Black Knight Shade

By Stephanie Power

In the 21st century, the god Horus, known as Rama, discovers that his covenant has been broken. The once-protected Secret Falcon Society is now vulnerable, as the Sacred Book of Scrolls has fallen into the possession of Rama’s evil brother. This brother seeks to claim the ‘Fruitful Throne’ and crown himself king, but in doing so, he puts Rama and his home at risk. The fate of the Good Eye of Horus hangs in the balance.

With only one scroll left, Rama is determined to protect his society. He seeks out the Chosen Ones, who hold the key to restoring the ‘world of Truth.’ Together, they embark on an ancient journey, aided by their sacred Falcons, and realize that the fate of their world rests on their shoulders.

Eliash and Celeste, two of the Chosen Ones, quickly discover that knowledge is their greatest weapon. Only the Wedjat Eye can give them the power to protect themselves from the evil Covenant. But as time runs out, they must confront the possibility that the Evil Eye has already awakened. Will they be able to stop Blackheart and save their world, or is it too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Aug 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781035809356

Stephanie Power

Born in Paddington, London, to a devoted young single mother, Stephanie was raised in Chelsea. As a deaf child, she was discriminated as a girl that will amount to nothing. From a young age, she developed a passion for writing stories just for fun! Studying at Southwark College and then Saint Charles College, Stephanie first wanted to become an Egyptologist but soon ditched studying because of the continuous bullying. In the meantime, she never gave up her passion for writing. Her big dream began in her early twenties where Stephanie fell mentally ill with depression and other mental health problems. She closed herself from the world and delved into the world of Black Knight Shade based on Ancient Egypt to escape her own misery, and from then onwards, the book Black Knight Shade seriously developed. Stephanie’s stepfather had always believed in her and her dream to be an author. At the age of fourteen, he invited her to see Godfrey Smith who was the editor of the Sunday Times, and it was then Stephanie was told that she had serious potential. For many years, Stephanie tried various publishers but was turned down, and suffering chronic mental health issues, Stephanie found that her passion for Black Knight Shade and Ancient Egypt pulled her through dark times. She moved to live independently in Notting Hill at the age of 35 where she continued writing. One day, Austin Macauley Publishers emailed her saying they would love to take on Black Knight Shade and praised her work; she was thrilled. Stephanie continues to write the coming series, promising it’s only just the beginning of Black Knight Shade and that it will continue to grow more exciting for the delight of her readers.

Book preview

About the Author

Born in Paddington, London, to a devoted young single mother, Stephanie was raised in Chelsea. As a deaf child, she was discriminated as a girl that will amount to nothing. From a young age, she developed a passion for writing stories just for fun! Studying at Southwark College and then Saint Charles College, Stephanie first wanted to become an Egyptologist but soon ditched studying because of the continuous bullying. In the meantime, she never gave up her passion for writing.

Her big dream began in her early twenties where Stephanie fell mentally ill with depression and other mental health problems. She closed herself from the world and delved into the world of Black Knight Shade based on Ancient Egypt to escape her own misery, and from then onwards, the book Black Knight Shade seriously developed. Stephanie’s stepfather had always believed in her and her dream to be an author. At the age of fourteen, he invited her to see Godfrey Smith who was the editor of the Sunday Times, and it was then Stephanie was told that she had serious potential.

For many years, Stephanie tried various publishers but was turned down, and suffering chronic mental health issues, Stephanie found that her passion for Black Knight Shade and Ancient Egypt pulled her through dark times. She moved to live independently in Notting Hill at the age of 35 where she continued writing. One day, Austin Macauley Publishers emailed her saying they would love to take on Black Knight Shade and praised her work; she was thrilled.

Stephanie continues to write the coming series, promising it’s only just the beginning of Black Knight Shade and that it will continue to grow more exciting for the delight of her readers.

Copyright Information ©

Stephanie Power 2023

The right of Stephanie Power to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035809332 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035809356 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

20231004

Acknowledgement

I want to give a massive thank you to my beautiful mother, who always believed in me and told me to never give up my dream. And a big thank you to Austin Macauley Publishers, who opened the door for me and believed in Black Knight Shade and gave it a chance. And to Paul Anderson, who was with me every step of the way!

Synopsis

It’s the 21st century and the god Horus is known as Rama the good angel, who senses his Covenant has been broken. The Secret Falcon Society is no longer being protected by the sacred Book of Scrolls. His evil twin has possessed the sacred scrolls in the book so that the battle for the Fruitful Throne may be his own crown. Will the Good Eye of Horus be closed forever? Will the Evil Eye of the Shadow World awake and put an end to the sacred House of Horus (Secret Falcon Society)? The chances of the Evil Eye awake puts a threat on Rama and his home. But there is one last scroll left in the book. The 1st Scroll—with this scroll gone, all hell will break lose. Rama wants to protect his society and with little time left, he sets out to seek the Chosen Ones who will save and restore the Book of Scrolls. The Chosen Ones embark on an ancient journey with their sacred Falcons and realise that whatever happens to Rama and the good society, it all falls into their hands. It’s down to them to destroy Blackheart, or evil will succeed to destroy Rama and his world forever.

Just when the Parrys thought everything has settled on Whicker Wheel’s Street and the fact that their son is quite safe, an evil creature decides to turn up at the Three Saints graveyard. As the snakelike mass of darkness creeps and stalks Whicker Wheel’s Street, Mrs Parry is straight on the phone to warn and alarm her husband about their dark secret…the fact that Black Knight Shade has returned for revenge and that the children are not safe after all.

The parents call in their good angel and Ancient Egyptian god, Rama, to protect the future line of fighters. The Black Mist seizes the terrified children and takes them to a perilous place, but with the power of the ancient amulet, Bes, clutched tightly in their grip, the Black Knight Shade wasn’t going to destroy them in his Underworld, yet.

