NOT TOO SHABTI

 

 

Tatia stood at the chamber’s main door, behind Babi’s body, with the second dog-headed guard from Mek’s tomb at her side. The princess was dressed like a servant girl. Even in rags, power emanated from her like heat from a fire.

How did she get here? Jagger clutched the canopic jar tighter as the General’s sword tip pressed against his throat.

“My children,” the General hissed.

The dog-guard held a kid in each hand: a girl and a boy, wound in mummy wrappings and held by the guard like balloons on a string.

“Your children would like you to drop the sword.” Tatia’s calm demeanor was marred only by the worried glance she tossed at Mut, who moaned softly.

“Children,” Jagger mumbled. That solved another small mystery. These must be the kids that had entered the temple complex earlier, delivering Tatia’s letter of introduction to Herihor. Smenkare must have given the General the letter because he didn’t know Herihor was on evil’s side, and the General sent his own kids to warn Herihor. These must be the same kids Babi’s sailors had followed to Amenhotep’s tomb, presumably when they returned to report back to their father.

Jagger swallowed hard. This creep was a dad. And still he’d murdered Aria without a thought. He leaned into to the General. The sword point dug deeper into his neck, stinging him. Hot, wet blood dripped down his throat and chest.

The General didn’t notice. He glared at the princess, nose flaring.

Tatia smirked. “The difference is, General, he is not my child. If either of them dies, your only two children die also.”

Jagger moaned. She didn’t know Aria was dead. As if she’d just realized his sister wasn’t here, Tatia’s eyes roamed over the chamber, landing on Jagger. Tears stung his eyes, flowing down his face to mix with the blood. He pushed against the sword, letting it dig deeper, bite into his skin harder, and Tatia blanched.

She yanked the General’s daughter closer. Would Tatia really kill the girl in retaliation? Or was it a bluff? She glared at Herihor, and Jagger believed she’d do it, especially if she’d just figured out her two youngest sisters had been murdered.

The General must have come to the same conclusion: the sword shifted away from Jagger’s throat.

Herihor’s hands whipped up, and steam billowed toward the princess.

Quicker than anyone had a right to be, Tatia countered. She flicked a finger, and the High Priest’s wall of magical steam simply evaporated, vanishing with a weak zap.

Tatia had barely moved. Jagger recalled her bragging that she was the most powerful magician in generations. Herihor was no match for the princess, even if she was only a year older than Jagger.

The General dropped the sword and grimaced.

“You’ll have other children, General,” Herihor pleaded. “If you want the throne, you must make this sacrifice. If we lose here today, we will not get another chance.”

The General gazed at his children, glancing from boy to girl. The boy looked scared, but the girl wore defiance like a shield. She stared at her dad with a curled lip.

“It is for them that I do this,” the General responded. “It is for them that I want to return our country to the glory we once knew. It is for them that I want our family to rule the Red and Black Land, so we will be released from the power of the lunatic we call Pharaoh, to rule again as Egyptians should.” He looked calm as his eye searched Tatia’s. “You win today, little girl.”

The princess smirked at the intended insult, but her eyes were angry. “My sisters?” Her voice cracked, and she lifted her head higher.

The General looked away. “It was the only way.”

Tatia’s hand flew to her chest as if she’d been punched. She hadn’t known. Or perhaps she had, but the confirmation still hurt. She paused, then threw her shoulders back. Stepping into the chamber, she leaned down to check Babi’s pulse before making her way to Mut. “Babi lives,” Tatia whispered as she helped Mut stand.

Mut glanced back at Babi as Tatia reached into her dress and pulled out a small amulet. She cast it on the ground, lips hard.

The tomb was eerily quiet. The sound of Jagger’s sniffles and the tinkling of the amulet hitting the ground were the only sounds as everyone watched the princess. First, she showed up out of nowhere. Now, she held attention as easily as a Chicago skyscraper held people.

Jagger eyed the chamber where Aria’s body lay. Aria! His heart throbbed. His blood roared in his ears, loud against the silence of the tomb, now lit only by torchlight.

He squeezed the canopic jar tighter, aching to go to his sister. Herihor studied Tatia like a scholar, just a fellow magician anxious to learn a new trick.

Tatia closed her eyes and called to Osiris and Isis. A rainbow of lights exploded above the amulet. It was so small Jagger couldn’t make out the shape. The smell of eucalyptus and mint bloomed, and Jagger was reminded of watching the princess and the blinking Horus eye amulet. It seemed like years ago, yet it had only been a few days. He moaned, wishing none of this had ever happened. He should have stayed in that bed in Amarna. He should have ignored the voice calling out to him. He should never have put Aria in danger. She may have died anyway, but at least they’d have gone together, and he wouldn’t be left with this crippling guilt.

He flinched when the amulet jumped with a clink. When it landed, three larger amulets lay on the ground. They jumped again, growing larger still. A few hops later and Jagger realized they were shaped like coffins.

“No.” Whatever Tatia was up to, Herihor must have figured it out. He no longer looked interested. He looked terrified.

A few more hops, and three full-sized coffins sat before them.

“Father.” The young boy struggled against the golden guard’s steely grip, to no avail.

“He’ll live,” Tatia assured the boy. “For now. Which is more than I can say for my baby sisters. And his.” She looked at Jagger and swallowed.

Dropping her eyes to the floor, she walked over to Jagger and bent down behind the large, red sarcophagus. When she stood, she held something in her hands. Shabti. Small, blue figurines of workers that were traditionally buried with ancient Egyptians so that they had someone to do things like gather food and pour drink for them in the afterlife. The six shabti were carved of faience, arms crossed over their small chests like mummies. There were three women and three men, each dressed to represent a different activity. One woman carried a basket of bread loaves on her tiny head, a man held a funerary symbol, and another had a sack filled with goods tossed over his little back.

