The Curse of Kalaan

Tell el-Amarna, Egypt - November 7th, 1828

The waters of the Nile sparkled under the sun's caress and shimmered like mercury dappled languidly by gentle bluish gray waves. This wide liquid ribbon flowed from south to north through the regions of Lower, Middle and Upper Egypt and, in the summer, during the annual flood season, she generously fertilized her banks with a rich black silt which the people called "kemet." The contrast between the sumptuously rich plant life on the riverbanks, sprung from this nourishing source, and the desert plains in the background never ceased to astonish visitors.

The green landscape that cradled the Nile in its arms was full of lush grasses, papyrus, eucalyptus, weeping willows, palm trees, and date trees, as well as lotus and reeds. And when the eyes finally broke away from the bewitching green to look beyond this belt quivering with life, high sand dunes and dark rocky peaks, covered in beige sand reflecting the sun's glare came into view.

Any smiles were dulled, and then completely erased, by the barren scene that managed to freeze the blood of mortals despite the high temperatures. Its message was silent, terrifying and macabre: "From this point on, all life ends." In places like this heaven and hell fought for their share of the world and man was nothing more than an insignificant pawn - at best a spectator, at worst a victim.

In ancient times along one of these waterfronts, on the eastern bank of the Nile, boats belonging to Akhenaten, the tenth pharaoh of the eighteenth dynasty, and his royal spouse, the great Nefertiti would dock.

It is also in this place that he who would come to be baptized the 'heretic pharaoh' built his new capital, completely dedicated to the cult of the sun god Aten1 and gave it the name of Akhetaten or "Horizon of Aten." Akhetaten was a spectacular city, with magnificent architecture, in red bricks and talatats2; and within four years it had a population of over twenty thousand. The city was, without a doubt, worthy of the cult of Aten, easily meeting the expectations of its ruler.

Three thousand one hundred and eighty eight years later, in 1828, with the passing of time and changing ideals, after having been deserted at the end of Akenaten's reign, the capital was no more than a pile of ruins swept by the burning desert winds, and watched over by its boundary steles. Nothing remains of the great pharaoh, or of the original name, not even a hint of the beginning of a story3.

Now on the banks there are other boats, more modest than Akhenaten's, however just as well designed for the visitors they transport: two maasch4 -the Isis and the Horus- and a small felucca5.TheIsis and the felucca belonged to Jean-Fran?ois Champollion's Franco-Tuscan expedition, which had just arrived at the site, while the Horus belonged to Kalaan Phoebus, Count of Croz, a French nobleman and Egyptologist, who had been in Egypt for the past eight months.

In this mythical place called Tell el-Armana, an unexpected encounter would permanently change these two men's destinies.

"My dear Kalaan! I'm delighted that fate has finally brought us together here in this country!" exclaimed Jean-Fran?ois Champollion, two hours after their unexpected encounter at Tell el-Amarna. He had briefly toured a section of the extensive ruins, first with the members of his expeditionary corps, then accompanied solely by the count.

After a moment of thought, he spoke again.

"These ruins are true to the descriptions the Jesuit Claude Sicard published in his letters in 1714. And Mister Jomard's1 report from thirty years ago is just as truthful; what we have here is utter desolation. There is good cause to believe that all the pillaging these ancient sites are being subjected to has worsened their condition. My colleagues and I have observed that time was not the only culprit in the destruction of the remains. Men armed with pickaxes and hammers have made a considerable contribution to this dilapidation. 'Tis such devastation! There is nothing left to raise and the few reliefs, hieroglyphs or fragments of statues that we've spotted, have all been severely damaged."

"In the two days I've been here, I have come to the same conclusion, " sighed Kalaan gloomily with some bitterness in his voice, his amber-green eyes scanning the ruins across to the steep chalky cliffs rising to the east. They loomed just above what had once most certainly been the foundations of an immense ancient Egyptian city.

"Anything new on this Akhenaten's identity?"

"No, my friend, and it saddens me somewhat, " replied Champollion wearily, pursing his lips. "For the life of me, I simply cannot place this mysterious figure in the long list of kings, queens or pharaohs. I admit I am starting to feel the same as my colleagues, who affirm that Akhenaten was, in truth, a woman. It's quite odd... as if the world had resolved to erase all trace of her, or him, and her reign - or his. If ever there really was a reign."

Jean-Fran?ois distractedly took a whitish object from his pocket, which aroused the Count of Croz's curiosity.

"What's that?"

"Hmh?" Champollion, who seemed preoccupied, looked up at Kalaan and stared at him questioningly. "Oh! This? Just a fragment of crystallized limestone. Notice how it is polished to perfection. From its shape we assume it belonged to a knee from a statue, probably that of a woman, which would confirm that Akhenaten was a member of the weaker sex. Here again, we may well never know."

