“I think Taharqa’s a little busy,” she said as she watched him parry blow after blow, his gritted teeth gleaming in the moonlight.
“Then I’ll have to do something,” said Matt.
Sarah turned to him and gripped his hand. “There’s nothing you can do. Let Taharqa and the soldiers deal with this.”
Matt shook his head. “They’re doing what they can, but they won’t go out of their way to protect us, and I can’t let anything happen to you again.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not a soldier—”
But Matt, as usual, acted impulsively, leaping to his feet and racing over to the dead guard, Senkamon. He rooted around beside the man, unearthing his quiver and enormous longbow. Sarah couldn’t keep her jaw latched as she watched him shake out an arrow and try to nock it.
“Matt, what do you know about archery?”
“Enough to know that you place the arrow in the string, pull back, aim . . .” His voice lost volume, his face contorting with effort as he drew back on the bow. His arms trembled as if he were standing in an earthquake zone.
He let loose. The arrow thudded to the ground . . . a couple of metres away.
“Darn!” he yelled and whipped out another.
“Matt, forget it. You need all kinds of practice and arm strength.”
He looked hurt, but he had to face the truth. He wasn’t a warrior and he didn’t have to protect her. They just needed a place to hide.
She realized quickly, though, that with the absence of trees the only place to hide would be behind a dune, and they’d be spotted as soon as a raider rode over the crest and rounded the other side. The river was another possibility, but that might also mean crocodiles. Somehow they just had to hope that Taharqa and his men could fend off the raiders and, in the meantime, they wouldn’t be attacked.
But Matt had another idea.
“We’ll take Senkamon’s horse,” he said, seizing his backpack and slinging his arms through the straps. “We’ll head south along the river, away from the raiders, until the battle’s over.”
Sarah was about to protest, thinking they’d be far more visible on horseback, but then a spear flew through the air towards her, ripping the earth between her feet. A raider charged from the dark, his eyes glowing with fury. Sarah shrieked and stumbled backward, but Matt leaped in front of her, yanked the spear from the ground, and threw it back at the man. It didn’t pierce anything but became tangled in his feet, just enough of an obstacle to trip him and send him sprawling onto the sand.
“Let’s go,” he yelled, and she didn’t argue.
Matt patted the horse to try to calm her. She was prancing in agitation, but stayed still long enough for him to grasp her mane and swing his leg over her back. Shuffling forward, he leaned down and hauled Sarah up behind him. Without wasting another second, Matt plucked up the reins and kicked his heels into the mare’s side. She didn’t need any more encouragement to flee.
Sarah wrapped her arms around Matt’s waist and clung to him as the mare raced like a comet into the night. She wanted to close her eyes to the carnage around her, but she couldn’t avoid seeing the dead and injured. Soon they’d topped a dune and plunged down the sand on the other side, leaving the bloody scene behind, but the clang of swordfights, the whistling of arrows, and the screams and yells of raiders and soldiers still penetrated the clear night air.
“It’s okay now,” said Matt in a low reassuring voice. “We’ll be okay.”
A sob welled up in Sarah’s throat. How could anything ever be okay again? All around them people were dying. She and Matt were scrambling through a desert, alongside a river crowded with crocodiles, barely escaping spears and arrows designed to kill them. The only friend they’d managed to make was dead. And in their own time, they didn’t exist anymore.
“Matt, I’ve tried to be brave, but . . .”
“Sarah, it’s not about bravery. It’s about survival, whether in our own time or this one. I don’t mind if you cry. You’re still stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.”
Sarah shivered and buried her face in his back. She let the tears flow unimpeded, and she felt his own misery in the roundness of his shoulders and the way his head bent forward. But they were alive and they were together.
Suddenly a loud cry rang out from behind. Sarah pivoted to take a look. The night seemed thick with dust and she could distinguish little else. But the earth drummed with what sounded like another horse’s galloping feet. The sound approached them from the camp, and somehow she doubted it was a soldier fleeing the battle. From the look of him, Taharqa didn’t train cowards.
