The Eleventh Plague cq-2

by Darren Craske

  'At least fifteen, ma'am,' replied Mal. 'But there are lots of other bones too of all shapes and sized, piled one of top of the other. We will have to dig a little deeper to know how many for certain.'

  'Don't,' said Polly. 'Leave them where they are, Mal. Fifteen bodies in a pit, piled on top of each other can only mean one thing. This is a mass grave, and it's never good news to go excavating a mass grave, trust me.'

  'Why not, Professor? These bones…might they not be ancient Nubian in origin? There are so many in one place; if this is a sacrificial site…perhaps they might be a clue. Perhaps they might eventually help us find "The Pharaoh's Cradle?"'

  'That's highly unlikely, Mal, especially if my instincts are spot on.' Professor North held her magnifying glass an inch from the bone, inspecting its length carefully. 'It can't be much older than twenty or thirty years at the most. Sorry to say, Mal, there is no place for them in the Cairo Museum of Antiquities…and no way could the Pharaoh's Cradle be buried here. We'll just have to keep on searching, chaps.'

  The crowd chorused a disappointed sigh. But rising above it, Polly was distracted by a tumultuous noise echoing all around her.

  Screams littered the air.

  Aksak Faroud and a band of twelve Scarabs tore into the encampment astride horses. Wearing a dark red hood, the Scarab leader held his sword high in the air. Professor North's crew were caught between an intense desire to flee and the inability to do anything about it, their fear freezing them to the spot.

  'Who are these men?' asked Polly of Mal, clutching at the younger man's clothes as he crawled from the trench.

  'Clan Scarabs!' he gasped.

  'Clan Scarabs?' cried Polly. 'What are they doing so far from their territory?'

  'I am sorry, Professor…but I do not plan on waiting to find out.' With that, he climbed from the pit and ran at top speed across the dig site, his arms flailing in the air as if he were being pursued by a swarm of wasps.

  Pretty soon many other workers followed his lead. Polly looked around at the ensuing chaos. Her excavation crew were running scared in all directions, the merest mention of the words 'Clan Scarabs' igniting a fire underneath their feet. Polly was dumbfounded, unable to move. What could she do? Where could she go? Polly had never heard of them attacking an archaeological site before.

  It made no sense.

  Aksak Faroud's quarry was an easy target to spot. The only pale-skinned female around – actually, one of the few people around full stop, for most of the others had fled. Polly gulped down her fear. The bestial pack headed towards her determinedly.

  'But this is insane!' she said to herself. 'We have nothing worth taking!'

  Apart from Professor Pollyanna North herself, it seemed…

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  The Kindred Spirits

  THE AREA KNOWN as the Wilderlands was an inhospitable, hellish landscape. The flattening of feet, hooves and cartwheels had formed an uneven road from the rough, chalky terrain. Travelling through these lands, you never knew what you were stepping on, or riding across or walking through. You could just as easily set foot in a scorpion's nest as drive your cart into a two-foot-deep trench obscured by the playful sandstorms. As Ahman gently whipped the reins of his small, two-seater cart, his horse whinnied indignantly at the roughness of the terrain. Sat next to the Egyptian, Destine's eyes were occupied elsewhere, not wanting to miss a thing. The stark beauty of the barren locale was unlike anything the Frenchwoman had seen before. Except that was not strictly true. She had seen it all before, she just could not remember. Still, there was something to be said for her umbrella of amnesia – at least she was able to experience such a beautiful sight with fresh eyes.

  The final part of the journey from Agra to Sekhet Simbel was uneventful, and yet in the back of the cart, Destine was perched on the edge of her seat for the entire duration. Ahman continued to reassure her that they would not be able to simply pass the temple by and not notice it, and as the cart reached the top of the dunes, she understood why.

  Sekhet Simbel was truly breathtaking – in a very literal sense.

  The facade of the temple seemed to materialise out of the shimmering horizon, and Destine's fingertips tingled with anticipation.

  She was unaware of it, but she was near to tears. She had returned to Sekhet Simbel. Yet this was no joyous homecoming as she was forced to remind herself. This was a matter of life and death. Even so, the temple was an echo from the past – a subject that she so dearly wished to embrace. She climbed from the cart and walked closer, taking in the full splendour of the place. She sensed an unusual affinity spread through her veins, like two kindred spirits coming together. She beamed a huge smile at Ahman, who merely nodded along with her silent thoughts.

