Elemental Origins: The Complete Series

by A. L. Knorr

  "Mifta here," said Ibrahim, putting a hand on the tallest man's shoulder, "has sufficient English and will be your translator for the duration of the dig. He will also be Head of Security." He nodded deferentially to Ethan and added, "With the understanding that you are the authority on the project."

  Ethan nodded and addressed all four of our new security guards. "Thank you for taking on this work. Aman. Aman."

  "If you'll follow Hassan to the vehicles, I believe they've already been loaded with your bags." Ibrahim gestured in the direction of the front doors.

  The security team were on their way toward the airport lobby and front doors before Ibrahim had even completed his sentence, and we scrambled to follow them.

  I was last in line and as we passed through the doors, and the hairs on my neck rose and turned to hackles. I looked behind me but there was nothing amiss that I could see.

  "You okay?" Jesse was holding the door open and waiting for me.

  "Yeah, fine." But as I turned back, a man standing on the second floor and looking over the balcony caught my eye. His eyes blazed in my direction, and the look on his face seemed to be full of warning. We made eye contact and for a moment I forgot to breathe. Slowly, his movement full of intention, he raised his right hand and placed the back of his wrist on his forehead. A thin tattoo was visible on the flesh just below his wrist. I squinted, but could make out only a simple line with a soft curve in the middle of it, like a primitive closed eye.

  "Jesse?" I said, looking to see if he was still there. "Do you see—?" But when I looked back at the balcony, the man was gone.

  "What?" Jesse came back inside to stand beside me and looked up at the vacant balcony.

  I swallowed, looking from one end of the second floor hallway to the other, but there was no sign of the man. "Nothing, I guess."

  "Come on." Jesse threw an arm around my shoulders. "Old dusty stuff awaits your paintbrush."

  Between the dig team members, security, and our supply truck, our caravan came to four vehicles, all of them white and general purpose with big knobby tires for driving in the desert. The Alawenat airport was in the middle of nowhere in the desert, about thirty kilometers from the city.

  Ethan rode shotgun in my vehicle, with Ibrahim at the wheel, who would stay with us only until we arrived in the city of Alawenat and would then give us a short tour before we dropped him back at the antiquities office and carried on to the dig site.

  Jesse and I rode in the back seat. The rest of our team was broken up and mixed with the security team members.

  My face was glued to the window as the desert stretched out on either side of us for what seemed like forever. The highway was narrow and unnamed. This was as remote as I had ever been in my life. As we continued south, the highway swung gently to the east. A tall dark line of cliffs on the east side appeared on the horizon as we got closer to Alawenat. The sun blazed down from a bright bluebird sky and not a cloud marred the color. A gentle southern wind made Ibrahim close the vents in the car to keep the sand from entering the vehicle. We passed two travelers swaddled in robes and turbans, two camels on leads strolling behind them. The camels were loaded up with lumpy sacks. It was hard to imagine where these travelers had come from and where they lived. They were smack in the middle of inhospitable desert terrain. I craned my neck to stare at them as the vehicles passed them by. One of the travelers lifted a hand in greeting and I waved back at him.

  "There is the Acacus mountain range," said Ibrahim in his rich Tripolian accent. He pointed to the east where the wall of shadow put an end to the sand dunes. "That is where you'll be headed when we part. The highway that takes you south of Alawenat is good for about half an hour." He peered back at me briefly from the front seat as the empty desert flew by. "Then, you'll be going off-road and things can get a little bumpy. But the guys have already plotted out the journey so you're in good hands."

  "Thank God for that," said Ethan, his fist gripping the handle above the door, his knuckles white.

  I gave Jesse a smile and he winked back at me. If this empty, straight, paved highway made Ethan nervous, what was he going to be like once we headed off across the mountainous desert?

  The city of Alawenat appeared on the horizon and I tried hard not to put my gaping mug between the front seats to stare.

  "Wow," said Jesse, ogling from the other side of the vehicle.

  "Beautiful, isn't it?" Ibrahim asked.

  "It's an archaeologist’s dream," I said.

  "I'm glad you appreciate our rugged, remote city," said Ibrahim, slowing a little as the vehicle approached city limits.

