Annabeth Neverending Read online

  When the moment does arrive for my toe touch, it’s so high, so clean, the crowd goes crazy. For a few seconds, it feels like I’m flying, defying gravity. Even though it isn’t part of the choreography, I add two additional toe touches just to prove that this was no accident. I’ll deal with the fallout for showboating later.

  We collapse to the ground in a falling wave as the music concludes. In unison, we rise and put our arms behind us, resting our pompons on the small of our backs. Our pointed toes kick up the hems of our skirts as we exit to rousing applause.

  Once we’ve left the field, I’m surrounded by my teammates, who are congratulating me for my efforts. This is new: usually I get glares after the fact for tripping or turning in the wrong direction.

  “That was killer, Annabeth!” says Kerry.

  “Yeah, you really rocked it,” adds Bernadette.

  I give them both a dramatic bow. So not just bad things like beer cravings carry over, but amazing things like muscle memory. Ana’s skills bled through from her lifetime into mine. Her coordination and gymnastic expertise came with me to the present day, and I was able to apply it to a much less violent pastime. Who would’ve thought that Ana would be my deliverance? I never could’ve done those toe touches without her. On occasion, reincarnation has advantages.

  I enter the parking lot as I zip up my nylon team jacket, my pompon bag hanging over my shoulder. I’m still feeling elated from my killer performance. Now that I no longer have the stadium lights to rectify my vision, it’s hard to distinguish what’s in front of me. Suddenly, the overhead lights go out without warning. I’m thrust into darkness, unable to see at all.

  Footsteps resound, loudly hitting the pavement nearby. Fright engulfs me, though I’m not sure why. This is part of my high-school campus. I should feel safe here. It’s like a second home.

  Surely I’m being silly. My nerves are unraveled because of the flashbacks. There’s probably a tripped wire or a shorted-out circuit. But my intuition, my instinct, tells me to worry. Again I hear footsteps hitting the pavement nearby. It’s probably a booster parent, or a janitor. Somebody completely innocuous who should not be making my blood rush through my veins as swiftly as mercury.

  “Who’s there?” I ask quietly. Hopefully.

  But I’m met with silence. And a cold wave of terror runs through me. I hear the culprit making a throat-clearing sound, and now I’m certain that it’s a he, not that there had been much of a doubt.

  The mystery man pounces. A scream barely escapes my lips before he pushes me up against a car, his hand cupping my mouth to stifle me. I go limp with fear. Ana would’ve sprung to action, but there’s no fight here. The warrior has fled. And now I just want this to be over. Please, let this end. Come what may.

  The attacker pulls at my snug turtleneck, scratching me, searching me, but there’s nothing there to take. He grunts with anger. Frustration. He lets go of me and grabs my bag before he runs off into the night.

  I feel violated. Invaded. I’m shaking so hard my legs feel like jelly. I think they’re going to give way. I’m not even sure how long I’m standing here, wearily wobbling, silently weeping…

  “Annabeth? Is that you?”

  “Gabriel, thank God!” I practically scream, my voice cutting through the empty parking lot.

  “I wasn’t expecting that sort of a reception,” he says, and even though I can’t see him, I can tell he’s smirking.

  “I just got mugged!”

  “Mugged? Which way did he go? Tell me!” Gabriel yells, dogged.

  “It doesn’t matter. He’s long gone. Besides, I don’t want you to leave me.”

  Gabriel bolts to my side, and I finally feel like I can begin the long road to achieving calm.

  “What did he look like?” he asks frantically.

  “I couldn’t really see him,” I say, and I know this sounds ridiculous.

  “You couldn’t see him at all? It isn’t that dark here. There really is something wrong with your vision,” says Gabriel in a worried tone. He takes me into his arms while gently stroking my hair. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” he asks, his voice pitched with anger.

  “Not physically.”

  He tenderly rubs my arm, and his touch makes me quiver.

  I need this. I need him.

