CHAPTER FOUR
Stars fade like memory the instant before dawn. Low in the east, the sun appears golden as an opening eye. That which can be named must exist. That which is named can be written. That which is written will be remembered. That which is remembered lives.
--Excerpt from "The Return", Egyptian Book of the Dead, as translated by Normandi Ellis
"It's been over a week! How can we not have found a single damn thing?" John Bernstein slammed the book he'd been leafing through down on the table in disgust. Frustration poured from him in angry waves. "It's like the whole area has been swept clean, for God's sake!"
"Yes, John, I agree—one would expect to have found something by now." Hamid said, tiredly sitting down across from his friend. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, which succeeded only in grinding sand deeper into the creases around them. He had just returned from the dig site for the midday meal and break and felt hot, gritty and disappointed. The team had been out there for eight days, painstakingly removing bucket after bucket of soil from the site, hoping that each time they sank their trowels into the sand that this would be the moment they'd make a find. So far, each trowel of soil had yielded only frustration.
Eric and his team of eight graduate students had cleared away at least four meters of soil from the areas they'd been assigned to excavate. Working from the center, they'd cleared about a twenty-eight square meter area, and had turned up exactly nothing. Eliana's team of five had fared no better—they had managed to dig down to a depth of about two-and-a half meters in each of the fifteen two meter by two meter square sections Bernstein had pointed out to them, but their labors had yielded the same nonexistent results.
Bernstein knew that something was there, at least in the area that Eric was responsible for—the geological survey results backed that up irrefutably. The question was, how far down did they need to go before striking pay dirt? There was a limit to how fast they could uncover the area, for they were limited in the range of tools they could use. Heavy equipment could move mountains of soil in a heartbeat, but using that kind of machinery was out of the question—it would tear up and destroy any small, fragile artifacts remaining near the surface. Not that there seemed to be any of those, Bernstein thought in disgust. That left them with what they were already using—trowels, spades, and occasionally, hands. No, they couldn't go any faster, and that only added to his frustration.
"Are you still convinced that we're in the right spot, John?" his colleague queried. "I know what the survey showed, but perhaps if we moved a bit to one side or the other…"
"No. It's there." Bernstein scowled. "It's just farther down than we first thought. We'll stay right where we are." He picked up his book again, and submerged himself in his research, effectively dismissing what Hamid had suggested. There would be no changing his mind on this issue.
"Fine with me, friend," Hamid conceded. "You're the one organizing this party—you decide where to dig." With that, he stood up, walking over to the food boxes and rummaging around. He finally emerged from his foray into the supplies holding a large, red apple that he proceeded to polish on his sleeve. Biting into it, he sank back down into his chair.
Bernstein grunted, still immersed in the text he was reading. Not lifting his head, he inquired, "Are Ellie and Eric going to be breaking for lunch soon?"
"They were just wrapping things up when I left," Hamid answered, chewing on his apple. Juice from the fruit dribbled down his chin as he spoke. Wiping it off with the back of his hand, he added, "I believe Eliana wanted to finish removing a few more layers of soil before she stopped working."
"Good, good. Well, we'll have lunch when they get here, then." Bernstein paused. "Throw me one of those, will you?"
As Hamid stood again and turned to rummage through the supplies once more, he heard the sound of hoof beats drawing closer to the camp. Bernstein had apparently heard them, too, as he looked up from his work. Annoyance lined his face.
"Don't they know they're not supposed to ride the supply horses?"
"Uh, John, this isn't a supply horse." Hamid corrected, staring out at the horse and rider that were approaching. "I think you'd better come here. We have a visitor."
The rider approached the mess tent in the center of the camp with some caution. Although he was supremely confident in his ability to handle any sort of difficulty he might encounter, he would prefer that this first introduction be of a more genial nature. It would be better if these people considered him an ally, rather than a threat to their work.
He had been watching them work for the last several days, staying out of sight in the nearby desert and simply keeping an eye on the day-to-day operations of the camp. He closely monitored them over the course of their long, dusty workdays, which began well before sun up, and lasted well into the evening. He had noted their initial excitement when the dig first began, and he had recognized their growing frustration as their painstaking labor produced no results. While he was pleased that they had discovered nothing, he had come to the conclusion that they were a persistent people, and would simply continue with their work until their exertion was rewarded.
He knew what they were looking for, he knew where it could be found, and he knew that if they kept at their work, they would eventually find it. He knew also that chances were good that they would find a bit more than what they bargained for. And he could not allow that to happen. He was honor bound, by vows taken millennia ago by his forefathers and renewed again, not seventy years past, to guard what was hidden here. He would protect the secrets that lay buried in this desert with his life—and theirs, he added silently—if it came down to that. He knew that this group of modern-day explorers would have difficulty in believing what he sought to guard against—would in fact think him insane if they did know—but he also knew that guard against it he must, or all mankind would pay the price. And that price would be terrible.
