Gene of Isis (16 page)

He observed me quietly and I had the feeling that he was not pondering my request for information.
What is your name?

‘Mia Montrose.’

Well, Miss Montrose,
he said rather formally,
I believe it would be in your best interests to take this journey one step at a time. And I am not at your beck and call. I have made no pact with you, as I did with Miss Granville.

Jesus!
He could read my mind as long as the stone was on my person. I’d forgotten about the telepathic connection. ‘I apologise. I’m new to this psychic business and I don’t know the protocol. However,’ I stood and confronted him, ‘you seem to need a ride to where the action is and I am going that way. So what can you do for me in return? I have no desire to become a psychic.’

If you can see and hear me then you already are,
Albray replied in a cool, confident and yet amiable way.
And as you may have learned from Miss Granville’s experience, an untrained psychic is more exposed to manipulation from outside forces than a trained one.

‘Look, that is ridiculous!’ I definitely did not want to believe him. ‘I haven’t had visions, seen ghosts, auras, alien beings or anything else magical before today!’

Albray just smiled and vanished.

‘I didn’t mean any offence,’ I appealed to the empty room, fearing he’d gone, when I suddenly felt a kind of tingly sensation, first through my back then all through my body. I felt strong and brave, until I discovered I no longer had control of my actions.

My hand clutched the hilt of an ancient broadsword which I had hung on the wall. I began to wield it with such style and confidence that my fear turned to elation, yet I could not make my mouth form a smile. Then I abruptly brought the sword to rest at my own throat, which made Albray’s argument all too clear.

As suddenly as I’d been seized, I was free again. My arm now felt the weight of the sword it held and the tip dropped to the floor so hard it left an indent in the timber.

‘Holy mother of god!’ I panted in the wake of my sudden burst of energy. I’d never felt so dizzy in all my life.

And you are about to enter ancient places where the spirits of the dead abound.

Fear gripped my heart. If what he said was true, I could be made to do anything. I had no desire to be possessed by an ancient wraith; I was a danger to myself and others. ‘If you agree to advise, teach and protect me, I shall take you to Mt Serâbit.’ I was too overawed and terrified to debate the issue any further tonight.

Then we are agreed.

I packed the green and blue volumes into my luggage, which made it weigh a ton once I added the other reference books I needed. I would have loved to continue reading Ashlee’s tale during the long flight, but the book was just too damn cumbersome to take on the plane as hand luggage. I packed the aged insect repellent in an airtight container to take along. Perhaps I could get it analysed and find out what the hell was in it? I attached a leather tie to Albray’s stone and wore it around my throat, like a choker; in the light of recent events it was reassuring to know he was close by and, unlike Ashlee, I had no fear of being branded as a pagan for wearing it.

During the flight I reviewed the archaeological history of the mount. I didn’t find any reference to the work Douglas Hamilton had done at the site, but Douglas was the first to admit that he had barely scratched the surface of the project. Serious excavation at Serâbit began nearly a century later in 1903, when Sir William Flinders Petrie unearthed the Hathor Temple complex. The sacred shrine was full of alchemical apparatus dating from the time of
the Third Egyptian Dynasty through to the Eighteenth Dynasty that spawned Tutankhamen, Amenhotep III, Akhenaton, Queen Hatshepsut and Thutmosis III.

In the Serâbit temple complex, over fifty tonnes of white powder had been discovered—a substance which was currently classified as exotic matter composed of monatomic platinum-group elements extracted from gold, meteors, and some mineralrich soil of the Nile. It was conjectured that this white powder was one of the ingredients of the Bread of Light, the others being the asena bush and the acacia tree. The latter two ingredients were still being used to make a bread that was said to have great healing properties. The bread was shaped in a symbol sacred to the Egyptians—a circle with a hole in it, representing the eye of Ra.

I couldn’t help but consider the stone I wore.

Do you not even wonder at the shape of your amulet? Why it had to be round with a hole in the middle?
I recalled Albray posing the question to Ashlee.

Was Egypt the connection that predestined the shape of the enchanted stone? Ashlee had not recorded whether she had questioned Albray about the symbolism of the stone, for ring symbolism was rife among secret orders throughout the ages. I really liked wearing the ordinary little stone; I liked what it said about me: earthy, immaterial, and yet mysterious.

Many other curious items had been found within the courts and halls of the Hathor complex: carved stone rectangular tanks and circular basins, alabaster cups in the shape of lotus flowers, and a good collection of glazed plaques, cartouches and scarabs. Sacred ornaments worked in spirals or with spiral
markings were retrieved from the earth, along with basketwork and two conical stones that differed in size. The most curious find, however—apart from the wands made of a hard material that Andre had mentioned on the phone—was the unearthing of a metallurgist’s crucible in one of the several chambers where the white powder had been found.

This white powder sounded suspiciously like that which Ashlee Granville claimed to have in her vial, although from all accounts the powder at the site was not glowing or levitating. My text mentioned that the powder made at Serâbit combined three ingredients to produce the Bread of Life; was it only when all the ingredients were combined that the atoms of the substance achieved a high-spin, gravity defying state?

