The Tomb of Nelip Ka

​                Yellow sands slid in miniature avalanches down the dunes. They formed their own flows and falls, tiny rivers of gold with their own tributaries and meandering courses down the mighty dished hills. Every day the peaks shifted, every day the sand flowed, and somehow it never seemed to run out. It always did a superlative job of running in though, mostly into Franklin's boots. They were laced up tight to his ankle, his thick socks spilled over the top despite the heat of the desert, long trousers formed a cotton curtain to cover the socks from above, and he had even tried wearing gaiters, but still the sand penetrated. It was almost like it just spontaneously formed in the area, appearing next to Franklin's feet by virtue of their proximity to the dune. If this was how reputations and discoveries were made then he didn't care for it.
                His legs burned, both from the sun’s heat from the outside and the weariness flaring up from inside. Not for the first time that journey nor, he suspected, for the last, he cursed the camel salesman back in the marketplace. 'No camels left' indeed. 'Nice walk' indeed. 'Great for legs. Get fit get many woman.' Indeed. He knew that he should have trusted his instincts and checked behind the tall, lumpy and suspiciously noisy curtain. It was his own fault though. He should never have led with the fact that they were trying to get to the Tomb of Nelip Ka.
                Everyone they spoke to in the market had either laughed or immediately turned their backs when the tomb was mentioned. In speaking those words he went from a potential income source to just another deluded foreigner who thought they could find a myth. There was no moral quandary for them in taking the money of a dead man walking of course, but there was the problem that those who die in the sands rarely returned their rented equipment or made good on their final payments.
                Franklin suspected that the only reason his guide was still here was that she’d been so desperate for work that she’d agreed to the job before even hearing the destination. It spoke a lot of her honour and professionalism that, after shifting the deathly pallor and successfully fighting the tears of realising what she’d accepted, she committed herself so fully to finding a safe path to the Tomb to Nelip Ka. She set her affairs and accommodation in order before leaving just in case, but still embarked on the trip, even if it was with more trepidation than usual.
                Unfortunately, Franklin had been unable to learn the guide’s name. He really wished he’d asked before apparently giving her the death sentence of a trip to the tomb, because whenever he posed the question now she just said “I am doomed”. Despite the maudlin approach to her supposedly final job, she’d still insisted on full payment up front. Maybe she was planning to take it to the afterlife and buy an ‘I told you so’ sign, Franklin supposed.
                The Doomed Guide led the way across the sands, apparently having a much easier time of it than Franklin. Her broad-soled sand-boots allowed her to glide across the surface, and she seemed to be able to traverse the dunes without expending any effort at all. It was as if she were weightless and simply drifting in front of the party to light the way. Even so, she’d voiced her complaints about the camel situation in no uncertain terms, claiming that riding to one’s death at least carried some dignity, but walking to it on foot was humiliating.
                The others were of similar opinion to The Doomed Guide. Dr. John Crahan brought up the rear and looked like he’d be struggling even on camel-back. His face was red with heat and exertion, beads of sweat streaming down from his forehead, running behind his glasses, and finally dripping from what little chin he had. The collar of his white linen shirt was saturated and starting to stain, as were the armpits. They’d even soaked through his pale jacket. In the meagre shade afforded by his pith helmet the furrows of his brow seemed as deep as the tombs they intended to explore.
                In front of him was Alexander Detroit, a graduate student from Dr Crahan’s. Where the Dr Crahan’s body was ample from the comforts of office, Alexander’s was taut and muscular from the strains and sports of youthful life. He coped much better than his academic mentor with the hard-going terrain, and probably much better than Franklin too if the expedition leader was honest about it. He therefore had no intention of being honest at all.
                Dr Crahan and Alexander hadn’t been Franklin’s first choice of companions for the expedition. Nor had they been his second or third. In fact, Franklin had stopped counting by the time he’d got to that pair, allowing them to travel with him because they’d been the only respondents to his desperate advertisement on the faculty noticeboard. The time of the bold explorers was fading, it seemed. Where once the whole archaeological community would have jumped at the chance to search for a mysterious lost crypt of legendary figures long dead, nowadays they laughed at the notion of mythical resting places. If it hadn’t been found in the last fifty years of expeditions then it couldn’t possibly exist they all said. And when so many explorers had been lost without finding the Tomb of Nelip Ka it passed from the realm of potential discovery to that of crackpot myth-chasing. So, Franklin had been forced come to terms with the fact that he was never going to get the cream of the crop to accompany him, instead settling for the dregs which clung to the emptied pail. It was a bitter pill to swallow, especially when those dregs were as congealed as Crahan. At least he had experience in reading ancient Aumarian glyphs, so he wouldn’t be totally useless.
                “Surely we must be nearly there.” Dr Crahan wheezed from lower down the dune. “We’ve been walking for hours; the ancient Aumarians wouldn’t have bothered to drag Nelip Ka’s body much farther than this from the city.” He speculated, for reasons no more compelling than his own lack of physical fitness. Franklin had read worse arguments for opinions on certain historical events in some recent papers, but it still didn’t fly.
                “I daresay they would have accepted the burden of a long walk to properly inter a hero.” Franklin responded.
                “Is that why she was so famous then? Her wazzo hiking-up-the-dunes skills?” Alexander asked.
                “Jesus wept.” Franklin muttered under his breath. How the boy had managed to pass his undergraduate exams he would never understand. No matter how many times they went over the scant details of Nelip Ka from Aumarian writings and the Odynius’ ‘Mysteries of the Great Epochs’, Alexander found a way to miss, ignore, or forget every salient piece on information. “No. I’d recommend that you have a chat with Dr Crahan again when we make camp. Catch up on what we know about her.”
                “I’d be able to read up on it on the way if we had camels…” he pouted. Franklin ignored it. He would have ignored everything either Dr Crahan or Alexander said given half a chance, but ostracising himself from the rest of his small party before they’d even reached the tomb wouldn’t have been productive.
                “The boy raises a good point.” Dr Crahan called up. “Camels would have made this whole thing a lot more tolerable.”
                “As would a bi-plane, but alas there were none of either available at the market place.” Franklin called back without looking round.
                “Plenty of camels available. Just not to us.” The Doomed Guide chimed in. The emphasis she placed on us was as accusative as it was defeated. Generally a guide’s job was to keep the expedition alive. When even they thought that death was a certainty it put a certain downer on the whole trip.
                “We’ll show them the error of their ways when we return successful. Discoveries are the reward of the brave, and ignorance is the price of weakness.” Franklin told her. It sounded grand, but he suspected that it meant absolutely nothing. He just hoped that she didn’t realise as much.
                “The ignorant will still be alive in a week.” The Doomed Guide responded. She’d definitely realised.
                “So will we.” Franklin persisted.
                “I’m not sure about Dr Crahan.” Alexander opined. “Looks like he might not be doing so well in half an hour.”
                “I can hear you, Mr Detroit!” Crahan snapped angrily. “If you want to continue working in this field then you’d better ruddy well make sure I don’t keel over out here.”
                “Yes, sir.”
                Silence returned to the expedition as they pressed on through the desert. Behind them in the far distance was the market town of Atenankh, a collection of short, square, white protrusions which was the only visible deviation from the endless yellow of the rolling sands. Once it faded from view there would be no landmarks by which to navigate, no signs of life or civilisation, and no easy way orient themselves save by the sun or compass. Directing them to the speculated site of the Tomb of Nelip Ka would then be The Doomed Guide’s principle responsibility, alongside warding off the dangers of the deep desert. If she could maintain the will to keep going, that is.
                “The place I’ve asked you to take us; have any other explored that area of the desert before? Any previous expeditions come back from around there?” Franklin asked The Doomed Guide.
                “Many have gone looking for the Tomb of Nelip Ka. You are not the first fool…” she said, trailing off as she looked out across the sands to re-establish her bearings. With a slight change in trajectory she set off again. “We are not the first fools” she continued, correcting herself “to try to steal secrets from the past. But all of those before us went to their doom, and we are doing the same.” The guide was clad in what appeared to be a collection of old loose rags and strips of fabric, scraps wrapped around herself to grant shade from the sun and keep out the dust. Their loose fold and turns were limp, but still she found a way to sag further when recalling her impending doom.
                “If there were many expeditions before us then we would have passed some piles of their bones by now. This route doesn’t seem to be littered with the corpses of other explorers.” Franklin said tetchily.
                “The sands swallow them all. “ The Doomed Guide informed him, with the ill-earned but unshakable confidence of folklore and theology. “The Old Gods do not seek to make monuments of those who seek to defile their ancient tombs.” The guide's face was almost completely covered by her rags, pulled around as a mask against the sand and wind. Franklin knew well the expression she would be wearing, even if he could only see her eyes through the wrappings.
