Blood of the Nile Read Online Free Page B

delicious assortment of roasted quail
eggs and fresh-picked pomegranates and set them out on the breakfast nook.
    “Sleeping beauty
finally awakes,” Husani said, chuckling loudly in his cousin’s ear. “Eat up. We
need to get a move on. Uncle Anwar’s attorney called this morning. He wants to
meet for dinner tonight. If we plan on being back in time, we need to go.”
    Maliyah gave him a
sarcastic salute, then picked up her fork and got to work devouring the meal. Once
she’d filled her belly, the three of them piled into a rugged, army-green jeep
with industrial grade tires. It was the perfect vehicle for a trek across the
desert.
    With Husani in the
driver’s seat and Salma sprawled out in back, Maliyah took shotgun. “ Here. Put this on,” Salma said, handing her a white linen
headdress, or shayla , as the locals often referred to
it. “It will keep your sensitive skin from burning.”
    They drove for
more than an hour, until finally Maliyah saw what appeared to be an oasis in
the distance. A pristine watering hole nuzzled between a handful of stone and
marble monoliths. As the jeep got closer, she realized that the structures were tombs, each one adorned with an elaborate statue of
Anubis perched at its threshold. No surprise, considering that many in the
Egyptian culture credited the jackal-faced deity with the invention of
mummification techniques. Leader of the funerary cult, Anubis was often charged
with accompanying the dead to the afterlife.
    As the vehicle
came to a halt behind the shade of one of the giant statues, Maliyah felt her
stomach lurch, ready to expel the remnants of her undigested breakfast. Her
palms were drenched with sweat. This was the one moment she had been dreading. Her father’s final farewell.
    Anwar wanted his
death to be carried out in much the same fashion in which he’d lived his humble
human existence, without any pomp or circumstance. According to Husani, he’d
left strict instructions that no one, other than his daughter and niece and
nephew, be allowed to view his lifeless corpse. While a few close friends and
business associates had already called, complaining about their lack of
invitation, Husani stuck to his guns.
    Good thing he had. I’m not sure I’m ready to place my confidence in
anyone other than family.
    Soon, a stout man
with a warm, genuine smile approached the jeep. “Good day. My name is Hamid. You
must be the Aziz family. I’m sorry for your loss. Please, follow me and I will escort
you to your ancestral burial chamber.”
    Maliyah and her
cousins trailed after their guide until they reached one of the stone
structures; its wide, arched entryway was embellished with primitive Egyptian
hieroglyphics. As they descended the steep stairwell of the catacombs, Hamid
lit a kerosene lamp. He led them through the winding passageways until they
came upon a small room tucked into the corner of the underground cave. The
words Makhaut al Aziz were etched across
the entrance to the tomb. Clearly, this underground chamber had been reserved
for members of her father’s family.
    Inside
were more than a dozen sarcophagi laid end to end along the walls of the cave,
all topped with heavy, intricately decorated rectangular stones used to conceal
their contents. Except one. Her
father’s.
    Maliyah
rushed to the encasement, draping her arms over its wide expanse. Anwar’s body
lay enshrouded in a swath of fine Egyptian cotton, the same cotton material he’d
cultivated and used to build his fortune. A picture of him - his proud,
handsome features – sat propped up against the side of the stone box.
    Soon
Maliyah’s legs gave out, and she toppled to the ground. Tears streamed down her
cheeks as she let out a sorrowful wail. It was the first time she’d allowed
herself to release the pain and anguish she’d kept bottled up inside her—not only
from her father’s passing, but from all the years she’d lost, and all the
memories she’d forfeited by staying away for so