‘Like balancing it, I suppose, right?’
‘Right.’ He’d nodded in agreement.
I’d produced the Alchemist card from my pack, slipping the Hermit back into place.
‘The balance between the physical and spiritual self.’
He’d nodded again, interested. He’d taken the card, studied it.
The falcon headed Horus, son of Osiris and Isis, is fighting the donkey-headed Set. A representation of the unification from within, the tempering of bad traits with the good.
‘Perfect,’ he’d said, smiling with satisfaction as he’d handed the card back. ‘So we give it another go, right?’
I still had a chance to back out at this point,
But it wasn’t a bad card. Sure, there was Set once more; but so was Horus, taking him on.
And if everything that I’d thought had happened hadn’t really happened – well, what could go wrong anyway?
Even so, I think I must be crazy – clearly stupid – for agreeing to go ahead with all this once more.
*
‘Why did your ancestor think people were misusing witchcraft?’
As we prepare everything in the darkened room once more, I try to keep my nerves under control by talking as continuously as I can to Dean.
‘By that question, I take it that you don’t see anything wrong with witchcraft itself; just how people use it?’
‘Well, isn’t that the case?’
‘Sure, to some extent, yes; but at best, people use it make up for a lack of their own more natural abilities, don’t they? To give themselves an unfair advantage over others.’
I nod.
‘I suppose you could see it that way, yes. But then would you have to include those things we use today to improve or help our looks, or what have you – none of which we can accurately describe as perfectly natural. And in one of Horus’s famous challenges to Set, in which they were supposed to race in boats of stone, Horus cheated by having a boat of wood painted to look like stone.’
‘It comes down to a certain line, obviously. We all want short cuts to attaining either riches or skills, don’t we? Whether it’s playing a musical instrument – or hoping to see what the future holds for us?’
He looks my way, grins mischievously.
‘So, are you implying this ancestor might declare me a witch?’ I ask only half-jokingly.
‘If he’s getting a little pedantic about it all, even his own systems – this diagram, for instance – falls into being a kind of witchcraft, doesn’t it?’
‘Perhaps our choice of card is better than we thought then; it must’ve been quite a struggle for him, reconciling all these conflicting ideas.’
He nods grimly, like he agrees. Like he’s beginning to wonder himself if we’re doing the right thing.
‘No heading off to check on any noises this time, okay,’ I say to him finally as, the candles all lit, I sit on the cushion placed in front of the mirror.
I place the card, the Alchemist, down on the floor in front of me, thinking only of this ancestor of Dean’s, what he must have been like, what struggles in his own life he might have faced.
In the mirror, a man with the head of a falcon begins to appear.
I sigh with relief; at last, we seem to have gained some control over this whole weird operation.
He glows, with the light of the sun. Horus was god of the sky, including the sun and moon, which were his eyes, one of which had been damaged in a battle with Set and replaced by the moon god Khonsu.
The glow shines brighter and brighter. It’s almost as if I have, by mistake, at last called forth Ra, the Sun. He too had the head of a falcon.
Alongside him, Set begins to form. But here something is wrong; for he’s not appearing as a donkey-headed man but in his incarnation as the vast, endlessly coiling serpent Apep – Lord of Chaos, spirit of evil, darkness and destruction.
I glance down at the card I’d placed in front of me.
It’s not the Alchemist.
It’s the Devil!
*
Chapter 20
But how…?
Did I deal out the wrong card by mistake?
I’d based the Devil card on the temple illustration, rather than simply using Set himself – portraying the daily battle between Ra and Apep, World Encircler and opponent of the justice, order and truth of Ma'at.
I’m already rising from the pillow. But Apep suddenly springs forward, writhing out of the mirror like an out of control tube train.
I duck, intending to let his body swoop harmlessly over me. Yet even a glancing blow sends me rolling across the floor.
‘Don’t let him look at you!’ I scream out in warning to Dean, recalling the Coffin Texts’ descriptions of Apep using a magical gaze to briefly overcome Ra and his followers.
Dean, like me, has dived to the floor, covering his head as first plaster then bricks begin to fall about him.
Apep isn’t wasting time trying to gaze at anyone anyway. He’s coiling back, preparing to strike, his seemingly endlessly extending body having already crashed through the walls of the room, the walls of the house.
Everything around us is shattering. Timbers, floorboards, bricks and windows. The ceilings, no longer fully supported, are wobbling, gradually collapsing.
And yet most of his body remains within the mirror, brightly lit by a Ra who doesn’t seem to be making any attempt to hold back Apep today. The coils keep on coming, swirling out from between the frame’s sides at colossal speed.
The great, hissing head plunges back towards me, the venomous tongue striking out before it. I roll aside yet again, the floor giving way beneath me as more of the house collapses.
I catch a glimpse of Dean, clinging on to a broken spar, using what little grip he has to clamber back up into a safer position. But the whirling coils hurtling along behind the serpent’s head smash through yet more of the house, sending up a shower of massive splinters, causing the floors and walls to shake and crumble all the more.
