“Where is this place called Egypt?” Gwalcmai pressed.
“Along the large river far to the south and east on the Inner Sea,” Brynn said. He went to the rack and pulled out a scroll, which he then unrolled on the desktop. Donnchadh got up and joined Gwalcmai, looking down at the paper. It was a detailed map, on which they could recognize the features from their original sketches from orbit.
Brynn tapped a spot. “Here.” Gwalcmai recognized the place. He had sent a Watcher there at the First Gathering.
Brynn’s finger ran along a thin black line. “This river, which the people there call the Nile. Right here”—the finger stopped—“is Giza. The Airlia rule there. Not seen much on the surface, to be truthful. But occasionally on major holidays they appear. So says the latest report from the line of Kaji, the Wedjat of Giza.” He went to the rack and pulled out another scroll.
Donnchadh looked at Gwalcmai. What they had established over two thousand years ago was still functioning, albeit at a rudimentary and sketchy level. It was a testament to their planning, but even more so to the human spirit. Brynn opened the scroll. Donnchadh recognized most of the writing — the Airlia High Rune language, but some of it was different, transformed by the passage of time.
She scanned the document. The Wedjat of Giza who hadwritten this, named Kajim, reported that the Black Sphinx graced a deep depression in the Giza Plateau — at least they knew where the Hall of Records had been sent. Which most likely meant the Ark containing the Grail was ensconced inside.
The Grail. Donnchadh’s hand shook as she smoothed out the parchment. Her mind flashed back to the mothership on her planet and her desperate leap to try to catch the Grail before the Airlia dropped it into the engine’s power stream.
She read further. The Roads of Rostau. The name sounded Airlian. According to Kajim these were a warren of tunnels and chambers carved into the rock under the Giza Plateau. Donnchadh knew how much the Airlia liked to burrow into a planet. Whether it was because that’s how things were on their native planet or for protection from attack, she had no idea.
That was all background in the report, validating what previous reports from the Giza Wedjat had indicated. But things were changing there, according to Kajim. She could sense both Brynn and Gwalcmai waiting as she read, but she took her time.
The Airlia appeared on the surface infrequently, according to Kajim, less and less each year. There were rumors that they were growing older, which confused the people; how could Gods grow older?
There were also rumors of dark perversions being perpetrated in chambers along the Roads of Rostau. Kajim had gone in to investigate, using the Airlia ring that his ancestor had been given at the First Gathering and had been passed down through the ages to him. Donnchadh tried to remember which of the twenty-four supplicants had been Kaji, but she drew a blank. It was so long ago, and there had been so many.
Kajim’s reports were dry and factual, obviously written bya man not given to flights of imagination. Donnchadh’s finger ran along the High Runes as she read:
There are three chambers — cells — along the fourth Road of Rostau, as mapped by the third Wedjat of my order, who was the first to penetrate the roads. It is a road that comes to an end just past these cells — I tried all the walls for a secretkey place and found none. In each cell are two of the black tubes. In each tube rests a pitiful creature — half-human, half-Airlia. The bastard offspring of the Airlia males and human consorts.
They are used for their blood. Each month, at the full moon, the high priests take the blood of supplicants from veins in their arms and gather it into metal flasks. These flasks are then taken into the chamber and fed to the six prisoners held there. Then the Airlia come and take the blood of the six.
Why this is done, I do not know.
There is a door to the Hall of Records in the pedestal beneaththe statue of Horus between the paws of the Sphinx. I have gone inside four times. There is also a thing that guards the tunnels. A golden orb, less than a meter in width, with black arms coming out in all directions, patrols the Roads. If one is perfectly still and covers oneself with a cloak, it will not discover you. I lost my oldest son to this thing and barely escaped with my life during the first encounterwith it.
Here is the way to the chamber where these poor creaturesare being held.
Donnchadh felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise as she read. She knew why the Airlia had done this. They had discovered several places like this on their own planet — in the few Airlia outposts they managed to capture before they weredestroyed. Also Jobb had reported this practice had continued on Atlantis. The half-breeds were being used for pleasure — the human blood sustained the half-breeds’ half-human/half-Airlia blood. Then the Airlia drained the half-breed blood in turn. Between the Airlia virus in the blood and the sleep of the black coffins, those trapped inside could live a very long and terrible existence.
She memorized the route, then took the weights off the corners of the scroll and rolled it up, absently handing it to Brynn, who returned it to its place as she considered what she had just read. Bad memories pressed at her mind, but she tried to keep them at bay.
“What other recent reports do you have?” Gwalcmai asked.
Brynn gathered a handful of scrolls and held them out.
“Donnchadh?” Gwalcmai said, startling her out of her reverie. She took the scrolls and put them on the desk. She read quickly, sometimes struggling with the changes to the High Rune writing caused by some Watchers’ years of isolation and the inevitable degradation of the language as it passed through generations.
“What do you have?” Gwalcmai asked after several minutes, showing no inclination to read the material himself.
“The Airlia who ruled in Atlantis was named Aspasia—”
“We knew that,” Gwalcmai cut in.
Donnchadh looked up at him and he immediately quieted.
“The Airlia who came to find out why Aspasia was out of contact for so long was named Artad. They decided on a truce of which the destruction of Atlantis was part and of which we are apparently still in the midst. One of the Wedjat has found another Airlia base in a distant location in a land called China.” She checked the map and pointed. “Locatedhere. The Airlia built a large, hollow mountain and are hidden inside.”
“Which Airlia?” Gwalcmai asked. “Which side?”
Donnchadh shrugged. “There’s no telling.” She read the other scrolls in silence, then rolled them up and handed them to Brynn, who replaced them on the shelf. “There are reports of Human-Airlia clones — called the Ones Who Wait. And of Guides and high priests in various places. It appears the Airlia are continuing the Great Civil War through proxies.”
“What do we do now?” Gwalcmai asked, always more interested in the course of action rather than the intelligence that led to determining one.
Donnchadh ignored him for the moment. She put a hand on the old man’s shoulder. He felt frail beneath her palm. “Do you have an heir to follow in your place?”
Brynn nodded. “My son lives in the village with his mother, but I have taught him as much as I know — as much as my father taught me. He will be ready to take my place when the time comes.”
“You have done well, Brynn of the Wedjat,” Donnchadh said.
The old man gave a toothless smile. “It is not easy. Most in the village fear the tor. But there are a few who think there must be great treasure hidden here. Four times someone has tried to break in, but they were not able to pass the stone door. I must be careful, though, whenever I open it. My son brings me supplies at set times, and only in the darkness.”