face that
suggested he was easy with himself and didn’t stand much for airs
and graces. His hair was jet-black, long and thick with a slight curl to
the ends, worn lazily swept back from his forehead.
His black t-shirt showed off the wide shoulders and broad chest
of an athlete rather than a potter. His skin was bronzed a healthy
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glow, which, combined with the muscles, suggested that he’d been
engaged in outdoor work. He wore dark jeans that fitted snugly back
and front, and on his feet were a pair of scuffed boots.
Lucy looked her fill of him, automatically comparing him with
Dave. She’d always thought that Dave had been quite a catch, but
now she decided he was a pale, uninspiring thing. Any guy would be
next to Khnum: she didn’t think she’d seen a hunk like this just
walking around before. Yes, it was definitely her lucky day!
She forced herself to quell her rioting thoughts. She was here to
relax and re-learn her potting skills… although she couldn’t help but
wonder what it would be like to re-learn the skills of lovemaking with
Khnum. She was sure her technique could do with an overhaul after
years stuck in a rut with Dave. Khnum might be a traditional Egyptian
man, but Lucy was sure he’d know how to please a woman. Those
long fingers, that sensual mouth…
She blinked back to reality when he said something to her. “I’m
sorry, what did you say?”
He grinned, his teeth very white against the bronze of his skin. “I
said, the gods must have engineered our meeting for a reason. Perhaps
we should attempt to uncover that reason in a place more suitable for
conversation than a ruinous temple?”
He was asking her out! Lucy wanted to play it cool, but it proved
impossible. There was no point in denying her attraction for him. But
that didn’t mean she was going to throw herself at him, either. And
anyway, perhaps he was just being polite. After all, she’d come
running into the temple, babbling about a sobbing child, and there’d
been no child in sight. He might think she was sun-dazzled. Her
optimism deflated somewhat, but she still nodded enthusiastically.
“I’m staying at the New Winter Palace hotel,” she said. “It’s next
door to the Old Winter Palace, funnily enough. The bar in there is
very nice, if you were interested in having a drink. I’d love to hear
about your ceramic work.” She tacked on that last bit just so he’d
know she wasn’t a desperate woman trying to engineer a holiday
romance.
Khnum nodded seriously. “Of course. I would be happy to
discuss pottery with you. I can tell from your hands that you put a lot
of emotion into the act of creation. I used to be the same, a long time
ago.”
Lucy looked at him, intrigued. “What happened?”

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He gave a half-shrug, as if he wanted to evade the question, but

then he started to speak. Before he got more than a few words out, she
glanced around in annoyance and then in surprise as she heard
someone calling her name.
Khnum frowned. “Someone is looking for you?”
She glanced at her watch and gasped in horror. “Oh my God, I’m
late for the minibus! We were supposed to meet back there twenty
minutes ago!”
“It’s all right. You were admiring the wonders of the temple,”
Khnum said, taking her arm and escorting her out into the precinct.
He nodded towards a man pacing around the back of the temple of
Amun. “Is that your guide?”
“Yes, it is. Thank you.” Lucy hurried forward a few steps, and
then she turned back to look at Khnum. She didn’t want to appear too
pushy, but she hoped she’d see him again. “The New Winter Palace,”
she said. “In the lobby at eight-thirty tonight?”
He smiled. “I’ll be there.”
Lucy had to bite her lip to stop from grinning too widely. She
waved to him and then chased after the guide. By the time she’d
caught up with him and made her apologies, Khnum had gone.
Fortunately, the guide wasn’t annoyed at her tardiness. He agreed
that it was very easy to be carried away by the splendours of Karnak,
and he confided that he often lost track of time there. The rest of the
group also proved understanding: they’d used the extra time to take a
few more photographs or to buy souvenirs. The driver was sitting by
the side of the road, smoking a cigarette, and showed no inclination to
move just yet.
Lucy took her seat, grateful for the air-conditioning after the
brisk walk back to the minibus. As they waited for their driver, Mrs.
Stephens showed her a bracelet made of real scarab beetles, their hard
carapaces shiny with rainbow colours. She admired it dutifully but
was glad to hand it back.
Then Mr. Stephens held out a small clay cup painted yellow and
black. His usually cheerful face was creased with slight anxiety as he
asked for her professional opinion. “Got it from a local who spoke a
bit of English,” he said, lowering his voice to a stage whisper. “Said it
was Nineteenth Dynasty, he did. But I don’t know. Thought it was
pretty, like. These squiggles are nice, and the yellow… it’d look right
nice on the mantelpiece.”

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Lucy examined the cup. Her first thought was that it was a fake.
So many people were taken in by fake antiquities. Her opinions on the
trade were ambivalent. She believed that ancient artefacts should stay
in their country of origin, but if a tourist wanted to buy a copy of an
object then they should be able to do so in the knowledge that it was a
copy and not the original article. Egypt had strict laws prohibiting the
illegal sale of antiquities, so anybody looking to buy an illegal artefact
ran the risk of heavy fines or imprisonment.
But people like Mr. Stephens were the ones most targeted by
dealers in fake antiquities: ignorant of what they were buying, most
were just looking for a small souvenir and thought they’d got a
bargain.
Lucy tested the sound of the cup by flicking her thumbnail
against it, and then she turned it upside down to look at the foot,
where she’d be able to see any inclusions in the clay. She was
satisfied it was a fake, but it wasn’t a run-of-the-mill one. Shifting
back in the seat, she cradled the cup in one hand and pointed out a
small section.
“What you’ve got is actually a kind of hybrid cup,” she
explained. “It does have some original pottery in it—if you look here
you can see the sherd. I don’t know if it’s Nineteenth Dynasty or not,
you’d have to ask an Egyptologist about that, but I can tell you that
this little sherd is ancient. The rest of it is more nineteenth century
than Nineteenth Dynasty, though.”
Mrs. Stephens looked disappointed. “See, Ken, I told you it was a
fake!”
“It is, and it isn’t,” Lucy said diplomatically. “I think it was made
in the early twentieth century when European travellers flocked to
Egypt. A lot of them bought ancient artefacts. Of course, they didn’t
have all the laws on illegal trade back then. You never know, this
might even be a cup that was made to sell to Lord Carnarvon. He was
a passionate collector of all kinds of artefacts. But Howard Carter
would have put him right on what it was: an original sherd with a very
good modern copy built around it.”
Mr. Stephens seemed pleased with this. “Is that so? Then I don’t
mind in the slightest. That’s a bargain! Two bits of history for one.
And I won’t get in trouble at customs with this?”
Lucy shook her head. “No, you’ll be fine. Technically, it’s a fake,
so you won’t have to declare it.”

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“You’ve put my mind at rest, lass. Thank you.” Mr. Stephens

wrapped the cup in its piece of newspaper and placed it carefully in
his wife’s bag. As he looked up again, he said, “Lucy, do you know
that man? Looks like he’s waving at you.”
She turned to the window to see Khnum standing on the roadside,
smiling at her. When he saw her look his way, he lifted his hand and
waved again.
Lucy’s smile threatened to consume her face. She waved back.
Mrs. Stephens said, “That’s a nice-looking chap. I can see why you
were late.”
Lucy laughed. “It’s not like that.”
“I’m sure it’s not. But still, he’s very handsome…”
Lucy felt as if she were a schoolgirl again. She got her laughter
under control just as the driver finally climbed aboard the minibus. To
ragged cheers from the group, he started the engine, and they headed
to the town.
****
Back at the hotel, Lucy had a quick shower. She sat on the
balcony, waiting for her hair to dry and looked through her sketches
and notes, making additional comments now that she’d had time to
think about what she’d seen. As she added a few curves to one
picture, she heard a child’s laughter.
She looked up. There was no one in her room, and yet she could
have sworn the sound came from indoors. Lucy closed her notebook
and set it down on the table. She peered over the side of the balcony
to look down at the pool area that her hotel shared with its more
prestigious neighbour. Most of the people staying here were on tours,
like herself, and so the majority were couples travelling without
children. But there were one or two families that she’d seen.
She scanned the pool area for the source of the laughter and
relaxed when she saw a little girl splashing water at her father in the
shallow end. She ignored the fact that the laughter had sounded more
like a little boy than a young girl. What did she know about children
anyway?
Later, she changed into a buttercup yellow sundress and went
down for dinner. As she walked into the dining room, she felt a cool
brush of air tingle against her bare arms. It wasn’t enough to make her
shiver, but it made her pause. Seconds later, she heard the laughter
again—playful and teasing.

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Lucy frowned. It sounded like the boy she’d heard crying in the
temple. Even though he hadn’t spoken, there was something familiar
about the timbre of his voice, a note present in both the sound of his
sobs and his laughter.
She pushed aside the thought and went to join her usual dinner
companions. The meal was delicious and the company enjoyable, but
as time edged on, she started to check her watch every few minutes.
Her restlessness was noted. “Are you tired, lass?” Mr. Stephens
asked.
Lucy winced, feeling guilty. “No,” she said. “It’s just that I’ve
arranged to meet someone later.”
Mrs. Stephens gave her a conspiratorial smile. “Must be that
good-looking man from Karnak.”
“Is that so?” Mr. Stephens looked her up and down. “I see. Well,
you’re a young lass and all; you shouldn’t have to sit with us old
fogies every night. You need to have some fun and live a little.
You’re not accountable to us, so off you go and enjoy yourself. But
just remember to be careful. Be safe, or we’ll worry about you.”
Lucy smiled at them both affectionately. “Thanks. You have a
good evening.”
“You too, dear,” Mrs. Stephens called after her.
She waved to them as she left the dining room, and then she went
to the bathroom to smooth down her hair and check her make up. Not
that she was wearing much—just a brush of eye shadow and a slick of
lip-gloss. Under the harsh lights of the bathroom, she thought she
looked older than her years, and she almost panicked. Khnum was
such a sexy man he probably had women flinging themselves at
him—foreign tourists as well as local girls. Perhaps he wouldn’t even
turn up tonight. After all, she hadn’t been able to hold onto a guy only
half as attractive as Khnum…
Fiercely she told herself to get a grip. Pushing the negative
thoughts to the back of her mind, Lucy gave her reflection a final
glance before she strode out into the lobby. She held her head up
confidently, her step only faltering when she saw Khnum standing by
the entrance with his hands in his pockets.
She was pleased to note that he’d dressed up, too. Now he was
wearing a dark blue casual suit with an open-necked white shirt. Lucy
thought she preferred what he was wearing earlier in the day although
the suit emphasised the width of his shoulders and his length of leg.

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Khnum straightened up as soon as he spotted her, and a smile

brightened his features. He came to meet her. “Hello.”
“Hi. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“You didn’t.” He gestured around at the lobby. “I was early. I
haven’t been inside this place before.”
“How about the Old Winter Palace?”
“I know of it, but again, I’ve not been inside it,” he said. “I am
looking forward to seeing the famous Royal Bar. Shall we go?”
They strolled through the connecting corridors to the old hotel
and went into the bar, a clean, quiet, discreetly elegant place, its late
nineteenth century grandeur tempered only slightly by the passage of
time. Lucy and Khnum ordered and sat for a while making polite
conversation about Karnak, the weather, and other mundane topics
until the drinks arrived. Then Khnum relaxed and sat back, smiling at
her.
“So you are a potter,” he said. “Tell me about your work.”
Usually when faced with that question, Lucy spoke briefly and
succinctly about the gallery, the success it enjoyed, and the type of
pieces she made. Dave had never encouraged her to really talk about
her work and had got grumpy whenever she’d spoken to fellow artists
or interested collectors. But now, just the knowledge that she was
talking to another potter put her immediately at ease, and the words
flowed from her as easily as the Nile moved through Egypt.
She described how she’d started making pottery as a school
project and her delight at how that first creation had turned out. She
told him about her years at art college and how the three-dimensional
mural she’d helped to make now hung in the student union bar. When
he asked about British clays, she told him in loving detail about their
quality, their feel and the kinds of work that best suited each type.
Then she told him about her gallery, hunting through her handbag for
the business cards and the glossy leaflets she always kept at hand.
Khnum read the leaflet slowly, looking at the pictures: a shot of
the gallery, a few general photographs of the Lake District, and
inside, a series of images showcasing what she’d felt was her best
work.
“This is good,” he said, touching a finger to one picture. “And
this one. The glaze here is interesting. What did you use?”
She moved closer, her enthusiasm growing. It was good to be
able to speak like this with someone who understood her—and not
just understood her, but also the work she was trying to do. Khnum
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looked from the leaflet to her face, asking pertinent questions

whenever she ran out of breath or answering the questions she fired
back at him about his own career.
Then she heard that sound again: a child’s laughter.
Lucy’s relaxed chatter died in her throat. She glanced around for
the little boy, even though she knew it was impossible. This was a
bar. A young child wouldn’t be allowed in a bar, at least not by
responsible parents. But she looked anyway, trying to keep her
actions surreptitious.
Khnum noticed. “What is it, Lucy?”
“Oh, nothing,” she said, turning back to him with a forced smile.
“It’s okay. You were saying?”
He gave her a look as if to tell her that he knew she was avoiding
the question, and then he began to talk about the properties of the
different types of Nile clay.
Lucy knew she should be taking notes on this, even if only
mentally, but she couldn’t concentrate. Not just because of Khnum,
who was sitting close enough to prove a distraction to any red-
blooded woman, but because she could hear the child’s laughter
again. This time it was as if he were running behind her chair from
one side to the other, waiting for her to turn around and catch him up
into her arms.
It was driving her crazy. She glanced over her shoulder but could
see nothing amiss. No child; in fact, there was nobody there at all. She
heard Khnum’s voice trail off as he realised her attention was
elsewhere.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice rich with concern.
“Fine,” she said, her lips trembling. “Actually, no, I’m not fine. I
keep hearing a child—a little boy…”
She thought he’d laugh at her, but instead he put his hands over
hers. His touch was comforting. “Is this the same child you heard
crying in the temple?”
“I—I think so.” Lucy blinked back tears as emotion threatened to
get the better of her. “I know it’s silly, but… I can’t have children,
you see, so to hear a little boy laughing as if he wants my attention…
Maybe I got a touch of the sun today. I don’t usually hear children’s
voices. It’s just… I’m sorry, it sounds so stupid.”
“It doesn’t.”
Khnum seemed annoyed by something, and Lucy was afraid that
it was her who’d caused his irritation. She tried to withdraw her
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hands, but he wouldn’t let go. He looked over her shoulder just as she
heard the bubbling laughter again, and then he snapped out a word she
didn’t understand. From the way he said it, she guessed it was some
sort of command.
Immediately, the laughter ceased. She felt a gentle pressure
against her back and shoulders, as if someone was hugging her from
behind, and there was a soft dampness on her neck, like a tear-stained
cheek, and then it was gone.
In the still silence that followed, she looked at Khnum and asked,
“Was that a ghost?”
He offered her a half-smile and stroked the back of her hand.
“No. Not in the sense that you would call it a ghost. It’s a ba. Do you
know what that is?”
Lucy nodded. She’d heard the term used in the introductory
lectures. “A ba is a kind of spirit,” she said, repeating what she’d
remembered. “The soul of a person that survives on the earth after
death.”
“Yes.” Khnum held her gaze, his expression serious. “For a
person to make a successful transition to the afterlife, they must
ensure that certain things are in place before they die. These include a
tomb with their name written somewhere, either in the tomb itself or
on grave goods; their physical body, usually mummified; their
shadow; their ka, or the spirit of sustenance, and the ba, the spirit of
mobility—what you would call a soul.”
She slid one hand free of his grasp and reached for her glass.
After she’d had a sip of white wine, she said, “I thought the ba was
usually a kind of bird, not an invisible child.”
Khnum let go of her other hand with a sigh. “Usually it is, but
this is no ordinary ba. It is the soul of Osiris, who divided himself into
two. His physical body oversees the Underworld, while his ba
receives worship on the earth, as it is still very much a living entity. In
fact, the ba has its own name—Banebdjedet.”
Lucy looked at him and then started to laugh. “You’re joking,
right?”
“I’m perfectly serious.”
“You believe in the old gods?” she asked, and then she realised
that yes, he did. Hadn’t he mentioned them in Karnak when they’d
talked about coincidence? A message from the gods, he’d said. She’d
thought it just affectation back then, but now she thought he must
have meant it.
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He hesitated before he answered her question, and she saw

uncertainty on his face. Quickly she reassured him. “I’m okay with it
if that’s what you believe. I’m a sort of lapsed C of E—Church of
England—myself, so I can’t really criticise other people’s religions.”
Khnum looked as if he was about to laugh, but then he gave a
sharp nod and said, “Then yes, I do believe in the old gods. Not least
because Banebdjedet has taken a liking to you. We Egyptians take
things like this very seriously. You have been chosen, Lucy. The gods
have decided we are a worthy match.”
She felt a little breathless all of a sudden. “What do you mean?”
He smiled, and she felt her knees go weak at the idea that he
might be talking about something intimate and loving. She managed
to squash her disappointment when he said, “I mean in terms of
pottery.”
“Pottery,” she echoed.
“I have been given a special commission on royal command, and
until I met you today, I was struggling with my motivation.”
Khnum leaned forwards and took her hands again, caressing them
from wrists to fingertips. “But now I feel full of energy and the desire
to create an object of beauty. You will work with me, Lucy—show
me how you create your pottery in England, and we can combine our
styles, our knowledge. Together, we will make the perfect soul-jar.”
****
Khnum arranged to meet Lucy at the front of the hotel the
following morning. He arrived early, pacing up and down on the
pavement, oblivious to the traffic and the swarms of tourists. It was
not yet nine o’clock, and already the temperature was climbing. This
close to the river, the heat would be tempered, but near a kiln, it
would be unbearable.
He worried about causing discomfort to Lucy. Her pale northern
skin had tanned a little since she’d been in Egypt, but she’d freely
admitted she didn’t like too much sun. Khnum often worked outside,
gathering energy and inspiration from the elements and the landscape
around him. It was one of the reasons why he’d spent so many
centuries on the forgotten tombs of the southern and western deserts.
His workshops were always temporary, built in the sands. He’d
have to find something more substantial if Lucy was going to help
him with the soul-jar.
Khnum realised he wanted to impress her. Not just because she
was a potter of considerable skill—no, competitiveness did not come
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into this. He wanted her to enjoy working side by side with him. He
wanted to give her the chance at equality that she hadn’t experienced
with her ex-boyfriend.
He wondered if that’s what had drawn him to her so strongly: the
fact that they’d both experienced unequal relationships and stunted
expectations. Last night, he’d told her more about his marriage with
Menhit, how he’d thought they could grow closer, how the
differences that had brought them together ended in driving them
apart. Without a scrap of self-pity, he’d described how she’d
disappeared one day without trace, leaving him with their young son
and how he’d discovered her whereabouts from one of her friends.
Menhit could never be content with the quiet life, he’d told Lucy,
aware of the gentle sympathy in her eyes. She was bored, spending
time with a potter. She craved excitement; she wanted to be free, to
roam about with a gang of like-minded people. Her settling down
with him was nothing more than an experiment, an aberration against
her nature. He did not blame her. How could he, when he was also at
fault for failing to see her true personality?
In return, and as more drinks arrived in the Royal Bar of the Old
Winter Palace, Lucy had told him in staccato sentences about her
relationship with Dave. After a few light-hearted flings at art college,
he’d been her first serious boyfriend. They’d met in a bar. He was an
accountant. They were together for ten years. He said he didn’t want
to get married unless they had children. As the time passed without
any sign of a pregnancy, Lucy began to worry. Not that she so
desperately wanted to be married, she told Khnum with a small,
detached laugh, but she did want a child.
Her ceramics work, which Dave had sneered at as a hobby,
became successful. Anxious to escape the stress of city living, and
thinking the countryside might help her to relax and conceive, they
moved to the Lake District. Ironically, her work became even more
popular. She was busier than ever. Dave blamed her success for their
lack of a child.
Khnum had felt Lucy’s sorrow as she described the fertility tests
both she and Dave underwent. When the results showed that the
problem lay with her, Dave had become angry. Then had come the
painstaking, expensive process of IVF, but the first attempt failed. She
had wanted to try again, but that was when Dave had dropped his
bombshell—he’d met someone else, someone younger, who didn’t

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have such a demanding career. A woman who put him first. A fertile
woman who was expecting his baby.
“You could still have a child,” Khnum had told her last night. “It
can happen.”
“What, a miracle?” Lucy had turned her face to him, and he’d felt
pain at the weariness in her eyes. “I want to believe in miracles,
Khnum, but...”
Their conversation had moved on by common consent. The rest
of the evening was spent in deeper discussions of pottery, about
Egypt, about England. Relationships were not mentioned again. Just
before midnight, they’d gone outside to watch the moonlight over the
Nile. It was a sight that always made Khnum feel restful, and he
hoped that Lucy enjoyed it, too.
He certainly hadn’t meant to kiss her.
She’d stiffened for a moment before returning his embrace. In the
darkness, he couldn’t see the expression in her eyes. Her lips were
soft, and she tasted of the mellowed sharpness of wine. It was a potent
combination, as was the feel of her body clasped to his, warm and
alive, contrasted with the cool breeze blowing around them.
Khnum hadn’t thought of kissing a woman, mortal or immortal,
for a long time, but Lucy was different. The gods had brought them
together for a purpose. He couldn’t imagine that it was to assuage his
loneliness—a feeling he hadn’t even considered as applying to him
until he’d met Lucy—but he didn’t want to think they had been
brought together just because of the soul-jar.
He would have to wait and see what Heaven intended for them.
He’d escorted her back to the hotel and kissed her again, short
and sweet, a respectful goodnight. Anything more would be too much,
he sensed. He had to remember she was still raw from her break-up.
She hadn’t had the luxury of centuries to get over it.
Khnum had returned to the riverbank and boarded Sobek’s
felucca. The crocodile god had said he’d be spending a week in
Luxor, catching up with the other gods who’d stayed around after the
council meeting. He’d made it clear that Khnum was welcome to stay
on his boat for as long as he liked. Khnum appreciated the gesture; he
and Sobek had never been close friends, but since they both had a
duty to the Nile and the inundation, they’d always got on as casual
acquaintances.
He’d stretched out on the deck, staring up at the deep blue of the
night sky, sprinkled through with stars. His heart ached at Lucy’s
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story. He was sure she would be a loving mother. Perhaps she would
consent to see Hike. His son was a god of both magic and medicine. If
anyone could produce a miracle, it was Hike.
Khnum wanted to set up his potter’s wheel and create Lucy’s
child himself, the way he’d peopled Egypt millennia ago. His hands
itched to mould the clay into shape, to form the perfect baby for this
passionate, kind-hearted woman. The desire to help her was so strong
he sat up and started to consider which type of Nile clay would be
best suited to creating Lucy’s baby.
Then Sobek had come aboard, and Khnum had been forced to
forget his idea for the moment. The crocodile god had been in a chatty
mood, fresh from one of the bars where he’d spent the evening with
Bes, Bastet, and Hathor. He’d asked Khnum about his day and
listened attentively when Khnum told him about Lucy.
“And the soul-jar?” Sobek had said. “You will make it here in
Luxor?”
“With Lucy’s help.”
“A human and a god. Do you think such a partnership is wise?”
Sobek’s eyes glittered in the moonlight as he looked at him.
Khnum shrugged. “It feels right.”
****
And it still felt right now, the morning after. He had no doubts
that together, he and Lucy could create the perfect home for
Banebdjedet. He just hoped that he hadn’t scared her away with the
kiss.
He stopped pacing and glanced at the entrance to the hotel in time
to see her come through the doors. She was wearing a pair of faded
boot cut jeans and a white vest, over which she wore a white gauzy
shirt knotted at the waist. Her shining red-gold hair was tied back in a
ponytail, and she wore a hat to protect her from the sun.
Any worries he had about scaring her off disappeared when she
smiled at him. Khnum felt as if he were the only man—or god—on
earth when she looked at him like that. Was this how it had felt with
Menhit? He couldn’t remember. That had been more like an all-
consuming hunger; this was much different. Yes, he wanted to lie
with her and bring her pleasure, but he also wanted to draw out the
best in her as a woman… as his woman.
“Good morning,” he said, going up to her. He intended to press a
gentle kiss to her cheek, but she turned her head, and so he kissed her
mouth. It was just a small kiss, but he felt its effect light through him.
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Lucy smiled at him, her colour heightened. “Sorry. Couldn’t

resist.”
“No need to apologise.” Khnum drew her arm through his, and
they began to walk slowly. He glanced down at her. “Are you sure
you don’t mind spending the day with me? If you’d made other
plans…”
She flashed him an amused look. “It’s my free day. I always
intended to look for a potter today. So meeting you was just perfect.”
Khnum blinked. Perfect? He smiled, a warm glow of contentment
nestling inside him. Yes, he would make the day perfect for her.
They walked to Shari al-Lokanda, the town’s bustling restaurant
and bazaar area, just south of the temple of Luxor. He picked up
supplies for lunch, standing aside to let Lucy haggle with the
storekeepers as if she’d been born to it. Soon they had bags full of
fresh produce and had passed from the food stalls to those selling
souvenirs. Many advertised the same garish tat as their neighbours,
but a few sold simple red pieces of pottery. Khnum watched as Lucy
examined the items with care, and he stepped in to translate when she
had questions.
“Tell them I’ll come back,” she said as she set down a delicate
jar.
Khnum did so, noticing that the stallholders were gazing at him
in awe. He ran a hand through his hair, self-conscious, wondering if
he still wore his human head. It was rare for mortals to notice that
there was a god in their midst, but perhaps these men, with their
affinity for pottery, had recognised him nonetheless.
He gave them a brief smile and then followed Lucy into the
crowds. He caught up with her at a stall selling the most exquisite
jewellery, the pieces draped around jars of purest alabaster. Khnum
looked first at Lucy as she held up a necklace of green beads, and then
he glanced at the stallholder.
He let out an involuntary curse in the ancient tongue. “Isis! By all
the gods, lady, what are you doing here?”
Isis, wife of Osiris and one of the most senior and powerful
deities of the pantheon, smiled at him sweetly. She wore a black veil
covering her shining hair, and a shapeless dress concealed her body,
but as she leaned forward he could see the glint of gold from her
heavy, ornate earrings. Even disguised as a human woman, her beauty
set her apart from the people around her.

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“Good day to you, too, Khnum,” she said, her voice musical and
low. “I’m here because I have a vested interest in what you and this
mortal woman will be doing today. My husband—both halves of
him—is anxious that you do this job quickly. My concern is that you
do it right.”
“Of course, I’ll do it right,” Khnum grumbled. “Lucy is as skilled
as I am. She has a passion for creation. With our combined effort in
both the design and execution of the soul-jar, I am certain
Banebdjedet and Osiris will be delighted with the result.”
“Banebdjedet would be delighted with anything this mortal
woman created,” Isis said, gesturing elegantly to the ba that had
draped itself around the top of Lucy’s sunhat. “He seems very taken
with her. I’ve never seen him act like that before! Fortunately I am
not the jealous type, and I am content so long as Osiris is content.
Banebdjedet is a law unto himself, though.”
Khnum snorted. “He certainly is.” He reached up and brushed the
ba from Lucy’s hat and then caught her puzzled glance. “A wasp,” he
explained, switching from ancient Egyptian to English, and he heard
Banebdjedet huff in annoyance.
She nodded and then stroked the alabaster. “This is lovely.”
Isis spoke before he had a chance to reply. “Indeed it is,” she
said, also in English. “You will find many fine examples of alabaster
in Luxor. The stone is quarried nearby. In ancient times, it was
worked so thinly as to be as translucent as wet cloth. Papyrus-thin,
sometimes! Such work is almost impossible to replicate today.
Machines cannot emulate the skill of men in the creation of works of
art and crafts.”
Lucy smiled at her warmly. “I agree with you.”
Isis raised her eyebrows, affecting surprise. “You are an artist,
like Khnum?”
“You know each other?”
Khnum heard the note of uncertainty in Lucy’s voice. He
quashed the thought that she might be jealous. While it appealed to
his male pride, he didn’t want her to worry about other women. He
couldn’t imagine another woman for him now.
After pondering how to explain their relationship, he made a
hasty introduction. “Lucy, this is my cousin, Isis. Cousin, this is Lucy
Tomlinson, a potter from England.”
“Isis?” Lucy asked. “Like the goddess?”

