Alex Archer - Eternal Journey (Rogue Angel Series #17)  

THE ENGLISH COMMANDER TOOK
JOANS SWORD AND RAISED IT HIGH.

The broadsword, plan and unadorned,
gleamed in the firelight. He put the tip against
the ground and his foot at the center of the blade.
The broadsword shattered, fragments falling
into the mud. The crowd surged forward,
peasant and soldier, and snatched the shards
from the trampled mud. The commander tossed
the hilt deep into the crowd.
Smoke almost obscured Joan, but she continued
praying till the end, until finally the flames climbed
her body and she sagged against the restraints.

Joan of Art died that fateful day in France,
but her legend and are sword are reborn.

Henenus heart raced as he watched the slab fall and split, so much of it crumbling into worthless gravel. He swore that he could feel the last pulse leaving his body as he dropped to his knees, eyes locked on the ruined stone. The prayer that hed painstakingly carved on its polished surface to honor the mistress to the entrance of the valley was destroyed.

All those long, long hours wasted.

His brother and five other men had been fitting the slab in place above the temple entrance. It was to be the crowning piece to the structure theyd all labored so hard to build.

Fools, you! Henenu spit when he regained his breath. The mother goddess curse you all and send your souls to a dark place for your clumsiness! Then softly he added, Curse the lot of us for coming to this escapeless hole.

He ground his fist against the earth so hard his knuckles bled, closed his eyes and begged the mother goddesss forgiveness. He promised to carve another, more magnificent slabone that would be placed by all of his men. There would be no risk of failure next time.

A fool, me, he said. Henenu directed his anger inward now. The fault is with me. The blame is all mine.

Perhaps the mother goddess was furious that they had spent their time erecting buildings rather than trying to get home. No, Henenu thought, they had tried so often to rebuild the boats and sail away, and had been thwarted at each attempt.

Perhaps this temple was not large enough, and in her irritation at the slight the mistress to the entrance of the valley had caused the stone to break, displaying her displeasure.

Certainly this was not as large as her temple in Henenus home city. He looked at the building through narrowed eyes, seeing the sharp angles and planes and the squat, wide steps that led up to an entranceway that yawned black like the maw of a hungry beast. It was a beautiful building.

Again he stared at the broken slab and felt his chest grow tight.

Stone was plentiful in this land, and so Henenu could order more pieces cut, knock down a wall and make the temple larger. That might appease the mother goddess. But his men were not as numerous as the builders hed commanded back home. It had taken several years to accomplish this much.

And what would appeasing the goddess bring them?

A bigger temple would not grant the promise of a rich afterlife. This land theyd found would forever prevent them from joining the gods.

This land would consign them to the abyss.

Brother. Khentemsemet had come down the temple steps and stood in front of Henenu, bowing respectfully and blocking the view to the entrance and the ruined slab. The responsibilityI take it, Henenu. My fingers ached in weakness, and I lost my hold on the prayer stone. I will accept whatever punishment you

Henenu rose and shook his head, looked around his younger brother and to the temple entrance again. His ire had cooled somewhat, seeing Khentemsemets penitent face and tear-filled eyes, and he let out a low breath that sounded like dry leaves rustling in a lazy wind. No punishment, brother. I will carve another slab.

The mother goddess

It was merely a piece of rock, dear Khentemsemet.

But, Henenu

The next prayer I inscribe to Hathor, our mother goddess, will be more eloquent, Henenu said. In it I will pay better homage to she who is the wife of Horus. She is our only mother goddess.

Khentemsemets shoulders relaxed and he turned to regard the temple, his eyes avoiding the broken stone. The setting sun painted the walls a molten bronze, and the shimmering waves of heat that rose from the ground made the carved images on the buildings sides appear to move. The majority of creatures and the men and women depicted had cows heads or ears or horns. Hathors was the largest. Her bovine visage was enfolded in a sun-shaped disk, and her arms stretched up as if she were trying to grab her beloved Horus, the god of the sky and the noon sun.

Similar figures were displayed on the handful of smaller buildings that spread away to the north, the etchings all deep, as there was little age to the structures and the wind had not had a proper chance to weather the stone.

A few of the images on the temple were incongruous to the rest; they were smaller than the carved Egyptian deities, and they formed a line like a border along the base. They were of quadrupeds with large, muscular back legs, tiny front legs, long tails, and pouches where young ones poked out their heads.

Henenu and Khentemsemet looked to the west to see a quartet of the sun-tinged animals hop across the horizon.

This escapeless hole, Henenu pronounced again. It will keep us from ascending.

A wide-brimmed hat the color of wet sand shielded the archaeologists eyes from the sun and made it difficult for the cameraman to get a good shot of his face. The man worked steadily and carefully, sifting dirt and picking out what looked like unremarkable shards of pottery, all the while oblivious to the film crew around him.

Wes, look up once in a while, okay? Annja Creed stood back far enough so her shadow would not encroach. Weve been over this a few times, she reminded her colleague.