"Do not be so easily dazzled, Gilbert. Splendor means nothing without the True Faith," Ludolf said somberly.

"Ever pious, eh, Ludolf?" Gilbert lifted his head and let the breeze dry his neck. "Myself, I will leave the bishops to judge if these Byzantines are of the Faith. I was in the Basilica of St. Sophia yesterday ,.

though, and it certainly looked Christian to me."

Ludolf did not reply.

Gilbert seemed not to notice. "Oh, yes. It's vast, with a great dome way overhead. The walls seem to glow with frescoes and mosaics.

There are even mosaics on the fl oor. And the relics! God' s wounds, Ludolf, you wouldn' t believe the relics. Christ' s Crown of Thorns, pieces of the Holy Cross, the Virgin's robe-and even the head of John the Baptist."

"The Crown of Thorns? Really?" Ludolf was skeptical. "Are you sure it's authentic?"

"It has to be. They wouldn't have it in the church otherwise."

Ludolf let the remark hang in the air.

Gilbert looked unperturbed. "Rome' s got no palaces like this Byzantine has, that's for sure. Over there." He nodded toward the northwest corner of the city. "He's got more gold than I've ever laid eyes on. Marble too, colored marble all over the fl oors and walls. He is a great emperor."

"Not so great that he doesn' t need help from the West." Ludolf scratched something from his tabard. "Are you going to swear loyalty to him, as he demands?"

* 92 *

Vulture's Kiss "Why not? Alexius has been very generous. He's given us armor, horses, silks-and rather a lot of money for provisions. Besides, Godfrey of Bouillon has taken the oath, and no one's greater than he is."

"The one who died on the Cross is greater than the Duke of Bouillon. I have already taken an oath to the Cross. That is enough."

"Don't be so righteous, old man. Every free man in the camp has taken the oath to the Cross." He glanced toward the fi eld of tents on the plain below them.

Ludolf shook his head. "Some have sworn lightly , with less faith than urge for battle and gain. But I took a second and private oath- with my blood."

He ran his hand down the front of his tabard, so Gilbert could see that the entire crimson cross that reached from his throat to his hem and from shoulder to shoulder was outlined with reddish-brown blood.

Gilbert averted his eyes. "W ell, no one will ever accuse you of laxity."

Ludolf half closed his eyes again. "No, they never will. On my knees before the cross and with blood running from my hands, I swore on my soul to be a soldier for the True Faith."

He drew his sword from his side and held it by the blade up to heaven. "I have sworn this in Rome, and I swear it again here before this city of sickly Christians. I am for God, and all my lineage shall be for God, through all generations-or my curse is on them!" He lowered his sword and whispered the declaration of God's will that was emblazoned on their banners. "Deus lo volt."

* 93 *

23.

Rekemheb It was late morning as Valerie drove her rented jeep south from Luxor, and from the east the sun shone hard on one side of her face. She met only sparse traffi c on the highway, little to distract her from her brooding. Here she was again, driving over the desert for Rekemheb. Now at least she understood why . The ka was family , the founder of the family , in fact. And what a strange lineage they were.

How could she ever explain them to a stranger? To Najya Khoury, for example.

Najya Khoury. Through the long night of driving, Valerie had thought a lot about the handsome Palestinian journalist. An intriguing, complicated woman, unlike anyone she'd met in a long time. Maybe ever. Curious that Najya could be so unsentimental and at the same time "believe in people," as she said. Still, she was worth having another conversation with, dressed or undressed. Valerie smiled to herself thinking of which alternative she preferred.

Then she remembered the trousers thrown over the foot of her bed at Sammad's place. And Harry. He had been undressed-with Najya- in the upstairs room. The image of their coupling on her bed fl ashed through Valerie's mind, and she felt herself grimace. She hated the ease with which men got women into bed.

She wondered if Najya ever had a lesbian thought.

Banzeen, the sign said, over an arrow pointing of f the road. She checked the fuel gauge-time to tank up. In less than a kilometer she reached the station, although the line of busses showed her where it was long before she reached it. She pulled in and waited.