                ‘Great.’ Franklin thought to himself. ‘Now I’ll be buried by a vengeful god whilst dying of thirst and getting lost in the endless dunes.’
                “At least those before us had camels, though.” The Doomed Guide lamented, twisting that blade a little more.
 
                A gentle but persistent wind picked up as the trek wore on, carrying a soft pattering of sand with it which tapped against the expedition’s clothing. The air itself was hot, but it still gave some small measure of cooling when brushing against their skin. The Doomed Guide continued to make corrections to their path until they were able to walk along the ridge of the dunes and stay exposed to the wind for a little longer.
                “Blasted sands!” Dr Crahan complained as grains tinkled occasionally against his glasses. “There’s no respite from it.”
                “Walk on the slope. Hide from the wind.” The Doomed Guide suggested with her wisest tone of voice. It was a popular technique among the guides of Atenankh, and the foreigners loved it for the legitimacy it bestowed.
                “Blasted slopes!” The doctor replied, not falling for that one. “I’ll only end up sliding back down to the bottom, and then I’ll have to make that blasted climb back up to the top again! Blasted desert.” He said, before taking a swig from his canteen. “Ugh! Blasted water is hot!” He cried, surprised that something became warmer when stored in a hot place.
                “That’s it. Stiff upper lip.” Franklin muttered drily. He was beginning to wonder if Dr Crahan would have been better suited as a mine owner, because if any more blasting went on they might very well be able to open a quarry.
                Alexander looked down at his mentor uncomfortably. He’d been hoping that the round-faces and studious academic would show a surprising worldliness when out in the field. A skill learned from his younger days of archaeological adventures, maybe. Reality was yet to deliver such a welcome surprise.
                “How’s our progress?” he asked, trying to change the subject instead of dwelling on the nature of the desert. “Are we proceeding ahead of schedule?”
                Franklin looked back at the boy, walking along with his polite smile and expectant expression. He suspected that Alexander was just trying to keep everyone positive by clinging to some level of insane optimism, but ahead of schedule? The schedule had assumed camels. It had assumed a guide who hadn’t already resigned herself to death before they reached their destination. It had assumed that one quarter of the team wouldn’t be alarmed that hot and sandy places left one warm and covered in sand.
                “Not quite.” He replied simply. The boy didn’t need his spirit broken just yet. “But we are at least making some headway.”
                “We will reach the spring of Kamdaptshu one hour after sunset.” The Doomed Guide told them. “If the Curse of Nelip Ka does not strike us down before.”
                “Oh for goodness-”
                “What curse?” Alexander asked, newfound anxiety seeping into his voice.
                “There isn’t one.” Franklin said with annoyance, glaring at the guide and attempting to nip that one in the bud.
                “No-one ever returns.” The guide retorted with her own maudlin sneer.
                “Some people never return from the lavatory. That doesn’t mean there’s a curse. There is no such thing as a curses. Those who got lost just… got lost.”
                The Doomed Guide shook her head and led on in silence. Alexander wanted to keep asking about the curse, ask about what it did and who else had succumbed to it, but felt that Franklin would get angry about it. His words might have been stopped for the moment, but that didn’t prevent his imagination from exploring the idea itself.               
                "Do you think that Nelip Ka's tomb will have traps and crazy hidden rooms full of treasure like the pyramids do?" Alexander asked after a few minutes of pondering, allowing rumour and sensationalism to occupy the space where archaeological knowledge should have resided.
                "We don't know, Alexander. It's reasonable to assume that there will be many chambers, some of which may house her worldly belongings for transport to the afterlife, and they would most certainly be priceless artefacts." Franklin speculated. He couldn't help feeling excited about what might lay ahead.
                "If it's full of treasure then there must be hidden rooms. Got to keep it safe." Alexander said with the same energy as Franklin. The doomed guide snorted.
                "Hidden things are not meant to be found, whether treasure or chambers..." she let out a morose sigh "...or tombs. It was lost for a reason known to those who refused to remember it. And now we will be lost for no reason at all."
                Franklin took a sliver of dried, salted meat from his pack and started to chew on it to distract himself. When packing his bags it had seemed like a great choice to have something non-perishable like that, until he actually ate a piece and realised that dry, salty food did little to decrease one's thirst. A quick gulp from his canteen dealt with the main problem, but he returned it to his belt feeling a little too empty for comfort.
                The dunes stretched on ahead of them, reaching the horizon without so much as a hint that they were running out of steam. It was possible that they could survive the night without reaching the oasis if they were sparing with their water, but it would save a lot of whining from his companions if they didn't have to. The guide would probably pours hers out to accelerate the arrival of her supposedly inevitable fate.
                "I still don't really follow why Nelip Ka's tomb is more likely to be real than, say, Hurases' catacombs." Alexander said inquisitively. "Neither one gets many mentions outside of the epic poems. If anything Hurases' catacombs have more details because of how long the hero spends exploring them and fighting those harpies who’d forgotten where the sky was."
                “It's a matter of their construction and location, and how they're discussed in the texts." Franklin responded, so used to making these arguments that they were reflexive to him now and wilfully ignoring Alexander’s implication that the inclusion of harpies didn’t make something less likely to be true. “The openings of the catacombs are clearly stated to emerge in prominent locations across several cities, and thorough searches have found nothing there. Plus there was a study by Professor Brandon at Salem University which showed that not only is much of the stated geometry impossible, but carving something that deep and extensive would have caused whole districts of those cities to collapse.”
                “Oh, alright. That makes sense.” Alexander accepted, but Franklin was on a roll with one of his favourite arguments and not about to stop.
                “Whereas The Tomb of Nelip Ka is referred to in a number of texts, both factual and fictional, as a real mystery. It’s used as a context and a comparator for other lost things. Texts from the time after Nelip Ka’s death refer to her tomb among the other perfectly real tombs, temples, monuments and whatnot.”
                “Yeah, fair enough. It sounds plausible enough to be worth investigating when you put it that way.” Alexander said, trying to bring a close to the conversation. Franklin wondered to himself why Alexander was here at all if he had previously not thought the tomb’s existence to be sufficiently plausible for investigation. Regardless he was still a young and eager extra body to help with the expedition, so Franklin didn’t push the matter any further. He did, however, decide to keep pushing on with the discussion of Nelip Ka since Alexander’s interest as apparently white-hot.
                “Surviving records of Nelip Ka herself are thin on the ground and there’s evidence that she was the victim of a Damnatio Memoriae, as in there was a deliberate effort to remove her name and face from history. Whoever tried to do it wasn’t completely successful of course, hence why he have learned of her name. There are little bits and pieces, details and mentions here and there, which survived in obscure references and otherwise unrelated texts. From what we have been able to piece together she as in a position of great respect, perhaps an advisor or diplomat or emissary, or maybe a general, for several prosperous and successful years. At some stage though she committed what has been referred to as a betrayal of some sort, and giving an order which led swathes of Aumarian people to their deaths.
                There are theories that she conspired with the enemy’s spies to arrange an ambush for her own armies, or maybe just allowed her hubris to take over and ignored advice. Either way there are confirmed records of a huge loss of life, both civilian and from the volunteer armies which had been formed around that time. It is presumably for that betrayal that she disappeared from history.”
                “Wow. Well, hopefully we’ll be able to confirm or deny that.”
                “People aren’t buried with full biographies, Alexander.” Dr Crahan said tactlessly. “But we might glean something about her social standing at the time of her death. Possible even an approximate date of death.”
                “Whatever we find, it will be the discovery of the decade.” Franklin said, before Dr Crahan could get any more insufferable.
               
                The sun set quickly over the desert, taking the warmth with it like a jealous lover. The Doomed Guide was used to such a sensation, having experienced it many times before, and simply pulled the loose rags around her body a little tighter together. For her charges, however, the brief window of tolerable temperature, with its orange sky and long, dark shadows, merely taunted them as it fell away to a chilling night.
                Franklin shivered as he walked, but didn’t want to give the guide the satisfaction of complaining. She’d only compare it to the chill of the grave or the shivering sickness which Nelip Ka might inflict upon them. In fact, she said those very things when Dr Crahan neglected the self-censorship that Franklin had exercised and resumed his blasting of everything he could think of.
                At least Alexander seemed to be coping with the cold air well enough. He wore the neutral expression of someone who had been daydreaming away the boredom for several hours, but still had a significant quantity of boredom left to get through. He must have really been on the B-material by now.
                How The Doomed Guide was able to navigate so easily in the darkness Franklin didn’t know, but by the stars and the moon she led the expedition across the twilit dunes and to the edges of the spring of Kamdaptshu. In a sudden break, the sands gave way to a solid undulating slab of dark brown rock, in the centre of which was a quiet pool of still, clear water. Thirstily, each of them drained their canteens and refilled them from the spring, grateful not to be rationing it for a time. Dr Crahan had to empty a large quantity of sand out of his first.
