Necropolis: Book 3: Pharaoh

by Michel Weatherall

  The clouds surrounding Moshe in the sky were blasted away. The ocean beneath the stalagmite-like island parted and fell back. The recoil pushed Moshe higher still into the sky.

  Appearing little more than a tiny dot above the storming oceanic island, Moshe released the third and final devastating gravity-pulse. The concussion blast shot through the ocean creating a rippling ring of tsunamis.

  There was a momentary lull of anticipated tranquility... then the ocean came thundering back, slamming into the island’s rocky cliff-faces.

  Moshe waited for a few moments. Listened to the final crashing sounds of the rubble of the temple finding its final resting place somewhere down the cavern’s throat.

  Nobody could survive that, he thought. Although he wanted to descend down the cavern, he couldn’t afford the luxury. The mad whispering call of Krulgh was worming its way through, into his mind. He had to leave.

  The ocean churned and boiled and swelled, racing up the cliffs to the island’s sand beaches in response to Moshe’s teleportation.

  Moshe teleported away. The sudden sea swell receded and the ocean became calm.

  ..................

  Down the cavern’s throat... deep... deep down that central cave... the sounds of the stormy ocean outside were dull and muffled... occasionally accented by the sharp clack of a falling pebble... or the hushing sound of cascading sand and soil... a deep vertical drop... deep... to a pile of broken rocks... shattered pyramid pieces... desecrated temple stones... they all lay in chaos... and half-buried, the broken and mashed body of the black-skinned Nubian Pharaoh... in the stifling darkness... the cursed Eye of Osiris glowed dully.

  ..................

  Schäfer’s Expedition

  Egypt, Pharaoh’s Tomb, 1925

  (3168 years later)

  Although Otto Zann hadn’t studied hieroglyphics and couldn’t read the ancient Egyptian engravings on the tomb walls, he understood enough that this written language was written pictographs. The pictures and images were vitally important. He thoroughly understood, details mattered – especially minor subtle ones. And with that understanding he was highly focused and paid careful attention to the most minute details as he sketched the hieroglyphics. So entranced in his work was he that he didn’t notice Jebediah Stanton enter and slip into the tomb. It was the archaeology expedition leader, Dr. Schäfer’s gurgling death cry that broke his concentration.

  Dr. Schäfer lay on the tomb floor in an ever expanding pool of blood. Jebediah stood with that terrifying smile spread across his lips. But worst still, the hulking monster of a man held a blood covered Bowie knife in his hand. Its blade must have been twenty inches long!

  Initially Otto thought he could talk his way out, but Jebediah was having none of that. As Otto began to speak, Jebediah lunged at him. The giant was surprisingly quick for a man his size.

  Otto’s boxing from his university days instinctively came back to him. He managed to twist his belly and torso away from Jebediah’s knife and threw a straight right jab to Jebediah’s face and followed up with a powerful left hook to the ear. Both punches sounded like dull thumps on a side of ham. It was like the behemoth wasn’t even touched!

  Otto knew half of a fight depended on your state of mind – and he knew his self-confidence was shaken to the core. Could he even hurt Jebediah with his fists?

  A flurry of strategies flew through Otto’s mind. Okay, go for the soft spots; the throat, the neck, the armpits. He’s too big to block, so block with your fists and punches, he told himself. Keep calm. Keep your wits about you. Don’t pani-

  Jebediah charged again, faster than the giant should move; his knife arching in a deadly roundhouse swing; but Otto was quicker and prepared. He punched Jebediah’s inner wrist of his knifehand to block the swing and followed through with a straight punch to his Adam’s Apple. The punch hit doubly hard with Jebediah’s bulk and momentum barrelling forward. The giant dropped his knife and made a choking coughing sound as he dropped to one knee.

  Not wasting a second, Otto spun and delivered a powerful rabbit punch to the back of Jebediah’s skull.

