The vast sky burned red as the sun faded behind a sand dune. From their perch high above the valley black-clad warriors watched as diggers and guards zipped here and there in disjointed and uncoordinated panic. From their lofty heights the campsite bore a strong resemblance to an anthill worked into a frenzy by the giant feet of the supernatural striding arrogantly over the entrance to their nest.
Seated by the fire fervently flipping pages and completely oblivious to the pandemonium, Marcus Baynard was in the midst of an internal panic that easily rivaled the chaos of the dig site.
Put frankly, it was not going well.
They had suffered several set backs since starting the temple dig. The two cave ins had been bad enough. The recent discovery of the mutilated bodies of several missing diggers, each found cowering in corners, shredded, skeletal bodies still holding defensive postures of fear, had been the last straw.
Marcus slammed the book he was translating closed. He wished Charles had never brought it to him. Like a little boy getting his first taste of gothic horror novels he’d started sleeping with the lantern burning while nightmares of beetles that fed on living flesh like piranha swam through his subconscious. No matter how often he reminded himself that scarabs were harmless dung eaters, he couldn’t shake the notion that the diggers had been just an appetizer.
Making it worse, even ‘Nothing-Scares-Me’ Bridferth seemed afraid. Marcus was not the only one who had not personally visited the frontline since the disappearances. That fact had not missed the attention of any of their subordinates, prompting the exodus.
So much for leading by example. He went to bed, choosing to believe that somehow, in the morning, he’d get things under control.
~~~~~
“Marcus! Get up.”
“Wha…huh? Oh, Charles. What bloody time is it anyway?” Marcus voice was filled with the gravel of sleep as he was roused with a jarring slap to his face.
“Early. Get up. We are going in.” Charles was dressed. Jodhpurs, white shirt and pith helmet, all immaculately tailored and somehow still fresh after days in the hot desert sun. He was tapping his mahogany cane against his palm in a manner meant to threaten.
“But the diggers refuse to…”
“We will see about that.” A toothy, barracuda-like grin spread on his narrow face.
The deaths of the diggers had unnerved him after he read Marcus’ translationsbut not nearly as much as it elated him. They had found it. Hamunaptra. The greatest treasure the world had ever known protected by the most dreadful of all curses. Unwilling to take such nonsense on face value he had waited, seeking a more plausible explanation. It had been a mistake. The workers assumed he was afraid. In their superstitious world, if the boss was scared, then they had even more reason to be. For that reason their force had dwindled to half in just a couple of days. If he wanted to have anyone left for manual labor he had to reclaim control of the situation - now.
Several thinly veiled threats and few well-placed bribes later the excavation continued. By late afternoon the remaining diggers had finally cleared away the rubble and they were able to enter the temple for the first time.
It had been like pulling teeth to convince Marcus to go down and in the end Charles had been forced to openly threaten his cowardly colleague. As they descended, every sound sent a jolt of fear through each of them. Steeled by his irritation, Charles led and occasionally pushed and shoved Marcus deep inside the dune. Thin lips set in a tight line, Charles tried to ignore Marcus’ whimpering and intermittent begging to return topside. Just before the urge to beat the snot out of the fat little man became impossible to deny they rounded the final corner and stopped short.
A large doorway cut into the sheer rock face glowed white in the torchlight but opened into utter blackness. Pushing Marcus before him into the antechamber, Charles held his torch aloft and surveyed the chamber. The room was undisturbed and filled with temple artifacts.
Charles stumbled slightly as his companion suddenly wrenched from his grasp and leapt forward, his fear forgotten in the face of so much treasure. Marcus, the human crow, instantly set to picking through the goods in search of anything shiny and gold.
Charles was unimpressed, ware that the true treasure was still beyond his reach somewhere behind the walls of the antechamber. Ignoring the piles and their possible trinkets he instead wandered the room searching for a false wall or doorway, anything that would give entrance to Hamunaptra.
Then he saw it.
Exactly what was special about it was apparent only to Charles. Just one of many, the mural that caught his attention was nothing special. Except for it’s color.
The symbols carved into the wall were mesmerizing. Their vivid green glow seemed to pulse brighter and brighter drawing him in. A low whisper swelled in his ears, the scent of incense filled his nostrils and he swallowed, tasting the bouquet of honeyed wine on his tongue. When his fingers grazed the wall, visions of a cavernous gilded chamber filled with courtiers bowing before him consumed him like fire. His fist closed around nothing but in his minds eye he held a mighty spear. Whispered entreaties to his greed spoke of power beyond his wildest imagination. The world’s most beautiful women would beg for his favor. Men of great wealth and influence would cower in his presence. He would be a god among men.
