1933: Cairo, Egypt
Plodington and Monroe approached the front edge of the pyramid. Save for its brightness, the pyramid obscured the effects of the intense sun. Omar and the others were sitting cross-legged, laughing and enjoying the coolness of the stone beneath their legs. The stone seemed to create a barrier, shielding them from the desert heat.
Omar popped up to his feet and approached the two doctors.
Plodington nodded, adding, “We dig.”
“It’s time to make them do all the dirty work,” Monroe said.
“Praise Allah!” Omar rejoiced. The workers stood and cheered.
Monroe spoke into Plodington’s ear. “I am reconsidering our plan. I wonder if we, and not them, should do the digging over by the entrance. Do we want to risk them going inside? There is too much at stake. What if there is something inside, and it eats them?”
Plodington stopped speaking with the group and faced Monroe. “What the absolute fuck are you babbling on about?”
“Desert bears.”
“Desert bears,” Plodington repeated.
“Sure,” Monroe said. “This is something quite unusual. Perhaps there are traps. Or odd wildlife afoot within the pyramid.”
“And you came up with desert bears?”
“At least I use my imagination.”
Plodington inched closer to Monroe. “Seriously? This is your imagination at work, is it? If you spent half your time working instead of bouncing around like some drunken grasshopper…”
“Drunken grasshopper? Insults, is it, then?” Monroe rolled up his sleeves. “Okay. What do you call a lanky insect that spends its time hunting the earth, finding nary a damn thing, but gets eaten by the first lady who looks his way?”
“I am no mantis.”
“She was easy, and you never entertained the notion that she was taken?”
“How was I supposed to know she was married to the chancellor?”
“Your misguided hormones placed us in the middle of the bloody desert!”
“At least we are employed.”
“Employed!” Monroe took a few exaggerated steps backward. “Oh my! You call this being employed, you twit? It’s thanks to your poor judgment that the chancellor assigned us this shit job. Are you too daft to see that?”
“At least we are employed,” Plodington reiterated through gritted teeth.
Monroe and Plodington stepped toward one another, prepared to brawl, but they paused before throwing ready punches. Both men slowly turned their heads. Omar and the others were standing less than a meter away, watching in rapt awe. A gigantic smile plastered Omar’s smug face. Plodington eased his fist down to his side and took a hesitant step back. Monroe snatched a shovel from a worker and stomped away toward the opposite side of the pyramid, where he had found the entrance.
Omar spoke aloud in Arabic, and the men cheered and chased after Monroe.
Plodington stood alone. He yearned to fume, but Monroe was right.
About everything.
Except for the desert bears.
Plodington rifled through the supplies stacked atop the upside-down pyramid and unpacked a shovel.
*****
Plodington slid down the bank of sand where Monroe stood. Monroe eyed him, nodded, and elbowed him playfully. Plodington elbowed him back. They stood there, watching the workers quickly shovel away the sand blocking the entrance. The area under the pyramid overhang remained cool. The workers were barely breaking a sweat.
Monroe called out in Arabic, and the workers stepped back. Plodington followed Monroe to the narrow gap in the stone entrance. It was too dark to see inside the structure. Monroe gave another command and, a few minutes later, a squad of workers returned with the archaeologists’ backpacks and gas lamps.
The two doctors shoved the backpacks into the pyramid.
“Okay, Omar,” Plodington said, “wait on top. We’ll be a bit. If we are not out by sundown, head back to the dig site with the men and send word that we need help.”
Omar nodded.
The two doctors turned toward the darkened slit in the rock and sidled their way inside.
Once inside, they gave their eyes a moment to adjust, holding out the gas lanterns to help them see, only to watch the flames die. They left them on the floor near the entrance and continued slowly into a massive antechamber. A strange glow from within proffered just enough light for the men to see strange symbols etched into the walls. The formation of the symbols implied this was a written language; it was similar to hieroglyphics, but Plodington and Monroe knew these were not hieroglyphs. They dashed over to the wall on the left, inspecting the symbols. Plodington jerked his fingers away when the strange symbols shone yellow at his touch. The glowing glyphs quickly faded. He and Monroe shared an uncertain look. Again, Plodington drew near. He wanted a closer look. As he focused on one symbol, this time it glowed blue. Plodington jerked his head away from the glyph and withdrew several steps.
