TITLE: Something Lost, Something Found.

By : Aryea

Chapter 9

“That was brilliant, Sydney!” Preston offered in a hushed voice.

            “Nigel thought of it,” she reminded him, wrapping Nigel’s hand around her arm so she could guide him.

            Preston cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. Well done. Podge.”

            “Oh, shut up, Preston,” Nigel sighed.

            “See here, there’s no reason to be rude.”

            “Do you really think it’s down here?” Sydney asked Nigel, ignoring Preston.

            “Possibly, I didn’t understand the reference, until Da Viega mentioned a second burial; but it would certainly be in keeping with Izamidi’s profile. It was said that he was fond of riddles and of poetic verse, and his own palace consisted of numerous secret passages so that he could spy on his council members.”

            “As riveting as this is,” Da Viega pointed out. “Can we hurry this parade along? If Bailey could figure out that passage, anyone else can too.”

            “You didn’t,” Nigel retorted, before he could help himself. He was surprised when Da Viega chuckled.

            “I’ll say this for you, Oxford, you’ve got spunk. Let’s hope that it doesn’t get you killed.”

            Nigel remained silent as they continued along the darkened corridor, the firelight of the torches bouncing off the stone, walls created ominous monster shadows further ahead of them.

            Sydney stopped suddenly. “Rats.”

            “What’s wrong?’ Nigel asked, almost tripping in his effort to stop as well.

            “No, rats,” she explained waving her torch around so that the others could see the mammoth pile of four legged rodents scurrying before them. “They’re all over.”

            “That doesn’t sound right,” Nigel said, curious as he repressed a shudder, he hated rats almost as much as he hated spiders.

            “Aren’t most of these places air tight?” Preston inquired cringing away from the little red-eyed beasts. “Where could they have come from, and how are they surviving? There can’t be anything down here for them to eat.”

            “There is now,” Nigel stated as they began to back away from the tide of rodents. “Us.” As awful as the scene sounded, Nigel felt worse at not being able to see it. “Um…how bad is it, Syd?”

            “Pretty bad, Nige, but I think we can get through.” She waved her torch at the rats, which scattered, but only for a moment, before they covered the floor space once more. “Or…not.”

            “Um…this is the part where you come up with a brilliant plan to get us out of here, right, Syd?” Preston squeaked, as the rats converged and they were forced to turn and run back the way they had come.

            “I’m open to suggestions!” Sydney exclaimed, keeping a strong hold on Nigel who was literally running blind. Nigel, used to being pulled around and tossed about by his employer, kept up remarkably well. She suddenly stopped, spying a small ledge running along the wall. “Up! Get up!”

            Everyone clamored up; Preston pushed the fumbling Nigel, as Sydney pulled, before he hopped up himself. The rats ran past, searching for their fresh meat; several remained below sniffing at the wall.

            “There must be some sort of drain or something that leads outside,” Preston offered, careful not to move, as the ledge was barely two feet wide. “They have to have come from there.”

            “Now what?” Da Viega demanded, hugging the wall.

            “I’m thinking!” Sydney snapped.

            “Lovely choice,” Nigel muttered. “Eaten by rats, or wait for the Dahmer squad to show up.” He suddenly sniffed at Sydney. “Syd, you’re wearing perfume?”

            She glared at him; this was hardly the time. “Uh…yeah.”           

            “Do you have it with you? The perfume?”

            Sydney grinned as she realized what he was thinking. She carefully handed him her torch. “Hold this.” She slapped her hand against his chest as he leaned a little too far forward. “Careful.” She rummaged through her satchel and found the bottle of perfume. She groaned. “This cost me a hundred bucks an ounce.”

            “I’ll buy you a new bottle,” Nigel promised, eagerly.  “I’ll buy you two, just do it before we’re rat food.”

            “What are you going to do?” Preston asked, intrigued, but too afraid of losing his balance to lean over and have look.

            “Whatever it is, do it fast!” Da Viega insisted as he kicked at one of the rats that had started to climb atop each other to reach them.

            Sydney turned the bottle upside down over the rats, soaking them with the sweet smelling scent. She grabbed the torch from Nigel and dropped it over the pile, flattening herself and her TA against the wall as a burst of flame surged upwards.

            “Oh, God, that’s disgusting!” Preston grimaced, covering his mouth and nose at the awful stench of burning fur and flesh, mixed with Sydney’s perfume, yet unable to pull his eyes away from the massacred. “How horrible!”