Heedless of the strings attached to such an offer Charles dragged a long finger across the symbols he had to read to acquire what he longed for. It was a bitter gesture. His skills in hieroglyphic translation required several reference manuals and a dictionary, a fact that generally caused him to ignore such symbols as mere decoration. In frustration he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall for a moment. Pushing away angrily, his eye caught the first symbol in the inscription and surprise blossomed on his face followed quickly by a greedy sneer.
Why he could suddenly read them he never asked. Instead, he glanced behind him to make sure Marcus was still occupied. The fat man was elbows deep in a basket.
His attention returned to the wall. The viridian symbols throbbed brighter as Charles narrow, feminine fingers trailed over them following the cadence of his voice. When the last word fell from his lips a lightning bolt tore through his mind and he fell to the floor grasping his exploding head. The internal explosion was matched with an external blast of incandescent light that leapt from the wall and ricocheted about the chamber sending strange shadows dancing across funerary walls.
Whirling and nearly knocked off balance by the force of his swinging belly, which continued to turn after the rest of him stopped, Marcus gaped open mouthed as the vivid green lightning bounced around the room like a terrified bird and then disappeared into Charles’ body.
As Marcus eyes widened to the size of saucers and his chubby hands rose to his lips to cover a scream, Charles slumped lower in dust and cobwebs, his body fatigued, his head in agony as his mind splintered. Through the blinding pain he fought to piece himself back together, all but a dark corner that had reserved itself for the voice that continued to whisper promises of wealth and power.
Marcus found his voice, “What did you do?”
~~~~~
“The time for action is now. We cannot sit idly by and allow them to desecrate the city!” The eager young Med Jai insisted, sounding more and more like a broken record with each repetition of the same sentence.
The other warriors in the group shifted nervously in their saddles knowing that their leader was not given to an abundance of patience. He was also renown for a temper that had been lost over far lesser things. The young man had a hard lesson coming to him if he did not learn quickly to hold his tongue.
Ardeth seemed not to hear him. Lost in thought, he watched the dig site far below him with raptor like intensity. As his eyes searched the sands far below, his mind recalled the last dig that took place at the city 22 years before. So much had changed since then.
A nomadic desert tribe since the beginning of history they had remained loyal to their purpose for over three thousand years. Certainly things had changed over that time, such as the abandonment of the ancient language and gods in favor of Arabic and Allah. But their dedication to duty had never wavered – until the war.
German and Allied forces had crisscrossed the desert in tanks and airplanes bringing with them their western influence. Many of the Med Jai people had never seen Cairo much less a mechanized army. The clothing, speech, food and magazines, especially the magazines, had lured many of the younger generations away from their traditional life.
From time immemorial their duty had been to protect the world from He Who Shall Not Be Named. Since he was defeated what was the point in remaining in the desert so far from modern civilization?
And so they left – in droves. Many took up residence in Cairo and Alexandria. Some took it a step further and set off to see the wonders of Europe. As a result the Med Jai numbers were shrinking as the older more dedicated generations died off and the younger ones abandoned the ancient beliefs.
The small band on horseback surrounding him was all that remained. They were in no way prepared to battle a much larger, gun toting force whose reason had been clouded by greed. It would be suicide. But his hesitancy was caused by another factor as well.
“They will gain entrance in a matter of days!” The young warrior persisted. Urgency and eagerness rang clearly in his voice.
Still he was ignored. Ardeth’s hawk eyes had caught sight of something terribly odd. A green light glowed from within the dune below and it was growing in strength. Calmly controlling his nervous steed he gestured toward the strange sight and finally spoke. “The prophecy shall be fulfilled.”
All eyes followed his pointing finger toward the camp as the green light grew bright and like a flash disappeared. The young man turned confused and frightened eyes on his leader and asked, “What prophecy?”
~~~~~
The next day statues of an ancient and long dead king glistened in sunlight they had not seen in over 3,000 years. Images of Seti, carved in a variety of shapes, sizes, and stones, where reverently being removed from their burial place to be worshipped once more, although not in the manner for which they had been designed. Scientists, guards and diggers alike gazed at the ancient stone with eyes overcome by grandeur and greed rather than religious fervor.
Additional temple items were also extracted; oil lamps, incense pots, prayer scrolls, and other trinkets finding their way back into the light of day. It was a miraculous discovery, the intact mortuary temple of one of Egypt’s most famous Pharaohs.
Marcus stood in the midst of history. It was already the greatest find of his life. Many of the items they’d already uncovered would fetch a very fine price on the open market but they were merely symbolic of things to come. Somewhere, beyond the walls of the antechamber there are riches unrivaled in all of history, he thought as he let his hand glide over one of the statues. He knew he was supposed to be much more excited about all of this than he was. But he was plagued by the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong.
A fourth digger had gone missing prompting another exodus. Their army of diggers and guards now numbered less than 20. That was not Marcus’ main concern, however.
