Echo Prophecy Read online

  “Grandpa?” I asked before my vision spotted over with blackness.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Beginning & The End

  “Suse, my darling, do you think perhaps we should have done this another way? I’ve startled the poor girl half to death.” The deep voice was barely accented with Italian.

  “Oh, hush, Alex,” my sweet grandma admonished. “I know Lex a little better than you, if you’ll recall. I’ve been around. And I am not your ‘darling.’” I’d never heard Grandma Suse sound so spiteful.

  “If you’ll recall, Suse, you’re the one who told me to ‘get the hell out or risk everyone discovering the truth.’ I was fully prepared to risk it.”

  Opening my eyes, I sat up on the couch and stared at the unbelievable couple sitting at my kitchen table. “Um … hi. If you guys could stop word-stabbing each other for a minute and explain why my thirty-year-old grandfather just walked into my apartment? It’d be peachy,” I declared with an unpleasant smile.

  Grandma Suse gasped. “Alexandra Marie Larson! You wipe that look off your face right this instant!”

  I grimaced and sat up straighter. “Sorry, Grandma.”

  “That’s better!” She reverted back to my kindly grandma. “Now, honey, your grandpa’s going to explain some important things to you. Things he should have explained weeks ago, but he was conveniently out of town.”

  “I was in Antarctica! How could I have known … there are zero reasons why she should have manifested. Alice never showed any signs of being a carrier and I even peeked into the future—which you know is all but forbidden—and I saw nothing of this. Not everything shows up, you know,” he said a little sulkily. “Besides, I had Heru watching over her … just in case. He owed me.”

  Some guy named Heru had been watching over me? Remotely, I wondered if it had been the same man who had broken down my apartment door, pummeled Mike, and whisked me to the hospital. If so, I owed him … and was a little afraid of him.

  “Well he obviously wasn’t trying hard enough,” my suddenly furious grandma spat. Her body was visibly trembling. “I assume he told you what happened …”

  “Yes, but he said—”

  “Enough!” I yelled, slapping my palm on the steamer trunk coffee table. “Will someone please explain why I feel like I’m losing my mind?”

  Ignoring my outburst, Grandma Suse stood and said to her not-so-late husband, “I’m feeling a bit tired. I think I’ll just go lie down in Lex’s room while you two chat.” As she hobbled toward my bedroom, she gave me a pointed look that seemed to say “behave yourself” and “give him hell” at the same time.

  “So … Grandpa,” I said after the bedroom door shut, thinking I’d never had a more surrealistic, awkward experience. “Sorry about the whole fainting thing.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve had worse reactions. A few people even tried to stab me, and dozens have run away shrieking about ghosts.” Smiling roguishly, he added, “You should call me Alexander—or Alex. ‘Grandpa’ doesn’t really fit with my appearance. People will talk.”

  “Okay … Alexander.” Saying his name hammered the final, rusty nail in the this-feels-so-wrong coffin.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it … and to me.” He patted the kitchen table in front of my grandma’s abandoned chair. “Come join me, Alexandra. We have some catching up to do.”

  “I’ll say.” I was feeling a bit irked, a lot crazy, and insanely curious. If I hadn’t been experiencing all of the weird dream-visions lately, I would’ve been totally freaked out. As it was, I was moderately freaked out, but I shoved the feeling away. Answers were finally throwing themselves at me … I couldn’t turn them away just because I didn’t understand them. I joined my grandpa, Alexander, at the table.

  He stared at me with midnight-blue eyes. “You look so much like my little Alice. I almost feel like I’m sitting here with her instead of her grown daughter. We gods of time suffer far worse from its passing than those who age and die. We have to go on.”

  We gods of time? Is that from a poem? I was utterly baffled. “What?”

  A crease formed between my grandpa’s eyebrows, and he grabbed my nearest hand. “My dear child, Suse always says I have a way of circumventing the truth. An occupational hazard, I suppose. Shall I just dive right in?”

  I nodded, hoping his words would somehow translate into something coherent. My mind was too numb for anything cryptic to get through, and I was usually really good with cryptic.