"Maybe, or maybe not, " replied Kalaan, enigmatically. "Have you forgotten that I wish to share one of my recent discoveries with you? And what if I announced that it could provide many answers to our questions?"

Champollion's disbelief was visible and his brown eyes sparkled with keen interest. However, Kalaan had already turned away and with no further explanation, was striding towards the banks of the Nile, where the boats were docked. The rascal! He was so certain he had succeeded in sparking his colleague's curiosity that he didn't doubt for a moment he would follow!

And how could Champollion not follow? Kalaan's strong charismatic aura as well as his physical appearance commanded respect. He was endowed with an impressive stature, and moved lithely among the ruins of Tell el-Amarna like a feline reveling in the sun. He was dressed in a white linen tunic, close-fitting light-colored suede breeches and high boots crafted from thick leather - essential attire for protection against the snakes and scorpions that abounded in the area.

To protect himself from the sun, Champollion had only brought an ordinary straw hat, whereas Kalaan had opted for a black cheich2, which did not, by any means, tarnish his stately bearing, quite the opposite, in fact. His appearance was enhanced by the fabric that concealed his dark sun-streaked chestnut brown hair. The young count's locks were worn longer than was fashionable for the period and he kept them tied at the nape by a simple leather cord.

His face did not exactly meet the beauty standards of the period, which admired men who had softer, more feminine, features. His chin was a little too strong and his lips a little too full. All together his features were intensely masculine. Despite this, Kalaan was still one of the most handsome and sought after specimens of the time.

A lock of hair was constantly falling across his wide forehead, which gave him a rebellious look. His dark expressive eyebrows could easily switch from displaying determination, to derision, to deep annoyance. His alluring amber-green eyes were magnetic and the people around him often found them unsettling. Kalaan was a formidable adversary for his male colleagues and a fawned upon rake for women.

Unlike the dainty aristocrats who cultivated their pretentious delicate features and never did anything useful with their hands, Kalaan spared no efforts in digging the earth, lifting rocks, and carrying heavy weights just like the laborers he employed on his excavation sites. As a result he had a magnificently proportioned athletic body for which his men had nicknamed him 'the Lion of Egypt.'

Scarcely half an hour later, after reaching the camp on the eastern bank of the Nile, the young count slipped away from the members of Champollion's expeditionary force, which included his closest friends Ippolito Rosellini3 and Nestor L'H?te4.His mysterious attitude was starting to annoy the linguist.

"All this mystery concerning your discovery is somewhat agitating, if you don't mind my saying so, " murmured Champollion, whose brown eyes were shining with elation. "My Italian friend and colleague, Rosellini, must certainly suspect that we are not going to inspect a mere 'hole in the desert' as you have just led him to believe."

"Infested with snakes and scorpions, " Kalaan teasingly added, in his warm, deep voice.

Under his tan Ippolito Rosellini had turned very pale after hearing Kalaan's words and hadn't insisted on accompanying them despite the immense curiosity that was tormenting both him, and Nestor L'H?te. And yet this was neither the first site the two men had visited with Champollion, nor would it be the last, and they had already seen more than their share of reptiles. The men displayed their disappointment and their eyes never left Champollion and his friend while boarding the Horus where the Count of Croz had invited them for refreshments.

As Kalaan had politely suggested, "To slake your thirst and take shelter from the heat..."

It was all only ruse and diversion, and Champollion was bursting with impatience to lay eyes on the troubling discovery that had not yet been disturbed by any human presence other than the count's.

Kalaan and Jean-Fran?ois embarked on a felucca to cross to the west bank of the Nile where Salam, Kalaan's faithful Tuareg friend, was waiting for them, with Lil' Louis, the count's right hand man who followed him on all his expeditions, as well as the count's henchmen.

"Really... a hole?" teased Jean-Fran?ois once more, as he took his seat on the small boat."

Kalaan shot him a cryptic look, a sardonic smile on his full lips, and took the helm of their little boat, steering it in the right direction. His gestures were calm and sure, as though he'd been doing this all his life, although he was only thirty years old. Seeing him in this light, as a hardened navigator, no one could ever doubt his Breton origins.

It was a secret for no one that the young count, as well as being a renowned Egyptologist, had been a buccaneer. He began in the service of Napoleon Bonaparte when he was only fourteen and then went on to serve Louis XVIII and Charles X, following the Restoration of 1814, which had brought back the Bourbon monarchy.

Kalaan, whose father had been a buccaneer before him, followed in his father's footsteps; but the old Count of Croz had disappeared at sea during a dangerous mission against the British, well before the new King of France returned to the throne.

A buccaneer is exactly how Champollion, who never tried to hide his admiration, saw Kalaan, imagining him upright and proud at the helm of his frigate, unaffected by the cascades of salt water pelting down on him, while facing the unleashed elements of a powerful storm.

