As Neff’s heart slowed, regret set in.This is hopeless. I can’t go home. I have to go back.When Master Montuhotep finds out I ran away, I’ll be in terrible trouble… The thought ignited a whole new fear in her belly as she imagined the high priest’s punishment.She was about to turn around when a low, monotonous chanting reached her ears. It was coming from a chamber at the end of the hallway. Flickering torchlight spilled from the portal, creating dancing shapes on the floor and walls beyond.
Curiosity and fear battled within her as she stood there, listening.
“Heka,” the voices said. “Open to us the words and ways of magic. Open our eyes, bless us with your wisdom, and we shall be your humble vessels upon this earth.”
Curiosity won.
Neff crept toward the firelight, her bare feet silent on the smooth stone floor. She pressed herself against the edge of the doorway, taking several deep, steadying breaths before peering into the room.
The underground chamber was shadowy, lit only by two torches on the far wall. Even still, Neff could see that the walls were covered in the gods’ words, the black writing crawling from floor to ceiling like an army of spiders. In the middle of the room,surrounding a table covered with a variety of strange objects that Neff couldn’t identify, two masked priests stood facing each other with their arms raised to the heavens. A third priest stood with his back to them as they continued to chant—now quietly enough that Neff couldn’t make out the words.
They wore half masks with animal faces: an ibis bird with a long beak like Thoth, the god of writing, and a falcon with piercing eyes and a sharp beak like the sky-god Horus. They looked frightening, there in the firelight, but at the same time, Neff was entranced. Her father had taught her about the many different types of priests in Khetara, and so she knew at once who these men must be and what it was they were doing.
Heka priests.
“Magic,”Neff whispered to herself.“Real magic.”
She watched, transfixed, as the third man turned around to face the others. He too wore a mask, but his was in the shape of a ram. In one hand, he held what looked like a hippopotamus tusk, rounded at the edges, and covered in delicate engravings. As she watched, the words carved into the tusk seemed to move and glow with an unnatural light.
Am I imagining it?Neff wondered, thinking perhaps it was another vision. No, there was none of the surreal quality of a dream. She could feel the roughness of the wall on her fingers, the coolness of the floor beneath her feet.
“Open to me, Isis,” the priest intoned, “And blow the breath of life where there is none.”
“The word is the deed,” the other two priests chanted.
Neff’s eyes widened as the light brightened, illuminating what he held in his other hand: a long serpent-headed staff. The priest brought the staff close to his mouth and spat on it.
But wait—was it a staff? How could a wooden staff move as this one did? Undulating, curling upon itself like something madeof flesh and blood?
Neff gasped.
The priests froze. All three of the animal faces, grotesque in the firelight, turned toward her.
“Who’s there?”
Neff jerked back from the door and pressed herself against the wall.If they catch me here, I’ll be in even more trouble!She tried to slip back the way she came and made it halfway there before a hand fell upon her shoulder. Instinctively, she tried to pull away, but the hand only gripped her harder.
Neff turned to see one of the Heka priests, his eyes glinting from beneath the ram-faced mask.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “You dare spy on a sacred ritual?”
Neff felt the bones of her shoulder grinding together under the man’s grip, and she whimpered, knowing there was no one, not in the temple, nor even the city beyond, who could help her. She was absolutely, completely alone.
“I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes, waiting for the blow. The angry words. The promise of punishment.
“Ah, Herihor!” said a new voice, clipped and somewhat raspy. “I see you’ve found my assistant.”
Neff opened her eyes. The voice had come from a doorway at the end of the corridor, where a young man stood in shadow, holding a roll of white cloth in the crook of his arm. He was small and slight, only a handsbreadth taller than Neff herself. By his face she could see he was older than she—seventeen or eighteen, perhaps. He had a beakish nose and eyes so large that they reminded Neff of a creature who’d lived in the dark too long. But despite his gaunt aspect, there was kindness in the curve of his lips.
He also sported a nest of dark unkempt hair, which Neff laterrealized should have tipped her off that there was something very different about him. After all, why—among a sea of hairless priests—was this strange little man allowed to keep his own?
“Assistant?” the priest Herihor asked, his grip on Neff’s shoulder loosening slightly.
“Yes, I’ve been overwhelmed with work lately,” the small man said, walking toward them with an odd, sloping gait. “And it isn’t easy for an embalmer to find good help. Isn’t that right, Mistress…?” He eyed her meaningfully.
“Nefermaat,” Neff blurted.
“Indeed,” the small man went on smoothly. “Mistress Nefermaat and I just came by to collect some fresh wrappings. She must have gotten turned around while I was in the storage chamber.”
