Black Pyramid

Black Pyramid

Ancient Breeds: Book 1

By

AD Stewart

Copyright A D Stewart 2012

Published at Smashwords

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

To my loving husband, Michael aka Dragonman. I love you.

Acknowledgements

A special thank you goes out to my Mom, Rachel, Taz, and Kate. I love you guys!

I also need to send out a special thank you to Andrei Claude. He by far is the most wonderful man I’ve ever had the pleasure of texting! Thanks to him, he gave me the opportunity to show the world what Siaak would look like, if, he were walking among us! Thank you, Andrei, may you continue to shine and make women swoon!

Prologue

Egypt 5091 BC

Could this be the way out Osiris thought as she inspected the large tomb? With the ability to see in complete darkness, she couldn’t believe her eyes. The rough stone walls embellished with various scenes from the current ruler’s life. Battles won, treaties made and various important moments from his life. Turning away she had to cover her mouth with her hands to keep from screaming. How dare he?

The image of pharaoh holding aloft her decapitated head and stomping her body on the floor made her seethe with anger. The wall opposite her showed an image of pharaoh departing this life to begin another with his sarcophagus resting in the middle of this chamber convinced her of one thing.

Little dick syndrome.

Believing in an afterlife—what fools. She’d died and where had that got her—trapped and hunted like a filthy slave. As a BloodSeeker, she deserved worshipping and subservience from the pathetic breeds of her world, including the diseased humans. And the notion of punishment for a worldwide killing spree infuriated her the most.

Standing in the center of the room, she froze at the cold burn running up and down her spine. Dropping to a low crouch on the sandy, stone floor, she turned to take in the glowing ruins within the empty doorway. Cursing her tired mind and body, she couldn’t believe the outcome of her battle plans. All her guards dead and her magic nearly depleted. With no way of replenishing either, she fled the battlefield, hoping to hide and return to fight another day. Now, the only exit sealed by magic, meant she could not escape without blasting a man size hole in a wall. Not a good idea. That would bring the whole pyramid down on top of her.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. She’d reached the end with no way to leave without a fight to the death. Baring her teeth in determination and anger, Osiris gave a breathless groan and dived backward across the room. Trying to avoid dangerous spells hidden within the room, she stumbled when invisible fire globes exploded near the right side of her face.

The explosions threw her in the opposite direction. Her body bounced as she hit the sandy floor, causing a dust cloud to surface and linger. The rough landing wrenched beads off her elaborate, golden neck collar and dislodged her schenti, dragging the linen kilt down below her narrow hips. The bronze, layered discs made up intricate battle armor covered her from navel to mid thigh like snake skin. Designed to keep the wearer safe but now, it dug into her hipbones.

Cursing, she tugged the schenti back into place while resting on the floor to gain her bearings. She refused to allow the hunters the chance to witness her failing health.

As the thought filtered through her mind, the room filled with patronizing, male laughter.

Osiris clambered to her feet, ready to fight as additional spheres appeared tumbling in midair. Miniature fires sparked to life inside the tiny, bouncing orbs of clear glass. The bright flames inside refracted off the surface, casting mini rainbows on the stone walls around her. She froze at the distinctive clanks. A subtle warning, and at this stage in the game, she needed all the advantages she could get. Her head fell forward, slamming her forehead into one slender kneecap as she dropped into an open-leg split. Deafening booms echoed in her ears as she cursed the hunter whose magic could mean the end of her existence.

The glass balls exploded, spraying a lethal shower of charred, blackened shards everywhere. Having come across this spell before, Osiris knew what to expect. She stayed perfectly still as blue flames shot out, forming deadly arcs of magic that curved around her body, just above her waistline. The rotating rings of fire were Myaten’s way of challenging her, daring her to attempt an escape.

Seemed he’d improved his little trick.

Taking a deep breath, Osiris pulled her arms in close to her body and flipped through the air. All the while, she kept her eyes on the shrinking boundaries. This spell restricted movement and would bind her in place, giving the SandWalkers time to catch up with her. The mental image of blisters and peeling flesh was enough to maintain the timed flips, twirls, and tiring somersaults.