Nervous and bored at the same time, she fi rst drummed her fi ngers * 94 *

Vulture's Kiss on the steering wheel, then reached for the statue of Rekemheb. For some reason, the shopkeeper had handed it to her wrapped in linen rather than laid in a box. She had checked it briefl y in the shop, decided it was suitable, then paid the char ge. She was surprised that the price was reasonable and so added a small baksheesh to show her satisfaction.

He didn't seem to notice.

She undid the cord and studied the statue more closely. It seemed even better made than she had fi rst judged. The face was strikingly accurate, and the sculptor had captured the lightness around Derek' s eyes so that the statue had the same facial radiance that he had. But of course it was not Derek; it was Rekemheb, complete with priestly sidelock and painted a shade lighter brown than the more African Derek.The shoulders also were excessively wide, and the relative fl atness of the chest was unmistakably Egyptian, reminiscent of the lean, spare statues of the temples. One hand hung down at his side in the archaic style and held a sistrum. The other one, laid across his chest, held a tiny object. She hadn't paid attention to it before, but she saw now it was an amulet. The image on it was miniscule, but holding it close, she could make it out. It was the Balance in the underworld. A single red dot on one side signifi ed the heart, a single vertical white hyphen on the other was the feather.

She turned it over and studied the back. The well-formed hips and legs were covered by the long pleated white kilt of the priest, and above it, slightly to the right, was the mark where the deadly spear had pierced his back.

The whole object was extraordinary. In the sweetness and precision of its face, it was a doll in the formal rigidity of its body , a pharaonic statue.Suddenly the gas line opened up and she set the doll aside to pull into the station.

Valerie forced the jeep across the hard-packed sand between the oasis and the great rock wall. There it was fi nally, the escarpment where the lines of shadow on the cliff formed the Eye of Horus. She drove as * 95 *

closely as possible to the clif f wall, to take advantage of the narrow band of shade. Gathering up canteen, fl ashlight, and backpack, she climbed out and hiked up to the cave entrance.

It took all her strength to dislodge the stone, and when she fi nally managed it, she was exhausted and dehydrated. Panting, she stepped into the familiar tunnel and took a long drink of water from her canteen before she started down. As she walked, the light of her fl ashlight beam ovaled and sprang back to a circle along the walls and fl oor, revealing nothing new.

Memories returned in a rush, of the four of them, pleased with themselves, carrying the mummy of Rekemheb to his new tomb; of the sudden reappearance of Vanderschmitt and his shooting of the Bedouin woman; of her own reawakening there with Derek after their release from the underworld. All that coming and going, she thought. The place was not so much a tomb as a sort of spiritual bus stop.

When she came, fi nally, to the sarcophagus, she called Rekemheb's name. She wasn't sure of the ritual; it would be good to have his guidance.

Silence. Nothing but the sound of her own breathing. Bleakly, she laid down her knapsack and put her shoulder to the sarcophagus lid, inching it far enough along to reveal the head and chest of the mummy.

"Oh, no," she whispered. She knew in an instant she couldn'

t rescue him.

Someone had opened the sarcophagus and dropped a stone onto the mummy's chest, shattering its ribs and spine. She felt nauseous with fear as she grasped what the dropped stone meant. Whoever, whatever had been there hadn' t smashed the mummy cleanly , but had mortally wounded it, letting it ebb slowly, consciously, toward the moment when its ka could no longer be sustained. It was not only spiritual murder it was torture unto fi nal endless death.

She called his name again, clutching at straws, but it was no use.

He was gone. The ritual was pointless. She took another drink from her canteen and wiped her neck with her bandana, indecisive. She had come so far for him, they all had. She exhaled in a sort of weak decision. Like the rescuer who leaves the oxygen mask on the victim past the point of hope, she would perform the ceremony to pay him a last respect.

