by Gary Starta
I avoided the bouts of guilt by refocusing on the extraordinary task at hand. It wasn’t that hard. The production was magnificent, a rival to any fictional medium of entertainment. But this wasn’t entertainment or fiction, this was reality. Nephthys paraded around the construction site occasionally lifting a hand of a worker as if he were a prize fighter basking in cheers of glory. She explained that crystals—something which had given me my connection to Isis—were responsible for making giant tons of granite appear weightless. Employing something known as acoustic levitation, opposing sound waves created frequencies which surpassed the earth’s gravitational field. By having the stonecutters embed tuned crystals into hollowed-out portions of stones, which were then located below the heavy granite blocks, frequencies were achieved via tone. It was musical in form, which kept me associating this feat with art. The crystals in the stones were tuned to an octave apart in frequency. Members of the Entourage played wind instruments in the major scale to effect reverberation. It was eerie and beautiful at the same time because while our minds disbelieved how easily blocks could be transported our hearts embraced the concept of an invisible magic carpet the granite now seemed to float upon. Stones were at the beck and call of simple musical notes.
Block by block came to connect in similar fashion, none less awe-inspiring than the last. I was too caught up in the reverie to hear my name—more precisely Isis’s name—being called by Nephthys, several times.
Everyone turned to look at me with the same wonder they had given the stone workers. My cheeks blushed as I raised a hand to acknowledge my godly sister.
“My sweet Isis, please come and do the honors for the last fashioning of the tomb.”
“I would be honored,” I answered without a hint of the hesitation that was formulating in the fear center of my brain. At that instant, I was not only fearing Nephthys’s suspicions of my forthcoming plan, but I was also wondering how I could assist. I couldn’t play music. “How can I help?” I asked, wandering through a sea of people, my heart drumming as if it wanted to escape my body.
Nephthys laughed, raising a hand to her chin, “How coy—for a goddess,” she remarked to the delight of the crowd which broke out in raucous laughter. My head swam in surreal. Everyone here was a believer; not only in the Ennead, but in me.
As I approached her, Nephthys’s gaze continued to dart to and fro, no doubt enjoying the sight of her flock. This was a lesson in understatement. It screamed if you continue to worship us we will bestow heavenly gifts upon you.
I wasn’t swayed by her gift as much as the flock though. Probably in part that I was part Isis and the rest of me still harbored suspicion. I must have sobered the nearer I came to my celestial sister. It was the only deduction I could come up with. The giddiness had subsided for some reason. Now I would have to play-act, I assumed. We locked eyes as I pondered this traitorous thought, and in that gaze I detected tiny specks of red in her eyes. They were bloodshot. A consequence of a late night or—something else? My mind flashed back to her vulnerability in the hotel room. I couldn’t spend any more time pondering because a heavy rod was thrust into my hands by a man I swore had once graced the cover of a paranormal romance book.
I was instructed with nothing more than nuance to strike a stone sitting about a meter from me. The pressure was on. The crowd was not only clapping their hands, but stamping their feet in rhythmic encouragement. I swung the rod back with my right hand like I was preparing to whack a softball in tenth grade. I recalled a time when I sent the ball over the fence. I didn’t think that amount of force would be necessary so I opted for something less godly but not too girly.
Whatever I did resulted in resounding cheers—the deafening blast of enthusiasm caused my ears to ring. I caught myself from staggering watching a block about two yards ahead take flight and complete the apex of the structure which resembled an inverted “V.” After the applause subsided, Nephthys announced that the vertex had been put in place “most graciously by my sister, Isis”—again cheers—and that her beloved Tut would now have a suitable place to rest.
I gazed at the structure while the crowd basked in some more of its warranted glory. It stood about fifteen feet in height and I estimated a circumference of thirty feet. But don’t expect this to be an accurate description considering I never even made it to trigonometry in school.
Nephthys nudged closer to me. I turned to meet her and mouthed, thank you. I believed all of us in attendance offered the same sentiment. The only problem was my “thank you” came laced with the seed of dissent. I was not only planning to defy the Ennead but betray the justice system I’d sworn to obey. I wondered if Nephthys could read me—could read Isis—in the moment we held hands as sisters and bowed to the crowd.