To that end, he had decided that the time for secrecy and subterfuge had passed. He could no longer afford to idly observe and simply hope that they would give up their quest out of sheer frustration—he recognized that the time had come to take some action. He must reveal his presence to them, and somehow manage to infiltrate their group. Once he was no longer forced to conceal himself, he could take direct action to ensure that even if they did find the Oasis, its most dangerous secrets would remain hidden. How to do this most effectively was now the question he needed to answer.
He had thought, at first, to pass himself off as another government official, but had discarded that idea quickly when he realized that the real bureaucrats would see through that disguise immediately. Although they appeared somewhat dim, as a group, he had no doubt that they possessed the same shark-like survival skills as most bureaucrats. They wouldn't be content to let him saunter in and take a place in their little hierarchy. They'd call their cronies in Khartoum, check out his story, and eventually come up with the fact that he was an imposter. No, that would not do.
Finally, he had simply decided to ride into the camp openly, and persuade the excavation leaders to allow him to join their group as a hired laborer. That strategy worked well on several levels. For one, he'd be at the bottom of the pecking order, and therefore attract no undue attention. Who, after all, would care one way or another about the comings and goings of a paid laborer? Second, and perhaps most importantly, if he were able to actually help with the dig itself, he could be at the forefront of the work, and know immediately if anything dangerous was at hand.
"Now who the devil do you suppose that is?" Hamid wondered, watching as the rider approached.
"I'd say we're about to find out," Bernstein answered, joining his friend at the edge of the open-sided tent.
Reining in his mount, the rider stopped when he was perhaps six meters away from the two archaeologists. Gracefully swinging himself down from the saddle in a swirl of black robes, he landed lightly on the ground, and dropped the horse's reins. With a quiet word to the animal, he patted its powerful neck and turned to face the men. As he walked unhesitatingly toward them, they noticed the tattoos decorating his high, chiseled cheekbones and the black flowing garb and turban of a desert nomad.
"Can I help you?" Bernstein asked, walking towards him as the man approached. Something in his voice made the greeting sound less like an offer of assistance and more like an open challenge. Bernstein watched the man with narrowed eyes—something in the panther-like gait and the aura of restrained power surrounding the dark clad rider put his hackles up, making him feel threatened, in some vague, undefined way. Whatever it was, this instinctive wariness towards the stranger made him feel even more protective of the site and its elusive treasure than ever.
Stopping just short of the two men, the stranger recognized their wariness and held out his hands palms facing forward, in a gesture meant to sooth and allay their fears.
"Please," he said, his softly accented voice caressing the English word. "I come from a tribe to the north of here, and have come to offer my services to you." Seeing their looks of surprise, he continued.
"I have been observing your work for several days, and felt that you may have need for additional labor. Is this not true?" He stopped, gauging their reaction.
Bernstein exchanged a quick glance with Hamid. His friend almost imperceptibly shrugged, implying that he had no idea if the man was being honest, and additionally, had no clue as to whether they needed additional men at the site. Either way, he was obviously letting John handle this one on his own. Bernstein scowled, mentally cursing his friend for being so damned agreeable.
"What made you think that?" Bernstein questioned, somewhat disturbed that this man had, apparently, been skulking around the perimeter of the dig for days, without ever being noticed. Would they need to set up a rotating guard schedule, he wondered? Can't have people just wandering in from the desert, disturbing the site, and who knows what else, he thought.
"Your dig occupies a relatively large area," the man offered, keeping his tone soft and somewhat placating, in an effort to soothe and reassure. "You are removing a great deal of soil, and the laborers are required to carry it a great distance. I had hoped you might have use for a strong back and a pair of willing hands."
"We have a fair number of laborers already." Scowling, Bernstein hoped to discourage the man.
Undeterred, the man nodded, adding, "I saw that as well, but in my eagerness to obtain work, felt that you might be persuaded to hire one more."
He kept his eyes lowered respectfully, and his voice, deep and melodic, washed over them almost hypnotically. Almost imperceptibly, Bernstein felt his wariness lessen a bit. For all that he looked like a desert warrior straight out of Arabian Nights, he supposed the man could be just what he said he was—some poor tribesman, needing to find work. Employment, he guessed, must be at a premium, out here in the desert. Still, something about the man bothered him—he didn't seem to be poor, or uneducated, or of humble birth. Rather, he exuded the confidence and aplomb of a man who had seen much, and done much, and lived to tell about it. And there was also the fact that he spoke perfect, flawless English.
"Your English is quite good. Must be fairly well-educated, for a nomad."
"Thankfully, my paternal grandmother saw fit to have me educated in an American-run school in Cairo. She was possessed of a high regard for education, and felt that a man must be well-educated in the ways of the world if he is to find his place in it.
"She was a great woman," he added. Again, all that was true, and he was grateful for being spared telling another lie.
"So if you are well-educated, and have seen something of the world, what on earth are you doing out here, wanting to get paid a pittance to haul buckets of sand?" Let him answer that one, Bernstein thought, with some satisfaction.