                Exhaustion was quick to take them once they had stopped. Trekking across the sand, as everyone had been so quick to point out, was difficult work without camels, and their legs ached immensely. It was only for the sake of modesty around The Doomed Guide that they bothered to set up their basic canvas tents on the sand, just at the boundary where it met the rocks of the spring.
                “We pack up and go at dawn. There is still much ground to cover.” The Doomed Guide said with a hollow authority. She knew well what they had to do to reach their destination, but there was no hiding how futile and ill-advised she felt the effort to be. It was the basis of the attitude of every family-friendly tour guide to come in the next century.
 
                Although hard to walk upon, the soft sands made for a passable bed.  Dr Crahan found himself blasting much of the night away, complaining about the sore, chafing invasion of his sleeping bag by his new least favourite granular material, but no-one else really paid much mind.
                After a short breakfast of dried rations and as much water as they could stomach, they set off in the dawn sunlight, hoping to make as much progress as possible before the heat of the sun kicked up too high.
                Heading in a significantly different direction than that which they had taken to reach the spring, The Doomed Guide led her collection of historians across the dunes. Every now and again they would pass by a solitary cactus or see some skittering lizard dart across the sands, but elsewise the landscape was a fractal, isotropic collection of nearly identical dunes, stretching endlessly to the horizon.
                The four of them walked in a hot, uncomfortable conga line, each person following the back in front of them and not otherwise thinking about where they were going. Without any compelling scenery to look it, it felt easier to look at a sweaty back or the ground below than to gaze across the emptiness and acknowledge that they had a long way to walk before finding anything.
                Suddenly and without warning The Doomed Guide stopped in place and stared across the desert with an urgency Franklin hadn’t seen from her since she’d vied for his custom in the market place. Like a meerkat sentry or out-of-place deer she showed no sign of motion, her chest not even rising or falling as she breathed. With the sun shining into her face she squinted slightly, then opened her eyes wider, and then squinted again, apparently struggling to discern something in the endless expanse of sand.
                Franklin followed her gaze and saw nothing but the same rolling dunes by which they had been surrounded for what felt like forever. It wasn’t very likely at all that this was the first time she’d seen a sandbank, nor the moment at which she had finally realised that they were out in the desert of all places. She’d seemed uncomfortably aware of that for the whole trip.
                “What can you see?” he asked finally, giving up on speculation in favour of just directly enquiring. The same approach had worked far better for determining the train timetable back at home too.
                “I see sand that thinks it is a mountain.” She said distractedly, still intently peering at the dunes.
                “And I suppose that’s a sign of our doom then, is it? The desert preparing to collapse on us?”
                “Maybe.”
                Franklin scowled silently. Being snarky with her had been something of an own-goal.
                “Really though. What does it mean?”
                “It means that the sand is not behaving as it should. It means that maybe we have angered the Old Gods and they prepare to consume us. It means that maybe not all is as it seems here.” She said, continuing her cryptic vocalisation for no obvious reason.
                “I don’t see what’s so strange about it.” Alexander said from behind, now also staring at the sand.
                “It’s behaving just as it ought to.” Dr Crahan grumbled. “Piling up and waiting to blow into my tea.”
                “The Old Gods seek to consume your tea before they consume you.” The Doomed Guide said.
                “Then they’re no gods of mine.” Crahan replied, standing his ground.
                “Are we talking about that big one there?” Alex asked, pointing a finger which could have been indicating any one of a dozen large dunes.
                The Doomed Guide shook her head.
                “Not that dune. This one.” She pointed in approximately the same direction, also indicating towards the patch of sizeable sand formations. “The one whose shape seeks to be something it isn’t.”
                “The largest one though, right? You said it was trying to be a mountain.”
                “It tries. Success is something else. Many have tried to reach the Tomb of Nelip Ka. It does not mean that they have enjoyed success.” The Doomed Guide replied, labouring the point somewhat.
                “I would suppose they didn’t particularly enjoy their failure either.” Dr Crahan observed. “Much like I am not enjoying this wasteland of grit and sweltering heat.”
                “Are you not? You’ve kept that under your hat, old chap.” Franklin said wearily. Dr Crahan accepted what he mistook for a compliment about his ability to suffer in silence.
                “We head towards the large dune.” The Doomed Guide said, a slight hesitance in her voice. “I think it is where you wish to be.”
                Standing still for a few seconds longer than normal, she seemed to be silently making peace with something in her mind before setting off again. Sticking closely to her footprints, Franklin and the others followed her down the rear of a dune and towards the suspiciously mountain-like collection of sand.
                Close up, the dune seemed even larger. It stretched up to the skies as if the desert was indulging in some morning calisthenics, and in doing so forced the expedition to also confront the possibility of post-dawn exertions.
                “If there is something buried here, we will be able to see it from the other side.” The Doomed Guide said with an almost disappointed confidence. “We climb. Follow my path and it shall be easier.”
                Without protesting but definitely not looking forward to the climb, Franklin's expedition, started their trudge up the great sandy slope. Several blasts from behind them carried reassurance that Dr Crahan wasn’t enjoying himself, and that he didn’t want to be patronised by offers of help by Alexander. The heat from the sun was so intense in those moments that it seemed to be physically pushing them back down the hill, like a concentrated force of radiation sought to hold them back. Eventually however, they reached the end of their climb, well off to one side of the dune’s peak. The historians took a good few minutes longer than The Doomed Guide, which allowed her to regain her breath by the time they reached her.
                “By the grace of the Old Gods, I think we have been able to fully make our mistake.” She said morosely, pointing along the opposite face of the Dune.
                Sandstone blocks as large as Franklin in any dimension, much larger if time was included, broke through the smothering blanket of sand like a toe poking through a long-serving sock. Corners and edges which had once been straight and sharp now found themselves smoothed off, rounded, and worn by millennia of gritty winds. But despite the erosion of the desert they still stood tall and strong, rising tens of feet into the air to loom menacingly over Franklin’s expedition. At their top, buried under a covering of sand like snowfall, the stone squared off to a roof above a huge rectangular doorway. Rising high above the desert, the yawning maw of what was unmistakably an Aumarian tomb simultaneously beckoned the expedition inside and warned them to stay away. Mixed messages didn't make life easy.
                Each of them, except The Doomed Guide, stood with jaw hanging open in awe of the colossus opening up before them. It wasn’t that the guide didn’t appreciate the spectacle; she was in fact feeling the same awe as the historians, coupled to an intricate cocktail of other, conflicted feelings regarding her own doom, the thrill of discovery, questioning old wisdom, fearing that same old wisdom regardless, and wondering how she had never noticed this entrance before when trekking out here. The only reason she kept her mouth shut was because in a windy sandy desert a closed mouth was always a good move. Dr Crahan, meanwhile, spat out a mouthful of sand.
                “Blasted stuff!” he exclaimed angrily, displeased that the local geology was interfering with archaeological discovery.
                “Is this it?!” Alexander asked, youthful hope enveloping his words. He also had a lot of sand on his tongue, but it was far less of a concern to him. “Did we really just find the Tomb of Nelip Ka?”
                “We did…” Franklin managed.
                “We?” The Doomed Guide muttered under her breath. “Hm.”
                “This is it… the culmination of years of study. My career is made!” Franklin continued, the gravitas of the situation sinking in much like his feet were slowly sinking into the soft sand.
                “It’s so huge! I mean, it’s a bit more… well, plain than I thought it would be. For someone of Nelip Ka’s supposed standing.” Alexander observed, his words ignorant to the achievement of moving several-tonne blocks of sandstone without mechanised assistance. In fairness, life hadn’t afforded him many opportunities to try it for himself and learn the lesson.
                “It wasn’t meant to be an attraction. A monument, yes, but not an attraction.” Franklin informed the student. “But it’ll be far from plain. You can still see where the engravings and frescoes used to be.
                "Let me have a look at them!" Dr Crahan cried excitedly, dashing over to the entryway with more energy than he'd shown for the whole trip. It wasn't a graceful dash, leaving a trail of dragged footprints through the sand, but he got there without too much of an issue. In his experience with burial sites and other monuments in Aumarian culture, which was largely confined to sitting in his office and reviewing what other, less reclusive, archaeologists had seen, there would be frescoes all over the entrance. Typically these would tell stories of the life of the entombed, or the tale of their downfall, or provide a warning not to enter. One or two on certain tombs had apparently informed the reader that the safety barrier alongside harbour wall was for their safety, and that the divine empress of the Aumarian Civilisation would accept no responsibility for their death, but that was widely presumed to be a mistranslation. After all, the concept of liability wasn't mentioned in any other format for another 1000 years and no-one had ever heard of an Aumarian small claims court.
