| |
Once it was clear she and Michael would be traveling together, Anne had to deal with Arnold. He whisked her away in the limousine, which turned out to be very impractical on these narrow streets. She much preferred taxis, but Arnold didn’t like the security risks. Once they got back to the hotel, Arnold adamantly refused even to consider the trip. He would not back down from his orders to minimize all contact with Michael Levy until he was cleared of any involvement in Cynthia’s death.
“This is ridiculous, Arnold. The whole purpose of this trip was to meet with Tahir and learn how to use this crystal. Now we know what it’s for, at least, and he says we must all work together—the first triad, he called it. You don’t realize what is at stake.”
“I don’t know anything about your mystical goings-on, Anne. All I know is I’m supposed to keep you alive and Michael may have killed your aunt.”
“Oh, right. He’s a big scary secret agent. You intimidate him. By the way, exactly what did you do to him? What did he mean about ruining his clothes?”
Arnold merely smiled.
They finally contacted Dr. Abernathy. Anne couldn’t risk using her cellular, but it was difficult to find a secure line in Egypt, so Arnold pulled out some fancy scrambler and hooked it up to the hotel phone. Dr. Abernathy was delighted with Anne’s progress, praising her a bit too much, she thought. A positive attitude did much to influence the outcome of events, but she detected a strain in Dr. Abernathy’s voice. He was definitely worried.
Then she was summarily dismissed and Arnold talked with him at length, about security plans for the trip, she guessed. She wasn’t able to get any details from Arnold about the conversation for the rest of the evening and he frowned at her suggestion to meet Michael in the hotel bar.
“Three-thirty wake-up call,” he said, looking at his watch. “You’ll get five hours’ sleep if you hit the rack right now.”
“Hit the rack? I’m not one of your little soldiers, you know.”
“And tomorrow we need to do some sparring.”
“For Christ’s sake.”
After repacking for the trip south, Anne went to bed and slept soundly, much to her surprise. Arnold woke her in the middle of the night. They met Michael in the hotel lobby. Arnold marched him through the metal detector, then frisked him and rifled through his luggage before piling it all in the trunk of the limousine along with hers. They stopped in the village for Tahir, whose small overnight case sat by his sandaled feet on the ride to the airport through the dark of night.
They were flying Egypt Air to Aswan and, as it turned out, Tahir, who was now functioning as their guide, had booked economy. Anne had forgotten how small the seats really were, but she dismissed any such concerns when Michael sat next to her, after Arnold had frisked him a second time. Tahir sat across the aisle, but the setting was too public for any serious talk. Anne buckled her seat belt just as the pilot announced the fog was too heavy for takeoff.
Anne turned to Michael, glad of a chance for an intimate chat, but he was snoring softly, his head against the seat, mouth slightly open.
“I’m glad my company is so scintillating,” she whispered. She studied him as he slept, the halo of soft brown curls, the strong nose and jaw, the powerful shoulders and arms ending in long, graceful fingers. He was a delicious combination of opposites. After a few minutes, Anne closed her eyes and fell asleep listening to Michael’s breathing.
The plane taxiing down the runway woke them two hours later. By late morning, they’d checked into the New Cataract Hotel in Aswan and gone to lunch together. Anne left Michael and Tahir tucked away at a table in the restaurant, talking endlessly about obscure points of Egyptology that were over her head.
She sat by the pool in the early afternoon sun, a glass of cold hibiscus tea called Karkaday in her hand, looking out at the rocks of Elephantine, watching the feluccas come and go on the Nile. Bob, Arnold’s backup, sat at the bar behind her, chatting with the waiter. The warm sun relaxed her.
What did it really mean to open the Hall of Records? Edgar Cayce had made the whole idea famous with his trance channeling in the thirties. He claimed there was a chamber beneath the right paw of the Sphinx containing records from Atlantis. Cayce, along with many New Age teachers, believed Atlanteans founded Egypt, bringing their advanced knowledge and technology with them. They had taught the native people and built the civilization that now lay in ruins around her. According to Thomas, the Western metaphysical tradition claimed some connection to the ill-fated isle.
Supposedly, crystals had powered Atlantis. Legends told of a crystal matrix chamber with an enormous clear quartz point that stood more than two stories high. Perhaps the keys would fit into some sort of device, turning on an ancient machine that would hum to life again after thousands of years. But that didn’t sit quite right with her. Too mechanical. She wondered what Tahir would say about the whole idea.