  It was difficult not to appreciate the beauty of Alawenat. Scuds of shrubs and bursts of palm trees speckled the city with green. The verdant shades against the taupes, browns, and beiges of the sand and architecture were a soothing pleasure to the eyes.

  I gasped. "What is that?"

  There was no need to point. A sand-colored castle perched up high on a rock thrust itself up and dominated the rest of the city. It was stark and intimidating in its beauty.

  "That is the fortress of Alawenat," explained Ibrahim. He waggled his head side to side and flashed a smile back at me. "It is not so old as you might like. The Turks began to construct it in the early twentieth century, but they didn't finish it. It became a stronghold for the Tuareg federation until the first world war, then the Italians took it over and finished it. In the second world war it was occupied by the French. You see, all of the world would like a piece of our beauty." Ibrahim chuckled at his own joke; most of the world didn't even know Alawenat existed. "So, we became independent in 1952 and since then," he gestured to the beautiful castle on a hill, "it is a tourist attraction."

  "Is tourism big here?" asked Jesse. It was a fair question.

  "Ha!" Ibrahim gave a laugh. "Most governments warn their people to stay away, so we do not see so many Westerners, except for historians and archaeologists—they will never stay away. There is too much to learn from our sands. But we get some of the more adventurous, let's say, local tourists. From Egypt, some from Europe, from Tunisia."

  As we entered the city proper, I had a difficult time keeping my mouth closed. Beautiful sand-colored constructions with soft edges, arched terraces and walkways, elegant short towers and turrets were staged against the desert backdrop and encrusted with palms. The muted colors contrasted with the sky so beautifully that I took my phone out and began snapping pictures through the glass.

  "You can roll your window down," said Ibrahim. "If you prefer, I can also stop at the old city, just for a short time."

  "That would be amazing," I replied. "Thank you."

  When the car stopped at a parking lot overlooking the old city and we stood gazing down into the old narrow streets, the passageways closed in by narrow white and beige rock walls that towered high above the people wandering through them, I had to fight to keep my emotions under control. Alawenat was a stop on our journey, but I could easily have spent weeks here wandering these streets and visiting and studying the prehistoric circular graves, walking the nearly deserted streets of the old city, and learning about the Berber way of life.

  All too soon we were rounded up and back in the vehicles, heading for the small antiquities office which was Ibrahim's workplace for part of the year when he wasn't in Tripoli.

  Ibrahim pulled up to a terracotta colored building with tall windows and squat palm trees lining a dirt walkway leading up to a porch.

  "This is where I leave you," said Ibrahim. "You are in good hands with Mifta and the team." He looked at Ethan. "You can reach me with the satellite phone if anything is needed. And I know you have been told how to prepare for the sudden winds that can sometimes surprise us out of a still day at this time of year."

  "Yes. Thank you for everything." Ethan and Ibrahim shook hands. "We shall see you in five weeks."

  We inherited Mifta as our driver, and before the sun had yet crested in the sky, we were motoring south toward the Tadrart Acacus.

/>   Pavement became hard-packed dirt, dirt became yellow dust, and yellow dust became thick golden sand. The sound of the tires softened, but I was amazed at how easy the desert was to drive on. Our drivers slowed by half as rocky chunks of basalt appeared on the undulating landscape, growing ever larger and closer together. Soon we were weaving our way among jutting flat-topped mountains rising straight up from piles of broken boulders and rubble clustered around the bottoms.

  The first time going down a steep dune was heart-stopping. Mifta locked the brakes and we slid forward, our tires half buried in the runnels of sand carved out by vehicles passing this way before us. Each time we went down a dune, Mifta would unlock the brakes as the dune leveled out and we'd continue on. Our path through the Acacus mountain range became narrow and serpentine, with walls of rock dappled with black basalt rising on either side.

  Sometimes we would have to take a run at a dune, and Mifta would gun the Jeep across the flat hard-packed desert floor. Then we’d hit the sandy surface with a bump and we'd cross our fingers that the wheels would bite and hold until we made it to the top. We foundered only once in the sand, but with a push from Jesse, Ethan, and myself, the Jeep was free in minutes and we were back on our way.

