by Rai Aren
“We have been blessed!” another called out.
Many other such reactions were heard, but interspersed around them were reactions of a much different tone. Feelings of unease, mistrust, and suspicion were also there. Some of the faces in the crowd went pale, then stony, while others stared straight ahead wide-eyed and not speaking. Others showed overt hostility.
“Lies,” someone spoke.
“Traitors,” said another.
“Never trust them again,” said someone else.
Assan grew concerned.
Traeus heard the shuffle of footsteps behind him, he looked back to see Odai had returned. Odai nodded. She was here.
”My people,” the King said, motioning for silence, “please welcome home from her long exile, my daughter, Princess Anjia!”
With that she stepped through the curtains, emerging from shadow into the warm light of the sun. Anjia stood before the crowd, almost as an apparition to them. Gasps were heard, some people began to openly weep, some fainted, while others cried out in joy. She raised her hands and as though she had read the collective thoughts of the crowd, she spoke.
“Some of you may rejoice at my return, some of you may harbor disbelief, some even misgivings and suspicion. Do not let this grow seeds of mistrust or doubt in you.” She spoke with a poise and confidence that belied her years. The crowd was hushed.
Tramen watched his sister with pride.
Assan kept a careful eye on the crowd.
The Princess continued, speaking to her people with conviction. “What was done was necessary, for indeed I had enemies who had lain in wait to slay me. Enemies who knew who I was and what I represented. Assan and other members of the priesthood acted in accordance with the prophecy. They knew there were those who were trying to destroy me, so they took the only action they believed would save my life and protect my family. They took me away from here. No one knew. My people,” she said, placing a hand over her heart, “you must find it in your hearts to forgive them for hiding the truth. They have borne the burden of this, and continue to do so, but what they did, they did for me.”
She turned to look at her family and smiled softly. She could see the tears in their eyes. She knew this was still very difficult for them. She turned back to those in attendance. “Please send your healing thoughts to my family who have been through a great deal of emotional upheaval. We will all need your support in the days to come.”
Her father wrapped his arm around her. “My people, your Chosen One of the prophecy is with you now. Rejoice in this blessing. Give thanks, as we are doing.”
The crowd erupted in cheers. Assan scanned the people carefully. He sensed there was still a great deal of unease and mistrust, even anger. He knew this would be difficult for people to accept. He had known all along. The Princess was long thought dead, to many this would be almost frightening, disturbing, and the loss of trust would be perhaps unforgiveable. He feared where this might lead.
There were those who, indeed, viewed the announcement with suspicion and disdain. Near the back of the crowd, stood a group of people who had remained silent and expressionless throughout the speech and the presentation of the effectively resurrected princess. Once they saw the crowd erupt with excitement, they took their leave.
Though there was much conversation around her, Princess Anjia stood quietly, staring out at the crowd. She took her mother’s ankh pendant in her hand, feeling its now familiar warm energy coursing through her. She focused on the crowd. There was much joy, however she also sensed fear amongst the people. She sensed a darkness stir within the hearts of some. She knew the days ahead would need to be navigated very carefully.
Chapter 12
Enemies
A small band of men returned home to Tessea, a small and remote village located to the west of the main city. They sought out one man, Zhek Draxen.
They made their way to the small, modest home he had been taken into, by people loyal to the Draxen family. “Zhek,” one burly man said, “we have just returned from listening to the announcement that the Royal Family made.”
Zhek bristled at the mention of the Royals. He hated them with every inch of his being. They had destroyed his family. He blamed them for the disfiguring injuries he suffered when their device was accidentally set off. He dismissed the role he himself had played in stealing an object he did not understand in the first place. It was the Royal Family’s fault for hiding and hoarding such powerful technology, he told himself. They should all be dead, not his family. His family should be leading the Kierani people. Things should have turned out much differently. And he intended they would. He seethed with hate every day of his painful existence.
“They had some stunning news,” another said.
Zhek looked up at him curiously, his scarred face set in an expression of studied malevolence.
“Apparently Princess Anjia did not die the day the Queen was killed. She had been hidden. She is alive and she is back.”
“What?” Zhek asked gruffly. He stood up, pushing his shoulder length, black hair out of his eyes. He had kept it long and somewhat disheveled as a way of hiding his scars, both external and internal.
The two men backed away slightly, afraid of this man they had taken into their village. They all knew what he was capable of.
The first man spoke, “That is not all. They are claiming she is the Child of the Prophecy, the Chosen One. They say that is why she had to remain in hiding. Apparently even the Royal Family did not know she was alive. It was the priesthood who orchestrated everything.”
