Dwyrin’s eyes widened and he scooted back in the bed, his flesh crawling at the sight of one of the temple figures come to life.

“Come,” a deep sepulchral voice rumbled. “Osiris summons you to the depths of Tuat.” The figure extended a hand, wrapped in dark black and gray cloth, ending in a three-fingered claw. “Come, Dwyrin MacDonald.” Dwyrin stared in horror at the apparition. His mind refused to work. The figure gestured, its robes making a soft whispering sound. Two shorter forms emerged from the darkness beyond it: squat manlike things, faceless and dark. Their bodies were ebony and patterned with whorls and lines. They grasped Dwyrin by his arms and lifted him silently from his bed. Dwyrin, frozen with fear, could not cry out as they carried him, led by the tall crane-headed figure, out of the dormitory.

In the early dawn the compound of the school was quiet. No birds sang, no chatter of voices came from the kitchens. All lay clear and still under a pale pink sky. The two faceless men carried Dwyrin past the main building and under an arcade of pillars that separated it from the library. Down a flight of steps into the rear gardens, and down a path of flagstones to the rear gate. There, in deep shadows underneath the thick hibiscus and yellowvine, Dwyrin glimpsed a short figure, standing with a tall staff, wrapped in white and pale blue. But then the figure disappeared from view and the thick gate swung open, outward, and the faceless men carried him on, soundlessly, into the scattered brush and trees.

Beyond the belt of palms and brush behind the school the faceless men put Dwyrin down. The crane-headed figure pointed to a trail that led out of the brushland and up, into the jumbled rocks and spires of the hills that crouched behind the narrow river plain. Dwyrin stared up at the crane in concern.

“Go,” the deep voice echoed. “Go to the doorways of the dead. We will follow.”

Dwyrin looked around. The tumbled red boulders were at last being picked out in gold and saffron as Ra climbed into the eastern sky. In this clearer light, with a cool wind from the west brushing past, Dwyrin saw that the crane-man was richly attired, with golden bracelets on his arms and garments of thick brocade. On his chest hung a bronze sun disk, now gleaming in the pale sunlight. The crane-head was sleek and black, with red stripes running back from the deep-set, gleaming eyes. His skin was dark-hued and polished like mahogany. The hands of the crane were thick and powerful, each with three fingers. One of those now pointed up the trail into the hills. The faceless men had disappeared.

Dwyrin turned and began walking, his bare feet cold on the stones and pebbles. The trail wound up, through a narrow canyon choked with brush and spiny plants. Their branches cut at Dwyrin’s legs and the steepness of the ascent made him short of breath. At the top of the canyon, the trail turned left under a rising cliff and slipped between two great boulders, each streaked with red and white in sloping patterns. Dwyrin stepped under the overhang and into a bowl-shape chamber, open to the sky above. In the sky, as Dwyrin looked up, he saw vultures circling and thin streamers of cloud painted pale pink and cream. The roof of the world was brightening.

Before him, on the other side of the bowl, seven tall doors were hewn from the rock. At the side of each an inset carving depicted a creature from the temple. Seven gates with seven gods of old. Dwyrin felt the crane step close behind him.

“Choose,” it whispered. “Choose an entrance to your fate.”

Dwyrin stepped forward over the tumbled thin plates of shale that littered the floor of the chamber, to the door guarded by the hawk-headed man. Within the shadowed entrance a door of stone swung open. Warm air blew in his face, carrying the smell of thyme, cinnabar, and cinnamon.

Figures waited within, with smiling faces and open arms. Dwyrin felt a push at his back and he was among them, stumbling.

The stone door closed silently behind him. Attendants emerged out of the darkness and Dwyrin, in the flickering torchlight, could see that they were men, but their faces were carved into welcoming smiles and the eyes that stared out from the mask were dead and lifeless. Their hands fluttered about him lightly and drew his sleeping tunic away. He spun about, looking for the crane-man, but it was gone. The attendants circled him and nudged him with light fingers toward a great portal that stood on the far side of the hall. To either side, lining the walls, great seated figures loomed in the darkness, fitfully lit by the torches burning at their feet. The smell of incense was strong in the air.

Distantly there was a low wavering chant and the deep boom of drums. Dwyrin shivered, though the air was warm. The attendants urged him onward, through the great doors that stood at the end of the hall. Beyond them, he found himself in a tile-floored room overlooking, through a broad window, a great city of gold roofs and silver buildings and green trees that spread away as far as the eye could see. Dwyrin stopped, stunned by the sight of glittering blue lakes, green lush fields and a full sun high in the heavens.

“That is not for you yet,” the deep voice of the crane said from behind him. “This is your path,” it said, turning Dwyrin from the vision of the city of gold to a narrow stairway that led down from the room to the left-hand side.

“Here are your servants,” the crane said, “to garb you in the raiment of the initiated. They will anoint you with sacred oils, lave your feet, prepare you to descend into the depths.” Dwyrin, looking into the deep eyes of the crane, felt the attendants wrap a kilt around his waist, place a tunic across his shoulders, rub his arms and legs with oils and scented water. Thick smokes drifted up around him and he breathed deeply, his head oddly light. A chant began as the crane stepped back.

“Go you down now, into the realm of darkness.”

Dwyrin stepped forward to the head of the stairs. Narrow and steep, they wound down into the heart of the earth. He placed his foot on the first step.

“Go you down now, into the realm of the guardians.”

The light of the torches passed away, and he descended by feel. The air throbbed around him with the chanting of the attendants and the strong distant voice of the crane.

“Go you down now, beyond light, beyond sight, beyond hearing.”

Fumes and vapors rose up around him. The walls fell away on either side.

“Go you down now, into sightlessness, into blindness,: into nothingness.”

The stair steps ceased and Dwyrin walked in darkness, across a smooth floor covered with fine grains of sand.

“Go you down now, into the heart of the earth.”

Darkness was absolute. Hazy veils of light began to shimmer across his vision, but he held his eyes closed now. Bright pinpoints of blue and gold and emerald drifted before him.

“Go you down now, letting body slide away, leaving only ka, only sekhem.”

The floor slipped away and Dwyrin moved forward in a swirling realm of subtle light and form.

“Go you down now, into eternity, into infinity, into nothingness.”

Out of the void and chaos of colors and shifting shapes, a throne of basalt rose, and upon it sat a massive, gargantuan figure of a bearded man clad in the symbols of a king.

“Go you down now, into light, into freedom, into all things.”

Dwyrin stood before the ancient king in a swirl of colors and light. The king leaned toward him and spoke, but no sound came from that mouth, only colors and shapes and tones of music. They washed over Dwyrin and he felt something suddenly burst within himself. Fire uncoiled in his stomach and rushed out of him in all directions. Crying out, he fell backward, unable to move. Flames leapt from his fingertips, his eyes, from his mouth. His body burned away, leaving only a clear self behind. The giant king settled back in his throne and raised an ankh-scepter before him. Atop it, a great eye opened and Dwyrin’s clear self rushed toward it. In his mind, Dwyrin wailed as his ka began to shred away in that mighty wind.