To Err and Fail

The gods, he thought, be they true or false, were quite lacking in imagination.

While the placement of their so-called "secret" caches within their temples varied, the high priest would usually know the exact place, and they could generally be opened by anyone who could read the god's language.

Of course, there were only a few left who had mastered it, and the meaning of the symbols on the hidden doors was rapidly being lost.

But Dan'yel had taught him well, and he was willing to dedicate however much time was necessary.

He had translated all the symbols, carefully noting every colour, size and depth of the seemingly engraved shapes. The sun's throne on earth, only the worthy may enter, strike down the unworthy and so on. Slowly, he started to test them. Could they be pushed in? Could they be moved? Did they look different if the light came from another angle?

He was unsurprised to see that the eyes of the image of Ra shimmered more than even the clearest gem could account for if the light hit them directly. Nor was he surprised that they were too high to reach without building some support, which he couldn't do alone.

Still, that didn't faze him. There was something, and there had to be a practical way of opening whatever hidden space there was.

If the god wanted or needed something in a hurry, he certainly wouldn't wait for his slaves to erect a scaffold first. Nor would he ever do something like this himself.

Considering his experiences at Ra's court, he decided that the floor underneath the image was a good place to examine. He wiped and blew away the sand on and between the stone slabs.

He was not disappointed: The sun had not moved more than three hand breaths before he found what seemed like a little pebble between two slabs. When he tried to move it, it slid back and forth quite easily but couldn't be picked up.

He looked up. Just like he had thought. To use the mechanism, one had to cower before the god's feet. With a snort of derision, he pushed the pebble to the far right.

The blinding flash of the image's eyes was as unexpected as the burning pain searing through his whole body.

With a gasp, life returned.

Sitting up a little, Memitim took in his burnt clothing and the spotless ground around him. Netherworld, he hated the gods and even more he hated that their will still tainted the lands they had reigned after they were long gone.

With gritted teeth, he lowered himself again, even though it galled him to once more kneel as if in supplication before one that had caused him pain.

This time, he pushed the pebble to the left.

As he raised his head to look up again, the scene that greeted his eyes was just as awe inspiring as had, no doubt, been intended.

The wall parted around Ra's image, walls that were higher than ten men slowly shifted aside. The image that remained was no longer a mostly flat stone relief, but a statue so lifelike that Memitim was on his feet and gripped his weapon before he realised that it was not, in fact, alive. Slowly, the statue moved backward into the newly opened room, until it was at the very back, where it towered over the room and seemed to watch over it.

Memitim caught himself admiring the incredible feat of magical construction, even as he fought to keep his disdain.

No matter, he tried to convince himself, how knowledgeable or proficient they were, they were gone, driven out of this world. So here he was, seeking out the vestiges of their taint.

Experience and necessity, slavery and servitude had taught him to wield the weapons of the demon armies, so that was what he sought out now.

He chose a staff for its greater impact and fired, into the artefacts and statues, the finery and the luxury items. He destroyed as much as possible, and when the (old, poorly enchanted) weapon ran out of fire, he used it as a club to smash what was left.

There was barely anything left unscathed when he noticed movement in the shards of the jars that he smashed. Curiosity drew him closer.

That was a mistake.