The Sphinx

THE PAST PROLOGUE

The face of the Sphinx gazed enigmatically over the sand, the weathered and battered stone bathed in the rays the rising moon. The two men approaching the statue halted, dwarfed by the large stone sculpture towering over them, their feet sinking into the desert. Beyond the shoulders of the Sphinx, the missive bulk of the three Giza pyramids filled the western horizon.

“Abul-Hol,” one of the men said in Arabic, the words coming from inside the deep folds of the hood he had pulled over his head. “The Father of Terror,” he repeated in English.

The head of the statue was twenty feet wide and almost the same in height. The neck and shoulders disappeared into sand that swept like an ocean around it.

“Impressive.” The other man spoke Arabic also, but with an accent that indicated it was not his native tongue.

“The body is even more impressive,” the Arab said. “It has been buried for many, many years.”

“How do you know there is a body, then?”

The Arab shrugged. “Either you trust my knowledge or you are wasting your time, Englishman.” He pointed at the scarred face above them. “The nose was destroyed by cannon fire. Foolish infidels.”

“I heard it was Napoleon himself who directed that shot when he was here with his army.”

The Arab spit into the sand. “Your ears have heard a lie. It was the Turks over a hundred years before Napoleon who did that damage. There are many false stories concerning the Sphinx and the pyramids.”

“And you know the truth?”

“I know some truths, Mr. Burton.”

Richard Francis Burton pulled his hood back as he peered up at the ancient monument. The Englishman’s face was a terrible sight in the dimness, as scarred as that of the Sphinx. There was a jagged red wound on each side of his upper jaw where a spear had been thrust through less than three months before and the healing had not yet finished. Scraggly, rough beard surrounded the incomplete scar, the dark and swarthy face almost matching that of his Arab counterpart.

The Englishman’s voice was low and harsh, the inside of his mouth having also suffered from the wound. As he spoke, small amounts of pus and blood oozed out of the holes on either side of his face, unnoticed by him in his excitement. “My dear Kaji, I am the only European to have been in the holy cities of Mecca and Medina. I have read documents there written in the ancient tongues and seen by no other westerner. I have stood in the shadow of the Himalayas, traveled across the deserts of Arabia, traversed to the Upper Nile and beyond the first cataracts.

“There is much more I want to see before I die… the true source of the Nile, the mines and treasures of King Solomon, the church that is rumored to hold the Ark of the Covenant, the Mountains of the Moon that are hidden in the mists.”

“Some of those things and places are myths,” Kaji said. He pulled his own hood back, revealing the lined face of an old man, and a bald, wrinkled scalp. He had a large, hook nose, and his eyes-were black stones in deep-set sockets.

“No, I don’t think so,” Barton replied. “I have heard of mysteries on the plateau beyond what we see here. Hidden marvels. The whispers and ancient writings tell of a chamber under the Sphinx. A chamber of knowledge. Of truth. It is said to be the Hall of Records from the ancient and lost land of Atlantis. My quest has led me to you as one who knows the ways of the Plateau. I will not rest until I see this chamber.”

Kaji’s dark eyes regarded the foreigner. “Go back to England. What you seek is perilous. Sometimes it is better not to know the truth. The truth is a very, very dangerous thing.”

Burton laughed. “You cannot deter me with the stories of curses that you Egyptians love to scare foreigners with. I have been many dangerous places and I have stared death in the face. I will not blink now.

“I am on the tarigat,” Burton continued. The word he spoke in Arabic translated as the spiritual path leading to the truth, which normally meant the truth of God, but Burton wasn’t certain where his tarigat was going. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a circular medallion that hung on a chain around his neck. On the surface of the metal, an eye was emblazoned over the apex of a pyramid.

Kaji’s gnarled fingers ran across the surface of the medallion. “Where did you get this?”

“In Medina. From a man named Abdu Al-Iblis.”

Kaji stiffened. “You are one of his disciples?”

Burton shook his head. “No. I spoke with him one time. A most strange person. He gave me this.”

“Did you get anything else from him? A key?”

“What kind of key?”

“If you had it, you would know.” Kaji remained still for several minutes, Burton waiting on him. Finally the Arab’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “I see it is to be our fate. I will take you inside. What you seek is below us.”

“The Hall of Records?”

“Yes.”

Burton looked around. “Through the sand?”

“There are other ways to go where you seek,” Kaji said. He pointed at the Great Pyramid. “We must go there.” He began walking around the Sphinx’s head.

It appeared to Burton that the middle pyramid was the highest, but he knew that was a trick of the lay of the Plateau of Giza. The one farthest to the northeast, where they were headed, was the tallest and most massive.