The two men had run into each other several times in Paris, usually at the Louvre Museum. Their most recent encounter was during the inauguration of the Musée Charles X, where eight new rooms in the south wing of the Cour Carré, were devoted to Egyptian and Greco-Roman antiquities. At the time Jean-Fran?ois hung on every word the count said after returning from one of his numerous expeditions to Egypt, whereas Champollion, the 'decipherer of hieroglyphs' only dreamed of discovering that faraway land that called to him. His dream had always slipped through his fingers just as he thought it might come true.

It had finally happened! Champollion was living his adventure and savoring every minute of it. Sumptuous Egypt seemed to open her arms and constantly thrilled him with her rich and mysterious history. And now, on this seventh day of November in 1828, adrenalin was rushing through his veins again and he was getting restless waiting to hear what it was that Kalaan so wanted to keep secret.

Unable to control himself any longer, Jean-Fran?ois asked questions rapidly, one after the other, and only stopped when he realized he hadn't given the count, who was looking at him with amusement, the chance to answer - as if he would even deign to do so.

The small boat shook as its hull slid squealing onto the sand of the west bank. They were already at their destination and Kalaan's men were quickly pulling the felucca to higher ground. They helped Champollion out onto land while Kalaan, who had jumped into the water before they hit the sand, was heading towards the dry desert zone that could be seen just beyond the lush green belt. Despite being a nobleman, the Count of Croz, totally lacked the manners and courtesy that would have him wait for his guest. Only Lil' Louis, the young aristocrat's sturdy right-hand man, who was well into his fifties and Salam, Kalaan's mysterious Tuareg friend, stayed back with him, exchanging embarrassed glances. Kalaan's lack of good manners obviously disturbed them.

"Lil' Louis!" exclaimed Champollion, warmly shaking the man's large hand. "What a pleasure to see you again!"

"Likewise, " the old seafarer replied cheerfully, "Mighty pleased t'see ye. The sooner ye get the lad outta this hole, the sooner we go home. Oy'm fed up with guzzling sand!"

Champollion burst out laughing at Lil' Louis' outspokenness. With his graying hair, pudgy cheeks and round belly, the little fellow, whose trousers were always falling, cut a comic figure and, with Kalaan, the two of them formed an odd couple. Jean-Fran?ois cleared his throat to regain composure and turned to Salam, whom Lil' Louis quickly introduced.

He was what they call a 'blue man'5, tall and imposing, dressed from head to foot in a takakat6 and an indigo cheich, the long traditional costume of his people. The cloth across his face hid everything but his dark, unfathomable almond-shaped eyes, thick dark eyelashes and well-defined eyebrows. The man was heavily armed, wearing a takoba7, held at the waist by a brown leather belt. It was only visible by its cross-shaped hilt sticking out of a brown leather sheath. The blue man also carried a spear and a goatskin shield and was most certainly wearing a telak, the traditional Tuareg dagger, under his left sleeve.

On seeing the blue man, Jean-Fran?ois thought of the count and had a troubling idea, "God has united the light and the shadows about me, the light in Kalaan and the shadows in Salam. Could this be a sign?"

"As salaam alaykum, peace be upon you." Bowing his head with respect, the Tuareg spoke in Arabic, not in Berber8. His voice was rich and gravely.

"Wa 'alaykum salaam, upon you be peace, " replied Jean-Fran?ois, who spoke Arabic fluently.

The brief exchange stopped there and, following Salam's signal, the three men headed in the same direction as Kalaan had just a few minutes earlier. The heat on this side of the Nile was strangely heavier than on the east bank at the ruins of Tell el-Amarna. Jean-Fran?ois was soon aware that Lil' Louis, who was on his right, appeared to suffer even more; and his breathing became more and more labored with each heavy step.

As they pushed on, leaving behind the greenery and flat ground, and got closer to the blazing furnace of the dunes, it became more and more difficult to walk. It was almost as if the fine sand into which their feet were sinking deeply, was trying to break their will to continue.

The wretched sand... It got into everything. It made their mouths gritty and cottony and their eyes were so irritated that there were tears in them. The clothes became rough and itchy and even the boots, which were supposed to serve as protection became torture. With each step forward the desert took its retribution, and put the men through cruel torment.

About a hundred yards further they finally reached the count who had deigned to wait for them. He lowered the bottom strip of his cheich, thus uncovering his face, and handed a goatskin canteen full of water to his Egyptologist friend.

"Drink. Now is not the time to fall to sunstroke. You too Lil' Louis, " he said scolding, when he noticed the sorry state his old friend was in. "Good heavens, perhaps the next time you will listen to me and stay on the boat!"

"Oy promised yer mother oy'd not let ye outta me sight, lad!"

"Did you also promise her to die of stupidity? Drink!"