After a while, she realized Myaten wasn’t close enough to keep the link to the fire-spell charged. And as the dangerous circles broke apart, she continued darting around, under and over them, until each one vanished in a puff of gray smoke.

When no further attacks occurred, she turned her head to the side and caught the image of a man’s face within a hand size globe. She hissed at him.

Give up, Osiris! There is nowhere to run! Myaten’s voice came seconds before his smirking image fizzled in a puff of blue smoke.

Osiris wanted to scream as she envisioned ripping his head clear off his delicious neck! However, giving in to her anger and desire for revenge solved nothing. Like her, the hunters had excellent hearing and vision. If she had an inkling of escaping this day, she must keep her temper and examine the room for more traps.

With both hearts beating in double time, she couldn’t help but dwell on her near demise. If not for her fast reflexes, the fire spell would have been a painful reminder of what happened when she let her guard down. At no other time in her long life had she suffered this deep seeded fear. SandWalkers lurked in every corner, eagerly waiting to capture her—proof her reign had ended.

Closing her eyes, she swallowed the desperation that welled up inside her. At the scraping sound of feet against sand, she backed away from the approaching hunter, hitting the stone wall with a hard thud.

Ignoring the sting of heat trapped within the limestone bricks, she flipped around and launched her body up. Her eyes skimmed the distance as her fingers and toes dug small holes in the new walls, giving her the advantage to pause midway up, like a scorpion.

Scampering up the wall and across the ceiling, she swiveled around to watch and wait for them, hanging upside down. Where one lurked, more followed.

***

Siaak exited the queen’s chamber and stood inside the doorway of pharaoh’s final resting place. Keeping his guard up his eyes adjusted from dark to the flickering lights ahead created by Myaten’s fire spells.

Taking a step into the dark room, Siaak tilted his head back, instinct alone telling him she was here hiding. His nose twitched at the foul stench in the air, the smell of old blood made his stomach lurch. Yes, she’s here.

He looked up and their eyes locked while he summoned the others with a single thought.

We have bested you. Tossing his long, sand scarred cloak over one shoulder, Siaak barricaded the door with the bulk of his body, reducing her chances of escape even more.

My brethren will be free once more, SandWalker. I shall have the satisfaction of hunting you down. But first, I think a refreshing drink is most acceptable–in honor of your death.

With strong hands, Siaak reached up and lowered the white cowl from his head. He wanted her to feel threatened as she gazed into the eyes of the Omari-Gahiji, the Highborn Hunter who dedicated his entire life to ending hers.

He tossed the cloak to the floor behind him and teleported a weapon to hand from a pile buried under the sand outside the pyramid. White sparks shot from the end like miniature fireworks as the metal rod dug into the limestone beneath his bare feet. Using the staff as a distraction, Siaak summoned three deadly, barbed lances and ordered them to hover behind his back.

You know this would be easier if you came down, Osiris.

She spat at him.

Siaak wiped her spittle from his forehead.

Make sure she doesn’t piss on your head.

Shut up, Myaten.

Siaak ignored the deep laugh inside his head and spoke the trigger word. With a whoosh, the spears launched from behind his back, aimed at Osiris’s heart and throat. He watched her rolling across the stone ceiling, barely dodging his attacks.

She glared at him. You must try harder, Siaak!

Bending down to the floor, knees tucked against his chest, he gritted his teeth and leapt into the air. He hovered for a second, before falling fast and hard. Without making a sound, he landed on the balls of his feet.

His aim dead perfect, the staff, now wedged between glass tiles that made up a diamond pattern on the floor between his feet, rocked with vibration.

Insolent peasant, I will skin you alive! she screamed. And then I shall bathe in your blood!

Is that supposed to make me sick or run away screaming in terror?

The sound of clapping caused his lips to shift into a smile. Siaak took his eyes off his prey to cast a quick glance across the room. There, from a hidden doorway directly behind Osiris, emerged Myaten, and Kiros, standing shoulder to shoulder and acting up like a pair of free-range idiots.

