by Jim Johnson
She wondered what Tjety might have done, but the strangely comfortable chill in her heart told her all she needed to know.
CHAPTER 11
THE SUN WAS EDGING DOWN TOWARD the western mountains when Tjety pulled up rein at the long wooden bridge spanning the Iteru. He’d pushed Heker hard initially after leaving the dark man behind, but had eased off since then, knowing he had to conserve his mount’s strength. He wiped his brow with his dirty tunic sleeve. The fever he’d felt earlier hadn’t eased off; in fact, he felt like his head was encased in thick wool.
“Gotta keep moving, friend,” he said, as he reached down and rubbed Heker’s neck. “Hope you’re feeling up to a fresh rider.” An idea had been forming in his mind, and the more he replayed it, and the more he struggled to keep the sense of it together in his fever-fogged state, the more it made sense.
He put heel to Heker again and trotted over the bridge, Heker’s hooves clopping on the old wooden slats. He glanced at the tracks in the dirt once he and Heker reached the eastern side of the bridge, but didn’t bother tapping into his hekau to help interpret the tracks. He had nothing left. “Wagon can’t be too far ahead, so let’s keep at it.”
He was talking to himself as much as to Heker—whatever it took to keep focus on the trail ahead. He’d glanced back frequently, checking for pursuit, but so far nothing had materialized. He was sure it was coming, though. That dark man, that Zezago—he didn’t seem like the retiring type.
Tjety spared a few precious moments for his mount to drink from the river, then pushed him back into a steady pace.
Time seemed to be less important as he worked along the trail, the steady stream of trees and grass rolling past blurring into one long haze. In a moment of rational thought, he realized that the fever had to be taking hold, and forced himself upright on Heker’s back.
He glanced up at the setting sun. “Amun-Re, oh mighty and divine, if you could look upon this humble servant and offer a little fucking assistance, it’d be sorely appreciated.” He glanced at the shimmering road in front of his eyes, blinked hard, then added, “Just get me to the wagon. Just that far.”
He didn’t get an answer, or even a twinge from his hekau, but some point after his entreaty he thought he saw a human form materialize on the path ahead. He steered Heker toward that vision with his knees, realizing that his head had sagged down to his chest and was only just above Heker’s ears.
“Ranger? Hey, Ranger!”
Tjety felt his left leg shake, and he roused himself out of his stupor. One of the villager boys was tugging at his kilt. Somehow, his feverish mind came up with the boy’s name. “Moser, right?”
The kid nodded, his short sidelock flopping. “That’s me! You remembered my name!”
Tjety raised a hand to quell Moser’s excitement. “Help me get to the wagon.”
Moser nodded excitedly, and pointed up the road. “It’s just ahead. Ruia’ll be happy to see you! She nearly shot Setesk!” He grinned and then ran away from him, paused, and then ran back to him. “I forgot to lead you. Come on!” He reached out for Heker’s reins and pulled his head toward the direction of the wagon.
Tjety helped by giving Heker a little heel, but otherwise let Moser set the pace. Heker was easy enough to lead and was confident being led with him on his back.
True to Moser’s word, the wagon was just ahead, loaded down with villagers. Ruia and Aniba were seated on the bench, and the remaining twenty or so villagers walked along, some ahead of the wagon and to either side. A sad caravan of people struggling to find safety.
Moser called out. “Ruia! The Ranger has returned!”
Most of the villagers perked up at that, and turned curious eyes toward him and Heker. Ruia started, and turned to face him. She stood as Moser led Heker over to the wagon.
“As the sun is my witness, you look like shit, Tjety.”
He offered a wan smile and nudged Heker over to the wagon, and pulled his leg over his horse’s neck and stepped into the wagon bed, barely missing stumbling on one of the sleeping crones. Matti, maybe, or Gheti. He couldn’t tell them apart.
He stood on unsteady feet and massaged his arm just below the bloodstained bandage. “I’ve been better.”
She stared at him, then glanced down the road behind them. “Where are Mut and Yufa? Khepri?”
