by Tom Hunter
“Although the Aetherius Society is much renowned in certain circles, it is also potentially too well known for our purposes. However, I strongly suspect that there may well be those who have decided they would prefer to work undetected by the world, so trained with the Society before splitting off to form their own Order. If that is the case and I am correct, then those are the people who will have the kind of expertise we require. Our next step is to seek them out and find someone sympathetic to our cause who has the knowledge we need to investigate the relic’s psychic abilities.”
“Understood.” Gord nodded sharply. “I’ll immediately send word for our best agents to go hunting.”
“Get to it.” Pin waved at Gord to dismiss him. As the big man hurried in the direction of the comms room, Pin gazed out across the sea, running over in his mind everything that he’d achieved so far and everything he had yet to do. A less cautious man would rush to wear the headdress and discover first-hand for himself what St. Augustine had discovered. Pin was nothing if not circumspect, but at the same time, he had at his fingertips a power unlike any the world had ever seen.
If the headdress really worked, he held the future of the world in his hands. It really was quite extraordinary.
“How fortunate that I am utterly devoted to my country,” Pin muttered to himself. There was no denying the small temptation of keeping the relic for himself, but he’d sworn an oath to give his all to the Bruard, and Pin was nothing if not a man of his word.
He just hoped that the Bruard would reward him richly, as he deserved.
Eight
Samuel stepped down from the bunk after trying and failing yet again to get in a good position to see out of the single tiny window built high into the wall of their cell. The sun had long since set, and the camp was lit by the occasional flaming torch scattered about the place, making it even harder for Samuel to learn anything of value. He could, however, tell that the camp was well guarded, with regular patrols making their way around the perimeter.
Gentle snores came from one corner of the room where Waleed and Basile had once again fallen asleep, leaning against each other. Shafira had taken the only other bed, using Josh’s jacket as a blanket, where the pilot had draped it over her in her sleep before leaning against the bed to get as comfortable as possible. Years of flying solo meant that he’d grown accustomed to sleeping sitting up when the autopilot was engaged, grabbing rest whenever he could. He twitched occasionally as he dreamed.
Samuel wished that he found it as easy as his companions to relax. He had far too many questions running through his mind. Could he have handled things differently with Pin? Was there anything else he could have done to keep them out of a jail cell? Was there any chance of escape? If he managed to break out, would he be able to steal a vehicle to get back to the dig or even the Ministry?
Or were they totally without hope? Had he let down his friends in the worst possible way?
Footsteps sounded outside the cell door, the rattle of keys breaking into Samuel’s musings. He looked up to see Akhenaton standing in the open doorway.
“What are you doing here?” asked Samuel. “Come to gloat?”
Akhenaton ignored the question, quietly locking the door behind him before coming to sit next to Samuel.
“I’m surprised you’re not sleeping,” he remarked. “After everything we’ve been through, you must be exhausted.”
“It’s a bit difficult to get comfortable in a cramped prison cell,” Samuel pointed out. “Besides, somebody has to come up with a plan to keep everyone safe if you can’t convince your Order that we’re not a threat.”
“I understand,” nodded Akhenaton. “In your position, I wouldn’t want to trust my fate to someone else’s hands either. I’m sorry for how you’re being treated. I knew that there was a possibility of you being imprisoned if we came here, but I had hoped that I’d be able to convince the High Marshal that there was no need. I’m sorry that I’m not more eloquent and you’re suffering as a result of my inadequacies.”
“Quit apologizing,” Samuel told him. “It sounds weird when you’re holding a grudge about my knocking you out in the cave.”
“Maybe I’ve been having second thoughts,” shrugged Akhenaton. “Things are never as black and white as they may appear. I’ve always been told that it is better to destroy a relic than have it fall into the hands of the enemy, but the more time I spend with you, the more I can see that this might not always be the right course of action. We have already lost so much ancient wisdom. How much more have we lost because of overzealous individuals believing that they had the right to determine what should happen to an artifact? Perhaps a knee jerk reaction is not the best way forward. Nobody knows the full extent of the power of St. Augustine’s headdress. For all we know, its psychic abilities could be harnessed for good, allowing us to cure certain mental disorders. Power can be used for both good and evil, after all. It is merely a tool. It is the hands of who wields it that determines its effect. Is it really right that we deny the world the possibility of such an incredible gift, out of fear?”
“I don’t know.” Samuel shook his head. “Sometimes there aren’t any right or wrong answers; just the decision that we think was right at the time. You thought we should destroy the headdress, and I thought we should preserve it, and you got hurt in the process. I should never have hit you like that. I did the wrong thing for the right reasons.”
“I’m beginning to think that you’re not the only one to do that,” Akhenaton told him. “We live a very isolated life in the Order. I’m wondering whether it has been wise to closet ourselves away from the world as much as we have. Times have changed. Perhaps the Order needs to change with them if we are to fulfil our purpose.”
“If I knew more about your Order, then I could tell you whether I agree with you,” Samuel said. “But I know better than to pry. However, I can’t believe that you’ve come here in the middle of the night to discuss the philosophy of your Order with me. So why don’t you tell me why you’re here, and we can both try and catch some zees?”
