by Unknown
“Would you like me to tell you about the curse, my friend?” Jean-François offered. “I will decipher these last inscriptions so that they are complete. In this way you will have all the information necessary to make your decision.”
Kalaan sighed deeply and nodded, before Champollion spoke again.
“Woe to he who profanes the den of fear, for on you the stone will unleash your worst fears, you will suffer, you will become, you will beg for the release that only… death... can bring you,” as he finished reading his voice became more and more unsteady.
A deep silence fell over the group of men. The scorching heat was still very present, despite the setting sun; and yet their bodies were suddenly overcome with cold as if by there had been a cold breeze. Kalaan was the first to collect his thoughts as he approached the door; and when he spoke it was as if to himself.
“Look at Amarna and the ruins of what should have been an eternally prosperous place. Where are the people who were promised such splendor? There is nothing but dust! If ever there was magic here, we can come to the logical conclusion that it did not work. Following the same logic, we could also reasonably think that there was never a curse. This said however, I will yield to your wishes. We will turn back and leave this place to the sand and desert wind.”
He never knew who sighed with relief behind him because as he was speaking, Kalaan placed his hand on the warm stone, which instantly turned to ash.
Finally free of the door that had cut it off from the world, in a low mournful moan, the entire building took in a deep breath of the air from which it had been deprived for hundreds of centuries. There was nothing left of the door but a pile of dust at Kalaan’s boots and dark whirls of thick smoke that danced around the men before slowly disappearing. Kalaan paid little heed to these because, in front of him, he could see a long dark rectangular cut hall, gently sloping down into the darkness of the earth.
“Wha…what have you done?” Champollion stuttered, his brown eyes bulging incredulously at what he had just witnessed and his blood curdled by the sound the building had made.
“Nothing!” Kalaan managed to reply while forcing himself to breathe slowly and calmly, a muscle in his jaw throbbing nervously. “Perhaps the door was made of a soft substance... like the clay that we can find everywhere along the Nile? I scarcely touched it and everything collapsed.”
“But lad, clay canna turn te dust,” Lil’ Louis responded with difficulty, as he tried to sweep away the dark smoke fluttering in front of his face with his hands. “And what is this smoke?”
The Egyptian laborers began screaming and one of them even ran off in to the west. He was completely panic-stricken, and didn’t even realize he was running to certain death in the desert.
“You! Bring him back!” Kalaan ordered two of his Breton sailors, who immediately ran off after the panicked laborer. Salam meanwhile shouted orders in Arabic to calm the rest of the frightened workmen. One of them had pulled off his cheich, and threw it on the ground.
“Allah will protect you. Pray!” Salam scolded them as if they were children.
All the laborers kneeled and began chanting their prayers reinforced with extra “Allahu akbars[20]”, raising their hands to the sky before bending forward to place their hands and forehead on the ground. Kalaan’s sailors whispered among themselves but kept their positions. They were all men of honor and made of the same stuff as warriors. Never would they abandon their courageous buccaneer captain.
“It’s a sign of fate, I’m going in!” Kalaan announced firmly once everything was somewhat calmer. “Bring me a torch and my sword!” he ordered, tucking his pistol into his belt.
“It could also be a trap,” replied Salam, as the count grabbed a torch after sheathing his sword and entered the building.
“God only knows.” Kalaan’s response came as he began moving forward into the narrow tunnel, bending over to compensate for the low ceiling.
Jean-François hesitated a moment, looked questioningly at Lil’ Louis and Salam and, after realizing that they were not going to move, followed his friend into the tunnel.
“Wait for me!” he called in vain, because, as usual, Kalaan was far ahead, his silhouette barely distinguishable in the light of the torch; it was as if the darkness of the tunnel was sucking him in.
“Nay, this time the lad is alone.” Lil’ Louis said quite miserably and he sat heavily on the ground in the shadow of the entrance. “May God forgive me, but Oy simply canna enter there. Oy dinna have the strength.”