Tjety met her eyes and simply shook his head. “Our enemy caught up to us. Khepri and the others, they fought hard and dished out as good as they got, but they’re all dead. I’m sorry, Ruia.” He glanced at the others. “I’m sorry for us all. We did the best we could.”
He sighed, rubbed his blazing arm wound again. “And I faced off against their leader, a dark man in dark robes. With a sword. He was fierce.”
One of the villagers, Sefer, helped him to a sitting spot in the wagon bed. “What happened?”
Tjety gratefully took a waterskin pressed into his hands and drank greedily, not caring that he spilled half of it on his tunic. “The leader and four of his men caught up to us in the road. Mut’s horse had come up lame. There was a brisk fight and in seconds, Mut, Khepri, Yufa, and two of the bandits were all shot down. I managed to get farther down the road, but they caught up to me. I killed the other two bandits, and then dug deep and surprised their leader with an old Ranger trick.”
He glanced at Ruia. “It’s a hekau thing. Remind me to teach it to you someday.” He drained the waterskin. “Anyways, I pushed that son-of-a-bitch into the water and then somehow managed to get back on Heker’s back and rode hard to meet up with you. Once I saw the crossroads, I guessed that you had to have crossed the bridge.” He focused on Ruia again. “Good on you for sticking to the plan.”
Ruia shrugged. “It wasn’t as easy as that, but here we are.”
Tjety glanced at Aniba. “Best keep the wagon moving.”
Aniba nodded, then turned back to his driving and slapped the leads to get the horses moving again. Most of the villagers clustered around the wagon and kept pace. Ruia stepped over the wagon bench and settled down next to Tjety.
“How are you feeling?”
Tjety indicated his arm. “This thing is infected. And I’m feverish—not seeing so well either. I had to step off Heker for fear of falling off.” He focused on her. “What’s this I hear about you almost shooting Setesk?”
Ruia touched the pistol hanging from the holster slung across her chest, then lifted her hand to clasp her amulet. “We had a difference of opinion and I had to…make my point.”
“So you almost shot him?”
She shrugged. “It got his attention.”
“Say more.” He leaned back against the wagon’s side and grabbed another waterskin from the stack among the sleeping bodies.
She shifted so that she sat cross-legged in front of him and tucked her filthy dress around her legs. “Setesk’s been antsy all day, and got up the courage to try and take charge when we reached the crossroads. I told him our best chance was to head to the fort, but he and his friends wanted to return home.”
She stared off toward Setesk, who trailed behind the wagon, looking downcast. “He didn’t exactly threaten me, but we traded harsh words and in a moment, I had my pistol in my hand and aimed at his heart. I even pulled the trigger, but something made me miss.”
He focused on her as she talked. “And what was that?”
She looked away and then met his eyes. “I don’t know. My hekau? A whiff of a breeze? The Lady Mayat?” She shrugged. “Anyways. I didn’t hit him but it was enough to get him to back off. The villagers trust me and my lead, and I think he will too. Assuming we get to the fort.”
He sighed. “I don’t think I’m going to be a whole lot of help to you, Ruia. This fever’s kicking me hard and I’ve got to get some rest.”
She placed a hand on one of his leather greaves. “What can I do?”
Tjety closed his eyes, started to drift off, but then rallied and focused on her again. “Take Heker and ride as hard and as fast as you can to Fort Sekhmet.”
Ruia stared into his eyes and lowered her voice to keep the other villagers from hearing. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? What if something happens to you while I’m gone?”
He tried a smile, but didn’t really feel it. “It’s a big risk but we don’t have another option. I don’t dare ride there myself and leave you and the others alone. If I can get some rest, they need my gun more than my speed.”
“You said yourself that you’re not feeling well. Your gun won’t be much good if you’re flat on your back with a fever.”
Tjety pursed his lips. “Good point. If you ever pursue Ranger training, you’ll have the trainers running around in circles trying to keep up with you.” He offered a weak smile. “But, there are times when you are given orders and need to follow them.”
