Curse of the Pharaohs by S.E. Lindberg

Those who reached my boundary, their seed is not; their hearts and their souls are finished forever and ever.

- Ramses III, Medinet Habu inscription, circa 1175 BCE

We hold, with Goethe, that “matter cannot exist and be operative without spirit, nor spirit without matter.”

- Ernst Haeckel, Riddle of the Universe, 1900 CE

“The pirates are diligent,” said the arisen Ramses II, arguably the most distinguished pharaoh of all. The frog roosting on his death mask croaked in support, aggravating the cankerworms networked about the helm’s serpent diadem. The other ten Ramses listened as he continued: “If they reach land, their curse will destroy it as surely as their homeland collapsed. We must remain vigilant, until Anubis judges us and releases us from this realm.”

Ramses VII, IX, and X simultaneously sighed. Where was Anubis, Operator of the Scale of Truths? How long must they wait for judgment?

An orange-red globe illuminated the city of Pi-Ramses, now in ruins along the eastern bank of Duat’s Nile Delta. Amber light reflected from the gilded funeral helms of eleven pharaohs, all Ramses by name, who sat atop a felled, colossal statue made in their honor. The monument was decapitated. All those who sat atop its length were similarly defaced, though perhaps to a lesser degree. Some entity had flayed their faces as they transitioned from life to death, laying vulnerable in sarcophagi. Too vain to show their deformities, they concealed their condition beneath funerary masks. Metal nemes sat stiffly on their shoulders; unmalleable, the blue-and-gold semblances of cloth headdresses limited their vision. Sharing a single name, the sacred ren of Ramses, across eleven pharaohs diluted their greatness.

“You need not rally me,” sighed Ramses III, second pharaoh of the Egypt’s Twentieth Dynasty, and that last to wield real power. “I have already vanquished them from the Nile’s mouth — ”

“ — and a good job we did,” said Ramses IX, eighth king of the Twentieth Dynasty. “We — ”

“ — rule over the Nile — ” said III.

“Yes I do,” Ramses II, most arrogant of all Ramses, punctuated the discussion, as he usually did. “The Sea Peoples are a barbaric, desperate bunch. They will never breach the rain of arrows, or the wall of soldiers along our shore.”

In Duat, this realm of the afterlife, the Vile Delta was not fertile. Here, the first plague under II’s rule persisted; but instead of water, blood flowed into the Mediterranean. The once verdant banks had spoiled, assuming the color of purple bruise. All vestiges of civilization eroded. If the Delta were the Nile’s mouth, as III described, then it vomited blood continuously; fragments of cyclopean statues emerged from sandbanks like broken teeth. The black, bacteria-laden water of the Delta no longer looked beautiful to anyone — except, perhaps, to a mad scientist enamored with the grotesque.

Duat was a strangely timeless realm, harboring afterlives from various centuries. Inhabitants did not age here, so the pharaohs outlived all monuments made in their honor. No food grew here, so the pleasures of wine were no longer. Regardless, the undying souls here needed neither food nor drink to sustain themselves. The Ramses ruled over desolation, which depressed their collective ego. They were perturbed for other reasons, too. Their arrest confirmed the ugly truth: a n entity more powerful than any pharaohs ruled over them. Something had flayed their faces before Carter freed them from their tombs. Something kept them here and mocked them. Their coffin scrolls did not explain their predicament or provide a solution — not Amduat, nor the Book of the Dead.

The pharaohs maintained dominion over their ushabti soldiers along the coastline, but they were not omnipotent. Despite the pharaohs’ status, no Ramses could reverse the spell on Duat’s Nile. Frustrated, they lost faith in their power. The fact several pharaohs existed simultaneously was bad enough; to be defaced was a worse insult. Osiris, mummified yet eternal overlord of Duat, and dog-headed Anubis were missing. The Ramses did not know how to direct their anger toward the yet-to-be-identified, supreme being who ruled over Duat. Instead, they directed their angst toward their common enemy, the Sea Peoples. They would be twice-damned if they let the Sea Peoples share or reign over the coast. Cursed as the Delta might be, the bloated, floating Sea Peoples lusted to claim it.

Thus the Sea Peoples waited offshore, safely out of arrow-shot. These pirates were sullen, desperate, and undying. Most sailors had drowned two thousand years ago in the Battle of the Delta, losing to Ramses III. After being pierced with arrows and pushed overboard with lances, the corpses resurfaced from the watery depths and began their watch over Duat. Some were still bobbing atop the never ending currents of the Great Green Sea amid the flotsam of their fragmented galleys. Others had climbed aboard barges and now stood as sentries, their bronze swords diseased and sprouting verdigris.

Like all the Ramses, their bodies of the Sea Peoples did not age either and required no sustenance. The powers of Duat sustained them all. Yet they still hungered for a home. They were fascinated with the Delta, or at least their perception of it, since they desired it despite its decay. The pirate fleet waited indefinitely for the Delta to become free from the pharaohs who refused to grant access. All gazed toward the shoreline, watching the pharaohs who’d conquered them of old as they maintained the control over this prized land.

It was a pathetic stalemate. Usually boring, too. No given day differed from its predecessor. The weather was predictably stagnant. The eerie red globe overhead never moved. On rare occasion, newly arrived visitors sparked curiosity and opportunity. Decades ago, a descendant of the Sea Peoples had joined their ranks: Queen Teuta of Illyria. In life, her pirating skills had plagued the Romans a thousand years after the Sea People drowned in that same sea. In Duat, she associated with her displaced Aegean and Adriatic ancestors. She rallied the pirates and attempted to storm the beach many times, but her attacks were easily withstood. This did not deter her, however — not then or now. She leaned over her galley’s prow, parallel to the carved avian figurehead, extending her crowned head over the water. Her bronze xiphos, the entire short sword lime-green from oxidation, remained poised to motion her navy forward at any moment. The anomaly on the beach excited her. Any hint of change promised a better future.

