by Overton, Max
Water dropped from Scarab's fingers to the dry sand, darkly staining them. The sand grains quivered and shifted as a tiny green tendril pushed up, waving in the air as if seeking the sun. The tendril grew and thickened, leaves bursting out along its length. Other threads leaped from the sand, climbing upward toward the light in frenzy, twisting and tangling until a column of vines stood in front of the startled woman.
Something moved within the vegetation. The vines fell outward, flopping to the ground like a bundle of dead snakes, revealing the smiling figure of a god clad only in glowing green skin.
"Geb," breathed Scarab, recognizing the god of the earth and all growing things. "My lord, how may I serve you?" She dropped to her knees in front of the green man.
Geb smiled. "Today I help you. I bring you a gift, Scarab-Joined-to-Atum. I can heal you of all your hurt."
Grimacing with the pain, Scarab stretched out her arms in supplication. "If it pleases my lord."
"There is a price, child. I have need of your eye."
Scarab rocked back on her heels, squinting up in horror at the naked green-skinned god. "But I have only one eye remaining, divine Geb. Must I live blind?"
"It is your choice child, but I shall be merciful. I will take your injured eye." Geb stretched out an arm and gently touched the wounded eye socket.
Scarab felt a tingle that ran through her body. The pain in her limbs dissipated and the fiery knife in her ribs dulled to a distant ache. A feeling as of ice water filled her injured eye, followed a moment later by soothing warmth.
"You must have a replacement, child. It would be a pity to destroy such beauty." Geb stooped and picked up a rounded desert stone and held it up to the light. The sun glinted off the smooth crystalline depths in shards of yellow and gold. The god nodded in satisfaction and with a rapid movement, thrust the pebble into the young woman's eye socket.
Scarab cried out in surprise, feeling a momentary intense pressure followed by a sense of well being she had not felt for many days. She raised her hand to her face and, after a brief hesitation, touched her eye. Smooth stone met her fingers. She blinked and touched her eyelid, feeling how it covered her new stone eye perfectly. "Th...thank you, my lord Geb," she stammered.
The green god nodded and stepped backward into the bower of vines. The tendrils came to life and enveloped him before sinking back into the sand. Within minutes the desert bore no evidence of Geb's presence.
Laughter bubbled up in Scarab's throat. She lifted her arms above her head and shouted out her joy and her health. The echoes of her mirth echoed from the cliff face into the expanse of rock and sand, dying away into whispers. After a while she sobered, the grin fading from her face as she surveyed her surroundings. The sun, already high above the horizon, blazed with the heat of a new day, rippling the air above the hot sand.
"I have indeed been blessed by the gods of Iunu," she said out loud, addressing the desert. "However, I must find a way out of this place or I will die, gods or no gods. And for all that I am healed, I can still only see out of one eye."
"That can be remedied," replied a thin voice from the cliff face behind her.
Scarab whirled and stepped back as a green-skinned man wrapped in winding burial cloths glided from the rock wall. "Geb?" she started to say, and then paused as she saw this being was very different from the smiling god of vegetation and healing. Another movement caught her eye and she goggled as a crocodile heaved itself into view, followed by a hawk that flapped and hovered above the green man's head.
"Nephthys is grateful, Scarab-Joined-to-Atum," cried the hawk in a piercing whistle. "To the eye of Geb I add the power to see when there is no light."
"And with a glance, to turn the evil men do, back on themselves," rumbled the crocodile. "Set acknowledges his debt to Scarab-Joined-to-Atum."
The green man opened his mouth and Scarab heard a far off chant of mourning, the sound of women crying and the dull thud of a stone door sealing the grave of a king. "I am Asar, lord of death," spoke the god in a thin voice. The syllables issued from a throat as dry and lifeless as an opened grave. Scarab shuddered and felt the hair rise on her neck.
"Yet I too am bound by debt, Khnumt-Atum Scarab. Gaze upon one of my subjects with the eye of Geb and I will release him to do your service for the space of one hour."
