“Sweetie, I know,” Mom says, kissing me on the cheek and smoothing back wisps of my sweaty dirty hair. “I know everyone is doing everything they can—especially you. Don’t you worry about anything. I’m so proud of you right now—your father and I both. You’re doing so incredibly well! And I love you so much for it, for everything that you are, my brave, wonderful girl. Look at you, Gwen! Look how much you’ve grown up, how strong and tough and unbeatable you are! My Gwen! You’re absolutely going to win!”
“I can sing, Mom!” I say, and my voice cracks into a whisper. “Did you know, I can sing once more, and my voice—I think now it’s just like yours! I so wish you could hear me sing! I can’t wait for you to be with me!”
In answer, Mom smiles widely and touches my cheek. “I am with you, my sweetheart.”
“Precisely, our sweet girl,” Dad says from across the chasm.
My mouth is quivering and I find I cannot speak at all, with the pressure of tears, as I hold myself rigidly, hold myself from bawling, all the while feeling my Mom’s presence, right here, next to me, while Dad watches us both with a goofy Lark family smile.
“I—I wish . . .” I manage to say, as I gulp down the pressure in the back of my throat. “I don’t want now to end. Just want to close my eyes and stay this way with you forever, in this one moment. . . .”
“We love you,” Dad’s voice says as I squeeze my eyes shut tight.
“Love you so much, to Atlantis and back,” Mom says softly in my ear. “But now, my strong, beautiful, smart girl, you need to open your eyes . . . and you need to run.”
My eyes snap open. Mom and Dad are gone, and I’m sitting alone on a cold ancient stone.
At the same time, hard urgent voices sound nearby—voices of Contenders yelling, and the insane noise of footfalls and weapons striking against stone, as once again the enemy is coming.
“Run!” I exclaim, scrambling up to my feet, and hearing my teammates doing the same thing all around me. “Run!”
And so we’re on the move again. Climbing, jumping, crawling on my belly. . . . Getting up, jumping again while grasping the lifeline that is my hovering equipment bag. . . . Moving relentlessly with the others through an endless conglomeration of stones. . . . Up, down, right, left, losing sense of direction completely, then reorienting solely with the help of sound—the swelling waves of audience noise echoing from the direction of the cliffs.
Time and events blur, due to exhaustion. . . . The voices in my head slither and whisper, and the sound of my team moving around me is a confusing mixture of reality and illusion.
At some point we know another hour goes by, because the bells ring and the pyramid shift happens.
Somewhere in the depths of this immense field of floating rocks we hear several agonized cries of Contenders getting crushed between stones. There are often a few casualties when the pyramid shifts, but this time it’s noticeably more so. This far into the Games stage, the combination of stress, exhaustion, and a constant hallucinogenic state, causes all of us to be less careful, less capable of self-preservation.
But we keep moving.
It’s the only thing we can do.
Thirteenth hour comes finding us crawling somewhere in the bowels of the pyramid, and then it’s Midnight Ghost Time.
The choir sings the familiar hymn, and we all collapse in relief, knowing that while the Games cleanup crew is out there, we’re relatively safe from the others . . . and from each other.
“At last,” Lolu whispers through ragged gasps, somewhere nearby. “Day three is over. Only one more day. . . .”
“We rest,” Tuar says, panting hard, his large muscular bulk sprawled on the next stone before us.
“I wouldn’t get too comfy,” Brie mutters behind me. “Just because it’s Ghost Time doesn’t mean all those drugged out idiots out there have stopped hallucinating and running around with sharp blades. Who knows if they’ll obey the Games rules and stop hostile activity for this half hour?”
“We’re all ‘drugged out,’ as you say,” Avaneh says. “If we want to stay in the Games and not be disqualified, we obey the rules.”
“Some of us might be too messed up to obey anything,” Brie persists.
“Agreed,” Chihar says, still breathing in audible gasps. “So we focus and remain watchful.”
“Uh-huh . . . yes . . .” I manage to say, lying on my stomach and breathing convulsively, the side of my face pressed against cold stone.