Dean slips towards the end of the spar, makes a last desperate clutching for a hold – then drops, plummeting towards the lower floors.
*
I could scream out – but what’s the point?
I need to defeat Apep; then I can check that Dean’s survived the fall.
As Apep prepares for another attack, looping his great body around in the air above me – having crashed through yet another set of walls – I reach out for the cords of a pair of fallen drapes.
I don’t know why. I’ve no idea how they can help.
I begin to quickly tie the cords into a knot, while keeping an eye on Apep’s head as he swings in for another attack.
I recognise the knot I’m tying; it’s the Knot of Isis, or Tyet. It’s an aid for driving off anyone meaning you harm – though how it’s supposed to work here, I’m not sure.
Surely it isn’t going to tie Apep into a huge knot?
I leap out of the way of the oncoming serpent’s head; but it’s all a feint. All the time, he’s been drawing his coils around me. Now they abruptly snap tight around me, trapping me, threatening to snap my spine, or crush the life out of me.
I finish the knot. And the mirror splinters with a loud crack, the top section of glass crashing down like a guillotine.
It severs completely the serpentine body still lying between the frame’s edges. Apep screeches, either in surprise or agony or both, I’m not sure; I’ve never heard a shriek like that before.
The life rapidly drains from the two severed parts of his body, the looping coils slumping, the curls encircling me loosening and dropping away.
I haven’t got time to seek out the stairs.
I swiftly glance about me, looking for a quicker way down, leaping from the slopping floor onto the top of a partly toppled wardrobe. From here, it’s on to a broken, severely angled table, using it as a slide before I reach the end and jump down the rest of the way.
On my way down, I’d spotted Dean lying
amongst the debris. He could just be unconscious.
He could be dead.
Surely, after I’ve just got him back, I can’t have lost him again?
Above me, the heavy coils of the dying Apep are still dislodging evermore pieces of the house, bringing more of it crumbling down. I have to get Dean out of here quickly.
Behind me, what’s left of the badly shattered mirror begins to glow as brightly as a furnace Just as hot too, the heat reaching me in an abrupt burst.
Ra. The Sun. Come to the battle late; when it’s all over.
A blinding, glaring beam shoots out from the mirror’s shards, laser-like in its intensity, bull-like in its thickness. It rips towards me, a ball of flame at its head, a miniature sun.
I drop to the floor. The orb of fire passes over me, singeing my hair, exploding as it reaches one of the parts of the building that’s remarkably still standing. The stone explodes along with the flames, melting in the heat. Wood and materials splinter, tear, burst into flames themselves.
Hey! Isn’t he supposed to be on my side?
*
Chapter 21
As if to mock my hopeless position, one of my cards flutters down past my head.
The Tower.
The destruction of a building by lightning.
On my card, it’s the twin obelisks that always stood in front of a temple, representing the first rays of light striking the earth, the braces for the sky and the heavens.
The goddess of fertility and medicine, Serket, is the support of earth and health, her head topped with the scorpion infamous for its fiery burn. The other is Neith of the primordial waters and strength, of wisdom and war, carrying two bows and their arrows.
As she appears, she doesn’t need to use the bows to attack me; she uses, like the Sun who she daily gives birth to, bolts of fire. Fortunately, Ra’s own attack has at last faltered, the final shards of the mirror crashing to the floor, splintering into countless diamond-like pieces.
Serket comes to life merging with the scorpion, the stinger extending and hanging dangerously over her back. Huge, snapping pincers blossom from her flanks.
I run from them both, hoping to find some sign of life in Dean. As I reach him he groans, like he’s thankfully just dazed rather than badly injured.
‘Dean! We have to get out of here!’
At least, that’s what I try and cry out. Instead, my voice distorts harshly, becoming instead a pained struggle for breathing.
I grasp at my throat, wondering what’s happening.
Then, as I see the unhurriedly approaching Serket, I understand.
She doesn’t need to sting me to cause paralysis.
It’s a strange name, Serket.
It can mean she who ‘causes the throat to breath’, as she can cure those afflicted by the venom of scorpions or serpents.
It can also mean she who ‘tightens the throat’.
And that, of course, is what’s she’s doing to me.
*
Just as things couldn’t seem to get any worse, well hey, whaddya know?
It does.
Apep comes back to life.
Worse still, like a worm that’s been split in two, he’s come back to life as two serpents.
Two cobras, in fact.
You know when you get those times when you feel like just giving up?
Letting everything simply wash over you?
Goodbye cruel world; it’s been nice knowing you.
*
Chapter 22
The cobras attack even more swiftly than the single serpent that was Apep.
It’s like their task is more urgent than his.
Like they’re not taking any chances. Not taking any time.
They move so quickly, I don’t even understand what’s happening at first.
Even when I work out what is happening, I still don’t really understand.
Rather than attacking me, they begin striking out at and coiling around the two goddesses.
