FEATHER OF MA'AT
The pilot had his foe in his sights. The crosshairs pointed directly at the tail of the German aircraft, and the pilot squeezed the trigger. A cacophony of banging accompanied a guided fiery hail, and the German plane began to smoke ominously.
“Hey O’Connell!” the pilot’s tail gunner called. The plane lurched nauseatingly, making the pilot look back. The tail was shot to shreds, and the rear of his plane was smoking, due to a German behind them. O’Connell cursed, and suddenly the winds began to pick up.
The desert was a good place to fly, but why in God’s name had the German led them here of all places? It made no sense! An ambush would be impractical here, since almost no one went out here. Then, the pilot spotted the landing strip. It was made of poorly-laid asphalt, but it was better than landing on the desert sands. “Oh my dear giddy aunt… O’Connell?” the tail gunner asked. He sounded truly frightened. O’Connell knew that Boris was hardly a coward, and nothing save Lucifer himself would cause the man to sound as though he had seen the worst thing ever. By goodness, Boris was actually squeaking as he spoke, and that had never happened before. O’Connell looked back, and immediately wished he hadn’t. The rising wind had created a sandstorm. No, sand wall would be more appropriate. Suddenly, the visage of a running Arabian horse appeared in the sand. It reared up, catching the enemy plane with its hooves, and slammed down on it. Then, the horse continued to run, passing under O’Connell’s plane with no trouble, and caught the enemy in front of them with a loud boom.
Sand filled the tiny military aircraft. O’Connell cursed. “God, Imhotep, did you have to use Scham?” he asked. Boris didn’t reply. The enemy aircraft had hit Boris before the man had been able to defend himself. His body was empty of his soul now. The Arabian sandstorm came up to him, now of the size of a normal horse. It snorted and blew sand in O’Connell’s face, and knelt. “You want me to get on?” O’Connell asked. The horse nodded, flicking its sandy tail. He mounted, feeling the sand shift under him but not give way. He had never ridden a sandstorm before. The sandy stallion rose and began to run, making no more sound than the passing of a windstorm.
Revile neatly sliced the dream from the dreamer, who scrambled to his feet. The other pilots were doing so as well, and soon the communal showers were filled with RAF pilots, getting ready for the drills and the routine patrols today. The seven minutes that the pilots had to get ready was almost a leisure compared to the drills from the training days. Of course, having to clean out the barracks with a toothbrush was a very good incentive to keep moving.
Alex was very lucky to have survived over two years in the RAF. Sometimes he wanted to quit and go to Africa where his parents were, but then he remembered Imhotep. The High Priest was just waiting for a chance to attack him for hurting his mother.
But then again, Imhotep had been rather friendly when Alex had last been there.
No! He could not stoop to considering Imhotep friendly! The undead Priest had tried to kill himself and his parents, also to destroy the world in the process! Imhotep was evil! No ifs, ands or buts!
“Pilot! Eyes forward!” a voice barked.
“Sir, yes sir!” Alex snapped off in reflex. Thoughts of Imhotep would only get him into trouble here.
“Three weeks outpost training without pay as a punishment,” the sergeant growled at him.
“Sir, yes sir!”
“Dismissed, pilot!” Alex scampered back to his bunk, readying his knapsack for whatever godforsaken outpost they threw him onto as a punishment. It was bound to be one of the more difficult ones, such as the one in northern Normandy that got to maybe 2 degrees Centigrade during the winter at the warmest, or maybe the one with all the disappearing soldiers. He had no idea where that one was.
Suddenly, his bunkmate came in.
“Alex, man, what have you gotten yourself into?” George Recon asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Anyways, the Sergeant wants to brief you on your stationing. He’s in his office now.”
“Good. I’ll get this over with.” He left the barracks and went to face his fate.
Nefertiri grimaced. They couldn’t stand the chance of being discovered, nor could they simply leave the outpost there. Imhotep had taken numerous soldiers as servants and grooms for the animals and covered the outpost with sand multiple times, but the soldiers simply came back over and over and over again. This was getting frustrating. Next thing, they would probably try to attack the cliff home that she and her family lived in! Sandstorms were not the most comfortable atmosphere to live in, and soon she would take matters into her own hands and probably use dynamite to demolish the outpost with Senakhtenre’s help.