            “Better them than us,” Nigel muttered, wincing at the intense squealing of the rats, glad now that he couldn’t see; he knew he would be hearing their death screams in his nightmares.

            “Never mind, Nigel,” Sydney said, also making a face at the unique scent they had just created. “I don’t think I’ll be able to wear that perfume ever again.”

            “Sorry, Syd.”

            The rats started to scatter away from the flames, until it seemed that only the dead were left, and then the foursome carefully dropped off the ledge.

            “Let’s make this fast, before they decide to come back for a makeover,” Sydney advised, retrieving her flash light, grabbing Nigel’s hand again and starting back down the passageway.

            They returned to the path where the rats had converged originally, noticed that there was a small rope bridge over a wide chasm of deadly sharp spears and immediately noticed the hieroglyphics on the opposite wall. They crossed over and Sydney paused before it and shined her light across as she described it to Nigel. “Looks like more warnings,” she said, surprised. Most Egyptian temples or tombs only had curses at the beginning of the temples; as they would be pretty much useless on the chambers themselves, since by then the temple had already been violated and entered. Yet, Izamidi seemed insistent to warn off possible thieves at every venue. “Seems they weren’t taking any chances, they really didn’t want anyone entering these tombs, did they?”

            “I’m beginning to think they had a good reason,” Nigel replied.

            Sydney was stumbling over the translation. It would be so much easier if Nigel could see; he ate this stuff for breakfast.

            As if reading her mind, Nigel spoke softly beside her. “Preston, come help, Syd’s a little rusty with this stuff.”

            She glanced at him, startled. She was aware that both Baileys had very similar skills, but she was reluctant to bring Preston into it, knowing how he liked to overshadow Nigel and how much Nigel resented him for it.

            Preston stepped forward, eagerly and started to translate. “Certainly. Let’s see. Well, it’s a prayer to Isis, definitely a final resting place.” He moved closer. “And what appears to be a warning to any who enter. It’s common for Egyptian tombs to have such displays, why Tutankhamen’s tomb was riddled with curses and…”

            “Just tell me what it says, Preston,” Nigel sighed; exasperated-why did his brother feel the need to show off? “The exact phrasing of the warning.”

            Preston sniffed, offended. “I’m only trying to help, Nigel. Why are you getting so agitated?”      

            “Because I can’t bloody see and I have to rely on an arrogant, overbearing egomaniac like you to translate! Now what does it say, for the love of God!”

            Preston turned back to the wall. “As for anyone who shall enter here shall he suffer the judgment of Ra. His corpse shall not be to the ground, he shall be as a serpent on earth; spat out from the mouth of Set. His estate shall belong to the fire, and his house shall belong to the consuming flame and he will be nowhere and his house will be nowhere; he will be one proscribed, one who eats himself.”*

            “Lovely,” Da Viega sneered and pushed Preston out of the way and examined the wall. “Now how do we get in?”

            “It’s probably another puzzle,” Sydney replied, trying to hide her fascination and failing.

If this really was Isres’ tomb and that book was with her, it would be the find of the century. It would give credence to the true existence of Moses leading the Hebrews out of Egypt. It was said that God marked Brae-Nu-Then and all her descendents for her betrayal and sealed the book with a terrible curse to any who tried to open it.

“This pattern is identical to the one in the temple above,” Da Viega noted. “On the wall showing the way to the chamber.”

“But it may not use the same tiles,” Sydney reminded, that would be too easy.

“Perhaps, it’s like the verse, Syd?” Nigel suggested. “In life and death, they’re opposites of one another. These tiles may have to be pressed in opposite order than the first wall?”

Sydney glanced at him, it made sense, but could it be so easy? “I don’t know.”

“What have we got to lose?” Da Viega decided. “What was it; the symbol for Re was the last tile.” He pressed the sun. “And then the bird, right?”

Sydney nodded. “Then moon, and water.” She pressed those tiles, and then stepped back, waiting. Nothing happened. “Yeah, thought so, too easy.”

“Wait, maybe not,” Preston advised, stepping forward. “Since Izamidi was so fond of his third wife that he dedicated his own tomb to her, perhaps we just need to add something.” He peered at the wall, thoughtfully. “They were bound together for eternity in life and death, eternity’s gate.” He pressed the tile depicting the doorway to Isis’ garden. He grinned when the wall slid open. “Eureka!”

