Author's Note: Just to shock my new reviewers here's another quick update!
Helped a lot that I had had a rough version of this chapter written for
quite some time. I'm afraid things will be slower going from here on in,
but I promise to make them good!
Part Twelve
Jonathan glanced up from the book in front of him, taking just a moment's rest. It was the first time he'd stopped working since they'd arrived at the museum library several hours ago. He rubbed at his sore and tired eyes, glancing longingly at the brandy decanter before deciding that that was probably a bad idea and turning to pour a glass of water from the pitcher instead. Doing so, he caught sight of the reason he was working so hard, and his heart became leaden once more.
Evelyn lay on the sofa, pretending to sleep. She wasn't the least bit tired and Jonathan guessed that she couldn't sleep even if she was.
Closing her eyes seemed to help a great deal though. Her mind could cope with the concept of her eyes being closed and seeing nothing. That was normal. Having them open however confused and scared her. Feeling the air on her eyes, knowing that there was light pouring into them while all she saw was darkness, was more than simply unnerving. It terrified her. Right to the core that Imhotep had made scream as he raised his knife to kill her. It was a deep, intense, mortal dread. What if she never got her sight back again? Reading books and research was her life. And as she dimly recalled telling Rick that night in Hamunuptra, she was proud of who she was - she was a librarian. If she could no longer be that, then who could she be?
And what would Nathan say? Would he call the wedding off? She could never tell him what really happened because firstly he would never believe her and secondly he would blame Rick or Jonathan, when it had really been her fault for being so darn careless. She should have checked behind that door.
Her one hope was Jonathan. Ironic really, considering how just earlier she had been thinking that her brother was the last person she could usually trust. Oh, he adored her no doubt, but he was just not dependable enough to be considered trustworthy. But her attacker had used some kind of incantation on her, and she knew from her research that nearly every spell had an antidote of sorts. Something which could reverse its effects. She just had to pray that that was case here too. And that Jonathan could remember enough of his studies to be able to find it.
Jonathan felt the weight of the task placed upon him as he rubbed his aching temples. When Evelyn had suggested it he was glad she couldn't see the horrified look on his face. The only thoughts that ran through his mind were negative ones. He couldn't possibly do it. He simply didn't have the means within him.
But one look at her trembling form, a face on the verge of tears and he knew that he had no choice but to accept the challenge. By nature, Jonathan wasn't a hero. If he did anything for the well being or benefit of others, it was generally by accident. The tag just didn't fit him well.
Now O'Connell, there was a heroic chap. He had the manner and looks for it. It was what he was built to do. But, while O'Connell sat in a chair doing something Jonathan never expected to see him do - researching diligently in a book - he realised that the American could only be so much help this time. He couldn't read Ancient Egyptian. Much of what he was looking at was illegible to him. Jonathan knew if anyone was going to find a cure for his sister, it would have to be him.
The irony of it all was that since they were young, Evie had always been the one looking after him. Although he was a good few years her senior she was the sensible, mature one. She thought ahead, considering the consequences of her actions. Jonathan did what pleased him, when it pleased him and damned the consequences. Or at least drunk enough until he forgot about them.
It had hit him recently, with the notion that he was going to be the one to give her away at her wedding, that he had never really done anything for her. She had steadied him, held him just clear of falling into total disrepute. All he had really done was be a burden to her - using her good name to flog the trinkets he found, relying on her to drag him to his bed when he staggered home drunk and bemoaning how the night had made him a poorer man. Now, at last, when he could finally do something in return, he was dreadfully afraid that he was going to completely stuff it up. Everything he touched seemed to decimate beneath his fingers, why should this be any different?
He knew he had to do this though, for his own sake as much as hers. Who would be there to look after him if she was incapable? What would happen to him? And how on earth would he ever manage to take care of his baby sister – he had no idea how to do it.
The research was a struggle though. Translations that should come as second nature to him were a real chore. References that he should understand with ease, confounded him. He was having to work harder than he had done in fifteen years. But, by God, was he going to do it. It broke his heart to see his strong, stubborn sister in such a state of disarray. He knew what her work meant to her. It was her life and his she was forced to give it up in this way...
