Warlock: A Novel of Ancient Egypt (Novels of Ancient Egypt)

by Wilbur Smith

  Then he lowered his eyes and looked across the abyss at the main peak of the mountain and the ledge on which they had stood the previous day. This enabled him to orientate himself, for the bulge of the rock face under him hid the nest from sight. He moved slowly along the lip until he found the beginning of the crack, which he recognized as the one that ran down and opened into the cleft in which the falcons had built their nest.

  He picked up a loose pebble and dropped it over the edge. It clattered as it dropped down the wall and out of sight. He hoped that it might alarm the tiercel off the nest and so confirm its exact position, but there was still no sign of it. Only the female bird continued her aimless circles and uttered her strange, lonely cries.

  Taita called Nefer to him and tied the end of the rope around his waist. He checked the knot carefully and then, an inch at a time, drew the full length of the rope through his fingers, checking for any frayed or weakened spot. “You have the saddlebag to carry the fledgling.” He checked the knot with which Nefer had secured it over his shoulder so that it would not hamper his movements on the climb.

  “Stop fussing so, Tata. My father says that sometimes you are like an old woman.”

  “Your father should show more respect. I wiped his arse when he was a mewling infant, just as I wiped yours.” Taita sniffed, and again checked the knot at the boy’s waist, delaying the fateful moment. But Nefer walked to the edge and stood straight-backed above the drop without any sign of hesitation.

  “Are you ready?” He looked over his shoulder, and smiled with a flash of white teeth and a sparkle of his dark green eyes. Those eyes reminded Taita so vividly of Queen Lostris. With a pang he thought Nefer even more comely than his father had been at the same age.

  “We cannot dally here all day.” Nefer uttered one of his father’s favorite expressions in lordly tones, aping the royal manner faithfully.

  Taita sat down and wriggled into a position in which he could anchor his heels in the crack and lean back to brace himself against the rope over his shoulder. He nodded at Nefer, and saw the cocky grin leave the boy’s face as he edged down over the drop. He payed out the rope as Nefer worked his way down.

  Nefer reached the bulge in the wall and, hanging on grimly with both hands, let his legs down to grope for a foothold beneath the overhang. He found the crack with his toes and thrust his bare foot into it, twisting his ankle to lock the hold, then slithered down. He glanced up one last time at Taita, tried to smile, but made a sickly grimace, then swung round the overhang. Before he could find another hold he felt his foot slip in the crack and he started to swivel on the rope. If he lost his footing he would pivot and swing out helplessly over the drop. He doubted that the old man above would have the strength to haul him back.

  He snatched desperately at the crack, and his fingers hooked on, steadying him. He lunged with his other hand and grabbed the next hold. He was round the bulge, but his heart was hammering and his breath hissed in his throat.

  “Are you all right?” Taita’s voice came down to him.

  “All right!” he gasped. He looked down between his knees and saw the crack in the rock widen into the top of the cleft above the nest. His arms were tiring and beginning to shake. He stretched his right leg down, and found another foothold.

  Taita was right: it was more difficult to descend than to climb upward. When he moved his right hand down he saw that already his knuckle was raw and he left a small bloody smear on the rock. Inching down, he reached the point where the crack opened into the main cleft. Again he was forced to reach round the lip and find a hidden hold.

  Yesterday, when he and Taita had discussed it, sitting together on the other side of the gulf, this transition point had looked so easy, but now both his feet were swinging out freely over the lip of the cleft, and the abyss seemed to suck at him like some monstrous mouth. He moaned and hung on with both hands, freezing to the rock face. He was afraid now, the last vestige of courage blown away on the gusts of hot wind that tugged at him, threatening to tear him from the cliff. He looked down and tears mingled with the sweat on his cheeks. The drop beckoned, pulled at him with claws of terror, sickening him to the guts.

  “Move!” Taita’s voice drifted down to him, faint but filled with urgency. “You must keep moving.”

