#it would make sense if it was jackal ears in reference to anubis too

[nitonitonito]

@ardenssolis​​ replied ; She can be both! The beauty of ancient egyptian mythos is that a pharaoh is Ra/Horus based during certain times. Horus when they are an heir, Ra when they are a pharaoh (or Horus depending on whether it is the Old Kingdom, ect., because those timelines put emphasis on certain gods and their roles), and upon their death, they become an incarnation of Osiris, but then also become Ra/Horus when the sun rises once again -- rinse repeat. It's complicated FSFDFSS. ; OH I FORGOT TO MENTION! In the Old Kingdom, they put a lot of emphasis on Anubis being Lord of the Dead, though this was later overshadowed in the New Kingdom by Osiris with Anbusi' role shifting.

         /  OOOOOO I DIDN’T KNOW THIS! I only knew that when a pharaoh came to the throne they were associated/became the manifestation of horus and in death, they became/were associated with Osiris, but i was def not aware that Ra was in consideration, as well as when the sun rises! for some reason my mind completely jumped past my own thoughts in my previous meta in regards to Nito, horus and osiris -thonks- must be my mind being tired from yesterday still RIP- THO i also didn’t know that anubis’ role got later overshadowed in the new kingdom! and when u bring that onto the table, I can see her ‘ears’ looking like pointy jackal ears as a reference to him bc of the time period where nito was said to exist which dates to much older than when the new kingdom started (and with it, Osiris taking the role of anubis)

[poptod]

The Dead Heed No Lies (Ch. 1)

Description: Your job isn't as simple as it was when you first started out. Before you know it, you're hunting down an old God who happens to be a kleptomaniac with an overgrown sense of justice, alongside a 4,000 year old corpse who occasionally commits first degree murder.

Notes: This is an older fic that I’ve decided to continue! I called it the ‘untitled NatM 4 movie’ so think of it like that. I have plans for this and I really hope I do this storyline justice because I just love it so much. Word Count: 2.3k

Chapter One: Life’s a Sham

You loved your job. No, truly, you did - working in a museum was one thing you knew you actually wanted in life. Still, keeping this in mind, you hadn’t exactly signed up for needing to complete a reorganization of every file in the whole goddamn museum within the span of a week.

How long had your boss worked at the place anyway? High time to retire, you thought, heading to the A section. And just because you worked at night didn’t mean he could abuse you any way he liked.

Long night ahead of me, you thought, wishing that you’d bought some sort of energy drink before clocking in. Instead, you took a bite of the scone you’d gotten, looking through the first box.

Aaron Copland, American musician, died 1990. You wondered why that was in there, it was pretty recent after all.

Aaron Burr, you understood that.

Oh, they were out of order.

You fixed them.

Moving on…

A few (more than a few) minutes later, actual exhibits in the museum.

The giant Anubis statues guarding the King Ahkmenrah exhibit, those needed to be reordered. AH came before AN. Even though the Pharaoh exhibit had been moved away.

‘Anubis, an ancient Egyptian deity is connected mainly with the underworld, being the guardian of the underworld, referred to as Duat. He protects the dead, ushering them into the underworld, like a modern day reaper. He is also the god of embalming, and is believed to have invented the process. He has two forms - one, man like, with the head of a jackal, ears alert and sporting a red ribbon. His other form is that of a jackal or a black dog, the fur color a stark difference from the brown of jackals.’

Why am I reading this? I know this already. I have a goddamn major in Egyptian mythology.

American Civil War, that was in the right place.

Ancient Egypt.

Ancient Greece.

Anglo-Saxons, what was that doing there? Belonged in the British museum of history. Though, you supposed it didn’t hurt to have a little European history in America.

Anne of Cleves.

Austro-Hungarian Army.

Bayeaux Tapestry.

Boleyn, Anne.

Booth, Charles.

British Empire.