“Romantic old sod, Pharaoh was, eh?” Nigel grinned. “Well done, Preston.”

“Why thank you, Nigel.”

“Can we save the applause for later?” Da Viega demanded, stepping through. Preston followed, but Nigel pulled Sydney back.

            “Syd, if Ramses’ Tome is in there, we can’t let him leave with it,” Nigel insisted, quietly. “If it is the actual book that God sealed…”

            “I know, Nigel.” Sydney also had a very bad feeling about their situation. She wasn’t sure if there was a curse or not, but the legend of God’s judgment on Brae-Nu-Then and her family was said to be horrible and swift. She knew when to back off of a relic, just like with the Devil Doll, but Da Viega was holding all the cards at this point. “I’m thinking.”

            “Think faster.”

            Da Viega, however was already lighting the torches in the tomb and searching for the ancient book. It didn’t take him long, the sarcophagus in this room was not inlayed with the likeness of its owner, as most Egyptian coffins were; this one was plain and appeared to have been chiseled from the finest white marble. Instead of the materialistic treasures Egyptians were famous for, the tomb was inlayed with flowers that had been dipped in gold and silver to preserve them forever. The walls depicted Egyptian children running in a garden that would bloom forever, fantastic white stallions and the Nile running through a sun that would never set. Layers of the finest silks and fabrics hung about the room, but never touching the ground.

            “Oh, Nigel,” Sydney breathed in amazement; she’d never seen such a tribute. “I wish you could see this.”

            Nigel didn’t want to see it; he could not rid himself of the awful feeling in the pit of his stomach that something evil lived here. “Syd, let’s get out of here.”

            Sydney ignored him and was drawn to the sarcophagus as the others were. The top half was inlayed with quartz, polished so smooth it was like glass, and inside was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, an Egyptian Princess that had stepped out of the past to lie before them in all of her splendor. Ebony hair framed her lovely face, the ends gathering to a point just below her chin, her eyes were lined with the black ink of the age, sweeping beyond her lids to meet halfway to her ears, creating the illusion of longer lashes and serene cat-like eyes. Her lips were round, full, the color of deepest cherry, contrasted against skin the color of deep mahogany. She wore a dress of white, her arms folded across her chest and incasing a weathered, leather bound book.

            “She’s amazing!” Preston whispered in awe. “How is it possible that she hasn’t decomposed?”

            “I don’t know,” Sydney returned, shaking her head but unable to look away. “She’s perfectly preserved.”

            Nigel stood, alone and blind and started to shiver, something was terribly wrong. Couldn’t they feel it? Couldn’t they understand? “Syd, please? Preston, we have to go!”

            “The book,” Da Viega finally pulled his gaze from Isres’ face to focus on the treasure he sought. ‘She’s holding the Tome.”

            “There’s an inscription,” Preston commented, rubbing his hands across the passage that had been carved into the marble, just below where the glass stopped. “It’s written in Hebrew. Look not or ye be judged. Blinded to the ways of God are ye.”

            “A prayer to a Hebrew God on an Egyptian coffin?” Sydney asked, startled.

            Nigel started to back up, not knowing where he was going, but feeling his way, the temperature in the room seemed to have dropped suddenly and he couldn’t stop shivering; whether from the cold or the words that Preston had just uttered. He knew his bible, he knew what was about to happen, “Syd, please, get away from her. Preston! Listen to me!”

            Both turned and finally noticed how shaken Nigel was, the fear on his face.

            “Nigel, what’s wrong?” Sydney asked, moving toward him

            “Remember the cross, Syd,” Nigel pleaded, he had hit the wall and was slowly sliding down it, his strength leaving him. “Authur’s Cross, remember what happened when you touched it?”

            “What’s he on about?” Preston demanded, irritated at being pulled away from the beauty of the woman in the coffin.

            “Sodom and Gomorrah, the plagues, judgment, Sydney!”

            Sydney’s eyes widened and she spun around, just as Da Viega opened the sarcophagus and reached for the Tome of Ramses’. “No!” she cried, but it was too late, Da Viega had slid his knife across the wax seal and opened the book.

            There was a blinding light that encased the chamber and Sydney grabbed Preston, turning him away from it. “Shut your eyes!” she screamed, not even sure if that would help at this point.

