Something about the air was off. That was the first thing I noticed. I blinked up to light, slightly too bright, my arms folded over my chest where I lay. I looked down. Why had my bandages been removed? Did it not work? I flexed my fingers. Turned my hands over in front of me. Stiff, and oddly thin, but mobile.
Then I rose carefully, the muscles in my abdomen hardly helping the weak clutch of my hands on the lipped edge of my capsule as I pulled up. I clambered out, each bone and muscle popping as if I’d slept for ages. But I only just remembered closing my eyes.
I brushed a hand down the front of my tunic. The fabric was white. Whiter than it should be. I grasped the edge of it and held it between thumb and forefinger. It was a little too thick, the stitching tightly woven. I’d never seen fabric like this before. I glanced up.
“Amunah?” I called for my servant, and it came out a rasp. “Rahksin?” The priestess didn’t answer.
My voice carried in the too-still air. Bounced back to me, empty and lifeless. Where is the door?
I hissed in a breath through my teeth. Drew in my surroundings. It was more than the air, or the fabric clinging to my body that didn’t feel right. The whole room was different than I remembered. A close facsimile, but the colour had been drained away. Limestone walls, and my singular capsule laid on the floor, open, the daylight streaming from the cutaway in the flat ceiling. But the light was brighter than daylight, and cooler.
I padded across the small room and laid a hand on the stone wall. It wasn’t cold, not like stone should be. I pulled my hand away, then flattened it again.
I scratched my fingernail on the surface, and it came away soft and white. Painted. But not on rock. Some other material I hadn’t seen before.
My thoughts slotted into coherence. It worked!
In that moment of realisation, a chipper male voice crackled from everywhere and nowhere. “Hello! Do not be frightened. You are safe.”
The language mimicked mine, but the translation was strange, the pronunciations forced. Like the traders who came up the river and used hand gestures before words could be established, their tongue not built for our particular melodies.
“How long has it been?” I asked, my heart a thrumming wingbeat in my throat.
I could feel the hesitation, though the voice was bodiless. “We guess…four thousand years.”
I gestured up and around me. “This is a scene, yes? Built to please me?”
“We, erm, didn’t want to scare you,” said the voice.
I nodded now. “This was the plan. Thousands of years?” By Ra. My jaw ached for the grin that split my face. “The priestess was right.”
“Your priestess created the sarcophagus that put you into cryosleep and allowed you to survive until now?” asked a second disembodied voice, this one female and astounded.
Some of those words weren’t words. But I understood the question.
“Yes, I suppose she did.” I rattled through my last conversation with Rahksin before the Sleep. “I wish to speak with your King.”
Another hesitation. I pondered my surroundings as the voice considered. It was the man who replied, “We’ll, erm, have to conduct some tests first. Before you meet the CEO.”
CEO? Strange name for a ruler. I folded my arms and raised my chin at the wall. “Very well.”
I had always been good at tests.