Chapter Text
Thebes 2134 B.C.
There he lies, limbs twitching and with eyes bursting with blood. There he lies, Pharaoh of Egypt, he who wore the Crown of the Narrow and Wide Egypt. He who had ridden chariots and hunted for prey and the enemy while she remained locked away in the palace. There he lies, unworthy King, false god. Son of lesser wife, almost dead half-brother. Barely breathing husband. The man who had taken her for a wife to proclaim himself a god King. The murderer who had slashed the throat of her beloved.The snake’s venom is quick, his lungs gasp for air and the Queen is almost free. She grabs the Aspis by the tail, the animal seemingly content in her grasp goes willingly into a wicker basket. The Queen smiles as she leaves the chambers, leaving her thief of a brother and husband dead on the palace floor. She takes her horse and servants and rides towards Hamunaptra, to be reunited with her stolen love.
Had the gods ever favoured her, the Queen would not have been caught. If they had been just, there would not have left that single guard awaiting for the Pharaoh’s order the nights she had killed him. He would not have seen the Queen, with victory on her features, walking away. He would not have run to the Pharaoh’s advisers and Commander of the Army to scream treason. She would not have been found in Hamunaptra, with the delicate scrolls of the Book of the Dead surrounding her. Reciting incantations, begging Osiris for mercy. Asking him to allow her the same gift Mother Isis had bestowed on him, the goddess who had gone to the ends of their Earth to find him and piece him back together. She had asked to be given the ability resurrect the love she had lost, whose life her husband had ripped from her with the metal of his sword. Like he had taken her throne, like he had usurped Egypt. Just as her prayers had been answered and her incantations had floated through the air, the Pharaoh’s men burst through the sacred doors. Her beloved’s soul returning to the underworld before it could reunite with their body.
In chains they have her now, the Book of the Dead in a locked chest. She is to be mummified alive, suffering the worst punishment Egypt can bestow on her. The Hom-Dai, her soul will never know rest buried for eternity at the feet of Anubis. There will be no meeting of Ra, no journeys to be taken on his boat.It is her fate to forever be trapped in despair, with a hollow chest. But she thinks that she’ll rise from the dead. The magic of the Hom-Dai, if ever reversed, would grant her powers to rule over Egypt with her resurrected beloved by her side. Yes, she can feel it in her bones. One day she will rise again, even if her tongue has been cut off. Even as she feels the cold blade of the embalmer, even as blood drips down her belly. Then it happens, her heart is ripped out. So that it can never be weighed by Anubis, so that her essence withers and rots like the rest of her will not. When she awakens, she will need a new heart. One that beats wildly between her ribs like her old one had.
The sarcophagus locks above her, and she screams and screams as the beetles that been thrown in with her begin consuming the Queen. She wails until unrestful death comes for her, until whatever magic had remained and kept her alive finally leaves her.
Hamunaptra, 1925 A.D.
Sand, and blood that’s all there is out here. No treasure, no gold. All of her garrison’s illusions are buried in the dunes now. She wishes this place had been a mirage. The Sun is hotter in the Egyptian desert, this is fact Emma thinks as she feels the weight of her rifle pressing against her shoulder.There are a few hundred riders galloping towards them. She is going to die, this is a damn certainty. She is going to die wearing the uniform of the Foreign Legion, not even fighting for a cause. Just for greed and legend, shooting at people who don’t deserve to be shot. She is going to bleed out with ancient and empty ruins at her back and nothing but sand at her feet. Hamunaptra, city of the dead, the names fits all too damn well. But she won’t run, she’ll keep her post. She may not understand any of this, she might hate most of it, but she is not a coward. The same can’t be said for her Colonel, who drops his weapon and rides away from the battle when faced with the ferocity of their opponents.
“Looks like you’ve just been promoted,” Jones mutters next to her as he takes aim. When she says nothing he continues “Swan, your strength gives me strength.”
“Prenez vos positions!” Emma shouts over her shoulder, this pointless defense is on her now. “Steady. Steady.” She counts a beat or two, and the fighters keep coming closer. Undeterred by their weapons being aimed at them. Shit, shit. “Steady...FIRE!”