Tahir had said that her DNA carried a particular vibration, making her able to attune to her crystal. But how did that work? Surely after two thousand years, many people carried strands of the same DNA she did. She’d seen enough genealogical charts in her family to know that once you got going, it seemed everyone on the planet was related. Her theory was that the DNA wasn’t so important as the story that was passed down. The best way to keep knowledge alive was to pass it through a family line or religious order using strict ritual and precise language rigorously memorized. Even with this, her family had lost most of the knowledge. All but that one phrase Tahir had repeated, “to restore the flow.” She wondered if he’d known that or if Thomas had told him.
Michael and Tahir finally arrived at Anne’s spot in the sun. “Ready?” Michael asked.
Bob was magically at her side.
“Just five minutes,” she said. Anne went back to her room and quickly changed into jeans and a light shirt. She grabbed a water bottle and hat, then joined the men at the pool. “Now I’m ready.”
Michael looked up surprised, then turned to Tahir. “She really meant five minutes. I thought she’d take twenty.”
“Oh, please,” Anne said. “I’ve been waiting for you since lunch.”
“Ya la. Let’s go,” Tahir repeated in English. “Khnum awaits.”
They scrambled down to the dock. Tahir had arranged a felucca to take them to the island. As soon as they had set out in the smallish craft, a Nubian boy about the age of ten paddled up to them in a little boat that looked like a canoe, but was one-third the size and open at the bottom, like an inner tube. “Where you from?” he asked, his dark face broken by a huge smile and brilliant white teeth. He was dressed in a white undershirt and shorts, and was underwater from the waist down.
“America,” Michael said.
“Row, row, row your boat,” the boy promptly sang.
They burst out laughing. The boy gestured for them to join in, so they sailed slowly along singing with the young Nubian boy, who had latched onto the side of their sailboat with one hand. After this song, he began a Nubian chant. He sang a phrase, then waited for them to repeat it. Once they’d learned the basic phrase, he began the song, nodding to them when it came time to repeat the chorus.
Anne noticed another boy in a similar vessel paddle up to another felucca and ask the same question, “Where you from?” She did not hear their reply, but this boy launched into a rendition of “Frére Jacques” and his stunt produced the same roll of laughter.
“The Nubians are famous for their music,” Tahir said, handing the boy a few Egyptian pounds after the songs were finished.
Anne reached for her wallet, but Tahir shook his head. “I take care of the baksheesh.”
“But—” she began to protest.
Their boat hit shore and Tahir jumped out, ignoring her attempt to hand him money.
Michael got out next, then turned and offered Anne a hand. “Later,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s customary to tip the guide at the end of the trip.”
They climbed the hill and Tahir started to talk. “At the top is a museum. You can look around and then we will visit the temple. Khnum is the divine potter, the Neter of form and the source of our physical bodies. He is a ram-headed Neter. After the museum, we will walk in silence from the door of the temple to the mamisi.”
Anne listened intently, trying to remember all the new words she was hearing.
“There we will do our ceremony. The Holy of Holies in this temple is now too difficult to reach.” Tahir looked at Anne. “The mamisi is the birth spot in the temple, where women would come to give birth. But it is also the place to cleanse ourselves before entering the Holy of Holies.”
Anne nodded, a puzzled look still on her face.
“Do not worry. We have many temples to visit. You will understand by the time we return to Cairo.”
Tahir took a seat outside and talked with the keepers of the site. Anne and Michael walked through the museum, leaning their heads close over old jewelry and talismans, admiring canopic jars. Bob followed at a discreet distance. Anne watched Michael scrunch up his eyes to see the detail on a small statuette of Isis. His hair fell into his face and he brushed it away. She reached out to touch it, but caught herself. She felt at home with him. Perhaps they could find some time to talk about ordinary things, get to know one another.
Michael looked up to find her scrutinizing him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
He watched her for another minute, then saw Tahir stand up and look inside for them. “I guess it’s time to go,” he said, inclining his head toward the door.
“Lead on.”
Once outside, they climbed the terraced steps and walked around to the front of a stretch of ruins. On the other side of the museum stood three houses, each with a small garden. Goats grazed on the far hillside. They made their way down a long line of granite that had once been a wall. Halfway down, Tahir pointed. “Here are the remains of a Jewish temple built by Menelik, the son of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. He stopped here for a few years on his way back to Ethiopia with what he claimed was the Ark of the Covenant and your crystal, Anne.”
