“That must be the Second Cataract,” he muttered. At least I know what it is now, and I’m not in the middle of it. I’m just in the middle of everything else.
They marched along the river for several kilometres, until Matt saw huge mudbrick walls rise from the desert floor on the opposite side of the Nile. Maybe this was the fortress Taharqa had mentioned. Massive fortifications, towers and block-shaped battlements, glowered down at them like medieval ramparts. But they weren’t in the Medieval Age—if that even existed anymore. The architecture was 3000 years ahead of its time.
Stone quays extended into the river where large barges and small ships were tied. Taharqa immediately spoke with the ship captains, arranging to board with his chariots and horses and cross to the fortress. He waved Matt forward and Matt reluctantly left his place in line to ride up beside the prince.
“Buhen,” said the prince, pointing at the fortress. “Built to protect our trade from marauders and raiders in previous ages. We even have one called Repelling the Medjay, but they still gather near here at this time of year.”
Matt mumbled a brief, “Oh.”
The prince cast him a narrow gaze. “Are you angry with me for training you with the lion?”
“No,” said Matt, trying to avoid Taharqa’s eyes. “It was probably the best way to train me quickly.”
“But . . .”
“But I’m worried that the Medjay won’t talk to you, or, if I helped influence you in any way to talk to them, that I may be wrong.”
“Then you see how hard it is to be a prince, a general, and definitely a king,” said Taharqa. “When a small man makes a small furrow in a small plot of land, it impacts that land in a minor way. But when a larger man with a greater sphere of influence plows and cultivates the length of the Nile, it transforms an entire kingdom. You’re not a large man, Matt. Maybe one day you will be. But you don’t have to take these decisions on your shoulders. They rest on mine and, for good or ill, I have to live with them.”
Matt nodded, but he couldn’t agree. He knew that his small shoulders were quaking under the weight of an entire universe.
“Besides,” said the prince as a plume of dust rose from the far side of the river. Men were rushing along a trail, shouting and gesticulating to the soldiers.
“Medjay!” they shouted. “Raiders at the town of Faras!”
“The decision may have already been made for us,” he finished.
* * * *
Sarah tried to scream, but someone stuffed a rag into her mouth. She tried to wrench free, but the hands that held her felt like lobster claws, strong enough to snap bone. Ropes clasped her wrists and one was knotted around her waist, pinning her arms to her side. Roughly, she was shoved forward, stumbling over rocks and clods of mud. But in the dark, she couldn’t determine who her attackers were, despite their constant muttering. Just angry young men, and maybe one older one.
This is where I pay.
The moon hung low in the sky, and she could dimly make out the darker strip of the path between bristly stalks of wheat as the men yanked her forward. What would happen now? Would they toss her into the river to drown? But instead they marched towards the chiselled mountain, towards the massive feet of the pharaoh carved in the rock.
Abu Simbel! The temple made by Ramses II.
Despite her situation, Sarah was awestruck. The statues’ soaring height strained her eyes, as if she were walking under the throne of a god. Many gods, actually, since there were four seated statues of Ramses with smaller replicas of Nefertari sculpted beside and between his feet. The men prodded her up a ramp, then stopped at a gargantuan wooden door sealing the temple entrance. In astonishment Sarah watched as they produced a sleek golden key to unlock the door.
The door creaked open. Sarah was shoved in. She fell to her knees, but the men grabbed her arms on either side and hoisted her up, forcing her into the black throat of the temple. She remembered reading how this enormous temple, in the future, had been removed from its current location, because a dam was constructed on the Nile and the temple would have been flooded. They’d transported the entire structure block by block two hundred feet farther back from the river. But why were these men bringing her here? And how did they have a key to a sacred Egyptian temple?