Her ears are ringing with bullets and her heart is thumping in her chest. They had only managed to delay the first line of attack, the riders still come. And they carry rifles on their right hand, a blade on their back and the reigns are tightly held on their left hand. They’re outnumbered,outgunned...hell they’re bested in every possible way. They shouldn’t have come. Shit. “FIRE!” She orders again, and it barely makes a dent. Her men begin to drop to the ground, like flies. And the sand around her begins darkening.
“FALL BACK!” She yells as she keeps firing her weapon as she retreats into the ruins. She searches for Jones and finds him crawling away on his belly. But he sprints from the ground, discarding his weapon and running toward an open chamber. The riders are catching up with Emma, and she knows there only four bullets left in her revolver and a stick of dynamite in her belt. Survival kicking in, she bolts after Jones who has just arrived at the open chamber. Her hair comes undone from the tight bun that held it together and she can hardly see through the blonde strands as her feet keep running.
“JONES. JONES!” She calls after him and the miserable, spineless bastard of pig-rat begins pushing the stone door closed. “DON’T YOU DARE CLOSE THAT DOOR,” Emma slams her body against the stone, trying to push it open but it’s no use. “JONES! GODDAMMIT JONES! YOU SON OF A BITCH!”
The riders catch up with her and she figures she’ll at least go down fighting. Everything but their eyes is covered with black cloth and they remain silent as they surround her in a circle. Emma aims at one, at two, at three, and then fires until she’s spent all four of her bullets. Well, this how Emma Swan dies dressed in brown, and white, and some worthless medals pinned to her chest. She closes her eyes and waits for the burst of gunpowder that’ll tell her she’s about to meet her goddamn maker. Whoever the god who decided Emma should be brought onto this damn world was. But then she hears their horses neighing and galloping away and she dares open one of her eyes. They’re running away, leaving her alive after everyone else had been killed. She can’t decide if it’s good or bad luck.
Then the sand, hisses, hisses underneath her. It erupts and she scrambles away, just as it barely misses her. Emma quickly grabs something that’s hit her foot, a full cartridge she hopes.There are whispers in these ruins, something dark and terrible. Something...evil. And now she understands why the riders had escaped. So, she too will get the fuck out of this place. Emma runs toward the Sahara, panting and stained with blood that isn’t hers. It’s bad luck she settles as she looks up and discovers three riders atop their horses looking down at her from a cliff. She keeps walking.
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“ That one is strong. Should we not kill her, Maryam?” Maryam eyes the soldier and the beacon that is her yellow hair as she marches unsteadily towards the desert. The only soldier left standing, and she could almost admire her. If she didn’t resent her presence, if some of her fighters hadn’t been shot down by her the sea of pale complexions. If she and her men hadn’t come so close to unleashing the creature that sleeps beneath the city.
“ No,” She replies, her eyes still following the speck of brown and white that is the woman. Maryam swears the woman had turned to look directly at her. “The Sahara will kill her.”
Cairo, Four Months Later
Dear Miss Mills,
We have reviewed your application and we regret to inform that it has not been successful. While your qualifications are impressive, and your academic writings are commendable you do not possess enough experience in the field. Given the limited places at the College we are unable to offer you a place.
We wish the best in your future endeavors and encourage you to submit a new application once you have taken part in field work.
Sincerely,
J.S. Smith
Dean
Regina crumbles the letter in her hand, it was dated four months back. Her fate had been decided while she still believed that maybe this time things would not be different. She remembers thinking, naively she realizes now, “Perhaps, this time I will not run into so many walls”. Almost wincing Regina recalls telling Henry that they could just be taking a boat in September and embark on a different adventure--though she had used the word a little too liberally. It would have been three years in the Isle of Wight, with grey skies instead of the bright azure of Egypt. Three years of questioning looks as soon eyes landed on their darker complexions and black hair. At the lack of a wedding band on her finger.That last thought lessens the sting of rejection somewhat, but not enough to keep her from marching into the curator’s office. Regina buttons the cuffs of her shirt, straightens her already-straight cravat, and smooths her skirt. All unnecessary but part of the ritual she does when about to face Gold.
