The God’s Guardian (The Pharaoh’s Promise #3)

Chapter Fourteen

The trip through the city in the dead of night seemed to go on forever. The men had bound Bhaskar and Anpu’s hands. Hemhat was the only one left free and Bhaskar knew it meant his friend had betrayed him. Callius had taken the sundial. Against everything else that had happened, this should not weigh on him so heavily, but Bhaskar bitterly resented its loss.

As they walked, he tried to think of how they might escape or what he could say to buy them more time. Eventually they would arrive at Callius’s residence, or wherever he was taking them. Then Bhas would have to come up with more convincing lies to keep them alive.

After weeks of studying the sundial, he could recall the inscription with the same accuracy as the Vedas which had been drilled into him as a child. He reviewed it now, relying on his own interpretation rather than Callius’s misdirection.

The symbols etched into the sundial described a rare convergence. The full moon would pass between Mrigashira and Rohini, or as the Egyptians called them, Sah and Sopdet. He tried to remember anything he had learned of the myths to understand what the maker of the sundial had so carefully recorded. Sah was the embodiment of Osiris and Sopdet, the celestial representation of Isis. The sundial probably meant the reference to be a sign of reunion and protection ensuring safe passage of the pharaoh and his beloved to the afterlife. He wondered if that would be enough to satisfy Callius. He looked up at the full moon, calculating the dates. The alignment would happen tonight! Maybe he could convince Callius the inscription was a spell to guarantee divine protection for whoever uttered it under the proper alignment.

While he plotted, they walked west, not down Canopic Street but on nearby less-travelled streets. Eventually they passed out of the affluent neighborhoods near the palace. Though he could not see it from the side streets, Bhaskar knew they must be approaching the western gate. He began to have some hope. The gate would be guarded and Anpu was well known. Their captors would not be able to take them outside the city. Pravar had come all the way from Badrinath and brought with him letters from the hand of the Samrat, a bevy of attendants, guards, diplomats, and even a war elephant to gift the pharaohs. If Anpu did not return soon, Pravar would not hesitate to use every resource to locate him.

His hopes in this regard were soon dashed. As they neared the wall, the men surrounding Anpu circled him more tightly, as if anticipating he might make trouble. They veered further off Canopic Street, avoiding the brightly lit western gate. Instead, they slipped down a smaller street running parallel to the wall, then veered again. They were directly across from the postern gate. One of the men next to Anpu drew a knife, pressing it to his side as a warning.

Callius went first. The postern gate was also heavily guarded, but the men appeared to recognize Callius. They greeted him with arms crossed over their chests, a gesture Bhaskar recognized with a pang of unease. Then Callius turned and signaled to the others. Anpu and Bhaskar were seized roughly and dragged across the street, through the postern gate, and beyond the city walls.

Bhaskar’s heart sank. Outside the city, he had no hope of anyone finding them.

They did not have far to go after that. In the dark, Bhaskar did not recognize the route until they approached the arched entrance along the wall.

The necropolis.

Tonight, there were no temple guards. They had been replaced by men in long, dark linen mantles that reminded Bhaskar eerily of funerary shrouds. Even their faces were obscured by linen scarves, as if they were preparing to cross into the afterlife. Again, they greeted Callius by crossing their arms over their chests. Here, surrounded by tombs, Bhaskar recognized the gesture. The pose only lacked the crook and flail to mirror the depictions of Osiris etched into many of the monuments that surrounded them. Bhaskar, who had thought himself incapable of further shock, felt a new dread as they made their way into the heart of the city of the dead.

He was not surprised when they arrived at the tomb of the priest of Osiris. Before they entered, Callius hung back, pulling Bhaskar with him. “Listen to me,” he said in a low voice. “I have no reason to wish you dead. If you can do as you say, then you may yet earn a place among us. But once we enter,” he nodded toward the entrance of the tomb, “your fate is out of my hands. There is a man…” He trailed off, as if not sure what else to say. “You will see many strange things. Whatever he asks of you, you must do. If you have lied, you have doomed us all.”

