by Luke Norris
She slid her arm back in. Apart from another mummified monk, this one felt empty too. A sudden high pitched tone caused her to jump.
Her alarm had gone off. Was it that time already? How long had she been here? That was the alarm for evening meal. The last thing she wanted was somebody from the main crew coming looking for her, and finding this discovery. Her discovery.
Shael hastily grabbed her rucksack, and left the chamber, making her way back up the stairs, past the watchful eyes of the fresco paintings. She thankfully breathed in the evening air and let her face linger in the sun for a moment, before making her way back along the trail to the main monastery.
3
CAMP
“Careful with that!” Ander said, passing the case containing the ancient manuscript. “Those are more than half a millennia old.” He had put the page in one of the smaller heavy-duty carry cases. The manuscript’s value far exceeded the dating equipment it had contained.
“It’s a great find, Ander.” Breiz said, “We’ll have the team go over it and hopefully decipher some of it.”
How did these goons call themselves scholars? Targon would be able to read that page like a letter from his mum. If Shael could just get a glimpse of the writing, surely she could understand a few words.
“You think the monks that lived here had something to do with him?” Breiz asked.
He meant King Oliver of course. He was both the enigma, and knowledge key to the unification war. Every scientist in the field hoped to stumble upon any evidence revealing something new about the age.
“The monks lived here until shortly before the second epoch we think. Who knows if they were here as far back as the unification war. Maybe.”
Shael siped her soup, watching the men pass around the incredible find. And all I get are two more mummified old monks, she thought sullenly.
Did Ander really need another find? The whole world already considered him the leading expert on the period, after he had found the unity spear. The actual unity spear! A thing of legends. Donated by King Oliver to the Wasat kingdom, a symbol of peace after the unity war. Targon had verified its authenticity from the ancient Wasat inscription along its metal haft.
Ander claimed it was the weapon of king Oliver himself, used in battle. Targon had told Shael that this was incorrect, spears of the day had wooden shafts, not steel, so was likely never actually used in combat. Nevertheless, it was of the period Ander claimed.
According to the Hamilien play Forbidden Love, a romanticized theatre piece about the unification war, the spear would emit thunder from its shaft when welded by King Oliver in battle. It was these kinds of inflations that cast doubt on the validity of the rest of the story. Unfortunately, this was the oldest record of events, being pre-first epoch.
But why couldn’t something like the unity spear have been discovered by somebody humble, who had lovingly devoted their life to the topic? Somebody deserving like Targon, her mentor. But Shael was a realist. This was the way these things worked out sometimes. In the end, nobody really cared. He was young, and yes good looking. The average person didn’t care about the First epoch or the Unification war, they cared more about when the next Rogbee game was scheduled. Completely unaware of course that the invention of the sport had been attributed to King Oliver. Just like about every other thing under the mountain.
Shael walked behind Briez, pretending to be interested in her soup. She had to see the transcript, the suspension was killing her. But she wasn’t about to fawn over it like a giddy school girl. Breiz held it in his hand trying to look knowledgeable. To his credit, he wasn't holding it upside down.
Hold it still you damn ruffian, she thought as she tried to focus on the crest at the top of the page. Two terrace reeds crossed in front of a mountain. That was the ancient Hajir clan crest, the same one she had seen earlier in the chamber. This was truly old, and remarkable. What had the Hajir clan been doing so far up in the mountains? Their territory had been a long way from here. She had to take a closer look.
“Looks like a highland crest,” Shael said casually.
“Huh, now that you say it,” Briez said raising an eyebrow at the crest. He turned, noticing Shael for the first time standing behind him. “You recognize it?”
“Not directly,” she lied, “but it has the characteristics of highland symbolism. May I?” She reached out to take the case as Briez carefully lifted it to her.
This was some kind of manifesto, or instructions, for Monks. How they should live. Maybe it outlined their religion. She scanned the page quickly for words she knew, hints to it’s meaning. She almost dropped the case in surprise when she saw mention of King Oliver and Queen Verity themselves. Yes, there was no doubt. The names were mentioned in the highland script, maybe why Ander and Breiz had missed it.
