Return To Primordial Island by Rick Poldark (namjoon book recommendations TXT) 📗

bowl. Ghenga extended his orb, prompting Peter to lay his hands on it. When Peter obliged, Ghenga spoke wordlessly. ‘Reach into fire.’

Peter shook his head. “It’s hot. It set Jason’s sleeve on fire.”

‘I will reach in.’

Peter was unsure of Ghenga’s abilities or his vulnerabilities, so this time he stepped aside, deferring to the Zehhaki.

Ghenga slipped his crystal orb into his pouch and walked over to the fire bowl. He cocked his head sideways, examining the flame. He flared his dewlap a couple of times, swallowing hard, and he reached his hand into the fire. He held it there for a second, which led Peter to believe that maybe the Zehhaki was fire resistant, but then Ghenga yanked it out, crying out. He cradled his hand against his body.

Peter ran over to comfort him. “Are you all right? Let me see.” He momentarily forgot that there was no neural link, so his words weren’t comprehended. Ghenga shrank away from Peter, turning his body so that he faced away from him.

“Great,” said Jason. “Any other ideas?”

Peter decided to give Ghenga his space for the moment. While he felt sympathy toward the lizard man, he was reminded that this was an alien figure from another dimension he just didn’t fully understand.

“Fire…key…” muttered Peter. “The fire somehow produces the key, but I think we have to use something else in this chamber. The problem is, I think we’ve used everything.”

Jason looked around. “Maybe we missed something.” He walked around the room, checking the tablets in their slots on the altar, the now empty pedestal that once held the fertility statue, and the ape man corpse.

Peter turned around and around, taking everything in. He had missed something, probably some subtle detail. What would interact with the fire to produce a key?

Jason placed a hand on his hip. His fingers drifted to his empty pistol holster. “If only I had my gun. I could shoot the lock.” Suddenly, his eyes lit up. He snapped his fingers. “I think I’ve got it!”

His outburst startled Ghenga. Peter jerked out of his thoughts. “What? What is it?”

Jason walked around the altar and stopped in front of the large hour glass lying broken on the stone floor. He squatted, scooped up some of the black sand into his hands, cupping them. He walked the black sand over to the magical fire and tossed it into the flames.

The flames rose, as if suddenly doused with accelerant, and they turned black. A key appeared, floating in the fire. Jason turned, beaming, looking triumphant.

“Son of a gun,” whispered Peter, astonished.

Jason took a deep breath and reached into the fire. He grabbed the key and pulled it out, his hand and arm undamaged. He held the key up. “It isn’t even hot.” Behind him, the flames shrank and resumed their normal color.

“Let’s try it in the lock,” said Peter.

Jason nodded and stepped over to the secret door. He found the keyhole, slipped the key into it, and gave it a turn. They all heard the movement of tumblers, and the door began to slide open to the sound of stone grinding on stone. They each stood back, bracing themselves for whatever lay beyond the door.

As the door opened, Peter saw a long, dark corridor lying beyond. When the door had opened completely, the grinding stopped.

“It’s dark in there,” said Jason. “It looks like a tunnel.”

Peter peeked inside. “It’s long. We need a light.”

Jason pulled out his flashlight. “I’ll go first. Stay behind me.”

Peter turned to Ghenga, who still cradled his arm. The crystal orb remained in its pouch. “Are you okay?”

Ghenga didn’t answer. It was difficult to gauge his disposition. Reptiles weren’t the most expressive animals.

“Okay, let’s go.” Jason entered the tunnel. It was narrow. Jason swept his flashlight beam back and forth. The tunnel was lined with desiccated Simian mummies in various standing, sitting, and lying positions. The air was dry and stale, and they kicked up dust as they walked.

“It’s a catacomb,” said Peter. “They buried their dead here.”

“I know what a catacomb is,” snapped Jason, pushing forward. Their footsteps echoed off the stone walls.

“Hey, that was good work in there,” said Peter, keeping pace behind his friend. “Very clever.”

“I thought about gunpowder,” said Jason. “I remembered the black sand. I figured it was black for a reason.”

“The ol’ rifle above the bar,” quipped Peter. If present, everything had its function.

“What?” Jason apparently didn’t get the reference.

“You know…Chekhov’s Gun…the story-telling device.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “You are such a dork.”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

They heard grinding behind them. Each whipped around to find they were being sealed off from the Simian escape room they had just left.

“Onward,” said Jason. He took a few steps and then stopped abruptly.

Peter came to a halt, Ghenga crashing into him from behind. “What? What is it?”

“Something doesn’t feel right.”

“We’re in an ancient Simian temple surrounded by mummies. What could feel right about this?”

Jason turned to face Peter. “No. It’s the orb.”

“The death orb?”

Jason nodded. He looked down at his chest, and it began to glow under his shirt. The illumination cast the mummies in an eerie light, their eye socks and gaunt faces looking haunted.

“That’s much better than a flashlight,” said Peter.

“Something’s happening,” said Jason.

All around them, the mummies began to twitch and move. Necks and limbs jerked, hands and feet shot out in spasms. Eye sockets glowed.

“Can’t you stop it?” asked Peter. “Use your orb.”

Jason closed his eyes and focused. Peter and Ghenga watched as the mummified corpses around them began to reanimate.

Jason opened his eyes. “I can’t stop it. It’s Nazimaa. She’s too powerful.”

Peter and Jason exchanged terrified looks.

“Run,” said Jason.

Peter nodded.

Jason broke into a sprint, Peter and Ghenga lagging behind him. Peter huffed and