CHAPTER TEN
Oh, desert wind and swirling sand, mirage of trees in summer! Let me know what is real and not real. Let me see what it is that I have made.
I come to this tomb to shed an old skin, to come anew, to rise up like rising water. Do not shut me out from life. Do not let me forget. Do not leave me to stand idle and alone in this hall, surrounded by dreams, for dreams—however beautiful—are vapors and desire, all insubstantial. Give me hands and mind and soul and heart. Give me music, a bright star and some reason to rise and walk. Flood me with purpose and memory.
--Excerpt from "Not Losing His Mind", Egyptian Book of the Dead, as translated by Normandi Ellis
Eric's illness and the subsequent camp quarantine sucked the spirit and heart out of the expedition as surely as the desert sun sucked moisture from the earth and air. The laborers slunk about like whipped dogs, casting furtive glances at the archaeologists, and whispering among themselves in their babble of languages. They knew that Eric was quite ill, and that no one was to leave the camp, and that the only person allowed into his tent to care for him was the young female doctor. They also knew that the helicopter had left in a rush yesterday, bearing blood samples bound for the clinic in Khartoum. Beyond that, all they could do was guess. But with their rich mish-mash of cultures and superstitions, guessing and gossiping took on the gilded luster of an art form. The stories circulating through the camp were colorful and creative, and as varied as there were people to spread them, and many of the tales even approached the actual truth.
The students, too, particularly the ones that had worked most closely with Eric, were a sad- and sorry-looking bunch. They half-heartedly went through the motions of excavating the pyramid, but not much work was getting done, and no one, not even Bernstein, had the heart to reprimand them for not working faster or with more enthusiasm. No work was being done on the inside at all, because that was where Eric and Doug, and the two archaeologists, had focused their attention, and it simply depressed everyone too much to be in there right now. Maybe in a few days. When Eric was better. Maybe then they'd start digging around inside again. For now, they simply concentrated on unearthing more of the massive structure. Slowly. Without enthusiasm.
Basically, things had pretty much ground to a halt at the dig, and as Eliana sat morosely sipping a cup of lukewarm tea, trying not to think about how sick Eric was, she had to admit she felt the same as everyone else did. Rotten. Cupping her hands around the ceramic mug, she gloomily peered into the murky brown liquid, and muttered under her breath when she saw a bug floating on it. Standing, she walked to the edge of the tent and flung the liquid into the dirt, watching as the thirsty sand greedily slurped it up, leaving the fly to gather itself up, dust off its wings and fly away, or stay and be roasted by the sun. She stood there for several minutes, cup hanging from one hand, arms hanging limply at her sides, staring at the rapidly drying patch of sand, until finally, she could stand it no longer.
"I'll go crazy if I don't do something," she said aloud to herself, and she knew that the words were true. If she didn't get her mind off Eric and the camp's predicament in some way, she'd go mad.
She had finished with the skeleton of the Pygmy a day or so ago, storing it safely away inside a wooden crate, and she hadn't really had much to do since then. Her father had suggested that she go take a look inside the pyramid, but she had declined, strangely hesitant to enter the structure. Shrugging, he had told her to make herself useful in some other way, then, such as inventorying the supplies and making up a list of what they would need to acquire to restock their provisions. That is, if they could convince their pilot to keep coming out here to deliver them. No one was exactly sure if he'd be willing to—or able to, for that matter—if the quarantine was extended or tightened.
So, Eliana had dutifully picked through and sorted their supplies, and made up a list for Akil Hamid, who was the designated shopper for the expedition. That had taken all of two hours, and then she had gone to Sabir, the cook, to see if she could help him out in some way. He had gratefully accepted her offer of help, at least until he found out how useless and accident-prone she was in the kitchen, and had shooed her off, jabbering in Arabic about how she was just making more work for him. Disgusted with herself, and everyone and everything else, she had finally gone to her tent to read, but nothing she picked up caught her interest. Now, here she was again, looking for something to do.
A thought flickered through her mind that maybe she should just go and look quickly through the open areas of the pyramid, but she was still reluctant to do so. She had no idea why, since everyone else had been in there many times, and raved about what an astounding find it was. But to Eliana, the thought of entering the pyramid almost brought on a panic attack, as though something terrible was waiting for her there in the darkness. The thought of going in there literally made her skin crawl, and so she had listened to the others talk about what they had seen inside, and what was surely still in there to be found, and she herself had stayed away.
