CHAPTER SEVEN
The universe is drawn in circles. The memory of chariot wheels clacking across small stones foreshadows the asp's death as he wraps himself around the wheel. He is crushed by its embrace.
--Excerpt from "Adoration of Ra", Egyptian Book of the Dead, as translated by Normandi Ellis
The bones were laid out on the table, gleaming dirty white in the glare of the high-powered work light. The little skeleton was almost complete—it was only missing a few small bones from one of its toes. The rest had been unearthed near where the skull and femur were originally buried. In the week or so that had passed since that initial discovery, Eliana had worked steadily—sometimes helped by one of the students, most often alone—to uncover this small collection of body parts. She had mapped, sketched, photographed, tagged and finally bagged the specimens before finally bringing them all back to the camp. There, she had confiscated a table in the mess tent to use as a makeshift lab table. Now, the bones were carefully laid out and displayed in a rough approximation of where they would be, relative to each other, in the living body that had once contained them.
Eliana adjusted the light and leaned over the skeleton, using a brush to gently whisk off some of the remaining sand from one of the tiny hands. As she worked, she mulled over the mystery of who this little person had once been, and why he or she had ended up buried out here, in the desert, all alone. Her father and Professor Hamid had both looked over the skeleton at length, and had finally decided that, given the number and condition of the teeth, that this was, indeed, a very small adult. Odd to find it out here, they agreed, as neither of them had heard of the small-statured African tribes collectively referred to as Pygmies traveling this far to the north or east. The Mbuti of the Ituri forest in northeastern Congo were close, but Pygmies in general were a people of the forest. Indeed, their religious beliefs centered on the forest itself, considered their host and benefactor, so the likelihood of them wandering out into the desert was small.
"It is unusual, your father says, to find such a person buried out here, in the Sudan desert?" Rais Azziz asked, walking up behind her and peering at the skeleton. Sheer boredom had finally driven the Sudanese from their tents, and during the last few days, they had become a more noticeable presence around the camp. The four government officials, Mousa and his group, were still standoffish and aloof, preferring their own company to that of the dig crew, but they joined the others for meals, and attempted, somewhat uncomfortably, to blend in.
Azziz, however, had become positively chummy with the archaeologists, following them around and asking endless questions, seeming almost to want to pick up a degree in archaeology through osmosis. He grilled Eliana at length, too, asking detailed questions about her background in languages and linguistics, and picking her brain about the legends surrounding Ahm Shere.
She didn't mind answering his questions, but he had an annoying habit of sneaking up behind her and looking over her shoulder as she worked, and it was beginning to get on her nerves. Then again, her nerves were almost a lost cause anyway. The incessant lack of sleep, the gritty, oven-like conditions of the desert, and her constant attempts to keep Ardeth Bay in her radar and stay well clear of him had all combined to fray her nerves—and her temper—to the breaking point. It's a wonder I'm not popping Valium by the handful, she thought. She had never been one to self-medicate, instead preferring to lose herself in research or work out her frustrations in the gym, but out here in the middle of nowhere, there were precious few ways to relieve stress and tension. If she took a nap, she invariably dreamed; if she tried to take a walk, her father had developed the annoying habit of sending Ardeth Bay to watch over her; if she tried to read, she couldn't concentrate. So she worked, and worked, and worked, trying to focus on anything but Egyptian priests, desert nomads or the ever-present heat and sand. So far, her strategy was not working out well. And now, Azziz had practically attached himself to her side, watching her every move as she cleaned and began to assemble the little body on the table.
Making matters worse was that Azziz's interest in her work had somehow piqued Muhammad Hassan's curiosity, as well. The military intelligence officer, polite and respectful as always, had asked her this morning if she would mind if he observed her work for a while. That was six hours ago. Hassan had sat in the tent all morning, his dark, unfathomable eyes seldom leaving her as she worked on the specimen. Every so often, he would ask a brief, pointed question about something she was doing, but beyond that, he was a quiet shadow looming in the corner. Hassan had never done anything overtly threatening in any way, but there was something about the man's quiet intensity that made Eliana nervous. He saw too much, heard too much, and being the focus of that much undivided attention was enough to set anyone on edge.
"Miss Bernstein? Did you hear me?" Azziz was looking at her curiously.
"Umm, yes, I heard you," Eliana answered, distractedly looking up from the specimen and casting a quick glance back at him. "Yes, you're right. Dad and Professor Hamid were quite surprised to find him—or her—buried out here. He's a bit far away from home."
"Fierce-looking little thing, isn't he?" Azziz observed, peering closer at the skeleton's face. Tentatively, he reached out a finger and touched one of the pointed lower canines. "Just look at those teeth—they look like they could take a bite right out of you. I would not wish to bump into him or his friends if they were hungry. Well, when he was alive, at least!" Laughing at his own joke, Azziz didn't notice the peculiar expression that had come over Eliana's face.
She felt strange, suddenly, and disoriented, almost as if she were in two places at once. Azziz's words had conjured up a strange almost-vision, and Eliana had the distinct impression that if she closed her eyes and opened them again, she would no longer be in the tent, or in the camp, or even in the desert. Instead, she had a fleeting impression of being in a jungle—dense, green growth all around, and a thick, sun-speckled canopy of emerald leaves overhead. Even more, she was swamped by a feeling of fear, gut-deep and wrenching, accompanied by an instinctive knowledge that something unknown, something dangerous, was out there. Out there, and hunting her. Then, no sooner had that thought come, than it was gone—she had the feeling of being comforted, pulled close to someone larger, stronger, vastly more powerful than her, and reassured. She could almost smell the spicy scent of his skin; almost feel the heat and strength in the arm that held her close.
Do not be afraid. They cannot harm me.
"Miss Bernstein—Eliana—are you all right?" Azziz's tone was worried, now, and he grabbed her by the shoulders, giving her a tiny shake to bring her out of her almost trance-like state. Swaying, Eliana made a supreme effort to clear the images from her mind, and almost succeeded. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't form the words, and her vision swam before her eyes, collapsing in on itself and forming a point of light at the end of a long, black tunnel. And then she passed out.
Ardeth was the first to reach her, running in from the bright sunlight outside the tent and grabbing her by the shoulders just as her knees gave way beneath her. Swinging her limp body up into his arms, he whirled towards Azziz in a billow of black robes, fury blazing from his narrowed eyes.
"What in Allah's name did you say to her?" he hissed at Azziz, spitting the Arabic out through clenched teeth. He looked down at Eliana, deeply afraid of what this little episode might mean. Had this idiot said something, or done something, to trigger her latent memories? If that had happened, Ardeth knew that he would cheerfully kill the ignorant fool.
Azziz threw his hands up in protest, a gesture implying total ignorance—and innocence. "I did nothing! I said nothing! Nothing at all that could have caused a reaction like this!"
"Perhaps she has been working too long, or she has had too much of the heat," Hassan offered mildly, only now rising from his seat and coming forward to offer assistance. "The desert sun is fierce, and must be respected. Miss Bernstein has been working for hours without a break, and without even sitting down. I can corroborate Rais' account of this—nothing he has said or done would have caused her to faint like this."