  'It is beautiful, monsieur. Truly!' Destine exclaimed. 'The closer I get, the grander it becomes.'

  Ahman stood back and looked up at the temple, marvelling at its majesty. 'Yah, I know what you mean. Even as an Egyptian, I find this place a marvel myself. Being so close to the Wilderlands, it is hardly first stop on the traveller's trail. We ignore it, we forget it…to our loss, I admit. It is sites like this that bathe the eye and warm the soul.'

  'So I am not alone,' noted Destine. 'You are in awe as well, mon ami?'

  'How can you not be, ah?' Ahman's pride presented itself as a sparkling twinkle in the corner of his dark brown eyes. 'I remember many folks in awe when the temple was unearthed. The rumours moved from settlement to settlement like the smell of freshly baked bread on the breeze. At that time we did not even know its name…we still do not, actually…its true name I mean, but Sekhet Simbel seems to fit.'

  'True name? How do you mean, monsieur?' asked Destine.

  'Local legend tells that a young Egyptian girl led two explorers to this area about thirty years ago. With no other documentation to rely on, the men decided to name the temple after her, and she was called Sekhet Simbel. Those explorers put the place on the map, and it was only after the entirety of the temple was revealed, after nearly four years of constant excavation, that the historians and archaeologists began to decipher its use…but they are still only halfway there, apparently. I like to think that its purpose is merely to astound the visitor by its sheer magnificence.'

  'It is odd to think that such a thing of beauty lay undiscovered,' said Destine.

  'The past has a way of hiding itself from view if it does not wish to be found,' said Ahman, wiping a fine seam of sweat from his neck with his handkerchief.

  Destine raised an inquisitive eyebrow. 'An apt snippet of wisdom, Ahman, for my own past might be hiding within this temple and I aim to find it…whether it wishes me to or not.'

  'Come then,' said Ahman, 'let us not keep it waiting.'

  Ahman led Destine through the large entrance constructed of huge blocks of weathered stone and into the magnificent temple's interior.

  In the hazy light beyond, they could see a series of halls going deeper into the distance. The brilliance of the sunlight at their backs shrouded everything in a misty fog, a perfect accompaniment to the grandiose spectacle. The visitors were in the presence of gods and pharaohs, after all. As Destine stood rooted to the spot, tiny flecks of dust rose into the air. She could feel the resonance of history in every stone, every carving and every inscription. It was as if the phantoms of her past had been waiting patiently for her arrival. They swarmed about her, welcoming her into their abode. An instinct made her shuffle a little closer to Ahman, the act masking the footfalls of another visitor to the temple.

  'Can I help you?' he boomed.

  Ahman and Destine leapt like startled cats as they spun around.

  'I am sorry, but the temple is currently closed for scientific studies…as the sign clearly states,' said the new arrival, motioning towards a small painted sign just inside the entrance, virtually obscured by the darkness.

  'We did not see it,' apologised Ahman.

  'That may be the case, sir, but I must still ask you to leave. Immediately, if you woul
d be so kind,' said the man in an authoritative tone that could not be ignored.

  'Monsieur, if you wish to stop people entering this temple, might I suggest placing the signs outside the building?' said a defiant Destine.

  'Destine,' Ahman said sharply, gripping her arm.

  'I am sorry, Ahman, but we are doing no harm,' replied Destine.

  'I agree, but-'

  'And we have travelled a great distance to get here on a journey of the utmost importance!' supplemented Destine. 'All we want is to inspect the temple's beauty not plunder its treasures! We did not come so far to be barred entrance upon arrival, not when we are so close.'

  'Destine!' glowered Ahman.

  'Ahman, please do not try to silence me, you know how important this is!'

  'I do, but-'

  'We have earned a look, have we not? I mean, it is not as if we are-'

  'Destine!' Ahman yelled abruptly – and so forceful was he that Destine's mouth clamped shut. 'Listen to me for a moment! This man…you…you heard what he said?'

  'Oui, Ahman, of course I did, but we cannot simply turn around and-'

  'No, I mean…you understood him?' asked Ahman firmly.