She had little time to think about it before they dragged her deeper into the shadows and panic resurfaced. Cave panic. A giant hand that gripped her chest and squeezed. Why did she always end up somewhere dark and terrifying? They steered her to the right and thrust her to the ground. The darkness pressed closer until one of the men lit a torch and raised it near the wall, illuminating brilliant frescoes of the pharaoh and Egyptian gods along with swarms of hieroglyphs. More detailed statues of Ramses II bordered the path, grim-faced guardians to the temple’s entrance. Now Sarah could identify her captors, particularly one, as the light swept over his scowling, wrinkled face. Nefkat.
He seized the rag and yanked it from her mouth. Sarah coughed and sputtered, trying to clear her throat of copious dry threads and a log jam of mucus. She eyed Qeskaant’s father, her stomach doing somersaults. What did he have in store for her?
“Do you understand payment now?” he asked. He brandished a sword and Sarah cringed backward.
“I was wrong,” she rasped, coughing and spitting gobs of saliva from her raw throat. “I know I was wrong. I was going to talk to your son, before you grabbed me.”
“Easy for you to say, now that we have you cornered, now that you fear for your life. You’ll say anything.”
He stabbed the sword higher. Sarah gnawed at her lips, waiting for the blade to chop down and sever her neck. She was going to die here, in humiliation and shame, and Matt would never even know what had happened to her. She raised her chin and locked eyes with Nefkat, preparing herself.
He paused. His arm jittered. “I’ll allow you a last word,” he said.
Sarah thought of her life, of her principled father, who would never have understood her decisions here. She thought of Matt, who’d cared enough to sacrifice getting his father back to save her. What would he think of her prodding these men to fight?
“I don’t have any excuses,” she said. “Only love, but I carried it too far.”
One man chuckled with a twinkle in his eye. “We should chain her in the Temple of Hathor, the goddess of love.”
But Nefkat nodded. “I understand love. It’s why my son plotted and schemed to ridiculous heights. It’s why—” He took a deep breath, as if sifting through a mountain of memories. “A wolf killed my wife, when I took part in a raid. I sacrificed my family for my principles. I can’t let that happen again.”
A tear crept out of Sarah’s eye and snaked down her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said. “If you let me, I could still try to talk him out of it.”
Nefkat shook his head. “Good try.”
“I’m telling you the truth. I’ve changed my mind. As much as I love Matt, I can’t let someone else die just to get back to him. And it’s not because you want to kill me. It’s because I felt like I should kill myself tonight.”
Her admission was enough to make Nefkat pause and scrunch his eyes. “You may be telling the truth, but I won’t set you free. You could still manipulate my son and trouble his heart. Do you have anything more to say?” He thrust up the sword again, hovering over her head. Sarah’s heart thundered.
“Yes. How do you have a key to Ramses II’s temple?”
“You know the temple?” he said, stepping back in fluttery-eyed wonder. “You’re such an odd foreigner. And instead of pleading for your life, you ask a simple question? Why? Do you think you can still escape?”
“No. Curiosity, I guess.” Sarah shrugged.
“Well, then, I’ll tell you. We used to be Pharaoh’s warriors, as you’re aware. And we guarded a fortress that stands a few leagues from here. One of our responsibilities was to protect this temple. The priests eventually drifted to other stations and left this temple unguarded, but some Medjay lingered n
earby, and others remained within the chain of ram’s horn calls, to ward off vandals and thieves. We’re not true raiders, as you think of us. We’re not here to steal from the Kushites and the Egyptians, but to plague them. To remind them of their responsibilities just as we’ve always remembered and honoured ours.”
Sarah frowned, weighing this new information. Who said there was no honour among thieves? But no, these men were never ordinary raiders. She’d realized that when they’d first talked about freedom.
“Thank you,” she said. “For answering my question. You’re good men and you didn’t deserve to run into me.”
Nefkat narrowed his eyes. He jabbed his sword higher and muttered to his men to “get out.” Their eyes widened, and glistened in the torchlight, like windows reflecting the stars, but nevertheless they obeyed their elder and shuffled down the corridor, mirrored on either side by Ramses the Great. Their torchlight dwindled.