Burton hurried to keep up. Like Kaji, he wore the long robes of the people of the desert. Richard Francis Burton was a strange man, and it was no accident that he had ended up here in Egypt, searching out mysteries told of in legends and written of on decaying parchments. Born in England in 1821, he’d briefly attended Oxford, where he had been the only student at the time to study Arabic. Disgusted with the closed minds at the school, he left after two years and joined the military. In 1842 he was posted to India, where he promptly began studying Hindustani, then Persian. Because at his linguistic talents and his desire for adventure, he became a spy for the British army, scouting along the borders of the English Empire in that part of the world. During one of those missions he became seriously ill with cholera. Given two years of sick leave, he used that time to become a Master Sufi, one who studied and searched for a universal truth in connection with God.

He was the only non-Muslim to travel to both Mecca and Medina, disguising himself as one of the faithful, his dark skin and language abilities allowing him to pose as a Persian trader. He had seen the Ka’ab, the heart of Islam, which none outside the faith were to see and be allowed to live.

From Arabia he went to Africa, hoping to start an expedition to discover the mythical source of the Nile. Because of his proficiency in languages and his willingness to go into the native areas and listen, he heard many whispers and late-night stories told in a drunken stupor, finding it difficult to separate fact from fiction. It was in Mecca that he had first read of ancient secrets hidden on the Giza Plateau. Another man, said to be a Master Sufi also… Abdu Al-Iblis… had found him… how, Burton knew not… and directed him onward to the African continent and gave him the medallion telling him to use it to gain help on his path. Al-Iblis’s only request was that Burton return to Mecca and tell him what he had discovered. Burton did not trust Al-Iblis… he sensed evil from the man, and Kaji’s reaction indicated his instincts were correct… but Burton had long before realized that his path would often brush up against such people and if he was to pursue his goal of the Truth he would have to use them also.

What had piqued Burton’s interest were the stories of the mythical Hall of Records, hidden somewhere in the ancient complex of structures built on the Giza Plateau outside of Cairo. The Hall was said to contain the Truth, although what exactly was meant by that, Burton had no idea. To some it meant religious truth… which of the many gods man worshiped around the world was the one true God… and to otters it was the truth of the Antediluvian World, the story of Atlantis and man’s roots, of great civilizations before recorded history. Regardless, Burton was determined to discover it.

After his camp near Berbera was attacked by Somali bandits and he suffered his grievous wound from a spear thrust through his jaw, Burton was forced to postpone his search for the source of the Nile. On his way back to England to recuperate, he had stopped at Giza to explore this mystery before boarding the steamer. His persistent questioning had led him to Kaji, an old Egyptian he’d found huddled in a hut on the edge of the Plateau. As near as Burton could determine, Kaji was some kind of caretaker for the monuments, although the man seemed poor and had no affiliation with the local government. He had badgered the old man every day for a week, before Kaji even assented to talk to him. And then it had taken another week of pestering to get him to agree to take him to the Plateau this evening.

Burton felt the familiar stir of excitement as they closed on the Great Pyramid. He had read the report of the English mathematician John Greaves, who had visited the Pyramid in 1638. Burton had also studied the more exacting measurements of Frenchman Edme-Francois Jomard, who had been commissioned by Napoleon to study the structure, Jomard had deduced the Pyramid of Khufu’s current height to be 481 feet, making it by far the tallest known man-made building in the world. Even more fascinating, Jomard measured each side of the base and discovered, they were all 755 feet long, give or take eight inches, an incredible feat of building by the ancients… accuracy within one-tenth of one percent over such a vast scale. Just as amazing; the sides of the three major pyramids were perfectly aligned with the cardinal directions.

Burton intrinsically felt there had to be more here than what he had heard and studied. He had an instinct for mystery and intrigue and he could feel the power of both swirling about as they reached the base of the Great Pyramid. He was pleased when Kaji led him to the entrance Caliph Abdullah Al Mamum had cracked in the side of the large monument. Burton had read old scrolls in Medina about the caliph and how he had gone to the Great Pyramid in A.D. 820 and forced his way in search of secrets of a “profound science” and the “complete history of man and the truth of astronomy.” The scrolls told that Al Mamum sought a secret chamber that held “maps and terrestrial spheres.” Those scrolls written in the old Arabic tongue had been one of several clues that had led Burton to the Giza Plateau.

Kaji handed Burton a kerosene lantern. “We will light these once we are inside. What we do tonight it is best no one knows about, and there are always thieves and scoundrels hiding in the darkness around the Plateau. Also, the government has officially forbidden travel inside. Those in power know the danger of the truth.” Kaji paused. “Mr. Burton, this is your last chance to turn around and go back. Please, sir, I beg of you, do not pursue this any further. I tell you honestly that death awaits if you persist.”

“Death awaits every man,” Burton said. “You cannot stop me.”

Kaji turned toward the Pyramid. “It is Allah’s will, then.”

They passed into the dark opening and carefully made their way into the tunnel, moving a little distance by feel, before Kaji paused and lit both lanterns.

“In the ninth century, the caliph’s men broke through the rock by heating it with fire, then pouring cold vinegar over the stones,” Kaji informed Burton as they moved down the tunnel. “They had to break through much rock… over one hundred feet… before they reached this.”

Burton ducked his head as they entered a four-foot-high tunnel that his lantern showed went up at a steep angle.