  'Of course – why should I not have?'

  Ahman's eyes went wide. 'Because he was speaking Arabic.'

  Destine's senses were aflame. 'Nonsense! I heard every word as clearly as I am talking to you now. If he were speaking Arabic, how on earth could I have understood a word he said?'

  'That is entirely my point, Madame,' said Ahman 'This man was definitely speaking Arabic. But importantly…so were you. Fluently, I might add.'

  'Me? Mon ami, I do not think so,' laughed Destine. 'I cannot speak Arabic!'

  'I am sorry, Destine,' said Ahman, 'but it seems that you can.'

  Destine felt the corners of her mouth twitch, unsure whether to smile or cry.

  The stranger cleared his throat. 'This is fascinating, but if I may be so bold as to interrupt? Now that we have proved that you understood what I asked, there are no more excuses! This temple is currently off limits, so I must kindly ask you to continue your discussion outside.'

  Destine gave the man a once over as if she had only just realised he was there. He was dressed in a white cotton suit, with a broad-knotted tie at his neck. He held a lantern in one hand and a notebook in the other. His shiny bald head caught a halo of the sun's glare, offsetting the steely look within his eyes.

  'And might I ask who you are, sir?' asked Destine.

  'I am Feron Mouk, the curator of this site,' said the man, his bombast fading slightly as Destine took a step nearer to him. 'Perhaps I did not make myself clear: we are currently making some important renovations to some of our exhibits here. The desert storm sands are unrelenting, I am afraid, and every once in a while we must ensure the artefacts are cleaned. May I ask the purpose of your visit today?'

  Ahman spoke: 'Mr Mouk, my companion has become bewitched by Sekhet Simbel's majesty, have you not, my dear?'

  'Mais oui… yes,' agreed Destine, following Ahman's lead. 'I have been here before, you see. Way back in the early thirties, and I have longed to return to this place ever since.'

  'Ah…the thirties, now those were glorious days, ma'am, simply glorious!' cheered Mouk, tapping a beat on the sand with his foot. 'Much has changed since then – in the world outside and within this temple. We have unearthed a great deal more of this place, including the smaller annexed temple to the east. You are most welcome to peruse that before you leave, but as I said…I am afraid this particular area is off limits.'

  Ahman shuffled over and steered Mouk's arm.

  'We understand, sir, but the last time my companion was here, she laid eyes on a most wonderful artefact and she was quite taken by it,' he said, consciously leading Mouk away from the entrance and deeper into temple. 'Yet it was so long ago now, and I am afraid that she has quite forgotten where it is. I am most intrigued, I must say. I just wish I had the knowledge and skill to decipher her meaning, but I am far from knowledgeable in such matters. Surely not even the most studious academic in all of Egypt would be able to locate it. Unless…I do not suppose someone as highly respected as you might be able to work out what she means would you, Mr Mouk?'

  Ahman had said all the right things.

  'Well…when you put it like that, sir, I can certainly try!' Mouk beamed pompously. 'I suppose that I might be willing to bend the rules a little. I do so love to meet people with an appreciation of the past.'

  'Recently I have found the past most enlightening,' said Destine, with a wink at Ahman.

  'Very good, then!' said Mouk. 'Tell me what you can of this piece that you admired so much, ma'am, and I shall do my best to locate it for you.'

  Destine smiled sweetly, relishing the role of dotty old woman as she felt a little flurry of butterflies take flight in her stomach. 'It is like a dream, but all I can remember is that it was called "The Shaded God"…more than that I cannot say. I am afraid I am a bit forgetful at my age.'

  'The Shaded God…hmm, let me see.' Mouk was one of those that liked to tap their fingernails against their teeth when they were concentrating. 'Well…I have worked on this site for many years and I can modestly say that I am the foremost expert on its inventory of treasures. However, I can definitely say with all sincerity that we have no exhibit here of that name.'

  Ahman and Destine's hearts sank simultaneously.

  'Unless…the only thing I can think of…'

  'Yes?' asked Destine eagerly.

  'This way!' Mouk announced, before darting off. 'But do try to keep pace. If you get lost down here it may take hours to find you.'