A wretchedly loud sound came from upstairs, like the stomping of hordes of elephants, all intent on making you crazy. You groaned to yourself, taking a deep steadying breath before continuing. Noises were none of your business. That was the security details’ issue. Though… looking to the side, you found a plastic knife, thinking it couldn’t hurt to be… armed? Could you consider a plastic knife being armed? You grabbed it anyway.

Calvin, John.

Caribbean History.

Castles of Britain, followed by Scotland and Wales.

Catherine of Aragorn.

Cattle Industry of America.

Charles the First.

China.

Civil War, America and English.

Cold War.

Crime and Punishment.

Danish Holocaust.

Dresden Bombing.

A loud honking of a horn, followed by a cacophony of party music. What the hell was going on up there?

You stood, fuming, the papers in your hands falling to the ground you were previously sitting on. Dealing with your lousy job was one thing, but having terrible upstairs neighbors at the same time? That was a whole other deal, and certainly not one you signed up for. With clenched fists still grasping the plastic knife you stormed towards the door leading to the stairs, which would take you into the break room, which in turn would lead to the lobby.

The trek up the stairs took a little bit out of you, but you continued, panting lightly and still fuming with anger. Before you could open the door to the main room though, McPhee entered the break room, laughing to himself.

“Sir?” You stopped, unclenching, hoping to not make a bad impression.

“Oh! Uh, you. What’s - what’s going on?” He asked, fumbling over his words like usual, playing with his hands in a dainty sort of way.

“It’s loud out there, I was wondering what was happening, sounds sort of…” you peeked out the half open door, trying to see what was out there, but he shut it far too fast to be considered ordinary. “Abnormal.”

“Yes, well, um, we’ve got uh, guests.”

“I know. From the British museum? Isn’t partying at midnight sort of… against the rules?” You asked cautiously, never knowing when he’d go full speech without knowing words on you.

“Right, it is, but -“

“McPHEE?!” A loud, female voice you didn’t recognize came from the other side of the door, loud pounding fists as its’ partner. “DEXTER STOLE THE KEYS AGAIN!” She panted for a moment, the pounding stopped. “I can’t find the bloody monkey and now he’s let out all the lions and they’re the only ones I don’t know what to do with.”

McPhee closed his eyes, letting out a quiet, tired breath. His facade, if you could call it that, and been broken, and it only left you more thoroughly confused than you had been  before.

“McPhee, are you in there??”

“Yes,” he hissed, prolonging the ’s’.

“Doctor, could you explain what exactly is happening?” You asked, starting to not care that he was now having two separate conversations with you and the woman behind the door. Apparently, someone had stolen the keys, and you had live lions in the museum which was COMPLETELY against regulations, and why did McPhee know about it? The man you knew would never allow animals into the museum.

“Is there someone else in there?!” The woman from behind the door rapped on it three times, presumably with her knuckles from the sharp sound. In the distance, you heard someone scream ‘goal,’ followed by an uproar of cheers.

“Are you playing soccer in there?” You asked him incredulously, not caring if he was the curator. No matter his rank, no matter how much you needed a job, you couldn’t stand for such misuse of a museum.

“Uh -“

The door opened before he could explain himself, the woman from the British museum stumbling through. She left the door wide open as she entered, keys grasped tight in her hand, letting you see outside.

A whole lot of people in costumes were running about, throwing a party. How in the world had McPhee authorized that?

“It’s not what it looks like,” he said quickly, his eyes rapidly switching between the woman and you.

“Really? Cause it looks like you’re throwing a party in a museum,” you said, eyes wide and your anger fully returned.

“Who are you?” The British woman turned to you, still out of breath and looking just about as confused as you were.

“I’m the archivist, and you are holding an illegal party, you’re not supposed to invite people onto the premises after -“

“Honestly, would you shut up and let me show you? We’re not holding a… party, or whatever you called it, it’s… something else,” McPhee said cryptically, obviously trying to hold back information. You were miffed, crossing your arms, and doubtful at his intentions. Still, he was your boss, and you ought to give him the benefit of the doubt. He hadn’t failed you yet. With a deep breath you slowly nodded, allowing the two of them to lead you out the door.