But maybe it was time. Maybe it was past time. Maybe it was just the thing she needed to shake off this dragging depression. Maybe if she faced whatever irrational fear she harbored about the pyramid, she'd feel better about everything. There was no sound reason for her not to go in and take a quick look around, after all. To be sure, she would avoid the grotto and the statue, but from what everyone else said, there was plenty more to look at inside.
She decided. This afternoon, she was going to set aside her foolish, groundless trepidation and see what was in the pyramid. It was silly not to—after all, how many times was she going to get a chance to see first hand something of this magnitude? Squaring her shoulders, feeling better already, she started off across the desert, heading for the pyramid. Normally, she would have told her father before going there, but she could see that he was engaged in deep conversation with Hamid, and they were pawing through a stack of maps and other documents and she didn't really want to interrupt. Besides, she'd only be gone for an hour or so, and they wouldn't miss her. She'd be back before anyone even noticed she was gone.
Charles wiped the sweat from his face with his handkerchief, formerly pristinely white and carefully folded, now rolled into a grimy ball of sweat and dirt. Peering out the dirt-streaked window of the chopper, he saw that they were closing in on a rag-tag assortment of tents, which he assumed was the site of the Ahm Shere dig. The helicopter ride out to the site from Khartoum had been relatively short, and for that he was thankful. He was looking forward to delivering this damn diamond to John and then sitting down for a while. He had been on enough digs himself to know that he would have no respite from the heat, not even in the form of a cool drink, but at least he'd be able to sit and rest a bit. Like John, he was getting older, and his body wasn't physically able to keep up with the rigorous demands of trekking across the desert and digging around in the dirt with as much gusto as it had twenty years ago. Unlike John, who kept himself in decent shape with a tough mental and physical discipline, Charles had surrendered himself years ago to the comforts of a desk job and an air-conditioned office. He felt miserable.
The chopper slowed, and then began its controlled drop to the sand. Still staring out the window, Charles noticed that people were beginning to congregate near the landing area, milling around as though waiting for something or someone terribly important. Not just the two archaeologists that he was expecting, but a group of students, and some of the native people, who he assumed had been hired as extra workers. A trifle pleased at all the attention he was receiving, Charles straightened his beige suit and tie, and did his best to make himself look the part of the dignified museum curator, who just happened to be dropping by to present a fifty kilogram diamond that supposedly would trigger a magic spell. Ah, well, he thought, can't always write the script the way you want it…
Bernstein watched the chopper land, an odd mixture of relief and anxiety churning in his gut. He was a bit surprised that the results of the blood tests were coming back so soon, but then again, the doctor had been very clear in demanding that the clinic give them top priority. Maybe now we can get Eric fixed up, he thought, and get everything else back to normal around here. The possibility that Eric was perhaps beyond fixing up and that the dig would never be anything approaching normal again didn't even occur to him, and if it had, he would surely have dismissed it as being overly negative and pessimistic.
The chopper settled on the ground, and the pilot stepped out, and for a moment, a confused murmur swept through the assembled crowd. Bernstein held his hand up to shade his eyes, and squinted at the short man who was coming around to open the passenger door. This wasn't their pilot—their man was tall, and lanky; this one was short and stout. What was going on here? Callie al Faran had been quite specific when she ordered the pilot to wait for the test results and then come back here himself. Under no circumstances was he to let anyone else come to the camp. So who was this man?
Just then, the first of the passengers disembarked, and Bernstein recognized him instantly. Groaning, he laid a hand on Akil Hamid's arm, and shook his head. How did Charles manage to time his arrival so inopportunely? Why couldn't he have gotten here a few days, or a week, earlier? Still, he was here, and Bernstein was relieved. At least one thing could go forward, as planned. Chuckling grimly, he wondered how happy Charles would be to know that he had just walked into a little extended vacation out here. Callie wouldn't let him leave, and Bernstein wouldn't let him sit around like some deposed emperor, so maybe, just maybe, Charles might be looking at a reintroduction to the finer points of field archaeology. Bernstein's grin widened, and he explained his sudden good humor to his friend.
"It's not the test results, Akil. It's our diamond."
Together, they waited while Charles made his way over to them, a persnickety, pinched look on his too-thin face. The pilot hung back, checking out the chopper, getting ready to shut it down for a while. Following Charles was another man, whom Bernstein didn't recognize, but assumed to be an assistant of some sort to the museum curator. As the two men approached Bernstein and Hamid, the crowd began to scatter, for the workers and students knew their pilot and realized at once that this wasn't him or anyone from the clinic.