  We stopped for bathroom breaks and a stretch, parking in the shadow of a large overhang. The rock formations became more dramatic and beautiful the deeper we went. Huge natural arches and monoliths balancing on impossibly thin bases welcomed us. We saw wild camels wandering amidst scrubby grasses, looking like they knew exactly where they were going. One of them was so fluffy and white we joked that she was a camel/sheep cross.

  "Did I hear someone brought ski gear?" Jesse asked Ethan from the back seat after Hassan remarked we were nearly there. Only one more hour to go.

  Ethan looked over his shoulder and smiled at Jesse. "Where did you hear that crazy rumor?"

  "Ibby may have mentioned seeing a ski-pole fall out of the supplies truck while you were poking around in there."

  "Ski gear?" I laughed. "Does that work here?"

  "Works very well," said Jesse. "Am I right, Mifta?" Jesse smacked our driver on the shoulder.

  "Dune skiing very much fun," said Mifta nodding. He looked over at Ethan and back on the road ahead. "I thought this was serious work job, not fun making time."

  "If you must know," replied Ethan with a mock serious expression, "I'm not all supreme intelligence and achievement, I'm also a very fun guy. It was going to be a surprise, kind of an ice-breaker activity for a day off. But I see my cover is blown." He smacked Jesse's hand.

  "It's not blown," said Jesse. "Well, okay, it’s partially blown. But only those of us in this vehicle know about it."

  "And Ibby," I added.

  "Right. And Ibby."

  "But it'll be a fun surprise for everyone else. How many pairs of skis did you bring?"

  "Only four, it's all we had room for."

  "Two is all it takes to have a good time," Jesse grinned at me, white teeth gleaming in a Cheshire cat grin.

  I smacked him on the shoulder.

  "What?" He shrugged in mock innocence.

  "We're here," said Mifta. "Almost." He lifted a finger from the steering wheel to point straight ahead. "You see that tall stone up ahead? It marks the last turn before the site."

  Through the windshield loomed a tall slender finger of stone. Its top was heavy and like some I had seen before it, seemed to balance on far too small of a base.

  "Do those things ever fall over?"

  "Of course," said Mifta with a laugh. "What do you think all the rubble comes from?"

  The caravan turned north, skirting the monolith and heading into a narrow curving path leading deeper into a more open area. The vehicles pulled into a shaded area not far from several canvas tents.

  "Awesome." Jesse said. "Most of the boring work is already done." Several aluminum-framed canvas tents the same color as the sand had been erected in a haphazard semicircle. Another larger tent with its canvas rolled back showed picnic tables behind a screen of fine mosquito netting. There were no actual mosquitoes so I guessed the netting was more to minimize sand blowing into our food.

  "When did the team before us leave?" I asked Ethan as the vehicle came to a stop.

  "Just yesterday. But Sandy and Tarrin are still here."

  "Who are they?" I unsnapped my seatbelt and opened the door, stepping out into the dry desert air and looking around.

  "Tarrin is a researcher from Boston. She and Sandy are married. Sandy operates our GPR, and he's also a heck of a cook." Ethan got out and stretched his back.

  "Petra, check this out!" Jesse called from where he and Ibby were studying something on the golden stone face. I crossed the packed desert floor, so flat it seemed someone had raked it with a machine. Small black pebbles jabbed at my feet through the soles of my shoes.

  On the stone wall were drawings of land animals. Giraffes, cattle, a rhino, and even a crocodile. "Wow," I said, bending to take a closer look at the rock art.

  "Hard to imagine this area covered in vegetation and wild animals," said Ibby, peering over the tops of her sunglasses at one of the giraffes.

  "Are these the drawings that Ethan was talking about? The newly discovered ones?"

  "Those are further in there." Jesse pointed to a narrow crack in the tall rock behind the vehicles. "They depict people in clothing and head scarves."

  "There's also a hunting scene," added Ibby.

  Gooseflesh rippled over my arms as I gazed at the drawings put there around three thousand BCE. "What a spectacular record of human history and culture, predating ancient Egypt."

  Ibby and Jesse looked at each other. "Yes," Jesse said to Ibby. "She is a geek. I told you."

