Song of Isis Page 2

  Smiling, Alex sat down and ran her fingers over the scroll's rough exterior. "What do you suppose these hieroglyphs mean? There's some sort of writing here, too, but I can't make it out. It's too dark." She glanced around for her medical bag. "I need my penlight. Where's my bag?"

  "I don't know. I don't see it."

  "Crap, I think I might have left it in the tomb."

  "Do you want me to go back for it?" Her father pulled himself to his feet and rubbed his hand across his chest. He tried to be discreet but Alex noted the movement. Had his pain come back? Memories of his still form atop a steel gurney flashed across her vision.

  "No, that's all right, Dad. You're tired. I'll get it in the morning." Her voice faded. That was it. Life was too short to spend it away from the ones she loved. And with her father's health failing...

  She'd stay until his dig was completed. A few phone calls would put her on leave of absence. Her colleagues at the university didn't care, anyway. They already thought she was nuts. Any first year medical student could have recognized the damage caused by CPR. A Heimlich could've done it, too. But the cracks on the mummy's x-ray were all too familiar and unmistakable. She'd seen them too many times before.

  The subtle heat of the scroll warmed her hand. "Can I have this for awhile?"

  The professor studied his daughter's face. "Of course, but why?"

  "I don't know, Dad. I'd like to study it a bit longer. It's the feel of it in my hands. I don't know. Maybe I'm having one of those d'ej`a vu experiences." Alex laughed.

  Her father smiled. "If you're sure you're all right." He stretched. "I think I'll turn in. It's been one hell of an exciting day. Just like old times. I'm glad you're here." He reached out and touched her shoulder.

  Her hand covered his.

  "I'm glad I'm here, too," she said softly.

  Alex rose from her chair and placed a soft kiss on her father's sun-weathered cheek. "Good night, Dad. I'm just gonna stay out here for a while longer and enjoy the stars."

  ALEXANDRIA HAD almost forgotten the magic of Arabian nights. As a child, she'd spent many hours counting the desert's shimmering ornaments studding the eternally cloudless sky. Like tiny neon lights, the show was far more breathtaking than any Vegas marquee. All her years away from this place had not diminished the heaven's wonder. Breathless, she was amazed that her long-ago memories were still so vivid. For some unknown reason, the desert was in her karma and she would always be drawn back to the pleasures of the Valley of the Nile.

  She glanced back at the dark tent. Had her father finally found something of value this time? Or was this just another plundered tomb like the ones he'd spent his entire life discovering. She knew he was ready for a break. She knew, as well, he needed validation as a scientist and a man.

  Heck, everyone needed validation. Even young, female physicians in the middle of Egypt. Why did she always let men get to her? Even at Northwestern, where she was considered a colleague, they'd demeaned her theories about the mummy. Then, she had to react like they were questioning her womanhood. The bitter ring of her fellow scientist's mockery echoed in her memory. They hadn't cared a fig about her being a woman. It was all about power and prestige, but she hadn't seen it that way. She'd seen it as validation. That's why she'd come all this way. To seek the validation and respect she'd been given by her father. At least as a daughter.

  In all her life, he'd never laughed at her or called her silly or crazy. How could he? He was too busy following his own path, searching for the truth about an ancient civilization that still remained a mystery. Would things have been different had her mother lived? Was her father's endless search into the past a direct result of the trauma of her death? That was a mystery locked deep inside, for he'd not spoken her mother's name since.

  They'd all laughed at her father, too. Searching for a myth: A great healer who taught the Egyptians the art of medicine. After her experience in Chicago, it was easy to empathize with her father.

  What had Egypt really been like? Was it the peaceful place her father thought? Or did they treat women the same as now, like inferior chattel, to be covered up and hidden away.

  But she already knew the answer. She'd seen the hieroglyphs. The beautiful paintings of Egyptian women left nothing to the imagination. These weren't women who'd been mistreated. At least, that's what she hoped. Today, she embodied all that a liberated woman could accomplish: College, medical school, advanced training in radiology and orthopedics. And still, she'd suffered ridicule at the hands of her fellow physicians.