"Hello, Charles," Bernstein greeted, as the travel-rumpled older man approached. He held out his hand in greeting, and then couldn't help but add, "That my diamond you've got there?"
Charles' face darkened in temper, and he began to sputter. "This is not your diamond, Bernstein, do you understand that? This belongs to the British Museum, and it is here with me, under my protection, and it will stay for only as long as I wish it to. Are we clear?"
"Calm down, Charles, calm down—I was just joking, you know," Bernstein soothed the flustered man. "Thank you very much for bringing it all the way out here—you can't know how important it is to this dig. Please—accept our hospitality and come sit down with us for a few moments, you and your friend, both. I'm sure you know we can't offer you anything cold to drink, but…"
Charles waved off the welcome. "Yes, yes, I know all about the abominable accommodations out on a dig. One of the reasons I hate the things. But we'd be happy to sit down, I'm sure." Noticing that Akil Hamid was staring quizzically at his companion, he finally thought to make an introduction.
"John, this is Robert Price, a friend of mine from the Embassy in London. He was invaluable in helping me get this little package through customs in Sudan with relative ease." He turned to his companion, who was looking cool and confident, as always. Charles fought down a twinge of annoyance as he considered how rumpled and flushed he must look in comparison. "Robert, I'd like you to meet John Bernstein, a former colleague of mine, and the reason we've come all the way out here. John likes to chase wild geese, and also likes to involve as many others in the chase as possible…"
Bernstein cut him off with a sharp look and took the hand Robert offered, then introduced Akil Hamid to the two visitors.
"Gentlemen, would you care to join us for a cup of coffee? Or tea, perhaps?" Akil offered, stepping towards Charles and shepherding him towards the mess tent. Charles, still clutching the case containing the diamond, nodded distractedly and allowed himself to be led to the refreshments.
"Excuse me, Professor Bernstein, but have you seen Eliana recently?" Bernstein looked up as Ardeth approached the group of men seated at the table in the mess tent, his quiet voice shielding, but not entirely hiding, the concern behind his seemingly innocuous question.
"Ellie? No, I can't say that I have," Bernstein answered him, turning to Akil Hamid for confirmation. "Have you?" Hamid shook his head. "Why? What's the matter? What do you need her for?"
Ardeth shrugged, concealing his concern. It had been over an hour since Eliana had disappeared, and he was getting worried. He knew that he shouldn't have let her out of his sight, but he had needed to go out into the desert to let his Med Jai brother know what was happening in the camp, and why they were being quarantined. Brief though their conversation had been, it was apparently long enough for Eliana to slip off and disappear, and Ardeth was worried. Not so much over what she would knowingly do, as to what she could stumble into, ignorant of the past as she was, and connected to it as only she could be.
"Maybe she's in her tent, reading. Did you try there?" Bernstein asked. Ardeth nodded. That, of course, had been the first place he had looked, with no success. Then, he'd asked around and discovered that she'd been helping Sabir, the cook, for a short while, until he grew disgusted with her ineptness, and sent her away. After that, she had simply disappeared.
Bernstein shrugged. "Well, she's around here somewhere, she has to be. Nowhere else for her to go. I know one place where she won't be, that's for sure. She won't be over at the pyramid. The girl's shown no interest in it at all since we've been here." He shook his head, dismayed that a child of his could be so uninterested in something he considered the crowning achievement of his life. "No, she's here at the camp, somewhere. Look around a little more, why don't you?"
Ardeth knew that he had been dismissed, and he left the men, wandering a little ways away, wondering where Eliana could have gone. He wished he could be a bit more certain, like her father was, that Eliana wouldn't set foot anywhere near the pyramid of Ahm Shere. Suddenly, the older men's conversation caught his attention again.
"Well, you're here, the diamond's here, and we're stuck." Bernstein sounded irritated. Worried about Eric, for sure, but irritated at the inactivity, nonetheless. He continued. "Nothing else to do until the other pilot returns with the results of those tests. We might as well take the thing over to the pyramid and see what happens when we set the diamond in place. What do you say?"
Ardeth listened intently as the other men, with various degrees of enthusiasm, agreed. He watched as they stood, and as Charles, with some reluctance, turned the case containing the diamond over to Bernstein. In no particular hurry, the four men made their way out of the tent and headed in the general direction of the excavation, stopping to talk to several of the students on the way.
