“I caught sight of you as Hat's troops came down the rise. Pandemonium. A lot of the chariots got stuck in the sand, and the soldiers were shaken when they saw the walls of water. I heard one voice call out, ‘Pharaoh, their god fights for them!’ However, they were disciplined and followed her in.” Cheftu's fingers ran through her hair, calming, reassuring.
“There must have been thousands of men, most of them in chariots. I started screaming when I saw the last ones step onto the sand, but it was too late. Their chariots were falling apart, their horses panicking. I heard a loud crack, and suddenly all I could see was white water and arms and legs and heads bobbing in it like broken dolls. And the noise! The rushing filled my head, almost, but not quite, drowning out their cries, their entreaties, and their curses.” She touched the cut on her cheek. “I went a little berserk and ran down to the shore, determined to help out. That is when I fell, I guess. I remember nothings else.” She paused. “Except praying that you would stay here,” she finished, her voice barely a breath.
“Haii, Chloe,” Cheftu said, burying his face in her neck. “My love, my darling, my ab. Oh, thank God you are here!”
“I am here, beloved,” she whispered. “I hope I will always be here.”
He laid her down, looking into her eyes, probing her sore head, and finally pulling her body against him. “Now you can sleep. It has been long enough,” he murmured into her hair. “We must rest. Then we must flee.”
Her eyes felt welded shut and her tongue was the consistency of a washrag. Every bone was bruised and every musc[illelligible] ached. She smelled, and sand was stuck in every crevice of her body. But the will to get up was gone. Cheftu snored beside her. He didn't snore unless he was exhausted—an understatement for them both.
The heat was already intense, scorching her skin. She opened her eyes. They'd have to find some shade. Birds wheeled above them, calling and crying as they dove into the waters for fish. Fish Food. Chloe was suddenly ravenous. Tired, gross, and starving to death. “Cheftu …” She nudged him. “Get up.”
He groaned and turned. “Put out the torch and come to the couch.”
She shook him. “The torch is the sun. Cheftu, wake up.”
This rough beginning was an omen for the day. They could barely move, and it required the greatest will to retrieve their luggage, which Chloe had hidden carefully. A swim was cleansing, but the salt burned their wounds and dried them further. Strict rationing of water followed an almost raw fish dinner, and they fell asleep in the sand.
Two days later—two days that Chloe could scarcely recall—they woke up actually alert.
“What are we going to do?”
“It is too early to sound so panicked,” Cheftu groused.
“Should we go back to Egypt?”
His eyes opened and he rubbed his face, scratching at his beard. “We cannot.”
“Haii. ” She looked out across the sea. “I want to go home.” Cheftu stiffened instantly. Chloe felt raw sobs building inside her. “I want television and hot showers and pizza delivery. I want underwear and Macintosh and Hershey's Kisses.” She took a shaky breath. Cheftu hadn't moved. “I am sick of being hot and chased and hungry and tired. I miss Juan.”
“Juan?” he asked coldly.
“My spokes-iguana. He made me a small fortune. I should have changed his costume at least three times by now. A new costume with every new dish,” she explained. Cheftu frowned. He put a hand to her forehead. “I am not sick,” she said. “I just want to go home.” He gathered her to his chest, but Chloe pushed away. It was too hot for hugs.
“I have thought about our position,” he said, changing the topic. “Egypt is impossible. There are other courts; as an Egyptian physician I would be welcome. Indeed, I am known in many of them. But … Thutmosis knows them as well.”
“We are still running from him? How is he going to respond to all this?”
Cheftu sighed. “That it is a boon from Amun-Ra. Thut has waited to rule Egypt; now there is no one else. Even his sons are dead, and Hat's daughter, Neferurra, is not the woman her mother was.” They walked in silence, heading toward the pile of rocks just barely visible on the horizon. Cheftu kept looking toward the plains, as if expecting to see a cloud of dust heralding the arrival of more soldiers.
“Assst, so we are just walking off into the sunrise?”
“Thut will send soldiers. We are the only ones who know what happened. This knowledge is power; we can barter with it.”
“How? She is dead.”
“There is no body. No proof.” Cheftu pointed. “We will stay along the water and walk until we find a place, far enough away, to rest.”