Still glaring, Ardeth looked down at Eliana, who was out cold. He needed to get her somewhere quiet, somewhere cool—if such a place could be found near midday in the desert—and let her lie down until she recovered somewhat. Then he could find out what had happened, and if she had remembered anything. Anything from…before.
"Where is her tent? She needs to lie down, out of the sun, and rest. She also needs water." His voice carried authority, and the words were not a suggestion, but a command. Azziz seemed a bit taken aback that a mere laborer would presume to leap into the midst of this and begin issuing orders, but he was too much the diplomat to point that out. Wordlessly, he nodded, and pointed towards the tents.
"Follow me," he offered, and walked off towards Eliana's tent.
Ardeth began to follow him, but then stopped. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw Hassan, who was staring at him, a measuring look in his obsidian eyes.
"Bring some water to Miss Bernstein's tent. Quickly, please." Without waiting for a response, he turned again, in a swirl of black, and walked off after Azziz, cradling Eliana's body in his arms.
Hassan stared after him for a few moments, wondering what to make of this commanding presence so thinly disguised beneath the simple robes of a desert wanderer. To be sure, there was more to Ardeth Bay than first met the eye. A small smile hovering around his thin-lipped mouth, Hassan procured a container of water from the useless cooler and unhurriedly went after the little trio.
She dreamed. In her subconscious mind, the almost-memory of lush, verdant green faded and she was no longer in the jungle, but traveling through the desert, at the head of a caravan. The sun beat down on her, a sizzling white heat strong enough to blind the eyes and fry skin off the bone. The unmerciful heat and the odd, rhythmic swaying of the unbelievably smelly animal she was riding on combined to make Eliana feel queasy at best, flat-out nauseated at worst. They had been riding for hours, she knew, and the dry heat, bright sunlight and pungent smell of the camels was enough to make anyone ill.
Above and beyond all that, Eliana felt…odd. She knew she was dreaming, a variation of the same dream she always had since arriving here. She inhabited the same body she always did in her dreams—tall, olive-skinned, voluptuous. Everything about her body was the same, except perhaps for the clothes. In her previous dreams, Eliana had found herself clothed in next to nothing; this time, she was definitely more conservatively dressed, although in this case, conservative was definitely a relative term. She took in the black garment she was wearing—gauzy, light, trimmed in gold, featuring a plunging neckline and slits at the sides that reached to mid-thigh. Definitely on the daring side of conservative, but still more sensible for trekking through the desert on the back of a camel than was her usual filmy, sheer dream-wear.
No, it was not the body, or the clothing, that felt odd. It was a sensation more internal—more a mental sensation of discomfort. It felt like her mind was too…full? That was an odd choice of word to describe the peculiar sensation, but at the same time, Eliana knew that it fit. It felt as though there were too many thoughts, or…feelings—that was it—crammed inside her skull, all mixed up and struggling for dominance.
The mixture of emotions was an odd one, too. On the one hand, she felt an overpowering and almost child-like joy. Relief and happiness and…love?…mixed and mingled together to form a powerful concoction that danced through her veins and made her almost giddy with delighted anticipation. She felt as though she had finally reached the end of a long, frightening, and overpoweringly lonely journey—an end that she had begun to despair of ever reaching. The other set of emotions residing in her mind was just as strong, but of a darker nature—a sense of awe, tinged with fear; passion, shaded with horror; a simmering anger; and beneath it all, a feeling of anticipation of a different sort—less child-like and more cunning; less that of realizing a cherished dream and more that of commencing a meticulously crafted plan. She felt a coldness of heart that hadn't been there before, either—an innate selfishness, but not the egocentric selfishness of a child or a spoiled, pampered princess. Rather, it was a self-centeredness borne of ruthless ambition and cold disdain for others—a deep, dark current of blackness streaking through the fabric of her soul.
Eliana shivered, feeling unexpectedly cold, despite the sun's relentless heat. She felt alone, suddenly—alone and afraid. Not once, in all this time since she'd been on the dig, had she dreamed without having the priest appear in some way. Glancing to the right, she saw him there, resplendent and regal in a high-collared, flowing black robe. He sat, comfortable and alert, on the high, swaying saddle of the camel, his black-gloved hands gripping the beast's reins with casual confidence. His face was impassive as he glanced back at the caravan following behind, radiating the arrogant disinterest of one born to lead.
As if he could feel the weight of her eyes on him, the priest looked towards her, and the casual indifference faded away. In its place was a look of passion and possession so hot, so intense, that Eliana felt her skin growing warm under its onslaught. There was love in that look—love, and joy, and relief—pride, too, and something else…some unholy sparkle that Eliana had never seen there before, and wasn't happy to see now. It frightened her, for she had begun to care about this handsome, arrogant man, even though she knew, in the rational, logical part of her mind, that he was only a construct of her slumbering subconscious.
This new gleam in his eye was threatening—not to her, for she knew he would never harm her; he would give his life for her, if necessary. No, this glint was dangerous in a different way, an almost foreign presence in the familiar brown depths. It was almost as if an imp from hell had taken up residence in the priest and was peering out through his eyes. She glanced away quickly, shaken and disturbed at the thought, and her dream-persona took over.
"What is troubling you?" The priest asked soothingly, seeming to read her mind and pick up on the turbulence there.
"What will happen when we reach Ahm Shere?" she countered; worried about the plan they had thrown together on the train before reaching Karnak. Before everything had…changed. She had been in control before, had been cool and calm and certain of her goals and desires. Ever since they had completed the ritual at the temple pool, she had felt this odd sensation of differentness, and she resented and feared it. It was making her second-guess herself, and she could not afford to waver in her intent.
"When we reach Ahm Shere, we will use the bracelet to release the Scorpion King from his imprisonment, and I will defeat him," he answered her, his tone implying an almost bored certainty that this would all come to pass.
"But the bracelet cannot be removed from the boy's arm. How can we use it to unlock anything?"
"If the legends are to be believed, the bracelet should detach itself, once its use as a guide is complete. Or, if we do not reach Ahm Shere in time, the bracelet will destroy the boy." This last, he added with a slight shrug. "Either way, the bracelet will be freed."
"And then what? To control the Scorpion King and his minions, you must defeat him in battle. Can you do this?" She realized she sounded almost shrill, and consciously calmed herself. "The Scorpion King is the champion of Anubis, channeling the god's power through him…"
"You forget, my love, that I have my own source of power," he stated, and the hellish light was back in his eyes. "I have no doubt that the power of the Hom Dai is more than equal to the Scorpion King. This curse that the Med Jai have gifted me with will become our tool for their ultimate destruction. Once that is achieved, you and I together will be unstoppable, invincible…immortal."
"But what of O'Connell and Ne…the woman?" she asked. "They possess the Scepter of Osiris…"
"I do not need the Scepter. Perhaps if I were a mere mortal…" He smiled, a humorless twitch of his full, sensual lips. "But again, the Med Jai have made that irrelevant."
"If you say it is so…" she acquiesced, bowing her head in submission. "But tell me this, then," and her head came back up, almost in challenge. "What is the Scepter, that it possesses such power?"