“What about Commander Anpu?”

Callius shook his head. “From this point forward, I can do nothing.”

They rejoined the others. Anpu’s head was down and a trail of blood dripped down one arm where a blade had caught him. But his eyes were still sharp and calculating. Given a chance, he would act.

The group moved forward, past more shrouded figures at the entrance, then they were within the tomb itself. Callius led them on, and they began a descent into the earth down stone steps worn with age. The further they went, the more oppressive the darkness became, the faint torchlight barely enough to ward it off. Bhaskar could hear the muffled shuffling of feet behind him, the breathing of the men who held them captive.

After the ground leveled, they moved through a series of tombs, each holding the remains of an Egyptian priest in silent repose. Smaller chambers housed their possessions, just as carefully preserved. Bhaskar tried not to imagine his own body trapped like this, denied cremation and unnaturally preserved against returning to the earth. He told himself his soul would be free, but with his hands bound and stone pressing in on all sides, freedom seemed impossible to imagine.

Finally, the passageway opened into a low-ceilinged underground chamber, the ceiling supported by massive stone beams. The walls were covered in faded murals depicting scenes of the afterlife and hieroglyphs detailing ancient rites of Osiris. The chamber was filled with people, all wearing the same dark mantles.

In the flickering torchlight, Bhaskar studied their faces. Despite the scarves obscuring much of their features, he recognized some of them. The old man from Euryleon’s party, Agappius, stood near a column, his eyes bright with fanatic fervor. A tall figure caught his attention. One of the guards who had ransacked his rooms. Alexandros, Kleon, and Demetrios from his first night in the city. Had he met no one by chance? He even saw a few faces he thought he recognized from within the palace itself, confidants of the royal family.

No wonder Hemhat had been willing to risk capture by approaching Bhaskar in the street. Callius and his friends must have been desperate to retrieve the sundial and its inscription before the night of the full moon.

The crowd stirred in recognition, then parted to allow Callius and his men through, crossing their arms in the ritual greeting as they did so.

Ahead of them stood a stone altar covered in ritual items—bowls filled with dried herbs, small bronze statuettes, and an incense burner carved from black stone, its acrid blend of myrrh and kyphi filling the air with thick smoke. Behind the altar was a great stone throne, covered in ancient hieroglyphs and mystical symbols. A man sat on the throne. Like the others, he wore the dark mantle and his face was covered. But unlike everyone else in the room, this man was richly adorned. Amulets of gold and carnelian hung around his neck, each inscribed with symbols of power—depictions of serpents, the eye of Horus, and the winged sun disk. His wrists bore heavy cuffs etched with sacred markings, and a broad gold collar etched with more arcane symbols lay across his chest. He stood as the group approached the altar.

“Callius. What is the meaning of this?”

Although he had never seen the man’s face, Bhaskar knew who faced them. He recognized the cultured Greek accent and the engraved dagger at his side. The man who had assaulted him the first night. The man Anpu had driven off. To the side of the throne stood the hulking figure of the second man.

Bhaskar threw a quick glance at Anpu and saw the same recognition written on his face.

“Wer Seshem-neter,” the words were said to the floor, as Callius prostrated himself before the man. “I have brought the scholar from Indos, the astronomer. We have brought not just the sacred text, but Iret Ra, Wat Osiris, the lost icon.”

“Bring it to me!”

Callius scrambled to his feet and approached the priest, who took the sundial and examined it eagerly before demanding, “What need have we for this scholar? Did you not say you could translate the hieroglyphs and only lacked a small portion of the text?”

“I have translated the text, but some details remain hidden. Its full meaning requires a knowledge of the celestial bodies which I do not possess.”

Cold eyes fell on Bhaskar. The priest gestured him forward until he stood before the altar. “And you have this knowledge?”

“Yes, great one.”