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Isis gave a silvery peal of laughter. “Darling girl, I am the

goddess!”
Khnum shot Isis a warning look that she ignored completely.
Fortunately, Lucy seemed charmed by the declaration, laughing along
with the other woman. They began discussing the different items of
jewellery on sale while he shifted from one foot to the other. He
wasn’t usually impatient, but he wanted to begin work on the soul-
jar—and he wanted to be alone with Lucy.
“Malachite would be pretty with your colouring,” Isis said,
holding up a beaded collar in the ancient style, “but you would have
to be careful with the exact shade of the green.”
Before Lucy could take the collar from her, Isis cast it down and
picked out something else. “Now this,” she said, “this is something
very special. Lapis lazuli and gold. Look at the symbols here, Lucy.”
Curious, Khnum also looked at the necklace. He caught his
breath, recognising it as no clever copy but an original, made not by
the hands of man but by the gods themselves. For Isis to be drawing
Lucy’s attention to it in this way meant that she was truly favoured.
He glanced at Isis, who returned his gaze innocently, and then he
fingered the necklace as if testing its workmanship.
“What are these things?” asked Lucy, pointing at the small gold
objects spaced evenly around the necklace.
“Flies,” he said. “To the ancients, they represent tenacity. Think
of how many times you swat away a fly, and yet it returns time and
again. Annoying, yes, but they are also stubborn insects. They can’t
be kept down or pushed away. They keep coming back.”
She looked closer at the detail, examining one of the golden flies.
“It’s amazing that something we find disgusting or irritating is
respected like this.”
Lucy turned the necklace so the centrepiece lay in her palm. It
was a pillar that tapered in the middle and flared out at top and
bottom, with four horizontal lines set parallel to one another cutting
across the top half of the pillar. The outline and parallels were made
of gold, and the inlay was lapis lazuli to match the beads, alternating
with the golden flies.
“And what does this represent?”
Khnum looked at Isis, waiting for her to answer.
“It’s a djed pillar,” she said quietly. “Also known as the
backbone of Osiris—or indeed of mankind. For the soul to take flesh,
it needs a backbone, the mainstay of the human body. It is an ancient
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symbol of stability, worshipped in its own right. There is even a djed

festival.”
“Djed,” Lucy murmured. “Is that the same djed as in
Banebdjedet?”
Khnum and Isis exchanged glances. “Yes,” they said, both at
once.
Isis closed Lucy’s fingers around the necklace. “Keep it as my
gift to you.”
“Oh, no—I couldn’t,” Lucy protested. “Let me pay you…”
“I insist.” Isis folded her arms, her bearing at once regal and
commanding. “A friend of Khnum’s is a friend of mine. Besides, the
symbols on this necklace speak to you, Lucy Tomlinson, do they not?
Tenacity and stability; the anchor of the soul. Allow me to give you
this necklace. You deserve it.”
“But it must cost a fortune!”
“Take it,” Isis said. “If you must, consider it payment for the task
you will soon undertake with Khnum. My hopes for Banebdjedet’s
safety lie with you. I have no doubt you will create the perfect soul-jar
together.”
Lucy stared at her, confusion warring with slow realisation on her
face.
Khnum glared at Isis. “Thank you, cousin. We should be going
now.” He took Lucy’s arm and was leading her away when Isis called
after them.
“Wait!”
He turned, suspicious. “What?”
Isis held up a shining bronze key. “Don’t you want the key to
your workshop, cousin?” she asked with a sly smile. “I tidied it for
you, as you requested. I’m sure you’ll find it ready for your use.”
Khnum stepped closer and snatched the key. In ancient Egyptian
he snapped, “Interfering minx!”
“Indeed.” Isis grinned. “Your workshop is on the West Bank.
Good luck. Our destiny lies in your hands—and in the touch of your
woman.”
****
Lucy looked around the workshop with approval and delight. It
was just what she’d hoped for—little more than a wooden hut with a
baked clay floor bearing the imprints of all the potters who’d worked
there. A trestle table stood in the centre of the room, laden with

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different types of clay covered with damp cloth. Bowls of water

waited nearby, and close to the window stood the potter’s wheel.
She went and sat down at it, resting her foot on the pedal. She
had a wheel like this at home, but due to time constraints she tended
to use the electrically powered wheel instead. Khnum’s wheel looked
antiquated, little more than rope and wood with a thin layer of stone
forming the work-surface, but she couldn’t wait to get started.
Reluctantly, she got to her feet and explored the rest of the
workshop. She was aware of Khnum watching her, and so she
commented on a couple of things as she moved around. A few
finished ceramics stood on a shelf along one wall, and so she looked
at them briefly. On the other side of the room was a couch covered in
a quilt with a couple of cushions.
Lucy imagined that Khnum sometimes spent the night here, the
way that she’d sometimes stayed up into the early hours of the
morning to regulate the temperature of the kiln. She thought it would
be fun to spend the night in a place like this: making pottery until late
afternoon, placing it in the kiln, and then waiting together with
Khnum, talking, kissing…
She jerked her attention back to the present. So what that he’d
kissed her last night! She was a grown woman, not a silly adolescent
to go mooning after a holiday romance. If only it could be as simple
as that—just a fling. But Lucy knew she felt more for him than that.
It was strange how well they suited. She’d puzzled over it after
she’d gone to bed last night, unable to sleep as she relived the feel of
his arms around her, of his mouth on hers. Then, just as she was
drifting off, she’d felt something sit beside her on the bed and felt a
small hand clutch at hers.
“Banebdjedet,” she’d murmured, too tired to open her eyes.
Instead, she squeezed the ghostly hand and heard the familiar sparkle
of laughter.
In the morning, the pillow next to hers bore an indentation of a
child-size head. She hadn’t been alarmed. Khnum had assured her that
the ba meant her no harm, and she believed him. When she was a
child, she’d had an invisible friend. To Lucy, Banebdjedet was the
same sort of thing. She was beginning to get used to his presence.
He’d tagged along with her to breakfast and then back to her
room. She’d had strange dreams about ancient gods walking amongst
mortals, and she wondered if he’d had anything to do with that. She
knew he’d sat on her sunhat, squealing with excitement when she ran
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lightly down the steps to meet Khnum. Now he was drifting around
the workshop in silence, as if waiting for her to begin on the soul-jar.
She smiled at Khnum. “Can I see the kiln?”
The kiln was situated outside, forming part of the back wall of
the hut. Made of brick and clay, it already gave off a radiant heat. As
she stepped through the back door to get a closer look, she saw a
short, paunchy man stripped to the waist, sweat pouring from him as
he fed the fire.
Over the roar of the flames, he heard her approach. He turned and
grinned at her, and Lucy saw that, although he was ugly, he had an
endearing, sweet smile.
“I’m Bes,” he said, offering a damp, pudgy hand for her to shake.
Lucy introduced herself, her mind whirling. Isis, Bes—they were
the names of Egyptian gods she’d heard about in the lectures; and
Banebdjedet was a god, too—Osiris’ soul. She should have asked
their guide about Khnum. Surely he must also be a god. Not many
ordinary men looked as good as him. But what did it all mean? And if
they were really gods, why had they chosen her? She was nothing
special.
“Ah, but you are,” Bes said softly, and Lucy jumped, realising
that he’d read her mind.
“That’s rude,” she said.
Bes nodded. “It is. Forgive me. But you are special, Lucy
Tomlinson. You are special because you’re human, because you’ve
suffered reversal, and yet you still believe. You have hope, and you
have the gift of creation. And you can bring to the soul-jar one of the
most precious gifts of all.”
She frowned. “I can? What’s that?”
“You will know.” Bes bent down to pick up the last of the wood,
tossing it into the fire before he closed the door to the kiln. He faced
Lucy. “We have confidence in you. The soul-jar will be perfect.”
Then he looked over her shoulder. She felt Khnum’s presence
behind her and half turned to glance up at him. She heard Bes say
something in a strange language and saw Khnum’s handsome features
darken. He nodded, said something in reply, and then his expression
cleared as he looked towards her.
“The kiln is ready,” he said. “Let us begin.”
Lucy turned to bid goodbye to Bes, but the little man had
vanished. With a last look at the kiln, she followed Khnum back into
the workshop.
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The next half hour was spent in discussing the merits of the
different types of Nile clay. Lucy handled each example, kneading it
between her fingers, sniffing it, testing its elasticity. She listened as
Khnum detailed its properties, glazed and unglazed, fired and unfired.
Although it was his commission, he’d told her that he wanted her to
select the clay.
“The body of a vessel is often more important than the cargo it
carries,” he said. “Without the right clay, that which is placed inside
the vessel may spoil. Choose carefully, Lucy.”
After much thought, she selected a clay that came from the Delta.
Khnum made no comment on her choice apart from a nod, and she
knew she’d chosen well. She took off her shirt so her cuffs wouldn’t
get dirty and saw how Khnum’s gaze went to the shape of her breasts
beneath the tight vest. She smiled, flattered by his attention.
They sat together at the end of the table, dipping their hands into
the bowls of water as they experimented with making miniature
pinched-form vessels to determine the shape of the soul-jar.
“Should it be decorated?” she asked, smoothing off a finished
piece.
Khnum thought about it. “The last one I made had a cream slip
with a single row of hieroglyphs in dark brown paint and a glaze.”
Lucy tried to imagine it. “I think this one should be burnished,
like the earliest pots of your country. I have a pebble I picked up at
Amarna. I’d like to try it, if you think it’s appropriate.”
He looked at her, his gaze warm and dark. “It’s very
appropriate.”
They compared their miniature vessels and then picked two to
make up into small test pieces on the wheel. She watched as Khnum
worked, her attention wholly on the pot taking shape beneath his
hands. Then it was her turn, and after a false start, she caught the
rhythm of the wheel and was away, concentration absolute as she felt
the slippery-smoothness of the clay, the curves and indentations
forming from the touch of her fingers.
With the test pieces placed side by side, Lucy anticipated a
debate about which shape to choose. She was happy with her vessel, a
stable-footed, round-bellied jar with a closed mouth. It would be
easier to stopper this type of jar and would safely secure anything
placed inside it.
Khnum’s vessel was taller and more elegant, not unlike the
canopic jars she’d seen in the museums. Long-sided with wide
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shoulders, it had a wider mouth than her design. Lucy could imagine
it made of alabaster, but doubted that clay could do its shape justice. It
was up to him, though—this was his commission, after all.
She watched him measure the two test pots, his expression deep
with thought. His hands were shoved in his back pocket, the pose
pulling his t-shirt tight across his broad chest. Lucy couldn’t help
letting her gaze linger on the stretch of the fabric, imagining the
muscles beneath.
“Yours is best,” he said suddenly.
She stared at him. “You think so?”
“Yes. It’s more womanly. Look at the curves on it.” He stroked a
gentle finger over the belly of the test pot. “It’s sensual, earthy…
pregnant with promise.”
Lucy dropped her gaze as heat filled her, a mixture of desire and
shame. Why did he have to mention pregnancy? But still, she was
pleased he’d chosen her design. Although it was simple, it had come
from her heart, her instincts guiding her hands.
“We will both take turns making it,” he said, fetching a fresh
lump of their chosen clay. “You go first.”
Lucy scraped down the wheel and watched as he settled the clay
in the very centre. With gentle pressure, she set the wheel in motion.
For a moment, she did nothing more than gaze at it, envisioning in her
mind how the finished jar would look. Only when she could see it
clearly did she reach out to dip her fingers in the water; only then did
she increase the speed of the wheel.
The first touch made her gasp in involuntary reaction. She
wanted this to be perfect, and already it felt perfect beneath her hands
as she eased the lump of clay into a pillar. Drawing it up between her
palms, she felt its smooth elasticity, its latent strength. As it peaked,
she pushed down with her thumbs to create a hole in the centre,
opening the clay into a wide-mouthed jar. She let it collapse,
instinctively feeling the weak points in the wall of the fabric, noting
the corrections she’d have to make when it came to producing the
soul-jar.
As she returned the clay to its lumpy state, Khnum touched her
shoulder. She glanced up at him, not wanting to leave the thrill of
creation, but then she relinquished her seat and watched as he worked.
His method was different from hers. Where she’d created a pillar
and worked down, he moulded the clay into a wide-hipped shape and
built up. An unusual technique but it suited him. She liked the way he
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handled the clay, keeping it moist but not too wet. His hands moved
over the fledgling jar with delicacy and care.
Lucy wondered if he’d touch her the same way.
Khnum formed a rough copy of her design before he collapsed it.
The wheel still spinning, he shifted on the seat and said, “Come. Sit
with me. Let us make it together, now we both have the measure of
this clay.”
She perched beside him, knowing that their positions weren’t
ideal. He gave an amused snort and moved so that she sat between his
muscular thighs. She could feel the heat and strength of his chest
pressing against her back as he leaned forwards to place his hands
over hers. An image flashed into her head—Demi Moore and Patrick
Swayze in Ghost—and she fought the urge to giggle. She’d always
taken her work seriously, even the fun pieces, and so she’d always
rolled her eyes when people asked her opinions of that famous love-
scene.
But now she realised that the act of creation shared by two people
had qualities unique to the work of a single person. As their hands
moved in unison to shape the clay, it was impossible to tell which of
them was the guiding force. Sometimes, feeling the gentle pressure of
his hands over hers, she thought it was Khnum. At other times, as she
let her fingertips caress the body of the jar to bring out a rounder
shape, she knew that she led the way.
The first attempt they collapsed by unspoken agreement. The
second felt curiously weighted in its base, and Lucy had no desire to
make an unstable jar. On the third try, they got it right. By then, they
had no need for words. Their minds and hands worked together as
one, their concentration focused on their creation.
And then it was done.
Khnum lifted his foot from the pedal, and the wheel came slowly
to a halt. They rested their hands together on either side of the soul-jar
and looked at it. Simple, full-bellied, a glorious deep sunset shade of
red, it had been made with care, with thought… and with love.
Lucy felt her heart overflow as she gazed at the soul-jar. Always
when she made a piece, it felt as if a little of her went into it—but
making this had intensified the feeling. For all its simplicity, it was
one of the most absorbing, intriguing vessels she’d worked on. She
felt proud to have been part of its creation.

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With great ceremony, they carried the soul-jar outside and placed
it on a reed mat beside the kiln. Lucy expected that it would take at
least a day to dry, but Khnum shook his head.
“A matter of hours,” he said.
“It’s hot here, but not that hot,” Lucy said with a laugh.
He smiled. “This is no ordinary jar. The usual rules do not
apply.”
She looked at him. “What shall we do while we wait?”
“What indeed.”
She kissed him. Hard, deep, feverish: and then she drew back and
whispered, “I don’t make a habit of this, but…”
Khnum smiled, his dark eyes alight with desire. “Overcome with
the Muse?”
“Overcome by creation. By you.” She trembled as he stroked a
hand down her back. “But maybe it’s a bad idea. I mean, we’ve only
just met, and…
“And we’ve just shared an experience that many people will
never know,” he murmured. “One of perfect creation. So I think it’s a
very good idea for us to share another kind of experience—as long as
this is truly what you want.”
Lucy gazed up at him. “Yes.”
Holding her hand, he led her back inside the workshop. When she
took a deep breath, she could smell the rich scent of the clay, the heat
of the sand and the wood-smoke of the kiln and the spicy, masculine
scent of Khnum’s skin.
She shivered at the delicious thrill of anticipation curling her
insides. She felt the warmth of his hand move across her belly,
stroking back and forth the way he’d touched the jar, his fingers
tickling. Lucy took a breath as heat raged through her. Under the
strength of his gaze, her pulse sped up, her nipples pushing at the
fabric of her vest, peaking hard as if craving his attention, his touch.
“Lucy… my perfect woman,” Khnum whispered, moving his
hand to brush the underside of her breasts.
She leaned back in the curve of his arm, her breathing
quickening, her breasts rising and falling rapidly as he got closer. She
tipped back her head, letting him kiss her neck, his lips soft and
knowing as he moved lower. Khnum let his tongue trace down into
her cleavage; then, as she murmured her pleasure, he buried his face
between her breasts.
She gasped, and then giggled. “Khnum!”
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He slid his hand higher and cupped her breast, his thumb rubbing
across her nipple. “Yes, my love?”
She was so astonished by the endearment that she couldn’t speak.
Her heart leapt with excitement. She tugged at his hair until he lifted
his head to gaze at her, and she read the truth in his eyes: yes, he did
love her, the same way she loved him—fierce and passionate.
He kissed her hungrily, his thumb still moving over her nipple so
that she twisted against him in helpless reaction. Her legs splayed,
allowing him to shove a muscled thigh between them, and she jerked
her hips, rubbing herself against him. Khnum dropped his free hand
from her shoulder, sliding it flat over her vest and jeans, his fingers
burrowing to tease at her clit. The friction of the denim catching and
stimulating her was intense; the pressure of his fingers just enough to
render her incoherent, her body flooding with lust.
He pushed up her top and yanked down her bra then covered her
breasts with both hands. Her nipples hardened, eager against his
palms, and she moaned softly when he dragged his hands down
slowly, his fingers spread so that he captured her nipples between his
index and middle fingers.
Khnum smiled down at her, his expression dark with arousal. Her
heart raced, the pulse beating at her throat and beneath his hand; and
then he scissored his fingers tight about her nipples. Lucy shivered,
streaks of fiery pleasure rushing through her. She clutched at his
shoulders as he bent his head and licked the tip of one breast, his
fingers still closed about her.
It was exquisite, a perfect tease of ecstasy that made her body
weak and fluid. With each curl, each lash of his tongue across the
peak of her aching nipple, she fell deeper into physical enslavement;
and then his fingers parted, and she felt the edge of his teeth. Mindless
with pleasure, Lucy nearly cried out when Khnum took his mouth
from her, only to whimper as he began to lick at her other breast.
“I want you,” she said, her voice husky.
“I know, my beautiful Lucy. I want you, too. This was fated. I
have waited so long for you…”
They collapsed onto the couch, wrestling with each other’s
clothes. Khnum unlaced her sandals, his fingers quick and deft; and
then she was kicking them free and wriggling out of her jeans. He
edged a hand beneath her lacy knickers, groaning at how hot and wet
she was. Lucy thrust up against him as he fingered her clit.

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“Hurry—oh, yes,” she panted, clawing at his clothes until he

stripped them off. “Please—quickly…”
“Slowly,” Khnum admonished. He pulled off her knickers and
sought out the centre of her with his tongue. She lifted her legs and
slid them over his shoulders, bucking up from the couch as he
explored her sex, darting his tongue inside and then slowly licking the
outer folds, up to circle her clit and then down to plunge inside her.
Lucy sobbed with excitement, her breath catching with each flick
and stab of his tongue. Her hips moved faster, her thighs rubbed by
the slightest brush of stubble on his jaw; then he shifted her, angled
her hips so he could lick her clit again, circling and sucking. She
rocked forwards, gasping as her orgasm built, jerking faster and faster
against his mouth.
“Khnum, oh please, oh…” she cried, her world tilting and her
awareness shutting down to sensation; and then he turned her onto her
front.
Lucy lifted up onto the cushions, frantic for release, desperate for
him to fill her. She clawed at the armrest of the couch as Khnum
guided his cock between her thighs, burying himself in her wet heat.
She clamped her thighs tight, squirming her hips back and forth
as she tried to recapture the rush to climax. She turned her head,
gasping into the cushions, feeling his weight above her. His deep,
powerful thrusts drove her to distraction as much as did the rough
drag of the quilt against her nipples. Khnum slid a hand beneath her,
his fingers pressing against her clit, rubbing and teasing until she
yelled, lifting her head, her body tense, tenser, her breath held–
“Oh, my love, yes,” Khnum whispered as she felt the first ripple
of orgasm. Her muscles flexed about him, and she lost control, crying
her pleasure aloud, her body bucking wildly.
Excited, he went deeper, harder; finally exploding within her,
gasping her name as he slid down on top of her.
They lay tangled for a long moment, damp and sticky; and then
Lucy groaned and rolled over beneath him.
“I never knew it could be like that,” she said, her voice faint with
wonder.
Khnum looked down at her. “You didn’t? Then your ex-partner
Dave was not a real man at all. I have much to show you about
pleasure, Lucy—if you’ll let me share such intimacy with you.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes, Khnum, yes. I want to share everything
with you.”
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****
The soul-jar was dry within a few hours, as Khnum had
predicted. Lucy picked it up from its bed of sand, turning it gently in
her hands to look at the faint mark of the reed mat on its base. She
took it inside and set it on the table, cleared now of the water and clay
samples.
Khnum sat opposite her, and they admired the jar in silence. Lucy
found her Amarna pebble and started to burnish the clay with swift,
decisive strokes. She usually found burnishing a tedious task, but this
time it was curiously restful. The thought of aligning all the clay
molecules so the surface was rich and glossy pleased her. Already she
could imagine how the jar would look once it was fired.
When she’d burnished half of the pot, she handed it to Khnum.
He finished the other half, bending over the jar to achieve the same
shiny effect she’d started.
Lucy watched him work, her hands clasped in her lap. The
languor of their lovemaking stayed with her, and her breasts and
between her thighs ached with unexpected pleasure. This day was one
she’d never forget, and yet she sensed that there was something
missing.
She cocked her head. It took her a moment to place it, and then
she realised that Banebdjedet had gone. She put a hand to her mouth
to stop a smile, pleased that the ba had given her and Khnum some
privacy for the last few hours.
Finally, the soul-jar was ready for the firing. Once again, they
went outside together. Lucy held the jar while Khnum opened the kiln
door and tested the temperature. Burnished ware had to be fired at a
lower temperature than usual to maintain its glossy finish, and its
surface needed protection from the heat of the kiln lest fine cracks
appear to mar its appearance.
Khnum wrapped a shield of bound papyrus stems around the
outside of the pot and then slid it inside the kiln. They both stood for a
moment, looking at it before the door closed again.
“Now we wait.”
“How long?”
Khnum looked at her. “We will know when it’s ready.”
They went back inside, and belatedly ate the food they’d bought
that morning in the bazaar. Lucy put on the necklace of lapis lazuli
and gold, piling her hair up onto the crown of her head to model the
effect of the necklace against her throat. Leaving on her necklace,
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Khnum undressed her again, leading her back to the couch where they
made love a second time. His kisses tasted of dark grapes, a scent
more potent than wine.
Later they talked, cuddled up together on the couch with the quilt
pulled over them and the fading rays of sunshine deepening as it
spread across the land in the day’s farewell.
“Now the sun god Re undertakes a dangerous journey,” Khnum
murmured, smoothing down Lucy’s hair. “He descends into the
Underworld in his solar bark and travels along the river of Night. All
manner of creatures and evils lie in wait for him. Sometimes none will
spring out at him, and his way will be clear; at other times he will be
beset from all sides. And yet, he must make it through this dark
domain because he has a message of hope to mankind. With each
sunrise, life begins anew. Darkness is banished. The light—and life
on earth—flourishes in Re’s embrace.”
Lucy sighed. “It’s a wonderful story.”
“It’s the truth.” Khnum pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Think of it
applied to your own life, too. Haven’t you travelled through darkness,
only to emerge in the light? Haven’t you experienced triumph where
there was once suffering?”
She nodded and squeezed his hand. “Thanks to you.”
“Not I,” he said emphatically. “You made the changes. For all
that we are locked into our destinies, the gods allow deviations from
time to time, if only we are brave enough to heed our hearts and
follow those new paths. This you have done.”
“But I leave Luxor the day after tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to go.” Khnum sat up, the quilt slipping down to
bare him to the waist. “I don’t want you to leave, Lucy Tomlinson.
Stay with me.”
She didn’t know how to answer him. It would be so easy to say
yes, but she had a life back home, a business that would only wait for
so long. How could she give that up… and yet how could she leave
Khnum?
Torn, she could only shake her head, pulling him closer.
They lay together in soft, warm silence as the sun dipped below
the horizon, and Re began his journey. The sky darkened, the hazy
blue turning black. Dusk and then night settled in the hut, and soon
the only sounds to be heard was the breathing of the kiln outside and
the beating of their hearts.

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Lucy drifted on the edge of sleep, aware of Khnum curled around

her protectively. She felt rather than knew the exact moment when the
soul-jar was ready. Her body jerked as if she’d been asleep, but her
voice was alert.
“Is it time?”
He’d felt it, too. Kicking off the quilt, he said, “Yes. It is time.”
Khnum pulled on his jeans and went over to the shelves. He
returned with a couple of candlesticks, which he set on the table. Lucy
watched him as he lit the candles, and then she got dressed and
followed him out to the kiln.
The heat had died down. Only a gentle glow met her when the
kiln door was opened. It was as if it had been cooling for a whole day,
and yet she knew it had been a matter of a few hours. If she needed
any more convincing that she was surrounded by ancient magic, it
was the behaviour of the kiln.
Khnum reached inside and withdrew the soul-jar. He carried it,
still in its protective wrapper, into the workshop and placed it between
the candles. Lucy thought she could hear him murmuring in that
strange tongue as he carefully removed the woven papyrus.
And there it was: the soul-jar, its burnished surface gleaming in
the candlelight, all rounded curves and grounded stability.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
“It’s perfect.”
There was a note of sadness in his voice, but when she glanced
up at him, Khnum shook his head. He smiled at her, slipping an arm
around her waist to draw her closer.
“Be proud of what we have achieved,” he said.
Lucy’s eyes welled with tears. “I am.”
They stood there for a moment longer, and then Khnum doused
the candles. “We should sleep now,” he said. “When dawn breaks, I
will take you back to your hotel. There are many things for you to
think about tomorrow. Thought is always clearer after a restful sleep.
Come.”
They settled down on the couch again. Khnum arranged the quilt
over their bodies and wrapped one arm around her waist, spooning
into her from behind. She felt safe in his embrace. His hand was warm
over the swell of her belly.
Lucy gazed through the darkness at the shape of the soul-jar,
fingering her necklace, and eventually, she fell asleep.
****
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The attack, when it came, was unexpected.

Lucy didn’t know what it was that woke her, but the sense that
something was wrong broke into her dreams. She gasped, struggling
against Khnum’s arm as she tried to sit up. He hushed her, holding her
still against his body.
She started to speak, but he whispered, “Remain quiet,” and so
she did. They lay there in a tense silence. Her gaze darted around the
workshop, and she jumped each time she heard the wood creak or the
breeze rustle through the roof.
Just as she relaxed, the back door crashed open.
Lucy jumped up, throwing off the quilt as she raced to the table.
“The soul-jar!” she cried. “We have to protect it!”
“Lucy! No!” Khnum grabbed her hand, pulling her back, but she
broke free.
Halfway to the table, she stopped dead, her gaze fixed on the
patch of silvered moonlight that shone through the open door.
Spoiling its perfection was a black shadow: a wide, hulking shadow
with a hideous head. A shadow with deep, hoarse breathing, that
snuffled in surprise as it saw her.
Slowly she looked up. Lucy forced herself not to react when she
saw the hideous being standing in the doorway. He had the body of a
man but the head of a monster—some kind of jackal or other dog-like
animal, with tall pointed ears and vicious eyes, but a long, down-
turned snout like an anteater. It resembled no creature on earth she
could name, but she recognised him all the same.
“Seth, Lord of Darkness, god of Chaos,” she said.
The monster stepped into the workshop, his gaze going past her
to Khnum. He snuffled in pleasure and then turned his attention back
to her.
“So, it is true. The potter-god accepted help from a mortal female
to make Osiris’ new soul-jar. How very quaint! And he has not just
chosen you for your skills in ceramic-making, I see.”
Lucy blushed, glad that the semi-darkness prevented Seth from
seeing her expression. She took a step closer to the table. “What do
you want?”
Seth’s ears flicked back in astonishment. “Why, I want the soul-
jar, of course. You are of no interest to me, mortal, so please don’t
flatter yourself. Your beloved Khnum could be something of a
challenge, but he knows better than to fight me.”

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“It was you who broke the original jar, wasn’t it,” Khnum said
from the darkness. “You, who’ve been so absent from our world for
so long. I knew it wouldn’t last. You were just biding your time,
waiting for the ideal opportunity…”
“I learned the value of patience a long time ago.” Seth shifted his
gaze from Lucy to Khnum. “Banished to the red desert for millennia,
do you think that could restrain me? Look at the wars and suffering
this continent has produced over the centuries! I am in my element
here. My power is on the ascendant, while yours, my dear Khnum—
yours, and that of all the gods—is waning.”
“You’re wrong,” said Khnum, coming across the floor to stand
beside Lucy. “The gods have adapted.”
“Adaptation is for lesser beings!” Seth snarled. “I pride myself in
remaining unchanged for all this time. Only the strongest of gods
could have the willpower to stay the same.”
“But if you don’t change, how can you grow?” Lucy asked.
Seth stared at her. “Grow? What need have I to grow? Stupid
human! This type of blabbering is why I broke the soul-jar in the first
place—to set Banebdjedet free, to make him vulnerable—and thus to
reduce the mortal world to confusion when the King of the Dead
could no longer pass judgement…”
“You wanted to capture him and separate him permanently from
Osiris’ body,” Khnum said. “It wasn’t enough that you destroyed your
brother once already. You had to try a second time.”
“And I will succeed!”
Seth pounced forward at the soul-jar, but Lucy grabbed it first.
She wrapped her arms around it, hugging it tight to her chest. She
reeled backward, trying to protect the jar as Seth roared and darted
around the table toward her.
“Stay back, Seth!” Khnum shouted, standing between them.
“The soul-jar. Give me the soul-jar, and I will let you live.”
“No!” Lucy cried. “You will not take it!”
Seth hissed and flung himself at Khnum. They struggled together,
but Seth was stronger, and he threw Khnum aside.
Lucy backed up against the wall, hiding her fear as Seth
advanced on her. The moonlight reflected in his glittering eyes and
gleamed from his fangs when he opened his mouth in a growl.
Then he stopped, his black gaze fixed on the necklace that shone
from Lucy’s throat. His pause of astonishment gave way to whispered
anger. “Woman! Where did you get that trinket?”
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Fearful that it was a trap, Lucy took a tighter hold of the soul-jar.
“In the market,” she replied. “The goddess Isis gave it to me.”
“Isis! That meddling bitch!” Seth looked furious, his snout raised
as he snuffled at her. “That necklace was fashioned by the hands of
Nut, the sky goddess—my mother—the mother of us all. Why are you
wearing it, mortal? What could possibly deem you worthy of such a
treasure?”
Lucy shook her head.
From the darkness, she heard Khnum groan as he tried to get to
his feet. She called his name, daring to glance away from Seth for
only a second.
“You love him?” Seth asked, as if reading her mind. “How
touching, a human loving a god. In that case, give me the soul-jar,
Lucy Tomlinson—or I will kill him.”
“You can’t kill a god,” she said.
Seth’s eyes glowed. “Oh yes, I can.”
“Lucy!” Khnum shouted. “Be careful—save yourself!”
“How noble.” Seth raised a hand and directed a beam of darkness
at Khnum.
“No!”
Lucy pushed herself away from the wall, shoving the body of the
soul-jar hard into Seth’s stomach. He doubled over with a cry of
shock, and she used that moment to dart past him. But he recovered
quickly, turning to grab at her. She was almost out of his reach, but
then she felt something cold and dark slam into her back, and she
tumbled forward.
She cried out as she fell, trying to twist her body to save the soul-
jar. She heard Khnum’s despairing shout and Seth’s laughter as she
lost her grip on it. Horrified, Lucy watched the soul-jar fall toward the
path of silver moonlight. Her arms took the brunt of her own collapse,
but she could do nothing to prevent the soul-jar from shattering into
hundreds of pieces.
Lucy hid her face against the floor. She didn’t want to see the
broken soul-jar. “Banebdjedet!” she called. “Banebdjedet, where are
you?”
Seth’s laughter stopped as he realised what she was saying. Lucy
felt herself hauled to her feet, and then Seth shook her. “Where is my
brother’s soul? It should have been in that jar!”

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“He is no longer here,” said a familiar voice, and from the

shattered pieces of the soul-jar arose a column of white light that
rivalled the brilliance of the moon.
Seth let go of Lucy, and she stumbled into the safety of Khnum’s
embrace. He held her tight, whispering words of love as the beam of
light expanded to illuminate the entire workshop.
“Isis!” she whispered, recognising the woman inside the light.
The goddess turned toward her. “Yes, my dear. I have come to
send my brother Seth back to the fiery desert from whence he
escaped. It pains me to do so, but alas, we siblings were not created
equally. Back when our mother Nut bore us, we had no Khnum to
fashion us on the wheel of life, and so we lacked the equal measures
of love, hate, hope, anger, faith and all the other emotions he poured
into humankind. Instead, we made do with what we had. Osiris was
born good—too good to live—and Seth was born evil.”
“Evil and chaos must exist to balance the world,” Seth said.
“Indeed it must,” Isis replied calmly, “but when the balance of
power shifts too much in one direction then action must be taken to
return the status quo. When you broke the first soul-jar, you declared
war on the rest of the pantheon. We had to find a way to trick you—
and to protect Banebdjedet.”
Seth growled. “Then where is he? Where is that snivelling little
ba?”
Isis smiled sweetly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She stepped
forward, the light moving with her until she stood close to Seth. Her
expression changed, became serious and disappointed.
“Brother, for your greed and jealousy against Osiris, I have been
charged by the council of the gods to banish you to the Siwah oasis
for the period of five centuries. Chaos will do well enough on its own
without you.”
“You can’t send me away! Isis—don’t do this! You’ll regret it…”
Lucy blinked, too astonished to make a sound, as the monstrous
deity faded away before her eyes, until, with a final ripple of air, he
was gone.
The light surrounding Isis dimmed a little, as if the act of exiling
her brother had robbed her of some of her power, but her smile
remained bright. She hurried toward Lucy and took her hands,
pressing her fingers.
“I’m sorry your beautiful soul-jar was destroyed, but it was the
only way we could hope to lure Seth here.”
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“So it was a trap all along…”

Isis shook her head. “Not originally, no. We fully intended to
install Banebdjedet in the soul-jar the instant it came out of the kiln,
but then we received information from Sobek and Bes that Seth was
on the move. We knew he’d come for the ba. It was too good an
opportunity to miss. I’m just sorry that it came at the cost of your
wonderful pottery.”
Lucy glanced up at Khnum, unsure what to say. The moment
seemed rather surreal. “That’s all right,” she said at last. “Glad I could
help.”
Isis touched her face. “What an adorable girl you are! Heaven
chose well.”
Before she could absorb this comment, Lucy asked, “What did
happen to Banebdjedet? He was here earlier, but then he disappeared
before we even put the soul-jar into the kiln. I was worried for him…”
Isis gave her tinkling little laugh, one hand to her mouth. “You’d
best tell her, Khnum. You have a part in this, too.”
“You do?” Lucy looked up at him again, and saw his proud
expression. He slid both arms around her waist, splaying his hands
over her belly in a protective and unmistakable gesture.
“Lucy Tomlinson,” he announced, unable to keep the smile from
his face, “you are with child. We are having a baby. A fine, healthy
son.”
She sagged back in his embrace; her mind whirling even as she
knew it was true. She could feel the change inside her, the promise of
new life.
“Banebdjedet?”
Khnum nodded. “He loves you. Not in the way that I love you
but in the way a child loves its mother. You heard him when he wept;
you responded to him when he laughed. You listened with your heart,
not your head, and in so doing, you won the devotion of a god.” He
paused and gave her an embarrassed grin. “The devotion of two gods,
actually.”
“But how can I be a god’s mother? I’m not a goddess!”
Isis laughed, laying her hand on Lucy’s belly. “Not a goddess
like me, no. But the woman who carries a powerful god in her womb
and who will birth a flesh and blood Osiris… why, she will be beyond
all mortal females. You may never have the might to move mountains
and make the Nile run backwards, Lucy Tomlinson, but you shall
have life everlasting, if you wish to remain amongst us. As
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Banebdjedet’s mother, you have the gratitude and respect of the

pantheon. We will be happy to welcome you to your rightful place.”
“But,” she protested again, weakly this time, “my life is in
England…”
“That doesn’t have to change,” Khnum said, moving to stand
beside her. “Although during those cold winters you told me about,
perhaps it would be better for us and for our child to return to Egypt.”
Lucy gazed at him. “You wouldn’t stop me working?”
He looked affronted. “No! In fact, I would be happy to add my
skills to yours. As equals. As partners. We can do this, Lucy. I love
you, and I want to be with you for all eternity.”
She smiled, hope and happiness filling her like the sunrise. She
held out her hand to him, and he took it. “Together,” she said.
“Together forever—you, me, and our child.”
Isis clapped her hands. “Oh, I love a happy ending!”
“There’s just one thing I need to know,” Lucy said. “Do we have
to call our son Banebdjedet? He’ll be teased something rotten at
school if we do.”
Khnum laughed. “No, my love. We can give him any name that
pleases us.”
“As long as his second name is Banebdjedet,” Isis interrupted.
She giggled and flashed them a grin when they both turned to her in
disbelief. “All right, then how about… Barney?”
Lucy spluttered, placing a hand over her belly as if she’d be able
to feel her son growing inside her. “We’ll think about it, okay? After
all, we’ve got nine months to pick a name for him.”
Khnum laid his hand over hers, his smile for her alone. “Nine
months to get used to being a goddess,” he said. “Nine months to
enjoy our miracle.”
Lucy smiled up at him, opening her arms for his embrace. “A
miracle,” she said. “I knew I was right to believe in miracles. They
can happen. They really can.”

