Area 51: Legend

by Robert Doherty

  Donnchadh smiled. “Humans. We are very innovative. I don’t know how these stones were brought here or stood upright, but they did it. The ones we’ve come to help.”

  Gwalcmai frowned. “They are just stones.”

  Donnchadh slapped her hand against the stone they had just come out of. “How did you get this here?”

  “You know—”

  “How did we get these here?” she pressed.

  “We used the ship and the tractor beam and—”

  “Do they have ships and tractor beams?”

  “No. I don’t think they could,” Gwalcmai amended. “Not enough time has passed.”

  “So how did they get them here?”

  Gwalcmai shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Neither do I,” Donnchadh said. “But they did. I take great hope from that.” She slapped Gwalcmai on the shoulder. “Let’s find out what’s changed.”

  Avalon was different also. There was a rudimentary stone wall around the entrance stone on top of the tor. There was also another wall, about four feet high and loosely mortared, running around the outer perimeter of the tor’s top. Donnchadh placed her medallion in the correct place and the stone on top of Avalon slid aside. She stood still for several seconds, listening. She smiled when she heard footsteps echoing up the stairwell. A glow appeared, coming closer.

  “Who are you?” the man holding the torch demanded, a rusty sword held in one shaking hand. He was old and stooped. All his teeth were missing and his left eye twitched uncontrollably.

  Donnchadh held up her medallion. “I am of the Wedjat.”

  The man’s eyes opened wide. “That is the medallion of the head of the order. But”—he fumbled for words—“it is said the head of our order disappeared many, many years ago.”

  “My name is Donnchadh. And this is Gwalcmai,” she added, indicating her partner.

  “But that is the name of the founders. Of the leaders of the First Gathering.”

  “Have there been other Gatherings?” Donnchadh asked. The second one had been sparsely attended, with only four of the original Wedjat and three offspring representing their fathers. Their information had been as scant as the representation. That had led to Donnchadh’s and Gwalcmai’s decision to go back to Stonehenge and deep sleep for an extended period of time.

  The man was confused and Donnchadh realized she had gone too fast with him. She lowered the medallion. “And your name is?”

  “I am Brynn, the Wedjat of Avalon.”

  Donnchadh smiled. “As was named the first Wedjat of Avalon. And as we are named after the leaders of the First Gathering.”

  Brynn tried to process this. While he was working it over, Gwalcmai stepped forward. “May we come in? The rain is cold.”

  “Yes, yes,” Brynn said. “Come, come. I do not have much to offer you,” he warned.

  They entered, shutting the door behind them. They followed Brynn down the stairs until they came to the landing. He opened the door with his own medallion and they entered the crystal cavern. They went along the side to the next tunnel and followed it to the chamber at the end.

  Things were different there. A wooden rack was along one wall and it was full of rolled-up papers. A large desk sat in the center of the room with a stool in front of it. Writing implements were on the desk along with scrolls of blank parchment. There was a small grille providing scant air and copious dark smoke that was trying to find its way out the small hole in the back of the rooms. The place smelled primarily of smoke with an underlying staleness.

  Brynn indicated they should sit on a wooden cot covered with a threadbare blanket. “Please.”

  Donnchadh sat down to please the old man, but Gwalcmai prowled about the chamber.

  “Do you have a report to make?” Brynn asked.

  “Others come here to render reports?” Donnchadh asked.

  “Not many,” Brynn said. “Not many. Three in my lifetime. Two were sons sent by their fathers on the long journey to see this place where it all began. But it is difficult to travel and the world is large. I’ve also received twelve written reports over the years that come via traders and others. Not many, according to my father, who told me of his father’s time here. And of the times before then.”

  “The Airlia?” Gwalcmai brusquely asked.

  “They sleep still,” Brynn said. “Except in Egypt.”

  “Where is this place called Egypt?” Gwalcmai pressed.