Since my acquaintance with Albray, I wasn’t doubting my great-great-grandmother’s sanity as much as I first had when reading her journal. Albray was proof that there was magic in the world, and if that much of Ashlee’s tale was true, then…?

I couldn’t wait until I had the opportunity to sit down and read on.

I switched planes at Cairo and caught a flight to Sharm el-Sheikh at the southern tip of the Sinai Peninsula. Andre’s email had advised that a helicopter would meet me there and take me to the site at Mt Serâbit. The closest accommodation was too far away to serve the purposes of the excavation, so they had established a base camp closer to the mount.

My long flight ended at Sharm right on midday and it was stinking hot—and for an Aussie girl that was really saying something.

‘Dr Montrose?’

I turned from collecting my baggage to be confronted by a tall local fellow attired in black—I imagined he was an assassin for a second.

‘I am Akbar, your escort out to the mountain.’

Akbar’s pale brown eyes were intense and mesmerising. His olive skin, and the long black curls that extended around his neck from under his head covering, made his light coloured eyes all the more striking. ‘I thought Andre was sending a helicopter?’ I wondered why I should need a guide.

‘Foreigners are forbidden to leave the main roads unescorted,’ he explained congenially, and lifted my two heavy suitcases with such ease that, had I not hauled them off the luggage belt myself, I would have thought they’d been emptied. ‘Our transport is this way.’

I followed him out into the hot sun, placing a scarf over my head and around my shoulders, a wide-brimmed hat on top, and, of course, sunglasses, as I never slept well on planes.

Over the top of my long loose trousers and long-sleeved shirt, I wore a neck to calf length, heavy-weave cotton top that was done up all the way down to the knee. Made from beautiful Indian cotton, this clothing was the coolest outfit I owned that was also modest enough not to give offence in these parts.

The chopper pilot was an American guy, employed by the project to run errands. He introduced himself as Marty and seemed a cheery, confident kind of fellow.

My guide took a back seat in the helicopter while I sat beside our pilot in the front and strapped myself in.

‘Here.’ Marty handed me a one-litre bottle of fresh spring water. ‘Courtesy of the C & M Excavation. Don’t go anywhere without it and keep drinking constantly, as you’ll be surprised how fast you dehydrate.’

‘Thanks.’ I followed his advice gladly and drank down a quarter of a litre before coming up for air. ‘Who does the C and M stand for?’

‘James Conally, who is on-site and heading the excavation,’ Marty replied as he raised our transport into the air, ‘and Christian Molier…he’s the money.’

The stone at my neck began to itch my skin. It hadn’t bothered me before now, I thought. Perhaps I was having a reaction to the stone due to the extreme heat? Whatever the cause, I removed it, and placed it in my pocket.

The flight out to the Serâbit site was spectacular. Marty flew by Mt Sinai, which was still widely believed to be the mountain where Moses had received the Ten Commandments, despite the fact that there was not a trace of archaeological evidence to support that belief. In the shadow of the mountain was the impressive monastery of St Catherine, a centre of religious life in the Sinai. We also flew over the Pearl of the Sinai at Feiran, the largest oasis on the peninsula, which has a spectacular and extensive sprawl of palm trees. Legend has it that Moses struck a rock with his staff at this oasis so as to bring forth a spring to save his people.

But, for me, Mt Serâbit was more awe-inspiring than all of the above, for it had sheer drops from very dizzying heights and I was thankful to see that this was not the case all the way around the mount.
The pillars of the Temple of Hathor dominated one side of the mountain and, as construction dated to around 2900BC, this building was far more alluring than either a monastery or an oasis. The mountainside was also dotted with ancient turquoise mines which had inscriptions in an early proto-Sinaitic script. Now I ask you, what could possibly top that in my eyes?

On approach I could see the layout of the excavation. Atop of the mount were the remains of the Hathor Complex. A dirt road, wide enough to cater to tourist buses, extended down from this and where it circled around the mountain a second excavation was taking place—Andre’s mysterious entrance no doubt. Further below was base camp.

The helipad was on another dusty plateau that was apart from the excavation sites, and a dirt road led to a T-intersection with the winding mountain road that you could follow upwards to the Hathor complex, or downwards to the new excavation and base camp. As my transport took position over the landing site I spied Andre waving up at me, and I must admit that I was pleased to see a familiar face.

‘Mia!’ Andre kissed both my cheeks in turn as soon as I was in range and then held me at arm’s length to admire the rest of me. ‘You look fantastic!’

With Andre
everything
was fantastic. ‘You’re looking…’ I tried to be kind, so instead of saying sunburned and dusty, I said ‘…windswept and interesting.’

‘I know I look a mess.’ He looked down at his clothing and shrugged. ‘I’ve been working. Come, let me show you.’

