Author: Kirk Straughen
Synopsis: Abandoned to die in the Libyan Desert, Matthew Carson stumbles across an ancient city lost in time. Captured, he must confront the beautiful but deadly Sorceress and overcome her weird powers that threaten the world. Can he survive his nightmare ordeals and defeat her evil scheme? If you think you're brave enough, then read the story if you dare.
Edit History: Minor changes were made to this story on 5 June 2021.
Chapter 1: The Phantom City
The loan figure stumbled. Falling to his knees, the man collapsed upon the hot desert sand, beaten down by the blazing sun whose fierce rays fell upon him like incandescent hammer blows.
Matthew Carson cursed silently, his throat too parched to form coherent words. Damn Mustafa to the lowest hell, he thought bitterly, referring to the treacherous guide who had stolen his camels, equipment and supplies whilst he slept, and abandoned him to die a slow but certain death in the Libyan Desert, whose harsh extent stretches from the Nile River across western Egypt.
Rolling upon his side, Carson drew forth his compass, a battered and aged volume from his shirt – some of his few possessions the thieving wretch had not considered worth pilfering - and gazed upon the book’s soiled cover.
A wry smile curved his cracked lips as he thought of the words most likely written upon his Death Certificate (though he doubted that anyone would ever find his desiccated corpse): “Death by misadventure.” He croaked a hollow laugh at that idea as he reflected upon what had brought him to this distant land, his mind traveling back to those days of lost naivety.
How well he remembered his scholastic ineptitude that had denied him a University degree, the long hard years of self-education in the field of Egyptology, the burning desire to gain Academia’s respect with a discovery all his own. Indeed, it was only a recent lottery win that had allowed him sufficient funds to travel to Egypt in pursuit of his dream, and he had seized the opportunity with fervor.
Carson’s grandfather, an Egyptian born Englishman and historian, had authored the diary he now held. It contained a translation of The Scroll of Nutua, the work of a scribe who lived during the Middle Kingdom of Egyptian history. According to the account, the city of Amonubis and the extensive oasis in which it was built had vanished overnight, swallowed up by some vast inexplicable event.
Drawing himself back to the present, Carson opened the book, and again examined the faded map that purported to show the city’s location, based upon a tale told to his Grandfather by an old fellahin*. It was a fantastic story that had captured his imagination from the outset even though he suspected it was embellished with exaggerations.
He knew his Grandfather had placed little faith in the account, merely recording it as an idle curio, dismissing it as the mere persistence of a legend from ancient times. But Carson thought there might be some substance to the tale, for his own research had revealed the local Bedouin possessed an independent legend of a city that would sometimes appear in ghostly form, then vanish again as mysteriously as it had come.
In reality, Amonubis had most likely been flattened by an earthquake during the height of a simoom**, and thus quickly buried, with the shifting dunes uncovering and then recovering the ruins at intervals during the passing ages, or so Carson reasoned.
Putting away the book, the man gathered his fading strength, lurched to his feet, consulted his compass, and staggered on in the direction the map indicated. He could have turned back, true, but from the moment he had been abandoned Carson knew he’d never walk out of the desert alive, being about mid point between the Kharaga Oasis and Edfu, and to a dead man one direction is as good as another.
If I’m going to die, he had thought. Then I’ll try and discover something worthwhile before I do, and thus add meaning to my end.
Would this stoic philosophy be of any comfort when death’s dread hand fell upon him? In all honesty, Carson had his doubts, but was determined to face the end as bravely as he could. Mostly, though, his thoughts were for his parents, and the grief his foolishness would cause them.
Onward he marched, placing one foot mechanically in front of the other, the endless dunes passing by in unremitting progression. In a daze, he staggered on, vision blurred, baked by the furnace heat of the barren waste.
Suddenly, something shimmered in the distance. A city appeared, seemingly condensing out of the very air. Carson stopped, stared in disbelief, and rubbed his tired eyes.
“Mirage,” he croaked, his dull mind trying to comprehend what now stood clearly in his vision. Carson uttered a sound, the parody of mirth. The heat, I’m going mad, he thought. A hallucination engendered by Grandfather’s diary.
A wind sprang up. Streamers of sand lashed him with their grainy whips. Turning, he saw a dark, ground-hugging cloud surging towards him from the horizon - a sandstorm!
The vanguard of searing particles burned Carson’s skin, the pain rousing him from his daze. To be caught unprotected in a simoom was death. He knew he had to find shelter, and fast.
His eyes desperately sought the phantom city. It was still there, its outlines shimmering with a faint opalescence, but despite the weirdness of its appearance and doubts about his own sanity, Carson felt there was an underlying reality to the buildings, a solidity that offered protection from the rapidly approaching storm.
Carson sprinted towards the apparition; hope infusing his tired limbs with new energy as he forged through the soft sand that sucked perversely at his running feet. The wind grew; the storm rolled closer catching him in its edges, a vast insensate monster of whirling sand that beat upon him with the flaying intensity of a million vitreous knives.
The city vanished in a haze. Death loomed ever closer, stabbing Carson with icy fingers of fear. He gave way to resignation – it had been a hallucination after all. Wait - there it was, dimly visible through a rent in the flying veils of sand, the fringe of date palms on its outskirts so near, and yet so far.
The storm enveloped him fully, a howling demon that struck his exhausted body with fists of quartz. Carson fought to stay upright. He knew if he fell he probably wouldn’t get up. Holding a bandanna over his face with both hands as protection from the flying sand that sought to choke his lungs and blind his eyes, Carson staggered in grim desperation towards where he had last glimpsed the enigmatic buildings.
The simoom reached its crescendo – a vast mass of elemental fury that cried a dirge of death in all consuming rage, immense and implacable as an irate Titan. A strange glow appeared before Carson’s eyes - a barrier of some kind? He stumbled; fell against its tingling resilience, the force of the wind flattening him against the strange surface, which seemed to have sliced through a section of the city’s high mud brick wall.
Carson prepared himself for the end. His strength was nearly spent and even if the gale abated he knew he couldn’t take another step. Then, to his amazement, he began to sink into the strange barrier. It was like passing through a viscous fluid of liquefied power that prickled his nerves with electric force.
Desperately, Carson tried to breath, but couldn’t – he was suffocating in this weird substance. Panic threatened to engulf him, and he was hard pressed to fight it down. An idea suddenly sprung into conscious thought. Calling upon the dregs of his strength, Carson struck out like a swimmer, propelling himself through the barrier with arms and legs, and with a final frantic lunge broke through and fell exhausted upon the ground.
