CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Then as men celebrate the coming light, I shall pass into darkness. I shall wander the night stumbling and falling. I shall embrace the great nothing—a shadow so deep it encompasses all, unseen but felt in the hearts of men as the sorrow, the loss, the death. And I shall bless the void for it prepares me, leaves me empty so that light may enter.
In my weakness the dark shall cover me with the red cloth of death and the hungry leopard shall pass by as if I were less than a shadow. I shall hide even as the gods hide behind the veil of nothingness, listening. Though they hear men call in their troubles, they come not; yet silent, beyond the veil their shining fingers move, weaving the cloth of destinies.
--Excerpt from "Becoming the Hawk Divine", Egyptian Book of the Dead, as translated by Normandi Ellis
"Put me down! Are you insane? Put me down!" Her fists pounding against the unyielding strength of his chest and shoulders, Eliana screamed at the priest. Her words were useless, though, glancing off him like feathers hitting granite. He didn't even spare her a glance, simply shifting her in his arms to better restrain her flailing arms and legs. She tried again. "Will you stop? I know you can hear me! I know you understand what I'm saying! Damn it! Stop! We can't just leave Ardeth in there—he'll be killed!"
Ahead, Eliana could see that the passageway they were in was growing both broader and taller as they approached the exterior wall of the pyramid and the outside. She could see daylight up ahead, and knew that they were almost out, almost safe. Ardeth, however, was still back in the bowels of the pyramid, trapped amid the hellish chaos of Ahm Shere's rebirth. She glanced up into the stony features of the man who carried her. Why wouldn't he stop? Why had he left Ardeth back there, hurt, wounded? Why, in fact, had he seemed pleased that the other man had been injured in the first place? And how on earth had the two of them known each other? That they knew each other Eliana didn't even question—the animosity sparking between the two of them had been obvious. Obvious and inexplicable. Why would Ardeth know a man who before now had only been a figment of Eliana's subconscious? Why would the priest know a man who had, before her father hired him, been a simple man of the desert? And what had they called each other? Creature? Med Jai?
As they stepped out of the dimness of the pyramid and into the bright afternoon light, Eliana shut her eyes. After being inside for so long, the sun's glare was dazzling, blinding. Suddenly, she felt herself falling, as the priest loosened his hold on her and dumped her unceremoniously to the ground. Feet hitting the earth, she staggered for a moment before regaining her balance, and her eyes flew open.
Eliana's jaw dropped, her fury at the priest forgotten for a moment as she took in her surroundings. The desert was gone. Completely, utterly gone. It was as though the hand of god himself had moved over the barren sand, calling forth life and abundance from what had been an endless expanse of nothing. The jungle—a lush, tropical forest—spread out in all directions, as far as she could see—green, fertile, rich with life and vitality. It was an impossible genesis, a mad, unfeasible metamorphosis, yet there it was, laid out before her eyes in a profusion of sound and color, smell and feel. The thick, luxuriant carpet of leaves and grasses cushioned her feet, the odor of tropical plants and flowers wafted to her through the air, and the trees and vines swayed, leaves rustling and sighing in the light breeze that blew over her suddenly clammy skin.
"What…has…happened?" The words came out in a squeak of sound, passing forth through lips that felt frozen in place. Eliana felt numb, the foundations of her carefully planned and plotted life crumbling all around her, as she faced the inconceivable scene arrayed before her.
"The diamond has been replaced. Ahm Shere has been reborn." The priest's tone, as he explained the obvious, was unimpressed and matter-of-fact, as though he witnessed such extraordinary goings-on all the time, and had ceased to be amazed by them.
"But things like this just do not happen. People do not come back from…" She paused, darting a quick glance at him, momentarily at a loss to describe where he had been. Finally, she settled on the simplest way of putting it. "From the dead. People do not come back from the dead. Old relics do not break curses. And jungles do not grow out of the desert in the space of an hour or so."
The priest looked at her then, one eyebrow raised in mocking condescension. "What a narrow world you live in," he observed, then looked away, scanning the jungle growth all around, carefully watching the shadows. Almost…almost as if he expected to see something there, something hiding in the murky shade beneath the forest canopy.