"The Scepter of Osiris is a powerful instrument," he explained, and a faraway look came into his eyes, as if he were traveling down old paths, uprooting old memories, revisiting lessons once learned. "A tool for either destruction or salvation. Depending upon how it is used, and the heart of the person who wields it, it is a weapon empowered with either sending the soul of the damned to eternal torment or freeing it from damnation. It is said to hold the power of Osiris himself, and to be one of the keys to the underworld."
"The power to free the damned…" she mused, turning the thought around in her mind. "If it can be used as such, can it not be used to free any damned soul? Or is its power specific to the curse that binds the Scorpion King?
He turned to her, his eyes speculative. Again, he seemed to reflect inwardly before he spoke.
"The knowledge I gained in service to Osiris taught that the Scepter's power was of a more universal nature. Not everyone is aware of its full…potential, although it is central to the legends of the Scorpion King. Certainly," he reflected, "if the Med Jai knew of its other uses, they would have found and destroyed—or hidden—it long ago."
"So it could be used to break other curses, as well," she stated, looking at him consideringly.
"If one were of a mind—or heart—to use it in such a way, yes. It could be."
"And you are not of such a mind? Or heart?" she asked him.
"My love, the Med Jai had no idea what a gift they gave me—gave us—those three thousand years ago." He laughed—a harsh, mocking sound. "We have become more than they could have dreamed we would become, even in their worst nightmares. Our love has endured through the ages, survived longer than the temples of the gods, and outlived the pharaohs. We are on the brink of invincibility, of immortality. Why should I wish to…make use of the Scepter's full power?"
"Why indeed?" she agreed, and then looked away, smiling a tight, cold smile that didn't reach her eyes or warm the growing cold that was encircling her heart.
"Eliana. Eliana--wake up!" Ardeth knelt by Eliana in her tent, rubbing her cold hands between his large, warm ones. She was chalk-white and freezing cold, and he was growing increasingly worried. She had been unconscious for a long time now, and he was beginning to fear that there was something more behind this faint than just too much sun.
Suddenly, Rais Azziz appeared at the tent flap, holding out a small vial.
"She is still unconscious, then?" he asked. "Here—this may help."
Ardeth accepted the smelling salts with a nod of appreciation, quickly removed the bottle's cap and passed it back and forth under Eliana's nose. Thankfully, the foul-smelling concoction did its job quickly, and she coughed violently, struggling to sit up and batting her hand at her nose to wave away the stench. Opening her eyes, she saw Ardeth kneeling there, still holding the vial, a worried frown on his face, and she focused on his dark features.
"What…happened?" The words came out a dry whisper, scratching past her dry, cracked lips.
"You seem to have had a bit too much sun," Azziz offered cheerfully. "One has to watch out for that, out here in the desert," he added, as though he spent every day out here in the sand and sun instead of behind a desk in an air-conditioned embassy office.
Ardeth handed the vial back to Azziz.
"Thank you for the smelling salts. I will stay with Ms. Bernstein until she is fully recovered." Turning back to Eliana, he effectively dismissed Azziz. Shrugging, the nondescript Sudanese turned to go.
"Glad you're feeling better, Ms. Bernstein. Get some rest now."
Eliana stared at Ardeth, who silently watched her in return. Neither seemed overly inclined to speak. Finally, wanting to ease the tension that was building in the small, confined space of the tent, he picked up the bottle of water that Hassan had brought earlier, and handed it to Eliana.
"Here—please drink. You are dehydrated. It will help."
She took the bottle, careful not to let her fingers touch his. The water was warm, but wonderfully wet, and there was plenty of it. After downing half the bottle, she wiped a hand over her mouth and managed a mumbled "thank you."
Ardeth sighed tiredly, and rubbed his hands over his eyes.
"Are you truly feeling better?" he asked. "You were unconscious for a long time."
Eliana pushed herself upright and scooted backwards on her sleeping bag. Crossing her legs, and pressing her fingers to her temples, she sat for a few minutes with her eyes closed. She felt like hell—her head was pounding, her mouth felt like cotton, and she was dizzy and disoriented, but she'd walk barefoot through the fires of hell before she admitted as much to Ardeth Bay. Gritting her teeth, she opened her eyes, and fixed him with a baleful green glare.
"Yes, I feel better." Hopefully, he would stop feeling responsible now, and just leave her alone. She waited for a minute or two, but when he showed no signs of getting up to go, she added, "I'll be fine. You can leave now."
His level gaze never leaving her, Ardeth completely ignored her words, instead asking her the question that had plagued him since she fainted.
"Do you have any idea what brought this on? Were you feeling ill? Were you out in the sun for too long?"
She shook her head, puzzled over it herself. She was completely baffled as to why she was suddenly so prone to fits of dizziness, and fainting, and nervousness in general. It was unlike her, and made her feel weak and vulnerable, and she hated feeling that way. It was too much like that other time in her life…No, she told herself, pushing the thought away. I won't think about that.
"No, I was feeling fine, and I wasn't out in the sun this morning any longer than on any other day. I don't know what happened. I've never fainted before in my life…" Liar, her mind countered.
"Did Azziz, or Hassan, say or do something to upset you?" Ardeth persisted, needing to know if Eliana's faint was prompted by simple heat exhaustion, or something more ominous.
Again, she shook her head.
"No, they were fine. Perfectly polite." She paused, then added, "Well, to be honest, they were starting to get on my nerves, just because they had been watching me work for so long, and Azziz has been asking endless questions…"
Ardeth smiled. He, too, had noticed the diplomat's tendency towards nosiness.
"But they didn't say or do anything purposely upsetting…Actually, Azziz had just made some silly comment about the little skeleton's teeth, when I started to feel odd…"
He was instantly alert. "Odd, how?" he asked, his dark eyes watching her closely.
"Odd, as in…odd. I don't know," she trailed off, defensively. "If I had to call it something, I guess I'd say I had a feeling of…déjà vu or something. Not that I believe in that kind of thing," she added. "It was probably just too much sun, or standing for too long, or something."
"Déjà vu?" he pressed.
"Or something," Eliana corrected. She sighed, realizing that Ardeth was going nowhere and instead, seemed almost fixated with her fainting spell. "I had the weirdest feeling that I was somewhere else, and that I was…in danger, somehow. Kind of like…" her words lapsed again, as she remembered to whom she was talking.
"Like when you met me?" Ardeth offered, a hint of resigned weariness in his voice. To him, this fainting spell was looking worse and worse.
She shrugged. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but…yes. Almost." She considered again. "Well, a lot like it, anyway. Don't worry, though—I don't believe in déjà vu or any of that kind of thing."
"What 'kind of thing' would that be?" he probed, gently but relentlessly.
"Oh, déjà vu, bad karma, feng shui, past life regressions—you know," she went on, "the New Age junk that's becoming popular in American and Europe?"
"Why do you not believe in such things?" Ardeth asked, intrigued with her strong rejection of such notions, even though he was privately relieved. If Eliana didn't seem inclined to lean towards mystical explanations for otherwise unexplainable phenomenon, it was certainly for the better. "After all, many cultures much more ancient than those of Europe and the West have adhered to such beliefs for millennia."
