Journey to the Lost Tomb (Rowan and Ella Book 2)

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  Suddenly, life felt very good indeed.

  Bedouin Camp

  She had never touched a camel, let alone ridden one. As Ella stood near the line of the camp pack animals, she hesitated at the sheer size of Ahab, the largest of the two one hump dromedaries. In the four weeks she and Julia had lived with the nomads, Ella had seen the camels spit, bite and kick anyone unfortunate enough to be within range. In spite of being bridled and ridden almost daily, the animals just didn’t seem to have any overt signs of being domesticated. Ella was afraid of the camels.

  And it was a camel she was determined to take.

  She had two days since their last move to think about it. She knew she had to act quickly while Ammon still considered her handicapped. That assumption, and choosing a camel as her getaway vehicle, would be her two elements of surprise. No one expected she was in any condition to ride. No one expected her to be foolish enough to take one of the camels.

  Careful not to mention her plan to Julia, Ella had become obsessed in the last two days with the details of what had gone wrong last time. She knew the horse had been a mistake. She needed something that wasn’t going to collapse under her if she needed to go long and go fast. She had lost precious time having to double back and go around the camp so this time she needed to leave immediately in the direction in which she intended to continue. That meant she needed to know where the river was. And finally, she had learned the hard way that she didn’t have the luxury of taking her time. She needed to leave the camp fast—at a dead run—and keep it fast until she either reached the river or was captured again. As for the need for water, screw it, she thought. On her first escape attempt, she had wasted too much time packing a water bag and filling up the horse. Besides, after her last escape all the goatskin bags were now piled up in Gita’s tent. If Ella lived through this, she decided she’d write a survivalist book thwarting conventional wisdom about how to survive in a desert environment while being chased by Bedouin thugs. The key isn’t having enough water, she thought as she stood there eyeing the camel, it’s staying free long enough to die of thirst.

  The final change in her escape plan had to do with the timing and covert nature of it. Or in her case, not. The first time, she had wasted too much energy sneaking around and walking the horse out of camp and through the brush to avoid detection. She wouldn’t bother with any of that this time. While it was true Gita kept a sharp eye on her—she obviously had a healthier respect for what a woman was capable of than did Ammon—Ella decided it didn’t matter. She can watch me all she wants, Ella thought. Once I’m onboard old Nelly here, no one will be able to stop me. The key to the plan, of course, was getting onboard without having precious chunks of flesh ripped out of her in the process.

  The camel she had chosen was a big brute. And he was very aware of her standing beside him. He wasn’t saddled, but he was bridled. There was no blanket on his back. As she stood in the morning light, she could hear the women talking and laughing by the cook fire. Julia, who had had a particularly late night with Ammon, still slept. Ella was sorry not to say goodbye to her—especially if Julia’s boyfriend ended up catching Ella and slitting her throat before suppertime—but there was nothing for it.

  Gita, Ella’s only real concern beyond Ahab the Camel, was at the moment busy with the other women butchering a small goat. Her distraction wouldn’t last long and as soon as Ella was mounted, the whole camp would know what was going on. Hopefully, by then it would be too late. The men had left an hour earlier. Ella figured that unless one of the women jumped on a pony and went tearing out after either her or the men (very unlikely), she probably had a several hours head start. She wouldn’t waste a minute of it.

  She had found a long sharp stick the morning before and hidden it in the bushes near the animals. She retrieved it now and stood near Ahab who was kneeling in the sand. He swung his head toward her and bared his teeth. She cracked him hard in the mouth with the blunt end of her stick. When he reared his head in reaction, she leapt onto his back and grabbed the reins. She felt his head jerk around to get his teeth in biting distance of her knee but she was ready for him. She yanked hard on the right side reins and did the one thing she never in a million years would have thought she would need to do to pull off a clandestine get-away: she began screaming. She whacked the beast on the back end with her stick and screamed and yipped and yelled as loudly as she could, trying to ignore the immediate running presence of at least one Bedouin woman who dropped her water bucket when she saw Ella.

  That’s enough to get me killed right there, Ella thought desperately as she continued to scream and deliver loud thwacks on the camel’s flank. More slowly than she would have liked, she felt the animal shift forward as he moved to get up from his back legs first. Ella leaned back as he started to stand. More women gathered near where she was struggling with the camel and they were now all screaming as loudly as she was. Finally, the camel raised its front legs, forcing Ella to lean far forward. She switched hands with her stick to hit it on the front shoulder and screamed until she thought she would hyperventilate.

  When she turned the beast eastward, aiming straight through the camp, she saw the scrawny form of Gita standing directly in her path. Ella urged the camel forward and watched as Gita stood her ground, her hands on her hips, and then step aside to let Ella pass. She could swear she saw the old woman smile as she and the camel thundered past.