Suddenly, Ardeth was filled with a gnawing sense of dread. He knew, somehow—he didn't bother questioning how—that Eliana had, indeed, for some unknown reason, decided to visit the pyramid today. And now these men were planning to replace the capstone. The coincidence of those two unlikely events happening at exactly the same time was too much for Ardeth to believe. Instead, it seemed to him that fate had finally decided to make her move, and had managed, in the end, to catch him completely unprepared.
Ardeth ran, racing towards the excavation, but circling around the tents in a less direct route, so that hopefully he would remain unseen. He had no desire to explain to anyone why he was running hell-bent for the pyramid, or why it was so urgent that Eliana not go inside. He knew that he had to reach her before she did something to upset the precarious balance that for now was in their favor, but could be tipped by the slightest weight in the other direction. And he certainly had to reach her before the archaeologists replaced the diamond. The thought of her trapped in the pyramid, as the diamond unleashed whatever power it contained, terrified him, and he knew that he must reach her, regardless of what it cost him, before she came to any harm.
May Allah help us all, he prayed as he ran. Make my feet swift, that I will not arrive too late.
Stepping out of the hot, dry brightness of the desert and into the cool, moist shadows of the pyramid was like crossing a bridge from one world to another. As Eliana entered the outermost passageway and slowly walked down to the doorway at the far end, she couldn't help but feel as though she'd stepped back in time. The flashlight she carried cast strange shadows on the stone walls, creating flickering images that danced and writhed ahead of her, leading the way into the bowels of the massive structure.
The silence was alive. Her hiking boots made little noise on the stone floor, but each pebble she kicked, each sound she made, every breath she took made her feel as though she were disturbing the place and whatever was inside. She felt like an interloper, an unwelcome presence in a sacred place, and the feeling grew with every step she took, making her question her judgment in coming here.
The feeling of oppressive loneliness also grew within her the deeper she went into the pyramid's gloom. What had started out as an uncomfortable feeling of isolation and aloneness had now grown in to a bone-deep sense of separation—of being cut off from everyone and everything she held dear. She felt adrift in time and space, a traveler picking through the rubble of the past, looking desperately to find a way home. Never had she been as aware of her isolation and vulnerability as she was now, entering the inner sanctum of Ahm Shere's crumbling golden monument.
And at the same time, in total paradox, she felt a deep and abiding sense of the rightness of her being in this place, almost as if it had been waiting for her all of her life. Waiting and watching, sleeping under the desert sand, until the time was right, and the wheel had turned, and fate's door was ready to open. Almost as if she were finally taking her preordained spot in some rich, ancient tapestry.
Eliana was struggling with these juxtaposed emotions, debating with herself about whether to go on or to turn back when she stepped through the doorway and entered the great hall. As the light from her flashlight bounced off the high walls and ceiling, cracked and falling though they were, she caught her breath at the majesty and magnificence of what this place must once have been. The great staircase was intact, though littered with rubble, and as she slowly walked down to the floor, she was transfixed by the living history that surrounded her. She had heard her father and Akil Hamid discussing the seal at the bottom of the stairway, and although she admired it, she stepped to one side as she reached the bottom stair, and was careful not to place her foot anywhere on the mosaic itself. Feeling silly at this blatant act of superstitious nonsense, Eliana laughed nervously, and went on.
She wasn't sure where she was going, only that she felt oddly compelled to continue, as if some invisible presence was urging her on, prodding at her from the darkness and shadows, herding her towards something just ahead, just around the next corner. Her father's and Eric's vivid descriptions of the inside of the pyramid must have made more of an impression on her than she had realized, for she walked confidently through the hall and towards one of the small antechambers at its far side with little hesitation. It's almost as if I'd been here before myself, she thought, and then brushed aside the notion. She had trouble dismissing it entirely, though, because in truth, it did feel as though she had been there before. She seemed to know where to go, and what to expect, and the sensation alarmed her to some degree. It's just that Dad is talking about it all the time, she reasoned. That's all. Nothing else.
At the entrance to the antechamber, she had to jump over a fairly large crack in the floor. She leaped over it easily, but landed on a loose rock on the other side, losing her balance momentarily. Her ungraceful efforts disturbed a large, black insect that darted out of the depths and scurried across her path. She suppressed a shudder. There had to be any number of insects making their home in here, and she was lucky if only one of them made its presence known.