Champollion gratefully accepted the water, which, despite its unpleasantly warm temperature, was refreshing. After quenching his thirst, he quickly handed it to the old seafarer. The old man in turn slaked his own thirst and handed the canteen to Salam, who declined, shaking his head.

"For sure, " Lil' Louis grumbled, "No one tells off the blue warrior, right!"

"This is Salaam's home, " Kalaan replied stiffly, as if he'd already said the same thing a hundred times. "You can't possibly compare his tolerance to this heat with yours."

Jean-Fran?ois couldn't help but show his curiosity about the blue man. Kalaan realized this and smiled before speaking again.

"Salam wanted to welcome you with honor, wearing his full ceremonial attire. He would like to be dressed entirely in white, to express his respect for you, but unfortunately he'd only packed his indigo twill."

"I thank him for that, " said Champollion particularly touched by such deference, for he felt he was nothing more than a small ordinary man. He had such a mistaken opinion of himself, while the world of explorers both respected and envied him for being the first person to decipher hieroglyphs. In Salam's eyes, he was a man among men.

"We're only a few steps away, " Kalaan revealed pointing towards a stretch of high dunes.

The blazing heat was now unbearable and strange spiraling arabesques were rising in the air, making the view hazy for miles around in all directions.

Suddenly, there was an extraordinary, bloodcurdling sound, then a second one that sounded like a muffled moan, immediately followed by another, one wave of sound after another. There! The sound shifted again and little by little transformed into something resembling the beating of drums, getting louder and louder. No! Now it was a low moan again!

"We call it the 'song of the dunes'9, " Salam explained in his richly accented voice, influenced by his native Berber tongue. The ancient ones used to say that these songs either called us to death, or announced it."

Champollion started shivering from head to foot; not from cold but from fear, a fear that had been constantly with him for some time now, the fear that his demise was imminent and that he would die before he could complete his voyage and see all that the world had to offer.

"'Tis nothing but a legend, Jean-Fran?ois, " Kalaan tried to reassure him. "The noise comes from the wind caressing the dunes, or when our feet dig into them creating little sand avalanches. But I can understand your consternation. I felt the same way the first time I experienced the phenomenon. So, shall we go?" he urged, no longer concerned with his friend's distress. And he swirled around to start back on his forced march.

Once again, he didn't wait for his companions. Champollion shook off his morbid thoughts and ordered his unwilling body to follow the young nobleman.

"Zounds! He trembled like a weak woman, " mumbled Lil' Louis so that only Champollion could hear him. The Egyptologist stifled his laugh with a cough as Kalaan opened his mouth to speak again.

"Fear can be respectable when it pushes us to make the right choices!" he said over his shoulder. "Only fools and imbeciles can't understand this."

"And you my, friend? Is there anything on this earth that terrifies you? You look solid as a rock, so much so that it is hard for me to imagine you could feel such an emotion."

Kalaan broke into a hearty laugh and turned to look into Champollion's eyes.

"If I were to confess what gives me cold sweats, you wouldn't believe me."

"You could always try, unless it must remain a secret."

"Aye, we're all ears now, " the old sailor added in a honeyed voice.

Kalaan looked down at him, his lips pursed in a cynical, almost bitter expression. "I have no secrets. Well, since you insist on knowing, what frightens me more than anything are women!"

Champollion looked dumbstruck for an instant, thinking he hadn't heard correctly. He then burst out laughing, but quickly regained his composure when he saw the vexed look on the face of the Adonis, beloved by all women. That didn't stop Lil' Louis from guffawing and slapping his knee. Salam simply nodded silently.

Champollion realized with stupefaction that the count wasn't joking. This womanizing rake was afraid of women! The announcement was hard to believe.

"I can no longer stand their tittering, their simpering, their frivolity and their guiles! They're all the same, not one better than the other. Except, of course, for my sister Isabelle and my mother, " he muttered, apologetically thinking of the two ladies in question. "I loathe them so much, I could almost become a monk!"

"You are joking, aren't you?" Champollion exclaimed.

"Absolutely not! I must have liked them at some point, or at least enjoyed their company. But today I'm tired of them. All I see when I look at women now is their duplicity and their abounding hypocrisy. Don't be mistaken, I'm no monk; they serve me well ... for dalliances, I must admit. But it stops at that."

Jean-Fran?ois thought he saw a spark of humor in the dark eyes of the ever-silent Salaam, and began to think about the young count's words. He was a strong handsome man, rich and free; and certainly all the matriarchs of French nobility were aware of this. Kalaan most likely had to suffer all the marriageable young ladies from all over France being paraded at his door. He was also said to be an excellent lover, and every widow or unhappily married woman probably did everything possible to add him to their list of conquests.

Seen from that point of view, the fairer sex could be considered somewhat frightening. Now Jean-Fran?ois could understand and give credit to Kalaan's words. However, he would have liked to have the same type of fear as his friend, rather than one of an early demise.

