Chapter Nine - A Revealing In
The large chamber echoed Carnifex's exclamations across the water. The members of the Praesidium moved closer to their prone leader as their second in command struggled to wake him. Worried expressions were mirrored across the group when the Vampyr's attempts were in vain.
"Harry, come on," Carnifex murmured, a slight edge of desperation colouring his tone.
The Vampyr slid his arm under Harry's neck, lifting him gently and pulling him closer as he braced his friend's limp form against his leg. Feeling past the blood staining Harry's hair and face, Carnifex touched the wound along the side of his head, trying to determine how bad it was. From the damage, it appeared that it hadn't only been the landing on the stones that caused it.
As his cold fingers ghosted over the raw tissue, Carnifex felt a crack in the bone that was revealed. Warm crimson covered his hand as he pulled it away and laid it on Harry's chest. Concentrating, the Vampyr sensed the beating of the heart underneath his hand, becoming worried as he realized that the pulse was erratic and weakening.
Glancing up at his allies, he sought out the most powerful of the Elf warriors. Gesturing for the male to come over, from where he was checking a coughing Veela, Carnifex turned his attention back to his leader. He addressed the Elf as the other kneeled beside them.
"Laminae," Carnifex said softly, "can you heal this?"
Leaning closer, Laminae cleared away the excess blood covering the injury. Placing his hand upon Harry's forehead, the Elf eyed the wound as it continued to bleed. Carnifex watched him impatiently.
Eyes narrowing after a moment, Carnifex growled, "Well?"
"I am not certain," Laminae answered, not raising his gaze from his patient. "If you would be quiet for a moment, I could discern."
Carnifex fell silent, letting the Elf work over their commander. The others moved around, though the Vampyr paid little attention. He did recognize their seamless motions of searching the vast area surrounding the lake, keeping watch against threats and attempting to determine their location, to which he was grateful. Carnifex may have strong leadership capabilities, but he had never found himself possessed of the urge to use them. He left that to his young friend.
As Laminae examined the man he held, Carnifex noticed that the Elf's gold-tinted skin was a stark contrast to the pale cast of Harry's face. His colour was nearing the shade of the Vampyr's, though without the sheen of magic that resided upon the undead.
Running a glowing hand over Harry, Laminae glanced at the creature holding him. "He's been greatly injured, Carnifex. Beyond the head wound, I've found internal damage, crushed organs. His body appears to have taken quite a beating through that tunnel, and falling upon these stones has just worsened it. He has barely healed from the last battle; you know he was practically impaled by that blade. Frankly, I am not confident that one of my ilk could have sustained such as this and survived. I believe it is merely his magick preserving his existence."
"Don't give me that," Carnifex sneered angrily. "The only thing that explanation told me is that you are more interested in long-winded speeches than saving your leader. You gave your oath to this man, regardless of his humanity, and you will follow through, lest you find yourself severely lacking your life. Am I understood?"
Laminae gazed upon the Vampyr for a moment, then looked back at Harry. "Do not doubt my loyalty or my honour. I will try, I assure you that."
Carefully, the Elf lifted Harry from Carnifex's arms, laying him gently flat against the stones. Closing his eyes, Laminae focussed deeply and took a breath. Releasing it, he placed his hands over the young man's chest. He pulled at his internal power, sweeping it across the form, a blaze of light surrounding Harry's body.
With a sudden flash, the light speared through the wizard, wrenching at his own power.
Heat lashed over Harry's skin, uncomfortably stifling as he attempted to breath. With the greatest of effort, he forced his eyes open, only to swiftly shut them again as fire lanced through them. Raising a hand to his face, Harry moaned as he once more attempted to raise his eyelids, this time slowly allowing them to get accustomed to the light.
Strange, he thought, I didn't think Azkaban would be this bright.
Sitting up slowly, Harry had the vague notion that something wasn't quite right. That idea was proven fact as his vision cleared and he looked about himself. Startled, he pushed quickly to his feet, feeling along his wand holster for his wand. When he found naught, he glanced down and realized that he wasn't dressed as he had been shortly before. Instead of his dark shirt and trousers, covered by his hooded cloak, he found himself in plain robes of deep red. His weapons were nowhere to be found, and he was barefoot.
"At last, awaken unto thee," spoke a voice behind him. Pivoting around, Harry looked for who spoke, finding no one. Laughter floated around him. "No, no, thou shalt not see thee."
"Who are you?" Harry asked, making himself remain calm. "Show yourself."
