The Sleep of Shendytshere, by Martin Penneck

-975.C

The drums beat louder, and Shendytshere swayed in time to their tempo, carrying his goblet and pitcher of wine along the dusty track along with the others in the procession. At its front there were dancers, flutists, and several dozen trumpeters, although at the present their instruments were being held carefully by their sides and not played. The sound of the drums increased and the procession picked up its pace, dust clouds rising from the feet as they tramped along. They had progressed a fair distance now from the barge, and were about to start climbing upwards on the prepared path along the cliffside, their destination soon to be within sight.

The gradient of the path was constant and slight so the procession could keep moving easily as it climbed from the valley floor. Many days had been spent preparing it, and now the procession snaked its way back and forth. Shendytshere looked down to see more of it – the Priests carrying their precious load at its middle, and more dancers, bearers, and animal handlers and their charges at the rear. The sun danced off the polished bronze and gold worn by the priests, and glinted off the enamel necklaces and decorations festooning the other marchers. The whole procession seemed to glimmer and sparkle Shendytshee thought, even as the sun beat down and the heat haze caused the lower parts to shimmer and distort. All told there were nearly a thousand participants wending their way up the cliff. A truly magnificent sight.

Ahead, the procession diverted from the path to its right, and started to disappear into the cliff itself. The trumpeters peeled off and formed an arch with their trumpets as the rest of the participants now surged through the cleft and started to line up in the space behind. On and on they all came. Shendytshere, still clasping his goblet and pitcher, reached his appointed spot in the vast soaring chamber carved out from the inside of the cliff, and continued to march on the spot in time with the drumming as the trumpets started to sound and the priests brought their burden through and placed it down at the centre.

The High Priest then motioned the dancers to start circling the whole entourage, and as they did the beat of the drums grew louder and more insistent. Shendytshere's feet pounded the floor, caught up in the frenzy. Faster and faster, the dancers orbited the main body of the procession. The trumpeters entered at last and began a staccato tune that drove the dancers even wilder.

Moving gracefully forward, a priest reached to his belt and started to chant in a discordant tone over the music of the drums, trumpets, and flutes. The other priests joined in, and the sound swelled, threatening to overcome the insistent musical beat. One of the dancers moved towards them, darting repeatedly to either side of the priest, still in time with the tune, yet strangely also merging with the disharmonies of the chanting.

A knife flashed in the hand of the priest, and the dancer collapsed to the floor, blood erupting from her throat. Simultaneously the throats of the other dancers also spurted with blood, and the music suddenly died as a chilled wind whipped in through the entrance and took the place of the circling motion the dancers had just been enacting. Eldritch blue forks of fire raced between the priest and every figure in the chamber. Shendytshere started in horror, his feet still marching, seemingly of their own accord, as his eyes widened at the unfolding scene enveloping them all.

Pain shot through his body, along his arms and fingers, arching his back and opening his mouth with a silent scream as all the sinews in his body snapped taut. A low rasping husk of a voice, heavy with menace cut through the agony.

My subjects, bow before me once more.

Shendytshere’s body contorted to face towards the catafalque the priests had carried into the chamber as he unwillingly kneeled and prostrated himself. His back cracked and an unimaginable pain coursed through his entire being. At the edge of his consciousness Shendytshere realised his flesh had dried, and cracked, and, with another wave of pain, had sloughed from his bones and tendons.

Everything went black as the entrance to the chamber collapsed.

2736.CE

Whispers sounded in Shendytshere's head.

"Look at the jewels around that coffin. If we can prise them off and get them back to Erenmouth we'll be set for life!"

"Shhhh.... something's watching us I can sense it."

The harsh, rasping voice cut through once more the veil of Shendytshere's mind.

Defend me, and destroy these interlopers!

Stretching upwards, Shendytshere shook free of the sand that had covered him from a millennia of slumber. The High Priest needed him once more, and now in undeath his skeletal hands reached forth to claw at the tunics of the intruders...

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