A dinosaur.

Made of bones.

An actual, live dinosaur was staring at you, and it wanted to play fetch.

“That’s, uh, Rexy, I believe Larry called him. Harmless, mostly,” McPhee explained, waving to the dead yet animate animal. It only stopped for a moment to notice the three of you before continuing to chase after a toy car, one of its’ bones tied behind it. Your mouth fell open in disbelief, eyes wide with a general panic that you knew consciously wasn’t deserved, but you couldn’t convince yourself of it.

The whole room was filled with historical figures, ones whose statues you’d stared at for so long as a child, in wonder and curiosity but now you no longer wondered, you no longer imagined - they were there. Whether you wanted it or not, they were there, and they were loud.

“That’d be the Huns, apparently it took your old night guard for-ever to get them to get along,” the woman said, shaking her head.

“Who… what…” you mumbled, in a daze of disbelief.

“The Tablet of Ahkmenrah,” the woman said in a dramatic voice, using jazz hands to accentuate the wonder, but it didn’t do much for you. You’d heard of the tablet, sure, but it wasn’t at your museum anymore. It had been transported to the British museum -

Oh. It all clicked together, why you hadn’t heard the noise before, why McPhee knew what was happening, what the cause was.

Of course, that’d be if magic was real.

“Show me,” you said, not wanting to completely discount their story. The woman looked utterly delighted, while McPhee looked mostly uncomfortable, fiddling with the bottom of his jacket, an awkward smile on his face. Your eye twitched as the two of you made eye contact. In less than a moment, you turned back, following the woman towards wherever she was taking you.

“What’s your name anyway?” You asked as she led you through a crowd of historical figures.

“Tilly. Yours?”

“Uh -“ You were quickly interrupted by Tilly, who ran into Christopher Columbus.

This can’t be happening, you thought to yourself, as Tilly apologized in Italian to Columbus. Columbus, made fully of silver black stone or steel, bowed his head with a smile, returning to his soccer game with the Neanderthals, who seemed quite excitable in the presence of Tilly.

“I, uh, this is -“

“A lot? I know. My first night taking care of my museum was, well, a disaster,” she laughed to herself, rolling her eyes in an ‘oh, you,’ sort of way. “Anyway, here we are!”

An empty, closed off room. The room mean to house the Pharaoh, who had been delivered to the British - what was she thinking?

“Oh, right,” she mumbled to herself, rubbing her chin methodically as she stared at the ground. You waited patiently, admiring the art of the room.

“Guess we’ll have to find the King himself, should be somewhere,” she said, pulling you by the wrist down the hallway. A few more turns and you were at the balcony of the lobby, and at the halfway point of one of the stairs, on the platform, was a man dressed in ancient Egyptian garb, golden robes flowing in a way unlike any cloth you’d ever seen. After all, a whole lot of old cloth was like that, well made, thin and light yet warm.

She led you down the staircase, stopping behind the King, who was apparently manning a DJ station.

You felt yourself get lightheaded. It simply wasn’t possible. It couldn’t happen, not physically. It disobeyed everything you ever knew, every wish you convinced yourself wouldn’t be fulfilled.

“Oh, hello!” The King turned around, having just been alerted of your presence by Tilly tapping him on the back. His gaze first landed on her, then on you, tilting his head to the side with a curious smile.

“My friend here is, uh, new. Doesn’t believe that all this is real,” Tilly explained, and the King gave her a knowing look, bending down to pick up what you assumed was going to be the tablet.

“I’m just an archivist, I don’t think I’m supposed to be here,” you said over the loud music, suddenly feeling quite like you were going to be sick. It felt too much like a fantastical story. You just read and studied fantastical stories. You didn’t star in them.