Eliana glared at him. The touch of arrogance that she'd thought so alluring in her dreams was beginning to become irksome. She did not live in a narrow world! The world she lived in was neat and orderly, a place where things made sense and you could count on the laws of science and logic. It was a place where things happened in a proscribed fashion, where you could depend on reason and sanity. It was not a place where you resurrected lovers from past lives, or brought back lost oases, or left friends behind in reappearing pyramids. And that brought her back to…
"Ardeth." Eliana whirled, heading back into the pyramid. She hadn't even made it to the door when she was ruthlessly dragged back and imprisoned within the circle of the priest's arms. He held her while she fought against him, saying nothing, as unmoving and unmovable as a statue carved from stone. Finally, realizing the absolute futility of her struggle, she stopped, growing still and quiet in his arms, bowing her head in mute surrender. Sensing her acquiescence, he loosened his arms and almost gently turned her to face him.
"You cannot go back. It is too dangerous. Even if the Med Jai were worth saving, I could not allow it." His words were spoken quietly, but they were without question a command. He would not allow her to return to the pyramid. Eliana looked up into his eyes, searching them for an answer, a reason, something that would explain why he had abandoned Ardeth, and why he was forcing her to abandon him as well. Why he had seemed pleased to do so. The dark brown gaze was unreadable, inscrutable.
"You don't seem to care that we left a fellow human being—someone who happens to be my friend—back in that madness," Eliana accused. "In fact, you seemed quite happy about it. Happy that he was hurt, happy to abandon him. Happy to make me abandon him." She paused, searching his eyes for some reaction—any reaction—but there was none. The only emotion that marked his features was a merciless indifference. That pitiless apathy finally drove her over the edge. She looked at him in utter disgust. "What kind of monster are you?" The cutting censure in her voice hit its target with deadly accuracy, biting deep, and the priest almost visibly winced. For a second, she felt his fingers tighten on her arms, as he struggled to control the surge of anger her words had provoked. When his eyes met hers, she could see the barely leashed fury in his, and for the first time, she was afraid of him. His voice was hard, the words striking her like a blow.
"I am a monster? Your friend is a Med Jai. He would destroy us both, and do so happily. It is his only goal, his only purpose in life. He and his ilk have done so before, and we both have borne the resulting curse for age upon age. Do you truly not remember?" Frustration was evident in his voice, along with the rage, and he shook her slightly. "How can the entire history have been wiped so thoroughly from your mind, from your soul?"
She stiffened, a haunted, hunted look passing over her features. His words were making her feel strange, weaving a spell that conjured up feelings and images that made no sense. Feelings of hopeless rage, searing pain, aching loss. Images of blood and death, pain and fear. He held her away from him, searching her face for some sign of comprehension, but finding none. His voice, when he spoke again, was resigned, almost tired. "Are you truly so unaware of what is unfolding here?"
"What is unfolding here is impossible, unbelievable. Nothing that has happened today can happen! Don't you understand that?" She almost sobbed the words, pulling herself violently away from him, the stress of the last few hours finally taking its toll on her emotional self control. She began to shake, shivering violently, her skin growing cold and clammy, the last bit of color fading from her face. He looked at her closely, and saw the telltale signs of shock beginning to set in. She needed to lie down and rest, and he needed to find something to wrap around her. His eyes dropped to the bundle of cloth she carried.
"What is that? Is it a blanket of some sort?" Gently, he pried the mound of fabric from her unresisting hands. "Please, give it to me. You must be kept warm…"
"N-no. N-not a b-blanket. It-it's a r-robe. I f-found it i-in the p-pyramid." Her teeth chattered, chopping up the words, making her stutter. As she spoke, he unfolded the garment, and as it fell open, revealing its origin, an unbelieving look of shocked amazement came over him, and he shook his head in astonishment. Not only was it a robe, it was the very same robe he himself had worn into the pyramid some seventy years ago. Dirty now, tattered by the elements and the years, but intact and useable, delivered into his hands by a bizarre turn of fate's wheel. Would he never learn to fathom the limits of fate's ironic sensibilities?