Moving on, she shone the flashlight around, and illuminated the small room. Three tunnels on its far wall led into what must have been the temple sanctuary that she had heard the men talking about. From there, she knew that there was a tunnel that led down to the grotto and the statue, but she had no intention of going that far. No, she'd take a quick look around the temple area, and then head back. She'd already been gone long enough.
Heading for the middle tunnel, she paused, a sharp stab of anxiety once again jabbing at her insides. And with the anxiety came a sudden wave of dizziness, one of those strange feelings of otherness, of being somewhere else, someone else, that she hadn't felt for days. It swept over like a tidal force, and she stopped, just short of the tunnel, reaching out a hand to steady herself against the wall. The stone was smooth, and cool, and felt good against skin that suddenly felt too hot. In fact, she felt hot all over, flushed and dizzy, and she heard a strange buzzing in her ears, a buzzing that could have been voices, but surely wasn't…
I must go on from here by myself.
No! Without your powers, he might kill you!
He cannot kill me. It is my destiny—our destiny. Once the Scorpion King is defeated, you and I will rule the world—together.
No! I cannot lose you again!
Eliana pressed her hand to her mouth, as the words swam in her mind, and the sense of disorientation increased, and the shadows swirled around her. She had to sit down—she had to, or she would fall over. Staggering, she made her way towards a small pile of rocks and boulders, remnants of what must have once been the ceiling, and half-kneeled, half-fell to the floor. She sat, her knees drawn up, her head resting on them, waiting for the spinning sensation to end. Finally, she began to feel like herself again, and lifted her head. The buzzing in her ears was gone, her vision wasn't swimming, and she didn't feel so strange. She would sit here for a few minutes, she decided, and then leave, and not come back again. She could help her father just as much on the outside of the pyramid as inside, and she didn't want to be in here again. Ever. No matter how wonderful or beautiful or rare it was. She would turn around and walk back out and not spare it a second glance.
She reached back with her right hand to lever herself into a more comfortable position, and her hand touched…cloth. Not stone, not sand, but what felt like old, dusty wool. And she froze, the skin of her fingers and hand tingling as though they'd just touched a live current. Briefly, the dizziness returned, but then faded away, and with it, the psychic tingle along the nerves of her arm. Slowly, she turned, and knelt, and trained the beam of the flashlight on what she had just discovered.
The black fabric was old, and dirty, and looked as though it had been there for years. But not for millennia, surely. Cloth left out for thousands of years would certainly have deteriorated into dust by now, and this cloth looked old, but not that ancient. Perhaps fifty years, maybe a hundred, but definitely not countless centuries. And what did that mean? Had someone been here that recently, to have left this behind? But how? This place had lain buried under the desert sand. Puzzling over the mystery, Eliana reached again to touch the piece of cloth. It was expensive fabric, the soft, lightweight wool fashioned in a tight, fine weave that bespoke the best in craftsmanship. And all that protruded from under the pile of rubble was a small portion of the cloth itself. The rest lay buried.
Eliana sat back on her haunches for a second or two, staring at the scrap of fabric. What was it doing here? She felt the fine weave again, and once again felt that jolt of awareness pass through her hand. A memory started to edge into the farthest corner of her mind, and she stopped breathing, as a vision of smooth, golden skin and an arrogant, handsome face swam before her eyes. The priest? Why would I think of him? Suddenly, it didn't matter. None of it mattered—the only thing she cared about was unearthing the rest of this cloth. Irrational or not, she was suddenly consumed with the need to find the rest of the material, and she began to dig. She grabbed at the rubble, hurling small chunks of rock and stone behind her, not concerned with moving cautiously, or worried about disturbing anything or causing the pile to become unstable and fall. The only thing that mattered was finding the rest of the…robe?
She finally reached the last, largest boulder, and realized that she would have to stand up and put all her weight behind a mighty push in order to roll it off to the side. Standing, brushing off the dirt that caked her jeans and T-shirt, she braced her hands on the good-sized chunk of stone and pushed. Nothing. She held her breath, braced again, and heaved with all her might. The rock moved, tumbling over itself and rolling off the cloth, and the momentum of its move made Eliana fall to her knees once again.