                "These have been heavily worn." Dr Crahan said with distracted interest once he’d reached the stones, thinking out loud more than trying to inform the rest of the expedition about his observations. “Images of Kurisis and Golipa by the looks of it… river boats… sun setting behind… something…” he mumbled.
                Franklin kicked his feet free of their sandy covering and started to walk more slowly behind Dr Crahan’s path. Alexander followed along obediently, but The Doomed Guide stood still. Her gaze flicked from the tomb, to her charges, and back to the tomb. It was an object of legend, one which she had been warned away from for her whole life. To search for it was to sign your own death warrant, but she had been so hasty to accept the foreigner’s job… desperation for work had led her into this fate. And now, here she stood, facing up at the ancient Tomb of Nelip Ka, and the new tomb of three foolish foreigners and their doomed guide.
                “It’s magnificent.” Franklin said out loud but to no-one in particular. After so many years of searching for it, he would have found even a small stone with “Nelip Ka” written on it to be magnificent. To find a whole sandstone temple was not only the icing on the cake, but the jam, the candles and the silver platter as well. It was also the icing from several other cakes that just happened to be nearby. The baker’s nightmare was Franklin’s gain. Together with Alexander he caught up with Dr Crahan and stood to his side, examining the eroded carvings and marvelling at the craftsmanship.
                “Any confirmation that it’s Nelip Ka?” Franklin asked Dr Crahan anxiously.
                “Give me a chance!”
                “You’re meant to be the expert in interpreting glyphs! How long do you need?” Franklin rebutted impatiently. He suspected that Crahan’s expertise in this field was mostly a result of the good doctor preferring pictures to words; his academic papers certainly gave that impression with their interesting perspective on the English language. Many people could take or leave grammar, but Dr Crahan clearly only had one of those options available to him.
                “Hard to say this soon…” Dr Crahan responded, unwilling to commit much more of his attention to speaking. “Usual signs of a tomb are here, though.”
                The Doomed Guide, having made her stealthy way up behind them, was also looking up at the glyphs on the entryway, and she was shaking. Her eyes were wide, taking in every remaining detail of the threats being made against the expedition by the gods of old.
                “It is Nelip Ka’s sacred resting place.” She said, her voice quivering. “Look.” She pointed upwards to the sheltered carvings on the ceiling, just inside the doorway. Gasps from all three of the foreigners confirmed her own interpretation of the abstract glyphs. Every rumour she’d heard of lost wanderers dying in the desert, trespassers drowning in a flood of sand, grave-robbers falling fatally ill, and loud-chewers being crushed by ghastly enamel teeth were represented in sandstone reliefs.
                "That doesn't seem terribly inviting does it?" Alexander observed correctly. "Do all the Aumarian tombs have these warnings on them?"
                "None of them encourage entry as such, but in a word, no." Franklin told him.
                "And in two words?" Alexander asked, for reasons which weren’t clear to anyone.
                "They don't." Franklin indulged.
                "Right. So, what do we do then? Report our findings back to the university? I mean, we came out here to look for it and we found it. Job done."
                "What? Don't talk nonsense boy." Dr Crahan snapped. "I didn't get my body half roasted and scratched by blasted sand just to leave as soon as I got here. You should be sketching this out!"
                Alexander hurriedly dropped his pack and started rummaging through for a pencil and notebook.
                "We're going to document this entryway and then explore deeper. Who knows how much rich history we could find? We might discover the truth about Nelip Ka, her life, the potential existence of a progeny, the real reason for her name being consigned to legend and struck from real history.” Franklin speculated with a lust for discovery.
                Behind them The Doomed Guide bit her quivering lip and prayed to Kurisis’ worn, stony visage that the foreigners would stop talking of such things. It was bad enough to seal all of their fates by seeking this place out; they should have been counting their blessings at still being alive instead of plotting to defile the interior of the tomb with their presence. But then, she reminded herself, she had agreed to lead them wherever they wished to go, damnation of her eternal soul or not.
                Creeping just far enough into the entry of the tomb to find shade from the sun, Franklin’s expedition laid their packs on the stone floor and started to make notes, sketches and wild hypotheses regarding the carvings and glyphs around them. Dr Crahan leaned his face close in to the walls and muttered to himself, attempting to make a hasty translation of the stories being told, whilst Alexander strained to hear him and keep up. Franklin had taken over sketching duties, making pencil recreations of the deathly warnings adorning the ceiling as best he could, and taking far more joy in it than The Doomed Guide could feel comfortable with. She herself stood at the very edge of the entry, still on sand and in the sunlight, hugging her arms tight around her waist. Maybe if she stood there rather than entering then the Old Gods would overlook her in favour of the foreign invaders. Or maybe they would all be judged the same.
                Minutes passed and gradually the doomed guide relaxed back from terror into aloof depression. She still lingered on the sands, but now she sat casually rather than tensing every muscle in her body.
                "We should really get going now if we're to make it back out before nightfall." Franklin declared, carefully folding a handful of notes and drawings. "We can return to this tomorrow."
                A muffled, barely audible squeak from the doomed guide was lost to the expedition.
                "Oh this blasted hiking is doing me no good. Why not just stay here?" Dr Crahan complained as he stood back up straight, stretching out his aching muscles. Alexander hurriedly started to pack away the messy stack of papers he'd generated.
                "I'm going into this tomb one way or another, Crahan." Franklin said stonily. “You can stay here if you want to but I’m exploring this.”
                "Oh of course we're going in you fool! I meant why not stay here for the night. We have shelter from the wind and the cold and then we won't need to hike again tomorrow."
                There was a sound like leather being stretched taut. It was as if someone had grabbed an ancient harness and twisted until it creaked with tension and feelings of rotational betrayal. Just outside the tomb, every shred of nervous rigidity had returned to the doomed guide, and it seemed that absence had only made the heart grow more fearful.
                “You want to sleep in a tomb?” Alexander asked with barely masked horror. “What if it’s filled with scorpions or snakes or ancient diseases? Or modern diseases?”
                “Why would there b-” Franklin started.
                “What about the curse?!” Alexander continued, allowing his imagination to take another walk beyond its normal boundaries.
                “There is no curse!” Franklin snapped. “Get rid of those notions. We’re standing in a collection of old stones, and somewhere in there we’ll find another collection of old bones. There is nothing more or less divine or malevolent here than that.”
                “Pray that the Old Gods did not hear you.” The Doomed Guide murmured.
                “Pray yourself.”
 
                The three historians re-packed their things, put their bags across their backs and started to walk deeper into the tomb entrance. Sweating in the sun of the desert, The Doomed Guide scrunched her face up, not that much of it was visible, and whimpered slightly. Hearing her, the others stopped again.
                “Come along, we’re moving.” Dr Crahan instructed. The Doomed Guide simply shook her head. “You can’t just let us go on our own.”
                “There’s only one path in and out. Even you can manage that without getting lost.” She said.
                Franklin bristled. The Doomed Guide had proven herself to be almost as adept at translating the old glyphs as Dr Crahan, a revelation which, in hindsight, shouldn’t have been surprising. Growing up around these things was usually a more effective learning technique than hiding in an office and staring at sketches of them. There was no way Franklin was going to enter the tomb without her expertise and potentially miss an important message, or waste time with slow translations. The Tomb of Nelip Ka might have been lost for centuries, but now that it had been discovered time was of the essence.
                “If there’s so little chance of us being lost then you can lead the way without fear.”
                “There are many ways of being lost. Not finding your way out is only one of them. I will not anger the Old Gods further.” The Doomed Guide told him stubbornly.
                “And how do the Old Gods look upon those who have been hired and offered their service when they fail to honour their promises?” Franklin grumbled.
                The Doomed Guide’s nostrils flared, not that they were visible. Her jaw trembled as she restrained her words and argued with Franklin in her mind. But nothing she thought could refute what he was saying. Perhaps the Old Gods had wanted the tomb to stay hidden, and perhaps they punished those who sought it out. But they definitely looked down on those who betrayed their promises.
                “You have kept your word this far. I wait for you to continue keeping it.” Franklin pressed, holding an open hand towards the interior of the tomb.
                The Doomed Guide narrowed her eyes. Roughly she dropped her pack to the floor and started to rummage.
                “What are you doing now?” Dr Crahan complained impatiently.
                Shooting a rag-faced stare at him in response, she yanked a wooden torch from her bag and pointed it towards him.
                “Would you have me lead me in the darkness or see where we are going? There is no light under the sands so-called wise man.” She sneered
                “Well really.” Dr Crahan blustered, without presenting any further confrontation to the guide.
                Silently The Doomed Guide lit her torch with a flint and steel, slung her pack onto her back, and walked with defiance into the tomb.
