by SL Hulen
Pulling the keys from her pants pocket, Khara handed them to him and lowered her head. “Let us hope that we succeed. We will remember your kindness.”
“Yeah. And one more thing.” He unsnapped a fringed sheath from his belt and handed it to her. The crisscross pattern stamped into the leather showed little if any wear, and the same was true for jagged edge of the knife. “Take this. In case the legends are true.”
Chapter Forty-nine Victoria
Ben had said that the last totem would be found at the top of the mesa. He had not bothered to tell them that they would be harassed by eagles as they crawled up the stone face of the mountain.
The day was mostly gone when they stood in front of a dried-up tree trunk less than six feet tall. Victoria did her best to hide her growing sense of failure. To say that the two moss— filled spaces halfway up the trunk might be construed as eyes seemed a stretch. There was a small knot centered below them, carved by time that slightly resembled a feline nose. An imaginative mind might construe a few uneven scratches, probably made by some animal, as whiskers.
Studying the tree intently, Khara ventured, “The face resembles Dante, does it not?”
“Not really,” Victoria responded honestly. “Are you absolutely sure this is the right place?”
“Where else do you see a forest of stone?”
“Is that what this is supposed to be? It isn’t stone; it’s petrified wood. And since when does a single tree make a forest?”
“In truth, I had imagined something grander.”
“An obelisk, perhaps?”
“No,” Khara returned, looking into Victoria’s face and swallowing her disappointment. “Nothing so obvious as that.”
“Maybe we’re doing something wrong.”
“Ben mentioned nothing about us having to do anything. ‘Just be there,’ he said.”
“Nothing’s supposed to happen until tomorrow, right? In the meantime, we’ve got to find someplace to camp. It will be dark in a few hours. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
“How can you think about food at a time like this? And why not camp in this very spot? We should stay as close to the portal as possible.”
“Do you want to spend the night dodging lightning strikes?” She could see Khara shift her weight from one boot to the other, forming an argument, but at the last moment she threw her hands into the air. “You know best, counselor,” she conceded.
Something caught Victoria’s eye. She knelt and uncovered a terracotta-and-white striped shard of clay. “Look,” she exclaimed, laying the pottery in Khara’s hand. “They’re everywhere.” She gently probed the dirt around their feet with the toe of her boot.
A flash of gold shone in Khara’s eyes. “Credence to Ben’s tale,” she claimed. Turning in a slow circle, she studied the mesa from every angle. “Perhaps the Anasazi came here to be closer to heaven. Like the Apache.”
“It’s more likely they were fleeing for their lives. Why else would anyone choose such a desolate place? No animals or food, no water. The place is a deathtrap.”
“Tomorrow,” Khara announced, her hand skimming the miserable excuse for a totem they had climbed hours to find, “the mystery will be solved.”
“Or not.”
Khara strode past her with a look that made Victoria wish that just once in a while, she could keep her mouth shut. “Where do you suggest we spend the night?”
Victoria did not answer right away. An odor, mild at first, grew stronger with each step of their precarious descent. She inhaled deeply.
“What is it?” Khara asked. “It’s disgusting.”
“That, my friend, is the smell of a hot bath.”
“How do you know?”
Victoria threw her a pained look. “Summers of relic-hunting with my uncle.”
A quarter of the way back down, Victoria spotted an enormous overhang and, following her instinct, they abandoned the foot path. Smooth and sun-bleached until it barely flushed pink, the sandstone proved much more difficult to navigate. Descending slowly, each step brought a better view of the underside of the rock face. Eons of wind and ice had carved chambers, some as large as twelve feet across, and all at least thirty feet high.
“This is why the Anasazi came here,” Victoria asserted. “It’s a natural fortress.” She sniffed the air like a hound. “I think we’re very close now.”
“Close to what?”
“You’ll see.”
The complex was more intricate that it had appeared at first; there were dozens of convoluted walls of stone, many of which led nowhere. In the furthermost chamber, she found the treasure she’d been searching for—a thermal water spring. Victoria had only seen its particular mix of turquoise and green in the murals of the ancient Mayans.
“By the dogs of Egypt…it is truly splendid,” Khara admitted, the irritation so recently evident in her eyes having evaporated.
Victoria had no control over her slowly growing smile. “Better than dodging lightening and wind at the top, no?”
“I was about to praise another of your hidden talents, but I see that is quite unnecessary. At this moment, it would be impossible for you to look any more pleased with yourself.”
Chapter Fifty Victoria
“If only Gracie could see us now,” Victoria said absently, licking salt from her upper lip as they basked in the warm waters of the spring. “At first she’d be furious—especially with you for abducting me.”
“If you remember, I was fully prepared to go alone.”
“I know, but we’re talking about Gracie. Eventually, the drama would wind down. Unless,” she added, laughing, “the copier had already broken that morning.”
Khara’s expression turned accusatory. “You miss her; I see it in your eyes. But you have scarcely mentioned your aunt.”
“Poor Marta. Her niece has vanished, and the husband she loves more than the blessed virgin has just been arrested for murder. What else is there to say? I hope Gracie’s staying with her.”