Then for a while, I think I lose consciousness, drowning in a whisper chorus of many Egyptian gods.
Don’t know how long I’m out, but just a few minutes later, it seems, the pyramid rearranges itself again.
Someone shakes me awake, and we scramble to get out of the way of crushing boulders.
“Ah, damn, move it, Lark!” Brie cries, grabbing me by the arms and getting me upright, as I stagger, completely weak and useless, emerging out of an abyss of unconsciousness.
“Okay, thanks,” I mutter, as we climb out of the way of two great blocks coming together.
“Not a good time to go all rag-doll on me, Your Imperial Highness—or whatever the hell your big new Goldilocks princess title is,” Brie snaps in my ear, speaking in hard angry words that strike me like blows, successfully rousing me.
I don’t know why I’m feeling so weak and faint all of a sudden. Another effect of whatever it is that’s induced our hallucination state?
But I force myself to focus, as Chihar had said earlier.
“I’m okay . . . I’m okay!” I say fiercely, angry with myself for allowing the lethargy to fool me into letting go, even briefly.
Get a grip, get it together, Gwen, Gwen, Gwen. . . . the voices pound in my head, hammering my name.
I regain my footing, blinking forcefully to clear my vision, as Brie and Kateb continue moving forward just ahead of me while Chihar is right behind me, panting hard.
Moments later, we unintentionally reach the outside of the pyramid. We emerge somewhere on the right-facing slope, where the bulk of the pyramid hangs over the beach, while only a lesser part juts over the ocean. Just a couple of exterior blocks float before us, and beyond them is the rich darkness of Atlantean night sky filled with the colorful ocean of stars.
Ocean above, ocean below. . . . The distant water reflecting moons, starlight, and the numerous artificial light orbs that float along the pyramid slope, casting an additional level of illumination on the pyramid stones. . . . The cold wind is permeated with wet spray. . . . It blows strong in our faces, taking our breath away.
The surf is very loud here, almost drowning out the audience on the cliffs—admittedly, the audience happens to be relatively quiet for the moment—which suggests to me that we must be near the bottom of the pyramid, closer to the water.
“Hey! Where to now? Where should we go?” Kokayi calls out from ahead, being the first to reach an outermost stone.
“Up the slope, down the slope, or turn back inward?” Avaneh echoes him, stopping her own movement on the next adjacent stone as she stares at the rest of us still catching up.
“Look around and see who else is out there,” Lolu calls out from another side.
“Good idea,” I say. “If there’s no one, we can take a break.”
“Looks clear,” Kokayi calls back after looking up and all around.
“So, a good place to stop, as long as no one’s coming after us,” Brie says.
“No, not a good place . . . there is no good place anywhere. We’re more visible, so more vulnerable out here,” Lolu grumbles as we all emerge and take up several adjacent outer stones along the slope. The blocks are larger here, being the base stones, so they are somewhat roomier, with greater surface area to occupy.
Random useless facts about the Great Pyramid flicker through my mind as I climb up onto an outer stone and sit down with my feet dangling over the precipice. . . . Such as the fact that the original pyramid had 210 vertical layers or levels of building blocks, but with several topm
ost layers gone missing, including the capstone, that number of levels is down to 201.
“And whose fault is that?” Horus asks me, as I see his bird-headed shadow stand up on the nearest stone behind me.
“Ugh . . .” I reply, shaking my head, as if I could shake away the vision. “Not my fault. . . . Just go away, please.”
“Not until it is acknowledged,” Anubis says, leaning with his jackal snout over my shoulder, so that I start in alarm, as my pulse pounds once again at the renewed threat.
“Get away from me!” I snarl back, and Anubis retreats somewhat, but remains behind me, breathing down my neck with cold dread, sending prickling chills down my spine.
I shudder, then force myself to look in my equipment bag and take out a chunk of food and a water flask.
“Yes, yes, good,” Chihar mutters nearby, also taking out his provisions. “Must eat now. . . . Clears the mind.”