  With a huge effort Nefer rallied himself for another effort. His bare toes groped under him and he found a ledge that seemed wide enough to give him purchase. He lowered himself on aching, juddering arms. Abruptly his foot slipped from the ledge, and his arms were too tired to support his weight any longer. He fell and screamed as he went.

  He dropped only the span of his two arms, and then the rope bit cruelly into his flesh, binding up under his ribs and choking the breath out of him. He came up short and dangled out into space, held only by the rope and the old man above him.

  “Nefer, can you hear me?” Taita’s voice was rough with the strain of holding him. The boy whimpered like a puppy. “You must catch a hold. You cannot hang there.” Taita’s voice calmed him. He blinked the tears out of his eyes, and saw the rock only an arm’s length from his face.

  “Latch on!” Taita goaded him, and Nefer saw that he was hanging opposite the cleft. The opening was deep enough to accommodate him, the sloping ledge wide enough for him to stand on, if only he could reach it. He stretched out a shaking hand and touched the wall with his fingertips. He started to swing himself back toward it.

  It seemed an eternity of struggle and heartbreaking effort, but at last he swung into the opening and managed to place both bare feet on the ledge, and to crouch doubled over in the opening. He wedged himself there, panting and gasping for air.

  Above him Taita felt his weight go off the rope, and called down encouragement. “Bak-her, Nefer, Bak-her! Where are you?”

  “I am in the cleft, above the nest.”

  “What can you see?” Taita wanted to keep the boy’s mind fixed on other things, so that he would not dwell on the void beneath his feet.

  Nefer wiped the sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand and peered down. “I can see the edge of the nest.”

  “How far?”

  “Close.”

  “Can you reach it?”

  “I will try.” Nefer braced his bowed back against the roof of the narrow cleft, and shuffled slowly down the sloping floor. Below him he could just make out the dried twigs that protruded from the nest site. As he went down farther, his view into the nest opened slowly an inch at a time.

  The next time he called out his voice was stronger and excited. “I can see the tiercel. He is still on the nest.”

  “What is he doing?” Taita shouted back.

  “He is crouched down. It seems as though he is sleeping.” Nefer’s voice was puzzled. “I can only see his back.”

  The male bird was motionless, crouching on the high side of the untidy nest. But how could he be sleeping and unaware during the commotion above him? Nefer wondered. His own fear was forgotten now in the excitement of having the falcon so close and the nest almost within touching distance.

  He moved faster, more confidently, as the floor of the cleft levelled out under his feet, and there was more headroom for him to stand erect.

  “I can see his head.” The tiercel was stretched out with his wings spread as though he was mantling a kill. He is beautiful, Nefer thought, and I am almost close enough to touch him, yet he still shows no fear.

  Suddenly he realized he could seize the sleeping bird. He braced himself for the effort, wedging his shoulder into the cleft, his bare feet in a secure stance under him. Slowly he leaned out toward the tiercel, then stopped with his hand poised above it.

  There were tiny droplets of blood on the russet back feathers. Bright as polished rubies, they twinkled in the sunlight, and with a sudden, swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach, Nefer realized that the tiercel was dead. He was overcome with a dreadful sense of loss, as though something of great value to him had been taken away forever. It seemed more than jus
t the death of the falcon. The royal bird represented something more: it was the symbol of a god and a king. As he stared at it, the carcass of the tiercel seemed to be transformed into the dead body of Pharaoh himself. A sob choked Nefer and he jerked away his hand.

  He had moved only just in time, for then he heard a dry, rasping sound and an explosive hiss of air. Something huge and glittering black whipped out at where his hand had been the moment before, and slammed into the mattress of dried twigs with such force that the whole nest shook.

  Nefer recoiled as far as the cramped space in the cleft would allow, and stared at the grotesque creature that now swayed and wove before his face. His vision seemed sharpened and magnified, time moved with the slow horror of nightmare. He saw the dead fledglings huddled in the cup of the nest beyond the carcass of the tiercel, the thick, glittering coils of a gigantic black cobra twisted around them. The snake’s head was raised, its hood, marked with a bold pattern of black and white, was spread.

