Soul and Shadow
by Susan J McLeod
ISBN: 978-0-6151-7844-8 

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CHAPTER ONE

“Sit down, and I’ll tell you a story.”

Little did I know how much those simple words were going to change my life.

Amisihathor was living on in eternity. Her name was on everyone’s lips—at least, those who could pronounce it. The rest just called her Ami, and had eagerly awaited her arrival from the Cairo Museum. It was a big day when the mummy finally came to town.

I was one of the first in line to see her, ancient history being my field of study.

A special display had been constructed: a replica of a tomb from the fabled banks of the Nile. Floodlights took the place of the burning Egyptian sun, but when they shone on the honey-colored stone, the effect was much the same. Shadows beckoned from within, mysterious and enticing. I could almost believe, as I stepped through the entryway, that I was actually walking back in time…..

“Yeck!”

The spell was broken by a group of schoolchildren already inside. As my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I could see a series of pictures explaining the process of mummification. The kids were poring over the gory details with delight.

“They pulled the brains out through the nose!” said a boy, clearly wishing he could have been there. “Awesome!”

“And they put their livers in jars!” A young girl stared at the canopic containers.

“Are they still there?”

“Maybe.” The boy grinned impishly. “Maybe the mummy will be coming back to get it!”

A teacher shushed the squealing and scuffling and herded the children away. I moved to the glass cases holding items from everyday life along the Nile. A loaf of petrified bread that was meant to be someone’s dinner over three thousand years ago. Eating utensils. Little clay pots that still held traces of eye makeup. Lots of beautiful jewelry: necklaces, amulets, and charms. Just as in today’s world, in the ancient one you needed all the protection you could get.

I lingered awhile before going into the inner chamber of the exhibit. This was where Amisihathor lay in state. Her wooden sarcophagus was a work of art. Its colors were as vibrant as when they were first painted, showing the spells and divine beings necessary to guide her into the afterlife. Her spirit had long since flown away. Now only the mummy remained, wrapped in yellowed linen. A strange feeling came over me as I gazed at her. An image entered my mind of a living, breathing woman, talking, eating, worrying and dreaming. There was something melancholy and a little undignified about her remains being here on display. As if echoing my thoughts, I heard a woman nearby say firmly to her companion, “that’s why I’m being cremated!”

Still, Ami was helping to resurrect a whole civilization. And the ancient Egyptians believed that as long as someone’s name was spoken, their soul lived on. So she should be happy.

A sudden voice in my ear startled me. “She never imagined that she would lie in a place like this,” it said. “Her dream was to enjoy eternity in the Field of Reeds with her beloved. Now she walks in the shadows, waiting.”

I looked over my shoulder. A tiny woman was gazing at the mummy sadly. She was thin, but her posture was straight and proud. She looked about as old as the pyramids themselves, and also had a suggestion of their strength and power. Which didn’t stop me from wondering if she was crazy.

I smiled nervously and began to inch away, but the woman moved with me. I’ve been told that I have a kind face. It must be true, because I attract strange people like a magnet. And I find it next to impossible to be rude, which has led to some very odd conversations.

“I’m glad I’ve found you, Lily,” my new friend said. She had a British accent with a pleasant, musical quality. “Sit down, and I’ll tell you a story.”

“Excuse me,” I replied reasonably, “but I’m afraid we’ve never met. And I have to be going now.”

She looked at me inquiringly. “You are Lily Evans, research assistant to Professor Peter Briggs, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I said, startled, “but—“

“Then you’re the one. Come along.” She waved a hand imperiously.

I can’t explain why I followed her. I should have gone the other way and alerted security that a confused old woman was on the loose. But I didn’t. Perhaps it was my sympathetic nature. Or the commanding look she had in her eye. Or simple curiosity.  Whatever the reason, I found myself trailing after her, back to the outside of the exhibit and the benches in front of the tomb.

She settled herself on the hard stone like a queen taking her throne. She was amazingly spry for her age, attired in a plain white linen suit and some lovely New Kingdom-style jewelry. I admired a golden bracelet with a scarab clasp. Obviously a fan of things Egyptian, this woman did not look feeble-minded. Rather, she had an air of being in complete control. Her eyes, an unusual slate gray, stared into mine.

“Amisihathor was a songstress in the temple of Hathor. She sang to give pleasure to the goddess, and at special ceremonies. It was an honored position, and she was proud of it. Her tomb is decorated with scenes of her duties, including a depiction of the Union with the Sun’s disc at Wet-Renpet, a beautiful picture.”

Well, even if the old woman was nuts, she knew her Egyptian history. The ancient New Year, Wet-Renpet, had begun in August, when the star Sirius reappeared, heralding the rising of the Nile. It was a time of rebirth and celebration, as the land was irrigated for crops. A special ceremony took place at Hathor’s temple in Dendera. A gold statue of the mother goddess was carried onto a rooftop chapel so that the sun could reinvigorate her with its light.

“Amisihathor’s husband, Kahotep, was a powerful priest of Horus,” the woman continued. “Most of the decoration on the walls of their tomb portray them performing rites and having places of favor among the gods. The couple is the picture of marital bliss, of course. It was important to show the ideal, so that it could come true in the next world. But appearances can be deceiving.”

“Really?” I asked.

She didn’t seem to be put off by my tepid response. “I happen to know that Amisihathor, although buried alongside Kahotep and called his wife, was also married to a scribe from Edfu. Her name and images share the walls of his tomb, as well. And it was his declaration of love that she carried with her into the grave.”

That was interesting. “What was it?”

“A letter. It was written on a scrap of papyrus and worn in an amulet around her neck. It addresses her as wife and is signed ‘Kamenwati.’ Either this Kahotep was very open-minded, or he did not know what the amulet contained.

I’ve done a great deal of research over the years. There was another oddity besides the letter. All the depictions of Amisihathor in the tomb of Kahotep were done hastily, as if it was not originally intended to include her. Of course, they could have been recently married, and just run out of time. She was young when she died. But the more I discovered, the more the mystery deepened. References in the temple records to Amisihathor and a scribe from Edfu. A letter written to Kahotep the month Amisihathor died, making mention of the fact that he had no wife. I suspected that Amisihathor did not belong in his tomb with him. But there was no proof until the scribe’s tomb was discovered last year. You must have read about it?”

“Yes.” The beautiful paintings had certainly caught my attention. “It had that lovely mural of his wife and him sitting under a palm tree, watching monkeys dance.”

“Yes, indeed. Kamenwati, and Amisihathor. I knew it was the same woman. Egyptian art is very stylized, of course, but she had a unique piece of jewelry that was so beautiful the artists included it in their representations. A necklace of turquoise and carnelian with pearls and enameled lotus blossoms.”

“The symbols of resurrection,” I said automatically.

“Quite right.” The old woman smiled. “You sign your paintings with one. The blue water lily.”

“You’ve seen my work?” I asked in surprise.

“Of course. That was how I knew you were the one I needed to help me. We must unravel this mystery once and for all, so the spirits can go at last into the Beautiful West and find peace.”

To my astonishment, she handed me a manila envelope.

“I’ve made copies of various inscriptions and documents, as well as an outline. We can talk again after you’ve read it. I’m certain you’ll be intrigued. I’ve included my card, so you can call me anytime. promise me that you’ll go over it, Lily. It really is vital.”

She rose before I could collect myself enough for a reply. “When you come to visit, I’ll show you her necklace. Goodbye for now.”

With incredible quickness for one her age, she moved away into the crowd.

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