She drew the wooden statue from her pack and placed it on the stone lid in the light of her fl ashlight. The painted face looked at her * 96 *

Vulture's Kiss serenely. With trembling hands she laid out the adz and the tiny alabaster dish of myrrh. She drew her battered Zippo lighter from her pocket and held the fl ame to the myrrh until it caught. When the fragrant smoke was strong enough to cover the dank smell of the sarcophagus, she began the familiar invocation in Egyptian.

"Chesu, Neteru! Hail to you, Great Gods, and to you, Lords of Justice. You live on truth and gulp down truth. I know you and I know your names. Behold, I am without falsehood and there is no one who testifi es against me."

She reached down into the sarcophagus with the bronze adz and pressed its curved tip against the mummy's mouth. "Jehuti comes fi lled with magic," she intoned. "He has cast away the bonds of Seth which held my words. My mouth is split open with the instrument that touched the mouth of the gods. I am Osiris, who dwells with souls, and I shall speak."

The dry lips crumbled at the touch and she quickly withdrew the instrument, placing it against the carved mouth of the statue. "I am Osiris who dwells with souls. I shall take breath."

She reached down again, this time touching the mummy's sunken eyes and desiccated nose and ears. She withdrew the tool and laid it on the head of the statue. Mechanically , she touched the adz to the four limbs and to the respective parts of the statue and spoke the fi nal incantation. "My eyes are opened by the god and my ears to hear , my legs to walk, and my arms to fell my enemy . My fl esh shall not be halted at the portals of the West, and I may go in and out in peace."

Nothing happened. She hadn't expected anything to.

"Jehuti! Nekhbet! Where are you?" she called into the darkness.

"Your priest is gone now, just like the caretaker of the Child! How can you make a prophecy and not defend it? How can you not even show up?" Her own voice echoed foolishly in the stone tunnel. She leaned her arms on the sarcophagus for a few moments, giving the gods time to answer. They had to answer. Nothing. The silence mocked her. She grasped the stone lid to slide it closed.

Then, on impulse, she stopped and shone her light down into the coffi n again. If the mummy was going to disintegrate, there was something she wanted. She reached down to the fl eshless jaw of the * 97 *

corpse, seized hold of a lar ge tooth at the back of the jaw , and drew it easily from the porous bone. A quick perusal under the fl ashlight revealed it was intact, and she dropped it into her pocket.

"So much for 'forever ,'" she muttered and shoved the stone lid back into place. At the last nudge of the tablet, the ceremonial objects tumbled to the ground and lay in the silt. When she retrieved them, they felt like stupid toys. What had she been thinking? She tossed them carelessly into her knapsack. The statue of Rekemheb, which she still held in her hand, looked toy-like as well. A painted doll. Sick with the sense of betrayal, she rolled it in its linen wrapping and started up the tunnel to the entrance.

It was the hottest part of the day . The jeep shimmered in the sunlight. If she tried to drive in it, she would slowly cook. Worse, the pulsing line of orange-gray on the horizon told her that a sandstorm was approaching. She would have to wait it out.

She withdrew halfway down the tunnel where the dust would be tolerable, leaned back against the stone wall, and drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. Mumbling "Merde...merde...merde, "

she let herself fall into a brief, tormented sleep.

Though it was evening, the desert wind still blew hot against her as she drove, brooding again. There are no coincidences, Derek had said.

For us, everything is connected. Yussif and Rekemheb struck down in the same week. No, it wasn't a coincidence. Someone, something was persecuting them.

How could it be, though? Who even knew where the mummy lay? Only Vanderschmitt had followed them, driven, in some way she couldn't understand, by the ur ges of the Aton. But he was dead, his vulture-stripped remains interred somewhere in Belgium. And though he was-she shuddered at the thought-her father, she had no interest in knowing where.

She cringed inwardly whenever she thought of Volker Vanderschmitt and was alternately repulsed and angry at having to acknowledge his paternity . Horrifying enough to discover that her father was a murderer . All the more monstrous to learn that her own * 98 *

Vulture's Kiss murderer was her father . Yet she carried his genes, which caused the greatest revulsion of all; it was enough to make her crazy. She slammed the door in her mind on the thought of him and ruminated on the subject from another direction.