* An Egyptian peasant or laborer.
** A sandstorm.
Chapter 2: Men from the Past
For a time Carson lay in a stupor, gasping air into his burning lungs, aware of nothing else except the sensation of being alive. Slowly, his mind roused itself to full consciousness and he became aware of light glinting off water.
Water! Must have water, came his all-consuming thought, the sight of the life sustaining fluid suddenly making him intensely aware of his dehydrated state. Slowly, painfully, Carson dragged his protesting body towards the life-giving source, scooped up the cool refreshing liquid and slaked his thirst with relish. Never did he think that such a simple thing could taste so sweet.
Carson restrained himself, slowed his consumption, realizing that to drink too much at once would make him sick, and also hoping his vaccinations would protect him from the harmful microbes he was no doubt swallowing. He paused, splashed his face and looked about. The body of water before him was a large ornamental pond festooned with lotus blossoms whose delicate perfume filled the air, as did the scent of other flowers in the elaborate garden that surrounded him.
Gazing across the pool he beheld a home of whitewashed mud brick whose high windows vented heat from the airy rooms, some of which opened upon a broad loggia at one side. The front door, shaded by a portico whose timber pillars had been carved to represent stylized papyrus, completed the graceful design.
Good Lord, thought Carson, as he looked with amazement at the building. If I’m not mistaken that’s the home of an ancient Egyptian nobleman, Middle Kingdom period. But that’s impossible. I must have stumbled onto a movie set.
This desperate rationalization, a frantic attempt to make sense of the impossible, was quickly shattered when Carson noticed something strange about the light. Looking up, he beheld the firmament, and his jaw dropped with the shock of what he saw, for it crushed all hope of any mundane explanation. No blue sky arched above him in comforting familiarity, no blazing sun shone down upon him. As far as his disbelieving eyes could see, was a dome of swirling opalescent mist whose roiling elements glowed in sinuous undulations like some strange preternatural aurora of mystic light.
Doubts about his own sanity were uppermost in Carson’s mind as he gazed upon the strange phenomenon. But the reality of the firm earth beneath his knees belied his fear that all about was mere hallucination engendered by exposure to the desert sun.
Snap out of it, man, he thought in self-chastisement, as he continued drinking. You’re badly dehydrated. Better concentrate on survival and fill your belly with water, not your mind with fruitless speculation.
Feeling that the mystery of his strange surroundings would be resolved in time, Carson stripped, shook the sand from his clothes, emptied half the desert from his boots, or so it seemed, and entered the pool. He relaxed in its cool waters; drinking sparingly, and soon felt customary healthful strength returning to his weary limbs.
He looked warily about. The place was deserted, but the well maintained house and garden bore silent testimony to the presence of its owners, and he knew they could not be far away.
A sound came to Carson’s ears, as if in response to his prophetic thoughts. Turning, he beheld three men approaching. They were dressed in kilt-like garments of white linen; their chests were bare, the skin being reddish brown in color. Weighty staffs were grasped firmly in their strong hands.
Horu and his servants cautiously approached the foreigner as he exited the pond and hastily donned his garments. The man was of a strange appearance. He had straw colored hair, and his skin was pale, though somewhat reddened where his outlandish clothes left it exposed to the Sun God’s fiery gaze. Was he human, or a demon of the wilderness? The nobleman had no answer to that question. They were all living in strange times and Horu felt that anything was possible. Best do his duty and seize the fellow as commanded.
Carson stood gazing uncertainly at the nobleman who shouted something at him. The American had studied the language of ancient Egypt and was conversant with its words and grammar. But his learning was from books, not the living tongue, and the strange swift accent made what was said difficult to understand. That, and the shock of seeing these men from the past whose bones should be dust, not clothed in living flesh, left his mind a whirl of thoughts.
Horu drew near. Mistaking Carson’s silence for arrogance and annoyed at the invasion of his home, he thrust viciously at the American’s belly with his staff.
The wood grazed Carson’s ribs as he twisted aside, the sudden and unexpected assault bringing him to his senses. Grabbing the staff, he jerked his opponent off balance, sending him tumbling into the pond with a startled yell.
Horu’s servants fell upon the stranger with swinging blows, seeking to avenge the indignity heaped upon their master, who spluttered curses as he floundered in the pool. Carson ducked one whirling staff, stepped close and smashed the man’s groin with his fist.
The Egyptian buckled with a whimpering cry. The American caught the falling man and hurled his limp form upon the other. Both assailants went down in a tangled heap, crashing heavily upon the paving as Horu hauled himself from the water and lunged at Carson’s back, knocking him to the ground.
Both men rolled, wrestled desperately, each seeking the advantage as with straining thews they fought like wild bulls. Both fell back into the pool with a tremendous splash, Carson forcing Horu beneath the surface, hands locked about his throat, fearing he must kill or be killed.
The less injured servant struggled to his feet, saw his master was in peril of his life. He leapt into the pond and wrapped one burly arm about Carson’s neck, forcing him to relinquish his strangling grip.
Horu burst from the water, gasping air, eyes ablaze with fury. He saw Carson, both hands wrenching his opponent’s constricting arm. The nobleman slammed his blocky fist against the American’s jaw. Once, twice, a third time, and the fight was over.
The victors dragged Carson from the pond, quickly bound his arms behind his back with leather thongs and hauled him to his feet. He stood swaying drunkenly, eyeing his battered protagonists who were breathing heavily from their exertions, as was he.
Looks like I’ve made quite an impression on the locals, he thought, glumly. Unfortunately, it's not the one I had in mind.
As for the victors, they regarded Carson with grudging admiration, for they saw in him a worthy foe. Even so, he was an enemy and they knew where their duty lay.
Upon the nobleman’s command, his men linked their arms through Carson’s and marched him out of the garden, through the slender portal piercing the property’s enclosing wall, and onto the narrow twisting street that eventually debouched upon one of the broad avenues that divided the city into quarters.
Other Egyptians, similarly dressed, traversed the dusty boulevard, treading lightly in the cool shadows of tall palms that lined the way. With fearful eyes they cast wary glances at the American, as if some nameless menace overshadowed them, suspended by a slender thread that might snap at any moment and crush them beneath its terrible weight. It seemed to Carson as if dread stalked the city, lashing the hapless people with unknown terrors, and he wondered as to the cause of their fear.