  Before she had breeched the other side of the small camp, the camel broke into an ungainly canter that nearly unseated Ella as it strode over the dips and rises in the rocky earth. Unlike with a horse, Ella was sitting too far away from the animal’s head and neck to clutch a mane, if there had been one, or anything else for added security. She decided to pray that the camel stayed true and didn’t swerve or provide any surprises. Her injuries from the beating Ammon had given her three days before had felt healed until she subjected them to the punishing loping gait of the camel. The brutal cadence of the faster gait pounded her backside with every footfall. Bruised bottom or not, she knew she was dangerously and insecurely balanced on her mount and could come flying off at any moment. As she watched the ground rush by below her, she forced herself to look up and in the direction she was going.

  And she was going due east.

  Valley of the Kings

  Rowan and Carter had gotten in the habit of playing a game of chess before dinner each night. Claiming it calmed him to better enjoy his meal, Carter had his valet set up the chessboard and prepare the pre-dinner cocktails in honor of his American competitor (although Rowan, like most of his 2013 contemporaries, no more drank cocktails before dinner than he wore a boater and loafers). Rowan looked forward to the evening matches and Carter let down his guard more completely when they played. During the game, his tone with Rowan quickly turned from jailer to confidant and equal. It was during these times, even more so than at the dig site where Rowan continued to accompany him, that Carter would ask Rowan about the things Rowan knew—the things he shouldn’t possibly be able to know.

  His skill at chess matched Carter’s closely. They usually traded wins and losses. Rowan knew the value of the hour bent over the chessboard with Carter and he didn’t often waste it. Whatever inroads he was making into Carter’s affections were being made here during this daily hour of chess. However the great man might pull away once they shook hands after the game, when they came back together to play, their camaraderie was a little bit deeper.

  Rowan looked forward to the matches. He had to admit what had become increasingly clear the longer he stayed in Egypt—he loved it here. He loved this place and this time. As frustrated as he was at his situation, as worried as he was about Ella, as unsettled as he felt about all that he had left behind him in 2013, when he found himself forced to accept the situation directly in front of him—this world, this heat-baked mountain of sand—he found himself startled by moments of pure joy. The moments always snuck up on him, like the time he was sitting by the fire after dinner, a warmed bra
ndy in his hand, just listening to the sounds of the desert night.

  Rowan loved the heat. He loved the land, and he loved knowing what would happen next at Carter’s dig. For the first time in his life, he didn’t have a plan. While he knew that he was working to free himself to search for Ella, he also knew that success was largely out of his control. Without a single lead, he couldn’t just go charging into the desert to find her. For the first time in his life he found he was helpless to do anything but react to what the next day would bring.

  The newness and the relief of that were mind blowing.

  Somewhere in the Sahara

  She could smell the river. She could feel the humidity in her clothes and on her face. Excitement rippled through her body erasing the pains and throbbing aches. Every time the camel slowed, she began to yell and tap him with her stick to force him back into a canter. She had only allowed a walk once—for both their sakes. Whether one of the women ran after the men to alert them of her escape or whether Ammon simply decided to come home earlier than usual, she knew she couldn’t count on much of a head start.

  And this time recapture meant death. That thought prodded her forward as the sun baked her head under her thin hijab. She was surprised she wasn’t sweating this time. There wasn’t enough fluid in her to sweat. In the end, she knew it didn’t matter and that worrying wouldn’t help. Whatever would happen now was out of her control. She could only run as far and fast as possible. Everything else would unfold as it would. Because it took all her focus to stay balanced astride the camel at a run, Ella had no other thoughts. Not for Rowan or the baby or herself. The cold truth of the matter was, unless she was successful this time, nothing else would matter.

  But when she smelled the river and knew how close she must be, she cried out with joy. The camel, already exhausted, reacted to her shout by immediately slowing to a walk. Tired too, Ella allowed it. Just for a moment, she thought. I’m so close now. Just for a moment.

  It was when she relaxed just a bit that she looked over her shoulder and saw them. Tiny and in the distance but moving quickly toward her. Seeing the flapping, dark robes, she knew it was Ammon. She grabbed the camel’s reins and batted his hind end viciously with her stick while yelling at him. But the animal had had enough. With a groan, he lowered himself to his front knees, catapulting Ella over his head onto the sand. She landed on her back, still holding the stick in one hand and the reins in the other.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ella scrambled to her feet. She grabbed the camel’s bridle, unmindful of his teeth, and jerked his head around to face her. Was he about to keel over like the horse did? In the distance, she could see the Bedouins riding steadily closer. She flung the reins over the camel’s neck and clambered up on his back. She yelled at him while she banged on his rump with the stick.

  The camel remained rooted to the ground.

  They were going to kill her. She looked around to see if there was any way out of this horror show. In spite of the dry heat, she felt her hands grow instantly clammy. She knew she was blinking rapidly as she scanned the horizon. And her breath was coming in short, ragged bursts. There was nothing but desert as far as she could see. She couldn’t just give up. She couldn’t just let them take her. Let them kill her? Kill the little one? She walloped the camel on the hind end and was surprised when he grunted and pitched her backward again as he leveraged his feet under him to rise. She twisted around to see Ammon’s group much closer now.

  Dear God, why? Why couldn’t they just let her go? Why are they doing this?

