A/N: A couple of years ago I took a World Mythology class at my college and this story was the end result of my end-of-term research paper I had to write. As a writer, I don't think I could have come up with a more fun way to end the term. : ) The paper had to be a first person narrative exploring a specific aspect of a culture we had covered. The narrative persona was altered slightly for every person in the class (different age ranges, different wealth brackets, and the narration had to be the opposite gender from the writer). My narrative POV was an elderly man of royal birth. As I have always been a fan of mythology (more specifically Greek and Roman mythology), I decided to stay somewhat within my element, but I ventured over into the realm of Egyptian mythology. As this is essentially a story, I decided to showcase it with all of my other stories online.
DISCLAIMER: Obviously, as this was a school paper/project, whatever has been cited is not mine; I just pooled from multiple resources to complete the project by writing a story. Works cited page has been included.
SUMMARY: Growing up in the palace of my father, I was educated in a wide array of topics ranging from governing the kingdom to the journey through Duat.
GENRE: Historical Mythological Fiction
DATE: November 8, 2010
Growing up in the palace of my father, I was educated in a wide array of topics ranging from governing the kingdom to the journey through Duat. While I have always been of a stern disposition, I occasionally found amusement in the most unusual places. I say this because I am presently standing upon the deck of a mystical boat, ferried upon a darkened river by the immortal ferryman, known as Aqen (Applegate 102-103). What amuses me is the accuracy of the lessons I partook of in my youth as to this forlorn realm. I grew to adulthood as an inwardly curious individual, asking questions of myself and observing my surroundings in search of answers, only yielding to the need to ask if I could not decipher the answer for myself. The question of how the high priests and my elders knew what to expect has often plagued my mind, especially as I was informed that those who traveled in the underworld never returned to the realm of the living. In answer to my questions, I was always told that the underworld was revealed in visions and dreams and even a legend that actually spoke of a journey to the forbidden realm where the travelers actually returned to the land of the living (McDevitt).
It had been many summers since I was a boy. Guardianship of my people and governance of my kingdom had occupied the passing years, and it was only by the silent steps of an assassin that I am brought to this deck now. It happened so suddenly that all I really felt was a detachment of some sort, but I didn't immediately register what had happened. All I knew was that the dark cloaked figure fleeing up the corridor had caused me pain and I had shouted to alert the guards to his presence—but no one came. It wasn't until one of the slave girls happened upon the corridor and screamed quite shrilly that I had finally looked down. Behind me...was me! My body was lying on the ground, a rather large pool of blood already formed around my head from the deep gash across my throat. My hand had instinctively reached up to my throat, but I felt nothing. I then looked down and noticed that my ka, having separated from my body, looked as much as I ever did, though a little younger, and a bit transparent (McDevitt). Even as I stared, I had watched my ka becoming more and more translucent. Panic had seized my silent heart-if I did not start receiving the nourishing rites soon, my ka would have been in jeopardy (Ions, 132).
Eventually, the slave girl's screams summoned the guards and, with them, had come a high priest of Ra, who had also been one of my most trusted advisors. Immediately upon seeing my body upon the corridor floor, he had started chanting the sacred words that would protect the various parts of my eternal soul until the funeral rites and ritual food placements were complete. Instantly, I had started feeling complete which, in its own way, felt odd, as, with my death, I then existed in separate parts of being. As I had watched this scene unfold, my incorporeal eyes had been drawn to a rather odd bird that was perched in a window high overhead. As I had narrowed my gaze to observe it better, I was momentarily startled to see my own face staring back at me, until my childhood lessons returned to me and I realized I was staring at my ba (Barnett, 46). It tilted its head to one side, almost as if it wanted to better view me, before spreading its wings and launching into flight out the window.
Time ceased to have meaning for me. I witnessed my body being collected and carefully borne back to my chambers, my ka obliged to follow. I watched as my wife grieved over my body, her tears trailing down her face and falling upon the linen that one of the priests had wound around my neck. I saw my son, heir to my kingdom, stand stoic beside his mother, maintaining a strong demeanor for her sake. I saw the embalmer plying his trade, transforming my body into that of the traditional mummy as the embroidered figure of the jackal-headed god, Anubis, gazed down from the tent wall with fierce eyes, ensuring the embalming ceremony was followed thoroughly. I stood behind the embalmer chosen to oversee my transformation and watched as his hands removed an organ from my body as he delivered a short prayer to the Sun God (Nardo, 60). I watched as my mummified body was lowered into an elaborate wooden box, the box that would transport me to my sarcophagus and my final resting spot. My mummified body was then transported back to the palace where it awaited the organization of the funeral procession. My beloved wife watched over my body, crying silent tears of grief as she mourned the life that was destroyed too soon. From the open window of the chamber, I had heard the sounds of the obligatory funeral games being given in my honor (Nardo, 72-74). The cheers of the crowd, urging the contestants onward, penetrated the oppressive silence of the chamber.