Scarab fell to her knees in front of the terrible trio of gods, her heart racing and her skin cold despite the blazing sun. "Have mercy, lords of death and dark places," she cried. "Do not place such a burden on me."
"Gifts once given can not be taken back, Chosen One of Atum." The voice of Asar slithered across the rock wall like the rustle of burial cloth. An overpowering stench of embalming spices beat at the young woman's nostrils. "Use our gifts wisely."
"I cannot do this, Great One," Scarab said. "My fear is too great."
"Then you will die in this place."
Scarab remained on her knees, head bowed, rocking slowly back and forth. Tears ran down the left side of her face and dripped onto the sand, disappearing in moments leaving only a thin rime of salt.
"Rise daughter." A clear female voice cut through her sobs of anguish. Scarab jerked her head up in surprise. The gods of death and dark places had vanished and in their place stood a beautiful woman clad in snowy linen. On her head, surmounting braided raven locks that fell to her breasts, towered huge horns that encompassed a golden sun disc. In her hands she held a golden ankh and a papyrus staff. The woman looked down at Scarab, compassion softening her regal demeanor. "Rise, beloved daughter."
Scarab wiped away the tears from her eye and got to her feet. She recognised the woman in front of her, and bowed her head. "Mighty one, Foremost of the goddesses, Ruler in heaven, Sister and wife of Asar, Mother of Heru, Queen on earth, Beloved Auset...I am thy servant. Command me."
Auset smiled. "I am pleased with you, Chosen of Atum. With the others of the Nine, I too offer a gift."
Scarab stood, head bowed, in the growing silence. After a long time she tilted her head, peering up at the goddess. "What...uh, may I ask the nature of your gift, Great One?"
"The gods are jealous of their power, and their gifts, though generous, are limited. They love you, Khnumt-Atum Scarab, daughter of Nebmaetre Amenhotep, yet their intent is that each gift be used but once. Already you have used the gift of Tefnut and you will have need of water again if you are to survive the desert."
Scarab's face reflected her dismay. She licked her lips and glanced up at the sun ascending toward the zenith, feeling its power already sucking the moisture from her body. "What must I do, Great Mother?"
"I can multiply the gifts of the gods. They will be yours to use for as long as you may live." Auset frowned, staring at the young woman's face. "But there is a price. I have need of a warrior priestess, one who will carry my name and my worship through the ages of the earth."
"I...I have no knowledge of...I have no training as a priestess, Great Mother."
"I will show you how I wish to be worshipped. Accept my gift and you and your daughter and your daughter's daughter to a thousand generations can call on the gods of Iunu for help in times of need."
"I would accept your gift, great Auset," Scarab said slowly. "But I have no daughter, only a young son who...who was taken from me."
"I accept your service, child of Nebmaetre Amenhotep. Your son will make his way in the world without my help but you will bear a daughter. For as long as you and your descendants keep faithful to me, your line will bear daughters." The goddess planted her papyrus staff firmly in the sand and extended the ankh in her other hand toward Scarab. She muttered some complex phrases beneath her breath. As the last phrase fell from her lips, Auset started to fade from sight, the rocks and sand showing through her body.
"Wait, Great Mother," Scarab cried. "How do I leave this place?"
"Ask of the scarab of Atum-Re," Auset replied. She continued fading until only her golden headdress remained, the sun disc merging with its counterpart in the lapis sky.
"What do I ask it?"
The words came faint, as if blown across the shifting sands from far away. "What you need."
"What I need is to be far away from here," Scarab muttered. She looked around then walked back to the depression in the solid rock, now dry and hot under the blazing sun. She stared at it for several minutes then shrugged. Taking out the golden scarab she held it tightly and spoke aloud, though self-consciously. "Tefnut, I need water."
A great silence filled the desert, the wind dropping on an instant. A faint scrabbling came under a nearby rock and Scarab jerked her head toward the sound. A small pale scorpion pushed out from under the rock and scurried into the shade of a larger boulder. Scarab watched the tiny creature, waiting for some revelation from the gods. She waited...and then she sighed, her shoulders slumping as she turned back to the depression. The small hollow brimmed with clear water.