"Regretfully, I have returned to my people at a time of great upheaval. They would not have me here, except for their great need. I must provide for those needs, as best I can, and I can best help them by offering to help you." A small stretch of the truth, he thought, but worth it in the end.
"Need the work, do you?" Hamid chimed in, apparently ready now to cast his lot with the stranger. "Supporting a family, and all that? Must be a bit of hard work, out here in the desert."
The man seized on that. "You are correct," he agreed, bowing his head. "My family lives not far from here, in the desert, and I am here to see to their welfare." And to yours also, he thought ironically.
"Well, what do you say, John?" Hamid had apparently changed his mind about staying out of the decision, and now seemed eager to have this man a part of the team.
Still dubious, Bernstein was nonetheless willing, for now at least, to give the man a chance to prove himself. Nodding, he offered his agreement.
"You can start this afternoon, after the meal. See to your animal, and put him in the enclosure over there," he instructed, pointing in the general direction of the fenced in, makeshift corral where the pack animals were kept. "You can sleep with the rest of the workers in the large tent at the back of the camp. There should be an empty locker in there for your things. Breakfast is an hour before sunup, we work until noon, break until three, and then work until sundown. You'll be paid on Fridays, with everyone else."
"I am in your debt," the man offered, bowing his head in acceptance.
"Welcome to the dig. By the way, I didn't catch your name…" Bernstein stepped closer to the man and offered his hand, to seal the agreement. The man lifted his head and looked at him, his dark eyes glinting in the sun. The hand he extended in return was strong, and calloused, and his grip was firm as he shook Bernstein's.
"My name is Ardeth," he offered. "Ardeth Bay."
Eliana straightened and stretched, placing her hands on her lower back and arching it to ease the kinks and sore spots. She had been working on one of the excavation grids since before sunrise, and she was tired, hot and dirty. Her clothes, acceptably clean this morning, were now caked with sweat and gritty with the accursed sand that nothing or no one could escape from out here.
Squinting into the bright sunlight, she looked over to where Eric was working, right in the center of the checkerboard that the dig site was fast becoming. While she and the students she worked with spent their days digging up patch after patch of dirt towards the outer edges of the site grid, Eric and his team plodded away at the very center of the grid for all they were worth, trying to expose whatever lay beneath.
In theory, a dig was meticulous and painstaking work, a delicate and often boring job of carefully uncovering artifact after artifact, gently brushing away the sand and exposing the treasure centimeter by centimeter. No artifact was removed from its resting place until the dirt had been completely brushed away and its exact location and positioning drawn in on the detailed maps of each layer of each square of the grid forming the site. Then, for good measure, the find was also photographed before being removed, tagged and bagged. After all that, it was gently carried back to the camp, where her father and Professor Hamid would thoroughly examine it. Not that they'd been very busy examining anything yet, she thought to herself, grimacing.
Eliana bent at the waist, touching her toes and then straightening, slowly unbending her aching back and futilely swiping at the dust and grime covering her work pants.
"Hey, Eric!" she called. "You ready to head back for lunch?"
She saw him get to his feet, just as slowly and painfully as she had. Digs were hell on the back and legs. Looking at his watch, he turned towards her and nodded.
"Yup, we're ready over here. Let's go!" Turning back to his team, he spoke a few quiet words, and they began to gather their things and get ready to head in. Eliana, already having told her team to break for lunch, waited as Eric walked towards her. Now there is a nice man, she thought, wishing, not for the first time, that she could work up some interest or attraction towards him. Her father, certainly, would heartily approve of her becoming involved with Eric, and it would be convenient and easy to slip into some sort of relationship with him. Eric, in fact, had asked her out before, but she had demurred, unable to think of him in any but the most brotherly of terms, and unwilling to risk the complications that would surely arise from a failed romance with him. Since then, they'd fallen into a comfortable sort of friendship, and she was content with that. Nice though he was, and much as they had in common, she just didn't feel for him what she imagined she should feel for someone she became involved with. Unbidden, Eliana's mind conjured up the image of a pair of golden brown eyes, set in a smooth-shaven bronze face, and she shivered. Nice, Eliana, she thought. You can obsess about a guy you've only dreamed about, but put a perfectly good one right in front of you, and he leaves you cold. What's wrong with this picture?
Eric reached her side, and put a friendly hand on her neck, kneading the tight muscles. "Sore, are we?" he grinned, his blue eyes smiling down at her. Again, Eliana regretted that his touch did nothing more for her than make her sore muscles feel slightly better.
"No worse than you, old man," she teased, reminding him of the eight-year difference in their ages, and punched him in the shoulder.
Companionably, they walked back towards the camp, ready for a quick meal and some rest from the noontime heat. They covered the short distance quickly, the site itself located no more than a quarter mile from the camp. Eric excused himself as they approached the mess tent, wanting to run to his tent quickly and try to clean up a bit before lunch. Good luck, Eliana thought, swiping again at the cloying layer of sand that covered every exposed inch of her. Not wanting to take the time trying to clean up, when she knew she'd just be covered with grit again as soon as they went back out this afternoon, Eliana settled for washing her hands quickly.
