The radio's echo faded in my ears; I hung up the communication, silence surrounding me.
Anubis's backpack was ajar, like a silent invitation – or a trap disguised as unintentional negligence.
I took a deep breath, got out of my sleeping bag, took my flashlight, and approached slowly. I squatted down slowly beside his bag, my fingers hovering over the zipper, curiosity and reason in conflict, but...
The metal teeth were cold. With a slight movement of my fingers, the zipper slid obediently, making a subtle sound.
Few items in the bag: a flashlight, a packet of compressed biscuits, and a bulge wrapped in a towel. The edge of the towel was damp, giving off a faint chemical odor – an anti-corrosion cleaning fluid, a smell archaeologists know all too well.
I held my breath and took out the object. The plastic bag under the towel rustled, and deeper within, a metallic coldness pierced through the fabric to my skin. I lifted a corner –
A gold astrolabe.
It fell heavily into my palm, entirely golden. Though it had lost its original luster, it now bore a soft, distant patina. The perimeter was worn in several places, but one could still distinguish the celestial trajectories engraved with extreme finesse. The center of the disc was slightly domed, with annular graduations and rotary mechanisms arranged in a complex manner.
Saracen – once the leading center of civilization on the planet Yasha to reach technological peaks, before gradually declining. Today, plagued by incessant wars with neighboring countries and regions, it has become one of the poorest and most chaotic areas on the planet.
But about a thousand years ago, some of the world's most remarkable astronomers and craftsmen were born there. This type of astrolabe was their invention, used to observe the orbits of stars and planets, calibrate instruments, and chart the skies.
The owner of this astrolabe was looking at the orbit of the planet Iure (another planet in Yasha's system) when they lost it. Iure was once called "the Isle of Dreams," capable of predicting whether future dreams could come true.
Apparently, the owner of this astrolabe was perhaps someone very romantic.
But when my fingers brushed against a bevel on the edge, I felt two hair-thin Libyan letters: J.F.
"It wasn't the Saracens who made it."
Anubis's voice pierced my back, like a knife suddenly pressed against my spine.
I didn't turn around, but my knuckles tightened unconsciously, the edges of the astrolabe digging into my flesh.
"It's a Libélin imitation," he added, his tone so calm it was almost nonchalant, yet tinged with a certain probing quality.
I finally looked up, shining my flashlight beam at him as I turned.
He stood three paces away, his gaze peaceful, an almost imperceptible smile even playing on his lips, as if he had anticipated my move long ago, simply waiting for me to fall into the trap myself.
"Your bag?" I waved the astrolabe, deliberately raising my tone at the end. "Left just like that, carelessly in front of the door?"
"Prying into other people's belongings –" he took half a step forward, his shadow covering me "– is not a very good habit."
"But... this astrolabe isn't yours." My thumb stroked the damp towel. "The cleaning fluid isn't dry yet. You just found it on the island; you haven't had time to clean it."
As if realizing the discussion was futile, he lowered his eyelids: "So what?"
My finger pressed a mechanism on the edge of the astrolabe – click.
The disc opened like a flower, one layer, two layers... eight thin gold lamellae unfolded successively, each engraved with miniaturized stellar trajectories: Youno, Hexiga, Tairiya, Iure, Astartos, Maisoya – as well as the two satellites orbiting Yasha – the Frost Moon and the Ash Moon.
My fingers trembled with excitement, but I firmly held the last gold lamella.
"Jean Fusoris."
I slowly pronounced the name, the letters on the astrolabe glinting coldly in the moonlight. "The Libyan astrologer who, over seven hundred years ago, forged a gold astronomical clock for the King of Libya. Later, he was accused of heresy, then exiled, and then all trace of him was lost."
"How do you know it's him?"
"That astronomical clock is in the church of the small town where I grew up. Although it's a small place, back then, it might still have been a renowned fortified town. That clock is one of the few tourist attractions."
"Oh... I've never been to Libélin. If he's not very famous historically, I certainly don't know him as well as you do."