"The tomb is just down there, " the count announced, pulling Champollion from his thoughts.

A tomb? Where? They were standing at the ridge of a high dune and nothing around them could confirm what Kalaan said.

However, when he followed Kalaan's eyes and looked further down, Jean-Fran?ois couldn't suppress an exclamation of surprise. There, at the foot of the dune, what looked like stone walls most likely of human construction, had been revealed. The ancient earthy coating had been partially removed and clearly marked the entrance to something resembling a mausoleum. Yet it remained completely invisible to anyone standing at the edge of Tell el-Amarna.

Kalaan's baritone voice cut through the silence. "The desert jealously hides its secrets and nature, either by whim or as a joke, and enjoys teasing us by raising storms to reveal to the world what should never have reappeared. We are the first to have laid eyes on this edifice since time immemorial. It has never been charted by Sicard, or by the scientists who were here during the Egyptian campaign10, nor by Belzoni11 and most certainly not by the vile French consul Drovetti12. I have made certain of this. We are standing before a great discovery!"

"Or a great curse, " added Salam, under his breath gloomier than ever. "This is not a tomb, " he insisted, as he already had numerous times, since they discovered the site the previous day. "No pharaoh, queen, prince, or high dignitary rests here."

Champollion began trembling uncontrollably. The Tuareg's alarming words echoed the horrible feeling that had suddenly come over him.

"Jean-Fran?ois is here to either prove or contradict what you are saying, " Kalaan muttered, knitting his brow. "Why place such a building so far from Tell el-Amarna?" he added thoughtfully, as if to himself.

"So men wilna come stomping 'round the place, " Lil' Louis muttered nervously. "Will we g'back to the boat now, lad?"

"No!" exclaimed Kalaan, stubbornly.

"This edifice is here to protect living creatures from whatever it contains, "Salam replied sharply.

Kalaan shot a heavy look at his Tuareg friend and turned to look at Jean-Fran?ois, before speaking again.

"My dear friend, you are the only one who can tell us the truth. Can you translate the hieroglyphs on the door, as they hold the answers to our questions? Thanks to your studies and catalogues, I can manage somewhat; however, I am just a beginner. Will you do it for us?"

The Egyptologist only hesitated a moment. He had to admit that although his feeling of foreboding was strong, he felt the same exhilarating curiosity as Kalaan and wanted to see this new adventure through to the very end, despite all the possible dangers.

"I'm bursting with impatience, " he responded in a loud, yet trembling, voice. "Let us go!"

"The Lord 'ave pity on us, " Lil' Louis mumbled, before tumbling down the slope leading to the mysterious mausoleum on his buttocks.

As the awkward Lil' Louis descended the dune on his rear end, the sand began, once again, to produce the startling sounds they call the 'song of the dunes' and the song continued as his three more dignified companions went dashing down after him on their feet.

A few moments later they were standing at the entrance of the astonishing construction while the count of Croz's men followed close behind. Among the thirty odd men were some local workmen, but also sailors and Kalaan's traveling companions. Everything about them showed how frightening they found this discovery. The anguish in their eyes spoke louder than words.

What the devil! This isn't the first time they've found themselves in front of a tomb! Kalaan thought gloomily.

"We mustn't remain here, " grumbled Salam.

Meanwhile Jean-Fran?ois went up to the hieroglyphs covering the wall that served as a door. Kalaan didn't bother wasting his breath yet again by replying to his stubborn friend. He crossed his arms over his powerful chest and waited to hear what Champollion would reveal to them.

"These inscriptions are magnificent!" exclaimed the scholar. "Pure hieroglyphs, so many figurative symbols and cartouches... all in such perfect condition. I could swear they were only just carved yesterday! I'll get started immediately on the translation!"

He started moving back and forth from one point to another almost bouncing with excitement and every time he stopped, he would loudly exclaim 'I've got it!' before scribbling something in his notebook. It was as if Champollion had, all of a sudden, completely shut out the rest of the world.

"You've got what?" Kalaan couldn't help but ask after sighing heavily. He had been watching his companion's odd little dance for at least twenty minutes.

"It's fascinating..." he gasped without stopping what he was doing.

"Ye know what's fascinatin'? We're all goin' te be roasted like pigs on a spit. There's already a smell o' burnin', " muttered Lil' Louis wiping his damp red face for the hundredth time.

"Return to the boat!" Kalaan was more concerned for the older man than annoyed.

He was clearly worried for his old friend who stood up with difficulty after sitting a few minutes on the sand, when Champollion exclaimed, "That's it, I've translated the most important parts and I still can't believe my eyes!"

He nervously went up to Kalaan.

"This name, Imhotep, I saw it at Saqqara where the step pyramid is! But I also noticed it while I was studying the royal collection in Turin. He is described as some sort of healing god, 'son of Ptah', doctor, grand vizier, scribe, architect and magician. It is difficult to know if he was a man or a real divinity. I hope to learn more in continuing my journey. However, my dear Kalaan, the best is yet to come!"