Yet, here you were, being handed a tablet made of pure gold.

“Uh… cool,” you breathed out, holding something in your hands that costed more than your life. As soon as opportunity let you, you gave it back to the King.

“I am Ahkmenrah,” his eyes flickered over to Tilly before coming back to you, resting soft and welcoming on yours. “What shall I call you?”

“Uh, (Y/N),” you stuttered, blinking furiously, as though it’d wake you up from a dream come true.

“Well, (Y/N), welcome to the party,” he laughed, turning back around to choose another song.

“I’m gonna sit down,” you whimpered, collapsing onto the steps behind you. Tilly looked like she was going to stop you, but decided against it, her hands coming back to her sides.

“I’ll let you catch your breath, okay?” She said with a smile, patting your back and leaving down the steps. You watched as she left, joining one of the Neanderthals in dancing.

“It’s a bit overwhelming, isn’t it?” The King said, sitting down beside you. Despite being dressed in royal clothing, and speaking in a rather posh manner, he acted human. In that moment, you appreciated it.

“Yeah… why, um, how do you speak, uh, English?” You asked, turning to face him.

“I went to Cambridge. As a display,” he said, quickly correcting himself. You nodded, turning to face forward again.

“I’ve never been to England,” you murmured. 

“It’s nice. Cold,” he joked, laughing to himself. You joined in weakly, still feeling overwhelmed. You continued staring forward for a while, letting yourself wonder if this was reality, or if you were hallucinating, but he must’ve noticed your silence as he cleared his throat.

“Would you like some water?”

“What?” You asked, turning to him, pulled out of your thoughtless trance. “No, I’m alright. It’s a lot.”

“I know. Imagine waking up in a coffin every night,” he joked, but it fell flat. It sounded flat out miserable.

“I’m going to go lie down,” you mumbled out, your voice cracking as you stood.  He immediately stood with you, before pausing, hesitant to follow you.

“Uh - I hope you, uh, feel better!” He called to you as you left down the stairs. Before he was out of earshot you heard him curse to himself, but you didn’t care to think what he was so troubled with. Was that a little cruel? Sure. Selfish? Definitely, but you’d just found out that all the exhibits were going to come to life at night, and that magic definitely existed and all those fictional Egyptian Gods you’d studied for so long were most likely real.

You needed time to process… and maybe to scream a little.

[jarienn972]

Only a Little Superstitious - Chapter 13

I’ve been a little behind on writing this past month, but I finally managed to get this latest chapter completed.  As I promised from the beginning of this story, I’m slowly weaving in some of the real legends and myths of the Southwest into this fictional fantasy tale and as this goes forward, you’ll see how those tales tie in.  Emma is about to reach a major realization about how they managed to get to Arizona but will it be something that will help get them back home?

Also on AO3 and FF.net

From the beginning on Tumblr: One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve

The moment she and grandson, Carlos, stepped from the elevator, Sarah Bending Willow instinctively knew something was amiss – even before she spotted a visibly shaken Emma standing in the corridor outside of her husband's hospital room. The younger woman's eyes were puffy and her cheeks streaked with too many shed tears, but while Grandmother was the first to sense Emma's pain, Carlos was the first to vocalize concern.

"Emma? What's going on?" he asked as he quickened his pace to reach his law enforcement colleague and new friend only to have Grandmother grab a fistful of his shirt to pull him back. He knew what that meant as he stopped and allowed his grandmother to approach Emma first.

"I fear the evil spirits are upon you once again," Grandmother stated, clasping Emma's left hand between both of her own as she noted the redness in the young woman's eyes from sadness and sleeplessness.