  As the giant man stood up he seemed more annoyed than hurt. He charged Otto again, and again Otto tried to catch him with a quick jab, but this time Jebediah anticipated and caught his fist, his four-hundred pound bulk crashing into Otto and slamming him into the tomb wall.

  Next thing Otto knew Jebediah had him in a face-to-face bearhug!

  His breath was squeezed out almost instantly as he frantically pummelled and battered at Jebediah’s head and face, but to no avail! Otto could feel his ribs bending and buckling! He tried to gouge at Jebediah’s eyes, but the giant simply shut his eyes tight and buried his face in Otto’s chest. He squeezed tighter still! One of Otto’s lower ribs popped!

  Panic began to set in as he squirmed and writhed, desperately attempting to suck air into his lungs. He boxed Jebediah’s ears with what little failing strength he had left. Nothing hurt the giant!

  Otto’s peripheral vision was beginning to blacken. He knew he was passing out. He couldn’t decide if he was delusional when he saw Donita de LaFontaine enter the tomb behind Jebediah. She seemed out of breath, her plentiful breasts heaving.

  “Jebediah!” her voice was shrill as she called out the giant’s name. She carried her revolver by its barrel.

  Wasting no more time, she pistol whipped him across the back of the head. It left a long ugly gash and bled, but still he squeezed! Another rib cracked! Otto would have yelled out had he any breath left!

  Donita opened the revolver and let its empty shells spill onto the tomb’s floor. She began reloading the six-shooter one bullet at a time. “Jebediah! I’m giving you your last warning! Let – Otto – go!”

  She cocked the gun’s hammer and pushed the barrel into the side of his head.

  “Jebediah!”

  Pop! Another rib.

  Donita pulled the trigger and the side of Jebediah’s head exploded. She shot the giant in the head.

  The behemoth’s body thundered to the ground. Otto was trapped between wanting to hungrily suck in air, and his bruised and cracked ribs being too painful to inhale.

  Donita dropped to her knees and cradled his head. “Otto!”

  He gagged and sputtered out, “Y-you – you shot him?!”

  She kissed him long and hard on the lips. “He was going to kill you.”

  “Where – where’s Ezra?”

  She kissed him on the lips again. “I shot him.”

  “You killed him too?!” he echoed incredulously.

  “No. I shot him. He got away. He ran into the catacombs. They were after the Music of the Spheres too. They had gear – camera and equipment...” her voice trailed off in thought, surveying the dead bodies. “We need to get out of here -”

  “No!” Otto cut her off. “Not without the Music! We’ve come too far. Get the cameras. I’ve sketched the hieroglyphics but photographs will be better. We’ll photograph the engravings on the walls, then leave. Yes?”

  Donita was listening down the hall. “Yes,” she answered. “Can you operate the camera?” Otto nodded yes. “Ezra’s still at large. I only have five bullets left but I’ll stand guard. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Otto answered.

  ..................

  Diary of a Madman: Conclusion

  June 2nd, 2005

  During these longest evenings of winter, as the mad moon is stretched and bent, I do not sleep at night. I have gotten into the habit of patrolling the beaches in the off chance the dead should come ashore.

  I believe there are people on my island. I swore I saw four of them at daybreak on the beach. I thought, after ten and a half years, the dead had finally arrived, but I was mistaken. They started a small fire. I have never seen the dead do that.

  I collected my flare gun and knife, and as the sun rose I circumvented the island, searching for a craft. I do not understand. There is no boat to be found. How did they get here? And if they were dropped of
f, why? And by whom?

  By the time I found them again, there are only two. Maybe I was seeing things. Maybe I’m imagining things. Maybe I was hallucinating. Maybe I am losing my mind.

  As I found them again, I believe they have taken shelter in my home. They are far too close to discovering him now. He is my friend and I have to protect him. I’ll confront them in my house.

  ..................

  Schäfer’s Expedition: Conclusion

  Saverne, France.