The sound of Imhotep groaning made her look out. A jeep was driving down the dune, and from the sound of it, Imhotep knew someone in the vehicle would be rather difficult.
Suddenly, the ground in back of the jeep roared up in a massive dune, sending the vehicle skidding over the newly-covered outpost. The vehicle was propelled into the horse and camel entrance, stopping probably somewhere near the corral or in it. The High Priest gave her a slight smile, and then walked through the halls to the stable, Nefertiri at his side. Imhotep had done this countless times before, the people in the vehicles having been rather terrified and not knowing what was going on. They had become grooms for the beasts or servants of other sorts. All of them were happier than they had been before.
There was a sudden scream from one of the horses, causing both to break into a run. A sharp wind at their backs made them run all the faster, and explode into the corral intent on throwing the offender out into the desert to bake. When they got to the corral, they saw Scham, the stallion that Alex had left, was out of his stall. He was whinnying and tossing his head, nuzzling someone.
“Yes, Scham? I missed you too, boy,” a familiar voice murmured.
“Alexander?” Imhotep asked softly.
“Oh, Alex, you’ve returned!” Nefertiri ran and embraced her long-vanished son.
“I figured it’d be something like you,” the pilot snarled. “Where are the other people who ran the outpost?”
“Private O’Connell,” a groom called.
“Gunnison! You’re alive! Everyone thinks you’re dead back in the RAF!”
“Well, Private, I’m not. I love horses, and now I’m a groom for them and camels. McDaniel is enamored of botany, and now tends this mansion’s garden. We like it here far more than in England. For one thing, the climate is warm year round, even during winter when the rains come.”
“You like working for my mother and step father?”
“Lady Nefertiri is your mother?!” Gunnison asked in a shocked voice.
“Mother, you’re going by Lady now?”
“The Medjai started it, Alex. We are an outpost in our own right for the Medjai anyways. Ardeth Bay isn’t getting any younger, and we need to help them.”
“I see. So you go and kidnap several soldiers from the army to use as your slaves?”
“Alex!” Nefertiri barked. “We couldn’t very well leave them to spill our secret to the RAF, now could we? Be grateful that we did not leave them to broil in the sun!”
“Alexander,” Imhotep said, “They are not slaves, but paid servants. Should they wish to go back to their homeland, then they may. They do wish to remain, however.”
“Alright, Gunnison. Do you really want to stay here or go back home to England?”
“Are you insane, O’Connell?! Go back to that perpetual swimming pool?! No! I love it here; excellent food, wonderful people, beautiful climate, and perfect work. I’ll stay here until I die, make no mistake! Why didn’t you say you had such wonderful parents?”
“Wonderful?! Imhotep tried to kill me, Gunnison! And my mother’s fully insane!”
“Kiron!” Nefertiri barked. Alex ignored her. “Alexander son of Senakhtenre, you will listen to me!” she hissed in Ancient Egyptian.
“I do not have to. I am over twenty-five years old, Mother. It doesn’t matter what you think. I will go and man the base as I have been instructed to. Do not send your pet sandstorm to cover it, for I will not leave. I thank you for caring for Scham, and I will be taking him with me.” Alex turned and mounted the stallion, whom snorted and half-reared. “Easy, boy, it’s just me. No need to fret, Scham. Easy on. Let’s go!” Scham and Alex rode out of the enclosure into the harsh desert sands.
Nefertiri felt her shoulders slump.
“Do not worry, sweet Nefertiri. I’ll not let him starve or die of the elements.”
“Are you going to bring him back here?” Nefertiri asked.
“No, but I will make sure that he has food and drink. A good sandstorm now and then to drive a herd of gazelle to the outpost, a spring coming up in the middle of it, and all will be well. Thank the gods he knows how to cook!” Imhotep laughed.
“Not that much, Imhotep. Jonathan still regales me with tales of meat that was more burned than cooked!” A smile lit up Nefertiri’s face as she remembered the stories Jonathan had told her about the times when he and Alex had been nomadic.