 
                Underfoot the stone slabs were even and smooth, providing a welcome solidity and resistance after so much time spent walking on the desert sands. There were no worn tracks in these ancient stones, no paths ground by the feet of generations and no frequently walked paths. Outside in the expanse of the desert the landscape was ever changing and morphing; footfalls left deep prints to mark their presence before the wind took them away again and re-forged the dunes. Within the tomb walls, however, all was as it had been thousands of years before. Time stood still for the remains of Nelip Ka. There would be no progress, no motion, no change, Just interment beneath the sands and the promise of being utterly lost. But that promise had been broken, because here Franklin was, trying to rediscover her.
                It was an unusually poetic train of thought for Franklin to find passing through his mind as he followed the ghoulish light of The Doomed Guide’s torch. Barely a few metres into the entryway of the tomb the floor had fallen away into a sandstone staircase, which took the expedition out of the light of day completely, and he followed her down while his mind raced with excitement. Dark lines of shadow marked the edges of each stone in the structure around them and encircled the descent in neat, identical sections. As the expedition went down the temperature fell with them, but they were all too anxious to notice.
                A syncopated rhythm of footsteps and rattling equipment filled the otherwise silent tomb. Even the guide’s own soft footfalls echoed away to the depths as she led the way. Although the steps were wide enough for two or three of them to stand on together, they kept to a single-file line as they walked. Franklin, Dr Crahan, and Alexander examined the walls as they went by. It seemed that those who had carved the warnings at the entryway were more than happy to repeat themselves, embossing and painting further warning glyphs all the way into the tomb as a reminder of what any invader was getting themselves in for. Dr Crahan would have loved to inspect each of them in greater detail but the constant motion of The Doomed Guide’s torchlight made every glimpse a fleeting affair and no-one wanted to slow down.
                The Doomed Guide needed no reminding of what dangers awaiting those who defiled tombs. She was used to keeping her head up, her senses keen, and her gaze sweeping across the horizon to check for threats or changes in the path, but in here she kept her focus at the ground for the edge of the stairs ahead. If ever her sights rose to the see the fates the Old Gods were promising painted on the walls then she might not be able to keep her nerve. Keeping an eye on her next step also meant she couldn’t miss the next stair, which was generally sensible.
                Taken in by the glyphs as they were, the historians failed to appreciate the subtleties rife in warnings of The Doomed Guide’s ancestors. Slight changes in colours, postures, poses and arrangements were lost on their fleeting attentions, and even if they had been noticed there was no guarantee that the meaning would have been caught. Franklin had been banking on The Doomed Guide understanding those minor changes, be it from dialect or different phrasing from different artists, or something more fundamental. But he had failed to notice that she was averting her gaze, and she had failed to notice what the ancestors were trying to say.
                The Doomed Guide’s heart jumped, skipping several beats as a stony grinding sounded and she felt a slab depress beneath her foot.
                “Agh! Kurisis protect me!” she cried as something hard crashed into the top of her head. Fearing the worst she leapt backwards instinctively and tripped on the edge of the stair behind her.
                Franklin was most perturbed to hear The Doomed Guide’s terror and feel her toppling into him. It would have been quite bad enough just to have a body slam into his chest and knock him off balance, but there was also the matter of a lit torch in her hand to add some danger to the proceedings.
                “Oof!” he said by extension of The Doomed Guide’s sentiment, managing to keep his balance, but only just, and manoeuvring himself out of the way of the torch’s sweeping arch. When it finally hit the stair, shaded by the awkwardly leant forms of The Doomed Guide and Franklin, it cast just enough light to show a collection of pale objects drop from somewhere unseen in the ceiling, just above where the guide had been moments before. With a series of hollow clinks they clattered down, some hitting the sandstone and others raining onto the expedition.
                A series of yelps and fearful gasps, many of them from Dr Crahan, filled the dark staircase. Surrounded by unknown, light impacts and loud screams from himself, the doctor stumbled forwards, planting his face directly into Franklin’s back. Propped up as he was by the staggered guide Franklin once again kept his foothold, but felt Dr Crahan tumble past him to one side and land grunting in what sounded like a pile of gravel.
                “Are you alright doctor Crahan?” Alexander shouted from behind, apparently forgetting that one doesn’t need to raise one’s voice to be heard over darkness.
                “Get me up! I’m covered in these things!” Dr Crahan replied hysterically, crunching and rustling through whatever had fallen.
                With panicked and hurried motions The Doomed Guide scrabbled back to her feet and lifted the torch high, trying to see what unknown force was assailing them and discover the fate of the portly, irritating foreigner. At least they might discover that he was fatally wounded and be assured that he’d shut up soon.
                Flickering yellow-orange illumination revealed Dr Crahan struggling like an inverted tortoise among a respectably-sized pile of bones and husks. Broken apart by the fall but still loosely arranged in shape were the remains of snakes, scorpions, hunting dogs and what appeared to be some kind of carnivorous fish. Lying in the middle of the pile, just where The Doomed Guide had stepped on the pressure plate, was the skeleton of an enormous crocodile. Its bony, toothy smile persisted even in death, although now that it had collided with the floor it was a little lop-sided.
                Franklin looked down at the remains, in which Dr Crahan was still thrashing, with distant, academic wonder. Every popular newspaper back home had carried fantastical nonsense about the newly discovered tombs in Egypt being protected by curses, illnesses, secret chambers, and traps. The academic community had seen evidence to the contrary and knew the truth, but he’d always found it disappointing that the monuments lacked those romanticised elements. Seeing some of them reflected in the reality of this Aumarian reliquary was strangely satisfying, but it was also a stark reminder of how little the Aumarians had understood basic biology. Why anyone thought they could trap a collection of dangerous animals in an overhead compartment and have them present a tangible threat for more than about three days was a mystery to him. Unless someone had been coming out here to feed and water them regularly of course, but that didn’t seem terribly likely.
                While Franklin waxed lyrically in his own mind about the state of zoological welfare and temple design in ancient Aumaria, Alexander carefully stepped past him and held out a hand to Dr Crahan. With a Herculean effort which was surprising even for someone of Alexander’s impressive stature, he hauled the doctor and his whole weight of historical knowledge up from the bone pile.
                Dr Crahan blustered and spluttered with various non-descript sounds, none of which were a pause to thank Alexander for his help.
                “Poor animals…” Alexander muttered, looking down at the pile of bones. “trapped in there to starve to death.”
                “Poor scorpions and snakes who can’t poison me? Get a grip Alexander.” Dr Crahan snapped. “I could have been crushed by that crocodile. Imagine one of those hitting you fully formed in the flesh! You’d be half dead even before it tore you apart. Utter brutality.”
                “Whoever built this must really have wanted to keep Nelip Ka hidden away and untouched.” Franklin observed, with a little less of an emotional reaction than Crahan.
                “You were supposed to be looking out for things like that!” The doctor shouted at The Doomed Guide. “Watch where you’re putting your feet.”
                “Yours are on sacred ground, foreigner. Hold your tongue.”
                The Doomed Guide strode onwards, the pressure plate having marked the bottom of the staircase. Ahead of them was a short section of square passageway with a set of dark wooden doors at the end.
                Rustling through the bones, the three historians followed their guide, Dr Crahan keeping to the rear so that the others would feel any further bone-rains before he did. They congregated at the doors. Stretching several feet higher than anyone in the expedition, the twin wooden doors were painted in gold and emblazoned with the Aumarian glyphs.
                “What does it say?” Alexander asked, for some reason in hushed tones.
                “It must be the burial chamber.” Franklin supposed. “The final resting place of Nelip Ka.”
                The Doomed Guide examined the glyphs silently and then nodded.
                “Not a treasure hoard then?” Alex asked, a little disappointed.
                “Stop reading the newspapers and start listening to my lectures.” Dr Crahan admonished. “Any heir to the throne who buried all of their predecessor’s riches with them would find their inheritance, and therefore their power, to be rather thin in the ground.”
                “Oh… well, I… yes, I suppose so.”
                “Is it locked?” Franklin asked over Dr Crahan and Alexander.
                “You know that I haven’t tried it.” The Doomed Guide responded.
                “I wondered if you might just know anyway.”
                “Everybody thinks this tomb is a myth. There is no common knowledge about doors inside, locked or not.”
                Franklin rolled his eyes and approached the door cautiously. In the light of the torch he examined the gap between the doors and the floor underneath them, checking for any sign of another pressure plate, a string hooked between them, or any further animal carcasses which might give Dr Crahan a fright.
                “Seems to be safe enough.”
                “Then you really don’t know how to read.” The Doomed Guide mocked.
                Stepping back, Franklin took a look at the doors one more time. From what the torch illuminated, he could see dozens of lines of glyph writing and pictorial stories. Although the writing was lost on him, each one of the picures showed some unfortunate or foul fate befalling those who opened a great set of doors, doors which were suspiciously like those in front of him now. One strangely angular man was being consumed by a sea of snakes. Another was riddled with spears from what looked like the ghost of a broken wedding ring. One more started to look deeply sad, and sat down on the floor until he became a skeleton.
