It's been a busy summer, but I thought I would tease my readers of Book 1 with the the first part of Chapter 1 from Book 2 and let them have a peek into Alexander "Ramses" Smith's continuing adventure in and out of the layers of time and the entanglement of the time loop in Esna, Egypt (Past and Present), which takes place in and around the Temple of Khnum/Khnemu as you see it below. The publication date is unknown as editing on book 2 continues . . .
A BITTER WIND, TIME UNRAVELING (BOOK 2)
CHAPTER 1 - INCURSION
“Destroy that which binds my Khaibit in Ta-Sheta. Blood and spirit . . . um, can’t remember, but . . . oh, there was more. Whatever made that pop into my head just now?”
Alexander ‘Ramses’ Smith was muttering to himself—again. This time, it was a phrase, which was recently found in the bail of the old manual; its words completely unnerving and author a mystery. All he did know was how it had shattered all sensibilities, especially by the implausible signature still glued to his brain--Seneferu, Am Kent, Hen Neter Khnum.
Lex had first come to know that name when using psychometry on the bas-relief of a high priest displayed on the northern side of the temple. It was much later that Ashraf told Lex that he was the reincarnation of an ancient Egyptian priest with that name, status and title. The cryptic phrase – mysteriously typed and signed as it was – seemed to provide a sort of proof of what Ashraf had insisted as true. More than that, it had taken all manner of Lex’s past speculations of such metaphysical things on a ride way beyond the limits of even his trust. Of course, it was so intriguing to muse over having lived a life in the most enigmatic ancient Egypt, but now everything seemed turned upside down—no longer just an entertaining idea for daydreaming on a rainy afternoon.
Things had now taken an even stranger turn. Lex mused over how he had gradually and ironically changed; first putting aside his self-named explorer togs and donning a gallabay for daily wear and then shaving his head, wrapping a linen turban to cover the new baldness. Before Esna, he would have doggedly sought explanations for making such uncharacteristic changes; somehow he intuitively understood the correctness of it. With every sense and nerve on edge, something seemed pointing out that all were merely pieces of a greater puzzle. That same something was dragging him where a scientifically logical mind could not follow. Only his guts seemed to understand that neither imagination nor speculation could plumb the depths of where—or say why he must go.
Lex walked hesitantly into the souk. It was abnormally quiet for so late in the morning. With the hairs on his arms and back bristling, he furrowed his brow, thoughtfully. Oh, yeah just what I need . . . fretfulness for its own sake . . . such a waste of energy. Worse than that for my nerves is a mind wading through such ambiguousness. Of course, even mental distraction might steal too much of the energy for focused concentration he would soon need. Therefore, Lex shook such worries off and set his attention back on hurrying along. Ironically, that made way for other sensations to enter awareness. In particular, a pinching of the skin atop his left shoulder, caused by the strap of the shoulder bag tugging downward and thumping against his right hip with every step.
Good grief, whatever was I thinking to use this unmanly shoulder bag . . . and one more uncharacteristic replacement . . . Lex rolled his eyes and shrugged in a manner of easing the pinch. In that way, he stole a moment to pretend it was instead rebalancing his former school boy, striped backpack in a mid-back position. He smirked, thinking how its harnessing straps were more painlessly secure in holding it there. Then, there was his assigned work for Professor Orridge and the still unfinished report, which seemed destined to never reach Cairo—ever. That is, unless he could stay on the assignment and duck the tangents as the one taking him and his attention astray—again today.
The culprit this time was the bag and two enigmatic things inside or so Lex chose to think. The first was a peculiar papyrus art print, which he had snatched from the ground outside a shop in the souk; the other a shiny knife, which had literally appeared from nowhere. At recalling where he found the print, brought another memory—that of a bedraggled boy, who had crawled from under Ashraf’s blankets then reappeared in the company of a slobbering Mastiff-type dog.