She entered the tent, looking around quickly to find her father. Locating him, she walked over towards him, but her steps slowed as she noticed the stranger standing with him. It was dark in the tent, and her eyes hadn't yet adjusted from the bright sunlight, so she couldn't see the man clearly, and even if she had, his back was turned to her so she wouldn't have been able to see his face. She could see, though, that he was tall, and lean, and that he was dressed from head to foot in some sort of black clothing that was, she supposed, suitable for the desert.
Coming closer, she slowed even more, and a strange feeling came over her, an almost light-headedly eerie feeling of déjà vu. A tight knot formed in her stomach, an almost painful feeling high up in her abdomen, and she pressed a closed fist against it to stop the hurt. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and her breath was coming in short, quick bursts. Although she'd never been particularly prone to fainting, Eliana felt that if she didn't sit down quickly, she'd find herself becoming that way, and soon. She fought hard against the illogical desire that was quickly growing in her to turn and run, and forced her feet to carry her the rest of the way over to the men.
Catching sight of her, Bernstein put his hand on the man's arm, said a few words, and turned him towards Eliana, who was now standing about a meter away, behind and slightly to the right of the stranger. She was white as a ghost, and her green eyes were huge in her face as she watched the man turn to her. At first, his face held merely a look of well-mannered but unremarkable curiosity, and he extended a hand to politely greet her.
Gritting her teeth, she reached out a hand to grasp his. When their palms touched, Eliana swore that she felt a jolt through her whole body, and from the expression in his dark eyes, he felt it too. Fear coursed through her again, hot as fire and cold as ice at the same time. The man didn't release her hand, but instead, stood holding it tightly, his grip almost crushingly powerful. As she watched, mutely, a strange expression came over his darkly attractive features. An almost disbelieving frown crossed his face, and he scanned her features quickly, almost as if he recognized her, but wasn't sure where he'd seen her before.
As his eyes met hers again, she did stop breathing, and an even deeper primal fear coursed through her. If she could have forced her feet to work, she would have run as far and as fast as she could. As it was, though, her feet were rooted to the floor, and she could only watch, shaking, as he stared at her with the same look of dawning horror that she felt, which was ridiculous, since she had never seen the man before in her life. All the same, the pain in her stomach grew worse, and she knew that if she didn't sit down at once, her body would take over and sit down for her.
Bernstein, though, was blithely unaware of the undercurrents of tension stretching between the two as he introduced his most recent employee to his daughter.
"Eliana, I'd like you to meet the newest member of our team, Ardeth Bay. He'll be starting today. Ardeth, meet my daughter, Eliana." Bernstein looked at Eliana, expecting her to greet the new arrival with at least a word or two, in addition to the handshake she had already offered. But she was just standing there, looking for all the world as if she'd been suddenly struck dumb. And she wasn't looking too well, either. Suddenly concerned, he took a step towards her.
"Eliana, are you all right? Have you gotten too much sun today? Were you wearing a hat?"
"No, dad, I'm okay. I just need to sit down for a minute, I think." Eliana reached out to grasp the back of a chair near her with her free hand. The other was still within Ardeth Bay's powerful grip.
As if suddenly becoming aware that he retained his death grip on her hand, Ardeth released her immediately, schooling his features into a carefully neutral expression. He watched as Bernstein settled the woman into the chair she was hanging onto, felt her brow and began to fuss over her. Eliana, for her part, looked a bit better as soon as Ardeth had let go of her hand, and although she was still frightfully pale and still clutching her stomach, she didn't look anymore as though she was about to drop over.
Ardeth realized that she was studiously trying to avoid any further eye contact with him, and he backed away slightly. What in Allah's name can I do now, he wondered. This was something he had not considered, not at all. Although Ardeth was sure he had never met the woman before in this lifetime, he knew her still. He had seen her eyes, touched her hand, and sensed her aura, and he knew, with the kind of canny second sight peculiar to his ancestry and calling, who she was. Or rather, who she had been. And he was afraid.
This did not bode well, not at all. For this woman to arrive at this site, for this purpose, at this time, was a sign of ill omen. Ardeth was suddenly reminded of the stories told to him long ago by his grandfather and namesake. He remembered each and every tale, his fear steadily taking root and growing. No, this did not bode well.
Eliana huddled in her tent, still shaken and trembling from her recent encounter with the dark stranger. She had picked at her food during the noon meal, finally pushing her plate away and excusing herself. Her father, although still concerned, had let her go. At least, when she left, she had been looking a bit better—some color had returned to her cheeks, and her breathing was deeper and slower. Perhaps some rest was all she needed to recover from what had obviously been too much sun this morning.