She looked around, but had a hard time imagining what the temple must have looked like all those years ago. All that was left now were huge limestone rectangles lying on the ground. Michael had a faraway look in his eyes. Perhaps he could see the past. He was trained for it. Then, Tahir put his finger to his lips and without a word started walking across the ruins toward a small building still standing on the left curve of the hill. Anne followed behind Michael in silence, her senses alert. Her ever-present bodyguard trailed behind. The crystal hung quiet between her breasts, perhaps not remembering its residence on this island or, at least, having no comment.
Once inside the small structure, Tahir gestured for them to stand in a circle holding hands. Then he started to chant in the ancient language. Anne felt a small point behind her on the top of the hill stir to life and spiral outward. Her body swayed to the unfolding energy. A strong sense of vitality and joy filled her and she laughed out loud. She felt pressure on her hand and opened her eyes to see the two of them smiling at her.
Tahir inclined his head toward the entrance to the room. They walked outside to a stone statue of a ram with wavy horns. “Now we’ll pray to Khnum for health and strength.” He put his hands on the ram and closed his eyes. Michael and Anne followed suit, and this time Bob decided to join them.
Suddenly, Michael let out a yell. Bob pushed himself in front of Anne. She looked around him to see Michael holding his rear with one hand and waving his other at a large gray goat who had a patch of cloth hanging from his mouth. “He bit me.”
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
“Just my pants.”
Tahir started to laugh, then Anne. Even Bob chuckled.
“Thank you very much.” Michael’s face broke into a large grin. “This trip is turning out to be inordinately hard on my clothes.” He took a jacket out of his pack and tied it around his waist.
“Problem solved,” Anne said. “Perhaps we can go shopping. Do they sell pants in Aswan?” She looked at Tahir.
Tahir nodded, then pressed his lips together, trying to stop laughing, but it only made things worse. Soon the whole group was roaring. They walked down the hill and back around the shoreline to the waiting boat, joking with Michael that his prayers had been answered and he should be glad his sacrifice was accepted by a goat and not a ram.
Once on the boat, Tahir directed the captain to take them around the island. On a high hill, he pointed out the tomb of Aga Khan, the father of Aly Khan, the famous playboy who had married Rita Hayworth. Aga Khan, according to Tahir, had been married to a former Miss France.
“Aswan is good for love,” Tahir said to the air. “Tomorrow even more.”
Anne studiously avoided looking at Michael. The felucca rounded the northeast shore of the island and they admired the long line of tour boats piled six and seven deep at the piers across the river. It was near four by now, and the river had filled with feluccas. The white, orange, and blue sails were like colorful streamers against the dark blue Nile. Soon another young boy paddled up and asked the inevitable question, “Where you from?” and they all sang, even Bob, full of vitality and joy, as the boat tacked back and forth, circumnavigating the island. No one would have imagined this jubilant group to be in any danger.
☥☥☥
Mueller picked up the digitally mastered copy of Marchant’s chant only an hour before reporting to Spender’s office.
Spender looked up when Mueller walked in. “Give it to me.”
Mueller handed the CD over. Spender swiveled around in his chair and popped it into the bank of equipment behind his desk. A pure sound filled the room.
“Our Mr. Marchant sounds like a diva.” Spender picked up the phone and buzzed his secretary. “Is Ahmed here yet?”
“He just called, sir. He’ll be right over.”
“Egyptians,” Spender addressed himself to Mueller. “Can’t ever be on time. What’s the surveillance report?”
“Marchant spent the day walking on the Giza Plateau.”
“What was he looking at?”
“Snooping out the other tunnel entrances.”
“Predictable. And the other two?”
“They left this morning for Aswan.”
“Together?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anyone else?”
“They hired an old guide from the village—Tahir Nur Ahram.”
“Blabbermouth. Always telling the tourists fanciful tales.”
Spender’s secretary ushered Ahmed into the office. Spender pushed a button and Marchant’s purified voice filled the air. “What do you think?”
Ahmed raised his hand in the air in a dramatic gesture. “You perform magic, again.”
“Let’s go.” Spender grabbed the CD.
The three men got into the BMW, and Mueller battled Cairo traffic. They arrived at Giza just as the sound and light show started. (“Damned nuisance,” Spender growled.) A guard recognized them and jumped to open the gate. Mueller pulled through and drove the BMW up the narrow desert road.