What fate awaited him Carson did not know, nor was he all that eager to discover. Was it death by torture? He steeled himself for such an end, and listened carefully to the whispered conversation of his captors, their speech slowly becoming more intelligible to him with the passing minutes. Apparently he was being taken to someone who styled herself as the Sorceress.
A strange title, thought Carson, wondering as to what it could portend. I could try and fight free, but I’d be one man against a city of thousands. Best I try and reason with this woman.
After a time, the American and his guards came to the temple complex built upon a butte in the Metropolis’ eastern quarter. Mounting the acclivity via a ramp, they emerged upon a paved plateau dotted with imposing buildings constructed on a titanic scale.
Carson gazed in awe at these mighty works, which stood forth proudly, not in ruins, but in untarnished splendor - their soaring pillars; their high walls festooned with hieroglyphics and carvings, all pregnant with the mystery that is ancient Egypt.
A sprawling structure loomed before them. They passed like ants between giant sphinxes that guarded in stony silence the entrance of its monolithic façade. Passing down a long colonnaded hall they came before a statuesque woman seated upon an ornate throne. She was adorned with wondrous jewelry, and her garment - a tight fitting sheath - clothed her graceful body from just below naked breasts to shapely ankles in filmy folds of pleated linen. She gazed upon Carson with dark eyes; her patrician features a cool mask that revealed not her inner thoughts, unlike her gaggle of courtiers who gazed upon him in open speculation.
Carson drew a sharp breath at the sight of her. Not at her beauty, which was considerable, but at the strange aura that wrapped her figure in a penumbra of soft duskiness.
Chapter 3: Crawling Terrors
The Sorceress appraised Carson with sharp eyes, noted his strange clothes but, unlike those she ruled, saw them for what they were – the products of an advanced age. Letting the stranger pass through the temporal field had proven a useful exercise, for after many fruitless stops throughout the ages, she now knew her goal was at last in sight. Stepping from her throne in triumph, the woman waved away Carson’s captors in preparation for her unique interrogation.
Cold chills danced up and down the American’s spine as the Sorceress approached. It wasn’t so much the weird aura that unnerved him, although that was bad enough. Rather, it was the inhuman something he could sense lurking within the depths of her predatory gaze - an emanation as icy as the lightless void of space. Here, he was certain, was the source of the people’s dread, and he was hard pressed not to flinch as she drew near.
Carson wasn’t normally given to superstitious fears and lacked firm belief in either God or devil, but the utter weirdness of what confronted him called up all those crawling terrors that lurk within the mind’s dark recesses where reason’s light cannot penetrate. Blind panic threatened to overwhelm him, and for a moment he teetered upon its black abyss, barely hauling himself back with chains of self-control.
The Sorceress’s eyes caught his with her unnerving gaze and he felt as if he was falling into their sable depths, drawn downward by whirlpools of dark hypnotic force. Sibilant tendrils of inhuman thought probed his mind, rifling memories like some demonic thief.
Fear turned to anger at the violation of his innermost privacy, and he rallied against the alien force, matching his will in opposition to its own, seeking to drive the unwholesome presence from his brain.
Perspiration stood out upon Carson’s brow and his limbs trembled with the effort, as if he were pitting himself against a physical foe. Suddenly, after long moments of silent struggle, the pressure eased - the alien presence had withdrawn in defeat. He glared defiance at the woman, his muscles quivering, body slick with sweat, as was her own. He hoped he looked braver than he felt.
Again, the Sorceress sent a stab of mental force at Carson, but it petered out, failed to even reach him. She could not draw upon the full power of the thing within her, and had exhausted herself in the struggle. It was only by a supreme effort that she managed to stay upright.
I’ve won, thought Carson, shakily. But it’s a temporary respite at best. God knows what’s going to happen next.
The Sorceress returned his hard stare, nostrils flaring; anger burning in her gaze, her mind a strange mixture of human and inhuman thought. Never before had anyone resisted her will, defied her so. She had only gained fragmentary information from his mind, and if this man was typical of his age, then his people would not cower before her like the superstitious fools she ruled. He must be made an example of, and quickly, least others take courage and rebel.
“No one defies Nefret, Sorceress of Amonubis, and lives,” she cried. “Guards, seize this ignorant savage, drag him to the Square of Death, where I command he be executed for his insolence.”
Human rage, yes, but it was a mere façade that hid a deeper strangeness in the woman that held no kinship with the race of Man: An unfathomable something that lurked within her being – dark, incomprehensible, the quintessence of otherness.
Her speech staggered Carson. Good Lord, he thought, grasping the meaning of her words. This really is the lost city of legend, its buildings intact, its people alive.
Two burly warriors grabbed him with callous hands, reminding Carson of the danger he was in. Damned if I’m going quietly, he thought, quickly stomping on one guard’s toe.
The man howled, fell to the floor clutching his injured foot as Cason aimed a kick at his second foe. This warrior, more agile than the other, jumped back avoiding his attack and quickly countered. The thrusting spear narrowly missed Carson as he sidestepped, and tripped the fellow with one sweeping leg that sent him crashing to the floor.
“Fools!” Screamed the Sorceress as her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “I said he is to die in the Square of Death, not beneath your spears. Take him alive.”
More guards rushed at Carson, confidant of overpowering him because his hands were tied behind his back. But he was far from helpless, being a practitioner of savate - a French style of fighting that employs both feet and hands with deadly efficiency.
Striking shins, knees, and groins with smashing kicks, he sent three men tumbling to the floor in as many seconds, but in the end such valiant efforts were doomed to failure, for he was soon overpowered by sheer numbers as half a dozen warriors piled on him all at once.
Hauling his battered body upright, they marched Carson from the hall to an adjoining courtyard containing a central wooden square set flush with the granite flagstones, a square whose cedar timber was carved with stylized skulls about its border. Upon its broad surface they cast him, and then retreated.
Carson struggled to his feet and looked about, noting the ominous stains upon the polished wood; the stormy features of the Sorceress as she and her court approached to witness his destruction. He thought of protesting against this injustice, confidant he could now make himself understood, but dismissed the idea, thinking:
That woman, or whatever it is, is determined to see me dead. Better if I think of something quick, rather than waste time on useless pleas for mercy.
