Song of Isis

by Diana Kirk

  "He was our first great pharaoh and physician. It was he who discovered the medical secrets and ordered the scribes to record them on the papyrus." Tarik stood tall and proud. "I am descended from a royal line of many hundreds of years."

  "How do you know that?"

  Tarik tightened his grip on her hand and smiled. "It is written on the stele for all to see. That is my history and the history of my sons."

  "Sons?" Alex whispered.

  "I am a husband, am I not?"

  He glanced at her in that superior, condescending way that challenged everything she ever was or ever would be. Cold anger replaced the warmth in her heart.

  "Not in your lifetime."

  He leaned close and whispered in her ear, "Then, perhaps, in another?"

  She stood mutely. What had he meant? Her heart labored in her chest. She turned her head and their gazes locked.

  His lips quirked in a confident, lazy smile. "We will have a lifetime to come to know each other. Perhaps this will not come to pass in the world of today, but it is foretold in the netherworld beyond. Of this I am sure, we will be paired."

  Without giving her a chance to respond, his hand found the small of her back and he nudged her out the door into the hot sun. "Come. It is midday. Only one more visit, and soon we will eat and rest."

  "Where are we going?"

  "Down to the wharf. There are sailors in the harbor who are afflicted."

  "With what?" Alex pulled against his arm, but he hurried her through the dusty streets. The hot sun burned through her sandals and she wondered if she would ever get used to the heat.

  "Rats have infested their quarters and sharpen their teeth on the men. I check them and give unguents and salves to ease their suffering."

  At the end of the street, close to the dock, they entered a low-slung building. Inside, were various groups of men, eating, drinking, and fanning themselves to somehow lessen the effects of the extreme heat. So far, Alex had been protected from daily Egyptian life and its hardships. First, by the cool rooms of Tarik's villa, then by cool Nile breezes as they traveled toward Thebes, and finally by the thick walls of Mentuhotep's palace. But here, in the midst of squalor and pain, the realization of just how the common man lived hit her full force. Despite shimmering waves of heat all around, Alex shivered uncontrollably.

  "There is one in back, Lord Tarik," a tall man bowed and pointed to a dark hallway filled with panting men. "He was working on Pharaoh's tomb, fell into a pit of snakes and they feasted upon him."

  "Snakes?" Alex's voice broke.

  "Come Alex." He took her hand and led her forward. The stench of humanity hit her squarely as if it had substance. At the end of the hall, a man thrashed and moaned atop a small mat. "Here. See his panting?"

  "Yes, what is it?"

  "From his swollen leg and his cries, I fear a viper has sharpened its fangs on his flesh."

  "Only one?"

  Ignoring her comment, he stared at her bag. "Is there anything in there that will ease his suffering?"

  She knelt beside the man and made a cursory evaluation. On the soft flesh of his thigh, an area of dead skin had formed around a single set of fang-marks. A breath caught in her throat. He'd been lucky. Her skin crawled at the thought of the slimy, slithering creatures winding their way up her leg.

  "I--I've got some morphine." She held up the vial. "Not very much, but it'll do, I thought perhaps...."

  "Give it to him," he ordered. "How many days?" he said to the oarsman who stood watching.

  "Two."

  "Good. He may survive."

  Alex readied a syringe with a small amount of morphine and injected it into the fleshy part of his thigh. She'd brought everything she could think of to ward off the dangers of the Sudan. From small amounts of morphine, pain killers, and antevenom, to antibiotics for the inevitable gastritis, and medication for her father's arthritis.

  She hesitated to use them in this strange world, fearing she might change destiny or create a time warp. Yet, she couldn't stand by and watch a man die in agony. That wasn't part of her nature or her sworn Hippocratic oath--that's what being a physician was all about.

  "See the area that is as the covering of a dried grape?"

  Alex nodded.

  "I will cut away all the dead skin and cover the wound with natron. He will live."

  "Amazing." Alex couldn't believe her eyes. As a physician he'd used his skills. Examining the patient, he'd made a differential diagnosis and prescribed just the right method. Natron was the same as salt. Putting this substance in the wound would draw out the poison.