  “We should call the police,” he suggests quietly.

  At first, that seems like a good idea. The obvious next step. But I can’t describe my attacker, which is a major problem that I can’t explain. To the normal person, unhindered by brutal side effects, it isn’t blindingly dark here, even after the lights are shut down. I wonder how he was able to turn them off—and how he knew about the pendant.

  Who is this villain? Could it be a reincarnated Amun, Ramses, or maybe even Kha?

  No, no. It isn’t Gabriel. I won’t let myself go there. It simply can’t be him…not when he’s here helping me through it…

  But I do wonder, does the ankh fall in and out of my possession as I hop from one lifetime, one time period, to another? Is that part of some strange routine, a weird cycle that always happens when I turn sixteen?

  “We can’t. You don’t understand my parents. They’d never let me go out again.”

  Ever since the ankh’s appeared, I’ve been bending the truth in strange and unusual ways. I know that someday that house of cards is going to fall down, but for now I’ll add another to its construction.

  “Why don’t you think about it? You should at least report it to your school,” insists Gabriel emphatically.

  “Maybe,” I say, my lies flowing as freely as my tears.

  “If only I’d gotten here earlier.”

  I burrow my head into his broad, hard shoulder. I find it hard to stop trembling, even with Gabriel’s arms reaching around me and holding me tight.

  I don’t tell my parents about my mugging, which is hard because it’s at the forefront of my mind. The pushing. The yanking. The clawing. I retreat to my room to change out of my uniform. I need to take off anything he touched. I must cleanse myself of him. My nemesis.

  I look around at all the stuffed toys and dolls. I realize that I might need to do some purging and redecorate. This place looks like it’s inhabited by a tweenaged girl. And given what I’ve gone through lately, I suddenly feel more grown up. A few…thousand years older.

  I remove the ankh box from my hope chest. I sit on my bed and make sure it’s still nestled inside. I stare at this: my worst friend, my best enemy. I can’t bring myself to touch it. With everything I’ve been through, the last thing I need is a seizure or some new and even more terrible side effect.

  I decide to lie down and close my eyes for a second before I put the ankh away. I’ll get to it. As soon as I have the energy…

  10

  I no longer know where Ana begins and I end. I’m all but disappearing into my memories, and Ana is taking over. After all, the recollections belong to her. I’m only an interloper, but now I’m becoming so fully immersed that none of me is left. This is the sweetest loss I’ve ever felt…

  I stand on the deck of a wooden ship, pulling my cape around me while my white linen gown flutters in the breeze. I watch the waves, blue as lapis lazuli, rolling past as the ship careens through the water. There is something energizing about being on the Nile. After all, it is the source of all life in Egypt. I especially enjoy traveling through the delta because the surrounding vegetation is at its greenest and most abundant.

  The boat is not only propelled by sails during heavy winds but also by the labor of numerous galley slaves positioned within the boat’s hull. Sethe is among them, for the water is especially choppy now. I had grown accustomed to having him close by, and I am loath to have him even ten feet away. But at least he is within my sight.

  If only we could share some stolen glances, but that would invite too much suspicion. I long for his embrace�
��his kiss. But eyes are always upon us. And voices are always at the ready, waiting to make sure we are punished for any misdeed. A woman of my stature could never share a bed and surely could never share her heart with a slave. Knowing that I cannot have Sethe makes me yearn for him all the more.

  Baketmut walks past, and as usual, she seems intent on ruining any rare moment of peace I have been granted. She eyes me critically, as she is wont to do. She leans in toward me.

  “Sister, I have taken to your guard, Sethe. Would you care to make a trade? I would go so high as three of my handmaidens for that one heathen. What say you?”

  I am aghast. That Baketmut thinks I would ever consider such a thing is sheer folly. But I try to appear as though I am taking the offer seriously.

  “I shall give it some thought,” I say softly, while scoffing on the inside.