Slowly, almost reverently, she reached out and gathered the crushed, filthy fabric from the floor and stood up, shaking it out as she did, and the material unfurled and hung from her hands. Indeed, it was a garment, a robe, and Eliana's hands shook as her mind recognized it before her brain could, or was willing to. Black, long-sleeved, high collared, trimmed in ebony silk, the garment was fit to be worn by a king. And her mind filled in the rest of the image—a tall, striking man, looking down at her with a mischievous half-smile, the light of dozens of torches reflecting off his hazel eyes, making them gleam with golden fire. Heedless of its filthy condition, Eliana pressed the fabric to her cheek, and closed her eyes, feeling the fine wool graze her skin like a caress. Taking a breath, was it her imagination, or did she smell the faint, ghostly trace of a fragrance—a sensual, erotic mixture of musk and spice that had haunted her dreams for weeks?
Eliana was almost weeping as she clutched the robe to her and buried her face in its folds. Logic and reality suddenly seemed far away, abstract concepts, and she was afraid, mortally afraid. Why would this be here? Why? How? What could it possibly mean, that she had found an actual, physical object that matched so perfectly an image she had only dreamed?
The sense of loss and emptiness was greater than before—magnified tenfold by her discovery of the discarded garment. It felt like a piece of her own soul was missing—abandoned in a cold, dark cavern, lost forever. She did cry, then, although she had no idea why. But she was finally beyond logic, beyond reason, beyond caring.
No! I cannot lose you again!
Picking up the flashlight, Eliana held the robe tightly to her breast, as if it were a talisman of some sort, and turned down the center tunnel. Her earlier resolve to leave had evaporated like fog in the morning, and she knew that she had to see what was in the temple sanctuary. There was something there, she knew—she was being pulled towards it like iron to a magnet, and she wanted answers, not just the endless questions roiling in her mind.
Stopping at the end of the narrow tunnel, she shone the light around the circular room, taking in the broad, semicircular moat around the almost-island of the altar; the tall columns, almost all of them smashed and in ruins at her feet; the overturned gong; the paintings and writings on the walls, many of them obliterated by cracks and fissures and deep gouges.
Making her way slowly across the debris and decay, she found herself at the edge of the deep moat, and tentatively, she shone her light into it, hoping to see the bottom. Nothing. Just endless meters of blackness, stretching away as far and as deep as she could see, nothingness fading into nothingness. She looked around, and saw the toppled column that Eric, Doug, and the two older men must have used to cross the chasm to the altar area. A bit rickety, for her standards, but she guessed it would have to do.
Tentatively, she made her way to the overturned pillar of stone, and tested her weight on it. It held, and slowly, cautiously, holding her arms out to the side, she made her way across. She was about to step off the pillar, and onto the arguably more stable ground on the other side, when the beam of her flashlight caught a gleam of gold shining from a narrow ledge about a meter down in the pit. Frowning, she stepped down, and turned back to take a closer look, kneeling at the edge of the crevice and shining the light down into the murky darkness.
There it was! A long, cylindrical object, almost like a spear. She trained the beam over the length of the long object, and noticed the star on the end, with one point broken off. How had her father and Eric missed this, she wondered, puzzled that they would have overlooked something so obvious. Carefully placing the robe on the ground next to her, and laying the flashlight on it, she stretched out flat on the ground, laying near the edge, and reached down with her hand to try to grab the thing. Her fingertips brushed it, but she couldn't quite manage to grab hold. Leaning a bit further out, she bent over, stretched, and just managed to grasp the shaft of the spear with her finger and thumb. Slowly she lifted it, careful not to drop it or scratch it against the edge, and finally, she rolled away from the chasm, the spear safely in her grip.
Standing, she gathered up the robe, her flashlight, and the spear, and walked towards the altar, intending to take a closer look at the spear. She managed to take three steps, when she felt a blinding spasm of pure, elemental energy arc out through the shaft of the spear and into her, racing through her fingers and up her arms, giving her a jolt like none she'd ever had before. The sheer power of the shock drove her to her hands and knees, and she dropped both the robe and the flashlight, the latter rolling away and coming to rest against a heaved up chunk of floor, its light flickering but still managing to illuminate at least a small portion of the cavernous room. Not that it was needed, for as the bolt of energy raced through Eliana, it gathered up her consciousness with it, and carried it away, back through the years, through the decades, and when Eliana again awakened, she—her mind, at least—was seventy years in the past, looking out through eyes that were not her own, yet were. In a small, dim corner of her soul, she knew she was not really there, but that didn't matter. Her body may have been lying in a heap on the cold floor of the pyramid at that very moment, but her mind, her soul, was no longer there with it. Through whatever power had been released by the spear, Eliana was now imprisoned in some other body, some other mind, and she was helpless to do anything but watch, as history played itself out before her eyes.