                “We’ve come too close to give up now. Ancient warnings be damned; we haven’t been struck down yet for stepping in here.” Franklin said, standing defiant in front of the two doors. With a deep breath he lifted both arms to push on them. Seeing the determination on his face, The Doomed Guide leapt backwards, past Dr Crahan and Alexander, to the bottom of the stairs. The bones clattered as she waded through them, before taking up a vantage point at a safe distance.
                With a solid, thrusting push Franklin leaned his weight into the two immense doors, sending them shooting forwards and swinging freely away from him. Robbed of the support he’d expected from the doors Franklin pivoted towards the ground, with just enough time to raise his hands before slamming into the sandstone slabs below. Looking up, he saw a set of stone feet in matching carved sandals on a pedestal to one side.
                Standing next to the door was an immaculately preserved statue of a thin, lithe man with the head, and also the left leg, of an ibis. A second ibis face was peering out of the back of the head, making it look like an unfortunately rickety pickaxe.
                "Is that... Rylotep?" Alexander asked, stepping up behind without any apparent oncern that Franklin had plummeted to the gorund.
                "Yes... very good boy." Franklin said distractedly, whilst standing up and brushing himself down.
                "God of deception, subterfuge, sleight of hand, cheating at card games and pretending you weren't looking when really you were, to give him his full title." Dr Crahan added haughtily.
                "A strange choice of tomb guardian." Alexander observed.
                "Yes. It's not a natural choice to have a trickster guarding over one's mortal remains."
                "All the Old Gods watch over their followers." The Doomed Guide said. "Forgive our intrusion Rylotep. Honour binds me to tread where I should not." She whispered to the statue.
                "What's that smell?" Alexander asked, wrinkling his nose in the half-light as a thick, acrid scent drifted up to meet it.
                "Embalming fluids most likely." Dr Crahan declared. "Anything to keep the body preserved."
                "Not just funeral fluids. There is oil here too.” The Doomed Guide assessed. She leaned down to the ground, lowering the torch with her, and examined the floor. Where the tomb entrance and the stairway floors had been a smooth surface, the floor here was inset with a network of shallow channels, each one filled with a viscous, almost tar-like oil. “It is a light source.” She surmised.
                Before any of the others could question what she meant, The Doomed Guide lowered her torch to the oil and watched it ignite. Bright yellow flames burst up from the channels, spreading impossibly slowly along the trail of oils and throwing a powerful glow out into the burial chamber.
                Unexpectedly calm at seeing his guide set fire to the floor, Franklin found himself thinking that the chamber itself was larger than he’d dared to expect, taking up more space than some of the lecture theatres back at the university. More impressive, though were the contents.
                Piled in the centre of the chamber was the largest collection of ancient jewellery, precious stones, finely crafted weapons, and bottles of fine spices that Franklin had ever seen outside of a museum. Apparently constructed with great care the stack had been packed tightly against the centre, with a few particularly large or ornate pieces adorning the top. Centrally on the side facing the door was a crown of silver and gold, with twin curved swords crossed over its top.
                Emerging from the centre of the pile, gentle slopes of gold leading up to it on all sides, was a marble platform carved into the shape of an ornate chaise longue, or the ancient Aumarian equivalent. Atop that was a sarcophagus fit for the empress' and emperors of the height of the Aumarian empire. Rising a clear 2 feet from the marble platform it appeared to be a lump of solid gold large enough for any one of the expedition members with room to spare. Along every edge were square indentations like picture frames, each one filled with a minutely detailed artistic masterpiece. On the risen bars between each of the frames were carved glyphs of the Old Gods’, words of prayer, and occasionally an image of a particularly cute Aumarian fox.
                A thin walkway of raised sandstone cut through the piled gold to allow an approach to the sarcophagus. Excitedly but carefully Franklin walked along the stone bridge until he was able to step on the edges of the marble chaise longue and standing over the sarcophagus. It shone in the creeping firelight, casting a yellow glow across Franklin’s clothes and face as he examined it with wide-eyed wonder. At the head was an elaborate death mask which was set in the taciturn expression of a woman in her late fifties. Long braids of gold hair ran over a blue and silver headdress in the twisting patterns of the River Aum, which had fed the ancient Aumarian capitol in millennia gone by.
                Below the head, however, there was no continuing body. Instead the lid of the sarcophagus was completely covered in glyphs, pictures and diagrams. Painted on in tiny print by an inconceivably talented hand, the decorations were so dense as to look like a single image from afar. Franklin was sure that he’d read whole dissertations which contained less information than was emblazoned across this sarcophagus. He could barely wait to have it translated.
                “Dr Crahan! If you would be so kind, please get up here and translate these for us.” Franklin asked with hushed excitement.
                “Gladly, old chap.” The doctor replied, waddling his way up to the sarcophagus and swapping places with Franklin.
                “Would you be able to assist?” Franklin asked The Doomed Guide as he walked down. She looked at him with displeasure, internally tortured enough by needing to be in the chamber at all, let alone facing the prospect of moving closer to Nelip Ka and reading hidden knowledge. But, as Franklin had so spitefully pointed out earlier, she was honour-bound to guide the foreigners through whatever they didn’t know or understand. That unfortunately seemed to be an awful lot.
                “I suppose I cannot be much more doomed than I already am. Least of all by mere reading.” She said, justifying it to herself for the sake of it, before joining Dr Crahan at the sarcophagus.
                Bristling at the insinuation that he needed help from anyone, especially The Doomed Guide, Dr Crahan was sure to stand himself slightly in the way of her, so that she had to lean around him to see.
                “Let’s see…” he started. “…symbol for death and symbol for power… place of rest…” Dr Crahan muttered to himself. The Doomed Guide stepped around his generous frame to get a better look, positioning herself towards the pillow of the marble chaise longue.
                “Power was held when she died. It wasn’t a disgraced death, but a revered one.” Dr Crahan announced to the room. Franklin had surmised as much from the fact that someone had gone to the effort of constructing a tomb for her, and then troubled themselves to perform a full embalming process rather than tossing the body in and being done with it. He let it slide though.
                “This combination is used to mean respected or wise leader.” The guide said, pointing to a collection of glyphs. “She was at the ruler’s right hand during a war.”
                Franklin crept back up the stone walkway to peer over their shoulders.
                “Why are you starting there?” he asked, seeing that they were reading from the middle of the torso. “It’s arranged as a story board, look.”
                “Oh. Well.” Dr Crahan said, clearing his throat. “Yes. It’s a strange thing to have a narrative flow on a sarcophagus, that’s all.” He muttered. The Doomed Guide made no comment.
                “If we start up there then I suppose it says that this is… the final resting place of Nelip Ka the heroine betrayer.” He read slowly. “Or is it heroine mistaken for a traitor? Bah, I need to be able to study this in peace and you’re distracting me Franklin. I’ll let you know when we’re done.”
                Reluctantly Franklin stepped away from the sarcophagus again and stood with Alexander to wait for the translation to finish. Reflections of firelight from the gold went a surprising way to illuminating the rest of the room, where the oil fires had yet to reach. Light bounced from the shimmering gold surfaces highlighted the features of many other statues, similar to that of Rylotep, standing around the room, each of them looking in and watching over the sarcophagus from their shadowed corners. It seemed that all of the Old Gods had come to see Nelip Ka away.
                Audible at all times was the translation, with Dr Crahan surprisingly taking on the bulk of the work without complaint. His experience with ancient Aumarian glyphs from several other ruins had given him a mind like an encyclopaedia, but every now and then The Doomed Guide would weigh in with a colloquialism or slightly different interpretation of glyphs which were grouped together. As much as he tried to ignore her life-saving advice out in the desert, he seemed much more willing to listen to her when it came to discussing dead languages.            The more they read the more excited Dr Crahan became, apparently learning enthralling truths from the sarcophagus. The Doomed Guide, however, only became more muted and morose.
                Over the course of their deciphering the chamber grew continually brighter, the oil tracks across the floor burning farther along their lengths. By the time Dr Crahan and The Doomed Guide were finished it was a well-lit space.
                “I believe we have a rudimentary translation.” Dr Crahan declared. As Franklin and Alexander snapped to attention, The Doomed Guide stepped quietly down from the sarcophagus and walked over to the doorway, hugging herself and saying nothing.
                “Nelip Ka was an advisor to the royal family, her opinions respected on matters of civil governance, law, and warfare. Over the reigns of three monarchs she steered the progress of Aumarian society towards greater civil liberties for the citizenry, began work on standardising currency and internal trade, and acted as a mediator between feuding noble houses.