“Then?”
He walked in silence, deliberate forceful steps. “Then I will take you home.”
“But—”
“Enough!”
The moon had risen, and they donned cloaks to keep out the biting wind. In the distance they heard the heartrending cry of the jackal, its call a haunting reminder that he was the Egyptian god of the dead. Only the dead were here to hear his cries. What had happened to all the bodies? Thousands of lives extinguished, yet not a shred of proof. Nothing. The tide was coming in, and they started heading inland from the beach, its rush of waves soothing them into near somnambulism. They stopped periodically to sip the tepid goat-flavored water and chew on duck jerky and raisins from Chloe's bag.
A blazing sunrise woke them up, eyes sticky from the blowing sand, throats dry from the little water they had taken. Cheftu swore as he rolled over, rubbing his face with his hands. “We must get out of the sun,” he said, and they picked up their belongings and headed for a nearby rock.
They woke again at the sun's zenith, hot, tired, and cranky. Shouldering their bags, they walked down to the shoreline, letting the waves cover their tracks and cool their bodies. Night fell again, and they drank a few more drops of the precious water before lying down under the canopy of stars.
They rose with the sun and continued to walk in the surf, their feet blistered and sore but pressing eastward. There was very little water left, just enough to coat the tongue, but they trekked on, forcing one foot before the other. About noon they tore at more duck jerky, but without water it was horrible, the salt further drying their mouths and heightening their thirst.
By atmu they were asleep, huddled under the overhang of a rock. She felt slightly more human and quite rested when she woke up, except for the parched feeling in her throat and nose. The smoldering remains of a fire were close by, and Cheftu was curled up like a giant pill bug. They were situated in the deep shadow of a towering rock face, facing west, the ocean visible to their left. Chloe stretched and rose.
Creeping from the shade, she was blinded by the light. It had to be almost noon, she guessed as she looked around. There were no signs of habitation around them, and she walked cautiously out to the water. How many days had they been traveling? She couldn't even recall if they'd spoken after Cheftu's offer to take her home. Had he meant the States? Or France? Was home a place or just people? How would they both go? She splashed her face to wake up. A cry. She paused, listening for it again. It sounded like the cry of a child, and Chloe rose to her feet, trying to pinpoint the sound.
The pebbled beach was empty. Farther back from the water was a cliff of maybe twenty feet, planted with a windbreak of acacia trees, the cool wind rustling their squat and twisted bare branches. The locusts had also been here, it would seem.
The cry seemed to be coming from that direction. Chloe started to jog, but her screaming muscles forced her to settle for a fast walk. She hoisted herself up the small rock face until she was on a level with the trees. The cry was louder now, and she looked around.
A tawny bundle of fur hurled itself at her feet, startling Chloe so she jumped back, grabbing at a tree branch for balance. The little animal was now crying plaintively as it rubbed itself against her bare leg. Every word of Chloe's upbringing regarding not petting strange animals flew out of her head as she knel
t next to the animal. It seemed to be some kind of cat, purring like a small motorboat. It raised inquisitive eyes to her, and Chloe realized with a jolt that they looked like Cheftu's, all gold and amber. The cat had darker honey-colored streaks in his fur (she could see he was male), and his ears were large and pointed, with an aureole of golden fur around them. His tail was long and smooth, the end covered in long, darker honey-colored fur. He rolled over on his back, wiggling against her sandaled foot, and Chloe saw the reason for his cries.
There was a bracelet-size patch of dark brown on his fur, dried blood matting the wound with sand and dirt. He reached down to lick it, and she saw that his pink tongue was also cut. She picked him up, taking care not to touch the wound.
“Aii! You are heavy,” she said as she used all her remaining energy to hold on to the pounds of squirming fur. “What have you got here, little guy?” she murmured looking closely at the wound His purring stopped but he stayed still in her arms as she gently poked and prodded. A large thorn was stuck in his side. It had broken off, but the edge sticking out was also sharp—probably how he'd cut his tongue. The cat watched her with a knowing stare, and Chloe looked back at him. “We are going to have to see Cheftu for this,” she said and bundled him into her cloak.