“Actually, that’s exactly why I’m here,” Akhenaton revealed. “The High Marshal will be making his decision tomorrow on what will happen to you all and from what he’s said so far, it’s not looking good. You need to make an exceptionally good impression on him if you’re going to survive the encounter.”
“I’ll make sure to be on my best behavior,” Samuel promised.
“You’ll need to do more than that,” Akhenaton advised.
“Like what?”
“As I’ve always made it clear, certain laws prohibit me from going into specific detail about my Order,” Akhenaton explained. “But if you can demonstrate an appropriate level of reverence and understanding of our mission, then perhaps the High Marshal will agree that it is more helpful to our cause to let you live than kill you to keep our secrets.”
“So basically I have to show that I will respect your privacy by not respecting your privacy?” Samuel scoffed. “That sounds easy enough.”
“It is a fine balancing act,” Akhenaton agreed. “But if you can show the right respect for my Order, it will help your chances of survival. I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ve spent the past few hours thinking of the best way forward for you and this is the only way that I can come up with that has any chance of saving you all.”
“How do you suggest I do that?”
“I can’t volunteer information directly,” Akhenaton told him. “But I can answer questions to a certain extent. You need to interview me about my Order and hopefully you’ll gain enough knowledge to demonstrate to the High Marshal your active interest in joining our ranks.”
“Joining you?” Samuel snorted with laughter, shaking his head. “This gets better and better. I have absolutely no interest in joining your Order. Why would anyone want to get stuck in the middle of the desert with a bunch of self-important introverts?”
“And believe me, I have no interest in you joining us,” count
ered Akhenaton. “But that’s something we can deal with later. For now, the most important thing is to ensure you and your friends survive to see another night. If you care about your companions, you need to do this for them.”
Samuel sighed deeply, gazing at Akhenaton as he considered his suggestion.
“You’re right,” he finally agreed. “Let’s do this thing. Let’s start with you telling me about the exact purpose of your Order.”
Nine
The skies on the horizon took on an orange tint as the sun started to rise, chasing away the chill of the desert night. Akhenaton quietly locked the door to the archaeologists’ cell behind him as he snuck away, timing it carefully to avoid the next guard patrol.
Samuel yawned widely, sinking down onto his bunk in the hope of getting at least a small nap before the others woke up. It had been a long night, and there had been a lot to take in and remember. He yawned again, as he closed his eyes. He was utterly exhausted, but still too wired to sleep. It was going to take a while for him to drift off, so he started going over in his mind all the things Akhenaton had told him, hoping that the extra effort would be enough to convince his body that it really was time to rest.
“My neck!” complained Waleed, as he stretched out his arms and back, turning his head from side to side to try and clear out the aches and pains from sleeping on the floor all night.
“Thanks for waking me up,” complained Basile, groggily.
Samuel shook his head, trying to hide his irritation as Basile stood up and came to sit on the edge of his bunk. Shafira sat up, handing Josh back his jacket as he pulled himself up from the ground.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she reprimanded. “I had the bunk. You should have kept yourself warm.”
“Your dad would never forgive me if he thought I hadn’t looked after you,” Josh reminded her. “You’re my responsibility right now. And I don’t care how scary this Order is, they’ve got nothing on your father when he’s in full rant mode.”
Shafira chuckled, her sad smile betraying her fears about whether she’d ever see her family again.
“What about you, Samuel?” she asked. “Did you sleep all right? If you don’t mind my saying, you look like hell.”
“That’s because I didn’t sleep at all,” Samuel replied.
“Says the man who had an entire bunk to himself,” grumbled Waleed. “If you weren’t going to use it, you should have let someone who would have appreciated it have it.”
“Oh, I appreciated it all right. But I didn’t get a chance to rest,” Samuel told him. “I’ve been talking to Akhenaton all night.”
“That rat?” spat Waleed. “How can you even think of talking to that traitor?”
“Tone it down,” Basile advised. “If Samuel thought Akhenaton had something worth listening to, then it must have been an important discussion.” He turned to Samuel, hope in his eyes. “Please tell me it was an important discussion?”
“Oh yes,” Samuel nodded. “It’s given me some hope, but since I didn’t get any shut-eye, I’m rather exhausted. I just hope that I can remember everything.”
“Why?” asked Shafira, but before Samuel could answer there was a rattle of keys at the door. It opened, to reveal a team of guards standing outside, crossbows aimed at the prisoners.
Josh and Samuel exchanged a glance, Josh making a subtle motion with his head that Samuel recognized from their bar brawling days. He shook his head slightly in return to let Josh know that it wasn’t worth the risk, as the guards parted to let a man walk through.
Unlike the camouflaged robes that other members of the Order wore, his robe was a rich purple tied with a dark brown sash. His hood concealed his features except for his long, gray beard that reached halfway down his chest. He reached up to lower the hood, revealing gray and white hair tied back in a topknot and eyes that were an unusual shade of light green with amber flecks.
“I am High Marshal Rimon Khadra,” he announced. “Who among you will speak on your behalf?”
Instinctively, the group all turned to Samuel, who closed his eyes and suppressed a yawn.