“If you get us stuck, you’ll be digging all night.”
“We’ll be fine, sir.”
He parked on the road and the three walked to the stairway. They hurried down the stairs and into the second chamber of the temple. The energy field shone, a dark luminescent blue. It looked like cellophane but was as impenetrable as Fort Knox.
Mueller arranged the portable sound system on the top step leading up to the blocked room, and Spender handed him the CD. Spender took Marchant’s crystal out of his inside jacket pocket. He positioned the stone in his right hand, point out, and stood close to the blue curtain. “Ahmed, if you will.” He gestured for the man to join him. Once the two were in position, Spender nodded and Mueller pushed play.
A beautiful chant filled the chamber, reverberating off the flat limestone walls. Before either man made a move or a sound, gold specks immediately appeared in the energy field and slowly started to circle. Spender pointed the crystal at the curtain and the two joined in the chant. The energy field lightened from midnight to royal blue. The gold specks swirled faster.
Spender moved the crystal closer and the curtain changed from royal blue to robin’s egg. He touched the curtain with the crystal and it snapped back to a dull, midnight blue.
He pulled the crystal back and they started again. The same sequence unfolded, first gold specks circling, then the curtain changing from dark to a lighter blue. But they couldn’t get it to come down. Even when it was a sky blue and the room behind it almost visible, the curtain kept them out.
Spender signaled to start the chant again. Mueller pushed the button. Spender didn’t give up until around three in the morning. He turned on Mueller, but to Mueller’s surprise, Spender gave him the crystal key. “Get this back to Marchant before he figures it out. We’re going to have to get him down here again. Find me one more crystal. One can’t do the trick. When you’ve got another one, we’ll take Marchant’s and try again.”
☥☥☥
Sunday morning dawned bright and the birds sang the sun up with all the abandon of a kindergarten playground. Anne was beginning to see the wisdom of the schedule Tahir had laid out for them. Up at dawn, out to the sites early to beat the heat and the other tourists, a late lunch, and back to the hotel to nap in the afternoon. Evenings would be spent answering questions or just relaxing. She reached into her drawer to pull out a T-shirt, but found the one she’d wanted to wear at the bottom, slightly wrinkled. It surprised her. She was usually careful to fold her clothes because she hated wrinkles and ironing equally.
She dressed in a khaki skirt, cotton T-shirt, and a broad-brimmed straw hat, then knocked on Arnold’s door to receive her escort for the day, this time the man himself. They headed down for the breakfast buffet. As early as she was, Tahir was already sitting before a plate piled high with scrambled eggs, fruit, and bread. Anne filled her own plate and joined him. Arnold sat at an adjoining table.
“You slept well, I trust?” Tahir asked.
“Yes, now that the Sphinx has decided to let me be.”
He looked up. “What happened?”
Anne described her experience the first night she’d arrived in Egypt. In the middle of her story, Michael joined them with a plateful of eggs, hummus, olives, and pita bread. Arnold nodded cordially to him. Apparently Dr. Abernathy had put an end to the frisking. Anne filled Michael in on what he’d missed.
“So what was that all about?” she asked Tahir.
“You Michael? Any experiences with the Sphinx?”
“I always feel that I should see her first thing every time I come to Egypt, and she welcomes me,” he said. “This time she told me to go see you.”
“It is appropriate to begin with the Sphinx,” Tahir said. “Why do you say ‘she’?”
“The voice has always sounded female to me.”
“According to our tradition, the Sphinx’s proper name is Tefnut. You know Nut?”
“Yes,” Michael said.
Anne shook her head.
“I will show you as we go to the temples. Nut is the great cosmic mother of all. She is the vault of the sky, the darkness behind the stars.”
“Like the Black Virgin?” Anne asked. “Thomas told me about her.”
Tahir raised his eyebrows.
Michael explained. “The Black Virgin is the Christian version of the primordial dark mother.”
“Nut is shown as a woman. Her hands and feet are on the ground, her back is the sky and stars in the background of blue. In the beginning of the current cycle, Nut spit on the Earth. From that came the Sphinx. The name ‘Tefnut’ means ‘spittle of Nut.’ Tefnut was the first manifestation on the planet of the ancient civilization. She is an aspect of the Great Mother, which is why you felt overwhelmed by her energy, Anne. When she pounces, the lioness can frighten the cub.”
