The Curse of Sekmet

Flickering light filled the narrow passageway. Brandishing his torch high above his head, Cartwright examined the wall.

"I say, Turner. Look at this." His companion squeezed beside him and brushed the wall with a coarse, weather-beaten hand.

"Water. Flame? No, fire. Disease. Death." Cartwright brushed him backwards impatiently.

"Death by water, fire and pestilence," he read. He scrubbed the next line of hieroglyphs. "Death by crocodile, jackal and snake. Charming. Well it looks like we are in the right place." He waved the torch high and low over the wall. Millennia of grime marred the tunnel and dust spun in the air, glittering in the flame's light. "Here, hold this." Cartwright thrust the torch at Turner.

Crouching, he wiped at the last line of the hieroglyphs. "Hmm, I am not sure I can read this part. Take a look." He rose, plucking the torch back from Turner's unresistant hand. The other man's brow creased in what might have been a frown and he leant down, his own torch still in hand.

"Tomb. Body. Sleep. You know I parse this language far less than you, Cartwright. It looks like a curse. Damn well sounds like one anyhow."

Cartwright smiled in the flickering light.

"Quite so. See here? That glyph does indeed mean 'death,' but when paired with this line here 'sleep' would be a better rendition; perhaps 'lengthy sleep' or 'eternal sleep' would be the closest translation."

"That sounds rather like death, to me, Cartwright."

Cartwright chuckled. "So it does, my dear chap. So it does. Shall we see what lies further ahead?"

Without waiting for a reply, Cartwright took a pull on his water bottle and then began walking further down the tunnel.

The stone walls were alternatively smooth and rough, as though natural passageways had been in places excavated and extended. In some places the walls bowed inwards so much that both men had to remove their packs and twist their bodies, walking through sideways, and yet in other places the passageway opened up into small antechambers big enough to hold ten or fifteen men.

Intersections lurked every so often, mostly simply left or right splits, but now and again the men were faced with small hollows in the rock from which protruded multiple exits. Each time Cartwright consulted a folded foolscap, the edges yellow and stained with age.

"This way." He gestured to the far right tunnel.

"You are sure? The glyphs on this egress indicate -"

"The glyphs are designed to deceive, my dear Turner. To trick and bamboozle the foolhardy traveller. I rather think we should trust our map, do you not?" He gave a cheery wave with the foolscap and disappeared down the right-hand tunnel.

Turner hesitated for a moment, but as Cartwright's shadow - cast long and eerie by the flames - vanished in a bend of the tunnel, Turner followed.

He followed slowly though, lingering back and making no attempt to catch his companion. Cartwright's sure footsteps sounded loud in the sepulchral silence.

Hieroglyphs and friezes lined the passage. Warily, Turner waved his torch over the sculpting. According to his pocket watch, they had been underground for three hours. He tried to calculate how far they had walked, allowing for the winding nature of the catacombs and the various flights of steps they had both ascended and descended in that time. He was mid-calculation when an exclamation from up ahead drew him swiftly on.

"Turner! Turner, dammit where are you? I have found it. I have found it."

Turner quit his mental exercise and ran along the passage. Rounding a corner he saw three steps roughly hewn in the rock. Bounding down them he entered a chamber.

The ossuary was larger than any antechamber or cavern they had seen that day. The light from their combined torches scarcely lit the dark recesses of the walls. Taking a gleeful slug from his water bottle, Cartwright stood in a triumphant circle of torchlight.

"Come and see!" he cried, a trickle of amber-coloured water dribbling down his three-day beard. "Behold!" With a dramatic flourish of his torch, Cartwright bowed.

A single stone sarcophagus sat in the middle of Cartwright's light. Its height perhaps four feet and its length in excess of twelve. A low whistle of appreciation blew out from Turner's lips.

"You prince among men! You have found it. Let me shake you by the hand, Cartwright!"

"No time, Turner, no time!" Cartwright's exuberance was mesmeric. He bounced on his heels, his eyes positively shinning in delight. "Read the inscription, Turner. Read it!"

