 Prologue: There is a legend that tells of a creature, part man, part God, who fell from the heavens in a plague of death and chaos. Blinded by the creature’s lies, humanity embraced this abomination, believing him to be a king birthed by the power of the almighty Ra, sent to be Egypt’s savior. They couldn’t have been more wrong, and for their false beliefs, they paid in blood. The creature that fell wasn’t simply a creature of evil, but a demon, conjured in the guise of human flesh, sent not for the land’s salvation but for its destruction. The people of Egypt suffered under his rule, fearing their eternal damnation, until the day a savior rose amongst them to enslave the demon, burying him deep beneath the sands to rot in forced slumber. The demon lay buried beneath the womb of the earth for thousands of years, waiting patiently for the one who would be foolish enough to free him. Chapter One Discovery Reginald could count the drops of sweat that fell from his brow. There was barely enough room in the shadowy pit for himself let alone his small crew. They had wound their way through sinuous tunnels, scraping their flesh against unforgiving stone walls. At times, even crawling on their stomachs to gain entrance to the next tunnel, never knowing what sort of danger might await them. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a fresh smear of blood and sand. Angry welts covered his palms, oozing painfully. Yet, at this moment, none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was the tomb they stood inside of, an ancient burial chamber that had slept undisturbed for over a millennia. He had finally unearthed what he believed to be Kutkara's final resting place. “At last, I’ve done it,” Reginald whispered. He placed his hand on a stone wall, refusing to let his unrelenting exhaustion steal this moment from him. He took a deep breath, ignoring his lungs wheezing protest. Reginald raised his hand to motion to the team. “This is the entrance,” he pointed at the passageway. Blocking the passageway was immense stone set before it. Reginald traced his hand along the ancient writing etched into the stone, instantly deciphering its meaning. He whispered the words so softly that only he could hear them. Death shall come swiftly to those who would disturb this unholy tomb, for the evil that lies here is one that will feast upon the soul of mankind. Reginald had encountered many curses. It came with his job, and when you disturbed the dead for a living, curses and such were just another day at the office. However, this curse was different. The words etched by the hand of one who was long dead, sent a faint whisper of unease through him. It was a feeling that he shook off impatiently, dismissing the words as nothing more than superstitious nonsense. He instructed the workers in fluent Egyptian, stepping back as they set to work. The warning pushed aside, Reginald stared at the stone, praying they could move it with ease. One thing was for certain, nothing would keep him from his discovery. This burial chamber and its contents had haunted him his entire adult life. Ridiculed for his single-minded determination, most of his colleagues had dismissed the tomb he stood before as a mere legend. Nothing more than a myth birthed from a bored scholar’s fanciful imagination. They believed the stories to have been crafted by one of their own kind, too rich and bored to chase after superstitions any longer that he had resorted to creating his own. Reginald had been one of the few to believe. The stories had driven him with an almost relentless madness at times, and it was because of that madness that the legend was about to become a reality. The workers cried out with their efforts, their muscles rippling beneath their sun-bronzed flesh, until at last the lodged stone began to give way. They cheered as it fell to its side, sending a thick cloud of sand and dust up to choke them. Reginald waited for the air to clear, holding his breath in anticipation. The instant he could see the opening to the passageway he rushed forward. Gone was the fatigue, replaced instead with a heady adrenaline that had his heart racing. He pushed aside the doubt that reared its head, whispering fervently that once more he had failed to find the tomb and that it was nothing more than a decoy. Or worse, that desert thieves had already found the tomb and ransacked it. He didn't think he could face that possibility. He would be ruined, penniless, his reputation destroyed. How many times had he chased this personal demon, time after time riddled with failure, the money that had been spent, both his own and borrowed, never to be recovered? The tomb was dark and the air heavy with time that had stood still. Pulling a flashlight