her that long. If he’d had a heartbeat, it would be thudding frantically in his chest. He struggled to calm himself. She wasn’t going to catch him. He was as safe as he could be nestled in the very heart of his enemy’s stronghold. Irakesh had reservations for the first time since he’d concocted this mad plan. Could it be done?
Such thoughts were useless. He was committed to this course now. If he failed, he’d die in the attempt and even if he somehow lived Ra would flay him alive as an example of those who failed her. A harsh mistress, his mother.
He padded silently on the supple soles of his boots, creeping to the doorway that led into the corridor beyond. All was dark out there, hardly a surprise given the sabotage he’d arranged just prior to the Ark’s internment. All sorts of systems would be failing, though he’d been excruciatingly careful to ensure that the rejuvenators were safe from his tampering.
Irakesh channeled a bit of energy to his eyes, drinking in the near darkness as if it were lit by the full moon. He crept down the corridor, straining for the faintest of sounds. There was nothing this far down. He was on the Ark’s nineteenth tier, a full eight tiers beneath the surface. Either Isis hadn’t made it down this far, or had sealed it off after her exploration. There was no movement, not even the air stirred.
He was completely sealed off. Had he needed to breathe such a thing would have been the end of him. Ptah’s shaping ensured that the Ark would see him as a champion, which would normally mean life support. Yet he’d blinded the sensors in this area, so the Ark had no idea that someone was alive down here.
Irakesh padded silently up the corridor, marveling at the fantastic hieroglyphs. They told a tale he was familiar with, that of Isis’s exodus from the Cradle. Yet there were many differences from the narrative Ra had circulated. These glyphs painted Isis as a savior of her people, the creator of champions who shielded the unblooded from the depredations of the evil deathless. How quaint. So near the truth and yet not.
He reached a wide stairwell leading to the next tier. Each step was a struggle, because they’d been created for the much larger champions. The males topped seven feet and the females were even larger. Most deathless, like him, retained a near human form. Some could reshape their bodies, though that was generally reserved for those much older than Irakesh and was a more permanent process.
A wide silver door blocked the corridor, set with the glyph meaning Ark. He hesitated before placing his hand on the warm metal. This was the moment of truth, the time during which he’d be discovered or would know that he was still cloaked by the shadows and by his subterfuge. When the door opened it would trigger an alert. Anyone linked to the Ark would know that he was moving down here. If that someone were Isis, then his very short life was about to end.
Irakesh pressed his palm into the silver, waiting an eternity as it opened. He blurred up the hallway, using some of his dwindling energy reserves to get some distance from the door. He stopped near a statue of Ka-Ket, the Mother’s favorite daughter. He’d never met her, but battle legends said she was an implacable foe. Often called Jes’Ka, or eater of death in the old tongue. She towered over him, spear held in both hands. Beautiful. He wished he could have met her in person.
He waited at her feet, listening for the sound that would herald his death. None came. Perhaps Isis had already departed and was securing the area. That had been the plan, after all. Something must be occupying her attention or she’d have felt his presence moving through the heart of her sanctuary and come to investigate.
Irakesh trotted silently down the corridor, taking the most direct route across this tier. He repeated this five more times, gliding through silent rooms that hadn’t known the sun in thirteen millennia. It was a tomb, this
Such thoughts were useless. He was committed to this course now. If he failed, he’d die in the attempt and even if he somehow lived Ra would flay him alive as an example of those who failed her. A harsh mistress, his mother.
He padded silently on the supple soles of his boots, creeping to the doorway that led into the corridor beyond. All was dark out there, hardly a surprise given the sabotage he’d arranged just prior to the Ark’s internment. All sorts of systems would be failing, though he’d been excruciatingly careful to ensure that the rejuvenators were safe from his tampering.
Irakesh channeled a bit of energy to his eyes, drinking in the near darkness as if it were lit by the full moon. He crept down the corridor, straining for the faintest of sounds. There was nothing this far down. He was on the Ark’s nineteenth tier, a full eight tiers beneath the surface. Either Isis hadn’t made it down this far, or had sealed it off after her exploration. There was no movement, not even the air stirred.
He was completely sealed off. Had he needed to breathe such a thing would have been the end of him. Ptah’s shaping ensured that the Ark would see him as a champion, which would normally mean life support. Yet he’d blinded the sensors in this area, so the Ark had no idea that someone was alive down here.
Irakesh padded silently up the corridor, marveling at the fantastic hieroglyphs. They told a tale he was familiar with, that of Isis’s exodus from the Cradle. Yet there were many differences from the narrative Ra had circulated. These glyphs painted Isis as a savior of her people, the creator of champions who shielded the unblooded from the depredations of the evil deathless. How quaint. So near the truth and yet not.
He reached a wide stairwell leading to the next tier. Each step was a struggle, because they’d been created for the much larger champions. The males topped seven feet and the females were even larger. Most deathless, like him, retained a near human form. Some could reshape their bodies, though that was generally reserved for those much older than Irakesh and was a more permanent process.
A wide silver door blocked the corridor, set with the glyph meaning Ark. He hesitated before placing his hand on the warm metal. This was the moment of truth, the time during which he’d be discovered or would know that he was still cloaked by the shadows and by his subterfuge. When the door opened it would trigger an alert. Anyone linked to the Ark would know that he was moving down here. If that someone were Isis, then his very short life was about to end.
Irakesh pressed his palm into the silver, waiting an eternity as it opened. He blurred up the hallway, using some of his dwindling energy reserves to get some distance from the door. He stopped near a statue of Ka-Ket, the Mother’s favorite daughter. He’d never met her, but battle legends said she was an implacable foe. Often called Jes’Ka, or eater of death in the old tongue. She towered over him, spear held in both hands. Beautiful. He wished he could have met her in person.
He waited at her feet, listening for the sound that would herald his death. None came. Perhaps Isis had already departed and was securing the area. That had been the plan, after all. Something must be occupying her attention or she’d have felt his presence moving through the heart of her sanctuary and come to investigate.
Irakesh trotted silently down the corridor, taking the most direct route across this tier. He repeated this five more times, gliding through silent rooms that hadn’t known the sun in thirteen millennia. It was a tomb, this
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