He placed the robe around her shoulders, pulling it shut beneath her chin, and drew her to him once again, holding her against him for support, rubbing her back and upper arms in an effort to warm her. She sagged against him, all the fight gone out of her, and rested her head against the warm strength of his shoulder. There was only silence between them—no words, no anger, no accusations, only the soothing feel of his hands moving over her, bringing her a desperately needed warmth and comfort. For an endless moment, time seemed to slow and almost infinitesimally pause, allowing a brief respite as they stood there, dwarfed by the shadow of Ahm Shere's restored monument. Finally, Eliana's shivering subsided, and she tiredly looked up at him, and pushed herself away. "Thank you."
He said nothing, only looked at her, a somber expression on his face, an indefinable shadow of emotion lurking in the brown depths of his eyes. Finally, he nodded, and moved away from her as well, securing the robe more tightly around her shoulders, brushing a strand of hair back from her face with the fingers of one hand. An inexplicable strand of something, some vague, flimsy bond, stretched between them, fragile and delicate, easily broken, but there, nonetheless. She sighed, stepping back, severing the tie.
"We can't just leave Ardeth here. I won't abandon him." At her words, his gaze hardened, and the momentary peace between them was shattered. He was about to speak, when suddenly, he sensed a flicker of movement behind her, and his gaze shot to the jungle beyond them. A jungle that was inexplicably quieter than it had been only moments before. Quiet, still, filled with an ominous sort of motionlessness. And then, with an abrupt, almost fluid ripple of movement, the tall grasses began to stir, bending and swaying, as something far out in the trees began to come towards them.
Imhotep turned her towards the jungle, pointing to the advancing ripple of movement. "There is no time to argue. We will not go back for him." Seeing that she was about to disagree, he added, bluntly, "And I assure you, he will fare better than we do, if we do not leave this place immediately."
Slowly, painfully, Ardeth hobbled down the passageway leading out of the pyramid and limped into the late afternoon sunlight. His eyes were filled with a weary, resigned sort of amazement as he took in the sight of the newly grown jungle spreading out in emerald waves all around him. All of the stories, all of the legends scarcely did it justice. Ahm Shere was beautiful, a lush oasis filled with green, growing abundance, scattered with patches of dancing sunlight and spots of cool shadow. It was Eden, returned to the world of men, cradling life to its bosom, yet nurturing death at its heart.
Ardeth scanned the jungle, wary of the slightest movement, the smallest sign of activity. He was well aware of the dangers hidden under the mask of tranquility and peace that cloaked the tropical paradise. Beneath the unparalleled beauty of the forest canopy, behind the gorgeous façade of verdant green, death stalked in the shadows, waiting with a centuries-old patience to leap out and devour the unsuspecting adventurer.
He looked towards where he thought the camp had been. It had been located over a slight rise, only a quarter kilometer or so away from the dig itself. There was no trace of it that he could see. Near and far, wherever he looked, all that met his eye was unbroken jungle growth. What had been the fate of everyone there? Had the jungle simply grown up all around them, cradling them lovingly within its green embrace? Or had it smashed into them like a tropical storm, mindlessly plowing through and obliterating everything in its path? He had no way of knowing, no way of divining the fate of the many people who had been a part of the expedition. Nor would he know, until he could somehow make his way back to the camp.
He grimaced, looking down at his mangled leg, wondering if he would survive the journey through the oasis. After Eliana and the Creature had left him, he had managed to survive only through sheer luck and the grace of Allah. Nearly fainting from the agony of caused by even the smallest movement, he had dragged himself step by painful step up the stone staircase leading out of the great hall and finally reached the relative safety of the passageway leading to the outside. Once there, he had given himself the luxury of sitting down for a few precious minutes and screaming out his rage, frustration and pain. No amount of raging, though, could assuage the feelings of failure and guilt that he carried within himself. He had failed Eliana, he had failed himself, and he had failed his Med Jai brothers. The others might forgive him, might provide reasonable excuses for his inability to avert this catastrophe, but he would not forgive himself. He had been aware of the dangers here, and he had failed—failed utterly, miserably—to guard against them. And now Ahm Shere was returned to the world of men, bringing with it unknown dangers and plagues; and Eliana was gone, carried off by the Creature that he had been sworn to stop, whatever the cost to himself. Somehow, the Creature had been brought back from the hell he had been consigned to, and Allah only knew what would become of Eliana. And the blame for it all could be laid squarely on Ardeth's own shoulders.