* * * *
I gazed into Carter’s eyes as a chime indicated the passing of the day; something in his look and in the acknowledgement that another day had ended told me we’d won but also lost.
I couldn’t bring myself to ask even the first question formulating in my spinning mind. Carter and Sweeney sat across from me at my dining table. Bastet pranced between us, randomly pacing as if she too were as vulnerable to curiosity as humans. I needed to know so much. But what I didn’t even think to ask—at least not right away—became apparent and inconceivable in the same space of time. Brahms wasn’t among us.
I raised a hand as Carter’s and Sweeney’s voices competed against one another. “I’m not a judge or parent for you to whine to.” I felt my neck stiffen. I couldn’t believe I’d addressed Carter in that tone; addressing Sweeney in that tone had already become a bad habit. Both wanted to blame the other for what transpired during the hijacking. I could sense—without empathic assistance—Carter’s desire to blame Sweeney was quite stronger. He appeared to me as the veteran cop who must deal with the fallout from the bad decision a rookie partner had made. Usually those bad decisions in judgment affect someone else’s lives. They don’t hit home as hard when the affected are just names on a sheet of paper. Tonight, the person affected was Brahms, a person who had become a friend to me on a personal level and a colleague in my quest to decipher the workings of The Ennead.
“I do think” I said in my most even-keeled tone, “we’ve lost more than we stood to gain with our actions.” Carter squinted at me. “That’s right, Stanford. I am as much to blame as anyone for Brahms being taken.”
Carter shook his head. I could see an invisible finger of blame being pointed in Sweeney’s direction. With his eyes cast downward, Carter spoke, “Mr. Sweeney unnecessarily took risks and made decisions without my consent which resulted in Brahm’s abduction.”
I’d heard the story once while both men shouted over the other to explain. This time, I urged both to take turns in its retelling. I would again try to ignore that tinge of guilt. It emanated from my gut from the fact that I’d stupidly given an angry father the opportunity to exact vengeance on the people he believed responsible for his daughter’s murder rap and disappearance.
Carter began first, without Sweeney’s consent. I eyeballed the PI with a sneer which I hoped conveyed my strong desire for him to keep his mouth shut.
“Everything was working according to plan,” Carter stated. “Mr. Sweeney’s friends pulled their vehicle in front of the delivery van as instructed. The deliverer was forced to slow and eventually stop when the car ahead braked unexpectedly.”
I observed Sweeney squirm in his seat. “You’ll get to speak, Sweeney, in turn,” I instructed.
“I can’t even fathom why you’re being so polite to this man,” Carter said. “Nevertheless, as I said, the plan was working until Mr. Sweeney exited our vehicle. I followed suit. At this point, we needed the deliverer to exit his vehicle so we could access his cargo. But—”
Sweeney intervened. “But he didn’t, necessitating a proactive response.”
We both pointed at Sweeney. He cowered like a misbehaving pet.
“And Sweeney’s proactive measure resulted in the productio
n of a weapon, which he brandished quite unprofessionally. He behaved as if he’d never even had held a gun before, much less attempted to make threats with it. That assessment aside, the gun toting did encourage our driver to depart his van. As Brahms and I headed to the back of the van to open its doors, I observed Mr. Sweeney’s friends exiting the area at a high speed. I struggled to open the doors and swung my head around to ask the driver for his assistance. But Sweeney began waving his weapon around again.”
Sweeney interrupted. “It was unloaded. It was just a prop.”
“Anyway,” Carter said, “Mr. Sweeney began instructing everyone to leave the area—at once. He produced some kind of incendiary device from his pocket and fumbled to light it—with one hand I might add—putting us all at risk.”
I interjected. “So the plan changed at that moment. You expected to take the merchandise, transport it in your car”—I shifted my gaze to Sweeney—“not blow the poor man’s van to kingdom come.”
