The Tirnano - Book 1 'FINN'
Page 16
They pulled onto the slip road in front of the hotel.
“I take you to airport quarter past one tomorrow,” he said, his accent thick, his words precise and clipped.
“Shokran,” (thank-you) said Jeanne.
“No speak of this,” he continued, “is forbidden, never happen, understand?”
“Yeah, we got it,” Tom drawled sardonically.
“I serious, speak -” he drew his forefinger across his throat in the ancient threat, raising his eyebrows at the same time.
“Okay, understood,” Jeanne interjected quickly before her colleague said something to antagonise the man. She took Tom’s arm and almost pulled him from the car and through the security gate. The duty guard looked at them quizzically but as they had stepped from an official car, decided against any further action.
It was a short while later, Tom knocked on her bedroom door, “Do you want to take a trip into the Suq, see if we can pick up a couple of souvenirs for the kids?”
“I was told it’s all been cleared out as part of the re-building of that part of the town.”
“Yeah, but most of the market is still there, it’s just under cover now.”
It was an hour later they were sat in a little café sipping on cold Stella beers when a diminutive figure in a niqab approached them. All Jeanne could see was a pair of eyes regarding them closely; a little hand appeared and made a begging gesture, bringing its fingers to where its mouth would be.
Jeanne looked deep into amber eyes. This was no dead pan expression of utter despair that she had already seen from other child beggars. The kind of look which cut through to your heart, and automatically opened your purse. This was a highly intelligent appraisal being carried out by a very clever being.
On a whim Jeanne raised her hand and made the Brosynan greeting sign. The amber eyes flashed and a little hand signed back ‘Who are you? Why came you to this place?’
‘We came to look for you.’
‘Why have you been to see our dead brother?’
Jeanne was shocked but responded with; ‘to find you.’
‘Slaves have not looked for us since the time of The Watchers, why look you for us now?’
‘Have you not come through?’ asked Jeanne in surprise, ‘have you not come through from the time of The Watchers?’
‘I understand not what you mean, we live many days from here, following Mother River south - but I must move, if I stay in one place too long the slaves will come with sticks.’
‘No, wait, we want to know more about you.’
‘Tomorrow, this hour, be at the place of the Pharaoh Queen and find the statue of Horus, there you will learn that we, the children of Bes have always walked hand in hand with the Watchers.’ The creature turned and melted into the crowd.
“Damn, she’s gone, we better compare what she signed to get it dead right, then sec-blast it back to the Commander. I guess were gonna be here longer than expected,” said a hushed voiced Tom.
“I wish we had Winn or John here, perhaps they could have persuaded her to stay. I just didn’t have all the right signs for it.”
Jeanne’s mind was buzzing at this unexpected twist. In a hastily hailed taxi she re-ran the brief encounter over in her mind, it couldn’t have taken longer than half a minute and no words had passed between them. None of their gestures would have been understood by the security men standing conspicuously on street corners and doorways around them. To a bystander she could conceivably have been waving a particularly insistent beggar away.
It was to the pair of them half a minute of exquisite mystery - Brosynans living undetected in the Egyptian deserts for untold millennia, it was just too impossible to believe.
~
Later that evening they sat together on Jeanne’s bed, Tom had his laptop open, he plugged in the USB dongle, and made satellite internet connection, he opened Google’s search page.
“Look for any reference to something called Bes, if there is one; I hope I got it right, I’ve never heard of it before.”
“I think I have, seems to ring bells” said Tom, “Winn’s parents could probably give us chapter and verse on it. Anyways, here goes.”
He keyed in ‘Bes Egypt’ and was immediately offered a number of web links. Clicking on the first opened a site giving information on the mortuary temple of Hatshepsut. Tom scrolled through the information, Jeanne hanging over his shoulder.
“There,” she said, “Hatshepsut, the only female pharaoh, we’re on the right track, - STOP!” She shouted, almost a screech. “Go back up, there’s the name, - Bes, ‘the dwarf god, - protector of women and childbirth’ It’s a link Tom, click it!”
“Oh my Lord, look at that statue, how could we ever have missed this connection, it’s a Brosynan, a bit stylised, the tongue is stuck out and it’s a human tongue, but other than that its almost spot on,” she said in a hushed voice.
“So the god, Bes, and there are hundreds of pages about him, was one of our little friends, I think we better keep that rendezvous tomorrow. I’ll wrap all this info up and sec-blast it back to London. Do you want a drink from room-service, we have quite a few hours reading here?” asked the American.
“Yeah, and something to eat too, where’d I put that menu?”
“Here, hiding under the laptop,” he produced it with a flourish.