Hope came in the form of three alien figures: two men wore strange crowns not of Egyptian origin; the other scurried alongside on all fours. An endless row of Egyptian ushabti soldiers obscured Teuta’s line of sight. The sentries stood like a unified wall of metal; behind them stretched a row of archers. The Ramses watched the sandbank with equal interest from the opposite side: a man and his dog approached another man, on his knees and riffling through the sand. At least it appeared that way from the vantage of the pharaohs. None of the kings bestirred themselves from their shared, ruined throne to investigate.

“Father, those two strangers: Are they Sea People?” asked Ramses XI, youngest of the arisen pharaohs, his voice muffled by his death mask. The question was so distorted that several misheard and assumed their own sons had asked. Hence Ramses III, IV, VII, and X, all whom had named their sons Ramses after themselves, responded simultaneously in a garbled chorus that left Ramses XI confused.

Ramses III then addressed all: “The Sea People comprise many cultures, from the Aegean and Adriatic. But those two souls strolling the coastline are different. Do you not recognize Carter? His strange dress and alien hat give him away.” Distance and the underworld’s magical light made it difficult for them to make sense of the fedora’s silhouette.

“That is indeed Carter.” II confirmed.

“That one of the left? He exhumed us?” young XI asked, brushing locusts off his corselet and kilt. “Is he the one who took our faces? What does he lead? A jackal?”

Ramses II gasped. Then he clutched the Amduat scroll given to him by ‘The Howard Carter’ when he awoke. The funerary scroll said nothing of such a man welcoming the deceased to the afterlife. The scrolls indicated Osiris ruled Duat and that Anubis would weigh the hearts of all. Yet Osiris was absent. And Carter was no Anubis, although he did lead a hybrid jackal-man. Perhaps he controlled Anubis? Might their long-absent god be before them finally? If true, Anubis was leashed like a slave. Ramses II steered the conversation toward the new stranger. “We have never seen the other one, but he wears a cloth helmet too.”

Ramses III answered, “Whether he be thief or spirit-guide, that old man beside Carter carries little property. Nor does he consort with the pirates. The new one seems obsessed with examining debris.”

“He is a scribe or an artist. He was drawing before Carter interrupted him,” Ramses XI interjected. Then he voiced what they all feared: “Is that Anubis with them?”

None answered because they were too terrified to broach the subject aloud. None wanted to admit their ignorance, nor knew how to act. If Carter could control their god so easily, perhaps he was the one who flayed their faces. The Ramses were too ignorant to challenge the fedora-crowned being. They were certainly not prepared to confront the alien face-to-face. Unmoving, they quietly watched Carter lead the hybrid suspected of being Anubis.

*

Howard Carter, renowned discoverer of King Tutankhamun’s tomb, strode forward, his chin high. He led the quadruped by a leather rein. The leash was connected to a muzzle with a false beard. The bushy-mustached Carter addressed the other suited man, who likewise wore a bow tie and fedora. “Hello, sir, good day. Nice to see a fellow Caucasian gentleman here.”

The white-bearded man looked up, placing his drawing implements beside his brass, monocular microscope. Tipping his hat, he said, “I am Doctor Ernst Haeckel. I confirm we are both Homo mediterraneus. And you are?”

“In need of a cigarette, Doctor. There are few simple pleasures to enjoy here.” Too prideful to extend a hand in greeting, he kept one on the leash while his other stroked his vest’s inseam. He puffed out his chest. “Pardon, I thought my identity to be self-evident. I am Howard Carter. The Howard Carter. Archeology and antiquities are my specialty.”

“Oh, that Carter. I recall you started looking for a tomb, but never found it.”

“I did locate King Tutankhamun’s tomb. Soon after your death perhaps, since the whole living world knows my name. I am sure you would remember had you been alive at the time.” He relished his memory of discovery. “Ah, tomb number KV62. And you should note, Doctor Haeckel, that it was unperturbed!”

“Splendid. What did you do to said unperturbed tomb?”

“Opened it, of course!”

Confused, Haeckel went back to sifting the blood-soaked, purple sand. He found a ruby-colored cankerworm and placed it on his microscope, then looked through the lens before it could wiggle away. Face hovering above the microscope’s ocular, he asked, “Did you preserve or destroy it?”

“Don’t be foolish. I examined the tomb’s contents, of course. Some say it released a curse, though I was immune to such superstitions. I found many artifacts.” Sold several to local dealers, he thought to himself. “I have found it difficult to perform my trade since coming to Duat.”

“What is this ‘Duat’? Is it your employer’s acronym perchance? The Department of Underworld Antiquities or something?”

Carter smiled, “No, Doctor. It’s simply the Egyptian afterlife, wherein we find ourselves. Duat was coined by the natives long before we were born.” Haeckel listened while keeping his attention on the cankerworm, so Carter inquired, “Are you looking for something in particular?”

“I must finish my census of Mediterranean life. This coastline is overpopulated with locust nymphs and frog embryos, tadpoles and such.” Haeckel said. “These Schistocerca gregaria larvae look unique to me. It may be a new species. Do you happen to know anything about embryology or evolutionary theory?”

“I recall your scientific community does not take kindly to imagination.” Before Carter could expound on Haeckel’s controversial embryological data, long proven to be embellished with abundant artistic license, the bound quadruped suddenly began a snorting, which escalated into an awkward yelp: “Hap . . . hap . . . suuuuu!”

“Gesundheit!” Haeckel said, taking notice of Carter’s pet. The being was hunched over wearing some erotic, black leather corselet which left its buttocks exposed. It was forced into squatting since a lengthy wooden phallus protruded from its anus, no doubt some lodged sex toy. Tassels and buckles adorned the leather straps, indicating the device once had been worn by a partner. Projecting out his rear like a tail, the apparent quadruped resembled a jackal, especially since a faux beard attached to the leash’s muzzle had a canine snout. Haeckel inquired, “A human specimen? Are you expanding your interest beyond the artificial, and into the natural?”