Sweeney’s eyes pleaded, but I raised a hand to discourage. “Let Carter continue.”
“Thank you, Caitlin. The next thing I know the driver is running for his life to a nearby wooded area. Mr. Sweeney is lobbing his incendiary device at the van—with no experience in explosives that I am aware of. And Brahms is grabbing me by the hand to take cover. As a result, the three of us run in the opposite direction the driver had fled to. And it seems, at least to me, the intended result is indeed intentional because as the van simmers in flames, the three of us find ourselves with the odd feeling someone’s watching us. And it turns out, someone is.”
“Okay, Sweeney. You can spill.”
Sweeney’s hands were cupped as if in hope that I was going to buy his excuse, or in prayer that I wouldn’t beat his ass. In reality, either gesture worked for me.
“So, we find some strangers behind us.” Carter raised an eyebrow at Sweeney’s word choice.
“They were strangers I tell you,” Sweeney repeated to my annoyance.
“Oh, and the men who appeared in white robes very similar to your former associates—the Temple of White Knights—just arose out of thin air. Do you believe this, Caitlin?” Carter asked me.
“I have to believe, Stanford,” I responded to him, “that somewhere in the details of this story there is hope for us to get Brahms back.”
“You heard the lady, Mr. Sweeney. You better hope,” Carter said.
“I am no longer in league with the knights. You do recall I helped you just a few months ago protect Charlize. Damn, I even risked a glamour spell to assist you. Come on, you can’t seriously think I set this up?”
“I will give the benefit of the doubt, Sweeney,” I said. “But as it appears the White Knights are now on the payroll of the Ennead, wouldn’t you find that gig a sweet deal?”
“Uh, huh,” Sweeney answered, his voice laced with sarcasm. “I always wanted to work for Egyptian gods. It’s just that it seemed I was born in the wrong era—but now with their incarnation…”
Carter and I stared at Sweeney with looks that encouraged immediate silence.
“So as the two knights begin to draw weapons, or whatever these cultist loons use as guns these days, Sweeney and I begin to engage them in hand to hand combat. The knight fighting Sweeney knocked our PI’s gun from his hands—with ease—I might add. And I punched my opponent in the stomach as he paused to think about retrieving the weapon. Meanwhile, I couldn’t help but think police will be arriving on the scene any minute now. We were just outside a gated airport. I couldn’t imagine what was taking a security patrol car so long to arrive, but before that could happen, Brahms appeared behind our two attackers. Neither could see him. I don’t know why they failed to engage him in the first place. Maybe his demure physical presence deceived them to believe him harmless. Either way, he had an electronic gadget in his hand, maybe something akin to a taser, and he took out both our assailants in seconds.”
“Don’t forget,” Sweeney added, “Your Dr. Brahms used to work for the White Knights as well.”
“Okay, Mr. Sweeney, but he rendered the men unconscious and then proceeded to dance about shouting obscenities at what appeared to me as empty night sky. He clearly isn’t in league with them any longer. And to say that, after what he is going through with his daughter…” Carter shook his head.
I laid my hand on his wrist. “Please continue, for Dr. Brahm’s sake,” I said.
“But what appeared as empty night sky wasn’t empty. A shuttle appeared, shimmered into existence. A beam protracted from it. And Dr. Brahms was lifted, effortlessly, in the grip of a beam, upwards, towards the shuttle. I don’t know who was piloting it, the Ennead, the Entourage or what appears to be their new henchmen, the White Knights—but we didn’t have the luxury of finding out. We made our way to our car and exited with two men unconscious and a burning van in our wake.”
“I wasn’t in such a hurry to flee. I want you to know that, Caitlin,” Sweeney stated.
“What else could we have done by staying, Mr. Sweeney?” Carter asked rhetorically. “The shuttle disappeared, winked out of existence. I watched it happen in my rearview mirror.”
“Okay, okay,” I said to both of them. “No more arguing. We can assume Brahms was taken alive and still is. What can we do to correct this? That’s our only question now.” I couldn’t get an image out of my head; the means to float stones to construct the pyramid and the method to lift Brahms toward his captors seemed eerily similar. I was so lost in thought; Carter had to shake me out of it.
