Bastet Scrollkeeper's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Bastet swam out of the black pyramid city with the gold star tucked under her arm. Its carved sun still glowed against the dark water. She needed to reach the sands and find someone who could read its marks. But near the city's edge, something moved that should not have. A shadow drifted between the pyramids, shaped like a woman, black as ink and dusted with stars. It watched her. She told herself it was a trick of the current. She kept swimming. At the last row of towers she looked back. The shadow was closer now. Two pale eyes fixed on the star. A small light burned in the spirit's chest, twin to the glow in Bastet's arms. It wanted the star. She had catalogued tales of these things once. Void spirits, they were called, risen from the deep to claim what fell from the sky. Bastet turned and swam hard. Ahead a wall of black ivy spilled down a ledge, thick leaves curling in the water. She dove behind it and pressed flat against the stone. Through the leaves she watched. The spirit slid past, then stopped. Its head turned. The star's glow leaked through the ivy and gave her away. Her hands shook. She pulled a scroll from her satchel and hurled it. The papyrus unrolled and tumbled through the water. The spirit's eyes followed it a moment. Bastet threw another, then a third, scattering scrolls to pull its gaze off the star. It worked for a breath. The spirit drifted after the drifting papyrus, curious. Then it swung back toward the light in her arms. Scrolls would not fool it. Only the star's shine mattered. She swam for the shallows where black sand glittered under the water. The spirit followed, faster now. Bastet remembered her own notes. These spirits hunted the star's pull, its glow, its heat. Take those away and there was nothing to chase. She ducked behind a cluster of jagged black rocks and dropped to the sand. With both hands she dug. The dark grains hissed and folded around her fingers. She pushed the gold star deep into the sand and packed it over. The glow died. The warmth vanished. She held still against the rock and did not breathe. The spirit reached the rocks. It hung there, turning, searching. Its pale eyes swept the sand and found only black. The small light in its chest dimmed. Slowly it sank back toward the deep and was gone. Bastet waited a long time before she dug the star out again. It came up cold and dark until she brushed it clean, and the sun on its face lit once more. She could not carry it openly. Not with the deep still watching. She needed a way to read its marks that did not wake the thing below. On the far sands, a woman charted these very stars each night. Bastet fixed her glasses and swam toward the shore.