Sandstorm

19
Any Port in a Storm

SAFIA HURRIEDdown the spiraling ramp, leading the others. The crash above them had thrown them into a panic. Debris rolled and skittered from above: glass, rocks, even a broken rim of metal. The last had rolled like a child’s hoop, skimming around the spiral, through the mass of folk in flight, and down into the depths.

Omaha followed it with his flashlight until it vanished. The noise above subsided, echoing away.

“What happened?” Safia asked.

Omaha shook his head. “Painter, I guess.”

Kara marched on her other side. “Barak and Coral went back to check.”

Behind them marched Danny and Clay, backs loaded with gear. They held flashlights. Clay held his with both hands, as if it were a lifeline. Safia doubted he’d ever volunteer for a field expedition again.

Beyond them marched the Rahim, similarly encumbered with supplies and packs. Only a few flashlights glowed. Lu’lu, bent in discussion with another elder, led them. They had lost six women during the fighting and bombing. Safia saw the raw grief in all their eyes. A child wept softly back there. As insulated as the Rahim were, a single death must be devastating. They were down to thirty, a quarter of them children and old women.

The footing suddenly changed underfoot, going from rough glass to stone. Safia looked down as they wound around the spiral.

“Sandstone,” Omaha said. “We’ve reached the end of the blast range.”

Kara shone her light back, then forward. “The explosion did all this?”

“Some form of shaped charge,” Omaha said, seemingly unimpressed. “Most of this spiraling ramp was probably already down here. The trilith chamber was its cork. The bomb simply blew its top away.”

Safia knew Omaha was simplifying things. She continued forward. If they had passed the transition from glass to stone, then the end must be near. The sandstone underfoot was still wet. What if all they found was a flooded passage? They’d have to go back…face Cassandra.

A commotion drew her attention. Coral and Barak trotted up to them. Safia stopped along with the others.

Coral pointed back. “Painter did it. Dropped a truck over the entrance.”

“A big truck,” Barak elaborated.

“What about Painter?” Safia asked.

Coral licked her lips, eyes narrowed with concern. “No sign.”

Safia glanced past the woman’s shoulder, searching.

“That won’t keep Cassandra off our tail forever. I already heard men up there digging.” Coral waved forward. “Painter bought us time, let’s use it.”

Safia took a deep shuddering breath. Coral was right. She turned and continued down. No one spoke for another turn of the spiral.

“How deep are we?” Kara asked.

“I’d say over two hundred feet,” Omaha answered.

Around another bend, a cavern opened, about the size of a double garage. Their lights reflected off a well of water in the center. It jostled gently, its surface misty. Water dripped from the ceiling.

“The source of the water flume,” Omaha said. “The shaped charge of the explosion must have sucked it up, like milk through a straw.”

They all entered the cavern. A lip of rock circled the well.

“Look.” Kara pointed her light to a door on the far side.

They marched around the well.

Omaha placed his palm on the door’s surface. “Iron again. They sure like smelting around here.”

There was a handle, but a bar was locked across the door’s frame.

“To keep the chamber pressure-sealed,” Coral said behind them. “For the explosive vacuum.” She nodded back to the well of water.

Far above them, a crash echoed down.

Omaha grabbed the locking bar and pulled it. It wouldn’t budge. “Goddamnit. It’s jammed.” He wiped his hands on his cloak. “And all oily.”

“To resist corrosion,” Danny said. He tried to help him, but the two brothers fared no better. “We need a crowbar or something.”

“No,” the hodja said behind them. She nudged folk aside with her walking stick and stopped beside Safia. “The locks of Ubar can only be opened by one of the Rahim.”

Omaha wiped his hands again. “Lady, you’re more than welcome to try.”

Lu’lu tapped her stick on the bar. “It takes someone blessed by Ubar, carrying the blood of the first queen, to affect such sacred artifacts.” The hodja turned to Safia. “Those who bear the gifts of the Rahim.”

“Me?” Safia said.

“You were tested,” Lu’lu reminded her. “The keys responded to you.”

Safia flashed back to the rainy tomb of Job. She remembered waiting for the spear and bust to point toward Ubar. Nothing had happened at first. She had been wearing work gloves. Kane had carried and placed the spear in the hole. It hadn’t moved. Not until she wiped away the rain, like tears, from the bust’s cheek with her bare fingertips. Not until she touched it.

Then it had moved.

And the cresent horns of the bull. Nothing had happened until she had examined them, sparking a bit of static electricity. She had ignited the bomb with the brush of a finger.

Lu’lu nodded her forward.

Safia numbly stepped up.

“Wait.” Coral pulled out a device from her pocket.

“What’s that?” Omaha asked.

“Testing a theory,” she said. “I was studying the keys earlier with some of Cassandra’s electronic equipment.” Coral waved for Safia to continue.

Taking a breath, Safia reached out and gripped the bar with her good hand. She felt nothing special, no spark. She tugged on the bar. It lifted freely. Shocked, she stumbled back.

“Damn,” Omaha gasped.

“Oh, this impresses you,” Kara said.

“I must’ve loosened it for her.”

Coral shook her head. “It’s a magnetic lock.”

“What?” Safia asked.

“This is a magnometer.” Coral lifted her handheld device. “It monitors magnetic charge. The polarity of that length of iron changed as you touched it.”

Safia stared down at the bar. “How…?”

“Iron is highly conductive and responsive to magnetism. Rub a needle with a magnet and you pass on its magnetic charge. Somehow these objects respond to your presence, some energy you give off.”

Safia pictured the spin of the iron heart atop the marble altar of Imran’s tomb. It had moved like a magnetic compass, aligning itself along some axis.

Another crash sounded above.

Omaha stepped forward. “However it got unlocked, let’s use it.”

With the bar free, he grabbed the handle and tugged. The oiled hinges swung easily. The door opened on a dark descending staircase carved into the stone.

After closing and blocking the door, Omaha led the way with the flashlight, Safia at his side. The rest of the party followed.

The passage was a straight shot, but steep. It led down another hundred feet and emptied into a cavern four times larger than the first one. A pool filled this chamber, too, dark and glassy. The air smelled odd. Damp for sure, but also a trace of ozone, the smell that accompanies a thunderstorm.

But none of this held Safia’s attention for more than a moment.

Steps away, a stone pier stretched into the water. At the end floated a beautiful wooden dhow, an Arab sailing ship, thirty feet long. Its sides glistened with oil, shining brightly in the glow of their flashlights. Gold leaf decorated rails and masts. Sails, useless here but still present, were folded and tied down.

Murmurs of awe rose among the group as they gathered.

To the left, a wide watery tunnel stretched away into darkness.

At the prow of the dhow rose the figure of a woman, bare-breasted, arms chastely crossed over her bosom, face staring down the flooded tunnel.

Even from here, Safia recognized the figure’s countenance.

The Queen of Sheba.

“Iron,” Omaha said at her side, noting her attention. He focused his flashlight on the boat’s figurehead. The statue was sculpted entirely in iron. He moved toward the pier. “Looks like we’re going sailing again.”