Jonathan set a determined scowl on his face, hoping it would somehow help him to work harder, and re-doubled his efforts in concentration. He was not going to be beaten by this without a fight.
To hell with that - he wasn't going to be beaten full stop.
A good hour later however, he was frustrated and concerned. He didn't want to have to admit it, but this was just too hard. He really couldn't do it. He wasn't clever enough. They'd just have to find someone else.
So convinced was he of his inevitable failure that he didn't actually believe he had made the break through when it finally came. Taking a long second look at his translation of the passage however, checking it against the hieroglyphic dictionary that had rapidly become his new best friend, he realised that he had indeed found what he was looking for.
"I think I have it," he said tentatively.
He was the first of them to speak in a number of hours and his voice sounded horribly loud in the large room. While he wanted to whisper in an uncertain manner, it boomed out all around them, somehow giving him a ring of confidence which he certainly didn't possess.
"What's it say?" Rick asked, tossing his own book aside with relief on his face. Although whether that stemmed from thankfulness that they had found a cure or relief that he could stop reading, Jonathan couldn't be certain.
"Well, it talks about the 'Blindness of the Sands'", Jonathan said, checking the notes he had made, squinting at his own terrible handwriting, "Apparently it was used by the pharaohs to punish men who looked upon their wives or daughters with lustful eyes."
"Great," Rick said dismissively, really not interested in the background, "How do we get rid of it?"
"Er...," Jonathan stalled, reading the ancient text and translating it as quickly as he could, "We must read this inscription twice and scatter some desert sand. It all appears relatively simple."
"Desert sand?" Rick asked in dismay, "Where are we going to get that from?"
"The store downstairs," Evelyn said, unnaturally quiet.
Both men immediately turned to look at her. In truth they had somehow blocked her presence out of their minds. While, of course, they were working to help her, they were speaking as if she was out of the room. It was easier that way. Neither of them knew what to say. No words they could think of could possibly comfort her.
"Professor Newman had some brought in," she went on to explain, taking their silence as one of confusion, "For authenticity's sake."
"Right then," Jonathan said, standing up to move. Rick immediately put a large hand on his shoulder and forced him back into his seat.
"I'll go," he said, "You work on that stuff. Make sure you get it right."
Jonathan could decipher from O'Connell's stern tone that the man had serious reservations about his ability to do something without making a hash of it. Not that Jonathan could really blame him. He hardly had a reputation for reliability.
Jonathan read through the inscription quickly. The hours that he had spent working had seemed to have eventually sharpened his foggy mind and reassert his dwindling knowledge. Some symbols he had a little trouble with but he worked them out himself. Usually he would have asked Evie, but right now it would be simply rubbing salt into a very sore wound to have to describe the symbols to her.
"Well," he said to himself more than anyone, "That all appears to be pretty self explanatory."
"Are you sure?" Evie piped up from her corner of the room.
Jonathan glanced up to see the concerned expression on her face. Evidently she was just as concerned about his ability as Rick was. Not that Jonathan could blame her. Still, it was a horribly sobering thought that even his own sister didn't trust him.
"Because," she added, trying to keep the tone light but not quite succeeding, "I'd hate to end up with a plague of boils or something by accident."
"Trust me, Evie," he said quietly, "You won't. I promise."
Not that, he realised, his promises ever meant very much; 'I promise I won't get drunk tonight', 'I'll promise I'll be back by eleven', 'I promise I'll invest that money sensibly'. Yes, all prime examples of how much his promises meant. They were as wobbly as a proverbial drunken sailor.
Rick returned quickly, a little out of breath, obviously having run there and back as if time was of paramount importance.
"Got it," he said, handing a jar of sand to Jonathan who took it as though he was afraid a sudden movement might cause it to shatter.
"Right," he said, voice trembling slightly, betraying his nervousness, "Er...O'Connell, you'd better take this."
