by Tom Hunter
“Not necessarily,” Samuel replied. “It might not be that the scepter is buried specifically at this point. It might be that there’s just a clue here that points us to where it really is. I suggest that we don’t just examine the stele. Let’s look around the area and see if we can see anything that strikes us as suspicious or out of the ordinary. I don’t know–look at where the shadow from the stele points at midday or if there’s a person in the mural that seems out of place who might be indicating our next step.”
The group started hunting for any clues around the base of the stele. The noon day sun blazed down on them. Had any of the adventurers looked up, they might have noticed a flying speck in the distant sky, but none of them did. They were all too focused on searching for a sign that St. Augustine or his Knights had been there.
“What is that propping up the stele?” asked Waleed. “Could they be something to do with the Knights? Maybe a symbolic spear or something?”
Basile came over to examine the heavy bars attached to the base.
“Oh, non!” he laughed. “That’s a very modern addition. Those are copper rods. They must have put them in during the restoration. They’re designed to protect the stele from lightning. I must say that I rather admire the workmanship that’s gone into the design. They’ve made the bars very sympathetic towards the original structure. That’ll be why you thought they were a clue from the Knights.”
He looked up at the stele, following the bars to where they ended just in case there was any inscription of the symbol of the Knights. “I’m more curious about that curved hoop at the top,” he remarked. “Do you see that indentation next to it?”
“That big dent?” asked Waleed.
“Oui, that’s it,” nodded Basile. “I’m wondering whether there’s any particular meaning to that.”
“Like maybe the hoop is supposed to represent a spring and the indentation is the impact of dreams?” suggested Waleed.
The two men looked at each other.
“Yeah, you’re right. That’s stretching it a bit, isn’t it?” smiled Waleed.
Had they continued to gaze at the hoop, they might have spotted the tiny aircraft buzzing around, but having decided that it didn’t have any real meaning, they moved on and the drone continued to fly unobserved, reporting their location to unknown watchers.
“Akhenaton, have you seen anything that looks like the Knights are in the area?” asked Samuel, coming to join the Knight who was staring thoughtfully at the stele.
“Nothing conclusive.” Akhenaton shook his head. “I mean, there are those false windows along the side of the stele. That might be a symbol that all is not as it appears. As you know, the Knights like their little riddles and puns. When is a window not a window?”
“When it’s decorating a stele,” Samuel finished.
“But if they were created by the Knights,” Akhenaton continued, “I’d expect to see more carvings that followed Spring Dream symbolism or ideology. On their own, the windows aren’t enough to merit further investigation. I haven’t noticed anything else that would fit into the Knights’ iconography.”
“All right, people.” Samuel gestured for everyone to reconvene. “I think we’ve seen enough. It looks like we’re on a wild goose chase. Although the stele is an impressive example of its kind, it doesn’t match the grandeur of the pyramids of Meroe. I don’t think that there are any great secrets here. If we’re all agreed, then I suggest we move on.”
“And go where?” protested Waleed. “You were the one who told us that this was the best–no, the only-lead we have. There must be something here. I don’t think we’ve spent long enough examining the stele. Maybe that’s not a false door. Maybe it’s a false-false door, designed to make us think it doesn’t work when actually it opens up a world of treasure.”
He crossed over to the stele and knocked on the door. “Hello?” He called. “Is anyone home?”
He grabbed hold of one side, tugging at it, before moving to the other side and doing the same, determined to break in. “There must be a secret entrance we missed,” he grunted. “We just have to find it.”
“Give it up, Waleed,” said Josh. “There’s nothing here. Keep doing that and you’ll damage an ancient monument. And believe me, you don’t want to see what Samuel’s like when someone’s destroyed important relics.”
“All right,” sighed Waleed. “But I’m positive there’s something here we’ve missed. We’ll be kicking ourselves later for not spending more time here.”
“Wait!” Shafira motioned to Waleed to come away from the stele. “I think I hear someone coming.”
Waleed scurried away to join his friends and the six of them did their best to pretend that they were just ordinary tourists enjoying the scenery.
“So it was restored in 2072, you say?” asked Waleed, as Josh acted as though he was reading out the information again.
Before he could reply, a small group of men and women wearing the tourist guide uniform approached them.
“You’re somewhat off the beaten track for tourists,” one of them observed. “It’s always a delight to see someone take such a keen interest in our heritage. You must be very keen to uncover Meroe’s secrets.”
“Something like that,” Samuel confirmed. “But then you’d already have guessed that, otherwise you wouldn’t have come out to greet us, would you?”
The man ignored his question, preferring to ask one of his own. “If I’m not mistaken, you were just at the cultural center looking for information about the ancient kings who were active in the area, is that correct?”
“That’s right,” nodded Samuel. “So if you came here to tell us about Ouazebas, then would it be fair to assume that you must also be familiar with the Knights of the Spring Dream? I take it that you’re also the ones behind the drone that’s been following us this entire time.”
The ‘tour guides’ exchanged a look, as the leader dropped his act. “All right,” he hissed. “Who are you and where did you hear such a name? I feel it only fair to warn you that those who are unworthy of dealing with the Order learn very quickly that there’s a high price to pay for trying to steal our secrets.”