“He makes it edible at least. Old Maya never did anything of the sort. Her food was always something even the hogs wouldn’t eat!” Imhotep recalled Anck-su-namun’s mother.
“I wasn’t very surprised. Her cooking was black and blue if any color at all, and resembled charcoal, not to mention her house when she was finished with a meal!” The two of them left up to the living quarters.
Alex rode as fast as he could, trying to get away from the Cliffside dwelling. The desert sands held as much heat as they could during the day, but at night, they let that heat out as fast as possible. The winds that during the day were reminiscent of a bread oven were now whipping across the dunes with the force of a hurricane and chill that set into his very bones. As Scham panted in his run, the breath he expelled went streaming behind them like a low mist, joined by Alex’ own. It was cold here, cold enough that if moisture had been in the air, it would have come down as snow.
Suddenly, a sharp wind kicked up. The icy chill was augmented by having miniscule grains of sand flung into his clothing, ears, eyes and nostrils. Scham snored and shook his head in pain, obviously in the same predicament. Alex cursed at Imhotep, wanting something to take his rage out on. Scham reared, flailing his forehooves. When the wind died down, Scham stopped screaming and rearing, and ran headlong into the revealed army outpost. Imhotep had cleared the sand away, and literally scoured the streets and buildings with it, removing any sign of wear and tear. Alex set up his gear in one of the bunkhouses, cooking a quick dinner of dehydrated, re-hydrated meat that tasted remarkably like shoe leather, probably serving that purpose better than lining his stomach, and a compressed cake of fruits and vegetables that was the same consistency as a block of wood and had roughly the same taste. Alex tried not to remember the magnificent feast that Imhotep and his mother put on for his and Jonathan’s arrival years ago. The water in his canteen tasted quite like metal, and was hot and gritty with sand from the storm, nowhere near the same quality as the water from the clear, cold spring in the oasis’s that he and Jonathan had lived in for years on end, not to mention the cliff that his family lived in.
He had to stop this! Imhotep was evil! He needed to stay as far away from the Mummy as possible! He bit savagely into the vegetable-fruitcake, and nearly broke a tooth. It seemed to have been molded from the same traditional recipe that families everywhere passed among their members, using them for hammers and doorstops. Maybe soaking it in a pot of boiling water would help. It wasn’t very promising though, save to perhaps poison the precious water.
A scuffing of a foot on the icy metal floor awakened Alex to the fact that someone was here. He crouched low, pulling his submachine gun from its holster. If it was a German, he’d get the better of them. A boy of about ten or twelve rounded the corner, dressed in clothes that looked hastily put on, and covered in sweat and dust.
“Alexander!” the boy cried, running for Alex regardless of the gun. “Alexander, why did you run away?” Alex racked his brain for the name of this little one, probably one of his half-brothers, named for one of the Pharaohs of ancient Egypt. Ay, perhaps.
“Erm… eh… Ay?”
“What was that? I am Seti, if you don’t remember me. I am your half brother.”
“I remember you now. What are you doing here?”
“Father heard a voice on the wind. It sounded as though Germans are going to attack here later tonight, when the sky is black and the land is cold. I also would like to know why you left home, and why you do not like Father.”
“It’s… complicated, Seti. If there are Germans here, I had best get ready for them. Go on, I will be fine. Go back to your home, Seti. Now! I can take care of myself!”
“Mother says that you’re only a pilot and that you’ll get killed! She has the natron, bandages, and different ointments out already! She is sure that you will be killed, and that you will be gone forever!” Seti exclaimed.
“She already has the mummification tools and materials out?!” Alex yelped. He didn’t want to be killed, and when his own mother was ready to mummify him, especially being a Priestess of Osiris instead of Anubis, it was rather chilling. “Alright. Let me get my stuff, and we’ll booby trap this place so that the Germans can’t get in or out of it.” Alex grabbed a few sticks of dynamite, showing his little half-brother how to rig them to go off if someone tripped a string barrier across each of the entrances to the base. He then left his non-necessary items in the base, boosted Seti onto Scham’s back, and rode off. “Did you run all the way here?” he asked. The slump that Seti fell into and the bowing of his head were answer enough.