She scoured the document for other words or clues but was only able to pick out bits. She recognized the same credo from the Stone she had pulled out of the guard tower. Something about Monks being the guardians of sleepers. But why were Oliver and Verity mentioned here? How she wished she could sit with the old man, and pour over this together with him.
She reluctantly passed it back to Breiz, who took it impatiently.
“And?” he asked. “You noticed anything else?”
“Definitely looks old,” Shael replied innocently. Maybe their team wouldn’t have the expertise to decipher this, and it would come to Targon for his opinion. Well, Shael wouldn’t spoil that opportunity by giving anything away. She tried to remember as many of the phrases as she could. She would attempt to write them down and show him when they returned.
Breiz didn’t seem surprised that Shael couldn’t offer any more insight.
She couldn’t watch the men drawl over their new find any longer. “I’m turning in. Goodnight.” She made her way to the first wasp. It had been transformed into one of the women’s lodgings. Somewhere in her luggage was the copy of the highland lexicon that Targon had lent her. This was his life’s work, and he had entrusted her to keep it secret, and take on this expedition. She pulled out the large book and flipped to the section about Hajir. Several images of clothing and hairstyles, and yes… there was the symbol. But no mention of Oliver and Verity to be found.
She lay on her back staring at the bunk above. Winds buffeted the thin plastic walls of the makeshift quarters. A reminder that their time here was limited. A generous gap in the weather had given them this window of opportunity to visit the monastery, but this light storm was nothing compared to the ones forecasted in the coming days. They would have one more day before leaving back to the coast. Anything more than a day would be too risky. Also, Shael was not a big fan of flying, and the thought alone of a wasp ride in a storm made her palms sweat.
Tomorrow she would make some rubbings of the sarcophagus, especially the script on the lids. The text had similarities to the document Ander had found. At least she would take something back to Targon.
4
MEETING A KING
Shael stood at the parapet of the guard tower in the clear morning. There had been some fresh snow overnight. On the steep rocky face below her, the mountains had the famous pink hue from the dawn.
Apart from hardy black-stone miners, or crazy explorers, not many people had the chance to be up here, and enjoy such spectacular views. The place had its magic, but this beauty was as accessible as the flower on the thorny goat tree.
Time to get to work, Shael told herself. She had packed two scrolls of paper to make rubbings of the two stone sarcophagi. Should be ample.
She made her way back to the opening inside the guard tower, and squeezed inside. Immediately, faces from the past drew her back into the moment. This time she lingered on the fresco painting longer. The condition of the walls was impeccable, considering their age. Shael was very probably the first person to have seen these since the room had been sealed, all those centuries ago. Although there was no treasure, or any items for that matter, there was no evidence of grave robbers h
aving been here. The monks just didn’t bury their dead with lavish ornaments.
Once again Shael felt an affinity to the people depicted, especially the woman at the end standing next to the strange looking man.
Her flashlight flickered. Damn, she had not bought a spare battery. She switched it to half strength. That should give her enough time to complete the rubbings she wanted, it would just be a little harder to see.
She reached the base of the stair and lingered on the woman’s image. The man who painted this must have loved her. It was in her smile, maternal, and playful.
Shael shone her light in the room, and could just make out the open sarcophagus. Wait! Open? It was dim, but yes the second one was open fully. She felt a jolt of cold shock, her skin prickled. Get a grip! It must have unjammed during the night and slid the rest of the way open. She had removed the pin after all. She shook herself and walked over to the open box, her feet crunching on the salt crystals. She shone the light inside and… Empty? Another wave of superstitious dread washed over her. She had felt a mummy inside yesterday, hadn’t she? Well, she hadn’t actually seen inside properly. Shael had the sudden urge to get back up to the guard tower, and out of this dark room. She resisted, and instead reached into her rucksack to retrieve some paper and placed in on the casket lid.