He handed him the sand straight back, not really trusting himself with it.
"As soon as I've finished the incantation you have to toss some into the air. Make sure some lands on Evie." He then crossed over to his sister, taking her by the shoulders and manoeuvring her carefully into position.
"You just stand here, Evie."
Crossing back to the desk, he picked up the book with a deep, calming breath. O'Connell touched him on the shoulder.
"Now you're sure you can do this, right?"
Jonathan shook his head, "But rather sadly, old boy, I'm our best shot. A bit of a downer really since I crumble under pressure. I crumble quite well without pressure too."
"You can do it, Jonathan," Evie said, smiling slightly, "I trust you."
Jonathan sighed deeply. Why did she have to say that? How was he going to feel now when he let her down?
He cleared his throat thoroughly before beginning the incantation.
"Enut seepa, itwy. Neetna simuey. Kutash phetum tae."
As Jonathan read, the words somehow seemed to flow through him like a spring, carving their own path, leaving him with no control over them. They imbued him with the power and spirit of the ancient era. His voice filled with strength and meaning as if the mere act of saying the words transformed his soul into that of an ancient Egyptian priest.
He repeated the word again seemingly heading to some sort of crescendo. As he finished he nodded at Rick who threw the sand in the air, it settling over them in a cloud that took a few moments to dissipate.
When Jonathan finally dared to look at Evelyn it was with trepidation. She stood there with her eyes closed, a natural reaction to the sand that had been flung in her direction.
The time she took to opened them were the longest moments of Jonathan's life.
Then Evie's face turned in his direction, her eyes meeting his. And she smiled.
The next thing he knew her arms where slung around his neck, hugging him for all she was worth. Jonathan was so shocked he could barely hug her back.
"I knew you could do it," Evelyn whispered, her voice tainted with tears of relief, "I knew you wouldn't let me down."
Jonathan finally recovered from his shock and tightened his arms around his small sister, wondering if she knew how much that meant to him.
"It had to happen some time, Evie," he said quietly.
Next to them Rick put a hand on Jonathan's shoulder.
"Well done," he said, a broad smile plastered on his face.
Part Twelve
Jonathan glanced up from the book in front of him, taking just a moment's rest. It was the first time he'd stopped working since they'd arrived at the museum library several hours ago. He rubbed at his sore and tired eyes, glancing longingly at the brandy decanter before deciding that that was probably a bad idea and turning to pour a glass of water from the pitcher instead. Doing so, he caught sight of the reason he was working so hard, and his heart became leaden once more.
Evelyn lay on the sofa, pretending to sleep. She wasn't the least bit tired and Jonathan guessed that she couldn't sleep even if she was.
Closing her eyes seemed to help a great deal though. Her mind could cope with the concept of her eyes being closed and seeing nothing. That was normal. Having them open however confused and scared her. Feeling the air on her eyes, knowing that there was light pouring into them while all she saw was darkness, was more than simply unnerving. It terrified her. Right to the core that Imhotep had made scream as he raised his knife to kill her. It was a deep, intense, mortal dread. What if she never got her sight back again? Reading books and research was her life. And as she dimly recalled telling Rick that night in Hamunuptra, she was proud of who she was - she was a librarian. If she could no longer be that, then who could she be?
And what would Nathan say? Would he call the wedding off? She could never tell him what really happened because firstly he would never believe her and secondly he would blame Rick or Jonathan, when it had really been her fault for being so darn careless. She should have checked behind that door.
Her one hope was Jonathan. Ironic really, considering how just earlier she had been thinking that her brother was the last person she could usually trust. Oh, he adored her no doubt, but he was just not dependable enough to be considered trustworthy. But her attacker had used some kind of incantation on her, and she knew from her research that nearly every spell had an antidote of sorts. Something which could reverse its effects. She just had to pray that that was case here too. And that Jonathan could remember enough of his studies to be able to find it.