"Why, it's the same one as by the entrance. Death by water, fire and pestilence -"

"Yes, yes," exclaimed Cartwright. "And, death by crocodile, et cetera. But look, the last line; it is more legible. No doubt less eroded by the elements, although still worn by time itself. Read in its entirety, the ancient curse runs thus:

"Death by water, fire and pestilence.

Death by crocodile, jackal and snake.

He that moves these bones shall join with me in everlasting sleep."

Cartwright blew out his cheeks and laughed.

"To my aid, Turner! We cannot 'move these bones' until we have at least moved this heavy lid!" His pack and bottle lay on the floor, discarded in his excitement. From it he withdrew a slim and study prise-bar.

It took them several hours to move the sarcophagus lid far enough across for gravity to do its own work and with a soul-freezing crash the sarcophagus lid fell to the ground.

"This," panted Turner bending over his knees, "are why one employs the natives, dear boy."

"Hush." Cartwright was peering into the stone void. "It is intact! I knew it would be."

"Indeed? There seems to be a distinct lack of burial treasure or indeed anything else." Turner waved his torch around the bare cavern.

"Oh fie! Forget the gold, man. Look at this." Cartwright thrust a withered hand in the air. There was a dry snap as the radius broke, and Cartwright was left holding the ulna and a rag-wrapped mummified hand. The mummy was so fragile and age-decayed that dust from the shattered bone and crumpled rags rose into the air.

"Dammit Cartwright." Turner's breathless wheezing turned to a fit of coughing as he breathed in the bone- and rag-dust. He pulled out a kerchief and spluttered into it. Tying the kerchief over his mouth, he approached Cartwright and the mummified hand.

The bones were greyish-black and flaking, the cloth wrapping them a nondescript and rotten brown.

Grinning like a school-boy, Cartwright propped his torch against the the sarcophagus and proffered the hand. Turner recoiled, although if asked, he could not explain why. Cartwright's grin became sardonic. Holding the hand gingerly, he peeled back the fingers.

Something glinted in the torchlight.

Tipping the mummy's hand over and then throwing the bones away into the darkness, Cartwright held a small periapt. His tongue darted out over his lips.

"This is it, Turner. This is the Amulet of Sekmet." He held the periapt reverently, cupping it in both hands and holding near the torch flame. "Sekmet who would become Ubasti who would become Bast." The small talisman was in the shape of a woman, but instead of a woman's head there was a fierce lioness crowned with a sun disc. "Goddess of the Sun."

"And war and fire and vengeance," Turner muttered. He took an involuntary step back and crunched on the mummified hand. He swore. "Dammit Cartwright. You never said we were searching for anything to do with Sekmet." His eyes darted around the cavern. "Remember Carnarvon? This is a bad business, Cartwright."

Cartwright said nothing; his eyes were transfixed on the small statue.

"Cartwright!"

Still he said nothing, but his hand gave a slight spasm. His grip on the periapt tightened.

"Cartwright! Dammit, man. Answer me!" Turner cursed again.

There might have been a flicker in Cartwright's eyes. A passing sheen of... something.

"I think we should leave." Turner bent to pick up Cartwright's torch. "What the blazes? Cartwright. Cartwright!"

Eyes never leaving Sekmet's, Cartwright had swung round and knocked the torch from Turner's hand.

"Percy! Stop that." Turner squared up to the man. "What the devil has got into you? Come along, we are leaving right now. Percival!"

Cartwright's head began to sway, a faint smile on his mouth. A low moan, one that might have been a word or phrase, breathed out from between his dry lips.

"Percy Cartwright, if this is your idea of a prank..." Turner began, the pinching of his eyes belying the severity of his tone. His face blanched and a small muscle twitched at the side of his mouth. "Honestly, Cartwright. I do not find this amusing. Let's go." He turned to walk away. Cartwright's torch guttering on the floor of the cave distorted his shadow, making it longer, narrower. Somehow, perhaps feminine? Maybe, even feline?

