Next to the guards stood two ten-foot statues, resplendent in their golden gowns.The nearest statue was sculpted from midnight-colored marble with silver markings, yellow sapphires placed where his eyes would be.It was believed that all heirs of House Azaes had yellow eyes because of him.Holding a fishing spear in one hand and a handful of sand in the other, he was an homage to both their island and desert heritage.Opposite him stood a female, made with alabaster marble, silver hair cascading down to her waist.She held a crown of flowers in her right hand, and in her left, a bronze scepter above her head.A symbol of the lost royal house of Atlantis.
Most believed the statues represented the first Lord and Lady Azaes, who miraculously escaped the fall of Atlantis and founded their new home in Egypt.Khalida didn’t believe in fairy tales, especially ones that propagated the unchallenged bloodline of the Houses.There was no disputing that she was a descendant.Similar to both statues, Khalida wore a simple golden floor-length dress, the color of mourning.Colorful beads, with differing hues of blue and yellow, hung from her waist and jingled with each step.It was the only sound she made.
She pulled the black cloak over her shoulders, fighting the chill in the air.As she stepped through the archway, the scent of kyphi tinged with frankincense and cinnamon surrounded her.Someone had already walked through the halls, lighting the yellow candles and anointing the ancient statues.Without her swords, she felt naked and vulnerable.Weapons were forbidden within the tomb, and she couldn’t disobey the archaic ruling, not without the potential of losing access to the memorial.With each step closer, she forced herself to bring to the forefront the memories of Sidra.
The way she smelled as a baby, her laugh as a toddler.The smoothness of Sidra’s soft skin when she hugged her.Khalida tried to grasp the tiny details that no longer existed as she trembled with fatigue.It was supposed to be easier after all this time, but the hole in her heart never repaired itself.
Alone with only her thoughts to keep her company, her fear and grief intertwined until all she was left with was apathy and a growing numbness.
What kind of mother couldn’t cry anymore in memory of their child?
Perhaps she had used up all her tears and now was nothing but a hollow shell.It was harder this time.The dream of what may have been.Talik’s presence had brought to the surface other things she’d forgotten or hoped to forget.
In the air’s stillness, if she strained hard enough, ancient whispers and songs from bygone mourners echoed through the corridors.They grew louder and louder as she continued along the path.Alone with the deceased, there was a level of calm that permeated the air.Afterall, the dead couldn’t hurt her.Only the living could.
A giant rectangular monument stood in the center of the room.Surrounded by a small dark moat filled with black water, it reminded her of an abyss or the open ocean.An uncomfortable shiver raced through her.After all these years she still couldn’t stop her visceral reaction to water, even when she was on land, safe.Forcing herself to slow down, she bowed her head as she walked past the centerpiece and veered left, almost hugging the wall as she descended the handful of steps into the hidden enclave.Hesitating for a second, Khalida held up the candle and blew out the light.She waited a moment to adjust to the darkness as the white smoke encircled her.
Here she couldn’t lie to herself.It was the only day she let herself remember and mourn.After so many centuries, it still tore her apart.
She was only two steps away from the unadorned altar.Taking another step, she reached out and traced the faded letters, unreadable to the naked eye.The name was engraved onto the stone, just like her heart.
Memorialized for an eternity, or until the Atlanteans who carried her memory turned to dust.
Sidra.
Khalida sat on the ground, pulling her knees to her chest.Her shoulders violently shook as her heart shattered.Again.A silent tear slid along her skin, moistening her lips.
Alone, she grieved for a dream that could never exist.
Chapter Eleven
TALIK
“Iam not in the moodto play nice today,” Talik told the intruder without moving.Lying on the cool floor in total darkness, in a bid to stop the rosy fingers of dawn from entering his allocated guest room, he could pretend he hadn’t forgotten what day it was.
Pretend he didn’t need to add that particular sin to his many faults.Like never saying goodbye to Sidra.He’d been too intoxicated and out of his mind to attend her funeral procession.