"Well, because there's no logical or scientific reason that can explain it, that's why. And I don't put much stock in the bizarre or supernatural," she scoffed.
Suddenly, she smiled, and Ardeth had to marvel at what that smile did to her. And to him, a devilish, unwelcome little voice in the back of his head chimed in. That one smile softened her whole face, lit up her eyes so they sparkled like sunlight on the Nile, and made her look…breathtaking, the annoying little voice supplied.
"What is amusing you?" Ardeth asked, suddenly anxious to change the subject, to silence the imp that had suddenly taken up unwelcome residence in his mind.
Eliana glanced at Ardeth, still smiling, and explained. "I suddenly realized I sounded just like my grandmother," she said. "It was almost like her words were coming out of my mouth—'Now Eliana, don't go getting all excited over nothing,'" she mimicked. "'There's a logical explanation for everything.'"
"She is a very logical person, then?" Ardeth asked.
"She was," Eliana corrected, sadness coloring her words. "She's gone now. Died about five years ago." The light-heartedness left her eyes.
"I still miss her."
"You were close?"
"Grandma was my rock." Her voice quavered. "Everything I am today, I owe to her." She looked up at him, still not wanting to trust him, still afraid, but desperately needing to talk to someone. She was becoming worried about the strange dreams and odd sensations she'd been having since arriving in the desert. Not since she was a child, and her mother had just died, had she felt this…unbalanced. And she didn't dare risk bringing on any of the experiences she'd had during those times. So maybe it was better to simply talk to someone about what was happening, and be reassured that she was sane, and normal, and not in any danger of going crazy. In some part of her mind, some level controlled more by instinct than by reason, she realized that perhaps Ardeth Bay was the one person, apart from her beloved grandmother, who could listen to the tale she was about to tell and not think her crazy. She searched his face, her eyes haunted, wondering whether or not she was about to make a terrible mistake in trusting this man.
Ardeth said nothing, just sat silently, waiting for her to continue. Finally, his patience was rewarded, and she began to speak, the words coming slowly at first, then tumbling over each other as they came pouring up from the depths to which she had relegated them in her mind.
"My mother died when I was six years old. Ovarian cancer," Eliana began. She did not meet his eyes now at all. Instead, she seemed overly absorbed with watching her fingers pick at the seam of the sleeping bag that she held twisted in her hands. "I had a hard time dealing with it. Dad—I love my dad, don't get me wrong—well, he dealt with it all by throwing himself into his work and ignoring everything else. I was pretty much on my own, except for the housekeeper. Dad hired her when Mom got sick, and kept her on…afterwards, to watch me. For about a month after Mom died, I was fine. Too fine. I played, talked, laughed, just ignored the whole thing—massive denial—pretended that Mom had just gone away on a trip, and would be back any day.
"Dad wouldn't—couldn't, maybe—talk to me about it, so he just ignored the whole thing, too. The housekeeper—she was a very religious woman from South America—she thought that I was strange, and I think she was a little scared of me. I was acting really manic and way too happy, considering I had just lost my mother to a pretty terrible disease. Anyway, one day I heard her talking on the phone to a friend of hers, and I heard her saying something about me, and El Diablo, and the gist of it was that she thought I was possessed. She didn't know that I spoke Spanish pretty well already, thanks to Dad and his books and language lessons, so I understood almost everything she said. I didn't like her much anyway—she was too old, and pretty distant and cold, and perverse little six-year-old that I was, I decided to give her a little taste of what she expected."
Eliana risked a quick look up at Ardeth, trying to judge from his expression what was going on in his mind, but his face was an unreadable mask. He sat quietly, patiently, just waiting for her to continue. Taking a breath, she plunged back in to the story.
"Now, mind you, I was an archaeologist's child, so I had a pretty good awareness, even at that age, of the superstitions and customs of ancient people. Granted, Dad had always been more interested in Egypt and the Middle Eastern cultures, but he'd given me books and read me stories about the ancient American cultures, too. I knew all about the old Mayan and Aztec legends, and believe me, some of them are pretty bloody and spooky."
She looked up at him again, and this time Ardeth nodded. She was unsure of whether his nod signaled understanding, or a prompt for her to continue, but she had come this far already, so she went on.
"Well, it didn't take long," she sighed, "for me to convince the poor woman that she had been right all along, and that I was possessed by spirits. All I had to do was sit on the floor, staring off into space, muttering under my breath. Generally, I muttered in Latin, since Dad had started teaching me that, too. Close enough-sounding to Spanish to be almost recognizable to the housekeeper, just off enough to be scary. Every once in a while, I'd throw in some Arabic, too. That scared her even more. She'd run off, making the sign of the cross, and call her friends and tell them about the 'devil child.' I was having great fun."
Ardeth smiled, unable to help himself. The thought of such a precocious, mischievous, overly intelligent child playing a prank like that on a superstitious old woman charmed him. He himself had been a trial to his elders when he was young, and he could appreciate the naughtiness of Eliana's prank with the understanding of a kindred spirit. She met his eyes again, and the amused understanding and acceptance she saw there warmed her somewhat, and she smiled a tiny smile, feeling the first tentative threads of a bond forming between them.
"Dad, of course, was oblivious, and I intended for him to stay that way. If he'd found out, he would have stopped my fun. So I kept on like that, for probably a month or so. Then, I started getting bored. The housekeeper had sort of gotten used to my strange 'episodes,' as she called them, and was starting to just ignore me. So I decided to escalate the game a bit. The next time I entered a 'trance,' I started looking around and pointing, like I was seeing things. That got her all upset again, so I was happy. The thing was, not long after that, I really did have an 'episode.' The housekeeper had left for the day, and dad was buried in his books, and I suddenly got really tired and went to lay down…" she paused, and the haunted look was back in her eyes.
"I remember feeling very sleepy, and hearing…something. Voices, maybe, in my head, chanting. A ritual of some sort, I thought. Very musical sounding, very somber. Almost like a funeral dirge. The more I heard, the sleepier I got. Finally, I fell asleep, or at least I thought I did. When I woke up, Dad was shaking me, and I was screaming bloody murder, and…"
Ardeth no longer looked amused, or even entertained. Instead, he wore an expression of almost painful intensity. He tensed for her next words, somehow knowing that they would not be a description of a harmless child's prank. Eliana, though, seemed hesitant to continue.
"Go on, Eliana. I am listening," he prompted gently, reaching over to enfold her hand in his. For once, she didn't pull away, but seemed to be grateful for the warmth of the contact. The tingling sensation when they touched was beginning to become less noticeable, too, and he wondered at that. When she spoke again, she kept her eyes locked with his, and her voice was flat and expressionless.
"I had taken most of my clothes off, and I had apparently gotten a marker and drawn lines and squiggles all over myself. From what Dad said, I was screaming something in some language that he didn't quite recognize, and I had a butcher knife in my hand, holding it up to my stomach."
Her eyes probed his, searching for the distance and derision she felt certain she'd see reflected there. Instead, she was surprised to find understanding and compassion, and something like…resignation? It was almost as though he wasn't at all surprised at the weird tale she had just told him. Almost as though he had…expected it, somehow.