  Otto Zann’s first journal entry,

  1925

  Exiting Egypt was anticlimactic. I had expected some sort of obstacle or adventure, but alas, there were none to be had. Donita and I journeyed to her family estate to begin the long and arduous task of deciphering the sketches and photos of the Egyptian hieroglyphic Music of the Spheres. Arrangements were made to ship what little belongings I owned from Germany along with musical notes of my father, Erich Zann.

  I was looking forward to what I imagined was her family’s ancestral cottage home, isolated in the rolling hills of provincial France. I could not have been more incorrect.

  I knew Donita’s family was wealthy. I never imaged to what extent that wealth reached until the day I arrived at her home, Les Châteaux de Etienne-de-Lafontaine.

  The family owned a sprawling estate just south-east of Saverne, France. Donita was the youngest of three French-Arabic daughters. The multimillionaire Etienne de LaFontaine had established this institution of education and culture with his Arabic wife, Imani Moubayed.

  Not only did this 10,000 acres estate included four castles (five as we shall soon see), and their adjoining lands, it also housed a small population of academics, scholars, students, and various cultural ambassadors. A European renown library, a University, a Music Academy, museum, vineyard, their own name and label of wine, and an experimental rose garden were all in addition to the family’s personal residence.

  I cannot discover the origin of this tradition but the four castles eventually adopted the seasons’ names by the students. I imagine for simplicity sake for the student population were multilingual and the French names are difficult to remember. I know I’ll need to brush up on my français.

  Château d’automne housed the bibliothèque du Moubayed, an expansive library said to specialize in ancient and even forbidden Arabic texts.

  South-central to the estate is the largest and busiest of the castles, the Château de printemps. Within its massive halls can be found l’université de Etienne, as well as l’institut de Musique de l’académie de Alia-de-LaFontaine, named after their eldest daughter. This sprawling campus is surrounded with a network of low brownstone residences of the faculty and students.

  To the far east, nearest the estate’s primary entrance, is the Château d’hiver and within it le Musée de Imani Moubayed, a museum with its own small tourism industry.

  And at the greatest distance, to the Châteaux de Etienne-de-Lafontaine estate’s most northerly reaches, le Château d’été, la Propriété et les Vignobles de LaFontaine; the family’s personal and private residence.

  The LaFontaine and Moubayed family have, since time immemorial, contributed and competed in Saverne’s rose society, having their rose gardens on their private properties, la Roseraie d’Amélie.

  And last, but certainly not least interesting is the fifth, unofficial castle. La Mosquée vide, la cinquième château. It is forbidden and off limits and certainly an enigma. It is, or was, an abandoned castle. Not abandoned as in having been surrendered or vacated. Abandoned in the sense that it was never finished; never completed.

  Common gossip among the university students holds that it was intended to have been an Muhammadan Mosque for Imani Moubayed, and Etienne’s daughter Alia’s faithful manservant, Siad Adbullah, to be its imam. The story continues on. When the French founder, Etienne de LaFontaine and his Arabic wife, Imani Moubayed, divorced, he put a stop to all work on the Mosque. But this story has circulated amidst the students for decades, and since the aged Etienne and Imani both still reside at Château d’été, even their alleged divorce is unlikely.

  A more insidious rumour is that while attempting to excavate a location for La Roseraie d’Amélie (named after their middle daughter) the workers unearthed the ruins of an ancient pagan temple. Numerous stories and rumours abound, but it was believed to be haunted with the most disturbing apparitions.

  La Roseraie d’Amélie was relocated to its current location and a holy mosque was contracted to be blessed and built over this haunted pagan ruins. The Fifth Castle, the Hollow Mosque, was never finished.

  I feel like a university student again! I am so far out of my league yet so enthusiastically excited at the same time! What a wellspring of knowledge and learning! The potentials are limitless! The sky is blue and the air crisp! Everything is pure, simple and full of hope!

  I love her! I can see this same excitement in Donita’s beautiful blue eyes! I feel like a child struck with the wonders of the world! I am looking forward to the academic adventure that awaits me and Donita.