The crunching of salt on the ground behind her made her freeze. It came from the other sarcophagus. Shael forced herself to raise the flashlight to the noise. She could hardly bring herself to look.
The light was so dim it took her eyes a second to adjust. There, leaning over the woman’s sarcophagus, head bowed in a position of mourning, was a naked figure. A wraith, ghostly white, skeletal thin, and completely hairless. He seemed to blend into the dark room so that Shael almost didn’t see him. She screamed and dropped the flashlight.
Her brain went into flight mode. The only thing to assess was how in Oliver’s name could she get out of this room right now. She bounded towards the stairwell and tripped on the torch. The wind was knocked out of her lungs as the salt crunched against her chest. Shael scrambled up, heaving. She dared another glance at the figure. Still there, unmoved, in the same position.
The next moments were a blur, and Shael was already at the top of the stairs before the intelligent part of her brain activated.
Once at the top, in the light of the morning, she began thinking more logically. Focus Shael! She told herself, trying to calm the pounding in her chest. What just happened? Run through the events. She had seen a person, albeit a very strange looking person, and then she’d bolted. Dropped everything, her torch, her rucksack.
Hang on, there was a person standing in that room down there, and it was empty yesterday. As her thoughts engaged, the obvious answer clicked in her brain. The others must have followed me, and seen the entrance… Suddenly Shael felt very sheepish, as she realized how she had just acted. She was the butt of a joke. Ander or Breiz had set her up by waiting in the burial chamber. Someone had stripped down to give her the biggest fright possible. It was a bad taste joke, and she’d played right into it, acting like a superstitious sucker.
In an instant her adrenaline and fear transformed into anger, at the others—no, she was angry at herself. How many times would she reinforce their biases? It was no longer her own find, in fact, maybe the whole thing was an elaborate setup.
Worst of all, Shael now had to go back down those stairs as the butt of the joke, swallow her pride, and be a good sport. No, she wouldn’t be a good sport! It was bad taste and mean. To think that man had been waiting down there naked in these temperatures for a stupid joke. It was also dangerous, immature, and unprofessional. Enough of the timid Shael, they had pushed it too far this time, and she’d let Ander know.
“Okay, that was really funny,” Shael said loudly, stomping back down the stairs. “Scare the young archaeologist. I’m the new girl right. What was that? Some sort of sick right-of-passage for new team members?” She reached the base and walked over towards her belongings, that had been hastily discarded on the ground. Her torch was still on, enabling her to see the pack and the scattered papers. She purposely didn’t spare a glance for the prankster. If he wanted to keep up the charade, and not put his clothes on, then he could freeze for all she cared.
“Really mature, you know that!” She collected her paper. The others had probably already scoured this entire chamber, taken photos, and made rubbings. She felt deflated.
“Okay, you got me… really good.” Shael admitted. She was calming down, slowly. There was probably a funny side to this, but she wasn’t there yet. “You can drop the act now, and put something on. You must be freezing. Top points for commitment, I can’t deny that.”
Silence.
Shael shone the light on the man. He hadn’t moved a muscle. Still in exactly the same position.
“Oliver’s name!” She exclaimed. As the torchlight landed on him. He was in the same position with his head down. Completely bald. She still could not see his face. The man was so thin and pale, his skin almost looked translucent in the torchlight, with blue veins clearly visible, even on his head. He was fully naked. And… her breath caught in her throat. His ropy body was covered in scars.
Something was not adding up here. This person in front of Shael was in a dire state. In fact, he looked like he was on the verge of death. This was not anybody from the expedition party. There were only nineteen of them, and Shael knew them all. At least by sight.
“Hey, are you okay?” She asked softly. Her items were forgotten. She stepped closer. Clearly he was not okay. She struggled quickly out of her jacket and draped it over his shoulders. The jacket's weight seems to press down on his frail body.
