by SL Hulen
“Apache history is full of superstition and rumors,” he quipped.
Poor Ben. How could he know what a resolute creature she was? Khara turned the full impact of her golden stare on him. “As the story was recounted to me, there is a place sacred to the Apache, where it is believed the Ancient Ones departed into another world.”
“Who knows the truth of these legends? Besides, what difference does it make?”
Though it was clear she was intruding, Victoria interjected, “Her fascination for these stories is my fault. I was trying to explain why New Mexico is called the Land of Enchantment— you know, giving her a taste of local history.”
Watching him carefully, Khara asked, “Do you believe the legend?” her emphasis suggesting he had the authority to substantiate the tale.
Ben shrugged. “There’s proof enough scattered across the mesas, if you know where to look.”
Khara edged closer to him. “Did they truly vanish suddenly? And from where?”
Ben’s eyes came to rest on Oliver, who was standing by the fire, legs apart and expression defiant. “Loose lips sink ships, boy,” he told him reproachfully. “Learned that in the navy. True then, just as true now. Our legends belong to us; they’re one of the few things we have left.” He shook his head in disappointment. Just then, the breeze caught Khara’s long hair. As she smoothed it away from her face, Ben’s eyes followed her closely. Too closely. He reached for her arm and the coronation bracelet. “Where did you get that?”
Sliding it off her wrist, Khara placed the gold band in Ben’s palm. He inspected it as well as possible in the meager light. Victoria was mildly surprised to find that there was no greed in his eyes; he studied the piece with the appreciation of a jeweler. Perhaps he was a silversmith by trade—that would account for his heavily braceleted wrists. Still, she had placed it so trustingly in his palm that Victoria was nervous.
Khara leaned forward. “Is it familiar to you?”
“This,” Ben pointed to Isis, her winged arms spread wide. “I’ve seen something similar.” For a moment he seemed to be somewhere else. “Is this why you want to know about Urraca Mesa?”
“This sacred place of which you speak is marked by a winged goddess?”
Ben nodded and looked afraid. “Used to be. Urraca Mesa is the last place the Anasazi were seen. Bad medicine there,” he commented, smiling weakly and sounding like a TV western. “We stay away from that place. I went once when I was a teenager; never since. It feels unholy, if you know what I mean.”
Khara spoke as if in a trance. “That night in the sands. Nandor said that I must first survive the journey of death.”
“Luckily, you won’t have to take him literally. He probably meant the Jornada del Muerto. It’s not too far from here,” Ben confirmed.
“Then I was to follow the road of a king and pass through the city of faith.”
“You must mean the Camino Real. It hasn’t been used since the railroads came, but the Spaniards used it to colonize this area. It takes you straight into Santa Fe.”
Khara said rapturously, “It was never meant that I return to Egypt in one of your flying chariots, Victoria! This is the way back.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“Nandor appeared that night to show us the way.” The cloudy night hid the stars, but Khara oriented herself easily enough without them. “This sacred place, does it lie to the northeast?”
“I can’t be exact, but you’re pretty close.”
A triumphant look came over her face. “I am convinced; this is the path we must take.”
Victoria’s head sunk to her chest. No good would come from arguing now that her imperial highness had spoken. When this doesn’t work out, she thought, there’ll be enough time to do it the right way.
“Look, let’s do some research, and if you’re still convinced—”
A low moan escaped Ben’s lips, and Victoria expected to see Nandor reappear. Ben snatched up handfuls of earth and sprinkled himself and Khara with it. “Take my hand,” he instructed Khara, who did so without hesitation. Within a few seconds their breathing had synchronized and, with his free hand, Ben unconsciously scratched lines here and there in the red dirt. They formed a pyramid. Then he closed his eyes and spoke. “The course of your life is not an easy one. Happiness will shine brightly, but far too briefly. There will be many cloudy days. In you I see the clear, unfettered brain of a scientist. There is an androgynous essence about you. Bravery and strength will see you through your bad times. A warrior’s spirit resides within your heart.” When he opened his eyes, he looked apologetic.