“Mmmmm, a Yankee funny man hey? Rare breed, pass it here, - what you fancy?”
“I’ll have a look in a mo, - I now know why that driver was so freaked out; this little guy is still venerated today,” he said finally looking up from the screen.
“What?”
“Yep, as a fertility god, - there are fertility gods all over the world that follow the same depiction, a large erect member. If you’re thinking what I’m thinking, that these little guys have been hiding just under the surface, almost everywhere, then you’d be right, In my job I’ve come across carvings and statuettes like these many, many times, but never thought to make a connection until now. In New Zealand, Bes is still a huge part of their culture, just clock the ‘All Blacks’ before a Rugby game, or the way they greet a visiting dignitary. ”
“Why should you have?”
“I guess not.” He said pouring over the screen again.
“I’ll get us an extension on the rooms, what do you think, a week?”
“Yep,” he muttered, deeply engrossed in the Wikipedia page on Hatshepsut.
“I’ll make it six weeks then.”
“Whatever you think,” he mumbled. “What?”
She laughed, “A week then,” she flicked open her mobile, “better get the boss to postpone our flight out too. Telling the locals we’re extending our holiday; might work. If not, and they find out what’s really going on, I guess they’ll throw us onto the first plane out of here, or into jail.” She finished, laughing at the expression on his face.
Valley of the Kings
“How hot do you reckon it is?” Jeanne gasped, taking another slug from the plastic bottle of luke-warm water.
“Dunno.”
They had been sat in the sliver of shade cast by the ramp leading up to the temple for almost an hour. “Don’t think she is gonna make a show.” Tom grunted, “Might as well high-tail it outta here, I can’t stand much more of this. You wanna share that bottle?”
“Nope, where’s yours?”
“I think I left it over by Horus,” he said pointing in the direction of the statue, “but it will have either walked or evaporated by now.”
“I couldn’t find a thing about Bes near the statue, but we found more than enough on the web last night. Bes was supposed to be associated with Horus when he was a child, so maybe that’s why we were pointed to come over here.”
“Aye, and that statue over there of the cow goddess, Hathor, who Bes is also linked to is supposed to be Horus’ mother or wife, or both,” Jeanne finished with a strange grimace.
“Yeah, but they were both heavily involved, so far as the ancients were concerned with c
hildbirth and generally having a good time.”
“Shush, someone’s coming,” Jeanne put her forefinger to his lips cutting him off, impulsively Tom kissed it. “Stop it for a minute,” she hissed.
Tom turned to look around, not seeing anyone or anything close to hand, he said, “Where, what you on about?”
“She’s here.” Jeanne was still whispering.
“I can’t see anyone.”
“Well just shut up then.” Tom decided to do just as he was bid, he knew that tone, and knew that it brooked no argument.
Jeanne became involved in what Tom perceived as a one sided finger and hand signing conversation, following only a part of the conversation was too difficult for his limited ability and he concentrated on trying to see the creature; without success. Frustrated he leant back against the yellow sandstone ramp and picking up Jeanne’s water bottle took a long drink.
“Oi! You, leave me a bit --- now, give me your hand.” She stretched out her right hand away from them and her left towards him.
“Ahh Jeanne, I didn’t think you cared.”
“Stop messing, give me your hand.”
Tom reached and took hold of Jeanne’s outstretched hand, giving a little squeeze as he did.
The scene around them immediately blacked, Jeanne felt a leap in her insides, reminiscent of driving fast up and over a hump in the road.
She was aware of the feather like touch releasing her right hand. Her left hand was still clutching Tom’s in a vice like grip. She opened her eyes and took a deep juddering breath. It was not quite dark, light was coming from somewhere, where was difficult to discern.
“You Okay?” it was Tom.
“I think so, what’s happening.”
“I haven’t a scoobie."
A series of clicks broke the silence following his statement; Jeanne was unable to recognise more than just a few of the clicks that the Brosynan’s used to communicate in the dark, and certainly not to the extent with which she was now being assailed.
“Steady down, not so fast,” she said aloud, at the same time signing, ‘Stop, I need light.’
There was a scrabbling sound to her left and a broad beam of light lanced through the room, dust motes dancing frantically through it, Tom stood with a plank of wood in his hand, and a smile on his face, “Is that enough?”
In front of her stood one of the dwarf creatures, it was a male.
‘Why do you seek the children of Bes?’ it signed without pre-amble.
‘Information,’ replied Jeanne.
Tom came and stood alongside Jeanne; the little creature did not seem at all fazed by his height and continued, ‘we have retrieved the body of our brother.’