“They were certainly a matching set of boniness, scruffiness and raggedness and ironically seemed napping outside the same shop where I found the stray print, so unlike all the others there for sale,” Lex said, smirking at the memory. “If I can be sure of anything, at all, I’m sure of some type of synchronistic relationship between the boy and dog, the print and the knife and my additional compellation to dismantle ol’ Brodie’s Blasphemy Shrine.” Just mentioning the reason for today’s trek to the temple, brought a stout shudder and an image. In his mind’s eye, he saw the face of the long-dead archeologist, Dr. Broderick S. Gillwood, who had mysteriously decided to construct a dark magic shrine. Even though only a mental image, that aged, twisted face gave Lex an immediate impression that its appearance meant that the old man intended on haunting both his shrine, as well as any mention or thought of it. It was perhaps more frightening to ponder over how the ghost planned on keeping his shrine from being dismantled. Lex suddenly noted how he had recently become connected with so many quirky individuals – living and otherwise – since his immersion in this extraordinary village.
By vigorously shaking his head and shoulders, Lex was intent on jangling lose all but the current task. It would require both total concentration and every ounce of daring he could muster and he knew it. It’s probably just too early for shopping, he decided, glancing about and finding still only shopkeepers, seemingly working in slow motion as they opened their shops. At least, I can rush on my way without my new look drawing too much attention. Therefore, by keeping his arm firmly clamped over the woven bag, it would not be flopping and be less conspicuous to the nosey who might want to peek inside. He also thought to err on another side of caution by being wary of those who might see into his mind and watch him stealing the papyrus then assume the same of the knife. Of course, the likelihood of that was practically nil, but worrying about drawing too much attention for any or all reasons was an old, habitual fear. Here that included the inner self, thoughts and ideas, keeping all out of reach of any intuitively knowing beings.
“I have to wonder why . . . the seasonal tourist influx should have begun in earnest by now.” Lex began mumbling to himself upon noticing two shopkeepers casting dark looks in his direction. “Hell, I’d bet the tour agents intentionally leave the Temple of Khnum off their itineraries. Probably it doesn’t put money in their pockets or because of the fact there is little interest in an insignificant temple with so much hieroglyphic gibberish and acrimonious artwork . . . or so the guidebooks must say. Oh, Hogwash, either way it doesn’t matter to me. Alas, from an archeological standpoint, I find this peacefulness a blessing and would really hate it if fthose agencies were to change their minds and send a fleet of cruise ships.”
At that moment, daydreaming became dashed by a wave of fear. There was a large black shadow, as if something of a black and white movie projected onto the shop fronts. It was slithering over one then the next, disappearing only when crossing any open doors or spaces between shops. Lex realized those particular shopkeepers acted oblivious of the curious movement; Lex could not take his eyes from it nor ignore a resultant shiver. As a matter of reassurance, he located his own shadow. Upon the sand, he found the shady copy of his body, attached to the soles of his feet he and stretching out in the opposite direction as the other. Taking another look at the traveling shadow, he realized it was not only the shape of a tall humanoid, but also acting independently of everything around it. Ironically, it was darker than expected if cast by the little sunlight able to get through the metal roofing. As Lex headed away, he was shocked to find the two-dimensional shadow figure jogging next to him, but then noticed something else. There was a stink trailing them—worse than the commonplace stale air, odors of rotting garbage and animal feces.
Lex gasped and skidded to a halt. As his guts roiled with anxiety and his senses pricked at the approach of something more sinister. Was it part of the reason for tourist avoidance? The thought remarkably silly in the light of how his belly was flip-flopping, heart racing and head pounding as red-flag-warnings. He stood stock still, watching as the shadow sliding to the edge of a shop then disappeared into a narrow alleyway. What if I run and it knows, comes back out and gives chase? Decision never came before a surprisingly hot wind gusted from behind, slapping against his back in a way that felt like someone had run into him. It caused him to stagger a few steps to keep from falling.