Jean-Fran?ois was positively beaming at the count. Not able to resist anymore, Kalaan had to ask, "What is left to come?"

"Akhenaten!" exclaimed a very excited Champollion. "He is mentioned here, on this very door! And it is not a woman, as we presumed, but a man, a pharaoh! Listen. It is written that in this place, so that the reign of the pharaoh Akhenaten may pass in peace, a magic ritual was practiced, according to the sacred dictates of Imhotep. Wait. I must read this again!" and Champollion, returned grumbling to study the inscriptions.

"Ancestral charms!" Salam was not pleased. "I warned you that this had nothing of a tomb. We must go no further. The magic of the ancient ones is feared and respected, for it is all powerful."

"Ye hear dat lad? Let's return!" added Lil' Louis as he started turning to leave.

"No!" responded Kalaan, harshly. "Something is pushing me forward. I don't know how to explain it. I simply must enter this mausoleum, tomb, crypt, whatever it is, I must enter!"

"There, " said Jean-Fran?ois, completely indifferent to the growing tension in the group, so absorbed he was by his deciphering and the sheer scale of what he was discovering. "It is written, 'Imhotep stands guard here, all the Pharaoh's fears, concealed or retained by the magic stone will be to bring purity to Aton and the eternal prosperity of the people of Egypt.'"

"So, this Imhotep, if he's revealed to be human, would he be buried here?" Kalaan made no effort to hide his interest.

"No, " Champollion replied as he turned back to his work with the inscriptions. "It is more about using his science through magical formulas and especially a stone, to free the pharaoh Akhenaten of all his fears and - here I've only partially translated - a curse. It's hardly surprising; apparently it was customary to warn tomb robbers that they would be cursed if they crossed the threshold of any sacred or royal structures. Perhaps it would be more prudent to..." Jean-Fran?ois suddenly added as he slowly backed away. In a split second his attitude had completely changed from pure joy to obvious apprehension.

What? Now he's shirking as well? Kalaan could not control his surge of anger come from only lord knows where; at that moment he was acting like a man possessed.

"Curses are only for cowards who have nothing in their trousers!" he said, squaring his shoulders. "In that aspect, Mother Nature was very generous with me, and, as I certainly would not want to offend her, I owe it to myself to pay no heed to your warnings and pass through that damned door!"

"Oh, mis'ry, " Lil' Louis sighed, covering his eyes with his hand. "The impetuous brat has returned... What we 'ave in our trousers does not make us real men, Bejesus!"

Jean-Fran?ois stood with his mouth open. He had no idea how to react. A feeling of dread was gnawing at him, gripping his spirit and numbing his body.

Seeing how pale and confused he was, Kalaan gave him a sly smile.

"So, are you one?" he whispered.

"One...what?" Jean-Fran?ois, surprised by the question, could barely speak.

"A coward!"

The Egyptologist could not help but glance down at the buttons on his trousers, thinking about what the count had said. He jumped like a child caught in the act when he heard his friend laugh huskily. That rascal! He'd got him yet again!

"No, of course not!" he retorted, laughing stiffly.

"And what about the intelligent speech you made a short while ago? Fear can be perfectly respectable when it pushes us to make the right choices?" Salam subtly questioned in his strong accent. "Cowardice and fear are synonymous; this would be the time to make the right choice and not cross that threshold."

Salam's words were torment to Kalaan's mind, in which reason and folly were doing battle. Was he a victim of the heat? He, who was usually in perfect control of his thoughts and actions, no longer recognized himself.

"Would you like me to tell you about the curse, my friend?" Jean-Fran?ois offered. "I will decipher these last inscriptions so that they are complete. In this way you will have all the information necessary to make your decision."

Kalaan sighed deeply and nodded, before Champollion spoke again.

"Woe to he who profanes the den of fear, for on you the stone will unleash your worst fears, you will suffer, you will become, you will beg for the release that only... death... can bring you, " as he finished reading his voice became more and more unsteady.

A deep silence fell over the group of men. The scorching heat was still very present, despite the setting sun; and yet their bodies were suddenly overcome with cold as if by there had been a cold breeze. Kalaan was the first to collect his thoughts as he approached the door; and when he spoke it was as if to himself.

"Look at Amarna and the ruins of what should have been an eternally prosperous place. Where are the people who were promised such splendor? There is nothing but dust! If ever there was magic here, we can come to the logical conclusion that it did not work. Following the same logic, we could also reasonably think that there was never a curse. This said however, I will yield to your wishes. We will turn back and leave this place to the sand and desert wind."

He never knew who sighed with relief behind him because as he was speaking, Kalaan placed his hand on the warm stone, which instantly turned to ash.