"And that was the last 'episode?'" he asked, still holding her hand in his, and his dark brown eyes were gentle as they searched hers.
"No, unfortunately, it wasn't," Eliana answered him, shaking her head tiredly. "At first, Dad thought that it was just an isolated incident—some delayed reaction to Mom's death. But it wasn't. The housekeeper quit after the first time I grabbed a knife when she was there, and even though my dad made arrangement to stay home with me full-time after that, I started having the spells more and more frequently. Finally, Dad felt he had no choice but to put me in a…hospital." She closed her eyes, fighting back the memories. "They had me in restraints and on quite the mixture of drugs, and I was pretty much a zombie. I don't remember a lot about what happened while I was there." She shuddered.
"I do remember, though, how I got out."
"Yes?" He gripped her hand tightly, overwhelmed with a deep sympathy for the child she had been, and the fear she must have experienced. No matter who or what she had been in a previous life, she had started over in this one, and the innocent child she had been had suffered for the sins of a past she had no knowledge of living.
"My grandmother—my dad's mom—came for me. We weren't terribly close at the time—she traveled quite a lot, and she had only come to visit briefly for Mom's funeral. But Dad was pretty desperate at the time, and he called her, and…she came. I don't know what she thought when she first saw me in the hospital, because I must have looked pretty bad. But whatever she thought, she kept it to herself. I remember seeing her come into my room that first day. She was wearing this beautiful navy blue suit, and she smelled wonderful. Chanel Number Five—that was the perfume she always wore—I can never smell that stuff without remembering Grandma," she added with a sad smile. "Anyway, she sat on the edge of my bed, and she hugged me tight, and told me that everything was going to be all right, and that I would get better, and go home. And I guess I was desperate myself, because I believed her.
"She came to see me every day, and she talked to me, and she made me talk to her. She forced me to talk about Mom's death, and she bullied the doctors into taking me off the medication, and she brought in the best psychologists she could buy, and they talked to me and made me talk to them. Every once in a while, I'd have a small episode, but they were never very bad after that, and they got further and further apart. Finally, they stopped all together."
"And then they let you go home?" Ardeth asked, and he suddenly realized that he was massaging her palm with his thumb, trying to impart some reassurance through the simple touch. Too late, he realized that he was being drawn into a trap of cosmic proportions, and he mentally railed at fate's sadistic whimsy. But he would not, not for anything, stop Eliana from telling this story, and he sensed that she was drawing some comfort from him, so he continued the calming caress.
"Not right away. First, they made me take all these tests, and psychoanalyzed me for weeks. In the end, they decided that the episodes had just been delayed stress brought on by my mother's death. With all the counseling I'd had, they figured I was over it. So they let me go home.
"Grandma came home with us, and didn't leave again. She sort of took over the role of lady of the house, and Dad was able to get back to his studying and his traveling, and he was happy. I had my grandma, and in a way, the doctors were right. The counseling helped me deal with Mom being gone, and I was better, too. I didn't have any relapses, or anything, so I figured I was over and done with it."
"And were you?"
"Yeah, I was. Like I said before, Grandma was a very logical person, and didn't believe in anything she couldn't see or feel or touch or taste or…well, you get the idea. She decided that I had been left alone too much, just surrounded by old books and strange artifacts, and what I needed in my life was direction. Well, she gave me that, in spades." Eliana laughed, remembering.
"Because I had a natural aptitude for languages, Grandma enrolled me in a private school and made sure that they nurtured that particular gift. She was always an adventurous sort, and so during my school vacations, we'd go with Dad on his digs. Grandma always loved those—she'd get to stay in the nice hotels in the cities, and I'd hang out with Dad at the digs. I loved it. We were kind of a strange little family, but we loved each other, and between them, Grandma and Dad took good care of me. Grandma was the one who pushed me into linguistics in college, although Dad would have been happy if I'd followed his footsteps entirely and went into archaeology."
"Your grandmother sounds like a strong woman," Ardeth observed, remembering his own grandmother, and how much she had influenced his life, as well.
"She was the strongest person I know, and I always wanted to grow up to be just like her. She was logical, and practical, and in control, and she was always saying that I could do anything or be anything that I wanted, as long as I took charge of my life and had a plan. She didn't think that anyone or anything could stop you from realizing your dreams, unless you let them," Eliana explained, and Ardeth could see very plainly how much this woman had influenced her. "She was forever telling me that all I had to do was reach for my dreams, and as long as I didn't hurt anyone else in trying to achieve them, I could do anything."
"Your grandmother sounds like a wise woman," he offered.
"She was wise, and she was kind, and she was strong, and everyone loved her," Eliana said, nodding in agreement. "I think that she had to be that way, to have survived."
"Survived?" Ardeth asked, jerking his head up in surprise.
"Yes, survived," she reinforced, and then explained, "I'm part Jewish, at least on Dad's side of the family. Grandma was a Holocaust survivor. She was in the concentration camps in Germany when she was a teenager. She met my grandfather there."
Ardeth said nothing. He knew, of course, of the horrors that had been visited upon the Jews in Nazi Germany, and had even met men and women who had survived the camps. To him, they were heroes; people whose will and determination and sheer heart had carried them through an unspeakable era of human history. For Eliana's grandmother to have survived such a horror so early in her life was further testimony to the fact that she was an exceptional woman.
"Grandma always said that the lessons she learned there stayed with her throughout her whole life. She said that living through such terror, such suffering, marked a person for life, and either made them stronger, or destroyed them."
"That is very true," Ardeth agreed. "It is the trials in life and the dark valleys that one walks through that forge character."
"That's exactly what she used to say," Eliana nodded. "My grandmother always liked to tell me stories about how some of the most unlikely people in the camps were actually the strongest leaders, and the ultimate survivors. Some of the people she thought would be the first to succumb turned out to be the ones that ended up shoring up everyone else's courage and helping them to carry on throughout the whole ordeal."
Ardeth was quiet for a moment, and then observed, "One would think that the strongest and most powerful individuals, or the most ruthless, would be the ones to ultimately survive. Odd, isn't it, how the opposite is true in so many cases?" He watched her carefully, as she thought about this. Her response could give him a great deal of insight into the person she had become in this life.
"Grandma always said that the most powerful and ruthless people in the camps did do well, at least early on," Eliana affirmed. "They made deals with the German guards, and because of their wealth and status, prior to the Holocaust, they had some powerful connections with the outside, and fared better than the others. As time went on though, those same people ended up turning on one another, and they simply self-destructed. By then, they had alienated everyone else, and had no one to turn to. Time, and circumstances, had pretty much reduced everyone to the same level, and the ones that learned to work together, to support each other, were the ones that ultimately prevailed.
"Grandpa was like that—he was one of the kindest, most gentle souls you'd ever meet. He had an inner strength, though, that was phenomenal. He died quite a while ago." Again, sadness tinged her voice. "Grandma said after he was gone that she'd never marry again, because she'd never find anyone to equal Grandpa. Once you loved someone like that, you could never love anyone in the same way again." Her voice was wistful, and Ardeth could understand why. One seldom came upon such remarkable individuals, and Eliana was fortunate to have had two such souls in her life. Slowly, he released her hand, and his eyes searched her face as he shifted position. He had been kneeling there in the tent for a long time, and his legs felt stiff and cramped.
