About Featured Book: The Stobrimore Chronicles - The Beginning by Matthew Johnson After losing his parents at an early age, Jack Stobrimore was raised by his grandfather, Artemis. Artemis loved to tell fantasy stories of a world of magic, filled with heroes and...
About Featured Book: The Eye of Nefertiti: A Pharaoh's Cat Novel by Maria Luisa Lang Now a New Yorker, the Pharaoh’s cat--the ancient Egyptian feline with human powers--travels back in time to free Egypt’s legendary Queen Nefertiti from a horrific curse, discovering...
About Featured Book: The Pharaoh's Cat by Maria Luisa Lang Suddenly talking and walking upright, a stray tomcat in ancient Egypt becomes the young Pharaoh's intimate and, when accused of his murder, time travels to New York City and learns how to raise him from the...
It’s summer, and I’m stretched out on a windowsill in my bedroom with the sunlight warming the fur on my back. It’s quiet except for the drone of traffic on the Henry Hudson Parkway and the occasional whir of a helicopter flying along the river.
I once shared this bedroom with my friend Gato-Hamen, the High Priest of Amun-Ra. He and I had fled ancient Egypt on his magic boat. It was only supposed to carry us to a foreign land, but it took us through time as well as space here to Elena’s house in twenty-first century New York City.
Elena’s late father had been a renowned Egyptologist, and she immediately recognized us as ancient Egyptians. She was surprised we were speaking English. We explained that the prayer which had launched the magic boat also gave us the power to speak the language wherever we arrived.
She was also surprised that I, a cat, could talk and walk like a man. That would be explained later. Overjoyed at the prospect of excitement in her life, she invited us to stay with her.
Now the High Priest shares her bedroom, and I share this one with their child, who’s the reincarnation of the Pharaoh I loved thousands of years ago. He’s on the floor, playing contentedly with his building blocks. It’s hard to believe he’s already a year old.
Elena is reading and keeping an eye on him. “Wrappa-Hamen, are you recharging?” she asks, as she always does when she sees me basking in the sun. “You lazy old cat!”
“Lazy, yes. Old, not yet,” I reply, too drowsy to say more.
Water is filling my ears.
“Useless beast. I should cut . . . tail. Drowning’s too good . . . you . . .”
Egyptians revere cats, but there are exceptions.
A week ago the brute snatched me from the streets, put me in a sack, and brought me on board to protect the load of grain he’s taking down the Nile to Waset.
Cats hunt rats, but there are exceptions.
Which the brute realized this morning. He picked me up by the scruff of my neck and threw me over the side.
If I never see a boat again it will be too soon . . .
I swim toward the river bank. Exhausted, I lie on the shore and let my fur dry in the warmth of the sun. Now that I’m free, I intend to resume roaming from village to village, seeing new things, meeting new cats, tasting new foods. But first I’ll eat the perch I caught during my swim.
I’m licking the smell of fish off my paws and face when I spot a pyramid in the far distance. I’ve heard a lot about them, but I’ve never seen one before.
I can’t take my eyes off it. It seems to be beckoning me.
It’s my destiny to go there!
Tail on high and a heart full of expectation, I begin walking.
Summer, 1277, deep in the rain forest of the Chivit Continent
It wasn’t my best day.
I tore through the curtain of cobwebs like they weren’t even there, then bolted for the doorway. The doors were still open, but the wood I had jammed between them and their doorframe wasn’t going to last long. A pathetic groan echoed through the ante-chamber around me, followed by the staccato sound of wood splintering.
Correction, those wooden braces weren’t going to last another few seconds. I ran faster.
Stone dust was like a fogbank. My clothes and hair were stiff with it and seeing past it felt like a bad joke. Specifically, on me. Gulping down air, I lengthened my stride, sprinting like a madwoman for the only way I knew out.
Then I was through. Past the stone dust, thick cobwebs, and pale-skinned, giggling, scrambling nightmares with too many arms. Little things that were all too eager for me to sit and stay awhile. I threw myself forward into the wall of heat and humidity that was part and parcel of Anestri’for, the ‘Great Jungle’ on Chivit.
Landing on my hands and knees, I drank in the smell of wet grass and foliage. The feel of damp earth was a delight. Best of all? The sound of the stone doors slamming shut on the writhing mass of bodies with too many arms trying to follow me. They weren’t giggling as the doors shut in their face, but snarling.
I hauled my aching body into a sitting position, then placed a dust-covered satchel in front of me. Thunder rolled around in the clouds overhead. I glanced up.
“Hourly thunderstorm. Right on time. At least it’s not a magic storm.”
“Good job, Tela.” I congratulated myself. “Alive, limbs in one piece, and you found it.”
Shaking my head, I reached for the flap on the bag to check the condition of my find. The last thing I needed was to get it back to Ishnanor in a thousand pieces. I didn’t manage to open the bag. A yell to my right gave me better things to think about.
