Tira flees a threat to her life and encounters two elderly women who offer her the chance to be sent to an alternate ancient Egypt with no thought of return. She has had a fascination with Egypt and can even read hieroglyphics. Once there she will be given a task. Failure could mean death. Dare she take the chance and can she find the lost symbols of the rule before an enemy finds them?
Kashe, son of the nomarch of Mero is in rebellion. His father desires him to join the priesthood of Aken Re, a foreign god. He feels he belongs to Horu, god of warriors and justice. He decides to leave home, meets Tira and joins her in the search for the symbols of the rule. Will his aid bring good fortune and will their growing love keep them from making a fatal mistake?
Previously published as The Warrior of Bast
"This engaging voyage into an ancient Egypt that includes power-hungry priests and hazardous treasure hunts entertains from page one. Familial intrigue heightens the tension, as does a kidnapping or two. The cast of characters is dynamic and complements the well-conceived plot." ~ 4 Stars, Susan Mobley, Romantic Times Magazine
Tira cast her dream self aside and donned the role of practical sister.
She hurried to the exit and stepped from the past into a steamy August day.
Heat shimmered from the sidewalk. The air hung heavy and filled with the odors
of the city and the noises of traffic. She strode along the crowded area taking
advantage of every opening.
Ten days to dream. Ten days to walk the halls of the museum. Ten days
to study the artifacts that had become her lodestones. She breathed the
aromas of real time, spices of cooking foods, metallic scents of passing
traffic and the odors of people, some pleasant and some not.
Several blocks from the apartment building the crowds thinned. In an
alley she glimpsed furtive movements in the dark shadows. She hurried past. On
the corner across the street a group of gang members gathered. She sucked in a
breath and held her head high. For all her twenty three years she’d avoided the
gangs. As she strode past she heard the usual crude remarks about her body and
her attitude.
Get a life, she wanted to scream.
When she saw the ambulance and two cop cars in front of the building
where she lived she halted so abruptly she stumbled. A hand caught her arm.
Tira saw the gray-streaked beard of one of the winos who slept in the doorways
or the alley. “Get your hands off me.”
“Don’t go home,” he whispered. “Lose yourself in the crowd and keep your
head down.”
Tira saw a keen intelligence in the man’s dark eyes. Who was he? He
wasn’t as old as she had imagined either. “Why?”
“Your sister’s dead. Cops’ll be looking for you. They heard about the
fight.”
Tira’s stomach clenched. She blinked away a rush of tears. Though hearing
about her sister’s death wasn’t unexpected another dream shattered. There would
be no rehab for Luci. “Junkies O.D. every day,” she said.
“She was murdered.”
A chill slithered down Tira’s spine. A rush of acid burned her throat.
What? Why? Who? Keeping her eyes on the ground she inched away from him.
“Murder. Murder.” The murmured word spread through the crowd gathered on
the sidewalk and stung like attacking wasps.
The EMTs wheeled a gurney from the building. When Tira saw the body bag
strapped to the frame her nails bit into her palms. Despite the heat of the day
she felt chilled. A wave of guilt made her knees buckle. She stuffed her fist
against her mouth to keep from crying aloud.
What now, she wondered. The apartment was a crime scene. Until the cops
finished their investigation she wouldn’t be allowed inside. An officer stepped
from the building. “More along, folks. There’s nothing to see here.” He stepped
from the stoop. “Anyone seen her sister? We have some questions for her.”
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