Area 51: The Legend (21 page)

“That is what I have been thinking.”

“And that is all,” Gwalcmai said, “under our control.”

“All right.”

Gwalcmai smiled. “Why do I not believe you?”

Slavery among humans. Humans owning other humans like property. It was a concept strange to Donnchadh and Gwalcmai. Their planet had been under the thrall of the Airlia for so long that the concept of humans “owning” other humans had never even arisen. But Egypt had changed since last they visited. The Great Pyramid still sat atop the Giza Plateau, but the sides were rough and worn from the weather. There were two more large pyramids flanking it, obviously attempts by other Pharaohs to match the splendor that Khufu had built. The Black Sphinx was hidden out of sight,the depression it sat in covered and camouflaged as part of the plateau itself, and there was a stone replica squatting on top.

The physical changes were great, but what truly struck both Donnchadh and Gwalcmai was the sprawling camp of slaves to the south of the Giza Plateau. There were thousands living there, under the thrall of guards and forced to do all the hard labor, from making bricks to the fine craftsmanship needed to finish the numerous temples and palaces being built. The camp was surrounded by a mud-brick wall six feet high with guard towers spaced every hundred meters. The wall seemed more a symbolic barrier than an actual one, as the people held inside seemed broken by their situation.

The slaves were not Egyptians. They were a mixture of races, predominant among them a conquered tribe called Judeans. They came from a land to the north and east, along the shores of the Mediterranean. They had been defeated by the Egyptians in battle and brought here in chains to do hard labor.

Donnchadh and Gwalcmai found the Watcher of Giza in the same small stone hut in which all his predecessors had also lived. He was a middle-aged man who, while he knew his role, had not sent in a single report to Avalon in all his years at the post. He was frightened by their appearance and fell on his knees when Donnchadh showed him the golden medallion, begging her not to slay him. Realizing he would be of little aid, the two made their own forays onto Giza and the nearby towns, learning as much as they could.

The Roads of Rostau were still guarded by the golden spider, but no high priests walked the tunnels. No one seemed to even know the Roads existed anymore, other than the Watcher, who had never ventured down there and almost considered them as much a myth as the Airlia themselves. Donnchadh and Gwalcmai knew they could get to the Hallof Records and use the scepter to gain access to the Ark with the Grail inside, but getting out was going to be a different story. Given the reaction to the Swarm craft, she had little doubt that opening the Hall of Records would cause some sort of alert. The Pharaoh’s soldiers and priests blanketed the entire plateau, primarily to keep the large slave population under control. Short of flying the
Fynbar
in, Donnchadh doubted they could get away with the Ark and Grail.

So they decided to use the same tactics they had used against the Airlia: division and dissension. They learned that the ruling Pharaoh, Ramses II, had two sons, the elder of which, Moses, had been exiled from the kingdom for attempting to lead a coup against his father. He had been sent to an outlying province, Midian, where he had been appointed governor. There was a younger son, given his father’s name, Ramses
III
, who obviously was in line to succeed.

Donnchadh and Gwalcmai traveled to Midian, which lay to the east of Egypt, on the desolate peninsula known as Sinai. They found the governor’s palace to be more of a large home, built of mud bricks, huddled on the inside wall of the capital city’s ten-foot-high walls. Midian wasn’t much of a city, consisting of barely a thousand people, and the province had little in the way of resources, other than some mines. A fitting punishment for a wayward son, but one that caused Moses’ resentment of his father to fester, as they learned while they spent several days in the city, listening and watching.

Donnchadh and her partner were able to gain an audience with Moses with relative ease, using a few gold pieces to bribe the captain of his guards. They found the governor sitting on a dilapidated throne on the roof of his house, staring out over the wall into the desert. Two bored guards barely checked the two of them, only taking the most obvious precaution of removing Gwalcmai’s sword before allowing themaccess to Moses. Donnchadh still had the scepter and her dagger tucked in the belt under her robe.

“This is far from Giza,” Donnchadh said in lieu of greeting the governor.

Moses turned his head toward them. “I was told your names but they mean nothing to me.” He did not bother to stand and greet them. He was a young man, with thick dark hair and an angular face. There was the slight trace of a horizontal scar on his forehead.