The End

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Never Say Die

by
Anna Fallon
Imagine year 2150, spiritually enlightened, demons common as mud.
Violet and Tyler wake up dead, apparently trapped in a tomb...but are
they?

http://www.annaf.net/

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Never Say Die

by
Anna Fallon
Halloween night, 2150

Ty’s lips felt aflame with passion anytime he managed to press

them to Violet's mouth. He loved her plump, raspberry-colored lips,
but Violet allowed him very little kissing opportunity. His every
emotion needed to be conveyed through this kiss. The moment proved
to be one of those lucky times when Ty enjoyed a little more freedom.
No woman affected him like this, not only did he want to kiss her
endlessly; he wanted to fuck her mercilessly. She drove him crazy,
took his temper and his sexual want to the edge of reason. Women
always came to him easily, with the exception of Violet Symons. The
one Ty wanted and needed the most. He’d never been past first base
with Violet, unless second base meant her stinging slaps to his cheek.
If only his ass cheeks rang with those slaps, he would be in heaven!
Burning with inhuman lust, as she allowed his lips to roam over
hers, Ty hoped tonight to be the night she accepted him as her lover.
He welcomed her response as her mouth opened, giving his tongue
access. Knowing his chance might last only a few seconds, he tried to
pass on his feelings. Hopefully the hint would not be subtle. Their last
shared kiss did not do the trick. A whole six months ago and not so
much as a quick peck since. Violet played it cagey and demonstrated
extreme resourcefulness to avoid his advances. The words 'give up'
simply did not exist in Ty's dictionary, not when it concerned stealing
an opportunity such as this.
Making the most of this newfound freedom, he touched her soft
tongue with his. His cock immediately sprang up, ready for action.
Remembering the time her hand gripped at his erection only served to
inflame his desire. Chancing a little daring exploration, his fingers
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ventured to a hardened nipple. Ty longed to suck the elongated nub

into oblivion. He knew Violet loved the touch because her pelvis
thrust forward as he gently squeezed. Maybe this time. Hoping he
would get to show the depth his passion to her repeatedly with his
cock and by feasting on her dripping pussy. Perhaps this time, the
woman he loved and respected more than anyone else in the world
would let him show her how deeply he loved.
Trying to fuck anyone else now proved impossible. Once upon a
time, he could. Just after he and Violet first met, he still saw other
women. Before long, he imagined Violet was with him each time he
had sex with another woman. He longed for Violet to be with him
each time. Others only acted as poor substitutes. This left him
disappointed afterwards, and no woman deserved to be treated like
that. If he couldn’t give one hundred percent to any woman, even if
only for the night, he wouldn’t give anything at all. And so began this
torrid game of cat and mouse.
The kiss continued. Usually by now the slap landed, and they'd
argue over nothing. She proved to be feisty to say the least. Violet had
been emotionally hurt. Ty didn’t know how, and he never asked. God!
I don’t have that much of a death wish!
Perhaps, on this Halloween night, common sense would finally
prevail and she would take him to her soul, here in this alley. Wishful
thinking, his fingertips plucked at the captured nipple causing her
luscious body to push against his. Her tongue gently massaged along
his as a small moan escaped her throat. It took all of his concentration
not to throw her down and make her take him.
He let the thought of her moist mouth on his swollen cock linger
a little, but he knew he would come prematurely if he even imagined
such contact in the slightest. Home in the shower is okay, but here in
the flesh? Definitely not cool. Ever so lightly, Ty’s hand left her
breast and traveled lower, to brush her mound. Violet’s leg came up
to wrap around his. Bingo!
A neon glow penetrated his eyelids. He popped his eyes open. An
eerie glow filled the alley way. I've heard about getting the green
light, but this is ridiculous! A small, pointy horned demon, colored a
deep shade of green, waved a crystal, and Ty felt a searing pain inside
his head. Fuck, of all the timing to be usurped by a demon! Their lips
parted now, he felt Violet's hot breath on his cheek.
"What the f...?" she started.

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Feeling his consciousness drift off, he heard a distant, booming

voice. Tyler struggled to really understand what the voice said, it just
sounded so relaxing. His heartbeat slowed, and he let himself
succumb to the darkness
****
Waking up from what felt like a deep sleep, she felt the
constriction of something hard down either arm. Darkness blanketed
her eyesight, and feeling around she found herself entrapped in
something. Her mind searched for any type of recall. Nothing.
Nothing except... I’m dead? Wait a minute. I’m dead! She was dead
and had been that way for a long time.
Feeling around her again, she decided she must be in some type
of coffin. Freaky! Pushing upwards, a slight change in light told her
the lid lifted slightly. Well, at least they never nailed me in! Now who
am I? She strained to lift the lid. Neferhetepes...the only word to pop
into her head. Sounds Egyptian. She remained clueless as to what
happened, but she retained enough common sense to know all was not
as it seemed. For one thing, every thought and feeling she manifested
felt foreign.
The lid would not be lifted, despite her efforts. Then she heard a
noise, or thought she did so she closed her eyes and dropped her arms
to her sides.
A long, groaning creak ensued, and light flooded her closed lids.
Apparently, so her mind told her, this casket housed her for one
hundred years. It would be another hundred before she wanted to hear
that sound again. It grated on her ears like fingernails scratching down
a chalkboard.
“Somebody’s gotta oil this Goddamn thing!” a male voice
sounded. He sounded familiar but again fogginess clouded her brain.
She dared not move.
Something told her she belonged to the realms of the undead.
Hell, do I even believe in this shit? In her mind, she still felt young.
For the life of her, she just couldn’t seem to remember much at all.
Then she slowly opened her eyes, and whoever opened the lid seemed
to have disappeared. Raising herself on one elbow, she peered over
the side. Large stone columns rose up. The room, completely covered
with earthen paintings and etchings looking decidedly like the legends
of Ancient Egypt, glowed with long torches of fire.
As her eyes adjusted to the sudden change in light, Neferhetepes
looked in horror at her hand. Her skin wrinkled over long, thin bones.
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The leathery texture and yellowish color looked every bit the one
hundred years old. Oh yes, this is the undead look alright. Somehow,
she couldn’t see it becoming this season’s new black. Not even an
extreme makeover can help. So, am I a Mummy or what? Her mind
tried to deal with the weird situation now presenting itself. Crying
might be an answer; still, it wouldn’t change anything.
Total recall still eluded her as her mind insisted her name to be
Neferhetepes, and that Gulim put her here. The bright green form of a
demon entered her mind’s eye. What a fucked up name, Gulim! Ugly
little prick too. Her fogginess cleared a little more. All kinds of dark
green and warty going on with him. Neferhetepes remembered seeing
him just before... Ah yes and just after...oh dear. Somewhere in the
back of her mind, she recalled a hot kiss. She still struggled with her
name. Neferhetepes doesn’t quite sit right somehow. It was
Halloween, and that green light came...
Little by little, her memories filtered back. Enough to give a hint
of her life but not quite enough for her to be sure about anything, Now
who was I kissing before this Gulim turned up?
Gulim obviously performed a spell, which admonished her to the
realm of the zombie. Or whatever. Who knew why? Thoughts of her
hometown returned as memories filtered back. This type of thing
happened plenty in the neighborhood lately. What better time than
Halloween to test out the demon training wheels? If quick enough,
you could stop the amateur demons. Neferhetepes had been caught off
guard during the intense kissing and petting session. The arrival of the
demon did give her the distraction needed to get away from Nebtawi's
lips. Otherwise, I would have pounded the little green fucker into the
ground. Nebtawi...hmm that name, now who the Hell would I know
with a name like that?
A rush of recollection filled her head. At last, she could
remember her life, but the names still confused her.
The year 2150 brought spiritual enlightenment. Many people
openly contacted their spirit guides and vibrated to the higher
purpose, but every action has an opposite and equal reaction. An era
of the Demon followed, and anyone with bad intentions could
subscribe to Demon 101. The funny thing being, on Halloween night,
you never knew who dressed in costume and who really might be a
goblin, faerie or even a witch. The kids had to try so much harder to
look lifelike.

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One hundred years? That would make it the year two thousand
two hundred and fifty by rights? No way! So, why am I here? She
looked around a little and saw the gold, blues and reds of her body-
shaped casket. If it’s one hundred years from my time then why is
everything here looking like the inside of an Ancient Egyptian temple?
Something strange seemed at play, that much she knew for sure.
“Gulim…whatever his name is, will be deserving of a flying snap
kick when he crosses my path again.” I mean…he can’t do anything
worse to me. Neferhetepes thought about the kiss she now
remembered all too well, considering it supposedly happened one
hundred years ago. All the energy her mind expended in controlling
her urges and her body had the audacity to let her down.
Newatabi...oh, that name is so fake...on the other hand, never let her
down. With the rush of the sexual arousal came the feeling of
complete safety she felt when around him. That is what annoyed her
the most. She refused to get close to anybody; she could take care of
herself.
As his tongue had ravished hers, Neferhetepes wanted to have
sex there and then. With his hot hand exploring her breast and the
brush over her throbbing pubis, no wonder Her memory recalled the
pooling of intensity at her sex, just the thing she wanted to forget.
Nebtawi’s kisses, so electrifying, she’d actually considered doing
the horizontal tango with him, right there in the alley. Where the hell
is Nebtawi anyway? So much for looking out for me! Still she knew
her thought to be unfair. Her mind just would not stop questioning.
All of this seemed so surreal, but it was a little elaborate for a
Halloween joke.
Nebtawi… Always difficult to think of ways to avoid sex with
that man. Always there for her, always drop dead gorgeous. He knew
his way around the female form. The way he tweaked her nipples just
right put her into automatic sexual wanton. Soon her ‘one hundred
and one ways to avoid sex with Nebtawi list’ would be over, and she
might have to succumb. But then, she might never see him again.
Yes, Neferhetepes wanted him to touch her, lick her and drive his
oversize cock inside her. She definitely was not frigid. Having, kind
of, touched his hard on once, to see if maybe finding a small dick
might help her resist, that choice proved a big mistake. The exact
opposite pulsed momentarily in her hand. His well-endowed cock,
rock solid, reacted to her touch immediately. Neferhetepes reluctantly,

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but quickly, removed her hand from his enticing erection and slapped
his face...hard.
The slapping became a regular occurrence. The more aroused
Neferhetepes felt, the harder the slap Nebtawi received. He’s gotten
more face slaps from me than he’s had hot dinners. Fear kept her
from loving him and being loved by him. Fear of emotional pain, of
losing the thing that you loved most of all. The cost seemed much too
high to pay.
Going for the old ‘sit straight up in the coffin and scare everyone’
effect, she attempted to rise quickly. She failed. Her bones, creaking
and groaning, grated together in a most unbecoming manner.
“Freakin’ Hell, anyone would think I was a hundred!” a sarcastic
ring sounded in her words, a dry crackle scratched in her throat,
“Arrrgh! For fuck’s sake, can’t a girl even laugh?”
Sitting upright now, her eyes scanned the room, “Talk about
shabby chic!” She felt her teeth, all flat and normal. “Just my luck,
didn't even get turned into a vampire!” she grumped. Neferhetepes
always thought if she had to be anything undead, a vampire would be
cool.
“I hear you are your usual charming self, Neferhetepes,” a
familiar male voice said. Instant arousal warmed her body and that
pissed her off.
Her eyes locked onto a large shadow. She knew who it belonged
to and answered with hostility, partially from frustration and partially
because, for some reason, his voice gave her the shits at that moment.
Perhaps it might be the fact she’d almost admitted a need for him to
look out for her, or maybe she found it infuriating she wanted to
hump him so badly. Neferhetepes…Neferhetepes,whatever my last
name is, needs nobody.
“Whatever I did, it can’t have been bad enough to deserve you.
Why are you here, Nebtawi?” She made sure her voice sounded thick
with annoyance.
“If I fuckin’ knew that, do you think I would really be here with
your clapped-out bag of bones? You stink, too!” Nebtawi snapped as
he took a step back from her coffin.
“No shit, Sherlock! You think I’m gonna be crushed rose petals
after a century! Just piss off if you don’t like it!” She shot her answer
back at him and at last, something seemed normal. To think she’d
been sucking on his sweet tasting pink lips before Gulim arrived and
cast the spell on them.
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“Kiss your momma with that potty mouth? You tell me how to
get out of here, and I’ll be gone in a flash! I looked all around this
place and it’s shut tight. I heard a noise from in there and opened the
lid. You should be grateful I don’t close it up again!” he snapped
back.
She stretched her torso...and arms, every joint scratched together,
bone against bone. Neferhetepes winced, extending her middle finger,
giving him the bird. The drama dissipated in the slowness of the
movement. He laughed back at her feeble effort.
Nebtawi always lost his anger as quickly as it came and usually
followed it up with laughter. He saw the funny side of everything,
which had to be the reason they’d stayed friends all this time.
Neferhetepes loved the way he could cheer her up at her darkest
moments. They knew nothing of each other’s history, not really.
Neferhetepes had no idea what darkened his dreams, and she never
spoke of her inner torture.
Hell, she didn’t even know what he did in his spare time. She
never asked for fear of getting too close and Neferhetepes made it
perfectly clear getting close was out of bounds. Every time she
thought he was going to talk about his personal life she cut him short.
He worked at the hospital, she knew that much. The only other thing
she did know about him for sure, he always stood by her whether he
agreed with her or not. Theirs proved a strange friendship. Even
though close, they shared very little of their private lives with each
other. Now why on earth could she remember all these details and so
little of anything else?
Neferhetepes assumed he worked hard because sometimes she
never saw him for a couple of days. The circles under his eyes, after
these times, told her he hadn’t gotten much sleep. He always checked
in with her before he went home to crash. His sweetness, at times,
infuriated her because she didn’t want anyone to look after her; she
fended for herself.
No matter how tough she acted, Neferhetepes always helped
others and tried not to judge anybody. She had a very good reason for
needing to get into the spirit world. Somebody waited there for her. It
was far too risky to try and make contact before then. A playful spirit
could always intercept a message and change it completely.
Neferhetepes opted for the old-fashioned method of helping others.
Showing kindness and understanding came naturally to her. She
volunteered at the homeless shelter every week, cooking and serving a
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hot lunch. You would think, in the face of all the so-called
enlightenment, shelters like that would be a thing of the past. But no
matter how many came to see the path, just as many fell from it. She
held no interest in so-called fast-tracking, choosing simply to live her
life, figuring she’d have enough ‘contact’ when she left this life.
Spiritual enlightenment required a person to be at a certain stage
of her life. No matter what you tried to do to speed the process, it took
time. It also took the first hand experience of life lessons. Even then,
free will said there would be no guarantees. Some people just had to
learn the hard way. Neferhetepes would not take a chance on messing
things up.
After meeting Nebtawi on a blind date five years ago—well, five
years from when she landed here—their relationship had been
volatile. Guess I have known him one hundred and five years now!
She eyed him carefully, shadows cloaked his body. Neferhetepes felt
the immediate attraction to him, way back then, but risk getting hurt
again? Never!
Her husband walked out on her when she needed him most.
Therefore, Neferhetepes chose a life of personal emotional exile. This
proved easy until Nebtawi arrived, kicking and screaming, into her
life. It totally sucked how he pushed all her buttons. All she wanted
Nebtawi to do was give her a good, hard fuck, but she would not
allow herself that pleasure. She worried about the emotional hook.
So, she turned into Super Bitch, which worked every time,
normally. Only trouble being, Nebtawi stuck around. They’d
developed the kind of friendship where the person annoyed the fuck
out of you, but if bad stuff happened, you wanted him around.
Nebtawi, that name does not seem to fit him for some reason, her
mind argued. Still, her senses said that was his name. He broke the
uncomfortable silence building between them.
“Yeah, rightio, keep your hair on, Neferhetepes. I’m not happy
either. However, like it or lump it, we are stuck together. Apparently,
the big boss upstairs must think we have something to learn from each
other. So we’ll have to make the most of it.”
The mention of her hair brought her hand to feel the thick, straw-
like locks. She shuddered to think what it might look like. Nebtawi
stepped forward out of the shadows, and recognition stirred in her
belly. His taut, muscled torso looked so perfect, as it always did. But
now he positively glowed. Sexiness exuded from his pores. As much
as she pretended to dislike his character, she did have to admit he
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looked hot. His eye color deep, almost black. That’s changed, used to
be blue, she thought.
“What’s with the whole ‘I’m all that and a bag of potato crisps’
look, anyhow? Why aren’t you a shriveled up, pickled penis like me?”
Her eyes traveled the length of his strong looking body, his lower part
still hidden in darker shadow. Oh, what she wouldn't give to savor this
man's body with her lips and tongue. To taste his saltiness, lick his
cock, swallow his...she felt her heartbeat quicken slightly.
In a sudden moment of realization, her hand went to her chest. A
heartbeat! She felt a heartbeat! She looked imploringly at Nebtawi for
an explanation, “What the fuck? I thought I was dead?”
He grinned, showing his perfectly straight teeth, “I know. It’s a
freakin’ spin out, isn’t it. I have no idea why but, wait for the best
part, you get back to your old self. Well, your old young self…your
newer, younger old self!”
“Okay, Einstein, I get it.” Neferhetepes giggled as Nebtawi
showed an unusual lack of eloquence in speech. She watched in awe
as her hands and arms began to recuperate. She physically felt the
skin tighten on her face, the softness permeating her hair felt
heavenly. Running her fingers through, Neferhetepes held a handful
up in front of her. She noticed the jet-black color. She’d always had
dark hair, but this? Now her hair shone with a depth and richness
she’d never witnessed before, and the heavy mass hung well below
shoulder level.
The whole process took about fifteen minutes. Neferhetepes felt
very pleased with her transformation, her legs, long and shapely, her
skin boasted a golden glow and felt a soft as a newborn babe’s.
Neferhetepes gently ran her hand up her arm and over her shoulder.
“Holy Fucking Hera! Feels like I’ve been enhanced by a
computer or something.” Nebtawi nodded in agreement and just
stared, making Neferhetepes uncomfortable. “Jesus. What are you
looking at? Don’t tell me, I’ve got a flipping zit. Knew it was too
good to be true.”
Nebtawi’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and gasped,
“It’s your eyes. They are this amazing blue. I mean all of you looks
amazing, but those eyes are pure sex on a stick.” he swallowed
noticeably again. His intense gaze made Neferhetepes stage
intervention and stop the buzz of sexual attraction building between
them. Her nipples peaked in hopeful anticipation, but she refused to
yield.
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“Keep it in your pants, Lover Boy. They can’t be that good. You
haven’t come in a hundred years. You’d probably hump the leg of a
chair if you liked the cut of it!” Neferhetepes observed, with a slightly
nasty overtone. She wondered briefly if he was wearing anything at
all. Wish I could damn well see him properly!
Nebtawi let out an exasperated sigh “Damn it, Neferhetepes.
Can’t you take a compliment nicely for once? You may look good,
but your attitude sure ain’t sexy. The leg of a chair would be
preferable in my book; it’d be less wooden.” He dropped eye contact.
Intervention successful…this time. Neferhetepes felt a little bad that
she reacted so defensively and deliberately hurt his feelings. She also
felt a little thrilled at his admission that she looked good.
His words rang true. She could never take a compliment with
grace. Neferhetepes always felt compliments came with an ulterior
motive. Playing the bitch, a habit now, seemed the only thing that
worked, using it for self-protection so she would never get hurt again.
Her heart ached every time the thoughts of her loss crossed her mind.
It remained far from resolved. Neferhetepes avoided having to deal.
Still, everyone else shouldn’t have to suffer, she supposed, especially
Nebtawi. Feeling more than a little guilty, she attempted to make
amends.
“Yeah well, you don’t look so bad yourself.”
Nebtawi chuffed his breath out through his teeth “Jesus, don’t
knock yourself out.” he paced a little more. He obviously harbored
building frustrations over their situation.
Anger formed inside her again. What is the point of trying to be
nice? She glared at him. He turned his back to her like a spoilt child.
Then her eyes fell to his butt. He stood in the path of one of the many
narrow streams of light entering the temple from the high windows.
No clothing! She drew breath sharply. Now that is sex on a stick! Her
renewed body ached for him. Boy, would she like to spank those
puppies!
The perfectly paired and rounded cheeks protruded out from the
top of two muscled thighs. Neferhetepes licked her lips, and then
realized she sat naked as well. Shit! Luckily, her hair fell low enough
to cover her tits. Not that they were ever much over a plump handful.
She considered he wouldn’t have noticed them anyway. However,
looking down now, they’d definitely increased in size. But his ass?
He'd really hit the jackpot there. She imagined the slapping sound of

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her hand landing on its firmness. Holy frickin’ God, why am I thinking
this way?
The silence took on the same eeriness as when the demon
attacked in the alley—thehe moment her lungs no longer functioned
and her heart slowed to a stop. A memory began to seep back into her
mind. Although unconscious, her mind had been aware of her life
slipping away. Somewhere in the distance, she’d heard a booming
voice, commanding.
“You will remain in the carcass state, for one century. When you
wake, you will have a chance to redeem your life. Do you agree?”
The voice spoke to her clearly. “If you fail redemption, you will be
doomed to eternity in the bowels of the earth. Do you agree?”
Her mind had answered. Drama Queen! Of course, I fucking
agree! What am I gonna do, take a one-way express ticket straight to
the bowels of the earth? I’ll take the scenic route please?
Neferhetepes never lost her sense of humor. She’d assumed it had
been the voice of God talking, so she agreed. Who wouldn't?
“So…is there anything here that remotely resembles clothing?”
she asked trying to sound casual, Neferhetepes kept her eyes above
his waistline. Luckily, the shadows loomed at the right spot when he
turned and moved forward, which is why she never noticed anything
in the first place. Eyes up, girl, eyes up, her mind willed.
Nebtawi grinned back at her and handed her a musty cloth. He
held it from her just a little longer than he needed to. His near-black
colored eyes revealed the depth of his desire for her. Flushing pink,
she snatched it from his hand and dropped her gaze first. He turned
his back again. A low throaty chuckle erupted from him.
“Get fucked, and don't turn around till I’m done,” she ordered,
knowing he won that round. Neferhetepes lifted herself from the
coffin. The scratchy Hessian-like cloth wrapped around her, sarong
style. The icy cold slate floor caused her to wince as her feet touched
the stone.
“Oh. Wishing me luck, are you? I’d love to get fucked. Love to
put this massively enhanced dick into a pussy and ream away.” He
fished for a bite as he stood there, back still turned, dry thrusting at
the air, wrapping the smaller strip around himself, loin-cloth style.
“Put that fucking thing away and try using your brain for once!
Could sell your brain as new, on account of you never having used
it!”

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Nebtawi faced her now and took a step closer. Neferhetepes’s

pussy ached and throbbed for him to use his cock on her. Arrgh! Get
out of my head!
“How original! You’d think after one hundred years in suspended
animation you would have thought up a new comeback or two.” He
turned to face her and pretended to beat his chest, “Me Tarzan, you
Jane” he pointed from himself to her.
“You Idiot. Me Unlucky." her laugh echoed around the enclosure.
Her eyes noticed his protrusion tenting the front of his loin-cloth.
Love a taste of that cock...Christ! Enough. Neferhetepes changed the
subject. “I want to know what the go is with this situation we’re in.
Do you have any idea what this is all about? I mean this is an ancient
Egyptian Temple, isn’t it?”
“It sure looks like it. But how would we get from the United
States to ancient Egypt, be dead a hundred years and yet end up back
to the beginnings of civilization. More to the point why? All I can
work out, from the voice, you heard the voice, right?” Nebtawi
continued when she nodded her head.
“All I can work out is that we have to pass some sort of test to get
our lives back, or we get stuck in a really bad place for a really, really
long time.” He looked serious as he continued, “You know,
something seems strange about this whole thing. I can remember how
we got here—that demon, Gulim I think, with a face like a duck’s ass
in convulsions. He’s kinda familiar for some reason. I can remember
my life before the demon. I can remember you, but our names seem
weird. But still I have a void in my brain.”
“You sound perfectly normal to me.” Neferhetepes quipped.
Nebtawi gave her a half serious-half amused look, which only
increased his charm.
“Left myself wide open for that, didn’t I?” he asked, giving a
dazzling smile.
Neferhetepes suspected he might be a little scared. Truth be
known, she felt the knot of nervous tension in her stomach as well.
Maybe this is what you have to do to get into to Heaven. She really
hoped Heaven did exist, the thought of never seeing...Instinctively,
Neferhetepes allowed her fingers to entwine in Nebtawi’s as she
wiped out that line of thinking. He gripped back.
For a moment, their pulses beat as one, and a strange feeling
washed over her. A feeling of total satisfaction, like when you finally

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fit together a jigsaw puzzle that’s as hard as a bull’s forehead. Then,

realizing her moment of weakness, she dropped her hand from his.
“I just wish I knew why I have this strange feeling that my mind
is playing tricks on me. I have the name George floating around in my
head.” she pondered out loud.
“George! That’s it! You know George. He always stuffed things
up and is as clumsy as hell. He must have taken a potion and signed a
demon contract, the stupid little fuck.” Nebtawi looked pleased with
himself.
Neferhetepes remembered George now, clearly. He’d been
hanging around the neighborhood since he’d been a hairy-assed
schoolboy, maybe about eight years ago. His father ran out on the
family of five children, his mom worked long hours for very little pay
and George mostly supervised the younger siblings. She’d seen them
at the Shelter’s Sunday Roast a few times. George did what he had to,
to bring food to the table. He acted tough and thought he was a big
man. Like everyone down on their luck, she supposed, he must have
dreamed of the ultimate thrill of Demon Power.
Trouble being, it was a quick fix and highly addictive. Once you
started, only the strongest of will could come back. Just another party
drug really, but with more dire consequences. The dark side promised
folk down on their luck things like world domination, a chance to feel
like they were somebody. It gave them nothing but a quick hit of
intense power and then a huge let down. They craved more and more,
and the deeds they performed for it increased in seriousness.
“You know he came on to me one night.”
“He did? It’s a wonder you let him live.” Tyler grinned at her.
Violet stuck out her tongue.
“Well he ain’t made of wood,” she laughed, “but he certainly got
a refusal.” Useless as a hat full of assholes though; the reverse Midas
touch would describe George aptly. He seemed to have his heart in
the right place. Probably just thought this was a good idea at the time.
No doubt finding an escape from his nightmare life was premium
motivation. Still, Neferhetepes wanted to throttle him. He had no right
stuffing around in other people’s lives. If George tried to pull off a
spell, she doubted they would have been here for a century. He got
edgy waiting for a five-minute microwave meal at the shelter on the
nights he’d called in cold, wet and hungry.

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“When I see George again, Gulim or not, I’m going to make sure
he goes down for good. He was a total pain in the ass as a human. I
don’t see why he should be any different as a demon.”
Nebtawi laughed, “Yeah, I bet he’s still the same cock-up he’s
always been. Big on words and low on effect. He couldn’t even pull
off a minor armed robbery. Remember that time he held up the drug
store, and the little six year old girl kicked him in the shin for pointing
the gun at her grandma?” he chuckled hard now.
Neferhetepes looked on, amused, as her memory of the incident
flooded back, and she continued the story for him because laughter
had the better of him. His deep, rolling laugh infected her, and she
chuckled along with him.
“Yeah, and when he doubled over to rub his shin, the old girl
walloped him with her handbag and knocked him out cold,”
Neferhetepes laughed loudly.
Gasping breaths in between guffaws, Nebtawi clutched at his
ribcage, and tears rolled down his reddened cheeks. “Then the
paramedics came and carted him off to hospital
overnight….because…because the silly old duck had half a brick in
her handbag.haaaa haaaahaaahaaa….”
It took a good ten minutes for them to recover from the laughing
fit. Neferhetepes presumed the pressure of the situation found its
release through the mirth. She finally spoke “Still, he is gonna get it
when he shows his face around here. I really hate it when I feel I have
lost control over anything.”
Her voice took on an unusual vulnerability, which must have
proved too much for Nebtawi. Grabbing her hand again, he swished
her over, pressing his hot lips onto hers. Nebtawi always gave her the
most passionate kisses she’d ever known. Those kisses threatened to
break her resolve. Her legs felt like they had turned to jelly, and she
sensed her resolve teetered on the brink of surrender.
****
Gulim snorted. He'd heard Violet and Tyler, now Neferhetepes
and Nebtawi, “Damn fools,” he roared. “No idea what they are in for.
I’ll put them into eternal damnation before they realize what is going
on.” His hand automatically went to the place the handbag had hit him
and rubbed in remembrance. He swooped across the room, drawing
his heavy red and gold brocade cape with him. It clipped a wooden
stand and sent the large decorative urn flying, the crash of pottery
sounded. Shit, there goes another one!
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He watched and heard the pair in his crystal ball, a crude means
of spying these days, but still effective. Anyhow, he'd only been a
demon for two weeks and hadn’t quite gotten the hang of telepathy or
body inhabitation yet. The year 2150 would be his year. Finally, he
could achieve what he’d coveted for so long, power. No longer would
he be the poor kid who amounted to nothing, and not only that, he
would be the boss for a change. Might get some respect then.
“The funny thing is, those two weaklings think they are one
hundred years old,” he chuckled. But that had been all smoke and
mirrors and some basic mind control. Gulim knew he’d left out one
ingredient, but so far, the spell incantation seemed to be working well,
except for the mispronunciation of one word. Gulim had tried to
straighten out the page of the spell book and smudged dirt over some
of the words.
Now he realized the words Ancient Egypt should have been
Ancient Eclipse. The pair went back to a temple of many thousands of
years ago. Ah well, no harm, no foul. He found a couple of original
Egyptian names and got on with it.
Leaving out the root of the magical native sugar bush was his
only other mistake. Not adding it would make them view each other
in a renewed light. They would see and feel every sexual aspect of
each other enhanced.
Gulim figured it wouldn’t hurt if they had a shag, give him more
time to perfect his entrance. His materialization skills needed more
work. Still getting off on the fact he had slipped under the demon
contract radar, he laughed out loud, “I am so brilliant. I knew I would
find a loophole in that contract.”
The pair lay in the catatonic state for a week and Gulim re-
programmed each sub-conscious, with crystal power and ancient
herbs, to believe they’d been dead for a century. The only part he
managed to get right was the body decay. That aspect performed to
perfection, and their bodies really became the way they would be after
one hundred years, properly embalmed. Least I got that, he thought
proudly.
The contract clearly stated the final pair must know they had
been in suspended animation for one hundred years. Gulim, who used
to be called George, focused in on the word ’know’. In his
reckonings, they didn’t need to be that age. They just had to believe
they were that age. Technically they would know it. He thought
himself very clever.
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Being a Soul Collector Demon proved hard work, so after a week

he decided to try the fast track. He could hear his father now, “no
tenacity, can’t stick to anything!” Gulim’s own greed and desire for
eternal life led him from being a young, unsuccessful robber to
potions and rituals for an easy way to power and longevity.
Apparently, it took dedication and determination to become an
effective demon. The best ones did the hard yards. You had to be
committed to the program to really succeed in Demon-hood. That’s
what he’d heard anyway.
Of course, at the time he took the potion, George didn’t know he
needed to spend time collecting five hundred souls to achieve his
dream. The old school demons said anything under a century of
experience meant you couldn't be considered a ‘real’ demon. Well, I'll
show them. Gulim never bothered with the small print, a policy he
may have to change. Even the fucking demons had gone for revenue
raising. Then he found the ‘or’.
Clause 489: The said Demon (soul collector) must
collect five hundred (500) souls for demise by any
means necessary or find two (2) souls earmarked for the
higher purpose and have them donate a minimum of
five hundred (500) souls to the Underworld. In the
process of their donation, they would be awarded the
ecstasy of a life without emotional pain.
Clause 500: The said donation by the two (2)
must be made via natural disaster, accident or
supposed act of terrorism.
Clause 500a: If the said two (2) should fail, the
acting Demon would then face eternal damnation
without a chance of parole, unless one of the said
two redeems him.
If, by chance, Nebtawi and Neferhetepes decided to sacrifice
themselves instead of choosing a life of perfection back on Earth,
Gulim would be defeated. The ritual he’d performed, to rule in the
world of darkness and collect souls for damnation, would be broken.
He himself would face eternity in pain and turmoil.
He had chosen this pair very carefully. He knew them personally
on the Earth plane and hated the ribbings he’d gotten from them on
regular occasions. They had a wild streak and a strong attraction to
each other.