Nefertiri paced the floor, sweating and worrying. She would have to get Alex’s body soon, and besides that, Seti was missing. He had run off just after the evening meal, not even stopping to take a camel or horse. She had her fears that he had gone to join Alex, but she didn’t voice them to Imhotep. Her husband was now worshiping Osiris, because he didn’t know what else to do to keep from going crazy with worry for Seti and Alex.
Suddenly, a series of explosions rocked the night. Nefertiri ran for the window, and saw a pillar of orange fire erupting heavenwards from the area that the army outpost was. Nothing would be left of Alex to mummify, and so he would not be going to the West to Eternity. Nefertiri dropped her head in despair. Her firstborn was killed again. This time she didn’t even have a body to have mummified.
“Mother!” Seti’s voice cried, bolting her out of her memories.
“Seti! Thank Osiris that you’re safe!” Nefertiri hugged Seti close to her, weeping in his wig. Then a figure clouded the doorframe.
“Mum?” Alex’s voice asked.
“Alexander? Alexander! You’re alive!” Nefertiri abandoned Seti to hug her eldest. “Will you stay?”
“Mother, I can’t. I have to finish my term first, or I’ll be considered a deserter. From then, well, I’ll decide what to do.”
“But the others are here, and they are not being called deserters.”
“The army believes them to be dead, Mother. I can’t keep up this charade any longer. Doing so will be lying to my country and people. Besides, we can’t let the Germans destroy us. The RAF needs every pilot it can get.”
“Then you’re going back. At least let Imhotep help you.”
“How?” Alex asked, confused. “Besides, I am not fond of him.”
“We’ll see, Alexander.”
“I can’t see how he can help. There are rumors of the Germans having some massive super-weapon, a bomb that can wipe out entire cities.”
“Then you must stay here, Alexander! I lost you once already, to my own folly, and did not go after you. I will not go after you again!”
“Mum, it wasn’t your fault! I was the one who pulled you from Eternity, not the other way around! How can you possibly continue to stay near me after that?!”
“I can! I made a mistake when I left! Your father is patient, kind and caring. He never left me alone, never abandoned me. He even gave Imhotep permission to marry me, and didn’t begrudge him after that. I ran away instead of facing my problems, Alexander. Don’t make my mistake.”
“I am not running away. I have to return to the army.”
“Kiron—”
“My name is Alex. Your name is Evy. Father’s name is Rick. We are English, Mum. Not ancient Egyptian. I will not indulge you in your fantasies, and I will not be called a traitor or a deserter. I have to go, and will leave!” Alex stormed out of the room, his face a cloud of fury.
“Mother?” Seti asked softly. Nefertiri shook her head slowly. He was gone. Her eldest son was once again gone.
“Nefertiri?” Imhotep asked, embracing her.
“He’s gone. He survived the Germans, but he’s gone back to the army.”
“Nefertiri, he’s made his choice. We cannot take that away from him; he will see us as his jailors if we do. We must wait until he returns on his own, for he will not be happy if we take him here. It does not matter if it is for his own good.”
“’Tiri, Imhotep is right, as much as it pains me to say this,” Senakhtenre said softly. “Alex is hard-headed and stubborn. He won’t think he is wrong unless he sees it for himself and suffers the consequences. I doubt that he will be coming back for quite a while. Seti should… Seti?” Senakhtenre asked, looking for the errant boy.
“Seti!” Jonathan cried. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To the stable. Do not attempt to stop me.” The rushing of small feet echoed down the hall, and were followed by Jonathan’s larger pair. Imhotep and Nefertiri raced after the two, and caught up with them, Jonathan trying to keep Seti from mounting Scham to ride off. The doors were wide open, and Vetch, Jasmine the camel’s first calf, was gone. Scham was hanging his head over the stall door, looking utterly miserable. Even though Nefertiri knew next-to-nothing about horses, she realized that the stallion was pining, and probably wouldn’t live out this time when Alex ran off.
As Jonathan hauled Seti off of Scham’s back, the boy’s foot caught on the catch for the stall door, and the stallion took the opportunity given to him. He bolted, squealing, and fled the stable into the gathering gloom.
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