“Ah, so you like what I found in KV60?” The reference confused Haeckel, so Carter explained, “My catalog number for the Valley of The Kings.”

“Mister Carter, I don’t know your catalog system — nor that specimen’s identity. You are sadistic to keep a human on a leash and torture him with that stick.”

“You misunderstand. I found him in this condition, chained to the brick walls with that phallus up his arse. Far be it from me to take something away from its proper owner.” Carter motioned to remove it, and the man whirled in a circle avoiding him. “See? He wants to keep it.”

Haeckel said, “Is that how the Egyptians buried their kings?”

“He is no king. He is the only non-royal I found. He must have died this way, perhaps a pharaoh’s masochistic lover. He does appear grateful that I freed his tether from the tomb, however. Interesting thing: He is well acquainted with architecture. Before leading me here, he sniffed out several buried sites which I am anxious to investigate further. I let him lead me for a time toward Nile’s end. To you, actually. Are you certain you do not recognize him?”

“Ja whol! I am certain. Does it . . . ” From his low vantage, Haeckel felt compelled to confirm the thing’s gender and thus peered beneath the specimen’s posterior. “Does he have a name?”

“Mutt . . . Mutt . . . ” the quadruped interposed, the bit of its leather bridle hindering speech.

“See, Doctor Haeckel, I fear this man now thinks himself a dog. Leashed as I had found him, preferring to crawl on all fours, then identifying himself as a mutt.”

“Is that all he says?”

Mutt spat, “Hap . . . hap . . . suuuuu!”

“Bless you, dear fellow! He does sneeze a lot,” Carter declared.

“Beneath that leather costume is a man. His hair, skin, and body shape indicate he is Homo mediterraneus: of the same race as you and I. The most advanced race, actually.” Haeckel became introspective. He switched his contemplations from the microscopic wonders to the macroscopic. He looked beyond the Egyptian ushabti toward the offshore soldiers. A vast fleet of warriors lined both port and starboard sides of the bird-headed warships. Clothed in kilts and corselets, they did not look much different than the Egyptians. Many wore horned helmets or bronze headbands; all had short, curly black hair. “Who are the floating folk?”

“They are Sea Peoples. Mere pirates, according to the pharaohs. I wager they desire a home more than plunder. Stay on this side of the shield wall and you should be alright.”

“And where are these pharaohs you speak of?”

Carter pointed toward the inland ruins. “Just the Ramses type. I cannot seem to find any others. The pharaohs watch the coastline intently.”

Haeckel asked, “Why do they not take off their masks?”

“They did not pass into death as whole as we did. I found their mummies already unwrapped, with faces flayed. Someone vandal had gotten to them first. I woke them all and welcomed them to Duat. Each was quick to don their ceremonial gold helms,” Carter explained. “They are stripped of identity. They rule over a continually dying land. No doubt, there is a curse amongst them — ”

“Are the pharaohs cursed? Or are the invaders from the sea?” Haeckel pondered, “Or are we, since we share their situation?”

“All mysteries remaining to be answered, Doctor.”

“Oh, I love riddles,” Haeckel said, trying to reconcile his evolutionary beliefs with this situation. He stood between two armies of the most advanced human type, the Mediterranean race. War was constant, even in the afterlife. Hell offered only one Delta, over which many souls contested. Perhaps all humans are cursed. A frog hopped by. Haeckel seized it, holding it up by one leg for inspection. “Lot of Batrachia here. In unprecedented numbers.”

“Ramses II’s tomb was full of them. They spread when I released his mummy from KV7.”

“This species is unique, Carter. The Royal Society will never believe what I find here without sufficient documentation. I must convince them.”

“Your scientific community is not here, and there is no way out of Duat.” Carter raised an eyebrow with a hint of hope. “You plan to return to ‘life’? Do you know a way?”

Haeckel yet struggled to solve the riddle of the afterlife. Duat could not be entirely closed. Bodies and souls had entered here — united in fact, so the dualists were wrong. “Certainly, all my hypothesis are as good as theories,” Haeckel affirmed aloud. “My faith in monism is reinforced here, since my body and soul remain united. Since I live again in the afterlife, why could I not return intact to the land of the living? What can enter, must be able to leave. Of course there is a way back.”

Musing, Carter stroked his vest. “Although we kept our souls, Doctor Haeckel, our bodies do not need to eat. We are different here. Does it not bother you, Doctor, that the orb overhead casts shadows for this frog specimen but not for you not for your body? Nor for mine?”

Haeckel returned his attention to the sand, noting how the frog’s silhouette hung suspended from thin air. “Heilige Scheisse!”

“Holy sheut, indeed,” Carter mistranslated Haeckel’s profanity. “Doctor, that is no ordinary sun. The hieroglyphs in the tombs explain that it is a circular window into the Lake of Fire. Shadows are cast onto earth’s living realm, not here.”

They turned their attention skyward, to gaze upon the orange-red orb. Beside them the quadruped stared and howled, “Hap . . . suuuuu!”

Carter, “Do you see that? Something fiery is emerging from the light.”

“It’s a bird,” Haeckel guessed, squinting.

“A plane?” surmised Carter.

Out of ear shot of the fedora-crowned men, eleven Ramses exclaimed, “Anubis’ barge! Ammit the Devourer comes.” The flight of the burning galley confirmed their shaken Egyptian faith. The pharaohs stood in salutation.