“He is not… alone,” retorted Salam who had planted himself in front of the edifice, legs apart and eyes searching in the shadows. “Champollion is with him. This is where the fatum[21] of these two men must play out. Everything is already written.”
As Kalaan advanced into the dark entrails, his breathing became more and more labored and his heart started beating furiously. The little air there was was dry, thin and noxious. His mouth was dry and his throat burned atrociously. His tongue began to swell signaling the beginning of dehydration. The young man berated himself for not thinking to bring a goatskin of water before setting out into the unknown. His body and mind, already harshly tested by the desert heat, were starting to play tricks on him. His overly tense muscles were becoming painful. As for his mind, he thought he could hear low moans coming from the walls around him.
“Keep moving,” he said out loud in a hoarse voice, hoping to cover, even for a moment, the groaning from beyond the grave.
“Kalaan! Wait for me, please!”
Judging from the sound of Champollion’ boots on the sand, the count knew that he was only a few yards behind, but lost in the darkness of the place. He was breathing heavily from lack of oxygen, or from the quick pace necessary to catch up, or both. For a brief moment, the count felt some regret, but he quickly let it go. So he decided to follow me after all, Kalaan thought to himself without real astonishment.
The decipherer of hieroglyphs had a strong character and had proven it many times. Jean-François certainly didn’t lack courage, which is one of the reasons Kalaan counted him among his very select circle of friends. He slowed his pace, but continued to move forward. Soon, he found himself facing a wall. At this point the tunnel continued its slow descent on the right. He called back to let his friend know.
“Wall ahead!”
Only moments later he heard a shout of pain and some juicy swear words followed by an indignant exclamation.
“As I was insane enough to follow you, you could at least wait for me!”
Ah, that sounded very much like an order, which delighted Kalaan, because he did not like to be ordered and usually did the exact opposite of what he was told. However, at that moment, he had no choice but to heed his friend. Another wall stood before him and he could no longer move forward. The path had come to a dead end.
“Confound it,” he muttered in anger.
Champollion finally appeared in the halo of light given out by the torch. He was rubbing his nose, probably a result of walking into the wall at the last turn, despite Kalaan’s warning.
“You’ve lost your hat,” Kalaan observed coolly.
“Most likely in the same place that your cheich fell off,” Jean-François retorted, not in the least duped by Kalaan’s attempt at diversion. Bast it all! Why was it so difficult for the aristocrat to apologize?
“The tunnel ceiling has obviously sagged some over the centuries at that spot. At least we weren’t injured in any way.”
“Speak for yourself.” Champollion was miserably fingering the bridge of his nose.
“It’s not broken; nothing is swollen, or bleeding. Your nose will serve you well for quite some time to come,” Kalaan said in an amused tone before turning to face the wall, lighting it completely, from top to bottom.
“It looks like we’re at a dead end!”
Champollion’s useless comment brought a mocking smile to the count’s lips, but the smile quickly turned into bitterness. They hadn’t come all this
distance underground to be stopped by a wall! They should also have thought of bringing a pick, along with the water flask. There must be a way out! But where?
“Look,” Champollion’s voice was barely a whisper. “We’re not facing just a wall, but another door! Very well concealed by these limestone rocks, but a wall, it is not!”
Indeed the rocks had all been carefully cut to look like a group of stone blocks, placed one on top of the other, fitting in with the rest of the construction. Kalaan whistled in admiration. The illusion was perfect and had it not been for Champollion’s sharp eyes, he would never have noticed the deception.
“This is a fine example of meticulous workmanship,” Champollion said as he kneeled down in front of the wall. “Would you mind bringing a bit more light over here?”
Jean-François pointed in direction of the lower right-hand section, which was hidden in the shadows. It was not easy to move in the tight tunnel, but the two men finally managed to find a position. As Kalaan lowered the torch several minute inscriptions appeared.
