13-Sept-2002
Title: Name of the Pharaoh
Author: bonnejeanne (bonnejeanne@yahoo.com) and von (sablexo1@yahoo.com)
Archive: GW Addiction - http://www.gwaddiction.com
Category: yaoi, AU, sequel, horror?
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: 3 x 4
Spoilers: None
WARNINGS: Lemon, some language, VERY weird premise, a little angst. Trowa may seem OOC for part of the fic, there's a reason.
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing characters and universe are the property of the copyright owners. Our stuff is ours. No money being made here.
Feedback: welcome.
NOTES: Another in the Classic Monster Series. Previous fics in the series are American Werewolf in Space, Bloodline and Broken (Silver) Arrow, all can be found at GWA.
This story is about the two remaining Gundam pilots. It introduces another Classic Monster as well. And an old "villain" makes another appearance. Hope you enjoy. This is probably not the end of the series.
Prolog:
Do you think it was an accident that they found their way to my tomb? Some kind of ironic coincidence?
You probably think that, for you think of things differently than I do - than we did. Your world is flatter, your colors dulled, your gods comfortably distant. It could never have been a mere accident. It was the last ray of mercy from my radiant Lord, Aten, in some measure for the sacrifices we made to His Shining Glory. Though in our own time and after we were reviled, our resting places cruelly violated, my beloved named the Heretic for the rest of history, we were not wrong and we knew it. Only centuries upon centuries too early.
Time moves differently in the tomb. The rites given allow the reuniting of the ba and the ka, the personality and the life essence, together becoming the akh, the form in which we survive in the afterlife. Statues, paintings, and other likenesses are provided so that the akh may inhabit them and receive the offerings provided to nourish the soul. Perhaps the akh returns less and less often to these vessels... I can not know, for I was denied this. As the lover and co-ruler with the Heretic, I watched from my new next existence as my statues were smashed, my paintings defaced, and my name expunged even from my very sarcophagus, leaving me mute, bound, and helpless, to spend eternity in an exile than can not be imagined by those of the present world.
Part One:
They had to leave the Gundams in the desert.
It was bad. It was about as bad as Trowa could remember. If he'd been alone, it probably would have been the end, he admitted, unable to muster up any anger at a thought that would have made him furious under other circumstances.
For a little while it had looked like the war was going to work. Once they'd realized that each of the five pilots was only a part of the force sent to Earth, the tactical plan had made a lot more sense. The boy with no name hadn't cared anything about going on a suicide mission, it was just another job in a life that seemed increasingly devoid of meaning. But meeting the others... at first it shocked and irritated him. But once he'd accepted it, his mind began considering angles to strategy. Five could do a hell of a lot more significant damage. And startlingly, each of the other pilots was every bit as capable in his own way as himself. Annoyance changed to grudging respect. Perhaps in certain cases, something more... but there was never any point in thinking about that.
It seemed almost possible that they could do enough harm to the Alliance, and then the Oz war machine, to win a change in the way Earth treated the Colonies.
But somehow, and he couldn't pinpoint how or where, the tide had begun to shift.
Gundam 05 had dropped out of contact entirely. Oddly random-seeming attacks on bases were the only possible indicator that he hadn't been destroyed. 01 and 02 had recently dropped out as well, leaving the new idea of coordinated attacks to be shouldered by himself and 04. And even as he realized it, Oz seemed to know. The raid in Libya turned into an ambush, and a rout.
If it hadn't been for his new partner's knowledge of the desert and understanding of her dangerous ways, he'd have been lost out there, a buried relic sealed inside HeavyArms, to be uncovered some unknown century later by the actions of the wind, like an ugly and graceless Sphinx.
"Hold on!" the other boy's voice was audible only because of their proximity. "We're at the edge of Wadi el-Gurud. There will be shelter in the valley."
Gritting his teeth, Trowa concentrated on moving his feet, even as the slender shoulder under his arm hitched up to support him better. The edge of the dun-colored material swathed around the other boy's head and shoulders was pulled back by the wind, revealing for a moment locks of gold brighter than anything found in a pharaoh's tomb.