The spectacle demanded the attention of all; even their enemies looked up. The solar barge descended without oars, resting on the back of a chimera sailing atop an infernal plume. A living crocodile’s head adorned the ship’s bow, its hull propelled by a hind set of hippopotamus legs with lion legs at the fore. Ammit the Devourer emerged from the supernal fire, her nostrils flared with smoke as she exhaled plumes that fueled the ethereal, enflamed clouds on which she rode. Her maw bit at ostrich feathers that evaded her hot breath, floating as if tracking some invisible path, remaining barely out of reach — but always avoiding ignition. Ammit approached land so all could see that the galley upon her back held a humanoid woman. A lady with a conical crown stretched over the side, grasping at ostrich feathers.

Ammit landed on the purple beach in midstride, running along its shore, each footprint blazing. She halted and stood on her hippopotamus legs, rearing so her passenger could exit. Then Ammit burrowed into the bloody sand; her bed of flames went with her as she burrowed deeper into the underworld. In her wake a smoking cloud veiled the hedjet-crowned woman.

As the smoke of her passing dissipated, the leather-clad pharaoh strutted forward and bent to pick up the ostrich feathers.

The shield wall broke formation as the ushabti dropped their weapons to prostrate before her. A female pharaoh had been sent from the Eye of Ra! The woman placed the feathers into her hedjet, transforming her headdress into a proper Osirian atef. Thus mesmerized, the Egyptians did not observe Teuta signal her advance.

“Hap . . . suuuuu,” Mutt howled. He bolted forward abruptly to release himself from Carter’s grip. Mutt breached the line of ushabti, and galloped alongside the shoreline. He drooled as he advanced, anxious to lick her. Hatshepsut wore a bleached-leather cat suit which contrasted her bronze skin and black hair. Ebony kohl framed her eyes, underscored with green malachite liner.

Mutt met on her on the beach. He sniffed her groin with passion. She smelled of frankincense all over.

“Senenmut! My lover, my vizier, my architect!” Hatshepsut stroked Senenmut’s head until he calmed. Pressing her anterior against Mutt’s posterior, she strapped on the harness and then withdrew to unsheathe the wand. She stood proudly, feet widespread, outfitted as a king. “Were you bound for a long time? How did you find me?”

*

Now able to stand erect, Senenmut stretched his hips and exercised his mouth. “Forever it seems, dear Hat. Anubis woke me from my tomb in Djeser-Djeseru. He determined that I was your lover and claimed that you were missing. Then he left me chained to the wall until your return. Recently, an idiot exhumed our temple” — he pointed toward the fedora-crowned Carter — “and he freed me from the wall. But he kept me tethered. My dominator walked me on a leash, allowing me limited freedom, and himself less since he would not unhand my leash. I dragged him around the temple grounds, but you were not there. So I pulled him to all our favorite places, heading down the length of the Nile to its end . . .”

“. . . to find me,” Hatshepsut pet his head again. “A confluence of events is upon us. We must act timely. Where is Anubis now?”

“I do not know. I have not seen him, nor anything other than my prison, for centuries. If he weighed my heart now it would be found to be heavy with happiness, my love.” Senenmut whimpered and nuzzled his cheek against her shoulder. “I have missed you immeasurably. Where have you been?”

“In a different plane of the afterlife. In a Roman villa, the palace of Julius Caesar. That refuge in hell was destroyed by a conflagration. The event transported me here.”

“Well, this realm is no paradise. All suffer here. Even our everlasting monuments crumble. I fear there is no deeper hell than Duat.”

Hatshepsut stroked her atef’s feathers. “It is clear. These are Maat’s feathers, laid out before Ammit to show a path. My flight here was orchestrated. Anubis expects me. I am here to be judged.”

“But Ammit crawled beneath the sand like a crab. There is no trace of her path. No way to follow.”

“Senenmut, we must find a way to the Hall of Two Truths. Come,” Her slender hand grabbed his and she led him inland.

*

“Our gods do exist. Certainly that was Ammit!” Ramses II spoke. The gilded-helmed kings were suddenly relieved, their faith affirmed. Momentarily they overlooked the threat of the Sea Peoples’ advance. Collectively they monitored the location of Ammit’s departure. The Delta’s edge was a soup of blood, sand, and fire. Lower Egypt was rapidly liquefying. The statue that served as a throne shifted slightly as the land under Pi-Ramses city softened.

“Why would Ammit run away from Anubis?” asked the confused Ramses XI.

Ramses II clarified: “You are correct, in that the funerary texts indicate that Anubis and Ammit work together. But long has Anubis been absent from us. Carter led only a man dressed as a jackal. That travesty was not Anubis.”

Ramses XI voiced the question all wanted to ask: “Where is he?”

“Ammit did not carry him. She departed as quickly as she arrived, leaving us a woman instead of Anubis.”

“A pharaoh with a face.” Ramses XI coveted Hatshepsut’s healthy skin and the lengthy, ebony hair mantling her atef. “Should we welcome her?”

A stream emerged from under the headless Ramses statue, expanding into a shallow river that wound its way north. “Ammit comes to deliver us a woman? Not Osiris, nor Anubis, but a woman with a face? The Book of the Dead did not predict this fate. Amduat mentioned nothing of these events. These are useless.” Ramses II, losing faith again, crumpled his funerary scrolls and tossed them into the water. “The Sea Peoples will welcome her first . . .” Ramses II said. “And the Lake of Fire will consume her.”

*

Hatshepsut had taken only a few strides when the Sea Peoples arrived, cloaked in a fog of condensing steam. These invaders beached on the sandbank and approached. Behind them, tall wooden effigies of eagles pierced the enshrouding fog — their galleys’ figureheads. Frogs and locusts scattered in the waves before ships that came ashore as a unified front.

The pirates emptied onto the flooded sandbar, enveloped in bloody water which boiled on contact. Many made it to shallow banks, their feet sizzling. The banks of the Nile grew hotter and receded from the cursed Sea Peoples’ feet. The farther they advanced, the more the coast became tumultuous, reacting to their curse. In life, earthquakes and cataclysm had driven the Sea Peoples from continental Europe. In Duat, the only accessible land remaining was Egypt, but the invaders were never meant to leave the Great Green.