“Our names are not important,” Donnchadh said.

“Does the woman speak for both of you?” Moses asked.

Gwalcmai nodded. “She does.”

“Strange,” Moses commented. “What do you want?” he demanded, staring at Donnchadh.

“We want to help you.”

“You bribed the captain of my guards with gold to gain this audience,” Moses said. “How much more gold do you have?”

“How much gold does the Pharaoh have in his treasuries?” Donnchadh asked in turn.

“That gold is in Giza, and as you noted, Giza is far from here. And in more than just distance. If I cross the Red Sea, my father will kill me.”

“Not if he needs you,” Donnchadh said.

Moses took a long drink from a cracked ceramic mug before he spoke again. “And why will he need me?”

“To help with the problem of the slaves.”

“And what problem is that?”

“We’ll get to that,” Donnchadh said.

Moses drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne for several moments while his other hand tipped the mug and he stared sadly into the empty interior. “And why do you want me to return to Egypt?” he finally asked.

“To finish what you started,” Donnchadh said. “To lead a revolt.”

“The army is loyal to my father. And the priests also. I have no—”

“Not through the army or the priests,” Donnchadh interrupted. “You will use the slaves. The Judeans.”

Moses frowned. “You just said my father will welcome me back to deal with the problem of the slaves. I am aware of no problem. And then you say I will use the slaves to revolt against my father.”

“You will do both.”

Moses mulled this for several seconds, then a sly smile crossed his face. “Very interesting. And ingenious.” He lifted his free hand and traced the scar on his forehead. “You know, my father gave this to me when I was but a child. He beat me many times. I was born from one of his mistresses and should not have been allowed to live, but she hid me, then went to the high priest. Because my father had no other heir at the time, he was forced to acknowledge me. But once his third wife gave him a legitimate son, he no longer needed me.”

“We know,” Donnchadh said. “We have walked Giza, the city of Cairo, and the slave camps for many days. We know how your father rules; and we know that things are worse than your father is told by his advisers. The river runs low and there has been drought for the past two years. There is barely enough grain to feed the Egyptians, never mind the slaves. The Judeans are primed to revolt. They just need hope and a leader.”

“Why do you want this to happen?” Moses asked. “Are you Judean? You do not appear to be from this part of the world.”

“No,” Donnchadh said. She took a deep breath. “We are enemies of the Gods of Egypt. Because they are not realGods. They enslave all men just as much as your people enslave the Judeans and others.”

“If you said that in front of my father, you would be immediately put to death in a most horrible way,” Moses said. “He believes himself to be descended from the Gods and the priests tell him it is so.”

Donnchadh shook her head. “He is not and it is not so.”

“Can you prove this? Can you prove the Gods do not care for us? And that they are not real Gods?”

Donnchadh had considered this during the journey to Midian. “Yes.”

Moses slammed the goblet down. “How?”

“They cannot care for you because they are dead.”

“That cannot be,” Moses said. “Gods cannot die.”

“The Gods worshipped in Egypt are dead,” Donnchadh said. “I can show you their bodies. They are dead. Isis. Osiris. Horus. And others that are still worshipped.”

Moses considered this. “So the Gods are real but dead?”

“Were real and not Gods,” Donnchadh corrected. “And they have been long dead.”

Moses got to his feet. “Where are these bodies?”

“Along the Roads of Rostau, underneath the Giza Plateau.”

“And you can take me there?”

“Yes.”

Moses headed toward the stairs, staggering slightly, but catching himself. “We leave in the morning. I must rest first.”

You cannot tell people what you are seeing,” Donnchadh said to Moses while Gwalcmai stood guard just inside the door to the chamber, sword in hand.

The three of them were clad in the gray cloaks taken from the Watcher’s hut and stood next to a black tube, the top ofwhich was open. Inside lay the body of one of the Airlia, slain by Vampyr many years previously. There was no mistaking the fact that the body was not human, and that it was indeed dead. The pale skin had mummified, shrinking tightly around the bones underneath. The hair had continued to grow after death, surrounding the head like a red pillow. Six clawlike fingers were at the end of each hand. Along the side of the body was a golden staff with a sphinx head on one end.