Akhenaton stepped forward and dropped to one knee.
“Forgive us this subterfuge,” he said. “My name is Akhenaton and I am a member of the Order myself. I am part of High Marshal Rimon’s cell. I have been tasked by our leader to make contact with your cell on a matter of great urgency and importance. These people with me have been judged worthy of a sacred quest and we need your assistance to succeed in our mission. If you need to confirm that I am who I say I am, have your High Marshal contact High Marshal Rimon. He will vouch that we are what we say we are.”
“Is that right?” The leader arched an eyebrow. “We shall see about that. Come with us.”
Akhenaton stood up and nodded to Samuel to follow, as they all made their way back to the cultural center.
Twenty-Four
The air conditioning in the cultural center came as a blessed relief, after hours spent wandering around in the sun. Samuel and his friends had been shown into a private office at the back of the cultural center, where they were waiting unattended. The door had been locked behind them to ensure they weren’t going anywhere.
The room bore more than a little resemblance to Fatima’s office in the hospital in Annaba. There was a large crucifix hanging on the back wall, with framed quotes from St. Augustine.
“The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page,” read one, while another one stated “Pray as though everything depended on God. Work as though everything depended on you.” Seeing the words, Samuel smiled to himself. After everything they’d been through, the words couldn’t have been more apt.
Unlike at the hospital, there had been no signs of knights in training for combat. Walking through the center, there was no indication that this cell was ready to go to war at a moment’s notice. Instead, there was an audible sound of quills scratching on parchm
ent coming from a nearby room. Samuel assumed that monks were recreating some of St. Augustine’s original texts, perhaps copying some secret scrolls that had been kept from general view, like so many of his artifacts and legacies.
A key rattled in the lock. Samuel and the others turned to see the man who had been the spokesperson of the group of fake tour guides. He’d changed out of his uniform and into the sandy robes familiar to the Order.
“I apologize for keeping you locked in here,” he began. “But I had to speak to Rimon to determine that you really are who you claim to be. I’m sure you can appreciate why I would need to obtain external confirmation. In these dangerous times, you can never be too careful.”
“Of course. We completely understand,” Samuel reassured him.
“I am Abdul and I am the High Marshal of this cell of the Knights,” the man introduced himself.
“It’s good to meet you,” replied Samuel. “As you know, this is Akhenaton. My name is Samuel McCarthy and I’m an archaeologist. Somehow I found myself leading this intrepid band of adventurers. This is Shafira, Josh, Basile, and Waleed.” He indicated each member of the group, who nodded in acknowledgment of their name.
“It is good to meet you all,” said Abdul, “but I have to confess to being a little curious. Rimon told me that you were supposed to be in Annaba. What are you doing all the way out here? We’re more than a little off the beaten track.”
“It’s kind of a long story,” Samuel warned.
“That’s all right. I have plenty of time,” Abdul reassured him.
“Very well.” Samuel took a moment to decide where to begin, only to conclude that he might as well go right from the beginning. “It all began when I unearthed a strange map during a standard excavation in Egypt. It spoke of a cave containing untold treasure, yet when I ran a scan of the area, there was no sign of any cave. It turned out that it had been concealed by cutting edge camouflage technology and for good reason. It contained details of St. Augustine’s secret, a papal cap allegedly endued with mystical powers.
“Unfortunately, the Bruard also found out about the hat. How, I have no idea. But when Basile and I returned to investigate the cave, they ambushed us, stole the hat and left us to die. Fortunately, Shafira, Josh, and Waleed rescued us. Akhenaton helped us survive the desert and took us to his Order, which is where we were tasked with securing the remaining artifacts required to unlock the full potential of St. Augustine’s secret. We were sent to Annaba to track down the leader of the Knights of the Spring Dream in order to gain her advice on the best way forward.”
“It is to my eternal shame that we witnessed our lady Fatima being captured by the Bruard,” broke in Akhenaton. “I will never forgive myself for letting those thugs snatch her away from us. If I had only acted faster, fought more, she would right here with us, safe and sound.”
“There was nothing you could have done,” Samuel reminded him. “Fatima had already seen the various potential futures and chose the one she believed was best. If we are to honor her sacrifice, we have to do what she asked us to do.”
“Yeah,” sniffed Akhenaton dejectedly. “Abdul, we have been entrusted by Fatima to retrieve St. Augustine’s scepter. She believes that it is no longer safe in its current hiding place, so she has asked us to move it to a more secure location or, failing that, dispose of it. We cannot risk the Bruard getting their hands on any more of St. Augustine’s work.”
Silence descended as Abdul reached out for a pair of glasses on his desk. Placing them on his nose, he adjusted them, taking his time to formulate a response to Samuel’s story.
“That’s quite a tale,” he finally said. “I must admit that I never thought that I’d see the day when it would be time to reopen the chamber.”
“What do you mean?” asked Akhenaton.
“St. Augustine’s scepter lay undisturbed for centuries,” Abdul explained. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, there are some 200 pyramids here. Trying to find one tiny scepter in amongst all of them is like finding a needle in a haystack. However, that’s very nearly what happened.”
