by Luke Norris
P R O T E C T O R
Book Two
PLANET WARS
LUKE NORRIS
Copyright © 2018 by Luke Norris
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Cover design by Joseph Norris
Edited by Hope Workman
ISBN: 9781793310187
For my mother,
who made our home a creative and wonderful place.
1
EXPEDITION
The inscription was worn and carved in a simple font. Some ancient monk had probably scratched it on the wall as an afterthought. As Shael looked closer at the small letters, she realized not all of the text was in the ancient Highland tongue. It appeared to be repeated in another language, which looked entirely alien. It was unlike any ancient languages she had studied or even any foreign language she recognized.
Targon could probably decipher most of the highland script, the old man could do it in his sleep. Perhaps translating the first part would act as a key to crack this other strange alphabet. Although, what use would that bring, when no other artifact had been found on the entire continent of Arakan with this language? Still, the prospect of a unique discovery, an undocumented ancient script, had her archeologist brain ecstatic.
This little find felt somehow more human, more relatable, than the opulence and art in the main monastery. The artifacts they were finding up there in the main building were shrouded in ceremony and excess. Maybe this would give insight to the daily life of the Monks who once lived here.
Back in the city, Shael had spent countless hours with the old man examining documents of the period pre-first epoch. She felt slightly ashamed that she could only read a few of the words. Something about monks being the guardians of sleepers. Something about waking up. Probably referring to monks who fell asleep on guard duty. It must have been a boring job. What enemies would ever want to travel here, to such a remote location? There was nothing to be claimed here, except snow, ice, and frozen corpses of three-hundred-year-old monks. The other archaeologists had already exhumed several mummified bodies in and around the monastery proper.
It was obvious to Shael that the others did not value her expertise. They treated her like she was young, fresh out of school. Which was technically correct… that didn’t matter, she could show half of these fakes a thing or two. But did she have to go and scream when she saw her first mummy? She’d acted like a frightened child, in front of the others. Damn, that had not helped her. Maybe they were right. She was a scientist, she needed to act like one.
She felt the glyphs under her fingers. These words written here sounded a little like her own family crest. ‘Wake the sleeper within.’ A whimsical phrase, about taking life head-on, not sitting back and letting it happen to you. The mantra Shael lived by. It was tradition in her family for the oldest child of each generation to get the tattoo under the left arm beside the armpit. Silly? Yes. But most traditions were silly if you really analyzed them. She kind of liked it. She had told her father when she was twelve, she would never get that tattoo. But there was something comforting about a family ethos, something bigger than the circumstances you found yourself in. Who knows, maybe she would get it one day.
Shael was indeed descended from Highlanders, as her startling yellow eyes betrayed. A trait not commonly seen, but Targon had assured her this was a genetic trait shared among the Highlanders before the Unification War. But the yellow eyes had been a point of difference growing up, making school a difficult time for her socially. It wasn’t all that bad, she had found acceptance in the books. Probably why she’d been driven to archaeology, and graduated so young.
Perhaps I was descended from the poor sods who froze their butts off on this guard tower all those centuries ago, she thought jokingly. Here I am freezing my butt off on the same tower.
Why would some monk write a mantra like ‘Wake the sleeper within!’? Maybe it was the final straw from some poor monk who’d had enough of freezing his butt off here, and he carved these words before making the pilgrimage to other parts of the continent. She couldn’t blame him. In fact, what had kept these people living here so long at all was a mystery. Evidence suggested they were still here after the first epoch. From the unification until the first epoch was many generations.
Shael carefully worked the stone free, that had the inscription on it. The other archaeologists in the team wouldn’t care about some stone in the guard tower. And, she could take it to Targon, perhaps he could tell her more.
Her chisel found some purchase on one side of the bricks, which allowed her to lever it outwards. Shael always felt a wave of nostalgia when handling ancient artifacts. She tried to put herself in the shoes of the monk who had made the inscription. Perhaps this stone had not been touched by another soul since then, all those centuries ago. It was as if she could momentarily reach through time and connect with them.
After prying at the stone for some time, it finally wriggled free. Air sucked in rapidly through the hole it had left. The hole? Was there a cavity behind this wall? It faced the mountain, so Shael assumed there was just bedrock.
Suddenly, the stones above the hole, where her brick had been, had no support, and they collapsed downwards. Next, a whole portion of the wall crumbled away, causing her to jump back, and leaving a pile of stones at her feet. The dust made her cough, and wave the air clear. She had pulled out some sort of keystone. A gaping black human-sized hole stared back at her.
Shael stood, momentarily stunned, before excitedly fumbling in her backpack for her flashlight. She shined the light inside, to try and get a better view. The torch was pathetic, and the light was swallowed up by the ancient darkness.
Shael squeezed her shoulders through the hole and was shocked to see that there were stone stairs, leading downwards. This doorway had been purposely covered over. Was it an escape route for soldiers? That made no sense. Who would ever attack this monastery? There was no reason to.
