The Tomb of the Ophidian Scepter

By Michael Dolan

If I walked away from this mission having learned only one thing, it would be that millennia of shifting sand dunes were no match for a stubbornly brilliant paranormal archivist. Unfortunately, the odds of me actually walking away were decreasing every second.

“Hey, Miriam, I could use some help over here!” I shouted as I deflected an obsidian sickle.

“Doing what I can,” she responded, despite making no move from decoding a series of glyphs on top of a snake statue that ran the perimeter of the tomb. “Just keep it distracted!”

“It” was a reanimated mummy and guardian of the ophidian scepter—an artifact capable of healing any wound. Miriam had recently decoded a manuscript identifying its location. It neglected to mention that other supernatural phenomena called the tomb home, too.

It wasn’t just that the mummy was very un-dead and fighting—its hands had also been replaced with enormous sickles, still sharp despite millennia of disuse. One had knocked my gun to the floor, leaving my machete as my only defense. Sparks flew and strikes rang as our weapons clashed in the dimly-lit tomb. But each attack I managed to land was shrugged off as though the monster was covered in armor, not bandages.

I deflected another blow and pushed the mummy back before stealing another glance up at Miriam. I hoped her decoding would uncover a spell that would make the mummy stop, or perhaps reveal an enchanted weapon to defeat it. Instead, she reached into the snake’s mouth and twisted a fang.

The floor started falling away.

I jumped away from the widening hole. “Not making my job easier,” I shouted.

“Knock it in!” she yelled back, now standing on top of the snake’s head.

“I’m not exactly the one in charge of the situation,” I called back, then rounded one of the tomb’s stone columns—only to find the mummy coming from the other side. I ducked and rolled, feeling the air move as its strike narrowly missed me. I came to a crouch on the edge of the hole with the monster facing me. It raised both sickles, let out a muffled moan of victory, and charged.

I glanced at the hole behind me, said a silent prayer, and dropped at the last second. The mummy shot over the edge of the hole as I held onto its edge with sweaty, shaking palms. Seconds later, a dull thump echoed from below.

“Little help?” I quivered.

Miriam jumped from the statue and raced over. She helped pull me up and inspected my still-shaking body as I lay on the tomb floor. “All in one piece?”

“Barely.”

She laughed. “That’ll do. You rest. I’m going to finish the inscription and see if I can find where this scepter is.”

I nodded before resting my head back on the floor. Minutes later, she groaned.

“What?” I kept staring at the ceiling.

A long moment passed. “The scepter’s down there.”

I sighed, flipped over, and peered down. I could barely see the faint outline of my former opponent. “Well, let’s get it before he wakes up.”

Miriam secured a rope around the closest column, and we descended into the narrow pit. We stayed as far as possible from the mummy while making our way toward the most adorned wall of the shaft, covered with more glyphs and serpentine carvings.

There was no sign of the scepter.

“Where is it?” I asked.

“It should be here.” Her eyes scanned the carvings. “Ah… It’s a puzzle.”

“A puzzle?” I glanced at the mummy. “We don’t have time for that.”

“Well, we don’t have time to do it the wrong way, either.”

I made no response as she pulled out her journal. Her eyes darted from it to the engravings while mine moved from her to the mummy. Her free hand traced the glyphs. The mummy stirred.

“Miriam.”

“Almost…”

The mummy stood up.

“Miriam!”

“Got it!” She pushed a glyph, and a stone slid aside, revealing the scepter. She grabbed it just as the mummy lunged forward and I pushed us both out of the way.

It poised itself for another strike.

“Get the rope!” I called over my shoulder while charging the mummy. “I’ll distract it.”

I attacked with my machete, and the monster responded in kind. Each swing took all my strength to deflect. The mummy cornered me against the wall and reared for the killing blow.

Then Miriam was right behind it, holding the scepter to its body. She shouted something unintelligible, sending it into convulsions as it collapsed.

“Let’s go!”

We dashed for the rope. “What’d you do?” I asked.

“Healed it,” she said as she started to climb.

I turned and saw she was right. The sickles had fallen to the ground, now replaced with unbandaged hands.

“Um,” I heaved as I trailed Miriam. “Did you consider that might make it easier for it to follow us?”

“Trust me, this’ll work. Probably.”

I rolled my eyes and climbed. Shortly after, I felt the rope grow taut as the mummy grabbed the rope below us.

Pulling ourselves up, we raced to the column where we’d tied the rope. I hacked at it with my machete, but just as it snapped, the mummy pulled itself over the ledge.

It looked bigger, healthier—despite being covered in bandages. It held up the sickles that had been stuffed under its wrappings… then collapsed forward onto the stones.

I waited a beat. “Um, what happened?”

“I healed it.” Miriam prodded it with her shoe. “Well, what’s left of it.”

“Explain.”

“Typically, some organs were removed before mummification. So the scepter healed everything it could reach, but that wasn’t quite enough to keep it alive.”

“And that also broke whatever paranormality kept it animated?”

“Apparently,” Miriam shrugged. “That’s where my ‘probably’ came in.”

“Well, thank goodness for that,” I said, surveying the fallen body. I turned and pointed to the scepter. “Now let’s take that somewhere a little less dangerous.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Michael Dolan’s short stories have appeared in Havok, Splickety, and The Norwegian American. When he’s not writing marketing materials for a global nonprofit, he can be found hiking, reading, gaming, or writing some more. He and his wife live with a small library loaded with YA and fantasy books in Seattle, WA.

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