They came to a stop. Leila could only stare. A sealed tomb on a mountaintop. She took a step forward, glancing over the myriad of symbols engraved into the red granite. The walls were covered in ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, just as it had been described in the journal. It was spectacular. The detail, the vibrant colors. Blues, reds, greens, gold. She’d have expected something like this in the tomb of a Pharaoh.
She traced her hand along the engravings, the stone smooth and cold under her fingertips, searching for a cartouche that would tell her who was inside. A movement at her left interrupted her.
Abdullah stood before the doors, his knife drawn. He brought the edge against the rope that had been tightly wrapped around the metal handles.
A large wad of clay had been molded around one end, the top flattened by the seal. Some of the hieroglyphs were obvious—a hawk, a vulture, two feathers, a quail chick, a priest—and others too faint to make out. Though she had never seen it written anywhere in real life before, she now easily recognized the grouping from textbooks and Amina’s journal. Medjay.
“Wait,” Leila gasped and jumped at him, grabbing his arm. He was moving too fast. She’d never be able to document the place decently if he kept barging along.
He yanked his arm out of her grip.
“Sorry, I just wanted to look—” She snapped her mouth shut at the sight of his venomous glare.
He placed the knife against the rope again, then swiped the blade through it like butter.
CHAPTER 41
The wooden doors grated as Abdullah pulled them open. A rectangle of light illuminated a smooth, tiled floor paving the way into the tomb. Warm air whooshed past. Leila’s headscarf fluttered in the gust, and she welcomed the warmth against her icy cheeks. The reek of rotten eggs, not so much. She recoiled, the rope attaching her to Abdullah going taut.
“Are we on a volcano?”
Her question went unanswered. He stood in the doorway, holding one arm into the black chamber. The light of a small, orange flame on the tip of a match danced over his fingers. The color of the flame remained stable. He shook the match to extinguish the fire.
At least the air wasn’t toxic. That was one thing working in her favor today. The volcanic surprise ebbed away, and her inner archaeologist prodded her forward.
With Amina’s body hanging over his shoulder, Abdullah marched into the tomb. Leila’s heart screamed at her to fight it, to break herself free and run, but she put one foot in front of the other, and followed him inside.
She looked up as she passed the entry, expecting to see more hieroglyphs. Instead, a slit wide enough to allow her fist spanned the width of the door frame. Sharp metal points lined the inside of the fissure like crocodile teeth, ready to snap down on any unsuspecting trespasser.
That was definitely not an ancient Egyptian contraption. Wrought iron like that didn’t show up until much later. More like the Middle Ages. She shook her head in amazement. The mixture of Medjay and Ptolemaic hieroglyphs, and now medieval gates simply didn’t make sense.
Abdullah’s flashlight clicked on and she gasped. Eight floor-to-ceiling columns wide enough for her to wrap her arms around formed two rows that went down the center of the hall. On the lower part of each column stood a statue holding a long, curved sword in one fist. The stone faces stared down at her, framed by the unmistakable Egyptian headdress that draped to their broad shoulders. Their eyes were blank spheres, and no matter from which angle Leila looked, it was as though their gaze followed every step she took. A chill traveled down her spine and she shivered.
At the center of the hall, Abdullah turned right and continued, walking between two of the statues. In the cold, white beam of his flashlight, a door glittered back at her with a yellow metallic shine. Two iron handles met at the middle, tied together with a rope, sealed with another glob of clay. He lowered his sister’s bundled remains to the floor by the doorway, his movements slow and gentle.
Leila hesitated, standing just outside the range of light. She grazed the scabby cut on her wrist with her fingertips, the dried blood crumbling off at her touch. It was probably best for her to stay back. And stay quiet.
He rose to his feet, drew his janbiya, and sliced off the rope with another effortless swipe. Using both hands, he grabbed a handle and slowly pulled one door panel open. The hinges creaked, echoing, and a dark entrance appeared. With Amina in his arms, he entered the chamber and vanished into the shadows.
Leila swallowed away the tightness in her throat. She shuffled forward, a hot tear running down her cheek. As much as she wanted to pay her final respects, it didn’t seem right for her to be here. And yet, here she was. Being pulled into the chamber by a rope, against her wishes. She should be with Xander right now.
The flashlight beam illuminated stacks of wooden boxes placed against the walls. They were plain, no script, hieroglyphics, or decor to indicate what was inside. There had to be fifty of them, all different sizes, piled up to the ceiling. Abdullah laid Amina on top of a large rectangular structure made of white stone. A sarcophagus. The top was decorated with a flowing Arabic script, spelling out a name; Malik ibn Salman ibn Jamal Al-Masri. Leila was certain she’d seen the name Malik in the journal. If she remembered correctly, he was the siblings’ great-great-grandfather who had given their grandmother the chance to document the place. Abdullah carefully positioned his sister onto her right side, then took a step back and knelt on the floor.