  "Looks like the morphine has done its job." The man's head lolled to the side and a small string of drool slipped from the corner of his mouth. "Better do it now, Tarik. He won't feel a thing."

  Alex watched her husband use his sharp blade and his skillful fingers to cut out just the right amount of flesh.

  "Great. Looks like you got it all. I'll just slow down his bleeding."

  She pulled sponges from her bag and dabbed them against the man's wound. They worked as a team, like partners, like husband and wife trauma surgeons.

  A cold chill stole her breath and Tarik's dark onyx eyes melded with hers for a moment. Her heart ached to tell him the truth. She loved him. She would always love him, not just in this time, but for all eternity. He was her soul mate and he must have sensed it from the moment she stumbled from the tomb. Their love had been predestined from the dawn of civilization and somehow there'd been a mistake, a rip in the universe, a travesty in time. She'd been born too late to know and love him. Now, destiny had healed itself by thrusting her back to fulfill its promise.

  But something was wrong. Very wrong. Why did she feel so out of place here? She wasn't Egyptian. Far from it. She was an American, a WASP, a Yuppie, a Libber, and anything else that could describe a late-twentieth century woman. She'd been rushing headlong into the next millennium when fate had yanked her backward.

  If she had fulfilled her destiny, why did she still yearn for her present when the past held everything she'd ever wanted or dreamed of in a man?

  Tarik watched Alex distance herself. Had it been the surgery that made her go white and look as if he might have to care for her? No. Like he, she was a physician. This minor problem would not sicken her. And yet, her eyes had glazed over and she seemed smaller, frightened, less the obstinate woman he loved so much.

  "Are you well?"

  She nodded. "Fine. Just tired, I guess."

  "We should leave immediately."

  "No." She smiled weakly. "Let's take care of business first."

  They stood side by side. So close, he could breathe in her scent. So close, he could reach out and draw her into his arms. So close, he could whisper words of love to her and run his tongue along the curve of her crescent-shaped ear.

  But she had wanted nothing to do with him, and his own pride would not permit their joining until she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  By the gods, what if this was a test and he had failed? They would surely punish him for refusing their gift of love from his mother Isis. He should join with Alex and be done with it. He could not be bound by rash words foolishly spoken in hurt and anger.

  Yet, was he prepared to admit to her that he had been a fool? Yes, he would admit to anything that would make things right between them. But was he prepared to accept another rejection?

  No. That he could not accept.

  "Alex?" He glanced over her pale face and brushed his hand along her cheek. "Are you sure you are not ill?"

  She startled at his touch. "Yes. I--I. Of course."

  She panted the words as if she had run a great distance. It would serve him better to get her back to the coolness of his home.

  She stood and gathered her bag. "The heat--it's awfully hot--in here."

  Urging her forward, he touched her arm and she shivered.

  "There's nothing more to be done here, Alex. I'll take you home. We can rest until the coolness of the eveni
ng."

  "I'm fine, really. What about the man?" She stopped and turned back.

  "He will survive."

  "It's just--" Her needy gaze met his and his will softened.

  "If you will come with me, I will look in on him tomorrow. Do not worry."

  "I'm not worried anymore."

  She smiled and lowered her gaze. Was this the breakthrough he'd prayed for? The anger in her eyes had cooled. Would she now accept him as husband and welcome him in her arms? A truce. They had worked together and formed a silent truce. His heart thundered against his chest and he fought the urge to laugh and take her in his arms. But that would not do. She did not understand his ways. She was a free woman and had been taught the arts of a scribe--very few women in Egypt could read papyrus. No. This woman was special and he must not break her fragile trust.

  By Isis, he would give extra offerings this very night. And he would tread softly in their marriage chamber. Alex would let him know when the time was right.

  Her eyes had been so trusting, reflecting the light like the surface of the Nile on a hot morning. At that moment, he had wanted to give her all he had in his power to bestow. Respect. Riches. Love.