As I had paced the chamber, unable to leave my mortal body until the funeral rites were completed, I watched as Ra rode across the sky in his boat many times, followed by the intermittent periods when the land was plunged into darkness. I had partaken of the food left for my fulfillment, carefully arranged on a nearby table by the hands of my former servants under the watchful eye of my wife. I could not eat of it in the traditional fashion, but by hovering over it, I was able to drink in the essence of the aromas and that was enough to sustain me. Many times did Ra cross the heavens before the priests came to my chamber, to complete the burial process.
My box was carried out reverently on the backs of my strongest male slaves. It was carefully placed upon a sacred boat that was made especially for this purpose. My father and I had witnessed the funeral procession of a wealthy noble when I was a boy and he explained to me that special boats were created to carry the dead to their tombs as a way to mimic the boats that the gods used in their travels (Nardo, 69). The mourners gathered around, each stood in his or her own place within the procession. My widowed wife and my priestess sister stood by the wooden coffin bearing my body, one at each end (Ions, 131). My sister chanted in a low whisper, offering prayers to the goddess she served, Isis, to watch over me in the next world. Next in the procession, many men took up positions in two rigid rows, my sons among them with my eldest at the front. A smaller boat had been rolled into line after the men. This boat was an exact replica of the one bearing my body, but smaller in size and carrying a small wooden box with more images and hieroglyphs painted on every surface of it. Inside the box, the Canopic jars, containing the organs removed from my body, had been nestled into four separate compartments, each bearing the image of a son of Horus to guard the contents within (Ions, 131). Bringing up the rear were the female mourners, followed by my former servants bearing food, elegant clothing, and an array of shawabti figures that, when summoned, will work on my behalf in the afterlife (Nardo, 71).
As a pharaoh, my funeral was one of elegance and luxury, with many participants and the best spells and provisions for the afterlife that any mortal could hope for. As such, the procession had been long and had wound through the streets and boulevards of my city so that my subjects could pay their respects as I moved by. I had placed myself on the larger boat so that I could sit next to my mummified body and witness my people as they mourned my loss. Many tears were shed, many prayers were offered and many of the people along the way added more food and shawabti figures to those already being carried by my servants. Ra was high overhead when the procession finally left the city, leaving a mourning nation in its wake. The journey towards the river Nile progressed uneventfully, punctuated only by the intermittent wails and sobs from one female mourner or another at the end of the line. Gazing faithfully upon my wife, I had noticed that it was evident she had spent the night crying, but she had done her best to hold her tears at bay during the procession through the city. A linen cloth she had held in her hands kept creeping up to her eyes to staunch the flow before the paint around her eyes was ruined by the falling teardrops. My mother hardly fared any better.
Approaching the riverbank, the procession had slowed and finally stopped. Swaying in the current of the Nile River, a royal barge was waiting to ferry the funeral convoy across the river. Once the barge had started moving towards the other bank, the highest ranking priest on the barge started retelling the stories of the gods that had significance towards the present funeral. He spoke of the Sun god, Ra, traversing the sky by day and battling the serpent of Apep by night to rise again (Ions, 38), and of Anubis and Isis resurrecting Osiris before he journeyed to the underworld to lord over the realm of the dead (Barnett, 64). The stories put me at ease and I suspected it was because of the emphasis placed on the cycle of life, how we are born, we die, and we live again.