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Nebtawi had been quite a regular with the ladies before he made
friends with her. Every woman who met him wanted to fuck him.
He’d used sex as a way to feel loved after abandonment during his
childhood, yet he was afraid to commit. Lately he'd abstained from
sex altogether. Hey, this soul reading shit is a blast.
Neferhetepes--well, she became strong and fiercely independent,
to a fault, after the loss of her baby. Plus her worm of a man left her.
This became the exact combination Gulim needed.
Nebtawi couldn’t commit his love but longed for the
unconditional love most children received from their parents.
Neferhetepes feared closeness with anyone, after the loss of her
child, but craved it all the same.
He would take them back to a time when she could have her baby
again, and he could know a traditional family life, two loving parents,
and the whole crock. It would be perfect, and Gulim could finally
leave his shitty world behind.
Neferhetepes and Nebtawi both had losses in their lives they
would give anything to change. Surely, they would never refuse this
opportunity, no matter what sacrifice humankind had to make. After
all, what harm would another tsunami or bombing do?
The planet had plenty of humans. The pair was already reserved
to go to the higher plane because of the incredible losses they’d
suffered and their undying will to serve others. If they decided to
sacrifice human lives, the action would send the soul of any person to
the Underworld. The conversion of essentially good to evil held a big
reward for the demon that succeeded. If he could convince them, even
unknowingly, to gather souls for him this way he would be a powerful
demon in no time. All he had to do was make them an offer they
couldn’t refuse.
“I will have eternal life. I will prevail.” Gulim swished his cape
again as he placed himself in the meditative position. Never being the
most graceful human, he trod on the corner of it and tripped over,
bumping his head on the floor, “fucking thing.” These types of traits
often carried through into Demon-hood. He prepared for the
ceremony carefully.
****
Neferhetepes broke away from the hungered lips inflaming her
body. Her hand landed squarely on his cheek, and the slap resounded
off the thick walls. “What the freak do you think you are doing?” she
demanded.
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“Taking up where we left off, ouch!” Nebtawi rubbed his cheek,

which reddened into the outline of her fingers. “Bitch!”
The man would not be put off this time, and he scruffed her
again. Holding her head between his hands, he softly kissed her
mouth and tickled his tongue along the outline of her lips.
Neferhetepes felt her jelly-like legs return, and her mind panicked. I
can’t keep this up forever.
“Neferhetepes, I don’t know what it is that has caused so much
hurt and fear in your life. Please, let me help you?” His dark eyes
begged her to love him, to feel his love, and Neferhetepes felt tired.
She felt tired of fighting alone, tired of waking up alone, tired of
being frightened. Tears formed as she looked back at this dear, sweet
friend who proved his devotion to her time and time again. No matter
how badly she treated him, no matter how awful she was, he always
came back. Nebtawi looked out for her all these years, remaining the
only one she turned to when things became too hard to deal with.
Nebtawi must have sensed the crack in her emotional armor and
seized the moment, “Neferhetepes, I love you. I’ve always loved you
since that first night you stormed off and called me a wanker. Now, I
don’t know why you are so defensive, but I do know that defensive
people are hurting inside.” He held her closer, “One thing I do know
for sure is that hurting people need unconditional love. Because I am
hurting and I long for unconditional love.”
Another sweet kiss drifted across her lips. Neferhetepes exhaled
and in a shaking voice said, “What makes you think I’m capable of
giving unconditional love?”
Nebtawi’s eyes smiled back at her, “Because I’ve watched you
with injured animals, sick children and homeless people. I have seen
you stand up for the bullied and want to help the ones everyone else
turns their back on. Neferhetepes, you know no other way to love.
Even when someone seems bad, through and through, you still have
empathy for what they must have faced to become that way. I swear
you would rescue the Devil himself if you could.”
She smiled. He had her pegged, all that time and energy she spent
trying to act tough and uncaring, shot down in flames. Through her
grin, she said, “I bet his parents were tough.” Once more, they
chortled together, quietly, his arms tightly around her.
“Oh. Neferhetepes, you are a loon.”
This time she kissed him like there would be no tomorrow. Every
ounce of hurt and pain flooded into that kiss as she gave herself over
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to him. Desire burned hotter than molten lava. She throbbed with
every touch of his tongue onto hers. Her body relaxed against him,
and his erection pressed into her abdomen.
“Oh God, I love you so much!” he breathed.
He kissed her neck, ears and face. Her leg came up and hooked
around his legs, conveying her need. Raising her off the ground, he
sat her on the edge of the marble block holding the colorful gold and
blue casket. At least there would be no worries about underwear
getting in the way. She winced a little at the coldness of the stone but
spread her legs wide for him, ready to feel what she had denied
herself for so long. His tip pressed to her slick furrow. Neferhetepes,
with no doubts this time, pulled him to her.
He entered her easily; no need for any more preliminaries. The
feel of his hot cock inside her gave her goose bumps all over, she felt
her vagina clench around his shaft. He looked into her eyes with pure
adulation as he stroked in long, patient movement. With each slow
thrust inwards, he held himself inside her pulsing pussy for a few
seconds.
This action held her at the brink of orgasm, almost enough to
bring her off, but not quite. Not wanting to admit complete surrender,
the lack of command bugged her and she needed to come really badly,
Neferhetepes decided to call the shots.
“Lay on your back, Nebtawi!” she ordered. He smiled. Saying
nothing, he removed his stiff penis from her and looked at the floor.
Neferhetepes jumped down and lay her rough sarong on the ground
for him.
“Why, thank you M’lady” he chuckled, proceeding to lie on his
back. His hardened prick piercing the air, Neferhetepes moved to
lower herself onto him. As she slid onto his full length, a flash of
pleasure erupted within her, to be so filled felt sublime. At the same
time, a flash of memory returned. She grunted her pleasure.
“Ty…your name is Ty. Tyler Robert Whitney to be exact, I knew
your name wasn’t Nebtawi.” She moved up and down on his cock,
shuddering with pleasure. “I am going to fuck you Ty. I have wanted
you for so long now. I am going to fuck you good!”
“Ty…Ty Whitney, of course. And you are…you are…Violet!
Yes, that’s it! Remember? I used to call you Violent instead,” he
thrust upwards to ram his cock fully into her.
“Violet! Yes, Violet Symons.” She felt relief at the memory
recall and urgency at the approaching orgasm. Her pace increased,
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and Violet planted her feet flat on the floor bouncing on the rock-hard
erection he offered. Her clit pressed to his pubic bone on every stroke.
Neferhetepes wanted to suck him as well, but there was no time for
that right now. She felt her breasts bouncing and then the firm grip of
his hands around them. Her head lay back, letting her jet-black hair
cascade around her. Violet felt the orgasmic pressure building inside.
Even the tips of her fingers tingled as Tyler pounded up into her.
Impaling herself onto him as hard as she could, the fullness of her
pussy almost pushed her over the edge. His fingers pinched and
pulled at her rigid nipples. Her eye contact locked onto his, and the
power of true love surged between them. Closer and closer, she
moved to a long-awaited orgasm she knew would be earth-shattering.
Violet groaned as Ty thrust. She had almost hit the point of no return.
“I love you, Violet,” his voice rasped.
“I love you, Ty.”
In that split second, Gulim appeared. Standing next to them, he
exclaimed, “Oh fuck, this was supposed to be a practice run. Of all
the times to get it right.” Gulim took a step back, and his eyes
widened. “Uh Ohhhh!”
Violet glared at him, absolutely livid. She stood up and before he
could blink twice, she smashed her fist into his jaw. Gulim dropped to
the stone floor, out as cold as a maggot. Violet swiped her hands
against each other twice and said to his unconscious body, “Never get
between me and my orgasm.”
Then as if nothing happened, she jumped back onto Ty’s prick
and humped as hard as she could. Ty looked a little surprised and
amused but began work on her nipples once again until the climax
erupted from her. Her cry echoed around the dull gray brick. The
orgasm went for minutes, not seconds. Years of built-up frustration
and anger flowed from her body. Her eyes shut tightly as she let the
feeling wash over her, and then she saw it. A glowing white light
beyond her consciousness, the feeling of well-being and safety
stronger than she’d ever felt before. Opening her eyes slowly, she saw
Ty with a sublime look of satisfaction and wonder on his face.
“Oh shit, did you come?I‘m so sorry I wasn't paying attention. I
had the strangest feeling just then.” Violet had no recollection of his
orgasm, but judging by what escaped from her pussy at the moment,
he had come, in a big way.

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“Are you kidding? You went off like a vibrator around me, and
when you opened your eyes just now, a white light glowed from them
for a second. You felt amazing.”
“I’m not sure what happened, but I know it felt incredible.” She
looked over at Gulim still sprawled on the floor. “Oh dear. Do you
think he’ll be okay?”
Ty roared with laughter. “Jesus. You nutter. You just gave him a
punch that would have laid out a rhinoceros, and now you are worried
about him.” Violet laughed as well. He hugged her to him.
“Well, the stupid idiot should pick his entrances a little more
carefully.”
“We’d better see what George has to say if we ever want out get
out of this mess. Somehow, I don’t think we should have remembered
our names. And knowing George, he tried to take a shortcut or two,”
Ty reasoned.
Violet kissed him and moved sideways, easing off his now semi-
soft dick, “You are always right, I hate that about you.”
“I know” he grinned.
“Don’t think this means I am going to be nice to you all the
time.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I will still bust your ass when I need to, and I’ll probably be
demanding and moody.” She stood up.
“Looking forward to it!” he said matter-of-factly, standing as
well. Violet wondered why it took her so long to admit her feelings
for him, and then she remembered her loss that Tyler still didn’t know
about. She grabbed up her material square and covered up. Ty had his
cloth cover on now also.
Gulim sat up, touching his jaw gingerly, blinking repeatedly. The
pair watched him. He stood, wobbled a little and blinked his eyes to
focus on them. Seeing Violet, he took a step back and grabbed the
edges of his cape. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, waiting
for him to speak. He stood up straight and swooshed his cape around
him in a royal-like gesture.
“Neferhetepes and Nebtawi, you are the prisoners of Gulim, Soul
Collector Demon. I have your lives in my hands. You will bow to
me.” Gulim raised his hand and held it up.
“Knock it off…George, you fucking mental case.” Violet spat the
words at the lime green-skinned pseudo-demon, “and by the way our
names are Violet Symons and Tyler Whitney.”
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“How did you know that?” George demanded, running his hand
over his wart-encrusted chin, clearly shocked at her knowledge.
“I fucking remembered, you little toss-off. Now, what the fuck is
going on here?” Her voice came loud and demanding. George took
another step back and re-set himself, his pointed tail seemed to
instinctively cover his genitalia. Violet took one step toward him.
Tyler touched her arm, and she halted as George bravely spoke again.
“You have a choice to make, the choice of your life. You can be
banished to the pits of the Underworld and remain in pain and torture
for eternity, or you can return to a better life, with every desire
answered, if you donate five hundred souls.”
He seemed to rush it all out at once as if hoping they wouldn't
understand half of it.
Ty spoke now, “Five hundred souls? What the Hell is that
about?”
“Well, people die everyday. It’s no biggie. You just order a
natural disaster or something, no problem. It doesn’t have to be
anyone you know personally. Plenty out there starving anyhow,”
George answered casually.
“You really are stupid, and crazy. As if we are going to do that?”
Violet retorted.
“Don’t be so sure. There is something you should see before you
decide. This is how your lives could be.” George waved his purple
crystal, and a scene materialized in the corner. Not on the wall like a
film, it actually appeared there.
Violet saw a fairground and a single little boy; he must have been
five or so, a real little cutie. She heard Ty gasp and turned to see him
on his knees, staring. The small boy wandered around, looking lost
and terrified. His tiny voice carried through the crowd, but everyone
walked around him.
“Mom? Mommy? Daddy? Where are you?” Tears rolled down
his tiny face as the daylight began to fade. He screamed now
“Mommeeeee! Mommmeeeee! Come get me! I’ll be good, I promise.
Mommy...”
Violet tried to run to him, but she seemed glued to the ground.
Her heart broke all over again for her own loss. The tears dripped
down her face.
Ty cried out to the young boy. “It’s okay, it’s alright. You’ll be
fine. Don’t be scared.”

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Ty felt tears streaming down his cheeks but was powerless to

stop them. If a freight train hit him, he doubted it would have more
impact than the what played out before him now. His past. The young
boy turned to him with identical-looking eyes. It was very
disconcerting to stare into the terror of your own eyes. This little boy
was Tyler Whitney, aged four years. His parents left him at the
fairground, alone and scared. Tyler, the man, relived the horrid
feeling in an instant. A flash of anger rose in him, but he heard the
tiny voice.
The boy remained focused on him. “Where’s Mommy and
Daddy?” he asked.
Ty sobbed back to him “I don’t know, I don’t know where they
are, I don’t know where they went. I’m sorry.”
The young boy looked all around him. Turning back to Tyler, he
gasped his words out, “Was I naughty? I won’t be bad anymore, I
promise. Tell Mommy I won’t be bad anymore. Make them come
back and get me.”
“I can’t, I can’t. I tried, but I can’t find them.” Ty’s whole body
relaxed into a defeated slump. Taking the child in his arms, he held on
for dear life. His sorrow ached within. They’d seemed so happy. Why
did they leave him behind? His gut felt torn. Together the young Ty
and the older Ty cried out, “Mommy, Mommy, where are you?” Tyler
felt four years old again, and he couldn’t think clearly.
“Tyler, darling, there you are. Tyler! I was so scared I’d lost
you.” A beautifully dressed and groomed brunette rushed to the little
boy and threw her arms around him.
“Mommy! You found me!”
“Of course, I found you, silly. I would never let you go. I would
search for you forever if I had to. I’ll never lose you again,” she said
as her tears fell.
Adult Ty looked up and over at her, “Mommy?” Lifting the little
boy off the ground, the woman walked to Ty and put her other arm
around his shoulders. A wave of instant peace passed over him. “You
came back?”
“Yes Tyler, darling, I am here. I looked everywhere for you.”
A man in a suit came running over to them.
“You found him, thank God for that.” He ruffled big Ty’s hair
and kissed the little boy on the cheek, “Boy, you sure had us
worried.”
“Sorry, Daddy, I’ll be careful next time,” little Ty chimed.
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“It’s not your fault, son, don’t ever think that. Well, we can go
home now. I swear your father would never have left this place if you
hadn’t turned up.” His mother hugged him tightly.
Tyler recognised something in those words. Something he should
have always known: his parents never stopped looking for him.
Looking deeply into the eyes of his real mother, he knew that fact to
be the truth. They just could not find him. The people he now called
Mom and Dad, the ones who took him from the fairground that day,
had passed away. But maybe some research might help him find out
why he never made it back to his family. Luckily he’d always known
family love with his new family, but nothing could ease the torment
that his true parents had left him behind.
“You never stopped looking for me.” Tyler squeezed her hand.
"Come on, let's go home by the fire, we can play a board game
and have cocoa." Daddy gave a smile.
His parents kissed him on the cheek and faded away, the smaller
version of him held tightly their arms. Tyler wept again as they
disappeared, but he knew something he’d never known before: they
had not abandoned him. Ty turned to George. He could almost hate
him, but instead it felt more like pity.
“You bastard,” he tried to take a step toward George but found he
couldn’t move a muscle.
By that time, a baby bassinet appeared in the other corner, and
Violet stepped toward it, her sympathy for Tyler momentarily
forgotten. She could move again. Her heart pounded with the fury of a
raging sea. Violet wanted to turn and run, but her body seemed
compelled to go to the bassinet. She recognized it; actually she knew
it all too well.
The white wicker baby’s bed belonged to her, the calendar and
clock on the dresser showed the date and time her whole world
crashed around her…the day she found her precious little Brodie
asleep. Asleep, only she couldn’t wake him up, and he felt cold.
Her mind now screamed a warning, but she slowly walked to the
small bed and stood beside it as she did that day. Even with eyes
clouded by tears, she could see her precious boy, her little man. Sobs
racked her body as she stood silently trembling, feeling her pain all
over again. The very pain she’d avoided all this time, out in the open,
my reason for living, my baby. She loved this little boy with
everything she had, everything she was. When her baby died, the
world became a blackened place for her.
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She’d harbored no desire to live on. Her husband let the

paramedics take their son's little body away before she’d had a chance
to say a proper goodbye. He lied to them, saying she did not want to
see Brodie. Violet would have given anything to hold him one last
time, just to say goodbye, to apologize. After her husband buried their
son, he promptly took himself away as well. It seemed the only reason
he’d stayed with her had been because they shared a baby together.
Looking down at Brodie, she wore the pain like a badge. Feeling
like it tore her heart in two all over again, she touched her shaking
hand to his chubby cheek and felt his warmth. Stroking him gently,
her sobbing slowly subsided. Two little blue eyes opened—he was
alive! He looked up at her peacefully, and the hint of a first smile
played around his cherub lips. His tiny fingers curled around hers and
held fast,
“My baby” she cooed, “my little man.” Reaching in, she picked
him up and hugged him close. “Brodie, my sweet Brodie. Oh, how
Mommy missed you.” Violet held him and looked into his eyes.
The white light shone in Brodie’s eyes and connected with the
white light in hers. She felt him speak to her of his love and
forgiveness. The weight of the world lifted from her shoulders in that
instant. Understanding filtered through her mind.
Mommy, it's okay, I miss you, too. But I am waiting for you, and
the time wasn't right for me. I love you Mommy. It isn’t your fault.
Harmony passed between them, and she knew what must be
done. Violet held Brodie close to her chest, his breath against her
chin, a steely resolve came over her. Realizing that hiding from love
would not help her develop spiritually, Violet hugged her baby.
Kissing him several times and placing him back into his bed, she
whispered goodbye as the bassinet faded.
Turning to Ty, she saw a look of such love and empathy, she
knew he would give up anything for her, and there would be only one
way she could get to be with her baby again. Tears flowed from Ty
and, for a brief moment, Violet enjoyed the safety of Ty’s arms.
He whispered. “I will do anything you need me to do”.
George spoke quietly. “There you see. You can have it all back.
Tyler, you can have the family you lost, and Violet, you can have
your son back. Everything will be as it should be,” he produced a
stack of papers from under his cape, “all you have to do is sign here
and nominate the way you wish to make the donation and everything
will be sweet.”
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Violet stepped toward him. Anger consumed her. Never before

had she faced this feeling, that she could tear another human being
apart and watch the life drain out of him. Even when Mark, Brodie’s
father, left, she never hated him. She understood the contempt he
must have felt for her because she let his son die. Violet fought the
feeling and strived to find understanding. She could not lower herself
to those standards. She knew she would find forgiveness in her heart
because hatred just wasn't her style. Still George didn't have to know
that just yet.
George stepped back and looked a little nervous. Violet stopped
in her tracks, speaking in a venomous tone which could be reserved
for the most evil of creatures, “You cruel asshole.”
Snatching the papers and pen from him, she handed them to Ty.
George looked smug, as if he knew they couldn’t resist.
Turning to Ty, she whispered into his ear, and he smiled slightly.
Then she stood beside Tyler and grabbed his hand and directed her
answer to George. “No.”
“What? What do you mean, no?” George looked bewildered.
“I mean…no. We refuse to sign away five hundred souls, and we
will gladly go handn-hand to Hell if we have to. I have dedicated my
life to the betterment of people. I will not, for any reason, knowingly
slaughter anyone.”
“Now don’t be hasty. Think about this. Your baby, you want him
back. Don’t you? Tyler? Your parents? Just the way you always
wanted it.”
Tyler spoke up as he set the pages on the ground. “You can’t give
me back what I never had, George. Don’t you see all this demon stuff
is bullshit? You can’t win with evil. There is no right way. This is
what I think of your contract.” Ty lifted his loincloth and proceeded to
piss on the papers, drenching them in yellow by the time he finished.
Violet could not suppress a giggle. He shook the drops off and dabbed
his loin cloth to the eye of his dick. George's sorrowful look said he
knew he fought a losing battle.
“Fuck me!” he said, defeated.
“And besides,” Violet continued, “I know I will meet Brodie
again. He was not meant for this life, not yet. I see that now. My life
without meeting Tyler would be awful. I’d rather be in Hell. And if I
assume correctly, that is exactly where you are headed or a place a
whole lot like it!”

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Ty stepped over and encircled her with his arms. A vortex of

unconditional love surrounded them.
Gulim, George, faded away still cursing at his own stupidity.
Violet spoke first, “Thank you, Tyler. That was a mighty big
sacrifice you just made for me.”
Tyler shrugged and kissed her softly. “It would be a greater one
to never have known you. How long do you think we’ve got?” he
asked, mischief sparkling in his dark eyes.
“How long do you need?” she laughed, and his mouth rushed to
cover hers.
He pulled out of the kiss, “I know one thing for sure—I ain’t
going to any fuckless place until I’ve tasted that tight pussy of yours.”
“Is that a fact?”
“That is a fact,” he stated. Just as he started to lower to his knees,
a pure white light filled the tomb. “Oh no. What now? Keep your
hands to yourself this time. This is bound to be someone more
important than George.” Tyler warned.
Violet laughed back. “I promise I won’t do anything rash.”
A woman appeared, glowing, long flowing platinum hair,
wearing a stark white dress with elongated sleeves draped in a bell
shape from her wrist, barefoot and slightly elevated from the ground.
Her legs moved, but it seemed more fluid than a walk. The faint
outline of huge transparent wings glittered behind her shoulders. Ty
heard Violet suck in her breath and hold it a little longer than normal.
"An angel!" she exclaimed breathlessly.
Having heard countless reports of angel encounters, Ty took them
with a grain of salt. This real life experience took his breath away.
The Angel exuded light and an all encompassing aura of love. It
radiated from her and touched his soul. Apparently, Violet felt the
same for she dropped to her knees and bowed her head. She thumped
Ty’s leg, and he quickly did the same. The Angel spoke in a clear and
pure melodic tone.
“Rise, good people, Violet and Tyler. I have come to thank you
for the selfless saving of lives by the sacrifice of your souls to the
Underworld.”
Violet stood but kept her head bowed. Ty did the same. He
wasn’t worried about offending the Angel. He just didn’t want to
make Violet grumpy.
“You may look at me. You are equal to me, Earth Angels.”

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“Us? Equal to you? I don’t think so,” Violet replied as she

grabbed onto Ty’s hand and held fast. Her touch gave him courage.
"Angels are not to be worshipped. Our Father who created us
should be worshipped. We are here merely as helpers to His children.
I am Arianna," the angel smiled benevolently. “Yes, indeed you are
equal to me, and you are both ear-marked for the realm of the Angel
upon your crossing. This is why your souls would be so advantageous
to the Underworld. You both could have made powerful demons in
their world. Unfortunately for them, and fortunately for us, they chose
a buffoon to try and win you over. Thank the Heaven's you did not
turn to the dark side.”
"Don't tell me you are really my Father?" Tyler joked, a hopeless
Star Wars fanatic.
The Angel chortled.
Violet thumped him in the side again, her gaze never leaving the
angel. Tyler winced and rubbed his side.
"Sorry, just having a joke," he whispered out the side of his
mouth. Violet ignored him but not without a squeeze of her hand on
his.
“Where is George now?” Violet asked.
“He is in our holding room awaiting his fate. I intervened on your
behalf and applied for a special exemption. I had a feeling you
wouldn’t let us down.”
Ty snickered despite himself, “Applied for a special exemption?
You mean all that stuff goes on up there? This is too much.”
“Oh yes! Some things never change. We would be lost without
our Policies and Guidelines Portfolio. So much goes on, our record
keepers are extremely busy,” Arianna smiled.
“So what happens to George now?” Violet pressed on.
“That is entirely up to you two. You are well within your rights to
banish him to the Underworld forever.”
Violet looked up at Ty, “I was so angry at him for playing with
our emotions like that. But I did get the chance to hold Brodie and say
goodbye, which I never had before, and you saw your Mom and Dad
again...” She turned to Tyler.
“Sure, and now I know they never stopped looking for me. I’m
not really sure what did happen, but I feel more at peace than before.
I’ll support your decision,” Ty answered.
“I may be able to shed some light on this for you” Arianna said,
“excuse the pun! I cannot interfere with your knowledge, but I can
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give you some clues if you choose to listen. We give out clues to
people all the time, but many never listen, because they do not
believe.”
“I’m listening.” Ty looked eagerly to her for answers. What can
she have to tell me?
“Search back into your memory, to the time you were lost in the
fairground. Pain has blocked some details for you. I can tell you this.
Your parents have not crossed to my world. Consider the facts. Try to
remember the woman who found you and what she said to her
husband. Remember, you traveled a long way after that. The people
who raised you couldn’t have children, and they loved you so much,
perhaps they never looked quite hard enough for your parents. Maybe
they never told you everything because they were frightened of the
void you would leave in their lives if you went away.”
The angel looked kindly at him, “Just make sure you face this
with love in your heart and not fear. Blame is not a solution. Finding
answers is.”
Turning back to Violet now, she said, “If you tell me to banish
George, I will and think no less of you than I do now. If you choose to
save him, we have no guarantees that this experience will have taught
him anything.”
“Save him, please. I know it seems silly, but everyone deserves
another chance. I think his fucked-up life is punishment enough.”
Violet quickly put her hand over her mouth as she realized she had
cursed, “Oops. Sorry.”
Tyler squeezed her hand in support now and barely restrained a
laugh. His woman sure had a way with words. That was one of the
many things he loved about her.
“Don’t worry about it, your actions speak louder than your
words. Back to life for George it is then. Now, you two have been
here a week only. I trust you will keep up your work with the
homeless and poor, Violet, and that you, Tyler, will continue to have
next to no sleep as you heal the poor for no charge,” Violet stared in
shock at Tyler.
“You’re a Doctor?” she asked, breathlessly.
“Ahhhh well, yes,” he grinned back at her. She'd never asked, so
he'd never volunteered the information. Suited him fine. At least he
knew it wasn't his qualifications and income that impressed her.
“You work for nothing, after hours, helping the poor. You never
told me.”
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“You never asked me,” he replied simply.

“I’m sorry,” her head bowed, “I have been so very self indulgent,
haven’t I?”
He slapped her lightly on the rump, “Oh terribly but don’t worry,
I’ll take it out of your hide.”
Violet laughed and jabbed him in the ribs for making the
implication in front of Arianna, “Ty!”
The huge angel smiled back at them and continued to speak.
“I can put you back where you were, with full memory of this.
The people close to you won’t know you’ve been gone, and George
will not interfere. He will also have full memory, and hopefully it will
be enough to bring him back to the fold.”
Ty remembered the kiss they’d been sharing and was stoked
when Violet said, “Yes please.” She looked down toward her enlarged
breasts and touched her hair, "Will I still look like this?"
"I think I can arrange that in return for the sacrifices you two
have shown. You can contact me, Violet, whenever you need to,
through meditation. Good luck in your search Tyler, and be happy
you two. I’ll be watching over you both.”
Tyler grinned at Violet and back to Arianna, "Thanks...”
The angel’s wings came into view properly and dazzled his
vision with sparkling brilliance. Closing his eyes tightly, he waited
until he could no longer see the glow from behind his eyelids. He
opened his eyes and they stood in the darkened alley.
****
“Alone at last. Come here, you!” Ty grabbed her hips and drew
her to him, Violet did not resist. The kiss sated a hunger for closeness
he’d held for a very long time. His tongue on a mission, hot and
probing, explored her mouth. Showing no more hesitation or
resistance, she sucked it gently as he softly worked back and forth in
rhythm to the ebb and flow of Violet’s tongue. Tickling the end of her
tongue with his, he flicked slowly over hers. Their lips no longer
touched. Violet flicked, rubbed and caressed Ty’s tongue with her
own, over and over again. Ty's desire reached fever pitch as she
cupped his bulging crotch in her hand and squeezed.
Ty almost blew his bolt there and then, but an urge much greater
grabbed him.
He groaned and crushed her lips to his as she let his tongue slide
deep into her mouth, and she sucked on it. A hand now inside her bra,
fingers flicking a nipple, he pinched the hard nub. She pressed against
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him, once again raising her leg to wrap around his. This had become
her sign of the readiness to fuck.
Then he remembered they stood in the alley.
“Ty, do you want to, right here?” Violet asked, breathlessly.
“I want to fuck you anywhere and everywhere, every hour, on the
hour.”
“Ah, what the fuck! The first time we did it in our own tomb.
What could be freakier than that?” Violet laughed. She gripped his
shirt and pulled him further in to the alley, looking around, “George is
nowhere to be seen.”
“I made you a promise I intend to keep, woman.” Having said
that, he sank to his knees, reached over to an old crate and dragged it
over. He gently pressed Violet back against the wall, reefed her jeans
and underwear down, and off, and raised one of her feet to the top of
the crate. The crate sat high enough to raise her knee to her shoulder
level. He opened her to the cool night air and felt her shudder
excitedly at his intentions.
“Your pussy looks good. Now let’s see how you feel.” He
allowed the tip of his finger to dip around her opening and spread her
juices up over her clit. Ty saw her push her back into the wall for
support.
The feel of her clit, swollen with arousal, made his mouth water.
He couldn’t wait to get his tongue onto it and into her gripping tunnel.
His fingers deftly ran over her, working quickly in small circles. Ty
had every intention of making her come as quickly as possible, the
first time. He held two fingers together over her swollen clit and
worked his fingers furiously fast, but delicately, in a sideways, back
and forth motion. The friction caused Violet to groan loudly and push
her pelvis forward for more.
His other hand had two fingers hard up inside her, which gripped
at his long digits.
“Fuck! Ty! That is incredible, oh! Don’t stop, baby. I want to
come for you.” Ty continued with his work and encouraged her
toward orgasm as she braced into the wall.
“Do it, Violet. Come for me, I want you to come, so I can lick
your sweet juices and make you come again in my mouth.”
“Oh shit, oh fuck, oh God!” Violet erupted effusively as her
orgasm traveled the length of her body. Instead of working her clit
harder as she came, Ty worked more softly and slower, causing the
climax to generate longer and become more intense.
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She trembled and writhed as the waves of orgasm continued.