“But, the direction is wrong. Such a stifling hot wind would be coming off the desert and hitting me in the face . . . not like that slamming my back, coming off the river and . . . heck, it should be a lot cooler than that for sure,” Lex said. Before logic could settle things, the wind shifted again, bring an odorous stench—something sulfurous; another red flag, but this one pointedly evil. This gusting kicked up a flurry of sandy dust, spinning it into a mini whirlwind that appeared to be deliberately throwing its contents into his face, as if by invisible hands.
“Oh, Hell, Set must be pissed at me, too,” Lex said as he tucked his face into the crook of his free arm. He stayed like that with eyes and mouth protected until sure the tempest was done. Indeed, the wind died as suddenly as it had begun. With a last gasp, it jostled the bag against his hip, as a clumsy pickpocket vying for pocket valuables. He was distrustful of the strange winds so remained blinded with his face still in a sleeve while intent on getting far from the place the shadows was last seen. He ducked deeper in the sleeve and leaned into the momentum of longer strides and fled toward the temple.
With virtually no one else in the street, he felt save to remain that way, prepared lest he need to dodge another windy tantrum. For that reason, he therefore never saw the little man in a dirty brown gallabaya—until they collided. Mutual disbelief sent them scrambling apart then they both stopped. Lex uncovered his eyes, lifting his head out of the fabric then each saw the other. Instantly, an icy shock arrested any apology that had begun forming in his throat, yet Lex managed a grunt before speaking.
“Dammit! So much for missing stepping on a slimy snake,” Lex sniped, giving another louder grunt. Seemingly in agreement a rogue wind gasped then, as a breath held in horror, the breathlessness left him face-to-face with—Shezmu.
While in this form, Shezmu did not speak, but in an odd form of compliance with Lex’s remark, the skin of the human face began stretching. A new reptilian snout pressed forward, replacing the man-face, yet the mouth still kept its nasty smirk. The lips parted slightly and a forked tongue flicked across the crimson lips, making them glisten with moisture. The tongue rapidly lashed in and out, in the way of a snake testing odors on the air. Lex caught the scent of old cucumbers as he stared in horror as the man-body became that of a limber snake, coiling and then rearing into a balanced position on its tail. Unlike others of the species, the triangular head of a poisonous snake seemed to have the ability to display emotions; thus looked ever so pleased with itself for successfully eliciting terror from a victim—whether squealing mouse or squeamish human.
Aat-aru! Lex gasped with sudden recognition. Oh, he knew this beast, plainly remembering it to be the blood-thirsty serpent, which made itself known during a trance in which Lex had seemingly journeyed into its watery Duat domain. Even while that familiar icy horror reverberated up his spine, white rage exploded in his guts. Yet, Lex forcibly stiffened his spine in defiance, standing his ground and flaring his nostrils, lest fear become apparent on his face. He then opened mouth, aping the maw of another snake. Thus, meaning to convey more resistance than fear, he drew a breath – but instantly realized hatred blurred both – emitting as one screech.
“You bastard! Shezmu, you get away from me . . . and, damn you . . . stay away!”
Lex had intended to simply defy such shape-shifting ploys or stop them all together, but feared he had failed. Oh, shit, the bastard can read thoughts, he thought then averted his eyes from the beady-eyed snake. He tried to stop thinking, but it was impossible, especially with the hypnotic staring Shezmu right there. Surely, Shezmu will know, reading my mind, my fear . . . oh, I must not think . . . but, how to stop . . . thinking of what I have in . . . dammit, I must not . . . the snake will know and . . . then. Even as unlikely as it was for the snake to be oblivious to the racing terror in his head, Lex was taken aback when it simply morphed back into the same sneering dark-faced man. Even that dusky face elicited no comfort, giving Lex a sick feeling that Shezmu had always known what was in the bag—and so deliberately collided with him.
No time to ponder such things, just RUN! From somewhere without source, Lex felt captured by a loose thought, but without caring if this stray message came from a helpful spirit or devious ghost of an old archeologist, he gulped. Without hesitation or pondering if it was known by Shezmu, he never looked back over his shoulder—and did just that.