"It's definitely something evil," Emma scoffed, gaze still fixed on the flurry of activity around Killian's bedside. "I don't even know what they're doing… The nurse said he was in respiratory distress, whatever that means, and they won't tell me what's going on… They just shoved me out here and all I can do is watch…"

"Come, you should sit," Grandmother insisted, calmly trying to guide Emma away from the corridor. "We can talk about all of this…" Emma only heard a few of the elder woman's words though as the curtains blocking her view were pulled back and she realized that Killian's bed was being wheeled toward her. The nurse who'd responded to the alarm approached Emma with an emotionless expression and Emma wriggled free of Grandmother's comforting hold so she could rush to Killian's side, unsure of where they were taking him or why.

"Is everything okay?" Emma asked nervously, fatigue and anxiety both increasing her eagerness for an answer. "Where are you taking him?"

"He's doing better with the increased oxygen supplement and some new medication, but it's looking like the infection we're chasing may be settling into his lungs," the nurse explained. "The doctor wants to get some images of his lungs to make sure that we're not seeing the early signs of pneumonia so we're taking him down to Radiology. It shouldn't take long…"

"May I go with him?" Emma pleaded.

"I'm afraid not, but I promise, we'll have him back soon," the nurse replied. Emma didn't really want to be separated once again, but as she stared at the pale shell that was her husband's wounded body, the side of her still capable of logical thinking understood. She could tell that he wasn't completely conscious. His eyes were partially open but there was only a sliver of the usual vibrant blue hue visible and no discernable hint of recognition, merely a vacant stare.

"I'll be right here when you get back," Emma whispered her promise as she trailed her fingertips across his scarred, stumped forearm just before Grandmother stepped toward her once again, placing her withered hand on Emma's shoulder.

"Come, child," Grandmother urged. "Let's all go sit down and we will talk. You said on the phone that you had urgent matters to discuss?"

"Umm, yeah…" Emma stammered as she fought to regain her composure as she watched Killian disappear through a set of automatic doors. She wiped at her dampened eyes with the back of her hand, slightly embarrassed at her emotional display although neither Grandmother nor Carlos appeared to take offense. "We can't talk here though. Need somewhere private…"

"How about we go out to my truck again?" Carlos suggested to which Emma nodded in agreement. This was another conversation that did not need any prying ears.

As Emma recalled from her last conversation with Carlos Littlecreek in this parking garage, the area wasn't entirely private. For whatever reason, today seemed to be an exceptionally busy day for patients and visitors to be coming and going from the hospital so there were far more people wandering around that she would have preferred. A steady stream of cars snaked around the bend behind them, some drivers throwing frustrated glances their way when they realized that the parking spot wasn't going to be vacated.

From the back seat of the huge Suburban, Emma revealed all that she'd learned since yesterday – everything that validated Grandmother's concerns. Dark magic. Evil spirits. Might as well be the same thing in Emma's book as neither was making anything easy for them. She explained her need for a place to have Regina's dark magic fighting potion delivered and Carlos immediately provided the address of the National Parks Service field office where he worked as he knew that someone would be there late into the evening. He let her know that he'd swing by to retrieve the parcel once delivered and return it to the hospital. Emma relayed the address to Regina via a text message and got a reply minutes later that Regina had advised the courier was on their way to pick up the package and an update would be provided as soon as the potion was on its way to Phoenix.

Knowing that the much-needed potion was soon going to be in her hands, Emma could finally relax a bit so she turned the topic of conversation to the other subject she'd sought out Grandmother's expertise with – the mysterious dagger itself. Belle had emailed a file containing multiple, detailed images of both the broken dagger and its companion scepter and as Emma thumbed through them briefly before showing Grandmother, she found herself tensing a bit at the sight of the bloodstained blade. Emma steeled herself, blinking away a stubborn tear as she passed the phone to Carlos in the driver's seat with the first full-length image of the dagger displayed on the screen.

"What do the two of you make of the designs carved into the handles of these?" Emma asked as Carlos positioned the phone so that both he and Grandmother could clearly see the photographs. "Our librarian thought that the images resemble those from early Central and South American cultures like the Incans and the Mayans, but not exactly like theirs…"

"This is the blade your husband was stabbed with?" Grandmother asked, although there was little doubt considering that its missing point matched the piece sitting in a specimen jar up in Killian's room perfectly.