“I can help.” Mut limped over and took the shabti from Tatia’s hands. Mut chanted, her fingers moving as purple lights danced around them.

Tatia pointed at the coffins, looking from Herihor to the General to her half-brother, still pinned to the wall by the dog-headed guard.

The General grunted. There was a hint of dignity in the way he held himself, walking to the coffin and climbing into it. He crossed his arms over his chest, mimicking the shabti’s pose.

Herihor was a different story. He looked mad with fear. He mumbled under his breath and backed up against the far wall of the tomb chamber. At a nod from Tatia, the guard who held Smenkare dropped the prince in a heap, crossed the chamber to grab the old priest, and dumped Herihor unceremoniously into the coffin.

“Now you, brother,” Tatia spat, pointing at Smenkare. “I’ll let Father decide what to do with you, but until then you’ll stay here under the care of the shabti.”

“But I saved him,” Smenkare whined. “I saved the captain. Ask him.” The prince nodded at Jagger.

Jagger saw the General look up from the coffin, his serene acceptance of defeat marred by surprise. If he hadn’t planned to kill the prince before, he did now. Tatia glanced at Jagger, and he bowed his head. It didn’t matter anyway. None of this mattered now.

Tatia tapped a finger against her cheek, thinking.

Mut finished her spell, and the shabti sprang to life. Six small, blue figures clambered nimbly up the sides of the coffins, three to each, checking on the General and High Priest. Only a few inches tall, each scurried back and forth over the men. One of the girls appeared to be handing Herihor a miniature, blue fish as a snack.

A sob escaped Jagger’s lips: Aria would have loved this. She should be the one here, watching magic, not him.

“Let me come with you,” Smenkare begged. “Don’t leave me with them.”

“They’ll kill him if they can.” Jagger’s voice was flat. The prince’s life would be in danger if he were to be left. And in the timeline Jagger had learned from books, the prince ruled for a short period. It seemed like history should be kept intact. Why had his sister died, if not to keep history whole?

Tatia folded her arms, glaring at her half-brother before shrugging and bidding Mut to bind the prince along with the General’s two children.

“My children?” the General asked. “What will happen to them and their mother?”

“I’m guessing they’ll suffer the consequences of your traitorous deeds,” Tatia said. “Pharaoh will decide. With my sisters dead, he will hear the truth. Finally. But for all your criticism of my father, he is fair and reasonable. He’ll decide their fate, as he’ll decide yours. Someone will return. Eventually. The shabti will keep you alive until then.”

Three of the shabti worked together to close the lid over Herihor, whose scream reverberated through the tomb. The shabti swarmed the top of the coffin, busy doing whatever magical deeds they were charged with to keep the two men alive and bound in the coffins until the king’s justice was decided.

Tatia’s eyes met his. Jagger’s gaze shifted to the small chamber where Aria lay. Dead.

The princess’s chin quivered. “I’m sorry, Jagger Jones.”

Bile crawled up his throat, choking him. Aria was gone. And he was still here.

“Our sisters deserved better.” Tatia stared over at the small chamber.

Mut leaned over Babi, feeling for a pulse. “He’ll live,” she said.

SSSSSSSsss.

The Meretseger snake squirmed out of Aria’s chamber, hissing.

Tatia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, then she bowed reverently. Mut followed, bowing low as she clutched her side.

“Thank you, Silent One,” Tatia said as the snake slithered around the coffins like a dog marking its territory. After a turn through the room, the snake stared at the princess, then Jagger, then slithered away.

“Meretseger,” Mut breathed.

Tatia stared after her. “I’ve never … That’s … Why?”

“She was here before.” Jagger sighed. “She helped us earlier, and she was in the battle. She helped defeat Smenkare. Didn’t you see her?”

Tatia and Mut shook their heads in tandem.

“That may be the most puzzling puzzle of all.” Mut stared at the spot where Meretseger had been with her eyebrows knit together.

“Yes.” Tatia sagged. “But that puzzle must wait.” She glanced back at the chamber where Aria lay and hung her head. “Carry Aria Jones gently,” she told the guard, who held the ends of the linen bandages that were wrapped around Smenkare and the General’s two kids. He handed the ends to the other guard, who’d scooped Babi up in one muscular gold arm, and ducked into the room to get Aria.

Aria’s body looked tiny in the guard’s big arms, her legs and arms dangling down. Jagger limped after him. He could only see her feet; they jiggled with the big creature’s gait.

He felt empty, like his insides had melted, as they filed through the tomb. Just after they passed the chamber with the well, Smenkare stumbled into him.

“Hey!” Jagger turned and shoved him. His blood was loud in his ears, and his skin felt hot. He glared at the prince, thinking of Aria, and of the two small princesses—Smenkare’s own half-sisters—who’d lost their lives to this greedy madness. So much life snuffed out so suddenly, so senselessly. The anger that had erupted when they faced the giant scorpion flared. And now the anger had a target.

The prince righted himself and stabbed a finger in Jagger’s chest. The vein in his neck pulsed. “I saved your captain. I helped you—”

“You murdered them!” Jagger roared. “You murdered my sister. You murdered your own sisters.” Jagger dropped his voice. “I know what history has written for you, you lowlife scumbag. I’m from the future, remember? The fate coming at you might not be as gruesome as you deserve, but trust me, it’s bad enough.”

The prince stepped back. His eyes pulsed.

Jagger was lying. He knew the prince had died young but had no idea how—but the prince didn’t know that.

Tatia pulled Jagger’s arm, gently. “We need to go.” She sniffled and turned to move forward.

Mut nodded for Jagger to follow as she shifted to stand between him and the prince. “We should have locked him in the coffin,” she sneered as she pushed Jagger forward, out of the tomb.