Having being flung to Ancient Egypt, little do they know what they are in for; little do they know about the dark secret their parents are keeping from them. They hadn’t moved far from the city when a mysterious stranger calls for their attention. This stranger is very careful to hide his identity. He urges them to follow him through the back streets to a place where they will be safe. He takes them to a white mud-brick hut, there in a little room the stranger proves to be on their side, claiming himself to be the mysterious Rama and that he is not the evil that threatens them. He wears a mysterious tattoo around his right eye which soon identifies him as the leader of a mysterious place where Warriors of Horus live to fight another day.

Rama tells them of the evil Black Knight Shade and what this evil hopes to do; destroy the line of fighters who try to destroy him years ago. To kill the creature they learn they must destroy the Blackheart. The Chosen One must fulfil their fate as Falcon Warriors and embark on a journey to the Shadow World in which Rama ceases the moment to tell them this will be an emotional and physical tiring journey, and how they must learn of the power that comes from the Wedjat Eye.

Rama has a close friend; Lady Katrina, a fragile old Oracle. The good leader explains to Eliash and his friends she does not speak and has foreseen the Chosen One’s destiny, and their greatness and victory. Rama is eager to put them on a journey; the Secret Falcon Society is the only place where the children will be safe from the evil that targets them. To succeed on their journey, Rama exchanges them their amulets. The Eye of Horus (Wedjat Eye) its wisdom is able to see the evil in its true form in the Shadow World, separated from the good Secret Falcon Society.

Before leaving the hut, Rama reminds them that only two of them will be the Chosen Ones and the other two will stay safely at the Secret Falcon Society. They travel Egypt’s desert to arrive at the society in safe hands. In the meantime, they have doubts about this Rama person. Whether he should be trusted or not, or the fact that they are so young and unprepared for a serious endeavour in the Shadow World could mean he is untrustworthy. They travel with fear, maybe it was the cruel effects of what the desert had on them, but Eliash and his friends can’t stop thinking Rama could be the Black Knight Shade in disguise, leading them to a trap, possibly to their early deaths.

The Secret Falcon Society is a place where the four will learn all their strengths. Eliash and his friends are intrigued to know about how they are to become one with their Falcons. To fulfil the prophecy, the Chosen Ones have to succeed in what no other Whisperer has ever achieved to do, which is destroying Blackheart for good. Celeste is the other Chosen One, highly sarcastic, bossy and strong-minded; after Rama confesses he is the god Horus, they visit the Men-Nefer Market to collect some essentials that will help them against obstacles in the Underworld. Celeste and Eliash approach the docks by the Nile, where it all ends; their journey to the black hands is about to begin. Celeste likes to think she knows it all and doesn’t like to be told otherwise. A lover of history and refuses to think anybody knows more about history than her.

With her ability to know all about Ancient Egypt, and to read and understand the Book of the Dead, Eliash finds her helpful throughout the Underworld, chanting spells to destroy demons, open gates and even understand the life of the gods. Celeste even puts together the five forms that allows the Ancient Egyptians to live a happy eternal life in the Underworld; she helps Eliash understand the Ba (soul), Ka (intellectual and spiritual power), Akh (when the soul meets the Ka), Name (who you are, as to exist) and Shadow in the Book of the Dead. Also, it is the way Black Knight Shade is existing. It becomes clearer for them to understand his every part of his being, and how he survives in the Underworld. Celeste gathers by destroying each Blackheart will bring down his practically immortal formation and save Rama and his home.

In the desert, Eliash has no idea about the broken Covenant in Rama’s sacred society, so he has no idea what disasters could happen to Rama if he was not to be careful of his special philosophical talent. They come across Anubis and the solar barque. Anubis gives them a decent Ancient Egyptian burial so that their Ba (soul) can be among the dead. Anubis plans to take them to Lord Osiris and the Hall of Two Truths but to get there they must travel through the Twelve Caves and the Twelve Gates so their friend Ra the sun god can be reborn again. Their hearts are weighed against a feather in Osiris’s great hall and are interrogated by the forty-two gods. They begin their next journey and set themselves into the Shadow World with the Book of the Dead to guide and protect them. Eliash and Celeste must play a board game of Senet against Ra’s enemy, Apophis, if they ever wish to return to 21st-century London. They must avoid landing on any hazardous squares or it will be their fate to arrive to the place in the Shadow World. Unluckily, the fifth cavern is the hazard they must endure. They find out what the place really is—hell.

Wherever they go, Eliash must keep the 1st Scroll concealed just in time to destroy Blackheart. Black Knight Shade throws a Halloween party at his mansion. The only way into the party is for Eliash and Celeste to disguise themselves as the Shades. Celeste is caught up in a meeting and is heavily relied on as Amak Khepri, the evil scribe. She learns that Amak can read the burning tree, a knowledge that is loyal to Rama. Whilst Black Knight Shade tries to work it out Celeste is put on the spot as she is thought of as a mastermind of the whole knowledge thing. She is asked to understand and translate the 1st Scroll but being Celeste and not really Amak, she struggles to understand the Truce on the burning tree, but what intrigues her the most is Black Knight Shade has made more than just one Blackheart and he must make a sacrifice every time; the good has to destroy each Blackheart as the evil must destroy each Scroll. A battle that has been going on for thousands of years, but what will become of the Secret Falcon Society? What good or evil society will awake and claim the Fruitful Throne?

The heroic goal is to have complete trust in Rama. All throughout, Black Knight Shade knows Eliash is a helping piece in Rama’s Book. Evil knows it has just one more scroll to destroy. But first, he must destroy the boy who is the 2nd Scroll, every knowledge written in his soul, every bit of Rama and his stages of growth and his return to glory; that will give anyone the power to destroy the world and enter the Secret Falcon Society and claim the Fruitful Throne.