She had all but run to the shelter of her tent, which was unpleasantly hot, sitting there in the full afternoon sun, but still seemed a refuge to her. Thankfully, the man, Ardeth Bay, had been nowhere in sight, having politely but firmly refused their offer of a meal to instead see to his horse, now sharing the corral with the other animals. Eliana had been relieved, for she didn't think that she could have managed to spend even one more minute in the man's presence. She knew her reaction was totally illogical, without any basis in what she considered reality, but that didn't change the way she felt. And she felt afraid of the man, a feeling borne not out of logic, but from some primitive, primal core buried within her soul. Almost as if he was a threat to her, but surely that was not the case, for what sort of evil intentions could he harbor towards her? He'd never even met her before, for heaven's sake. Yet Eliana knew, too, that Ardeth Bay had been as disturbed by their meeting as she.
She shuddered. What on earth was the matter with her? What was going on? Again, the feeling that the course of her life had been irrevocably changed the moment she set foot on this desert stole over her. She wrapped her arms around herself, cold despite the sweltering heat of the tent's interior.
Eliana finally sought refuge in the one place she had always found it—inside one of the dusty, old leather-bound books she had brought with her, one of the many her father had given her over the years. John Bernstein, always scoffing at the toys and clothes and "mindless drivel" other parents presented to their children for birthdays and Christmases, had always and forever gifted Eliana with the one thing he did value—knowledge. Birthday after birthday, year after year, Eliana's collection of books grew and grew, and the sheer number she now possessed was enough to fill a small library. Not surprisingly, given her father's avocation, most of the books tended to involve ancient history, especially that of Egypt and the Near and Middle East.
Blindly, Eliana rummaged through her backpack, not really caring what she read, as long as it freed her mind from this illogical paralysis of fear. Her hand touched a leather bound spine, and she grabbed the book and removed it from the pack. Looking at the deep burgundy cover, she read the title—"Temples of Ancient Egypt". Not the most stimulating of reads, but it would do. Randomly opening the book, Eliana found herself looking at an old illustration of Hypostyle Hall, a colossal structure built within the Temple of Amun at Karnak. The illustration's caption indicated that this temple addition was, architecturally speaking, one of the grandest and most beautiful, having been built by the Pharaoh Seti I as a tribute to Amun, the state god during his reign.
Ancient temples. Amun-Re. Karnak. Seti. Another word, another name, tried to form itself in her mind, but its sound and form was amorphous and too fleeting to give voice to…
Eliana felt a strange lassitude moving through her, and was grateful that the shivering that had wracked her earlier seemed to have disappeared. She was warmer, now, too. In fact, her skin, which had been unusually cold before, considering the temperature inside the tent, was now almost hot. Funny, though, how she couldn't seem to get her mind to focus on what she was reading. And she felt tired, so tired…
Though she tried, Eliana couldn't seem to keep her eyes focused on the book she held in her lap, and giving up, laid down on the cool nylon of her sleeping bag. Closing her eyes, intending to doze for only a moment, she drifted off…
She awakened to find her head cushioned on a broad shoulder, her body cradled by the warm, masculine arms that were wrapped loosely around her. Her cheek rested on the smooth, sleekly muscled planes of a man's bronze-skinned chest. She could feel the warmth of his body, smell the musky scent of his skin, and hear the strong beat of his heart. As she awoke, he stirred, turning slightly towards her and pulling her more tightly into his embrace. His breath stirred her hair, loose and fanning out over his arm, and he buried his face in the silky strands, inhaling the spicy fragrance left by her perfumed soaps.
Her eyes still closed, she noticed the other sounds, smells and textures surrounding her. Somewhere off in the distance, she heard the cry of a night bird. The smell of lotus blossoms drifted on the night air, mixing and mingling with the scent of perfumed incense. The fine linen sheets of the bed feel loosely over and around her, smoothly brushing against her skin, a cool and soothing touch. The heat of the man lying next to her radiated against her, warming her skin and comforting her senses. In his arms, she felt safe, and protected, and…cherished. Those were feelings, she knew, that were painfully rare to her.
She lifted a hand to his chest, lightly skimming it over the satiny smooth skin. He had a wonderful body, she thought. Strong, supple, well-muscled but lean—a graceful, athletic body that was powerful, but not overpowering. Her hand caressed the well-defined deltoid muscle of his shoulder and then traced a path down his arm, and back up again, learning the contours and shape as it went, finally coming to rest once again on the strong upper arm. Idly, her fingers traced the narrow length of leather cording that was knotted around his bicep.
He stirred again, this time turning fully towards her and gathering her close, so that the length of their bodies were pressed together, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. She moved, looping her arms around his neck and bringing her leg to lie over his, her foot stroking against the contours of his calf. She was lying on his left arm, effectively imprisoning it underneath her, but he brought his free hand up to her narrow waist, lightly stroking the smooth flesh that was, thankfully, free of the sticky body paint she was usually forced to wear. The hand moved, skimming down over the flare of her hip, curving over and around to grasp her buttocks and pull her against him fully. She could feel him stirring against her, could feel that he was coming awake in more ways than one, and she smiled, lifting her arms over her head and stretching languorously. Her movement caused her to arch against him even more, and she felt his grip on her tighten.
