Females of Vulvar Read online

  “How?” Idril said.

  “Start running your hands over the wall from as high as you can reach to the floor,” I said. “Feel for any imperfections in the surfaces.”

  The three of us rushed to the walls and placed our hands on them. We ran our palms up and down over the smooth surfaces. The fire had almost consumed the fabric from my tunic. Darkness was returning. But then the warrior spoke animatedly.

  “I think I’ve found something,” she said. “It feels like a seam.”

  I rushed to her side. She grabbed my hand, placed it on the wall, and guided my fingers with hers.

  “Feel it?”

  “Yes, it definitely feels like a seam in the stone,” I said.

  I moved my fingers up, following the slight vertical indention until I felt it make a right turn to horizontal. Then after about one-half meter, the indention turned vertical again, and I followed it with my fingers to the floor.

  “This has to be the entryway door to the burial chamber,” I said. “This must be a false wall.”

  I ran my open hands along both sides of the two vertical seams, looking for other imperfections until my fingers passed over what felt like a small slot. I thought I knew what the slot was for.

  Reaching into the small pocket on the side of my tunic, I withdrew the medallion. Turning it on edge, I fit the medallion into the slot. It fit perfectly as I pressed it forward. There was an audible metallic click. I kept the pressure on the medallion with my fingers, and a rounded section in the wall about 10 centimeters in diameter retracted inside. The wall shuddered for a moment, then with the grinding sound of stone rubbing on stone, I felt the wall slowly sliding beneath my other hand. By the light of the last embers from the burning cloth, I looked at a dark rectangular opening that had appeared in the wall, feeling the slight draft of cooler air coming from it.

  Inside, I saw a basket and stone jar on the floor. I knelt down and pulled from the basket a length of wood with cloth wrapped around one end. Kneeling down, I pulled the cap off the jar and felt liquid inside. Bringing my fingertips to my nose, I recognized the odor of petroleum. Grabbing up the torch, I dipped the wrapped end into the jar and then withdrew it. Then I turned to Idril.

  “Spark your fire starter again.”

  Idril did as I’d asked. The torch burst into flame.

  “Grab another torch from the basket,” I said to Idril. “Dip it in the jar and then light it off mine.”

  Soon we had plenty of light, and I saw a long, narrow stone staircase descending into the darkness below. The warrior reached for a torch.

  “Wait,” I said. “One of us has to stay behind.”

  “Why?” Idril said.

  “Because the entryway door might close behind us,” I said. “Someone needs to remain here in the tomb with the medallion to let us back inside if the door closes.”

  “All right,” the warrior said, reaching out her open hand. “I’ll stay here.”

  “You saw the slot in the wall?” I said, handing her the medallion.

  “Yes.”

  “Good, if the door closes, just insert the medallion on its edge into the slot and push.”

  The warrior nodded. She had already dipped another torch into the jar and had lit it off Idril’s torch. I supposed she didn't wish to wait behind alone in the dark.

  I handed my burning torch to Idril and grabbed two more from the basket. I plunged them into the liquid inside the stone jar. Tucking them under my arm, I took the burning one back.

  “We’ll take extra torches for when these burn out,” I said.

  Idril nodded.

  “Ready?” I said.

  “Yes,” Idril said. “Let us go. ”

  I took my first tentative steps down the stairway, a flaming torch in one hand and my other hand against the cool stone wall. Cautiously, I descended step by step with Idril following close behind me.

  It took several minutes to reach the bottom of the stairway. I’d lost count of the number of steps we had taken. We arrived at a small flat landing before the entrance to a subterranean passageway. Slowly, I walked forward, holding the torch aloft. We passed a dozen niches that workmen had cut into the walls of rock that contained large, colorful statues. They depicted I assumed the deceased, his family members, and other unidentified figures. Some were standing, and others sat with their legs crossed. After about ten meters, the passageway opened onto a large room. I had no idea how far we were below the surface.

  Once Idril had followed me into the subterranean room, I turned to her.

  “Welcome to the underworld,” I said.

  In the center of the room was a stone pedestal. Resting atop it was a covered stone sarcophagus, particularly impressive due to the colorful, well-preserved paintings and inscriptions on it. The walls of the burial chamber were a virtual gallery featuring images of the deceased with his wife, their children, and other relatives. Scenes of musical performances, wine and pottery making, sailing, and hunting also came to life in drawings on the chamber’s walls. Canopic jars lined the floor next to the pedestal.

  “This is an Egyptologist's wet dream,” I said. “It looks as if no one has ever disturbed this chamber.”

  Looking around, I saw no other exits. I first knelt and pried the lids off the Canopic jars. One was empty. I assumed it must have contained water for the journey to the afterlife, which had long since evaporated. Two held what appeared to be the residue from dried food, which had decayed to the point there wasn't even any odor. The other containers held the mummified remains of human-like organs which embalmers would have removed during the embalming and mummification process.

  Standing up, I said, “The artifact must be inside the sarcophagus. Help me with the lid.”

