Area 51_Nosferatu

by Robert Doherty

  The other three in the room were awakened by the noise. The man held his wife back as she lunged for the boy whom Nosferatu held.

  “You are the Watcher?” Nosferatu asked. “The Wedjat?”

  The man was blinking sleep out of his eyes, fear slowly taking its place. “I am Kajihi.”

  “The Watcher?”

  “How do you know—”

  “Tell me what you have seen,” Nosferatu said. “What? Who are you?”

  Nosferatu tightened his grip on the boy’s neck, eliciting a yelp of pain. “I ask the questions.”

  “May they leave?” Kajihi asked, indicating his wife and daughter. “They will go to a friend’s. We cannot go to the Pharaoh’s guards, as you may know, if you know I am a Watcher.”

  “‘Pharaoh’?” The word was unfamiliar to Nosferatu. “He who rules here.”

  Interesting, Nosferatu thought. That was not the name of one of the four remaining Gods. Of course, that might be what one of them was called now. “A man? Or a God?”

  Kajihi shrugged, relaxing slightly as he realized his intruder was interested in information. “He appears to be the former. Although there are some who claim he is a God. But each Pharaoh has died after a normal life span, so if they are Gods, they only enjoy the benefits in the afterlife. The Pharaoh before this one caught the water fever just like a man and died shortly afterward, just like a man.”

  “How many Pharaohs have there been?”

  “The Great Pharaoh Tuthmosis, son of Amenophis, is the seventy-fourth Pharaoh to rule and the fourth of the Eighteenth Dynasty.”

  Seventy-four, Nosferatu thought with a shock as he did the math. Thousands of years of human rule given their life span. Nosferatu felt a chill of unease. “And the Gods? Where have they gone?”

  “Who are you?”

  Nosferatu nodded, indicating for the two females to leave. Then he let go of the boy. “Go with them,” he ordered. He took a seat, indicating that Kajihi should do the same. The Bedouins flanked Kajihi, their swords at the ready, their faces unreadable. “My name is Nosferatu.”

  Kajihi’s eyes widened. “You are the Undead. I was told of you by my father who was told in turn by his father and down the line for many, many years. I thought you were just a myth.”

  “I have been away for a while,” Nosferatu said. “Many years as you note. When I last saw the plateau, there was only the Black Sphinx.”

  “The Black Sphinx!” Kajihi was astounded. “The Black Sphinx is only spoken of in whispers. Some say it never was. Some say perhaps the Great Sphinx that is on the plateau was once painted black and gave rise to the legend.”

  “There was a Black Sphinx and it was not made of stone but of some metal,” Nosferatu confirmed, remembering Lilith’s and Chatha’s horrible deaths atop the structure. “Most noble and imposing, much more than the stone image that sits on top of it now.”

  “You are indeed from the First Age then.”

  Nosferatu spread his hands, indicating he had no clue. “What age is this?” “The Eighteenth Dynasty of the Third Age of Egypt. The Age of the Rule of the Pharaohs. The First Age is spoken of as legend. The Age when the Airlia Gods themselves ruled.”

  Nosferatu nodded. “Yes, they ruled. I saw them myself. I killed one of them with these hands. So much for Gods. Who ruled in the Second Age?”

  “The Shadows of the Gods made in the image of Horus.”

  Nosferatu knew Horus well, one of the six Airlia Gods, and his father. “And what are Shadows?”

  “Men who have minds of the Gods and are constantly reborn. They are long gone although I have heard there is one who still wanders the world, the Shadow of the God Aspasia, made to do his bidding while the God himself sleeps.”

  That made little sense to Nosferatu. “And now a man rules here?” “Yes.”

  “What happened to the Gods?”

  “Some say they are still in the Roads of Rostau. Others say they’ve gone far away. No one really knows. Not even the high priests, although they pretend to know. Often they will point up to the sky, as if that is where the Gods have gone.”

  Or where they came from, Nosferatu thought, remembering what the strange woman, Donnchadh, had told him when she freed him. “And the Shadows?”

  “Gone also, although, as I said, there is rumor that the Shadow of the great god Aspasia is across the Red Sea in the wasteland of the Sinai. That he has been there since the beginning of time. Waiting.”