Smiling again, she opened her eyes and met his, expecting to see her almost playful mood reflected there. She did not. Instead, the deep brown of his eyes reflected a seriousness that surprised her, making the smile fade from her lips and the glint of good humor leave her expression.
"What is wrong, my love?" she asked, bringing her hand up to his face, cradling and caressing the strong line of his cheek, and the strength of his jaw.
"We have taken a great risk," he warned, "to be together, like this, here. And to actually have fallen asleep here, in your quarters…" He left the rest unsaid, although she knew as well as he what the consequences would be, should they be discovered.
Although his words, and his eyes, carried a warning, his hands didn't seem to heed it. Instead, they still massaged and stroked her, oblivious to the dictates of logic or caution. Her hands, too, were reluctant to abandon their exploration, as reason and prudence would have them do. She moved her arms between them, placing her palms on his chest and pushing gently to lever herself slightly away from him.
"But Seti is gone from the palace, and this campaign into Kush will keep him away for weeks, if not longer," she argued. "How can we be safer than we are right now, at this moment?"
"Seti may be gone, but you know that his eyes are everywhere. Before he left for Nubia, he would certainly have instructed the Med-Jai to watch your every move."
"Yes," she answered, realizing that he was right to be wary, and her voice was tinged with bitterness. "The Med-Jai stalk me like ghosts, well hidden, but there nonetheless, following my every move. I am well aware of how thoroughly they follow their orders."
"They are simply obeying their master, my love," he offered, and she was amazed and somewhat irritated that he seemed to be defending their dog-like devotion to a man she abhorred. "They are well aware that if they fail Seti, their lives are forfeit. Besides, they are not just charged with guarding you, but also with protecting you."
"Using his elite warriors to guard me is a waste. Why should these men care what happens to one of Seti's whores?" she spat, disgust and self-loathing oozing from every word.
Angrily, he rolled, taking her with him, ending up on top of her, pinning her to the mattress with his body. He supported his weight with one arm, while his other hand imprisoned her chin, his firm grip holding her still and forcing her to meet his eyes, which had darkened to near black with the force of the emotion coursing through him. Giving her chin a slight shake, he hissed, "Never say that! Never! You are no man's whore!"
She looked at him, and the rage and helpless frustration she saw in his eyes made her own fill with tears.
"What am I, then, if not Seti's whore?" she whispered, and one diamond bright drop did spill from her eye. His face softened, and she caught her breath as he lowered his lips to her cheek, his tongue trailing after the stray teardrop and gently kissing it away. Lifting his head, he met her eyes again.
"You are the woman I love," he said simply. "You are the air that I breathe, the blood that flows through my veins, the temple at which my body worships." His eyes burned into hers, consuming in their intensity, scalding her body, devouring her soul. "You are everything any man could ever want, the fulfillment of every desire I have ever felt, the greatest temptation I have ever fruitlessly tried to resist. You make my soul burn, you steal my sanity, and you turn my body to fire. You are everything to me—without you, I would have no reason, no purpose, nothing for which to live. I would be an empty shell, but for the love I feel for you."
"And you are my salvation," she whispered softly.
Gently, he kissed her, lips moving softly over hers, hands caressing and exploring the contours of her body as she lay beneath him. She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and sink into the blessed oblivion of desire that this man could so effortlessly stir in her. There was another matter weighing on her mind, though, so once more she spoke, giving voice to a fear she had carried with her for days.
"What of the news I heard rumored the other day, my love? That Seti wished to take a new wife to replace his dead queen? What of that?" she asked. "Neferteri herself has mentioned to me on more than one occasion that her father, though he is well pleased with her, and her brother Ramses, wishes for a young wife who can give him more children."
"And who better to fill that role than his most favored concubine, is that what you fear?" He sighed, resting his forehead against hers for a brief moment.
"I do not wish to be Seti's wife!" she cried, all the fear she had carried with her for days exploding from her heart in that vehement oath. "I would rather be dead!"
"Do not say that, my love!" he begged. "While we yet have life, we have hope. Even if there is truth to this gossip, it still may be possible that he would choose another; and the gods willing, he will be well pleased with her and release you from service to him."
"No man should have so much power over the lives of others! A living God among men; that is what he is called!" she scoffed. "What trash! He is a man, the same as any man. But for an accident of birth, he could have been in the brick kilns or building stone temples with the Hebrew slaves. He is no god! And yet he is given the power of life and death over all Egypt! If he were any other man, what he does would be considered sacrilege!"
"If he were any other man, the gods themselves would not keep you from me."