  Both of us grabbed hold of the lid and tugged, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “It’s still sealed,” I said. “At least on Earth, the Egyptians sealed them with molten lead. Push the tip of your sword in along the edges to break the seal.”

  Idril drew her sword and poked the tip through the lead seal along the edges between the lid and stone box. After she had worked her way around the sarcophagus, we tried again to move the lid. This time it broke free and slid to the side.

  “It’s too heavy for only two people to lift,” I said. “Let’s slide it to the edge and let it fall onto the floor.”

  We grunted and pushed until the lid had moved far enough to one side that it became unbalanced. The weight of it caused it to tumble off the stone box. It slid off onto the pedestal top before crashing to the floor, breaking into several pieces.

  I picked up the torch from the floor and peered inside. To my consternation, there was no artifact. There wasn’t even a mummy. Even more surprising, there was no bottom to the sarcophagus. There was only an open rectangular hole that evidently passed straight through the pedestal too.

  “What’s that there on the side?” Idril said.

  I moved my torch and looked where she pointed. In the hieratic script, someone had scratched: “Only below in the footsteps of the god of the afterlife will you proceed to the feather of truth.”

  “What does it say?” Idril said impatiently.

  I translated it for her.

  “Is it meaningful to you?”

  “Some of it. The god of the afterlife is how the ancients usually referred to Osiris. Below seems plain enough. We have to descend through the bottomless sarcophagus to another level below this chamber. I’m not sure about the meaning of the only in the footsteps proceed part.”

  I lit one of the spare torches from a burning one, then leaned over the edge of the sarcophagus and dropped it. After about 6 meters, it landed on a stone floor.

  “My rope is long enough to reach,” I said, removing the coil from my shoulder.

  I ran the rope around the pedestal base, tied it off securely, and then tossed the rest over the edge into the hole. Looking down, it appeared the end of the rope almost reached the floor.

  “We’ve been down here a long
time,” Idril said. “If we leave now, we might make it back to the others before dusk.”

  “We’re so close,” I said. “We can’t just leave. We would waste another whole day getting back here. And, we don’t yet know where to find an alternate river crossing. I vote we carry on and stay overnight here.”

  Idril looked perplexed.

  “Look, I’ll climb down and search for the artifact,” I said. “Meanwhile, you can go back to the surface. If the door to the stairway above hasn’t closed yet, it probably won’t. You can collect your warrior and bring her down here to wait with you. I might need you both to pull me back up, anyway.”

  Idril nodded. “I’ll wait until you have arrived safely at the bottom, then I’ll go up to bring Phaerl down.”

  “Good,” I said, throwing a leg over the edge of the sarcophagus.

  I tossed the other spare torch to the level below, then grabbed the rope with both hands.

  “Bring the rest of the torches and the stone jar back with you,” I said.

  Then I lowered myself into the sarcophagus, locked my ankles around the rope, and climbed down hand over hand.

  “All good,” I shouted up to Idril. “Go get Phaerl, and I’ll go find the artifact.”

  She nodded from above and then disappeared. I picked up the torches and started down another narrow subterranean passageway while trying to work out the meaning of the rest of the riddle.

  There had only been one passageway, so at least I knew I was walking in the right direction. The passageway was different from the one above. No one had carved it out of the living rock. Instead, it was a natural limestone cavern. I speculated that it might be where the builders had quarried the limestone they used to build the tombs and monuments above ground.

  After about two dozen steps, I came upon another side opening in the passageway. Someone had broken through the side from another part of the cavern. There was still rubble and debris on the floor. I stepped through the opening and held up my lighted torch. The opening entered upon a massive cavern room. I couldn’t even see how far back it went. I decided my best bet was to continue down the passageway as I had started. Someone had likely knocked a hole through the side of the passageway to create the opening long after the journal writer had come here to hide the artifact.

  That thought gave me pause and caused the hair at the back of my neck to stand on end. We had encountered the mutants on the surface. Perhaps some other beings existed who lived below the ground. Given the history of Saba and the war, that theory seemed plausible.

  I hurriedly stepped back inside the passageway and continued down it, the torchlight flickering off the walls. Without warning, three creatures appeared out of the gloomy darkness in front of me. More mutants, but these were not those we had encountered on the surface.

  These were of some race of subterranean hominids of diminutive stature with pale white, almost translucent skin. They had very large eyes with pupils that took up the full ocular area. Large black almond-shaped eyes. Though only about half my height, they seemed powerfully built, well-muscled with little body fat. Their hands were oversized, a good one-third larger than my own. In their large hands, each brandished a long, wicked-looking curved blade of shiny steel.

  Since they glared at me with open hostility, I turned to run back the way I had come, only to discover four more of the brooding creatures blocking my path in that direction. They had apparently entered the passageway from the cavern room opening after I left it.

  I held up my empty free hand, palm outwards.

  “I come in peace,” I said.

  One creature snarled something back at me in a strange language I didn’t understand.

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  Suddenly, something struck me in the head from behind, and the creatures rushed upon me. I found myself face down on the floor beneath their crushing weight. I felt my tunic being ripped from my body, then felt my wrists being jerked behind my back and being bound. Next, they bound my ankles together.

