The Ka

  The Ka

  Mary Deal

  Copyright (C) 2017 Mary Deal

  Layout design and Copyright (C) 2017 by Creativia

  Published 2017 by Creativia

  Cover art by Cover Mint

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

  Table of Contents

  Titles by Mary Deal

  Acknowledgements

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  Glossary

  About the Author

  Titles by Mary Deal

  Fiction

  The Ka, a paranormal Egyptian suspense

  River Bones, the original Sara Mason Mystery

  The Howling Cliffs, 1st sequel to River Bones

  Legacy of the Tropics, adventure/suspense

  Down to The Needle, a thriller

  Collections

  Off Center in the Attic – Over the Top Stories

  Nonfiction

  Write It Right – Tips for Authors – The Big Book

  Write It Right – Tips For Author – Vol. I - 2nd Ed.

  Writer It Right – Tips for Authors – Vol II

  Hypno-Scripts: Life-Changing Techniques Using

  Self-Hypnosis and Meditation

  For Ron Holte

  …who had more faith in me than I had in myself in the beginning.

  His encouragement has had a profound effect on my writing life.

  Acknowledgements

  My son, Dean Alan Deal, for his unending encouragement and support, having read and critiqued every major book manuscript I've written.

  Elizabeth English, Founder & Executive Director, Moondance International Film Festival; for her continued advice, expertise, encouragement, and friendship.

  Lori Kikumoto, whose keen-eyed scrutiny helped polish the manuscript.

  Richard D. Robbins, MD and Writer (dec.); for constantly exchanging roles of student and mentor with me during the all too brief time we wrote together.

  Letisha Teserak, Librarian, who pushed me to get this manuscript started, and who supplied me with every book and video about Egypt found in Hawaii's libraries across the Islands.

  Magda Batstone, who shipped nearly her entire private Egyptian library from California to Hawaii, and who allowed me to retain it for research for over a year.

  Author photo by Faces Studio and Salon, Honolulu, Hawaii

  1

  “Witch!” Randy Osborne said, as he strode around the room wearing a contemptible smirk. “You're an out 'n out witch.”

  “Your choice of labels defines your ignorance,” Chione said, not backing down from his stare. Witch was his mother's terminology. He always listened to her. Randy seemed unable to form his own opinions. If pressed, he always quoted his mother.

  “Here, here,” Clifford Rawlings said in her support as he threw a fist into the air.

  Others in the group expressed mixed reactions, but Chione Ini-Herit had grown emotionally strong enough to withstand Randy's cruel taunting. Shortly after they met and she learned of interning with him, she decided that anything Randy said would not tear at her equilibrium. Her passive attitude, till now, kept him in line.

  This was the first time Chione had a chance to see all the members of the archaeological team together in one room. They were older and, at times, a little intimidating. Her own demeanor was quiet, meditative; maybe passive aggressive, and she sometimes became overwhelmed with their high-spirited personalities. Yet, being allowed to accompany these professionals to the dig site in Egypt was the chance of a lifetime. Presently, she would be happy to sit back and watch the team members goad one another. Information came at her so quickly it numbed her senses. With the whole team together, their voices assaulted her eardrums in round after round of quips and retorts that would send the meek fleeing. Getting to know these people could not wait until they arrived at the dig site when work would proceed at full speed. The only way to get to know them as a team began here. Now.

  Aaron Ashby stepped up behind her. “You don't know the meaning of witch, Randy.” Chione felt Aaron's hand touch her shoulder, but he removed it right away, minding his manners. “What gives you the right to label anyone?”

  “Because she predicted our discovery,” Randy said, “and danger near some small tombs. What did she say… that the bone yard is haunted, and that our find could change history? Ha!” He rocked back on his heels. “Sounds like a typical psychic reading.” He glared at her again. “Even your Egyptian looks spook me. Why don't you crop that black hair of yours about ear length like the Egyptians used to—?”

  “If Chione's appearance spooks you, Randy,” Kendra Laker said succinctly. “Maybe you need to scrutinize your own image.”

  Chione became flustered, and wondered why they stood up for her. She could hold her own in her quiet way. The group seemed too willing in their zeal to pounce on Randy. During the planning stages of the expedition, envy among some of the lesser staff at the California Institute of Archaeology predicted the team would not hold together. It would not be because of the diverse backgrounds of each in the field of archaeology, but due to the clash of personalities and ego opposites.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Osborne,” Aaron said. “Any learned archaeologist knows that in Egypt those small tombs are mastabas.”

  “And what you so unprofessionally label the bone yard,” Clifford said, “is a necropolis.”