  ..................

  The Eye of Osiris: Conclusion

  circa 1242 BCE

  It has been over a week since Moshe had returned to his people. He felt whole again. No longer isolated, alone, distanced. He felt at peace.

  Moshe sat with the Hebrews. They sat by their tents in a plush oasis. It was night and a cool breeze came off the desert, fanning the campfire brightly. The small tribe’s supper was cooking on a spit and smelled delicious!

  Moshe was tired. He tried to stay awake and listen to the stories the tribal elder told. It was important that he listen even though he heard them hundreds of times. It was their history. It was how they remembered who they were.

  He fought the fatigue valiantly but to no avail. He simply was too tired. Then, suddenly he heard his name called. Not Moshe. Moshe was just a sound. Just a word. He heard his identify, his very essence called.

  He sat upright, his sleepiness vanquished. His half-brother, sitting beside him noticed his sudden startle.

  “Moshe?” Aaron asked concerned, gently laying his hand on his forearm. “Are you alright?” he whispered, not wanting to interrupt the speaking elder.

  “I heard a.... a call,” Moshe whispered back to his brother. “Please, excuse me. This feels unlike anything I have encountered before.”

  “Do you want me to come with you? Do you want my help?” Aaron asked.

  Moshe held his brother’s arm. “No my friend. I will be fine.” And with that he walked a short distance from the campfire to find solitude.

  As Moshe concentrated the gold and green flecks in his eyes sparkled with tiny bursts of light. He could sense a presence near yet not on this world. He focused on its presence – focused on a portal, a window...

  What opened before Moshe wasn’t like any Gateway he had witnessed before. It wasn’t purple and it wasn’t spherical. It was flat, upright and circular, like a window – exactly like a window! This was no gateway at all!

  In the blackness beyond flowed and billowed a shadowy feminine silhouette, wrapped and blanketed by shadows – blacker than the surrounding blackness. It was constantly in flux. Focused one moment, and blurred and unfocused the next. Like it couldn’t quite remember itself. It spoke in his mind – not words. Language was near impossible for this shadowy Remnant beyond the portal. It was little more than an echo, a remembered memory, a ghost. Her communication was beyond language, beyond words. Emotions, images. There was no misunderstanding her.

  “You are the only one like my daughter. My baby is in danger,” the Remnant sang in his head. More than words were communicated by the shadowy Remnant. Moshe didn’t need to decide her intentions or trust. He knew.

  “I can help,” he spoke in Hebrew, “Where is your baby?” he asked.

  The shadowy realm on the other side of the inter-dimensional portal grew darker. She became hidden in the darkness, thinking, struggling to remember, to understand. She was confused.<
br />
  “She... she isn’t anywhere... You can’t... Reaching her is... impossible... help – help me. Help me help her...”

  Moshe was picking up her confusion now. Her thoughts and memories were tumbled and disjointed. Moshe understood her confusion even though she no longer could. She was no longer alive; a spirit from Sheol; an echo, a ghost. He walked closer to the circular portal and held his hand up. She backed away. The shadows became liquid and flowed around her, cocooning her in their safety.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “I... don’t... I can’t... remember...” Her voice faded as she retreated into the safety of her shadowy realm.

  As Moshe peered into the inky blackness, across the immeasurable abyss of darkness, he saw another portal or window. A young fair-haired boy was looking back at him. From the immense distance the boy hesitantly waved.

  As Moshe was about to wave back the portal wavered and closed. Confused, Moshe stood alone in the desert.

  NEXT, AVAILABLE NOW!

  Necropolis: Hybrids

  Book 4

  Woven throughout this book are the stories of characters forgotten about from the original novella, The Symbiot.

  It has been a decade since The Hunt and Necropolis Book 4: Hybrids return to the Gibbons’ children, and humanity’s last hope! This story picks up where The Hunt: Symbiosys left off.

  AFTERWARD

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