The Greatest Invention

The tone of light darkened and now with heat of day soon to arise, Egypt was ready to be in all its glory all over again. As the story goes, the scarab beetle god Khepri would soon push the fiery ball up through the horizon at dawn and roll it across the sky. But for now the soft hissing continued as the Magician swept its scaly black body with cryptic lightness through Abydos, late in inviting himself to the Temple of Osiris where a celebration had been pursuing for several hours. But the Magician did not care; something else fulfilled his mind, something of much greater importance; he had people to see who would help him in that case.

There was a small village consisting of white mud-brick houses; the great Magician slithered the narrow complex of alleyways and through a market; being night, it was silent. A handsome building grew out of the darkness at the end of the avenue of palm trees and robust sphinxes. Unblinking, the Magician looked through vertical slit sparkling black eyes, up at the great flanked pylons of the hushed and ordered temple. Inside, the Magician immediately smelt death in the air and knew his servants had done their job. Through the blind darkness of the pylon gateway opened up into a colonnade of columns, blossoming in lotus and papyrus designs, voices echoed the vast chamber. The Magician lifted up its scaly head flicked out its tongue and tasted a sea of people from somewhere in the temple, knowing well the party took place in the hypostyle hall.

A scent so familiar caught him; he revolted as he came to acknowledge Prince Horus’s presence somewhere in the temple, probably drinking beer and enjoying the hours with family and friends; the Magician was hostile to his thoughts.

‘The great Prince Horus,’ he sneered bitterly, gliding down wide marble steps descending into an encircling courtyard and ignoring the sacred pool he continued on till there appeared the breathtaking hypostyle court.

It was time for the Magician to transform. The black cobra hadn’t exactly been a comfortable form, but it was useful. What stood by the entrance of the party hall was now a man. He moved swiftly, lithely like a ballet dancer and turned into the chamber; his face disguised with a unique misty mask. Tall and lean, the Magician gazed around the large squared chamber ruled by a forest of towering papyrus plant capitals, supported under columns that were ribbed, rounded and beautiful. The perfumed smell and the kingly scene gave the hall a life of fascination but the Magician did not care for its beauty…and nor was he fascinated with it all…because it was his own. He walked into the hall gracefully with a hostile calmness; clearly there was nothing nice about this man. But the woman could not look away, he was powerful, beautiful, mysterious…and through that mask, lustrous were his eyes, lustrous was his hair; dark waves of copper and lustrous his radiant beauty.

The buzz of music, the friendly chats and merry faces or even the beautiful dancers did not seem to please him. Not even interest him in the slightest. He caught sight of one of those dancing girls; she was dressed in white linen with her heavy beaded wig, and heavy make-up, sun-disk for earrings, and was disgusted with her rhythmic dance and her cheap entertainment offered for the greater pleasure to her pharaoh. He turned up his nose and passed through the hall, ignoring many drunkards, many merry Egyptians, who according to Egypt were important palace officials; they were leaning on the lotus columns for support taking on easy woman. The Magician eyed them with disgust; to be so highly ranked yet sink so low, was it worth this stupid behaviour…? The Magician tilted his mysterious face; his eyes gazed at them with penetrating curiosity and thought nothing else of them.

Holding his flair and crook as a sign of royalty, Pharaoh watched all that was around him. There was a pride in his posture which the Magician did not like; Pharaoh did nothing more than sitting on his grand chair and enjoyed himself, wearing the white crown with a golden snake at its front suggesting his dominion over Upper Egypt. At least, enjoying his entertainment was what the Magician expected him to do, but it didn’t come to him as a stark surprise that Pharaoh himself also was useless. King Osiris looked thoroughly annoyed. Underneath the mask the Magician smirked and as though he could read Pharaoh like a book he knew a noble and vizier was missing, late for the important festival. He knew it was him. But again he did not care for that either.

First, above anything else, the Magician wanted to find his high servant and when he searched the line of busy writing scribes sitting on the marble ground beside Pharaoh, he did not find his pleasure there or anywhere else. He calmly paced to the end of the Hall and instead of hoping, he expected his servant to be in the other room. He managed himself at the concealed door of the inner sanctum; the Magician uttered a power that would open the door; a power that only a brilliant magician can perform.

It wasn’t the lack of light in the room, or the fact it was the smallest chamber in the temple, but nothing disturbed the Magician any greater than lack of hygiene. The air stunk putrid of a sickly, cloying scent. To his disgust, blood was spattered everywhere, on the pictorial walls, the marbled floor but not the statues…they were kept clean for the respect of the gods…or…the god who had just arrived into the room. After a minute of examining his surroundings, he shuddered and spoke:

‘Where are the bodies?’ Curious with the left-over evidence that was held in the entire room, the Magician surveyed the room again with disgust. He had chosen this room to be their ancient meeting place and yet it looked like a crime scene. It wasn’t how he wanted it to be; the horrid smell of saccharine blood had finally got the better of him.

He glared around the room at men with bald heads, in leopard skin, which should have been bronze skin was now a mess of purple, proving to him they had just finished their master’s dirty work; they approached the Magician with a humble bow.

‘You will invite me into a room that is immaculately clean next time, do you understand?’ He scorned at them as though they were his naughty boys, or else it’d be a whipping that no cry of mercy could stop.

‘Where is he?’ he murmured in contempt.

A cry of obedience was heard: ‘I’m here, Master, right here!’ A high priest of a young age was found considering papyrus documents in his own arms and when he saw the superior that had walked in the sanctuary, he gave his full attention, daring not to ignore his presence, dropping to one knee with his fist at his chest before quickly getting back up to his feet. ‘The duty is fulfilled, Master, we have what you require, it has been a success—’

‘You haven’t answered my question, Surpias,’ said the Magician calmly, his eyes glinting hungrily.

For a minute, Surpias looked helpless, even fearful, for not providing his master his need and then looked sharply at the priest beside him, with eyes daring him not to make any kind of mistake for their master would easily kill them.