"And of what use would that be?" answered the voice, with an amused inflection.
"It is typically easier to hold a conversation when two people are face to face," Harry stated.
As laughter once more echoed around him, Harry took the time to register his surroundings. All around him stretched pale sand, meeting the washed-out sky at the distant horizon. The sun above beat upon him, seeming to weigh the humid air down, making breathing arduous. Nothing mired the expanse of desert, no landmarks or oases.
"Does this not render your memory to provide images?" Again the voice spoke, and Harry could now distinguish it as male.
"Not really, no," Harry answered snidely, crossing his arms.
"Pity, that," stated the voice. "It certainly strikes nostalgia upon thee."
"Is that so? How wonderful for you." Harry ceased looking for the man speaking. "You do know that hiding like this is the way of a coward?"
"Mayhap. By chance it may also be the case of wishing to remain unknown. Anonymity is great freedom. Though, I am certain you would know little of thus."
This man is clearly insane, Harry thought. And trying my patience.
"Listen, I don't know what era you think you're from, but this is really getting annoying." Waving an idle hand, Harry went on, "I would really rather be doing something. So, gonna get to attacking me or whatever already?"
"Oh, but nothing as plebeian as that," stated the man, his tone humorous. "I am merely granting thou assistance, by my word."
Harry didn't bother to answer as he rose an eyebrow. His arms were still crossed and he leaned most of his weight on his left leg, appearing relaxed though his senses were on sharp alert. After a moment, the voice spoke again.
"Now, now, there is not a need to be apprehensive, my friend. I am only pulling forth that which you well know." The man's tone went dark. "You may find yourself in need of it."
Suddenly Harry's footing was compromised as the sand beneath him roiled, causing him to fall backwards. Before his startled gaze, the ground rose up magnificently, sharp stone figures blooming from under the desert floor. On all sides of him, the sand fell away from the rising forms, and as they reached towering heights, shadows fell across Harry's face as the sun was blocked.
As quickly as it had began, the moving of the earth halted, shocking in its abruptness. Harry regained his feet, turning slowly to look about him. Before him were buildings of immense proportions, set into the walls of sandy cliffs. The walls of the structures were worn smooth and cracked in many places. They formed what appeared to be ruins of temples, or pyramids of some sort.
With a gasp, Harry realized where he was. He'd been in this valley once before, many years previous, and as the man had said, images were drawn from his mind. Images that moved in front of him, hazy, but slowly solidifying. As these remembered figures took shape, Harry belatedly saw this for the vision it was. By then, though, there was no fighting it, and Harry lost himself to his own memory . . .
The Final Battle against Voldemort had passed a mere few months ago, and the evidence of the damage from it still made itself known in Harry's body. With a pained sigh, he struggled to open the pouch at his waist, pulling out and downing a potion as quickly as possible. Taking a deep breath as the pain nullified, Harry glanced around himself.
He found little interest in the ancient stone structures, eyes scanning rapidly as he looked for something in particular. As he walked over to the opening of one of the edifices, he found himself slightly short of breath. Sighing once more, Harry sat against a low part of the wall to rest, careful to stay in the shade.
Dressed in the loose robes, that made sure to cover the various scars across his body, Harry still felt over warm. He knew better than to use magic to cool himself, which was also the reason he had to cover himself with clothes as opposed to using a Glamour charm, but he wished to Merlin he could. As reckless as he may have been, the consequences of circumventing the natural air were to fearful to consider.
Harry was in a remote area of the Egyptian desert, past where even most of the ancients dared go. His travels had led him far, in his wish to escape himself, and had now landed him in the middle of the Valley of the Tombs, the burial ground of the most prestigious pharaohs. This part of the necropolis was a great distance from the ravaged graves of those such as King Tutankhamen and was guarded by curses that no longer were remembered. Harry's presence alone was a danger, should he set off the ingrained traps, ergo his wish not to use his magic to draw attention to himself.
He quickly took a drink from the canteen he carried, then glanced around again. Taking a deep breath, nearly choking on the heated air, Harry wrenched himself up and stood still to regain his balance. While he had greatly recovered, at least physically, he still had the tendency to push past his endurance.
His mental state, Harry tried not to think of. It was more that than anything else that had led him to this godforsaken place. His quest was selfish, something he himself needed; he was searching for knowledge to vanquish not one without, but within.
Shaking his head of excess thought, he moved to the entrance of the pyramid he had rested near. Harry eyed it carefully before stepping inside, his senses tuned high.