  “Mutants,” I moaned, my face pressed hard against the rough rock floor of the passageway. “I hate mutants. Why does it always have to be mutants?”

  Another hard blow struck my head. Mercifully, I passed out.

  Chapter 18

  The Cave Dwellers

  When I regained consciousness, I felt borne along in near-complete darkness by my captors. It seemed to become a captive, and being taken to places I cared not to go had become something of a habit. Immobilized, they carried me face down, lashed to some kind of wooden frame. I didn’t know how long I’d been unconscious or how far the cave dwellers had carried me into the bowels of the enormous caverns.

  Gradually, my eyes adjusted somewhat to the darkness, enough that I could make out the beings who carried me. It seemed they were taking me somewhere towards a dim light. A few minutes later, my bearers came to a halt. Those in back lowered the stretcher-like affair to the ground until I felt the floor with my toes. Then they elevated the other end of the frame until I was in an upright position. One creature on either side supported the framework to keep it upright.

  There was a fire in a pit to one side, the source of the light I'd sensed. In the dimness, I could see there was now a group of the creatures assembled in the underground room. Directly to my front, a humanoid I took for a male sat on a chair carved from stone. The others showed apparent deference to him. I speculated he must be the leader. The chair seemed like a throne.

  Next to the male seated on the stone chair stood a female. All the beings were hairless and somewhat androgynous-looking, but I recognized the one standing by the chair was female. Her body was less muscular, her waist narrower, hips more full. And she had breasts. All the creatures wore a single piece of what appeared some kind of animal skin wrapped around their hips as their only garment. The female’s small breasts were openly exposed.

  The male on the throne spoke, looking directly at me. It seemed he had spoken in the same incomprehensible tongue the creature had spoken back in the passageway.

  “I don’t understand your language,” I said in Vulvarian.

  The female walked over and stood in front of me. She looked up at me curiously, cocking her head to one side.

  “I don’t understand the language,” I repeated to her.

  To my surprise, the female spoke to me in an ancient Vulvarian dialect. She asked my name. Though my tutor Amanuensis had told me no one on Vulvar spoke the dialect any longer, he had made me master it along with the others.

  “Tobias Hart is my name,” I said. “How is it you speak a language I understand?”

  She shrugged. “It is the language of the ancients, the language used before they came into these caverns after a great war. We have a new language now, but a few of us still remember the old one.”

  “I see,” I said. “It is a relief we can communicate.”

  “Where do you come from?” the female said.

  “From here,” I said. “This world, Vulvar.”

  The female looked doubtfully at me.

  “Did you come from the sky?” she said.

  “No, I came to the shores of the city above this place by the sea, on a ship.”

  The female looked even more unconvinced.

  “From Port Abrago,” I said. “A 12-day voyage by ship.”

  The female turned to the male sitting on the throne. She spoke to him in the unintelligible language he’d spoken before. He replied, and she turned back to me.

  “Bosk says you lie,” the female said. “All died on this world in a great war long ago. Only the Talpans and Beluans still live.”

  “Talpans?” I said.

  “Talpans,” the female said, touching her chest.

  “Talpans,” she repeated, waving a hand toward the other assembled creatures.

  “Beluans?” I said.

  “Beluans,” the female said, pointing a finger upwards toward the cave ceiling.

  “The creatures who live on the ground above?” I
said.

  “Yes,” the female said. “How did you avoid the Beluans? Very aggressive. Very dangerous.”

  “I didn’t avoid them,” I said. “The Beluans attacked us. We killed some of them.”

  The female looked at me doubtingly again, then laughed.

  “You kill Beluans?” she said.

  “Not me personally,” I said. “My companions.”

  “Where are your companions?” she said suspiciously.

  I nodded my head upwards. “On the land above us. We became separated. I came into these caverns alone.”

  “Why did you come?”

  “To explore,” I said. “Curiosity.”

  I thought to explain that I was an archaeologist, but I couldn’t think of a word for the term in the ancient dialect. I wasn’t sure there was one. Neither could I think of a name even close to it, which might convey the meaning.

  The female turned back to the male on the throne. She spoke to him for several minutes in the other language. He grunted and replied. Then he spoke to the crowd gathered around him. They all spoke at once, shaking their upraised fists.

  “What’s happening?” I asked the female.

  “Council,” she said. “They are discussing what to do with you. Most want Bosk to kill you.”

  “Why?” I said. “I have not harmed your people.”

  “You found an unguarded way into our home,” she said. “That makes you dangerous. My people think you cannot live. Others might come.”

  Suddenly, the fire flared, and the light glinted off the tube, now exposed between my legs. It caught the female’s attention. She studied it for a moment and then reached out and grabbed hold of it. She pulled on it lightly, as though testing to see if it was firmly attached to my body. Then she ran her hand underneath the tube, tightly gripping my testicles. I winced.

  “What is this?” the female said. “Your male part is inside this thing?”

  “Yes,” I said nervously.

  “Why?”

  “It’s a custom where I come from,” I said.