Is that what they were, she wondered? Should they have stayed and fought, with little skill and less hope?
Matt gave their mare a brisk kick, prodding her to go faster. Sand scraped Sarah’s face and pricked her eyes. This was a speedy horse. They could escape. But why was the thudding getting louder?
She turned back and looked right into the wild eyes of a raider. Hands whipped out and grabbed her, breaking her clasp on Matt.
“No!” he yelled, reaching for her arm as she was snatched from the horse’s back. The raider threw her over his own horse, her chest slapping against its belly, and she lost her breath.
The horse veered to the side and—at last—her breath came back. “Matt!” she cried.
Where is he? Can he hear me? This can’t be happening.
The Medjay had her pinned as the horse flew over the sand, climbing the dune to the east. Was Matt following? He had to. He had to help her. Too much depended on them staying alive and staying together. But as she looked back from her bouncing, sliding, precarious position on the horse, the raider pulled farther ahead and Matt was swallowed in a cloud of dust.
Chapter 8
Torn
Matt couldn’t believe his eyes. The face with the jagged scar on its chin. The horse with the white diamond on its belly. A raider! Approaching. Snatching Sarah. A raider had taken Sarah.
He slammed his heels into the mare’s side, yelling, “Giddy up! Giddy up! We can catch her. Can’t let him . . .”
The horse sprang forward, plunging its hooves into the uneven drifts of sand, climbing the dune in front of them, cresting it, only for Matt to find another in his path and no sign of the Medjay raider.
Matt grunted and groaned. He hammered at the poor mare’s side. He slapped her flanks and she struggled forward, but the sound of hoofbeats became fainter, duller. The raider was pulling away.
Well, I can’t let him. Even if the raider’s horse was swifter than his mare, it was leaving obvious scoops in the sand, visible even in the moonlight. He could track it. And sooner or later the man would have to stop, wouldn’t he? To rest? To eat?
Matt prodded his mare forward, but he could feel the fatigue in her unsteady footsteps and her heaving sides. She’d spent many hours yesterday travelling through the plains and desert, and now he was forcing her to gallop up and down this sand dune roller coaster. Poor thing. But it wasn’t pity for the mare that tore at him. It wasn’t pity that made his whole body go rigid, his teeth grind against each other. It was Sarah.
Why did the raider take her? It didn’t make any sense. Of all the things that had happened to them since they’d met, this was by far the worst. They’d been separated before, but she’d been with a friend, an ally. She’d been shot at, but he’d been there to protect her. What would happen to her now? It was clear that these men weren’t kind, even-tempered, or reasonable in any way. They were raiders, killers. Somehow, he had to catch them. He had to get to Sarah before . . .
A glimmer of dawn brightened the indigo sky. Matt could just make out a speck in the distance, climbing a dune to the east. There he is. Matt yanked on the mare’s reins and sent her stumbling in that direction. He heard hoofbeats now, but they drummed in chorus, as if they sprang from more than just one horse. Suddenly two, three, four horses galloped at his side. The men mounted on them had tall frizzy hair and wore white flowing garments. Med
jay.
They grinned at Matt. One aimed a spear at him, then eyed him carefully and lowered it.
“Do you . . . belong . . . with them?” he asked. His voice pulsed with an odd cadence, matching the horse’s rhythm. “Or were . . . you captured?”
“I—” He couldn’t identify with the Nubians or the Medjay would kill him. “Captured,” he said.
The raider nodded. “Join us,” he said, “and you . . . will never . . . be a slave . . . again.”
Matt didn’t have to think twice. “Sure,” he replied. All he had to do was pretend and they’d take him to Sarah. This couldn’t have worked out better.
A cry from behind startled them both.
“Raiders, halt!”
The earth quivered and the air thundered from what had to be hundreds of galloping horses. The Nubians were now mounted and pursuing.
“Come,” said the Medjay. He spurred his horse and charged past Matt. The others raced ahead too, in the same direction as the first man—Sarah’s abductor.