Whatever images of green the words might have conjured to Trowa's mind, the reality was as bleached as the desert, dry rock and barren sandy dirt, but when the Oz overflights began along with the bombardment, it would turn out that Quatre had been right in seeing it as the only shelter that could possibly keep them alive.
With complete disregard for the incredible value of the Valley of Kings, explosions rocked the West Valley, rearranging the landscape. Barely avoiding being buried by a slide of rock and dirt shaken loose by the pounding, Quatre desperately sought any cover he could find. His eyes almost missed the shadow set back into the cliffs.
"There..." Trowa's voice was a harsh whisper, pointing in the same direction. Quatre's ears had time to pick up the whine of approaching OZ craft and he scrambled with the other pilot gripped against his body, somehow making it to the newly uncovered opening and then all but falling inside as another salvo hit the cliffs above. The shaking threw them down and gravity assisted, tumbling the pilots along the passage as it inclined down, going deeper into the bedrock. The fall was rough, and only after they stopped did he realize they had fallen along not just a rough natural fissure, but a flight of rock-cut steps going down. The squareness of the passage proved its origins as a work of man.
The whine of falling bombs penetrated even this deep and without thinking Quatre pulled the other boy up and propelled them both deeper into the cool dark.
It was instinct that drew Quatre deeper. He knew exactly where he was and what the hewn passageways had been made for, and was counting on the sheer bedrock to protect them from the barrage. All the tombs in the Valley of Kings, even in this offshoot known as the West Valley, had long since been emptied of their inhabitants and treasures - those that were known and accessible, anyway. This passage had been wide open at the cliff face, making it certain to be one of the abandoned and emptied tombs. Some of the rock chambers had never even been used for their intended purposes and had always been empty. The tunnel was straight and continued to slope downwards, steps hewn where the incline was too steep to walk easily. Down and down, further into the safety of the stone cliffs.
The bombardment seemed to be tapering off, he thought, though it hardly stopped. OZ wasn't taking any chances on letting two Gundam pilots escape. The rock dulled the thunder but deepened the vibrations and they made the two teens' senses swim in an odd way. One explosion, seemingly just over them if far above, rocked the ground and nearly made a lie of the Gundam pilots' uncanny luck - the concussion found a fault in the rock, and stone fell around them. Quick reflexes threw Quatre and the boy he supported out of the way in time as the opening in front of them collapsed, sealing the chamber beyond.
At the same moment, a wall to their left cracked and fell in, revealing a heretofore hidden passageway that had been sealed for perhaps as long as four thousand years.
It offered the only refuge and Quatre knew from the way the young pilot in his arms sagged against his grip that he needed to get Trowa to a place where they could rest and he could evaluate Trowa's physical condition and administer whatever kind of first aid he could manage.
Feeling a trickle of sweat mixed with his own blood, Quatre struggled as he pulled Trowa through the dark passage. Relying more on instinct than exact knowledge, he moved down the corridor pleading with Allah to grant him a step or two further for the sake of his hurt companion.
Coughing the dust of antiquity from his lungs, he moved further into the darkness. Lines of worry smoothed away from his angelic face as he sensed a change in the air. It was cool and free of debris. Filling his lungs completely, the young pilot repositioned his burden against him.
"Just a few steps more and we can rest," he said. "Don't try to answer. Conserve your strength."
A short time later, the pilot of Gundam 04 found a smooth surface and as gently as he could manage, lowered Trowa to the ground. Quickly reaching into his pocket, he removed a small pen light and turned it on. Running his sleeve over his forehead, Quatre wiped his brow, then gasped as he saw shadows and structures before him. He nodded briefly to himself and then looked to his companion.
"I think we'll be safe here, Trowa," he said.
Looking down at Trowa, Quatre felt a sharp twist in his heart and the sting of tears behind his eyes. The tall, handsome Gundam pilot had a look that Quatre had seen before. There were bruises around his large, green eyes and his complexion was sallow.
No! Quatre thought. I won't let you go that easily.
"I think I can figure out our position. Let's have a look at you first, Trowa," he said aloud. Gingerly, he stretched Trowa out on the floor and tended to his injuries as best as he could.
