by Lauren Haney
Above the fall, the wadi widened out and low dark gray mountains rose in all directions. Bak raced after the nomad up the most recent channel to be cut through the ancient wa tercourse, dodging fallen rocks and boulders and a few widely spaced silla bushes clinging to life in the dry sand. In stead of slowing to an easier pace, as he should have, and biding his time, he ran hard and fast. Sweat poured from him.
His breath came out in loud gasps and he had a pain in his side. He knew that if he lost sight of the man in this play ground of the lord Set, he would never find him. Worse yet, if the man was at all familiar with this landscape, he could cir cle around and lay in wait until his unsuspecting victim re turned to the spring.
He kept up the pace for as long as he could, but finally slowed to a fast trot. The man ahead also decreased his speed.
Bak saw him pause and raise his waterbag to take a drink.
He, too, was thirsty-but he had left his water behind. When the realization struck, he cursed himself for a fool. He knew he should turn back then and there, but he plodded on.
The wadi gradually swerved to the left and the single channel split into innumerable shallow dry ditches. Ahead, he could see the gaping mouths of several intersecting wadis.
No matter which way he looked, the landscape was the same: streams of coarse golden sand dotted with rocks flowing be tween low gray mountains whose surfaces were rough and broken. Later, he thanked the lord Amon for giving him the good sense to pay heed to his surroundings, for that aware ness probably saved his life.
A thousand or so paces farther on, the nomad veered into a gap that angled off to the right between two peaks. Bak lost sight of him, but his footprints were clear in the sand. When he followed the tracks into the gap, he saw that the man had stopped and turned around to see if he was still being pur sued. Spotting Bak, he ran on.
Bak slowed to a walk, lifted the tail of his tunic to wipe the sweat from his face, and looked around. This gap was about the same width as the wadi he had just left and the peaks to either side looked exactly the same. The similarity troubled him.
Breaking into an easy trot, he resumed the chase. The stitch in his side eased, but his mouth was as dry as the sand beneath his feet. Another thousand or so paces took him through the gap, where he saw some distance ahead a forked intersection, with wadis opening to right and left. The nomad turned into the latter, glancing back as he did so. Bak fol lowed him as far as the fork and stopped to study the terrain ahead. The mountains looked no different than those all around, the wadi looked the same as the series of wadis be hind him.
Common sense dictated that he not follow any farther. He was tired and an ache at the back of his head told him how badly in need of water he was. To allow himself to be led deeper into this maze of identical mountains and wadis would be sheer folly.
Reluctantly, he turned around, giving up the chase.
“I can’t tell you how happy I was to see you.” Bak smiled at Nebre and Kaha, who had come upon him trudging back to the pools. “Never again will I go off without a waterbag.”
“You think he wished you to lose your way and die?”
Psuro asked.
Bak leaned back against the wall of the gorge, well out of the strip of sunlight that fell between the overhanging walls.
He had had enough sun for one day. “I’ve no doubt he did, but whether that was his original intent, I’ve no idea. He may’ve known no other way to get me off his trail. On the other hand, he came down to the pools to look for me. He may’ve seen Imset leave and thought to take advantage of my being alone.”
“You’re certain the boy didn’t know him?” Nebre asked.
“I don’t believe he did. He’d not have left his donkey be hind if he’d felt he could safely travel the usual, easy paths.”
Kaha scowled. “You said he looked to Nefertem as at a god. If he told him to sacrifice the donkey, would he not have done so?”
“All I know is that after I drew his attention to the man who was watching us, he was as wary as I was.”
“Who is this Nefertem?” Psuro asked.
Bak sipped water from the metal bowl, replacing the mois ture he had lost during his futile chase. He felt considerably better than before, but was disgusted with himself for having gone off so ill prepared. “He said his father, who was slain a year or so ago, was Minnakht’s guide before Senna. Min nakht is as a brother to him.”
“You believed him.”
“He was very angry about his father’s death and worried for Minnakht.”
“At least he had the good sense to send you here,” Kaha said. “Compared to the wells we’ve seen, this sheltered place and pools are like the Field of Reeds.” He referred to the do main of the lord Osiris, a place of abundance men hoped to reach in the netherworld.
Bak, Psuro, and Nebre followed his glance, looking up the gorge to the pools. User was supervising the taking of baths, making sure no one wasted a drop of water or soiled the pools in any way. Minmose and Rona, seated at the top of the dry waterfall in the shade of an overhanging rock, were keep ing watch.
Bak and his companions sat on the sand, surrounded by the water jars, supplies, and weapons they had brought from Kaine. Their donkeys and the animal Imset had left behind stood or lay in the shade inside the mouth of the gorge, doz ing. User’s camp and animals were farther back in the gorge.
From what the Medjays had told Bak, the caravan had ar rived at the well not long after he had chased the nomad up the wadi. They had found the hobbled donkey, the meager supply of food, the abandoned waterbag, and the spent ar rows. Their first thought was that the donkey’s master, who ever he was, had vanished as Minnakht had.