She frowned. “Is this one of those times?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Of course not. You’re not a Ranger so I can’t order you around.” He glanced at the villagers as they walked along, ignoring the curious looks they were shooting toward him and Ruia.
“But, I can ask this of you and let you be the one to decide what happens next.” He shifted his arm. “I am badly wounded. I can’t ride. I can barely shoot, and I need rest.” He took a deep breath and continued. “I can keep us moving toward the fort, and I can use my pistol or khopesh in close fighting if needed, especially if I can get a couple hours’ rest and maybe something to eat.”
Tjety indicated Heker, walking alongside the wagon. “You told me you’re a better rider than most of the surviving villagers and I’m going to guess you’ve gotten a little more rest than I have.” He leaned in close. “And you’re the only one here I’d trust to get a message to the fort.”
She inclined her head. “How do I convince the fort’s commander to help us?”
He reached over and pulled his satchel off Heker’s back. “I’ll write a short letter and give you my headcloth. If the letter doesn’t convince him, I hope to the lowest depths of the Duat that my headcloth will tip the balance. You tell him a fucking Ranger doing Pharaoh’s fucking service is in need of his help. He should come running with his troops.” He scratched at his stubble. “At least I hope so. I’ve never been this far north. Some fort captains are shifty and have thoughts of their own.”
“Gods, Tjety, I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I’ve only been to the fort once, to help my da trade fish for supplies. I think I heard him say that the fort captain used to spend a lot of time in the governor’s palace, but that was just after the fort was established and the troops moved in.”
“Hmm, all right. They might have just been communicating troop movements for the frontier. Any idea how often the fort sent out troops on patrol?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know if they ever did. Or if they did, they never made it as far as our village.”
He frowned at that, wishing he had paid more attention to the scouting reports at the Asyut garrison. “These frontier companies were supposed to protect all the villages under their province’s domain.” He sighed. “But, I’ll get that letter written now. Better than nothing.”
He hunkered down on the floor of wagon and set up a space to use as a writing surface. He pulled pen and papyrus and ink out of his satchel, and balanced the inkwell on his knee. He dipped the pen into the inkwell and began to write in short, jerky letters. It took him a few minutes and a few curses and scratched-out words thanks to the bouncing wagon, but soon enough his short missive was complete. He blew on the ink to help it set, then plugged up the inkwell and waved the sheet of papyrus in the air to dry the ink.
Tjety glanced at Ruia. “All right, best you mount Heker now.”
“I still haven’t said I’m going yet.”
He let out a burst of air in exasperation. “Do you need me to fuckin’ say please?”
She shrugged. “Would it kill you?”
He caught the glimmer of a smile on her face and the twinkle of mischief in her eyes, one that he remembered seeing in his own in earlier, better days.
He took a deep breath, let it out, then looked her in the eyes. Gods, she had a strong spirit. “Ruia, would you be willing to take this letter and my headcloth to the company commander at Fort Sekhmet and formally ask for his assistance in getting us all back to the fort before we all fucking die?” He paused for a heartbeat, and realized he’d forgotten the word. He hastily added, “Please.”
She stared at him for a heartbeat or two, then smiled. “I will, thank you, Tjety.” She reached over for Heker’s reins and shifted herself from the wagon and onto his back. She reached out for the letter.
Tjety folded it twice and then handed it to her. He untied his headcloth sling and stretched out the length of it, folded it down to a more portable size, and then handed it to her with reverence.
“Please take good care of this. I’ve had it for nearly three years and it is the most important thing to me next to my pistol and my khopesh.” He blinked, surprised at himself for admitting as much. Fucking Mayat. You’ve got me trusting in you all over again.
She nodded, but looked confused. She accepted the folded headcloth and tucked it into her satchel. “I’ll keep it safe, Tjety.”
He nodded. “Thank you. Now, while you still have light, ride, Ruia. Ride as if all the slithering minions of Apep were at your heels.”
