Chapter Forty-Eight

Caleb and Imogen didn’t say another word as they weaved through the statues. He had made an utter fool of himself, assuming that the attraction he felt toward her was mutual. For two years his curiosity about her had grown into an infatuation. The romantic woman he had imagined her to be was nothing but fantasy. In reality, Imogen was a complicated woman whose heart was entombed behind thick walls. After that botched kiss, Caleb was grateful to return to the group and distract his mind.

In the next room, they found an even greater collection of treasures left on altars at the feet of statues – amulets, rings, daggers in gold and silver sheaths. Many of the relics looked to date back thousands of years.

Trummel picked up a gold crown with a cobra. “This could have been left by an Egyptian from the Middle Kingdom.”

“One of the pharaohs?” Caleb asked.

“The entrance to Duat was kept so secret that I imagine there weren’t many common Egyptian explorers before Ramses II. These look like treasures left by kings.”

“Are these the relics you’ve been searching for?” Imogen asked.

“No, these are an unexpected bonus.” Trummel grinned, looking around the room. “The museum will pay us a fortune for these. Everyone, load up your packs.”

Trummel and Gosswick began to stuff their rucksacks.

“I don’t think we should take these,” Imogen said.

“Why the hell not?” Trummel said.

“This chamber feels sacred.”

“She’s right.” Dyfan grimaced and clutched his chest. “I’m getting a bad feeling about this. Please, stop.”

“I don’t need to hear any moral protests,” Trummel said. “Imogen, unless you want me to have a word with the museum’s board about your unwillingness to help, I suggest you load every pocket you can fill.”

She crossed her arms. “Tell the board what you like. I won’t be a part of this.”

Trummel’s face reddened. “You have done nothing but disappoint me. Whenever we get out of here, I’ll see to it you lose your job. As to the bonus money – the rest of you can keep Imogen’s share.”

“You can have my share too,” Caleb said.

“And mine,” Dyfan said.

“Suit yourselves.”

Gosswick grinned. “More for us.”

A sound like women shrieking in a crazy house echoed from the corridors.

Everyone backed to the center of the ring of statues.

From the chamber’s back arched doorway, four beings in red robes glided into the room.

Trummel and Gosswick raised their guns. Caleb stood protectively in front of Imogen, uncertain what sort of beings these were. They looked like nuns in red habits. Solid veils covered their eyes. The bottom halves of their faces were exposed, revealing albino white skin and feminine lips. Three of them were young, and one had a deeply wrinkled face. Every inch of their visible flesh was scarred with alien markings. Their arms remained folded at the midsections of their robes, pale hands with scrimshaw designs and long fingers clasped across their abdomens. The four nuns hovered inches above the ground at the edge of the group’s circle.

No one moved for several tense seconds.

The scar-faced women didn’t seem to fear the firelight. They didn’t so much as flinch when Gosswick cocked his gun.

“Nobody shoot,” Dyfan warned. He tilted his head. “They’re speaking to me.”

The nuns remained silent, their lips perfectly still. Dyfan nodded and murmured, as if having some internal conversation.

“They’re telling me we have angered the Supreme Ones. They will spare our lives if we leave behind what we’ve taken.”

“And what if we refuse?” Gosswick said.

The eldest nun lashed out her hand. Gosswick flew back against the wall and floated six feet off the floor, his arms spread like Jesus on the cross. The other nuns raised their hands. Several daggers rose from the altars and shot across the room, stopping inches from Gosswick’s face and body. Wide-eyed, he trembled before the mercy of the blades.

“Okay, okay,” Trummel said. “Put him down.”

The nuns lowered their hands and the captain fell to the floor, gasping. In one quick motion, the knives returned to their altars.

Trummel pulled the pilfered treasures from his pack. “Goss, put back what you took.”

The two thieves begrudgingly placed a couple of dozen relics on the altars.

“All of it,” Dyfan said.