But what good did it do to rage at himself, any more than it did to scream it out into the echoing chambers of the pyramid? Sitting here venting his fury was accomplishing nothing. Less than nothing. Each passing minute created more distance between himself and the Creature he must track and defeat. Briefly, Ardeth had assessed his options, which were all too few. His injury left him vulnerable, too exposed to the crafty wiles of the hunters that he knew lurked in the shadows of the jungle outside. He needed to get back to the camp, somehow, repair the damage that had been done to his leg, and then come back out to track down Eliana and the Creature. Trying to do so now would be no favor to her, or to the Med Jai cause. What he needed now was a cool head and a carefully crafted plan. Running off recklessly and without thought was what had caused this disaster in the first place. Ardeth would not make that mistake again.
From what he had seen before the Creature had carried her off, he knew that Eliana was in no immediate danger, at least not physically, and at least not in the most obvious way. Ardeth knew that the resurrected priest had recognized her immediately, just as he himself had done, for the Creature's hold on her had been one of blatant possession, a raw, stark claiming that was intended as a clear warning to the Med Jai. And it was that recognition, that claiming, that would be the strongest protection, as well as the gravest danger, to Eliana. But for now, Ardeth thought she would be safe. But the clock continued to tick, eating up that precious buffer of safety, and he was getting nowhere.
Quickly, he had assessed the damage to his limb, and bound up his injured leg as best as he could, tearing a strip of cloth from his robe, and tying it tightly above the gash in his thigh. The tourniquet had made his leg go numb, and he knew that he would have to remove it soon, or risk permanent damage, but in the meantime it had managed to staunch the flow of blood to a mere trickle, and the numbness itself was a welcome relief from the pain.
The walk from one end of the tunnel had been slow, agonizingly slow, and each halting step had hammered home just how vulnerable he was. Now he stood here—wounded, weary, with only his Med Jai sword for protection, and a seething green sea between him and whatever was left of the camp. Of Eliana and the Creature, there was no sign, but he hadn't expected to find one. The Creature knew as well as he what lurked in the jungle, and he would have moved through it swiftly. Ardeth had no doubt that the resurrected priest would be able to adequately protect both Eliana and himself. In fact, the jungle and its denizens would be no match for the priest. Grimly, he chuckled. Perhaps Eliana had been more fortunate than he had first thought. She was probably more secure within the Creature's protection right now than she would have been with Ardeth to see to her safety.
With a low groan, Ardeth limped into the trees, his sword drawn and ready. It would have to serve as both a tool for clearing a path through the dense greenery and a weapon of defense against any attack by the jungle's native inhabitants. Whatever meager protection it afforded him would have to do, until he could somehow make his way to the camp. Briefly, he looked back at the massive pyramid, now fully restored, gleaming bright gold in the sun. He would have to use it as a landmark, to keep his bearings, or he could wander for days, lost in the thick mesh of trees and vines. With his course fixed firmly in his mind, he turned back towards the wall of green, and, muttering a prayer to Allah under his breath, walked into the waiting arms of the jungle.
Bernstein stopped, panting from exertion, sweat staining his shirt and running in rivulets down his forehead. Bending stiffly, for the race through the jungle while carrying Akil Hamid slung over his shoulders had all but exhausted him, he slowly lowered the slight Egyptian to the ground. Just moments ago, the four men had stumbled into a small clearing in the dense growth of rainforest, and had quickly made the decision to stop and rest. Hamid had finally begun to come around, groaning and feebly stirring on Bernstein's shoulders, and they needed to stop to assess the damage he had sustained in his fall and tend to his injuries.
Bernstein dropped to his knees beside his colleague and friend, closing his eyes and rotating his head to ease out the kinks in his stiff neck. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he drew in deep gulps of the hot, moist tropical air. That the dry, arid environment of the equatorial desert had been replaced within mere minutes by the lush greenery of a tropical rainforest amazed the archaeologist, even though he had told himself over and over again that he was prepared for whatever would result from replacing the pyramid's capstone. Looking back on it all, he realized that there was probably no way for anyone to have been even moderately prepared for the scope and scale of Ahm Shere's dramatic reappearance into the world of the living.