‘Yes, the bodies are gone, we burnt them, my lord,’ said the man next to the high priest, never raising his head up to look at their superior.

‘Get up,’ said the Magician mildly, losing interest quickly, as the priests were on command to stand up from their bow. Their master calmly removed his mask and the priests were allowed to look at him carefully now.

Master’s emerald green eyes pierced them all with a hint of coldness in them; he was wearing a short white tunic that fastened over the left shoulder revealing his proportional toned upper torso with a pleated kilt. He wore a colourful gold collar around his neck inlaid with precious stones. And surprisingly, unlike any rich noble Egyptian, he wasn’t bungled with gold he had just a bangle on his forearms. There was a sacred scarab with its outstretched wings at his very heart, tied with a thin rope, symbolising hope and the restoration of life. It was given to him as a gift from one of his priests. The colours were rich and beautiful, blue as in representing the River Nile of life and there were touches of yellow for the desert and Egypt’s glorious sun. And a message saying: ‘May Aken-nu-namun be born again and again just like the rising and falling of the sun.’

The Magician looked arrogantly at his scribe and high priest, fierce power was evident in his manner as he nodded in expectation for a drink from the goblet.

‘Drink!’ demanded the high priest Surpias with a click of his fingers as one of the priests stepped forward quickly and to pour wine and water into a light blue goblet decorated delicately with lotus flowers but the jug was decorated with faces of a falcon.

Of course, Horus, he thought resentfully. Their Master snarled and fiercely knocked the jug out of the priest’s hand. The sight of Horus had clearly annoyed him.

‘Master, drink?’ offered Surpias in a kind of apologetic tone. The lord ignored his offer; he seemed to have a sudden change of mind when he saw what was placed in the centre of the room. His eyes simply lit up and he spoke in an arrogant tone.

‘I thirst for much greater, Surpias.’ Master kept his eyes on the one thing that interest him the most. ‘Show me what I long to see in that shrine.’ He turned to gaze at the priest next to Surpias, his name was Heti-Ra Khepri the man of great invention and ideas had made something of great importance to the lord.

The priest hurried over to the shrine, shooing the crowd of others out of his way. The lord came forward too and demanded impatiently for the lid of the shrine to be lifted at once. Heti-Ra Khepri had quickly washed his hands in a basin held by another priest and anointed them before going to touch the powerful object that lay inside the shrine. But for once the lord did not care for his matter of hygiene.

‘Khepri! Show me now,’ he hissed with irritation. It was clear that the lord still hadn’t totally left his magician side as a serpent for his eyes were still slits; for a second Khepri thought he saw the black cobra tongue flicker through his handsome mouth. But the hissing sign was a warning and the priest was by the Soul House in a matter of seconds and did his bidding at once and pulled out a rather strange but interesting looking object. Heti-Ra Khepri held his hand flat open for his master to see.

The room prayed for their lord’s approval.

‘What’s this?’ asked the Magician, seeming ignorant at the new invention, displeased and looking unimpressed with the sight held in Khepri’s hand he turned it away. ‘It’s ugly, remove it from me.’ It was nothing much but a ball of murky mist.

‘My lord, this is a start of evil!’ said the priest aghast, looking horrified at the fact that he had displeased his master; he was afraid to go on with his invention. He glanced a look at Surpias for help, but the high priest looked away heartlessly and smirked, apparently happy that Khepri was near enough in danger. Maybe the great Heti-Ra would learn from his ignorance of importance for once. Maybe, Master would see the need to praise him instead.

‘My lord, this is Blackheart!’ cried Khepri desperately as though he was standing on his last legs before he would be executed. The Magician and lord scoffed and thought nothing of the thing that Heti-Ra Khepri held in his open hands.

‘I praise you as my greatest pioneer, yet you dishonour me; you offer me…what?’ The Magician frowned and looked disgusted at the object.

‘My lord this is power!’ begged Heti-Ra Khepri, daring not to upset the most powerful Magician in Ancient Egypt of all times.

The lord gazed as though in thought for a minute then as his expression turned with more approval at the substance that lay in his servant’s hand, he nodded:

‘I like it,’ he said, slow on the coming. ‘You say power Khepri…? Is it perhaps enough to make me immortal?’ His voice was dangerously pleasant and very calm as though he held all the power in the world, as though he was a god. Delighted at the thought of undying he continued: ‘After all it has only a piece of me is it enough?’

‘Indeed my lord, indeed, this is the beginning of you becoming a god,’ replied Heti-Ra Khepri in desperation to please his lord. He bowed his head down low.

‘I am a god, Khepri,’ said the lord irritably.

‘My lord, of course! But my lord, your piece is powerful; soon your life will be forever yours. You will be the undying.’

The lord and Magician was pleased.

‘I wish to hold it, Khepri,’ he said, and as he went to take the ball substance of smoky mist from his servant and examined it with ginger hands. ‘So ugly,’ he said in disgust. ‘Why am I so ugly?’

Heti-Ra put his head down, and so did the rest of them. The Magician got no answer, and instead observed the power in his immaculate clean hands like a curious child. ‘You have pleased me Khepri, and you have pleased me well.’

Surpias looked at Heti-Ra Khepri hatefully, again he was taking all the praise. He stepped forward and cried out like a spoilt child:

‘But my lord we have all helped. We have killed many human hearts to form this magnificent invention!’

‘Just Khepri will do,’ replied the lord softly and calmly, with no change of thought, and never taking his eyes off Blackheart that lit with inspiration at his new soul. Soon he will be nothing else but a very powerful god, perhaps more powerful than the king of all gods, Ra. He then finally looked away from the substance and at Khepri, suddenly favouring him now. ‘Now I am forced to beg forgiveness to Osiris of my timing, I believe I have now missed the whole festival; Osiris will be more than unforgiving with me I am sure.’ His voice was of disgust.