Shael’s curiosity was aroused. At that moment, like an omen, a shadow swept across the guard tower. It was first eclipse already? Her torch was the only light source, and her breath steamed in the artificial light. She clambered completely through. The ice-cold stone made her fingers ache through the thin gloves. The darkness in the stairwell was old, almost palpable, and it seemed to eat the light. The cold air was dry as a bone and had an unusual musky odor.
Her torchlight landed on the narrow stairwell wall, and she gasped audibly. Beautiful fresco paintings in vivid color greeted her. This was in complete contrast to the small baron guard room where she had just been.
The frescos told stories. Icicles made the images sparkle, and jump out in the torchlight. What was this place? Many of the characters in the paintings had yellow eyes like her own. Made sense, all the people of this region would have done back then. Back then? Did she really believe this was from the time of the unification war? The eyes seemed to be watching her, following, goading her forward.
She placed a hand on one of the images, a beautiful slender highland woman, standing beside an imposing figure of a man. He did not look to be of highland decent. He was tall, red tussock colored skin. Strange. But why did Shael feel an affinity for these people?
She followed the curved stair down no more than a few meters; before it opened into a chamber.
The blackness swallowed her lamplight in the small room, although it was not more than ten meters across. The torch beam came to rest on two enormous stone slabs in th
e center of the room. Apart from those it was bare. What was she expecting, a treasure room?
It was hard to breathe this dry air. Her foot crunched on something. Salt crystals on the ground. What was this place? Maybe this was a weapons room, for the guards who once manned this outpost, and those boxes were weapons caches.
Was that relief carvings on the side? Yes, there were carvings in the stone, beautifully detailed. More than beautiful. She had never seen the like from any epoch. These were regal. Magical.
She moved into the room and walked over to inspect a little closer. Her heart was beating faster, as she ran the light along the top, following the contours. A gasp escaped her, as a beautifully carved female face came into view. Delicate features with large eyes. The irises were holes, which gave the impression of the stone eyes moving with Shael. Upon the head… a crown?
As she examined the side more carefully, she could see they were carved straight into the solid stone. Intricate figures. Stories. A carved group of people depicted walking in the jungle, wearing unusual clothing. A strange man-made object in a river. There were depictions of life in the highland villages. She recognized the highland insignia of the Hajir clan from her studies with Targon. The crossed reeds. Wait, Hajir clan? That dates back to before the unification war, more than five hundred years ago. Historical literature about that period was very limited. It was a dark age. Much knowledge was destroyed a hundred years later by the Skalien hordes, in the wars at the beginning of the first epoch, led by Skalet.
But there was no denying the period of enlightenment that came after the unification of clans and lowlanders. Huge technological advancements were made in a very short period. The first universities were said to have been founded then.
The causation of this enlightenment era, at the beginning of the first epoch, was still a topic of speculation and baffled many scholars. Of course, the folktales attributed this to King Oliver and Queen Verity, like every other unlikely thing that occurred around that time. It was human nature to exaggerate stories and turn ordinary people into something superhuman. It was frustrating as a scientist to have to sift through the mysticism and distill the truth.
What had she stumbled upon here? Was this important? This chamber certainly looked as if it hadn’t been entered for a very long time. Whatever it was, it was Shael’s discovery. She had to keep it secret from the others.
Such finely engraved lines in the rock. Her heart fluttered. Wait, was that line carved or…? A thin joining line all the way around, sealed so perfectly that she almost missed it. She couldn’t even squeeze her fingernail in the gab. Such craftsmanship. She followed the seam to the end, then as it turned the corner it sloped on a thirty-degree angle downward. This happened on both ends. Yes, it was a lid. The weight on one side would let it slide open of its own accord. Yet it didn’t.
There must be a kind of linchpin, holding the lid in place. The lid, was she really saying that?
Keep calm Shael, she told herself. But how could she possibly stay calm, in the face of something exciting like this? An archaeologists dream.
This couldn’t be some kind of tomb. A sarcophagus? No, that made no sense. What kind of a monk, in a remote monastery would have such an elaborate grave? In a guard tower no less. But then there was the full sized woman carved meticulously on the top, what was that about? She was wearing a crown. Kings and Queens were a concept from a distant past, the last known ones, supposedly, being Oliver and Verity who were alive more than half a millennia ago. But if Shael were to imagine what a Queen might look like it was the woman on this stone box.
There were some inscriptions along the sides of the lid. Shael secretly considered herself something of an expert of ancient languages. She would never claim such a thing to Targon of course, his knowledge of the old texts would put her to shame, although he was far too humble to ever acknowledge such a thing.
She could indeed recognize some of the characters, but the words together were gibberish, making no sense. There were also completely alien looking inscriptions, letters which she had not seen the like. She should have paid more attention in Targon’s lessons, were he but here now.