He bent to examine his friend, searching quickly to see if any limbs had been broken or sprained. Feeling nothing, he moved on to Hamid's head. There was a good-sized lump on the back of his skull, which probably accounted for his unconsciousness, but when Bernstein quickly checked his pupils, they seemed reactive and dilating normally. Hamid's pulse, too, was normal, and Bernstein could find no signs of bleeding. They needed to get Hamid back to the camp as soon as possible, so that Callie al Faran could give the poor man a real exam, but in the meantime, Bernstein's inexpert opinion would have to do. And he could find nothing wrong with the Egyptian.
"Come on, man, wake up!" He shook Hamid's shoulders lightly, not sure of what else he could do to try to get the unconscious man to come around. Hamid's only response was a groan, although it was louder than the previous one had been. Bernstein, however, took that as a positive sign, and shook the smaller man's shoulders more energetically. Hamid offered no response.
"I say, John. That was a bit of a fall he took back there. Can't say I blame the poor bloke for not waking up right away." Charles struggled to catch his breath, sagging in utter exhaustion onto a nearby boulder and pulling his neatly folded but completely filthy handkerchief from his coat pocket. In his usual overly fastidious manner, he used it to mop up the sweat that was streaming down his face, not even noticing that all he accomplished was to smear the dirt more thoroughly.
Bernstein shot him a dirty look, and then ignored him, looking back to Hamid.
Robert Price had been the last to enter the glade, and was standing near the edge of the forest, calming looking back from where they had come. There was no discernable path, just crushed and broken plants to mark their passage. His gaze wandered over the trees, up into the canopy, back into the dense ground cover. He looked perplexed, as though something was bothering him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.
"There's something odd about this…" he started to say, only to be cut short by a snort from Charles.
"Odd? That's the biggest understatement I've ever heard," the British man scoffed. "The whole place is right out of the Twilight Zone. Good God, man, it didn't even exist before an hour ago! Odd!" Charles snickered, still wiping uselessly with his handkerchief. Robert threw a caustic look at him, then resumed his scrutiny of the forest.
"There is something not right about this forest. There is something missing…" his words trailed off.
"What would that be?" Bernstein asked. "You've got trees, grass, plants…"
Just then, Hamid moaned again, and this time, lifted his hand to his head, rubbing at the injured spot. Bernstein immediately forgot about Price's comment, and moved to help Hamid, who was trying to lever himself up onto his elbows, struggling to rise. Gently, he helped him to sit up.
"Careful, there, friend. That was quite a fall." He put his arm around Hamid's shoulders, steadying him.
Hamid looked around, dumbfounded. "Where are we? What is this place?"
A grin formed on Bernstein's face, shaving years off his features. He looked like a ten-year old boy who was eager to show his best friend a newly acquired treasure. Throwing his arms out to his sides, he gestured all around him. "This, my friend, is Ahm Shere! You were right! The inscription was right! The diamond brought it all back!" If he hadn't been kneeling, Bernstein looked as though he might leap into the air from sheer joy.
"But where is the pyramid?" Hamid sounded confused, disoriented. "Where is the camp?"
"The pyramid has risen from the earth. It has been restored—as bright and shining as the day it was built! Can you imagine what is inside it, Akil? Can you?" Curiosity shone from Bernstein's eyes. "For now, we are headed back to the camp, to get you some medical attention. Then, we will return. The greatest discovery of all time awaits us!"
"Sorry to bother you, old chum," Charles cut in. "But you saw how the jungle simply erupted from that pyramid, didn't you? It was like a flood, simply spewing out in all directions. How can you be so certain that the camp even exists anymore? It could have been completely swept away."
Bernstein looked momentarily chagrined, but then quickly brushed away the concern. Of course the camp still existed. All right, so maybe it was going to be a little…disrupted, but they'd fix things up in no time. Charles was just being his usual stick-in-the-mud self. He smiled at Hamid. "Not to worry, friend. We're very nearly there." He mentally crossed his fingers, for he wasn't at all sure that they were even going in the right direction. "They'll all be there, waiting for us to get back, I'm sure."