Drawing the very last shiver out of her, he gently massaged her
sensitive clit. He left his fingers hard up inside her and gladly
accepted the clenching spasms. Her body shaking, Violet moaned her
satisfaction. He would give her more. Ty felt satisfied at her peak,
smiling, still on his knees. He would have her climax again, this time
to satisfy a fantasy he’d had from the night he’d met her. It was time
to eat her out. Lick into her creamy cum and satisfy his hunger for her
juices.
“Oh, you ain’t seen nothing yet. I’m going to eat your pussy until
you scream!”
“You best let me sit down on this crate. My leg isn’t going to
hold out for much longer.” After removing her foot from the crate, Ty
allowed her to sit with her ass on the edge and back against the wall.
Placing each of her heels up on the crate, he pressed her knees
outwards. This opened her pussy to the maximum. Then he placed his
thumb and fingers either side of her clit, popping it out, to unveil her
sensitivity from its hood and splay her completely. This alone caused
shudders. Ty realized Violet remained sensitive to touch from her last
orgasm.
He applied his tongue softly, lapping gently at her until he felt
Violet relax into the action, and before long, under his lush tongue
strokes, she encouraged him for more. As he worked on pushing her
to the second orgasmic level, Ty licked her opening. She tasted so
sweet. It tipped his passion over the edge. Wrapping his lips around
her opening completely, he sucked at her. Ty encouraged the remains
of her last explosive peak forth and into his mouth.
She growled, and he drove his fat tongue into her constricting
vagina, to the hilt. Violet cried out. He reamed her out with his tongue
until all the remnants of her first orgasm had gone. Now, it was time
to bring on her second. This time he relaxed his tongue, licking her
from her opening to exposed clit, which he guessed would be begging
for contact after the caress of the cool, night air.
He guessed right, because as he dragged his tongue slowly over
her pussy, she screamed at him, “Yes Ty! Yes, do it. Lick me,
baby…harder…harder…”
The flat of his tongue rasped over her exposed clit while groaning
his enjoyment. The intensity of her grip on his shoulders deepened,
and he knew her next orgasm loomed.

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Now moving his whole head up and down, he licked with furious
determination along her furrow, from bottom to top and finally the
paroxysms of pleasure hit her body. As if in a delirious joy she
screamed out. The tip of his tongue tickled speedily at her clit, ever so
lightly, during her eruption, to put her into a multiple succession of
tiny ‘gasms. He shafted three fingers inside her rippling tunnel, and
Violet worked herself up and down on them. “Yes, yes, yes, fuck,
fuck…yes, oooooh yes, ooooh…" Finally her climax receded.
“Damn, Violet! You go off violently…I love your fucking
orgasms, they are for real." he scooped a little of her juice onto his
fingertips and licked it up.
Still panting with pleasure, she laughed, “No kidding? I am rather
partial to them myself,” and her slow descent began. He laughed with
her as they stood up. Violet grabbed his hard cock again, no hesitation
this time, no slap.
“I suppose a fuck is out of the question?” she asked, innocently.
“No way, it’s not. You will be fucked, girl. Well and truly."
He quickly undid his trousers and threw them out of the way.
Then Violet felt herself lifted from the crate and spun around. He
pushed her firmly in the middle of her back and exposed her bare ass.
Without further ado, Ty opened her cheeks and placed his shining
knob at her sopping pussy opening.
“Are you ready for the hardest fucking of your life?” Tyler felt an
uncontrollable lust take over for the woman he loved so much.
“Ready? I thought you would never ask,” she quipped.
With that, he rammed her to the hilt. She urged him on again as
he bottomed out inside her, thrusting back to meet his strokes.
“Fuck me harder, fuck me harder, fuck me harder!” she chanted,
and he did. His cock rammed into her mercilessly and a third wave of
orgasm hit her insides. Her three orgasms were a record, with a man
anyway. She could do it to herself easily enough, but it never felt this
good. Violet came hard again for him, and she heard Ty let out a yell
of his own.
“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, ohhhh ohh ohhhh. Fuck yes,
yes…ohhhhhh!” he thrust hard up into her, pulling back on her hips as
he unloaded his cum inside. She felt his cock throb as he released his
seed. Pulling back on her shoulders, still inside her, he moved his
hands to cup her breasts and kissed her shoulder and neck. Arching
her back to maintain connectivity, she turned her head to kiss him
fully.
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****
In a darkened corner, at the end of the alleyway, George cursed
the mess on his hand. He hadn’t counted on them coming into the
alley so soon. Trapped in his hiding spot, he could see them, through
the gap in the timber, but they couldn't see him. His jaw still smarted
from her right hook. Having no desire to be punched by her again, he
couldn’t go out, and he couldn’t get out of the way, so he did what
any red-blooded male would do…he masturbated.
The display had him so heated, his first orgasm happened, before
Violet's. George came again after that as he watched Ty ram her with
his cock. He couldn’t stop himself from beating off. Their display so
horny, not even on his DVD collection had he seen such raw passion.
He only wished he could have joined in, but commonsense told him
that would not be wise to try. Determined to do the right thing from
now on, he would never mention this again. After all, Violet gave
him another chance, so he figured he owed himself one as well.
****
“Oh my God, that was the very best sex I have ever had. But it
was so much more than that, Violet. You are amazing, and I want to
be with you forever.” Holding his arms around her rib cage, he lifted
her and sat on the crate himself. Violet spread her legs and straddled
him, her wetness touching his dick and her arms entwined around his
neck. Their hearts beat against each other.
“I love you Tyler.”
“I love you, Violet.”
“Shall we go back to my place and continue this?” she
unashamedly asked.
“Absolutely,” Tyler grinned.
“You know I always wanted to visit Egypt,” Violet admitted.
“Let’s go back on our honeymoon, and see if our temple is still
there,” he added.
“Yes, let’s.”

The End

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Ancient Jems
by
Bridghid Parkinson
Jemmie discovers a hidden cavern at a student archeology dig when
the cavern collapses beneath her feet. Can she resist the heated
temptations of Egypt?

http://bridghidparkinson.blogspirit.com
or http://www.myspace.com/dbparkinson

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Ancient Jems
by
Bridghid Parkinson
A Prayer of a Chance

Chaperoning students through a cheap survey, some Egyptologist

I turned out to be, huh? Jemmie couldn’t contain the thoughts running
through her mind.
She craved that choice tidbit in her research she could use to get
the grants that would eventually lead to bigger research assignments
and a better position. A master’s degree got her a position with the
Molina-Hammond Research Foundation, for clerical work for the
research teams, and part time teaching at the university. Little
fieldwork graced her resume, she’d only been to Egypt twice, and it
was in school. Completing her degrees became a slow process
between student financing and the need to work.
Trying to keep her mind quiet in the days before departure, she
loaded the hand tools and checked her list of supplies. The most
needed items were the cameras, computers and the boxes of batteries
for the cameras. The facility thrived on having a dozen people look
over a group of digital photographs. With modern technology, the
need for travel dropped, and lab work was more common.
The surveys to get the pictures examined in the lab were often
specially arranged packages with students. Though this was the first
excursion with students, she wanted the choice assignments in a dig
and she knew it would come once she proved her skills.
On her list, she thought they could use more brushes, but that
would only be if they actually found anything. Chances were tiny, but
a few shards of pottery would be the best that these guys could hope
for in the surveys scheduled or in the tours planned through Luxor
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and the well-excavated Valley of the Kings.

She tried to get the tour changed to the area of Abydos with
emphasis on the Eastern side of the Nile; an area she surveyed in
detail in satellite images, but there was no hope of a change the tour to
a less traveled region. Random digs turning up anything significant
were a fanciful dream. Proving the need for a dig took significant
research and applications for grants from rich foundations before
anyone bought a shovel. Jemmie kept working in research and
preservation, but she wanted to find her own dig site.
Meeting the students at the airport was a pleasure because they
all arrived early or at least arrived with enough time to spare to keep
the group from feeling rushed.
On the flight to Egypt, she enjoyed the last bits of civilization. As
she lifted her bourbon and soda, she admired the manicure that should
be gone soon. That’s the way it should be. Maybe next time you can
convince Drew about your survey.
Drew Hammond, Director of the foundation. Recluse. The
director’s office wasn’t on the research campus so she never saw him
in daily work, but she could quickly reach him on the phone. The old
researchers were entitled to be as eccentric as their subject was.
With the empty glass on her tray, she nestled back as the students
chatted excitedly. The flight sounded more like a distinguished dorm
room or well-educated tourists debating the relationships of the kings
and coregents within the major dynasties of Egypt. Even the quiet
young man, Bill, joined in the debates of the Kings.
Carter, the leading male of the group, took pride in knowledge of
the dynasties. “The Twelfth Dynasty ended…Queen Sobekneferu
didn’t produce an heir. With all the inter-family marriage in royalty,
it’s amazing they could produce children at all. She was the first
queen of Egypt. Her sculptures are defaced and there is no mention of
how she died, she may have been murdered.”
Another student pointed out. “She was not the first, Nitocris in
the Sixth Dynasty…”
“Sure! She lived long enough to kill the people that killed her
brother-husband King…oh, heck…what was his name?”
Jemmie wasn’t opening her eyes to join in the conversation.
She kept her eyes closed and focused on the persistent memory of
the satellite image. West of Dendara the Nile River snakes around to a
village called Balabish within the black land along the riverbank. East
of Balabish laid a ridge with the most unusual segment of stone, it
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looked like a flat wall, but all of the ridges in the area lacked the same
distinction and characteristics. Most of the sand had eroded the sides
of the ridges to a slope, but this feature remained perpendicular. Full
review of the area weather patterns indicated winds should have worn
back the upper edge of this ridge over the last two to three thousand
years, but even then, the base would remain prominent.
The slight vibration of the airliner only lulled Jemmie into a light
sleep clouded with the warmth of bourbon. She took comfort in
remembering the many digital photos taken by tourists and experts
along the larger temples and tombs, she’d compare her translation of
the glyphs to existing references. She could read, with some help in
references, the hieroglyphs and the hieratic scripts.
Her mind became foggy as sleep began to overtake her.
In a temple with tall columns, she began to read the inscriptions
to the Goddess Hathor, Goddess of Love. On the ground at her feet
lay colored marbles, baskets of flowers, dishes with strong incense,
and lanterns filled with oil.
The inscriptions were brightly colored with fresh paints over the
carved inscriptions and pictures. The stars with five points in several
of the pictures described a prophesy of a woman coming with great
beauty from the heavens. Her visit, a gift of the Gods.
Pictograms on the door described more. Cats. A picture of a pool
with a man and a woman bathing near a large well. A picture of a man
hugging a woman. The man had no hair, he was a priest purified for
special duty to the Gods. A pictogram of a house or a temple above
the man and woman. Hathor. Ma’at. Isis. Wings spread over the
gardens. Protection. A temple. Lush gardens against a desert ridge.
Jemmie looked up and saw the decree over the door. The
cartouche of Hathor and a directive declared that she would be the gift
of the Gods. The name was inscribed within a cartouche—Nmsth.
Royal or devine, this person became highly revered and only one
priest tended to her.
A woman’s voice rang out, echoing through the temple. She
comes. Sardotep, you have three days until she arrives.
A man ran to a large bowl and gazed to the water within.
Jemmie saw his face clearly. His skin smooth, and his eyes were
dark, reflecting his wonder. The contrast of his white robes against his
dark skin shimmered in the ripples around him. His angular facial
features were as chiseled as the stone temple behind him.
Don’t be afraid. The woman’s voice echoed. He is pure. His
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strength in his hands and in his staff, he will serve you with the same
faith he has given the Gods.
“I knew you would come,” a man’s voice said. “Nomesteh, The
Seers have foretold it before I was born. I made preparations.”
On the wall behind him, another pictogram showed the naked
priest holding the woman in white robes, and her head looked up to
the heavens, a drawing of the moon and stars. His staff stuck out from
behind his body, however, the curled end was not on the other side.
Not a literal staff, it’s his staff…his penis.
The pitch and sensation of falling terrified Jemmie from her
dreams. She gripped the arms of the seat and realized she wasn’t in a
temple, she was on an airplane over the Atlantic Ocean, on their way
to Luxor, Egypt.
“Sorry about that folks,” The Captain announced, “it’s just a little
turbulence as we pass over a storm.”
Jemmie immediately reached for her carry on luggage under her
seat. In the folder of images she printed from the Temple of Hathor,
she found the same image of a woman, held tight by a priest, her face
looking up to the heavens, and his staff was not seen except for a
short length behind his body. Jemmie knew in the late dynasties that
the Egyptians began to replace potentially offensive glyphs, including
the pictograms for birth and death, with a generic slash. This was the
first time she’d seen evidence of a celebration of sexual power.
If only we could get closer to Dendara and the area of Abydos.
****
In Germany, they faced a long layover before boarding the plane
to Cairo and then taking a small plane to Luxor. From a bank of
phones in the terminal, Jemmie called Drew Hammond to check in.
“Hi, this is Jeminiah Townes.” The bored students stared at her as
if she were their one source of entertainment. The receptionist placed
her on hold to connect to Drew.
“Drew here…,” Static filled the line. “Ms. Townes? Is that you?”
She stuck her hand over other ear to block the airport noise. “Yes,
I’m here. We are in Germany waiting on the plane to Cairo.”
“I got your research packet last night. Where did you get this?”
“That’s some stuff I have been looking up in my spare time,”
Jemmie explained. Damn that ass, Wilkins! He insisted she follow the
‘chain of command’ with a snide comment that she shouldn’t expect a
change in the itinerary because the trip was already booked. She
knew, when she submitted the images and reports a month ago, that
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he would likely add material and take credit for managing her effort.
“Your use of satellite imagery is ingenious! I didn’t think there
were any existing satellite images with that much detail north of the
Temple of Hathor—certainly not from the internet! I think this
extraneous stuff from Wilkins is rubbish. I see where you signed off
on every image you printed. I agree with your assessment, to let the
students survey the area east of Balabish.”
Jemmie’s heart skipped in her chest. She held her hand up to stop
the students from their idle chatter.
Drew continued. “In addition to the ridge you pointed out, I
would like for you to do digital photo documentaries of the full ridge
line to a point approximately eight to ten kilometers east of the city.
I’ll mark the route on your Map 26 and I can email it to you. In
addition to the perpendicular section, there is a ridge along the north
side of that valley that appears to be square, get some close up photos
of that section for us.”
Jemmie knew the ridge well; the erosion bore an oddly uniform,
stepped pattern in contrast to the natural erosion around it exposing
the irregular layers of sedimentary rock. She’d have made the same
suggestion and simply taken the photos back to the research facility.
“I want you to check with your students, first. Since they are
paying for their own passage expenses, they are more like tourists
than researchers on an expedition. You’ll have a couple days to travel
up from Luxor and play the educated tourist in Egypt—they won’t be
cheated on that—but, we must have a unanimous vote to pursue the
survey. One hold out and the tour goes on as scheduled.”
“Hang on,” Jemmie took a quick review of the faces gathered and
watching her conversation. With a deep breath, “We have a new
opportunity. New research came in to the Foundation about a ridge
North of Luxor and almost due east of Balabish. The director is
asking if we could do a real survey of the area, rather than just
providing additional documentation that was originally scheduled.”
“Where did the research come from?” One of the students asked.
“Me.” Jemmie reached into the side pocket of her carry on bag
and produced the folder of the satellite images. “Rather than Valley of
the Kings, greatly picked over by researchers and tourists, we can do
a survey of our own. If we find anything, it may be only a small
temple and it could be picked over by grave robbers centuries ago. I
don’t know what it could be, but this would be a big chance to go
look so the Foundation can determine if a dig is warranted.”
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The folder passed among the students and Jemmie heard Drew’s
voice on the line. When she raised the phone back up she heard,
“Jemmie? You there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Hang on. I am going to put it to a vote.” She
looked into the smiling faces of the students and her heart started
beating in her chest like a battering ram. “All in favor of the new
itinerary to survey the Valley?”
The students responded with an enthusiastic, affirmative yell.
Jemmie held her breath. “Against?”
Silence from the students.
“Congratulations Ms. Townes. You have yourself a survey. I’ll
set up your new itinerary and email it to you.”
****
Jemmie couldn’t contain her excitement as she explained the
details of her research while in the air to Cairo. She started passing
the pictures of satellite images among the students around her.
“Why do you think your information took a month to get into the
hands of the research director?” one of the young men asked.
“I have a manager that likes to get his hands into every tidbit
coming in and out of the office. He has to approve my lesson plans in
the University; he has to account for every hour of time I spend in any
research, preservation or any deskwork. If I have done it, he has to
have his signature on it somewhere. He’s rearranged my work and
altered the results of a translation. He’ll highlight a map segment and
then initial the map as if we worked on it together.”
“I’d be making sure all my pictures and maps were right.” One of
the students said.
“I do, and he still finds some way of getting into it. Even if it’s
nothing more than adding a two-inch yellow line, he finds a way.
Now, if you will look on Map One, it shows the upper Nile River
Delta from an area three kilometers south of Luxor and the Valley of
Kings, and upward to five kilometers north of Balabish. On the
Eastern bank is a smooth desert area—or red land area—of three
kilometers before the ridges rise to higher elevations. Is everyone
following this on the map?”
“Yes, Ma’am, due east of Balabish.”
“Do you see the ridge with the straight facing? All of the eroded
sand from the ridge is moving around this one segment of the ridge,
but that segment isn’t eroding like the others.”
“Have you considered the directions of prevailing winds?”
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“Yes, you will see three airflows in maps five, six and seven.
None of the ridges in a ten kilometer radius mirror this pattern.”
“This is why map nine has the black spot that looks deepest
against the middle of the ridge!”
“Exactly. The closest I could get to see that black segment is the
satellite photo in image thirteen. I still refer to it as the black hole.
Because there are no other features in the area, there is no desire for
the tourists to photograph this section, or even get a survey team
involved. I can’t get another view or picture from the internet and it’s
not detailed in other surveys.”
“So we have permission from Egypt to go into this area?”
“We have permission for a student survey of the Upper Nile, only
our focus has changed, the remainder of the plan is in effect, you’ll be
taking photos and samples in a less explored region. We must still
follow protocols with the Egyptian government if we find anything.
You’ll still get to tour some of the sites that are open to the public as
we travel north. Drew tells me we will have a few days to do that out
of the three week itinerary.”
Jemmie continued to outline the procedures for charging batteries
and moving the digital image files to the computer hard disks. Drew
told her the plan changed only with regard to the location and all
procedures would remain the same. She itemized food packs, the
weather expected, and emergency procedures for injury or illness.
The students sat in rapt silence.
Jemmie enjoyed the change of destiny from the outset of the trip.
Whatever names God enjoyed—past, present or future—she felt relief
after all the times she hoped and prayed for recognition of her work.

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Hot Travels

The team completed the remainder of the trip from Cairo to

Luxor in a small plane. Jemmie was certain their equipment enjoyed a
more luxurious transport in the comfort of the wooden crates. This
larger unknown aircraft had a single propeller engine on nose, but the
entire craft reminded her of a museum piece. They enjoyed enough
room to squeeze in the six students with her in the copilot seat, but
barely enough room for the bags even when some students preferred
to keep some equipment in their laps.
With the seatbelt in place and the dusty instrument panel before
her, she wondered what risks might be too extreme in the pursuit of
knowledge. She resisted crass comments about rubber bands when the
pilot asked if everyone was ready. Jemmie just nodded her head.
The cramped conditions made the plane almost unbearable in the
late afternoon heat, even when the pilot cracked the windows.
The slightest variation in the air currents made the plane pitch
and lurch. Jemmie wondered of there could be an airsickness bag in
her future. Instead, she focused on the view of Nile River and the
cities that hugged the shore in contrast to the vast expanses of desert.
This is the way it’s been over thousands of years.
Spending the night in Luxor, as originally planned, they visited a
library of Egyptian papyri, with a special dinner and lecture scheduled
with a dig team working in the Valley of Kings. Jemmie found herself
mildly interested in the information about the eighteenth, nineteenth
and twentieth dynasties of Egypt uncovered in the new tomb. Her
mind kept wandering back to the site that could even represent a sixth
dynasty temple. Her imagination wandered to the possibilities that lay
just beneath the soil.
Tombs?
General cemetery?
Temple?
Market ruins?
Government buildings?
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An ancient mine?
Her mind wandered to the legends of Nitocris, the sister-wife of a
murdered king. She continued rule long enough to lure the murderers
into the pretense of a feast, and killing them by filling the hall with
water from the Nile. Legends prevailed that she died by suicide,
throwing herself into a burning room.
Outside, her imagination was captivated by the wisps of clouds
on the horizon looking like the feathers of a bird, like the wings of the
Gods. Isis with her arms spread out over Egypt, the Beautiful Land.
Sleeping in Luxor became difficult between the plane trip and the
stimuli of the many hieroglyphs she’d seen. Her dreams became a
flurry of images carved in stone.
One carving showed a priest standing guard over other priests
and slaves. The Temple behind him had a shimmering pool and trees
all around. High walls illustrated the temple works like tattoos, with
detailed pictograms of a woman with light brown hair and green eyes.
She swam naked with the priest in the pool. In another pictogram, she
received flowers from children. In another picture, she lay on an
elaborate chair as the priest fed her fruit.
The naked man worships the beautiful woman. Jemmie read the
next column; The Goddess Hathor blesses his service with she who
can only come from the Gods. He guides his staff deep in the valley
and the seeds planted will grow strong. Their love lights the stars.
The ridges of the carvings were clear and even as she traced her
finger along the edges, the carvings were distinct. She walked around
the column she saw the chamber before her, and slowly approaching
was the man in the carvings. His skin glistened, his dark eyes were
feral, and he reached out his hand to her.
The muscles stood out in the flickering lanterns and she couldn’t
help but touch the lines along his body. He drew her closer. She saw
his face as he stood in front of her. It didn’t feel like a dream. His
warm smile erased any fear, and his tender touch along her arm felt
warm and inviting.
Her breath caught, but in the space of a heartbeat, his mouth drew
over hers and her hands stroked his damp skin, slippery from the heat.
He tasted like fresh herbs and in the fraction of time that she took a
breath, he declared, “The Gods have brought you to me.”
Jemmie couldn’t answer, except for a low whimper while her
body pressed hard against his.
His mouth blazed a trail down her neck to her bare breasts. The
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nipples strained upward and he flicked his tongue over each one with
his tongue causing the skin to pucker. The contrast of his dark skin
against her own could be seen as his hands cupped her breasts.
Thoughtfully, he watched her.
Jemmie stayed still as he lifted her to the bed.
The woman’s voice came again. He will honor you. His heart is
pure, but he has never given it to another, because his hands have
always served. He will explore because he has known no other, even
in the Starlands. Tell him what gives you pleasure. Guide him in the
ways of your pleasures and he will seek them.
His eyes reflected his wonder in seeing her naked. His drew his
hands down her sides, and down her legs, removing the remnants of
the linen dress. His eyes held her riveted.
She studied him in the same ways he studied her. He was strong
and well muscled. A few scars around his hands showed he worked
hard with his hands. His cock had already risen to a full standing, but
he appeared afraid to move or preoccupied with touching her. Like
any priest, he shaved all of his hair for purification.
His hands traced over her hipbones and pulled her legs up. He
knelt on the mat and studied her body. His fingers traced the line of
her curls at the top of her legs, but the tuft of hair concealed her
channel from his view.
Holding her feet on his shoulders, she spread her legs and
reached down to flick her finger over her own clit. He watched as her
body opened to him and it didn’t take long for him to move so he
could use his own fingers to explore.
Moans became a universal language and giving them became
automatic as his touch sent ripples through her.
He stopped and examined her moisture on his fingers before
lifting his fingers to his mouth. The glint in his eye reflected more
than the flickering lantern flames and he bent down to lick her. His
tongue darted out and sent jolts through her before settling into a
rhythm that drew out her natural moans in reaction.
Her breathing and heartbeat became faster because she loved the
attention and the pleasures he brought out, but she wanted more. Tiny
droplets of sweat rose to her skin and as the heat inside rose. She
wanted his cock stuffed inside her body. Her legs released the hold on
his shoulders reluctantly, and she used her hands to call him up to her.
He knelt before her, his knees on either side of her buttocks and
his cock jutting out. His hips pushed forward the head of his penis
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pressed against her slit, and pushed over her clit, but never made its
way inside of her body. He repeated the motion and his cock slid over
the tender skin. He held her legs closer when he tried to repeat the
motion, each time the head visible at the end of the stroke.
Jemmie reached down and used her fingers to guide his cock
inside her body. Her moisture made his thick rod welcome.
A look of wonder quickly gave way to pleasure as he pushed the
head deeper, slowly savoring the muscles that drew him inside. He
rewarded her with a look of ecstasy as he pushed inch by inch.
She shifted her hips and prayed she could accommodate the full
length. She shifted her legs around his waist and delighted when the
moan came from him. She answered with her own moan and used her
legs to pull him forward, finally meeting the resistance of the little
muscles at the top of her channel and rewarding her with new
sensations. Her moan became louder.
His skin glistened and his body began to tremble as he worked
with short strokes against her pulsing muscles. Almost too quickly,
his muscles began to stiffen and his thrust pushed deep inside. He
struggled to keep thrusting.
“Yes,” she moaned and rocked her hips to meet his.
With a deep thrust that almost sent her spiraling out of control, he
erupted sending the jets of his passion deep into her body.
With heavy breathing, he stopped to watch her and began to
thrust his hips again, his cock still strong. His eyes searched hers.
She knew he was looking for the telltale signs of her pleasures in
their coupling. She put her hand on his chest to stop him and then
shifted away so his penis withdrew. With her hands on his shoulders,
she pressed him to lie against the pillows on the mat and then
straddled his legs. With her hand, she gripped his cock and gently
pumped along its length with her fingers.
She shifted her hips forward and aimed him inside, lowering
herself over the shaft even when she felt stretched to the limits. Her
own breathing quickened and she pushed her hips forward and then
rolled back to force the full length inside, mashing her clit against his
pubic bone.
His hands reached up to her breasts and her entire body tingled.
If he wanted her pleasure, he would have it. She rocked her head
back and moaned with the sensations that were beginning to pulse
with the movements of her hips. She pushed her hips hard and ground
herself down until it began to feel like her body was on fire. The
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tingles in her breast seemed linked to the tingles in her clit and the
warmth growing in her belly.
His moan of pleasure fueled her. The idea of making him erupt
again became a fascination.
She matched his moans with her own and used her hips and
thighs to move herself faster. She imagined drawing his orgasm out of
him in endless spurts, as if each moan from him released a bit more
passion into her body. Her efforts were rewarded when she bounced
over his body because his gaze fixed on the area where their bodies
joined. She rose to give him the best possible view of his own cock
surrounded, and slowly swallowed, by her own body.
She wanted to rub the full length of her body along his, but the
waves of orgasm built inside. She couldn’t resist the short strokes her
body needed to bring the final explosion.
She moved her hips against him, wanting nothing more than to
have him surge and fill her, but certain she would soon peak. “Yes,
Yes,” she chanted. “Come with me.”
He groaned and his body began to stiffen.
“Oh, Yes,” She said and the spasms seized her. “My, God!”
“Yes, my Goddess!” He held her tight and his cock surged inside
her again.
When her breathing began to calm, the lure of sleep could not be
denied. He stroked her skin and whispered, “I’m only a simple priest,
but will go with you to the ends of the Heavens, Nomesteh.”
****
Their caravan of three dual cab trucks, traveled up the main
roads, spending a second night in Dendara with tours and the third
night in Balabish. Her nights were dreamless, but the combinations of
heat and weariness made the time soothing.
The Egyptian people were always cheerful and accommodating,
but she remembered they came during the time of harvests. On the
third night, in Balabish, beer flowed freely and Jemmie cautioned the
students about overindulging because they would rise early for one of
the local attractions and leave for the survey site in the morning.
However, her warnings were for naught and it still took an effort
to get everyone together at the proper time.
During the tour in Balabish, her own excitement made her mind
wander to the survey. She hated the idea of the students looking at the
desert expanses and feeling overwhelmed. They would see sand all
the way to the horizon and might not realize that their first focus was
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less than a football field in overall area.

She wondered, too, if they understood her excitement of getting
enough research to convince a research group and the supporting
foundation to let her look firsthand. An increasingly rare opportunity,
a survey would be an exceptional experience for them as well.
After the late lunch break, the students became irritable from the
spring-season heat and Jemmie hoped the drive would give them an
opportunity to settle down. The three dual cab trucks would afford the
students a chance to ride with open windows even if it wasn’t very
helpful. They are going to need to galvanize themselves to the
weather, might as well start now.
Jemmie surveyed the equipment of water jugs and the crates of
equipment she packed previously. The students secured their packs in
a separate crate. Hired locals managed the driving and the equipment
handling during the survey. Drew loved managing these tours to
increase the research material for the foundation. Although she knew
modern researchers sought funds to get top of the line equipment,
Drew strove for an immersive survey and tour with local color and
flavor. As Jemmie sat back in the truck she could hear the future
stories of these students starting with, ‘Back when I went on my first
Egyptian Survey…,’ and she wondered if they would ever appreciate
the extra touches.
As the caravan approached the ridgeline, Jemmie could see the
upper rock clearly and could see the defined sedimentary deposits
indicating a natural formation instead of a manmade wall. Her heart
fell in spite of the hazy visibility and the distance to the ridge. We
must get closer.

