CHAPTER 1
The thick stone block shifted ever so slightly, grinding and moaning in protest. As it began to open, a thin stream of stale air slipped out through the crack with a faint whistle. Rain poured down in heavy, blinding sheets, soaking everything through within moments. The wind gusted in powerful, restless bursts, as if the storm itself was furious at the disturbance. Great streaks of bluish lightning lanced amongst the boiling black clouds, occasionally reaching their white-hot fingers down to the ground in deafening booms, which shook the very foundation of the earth. The storm had been raging for hours, pouring out its tears of anger, bellowing out its peeling cries, and lashing out with its sharp white tongue, but all this did not deter the stubborn woman and her entourage from their mission.
Deep in the rocky crags of the Scottish Highlands, a cluster of figures huddled together, wrapped in dark ponchos of slick, rubbery canvas held tight against the torrent of the storm. Several of the figures were struggling and groaning with fatigue as they worked their crowbars against the stone slab, trying desperately to pry it loose. The slab itself stood roughly four feet across and twice as tall, covered in thick viny vegetation, centuries old and very thick. Three of these figures leaned in against the slope of the steep hill, trying to deflect the fierce wind. It didn’t help much. A lone figure stood behind the ones who were working the crowbars, head tilted down against the rain, poncho flapping in the gusts of wind like a banshee’s body.
“Professor, this is insane. We should wait till the storm passes. We need to get back to the tents,” a male voice shouted over the din just to be heard.
In the dark of the storm, beneath the rain and low-hanging cowls, the group couldn’t see each other nod, yet they all felt the shared agreement. One of the poncho-covered figures raised a hand toward the cliff’s face, revealing a slender, feminine hand to the downpour.
“There will be sufficient shelter inside the tomb.” Her voice cut cleanly through the storm.
“That's if we can get it open, Professor,” another shouted back. “This storm seems to be getting worse.” He glanced up at the boiling clouds, as though trying to determine when the pounding rain would end.
“Then we must hurry,” the female shouted back. Then suddenly, she stepped up, thrusting her slim, delicate fingertips into the jagged crack and heaved.
The crowbar man nearest her shook his head in disbelief but kept pressure on the iron bar wedged into the crack. The slab groaned, loud enough to be heard even through the storm, and slowly began to tilt. Then, with one final great yank, it toppled forward, crashing into the mud with a dull, heavy thud that was quickly swallowed by the wind and rain.
The entrance stood open, providing shelter from the torrential downpour, but no one moved immediately inside. They felt more than heard the eerie hiss as the stone door was pried open. A fear of the unknown took root as all stood looking into the darkness, as thick tendrils of white mist curled out of the depths toward them, only to be shattered by the gusting winds. A chill so deep came from nowhere, causing them all to shiver. The night was already cold, but this was different. Not refreshing. Something older. Still.
Beyond the fallen slab, an arched doorway stood, built from carefully cut stone blocks, each with a symbol etched into its center. Beyond it stretched a narrow corridor, swallowed by darkness. The quiet held by the darkness was deafening. Flashes of lightning illuminated the entrance briefly, showing only a narrow stone corridor. A booming peal of thunder caused all but the figure nearest the tomb to jump. The professor began to take a step into the interior when a hand caught her arm from behind, causing her to pause.
“Hold on, Professor!” the male shouted to be heard over the thundering storm. “That wasn’t natural for the air to be that cold.”
“It is natural, Drake. It’s a simple chrono-morphic event stemming from the fact that Ulf Hakon was buried in the winter months…” She paused as thunder rolled across the sky, shaking the terrain and drowning out any other noise. “And the cold of that winter was recorded as record low. So, when he was laid to rest inside the chamber, the air must have been below freezing, which is good for us, considering he should still be in good shape.” Another boom of thunder caused all to lower their heads instinctively as it rolled across the night sky. “You’ve seen too many movies,” she added softly, almost amused.
“So, as the chamber was sealed, all that cold air was sealed inside with Ulf,” Drake finished her statement.
“Exactly.” Her smile could be seen even in the rainy dark.
“That still doesn’t explain why thousands of years later it’s still so cold,” he countered.
“Oh, Drake.” She sighed, patiently. “The chamber had to have been made airtight by special sealant used by the Norsemen of that period. A simple mixture of wax boiled down from sheep fat and ash sap that, when heated, forms a hard, air-tight, amber-like substance along with burnt clay and sea sand, which kept out any moisture. When mixed in a heated state, the molecules of both substances intermingle, forming a chain-like strand of molecules that harden into a stiff rubber-like substance, so if the Norsemen sealed their king’s chamber with this, the room would have acted like a giant freezer box.” She shrugged her shoulders and grinned as if to say. ‘See that simple.’
He stood staring at her, his mouth agape. He was still blown away by her sheer intellect and knowledge of all things, trivial or not. Several seconds passed, which would have been in silence if it weren’t for the noise of the storm raging around them.
“Drake.” She giggled a musical little noise that seemed to calm even the storm itself.