"And... if you wanted to clean it..." I abruptly closed the astrolabe, the metallic clash echoing like a sword being drawn from its scabbard. "You should at least know how to open it."
"Original Saracen astrolabes don't have multiple compartments. Each astrolabe corresponds to a single planet, or a satellite," Anubis replied nonchalantly.
I looked up, my gaze fixed on Anubis's face: "I've said it before, no personal initiatives. Did Cyclops authorize you to do this?"
"Don't worry, I've already taken photos and marked where this object was unearthed. You can check tomorrow morning. I'm doing... overtime."
"What else did you find?"
"I saw some things, but I couldn't carry them alone. Let's wait for daylight." His tone was devoid of any inflection.
"Really?" I narrowed my eyes.
He stepped back half a pace, opened his arms, adopting a "search me" posture.
I didn't move, staring at him coldly. The atmosphere became momentarily suffocatingly tense.
Seeing that I wasn't moving, he shrugged, turned, and went into the container, emerging with an alcohol lamp and tweezers. The sound of tools striking metal was particularly shrill.
He handed me a pair of gloves.
I took them, put them on in silence, and beside him, in the night, I began to clean the astrolabe.
"Fusoris and all that, did you learn all that from Cyclops?" Anubis asked without looking up, the tip of his tweezers removing humus from the astrolabe's crevices.
"Not entirely. He wasn't the only professor at the university. Besides, professors can't teach everything. Spending time in the library is more effective."
He chuckled lightly, the flame of the alcohol lamp dancing in his pupils: "That's good... I didn't go to university."
I looked up at him; the firelight cast scattered shadows on his face, outlining angular contours.
Beneath that distant, hard mask, something deeper, sharper, seemed to be hiding.
"Are you Saracen?" I asked suddenly.
If he was Saracen, then the fact that he hadn't attended university was plausible. After all, that place had been at war for nearly 20 years now.
"No."
"Then, where are you from?"
"Guess?"
His gaze shifted between shadow and light in the fire's glow, giving him the appearance of a resting wild beast, coiled within his body.
I was taken aback, not wanting to respond to his provocation, and merely lowered my head and continued to clean with the tweezers in silence.
"But you speak Saracen."
"Yes. To be precise, I have a fairly good command of some languages east of Saracen."
An idea came to me. I turned, took my tablet from my sleeping bag, opened the photos of the few pages in that strange language that wasn't Paishelan, from my grandmother's box, and handed them to him: "What about this? Do you recognize it?"
He looked down, his fingers brushing the blurred writing on the screen.
After a long moment, he said in a low voice:
"It's ancient Gönok... a language that has been dead for a very long time."
He looked up at me, his gaze cooling inch by inch: "This thing, where did you get it?"
I suppressed my inner excitement, forcing myself to keep my voice calm: "So, you can really understand what's written on it?"
Anubis gave a short, dry laugh, his thumb tapping the screen.
"Only roughly. Medieval Gönok documents are extremely rare." His tone suddenly took on a hint of mockery. "If you had the original, in my auction house, it could fetch an exorbitant price."
I bit my lip, took a brush, and continued to clean the astrolabe, but my heart was pounding.
The night wind blew; the flame flickered. He looked down and continued to scroll through the photos on the tablet.
I buried my face in my knees, my voice muffled:
"Actually... these are photos I found in an old box of my grandmother's, after she died. For so many years, no one has been able to recognize these characters..."
Anubis didn't reply immediately, just silently scrolled through a few more photos.
"...It's very disorganized."
He suddenly spoke, his brows slightly furrowed. "This should be a series of continuous recordings, but the photos haven't been arranged in chronological order."
I looked up, staring at him, stunned.
He flipped a photo and pointed to the messy handwriting:
"This page, it looks like it's the first entry."
"Why?"
Anubis smiled faintly, with unexpected gentleness:
"The handwriting is clumsy, like someone who has just learned to write. Generally, when one starts learning to write, it's always more awkward."
My breath caught; I couldn't help but ask: "And on it... what's written?"