The prostrated ushabti were slow to rise from their prayers. Egyptian soldiers released arrows blindly into the fog. Reinforcements were too far away to protect the Nile’s edge or the pharaohs. Fighting began in the shallow waters, though few from afar could see the battle joined.

Verdigris swords and round shields surged against a muddied wall of rectangular Egyptian shields. Swords clanged all around. Sparks flew, and wherever those sparks touched warriors, the aggressors burst into flame. Screams and war cries rent the air.

This clangor was first drowned out by the throes of battle brought to Duat’s shores by the hopeful, homeless invaders; then by those dying in the melee; and at last by those catching fire as they fell. When burning bodies touched the shore, the sands themselves ignited. Beds of flames blanketed dry and wet sand alike. Flaming tongues coexisted with water splashes. Magic was at play.

Queen Teuta spearheaded her navy, heading directly to the stranger who had sailed the sky. Propelled by hope and anger, she would set foot on land at any cost, however temporarily. Sloshing forward, crimson water soaking her breast, Teuta challenged Hatshepsut with her xiphos: “Bearded woman, identify yourself as friend or foe to me, Queen Teuta of Illyria, leader of my arisen ancestors.”

Hatshepsut stood arms akimbo, her phallus extended toward Teuta and shouted, “I am Hatshepsut, the King Herself! Lower that blade, pirate, and head back into the sea where you belong.”

Teuta answered with a shrieking war cry, lunging across the sandbank. Yet the sea followed fast to reclaim her. The seashore sank under each step, slowing her. Her legs burnt as sand ignited upon contact with her flesh. She took long strides to hasten her advance and outrun the pain. Yet the spontaneous combustion of flesh and sand was inescapable.

Senenmut and Hatshepsut retreated. Where footing was surer, they back peddled faster.

The faster the Egyptians retreated, the faster did Teuta advance. But the pirate queen quickly tired of fighting the elements, gasping for breath.

Hatshepsut jibed, “Look at you! You are cursed, pirate queen. Each step you take brings the Lake of Fire to the surface.”

Teuta’s cheeks burned with hatred as she battled this grim reality. The Sea Peoples would never again live on the lands of Egypt. Desperate to test the curse again, hope emboldening her, Hatshepsut plodded forward. reaffirming the potency of an age-old curse — even in the underworlds.

Cursed, stricken, and exhausted, Teuta fell to her knees. But the sands of Duat would not hold her; quickening, they sought to swallow her whole. As Teuta was sucked deeper in blood-red quicksand, orange flames crawled over her appendages.

All around the Illyrians, the Nile Delta melted into a slurry of land, offal, blood, and ruins as from Teuta’s throat, anguish issued until it was choked, until her her head disappeared beneath the ruddy sands . . .

*

Along the tidewater, Haeckel scrambled frantically after his documentation as the lost sheets departed on foaming waves like tideland at a flood tide. With those sheets, floating away, went his hopes of validating his claims, restoring his reputation. He had already given up on rescuing his microscope, lost beneath the rising waters. Haeckel exclaimed: “My research! Carter, hurry. Help me. Egypt sinks with Lemuria!”

As the scientist dashed frantically about, Carter stood still, nonplused. “Doctor, there is no archeological evidence for Lemuria.”

“Do not be so naïve, of course Lemuria existed. Man originated there! All twelve human races evolved from that continent adjacent to Africa and Asia. The Indian Ocean flooded it, just as Egypt sinks now. We must reclaim my drawings.” Haeckel ignored the distant sounds of battle, immaterial to his chances of recovering his pages.

The Mediterranean Sea rapidly rose above their knees. Carter lifted his hat, wiped his sweaty brow with a forearm, and called, “Doctor, my suit is getting ruined. It’s time to abandon the search.” To illustrate, Carter turned on his heel and trudged southward.

With the incoming tide, the beach was inundated. Knee deep in muck, Haeckel assented. Sloshing inland, he spotted a vile flocculate floating toward him. “Was gibt es?” From the mass of bloated, dead frogs he retrieved two crumpled scrolls. “Look! I found some papers. Not mine, alas. These are hieroglyphic texts.”

“This way, Doctor. We can examine them from the safety of this islet.” Carter reached the refuge of an emerging land mass. Sand eroded quickly from around some angular architecture. A swarm of locusts flew past, headed toward the battle as the frogs retreated from it. Haeckel navigated these grotesque mobs and eventually caught up to the archeologist. “Gentleman Carter, you have found quite the oasis. Can you interpret these?”

Carter rested, puffing hard, arms on his knees and butt on the ground. He took the papyrus Haeckel held out to him. “Yes. One is the common Book of the Dead which is in all tombs, and the second the Amduat, a funerary text made only for pharaohs. The first illustrates Anubis, the humanoid god with a jackal head, weighing the hearts of those deceased against the feather of Maat. The ritual determines the way of transcendence. Sinners die a second death, their hearts devoured by Ammit the Devourer in the Lake of Fire. The righteous are led to the verdant Sekhet Aaru Delta.”

Haeckel mused aloud, “Ammit is an animal?”

“She is a demon made of crocodile, lion, and hippopotamus parts.” An axon fired suddenly in his frontal lobe. “Doctor Haeckel, I believe we may have just glimpsed her fall from the sky.”

Haeckel believed in rational ecology, not angels or demons, so he could not accept that comment unscrutinized. “That specimen was too far away to see clearly, and is already out of sight. Unfortunately these cataclysm conditions prevented me from documenting it. Anyway, Mister Carter, please explain maat. Is it a bird?”

“Maat is the ancient Egyptian personification of the concept of truth, justice, and order. It is represented by an ostrich feather, and an associated goddess named the same.”

“Interesting. Ostriches were quite rare in Africa, during our first lifetime. However, the red necked variety, the Struthio camelus were common once. Natural selection can be brutal. Have you seen any ostriches in Duat?”