“What was it, Duke? What did you see?”
Plodington blinked several times before a knowing smile spread across his lips.
“Duke? Helloooo?”
Plodington scanned the wall. The odd sigils lit up an iridescent blue wherever his eyes roamed. Monroe was ready to explode.
“Well? What did you see?!”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. I heard it.”
“Wait, what?” Monroe turned to the wall, focusing on the glyphs. They lit up, bright and blue. He, too, heard the words. “My God! I can hear them, but I hear myself talking.”
“It is amazing. I wonder,” Plodington said, then paused mid-thought. “Do we read left to right or right to left?”
After a simple experiment, they confirmed the glyphs made zero sense right to left. A childish giddiness seeped into their movements and expressions.
“Omar!” Monroe called. He turned to Plodington. “I have an idea. Let’s bring in Omar to confirm what you and I have learned. You stay here. Keep reading.”
His partner, intent on listening to the glyphs, waved him away.
Monroe slipped through the narrow opening, scaled up the dune, and ran across the top of the pyramid, yelling for Omar. As they returned, Monroe gave him a set of instructions. Moments later, he and Omar entered the pyramid. Plodington was too busy to be bothered. Monroe and Omar walked up to the wall, Omar at the front. The servant peered at the wall for a moment before facing Monroe.
“I do not read this language, these hieroglyphics.”
Monroe sighed. “Just do it, Omar.”
Omar shook his head, but he obeyed Monroe. His eyes tracked across the wall, from right to left. He sucked in air and staggered back a step.
“It’s not unholy. At least, Plodington and I don’t think it is,” Monroe said, before adding, “yet.”
“It is incredible,” Omar drawled. He pointed at a row of symbols and read them from right to left, the glyphs lighting up one after the other before dimming again.
Monroe grabbed Omar’s shoulder. “Wait. These don’t read like traditional Arabic from right to left. They read left to right.”
Omar shook his head. “No, Doctor Monroe, I can hear them fine, speaking in perfect Arabic, using my voice.”
“Arabic?” Monroe nearly shouted. He called his partner, who had made it halfway down one wall of the massive antechamber.
They huddled together, comparing notes.
“In my expert opinion,” Plodington began, “the glyphs etched into these walls tell a story, as all symbols do.” He pointed to the first row of symbols he had read after entering the pyramid. “These, for example, tell a tale about a group of traveling bishops.” The symbols lit up across the row as he spoke them in his mind. “Your turn, Omar. Read the same line, only this time, do so right to left.”
Omar stepped forward. The symbols along the row seemed to reverse their order magically. Oblivious to the change, Omar followed the symbols, each word spoken in his mind, repeating the story of the traveling bishops.
Plodington and Monroe briefly glanced at the wall, then back to Omar.
“They changed,” Monroe said.
“Yes, they did.” Plodington stared at the wall.
Omar, already unsettled by the dark magic chiseled across the walls, was prepared to run out of the pyramid and never return. The two doctors seemed to relish their find, but Omar liked things to remain uncomplicated and natural. He locked eyes on the wall. Symbols glowed from right to left. For some unknown reason, he could not help himself. When the glowing symbols faded, he called the doctors.
“What does it mean,” he asked, “this Test of Mettle?”
*****
After swearing Omar to secrecy, the two archaeologists shooed him back to the team of workers atop the pyramid, then they set to work. First, they noted that the rock floor was clean—too clean to escape their attention. They ran their fingers across the stone floor, and they lifted not a speck of dust. The walls were also clean. Monroe examined the area around the entrance and could not locate a single grain of sand. He went outside, grabbed a handful of sand, and tossed it into the inky darkness. Inside, he inspected the floor again and found nary a grain of sand.
“This place is sterile,” Monroe said.
“The sand never hit the floor. It just vanished,” Plodington admitted with a shiver.
Monroe listed off the facts. “Upside-down pyramid. Glyphs that speak in your mind when you look at them, using your voice, no less. Exceedingly clean environs. Glyphs that cater to their audience’s preferred linguistics, including language and direction.”
“This place is vast, and our time and supplies are limited,” Plodington said. They had traveled light to avoid drawing unwanted attention. “We need to head back before the sun sets.”