But it was too late for any plan of action - at a dramatic gesture from the Sorceress; the platform began to sink smoothly, the muffled rumbling of hidden machinery coming to Carson’s ears as he descended into a deep pit whose walls were of carefully fitted stone. The square came to a halt fifteen feet below the surface, and Carson beheld a low portcullis in the far wall through which he discerned the glint of hungry bestial eyes.
Carson went cold at the sight of those feral orbs, for in them he saw certain doom.
I must hold fast to bravery, came his desperate thought. It’s an old cliché that where there’s life there’s hope, but it’s all I’ve got.
Slowly, the grating began to rise and as it did Carson desperately fumbled for what was in the rear pocket of his trousers. His fingers, numb from the constricting bindings, struggled to open the pocket knife, and it was more by luck than skill that Carson stopped it from slipping between sweaty fingers when he jumped at the creature’s ferocious roar.
Keep calm, he thought, breathing deeply to steady his trembling limbs. If I panic now I’m as good as dead.
Carson’s hands steadied, unfurled the blade. With frantic haste he sawed at his bonds, nicking himself several times as he backed against the far wall, eyes locked upon the ever-rising door. The grating opened fully as the last thong parted; the savage lion stepped forth with a stalking gate, its ravenous eyes upon the puny man.
Chapter 4: Sharp Curses, and Sharper Spears
Carson was now free, but of what use was that when armed with only a stunted knife? Desperately, he looked about, saw the curious crowd gazing down to watch his grisly end. One of their number, a spear armed guard, stood closer to the edge than his fellows. Hope flared within Carson’s breast as his eyes locked upon the man.
The lion charged and Carson hurled his knife, not at the running beast, but at the guard above. The blade struck the man’s arm and he staggered back clutching the injured limb, his spear falling from nerveless fingers and into the American’s outstretched hands.
Carson turned. The savage lion was almost upon him. Quickly crouching, he braced the weapon’s butt against the wall as the beast, with a mighty roar, sprang upon him with wicked claws extended.
A dying howl erupted from the lion’s gaping maw as its talons grazed Carson’s shoulder. Blood gushed from the beast; the spear bent dangerously, almost snapping under the weight of the massive creature impaled upon its point.
The Sorceress shrieked with rage, the unexpected turn of events and their swiftness catching her by surprise. She screamed commands. Carson leapt the writhing form, sprinted in zigzag fashion for the low portal at the pit’s far end, sharp curses and sharper spears raining down upon him from above.
The portcullis rattled down as one javelin grazed Carson’s ribs and, with only seconds to spare, he hurled himself in a low dive beneath its falling points. The gate crashed down upon the stone in a cry of echoes as Carson rolled to his feet, and ran to the grillwork door set in the bars before him.
Reaching through them he pulled back the barrel bolt, thrust the door wide, and stepped upon the torch-lit corridor. Up the passage he madly dashed, only to hear the tramp of many feet approaching from around a bend – the Sorceress’s minions were already hunting him.
Carson knew he was trapped - the only way back led to the arena where death would come in the form of flying spears.
I might as well die fighting here as there, he thought with stoic resignation. But what for a weapon?
His darting eyes spied a sconce upon the wall that, if torn free, would make a heavy mace. Setting his muscles to the task, he strained mightily against the bracket, the ever-nearing footfalls spurring him to greater effort.
Suddenly, the sconce moved beneath his rippling thews and, to his amazement, a section of the wall swung silently inward, disclosing a secret way. Thanking providence for this unexpected gift, Carson quickly stepped within and closed the door behind him.
Breathing heavily from his exertions and weak with relief, he leaned against the cool stone and sank heavily to the dusty floor, listening to the sound of running feet pass by where only seconds ago he had stood.
For many minutes there was a confusion of voices, and much movement in the outer passage as the search party looked in vain for their hidden quarry. Baffled by the foreigner’s mysterious disappearance and also somewhat afraid, they eventually departed to reluctantly inform the Sorceress of his escape.
Carson breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief at their leaving. He was safe, at least for now. Fearful of discovery, he had been listening so intently to sounds in the outer passage that little thought had been given as to his surroundings. Now, he looked curiously about.
Light filtered in from an indeterminate source, reflected by cunningly placed mirrors of burnished gold so the wan radiance was cast along the narrow corridor. It was obvious to Carson that the way was long unused, for there were no marks of recent passage upon the dusty floor. Indeed, its very existence might remain unknown to the current inhabitants of this place, for the rough stone seemed to radiate a hoary sense of age suggestive of great antiquity.
Rising slowly to his feet, Carson considered his situation. All he knew was that he had been thrust into circumstances so outside the normal scope of existence that he was sure to go mad contemplating the how and why of things.
Best I stick to practical matters for now, he thought. I can’t stay here and, as one direction seems as good as any other, I’ll set my feet upon the way ahead.
The passing of perhaps five minutes brought him to an upward leading flight of steps. Mounting their treads, Carson ascended to the upper level, and had just stepped upon it when, without warning, a trapdoor gave way beneath him.
Hands and legs flung out, a startled cry upon his lips, Carson’s palms and feet struck the walls where they narrowed, barely arresting his downward plunge. Beneath him in the deadfall, he could see sharp spikes, their points glinting in the dim light.
He slipped lower, fear twisting in his bowels like a knife as his sweating palms lost their grip, and it was only by straining with all his might that he saved himself from being impaled upon the deadly rods below him.
With gasping breath and by slow painful degrees, he carefully slid palms and feet across the stone, inching closer to the deadfall’s lip. The edge was perhaps three yards away, but to Carson it seemed a thousand miles as he struggled towards its mocking rim.
Strength nearly spent, muscles trembling with fatigue, he made a desperate lunge, grasped the edge and hauled himself to safety. There he lay, trembling from his exertions, weak as a babe, and like a child he wept. The weirdness of Carson’s situation, the terrible ordeals he had been through in so short a space of time all conspired to come crashing down upon him in a torrent of emotions that overwhelmed him for a moment.
Perhaps another man would have given way to self pity or lost the will to live, but Carson was made of stronger stuff than that. He knew his tears were a catharsis of the soul, and felt the better for having shed them. Soon, strength of mind and body returned, and he was on his feet once more.
He continued along the passage, which followed the course of the building’s walls, this time with greater caution for it was clear to Carson that danger was ever present in this strange and mysterious place. After an indeterminate period of wandering in semidarkness, a sound came to his ears – faint at first, then louder as he drew near its source.