Anne smiled at the idea.
“How old is she then?” Michael asked.
“This particular statue? At first it was an outcropping of limestone where the people used to go to energize themselves. People have been going there for at least fifty-six thousand years.”
“But—” Anne began.
“So you’re telling us that the civilization of ancient Khemit goes back that far?” Michael asked, nonplused.
Tahir nodded.
“How can that be? Human civilization started in the Sumer around 4000 B.C.,” Anne said.
“Khemit is older. The scientists made a mistake. They think writing is a sign of advanced civilization. Actually, it is a sign of the coming darkness. During the time of light, no one needs writing. We speak mind to mind and tradition is passed orally.”
“But don’t the stories get lost, distorted?”
“Nothing is ever totally lost. Distortion begins only when the sun has set,” Tahir said.
They piled into a taxi, Arnold up front, the rest of them squeezed into the back. After half an hour, they arrived at a dock bustling with vendors, hawkers, and boat owners. Tahir arranged for a boat and they all boarded the small craft. When two men selling beaded necklaces tried to board, Tahir turned and had a heated conversation with the Nubian sailors. Eventually, the salesmen got off and they pushed off from the dock.
Tahir sat in the prow of the boat facing them, looking out of place surrounded by water in his turban and gallabiya. “Today we are going to visit the temple of Isis at Philae. You know the story of Isis and Osiris?” he looked at Michael.
“Yes, of course, everyone knows that myth.”
Tahir nodded, obviously waiting for Michael to recite it.
“Isis and Osiris are the daughter and son of Nut, as are Set and Nephthys, their opposite pair. Osiris was the wise king and Isis his sister and wife—”
“Wife,” Tahir interrupted, a touch of scorn in his voice. “Ancient Khemit was a matriarchy, as were all societies during the time of Aten, the time of the light. The women owned the land, the home, and inheritance was from mother to daughter. My own mother, she knows one hundred percent that I am her son. But my father?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Who can say? In ancient Khemit, it was only important who your mother was.”
“But if two people are married—” Anne began.
“Marriage did not exist in Khemit. Not in the way we understand it. In all relationships, the woman chooses. The head of the household chooses the one who will rule in her name. The woman’s house was called the Per Aa.” He leaned forward in the boat. “Per means ‘house’ and Aa means ‘high.’ The high house, Per Aa. Isis is the one who rules and, by her choice, Osiris becomes king. Per Aa is the origin of the Greek word pharaoh, by the way.”
“You mean the pharaoh was actually the woman?” Michael asked, astounded.
Tahir threw back his head and laughed at Michael’s reaction. “Yes, the woman rules.”
“Well, my grandmother would agree with that,” Anne said.
The boat pulled close to a crowded dock and the men in front grabbed a boat that was docked and started to pull it away. The crew of that boat shouted at them, waving them away. They pulled up to another boat and the same procedure was repeated with the same results. The third time they found a boat that was ready to leave, and Michael, Tahir, and Anne quickly got off before someone could pull their boat out from under them. They walked up a slight hill to a tourist shop and thumbed through postcards while Tahir bought the tickets.
“I wonder if I should send some cards,” Anne mused. “I feel exactly like a tourist. I expected much more rigor, like my grandmother imposed on me.”
Michael smiled down at her. “It’s rather pleasant, isn’t it?”
Arnold cleared his throat and Michael took a step away from Anne. She shot Arnold a look.
Tahir arrived with the tickets and continued the story Michael had begun in the boat. “That is why Isis carries the throne on her head. She is the throne, and she is the woman of power, the hemeti. She should sit on a chair, her feet on a stool, and be honored.”
“I hope you’re taking notes.” Anne smiled sweetly at Michael.
He rolled his eyes.
“The story goes that Osiris was a good king, but his brother, Set, was jealous. One day Set presented Osiris with a gift, a fine coffin carved from cedar. He encouraged Osiris to try it out and, when he did, Set’s people nailed the lid shut and threw the casket in the Nile. Isis searched all over for Osiris and finally found him in Lebanon. The box Osiris’ body was in had become part of a tree that had been cut and shaped into a pillar. It stood in the court of a king. Isis became the nursemaid for the young son of the household and every night she would hold the infant in the fire, granting him immortality. One day the mother found her son in the middle of the fire and screamed out.”