from his bag, the thin beam of light sliced through the darkness. Reginald forced himself to slow down, knowing there might be traps or insects so venomous that one sting and he would be dead. The local workers and university students followed at his back, each pulling out their own flashlights, further illuminating the darkened room until it surged to life. Reginald covered the burial chamber in a span of less than 100 feet, cursing under his breath as he did. This wasn’t it, it couldn’t be, not with the chamber so small, and even worse, so pitifully empty. He carefully picked his way over funeral urns and decorated vases, gingerly touching a pile of bones that lay in the far corner, briefly wondering why they hadn’t been properly mummified. Perhaps they were from thieves, just as he had feared. Reginald stopped beside Mohammed, a young Egyptian man that he had been personally mentoring during the expedition. “Reginald, this is perhaps of importance. It bears strange markings.” Reginald shone his light upon a golden box. It was heavily encrusted with jewels and most likely worth a small fortune. “That is strange. It appears to be a serpent. Not of the tombs time period, is it?” Reaching out, Reginald opened the latch carefully, watching as the ornate lid sprung open to reveal several aged scrolls. Without proper care the scrolls would disintegrate, the very air their greatest enemy. Reginald closed the lid quickly, instructing Mohammed to catalogue it carefully. The box would indeed be worth a small fortune, if that were any consolation, which it wasn’t. Reginald only cared about one thing, and so far, it looked like he had failed once more. Perhaps in the past such a find would have meant something. Now, it did little to excite him. There was only one treasure he sought, and from the looks of this chamber, once more that treasure had eluded him. Frustration surged through him as he turned helplessly, spinning about like a caged tiger. He walked the compact room in one sweep, carefully examining every inch of the burial space. He paused at one wall in particular, walking to examine it more closely as he noticed for the first time writing etched upon it. Reading the words silently, he shut his eyes briefly as their meaning washed over him. More curse nonsense. Why were there so many curses for a chamber that was so pitifully empty? “I don't understand,” he gestured helplessly, his students looking away from the frustration in his eyes. “This must have been his final resting place. I can feel it in my gut. I can't be wrong. Not this time.” Reginald was silenced by an excited cry as Mohammed called for him. He closed the distance between them in less than a heartbeat, excitement pulsing through his veins. Mohammad spoke in rapid Egyptian, his words so hurried that Reginald could barely keep up. One of the chamber walls had been a trap, caving in to reveal a bloodied spear. Mohammed pointed to a worker, his abdomen blossoming with blood from where the spear had entered. The wound looked superficial, and Reginald knew the boy had been lucky. It should have been a deathblow. Reginald stared at the giant statue that stood behind the spear. It was a two-headed serpent, its stone body appearing to be carved straight from the wall itself. That is until Mohammed pointed to a thin crack that had formed beside the statue. “Another room,” Reginald looked at Mohammed in disbelief. “I should have known.” The remainder of the workers hurried over, frantically searching for a way past the statue. Gathering as one, they pressed their bodies tightly against the serpent, hoping to dislodge it the same way the massive stone that had been blocking the initial entrance had been dislodged. The statue wouldn’t budge, the crack no larger than it had been when they had first started. Reginald examined the stone serpent thoroughly, running his hands lightly across its carved surface. Nearly the same height, just slightly taller than Reginald’s own 6 feet, the serpent’s eyes were an emerald green that glistened brightly behind a thick covering of dust as his flashlight swept across them. Reaching up, he wiped one of the eyes with the tip of his thumb, the gem immediately sparkling more brilliantly. Reginald set to cleaning the remaining eyes with a soft brush he withdrew from his bag, satisfied when all four shone down at him, more alive than just simple stones, no matter their value. His hand stilled as he noticed for the first time what was inside one of the fanged mouths. Using his brush once more, he gently swept away the caked sediment, sending centuries of grime falling to his feet. Reginald leaned closer, gasping as a flash of blinding red light erupted from the serpent’s mouth, the flash of light