“That’s enough,” Victoria told him. “She came here for guidance, not to have her future demolished.” Rising, she took Khara’s arm in an attempt to pull her to her feet.
“I must know,” Khara said stubbornly as she resisted Victoria’s efforts, “everything.”
Ben’s voice retained its spell-like quality. “The enormity of power you will wield is beyond words—but it will not last. Everything you build, all your accomplishments, will crumble and fade away. Your life will be as the snowflake falling before the freeze.” He took Khara’s delicate hand between his, his voice gentle and resonant with truth. “You will melt into nothingness and be forgotten. But,” he continued, pointing a bony finger at the sky, “the consequences of your life will be like a ripple in the water and last for thousands of years.”
“Stop it!” Victoria cried.
Khara’s expression told Victoria that she had believed every word. “I am in your debt.”
Ben patted her hand. “Sometimes the spirits play wicked games at our expense.”
“So everything you’ve said could be complete bullshit,” Victoria challenged.
He turned his attention to the fire and Oliver, who was watching intently. “Could be,” he admitted absently.
“Come on, Khara. We’ve had enough of his hocus pocus.” She did not move. “Khara, Oliver’s waiting.”
That worked. As they began to walk away, Ben ran up behind them. “There is something else. Maybe it’s important, maybe not.”
Victoria groaned. “Ignore him.”
Khara turned. “Tell me.”
You know the solar eclipse is in three days.”
Victoria tried to recall how long it had been since she’d watched the news or read a paper. Days? Probably closer to a week. And then it was only to hear Dr. Shenouda decimate their plans to return to Egypt. “What about it?”
“The legend of Urraca Mesa is tied to the eclipse of the sun.”
Khara’s characteristic veneer of calm melted like hot wax.
“When the moon passes between the sun and the earth, the Apache know it for what it truly is. The Ring of Fire is a celestial event, a reminder that the hardships of man are puny against the forces of nature. The history of our people is learned from stories. If they’re true, the totems at the top of Urraca Mesa predate the Anasazi. Maybe they’ve been there since the creator made the earth. The shaman who instructed me was convinced they marked the threshold to another world. It was through this portal, already ancient in the time of the Anasazi, that they escaped.
“They were a peaceful people; all they wanted was to be left alone. Initially, they built fantastic dwellings high in the cliffs. No one knows why they fled the safety of Chaco Canyon. Perhaps they were forced onto the open mesas by warrior tribes, or maybe they faced starvation. Recently, there has been some evidence pointing to a long drought.” Ben threw up his hands, but continued. “The point is that they disappeared. As legend tells it, the last place they were seen was Urraca Mesa. The sun went dark and an entire tribe vanished. No one goes near there, especially during an eclipse. The place is cursed. It’s private property now. Some rich white man bought all that land and donated it to the Boy Scouts.” He took a step back and crossed his arms.
Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “You’re trying to scare us.”
Ben rubbed his temple. “Nothing good will be found there.”
“You say another world,” Khara repeated, digging the heels of her boots into the soft earth. “But what if the portal leads not to another world, but to another time?” Before he had a chance to say anything, she pressed his hand to her cheek. “The gods have put me in your path.” Crossing her left arm across her chest, she asserted, “If what you say is true, many civilizations—past and future—are in your debt.”
Used to being the deliverer of vague fortunes, Ben acknowledged her statement by knitting his brow.
Khara immediately abandoned them both for the young man standing at the edge of the fire.
Ben cleared his throat. “Don’t you two go poking around in places where you shouldn’t. You’re her friend; make her listen to you.”
“If only that was the remotest of possibilities.”
Chapter Forty-one Khara
He plucked at the strings of his instrument, his eyes never leaving hers. Khara heard seduction in Oliver’s music, saw it in his eyes. Whatever trace of resolve she’d brought with her fell through her fingers like sand.