Having drunk her fill and washed herself, Scarab took the golden carving in hand once more. "Mighty Nut, I need to find a place of safety. Which direction must I take?" She looked around expectantly for a sign. Nothing moved in the growing heat, no wind blew. She pivoted on her heel, carefully examining the horizon and the sand and rock closer at hand. Finally, she turned to the wall of rock behind her. To one side a line of dark shadow marred the smooth surface. The morning sun struck the surface at a different angle from the previous evening, revealing the irregularity. She walked toward the shadow, the line opening out into a steep narrow ravine that ascended the cliff face. Taking a deep breath, Scarab tucked the carving into her dress, hitched it about her hips and started to climb.
Soaked with sweat, the young woman pulled herself over the lip of the cliff onto sand. A great dune lay in front of her, rising like a mountain. She gritted her teeth and started up the side, her feet slipping and sliding in the loose sand. After a long battle she reached the top and stood ankle-deep in hot sand looking out over the eastern desert. Below her, tiny in the distance, something moved.
Scarab grinned and pushed her sweat-sodden hair back from her face. "Thank you, merciful Nut." She set off down the face of the long dune toward the distant caravan.
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Epilogue
"The caravan owners were traders from the shores of the Long Sea, from a long way south, further even than Kush. They said they were from fabled Punt, which I found hard to believe; but as their guest it would have been bad manners to doubt them. They were heading north to the outposts bordering the Wilderness of Sin, and beyond that to Kenaan, bearing spices, incense and worked ivory. Poltu was the leader of the caravan, a large, hairy man who looked like an ape until he smiled, which was often. He took me in, fed me, and gave me a bed in his own tent. I think it was his hope that I would share his bed but when he saw my stone eye glinting yellow in the sunlight, he made the sign against strong magic and ordered another bed made up.
I thought perhaps the stone eye would frighten them, but while they showed great respect, not even the children feared me. Later, Poltu told me that they believed their gods had sent me to guard against bandits along the lonely trail that bordered the Long Sea. In those days, when the writ of the king no longer chilled the heart of the evildoer, and bandits bred like coneys in the rocks, it was a rare caravan that passed unmolested. Maybe they were right about their gods for we had no trouble all the way to Zarw. I left the caravan there and they were sad to see me go, but did not try to persuade me, knowing I had a young son waiting.
I watched until they became small in the distance before I turned and made my way toward the city..."
"It ends there," Dani said. She knelt in the corner of the great chamber with a flashlight in her hand, peering at the tiny hieroglyphs as they became illegible in a patch of flaking plaster.
Al stretched and cracked his knuckles, the small camp chair creaking as he redistributed his weight. "Bloody good read, Dani. That Scarab's an amazing dame, though she seems to believe in a lot of clap-trap."
"Crudely put, as usual," Marc murmured. "However, I must agree with you about her beliefs. What do you think was going on in her head when she wrote about the gods?"
Daffyd drew in a lungful of smoke, his self-rolled cigarette glowing in the relative dimness behind the spotlight. "You have to remember she was in an extremely fragile state there in the desert," he observed quietly, exhaling the smoke to one side. "She had been tortured--sustaining some horrific injuries--and was dehydrated. I imagine she was delirious there for a while. Hallucinations are quite possible."
"What about the water?" Dani asked. "Where did that come from?"
"Perhaps she had a flask with her and forgot it until the hallucination--her unconscious mind--reminded her of it." Daffyd nodded to himself. "The mind is capable of amazing tricks."
"Or she made it up," Al said. "She finds she survives the desert and dreams up a reason for her survival, complete with bulls and lions and little green men. A mysterious pool of water would be nothing."
Dani sat back on her heels and smiled. "Unless the gods of Kemet really did help her."
Under-Minister Ahmed Bashir stirred uncomfortably, signing to his secretary Nazim to switch the tape recorder off. "You are an educated woman, Dr Hanser. You surely cannot literally believe that?"
Dani paused, gathering her thoughts. "I am enough of a scientist not to rule something out automatically," she said slowly. "I have heard accounts from people I trust, and indeed, experienced things myself..."