Just then, Robert Price turned around, facing them, and his expression revealed that he had puzzled out the answer to his question. "This is a tropical rain forest. Where are the animals? Where is the noise? There should be sound everywhere. This place is as silent as a tomb…"
Almost as if the jungle had heard his words, and decided to respond, an ominous rippling began to move towards them, coming from the direction of the pyramid. Price spun around, looking in the direction of the rustling grass and undergrowth, but he could see nothing. His face hardening, he reached into the breast pocket of his coat, withdrawing a small but powerful handgun from where it had been concealed. Removing the safety, he pointed it into the forest, towards whatever was coming their way. Without looking back, he ordered the others to their feet.
"Get up, and get moving. Something is out there, and it's coming our way. Move! Head for the camp. I'll be right behind you!"
Charles was up and off the boulder before Robert had even finished speaking. Like a shot, he raced in the direction of the camp, not even bothering to wait for the others. Bernstein stood, helping the Egyptian man to his feet, again supporting him with his arm.
"Can you make it, friend?"
Hamid smiled shakily at Bernstein. "Well, John, I most certainly intend to try…" They hurried off behind Charles, leaving Price alone in the glade.
He continued to watch the advancing ripple of movement. A minute passed, then two. Suddenly, when it was no more than three meters away, the ripple simply…stopped. Price looked around, shaken. Obviously, there was something out there. But where? Nervously, he moved the gun from side to side, aiming at shadows. Finally, he lowered the weapon, and with a nervous chuckle, was about to turn and go after the others.
With an explosion of movement, a little body launched itself out of the undergrowth directly in front of him, spear waving, rotten teeth leering at him in a sibilant hiss, empty eye sockets glaring at him. Price screamed—a low, guttural sound—and yanked the gun back up into position, firing it directly into the face of the horrifying little creature, which flew apart in a rotten spray before his eyes. Within seconds, though, another leaped at him, and then another, and Price fought back his terror, rapidly firing off round after round. What in God's name had they walked into, here? Finally, when he thought he would be overcome by the sheer number of the army of little zombies, their number seemed to dwindle, and with a final shot, he dispatched the last of them.
Not waiting to see if any more were coming after their fallen comrades, Price wheeled around and tore off after the other three men, running as though the hounds of hell were in pursuit.
The camp was a shambles. Boxes and gear were strewn everywhere, tents were overturned and flung aside, and people wandered in shock, staring at the devastation all around. The mess tent was very nearly destroyed. A large palm tree had hurled itself up from the ground in the exact center of the large, open-sided structure, yanking the stakes out from the ground and lifting the tent high into the air, where it now hung like a tattered flag from the topmost fronds of the giant tree. After a brief discussion, the team that remained at the camp had decided to leave it there, on the off chance that the missing men and Eliana would somehow see it waving above the shorter trees in the canopy, and be able to use it as a landmark to find their way back.
Callie walked through the mess, talking quietly with Sabir, who had recovered fairly well from his shock over seeing the regenerated Pygmy and the return of Ahm Shere. He had rallied quickly, once the initial chaos had subsided, and had taken charge of the laborers, ordering them here and there, attempting to get the camp back into some sort of order. Doug had taken charge of the students, trying to calm them down as much as possible, and having them pitch in with the clean up as well. Of the Sudanese, there was no sign. Callie assumed that they were holed up in one of the tents, recovering from the shock of what had happened, and conveniently avoiding the clean up work.
"Sabir, I'm going to need clean water for Eric. Could you please have someone bring several jugs to his tent?" Her low-pitched voice was deliberately calm and soothing, since she was well aware that none of the laborers wanted to set foot anywhere near the sick man's tent. "They won't need to come inside at all. They can just leave it outside near the door."
Sabir nodded. "Do not worry, little lady! I will send one of the superstitious idiots over at once. These men—they have no more sense than the rocks in the ground! Bah!" Shaking his head in disgust, he walked away, pausing for a moment to yell at a hapless Egyptian worker. Callie smiled wanly. Having someone like Sabir around was a good thing. He was a practical, level-headed sort, who rolled with the punches and took things in stride as much as possible. Oh, that they were all like Sabir…she shook her head sadly. After the jungle had plowed through the encampment, about a dozen of the laborers, frightened out of their wits by what had happened, had run off, screaming about evil spirits and god's anger. They had disappeared into the jungle, and had yet to return. She couldn't help but worry about them—who knew what was out there?