Regina doesn’t bother knocking, she won’t give him the satisfaction. “I believe it’s time for me to be part of a dig.” She says firmly as she walks in.
Gold doesn’t move from his chair, only his eyes follow her. And she thinks that he has no right to sit there, in his tailored English suit and French shoes. Under what right does he precede over Egyptian antiquities? At least she has her grandmother’s Egyptian blood coursing through her. “Are we having this conversation again, dearie?”
“Our interactions would be less repetitive if you simply agreed to my request.” She says as she holds looks into his reptilian eyes.
“You seem to be under the impression that securing a place, as anything other than a labourer, is simple. Strings would have to be pulled and you would have to beat other candidates, who quite honestly aren’t as burdened as you are…”
“My son is not a burden.” Her nostrils are flaring and her hands curl into fists. Regina almost feels fire itching to burst from under her skin.
“Then it seems we have arrived at our usual impasse.” Gold catches the way her hands are still clenched and how blood is rushing up her neck and cheeks. “But if you do not find your work at the museum’s library satisfactory enough, I could arrange for a replacement...”
“You would not be able to find another person who can read and write ancient Egyptian, decipher hieroglyphics and hieratic, and properly catalogue the library in five hundred miles.” Her tone is measured but her words biting. Regina has never been one to back down.
“Or another person’s whose mother and father pay as much patronage as yours did. Good day, Miss Mills.” He says dismissively and she leaves his office with a huff.
Regina is still fuming as she walks into the exhibition room holding the sarcophagi. It’s a dark and damp room, and the sarcophagi are mostly clay, all with their sacred spells and incantations intact. There are some that still hold their owners within them, some bodies more well preserved than others. She hears a rustling coming from one of the bulkier ones in the middle of the room and grabs a torch off the wall as she heads to it.
“Yasin?” Regina calls out as she presses two fingers to her temple in annoyance. This better had not be a game. “Mohammed. Abdul?” Her patience is running thin as she approaches the sarcophagus
“Bwauaaah!” A mummy springs from it and Regina gasps though her face remains unimpressed. She hears her sister’s distinct cackle following. They have not seen each other in six months, of course she would choose to make this her entrance.
“Zelena!” Regina lightly slaps her cheek as she scolds her. “Have you no respect for the dead? Get out of there!”
“Oh, calm down Old Mum,” Zelena says with her words so heavily accented with a Cambridge accent that it makes her standout more than her red-hair and green eyes in this room. “If anyone heard they’d believe me to be the younger one. Besides, I’ve come bearing gifts.”
“Please, Zelena. I don’t have time for your antics today. I’ve just had an argument with the curator and if I have to take one more of your worthless trinkets to him…” Then her sister places a small box right in under her nose and she stops to appreciate it.
“Tell me, sis. Does this look like a worthless trinket to you?” The box clicks and opens into the shape of a star.
“No. I think you might have found something, at last.” Regina says stealing it from her grasp. “Where did you get this?”
Zelena just laughs.
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For once it would seem that one her sister’s finding might prove to be useful, it just may secure her a dig. It is an ancient box with a map tucked safely inside it. It is unlike any map that has been found, and she had all but ran back to Gold’s office with Zelena in tow.
“See the cartouche there, it’s the official royal seal of Seti the First, I’m sure of it.” She tells Gold pointing toward the evidence confidently.
“Perhaps.” He replies indifferently but still not taking his eyes away from the map.
“Who was this Seti and was he rich?” Zelena asks from her spot next to Regina and she can only turn to her and glare in response. “Filthy rich then.”
“I’ve already dated the map,”Regina continues with the pride in her voice growing with each breath. “It’s almost four thousand years old and the hieratics over here...Well, it’s Hamunaptra.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Hamunaptra is a myth! We’re scholars, not treasure hunters. How many have gone out to the desert looking for gold only to find death?” Gold holds the map up to candle to better inspect and Regina’s heart races as it catches on fire.
“You’ve burned my map! The map to the lost city!” Zelena cries out as she and Regina bend over to save the unburned half of the fragile papyrus.
“It’s all for the best,” He moves to stand with the aid of his cane. “I’m sure it was a fake peddled by thieves and grave robbers. I’m only surprised you fell for it, Miss Mills.”