Sarah felt herself shrink, like the retracting light, but the terror shrank with it. The giant hand that had crushed her chest earlier, threatening to make it implode, seemed to be relaxing its grip. Instead a soothing calm settled over her. If this is what I deserve, then let it be. If Matt failed to restore the timeline they’d disintegrate anyway. Maybe this had been their fate all along. She hadn’t put on a very good show in her last few days of existence, though.
“I’m ready,” she said, and bowed her head.
Whoosh. The sword slashed down. The hair around her face fluttered back. But there wasn’t any pain.
“Remember this,” rumbled Nefkat. “As much as the Medjay are known for their skill in battle, they’re known even more for their mercy.”
Sarah’s eyes flew open. The last remaining torch flickered down the corridor and vanished, like a genie, behind a distant block of stone. She was trapped in the unholy dark again, but she was alive.
Chapter 27
In the Shadow of the Pharaoh
Taharqa flogged the ship’s captain with his demands, pressing to get the wooden craft quickly across the Nile’s muddy waters to the far side where they could still hear urgent calls from the men on horseback. Matt dismounted and gripped Sarah’s reins as the captain’s men slipped oars into the water and rowed in synchronicity like automated pistons. The ship wobbled and tilted under the unaccustomed weight of chariots and horses, but it managed to cruise to the opposite side without toppling the men and gear into the river. Ramps were thrown down on the stone quays and the Nubians disembarked.
“What is it?” Taharqa demanded, riding his chariot up to the messengers’ lead horse. “Have they attacked?”
“Yes,” the first man explained. “They invaded the town this afternoon, taking provisions and cattle, even our stores of gold.”
Taharqa’s jaw dropped. “Gold? But they’ve never done that before. And they’ve never attacked near their annual gathering. Why would they be so bold?”
“I can’t say, General. But they couldn’t have known of your approach. We only thought to reach the fortress and relay the information about their attack to you at Napata. They took ample time with their raiding, goading us with crude remarks about our, pardon me Prince, but “blathering idiot of a pharaoh” and his “hippo’s butt of a nephew.”
Taharqa winced, and his eyes turned frosty.
“But they also seem to be organized, as if they expect to do battle, as if they desire it.”
“If they expect us and welcome an attack,” said the prince with a worried crease at the bridge of his nose, “then it will be an even greater challenge than I anticipated. But the hand we thought to extend has been lopped off. They have provoked us too many times, and they will not escape. Matt, you understand there’s no possibility of talks between us anymore. I would have appreciated the opportunity, but now it seems we have no choice but to fight.”
Knots developed in Matt’s stomach, a growing chain of strangling lumps. Now there was no chance of avoiding a battle. But maybe, somehow, he could still rescue Sarah. “Let’s just make sure we win, then.”
The prince readily agreed. He issued orders to his men to water and feed the horses, to the cooks, to break out provisions and prepare the evening meal, and to everyone to get some rest for the night.
“At dawn, we attack!” he shouted. “By this time tomorrow, Medjay carcasses will litter the ground and tales of our triumph will spread all the way to the Assyrian border.”
The men cheered, but Matt couldn’t find the voice to join them. To look at it honestly, by this time tomorrow, they could all be dead.
* * * *
Sarah slouched against the cool rock wall, the darkness and the surrounding echoing space of the temple messing with her head, bringing to mind countless Hollywood horror films. Swishing, scuttling sounds rippled around her, bounding off this wall and then the next. Snakes? Vampire bats? Vampires? No, beetles maybe, their hard shells clicking the ground, or rats or mice, skittering from one side of the temple to the other.
What’s that? Slithering? Hissing? Just your imagination. Get a grip.
But how could she get a grip? Yes, Nefkat had let her live, but would he ever free her from the temple? Hours had passed and her hands were still firmly tied behind her back. When he’d slammed the titanic door at the front, the key had grated in the lock too. Would he just leave her here, a captive to the ancient pharaoh, or even worse, a sacrifice? Would he let her starve to death? Dehydration, that would come first. She’d become so thirsty, she’d suck on her clothes or lick the walls. Maybe even drink her own blood. Or would animals and insects chew on her in the dark? How could she defend herself against that? She couldn’t even see.