What was different now from every other day in the last two years when nothing had threatened them? What had happened at exactly the time of Yussif's death?

She almost braked when it came to her, when the full weight of the danger descended on her like a stone.

The Book.

Her manuscript had been accepted for publication only a week before the train explosion. The moment had come when the story of the gods would be told to the world. What's more, once the machinery of publication had begun, it would not be stopped. The electronic existence of the manuscript in half a dozen places ensured its safety . Even from "acts of God."

"Is that what you're worried about?" she shouted into the empty air. "You think my little adventure tale is going to lead to a wave of apostasy?" She laughed bitterly. "You snuffed out two beautiful spirits because you're afraid of me?"

The engine roared as she pushed the jeep as hard as it could go over the rocky ground. It was already evening. She had water and trail food and could drive all night. She had to get back and warn the others.

* 99 *

24.

Obedience From his vantage point, he watched the two men, the black one and the white one, emer ge from the hotel. As soon as they stepped into a taxi, he called another one over to the curb and followed them. They got out in front of some small church, and once they were inside, he stepped out of his taxi onto the street.

He was prepared to wait indefi nitely, but they emer ged again in less than an hour. They hailed another taxi, and when they were out of sight, he entered the church himself.

He walked along the side aisles until he found a good spot. Yes, he could stand here, in a straight line to the pulpit, and be concealed.

If the opportunity presented itself, he could move in close for a sure thing-but he could probably do it even from cover.

Satisfi ed, he returned to the center aisle at the front of the church and stood before the altar. It was a simple af fair, a block of hardwood with a white altar cloth and a plain meter -high bronze cross at the center.The purity and straightforwardness of it appealed to him. It wasn't the church in which he was raised, but in the semi-darkness, he defi nitely felt the Presence. It began as a pressure behind his eyes and a rushing in his ears. On an impulse, he knelt down and let the spirit settle over him. Then, as so often in his boyhood, he raised his hands and clasped them under his chin.

"Forgive me, Lord," he began, as he always had, enumerating his failures before making any requests. "I'm sorry, Lord, for what I did to that little girl, but I was only a child myself. And I'm sorry for any evil thoughts I might have had for my parents. I'm sorry for the animals I hurt, but you know that was my foolish anger."

His head began to ache. The pain started behind his eyes, then spread over the top of his skull. He moved his confession up in time.

"I beg forgiveness for my carelessness with my wife and children, and I accept their leaving me as my punishment. But you can see, Lord, I've given myself to a higher calling." The throbbing was severe now, * 100 *

Vulture's Kiss but he took it as a sign of the importance of the moment. God spoke to him through pain, and always he measured his suf fering against the agony of Christ; each shuddering wave that washed against his skull brought Him closer . Though he had begun his prayer sitting upright, like an altarboy, he had slowly curled over until he formed a tight ball of contrition.

Then the light appeared. The jagged psychedelic rings of lights in harsh colors fl ashed and sparkled around the emptiness in the middle.

He was blind now , but for a thin ring of vision on the periphery . He crawled toward the emptiness, the opening toward the infi nite, and groped along the edge of the altar cloth until he felt the metal base of the cross.

"Forgive me, Lord, for my weakness, for my doubts in You or in this mission. I have seen Your signs, and I know what I must do. I offer my life, my strength to You. For I was a shadow and now I am a man.

Guide my hand as I wipe out the abomination and make the world clean again for You."

The fl ashing neon rings stopped fi nally, and the pain subsided to a dull ache. He stood up from the altar , plucked his clammy shirt away from his skin, and exhaled slowly. His vision restored, he looked around the sanctuary once more and saw how the afternoon light had changed.

He had to take a shower, change his clothes again. The day's work wasn't fi nished. He ran his hand over his head, feeling that the headache was now gone, and his fi ngers lingered for a moment at the edge of his brow where he imagined once the crown of thorns had rested.

* 101 *