Menkaure

November 11, this year
Cairo, Egypt
7:55pm EET

Stairs for giants. The three travelers descend the tall pyramid blocks. Loche figures that it is about a half mile to Menkaure in a straight line, but the way will be blocked with tomb structures, cemetery partitions and walls. Julia suggests going around the dark side of the massive Khufu, but she then decides against it. “We should stay in the shadows, but not leave the light completely,” she says. Loche agrees.

As they make their way down, Loche recounts again the reasons for coming here. There are two. First, the anomalous message Julia discovered in Basil’s Venetian studio. She told of how Basil had splattered paint upon his walls, and the pattern resembled a constellation that Julia had memorized as a young girl. Below the rendering was a sketch of Elpis, the Greek mythological personification of hope. A spray of paint like a path led to a photograph of the Menkaure pyramid, and tacked underneath was an image of a woman with a pitcher upon her shoulder—Hebe, the goddess of youth. The equation, while rather cryptic and obscure to Corey, Julia found to be simple and completely obvious. She deduced that the accurate depiction of the star pattern was enough to believe that Basil was speaking to her, but with the addition of hope (her home was in Hope, Idaho), a picture of the goddess Hebe (the goddess of youth—Julia’s name means, youth), all pointing to Menkaure—she felt that without a doubt, Basil was asking her to go to Giza. Corey Thomas is likely still dubious, Loche thinks. But Loche is not. Loche had studied the photo that Julia had taken of the studio wall, and there was no doubt that amid all of Basil’s seeming chaos, the message was intended.

The second reason: Loche himself had experienced Basil within the painting at Mel Tiris. Before they were forced to part ways, the two were near a great pyramid. And now, as Loche’s feet touch the sand at the foundation of these godlike megaliths, he is confident that they are moving toward something resembling a resolution. Will Basil be standing atop Menkaure smoking a cigarette and complaining about the pollution disaster that is Cairo? Will they be hurled into the void again only to find themselves at Stonehenge, Machu Picchu or Easter Island?

And maybe now, a third reason: the pyramid’s name, Menkaure, and the Elliqui word menkor share the same pronunciation. Loche wonders if they share the same meaning. The meaning Corey Thomas had shared—forgotten memory. Perhaps there is something to remember in all of this. Or, perhaps, something best forgotten.

Drying blood sticks his shirt to the wound in his shoulder. The pain is searing. He can no longer carry Edwin. He sets the boy on his feet and takes his hand. Loche hisses through his teeth. Julia follows a few meters behind.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m fine,” he lies. “It seems that now we’re all three afflicted.”

They thread through a narrow trench between Khufu on their right and the Queen’s tombs on the left. They hear the dramatic narration droning on, but now the language is French.

A modern road is just ahead and then the causeway that connects the Sphinx to the middle pyramid of Khafre. Raising up, he can see to the East a portion of the tourist audience that have gathered for the light show.

“Let’s get to the causeway, there,” Loche whispers to Julia. “It’s not far.”

If they run, they might cross the distance unseen. Or at the very least, they will be dashing silhouettes—nothing more than passing shadows.

Julia points to where the land appears to drop. “Let’s head there. It looks like a tunnel.”

“Good,” Loche agrees. “We’ll follow you. Ready, Edwin?”

“I’m tired, Dad.”

Loche kneels and touches the boy’s cheek. “I know, Bug. So am I. But we need to try, okay? Once we stop, we’ll have a treat and a rest. How does that sound?”

“I can try,” Edwin says.

Julia starts. Loche takes Edwin’s hand and the two hurry into the dark. Edwin tries to run. He stumbles and Loche drags him back up and carries him. They reach the road, scurry across and rush toward the sloping section near the causeway’s midpoint. Once below the flashing lights they can see a small access tunnel leading through the stone embankment. Julia is already waiting for them, her back to the wall just to the right of the mouth.

Loche lowers Edwin down and sits beside her. She points into the tunnel. A body is lying along one side of the passage. The head is missing. Loche diverts Edwin’s eyes.

“It is not Orathom Wis,” he whispers.

“Dr. Newirth,” a voice hisses in the tunnel. Then from out of a shadow one of the Orathom Wis soldiers appears and motions for them to join him. The three scuttle inside.

“I am Neil,” he says. Green and purple lights flash from the tunnel’s opening. “Ah, the netherworld is gathered in the glare. They know you’re here. We’ve retired two of Ravistelle’s people. We’re not sure how many more have arrived.” Neil stares at young Edwin and moves a little apart.

“How did they know?” Loche asks.

“The omvide at Mount Pico leads here. Though it is not likely, Ravistelle might not know which pyramid Pico is connected to, but he will know that you’re in Egypt. Nearly all omvide lead here, for Egypt is a kind of hub to more remote locations in the world. There are over a hundred omvide scattered out there in the desert. George got word to us that you were attacked—so Ravistelle knows where you were. It is just a matter of time before the plateau and other pyramid sites will be swarming with Endale Gen.”