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Neither Here nor There

When the trucks stopped at the specified distance from the ridge,
Jemmie immediately pulled out her camera to begin photo surveys of
the rocks as they approached the ridge. They rehearsed the routine at
school. Each student took a position by the trucks, spread out by their
arms lengths. Jemmie noted their positions, but she would later be
able to reconstruct the path each student walked.
Spread out, the seven of them walked a slow and steady line to
the ridge.
Jemmie called out instructions periodically. Methodically, they
covered a straight line about thirty yards across. These guys are going
to get so sick of hearing my voice before it’s over.
“Hold!” Carter announced. He placed a red flag in the sand rather
than the yellow. “Carved stone, too smooth for a natural formation
and it could be shaped like a wing.” He aimed his camera at the flag.
Son of a gun! They found something already?
Five minutes and they just justified the trip. Jemmie hid her
enthusiasm for the next twenty yards.
“Hold!” cried out one of the girls. “These rocks line up.” She
stopped while the young woman looked from side to side. Jemmie
followed where her eyes moved. Their path intersected a line of rock
stubs at the surface of the soil. She knelt and lined up her shot along
what appeared to be small columns for a fence. Each rock was no
larger than a dinner plate and rose from the ground no more than an
inch or two. The pattern was irregular and the tops of the rocks eroded
to almost nothing over the millennia.
It was easy to see why people overlooked these rocks, with the
multitude in the area, they weren’t distinguishable even in the closest
satellite images.
“Sharp eyes, Katie! Great work.” Jemmie wished to herself that
she would soon find something, but she may have already passed a
piece of carving and she might not recognize it until they later blew
up the pictures and examined the details. This way, they would have a
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preserved image of the path as they found it, without multitudes of

footprints marring the images.
As they proceeded forward, other students were halting the line
to place flags at other rounded stones. They would later take a less
regimented approach to map the flags as the sun went down and the
air was cooler. Although only ninety-four degrees today, the late
afternoon sun still bore down on them in the cotton layers and hats.
After what seemed like an hour, Jemmie had them mark their
positions and declared a break.
The local men had the trucks arranged in a semi circle with heavy
canvas tenting. They unpacked two computers, resting them on top of
a crate, and held cups high with water.
Jemmie immediately powered up one of the computers and asked
the students, “Cards?”
Each of the students took out the small memory cards from the
cameras and she loaded the images into a folder of the first part of the
survey with sub folders for each of the students. She took out a pre-
made grid map of the area based on the satellite images and marked
the rock formations Katie found and approximate locations of other
flags for items they found. In matching the maps of the ridge, she
discovered Katie’s line of rocks ran parallel to the front of the ridge.
“How come someone hasn’t tripped over this before?”
Jemmie had to think about her answer. “Satellite imagery is a
new technology for archeologists, many teams are still doing it the old
fashioned way, going in for a look.”
“Even you missed the rock pattern.” One of the other young
ladies in the team observed.
“I sure did, but I wasn’t looking that far away from the ridge
either. Usually—if there is an entrance or a gateway—it would be
closer to the door.”
“If it was a burial chamber. If this was a temple or a market area,
the walls could be further out.” Bryant said proudly.
Jemmie didn’t like having the flaws in her own research efforts
pointed out so blatantly, but the young student was right. If this had
been an active temple, it was possible they were standing on an outer
wall. If this had been an area with active wells, or had once been an
oasis, the walls could be anywhere.
The break refreshed them and the abundance of rocks and small
potential carvings meant that the students gained a new perspective.
They could go back and study some of the pieces in detail. The lower
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sun meant the shadows in the photos would be longer, but she wanted
to get pictures while there was still light.
It startled her at first, but a familiar mewl came up from the base
of the crate. She looked around and saw the side of the crate open
only a couple inches, with a white paw clawing that the wood.
“Hey, you…how did you get in there?”
Katie was the first student to react. “How adorable! I had a white
cat that we called Midnight.” She pried open the crate and the cat
sauntered out like she belonged with the group. She wandered over to
Jemmie slowly before rubbing her head against her leg.
Jemmie couldn’t resist picking her up. The purr started as a low
rumble. She rubbed her head against Jemmie’s shoulder and became
louder. “Didn’t Drew tell you I’m not authorized the expense of a
mascot on this trip?”
“Mer-wouw!” the cat answered indignantly.
“He didn’t?” Jemmie giggled. “Shame on him. Wait until he gets
the expense report for this. I hope you are good at finding little mice
for your dinner because I don’t think he’s going to approve of an extra
plate of fish.”
“Merr-roup!”
“Hey, kitty…if you can keep away the little rodents and snakes,
I’ll pay for your dinner myself.”
The students giggled with Jemmie’s conversation to the cat.
When she spoke, the cat seemed to understand her.
“He certainly would not approve of the additional gas expense to
have you hauled back to Balabish.”
The cat’s mournful cry told her the cat didn’t want it either.
“You’re going to have to pull your weight, too.”
“Mee-yow!”
“Let’s get back to work!” Jemmie announced.
When she sat the cat back on the ground, it rubbed against her
legs for more attention. As she moved back into the survey area, the
cat followed, staying patiently behind the team.
****
The first photo survey completed at the base of the ridge. Jemmie
aimed her camera on the wall and took multiple pictures of the soils,
sediment patterns and rocks in the area. During her work, the new
four-footed member of the team stayed with her.
Even in the direct evening sun, it was difficult to see the area
she’d come to call ‘the black hole’. Large rocks lay on top of one
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another and the shadows of the rocks didn’t afford her a glimpse to
the ground level.
With her first step on the larger rocks, the cat became agitated
and started to hiss. Jemmie thought the creature found a small snake,
but she couldn’t see anything through the shadows. When she looked
at the cat, its eyes gleamed up at her and its tail swished side to side,
as if she angered the little cat somehow.
Jemmie stepped over to another rock, which only appeared to
enrage the cat, and it screamed, ready to pounce. In desperation,
Jemmie stepped on another rock closer to the wall, but the cat lifted
into the air towards her.
She ducked down. Tiny rocks and sand hindered her traction on
the large rock and her feet slipped. Jemmie felt the lurch of her fall
and her stomach tightened. She felt tiny rocks dig into the skin of her
legs and her skin scraped into the sand. More rocks scraped her arms
and hands. Her eyes couldn’t focus on the swirling images between
the light of the horizon and the darkness of the shadows.
The sharp pain to her forehead brought blackness all around.
****
When Jemmie opened her eyes, she couldn’t see anything.
“You didn’t make that easy, honey!” a woman’s voice came out
of the darkness. “I had to get you into the right position so the rock
only knocked you out and didn’t crack your skull.”
“Where am I?”
“Well, it’s not a ‘where’, as much as a ‘when’.”
Jemmie remembered falling, but felt rested, like awakening from
a nap. She ran her hands over her legs, but found no cuts or scrapes.
She did find a smooth dress that barely covered her breasts, and the
slit on the sides remained open. “Ok…when?”
“Don’t worry about that. It took a couple of us, but Hathor takes
most of the credit…,” A pinprick of light intruded into the cavern and
Jemmie saw a woman with light olive skin and a white dress similar
to her own. Without moving a low, guttural catlike scream came from
the woman’s throat.
Gooseflesh prickled on her arms. Jemmie heard voices above her,
but couldn’t distinguish words from the voices of the people.
“Come on,” The woman grabbed her arm and led her further into
the darkness. “We don’t want them to get in for a while. That’s why I
started now, they won’t be able to look for you until morning.”
“You waited for the darkness?”
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“Of course.”
Jemmie heard the snap of a finger and two lamps ignited on
either side of the hallway where they stood.
“Hang on to me. The next few minutes are going to feel strange.”
The woman reached out around her waist and pulled her closer. Her
touch felt soft. “Come on, honey. Hold tight like you mean it.”
Jemmie felt the woman’s arms around her ribs pulling her closer,
intimately touching breast to breast, until Jemmie had no choice but to
reach her arms around her shoulders.
“When the priest carves the tale of the Great Woman loved by the
Gods, I certainly don’t want to make a liar out of him.” She purred
like a cat. “We have time. I want to see that vixen inside you.”
Jemmie felt lips glide along her neck. “Who are you?”
“You might know me as Bast.”
“I hear you speaking…almost like normal English.”
“You should, you’ll hear everyone that way.”
“But…?” Jemmie wanted to ask a God, ‘Why?’
“Some mysteries are not meant for you to unravel. First, you
must never speak of your life before now. The people may fear you at
first, but they will teach you. Others that failed to comply have died,
often left to the beliefs of a mummy’s curse. It is not without risks,
but those who succeeded have enjoyed the rewards.”
“Rewards?”
Her hands rubbed over her body, while her voice insisted, “You
will understand, but mark my words, you must never speak of the
things you know.”
The room spun around except it felt more like the sensations of a
moving flexible floor.
Jemmie clung to Bast, and she remained the only steady part of
the whole area around her. She recognized the name of the Egyptian
Goddess, but couldn’t remember the aspects the Egyptians honored in
her. Holding her, the other woman felt steady as a rock.
Bast kissed her neck again and the gentle purr in her ear
distracted from the sensations of movement. The temperature began
to rise quickly and the smells of musk and rose mixed with the earthy
scents of burning incense.
“Hold on to me tighter,” Bast said as the shifting sensations
continued. “I’m almost jealous of the priest that adores you from afar.
Don’t hide your passions. That’s what this is all about, your instincts
are right, don’t deny your desires.”
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Jemmie clung to the woman’s shoulders, but Bast only made the
embrace more intimate by pushing her hands lower, her fingertips
brushing bare skin on her backside before slipping under her dress
and caressing her full buttocks. Still, a feral heat rose from the kisses
along her neck, upwards to her mouth. How could she know?
“That’s it…come on girl. Set your desires free.”
Jemmie moved for the kiss and felt the rumbling purr along
Bast’s back in her hands. She felt the rigid peaks of nipples against
her own tender skin and her mouth craved more. A flush flashed
through her body. The momentary thought of kissing another woman
brought back memories of college parties. She regretted her restraint
before, but as she gasped for air against the delicate tongue and full
lips, she thrilled to the smells and sensations.
Bast pulled her closer and with a tug at their sashes, the dresses
fell open. Their damp smooth skin was slippery. Now they felt
weightless, like floating in water.
The dresses fell away. Jemmie clung to the woman and kissed her
fiercely, as if drawing vital energy from her. The feel of heated skin
along her body tingled at every point they touched, and drew her
closer. Fear vanished as she strained to close the gaps between them.
She used her legs, drawing one knee upward, and the tender skin of
her labia brushed against strong thigh.
Bast moaned with a low feral sound, and reached down, grinding
her own mound against Jemmie’s leg. “Yes, let the River rise, the
waters will flow from your valley and nourish the lands.”
She felt the fingers creep past her curls and flick over her clit and
she rose to give access. Two fingers invaded her channel and spread
fire through her hips. Her heart pounded as her fingers sought out all
of the tenderest places and set fire to her entire body. Her hips rolled
forward to match the rhythms.
Bast purred and moaned while kissed trails of fire against her
skin. “I may give you my own floods.”
Jemmie’s heated movements only became more determined. The
ideas of heated orgasms only fueled her desire to bring them out and
they both needed the touch of skin and fingers. Jemmie reached down
to the legs that gripped her thigh like a vice. The pressed her fingers
forward to the hair, and then deeper to the slippery nub of a clit
straining for attention.
Bast still let out a moan like a feral animal noise, deep in her
throat. Her free hand pulled her closer and locked their mouths in a
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searing kiss.
She couldn’t stop the orgasm building inside her, nor did she
want the tender touches to stop. The fingers inside her body felt like a
strong pulsing cock and her clit vibrated with the pressure against it.
Like a surge of power starting in the depths of her hips, she felt her
body tighten and prickly heat spread out along every nerve in her
body. She could only cling to the moaning woman, driving her hand
deeper against tender folds of skin.
The loud moan with a cat-like tone started and Jemmie pulled her
closer feeling all of her muscles tighten and tremble against the
fingers she pushed deep inside the woman’s body. The moan grew to
a louder cry and Bast arched her back.
Panting, their fingers released one another and they returned to
gentle stroking and kissing. Her touch felt real, but her voice became
distant, almost like a whisper.
“That, my sweet, is the force that drives the world. Let the energy
flow into you and release it back into the world and you will leave an
indelible mark that is all your own.”
****
“Jemmie?”
In the dream like state she found herself in, she couldn’t see who
was calling her. The walls around her were carved glyphs and pictures
of the priest and descriptions of the great love rituals in a Temple to
bring fertility to the land. She could focus on any given carving or her
vision blurred like the rippling heat in the hot sands.
“Miss Townes? Can you hear me?”
She saw the priest. He wore a simple robe draped over his
shoulders, but it did little to conceal his body. He walked closer to her
and extended both hands forward. She could see him clearly. “You
have come!”
“Jemmie? Come on…where are you?”
“No! Go back!” She screamed at the distant voices calling to her.
Her feet would not allow her to step away from the priest when a
world of discovery lay before her.
The distance between her and the priest closed.
“Jemmie?” The threatening cry of an enraged cat echoed off the
walls of the chamber. “The cat won’t let us near you. You have to get
up. We have to get you out of the chamber!”
Every fiber of her body reeled against the calls of the others.
“No! I must stay!”
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“Nomesteh.”
The cat cried out with a long howl. “We can’t move her.”
“No, must stay,” Jemmie whispered as her mouth closed in for
the kiss with the priest. His arms encircled her and he lifted her from
the floor. “Must stay. Nomesteh with Sardotep.”

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The Gift of the Gods

The images solidified around her as her world settled. She could
see normally, Sardotep’s body felt real to her, and he carried her up a
flight of steps, across a large expanse of floor and into early morning
daylight. Sounds of music and other discussions came to an abrupt
halt as they came out on the step.
“She has come!” Sardotep yelled out. “Nomesteh!”
Jemmie turned to look when she heard the voices of what seemed
like hundreds of people chanting, “Nomesteh! Nomesteh! Nomesteh!”
Men and women crouched to the ground around them, but they
would not look up to see them. Priests, women, workers all around;
all of them bowed low the ground.
Sardotep walked slowly to the flat stones surrounding a large
pool. The man used a lever on a large pump device to draw water up
from a well where the last motions of the rig turned the vessel of
water and spilled it over the rock, letting it flow and drip into the
pool. He remained focused on his task, but his gaze turned to the
place where Sardotep stood holding her. The young man flustered and
turned his head down and still tried to maintain the difficult task of
operating the rig.
“Why do they turn away?”
“It is a bad omen to look upon the face of the Gods. They could
die looking in the splendor of the beauty.”
“I’m not one of the Gods.” Jemmie said.
“You come from the Gods,” he corrected.
“They cannot be afraid. You see me, you aren’t dead.” Jemmie
wanted to see these people. She wanted to see them smile and laugh,
work and play, but the reverence they showed her didn’t let her see
their lives or even their faces. With a simple wiggle of her legs,
Sardotep eased his hold and let her feet down.
Jemmie walked forward, out of his protective grasp. She walked
along the rocks of the pool to the water master station behind a low
wall. He kept his head low and tried to continue operating the pump,
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as her steps drew closer, he began to tremble. “I won’t hurt you.”

He turned and dropped to the ground in front of her on his knees,
still keeping his gaze away from her, “Nomesteh, your beauty is
spoken in the prophesies.”
“But, I cannot kill you. I want to see you work.” She stepped
closer to him, into the puddle created from the pump operation.
“I am not worthy. I am only a Master of the Waters.” With his
hands, he reached out and splashed some of the water on her feet. He
whimpered when he dared to reach out and touch her feet and wipe
away the dust and sand.
“Without the water, the people would die.” Jemmie reminded
him. “You serve the people. Stand up.”
He stood reluctantly, holding his head low.
“You serve the people, and others serve you.” She knelt and
washed his feet with the water from the puddle. She looked up into
the young man’s face and slowly stood to keep his gaze fixed on her
eyes. At first, she saw fear. “See? You don’t die.”
“She is truly a wonder to behold!” He looked up to Sardotep.
Others that heard him began to murmur around them. Sardotep
stood nearby with his arms crossed in front of him. “She is a gift from
the Gods. There is none other like her.”
Jemmie called out to them, “Please, don’t be afraid.”
An elderly woman stepped forward with trembling hands. She
reached out to Jemmie’s arm and touched her briefly before she
pulled away in fear. Jemmie reached back out to her shoulder to stop
her from walking away. She lifted the woman’s chin and the elder
smiled once their eyes finally met.
“She is a gift from the Gods!” The elder raised her hands over her
head with glee.
More people came forward and slowly the word spread among
them that they could look upon her and not die. They continued to
speak of her great beauty.
A light-skinned woman would be different to them. Jemmie didn’t
consider her appearance as beautiful, but being different made her an
object of fascination. Smile and be gracious, show them that real
beauty is inside.
Slowly Jemmie walked to the side where a woman sat in an open
booth with a crude crutch like item leaned against the wall. Her duties
appeared to be removing the hulls from the grain pile in front of her.
The woman smiled broadly and met Jemmie’s gaze, but she looked
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down nervously, thrust her basket into the pile of grain and tossed it
high so hulls drifted into the breezes and the heavy grain fell back into
the basket. She continued to toss the grain high until there were no
more hulls falling, but her gaze became fixed on Jemmie and she
couldn’t stop.
Jemmie reached out for the basket and the woman laughed as she
surrendered the grain. Jemmie put the grain on the cloth spread out for
the clean kernels, and reached over taking another scoop of grain.
Jemmie tossed it several times, the kernels rose into the air only a
short distance, and a few hulls drifted away in the breezes. The
woman reached her hands out, covering Jemmie’s hands with her own
and helped give the basket a stronger toss. The hulls flew out of the
basket under her guidance, almost as if she’d commanded it and
Jemmie laughed to see the differences in their efforts.
“Nomesteh honors my work.” She dropped her head to bow and
returned to looking up at her when finished.
A few feet away a man beat flax and the silky fibers inside the
reeds shined as he broke them apart. He had seen the exchange with
the woman and the grain, but he focused on his work as if he feared
the approach of the legendary Nomesteh.
She touched the soft fibers at the end of the piece he worked. She
knew weavers would use it to make threads and make robes much like
the dress she wore. The man nodded when her hand reached up and
touched the fabric of her own dress.
Another woman worked with a large mortise and pestle to grind
grains into what looked like a crude flour. She smiled and covered her
mouth to conceal the laughter when Jemmie took the smaller stone
and pushed hard to crack the grains. In several passes, Jemmie didn’t
see any progress, so the woman took the stone and showed her the
twists in the motion she used to create a fine powder. When Jemmie
repeated her motions, she produced a fine powder in the bowl.
Jemmie looked up to her face and the woman smiled. “Thank
you, Nomesteh.”
“I have learned from you. Thank you,” Jemmie answered.
In turn, she visited a weaver, a potter, a stone carver, a man
beating fibers and making papyrus, and another man working a grain
Jemmie had never seen before.
Another man working with grains poured them into large jars, but
the aroma from his large work area was unmistakable—beer. He
offered her a cup. She took a large mouthful of the drink. It was very
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different from the brew she knew. She coughed against the heady
flavors and alcohol, but quickly drank again to keep from offending
the brewer. She finished the small cup and knew it had an alcohol
content equal to a full glass of beer from home.
The next woman in the courtyard was baking small flat breads
and the baskets near the ovens overflowed with rich brown biscuits.
She reached into a basket and produced one of the breads. She used
her hands to open the bread and dipped it in a creamy herb sauce.
Jemmie lifted the bread and smelled the herb that reminded her of
dill. When she bit into the biscuit, she discovered the rich creamy
spread tasted like soft cheese. The bread was airy and moist, and
sauce clung to the large holes.
“It is time for the people to eat of morning meal. Come to the
tables and let us serve you there.” Sardotep said.
“No. Wait.” She asked the baker, “You are going to the tables
with these baskets to serve the people?”
The baker nodded.
“We’ll go with you.” Jemmie and Sardotep lifted the first of four
baskets on each side and two other men came in to help.
There was a loud murmuring among the crowd.
“Come! We’ll eat!” Jemmie announced.
The crowd of people cheered. Slowly Sardotep led the way to the
low tables under a sloped roof. People sat on mats and Jemmie
followed the lead of the baker who passed around the bread and filled
baskets on the tables.
Four rows of wooden tables stood with a short table at the head.
Once Jemmie reached the end of a row, Sardotep led her to their
places on the raised table. She had a good view of the people gathered
for the morning meal.
“These people have waited eagerly, generations waited for the
prophesy to be fulfilled. Now the Gift of the Gods walks among us.
But, you serve the people. They will speak of you for hundreds of
years.” His eyes sparkled with mirth.
“Yeah, well, I hope to give them a lot more to talk about.”
Other workers brought meats and dates, but it seemed to her most
people ate two biscuits with the creamy cheese, two portions of meat
served on leafy greens, several dates, with milk and a spicy tea for a
substantial breakfast.
Jemmie sat quietly as she watched the people eat. For the young
and old, this meal seemed particularly festive. To her, it was different
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than watching people interact in the malls because it was a different

time, far away, from what she knew. When she realized she knew
nothing about the time, she asked Sardotep, “Who is the King?”
“The Beauty of Sobek, Queen Sobekneferu, leads the people of
the Beautiful Land in the time of prosperity.”
“What is the year of her rule?”
“This is the second year.”
Jemmie tried to remember her studies of the different dynasties.
She remembered the remarks about the twelfth dynasty in the airplane
and still couldn’t remember the years in relation to her own calendar.
As the Queen, Sobekneferu only ruled for three or four years before
her death and the dynasty ended because there were no heirs. She
remembered that the inundations during the time were bountiful.
Bast told her that she was going to a ‘when’, but she didn’t
realize it could be as far back in her own time as thirty-five to thirty-
eight hundred years.
She looked to the front of the temple, the simple facing of rock
reached up along the ridge, as if carved from the stone of the ridge.
Two columns rose on either side with simple carved decorations and
statuary to Bast, Horus and Hathor guarded the area.
Jemmie was in the exact place she had fallen, but she was seeing
a much earlier time, when the temple had been active and ready for
the woman that was the Gift of the Gods.
The courtyard spread along the area like the expanse of a market.
She could see four large wells serviced the area. Along the furthest
ridge, opposite the entrance of the temple were small stone homes for
the people that lived and worked in the temple.
“The inundation will come soon?”
“Yes, we are finishing our harvests.”
“The season is Shomu.” Jemmie knew it had to be the fourth
month of the Egyptian calendar, but couldn’t recall the name.
“Month of Mesore, and in two days, we honor Hathor in feasts.
You have arrived at a good time for her honor.”
“The Goddess of Love and Passion,” she finished.
He studied her with questions in his eyes that he couldn’t speak.
“You know so much.”
“I have been taught well,” she answered. Desire rose to her skin
in prickly goose bumps because his gaze on her felt as hot as the
afternoon sands.
In all, the area around her was simple and it was easy to see why
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the remnants of courtyard didn’t survive the elements and time to

mark their presence. The largest parts of the features were large stone
pillars holding up wood and thatch roofs to protect the people from
the harsh sun. She looked out over the courtyard and found the area of
stones that lined up during the photo survey were pillars from another
covered work area.
“We should go inside when the sun reaches its peak. You can talk
with more of the people.” Sardotep leaned closer to her ear.
“What do the people normally do at this time of day?”
“Bathe, wash clothes, and now they bring in the harvests and
prepare the foods for the time of the inundation. We are preparing a
feast in your honor. We didn’t know you would come so quickly or
we could have dined like the Gods this morning.”
“No, I like this. There is so much food right now, I feel I am
wasting the parts I can’t eat.” She folded the small woven mat in half
over the meat, dates and biscuit that she couldn’t finish and held it
like a tiny purse.
“We can wash ourselves. The young ones will be attending class
away from the pool.” Sardotep leaned on one arm against the heavy
stone table, and then reached up with his free hand and stroked the
length of her bare arm. The lure of mischief in his eyes held her
captive until she heard the people leaving around them.
“They know…they know something is up.”
“They know the prophesies. She, who comes from the Gods, will
bring great love and passion, and her love will uplift the people. You
have already fulfilled parts of the prophesies, the people are laughing
and singing. They see you as a God. Your pale skin and hair like flax
are different. Yet, even though you are marked from the Gods, you
walk among them, work with them, and even wash their feet.”
“I want to be among them. There is so much I could learn.”
There is time. Jemmie heard the voice she recognized as Bast.
One day here will only pass as a short time to you. Remember speak
nothing of what you know.
****
Sardotep stood and led her to the edge of the pool. The water
drained from this main pool to the lower areas of the valley by using
stones to control the flow. As the area filled from the pump, it drained
into another series of pools where people began to gather.
The Water Master above worked feverishly and each large bucket
of water that rose from his skill with the lever, poured over the angled
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rock and into the pool below like a fountain.

Sardotep reached around her and unfastened the sash holding her
dress closed. At first, she felt out of sorts, but as she looked into the
valley below, almost everyone undressed and entered the pools naked.
She wore no undergarments. Already the sun rose and began to
heat the area and she felt its heat on her skin until she moved into the
shaded area of the pool. A mild breeze blowing cooled the faint sweat
that started to rise.
The water felt warm and cool eddies came from the fresh water
falling into the pool. The bottom was solid stone and her feet kept
their grip against the rough surface. The water barely covered a flat
stone in the middle of the pool.
She stood with water up to her waist and Sardotep joined her in
the pool, his cock starting to become noticeably thicker.
Two young women came into the water behind him with small
bottles and cloths held high. They moved her to the stone on the
inside, setting down their jars on the central rock.
“They will wash you,” he explained.
“But, I can…”
“Let them work,” he admonished. “Relax. Enjoy.”
When in Rome…wait, is it even built yet? Jemmie knew
Egyptians kept slaves in the ancient times, but she hadn’t seen anyone
that that was unhappy with their life at the temple. She also recalled
reading that the slaves were usually prisoners.
The naked women that walked up on either side appeared to be
excited over her presence. They ushered her to the central rock and
Jemmie sat with only a couple inches of water around her body.
The young women smeared a gritty herb paste over her arm and
rubbed with the wet cloth. The mixture felt like an extravagant lotion.
When they raised her arms, they marveled over the lack of hair, and
Jemmie giggled with the ticklish sensations on the inside of her arm.
One woman smeared the paste over her chest and the other
woman spread it over her back. The washing motions reminded her of
a massage and their touch lingered in sensual caresses.
Sardotep gently pushed her back and rubbed the cream over her
skin, rolling her nipples gently between his fingers.
His hands on her breasts spread a slow fire through her body and
she couldn’t resist a moan with four other hands roaming over her and
moving progressively lower over her hips, and intimately to her inner
thighs and legs. Her own hands joined in the rubbing over her mound
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and upward again. They held her legs high, but apart and thoroughly
washed every inch of her tingling skin.
“The Prophesies said she would be a woman of great passions.”
One of the women bathing her commented.
Jemmie shuddered under the attentions of Sardotep and the two
women, but before she enjoyed any of Sardotep’s attentions, she
wanted less of an audience.
“I know she is.” Sardotep answered.
Inspired, Jemmie told the women “Wash him.”
Sardotep’s look of astonishment made her laugh when they
moved him onto the smooth stone.
Jemmie lowered herself into the water to rinse away the herbs.
She moved closer to Sardotep and scooped the cream into her
hands. She looked into his eyes as the women washed his upper body.
Jemmie reached for his legs, soon focusing on his penis because it
was quickly rising against his body.
The women giggled before they left them alone in the pool. Aside
from the rhythmic sounds from the water master behind the low wall
and distant voices of people in the valley below, no one intruded in
their space in the pool.
She found a bowl the women left and used it to scoop up water
and rinse him. “I’m not the only one with great passions.”
“You are beautiful.” Sardotep hesitated, but continued, “The
Gods would give me dreams of you.”
“Even a couple nights ago?”
“That wasn’t a dream. The Starlands are a special place. I could
explore your valley and the Gods stood watch.”
Their skin was slippery from the cream, but she crawled closer to
him on the rock. “I want you to explore more.”
The sounds from the pump action stopped. Jemmie turned to the
pump and found the buckets had stopped and the water master was no
longer at his station at the lever.
“His wife was one of the washing women,” Sardotep explained.
“Good, they can find their own explorations.” Jemmie turned to
him and rubbed her hands up his chest to his shoulders and back down
again. She straddled his legs and then repeated the motion bringing
her nipples down to his skin. Balancing with her hands, she brought
herself up to kiss him, crushing their mouths together but relishing the
feel of his hard muscles against her body.
Sardotep sat up slowly and his abdomen rippled. He pulled her
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closer, “The chamber is ready for you.” His breathing became deeper
and the heated touches and kissing became stronger.
“We can use it later.”
“We must draw the energy of the Earth to our bodies and spread
it out over the land.” Sardotep attempted to explain the ritual between
the deep impassioned kisses.
“We can do that here.”
Sardotep panted against the skin of her neck. “The chamber must
be sanctified…blessed with the love of Nomesteh.”
Jemmie could only imagine that he intended to make love to her
there but her quivering limbs needed their fulfillment. “And the pool,
and the courtyard, and the entire valley…please, don’t stop.”
Sardotep pulled her closer lifting her hips and aiming his swollen
rod into her body, lowering her inch by slow, agonizing inch.
With his rod pressed deep inside her body, she shifted her hips
until she heard his moan. She worked to rock against him but her
muscles pulsed around him and her body trembled, already driving
her to quicken the rhythm.
“The love will flow over the land…like the waters inundating the
Nile.” He strained to speak the words and maintain control.
She remembered the words of Bast comparing the surges of an
orgasm to the floods of the river. Her hands trembled in rhythm to her
pounding heartbeat and the warm spread of pleasure began to boil in
her hips. “Like the water from the well…let it flow…let it splash into
the valley,” she couldn’t continue because the words caught in her
throat to become a long moan.
“The water rises…great surges rise in the well.”
“Water…the valley.”
His hands slid down her back and lifted her over his cock, raising
and lowering her hips as she rocked against him.
She could feel her own surges rising out of control. The pulsing
of her body gave way to an explosion when Sardotep pulled her into a
kiss to quiet her cries of pleasure. She tried to maintain a rhythm but
his grunts announced his final thrusts as he filled her trembling body.
Gasping breaths gave way to slow kisses between them.
In the tender moments, the desperation dissipated, but fears of the
reality came to light, “How long will you be with us, Nomesteh?”
“I don’t know. I want to see everything. I want to talk to people
and see them work and play. I want to read. I want to…,” Her voice
trailed off. “I want to love, and spread that love.”
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He brushed damp wisps of hair from her face and said, “Then we
shall go out among the people, and play in the chambers as if there is
no tomorrow. If, in the morning, I awaken to holding you in my arms
then we will love again and continue.”
“But, in the morning, if the Gods have taken me away, don’t cry
or lament what is gone. Celebrate and hope that the Gods grant me a
chance to come back to you.”
Sardotep silenced her with another kiss, trying to strangle the
words she desperately wanted him to understand.
She forced her head up after savoring the feel of his mouth. “If I
am gone tomorrow or in ten years, we should find a way to honor the
love we bring out for ages to come.”
“I would paint it in the heavens.” He held her tenderly.
They rinsed their sticky bodies, but it became difficult not to
touch him. Not knowing how long she could be here made the time
more precious. She gently reached upward around his shoulders and
he pulled her close.
Since the legends of Nomesteh described her to be a woman of
great passions, she reveled in not hiding her passions from the people.
Knowing she was the woman in the legends of Nomesteh became
intimidating. Could she fulfill the great prophesies? Could she explore
the chambers she’d barely seen? Could she see the terrain in the area?
Could she now explore the man she hardly knew outside of her
dreams? When she finally let him go, he watched her.
She used her hands to pour water over his head and shoulders but
her fingers ran down along his body, following the droplets that
glistened like diamonds against his dark skin.
When they walked out to the edge of the pool, the two women
returned with cloths to dry them, and they patiently waited while both
women fussed over the placement of their clothing and used a wide
tooth comb to get Jemmie’s hair in order.
As the women finished working and smeared droplets of scented
oil onto their skin, they tried to move forward to the steps of the
Chambers. Two young men approached from the entrance of the
chambers inside the ridge. Other people approached from the
courtyard and the pools below and they gathered around them.
Jemmie knew they hadn’t been shy with their lovemaking in the
pool and they seemed to be alone at the time but their presence again
attracted the people to the patio at the water’s edge.
The first young man raised her right arm, and the second reached
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for Sardotep’s right arm. The people smiled and giggled around them
but said nothing. Sardotep looked at her with raised eyebrows. He
didn’t seem to understand what the people were doing.
Two girls came through the crowd of people and brought forward
two bracelets that they pushed onto the arms of Jemmie and Sardotep
and clasped them into place with a latch.
The elaborate silver work bore bands of green malachite, blue
lapis, and white alabaster that radiated outward on either side of tiny
glyphs. She read the inscription of a house protecting two cartouches
of their names between the protective glyphs of Hathor and Bast.
Sardotep became flustered, “They honor you as my wife.” His
bracelet matched hers and his fingertips traced the glyphs.
“I hope I can bring honor to you,” Jemmie answered. She didn’t
refuse—nor did she want to—because all of the emotions churning
inside blended into a sense of peace and joy that she never understood
before today. “I would have the love we share live on forever.”
Sardotep pulled her into his arms and the crowd around them
cheered. “I could never have dreamed that the Gods would bless my
life this way.”
There were no elaborate rituals recorded for a marriage and there
was nothing more needed for them today.
They left no doubt about the consummation of the relationship.
The people acknowledged them as husband and wife.
The feast tonight would honor the marriage between their vigilant
priest and the woman brought by the Gods. The people were satisfied.
When Sardotep lifted her chin and kissed her sweetly, the crowd
around them clapped and cheered.