“That’ll annoy the powers that be… as long as we don’t get blamed. I’d like to get home this year if poss.” Tom said.
‘How can we find you again, we have many questions, but I have not the words to speak clearly to you.’ Jeanne signed.
‘Like all slaves you have lost the joy of mind-speech’
“What does he mean Tom?”
“I think he means telepathy.”
“Well he’s right,” to the creature she signed, ‘it is something we have lost,’
‘Too much have you slaves learned to trust solely in those gabbling sounds that your kind have always made.’
‘It is our way, my name is Jeanne, and this is Tom.’
‘I am named Bes.’
‘Was not that the name of your god?’
‘And they called me Bisu and Aha as well.’
‘Was that not your ancestor?’
‘I am who I am, my name is Bes, I have known many lifetimes.’
“My God,” said Jeanne “is it possible?”
“What?”
“Immortality,” her voice had dropped to little more than a whisper.
“Dunno,” he looked at the creature, it stood confidently waiting for their muttered conversation to end.
‘You, the woman slave come closer and kneel before me.’
“No way mister, I dinna kneel to onybody, well maybe ma Boss, but sure as hell is like, nae to you buddy boy.” In her anger her Scots accent began to make itself apparent.
The creature raised one hand and beckoned, at the same time it clicked the command ‘Now.’
Unable to resist Jeanne moved forward and knelt in front of the little male. Tom tried to intervene, but found he was fixed to the spot, try as he might he was unable to even twitch.
The creature flicked its forked tongue around Jeanne’s face for a moment or two then forced it into her mouth. She understood then what it was Bes wanted to do and opened her mouth. His tongue tasted vaguely of almonds. Forcing herself not to retch, she allowed the questing forks to probe her mouth. She felt them lock onto the roof.
Tom unable to do anything other than watch saw her stiffen, hold the position for about a minute, then with a low cry Jeanne fell backward, her eyes wide open and staring. The creature walked forward and stopped between the two humans.
Stretching out with his hands Bes placed one on Jeanne’s ankle and with the other touched Tom’s hand which was still frozen like a grasping claw in front of him.
Everything went black, Tom's stomach lurched.
Tom opened his eyes to the harsh glare of fluorescent lighting. Jeanne was lying on the floor in the same position; she scrambled to her feet and launched herself into his arms sobbing uncontrollably. Tom held her tight. They heard a tramp of many booted feet clumping down the corridor outside Jeanne’s office. The door flew open and three armed soldiers burst into the room, and stood with barrels pointing at the two frightened and bewildered scientists, still clasping each other tight.
24.
PART 2
DANIEL
1216AD
It was deep winter when the summons arrived.
Carried by two exhausted young Gondolvian knights, the brothers, Frederick and Nicholas von Kitnow, conveyed in a sealed leather packaging and delivered to his winter base, the request; a royal decree; he was expected to attend a secret meeting with the Gondolvian Ruler.
It was a week later, after much deliberation; he left the Schwertbrudern under the command of Michael von dem Wald, his close friend, and second in command of the Lizard knights.
Michael passionately protested his decision for he was convinced it was a trap. Together they had caused the Gondolvian king and his underlings much grief over previous years.
In the company of the brothers, he undertook the arduous journey through the Gustentei hills, from there onto the snowfields of the Tarnavelor plateau. Even though they travelled swiftly through the Gondolvian heartlands, it took fifteen exhausting days of hard riding before he was able to present himself at the gates of the twin cities of Obuda and Pesh.
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He stood for a moment listening to them … whispering.
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Stepping swiftly to the table in the corner of his room he donned the last piece of his ceremonial dress, his full length white surcoat. Emblazoned across it the symbol of the Lizard Knights, a blue dragon was crawling down his chest, its tail curling up and over his right shoulder.
A young squire assigned to assist him and guide him to the King’s chambers, waiting quietly in the corner of the room.
Under his arm he tucked his helmet with its two distinctive upward curving horns.
The fabulous, double handed broadsword ‘Ulrich,’ inherited from his father hung behind his shoulders in a nondescript brown leather scabbard. Its silver pommel formed into the shape of a snarling wolf’s head sat high over his left shoulder; its point almost reaching the back of his knees.
On his left hip rode an Ottoman sword, a single sided, razor sharp, curved blade. He found it the perfect weapon for close quarter battle against the wiry Shishmanid horse-bowman. Across his right shoulder he slung his war shield. The three black lions of his family insignia were scarred and scratched; each gouge bearing witness to a violent battle.
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He stood for a moment driving the whisperers down, forcing them away, silencing them with the power of his mind; but they would return― he knew they would, he expected them to.