Zhek’s mind raced. He felt himself grow hot with renewed rage. He hated the priesthood. He would destroy every last one of those manipulative two-faced, meddling minions if he could.
“Was Assan there?” he asked, his voice low.
“He was,” the burly man answered. “He is the one who explained the priesthood’s trickery.”
“I see,” Zhek said.
“The Princess spoke as well,” the second man answered. “It would seem she will be taking on a more prominent role now. She embraces her place as the Chosen One. Arrogant if you ask me.”
“Indeed. She is a wretch that one,” Zhek growled.
Zhek’s mind roiled with the implications of all he had learned lately. He thought of Zazmaria, the love of his life, the mother of his son. She had feared Anjia, and tried to destroy her. Now Zazmaria was gone, and yet, unbelievably her nemesis had apparently lived on and now was flourishing, growing stronger. It should have been the other way around, he thought angrily.
He stormed across the room, pouring himself a mug of spirits. It burned his throat as it went down, but he did not care. He had to assuage the fury that churned ceaselessly inside of him. ‘This would have to do for now,’ he thought. ‘But not for long.’
Those gathered felt his incandescent rage. They stayed quiet and still, awaiting his next move.
Zhek stood silently, pouring himself another mug of the strong drink, alone with his thoughts. The King had even named his youngest son after Zazmaria’s pathetically weak, pushover of a husband, Prince Alaj. This made Zhek sick. It was not right, none of it. The evil woman, Mindara, a mere servant, took his lover’s life, a secret he had learned through one of his spies in the Palace. The spy had seen Mindara return afterwards. Zhek’s spy had used the chaos in the Palace as a cover to allow her to follow Mindara and listen to the account of events. Now Mindara was Queen. How the Royals could allow themselves to be defiled by allowing a servant to rise to such a station was beyond his comprehension. It was revolting. It was not the natural order of things. Worse, her role in Zazmaria’s death was quickly and quietly covered up and the murderous servant’s disgusting spawn was crowned a Prince. Zhek hated that family more than ever. Everything they did, everything they were, was an offense to every fiber of his being.
“So s
he will now remain at the Royal Palace?” Zhek asked, breaking the silence. His voice was deep and gravelly. It was permanently hoarse, a result of his trachea and lungs having been burned in the superheated air caused by the accident at the Amsara monument. The same aftermath, which caused widespread destruction and death amongst the Kierani people, had left ugly, twisted burns on parts of his face, left arm and hand. The once smooth skin now looked as though it had been melted and scorched. The deep cuts he received on his head and face when the Sun Disk fell on him in the temple still felt slightly numb to the touch. None of his injuries had ever fully healed. In spite of his on-going suffering, he knew he was lucky to be alive. No one else had survived the blast.
“It is believed so, though they would not give many details. The King just said that all our questions would be answered in time.”
“Did he say what the Princess’ official role would be in governing the people?” Zhek asked, then coughed roughly.
“No,” answered the second man. “Though by claiming she is the Chosen One, we expect her to take on a more important role in Kierani affairs, but their immediate plans were not disclosed.”
“Of course not,” Zhek said disgustedly, “just like everything that evil family does. Secrets and lies. It is all they know.” He ran his finger over the thick, jagged scar on his hand. A reminder that he would not suffer without taking revenge on those that harmed him.
The men nodded. Their village was one of the worst off. They had lost almost their entire crops. The land was no longer able to sustain the necessary nutrients for growth. They grew poorer each passing year, each passing month. Very little aid came to them. This had made them especially vulnerable to Zhek’s influence. They had heard many a tale from Zhek of how he perceived the Royal Family and their role in the near annihilation of his own family. Much of what he said, unbeknownst to them, was lies, or at least in the physically and emotionally painful years that had passed, what he had convinced himself to be the truth of the devastating events of the past.
“Have you any thoughts on what, if anything, we should do about this?” the burly man asked.
Zhek looked at him, a cold, cruel glint in his eyes. “Oh, I have many thoughts. Many thoughts, indeed. We will form a plan to show them our response to their wickedness.”
Chapter 13
Excavation, Present-day Egypt
THE Egyptian sun burned, casting mirages all around. Refracted light danced and shimmered in the distance
Maximilian Reichmann stood in a large, multi-roomed tent, which served as his control center, watching his scientists operate the high-tech scanning equipment he had procured for this excavation. Another team of scientists, accompanied by an archaeologist and his assistant, worked in tandem with them, operating more equipment positioned outside next to the body of the Sphinx. He glanced at the large container containing his most-prized possession to date. It was kept under guard at all times. He smiled to himself. He could sense its energy, having spent so much time with it. It had propelled him forward in this quest, which since then had become his singular obsession.
