Free Shadow Fall by Seressia Glass

here, in this outpost between the gold mines of the eastern desert and the cities of Lower Egypt. She knew it had been a thriving area since before there were pharaohs. From the collection of homes in the southern town to the remains of structures around the temple and a structure that some argued was a pyramid, scholars knew Nubt had been a vibrant city with a large necropolis, a living city supporting a larger city of the dead, proud to have Set as its patron god.
    She couldn’t help wondering what it was like to have the god of chaos at the center of one’s life. She’d been programmed from her studies at University College in London that Set was the bad guy. From the story of Isis and Osiris in which Set killed and dismembered Osiris because he coveted the throne—and Isis—to his battle with Horus for the right to rule Egypt, few stories existed that cast Set in a positive light.
    One of the few stories that did was the recounting of Ra’s journey through the Duat, the Egyptian netherworld. In that story, Set was more of a hero, standing at the front of Ra’s solar boat, slaying the snake demon Apep to prevent it from killing Ra. Yet, even in that instance, Set didn’t show modesty or humility. He boldly proclaimed that Ra was safe due to him—Set, his mighty arm, his sound aim.
    If ever a god was in need of a public relations expert, Set was the one.
    There had been pharaohs who had honored the desert god, though. Peribsen from the First Dynasty had, as did the eighteenth-dynasty military genius Thutmose III. Seti I and his descendants bore the god’s name. So, Set wasn’t all bad.
    Memories sifted through her mind as she and Bernie sifted a quadrant of the dig site. Slipping through a portal and landing on an alternate Giza Plateau, upon which had stood a temple dedicated to the Egyptian god of chaos. Talking to the Lady of Balance, who looked like an older version of Balm, causing her to question herself. Seeing Khefar tortured by a new Shadowling adversary, Marit. Channeling power, gorgeous power, Light and Shadow roiling through her, one hair short of too much. Knowing she could feel it again, if she allowed herself to slip.
    “What’s weighing so heavily on your mind?” Comstock asked.
    Kira realized she still held the screen, but had been standing motionless, lost in thought. “What makes you think anything’s wrong?”
    “Kira.” Comstock’s voice brimmed with remonstration. “I’m dead, not senile. More than that, I’m a metaphysical construct that includes part of your psyche. I know when you’re out of sorts.”
    “I never could hide anything from you, could I?”
    “No.” Comstock smiled. “Most of the time, I pretended not to notice. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
    “I think I would have appreciated having you to talk to, Bernie,” she said, her throat tightening. “I’m sorry I didn’t confide in you.”
    “You can confide in me now.” He lifted a trowel of debris onto the screen. “I always find that it’s easier to apply myself to thinking things through by digging my hands into my work.”
    Kira looked down at her hands. Even in her dreams, she wore gloves. “When I get my hands down into my work, I’m either incapacitating or killing someone.”
    Her mentor reached over, took her hands. “True, if all you consider yourself to be is a Shadowchaser. But you are more than that. Your hands also help to properly identify and catalog hundreds of artifacts. Your hands are tools, not weapons. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”
    “Thank you.” She squeezed his hands. “I needed that.”
    “It’s what I’m here for.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you.”
    “Balm had a crate delivered to me today,” she told him. “A driftwood box.”
    “A jewelry box?”
    “No, more like a chest.”
    “I see. What sort of treasure is in this chest?”
    Kira poured debris onto the sifter. A couple of