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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Metjen realised that now they had rescued the priest from his wet confinement they faced the next hurdle. How to keep the young man alive outside that embalming fluid? Trueth must have shared his concerns, she was on the floor, examining her patient. The man was in a horrid shape. His skin was wrinkled and sallow as if he had spent his time hanging around in the dark.
His pallor was the least of their worries. The young man had been tortured; bruises, scrapes and burns marred his body. His tormentors had wrenched one arm from its joint, it lay at an odd angle on the floor. Four fingers were crooked and broken, the fingernails pulled out.
'What happened to him?' Ranofer asked. 'And why?'
Iseret joined Trueth, bent down and lay her hands on the mangled shoulder. It shimmered, and the arm went back into its proper place. 'Sister Trueth, the rest is up to you. I truly am spent.' Iseret turned around and faced Ranofer. 'He is only a priest of the fifth rank, the son of common parents, but he fought the dark ones where he could. He was a real danger to them, they caught him four times, three times he escaped. Once he did not... .' Iseret shrugged.
Trueth looked up, concern showing in her eyes. 'If he's so low on the holy food chain he won't have the Blessing, right? Just in case he wakes up, is stressed and feels like doing funny things. Like zap me with a spell.'
Iseret's tapped Trueth's forehead as if she wanted to hand-deliver a message. 'Where I come from, all priests had the Blessing, even a lowly Pure One like him. The others we did not call priests. But fear not, Metjen is stronger, once he has recuperated. As am I. Or Nebmutef. And he will not wake up yet.'
She lifted her palms towards the ceiling and the still form rose into the air and hovered commando all the way to the cobra hole. A weary band of people trudged after Iseret and her airborne cargo. Metjen's father was falling behind. He wanted to examine the ancient device. To pry his father from the wonders of an antiquity unlike anything decreed by science, Metjen had to promise they would return.
Outside, they got their patient into the minibus and drove towards the temple, the only place where they could keep the priest safe at the same time as safely guarded. When they arrived at the sanctuary, a silent congregation awaited them, with Nebmutef at the front.
'Your Wisdom, you are not welcome here anymore.'
It took Metjen a long time to convince the priests they should accept Iseret back into their midst. Without Trueth's calm support, he might not have succeeded. Iseret never uttered a single word in her defence. His family had been waiting for the outcome of the argument. Metjen sent them off, at least he tried to, but failed with Rani-Ra, who followed them underground.
'You'll need someone to look after that guy,' she said with a predatory expression in her eyes.
Metjen groaned. One of his sister's escapades was the last thing he needed.