Though she didn’t say so, Victoria knew Gracie was the one person who would understand that friendship often came with complications, and sometimes extraordinary actions were required. Still, the battle of her conscience raged on with no verdict in sight.
She concentrated on the beads of sweat that dotted her brow. Victoria felt lightheaded. The warm water reached just below her shoulders, working miracles on the stubborn knots in her calves. When she closed her eyes, she felt her body still moving along the uneven rock. Elias had affectionately referred to her as having “patas de cabré.” Though many things had changed since high school, she still had the feet of a goat.
Behind her eyelids, an unwelcome memory took shape— Elias hopping perilously from boulder to boulder, unshaven, shirttail flapping, his voice calling frantically, “Not so far ahead, mija!” His baritone voice rode the wind, so it seemed he was only inches behind her. “Come back! You don’t know where you’re going!”
She opened her eyes. How quickly the light had faded, the walls around the spring had changed to the drab color of mushrooms. With all the effort her weary muscles could muster, she waded over to Khara, who was seated gracefully in the center of the warm pool, her eyes closed. Her arms floated away from her, and she wore the look of someone accustomed to being pampered.
“At last,” she sighed, “a proper bath.”
It seemed strange to open the cans of processed meat while in the water, but that’s exactly what they did. Khara picked at it and made a face. “Ugh! It tastes like rotting hippopotamus!”
“You’re supposed to say it tastes like chicken.”
“But it doesn’t at all. Really, Victoria, sometimes you make no sense.”
Victoria couldn’t help laughing at her expense. And though she was annoyed, Khara couldn’t keep her nose wrinkled forever. Bit by bit, her face gave way and she joined Victoria. They laughed until their sides hurt, though the climbing probably had something to do with it. Khara splashed water in her face,
still giggling, and said, “Promise me you will not return to your old ways.”
“I don’t know how to do anything else,” she replied, splashing back. Sometimes it was easier to say a serious thing while laughing.
Khara gave her a look that said she was a liar, but a sort of truce was in place and Victoria resisted the temptation to argue.
Using a bandana from the backpack, Khara squeezed water down her face while humming a sad tune.
Victoria followed the waning rays of sunlight on the wall and wriggled her toes in the water. “You never did tell me all of it—the legend of Urraca Mesa.”
Spreading the bandana across a red rock, Victoria saw her hesitate. “I will explain it as Ben told the story to me,” she began. “The Apache believe Urraca Mesa is the gateway to the Underworld—Hell, as you call it. Even the word ‘urraca,’ which means ‘magpie’ in their language, has dark implications. The birds are said to be the bearers of certain evil. If a magpie cries out your name, an ill fate awaits you.”
All levity vanished.
“So that’s why the totems were cats,” Victoria surmised after a long silence. “Now it begins to make sense.”
“They were placed there to scare away the magpies.”
“By whom?”
“No one knows. The legend says that if the totems disappear, the gateway will open and a terrible dark force will be unleashed onto the earth. The one we found today is the last one remaining. The others have long since fallen or disappeared.”
“I’m still not convinced that it was a totem at all.”
“That does not surprise me. But Ben told of one other way in which the portal might open—with an eclipse of the sun. He says giant spheres of blue lights are known to hover in this vicinity. Sometimes these strange lights disappear near the portal after an eclipse, only to return years later.”
“Still, it’s a legend. Not much to hang your hopes on.”
Khara patted Victoria’s hand. “You can afford the luxury of skepticism. If the portal exists, it is my best—my only—chance. One way or another, tomorrow we shall each have the answers we seek.”
Victoria’s hair spread like a fan in the water. Little by little her ears, then her cheekbones, and finally her mouth slid below the water line. She felt relieved when Khara’s words became too muffled to comprehend, and soon her voice disappeared altogether. A flash of the golden cuff caught her eye as Khara rose and departed, leaving her to the warm, watery silence, like that of a child in the womb.
It was sometime later that Victoria was vaguely aware of the hand that grasped hers, wakening her from her floating trance. “This is the last evening we will spend together. Come, take what little I have to give you.”
“I’ve told you before that you don’t owe me anything,” Victoria reiterated, feigning ignorance of the collection of objects lying within reach at the edge of the spring, which included Nandor’s pouch.
“So you persist in saying.” Khara had something to say, and it hung heavily in the air between them. “If the gods are with us tomorrow—if we succeed—there will be no trace of my journey here, not a single piece of evidence that the daughter of Pepy the Second ever walked the earth in this time or any other. I will not allow my mummy to be a curiosity for the eager eyes of schoolchildren, or tourists with their cameras.” She wagged a finger at Victoria. “I will insure my peace in the afterlife.”
“How?”
“It’s not important. There are other things weighing much heavier on me tonight.”
“Oliver.”
She covered her heart with her hands as though it were bleeding. “He will hate me for breaking his heart.”
“Only for a little while. Eventually, all he’ll remember is that he loved you.”
“Do you think so?” Several moments of silence passed before she asked softly, “And you, counselor. How will you remember me? As a friend? As the great disrupter of your life?”
