Get out your popcorn, tourists beware, here comes a paranormal adventure with a historical twist, set in Egypt--and Britain.
From Chapter 29 'Darkness': 'Did I just try to dive into that goo to get at a dead guy?' Trueth asked.
Define dead,' Me...
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Trueth awoke underground. Again. The realisation did not come as a shock anymore; instead she was annoyed. She had expected to enjoy her incense-free existence for a while longer.
Strangely enough, she was not lying on the cot in her little cell. Instead, she lay on the floor as she could see the feet of the gods on the walls—those who had feet. Not all of them did as they were depicted in mummified form.
Trueth wriggled her toes and was pleased to note she could still do so, which would not have been the case had she been in mummified form herself. However, in that case she would also not have been in a position to appreciate the fine rendering of those godly feet, at least not from her vantage point... .
So, matters considered, she was doing well; but she was still puzzled what she was doing here. Sitting up, Trueth noted more disconcerting facts. She was not alone. The twins were lying next to her, staring at the ceiling with empty eyes. At least they were still breathing. She too regarded the roof of the chamber where the goddess of the heavens, Nut, was still doing her acrobatics among these little stars.
'Rani?' She nudged her inert friend.
No change. In their current state, neither Rani-Ra nor Ranofer could appreciate the historically interesting decorations of this chamber.
Trueth turned towards the other person she sensed in the room. Metjen was lying on the stone plinth. A shimmering phenomenon resembling an underground version of the northern lights undulated around him. It was beautiful to behold—but like most of these curses featuring teeth, hands and other divine body parts its effect could only be disagreeable.
Trueth wondered what they had done wrong.
Suddenly, recollections of the recent past rushed into her consciousness, making her feel nauseous. Along with the memories came a suspicion. Her Wisdom by now must have gathered enough intelligence regarding trespassers in chambers, tombs and excavations to be royally annoyed. Thecnically speaking, they had not broken any taboos at the dig. Iseret had not forbidden them to go there. A cramp in her digestive system told Trueth this argument would not fly with their high priestess.
The memory of the fight with Nebmutef returned and rudely pushed the other thoughts aside. How typical of her—instead of using the power of her healing she had panicked and lost control of her bolts. And Metjen was caught as well, which was bad news. She would have much preferred him outside, ready to enter and start his habitual harassment.
When she glanced again at her friend lying under his billowing shroud of radiance, he appeared to be suffering from a significant lack of oxygen. They needed him on his feet and plotting, or they stood no chance at all. Trueth mustered her courage and waved her hands through the glimmer. Nothing happened. As insubstantial as it was, the veil clung like a fairy kiss of death.
She remembered the things Nebmutef had taught her, reached into herself, called on her power and muttered invocations to Tefnut, the Goddess of humidity. A frigid rainforest shower plunged over the veil, rushed down on all sides, splattered onto the floor—but at the same time found its way in. Little holes appeared, like acid eating into a fabric.