  “Along the large river far to the south and east on the Inner Sea,” Brynn said. He went to the rack and pulled out a scroll, which he then unrolled on the desktop. Donnchadh got up and joined Gwalcmai, looking down at the paper. It was a detailed map, on which they could recognize the features from their original sketches from orbit.

  Brynn tapped a spot. “Here.” Gwalcmai recognized the place. He had sent a Watcher there at the First Gathering.

  Brynn’s finger ran along a thin black line. “This river, which the people there call the Nile. Right here”—the finger stopped—“is Giza. The Airlia rule there. Not seen much on the surface, to be truthful. But occasionally on major holidays they appear. So says the latest report from the line of Kaji, the Wedjat of Giza.” He went to the rack and pulled out another scroll.

  Donnchadh looked at Gwalcmai. What they had established over two thousand years ago was still functioning, albeit at a rudimentary and sketchy level. It was a testament to their planning, but even more so to the human spirit. Brynn opened the scroll. Donnchadh recognized most of the writing—the Airlia High Rune language, but some of it was different, transformed by the passage of time.

  She scanned the document. The Wedjat of Giza who hadwritten this, named Kajim, reported that the Black Sphinx graced a deep depression in the Giza Plateau—at least they knew where the Hall of Records had been sent. Which most likely meant the Ark containing the Grail was ensconced inside.

  The Grail. Donnchadh’s hand shook as she smoothed out the parchment. Her mind flashed back to the mothership on her planet and her desperate leap to try to catch the Grail before the Airlia dropped it into the engine’s power stream.

  She read further. The Roads of Rostau. The name sounded Airlian. According to Kajim these were a warren of tunnels and chambers carved into the rock under the Giza Plateau. Donnchadh knew how much the Airlia liked to burrow into a planet. Whether it was because that’s how things were on their native planet or for protection from attack, she had no idea.

  That was all background in the report, validating what previous reports from the Giza Wedjat had indicated. But things were changing there, according to Kajim. She could sense both Brynn and Gwalcmai waiting as she read, but she took her time.

  The Airlia appeared on the surface infrequently, according to Kajim, less and less each year. There were rumors that they were growing older, which confused the people; how could Gods grow older?

  There were also rumors of dark perversions being perpetrated in chambers along the Roads of Rostau. Kajim had gone in to investigate, using the Airlia ring that his ancestor had been given at the First Gathering and had been passed down through the ages to him. Donnchadh tried to remember which of the twenty-four supplicants had been Kaji, but she drew a blank. It was so long ago, and there had been so many.

  Kajim’s reports were dry and factual, obviously written bya man not given to flights of imagination. Donnchadh’s finger ran along the High Runes as she read:

  There are three chambers—cells—along the fourth Road of Rostau, as mapped by the third Wedjat of my order, who was the first to penetrate the roads. It is a road that comes to an end just past these cells—I tried all the walls for a secretkey place and found none. In each cell are two of the black tubes. In each tube rests a pitiful creature—half-human, half-Airlia. The bastard offspring of the Airlia males and human consorts.

  They are used for their blood. Each month, at the full moon, the high priests take the blood of supplicants from veins in their arms and gather it into metal flasks. These flasks are th
en taken into the chamber and fed to the six prisoners held there. Then the Airlia come and take the blood of the six.

  Why this is done, I do not know.

  There is a door to the Hall of Records in the pedestal beneaththe statue of Horus between the paws of the Sphinx. I have gone inside four times. There is also a thing that guards the tunnels. A golden orb, less than a meter in width, with black arms coming out in all directions, patrols the Roads. If one is perfectly still and covers oneself with a cloak, it will not discover you. I lost my oldest son to this thing and barely escaped with my life during the first encounterwith it.

  Here is the way to the chamber where these poor creaturesare being held.

  Donnchadh felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise as she read. She knew why the Airlia had done this. They had discovered several places like this on their own planet—in the few Airlia outposts they managed to capture before they weredestroyed. Also Jobb had reported this practice had continued on Atlantis. The half-breeds were being used for pleasure—the human blood sustained the half-breeds’ half-human/half-Airlia blood. Then the Airlia drained the half-breed blood in turn. Between the Airlia virus in the blood and the sleep of the black coffins, those trapped inside could live a very long and terrible existence.