Matt kicked his own mare pitilessly. She sprang forward at a generous pace, but it seemed clear after a few minutes that she couldn’t keep up with the others. The earth shook even more violently as the soldiers approached, dust mushrooming into the air.
No! We can’t fall behind. We have to stay with the Medjay. We have to.
“Halt!” He instantly recognized the voice that shouted out behind him. “Didn’t I promise you a dozen arrows?”
Taharqa’s horse snorted at his back now, steaming up his shirt. He knew if he kept going Taharqa would skewer him. He hauled on the reins, his mare shuddering to a stop.
“I was chasing them,” he said as he swung around to the general, biting his lip to suppress his frustration. “They took Sarah!”
Taharqa waved his men to keep following the raiders, but he pulled up beside Matt. “I saw them talking to you.” He drew his sword from its scabbard. “And they did not kill you.”
“They recognized that I was foreign. They thought I was a slave, so they didn’t bother killing me. But I want to kill them!” said Matt. “They have Sarah!”
“They took your girl?” asked Taharqa, raising his brows.
“Yes,” he answered.
The prince’s eyes narrowed. “Interesting.” Matt gaped at his next words. “So we’ll retrieve her. If we find they took her against her will—and you are not connected to them—then I’ll let you live.”
“So what are we waiting for?” said Matt. “They’re getting away. We can follow—”
“They will get away,” said Taharqa. “They know the desert. They have swift horses. They separate and gather together in small groups so we can’t find them. My men will return soon, and if they’ve taken down one, I will be surprised.”
“Then how do we get Sarah back?”
“In seven days they will gather. Something they’ve done for a number of years, according to my intelligence. That is where we’ll find them.”
“Seven days!” exclaimed Matt. “We can’t wait seven days. Anything could happen to Sarah. They’re killers. They—”
“They took her,” said Taharqa. “They did not kill her. She’ll be alive in seven days.”
Matt wanted to plead and argue. How could he leave Sarah for seven days in the hands of these raiders? But Taharqa had a look of cold determination in his eyes with a glimmer of something else. The prince knew his enemy. He knew this territory much better than Matt did. If he couldn’t catch them, then who could? Matt would have to go along with his plan. Even if he tried to set out on his own to find Sarah, Taharqa would never let him leave. He was still a prisoner, even if they dispensed with the ropes this time. He knew that the prince wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he made any move to escape.
But as he followed the prince back to the camp, his heart ached and his head pounded. Sarah left all alone in the hands of maddened killers. What was going to happen to her? What if they . . . ? How could he carry on without her? He felt ragged and raw. Every part of him wanted to scream. It was as if he and Sarah were a page—an essential piece of a document—that had been ripped in half.
* * * *
Sarah felt dizzy and nauseous. Thrown haphazardly over the horse’s back, her head dangling on one side and legs on the other, she bounced continually against the animal’s belly. The galloping speed made it even worse. The Medjay didn’t slacken his pace, even when the sounds from behind diminished. Sarah realized the chase was over when the pounding hooves faded away, like a heartrending decrescendo. She knew Matt wasn’t going to catch them.
What now? Was this raider going to hurt her? Torture her? Kill her? Somehow she had to escape.
Sarah struggled to raise her head, shift her body to the side, so she could slide off the horse. But the raider was attuned to her movements. He slammed his hand down and repositioned her, pinning her with his arm.
“Please,” she said. “Let me go. I’m a foreigner. I don’t belong with those men.”
“That I know,” he said. “Now lie still.” It was a command that permitted no argument.
So she wouldn’t argue. She’d just try to escape. Again she tried to break from his grasp and slip off the horse, but he was too strong. He held her firmly. She couldn’t even lift her chest off the horse’s belly.
Sarah continued to struggle until she heard hoofbeats approach from behind—a patting, drumming sound. She turned her head to the side. Horses galloped over the dunes, bobbing silhouettes in the moonlight. Her heart leaped in her chest. Could it be Taharqa and his men? Could Matt be with them?