Trowa heard the voice of SandRock's pilot as if from a little distance. He wasn't in a great deal of pain, on the contrary. He could hardly feel certain parts of his body, and what he could feel was cold. From that he knew he was close to the end. The wounds were not so terribly severe - he'd survived worse. But he'd been bleeding slowly, soaking his clothes along the right side, and the likelihood of getting to modern medical care anytime soon was nonexistent. He felt a little bit like he did when HeavyArms ran out of ammunition: a little angry, a little self-derisive, and an apprehension he could admit to no one. The weariness that he felt on those still, empty hours between midnight and dawn was waiting for him, waiting to wrap around him for the last time and extinguish every last remaining tentative hint of some human identity.
The obvious worry and concern in Quatre's expressive voice bothered him. He couldn't figure out why the golden boy would be so concerned. At the same time, he knew without question that Quatre would take his death badly.
Opening his eyes with an effort that seemed to drain the last dregs of energy from his body, he watched the shadows flicker as Quatre examined him in the light of the pocket flash. Uncurious about what the blond Arabian might discover, he let his eyes drift into the dark shadows around him. A stray beam from the light revealed a startling shape - vivid green, shaped like a stylized animal head, adorned with details of gold. In spite of himself, Trowa blinked.
It took even more effort to speak than it had to open his eyes, but with dry lips he asked, "What is this place?"
Fighting the reality of the bloodstain at Trowa's side, Quatre looked up as he realized that the young pilot had spoken. "It's a... " he began, then sighed. "I think we've discovered a tomb," he said, strengthening his voice. It was no time to be weak. He had to be strong.
Adjusting the light, Quatre sat it down on the floor, aiming it towards the ceiling. As he did so, he watched the beam of light bounce off of one then another reflective surface of the tomb walls. They were bathed in a warm glow of light and the room's contents became clearer.
Blinking, Quatre gasped as his eyes moved from one object in the room to the other. There was no mistaking the huge, ornate sarcophagus which dominated much of the space. It stood on a small platform of what appeared to be white stone. Along one of its dominant sides was a circle carved in relief with rays extending from it and ending in hands. Two figures sat to either side of this *sun* disk, regarding each other with obvious admiration.
Teal blue eyes flew over the hieroglyphs above and below the disk. Quatre nodded to himself, then looked down at Trowa. "Father studied hieroglyphs as a hobby. I liked the pictures and he taught me some of them," he said, looking back at the four jars lined up close by. "This is odd though."
Scanning the area once again, the blond pilot frowned. "There should be more here," he said absently, then looked back to his companion. "Are you cold, Trowa?" he asked, mentally kicking himself for dividing his attention.
A tomb... appropriate. Trowa felt his mouth pull to one side in the beginning of an ironic smile and stopped it with a little effort. When Quatre asked if he were cold, the former mercenary soldier was oddly comforted by the knowledge that his hair covered half of his face including one green eye, obscuring his expression. "I guess it's cooler here, under all that stone," he said, the words coming out slowly from the effort. "So you can read hieroglyphics?" He meant to be kind, distracting the blond from worrying about something there could be no solution for. "What do you mean there should be more? I thought all the Egyptian tombs had been looted centuries ago..."
Quatre felt his chest constrict at Trowa's answer. He knew that the HeavyArms pilot was being kind and it only reaffirmed his high estimation of Trowa's character. "Most of them have been, but there were a great many that were never found. Apparently, this is one of them," he said, taking off his vest and folding it into a makeshift pillow for Trowa. "Part of those hieroglyphs read: 'Horizon of heaven' and something about 'a beginner of life'. It sounds familiar, but it's been a long time since I first studied. And there are some elements that should be here, but aren't."
Looking around the room again, Quatre stood. "The sarcophagus is here. There are canopic jars, but there don't seem to be representations of Osiris and Anubis. The dead meet with Osiris in the afterlife and Anubis guards over the mummies of those who've... passed on," he said, realizing his words. Shaking his head, Quatre moved to the head of the sarcophagus. 'It will not end this way,' he thought determinedly.
His mind turned to something more practical... saving Trowa. He had to find something to bind the wound in Trowa's side, knowing that the green-eyed pilot needed a transfusion and antibiotics at the least.
