Pyramid G-1b

November 11, this year
Cairo, Egypt
7:45pm EET

A voice echoes in the black—a kind of foreboding narration accompanied by a dramatic music. “Civilizations are like islands on the ocean of barbarism,” the Vincent Price delivery resounds. “Over this one, the Sphinx has gazed and watched for five thousand years. At the foot of such mountains of stone, everything becomes minute and insignificant. Man is an insect.”

Darkness. A sharp pain pulses beneath his punctured shoulder. The air is dry and warm. Edwin is sobbing quietly beside Julia. He is slumped over and cannot seem to raise his head. She stares at him, helplessly. Loche reaches and touches Edwin’s hair. The boy’s hand grips his father’s arm. Loche looks around.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

The child is warm.

“Momma. I saw Momma—” his voice is weak.

“I know. I know. She’s okay. She’s just fine. She just fell down. She told me to tell you that she can’t wait to see you soon.”

“She’s not hurt?”

“No, not at all.”

Edwin’s breathing slows. “Those men—did I hurt them?”

“I don’t know.”

“I was scared. And then…”

Hollowed shadows well in the boy’s eyes. His skin is pale in the dark. Loche lays his palm on the boy’s forehead. It is damp with sweat. “Are you feeling okay?” Edwin doesn’t answer. His color shifts suddenly to blue and then sickly pale again. Loche blinks.

“I’m so tired, Dad.”

Tears burn and streak down. What had he just witnessed there upon Mount Pico? A blinding, blue wave of light and sound exploded from Edwin’s forehead sending a shock-wave across the summit. Their attackers were pummeled from the height. The two closest to Edwin—their bodies were blown apart—mists of blood—scattering ripped flesh. Loche’s abdomen lurches reliving it. He feels a rush of adrenaline and fear.

Loche gathers what he can from the surrounding sights.

It was just as George explained: you’ll take a step and it will be dark. You will be on pyramid G 1b. Or, on northernmost Queen Hetepheres’ tomb, under Great Khufu. Find dark on horizon—north. You go south to Menkaure—maybe fifteen hundred meters south. Loche’s eyes begin to adjust. He rises up and peers out. He quickly finds north by finding the black portion of his three-hundred and sixty degree view: the empty Egyptian desert stretching to the Mediterranean Sea. Rotating right, the bright lights of Cairo spill out to the East. Circling south he can see the length of the Giza plateau. The megalithic stone pyramids of Khufu, Khafre and Menkaure, lit in electric blue, flaming red and shimmering gold, stand like god sentinels guarding the hidden stars behind the inky night. The thudding of his wound pauses. His breathing slows at the sight. His mouth opens, but no words come.

The strange voice on the air continues to speak: “Their glory has defeated time. Three million blocks of stone, some of them weighing thirty tons…”

Then, Loche understands. Thin streams of laser light flash and blink from a high modern building centered directly east of the Sphinx. It is a laser light show for tourists—the narration, the music, the dramatic lighting. His shoulder hurts again.

“I’m scared, Dad,” Edwin murmurs.

Loche kisses his son.

“Are you almost finished with your book?” he asks suddenly.

“I—I’m still working on it. A few more pages to go.”

“Are we still writing the good stories, Dad?

“That’s all we can do,” Loche answers.

“I can’t see very good,” Edwin says.

“It is dark up here.”

“Dad, I think I did hurt those men, but I don’t know how.”

Loche searches desperately for some answer from the god curtained behind the face of his son. “Are you there? Answer me.” Loche whispers.

As if in answer, like a deluge, images flood Loche’s mind. A clear path ahead forms. He sees the capping blocks underfoot upon the Menkaure pyramid, the glitter of Cairo sprinkled across the desert, the empty expanse of dark to the West. For a moment he can feel the warm wind fluttering through his jacket from that high place. An overwhelming sense of urgency—go now—go now.

“We’ve got to move,” Loche says suddenly. He was aware that the God had spoken, though not in words. Was this Elliqui? Loche now knows exactly where he needs to be. There is no question.

He stands. His shoulder burns and he groans.

“We’ve got to bind the wound,” Julia says. Her hands are trembling.

“Can you manage, Julia? The Rathinalya—you’re shaking.”

“I must,” she says. “If I stand apart from the two of you it is easier. Your wound. Let me—”

“No. We need to get to Menkaure, there.” He points.

“Where are the three Orathom Wis that came before us?” Julia asks. Structures, low alleyways and deep pits strobe and flicker from the laser show between their position and the distant pyramid. “There’s no sign of them.”

“It doesn’t matter. If they are out there, they’ll have to find us. Let’s go. Now!”

“Shouldn’t we wait for George and Corey?”

“They know where we are going. We can’t stay here. The attack can only mean the Endale Gen know where we are.” Loche reaches down and lifts his son with his good arm. The child drapes on him like a heavy garment. “Let’s go,” he says.