Myaten lightly tapped one hand against the other, while making a pompous face. Much like the one Osiris wore as she watched Kiros moon walking in circles, before rudely grabbing his crotch and singing the words to Beat It.

Siaak would speak to Myaten again about filling Kiros’s head with nonsense from the future. Shaking his head at their antics, he used the thumbs up signal Myaten taught him.

Suddenly, the comical duo flashed from the doorway and took up their positions. The sound of metal staffs striking stone reverberated through the room; they were ready.

When Sehkem appeared in the room with them, Siaak sent a silent message of thanks to Kiros. The young SandWalker promised the old SandWeaver the right to aid them in the capture of Osiris. After all, they were running around in a pyramid created by Sehkem.

Sehkem, the tall, dark skinned SandWeaver wove his hands in a complicated sequence of the magical language unique to his race and black sand filled the open doorway. He bowed gracefully to each SandWalker before speaking.

The walls of my creation will stand as testament to the end of your vile rule, BloodSeeker. Sehkem paused to run his fingertips in a caress around the magical links of his necklace, his shashaiti. Before he carefully removed the silver chain, his dark, almond eyes roamed around pharaoh’s final resting place.

My time in this life is almost complete. He held his arms out to Siaak. I appoint you Omari to reign as master of my pyramid. Let your heart and soul guide you in this life and the next.

Siaak watched, fascinated, as the metal links of the shashaiti collapsed into tiny piles of sparkling sand on the old SandWeaver’s leathery palm.

Sehkem lowered his face to his outstretched hand. Placing thin, dry lips near his palm, the old man took in a lungful of air and blew.

The tiny grains of sand glided across the room like twirling strands of silver lace caught up in a gentle wind. Siaak relaxed his body, allowing the soft particles to gather against his skin before merging into the familiar, thick metal chain and Sehkem’s silver obelisk.

Unable to refuse the honor bestowed upon him, Siaak bowed low and watched in dismay as the ancient SandWeaver faded from view. And for a SandWeaver to part with a shashaiti was unprecedented. And Osiris must realize this.

You could be king among kings, with women to satisfy your manly appetites. Her voice floated down to them, a siren song filling the room, to tease and tantalize them with dreams of treasure and power.

Oh, no, you don’t! Myaten pulled the headphones free of his iphone. Loud, heavy metal music filled the tomb, blocking the soothing lyrics she used to force their compliance.

She shrieked and slammed her hands over her ears.

Siaak didn’t approve of his brother’s method, but it worked. Ignoring the loud music, he held his staff and waited for Myaten and Kiros to take up their places.

Siaak watched the men bow their heads while concentrating on controlling, weaving, and maintaining the spell that will transcend time. And save the world, if luck favored them.

The staves glowed softly as the spell merged with the metal, giving the magic structure, while containing it within the room.

Siaak’s arm rose up into the air. Palm flat, fingers spread wide. White-hot light erupted from the tips of his fingers. His brothers would be doing the identical thing. Each SandWalker knew instinctively what the other required.

Cowards, you dare attack a goddess with magic, she screeched at them. I curse you with my last breath.

Since you brought it up, Osiris, Myaten shook his orange flavored tic tacs at her, here, have the whole box. With breath like that, you need them more than I do. He tossed the box up at her, and blew a kiss.

Osiris caught the small plastic box and crushed it with one hand, ignoring Myaten’s sarcastic comment about wasting good candy as she advanced. With an ear-piercing scream, she threw her body at them, arms out, claws and teeth aimed for the kill. The spell plucked her from the air.

She hit the limestone floor face first and hurled more insults at them as she managed to lift her body from the floor. The palms of her hands and the tops of her knees scraped the cold stone floor while she struggled to crawl, to haul her body forward, desperate to reach one of the men surrounding her. Gradually she dragged herself up, balancing her weight on her knees.

She longed for the day when she would rule the world again and cracked a sly smile as a vision clouded her sight. A world full of people bowing at her feet—a small consolation, but she would have retribution!

She stared in horror at her captors. Losing her balance, she collapsed in a heap on the stone floor, numb from the waist down. I am immortal! How can this be? Her mouth opened wide, showing fangs in a futile effort at defiance as she tried to combat the spell that took over her body.