  She memorized the route, then took the weights off the corners of the scroll and rolled it up, absently handing it to Brynn, who returned it to its place as she considered what she had just read. Bad memories pressed at her mind, but she tried to keep them at bay.

  “What other recent reports do you have?” Gwalcmai asked.

  Brynn gathered a handful of scrolls and held them out.

  “Donnchadh?” Gwalcmai said, startling her out of her reverie. She took the scrolls and put them on the desk. She read quickly, sometimes struggling with the changes to the High Rune writing caused by some Watchers’ years of isolation and the inevitable degradation of the language as it passed through generations.

  “What do you have?” Gwalcmai asked after several minutes, showing no inclination to read the material himself.

  “The Airlia who ruled in Atlantis was named Aspasia—”

  “We knew that,” Gwalcmai cut in.

  Donnchadh looked up at him and he immediately quieted.

  “The Airlia who came to find out why Aspasia was out of contact for so long was named Artad. They decided on a truce of which the destruction of Atlantis was part and of which we are apparently still in the midst. One of the Wedjat has found another Airlia base in a distant location in a land called China.” She checked the map and pointed. “Locatedhere. The Airlia built a large, hollow mountain and are hidden inside.”

  “Which Airlia?” Gwalcmai asked. “Which side?”

  Donnchadh shrugged. “There’s no telling.” She read the other scrolls in silence, then rolled them up and handed them to Brynn, who replaced them on the shelf. “There are reports of Human-Airlia clones—called the Ones Who Wait. And of Guides and high priests in various places. It appears the Airlia are continuing the Great Civil War through proxies.”

  “What do we do now?” Gwalcmai asked, always more interested in the course of action rather than the intelligence that led to determining one.

  Donnchadh ignored him for the moment. She put a hand on the old man’s shoulder. He felt frail beneath her palm. “Do you have an heir to follow in your place?”

  Brynn nodded. “My son lives in the village with his mother, but I have taught him as much as I know—as much as my father taught me. He will be ready to take my place when the time comes.”

  “You have done well, Brynn of the Wedjat,” Donnchadh said.

  The old man gave a toothless smile. “It is not easy. Most in the village fear the tor. But there are a few who think there must be great treasure hidden here. Four times someone has tried to break in, but they were not able to pass the stone door. I must be careful, though, whenever I open it. My son brings me supplies at set times, and only in the darkness.”

  “You perform an important duty,” Donnchadh said, “the fruition of which you will most likely not see in your lifetime, but your descendants will.”

  We’re going to Egypt,” Donnchadh informed Gwalcmai as he pulled on the oars, propelling the small reed boat across the gap of water separating Avalon from the surrounding land. They had left Brynn on the top of the tor, the old man’s eyes full of tears at having been visited by what he considered other Wedjat and Donnchadh’s kind words.

  “We are not powerful enough to try to get the Grail,” Gwalcmai said. “Opening the Hall of Records will undoubtedly alert a guardian, which will bring the Airlia. They will—”

  Donnchadh held up a hand, silencing her partner. “I do not propose we try to get the Grail. I propose we cause trouble for the Airlia.”

  Gwalcmai smiled, sensing the devilment in his wife. “And how will we do that?”

  “We unleash those who hate the Airlia as much as we do.”

  “And those are?”

  “The Undead that the Airlia use for their enjoyment.”

  The journey to Egypt was difficult. It appeared that sea-faring had degraded from the time of Atlantis. They found no sailors willing to go out of sight of land. They were able to cross the channel separating their island from the continent at its narrowest point, where trade vessels plied back and forth only in the best of weather, when they were able to see across to the other side. From there they took the long sea journey around the continent to the west, never getting more than a kilometer from the coastline and stopping every evening on the shore. Several times they were stuck for days on end while storms raged and the sailors refused to put to sea. Even a thick fog would delay travel until the mist had cleared. The sailors feared the water and prayed to various sea gods for fortunate winds and their safety.

