Ferguson, J. A. - Call Back Yesterday.txt
Page 30
Darcy quickly told the woman the story she had been
trying to complete. The woman’s smile faltered when
Darcy spoke of the treachery that had left Meskhenet’s
sister and brother dead, but she motioned for Darcy to
continue.
“There is no more,” Darcy said. “I don’t remember
how it ends.”
“Yes, you do. You don’t want to recall it, for one never
wishes to revisit the moment of one’s death.” She smoothed
Darcy’s hair back from her face in a motion so familiar,
tears of joyous reunion fell down Darcy’s face. “But you
must know the truth, dear sister, or what once was shall
be again. You have been given a chance to redeem a great
wrong done against you. If you let it slip through your
fingers, you will never have this chance again.”
“But I don’t remember it.”
Ahwere’s fingers touched Darcy’s temple. “Yes, you
do.”
She could not breathe.
The darkness was stifling, pressing down on her so
she could not draw in a single breath.
Pain and darkness . . .
Nothing left but pain and darkness and knowing she
had failed. The lives in this time had nearly run their
measure. Not only her life, but the lives of the ones she
loved.
She tried to breathe, but there was no air. Just dust
from shattered mortar and broken rock.
She had been warned. She should have listened.
Pain and darkness . . .
Ahwere’s fingers moved away.
Darcy opened her eyes. “Is that the death you speak
of? Meskhenet’s death?”
“Yes. You rushed to save the one you loved, and you
sought him in the place where he did the work he loved.”
“In the tomb Kafele was building for my—for
Meskhenet’s brother.”
“For our brother, Meskhenet.” She smiled sadly.
“I wanted to warn Kafele.” She rose to her knees and
fisted her hands by her sides. “Usi intended to accuse him
of the murder. I had to get to him. I had to.” She moaned
as the terror rose up within her again. “No, I don’t want to
remember the rest.” She reached out to grip Ahwere’s
shoulders, but the ka held up her hands, keeping Darcy’s
away, and shook her head.
“The rest, Meskhenet. You must remember all that
happened.”
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“You know better than I, Meskhenet, for I was dead
and was being judged worthy of entering the underworld
before you met your end.”
Sitting back on her heels, Darcy stared at her hands.
She closed her eyes as she did when she tried to think of
the next words for the story . . . her story. “It was easy to
slip out of the palace. Everything was in such a hubbub as
word of the murders went from one mouth to another. No
one doubted it had been poison, and there was much
speculation about the execution of such a murderer.
Horrible speculation.” She shuddered, then taking a deep
breath, went on, “It was even easier than it had been before
to cross the river. No one took notice of a small boat.”
“So you went to warn Kafele.”
“Yes.” She raised her eyes to Ahwere’s shadowed ones.
“The sandal was his. I recognized it, and I knew Usi
intended to place the blame on him. I had to warn Kafele.
He must flee from Egypt—and take me with him. We could
go beyond the great falls and live among those who resided
on the banks at the Nile’s birth. But when I went to his
home, he wasn’t there. I knew he must be at the tomb. I
went there. When he wasn’t outside, I went in. I hadn’t
gone far when . . .” She moaned as she collapsed onto the
floor.
The nightmare haunting her all her life had been the
moments at the end of Meskhenet’s life. In her hurry to
save Kafele, she had triggered one of the traps he had built
to keep tomb-robbers from the Pharaoh’s sarcophagus. The
roof had crashed down on her.
More tears—these of an unspeakable loss—rained
down her face as Ahwere’s fingers gently stroked her hair.
Trembling, she grasped the ka’s hand. “Tell me,” she
whispered. “Tell me what happened to Kafele.”
“I do not need to tell you what you know, Meskhenet.
Even though we both were dead before Kafele’s ka left
his body, we know what happened.”
She closed her eyes. She knew as if she had witnessed
it herself. Usi would have exacted some cruel death on
Kafele. With her gone, Kafele would have had no one to
speak on his behalf. She shivered. If Meskhenet’s body
had been found, Usi could have blamed Kafele for that as
well.
“If only I had waited . . .” Darcy whispered.
“That was not in your nature then, dear sister. Is it
now?”
She almost said yes, then shook her head. She had
blundered into the wood after Hastings instead of waiting
for help. Again she had been doomed to the darkness she
had feared she could not flee. But this time, she had escaped
with Reverend Fairfield and Hastings’ help.
“If I’m Meskhenet and you are Ahwere’s ka, then . . .”
“You were not reborn into this time alone, my sister.
Do you recall what Kafele called you the first time he
held you in his arms?”
