CHAPTER TWENTY
Charlotte
“First, take off your dress. The heavy fabric will weigh you down.”
“But I already removed my corset and petticoats,” I object.
“Boots, too.”
“In front of the men?”
But the two men have removed somewhere else. I suppose that if I can’t see them, they can’t see me. With a sigh, I begin divesting myself of my clothes. When I finish, I stand in a simple shift. I might as well be naked.
“Excellent.” Alad leers at me and inhales a long breath before shaking his head. “Later. Now, come.”
“Aren’t you afraid someone will steal your gold?”
“There are sacks of coins below. I’ll take a few.”
“You’d steal from your friend?”
Alad laughs. “Believe me, he owes me much more than a handful of gold. Plus, the best part of Gil is—was—his generosity. He won’t mind in the least. Now, take a deep breath and hold it.”
I do as I’m told, but I no sooner clasp my lips together than I’m shocked by icy waters grasping my body with frozen fingers.
My eyes shoot open to find Alad in lion form beside me.
His tail whips around my waist and drags me down behind him.
Ahead, maybe only five feet away, rises a vague construction of what appears to be brick.
Since I don’t have to swim, I cast a quick glance up.
Sunlight fades fast and disappears as we sink into the murky darkness.
Suddenly, Alad jolts me in front of him, grabs my hips, and pushes me into a round pipe.
The force of his thrust shoots me up and around a steep bend in the wide stone cylinder.
I gasp for breath. Luckily, my head breaches the water first.
Alad surfaces beside me. “Are you well?”
“As well as might be expected between flying through freezing clouds and drowning in icy depths.” I swipe the wet hair from my face and shiver in the cool atmosphere. But Alad was right. I can breathe without difficulty, though the air contains a stringent quality.
“Come. We’ll be quick. I’m hoping Gil will awaken when he sees you, if for no other reason than to tell me what a kunga I am for falling in love with a human.”
After helping me from the pool, Alad changes to his Second Form. He towers over me, nearly twice my height, or so it seems, but the ceiling stands high enough that a small space arcs above his head. Flaming torches are held in clips along the walls.
“Did you light these?”
But he shakes his head, looking about the space.
“Magick. Not mine. Not Gilgamesh’s either.
Some god did this.” Stepping to the wall, he divests a holder of one of the torches.
“Come. Straight ahead.” Hugging me close, he drives us through the painted and decorated space.
It’s magnificent enough to hold me forever with the intense blues, whites, greens, and golds.
An expanse of tiles, a bubbling fountain, a stream lined in gold…
The hallway is also magnificent, filled with shelves of objects and exquisite carvings. We pass a statue, and I pause before pulling back for a better look. “Is that—is that you?”
“In my First Form, yes. I don’t remember ever seeing it. Quite representational. Perhaps it means Gilgamesh missed me once I’d gone.”
Judging by the hopeful tone of his voice, he wants it to be true. In so many ways, Gilgamesh should be his enemy, but he’s not. It’s clear Alad still loves him as a brother.
I suppose I understand. Even if Mary betrays my trust one day, I’ll always love her. I’ll always want her to want me in her life. That’s the way it is when someone gives their heart, be it in friendship or romance.
Which is exactly what makes this dead/not-dead ancient king dangerous.
Alad is too trusting. He sees the good in people and understands their foibles.
Excuses their dark sides. Expects good to triumph.
Just look how easily he’s trusted me. If I’d held some nefarious motivation, I could have hurt him quite easily.
He bends to open one of the large boxes lining a shelf along the floor.
From within it, he draws out a long rope of strung gold coins, each much larger in diameter than a sovereign.
These, like the ones he displayed in the village tavern in what seems another life ago, have a hole in the middle.
He begins to loop the necklace over my head before reconsidering.
“I don’t think you’ll be able to bear the weight, but if you’d feel more secure knowing you held the gold?” He offers them to me.
“No. That’s fine. I… are you sure you should take so much?” Because stealing from the cursed dead/not-dead is one sin too many for me.
He slips the length over his head. Even in giant form, the strand of coins reaches to the bottom of his hard pectoral muscles. “I assure you that Gil won’t mind. Each of these boxes is filled with identical ropes of coin. When he wakes, he’ll have more than sufficient to spend.”