Bhaskar dared not reply anything else, but his mind raced feverishly, wondering what he could tell this monster that would keep them alive. No matter what he said, the ritual would fail, and they would be exposed.

“Have you warned him of the consequences if he fails?” The Greek placed the sundial on the altar and raised his arms. The crowd parted further. From the shadows emerged lions, but not Arsinoe’s regal companions. These animals were skeletally gaunt, their ribs visible beneath dull, matted fur. Their eyes glowed a malevolent red, the same glow Bhaskar had seen in the pomegranate grove. The creatures moved with an unnatural gait, teeth bared and dripping with thick, green saliva.

The priest opened his arms wide. His voice echoed through the chamber. “Behold the power I have harnessed! The might of Sekhmet, goddess of war and destruction. These beasts have been called from the realm of the divine to serve us, to guard the threshold between life and death. And now, on this auspicious night, we will use the power of Osiris to overcome death for the true believers of this sacred order.”

Bhaskar stared at the lions in horror. Anpu had said the cult preached a perversion of the Egyptian faith. He had not offered the possibility that they might have real power. But the slavering creatures before him were nothing from the world of the living. What other power might the priest possess?

Inevitably, his eyes sought Anpu again. He found him still in the company of his captors, with Hemhat standing close behind him. Revulsion filled both their faces.

The priest turned back to Bhaskar. “We already know the moon will bridge Sah and Sopdet tonight,” he said. “A pathway will open between the realms. When it does, we will harness the power of Osiris. The inscription from the ancients promises as much. What need have I of your translations? We know what is required. With Iret Ra, Wat Osiris in my hand, we cannot fail.”

The cult, like Agappius, believed they could twist the meaning of the sundial's inscriptions to cheat death. Bhaskar had assumed the inscriptions were merely the usual prayers and any ritual would fail. But the sight of the lions had shaken his confidence. Now he had a new fear. What if the ritual worked?

He could not unleash such an abomination on the world.

He took a breath, steadying his voice. “Wer Seshem-neter, there is more to the inscription,” he began cautiously. “As Callius said, the maker hid calculations in the text only an astronomer would recognize. Yes, the convergence is tonight—the moon is between Sah and Sopdet—but the power must be harnessed properly. If your ritual is not performed at the exact moment described, you risk angering the gods instead of drawing their blessing.”

Bhaskar held his breath as the priest’s eyes narrowed in calculation. Was there a flicker of hesitancy?

He made his tone as subservient as possible. “Great one, I do not have the proper tools with me to calculate the exact alignment of the stars. Without them, the danger is great. I beg you, let us do more study and perform the ritual another night. I will bring my astrolabe and other tools so we will be assured of success.”

At this, the priest shook his head decisively. “No. We know the heavens will not align again for years. Our enemies are many. Even now, one stands among us.” He shot a vicious look at Anpu. “It must be tonight. My magics are strong enough to overcome some small discrepancy.”

Bhaskar though fast. If he could not delay the ritual, perhaps he could at least get them out of this tomb to a place where there might be opportunities for escape. This close to the city wall, the guards might even notice the activity outside and come to investigate.

“Oh, Wer Seshem-neter, surely your magics are powerful,” Bhaskar agreed. “But it is impossible to perform the ritual here. At the very least, I must have a clear view of the night sky.”

The priest smiled at this. “And so you shall.”

With a signal from the priests, two of the robed cultists left the room. After a few moments, a loud pounding came from overhead. Two more cultists leaped onto the altar and pressed their hands to the ceiling. Backs straining, the men pushed against the stone. With a grinding noise, a large circular slab began to shift aside, revealing the night sky above.

Moonlight streamed into the chamber. Looking up at the night sky, Bhaskar saw the full moon hanging directly between Sah and Sopdet, just as the inscription had foretold.

“Behold, the heavens align for us. After tonight we shall reign even above the pharaohs for we shall walk the earth forever!”