His movements were studied and meticulous, following a path that his instincts laid out, making sure to avoid as much danger as possible. Though slow, Harry's progress into the tomb passed without incident. By the time he needed another drink of water, he'd made it into the centre of the inter-chambers. With a flick of his hand, light engulfed the hall and he gasped slightly.
Even in his current weariness, the sight was staggering. Gold gilded walls rose several dozen feet to a ceiling of a dark stained indigo. The pillars that marked off the length of the main chamber held the roof, appearing to be holding a sky of night. Upon the columns and at strategic places on the walls, hieroglyphs told stories of gods and battles and travels to other worlds. Several paintings depicted ancient mages creating their magick with raised hands and intense expressions of concentration, before wands became the easy medium of sorcery.
Near the back of the hall lay the main sarcophagus, the jewels strewn about it glowing in the light, lending it an unworldly air. Along either side, altars were positioned, holding canopic jars and statuettes of lesser godlings. Nigh these stands, acting almost as guards of the ancient relics, statues of the main gods held court over the room- Horus, Ra, and nearest the sarcophagus, Osiris, the god of the underworld.
Harry moved across the room, footsteps echoing hollowly, stepping carefully around various ushabtis- the small clay figures of servants meant for the afterlife. He was very conscious of the fact that this place hadn't seen life since the first dynasties of Egypt had fallen. As he reached the far length of the chamber, the light continued to reflect off different objects, now appearing eerie in the still of the tomb.
Keeping his breathing quiet, as though to disturb the ethereal air as little as possible, Harry halted before the sarcophagus. Reaching out a hand, he trailed his fingers over the etchings along the side, grazing across words he used a spell cast upon himself to read. He vaguely registered that they spoke of the live of the man within the grave, and blinked in a slightly dazed fashion. With a sigh, Harry stepped around the coffin, slipping easily between it and the altar beside it.
Reaching into a pouch on his belt, Harry pulled out a rolled piece of parchment. Unrolling the scroll, he held it higher to see in the light. He traced a finger over the words he had written during his research of this tomb, searching for the passage he needed. Finding the paragraph, he read quickly, then followed the directions written there and looked for a certain set of hieroglyphs upon the wall before him.
Kneeling down, he found the writing near the floor, next to the base of the sarcophagus. Harry gently wiped the words clear of sand and read, using his mental translation spell to advantage.
Follow the path of the Pharaoh to find life's knowledge.
Thinking for a moment, he worked out the logic of the message and stood abruptly as it sunk in. Backing out from where he had crouched, Harry again ran a hand over the biography upon the sarcophagus. Pressing lightly near the words telling of the Pharaoh's death, the stone under his fingers suddenly sunk in deeply, triggering a sharp movement of one of the altars.
Harry watched as it moved aside, pushing flush against the statue of Osiris. Looking down, Harry saw a large hollow space revealed where the stand had once been. He quickly knelt beside it, waving more light to shine into the depths.
Held within, a gold box gleamed brightly and he reached a hand above the hole. Focussing, Harry muttered quietly in a dead language, invoking several ancient and mostly forgotten incantations that would allow him to retrieve the item safely. Slowly the box rose from its hiding place, glittering more as the jewels upon it shone.
Moving his hand to the side, Harry let the object down to the floor and dropped his arm. Shifting so that he sat next to the box, he once more pulled out his hand-written parchments, reading through them quickly. As he placed them back into his pouch, he gazed at the intricately detailed container before him.
Emeralds blinked darkly across the top, inset with other precious stones of many colours, several of which would now be much sought commodities. Along the four sides, rubies ran in lines down it, making it appear oddly as though bleeding. Between these crimson streaks, chiselled words of ancient protection decorated the gold that covered it.
Closing his eyes, Harry again gave voice to spells thousands of years old, almost enjoying the feel of the old magic stirring around and within him. Directing it at the resplendent box, he felt his way through its defences, seeking the gentlest way of unlocking it. Latching on to the correct magic, Harry's eyes snapped open as the lid shot open.
Rising back to his knees, Harry looked into container. In lay an object that seemed an opposite to the box holding it. Instead of glistening finery, the top of it seemed cut directly out of onyx, the black shining darkly. Harry reached inside and drew out the item, feeling a sudden surge of magic originating from it, spearing almost painfully through his palms and up his arms.
Nearly shaking, Harry pulled the object clear of its box and stared at it for a moment. Almost reverently, he carefully lifted the cover. A rare smile pulled his lips as his glinting eyes ran over the first page of the true Book of the Dead.