“What do they say?” Kalaan asked.
“This is a final warning to any tomb raiders. It is written, ‘The door of fear will close on you; only death will liberate you.’
“That damned curse, again!” Kalaan grumbled.
“Well, we can’t say we weren’t warned.” Champollion made a feeble attempt at humor as he stood up with difficulty. The tunnel was so low that when standing, the men’s bodies were almost doubled over.
Kalaan did not respond, not even with a smile. His amber-green eyes, lit by the flames of the torch, were examining the wall. Apparently something had caught his attention.
“Hmm; I wonder…” he murmured as he raised his hand to place it on the wall.
“No!” Champollion couldn’t help but shout when he realized what Kalaan had in mind. He intended to repeat the same exploit as when he ‘opened’ the entrance to the edifice.
Startled by his friend’s cry, the young count hesitated, his hand in mid-air barely a few inches from the stone.
“What frightens you so? That the stone may turn to dust? Should that happen, it would make it much easier for us to continue our investigation.”
“No… yes… oh, I don’t know…”
“You’re hesitating again, Jean-François, and yet you followed me. Your curiosity is as strong as mine. Come now, we cannot be stopped by a curse and a few conjuring tricks! Or am I mistaken?”
“No, my friend, you are not mistaken.” Champollion sighed and stepped back to leave more room for Kalaan. “After you.”
“Very well,” replied the count raising his hand once more to the wall.
He laid his hand flat on the false wall and spread his fingers applying pressure. When nothing happened, he pushed harder. Something was happening, but not what he expected. His hand could feel a strong heat, not hot enough to burn him, but enough to make him think of the bricks on a chimney where there was a raging fire. But what could possibly be behind this wall? Lava? Kalaan asked himself, both surprised and intrigued.
“No dust at our feet, no dark smoke plumes whirling around us. The wall is intact.” Jean-François’ pedantic tone irritated Kalaan.
“It was too much to hope that the miracle would occur twice.” Kalaan muttered while caressing the carved lines on the wall with his fingertips.
One spot in particular caught his attention- a flat protuberance looking like a flaw in the otherwise perfect workmanship and covered with the same cream-colored plaster as the stone. He began to scratch it absent-mindedly.
“Those who designed and built this place would never have left such a flaw.” The count continued scratching the soft plaster until a blue color showed through. It was a very finely carved blue stone, the size and shape of a cameo.
“It appears to be lapis lazuli,” observed Kalaan. Jean-François nodded his head in agreement. “The stone is loose. I have a feeling it was placed in a cavity of sorts... and... and it is impossible to remove from its setting.”
Kalaan pushed the lapis-lazuli and it sank deeper into the stone. The men heard an unusual clicking sound. Before they could react, there was a loud sound of turning gears followed by a low rumbling. The ground began to vibrate under their feet and then shake, not unlike in an earthquake. Dust was coming down from all directions showering them.
“It’s a trap!” Kalaan managed to shout before coughing as if he had just inhaled contaminated air. He immediately dropped the torch and braced himself.
The flames were quickly smothered by falling sand and the two men found themselves prisoners of a void.
Chapter 3
Beyond the tunnel
The deafening uproar brought about by the earthquake slowly gave way to Kalaan and Jean-François’ coughing. However, in the shadows prevailed another sound, that of slow turning gears.
Kalaan quickly pulled out his lighter and felt around on the ground for the torch. After several attempts, the flames finally caught, crackling and hissing from the sand it had picked up from the ground.
“You take it,” Kalaan ordered as he handed the torch to Champollion before pulling out his pistol and cocking it.
Jean-François’ annoyed expression simply made the count shrug his shoulders and smile nonchalantly.
“I’m far better at shooting than at fighting with a torch.”