            Nigel cried out. “Sydney! Preston!” He couldn’t see and he couldn’t tell where they were, but he could hear someone screaming, a hideous high pitched scream that vibrated through to his very soul. “Dear God!”

            Sydney couldn’t take the chance of opening her eyes to find Nigel and she found that her breath had been torn from her as well; so she could not call out.

            Something compelled Nigel to move forward, he couldn’t see but he was sensing something, and he crawled towards the gentle hum that seemed to radiate from the centre of the room. Even in his blindness, there seemed to be a sudden light, a small glow and he crawled toward it, his hands finally brushing against something on the floor. A tingling sensation shot up his arm and horrifying visions of what were to come swarmed through his mind as he realized what the object was, and he quickly slapped the Tome shut.

            Immediately the light was gone and he was in darkness again, the sudden silence was deafening. “I didn’t look,” he muttered to himself, more frightened than he had ever been in his life. “I didn’t look, I didn’t look.” He held the book to his chest and gently started rocking.

            Sydney slowly opened her eyes and moved from where she had been bent over Preston. Nigel was sitting below the Alter, the Tome in his hands and tears running down his face from beneath the bandages. She hurried over to him.

            “Blinded to the ways of God,” Nigel continued to mutter. “Look not or ye be judged, I didn’t look, I was blinded to the ways of God.”

            Sydney crouched beside him, worried. “Nigel?” She placed her hand on his shoulder and he flinched away.

            “Don’t touch me!” he cried and then started rocking again. “I’m blinded, I didn’t look.”

            Sydney stared at him, horrified, as Preston joined her, also confused.

            “What’s wrong with him?”

            “I don’t know.” She tried again. “Nigel, it’s Sydney. Snap out of it.”

            “What happened to you, old man?” Preston asked, concerned, as he knelt on Nigel’s other side. Had Nigel been cursed by the Tome, or harmed by whatever that light had been? His concern for his brother caused him to suddenly rip the book away from Nigel and toss it across the room. “It’s all this stupid thing’s fault!”

            Nigel immediately stopped rocking and reached out. “Syd?” he asked, he still sounded so frightened. “Syd, are you there?”

            “I’m here, Nigel,” Sydney assured, again touching his shoulder. “What happened?”

            Nigel let her and Preston pull him to his feet and shook his head. “Nothing.”

            “Nothing?” Preston scoffed. “Podge, you were in a state and…” He paused and glanced around. “Um…where’s Da Viega?”

            Sydney also spun around, looking for her nemesis, but he had disappeared. Had he been swallowed by the light, as the power of Arthur’s Cross could do to any who touched it? But then how had Nigel survived, he had been holding the book.

            “Worry about it later,” she decided, noticing the smell of decay that now permeated the room. She leaned over the sarcophagus and glanced down, grimacing. “Well, now we know how she remained beautiful. Let’s get out of here.”

            “The Tome, Syd!” Nigel insisted. “It has to go back.”

            “Are you mad?” Preston demanded. “I’m not touching that thing again.”

            Nigel’s fingers dug into Sydney’s arm, pleading. “It has to go back, Syd. And we have to seal this place, like with the Devil Doll, no one else can find it, please?”

            Sydney nodded, cautiously retrieved the book; and carried it back to the sarcophagus. She noticed that the wax had sealed itself again, before she gingerly placed the Tome back into the skeletal arms of Isres’ rotting corpse. She and Preston closed the lid and immediately the woman was restored to her former beauty.

            “Okay, now let’s get out of here.”

            Nigel nodded and let him lead her out. The wall closed behind them and Sydney looked for a way to keep others from opening the tomb again. There was really no way to pry the tiles off, so there was only one thing left to do.

            “I hope Isres can forgive us,” Sydney muttered as she took her knife and started to scrape away at the images. Preston took hold of her torch and tried burning away the paint. “This is the second time I’ve had to deface a historical site, I hope it’s my last.”

            Finally they were done, just as they heard the sounds of little clawed feet running.

            “Please tell me that’s just Preston’s teeth chattering?” Nigel demanded,

            “I beg your pardon?” Preston asked, offended, as they scurried across the bridge and Sydney pulled out her knife to hack away at the ropes. Preston set his side on fire and moments later the bridge dropped to the spears below.

            “That should do it,” Sydney decided, grabbing Nigel’s hand. “Come on, I noticed a passage off to the right, lets hope it takes us out of here.”

· Was inspired by some actual Egyptian curses.

 

Continue to chapter 10