The Cult of Osiris

altar.

Shaban glared at the doubters with contempt, then turned back to his followers. ‘You have accepted me as your leader - as your god! There is no room for doubt, no room for fear - I give you eternal life, and in return I demand eternal obedience! I am your god! I am Set!’

‘Set! Set! Set!’ screamed the crowd.

He moved behind the altar, picking up a long, wicked blade. A nod to the nearest group of guards, and their prisoner was hauled on to the glass-topped block. His cries for help went unheard beneath the mob’s yelling.

Holding the knife up to the spotlights, Shaban began a sinister prayer, his amplified words rolling round the chamber. ‘I pay homage to you, O Ra, lord of heaven. I am your champion, the doer of your will within this world. Your light falls upon the great mother Nut, whose hands encompass the sky above us, and the great father Geb, whose body spans the earth beneath us. I am your son, your servant . . . your warrior.’

He raised the blade higher. ‘In blood, I show my worth,’ he proclaimed. ‘In blood, I slay your enemies. In blood, I take my rightful place as the ruler of this world, and the next, for all eternity! Those who do not believe, shall suffer! Those who oppose, shall fall! I am Set, lord of the desert, master of darkness, the god of death! I am Set!’

The masses below began their awful chant once more, fists punching skyward in unison. Eddie spotted Grant, who was watching in horror as he realised the ritual’s inevitable end, but was too afraid to fight or flee.

‘I am Set!’ Shaban repeated. ‘I have slain the coward Osiris, and now in blood I take dominion over all things! I am Set! Set! Set!’

He plunged the knife downwards.

Blood gouted from the helpless man’s chest as Shaban stabbed again and again, the guards holding him down as he writhed and convulsed . . . then fell still. Eddie watched, appalled.

But Shaban wasn’t finished. Clothes spattered with trickling red spots, he rushed to the next prisoner, face alight with an insane glee. ‘I am the bringer of death!’ he cried, slashing the knife across the man’s throat and sending a crimson spew down his chest. The other men struggled and screamed, but were held too tightly to escape as the knife plunged into their flesh. ‘This is the fate of those who question! Those who follow me shall live for ever - and all others will die!’

‘Jesus Christ!’ Nina gasped, turning pale as she listened to Shaban’s rant via Grant’s phone. Macy covered her mouth with both hands, eyes wide. ‘He’s killing them!’ She faced Assad. ‘Send in your men!’

Sweat beaded on the Egyptian’s face. ‘I . . . I don’t have the authority,’ he said desperately. ‘I need to - I need to call the minister.’

‘There’s no time! We’ve got to - oh, shit . . .’ She tailed off as Shaban spoke again.

‘Grant Thorn,’ said the cult leader, the name echoing round the temple. ‘Will Grant Thorn step forward? Mr Thorn!’

‘I’m . . . I’m here,’ Grant croaked, mouth as dry as dust.

‘Good.’ Shaban smirked nastily. ‘I’m sure you all know Mr Thorn. But,’ the smirk darkened, ‘he was a follower of my brother. It is time to see if he will pledge himself to his new god.’

‘Uh . . . sure!’ Grant cleared his throat. ‘Sure thing! I - I pledge to worship you, O Set! Totally!’

‘I will need more proof than mere words,’ said Shaban. ‘Come up here.’

Grant hesitated, but was pushed forward by a pair of goons. Shaking, he ascended the stairs. At the top, he looked round at Eddie, the statues, the ceiling - anything to avoid Shaban’s cold stare, or the bloodied bodies round the altar.

‘I’m giving you a great honour, Mr Thorn,’ said Shaban, stepping up to him. He was still holding the dripping knife; Grant cringed back from its point. ‘You have all seen the fate of those who do not obey my will. Now . . .’ He looked round at Eddie, the sadistic smirk returning. ‘Now you will see the fate that awaits the enemies of Set.’

‘A blowjob from a supermodel?’ Eddie shouted, a display of defiance that earned him a hard blow to the head.

Shaban sneered. ‘This man,’ he said, pointing, ‘has opposed us. Has tried to destroy us. Has tried to deny you everlasting life!’ The crowd jeered. ‘There can be only one punishment - death!’ He whirled to face Grant, holding up the knife in front of the actor’s face. ‘And you, Mr Thorn, will prove your loyalty to the Temple of Set - by killing him.’

Grant’s mouth moved silently before his voice fearfully emerged. ‘Oh, no, I, ah . . . that’s really your kind of honour.’

‘I insist,’ said Shaban icily. He nudged a corpse with his foot. ‘And you know what happens to those who do not obey the will of Set.’

Pushing the knife into the reluctant actor’s hands, he quickly stepped back out of arm’s reach, then gestured to the guards holding Eddie. ‘Bring him to the altar!’

‘They’re going to kill Eddie!’ Nina shouted at Assad. ‘Do something!’ The Egyptian was trapped between his urge to act and the restrictions of his orders, fumbling with his phone. ‘Fuck!’ Frustrated, angry and afraid, she ran to the van’s doors and looked at the castle.

The drawbridge was still lowered.

Macy called after her as she jumped down, but she ignored her and hurried to the nearer of the team’s Mitsubishi Shoguns. The big 4?4 was fully kitted out for off-road work with heavy-duty tyres, raised suspension, a winch and a bullbar jutting from the front. Both doors on the driver’s side were open, and one of the ASPS was perched on the side of the driving seat with his feet on the ground as he smoked a cigarette, waiting for the call to action.

Nina delivered it in a way he hadn’t been expecting. ‘Hey!’

He looked up - and she punched him, knocking his head back against the door frame. He was more shocked than hurt, but his confusion was enough to enable Nina to pull him from the vehicle. The other ASPS nearby reacted in surprise.

She jumped into the cab and started the engine, slamming the Mitsubishi into gear.

Macy dived through the open rear door. ‘Wait!’

‘Get out, Macy!’ Nina yelled as she swerved the 4?4 round the van. Assad shouted for her to stop as they passed.

‘I’m going with you!’

‘No, you’re not - you could get killed!’

‘I’m getting used to it! Besides . . .’ Nina flinched as the barrel of a large gun was poked between the front seats. ‘This might be handy.’

‘That’s not even a proper gun!’ The odd-looking weapon was an Arwen 37, a fat-barrelled riot gun loaded with five tear gas cartridges in its bulky rotary magazine.

Macy withdrew the Arwen. ‘Well, if you want a different one, you’ll have to turn round!’

That wasn’t going to happen. The Shogun tore down the lakeside road. Nina could hear what was happening inside the temple through her headset. Eddie was still alive, she could tell from the swearing.

But another voice chilled her to the bone. Shaban.

‘I pay homage to you, O Ra . . .’

She pushed the accelerator down harder.

Grant’s gaze flicked desperately between Eddie and Shaban as the cult leader continued his murderous prayer. His followers chanted the dark god’s name as he spoke, eagerly awaiting the deadly climax.

Most of the guards had returned to the pit, but four still held Eddie on the sacrificial block. ‘Oi! Scarface!’ he shouted. ‘Does all this really make up for having your knob burned off?’

Shaban’s only response was a furious twitch, but one guard smashed his elbow down on Eddie’s stomach. The Englishman let out a choked gasp of pain.

‘In blood, I show my worth . . .’