Regina gets to her feet and takes the box off his desk as her eyes narrow and her lips are pressed into a thin and angry line.
“Get up, Zelena. We’re leaving.” Regina tugs at her arm. If she isn’t given an opportunity, then she will make one. One way or another, she will find Hamunaptra.
She has visitors, Emma’s been told. Must be some grace from God, her cellmates tell her. On the day she is to be hanged. If she had known that breaking the arm of drunk who turned out to be a high ranking officer of the police would end with her spending two weeks rotting in prison waiting to be hanged...she would have still have done it. Four guards come to put her in chains, and Emma is angry and tired enough to fight them off at first. They drag her through the halls and she groans when the Sun hits her eyes for the first time in weeks as they force her on her knees at an external cell.
“But she’s just a filthy criminal.” The voice of woman says above her says. Emma’s ears perk up at the accent. Rich, American. New York she thinks. Her eyes still haven’t adjusted to the light.
“Regina…play nice” Another woman warns next to her. Different accent, it sounds vaguely like too much alcohol and smoke. It sounds like a bad night.
Emma’s eyes have stopped hurting and she has stopped seeing dark spots long enough to see the two women. She can only focus on one, though. Her black hair is curled just enough to be in fashion, pinned to her scalp. Her blouse and skirt are all straight lines, hell she’s even sporting a sunhat. She is type of person who always looks sun-kissed in a way that makes others envious. There’s a scar above her lip and her dark eyes are judging Emma. Not that she could blame her, she currently looks like a warthog that’s rolled around in shit and hay. Figures she’d die today, after she’s met her.
“Missionaries?” Emma asks because she can’t think of anything to say and her brain can’t piece together any other explanation.
“Hardly, pet.” The other woman replies with a snort.
“We’ve found your puzzle box and we’ve come to ask you about it.” Regina, if she remembers it right, looking like she’s holding her breath, either from the stench or anticipation.
It takes Emma a second to gather her meaning. “No.” She shakes her head and drops her hands to her knees. Not this again.
“No?” It sounds more like a challenge to refuse her than an actual question.
“No. You’ve come to ask me about Hamunaptra.” If she were standing and not about to die, Emma would be kicking herself by the way her stomach flops when the woman’s eyes light up.
“How do you know it pertains to Hamunaptra?” Regina drops her voice barely above a whisper as she looks around. Her tone has not softened.
“Because that’s where I was when I found it.” Emma sighs heavily and presses her forehead against the cell’s bars.
“How do we know that’s not a load of pig swallow?”Asks the other one. Emma turns to look at her. The red hair, the eyes, the smugness in her posh accent. And something clicks.
“Hey, don’t I know you?”
“No...I’ve just got one of those faces, I’m afraid.” She remembers now. The night with all the rum, the night the damn puzzle box was stolen from her pocket. Lost all her money and freedom that night. Emma does the only thing left to do; she punches her through the bars. The woman falls to the ground out cold and the guards club Emma’s neck; she doesn’t even flinch. Can’t give them the satisfaction.
What surprises Enma is that the other woman just steps over her and comes even closer. Now Emma sees that she has the markings of delicate golden brown henna on her fingers. From a wedding, maybe? Not hers, she hopes. Shit, she’s radiant. Emma stores this in the back of her mind for when she faces the gallows today.
“You were actually at Hamunaptra?” Regina is trying to sound more skeptical than thrilled. She’s failing.
“Yes.”
“Do you swear?” It sounds as if she’d rip out her heart if Emma lies. She doesn’t know why but that awakens something in her.
“Every damn day.” Emma replies all too pleased with herself.
Regina rolls her eyes and let’s out an exasperated breath. “No, I meant..”
“I know what you meant. Hamunaptra, City of the Dead. I was there.” The shackles are making her wrists itch and Emma can’t stop looking at her.
“What did you find? What did you see?” It sounds like she’s testing her because she doesn't trust Emma just yet.
“Sand. Blood. Nothing more.”
The warden is coming their way and Regina seems to pick up on it because she moves even closer to Emma.