“Wait,” Anne said, “I thought Demeter did that.”
“Demeter is Isis under a different name. Once interrupted, Isis had to snatch the boy from the fire. She revealed who she was and the household fell on their knees before her. They offered her a gift to make up for their ignorance, and she asked for the pillar.”
Michael and Anne followed Tahir to the mamisi, which was full of columns topped with the head of Hathor, the goddess with the cow horns and round face. From here they strolled through the temple, down the hypostyle hall. Tahir continued his story. “She took the body of Osiris out of the box and was preparing to return it to life, but Set knew of her plans. He chopped up the body of Osiris and distributed the pieces all around the country.”
By now they were close to the end of the temple and Anne noticed a group of Japanese tourists following them, listening carefully to one of their group translate Tahir’s story. Arnold moved closer to her.
“There’s always been a debate about how many pieces he was chopped into,” Michael said.
Anne made a face. “This is important?”
“Actually, it is.” Tahir smiled at Anne’s discomfort. “Osiris was chopped into forty-two pieces.”
“Forty-two. I’ve never heard that one,” Michael said.
“There were forty-two tribes in ancient Khemit,” Tahir explained, “each entrusted with a piece of Osiris.”
Michael’s eyes took on a hooded look as he tried to work out the implications of this new piece of information.
Tahir pressed on. “Isis went in search of the pieces of Osiris, eventually finding all except his—” here he made a gesture toward his lower hips.
“Phallus,” Michael supplied the word for him.
The group had stopped next to a series of raised reliefs toward the end of the temple. The tourists were standing in a tight circle with Anne and Michael, listening avidly. Arnold was right behind Anne.
Tahir continued, “But even this did not stop her. She fashioned what she needed from a piece of acacia wood and, in the form of a swallow, hovered over the body of Osiris and became pregnant. She gave birth to their son, Horus, the falcon-headed god.” Here Tahir pointed to the relief of the baby Horus on his mother’s lap. “So, Anne, what is Isis the Neter of, then?”
“Huh?” Anne was taken by surprise. Perhaps this was not going to be a vacation, after all.
The Japanese were talking amongst themselves. Then the man who had been translating for them said in a heavy accent. “She Egyptian Quan Yin? She mother?”
Tahir smiled at the man. “Yes, I know the Chinese Quan Yin, the goddess of compassion.”
“Yes, yes.” The man turned and translated for his group.
“Anything more, Anne?” Tahir looked at her again.
“Resurrection?” she asked. “Transformation?”
“Exactly. She is the vehicle through which man is transformed from the good king into the enlightened one, the resurrected hero. Horus is the Greek form of the Khemitian Heru, and the source of the word “hero.” Isis enlightens us. She is the bringer of immortality.”
The Japanese group burst into applause.
“Domo arigato,” Tahir said, bowing his head in acknowledgment, then he walked down a narrow hall and began to point out a series of reliefs. Osiris held an ankh up to the nose of Isis. “The breath of life,” he said. In the next, the god held the ankh to her heart and in the third to her crotch. “The water of life,” Tahir said. “Isis is also Neter of the sacred procreative alchemy.”
They turned from the wall panels and walked into the Holy of Holies, a large stone slab in the center of the room, the walls covered with hieroglyphs. They went through quickly, then down the other side of the temple.
“Our ceremony?” Anne whispered to Tahir. “Wasn’t that the place to do it?”
Before he could answer, two of the temple guardians dressed in flowing white gallabiyas stood up and shouted, “Tahir Nur,” their arms outstretched.
Tahir turned and shouted their names in turn, but Anne couldn’t make them out. Tahir embraced the two men, kissing their cheeks ceremoniously. Then he slipped them some baksheesh, which to her great surprise they kissed before putting in their pockets. The three men talked, then the guardians led them to a chain with a wooden sign that read “No entrance.” They pulled the chain back and with great ceremony invited the group into the restricted area. It turned out to be a small Hathor temple. They leaned against the wall, studying the tops of the columns, enjoying a bit of shade.
After a few minutes, Tahir turned to them and said in a low voice. “Now we’re going to a place not many people visit. Before the dam was built, the temple stood on the original power spot on the island of Bigeh. This is where we shall do our ceremony.” They returned to the boat and reloaded. Tahir said, “Now we will approach the Holy of Holies in silence.”