Nebre, while watering one of the donkeys, had spotted the print of a sandal near the pool and, thanks to a small
V-shaped cut at the heel, had recognized it as Bak’s. The
Medjays were stunned. The man they had been seeking for the past four days had been here, possibly awaiting them, but had vanished once more-maybe not of his own volition.
While Rona and Minmose had remained behind with Psuro to tend to the animals and make camp, Nebre and Kaha had gone out to look for him. The sand carpeting the wadi floor was too soft to leave clear prints, but they had gradually come to believe they were following two men. They could not tell if Bak was pursuing the other man or if he was that man’s prisoner.
Later, after returning to the pools, Bak had pointed out the slope on which he had first seen the nomad. Kaha had climbed the incline. Higher up, he had found a print of the sandal worn by the watching man.
“The boy went off alone, you say.” Psuro adjusted his seat on the hard ground. “If he was truly what he said and was no friend of the watching man, do you think he got away unharmed?”
“Coming back from my foolhardy chase, I looked specifi cally for his footprints,” Bak said. “I found the place where he left the wadi to climb a hillside too rough and rocky to leave traces of himself. From that point on, I walked in reverse the path he took when he left here, covering all sign of his passing. I saw nothing to indicate that he’d been fol lowed, and I doubt he can be now.”
Kaha and Nebre exchanged a look. The latter spoke for them both. “User wishes to spend the night here. We should have plenty of time during the cooler hours of evening to track the man you chased.”
“I’d wager the last drop of water in this bowl…” Bak held up the container from which he had been drinking.
“… that he’s even now somewhere above the pools, watch ing us.”
The Medjays looked distinctly uncomfortable with the thought.
Kaha broke their long, unhappy silence. “Nefertem must’ve sent him. How else would he have known to look for you here?”
Bak could not bring himself to trust Nefertem without res ervation, but the nomad had been true to his word as far as the pools were concerned and the caravan had come as predicted.
“I first saw him watching us a day’s walk down the main wadi that d
escends to the west. Is that not the way you came?”
Nebre shifted a blade of dry grass from one corner of his mouth to the other. “We did.”
“Either that’s the only way to reach the pass we crossed to get here, or someone in the caravan told him the route you meant to take and he hurried on ahead to intercept you. My coming along may’ve been a surprise.”
Bak spoke reluctantly of a traitor in their midst. He had been greeted like a long-lost brother, with every man in the caravan clapping him on the back, expressing his joy at his return, and letting him know in a multitude of ways how worried they all had been for his safety. He had described his abduction as briefly as possible and had evaded further questions, saying the nomads had known few words of the tongue of Kemet.
“We’ve a snake among us, you think?” Kaha spat out a curse.
“Why take such interest in this caravan?” Psuro asked.
“We’ve done nothing of note, nor are we likely to.”
Bak gave him a wry smile. “Nefertem seemed to think we’re seeking the gold Minnakht is rumored to have found.”
“Bah! User’s been looking for gold for years. He’s never found a thing.”
“Will he be all right?” Bak asked.
Dedu let the donkey’s hoof drop to the ground. The crea ture sidled away, favoring the one leg. “A night’s rest will help. After that, we’ll see.”
User’s nomad guide was at least ten years older than
Senna, closer in age to the explorer than to any of the other men in the caravan. White hairs were visible among the black and deep wrinkles etched his face.
Bak knelt beside him to help him gather together tweezers, a small knife, a razor, and several other bronze tools suitable for use when men or animals needed medical care. “Do you always travel with User when he comes into this desert?”
“When I was a young man…” Dedu flashed a smile, cor rected himself. “When he and I were young, I served always as his guide. But I took a wife and she bore me many chil dren. Responsibility weighed heavy on my shoulders, and my days of wandering came to an end.”
Bak smothered a smile. The nomad may have ceased to wander far from his wife, but in the ensuing years, he and his family had without doubt roamed far and wide over the East ern Desert. “Your children have grown, I suppose, allowing you more time away?”
Dedu dropped the tools into a soft leather bag along with a dozen small packets of herbs. “While at the market in Kaine,
I heard men talking about User and this journey he planned.
I’ve long wanted to increase my flock and I know he gives fair exchange for labor.” A twinkle came to his eyes. “And if the truth be told, I missed the old days.”
Smiling, Bak stood up. “So you offered your services.”
“This, I think, will be my last journey. I thought never to say so, but I long for my wife.”
Laughing, Bak eased the guide toward the hillside over looking the pools, where the rock-strewn slope lay in shadow. A gentle breeze ruffled the grass and reeds, the leaves on the bushes. Most of the men had entered the gorge for their evening meal, and the limping donkey was nibbling his way toward his equine companions hobbled within the overhanging walls.
“Did you know Minnakht?” Bak asked, sitting on a flattish rock near the base of the slope.
Dedu chose a rock not far away. “Each time he came through my family’s territory, he stopped for a day or a night.
He was a good man. Should he not return-and after so long a time, I think it unlikely-we’ll miss him.”
“Did he bring Senna with him?”
“Since a year ago. I envied Senna his task. The gods surely smiled upon him when they sent him to Minnakht.”