  When her camel finally came fully onto all four legs, Ella was facing in the direction of Ammon’s group. She saw the Bedouins had stopped about a hundred yards away. She risked the waste of a split second before turning away to see why and was astounded to watch them hurriedly dismount. The four men in Ammon’s band appeared to be tying rags over their horse’s faces.

  Are they afraid I’ll be able to identify the horses? Ella thought in bewilderment. Before she turned her camel eastward once more, she watched the men gather together in a huddle, holding their horses with their noses pointed down and their faces covered. Ammon—she was sure it was him—seemed to give her one last look before diving into the middle of the pack. Deciding not to waste any more time trying to figure out their strange behavior, Ella jerked her camel’s head in the direction of the river. As the camel turned Ella saw that the sky and the ground and everything in between had vanished in a swirling wall of beige. Disoriented and confused, she rubbed her eyes to try to adjust her eyesight. Just then, wind cut into her face with a shower of sand that filled her nose and her mouth.

  It was a sandstorm. She shut her eyes and tried to spit out the sand but more filled her mouth and began to scrape and blister her face. She dropped the stick and the reins and fumbled for her hijab to pull it completely over her face. When she did, she was totally blind and still she felt the wind and sand mercilessly rake her. But she could breathe without taking in sand through her nose.

  She felt for the reins and gathered them up. Unlike with a horse, it was impossible to bury her face in the camel’s neck, so she hunched down on him as far as she could to withstand the worst of the onslaught of blowing sand.

  Suddenly, and to her complete astonishment, she could feel the camel begin to walk. She clung to his back, gripping with her hands, her thighs and her heels. She bent down as close to the animal’s hump as possible. Ella didn’t know if she was riding toward or away from Ammon and his men. She only knew she was moving and, at least for now, alive.

  The camel’s rocking horse gait lulled Ella in spite of the sandstorm’s howl and she found herself several times having to catch herself from dozing off and falling. She had no idea how long she rode like that. It felt like hours. At the point where she knew she couldn’t stay upright any longer, the camel stopped and sank to his knees. The storm still swirled around her but it had lost its force. She knew that if she dismounted and he ran away, she would die. Yet she craved sleep. She slid off him and her knees felt the sand beneath them. She leaned against him, still holding the reins and vaguely aware that she was in easy striking distance of his teeth.

  She realized she didn’t care. Peeling a corner of her scarf away from her face, she could see patches of blue showing the wall of whirling sand. She had ridden all night. The camel’s thick eyelashes were coated with sand but his eyes were clear as he regarded her. She had chosen well. If she’d taken one of the horses, she would have died in the storm.

  Is that what happened to Ammon and his crew? She looked in every direction but could see nothing but swirling sand and undulating dunes. Was she still anywhere near the river? They had walked for hours—at least five by Ella’s reckoning. Was she five hours closer or further away? As the wind died down and the sun reasserted itself, Ella tucked herself against the camel for shade, praying for the animal’s tolerance. And slept.

  When she woke up, the sun was setting and it was cold. The camel seemed ready to move again. Ella took a moment to evaluate her situation. She was parched. Her face and tongue felt swollen. She had slept with the hijab pulled around her face. When she took it off, she could feel sand in her mouth, between her teeth, and in her nose. Her face was abraded even from just the short time it was exposed to the storm. She touched her stomach. Aside from hunger and exhaustion, she was fine.

  Now’s when a canteen of water would be good. She stood next to the camel and surveyed her world. Sand everywhere. No hint of the river. No smell, no humidity. She patted the camel on the neck. He had saved her from both the storm and the Bedouins. And he was still alive. As she ran her hand down his neck, she noticed that there was a leather pouch tied to the bridle that she hadn’t noticed before. Praying there was something in it to eat, she untied the leather strings that bound it and sat down on the ground to open it up.

  The thing inside was black and desiccated, like the apple head dolls people used to sell roadside in rural Georgia. When she realized what she was holding in
her hand, she dropped it at her feet and stared at it in horror.

  It was a mummified hand.

  Why was it in the bag? What possible value could it have? Who would want the grisly thing? She wiped her own hand on her pants and was about to turn away when she saw something gleam from the wrist of the small hand. It was a slim bracelet. Ella picked up the hand again and detached it from the narrow copper band. There was etching on it. She held the bracelet up to the dying sun and then slipped it on her wrist. Kneeling, she buried the little mummy hand and took a moment to say a prayer for the woman or child to whom it had once belonged.

  She lay down near the camel again and slept. She knew she should get up and start riding while the heat of day was gone but she was too tired and too thirsty to bring herself to remount. A part of her was pretty sure she was going the wrong way in any case.

  When Rowan came to her this time, she didn’t have the energy to throw her arms around him or jump up and down. She was surprised to see him, of course. Glad, too. But so, so tired. Annoyingly, he didn’t seem to think she needed to rest. Which was unlike him. Usually Rowan was so thoughtful. And all the while he was talking, the most amazing golden light began to flicker just over his shoulder. Soon, she realized it wasn’t just flickering. It was beckoning her.

  “I’m so tired, Rowan,” she said, watching the beautiful light. “Can’t we all be together here?”