"If you will not come with me, I shall go alone," Turner remarked. He stepped out of the cavern and back into the tunnel, his own torch held high. Cartwright's howl made him spin around.

Cartwright leapt upon him, a gruesome twist in his features. His eyes blazed with an inner fury and yet they were somehow vacant; barbarous, devoid of intelligent human life. His normally sanguine brow furrowed and his teeth bared in a ferocious snarl. Spittle flecked at his jaw.

Cudgelled by Cartwright's weight, Turner collapsed against the wall. He heaved back, hands and elbows flying as he tried to remove Cartwright from his person; in desperation, Turner struck out with the end of his torch.

The butt caught Cartwright on the shoulder and he staggered back. Turner lashed out again, like a lion-tamer fighting off a wild beast, his torch flaring in an arch before him. Cartwright staggered back, the flames reflecting in those vacant eyes. A trickle of blood dripped from his nose and he licked it away impatiently as it reached his mouth.

The gesture was startling cat-like and feral.

Turner swung the torch again as Cartwright charged towards him, head lowered and bellowing. The flames caught his shirt-sleeve and there was an almighty whoomph as the fire leapt up his arm.

Cartwright screamed. The amulet, which he had kept clasped tight in his hand all this time, fell to the floor and rolled into the darkness. Cartwright continued to scream, an unearthly high-pitched yowl of pain and of terror. Turner tackled him and brought him to the ground. Clambering atop his companion, Turner pinned Cartwright by the shoulders and tried to smother the flames with his breast. Underneath him, Cartwright thrashed and wailed.

"Stay still, dammit," Turner panted. He pressed himself into Cartwright, wedging the other man's legs under him. Acrid smoke stung his eyes and made them water.

Water! That was it! Wriggling his left arm free, Turner reached for his water bottle. Wrenching the lid off with his teeth, he threw it over Cartwright's arm.
Only to find the bottle empty and dry.

The flames, though reduced by Turner's prone body, had not died away completely and glowed a malevolent red. He gave them another rousing slap and aimed a punch at Cartwright's jaw. It fell flush and the man lay back senseless.

Turner scrambled off Cartwright's body and snatched up his companion's water bottle. With an exultant cry, he poured the contents over the still-smouldering shirt. As he did so, the distinctive peat-and-smoke scent of scotch filled the cavern. Screaming, Cartwright came to his senses as he was engulfed in a plume of hungry flames.

The inferno hurled Turner against the rough sarcophagus and through the roar of the fire he could see Cartwright thrashing and convulsing on the ground. His screams continued to echo through the tunnels long after his body lay charred and still.

Turner leant against the cold stone of sarcophagus, slick with sweat and numb with fear.

Beside him lay the age-blacked withered hand of the mummy.

Holding the woman-lion shaped amulet of Sekmet.




Prompt: A Curse

Word Count: 1994 (2000 word limit)

Daily Winner 26th January 2018

"SCREAMS!!!"   by Lilli 🧿 ☕

Historical Note:
         Sekmet was indeed the lioness-headed goddess of the sun, or at least one aspect of it (the midday sun, the most dangerous). She did not evolve into the cat-headed goddess Bast/Bastet/Ubasti/Pasch - here Cartwright is mistaken. Sekmet and Bast were sometimes considered sisters or a pairing of goddesses; with Bast of North and East, and Sekmet of South and West.
Sekmet was also considered goddess of lions (unsurprisingly), fire, and vengeance.

See also: https://simple.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sekhmet

         George Herbert, the 5th Earl of Carnarvon funded the Howard Carter and the excavation of Tutankhamun's tomb in 1922. He died four months later.
In 1925, Henry Field reported how a paperweight containing a mummified hand and a scarab bracelet was given to a friend of Howard Carter's. The curse read: Cursed be he who moves my body. To him shall come fire, water and pestilence. (sound familiar? ). Ingram's house burnt down soon after, and was flooded during the re-build.

See also: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Herbert,_5th_Earl_of_Carnarvon
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tutankhamun
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Curse_of_the_pharaohs