The sun had hit Egypt again and Aken-nu-namun left the inner sanctum as a new creature. Outside the Temple of Osiris, Egypt was already buzzing with noise and the smell of food. He could see the palace’s colonnades and pylons standing out to the sun. The holy sycamore groves surrounded them like as though on guard. Aken-nu-namun was excused by Pharaoh’s guards at the palace entrance and quickly he strayed into the Hall where sat Pharaoh’s throne knowing his job as Pharaoh’s vizier was now backing into focus.

‘You failed to come to the festival, why?’ demanded Pharaoh, almost loathsomely, that Mother Isis had to put a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

Aken-nu-namun pretended to look sorry and even humble before the Pharaoh.

‘My king, son of Amun-Re, let me be, I did not mean to offend—’ he falsely grovelled.

‘Nonsense, you are selfish, you are never happy for my son, Horus; be gone with you.’

The great throne room was empty and Aken-nu-namun’s misery was caught as selfish according to Pharaoh.

‘You are more than trouble for me, should you feel my wrath?’ said Osiris calmly with his thick frowning long brows. He was concerned with the loyalty Aken-nu-namun lacked. Aken-nu-namun fell to his side; he searched into Queen Isis’s eyes because no mercy came from Pharaoh, but she just simply turned away gently. Flagging his hook as a sign for his guards to come, Pharaoh said:

‘Send him away as though he is my enemy.’

‘You wish me away on poor land?’ said Aken-nu-namun with a slight laugh; his face was cool and his voice was even cooler. ‘Perhaps one day you will wish me away for good; I will rise and you will see, and you will be sorry. You will see who the real Pharaoh of his people is.’ His eyes glinted at the thought of such power, and his voice changed to hate.

Queen Isis gasped, for she had never seen Aken-nu-namun look so evil, but as for Pharaoh Osiris he was simply revolted; it was like as though he always knew the bitter darkness inside of him.

‘I always knew not to trust you fully,’ was Pharaoh’s last words.

The Dark Mist

The nightmares began once again; the cry of victims being stabbed in a small room, blood splattering everywhere. Eliash Parry woke with a jolt, his t-shirt damp and stuck to his body. His breathing was fast; he took a long deep breath in for air, for he thought he would pass out as the bloody room lingered in his mind. Eliash closed his eyes tight, trying to shut away all the blood, the cloying smell of death—he could still smell it in his room! And the cold murderers who were responsible for all the killings, but it was the time of the Pharaohs—not real obviously—but the nightmare won’t go away. Damn! He remembered he had been the snake, the evil man it transformed into…but he also remembered he was back at Ancient Egypt; it felt real not like how he felt right now, being back in 21st century.

Eliash groaned and rubbed his tired face; the nightmares he was having were getting worse, and always it was this Magician haunting his every dream; sometimes he’d be in a form of a black mist, but this time it was a form of a python—or was it a cobra? Eliash couldn’t tell…and what the hell, he didn’t care anyway.

Eliash blinked, eyes adjusting around his attic bedroom.

Trees rustled on the windows, dogs were barking in the alleys, but his attention was short as he heard his name being called outside his door.

‘Honey, be down, I need you to check my roses with me!’

Eliash sighed: it was Mrs Parry’s warming voice which made the morning.

‘Come on, sweetheart; let’s get these roses up to scratch; that dear old Hans Gaden is not winning this time!’

Eliash groaned, slouching back in his bed and remembered his mum had a competition to win. Mrs Parry made her way out of the glass conservatory and into the garden, holding a book, ‘For perfect gardeners only.’ She squinted through her small black-framed glasses and finished the last line of the first chapter, ‘How to keep your roses happy.’

It was a gorgeous day and Mrs Parry felt there was much gardening to enjoy this Sunday morning. May Parry a fifty-three year old top scientist at the Morgan’s University lived at number twenty-four, Whicker Wheel’s Street was determined for her roses to blossom perfectly just the way they were in the book. She could not handle to think that Hans Gaden did his roses better than her. At the back of her house was the greenhouse where she kept on track with all her growing vegetables. In the garden, she lowered down her glasses on the edge of her nose and peered down at the bed of roses, really happy for they were blossoming well. She gave a satisfied hmm and looked back at the page of Hans Gaden’s photos and saw they were not better roses than his. Again, she just wasn’t good enough!

Hans Gaden roses were brighter and of better texture she saw that they were perfectly layered petals and they were meant to be a certain size. She frowned; she obviously did not nurture nature as good as he did. What could she possibly be doing wrong? She checked to see if they needed pruning but they seemed fine, enjoying the warm touches of sunlight. Mrs Parry sighed; she honestly didn’t know what to do next. Just what did it take to beat Hans Gaden and thinking he had better green hands than hers had bugged her to the point of her marching back into the house with frustration.

‘I’ve had it! He’s a genius—No, I’ve got it, he’s a cheat. It’s impossible—just impossible! I’m a fool to believe him.’

Today was going to be sunny all day, Mrs Parry felt certain and to take her mind of the roses she took herself to the kitchen and thought about the Sunday breakfast, checking the carriage clock at the side of the stool table. It was still early morning, and Mr Parry would be coming home soon.

The Parrys were a happy and well-educated bunch, except they had a secret; a secret that no one must know about. Although the Parrys were the last people you would expect to have a secret; around the neighbourhood the people judge them to be very down to earth; put it this way they simply were not the strangers on the Whicker Wheel’s Street. Then again things weren’t what you always expect with the Parrys, but still there was an ordinary life to get on with. The Parrys’ close friends, the Coles and the Andrews and every so often they’d hear from the Buchannans. The thing was, they all shared the same dangerous secret; a secret that will go on haunting the next generation, perhaps that was what kept the families close like a pack of wolves.