  Nosferatu understood waiting. “Waiting for what?”

  “No one knows.”

  Gods, then Shadows, and now men. Nosferatu felt a surge of fear and hope. Time had worked in his favor, but how much time? More than 650 years, that was certain. “How long has it been since the First Age?” He had an idea how long the humans had ruled here, but none about the Shadows of Horus.

  Kajihi spread his hands. “Over six thousand years according to the records kept here by my family.”

  Six thousand. Nosferatu felt as if he’d been hit in the chest. He’d been off by about a factor of ten when he’d set the tube to wake him. A slight miscalculation in terms of pressing the hexes, a massive one in terms of time. Was Nekhbet still alive? Was the influence of the Airlia Gods now little more than a representation in a human called a Pharaoh?

  Nosferatu pointed at Kajihi. “You will take me to the Roads of Rostau. There is something I must get.”

  “The Roads are guarded. The Gods may be gone, but there are others about who do their bidding. The Ones Who Wait. Guides. They keep the Atlantean truce. They will not allow any disturbance of the truce.”

  The world had indeed changed, Nosferatu thought. Six thousand years. If Nekhbet was still living, was she sane? Could anyone survive that long in the state they had put her with their mind intact? “Who are the Ones Who Wait? And these Guides?”

  “The Ones Who Wait are like you, if what I was told about you is true. Half-human, half-God. They serve the God Artad. I have never seen one, but my order reports they are active. The Guides serve the God Aspasia. They are human but they obey with more vigor and blind obedience than even the high priests. And as I said, there is a belief that Aspasia’s Shadow is nearby and can also control the Guides. It is said he is a fearsome creature with little love for any other living thing.”

  Nosferatu rubbed his head. Even when hidden, the long hand of the Airlia Gods still reached out and affected things. “Can you get me into the Roads?”

  “It is dangerous. And it is against my charter as a Watcher.”

  “Your ancestor took me into the Roads a very long time ago,” Nosferatu said.

  “He thought it was part of doing his duty.” He waited as Kajihi wrestled with the problem. “Let me be more blunt. If you do not take me, I will kill you and your family, then there will be no more Watcher here. How will that fulfill your charter?”

  “What is it you need from the Roads?” “My love.”

  Kajihi frowned. “I do not understand.”

  “My betrothed. She is buried there. I promised her I would return and I have. And I am late. Very late. Taking me to the Roads will not upset the balance of anything.” Nosferatu rose to his feet, towering over the Watcher. “I have had great patience, suffered much, and traveled far, but my patience is wearing thin. Take me where I want to go. Now.”

  Kajihi had jumped to his feet and he stepped back in fear as Nosferatu came forward. The two Bedouin warriors closed in on either side of the Watcher.

  “The Roads are dangerous,” Kajihi sputtered. “I have only been down there a few times. I do not know if I can find—”

  “I’ll find her. You just get me in there. One entry I knew of is now underwater. The one along the Nile. The other was at the base of the Black Sphinx. Is there another way in?”

  Kajihi nodded. “Yes. There are several. There is an entry at the base of the stone sphinx behind the statue of Horus, but I cannot enter there. Also one through the Great Pyramid.”

  “Can you get in that entrance?” Kaj
ihi nodded.

  “Take me. Now. No more words, Watcher. I have no more patience. If you do not take me, I will kill you. And your family.”

  Kajihi stood still for several moments, then seemed to diminish in size as his shoulders slumped. He grabbed a gray cloak and tossed it to Nosferatu before throwing one over his own shoulders. Then he got one for each of the Bedouins. “Put these on and follow me.”

  They left the hut and made their way to the large temple built along the shore of the Nile. Just before the temple, Kajihi turned to the left and moved toward the Great Pyramid, creeping in the shadow of a long stone causeway that connected the two. They reached the large pile of limestone rubble at the base of the massive pyramid.

  Briefly Nosferatu wondered what had become of Vampyr. Was he still alive after so many years? And if so, where had he made his lair? Did his anger and hatred still burn so brightly?

  “What happened here?” Nosferatu asked, as Kajihi paused.