She gathered up the reins and then without another word, nodded and wheeled Heker away and put heel to him. She rode off, following the road into the trees. Villagers stared at her as she went by. Some turned back to glance at him, but most of them focused on the road ahead and on putting one foot in front of the other.
Tjety massaged his hurt arm and tried to place himself into the footsteps of these people. He couldn’t imagine what they must be thinking, the enormity of what they had gone through over the past few days.
He thought he had it rough—exiled to the frontier with just his horse for company, getting into a firefight with Meret and his allies, the chase along the trail, the earthquake that couldn’t have been just an earthquake, getting shot and then beaten up, the battle around the camp fighting for freedom, and then the long running fight to end up here. These were the most trying days he’d experienced thus far, and yet they had to pale in comparison to what the villagers had faced.
They had lost their village, their friends and family, even their very livelihood. They had nothing left in all the world except each other, and they largely had one young girl to thank for what they did have. He had played a small part in their escape and freedom, but Ruia deserved the larger share of the credit.
He settled into the wagon and found a strip of linen to use as a replacement sling. Once his wounded arm was tucked tight against his chest, he laid back and focused on the others. The villagers were quiet—no banter traded, no kind words or even harsh words shared. Just dogged determination to take a step, then another. The sleeping and the wounded in the wagon with him were quiet save for a few soft groans of pain. A couple of the children clung to each other and wept quietly. One of the two old sisters knitted strands of separated rope into fishing nets, her fingers never slowing.
Tjety glanced behind the wagon. No sign of the dark man, Zezago, or his troops. He thought he had taken out all of the man’s allies, but of course he couldn’t be sure. The man was resourceful and cunning, and it was entirely possible he had more minions spread across the countryside looking for the remnants of the villagers. There could be an enemy behind every tree.
Tjety tamped down a swelling of panic and tried to reach within for a little strength from his hekau, but there was nothing left. His vision grayed over and he rested his head on the thighs of another sleeping man, trying to wedge himself against the wagon’s side and the other warm bodies to find a workable position to get some rest.
He stared up at Aniba’s back. “Driver, for all the gods’ sake, keep us moving.”
Aniba glanced back at him, nodded, then turned back and snapped the reins to get the
horses moving a little faster. The wagon lurched under Tjety’s body. He closed his eyes and tried to start the mental repetitions of the litany he’d been taught, the spell designed to bring rest to the body and restoration to the ba and hekau. He wished he had something to eat, and made a point to drain the waterskin in his hand. For any hope of his body to heal and to fight the infection crashing into his body, he’d need richer sustenance, but didn’t know if or when that would come.
He feared it would come too late.
CHAPTER 12
COLD WATER SLITHERING UP HIS NOSE roused Zezago, and he opened his eyes to find his face pressed against wet sand. He inhaled automatically and sat up, coughing out the cold liquid. He leaned over and coughed more, clearing his lungs and head.
He was on his hands and knees in the muck along the western shore of the Iteru. He must have drifted downriver after that Ranger had knocked him back and into the water. He whipped his head back and forth, sending more droplets flying. He pushed himself to his feet and took a few tentative steps up the shoreline and onto dry land.
In the waning sunlight, Zezago took a quick inventory. Headcloth on but tangled around his head and neck. He pulled it off and wrung it out as best he could, then loosely draped it around his neck and shoulders. It’d have to dry before he could re-wrap it. His scabbard was still attached to the belt, but there was no sign of his sword. He tamped down a sudden surge of anxiety about that, and started to walk north along the shore, casting out with his hekau for the blade. He had set a location charm into the pommel of the blade long ago, which had proved useful in more than one battle.
He shook water out of his ears as he walked, his sandals squishing. The Ranger had been a surprise to him from the very start of the engagement. That he had favored the pistol over the sword was disappointing, though not surprising. He shouldn’t have expected much from a Kekhmet heathen. The old ways, the honorable ways, were a dying art. He felt a pang of sorrow for the turning of the world. Things had been so easier, so much more honest, before guns and machines and the strange new hekau known as technology.
