Eye of the Moon by Dianne Hofmeyr Read Free Book Online

Instead, I jabbed Hathor’s feet at the stone’s edge and sent her a silent prayer to ask for help in holding my tongue.
    My hands were raw and scraped by the time the stone eventually loosened. I wiped them against my tunic and rubbed the mirror clean.
    He shrugged as he saw me do it. “Not quite as perfect as before, but the face that looks into it will still be perfect.”
    I bit my tongue. He’d given no thought to asking my name but felt free to give me orders and pass comments about my face.
    He put his shoulder to the stone and shoved. Then he edged his body halfway through the opening.
    I held up the lamp. “What do you see?”
    He was silent.
    â€œTuthmosis . . . ?”
    â€œMy father’s tomb.”
    â€œIt can’t be.”
    He turned toward me. “It is! I played here while it was being built. I came when he inspected it with his chief vizier. I watched the vaults being carved into the mountain, the walls being smoothed, the sculptors at work, the artists as they painted, and the scribes writing holy spells on the walls. It took more than ten years. It’s
his
tomb!”
    I squinted through the lamplight at him. “How can you be so sure? It could be any king’s tomb. They all look the same.”
    He gave me a look. “Do you think I don’t know the exact details of my own father’s tomb? His sarcophagus is carved of red granite.”
    I shook my head. “A sarcophagus is
always
carved from graphite.”
    â€œHis wasn’t!”
    â€œLet me see.” I pushed him aside and began squeezing through the narrow opening.
    He grabbed hold of my tunic. “Stop! Don’t dare enter.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œYou’ll destroy the tomb’s sanctity. My father won’t reach the afterlife.”
    I turned fiercely. “It’s our only escape. From the tomb there’ll be a passageway back to Thebes, surely. We
have
to enter.”
    Tuthmosis stared back. In the lamplight his blue eyes reflected like cold moonstones. For a moment I hesitated. Then I tossed my head. “You have to trust me,” I said, and as an afterthought I added, “And you might ask my name.”
    He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. “What is it?”
    â€œIsikara. And you should know—just because you’re the son of a king doesn’t make me your slave.”
    Our eyes stayed locked. Then he said my name slowly. “Isikara . . . we both have to learn to trust each other.” He turned and went ahead.
    I followed him through the opening, edging my way into the darkness, keeping one hand on the wall, feeling the sharp stone under my fingertips.
    There in the lamplight stood the silent sarcophagus. My breath caught. The prince had been right. It was red. Red as oxblood.
    I shuddered, thinking of what lay inside. Thegolden mummy case, and within it another golden case, and another and another until in the final one, the mummy of King Amenhotep, wrapped in the finest of linens, decked with jewels, his arms across his chest holding the golden pharaoh’s crook, his face covered with a golden mask, on his forehead the cobra ready to strike.
    We were standing in the very heart of the burial vaults of Thebes. Beyond our tiny pool of light, the darkness stretched upward to a ceiling painted deep blue and scattered with stars. Around us, other vast, empty spaces disappeared into thick blackness.
    Tuthmosis turned abruptly. His footsteps echoed against some stone steps that led between two huge square pillars into an area with more pillars. I jumped back as King Amenhotep loomed in front of us, staring straight into my eyes. He wore a magnificent girdle belt set with real lapis lazuli and turquoise. A shining gold and obsidian pectoral plate hung against his chest. On his brow was the striking cobra. Written above were these words:
    Beware the cobra goddess who guards the royal king and his treasures. The cobra goddess