He swiveled in his chair to point to a black and while picture of an archaeologist and his crew, grubby and wearing flat caps, standing outside the entrance to a tomb. “The chamber to St. Augustine’s relic was sealed back in 1822 for safety’s sake after French mineralogist Frédéric Cailliaud published a folio that depicted the ruins. It was only a matter of time before his discovery attracted treasure hunters and sure enough, an official expedition to excavate the area followed soon after.
“After some deliberation, the Order decided that it was not in our best interest to attempt to stop or slow down the excavation, since this was only likely to attract more attention. Rumors of Egyptian curses hadn’t been enough to prevent other excavations, so we decided to try a different approach. This time, we arranged for members of the Order to infiltrate the expeditions as experts. They guided explorers to find other treasures that had sufficient monetary value to satisfy their lust for wealth while concealing the location of the true prize.
“Eventually, the ruined city was declared a world heritage site in 1911, meaning that it would remain largely untouched. However, the lessons of history taught us that we could never take this for granted. So, the Order decided to maintain our vigil by establishing a cultural center here. My cell in its current format was established in 2030. We are tasked with guiding tourists and history buffs to the safer parts of history, and diverting their attention from the aspects that reveal more about what’s really going on here. We’ve hidden a lot in plain sight, so that only those with eyes to see would spot them. I must commend you and your fellows, Samuel. You are the first for many years to penetrate our disguise to see what’s really going on.”
“You didn’t make it easy for us,” Samuel admitted. “But now that we’re here, and you know that we are genuinely following Fatima’s orders, would you be able to help guide us to the actual relic?”
“Ah.” Abdul took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose before replacing them. “I had a horrible feeling you were going to ask me that. I am ashamed to admit that over the last fifty years or so, my Order has fallen into complacency. I know that this is letting down St. Augustine’s heritage, but we became convinced that, after all this time, the secret would remain safely buried. Nobody would come looking for it when it had lain untouched for centuries. We didn’t count on an archaeologist as diligent as you.” He smiled wryly. “We foolishly believed that we could simply run the cultural center to uphold our academic history, teaching those who are worthy about the ancient knowledge. That became our new focus, our raison d’etre. And as our adherence to our true purpose died, so did the last of our warriors, taking with them their unique secrets. You’ve come fifteen years too late to speak with our final remaining soldier.”
“We don’t need soldiers,” Akhenaton assured him. “All you need to do is point us in the right direction. We’ll do the rest.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t do that,” Abdul replied. “You see, it was the warriors who committed to memory the details of the traps and hazards contained within the chamber that is the scepter’s resting place. There was a time once when we had written records of the safe passage through the catacombs. However, a traitor to the Order was caught destroying the documents. He thought that destroying the data would be doing us a favor, by preventing anyone from accessing the relic. Of course, what he failed to consider when he disobeyed orders was that we need to know how to retrieve the scepter in case of a situation just such as this.”
“What happened to the traitor?” asked Shafira.
Abdul fixed her with a dark look. “We dealt with him accordingly,” he replied. “Let’s just say that he’ll never have the chance to betray anyone else again.”
Shafira gulped, and glanced at Samuel. If Abdul really had executed the traitor, he was clearly a dangerous man when pushed, no matter how much he might talk about wanting peace.
Samuel subtly
shook his head, warning her not to push the issue.
“So is there anyone else who might still know about the legends?” he said, trying to keep them on track.
Abdul thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Sorry, but there really isn’t. As you may already know, our Order runs on strict rules of secrecy. Everything is organized on a need to know basis, with information compartmentalized and protected to ensure that our sacred knowledge does not end up in the hands of the profane. When the last warrior died, he took with him the details of how to reach the scepter. The best I can do for you is to take you to the location of the hidden tomb and open the door for you. What you find behind it is a total mystery, lost in the mists of time. I would be lying if I said that I thought you had any chance of surviving the experience.”
“How could you be so foolish?” raged Akhenaton. “Our Order is sworn to protect the legacy of our history at all costs. Not only did you allow all the warriors to die, knowing how important our oral traditions are, but you allowed a rogue individual to run amok in your archives. Does Fatima know about your failure? I can’t imagine she does or she would have given us more information about how to achieve our goal. Your poor leadership has put our entire mission at risk!”
“Enough, pup!” Abdul banged on the table, as Samuel reached out to stop Akhenaton before he said anything else that might jeopardize their quest.
“Apologize,” Samuel ordered. “You’re out of order.”
“I’m sorry, High Marshal.” Akhenaton bent his head forward. “I meant no offense. I just worry that the longer it takes us to fulfil our mission, the longer it will be before we can rescue Fatima–that is assuming that’s she even still alive to be rescued.”
“Any shot is better than none,” Samuel pointed out. “High Marshal Abdul, we would be extremely grateful if you could show us the entrance to the scepter’s current hiding place. As Akhenaton says, the sooner we gather the artifacts Fatima sent us to retrieve, the sooner we can focus on saving her. At the very least, her sacrifice shouldn’t be for nothing.”