Eliana looked somberly at him, and heaved a huge sigh. Uncrossing her legs, she stretched them out in front of her, and grimaced. She, too, was feeling cramped and crowded in the small tent. And yet, for all the physical discomfort, she felt curiously better than she had in a long while. Talking to Ardeth Bay had been oddly comforting, and she was amazed. Who would have guessed that she would have revealed this much of her past, bared her soul to this degree, to him, of all people? And that by doing so, she would have felt so…unburdened. It was almost as if the heavy secret of her past had become lighter by the simple act of sharing it with someone. Ardeth Bay was a most unlikely "someone," but telling him about her past had seemed almost…right, somehow, almost as though it was exactly what she was supposed to do. And she couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, during the course of the long afternoon, a fragile, tentative bond had been forged between the two of them, there in the hot confines of her tent. At the very least, she was no longer uncomfortable with him, or afraid, and she would no longer scorn his company or his presence. No, on the contrary, she found herself almost liking him.
Ardeth, for his part, was more troubled than ever before. Not only had Eliana herself, through her story, confirmed undeniably who she had been, but the tale she told had also established that her previous life was not some dormant and long-dead part of her past. Rather, Ardeth imagined it as a struggling, angry entity, waiting for the right opportunity to emerge and take control.
What he knew of reincarnation was limited to that which his ancestors and Med Jai brothers had passed on to him, but it was enough. He knew that a person's soul was formed from two halves, which lived together in harmony until death, when they separated. The ka, or life force, of an individual, was what was commonly referred to as the soul, and it was that which remained constant throughout eternity, through the endless cycles of death and rebirth. It was the ka that was the individual and unique signature of a person's psyche, and it was the ka within Eliana that he had first recognized. The ba, on the other hand, was the personality of an individual, and at death, it was the ba that undertook the perilous journey through the afterlife before finally reaching the lands of the West. Once the soul had passed the test of the scales, the ba and the ka were reunited to form the akh—the ultimate form of the blessed dead.
Eliana, of course, had no way of knowing that in her previous life, the ba that had marked the unique personality of her predecessor had, for her sins, been cursed to wander forever in the underworld, unable to pass the test of the scales, and unable to be reunited with the ka. The only way such a thing could be achieved, after the curse had been placed, was to use the most foul and arcane methods of retrieving the ba from the underworld, and by using magic, reuniting it with the ka in the reanimated body of the dead. Such a feat required two things—the spells and incantations contained within the Black Book of the Dead, and a human blood sacrifice. In all of history, in all of the legends, Ardeth knew of only two times such a thing had been attempted, and only one time it had been achieved. And both of those times were disasters, leading to death, and more curses, and, for the Med Jai, an eternity of watching, ever vigilant, ever fearful of the plagues that waited just beneath the shifting sands of the desert.
No, Eliana would have no clue at all about what marked her soul. The ka within her was eternal and unchanging, the same now as it had been three thousand years before, but her ba was new, as unique and different as an individual snowflake was different from its brethren. What difference that made, Ardeth had no clue, but he had to believe that there was some meaning to it, in the end.
And, in the end, as he stood to leave the tent, Ardeth carried with him the strange feeling that she had somehow been added to the growing list of people he was charged to protect. Which was ludicrous, considering the damage she could unleash simply by virtue of being who she was—or who she had been. She wouldn't even have to want to be the cause of the cataclysm—her mere existence and presence here spoke to fate's quirky and sadistic nature. And Ardeth had seen and heard too much in his lifetime to discount the machinations of fate. Still, he couldn't shrug off the illogical desire he had to protect her from the conniving whims of the gods. He was convinced that somehow, this time, this woman was very different that she had been, and would not willingly cause harm to anyone. Instead, he found her compassionate, intelligent, generous and charmingly empathetic. She seemed to be a genuinely good person, who wouldn't willingly stand back and let anyone suffer. And that was the crux and essence of his dilemma. She was perhaps a good, compassionate person this time around, but her soul was still twined eternally with one who was, in Ardeth's mind, the very antithesis of goodness.
He knew, even from their brief conversation, that Eliana would not sit back and idly watch while someone she loved suffered. No, she would jump in with both feet and do whatever it took to rescue them. And that newly minted aspect of her nature added a whole new element to the highly volatile mix that was brewing here.
"Are you feeling well enough to return to the dig, or will you rest here?" he asked.
"Actually, I'm feeling pretty good," she smiled up at him, and that small gesture of friendship caused a funny twist deep in his gut. "I think I'll go work on the skeleton some more before dinner. Maybe Hassan and Azziz are off doing something else by now, and won't be looking over my shoulder."
Eliana began to rise, and he extended a hand to help her up. He was chagrined to discover that once she was standing, he felt a twinge of reluctance over releasing her. Despite that feeling, release her he did, but the devil that had somehow been released inside him prompted him to lean towards her and lightly press his lips to her forehead before turning and leaving the tent. Had he seen the expression on her face, he would have laughed, because it was identical to the one he was wearing—shock, and confusion, and perhaps something more.
Eric walked down the narrow passageway, pushing past rocks and debris and chunks of what might once have been jungle vegetation, but was now rotting puddles of gunk. The smell in the place was unbelievable, and the heat was oppressive, and he was hard pressed to keep down the breakfast he had eaten several hours ago. Whatever had happened to Ahm Shere, in its final moments, must have been cataclysmic, judging from the wreckage all around him.
They had been exploring the pyramid for days, now, and had discovered that the only passageway that was clear of debris was the first one they had found—the one extending to the left and right from the doorway Eric's shovel had pierced. That passage was reasonably high, and though narrow, easily allowed a man carrying equipment to walk unhindered through its length. The passageway to the right had been completely blocked by fallen rock about ten meters from the door, so they had concentrated their first explorations on what lay to the left. At the far end of the hall, a doorway had allowed access to the pyramid's interior, and they had eagerly carried their flashlights and equipment through, expecting to find some evidence of decay, if only from the passage of time, but what met their eyes was even more dramatic. The sheer volume of the carnage was impressive—massive chunks of golden stone lay everywhere, the floor had buckled up in places, and there were huge holes and yawning crevices in the ceiling. It looked as though someone had taken a wrecking ball to the structure, and then swept it down beneath the sand. An earthquake, they speculated, could have been the only thing to cause such destruction; but Ahm Shere was located far away from any fault lines.
Professor Bernstein, after that initial shock of discovery, had ordered everyone to take extra safety precautions, because they weren't sure how stable the structure was. Parts of it looked fairly sturdy, but other parts looked as though they'd collapse if a stray breath hit them in the wrong spot. Eric had been obediently cautious at first, but he was becoming accustomed to the wreckage surrounding him, and he was anxious to penetrate deeper into the pyramid's interior. If they continued moving this slowly, they'd never make any progress. So he pushed himself, and the students working with him, and they had now charted quite a bit of the pyramid's interior.