“Can you handle this?” asked Basile in concern. “You’re utterly exhausted. I can talk to him if you like. I may not have your leadership skills, but I’ve been known to be fairly diplomatic in my time.”
“No.” Samuel’s tone was firm as he shook his head. “You’re going to have to trust me on this one. I need to speak to him.”
“If you say so,” Basile shrugged. “You know I always trust you.”
“Are you kidding?” broke in Josh. “Samuel, I know that you’ve got a way of talking yourself out of a tight spot, but this is life and death here, and it’s not just your life on the line. Get this wrong and we’re all dead. Let Basile take this one. At least he’s had more than five minutes’ sleep.”
“Josh is right,” agreed Waleed. “Basile should speak. Besides, who appointed you leader?”
“The Ministry?” Shafira suggested, but Waleed ignored her.
“You’ve been lucky that we were there to pull you out of the cave,” Waleed raged. “How many times have you got yourself into trouble and relied on others to rescue you? Basile here is much more dependable than you are. It is time you step back and stop letting your ego lead you into danger.”
“Silence!” barked the High Marshal, the command making it clear that he would entertain no nonsense. “You.” He pointed to Shafira. “You are the only native of this land. As such, it is your place to be the feather that tips the scale one way or the other.”
Shafira looked from Basile to Samuel then back again, biting her lip in indecision, noting Basile’s furrowed brow and Samuel’s calm demeanor.
“Trust me,” mouthed Samuel.
“Samuel is our leader. He should be the one to speak for us,” Shafira decided at last.
Samuel smiled slightly in thanks at her, as two guards stepped forward to escort him from the cell. Gesturing to the others with their crossbows to stay back, as soon as Samuel and the guards were out of the room, the door was locked, trapping the rest of the group once more.
Josh rushed forward, banging on the door. “Don’t screw up, Samuel!” he yelled. “Whatever mad scheme you’re planning, you hold all our lives in your hands. I’ll never forgive you if you get us all killed!”
Ten
As the guards frog-marched Samuel through the encampment, the archaeologist in him couldn’t stop observing the Order’s way of life. It was a world apart from the hustle and bustle of modern Cairo, or even the Egyptian farming communities he’d visited. Everywhere he looked, people were hard at work. Everyone moved with purpose.
The guards took him past the garage complex, where he glimpsed technicians working on the various vehicles stationed there. From what Samuel could see, their striders were older models, clearly in need of regular maintenance to keep them running given the size of the team tasked with caring for them.
Moving on, Samuel could make out a blacksmith’s forge in another shelter, the familiar clang of metal on metal echoing through the camp as the smiths worked on lethal, but antiquated, weapons. Nearby, fletchers worked on bolts for the crossbows the Order used. It was a peculiar mix of old and new, ancient and modern. If it wasn’t for the vehicles, it could almost be mistaken for an Amish community in the desert; yet there were signs that the Order had taken onboard new innovations where necessary, creating a society that was unique–even without taking into account Akhenaton’s revelations.
Up ahead, an ornate building loomed, larger than the surrounding constructions. It soon became clear that this was their destination and as the doors opened to allow access, Samuel saw that they were going into a church, intricately decorated with mosaics, murals and stained glass. As he walked in, Samuel’s pace slowed as he gazed around the building. Pews lined either side of the chamber, leading to an altar at the other end of the room. Samuel noted that there were people sitting in the front row, presumably there to observe whatever it was that was
about to occur.
Mounted high on the wall above the altar was a carving of Jesus on the cross, the style suggesting that this was an early statue, possibly even dating back to when Christianity first came to the region. Samuel’s fingers itched with the desire to take a sample to determine its age. To the side of the altar was another statue, potentially carved by the same sculptor, this one bearing a striking resemblance to the figure that had been found in the catacombs watching over the papal headdress. Samuel concluded that this must be St. Augustine of Hippo, patron saint of Akhenaton’s Order.
A stabbing pain in the back reminded him that he was still under arrest, as a guard jabbed at him to keep moving. When Samuel reached the pulpit, one of the guards hit him across the back of the knees, forcing him to the ground.
“Hey!” protested Samuel, wincing. “Was that really necessary?”
“Quiet!” hissed one of the guards as the High Marshal took up his position behind the podium to the side of the altar.
“For centuries, the Knights of the Spring Dream have guarded this region,” Rimon began. “Our sole purpose has been to protect the secrets of St. Augustine’s relic by hiding its location and removing all traces of knowledge in Egypt concerning the existence of the headdress. Our sacred duty has required us to guard the relic by any means necessary and we have been unswerving in our devotion to our mission. Every Knight understands the danger to the world should we fail in our task and our never ending vigil has protected mankind from the misuse of the headdress for many centuries.
“Now it would appear that our mission is under threat like never before.” The High Marshal pointed at Samuel. “This man and his companions know of the existence of the cave, have performed the hidden rituals required to enter the catacombs, and uncovered the contents of the inner sanctum. Letting them go would be the ultimate dereliction of our duty. We have failed to protect St. Augustine’s secret, putting ourselves at the risk of complete failure.