Mrs Parry sighed and pulled tight her blue robe. This secret was May’s biggest fear; like any other normal parents, the Parrys wished always to be able to protect their child; well anyway Mrs Parry could not bear the thought of losing him. May Parry’s mind came back to the grilling sausages and checked to see if they were nearly done. Then her mind raced on. But as it goes…this secret her and Mr Parry had to be a part of in their everyday life has always been a step too close to their dear son.

Mrs Parry was not alone in the kitchen when in came Eliash Parry. He was dressed in casual clothing, dark plain jeans and a dark green top, his shoulders broad and the rest of him was refined. He had come down the stairs bare-footed and by now was yawning himself awake.

‘Eliash dear, what took you so long? I need your help with them roses—don’t go anywhere just yet, I’m cooking breakfast,’ lectured his mother.

Eliash groaned in displeasure, his dark thick brows nearly met each other. ‘Argh, Mum I’m not hungry.’ He picked up his cat, Jellybean off from the ground to stroke him before even thinking of letting him go. Something about stroking and smelling Jellybean’s fur kept him tame, relaxed like taking a calming drug. ‘And them roses are fine, we’ve done the procedure a hundred times—’

‘Exactly! Son, he’s a cheat.’

Eliash sighed; he was a good-looking boy with balmy features, dark lengthy brows and wooing, caring mystical coffee brown eyes; as a whole he possessed a warm beauty. He looked at the fry-up and groaned distastefully.

‘Hun, you know what I say, breakfast is the most important meal of the day, so please do eat something; you haven’t had breakfast since last week.’ Mrs Parry gave a pleading look upon her aging face. Her hazel brown hair tucked behind her pixie ears. But Eliash was keen to change the subject.

‘Mum, where’s Dad? Is he in?’

‘No darling, he’s already gone I’m afraid,’ Mrs Parry past her son a sympathetic look. ‘You know what he’s like.’

Eliash let out a low groan. ‘He promised that he’d wake me up.’ At last, he put the cat down, his mind on other interests.

‘Dad promised me he’d wake me up,’ he whined.

‘He didn’t want to wake you up, sweetie, he knows you need the sleep, you kids get so little of it these days, you never get off the computer—that Facebook, dear me, all that time you use, you could be studying, Eliash.’

‘Fat chance,’ replied Eliash and smirked. ‘Even Dad uses his laptop.’

‘Yes dear, but he’s a teacher, it’s essential for his profession; unlike you lot…always using the computers for games and chats…’ She looked back round to her son lovingly, and said: ‘Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat, darling?’

‘Perfectly sure.’ He helped stir the beans. ‘Dad will eat this.’

‘Son, there is something I want you to do before you go out with your friends today.’ There was a lingering quiet tone that told Eliash she had been planning on telling him hours before the day had begun. He glanced sidewards at her, watching as his mother hesitated for words. He knew why she hesitated because of the pain that would come with it; she was going to ask him to visit his aunt’s grave and lay down some flowers as today was the first anniversary of her death.

‘It’s alright, Mum, I’ll go,’ he said warmly. He saw how his mum avoided eye contact and couldn’t begin to know the pain she was feeling. ‘Aunt Paula liked roses, didn’t she,’ he said kindly.

‘Yes dear, roses always were her favourite,’ she sniffed, ‘just like they are my favourite, of course being sisters me and Auntie Paula had a lot in common.’

Eliash could tell his mum was trying hard not to sadden now; losing a loved one was always a morbid time and as it went, Eliash preferred to be the up-lifter at this precise moment so he came up with the idea of the unique black rose they sell in a flower stall just outside the Three Saints graveyard.

‘Mum, what you think about a black rose? I think they do them now at the stall.’ He turned off the gas cooker and went to settle with his mum around the kitchen table. ‘I’ll get some black roses for her, shall I?’ He moved forward across the table to be closer to her.

Mrs Parry shook her head. ‘No son, black is morbid; you’ll have her turning in her grave…just a normal red rose will be fine. Auntie Paula would prefer red and besides, I always think red reminds people of love.’

Eliash picked up on her voice which was sad and couldn’t think of any reason for her to be cheerful at this moment; he did what was best right now and that was to be gentle and understanding over her sadness and loneliness for Auntie Paula was a twin sister and best friend.

‘It’s just gothic, I thought—’ but then he gave in. ‘I’ll make sure she gets red roses then. I remember now, she liked them compassion roses a lot, didn’t she?’ His voice was gentle and sweet.

Eliash’s mother smiled weakly, kissed his head and said: ‘Thank you, son, that will be lovely—oh, as we’re on the subject, I’m having trouble growing them in the garden.’

‘But that’s impossible,’ exclaimed Eliash gently, leaning back into his chair. ‘Mum, you’re the best you know that, you win the flowering competition all the time. What’s stopping you now?’

Mrs Parry was looking quite huffed: ‘According to Hans Gaden, my roses are not much for the competition.’ Eliash’s mother sighed: ‘Aunt Paula would have known how to grow roses properly; she always did have the magical touch for them.’

Eliash watched mystically as his mum took back the gardening book from the counter and show him the picture of how the roses should be.

Eliash chuckled, his expression carefree. ‘But Mum, Dad’s right, they are photo tricks.’

Mrs Parry frowned through her spectacles and replied without absorbing a word Eliash had said, ‘I still think it’s possible, I haven’t given up just yet; although I do think there is something fishy about this Hans Gaden, something he’s not telling us.’ She frowned in hard concentration at the photo of Mr Gaden’s roses and was baffled as to how he could grow them to such perfection.

‘Mum, I can only say it looks like you’ve got yourself a challenge, mind you, you have been asking for it; everything with gardening is just too easy for you. You win every time.’ Eliash encouraged with a smile that told his mum not to worry. ‘I’m going out now, Mum.’ He got up and gave a quick peck on his mother’s cheek and dashed out of the kitchen leaving Mrs Parry puzzling over the pictures of Han Gaden’s flowers. He could hear her shout:

‘And be back quickly. I need your observation of my roses!’