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Burning through the Heavens

Jemmie reveled in the chance to talk with the children during

studies that afternoon, inside the temple entry. The cool stones inside
gave respite from hottest temperatures of the day. Many people
around the temple came inside and rested on mats inside the large
entrance. Jemmie once learned the general populace in Egypt was
forbidden from entering temples but she didn’t see evidence of that
today because the Temple spaces were a refuge from the heat.
The schoolmaster, an older man with graying hair, ushered the
students to seats and lit the lanterns on the darkest side of the room.
These were the youngest children of the people living in the area.
He brought Nomesteh to the front of the class and sat her on the
ledge where stacks of papyri listed lessons.
In the beginning, a few young girls kept looking at her, giggling.
When she called the girls over they said nothing, they just lifted bits
of her hair and let the locks drift back down to her shoulder. Another
girl fingered the stones of her bracelet.
The children were full of questions about Nomesteh once the
teacher called the class to order.
“Where did you come from?” a young boy asked.
Jemmie reeled to Bast’s warning about not discussing her past
life. “I came from the Gods.”
“Did you have a mother and father?”
“Yes, I did. I also have two sisters and a brother.”
“Did you go to school like this?”
“Yes, I did.” Jemmie’s thoughts reeled back to grade school
where she was learning to write on a little table with paper and pencil.
Now, the young students sat on the ground with a large slate-like
tablet on a short table, and a brush with a cup of water. “I would like
for you to show me what you are studying.”
“What did you learn in school?”
“I learned about the great Kings. I learned to read and write. I
learned how to write my numbers for documents so the arrangements
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are clear.” Jemmie knew it was the truth and these were lessons that
the students were learning now.
The teacher interjected, “I was showing them the numbers today,
and we are going to count grains.”
Jemmie recalled her teachers showing her jars full of marbles and
the guesses to estimate the numbers in the jar. Jemmie picked up five
small stones from the edge of the floor near the ledge where she sat.
She showed the stones to one of the youngest students. “How many?”
The young boy held up five fingers triumphantly.
Jemmie looked to the teacher, who marked five vertical lines
with a brush on a stone at the front. The stone turned dark and looked
like ink against the light surface.
“Now, if I have five more stones, what would I have?”
“Ten!” The students announced.
The teacher drew the symbol for ten, using an arch to connect
two lines. In all of the numbers she’d seen on the many documents,
she only saw this arch—written in shorthand—as a single curved line.
The symbol now took on new meaning as a grouping of single units.
“Ten more?”
The teacher drew two more lines and connected them with
another arch.
“Again…”
And Jemmie saw another mark appear. She used her finger to
have the teacher draw ten symbols for ten, five lined up over five, and
then Jemmie reached for the teacher’s brush.
The teacher made no objection as she dipped the brush in water
and drew a spiral from the base of the board, clockwise around, and
then between the fading tens symbols until she fully encompassed
each of the symbols in a spiral.
“Hundred!” The students cried out.
The arches for the tens were fading fast and remaining on the
board was a large spiral Egyptian symbol for one hundred.
Jemmie couldn’t decide who was learning more from the lessons,
her or the students.
Sardotep leaned against a column separating the study area from
the entry of the temple, but he looked emotionless except for a tiny
mischievous glint in his eyes. A man sitting on the floor near him
sketched quickly with a thin brush on papyrus.
Jemmie walked to the side, looked at his sketch and found a
detailed drawing. It showed the room full of students, marked with
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thirty young-boy and young-girl glyphs. There were five small stones
sketched against a hand in the upper corner, but the best details in the
drawing showed the teacher, and Jemmie at the board, with the
symbol for one hundred spiraling around the tens symbols. As she had
seen in the lesson, the ten held the mark of two lines with an arch
above. Across the top, in both directions, the hieratic glyphs marked
The Lesson of the Five Stones.
“He wishes to carve this in the wall, so all children to come will
know the teaching of the numbers from Nomesteh.”
Jemmie nodded. Now, many young children would learn the
same lesson she learned today.
****
Jemmie walked through the chambers following Sardotep, and
discovering a vast array of functional rooms within the chambers built
under the ridge. Scribes worked on papyri, but they, too, worked with
a large piece of stone like the students. The surface was smooth and
afforded them enough time to arrange notes before writing in the dark
ink on the papyrus sheets.
Younger scribes worked at desks, learning the trade by copying
texts for distribution. Jemmie learned how copies of literature were
distributed. The students might make mistakes in their transcription,
but the copy went among the people, and the original from the master
scribe was often the copy archived within a temple.
“Do you save the pages?” Jemmie asked.
“Yes. The records are stored.” Sardotep looked inquisitively.
“The stories about the people. The pictures. Do you save a copy?
Seal it away for all time?” Jemmie knew that the people in this time
were taking steps to preserve the writings, but she was dangerously
close to Bast’s warning about telling them about her own time.
Sardotep answered her question by drawing her into a long
corridor. On the wall were wooden shelves with layers upon layers of
papyri stored away. It was effective for their record needs and some
of the sheets contained details of marriages or sales. He led her further
into the chamber and showed her stone shelves that contained rows of
sealed jars.
“The room will be sealed when the jars are full?”
Sardotep nodded, but didn’t say anything. Jemmie thought it was
best not to dig for details.
Sardotep took her hand gently and led her back through the halls
to another corridor where a stone carver sat chiseling an outline of a
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woman. He’d begun adding details to the feet and sat quietly when
they approached.
“That will be me?” She looked at the drawings next to the carver.
In her few hours in the temple, the people had begun to sketch her in a
variety of places. She saw a sketch of her kneeling at the feet of the
water master. Another sketch detailed the woman with grain taking
her hands to toss the kernels into the air. A third sketch depicted the
morning feast. Another sketch detailed her embrace with Sardotep in
the water of the pool. One common thread through all of the glyphs in
the sketches was clear; everyone seemed to consider her and Sardotep
as husband and wife, as if it had always been that way. The scribe or
artists marked each of the drawings with the glyphs of the marriage
engraved on their bracelets.
****
Sardotep tugged at her hand gently and drew her down the long
corridor of smooth stone. He appeared nervous, but excited as she
wandered the corridor beside him. The craftsman had just begun
working on the carvings that would grace these walls and the stone in
place was silky smooth to the touch, as if polished. The corridor
doglegged with zigzagging turns before ending in an enormous room.
The center of the room held an enormous canopy bed, draped
with red, blue and green cloths and overstuffed pillows. More drapes
covered the head of the bed, and a sheer white curtain surrounded it
all the way to the floor. Its position in the center of the room gave the
bed special focus.
In the middle of the bed lay a tray of fruits, meats and bread.
“This is the chamber you told me about earlier.”
He pushed a wooden door closed at the opening of the chamber.
It’s dark, polished wood stark against the inlays of stone depicting
Hathor and several of the Gods. Near the handle of the door, she saw
an incomplete depiction of Sardotep. He noticed her gaze on the door.
“I will see to it that the entire temple is carved and decorated in your
honor. You brought joy to the people in just a short time.”
“And I am delighted to walk and talk with them.”
Sardotep looked proud, but slowly his stature softened. “I wished
to speak with you about making you my wife, but the people thought
it was needed before the words would come to me.”
“We didn’t hide in the pool, so the people didn’t surprise me. If
the relationship is…consummated, I am sure they would love to make
sure everything is in order and have their beloved priest and the
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woman of legend honored properly.” Jemmie looked into his eyes, but
the dark orbs concealed his secrets.
“I have always served the temple.” Sardotep’s explanation was
not coming easily. “The prophesy describes the great woman to come,
the priest to serve her, and the people of the valley love her.”
“But, the prophesy never spoke of the outcome for the heart of
the priest.” Jemmie could see the heart of his dilemma because the
prophesies never told him if he could serve her like a slave. When she
came out of the temple, the people bowed to her and even feared her,
but he expected nothing for himself.
“The honors you give me and to the people are…,” his words cut
off. “They will speak of you for generations.”
“They will speak of us for generations.” Jemmie moved in closer,
touched the smooth skin of his chest, and let her hands wander down
along the edge of his robe to the sash. She loosened the loops and
opened the fabric, letting her hands slip down along his hips.
“The wonder of your touch sparks fire through me.” Sardotep
loosened her sash and her dress fell to the floor.
“We have time.” She drew him to the bed. “We also have food to
fuel the fires.” Jemmie removed his robe. She couldn’t resist the
temptation to reach out with her hand and explore the growing cock in
front of her. True to the mandates of being a priest, he was hairless
over his legs and even his testicles. His smooth skin showed no nicks
from shaving and she wondered briefly how he did it daily.
Sardotep remained standing next to the bed and he watched her.
She took delight in leaning forward and licking the mushroom
head of his penis. He moaned when she sucked it inside if her mouth.
Her hand worked up from the base of his thick rod upward to her
mouth and back down again. The skin felt silky and blood vessels
beneath the surface bulged under her fingertips. His quickened breath
soon told her the touch was effective.
“The staff has not entered your valley, but my body wants to give
rise to the seed.” Sardotep struggled for control.
She didn’t believe she broke any cultural taboos, but she kept
rubbing his cock with her hand. “Good. There are many ways of love
and the entire body can delight in the pleasures, like the mouth, or
breasts.” She returned to the attentions of her mouth to the end of his
rod and the sensitive ridge around it. He never used his hands to push
her deeper, which was another aspect of him she loved. She pushed
down, taking him into her mouth as far as she could before pulling up
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and assaulting the tip with her tongue.

He soon stiffened and moaned loudly.
Jemmie pushed the head to the back of her mouth and worked to
swallow the thick spurts that erupted from him. She held his hips tight
when she slowly released his cock from her mouth. The tender head
passing between her lips caused him to shudder.
Sardotep turned to sit on the bed, and then pulled her up to lie
down with him. “I know you possess a magic from the Gods, but
never before has my body reacted this way in the presence of a
woman. I feel like my seed has awakened and now it knows your
body is the fertile ground it seeks.”
She tried to think in terms he would understand. “It’s like the
spirits of your sons have found their mother and they must make their
voices heard. Your heart knows, and your staff knows.”
The impact was not lost on him. They had just begun to revel in
the attraction as lovers when the people brought them together as a
married couple. It was settling into him that one of the blessings of a
marriage was children.
Nor was the impact of her words lost in her thoughts. For the first
time, she felt like an active participant in the lives around her, and
potentially inside her, and she enjoyed the feeling that she was a vital
part of her surroundings.
After feeding each other snacks from the serving tray, the lure of
sleep began to call Jemmie. She struggled to keep her eyes open, even
against the knowledge she hadn’t slept much in the night before.
“You should let your eyes close. It’s possible the Gods wish to
speak with you in the land of your dreams and if you resist, the may
be impatient or angry.”
“I am afraid that if I close my eyes, this paradise will disappear to
me forever and I don’t wish to leave.” She feared that truth.
“I will hold you tight. If the Gods must take you from me, I can’t
stop them, but the feel of your breath on my skin will forever burn in
my heart.”
She held him close with her head on his shoulder. He drew a thin
sheet over their naked bodies. Her body sank into restful sleep filled
with the faces of laughing children and grain that rises in the air.
****
Jemmie opened her eyes and found Sardotep snuggled against her
back with his upper arm as her pillow. When she tried to move, he
instantly came awake, even startled by her movement.
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“I’m still here.” She giggled while she stroked his arm. “I think
my work here is not finished and the Gods wish for me to stay.”
His kiss on her shoulder was as warm as the rest of his body
against her back. Within a few moments, his cock stirred against her
backside. “Already it rises.”
“My staff acts out my heart’s desire. My brain would wish to
show you my discipline and skill, but the Gods have other ideas.”
“I think they have good ideas. There will come a day when my
belly swells and I will be too fat for the play of lovers. Then you can
show me your many skills.”
Sardotep laughed and shifted his hand down her tummy to the
area below her bellybutton. “You have only made the stirrings
stronger. I have seen the many women who come to the temple for
blessings of the children that are not yet born. I can see a foot move
within her belly, and I could watch the child with endless fascination.
I anoint the mother’s skin and the baby moves under my hands. I have
to call out the names of the Gods and watch for reactions from the
baby to see which of the Gods guides him—or her.”
“I think that would be important information.” Jemmie hadn’t
thought about the Gods influences from the beginning of life. There
was no time now. She felt the head of his staff pressing towards her
body from behind. Shifting her hips, he found easy entry into her
body and he pushed deep.
His groan only punctuated the sensations she felt when he pushed
the tip of his cock into her body. His hand roved up to her breasts and
played with the nipples sending tingles through her skin.
She raised one leg over his and turned her upper body so she
could see him.
“The love I see in your eyes heats my desires.” He pushed his
hips forward again.
He slid into her body so easily, and when he reached the top of
her body, he lingered to draw out the sensations.
Sardotep moved easily to sit up and then lean over her when she
drew her knee up. She let her leg lie lazily over the arm he used for
balance and her hips still rose to meet him. He lifted her second leg
over his arm and her butt lifted off the bed.
In this position, she could easily see his full cock buried deep
inside her body and she reveled in the sensations. She reached down
with a finger and flicked over her swelling clit.
“Your body still pulses though we hardly move.”
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“My body knows, too. It strives to draw the seed from you and
nourish it.” Her body gave a pulse around his staff and the tingling in
her clit started to rise with the warmth deep inside her body.
He didn’t move much as he watched her fingers dance over the
tiny nub of firm flesh. He stared at the place they joined and his slow
breathing came in deep pants.
Jemmie wanted to give him more to watch. Her fingers moved
faster as her pulse and breathing quickened. The idea of enjoying an
orgasm while he watched the full reactions of her body intensified her
desires. She spread her legs wider, resting her feet on his shoulders.
His body tightened. He panted out the words, “Don’t stop.”
The first pulses of his orgasm throbbed against the opening of her
womb. Her own tender flesh squeezed over him and her body burst
into tingling pricks of heat just before sensations exploded around her
body and she cried out. The muscles in her legs forced her feet into
the air.
He didn’t release her. Instead, he started thrusting with his hips,
holding her legs tightly against his chest. Waves rippled through her
and her moans matched his thrusting rhythm.
With each thrust forward, she could feel a second wave of
orgasm just below the surface but her body tightened against him.
The pounding at the door caught them both off guard. Sardotep
yelled, “We are not to be disturbed!”
“A caravan came. It’s Seknu.”
Sardotep appeared bewildered for a split second before anger
creased his brow. “What does he know?”
“He knows the one known as Nomesteh has arrived.”
Sardotep stood up from the bed and paced the length. His cock
hung in front of his body, weakened by the shock of this news.
Jemmie reached up and took his hand, drawing him close, but the
afternoon romp was over.
“Show him to the feast area.” Sardotep’s head hung. “Spread it
among the people that no one should speak of Nomesteh to him. Tell
him I am in ritual and will attend to him soon.”
Jemmie stood and walked closer to him. She found an obvious
look of worry in his expression. “Why does he upset you?”
“He takes a tax on the people as if he is King. He’s an overseer.
He knows the times the seers foretold, and he expects to collect of the
gifts the Gods bring. I didn’t know how he knew, but he has an agent
in the people.”
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“If the people don’t speak of me…,” Jemmie tried to explain.

“You can call me by a different name…maybe my hair…”
“It is obvious that you are the one of the prophesies. Your great
beauty and golden hair shines like the sun. Your eyes sparkle with
malachite and gold, and your skin is like fresh cream.” Sardotep hung
his head. “The very beauty that drives me wild has been foretold for
generations. Even if we doused your hair with ink, painted your face
and shrouded you with the robes on the bed, we could not hide your
eyes, your skin, or my desire when I am near you.”
“Then I will face him as I am and tell him that I am your wife and
the Gods left no other riches for him to pilfer.”
“That is dangerous because he struts like a King.”
“Even if he bears a document with the seal of the Queen, there is
nothing for him to take. I have only a dress and a bracelet that came
from all of the people in the valley. And, I don’t think this is coming
off…” Jemmie turned her arm around to look at the latch.
“He will demand proof.”
“What do I tell him? I know only of a dark cavern and a woman
that purred like a cat. After that, I saw you.”
“What do you remember before the cavern?” he asked.
“I cannot tell him what the Gods have forbidden me to discuss. I
must make it appear that I know nothing of time before I appeared or
make it appear that it is like this time.”
Sardotep’s eyes closed against her words. He didn’t appear to be
upset, but the words bore an impact.
“I would be terrified that if I speak of anything, the Gods would
be displeased and I would vanish from this valley forever.” Jemmie
wondered if he truly understood that she wasn’t hiding anything from
him deliberately.
“We must face him with the truth. There is nothing to take. I keep
thinking of the foods and goods that would have sustained our people.
His theft is so bad now that we must hide our stores.”
“No…we have to stop him. He’s taking food from the people and
acts like he owns the land? He could look around the temple and
claim that a pot or a bucket of grain must be taken and there’s nothing
to prove he can’t?” Jemmie tried to draw her dress into place and tie
the sash, but she became so angry her hands shook.
“We must never let him know this upsets us.” Sardotep tied the
offending sash on her dress.
“So he can keep doing this and he thinks we like it? No, I would
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give him a piece of my mind.”

“And give him cause to take you captive?”
The horror of the mysterious overseer came to the surface. The
people had already accomplished feats to keep him at bay and now he
was after her, and if she stepped out of line—one step—he could take
her captive as a prisoner.
“I will tell him that you cannot leave the chambers.”
“Then he will insist to see me, I won’t have him here.” Jemmie
looked into his dark eyes to make her point. “This room sparkles with
our love. I won’t let him spoil it.”
“We must face him.” Sardotep drew her close to his side under
his protective arm. “Let’s go together.”
****
Once they strolled out into the bright sunlight, the heat of the day
beat down. The roofs afforded shade in the courtyard. They walked to
the eating tables to find a heavyset man in robes, with thick dark hair,
arrogantly sitting on the head table. “These puny dates! They know
nothing of honor…”
Jemmie knew the instant he saw her that his intentions were
never honorable, in spite of his protestations. His beard, trimmed to a
point in his chin appeared to be styled like a king without the jewelry.
Sardotep remained guarded and he leaned against the wall behind
the head table, keeping her close.
Jemmie knew she had to face this overseer. His leering gaze over
her body revolted her.
“I am Seknu, an overseer from Abydos, in service of the Queen
Sobekneferu.” Seknu bowed low and his hands, full of rings, covered
his face and then moved down to his chest in some form of feigned
humility. “You are Nomesteh, the woman of the legends.”
“That’s what they tell me,” Jemmie answered. She moved closer
to Sardotep and pulled him into her arms.
The affection to Sardotep flustered Seknu. “You must come with
me and I will see that you are transported to Memphis. I will see to it
that you ride like the Queen.”
“I will not leave my husband.”
“You have no husband!” He scoffed. “Your arrival today is well
documented by those that read the stars. It is not possible for you to
have come with a husband. I must insist that you travel with me.”
“And I insist that I will stay.” Jemmie held out her arm and
Seknu quickly read the glyphs.
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“It is a trick!” Seknu’s fury rose.

Jemmie locked his gaze. “Oh, of course, we had a jeweler just
whip up these bracelets when we found out you were here. This is a
month of work even for a talented craftsman.”
“Where are the documents?” he demanded.
A man ran forward with an open scroll. He held the document up
to be read but refused to look at Seknu.
“It’s not possible! The ink isn’t dry on this proclamation!” Seknu
reached for the papyri like he was trying to shred the document. When
the young scribe ducked away from his reach, he turned to the crowd
of people that gathered around the feast tables. “I’m sure there isn’t
one among you who can honestly witness that these two have loved as
man and wife.”
The outcry from the crowd astonished even Jemmie. The voices
rang out clear from the crowd. She stared, wide-eyed, at Sardotep and
giggled, but he also smiled.
“The fields were plowed and the seeds were sown!”
“She cried out her pleasures across the valley!”
“He has the strength of a great tree! His root reached deep, and
the waters flowed in the valley!”
“She will bring forth a son with strength to match his father”
“The force of their passion will bring two sons!”
“Their orchard will grow strong!”
Jemmie became inspired to add her own comment. “Yes, he’s
like a tree. I sat in his shade and his seed was like sweet fruit to my
mouth.” To punctuate her words she reached up and licked the end of
her finger before slowly sucking it into her mouth and then releasing
it with a pop.
The impact of her words wasn’t lost on Seknu. “You have no
permissions from your mother or family for this.”
“I need permission when I have been sent by the Gods?”
“There is no proof…” Seknu’s contempt flared.
A small white cat sauntered along the wall behind the head table.
Jemmie recognized the cat immediately and as the cat passed, its tail
flicked along her hands before she crouched facing Seknu, prepared to
spring. Threatening tones mewled deep in her throat, but she waited to
leap. The tiny walking appearance of Bast made an impression on the
people around them.
“I think you have all the proof you need.” Jemmie stood her
ground. “I will not leave this valley unless I choose and I will travel
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with my husband to see the Queen.”

The cat growled.
“You cannot be the great Nomesteh!” Seknu’s snarl never left his
face although the impact of her words and the actions of the cat struck
fear into him.
“The Gods give her witness!” a voice cried out from the entry of
the temple. A man pointed eagerly into the courtyard.
Jemmie looked out to see a light tan cow sauntering into the
courtyard and ambling towards the feast tables.
Seknu screamed and Jemmie turned to see a yellow snake coiling
itself on the top of the table.
“Above!” one of the people announced.
In the air over the lower courtyard were four circling vultures.
Dipping to the ground in turns, the birds alarmed the servants of
Seknu in the waiting caravan.
The cat growled again.
“Animals! If you have nothing better to offer than animals, I will
have you ushered to the carts.” He stepped away from the feast tables
and called to the men in the caravan. He sauntered down the walks
with determination.
Sardotep leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “We can give
him the proof he demands.”
Against her leg, she felt his penis stirring to life.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
He nodded. “He won’t believe what anyone says. He is intent to
take you from here and claim you as property since you would not fall
prey to his false flattery. You startled him with your keen mind.”
Around them, the animals closed in and people gathered in
closer. When Seknu returned, he would have a hard time pushing
through the crowd that formed.
“Send the children to the study area in the temple,” she told a
nearby woman. “If Seknu wants proof, then he will see it with his
own eyes.”
Around them, the people at the front of the crowd turned their
backs to them, making a long living curtain to shield their act. Some
of the people started playing music.
Jemmie tugged at his robes so it opened in the front, revealing the
engorging penis. Her own robes easily opened at the front slits and
she stood with her feet to either side of his legs. She leaned forward
and wrapped her fingers around his cock but Sardotep needed no help
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in achieving a full erection.

“I think it is part of my soul, and not just my seed, that reaches
out to leap into your body for nourishment.”
Jemmie aimed the head into her body and rose to accommodate
the staff. She shifted their robes so they remained covered. She began
trembling in his arms but he drew her closer. She whispered, “My
own soul reaches for you and I wish it could be this way for all time. I
will not let him take me away from you.”
“He will not be able to deny his own eyes. He could become very
angry but the people will drive him away.”
Jemmie enjoyed some of the sensations but the need for doing
this weighed against the joys of the sexual contact. Jemmie couldn’t
bear the thought of any of the people enduring a problem from Seknu
because they stood up for her and Sardotep. “He could hurt people.”
I will not allow that. Jemmie heard the voice clearly, but it was
not Bast. The white cat looked up from the perch on the wall and for a
brief moment, she appeared to wink.
She leaned forward and let her body move against him. She held
him close and felt her skin against his and his rod pushing deep inside
her body. When she focused on Sardotep, she could feel his heartbeat
and his quickened breath and in those moments it felt to her like they
were alone at the pool. Ripples of pleasure rose through her and she
let out a moan.
“What is this?” Seknu’s voice called out from the edge.
The cow gave an indignant moo.
Jemmie’s own body tightened from a fear reaction but Sardotep
groaned and she moaned from the sensations welling inside her hips.
Inspired, she knew she could make him erupt and give the offending
overseer a wild demonstration. She moaned loudly, “Yes!”
The steamy look in Sardotep’s eyes gave way to wonder.
The murmurs from the people quieted. Jemmie felt sure that
Seknu could see them, but he wasn’t speaking.
Jemmie reached up and kissed him but began working her hips so
that each stroke reached to the deepest muscles in her body, and the
tingles she would get from it grew. She moaned with several of the
strokes and then said to Sardotep, “Do you think we will have a child
for every time you seed has risen today?”
“If they were to come at once, you might need the help of Hathor
to ensure they have milk.” Sardotep’s body tightened from a pulse of
pleasure that charged between them.
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Jemmie opened her robe to bare her breasts. “I think I can handle
the work.” Her hands cupped her breasts and lifted them upward to
prove herself. The pointy nipples stuck out and she moaned loudly
when Sardotep flicked over each nipple.
“Four sons and four daughters,” Sardotep murmured.
“Make it five sons and five daughters. We will make a flag for
our home with your hand reaching up one side, and mine on the other,
and the arc to connect them will be the wings of the Gods.” She could
envision just such a flag.
Sardotep groaned.
“Yes, let your seed rise like the waters from the well.” Jemmie
heard a murmur from the people as she rocked back and forth. Soon
the splashing noises from the station of the water master gave her a
rhythm to move her hips.
“Your belly will swell this night from my seed.” He pulled her
hips down over his rod and she thought he might fill her already.
Sardotep’s bold grunts and groans hid nothing from the crowd.
She mashed her hips down and her clit tingled. She focused on
the sensations and her body tightened. Her heartbeat pounded and she
knew she could soon start screaming out her pleasures.
“Let my love surge inside you,” Sardotep said.
She could only answer him with a moan. Her clit ground against
him at the base of his rod and her body began tremble. “Surround
you…The root…deep in the valley…the waters will rise.”
“The seed…,” Sardotep groaned.
Jemmie threw herself into humping over his cock. Her whimpers
turned into moans to match his groans, becoming louder and bolder.
She couldn’t hold back the warmth that grew inside her.
Sardotep moved her hips over his rod and his body stiffened.
Jemmie moaned louder as the prickly sensation rose, her body
quickly tightened and convulsed over his cock. She threw her head
back and let out a long, satisfied moan.
With a final grunt, Sardotep pushed his cock to the limits of her
body and the spurts of his semen filled her.
Jemmie gasped for air, laying against his chest for comfort.
The people murmured and then began to cheer. The moans of
another couple she couldn’t see began to rise in heated desires.
Looking around her, the people were parting their protective
curtain around them.
She could see the station of the water master. Although he
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worked the lever of the pump furiously while stark naked, his wife
knelt before him, working on his cock with her hands and mouth. He
also moaned loudly. His hips thrust in time with his pulls on the lever,
but his body soon trembled and the strain of his orgasm was the only
pause in the flow of water from the well.
The cow in the feast area moved from the place she had stood
and she revealed Seknu staring at them with his face darkened by
anger. He only turned and walked down the stone path to the caravan.
Looking around, she found three couples tossed their clothes
aside to make the stone feast tables a bed for love.
“There will be many sons born when the moon reaches its
fullness during the growing seasons.”
Jemmie pulled away from him, their legs sticky. She reached for
the sashes on her robe and Sardotep’s. “I think they have the perfect
idea. We will ensure the children are cared for by the elders in the
houses and we will run naked and make love when the need arises.”
He could only watch when she tossed the fabric of their garments
on the wall and the only article they each possessed was the bracelet
marking them as husband and wife.
“Shall we wash ourselves before dinner?”
Naked, they walked up to the edge of the pool. Jemmie stopped a
man on the side and asked him to bring straw for the cow that would
be an honored guest at the feast and bowls of milk and meats for the
cat and snake.
Many other people had taken their lead and walked naked around
the pool and feast area. One young couple was already engaged in
passionate kissing and petting in the waters of the pool.
The air filled with the moans of pleasure through the night and as
the sun lowered in the sky, the clouds formed a wispy pattern of
wings in bright red.
The people lit torches for light and continued the celebrations of
their passions.
“This night, Re glows with envy of the love that burns through
this valley in the Beautiful Land,” Sardotep whispered in her ear,
“Our love will burn forever through the heavens.”
****
The next morning came and during their bathing, Jemmie found
that the women trimmed Sardotep’s body hair by pulling it out with a
crude pair of tweezers.
“Stop, let him grow his hair.”
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The women left and Sardotep laughed. “I think I will look like a
great dark animal.”
“You can shave your face so you don’t look like Seknu.”
For many days, Jemmie did stay with the people of the beautiful
valley. Sardotep’s laughter would ring out with the people. His hair
did begin to grow in and get dark.
He could not resist walking behind her and placing his hand flat
against her belly. He would kiss her neck and speak of his sons with
the same pride as if they walked with him.
“He is a proud father.” The baker woman said as she made breads
and demonstrated the recipe for Jemmie.
“He has great pride for children that are not bigger than a kernel
of grain.” Jemmie pinched a bit of the flour on the table and pulled up
a tiny piece of the cracked grains. She hesitated. If she were pregnant,
would she have time to stay here and raise children?
“You are worried that you will birth ten children all at once?”
“I am worried that the Gods will call me away before my belly
even begins to show the swelling of a son.”
“The Gods have a good plan. Never doubt what they intend. You
will be cared for because you are blessed by great love.”
Jemmie found comfort in her words.
In the days that followed, she discovered that the people lived in
a manner that seemed to take for granted that the Gods were present
every day. They honored every cat as a manifestation of Bast, or a
cow as a representation of Hathor. In this valley, she never saw a
cobra, lion, crocodile or other exotic creatures common to the
symbolism in their way of life but she knew they were real and
somehow the people came to know of their existence as a matter of
faith in the Gods.
The Gods have a plan…

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To Each, The Time Will Come

She tried to ignore the woman’s voice calling her in her dreams.
In the space of a week, she had loved Sardotep and walked among the
people to hear their stories and learn their trades. She didn’t want to
leave the valley. His touch guarded her in the night.
The time has come.
Jemmie stirred. “I don’t want to leave him.”
The love will be part of you forever. You have much more to do.
You don’t see it now but we are still working.
She reached out for his shoulder. “Let me say goodbye.”
He will meet you soon. Stand and come with me.
Tears trickled down her cheeks and she kissed Sardotep, who
didn’t move. “Write of our love so that many generations will know.”
A woman stood at the end of the bed in a white robe and a crown.
Rising out of the bed, she found herself wearing the clothes from
the dig. The skin of her arm and left leg burned like fire from a scrape
received in her fall. Her head hurt and on the side over her left eye,
she wiped away a trickle of fresh blood.
When she turned back to the bed, she saw only darkness.
The woman held out her hand to her.
Jemmie could no longer control the tears because the sadness and
emptiness surrounded her like the pitch-black darkness.
“Jemmie?”
She ached to hold Sardotep one last time and whisper in his ear.
The movements around her were stayed by the protective arm of the
woman holding her as she cried.
“Ms. Townes? The cat finally moved. We have a doctor.”
“Oh, God…look at her head. No wonder she’s crying.”
Light intruded on her and Jemmie shielded her eyes from it.
“No bones appear to be broken.” She felt the hands over her legs
and arms. “She’s just disoriented. Let’s get her to the surface.”
Jemmie found the way to speak, “No.”
“Miss Townes, I am a doctor. I need to examine you.”
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“I’m fine. I bumped my head.” Jemmie felt the tears rising again
because she found herself back in the time she started from, but she
didn’t see Sardotep during her journey, so she couldn’t say goodbye.
“She has a mild concussion. We must continue to observe her for
symptoms but I cannot force her to leave.” The man said. “I can see
why she doesn’t want to leave. She’s stumbled into a great chamber.”
Jemmie found the strength to sit up. In the flicker of lanterns and
flashlights around her, she could see that she rested on a stone bench
but the glyphs on the walls didn’t leave much, if any, bare stone. The
paints on the carvings remained almost intact.
Looking around, she discovered the chamber she fell into was
outside the study area for the children. On the wall above her head,
she saw a pictorial representation of a woman and a teacher, showing
small students the Lessons of the Five Stones.
“Isn’t this amazing?” Katie stood next to her. “It’s like two hands
of five units each that are connected by an arch. I never understood
the symbols of the Egyptian numbers but this makes perfect sense.”
“Holy cow! And, I do mean…Holy Cow!” Carter hollered from
deeper in the cavern. He pointed to the wall.
As Jemmie approached, she saw the carvings of their marriage
feast. The glyphs featured a carving of a large cow with the crown of
Hathor. Nearby, she saw the carvings of a cat with a crown of Bast,
crowned vultures and a crowned snake. Around the cow were more
carvings of naked people in many stages of love. Her heart ached with
the memories of Sardotep’s touch just moments ago.
“I had no idea the Egyptians would document some wild orgy.”
“It’s not an orgy. It’s a celebration. They honored the Goddess
Hathor and she is the Goddess of marriage, love and pleasure. These
couples are all married.” Even with her sore arm, Jemmie pointed out
the glyphs symbolizing the marriages of the people in the image. Near
the cow, at the edge of the pool one couple stood larger than the
others did, with the glyph illustrating the marriage of Nomesteh and
Sardotep. At the pump, the carving of the water master illustrated his
beautiful wife kneeling before him.
When Jemmie raised her arm to touch the carving with her other
hand, something pinched the skin under her shirt.
Alarmed, Jemmie reached to roll up her sleeve she discovered the
cause for the pain but decided not to move her shirt.
“Are you Ok?” asked the voice of a student behind her.
“Yeah, I think I’m just a little bruised.” Jemmie held onto her
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arm, hoping to conceal the bracelet from inquisitive eyes.

