was curiously carved to one side of a series of broad slabs and framed by massive pillars which led up towards this façade.
Half shadowed by the late afternoon sun, Mahzit instinctively drew closer, flushed with questions; wondering who could have built such a structure, and why. It appeared to be a ceremonial temple.
Nagging intrigue needled the Helandian’s natural instincts, for anything mysterious taunted him to distraction.
A small heap of rocks nearby was scattered with broken pottery—an obvious sign that someone had camped here fairly recently. Mahzit knelt down, letting his fingers trace tiny clay bits. Some appeared more ancient than others. Sadly he was not an expert.
When the campfire had settled to glowing warm embers, he joined an animated discussion with the two historians who were very eager to examine the site the next morning. He had ideas about exploring he held privately. A little later Mahzit approached Kal-Nor with his plan.
The Commander was sitting cross-legged before a hot pile of coals that cast just enough light to see the pad on his lap. Somehow he had been able to write on it even in the twilight. By then most of the men were already asleep.
Mahzit tried to appear light and casual as he approached the man.
“Busy?” he asked. “I don’t mean to disturb you, if you are.”
“Updating the journal; recording our activities of the day: nothing that can’t wait, really.”
“Making notes about this canyon, the caves, that temple opening?”
“No, no: hardly so profound.”
The man sighed, looking frustrated. “Who knows if anybody will ever read it?”
“I’m certain your account will draw a good deal of interest, once we make it through this ordeal,” Mahzit asserted anxiously.
The leader tossed back his head and muffled his amusement.
“A dreadful thought! My desert tribesmen would most likely prefer to mock these notes! Most are adamantly against journals, considering them a waste of time. Maybe they’re right. All regulations are to be followed, and we’re required to make our daily reports.
“So what has sparked your interest, Mahzit? Anything I should add to my report?”
“I just find myself curious about that cavern up there; undoubtedly ancient.”
Kal-Nor looked at the carved structure.
“Ancient enough.”
“And quite a puzzle.”
“Yes, a puzzle.”
The man returned his attention to the pad on his lap.
“Can’t help wondering who built it…or where the inner chambers lead, if anywhere at all. What culture is responsible for its construction?”
Kal-Nor glanced at the austere lines of the temple a short distance above them.
“I’ve heard rumors of ancient civilizations. Never gave much importance to them. Myths continually plague our histories. You can’t always believe these stories. Most are created from dim memories as lessons for the young. I discount them
“As for this old cave…yes, a rather amazing structure and certainly built by highly gifted artisans. Perhaps constructed to worship their gods or, who knows what?”
“Would be interesting to explore.…”
“Anthropology and philosophy are not part of our mission. We have neither time nor expertise amongst the lot of us.”
“Sir, I believe there may be something of value to our task in there. And tonight I could explore without deterring from our goal.”
“Are you serious; in the dark?” Kal-Nor blurted: “Spooky demons must surely be living up there, ready to grab you as a night snack!”
Mahzit went to the pile of sticks and dried foliage they’d collected for the fire, picking a long, thick branch. He had noted wood burning bright and remarkably slow. Hefting it for weight, he took it to the fire and put its thinner end into the flame.
“Could serve; well enough.”
The Commander looked uncertain.
“Not logical to wander around in there at night.”
“Don’t plan on wandering far. I’ll never be able to sleep with so many unsolved questions, unless, of course, you really object.”
Kal-Nor studied him; then conceded.
“My blessings, just be careful! You’ll need your strength for tomorrow’s hike out of this canyon!”
The man had so much as given his approval; then busily engaged himself with the journal in his lap.
Without looking up again, he said: “Go! Go.”
Gruffly adding, “may the canyon gods protect you!”
The Commander’s soft chuckle followed Mahzit as he headed toward the structure cut into the solid face of the rocky cliff. He stood there gazing up at the ominous silhouette looming before him.
When he stepped through the temple entrance a soft breeze brushed his cheeks, coming from deep within the cavern.
Had some mighty phantom beast exhaled its greedy welcome to the foolish human who was about to wander into its private domain?
The torch in his hand flickered against the stark walls; the stately columns silently beckoned him to enter. Mahzit stepped boldly forward, anxious to explore: blind to any possible dangers.
IV. Lost
Mahzit’s excitement piqued as he passed through the ornate columns marking the entrance to the temple-cave. He hurried into the depths of the shrine; his torch dancing in the cool air, illuminating the elaborate murals.
What must it have once been like? So beautifully sculpted and painted.
Awed by their grandeur, he admired the detailed artwork along the corridors, wondering about its purpose and its makers.
Who had built this? What lay beyond? How far do the tunnels go?
The colorful scenes abruptly stopped at a vaulted chamber confronting him with several narrow openings, but the larger central path appeared to be a main corridor. This tunnel curved right and left, like a giant undulating snake. Mahzit ran his hand along the smooth brick and stone lining the tunnel, his fingertips feeling rugged, chiseled rock between places where the thick veneer mortar had crumbled.
His torchlight sputtered from an unexpected draft causing grotesque shadows to leap across a broad chamber. The light flashed in waves against a central stone slab. Like phantom ghosts, it created the illusion of a haunted tomb.
What could this place be? He wondered in amazement.
The room appeared sacred. The walls were empty, the room barren except for the plain altar.
Perhaps it was designed for an ancient potentate: or priest: possibly a throne; or a simple stage where mad poets preached their crazy ideas to those who happened to wander into this room.
Mahzit laughed at himself. His imagination was swollen beyond its sane limits. The day had been long, the night draining. He should be back at camp sleeping like a responsible mission officer: not wandering throughout these caves.
The torch flame pulsed brighter. He examined the waning torch with annoyance. It couldn’t last much longer. He needed to go back. Reluctantly he began retracing his steps.
Turning the first curve he stopped; bewildered.
An unexpected choice of corridors branched off in several directions. How had he missed this?
Intuition caused him to take the first opening. When that, too, branched off to several passageways, he turned again.
Instead