Chapter Text
Night fell at the Museum of Natural History. The Tablet of Ahkmenrah began to softly glow, its warm light bathing the halls faintly in the golden gleam that breathed life into all the museum’s exhibits.
Tonight another would join them, from the newly installed Ancient Celtic room. It was a tiny room compared to the vast neighbouring halls that were filled with various artefacts from Ancient Greece, Rome, and the later Medieval period, and didn’t draw much attention compared to the lavish architecture in the nearby Egyptian hall. Presumably, the small scale of this exhibit owed to the fact that archaeological findings of the ancient Celts are comparatively scarce, due to the lack of written records and the destruction of their monuments by the invading Roman Empire.
In spite of this, the room held a quiet sort of gravity, peaceful yet mysterious. It contained one of the only known collections of burial goods from the ancient Celtic tribe of the Vennicinii in the North of Ireland. This was that of Cairenn, a young woman of royal lineage who fell in battle against the Romans 2,075 years ago. Two small stone pillars engraved with deep carvings of intricate symbols, and what appeared to be writing in a forgotten language, loomed in two glass cases near the front of the room. Historians were still debating what these signified. Perhaps she would choose to reveal the secrets of her world to those within the museum, while the world outside remained stuck pondering.
A collection of jewellery was displayed in a central glass case. The torcs and bracelets inside were tarnished from the passing of many years, yet the gleam of gold could be seen here and there, fading in and out of sight as though it were obscured by a mist. A long sword was also displayed in the hoard, a golden sheath beside it, its copper hilt forged in the shape of the Morrigan, an ancient Irish goddess of war. At the back of the room a wooden coffin lay, its design simple save only for Celtic knotwork that formed the shape of wolves carved into the oak it was made from.
The centrepiece of the exhibit that caught everyone’s attention was a wax sculpture, shockingly realistic-looking even in daytime hours, that portrayed a dragon about the size of a horse. It was curled atop a pedestal, wings stretched wide, poised as if it were a guardian of the fallen princess. The dragon had been painted in tones of dark green and earthy brown. Now, as the sun sank over the horizon, it stirred.
As the museum around it came to life, most of the exhibits began to gather around the Celtic room in preparation to encounter the new arrival. For most of them, it sparked equal parts curiosity and worry. The night guard, Larry, was standing at the front of the group with the Pharaoh Ahkmenrah.
“Okay, so none of us have ever met ancient Celtic people before. We don’t know what to expect, or whether she will be a friend or not.” Larry said, fidgeting nervously with his flashlight. The others all turned their attention to their guard. “They left very scarce information, and not much is known about their culture or traditions.”
“Excuse me, my liege,” said a small voice. Octavius, standing at the head of a poised miniature Roman legion, offered his perspective. “The Celts were Rome’s feared enemies. Vicious and uncivilised barbarians, they were. But fear not! The great Caesar’s campaigns against them - his triumphs carved the name of Rome into eternity.”
Beside him, Jedediah grinned teasingly, nudging Octavius in the ribs. “Ah, come on pard’ner, you say that like she’s a bear you hunted. What is it with you Romans and expanding your empire?” The Roman glared indignantly at him.
At that moment, the wooden coffin began to shake, Cairenn’s muffled screams coming from within. They were anguished, the raw despair of a woman born for the wild outdoors confined to a cramped wooden enclosure. Ahkmenrah’s breath hitched in his throat. He remembered that feeling all too well. Countless nights spent buried in the darkness of his sarcophagus, the suffocating walls of cold metal pressing around him on all sides, the way the dust in his eyes stung as his tears soaked the bandages enclosing him… he couldn’t just leave another human being to suffer like that. However dangerous they were rumored to be. He was this museum’s king, a representative of Ma’at - truth, harmony, justice…
He couldn’t leave her trapped in there, awaking in a strange new world for the first time and unable to move freely.
He moved towards her display, glancing at Larry, in his eyes a silent plea for assistance. The night guard obliged, darting over to the glass case that held Cairenn’s coffin and unlocking it. They both heaved the lid open together. A small showering of splinters fell out.
She staggered forward, leaning on the glass as she caught her breath and took in her surroundings for the first time. Her long, wavy hair shimmered like spun gold, with hints of fiery red. She was tall, and her pale skin had a soft, luminous quality. Her face looked young, with a big forehead, rosy cheeks, and a delicate upturned button nose - yet it also possessed a timeless, ethereal quality. Her hooded eyes were a warm, rich brown color, and in them seemed to be a depth of wisdom and memory. Ahkmenrah was amazed. In all his long years, he had encountered many peoples from lands far and wide, but he had never seen a woman that looked anything like her.
“You are safe here, my lady.” Ahkmenrah said softly, hoping to calm her nerves. He hoped she would understand English. She turned to face him, clad in a deep green cloak fastened at her breasts with a golden brooch depicting what he could only conclude was the emblem of her tribe. The insignia was that of a dragon-like creature with its wings flared and tail curling to form the shape of a triquetra.
A bewildered look shone in her eyes. She spoke, voice deep and husky. “A… house? But it has no hearthfire. I smell no earth, no smoke.”
Ahkmenrah nodded slowly, eyes fixed on hers. “It is a kind of magic. One that preserves the past so that the future may look upon it.” He held the tablet for her to look at. She tilted her head thoughtfully, slender fingers brushing the golden tiles with a feather-light touch.
A small smile quirked her thin lips. “A relic that calls the spirits back… the Druids told of such things, of stones that remember the breath of the gods. We guarded them, for their power came with a price. To summon life is to borrow it from elsewhere. To wake the past is to risk losing the present. Even the oak cannot grow without stealing light from the soil below.”
Her gaze travelled over Ahkmenrah’s royal garb, taking in his jewelled Usekh collar and golden robes that contrasted perfectly with his olive complexion. She had never seen or heard of Egyptians before, either. “You are from a faraway land.” She remarked, something like awe blended with curiosity in her tone. “And yet you surely must be royalty.”
Ahkmenrah smiled faintly. “Yes indeed.” He said. “I am the fourth king of the eighteenth dynasty of Egypt, a glorious land on the banks of the sacred Nile river, surrounded by sand and warmth.” She listened with rapt attention. “This tablet was given to me by my parents to ensure my eternal life.”
Cairenn nodded respectfully. “I was a ruler among my own people. We lived amongst the forests of the north. The Druids taught our kin to read the earth, to feel the pulse beneath our feet. I suppose your tablet does the same, only louder.”
The others watched with curiosity at the already apparent connection between the two young rulers.