Brad had no issue with handing over Amenken's journal to you. At least, as soon as he had taken a 'pic' of every single page with his strangely metallic and sleek Tome. You watched, with some level of bewilderment and fascination, as this continued for a good 15 to 20 minutes.
Future people are strange. Strange in a good way. Usually. You are still a tad bit undecided about Brad. The way he was able to shake off the most alarming of physical barriers, like the traps positively filling this Library Incarnation, well… you don't want to end up on the wrong end of Brad's bulging biceps and apparent lack of self-preservation.
With Brad satisfied with his 'copies' and William nowhere to be seen, you take the journal and tuck in. There isn't a single relaxing space in this Library you have seen so far, so you content yourself with wandering to the Great Hall and resting underneath a column. The entire time you retrace your steps, nose in the journal titled “The Last Confessions of the Amenken”, you absently hope that the group of Chosen you are with didn't miss any booby traps.
You make it to the Great Hall, with its soaring columns studded with pictures of grand figures, part-man, part-beast, and seemingly endless expanses of hieroglyphs. If you had all the time in the world, you would love to record every last bit of this.
But, alas… you must prioritise. And this confessional journal is positively riveting!
This Amenken fellow had plenty of secrets, many of them shameful, bloody, and disturbing. Which is maybe unsurprising if he could dedicate an entire journal that is nearly the thickness of a novel manuscript, to confessions of his supposed sins.
Would you call them sins? Sure you've studied the moral and ethical debates inherent in many forms of philosophical studies, but, when decoding and translating ancient knowledge, you are not really in the business of passing moral judgments.
Knowledge for knowledge's sake. Or so you tell yourself.
And this knowledge is… how did some of the Chosen from future times say it? Spicy?
First of all, your earlier suspicions are confirmed. Amenken was far from the scholar that some of the other hieroglyphs and imagery has depicted him as. It was his brother, Iumeri, that was the renowned scribe and academic, to the point that he had a great library and collection of knowledge of his own. Amenken was far too interested in travel, politics, and waging warfare to protect his domain than to stay put amid papyrus scrolls, vellum manuscripts, and tablets filled with family histories.
The two brothers loved each other. Or, at least, that is what this journal professes. To the point they were to be buried together in a joint tomb. The tomb you now stand in, you abruptly realise. Huh. You suppose that could be an expression of intense filial devotion. To share your final resting place as well as with your spouse and children.
But something changed. While Amenken was often away, Iumeri took care of his daughter, Hetepheres, allowing her to wander the scribe's vast collections. One day, those wanderings took Hetepheres down a different path. One that her father did not approve of.
I was horrified to learn that Hetepheres' stories of powerful beings sprouted from her time in my own brother's archives. And, not only that, Iumeri did not halt such childish notions. He encouraged them. How could he?!?
You read on, entranced, the journal casting a spell on you so strong you cannot tear your gaze away, and you ignore the headache building in your temples from the strain of constantly translating what these hieroglyphs could mean. Fortunately, you are able to restore and take a semi-accurate guess of what any missing symbols may be.
Of course, I confronted him. Demanded to know of these false gods. Iumeri, blast him, protested. Said they were not 'false', but merely 'new.' Gods of learning that could teach us much if we only just listened.
Gods of learning? You pause for only a moment, not wishing to be torn out of the rage and sorrow wafting from Amenken's words. That sounds… a bit like your Library Guardians, to be honest.
It is like the tablet he so obsesses over. Heretical lost languages that would have him killed if the pharaoh heard he hosted it. And he dares to poison Hetepheres's mind with such matters? I cannot stand for this…
At night, I receive dreams from the gods. The TRUE gods. Strangely, it was Thoth rather than Horus who featured most prominently. They assured me that my fears were well-founded. Right. Just.
It is done. I sent a unit of guards to set my own brother's collection alight. His life's work. He will never forgive me. But it must be done or we are doomed.
You exhale all of a sudden and take in a desperate suck of air. You had been holding your breath without meaning to. What had Amenken done?!
The confessions soon reach their climax: Their screams haunt my every hour, no matter waking nor asleep. I can receive no respite. My one and only daughter, Hetepheres, is dead. And, along with her, Iumeri. Somehow my daughter snuck into the library before the burning. Iumeri must have tried to save her. He failed.
If he had been successful, if he had saved Hetepheres, would I have forgiven him? Useless thoughts. The kind he would have entertained. It is his fault that Hetepheres is gone even more than it is mine. Cursed be his name. No one shall speak it in this life or the next. If he must be laid to rest, it will be a pittance of a grave and he will rest with his beloved false gods and wicked knowledge.
The words grow ever more bitter and twisted. You get the sense that the more you read, the more these confessions are flowing forth at the end of Amenken's life. Near that final hour where many humans, no matter their upbringing or the era in which they lived, give in to fear of punishment and confess.
Again, you are trying not to make any moral judgements. But you are lying to yourself if you don't admit that you are aghast. How could Amenken burn an entire library? You know that repositories of knowledge have been burnt for far less across history. But… reading a first-hand account by someone who authorised it… you shake your head.
You scarcely have the energy to read the final lines: I am sorry. For the poison that had filled by heart and mind, that killed my own flesh and blood. Hetepheres lost. Iumeri cursed. My heart is too heavy to be approved by Maat. If I should make it to Osiris in paradise, perhaps I shall see both of them there. If not… then I accept my punishment. May Iumeri accept his.
This reading… it has been… draining… You slump against the pillar you have been sat against for perhaps an hour, maybe more.
Slowly, slowly, you allow your eyes to fall shut. To rest. As your mind settles.
Until you hear a familiar voice call out: “Alwin…?”
Your eyes snap open and you glance up to see none other than Alexander, who had also been present in Amenken's tomb, looking down at you with a concerned expression.
It doesn't escape your attention that the other man backed away upon your… uh… revival.
“Alexander? What… what are you doing?” You are abruptly conscious of how uncomfortable you feel, of how hot and dry it is. Your clothing is drenched in sweat.
He coughs. “I was looking for you. For… Amenken's journal, to be exact.” He glances at the journal lying across your lap, almost as if asking permission. “Brad told me he handed it to you,” he adds.
“Ah.”
You pull yourself to your feet with a muted groan, feeling your joints crack and the disks in your back threaten to give out. You are getting too old for this. For such intense adventuring, such physicality. For a moment, you long for a cushy study with a bell with which to ring for food and drink and a simple cot with down pillows to rest your aging body when need be.
With a final look at the journal grasped in your hand, equal parts longing and revulsion at war in your mind, you hold out the tome to Alexander.
You hope he doesn't notice the slight tremors running from your shoulder to the tips of your fingers.
“The man was an accursed book-burner.” You warn.
As you walk away to find a quiet spot to sit and think, you wonder at the heartbroken expression you glimpsed across Alexander's face.
Why? It was not him you were referring to. It was Amenken. Someone neither of you knew personally. Unless… it was personal to Alexander after all…?
Your head pulses angrily and you grimace. Alright, enough pondering for now. Maybe you can find some water as well as a quiet corner…