Menefra was always with her, if only through memories that presented themselves at the most inopportune times. How carelessly she’d dismissed her virginity. Khara recalled being furious with her, thinking her irresponsible and unchaste. Now, at last, she understood her sister’s late-night indiscretions. Tonight she was the foolish, weak one.
If only she could stay. How easily she could spend the rest of her life with this young man who had stolen her heart. She imagined their children, inky-haired and wild-spirited. Their lives would overflow with choices, and they would never know the treachery of life in court. But there would never be any children, or a life that would eventually be measured by silvering hair and stooping shoulders. There was only this one night to last her forever. “In exchange for a lifetime of observance,” she whispered.
“Did you say something?” Oliver asked, handing his guitar to an old man seated on his left.
Khara shook her head.
“Play us a song, Gus,” he said, rising. “You know which one.”
Gus did as he was asked, his fingers deftly plucking the guitar’s strings into a metallic pitter-patter melody that must have been sent by the gods.
“Dance with me,” Oliver insisted, taking her hand. “Not like before, though. Like this.” He wrapped his arms around her and placed hers around him. They moved so slowly that they hardly took a step. A drummer joined in, his rhythm more subdued than before. Khara felt the ache of desire in every beat.
Oliver pulled her hair back and put his cheek next to hers, his breath tantalizing and warm, and sang quietly,
You see, it’s all clear, You were meant to be here, From the beginning…
His song brought joy and pain to her heart at the same time, but she would not linger on the pain—not tonight. Oliver had put a shirt on after his dance, but had not buttoned it. She inhaled the sublime smell of earth in his male skin. “I’m so glad you came tonight, Khara,” he murmured. “It’s all going to work out for us, I just know it. I can’t picture my life without you anymore. Stay here with me. Or I’ll come with you, I don’t care which.”
“Oliver—”
“Shh. That’s all I wanted to say. We can talk about everything else tomorrow.”
Khara closed her eyes and let loose the joy in her heart. After tonight she would be forever altered—a thought that pleased her greatly.
The music ended and she opened her eyes. Oliver’s face made her blush. “You’ve pushed me about as far as a man can go without a cold shower.”
“I want to be with you, Oliver. Now.”
He looked perplexed. “Here? I thought making love was off limits. All this time you’ve been saying—”
“I have been a fool.”
His chest rose, as did his eyebrow. He surveyed their surroundings thoughtfully for a moment, and said, “I’ll be right back.”
He made a quick trip around the fire and located two sleeping bags, which he tucked under his arm. “You’re sure about this?”
What you are about to do is forbidden!
Lately, it seemed that Father Donato’s words came to her like thoughts of her sister—without warning.
God loves us best when we are happy.
She took Oliver’s hand. Leaving the others, they quickly passed the tree line, hurrying over thick beds of pine needles. Oliver stopped once and put his fingers to her lips. “Shh. Listen.”
Over the pounding of her heart, Khara heard Gus’s guitar, fainter than a whisper. They moved on.
“Here.” They had come to the outcropping of giant boulders he had shown her on their first ride, and they again climbed to the top. Oliver unzipped both bags, laying one on top of the other, while Khara bit her lip.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as he took her in his arms and kissed her forehead.
“I must say something. I have loved you since the moment I first saw you in the barn. No—even before that—because it was your voice that came to me first. From that moment until my long sleep, only you will share my heart.”
He closed his eyes, and she was not sure if what she had said was pleasing to him or not. When he opened them, he smiled and said, “That was better than ‘I love you, and totally worth waiting for.’”
Oliver undressed her without hurry, kissing first her mouth, and then her neck and the place between her breasts. Soon his lips found their way back to hers. Each layer of clothing that fell to the ground took with it a small piece of her honor, yet how gladly she gave it! Finally she stood naked and unmoving, relishing every touch of his hands and mouth, remembering the jealousy she had felt watching him rub down the horses. He examined her breasts as if they were a delicacy before putting his mouth to one, his tongue making playful circles around her nipple. With his hot breath and the cold night air, her nipples grew ripe and swollen, and Khara arched her back as the hunger inside her grew.
