What is Lost in the Day


* Part 1 *

Humming to himself a rotund man strolls about the busy market around him. Most people are

dodging about his plump frame, trying to get from one stall to another to trade goods or money. He is a foreign man in a foreign place where the heat of the desert has chafed his skin, leaving ugly blisters.
He doesn't seem to mind these wounds that nature has afflicted him.
"Oh, Deborah!" He calls out loudly with a small kind of voice. His throat was dry. Trying to create enough saliva he cleared his throat and in a much deeper tone. "Deborah! My love!" He called out to a woman now close by. He now tried to send himself forward faster but worked against himself as he ran into several people who did not have time to clear the way for him.
The woman named Deborah was examining a stone tablet with strange inscriptions written all over. "How much?" She spoke slowly and motioned with her fingers. A man dressed in poor garb and dark of skin smiled and gave her a price. She scoffed and tried to haggle for it to lower.
"Deborah! Why there you are my darling!" The round man said, now stopping to catch his breath.
Deborah ignored him for a moment as she drove a hard bargain for the tablet. At last achieving a desirable price, she wrapped her thin fingers around the tablet and excitedly gazed over it surface.
"What Baltius?"
"You nearly lost me in the market!"
"Did I? Oh my. I'm certain you would have found your way." She said nonchalantly.
"B-b-but my love, this part of Egypt is no place to lose each other. There are all sorts of wicked organizations hiding in the shadows, waiting to snatch up a lady like yourself to sell on some slave market. Imagine that?" He stuttered.
"Well I seem to be just fine Baltian. Besides, if I didn't live a life without risk, I wouldn't be known as an adventurer. What would life be like without adventure Balnian? Also, stop calling me your love. You know it creeps me out."
"My name's Boris ma'am and it's all part of our cover. We wouldn't want anyone knowing your name, or your affiliations."
"Borass, right. Well, it's time we part ways. I've got something interesting here and I'm ready to leave. I have no need of the services of a guide any longer. Take your pay and go." She stated coldly while forcing a wad of cash into his hand.
"It looks like a fake to me." He said, glancing at the tablet. "Anyway, it's not my business. Be careful out there ma'am."
"Thank you, Boris." She said while striding away quickly, homeward bound.

* Part 2 *

"It's incredible! I purchased a tablet yesterday at the market. It had the most perplexing inscriptions deep within its surface. Time had done little to wear away the contents that the makers had cut. Indeed, this was not chiseled but somehow cut into the stone like a warm sharpened knife through butter.
I doubt that its bearer had an inkling of what he possessed and so it was left to me to hunt down any clue to its original owner.
I first went back to the market to inquire where the tablet was discovered.

This led me to the home of a man from Greece. A nervous fellow who became even more frightened when I produced the tablet. I thought him only speaking in jest as he relayed the story of a strange cult that had chased him from his home. The sweat on his brow told the real story of the peril that he believed to be facing and I became concerned not only for him but also for my own well-being.

The man divulged that he had taken the artifact from a dig in his homeland. The people behind the operation had dried up their funds, leaving them unable to pay the crew. He had taken the tablet as a form of collateral, hoping to sell it off in case the investors failed to pay him outright.
He was not prepared for the strange whisperings and cult of black robed figures that followed him.

I pressed for more information about the cult and the project but he was unwilling to divulge more at the time. He claimed that as long as the tablet was in his presence he would still be in danger and started to demand my departure.

So I departed, with a little discovery of my own. He had been in possession of a jar inscribed on the inside with similar runes as the tablet. I speak of a past tense as I was able to procure the object from him. I dare not speak of the means.

I left swiftly after that and heading straight towards my place of rest encountered a strange warmth to the air.
The winds picked up, blowing in a hot and heavy breeze that enveloped me.
The sands and dirt were disturbed and clouded my vision.
My breathing was choked by the grit which tried to travel into my lungs.
Worst of all I saw it. A black robed figure standing a few yards before me. I thought it was an illusion. A trick of the desert sands.
I neared closer and closer until I had crept up to the figure, or else it had crept upon me.

It spoke with the soft voice of a kind woman. Her words were in Italian, a language which I had little understanding in.
Then the screaming began. She wailed an unholy cry and more shadows began to close in around me. I had been distracted and when I returned my gaze to the woman I saw nothing. Bolting forward I raced until I was safe, locked inside my home.

Here I am now, writing what may be my last record. These people or creatures are not benevolent. There is an intention to their actions and it has something to do with the tablet and jar. Tomorrow I will try to seek out more information and record it in this journal if I am alive to see it through."

* Part 3 *

"I hate to admit it, but Boris was right. I spent a few more days away but it was no comfort.
We are not much closer now than when we began our journey, but my acquaintance did confirm my suspicion by agreeing that it was a phonetic languages, much like Egyptian Heiroglyphics, and gave me a better understanding of how phonetic languages work.
I am constantly watching the shadows now and the lights. From within them hides terrifying things. I would extinguish the light, but it would only cast me into further darkness where they might strike.

I believe this culture, whoever created the tablet, has mastered the elements of light and dark and has transcended our understanding of the mortal realm. Are they spirits or still living? Can they be killed? Why do they chase after me so?

I am still haunted by the black cloaked individuals as well. I strongly believe that this group is separate from my ethereal pursuers though they hold some connection. Protectors or seekers of the knowledge?

None of this matters. What does matter is that I am increasingly close to solving the mysteries of the language. Never sitting in one place I thrust myself into the research, discovering more tablets and artifacts along the way. What secrets do they hide? Soon I will know!
I'll be damned if I let C.T. get ahold of this before I am finished. That showboat thinks that he can solve it all and do it all. I'll show him that a woman is just as capable!

I let my anger get the best of this. It's a tense situation and I am so completely on the verge of breakthrough... See me now dear mother and father! You never believed in me either.

I was given a strange object by the Greek man. He claims that it is a key for something. He suggested that I visit the digsite for answers. I have the location recorded so perhaps I will. It may be the last hope I have for bringing peace to my soul.
- Deborah