  “Very well. You and I, and the others like us, are not human … not exactly.”

  My mouth fell open. “Not … human? You’re kidding, right?” He has to be kidding! Of course I’m human!

  Alexander shook his head. “Many thousands of years ago, a human woman bore a son who became the most talented spiritual leader his clan ever had. He was able to guide his people away from the dangers of the desert and other clans until they settled near a fertile river. He was a very powerful seer of the past, present, and future. Some said he could alter the very fabric of time.” He shrugged, as if he was saying, “I’m not so sure about that …”

  “Through recent developments in the understanding of evolution and genetics, we now know he was the first to be born with a unique and beneficial genetic mutation, which he then passed on to some of his descendants. In his time, power came with many … consequences. One being that he had many wives and consorts, which led to many children. Those children had children and so on. Over time, as the bloodlines intermixed, his mutation was passed on. He is, in essence, the father of our species.”

  Alexander held up a hand, cutting off the words threatening to explode from my open mouth. “Wait—all will become clear. This man’s name was Nuin, and his people became the rulers and aristocracy of Upper Egypt, while he—the most powerful of his people—became known as the creator of mankind. You know of him as the god, Nun. Like him, many of his descendants became deified by the people of their times, such as Heru, Set, and Aset,” he said, listing the ancient names of the Egyptian gods more commonly known as Horus, Seth, and Isis to the modern world. “I’m sure you see the big picture. Nuin’s descendants became known as the Netjer-At, which means … ?”

  I cleared my throat, unprepared to participate in the conversation. “Roughly, ‘gods of time.’” It was the exact translation I’d settled on earlier that day for the hieroglyphs that had been driving me mad for months. It could have been a coincidence, but I doubted it was.

  Alexander nodded, clearly pleased. His eyes crinkled faintly at the outer corners when he smiled, making him appear endearingly kind. “Over the past millennium, with the rise of lingua franca, the name simplified into Nejerette or Nejeret, for women or men, respectively. I am Nejeret, and you, Alexandra, are Nejerette. As a whole, our people are Nejerets. Our kind, the descendants of Nuin, are able to step out of time to see its various threads. As you hone your skills, you’ll be able to view the past and the present, and maybe even the future possibilities to some degree. It’s different for each of us.”

  His words were pure impossibility, but it also sort of made sense, what with the too-real dreams I’d all but accepted as real. “So you’re saying we’re time travelers?” I asked, skepticism coating my words.

  Alexander laughed. “Everyone asks that. But no, we don’t travel through time. We’re only able to see time, to see what has happened and some of what may be. We cannot actually interact with any time other than the present.” He paused, frowning thoughtfully. “Think of time as a vast cavern, and of our visions as the echoes of every sound that has been, is being, or might ever be made. Many Nejerets have actually started calling what we see ‘echoes.’”

  “How is this real?” I whispered to one of the empty spots at the table.

  Alexander squeezed my hand. “The how is irrelevant. That it is matters.”

  As he spoke his final words, the world melted into a swirl of colors, writhing all around us like a psychedelic hallucination. “Whatever you do, d
on’t let go of my hand until it stops. We could easily get separated, and I don’t have the talent to track you if that happens.”

  “Um, okay.” When the world finally righted itself, I muttered, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I spun around in a circle, taking in my surroundings. “What is this—ancient Rome?”

  Hand in hand, Alexander and I stood off to the side of a high-ceilinged room. The walls were painted in a rich red and black, and several dining couches, each draped in lustrous fabrics, were arranged artfully around a small, wooden table.

  “Not exactly,” Alexander said. “We’re in Herculaneum.” He released my hand and held both of his arms out wide. “Welcome to my childhood home.”

  “No,” I breathed, stunned. I gaped at everything around me—it all looked new, not like it had been buried under volcanic ash for thousands of years, which meant it hadn’t been buried yet. Suddenly fearful, I exclaimed, “Herculaneum—but Mount Vesuvius!”