Dropping to his knees, his hands traced lines of delight down her back that caused her breath to race. His strong hands took hold of her bottom, squeezing and coaxing her flesh into ecstasy. He kissed the inside of her thighs, the small triangle of hair. One hand moved gently up and down her leg, stopping at the golden cuff around her thigh.
“Can we take this off?”
She hesitated briefly, weighing the decision one last time before opening the clasp. Laying the cuff on a corner of the makeshift bed, she turned back to him. Khara had scarcely slid his shirt from his shoulders before he pulled her down. The sound of his pants unzipping caused a rush of nervous excitement, and she reached inside his jeans as much out of curiosity as desire. She wanted to please him with her hands and fingers as he had pleased her. Could something that size, as unyielding as a baton, fit inside her? The thought inflamed her further and made her wet. Hunger dictated the movement of her hand as the tip of her tongue found his. Such delicate pleasure! Oliver exhaled powerfully. He moaned and pulled her on top of him, and they kissed deeply. It happened by instinct, or perhaps by magic—one moment they were two; the next, one, no longer alone, together in an inconceivable shared gratification.
She could not have imagined the longing his moving hips aroused, or the urgency they inspired in her. His sinewy body, moist with heat and glistening in the night, took her breath away. For the second time in her life, Khara felt weightless, her soul unleashed from her body and into the piney air to fly in the darkness with the other wild things. An owl hooted, bringing her back to him, panting and damp with sweat, and they began again. Touching, kissing, Khara began to lead the unhurried exploration of skin, hair, and tantalizing bits of flesh rendered deliciously soft and astonishingly hard by love.
Afterward, Oliver said things to which she nodded and smiled until she put the cuff back on, distressed to have lost even a handful of his words. They zipped the sleeping bags together, moved to softer ground, and wiggled inside. Blissful in his arms, Khara inched her way to his chest to listen to the beating of his heart.
> When she awoke, she had no idea how much time had passed. She’d slept like the dead, but for how long? Gratefully, she realized that night had not yet slipped into day.
Oliver kissed her, rolled onto his side, and yawned. “We should probably get back to camp before everyone wakes up.”
“Yes, but separately.” She kissed his lips, and then placed delicate kisses all over his face. “I should go first. And you? You should go back to sleep.”
She watched him drift off again, contended and exhausted. “Can you hear me?” she whispered. After a pause, she confided, “I love you.” Lingering there, Khara fixed the vision of Oliver sleeping peacefully in the forest in her mind so every detail would live within her forever.
Chapter Forty-two Victoria
Victoria awoke in a fetal position to find one eye crusted shut and her body pinned inside a striped woolen blanket that smelled strongly of sweat and smoke. A humiliating curiosity about how she’d gotten there had scarcely been sparked when she wrestled herself out of it and ran for the trees, where she vomited until she thought she might die.
A final surge of nausea overcame her and then, her stomach emptied, Victoria leaned against the tree and closed her eyes. Her body shook, beads of cold sweat dotted her forehead, and there was a supremely foul taste in her mouth. When the ground stopped moving, she tried to focus. More than a dozen souls still slept, their blankets lining the perimeter of the fire which had burned out, but still radiated warmth. She warmed her hands and thought, God, I feel like hell.
A toothbrush and a shower was what she had in mind when she spotted Khara with Ben on the far side of the fire. He was busy drawing lines on the earth with a stick. She tottered toward them. “When you and Oliver disappeared last night, I figured…well, I just didn’t expect to see you up so early.”
“Nor I you,” Khara shot back, laughing, a sudden flush brightening her cheeks. In one night, she had become even lovelier. The serenity she often wore like a mask was real now. Her night with Oliver had made her wise, and she smiled lavishly.
