by Tom Hunter
“So why do it if it’s really boring?”
“I love learning,” Samuel replied simply. “I find the past absolutely fascinating, every aspect of it. The good, the bad, the ugly, it’s all deserving of study, if only to see just how far we’ve come as a species–and how far we’ve still got to go.”
“I guess it must be hard sometimes when you find evidence of more disturbing aspects of the past,” nodded Shafira. “Have you ever dealt with a site that you found difficult to study?”
“Oh yes,” Samuel told her. “Many times, although the worst was when I was called in to excavate a site that had been used for child sacrifice.”
“How awful!” gasped Shafira. “How did you cope?”
“I won’t pretend that it was easy,” Samuel admitted. “And it raised a lot of ethical dilemmas.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, there were some in the Ministry who wanted us to preserve the site in situ, leaving the children where they were and turning it into a museum. It didn’t sit well with me to turn the dig into a source of entertainment. Even an educational one. They might have died millennia ago, but they were still children once and they deserved to rest in peace, especially with what they’d been through.”
“What happened?” asked Shafira.
“It was eventually decided to relocate the bodies and give them a peaceful burial at a secret location,” Samuel revealed. “I was really glad when I heard the news. What I saw at that site gave me a few sleepless nights thinking about how those children had suffered.”
“Some things should be buried, forgotten in the mists of time.”
“I don’t think we should forget,” Samuel disagreed. “Yes, those children deserved respect, but I also think we owe it to them to remember what happened. I think it would be just as disrespectful to forget what was done to them as it would be to put them in a museum.”
“But don’t you think that some things should be erased from the history books?” Shafira continued. “I mean, once the Bruard dynasty ends, would you really want their history recorded? The worst thing you can do to people like that is to deny them attention. It would be a fitting punishment for the human race to move on as if the Bruard had never existed.”
“It would,” Samuel nodded, “but it would also be the worst possible thing to do to the world. Remember, those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it. If we erase all trace of the Bruard from the records, it paves the way for a new criminal empire to rise. If we’re serious about fighting evil, then we need to study it, understand it. Only then can we truly begin to build a world that is just and fair for all. If there’s no evidence, then it didn’t happen. I firmly believe that what I do contributes to creating a better future by building on the foundations of the past.”
“That’s a beautiful sentiment,” smiled Shafira. “I hope you’re right and one day the only way anyone will come close to the Bruard will be in a museum.”
“Much as I appreciate the mutual love-in you two have got going on, do you think you can talk shop another time and not when I’m trying to rest?” grumbled Waleed. “Some of us need our beauty sleep.”
“All the sleep in the world won’t be enough to make some people beautiful,” joked Samuel, as Akhenaton suddenly sat up, grabbing Josh’s arm.
“Bring the copter down,” Akhenaton ordered. “Now.”
“Why? Is there a problem?”
“Not yet, but there might be if we continue much further,” Akhenaton explained. “My cell patrols the sand using skimmers and I just saw a movement in the sand that was likely to be one of our vehicles. We’re in the territory of my cell now, who are ever vigilant for threats from both land and air, so they’ll have spotted our helicopter the second we hit the cell’s air space. At this very moment, they’re most likely preparing weapons to fight off an invasion. You don’t want to experience first-hand how effective their anti-aircraft guns are. The safest way forward is for us to go on foot from this point. I’ll go in the lead and tell my cell why I’ve broken protocol and brought strangers with me. Hopefully I can persuade them to let you live.”
“All right, Josh,” nodded Samuel. “Land as soon as you can. Akhenaton, we’re in your hands now. I’m trusting you to keep my people safe. Don’t let me down.”
Waleed pushed Basile off his shoulder. The Frenchman mumbled in his sleep, but snuggled up against the wall of the cabin, still snoring.
“Wake up!” Waleed kicked at him. “We’re here.”
“Wha-?!” Basile jolted awake as the helicopter began its descent, taking them further into the unknown.
Six
The sun sank down into the horizon, its dying rays casting a stunning array of pinks and purples across the twilight sky as it disappeared behind the dunes. The now-quiet helicopter was a long way behind them, on a flat-topped dune. Samuel shivered a little as the chill of the night desert brought his skin out in goosebumps.
“Is it much further?” complained Waleed. “I thought that we were supposed to have landed near to this camp, but we’ve been walking forever. I’m getting blisters on my blisters!”
“Not far at all,” said Akhenaton, striding forward at the head of the group, lifting his hands up above his head. “So I suggest that you all put your hands up and show that you’re not carrying any weapons. My Order doesn’t take kindly to strangers at the best of times.”
“Why does this feel horribly like we’re surrendering?” asked Basile, raising his hands as Akhenaton instructed.
“That’s because you are,” Akhenaton confirmed. “Unless you fancy letting Samuel dig a bullet out of your body, it’s the best way forward.”
“Your Order really isn’t friendly, is it?” observed Samuel.
Akhenaton shrugged. “Friendship is a luxury you can ill afford when your comrades can die in the line of duty at any moment,” he told him.