  There was something he could give her. Ever since their joining she had asked to find the scroll. He was not sure of its existence, but he would try to do as she had asked. If he could not find it, then no harm would be done. If he found it, he could give her great joy. He longed to see happiness reflected in the blueness of her eyes.

  THAT IS WHAT brought him here. Tarik glanced around the main chamber of tomb. Nothing. He strode toward the far wall of the inner chamber where the gilded statue of Isis stood.

  "Forgive this intrusion, my goddess." He bowed low. "I do so to appease my wife. It is but a trifle, yet she wishes for a treasure from your chamber."

  The stone Isis remained silent, but beneath her pedestal, the tip of a scroll peeked from the shadows. Surely he had not seen this before. Had Isis smiled once again upon his union? Was this the papyrus Alex so desired? He was anxious to see happiness and love reflected in her eyes. Surely this would happen if he brought her the object of her obsession.

  Tarik opened his sack to place the scroll inside, but stopped and stared at the papyrus. What was its power over his wife? Slowly he unrolled it. There was nothing special here. Traditional religious prayers and symbols covered the surface. Anticipation filled him. He could hardly wait until he presented it to her. Tonight, there would be much celebration.

  Tarik hesitated once again and traced his fingers along the symbols. The sacred words were most familiar. Ones he'd learned through constant repetition from childhood on through to manhood.

  Their meaning was clear. The eyes of Ra.... This was a simple prayer, a song, an entreaty to Isis for eternal life....find the Lions of yesterday and open the new year for eternity.

  Did these words, indeed, mean something else? An entreaty to his god to open up a doorway to all time? A door that Alex had fallen through? Surely she had only to repeat these words in the presence of the sacred statue of Isis, and the process would be reversed. She would travel back to her own world.

  Since his marriage, their days of healing the sick and wounded, their surgeries together, and learning her mysterious ways were filled with promise. Even though their nights remained long and unfulfilled. But he was sure that, too, would pass and they would consummate the desires that burned beneath the surface. Soon, their friendship would give way to the passion they both shared and she would bear his children.

  But only as long as she could not find the scroll, she would remain content to stay. He had seen that much in her eyes. If this had magical powers, she would leave.

  Darkness cloaked his heart and he knew what he must do. Now that he had come to know her, to love her, to worship her, he could not bear to lose her. He would replace the scroll beneath the foot of Isis and not reveal its whereabouts. Nay, that was not safe enough. She must never find a way to return to her time.

  "HER ROYAL Highness begs forgiveness of our Pharaoh's mighty wrath, but she cannot leave her bed."

  The servant bowed and scurried from the room. A shiver of worry gripped Mentuhotep's spine. Had his lying, cheating wife finally succumbed to illness? It was too much to hope for, and yet his son's honor decreed that he care for this woman, no doubt a great trial dictated by the gods to ensure his divinity.

  "Where is Kensu?" Mentuhotep asked. "Where is my Lord of the Armies?"

  "In preparation for travel to Abydos, my Lord Pharaoh, Uniter of the two kingdoms, God of the--"

  "Enough!" He threw down his scepter and pointed to the portal. "Bring him at once."

  This would not do. He and Kensu would visit the Queen. Together they would determine her strength to travel. Pain crossed his heart. He did not want to summon Tarik away from his marriage bed, and yet he could not let Tem expire without benefit of the great healer. Word of Alex's deeds had traveled throughout the two kingdoms and he would be criticized if he did not afford her powers to his Queen.

  "Tell me of the Queen's ailments." Mentuhotep gazed sternly into the eyes of his vizier.

  "I know not much, Highness, except she grows pale and weak. She will not leave her chambers and the servants tell me she spends much time in the bathing room."

  Pharaoh stood and paced his bed-chamber. It had been almost a month since he'd lain with Tem and she had complained of a tiredness at that time. How much longer could he wait?

  "What say you is the answer, Lord Kensu?"

  Kensu walked slowly toward the dining table, picked up a goblet, and poured its contents onto the table. "As the liquid flows, so does her life. We must summon Lord Tarik."

  Mentuhotep pondered Kensu's comment. "Is she able to travel?"