sending a burst of electrical fire through him. The brush fell from his hand as the light faded, taking with it the electrical fire that had shortly paralyzed him. The workers stared at him in shocked silence, backing away quickly as he stumbled back. No one said a word. They simply stared at him. Reginald looked down at his hands, looking for some sign of injury. A dagger mark, some blood, something, but he saw nothing. His hands were the same as before, his chest and arms too. If he hadn’t been injured, what had happened? Reginald reached a shaking hand out towards the fanged serpent's mouth, ignoring Mohammed’s protest and his own fear. He closed his fingers about the blood red stone, holding his breath as he freed it from the serpent’s mouth with ease, thankful there was no electrical shock this time. His hand pulsed beneath the stone rhythmically, as if what he were holding wasn’t a stone, but a living, beating heart. He knew that thought was insane, but how did he explain the beating in his hand, a rhythm that matched the beating in his own chest? The ruby was massive, nearly the size of his palm. However, it wasn’t the size that held his attention. It was the thin band of gold that encircled the stone, the band inscribed with symbols that Reginald had never seen, not once in all of his years of exploring. Before he could try to decipher their meaning, Reginald swayed as the chamber trembled. An unnatural moan rose up from the earthen floor, its volume growing as it rode the walls, dirt and sand falling all around them. He gripped the massive stone, his breath held as the workers cried out in panic. “It’s the curse,” Mohammed said, looking at Reginald with panic in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak again, but fell to his knees instead, covering his ears as he screamed in pain. The moan had grown to a deafening scream that sliced through Reginald’s head until it felt like his brain would split in two. He struggled to remain standing, watching in horror as each of the workers fell to the ground, their screams drowned out beneath the rumble of the earth shifting. The chamber trembled violently and then began to collapse inward, revolting against the otherworldly scream that had no source. Reginald flew backwards, the blow so sudden that he had no time to brace for it. He landed hard on his back and still he held the stone, refusing to release it. He winced as something sharp and solid slammed into his ankle, praying the bone wasn’t broken. Reginald could hear Mohammed cry out for him, but he couldn’t see him, not with the dust and dirt that filled the air. He could only hear him, his screams finally drowned out as the violent tremors continued. Reginald cried out startled as his head was wrenched backwards, unseen hands gripping his throat so that he couldn’t breathe, let alone scream. The unseen force held his head in place so that his eyes locked on the emerald gaze of the two-headed serpent, frozen by its glowing stare. Reginald ceased struggling, instead blinking thickly, as he tried to see through the swirling mass of sand and earth that fell with each violent tremor. The serpent’s eyes glittered malevolently, one of its fanged mouths lunging for him with a loud hiss. Reginald tried to move but it was impossible with the unseen force that held him down. He could only lay there and wait for the impossible to happen. The stone beast was slithering forward and it was coming for him. Reginald stared into the serpent’s eyes, watching as it slithered in its dance of death. Hissing, it lunged for him once more, its mouths snapping open and shut in wild fury. Its fangs brushed the skin of his neck, its breath hot and acrid. Reginald waited for the creature to sink its poisoned daggers into his throat, knowing it would devour him and no one would ever know what had really happened. Who would believe a stone serpent had awoken to slaughter the one who had disturbed it? It was madness, a madness that was his own horrible reality. The strike never came. Instead, the serpent reared back, its emerald eyes mesmerizing as it its heads hovered before Reginald’s own. With a final hiss, the stone creature slithered from him, its massive body sliding backwards from him into the trembling room, swallowed by the tomb’s darkness. Reginald could breathe again. The unseen hands were gone. He rolled onto his stomach, coughing into the ground. The room trembled into stillness, the horrible moaning finally silent. He could see Mohammed, half buried, trying to free himself. He was bloodied, most of the workers and students were. It was chaos and they had all barely survived it. “Reginald?” Mohammed called out to him as he stood. “I’m fine, barely scratched. Please, check on the