Finally free of the door that had cut it off from the world, in a low mournful moan, the entire building took in a deep breath of the air from which it had been deprived for hundreds of centuries. There was nothing left of the door but a pile of dust at Kalaan's boots and dark whirls of thick smoke that danced around the men before slowly disappearing. Kalaan paid little heed to these because, in front of him, he could see a long dark rectangular cut hall, gently sloping down into the darkness of the earth.

"Wha...what have you done?" Champollion stuttered, his brown eyes bulging incredulously at what he had just witnessed and his blood curdled by the sound the building had made.

"Nothing!" Kalaan managed to reply while forcing himself to breathe slowly and calmly, a muscle in his jaw throbbing nervously. "Perhaps the door was made of a soft substance... like the clay that we can find everywhere along the Nile? I scarcely touched it and everything collapsed."

"But lad, clay canna turn te dust, " Lil' Louis responded with difficulty, as he tried to sweep away the dark smoke fluttering in front of his face with his hands. "And what is this smoke?"

The Egyptian laborers began screaming and one of them even ran off in to the west. He was completely panic-stricken, and didn't even realize he was running to certain death in the desert.

"You! Bring him back!" Kalaan ordered two of his Breton sailors, who immediately ran off after the panicked laborer. Salam meanwhile shouted orders in Arabic to calm the rest of the frightened workmen. One of them had pulled off his cheich, and threw it on the ground.

"Allah will protect you. Pray!" Salam scolded them as if they were children.

All the laborers kneeled and began chanting their prayers reinforced with extra "Allahu akbars1", raising their hands to the sky before bending forward to place their hands and forehead on the ground. Kalaan's sailors whispered among themselves but kept their positions. They were all men of honor and made of the same stuff as warriors. Never would they abandon their courageous buccaneer captain.

"It's a sign of fate, I'm going in!" Kalaan announced firmly once everything was somewhat calmer. "Bring me a torch and my sword!" he ordered, tucking his pistol into his belt.

"It could also be a trap, " replied Salam, as the count grabbed a torch after sheathing his sword and entered the building.

"God only knows." Kalaan's response came as he began moving forward into the narrow tunnel, bending over to compensate for the low ceiling.

Jean-Fran?ois hesitated a moment, looked questioningly at Lil' Louis and Salam and, after realizing that they were not going to move, followed his friend into the tunnel.

"Wait for me!" he called in vain, because, as usual, Kalaan was far ahead, his silhouette barely distinguishable in the light of the torch; it was as if the darkness of the tunnel was sucking him in.

"Nay, this time the lad is alone." Lil' Louis said quite miserably and he sat heavily on the ground in the shadow of the entrance. "May God forgive me, but Oy simply canna enter there. Oy dinna have the strength."

"He is not... alone, " retorted Salam who had planted himself in front of the edifice, legs apart and eyes searching in the shadows. "Champollion is with him. This is where the fatum2 of these two men must play out. Everything is already written."

As Kalaan advanced into the dark entrails, his breathing became more and more labored and his heart started beating furiously. The little air there was was dry, thin and noxious. His mouth was dry and his throat burned atrociously. His tongue began to swell signaling the beginning of dehydration. The young man berated himself for not thinking to bring a goatskin of water before setting out into the unknown. His body and mind, already harshly tested by the desert heat, were starting to play tricks on him. His overly tense muscles were becoming painful. As for his mind, he thought he could hear low moans coming from the walls around him.

"Keep moving, " he said out loud in a hoarse voice, hoping to cover, even for a moment, the groaning from beyond the grave.

"Kalaan! Wait for me, please!"

Judging from the sound of Champollion' boots on the sand, the count knew that he was only a few yards behind, but lost in the darkness of the place. He was breathing heavily from lack of oxygen, or from the quick pace necessary to catch up, or both. For a brief moment, the count felt some regret, but he quickly let it go.

So he decided to follow me after all, Kalaan thought to himself without real astonishment.

The decipherer of hieroglyphs had a strong character and had proven it many times. Jean-Fran?ois certainly didn't lack courage, which is one of the reasons Kalaan counted him among his very select circle of friends. He slowed his pace, but continued to move forward. Soon, he found himself facing a wall. At this point the tunnel continued its slow descent on the right. He called back to let his friend know.

"Wall ahead!"

Only moments later he heard a shout of pain and some juicy swear words followed by an indignant exclamation.

"As I was insane enough to follow you, you could at least wait for me!"

Ah, that sounded very much like an order, which delighted Kalaan, because he did not like to be ordered and usually did the exact opposite of what he was told. However, at that moment, he had no choice but to heed his friend. Another wall stood before him and he could no longer move forward. The path had come to a dead end.

"Confound it, " he muttered in anger.

Champollion finally appeared in the halo of light given out by the torch. He was rubbing his nose, probably a result of walking into the wall at the last turn, despite Kalaan's warning.