  She had recognized those tiny fractures along the sub-phrenic space. How could her colleagues be so closed-minded? Perhaps the Egyptians had been equipped with a higher knowledge of medicine, which modern man had yet to discover? Even the most respected archeologists admitted there were still too many theories about how the Egyptians gained their knowledge. Theories about aliens, stars, and mystics.

  Anubis, indeed. Cursed? She doubted that. But if Ahmed had seen a statue of Anubis, that might mean another sarcophagus, another mummy, another chance for her father's glory.

  That's exactly why she'd come back. To help her father search. Here, in the midst of the desert's timelessness, the hunger for knowledge and discovery overshadowed her anger at her colleagues with purpose. She'd show those pompous chauvinists they were wrong.

  The distant sound of the transformer jarred her from her thoughts. The lights. They were still on at the tomb. It would be easy to slip down, grab her bag, and have a look around without the intrusions of workers, or her father. She didn't know why, but she wanted to view this new discovery alone.

  Strung on a suspended electric cable, the bare bulbs emitted just enough glow for Alex to find her way along the corridor without stumbling. Her black bag rested where she'd left it against a brightly illustrated wall. She picked it up and glanced around the room spotting the opening, large enough for a man. Alex tossed her bag inside and slipped easily through. From the other side, she gazed back into the main chamber. Its soft glow did nothing to illuminate her surroundings. Warmth radiated from her hand. She glanced down at the scroll she still carried. Unconsciously, she'd brought it back to its resting place.

  She set it down next to her bag and scurried back to the main chamber looking for something to read by. Nothing. No lantern, flashlight, or torch. She unhooked the string of lights from the ceiling and threaded it back through the opening.

  There was just enough light to make out the tall, carved figure of Anubis, the god of the underworld. The god who would help the deceased on their journey to the afterlife. Ahmed had seen the statue hiding in the shadows, waiting for discovery.

  To her left, a golden figure of Isis stood majestically next to Anubis. More hieroglyphs lined the walls. Not the usual prayers to Osirus and Isis for the safe journey of the deceased. No. These were more like pictures, not words.

  One depicted a rounded black object with some sort of handle. It reminded her of something. There were other figures. Things she couldn't readily identify. What drew her attention was a depiction on the wall of a man using an object that looked strangely like a stethoscope.

  What could it be? Whatever the story, this never before seen hieroglyph was worth a great deal. Obviously, from the condition of this chamber, it had never been looted. Her heartbeat staccatoed against her chest.

  She picked up the scroll and carefully unrolled the brittle, delicate papyrus. It had been found in this room. There had to be a connection of some sort. But what?

  She sat down next to one of the lights and examined the writing. Like the wall, it was filled with hieratic and demotic figures but...her heart stilled. Along the top were small intricate squares resembling musical notes.

  If she didn't know any better, she might have thought this was a sheet of...music?

  No, it couldn't be. There was no known record of any type of music, other than flutes, depicted in the hieroglyphs. She stood and circled the room. They'd made a priceless discovery. A wall depicting a st
range stethoscope and a scroll of notes. Did the music have words as well? Could it be she'd just discovered the top forty hits of the eleventh dynasty? Alex chuckled to herself.

  Too excited to sleep, she sat on a nearby block of stone and studied the scroll. Now, she had a real puzzle to solve. She couldn't wait to see the look on Dad's face when she presented her theory, complete with words and song.

  This would be her gift to him for being so understanding about her wanting to be a doctor instead of an Egyptologist. Yes. She'd have the tune memorized by morning and sing him a little ditty. A little, ancient ditty.

  TWO HOURS of humming and Alex was ready to put the words to the notes. Anticipation filled her. The melody was strange, not similar to any known Egyptian or Middle Eastern tune, but hauntingly melodious.

  "Paif i merti, maa utat em."

  It had been so long since she'd read the ancient hieroglyphs. The words taught to her by her father. Her mind searched for their meaning. "Two eyes to" –what was it-- "to see the right eye of Ra, the sun at his coming."