I will return to reclaim what is rightfully mine…I have seen—

Her voice echoed inside Siaak’s head before the spell cut off her last words. What had she seen? Osiris bore the sight. If she envisioned the rebirth of her kind, the SandWalkers were in for one hell of a rough ride! He’d never known her to boast in jest.

Well, as they say in the future, ‘that’s all she wrote’. Myaten wiped his hands together, walked over to the goddess lying on the stone floor, and crouched next to her. The others joined him to view her pupils, dilated with fear leaving her silver-rimmed eyes frozen in an unblinking wide-eyed stare.

Myaten shook his head in mock pity before skimming his fingertips over her left arm. It’s warm. The heat from her body would fade over the coming centuries.

Did she mean what I think she meant? asked Kiros as he adjusted his blood-spattered, white kilt.

I have to believe there is a possibility that she is lying, but I cannot take that chance. We have to take precautions. Two of us will guard her tomb, while the other watches and waits through the upcoming years. Siaak turned his stare on each of his companions.

Since Myaten understood more about the future, he made the perfect candidate.

Kiros would be better suited as a guard. He could defend the pyramid against looters and tomb robbers. Trained as a royal guard, he had the size and skill to take down the enemy with one blow. His magic would aid him.

We think you’re the right man, um, SandWalker for the job, Myaten said as Kiros shook his head in agreement.

Kiros clapped Siaak on the shoulder. When it’s time to wake me, I want coffee and three dozen Krispy Kreme doughnuts, assorted of course.

Siaak’s confused expression fell on Myaten as Kiros made yummy circle motions on his flat stomach.

It’s a long story. Myaten flashed a cheesy smile while wiggling his dark eyebrows up and down.

With you, Myaten, it is always a long story. Siaak gave a long heartfelt sigh. How will I manage without them?

Pushing that thought aside, he steadied himself as Myaten and Kiros handed over their clothes and weapons. Siaak helped wrap their bodies in thin strips of linen woven by the SandWeavers, designed to keep them safe from the ravages of time and sending them into a hibernation that would last for thousands of years if necessary.

Once finished with his tasks, he sealed the tomb with magic, hoping that when he returned, it would be to awaken his brothers to celebrate victory.

Chapter 1

Jonathon, I don’t know what this says. The young American archaeologist studied the charred remains of the seal that once locked the doors in place. I’ve never seen anything like it before. And, in my expert opinion, these hieroglyphics could be a warning of some kind. Jonathon? She waited for a reply as her boss pushed past–a little too impatient, as far as she was concerned.

Did you hear what I said?

He answered with an oath that told her he lacked interest in her honest opinions.

Turning back to the stone doors, she quickly sketched what she could see etched into the limestone block before venturing away from the precious light behind her. His shadowy form moved a few feet ahead of her wielding a flashlight and clutching a white handkerchief.

The beam bounced from wall to wall, giving her a brief peek at the ancient artwork, before moving farther down the dark, humid tomb. Colorful drawings depicted scenes of court life and family—the usual murals decorating the inside of a queen’s chamber.

Her flashlight showed her a faded cartouche engraved on a, dust-covered column. Identical to the black seal Jonathon cremated when he blasted the doors open the day before.

At least he’d taken a crappy picture before carelessly destroying the precious artifact. Unfortunately, the drawings inside the cartouche hadn’t escaped the ravages of time. She could barely identify two hieroglyphics, but they weren’t enough to give her a name.

As in many tombs, hundreds of hieroglyphics needed deciphering. She couldn’t wait to translate and record the amazing stories from the owner of this incredible tomb!

Jonathon, I feel like I’m talking to myself. Ambers smacked the dirt from her white tank top and coughed as dust particles rose up to her mouth and nose. Waving her hands across her face, she tried in vain to shield her eyes. Too late—they were watering like mad. She’d taken her expensive contact lenses out before entering the tomb; hard lessons learned in past excavations. Removing her glasses, she pulled her shirt free of her shorts. Using a clean section to blot the corners of her eyes; she blinked against the irritating grit. By the time her vision cleared, Jonathon had left her to examine this section of the tomb. Placing her glasses back on she tried to catch sight of him. As someone who desperately needed her experience in ancient languages and Egyptian history, he should have waited around to hear what she had to say.