Stop it. Stop it. You’re still alive, and you can walk.
That’s right. Her legs weren’t tied.
She pushed herself off her bottom, rocked one leg underneath, and stood. She teetered on weak tingly legs that had gone to sleep, but still managed to keep her balance. Now all she had to do was find a way out. With her hands still bound, she couldn’t probe the darkness in front of her, but maybe by touching the wall behind . . .
She feathered her fingers along the wall, gliding over ridges and folds, wandering the hills and valleys of hieroglyphs etched in the rock, and scraping against crusty patches of old paint where images had been applied. She slunk sideways, oozing along the rock, when suddenly, bam. She’d collided with something smooth, solid and immovable. She turned and explored the obstacle with her fingers—a molded surface, curved and creviced, that arched outward but ended abruptly. A statue?
Of course. Statues of Ramses II jammed the passageway, looking down on it from their lofty height, and guarding it on both sides. She’d just have to wriggle around them.
Sarah shuffled, angled, edged, shuffled. This wasn’t so bad. If the lights were blazing and some snooty guide were ushering her around this temple, she’d feel awed instead of horrified. She’d gaze at the towering pharaoh in weak-kneed wonder, and goggle at the odd portrayals of Egyptian gods—jackal-faced Anubis or falcon-headed Horus. She’d shake her head at the temple’s vast size, and think how extraordinary that it had been carved from the bedrock itself.
But instead she had to explore it by fingertip in the seamless darkness, and everything seemed magnified. The statues became glowering giants. The painted frescoes were filled with the whispering spirits of the gods. The scuttling, swishing, clicking sounds implied a horde of insects and reptiles were all converging on her.
She had to stamp away her fear!
Sarah edged around the first statue, scuffled a metre farther, then slipped around the next. She actually thought she was making progress, although from an ant’s viewpoint. Finally she rounded the last statue in the row and eased along the corridor, the wall now smooth flat stone, with no bulges or crevices. At last she spied a thready light, just pricking through segments of interlocking wood.
This was it. The door. The giant cedar door that opened with a golden key. Had Nefkat really locked it?
Sarah pa
tted and probed up and down the slivered wood, until, yes, her fingers brushed up against the metal locking mechanism, but . . . there was no handle. She tried to push the door open, but it wouldn’t budge. She tried again, battering it with her hips in frustration, but she couldn’t get the monstrous door to move.
No! Tears spilled from her eyes. After fumbling all this way in the dark, she was still trapped. Of course it had always been a long shot. After everything she’d done and Nefkat had said, how could she have thought he’d leave the door unlocked? Even if he’d believed that she was truly sorry, he still wouldn’t have risked setting her free. She was stuck here. She’d suffer here. She’d probably die here.
Sarah withered to the ground, her head sagging to her chest.
“I’m never going to see you again, Matt,” she moaned. And Dad? What about Dad? Dad might not even exist anymore if Matt didn’t prevent his father from changing the timeline. Could he even imagine that his little girl had gone from nearly being considered a bride for a Medjay raider to dying in Ramses’ temple?
Her mind drifted back to her father’s “talk” with Matt on their last camping trip to Algonquin Park. He’d taken them to the wilderness park after their encounter with Nazis and spies in Holland, and after Matt had kissed her and declared them boyfriend and girlfriend. He hadn’t forbidden their relationship; he’d approached it from a different angle. A special vacation in a relaxed atmosphere, where Matt couldn’t escape him unless he braved the wilderness—the wolves and bears—on his own.
Sarah was allocated her own tent for the weekend. Matt had to sleep with her dad. Ha! As if that wasn’t a clear setup to begin with.
But she could still eavesdrop when the “talk” started and her dad thought she was asleep.
Time Meddlers on the Nile Page 16