“Run priest, I have already found where you were hidden. Set has blown away the mask of the present, behind which the true countenance was hiding,” Shezmu called, but made no move to follow.
...............................................................................Intrigued yet? ...............................................................................................................................
CHAPTER 1 - INCURSION
“Destroy that which binds my Khaibit in Ta-Sheta. Blood and spirit . . . um, can’t remember, but . . . oh, there was more. Whatever made that pop into my head just now?”
Alexander ‘Ramses’ Smith was muttering to himself—again. This time, it was a phrase, which was recently found in the bail of the old manual; its words completely unnerving and author a mystery. All he did know was how it had shattered all sensibilities, especially by the implausible signature still glued to his brain--Seneferu, Am Kent, Hen Neter Khnum.
Lex had first come to know that name when using psychometry on the bas-relief of a high priest displayed on the northern side of the temple. It was much later that Ashraf told Lex that he was the reincarnation of an ancient Egyptian priest with that name, status and title. The cryptic phrase – mysteriously typed and signed as it was – seemed to provide a sort of proof of what Ashraf had insisted as true. More than that, it had taken all manner of Lex’s past speculations of such metaphysical things on a ride way beyond the limits of even his trust. Of course, it was so intriguing to muse over having lived a life in the most enigmatic ancient Egypt, but now everything seemed turned upside down—no longer just an entertaining idea for daydreaming on a rainy afternoon.
Things had now taken an even stranger turn. Lex mused over how he had gradually and ironically changed; first putting aside his self-named explorer togs and donning a gallabay for daily wear and then shaving his head, wrapping a linen turban to cover the new baldness. Before Esna, he would have doggedly sought explanations for making such uncharacteristic changes; somehow he intuitively understood the correctness of it. With every sense and nerve on edge, something seemed pointing out that all were merely pieces of a greater puzzle. That same something was dragging him where a scientifically logical mind could not follow. Only his guts seemed to understand that neither imagination nor speculation could plumb the depths of where—or say why he must go.
Lex walked hesitantly into the souk. It was abnormally quiet for so late in the morning. With the hairs on his arms and back bristling, he furrowed his brow, thoughtfully. Oh, yeah just what I need . . . fretfulness for its own sake . . . such a waste of energy. Worse than that for my nerves is a mind wading through such ambiguousness. Of course, even mental distraction might steal too much of the energy for focused concentration he would soon need. Therefore, Lex shook such worries off and set his attention back on hurrying along. Ironically, that made way for other sensations to enter awareness. In particular, a pinching of the skin atop his left shoulder, caused by the strap of the shoulder bag tugging downward and thumping against his right hip with every step.
Good grief, whatever was I thinking to use this unmanly shoulder bag . . . and one more uncharacteristic replacement . . . Lex rolled his eyes and shrugged in a manner of easing the pinch. In that way, he stole a moment to pretend it was instead rebalancing his former school boy, striped backpack in a mid-back position. He smirked, thinking how its harnessing straps were more painlessly secure in holding it there. Then, there was his assigned work for Professor Orridge and the still unfinished report, which seemed destined to never reach Cairo—ever. That is, unless he could stay on the assignment and duck the tangents as the one taking him and his attention astray—again today.
The culprit this time was the bag and two enigmatic things inside or so Lex chose to think. The first was a peculiar papyrus art print, which he had snatched from the ground outside a shop in the souk; the other a shiny knife, which had literally appeared from nowhere. At recalling where he found the print, brought another memory—that of a bedraggled boy, who had crawled from under Ashraf’s blankets then reappeared in the company of a slobbering Mastiff-type dog.