Ignoring the need to kick something, she hurried to catch up with him. Jonathon?

What, Ambers? Too preoccupied with something he’d seen on a nearby wall, Jonathon kept her waiting.

Dying with curiosity, she moved closer.

Jonathon jumped and quickly turned, shining the powerful beam in her face.

Shielding her eyes with her forearm, she shoved her palm over the end of his flashlight, capping off the bright light, and making her slim fingers glow pink-white in the dark. Do you mind? I’d like to see where I’m going. I don’t want to fall head first into a pit full of rusty spikes left for tomb robbers. Not to mention the possibility of opening up a sealed room and letting loose some hideous monster that wants to eat my face. Or, better still, one that will drag me off in order to sacrifice and appease its demon master.

Let me guess—you were subjected to horror movies as a child?

She stared at him. I love horror movies. She played with an imaginary curl as she crossed her eyes at him in fun.

We are all going to die down here? He threw his blonde head back, giving an evil, theatrical laugh before yanking his flashlight away from her tight grip. With the light beneath his jaw, highlighting his cheekbones and adding dark circles under his blue eyes, he rolled them backward. "You think we’ll find some flesh-eating zombies in here, Ambers?

Now you’re the one being stupid, Jonathan! She pushed past him and smirked as he dropped his flashlight and stumbled over something in the dimness.

You know there’s a good reason for having that thing. She aimed the beam of her smaller light at him. "And it’s not directing traffic."

Ambers enjoyed her sense of triumph as a string of English curse words filtered from behind her. Ignoring him, she let her eyes trail after the light, feasting on all she could see, while carefully picking her footing.

They had no plausible way to guess the stability of the tombs within the pyramid until they installed stronger lights. She hated playing the waiting game, especially when there were plenty of portable light units on the trucks outside. However, until the pyramid past inspection, no civilian could set foot inside the pyramid. Jonathon risked losing the foothold he had on entering the tomb without clearance from the proper channels.

As for the inspector Jonathon hired to survey the site two months ago, he remained halfway across the country and it was anyone’s guess when he’d make an appearance. Ambers suspected he delayed his arrival due to the bizarre and magical appearance of the pyramid.

Many of the natives still believed in their ancient gods and frowned upon foreigners messing around in one of their sacred burial tombs, so needless to say, she wasn’t shocked when Jonathon received numerous death threats. Ambers wasn’t sure she believed anyone would go so far as to kill them, but then again, she couldn’t be sure. Fanatics were quick to show aggression, countless murders committed through the ages for nothing more than religious beliefs. She felt extreme anger when men and women used higher, benevolent beings or events as an excuse to kill in cold blood.

Jonathon argued with her before entering the pyramid that morning. She strongly opposed racing the clock just so they could be a part of history. But he accused her of being ignorant of the astounding impact their find would have on the world.

Of course, I know the importance of such a find—what is it with men? Such annoying masculine behavior made her thankful of her single status. If he were my husband, I’d kill him and bury him in the back yard!

Coughing again, she rolled her eyes. Her old teacher’s loud, nasal voice echoed inside her head. You must always follow safety protocol. Harmful bacteria still lingers inside ancient tombs, and especially in the body’s mummified remains.

Ambers stopped and shucked off her black Patagonia pack. Placing the slim, silver flashlight between her teeth, she pulled the two zippers in opposite directions. Reaching inside, she took out a disposable mask, two pairs of powder-free gloves, goggles, and a brand new vest.

Taking the flashlight out of her mouth, Ambers balanced it on her pack before putting on the mask. It slipped into place easily enough with her hair up in a ponytail, fitting snugly over her nose and mouth, and held in place with two narrow, yellow elastic bands.

She pushed her arms into the mesh style vest and zipped it. With a tap on the concealed power button, two built in lights flickered on leaving her hands free.

