We left our trunks aboard the boat, for there were no inns in the small village. Mala insisted that I bring the linen priestess robe in my bag. The Talisman of Isis was still around my neck, tucked beneath my traveling dress. The lightweight wool skirt just barely covered my ankles when I climbed onto my donkey, a sweet-natured creature named Amin. The young guide told me the animal’s name meant “trustworthy.” The guide’s name was Tumani, and as we rode along he sang songs that apparently had naughty lyrics, because the other boy, who seemed a little older, yelled at him to be quiet, that his song was not suitable for a lady’s ears.
Amin’s fur was soft between his ears. He plodded along with the others in single file as we passed through fields of wheat in the fertile area between the river and the desert. We passed a few smaller villages that dotted the landscape built up above the floodplain upon dirt mounds. Dirty children ran up to us begging for coins or sweets. I had neither, but I saw Mala pass out a few silver pieces to the youngest ones. I wished I had something to give them.
The ruins of Abydos sat where the green fields met the desert. The trip had taken almost two hours by donkey ride. I was hot and thirsty. Tumani and the other boy offered water to each of us before taking care of the animals.
Mala and I fell in behind Danilo, the Grigori following us as we approached the Temple of Osiris. Legend stated that the ancient god himself was buried here. That this was where the goddess Isis had carried him. The wind was stronger here than down by the river, and my hair was coming loose from its pins. Mala had no such problem, as her hair was hidden beneath her black headdress. We both stumbled, though, as the excavated path leading to the temple was not cleared as often as the ones in the more popular sites at Giza and Luxor.
The site was not vacant, however. Excavation was going on at the far side of the temple complex, with men directing a group of boys to carry dirt and rubbish from one of the temple ruins. A pack of tourists was exploring one of the smaller tombs nearby. Their guides sat waiting with their donkeys in the shade of a palm tree.
“What if they try to visit the temple during the ritual?” I asked Mala.
“The Grigori will stand guard and not let anyone inside,” she replied. “The crown prince has planned for everything.”
The Temple of Osiris had actually been rebuilt on the same site several times over a period of three to four thousand years. Not much remained of the Great Temple, save for the main hall and its enormous columns. The stone columns were covered in hieroglyphics that told of Egyptian history. Curses, long-forgotten curses, were inscribed to ward off grave robbers. But most of the treasures in these tombs had been plundered before the first French explorers found Abydos in the eighteenth century. A few valuable pieces had survived and were now safe in museums. Other artifacts, such as the Talisman of Isis, remained in private hands. Princess Cantacuzene had stolen the talisman from the Montenegrin queen. I wondered how long the relic had been in the Montenegrin royal family.
Not much remained of the forecourt leading to the temple except for a few carvings and the stairs, which led to the upper court. The outer hall had carvings of Egyptian gods and the pharaohs bearing them gifts. Giant columns stood in the inner hall and were decorated with even more carvings of gods and hieroglyphics. Behind the inner hall, several small sanctuaries had been excavated. In the last one stood the altar of Osiris.
Mala and I found a small alcove near the altar where she helped me change into the linen robe. It was sleeveless with a beautiful beaded collar of lapis and jasper. Thankfully, she did not notice the Talisman of Isis I was wearing underneath. She brushed my hair and left it down. I had lost most of the pins to hold it up anyway. She stood back to look at me and shook her head. “You do not look Egyptian by any stretch of the imagination, but you do look beautiful. His Imperial Majesty will be pleased.”
I blushed. I felt naked in the linen robe, even with my modern underthings still on beneath. My bare arms and feet were exposed in a shocking manner. Mala had not allowed me to replace my boots and stockings and had consented to my keeping the camisole and petticoats only after I begged her.
The afternoon had grown late, and the sun was beginning to set far to the west. I began to smell a heavy perfume in the air. Danilo had lit the frankincense at the altar.
Mala nodded. “It is time.”
Danilo had said this ritual would somehow aid us in finding the Morning Star and would ready him to face Papus. But I could not help thinking that any ritual requiring such elaborate preparations must be for something much darker than merely seeking a lost object. Or merely for seeking protection from a foe. Disturbing ancient gods was not something even a lich tsar would undertake lightly, I would hope.
The sanctuary holding the altar of Osiris was a small square chamber supported by four enormous columns. Each column had carvings of Osiris and Isis and hieroglyphics begging for the deities’ intercessions. The room was dark except for the two gas lanterns Danilo had lit. A tiny skylight high above us let in fresh air but little light, as the sun was sinking fast. I worried for our two young guides waiting by the animals outside.
Mala turned to leave the sacred chamber, but Danilo stopped her. “Your assistance is needed as well, my dear,” he told her. As his gaze flickered over me briefly, I caught disapproval or possibly even disappointment in his eyes. Now what have I done? I wondered.
Mala looked surprised but pleased. She took the place he indicated behind the altar, opposite him. He motioned for me to stand to the left of the altar. I saw a carved panel on the wall behind me that looked as if a doorway had been sealed. The paint on the figures could still be seen, the dark brown of the people’s skin and the blue and reds of their clothing. Two jackals stood guard patiently behind them. The guides had said that Seti’s successor, Ramses the Second, had blocked off several doorways in the temple following Seti’s death. I wondered what had been behind the panel.
The fragrance of the incense was making me dizzy, and I remembered it had been hours since I’d had any food and days since I’d had anything substantial. All I’d been given on the caravan out to the temples had been water. I stood in my ceremonial robe, barefoot on a dusty stone floor, dreaming about a nice roast game hen or a lamb steak.
The lich tsar had translated the ritual in his neat handwriting from the ancient Egyptian into Russian. He rubbed a sweet-smelling oil on my forehead, then handed me the new scrolls. “Begin reading, Katerina. The ritual will explain what must be done.”
I took a deep breath. Perhaps we would not be raising anyone from the dead, for once, since there was no tomb here. This room was the alleged burial place of the god Osiris, but the sarcophagus had long since been removed. Still, I could feel the power in the space. The air was charged with magic. I hoped the talisman would protect me from any evil that we might conjure.
“Hurry up!” Mala said, eager to see the ritual completed.
Danilo merely smiled but used his thumb to rub the oil on Mala’s forehead as well as his own.
I glanced down at the scroll and began.
30
“ ‘Hail, Power of Heaven, opener of the way for those who have before,’ ” I read. “ ‘We have brought you cakes and ale and joints of meat. Hear the pleas of the departed.’ ”
Danilo placed a small red stone on the altar. It was carved in the shape of a scarab beetle.
I felt my cold light rise as I continued to read. The hair stood on the back of my neck as the energy in the room rose higher and higher.
“ ‘Hail, Power of Heaven, who rises in the east and sets in the west. Restore the beloved into this vessel before you.’ ”