"You've lost your hat, " Kalaan observed coolly.

"Most likely in the same place that your cheich fell off, " Jean-Fran?ois retorted, not in the least duped by Kalaan's attempt at diversion. Bast it all! Why was it so difficult for the aristocrat to apologize?

"The tunnel ceiling has obviously sagged some over the centuries at that spot. At least we weren't injured in any way."

"Speak for yourself." Champollion was miserably fingering the bridge of his nose.

"It's not broken; nothing is swollen, or bleeding. Your nose will serve you well for quite some time to come, " Kalaan said in an amused tone before turning to face the wall, lighting it completely, from top to bottom.

"It looks like we're at a dead end!"

Champollion's useless comment brought a mocking smile to the count's lips, but the smile quickly turned into bitterness. They hadn't come all this distance underground to be stopped by a wall! They should also have thought of bringing a pick, along with the water flask. There must be a way out! But where?

"Look, " Champollion's voice was barely a whisper. "We're not facing just a wall, but another door! Very well concealed by these limestone rocks, but a wall, it is not!"

Indeed the rocks had all been carefully cut to look like a group of stone blocks, placed one on top of the other, fitting in with the rest of the construction. Kalaan whistled in admiration. The illusion was perfect and had it not been for Champollion's sharp eyes, he would never have noticed the deception.

"This is a fine example of meticulous workmanship, " Champollion said as he kneeled down in front of the wall. "Would you mind bringing a bit more light over here?"

Jean-Fran?ois pointed in direction of the lower right-hand section, which was hidden in the shadows. It was not easy to move in the tight tunnel, but the two men finally managed to find a position. As Kalaan lowered the torch several minute inscriptions appeared.

"What do they say?" Kalaan asked.

"This is a final warning to any tomb raiders. It is written, 'The door of fear will close on you; only death will liberate you.'

"That damned curse, again!" Kalaan grumbled.

"Well, we can't say we weren't warned." Champollion made a feeble attempt at humor as he stood up with difficulty. The tunnel was so low that when standing, the men's bodies were almost doubled over.

Kalaan did not respond, not even with a smile. His amber-green eyes, lit by the flames of the torch, were examining the wall. Apparently something had caught his attention.

"Hmm; I wonder..." he murmured as he raised his hand to place it on the wall.

"No!" Champollion couldn't help but shout when he realized what Kalaan had in mind. He intended to repeat the same exploit as when he 'opened' the entrance to the edifice.

Startled by his friend's cry, the young count hesitated, his hand in mid-air barely a few inches from the stone.

"What frightens you so? That the stone may turn to dust? Should that happen, it would make it much easier for us to continue our investigation."

"No... yes... oh, I don't know..."

"You're hesitating again, Jean-Fran?ois, and yet you followed me. Your curiosity is as strong as mine. Come now, we cannot be stopped by a curse and a few conjuring tricks! Or am I mistaken?"

"No, my friend, you are not mistaken." Champollion sighed and stepped back to leave more room for Kalaan. "After you."

"Very well, " replied the count raising his hand once more to the wall.

He laid his hand flat on the false wall and spread his fingers applying pressure. When nothing happened, he pushed harder. Something was happening, but not what he expected. His hand could feel a strong heat, not hot enough to burn him, but enough to make him think of the bricks on a chimney where there was a raging fire. But what could possibly be behind this wall? Lava? Kalaan asked himself, both surprised and intrigued.

"No dust at our feet, no dark smoke plumes whirling around us. The wall is intact." Jean-Fran?ois' pedantic tone irritated Kalaan.

"It was too much to hope that the miracle would occur twice." Kalaan muttered while caressing the carved lines on the wall with his fingertips.

One spot in particular caught his attention? a flat protuberance looking like a flaw in the otherwise perfect workmanship and covered with the same cream-colored plaster as the stone. He began to scratch it absent-mindedly.

"Those who designed and built this place would never have left such a flaw." The count continued scratching the soft plaster until a blue color showed through. It was a very finely carved blue stone, the size and shape of a cameo.

"It appears to be lapis lazuli, " observed Kalaan. Jean-Fran?ois nodded his head in agreement. "The stone is loose. I have a feeling it was placed in a cavity of sorts... and... and it is impossible to remove from its setting."

Kalaan pushed the lapis-lazuli and it sank deeper into the stone. The men heard an unusual clicking sound. Before they could react, there was a loud sound of turning gears followed by a low rumbling. The ground began to vibrate under their feet and then shake, not unlike in an earthquake. Dust was coming down from all directions showering them.

"It's a trap!" Kalaan managed to shout before coughing as if he had just inhaled contaminated air. He immediately dropped the torch and braced himself.

The flames were quickly smothered by falling sand and the two men found themselves prisoners of a void.