  “According to Watcher records, shortly after the Great Pharaoh Khufu had the pyramid built, he had the smooth limestone facing that had been put on it ripped off. He also killed everyone who had ever been inside, sacrificing them to the Gods.”

  “That makes no sense—to destroy what you have just built.”

  Kajihi shrugged. “Such is the way of Gods and Pharaohs. It is not for men to understand.” He pointed toward a dark opening about fifty feet up the pyramid. “There.”

  “Are there no guards?”

  “Not outside. There is no need. Fear keeps people out. There are guards of a sort on the inside, though, for those who would be foolish enough to overcome their fear. Do as I do and we may survive.”

  Nosferatu remembered the strange metal spider that had killed Mosegi. His hand strayed to the knife at his belt although he knew it would do little good against the creature. When he had entered so many years ago for his tube, Kajilil had told him the gray cloak would help hide him from the creature so he had to assume that was still true.

  Kajihi clambered up the large stone blocks toward the opening, Nosferatu and the two Bedouins following. He could see clearly in the darkness, but his senses were picking up something beyond what was visible.

  Nekhbet.

  He felt her nearby presence as something palpable, emanating from the ground. She was alive. Of that at least, he had no doubt. They entered the tunnel and the presence grew stronger. The air was still and dry as they descended into the Great Pyramid.

  He could hear Kajihi counting to himself. After perhaps a quarter mile the Watcher abruptly halted. He placed his ring on a spot on the smooth rock wall and a door appeared. “Hurry,” Kajihi hissed.

  They passed through the door and Kajihi shut it behind them. “You are now in the Roads,” he informed them.

  Nosferatu slowly turned, facing one way in the stone corridor, then the other. He had no doubt about which way to go. “This way.”

  The other three followed as Nosferatu led them deeper along the Roads. They came to a juncture and Nosferatu unhesitatingly turned to the right. Nekhbet was close, very close. Nosferatu felt as if his chest would explode his heart was beating so wildly.

  They turned another corner and he recognized the hallway through which he and his five companions had escaped so many years ago. He broke into a run, the others hustling to keep up when Kajihi suddenly halted and hissed a warning.

  Nosferatu almost ignored the Watcher, but he forced himself to halt. Kajihi tapped his ear, indicating for him to listen. Nosferatu cocked his head. Metal on stone. Coming closer. Kajihi lay down, pressing against one side of the wall and throwing his cloak over his body, indicating that they should do the same. Nosferatu forced himself to the stone floor, draping the gray cloak over his body.

  The sound grew closer, moving more slowly. Nosferatu could visualize the golden orb and black metal legs. His body tightened as the sound grew much closer. It was next to them, then passing. The sound faded slowly and Nosferatu twitched, anxious to move. He pulled aside the cloak and started to get to his feet, but Kajihi reached out and grabbed him, shaking his head.

  Reluctantly Nosferatu once more buried himself under the cloak and waited. Minutes of silence passed. Then he heard it once more. Metal legs on stone walls. Coming their way. The creature came back down the corridor and passed once more.

  As soon as the sound faded, Nosferatu was on his feet. There was no holding him back. He ran down the tunnel and skidded to a halt outside the metal bars of the cell. The gate was open and he pushed it aside, stepping in. One black tube rested on a slab in his old cell, covered with millennia of dust. Sometime in the past seven thousand years they’d moved Nekhbet back here.

  Nosferatu ran his hands lightly over the lid as if he could feel her flesh instead of cold metal. Kajihi and the two Bedouins came into the cell and watched him quietly, sensing the emotion pouring off of him. Nosferatu went to the top of the tube and delicately wiped the dust from the glowing control panel.

  “We must hurry,” Kajihi whispered.

  Much as he desired to open the tube and see his love, Nosferatu knew the Watcher was right. Plus, dawn was not far off. He gestured and the two Bedouins grabbed hold of the ends. They lifted the tube off the platform. Kajihi was back in the corridor, leading the way out. Nosferatu brought up the rear, his eyes on the tube.

  They exited the Great Pyramid just as the first reddish hint of dawn was showing in the east. Nosferatu lent a hand getting the tube down the giant blocks of the pyramid to the surface of the plateau. They scurried along in the concealment of the stone causeway until they reached the large pile of stone blocks where the other four Bedouins waited.