others.” Rising from the ground, the ruby still in his hand, Reginald stared at where the serpent had retreated. It was rock solid once more and unmoving, but more importantly, it no longer blocked the secret chamber. Carved from stone the creature had come to life, a sleeping guardian. He had heard tales, crazy stories that he had laughed at. Now, he wasn’t so sure they were just tales. The serpent could have killed him, impossible as it sounded, but he couldn’t discount what he had seen with his own eyes. If the creature was protecting the chamber from thieves, why had it moved aside, allowing them entrance? Reginald had no idea if it was trying to help them or scare them away. He was a man of science, not superstition. Science kept you alive while superstition kept you from discovery, but after what happened here today, he wondered how much he had missed dismissing superstition for science. Reginald walked cautiously past the serpent, favoring his injured ankle. The workers that were unharmed hung back, no one wanting to follow him into the chamber. He could hear them mumble the word curse under their breath in Egyptian. They had no idea how right they were. He knew he should be just as afraid as they were as he stepped into the chamber, even more so after what had happened, but instead, he felt alive. He could feel the spirits of the dead calling to him, whispering their secrets silkily into his ear as they urged him to move faster. The only thing that existed for him in that moment was his need to touch what was before him, birthed from his dreams and perhaps his nightmares too. Once he stepped inside the hidden chamber, he lost himself the instant he saw him. He had found the lost King. Not daring to breathe, he stood before the golden sarcophagus that rested on an ornate altar. He knew the sarcophagus contained Kutkara's earthly remains, and as he stared at the finely carved golden tomb, he knew he was the first living, breathing human to stare at the great king's body in thousands of years. Reginald touched the sarcophagus in reverence. Strangely, the metal wasn’t cool to the touch. Instead, it felt alive, its strange warmth sliding into him with a terrible foreboding that had him yanking his hand back in fear, only to replace it once more. He could not help himself. He was a moth drawn to a hideous flame. No matter how repulsive the sarcophagus felt to his touch, the horrible dark emotions that flooded him the instant he had touched it; thoughts of death and carnage, the surge of insane rage, he was unable to resist Kutkara’s call. He caressed the golden face, images of serpents devouring flesh filling his mind and blood soaking the sand until it no longer glowed golden. He was sickened at these thoughts, but he could do nothing to free himself. He possessed no will of his own, only mind-shattering desire so fierce that he knew he would do whatever it took to free the entombed king from his final resting place. No longer hidden away from the world’s view, everyone would know who he was and how great he had once been. Not once did it occur to him to wonder why Kutkara had been entombed so deep in the earth, the only passageways at times impossible to conquer. Nor why his body was secreted away in a hidden chamber with its own enchanted protector, the ruler himself sealed in a sarcophagus made entirely of gold with no visible way to open it. At that moment, not rational thought, fear, or revulsion could have freed Reginald from the curse of the golden mummy, for he was already captive in an age-old spell that had carved itself into the fabric of his destiny, forever changing the path his life would take, as well as the lives of his family. Reginald exited the tomb, shielding his eyes from the scorching mid-day sun, coughing violently as he tried to clear his lungs. Turning, he spotted his friend Razeem, hurrying towards him. He was smiling widely, flashing perfect white teeth in his bronzed skin as he waved excitedly. He had sensibly forsaken his linen suits for more reasonable light-weight pants and a khaki shirt with palm trees dancing across it. On his feet he wore sandals of the finest braided leather, and on his left hand was a pinky ring with a brilliantly cut diamond. “Have you found it then?” Razeem's dark eyes were intense upon Reginald. “Is it him?” He asked and Reginald could see the war of emotions at play on his friend’s face, but mostly, he could see the fear that danced in his eyes. Reginald nodded, turning his head as he drank thirstily from the canteen Razeem handed him, not wanting to hear his old friend's superstitious ranting just yet. “It is just as I feared. Mind my words Reginald, some things are best left buried, literally.” Reginald brushed aside the guilt