Gradually, they pulled away from the other feluccas and all that could be heard was the boat moving through the water, the wind gently lifting the sails. The water was a deep blue. They sailed across the lake to an island with tall cliffs, the boulders a deep orange in the sun. Birds flew back and forth from nests in the rock hollows. Anne looked over at Michael, who sat across from her, slightly turned, looking out over the water. His hair blew back in the wind. He looked like a buck testing the air, his body relaxed, but always ready to spring into action.
Sensing something, Michael turned and, when he saw her watching him, his brown eyes lit with a warm fire.
The boat slowed at a spit of land with overgrown granite blocks lying just beneath the soil, suggesting a formal landing site some time in the distant past. An arch still stood at the end of the spit, ushering them into a thicket of trees and undergrowth. Tahir picked his way through the trees until he found the spot he was looking for. Much to Anne’s surprise, Arnold stayed with the boat, as did the Nubian sailors.
Tahir gestured for Anne and Michael to sit. Anne settled on a fallen log. Michael took off his jacket and sat on it, completing the circle. They joined hands and Tahir began to chant in the language she’d heard him use before. She felt unsteady, like she was still bobbing around in the boat. Anne closed her eyes and the sensation intensified. She slipped onto the ground and leaned back against the log, giving herself over to the sounds and sensations.
Tahir’s voice intensified and, after a few minutes, Anne found herself floating up, hovering in the space above their circle. Suddenly, Isis was before her, dressed in flowing blue robes, a golden sash wrapped around her hips. The Neter gestured for Anne to follow her into a golden barge. They floated across the water to a small island that held a temple of golden stones. Anne followed the Neter through the temple into a room with a large, flat altar stone surrounded by priestesses. On their heads sat elaborate headdresses, some with the throne of Isis, others with the softly curving horns of the Neter Hathor.
One of the priestesses took Anne’s hand and led her forward. She laid Anne on the stone and moved away. Tahir’s chanting was now laced with the voices of women adding an intricate harmony. She looked around and saw an elaborate ceremonial chamber with beautifully painted reliefs, oil lamps burning, priestesses with gold headdresses all chanting. She was naked, lying on cushions covered in red silk. Suddenly, radiance lit the room and a man walked toward her, his skin golden with light, his phallus erect. He joined her on the altar and, as the chanting intensified yet again, gently entered her. The chanting built to a pitch and they rocked to the chant, sensation building on sensation until they ignited like a starburst.
Anne opened her eyes to two concerned faces looking down on her. Embarrassed, she tried to sit up, but dizziness stopped her. She looked from Michael to Tahir, finding him safer. “What happened?”
“You . . .” Tahir searched for an appropriate euphemism.
“Shouted,” Michael offered.
“Yes,” Tahir nodded, “and fell over.”
“Oh.” Anne took Tahir’s extended hand and sat up. She noticed Arnold had joined the circle.
“What happened?” he asked.
“She fainted,” Tahir said. “The energy is very intense today. The island has recently been beneath water.”
Arnold frowned at Michael, then asked Anne. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, nobody did anything to me. I’m safe.”
Arnold crossed his arms and stood next to Anne.
“Can you tell us what you saw?” Michael asked.
“Uh,” Anne hesitated. She looked at Tahir again. “Some kind of ritual.”
Tahir’s eyes lit. “Excellent.” He seemed to know not to ask for details. “And you, Michael?”
“I felt an enormous amount of energy, like I was being shaken, but I didn’t see anything. I’m not always visual.”
Tahir nodded again, clearly satisfied.
Anne was relieved he hadn’t asked her to explain more. She had the odd feeling he knew already. She stood up and brushed herself off, feeling a damp stain on the seat of her skirt from where she’d been sitting on the ground. She took a few wobbly steps. Michael steadied her, then put his arm around her for support. They made their way back to the dock. Without hesitation or permission, Michael lifted her into his arms and carried her into the boat. She sank against him, half from relief, half from desire.
Michael settled her on the narrow seat on the boat, then sat beside her, firmly ignoring Arnold’s attempt to intercede. She leaned her head against his shoulder. A hint of musk from his neck mixed with the smell of sweat reached her. She was acutely aware of the warmth and solidity of his body. Anne closed her eyes, trying to get control of herself. The Nubians pushed off and soon they were sailing back. Anne wished she were alone with Michael, but was at the same time grateful she wasn’t.
They sailed across the dammed-up river in silence.