Carter shook his head no. “Nor have I found justice here.”

“Agreed. I fear our suits are indeed ruined.” Haeckel stood to brush sand off his muddy, blood-soaked apparel. Swatting a locust from his white beard, he adjusted his bow tie and gazed upon the oasis they rested upon. “Amazing. I think we may have some maat, after all. You are sitting on a depiction of Anubis right now.”

In an instant, Carter began unearthing the site. Haeckel used his suit-coat to sweep aside sand. A flat, decorated slab lay revealed. Carter’s eyes sparkled, “This is the first intact site I’ve found in Duat. It may contain untold riches. Perhaps the god Anubis.”

“There are no real gods,” Haeckel argued. “Those pharaohs deemed themselves godlike, but they looked very human to me. Gods are just vertebrates.”

Grime filled the grooves of an elaborate mural. Even before the slab lay entirely revealed, Carter took a small chisel and hammer from his coat pocket. With them, he meticulously engraved the code into an undecorated section of the sandstone: HC-LG-DD-01.

“What are you doing? Dare you deface this monument?” Haeckel inquired.

“I mark the site.”

“Is the ‘H’ for Haeckel, and ‘C’ for Carter?”

Howard puffed out his chest, then issued guttural fanfare to clear his throat. “Nay, ‘H’ is for Howard. The marking reads as: Howard Carter; Lower Egypt; Duat Delta; Zero, One. Of course, archeology is my expertise. Ecology is yours. Certainly if you discover a new species today you would name it after yourself?” His sudden stare brooked no argument. “Now let us clear the entire door.”

Haeckel smiled. Since he had coined the term ‘ecology,’ he had been considering names for Duat’s locust larvae. He shrugged his shoulders and got to work. Soon the entire feature was revealed: a round threshold four yards in diameter. In relief he saw Anubis’ scale and spherical gateways beneath each side — identical to the images in the Book of the Dead.

“Holy sheut!” Carter exclaimed, “I found Anubis’ sanctuary!”

“Achtung! We found a way out of this hell!” exclaimed the Doctor, jumping to conclusions as he was prone to do. His claim cutting the air like lightning.

*

Unable to overcome the elements, Teuta frothed as if rabid. With her bulging eyes she issued a challenge to the beautiful pharaoh. Teuta was a trained warrior, but her people’s curse handicapped her. She could not walk, let alone maneuver tactically. She sank into the blistering sand until her hands, pressed against the yielding beach for support, become entrapped there.

Hatshepsut kneeled, curled her hands about Teuta’s throat, and lifted her up.

For the Queen of Illyria, the sensation of burning was replaced by asphyxiation. Hatshepsut held her, levitated. Teuta’s crown fell off. Water swept it out to sea, as it had claimed her bronze sword. Her face swelled. Sooty mud dripped from her onto the pharaoh’s forearms. So did tears of anger.

The King Herself was not filled with battle frenzy like Teuta’s. Instead, she was cautious, keenly aware of her own predicament: she dreaded being permanently arrested in Duat.

“Awaken, my King!” Senenmut heeled beside his love. “Dear Hat, the Ramses have all moved off their throne. I beg you, throw this conquest back into the sea and be done with her. The alien idiots must have found the Hall of Truths.”

The bearded pharaoh heeded Senemut, whose counsel she’d always prized. She heaved the body, sending Teuta into a pool that instantly burst into flame. Limbs of sand and fire dragged the Illyrian under the surface. The Lake of Fire sought to drown her. Perhaps it would. For a while.

All around, ushabti and Sea Peoples fought, while the Delta receded. None could permanently kill another. All tried, nonetheless. Duat sustained them only to prolong their pain. Weapons sank. Dismembered limbs floated. Frogs croaked dirges from resurfaced obelisks, risen from untold depths.

*

Senenmut and Hatshepsut ran toward the islet where the other pharaohs were converging. Ahead of them ran eleven helmed Ramses in a line. They gathered about the two fedora-crowned foreigners faster than the doctor could account for them. “How many god-damned Ramses are there?” Haeckel swore.

The Ramses circled around the threshold and argued over how to open it. All were too focused on the construct to welcome another pharaoh, until her phallus accidentally prodded young Ramses XI., who then eyed Hatshepsut with interest.

Hatshepsut’s unblemished skin was exposed, and she wore the white crown of Upper Egypt. She had not been mutilated like the Ramses had. Not yet, anyway. Perhaps when her face was flayed, the Ramses would learn who was responsible for defacing them.

Carter welcomed his recent acquaintance and bearded friend: “Mutt, you have returned! Splendid. And who is this man you bring before us?”

Hatshepsut declared, “I am the King Herself and this is my lover Senenmut.”

“Senenmut, the master builder of Karnak’s obelisks and Hatshepsut’s temple at Deir el-Bahri?” Carter scoffed. “His body should have been entombed in TT353, or perhaps TT71. Both were empty, and I found your steward tied up in — the place he last satisfied me,” interrupted Hatshepsut.

Carter finally understood who stood before him, and his left eyebrow raised. “But Queen . . . King Hatshepsut, your sarcophagus in KV20 was empty too. Where have you been?” She ignored him, turning rapidly away to join the others. Carter retreated from the swinging phallus, proudly seeking attention. “I found Anubis’ temple. We were about to open this slab, you see — ”

“This is a false door.” Senenmut examined the bas-reliefs and architecture. “Yet this is the authentic Hall of Two Truths. The genuine entrance is near.” The crowd allowed him space to study the riddle. Smelling, feeling, and reading the reliefs, Senenmut examined the construct.

“All, I issue a fair warning from an experienced expert,” Howard pontificated, working his way to the center. “When you find the door, enter carefully lest you release . . . oops pardon,” Ramses II pushed him backward “. . . see here . . . I have explored sacred buildings before . . . there are certain curses to be wary of and to which, of course, I am immune, but . . .”