Maximilian was a tall man, with broad shoulders, and powerfully built. He had a rough, yet chiseled face, with sky blue eyes and a piercing gaze. He kept his dark hair short. His neatly trimmed goatee, gave him a fierce and menacing appearance. His reputation for coldness and cruelty struck fear into those who met him. He looked up at the Great Sphinx towering above them. To him it exuded an almost otherworldly power and mystery. He thought back to his younger days, days with his father, Wolfgang.
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The elder Reichmann had been consumed with the family’s history of tracking down and collecting lost antiquities. Maximilian had taken things further by selling most of the artifacts on the black market. That, along with select investments in companies run by ex-Nazi and Stasi members, had made the family exceptionally wealthy. Maximilian only kept certain relics for his own personal collection, ones that held personal significance for him, items that represented absolute power. One such relic was a gilded funerary mask his father had procured. It was believed to have once belonged to Genghis Khan. It rivaled anything seen in museum collections, even a similar mask that had traveled the world on display, such was his mask’s detail and near-perfect condition.
Maximilian remembered staring at that mask for countless hours when he was young. He was always thrilled that they had something that represented such power; something that people all over the world traveled to museums to see and yet there was such an item was in their own home. It made him feel…superior. Superior to all the rest.
He also recalled how his father taught him to be meticulous and ruthless when searching for lost treasures. Wolfgang would desecrate thousand year old ancient wonders to get to the valuable treasures they were protecting. He didn’t care what he left behind, or what the cost was, his sole driving force was to possess the power behind these treasures. He felt it was the path to an immortality of sorts - that he could capture something of their essence by possessing them. Wolfgang’s methods and obsession were passed down to his son. But within Maximilian, the obsession and ruthlessness grew even further.
Through years of looting and plundering, Wolfgang accumulated a large personal collection of near-priceless relics, but his greatest find by far, even surpassing the Genghis Khan mask, was the golden bronze-colored metallic disk, found during the Second World War in northern Africa. Wolfgang kept the metallic disk within the family and, like all of his other illicitly obtained possessions, a secret from the authorities and the archaeological community. He even kept it a secret from Maximilian until just before his death. Maximilian was the only person he told about his beliefs in a pre-Pharaonic Egyptian civilization that was likely far more advanced than their successors.
When Maximilian was first shown the disk, he was captivated, enthralled. Nothing else had ever fascinated him so, or had such a powerful effect on him. Finding more evidence of how it was created, its origins, and other similar artifacts, could lead him to unlocking its power. His father’s quest had been passed to him, and it had become his own obsession. Maximilian then set about putting his plans into motion. He posted spies on the excavation teams of a number of archaeologists working in Egypt, as well as at Universities with Egyptology programs. This is how he had heard of Mitch and Alex, their theories, which fit his own, and their secret find. That find had led him to this day to retrieve the strange object underneath the Great Sphinx.
To move his plan forward, he needed help. Through his spies, he learned of what happened at the Sphinx eighteen months ago. Maximilian knew that the former Professor Dustimaine and his underling Fessel would be the perfect pawns to exploit. In addition to Dustimaine’s previous valuable experience excavating in the area, he and Fessel hated Mitch and Alex, and since they were stripped of their credentials they could no longer work in any official capacity in archaeology. They had been extremely grateful for the opportunity to be employed by Maximilian, as well as for the chance to seek revenge on Mitch, Alex, Jack and Bob, whom they blamed for all of their misfortunes. People without hope or means of their own were exactly what Maximilian needed. Their dependence on, and obedience to him would become absolute.
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Hans walked into the tent. Right behind him were his three accomplices from the Cairo airport. Their fair German skin had not been faring well in the heat. They were sunburnt and peeling and looked miserable. Egypt was not a place they were comfortable in, for many reasons.
They had changed out of their business suits and into tan-colored desert military fatigues. Hans wore a gun and holster around his right leg while the other three men carried sub machine guns strapped over their shoulders. Hans had called Maximilian after the Americans had escaped and filled him in on what happened. Maximilian had ordered them to report to him at the Sphinx site immediately.
The scientists nervously took note of the
four armed men.
Seeing the furtive glances, Maximilian motioned the four men over to the far back corner of the tent, to a private room, away from prying eyes and ears.