"I've found a chest," he said, hopefully. "Usually the person's belongings are buried with him for use on the other side. Maybe they left a cloak or something that can help us out here," he said.
There was a carving on the lid of the case as well. The taller of the figures from the sarcophagus looked back up at Quatre through one emerald encrusted eye. The other eye as well as a portion of the face had been deliberately chipped away.
"This isn't right," he said, calling out to Trowa. A part of him didn't want to lose contact. It had taken a definitive effort on his part not to stay by his friend's side. "For instance," he said, continuing. "One of the figures from the sarcophagus is carved on the lid of the chest. In both cases part of the face has been removed. That's not typical. The ability of the deceased to be recognized in the next world is a big part of the ancient folklore."
Lifting the lid, Quatre sat it to one side. "It looks like someone was not happy with this person," he concluded, as he looked inside of the chest. Removing things from the chest, Quatre smiled suddenly. "Whoever he was, he liked music. There's a flute and a sistrum here."
Moments later, Quatre's fingers touched cloth. He pulled a bolt of what appeared to be linen from the chest. He could tell that it was fragile, but thought that maybe some of it could be salvaged. Seeing more cloth, the young pilot lifted it from the chest. He was startled when an ornate jar fell from the fabric and crashed to the floor. Bending down, Quatre found the contents of the jar among the shattered pieces. He collected the scrolls from the shards of pottery and then brought them back to where Trowa lay on the floor.
"This may not be too sturdy," he said, sitting down beside Trowa. "But we'll have to make it do for now," he added, carefully unfolding the cloth.
Trowa heard the voice as if from far away, and pulled himself back through an exertion of will. "Face...removed..." he muttered, the words from earlier slowly catching up. It gave him a chill that bit more into his body than the draining numbness. It bothered him. Why would someone deface a dead person's likeness? So that he would be entirely forgotten? Like I will be...
"What... was his name?" he asked, the words taking increasingly greater effort to push out. If I'm going to die and share the rest of eternity with someone else's body, I'd like to know who... too bad I can't offer him the same courtesy. No name to give that doesn't already belong to someone else over there...
"Hn," Quatre said, frowning again. Standing once more, he moved to the front of the sarcophagus. "There should be a cartouche with a name in symbols on it," he said.
Looking over the area quickly, the blond pilot found the place where the mummy's cartouche should have been. "It's.." he began, puzzled. "It's been chipped off as well." Moving around the room, Quatre searched for the symbols and in every case found that they had been removed.
"I'm sorry, Trowa," he said, sitting back down. "Someone has removed the person's name..." he said, then stopped. "Oh Trowa. I've heard of something like this before. There was once a pharaoh who broke from the traditional worship of the gods. They called him the 'Heretic'. He built his own city and worshipped a single deity... a sun deity. This could be one of his court."
It drew a shiver from the tall boy's frame. So they took your face and your name as well, he thought. Just like me, only I never had one to begin with. I wonder what it's like to spend eternity without a name... looks like I'm going to get to find out.
"Doesn't matter," he managed to mutter. "Sounds... sounds like the bombardment has stopped..." Or else I'm going deaf...
Quatre listened for a moment. "You're right, it's stopped," he said, tearing some of the fabric from the bolt. He then spread it across Trowa's body, before pulling the lean pilot up onto his lap. As he did so, he could feel Trowa's slightly damp and cool skin. Instinctively, he slid his arms around Trowa, offering what warmth he could. Looking down, he saw the crimson stain soak through the ancient material and his arms tightened slightly in protest. 'This isn't right,' he kept repeating inside his head.
He knows but he doesn't want to admit it, Trowa thought. As much as he found he did not want to cause the blond pilot any grief, there were still things that had to be done. Using an exertion of will, he reached up and pulled a chain from under his shirt. Attached to it like a pendant was a small device. He slowly pushed it into Quatre's hand.
"HeavyArms's self-destruct," he said. "Take it. You know what to do with it."
Hearing Trowa's words, watching and feeling him move, Quatre felt his resolve slip. Tears blinded his eyes, but he blinked them back and took the device from Trowa. "Yes," he said, hearing his voice sound oddly steady. "I'll do it," he added, while every fiber of his being protested against the inevitable.