  “That’s not for another seventy years, and even if Vesuvius were erupting right now, we would be safe enough. No need to worry. Remember, we’re not really here—we’re only witnessing an echo of the past.”

  My unusually sluggish mind finally caught up, screaming about what was important, and it wasn’t the impending volcanic eruption. “Your childhood home?! You grew up in Herculaneum before Mount Vesuvius erupted? That’s … that’s impossible! You’d have to be over two thousand years old! This can’t be real!”

  It’s not real … it’s not real … it’s not real … Scrunching my eyes closed, I repeated the mantra for a long moment. When I reopened them, I hoped to find myself standing in my apartment, my impossibly ancient grandpa gone, and sanity and reality firmly reestablished around me. I was sorely disappointed.

  “Alexandra, calm down.” My grandpa’s fingers regained their strong grasp on my hand, acting like an anchor to something tangible, to something real. But touching him was almost as disconcerting as considering the possibility that everything he’d told me was true. He wasn’t the steadiest of anchors.

  Wide-eyed, I stared at Alexander, taking dozens of deep, slow breaths.

  “I know your Nejerette traits have been manifesting. You must feel like you’re losing your mind, noticing physical changes with your body—possibly heightened senses—and seeing things that happened in the past. You’re having dreams that feel like memories, but they couldn’t be your memories because you were never there, correct?”

  Incapable of forming words, I nodded.

  “This is all real, Alexandra. You aren’t human … you’re Nejerette.”

  As much as my mind wanted to disagree, the logical part of me assessed every piece of evidence—the dreams and visions, the healing, my eyes—and drew the only possible conclusion. Alexander Ivanov, my thirty-looking two-thousand-year-old grandfather, was telling the truth. Nuin, the Nejerets, the “echoes”—it was all real.

  Decisively, I nodded. I still felt queasy and a bit crazy, yet at the same time, I felt more stable than I had in weeks. I had the explanation I’d been seeking … and I had people. I belonged.

  Alexander let out a relieved breath. “Wonderful! You wouldn’t believe how long it takes some people to accept the truth.”

  I cleared my throat. “So, um … what now?”

  He smiled. “Now, we watch, and eventually, you learn. Look.” He spun me around, leading me to a wide doorway. Beyond, the geometric pattern on the tiled marble floor changed as it led out to a manicured garden filled with shrubs, brightly colored flowers, and waving palm trees. Past a carved stone banister at least thirty yards away, the tiled ground dropped off, revealing an undulating, rich, blue mass—the Bay of Naples.

  I took a deep breath, inhaling the tangy sea air. It seemed so pure compared to the polluted air of my time. “So we can smell, too? Not just see and hear things in these … these ‘echoes’?”

  Alexander looked at me with surprise. “Not everyone can. Many talents that used to be common have faded from our gene pool. Being able to smell in the At is almost nonexistent among those born during the last several centuries.” From the way he said “At,” I wondered if it was the official term for the echoes. In Middle Egyptian, it meant “time,” so it made sense.

  “Well … I can.” I felt pride at excelling, but it was tinged with sadness; even among my own people, I was doomed to be a little different. I glanced away, uncomfortable with Alexander’s measuring look.

  Before I could point out that it wasn’t polite to stare, the sound of sandaled feet slapping against marble tiles drew my attention. Two small boys, one with brown hair and one with blond, squealed and clattered onto the patio. They tried not to giggle as they struck at each other with wooden swords. After a particularly deadly fake stab from the blond boy, the brown-haired boy staggered to the ground with melodramatic gasps.

  “The victor … is that … ?”

  My grandpa responded wistfully, “Me? Yes. My brother and I were playing our equivalent of ‘cops and robbers.’ It was more like ‘Alexander the Great and the Persian Heathens.’ They terrified us more than modern human scholars understand. Ah … but looking back, I think we could have focused less on the Persian threat and more on the religious strife within our own society. But I suppose no civilization, no matter how grand, is meant to last forever.”

  It was my turn to stare at him. “You miss it.”

  Gently, he squeezed my hand. “It was home. It’s part of who I am—I’ll always miss it. Someday you’ll understand.”

