Chapter Two: So It Begins

***8 months earlier***

The last thing Anck-su-namun remembered was the fierce, blinding pain, the startlingly red blood that seeped onto her hands. She remembered how her vision blurred, her sticky hands limply grasping the knife protruding from her torso. And the look of hatred and bitter failure on the Med-Jai’s face as he watched her die.

***

The first thing she noticed when she awoke was the absence of pain. She struggled to open her eyes, her hands felt clumsy and cold.

She felt, vaguely, a warm hand on her own, a hand that moved up her arm to her face as she stirred.

Memories began coming back to her, and when he leaned over her, stroking her hair, she immediately recognized his scent. She lifted her hand, feebly, and he grasped it within his own.

“Imhotep...” she whispered, her voice dry and scratchy.

“My love,” he murmured, stroking her fingers.

She slowly opened her sore eyes, and rubbed them with her free hand, blinking slowly. She looked up, and met his eyes. A small smile crept into her gaze. “You succeeded.” Her voice cracked, and she did not notice the shadow of a smile that played across his handsome features, a smile of bitterness and irony. He helped her to sit up, her body weak and feeble after so many years of disuse. He lifted a golden cup of clear cold water to her lips, holding her back as she drank it down.

The water soothed her throat, and she leaned forward, stretching her tight muscles, getting used to her body again.

He moved closer to her, watching her move, the thousand year old feelings resurfacing, his love and lust for her growing in his soul.

She turned to face him, and she slowly ran her hand up his chest, remembering the feeling of his skin against hers. “You succeeded,” she whispered softly, disbelievingly. “I knew you could do it...almost as powerful as the Gods...” A lump rose in his throat, but her nearness, her heat, her dark eyes beckoned him, and he leaned down to brush his lips against hers.

The passion in that kiss surprised even him, and he realized how desperately he had missed her, her fiery words and intense love. She was his match, his soulmate, and once again she was by his side. The kiss deepened, and he reveled in the smoothness of her hair, the softness of her skin, the achingly pleasurable sensation of a deep hole in his soul being filled after many years.

The kiss ended, and Imhotep helped her to stand, still wobbly on her legs. She walked a few paces around the room, accustoming herself to her body.

As she walked, she rubbed her stomach absentmindedly, her fingers subconsciously coming to a rest just where the knife had protruded from her skin. Feeling a slight bump, she looked down and saw a thin scar, winding at a slight angle on her perfect golden skin. She touched it gently, it was warm to the touch and slightly tender. An expression of wonder came into her face.

“I am alive,” she whispered in awe, remembering the pain, the bright blood on her hands.

He kneeled before her and kissed the scar. “This is the symbol of what you sacrificed for me,” he said seriously, looking into her eyes.

She kneeled next to him. “You sacrificed much more than life for me,” she returned.

Abruptly he stood up and turned away from her, walking across the dark room and leaning against the stone wall.

Confused, she stood, looking after him. “Imhotep?”

She could not see the tears of anger and relief and hatred in his eyes. She walked towards him, but stopped, fearful of upsetting him. Seeing his chest rise and fall awkwardly, she moved forward and placed her arms around him from behind. “Speak to me, my lord.”

He shuddered, not crying, keeping his emotions inside. “To have you back, is like a dream...” he whispered.

She stroked his back and held him, for what seemed like hours, containing the tears in her own eyes. As she held him, her eyes looked up and to the wall Imhotep was leaning on, and she stopped. She let him go, backing slightly away from him, and for the first time looking at the room about her. A frown crossed her face, and a look of uncertainty.

“Are we in Hamanuptra?” she asked, looking at a set of hieroglyphics on the wall.

“Yes,” he answered truthfully, his eyes wet and luminous, turning around to see her.

“Then why are all the writings so faded?” she asked carefully, looking at him with the first hints of fear.

“Because it has been a long time since you were here last,” he replied carefully, seeing the darting, fearful motions of her wide eyes.

“And where are your Priests?” she asked, controlled terror in her voice and the urge, suddenly, to run. She edged slowly against the wall, away from him, as he walked towards her.

“They have been dead a long time,” he responded. He stopped several feet from her, and they stared at each other in the dead quiet of the death chamber in the bowels of Hamanuptra.

“How long?” her voice shook.

He stepped toward her and reached out his hand to touch hers, rubbing her fingers in a soothing, calming motion. She seemed to calm slightly, relaxing her hand. “Almost three thousand years.”

***