Close by stood another secret door, clearly visible from within the hidden way and from behind this portal came an anguished cry. Wondering what poor soul could be suffering so; he pressed his eye to the spy hole and beheld a terrible sight.
Chapter 5: Within the Chamber
Carson’s horror quickly turned to rage at the sight confronting him. Within the chamber a young woman hung between two posts, legs and arms bound wide apart, completely nude before the sadistic gaze of her vile tormentor.
The man, a huge brute of a fellow, his loathsome countenance twisted into a leering grin, held within one meaty hand a bronze poker whose tip glowed with scarlet heat from the flaming brazier nearby.
The girl strained desperately away from the searing rod that almost, but not quite touched her naked breast, and Carson saw that her quivering muscles were on the verge of failing. In but a moment she would fall forward and be impaled upon the glowing spike.
She might be a criminal for all I know, thought Carson. But even so, no crime is deserving of torture, and my conscious will not let me pass on by.
Grasping the door’s actuating mechanism, he wrenched it open, leapt across the threshold and rushed with silent swiftness at the torturer’s broad back. Some slight sound must have alerted the brute, or perhaps the girl’s startled expression as she briefly glimpsed Carson’s running form, for her tormentor swiftly spun about, and with an oath swung the poker in a vicious blow.
Carson ducked, the glowing rod stirring his hair with its swift passage. Quickly, he drove his fist into the man’s ample paunch, doubling him over; then sent him crashing to the ground with a vicious knee to the jaw, the blow startlingly loud in the gloomy silence. His foe lay upon the floor, neck bent at an odd angle, obviously dead.
The American looked about, seeking other enemies, breathing heavily, and trembling slightly. It was the first time he had killed a man, and he wasn’t so callous as to be unaffected by the deed. Satisfied that no other threat yet presented itself, his eyes were drawn once again to the broken thing upon the floor.
Come on man, he thought. This is no time to fall apart. What’s done is done. Best you give thought to the living.
Turning his attention to the girl, he was relieved to see there were no marks of abuse upon her body. He found it difficult to judge her age, for like most ancient Egyptian women she possessed a slender graceful figure with small but pert breasts, which made her look younger than she obviously was. He guessed her age to be eighteen at the very least, and as he gazed upon her he was seized by the strangest whimsy – the desire for a hundred eyes so he might capture every facet of her supernal loveliness.
The girl’s large dark eyes, set with an oval face of captivating beauty, regarded him with a mixture of wariness and curiosity. Was this some new tormentor? She didn’t know; wasn’t sure she had the strength of body or mind to face further ordeals. She observed his strange features and still stranger clothes, wondering who he was and where from. Suddenly, a thought came to her in startling realization.
“Are you from an age other than my own?” she said, enunciating each word carefully and slowly, hoping he would understand, all the while cautiously observing him as he severed her bonds with the torturer’s dagger.
“Why… why, yes,” was his startled response. “But how could you possibly know?”
“No time now, I’ll explain later,” she replied, leaning against him as the last rope was severed, still weak from her harrowing ordeal. “First we must flee this place. I glimpsed you enter through a hidden door, let us depart that way in all haste.”
Carson turned, cursed. The door had closed behind him and he knew not the hidden catch that would open it once more. At that very moment, as if callous fate had scribed the line, the Sorceress stepped within the chamber from another portal, flanked by burly guards armed with glinting spears.
For a brief moment a strange tableau ensued – Carson, the frightened girl clutching his brawny arm; the Sorceress, a strange presence looking out through human eyes upon them; her warriors, like hounds waiting to be unleashed.
“Kill them,” cried Nefret after a moment’s surprise, her whip-crack command echoing harshly within the room.
The guards, spears leveled, charged towards the pair. Carson thrust the dagger into his companion’s hand, seized the brazier by its tripod, and hurled its glowing coals upon the racing men. Several uttered sickening shrieks and fell writhing upon the floor as burning embers seared their naked chests, while the sole survivor fell upon him with a harsh battle cry.
Nefret cursed violently at the fallen men, glimpsed the girl lean against the wall, her hand pressed to full lips in tremulous apprehension. The Sorceress watched in eagerness the single warrior engage her defiant enemy.
Carson, using the brazier as a shield, deflected his foe’s thrusting spear, stepped in close and swung a head high blow that would have sent his opponent crashing to the floor, had the man not whipped up his spear and blocked the savage stroke.
Before Carson could press his attack, the guard swung his weapon like a staff, knocking the American’s legs out from under him. He crashed to the floor, stunned, unable to move as his adversary loomed above him, spear poised for the killing thrust.
Suddenly, as if by magic, a dagger pierced the warrior’s throat. The man gurgled, blood spurted from his mouth, and he collapsed upon the floor with a meaty thud. The girl’s well cast blade had found its mark.
Carson struggled to his feet, but before he could turn to his companion and offer heartfelt thanks, another tide of spears swept into the room at the Sorceress’s savage command.
This looks like the end for both of us, he thought, backing away from the unstoppable phalanx that rushed towards them.
Chapter 6: Demon in the Globe
The charging guards were only yards away when strong hands jerked Carson backwards into darkness. The door slammed shut. Spears crashed against it, this quickly followed by the warrior’s cries of surprise and rage at their prey’s swift escape.
Relief flooded Carson like heady wine as he leaned heavily against the wall. The girl had somehow managed to find the concealed mechanism, opening the door with only moments to spare.
He turned to her with a smile. “Thanks for saving my life. I’m sorry, but I don’t even know your name. By the way, mine is Matthew.”
To Carson it seemed a paltry thing to say, but it was the best he could offer in the way of gratitude at that moment.
Damn, he thought. A braying mule would have made a prettier speech. I had better offer her my clothes. Then aloud: “Here,” he said, commencing to undo his shirt buttons. “You can wear this. It’s the least I can do.”
She returned his smile, completely unselfconscious about her nudity. “I am called Mayet. Please, Matthew, we must be going. They’ll have a battering ram at this door now they know it’s here. Some time ago I discovered the existence of these passages. I do not know them all but can guess where this one leads. Follow me, and keep your clothes – they are wet and smelly.”
“I’ve a thousand questions about this city, about you and that woman who calls herself the Sorceress,” he said as her followed her slim form down the corridor, somewhat taken aback by her refusal of his offer.