he could feel blossom in his chest. He knew Razeem feared the curse. Most did. Power was a funny thing, and if the curse was to be believed, then that was what Kutkara was; pure power. Reginald knew power had a way of ruining you, revealing what truly lurked on the insides of men and unleashing sides best left unseen. Reginald understood his friend’s fear. He just wouldn’t let it stop him. From the first moment Reginald had heard of Kutkara long ago, well before his hair had turned gray, years before their friendship had ever even existed, it had been an obsession. It was an obsession they once laughed over, bottles of Absinthe overflowing, cigar smoke filling the card halls they had frequented, regaling one another with wild stories of their archeological finds, and even wilder stories of the lands they had tried to become a part of. No matter how many treasures he had unearthed over the years, Kutkara had always been his Holy Grail, an honest to God obsession, one that had slowly eroded at Reginald’s sanity. Razeem knew the truth of it, growing up a child of Egypt. He had heard the tales and feared the day Kutkara was found. He understood all along that somehow this evil had been calling to Reginald from beyond the grave, leading him to this very day, and while Reginald knew his words carried some truth, he simply refused to take them to heart. “A myth,” Reginald stared down at his hands as he spoke, his voice hushed and strangely controlled. “It has been nearly forty years that I’ve chased this ghost.” He looked at Razeem, letting out a hoarse and bitter laugh as he tried not to think of all he had sacrificed for this moment. “This place is said not to exist, and Kutkara, he was to have been nothing more than a fanciful story conjured up to scare the children of this land. Nevertheless, we've proved them wrong, every one of them. He was never a myth, not a damn legend, and he was no more a ghost than I am.” Reginald’s eyes burned with madness as he spoke, his voice distant and near hushed as his body finally gave way, swaying with exhaustion. He was no longer a young man. He had sold his youth long ago to fuel his obsession. Razeem placed a hand on Reginald's back to steady him. “Come old friend, it’s time to sit back and savor this moment of discovery.” “I’d rather have a cigar,” Reginald chuckled as Razeem shook his head at him and laughed heartily. “You’re an old man, Reginald, and a damn stubborn one at that, but I am just as old and nearly as stubborn. What will our children ever do with us?” He pulled two cigars from his front pocket, biting off the end of his own with a wink at Reginald. “First, you must sit. Then, I will give you your cigar.” Razeem helped Reginald to his nearby tent, making sure he was steadily seated before he handed over the promised cigar, lighting Reginald’s first and then his own. Reginald nodded his thanks with a smile, savoring the smoke as it filled his mouth, knowing his daughter would tear out a piece of his hide if she caught him smoking, again. He tried to ignore the crease of worry that lined Razeem’s brow as he settled across from him, knowing that his friend could sense that this find had cost him greatly, both in body and in mind. Wisely, Razeem kept his peace and his silence. He was not a man to waste words on the unwilling. Reginald was a proud man, descending from a long line of archeologists. In his many years he had seen and accomplished much, many of his adventures shared with Reginald at his side. They were two old coots who never thought they would see their golden years so quickly approaching. They had not wasted their youth; they had devoured it. “Did you see the seal?” Razeem asked, watching Reginald closely through half slit eyes. “I did. It's nothing but a warning meant to scare away grave robbers,” Reginald replied, too confidently. “I believe it speaks the truth. This legend of yours comes with a high price. Are you certain you are prepared to pay it?” Reginald simply looked at Razeem for a moment, his light blue eyes waging a silent war with his friend's deep brown ones. He chose his words carefully after a long moment. “Inside the tomb, I found more writing, some that I could read and some that was too strange to decipher. What I could make out told of a powerful traveler who once descended upon the land. A traveler believed to have fallen straight from the sun. His strength and power were that of a God, the people forced to grant their souls to his taking. In his wake, sickness and death plagued the land until the people rose up in masses of the living and the dead, banishing this traveler of death, much like the moon must banish the sun with each passing day. It was written that a curse was buried within the tomb, a