Just who’s on whose side round here?
I don’t care.
Leaving the four of them to ferociously sting, coil around, and throw orbs of fire at each other, I bend down towards Dean, shaking him into consciousness.
I’m no longer choking
Serket has got other things to deal with. Other things on her mind.
‘Dean, I can’t carry you! You have to try and walk!’
He’s still badly dazed, but he understands. I help him get to his feet and try to help him run. We start hobbling as quickly as we can towards one of the massive holes that’s been opened up in the side of the house.
We’ve just about made it clear, and I think we’re going to escape, when one of the giant cobras unexpectedly snaps its head towards us.
Its whalebone-like fangs sink deeply into Dean, piercing his body completely.
He shudders as if struck by lightning. God knows how many gallons of venom surge through him.
He’s dead in a split second.
Nothing could survive that.
*
Chapter 23
Dean slumps in my arms. His face is white. Lifeless.
There’s not even time for any goodbyes.
The cobra withdraws its massive fangs, shakes him off like he’s some unwanted morsel caught in your molars.
Its eyes glint in satisfaction.
It snaps its head back, its face appearing to be grinning. Like he’s done me a favour, and I should appreciate it.
He doesn’t make any attempt to attack me.
He goes back to attacking the goddesses.
I…I can’t believe it.
Dean’s dead!
Again!
What is this?
Some horrific version of Groundhog Day?
Where I have to keep reliving (hah – what a choice of words!) Dean’s death until, somehow, we get it right?
Get what right though?
Can I even resurrect him again?
Did I resurrect him in the first place?
If I did, what was it I did?
I used the mirror.
The mirror that now lies completely smashed.
*
I could have started crying – but what was the point?
I ran home as fast as I could.
Mum and dad are out. Good; best they don’t see what I’m up to.
I have to work quickly.
In their bedroom, mum and dad have a fabulous, full length mirror.
We have candles too. Decorative ones in lamps.
I smash the lamps in my eagerness to get the candles out. I don’t care.
I use a thick marker pen to draw out the diagram straight onto the fawn carpet.
(How I’m going to explain all this to mum and dad, I’ve no idea. They’ll just think I’ve finally cracked, that’s all; they’ve probably been expecting it for quite a while now.)
I remember the diagram easily enough.
It’s just about etched onto my mind!
I’ve lost some of my cards, left them back at the house.
I quickly flick through them, searching for someone I hope might be able to help me.
I draw the curtains across the windows, plunging the room into complete darkness.
I light candles.
I sit in front of the mirror.
I lay down the Hierophant.
*
Chapter 24
A priest is making offerings at an altar.
He’s dressed in leopard hide, its starry pattern seen as the night sky, symbol of eternity.
The temple illustration features the triple-crossed djed pillar, topped with a moon disk; the regenerating Tree of Life.
It’s a sign of stability, based on the sacrum of a bull's spine, of Ptah’s backbone.
It’s a sign of resurrection, ensuring the dead regains use of the spine and allowing them to live eternally.
It’s a card of spiritual help and guidance.
It’s a card I double ch
eck before placing it before me. A card I keep my hand on, to make sure it’s not changed now I’ve placed it there.
I dread what’s really going to appear in the mirror.
Maybe the priest will want to carve out my heart as his offering, that sort of thing.
I sigh as a bearded man wearing a white hat and pointing the djed staff straight out in front of him appears.
Yes, that’s Ptah, father of Nefertem; Nefertem, whose sacred lotus is itself rebirth and regeneration, uniting the limbs, joining the bones, assembling the flesh.
Who could be better to ask for help?
Provided, of course, he doesn’t suddenly start lashing out at me with the djed.
‘I shouldn’t be helping you,’ he pronounces resolutely.
Well, it’s better than casting fiery orbs at me, isn’t it?
‘Yet as you have graciously linked yourself to me in your renderings, lady, I will offer what aid I can.’
Does he mean the paintings on the cards? He’s a god of craftsmen, artists.
‘Thank you,’ I say calmly, relieved that I’m at last in conversation with one of these weird beings, rather than having to fight them. ‘I’m glad you appreciate my efforts.’
‘You have granted me a particular honour,’ he answers mysteriously, ‘in featuring a priest in your own garb.’
My own garb?
Has something been lost in the translation here?
‘I can’t help you the way you want,’ he adds sagely. ‘This time, I’m afraid the fool has really died.’
Fool? What a dreadfully insulting way of describing poor Dean!
Have I called up the right person here? Is this what he terms ‘helping’?
What’s his not helping like?
‘But you must know that,’ he continues, ‘as you were not only there but also responsible for his death.’
It’s not at all easy to tell who’s on your side and who isn’t, is it?
If this guy’s aiding me, I’m really going to hate the guy who says he’s resolutely against me.
‘There nothing I can do to save him?’ I ask, despite my reservations over the answers he’s given so far. ‘There’s nothing I can do to revive him?’