With the quiet of the canyon restored, Eddie Toh-Yah and his grandfather went out on horseback early one morning. They rode slowly, picking their way over the frozen ground, leaving the high country and descending into a remote part of the canyon, fifteen miles from Silver Box Ravine.
“You seem happy to have all the commotion behind us,” Eddie said.
“This land is supposed to be quiet,” his grandfather told him. “The ancestors prefer it.”
Eddie figured there was a message for him in that and he remained silent for a long time after. In truth, he preferred the quiet, listening to the sound of the horses’ hooves on the ground, the call of a hawk in the distance.
As much as he enjoyed it out here on the range, he was surprised to be riding with his grandfather. The old man was frail, he rarely left home these days, let alone for a difficult ride in the cold of winter.
“It’s been a long time since you invited me on a ride,” Eddie said. “Care to tell me where we’re going?”
“No,” his grandfather said. “But we’re almost there.” He pulled the horse up and dismounted awkwardly, tying the reins to a scrub bush at the edge of the ravine and taking a small pack from the saddle. “Follow me.”
Eddie got off his horse, tied him and then rushed to catch up with his grandfather, who was proving surprisingly spry negotiating the rough terrain.
They climbed up the west slope of the ravine until his grandfather found a notch in the face of the rock. It looked to Eddie like nothing more than a crack in the face of the cliff, but his grandfather squeezed through and disappeared.
Eddie followed and found himself in what was known as a slot canyon, with walls that were shades of crimson streaked with orange and tan.
Eddie stayed quiet as he followed his grandfather through the labyrinth-like curves. A quarter mile in, they came to an opening that had clearly been carved by man-made tools. It led inside the cliff.
His grandfather lit an old Coleman lantern, turned up the wick and then stepped through.
Eddie followed once again, this time walking into a square-cut room with markings on the walls. In the flickering light, Eddie saw symbols he didn’t recognize and depictions of strange creatures, half human, half animal.
He knew better than to ask at this point. His grandfather was showing him something he needed to see for himself.
They continued on, climbing up a steep ramp and arriving in a vast, open space several times larger than the movie set in Silver Box Ravine. It was clear to Eddie that this space had been hewn from the rock. The effort must have taken years with tools of only bronze and stone.
Moving forward, he saw that the excavation had left columns of stone to support the ceiling. Arranged carefully around the columns Eddie saw statues, sculpture and other carvings. He walked past mummified bodies of strange animals that lined the central path. He followed his grandfather to the far end, where a niche had been carved in the rock in the shape of a pyramid.
Fifteen ancient coffins were lined up beneath it side by side. They gleamed in the light, gold and blue and other brilliant colors. The sarcophaguses were free of debris or even any dust. Above them, embedded into the ceiling, were gemstones arranged like the stars of the night. So precise were the astronomical designs that Eddie had no trouble picking out Orion’s Belt and the Big Dipper.
Eddie’s grandfather used a long thin taper to light some incense. As the aroma of sage and piñon wafted through the room, he began lighting candles, one at the base of each golden sarcophagus. As the flickering light grew, it reflected off mirrors placed above each of the sarcophaguses, illuminating the faces carefully crafted on each.
“Grandfather,” Eddie whispered. “Is this what I think it is?”
As the fourteenth candle was lit, Eddie’s grandfather spoke. “These are the People of the Sun. They came here many generations before the white men. Your great ancestors knew them.”
“These are the Egyptian Pharaohs,” Eddie said. “The treasure Kurt was looking for.”
Eddie’s grandfather corrected him. “Your friend said he cared not for the treasure but for the men who were after the treasure. He has them now.”
Eddie realized that was true. “Why did you bring me here?”
“Today is the winter solstice,” his grandfather said. “The day of the short sun. A sun these faces long to see. I come here every year, twice a year, to light these candles. Every summer solstice, as well. My grandfather did the same thing. And should you choose to carry on the tradition, your grandchildren will one day be asked to care for these travelers who found rest in our land.”
“You want me to—”
“It has been entrusted to us to care for these ancient ones,” his grandfather said. “But I’m too old to do this much longer. It falls to you . . . If you wish it.”
Eddie studied the treasure around him. He thought about the history of these people and his own small place in the world. Then his mind focused on the great honor that was being offered to him.
Without a word, he stepped forward, took the taper from his grandfather’s hand and dipped it to light the final candle.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Clive Cussler is the author of more than seventy books in five bestselling series, including Dirk Pitt, NUMA Files, Oregon Files, Isaac Bell, and Sam and Remi Fargo. His life nearly parallels that of his hero Dirk Pitt. Whether searching for lost aircraft or leading expeditions to find famous shipwrecks, he and his NUMA crew of volunteers have discovered and surveyed more than seventy-five lost ships of historic significance, including the long-lost Confederate submarine Hunley, which was raised in 2000 with much publicity. Like Pitt, Cussler collects classic automobiles. His collection features more than one hundred examples of custom coachwork. Cussler and his wife make their home in Arizona.
Graham Brown is the author of Black Rain and Black Sun, and the coauthor with Cussler of Devil's Gate, The Storm, Zero Hour, Ghost Ship, The Pharaoh's Secret, Nighthawk, The Rising Sea, and Sea of Greed. He is a pilot and an attorney.
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