The girl nodded. “These strange events began about seven days ago, I think, for it is difficult to keep track of time when there is neither day nor night, only the strange radiance of the ever glowing dome; but I digress. My father, Patah, who was mayor of Amonubis, saw a falling star one evening whilst walking in the garden. It blazed a trail across the heavens and fell to earth at the outskirts of our city.
“In the morning my father, accompanied by servants, went to investigate and found the star – it was a ball of smoky quartz about six cubits* in diameter. Thinking it a gift from the gods, he had it brought within the city and to the Temple of Ra where Menkeri, the High Priest, ordered it placed before the alter of the god.
“Many people came to see this wonder as did my stepmother, Nefret. Without the slightest warning, something like black lightning leapt from the sphere and engulfed my father’s wife in sable flames. The demon hidden within the globe entered her body and the two became one – the Sorceress.
“By calling upon its dark magic she transformed the sphere to a huge disc that now hangs suspended in the air within the temple. This strange talisman, which she calls the Time-wheel, enclosed our city beneath a magic dome that carries Amonubis through time as if it were but a boat upon the Nile.
“Of course my father and the High Priest opposed her, demanded in Pharaoh’s name she free our people, even tried to exorcise the evil spirit within her. But their efforts were in vain and the demon rose out of her, killing them without remorse.”
The girl faltered in her speech, supernatural terrors overwhelming her for a moment; but not so Carson, who realized that the globe could only be an interstellar vessel of some kind and the demon an alien entity. He knew he’d have to let Mayet think in religious terms, realizing that a rational hypothesis would be meaningless to her, not because the girl was unintelligent, but because she was from a culture that knew nothing of modern science.
“Go on,” he prompted, gently. “What happened next?”
“Nefret, who was always jealous of me, made me her slave. Slowly, I learnt the truth – a simple task for she has a boastful tongue. From what I can understand, the demon was a fugitive from heaven, forced to flee from other more powerful beings that are its enemies.
“It was cast upon the shores of earth; needed a body to house its ka** and chose Nefret by chance alone. She always was a woman of ruthless ambition, and with the merging of the demon’s ka and her own, has become more so. The Sorceress now wants to rule the world; not mine, but a future one she believes will possess luxuries of which we can’t conceive. Indeed, she considers the world her pot, and wants it down to the very bottom.***
“I plotted to avenge my father, to free my people from Nefret’s oppressive rule by destroying the Time-wheel, which is the source of magic so powerful that it can conquer the earth. Alas, my plan was discovered. You know the rest.”
“You were not afraid to oppose the Sorceress?”
“I was, but I am my father’s daughter,” was her proud reply, and from her tone he knew the answer was sufficient unto itself.
Suddenly, a hollow boom sounded, its fleeing echoes crying through the gloom.
“It’s the ram,” cried Mayet as she broke into a sprint, only to pull up suddenly with a cry of terror.
Carson collided with the girl as she leapt back like a startled cat, and immediately saw the cause of her frightened reaction – scattered upon the floor before them were at least a dozen venomous serpents, no doubt attracted by the rats and mice infesting these hidden ways.
Again, the ram sounded as if in cruel laughter at their plight. Mayet felt sick with fear – in her mind’s eye she saw the stone door, the spreading cracks that grew and grew with every mighty blow.
Carson squatted. “Quickly girl, climb upon my shoulders. I’ll carry you through.”
“It’s madness,” she cried. “The cobra’s bite is deadly.”
“No time to argue. We can’t go back.”
He felt her reluctantly climb upon him. He slowly stood, and stepped cautiously among the writhing forms. Again the ram sounded, spurring him to haste. A cobra rose, hood flaring, venting a warning hiss; Carson froze, sweat upon his brow, heart pounding. He felt Mayet tense.
Steady, he thought. Keep calm. One false step could be the end.
The serpent settled, he moved cautiously, slowly sliding through the living minefield. They were halfway across when another crash rang out, quickly followed by the sound of falling stone – the ram had breached the door, and in but a moment the racing warriors would be upon them.
* The Egyptian Royal cubit was a linear measure of 20.62 inches.
** The ka was the ancient Egyptian term for the soul.
*** Derived from the ancient Egyptian proverb “I want my pot down to its bottom.” Probable meaning: “I want all of what’s rightfully mine.”
Chapter 7: The Time-Wheel
“The Guards,” whispered Mayet, tensely. “I hear them coming, their footfalls are rousing the cobras to anger.”
Carson stared at the hissing things, their flickering tongues; their flaring hoods. Several arched angrily, swaying from side to side, staring eyes glinting at him with cold malice.
I’ve got to risk it, came his desperate thought. If I’m bitten, then at least I’ll have carried Mayet to safety.
Then aloud: “Hang on,” he cried, rousing his courage as he tightened his grip upon her ankles and leapt forward, praying the thick leather of his calf-high boots would save him from the cobra's fatal bite.
One serpent struck – its fangs stabbing Carson’s boot heel. Another lunged at his running form, and he barely dodged its lethal strike, the third, perhaps more timid than the rest, shied away. He was through.
A cry rang out; a spear flew past striking the wall, showering them with chips of stone. Quick as lightning, Mayet snatched it up mid fall. There was a sharp turn ahead and Carson put on an extra burst of speed, hoping to reach it in time, but expecting other spears to strike them down at any moment.
Mayet glanced behind them; saw the grim faced warriors, the dim light glittering on their raised weapons.
“Hurry,” she cried. “They’re much closer now, and won’t miss again.”
The lead guard was about to cast his spear, eager for the kill as were the others, and so focused were they upon the fleeing pair that none noticed the slithering shapes upon the floor. Into this nest of serpents ran the phalanx, their eager war-cries quickly turning to yells of pain and fear as the cobras, like envenomed lashes scourged their naked flesh.
Carson rounded the corner, pursued by nothing more than the desperate screams of stricken men. He staggered to a halt breathing heavily, and braced himself against the wall as Mayet slid from his shoulders.
“We must continue,” she said. “The temple where the Time-wheel floats is not far. We must destroy it, and quickly. The warriors have been delayed. Some have been bitten, no doubt, but not all. The survivors will kill the cobras with their spears and again pursue us.”
Carson nodded. “Lead on,” he gasped as he drew on reserves of strength and followed the girl at a run.
Mayet is right, he thought. Nefret must be very near the time she seeks, and who knows what terrible weapons she plans to unleash upon the unsuspecting world. We must stop her at all cost, if we can.
