Dorothy J. Heydt

Straight down Canal Street now, without a turn, and there was a light at the end, a high-vaulted room with something like an altar in the center. The torchbearers were singing, "The cord is broken, the seal is undone; I am come to bring thee the Heart of Osiris; thy heart is to thee, O Osiris. I have not come to destroy the god on his throne; I have come to set the god on his throne. I have risen up like a falcon: I have gone forth like an eagle: morning star, make way for me."

In the center of the room, on a dais only a few steps high, the mummy of Osiris lay on its bier, naked and neatly reassembled. And what if I put the last part back where it belongs? Will the dead god sit up and speak?

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