  I glance over at Sethe and nod. Surely she is taking in his beauty, just as I am. I can tell merely by looking at her that he sets her loins aflame. After all, I cannot be the only woman in the kingdom willing to ignore his inconsequential birth.

  “Four handmaidens?”

  “We shall see,” I say dismissively, which she must find as frustrating as I find her persistence.

  “I never will understand why Majesty Father gave him to you anyway. I am much more deserving!” Baketmut cries and walks away, incensed.

  And then, he appears. I do not know how he got here; it is like he is somehow in league with the elements, a force of nature. For Kha is now standing next to me, exuding rancor. I ignore him, not wanting to be disturbed yet again during what was initially such a blessed interlude. But Kha will not wait. I turn to him. His pale blue eyes look almost clear in the bright sunlight. They are hypnotic, and his extralong black lashes draw me in.

  “You know, Princess, that I have become your father’s most trusted advisor.”

  Kha does not realize that this does little to recommend him. I lost respect for my father’s decision-making ability the moment he decided I would marry a suitor of his choosing. This was further reinforced by his choice, Amun, which was particularly disheartening.

  “Obviously you possess excellent judgment,” I quip.

  “Yes, though there are other things I’d rather possess,” Kha adds, his angular eyebrows wagging. “Out of respect for you, I must share something in confidence. At the Sed celebration, your father shall announce your engagement to Amun.”

  I feel ill. This is many times worse than the river sickness I have experienced all morning. I knew in my heart of hearts it would be Amun, but before I had confirmation, I was able to pretend. But now, there will be no avoiding it. And life with Amun will be no life at all.

  To marry him could very well mean the death of me, were I to cross him at the wrong moment. But then, I have a strong will to survive. It is as unfailing as the cycles of the moon. Perhaps I have been pampered and privileged, but I am not soft. I am as hard as onyx.

  Kha takes his finger and puts it under my chin, slowly raising my face upward, presumably to remind me who’s in charge.

  “I can change the pharaoh’s mind, if you are willing to pay the price.”

  I gulp, knowing that this is the beginning of the end of existence as I know it. What does he demand? I am afraid. Fearful that what he proposes will somehow tear Sethe away from me forever. But I have to ask, for he is the only person who has extended me the very thing I am desperately seeking. An alternative.

  “What is the price?”

  Kha leans in close but stops short before slowly parsing out his words.

  “One that I pray you find pleasing, Princess.”

  “I shall pay it. But what is the price? Please, what is the price?” I ask, panicking.

  “One that should have been paid long ago,” he replies.

  Kha’s happiness is in direct opposition to mine, for he looks like he must work at keeping his face stoic, lest a smile blossom across it. While I have memories of his kindness, his sweetness, he now seems calculating, cruel.

  There is a flash of light, spinning, fluctuating…

  We move toward the entrance of the great temple at Abu Simbel just as the god Ra is retreating from the heavens with his great sun disk. I am anxious to see the completed building in person, finally. Now that I am here, I am speechless. It is mammoth in size and shocking to behold. It makes me feel insignificant, meaningless.

  Carved into the temple’s façade are four gargantuan sculptures of Ramses the Great. Four gigantic statues seated in a row and staring off into the distance. Four faces displaying the wisdom of the ages. These colossi are not only imposing but magnificently rendered. Each individual statue is a masterpiece of artistic accomplishment in which the thick-lipped, stiff-bearded, staff-holding Ramses forever admires the breathtaking view before him.

  In addition to the four principal figures, there are diminutive daughters and wives of the pharaoh at their feet. Even though they are cut from cold, hard stone, they seem very much alive. I must remember to ask Majesty Father which one is supposed to be me.

  I look up and spy baboon statues lined up above the outer temple. They stand on the pylon’s precipice, as though encouraging the sun to deliver its light with their overly long arms outstretched toward the cloudless desert sky.