She was back at the entrance to the tunnel, looking around the room, her eyes taking in the terrible destruction of the ferocious battle that had just ended. And been lost, the mind she was for the moment sharing added, in a scathing, malicious tone. She wanted to shake her head, to clear it, but she couldn't control the body she was in—all she could do was wait, and watch. Suddenly, she became aware of yet another presence there, in her mind, this one quieter, filled with dread, filled with sorrow, filled with an aching sense of having walked this path before.
Because she could do nothing else, Eliana ignored them both, and simply watched as the room, the whole structure, began to implode, massive chunks of rock falling from the ceiling, heaving up from the floor, the whole pyramid going up in a cataclysm of monstrous proportion. And then, across the eternity of space that stretched between the relative safety of the tunnel and the yawning maw of the pit, she saw him. The priest, and another man—but she dismissed this one at once as unimportant, irrelevant—hanging from the edge of the chasm, calling out to her.
But the other man—O'Connell?—wasn't calling to her, after all. Her body turned to look at the woman standing next to her, and she recognized her as—Evelyn? Nefertiri? It was to this woman that the man was calling, yelling for her to go away, to go back, to save herself and Alex—their child? The woman didn't listen, though, charging instead through the rain of boulders and falling rock, nimbly side-stepping and dancing through the chaos, running through hell itself and throwing herself down at the edge of the pit, hauling the man out and to safety.
Her eyes focused once more on the priest, and as he called out to her, begging her to come and help him, Eliana felt a dangerous, inevitable battle begin in the mind she shared. Two other minds, both willful, both determined, squared off in a battle for supremacy over the body, and the decision that would be made. The priest called again, only a name this time, and Eliana watched, paralyzed, as she felt the internal struggle. In the end, though, it was no real battle at all, for the one was young, and selfish, and cold-hearted, and fueled by the almost overpowering instinct for survival. The other was ancient, centuries old, fighting with all she could muster to save her love, her life, but she was tired, and weak—the curse on her soul dragging at her and making her vulnerable, unable to wrest control away from the younger one. And in the space of a heartbeat, it was over. Eliana watched horrified, as the body she was in screamed a single word, and turned and ran back down the tunnel, heading for the outside, and a dubious safety.
Suddenly, she was no longer in the body—and she knew, somehow, that that was a blessing. Instead, she was floating in the room, disembodied but present all the same, and she watched as agony contorted the priest's face, and he whispered a question, a name, and the expression etched on his features would haunt her until the end of eternity. With one last, haunted look at the other couple—safe now, and in each other's arms—the priest might have smiled, but Eliana couldn't be sure—the look was too fleeting, and the utter devastation it faded into too heart rending—he simply let go of the edge and fell away into nothingness. But Eliana could see now that it wasn't nothingness at all—the entire pit was filled with an evil red glow that writhed and churned like the fires of hell. And perhaps it was her imagination, but as the priest fell, she could imagine that thousands of hands were clutching at him, holding him fast and imprisoning him—and a hopeless, agonizing grief settled on her soul like chains.
At last, the vision faded, and Eliana felt herself return to her body—her own, familiar body, safely lying on the floor of the ruined pyramid, but the damage had been done, and the gift of the vision would come at a terrible price. Eliana knew that she would never be the same again. She knew that somehow she had been granted a look back into the past—her past—and as irrational, as illogical as it might be, it had been her back there, as well as the other two, who had walked away from the priest and left him alone to die. All her sound, reasonable arguments against past lives and rebirth faded away into dust at the vividness of the vision she had just experienced, and the terrible pain that accompanied it. For she knew, without a doubt, that she had loved the priest, loved him with her whole heart, her whole soul, and that somehow, they were two halves of the same whole, bound together throughout eternity. And she had betrayed him—utterly and completely betrayed him—and abandoned him to the whims and vagaries of a vicious fate. No, Eliana would never be the same again, and the devastation and grief that she felt in her soul would never leave her.
Slowly, as if she were a hundred years old, instead of a mere twenty-five, Eliana got to her feet, and simply stood there, looking down at the spear, and the robe, and she felt ancient, used up, a withered, empty husk. She felt like crying, like screaming, like howling her misery for all to hear. But she did none of those things. Instead, her mind skimmed back over the dreams—the memories, she corrected herself—that she had experienced in the past weeks, and grasped onto one small detail, grabbing it and not letting go. And she stared at the spear.