Trowa had half expected Quatre to argue with him, but he was reminded that the blond was a Gundam pilot after all. However different he might seem from the rest of them, he carried the necessary strength of will to do the job. Relaxing his fingers as Quatre took the device, Trowa felt a little smile curve his lips.
"Good," he said. Duty was taken care of. His eyes wandered a little, glimpsing the canopic jars with their animal heads nearby. "I guess we'll meet soon enough," he said, with deadpan humor. "Then I can ask him his name. Too bad I won't be able to give him mine."
Quatre half heard the words that Trowa spoke. Taking a deep breath, he bent his head down against Trowa's. "I know in my heart that this isn't right, Trowa. It's too soon, much too soon, for you. I haven't given up on you, Trowa. I never will," he said. "I know this might seem odd to you and even I can't explain it all, but I felt like I knew you the first time we met. Like we had been friends for forever. I know how strange it sounds, but I feel like you're a part of me. So," Quatre added, feeling calm for the first time, "If I fail to get you out of this, just try and remember me when you see me next time. I'll be looking for you."
Trowa thought for a moment that his sight was going, but he blinked and the trail of moisture left the corner of his eye, clearing his vision. Odd. "You're a strange guy, Quatre," he said, marveling for a moment at how the Arabian pilot's words had the power to stir the still waters of his soul, something he disregarded and usually assumed to be missing. "I've never met anyone like you."
Restlessly he stirred a little but the numbness was spreading. "So you read glyphs," he repeated, thinking the words sounded familiar but not sure from where. "Are there writings in here about this nameless guy? Read me something..."
Quatre nodded and looked around the room. One of the scrolls that had fallen from the broken jar was nearby and he picked it up. Looking at the outside casing of the scroll, Quatre peered at the symbols. "Most Beloved of all," he read. Emptying the case carefully, he picked up the ancient papyrus and felt a sudden warmth move through his body.
At the top and in the center of the ancient writing, there was a picture that seemed familiar to Quatre. Glancing up, he saw the same figure carved along the side of the sarcophagus. It was the one whose face had been chopped away. Here on the painted papyrus however, a small representation of the mummy's features could be found, probably overlooked, hidden in the chest, by whoever had defaced the tomb. The blond pilot's head tilted slightly. 'He looks like Trowa,' he thought absently.
After studying the symbols painted there, Quatre realized that some of it was familiar, as if he'd seen it, or something very similar, before, perhaps among his father's collection.
"'Here begin the Chapters of Coming Forth by Day, and of the songs of praise, and glorifying, and of coming forth from and going into the glorious Neter-khert in the beautiful Amenta; to be said on the day of the burial: going in after coming forth...'" Quatre paused. "It's from the Book of the Dead." [1]
The words seemed to have a soothing effect on the green-eyed pilot. His expression relaxed. Without the lines caused by effort and conflict, his face resembled even more that which had been painted on the scroll.
There was an odd stillness in the cool air of the tomb. A listening stillness. Quatre almost felt as if he were being gently urged to read further.
"Go on..." Trowa's voice was barely audible.
For a moment Quatre felt as if a hand had been laid lightly on his shoulder, as if a presence stood behind him, looking over his shoulder. Concurring with the dying pilot's instruction.... go on...
"A unui uat apui matennu en baiu menXu em pa en Ausar un aref-ten - nef uat apu aref-ten matennu en ba en Ausar an hesb neter hetepu... " Quatre paused, feeling an odd sense of power rolling from the syllables. He translated roughly as best he could remember. "O openers of the way and openers of the roads to souls perfected in the house of Osiris, open therefore ye to him the way, open therefore ye the roads to the soul of Osiris the scribe, accountant of divine offerings of gods all..." [1]
Trowa felt as if the voice he was listening to was both far away, and yet at the same time, almost inside his skull, whispering quietly. Something inside him seemed to beat against ties never before perceived, breaking them one by one.
Quatre found that he could not stop, not even to translate. The syllables seemed to take on independent volition, simply using his lips and tongue to shape the air to their needs.
"Neteru nebu Smenkhkare hena-ten aq-f em tent per-f em hetep em pa Ausar, an Xesef-tuf an senar-tuf aq-f hesu peru-f meru maa-Xeru-f aru utetet-f em pa Ausur sem-f t'etet-f hena-ten Xu-f hena-ten!"