He chuckled, shook his head and closed the door.

*

A bad feeling prowled the air from the minute Eliash left his house. Revenge was on the menu. If Mrs Parry had sensed it, she would have been a very different person this morning.

Eliash stopped by the flower stall to buy red roses only, frowning and shaking his head at the price was much too expensive but he brought the compassion roses anyway. In the graveyard, an old pensioner sat on a wooden bench feeding the last of her monkey nuts to the local squirrels. Eliash gave a keen wave in which he was always bothered to give her and noticed the old woman looking very concerned about something. Immediately, Eliash wanted to know what was wrong.

‘Good morning, Mrs Maple, are you okay?’

Mrs Maple recognised Eliash through the usual clement smile he would give her.

‘Eliash my dear boy, I’m worried about these squirrels, somehow they don’t seem to be themselves today.’ She was glad to share her worries to somebody of the neighbourhood. ‘They seem offish this morning, Eliash, I wonder. The wind is picking up something very strange and mark my words, they can feel it and they’re not comfortable with it, dear.’

Eliash moved a couple of feet away to lay roses down on his aunt’s grave; he was surprised with himself as he rashly thought of Mrs Maple’s trouble but he also remembered his friends, Ramion and Madigon, staying the night over at his today and felt excited. He wanted to be back in time before they arrived at his doorstep. As politely as he could, he said to Mrs Maple: ‘I have to go now, Mrs Maple, I’m sure the squirrels are fine, they’re probably just having an off day like we all do; it’s lucky you feed them really—no one else does; see you around.’

And without looking back, he broke into a run, shutting the private gate behind him. He decided to take another route through the graveyard, one that would let him see the old medieval church; he came onto a path with proud trees at either side. He was walking until a swift coldness disturbed him like a chilled breath on his face. Eliash stopped dead in his tracks, puzzled what it might have been. After a moment’s pause, on the still graves, gentle breeze and swaying trees; it was everything that a normal day held, so he was forced to walk on.

Still…something felt wrong. There was something in the air that created tension in Eliash. Even the trees seem to be holding its breath as though waiting for something bad to happen. He stopped again, this time listening to the odd feeling in his gut. He was surrounded by cold darkness and a strange foul of rotten meat invades his senses, turning his stomach acidic with nausea.

A twig snapped somewhere to his right and he jerked his head in that direction. He stopped breathing, and listened.

Another snap; this time a lot louder like someone had deliberately broke a stick across their knee.

‘Who’s there?’ Eliash raised his voice; fear rose into his chest and shot through his eyes. His heart raced against his paranoid delusions.

‘I said who’s there!’ His voice sprang off the canopy of leaves all around him. He stayed still, rooted to the spot. All was silent except an odd bird chirped. An icy chill lurked back into the air like a breath of winter. Eliash could feel as if a person was sneering, watching him with a dark gaze, even encircling him. The very feeling was eerie.

Was it a ghost? Eliash clenched his jaw hard, preparing himself for what was coming next. He could feel this creature near him—whatever it was he could not prove it; there was no evidence of a person or anything was there at all just the menacing feeling taunting him. Mrs Maple was right, there was something very odd in the wind this morning.

Eliash pushed aside the branches as he walked on into the trees; he had a gut reaction to look up at the sky. There he saw the tone of light change. This time an icy shiver ran down his back. He pressed on walking ignoring the feeling of being watched, but a minute later he could not help think the thing he thought was a ghost was following him. He spun around, trapped with paranoia and searched the trees for that someone.

‘Hello? Who are you?’ His husky, smooth voice travelled in the air.

His curiosity got the better of him when he notice the trees swaying as though it was windy even though it was a sunny still day. He noticed the leaves were dropping like dead flies to the ground and wondered who was doing all this. The next second, Eliash was breathing in icy air and was frightened in case this ghost was to possess him. Distress noises came from the ducks now and nearby swans ahead; he heard the upsetting waters of their pond. Pigeons flew away, suddenly scared. What will happen next?

Eliash couldn’t make sense of anything because so far he could make none. Maybe nature was just playing strange? Or maybe the graveyard is haunted. Whichever, Eliash did not like it. Then shock punched him hard in the chest. Slowly and snakelike crept a mass of smoky darkness in mid-air over at the graves, to where the undisturbed victims lay resting. The mass of dark smoke moved its form into many distorted faces; in all that mass of black were demons—had to be. Their terrible howling screeches hurt Eliash’s ears. The sound of begging cries came from somewhere under the grave’s ground. Horrified, he was sure hell was opening up to him, spreading the foulest of evil in the air.

‘Eliash Parry!’ rasped a snarling voice from one of the many terrible faces in the ghostly black mass. Hands were reaching out of the dark haze, possibly to seize him. Eliash would have run by now but his legs refused to move, rigid with fear. The dark mass was coming his way when a girly voice, high-pitched, piping, screamed at him—maybe he was not so sure, but it seemed to come from inside his own head.

‘ELIASH! For crying out loud, run, will you!’

Eliash really did not need telling twice, he had had it. This was insanity, madness. It was in mind to run, wanting to make quickly his escape as soon he ran for his life. Those wicked gleeful faces in the murky mass were more than just a scare, they were purely evil and having just risen out from hell was beyond Eliash to reconsider and control the far surging from within him. He forced himself to ignore the bad feeling all around him; it was like beasts let loose off the lead, the terrible drawn out cry of misery and pain of the unknown victims never stopped nagging him. Eliash did not want to be one of them, but for sure if the black got him he was going to be a screaming victim too. Was it possible to hear hell? Well, Eliash didn’t want to know. He was out of the graveyard within seconds. He ran past the red phone box, only stopping to cross the road. And no sooner had he stopped running than the good voice was back inside his head.