A man dressed in mercenary leathers, and a belted tunic had shoved his way out of the underbrush. Dirty, mud-stained, he leered at me like a prize or fresh caught prey. I shot daggers back at him with a glare. Sad to say, he didn’t seem impressed.
“Here!” he bellowed. “She’s here! Tell Vargas! I’ve found the Windtracer! She’s got the relic!”
“Hells!”
I was on my feet and past a stand of briza-taeda ferns to my right before the mercenary took another step. Shouts filled the Anestri’for jungle air behind me. I ran faster.
It’s summer, and I’m stretched out on a windowsill in my bedroom with the sunlight warming the fur on my back. It’s quiet except for the drone of traffic on the Henry Hudson Parkway and the occasional whir of a helicopter flying along the river.
I once shared this bedroom with my friend Gato-Hamen, the High Priest of Amun-Ra. He and I had fled ancient Egypt on his magic boat. It was only supposed to carry us to a foreign land, but it took us through time as well as space here to Elena’s house in twenty-first century New York City.
Elena’s late father had been a renowned Egyptologist, and she immediately recognized us as ancient Egyptians. She was surprised we were speaking English. We explained that the prayer which had launched the magic boat also gave us the power to speak the language wherever we arrived.
She was also surprised that I, a cat, could talk and walk like a man. That would be explained later. Overjoyed at the prospect of excitement in her life, she invited us to stay with her.
Now the High Priest shares her bedroom, and I share this one with their child, who’s the reincarnation of the Pharaoh I loved thousands of years ago. He’s on the floor, playing contentedly with his building blocks. It’s hard to believe he’s already a year old.
Elena is reading and keeping an eye on him. “Wrappa-Hamen, are you recharging?” she asks, as she always does when she sees me basking in the sun. “You lazy old cat!”
“Lazy, yes. Old, not yet,” I reply, too drowsy to say more.
When I first met the Pharaoh, he was sixteen, and I was a stray tomcat. I’d wandered into in a looted tomb and was kicked by the Vizier, his uncle. I spat a cat amulet at him, hitting him on the forehead. He accused me of trying to kill him. The High Priest arrived and tried to reason with him.
Then it happened. I suddenly had human powers! I stood upright, walked over to the Vizier, and debated with him. The Pharaoh entered the tomb to hear me wise-cracking and laughed for the first time since his parents’ death. He took me to live with him at court, and we became inseparable.
A year later the Vizier poisoned him and accused me of the murder. He was going to put me to death when the High Priest rescued me. We fled Egypt on the magic boat and ended up in Elena’s living room . . .
Water is filling my ears.
“Useless beast. I should cut . . . tail. Drowning’s too good . . . you . . .”
Egyptians revere cats, but there are exceptions.
A week ago the brute snatched me from the streets, put me in a sack, and brought me on board to protect the load of grain he’s taking down the Nile to Waset.
Cats hunt rats, but there are exceptions.
Which the brute realized this morning. He picked me up by the scruff of my neck and threw me over the side.
If I never see a boat again it will be too soon . . .
I swim toward the river bank. Exhausted, I lie on the shore and let my fur dry in the warmth of the sun. Now that I’m free, I intend to resume roaming from village to village, seeing new things, meeting new cats, tasting new foods. But first I’ll eat the perch I caught during my swim.
I’m licking the smell of fish off my paws and face when I spot a pyramid in the far distance. I’ve heard a lot about them, but I’ve never seen one before.
I can’t take my eyes off it. It seems to be beckoning me.
It’s my destiny to go there!
Tail on high and a heart full of expectation, I begin walking.
Jim is the author of nine award-winning novels, three novelettes, and thousands of magazine and news articles. He now lives in a valley surrounded by mountains in the Southern Appalachians. He was previously an award-winning journalist at several national newspapers and a communications director at Clemson University.
Jim grew up on the shores of western Florida where he spent much of his childhood swimming in shark-infested waters long before the movie “Jaws” put a scare into everyone. At the time, he probably was too skinny to attract a bull shark’s attention. About ten other boys Jim’s age lived on his same street, and they hung out morning, noon and night playing the usual sports that young boys love — football, baseball, “kill the carrier,” etc. — but as a group they also played fantastical games that contained magic, monsters and superheroes. It was in this setting that Jim’s imagination was born and nurtured.
Jack Gibbons is a 27-year-old sports lecturer with a passion for storytelling. I’m a lifelong fan of fantasy. I have just published my debut novel, A Shadow’s Whisper, now available on Amazon.
When not writing or teaching, I can be found devouring books by Brandon Sanderson, Robin Hobb, and Mark Lawrence—always chasing that perfect blend of epic worldbuilding, deep character arcs, and a touch of darkness.
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