Kaji pointed. “The caliph’s men then found the original entrance, hidden behind a pivoting stone door. That entrance leads to the Queen’s Chamber and the Great Gallery, which ends at the King’s Chamber in the middle of the Pyramid.”

“Both of those had nothing in them when opened,” Burton noted.

“The titles given to those chambers were made up by people who knew no better. They are rooms inside the Pyramid, but there is no evidence a king was buried in one chamber and a queen in the other. No one really knows what was in those rooms… if anything,” Kaji added. “Besides, we are not going up.”

The Arab placed his hands on one of the stone blocks to their right. For the first time Burton noted a large ring on the man’s right hand. He was startled as, with a grinding noise, the stone Kaji had touched rotated clockwise, revealing a narrow opening.

Kaji slid through the opening, Burton following. They were in a wider tunnel, about five feet high by four wide. Burton still had to hunch over, and he waited as Kaji placed his hands on the stone and it rumbled shut behind them.

Enclosed in this tunnel, the way out now sealed, Burton felt the immensity of the Pyramid. The thousands and thousands of massive stone blocks above his head were a palpable presence. The air was stale and dry. A thin layer of undisturbed dust covered the floor of the passageway, which angled downward at what Burton estimated to be a thirty-degree slope.

Kaji headed down the tunnel, Burton following closely, their lanterns casting long shadows in both directions along the smoothly cut stone walls. Burton paused briefly and swung his lantern close to one side. The joints between the blocks were so tight that he could not get the blade of his penknife between them. Remarkable craftsmanship on an immense scale. Even the great cathedral builders of Europe had not managed such work, and this had been built while Europeans were still living in mud huts.

He had to hurry to catch up to the Arab. He heard something very faint and realized Kaji was counting to himself. Burton almost bumped into the other man, when he abruptly halted.

“We are at the base of the Pyramid.” Kaji ran his hands over a particular stone block. Burton now saw that the face of the large ring was turned palm in and that Kaji seemed to be trying to place it in a specific spot.

It must have hit the correct place, because the stone block, over six feet wide, rotated, allowing space on either side. Burton estimated the block to weigh at least several tons, yet it turned smoothly, still perfectly balanced after all these years.

“To the left, Kaji said.

“What’s to the right?” Burton asked.

“Death.”

“A trap set for grave robbers?”

“No. A box that holds death for everyone in the Pyramid and on the Highland of Aker.”

“What kind of box could do that?”

“I have seen it once. A black box inside a sarcophagus in a chamber below the center of the Pyramid. I dared not open it or even touch it. My father told me it holds a very powerful weapon. One that could destroy all three pyramids.”

“What could do that?”

Kaji shrugged. “I know not.”

“How could the ancients have such a weapon?”

Kaji did not answer. Burton wanted to find this box, open it, and see what kind of device could do such a fantastic thing, but he had agreed with Kaji to find something else and he knew he needed to stay on that task. Kaji extended his arm, indicating for Burton to go ahead.

The Englishman paused. “You go first, please.”

Kaji shrugged and scooted through the opening. Burton followed, pushing past the Arab, who waited to close the stone. He could smell the other man’s sweat, the faint odor of spicy food on his breath, and something else, deeper and ranker. Burton had smelled that before, and he thought for a few seconds before he realized what it was… the odor men gave off just before going into battle. The smell of fear.

The air was heavier now. Burton could feel it on his skin, in his mouth and throat. The layer of dust was even deeper, almost an inch thick, undisturbed as far as Burton could tell.

This tunnel also descended, but less that fifty feet after following it, Burton noticed a change. The walls were no longer made of smoothly cut blocks, but rather had been burrowed though solid stone.

Kaji confirmed what Burton was seeing. “We are below the Pyramid, into the bedrock of the Highland.”

The English explorer ran his hand along the wall. “It is perfectly smooth. I have been in many mines and caverns and never seen such a well-constructed shaft. Who made these tunnels? The builders of the Pyramid?”

“Some say these tunnels predate the Pyramid.” Kaji paused and ran a hand across his forehead. Burton could see the sheen of sweat on the Arab. It was warm, but not that warm. He wondered what was causing the other man’s fear.

“It is said the three pyramids above us were built in the Fourth Dynasty of the Old Kingdom, between the years 2685 and 2180 before the birth of our Lord,” Burton said. “The Great Pyramid, built by the Pharaoh Cheops, as the Greeks called him… Khufu in your tongue.”

“Before the birth of your lord in the West,” Kaji amended. “Your Christ is just a prophet in the Koran. A man, not a god.”

Burton saw no need to get into a theological discussion at this place and time. Besides, he was hot a firm believer in the religion he had been raised in, and the many cultures and religions he had already witnessed in his life had shown him that if there was a god in heaven, there were many paths by which people might worship him. Becoming a Master Sufi had forced him to delve deeply into Islam, and he saw much in that faith that he admired… more than he did in his native belief. A Sufi adhered to no specific religion and dismissed no religion. The truth transcended such petty concerns of men.