  As Destine and Ahman quickly followed Feron Mouk's charge, his voice echoed off the enclosed walls all around them. He was giving a rapid commentary – not that his audience cared much for anything; their sights were set on but one target.

  'These were amongst the first artefacts to be unearthed,' he said, pointing to two rows of magnificent statues as he continued through the temple. 'These two on the north side wear the White Crown of Upper Egypt, whereas these on the south wear the Double Crown of Lower Egypt. And as we move through into the next antechamber, these hieroglyphics here depict the great Battle of Kadesh, where Rameses the Great fought the Hittite warriors of King Muwatalli.'

  Mouk's potted history lesson continued as he led Destine and Ahman ever forwards, into the belly of the temple. They soon entered a many-pillared hall with beautifully inscribed columns decorated with various pictorial images and hieroglyphics. The hall gradually gave way to a vestibule in the middle of a low-ceilinged room. There was no natural light at all in the room, but four lit torches were affixed at points on the brickwork.

  'Here we are!' announced Mouk, as he approached the wall at the far end of the corridor. 'This might be what you are searching for.'

  'Here?' asked Destine. She was looking at a wall no more than twenty feet in width, with four statues seated upon four stone thrones against it.

  Mouk looked at her unchanged expression. 'This is not what you sought?'

  Destine was uncertain what to say. 'Possibly…but I just need to familiarise myself with it a little. Where is this place?'

  'This is the Innermost Shrine, ma'am – the heartbeat of the temple!' proclaimed Mouk. 'The entire reason for its being you might say. And might I add an enigma that has outfoxed the combined intellects of the world's greatest Egyptologists – including myself, if I might be so bold as to count myself amongst their number.' Mouk grinned broadly from ear to ear, and beckoned Destine forwards. 'Come, ma'am, take a closer look.'

  'But, Monsieur Mouk…look at what? I see nothing but statues…the likes of which are all over this temple, are they not?' said Destine, understandably deflated.

  'Ma'am, it is the symbolism behind these particular statues that is important,' explained Mouk. 'Each one has a history, and each one speaks volumes to those educated in all the subtle nuances of the Ancient's testaments.'

  Destine inspected the
statues, with her tongue frozen firmly at the back of her throat. 'Monsieur Mouk…you said these sculptures represent the "Shaded God"? Might I ask you to explain?'

  'But, of course, ma'am! Behold…the mystery that lies deep within the heart of Sekhet Simbel.' Mouk said, as he pointed to the sculptured figures. 'As you no doubt are aware, our ancestors worshipped many gods and goddesses. Egypt is replete with temples, shrines and edifices venerating all sorts of deities from the sun to the moon to the wind that shakes the trees. Here we have the four deities to whom this particular temple is dedicated. We have Ra-Horakhty, the hawk-headed God of the Rising Sun. We have the deified Pharaoh Rameses the Great right here…and next to him we have Amun-Ra, the Sun God. And here…this is the fellow that you wish to reacquaint yourself with, I believe.' Mouk tapped upon the statue with his knuckles. 'This is the god called Ptah. One of the most maligned and misrepresented deities in ancient Egyptian history. Some academics would have us believe that Ptah was the god of death…but if we ignore our modern, nineteenth-century translation of him and view him with the eyes of the ancients things can take on a different slant.'

  'How so?' asked Destine, hungry for more.

  'Well, instead of death, Ptah was actually associated with the exact opposite – with creation, with life beginning anew,' replied Mouk, eager to feed his audience's curiosity. 'In fact, some scriptures tell that the world itself sprang forth from his dreams! Ptah was the creator of everything. Literally translated, his name means "the opener" – as in the opener of worlds, the opener of minds, the opener of mouths even – such is his misinterpreted symbolism with death.'

  'The opener of mouths?' repeated Destine in a whisper.

  'Yes, indeed, ma'am!' cried Feron Mouk. 'The act of an undertaker opening the deceased's mouth is still practised to this day, and stems back to the ancient times. Ptah believed that if the mouth were closed during the burial process, the soul would be trapped for ever within the mortal shell, denied its eternal life amongst the stars only to crumble to dust.' Destine and Ahman were quite uncertain what to say, and the curator seemed positively thrilled that he had provoked such a response. 'Marvellously macabre, is it not?' he chuckled.