Shael concentrated, and some words began to take shape, but they were nonsensical together. Chances are I have the translation wrong, she thought, but it does look like ‘Wake the sleepers’, and there is a date. The date was confusing. It was ‘one hundred and fifty.’ Historical dates were taken retrospectively from the second epoch. But this would, of course, be according to the ancient Wasat Calendar and have nothing to do with the modern calendar. Which would put the date… her brow furrowed in consternation, soon after the first epoch. That can’t be right. She thought as she scanned the walls with her light. This is older. That date didn’t correspond with anything else about the art, or architecture in this place. Everything else screamed that it was from the time of the unification war, or dare she say it, even older.
2
OPENING THE COFFINS
Shael ran her fingertips along the engraving. There, in the stone carved hand of the woman was a handle, as if she were offering it to Shael to take. Well, who was she to deny this regal lady? She would oblige. It would be rude not to. She hesitated on the handle. The others would want to document this. Too bad, it was her discovery. Besides, it was just some stone boxes in a guard tower. Not so important.
Shael pulled the stone handle. It screeched after eons of being in the grasp of the stone woman. She was surprised to find that the short tapering baton came completely free. A dark hole was left where it had been pulled free.
Shael waited, holding her breath. Her eyes darting from side to side. Nothing. She exhaled and let herself relax.
Suddenly a low rumble, stone grinding against stone, filled the room. Shael screamed out loud and jumped, dropping the flashlight on the ground. It landing facing the structure. The small chamber rattled. Icicles fell from the walls, and the strange covering of salt on the ground hummed like a living organism.
Shael’s eyes were wide and transfixed on the lid as it slid slowly down on the 30-degree angle. It seemed to take an eternity but eventually came to a halt, as the side rested on the ground. It was open.
Pull yourself together Shael, you’re an archaeologist! She forced herself to draw some calming breaths and picked up the torch. She shone the light inside.
There was a thin ivory-white sheet covering the unmistakable form of a person. My god! These are sarcophaguses tombs. Shael mustered herself and reached out to remove the sheet. She could already see through the slightly transparent material, the mummified corpse underneath had strangely been buried nearly naked. Not with the lavish dress depicted on the lid. Why no clothes? Rituals and mysticism were rife in those times.
She braced herself, and carefully drew the sheet away from the face. It was an awful site. The skin was brown and flaking off, some holes exposed pieces of skull. The jaw bone hung loose at a god awful angle, the decayed muscle no longer keeping it attached. It was hard to look at. Although, the mummy in remarkably good condition considering the age. All the mummified monks they had exhumed here in the monastery were in superb condition, the cold, dry environment preserved them well.
Shael felt a pang of disappointment to see that the sarcophagus was otherwise empty. What had she expected? Treasure? At least some sort of artifact to take back and show the old man would have been nice. She respectfully pulled the sheet back over the woman’s face.
So many questions plagued her about this. Why such ornate, even royal looking, caskets? Yet, the body itself was so modestly adorned. ‘Modest’ was an understatement to describe a single sheet.
Perhaps the other coffin would offer some more clues as to who they were, and why they were buried in such a strange manner.
She walked around to the second stone casket. It had similar images on the side. They were telling a story. She could see it now. It followed the journey of several characters. Figures engaging in different activities. Some bent over collect
ing terrace wheat, there was even a duel with two spearmen. A victor, standing over the slain foe. They were such brutal, harsh times. I wonder who the victor was? She thought to herself sarcastically.
She ran her torch across the lid. An imposing male physique depicted wearing some kind of ceremonial armor. His bearded face watched Shael intently, stone eyes giving the spooky illusion of following the torchlight. None of the prominent pieces of the first and second epoch boasted such artistry, she was certain of that.
This man also wore a crown. Had he been a king? It certainly looked like it. She followed similar inscriptions down the side. Yes, there was the same handle. She twisted it as she had done with the other. It came free much easier. She held the lynchpin in her hand and waited.
Sure enough, the cumbrous stone lid, under enormous coercion from its own weight, began ponderously sliding down on its thirty-degree track. The grinding stone was almost deafening in the small dark chamber. It’s loud enough to wake the dead.
It had only moved two hand widths, before it jammed, and would not go any further. Shael pushed on the lid, but it wouldn’t budge. She extended her legs and used the other sarcophagus as a purchase to push against. Hopeless. These things weigh tones, what chance did she have in moving it?
It had opened just enough so she could shine her torch in the small dark gap, between the lid and the wall. The chamber around her darkened, as the torch focused in the gap. There doesn't’ necessarily have to be treasure, she thought to herself, it would be nice to have some sort of artifact. Anything at this stage.
She could see a similar white sheet covering the form. Just like the woman. Shael squeezed her hand through the gap. It brushed against the cold body inside. She instinctively snatched her hand back. Get a grip on yourself, Shael! She scolded herself. You’re a scientist dammit, and dealing with five hundred-year-old mummies comes with the territory.