Today I thought I would post a snippet from my middle grade Ancient Egyptian-themed book Cleo Dalby and the Curse of the Chaos Mummies. It’s full of good and evil gods and goddesses, nasty beasts and a battle of life and death to save the world – of course. I plan to send it to some publishers. I am still in the editing stage so any feedback would be noted, and very welcome.
A brief synopsis:
Feisty twelve-year-old Cleo Dalby and her archaeologist mother, find the remains of Imhotep and Hor in the Red pyramid, Dashur, only to discover that not only are the mummies cursed but Cleo is too – with the soul of Seth the god of chaos. When the mummies are stolen by the master criminal Erica Van Clutch, the curse is unleashed along with Seth, who wants to destroy the world. It is up to Cleo and her friends to journey to Duat, ancient Egypt’s afterlife, to find the Book of the Dead to summon Ma-at the goddess of order so that she can destroy Seth.
Excerpt from Chapter One – We Are Not Alone
Darkness pushed against Cleo Dalby’s arms and legs as she struggled to make her way through the narrow chamber of the pyramid. Hands outstretched before her, she slid her feet forward, straining to hear something, anything. But every sound, even the skid-slap of her sandals on the stone floor, became lost in the gloom. On Cleo walked, deeper into the world of corpses.
A sigh drifted towards her. It seemed to gather a friend as it neared, and soon the sad laments of two disembodied voices surrounded her. The whispering drifted in and out of her ears like tired moths trapped inside a lampshade.
“We, the dead, quietly rest, hands on chest, faces tilted up to catch a ray of sunlight.”
“But this far below the ground, there is only blackness and the weight of stone.”
“We, the dead, no longer know who we are. Memories fade and melt into our hollow skulls.”
“We, the dead, sometimes whisper to each other.”
“Husks of words from dried up lips that stick to the cold walls, waiting for the living to listen.”
Cleo touched the limestone with her fingertips.
“We, the dead, can feel a presence.”
A breath of ancient brushed past her cheek. She shivered and rubbed her naked arms. The chill slapped onto her legs and spread upwards leaving pimples of stiff-haired unease on her sunburnt flesh. She gulped. “Hello? Is anyone there? My name is Cleo.”
“Is it she?”
“The chosen one?”
“Listen to our warning, child, or torments and madness will shadow your every move.”
“Leave, before evil takes your soul.”
The voices ceased.
There was a smell of rot so strong, she nearly vomited. “What the frog?” The stink disappeared. Cleo shook the torch gripped in her hand. “Stupid froggin’ thing. Work.” She patted it against her palm. “Work.” Something touched her shoulder and Cleo jumped.
“There you are. I thought I’d lost you.”
“Mum, don’t creep up on me like that.”
“I can’t very well do anything else, can I? It’s darker than a black hole in here.”
“I know. I can’t see a froggin’ thing.”
“What do you expect? We are half way down a pyramid. And don’t say, ‘froggin’ I know what it means.”
A sound like the noise from a beehive buzzed inside her head. She put her fingers into her ears and wiggled them until it ceased. “Are you sure we’re the only ones here?”
“Apart from the mummies? Yes.”
“I thought I heard someone say something.” Cleo reached behind her and grabbed her mother’s hand as a gasp swept across their faces. “What was that?”
“I don’t know, I can’t see anything.”
“Sorry, it’s my fault the torch won’t work. I didn’t change the batteries. Although, Mum, if you’d brought wind-up ones we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“Oh, so now it’s my fault?”
A throaty groan billowed past their open mouths.
“Ah! That horrible sound again.” Cleo swivelled round, buried her head into her mother’s chest and waited for the hideous moaning to go away. The gurgling, growling continued despite the comforting warmth from her mother’s body.
“Why won’t it stop?”
“It has.”
“No, it hasn’t. Can’t you hear it?”
“It’s my stomach.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I’m hungry, we missed breakfast because you slept in.”
“Sorry,” Cleo said and felt her eyes begin to sting.
“Don’t sniffle. Come on, we can’t let some stale air frighten us away. That’s what they want.”
“That’s what who want?” Cleo pulled away from her mother’s tight grip.
“The architects who built the pyramids were clever. They used all sorts of booby traps to scare looters away. All this noise and freezing wind is a just a ploy to put us off the scent. Come on, let’s carry on.” Mrs Dalby tugged at Cleo’s sleeve.
“Okay, but can you light a match at least? I really can’t see where I’m going.”
“There aren’t many left. In the rush to get here I didn’t pack everything.”
“Some holiday this is.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Cleo brushed her curly brown hair behind her ears and sighed. “It’s not really a proper holiday ‘cause you were already here as a specialist advisor on that American dig thing.”
“You mean the unearthing of King Senebkay in the ancient city of Abydos. True, technically I am working, but we are, you know, spending time together.”
“Like a proper family.”
“Yes, except…”
“Dad’s not here.”
“No, he isn’t.” There was a wobble in Mrs Dalby’s voice and Cleo quickly changed the subject.
“Good job Curator Blench gave you that tip off about this pyramid. Now we can finish the job you and Dad started.”
There was a long pause.
“Right then, shall we carry on?”
“’Suppose so. Mum, this is our first expedition together.”
“Yes, it is. Are you okay with that?”
“Yeah, I think it’s awesome.”
“Good. Anyway, we should save the candles since we don’t have many. We’re going to need all the light we can when we find the hidden chamber. So, for now, you’ll just have to put your hands out and feel your way like me.”
You can lean more about my work here: www.oddlybooks.com
Thanks for reading.
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Nikki McDonagh - author and photographer 