  "Qa ma, henk ab er nek sah an qem xerefu, akeru apt renpet er tetta."

  This line was easier to translate. "Rejoice. Offer dance for thy spiritual body to find the lions of yesterday and today opening the new year for eternity."

  "Humph." The strange words had rhythm. Must've been some sort of dance tune. The first few notes fit the words precisely, but she had trouble with some of the other syllables. Yet, in a matter of minutes, she managed to figure out the rest.

  "Practice makes perfect." She said to no one. Turning round to face the hieroglyphed wall, she sang the phrases, once, twice, three times.

  She sensed a soft rumbling beneath her feet. She continued turning around and around, singing the song. The rumbling increased. She stopped.

  "Oh sh--!" She stood in the center of the room, arms outstretched to keep her balance. Dust and rock chips rained down on her head. The walls shifted, the floor undulated like a wave beneath her feet. Fear clogged her throat.

  She dropped to the stone floor and waited for the quake to pass. What a fool. The walls could cave at any moment. What would she tell her father? That is, if she ever made it out alive. She should've listened and stayed at the camp.

  Alex pounded her fist against the blocks. She'd lost herself in the moment only to be buried alive. Even if dug out, she'd compromised her father's precious find and would most probably suffocate. How could she ever show him what she'd learned? She deserved to spend the next two thousand years right here in this room waiting for someone to discover her mummified remains.

  Small rocks and pieces of gilded paint rained down on her. This shock was much more violent than the earlier quake. She should've known this area was unstable and should not have come down here by herself. If only....

  The lights blinked out. She was in total blackness.

  Alone.

  SHE'D RESTED her cheek against the floor and waited. Alex had no idea how long she'd been like this. Had she fallen asleep?

  One thing was clear: She couldn't just lie here forever. She was a woman of action and wasn't about to wait passively for someone to rescue her. No. If sand, rocks, and debris hadn't filled the passageway, she'd crawl out.

  With her hands outstretched in front of her she inched her way along the rock floor feeling for her medical bag and her penlight. Nothing. She tried to remember where she was in relation to the room's opening. She'd get out as fast as she could, light or no light.

  Struggling through the pitch black, Alex gained new respect for the blind. There wasn't so much as a pinprick of light to focus and only through trial and error did she finally slip through the opening into the main chamber and up the steep corridor.

  She hurried along until the blackness changed form and gathered substance to gloomy shadows, vague outlines, and finally defined shapes. She stood and patted herself in a quick check for injuries.

  Finding none, she raced up the corridor and into the blinding sunlight only to crash headlong into a solid mass of flesh.

  She screamed with surprise and pain, bounced back and landed on her rear. Alex blinked several times until her eyes adjusted to the brightness. She must have been in the tomb all night! Shaking her head, her vision cleared and she focused on the greatest pair of tanned and muscled thighs she'd ever seen.

  She'd just bumped into someone tall and broad and dark. Obviously well muscled. Obviously male. Obviously a hunk.

  And he was wearing a skirt.

  Chapter Two

  TARIK STARED down with disgust at the grimy, sand-covered creature clumped at his feet. Coarse, abrasive sounds erupted from her mouth. No doubt, a foreigner. Still, a soft gasp had escaped her lips when she'd blundered into him and, on closer appraisal, her delicate features were comely. This one, indeed, was a prize. Her clothes were strange, her legs uncovered, manlike, and a white material unlike any he'd ever seen shrouded her arms. No woman of his land--and he'd seen most of them in or out of clothing--dressed like that. Why was she here at the great Pharaoh's as yet uncompleted tomb?

  He fisted his hands on his hips and leaned down for a closer view. Her lapis-lazuli eyes widened and she scrabbled backward as if to avoid his touch. Who was this white-skinned creature? Perhaps it was the goddess Isis come to test him?

  "Akiki? Come here." He gestured to his manservant. "Bring the water sack."