“Who built these tunnels, then, if they are older than the pyramids?” Burton asked. ‘And were the pyramids built over them to hide the entrance to the tunnels? Or perhaps to mark the entrances?”

“These tunnels were built by those who carved the Sphinx and built the temple around it.” Kaji inclined his head in the direction the tunnel was dug. “We are heading toward the Sphinx now. East.”

Burton considered that information. “Then the Sphinx is older than the pyramids?”.

“Much older.”

“How much older?”

Kaji smiled for the first time since they had entered the Great Pyramid. “You would not believe me if I told you. Long before the Pharaoh Menes founded the first Dynasty.”

“How can that be? Who built the Sphinx?”

“It was carved during the time of the Neteru who ruled in the first age.”

“Who were the Neteru?” Burton asked.

“The time of the gods, of Osiris and Isis. I do not have time to give you a lesson on the history of my country.”

“What of man during this time? Who lived here?”

“Those who came before from over the sea,” Kaji said, which meant nothing to Burton.

The Englishman cocked his head. There was a very faint noise, a deep, rumbling sound coming from ahead. “What is that?”

“The river of the underworld.” Kaji was moving once more. “Water from the Nile flows through tunnels under the Plateau and then back to the river, farther downstream. It is the second Gateway of Rostau; there is one on land and one in water.”

They trod down the perfectly straight tunnel for another five minutes.

“How deep are we?” Burton finally asked, but Kaji was counting to himself once more and didn’t answer.

The Arab paused and swung the light close to the wall on the right side. He pressed his hand against it. Burton stepped back in surprise as what had appeared to be unmarked stone changed and the outline, of a block, five, feet wide and the height of the tunnel, appeared. It didn’t rotate like the others, but slid back two feet, then smoothly up into a recess above.

“How did that work?” Burton demanded, but Kaji signaled with his free hand for him to go through. The other was still pressed against the wall. There was only blackness beyond.

Burton hesitated. “You first.”

Kaji went through, and Burton followed. The door slid down behind him and the outline of the door disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

“Where are we?” Burton asked.

They were in a larger tunnel that also descended, except something was wrong. The light from their lanterns was absorbed about twenty feet away from them, fading into an utter darkness. “I have given you my word that you will see what you seek,” Kaji said. “This is the way to the Hall of Records.”

“You go first,” Burton said, which only brought a slight smile in response from Kaji.

The Arab walked down the tunnel, lantern held in front of him. Burton bunked. It was as if the man were fading from sight, yet he was no more than ten feet ahead. Kaji looked over his shoulder, his figure faint. “You must have faith to go this way. Do you have the faith?”

“I… ” But even as Burton responded, Kaji faded from view, the lantern in his hand blinking out. There was nothing but that disquieting darkness… an unnatural black the likes of which Burton had never seen.

Burton forced himself down the tunnel, feeling the darkness press against his skin, as if the air were becoming a liquid. He pushed forward, even as the light from the lantern faded to a very small dot dangling from a hand he could no longer see. He no longer felt connected to his body, to the world. He was in another place, another time.

Light exploded into his eyes, momentarily blinding him. Burton staggered and would have fallen but for Kaji grabbing his arm. Burton blinked, his eyes trying to adjust.

“‘There… ” Kaji’s voice was a whisper.

Burton’s jaw dropped. He didn’t notice the pain from his wounds as he took in his surroundings. He was on a ledge along the side of a huge cavern. Light came from a five-meter-wide orb overhead that Burton could not look at for more than a second or, like the sun, it burned his eyes. The far end of the cavern was at least half a mile away. The walls were curved, consisting of red rock, cut smooth, reflecting the light of the minisun.

“There is the Hall of Records.” Kaji was pointing at the floor of the cavern, a hundred feet below them.

“My God!” Burton exclaimed as he saw what was there.

It was a replica of the Great Sphinx… but this one was not covered by sand, nor was it made of stone. The skin of the creature was a flawless black that absorbed the light. The head was larger, the nose not shot off. Indeed, it was larger than the stone one above. Fuller. The eyes caught Burton’s gaze. They were the only part of the Sphinx not black. Blood red, with elongated red irises, they glowed from some inner fire. For a second Burton thought it was alive, a monstrous creature, before he realized it was inanimate.

“‘What is it made of?” Burton asked. “I have never seen the like.”

“B’ja… the divine metal.” Kaji said.

Burton looked around. Stairs cut out of the rock itself led down to the floor on which the Sphinx rested. Its paws extended almost sixty feet in front of the head, which rose seventy feet above the floor. The body stretched one hundred and eighty feet back from the head, making the whole thing almost three hundred feet long. Between the paws was a statue about three meters tall. Burton looked closely — it was the figure of a man. but one strangely shaped, with a body too short and limbs too long. The most startling aspect, though, was the head, with polished white skin, ears with long lobes that ended just above the shoulders, and two gleaming red eyes set in a long, narrow face. The stone that covered the top of the head was also red.

“Who is that?” Burton asked. “A pharaoh?”