Since Alad appears content with his taking, I don’t object further. Perhaps he’s right. Would I mind if Mary took objects from my grave?
Only, perhaps, if the object held sentimental value. I wouldn’t care a fig for her use of any money I somehow managed to take with me.
Feeling better, I slip my hand in his once more and follow him into the next room. All is awash with gold that glitters and reflects the torches’ fire. Other lamps are lit, seated into the carefully matched stones that comprise the walls.
The walls are lined with gold. Gold statues reaching to the ceiling and weighing substantially more than me appear to be solid precious metal.
Jewels glitter where they’ve been attached to surfaces like large pieces of mosaic tiles, spelling out a hunting scene with an enormous giant at the fore.
Beside the giant is a raging, human-headed lion.
In the giant’s hand is a smaller lion that he holds aloft.
In the scene on the opposite wall stands the same giant, hand wrapped around the waist of a shorter, hairier human. They gaze at each other as if in love. But like the other scene, each particularity is etched in gold and sparkling with gemstones.
And the floor. If I’m not mistaken, we tread upon one solid sheet of emerald.
The amount of wealth in this room alone is unparalleled. No modern king, queen, or country possesses anything remotely similar. What might be hidden in the elaborate boxes lining the edges of the room, I don’t know, but what I can see steals my breath.
“No, I suppose he won’t miss the coins,” I finally murmur. My voice stalls, as if the metal and jewels eat sound. A chill runs up my spine. There’s a sense of holiness in the tomb, or maybe it’s just ancient magick.
In the center of the space is a large stone box, larger than any Egyptian sarcophagus revealed at the mummy unwrapping parties to which Mary has dragged me.
It’s longer, too, long enough to hold Alad in his Second Form.
The cover is slid partway to the side, though I can’t imagine how even Alad managed to move what must weigh the equivalent of several train cars.
Alad takes a deep breath. His fingers trace the edge of the lid.
“Alad?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Everything. My brother, friend, betrayer… and I can’t speak to him. He’s right here, but…” His powerful shoulders ripple. “I don’t suppose it was much different during our last weeks together. I spoke. He didn’t listen.”
Without the slightest indication he’s about to change physiques, he’s suddenly in his First Form, as if his emotions are so great, he can’t adequately keep his Second.
His paw slips from my grasp to the floor, his claws scratching at the emerald.
I lay my palm, then my head, against his flank.
It's the only comfort I know how to give.
Alad takes another deep breath before nodding. “Come.” I move with him the last small span of inches to where we might look into the box. He nudges back the stone further, biting back a sound between a cry and a sob.
“Alad, we don’t have to…”
“We do. I do. If we’re to share our futures, I want you to see my past. Please.”
Whatever collection of bones and decay lies within, I’ve no desire to look. And yet, because it’s important to Alad, I wrap my hands over the exposed edge, stand on tiptoe, and peer inside.
Inside is a handsome man, a man who looks very much like Alad, with a hooked nose, fierce features, stalwart cheekbones, and beauty, though his hair is lighter.
Gilgamesh wears a long beard and flowing locks instead of the ringlets I expect.
His hair is golden brown, not black, not gray.
To his right, in the crook of his neck, rest three Egyptian-looking canopic jars fashioned from what I imagine is solid gold.
One of the jars is topped with a man sitting cross-legged in the style of the eastern Buddha.
Two long snakes stretch upward on either side of the figure.
The other two jars are topped with heads.
Also to his right, by his arm, lies a long, narrow box. The design is simple rather than ornate, making the object even more intriguing to me than the jars.
To Gilgamesh’s left side, just under the lip of the wide stone container, lies a gold shield and some sort of… I’m not sure. A building model, perhaps, or an incense holder. It’s ornate, shiny, and also gold.
A crown of gold spreads over the ancient king’s forehead and nose. An open crescent juts down and holds a dangling sun disc. The top of the crown is heavily incised, covering his head like a cap. From the top center rises a long, feathery protrusion of gold.
Another heavy bracelet circles his left bicep. A gold, rectangular shield covers him from his chest downward. That’s all I can see because of the stone top concealing the king’s lower body.
But the perfection of his remains must signal magick, or perhaps a technology we’ve lost. Gilgamesh looks as if he could rise from his sleep at any moment.
When I finally rip my gaze from the king, I’m creased in two by the long tears pouring down Alad’s face.