Witch Risen: A Paranormal Adventure (Bad Tom Series Book 2) by Jill Nojack Read Free Book Online Page B
Book: Witch Risen: A Paranormal Adventure (Bad Tom Series Book 2) by Jill Nojack Read Free Book Online
Authors: Jill Nojack
leadership of pharaohs, but here there is no human braggadocio to interrupt the stories of gods and goddesses. All of the paintings celebrate the power of Ba'al and his sister wives. It's promising. Very promising. But all the small openings lead to side chambers which contain only uninteresting artifacts, not the main attraction.
The passage ends, but it's clear it continues on beyond the massive stone that blocks it. The stone block cuts the story-telling in half, one arm and one leg of a figure showing at the seam with the rest behind.
It's not much of an impediment for me. I assume the diggers planned explosives for it. They won't be needed when I'm done: I hope they appreciate the favor. The government can have most of what's behind this curtain. I am here for only one thing.
The stone crumbles when I lay my hands on it. The gravel moves off down the corridor behind me with only a little effort of my will, but I make sure to leave a smooth path by which I can leave easily.
I've entered similar chambers before and found myself misled, taken in by the ones who came after, who called themselves Ba'al to impress their local tribes and claim Ba'al's strength. But there is only one Ba'al, my Ba'al, the first to be called Master.
I grew tired through the centuries of being lured to Egypt when I caught a scrap of news that turned out to lead to a pretender. It took so long to travel in those days, only to discover they'd unearthed some small, local deity, many of whom were even human. Ridiculous! Pretenders to the throne who confused the historians.
This time, no one has claimed it to be his tomb. But I saw the writing on the wall, as they say. The style of the tomb paintings and their subject matter was enough to tell me I had to see it for myself. It's only a hundred miles or so from where I last saw him. A hundred miles was a long distance in those ancient times, but it was not so far for a god.
The corridor opens into the burial chamber now. The air is poor in here, but I won't be staying long. I take frequent, deep draws of it to satisfy the needs of this body.
The sarcophagus is undisturbed. It's remarkable no tomb robber has found it. It looks exactly as it would if it had been sealed yesterday. The canopic jars that look so much like the knock-offs I lined up around the top of the shop are placed just so, the organs inside still waiting for renewed use in the afterlife.
I walk to the coffin and run my fingers across the smooth lid, reading the words as much with my fingertips as with my eyes. The painted face is the face I knew. It's him. It's Ba'al.
I lift the heavy lid with magic, although I would sacrifice these arms, this back, these legs gladly if I had to. His remains are still wrapped in decaying folds of cloth. The mummy smells of antiquity and dust. I picture him beneath the cloth as he must be now. In such a well-preserved tomb, he might even still be recognizable.
But I haven't come to admire a corpse.
I set the clay Ab Khr that I prepared so many years ago beside me on the ground. I stabilize my mind around one thought and then extend my hand toward the mummy's chest and sink it deep, tearing through the rotted cloth and dried out flesh below the rib cage. When I pull it out again, I cradle his heart in my palm, then raise it to my lips for a kiss.
I kneel to place it into the Ab Khr and close the lid, sealing it with the beeswax and herbal potion that is traditional to my people. I murmur my intent to gather his essence back from the universe. Although there can be no breeze in this underground stone chamber, a soft draft moves my hair.
I close the box and my own heart nearly bursts with joy. It wells within me like lava flowing up from the heart of a volcano. It is hot and abundant, and it will burn away anything that gets in its way.
He has been gone so long it will require strong magic to draw him back to me. It's time to go home and get back everything I've lost.
***
It should have been
The passage ends, but it's clear it continues on beyond the massive stone that blocks it. The stone block cuts the story-telling in half, one arm and one leg of a figure showing at the seam with the rest behind.
It's not much of an impediment for me. I assume the diggers planned explosives for it. They won't be needed when I'm done: I hope they appreciate the favor. The government can have most of what's behind this curtain. I am here for only one thing.
The stone crumbles when I lay my hands on it. The gravel moves off down the corridor behind me with only a little effort of my will, but I make sure to leave a smooth path by which I can leave easily.
I've entered similar chambers before and found myself misled, taken in by the ones who came after, who called themselves Ba'al to impress their local tribes and claim Ba'al's strength. But there is only one Ba'al, my Ba'al, the first to be called Master.
I grew tired through the centuries of being lured to Egypt when I caught a scrap of news that turned out to lead to a pretender. It took so long to travel in those days, only to discover they'd unearthed some small, local deity, many of whom were even human. Ridiculous! Pretenders to the throne who confused the historians.
This time, no one has claimed it to be his tomb. But I saw the writing on the wall, as they say. The style of the tomb paintings and their subject matter was enough to tell me I had to see it for myself. It's only a hundred miles or so from where I last saw him. A hundred miles was a long distance in those ancient times, but it was not so far for a god.
The corridor opens into the burial chamber now. The air is poor in here, but I won't be staying long. I take frequent, deep draws of it to satisfy the needs of this body.
The sarcophagus is undisturbed. It's remarkable no tomb robber has found it. It looks exactly as it would if it had been sealed yesterday. The canopic jars that look so much like the knock-offs I lined up around the top of the shop are placed just so, the organs inside still waiting for renewed use in the afterlife.
I walk to the coffin and run my fingers across the smooth lid, reading the words as much with my fingertips as with my eyes. The painted face is the face I knew. It's him. It's Ba'al.
I lift the heavy lid with magic, although I would sacrifice these arms, this back, these legs gladly if I had to. His remains are still wrapped in decaying folds of cloth. The mummy smells of antiquity and dust. I picture him beneath the cloth as he must be now. In such a well-preserved tomb, he might even still be recognizable.
But I haven't come to admire a corpse.
I set the clay Ab Khr that I prepared so many years ago beside me on the ground. I stabilize my mind around one thought and then extend my hand toward the mummy's chest and sink it deep, tearing through the rotted cloth and dried out flesh below the rib cage. When I pull it out again, I cradle his heart in my palm, then raise it to my lips for a kiss.
I kneel to place it into the Ab Khr and close the lid, sealing it with the beeswax and herbal potion that is traditional to my people. I murmur my intent to gather his essence back from the universe. Although there can be no breeze in this underground stone chamber, a soft draft moves my hair.
I close the box and my own heart nearly bursts with joy. It wells within me like lava flowing up from the heart of a volcano. It is hot and abundant, and it will burn away anything that gets in its way.
He has been gone so long it will require strong magic to draw him back to me. It's time to go home and get back everything I've lost.
***
It should have been