Onward they ran, through the maze of secret ways, their footsteps echoing through the passages, stirring up ancient dust in puffy clouds. At last Mayet called a halt to their headlong flight and Carson tottered to her side, wiping the sweat from his brow. He bent over; hands on knees, gasping air and watched the girl.
She leaned against a secret door, eye pressed to its spy hole, sweat streaked and as weary as he. Mayet, like most Egyptians was not at all self-conscious about her body: the rivulets of perspiration trickling between her firm buttocks, the beads of moisture dripping from the large dark nipples of her breasts. Carson’s eyes traced the lines of her youthful grace, which spoke to him in that universal language all men know.
“We’ve reached the temple,” said Mayet, focusing his attention on more important matters, aware of his eyes upon her, and not at all displeased. “Come, you can see the Time-wheel from here.”
Stepping to her side, Carson peered through the aperture and gasped at what he saw. Graceful columns of red granite, shaped like stylized palms, formed a cloister around an open court of polished marble paving, but it was not this classic grace that affected him. Rather, it was the weird object that floated vertically in the center of the court – a large wheel of dusky crystal at least twenty feet across.
From the device’s stationary spherical hub radiated six octahedrons that touched its rim, each one lazily turning upon its longitudinal axis. The rim, triangular in cross-section, also rotated slowly, surrounded by a corona of vermilion lightning that, like ethereal serpents, danced upon the air in flaming glory.
Never before had Carson beheld such strangeness, and he was at a loss to grasp the function of its whirling parts, which voiced weird harmonies - a subtle fugue of bass tones that played strangely upon his nerves. Clearly, the mechanism was a product of an alien science that far transcended the petty knowledge of Man.
“The temple is deserted,” said Mayet, her voice breaking his train of thought. “None but Nefret may enter now, with death by torture for all who defy her edict. This is our chance to destroy her talisman. You see the cedar paneling about the walls? We’ll set fire to that with the altar’s sacred flame. The heat from the blaze will crack the stone, and the temple will collapse crushing the Time-wheel.”
Carson thought for a moment, and then replied: “A good plan. But when the wheel is destroyed Amonubis will probably emerge into the present, and my world will then be at Nefret’s mercy. Who knows what other magical devices she may have that we know nothing of. Is there any way to hasten our flight through time to a more distant future where I’m sure the magic of that far age will be equal to the Sorceress?”
“You see the rod descending at an angle from the hub? At its end is a small wheel. Turning this to the left retards our progress through the ages, whereas turning it to the right hastens it, or so I gathered from Nefret’s ramblings.”
Carson nodded as he grasped the door’s actuating lever, knowing what he must do, but suppressing the full import of his actions, which were too disturbing to fully contemplate. Did he have the right to plunge all these people into the unknown without consulting them? He cast aside the thought, realizing there was little choice.
Suddenly he froze, for a shape appeared in the distant portal giving egress to the temple. It moved within the building, walking closer, becoming more distinct - it was the Sorceress. Then, to the ears of the hidden watchers came sounds of running feet – distant, but growing closer with every passing second.
“The guards,” gasped Mayet. “They come!”
Chapter 8: A Span of Ages
Carson swore as the sounds of pursuit drew alarmingly near – at any moment the warriors would fall upon them like raging lions.
“Nefret is before us, the guards behind,” came his desperate whisper as he turned to the worried girl. “But even so, we’re going in. Quickly, give me the spear. This is what you must do …”
The Sorceress gazed with elation upon the Time-wheel, a strange mixture of human and alien thoughts coursing through her mind. She was certain her goal was fast approaching – her probing of the stranger’s mind had revealed some knowledge before he had forced her out.
As she grasped the device’s control knob, the human part of Nefret fumed silently at the memory of his defiance. No matter, what was one man? With the awesome power that was now hers to command the whole world would soon cower before her like a whipped cur before its master.
Suddenly, a flash of movement caught her attention. She turned, and her eyes widened in astonishment.
Carson sprinted towards the Sorceress; his spear leveled for the kill. Then he faltered in his charge as her mind struck his own with stabbing psychic rays. The American staggered for a moment. Nefret grinned. Carson steeled his mind and courage with a defiant howl. He leapt forward once more, fighting off the insidious power that, like some nightmarish vampire, sought to sap his strength.
Nefret uttered a screeching curse - she had not yet accumulated a sufficient charge of mental force. The Sorceress snatched a dagger from her girdle as the American came at her in a bullish rush. Leaping aside, she tripped Carson as he hurtled passed. He crashed sprawling to the floor. His spear skidded away. The mad eyed woman leapt upon him, her slim blade plunging towards his unprotected back.
Mayet ran for the Time-wheel. The girl was knifed by fear for Carson’s safety as she saw him roll aside, barely avoiding the Sorceress’s flashing dagger. She grasped the device’s control knob then wavered; knowing she stood upon the brink of the unknown, and was about to leap across a span of ages to what strange land not even the gods themselves might know, forever cut off from all familiarity.
The Guards burst through the secret door and charged towards Mayet. Their sudden appearance spurred her to action, and she spun the knob to its utmost setting. The Time-wheel accelerated to a blur of motion, its crimson lightning leaping in flaring arcs. The warriors skidded to a halt, milled about in fearful hesitation at the awesome spectacle and the sudden realization they were within the forbidden temple.
Carson gripped Nefret’s wrists. He fought desperately to stave off the deadly blade that sought his life. His brawny arms were trembling under the unnatural strength of the Sorceress’s muscles. Mayet ran towards the struggling pair. She grabbed Nefret by the hair; hauled her off, threw her to the floor and pressed one knee into the struggling woman’s back whilst maintaining a painful grip upon her tresses.
Seeing their mistress in peril and fearing her wrath, the guards rushed forward, shouting wildly. The savage foe were almost upon them when Carson snatched up the Sorceress’s dagger and quickly pressed it to her throat.
“Stop,” he cried. “Or your mistress dies.” The charging warriors faltered at his harsh command; then to Nefret: “Call off your dogs, woman, and quickly or you’ll feel the dagger’s bite.”
The Sorceress stared at Carson, her dark eyes alive with hatred and defiance, mouth set in a thin hard line. Grimly, he pressed the blade to her throat, drawing blood.
Common sense prevailed: “Go,” she cried. “Leave us. Quickly, do as I say.”