But as the men drew nearer she recognized the puffy hairstyles and robes of the Medjay raiders. They surrounded the man who’d captured her and threw out questions about her.
“Who is she? Why take her?”
The man grunted and mumbled something about “a captive.” That was all she could make out. It didn’t seem like much, but the men were satisfied with his answer and encouraged him to pick up the pace.
“The Kushites are in pursuit,” one man explained.
Hope blossomed in Sarah’s chest. The Nubians were called Kushites in this time period—she remembered reading that—and they were chasing these men. They’d rescue her. She clung to that hope as the horse beneath her accelerated and dashed after the others.
She listened, listened . . . They must be coming. But the desert yielded no sound other than the steady beat of the horse’s hooves—like a heart thumping against her ear. Thump-thump, thump-thump.
Please, Matt. Please come.
Tears soaked her forehead and dripped off the bridge of her nose. Where was he? She was so thirsty, tired, sore. The sky began brightening, tingeing the horizon a pale apricot. Was it really morning? How long had they been riding? And why hadn’t Taharqa’s men caught these raiders yet? But as the sun rose, she could see nothing behind her but a rumpled tawny wilderness of sand. Sarah blinked back more tears. She had to keep hoping. She just had to.
It seemed they continued for hours more, although the horses had reduced their speed at the first blast of heat from the desert sun. Sarah thought they would never stop. She found her head lolling, sweat dripping from her forehead and shoulders, and her belly, legs, and chest feeling chafed and raw from rubbing against the horse. Finally she couldn’t hold out anymore. She didn’t care if he was her captor. She needed water, relief, anything.
“Thirsty,” she said.
The man grunted.
“Please.” She wasn’t above begging. “I need water.”
The horse stopped. The man got off and stood in front of her. He had wide fierce eyes and a jagged scar marking his chin. Would he kill her now? But he simply lifted her head and poured fluid from a canteen. She lapped at it as it spilled over her face, and sighed as it gurgled pleasantly down her throat and extended cool fingers throughout her body. Something so basic had never felt so amazing.
Now she could do it. She pushed herself up and slipped off the horse, on the opposite side of t
he rider. Sarah fell to the ground, her legs flimsy and weak, but she leaped up, willed her legs to work, and dashed up the dune behind her. She expected yells, cries, and the sounds of pursuit. What she didn’t expect was . . . laughter.
Well, laugh all you want. I’m going to get away.
She kept climbing, but stopped at the dune’s summit. Endless ripples of dunes stretched to the horizon in front of her. Ghostly, desolate, with no life, no movement, no soldiers coming to rescue her. She turned back to see the men still mounted, but not moving, watching her with actual glee crinkling their eyes and curling their mouths. There was nowhere for her to run and they knew it. She had no food, no water, and kilometres of desert between her and the Nubians. She didn’t even know which direction to take, and she’d probably get lost in the desert before she eventually died.
But she couldn’t turn back hollowly and surrender to them. What would happen to her then? Maybe it would be worse than dying in the desert.
Sarah plodded forward, already feeling the sun burn her skin and siphon away the precious water she’d just guzzled. She walked over the dune and left the men behind. It seemed a good ten minutes—or was it an hour?—before she heard the patter of a horse’s hooves behind her. She whirled around. It was no surprise to see the same Medjay who’d captured her, his eyes looking even more fierce and his scar even more pronounced, trotting towards her. She should run, but she didn’t have the strength. He didn’t grab her this time, but pulled up beside her.
“Come,” he said. “You know you’ll die here. We’ll give you life.”
She shook her head. “I’m going home,” she said, but suddenly realized how crazy that sounded. Where was home? Certainly not the Nile River alongside a suspicious Nubian prince and his soldiers. But Matt was there, so, in a sense, it was the closest thing to home she could reach right now.
“Do you ride with the Kushite prince?”
She looked up into his deep earth-brown eyes. They were sparkling. How much does he know?
Time Meddlers on the Nile Page 5