"But he can, and he does, and his accursed Med-Jai lurk behind every corner to ensure fidelity to his wishes!" She pounded her fists on his shoulders once, in a gesture of sheer, hopeless rage. "If I am chosen to be his wife, what will we do? I cannot give you up, I will not! This cannot happen!"
"If that day should come, my love, I swear to you that nothing will stop me from keeping you from him," he vowed, and she saw the truth of his promise reflected in his eyes. "I will move heaven and earth, break every vow of allegiance and fidelity I have ever made, sacrifice all that I am and all that I have to take you from him forever and make you mine. If I must, I will spit in the very faces of the gods to protect our love."
For endless moments, she stared at him. She was amazed at the ferocity of his words, warmed by the promise that she was not alone, and comforted by the fact that this man, the second most powerful man in Egypt, answerable only to Seti himself, would be willing to risk so much, to throw so much away, just for their love.
She held his eyes with hers, and moved beneath him, arching her hips into his and opening her legs to cradle his body between her thighs. Her arms wound around his neck, and she drew his head down to hers, pressing her lips to his in a kiss filled with sorrow and joy, passion and fury, hope and despair. His mouth slanted over hers, deepening the kiss and turning it into a wordless vow. His tongue traced over her lips, lightly at first, then more forcefully, finally making its way into her mouth to tease and tangle with hers.
She raked her nails over the smooth contours of his back, feeling the rippling muscles and glorying in the latent power he possessed, power that he would call into play for her, if the need should arise. She moaned as his mouth burned a fiery trail down the column of her throat, his hands moving up her ribcage to caress her breasts, thumbs moving erotically over the swollen, sensitive flesh. His tongue, warm and wet, traced the curve of each breast and swirled enticingly around the hardened tip of one, before taking her fully into his mouth. His lips and mouth pulled on her flesh, suckling and teasing, and she thought she would go insane from the sheer pleasure of his touch.
"Please…"she begged, writhing and gasping with the need his touch was building in her. "Please—now!"
His hand slid between her legs, skilled fingers caressing and probing, testing her readiness for him. She bent her knees and opened wider for him, feeling the hot, hard length of him pressing against her moist flesh. Taking him in her hand, she guided him to the entrance of her body, and arched against him. Groaning, he accepted the invitation she offered, and with one careful thrust, he filled her.
She cried out, then; and as he began to move inside her, slowly at first and then with a growing intensity, she felt an exquisite tension begin to build. He thrust into her again and again, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out over his skin, the taste of it salty against her tongue. Her hands grasped his hips and her fingers dug into the bunching muscles of his buttocks, straining to pull him more fully into her. Gods, she was so close, so close! She had never felt anything from any man's touch before, Seti included—Seti be damned!—but the things that this man could do to her with a single look, the things he could make her feel with a single caress made her ache. And to be possessed by him, like this; well, it was enough to make the gods weep!
His lips took hers again, devouring her mouth as he continued to drive into her body. She was on the edge, moving closer and closer to completion with each powerful thrust. Suddenly, she was there, falling and soaring at the same time, clenching around him and crying out, holding tight to him as the world dissolved around her. And then he was there with her, with one last thrust, plunging into the abyss and beyond, burying his face in the curve of her neck and groaning against her skin as he spilled himself into her.
As she held him there against her, arms wrapped around him, legs holding him within her, a word formed on her lips and spilled forth. In a whisper as soft as a butterfly alighting on a lotus blossom and as full of power as an arcane spell, she gave voice to the word, to the name…
"Imhotep."
The golden rays of the early evening sun spilled across the sand as the workers labored to remove ever more buckets of sand from the square, evenly-spaced holes springing up across the desert floor. They had been digging now for eight days and nine hours, and still had nothing to show for it.
Ardeth Bay was there with them, waiting as the excavation teams filled bucket after bucket with the grainy sand, and then lugging the overflowing containers off to the site perimeter. There, they were dumped out, the discarded sand by this time forming small, man-made mountains around the edges of the excavation. He had been working now since three in the afternoon, and he was amazed at the amount of sand he had carted off. The workers, even considering how disappointed they were to have found nothing yet, were certainly not slackers. No, they kept up their steady pace, removing the soil trowel full by trowel full, and had kept him working steadily for the past three hours.
Wiping his gritty sleeve over his forehead, Ardeth grimaced as the grimy sand mixed with his sweat to form a sticky, itchy crust of dirt. No stranger to hard physical work, he was still impressed with the amount of labor that went into such a project. He walked to the water container, taking a cup and filling it with the lukewarm, but blessedly wet liquid, and downed it in one gulp. Tiny rivulets of water dripped down from the corners of his mouth to his chin, leaving clean tracks in the layer of dust coating his skin. Wiping the water away with the back of one hand, he squinted his eyes and scanned the site, looking for the woman.