  Nosferatu had them lash the tube to the two spare camels, protecting the end still on the ground with a piece of heavy cloth. He turned to Kajihi, anxious to be into the desert before the sun cleared the horizon. “Go back to your Watching.”

  Knossos, Crete: 1450 B.C.

  Seven girls and seven boys. Virgins all.

  The ship from Athens delivered the yearly tribute to the long stone dock that extended from the port city of Iraklion into the harbor. Soldiers flanked the chained youths and escorted them along the dock to the waiting wagons. They were loaded on board and the small convoy made its way through the town, flickering torches in the lead soldiers’ hands lighting the way. Even though it was early evening, not a person was about and store windows were shuttered. No one wanted to gaze upon the doomed youths, for it was said the very sight of them brought ill fortune.

  The wagons rolled into the hills, approaching the capital palace of Knossos. It was a sign of the king’s power that the palace was not surrounded by defensive walls. The Minoan Navy ruled the waves for many miles about Crete and any enemy would have to get through that powerful force before it could even approach the island.

  On top of the tallest tower in the palace, a dark figure stood, gazing down at the slowly approaching lights. To all he ruled, he was known as King Minos, who held sway over Crete, and many of the surrounding Cycladic Islands. There were those who said he was the son of Zeus and the Princess Europa. There were none alive on the island who remembered when he had taken power, and the whispers passed down said he had been in the palace for over 350 years. Some said even longer. Thus the rumors of a God as his father.

  Of course, it was true to an extent.

  Vampyr pulled back the hood covering his head and looked up at the stars. He felt the lust for blood rising as the caravan carrying the tribute from Athens came closer. He had learned to be careful over the years, to hide his feeding from people. He took only one victim a month, in the secrecy of the Labyrinth he had had built underneath the palace, away from the prying eyes of others. The extra two he took on special occasions—one was the anniversary of Lilith’s death. The other was the anniversary of the date he had become king of Crete over 350 years earlier.

  He had come there over five hundred years ago. After leaving Egypt with his tube and Aspasia’s Shadow’s admonition, he
had traveled about the edge of the Mediterranean for two hundred years. He’d even gone inland, traveling into the Black Sea and northward into Russia, spending many years exploring. He’d seen much and learned much, but his hatred had not abated in the slightest.

  Finally, growing weary, he’d taken Aspasia’s Shadow’s advice and hidden his tube in a cave along the coast of Greece and climbed inside, going into the deep sleep. He’d awoken five hundred years earlier. He’d traveled back to Egypt, where he learned that the Airlia had disappeared and that Shadows had ruled. Then even the Shadows had given way to men. He made plans to enter the Roads of Rostau and search out the four surviving Airlia to slay them—if that was indeed where they slept—but Aspasia’s Shadow had appeared and Vampyr had been forced to leave his ancient land and go back to wandering.

  He’d killed many humans over those years, many for sustenance and many more for vengeance.

  He’d eventually realized that he needed power and leverage in the world of men if he was ever going to strike back at the Gods and destroy Aspasia’s Shadow. He’d traveled to this island, where he slowly began taking command. First one village, then another. Banding together disparate groups until finally the island was one kingdom.

  He ruled through fear, which he had found to be the strongest of human emotions. The slightest transgression against his reign was punished with torture, then death. He had had every man who worked on the Labyrinth underneath the palace executed after its completion so that none knew its secret ways but he. The fate of the youths who were sent into its depths every year was the subject of much conjecture among the populace. Some said a monster, half-man, half-beast, lived under the palace and fed on the flesh of the youths. Close, Vampyr mused as he watched the convoy approach. It was a rumor he did nothing to contradict. A king who held sway over monsters was a powerful king indeed.

  Vampyr estimated that he needed forty more years of conquest and expansion before his kingdom would be powerful enough to challenge Egypt. While a long time for a human, it was but a moment for Vampyr.

  The convoy had entered the palace and passed from sight below. Vampyr left the turret and made his way down the stairs that wound around the interior of the tower. He passed through ground level and continued to the roads he’d had built underneath. Vampyr moved through rough, rock-hewn corridors, the workmanship shoddy compared to that of the Roads of Rostau.