Chapter 3 #2
Grasping it gently, I pull the Amulet of Amun from its vessel.
The vase crumbles instantly, as if it were only held together by the amulet’s presence.
Strange… I’m too relieved to finally have the relic in my possession to pay it much mind, though.
I prop myself up on the coffin with my elbows before I can collapse in relief. All my suffering wasn’t for nothing.
I place the pendant gently onto my palm, the weight of it solid in my grasp, as if it’s a perfectly skippable river rock.
The Amulet of Amun is one of the most beautiful artifacts I’ve ever seen, much less held: the thin golden wings of the scarab are nearly translucent, and the dark green, red-splattered bloodstone at its center glimmers in the firelight.
In fact, I could swear the red inside the stone undulates beneath the surface, like beads of oil on water.
But when I blink, it’s gone. A trick of the light.
The sight of it steals the breath from my chest.
“Yes!” I yell into the quiet room. I did it; I actually found the Amulet of Amun. I wish Nonna was here to share in my victory.
Then unwishing it as the entire room begins to tremble around me. An earthquake? What are the odds?
I whip around to find the dead Egyptian priests crashing to the ground, revealing large spigots hidden in the walls. They burst forth, filling the room with water at an alarming rate. My eyes widen. Not an earthquake then.
Panic tightens my throat and I scramble away, my lower back hitting the edge of the tomb.
The sound of the water rushing in crashes against my ears—I can barely hear myself think.
It swiftly surges past my booted calves, soaking my pant legs and showing no signs of stopping.
If I don’t come up with a way out of here quick, I’m going to drown, my corpse trapped down here for all eternity.
The high ground couldn’t hurt.
I climb up into the sarcophagus, kicking Osiris’ makeshift bones aside. A pit forms in my stomach from desecrating the god’s proverbial resting place, but I also want to live.
“Sorry, pal.”
Standing helpless inside the sarcophagus of the Egyptian god of the dead, sheer panic threatens to overtake my every thought. Now’s not the time to lose focus. I clench my fists to draw blood with my nails to sharpen my focus.
Remembering to breathe, I glance around desperately for something—anything—that can help me.
My gaze catches on a shadow slithering beneath the surface of the water. Heart sliding up my throat at whatever creature might inhabit these ancient waters, I watch it carefully. Is it from the aquifer Claude mentioned?
Then I remember reading one of the myths about this place: a catfish swallowed the phallus of Osiris after he was cut into pieces by Seth, and this cenotaph is its final resting place. The catfish, not the phallus, although that would be a sight to behold.
Just a stupid catfish then. Doesn’t make it any less unnerving. God knows what else is floating in there, and I’d rather not wait around to find out.
Shifting my focus, I glance at the three walls around me; unfortunately, nothing there screams push-here-for-the-exit.
Instead, I turn to analyze the fourth wall behind the martyred sarcophagus.
I stand a little more than an arm’s length away, easily recognizing another life-sized Osiris carved ornately into the wall.
It’s nearly identical to the one which so graciously landed me here.
Seeing him in this place… it has to mean something.
With no other options presenting themselves, I leap back down into the lukewarm water. It buoys along the tops of my thighs now, closing in on my hips.
I quickly search for the same pattern of hieroglyphs like before.
I don’t find any symbols on his chest this time, though.
I drag my fingers across the smooth stone, as if they might appear simply by my willing it.
They don’t. I slam the side of my fist against it to see if violence might solve this.
Again, nothing happens. I grunt in frustration.
Worth a shot.
The water floats at my chest now, weighing down my pack—I’m running out of time. True panic threatens to pull me under before the water does. It’s not that I don’t know how to swim, but I only recently learned how to dog paddle, and I’m not confident I won’t drown.
The chances of me getting out of here alive dwindle with each inch the water consumes my body.
“Come on, Mel, think.”
Hardening my resolve, I throw the amulet over my head and tuck it beneath my shirt, flicking my blonde braid over my shoulder.
I remind myself I’ve been in worse situations than this—dangling from a rotted tree root over the raging Colorado River comes to mind.
Being acutely aware of my mortality in times like these hones my senses.
Usually.
As I think this, the water eases up my neck.
Shit.
I manage to suck in one final breath before it surges over my head.
The water draws my feet up from under me, despite my wet pack weighing me down like a bag of rocks. My eyes fly open underwater, and the catfish I noticed earlier slinks past me, an omen of my own demise. I ignore it.
I’m too stubborn about the whole wanting to live business to give up just yet.
If I make it out of here alive, I’m picking up swimming lessons again.
Kicking my legs toward the wall, I feel my way along the rough stone of his crown first, then down to his face, his chin.
It’s not until I find his shepherd’s crook and flail, however, that I recognize the same raised edges as before.
I gasp, letting out too many air bubbles, my chest tightening from the lack of oxygen.
The water chooses this moment to devour the oil ledge; the fire goes out, plunging the room into darkness.
I can’t catch a goddamn break.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
Lungs aching, I concentrate on my last shot at not dying.
Sifting through my lessons on ancient Egypt, I recall how the Egyptians believed that the crook and flail symbolized many different things: spirituality through the connection between Osiris and all other Egyptian deities, Osiris’s judgment in the afterlife, the balance between power and protection in a pharaoh’s rule.
Most of all, though, they symbolize mercy—the crook—and—punishment—the flail.
Given that escaping this place would be a true mercy, the crook is my best option.
I grip the edges of his crook and turn it to the right.
Nothing happens.
Praying I’m not wrong, I spin it to the left in the direction of the flail instead, my chest clenching in search of air. Then, my chest warms uncomfortably at the site of the amulet, now flat against my chest. What in the hell—
A moment later, the sound of a mechanism clicks inside the wall. Stone grating against stone echoes dully around me.
Before I can second-guess myself, the water below me grabs my feet and yanks me forward so quick, it forces out the rest of the air from my lungs. I struggle against the current, but I can’t win this fight. I have no choice but to let the water drag me away into darkness—
—and spit me out onto the hot Egyptian sand.