Chapter Twenty
Eden took a deep breath, fastened the knife to her belt, and wriggled through the opening. The coolness inside was immediate, an astonishing balm to her sunburnt skin. She crawled on hands and knees for a few yards until the passage widened; then she stood, brushing dust from her shirt.
A stone staircase began just inside the threshold, descending at a steep angle.
Eden felt a rush of vertigo—equal parts fear and excitement.
She held the lamp high, and the circle of light played down the steps.
The walls were slick with mineral sweat, the air thick with ancient resin, a smell that spoke of thousands of untouched years.
She heard a loud, guttural sound behind her—Max, squeezing through with a muttered oath. “Why did they make it so bloody narrow?” he asked, his voice echoing eerily in the gloom.
She turned, incandescently happy. “I can’t believe we found it! Can you believe we’re actually here?”
He nodded, his eyes reflecting her triumph. “I never doubted you for a moment.”
She took the first step down, then another. The staircase spiraled, each tread worn deeper than the last. At the bottom was a small landing, and beyond that, a large chamber veiled in impenetrable darkness.
They stood for a long moment, side by side, letting the reality of it settle in. Max reached for her hand, his grasp firm and reassuring.
“You did it, Eden,” he murmured, his voice thick with genuine awe.
She squeezed his hand back, her relief profound. “We did. Now let’s see what we found.”
Eden took a deep breath, and together, they stepped into the chamber, which was small, stark, and perfectly preserved, but it was not the goal.
Eden stood, raising Max’s heavy brass lantern.
The glow revealed ancient paintings on the walls—priestesses, animals, cosmic diagrams—but no grand sarcophagus or sign of the artifact they sought.
At the far end was only a low altar, its surface crusted with the remnants of some long-vanished offering.
The air was cold, and she suppressed a shiver.
Max brushed the dust from his shoulders. “Amir is at the threshold. Do you want the men to come with us, or do you want to venture forward without them?”
Eden turned back to look up at the entrance, where Amir’s silhouette was stark against the square of desert light.
He hadn’t stepped inside, and his refusal was clear.
She’d probably have to order them down here if she wanted them to accompany her and Max, but she had no desire to make any of them do something they didn’t want to do.
They’d gotten her here, and that’s all she’d needed.
Amir stepped just inside the shadow, his face grave. “My men will do as they are told, Lady Eden. But I will not send them into the earth. We have led you to the feint, as promised. We stay here, but we do not go farther.” He looked directly at Max, his eyes holding a solemn warning.
Max nodded, accepting the choice without challenge. “We will only be gone a few hours. Keep watch. And if anyone approaches, don’t let them enter.”
“As you say,” Amir murmured, and then he was gone, melting back into the morning light, leaving Max and Eden utterly alone in the crushing silence.
They turned back to the chamber. Eden knelt, fingers tracing the carvings on the altar.
“This is an antechamber. Everything here is preparation.” She pointed to a set of small, faded hieroglyphs etched into the stone, hidden beneath centuries of mineral dust. “The Scarab of Duat isn’t here.
These characters translate to ‘The heart must be light, and the mind must be true. Twelve steps to the eye of the hunter.’”
“Twelve steps,” Max muttered, running his hand over the slick, mineral-sweaty wall. “Twelve hours of the night? Twelve gates of the Duat? Great. A riddle.”
“Look.” Eden pointed the beam of the lantern toward the far wall. A narrow, recessed opening, barely visible, led into a deeper corridor.
Max secured their pack of supplies and a coil of rope.
He checked his sidearm out of habit—a useless piece of metal against ancient curses—then met Eden’s eyes.
“This could be dangerous. There could be trip wires or other nasty traps ahead. I know you want to go first, but please, let me take the lead. You hired me to keep you safe.”
She wanted to argue but knew he was probably right. He knew what to look for far better than she did. She’d never seen anything like this in real life before. With a sigh, she handed over the lantern. “Let’s go collect our scarab.”
The air within the labyrinth was heavy with dust. They walked in the cone of the lantern light, the shadows dancing around them for twenty yards or so before they arrived at a vast, circular chamber.
At the center stood an imposing column with a single, unadorned stone arm reaching out.
The first riddle was etched into the opposite wall.