  The slippery black tongue flickered out between the thin, grinning lips. Its eyes were fathomless black, each with a star of reflected light in the center as they held Nefer in a mesmeric stare.

  Nefer tried to scream a warning to Taita, but no sound came from his throat. He could not tear away his gaze from the cobra’s dreadful stare. Its head swayed gently, but the massive coils that filled the falcon’s nest to overflowing pulsed and clenched. Every polished scale was burnished like a jewel as they rasped against the twigs of the nest. Each coil was as thick as Nefer’s arm, and slowly they revolved upon themselves.

  The head swayed back, the mouth gaped, and Nefer could see the pale lining of the throat. The almost transparent fangs came erect in the folds of soft membrane: there was a tiny bead of colorless venom on the tip of each bony needle.

  Then the wicked head flashed forward, as the cobra struck at Nefer’s face.

  Nefer screamed and hurled himself sideways, lost his balance and tumbled backward from the cleft.

  Even though Taita was braced to take any sudden weight on the rope, he was almost jerked from his stance on top of the cliff as Nefer’s weight hit the line. A coil of the horsehair rope slid through his fingers, scorching the flesh, but he held hard. He could hear the boy screaming incoherently below him, and feel him swinging at the end of the rope.

  Nefer pendulumed out from the cleft, then swung straight back toward the falcon’s nest. The cobra had recovered swiftly from its abortive strike, and was once more poised and erect. It fixed its gaze on the boy and swiveled its head to face him. At the same time a harsh hiss erupted from its throat.

  Nefer screamed again and kicked out wildly at the snake as he flew straight toward it. Taita heard the terror in that scream and lay back on the rope, hauling until he felt his old muscles crack under the strain.

  The cobra struck instinctively at Nefer’s eyes as he came within range, but at that instant Taita’s heave on the rope end jerked Nefer off-line. The snake’s gaping jaws passed a finger’s width from his ear and then, like the lash of a chariot whip, the heavy body flogged across his shoulder. Nefer screamed again, knowing he was fatally bitten.

  As he swung out once more over the open drop he glanced down at the spot on his shoulder into which the serpent had sunk its fangs, and saw the pale yellow venom splashed across the thick leather fold of the saddlebag. With a wild lift of relief he tore the bag free, and as he started to swing back toward where the cobra still stood menacingly, he held the bag like a shield in front of him.

  The instant he was within range the cobra struck again, but Nefer caught the blow on the thick leather folds of the bag. The beast’s fangs snagged in the leather and held fast. As Nefer swung back the snake was dragged with him. It was hauled cleanly out of the nest, a writhing, seething ball of coils and polished scales. It thrashed against Nefer’s legs, the heavy tail lashing him, hissing fearsomely, clouds of venom spraying from its gaping jaws and dribbling down the leather bag. So great was its weight that Nefer’s whole body was shaken violently.

  Almost without thought, Nefer hurled the leather bag away from him, the cobra’s fangs still hooked into the leather. The bag and the snake dropped away together, the sinuous body still curling, coiling and whipping furiously. The penetrating hisses grew fainter as it plunged away down the cliff. It seemed to fall forever until at last it struck the rocks far below. The impact did not kill or stun it, and it whipped about as it rolled down the scree slope, bouncing over the rocks like a huge black ball until Nefer lost sight of it among the gray boulders.

  Through the mists of terror that clouded his mind, Taita’s voice reached him. It was hoarse with effort and concern. “Speak to me. Can you hear me?”

  “I am here, Tata.” Nefer’s voice was weak and shaky.

  “I will pull you up.”

  Slowly, one heave at a time, Nefer was drawn upward. Even in his distress Nefer marveled at the old man’s strength. When the rock came within reach, he was able to take some of his weight off the rope and it went quicker. At last he clawed his way round the overhang, and saw, with vast relief, Taita looking down at him from the summit, the ancient features, like those of a sphinx, riven into deep lines by his exertions on the rope.