  "Master, you ask too much." His short squat legs pumped across the sand. "I am not a simple beast of burden." He stopped and gazed with widened eyes and open mouth. "Master! What have you found?" Akiki circled the creature and pushed his face close to hers. She jerked away and tossed a fistful of sand in his face. Akiki reared back, rubbing the coarse grains from his eyes. "Oh great physician and master of Pharaoh's life, this viper stings!" He raised his hand. "Shall I beat it now?"

  "Akiki, you camel's ass. I think not. You moved too close and frightened her. She is only reacting to your ugly face." Tarik laughed wryly.

  Akiki's jaw gaped open. "You call it she. How do you know this? Look at its skin, Master. Is it not as white as the statues of Isis? How can this be?"

  Tarik shook his head. "Calm down, Akiki. A gift from the gods, perhaps?"

  The servant edged closer. "Master, verily, she must be highborn. Look! Even her breasts are covered."

  "I can see that, you dungheap dog," Tarik said sharply. Only a fool like Akiki would fail to recognize this was very much a woman. He reached out and grasped the female's hand. She pulled back violently and, jumping to her feet, waved her arms and screamed in her odd, harsh language.

  Her irritatingly shrill voice stabbed the air. Tarik recognized a command when he heard one.

  The insolence of this creature!

  Still, there was a fire about her. In the set of her jaw, and the determination in her eyes. No, she was not at all like the women of his land. But, he would not stand here during the heat of the day and contemplate her fate. His thoughts would be much clearer in the comfort of his home. There were decisions to make and plans to form. There was a reason Isis had sent the fair-skinned woman to him and he must divine his goddess's message.

  "The hour grows late. She comes with us."

  Akiki wrung his hands and wailed. "No master. This is not good. I beseech you, leave her. Look, how she glares at us! She is too bold to serve Pharaoh. And what were those sounds slipping from her tongue? Surely those are wicked words of Anubis."

  "Akiki!" Tarik rolled his eyes heavenward. "You are indeed an idiot."

  Tarik swung back and faced his captive. She stood before him as proud and regal as Isis, herself. Wind whipped her dark hair about her shoulders. Dressed in the soft white material, she was ethereal, unreal, truly a being from another world.

  The gods had surely blessed his Pharaoh's burial ground. This was, indeed, a holy place to begin the journey to the netherworld. Tarik had not heard her language before, but she surely had commanded him to take her somewhere. He could tell by the tone of her voice and her defiant
stance. The idea of the slave ordering the master amused him as much as her form pleased his eyes.

  He would take her to Abydos and the great Pharaoh, Mentuhotep. He would be pleased to hear, see, and touch this fortuitous find. Tarik's place as chief physician in Mentuhotep's court would most definitely be assured.

  He reached out and grabbed her arm, tugging her forward. Warm, supple softness met his hand.

  She jerked free of his grasp and stepped back, ranting in her harsh sounding language.

  "Come." He pointed toward the setting sun. "Follow. You are to be the prize for our mighty Pharaoh, Mentuhotep."

  ALEX STARED in disbelief at the two men standing before her. What was it the tall one said? Dressed as he was in short drapes and leather sandals, he could've been shouting ancient Egyptian, for all she knew. Who were these guys and what the hell did they mean by man-handling her like that? Not that under normal circumstances she'd have minded being man-handled by the tall one. Broad-shouldered and bare chested, his bronzed skin stretched against the contour of steely muscles. Irresistibly handsome and something over six feet, his hair was a great, glossy cap of soft waves, curling just beneath his ears. She might be out of practice, but she could still tell a hunk when she saw one.

  Good lord, they must be actors! Even his costume fit the mood. She turned and gazed at the other man, also in costume. Short, fat, and balding, he was a poor imitation of Jason Alexander. The designers had really done their homework.

  Oh God. She'd stumbled out of the tomb, right into the middle of their scene--no doubt ruining it. She glanced around for the camera, the director, the gaffers; the crowd of wannabees hovering around a movie set. Only wind and sand answered.

  "Look guys, I'm sorry. No one told me." She offered her hand, and smiled. "Where's my father, Dr. Stone?"

  Mouths agape, the men backed up and stared as if she was from another planet. She dropped her hand and glared. "What's with you two?"