  Kensu shook his head. "I know not."

  "Then we will visit the Queen to know her wishes."

  TEM PLOPPED onto her bed and fanned herself. "King or no king. He does not deserve my respect or my loyalty."

  The hardships she had endured. The difficulties. In a mere matter of days, she had been ready to forget her plan and call out to anyone who would listen--get her into the living, busy court of Mentuhotep. But after twenty-one nights, she had resigned herself to the solitude, had even learned the value of patience to attaining her goal. But twenty-one nights alone, this was simply too much.

  She got up and paced the room, filled a goblet with beer and sipped. She could see the situation so much clearer, and her resolve strengthened with each passing moment.

  Now, after all this time, her lord husband had finally condescended to see to her fate. How dare he flaunt his disdain for her? She had suspected she wasn't his favorite, but this obvious snub was more than she could bear. Waiting so long to see to the needs of his Queen told all in the court of Pharaoh's low regard for her.

  She hurled the goblet against the wall. Its contents splashed about and droplets dribbled down the wall, forming a small brown pool at its base. She watched the puddle grow. It served Mentu right that she desired another. A man above all others. One who might give her the pleasure she deserved. Lord Tarik of Abydos. And she would not let that white-skinned slave who warmed his bed stand in her way. A smile crossed her face.

  Mentuhotep would not be the only one to pay dearly for this oversight. She had done the right thing in portraying her illness. Strengthened by her firm resolve, she would see her plan through to its successful end.

  She nestled back upon her settee pillows and fanned the sheer linen pleats of her gown across her legs. She would make an engaging picture of weak verisimilitude.

  "QUEEN TEM. You are ill?" Mentuhotep circled the settee and lifted his wife's limp wrist. "You are cold? Why do you not sit in Ra's healing rays?"

  She lifted her burning gaze beneath dark, thick lashes and sighed deeply, her head lolling. "It pains me, Lord."

  "Lord Tarik must examine her," Kensu said. Mentuhotep turned and glared. No doubt, this was as she wanted. It would not do for the vizier to ma
ke policy for him.

  "I shall make that decision when I am convinced her illness will improve from the benefit of a physician's presence."

  "But I fear--"

  Mentuhotep whirled and placed a firm hand on Kensu's shoulder. "It is a fear born of ignorance in the ways of feminine illness."

  He gazed down at Tem. Had he not noticed a flash of burning anger in those onyx eyes? How viper-like she was. One moment filled with fire and venom, the next feigning weakness to ensnare her prey.

  He sat down next to Tem and lifted her chin to gaze into her eyes. Were they indeed clear and strong, or was there something amiss, here? Something only a physician could see. Had he been wrong to suspect her? Surely, even she was not able to carry on a deception for so many days, unless it was a true illness. Perhaps she did, indeed, need the elixirs of life. The herbs and medicines only Tarik knew how to administer.

  "My queen, do you feel well enough to travel to Tarik's home where he may minister to your needs?" His voice softened as if he were speaking to a wounded soldier. He could not deny his son a mother.

  "My Lord, I cannot impose my illness on Tarik's happiness." Tem breathed in short, shallow pants.

  She had said words of truth and must be ill. For if she were in health, she would not care for Tarik's happiness.

  "You can and you shall." Mentuhotep stood and motioned to Kensu. "Prepare for travel. I will not have the Queen of Egypt detained any longer."

  He turned to Tem and raised her pale hand to his lips. "You must leave this very day. In two days hence, you will be feeling better."

  A weak smile crossed her lips. "My Lord Pharaoh is much too kind." A spark of something filled her eyes, yet she remained with her head lolled against the pillows, a sure sign of illness. "Upon my healing, I shall give offering to Amon for your kindness."

  Mentuhotep raised a brow. In all the time since their joining, she had refused to accompany him to the temple of Amon, she had refused to light the sacred incense, and especially, she had refused to honor him. Was this a changing in her thoughts for him?

  "I leave you to prepare for your journey. Kensu and your servants will see to your needs. I will accompany you and will wait upon your cure."