curse that shall at last make its mark no more.” “It is as I feared then. You have doomed us all, Reginald, and you don’t even see it.” Razeem’s words were angry, for he was Egyptian, and Reginald knew he never met a curse he made light of. “Don't be absurd,” Reginald tried to wave off his friend's worry. “This could be the most significant find in all of Egypt, perhaps in the entire world. It is a triumph not just for history, but for your people too.” “Perhaps, but some things are better left undisturbed. Even I know that, Reginald. It is you who has never truly understood this, at least not when concerning Kutkara.” “You cannot learn from what you fear to explore, and for you of all people to actually mean what you say, an archeologist, no different than me. I can’t understand it Razeem, I refuse to. If we lived in fear of curses and the unknown, whole civilizations would have been left buried beneath the Earth.” Reginald surged to his feet in frustration, grinding out the spent cigar beneath his booted foot. Razeem rose as well, not in frustration, but resignation. The two men stared at one another in silence, each knowing that their friendship was a strong bond that had weathered rougher seas. However, on this, they must walk two separate paths. It was with great sadness that they both knew this to be the case. Nodding, Reginald reached inside his cloth bag that hung from his waist, pulling out the ruby amulet that he had found in the serpent's mouth. He held it out to Razeem, a peace offering of sorts, thinking his friend would never be able to resist examining the stone. “What is this?” Razeem asked softly, not reaching for the stone as Reginald thought he would have. There was no eagerness in Razeem’s words. Rather, there was fear, deep and dark in his eyes. “The stone was lodged inside the mouth of a two-headed serpent that was blocking the hidden chamber.” Reginald held out the stone before him, the sun's rays shining through the ruby so that bright streaks of red danced on the sand before them. “What is this inscription, here?” Razeem pointed to the symbols on either side of the stone, his fingers recoiling quickly, never actually making contact. “I don't know. It’s odd really, unlike any dialect I have ever seen,” Reginald said as he placed the stone back into his bag. He was unsettled by the amulet, and by Razeem’s reaction to it, a part of him knowing that somehow this stone was responsible for the strange earthquake that had occurred. He had already decided to send the amulet to his daughter back in the states, hoping that with her brilliance in deciphering long lost dialects she would be able to unlock the clues to the amulet. The two men stood side by side in silence, neither wishing to discuss the tomb or Kutkara's discovery, more content to watch the shifting of the sand as the moon began to rise and the workers lit the fires. There was no more to discuss, not really, for their beliefs were too different. They had each done their job, Reginald had unearthed a curse, and Razeem had tried to stop him. Now, at least in this moment, they had their friendship, and that would have to be enough, yet sadly, Reginald feared it would not. Neither man knew in that moment that their friendship would change forever, as the curse of Kutkara wound its way around the fabric of their lives. Chapter Two New Beginnings Leaning back, Marty stared up at the tan cloth ceiling of his father’s Land Rover. He bit back a yawn, his eyes tearing up and his stomach grumbling loudly. To sum it up, he was tired, hungry, and bored. They had been driving on what seemed like the same stretch of highway for hours. At first, it hadn’t been that bad, flipping through the radio stations nonstop, his father lowering the volume every time he found something good and cranked it up. Until finally, the stations he knew faded out, and he was forced to find new ones in every state they passed through, and let’s face it, some states seriously sucked when it came to music. Finally, he had stretched out his long legs clad in well-worn blue jeans and beat-up chucks, digging his iPod out of his pocket. He turned the volume as loud as he wanted, not caring that he would probably be deaf by the time he was 30. Lately, it seemed there wasn’t a lot he cared about. The fact was, he was too scared to. Since he had turned 14, his life had been one big downward spiral of events, and he was beginning to believe that if he cared about something or someone, then something bad would happen to them. The latest stroke of bad luck came with a simple phone call, and he had known in his gut before his dad even picked up the receiver, that his life was going to change, forever. | 
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