The priest stepped forward, placing the sundial on the altar so it was illuminated by the full moon. He nodded to Bhaskar. “There is the only instrument you need. Make your calculations, astronomer. We will begin on your word. Do not fail us, or you and your guardian will both die before the sun rises.”

“Great one,” Bhaskar whispered, unable to make his voice louder. “You will need to unbind me.”

The priest stepped forward and drew his own dagger to slice Bhaskar’s bonds. They both knew the freedom did him little good. With no other choice, Bhaskar stepped up to the altar.

As he approached, the scent of kyphi and myrrh overwhelmed him, the incense filling his lungs and clouding his mind. He panted, trying not to breathe too deeply. He needed his wits about him. He could not stop the ritual now, but he could not let it succeed no matter what the cost to himself.

He looked down at the sundial. On the altar, the gnomon caught the moonlight just as it would the sun. Placed in the center of the altar, it would indeed calculate the moment of perfect alignment when the prayer was to be recited. If he was careful, perhaps he could delay the prayer, just a little, just enough for the moon to slip out of perfect alignment.

He adjusted the sundial so that the gnomon faced the path of the moon, now approaching the position between Sah and Sopdet. He could feel the priest’s eyes on him, as well as the expectant gaze of the cultists.

He traced the symbols with his finger, allowing his brow to furrow, as if in thought. The air in the chamber felt heavy, the scent of kyphi and myrrh thick in his lungs. He lifted his eyes to the sky again, gauging the movement of the moon. He took another breath, stalling, and adjusted the sundial once more, his hands trembling slightly. He could hear the priest shifting behind him, growing restless.

“Astronomer,” the priest’s voice was sharp. “It is time. The heavens are aligned.”

“Wer Seshem-neter, I beg you, wait.” Bhaskar’s eyes remained fixed on the sundial, watching as the moon’s reflection moved directly over the gnomon, leaving no shadow. This was the perfect moment, just as the inscription described. He held his breath—one heartbeat, then another. The faintest hint of a shadow began to emerge. Another heartbeat. He could wait no longer; the priest would notice. Silently, he whispered a prayer to Vishnu, asking for forgiveness.

“It is time."

At once, the priest raised his voice in the incantation. Around them, the crowd did the same, repeating each phrase after the priest. As they reached the end, Bhaskar glanced down at the sundial. The shadow was longer, but he had purposefully turned the sundial out of precise alignment. Now he could not be sure of the calculation. There was a pregnant pause around him. Then the priest began the incantation again.

Bhaskar allowed himself an imperceptible sigh of relief. They had done it. The ritual had failed, or maybe never had a chance of working. Now he would need to persuade the priest to keep them alive so they could try again on the next alignment. Chances of success seemed small, but at least there was some hope.

The priest had started on the third recitation of the incantation. His voice grew louder, taking on a note of triumph. As his voice rose, the room, filled with moonlight, began to darken.

Bhaskar looked up at the sky.

Overhead, roiling clouds had gathered, blocking out the stars and obscuring the bright light of the full moon. “Osiris comes!” the priest shouted.

In the tomb, the air became more and more oppressive until Bhaskar’s ears ached with the pressure. The air shimmered, as it had from the heat in the desert. He heard a movement and looked down. The lions had risen and stalked back and forth in front of the altar. As he watched, their bodies appeared to change. He thought he saw the head of a crocodile on one and the hindquarters of a hippopotamus on the other.

He shook his head, trying to clear the incense. He had heard that kyphi could invoke visions. Around him, the chants of the crowd became uneasy, but the priest did not waver, his voice rising.

Bhaskar looked back up at the sky, but could see nothing except black clouds. The only light came from the torches. The pressure in his ears began to pulse until all he could hear was the sound of his beating heart. As he gazed up into the sky, a single white feather floated down out of the heavens and landed on the altar.

“You fool!” Anpu’s voice rang out. “You have summoned the Eater of Souls!”