“They were certainly a matching set of boniness, scruffiness and raggedness and ironically seemed napping outside the same shop where I found the stray print, so unlike all the others there for sale,” Lex said, smirking at the memory. “If I can be sure of anything, at all, I’m sure of some type of synchronistic relationship between the boy and dog, the print and the knife and my additional compellation to dismantle ol’ Brodie’s Blasphemy Shrine.” Just mentioning the reason for today’s trek to the temple, brought a stout shudder and an image. In his mind’s eye, he saw the face of the long-dead archeologist, Dr. Broderick S. Gillwood, who had mysteriously decided to construct a dark magic shrine. Even though only a mental image, that aged, twisted face gave Lex an immediate impression that its appearance meant that the old man intended on haunting both his shrine, as well as any mention or thought of it. It was perhaps more frightening to ponder over how the ghost planned on keeping his shrine from being dismantled. Lex suddenly noted how he had recently become connected with so many quirky individuals – living and otherwise – since his immersion in this extraordinary village.
By vigorously shaking his head and shoulders, Lex was intent on jangling lose all but the current task. It would require both total concentration and every ounce of daring he could muster and he knew it. It’s probably just too early for shopping, he decided, glancing about and finding still only shopkeepers, seemingly working in slow motion as they opened their shops. At least, I can rush on my way without my new look drawing too much attention. Therefore, by keeping his arm firmly clamped over the woven bag, it would not be flopping and be less conspicuous to the nosey who might want to peek inside. He also thought to err on another side of caution by being wary of those who might see into his mind and watch him stealing the papyrus then assume the same of the knife. Of course, the likelihood of that was practically nil, but worrying about drawing too much attention for any or all reasons was an old, habitual fear. Here that included the inner self, thoughts and ideas, keeping all out of reach of any intuitively knowing beings.
“I have to wonder why . . . the seasonal tourist influx should have begun in earnest by now.” Lex began mumbling to himself upon noticing two shopkeepers casting dark looks in his direction. “Hell, I’d bet the tour agents intentionally leave the Temple of Khnum off their itineraries. Probably it doesn’t put money in their pockets or because of the fact there is little interest in an insignificant temple with so much hieroglyphic gibberish and acrimonious artwork . . . or so the guidebooks must say. Oh, Hogwash, either way it doesn’t matter to me. Alas, from an archeological standpoint, I find this peacefulness a blessing and would really hate it if fthose agencies were to change their minds and send a fleet of cruise ships.”
At that moment, daydreaming became dashed by a wave of fear. There was a large black shadow, as if something of a black and white movie projected onto the shop fronts. It was slithering over one then the next, disappearing only when crossing any open doors or spaces between shops. Lex realized those particular shopkeepers acted oblivious of the curious movement; Lex could not take his eyes from it nor ignore a resultant shiver. As a matter of reassurance, he located his own shadow. Upon the sand, he found the shady copy of his body, attached to the soles of his feet he and stretching out in the opposite direction as the other. Taking another look at the traveling shadow, he realized it was not only the shape of a tall humanoid, but also acting independently of everything around it. Ironically, it was darker than expected if cast by the little sunlight able to get through the metal roofing. As Lex headed away, he was shocked to find the two-dimensional shadow figure jogging next to him, but then noticed something else. There was a stink trailing them—worse than the commonplace stale air, odors of rotting garbage and animal feces.
Lex gasped and skidded to a halt. As his guts roiled with anxiety and his senses pricked at the approach of something more sinister. Was it part of the reason for tourist avoidance? The thought remarkably silly in the light of how his belly was flip-flopping, heart racing and head pounding as red-flag-warnings. He stood stock still, watching as the shadow sliding to the edge of a shop then disappeared into a narrow alleyway. What if I run and it knows, comes back out and gives chase? Decision never came before a surprisingly hot wind gusted from behind, slapping against his back in a way that felt like someone had run into him. It caused him to stagger a few steps to keep from falling.
“But, the direction is wrong. Such a stifling hot wind would be coming off the desert and hitting me in the face . . . not like that slamming my back, coming off the river and . . . heck, it should be a lot cooler than that for sure,” Lex said. Before logic could settle things, the wind shifted again, bring an odorous stench—something sulfurous; another red flag, but this one pointedly evil. This gusting kicked up a flurry of sandy dust, spinning it into a mini whirlwind that appeared to be deliberately throwing its contents into his face, as if by invisible hands.