Mayet spoke: “We have defeated the Sorceress. We are mightier than Nefret’s magic. Her rule is ended. Spread this joyous news among the people.”
The warriors retreated, muttering among themselves, casting glances over their shoulders, some hopeful, others fearful and uncertain of what lay ahead.
Carson turned his eyes from the departing guards, relieved they hadn’t forced his hand. He looked at the Sorceress. She lay quietly in Mayet’s grip, but her face was a hard mask of anger and her eyes regarded him with venom. Logic told him he should cut her throat. It was probably the safest thing to do, but as he wasn’t a ruthless killer, he turned to Mayet, saying: “I’ll hold Nefret prisoner, you know what to do.”
The girl nodded as they carefully changed places. She snatched up the fallen spear and ran to the altar – a long rectangular block of polished granite whose hollow interior held at least a hundred gallons of scented oil that fed the sacred flame flaring from a bronze bowel in its center.
Circling to the altar’s rear, Mayet saw the spigot that drained the oil from its chamber. Using the butt of her weapon, she broke off the valve with a single blow, ignited the spear’s butt with the sacred flame, and thrust the burning weapon into the jet of gushing oil. The volatile liquid burst into roaring flames, splattering the wall with burning fuel that ignited the cedar panels, and in but seconds clothed them in a tapestry of leaping fire.
Nefret looked on, her seeming passivity concealing the powerful charge of mental energy she had been slowly generating. Suddenly, she thrust out a needle of psychic force that lanced Carson’s brain. He cried out, the dagger dropping from nerveless fingers as he collapsed unconscious to the floor.
Mayet turned. She saw Carson lying helpless upon the ground and the Sorceress about to cut his throat. The girl shouted, hurled her spear. Nefret was forced to leap aside. With a curse she flung her dagger at the charging girl. Mayet dodged the flying blade, which missed her by an inch, then flung herself upon the Sorceress. Both fell upon the floor. Nefret rolled on top of Mayet. Her savage hands locked about the younger woman’s throat. The girl clawed frantically at the strangling fingers of her ruthless adversary.
The flames leapt higher. Sparks fell in an incandescent rain, showering Carson with burning embers. Searing pain roused the man. Gasping, he looked up; saw the roof timbers infolded in crawling fire and dark smoke roiling in ominous clouds upon the ceiling.
Mayet lay in breathless agony, straddled by Nefret whose strangling grip drew death’s dark curtain across her vision. The Sorceress gazed upon her feebly writhing victim, eyes alive with gleeful vengeance; the alien presence within hungering for the girl’s life force. It rose up - a writhing mass of dark shadows that seemed to surge across vast gulfs, as if not fully within our own reality.
Nefret’s black aura flamed. It put forth tendrils of ebon force that coiled intimately about Mayet’s body, probing with a ravenous desire that blotted out all else. Mayet’s body arched convulsively. Her eyes rolled back. Nefret laughed a cruel triumphant laugh. But the Sorceress’ dark conquest was suddenly snatched away when a blocky fist smashed against her skull. She reeled; her aura collapsed in upon itself. The woman plunged into unconsciousness’ ebon depths, dragging down the dark being that was entangled with her fading mind.
Carson quickly slung Mayet’s limp form across his broad shoulders, fear clawing at him as he looked wildly about. Walls and ceiling were wrapped in flames, and choking smoke filled the air with constricting vapors. An ominous creaking warned him that the roof was near to collapse, its timbers weakened by the hungry flames.
To hell with the Sorceress, he thought, running for the exit as a tide of blazing oil threatened to cut off escape. I’ll be lucky if I can save the girl and myself.
A fit of coughing made him stumble, Mayet’s weight slowing him further. Barely regaining his balance, Carson mustered his fading strength and sprinted passed the fiery liquid just as flaming beams began to fall, exploding upon the floor in a spray of sparks that struck like burning arrows.
The temple collapsed in a roar of stone. The earth shook with the thunderous concussion that spewed forth smoke, dust and glowing embers in a surging cloud that shrouded the scene within the churning tumult of its dark efflux…
Long minutes passed. All was silent, deathly still. A cool breeze stirred, slowly dissipating the cloak of vapors with its gentle breath. Two figures lay revealed. Carson coughed, rolled off Mayet’s body. The girl opened her eyes; then gasped when she beheld the heavens.
“Look,” she cried. “The sky is blue once more, the magic dome has vanished.”
They both stood shakily, each supporting the other, and gazed upon the smoldering ruin of the collapsed temple. Beyond the smoking rubble lay a strange landscape, the butte giving a panoramic view of the surrounding vista. It was not harsh desert that the startled couple gazed upon, but lush purple grassland broken by a mighty river and its tributaries that flowed to the sparkling sea, perhaps two miles away.
The countryside was empty of Man - only distant herds of strange animals populated this unknown wilderness of the future, and Carson grew weak with the full realization that his own age was now forever lost in the mists of time. How far had they come, a million years or more perhaps? Only a great span of eons could have changed the landscape so dramatically.
And where were the people of this distant age? Surely their advanced science would have detected the appearance of this city. But the sky remained empty of flying machines. Only birds, or something like them ruled the air, and it came to Carson forcefully that humanity was no more, rendered dust by who knows what calamity in the distant past. He felt shaken to the very core.
Mayet looked at him, concern in her eyes. “I feel it too – the earth knows not the tread of men. Take courage though,” she said, turning to the crowd that had joined them, “for we are not alone.”
The people, mostly priests and scribes from the adjoining temple complex that remained undamaged, stood about, uncertain, casting fearful glances at the ruined building, half expecting the Sorceress to emerge from the smoldering rubble. Then, after a long moment, the eyes of the throng turned expectantly upon Carson and the girl.
Mayet stepped forward, addressed them: “The Sorceress is dead, but her magic has brought us to this new land. It is not Egypt, true, but then again it is not so strange that we cannot prosper here.”
Carson watched, feeling somewhat useless as the girl gave orders which sent the priests and scribes into the city to organize the digging of irrigation canals, the planting of crops and all the other things that were necessary for survival in this new world.
She stood there without fear or shame, and in her lithe beauty he suddenly saw hope, and the prospect of new beginnings that drove away his melancholy reflections on Man’s passing. Carson stepped to her side, and hesitantly placed his arm about her waist. She smiled shyly at him, eyes glancing like a doe, moved closer, and together they gazed with confidence upon their new world.
THE END