He was impossible to carry, but once he saw she was going down, he went before her, waiting. With a few scrapes and scratches, she managed it. When they arrived back at the rock, Cheftu was still asleep, the encroaching golden sunlight just cubits away. Chloe watched, the animal wander up to Cheftu and sit beside him. He watched yawned and then mewed peremptorily.
Cheftu jackknifed with a curse. Chloe giggled at the expression on his face, until she realized he was holding his knife. The cat, who had wisely leapt away a moment before, now walked up to him as if interviewing a candidate.
Cheftu flopped back onto the sand “By the gods, Chloe! Are you trying to gray me before my time?” The cat seated himself beside Cheftu and stared into his face. “What is this?” Cheftu croaked as the cat arranged himself like a sphinx, his outstretched paws flexing in the air.
“It appears to be a cat of some kind He is wounded Cheftu.”
Gingerly he petted the beast fingers sensitive to his movements. “Where is his mother?”
“I do not know, why?”
Cheftu rubbed his face hard trying to wake up. “Because lionesses have a problem when their cubs are stolen away! Where did you find him?”
Chloe looked down at the furball on the sand “He is a lion?”
“Aye, one from the mountains.” Cheftu drew to his feet, straightening his kilt as he shoved their few belongings in his basket. “We will walk away quickly.” He was glancing around them fearfully. “That way we will still be able to walk!”
“He is hurt, Cheftu! Can we at least pull the thorn?”
The cat seated himself before Cheftu, and he began to probe the animal's body, speaking softly.
“Can you help him?” Chloe asked.
Cheftu raised an eyebrow. “I can do brain surgery, so I think I can get a thorn out.” He opened his medical kit and began to search for tweezers. He settled for pincers. “He is not going to like this at all. Please wrap him in some cloths and hold him down.” He handed her a medicinal fat to rub in, to make the extraction easier.
Despite the creature's struggles, they wrapped him and proceeded to pull not one, but three thorns from his side. His yowls were deafening, and more than once Chloe was reminded he had sharp little teeth as he sank them into various parts of her anatomy.
Cheftu bathed the wound with salt water, and they both cringed at the cat's cries of pain. Then Cheftu rubbed ointment in the sore and put a clean linen bandage over it. Chloe released the cat and he raced away, almost out of sight … and proceeded to rip off the bandage.
“So much for patient appreciation,” he said. Chloe laughed, then sobered as Cheftu grimaced while drinking from the water-skin. “We have to find water today.” They got to their feet and gathered their gear.
“How far do you think we have come?” she asked.
“Not far enough,” Cheftu grunted. “They might be able to trail us, I do not know. We walked along the water's edge, which should provide us with an element of protection, but we should not depend on it.”
He pulled a cloth from his basket and wrapped it around his head as he spoke, and Chloe watched his long, elegant fingers twist and turn the fabric until he was wearing a turban. With the rest of the fabric swathed across his bronzed face, nothing was visible except his amber eyes.
Chloe also wrapped her head and face; the wind had picked up, and stinging sand blew into her eyes, nose, and mouth. He helped her with her trunk and strapped on his own. Movement in the sky caught his eye, and he pointed inland.
“What?” Chloe asked.
“Vultures.” He looked at the cat. “Maybe he has no mother after all.” He pointed again. “They are circling. Either prey is dining or whatever it is, is dying. We must go.”
An indignant yowl stopped them in their tracks. The cat strode from behind them to several feet in front of them and then turned, the brilliant sun narrowing his pupils to tiny black slits in his luminescent eyes. His fur was matted with dirt, and they could see his bones under the flesh, but with his tail waving like a standard he set off, glancing over his shoulder, a drill sergeant prompting recruits. Cheftu and Chloe looked at each other in amusement and set off to the east, led by then new pet.
Said pet did not lead for long. He played. Every step they took, he took five—up an incline, down the incline, swatting and pouncing, playing in the surf. Then he would sit and they would keep walking. Just when they imagined he'd stayed, he bound out from behind a rock or off the cliff.