  Eager anticipation as well as irritability hung heavy in the small conference room at the five-star Re-Harakhty Hotel in Cairo. Jet lag had gripped them all. Despite air conditioning, the crowded conference room was stuffy. The moment for which all had waited was upon them. The small group of colleagues milled around impatiently awaiting the arrival of Dr. Sterling Withers. Before the team made their way south along the Nile to Valley of the Queens, he was to deliver one final briefing on this, the first advantageous opportunity to befall the Institute and that tempted to be the find of a lifetime.

  Archaeologist Dr. Sterling Withers inherited a fortune in croplands in the California Central Valley. Yet his interest had never been in what grew from the soil but what lay buried beneath it. He quickly leased out most of the land to crop farmers but retained the residential portion to manifest his lifelong dream of a privately held archaeological institute. The Institute's monstrous old Victorian main building, with its attendant renovated and new smaller structures that comprised the facility, sat off the main road. Situated on a verdant patch of green acreage, the cluster of bu
ildings was canopied and sheltered from the heat and dust by decades-old shade trees. Perfectly timed, the Institute opened its doors with the New Millennium. Lathrop, California became a bigger dot on the map. After several years of hoping to find a new dig site, the Institute's exploration team auspiciously happened upon a tomb that had remained sealed for how long, no one yet knew with certainty.

  Chione glanced out the window of the top floor hotel conference room and over the resort grounds, replete with monstrous swimming pools and lavish amenities. Though she detested commercialism, just being in Cairo, or anywhere in Egypt, made everything right. Still, she could not shed the luxury fast enough. Something had taken hold of her. She yearned to get to the dig site and down into that hole in the ground.

  Off in the distance, clouds of sand blew on air currents. They reminded her how summer lingered in the California Central Valley. The late fall season had not been the traditional mild Indian summer like many others. There was no escape. Everyone suffered. Any place in the world would have offered reprieve from the antagonizing heat, but traveling to the Egyptian desert was not where anyone would seek respite from the sizzle of the California Central Valley. Now that they had finally arrived in Egypt, having to wait to learn last minute details of the project fueled impatience and made tempers flare.

  Randy's snicker brought her thoughts back into the room.

  Aaron sighed. “You don't get it, do you, Randy?”

  “What's to get?”

  “That's what makes Chione so gifted. She has no skeletons dancing in her closets.”

  “You mean because everyone knows her secrets?”

  Chione felt pangs of anger at being taunted by Randy and freely talked about. She harbored no illusions about the condition of her life. She glanced at Kendra with a wry smile. They were aware of the fact that her reproductive organs were underdeveloped leaving her unable to bear children. She did not care who knew and because of that, in her mind, she felt free. One day, Randy would get his comeuppance. Now, she intended to let the scene play out, partly to get to know the team, and because Randy could make a fool of himself without any help from her. Randy's inclusion in the project deterred any emotional high the team might experience. Intolerance would be tempered by the work.

  Tall, muscular Aaron passed a handkerchief over his forehead, then over the back of his neck as he paced at the rear of the room. Finally, he took a chair at the end of the conference table. Chione knew Aaron had to force himself to bite his tongue as he watched the mixture of amused grins and disapproving frowns exchanged among the others. She watched Aaron vent anger as he slashed random crosshatch lines on a notepad. This was not the first time Randy tried to trash another person's reputation to enhance his own. He was trying to discredit her into losing her place on the team. She lacking a Ph.D. like the others, Randy voiced disbelief at her being chosen to work on the most significant archaeological exploration in recent history.

  “The fact that Chione's so open about her private life,” Bebe Hutton said from across the room, “doesn't give anyone permission to make a mockery of it.” Bebe's habit was to remain quiet and observe, saying only enough to quell a situation or incite further interest when needed. She would hold her composure and watch the turning of events.

  “You belittle her because she happens to outdistance you in practical intelligence,” Clifford Rawlings said as he stared at Randy with disgust. When the mature and learned Egyptologist Dr. Rawlings spoke, everyone respected and listened, despite frequent lapses into the satirical. To look upon the man offered a view of a person approaching old age with a stately posture and whose clothes were always trendy and fresh. He had gray at his temples and a demeanor sculpted by time. Except when in one of his frequent comical moods. Then it was difficult at best to take him seriously. People said he turned over the management of his Napa Valley winery to a management team because he did not need the bottle to enhance his humor. In reality, the winery was only a tax shelter.

  “I agree,” Kendra said. The natural sparkle of her green eyes teased. “Chione does have a special sense of intuition.” Kendra's wiry energy resonated on every word, driving a point home.

  “But—”

  “Leave it alone, Randy,” Clifford said.

