by Mary Deal
A moment later, with eyes closed, Chione felt hands on her shoulders, felt her own arms drop limp to her sides.
“You do belong here,” Aaron whispered softly in the same foreign accent she had heard from him before.
Chione opened her eyes and looked into Aaron's, which had deepened, like dark emeralds. “So do you,” she said, not recognizing the peculiar accent in her own voice.
He blinked hard. “What do you mean, Chione?” he asked. “Chione?”
She shook her head. “What happened?” she asked as that perfume again floated seemingly from the tomb opening and right into her nostrils. She wondered if Aaron had noticed.
“I heard it too. Is that what you mean?” Aaron asked. “I… hey, Chione, what's going on?”
A sudden gust of wind came up and rustled everything moveable and showered a desert baptismal of sand down on everyone. Then, as quickly, everything became eerily still and hot.
With the silence, Chione became aware of something that had never happened before in her life. She felt consciousness uncontrollably slipping and everything going black.
6
“How did I get here?” Chione asked weakly from her cot.
“Aaron carried you,” Rita said. Her red curls drooped from perspiration.
“Where is everyone?” she asked, hearing only an occasional voice outside.
“Inside the tomb.”
“How long have I—”
“You slept a bit, mumbled like you were dreaming.”
Chione sat up, turned to the small electric fan and rubbed tension from the back of her neck. Fleeting scenes from a dream flickered through her mind. Scenes of a beautiful priestess, Pharaoh's concubine, throwing herself at his feet… waiting for his command to rise… or to sensually creep up his muscular legs. How she could bring mighty Pharaoh to his knees. “Oh, my!” Chione said.
“What is it?”
Chione realized again that she was inside her own yurt and closed her eyes to dispel the erotic scene and the desire the dream aroused in her. “I-I wanted to be inside the tomb too. I—”
“They're only documenting right now,” Rita said. “The film will have to be developed before they move even one artifact.”
“But I want to be a part it all,” Chione said, standing and testing her legs.
“You haven't missed much. Marlowe told me it took a bit of time lowering some equipment down the portcullis shaft.”
“But to be inside when—”
“Yes, lucky you,” Rita said as she offered a frail but steadier arm. “You feel up to it? Shouldn't you rest?” She looked like she could use a bit of rest herself.
“You don't understand. Do you remember what you told me about yourself?”
“Specifically?” Rita asked as she poured water from a bottle into a paper cup.
“How you had to struggle to prove yourself when you began to work with Clifford.”
“Oh, that,” she said. “No one thought I was smart enough to make the switch from nursing.” But she had, with her care giving skills ever present.
Rita quit nursing when the medical field could not save the daughter she and Clifford lost. Rita's gynecologist blotched the Cesarean birth of their daughter leaving her unable to have another child. Because Rita could not provide the son Clifford yearned for, he devoted his life to raising their daughter. She followed her father's footsteps into archaeology. On her first flight to the Andes, her small plane crashed. All others on board, including the daughter's husband were killed. The daughter had lingered, strapped into her seat for four days before rescuers found the wreckage. In the hospital, the medical team failed to save her. She slipped into a coma and passed away weeks later.
“That's right,” Chione said. “You always felt you had to prove yourself in archeology.”
“Why do you bring that up?” she asked, handing over the cup of water and pouring another. Her hands shook as she lifted the cup to her lips.
“It's the same with me. Don't you see? I don't have a degree yet.”
“But quite a brain, I believe,” Rita said, raising an eyebrow.
“That's not the point,” Chione said. “Fact is I have this other ability that most people think is hocus-pocus.”
“It can be intimidating.”
“Intimidating? The whole world is coming to this. Mankind is becoming more and more intuitive.”
“Some of you are way ahead of the pack.” Rita said. She stepped closer to the fan.
“Okay… okay, but don't you see what I have to prove here?” Chione asked. “I can't pretend I get my information from books and studying. I'm real and so are my abilities. I need to be recognized for the person I am.”
“I understand, Chione. But don't forget. You're just as much like the rest of us. You fainted, remember?”
“Why did I do that?”
“Egypt affects me the same way.” She eased down onto the edge of the cot. “What were you feeling?”
“I-I'm not sure. I felt a pulling into the tomb, like I needed to be inside. Then I smelled that perfume—”
“Perfume?” Rita asked. “What perfume?”
Chione wished she had not mentioned the heady scent. “Never mind,” she said. “I must be confused.”
Rita stuck her fingers into her hair and massaged the top of her head. “Do you think they'll eventually allow the wives and husbands inside?”
“Being a spectator is difficult, isn't it?”
“Frustrating,” Rita said. “Just like this headache I can't get rid of.” She stared at the floor. “Marlowe will get in.”
“You will too,” Chione said as she French braided her hair into one long plait and retrieved a rubber band from her pocket. Finally feeling stronger, she stepped outside the tent on Rita's arm as Aaron appeared. “Aaron, your clothes,” she said.
“Pretty grubby, eh?”
“It's that messy in there?”
“Well, you have to scoot on your belly through that narrow passage,” he said. “In and out.”