“Shemsu Hor,” Kaji said. “A Guardian of Horus.”

Barton had studied some of the ancient Egyptian texts while in Cairo, and he knew that Horus was supposed to be the son of Isis and Osiris, the latter of whom was the supreme god of the underworld.

“And what does it say below?”

Kaji laughed, but it was not a pleasant sound. “The black box along the other Road of Rostau would destroy the Highland of Aker. That says that if one does not know what to do with what is inside the Hall within a certain amount of time, the entire world will be destroyed.”

Burton had no idea what the other man was talking about. “Let us go down.” Burton moved toward the stairs, but Kaji grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“I promised to show you the Hall. No one can enter.”

“Where are the Records?”

“The Records should be inside,” Kaji said. “But a key is needed to get into the Black Sphinx.”

“Where is this key?” Burton demanded.

“That information I do not have. There are several keys from the ancients, and each is important in its own right. When the key is brought here, then the bearer will be allowed to enter the Hall. The bearer must know where to take what they will find, or else darkness will descend. Until then, no one can enter.” Kaji turned toward the tunnel they had come out of. “We must go back.”

“I want… ” Burton paused He saw something in the other’s eyes. A look he had seen before in combat. A battle lust. It startled him; as far as he knew, he had done nothing to provoke such a reaction in the other man.

“We must go back,” Kaji repeated.

Burton nodded. “All right.” He would have to come back here with a fully funded expedition. He had to know what was in the Hall. He would have to find the key Kaji spoke of.

Kaji headed back up the tunnel, into the darkness. Burton looked back at the massive Black Sphinx crouched on the floor of the cavern guarding its secret and the statue of the Guardian of Horus between the paws. He walked forward, still looking over his shoulder, into the darkness. The last he saw were the red eyes of the Sphinx, glowing, before the black took him.

He was back in the tunnel.

“Quickly,” Kaji urged. “We must be out of the Great Pyramid before dawn.” Burton hurried to. follow, his mind swirling with what secrets might be hidden inside that massive statue he had just seen. The Black Sphinx itself was a magnificent find, one that would place his name among the ranks of other legendary explorers.

They slipped through a doorway. Up a runnel. Through another doorway that appeared out of the solid rock as Kaji placed his hand along the wall. Along a runnel. Another hand placed, another doorway as a block appeared and slid up. Kaji gestured with his free hand. “Go, go.”

Burton paused. This was not the way they had come. “You go first.”

Kaji grimaced, then stepped into the opening waving. “Come. Quickly! It will close soon.”

Burton dashed past the other man. He heard the stone move and grabbed the Arab, who was jumping the other way. They tumbled down in a heap, Kaji struggling to get away.

The stone slammed shut with a reverberating thud.

Kaji’s scream followed that noise. An undulating exclamation of pain and shock that died into a whimper.

Burton rolled onto his knees, lantern held in front, like an animal in a trap, Kaji lay on his side, his left hand caught under the door-stone. He was alive only because the stone was so smoothly cut and heavy, it had briefly sealed the arteries that flowed to the hand at the point of impact. But even as he crawled closer, Burton could see blood bursting out of the blocked veins at the wrist where it disappeared under the stone. The flesh and bone on the appendage had to be smashed flat by the immense weight. Kaji moaned in pain, staring at his arm in shock.

“Easy, old man, easy,” Burton said as he pulled off the belt that held his robe around the waist. He tied the leather band on Kaji’s upper arm to act as a tourniquet. He removed a dagger from the man’s waist, slid the handle through the knot, and twisted it, tightening the belt. Once he was sure he had the flow of blood stopped, Burton looped an end of the knot over the dagger’s handle to keep it in place.

“How do I open the stone?” Burton demanded, placing his hands on either side of Kaji’s face and trying to get his attention.

Kaji swallowed, speaking through his pain. “You cannot. We will die here together, Englishman. What you have seen this night will die here also.”

The wounds on Richard Francis Burton’s face grew even darker as anger gripped him. “You wanted to trap me here.”

“You are one of Al-Iblis’s minions. You must die.”

“I do not work for this Al-Iblis. I met him only once.”

“The medallion… it is one that is carried by my people, the wedjat. Al-Iblis kills my people. He took that off one of my comrades and gave it to you to try to find this place. He has tried many times, and always we have killed those he sends.”

“If I was doing Al-Iblis’s bidding, would I have mentioned his name?” Kaji closed his eyes in pain as he considered that logic.

“Is there another way out?” Burton swung the lantern, looking around. They were in not another tunnel, but a closed stone chamber. The open space was twenty feet long by ten wide. The ceiling was slightly taller than Burton’s six feet.

“No.” Kaji crushed Burton’s hope as effectively as his own hand had been. “This room is a dead end. The door opens only from the other side.”

“Who are you? Why have you done this?”

“I am the guardian of the Highland of Aker, what you call the Giza Plateau. I thought you were from Al-Iblis. You speak our tongue and many others. I have heard of your studies of the ancient texts in Mecca and Medina and in your own country. You are a unique man, and such people can be very dangerous. If words will not stop such men, my orders are to take more extreme measures.