  Randy stood supported with a hand on the back of a chair, flagging a leg back and forth as if his underwear might be caught in the wrong place. Then he lifted the leg a couple of times in a last-ditch effort to end his discomfort. His personal habits were reason for a good snicker among the team, who could politely ridicule one another, then laugh. At times, criticism from any of them seemed in jest, a way this group of high-strung colleagues dealt with stress. At other times, Randy's behavior was repulsive. He seemed to take great comfort in eating all the time and, thanks to his mother packing his lunch, he always had an ample supply of food nearby to pick at. His continual weight gain and lack of personal hygiene turned people off. He always looked sweaty and wrinkled, with matted hair. No one relished the idea of sharing a tent with him in the heat of the desert. Finally, he reached behind himself and gave the seat of his pants a tug. Not the kind of professional posture one would expect from a Physical Anthropologist who worked with genetics and biochemistry.

  Chione wished Randy would get the point that his taunting could not discredit her accomplishments. She tried to be exacting in anything she did and had no plans to change her ways. He probably found that intimidating.

  Aaron glanced at her and smiled secretly at the comments tossed on her behalf. Chione was well aware that Aaron still loved her, yet contained his feelings, sometimes behind indifference, which she easily read because she had always understood him. Aaron, too, hoped Randy would not be included in their upcoming expedition.

  Kendra persisted. Her love of limelight would not allow her to turn her back on anything as attention grabbing as a paranormal prediction come true. “Chione's dreams predicted this tomb would be found,” she said, “predicted that mournful sound would lead our exploratory team to it.”

  “Similar to the singing Colossi of Memnon at Thebes,” Bebe said, referring to the two north statues which some thought to be Amenhotep's mother, Mutemuia, and Queen Tyi. She had learned to rattle off the Egyptian names as easily as she spoke English. “Tyi's statue was the one thought to emit the singing. Our tomb was discovered because of similar noises emitting from it.” Bebe was old-fashioned and skeptical of the paranormal, even as she talked about the recent incontestable events. She would be eager to put her knowledge of Egyptian history to work. Her professionalism as an historian was reputed to be unequaled. She looked the part, serious and educated, but with a matronly figure. Her brown hair would erase years if lightened and styled otherwise. Yet, she was the epitome of today's professionally groomed middle-aged businesswoman.

  “You see?” Randy asked, seizing the moment and raising his voice. “Only a witch could prognosticate finding a hidden tomb.”

  “Or someone with a sixth sense finely tuned to what she's doing,” Aaron said, standing again.

  “But to predict? Tell me, did she forecast this tomb dating to the 18th Dynasty before those first relics were unearthed?”

  “Does it really matter?” Clifford asked. “Fact is, Chione dreamed it all, from the mournful sounds to someone stumbling over a stone and falling into a hole.”

  “A hole that led to the passageway of a tomb,” Aaron said. His smile was smug and showed he was thoroughly pleased about her extrasensory abilities. With Aaron partially in command, he would not let Randy's personality throw the proverbial wrench into the mechanism every time he opened his mouth.

  She was glad she had not told anyone but Aaron that she had caught strange flu-like symptoms a couple months back, about the time she began having those revealing dreams. She thought that, perhaps, the dreams had a deep psychological affect on her nervous system and hoped her unpredictably queasy stomach and other symptoms would pass. Luckily, Aaron was trustworthy and had not told anyone. Knowing that someone
in the group understood her and how she received her extrasensory information was helpful too. Her occasional nausea was gradually diminishing. Had Randy learned about the lingering malaise, he would have seen to it that she was prevented from accompanying the team anywhere.

  Chione discreetly glanced at Aaron, and then quickly looked away. She needed to hide the fact that she remained quite taken with him. The desire for some degree of intimacy recently returned. His promotion to becoming Dr. Withers's understudy and second in command meant they would now work side by side. That was all she could allow. Somehow, she knew that while working closely he would try to gain back what they shared and try to convince her to give him another chance. He was a decent guy; the only one to comprehend what she was all about. Not only that, she had shown him that with a little more study and self-knowledge he could develop his own unique abilities. The possibilities fascinated him.

  As an adopted child, she endured an unfulfilled need to know who she was and clung to her adoptive mother and father. Their divorce left her devastated. Then came her second adoptive father, an Egyptian, whom she adored and whose name she took. Yet, his nurturing only made her more dependent.

  Soon after she and Aaron met came the most disparaging news of all. How devastated she felt after learning she would never bear children. She interpreted it as an omen to share her life with no one, and to find strength in being alone. When she and Aaron parted, she made it clear that she could not cling to anyone any longer. Perhaps her consolation did come with solitude. After all, self-imposed seclusion perfected her special mental gifts. No one truly understood those peculiar qualities and that cinched the concept of separatism in her mind.

  The fact that Aaron had been open minded and made a gigantic effort to broaden his understanding of alternate realities offered hope, especially since his own awareness expanded with the experiences. She believed it wise that his and her lives remain separate. He might fall in love with someone else and have the family he desired. However, the thought of him loving someone other than her created a confused sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Recently, she began to yearn again for him and that was forcing her to confront her feelings. Clearly, Aaron seemed not about to give up on her, or on the development of his extrasensory abilities. She felt rushed to sort things out.