When the barge docked on the other side of the river, the procession members disembarked and wound their way up the dusty slope with one destination in mind. Upon cresting the top of the hill, the Valley of the Kings lie spread out below us. The accompanying priests urged the group onwards and so they continued. On the outskirts of the city, a small shrine was located. It was here that the procession stopped. As we approached I noticed my ba perched atop the roof of the shrine, watching the approaching group with much interest. My wooden box was lowered from the funeral boat and placed upright. For the first time since it was closed by the embalmers, it was opened again and the mourners who had accompanied me thus far were able to view my mummified state. I knew then what was soon coming. It was the ceremony that would allow me to travel in the underworld and speak to the forty-two judges in the Double Hall of Truth (Applegate, 68). Prior to that, numerous sacrifices had been offered on my behalf in order to bless my journey through the underworld. At the conclusion of the sacrifices, my son placed the mask of the falcon-headed god, Horus, over his face and approached my stiffened mummy (Applegate, 130). With the sacred ankh in one hand and an iron adze in the other hand, he stepped forward. Holding firmly to the ankh in his left hand, he then placed the adze over my mummified mouth and performed the sacred ceremony that the priests had been instructing him in (Applegate, 129). The words he spoke and the actions he performed had filled me with elation beyond anything I had ever felt while alive.
Be opened my mouth by Ptah, untied the bandages, twice, which are upon my mouth by the god of my town. Come then, Thoth, filled with [and] provided with charms, untie the bandages, twice, of Set [which] fetter my mouth; repulsing Tmu shoots them he at those who would fetter [me with] them (The Egyptian Book of the Dead, 84).
I knew then that I would be better prepared for my journeynow that the "Opening of the Mouth" ceremony was complete. Three of the bearers of my coffin then carefully lifted me out of the box and placed me most reverently into my sarcophagus where they placed the Canopic jars by my side. Several priests moved forward and placed scrolls by my side as well. These scrolls contained sacred spells that I needed for the afterlife. Lastly, my family gathered around and gazed down upon me one more time. My wife, my beloved queen, reached forward and placed her hand tenderly upon my brow for the last time. Once she was done, she beckoned four servants forward. They grasped the lid of the sarcophagus and positioned it in place. While I was no longer able to see my mummified body, the sight of the elaborate paintings of Egypt interspersed with spells and magical words of power eased the weight of finality that seemed to have broken over me with the closure of the sarcophagus. As a pharaoh, I was entitled to the best of everything, including the spells for my journey through the underworld. Looking over the inscribed spells, I knew nothing had been spared. I knew the names of power to help progress my journey, I knew the statements I needed to give each of the immortal jurors—as I stood by, I felt the spells working their magic and they filled my mind with their power, growing stronger in magnitude as the priests started their chanting and prayers again. The sarcophagus had then been lifted up and carried into the tomb and down the long passageway to my burial chamber. My ba had taken flight from the roof of the shrine and flew ahead of the procession, a beacon in the darkness to my eyes only.
Upon entering the chamber, my eyes had been enamored with the images all over the room. It was unseemly of a pharaoh to view his burial chamber during life. It was merely expected that he would let it be known what his expectations were and his subjects would see that everything was done accordingly. While I had put forth my desires for my burial chamber, I had never expected it to look anything like this. The royal architect had done extremely well. When I reached my final resting place in the "Field of Rushes," I would see what blessings I could bestow upon him from my eternal place within the paradisiacal realm.
In no time at all, I had been left quite alone in the tomb, keeping company with my body and my ba. The long procession that had accompanied my body to the chamber had long since departed, leaving behind them incantations whose words had still echoed in the air. Food, clothing, statues and scrolls abounded in all corners of the chamber.
My ba had settled on a table laden with food and helped itself to the bounteous feast. Looking across the room, it had then spoken to me:
You had better partake of the food while it is still sustainable. We have a long journey ahead of us this night and we will need our strength.
Seeing the wisdom in the words, I had moved across the chamber and "partook" of the food. As with the food back at the palace, it could not be physically eaten, but the aromas and the "essence" of the food filled me far greater than any feast had while I had been among the living.
Come. The night is hastening on and so must we.
My ba had flown over my head and landed on the chamber floor in front of a small door hidden in a dark recess of the chamber (Barnett, 46). My ba beckoned me to open it and so I had placed my hands upon the door and pushed it. Surprisingly, it yielded to my spiritual hands and for a brief moment, I had wondered if I could manipulate other physical items. Without being told, I knew I had to walk through the door in order to start my journey.
As I stepped through the door, I felt a strange sensation and not understanding what it could be I had looked back at my ba to see if it was feeling the same sensation. To my surprise, I saw my ba and my ka standing on the chamber side of door. Before I could speak, my ba had spoken:
I cannot make it to Duat alone and neither can your ka. Only by giving up an essential part of each of those existences and merging them together, can you make it to the hall of Osiris and have your heart weighed according to your actions. We will stay here and sustain you for your journey.