They tried to walk along the sea's edge as much as possible, letting the waves wash away the tenuous proof of their persistence. By nightfall they were both ravenous, and Chloe found herself sobbing dryly out of frustration and exhaustion. Once again they camped near the rocky wall that faced the sea. Too tired to set up their tent and with no water for soup, they chewed on the last jerky and wet their lips with the warm, brackish water. Rolling into each other for additional warmth, they fell into semiconscious sleep.
Chloe couldn't open her eyes. They were glued shut. She tried to lift a hand and wipe the glue away, but they were pressed to the earth by a heavy weight. Her mind flitted from reality to reality. She could hear her name being called; was that Cammy? She strained forward and could see faint images.
It was Cammy. She was seated in the temple at Karnak. A lean, bespectacled man stood beside her, patting her shoulder and back with gentle, comforting strokes. Cammy's face was buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking … and her beautiful chestnut hair had a white streak. White? Chloe heard nothing, but the grief Cammy displayed tore at Chloe's heart. The lean man, who looked familiar, paled beneath his tanned skin.
A gurney was wheeled in from somewhere out of Chloe's vision. It stopped before the lean man. He lifted the sheet, and Chloe screamed when she saw the face.
It was her own.
I can't be dead! she thought frantically.
Then she was wet. Tears? Her own? No. The water was all around her, pouring down her face, her neck, collecting in the space beneath her. Someone was bathing her face with sandpaper, rubbing at the cut on her cheek, rubbing it again and again. The pain brought her fully awake. She slapped away the cloth, only to discover it was the tawny cub. She blinked. Two pairs of golden eyes gazed at her. Cheftu clasped her wet head to his chest. “I thought I had nearly lost you,” he whispered. She pulled back and looked at him.
His face was gray, his eyes abnormally large. He spoke through gritted teeth. “What happened, Chloe?”
The images flew back and forth before her eyes like some cosmic remote gone awry. “I saw myself,” she said tremulously. “I was dead—I think.”
The words came out in a squeak, and Cheftu crushed her to him. “It was horrible!” he said in his accented English. “
It seemed that beneath your features was another face, peering through. Worse than anything was the inlaid knife that appeared and disappeared between your ribs. I would reach for it and it would be gone. Then there again.” He covered her hair with kisses. “You were so pale, so still.”
With a shaking hand he lifted her face to his. “Although most frightening were your eyes. They were closed and you would not awaken.” He pressed a kiss to her lips. “You were leaving me, Chloe.”
She clung to him, her breath coming in short rasps. “Don't let me go, Cheftu! Please!” Then the tears came. They were few and far between but Chloe shook as if there were an oceanful. She could not forget the pain in Cammy's face. She had looked all of her years and then some. “If only I could tell her I am all right! That the redhead is no longer me! She's the only reason I need to go home!” Chloe broke down again.
“Here, ma chérie,” Cheftu said, handing her the waterskin. “Drink it so you can cry and rid yourself of these poisonous humors.” Chloe lifted it with both hands and drank the sweet, cool water. Cheftu warned, “Do not take so much. With nothing to eat, it will make you ill.” She handed the skin back to Cheftu and allowed him to lay her carefully back on the ground.
Some of the color had come back into his face, but he still looked awful. The ponytail and beard he'd grown while they were with the Israelites were matted and dirty. A multitude of scrapes and bruises covered his face and torso. His nose was peeling, his lips cracked and bleeding, his eyes bloodshot, and his linen filthy. However, he was alive.
Despite the abrasions, bruises, matted hair, and BO, she was, too. “Where did we get the water?”
Cheftu's lean, dirty face broke into a wide, white grin. “The cat.”
“The cat?” Chloe repeated confused.
“Aye. He apparently did some exploring while we were asleep, and when I awoke he grabbed my hand with his teeth and would not let go until I followed him. I was mostly asleep still. Otherwise we might not have a cat.” Cheftu's glare shifted to the feline one that was so similar, as if delivering a threat. “He found a well just around that promontory.” He pointed. “Actually, it is a congenial spot. There is room for living quarters and lots of animal tracks, so I know we can get fresh food.” He glanced at the cat. “All of us can. There is even a large, empty cave for storage within stone-throwing distance.”
Reflections in the Nile Page 37
