Chapter 27 #2
Besides the largest disk on the far left that must be the key, there are seven other thick disks.
That’s less letters than his name, but Egyptians didn’t use anything remotely similar to the English alphabetical lettering system, something that wouldn’t be invented until centuries later.
I’m certain it’s some form of hieroglyphs that need to be placed in the correct order in sequence to the key on the largest disk.
“But how are you supposed to know what the key is?” I ponder aloud.
The amulet.
I move over to the box containing the priceless relic and carefully take it out. Although we’ve only been parted for a few hours, I’ve missed it.
Examining the winged scarab by the lamplight carefully, I recognize something I didn’t before, despite the dozens of times I’ve looked at it: the bloodstone is slightly translucent.
Curious. I place it directly in front of the open flame from the candle beside me.
Through it, something I never noticed before appears: a single and recognizable hieroglyph.
I don’t have to look this one up—it translates to the sitting god.
Which makes sense, given Egyptians believed pharaohs to be gods who were chosen as leaders of the people.
I let out a shallow breath.
Grasping the amulet with one hand, I turn the largest disk on the left side of the cypher with the other, until the sitting god symbol matches up with the single jutting point of the stone holder.
Once it’s in place, something clicks inside the mechanism.
I blow out a breath while Anders sucks one in. “Go fetch Bes and Cec from the kitchen.”
Anders sprints out of the Archive at my command.
Now, for Ramesses’s name. Thankfully, a book beside the cypher already lays open. I flip through it quickly to find the Rosetta Stone translations of the hieroglyphs, including the names of the known pharaohs.
However, when I get to the page featuring Ramesses II, there are multiple translations of his name in several different cartouches. I grit my teeth. Damn the Egyptians and their complicated language.
I move the smaller disks into place to spell out his name for the first cartouche. Nothing. Then the second and the third. Still nothing.
Finally, I come to a cartouche labeled “Nomen Cartouche. Temple of Ramesses II, Abydos”. Of course! It has to be the cartouche discovered at the temple near his father’s, where he would’ve wanted to display the name he was given at birth.
I shift the disks again, my hands trembling now as half a dozen footfalls thunder behind me.
Bes nearly collapses onto my shoulder. “You didn’t think to wait?”
I move the second-to-last glyph into place. “Would you have?”
Cec practically giggles with anticipation. “She’s got you there.”
As I settle the last disk in place, the cypher gives a final resounding click, popping open slightly along the middle.
“Mary, mother of God,” I mutter.
Bes’s voice is full of awe. “You bloody did it.”
Cec finds my arm and pats it. “Well done, Hawkins.”
I wordlessly crack open the cypher.
Lined with unpolished gold, the inside contains an etching of one pharaoh holding out Osiris’s Atef crown to another pharaoh.
“Seti is handing his duties over to Ramesses,” I murmur, brushing the etching with trembling fingertips. “Seti must’ve given this to him at his coronation.”
At the center of the cylinder, I find an aged papyrus scroll tied off with a knotted linen cord.
Wiping my sweaty hands on my pants, I pluck the scroll from the cypher, carefully undoing the knot. I’m surprised the three order onlookers are allowing me, an uninitiated commoner, to touch such a delicate piece of history. They must be just as mesmerized as I am.
I gently unroll the scroll onto the table. “It’s in Egyptian Hieratic.”
Damn. While hieroglyphs were mostly used for stone carvings, they utilized Hieratic for anything written on papyrus. I don’t know why I’m surprised, but it certainly complicates things.
Anders focuses on the parchment over my shoulder.
“I can read it.” He scours it for a moment, smiling slowly. “Put the amulet on and I’ll tell you what to say.”
Of course, Anders can read ancient Egyptian Hieratic. Although, with their shared knowledge, I suppose all of the order can. I’ll admit, I’m a little jealous of that particular ability.
“Let’s see if this thing actually works,” I mutter.
I place the amulet over my head, allowing it to settle over my neck and atop my chest as I prepare myself for what might happen next.
I don’t know what saying this phrase aloud will do, if anything at all.
Now that I’m being given the opportunity, however, I need to know if nearly dying was worth it.
If being chased across multiple continents by the God Men was worth it.
If killing Claude and the Blackshirts in Messina and outside the club, thereby officially branding myself an executioner, was worth it.
Anders clears his throat. “Repeat after me: “Ii em hotep. ?m? ānkh ek.”