“Achtung!” Haeckel jerked Carter out of Senenmut’s way, “You are fascinated with this ancient site, and your eyes miss the emotion of the living beings around you. Can you not see their postures? Even masked, I feel the intensity of their gazes. Stand not in the way of a hungry pack of wolves.”

Hatshepsut asserted, “A better future lies therein for all of us. Anubis can judge us, assess our greatness, and deliver us to better realms. To other hells better than this.”

Her brethren considered her words. She had come from the Eye of Ra on Ammit’s back. Perhaps the scrolls were correct, and Anubis did exist. Perhaps they could regain the skin of their faces, or leave Duat. Hope lay beyond that door. If only they could find Anubis.

The isle rumbled as a plume of dust dissipated. All gasped. A rectangular niche opened, gaping, before Senenmut. He had opened the genuine door. The threshold offered a steep ramp into darkness. All pharaohs paused to weigh their options: turn back and protect a delta that would never thrive again? or forfeit the land to those who would utterly destroy it and gamble with whatever was inside this mysterious shrine? The Hall of True Truths awaited them, but which truth would they find?

Ramses II entered first. Edging his less decisive namesakes aside, he strode into the yawning cavity. His head descended as he followed the descending ramp below. The other kings followed. Haeckel and Carter surveyed their surroundings one last time. Volcanos had emerged in the Mediterranean Sea. The edge of the Nile Delta was now miles southeast from where it was this morning. The waterline was inching upward fast. At this rate, the isle itself may be underwater in hours. Tidal waves of vile cruor crashed against the island to motivate them. Locusts and frogs sought sanctuary here, competing for space.

“Fame and glory await us below, Doctor.”

“Ja, new species await discovery,” Haeckel added while entering the earth.

*

Anubis, the Embalmer and Operator of the Scale of Truths, awaited them at the base of the ramp. Behind him stretched a corridor lined with braziers. His jackal face capped a human body, nearly nine feet tall. His broad, naked chest was black as basalt. A pectoral of faience beads collared his neck.  His lower torso covered with a shendyt of human skin. Embalming blades and spoon-shaped peseshkaf knifes depended from his corselet like jewelry. A khopesh tailored for flaying rested in his right hand; his left held an adze.

“He is black skinned, but he is no Negro, Nubian, Kaffir, nor Bottentote. He cannot be descended from Lemuria,” Haeckel whispered. “He is a mix of canine and man. He is—”

“ — Anubis,” Carter finished. “A god.”

“God?” Haeckel slid behind the archeologist. Anubis was no mere monster, like the crocodile creature from the sky was assumed to be. This hybrid was a sentient, impressive being. It was distinctly inhuman. However, there were no gods in Haeckel’s taxonomy or monistic beliefs. He mumbled to himself dealing with his denial.

“You are real,” Ramses II affirmed his own faith.

Anubis held his khopesh high to gather attention. Then he barked, “Form a line.”

All the Ramses jockeyed for position. Self-assembling in order of perceived greatness, they continuously rearranged. Hatshepsut and Senenmut were anxious but not stupid enough to anger Anubis. They chose the end of the line. Senenmut stood obediently behind his lover. Meanwhile the Ramses eventually queued in numerical order, Ramses I through XI. As Anubis prepared to give a subsequent order, Ramses II abruptly usurped the first position. Anubis looked questioningly at him.

“I am Ramses the Great,” He declared, oblivious to the crawling cankerworms on his mask. “The greatest of all.”

Anubis countered, “Greater than me?”

“We pharaohs before you are all sons of Ra, but I am the greatest among those. I am your equal under Osiris.”

“If Osiris ruled Duat, its Nile Delta would still be green with vegetation,” Anubis growled. “Osiris is not my superior now. And,” he indicated to his kilt with his bladed utensils, “I am greater than you.”

Ramses II observed the shendyt. It comprised many flayed faces eerily shadowed with torchlight. His own eyeless, flayed visage returned a blank stare from the hybrid’s beltline. Terror robbed the pharaoh’s ability to speak. He had learned who had defaced him. His vision dared not raise to meet the canine’s eyes, so he stood dumbfounded until the glare of a sharp adze positioned before him.

Anubis addressed the line, “Now remove your headdresses. Show your true faces, else you cannot enter the Hall of Two Truths.”

Ramses II obeyed first, then ten others followed his example. The torchlight did little to warm their scarred faces. Anubis inspected the line walking parallel to it. Each Ramses soon realized that he was the one who flayed them. Anubis did exist, so the funerary texts were correct. Yet it seemed he had already judged them. Anubis finally reached Hatshepsut. He teased her flush cheek with his flaying knife. “Take off your beard and crown.” Anubis retrieved the ostrich feathers from Hatshepsut’s atef, “I’ll need these.” He looked past Senenmut and glowered at the two alien figures trailing. It took a moment for them to realize that their hats were unwelcome. Carter and Howard tossed them aside. All heads now exposed, they were ready.

“Follow me.” The orderly line trailed him down the corridor.

“Doctor, we may have an opportunity here,” Carter said, eyeing the discarded treasure. “The Sea People would pay a great price for those.”

The group walked down a ramp until they entered a domed room whose width seemed to have no measure. The ceiling raised just within the reach of firelight that emitted from the Hall’s floor. The fire pit was a single, enormous hole, perfectly circular, ringed with a marble carving of Apep consuming its own tail. A wooden plank extended across, like a thin bridge.

“You have arrived at the Hall of the Two Truths,” Anubis’ voice boomed. “The portal before you hangs over the shoreline of two opposing realms: the Lake of Fire and the Sekhet Aaru Delta. It is the only way out of this realm.”

Ramses III inquired, “I see no scale. How will you weigh our hearts against the feather of Maat?”