Callie approached Eric's tent, and was again surprised to find that the explosive return of the oasis had simply passed by, leaving it untouched. All of the other tents had sustained damage of some sort, but not his. After the flood of rebirth, her first thought had been for Eric's safety, and she had raced to his tent, expecting the worst. Instead, she had found it totally unscathed, the jungle having grown up all around, surrounding the small structure almost protectively. Eric, lying inside the tent, had been completely unaware of the chaos that had passed over and around him.
Stopping outside the zippered flap, she donned her protective mask and gloves. Eric's condition had grown progressively worse during the night and early morning hours, and although he was still conscious, he was in an almost trance-like state, lethargic and nearly unresponsive. The more time that passed, the more certain Callie became that her initial diagnosis had been correct. As the hours dragged by, Eric's eyes had become more and more bloodshot, and the sclera was now almost completely red. His facial muscles had slackened, taking on an almost mask-like, expressionless cast. And the ruby-red, star-like rash that had originally been confined to his upper body had progressed until it covered almost all of him. Thankfully, though, with the worsening of the symptoms, Eric's level of pain had surprisingly subsided. But the sudden disappearance of pain worried Callie a great deal. She was terribly afraid that the lessening of the pain was simply a sign that the disease was now eating through his nervous system, dissolving the nerve endings before they had a chance to transmit any pain signals to his brain.
It had been only a day since she'd arrived. Only a day since the blood samples had been carted off to Khartoum for analysis. How quickly could the lab turn those tests around? She thought that they could do so fairly rapidly—the Ebola outbreaks here in Sudan and in nearby Zaire during the past twenty-five years had taught the public health officials in this part of the world valuable lessons in speedy diagnosis and disease containment. And the World Health Organization was due to arrive at any time. Her radio contact with them yesterday had been brief and to the point. If she was relatively certain that what she was seeing was Ebola, then they would be there, and quickly. No one in any country had any desire to let a disease like this particular filovirus get out of control. But how would they find the camp, now? They were expecting to find an insolated camp, surrounded by desert. What would they think when they got to the coordinates and instead discovered a lush, tropical forest? Not able to answer that question to her satisfaction, the young doctor simply pushed it away.
Callie sighed, preparing to put on the mask of cheerful professionalism that she knew Eric needed to see. Unresponsive though he may be, she knew he was at least marginally aware of what was going on around him. And a patient's mental state was important to their well-being. If he thought she was giving up, or worse yet, was afraid of him, Eric's spirit would be dealt a possibly mortal blow. No, Callie needed to remain calm and upbeat, no matter how she felt on the inside. And on the inside, she was just as frightened as any of the superstitious laborers, who skulked about the camp, giving Eric's tent as wide a berth as possible.
Callie was indeed afraid, because no matter how much she read about this particular disease, and however unlikely it was to be transferable through the air, no one had ever managed to prove that fact to anyone else's satisfaction. The thing was, no one knew all there was to know about Ebola. Where it came from, how exactly it passed from host to host, and where it went when it eventually faded back into dormancy were all mysteries. Somehow, the path always led back to this little part of the world, to the rainforests and jungles of sub-Saharan Africa. But no matter where anyone looked, or how diligently they searched, the answers remained hidden. Ebola was a mystery, a deadly one, and Callie would have been a fool if she weren't terrified.
But she was a doctor, first and foremost, and her patient was lying inside, sick and possibly dying, and she had a job to do. Steeling herself, she opened the flap and stepped into the sick man's tent.
"Stop! I have to rest for a minute. Please…" Eliana gasped out the words, out of breath and panting from their race through the jungle. The trees were dense and the undergrowth thick, and though Imhotep had led the way, doing his best to clear a path through the almost impenetrable green wall, Eliana had received her share of welts and scratches from the spiky thorns and sharp-edged leaves on the foliage that blocked their path.
Imhotep slowed down reluctantly, obviously uneasy. "We must get out of the jungle as soon as possible. There are dangers here…" As he spoke, his eyes continually scanned the surrounding scrub, watching for signs of pursuit. For now, there were none. Perhaps they would be safe in resting for a few moments. He nodded towards a moss-covered boulder, telling Eliana without words that she should sit.