“Were you lost in the mountains?” She asked. “Where have you come from? Were you with a mining crew?” But there were no active crews in this area! A mining scouting wasp had discovered this monastery, not an exploration party. The nearest mining operations that she knew of were a hundred kilometers to the east. “Are you an explorer?” The man had obviously stumbled on the guard house and then come into the room for shelter. It was a miracle he was alive. The storm last night had dropped the temperatures to freezing, and that was tame for weather up here. Finding this chamber had probably saved his life. Even Shael was shivering without her jacket. How was this man not shivering? Maybe he was already hyperthermic.
“We are going to get you out of here okay,” she said, gently coaxing him toward the door.
“Al mah.” A husky whisper came from the man. What did that mean? Was he a foreigner?
He weakly raised a finger towards her drink bottle on the ground.
“Of course, you want water,” she said and hurried over to collect the bottle. ‘Almah’ apart from the pronunciation it was strikingly similar to the ancient word for water, but that did not offer clues as to what nationality he might be.
She brought the nozzle up carefully to his mouth. He raised his head, but dark eyes were half closed as if the dim torchlight were blinding. This man was in a bad way, she had to get him back to the camp fast. It was only mid-morning so the others would be working. They slowly made their way to the stairwell. Her fingers brushed his naked arm. He was ice cold as if his skin were made of the same stone as the walls themselves. At this pace, it would be a miracle if they made it back to the camp.
At the base of the stairwell, he stopped, and gradually straightened himself. Shael hadn’t realized how tall he was. Why was he looking at the fresco paintings? It was the image of the woman and the strange looking man. He must be delirious. Then he did something unusual. He pressed his palm against the man’s chest.
“Kafaya Sardiki,” he whispered and lingered there looking at the painting of the dark-skinned man.
Again, those words sounded like a variation of the ancient highland tongue, thank you, friend. Wherever this man was from, maybe the language strain still contained words close to original highland language. Surely Targon would know of such a dialect. Unless of course, he had
meant something entirely different than thank you, friend. Why would someone say thank you, friend, to a painting? It was probably a coincidence that the words sounded the same. The man was clearly unhinged in his current state.
It took a quarter of an hour to walk the few hundred meters to camp. By the time they arrived Shael felt as if she herself was on the verge of hypothermia. The explorer was still in much the same condition as he was in the chamber. He often hung his head in complete exhaustion and would appear to drift off on the spot. She helped him into her bunk bed and lay beside him to accelerate heating process. He fell instantly to sleep.
She looked at the explorers face. So peaceful, tranquil, like it had been set in plaster. Very few wrinkles made it hard to gauge the man’s age. He had a small scar on his chin, otherwise, his face and bald scalp were unblemished. His body told a different story. Scars, deep and old covered his torso, and he was very emaciated. He had a faded ink marking on his right shoulder, image of a leaping cat, with a word written in a very strange language underneath. It simply looked like his body had taken as much punishment as a human could, and still function. He was an enigma. No clothes. He had somehow traversed to this remote region, over impossible terrain. It was plain luck of the gods that she had found him when she did.
Shael placed water and soup beside the bed, then hurried out in search of the expedition doctor.
“You found him in the guardhouse you say?” Ander asked disbelievingly. “Naked?”
Shael had left out the part about him taking shelter in the burial chamber. She hadn’t lied, just omitted a few details. If they didn’t know about it, no need to tell them just now. Besides, there was still work to do in there.
Now that she’d seen mention of Oliver and Verity in the transcript from the monks she wanted to the chance to reexamine the coffins. Could they have been the final resting places of King Oliver and Queen Verity? The thought made her giddy. But a proper examination could be cut short due to incoming weather. And now with this explorer, she had found it was another complication. The expedition doctor seemed very concerned about getting the man down from this high altitude. His heart rate was uncannily low, almost in a perpetual state of cardiac arrest. The doctor said she didn’t understand how he was still breathing. That was just her luck that circumstances would conspire against Shael to keep her out of that tomb.