                During her time there was either a single elongated war or several smaller wars with a neighbouring empire whose coat of arms I don’t recognise. This war was going well, but one of the Aumarian generals was trying to push the monarch into an unfavourable course of action. I think it was an invasion or the sacking of some township. Either way it seems that Nelip Ka intervened, preventing a great military disaster and shaming this general in the process. This generated some bad blood between her and one of the noble families, I’m not yet sure which one, and led to an attempt on her life with what I guess to be poison. Either that or she literally drank a bottle of skulls, but I don’t think that’s likely. Are you getting all this down, boy?” Dr Crahan added, staring at Alexander. Hurriedly the student started scratching down some notes.
                “Nelip Ka survived the attack, but took an extended period to recover. In this time the tide of the war started to turn for the worse. Once she had recovered she was given command of the forces which had previously been under her shamed general. Over what I believe to be several years, Nelip Ka commanded her armies in defence of Aumaria against a far greater force. Ground seems to have been lost steadily, but there’s allusion to a pledge that no Aumarian town would fall to enemy hands. This isn’t to say that they were all held, but they were evacuated, stripped and scuppered in any way possible; a forerunner of the scorched-earth policy. It also seems that she inspired many of those who were evacuated to join her armies and help to hold the line.
                Eventually the invading forces were approaching a village which sat on a previous flood plain of the River Aum, just outside the capitol city. By the looks of the maps, this plain had been reclaimed by damming the Aum and redirecting its flow, opening up a large section of lush farmland. By this time Nelip Ka’s own armies had been suffering heavy attrition, which only deepened the numerical advantage of the enemy. There’s a gist at this point that if it came to direct combat the battle would be lost before it began. Evacuation of this village wasn’t an option however; the capitol was already at breaking point with all the refugees from other villages, further evacuations were almost impossible logistically because of the manpower required, and starvation was on the horizon. So Nelip Ka found herself trapped between a lost battle and an evacuation which would doom many other survivors.
                At this point, the glyphs show her making a midnight covenant with Rylotep, followed by a heated debate with the monarch. With the enemy’s invasion force on their doorstep, Nelip Ka commanded her army to meet the enemy head-on at the edge of the village, using a natural valley to channel the invaders and mitigate the advantage of their greater numbers. She is also shown to inspire everyone in the village to take up arms and aid in the effort to repel the attack and slow any progress the invaders might make. At first I was unsure as to why this was so remarkable, but then I saw the next painting.
                It seems that Nelip Ka’s sudden change of tactics wasn’t an effort to repel the attackers, but a plan to hold them in place. With the battle in full force, a small contingent of the royal guard with Nelip Ka in tow travelled to the dam in the River Aum. Waiting for the enemy force to be gathered in the valley, Nelip Ka scuttled the damn, flooding the whole valley with not only the torrents of the River Aum but the contents of a whole reservoir. Pinned in combat with the Aumarians, the enemy forces either didn’t notice or couldn’t escape the rushing waters and were utterly crushed. But so, of course, were Nelip Ka’s army and the villagers. There were no survivors from either side, but the invasion had been thwarted.
                Aumaria had been saved, and this battle seems to mark the end of the war, but it seems to have been understandably bittersweet for Nelip Ka. The monarchy of surviving Aumaria declared her to be a heroine and erected monuments in her honour, but she herself shies away from being celebrated. Eventually, when she could presumably stomach the guilt no longer, she began a campaign to erase her name from history, tearing out any reference to herself and pulling down whatever monuments had been raised. I get the impression that she rejected the title of a heroine because of how she had been forced to achieve it.
                The final panels show her making her last will and testament: to be buried deep beneath the sands and stay forgotten forever. The symbols for ‘departure’, ‘superior’, ‘heroine’ and ‘betrayer’ are carved at the base of the sarcophagus which, in context, I think to mean that being forgotten would be better than being remembered as either a hero or a traitor for what she’d done. Nelip Ka did not wish to be remembered by anyone, instead preferring to let her life, and what she had been forced to do, be forgotten by history.”
                Dr Crahan allowed silence to fall on the burial chamber, awaiting his applause for such a masterful display of translation and storytelling. But no applause came. The Doomed Guide kept her gaze on the ground, Alexander stared at the sarcophagus in silent thought, and Franklin ran both hands through his hair.
                “This… this is huge. We’ve found the tomb of a forgotten champion, someone whose actions shaped the entire course of Aumarian history.”
                “I feel bad for her.” Alexander murmured.
                “She’s not bothered by it anymore, boy.” Dr Crahan said with a shrug, earning a scowl from his student and The Doomed Guide.
                “The university will give me all the funding I could dream of for this! I could lead a permanent expedition here to excavate and study everything here.”
                “That is not Nelip Ka’s desire.” The Doomed Guide grumbled.
                “We’d better choose something grand to take with us then! Get their interest piqued.” Dr Crahan said with an avaricious hunger, taken in by Franklin’s speculation of funding and celebration. He scuttled down to the bottom of the walkway for better access to the pile of treasures, and was promptly met with a shining steel blade mere inches from his face.
                "I will not help you loot from my ancestors." The Doomed Guide growled, holding a long, curved knife in one clenched fist. "I was hired to guide you, not to aid in your plundering."
                The three academics looked at her fearfully, mostly Dr Crahan.
                "That's quite a conclusion to which to jump." Franklin said with care, holding both hands out in front of him in a calming motion. "We are here to record history, not to steal anything. We just want to borrow something to prove we found the tomb."
                “I have seen the result of foreigners ‘borrowing’ from our ancestors.” She sneered. “You strip our sacred places bare. I will not allow it here. Not from her, and not under Rylotep’s gaze.”
                Dr Crahan raised his eyebrows at Alexander and jerked his head towards the guide. Either he was indicating that Alexander should grab her, or he was trying to scratch his own neck without using his hands. The boy looked at The Doomed Guide, knife held high at Dr Crahan and Franklin as she defied their intentions, and couldn’t bring himself to stand against her. He shook his head at Dr Crahan.
                "She's right. We shouldn’t take anything from here."
                Franklin stared open mouthed at the student. Dr Crahan's eyes widened into the rage that only a disobeyed supervisor could feel. Even The Doomed Guide titled her head to catch a glimpse of Alexander in her peripheral vision, suspecting a trick.
                "We came here to find artifacts of Nelip Ka's and evidence of her tomb. What we have is the most important discovery in Aumarian history in the last fifty years!" Franklin protested. “ Taking things is the whole point!”
                "Think of what we can learn if we took some artifacts home!” Dr Crahan added. “What kind of archaeologist are you if you don't want to take any of this back to the university or the museum!”
                “What kind of human are you?” Alexander rebutted. “These aren’t discarded pots or other trinkets, they’re gifts and tributes given to a hero at her passing. Would you steal the flowers from a great general’s grave too?” It was the first time that Franklin or Dr Crahan had seen Alexander’s face twisted into anger, or really anything other than polite confusion. It was no more pleasant or more terrible than any other angered face but when attached to the robust rugby-player physique that Alexander sported it commanded a certain level of respect.
                “Wha… no! Of course not, but that is totally different.” Dr Crahan blustered, his panicked eyes darting from The Doomed Guide’s knife, to Alexander’s face, to the pile of gold, and back again.
                “You are honoured to be here. We are making history with this! Don’t be a fool by throwing it away over some moral squeamishness! What were you expecting when we came here?” Franklin said without sympathy.
                “Not grave robbing! We’re meant to respect the past and study it, not tear it to pieces for fame and vanity.”
                “Listen to your boy, and maybe the Old Gods will be merciful after they punish us for defiling this place.” The Doomed Guide advised.
                “I will not be lectured on morality and respect by you two. How dare you accuse me of disrespecting the object of my whole life’s work! You have no idea about the ideas you’re trying to speak of. I am championing this! I am immortalising Nelip Ka as one of the great historical players and telling her story that we might learn from her deeds and understand the past of our civilisation.”
                “That’s exactly what she didn’t want to happen though!” Alexander shouted in anger and frustration.  “Why bother hiring a guide and strong-arming her into coming into this tomb if you’re going to ignore whatever she says and try to do what you want regardless?”
                The Doomed Guide pondered this for a moment. The foreign boy raised a good point, and it fuelled her righteous anger even further.
                “Nelip Ka wished to be forgotten and left to rest in her mausoleum.” She said slowly and deliberately. “And these gifts are hers for the next life. You will not take them and you will not defy her wishes.”
                “If we take from here and use it to seek our own glory then she will become the next Tutankhamun, a tourist attraction. She went to all this effort because she would rather have been lost to time than either remembered as a betrayer or celebrated as a heroine for the sacrifices of others on her order. We do not have the right to deny someone their dying wish.” Alexander said with surprising moral clarity.