  Amun hangs in the background and greets me with brusqueness. I am as chilly in return as I can possibly be while maintaining an air of rudimentary politeness. Baketmut stands next to him, glaring at me smugly. She knows it won’t be long before he is free to torment me at his leisure.

  I look back at the statues and admire them. How handsome they look. The stone carvers took great care in making sure that Majesty Father is represented as rugged, strong. While he is rather aged in real life (they say he has reached the middle of his forties!), his mouth contorts from dental discomfort, and his hands twist from arthritis. Yet at the front of this temple, he will be forever young and vibrant.

  Majesty Father pulls me aside with a look of consternation on his face. “As you know, I was not meant to be pharaoh. My brother Nebchasetnebet was groomed for that. Then he died of the bleeding sickness, and Anubis led him to the great kingdom of the afterlife. I was forced to take on the role. It was not a position I would have sought out for myself, but sometimes in life things change in an instant. I thought my brother was invincible, and never pictured him dying, or myself becoming such a celebrated leader.”

  “What are you saying, Majesty Father?” I demand…well, in the gentle manner a subject demands something from her king.

  “Daughter, you shall not be marrying your brother, the crown prince. Instead, he shall be joined with Baketmut.”

  How can this be? My prayers have been answered! But I cannot let my excitement show too overtly. Perhaps Kha is not the villain I had once imagined. Why did I ever feel that way? Clearly feminine instinct is not always correct. Now Baketmut shall take Amun! This could not be better. They seem to get along as siblings should. Their union has the potential to be a happy one.

  And for a fleeting moment, I am happy, until I realize the full ramifications of this announcement—that Baketmut will be queen. I never cared about becoming monarch myself, but I do worry that the two of them in conjunction will bring ruin to our kingdom.

  Despite my misgivings and feelings of impending doom and devastation, I try to rejoice in the newfound knowledge of my freedom.

  “I know that you have long wished for the throne, but things have taken a different turn.”

  Majesty Mother walks over to insert herself into the conversation. “My husband, God on Earth, I am most pleased with my temple,” she coos gratefully.

  “Though it does not do you justice, my love. You are the one for whom the sun shines,” says my father.

  Majesty Mother grins, extending her neck to look even more regal, delighting in the moment. “Pray tell. What are you discussing?”


  “The gods have spoken to me through the high priest, and they have selected a different betrothed for Ana,” he discloses.

  Nefertari’s eyes go so wide I fear they will fall from their sockets. It looks as though Majesty Mother has seen the ghosts of our ancestors. This was never her plan, and clearly my father did not seek her counsel on the subject, which is bizarre, as my marital status has always been one of her primary concerns.

  “Fear not, my dearest. Baketmut shall secure your rightful place as first family.”

  Majesty Mother tries to look placated, but it appears that there will be no pleasing her. She never desired Baketmut to be the queen. She always wanted me to take on her mantle, carry on the tradition, experience the glory.

  I may be childish in some ways, but Majesty Mother has always said that I have the potential to be a fine ruler. Baketmut is sorely deficient in that area. She is too insecure and too vindictive to help rule an empire. And my mother always anticipated that I would be a good influence on Amun. But she will encourage him, aid him in extrapolating his worst qualities…Who shall reign him in now?

  “Tell me, Majesty Father. Who will share my bed? Who shall be my master?” I beg, wanting to know but wishing I could not know, fear clutching me.

  “Kha. Kha of Luxor.”

  “My daughter shall wed the son of a scribe? Kha is doing this because I would not betrothe Ana to him before.”

  I had no idea that Kha had designs on me since the days of our youth or that my mother had spurned them. Now it all falls into place. It was a scheme of his. Born of vengeance.

  Suddenly, I feel as though the ground may swallow me right where I stand. And in a way, I would welcome it. The four statues of Ramses are shaking their heads at the news.

  Are they shedding tears of despair?

  Are they made of blood?

  I look toward those around me, but they do not seem to notice. Why am I the only one witnessing this? The statues are most certainly weeping in deep, red streams.