“Tell me what it says,” Max said, rubbing the back of his neck. He scanned the ceiling, perhaps looking for ventilation shafts or counterweights.
Eden began, translating slowly: “I have no mouth, but I speak of your path. I have no eyes, yet I show you the way. My face is a circle, but I have a hand. To follow me, you must stand still.”
Max glanced from the inscription to the column.
“A clock? But there’s no mechanism. Unless.
..” He stepped closer to the column, examining the stone arm.
“It’s too heavy to move. But look up.” He pointed the beam of the lamp high into the ceiling dome.
“There are clever, angled slits up there. They’re not vents.
They’re light funnels, calculated to channel the sun only at very specific times. ”
“You’re right,” Eden confirmed, her gaze flickering from the inscription to the column’s base.
“It’s not a magical puzzle; it’s a sundial.
The face is a circle, but I have a hand—the shadow.
” She ignored the confusing spiral staircases that led nowhere and waited, watching the single, faint shaft of light from above.
As the earth shifted, the column’s shadow moved slowly across the floor like the hand of a clock. That was when she and Max simultaneously noticed a faint, shallow circle etched into the floor at the base of the column.
“There’s the circle,” Max said, his eyes narrowed, tracking the shadow’s movement. “And that subtle notch—right there.”
They waited for the precise moment the shadow aligned with the specific, unmarked notch. When it did, a section of the wall to her right receded with a grinding sound, revealing a narrow passage.
“You’re brilliant,” Max murmured, his relief palpable as he checked the newly revealed passage for traps before ushering her through. They walked for quite some time before they reached another room.
The second chamber was immediately more treacherous. Its floor was a sprawling mosaic of interlocking stones, each one a different shape and color. The challenge was carved onto a massive stone door that was clearly too heavy to be moved by human hands.
“I am a child of both life and death. I hold the sun, but I love the dark. My path is forward, yet I am always a step behind. I roll a ball of my own creation,” Eden read slowly.
“A scarab,” Max said immediately, his eyes already on the floor. “The ancient beetle. Symbol of rebirth. That’s the answer.”
“Yes, but which one?” Eden studied the mosaic. Her eyes fell on a large, prominent scarab-shaped tile that was a slightly lighter color than the others. “I think it’s this one. It’s the brightest color, representing the sun it holds. It must be a pressure plate.”
Max stepped forward. “It needs to be pushed, then. It looks too heavy to be pulled. If the door moves inward, the plate must move inward first to trigger the counterweight. Let me.” He crouched, finding the heaviest point, and used the full force of his shoulders to shove the plate forward.
The tile didn’t budge. Instead, a loud hiss sounded from the ceiling, followed by a sickening grind. They both looked up. A section of the ceiling directly above the door was beginning to lower rapidly, revealing a curtain of rusty, wicked-looking spikes.
“Out! Get back!” Max roared, grabbing Eden’s arm and tackling her backward onto the floor outside the mosaic.
The spiked roof segment slammed down with a deafening crash, hitting the stone floor with enough force to send shards of rock bouncing around the chamber. Then it slowly lifted once again. They lay there, breathing hard, covered in dust, the smell of pulverized limestone stinging their nostrils.
Max was the first to move, pulling Eden against the wall and checking her quickly for injuries. “Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere?”
“I’m fine,” she coughed, adrenaline making her heart hammer. “That was... too literal.”
“My mistake,” Max said, running a shaky hand through his hair. “I approached it like a simple mechanical lock. The pressure should have been the opposite. You’re the mythology expert, Eden. What did we miss?”
She looked back at the riddle, her mind racing past the pain in her ribs. “My path is forward, yet I am always a step behind. I roll a ball of my own creation.”
“The dung ball,” Max realized, his eyes widening. “A scarab rolls its treasure backward. It doesn’t push forward.”
Eden picked carefully through the debris and found the original light-colored scarab tile. It was intact, but Max’s shove had shifted it slightly. This time, she didn’t use force. She placed her palm on the stone and pulled it backward, mirroring the movement of a real beetle rolling its ball.
A mechanism within the floor shifted with a low, deep thud, and the enormous stone door, which they had been convinced was the puzzle, swung inward on unseen hinges.
“We’re in,” Max breathed. He grabbed her hand. “Come on. Before that ceiling section decides to drop again.”