“You will each weigh your own life as you walk a plank that extends across the portal. Your body is your scale. One hand will hold your heart. The other, the feather of Maat. If your heart is heavy with injustice, you will fall into the Lake of Fire.”

“Ramses II, come forward.” With an adze hooked over Ramses’ shoulder to counterbalance, Anubis used a peseshkaf knife to bore into Ramses’ ribcage. In seconds he removed the organ and qualitatively weighed it. “Your heart is like lead. You taunted Yahweh, and invited his wrath against Egypt. You corrupted the Nile, brought the cursed frogs and locusts and the deaths of many firstborn sons. You lied about what occurred during the Battle of Khadesh. You recently lost faith in the sacred texts. You will have a tough trial. Now extend your arms.”

The defaced Ramses II dreamed of countering with proud words, but still could not speak. His chest bled slowly and ached terribly as his left hand was given the heart. The arm tilted instantly. His heart cooled in his palm. A cold sweat emptied from every pore and worsened his wet grip. Finally, Anubis placed a feather into his right hand and pushed him forward.

Ramses the Great stepped over the serpentine, marble sill onto the timber plank. Heat bathed his chilling body. Stepping forward, he suddenly fell to one knee – drawn by a force greater than gravity. From this lowly vantage, he could see the underside of Pi-Ramses; bodies of Sea People plummeted through the land and fell into the Lake of Fire. He tried to lean toward the right side of the plank so that he could fall toward Aaru where baboons scampered amongst the reeds, but his body did not comply. Ammit’s solar barge waded in flames, positioning herself below him. If he stayed on this plank, he would fall into the fire. Time was critical. His fate over this portal was unavoidable. There was only one option. He reversed his course and darted off the timber.

Anubis was quick with his khopesh, slicing Ramses right leg. All watched in horror as the god butchered the pharaoh. Not one dared move or comment as Ramses’ dismembered body was scooped into canopic jars. Anubis dropped the jars to Ammit, collected the bloody feather, and addressed the remaining participants. “Next.”

The next ten experienced the ritual, filling deck on Ammit with Ramses. Every time one fell, the ostrich feather would take flight under sudden wind to return to Anubis. From below, they shouted in unison, “We need our hearts put back.”

Anubis shrugged, “Not my problem. Satan’s Undertaker may fix that. Ammit will take you to him soon. Now, Hatshepsut. Come forward.”

The King Herself strode forward, arms outstretched, with her phallus proudly extended. “I am ready.”

Anubis retrieved her heart and whispered in her ear, “So confident? You kept the rightful pharaoh away from the throne for far too long. You, like the other pharaohs serve only to maintain dominance over others. You had been judged once already upon your death, and thought to escape punishment. Satan allowed you to leave hell only to assist in ending the stalemate in Duat. Do not expect your next stay to be as pleasant as your last.”

Her heart weighed her downward into the blaze toward her left. She was several yards out on the plank when she faltered. She collapsed on the beam, snapping the phallus. Flames licked her ankles. Smoke asphyxiated her. She grew just as listless as the pirate queen had on the beach. And she began to burn. Senenmut raced onto the narrow plank, placing his left hand on hers to support her heavy heart. She turned her head to see his face, and saw her lover tearing with desperate eyes . . . and she saw a hulking shadow advance to slip a blade through his chest. Senemut’s heart burst forth, launched toward Ammit’s hungry mouth. Lurching to retrieve it together, the bound lovers fell onto the deck.

Carter tapped Haeckel on the shoulder, and the two nonchalantly retreated toward the entrance ramp.

“Stop.”

The bow-tie duo halted. Carter said, “Truly a fascinating ritual you have for your fellow Egyptians. We’ll be going out from whence we came.”

“You shall be judged.”

Carter objected, “No offense, but we believe in different god.”

“No god, preferably,” Haeckel said.

“Regardless, you remain in my jurisdiction,” Anubis said.

“Will you not judge the Sea People first? They are more deserving for sure.”

“You entered the Hall of Two Truths. You must be judged. Why else would be here? To steal?”

This shut Carter down. Haeckel begged, “Of course hearts weight more than feathers. We have no chance! Let us go. There is no need to add us to that unholy fire. Surely we are not as bad as pharaohs?”

“If only you could see the effects of your actions. Your ill-derived conclusions about mankind would corrupt evolutionary theory. Your beauteous art will forever be overshadowed by a philosophy that evolved into social Darwinism. Past your death, that evil would inspire the Holocaust.” Haeckel was unware of what event he referred to, and protested his innocence. With weapons raised, Anubis directed Haeckel and Carter to the plank. “Tomb raider and instigator, you have a chance to prove your worth. Come, judge your own hearts . . .”

*

The Mediterranean Sea and the Lake of Fire had enveloped the Nile Delta. The city of Pi-Ramses was no longer whole in Duat. The pirates gained no claim over the land.  Rather it became a burning soup streaked with cuprous green. The enflamed slurry churned with fragments of wreckage, spears, and broken bodies. Some supernatural force still sustained their state of living. Frogs roosted from risen obelisks, and locust swarms floated by as noisy, low-hanging clouds. Queen Teuta’s body was out there somewhere, floating in this Lake of Fire with her fellow Sea People. Lower Egypt was lost to everyone in timeless Duat.

Away from this vile delta, Ammit swam her galley toward another realm of hell. On her stern, Haeckel stared toward the fluid, orange horizon. He held his heart in his hand like the others, questioning why he still remained animated. In the distance he made out a large island, nay a continent. They drifted closer. Eventually, they could see monkey men gathering to observe their ship. This brief observation was good enough to affirm Haeckel’s beliefs. “Look Carter, Lemuria, the origin of man, is here!”

“What does it mean?” Carter considered, stroking his mustache. “The origin of man is in hell?”

Haeckel contemplated. “It means the curse of the pharaohs is merely an extension mankind’s curse. We are all doomed.”