When he saw her, he was struck again by the fact that she was not at all what he would have expected, given who he knew she was. If he'd had to guess, he would have expected her to be cool, aloof and arrogant, with a haughty kind of beauty that kept men at their distance. Beautiful she was, Ardeth thought to himself, but not beautiful in any sort of haughty way. Instead, she was a woman of average height and a slim, athletic build, with wavy auburn hair and green eyes that sparkled with warmth. Not that they'd look very warm when they'd been turned his way, he thought. Instead, they'd looked haunted, and frightened, and almost hunted.
She looked much better this afternoon, he decided, as he watched her working with a handful of young people, moving gracefully between the various pits they were stationed in, offering advice and encouragement. Her color was back, and although when she'd first emerged from her tent, she had looked every bit as shaken as when she first went in (she must not have rested well, he thought), she had improved quickly once she got back to the dig. And once she had gotten far away from him, he added. Indeed, she had avoided him like the plague since their first importune meeting, and for now, he was content to let things rest as they were.
He meant her no harm, and as long as she showed no signs of remembering who and what she was—or who and what he was—he intended to leave her alone. He was still sorely afraid of what her presence here heralded, though, and he vowed to keep her under close watch to ensure that she didn't somehow manage to trigger some sort of cosmic trap by her mere presence. In the meantime, he was interested in what kind of person she had become, this time around.
She had her own pit that she was excavating, and he noticed with some interest that she was not afraid to dig in the dirt with her bare hands and get just as dirty as those she supervised. That kind of thing would have once been beneath her, in both of her past reincarnations, at least from what he had been told. Her outgoing, friendly manner was also somewhat of a surprise, for he expected someone who was class-conscious and very much aware of her status among others. Instead, he had noticed straight off that Eliana was every bit one of the team, well-liked and respected by the lot of them, not worried about her place in the scheme of things and willing to lend a hand or an ear where it was needed.
No, she was not what he had expected at all.
His thirst quenched for now, Ardeth went back to hauling sand.
"Eliana, you'd better come take a look at this," one of her students called.
Standing up in the pit she'd been working in, Eliana scanned the surrounding area. Finally, she noticed a shaggy blonde head sticking up out of one the nearby pits, and a tanned arm frantically waving to get her attention. Grabbing the side of the pit she was in, and heaving herself up, she took a moment to brush off the ever-present grime before making her way over to Doug Edelman and his little corner of the excavation.
"What's up, Doug? Run out of buckets?"
"No, El, I think I've got something here," he said, shaking his head. "Can you come down here for a minute and take a look?"
"No problem. I'll be there in a second." She sat down on the edge of the hole and pushed herself over the edge. "Whatcha got?"
Silently, Doug pointed down into the corner of the pit, where he had removed most of the sand from what appeared to be a long fragment of white rock. Frowning, Eliana knelt down to take a closer look at the object, and gasped when she realized what it was. Long, yes, but not as long as one would expect; and white, yes, but with a brownish tinge from being buried so long in the sand. The object was also easily recognizable, with a narrow shaft and two rounded protrusions on each end. Shocked, Eliana looked up at Doug, who nodded in agreement.
Standing, she walked to the edge of the pit and looked over to where her father was standing, talking quietly to Professor Hamid.
"Dad! Come and see this—Doug's found a femur!"
But her father didn't hear her, for before she finished speaking, a shout went up from the center of the excavation. Eric and his team, who had been working tirelessly— and fruitlessly — at the center of the site for days, now, suddenly raised their voices in whoops of wild enthusiasm. Eliana and Doug, along with everyone else, looked over to see the group jumping up and down, slapping each other on the back, looking almost drunk with joy. Seeing that they had secured everyone's undivided attention, Eric announced, almost giddily,
"We've found it!"
In an instant, everyone at the site was running, nearly tripping over themselves to get a close look at what was, quite possibly, living history. Eliana's father threw down the papers he was holding, and grabbed Hamid's arm, literally dragging him along; Doug hauled himself out of the pit, extending a hand to Eliana and yanking her up, too; and from the perimeter of the site, Ardeth Bay was rapidly making his way towards them, a grim frown on his face.
Once everyone was gathered on the edge of the four meter deep pit, staring down at the sandy bottom, with expressions ranging from unbelieving hope to grim trepidation, Eric moved aside and pointed at what had caused the uproar. In the center of the pit, gleaming and bright, even after being buried in the sand for almost a century, was the partially exposed top, and part of one side, of a golden pyramid.
Eliana heard her father gasp, and she, too, felt her breath catch, but less from the sheer joy of being a part of the archaeological find of the century and more from some odd sense of finally coming home. Why she would feel that way, she had no idea, but she was suddenly struck with the overpowering feeling that every moment of her life had been carrying her irrevocably towards this moment.
Ardeth watched impassively as the sun glinted off the now-revealed secret that he was charged with guarding, then narrowed his eyes and looked towards John Bernstein as the older man sank to his knees at the edge of the pit, staring with awe at what had finally been uncovered. At last, the reality of what they had discovered seemed to sink in, and he gave a name to what they had unearthed.
"The golden pyramid," he whispered, reverently. "We have found Ahm Shere!"