How had Bebe made it through that narrow opening, considering her matronly figure? Still, Bebe could do anything once she put her minor insecurities aside and set her mind.
Chione looked at Rita, whose years were taking their toll; frail Rita, whose drive and intentions far exceeded the strengths of her aging body. Rita would have to muster all her stamina to crawl on hands and knees or to climb up or down through the portcullis. After all, the spouses had helped on previous digs. In their late sixties, Clifford and Rita Rawlings were the eldest of the group. With extremely active minds, both had much to offer science and history and felt no need to retire simply because the years had crept up on them. Their philosophy was that in today's world, why stop discovering as long as you can maintain a presence and function accordingly?
“Let's go,” Chione said, catching Aaron's unwavering excitement.
“I'd like to be in there too,” Rita said as she clipped a water flask to Chione's belt loop.
At the tomb entrance, Aaron said, “We'll have to use this route. They're still rigging the portcullis.”
“This way it is,” Chione said. “Let's get in there.”
“You're pretty small. You might be able to crawl on your knees and elbows. I have to scoot on my gut.”
“How far?” she asked.
“About sixty feet to just under the portcullis,” he said. “By the way, we're only inside the First Chamber right now.”
“You've seen another?”
“Topside on radar, just after that one.”
“Anyone enter the Second Chamber yet?”
“Of course not. The camera crews are still recording the First Chamber, the artifacts and all. Plus, we couldn't see the entrance to the Second Chamber by only flashing our lights.”
Chione stooped down and peered into the darkness of the tunnel. “I guess this is the death and rebirth canal,” she said. “We're like babies going back in.” Then she smelled that odor again; a sweet provocative scen
t full of memory and closeness, seeping out of the tunnel. She had not smelled it before arriving in Egypt. She wondered if Aaron had detected the beckoning fragrance.
“I calculate the slant about fifty-five degrees all the way,” he said. “I'll go first in case you begin to slide.”
“You kidding?” she said. “I can handle myself. Hand me your light.”
Aaron hesitated, probably at her assertiveness, something she needed to practice. Or was it despite being able to take care of herself, she forgot her flashlight? “Grab hold of the rope along the floor we've installed for a handrail,” he said. “On your right.”
She stuck her head into the entrance and said, “C'mon, Aaron.”
Instead, he grabbed hold of her back pocket and pulled her back. “Uh-uh,” he said. “Feet first.”
“Feet?”
“Yep. It's too steep. If you go up-side-down and begin to slide, you could land on your head on the stone floor at the bottom.”
“That steep?”
“Slippery too. Be sure not to pull on the conduits by your left arm.”
Chione turned, dropped to her hands and knees and backed into the square hole. She eased downward using the rope. In a few seconds Aaron entered and blocked out most of the light from above. As he maneuvered his body, sunlight intermittently broke through and cast short flexing shadows each time he changed position.
“Be careful of those limestone chips,” he said. “They cut like shards of glass.”
The sturdy khaki clothing the team wore had doubled knee and elbow patches to pad the body parts coming in contact with the ground and rock.
The axial corridor through which they maneuvered had been hollowed out of solid limestone and slanted more steeply downward than Chione anticipated. Prior to the exploratory team's entry, five tons of debris filled the passageway to the portcullis. The smooth hewn floor showed grooves from the equipment carriers sliding down. Remaining patches of sand slipped downward and small pebbles rolled. Light disappeared, except for the one dimly seeping up from below. The going was slow. She tried to hurry, feeling as if the tomb was pulling at her. Pulling her in. The deeper she moved, the thicker and more stagnant the air became.
“Pity the claustrophobic,” Chione said as she clicked on the flashlight. “Hey, slow up, Aaron,” she said, directing her voice up to him. “You're kicking sand in my face.
“Sorry,” he said. “I was hurrying, hoping to hold my breath till we were under the portcullis.”
“I know what you mean,” she said. “The smell is incomparable.”
“Wait till you get in deeper,” he said with a chuckle. Past midway, he called out. “You okay? Not faint anymore?”
“I'm too excited to care.”
“What about your queasy stomach? Symptoms you've had for a couple of months?”
“It went away, especially since arriving in Egypt,” she said. “Stop worrying. I can't let myself be sick anymore.” She continued to creep backward. Though the dreams had intensified, her nausea and symptoms eased. She felt relief not having stomach problems that would get in the way of her work performance.
“This tomb is definitely New Kingdom, 18th Dynasty,” he said. “As we suspected from those first relics.”
Their voices reverberating off the rock walls had an all too close feeling about them. Her eardrums vibrated as she suddenly heard a feminine but otherworldly voice say…
“Waiting… inside the coffin… waiting… waiting… through all of time.”
“Wow!” she said while exhaling a forceful gust of air, and then feeling glad she could inhale again. A sense of confinement accompanied the vision, a vision so strange; it was as if she were lying on her back like a mummy inside a coffin. Waiting.
“Wow… what?” Aaron asked.
“It's… bad air,” she said, finally continuing to descend.
Sunlight pouring through the portcullis area below became brighter as they neared the bottom. Muffled voices projected an eerie drone from the First Chamber beyond.