  I flushed. "Aren't we all geeks? Isn't that why we're here?"

  Jesse shrugged. "Saharan rock-art is cool, but have you seen Australia's aboriginal art?" He swiped a hand through the air. "Blows this stuff away."

  "I doubt that," I said, crossing my arms.

  "No, really." Jesse took out his phone. "Check this out." He came to stand next to me, his shoulder pressing against mine. He flipped through a few photographs and settled on one. "Get a load of that." He held the phone out for me to see.

  The painting was downright spooky. Multiple alien-like faces of different sizes all clustered together, just their heads and shoulders visible. They had large, dark eyes with thick eyelashes going all the way around, and strange bulbous noses hanging overtop of where the mouths should be. "Where is this?"

  "In the Wunnamurra Gorge. Western Australia. Aren't they incredible?" He peered over my shoulder at the photo, his face so close to mine I could feel his heat.

  “Did you take this photo? I thought photographs of ancient cave paintings was forbidden without special permission?”

  “I didn’t take it,” said Jesse. “It’s just a screenshot from a website.”

  I handed the phone back to him. "Looks like it’s worth a visit."

  "Trust me, it is. You might never leave if you go to Australia." He put a hand over his heart. "You should come one day, as my guest."

  "Maybe I will," I said, batting my eyes.

  Ibby laughed and I jumped. I had forgotten she was even there. "Quit flirting, you two. Let’s go check out the excavation site." She left the shadow of the rock wall and headed toward the campsite. Jesse and I shared a pink-cheeked smile and followed her.

  Chapter 6

  The previous team had sectioned off multiple one meter by one meter excavation sites by pounding thick aluminum pegs into the ground and encircling the perimeter with rope. They’d also cordoned off a handful of larger trenches. Several inches of top layer had been removed and a few red flags inserted to mark anomalies and points of interest.

  One of those huge monoliths of stone towered over one of the larger squared off test pits, casting it in a long lumpy shadow. The skinny pedestal the monolith balanced upon reminded me of a giant sledgehammer with a toothpick for a handle.

  Ethan
called out from a table he’d set up in the shade. “Can I have everyone here please?” Ethan had his fingers tented over a large hand-drawn map of the site.

  A half-dozen laborers appeared from tents and materialized from behind rocks as Jesse, Sara, Ibby and I clustered around Ethan’s makeshift podium. Smiles were exchanged, and hands shaken as we met our dig-mates.

  “I’d like to take a moment to discuss division of labor, our grid, and stratigraphic levels.” He pointed at the nearest test pit. “Most of these pits are set up for one worker, but as you can see there are a handful of larger trenches which can be worked over in pairs. We’ve line-leveled the string perimeters,” he raised a finger, “which I must reinforce cannot be moved or shifted for the duration of the dig. These grids have been started from a datum point with a fixed GPS location. Please don’t mess them up.”

  He lifted the map high so everyone could see it. “You are welcome to reference the map at any time. Each test pit also has its own grid. The pits have been given names and I have assigned you each to one. You’re welcome to switch with each other if you wish; just be sure to tell me where you are at all times as I keep track of who is digging where. My goal is to have you remove twenty-five centimeters at a time. You’ll find buckets and tools in the storage tent and in the back of the white van. Please,” he put his hands together, “take care of your tools. It’s not like we have a Wal-Mart around the corner if something breaks.”

  Ethan drew our attention to several tables under two large awnings. “Every find needs to be bagged. Deposit finds and fragments on the tables. Each stratigraphic layer gets its own bag. Put the site name, your name, and the trench number on each bag. We’ll have hundreds of these bags before this dig is through, so please be diligent and do not forget to do this. Your trench supervisor can help you.”

  Ethan invited us to reference the maps and ask any questions. “Take your time, people.” Ethan said over the mumble as we talked among ourselves and located our names and our assigned trenches and pits. “There is no going back once a find has been disturbed.” He raised his voice higher. “Don’t forget to wear a face mask at all times when digging. You’ll find them in a box in the back of the van. Label yours so you don’t get them mixed up. We only have so many so don’t lose them.”