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Sita

Sita saw it all.

When Karim sent her into the cave, she’d expected a pair of palace guards to descend into the valley, or maybe a band of robbers who’d smelled the smoke of their campfire on the wind. She’d huddled in the dark, her arms around Behkai, praying that Karim had been wrong about the noise, that it was an animal or his imagination running wild.

But her prayer must have fallen on deaf ears.

The creature seemed to appear out of nowhere, as if throwing off a cloak made of the night itself. It was a shambling, grotesque figure, crafted of nothing more than cloth and skin and bone. And yet, somehow it was moving toward Karim with slow, relentless steps.

Was this the mummy Karim had claimed to have woken from his tomb? Was this Setnakht?

Amun forgive me , she thought. I should have believed him.

Behkai struggled against her grip, but Sita held him fast. “No, boy,” she whispered softly. “Please, you can’t go out there…”

She saw Karim lunge toward the creature. She lost control of Behkai, and he raced out of the cave toward them. She nearly cried out when she heard the dog’s terrified yelp a moment later.

Everything else happened very quickly.

The fire.

The blood.

The screams.

The crimson light.

She wondered if she’d imagined what came after that. How else could she explain it? The way the creature’s desiccated flesh knit itself back together around Karim’s bloody, still-pumping heart? The way the creature stretched its restored limbs once the light faded, like a man waking from a long sleep? How could such a thing be real?

Sita watched as the man, clothed in nothing but tatters, knelt by Karim’s side. She heard him murmur something, but the words were too quiet for her to comprehend.

Then the man stood, and she could have sworn he sensed her presence. His flashing eyes lingered on the shadowy cave long enough for her legs to turn to water. She pressed herself against the cold stone wall, not daring to breathe.

Then he turned away and didn’t look back as he climbed the ridge and left the valley.

***

Sita waited a long time, there in the dark. Her body was stiff with terror, and she worried that if she moved a single muscle, the monstrous man would reappear and find her.

Dawn broke on the horizon. She squinted into the light and thought, I can’t hide here forever . I have to go out there. I have to see. So she struggled to her feet and slowly emerged from the shadows.

Sita staggered toward the gruesome tableau. In the campfire, a few embers still glowed orange among the ash.

Something black lay nearby, curled into a tight ball.

“Behkai?”

One of the dog’s ears quirked at the sound of her voice. Slowly, he lifted his head.

Sita gasped. A mark had been burned into the left side of Behkai’s face, leaving his fur the color of bone and his eye cloudy and pale. It was the exact size and shape of a man’s hand.

Sita squatted in front of the dog and took his head in her hands. “What did that creature do to you?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

Behkai sniffed her and gave her face a slow, laborious lick, as if trying to comfort her even though he was the one who was hurt.

She watched the dog’s eyes—one black, one white—shift from her face to the corpse behind her. His nose quivered. Then, with effort, Behkai rose to his feet, and made his way over to his master. From the corner of her vision, she saw the dog settle on his haunches near Karim’s body, until he finally laid his great head on one booted foot and was still.

Sita didn’t want to look. She didn’t think she could bear to see him up close.

It’s like Maet all over again , she thought. But worse. So much worse.

Sunlight spilled over the valley, illuminating every rock, every leaf, every thread of the blanket under which she’d been curled. Soon, there was no darkness left to hide what had happened there.

Sita squeezed her eyes shut.

I’ll go mad . I can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t!

But she did.

She looked.

Karim lay on his back, his arms splayed out on either side. His stubbled, blood-spattered face was tilted to the sky, his lips slightly parted, his eyes open and sightless.

Hours ago, that same face had been lit by firelight and so alive.

“You can sleep now,” he’d told her. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep watch through the night.”

Her gaze drifted down. His robe and tunic had been ripped away, exposing his naked chest beneath.

Her stomach twisted and she put her hands on her knees to keep from falling.

She gagged and raised a hand to her mouth to stifle the scream.

There was so much blood.

It covered Karim’s entire torso, spilling in dark rivulets down his belly and the curves of his hips. It flowed down his collarbones, pooling in the hollow of his throat. And within that wet burrow, beyond jagged, broken ribs and shredded pink flesh, there was—a void.

That monster, that man… had plucked out Karim’s heart and discarded his body like a hollow shell.

Suddenly, Sita remembered the text she’d translated from Karim’s stolen map.

Here lies Setnakht, his spirit indestructible, as powerful as a god.

He shall not travel West, for his work is unfinished.

Sita paled as she recalled the final line. “‘Flesh of an acolyte,’” she murmured, “Or maybe, ‘heart?’”

Her eyes followed Setnakht’s footsteps in the sand, leading off into the desert. If the ancient, fearsome king had gotten what he wanted, if he was truly alive once more, what would he do next?

Sita thought of what Karim had told her about the Oracle of the Lamb, and its grim portents of ruin, betrayal, and war. Of a river turned to blood. Looking back on her final days at the palace, leading to the events of that very night, she sensed that grisly river had already begun to flow.

It was so cruel. She’d finally confided in someone, and he’d confided in her. And even after she refused to help him with his quest, he’d still been kind.

I hope your story gets a happy ending.

Sita approached him on bare feet. Overwhelmed with grief and shame and despair, she fell to her knees beside Karim’s ruined body and began to cry.