The Scepter of Osiris…A tool for either destruction or salvation…One of the keys to the underworld.
So it could be used to break other curses, as well?
If one were of a mind—or heart—to use it in such a way, yes.
Slowly, Eliana bent to pick up the robe, and the battered golden staff, and again, she stood silently, unmoving. What was she to do now? She tested the weight of the spear in her hand, and it was light, and flexible—an elegant, beautiful weapon. But could it be more? She had no working knowledge of ancient religions, much less ancient curses, and she had no idea of what she was doing anyway—she didn't know if the priest was truly cursed, or if he was in the underworld, or, for that matter, if she had gone completely insane. Still…
Eliana looked up at the altar, and smiled—a small, tiny smile, one that held nothing but the faintest speck of hope. Still…
She walked over to where her flashlight had rolled, and, leaving it on the floor, adjusted its angle so that it illuminated the altar as much as possible. Carefully, she folded the robe, and with one last caressing touch, laid it gently on the stone floor. Walking up the three steps to the altar, Eliana placed the spear on the cold stone slab, and rested her hands lightly on either side of it. Closing her eyes, she voiced a small, silent prayer to her own God, asking him to forgive her for what her religion would surely consider sacrilege.
She opened them again, and for the first time, noticed a small, circular opening at the center of the other side of the altar. Had it been there before? Surely it had, and she had just not noticed it because of the angle of the shadows. Reaching across the width of stone, Eliana traced the opening with one finger. Strange, it seemed to be just large enough for…her eyes fell on the end of the spear, and within seconds, she had picked it up and fitted it into the stone of the temple, where it fit—almost perfectly, as though made for it. Still, it was a bit loose, and with a final jiggling shove, Eliana pushed it in and felt the stone give just a bit.
With a click and a swish, a concealed opening revealed itself in front of her—a thin, stone lid sliding back from a shallow depression in the altar's surface, its skillfully carved edges having fit almost seamlessly into the solid-looking slab of stone. She reached in, and her fingers fell upon an old, withered piece of papyrus, with ancient hieroglyphics traced on it, the lines so old and faint from age that it was nearly illegible. But still, Eliana could read it well enough to recognize it for what it was—an ancient incantation, an invocation to the god Amun-Re, and as she read the words, her eyes grew wider, and her expression more and more filled with wonder.
Finishing her silent perusal, Eliana laid the paper out in front of her, and looked up at the spear, now firmly embedded in the center of the stone altar. For a moment, and a moment only, she allowed doubt to crawl through her, and she wondered at the wisdom of what she was about to do. The sane part of her—the old Eliana—smirked and thought, What are you going to do? Read from an old scrap of paper? Nothing much that could do, except make you feel pretty foolish. But the other part—the new Eliana, the one that was just coming into being—believed, and felt purpose in that belief. And that new Eliana shrugged aside the doubts, and the fears, and the uncertainty, and held tight to wonder, and awe, and hope, and she began to read…
Amun-Re. Amun Dei.
Death is only the beginning…
Life circles back on itself,
A river flowing ever forward
And ever returning to its source.
Paths are chosen; others fade away
Until once more the wheel circles back.
The chains are unlocked, the door thrown open.
Return, then, and travel along your path once more.
Choose honor, that you may be deemed worthy;
Choose service, that you may have purpose;
Choose knowledge, for that is the key to wisdom;
Choose love, that your hearts may live forever.
Closing her eyes, Eliana finished reading, and again added a silent prayer to her own God. Please, please make this right. I don't know what else to do. I have no idea what this is about, even. I just know that something terrible happened here long ago, and it needs to be made right. Please.
For a moment, silence fell across the temple and the altar as Eliana's words, spoken and unspoken, faded away into the surrounding shadows. She opened her eyes slowly, her heart leaden, the shroud of grief beginning to settle once more around her. She sighed. It was getting late, and she should go. She didn't relish the thought of walking back alone through the pyramid and the desert. Slowly, she turned to walk down the altar steps, and gather her things.
But before she took a single step, she heard the wind. From a great distance it came, howling through the tunnels and corridors of the pyramid like a great beast of the jungle, and Eliana had the sense to be very afraid, as the gods—her God, and the pagan gods of the Egyptians—answered the summons.