Prologue
1983
Dave Rogers took a brief respite from hacking away at the overgrown Vietnamese understory to swat away yet another annoying mosquito which had decided the tired archaeologist would make a tempting lunch. Stopping to catch his breath, he reached round into his back and pulled out a crumpled yellowing piece of paper, his ‘treasure’ map. Of course it wasn’t the original, which had been carved on the wall of a small temple he’d excavated in Cambodia back in the late 70s, but if he’d finally managed to get the translations right it could lead him to the payday he’d been looking for to finally claw his way out of this dreary career he’d managed to fall into.
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It was night time when he finally reached his destination. He had been about to give up hope and set up a camp for the night when the dense tangle of bushes had finally opened out into something he could only describe as a clearing, although the dense jungle canopy above the temple before him only allowed the minimum of light through. Dave felt slightly more vindicated in his decision to cut his way across country, he wouldn’t have been able to fly or drive in even if could afford it. Besides, forgoing as local guide meant more money for him when he finally claimed his prize.
His exhaustion was forgotten as a wave of adrenaline flowed through him at the thought of being so close to his goal. He shook his heavy pack off of his back and quickly grabbed the essentials he needed and left the remnants of his kit hidden in the shade of a nearby tree as he ran towards the great stone building, taking the steps up to its entrance two at a time.
The inside of the temple was incredibly dark. Dave stood there for a moment waiting for his eyes to adjust, but the already gloomy exterior meant there was little to no natural light entering through the door. He pulled out his flashlight and with a click turned it on and managed to wave the pale beam around the corridor once before it flickered out. Cursing his luck he quickly changed the batteries for spares, but every set he tried gave him the same results. Cursing the humidity which had clearly sapped all of the charge from his batteries he ventured back outside, and gathered up a hefty looking branch. Taking some lighter fluid out of his pack and ripping a strip of the blanket he’d brought with him and hastily constructed a makeshift torch, before venturing back inside.
The dull orange flickering light barely gave him enough light to see by but he pressed on regardless eager to claim the treasure that he had now decided was rightfully his. Carefully, he followed his set of written instructions for navigating labyrinth of passage ways which comprised the temple, his greed tempered by his sense of self preservation. It had taken Dave years to decipher all the writing, symbols and pictograms he’d found with the map and many of the images had depicted the terrible fates that could befall him should he stray onto the wrong path.
Eventually the maze of corridors opened up into a wide antechamber at, what he assumed was, the heart of the temple. The walls of the room where adorned with the same manner of text he’d found in the Cambodian temple, but he paid them no heed. Archaeological significance of the site be damned, he was here for one thing and one thing only. Pacing into the centre of the room he discovered what he had assumed to be three large columns supporting the ceiling were in fact just a series of giant thin pillars. As he continued to search the he began to realise something was wrong. The Cambodian writings had promised there would be a series of twenty five golden rings, each larger in size than the last, but as far as he could tell the was nothing of the sort here. Dave cursed his luck. It was just typical that someone would have gotten here before him and looted the rings at their leisure, breaking them down for money or selling the smaller items to collectors exactly as he planned to do.
Despondently, he picked a piece of loose masonry and hurled it down the one of the many corridors which branched off from the room. It was a surprisingly long time, possibly five seconds, before he heard the stone land with an uncharacteristic plink. Hurrying over to investigate this, he discovered the stone had landed in one of the temples booby-traps, albeit one that had already been sprung. Looking over the edge of the pit trap he couldn’t help but wince in sympathy at the poor desiccated soul who lay impaled on the spike lining the bottom. He was about to turn to leave when something gleamed and caught his eye. It was one of the rings. The dead man must have been carrying it when he sprung the trap. Carefully, he lowered himself down into the pit doing his best to avoid the same fate that had befallen his unexpected benefactor and hastily grabbed the ring before making his way back to the relative safety of the antechamber.
Sitting down with his back to one of the pillars he gave the ring a quick once over. It was defiantly gold and looked not unlike a doughnut or wedding ring, one with a hole in the middle the size of one of his records back home, and edged in a similar style of pictogram to those which adorned the temple. Idly he noticed the hole was roughly the same as the pillar he lent against. On a whim, he tossed the ring like Frisbee over the top of one of the columns. Due to more luck then skill it went on this first attempt and once it finished its gradual rattling descent to the bottom of the pillar an eerie glow began to emanate from the base, spreading across the chamber floor and lighting up certain letters. As Dave swiftly decoded the writing with practiced eyes and, as their meaning became apparent, he began to chuckle. Perhaps the trip hadn’t been a complete waste after all... .