John Schettler - Touchstone

Nordhausen gaped at him, struggling to his feet. Maeve came up to lend him a hand, and they started down the gentle incline to approach the dig site. LeGrand had cupped his ears with his palms, as if to shut out the laughter of his adversary, but the gesture seemed more one of amazement. It was then that they saw Khalid turn to look upon the discovery that was obviously the source of his elation.

“Do I work some mischief for the Sultan, he wonders? More than you could possibly know, my friend.” But then his words were cut short and, like LeGrand before him, his eyes opened with surprise and shock. “Ahliah! He exclaimed, the mirth driven from his face and a look of profound distress in its place.

Nordhausen ran the last few steps. Pushing his way through the gathering crown until he reached the edge of the site. Maeve called after him the moment he ran forward, obviously perturbed.

“Come back here, Robert!” She had seen the spark of irrepressible curiosity in his eyes and was worried that he would do something—say something—that would cause some grave complication. There were many French soldiers at the scene now, and she was certain Robert would draw unwanted attention to himself the moment he opened his mouth.

She looked and saw him come up short at the lip of the dig, then heard him take in a sudden breath, as though startled by what he saw. His hand shot up to the top of his head, an involuntary gesture of bewilderment. She saw him scratch and then, to her great dismay, he pulled off his wig, thoughtlessly, carelessly, as though he was totally unaware of what he had just done.

She pressed closer, finally reaching the place where the others stood, clearly dumbfounded by the moment of discovery. The soldiers were pointing and speaking rapidly to one another in French. She saw the officer of engineers lean in, eyes squinting at the find now that the dust had settled. What in the world could have caused such commotion?

Then she saw it, the great black shape jutting from the side of the embankment below the wall, and now she understood, at last, the marvel of all those who looked on. A silence fell on the scene as the French officer of engineers stooped and extended his arm to touch the thing they had unearthed. He reached out, as though afraid that he might be scalded by the stone. She saw his hand play lightly over the smooth, polished surface of the find, one finger tracing a delicate path over the carved lettering. Then the hush resolved into a rush of whispers. People were turning to one another, nodding wide eyed conclusions, and she saw Khalid staring at LeGrand as if he expected to have the same berating laughter thrown at him by the man.

The look on LeGrand’s face was plain to see, however, and it was clear that neither man could lay claim to any victory in the find.

Robert turned, remembering her at last, and gestured wildly for her to take the final step forward and look upon the scene. She passed a moment of hesitation and great anxiety. Something was wrong. She could see it on everyone’s face, though many seemed to glow with joy at the find. Yet for LeGrand and Khalid, the discovery seemed to promise great trouble. It was clear to her now that one man or the other expected to come out the better when the shape of the ancient stone was finally unearthed.

Now she knew that both were secret adversaries in the struggle that had begun on that first stormy night in Berkeley—the night they resolved to spin up the Arch for the very first time and breach the womb of time. She turned her head, slowly, deliberately, and looked upon the shape that had been unearthed.

Robert gaped at her, waiting to see the same look of astonishment sweep across her features. Instead he saw the tightening of her jaw, and the tension in her eyes, set tighter now, and reflecting some unalterable inner conclusion as she took in the scene. There was wonder there, to be sure, but it was ruthlessly suppressed. In its place he saw the glimmer of anger kindled like a growing fire, and he knew at last, in the wake of his own confusion and surprise, a moment of great doubt and fear.

It had taken themthe better part of three hours, and nearly fifty men with levers and ropes, but they had it up on the wooden truss now, freed from the long embrace of the dry earthen embankment where it had slept for so many centuries.

Robert watched them work for a time, his excitement and curiosity keeping him at the edge of the dig site. He could not help himself, and took hold of a rope when the laborers had hitched it about the great carved shape of black basalt. It was Maeve’s insistent tugging at his arm that eventually brought him back to his senses.

“Robert!” she hissed in his ear, hoping no one else would hear. “The time … we’ve got to get back!”

The retraction scheme wasn’t scheduled to kick in until tomorrow. What was she worried about? Still, the urgency in her voice finally penetrated the excitement that had possessed him earlier.

As she pulled him away, he took one last look at it. There it was, the famous stone that had proved a key to an entire culture and history buried in a thousand tombs, hidden away in the barren deserts of Egypt. There it was, a marvelously polished slab of black basalt, looking a bit like finely grained granite, and carved with hundreds of Egyptian glyphs. He had come here to determine its condition, to see if the damage he had discovered in the London Museum was something he might have caused with his own headstrong curiosity. His every hope was to find the stone fully intact, not broken as he had seen it in the dark, dusty cellars of the museum where it was no more than another forgotten curiosity. Now, when he looked upon it one last time, the full implications of what he was seeing finally began to register in his mind.

Fully intact… The stone was not broken. It bore no sign of damage of any kind, save the inevitable wear of the ages, with intermittent chinks and abrasions marring the smooth, polished surface. It was not broken… no damage at all, but the amazing thing was that this was not the familiar shape of the Rosetta Stone that he had studied all his life! It was fully twice the size of the stone he knew. The stone he was familiar with could have only been the lower portion of this great monolith. If lifted up on its end, this stone would tower over his head. He could hardly believe what he was seeing. This was something altogether different.

At the very top, the image of a vulture’s wings were extended across the whole of the stone. At the heart of the bird was an image of Ra as the sun, and two cobras dangled down from either side, turning at the bottom and rearing up in a classic pose of regal threat. These carvings arched over a gathering of lords in two columns, facing each other, and marching in from opposite sides of the stone. There were seven lords facing each direction, all wearing regal head gear and bearing scepters of authority and power. The professor recognized the elongated ovals of cartouche symbols above their heads, naming each member of the assemblage as they gathered.

Directly below this were long rows of hieroglyphics as they appeared on the upper portion of the old stone, but they extended down the whole face of this artifact, even to the base! Where was the Greek Text? Where was the Demotic rendition of the messages carved by the glyphs?

As Maeve pulled on his arm with increasing urgency, he fixed his last gaze on the writing, realizing he could still read it. His mind immediately translated what he saw: “Through the ages now he comes to a mystery: one death gives birth, a great wind upon the face of the sea, in a place forever hidden where the lions roar: ‘mine is yesterday, and I know tomorrow.”