The women’s heads snapped in the direction of Trummel. He dug at the bottom of his pack and pulled out the gold Egyptian crown.

When everything was back on the altars, three of the red nuns floated backward and vanished into unseen chambers. The youngest drifted toward one of the dark doorways and motioned for the group to follow.

“What the hell is she?” Trummel asked.

Her head snapped back at him, then turned to Dyfan. “She’s a naturu, a realm guide,” he said. “Like Bakari’s race, who guides people through the lower realms, she’s part of a more advanced race that guides explorers through the middle realms. We’ve entered a sacred sanctuary that lies between the gates. She insists we follow her.”

“I don’t trust her,” Trummel said.

“I’m afraid you have no choice.” Dyfan started after her receding figure.

The naturu led them out of the treasure chamber and down a corridor partially lit by torches. There were no sounds except for the echo of their footsteps on flagstones and the rippling of torch flames. As they walked past another stone spiral staircase that led down to yet another level, Caleb spotted a group of red-robed figures drifting into the bowels below. In unison, all their heads snapped up in his direction. He sensed that, even with veiled eyes, the women could see him.

Can they read my mind too? Caleb did his best to control his thoughts. Something he had gotten good at. Two years of seminary school had not been for nothing. He meditated on the positive, prayed to his guiding angel. The nuns below looked away and continued their descent.

Caleb still wasn’t certain if these beings served God or something evil. He hoped their realm guide had no intention of taking the group downstairs. There could be a dungeon with demon monks preparing for their inquisition.

Their guide led the explorers past the staircase, through a doorway to a courtyard. Ancient brick structures with flat rooftops and hollow, glassless windows rose on either side. Across the courtyard loomed a monolithic building with bell towers and spires. A cathedral, perhaps, but there was nothing Catholic about this subterranean convent.

For a sanctuary, the exterior was gloomy and devoid of life. No gardens, no sunlight. Just deep shadows and giant gray statues at every turn. Some resembled Egyptian gods. Others looked Sumerian, like the winged Anunnaki gods Caleb had seen carved into the ruins at the ancient city of Ur. Other sculptures here were idolized beings with similar alien markings to the nuns.

The guide led them toward the edge of the convent to another gate. The stone guardian was a demon with a head of a vulture. The naturu waved her hand over the symbols engraved at the threshold. The vulture flapped its wings and the gate opened. Their guide floated through first.

As Caleb passed through the gate, a chill seeped into his bones.

The group followed their guide across a stone platform. The nun stopped at a stone bridge that crossed over absolute nothingness. She pointed a long white finger, directing them to go.

“She says we must cross the Canyon of the Lost,” Dyfan said.

Caleb leaned over the edge. Hollow voices, as if from lost souls, cried out from far beneath the bridge. He couldn’t see them, though. The void below was just as black as the void above. The narrow stone bridge stretched to infinity and tapered off into the dark.

“Where does it lead?” Trummel asked.

“She says we’ll find out on the other side,” Dyfan said.

“Looks like the darkest reaches of hell,” Trummel said. He hesitated, calculating the risks. “How do we know she’s not sending us to be damned?”

“She’s growing impatient.” Dyfan sounded agitated. “We must hurry. The bridge won’t be here much longer.”

Trummel said, “Tell her to show us another gate.”

A dozen more red nuns floated through the portal and formed a menacing wall, blocking the way back.

Caleb said, “I think we’ve worn out our welcome.”

Trummel glared. Gosswick, hand on his gun, looked ready to unleash violence. Trummel shook his head. “Let’s go.” He started down the bridge with his soldier in tow.

Dyfan paused, silently thanking the nun who had shown them the way. Then he started over the bridge, using one of the low walls as a guide.

Caleb had learned in South Africa that sometimes territorial respect was the best way to stay alive. He put his palms together and bowed to the nuns with a gesture of gratitude. Then he followed Imogen onto the bridge.