** The horror slumbers buried under many meters of rubble and desert sand. Nameless cartouches, desecrated relics, and a sarcophagus containing an ancient riddle. **
"Ancient lands lost in time.
Storms of sand, walls of lime
Surround this mask of de...
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The way back seemed infinitely long to Arabella. At the same time, the time of the ascent passed her by as if in a trance. Had all this really just happened? Had they discovered an ancient burial chamber, and had these men really died in the sand?
They literally staggered back through the corridors. The magic the discovery had held on the way there seemed lost to them at that moment.
Sunlight dazzled the group as they finally reached the breakthrough and the exit. For a few moments, white spots danced in front of Arabella's eyes, and although they could all remove the scarves from their faces, breathing here seemed no easier than before. The heat seemed like an invisible wall to them and immediately made their skin even more damper from sweat, their clothes wet, and every layer of fabric, however thin, was one too many.
Even so, one should be careful not to rush into exposing too much unprotected skin to the relentless sun. Arabella couldn't help but feel the unpleasant burning sensation on her face and hurried to join the others in the nearest shade.
Under the awning that had been set up, loud discussions with the leaders immediately began. The news of the find and the accident swept from man to man like a wave. However, the fact that dead bodies had to be recovered - again - did not raise the spirits of the workers.
Unfortunately, Arabella did not understand what was being said, and Mr Thornten seemed too tense to translate every word for her. The young woman could see that several workers looked anxious and put their heads together with expressions of concern in their eyes. Arabella's gaze also slid back to the opening in the stone. She couldn't shake the undirected tingling at the back of her neck. Almost as if they were being watched. But that was nonsense, of course, and she pushed the unpleasant feeling aside.
There had never been a discovery or excavation where the locals had not spoken of curses and bad luck beforehand. When a ladder broke, it was a bad omen. When there was a hole in a bucket, it was a bad omen. If salt was spilled, it was a bad omen. And if a dung beetle climbed over your shoe or you heard a jackal howling, it was a bad omen. Not forgetting, of course, a woman at an excavation site. The workers had already said it themselves: a bad omen!
Hrmpf, of course; what else?
Ancient graves always conveyed a feeling of trepidation. Arabella knew how easily one's surroundings and subconscious could influence the mind. After all, she belonged to an order that had set itself the task of separating fantasy and gossip from reality.
Old graves and the bad air quickly played eerie tricks on the mind. Accidents happened constantly and frequently on excavations, although attempts were made to avoid these unpleasant losses. But it happened repeatedly: ladders that broke, winches that simply couldn't bear the weight placed on them, snapped ropes, or tunnels that collapsed under the weight of centuries. The heat was relentlessly battering materials out here, just as it was battering people. In addition, there were old places that could unsettle a human spirit. Old tales and legends let the imagination loose like a wild horse.
