Blood Lines

weight of stone rising off his chest. The spell stretched and tore as it was pulled more and more out of alignment. Then, with a silent shriek that cut through bone and blood and sinew, it ripped apart.
    He welcomed the pain. It was his first physical sensation in three millennia and a joyous agony. Nothing came without price and for his freedom, no price was too high. Had his limbs been capable of movement, he would have writhed, but movement would come slowly, over time, and so he could only endure the waves of red that raced the length of his body pushing all else before them, pounding all else beneath them. He only wished that he could scream.
    Finally, the last wave began to ebb, leaving behind it a stinging of nettles in his flesh and the red glow of two eyes in the darkness.
    My lord? He should have known that if he survived his god would have survived as well.
    The eyes grew brighter until by their light his ka could see the birdlike head of his god.
    The others are dead, it said.
    This confirmed what the taste of the laborer's ka had told him.
    There are gods, but not the ones we knew. Its beak wasn't built for smiling, but it cocked its head to one side and he remembered that meant it was pleased. I was wise when I created you; through you I survived. The new gods have been strong in the past, but they are not now. Few souls are sworn. Build me a temple, gather me acolytes until I am strong enough to make others like you. We can do what we wish with this world.
    Then he was alone again in the darkness.
    Nothing held him now except millennia-old fabric already beginning to rot under the pressure of accumulated time, but he would remain for a little longer where he was. His ka had one more short journey to make and then he would gather his strength before he confronted his… savior.
    Build a temple. Gather acolytes. We can do what we wish with this world. Indeed.
    He had not really planned beyond gaining his freedom, but it seemed he would have much to do.
    Rachel Shane stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor, the rubber soles of her shoes making very little sound against the tile floor. She was worried about Elias. He'd always been an intense man, determined to make the Egyptology Department at the ROM one of the best in the world despite budgets and bureaucrats, but in all the years she'd known him- and they were a good many years , she admitted silently to herself-she'd never seen him this obsessed.
    She paused just inside the security door to pull her trench coat closed. Although the looming bulk of the planetarium limited the lines of sight from the staff entrance, water glistened on the pavement between the two buildings. If it wasn't raining at this moment, it had been in the recent past.
    Recent past … She thought back to the workroom and the almost dreamlike way they'd unwrapped the linen strip from around the mummy. No documentation. No photographs. Not even a notation of the hieroglyphs. It was very stra…
    The sudden pain snapped her head forward and exploded red lights behind her eyes. She sagged against the security door, the smooth glass pulling against the damp skin of her cheek as she fought to stay on her feet. Is it a stroke ? And with that thought came a terrifying vision of complete and utter helplessness, so much worse than death. Oh, God, I'm too young . She couldn't catch her breath, couldn't remember how her lungs worked, couldn't remember anything but the pain.

    As if from a great distance, she saw the guard run for the other side of the door and manage to open it without throwing her to the ground. He slipped an arm around her waist and half guided, half carried her over to a chair. "Dr.
    Shane? Dr. Shane, are you all right?" She grabbed desperately onto the sound of her name. The pain began to recede, leaving her feeling as though she'd been scoured from within by a wire brush. Nerve endings throbbed and for just an instant a great golden sun blotted out the security area, the guard, everything. "Dr. Shane?"
    Then it was gone and the pain was gone as if it had never been. She rubbed at her temples, trying to remember how it had felt, and couldn't. "Should I call an ambulance, Dr. Shane?" An ambulance? That penetrated. "No, thank you, Andrew. I'm fine. Really. Just a little faint." He frowned. "You sure?"
    'Positive." She took a deep breath and stood. The world remained as it always had been. The tension went out of her shoulders.
    'Well, if you're sure…" He still