"Yes. It's the one that Nehemiah Kronk used and then must have dropped before following us through the portal. There are photos of the matching scepter that Yzma used to open the portal as well."

The old woman studied the photo displayed on the tiny screen for a few seconds, then gestured for Carlos to swipe to the next image. Emma tried to read the expression on Grandmother's time-worn face, but the elder woman's stoic concentration revealed nothing.

"The symbols are ones very commonly used in the ancient glyphs of many cultures," Grandmother began. "This one, for instance, this circle with half depicted in relief represents the moon. The full circle below with the radiant lines is, of course, the sun. The two are quite often depicted together to demonstrate light and dark." She pointed to the images on the screen as she described each in more detail. "The third image is an animal, canine for certain, but what specific member of the canine family, I cannot be certain. It may be representative of a wolf, a common dog or even the Trickster himself. It also bears resemblance to the Egyptian Anubis – the jackal-headed god. I don't know if it is Anubis the craftsman chose to depict here, but the resemblance is highly unusual."

"What about the bird and the other designs here – like those repetitive patterns?" Emma queried.

"The bird could be one of a number of different varieties as well," Grandmother stated. "It may perhaps represent an eagle or a hawk or it may be something less common like a condor, although that would be unlikely."

Carlos noticed something in the third image that caught his attention as he shifted in his seat to get a closer look. "That symbol below the bird – I've seen that somewhere before…" he spoke up as he zoomed in on the specific part of the photo that had drawn his eye. "It was out on the glyph trail… I'm sure that exact symbol is carved into one of the rock outcrops out on Petroglyph trail."

Emma leaned forward to see over the seat at the image he was referring to, blanching slightly at the sight of the enlarged image of a stylized spiral. "Oh, my god…" she exclaimed in momentary disbelief when recognition kicked in.

"What?" Carlos asked, confused by Emma's reaction to the strange glyph.

"You said you've seen this exact image carved out here somewhere?" Emma asked for clarification.

"I sure have," Carlos replied. "It's out on an old hiking trail, out in the middle of the Superstition mountains. We closed down the trail a few years back because tourists were damaging the delicate site. Some of the petroglyphs out there date to one of the earliest Native civilizations, the Anasazi, but while the carvings are attributed to the Anasazi, some experts weren't sure. There's been some debate about what that particular symbol was supposed to represent but the consensus was that it's a whirlpool. They form occasionally in the nearby Salt River during heavy rains, so it wasn't a huge stretch…"

"I don't think that's a carving of a whirlpool," Emma stated with conviction. "I'm pretty sure that's a portal."

"A portal?" Carlos asked, incredulously. "Like the one you and your husband came through?"

"Exactly like one," Emma responded. "I guess it would make sense. We know the dagger and the scepter are really old. Maybe the ancient people here knew how to use them to open up a portal to… well, somewhere…?"

"It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility," Grandmother spoke up. "As I have told you before, these mountains were once ripe with magic. Our people once believed it was possible to travel to travel to different worlds so what you've just described isn't altogether surprising."

"Is this trail anywhere near where Killian and I landed?" Emma wondered. "Anywhere near that Ranger station we found?"

"You mean the one you broke into?" Carlos laughed. "It's a few miles from that sub-station. Does that mean anything?"

"I'm not sure, but pieces like this are slowly beginning to help make sense out of how we got here," Emma responded. "If there was an ancient portal out there, maybe whatever Yzma did with the scepter opened it back up?"

"If the scepter is the object that opened your portal," Grandmother said cryptically, causing both Carlos and Emma to turn to face her with the same befuddled expression.

"What do you mean by that?" Emma was the first to ask.