Monroe whistled at the sheer size of the structure. “The top of the pyramid was, what would you say, about five to eight meters?”
Plodington nodded, realizing the point Monroe was making. The antechamber ceiling was at least three times that high.
“Oi!” Monroe beamed. “This place is damn fun, eh, Duke?”
Plodington rolled his eyes. He had a different opinion, one less optimistic and based on science. Everything they had uncovered thus far was just plain eerie.
“Where should we start?” Monroe asked. He spun in a circle, giving the antechamber a once-over.
“I figure we each take a side and meet in the middle, unless, of course, they ask us to leave.” Monroe chuckled.
“They?” Plodington asked with a modicum of incredulity. “Besides, archaeologists do not run from newly discovered sites.”
“That is because none of their sites tell them to leave. If we relay our findings to anyone, we will get crucified.”
A hum vibrated throughout the pyramid, and the light within the antechamber brightened for a few seconds, despite having no apparent source.
“We should leave out the magic,” Plodington whispered, his eyes scanning the antechamber.
“A place of magic is surely operated by a magician.”
Plodington scratched his chin, pondering the benefit of going public with their discovery. “Career suicide.”
“What is?” Monroe furrowed his eyebrows.
Plodington rolled his eyes. “Never mind. You take that side.” He pointed. “I’ll take the other side. Maybe this place will finally share something useful.”
They went to work scanning the glyphs. Row after row of glyphs came to life, speaking entire stories in their minds. They quickened their pace, skipping sections and, in some places, entire rows. Whether they wanted to admit it or not, the eeriness of the pyramid did little to quell their enthusiasm. They finally reached the back of the antechamber. There, they found a long, wide corridor. More glyphs lined the walls. But it was not as bright here, making the glyphs harder to read—until they glowed when touched or viewed.
They read:
… a group of twenty-four men—bishops, priests, bowmen, and servants—arrived on horseback at the onset of night. A torrential thunderstorm threatened their safety. Twelve religious men and four bowmen entered the Repository while the eight servants tended the horses. The bishops, like you, interpreted the angelic sigils in their minds. I provided them a place of shelter and permitted them all to slumber in the antechamber, as I have done many, many times since the pact between Jesus Christ and Lucifer. The most senior bishop among them believed an archangel of the Lord had blasphemed. In this same corridor, I forbade the senior bishop to trespass beyond the Holy Seal at the entrance to the library. To do so would be to commit the Great Sin and violate the only commandment issued by Jesus Christ, for it is He who holds reign over man. To violate the commandment would be to bite the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden. The senior bishop reached the fork in the road of man’s destiny. A man who claimed to be the voice of God did not heed the words of an archangel. He allowed his pride to swallow his faith. While the others fled from the shelter of the Repository, the senior bishop labeled them cowards. He marched down the corridor and entered the library, crossed the Holy Seal, and committed the Final Sin. The Great Seal, displaying Jesus and Lucifer, dissolved in a terrible quake. Only I remained to carry out my orders in line with the pact between Heaven and Hell. Lucifer shall now commit his forces for a thousand years in the Test of Mettle. When the final bell tolls, Hell shall reign over man, and Heaven shall seal its doors forever.
Monroe closed his eyes and dropped his head in shame. Tears formed in his eyes.
Plodington read the glyphs on the other side of the corridor:
… for I am tasked to transform into any structure, traveling to any place at any time at my discretion. My antechamber shall be my voice, and the atheneum holds memories. I am an angelic scribe who shall be known as the Repository. No evil heart shall cross the Holy Seal into my mind, lest they forfeit their existence. Only those with light in their soul shall be permitted into the Repository. At the end of the corridor, an entryway sat on the right. Monroe waited for Plodington to finish reading. He glanced at the rearmost wall, skimming the glyphs while tears streamed down his cheeks: … mankind survived on second chances and will be awarded one more, should they repent. Before the final bell tolls, man must…
“It is now or never,” Plodington said. At the end of the corridor, they saw the Holy Seal at the entrance to the Repository. Monroe swiped at his eyes. Plodington did a double take. “Good Lord! Are you crying, man?”
“Piss off,” Monroe whined, shouldering himself past Plodington to mask his tears, and stepping on the Holy Seal.
Plodington followed. He couldn’t help but smirk at the unusual vulnerability his lifelong chum had shown.