  “I can accept the visions or echoes or whatever … I get it, I’ve seen enough to know this isn’t just a hallucination. But what’s with the really great aging perks?” I asked, unable to hold in my curiosity any longer. Alexander looked amazing for a guy who’d lived through two millennia.

  Alexander tightened one side of his mouth as he thought. “I’m much more a philosopher than scientist, but as far as I understand it, some other genetic traits are linked to the Netjer-At chromosome. First, and inconsequentially, our dentition patterns are two-one-two-two.”

  I recalled from my undergraduate anthropology classes that the standard pattern for humans was two-one-two-three: two incisors, a canine, a couple of premolars, and three molars. “So, no wisdom teeth?” I asked.

  “Correct. It generally holds true among carriers as well, though for you to be Nejerette, Alice must have been a carrier, and she had wisdom teeth on the bottom. Poor girl had to have them removed when she was a teenager.” He shook his head at the memory. “Ah … but more importantly, we exhibit exceptionally enhanced cellular regeneration. This suspends the aging process and dramatically increases both our senses—seeing, hearing, etcetera—and our ability to heal. I believe you’ve recently experienced this?”

  I nodded, recalling that Dr. Isa had been aware of my remarkable healing ability and hadn’t been surprised. Is she Nejerette, too? I wondered.

  “You must’ve been starved afterward? Lost weight? Possibly looked ill or older for a number of days?” At my responding nod and frown, he continued, “Have you noticed any other physical changes?”

  “Yeah, my skin is lighter, if that’s even possible, and pretty much perfect. I mean, I have no blemishes, no moles, no scars—nothing. And my eyes have become … I guess ‘brighter’ would be the right word. Now they look reddish-brown instead of just brown.”

  “Yes,” he said. “That’s all normal. Your appearance may change as the years pass and your body continues to renew and heal, though, for the most part, you should stay the same. You might get a little taller, or stronger, or a number of other things. Also …” He hesitated before adding, “Alexandra … the women of our kind, Nejerettes, can’t bear children.”

  My stomach dropped, like a plane abruptly losing altitude. The reaction was unexpected. I’d pretty much written off having kids when I’d committed to a life of gallivanting around the globe from excavation to excavation, but hearing it was a definite impossibility saddened me.

  “Why no
t?” I asked.

  “The regenerative abilities interfere with the growth of the fetus, inevitably leading to spontaneous abortion. Usually the fertilized egg never even attaches to the Nejerette’s uterine wall,” he explained, equally scientific and sympathetic.

  I shook my head. Something wasn’t adding up. “Then how do we reproduce?”

  “Through the men. It’s always been through the men. Usually our children are normal humans, either carriers or non-carriers—but if a Nejeret mates with a female carrier, the child has a small chance of manifesting, of becoming Nejeret or Nejerette. Between a male carrier and a female carrier, producing a child capable of manifestation is very rare, but possible. The last must have been the case with you. I really didn’t expect you to manifest.”

  I frowned. “Couldn’t you, you know, test people’s DNA for the Nejeret chromosome? Then you’d know for sure and could prepare people so the change would be less”—I paused, searching for the right word—“traumatic.”

  Alexander’s eyes filled with sorrow. “Your situation is unusual, Alexandra. It’s unfair, I know. For certain political reasons, I was allowed to search the future At to see if there was any chance of Alice’s children manifesting. There was absolutely no sign that either you or Jennifer would become Nejerette.” He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “I’m sorry, I’m not answering your question very well. You see, the mutation isn’t genetically traceable until an individual comes of age, until they manifest, so it’s impossible to predict, even with modern technology. There was no way to know this would happen, and no clear explanation for why it did.”

  “Hmm …” I said, thinking about the man—my biological father—I’d watched break into the fertility clinic. Is it possible that he’s Nejeret? Is that why he swapped the sperm samples? Did he know Mom was a carrier? I considered telling Alexander about what I’d seen, but it didn’t seem like the right time. Not that I thought any time would seem like the right time to relay such weird information, but still … this wasn’t it.