By
M.T. Acquaire
Copyright 2014 M.T. Acquaire
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
There is a legend that tells of a creature, part man, part god, who fell from the heavens in a plague of death and chaos. Blinded by the creature’s lies, humanity embraced this abomination, believing him to be a king birthed by the power of the almighty Ra, sent to be Egypt’s savior. They couldn’t have been more wrong and for their false beliefs they paid in blood.
The creature that fell wasn’t simply a creature of evil, but a demon conjured in the guise of human flesh, sent not for the land’s salvation but for its destruction. The people of Egypt suffered under his rule until the day a savior rose amongst them to enslave the demon, burying him deep beneath the sands to rot in forced slumber.
Once defeated, the demon lay buried beneath the womb of the earth for thousands of years, waiting patiently for the next mortal who would be foolish enough to free him.
Chapter One
Reginald could count the drops of sweat that fell from his brow. There was barely enough room in the shadowy pit for himself let alone his small crew. They had wound their way through sinuous tunnels, scraping their flesh against unforgiving stone walls. At times, even crawling on their stomachs to gain entrance to the next tunnel, never knowing what sort of danger might await them.
He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand leaving a fresh smear of blood and sand. Angry welts covered his palms, oozing painfully. Yet, at this moment none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was the tomb they stood inside of, an ancient burial chamber that had slept undisturbed for over a millennia.
He had finally unearthed what he believed to be Kutkara's final resting place.
“This has to be it.” Reginald whispered. He placed his hand on a stone wall, refusing to let his unrelenting exhaustion steal this moment from him. Reginald raised his hand to motion to the team to follow him.
Several feet down the passageway they were halted by a massive stone statue of Osiris, the Egyptian god of the underworld. Reginald traced his hand along the ancient writing etched into the stone, instantly deciphering its meaning. He whispered the words so softly that only he could hear them.
Death shall come swiftly to those who would disturb this unholy tomb, for the evil that lies here is one that will feast upon the soul of mankind.
Reginald had encountered many curses. It came with the job. When you disturbed the dead for a living, curses and such were just another day at the office. However, this curse felt different. The words etched by the hand of one who was long dead sent a faint whisper of unease through him. It was a feeling he shook off impatiently, dismissing the words as nothing more than superstitious nonsense.
He instructed the workers in fluent Egyptian, stepping back as they set to work. The warning pushed aside Reginald stared at the stone praying they could move it with ease. One thing was for certain, nothing would keep him from his discovery.
The burial chamber and its contents had haunted him his entire adult life. Ridiculed for his single-minded determination, most of his colleagues had dismissed the tomb he stood before as a mere legend. Nothing more than a myth birthed from a bored scholar’s fanciful imagination. They believed the stories to have been crafted by one of their own kind, too rich and too bored to chase after superstitions any longer, he had resorted to creating his own.
Reginald had been one of the few to believe. The stories had driven him with an almost relentless madness at times, and it was because of that madness that the legend was about to become a reality.
The workers cried out with their efforts, their muscles rippling beneath their sun-bronzed flesh until at last the lodged stone began to give way. They cheered as it fell to its side, sending a thick cloud of sand and dust up to choke them.
Reginald waited for the air to clear, holding his breath in anticipation. The instant he could see the opening to the passageway he rushed forward. Gone was the fatigue, replaced instead with a heady adrenaline that had his heart racing.
He pushed aside the doubt that reared its head, whispering fervently that once more he had failed to find the tomb and that it was nothing more than a decoy. Or worse, that desert thieves had long ago ransacked it. He didn't think he could face that possibility. He would be ruined.
How many times had he chased this personal demon, time after time riddled with failure, the money that had been spent, both his own and borrowed, never to be recovered?
The tomb was dark and the air heavy. Pulling a flashlight from his bag, the thin beam of light sliced through the darkness. Reginald forced himself to slow down, knowing there might be traps or other hazards. The local workers and university students followed closely, each pulling out their own flashlights, further illuminating the darkened room until it surged to life.
Reginald covered the burial chamber in a span of less than 100 feet, cursing under his breath as he did. This isn’t it, not with the chamber so small, and even worse, so pathetically bare.
He carefully picked his way over funeral urns and decorated vases, gingerly touching a pile of bones that lay in the far corner, briefly wondering why they hadn’t been properly mummified. Perhaps they were from thieves, just as he had feared.
Reginald stopped beside Mohammed, a young Egyptian man that he had been personally mentoring during the expedition.
“Reginald, this is perhaps of importance. It bears strange markings.”
He shone his light upon the golden box. It was heavily encrusted with jewels and most likely worth a small fortune.
“That is strange. It appears to be a serpent. Not of the tombs time period, is it?” Reginald toyed with the latch, watching as the ornate lid sprung open to reveal several aged scrolls. Without proper care the scrolls would disintegrate, the very air their greatest enemy. Reginald closed the lid quickly, instructing Mohammed to catalogue it.
The box would indeed be worth a small fortune, if that were any consolation, which it wasn’t. Reginald only cared about one thing, and so far, it looked like he had failed again.
Perhaps in the past such a find would have meant something. It did little to excite him now. There was only one treasure he sought and from the looks of this chamber once more that treasure had eluded him. Frustration surged through him while he paced the compact room, carefully examining every inch of the space.
He paused at one wall in particular, examining it more closely as he noticed for the first time writing etched upon it. Reading the words silently he shut his eyes as the meaning washed over him. It was more curse nonsense.
Why were there so many curses for a chamber that was so pitifully empty?
“I don't understand.” He spun futilely, the students looking away from the frustration in his eyes. “This must have been his final resting place. I can feel it in my gut. I can't be wrong. Not this time.”
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Reginald was silenced by an excited cry as Mohammed called for him. He closed the distance between them in less than a heartbeat, excitement pulsing through his veins. Mohammad spoke in rapid Egyptian, his words so hurried that Reginald could barely keep up. One of the chamber walls had been a trap, caving in to reveal a bloodied spear. Mohammed pointed to a worker, his abdomen blossoming with blood from where the spear had struck. The wound looked superficial and Reginald knew the boy had been lucky. It should have been a deathblow.
Reginald stared at the giant statue that stood behind the spear. It was a two-headed serpent, its stone body appearing to be carved straight from the wall itself. That is until Mohammed pointed to a thin crack that was beside the statue.
“There’s another room.” Reginald looked at Mohammed in disbelief. “Of course, I should have known.”
The remainder of the workers hurried over frantically searching for a way past the statue. Gathering as one they pressed their bodies tightly against the serpent hoping to dislodge it. The statue wouldn’t budge and the crack was no larger than it had been when they had first