  There was a little mention of the Airlia or Atlantis. Two thousand years had dimmed the past. Living was hard and the focus was on the here and now. Gwalcmai and Donnchadh decided that there had been little technological advancement—indeed, as Atlantis and the Airlia seemed to have faded into legend, so did any advancements that had trickled down to the humans. The people on Earth were essentially starting from scratch. Building their civilization back to even a basic level promised to be a very long and laborious process. The largest village they saw on their way around Europe boasted barely two hundred souls. In some places, the people were ignorant of such technological basics as the wheel.

  The going was a little better once they reached the Mediterranean. The humans along the Inner Sea seemed a bit more advanced than those they had encountered so far. They traveled along the southern coast of what would some day be Spain and France, then down along the Italian peninsula and around it. Across to what would be called Greece, along Turkey, then the eastern side of the Inner Sea until finally they reached the mouth of the Nile. The entire journey took two years, during which time Donnchadh and Gwalcmai constantly observed the humans they met. They saw sparks of innovation here and there, but overall they both agreed that it would be many thousands of years before mankind got to a point where a challenge to the sleeping Airlia could even be considered.

  After leaving the ship, they crossed the borders of Egypt. The two immediately saw that things were very different there. Passing a military post near the mouth of the Nile, they saw a Guide in command of the soldiers manning the fort. The soldiers’ weapons were better than any they had seen so far and everything was much more organized.

  They traveled at night, avoiding contact with locals.They made it to Giza late one night and camped out in a laborers’ camp along the river. They remained there several weeks, gathering information. The city just north of Giza, Cairo, contained over ten thousand people. And in the camps around the plateau itself, there were thousands of workers supplementing the core cadre of high priests and Guides.

  They learned that there was indeed still a Wedjat at Giza—after all, someone had filed the report. The Wedjat was named Kajilil and he lived in a small hut
with his family among the stonemasons, who were at work on building one of the many temples that dotted the plateau. But Donnchadh had no desire to meet him as she was planning to violate the very code that would have ensured her welcome.

  The Black Sphinx crouched in its depression, obviously created by technology far beyond what humans possessed. Its eyes glittered as if possessed by a malevolent intelligence. Donnchadh felt an uncontrollable shiver each time she gazed upon the Hall of Records. It held both a promise and a threat—and often she wasn’t sure which she considered to be the stronger of the two.

  After a month in the area, they finally found the opportunity they were looking for: There was to be a celebration of the harvest during a night of the full moon, and it was said that some of the Airlia would most likely appear that night. It was time to do what they had come here for.

  As darkness set, Gwalcmai and Donnchadh were hidden among a jumble of building stones on the edge of the Sphinx pit. They had arrived there early in the morning and now waited until the sun was well down in the west. Then they moved.

  It quickly became clear that the high priests relied primarily on fear for security. There were a handful of Guides around the Sphinx depression, but Gwalcmai and Donnchadh were able to avoid them and make their way to the small open space between the paws of the Sphinx. A statue stood there, on a six-foot-high pedestal. Using her medallion, Donnchadh opened the door in the pedestal and they entered the Roads of Rostau.

  Following the directions she had memorized from the Wedjat reports, Donnchadh led the way. The tunnels were dimly lit by glowing strips along the ceiling. The walls were perfectly cut, the result of Airlia technology that they themselves had used on occasion.

  Donnchadh paused when Gwalcmai placed a hand on her arm. They both listened. There was a clicking noise, and it was coming closer. They both huddled against the floor on the side of the tunnel and drew their cloaks over their bodies. Peeking through a gap in her cloak, Donnchadh saw the creature that the Wedjat had described come toward them. It paused for a long time less than three meters away, waiting. The tips of the black arms glittered, razor-sharp points in the dim light.