Amulet of the KA, sample of one of my books
Hey! I'd like to get some feedback on a series of books I wrote during the covid era. Would anyone mind if I dropped a couple samples here? You can say anything; I can take it. "This sucks." is perfectly fine or make any critique you like. Have at it. I'm about to revise it because I found some things that need changing anyway.
This first bit is the Chapter 1 opening. He's a bit out of his mind having been buried alive in an Egyptian tomb. It's 1350 BCE and I made the language a bit archaic to stand out. BTW, the events are part of archaeological history. All I did was add characters and fill in the gaps with a bit of fantasy and eventually sci-fi. Hope it worked. Here goes:
. . . Chapter 1
This choking blackness, a weightless blanket of limitless thickness suffocates me in darkness deeper than my eyes can penetrate except for the crescent shapes that flash like diamonds when I look to the side. They must come from the gods lurking around me who hide when I search for their brilliance. Maybe they love me and run to the side to save me from losing my way in the afterlife if I were to see them with mortal eyes. My master is one of them. He is a god.
When I move even slightly, I can hear the grains of sand grind beneath my ankle as if it were the movement of a great stone at the quarry, the sound thundering only around my head or deep within my ear. The room does not speak. It's like drowning within a great pillow made of a fowl's down without a voice or air. The smell of sweet oils and incense mix with the lingering fumes of days-old torch smoke. It must be days. I cannot tell how many times the Aten has risen and set over the surface above. I can only measure the hunger I feel.
Sliding my hand along the base of the gilded shrine on which I lean, I feel a seam running lengthwise along the floor. Following it with my fingers it widens as it goes beneath the shrine's embossed carving like a small trough. I feel dampness on my finger, a sticky resin like that which comes from cypress wood, and it oozes along the carved groove in the floor stone. It smells of exotic oils, the ones used in funereal ceremonies, and touching it to my tongue there is the vague iron taste of blood and salt.
My voice feels like whispering gravel. “Hello, my brother. I must tell you that when I awoke from a very deep sleep, I remembered dreams of priests and chants, flashing torches and commands, but I was unable to move or respond. Was it a dream, master? Now I feel hunger and thirst like I've never known and this is not a dream.”
I know there is a water jar somewhere. I must find it. I'm so thirsty, my throat hurts like fire. I will crawl through the darkness on my hands and knees. I must feel for a jar. “I do not believe you would be saddened if I shared the water with you. We've shared food and water and beer many times. You are my friend.”
I must be careful not to disturb other gods in this pursuit. There are many gods here and I must make sure they understand that I have no desire for their treasures or those of my master, but I cannot see with my eyes and I may touch sacred things that I should not. I must trust my master as I have for so long.
Now I shall take the amulet into my hands and pray for guidance. “Lead me master, my god, my friend. Lead me to the water of life, then do with me as you will. I am your servant. By the gift of this sacred amulet, I adore you with my soul."
Here it is! A jar. A lid. I will remove the lid and drink but only a measured amount. I must leave the greatest portion for my master.
“You too must be thirsty, my friend. Thank you for life giving water my dear Neb-kheperu-Ra, my great pharaoh.”
But it's not here. There is no water. I must be mad.
I hear music, far away music. Is it the timbrel of dancing gods and souls? Are they coming to raise my friend to unite him with his eternity? It's becoming louder. The spirits draw close. Fear, I feel fear and elation. Now it's voices I hear. Louder, there is stamping and banging. With each concussion the room reverberates like I'm trapped within a great pounding drum. What demon could make such a sound. It hurts my ears. I hear voices and the chopping of stone. I must hide or should I take arms to defend my master?
Light, flickering light. Glories of my master's golden shrine glimmer in the evil light of the intruders. Wickedness now spreads around the great stone cradle that bears the body of my master deep within the shrines. I will hide like these gods. I will push myself into the recess behind the shrine to see what is afoot. One, two, three men slip through the hole they dug through the door then into the room of treasure stores. My master's great spears are outside the entrance to this chamber. Following their passageway I will get the weapons and slay these intruders.
Sadness tears my heart in this outer room. His chariots lean useless against the stone and within this ornate closet his beautiful walking sticks and ornate bows lay silent; they sting my memory. Faces I know, faces of gods and faces of monkeys flash across the wall, the shadows stretched upward in the light of a torch left burning on the floor. There! There is a hole through the stone seal at the top corner of the door.
"I am on my knees holding the amulet, master. I implore you. What do you want of me? What shall I do? Did you preserve my human life for this moment? A moment to defend you? I shall defend you! Or should I go back to the surface? Would I be a coward to abandon you to your eternity?"
The intruders are laughing and stealing. Shameless vipers. I shall go out to inform the guards. They will deal with these thieves where I cannot succeed.
Scrambling through the tunnel robbers had dug to enter the sacred tomb, he stumbled into the starry night of the Valley of the Kings. Overtaken with grief and wonder, he looked into the moonless night stopping for a moment to gather the brilliance of the universe and to regain his lost mind. Grasping his amulet of Osiris, protector of the Ka, he gave thanks to another god, the god from whom it was a gift, Neb-kheperu-Ra, Tut'ankhamun, his friend.
Just for the sake DU rules on copyright material: ©Copyright December 2021, April 2022, ® LoC TXu 2-314-267, T.M.S Falko
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I'm kind of a history buff and one of the usual tips I've heard about writing is to write about what you know. This book series goes on for thousands of years. The dedication is, "To those who love history and wonder what happened in the gaps."