“No man outside of my order has traveled into this place and lived to come back out. No man who does not have the key can be allowed to live after having been on the Roads of Rostau and seeing the Hall of Records. When someone tike you gets too close we bring him inside and leave him trapped, so that it appears as if he disappeared off the face of the planet.”

“Where do the other tunnels lead?” Burton demanded. “You have alluded to these other places. If I will not live to see them, then at least my ears can hear your tales of them.”

“I told you of those places to distract you,” Kaji said. “To whet your appetite so that you would come in here with me.”

“You have taken my life, then,” Burton said. “The least you could do is tell me what you know before we die.”

“I gave an oath, a most serious oath on my life, never to reveal the secrets I know until it is time.”

“If we die, then your secrets will not have been revealed,” Burton said. “You would net have broken your oath. You showed me the Black Sphinx knowing I would never be able to tell of what I saw. Let me know all of it. I was your guest. It is the law of Allah that you grant me this wish.” Burton had often used the law from the Koran to get help from the followers of Islam.

Kaji considered that line of reasoning. As he did, Burton took off his wool shirt and tucked it under the Arab’s head, making him more comfortable.

“I want your word, Englishman, that if by some miracle you survive me, you will never repeat the words I tell you or tell anyone what you have seen today. That you will never speak to Al-Iblis. I must have your promise before I speak. I was told you are a man of honor, and if you give me your word I will not have betrayed my oath. I kept my word of honor… I showed you what it was you sought. I did not promise that you should see it and live.”

Burton waved his hand at the heavy stone walls surrounding them. “If there is no other way out, then your secrets die with me.”

“I must have your word in any case.”

“You have my word that I will never speak of what I have seen or what you tell me. I swear upon the life of the only person I love, the light of my heart, Isabel.”

Kaji nodded. “I see in your eyes you do love her. I believe you will keep your word.”

“You called these tunnels the Roads of Rostau. You say you are the guardian of the Highland of Aker. You have shown me the Black Sphinx that holds the Hall of Records. Tell me what it all means. Who built this and why?”

Kaji closed his eyes, and his voice was low as he spoke through his pain. “My order is an ancient one. Going back before the time of Mohammed. Before the Christian’s prophet you call Jesus. Before even those old ones who are written of in the Koran and the Jew’s Torah. Before the twelve tribes of Israel, before the first pharaoh, Menes, before Babylon.”

“You are a priest of an ancient religion?”

“No, I am a man.”

Burton’s confusion showed on his face. “But you said your order?”

“I am one of the wedjat.”

Burton knew many languages, and in his time in Egypt he had studied the hieroglyphics and language of the Old Kingdoms of Egypt. “One of the ‘eye’?” Kaji used his good hand to point to his eye. “A Watcher. In the old tongue, a wedjat. Different names in different tongues around the world, but Watchers nonetheless.”

“What are you watching?”

“There are others who walked our Earth before the dawn of time. The ones who built the Hall of Records. Who placed the Box of Death under the Great Pyramid.”

“Who are they?”

“Ones Who Are Not Men.”

The words echoed off the stone walls and died in the silence that followed. Burton reached down and wrapped his hand around Kaji’s right hand. “You are telling me the truth?”

Kaji nodded. “Al-Iblis. Did he seem like a normal man to you?”

“I met him only once, and it was in a dark room. I could not tell.” Burton did not add the sense of evil he had picked up from the man.

“We have watched Al-Iblis and those like him since the very beginning of man,” Kaji continued. “And we have guarded the special places. Places even they have forgotten as the millennia have gone by. That is my job. To watch this place. The Highland of Aker, as it was known in the old days. The Great Pyramids and the Giza Sphinx above. And more important, these tunnels… the Roads of Rostau, which lead to the six divisions of the Duat.”

Burton was trying to absorb the information. “The Duat is the sky… the night sky. How can there be parts of it down here?”

“Much has been lost over the years. I know only what I was told by my father, who in turn had it handed down to him from his father. My son will replace me and knows all I know. I have seen only three of the divisions of the Duat, one of which you have just seen, which holds the Hall of Records. The others are farther along the Roads.”

“What is in the other divisions?”

“That was not part of my promise.”

“Who are they? The Ones Who Are Not Men?”

“We don’t know exactly where they came from, but the records say they came out of the skies. From the stars. They are called Airlia. That is one word that is not different among the Watchers, even though the name among the peoples of the world have changed. I believe it is the name they call themselves.”

Burton’s grip on Kaji’s hand relaxed. “You are telling me a story, not truth.” Kaji’s dark eyes locked into the Englishman’s. “I am telling you this on death’s doorstep, facing the final darkness. You can choose to believe it or not.” Burton ran a hand through his coarse beard. He thought of the Black Sphinx with the eyes of fire he haft just seen buried deep under the Plateau. The statue between the paws. He did not think men had built that. In many of the places he had been around the world there were legends of powerful creatures from the stars, of “gods” with strange appearances and powers. If there was anything his travels had taught him, it was that man knew very little, particularly with regard to the past. “Go on.”