“Yes. Beloved of Thoth.”
Ahwere brushed her hand against Darcy’s cheek again.
“He was and he is a man of much wisdom, for he could
see the future even when we lived so many millennia in
the past. He knew, even then, Thoth did not want to take
you to his judgment so soon. You should have lived many
more years.” She smiled. “Now you are living again. Your
face is different, but I have seen my dear sister within you
as I have watched over you.”
“You? You are the light over my bed?”
“The ka has a living presence that cannot be doused
like a fire with the coming of death. It continues to glow
with its life force until Ra sinks for the last time into the
western desert.” Ahwere folded her hands in her lap. “I
waited long for you to return from your wanderings to
seek a new life. Now you have your chance for it, but be
wary, Meskhenet. Do not repeat your mistakes, for you
will not be given another chance.”
“Repeat my mistakes?” Cold struck her as if a blizzard
blew out of the darkness. “Are you saying there are others
from the past in addition to Kafele and Meskhenet who
are alive in this time?”
“Do not repeat your mistakes, for you will not be given
another chance.” The light around Ahwere began to
contract, folding her image as if it were a photograph.
“No!” Darcy cried, jumping to her feet. “Don’t go! I
have so many more questions to ask you. Who are the
others in my story? Who are they now?”
The light vanished, and she sank back to sit on the
floor.
“Don’
t leave me in the darkness again,” she moaned.
“Now I know what evil it holds.”
***
Lifting her head off the damp floor, Darcy strained
her ears. There it was again. Some sound other than the
drip of water and the skitter of what she guessed were
rats.
She sat as light edged around what must be a door. It
was too bright. She covered her eyes and moaned.
Laughter, triumphant laughter, filled the space around
her. She blinked, forcing her eyes to adjust to the light. In
disbelief, she stared at two men. Hastings and Reverend
Fairfield, but not the well-dressed men she was accustomed
to seeing. Both wore strange, flowing robes of what looked
to be Egyptian cotton. Hastings wore some sort of circlet
on his head, and the vicar had on a wig to make his blond
hair as black as one born along the Nile.
Slowly coming to her feet, she drew the ragged blanket
over her shoulders. She was about to thank them for finding
her yet again, but her words went unsaid when the vicar
laughed again.
He pointed to her and said, “There she is, Hastings.
You see what she is wearing. She is not of this time or
place.”
Darcy looked down at herself. She was wearing no
more than the seductive nightgown she had found waiting
on her bed. With a gasp, she pulled the blanket around
her, even though it was damp and filthy. She reached behind
her back to pull her hair forward to drape over her, but
found nothing.
“See,” continued the vicar. “She may claim to have
English blood, but she wears her hair tonight as the queens
of Egypt have for centuries.”
Darcy touched her cropped hair. “Did you do this?”
“Yes.” Reverend Fairfield smiled. That smile might
have turned many heads, but it only turned her stomach.
“I did it all for Hastings.”
“For Hastings?” She looked at Simon’s father.
Hastings was weaving like a drunkard, and for a
moment she feared he had swallowed whatever sleeping
potion she had. Noticing his tremulous hands, she knew
he was weak with whatever had caused his heart to betray
him before. She hurried to him and led him to a bench she
could see in the light from Reverend Fairfield’s lantern.
“How are you faring?” she asked. “You shouldn’t be
in this chilly place.”
“I shall be doing fine soon.” He ran his hand along
her waist. Through the blanket, she could barely feel his
touch, but his eyes gleamed with lust.
She stepped back. “Hastings, what are you doing?”
“I told you,” Reverend Fairfield said, “she would be
coy at first. That is their way.”
“Whose way? Women?” she asked, facing him.
“Yes, but the most coy, for they have the most to offer,
are the handmaidens of Thoth.”
Darcy gripped the blanket more tightly. Sure she had
misunderstood him, she asked, “What are you talking
about?”
He reached beneath the blanket, grasping her arm when
she would have backed away. He pulled out her pendant
and dropped it onto her chest. “I’m talking about this.”
“I repeat—What are you talking about?”
“She truly is coy, Hastings. She knows what she has
to give and she knows what she can withhold.”
The old man wheezed, “But the time is wrong. You
said when the moon waned and grew full again. By then,
I’d be stronger.”
“That was the plan until that virago swept down upon
Rosewood Hall.” His mouth twisted.
Knowing he spoke of Grandmother Kincaid, Darcy
started to laugh. She halted when the vicar turned to her
again. His eyes burned with a fanaticism she suspected
had nothing to do with his living at the church in Halyeyn.
She backed away, but he caught her arm again.