‘Keep on running! And don’t look back! Or I shall have you flying on me!’

He had no idea who it may have been, but all he knew was that she was on his side. An angel crossed his mind, maybe it was his guardian angel? Whichever, he was grateful and broke into a sprint again and got a quick glimpse of the local chippies that belong to old Mr Kipper, skidded around a corner and into the alleyway of Weatherwood Place. He cut through Pelling Park. The park that Eliash lately wanted to avoid as him and his friends Ramion and Madigon were being nuisance to the park keeper. And now he was sprinting on the new flowers that bloomed in the private garden. The playground gate led him outside Whicker Wheel’s Pub where he’d normally met his father sometimes after school.

Shortly afterwards, he was on his street and he felt a lot safer for it, but that did not stop him from checking behind for any signs of the black mass and the demons that came with it. Eliash was halfway away on his street when he heard the usual clinking of glass bottles and saw the familiar milk float parked outside his front garden. What he did not recognise was the girl with beautiful long ivory hair; she was checking milk bottles in green crates at the back of the milk float. Who was she? Eliash was bemused; the girl looked grumpy and scowled every now and again, but where was George the milkman?

The milk girl held a crate full of milk and unwillingly she made it to the Parry’s doorstep as though making to their door is the last thing she ever wanted to do. Eliash could see she was very uncomfortable in the ordinary white uniform, hat and navy blue tie. It was clear she did not enjoy her new job.

Amused, he got to the gate of his front garden and he took no more interest in her even though she was by his door lowering milk bottles on the step. Before he could so much as open his garden gate, the bibbing horn went and a voice so common had shouted:

‘Come on Celeste, chop-chop! We’re already running late, people are wanting their breakfast around now!’

Eliash smile grew wider. Turning around to see the milk float, he recognised the owner of the voice sitting in his driving seat. Old George was checking the time on his mobile and decided to bib the girl some more.

‘Alright, hold your horses, will you!’ moaned the girl but she made no sign of a hurry; instead she mumbled miserably under her breath, inaudible for Eliash to hear.

‘You alright, son,’ called out George to Eliash, a wide grin on his wrinkled face.

‘Yeah, I’m good, George; is this the new girl then?’ Eliash jerked his head over to his doorstep where Celeste continued doing her job with every bit of dissatisfaction.

‘A bloody pain in the rear end she is,’ called back Old George. Eliash chuckled and watch Old George bib the horn again and shout:

‘Remember the lady is Mrs Parry, call her, will you; she doesn’t like her products to be left outside—and be polite! She is a well-respected neighbour round here. I don’t want any bad complaints, you hear.’

The girl huffed and rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll give her a little curtsy too, shall I?’

And Eliash had to laugh at the cheek. Celeste could not see what the fuss was all about in dropping milk bottles outside people’s doorstep.

‘Here, Madame, take your milk bottle, won’t you,’ she huffed under her breath and job done she got up from her knees. Old George quickly told her to hurry up.

The girl was in no mood to yell at the top of her voice this early morning, so she decided to ring the doorbell at once, even though she was filled with reluctance in every moment of this new job. And as she was just about to ring the bell, Eliash came squeezing by to get inside his house.

‘Are you insane? Can’t you see what I’ve put down; I don’t need you kicking these over you know. Got old fatso already on my back!’ The girl indicated with her hand at the milk bottles by their feet as though he was blind as a bat.

‘I was nowhere near them,’ he tried to tell her. The girl jumped in an argument and to save himself from all the stress, he quickly surrendered with his hands up. ‘Okay, okay I’m sorry.’ Bickering with a girl was the last thing he wanted.

‘Whatever,’ she rolled her eyes, folding her arms looking anywhere but at him. ‘Take your milk in then, so I’ve heard Mrs Parry likes her products indoors.’

Eliash let free a playful smirk.

Damn, she really was something.

He took a quick glimpse of the diamond stud by the side of her nose. Those forest green eyes were surreal but that was all he had time for before he bent down to pick up the milk bottles and was about to closed his front door when the incident at the graveyard flash back into his mind; he really wanted to be alone, to think through what he thought to be supernatural and evil. Without another thought, he told the girl: ‘Thanks for the stuff—nice stud.’

She looked disgusted at him and taunted: ‘Whatever.’

It was clear she was not his type but Eliash did not mind. Smirking, he closed the door behind him with a kick of his leg. He heard the girl shout:

‘Doesn’t anyone give tips around here?’

He laughed and shouted back aloud so she could hear him: ‘Not with that attitude, sorry; maybe next time!’

Eliash put down the milk bottles by the door.

The first thing he did when he got into his bedroom was to shift over to his attic window to see if he can spot the black anywhere at all. He was feeling deeply grateful when he saw nothing that would suggest anything evil or abnormal and in the end went to collapse on his bed. Wow, he had narrowly escaped. He tried hard not to think about what would happen if the black had caught him. If it had, he would most probably be in hell. He couldn’t remove the black mass out from his head, especially the demonic faces that came with it. At this moment of time, he thought it to be near impossible to forget. Had he seen evil at all? After all what else could it have been? And what did it want with him? And the angel, Eliash was sure she was trying to save him; if it weren’t for her—he had to admit it to himself he would have most probably still be standing in the graveyard in fear. The sound of Mrs Parry’s voice broke his train of thoughts.

‘Eliash dear!’ he heard his mother sing up to him. ‘You have your friends here!’

He was forced to distract his mind and leave his thoughts of the supernatural behind as he took in a deep breath to reply: ‘Okay Mum, can you send them up!’

As he spoke, Eliash’s bedroom door swung open and a good-looking boy entered. He reacted to Eliash straight away, his straight teeth white were perfect through his confident smile. He flung his rucksack onto Eliash’s wooden floor, careless as to where it dropped.

‘It’s good to stay tonight, bruv,’ he said, olive green eyes