“There are two groups of these creatures, the Airlia. The legends that have been handed down among the wedjat say they warred against each other long ago. Before the pyramids were built, before even the Sphinx above was formed. My ancestors in Egypt transformed these creatures and their wars into our gods and legends. Both sides used, and continue to use, men for their own ends in this war.

“We call one group of men who are used the Guides. These are men who have been affected.” Kaji’s good hand reached up and touched his head. “Here. In the mind. They no longer are in charge of themselves, but do the bidding of the aliens even if they desire not to, but there are those who desire to serve even before their mind is changed. Al-Iblis is one of these. His name has passed down through the years as an enemy of man.

“The other group is called The Ones Who Wait. They are like men, but not men. They are different not only in the mind, but their eyes are not like ours. Elongated like the large cats of the southern jungles. And the eye itself is red inside of red. I have never seen one, but the legends say it is so. And they are not born of woman.”

“How can that be?”

“I only repeat what my father told me.”

Burton absorbed the other man’s words. It was incredible, the words of myth, but he had seen the Black Sphinx. He had read the old scrolls, talked with aged priests and monks, and they had all hinted at something like this. And he had met Al-Iblis in Mecca. Even though he had not clearly seen the other, Burton had picked up a very strange feeling from him.

“These Records…” Burton’s excitement overwhelmed the hopelessness of the situation. “That is what I came here for. The Hall of Records. You said it was inside the Black Sphinx?” Kaji nodded. “The Black Sphinx is the Hall. The Records are supposed to be inside. Your search is why you have to die.”

“But these Records… why must they be hidden?”

“I do not know. It is the law of my order to protect them and watch.”

“Why only watch?”

Kaji looked down at his trapped hand. “I did not think it would end like this. You were very cunning, Englishman. I have left others to die in the tunnels.”

“Why do you only watch?” Burton repeated.

“Two reasons. One is we cannot fight these things; They are more powerful than we are. There have been times in the past when men have tried to fight them, and every time we were crushed. Many people have died at their hands. There have been times when men have tried to look at the Records, and it has always brought a storm of evil and death. Our primary goal as Watchers is to keep the line of man alive.” Kaji’s last words trailed off and his head slumped against the wool shirt.

“The second reason?” Burton prompted.

Kaji stirred. Burton could see that the man’s eyes were becoming unfocused. He had seen that before and knew death was not far away. “Because we don’t know which side are the ones we must fight.”

“But if the Hall of Records is here, why do you not just look it up?”

“It is not allowed. And as I told you, we do not have the key.”

“Who has the key?”

“I know only what I need to know to do my duty,” Kaji said. “I have heard there is a place to the south of here. Beyond the source of the great river Nile, where these things had a city. Under a mountain with a white top. That one of the Airlia went in that direction long ago. Legend has it that this Airlia was killed before he could complete his journey and that the key was later buried with him.”

“Who killed this creature?”

“There are also some of the Guides… like Al-Iblis… who travel among men, setting up in one place, then another. Recruiting men to do their bidding. They kill those of my order when they catch them. They kill The Ones Who Wait if they find them. We know only that they work from a place called The Mission.”

Burton frowned. In his travels to strange places he had heard rumors of a group called The Mission. “Where is this Mission?”

“It moves. Always going to a place where it can find humans willing to do its bidding. Where it can breed the evil that exists in men’s hearts. The Mission revels in the blackness of our nature. No one in my order knows where it is right now.”

“Did the Airlia build the stone Sphinx above us?”

“Men built the stone Sphinx on the surface to mark the location of the Hall of Records to those who would know the symbol,” Kaji said. “But they had help from these star creatures.”

“And the pyramids?”

“The same. They were built by men for these creatures from the stars. These others have influenced our development since before the dawn of time.” Kaji’s voice trailed off to a whisper.

“And all you do is watch?” Burton could not understand such a life’s mission. “We watch and prevent interference by men in the creatures’ war.”

“Then you are siding with the Airlia.”

Kaji shook his head. “No. We are preventing interference. The two sides of this ancient war seem to be in balance. If that balance is upset and one side is victorious, it is written in our scrolls that doom will come upon the planet. Then all will die.”

A bead of sweat dropped off Kaji’s forehead onto the stone floor. Burton could see that the tourniquet had almost completely closed off the circulation to the trapped arm. The skin in the forearm was a paler color, the cells dying from lack of blood. But he also knew that releasing the band would send a surge of blood to the smashed hand and finish bursting the vessels in the wrist, quickly killing the Arab. He could tell that shock was overwhelming the old man and it might be merciful to release, the constriction.

“There must be another way out,” Burton said. “Or a way to raise this stone. I can get you to a doctor if you show me.”

Kaji shook his head. “You can open this stone only from the other side in the tunnel we came through. And there is no other way out.”