There was a sudden loud sound and vibration like thunder through the stone walls, and it took Quatre a moment to realize it must have been a late volley from the Oz forces that apparently still lingered above.
At the same moment, Trowa's eyes fluttered, and opened wide, and his body suddenly tensed, almost lifting out of the Arabian pilot's arms. A second explosion above shook the walls and, inexplicably, the heavy sarcophagus lid suddenly shivered and slid off of the solid structure and crashed to the ground on the far side of the tomb.
A strangled sound came from Trowa's throat, as if he were fighting for breath, and then he collapsed. Seconds later, his eyes opened, at first slowly, and then flying wide.
Green eyes fixed on the horrified face of Quatre bending over him in startled concern. Even in the dim illumination, golden locks caught the light and seemed to glow with it, and teal blue eyes went wide with sudden fear.
Gazing up at the vision, Trowa's lips shaped a word. "Aten..."
Breathing hard, Quatre scanned Trowa's face. His senses lied to him, telling him that Trowa seemed better somehow. But... that was impossible. "Trowa!" Quatre replied, pulling the green-eyed pilot against him tightly. After a moment, he leaned back, knowing that he would find his friend cold and lifeless in his arms. Looking down, however, he saw that Trowa looked the same, if not better than he had moments ago.
Trowa sat up in Quatre's arms, blinking a little, looking around as if he had just woken up from a dream. His eyes fell on the upended flashlight and widened. Then he turned and looked into Quatre's eyes. His fingertips brushed the blond pilot's cheek. "Thank... you..." he said, his voice sounding hesitant, unused, but firming quickly. His eyes wandered around the tomb one more time, an odd expression flickering to life as he saw the fallen and broken lid of the sarcophagus. "This place... is dead... we should get out of here..."
Quatre watched Trowa, astonished at his recovery. "Are... are you alright, Trowa? Your injuries," he said, trying to make some sense of this.
Trowa reached down to his side where his clothing was already starting to dry stiffly. "He... the god has sealed it," he said softly. "It's a gift... let's go before he thinks us ungrateful and takes it back."
Quatre looked up, instinctively. "Thank you," he said, earnestly. Though he did not understand everything that had happened, he was grateful. "Alright," he said to Trowa. With a hesitant smile, he then nodded. "Let's go, then."
Without thinking, he reached down and gathered the scrolls, then stood.
At his side, Trowa stood up slowly, as if remembering how to do so. As he found himself upright, a little taller than the Arabian pilot, he looked down at the cap of golden curls beside him and smiled. It was a tender, wondering expression that was unlike anything Quatre had ever seen or even imagined on his face. With only the briefest backwards glance at the tomb, he moved towards the opening and the short corridor they had come through. Pausing only for a moment, he looked back and held out his hand.
It took a few moments for Quatre to process the expression on Trowa's face. A small voice at the back of his mind warned that this was as off as Trowa's impending death had been moments ago. Looking up and seeing Trowa's offered hand, Quatre silently thanked the gods again and moved to grasp it. His mind shied away from any logical investigation of the facts. Trowa was up and moving around. Death had been held back. Quatre didn't want to spoil the moment. He had no illusions that the practicalities would return, but this was not only a miracle but something he had never experienced before. He wanted to enjoy the moment, however long it lasted.
There were no more explosions above as they made their way out of the tomb, past the debris of the fallen passage and the uncovered portal. This time they were moving up rather than down, but without the pounding overhead, it seemed to go much more quickly. Even some distance away they could see the light from the entrance. It wasn't bright, rather a reddish hue, indicating that the sun was setting in the world beyond.
The entrance was intact, only partially blocked by newly dislodged stones. It was possible to scramble over them and get to the surface and out.
It occurred to Quatre that OZ might be combing the area with footsoldiers, but for some reason the normally cautious HeavyArms pilot seemed oblivious to that possible threat. Just outside the entrance, he stood looking around, and up at the sky, as if he hadn't seen it in a thousand years.
"Trowa," Quatre said softly. "Come on, let's get out of here. There are probably OZ details looking for us," he added urgently.