Anubis pinched the photo, squinting to stare at it for a few seconds, then said in a low voice:
"He walked for a long time in the desert... along the way, he encountered a band of thieves."
I held my breath, listening to him recount slowly.
"It was the first time he had killed someone with a knife."
Anubis's tone was neutral, as if narrating a distant memory. "His father was killed in that attack."
The firelight danced; I saw his brows slightly furrowed.
"He had a sister, who liked to ride on the backs of ostriches... and also peacocks."
"Peacocks?" I blurted out, my voice tinged with disbelief.
Anubis paid me no mind and continued to read in a low voice:
"Later, he joined a caravan, always traveling east. Until... he met a new friend."
"Who?"
Anubis paused, then uttered a strangely sounding syllable:
"Tuo... Pang?"
My eyes lit up; I quickly took the tablet to do a search.
"Pang Duo!" I exclaimed. "The Grand Protector General of the Protectorate of the Western Regions!"
Anubis raised an eyebrow, not at all surprised by my reaction.
"Can you see if a date is indicated on it?" I asked eagerly.
He glanced at it and shook his head: "No clear mention."
I lowered my head to consult my documents, a smile forming on my lips despite myself.
Anubis added nonchalantly: "Pang Duo's parents also quarreled over family matters, but... the exact reason, I didn't quite understand."
I teased him with a smile: "Do you really know this language?"
Anubis replied lazily: "I said I knew it, but not perfectly."
"You're not making it up, I hope?" I asked, half-joking, half-serious.
He paid me no attention, continued to look at the photos, and suddenly began to laugh softly.
I grew impatient: "Why are you laughing again?"
Anubis spoke nonchalantly, as if teasing an anxious kitten:
"Because..." He paused. "This man is very angry. Because his sister fell in love with this Pang Duo. Decidedly, all brothers protect their sister, so as not to let her run off with just any man."
I widened my eyes: "And then?"
Anubis swiped to the next photo: "Later, he still agreed to give them his blessing. After that... Pang Duo accompanied him to the capital." He looked up and asked: "At that time, the capital was Jinxiujing?"
"You know Jinxiujing?" I asked, surprised.
He gave a short, dry laugh: "I've read a bit of Paichelan history."
While listening, I was frantically taking notes, so nervous I was almost writing crookedly.
Anubis yawned impatiently: "I'll tell you the rest another day; I'm tired."
"Ah..." I sighed exaggeratedly, expressing my disappointment.
He turned his head towards me, a thoughtful smile crossing his gaze, then he looked down again and continued to look at the photos.
"Why are you laughing again?" I said, gritting my teeth.
Anubis shook his head and said: "For nothing."
He stopped again at a photo, his finger lightly tapping the edge of the screen:
"Ardasir... Ardashir."
"Ardashir?" I quickly took the tablet to do a search.
— Adashir, the name given by the Paishelans through transliteration to the Gönok king. Historical records mention that he once offered rare and precious beasts to Emperor Xu. That is the only information.
Almost with excitement, I placed the tablet back in his hands: "And then?"
Anubis lowered his head and continued to read, his voice tinged with an indefinable nuance: "Later, after General Pang arrived in Jinxiujing... he was implicated in a coup d'état. Adashir, unwilling to let him risk his life alone, followed him..."
I held my breath.
"Pang Duo killed the emperor's son."
"What?!" I sat up abruptly, even dropping my brush.
I began to rapidly flip through the historical documents of the Xu dynasty that I had on hand – the rebellion of Crown Prince Cheng, a bloodbath that had taken place in the night. Pang Duo had personally led troops in white armor for an ambush; the Crown Prince had fought to the death in front of the Chengqian Palace, only to be dismembered by a multitude of sword blows, his body abandoned among the reeds by the riverbank.
"So, in the thirty-second year of Yande, a Gönok king arrived in Jinxiujing. And he participated in a palace coup?"
In the firelight, I took my notebook and began to frantically jot down all the information, my ears burning, my heart pounding.
A piece of history, sealed for a thousand years, had just been laid bare, this very night.