"I am not a scholar of ancient cultures by any means, but based solely on knowledge of my own people's history, the scepter does not fit," the old woman insisted before continuing with her interpretation. "I may be incorrect, but I don't believe that your sorceress, Yzma, had anything to do with opening the portal."

"But she was wielding the scepter when the portal opened," Emma reminded Grandmother. "It had to be her magic."

"I believe that it may have been purely a misdirect, child," the elder woman chuckled, leaving Emma even more baffled than before. "Let me explain… First, this knife that is pictured, while the carvings on its handle appear to be the same as the ones on the scepter, they're both highly unusual. They have the appearance of being reminiscent of early civilizations of the Americas, but not exact in design. Second, most Natives, and I am assuming the same of these other early cultures, fashioned their knives from bone or obsidian. This blade is forged – from iron, steel or bronze or whatever metal the blacksmith chose the day it was cast. The design of the blade itself also reflects influence from outside of the Americas as it is far too stylized to be practical, meaning it was purely ceremonial in use. As you may know, many of the early civilizations here in the Americas were practitioners of human sacrifice. This dagger was likely a part of one of those ceremonies, but the scepter would have served no purpose. Perhaps the set was once a gift from representatives of another visiting civilization?"

Carlos swiped to the next image in the set as they tried to digest Grandmother's theory. The next photo was another image of the entire length of the dagger, from the missing tip to the inlaid ruby at the base of the handle. Emma stared at the dagger's image absentmindedly, thinking about how it now made sense that neither Regina nor Zelena had been able to reactivate the scepter if it had never been the item that controlled the portal. The question did remain as to whether Yzma herself knew the scepter wasn't the catalyst. If she did, why then was she storming down the middle of Main Street brandishing the useless object?

Unless…

"Carlos, would you zoom in on the hilt for me?" Emma asked, he mind racing as he did as she requested. Leaning forward as far as she could from the rear seat, she studied the enlarged image for a second. In close up, the now-dried flecks of Killian's blood darkened portions of the blade, spilling across the hilt and into the grooves of the first carving on the handle – across the one that Grandmother had identified as representing the moon. In an instant, it all made sense to Emma. Everything she'd learned about magic and magical objects over the course of past few years reminded her that there was no such thing as coincidence and she found herself seeing a huge piece of the portal mystery unraveling. "It was the dagger…" Emma whispered in realization, not even certain if the others heard the breakthrough.

"I believe you are correct, child," Grandmother responded with a slight nod of her chin. She'd already reached that conclusion and knew it was only a matter of time before Emma found the truth as well. Only Carlos remained bewildered.

"Am I missing something here?" Carlos asked. "This all just went right over my head…"

"The dagger was what opened the portal," Emma revealed, shrinking back into the upholstery. "Killian's blood activated it."

"Your husband getting stabbed is what brought you here to Arizona?" Carlos was still confused how that might have happened, but he was trying to wrap his senses around it. "Do you think the guy who stabbed him knew it was gonna work that way? Wouldn't that make it premeditated?"

"I can't really say for sure if Kronk knew that stabbing Killian would open the portal," Emma replied. "He'd been fighting with my father too while Regina and I kept Yzma occupied. If they did know they needed blood on the dagger to open the portal, I don't think it would have mattered whose blood they spilled. This is slowly starting to make more sense…"

"Okay, then how about you explain this to me?" he demanded. "I'm still completely lost here." He hadn't found it quite as easy to make the connection that the two women had.

"Look – the first symbol carved into the dagger's handle is a moon," Emma began, her words coming out rapidly as she tried to relay it in a way that he would understand. "When Grandmother talked about the early civilizations practicing blood sacrifices, all of the mentions I've heard about this blood moon suddenly clicked. Look at the blood stains on the blade and the handle: they extend over the hilt and onto that first carving of the moon…"

"And you think that the blood spilling onto that glyph at the right time of the year opened your portal and brought you to our mountains?" Carlos found the thought of it rather perplexing, but after everything else he'd learned about this blonde woman and her husband, why would this be any more of a stretch?