Leila stepped farther into the room, stopping in the middle. She didn’t want to get too close. At her side, one of the crates stood open, the lid hanging by a nail on the side. Gold sparkled back at her, sprinkled with a rainbow of glimmering gems.
Are all the crates filled like this? The Medjay were loaded. Way more than she’d thought possible.
Abdullah began to recite a prayer, his voice unfamiliar. Soft and melodic. Leila tore her gaze from the gold and listened. She closed her eyes and lowered her head, a fist clenching around her heart, allowing sadness to flourish in her chest until breathing became difficult. Her knees weakened, and she sank to the floor behind Abdullah. All the events of the last—ten days? It felt like years—caught up to her and she let the tears flow freely.
Amina had deserved so much better. With all this gold, she could have gone to college a hundred times over. Leila swallowed back the hard lump in her throat. It was useless to think about all the things she could have done to prevent this.
The prayers continued for a few more minutes, then faded into silence.
Sensing movement, Leila opened her eyes and looked up. Abdullah watched her with an odd expression on his face. It wasn’t his usual anger. It wasn’t even sadness. Just contemplative. Then it flickered away, and his features sharpened, like a cobra preparing to strike. Leila scrambled to her feet and scurried out the exit, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve.
She stopped by the columns, at the end of the rope. Abdullah paused by the gilded doors. He stared blankly into the dark room, then slowly pushed the panels shut. His hand lingered in the center as if he had to muster up the strength for the next step.
After a moment, he pulled a rope from his bag, wrapped it around the two handles, and knotted it. Once he seemed satisfied, he tightly packed a colorless lump of clay around the knot. With something clenched in his palm, he brought his fist down against the doughy substance.
Curious, Leila inched closer, lifting her chin to get a better view. He dropped his hand, revealing the imprint left on the clay—a now-familiar grouping of ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics.
Still facing the doors, Abdullah sank to his knees and lowered his head. Leila tiptoed back, until the rope tightened and she couldn’t go any farther.
Wishing she could give him some privacy, her gaze wandered to the doorway leading back outside. If only Xander would step through the entry. Was it possible to put all of this behind her now? Just walk out, go home, start living her life again? Not that she could find her way back, even if Abdullah let her go.
She glanced down at the rope, the only thing between her and freedom, still attached to Abdullah’s belt. There had to be a way for her to cut it or break it off. The zip-ties would be the tricky part. Navigating the mountains, too.
Then, Abdullah stood. Without a glance in her direction, he strode past, back toward the main walkway. Leila couldn’t do anything but trail after him, her heart pounding. Why weren’t they leaving?
She looked back down at her wrists being pulled in front of her. She had to get the zip-ties off. There must be something she could use to cut through them. Her gaze darted to the knife at Abdullah’s waist. Although it was her best option, she had no chance of getting her hands on it without him noticing.
The white flashlight beam led them past the enormous columns, where more doors lined the wall. More names. More tombs. All sealed with the same cluster of hieroglyphics. Now she understood. They were all Medjay.
They passed by door after door, until they came to the end of the hall. The sulfur scent had grown stronger, the air warmer. Warm enough for her to tug off her headscarf, the fabric sticking to her forehead and temples. Something on the wall glinted in the light, beckoning to her as they neared. They stopped in front of two metallic doors, flanked by a pair of statues guarding either side. Her gaze roamed up and down the doorway. Unlike the others, these were made of stone. They didn’t have a handle with a seal, either. She took a step back from the door and glanced over the walls. The journal had offered no clues as to who could be buried here, but there had to be a name somewhere. She didn’t have to search for long. Above the door in the space between the two statues was the name, engraved in Greek letters, ALEXANDER III OF MACEDON.
Her heart froze and she stepped back. “It can’t be,” she whispered. Why would Alexander the Great be buried on the top of a volcano on the Sinai Peninsula? It didn’t make sense. She shook her head and whirled around. It was time to demand answers. Her mouth opened, but she stopped.
Abdullah watched her solemnly, his face half-covered in shadow, his forehead shining underneath his head scarf. There was some relief in knowing he wasn’t immune to the heat of this place, either. It wasn’t just her. Less comforting was his stance—arms crossed over his battered leather jacket. His rifle had found its usual place on his back. Was he going to finish her off? Stand there and glare at her? Give her the grand tour?
