“There are seven influences in all,” he said. “Or perhaps ten, but the classical system works better for me. The sun self is pure power. You can invoke it to act in matters involving creativity, health, and your ambitions. The moon self comes into play when you’re concerned with change and transformation. Mercury-”
“Hang on,” I said.
His scowl reminded me that he didn’t like being interrupted. “What?”
“You’re telling me about seven selves. I split into five, so how does that match up?”
“It doesn’t. I’m teaching you the system my masters taught me.”
“Fair enough. But… ” I fumbled for the words to say what I was feeling. “The Pharaoh broke me into five pieces, and I think that’s where the… fault lines are now. I think that anytime I split, it’ll be the same.”
“You can’t know that.”
“No, but that’s my hunch. So it’ll do me more good if you explain about the five Egyptian souls.”
“I told you, I’m not initiate in the Pharaoh’s disciplines.”
“But you’ve watched him. Studied him.”
“True. But almost no one walking the earth today fully understands the old Egyptian religion. The Pharaoh and the few like him work to keep it that way.”
“Just give me what you’ve got.”
“All right. If you promise to focus on what I want to teach you afterwards. And understand that even when you’re at full strength, it’s dangerous to try to work any magic based on partial knowledge.”
“Sure. I get that.”
His mouth twisted in a skeptical kind of way. “I hope so. At any rate, let’s get through this quickly. The Ba is what we might loosely view as the personality.”
“I don’t understand how I could have souls that don’t have anything to do with my personality.”
“Well, you do! And you don’t. I’m trying to take a completely foreign way of viewing existence-one I don’t fully understand myself-and translate it into terms that will make sense to you.”
“Sorry. Go on.”
“The Ba is something like a copy of you. It’s the piece we could most easily mistake for the whole, and I think it’s the piece whose memories you kept after the aspects joined back together.”
“Okay.”
“The soul you called Silver may have been the Ib, or heart. That’s the part that lives on after death. Except that really, all the souls continue after death.” He cocked his head, waiting for me to complain about the contradiction.
I decided not to give him the satisfaction. “I’m with you.”
He frowned. “The ancients probably considered the Ib to be the finest, or potentially finest, and most important part of you. Although we can’t be absolutely sure.”
“But we can be pretty sure it would have been bad to let a giant monster eat him.”
“Yes. The soul that looked exactly like you-or exactly like the Ba-may have been the Ren. Your name. The aspect that will survive as long as people talk about you.”
“That makes sense. He was worried that we’d die and nobody would remember us. So he’s my ego, or pride, or something like that?”
“Possibly. Particularly if you’re inclined to see it that way. The glowing red soul may have been the Ka. Your physical vitality. The dark figure was almost certainly the Sheut. Your shadow.”
“My evil side?” That might explain why he’d kicked so much ass.
Timon smirked. “Not necessarily, or not entirely. But then again, perhaps.”
“Okay. Whatever they all are, how do I use them?”
“I already told you, I have no idea. Which means we’ve been wasting time we don’t have to spare. Now, it occurs to me that, even though we don’t want you using any power, we can still work on your ability to visualize. I want you to be able to invoke your protective sign at will, instantly and effortlessly, as clearly as you can see me now.”
I could see how that would be useful. So I put aside the rest of my questions and did what he wanted.
It took a while. By the time we finished, I was hungry again, and glad to hear we were adjourning to a buffet in one of the rooms adjacent to the Grand Ballroom. But what I saw there killed my appetite.
All the other players were already inside, although naturally, Gimble wasn’t eating. Neither was the Pharaoh. He was just puffing on another cheroot. I had a hunch it was the only physical pleasure he had left.
The kitchen staff had set out several jars of half-paralyzed bugs for Queen, and she was chowing down. It was gross, but it wasn’t what rattled me. That was Wotan piling his plate high with raw bloody meat from a long silver tray. The meat lay in several heaps of different colors and textures, and, from the doorway, in the dim light, I couldn’t see any pieces I absolutely recognized. But I was pretty sure that if I went too close, I would, and it made me sick to my stomach.
Wotan turned and grinned at Timon, Gaspar, and me. “Human!” he said. “Come try some of this. I caught her myself not two hours ago, and she’s very tender.”
“Go to hell,” I said.
He laughed, stuck his fork into a big chunk of something purplish, and jammed it in his mouth.
In addition to my sick disgust, I felt guilty. I’d known-sort of-what Wotan was and what he did away from the poker table. But I hadn’t tried to stop him.
I told myself not to be stupid. Stopping him wasn’t my responsibility, and I probably couldn’t have pulled it off anyway. Hell, people got killed all the time, and it was nobody I knew chopped up and spread out on a tray.
None of that helped very much. But my opponents were watching me, and I had a table image to maintain. So I took a breath, walked to the buffet, and loaded up a plate with green beans, carrots, and a roll. I even ate a little, and managed to keep it down.
Then it was midnight. Time to shuffle up and deal.
At first everything went pretty well. I was the chip leader, so I started pushing the others around. It’s funny. You always resent the bullying when somebody else is doing it to you. But when you’re the one with the big stack, you know it’s just good strategy, and feel like only a wuss would take it personally.
Really, my biggest problem was keeping my cool. Remembering I was playing against five opponents, and not just the two I didn’t like.
In other words, Gimble and Wotan. I probably should have hated the Pharaoh too and maybe even more, considering that he was the one who’d actually tried to hurt me. But it was the others who made me tense up every time I looked at them. Go figure.
The clock struck one. I threw away eight-four off-suit. And my dad said, “I want you to do whatever will make you happy. But are you sure you will be if you never contribute to society? If all you ever do is take from people who don’t play games as well as you do?”
Startled, I looked around. Dad wasn’t there. My heart thumping, I assumed-it was hard to be sure of any damn thing anymore-he was still in his grave.
Wotan gave me a leer. His supper had stained his white teeth pink. “Getting jumpy?” he asked. “I know it must be hard on your nerves spending time with monsters.”
I made myself smile back at him. “I’m starting to think you rode the short bus to creature school. I’m one of you, Shaggy. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
“We’ll see,” he replied.
We kept playing, and I wondered what had happened to me. Whatever it was, it didn’t happen again for several minutes. Long enough for me to hope that maybe it had just been my nerves. Then the shadowy room got darker.
Because it wasn’t a candlelit ballroom anymore. A cold wind blew, and in front of me, a black slab of mountainside blocked out the different black of the night sky. Something snapped and popped: Taliban shooting from the rocks. I couldn’t see them, only the muzzle flashes winking like fireflies. The sergeant had said they couldn’t see us, either, and wouldn’t hit us. Still, my mouth was dry. I pictured the silver bird with its long, straight wings, charged it with a shiver of mojo even though it made my insides ache, and threw it at the mountainside. I willed the illusion to shatter.