With a dozen or so reflectors sewn into the fabric, it made spotting her in the dark easier. Not to mention the endless storage room. At least twelve pockets came in handy for a packrat like her. They held her tools, along with a small first aid kit, two days rations, and a twenty-four ounce water bottle.

She stored the flashlight in her bag before slipped her backpack on and fastened it around her waist with the quick-release buckle, then felt inside an unzipped compartment for a stick of gum.

As she walked, she snapped her white gloves on and separated another pair, balling them up and shoving them into the pockets of her khaki shorts.

Even with her soft, rubber-heeled boots her footsteps echoed as she moved around inside the ancient tomb.

Ambers’ fascination for ancient cultures caused her mind to devise an endless list of questions. What was life really like back then? How did people cope? What was medicine like and how did they learn to use it? As much as she desired knowledge, she couldn’t envision herself living ten thousand years before. The thought of life without electricity put her fantasies aside as she stopped and took note of the walls and high ceiling of the chamber she had entered.

She imagined the room filled with rich sunlight. White robed priests partaking in rituals as old as the sand, sun, and sky, supervised their god’s final resting place. When she turned around, the active scene created by her mind faded into darkness. Her breathing rasped loud and eerie to her ears. A creepy sensation of someone watching filtered into her mind, until she found an exit from the queen’s chambers—the doorway filled in with a crumbling, black cement-like substance.

How odd.

Removing her pack, she reached inside and pulled out a pick and chiseled away at the surface. Once she created a hole big enough to see through, she reclaimed the flashlight from her bag to see into the small opening.

Pharaoh’s chamber—but why is it sealed?

She placed the flashlight back in her bag and dug into the sandy wall with both hands. Filled with giddy excitement, she shoveled faster and faster until she’d cleared enough space to squeeze through.

Should I go through?

It not every day a person investigates a new pyramid. Squaring her shoulders, the feeling of guilt evaporated as quickly as it came. She took one quick peek over her shoulder and stepped inside. Using his headset to talk to the crew outside, Jonathon’s strong, English voice turned muffled as she passed through the doorway leading into the king’s chamber.

Pushing the safety goggles up to sit on her head, she tried to take in the fascinating room.

The thin beams of artificial light reflected off something metallic. With her eyes wide open, she tried to see in the dark tomb. A mirror or shield, she had no idea. As she moved in a tight circle around the room, the white beams from her vest reflected off two objects.

She must record this!

With shaking hands she unzipped the large pocket at the bottom of her vest, she pulled out her camcorder. Powering it up, she hit record and swept the room while wondering if she should call Jonathon over.

Dropping the camera from her face, she swallowed her eager anticipation. What treasures awaited? Taping the floor wasted the battery power, however, and she quickly resumed filming the room. The view screen took in a statue of a beautiful woman in the middle of the chamber. She found the pose a bit eerie, but dismissed the oddity and continued recording the murals and hieroglyphics. On closer inspection, the hieroglyphics were different from the ones she’d seen at other sites and in textbooks.

Shit! She tripped, almost losing her grip on the recorder. Something brushed past her back.

Damn it, Jonathon! You scared the shit out of me! She whirled and dropped the camera which hit the floor with a loud clatter.

Her heart hammering, her ponytail swung like a pendulum as her head jerked to check the dark, eerie room. There were no hiding places.

No one was there, but she sensed something.

Shaking her head, she crouched down to reclaim her camera. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, followed closely by the disturbing sensation of eyes watching her. Her blood ran cold.

Wet hair clung to her neck and jaw as beads of sweat ran down the dip of her lower back and behind her knees, while she tried to stay still. Closing her mouth, she took a long, deep breath through her nose and ignored the sound of heavy breathing that filled her mind.

The little girl in her who’d watched too many episodes of Scooby-doo wanted to run for the exit, but she quickly calmed down and blamed her overreaction on Jonathon’s conversation of creepy monster zombies had her cowering in the dark.

Perhaps she angered the spirits within the tomb.

There’s no one here, just my overactive imagination hard at work.

"Who are you talking to, Ambers?"

Myself. She closed her eyes in relief at hearing Jonathon’s voice. She almost flung herself into his arms