“The atomized droplets of water in the air thousands of years ago would not have evaporated since they were not exposed to any warmer air until now.” She paused to see if he had caught up. Clearly, he hadn’t. “So, when the cold molecules of yesteryear collided with the warmer air out here, they turned to the mist.” She paused again.
“Thereby making the mist columns we saw,” he finished, nodding his head with a smile.
“Yes.” She patted his arm gently. “Now are you okay?”
He nodded. Drake still felt that conscious twinge of uneasiness pulling gently at his thoughts, but he took a deep breath and pointed at the dark opening.
“After you, Professor,” he said with more gusto than he felt. His heart pounded as his mind flashed up pictures of mummies, zombies, vampires, and every other type of creepy beast lurking in the dark beyond. He shivered despite the weather. Perhaps he had seen too many movies.
“Thank you, Drake.” Her sweet voice came cutting over the driving rain.
He managed a smile, glad the darkness hid his expression. He couldn’t help it. The professor was a beautiful woman, to be sure. She stood 5’ 6” with a petite, well-proportioned frame, silken waves of light honey-brown hair hanging down to her waist. Big, bright, hazel eyes that shone with their own inner light, even behind her wire-framed glasses, and a brilliant mind that exceeded even the most accredited. All of it was accented by a sweet, wholesome, cheery personality. What more could a guy want? She was beautiful to say the least, and the youngest professor at Ariston University, ever.
The rest of the group was made up of Drake, one other final-year archeology major, six first-year students, and four hired diggers. All were cold, damp, tired, and visibly miserable, except for the professor, who seemed almost impervious to the uncomfortable surroundings. She smiled and giggled as if Christmas had come early, and for her, it probably had.
Drake smiled oddly as she stepped past him with a slow but determined stride. Even through the musty smell of the chilled tomb and the pounding wind and rain, he caught a whiff of lavender. She always smelled so sweet. He couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t. With a heavy sigh, he brought his mind to the task at hand, and away from… well, his boss.
It is okay to be overly attracted to your professor and boss, isn’t it? His mind slipped again, drifting to a hidden mountain cabin lit only by a soft, roaring fireplace. Two glasses of wine sat half-empty on a handmade coffee table, the empty bottle lying on its side on the rug beneath the table. The two of them entwined on the old couch, kissing passionately, their clothes scattered in crumpled heaps on the floor. Her arms wrapped around him, fingers stroking his back lightly, his hands moving over her… Suddenly, a voice cut through the thought, shattering it instantly.
“DRAKE, HEY DRAKE!” his classmate shouted over the driving storm to be heard.
“YA?” he shouted bac, his annoyance hidden by the storms echoing booms.
“I don’t like it. It feels eerie.” Sara leaned closer to him, so she didn’t have to shout so loud.
“It’s alright, Sara, the professor explained it, as usual.” He winked at her to help ease her mind.
She, in turn, returned a nervous smile before following the professor into the creepy interior. The rest of the crew shuffled in after her, eager to escape the storm. Drake slid into the corridor a moment longer, gazing out over the dark terrain as the brilliant flashes of lightning briefly illuminated it. The rolling rocky terrain glared back at him with an almost evil stare. He almost shivered.
Corrissa moved as far into the cold corridor as she dared. Her instincts screamed at her to pause, to show caution in her excitement. Traps of every kind floated past her mind’s eye. But this wasn’t Egypt. Then again, this wasn’t a typical Norse construction either. So, fighting her desire to go deeper into the tomb, she paused.
Behind her, the students shook water from their ponchos, sending droplets onto the stone floor. One of these students produced a flashlight from under his slicker and clicked it on. A bright white light filled the entire area, blinding everyone for a second. Instantly, the professor turned toward them.
“NO, NO. Put that out quickly.” She darted toward the shocked student, reaching him just as he clicked it off.
“Please do not use flashlights. That type of illumination may damage the interior surface.” Her voice was again low and measured.
“Amateurs,” Drake whispered to Sara as he winked. She grinned and nodded.
The first-year student looked at her with horror on his young face, shaking slightly. The others watched in silence, caught off guard by the sharpness in the professor’s reaction.
“I’m sorry for shouting like that, guys,” she said after a moment, her voice softer now. “It’s just that… well, I’m very excited about this. Do you forgive me?” Her tone was sincere and hurt-filled.
The student nodded, followed in suit by everyone else, and just like that, things returned to normal. They all began to relax except for the diggers, who paced near the entrance as if afraid to enter any farther. This bothered the students as a whole and even played on Drake’s nerves a bit. He was well aware of the legends surrounding this infamous Norseman. The tales were still told to the local children about the Wolf of War. How he still stalks the autumn nights, searching for the ones who had slain him. A chill shot up his spine. He shook his head, pushing the thought away.
Corrissa returned her attention to the reason they were here and walked back toward the heart of the tomb. Her heart pounded in her chest like a tiny, caged hummingbird from the sheer thrill of the find. So, with nervous anticipation, she withdrew a large light stick from her pack. Her eyes fixed on the wall of darkness, as if sheer will alone might let her see, she slammed the stick into her palm.