“Oh, Hell, Set must be pissed at me, too,” Lex said as he tucked his face into the crook of his free arm. He stayed like that with eyes and mouth protected until sure the tempest was done. Indeed, the wind died as suddenly as it had begun. With a last gasp, it jostled the bag against his hip, as a clumsy pickpocket vying for pocket valuables. He was distrustful of the strange winds so remained blinded with his face still in a sleeve while intent on getting far from the place the shadows was last seen. He ducked deeper in the sleeve and leaned into the momentum of longer strides and fled toward the temple.
With virtually no one else in the street, he felt save to remain that way, prepared lest he need to dodge another windy tantrum. For that reason, he therefore never saw the little man in a dirty brown gallabaya—until they collided. Mutual disbelief sent them scrambling apart then they both stopped. Lex uncovered his eyes, lifting his head out of the fabric then each saw the other. Instantly, an icy shock arrested any apology that had begun forming in his throat, yet Lex managed a grunt before speaking.
“Dammit! So much for missing stepping on a slimy snake,” Lex sniped, giving another louder grunt. Seemingly in agreement a rogue wind gasped then, as a breath held in horror, the breathlessness left him face-to-face with—Shezmu.
While in this form, Shezmu did not speak, but in an odd form of compliance with Lex’s remark, the skin of the human face began stretching. A new reptilian snout pressed forward, replacing the man-face, yet the mouth still kept its nasty smirk. The lips parted slightly and a forked tongue flicked across the crimson lips, making them glisten with moisture. The tongue rapidly lashed in and out, in the way of a snake testing odors on the air. Lex caught the scent of old cucumbers as he stared in horror as the man-body became that of a limber snake, coiling and then rearing into a balanced position on its tail. Unlike others of the species, the triangular head of a poisonous snake seemed to have the ability to display emotions; thus looked ever so pleased with itself for successfully eliciting terror from a victim—whether squealing mouse or squeamish human.
Aat-aru! Lex gasped with sudden recognition. Oh, he knew this beast, plainly remembering it to be the blood-thirsty serpent, which made itself known during a trance in which Lex had seemingly journeyed into its watery Duat domain. Even while that familiar icy horror reverberated up his spine, white rage exploded in his guts. Yet, Lex forcibly stiffened his spine in defiance, standing his ground and flaring his nostrils, lest fear become apparent on his face. He then opened mouth, aping the maw of another snake. Thus, meaning to convey more resistance than fear, he drew a breath – but instantly realized hatred blurred both – emitting as one screech.
“You bastard! Shezmu, you get away from me . . . and, damn you . . . stay away!”
Lex had intended to simply defy such shape-shifting ploys or stop them all together, but feared he had failed. Oh, shit, the bastard can read thoughts, he thought then averted his eyes from the beady-eyed snake. He tried to stop thinking, but it was impossible, especially with the hypnotic staring Shezmu right there. Surely, Shezmu will know, reading my mind, my fear . . . oh, I must not think . . . but, how to stop . . . thinking of what I have in . . . dammit, I must not . . . the snake will know and . . . then. Even as unlikely as it was for the snake to be oblivious to the racing terror in his head, Lex was taken aback when it simply morphed back into the same sneering dark-faced man. Even that dusky face elicited no comfort, giving Lex a sick feeling that Shezmu had always known what was in the bag—and so deliberately collided with him.
No time to ponder such things, just RUN! From somewhere without source, Lex felt captured by a loose thought, but without caring if this stray message came from a helpful spirit or devious ghost of an old archeologist, he gulped. Without hesitation or pondering if it was known by Shezmu, he never looked back over his shoulder—and did just that.
“Run priest, I have already found where you were hidden. Set has blown away the mask of the present, behind which the true countenance was hiding,” Shezmu called, but made no move to follow.
...............................................................................Intrigued yet? ...............................................................................................................................