Bernstein, on the other hand, was lagging behind. He was still engrossed in photographing and sketching the massive main entry hall they had found at the end of the first passage. It was huge—towering several stories high, and though littered with rubble, the grand staircase leading down to the floor was still impressive. Once they threaded their way through the fallen stones, they had come upon an intricate design built in a mosaic pattern on the floor. On closer examination, Bernstein and Hamid declared it to be a seal bearing the cartouche of Anubis, thus identifying the god to which the temple pyramid was dedicated. And no big surprise, considering the legends.
Past that grand entry hall lay a smaller temple area, accessed simultaneously by several small tunnels. That area must have borne the brunt of the catastrophe that had rocked Ahm Shere, as it was in much worse shape than either the main hall or any of the tunnels. Huge chunks of rocks littered the ground, and the ceiling was almost completely collapsed, with gigantic holes yawning above, opening up to the empty blackness of the pyramid's upper levels. Even more interesting, this area was built in a semi-circular fashion, with the temple altar occupying a place of honor in the center of the circle, and appearing to almost be on an island, surrounded by a huge, deep, moat-like chasm. They had shone their lights into the pit when they first discovered it, but couldn't see the bottom, and when they dropped a stone into it to gauge the distance, found that the stone fell for a long time before finally sounding a distant, echoing chink from the depths.
It was to that most heavily damaged area that Eric and Doug had returned today, meaning to have a closer look at the altar, and the gigantic metal gong that lay on its side near the pit. The metal work on the gong was amazing—great skill and detail had gone into its forging. After examining it closely, Eric took several photos, and then he and Doug decided to take a quick break for lunch. It was while they were sitting down, leaning back against the stone altar, that they noticed the small crack in the rock wall behind the temple.
Normally, in an area that had sustained such extensive damage, Eric wouldn't have thought twice about a crack in the wall. Indeed, there were major cracks and crannies splitting through most of the pyramid's interior walls. What made him notice this one, though, was its straight lines, and its overall thinness and symmetry. It looked less a result of a natural disaster, and more the work of a skilled mason. If Eric had to describe it, he would have said that it looked like the outline of a small door.
"Hang on, Doug," he said, scrabbling over the piles of rubble behind the altar on his hands and knees. "I want to take a look at this before we eat."
"Whatever you say, boss man," agreed the always-amiable Doug, moving closer to take a better look himself.
Eric brushed some of the sand and dust away from the stone wall, and traced the fine line with his index finger. Sure enough, the crack was deep and even, and looked as though it had been purposely carved into the wall. Having traced the rectangular opening all the way around and not finding a latch, or any indication of how to open the door, if that was indeed what it was, Eric paused for a minute, considering his options. Finally, he braced his feet against the floor and gave a small push. Nothing happened, so he pushed again, marginally harder this time. Was it his imagination, or had he felt the wall give a bit with that one? Turning to Doug, he motioned him over.
"Come here a sec—give me a hand with this."
Obligingly, Doug picked a spot on the other edge of the doorway, and placed his hands on the rock slab.
"Okay—on the count of three, give it everything you've got, okay?"
Doug nodded, and Eric counted. On three, they both strained against the wall, arm muscles bulging, faces turning red, veins standing out on their necks. For all their effort, the door moved in maybe six centimeters, at the most, and then, with a grinding noise, stopped. Panting, Eric gestured for Doug to take a break, while he reconsidered.
"What do you think? Should we give it another try? Maybe it's just blocked by something on the other side…"
"Yeah, what the heck, let's give it another shot," Doug agreed. Then, pointing to a spot above the door, he asked, "Hey, what do you suppose those glyphs say?"
Eric looked up. Sure enough, there was a fine line of glyphs traced over the top portion of the doorway, and almost obscured by the cloying dust and grime. Brushing the dirt away and looking closer, he recognized them as the same style of writing that Hamid had found on the top of the pyramid and Eliana had later translated. Unable to decipher the strange markings himself, he shrugged.
"I dunno. I'll get Bernstein down here later and ask him what it says. Don't want to bother him now, though. I'd like to take a look at what's behind here, first."
This time, when the two men pushed against the door, they heard the grinding sound again, and suddenly, the wall seemed to give, and the doorway simply fell away, toppling to the floor on the other side with an echoing thud. A cloud of murky dust wafted up from the now-collapsed door, and a small passageway yawned open before them. A rank odor wafted up from the tunnel, and they could feel a cold ribbon of air brushing past their faces.
"Um, you can go down there first," Doug offered, backing up and waving a hand out to Eric.
Eric grinned. "Not feeling very brave?" He turned and rummaged through his backpack, finally withdrawing a hand-held lantern. They had brought several battery-powered work lights mounted on tripods down with them into the temple room, and while those served well enough to light up the altar area, they cast little light into the dark expanse of the tunnel. A lantern would have to do.
"You follow me, okay?" Eric told Doug, and then entered the tunnel. It was short, and narrow, and depressingly dark and damp, and within a few meters, Eric was feeling very claustrophobic. To make matters worse, the floor was pitched sharply downwards, and seemed to be coated with a slick, slimy substance that his work boots couldn't find much traction in. Shining the lantern's beam on the floor, Eric noticed that the slime was greenish-black, and looked like…algae? Sure enough, the tunnel's floor was coated with the same thick, brackish blanket of algae that coated the floors of sea caves. But that didn't make sense, Eric thought. Algae would mean that there was water down here, and they were in the middle of the desert…
He continued on, carefully watching his step, and called back to Doug to take similar care. He could see the light from Doug's lantern bouncing off the walls to the right and left, and he felt slightly better that he wasn't all alone down here. Maybe, he thought, maybe I should just wait until John can come back here, too. He dismissed that notion quickly, though, eager to make a discovery on his own, and pressed on.
Abruptly, the tunnel ended, and Eric stepped out of the passageway and onto…air. Grappling wildly, his arms wind milling like mad, he struggled to regain his balance and not fall into the small lake he had just discovered. The light he carried went careening back down the tunnel and landed with a crash on the floor, its light flickering briefly from the impact. With one wild grab, Eric managed to clutch the rock walls of the tunnel exit, and brace himself with both arms. Steadying himself, he managed to get his feet beneath him again and regain his footing on the slippery surface of the floor that ended a half meter from the tunnel exit. Beyond that, it simply dropped away and the water began.
His heartbeat finally slowing to normal, now that he was on secure footing once more, Eric ran back a short distance into the tunnel and retrieved his light. Shining it on the walls of the room he was in, he saw that moss and algae grew thick on the exposed surfaces. Running the beam around the seam where the floor and walls met, he saw that he was actually standing on a narrow ledge that continued on around the entire circumference of the large circular room. But the room he was in was less a room and more a…grotto, Eric decided. The sluggish movement of the water in the lake reflected the beam of his lantern and made a moving mosaic of patterns on the walls and ceiling. The place smelled rank, but that was more from the algae and moss and less from the water. As a matter of fact, the water smelled surprisingly fresh, and, judging from the room's temperature, was quite cold. The sound of footsteps squishing down the tunnel alerted him to Doug's approach, and he realized he needed to call out a warning, and quickly.
Turning, he opened his mouth, just as Doug barreled into him from the tunnel. Both of them staggered, but Eric had braced himself before he turned, and he shoved back at Doug before the young man's momentum could propel them both into the water.