As I tilt my head back to drink, I look up at the slope above me. And I see someone walking down from the summit—a single Contender in yellow.
The individual is definitely not a ghost, and too far away to distinguish his features, even in this brightly illuminated night. But his silhouette is somehow familiar in a way that shouldn’t be.
I recognize him by his easy confidence of movement, strangely relaxed, elegant and sleek, having seen him before. It’s the same Yellow Artist we watched on the surveillance earlier, when Deneb Gratu’s team was throwing weapons past him and missing him completely.
Who is this guy?
Chapter 68
“Look up, see that guy?” I say, forgetting my drink, and freeze in place.
“Where?” Brie pauses her own chewing and immediately stares upward.
“Over there!” Avaneh points. “He’s gone now. He saw us and went into the interior.”
She’s right. Before I have time to blink twice, the Yellow Artist has disappeared out of sight.
“Who was it?” Zaap says nervously, starting to look around in all directions.
“We’ve seen him before, on the surveillance feeds,” I say. “Yellow, Artist logo, dark, tall.”
“Same Yellow we saw get past Deneb Gratu’s crew unharmed?” Lolu asks.
“Yeah, that one. Very strange. Stealthy moves.”
“Okay, well, he’s gone now, so who cares,” Brie says. “Keep our eyes out for anyone else. Real hostiles only, no vision crap.”
For the next hour we’re lucky. No one else emerges from the interior of the pyramid, and the crazy mob is elsewhere, no longer chasing us. They must’ve gotten tired and the group fell apart, probably fighting one another. Wherever they are, the audience is no longer reacting as if there’s major action going on someplace.
We hardly care.
Everyone is so exhausted from hours of running and keeping the hallucinations at bay, that many of us fall asleep in place, or chew on whatever remainders of food we have, to stay alert. Food and sleep seems to keep the voices away.
An hour later, the pyramid rearranges itself, but we’re on the outer stones, so it’s easy not to get crushed. And then another hour goes by, and another pyramid shift, with two of us on the lookout, while others rest.
We still haven’t moved, and many of us are asleep.
After a while, out of nowhere, warmth comes. . . . It’s gentle and slow, so that the rising temperature barely registers. But eventually it starts intruding into dreams.
They say, a frog can be slowly boiled to death and it never knows what’s happening—if the water surrounding it is heated very gradually. . . .
That’s what happens to the blocks we’re on after the end of the second hour.
It’s still a couple of hours before dawn on day four of Stage Two of the Games, when I start awake from an awkward seated position, because the surface I’m on is scalding-hot to the touch. My rear end and the lower sides of my legs are burning with painful heat, even though nothing seems to be on fire. . . .
“Crap!” Brie yells next to me, as she feels it too, and we both spring up, while the others are coming awake also, all around us. We quickly move to a different stone that’s unoccupied.
“Hot! Hot!” Zaap cries, and then also scrambles onto another stone.
“What’s going on?” Tuar says, getting up quickly.
“The Games program kicking in.” Chihar calmly embraces his bag, levitating inches above the slab, as he moves to an adjacent block. “They warned us not to stay on any of the exterior stones for longer than two hours—Safe Base excluded.”
“So we just move over to other stones,” Lolu mutters. “The two-hour Hot Zone rule applies only to outer stones. . . . I think.”
“Think of it as an alarm clock from hell,” Brie says.
“So now this is a Hot Zone, literally.” Avaneh springs down one level to an unoccupied stone and stomps her feet. The soles of her shoes are smoking. . . .
I stare at Avaneh as she stands there, a few feet away, and my vision doubles . . . and then it triples. Suddenly I am seeing three “Avanehs,” all exact replicas of each other, elegant tall shapes, smooth bald heads and tattoos, all standing upright and stomping their feet, like some kind of crazy version of an Irish step dance.
Okay, wow . . . this is new. . . . I’m losing my mind completely.
