The levels spiraled downward.
On the second level, the tombs seemed less ostentatious, made from cheap sandstone, and by the time they reached the third and fourth level, the place looked like ordinary catacombs, with bones strewn around every nook and chamber.
Sam swept the beam of his flashlight down every opening, across the rows of human bones, and then stopped.
At the end of the very last passageway, stood a single tomb made from obsidian. It looked identical to the one that he’d found inside the Third Temple — an Egyptian pyramid buried in the Kalahari Desert, where the Master Builders once ruled as Gods.
“That’s it!” he said, his voice soft, no more than a whisper.
Goddard made an audible exhale. “You’re sure?”
“Almost certain. You heard our tour guide back at the Hypogeum of Ħal-Saflieni. She said Malta had no natural obsidian. That means this doesn’t belong here.”
Larson said, “It could have been shipped in from overseas.”
“Sure,” Sam admitted. “But if it was, I can tell you now it would have been placed at the first tier of the crypt, alongside the rest of the noble class, not at the bottom of the catacombs.”
“He’s right,” Goddard said. “Let’s remove the lid.”
Sam shined his flashlight around the room. “That might be easier said than done. That lid must weigh three or four hundred pounds.”
Goddard stepped into the next chamber, flicking the beam of his flashlight around the chiseled room.
He returned a minute later with an iron prybar.
Sam glanced at the tool. It was roughly six feet long, with a tapered end that could be slid underneath the lid, and used to pry the tomb’s lid open. It was perfect. In Sam’s gut, he felt fear churn. The tool was an anachronism. That meant that someone else had brought it down more recently.
The question remained, did that person already have two or more masks?
He swallowed down the fear, clamping the idea out of his mind, so that he could concentrate on what needed doing.
Goddard inserted the sharp end of the prybar into the tiny gap between the lid and the main vault of the tomb, and pushed down hard.
Nothing happened.
He tried again. “I might need a little help here.”
Sam and Larson moved in closer. Gripping the prybar with each of their hands they heaved again, but nothing moved.
They tried again.
And again.
And on their fourth attempt the seal broke.
Goddard shimmied the device further into the gap beneath the lid. It was large enough now that the prybar could be fully inserted.
“On the count of three,” Sam said. “One, two, three!”
All three of them heaved down on the bar. The lid shifted, sliding to the side, crashing off the edge.
They stepped forward and reverently peered inside.
Where seven hollowed out faces stared back at them.
Chapter Fifty
Sam took a deep breath.
The myth was real. The Master Builders knew about the seven species of the genus, Homo and had manipulated their natural path of evolution.
Sam looked at the delicate imprints of seven ancient faces, carved perfectly within the glossy obsidian as black as the night’s sky.
He turned to Goddard. “Do you think we just place the masks into their respective molds?”
“That seems like a reasonable idea.”
Goddard removed his mask from his backpack, lowering it to the mold that matched. It was a perfect fit. He stepped back, and the mask glowed red until it became sealed in the obsidian as though no mask shaped mold had ever existed.
Sam felt his heart beat faster. “It fits.”
“Now mine.” Larson carefully removed her mask, inserting it into the mold that matched. It glowed blue after a couple minutes, and then fused with the rest of the obsidian. “Now what?”
Sam turned to Goddard, who shrugged and said, “Beats me.”
All three of them held their breaths.
A full minute passed.
The silence was broken by the sound of ancient machinery, like masonry cogs grinding on each other, working beneath the obsidian tomb.
“Get back,” Sam warned, and they all took a few paces backward.
When the sound stopped, the entire tomb slid forward, revealing an open passage that descended into an obsidian tunnel.
Sam shined his flashlight inside.
The light disappeared down the ancient stairway.
Goddard said, “Who wants to go first?”
Sam opened his mouth to offer.
And Larson beat him to it. “Ladies first. I’ll go.”
Sam followed behind closely. The obsidian passageway was narrow. He had to turn his shoulders sideways to squeeze through. It was a tight fit, but didn’t get any smaller as they descended. After travelling at least a couple hundred feet downward, the passageway opened up into a single obsidian chamber.
At the center of the vault stood an obsidian pedestal with pictographs of all seven ancient faces etched in the glossy stone surrounding it, above which were sealed crystal vials. Each one contained some sort of liquid.
A text, written in the ancient script of the Master Builders lined the top of the pedestal.
Goddard stared at the writings. “Any idea what it says?”
Sam studied it for a moment. He had spent more than a decade studying the ancient language, a code some still believed was nothing more than a giant hoax.
He then read it out loud.
“Herein remains the remnants of seven ancient viruses.”
Sam felt fear rise in this throat.
“Consume the liquid contents of the vial that matches your species. Each vial contains the Phoenix Plague and the antidote for the matching species. Only one person from each victorious species needs to consume the liquid. The Phoenix Plague will spread rapidly to all who come into contact, destroying all other human sub-species. From the fire of destruction, the remaining immune species shall rise to unimaginable power and rule the Earth.”
“Good God!” Larson yelled. “What have we done?”
Goddard shook his head. “No, no… you misunderstand it. We need to drink from the ancient vial.”
The muscles in Sam’s face tightened, twisting into abject horror. “You can’t be serious, Goddard!”
“Why not?” Goddard’s face looked hurt. “You heard what the ancient script said, from the fire of destruction like a Phoenix we’ll rise as the top of the evolutionary ladder, filled with unlimited power.”
Sam’s voice was vitriolic. “What right do we have to destroy other species?”
“What other species?” Goddard replied. “Homo sapiens are the last species of human on Earth. We’re not killing anyone. We’re just empowering our species with enlightenment!”
“No, you can’t. It’s too dangerous!” Sam protested.
Goddard’s lips twisted into a smile filled with greed. “That’s where you’re wrong. Failing to release the Phoenix Plague will condemn us all.”
He reached for the vial that matched the mask that he placed in the obsidian tomb.
Sam said, “Stop!”
“I’m sorry Sam; I’m doing this for us — for all of humanity…”
Larson shouted, “You can’t, that’s not the Homo sapiens vial!”
Goddard’s gray, bushy eyebrows narrowed. “Are you sure? It certainly looks like Homo sapiens to me?”
“No. It’s Homo neanderthalensis!”
Goddard examined the vial and laughed. “So it is. My mistake. But you see, I am Homo neanderthalensis. And so are roughly two percent of the world’s population. Which means if I drink this vial, I’ll release the Phoenix Plague, killing ninety-eight percent of people on Earth. With the world’s current resources, Homo neanderthalensis shall rise as kings on Earth.”