“Could you tell me the exact location?” A demand, not a request.
“You want to know?” She asks quietly, and doesn’t know what answer she is hoping for.
“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t.” She hisses obviously losing her patience.
“Do you really want to know? Because I don't think you’re prepared for what it is.” Emma wants to save her because Hamunaptra is something dark and terrible. Regina scoffs at her but closes the distance between all the same. It’s like they’re being pulled together.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Regina says lowly. Her face is now just in front of hers. Emma can smell the jasmine perfume she surely wears. “Now tell me.”
And it is definitely because this is her last chance before there is rope around her neck and because Regina is too much to be real and standing here in this shithole that Emma lunges forward to kiss her fully. She wants to live, Emma decides right there.
“Get me the hell out of here!” The guards smack her again and this time she fights back because Regina is watching her with an unreadable expression. “Please!”
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The prison is in commotion as she steps onto the gallows. Though she seems fearless and defiant to the last, Regina is aware that somehow the woman has managed to keep her gaze fixed on her. Her probable blonde hair is knotted and muddied to the point of cracking, her clothes practically rags. Yes, she looks the part of a criminal but with her kiss still on her mind and her earnest green eyes looking at her so intensely Regina knows she is not a liar.
“I will give you one hundred pounds to spare her life.” She tells the warden, a fat and short men that stinks of cheap liquor and sweat. Regina is careful to keep her back straight as she sits on the chair next to him and to never let the authority slip from her tone.
“Pfftt..” His spit is too unruly to be kept in his mouth.”I’d pay one hundred pounds to see her hang.”
“Two hundred.” She says quickly. Regina can see a hopeful and bright smile growing on the woman’s face.
“Proceed!” He shouts to the executioner. He grabs the lever.
“FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS!”
“ Ahh hold it,” He hold his hand to the executioner “ And what else?” He eyes her suggestively but when Regina moves away with disgust on her face he says: “DROP HER”
“NO. STOP THIS.” Regina orders him as she gets to her feet. There is still hope, her neck did not break and her feet are still desperately kicking the air.
“What is this dirty godless woman to you?”
Still feeling the burn of chapped lips on hers, Regina replies “She knows the location the location to Hamunaptra”
“You lie!”
“Do you truly want to take that chance? Cut her down and I’ll give you ten percent.” Regina is certain fury is leaking from her eyes.
“Fifty”
“Twenty”
“Forty”
“Thirty”
“Twenty-five!” He says too quickly and too triumphantly.
“Ah deal!”
He grunts realizing his own stupidity. “CUT HER DOWN!”
It’s the early morning in the port of Giza and yet the day is hot. The humidity is sticking to her face and Regina is annoyed by the sweat that’s already rolling down her back. She had left her boy tucked in bed, with the woman they had taken to calling Granny and her granddaughter, Yaquta. It had broken her heart. She had always promised Henry she would bring him along to her very first dig. He had stomped his feet on the ground, and refused to look at her when she had broken the news. “Mom, usted me prometio, me prometio!” He had felt betrayed that Regina would go on without him and the mention of gift had done nothing to improve his mood. They weren’t meant to be apart. She had smoothed his hair and apologized saying it was much too dangerous for a young boy of nine. “Casi diez. My birthday is in three and a half months.”
Regina shakes her head trying to bury her guilt and realizes that Emma Swan, she had learned her name after she had been cut down, is not here yet. Their boat about to set off in six minutes.
“Do you think she’ll show up?” She asks Zelena who is shielding her eyes from the Sun.
“Undoubtedly. Someone like Miss Swan, her word is all she has.”
“Well, I don’t like her one bit. She’s filthy, crass; a complete and utter beast.” Regina crosses her arms on her chest.
“Anyone I know?” Someone says behind her and Regina keeps from jumping. There she is, Miss Swan. Long and clean blonde hair tied back and away from her face, that is too sweet and delicate to belong to a had-been prisoner. A heavy bag is slung over her shoulder. She is dressed in a white cotton shirt, brown slacks and matching jacket. Her black boots reach her calves, and she is standing tall in them. Her eyes are a vivid green in the morning light. Regina realizes she has been staring this whole time.
