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Ethiopia
Present Day, One Week Earlier

 

“Careful, brothers, remember how old it is.”

Grunts were the only replies as the twelve men, much younger than Father Abune Amanuel, though still closer to middle age than their teens, strained to lift that which had been under their protection their entire lives, and for three thousand years before any of them had been born. It was a duty handed down over too many generations to count, though the Kebra Nagast did attempt to document much of it.

It was the history of the Ethiopian people, descended from the Queen of Sheba herself, and her illegitimate son, Menelik.

And he was responsible for their task today, millennia later.

The ancient relic was lifted from its platform, a seasonal event that saw it transferred from one secret location to another, and replaced with a fake, created with exacting precision that only an expert could tell the truth.

Something snapped.

Gasps and cries echoed in the small chamber as one side of the relic dropped toward the floor, the others quickly lowering the opposite side before the ancient vessel tumbled over, spilling its holy contents.

Father Amanuel lunged forward, his hands in front of him, hoping to hold the cover in place should it slip, then leaped back in horror as he realized that would involve touching it, something to be avoided if at all possible.

Or at the very least, vigorously discouraged.

Fortunately, the men at each of the four corners managed to safely return the relic to its resting place, everyone stepping away to catch their breath and stare at the pole that had just snapped after three thousand years of holding strong.

“What do we do now?” asked  Harka, a trusted companion of many decades. “We can’t carry it like this, and it’s never to be touched except by the poles.”

Father Amanuel frowned as he paced around their charge, inspecting it for any other damage, and happily finding none. “It is starting to finally show its age.”

Harka grunted. “It’s been showing its age for centuries, if not longer. It’s finally giving in to its age.”

Amanuel nodded. “You’re right. Something must be done.”

“Like what?”

“This is the most precious gift to mankind ever granted us by God. It must be preserved.”

“But no one is allowed to see it!”

Amanuel sat on the floor, cross-legged, the others joining him in a circle. “Science is the answer.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve read of how museums around the world control the air so that the objects are preserved. It’s science far beyond me, but we need this type of technology if we’re going to have any hope of preventing further damage.”

“Science means scientists. That means outsiders.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“What about the Vatican? They have scientists.”

Amanuel vehemently shook his head. “Never. They’ll simply take it from us. They can never know we have it. Let them think we’re fools, con artists hoping to deceive. Their arrogance has worked well for us so far. I see no reason to risk that now.”

“Then who?”

“We need someone with expertise in preserving ancient things.”

Harka shook his head. “I wouldn’t even know what that is called. An archaeologist?”

They all paused, staring at each other as smiles spread.

Harka looked at Amanuel, his eyes wide. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I believe so.”

“But who will go?”

Amanuel drew a deep breath. “This is something that must be done in person. I’ll go.”

“But you’re the Keeper! You’ve never left Ethiopia in your entire life! You don’t know what it’s like out there!”

Amanuel chuckled. “Do any of us?”

Harka frowned. “You’re right, of course.”

Amanuel leaned over and patted his friend on the knee. “Worry not, my friend. God will be my guide. He is always watching over us.”