"I highly doubt that Arizona was the intended destination," Emma clarified. "I don't think that either Yzma or Kronk would have had this place in mind, but aside from that little glitch, I'm pretty sure that the blood hitting that carving was precisely what triggered the portal opening."

"Could this dagger then bring you home?" Grandmother questioned, causing the interior of the SUV to fall silent for a moment.

"I don't know," Emma sighed after a few seconds of thought. "Even if the dagger weren't already broken, I don't have my magic here. I don't know how I would get it to work…"

"I still believe that you are the white witch revealed in my vision so long ago and if that is true, when the time comes, you will find what you seek," the old woman assured Emma.

"I suppose I'd better call Regina again and see if she can send the dagger along with the potion she whipped up. I'm willing to try just about anything at this point to save my husband's life – especially with Kronk out there looking for us. If there's something out there that will help me open that portal and get us back to Storybrooke, I'll try, but I know I'm going to need some help finding it."

"You know, I wonder if all of this ties into that swirly glyph, the one you think is a portal? I know I saw it out on the petroglyph trail so maybe there's some significance to it?" Carlos thought aloud. "The land out there is sacred to the Apache. Would you mind if I showed these to my friend, Tim? I'd like to find out what his people thing that swirling glyph represents…"

"Sure. Anything would be helpful right now. I'll forward the pictures to your phone," Emma agreed.

"If that really does indicate a portal or something, it's gonna potentially give a whole new meaning to some of this area's most famous legends," Carlos said with a flustered shake of his head.

"Okay, I think I'm the one confused now," Emma responded, not understanding how the dagger and portal that brought her here would have anything to do with their local legends.

"There are many legends that have grown out of these mountains," Grandmother mused. "Several involve tales of men who vanished into the desert and mountainous wilderness of the Superstitions, some who returned inexplicably weeks or months later with unexplained riches and others who never returned."

Carlos picked up the tale from that point. "One of the most famous is the story that inspired the Lost Dutchman State Park. While there are multiple versions of the story, the basic one was that in the late 1800s, a German immigrant wandered off alone out into the deserted Superstition mountains, returning some time later with a fortune in gold ore. It's probably the most famous tale of men who ventured out in search of riches, but there are tons of others about lost treasures out there."

"Sounds like something that would be right up Killian's alley," Emma chuffed.

"Probably – I'm sure he's had plenty of experience with hidden treasures and maps," Carlos laughed at the reminder that the Killian Jones he knew was once the legendary Captain Hook himself. "Anyway, there's one legend about a supposed Apache gold mine that dates back to the 1850s, but the Apache people insist no such mine ever existed. Of course, nothing's ever been found." He paused to massage his temples for a moment, overwhelmed by the stream of thoughts coursing through his mind. "If this portal theory is to be believed, these legendary 'mines' might simply have been gateways to other lands? Maybe one where gold was plentiful?"

"I can't really answer that for sure, but its certainly plausible," Emma replied. "It would actually make sense in a way, especially when you think about people disappearing in the mountains and then inexplicably returning."

"If this ceremonial knife is connected to the possibility of hidden entrances and mysterious portals to other lands that may lie out there in out mountains, then you definitely should have your family send the knife to you," Grandmother reiterated.

"I agree," Emma stated as Carlos returned her phone. "I'll call Regina before I head back upstairs and if the courier hasn't picked up the potion yet, I'll have her package up the broken dagger as well. Not sure what I'll be able to do with it, but with or without magic, I want it here in my hands."

"You will find what you need when it is time," Grandmother assured Emma once again. "Right now, the most important place you are needed will be at your husband's side. He is far from being out of danger and I will be happy to stay with you should you need a shoulder to lean on."

"I would greatly appreciate that," Emma smiled. "Let me see if I can explain why I need the dagger shipped too and then we can head back upstairs." Emma couldn't wait to hear Regina's objections to this one…