"'More things in heaven and earth,' as the bard said," Daffyd commented. He ground the stub of his cigarette out on the floor before adding the stub to a dozen others in a small tin. "The world is a strange place."
"Well, I do not believe it for a moment," Bashir declared. "The Prophet--blessed be he--tells us there is One God, Allah, the Merciful and Beneficent, and that all others are false..."
"Can they be false and still exist?" Marc interrupted.
"They could be nothing more than evil spirits, djinn or some such desert demon," Bashir said stiffly. "So the young lady in the account is deluded or a liar."
"A trifle harsh, Under-Minister Bashir," Daffyd said, pulling out his packet of tobacco and cigarette papers. "That sort of attitude might blind you to the truth in her account."
"You spotted something?" Marc said quickly, leaning forward.
Daffyd nodded. "A couple of things, but I won't say anything just yet. I'd like to confirm it with the research team first."
"You heard something in the account that can be independently verified?" Bashir asked.
"As I said, I believe so, but I'd like to check it before I commit."
"Then I suggest we retire immediately and find out." The Under-Minister stood and stretched. "Nazim, bring the tape recorder and the spools. We must have these last ones transcribed immediately." Leaving his secretary to pack up, he led the way across the chamber to the small hole in the wall which was the only exit. He waited in the shadows by the coiled cables that supplied the electric lights and fans for the research team to catch up. Dani, Daffyd, Marc and Al crouched low and scuffed their way through the low passage into the first chamber. Bashir followed, leaving Nazim to carry the equipment.
The six people emerged from the chambers into the natural cavern that had formed their first research site, when they had looked for evidence of a Neanderthal migration route through the Orontes Valley. Now that effort seemed unimportant in the light of their recent discoveries.
The temperature dropped markedly away from the hot lights and Dani was surprised to see that night had fallen. She tended to lose track of time locked away in the depths of the stone chambers. They negotiated the steep goat tracks, descending to the campsite perched between the dirt road that led into this side valley of the Orontes, and the tumbling stream that burbled and gurgled down its rocky bed.
The structure of the campsite had radically changed in the month since the arrival of Under-Minister Ahmed Bashir. Gone was the haphazard arrangement of i
ndividual tents gathered at a little distance from the Syrian work crew and soldiers. Now the men and women of the British University research team were housed in two large tents, one for each gender, and kept under close guard at all times. Their lives had become a routine of work in the Kemetu chambers or at the Neanderthal dig at the rear of the cave, alternating with short meal breaks and sleep in the communal tents. The only respite to this monotony was offered by the large tent that housed the few artefacts unearthed at the dig and a small library of technical books.
The Under-Minister had ordered a large crate of books and journals brought in from the Syrian State Museum Library and such was his authority that the Library hurried to comply with his request despite not seeing the relevance of books on Kemetu history to a prehistory investigation in Syria.
The other half of the research team--Angela, Doris, Bob and Will--sat around a long bench table with mugs of coffee cooling beside them as they pored over pages of type-written notes and open books on Kemetology. Angela looked up as Dani and the others entered the tent, and pushed her long blonde hair out of her eyes.
"Hi guys. What's up?"
Marc yawned. "We got to the end of the chamber. Is that coffee fresh?"
"Sorry, no. I'll make a fresh pot." Angela got up and sauntered off to refill the large coffee plunger. "Anything interesting in the last hour or two?"
"Interesting?" Al asked, his eyes glued to Angela as she walked, her jeans clinging tightly to her shapely legs. "Well, yes, but hardly useful. I think old Scarab finally lost her mind."
"Really?" Bob took the pencil from his mouth and pushed a notebook away from him. "Tell all."
"That's enough," Dani said quietly. "We'll examine the notes without bias if you please. Is there any dinner left?"
"There's a very good lentil soup on the heater," Doris said, pointing.
"And a passable lamb, mushroom and zucchini dish," Will added.
"Well, say what you like about our captors," Al muttered. "At least they serve up a decent bit of nosh. Let me at it." He grabbed a plate and heaped it with the fragrant lamb and zucchini.