Jonathan felt the weight of the task placed upon him as he rubbed his aching temples. When Evelyn had suggested it he was glad she couldn't see the horrified look on his face. The only thoughts that ran through his mind were negative ones. He couldn't possibly do it. He simply didn't have the means within him.
But one look at her trembling form, a face on the verge of tears and he knew that he had no choice but to accept the challenge. By nature, Jonathan wasn't a hero. If he did anything for the well being or benefit of others, it was generally by accident. The tag just didn't fit him well.
Now O'Connell, there was a heroic chap. He had the manner and looks for it. It was what he was built to do. But, while O'Connell sat in a chair doing something Jonathan never expected to see him do - researching diligently in a book - he realised that the American could only be so much help this time. He couldn't read Ancient Egyptian. Much of what he was looking at was illegible to him. Jonathan knew if anyone was going to find a cure for his sister, it would have to be him.
The irony of it all was that since they were young, Evie had always been the one looking after him. Although he was a good few years her senior she was the sensible, mature one. She thought ahead, considering the consequences of her actions. Jonathan did what pleased him, when it pleased him and damned the consequences. Or at least drunk enough until he forgot about them.
It had hit him recently, with the notion that he was going to be the one to give her away at her wedding, that he had never really done anything for her. She had steadied him, held him just clear of falling into total disrepute. All he had really done was be a burden to her - using her good name to flog the trinkets he found, relying on her to drag him to his bed when he staggered home drunk and bemoaning how the night had made him a poorer man. Now, at last, when he could finally do something in return, he was dreadfully afraid that he was going to completely stuff it up. Everything he touched seemed to decimate beneath his fingers, why should this be any different?
He knew he had to do this though, for his own sake as much as hers. Who would be there to look after him if she was incapable? What would happen to him? And how on earth would he ever manage to take care of his baby sister – he had no idea how to do it.
The research was a struggle though. Translations that should come as second nature to him were a real chore. References that he should understand with ease, confounded him. He was having to work harder than he had done in fifteen years. But, by God, was he going to do it. It broke his heart to see his strong, stubborn sister in such a state of disarray. He knew what her work meant to her. It was her life and his she was forced to give it up in this way...
Jonathan set a determined scowl on his face, hoping it would somehow help him to work harder, and re-doubled his efforts in concentration. He was not going to be beaten by this without a fight.
To hell with that - he wasn't going to be beaten full stop.
A good hour later however, he was frustrated and concerned. He didn't want to have to admit it, but this was just too hard. He really couldn't do it. He wasn't clever enough. They'd just have to find someone else.
So convinced was he of his inevitable failure that he didn't actually believe he had made the break through when it finally came. Taking a long second look at his translation of the passage however, checking it against the hieroglyphic dictionary that had rapidly become his new best friend, he realised that he had indeed found what he was looking for.
"I think I have it," he said tentatively.
He was the first of them to speak in a number of hours and his voice sounded horribly loud in the large room. While he wanted to whisper in an uncertain manner, it boomed out all around them, somehow giving him a ring of confidence which he certainly didn't possess.
"What's it say?" Rick asked, tossing his own book aside with relief on his face. Although whether that stemmed from thankfulness that they had found a cure or relief that he could stop reading, Jonathan couldn't be certain.
"Well, it talks about the 'Blindness of the Sands'", Jonathan said, checking the notes he had made, squinting at his own terrible handwriting, "Apparently it was used by the pharaohs to punish men who looked upon their wives or daughters with lustful eyes."
"Great," Rick said dismissively, really not interested in the background, "How do we get rid of it?"
"Er...," Jonathan stalled, reading the ancient text and translating it as quickly as he could, "We must read this inscription twice and scatter some desert sand. It all appears relatively simple."
"Desert sand?" Rick asked in dismay, "Where are we going to get that from?"
"The store downstairs," Evelyn said, unnaturally quiet.
Both men immediately turned to look at her. In truth they had somehow blocked her presence out of their minds. While, of course, they were working to help her, they were speaking as if she was out of the room. It was easier that way. Neither of them knew what to say. No words they could think of could possibly comfort her.