The akh! The lesson came unbidden to my mind. The akh was the being that was formed when the ka and the ba joined together for the journey to the underworld (Nardo, 52). The akh was also more corporeal in nature than the ka had been. Not knowing quite what to say, I had nodded once and moved down the dark corridor. As I was progressing along the narrow corridor, I got the distinct feeling that I was no longer in the realm of light and life. Somewhere along the way, probably when I had crossed the threshold from my chamber, I crossed a barrier that placed me within Osiris' realm (Applegate, 95). Emerging from the long corridor, I then found myself in a place of mist and darkness, lighted only by an eerie green light which appeared to have been emanating from the mist itself. In the distance, I could hear the sound of water lapping against a shoreline. Knowing that I needed to board the boat in order to appear before Osiris, I started walking towards the sound of the water.
As I walked along, I felt no fear. Having received lessons all throughout my youth regarding the underworld and what I should expect to find here, the lack of fear on my part did not unsettle me. I contributed it to my preparation and the spells that had been spoken over me. They all existed within me, waiting to be summoned as needed. The land around me reminded me of Egypt, but an Egypt unlike any I had ever known before. Everything here existed in a dead state, though I could not observe the decay of anything. It seemed that what plant-life did exist existed in a perpetual state of death. Instead of the warm sand of the Egyptian land, here the ground was dry and cracked, and no heat existed in the air.
In the darkness ahead of me, I heard movement through the dry brush. I paused, waiting for the figure to appear, ready to call upon whatever spell I needed to expel them from my sight, for I knew that very few in this realm could be counted "friend." The largest crocodile I had ever beheld then entered my sight, and its sheer size almost struck me dumb, but I had refused to cower in fear before it. I was a pharaoh and pharaohs did not cower. The crocodile grunted as it beheld me and it had started forward, its gaping mouth opening evermore the closer it came. The secret name of the beast came to me, called upon by the power of the spell that had been placed by my side within the sarcophagus:
Get back! Retreat! Get back, you dangerous one! Do not come against me, do not live by my magic; may I not have to tell this name of yours to the Great God who sent you; 'Messenger' is the name of one and Bedty is the name of the other (Faulkner, 56).
The crocodile had frozen in the midst of one menacing step and didn't move again. Believing in the power of the words I had spoken, I continued on, passing right under the open jaw of the statue-like beast. The spell seemed to have frozen the creature stiff and allowed me to pass unencumbered. Hastening on, I sought to leave the beast behind and quickly made my way to the riverbanks.
The rest of my journey progressed well, except for when a flock of dark birds descended from the heavens and attempted to attack my akh. I spoke another spell that repelled them from me and there seemed to exist a powerful barrier around my akh that protected me from the attack (The Egyptian Book of the Dead, xxxv). The uneven terrain under foot sought to catch me up more than once and by the time I had reached the river, my hands were quite dirty from the falls I had taken. The river, though indiscernible in the dark, had appeared out of the mist far quicker then I anticipated it would. Standing on the bank of the river, I waited...and waited. After pondering a moment over what, exactly, I was waiting for, I recalled that the boat had to be summoned. Lifting up my voice, unsure of how loud I had to speak, I had spoken the summoning spell that would call forth the boat from its place on the river (Applegate, 102-103). Before the last syllable of the spell had faded from the air, out of the depths of the river, a large boat had risen to the surface and glided silently through the waters towards my place upon the riverbank. As soon as it anchored next to me, an old plank of wood was lowered from the deck to the bank. At the top of the plank a man had stood waiting. He had the appearance of youth, though his hair had been as white as a dove's feathers. I marched swiftly up the plank to stand before him.
I am Mahaf, and I will assist you on this journey. Aqen must be awake for you to continue your journey, for I cannot ferry this boat alone. I do not know the safe passages through the waters (Applegate 102-103).