Just before the portcullis opening, the floor leveled off and the ceiling heightened. Some equipment was stacked to the side. Directly under the shaft, thick boards and loose rags were positioned to keep stones from marring the floor when they fell from above. Chione rose to her knees as Aaron backed up beside her and took his flashlight.
“Look up,” he said, pointing and pulling at her sleeve. “Be careful of falling debris.”
Chione shielded her eyes and looked up into the huge gaping square hole of the massive portcullis shaft. “I get it,” she said. “This opening would be how a sarcophagus or larger object was introduced into the tomb.” At the top, two turbaned heads appeared over the edge and looked down at her. She waved and they smiled and waved back. Tiny pebbles fell and embedded in the pile of rags. Sand drifted down like measures of poured salt.
“Passage will definitely be more accessible on a ladder through this opening,” Aaron said. “We'll also build a ramp with rungs for the axial corridor we just passed through.”
“That'll make things easier.”
“We're installing grilled gates with locks to secure both accesses when we're out of the tomb at night.”
“To ward off looting, of course,” she said.
Aaron looked up again. “Can you imagine being inside a tomb when that block was lowered once and for all? Can you imagine the horror of knowing you might die in here if no one noticed you missing?”
“Better to be dead when it happened,” Chione said.
It had been known to happen. When some tombs were entered after centuries, human remains of probable grave robbers or unwary workers were found trapped inside. When a portcullis was lowered into an airtight position, it sealed the tomb for eternity.
Just beyond where the portcullis came to rest, six descending steps added more depth to the space. With the area now lighted, carved and painted walls displayed their cryptic messages in a profusion of color and design, recorded not for worldly posterity but for continuance in the Afterlife. Their flashlight beams cast farther ahead illuminated more of the ancient splendor, and a dust-laden floor continuing down the passageway.
Chione felt stickiness on her face and turned to Aaron who chuckled. “Here,” he said, whipping out a handkerchief. “It's a good thing you don't wear makeup. Perspiration's already caked the dust on your cheeks.” He flashed his light into the passageway again and onto the floor. “Look.”
She wiped sticky black grime from her face. “What'd you expect to see? A portal into Ancient Egypt?”
“No,” he said, chuckling and aiming the beam again. “No footprints past ours.”
She smiled. “I expected that.” Workers always broomed on the way out. It was a gesture of cleanliness and respect for the departed.
He looked at her suspiciously. “Listen, I have to say this… I felt a presence in here.”
“You felt it too?” Chione became excited at the implication, then calmed. “It's the Ka, Aaron. You know what that is?”
“Can't say I remember.”
“Ka is a portion of the spirit of the departed that stays behind in the tomb with the mummy.” She continued to strain to see down the passageway. “Direct that light again,” she said, having seen something down the passageway that made her heart pound. “Down there.”
“No,” he said, teasing and clicking off the beam. “Better you wait and see with everyone else.”
7
More loose cloths for the cleaning of footwear lay before the opened double wooden doors of the First Chamber.
“So far, no sign of white ants,” Aaron said.
They dusted their boots and squeezed through the busy engineers glutting the doorway. Bubbling over with excitement, the others welcomed them.
Chione's eyes widened. She could only stare at the splendor, replete with history. Borders of hieroglyphs and a profusion of colorful lotuses framed each wall. Varied delicate scents wafted through the chamber as if a breeze had blown them throug
h. There was no draft and evidently no one else detected the new odors. A mysterious voice lilted again.
“The treatment room.”
The words resounded in her mind. Judging from the unchanged expressions of the others, they had not heard. Chills ran over her body. She had just stepped back in time, like entering a room visited before. She felt utterly empowered as she drank it all in.
Clifford flagged her attention and pointed upward. Others tipped their heads to look. Lighting was redirected exposing a pyramid rising above them. “Carved right into the ceiling stone,” he said.
Four square pillars rose from the floor at each corner to the top edge of the walls. From there, leaning, they met at a point in the center of the vaulted ceiling. Around the top edge of the tall walls, a border had been carved around the room, connecting the lower ends of the leaning beams. Beams of the pyramid structure were painted black.
“The ceiling's Egyptian blue,” Kendra said. “With gold stars. The pyramid form looks like it's been shoved up in there.”
“Carved in,” Clifford said. The realist in him would not let the facts be distorted.
“This isn't an ordinary tomb,” Bebe said.
Chione smiled upward, staring with her mouth agape, again silently validated.
“Where's Randy?” Dr. Withers asked as he counted heads. “I want the whole team in on this.”
“He hasn't been with us since he sped off in the jeep,” Aaron said.
“That figures,” Dr. Withers said, rolling his eyes.
The chamber was small and crowded, roughly fifteen by fifteen feet. Each had to squeeze past one another to move around without touching the artifacts. Dakarai and Masud, who had abandoned their loose gallibayas for denims and cotton shirts, spoke among themselves in Egyptian and inched around the room taking notes and drawing sketches. Long-legged Dakarai stepped over artifacts instead of inching his way around. Something about his actions made Chione wonder about his respect for the items. Masud was more careful. He was shorter and stockier and couldn't have stepped over anything.