As I was urged to follow Andre’s lead, I looked back to see Marty handing my bags to Akbar. ‘But—’

‘Akbar will see your luggage to your tent.’ Andre waved off my concern. ‘We have better things to do.’

Akbar didn’t seem the bag boy type to me. As I said, I’d mistaken him for an assassin on first sight. ‘I very much appreciate it,’ I called back to him over the sound of the chopper, and Akbar merely nodded. He was not the expressive type either.

I followed Andrew down the road from the helipad to where it joined the mountain road, and then turned right to follow this to the new excavation site, which had been fenced off to keep any nosy tourists at bay. C & M Excavation had unearthed a large disc-shaped feature that appeared to be constructed of normal white gold. The large disc was inset in walls that were composed of the same mysterious polished precious metal as the inner disc and the wands discovered here early last century.

‘Where is everyone?’ I’d expected to see work in progress.

‘After we uncovered the doorway, we dropped back to a skeleton crew until we knew what we were dealing with.’

The hieroglyphs I was here to translate were inset in a circular band around the central disc—this band appeared to be of dense, polished black rock.

‘What makes you think this is an entrance and not a decoration of some kind?’ I inquired, awe in my voice as I briefly touched the smooth surface, but as it was extremely hot my fingers recoiled.

‘Well, besides the inscription allegedly mentioning a door, we’ve taken readings to gauge the thickness of the surrounding wall…it is five
feet thick, and then hollow.’ Andre raised his eyebrows to heighten the sense of drama. ‘But this central circle is only one foot thick.’

‘So drill it,’ I suggested.

‘I told you on the phone.’ Andre was emphatic. ‘We can’t even scratch off a particle to have it analysed, let alone drill it! It may only look like polished metal but it’s harder than iron ferrite.’

‘What about this black-band seal?’ I queried, hating the thought of having to harm the exquisite find, but it was sure to be nothing compared to what lay beyond.

‘Same story,’ Andre advised, frustrated. ‘So what does the inscription read, in your opinion?’

I translated the signs saying there would be a curse on the man who would try to open the door and enter. Then: ‘A woman of Isis will come bearing bread in offering. Only to her will heaven’s door open.’

Andre was reading his notes and his eyes boggled a moment. ‘Go back to…a woman will come bearing. What did you say after that?’

‘Bread,’ I repeated. ‘Why?’

‘The local translators said it read
food
…are you sure?’

‘Sure I’m sure. I can’t believe an Egyptian could make a mistake like that, unless—’

‘They were purposefully trying to mislead us.’ Andre smiled grimly, as this is what he’d suspected all along.

‘Bread.’ I pondered the word’s significance.
The Bread of Life and Light?
I posed silently, having read about that just recently. ‘What happened to the white powder that they found here in the alchemist’s chamber early last century?’

Andre baulked at the question. ‘If you think it’s important, JC might know.’

‘Pardon?’

‘James Conally, archaeologist, the man in charge.’ Andre pointed down the road toward the campsite. ‘We can go see him now if you wish. He’ll be wanting to meet you anyway.’ When I nodded, Andre led off. ‘So why do you ask about the powder?’

‘Well, it is said to be one of the ingredients of the
Bread
of Life…’ The information startled Andre. ‘Or perhaps the bread itself?’

‘Of course!’ He hit himself on the head, obviously feeling he should have made the connection.

‘I’ve been reading something which suggests that this substance not only defies gravity, but when heated to extreme temperatures,’ I pointed to the blazing sun on the horizon, ‘it can send atoms into such a highward spin state that they vanish from this plane of existence altogether.’

Andre was smiling broadly now. ‘So what are you suggesting? That we coat the disc in this ancient mystical brew and hope that it disappears!’

I shrugged. ‘If a culture could produce a substance that defies gravity, I’m sure they would have no problem whatsoever in reversing the process to produce your mysterious supermetal and rock.’

Andre nodded, smiling as if this was exactly what he’d expected of me. ‘I’m willing to run with that theory, as it’s better than any of the others we’ve had.’

‘Why? What other theories have been put forward?’ I was interested to know, in case I could see merit in them.

‘Well, besides “blast it to hell”, which didn’t work,’ Andre confessed, ‘your theory is an island oasis in a rippleless sea of possibility. I knew you’d be an asset.’

In the many times I’d worked with Andre, this was the first time he’d actually appreciated my knowledge more than my physical presence. Admittedly, my outfit did little for my figure. ‘One does one’s best.’

James Conally was a pleasant bloke. He seemed well organised, courteous, knowledgeable and enthusiastic about anything that moved his project forward.

Needless to say, he greeted my theory with open arms, and praised Andre for bringing me to the project for I had already earned my week’s pay.

‘I wouldn’t get that excited. I could be way off the mark.’ I needed to speak to Albray, but from what he’d told Ashlee about the construction of the pyramids, I had a sneaking suspicion I’d be proven right. ‘Our big problem is getting hold of this
shem,
manna, ORME!’ Indeed, the substance had many names.