  With one last heave Nefer tumbled over the top and fell into the old man’s arms. He lay there gasping and sobbing, unable to speak coherently. Taita hugged him. He, too, was shaking with emotion and exhaustion. Slowly they calmed and regained their breath. Taita held the waterskin to Nefer’s lips and he gulped, choked and gulped again. Then he looked into Taita’s face so abjectly that the old man hugged him closer.

  “It was horrible.” Nefer’s words were barely intelligible. “It was in the nest. It had killed the falcons, all of them. Oh, Tata, it was terrible.”

  “What was it, Nefer?” Taita asked gently.

  “It killed my godbird, and the tiercel.”

  “Gently, lad. Drink some more.” He offered the water-skin.

  Nefer choked again and was seized with a paroxysm of coughing. The moment he could speak again he wheezed, “It tried to kill me also. It was huge, and so black.”

  “What was it, boy? Tell me clearly.”

  “A cobra, a huge black cobra. In the nest, waiting for me. It had bitten the chicks and the falcon to death, and it went for me as soon as it saw me. I never imagined a cobra could grow so large.”

  “Are you stricken?” Taita demanded, with dread, and hauled Nefer to his feet to examine him.

  “No, Tata. I used the bag as a shield. It never touched me,” Nefer protested, but Taita stripped off his kilt and made him stand naked while he went over his body looking for puncture wounds. One of his knuckles and both his knees were grazed, but otherwise the strong young body was marked only by the pharaonic cartouche on the smooth skin of his inner thigh. Taita had tattooed the design himself, and it was a miniature masterpiece that would forever endorse Nefer’s claim to the double crown.

  “Thanks be to the great god who protected you,” Taita murmured. “With this cobra apparition, Horus has sent you a portent of terrible events and dangers.” His face was grave, and touched with the marks of grief and mourning. “That was no natural serpent.”

  “Yes, Tata. I saw it close. It was enormous, but it was a real snake.”

  “Then how did it reach the nest site? Cobras cannot fly, and there is no other way to scale the cliff.”

  Nefer stared at him aghast. “It killed my godbird,” he whispered aloud.

  “And it killed the royal tiercel, Pharaoh’s other self,” Taita agreed grimly, sorrow still in his eyes. “There are mysteries here revealed. I saw their shadows in my vision, but they are confirmed by what has happened to you this day. This is a thing beyond the natural order.”

  “Explain it to me, Tata,” Nefer insisted.

  Taita handed him his kilt. “First we must get down off this mountain, and fly from the great dangers that beset us before I can consider the omens.”

  He paused and looked to the sky, as i
f in deep thought. Then he lowered his eyes and looked into Nefer’s face. “Put on your clothes,” was all he said.

  As soon as Nefer was ready, Taita led him back to the far side of the summit and they began the descent. It went swiftly, for they had opened the route, and the urgency in every move Taita made was infectious. The horses were where they had left them, but before they mounted Nefer said, “The place where the cobra struck the rocks is but a short way from here.” He pointed to the head of the scree slope below the cliff on which the falcons’ nest was still visible. “Let us search for the carcass. Perhaps if we find its remains you could work some charm to destroy its powers.”

  “It would be precious time wasted. There will be no carcass.” Taita swung up onto the mare’s back. “Mount, Nefer. The cobra has returned to the shadow places from which it sprang.”

  Nefer shivered with superstitious awe, then scrambled up onto the back of his colt.

  Neither of them spoke again until they were off the upper slopes and into the broken eastern foothills. Nefer knew well that when Taita was in this mood it was wasted effort to speak to him, but he urged his horse alongside and pointed out respectfully, “Tata, this is not the way to Gebel Nagara.”

  “We are not going back there.”

  “Why not?”

  “The Bedouin know that we were at the spring. They will tell those who search for us,” Taita explained.

  Nefer was puzzled. “Who searches for us?”

  Taita turned his head and looked at the boy with such pity that he was silenced. “I will explain when we are off this cursed mountain and in a safe place.”

  Taita avoided the crests of the hills, where they might be silhouetted on the skyline, and wove a path through the gorges and valleys. Always he headed east, away from Egypt and the Nile, toward the sea.