Charles was acting very strangely. It started on their journey back to the surface. The man who could no more read ancient Egyptian than he could personally carry a rhinoceros had begun mixing the language into his English. He was also having severe mood swings. One minute he was his usual, arrogant self and the next he was acting like he ruled the universe with an iron fist. Even worse, there were moments when he was obviously terrified.
None of this was helping Marcus get a grip on his mounting paranoia. A large fearful part of his brain wanted to take the treasure surrounding him and run. The equally large greedy side knew that Hamunaptra was within their grasp. The battle lines were drawn and war raged.
Greed won.
Dead natives, mood swings and strange behavior were trifling in the face of so much gold.
~~~~~
As the truck crested the last dune Cleo’s eyes feasted on the glittering forest of statuary. They had gotten in! Bubbling over with enthusiasm, it was a struggle to stay in her seat. Sacrificing her dignity, she fought Apis for the small window to stick her head out and lost. Undaunted she flung open the passenger side door and jumped out as the truck began to slow.
Apis waited for the truck to stop. Hopping down, he watched as his girl danced gleefully through the statues and up to Marcus. She surprised them both when she wrapped her arms around the Englishman.
The gesture caught him off guard, his hands never rising to hug her back. He was lucky he was too shocked. Apis’ lips had curled back from his teeth and he was on his feet ready to spring.
Charles was not so lucky.
When Cleo turned and excitedly hugged him he wrapped his thin arms around her, his hands traveling low and to her hips in a lascivious gesture of possession. Cleo was shocked when he didn’t release her. As she struggled against his strong grip he stuck his tongue in her ear and whispered, “Ankhsenamen.”
Fighting for another half second she screamed, “Tchennut!” It was an ancient command. It meant: attack.
Apis needed no prompting. In fact, he had already closed the gap between them before she had gotten the command out. The rumble in his throat became a roar as he slammed into Charles and knocked Cleopatra out of the way. Massive jaws clamped shut on the man’s out stretched forearm. He shook his head violently like a shark trying to rip flesh from bone, and Charles screamed which seemed only to egg the dog on to further viciousness.
Cleo watched the chaotic violence from a distance that was far greater than the few feet separating them. The brutality of the attack was oddly satisfying. Charles screamed at her to pull off the dog. She did not respond. No one did. Instead she stared at the blood splattered in the sand. Red splashes were instantly absorbed and then distorted by the struggling of man and beast. A vision of blood splashed and spattered on a gleaming stone floor flashed and disappeared. She was perfectly content to let Apis take his chunk of Charles’ flesh. Then she saw the glint of sunlight on steel as Charles pulled a knife from his pocket.
~~~~~
“The dog is dangerous, Miss O’Connell. You give me no choice. Either you leave and take him with you or I will be forced to put him down.” Marcus was pacing his tent wringing his hands nervously. Her eyes were following his pacing with nothing less than predatory intensity. He did not like this one bit. Stupid women, they always made things more difficult than they needed to be.
“Over my dead body, Marcus.” Green sparks flew from her hazel eyes and he recoiled. Green was not his favorite color given resent events. She rose to her feet and stood in front of him glaring down with deadly seriousness. “If anything should happen to Apis, I guarantee a similar fate will befall you, Marcus.”
Marcus took an uncertain step back. He had no doubt that she was absolutely serious. He was also quite certain Charles would be furious if he didn’t get rid of the dog. He had hoped she would just leave with Apis but it was very clear that she would not. He was caught between a rock and a hard place, an awful position for a coward. “Miss O’Connell, perhaps you could stay and send the dog back with the return group?”
“Apis stays.”
What is this, he wondered as she glided out of his tent, the dog glued to her side. Has everyone gone mad? First Charles’ head had swelled to three hundred times its usual size and now Cleo was giving orders as if she were royalty too. When did he become the lackey?
~~~~~
Cleo stepped into the sunlight and scanned the dig. All eyes were focused on her. Raising her chin she strode with apparent confidence toward her tent. On the way she came face to face with Charles.
Her rage sparked anew as his blue eyes traveled the length of her body before meeting her angry glare. He smiled but it was far from pleasant. “Backed Marcus into a corner did you?”
“We came to an understanding,” she replied coldly as her anger built under his patronizing tone.
“As should we.” He stepped a little closer to her, his attention shifting to Apis and the low rumble rising in the dog’s throat. Without looking at her he continued, “I will be gracious and spare the life of your mutt. What do you think is a fair trade for such a concession?”
He obviously had something in mind, but then so did she. “On that score we’re even. I spared your life when I called him off.” She watched as his eyes narrowed and he stood up straighter tugging hard at his beard. Flipping her hair over her shoulder she decreed, “Our ‘understanding’ shall be this: you leave me alone and Apis will leave you alone. Good day, Mr. Bridferth.”