“Someone remind me exactly why we thought this was a good idea,” muttered Basile as they reached the top of the dune, to be greeted by a grand vista. The camp of Akhenaton’s Order of the Knights of the Spring Dream camp sprawled in the valley below. Canvas tents interspersed with more permanent brick buildings, all decorated in desert camo colors, the light yellow and orange hues helping to blend the constructions into the background of the sand so that they wouldn’t be seen from the air. Clearly, it had been very effective, since none of the group had even suspected that there was such a thriving community in the middle of the desert, despite Josh having flown over the region many times in search of the map’s treasures.
At one side of the encampment, a number of desert striders were parked underneath a tarp to create a rudimentary garage, while a storage unit next to it was crammed with supply crates.
The camp was a hive of activity, members of Akhenaton’s Orders wearing the same uniform of protective desert clothing topped with Dervish pumps that concealed their features. There was something about not being able to see their faces that added a menacing air to the scene. It was impossible to tell whether they were smiling or frowning as they went about their business.
For a moment, they all stood, taking a moment to appreciate the fact that they’d finally reached safety and no one had died. Yet.
Finally, Akhenaton broke the moment, calmly walking down the dune with the others close behind. As they approached, a couple of the men broke off and came out to meet them, one of them barking at Akehanton in a strange language. Akhenaton replied fluently, gesturing with his head back at the rest of the group as he slowly lowered his hands.
“What language are they speaking?” whispered Samuel to his companions. “Does anyone know?”
“It’s Amazigh, the language of the Berbers.” Samuel was taken aback when it was Waleed who answered. “Given that, I suspect that this cell’s leadership comes from Algeria,” Waleed went on. “How interesting that they’ve come all the way down here.”
“How on earth do you know that?” asked Josh.
Waleed shrugged
modestly. “It’s funny the things you pick up over the years. I seem to have a natural aptitude for languages.”
Samuel raised an eyebrow, making Waleed laugh. “Fair enough, my friend,” the thief smiled. “I will confess that I studied Amazigh in preparation for a job. I’ve always found that having at least a rudimentary understanding of the main languages of the land helps smooth the path when you’re running a con.”
“That’s more like it,” nodded Samuel. “I should have known that there’d be a dodgy reason why you’d know something.”
“But why don’t they speak Arabic like most Egyptians?” asked Shafira. “I know that we’re out in the middle of nowhere, but surely they must realize that speaking a minority language risks drawing attention to themselves?”
“It is entirely possible that they’re doing it to prevent people understanding their discussions,” suggested Basile. “I guess it must be easier to converse in Amazigh than come up with some weird code, especially since it’s not as though they’d get many visitors out here. They can’t be expecting someone like Waleed to come along who would know what they’re saying.”
“Do you know what they’re saying?” Samuel asked.
“Well there’s good news and bad news,” Waleed replied. “The good news is, they’re not going to kill us, at least not straight away. However, they’re not happy that you prevented Akhenaton from destroying the relic. That might not be a capital offense, but I don’t think they’re going to let you go without some form of punishment, my friend.”
“But I don’t get it,” said Samuel, exasperated. “I thought this was an Order dedicated to protecting and preserving ancient secrets. It can’t be a bad thing that the artifact wasn’t destroyed, especially given how much else was lost when the cave was blown up.”
“Akhenaton did tell us that his Order was as much about protecting the world as it is ancient history,” Basile pointed out. “If they thought that St. Augustine’s headdress was a threat to world peace, especially in the hands of the Bruard, then it would make sense for them to want to do whatever it takes to stop the Bruard taking it. Akhenaton did his best to smash it and he wasn’t happy that we stopped him. Maybe his superiors take that more seriously than we expected.”
“Maybe.” Samuel nodded slowly. “That would make sense. But even so. I can appreciate their point of view, but there has to be another way of protecting the world that doesn’t involve losing irreplaceable relics. Surely they must understand that we’re archaeologists, dedicated to preserving the treasures of the past?”
“I suppose we’re about to find out.” Basile nudged Samuel as one of the men Akhenaton was speaking to growled, gesturing at the adventurers before pointing towards a building that bore a striking resemblance to a prison. Despite the cloth wrapped around his head to protect him from the desert conditions, making it impossible to make out his features, it was clear that he wasn’t happy. There was a badge pinned to his tunic that suggested he had some kind of rank.
Akhenaton shook his head, seeming to protest, but the other man was in no mood to argue. He gestured again, giving Akhenaton no choice but to turn and walk back to join the rest of the team.
“I’m sorry.” He seemed genuinely contrite, as the man who’d ordered their incarceration stalked back into the camp, beckoning to a few of the men to go and help secure the prisoners. “No, there’s no need for that,” Akhenaton protested as the men made to grab Samuel and the others. “They’ll come quietly, won’t you?”
“That depends,” said Samuel coldly. “What’s going on?”