“The Gods are indeed dead,” Moses murmured. “I had heard rumors before you appeared, but no one dared say anything publicly.”

“Because the Pharaoh’s power base is religion,” Donnchadh said. “It is something they”—she nodded at the bodies—”have always used. And they passed on that knowledge to the Shadows who ruled after them, and the Shadows passed it to the Pharaohs who rule now.”

“People will not accept this,” Moses said. “You cannot take away their beliefs so easily.”

“No, they won’t like it,” Donnchadh agreed.

“So how—” Moses left the question unsaid.

“What you will do,” Donnchadh began, “is use the God of the Judeans to rally them and to frighten the Pharaoh.”

” ‘The’ God? Just one?” Moses asked.

“Yes.”

“Is the God of the Judeans real?”

The question gave Donnchadh pause. “I don’t know.” She looked down at the body. “As real as they are, I suppose.”

An uneasy silence reigned in the chamber for several minutes, each of the three lost in their own thoughts.

“What else is down here?” Moses finally asked. “When I was growing up, some of the priests would whisper about secret places under the Great Pyramid of Khufu.”

“What else is down here does not concern you,” Donnchadh said.

Moses turned to her, and Gwalcmai stepped between them, his hand drifting to the pommel of his sword.

Moses did not back down. “I heard rumors of a Grail that gives immortality, which lies somewhere down here. It is what the priests would promise the true believers as their reward for a lifetime of service. Yet no one ever seemed to get this reward.”

“There is an Ark in one of the duats along these Roads,” Donnchadh allowed. “Perhaps it contains the Grail.”

” ‘Perhaps’?” Moses waited, but Donnchadh said nothing more. Finally, he sighed. “You have proven that the Gods of my people are dead. What do I do next?”

“Gwalcmai will go with you,” Donnchadh said. She reached into the tube and pulled out the staff, handing it to Moses. “You will call him Aaron. He will advise you.”

“Where will I go?”

“To see your father, the Pharaoh, of course.” Donnchadh drew her dagger. “But first we must do something so you can make your point more clearly to your father and to the priests who whisper in his ear.”

The royal guards did not kill Moses immediately. Whether it was because they were not willing to kill royalty without direct orders from the Pharaoh, or because of the amazing staff he carried, the likes of which none had ever seen, or a combination of both, it wasn’t clear.

They did, however, securely bind the arms of both Gwalcmai and Moses before bringing them into the Pharaoh’s receiving room. They were shoved down onto their knees on the hard stone floor in front of the Pharaoh’s throne. Ramses II wore a heavy robe, sewn with golden thread, and his head was adorned with a crown covered with jewels. His face was so heavily rouged that it was hard for Gwalcmai to read theman’s expression. His arms were crossed, the symbols of his office—the crook and flail—in his hands. He was so still that for several moments Gwalcmai thought him to be a statue. A dozen guards flanked the Pharaoh on either side. Seated to the Pharaoh’s right was a younger version, dressed and made up the same, except lacking the crown, crook, and flail.

Ramses II stared at his son for several moments in silence, then raised the crook and made a gesture. Guards cut the bindings holding the two men and handed Moses the staff.

Moses raised both hands, the staff in his right, the left palm open in a sign of peace. “Father.”

“You dare call me that?” Ramses’ voice was low, but carried well in the room.

“Father, I have come to help you.”

Two kilometers from the Pharaoh’s palace, near the wall surrounding the sprawling Judean slave camp, Donnchadh removed a small block of gray, malleable material from the backpack she had been wearing. She pressed the material against the base of the stone wall, directly below one of the guard towers that were evenly spaced, one hundred meters apart, around the perimeter. She placed a flat chip, no larger than the nail on her pinkie, on top of the material and quickly moved away.

Taking a small metal ball out of her pack, she pressed one of the hexagonals on the surface and the material exploded, destroying the guard tower and punching a large hole in the wall. Both the Egyptians and Jews in the area were stunned by this inexplicable event. The awe was over quickly, though, as the closest Egyptian troops retaliated for the death of their comrades in the only way they knew how, against the only available enemy—they began massacring the closest slaves they could slay.