~~~~~
In her tent, Cleo wondered what in the world was wrong with Charles.
No matter her dislike for him, she never thought he would touch her like that. He may have been a lot of things, but he was not a lecherous pervert. Or maybe he was. Regardless, it had seemed entirely out of character. As if that were not bad enough, why had he called her Ankhsenamen? The only Ankhsenamen she knew of had been the daughter of Akhenaten and the wife of Tutankhamen. She had actually been a very strong woman, a creative queen, who had fought for her families right to rule after the death of her husband. Taken literally it was a complement, not an insult. There were a lot of names he could have called her that would have been far worse. Why then had it made her so angry?
And what about Apis? When Charles pulled the knife she had shouted another command and he instantly released his victim trotting back to her side licking his lips as he went. How had it happened? Apis was not an attack dog. He was little more than a puppy. He was a big sweetie who had only recently learned to heel. He had no training beyond that, nor did she. Where had the words come from that induced and ended his attack? How had he known what she meant, when even she barely understood?
Worst of all, she had absolutely no idea where the rage that had momentarily fueled her came from. It was sparked by Charles’ touch and the name he called her. It blazed with his knife wielding threat to Apis. It died with the realization that the anger was alien.
Hugging Apis’ neck she buried her face in his fur and tried to reason her way through the events of the day. Mental contortionism got her nowhere. The fact remained: she had frightened herself.
~~~~~
Evelyn sat back in her chair staring wide eyed at the offending gap searching for a reason why the volume would be missing. She seldom opened the trunk since it took months to fill each journal. She also rarely reread any of her journals and was absolutely certain it had been years since she had looked at the 1925 edition. So where was it?
Since she hadn’t removed it the only possible answer was theft. But who would want it? Even she had to admit that her journals could be very dry reading at times. 1925, however, read more like fantasy than fact.
Racked by nightmares and plagued by a watched feeling just after returning from Hamunaptra she had found release in her journals. Day and night she wrote until her hands cramped and her fingers bled. It had been a therapeutic, if painful, experience, each page absorbing a bit more of the fear she’d brought back with her. That journal contained everything she had ever thought, felt or witnessed at Hamunaptra. It was a complete anthology of the city and someone had it. Who?
The list of possible suspects was short.
She jumped from her chair and practically ran down the hall to Dr. Rosemond’s office where she was confronted by a closed door.
“You are digging up Hamunaptra!” she accused, pointing a thin finger into his face as the door slammed open with a loud bang.
Dr. Rosemond’s mouth gaped displaying its half chewed contents. He looked shocked. He looked surprised. You’re supposed to look guilty, she thought.
“If we are lucky. What did you think we were doing?” he asked after he swallowed. His face still registered surprise even as he leaned back in his chair and lifted his sandwich for another huge bite.
“You led me to believe that you were digging at a workman’s village outside Thebes,” she continued her disbelieving accusations. She had been so sure he had intentionally lied to her.
“We were until you daughter happened upon an entrance to Seti the First’s mortuary temple just before your arrival. It may also hide an entrance to the lost City of the Dead. We don’t know yet.” He set down the sandwich and then removed his glasses to rub his eyes.
“Cleo found it?” She plopped heavily into the chair across from him. Her daughter lied to her?
“I assumed you knew. The museum is in debt to her. The temple was undisturbed and has yielded some amazing statuary I understand. You should be very proud of her.”
“Where is my journal?” she asked weakly, her head down, hair in her face.
“I have no idea, Mrs. Carnahan. Perhaps you should take this up with your daughter.”
“You can’t do this.” Evie exclaimed as tears welled in her eyes. Before he could swallow she launched into an unsolicited and unwanted explanation of everything that transpired at Hamunaptra in myopic detail. She hardly stopped long enough for a breath. She hastily explained the curse, omitting only that it had been she that read it. She described the scarabs. Without pausing she moved on to the resurrection of the mummy and the collective fates of the Americans and Dr. Chamberlin. She explained the true nature of the ‘natural disasters’ that had plagued Egypt 22 years before. With every word her eyes grew brighter and her speech faster as if she was reliving every horrific scene she described. When her words finally ran dry with the death of the High Priest and the destruction of the city she took a deep breath and raised horrified eyes to meet his.
“Well, it sounds as if the danger offered by the city is negated then doesn’t it?” he said sarcastically as if she’d made it all up. “I have much work to do, Mrs. Carnahan. I do not have time to fairytales and hokum. I shall leave for the dig site in the morning. That is all. You may go.”
Evelyn opened her mouth to protest but he waved her off pointing toward the open door with his sandwich. Rising to leave she mutely watched him wipe up a drop of sauce on his desk with a fat finger and lick it as if he had not a care in the world.
Turning, she ran down the hallway on the brink of hysteria. His last sentence, "you may go", repeating over and over in her head.
~~~~~
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