Gene of Isis

restrained, several of the dark warriors closed in on me.

I began to feel a little woozy; I hadn’t had much to eat recently. Then, my lightheaded and hauntingly sensual giddiness turned to strength and confidence. I raised the Saracen sword with the greatest of ease and wielded it around myself with complete familiarity. Then words began to gush forth from my mouth in the Arab dialect, and even more astounding was the fact that I understood every word. ‘I am Albe-Ra, guardian of this mount and servant to the great goddesses of the Elohim. It is by their command that you will release those trapped in the temple of the Star-Fire or perish on this sword.’

‘Oh, my goodness.’ Cingar was stunned.

‘What?’ My Lord Devere was totally out of his depth, unable to believe his wife’s show with the sword, nor the foreign dialect that I was suddenly sprouting. ‘What did she say?’

‘She claims to be Albe-Ra,’ the gypsy informed him, as bemused as the Arabs were by the idea.

‘What!’ My husband nearly had a fit! ‘First, my Lady Devere is hypnotised by a vampire, and now she is possessed by a six-hundred-year-old ghost! Could it be Molier again? He could be trying to get us all killed!’

‘I doubt very much Molier would claim to be Albray Devere,’ Malory said. ‘They were arch-enemies. ’

‘Kill her,’ decided the Arab leader. ‘For abusing the name of the great one.’

My husband struggled to free himself as I stepped up to fight several of our captors. ‘For god’s sake, Susan, please!’

In all likelihood I would have refrained, had I had any control over my limbs. I could scarcely believe the precision and ease with which I fended off my attackers and I felt not the slightest fear for my safety. I even managed to disable my opponents with superficial limb injuries.

‘Albe-Ra was said to be one of the greatest swordsmen to have ever lived,’ Malory commented to my stupefied husband.

‘Praise god for small mercies,’ Lord Devere mumbled in reply. ‘Or should I say, praise the goddess?’ His eyes remained glued to me, and he suddenly couldn’t help but grin with pride.

Having witnessed ten of his finest warriors vested of their weapons, the Arab leader called for his men to fall back. Removing his cloak, he drew his sword. ‘Only if you can defeat me, shall I concede you are Albe-Ra.’

‘And you will see to my request?’ I demanded.

‘I will permit you to carry out your wishes,’ he allowed.

‘What I wouldn’t give for a pistol right now.’ Lord Devere again tried to pry himself free, which only served to gain him a punch in the stomach.

‘Have a little faith in divine intervention,’ Malory advised, his eyes fixed on the duel.

‘That is easy for you to say. She’s not your wife!’ my lord gasped, winded by the blow.

‘At present, I don’t believe she is your wife.’ Malory’s attention was riveted to the swordfight. ‘But the Lady Devere is, in all likelihood, the most psychically adept among us, which is why the guardian spirit has chosen to work through her.’

‘Just wonderful,’ my lord grumbled. ‘The last thing our family needs is another Ashlee Granville.’

‘On the contrary, the world needs all the Ashlee Granvilles it can get.’ Malory winced as I nearly tripped on my skirt.

Damn dresses! I heard a male voice in my mind. What is wrong with women wearing trousers anyway? My heart was thumping nineteen to the dozen as I regained my footing.

‘Come, my lady,’ the Arab said. ‘You are very skilled, but you shall only get yourself killed if you persist.’

‘Better to risk death than to allow a daughter of Isis to perish, and fail in my sworn duty.’ My retort struck a chord with my adversary.

‘You are lying.’ The Arab backed off, just to be sure. ‘The woman in the mount is no daughter of Isis.’

‘I assure you that she is,’ I said. ‘Both the woman, and her husband who is trapped with her, bear the mark to prove it.’

Every Arab in the room gasped, and Cingar too.

‘What?’ Lord Devere was going insane with not being able to understand the proceedings.

The Arab leader lowered his sword to stare deep into my eyes. ‘If you lie, I shall trap all of your people in the mount and release the scarabs to ensure that no trace of you survives.’

‘I thank you.’ I bowed to honour his judgement.

My companions were hauled out of the cave ahead of me. Their anxiey was not eased when Cingar explained the arrangement that had been reached.

‘You know the whereabouts of the secret deposit of Thummim-Schethiya buried in the Temple of Hathor?’ I asked the Arab leader, and he appeared truly flabbergasted.

‘I am one of a handful who do.’ He came to a standstill. ‘How do you know of it?’

I smiled and shrugged, as if that was elementary. ‘I am Albe-Ra.’ FROM THE TRAVEL JOURNALS OF MRS ASHLEE DEVERE

The torch on the wall was dimming in the thinning air and I was feeling decidedly lightheaded. My husband and I sat at the base of the pathway and were refraining from speech and movement to conserve what air remained.

I still clutched the Star vial in my hand. The substance had restored life to the son of Gasgon de Guise, and I