She tore at her hair—her beauty, her pride, but what did it matter now? The pain was good. She needed her body to suffer with her spirit. She rocked back and forth, the rhythm counting the seconds, the minutes, the eternity of her mourning. Not only for Karim, but for all who had been lost.

As she rocked, her two amulets swung in time with her movement, reminding her of Nebet’s prayer.

The blood of Isis.

The spells of Isis.

The magic words of Isis.

Nebet, Nebet—where was she now? Was she safe? Was Kenna? Would she see any of them ever again?

She cursed the amulets. All this time, the scarab and Isis knot were supposed to protect her from harm. But what is suffering, if not harm? What good is a strong body with a broken heart?

Queen of the throne. Goddess of magic , Sita prayed . Why have you forsaken me?

Sita thought of the girl she’d been—lying by the fishpond, staring into the water and dreaming of love. Sita mourned her too. She was as dead as all the rest.

After a long while, the torrent of her tears slowed to a trickle. Her breathing evened. She had no idea what to do next, but she had to do something. Behkai needed her. The kingdom needed her. The problem, of course, was that she had no idea what to do. She was a princess, but what did that count for, alone there in the desert? What good was her royal blood without the power of the crown?

One thing at a time. The least I can do is give him a decent burial , she thought.

Sita wiped her eyes and sniffed. Gingerly, she grabbed the edge of Karim’s singed, blood-soaked robe to cover his body when something slipped out of its folds and onto the ground beside her.

A large lapis amulet, carved in the shape of a scarab.

She picked it up. Another one of his spoils , she guessed, stolen from some long-forgotten tomb.

Brushing the sand from its surface, she saw that a shenu—the elongated oval that encircled names of pharaohs—was carved into one side. She’d seen its symbols before. Quite recently, in fact.

“Setnakht,” she whispered.

The amulet wasn’t from some tomb. It was from his tomb.

With trembling hands, she turned over the amulet and found more faint symbols engraved on the back.

It said: This is the heart of a king.

Sita stared at the blue stone in her hand, like a piece of the heavens come loose from the firmament. Suddenly, words and images began to flash through her mind, memories that, at the time, hadn’t meant very much, but now joined together and gathered strength, like streams converging into a fast-flowing river.

Her father, sickly but alive: When you’re in really deep shit, you must seek something unexpected inside you.

Mery, his hand on her cheek: The priests must bend their noses to papyri to learn the ways of Heka. But not us. You and me, our very flesh is godsflesh. We have magic in our veins.

Karim, telling her about some oracle in a dusty, forgotten temple: You held a heart in your hands.

And that mottled old woman, a too-wide smile stretching across her face in the afternoon light: Your words have power . When the time comes, remember that the word is the deed.

The word is the deed.

Sita’s skin prickled, up her spine and belly and into her chest, like a storm riding the western winds, filling her with a sensation that was both delicious and overwhelming.

Sita gasped as the sensation grew more and more powerful, and when she thought she could not take any more, it grew stronger still.

Was her skin glowing? Or was it simply the dawn’s light?

She cried out, arching her back, but never letting go of the stone.

The light grew brighter. Like white fire that warmed but didn’t burn.

She loved and hated this feeling. She wanted it to stop, and she never wanted it to stop.

And then—

The energy inside her body stilled. There was no sound anywhere, not a bird, not a hum over the dunes.

An unimaginable peace filled her. She felt light, both in weight and in radiance. She was herself, but something more too.

She looked down at Karim, at his defiled, empty body, and her peace was broken. Seeing him there, she was filled with displeasure. A piece of him had been stolen and spirited away. Such an insult must be remedied. Such an emptiness demanded to be filled.

She looked at the valley before her, and a voice called out to her from the earth and from the sky. A mother’s voice. Not her own mother, but the mother of all. The first voice she ever heard, the voice of the one who named her.

The lamb.

The lamb.

The lamb.

The—

“I am tired of death,” she said, the words strange to her ears. Her gaze drifted to the blue stone, which pulsed in her hand as if it were alive.

She turned back to Karim. “You can’t die, tomb robber. I told you, I can’t bear another death on my conscience.” She spoke with an almost supernatural calm. “I can’t do this alone, Karim of the Red Lands. Your story is not finished. This kingdom needs you.”

The stone throbbed in time with her own heartbeat.

Thrum. Thrum. Thrum.

“I need you.”

Sita pressed the amulet into the dark chasm of Karim’s open chest.

“Come back to me!” she commanded.

There was a flash as sunlight lanced over the horizon. Behkai yelped in fright as a ring of force burst from the center of the valley, throwing waves of sand up into the air. Sita cried out as she was thrown backward. As she fell back to earth, her head struck the edge of a rock.

She knew nothing more.

***

Sita blinked and groaned. She lay on her back on the valley floor, her head aching. How much time had passed? It couldn’t have been long. The position of the sun looked the same.

She tried to remember what happened, but her memory was foggy. She remembered an overwhelming sensation, words and images, the amulet…

The amulet!

With a gasp, she struggled up to her elbows.

Karim was sitting up in front of her, staring off into the growing daylight. His body was still soaked in blood, but the gaping wound in his chest had knit back together beneath a scarab-shaped scar.

At her movement, Karim turned to her, and his eyes flashed with an otherworldly light.

“Sitamun,” he said, his voice low and frightened. “What have you done?”