A sharp crack echoed softly along the corridor’s ceiling, only dimly returning, which told Corrissa the tunnel extended quite a distance. Slowly, the whole area became bathed in an eerie orange light. All eyes darted back and forth as the party collectively held its breath. For a few long moments, the light caught long tendrils of mist in its orange grasp, turning them into an almost frozen rendition of flame before they dissipated as mysteriously as they had arrived. Strange shadows danced on the walls, floor, and ceiling as the crew moved about slowly, each member eyeing the area with a palpable, frightened astonishment.
“Okay, troop.” Her voice, just above a whisper, still echoed in the long corridor. “I’m going into the interior of the tomb with Drake and Sara to check our find. You guys stay here out of the rain until we return, okay.” Her voice lifted slightly to rise above the storm still raging outside.
The crew nodded as one, relief plain on their faces and in their eyes. Drake and Sara removed their still-dripping ponchos and adjusted their gear for the walk.
“I want to personally thank each one of you for this wonderful opportunity.” She began to shake hands with each member of the dig team. “I couldn’t have gotten in here without you, thank you.”
She then turned toward the darkness and moved to it like she owned the very thing that made it. The diggers looked at her oddly but were all very glad they could stay put. Not even the toughest of them was brave enough to venture into the infamous Wolf of War’s tomb. They shook their heads in astonishment as she disappeared into the inky curtain, the orange glow fading quickly to nothing. Many eased back slightly, wondering if outside would be safer.
“Isn’t she amazing?” Drake whispered to the sitting students who looked at him. “Don’t wait up, boys.” He winked, then turned to follow.
The group suddenly broke into a series of soft chuckles as the tension fell away like sugar in the rain. Sara shook her head in annoyance, sighed, and headed off after Drake, whispering something about everything he does and says works out, or lucky bastard, or something close to that anyway.
Corrissa moved casually along the corridor, her eyes scanning every inch of stone. The hall stretched fifteen feet wide and just as high, which alone was odd for Norse building practices, but it was the stones themselves that caught her eye. Each stone was a perfect ninety-degree cornered block with precision fitting. She moved at a snail’s pace, dragging her fingertips lightly along the wall as a quiet grin formed.
“Perfect precision cuts,” she whispered softly to the darkness. “I haven’t seen anything like this since…” Her voice trailed off into a gentle whispering whistle.
Drake and Sara glanced at each other in confusion, trying to keep their excitement from breaking free in a string of questions. They both knew when their professor drifted off into this mode, something fantastic was just about to be revealed.
“Why does that matter, Dr.?” Drake whispered.
“Well, Drake…” She paused, turning toward them. “You see here how precise the squaring of each corner is? How perfectly they sit, a straight line all the way along the wall.”
“Yes, Professor, but…” Drake looked confused, like he should know the answers.
“So, don’t you find that odd?” She watched them with a small smile on her lips.
“I truly don’t know, Professor. Sorry,” he admitted with a small shrug.
“Sara?” She tilted her head toward her.
“No ma’am,” Sara whispered, eager to hear the answer.
The corridor felt unnaturally quiet. Even the thunder seemed to be forced to whisper. Drake and Sara looked at each other curiously, then back to their professor. She had that overly excited half-grin they both loved so much. The quiet played out like a slow-moving stream, washing around them with the chill of winter. Sara shivered, and Drake held his breath.
“We’re in Scotland, guys,” she said, her grin widening. “Scotland.” She said it like that was the answer to their confusion.
Drake began to grin.
“You, see?” she pressed, shaking her head in excitement. “You see.”
“I’m sorry, Professor, I don’t,” he answered her quietly, smiling.
“Then why are you smiling?” Sara spoke just as quietly.
“I can’t help it.” He nodded his head toward Corrissa. “When she gets like this, it’s exciting, and that is when we learn the real stuff.”
“Oh, Drake,” she laughed lightly. “Really now, this is important.”
“How?” he asked. “No offence, Doc, but I just don’t see it.”
Drake and Sara stood, barely breathing, waiting for their professor’s explanation.
“Oh, okay.” Corrissa sighed. “When have you ever read or heard about Norsemen building such an especially precise structure as a burial chamber before?” she asked, waiting excitedly for an answer.
“Well…” Drake thought for a second. “Never really, I guess. They mostly had funeral pyres for their heroes.”
“Exactly.” She crossed her arms, clearly pleased.
Sara let out a low whistle, her brow tightening as the realization began to form. Corrissa’s grin grew wider as she saw understanding dawning on their shadowed features.
“So, what exactly do we have here, Professor?” Excitement began building quickly inside Drake.
“Look closely here at the wall and tell me where you’ve seen such precise fitting.” She turned from them to run her slender fingers lovingly over the smooth stone.
They both turned back to examine the wall. Slowly, meticulously, they studied the cutting, seating, and mortaring of the architecture as Corrissa walked snail-like along the corridor, still dragging her fingertips lightly on the stones and joints of the wall. For several long moments, nothing could be heard except the soft scrap of boot on stone.
“Egypt, at the pyramid of Giza,” Sara finally whispered softly, more to herself than to the others.
​