"Careful, dude!" he warned, shining his light out over the water's surface. "There's nothing here to stand on besides a balance beam and water!"
"Wow…" observed Doug, shining his light around the room, just as Eric had. For once, he was at a loss for words. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"
"No," answered Eric, "and I've never read about anything like it, either. Pretty weird, for all of this water to be in here."
"What do you suppose it is?"
"Some sort of ritual chamber, maybe," guessed Eric, again shining his light over the water's surface. This time, he noticed something he had missed before—a series of small, circular stepping-stones, sticking up out of the water to a height of about twelve centimeters, leading out from the narrow ledge into the middle of the pool.
"Take a look at these, Doug," he gestured with the light. "Looks like steps to nowhere."
"Only one way to find out, boss," Doug suggested, with a laugh. "Why not take a walk? If you fall in, I'll do my best to fish you back out."
"Funny, peon. Actually, I might just take a quick peek and see what's out there. Be ready to do that fishing, okay?"
Nodding, Doug moved to the side and positioned his light so that their combined beams illuminated the series of stones. Tentatively, Eric stepped out onto the first stone, testing its stability with one foot, pushing as hard as he could to see if it would hold his weight. Slightly comforted by its lack of movement, he took a step out onto it, standing with both feet so that it was bearing his full weight. For a long second, nothing happened. Then, suddenly, with a smooth, almost hydraulic feel to it, the stone sank down into the water a few centimeters. Alarmed, Eric waved his arms again, but quickly regained his balance. He looked back at Doug, who simply shrugged, as if to say it was Eric's call on whether or not to go further. Gritting his teeth, Eric turned back to the stones, and reached out a foot to the next one, again testing it before stepping onto it with his full weight. Once more, the stone sank slightly, like the one before, but this time Eric was ready for it, and didn't lose his balance. He proceeded like that several more times, until he reached the last stone. Shining his light out into the dark waters of the small lake, he didn't see any more stones, and scratched his head in puzzlement.
"That's weird," he called to Doug, who was waiting back on the ledge, about five meters away. "They just end out here, in the middle of the lake. Guess I'll come back now, and we can go get Bernstein to take a look at it."
Still shaking his head in confusion as to why someone would bother building a stone path to nowhere, he was just about to turn and pick his way back to the ledge, when the water in the center of the lake began to churn.
Slowly at first, and then faster and faster, the center of the lake began to froth and bubble, as though something very large was beneath the surface and rising quickly. Shocked, Eric did nothing but stand there and watch as an immense form began to rise from the cold black water. The only thing he could see at first was a tall, dark figure, but as more and more of it cleared the water, he began to recognize the shape as a carved likeness of the god Anubis. Shining the light on the statue as it emerged, he noticed that its surface was bumpy and irregular, almost as if it had been fashioned from pebbles and rocks, instead of the smooth even surface of marble or stone. Still, it was a beautifully hewn likeness, the jackal head proudly supported on the god's body, the uneven surface picking up the stray beams of light from the lanterns and reflecting them back in scattered prisms and rainbows over the water.
The statue rose to a height of about four meters, and then with a loud thunk that emanated from under the water, locked into place. Open-mouthed, Eric looked at it, and then back at Doug. Stretching out a tentative hand, he realized that the statue was just beyond his reach. Frustrated, he reached out again, and this time noticed that a much smaller stepping stone had appeared with the rising statue, about halfway between the stone he was now perched on and the statue's base.
With a little grunt of victory, he stepped onto the last stone, and waited for the sinking sensation, which came as expected. This time, though, the stone sank a bit deeper, and when it finally stopped, ended its downward journey with almost a clicking sound, as if a key had just been fitted into a lock. No sooner had Eric heard the slight click, than the statue suddenly…erupted, that was the only word for it.
From the eyes, nose, mouth and ears of the statue, a thick, viscous liquid began to pour. It ran in gobs and rivulets down the face and neck, the syrupy rivers merging and melding into one another over the trunk and down the legs. The sight was mesmerizing, horrifying, and Eric was unable to look away.
"What the hell is happening to that statue, man?" Doug shouted from the ledge, aghast at the spectacle before his eyes.
Eric was transfixed, simply watching as the statue was bathed in the grisly fluid. Eventually, it stopped, but the remnants of the flood coated the statue in a thick, slimy blanket that shone dull red in the reflected light. Shaking his head in wonder, he said, "I don't know—I think that this last stone was a trigger of some sort. I think that it started the statue doing…whatever it's doing."
He shone the lantern's light on the statue again, wondering at what the thick liquid could be. It almost looked like…Nah, he thought to himself. It couldn't be what it looked like. Could it? For a second, the cautious, safety-minded part of his brain warred with the more curious, risk-taking portion. Finally, though, the wonderment was more than he could stand, and Eric reached out a hand to touch the mysterious fluid. He reached a hand out to the statue's arm, from which the liquid dripped in abundance, pausing just before he reached it. A few drops landed on his outstretched fingers. He looked at the drops under the flashlight beam, and sure enough, they looked just like what he suspected.
"So what is it?" Doug asked.
"Don't know for sure," Eric answered, distractedly. "But it looks like…blood."
"Blood? That's nuts!" Doug scoffed. Eric muttered under his breath, annoyed. Of course it was nuts, but there was the evidence, right in front of his eyes, dripping from his fingers. Still, he wondered, and gazed at the statue again. For another second, caution reared its head. It was no match for his eager curiosity, though, and with a muttered "Ah, hell, no guts, no glory," Eric swiped his fingers over the statue's arm. And felt the razor-sharp edges of hundreds of tiny chunks of stone as sharp as cut glass slice into them.
Jumping back with a curse, he howled, "Holy shit, this thing cut me!"
"What? You're hurt?" Doug started across the stones.
"No, no, stay there—I'm coming back." Eric yelled, as he began hopping from stone to stone, quickly making his way back to the ledge. He cradled his hurt hand in the crook of his other arm, the cut fingers beginning to tingle and throb after the first shock of injury had passed.
"You okay?" Doug asked when Eric finally leaped back onto the ledge. He was obviously worried, and Eric hastened to assure him.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just a few little cuts, but they sting like hell." He waved off Doug's offer to look at the hand, saying instead, "Let's just get out of here, okay? We'll go back and tell Bernstein what we found and then go on out and back to the camp. He'll want to come down here and look around himself, I'm sure. Maybe he'll wait until after lunch, though," he added, a wistful tone in his voice. "I'd sure like to be here when he sees this, but I should probably wash my hand off and get it bandaged."
"You sure that it's not more than just a little cut or two?" Doug persisted.
"Come on, you wuss," Eric chided. "Haven't you ever cut yourself before? It's just a little scratch—nothing to it. It would take more than that to do me in, so stop your nagging."
Casting an annoyed frown at Doug, Eric entered the tunnel mouth and began picking his way back up the steep slope. Glancing back at the newly arisen visage of Anubis, and looking more than a little concerned, Doug hurried after his boss and friend. Their twin flashlight beams faded away as the two made their way up and out of the grotto, leaving the bleeding statue alone once more in the cold, damp blackness.