"Professor Newman had some brought in," she went on to explain, taking their silence as one of confusion, "For authenticity's sake."
"Right then," Jonathan said, standing up to move. Rick immediately put a large hand on his shoulder and forced him back into his seat.
"I'll go," he said, "You work on that stuff. Make sure you get it right."
Jonathan could decipher from O'Connell's stern tone that the man had serious reservations about his ability to do something without making a hash of it. Not that Jonathan could really blame him. He hardly had a reputation for reliability.
Jonathan read through the inscription quickly. The hours that he had spent working had seemed to have eventually sharpened his foggy mind and reassert his dwindling knowledge. Some symbols he had a little trouble with but he worked them out himself. Usually he would have asked Evie, but right now it would be simply rubbing salt into a very sore wound to have to describe the symbols to her.
"Well," he said to himself more than anyone, "That all appears to be pretty self explanatory."
"Are you sure?" Evie piped up from her corner of the room.
Jonathan glanced up to see the concerned expression on her face. Evidently she was just as concerned about his ability as Rick was. Not that Jonathan could blame her. Still, it was a horribly sobering thought that even his own sister didn't trust him.
"Because," she added, trying to keep the tone light but not quite succeeding, "I'd hate to end up with a plague of boils or something by accident."
"Trust me, Evie," he said quietly, "You won't. I promise."
Not that, he realised, his promises ever meant very much; 'I promise I won't get drunk tonight', 'I'll promise I'll be back by eleven', 'I promise I'll invest that money sensibly'. Yes, all prime examples of how much his promises meant. They were as wobbly as a proverbial drunken sailor.
Rick returned quickly, a little out of breath, obviously having run there and back as if time was of paramount importance.
"Got it," he said, handing a jar of sand to Jonathan who took it as though he was afraid a sudden movement might cause it to shatter.
"Right," he said, voice trembling slightly, betraying his nervousness, "Er...O'Connell, you'd better take this."
He handed him the sand straight back, not really trusting himself with it.
"As soon as I've finished the incantation you have to toss some into the air. Make sure some lands on Evie." He then crossed over to his sister, taking her by the shoulders and manoeuvring her carefully into position.
"You just stand here, Evie."
Crossing back to the desk, he picked up the book with a deep, calming breath. O'Connell touched him on the shoulder.
"Now you're sure you can do this, right?"
Jonathan shook his head, "But rather sadly, old boy, I'm our best shot. A bit of a downer really since I crumble under pressure. I crumble quite well without pressure too."
"You can do it, Jonathan," Evie said, smiling slightly, "I trust you."
Jonathan sighed deeply. Why did she have to say that? How was he going to feel now when he let her down?
He cleared his throat thoroughly before beginning the incantation.
"Enut seepa, itwy. Neetna simuey. Kutash phetum tae."
As Jonathan read, the words somehow seemed to flow through him like a spring, carving their own path, leaving him with no control over them. They imbued him with the power and spirit of the ancient era. His voice filled with strength and meaning as if the mere act of saying the words transformed his soul into that of an ancient Egyptian priest.
He repeated the word again seemingly heading to some sort of crescendo. As he finished he nodded at Rick who threw the sand in the air, it settling over them in a cloud that took a few moments to dissipate.
When Jonathan finally dared to look at Evelyn it was with trepidation. She stood there with her eyes closed, a natural reaction to the sand that had been flung in her direction.
The time she took to opened them were the longest moments of Jonathan's life.
Then Evie's face turned in his direction, her eyes meeting his. And she smiled.
The next thing he knew her arms where slung around his neck, hugging him for all she was worth. Jonathan was so shocked he could barely hug her back.
"I knew you could do it," Evelyn whispered, her voice tainted with tears of relief, "I knew you wouldn't let me down."
Jonathan finally recovered from his shock and tightened his arms around his small sister, wondering if she knew how much that meant to him.
"It had to happen some time, Evie," he said quietly.
Next to them Rick put a hand on Jonathan's shoulder.
"Well done," he said, a broad smile plastered on his face.