Returning to the corridor was easy. I had to make the willful choice to return to the entity. The hallway darkened as before. The hallway smelled like a freshly cleaned rifle still. The material felt neither stone nor metal still. The hallway ended at a pitch black expanse as before.
“I am Weaver. Who calls for me and by what name do you call?”
The wall moved back into view. The lone spotlight shown again over the relief carved statue. But this time I heard other blocks moving. The wall behind and above me teased my ear with the sound of something like thin stone moving.
My eyes were nearly useless. I heard enough to make a good guess what it was. I unfurled my cloak and jumped into a short flight up to land on one of the solid objects.
I was correct. Viewing platforms. Made of the same dark material as the statue. (But not the material of the Abyss.) I walked to the edge of the highest one. Closer to the spotlight, I could see a circle inscribed near the edge.
I entered the circle and stood. There was a sharp tink and the circle jerked under me before rising slightly. I shifted my weight and the floating disc moved in the direction I leaned. I leaned a different way and the disc followed my movement.
The spotlight above the statue, the only source of light, suddenly flared and broke apart. Three sparkling pieces fell past the statue’s shoulders, falling past my view. There was a bright flare coming from below me, and the three pieces flew up to circle around me. They spiraled inward and took up positions around my face. When I turned to look at them, they turned with me. A few shifts of head position later, and I understood. They would illuminate what I was facing.
I ‘surfed’ forward on the disc. The statue is very much in the Kemetic style, but I did not know enough about art in the Dynasties to narrow down which one. The material reminds me of black granite, but it was smooth as polished marble, and held the same tangy, oily scent as the hallway. The right foot is forward, both feet are unshod. The hands are carved to be loosely clenched at the figure’s sides. A pleated waistcloth reaches to the knees. The chest and torso is carved to give the impression of see-through linen draping over the small (and realistic) woman’s breasts. A very wide necklace/chestpiece covers from neck to shoulders, curving smoothly over the chest. It is carved to show the piece it is modeled from has multitudes of beads with a large carved something as the feature gem of the work. The face has broad, thick lips. The jaw is Nubian for sure. The hair is represented as a fall of many thin braids gathered up to in a jeweled bundle on either side of the face, with the carving hinting that if the statue was fully free from the wall, there would be a third bundle of braids on the back of the head.
I’m sure I have seen this statue before. Pictured in a book, most likely. The original was not on this scale, but the features all collectively shake my memory. There are just two things keeping me from making a connection. The large center piece of the necklace/chestpiece(/mankhet?) has been viciously destroyed. So has the statue’s face. Only a corner of the left eye remains. The nose, the right eye, and the forehead has been attacked by hammers and chisels to the point that the face has been carved out. There is no fixing this deep damage. The attackers wanted to destroy the statue’s identity, and they were successful. The three spotlights framing my face reveal the tool marks clearly. I wanted to cry at the destruction.
No words were said, no sound was uttered or heard, but I was filled with the sorrow of revealed pain, and the comfort of someone understanding. I bowed deeply before the statue. “What do you wish me to do?”
As I stood, I felt something hard pressed into my hand. I lifted the object to see a small figurine, a duplicate of the grand statue before me but about eight inches high, had been placed in my hand. It was a free carved item. I turned it over and saw the third bundle of braids behind the head. I also saw a detail about the necklace/chestpiece that I shall hold close for now. The figurine had the same marks of damage as the grand statue before me.
Find me. The request, still unspoken, still unheard, filled me with such deep desperation and anguish that I fell to one knee from the pain of it. The disc lowered gently to the ground before the hallway entrance. The lights left my face, extinguishing as they did. I heard the wall receding in the darkness.
“Find you? Or find your name?” There was no answer. As the figurine warmed from my hand, the oily scent intensified. More like mineral oil than gun oil though. “I don’t know if I can find your name, but I won’t let you be forgotten.” I tucked the figurine in my satchel and proceeded down the brightening corridor, back to the Waking world.