“Well, I’m pleased to see you do keep time, dear.” Regina clears her throat when she notices a sheepish smile on her lips. “Miss Swan, can you look me in the eye and guarantee me this is not some sort of a flim flam? Because if it is I swear…”
“A flim flam?” Now she scowls, clearly offended by her skepticism. Her gaze locks with Regina’s as she steps forward, and they’re just a hair away from their faces touching. “Listen, lady. All I can say is that my Colonel found this old map and my whole garrison believed in it so damn much that without orders we marched from Libya to Egypt. Like I told you before, nothing out there but sand and blood. I was the only one to survive.” She takes a deep breath and looks down. “I’ll take your bags.” She flexes her knees and takes her bags onto the boat with her.
“Yes, I see what you mean. Complete and total beast, nothing to like there at all.” Zelena says as she walks ahead, knowing that a red tint has spread on her sister’s cheeks. Regina gives her the same hateful she’s been giving her for fifteen years.
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Henry Mills, archeologist, adventurer has a nice ring to it; he thinks as he watches his mother and aunt leave the house through the wooden shutters of his bedroom window. It’s not fair that Auntie Zelena gets to go with her and not him. She hasn’t even been to their house in six months and she burns red like a tomato when she’s in the sun too long. AND mom had promised she’d take him to her first dig. Besides, mom says that he is the best in the whole of Cairo and Giza at deciphering hieroglyphics. She needs him on this expedition. Her Arabic isn’t as good as his. It’s not her fault, they have only been here for three years and his sponge-y brain learns faster because it’s still shiny and new and hers is thirty-two years old. Her Arabic still breaks over her sentences and when she means to use a word at a store, Spanish comes out. And then she apologizes in English. But mom does this thing with her voice that’s half scary and half polite and so no one ever dares mention her mistakes. Instead people just nod without looking her in the eye. Still, she could use his help.
He grabs the bag he had packed last night when she had gone to bed. Quietly, he checks to see that Granny and Yaquta are still the oven room, making bread and brewing the morning coffee as he sets out the front door towards the docks. Henry had memorized the details of his mother’s trip from the tickets laid on her bedroom table, he knows the boat leaves in exactly fifty-five minutes. Plenty of time to catch it.
“Hijo, portese bien. No quiero nada de travesuras, no funny business, me entiende?” She had told him trying to sound stern before she said her goodbyes. “I don’t want to come back and have Yaquta tell me you skipped school and opted for the museum. Promise me.”
“I promise.” It hadn’t been a lie, Henry thinks as he spots her, Auntie Zelena, and a blonde woman he doesn’t know by the steamer. This is serious business, he is going because his mom needs him.
“Henry Mills, archeologist. Adventurer.” He whispers to himself as he hurries unseen on to the boat a minute after his family had boarded. Henry smiles because it’s a great day for an adventure.
OK, I feel like my notes on this story have notes. I fell in love with Three Ancient Egyptian Novels and the Cairo Trilogy by Naguib Mahfouza and I've loved The Mummy since it was released in 99 and I was too young to be watching it. And I've loved Ancient Egyptian history for longer. I re-watched the movie a month ago...and this came about. I'll be using dialogue and themes from the movie and screenplay.
- Egyptian royals married their siblings to keep power and bloodlines within the family. YEP. THAT HAPPENED.
- 1925 is the year King Tut's tomb was found and it's 7 years after Egypt's independence and there will be comments on it along the way, and PLEASE check out the 18th dynasty, especially Hatsheput.I didn't want to taint her good name by using her as the villain.
- Maryam=Marian and Yaquta=Ruby, they are the literal Arabic equivalents and PLEASE assume that everyone with an Arabic name is Arab, and not white.
- Regina is still latina while she is part Egyptian. Latinx families are extremely layered and complicated, so there is no erasure of latinx heritage here. Henry is not white but Regina is not his birth mother, and neither is Emma. More on this point in later chapters.
- Yeah that kiss is problematic as hell and it was in the movie too, but I'll definitely address it later on. Because I have to. Please forgive the anachronisms and inaccuracies that make this story possible.
- When I use italics in dialogue I use them to signify that Arabic is being spoken.