Series: Charmaine Pauls
Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Turning my attention to the room, I look around in the light of the torch. The ceiling is low. I can stand up straight, but Aruan has to bend his tall body to prevent his head from bumping on the stone ceiling. He ushers me toward the back that, to my surprise, opens up into a narrow tunnel.
A distant hum reaches my ears, almost like chanting.
Aruan goes ahead through the tunnel, taking my hand to help me through. On the other side, more torches light up, illuminating a few steep steps.
We follow them down into another room. On closer inspection, I realize it’s a cist, a stone enclosure buried beneath the ground.
At the far end stands a stone altar with various items arranged on top of it. Men wearing white tunics and pants are kneeling in front of the altar in what seems to be some kind of prayer, which explains the chanting.
“What is this place?” I whisper, more to myself than to Aruan.
“We don’t know,” he says behind me, his breath fanning the hair on my nape and sending a tingle down my spine. “All we know is that we need to preserve the scrolls. They’re fragile. Many of them have already been destroyed.”
I expected actual rolls of paper or leather with writing captured on it, but the translucent pyramids in different sizes displayed on the altar don’t look anything like scrolls. They seem to glow from within, transmitting light that projects on the dark, polished surface of the stone walls. The light fragments, like in a kaleidoscope, and then reassembles to form short flashes of a video that run across the walls. The colors are faint and the pictures distorted, making it difficult to decipher what it’s showing. Then the light breaks down and reshapes again, and a different video clip plays in a staccato pulsing of RGB colors.
Spellbound, I stare at the images flashing on the walls. “These are the scrolls?”
“The priests believe they contain messages,” Aruan says. “Various prophecies left behind for us. The guardians of the scrolls devote their lives to preserving them and to interpreting the messages they contain.”
The kneeling men show no awareness of our presence. They continue to chant in their trance-like state, their eyes fixed on the walls and their faces lit in the colors of the strange projections.
“Do they live here, these priests?” I ask, watching them in fascination.
“Pretty much. Villagers bring them water, food, and other necessities. People believe they will be blessed if they take care of the priests and therefore of the scrolls the priests are tasked with preserving.”
I wrinkle my nose. “What about bathing and toilet breaks?”
Aruan smiles. “The priests have a separate exit through the roof of the temple that’s hidden from sight. No one knows exactly where it is or where it comes out. There are many tunnels hidden behind a secret opening. That’s where they have their living quarters. The river that feeds into the lake sends bathing water into the temple via a vein that runs underground.”
“What about removing their garbage?” At Aruan’s frown, I explain, “Their waste products.”
“They leave it at the entrance. The people who bring them food take it away.”
“But that means they live like moles,” I exclaim.
One of the men glares at me from over his shoulder.
“Sorry,” I say, making a face. I’ve clearly interrupted his concentration.
Aruan seems amused. “Moles?”
“They’re blind animals that live underground.”
“Indeed.” He cracks his neck, which must be aching from being bent into such an uncomfortable position. “Some of them go blind from reading the scrolls and living underground their whole life.”
I want to say that’s terrible, but I keep my judgement to myself.
Aruan motions me closer to the altar with a hand. “Have a look.”
I step gingerly over some roots that break through the soil and stop short of the men to peer at the pyramids. At first glance, I thought they were made of a clear acrylic material or glass, but upon a closer look, they appear soft instead of hard, as if made of silicone.
This is beyond amazing. Whatever these small pyramids are, I’m staring at very advanced technology. Or magic. But my bet is on technology—a technology that seems far beyond what the Alit possess.
Where did it come from? Aliens? An advanced civilization that existed on Zerra in the past? If it’s the latter, what happened to it?
“Does the light ever go out?” I ask.
“The light is eternal.”
“How does it work?”
“We don’t know.”
I turn in a circle, studying the images that run along the walls. We’re underground, so the scrolls can’t be solar-powered. Some kind of super-long-lasting batteries? Maybe even fusion technology? “How old do you think the scrolls are?”
“It’s difficult to say. Their origins are a mystery. As far as we know, they’ve always been here.”
I look back at him. “And what do they say?”