“Where are the others?” Julia asks.

“Alexia is on the other side of the causeway. Gary is further afield, closer to Menkaure.” He shakes his head and says to himself, “All the same, we take our chances, laughed at by time.” He gestures to Edwin, “When this boy alone, so far from home, arrived here, we shuddered. We could feel his presence. Ravistelle’s people, too. Remember, the Itonalya hunt gods not only because of our sacred charge, but also to extinguish the stings of Rathinalya.” He looks at Julia, “How you’ve managed to stay near him, I cannot fathom. But then, you’ve not yet tasted the quenching relief of spilling a god’s blood. Retiring Godrethion eases the chill.” He gently touches Julia’s forehead. “I pray you shall never have to kill—but if you do, know that the Rathinalya will be easier to bear.” A sad smile drifts across his face. “Either way, it is the curse of our kind. Ithic veli agtig.” His hand moves from her forehead to her wrist. He gives it a friendly squeeze and then crawls a meter or two back to where they entered. He peers out, turns back and says, “But it is not just Endale Gen to watch for. The Giza Plateau has quite an efficient and impressive security force of its own. There are at least thirty or more armed men patrolling the site. We will need to move carefully.” After a moment, Neil says. “Let’s get you into the audience watching the light show. That will be the best way to hide you, and to move you to the southern section of the complex.”

“We don’t want to endanger innocent people,” Loche says.

“Too late for that, I’m afraid. Innocence itself is at risk, good Doctor. But come. I will point you in the right direction.”

He leads them east, following the stone wall of the causeway toward the Sphinx. Loche’s shoulder burns. He pulls his coat up, hoping to hide the stains of blood.

Crossing the back of a high wall, Neil stops at a corner and nods toward a gathering of some two hundred people. He then gestures to the ancient lion-man towering above. “We marvel after those who sought the wonders of the world,” Neil says to himself again. “Go to the gathering and blend in. You’ll be safe enough there until we can clear the way forward.” He points beyond to a huddle of low structures. “If we do not come, move steadily south and make your way to Menkaure. Stay in the crowd for a few minutes only.”

Julia leads the way. The three enter the audience from the North. They step out of the darkness and into a festival environment. Loche takes Edwin’s hand and leads him to the center of the commotion.

The program’s narration has now shifted to Italian. The soundtrack is loud and distracting.

“Let’s get closer to the edge of all of this,” Loche says.

Julia nods.

After some polite maneuvering, the trio stand on the southern line of the audience plot. Three sickly trees separate them from the darkness beyond.

Laser light lines suggest the interior halls and chambers of the Great Pyramid in orange and green. Two dimensional hieroglyphic symbols dance like cartoon characters along the base. The music is cheesy.

Loche groans. “If Basil is here somewhere, I hope he can’t see this.”

“No, I don’t think he’d approve,” Julia adds.

When all three pyramids are lit from below, Loche tries to judge the distance to Menkaure, now just slightly southwest of their position. His vision blurs. Dizziness. A moment later he is on one knee. A wave of nausea rises and passes. Julia crouches down beside him.

“We should use the leaf,” she says.

Loche shakes his head. “No. What if something happens to Edwin. I can manage. I can manage.”

She opens his jacket. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“I can make it,” Loche says. He pulls his coat tight around his throat when another overwhelming rush of anxiety forces him to his feet. He looks at his wristwatch. “We can’t stay here. We’ve been here too long.”

Julia looks around searching for help.

“See that man there,” she says, “just outside of the lamplight.”

Loche nods.

“He’ll lead us,” she says.

“What?”

“He’s got to be looking for some kind of money making opportunity. Look around at all of these tourists. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s led tourists out there.”

Loche doesn’t answer. Behind his closed lids he sees sparks. Julia hands him her water bottle. “Here, drink this and rest a second. I’ll be right back.”

She approaches the man. Loche can see her talking with her hands and motioning out toward their destination. A moment later, she returns.

“He’ll do it.”

“What about Neil and the others.”

Julia steadies Loche and leads him into the night. “They are out there. But I can’t navigate us with you injured. This man will lead us around the Giza security at least.”

“Did you get his name?”

“No time.”

The moon is a crescent bowl. The four trudge through the cool desert arcing their course wide around tombs and tourist survey points. The pyramids, like planets, swing Loche into their gravitational pull. Everything becomes soundless save the shushing of his feet through the sand and the heaving of his breath. Menkaure is a spike of electric purple and blue beneath the white thorn of the moon. He blinks up at the sight and the pages of some mythological text at his cabin on Priest Lake open before his eyes. He sees his fingers tap at a photograph of the megaliths he is now hurtling toward. Can it be that he is truly here? Edwin is staggering along ahead of him. He can see Julia a few feet away and their mysterious guide—his stride confident and strong. None of this seems real.

As he stumbles and falls, his awareness blackening, he wonders if there are scorpions in the sand.