The Shrine Beneath the Sand

     The desert winds had been merciless. For seven days, they had screamed across the Lost Desert, carrying columns of sand that piled up around the tents and formed a haze across the sky. The sun was a large, red stain straining to illuminate the ground through a blanket of golden particles.

     Lord Mickel Ashbury stood at the edge of the dig site, the hem of his coat fluttering at his calves. He ran a hand through a mop of dark-blond hair that his mirror told him was just beginning to grey at the temples. One hand shielded his eyes as he squinted toward the south, where the river wound past the cities of Sakhmet and Qasala, tumbling towards the ocean. Although the wind had, at last, relented somewhat, the two cities were still only a pair of vague blurs on the horizon.

     “Still nothing,” muttered Dr. Bartholomew Brooke beside him. The young archaeologist was dressed in a close-fitting suit of tweed, and was mopping his brow repeatedly with a handkerchief. “Except sand. And more sand. And did I mention sand?”

     Lord Ashbury allowed himself a dry smile, although this may have been the chapped lips. “Yes, Brooke, you have. Repeatedly.”

     He tapped his cane gently on the dune beneath their feet, which shifted slightly beneath. Keeping his eyes fixed on the distant cities, he spoke slowly. “This was the arrangement that we agreed with Queen Amira. The shrine of King Coltzan I is to be cleared. For too long now it has been left unattended, and it is important to the Sakhmetian court. In return, we can search for and record any artefacts that we find. It could be quite the intellectual trove for the faculty you know, although any artefacts will remain the property of Sakhmet of course.”

     “Yes, yes, the legacy of the Coltzanic era and all that.” Dr. Brooke sighed. “You might remember that this research is my speciality. It’s just… without the proper tools, we may as well be digging with teaspoons. Why were the main supplies delayed again?”

     “Weather trouble, I suspect,” Lord Ashbury said. “The waters around old Maraqua have been feisty of late. But happily,” he raised a gloved hand and gestured toward a dusty crate nearby, “some provisions have made it through via the land route. A small mercy.”

     Dr. Brooke groaned. “I’ve already looked through it all. More of the same old stuff. I’ll be very glad if I never have to see a dried prune again. Why did we have to send all the chocolate by ship?”

     Lord Ashbury shrugged, finally lowering his eyes and turning to face the dig site itself. From their vantage point on the perimeter, only the tip of King Coltzan I’s shrine was visible, and barely at that. It was a jagged black stone poking out of the dune like a tooth.

     Lord Ashbury, ever meticulous, had brought his personal field kit, wrapped in a sturdy leather. It contained a compact set of brushes, chisels, vials, notebooks and the essential, but very small, trowel. Earlier in the day, he had tried half-heartedly to begin removing some of the sand away from the Shrine. It was like pushing a boulder uphill. He would need the proper equipment, or many more hands, before he could make any real headway.

     Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the more recent shrine to King Coltzan III not fifty paces away. It stood gleaming, even in the sand-filtered light. It was mostly uncovered, the wind and dunes having treated it more kindly. It was said to bring good luck, and occasional prosperity, to those who approached it with respect.

     With a curious sense of instinct, Lord Ashbury stepped toward it. He saw Dr. Brooke turned to the meagre provision crate, presumably engaged in a search for something a little more culinarily satisfying than dried fruit.

     The moment Lord Ashbury’s boots touched the stone threshold of the shrine, he felt a strange sensation grip him. It was neither unpleasant nor ominous. Perhaps even welcoming. He stepped forward. His hands tingled, then pulsed with a sudden glow. A ghostly blue light flashed and wrapped around his fingers in dancing spirals for the briefest of moments. It vanished as quickly as it had come.

     “Brooke,” he called softly, but the younger man was distracted, buried up to his elbows with a strained grimace on his face. Lord Ashbury looked back toward the dune between the two shrines. There, shimmering faintly, was a soft blue glow nestled in the sand.

     Compelled, he crossed the distance and knelt. Pressing his fingers against the ground, he felt the warm sand beneath his fingertips. Too warm? He pulled out his trowel, and thrust it carefully downwards. There was a dull thud as it encountered something lodged in the ground. He turned to his brushes, carefully removing a strip of sand with each stroke. Layer by layer, the object revealed itself. First, a hint of a silver body that fully resolved itself into a beetle like form. Two pairs of wings emerged from the sides, sweeping towards the bottom of the beetle-like figure. They were a beige rock, sandstone perhaps, but emblazoned with a curling, quasi-calligraphic design that caught the eye. It was unmistakably a scarab, and not one with which Mikel was familiar. He held it up in the dim light.

     “Brooke,” he called again, more insistently.

     Dr. Brooke trotted over, curiosity lighting up his features. “What is it?”

     Lord Ashbury wordlessly passed the scarab into his hands. Dr. Brooke turned it over, letting out a low whistle. “Remarkable craftsmanship,” he murmured. “Quite remarkable indeed. This looks to be quite an early piece. Certainly early Coltzanic periodic. Most likely to be contemporary with Coltzan I. Even so, I doubt it's of significant archaeological or monetary value. These are fairly common pieces. It could be a votive trinket of some kind. Maybe even a child's bauble.”

     Lord Mickel nodded. But something in him disagreed that it was insignificant.

     He took the scarab back and held it close to his chest, fingers tightening around the metal. “It feels like... a charm. For protection or luck. I’ll ask Queen Amira if I might keep it.”

     Brooke raised an eyebrow. Thought he said nothing, there was the slightest hint of an impassive shrug. The younger archaeologist drifted slowly back to the crate, and the small pile of prunes that had been building up.

     As Lord Ashbury watched him go, for just a moment, his thoughts drifted, not to the Queen or their mission, but to the green lawns of home. He could see them stretching from the wide open doors of the atrium and down to the greenhouses. He could hear the peel of a child’s laughter amidst the grumblings of the gardeners. He thought of Daniel, his young son, with bright eyes and who had begged him not to go. At least not without bringing him “something old and mysterious”.

     Lord Ashbury heard the desert fall quiet, as the wind dropped to a whisper.

     Then, from beyond the dunes, a rumbling sound broke through the silence. Dust kicked into the air as a team of Ruki workmen appeared and trundled towards the two archaeologists, the foreman raising a hand in greeting.

     “What luck!” Dr. Brooke shouted with glee, already jogging towards the noise. “Queen Amira did send some help after all. Now we’ll make some quick progress”

     Lord Ashbury sat for a moment longer, the winged scarab still warm in his hand.

     “What luck indeed,” he whispered, smiling to himself. “Perhaps this scarab is more than just a plaything after all.”

     Lord Ashbury rose, slipping the scarab into his coat. “It’s good to see you all,” he said to the newcomers. “You are most welcome. Shall we begin?”

     With practiced calm, he directed the Ruki crew toward the half-buried shrine. Shovels struck sand, brushes swept stone and the expedition was truly underway.

     The End.