Burton considered that. Why have a room that was a dead end? And Kaji had said he had seen only three of the Duats. There were three more somewhere. Kaji did not know all the tunnels, then.

“Ah!” Kaji let out a moan and dipped his head onto Burton’s wadded shirt.

Burton could see the rise and fall of the Arab’s chest, but he knew the man had not much longer to live. He got up and searched the chamber, holding the lantern close to the wall, searching for any marking.

The stone was smooth.

He walked across the chamber from Kaji’s body, to the far wall. Kaji had used the ring to open some of the secret doors… of that Burton had no doubt. He didn’t think that this was a dead end.

“Englishman.” The word was little more than a whisper.

Burton hurried to Kaji’s side. “Yes?”

The Arab’s eyes were closed, and Burton had to lean close to hear. “Remember, you gave your word.”

“I always keep… ” Burton began, but he saw that the Arab’s chest was still. He slid the shirt over the man’s face.

After a brief prayer for the dead that Burton had memorized from the Koran, he set the lantern on the floor and turned it to the dimmest setting possible. He pulled the ring off Kaji’s listless hand. The design was intricate, with a pyramid in the background. He turned it in the flickering light of the lantern… an eye within a circle, just like the medallion. The lantern had less than a quarter inch of kerosene in it; after that Burton would be in utter darkness.

Burton began searching once more for any sort of marking on the walls, moving quickly, but thoroughly, around the chamber. By the time he made it back to Kaji’s body, without success, the lantern was flickering. He forced himself, to sit still to think. Kaji had used the ring to open the doors. But the last door had been different. There had been no sign of it until Kaji had pressed the ring against it at a certain spot. That meant…

The lantern went out and a complete blackness, such as Burton had never experienced, consumed the room.

He pressed his palms against the wounds in his cheeks, the pain diverting him from the panic that threatened to overwhelm.

He remembered Kaji’s last words. Why would the Arab have been so concerned that he keep his promise if he was certain there wasn’t a way out? The answer was obvious to Burton… because there was a way. And Kaji had spoken of two gateways to the Roads of Rostau: one on land and one in the water. On hands and knees, he made his way to the far wall. Burton carefully slid the ring onto the middle finger of his right hand, turning the eye design palm in.

Then he began moving his hand along the wall, starting at the bottom right and working his way across.

There was no way for him to know how long it took, but he was certain when he finally reached the top left that he had covered every square inch of the far wall. He turned to his right and began on that wall.

An eternity later, Burton was next to Kaji’s body. The dead man’s flesh was cold, the body stiff from rigor mortis. That told Burton he had been trapped in this room over ten hours. He had experience with dead bodies from his time in India and knew the stages of death. There was no place for the ring on the walls.

Burton leaned back against the stone. There was more than the weight of the Great Pyramid above him. In fact, he was sure he was no longer under the Pyramid proper, but that made little difference. He could faintly hear the roar of the underground river somewhere not too far away.

He thought of beautiful Isabel, home in England, awaiting his return. The places he wanted to see that he had not yet. Overriding those two thoughts, though, were the words that Kaji had spoken. Of the Airlia, who were not men. Of their servants walking the Earth. An ancient war still being played out.

“I will not die in this place!” Burton yelled at the top of his lungs, feeling the pus and blood flow out of the wounds on his face. He felt power from that yell and the pain. He was still alive. There was still hope. As the sound of his voice echoed into silence, he was aware once more of the underground river. He pressed his ear against the wall, trying to tell in what direction the water was. After trying all four walls, he was still uncertain. Then it occurred to him. He lay on the floor… yes, the water was somewhere farther in the depths.

Burton began quartering the floor, right palm down, ring covering every square inch.

When he heard the rumble of stone moving, he froze. He felt a draft of cool air hit his face. Reaching with his hands, scuttling around the edge on hands and knees, he realized that a square, eight feet on each side, had opened exactly in the center of the chamber. He leaned over it, but there was still no light. Only the feel of humid, cool air striking him. The sound of the river water was louder now.

He put his arm down, but the shaft ran perfectly straight with no end within reach. It might drop ten feet or a hundred. It might end in a stone floor, or water, or stakes on which interlopers were to be impaled.

He slid over the edge and lowered himself as far as he could, stretching his long frame out, and his toes felt nothing. With a great effort he pulled himself back into the chamber and lay on his back, breathing hard, his strength still not back after the years of recovery from the cholera compounded by the wounds received at Berbera.

He knelt next to the opening and leaned over. “Hello!” he yelled, hoping to get an echo, but it was as if the darkness below swallowed up his voice. Or there was no bottom to the shaft. He had heard of such things. Of pits where a man would fall forever and… Burton forced his mind to slop racing. He bad to accept the inevitable reality.

It was the only way out.

Burton once more clambered into the hole, lowering himself, fingers gripping the stone edge. He dangled in the darkness, feeling the cold draft from below sliding up under his robe. “Allah Akbar!” he whispered. Praise Allah.

His fingers began to weaken.

He fell.