I blink then rub my eyes and shake my head to get rid of the crazy sight. And when I turn my head slightly, I see two “Bries”—both on my right side, craning their necks in synchrony as they look thoughtfully at me.
“Okay . . .” I mutter, continuing to blink hard.
“What?” the two Brie Waltons ask in a duet.
“I’m seeing and hearing double. And triple,” I say.
The Brie duo snorts. “Oh yeah, that. Been there, dealt with it. It’ll pass.”
“Yes, it happened to me a few hours ago,” Kokayi says—all four of him—as he/they crowd a different stone on a level above. “Fortunately it’s a temporary effect, but I had trouble distinguishing each of you, since there were so many duplicates. Even the stones underneath me became plural. Very hard to move when it’s happening.”
“And then what?” I say, as my head continues reeling.
“And then it just went away.” The two Bries lean back easily, sitting back on their stone. “Take a deep breath and relax. Be glad it’s not happening to you while we’re under attack.”
“Very glad,” I whisper, trying to control my breathing.
And they’re right. A few minutes later the duplicate effect is gone. But now my head is ringing and the “normal” hauntings—the Egyptian god voices—are louder than ever.
I stand up from my spot, stretch, and look around me, relieved to be rid of at least one source of misery. The pyramid slope on this side still appears empty of any other Contenders.
It occurs to me, now might be a good time to climb up to the very top of the summit and take a look at that Blue Grail and its cradle stone firsthand. I tell the others, and Chihar nods immediately. “Yes, we should go up there now. . . . Before first light.”
“Agreed,” Kokayi says. “As long as this quiet time lasts, it’s a good idea.”
“Okay, yes. It’s logical to do it between pyramid shifts,” Brie says, rising. “Right now is when everyone’s most likely to be sleeping in exhaustion. And if anyone shows up, we dive right back inside the interior.”
Tuar gets up without saying anything and starts moving up the levels of blocks ahead of us.
A very long half an hour later we reach the top of the pyramid. This is the first time we’re up here, on the summit slab of uppermost stones that don’t move apart but retain their fixed position just like a Safe Base.
I must admit, the view is amazing. . . . The unobstructed wind blows strong, buffeting us from all directions. It’s still night, though the faintest change in the quality of darkness is already here to signal the coming dawn. The dark abyss of ocean is on one side, a strip of land on the other. And we’re so high up, far above the distant, brightly
lit cliffs with the audience. . . .
Once again, it really sinks in—this ancient structure is truly immense. When fully assembled (minus the missing few top layers), the height of the Great Pyramid on Earth in modern times was about 146 meters, or 479 feet from the ground. But now, with the blocks all levitating apart, it adds at least another 70 meters or 230 feet to the overall height.
When I arrive at the top, crawling over the edge of the slab in exhaustion, Tuar, Zaap, and Kokayi are already there. They’re walking around the central stone with the Blue Grail, examining it from all angles. Brie and I follow Kateb, with Avaneh, Lolu, and Chihar trailing us, looking sullen and miserable.
I approach the round stone which resembles a sidewalk café table in diameter, except that it’s ten inches thick and sitting on top of a wide column, like a strange altar. Up-close, I can see the grooves separating each of the ten wedges—they’re carved into the granite. But the symbols remain invisible. The surface of the stone appears slightly rough but homogeneous, with no sign of orichalcum veins. The Blue Grail sits in the exact center, its base trapped underneath the stone, only the narrow stem showing. Its metallic bowl surface gleams softly in the artificial illumination of nearby lamp-orbs that immediately converge to give us more light.
At this time the audience on the cliffs comes alive with noise as they see us on the summit.
“Careful, think before you touch,” Kateb says to Tuar who places his wide palm on the stone to test its give.
“I know,” the large Athlete replies. “The orichalcum is inert, shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Lolu peers closely at the top of the stone and at its side. “There are hidden traps, remember.” But eventually she too places her fingers lightly against the surface.
I hold my breath, then reach out to touch the stone myself.
It’s cold and rough.
Win Page 78