He pointed towards the helm where I clearly saw a slumbering figure slouched behind the wheel. We had approached the figure and, after making a few excuses on behalf of Aqen, who needed more sleep, Mahaf had finally prodded him awake. Aqen was much older than Mahaf, appearing ancient enough that I had felt a strong breath of wind would blow him away like the sands of Egypt. He was very cross when he awoke and had demanded that I leave and allow him to continue sleeping, insisting that I was unprepared for the journey (Applegate, 102-103). Not entirely sure what he meant by that, I looked to Mahaf for guidance. Instead of speaking, I heard his words in my mind:
Command him, pharaoh of Egypt! Your priests have prepared you well. Call upon the words of power they left with you. Call upon the secret names that will allow you lordship over this realm.
I looked back at Aqen and followed the counsel of Mahaf. Aqen refused to lift one finger until I had complete power over the boat which I proved by stating the secret names of each individual part and speaking the spell that would provide wind to speed our journey (Applegate, 103). Aqen reluctantly conceded to the power I held and set the boat to drifting silently down the river which is where I presently am, having reflected on my journey thus far.
Aqen and Mahaf busied themselves with directing the boat through the dark waters, and so I was left in quiet solitude to prepare myself for the judgment in the presence of Osiris. At some point as we were journeying down the river, I felt a substantial amount of strength and energy flood through me and I silently thanked my ka and ba for partaking of the offering of food.
As we were nearing the endpoint of the journey on the river, I beheld a bright light far off in the distance. Its brilliance flickered like that of a candle and I wondered if something large was burning. Mahaf must have seen my gaze for he said:
It is Ra battling with the great serpent Apep. Apep seeks to devour Ra and his light every night and so Ra must battle past in order to grace the world of the living with light every day. It is a glorious battle to behold and Ra is never defeated. He may appear to be close to defeat, but Apep will never better him (Applegate, 68).
I watched for as long as I could, but we soon passed out of sight of the battle and I turned my attention forward. Soon after, the boat gave a gentle jerk as it glided to a stop in the water. Mahaf set the plank out and waited for me to disembark. I did not need to ask for direction as there was only one narrow path to take directly in front of where the plank met the ground, cliffs on both sides of the pathway. I walked off the ship and turned to thank Aqen and Mahaf for the safe journey over the water, only to discover that the boat had vanished. Peering into the gloomy mist that hung over the river, I tried to seek where the boat had gone, but I could not find it. It was a mystery of the underworld, perhaps one that I would never unravel.
The narrow path that my feet were treading wound immediately from the water's edge to a large opening where the cliffs merged together. I did not know how far the path went before it reached its destination, but I was mildly relieved to see that the way widened considerably after I had progressed several steps within the tunnel.
Time had long since lost all meaning for me, so I cared not how long I had been walking. I only knew that I would reach my destination when I was meant to. I also did not know if there would be more obstacles within my path on my way to the Hall, but I knew I would be foolish to assume there wouldn't be.
By the time I reached an ornate door guarded by a jackal dog as black as night, I had defended myself against two serpents, another crocodile (though half the size as the first), a wall of fire that sought to bar my passage and the bas of five generals I had met and defeated on the battlefield of two separate wars in my youth. Using words of power, I banished them from my sight, but as I stood in front of the jackal, I could think of nothing that would allow me to pass by (Applegate, 115). Wondering if a scroll had been left from my funeral rites or if there really was no way to pass the jackal, I waited. For what, I knew not.
I was about ready to really despair for my immortal soul and its place stuck within this darkened passageway, when the door opened in front of me. The god Anubis stood illuminated in the doorway. He made a gesture with his hand and the jackal that had been lying in front of the door leapt to its paws and moved away from the door. Anubis stood aside and beckoned me forward:
Come Hasani, Pharaoh of all Egypt. Come and be judged according to your works. All men are equal when they pass through these doors.
I hesitated only briefly before squaring my shoulders and walking through the doors. The moment that my life had been in preparation for had finally arrived.
Upon entering the large chamber, I took in my surroundings. It was brightly lit by what appeared to be hundreds of torches lining the walls. The chamber itself was long and narrow and, directly in front of me, a large number of beings stood. Beyond them I could see double doors leading to another chamber, but the doors were closed so I could not discern what the next room held, though I had my suspicions. I concentrated only on what was in front of me, as I needed to answer to the forty-two judges arrayed before me. Turning to the first, I recited the first of the forty-two greetings and declarations (Applegate, 68-70):
Hail, you whose strides are long, who comes forth from Ammu, I have not done iniquity (Barnett, 75).