“Look, I’ll do whatever I can to help you, but you’re going to have to be imprisoned, at least for a little while,” Akhenaton explained. “It would be better for you if you came quietly with me. My comrades wouldn’t hesitate to make you ‘disappear’. The weapons they carry aren’t just for show. I know that you’re no threat to the Order, but as I warned you, we’re not exactly fond of outsiders round here. My word doesn’t carry as much weight as I would like.” He tutted and shook his head. “I would have hoped that my years of loyal service would mean something, but apparently our leader needs a little time to determine whether the loss of St. Augustine’s headdress is your fault or not. If the Order decides that you’re innocent, then you’ll be free and I’ll be able to assist you in getting back to your dig. If not…”
“If not, then what?” urged Samuel.
“There will be consequences. That’s all I can say,” Akhenaton replied. “Again, I am sorry, but ultimately it was your choice to come here and I did warn you that you might not receive a warm welcome.”
“But it wasn’t our fault we were tricked and were left stranded in the middle of the desert,” protested Basile. “How can we be punished for something that wasn’t down to us? The one you should be going after is Pin. He’s the villain in this piece.”
“Pin isn’t here. You are,” Akhenaton pointed out. “I have no choice. I have to obey the rules of my Order. But I promise, I will do my best to set you free as quickly as possible.”
“Merde!” swore Basile. “This is madness.” He shook himself free as one of the Order reached out again to try and get him to move in the direction of the prison. “Get your hands off me! I can walk perfectly well without your help.”
“Calm down, everyone,” Samuel advised. “Let’s just go with it for now. It’s not like we have much of a choice anyway, and I don’t know about you, but I’ve suffered enough bruises for one day. At least we’ll have a roof over our heads, and hopefully they’ll bring us food and water while they decide on their next step. Let’s not give these guys any excuse to see us as a threat.”
He started walking towards the prison building, Josh and Shafira following close behind.
Basile and Waleed exchanged glances, shaking their heads before going after them.
“I knew this was a bad idea,” moaned Basile.
“You and me both, my friend.”
Seven
Pin and Gord stood to one side of the landing strip, as the mercenaries unloaded the VTOL.
“Be more careful back there!” snapped Pin as one of the mercenaries lost his grip, barely managing to stop a crate falling by catching it with his foot. “Damage any of those artifacts and I’ll be taking it out of your hide. Now, take the crate marked with my insignia to my study and prepare the others for the next stage of their journey.”
There was a distant splash as another pair of mercenaries swung the body of the poisoned soldier out over the cliff and into the ocean, immediately hurrying back to help with the rest of the crates.
“So how many of the relics are you sending back to the homeland?” asked Gord.
“All of them, of course,” replied Pin. “Except for St. Augustine’s headdress. That will stay with me for the meantime.”
“And you’ll be providing a full list of treasures to the Bruard?” clarified Gord. “Including the discovery of the device?”
“All in due course, Gord,” said Pin. “All in due course. When it comes to the headdress, I would prefer to determine for myself if it is more than just an art piece for a museum shelf before reporting its existence to my superiors. I don’t want to get them excited over nothing. There’s nothing worse than disappointing those who command you by failing to carry out their precise instructions, is there?”
Gord grunted, choosing to ignore the obvious dig at his mishandling of the disposal of Director Haisam. “So how are you going to test this thing out? Put it on your head and hope that it doesn’t blow your mind?”
“Oh, Gord,” sighed Pin. “Why must you always be so crude? When dealing with something with as much potential power as this particular relic, delicate handling is required at all times. I fear we may need expert advice on the best way to proceed.”
“But there aren’t any experts in this kind of thing,” Gord pointed out. “Oh. You mean one of those quack institutes that claim to be mastering the full potential of the mind? I thought they’d long since been e
xposed as fraudulent.”
“Quite the opposite,” Pin corrected. “There are many legitimate psychic institutions that are carrying out exciting, ground-breaking work that have pushed the boundaries of human capabilities, some of which are already helping the Bruard in our mission. This talk of fraud simply serves them. They are able to carry out their research without being hassled by the dilettante and unworthy. Instead, they can limit their findings to the few enlightened souls who are genuinely capable of appreciating what they have to offer.”
“You sound as though you have someone in mind,” observed Gord.
“Possibly,” mused Pin. “I’m still considering the best way forward. For example, there is the Aetherius Society. They claim to have made contact with advanced extra-terrestrial lifeforms and are using what they are learning from these otherworldly beings to expand their mental powers.”
“You can’t seriously believe that, can you?” scoffed Gord.
“Ah, Gord. Ever the cynic. Fortunately for you, you’re more useful to me than the last person to question our mission.” Pin’s tone was genial, but Gord didn’t miss the underlying threat.
“So what have the aliens taught us?” he asked.
“There is a theory that psychic powers are not supernatural at all,” Pin explained. “They are simply powers that extend beyond the physical realm, reachable by individuals who are sensitive to their reverberations. If that is correct, then it is entirely possible that St. Augustine’s headdress amplifies your innate natural abilities, allowing anyone to take advantage of this whole new world of possibility.”
“I see.” Gord looked away to hide the incredulous look that flashed across his face before composing himself again. “So where are we going to begin our research?”