“I agree, Caitlin,” Carter said, squeezing my hand before releasing it. Sweeney watched him with a raised eyebrow.
I nodded to Carter and continued my thought. “I also have to wonder, out of the three of you, why they only abducted Brahms.”
We all sat in silence, not daring to answer. I knew as investigators we all would feel even worse to conclude Brahms had been taken on purpose; especially me, for obvious reasons. But what we’d learned from this ordeal was that the Knights of the White Temple had somehow aligned themselves with beings I still suspected responsible for the demon abduction. And painfully, it all made perfect sense. The knights hated demons. So much they had once called upon Dr. Brahm’s services to create a demon killer. It chilled me to think they might put him to similar service now.
We continued to sip tepid coffee throughout the night, reexamining and revisiting the events of the night. The same technology which began the day with such hope of unification had been used, in the span of that same day, to divide us once again, it seemed.
Chapter 16
Labyrinth
Another great discovery occurred the following day, or shortly after the period Carter and I spent beating ourselves up over the loss of Brahms.
I didn’t feel the world—my own world in particular—required any more excitement than what had transpired in the last twenty-four hours. But I was wrong.
I had witnessed the construction of a pyramid and learned my greatest ally against the Ennead had been abducted with what seemed to be the same gravity-defying technology mere hours ago. Now, what could be ranked as the eighth wonder of the world—actually I’m not sure how many wonders this alternate universe has—seemingly emerged overnight in the form of the Labyrinth.
Electronic buzz circulated the globe via social networking sites. Professors, armchair philosophers and school children chimed in with their perspectives. Occultists even prophesized the Labyrinth’s reappearance confirmed the Ennead’s arrival to be nothing other than a religious reawakening. More scholarly interpretations warned zealots to be cautious because the grand maze-like structure was fabled to contain hidden secrets of humanity’s past. Secrets, which if revealed, might shake faith rather than confirm it. Yet the ultimate word on the Labyrinth’s reemergence was lacking. Only one of the Ennead, the god Thoth, offered comment and his was cryptic at best. “It seems some kind of time lock has kept the Labyrinth at bay for millennia. I share the same surprise many citizens have expressed at its
sudden appearance. For the safety of all, some secrets were meant to be kept. Therefore, any investigation should be conducted with extreme caution.”
If I were to accept Thoth’s take as his word, the Ennead were not responsible for this ancient Egyptian marvel’s recovery and had little enthusiasm for sharing how humankind might unlock its buried secrets.
And the term “buried” wasn’t far from the mark. The grand structure said to contain twelve courts and over three thousand rooms was for all intents and purposes still under sand. Protruding from its desert oasis, the Fayum Oasis District to be exact, a stone foot resembling a cat’s paw, sphinx-like in manner, gave hope that a doorway could be found to gain passage. Much like historians had predicted in my universe, the subterranean structure was thought to contain underground tunnels to lead travelers to other ancient constructs like the pyramids. Briana reminded me via phone that just like in my world, no one, human or robot, had been able to navigate the cramped tunnels of Giza to confirm this subway theory. And the stone foot, captured on film via satellite, gave no outward appearance that any traditional type of access could be gained.
It did seem we would be dependent on the Ennead to gain admittance. Briana reminded me several times during our phone conversation that I was one of these gods; and although Isis remained just as hidden within me as the Labyrinth appeared hidden under sand, an answer could emerge without additional assistance. I agreed but wasn’t convinced. Isis remained dormant within me. She had given me little clue as to the present day mysteries the Ennead managed to thrust upon us. Yes, we’d witnessed the construction of a pyramid. But was that a distraction? A digression so our minds would be taken off the unsettling and unsolved crimes, namely the president’s assassination, the demon disappearance, Tut’s death and his alleged murderer’s paranormal getaway? And if the Ennead were in some manner afraid to disclose the secrets buried in the Hall of Records the Labyrinth purportedly contained, was this further conspiracy against humanity?