“Had you ever met him before? He told me he’s a man from the north, but said he first came here many years ago.”
Dedu placed the leather bag on a rock close to his feet. He adjusted the way it lay and adjusted it a second time. Evi dently sensing Bak’s eyes upon him, he said, “Once before, I saw him. Five years ago or longer.”
Bak gave him a speculative look, wondering why the de lay in answering. “Was he serving as a guide at that time?”
Another hesitation. “He was.”
Giving no sign that he noticed Dedu’s reticence, Bak said,
“He mentioned toiling as a boy for a man who wanted above all things to find gold. Was he traveling with him at that time?
A man your age or older, I’d guess.”
“No.”
The nomad had been very forthcoming earlier. What had stolen his words? “Minnakht’s father sent me into this desert to find his son, Dedu. So far, I’ve learned nothing. I don’t even know if I can trust Senna.”
“I know nothing to Senna’s discredit.”
“Something happened five years ago. What was it?”
Dedu shook his head. “Nothing.”
“You claim you liked Minnakht. Why will you not help me in my quest?”
“What happened to me and mine has nothing to do with his disappearance.”
“I can’t be sure until you tell me.”
Dedu lowered his head, covering his face with his hands.
When at last he spoke, his voice was thick with distress.
“Senna came to our camp in the mountains. The man he trav eled with was not old. Twenty years, no more.” He raised his face to Bak, letting him see his shame. “My daughter, a child of beauty and innocence, was twelve years of age. She was betrothed to the son of one of our clan leaders, a youth she claimed to love above all others. That man with Senna smiled upon her and she in turn smiled at him. They went off to gether for a night and a day and another night. If her be trothed had been any other man, her loss of purity would’ve been of no significance, easily forgiven and quickly forgot ten. But the son of a chief must keep the line pure. That man with Senna ruined her in the eyes of her betrothed.”
Bak laid a sympathetic hand on the nomad’s arm. “What part did Senna play?”
“He went out to find them and brought my daughter back.”
Bitterness entered Dedu’s voice. “Later, we learned she was with child. She lives with me yet, she and the girl, and she re fuses to wed any other man, convinced the swine will one day come back for her.”
“What was the man’s name?”
“I don’t know.”
Bak felt certain he did know, but to press for an answer might silence him altogether. “When I came back this morn ing and found the caravan here, I talked of my abduction.
One thing I failed to mention was the name of the man who led the nomads who took me away. You’ve dwelt here a life time, so you must know him. I was never told his birth name, but he said Minnakht called him Nefertem.”
The guide’s relief at the change of subject turned to sur prise. “He’s our tribal chief, the one man standing at the head of all our clans. Why would a man of his stature abduct you?”
Bak also was surprised, but for a different reason. He had not guessed Nefertem was of such import, though when he thought back on how quick the nomads had been to obey his every command, he should have. “He spoke of his father as
Minnakht’s guide, not as a tribal chieftain.”
“His father was a good man highly regarded by all, but not a leader. His uncle, who died two months ago, leaving behind no sons of his own, named Nefertem to succeed him.”
“He believes his father was slain at the hands of another. If he was so well thought of, why would anyone wish him dead?”
The question hung in the air between them with no answer to be found.
Chapter 9
Bak awakened, rolled onto his back, and groaned. What now? he wondered. The donkeys were moving around, blow ing, making small noises. Something had disturbed them.
This was not the first time the creatures had grown rest less. He and Psuro had gotten up earlier in the night to walk among them, calm them, and search for a reason. At the same time, User’s drovers had dealt with
the larger string of ani mals for which they were responsible. He had no idea how long ago that was. The gorge, whose overhanging cliffs had cut off much of the moon- and starlight, had been very dark.
Even with eyes accustomed to the deep gloom, they had had trouble seeing. Unable to find anything wrong, they had gone back to sleep.
The narrow strip of light between the cliffs told him the lord Re had begun to rise from the netherworld. He rolled over and looked toward the mouth of the gorge. The pools glowed like mirrors in the clear light of dawn. Ordinarily the caravan would have been ready to leave, or already on the way, but User had decided they needed fresh meat. The large numbers of sandgrouse that came to drink offered too tempt ing an opportunity to resist. They would remain until evening.
Bak sat up and glared at the donkeys. They were not go ing to settle down without a gentle touch and soft words of encouragement.
“What’s gotten into them?” Nebre grumbled as he, too, sat up.
The two men scrambled to their feet and walked into the small herd. As they calmed the animals, they examined the ground and the walls of the cliff and probed the supplies and forage scattered around, trying to discover what had made the creatures so restless. A single thought lay unspoken be tween them: a snake. In the better light, they could see fairly well, but were no luckier than before. Whatever the donkeys had sensed had either gone away or hidden itself.
They walked deeper into the gorge to help the drovers with
User’s donkeys. Again, they found no apparent reason for the animals’ distress.
When they returned to their camp, Psuro, Kaha, and Rona were seated around their makeshift hearth, where the long dead fire had turned to ash, eating a skimpy morning meal of bread and dried fish. The sandgrouse would make a welcome change to so dreary a diet.