So focused was I on ensuring that I spoke correctly and concisely to each being that, before I realized it, I had spoken to them all. They looked at one another, once to the left and once to the right, before nodding to Anubis and then parting to stand along each of the narrow walls, thus opening the way to the double doors beyond. Accompanied by the jackal-headed god of the dead, we approached the doors. Instead of opening these like he had done with the previous one, he stood back and I quickly understood that he was waiting for me. Unlike the door that the jackal had guarded, which I did not know how to open, I knew how to open these. I spoke the necessary words, naming every part of the doors and exerting my power over them (Barnett 77-78). When I was finished, they swung open and we stepped through.
A large set of scales sat in the middle of the room. Behind the scales, Osiris, in his mummified form, sat upon a golden throne holding the crook and flail in his hands (Ions, 136). Horus stood just on the opposite side of the scales waiting to escort me to my presentation before Osiris at the conclusion of the ceremony, should the scales find me worthy enough for an audience before him. A monstrous creature lay at the foot of the scales, eagerly waiting for the ceremony to begin. I knew it was Ammit waiting to devour the impurities of my heart (Applegate, 114). Even though my heart had not beat once since I had entered the realm of the dead, I felt it leap within my chest and I quickly whispered to it not to betray me before this godly ensemble:
O my heart of my mother! O my heart of my mother! O my heart of my transformations! Do not stand up against me as a witness! Do not create opposition to me in the council! Do not cause the pan to sink in the presence of the keeper of the balance (Applegate, 72)!
Several more figures stood around the scales, each with their own purpose. Mayet inspected the scales to make certain that they were balanced before the ceremony (Ions, 135). Thoth waited with a tablet in hand, ready to record the results (Ions, 136). Even my ba was present, bird-like claws wrapped around a special perch protruding from one wall (Ions, 136). There were no pleasant greetings exchanged as the solemnity of this ceremony required that business be seen to first and foremost. Osiris, from his seat upon his throne nodded his head once. Mayet produced a simple, white feather and placed it most reverently upon one empty pan (Ions, 136). Anubis turned to me and summoned my heart from my chest. It was a strange sight to witness my heart separate from my body. Anubis stepped forward and held the heart aloft before bringing it down to nestle within the other immaculate pan on the scale. Time seemed to stop as we waited for the scale to weigh true. Even though seeing the scales remain balanced filled me with such elation, I could not stop the doubtful voice in my head that said any moment, the balance would shift. No longer able to watch the scales, I lifted my eyes to view the beings that would be carrying out my fate, one way or another.
To my amazement, Thoth was inscribing on his tablet (Ions, 136). Ammit was growling with obvious displeasure. Anubis was picking up my heart and placing it back within my chest and Mayet was taking back the feather. Horus was walking towards me, hand outstretched. He grasped my hand in both of his own and uttered the first words I heard within the hall:
Be of good cheer, Hasani, Pharaoh of the Immortal Egypt. Your heart was as pure as the feather it was weighed against. Blessed wilt thou be as thou dwells with the Immortals in the Field of Rushes. Come forth, that Osiris may know you, thou of the pure heart.
Guiding me along, Horus brought me to stand before Osiris (Ions, 137). Never have I been in awe of such a person before. I gazed up at him and he looked likewise down at me. Opening his arms in a welcoming fashion, he spoke to me of the importance of a pure heart and those who lack such can never enter into the Field of Rushes (Nardo, 55), as they would never be truly happy there. His hand extended to his right side and he spoke to Horus, urging him to escort me into the Field of Rushes as I was worthy enough of the honor.
Horus moved forward and I followed behind him. Hidden behind the throne of Osiris was a shimmering portal. Horus indicated that the Field would be found directly on the other side and he motioned me forward. Holding my breath, as though about to plunge into a deep pool of water, I stepped forward into another realm of existence.
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Barnett, Mary. Gods and Myths of Ancient Egypt. New York: Regency House Publishing, 1996. Print.
The Egyptian Book of the Dead. Trans. E.A. Wallis Budge. 1895. New York: Dover Publications, 1967. Print.
Faulkner, Raymond Oliver. 2001. The Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead. Austin: University of Texas Press. Retrieved November 17, 2010, from Google Books. eBook: Web.
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McDevitt, April. Ancient Egypt: the Mythology. n.p., n.d. Web. 11 Nov. 2010.
Nardo, Don. Mummies, Myth, and Magic: Religion in Ancient Egypt. Farmington Hills: Thomson Gale, 2005. Print.