“We have a lot of work to do,” Carter said.
“First, we need to reach the director of the Foundation and get his
approval to continue.”
“That’s easy. He’s on his way.” Carter answered.
“Drew Hammond is coming here?” Jemmie demanded.
Carter nodded. “That’s what his receptionist told me. I called
from Balabish when you fell.”
“Ok…I want everyone out of this chamber. We’ve violated a few
protocols and if Mr. Hammond catches this, he’s going to have my
head on a platter.” Jemmie motioned to make them leave. She kept
her movements to a minimum because her left arm was sore and she
didn’t want to show the bracelet under the other sleeve of her shirt.
Katie stared at the walls near the entrance. “It seems there was a
woman that came from the Gods. Seers foretold her arrival…”
“Oh, yeah…sure.” Jemmie tried to sound like she was mocking
the writing while she pulled the young woman away. “I know the Seer
that tells of the great red lunar cycles and his prophesies are cramps!”
Katie laughed but they all walked over the rubble and up into the
early morning light.
Jemmie knew the angles of the shadows from the days she lived
in the temple. “I was down there a while, wasn’t I?”
“All night. We couldn’t get to you. We had to use the hoists on
the truck to move some of the rocks and hope no more rocks would
fall on top of you. These rocks are part of the front pillars. We haven’t
seen enough to figure out why this temple was abandoned.”
“We have a lot to learn.” Jemmie thought it fitting that the
woman to study the carvings on the wall would be the same woman
that inspired them, but she would have the chance to read about the
accomplishments of Sardotep’s life.
“Have you ever heard the legends of Nomesteh?” Katie asked.
Jemmie smiled with the mention of the name. “I think I read
about it in one of the books…maybe something in one of the romance
literature pieces that they made during the time.”
Katie laughed. “Well, I think we are going to get to read a lot
more about it. The halls in there were full of jars and the papyri told
about her and her husband, who was a priest in the temple.”
Jemmie turned her face toward the easterly wind and let the
breeze blow her hair back. It took every ounce of control she
possessed not to cry. She remembered the appearance of the valley
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when the people were here. Before her, it was now dust and sand. “I
hope we will have a long time to look that over.”
Looking toward the Nile, she saw the dust kick up around a truck
coming toward them at a high rate of speed. Drew Hammond.
Jemmie’s mind reeled to think of the arguments to convince him
to let her stay in the valley and continue the excavations around and
inside the chambers of the temple. Normally, she could sit at the
computer and compose her words and reports carefully. Now, she
hoped to articulate the alignments of the stones and suggest that the
courtyard extended further into the valley. She was stuck to come up
with proof to substantiate that the area likely once held a population
of at least seven hundred people.
The truck pulled up behind their caravan and Jemmie steeled
herself to face the man that could approve or deny the work. At least
she could present the information without Wilkins over her shoulder.
The dust clouded the area when the truck came to a full stop, but
the wind blew it past the group quickly. The driver stepped out of the
truck in a light long-sleeved shirt and khaki shorts, his long dark hair
whipping around his face.
“Ms. Townes, I heard you were hurt. What happened?”
Jemmie’s heart leaped inside her chest. The voice was now as
familiar to her ears as her own was, and no longer masked by the
static of a telephone. She stepped closer to him and under the mop of
dark wind-blown hair; she discovered the chiseled features and smile
that she memorized in a few short days.
The man leaned against the truck. His dark skin contrasted the
light colors of his clothing.
She ran closer and Sardotep held open his arms to greet her.
Once in the comforts of his arms, she began to cry again.
“Easy, I’m here. I’m now Drew, but I’ve been through a long
journey to get you back. I told you my love for you would burn
through the heavens forever. Now you can see I spoke the truth.”
“I thought I’d lost you.” Jemmie gasped in relief. She pulled him
close and kissed his cheek with relief.
“Bast told you I would meet with you soon, did you doubt her?”
“I just…didn’t…,” she couldn’t complete her sentence when the
students began a salacious call behind them.
“I will explain, but it took years for me to make the arrangements
and get you in to work at the foundation. I had to let you discover the
ridge on your own and I couldn’t let you see me. I fired Wilkins when
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I realized he’d tampered with your work.”

She looked deep into his dark eyes and it felt like home. “Except
for your hair, it doesn’t look like you have aged at all.”
“I was barely twenty years old when you came to the temple.”
“That explains a lot!” Jemmie laughed.
“I spent time within the Starlands to learn about the time and
culture in which you lived but I popped up for work to preserve the
Temple and create the Molina-Hammond Foundation.”
“I never knew the history,” she said. “Wow, there’s a paradox.”
“The foundation came about from the work I did with Rafael
Molina when we excavated a very interesting tomb near Abydos over
one hundred years ago. We invested the money we…pilfered. It was
one of my first digs, but it seems we found the burial chamber and the
accumulated riches of an overseer by the name of Seknu.”
Jemmie laughed. “Oh, really? That swine did some good work?”
“Never. In fact, it seems the people despised him. They stuffed
vaults full with all of the gold and silver he stole from them through
the years, and even defaced the walls of his crypt because they wanted
nothing more to do with him. No inscriptions remain to tell of what he
looked like and the readable inscriptions are scathing. The door of his
crypt was carved with the Hippopotamus that is the great eater of
souls that aren’t worthy of lasting life. They threw his body onto the
papyri of his writings and left it to putrefy.”
“How poetic.” Jemmie thought quickly to have him work with
her at the temple. No one would know the chambers better than the
priest that once served within its walls. “The temple! There is so
much work here, for both of us. Please tell me we can take time to
explore what remains. You can tell me about the time after I left and
how you came here. Can we stay?”
“I can only authorize that for only a few weeks, but I have a team
prepared to resume work after the summer months,” he answered.
“Wait…this is my site.” Jemmie would battle over this site with
her own husband. Gooseflesh prickled on her skin with that thought.
“Yes, and you are welcome to coordinate all of the research and
the dig from the main offices,” he answered. “I will stay with you for
every moment of your work from here on out.”
“But…you would take away a dig that would build my career?”
“Yes, because there is something else we have begun to build.”
His arms enfolded around her and he quietly whispered in her ear,
“You carry the most precious gems in all of Ancient Egypt.”
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“Nope…just like at the temple…I only came here with clothes

and this beautiful bracelet from the people,” Jemmie corrected.
“Unless…there’s something I don’t know.”
His eyes sparkled. “I know…because you carry a part of my soul.
Well, Bast gave a hint. You’re pregnant, Nomesteh.”

The End

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Entombed
by
Mae Powers

While searching for a rare type of marshmallow plant, Callie Owens

comes across an ancient underground tomb, complete with a cursed
mummy, who puts a delightful hex on her heart and body and
entombing her within his immoral crypt.

www.maepowers.com

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Entombed
by
Mae Powers

Cally Stevens lay in the darkness, dazed and coughing up dust.

She felt her insides shivering unexpectedly. A strange tingling
suddenly encompassed her. Her senses had never failed her yet, but
this sensation boarded on all-consuming. It slowly moved up her
arms, down into the pit of her stomach and then settled on her toes.
Her eyes scrunched instinctively, going from the bright sun and into
the dimly lit tunnel, then she blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the
dimmer light supplied by the florescent rocks fluctuating around the
area.
She groped for her backpack, and pulled it off. Rummaging
inside, her hand closed around her small flashlight and pulled it out.
Adjusting the pack on her shoulders, she slowly stood up and turned
on the tiny battery operated light. Her uncle always said to have a
flashlight handy, when she was a little girl, and Cally had always
carried one since. Now she felt glad. Thankfully, its range lit up a
good deal of space.
She got up, beaming the light ahead of her, and saw she stood in
a very small rounded chamber with only one tunnel leading out of the
cavern. A small tunnel, sloping downwards, barely wide enough for
her tall form to fit through. She ducked her head slightly, to avoid
being hit. She followed the jagged trail for a while before she felt the
floor sloping upwards and the cavernous corridor turned sharply to
the right.
The tunnel seemed to narrow and she almost ventilated with fear.
The bottom of the cavernous tunnel became less gravelly and she felt
the softness of sand shifting beneath her dragging feet. Using the

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flashlight, she noticed the granite walls were lined with jagged cracks
as if dark lightening struck them.
A loud chattering noise made her halt in her tracks. Rapidly the
fear rose from the pits of her stomach and shoved up into her throat.
What was that noise? What creatures of the night prowled this hidden
pathway? A pain of fear shot through her. Calm down, she told
herself, you’ll find a way out of this dungeonous labyrinth, if you just
calm down.
She forced herself to move further into the dark lit path. For a
few moments, only the dark eeriness was her companion. She pushed
herself to move faster, almost at a jogging pace down the ancient
pathway. The air became humid, and musty smelling the further she
moved. She swayed the flashlight in front of her, and couldn’t
remember if she’d changed them since her last backpacking
expedition. Why had she gone on this foolhardy adventure now? Oh,
yes, to please her uncle, to find him a rare plant reported to be in the
area. A rare type of Althaea officinalis, the marshmallow plant. If she
and her uncle hadn’t both been marshmallow nuts, she might not have
done this. She kept the sweets in her backpack at all times, along with
a tall plastic bottle of Oasis Spring water.
Cally had mapped out the area, and didn’t mean to go too close to
the marshland, where some species bloomed. Then she’d spotted one
on that slippery mound, and even trying to catch her bearing, she still
fell. The ground gave away and she’d landed in this dark foreboding
place. Wherever the hell here was.
Then she heard a different sound, more eerie, more droning.
Cally halted abruptly and flashed the light around. She found herself
in a clearing, a smooth cavernous, rounded area. Moving the light
from side to side, she discovered several old torches lined along a
wall. Cally dug in her pockets and was glad she’d left the matches
there in her jeans. She tentatively moved over to the ancient stick
lamp and fired up a match. It was a wonder, she thought, that it took
after trying a second match.
She turned off the flashlight to conserve the batteries and took the
torch she’d lit. She used it to light several more. Stepping back, she
observed her surroundings, and the reality made her gulp. Before her,
looked like what seemed to be an ancient Egyptian tomb or chamber.
She slowly moved around the enormous stonewalled room. Near her,
she saw walls with hieroglyphs of women and men in various garb, as
well as exotic birds she’d never seen before. Yet, there was something
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she’d never seen before in her textbook studies. These were neither
really Egyptian or Mayan hieroglyphics, but a combination of both
plus another culture she didn’t recognize.
She moved closer to a wall containing only one long picture. She
peered closer, and the flickering light from the torch danced across
what she soon realized was the face of a mummy buried within a wall.
It seemed so life-like, almost as if it beckoned to her to do something.
But what? She thought, peering closer. Then that strange tingling
sensation washed over her again.
She took a step back and it stopped. Cally held the torch higher
and she noticed a jewel embedded within the chest of the mummy’s
stony picture. It was oval and surrounded by a star shaped border. The
border glittered like diamonds, but when the light of the torchlight fell
upon it, the oval jewel glowed like a tiny flaming sun. The feeling
encompassed her again, but this time she didn’t move away
immediately. She felt a sudden shaking followed by a creaking.
This time she took several steps back, and when she did, she felt
something crunch beneath her feet. She turned to run from the room,
and that’s when she noticed the shelves with odd shaped jars upon
them, some stacks of cloth, and prong like devices. She looked then at
the slab arising up in the middle of the room, that couldn’t be more
than waist length to her. She gulped. How had she gotten in an ancient
tomb, a place where perhaps mummies were mummified?
She heard the scuttling sound again, and looked down as
something scraped softly against her leg. Then a slither against her
ankle made her nearly jump backwards. Her heart thumped with a
dreadful shiver of angst and she lowered the torch to get a better look
at what had touched her. Slithering, crawly creatures like cross
between a snake and a rat squirmed around her on the old floor.
She screamed out and the echo seemed to startle them. The
echoing, creaking noise sounded again. That’s when she noticed the
ancient wall she’d touched earlier was open. She tuned towards it, the
dancing lights of the torch flickered off the wall revealing a the gap.
No, she thought again, an opening, as if a door had been pushed
slightly ajar. Moving closer to discover only a small closet-like
recess, just big enough for some one of maybe seven foot to fit into.
What ever had been in there was now out.
The chattering and tiny snarls of the creatures snapped her
attention back to her immediate predicament. She took a quick wary
step backwards and tripped over what she’d only guessed to be a
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small boulder behind her. Cally fell backwards certain she would
succumb to the heaviness of doom and darkness.
Then two hands grabbed her by the back of her waist, preventing
her fall. She tilted her head back and her mouth gaped open. The
torch fell from her hand, but the lights still flickered with some life
allowing her to see who, not what steadied her.
A bandaged face with glowing orange eyes regarded her closely.
Foul breath came from it’s slit of a mouth and nostrils blared down
heavily at her. She gulped again as she realized the tall cloth-wrapped
creature was indeed a living mummy. Like any she’d seen in the
movies, or books, or at a museum. The eyes shone ominously down at
her.
It creaked and groaned all over as it looked from her, around the
room and back again, as if suddenly becoming more aware of the
surroundings. The feeling of something unusual once more washed
over her. The face now seemed to be more animate, or what it had of
one, and it acted as if were coming out of a long deep thought. It
waved a hand towards the creatures slithering on the floor and they
immediately dispersed.
She looked in both fear and amazement as the creatures scuttled
away. Pullin from the slight hold, Cally could sense the maleness
before her. He glanced around the room as though taking the place in
for the first time. His arms came out in a wide arc and he staggered,
moving stiffly forwards towards the altar in the middle of the room.
She noticed the jewel pendent on his neck glowing. It resembled the
one on the outside of the tomb-closet. She wondered if her having
touched the door’s jewel set him free.
Moreover, she wondered why she just stood there as if nothing
strange were happening to her. Yet she couldn’t seem to move. It’s as
if she must stand there and watch the mummy shuffle away from her
and make it to the altar. With bandaged feet scraping the ancient
earthen floor, it shift-walked towards the slab. He groaned painfully
with each step, mastering the movement, until he slowly gained more
of his bearings.
Fright and fascination moved her forward. She followed
unwittingly, yet knew she should run in the opposite direction, but
also knew he meant to harm her, he would have already. Her fear
lessened, but only a tad bit. Finally reaching the slab, he swayed then
fell upon it. She moved away momentarily and picked up her fallen
torch.
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When she turned around he was half sitting, half lyingon the slab,
glancing with those orangish spheres as if searching for something or
seeking someone. She shivered as his eyes rested upon her once more,
as if becoming completely aware of her. She had a distinct feeling,
she was the object he searched for.
She drew closer, warily, just a little closer. He groaned and half
sat up at her approach. On a boulder nearby she found a crook in
which to set the lamp and for some reason she pulled off her
backpack. He looked weary but from what she wasn’t sure. Still she
felt he needed something from her, perhaps some kind of
nourishment.
She knew it was idiotic to do so, but she still moved closer to
him, albeit cautiously. She realized she took one step too many when
he lashed out and grasped her wrists. She cried out as he brought her
up against him. Then before she could stop him, his mouth, or what
there was of it or should have been besides the slits, came down over
hers. The musty, strong breath suffocated her and as she tried to gasp
for air as well as fighting him of, the mummy breathed in the fresher
air from her lungs.
She felt paralyzed with fear and dread. His large banded arms
came around her and his hands held her head in place as he continued
to suck the precious air from her lungs. She became dizzy and her
head spun, and darkness soon followed.
****
He pulled the strange woman up on the platform and knew what
he had to do.
His hands stayed over her temples as she passed out. Now her
mind was open to him. He did not mean to take so much air from her,
but he had, sweet refreshing, life-giving air. Her breathing now
shallow but she remained alive. Her breasts heaved with life, barely,
but they heaved. Within her mind, he saw images of her world, her
history, and her present.
He in turn, flashed images of his world, his race, his world’s last
dying days and how they managed to save themselves from the
destruction of the nova. He further sent images of how they came to
her world, and how some didn’t make it. For some reason, he wanted
her to know everything. As if it were vital to his very life. (Interject
more on his world here.)
Then he pulled her completely onto the table to help her recover
from his alien onslaught. Momentarily he stayed beside her, relishing
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the heat her body brought to his own. She felt soft and supple against
him. His bandaged hand raced out to tentatively touch her. Her
yellow-blond hair lit up the room, and her high breasts jutted under
the thin top she wore. He loved her tanned long legs and soon would
want them to entwine with his own. Would she be willing to take him
as he stood, in his mummified garb? Cold, hard, and thick as stone,
would she be able to take him in? He hoped so.
He glanced down at her again, her eyes closed, her lips softly
trembling. She breathed easier now, it seemed. Soon she would
awaken and then he hoped she would help free him. He let out a
musty sigh and placed his hands back on her temples. She would need
to know. He’d been incarcerated in the special unit for thousands of
years, and as thoughts of life and saneness came back to him, he
realized he’d practically forced himself upon her.
Now though, he knew he needed to once more enter her mind
uninvited so she would know what was required of her, what he
needed of her. With images in her mind, and their thoughts mingling,
he hoped she would be less afraid of him, and more inclined to accept
him in this mummy form. Because once he shared this way with her,
for him, there would be no going back. He needed her help, but if she
refused, there was only one thing left for him to do. He didn’t have
time to find another, he’d been in the chamber far too long already
and fate already had a hand in saving his mummified butt.
He went softly this time, at first. Again he showed her images of
his world, and learned more about hers. He kept the images from
being to harsh, too fast at first, but he knew he lived on borrowed
time. He told her about how the mumtae process was a special liquid
substance that put the self-sustaining stasis on one, like being in a
what her mind saw as a cryogenic unit. Then they were wrapped in
the protective cloth to accommodate the space flight. Dust and debris
leaked through, some people didn’t survive the landing of some of the
ships, and some of the creatures and people escaped and roamed the
earth, interbreeding with earth fauna, flora and humans. Some Nesu
awoke from other ships, or were awaken by Earth ancestors scoping
the pyramid out. Scout sub ships were sent many years ago. The races
intermingled and a mountain was constructed over this particular
deserted ship and the survivors left to roam the planet. So, his people
were all over the Earth in Mayan, Egyptian and other lore.
****

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Her mind came from its hazy sleep and soon their languages
melded and they could understand each other. For some reason, she
opened to his mind and listened as he told her more about himself, his
people and more. He thought he felt and saw the intelligence within
her mind, he repeated his images and his mind words several times,
because he wanted to make sure she would completely understand.
“I am Sedekr, once, one of the High Leaders of my world. We
Nesu came from a distant world also called Nesu. When our gifted
scientist found out our sun-star was going nova, we made quick
preparations to save all of our people. In our…what you call pyramid
shaped…spacecraft; we came to your world. It was the closest to our
own in habitation and similar resources. Your weather was harsh upon
our arrival and some of our ships were lost, like this one I have stayed
entombed in. Some escaped the damaged ships; others like me were
brought back over the years. Upon awakening, images left in the
message aura unit of the ship flashed into my mind telling me of what
had happened to others. There are not a lot, but enough to let me
know what has happened to my people. There is no one here but you
to help me through the revival process. Some could not do it eons ago,
because your people were more primitive back then. Yet, others had
found a way to be released and have passed that on to me. My mind
has taken in that most from this vessel is gone. In one of the other
chambers, I believe a few may have still survived. I must energize
first and then can find out. I thank you for awakening me back to
life.”
Her mind opened further to his and she asked, “My touch upon
the jewel freed you then?”
“Yes, the flight from the torch flames triggered a release
mechanism within the sarcophagus closet, as you thought it was. The
hibernating chamber allowed the mummification or cryogenic process
to stay in put until we were released from our sleep units. Then, the
heat coming from your hand upon and through the emblem finished
my release process. I am sure others released my crew over the
centuries. People such as yourself, whether male or female. I hope
they have faired well. I think the last message was over 100 years ago.
It has been over four thousand years since I talked with another
intelligent being.”
“What is it you require? How can I help?”

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“I am sorry to have frightened you. But the process is not long,

but I will need much from you.” He uploaded into her mind the needs
he had.
She did not seem too distressed even though what he asked of her
required very physical intimacy at first. Somewhere at the back of her
mind he read that it intrigued her; that she was not totally adverse to
it. He slowly brought her back, to the world of the present and
released his mind hold on her. Letting out a calmer breath of still must
air, he moved away from her, to look down upon her beautiful form.
He stood back and admired the long, slender beauty.
****
Cally trembled as she came up from what felt like a long deep
slumber of flashing dreams and fantastically dark hallucinations. She
bit her bottom lip, as she adjusted her eyes to the flicking shady lights
in the chamber and then she gulped once more in realization, that she
looked up at a live mummy standing over her body. But not just any
mummy, she knew now.
An alien mummy whose people were probably Egyptian and
Mayan forbearers. She knew that the ancient Egyptian kinds were not
always called Pharaohs. Some of her history lessons told her that the
ancient Hebrews and Greeks used that name for meaning a king. She
vaguely recalled that for a long time, eons ago, that Nesu was also an
ancient name for the Egyptian kings, although there were also many
other names used. He didn’t look like a pharaoh, but Nesu fitted him,
and sounded more regal and ethereal or otherworldly.
The thoughts took her a moment and he seemed to wait patiently
as she assimilated all that he had mind spoke to her.
She realized he was giving her time to adjust to his mind talk and
the telepathic images he put through her mind. It wasn’t unheard of
that people could speak telepathically or through visions these days.
She had been tested in her college years for any kind of psychic
powers, and the only thing she discovered was a highly sensitive
empathic nature. Which, she felt was why she realized something
unusual was about to happen to her.
A very crazy situation, she realized, but being a science fiction
movie fan, made her imaginative side accept the wild situation more
readily. In addition, the fledgling, or amateur scientist in her saw it as
a plausible event of circumstances that could happen. She was a
research assistant by profession, and her college professor uncle
who’d raised her after her parents death, taught her a love for botany
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and the paranormal and taught her to use her intelligence and natural
drives to learn even more.
So why shouldn’t she learn about beings from another world who
crash landed thousands of years ago and became part of Earth’s lore
and history? She sat up slowly and got her physical bearings before
she looked back up at the alien mummy with strange glowing orange
eyes.
“You put images in my mind, but I’d like you to explain orally
just what this rejuvenation process you need requires. But first, I am
dying of thirst and need my backpack to get some things out of it.”
He looked down at the bag she’d dropped. Stiffly, she noted, he
reached down and handed it to her. She thanked him and opened up
the khaki colored pack. She rummaged only slightly and brought out a
bottle of water and her favorite snack. She then sat the pack on the
slab.
“Are those a nourishment of your species?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “They are to me. Since you haven’t
eaten in four thousand years or so, perhaps you’d care to try them.
Can you eat in your mummified state?”
He nodded. “I can mash swallow. I do feel a churn of hunger
coming on me. Let me try them. I do not think our physiology was so
different that I cannot stomach something small and light, as those
rounded things seem to be.”
“They are from a plant we call the Marshmallow plant or what
our scientist refer to as althea officinalis. It’s history dates back even
before our ancient Egyptian cultures. It was originally used, as
medicinal purposes like for the digestive tract and healing wounds.
But later they became a sweet treat and scientific means eventually
evolved and processed it into the small round squishy thing here in
this bag.” She opened the bag and gave him one of the rounded thumb
length cloudy, puffy white concoctions she loved to dearly munch on.
He opened his clothed palm and she placed on his ancient hand.
He glanced at it from side to side in curiosity. “There was a similar
plant on our world. We used it’s beautiful leaves and flowers and
roots for such purposes also, but it also helped to create the fluid-gel
that saved our lives. It’s properties were incredible and many. It was
part of our culture also.”
She could believe that. “Perhaps it was your ancestors, er your
people, that brought it here and it just developed on our world.”

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“I think that is the case.” On my world, such a plant or its soft

marshy roots were confected also into a delicacy to enjoy in the open,
and when lighted, it became a source of light in the dark. It was called
altholakae, meaning a soft cure all. Its beauty was painted into our
cultural artifacts. The foliage was often used for decorations too,
because of its multi-hued visuals. The flower lobes were rose and
white and sometimes filtered with sparkles of a dark blue. The stem
was a vivid green, as I recall, and in our warmer seasons, its catchy
but musky fragrance was considered a balm to the senses.”
“I know this all must seem as strange to you as it does to me.”
She popped a gooey cool treat into her mouth and followed it with a
sip of water.
He slowly put it into his mouth and mashed it, she saw, with
his mouth, or what there was of it. “It is quite delicious. It does seem
familiar. One I recall…of our bonding rituals…”
His words trailed off, and she noticed he swayed. She tossed her
bags of marshmallow goodies down before she jumped off the altar
and helped him to steady himself. She almost sniffed and realized he
was still a bit musty, but had started growing accustomed to the scent.
She pressed him towards the altar.
“Here, you sit. You’ve had a lot to get use to as much as I have.”
“Thank you. I am fortunate it was you that found me. Another
might not have been as kind or as intelligently accepting as you.”
She nodded in understanding. Some scientists or government
people might not have indeed. She felt it had been a fated thing;
mostly that she’d “stumbled” into his tomb, or spacecraft. It struck he
how odd indeed that she was in this musty cool tomblike chamber,
talking to a mummy from outer space about the properties of a
delicious little confection that may have actually derived from his
world. And about it’s unusual properties.
“You said bonding rituals. As in physical pleasures?”
He nodded slowly, bringing his hands to his temples. “I think that
I have been affected by your marshmallow. As a sweet tidbit to our
people…used in our bonding rituals, it heightened the sexual
pleasures and rejuvenated our bodies at the same time…”
“Oh.” Was all she could muster.
He slowly seemed to gather his bearings and then grabbed up the
bag of marshmallows. She was taken slightly by surprise as he poured
a few of them out of the bag and in one swift movement he shoved
them into his dark gaping hole. She reached over to grab a few
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herself, and munched quickly, then followed by some gulps of water.

She handed the bottle out to him.
“You’ve got to be thirsty after so many years in that hibernation
closet.”
He nodded in agreement and then took the proffered bottle from
her. She was amazed but amused to see him finish the container of
water in a few gulps. “I thank you.”
“No problem. You act as if those are a life-giving ambrosia.”
“They are. Remember I told you they rejuvenate also. They
lengthened our lives, but also, sustained us in famine and were an
aphrodisiac that gave us renewed energy for many purposes in our
physical and mental lives.”
“So I guess you were telling the truth. They are similar to our
plant, but yours must have had more purposes and properties indeed. I
mean who would have thought a marshmallow could be used in
mummification and rejuvenation.”
She stepped back as his cloths or wraps suddenly took on a
whiter shade. He groaned and lay back quickly. “It has begun. I think
it is your chemical processed.”
“Perhaps they are similar to your more ancient variety.”
He groaned an affirmative and he went limp upon the altar. From
the top of his musty head, down his long mummified body, and all the
way to his bandaged dirty feet, his body became swathed in an eerie
yellowish white glow. It continued coruscating for several minutes.
She had to keep her eyes partially covered, but she glanced sideways
to see what was happening to him.
Slowly, bit-by-bit, the glowing stopped. Her eyes widened, as she
saw no longer a mummy, but a dark haired well-built man lying on
top of the altar, completely naked. And he had a normal face, eyes
and lips and hands and more. She liked the dark aureoles of his chest,
and soft patches of sable brown hair trailed down his taut stomach
ending at his groins. She shivered with unexpected need. His shaft
was long and thick and hardening before her eyes.
Damn her friends would like to have a go at mounting him. She
was astounded at her brash thoughts, but licked her lips. Oh she’d had
some good tumbles in bed before, but the thought of getting it on with
this man, this alien being, turned her on. She felt a large wave of
desire wash over her as he turned his head and his dark blue eyes took
in her every detail. She could sense this from him. The mind sharing
had done more than share her mind; she felt that he had shared all of
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her senses and that her empathic aura reached out to him even now.
She somehow felt then and there, that she’d waited all her life for
someone like him, to bring her to heights of unknown bliss. And
being from space, perhaps he could do just that.
“Your marshmallow is a derivative of Nesu history. I can feel it
within me. It properties were also able to enhance one’s psychic
powers. Come, Cally, rejuvenate me more.” His deep sexy voice
made her moist between her legs.
She gulped. Did she dare take the hand reaching out to her? He
brushed her pack and stuff off the altar as he slowly sat up. His long
hair fell temptingly over his broad shoulders. She saw desire so
intense it made her inflamed with desire. The lights from the nearby
torches played seductive over his body, flickering and teasing her to
taste of his otherworldly delights. She wanted him. Wanted to share in
his mind, and in the physical pleasures she knew with a certainty, that
only he could bring to her now.
She reached out and took his hand, no longer afraid, but ready to
approach the unknown within his arms. A fire of intense and strangely
pleasing desires enflamed her body the moment she touched his hand.
He pulled her tentatively closer to him, and when she didn’t pull back,
she felt his arms wind around her.
“I have never known such a beauty as you. So willing, so right
for me. Come, rejuvenate me and share in what I can bring to your
wonderful body and mine.”
She could only nod as he picked her up and pulled her into his
lap. His hands, though slightly rough and worn, moved over her
smoothly, She did not mind that they were once half bandaged and
half ancient flesh. They were now heated and alive from her first
touch. Yes, she knew now, that from that first touch upon his
sarcophagus, that she had opened his world, making it her own. Her
hands gingerly touched his chest, splaying over the soft thin hairs on
his chest. She moved the pendant aside, and leaned down to kiss his
nipples.
He groaned a responsive heat and she felt his breasts shiver in
response against her own breasts. His hands reached under her arms,
and he kneaded her fleshy orbs, gently, slowly, as if her revered them.
Had it really several thousand years since this magnificent male had
had a woman? The thought pleased her to no end. Although celibate
for the last few years, none of the few lovers she had, brought her to

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such dizzying heights of sweet bliss, just by being in his lap, or being
held so near and dear.
He shaft moved with need beneath her bottom. Oh she wanted
him, but she also wanted him to know other delights. She looked up
into his midnight hungry eyes and smiled wildly. She reached up and
touched his temples as he had hers earlier. She knew instinctively
how to reach his mind, and with heated images she flashed into his
mind what she wanted to do to him.
He groaned an affirmative desire of wanting her to, and quickly
released her. She slid off his lap as he lay down and slowly spread his
muscular thighs. His erection thrust high into the air, proud and ready
for her ministrations. She licked her lips and knew she was going to
be slow in tasting his alien temptations. Her mouth watered for need
of tasting him. She moved closer and bent her head and her hands
splayed over his groins, teasing and touching and enjoying the feel of
his male delights. He smelled now of sweet musk and not the dusty
musty odor that at one time was foul to senses. Now his scent only
enflamed her own desires.
She leaned over and kissed his thighs and left small trails of wet
teasing touches upon the man, then his stomach and back lower to his
throbbing shaft. She tentatively touched him, stroking him up and
down and then she widened her mouth and slowly inch by savory
inch, took as much of him in as she could. He jerked beneath her, and
she knew he wanted more, wanted to feel and know every delight and
desire she wanted to share with him. She could empathically and
physically feel his desires surging upwards to a heated high.
Intense desire wetted her appetites. She lathed him up one side of
this long shaft, and down the other. He shivered intensely. She licked
and suckled slowly rhythmically on him, giving her all to pleasing
him and giving him pleasure. She widened her mouth, taking more of
him in, pushing up and down in deep tastes of his glorious rod. She
felt his hands on her back, caressing her urging her on. He groaned
with needful wants. She knew he was close and moved away from
him to climb on top of the altar, and then on top of him.
“So magnificent, so beautiful. Entomb me within you. Feel my
heat mingle with your own.”
His hands came up to touch her mound and she moaned her needs
as he touched her intimately, exploring all her most feminine crevices.
Then she straddled him, and eased herself slowly over his powerful
shaft. She gasped at the same time as he did when their heat mingled
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and their bodies united in the closest possible way. Then his hips
pushed upwards and she moved up and down over him, slowly at first
and then faster as he pushed up urgently to meet her downward
thrusts. They boldly moved against each other, their sweat pouring
profusely over them both.
She felt his rod tighten with painful need. She ached for only a
release he could bring her. They moved faster and faster against each
other, desiring the ultimate release together. No matter what world
they belonged to it ceased to exist, save their growing powerful urges.
She rode him hard and he pushed up against her with as much fervor.
Their heat reached an inferno of passionate. Then both shivered
intensely as waves of desire and pleasure washed over them, bringing
them both to an incredible satisfying unity.
She collapsed over him and he brought his strong arms around
her, pressing her close to his rapidly beating heart. Then his hands
touched her temples and she saw within their combined minds how
incredibly pleased she had made him. She sent her images of
satisfaction and empathic feelings back to him. And in his mind, she
saw that their union would help him bring enough energy for him to
complete the task of garnering strength to bring his people back to
life.
Yet also, she saw many more times to come of sharing his
wonderful desires and his life. She laid back against him, closing her
eyes and imagining the desires and bliss to come that was no longer
entombed within a dark place. Her heart had been closed off to love,
as his body had once been entombed. But now, there was so much
more to come for them. Something more than just otherworldly and
ethereal. Together they would find their fulfillments and destinies.
And love would seep in, uniting them even more, and giving them
strength for whatever lay ahead in their futures. It was one she was
glad she had stumbled

The End

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