“As my sister,” Victoria blurted, the last word catching in her throat. “After all we’ve been through…”
Most of Khara’s smiles barely scratched the surface of her emotions. Tonight though, Victoria saw the smile of someone who had received a gift more beautiful, more extravagant than all the treasures of pharaoh. It was the smile that must have been hers as a child, before the yoke of her life was thrust onto her.
Khara took the bandana she had soaked in mineral water. “Now you must sit still.” She lifted Victoria’s hair, squeezed warm water down the back of her neck, and massaged her scalp. She removed a small vial from Nandor’s pouch and placed dots of aromatic oil at Victoria’s temples. “Tsk, tsk. What a hornet’s nest you have here!”
Victoria examined the small, oblong, stone container. It was beautiful—probably carved from carnelian. Smooth and translucent, it seemed too small to hold any earthly substance. It was the sort of thing into which you put your dreams. “I’ve never seen that before. What’s inside?”
Khara answered, “Oils of frankincense and mint. They will relax you.”
“How long will this take?”
“I have scarcely started. You have something better to do?”
“Honestly, you had to sit through this every day?”
“Twice a day. I didn’t mind; it’s what you always refer to as ‘downtime,’ though I have yet to see you practice it.”
“No wonder you have the patience of Job.”
“Our public face is meant to demonstrate pharaoh’s divinity; nothing less than perfection will do. Besides, a little ceremony is good for the soul. It would do you good to pamper yourself once in a while.” She worked small circles of tranquility at the sides of Victoria’s forehead. Then, with the help of a twig, Khara scraped mud and grime from under her fingernails. Afterwards, she used a pottery fragment to file the edges into thin crescents. “This shape flatters your long fingers,” she told Victoria. She rubbed oil into the nail beds and buffed them with the bandana until they gleamed. The tension in Victoria’s usually clenched fists dissolved under the firm pressure with which Khara rubbed her palms.
“It is well-known that no one in the palace can braid hair as well as I. Now turn around and let’s see what can be done with this horse’s tail.”
A few minutes later she was still tugging and twisting. “I know that look. You wish to say something?” Khara inquired.
“Never mind,” Victoria retorted.
“‘Never mind’ is something you say to strangers.”
“It’s just that I can’t help thinking that there are a few things you don’t know about the future, events that will transpire in Egyptian history that might change your mind about leaving.”
“I wondered if you would ever disclose why the ‘E’ volume of the encyclopedia in your apartment was conveniently missing, and why you got so nervous when I watched the BBC.” Her voice quivered slightly in the cold, which had settled in so quickly after the sunset. “I know how troubled you are that Ben’s decree will come to pass. What does it matter if history remembers me?” She pressed a finger to Victoria’s lips. “Don’t. I know you can conjure an argument faster than a crocodile can snap its jaws, but just once, let me finish. As much as you have tried to protect me from the truth, I’ve seen it all. Egypt, barely learning to walk at the time of my coronation; the glory and strength attained during the rise of Seti and Ramses the Great.”
For the first time, Victoria saw her look self-conscious. “You tried to shield me from the knowledge that eventually, our golden age comes to an end. I admit that I was inconsolable at first. Luckily, with you always working, I had time to collect myself before you returned. I know you did those things in consideration of my feelings,” she said quietly, her eyes soft, “and for that, a thousand years are not enough to repay the gift of your friendship.”
An elusive smile crossed Victoria’s lips. “And yet you took it upon yourself to find out anyway.”
“Did you expect that a single missing book would stop me? After all, this is the
age of information. I saw it again and again—in Greece, in Japan. This empire is also ripe for such a fall. All the signs are there if you have the courage to look. I have accepted that there is a cycle to history. The powerful must grow weak so a new power can emerge. Though it is a bitter lesson, it has only convinced me that my time here has been for a reason.”
“I know. You are the reason Egypt became the superpower of the ancient world. Nandor said something like that the night in the wickiup, but I couldn’t remember until now.”
“Nandor visited you?”
“You might not believe this, but he told me that I was your only hope. Of course, I already knew that,” Victoria related smugly.
“There it is again, that look of self-satisfaction.”
“We’ve gotten this far, haven’t we?”
“And if the gods are willing, tomorrow our journey will be complete. Because of you, Victoria Barrón, the light of Egypt will shine forever. I do not expect that change will come easily. But in time, small steps will turn into bigger ones, and the world will become what it is today.”
“You say that as if it’s a good thing.”
“For the most part, it seems to be.” Khara was quiet for a long time before she suddenly blurted, “Come with me tomorrow.”
“Are you nuts?” Victoria exclaimed. “Why wait thousands of years for a better world? With my authority and your conviction, we’ll change the world. Be my advisor,” she urged, pausing for a moment, “and friend. Think of the meaning your life will have.”
“Who says it’s meaningless now?”
“I am not suggesting that, but will the significance of it outlive you for thousands of years? I think not,” she proclaimed imperiously. “Now turn around and let me finish braiding.”
“I wish you’d stop trying to rescue me.”
“What is here for you if you stay? You allow yourself nothing. You chase happiness away. Come, we will be a family, and not the jealous, incestuous kind we Egyptians are prone to. When the time comes for me to marry, my children will be yours, and you will teach them Newton’s third law of motion, and about absolute zero.”