"Oz?" Trowa shrugged and then nodded. "Where should we go?"
As if fulfilling the warning in the blond pilot's words, they suddenly became aware of something massively big, moving down the valley towards them. In the waning light it was at first hard to see what it was, but by the size and general shape, Quatre's mind instinctively supplied 'mobile suit'. Then moments later, the colors - the machine was painted in tans to match the desert.
It paused, turning towards them, as if the pilot were looking through a magnified viewer, and then a voice over a speaker came through.
"Master Quatre!"
Quatre's shoulders relaxed. "Rashid!" he called out, gratefully. "We need transport for SandRock, HeavyArms and us. We got a little banged up back there."
The mobile suit heading for them moved faster. "What are the coordinates of the Gundams? We'll pick them up. You two can come with me right now, Master. We have to hurry - OZ is searching the East Valley right now - when they don't find anything, they'll be sure to come back this way."
As Rashid's machine reached the two, the mobile suit bent down and a massive mechanical hand was placed on the ground beside them.
Trowa was staring at the machine in amazed fascination.
Quatre squeezed Trowa's hand. 'He doesn't remember' he thought, feeling a little disturbed. "Come on, Trowa," he said, pulling the green-eyed pilot with him. "I'll explain it to you later."
As Quatre stepped up onto the mobile suit's palm, with Trowa following obediently, his ears caught something behind them. It was distant, muffled, distorted, but it sounded almost like a crash of stone from deep in the tunnel, followed by a low vibration. It could have been the stressed passageway collapsing, but it almost sounded for a few seconds like a distant, wordless moan.
Trowa started and his face paled under the soldier's tan. "We need to get away from here," he said urgently.
Responding to the urgency in the Gundam pilot's voice, Rashid lifted the two carefully, sheltering them against the mobile suit's breastplate, and began moving back down the valley quickly.
Almost in spite of himself, Quatre leaned over to peer around the mobile suit's gigantic fingers and back to the tunnel. Unconsciously, he frowned, staring at the structure for many moments. Finally, he took a breath, turning back towards Trowa. As he did, there was a movement in his periphery. When he turned to look back, however, the mobile suit was out of range.
True nightfall found them at a concealed base of the Maganacs near Dendera. The freedom fighters planned to retrieve the Gundams under cover of night, a logical decision with OZ still very active in the area. Trowa seemed incredibly unconcerned about it, almost disinterested. Instead, he seemed to be fascinated by the smallest things around them, from conveniences like the automatic coffee maker to the simple plumbing arrangements of the base. He said very little - that hadn't changed - but his face reflected constantly changing expressions. It was enough to make some of the Maganacs quietly approach Master Quatre and ask if the pilot from Colony 03 were all right.
Trowa did seem reluctant to accept examination by the small company's medic. "I'm fine" he insisted, and the others were reluctant to push it.
End of Part One
[1] The incantation on the scroll in the tomb was adapted from the following:
The Book of the Dead
The Papyrus of Ani
In the British Museum
Transliteration and Translation by E.A. Wallis Budge
Dover Publications #0-486-21866-x
first published 1967,
an unabridged republication of the original published in 1895
Plate VI, Chapter 1
Here begin the Chapters of Coming Forth by Day, and of the songs of praise, and glorifying, and of coming forth from and going into the glorious Neter-khert in the beautiful Amenta; to be said on the day of the burial: going in after coming forth.
English version, page 273:
"O ye who open the way and lay open the paths to perfected souls in the Hall of Osiris, open ye the way and lay open the paths to the soul of Osiris, the scribe and steward of all the divine offerings (Ani's title), Ani, who is triumphant with you. May he enter in with a bold heart and may he come forth in peace from the house of Osiris. May he not be rejected, may he not be turned back, may he enter in as he pleaseth, may he come forth as he desireth, and may he be victorious. May his bidding be done in the house of Osiris; may he walk, and may he speak with you, and may he be a glorified soul along with you."
Thanks for research to Ma'atemhet, a.k.a my sister T'Pell.
Please feel free to direct feedback to the authors!
sablexo1@yahoo.com,
bonnejeanne@yahoo.com.