He lowered his voice so it would not reach Hastings’
ears. “You were safely cached away until your grandmother
decided to call and drag you back beneath her thumb. I
couldn’t have Lady Kincaid causing trouble and asking
questions that would bring the law to Rosewood Hall, so I
sent Hastings to have you released.”
“Cached away? You—You—” she stammered. She had
misjudged him. Not when she distrusted him earlier, but
when she had forgiven him for his assistance in freeing
her from the asylum. She steadied herself enough to say,
“You sent me to the asylum!”
With a smile that never should have been on the face
of a clergyman, he said, “You needed to stay in Halyeyn,
and you were determined to leave as soon as the manuscript
was finished.”
“You bribed me to leave.”
“Knowing that you’d be stubborn and stay.” He
chuckled. “That was my one error. Instead of trying to
chase you away, I should have offered you a place in my
household.”
“In your household? Doing what?”
His smile became taut. “What you have done for Simon
beyond typing his manuscript.”
“You can’t believe I would have come to your house
to—to—” She could not even give voice to the abhorrent
thought.
“I knew you’d decline, because you fancied Simon
being in love with you, even though I was honest when I
told you that he’ll never care for anyone again. Putting
you in the asylum guaranteed you wouldn’t leave before
you were needed.”
Astounded by his treachery, she asked, “Needed for
what?”
The vicar spoke loudly enough for the old man to hear.
“Listen to her, Hastings.” He circled her like a cat taunting
its prey, and she turned to keep facing him. “She knows
very well she has sucked every bit of life out of your son.”
“Where is Simon?” she asked again.
He leaned toward her, lowering his voice again so she
could barely hear it over Hastings’ wheezing. “He’s dead.”
“Dead?” she gasped. “What did you do to him?”
“Me?” He pressed his hand over his chest. “You’re
the handmaiden of Thoth. You decide which person shall
live and which shall die.”
She grasped his arm. “Stop the nonsense! Tell me what
has happened to Simon. What have you done to him?”
Again he prowled around her, his smile broadening.
“You’re wasting time, Darcy. Not Darcy, though, is it?
What was that name you told me she has, Hastings?”
“Meskhenet,” he choked out, pressing his hand to his
chest.
Darcy took a step toward him, and Reverend Fairfield
halted her again. Trying to shake his hand off her arm, she
ordered, “Release me! Hastings is obviously ill.”
“You’ll stay where you are.”
“How can you say that? He is ill. Do you want your
uncle—”
“Hastings is my father.”
“Father?” She wondered how many more surprises
awaited her tonight.
He laughed coldly. “You look
surprised, Darcy. I
thought Simon would have told you the truth.”
“How could he? He believes you’re his cousin.”
“He believed. I told you, Darcy. He’s dead.”
Her fingers tightened on the blanket, unwilling to
believe him. She would know in her heart if Simon was
dead, wouldn’t she? “What have you done to him?”
“I told you, Darcy. He’s dead. It’s unwise to blow out
a gaslight and not turn the gas off.”
She edged back away from him as she shivered with
sobs. The vicar’s triumphant smile was one she had seen
before—when she read of Usi claiming the title of Pharaoh.
If she held the ka of Meskhenet, Simon must be, without
question, Kafele, for he had been wondrously familiar from
the very moment she saw him.
Another shudder cramped through her. Andrew
Fairfield had within him the evil ka of Usi, the chief
architect. That left for Hastings only Pharaoh. The gullible,
trusting Pharaoh who had not seen the serpent within his
garden. She wanted to denounce the vicar, but she did not
want to betray what had happened here before he opened
the door.
But one question she had to ask. So much that had
happened in the past was happening again. “Have you been
poisoning Hastings?” she asked. “Have you been the
reason for his failing health?”
“Poison?” the vicar asked with what appeared to be
genuine amazement. “Why would I poison my own
father?”
“That is a question you can answer far better than I
can.” She would not believe his protestations. There had
been too much talk of poison, both in the past and in this
time.
Reverend Fairfield went to Hastings and drew the old
man to his feet. “She took the life force from your son
when she became his lover. The scales must be balanced.
Take that life—that young and healthy life—back from
her.”
“How?”
“Hastings!” she cried. “Don’t listen to him!”
The vicar gripped her hair, twisting it so tightly around
his hand a moan of pain burst out of her. Tearing the blanket
from her shoulders, he grasped the pendant. “See this,
Hastings. She wears the symbol of Thoth, the god who
possesses the Book of Thoth with its spell for eternal life.
She has been sent here for you.”
“Simon . . .” He coughed.