                “That wish is, quite literally, ancient history.” Dr Crahan said with a dismissive sneer.
                “So what? It’s right here in front of us now. We are the first people to read these words and which makes it pretty current. We need to leave and not speak of this place to anyone.”
                “No!” Franklin boomed, raising his hands to the sides of his face. “This is my life’s work. I won’t have it stolen from me like this after years of mockery and derision about chasing a myth, not when I have just found it! This is the making or breaking of my career.”
                “You’ll be able to make a new one. If you’ve studied  Nelip Ka all your life then surely you must feel enough respect for her to grant this final request?”
                Franklin was prepared to argue this. He wouldn’t be shown up by an idiot child and rag-clad guide. Events soon overtook him, however.
                Seeing an opening in the conversation, Dr Crahan lunged down at the pile of treasure and snatched up an ornate dagger. He got around one fifth of the way back up before the much younger and fitter Doomed Guide slid her knife easily across his forearm with a flash in the firelight. He yelped in pain and twisted away from her, but she had already grabbed his dagger-hand and started to tear the blade from his grasp. Although she was small and slight, years of trekking through the desert and scavenging for a living had made her deceptively strong. With a bleeding arm and no physical prowess at the best of times, Dr Crahan quickly lost his grip and toppled to the floor in a whining mess.
                “Get him out of my way before I give him what he deserves.” She growled at Franklin and Alexander, knife still pointed threateningly at Dr Crahan. The other two moved immediately to Dr Crahan’s aid and pulled him across the floor, away from the flaming trenches and the guide before helping him to regain his footing. Delicately, The Doomed Guide placed the ornate dagger back into its place on the treasure pile, muttering an apology to Nelip Ka and Rylotep as she did.
                “Are you alright John?” Franklin asked, trying to hold Dr Crahan’s attention and also watch The Doomed Guide.
                “I’ve been slashed by that mad woman! Of course I’m not alright!” Dr Crahan cried. It was a fair statement, since cutting wounds were rarely associated with being alright.
                “You did try to raise a dagger to her.” Alexander said with obvious but restrained anger. “She defended herself.”
                “Don’t you take her side!”
                “Shush and let me look at your arm.”
                Alexander gently pulled the slit sleeve of Dr Crahan’s shirt apart and looked at the wound. It was flowing freely with bright red blood but the cut was clean and not dangerously deep.
                “Hold still while I wrap this.” Alexander instructed, pulling a coil of bandages from his pack.
                Working quickly under the watchful gaze of The Doomed Guide he patched up the wincing doctor, who was far from brave and noble about the whole affair.
                “I will not permit theft from this place.” The Doomed Guide said as they watched blood soak through Dr Crahan’s dressings.
                “Yes you’ve been quite clear on that.” Franklin seethed. “I don’t know why. Any one of these objects could keep you fed for life, you know? Just one measly coin or crown and you would be free from this life of begging for work and trudging through the desert. It’d give the same thing to me, and I’d finally have proof that what I suspected has been true all along. Nelip Ka could be given the respect she deserves.”
                “It would be a life cursed. Better to die an honourable peasant than a damned defiler.” The Doomed Guide maintained. “The Old Gods would know what we had done and they would exact their wrath regardless of wealth. So keep your false promises and temptations, devil, and remember that Nelip Ka’s will was to disappear.”
                Frank tensed in anger, betrayal, and loss. Everything he’d wanted for years was right here within his grasp, and it was denied to him by psychology and the superstitions of a knife-wielding guide. He could fight her and maybe overpower her, but Franklin knew that he’d be promptly stopped by Alexander in turn, even if he could live with himself for attacking a poor, frightened girl. There was no way out. He stood tall, and then he deflated.
                “Fine.” He whispered, staring at the floor. “I’ll stay a mockery, and this can stay a secret. Can I at least take more of a look around while I’m here, though? I have dreamed of finding this place for longer than I can remember. Don’t I at least deserve that much closure?”
                The Doomed Guide studied Franklin’s broken expression, keeping her knife raised to guard her suspicions. He was not the most duplicitous man she had ever met, and it wasn’t he who had tried to steal a blade to attack her. Plus he looked so pathetic in that moment that it was hard to imagine him ever being a threat.
                “Look at what you must. But touch nothing. You too if you so desire, young foreigner. But the snake stays where he is.” She hissed, looking at Dr Crahan. “Or he will leave his eyes and his thieving hands here forever.”
 
                Walking among the trenches of fire and taking care not to kick or disturb the pile of treasure for fear of a bladed reprimand, Franklin and Alexander pored over the details of Nelip Ka’s burial chamber. From the towering majesty of the Aumarian pantheon, with their animal-human hybrid gods rendered as statutes around the room, to the brightly coloured and immaculately preserved paintings on the walls, they made notes, drew sketches and appreciated the history in front of them with silent awe. There were more details of Nelip Ka’s life and deeds, further accounts of her great crescendo as a military leader, and depictions of her attempts to wipe history clean of her own name. The fires burned quietly as they went around the sole memorial to Nelip Ka’s true existence, flames creeping up the walls slowly in their channels of viscous oil. Until their perusal was cut short by the sound of ancient ropes giving way.
                “What was that?” Franklin managed, before a thundering crash echoed from above them. From the cracks between stone blocks overhead sand started to trickle in, dousing the fires and burying the floor.
                “I should have known there’d be more traps!” Alexander lamented, recalling how perilous the tabloids had made other ancient tombs sound and resolving to always trust them over his supervisor. “We need to leave now.” He added astutely.
                “Empty-handed.” The Doomed Guide reminded them, stepping into the doorway with a hand raised. Her eyes were hard despite the falling cascade of sand pattering down on her head. Behind her, flowing down the staircase, was another stream of sand. Her posture left no doubt that she would gladly accept being buried alive if it stopped them looting the tomb.
                “Yes. Empty-handed.” Franklin said, throwing his open palms up to prove his innocence.
                The Doomed Guide nodded and beckoned them towards the doorway, once again lit only by her torch.
                “Pick him up or let him rot in here. Your choice.” She said, pointing down towards Dr Crahan, who was feeling particularly sorry for himself by this stage.
                “No! I’m getting out of here!” he squealed, scrabbling to his feet and clutching at his injured arm.
                With Alexander and Franklin helping to chaperone Dr Crahan upwards and The Doomed Guide bringing up the rear, the expedition fled up the staircase against a current of sand flowing down the steps and a rain of it falling from above. Loose material covering many of the steps made the going hard, boots slipping against the stairs in a spray of yellow. A few near misses later, in which the guide invariably leaned herself out of the way of Dr Crahan’s potential path down the stairs rather than bracing to catch him, they reached the entryway, bathed in the orange light of a dying day. Sand had filled the passageway up to knee level already, standing as a stark reminder that everything the desert wished to lose could be buried in no time at all.
                The three historians and their Doomed Guide hurried out of the entrance and into the orange light of a dying day. Once clear of the sandstone blocks they turned to face The Tomb of Nelip Ka, slowly being engulfed from the inside by the desert.
                “So much history in those walls.” Franklin lamented. “Buried under the sand. How can it be right for the world to continue in ignorance of the truth about Nelip Ka. She saved Aumaria. She deserves better.”
                “She deserves what she wishes for. If that is to be lost to the desert then so be it.” The Doomed Guide reiterated.
                “So much gold too. And much more of my blood than I would like.” Dr Crahan grumbled venomously.
                “There is much left to spill on the sand yet, snake.” The Doomed Guide threatened. Dr Crahan gulped hard. He pushed ideas of telling everyone back at the university about the location of the tomb for future raiding to the back of his mind for the time being.
                “I’m sorry that your expedition won’t seem like a success back home, Franklin.” Alexander said earnestly. “I’ll vouch for you if you say that we definitely discovered it, but it got buried.” He offered.
                “Thanks.” Franklin replied half-heartedly. “I’m used to not being believed though.”
                In silence they all stared at the sandstone entrance, slowly filling with sand.
                “At least we got to see it. And took some sketches.” Alexander said to no-one in particular.
                “Yes. We might be the only four people other than the architects who ever get that privilege. The only four people to know of Nelip Ka’s final wish and the truth of her life. I suppose that’s nearly as good as the respect of my peers and enough money to buy food.” Franklin lamented.
                “We have ground to cover. A lot to go before we reach the oasis. We’ll already be walking in the dark, so we need to move now.” The Doomed Guide told them, eager to get away.
                “Yes. A nice disappointing walk through the desert to end a day like this. Wonderful.”
                “Wouldn’t be so bad if we had camels.” The Doomed Guide muttered.
                Franklin ignored her.
                Regardless of their lack of mounts, they set off on their journey back, leaving the tomb and Nelip Ka lost but not quite forgotten in the sands behind them. Just as she had wished.