“Here it goes.” I stare at the scarab grasped in my hand and repeat what Anders said, “Ii em hotep. ?m? ānkh ek.”
With each word, the amulet begins to glow a soft golden color. I can’t look away from it. The blood moving beneath the surface, I could attribute to my eyes playing tricks on me. But this? How can I logically explain this?
I can’t.
The moment the last word leaves my mouth, Bes and Anders gasp.
I hold my hands up in front of my face but can’t actually see them.
My hands, my arms, my legs, everything has disappeared.
It worked! I hoped against hope that the amulet could do what so many claimed it could.
For science, yes, but for my own curiosity.
As selfish as it sounds, I wanted to be the first to discover its true power.
And yet, some part of me continued to think it a farce—a fairytale.
And now, now I know it’s real. That magic—goddamn magic—is real.
My head grows light at the implication. “Oh my God, it worked.”
Cec squeezes the back of my chair. “Somebody tell me what the bloody hell happened.”
When I turn to gauge Bes’s reaction, I’m surprised to find there’s a kind of halo around him. Just like when I took the first blood oath. What could this possibly be?
I recall reading about something called auras not long ago.
Originally a concept of Hinduism, it was repurposed—as all non-Western things inevitably are—by the Church.
And that’s what I’m seeing now: Bes’s aura.
It pulses with dark blue almost purple smoke, cut through with strands of deep red and white.
Anders is an even mix of orange and yellow with hints of light blue and dark red.
And Cec is bold red with sparks of yellow.
All three boys have thin threads of black in their auras.
Anders answers Cec. “She’s invisible.”
Bes brushes what he must think is my shoulder but is dangerously close to my breast.
“I can still feel her.”
I let out a shaky breath. And I, you.
“And she can still hear you,” I say instead, wondering if they’re able to hear me.
The two of them who can see flinch back. Anders mutters, “This is madness.”
Cec huffs, muttering, “Now you lot know how I feel all the bloody time.”
Watching them talk about me as if I’m not here, I begin to wonder if I do in fact exist, in the technical sense. Something about this doesn’t feel right. It’s almost as if I’m dead. No, not dead—like I never existed at all.
Not wishing to suffer an existential crisis, I say the phrase again and am thankful when my physical form reappears. I remove it from my neck and set it down on the table as if it burned me.
“That was…” I begin.
“Madness?” Anders repeats.
“A good bit of fun?” Cec guesses.
“Fantastic,” Bes breathes.
I look up at Bes and grin. “Exactly.”
“Anders.” I regard him, and he looks as if he’s seen a ghost, and that ghost is me. “Are there any texts in the Archives on the Amulet of Amun?”
He clears his throat, searching for his composure. “Not that I could find based on the Archive records, but I’ll track down Egyptian writing from the time period.”
I wave him off. “That’s alright, I’ll comb through what we have here.”
“How can you still want to read after what happened?” Cec whines.
I chuckle. “Relax, you’re just hungry. All of you are. Go on without me; I’ll be there in a bit.”
Cec happily hurries away—I can’t imagine he’s too affected by what happened, considering he couldn’t witness any of it—and Anders gives me a loaded look as he follows. Bes places a hand on my shoulder.
“I’ll bring us some sustenance.”
I glance up at him. “You’re staying?”
“Of course.” A side of his lips tip up. “Can’t let you take all the glory, can I?”
When he leaves, I drag the closest book directly in front of me. But the moment I try to read a single word, my vision blurs. I dig my knuckles into my eyes and keep them there.
I can’t believe the Amulet of Amun actually makes you invisible. I should be less shocked, given what I’ve learned since coming here. Yet, each time something spectacular happens, I’m proved how wrong I’ve been all this time.
What could this mean for other artifacts? Do the gold masks found at Sanxingdui actually turn someone into Cancong, the legendary founder of the ancient Shu kingdom? Or can the Aztec calendar stone truly predict the future?
What about the Arma Christi? I never thought they might be able to do what the legends claim. If they’re anything like the amulet, then Hitler truly can’t get his hands on them.
We need to get to them before the God Men do.
And the auras… I wasn’t expecting that.
Now, I wonder, what do I do with this information? Just accept it, I suppose—like everything else lately? What else can I do? It doesn’t feel right telling the order, not when they might be able to use it for themselves.
No good can come of seeing into someone’s soul like that.