Heavens, but the man can be so arrogant! Jean-François was raging inside. Now in the weak light of the torch and with a newly found silence, the two friends could see an extraordinarily ingenious ancient mechanism. So, that was where the sound of gears came from! It had most certainly been triggered by the lapis-lazuli button and now, the thick wall which had blocked their route was slowly descending into the ground and would soon completely disappear.
Suddenly there was another loud moan similar to the one the building made when it first opened; and air swirled around the men before being sucked into the dark hidden underbelly of the earth.
“I thought our time had come and we had fallen into a trap.”Jean-François’ voice was barely a whisper.
“As did I,” mumbled Kalaan, thinking of his shout of alarm when the darkness fell down on them.
“Can you feel that draft?” Champollion asked, once again breaking the silence.
“There must be an opening somewhere ahead of us. That would be the most logical explanation.” Kalaan moved slowly forward as Champollion held the torch.
The flames seemed to be fighting the shadows, which were trying at all costs to keep their secrets. Kalaan carefully crossed the threshold where the wall had completely disappeared. He proceeded slowly, aware that the place could be rife with traps. Champollion wanted to do the same, but was stopped in his tracks by the count’s deep voice.
“Whatever you do, do not stay in front of me. I do not wish to put a bullet hole in you.”
In reply, the only thing Kalaan could hear was muttering, which sounded much like swearing and he smiled to himself. The longer he knew Champollion, the more he liked him.
They took a few careful steps forward and realized they had entered what appeared to be an antechamber. The torch flames were not bright enough to light the whole area and shadows surrounded Kalaan and Champollion. Despite the darkness, they both sighed with pleasure at being able to finally stand up straight and unhindered.
“The flames are showing signs of fatigue,” observed Jean-François who waved the torch in all directions trying unsuccessfully to pierce through the darkness that surrounded them. It was simply impossible to continue in these conditions.
“We will have to retrace our steps to get more torches and a few able-bodied men,” replied Kalaan. He released the hammer on his pistol and put it back in his belt. When those lily-livers see us return, they will buck up and won’t hesitate to join us,” he added as he turned around to leave.
But the exit was no more!
“Champollion! Shine some light in the tunnel!”
Jean-François swore once again, then turne
d around and raised the torch in direction of the tunnel.
“’Tis impossible!” he exclaimed, imitating Kalaan’s gestures, touching the wall which now stood before them. The exit was completely blocked!
“I heard no noise of machinery or gears, nothing! This wall appeared as if by magic!” Jean-François was now stammering.
“Don’t drop that damned torch!” Kalaan shouted in warning when he realized Champollion’s gestures were going to make it fall.
“Oh! That is quite enough from you, my friend!” Champollion’s exasperation was hard to contain. “I would never have helped you had I realized you were so ill-tempered!”
Far from annoyed at this reaction, Kalaan’s handsome proud face showed his astonishment. Then he broke into laughter.
“I quite like you, you know,” he said, tapping Champollion on the shoulder so hard the poor man almost fell over.
Not only did Kalaan have a confusing attitude, especially in these particular circumstances, but he also had the strength of a colossus. Champollion was just getting his balance back when another strange phenomenon occurred, much to the surprise of both men. Suddenly, everything was bathed in an intense light!
So, Jean-François relaxed his hand and let the torch fall. It was no longer of any apparent use. There was so much light around them, they could easily have been in broad daylight. Here, once more, the two friends moved almost in unison to examine the room they were in. The sudden change in light made it difficult for their eyes to adapt and they could not immediately find the source of the mysterious light. Once their eyes were adjusted to the new environment, they could see that they were in a large rectangular chamber and the bright light came from four immense bronze bowls hanging from the high ceiling by fine chains in each corner. The walls were completely covered in gold, which reflected the radiance of the flames in the bowls.
“Oh...” Champollion gasped, dumbstruck before such magnificence. He could not utter another word.
“Blazes, another closed room. Where on this earth could this draft be coming from?” wondered Kalaan. His ever-pragmatic side pushed him to analyze the situation, before taking in his sumptuous surroundings.