But Eliana didn't sit. When Imhotep turned to face her, she gasped, noticing for the first time the toll that their mad race through the scraggly underbrush had taken on his nearly naked body. He was battered and scratched from head to foot, his chest and arms covered with vicious looking cuts from the wickedly sharp thorns and razor-edged leaves they had run past. Several of the deeper scratches oozed blood; others were simply red, angry-looking welts. His legs, too, were scratched and bleeding, and his feet…Eliana's eyes dropped to Imhotep's bare feet, and she winced, realizing how much damage must have been done from running over the uneven, sometimes rocky ground. Even with all the damage he had sustained, however, the priest showed no pain, no discomfort. In fact, he hardly even appeared to be breathing hard. What kind of enormous self-control does the man have? Eliana wondered.
Slowly, she approached him, reaching out a hand to trace the path of the most serious injury, a deep gash that started at his left shoulder and traced a jagged path down the pectoral muscle, ending on his upper abdomen. Her fingers came away bloody. For a long moment, she stared down at his blood on her hand, and a peculiar emotion coursed through her—part guilt, part sadness, part an inexplicable sense of loss. It was an emotion that she was unwilling to analyze. Instead, she looked up, meeting his eyes, and the hot glitter she saw in them made her catch her breath and her stomach somersault. "Y-you're hurt," she stammered, backing up a step or two, putting some distance between them.
Imhotep looked down at himself, seeing for the first time the injuries he had sustained. An almost bemused look crossed his face as he, too, touched the jagged gash on his chest, and saw the blood there—red, living blood, flowing freely from the cut in his flesh. A cut that was not healing over instantaneously, and fading away as though it had never been. A cut that was another sign of his restored mortality. He wiped his bloody fingers on the fabric covering his thigh and looked at her, the pensive look gone, replaced by one of studied indifference.
"It is nothing."
"Of course it's not 'nothing,'" she disagreed, coming forward once more, this time taking the black robe from around her shoulders and handing it to him. "Here—take this and wear it. I'm sorry I kept it as long as I did. I don't need it—my jeans and shoes protect my legs and feet, and my T-shirt does a good enough job with the rest." She shoved the robe into his hands, not giving him a choice. "I just wish that we had some way of cleaning those cuts for you. They should be treated with antiseptic and covered, but I guess that will have to wait until we reach the camp…"
Somewhat reluctantly, he took the robe, holding it in his hands for a moment, looking at her quizzically. "The camp?"
"Well, yes, the camp—the place my father and I and the rest of the team stayed while we worked at the site. Where else is there to go?" She stared at him, confused. There was nowhere else to go—the camp had been surrounded by desert in all directions, a hundred miles of burning hot sand separating it from the nearest village. Unless he was aware of some luxury resort hidden here in the trees, she couldn't think of where else they might be heading.
"I do not think that my going to this 'camp' would be a wise decision," he stated, a frown furrowing his brow and making the corners of his mouth turn down. Eliana dragged her eyes away from his mouth, disgusted with herself.
"Well, what are you going to do? Stay here in the jungle?" Eliana stared at him, wondering what on earth he was thinking. Not a wise decision? Why ever not? After all of the day's events, it shouldn't be much more difficult to explain the sudden appearance of another person. That is, if anyone even noticed an extra person. Eliana was quite sure that the archaeological team had enough to think of besides that. For a moment, a shard of worry for the camp prodded at her. What if they had not fared so well? What if… She shook her head, not willing to consider that possibility. The camp was safe. It had to be.
The priest had not answered her question. He stood staring at her, the robe in his hands, clearly undecided as to what they should do. All his attention had been focused on getting them away from the pyramid, through the jungle. But what would they do once they had done that? Where would they go then? And there was still the question of the task he must accomplish. But to go to a camp, where there were many people, who would undoubtedly ask many questions…
"Tell me of this camp. How many people will be there? Will it be possible for us to remain unnoticed?" And then, remembering the man they had left behind, "Are there more Med Jai?"
Eliana shook her head, and a pain shot through her heart when she remembered Ardeth. "No, there are no more 'Med Jai,' whatever that is." She gave the priest a hard look, still upset that he had left Ardeth behind and forced her away from the pyramid. "Ardeth was the only member of his tribe to join our camp."
The priest's countenance remained blank, void of emotion, and realizing that she would be unable to provoke a reaction from him, Eliana continued. "As for the rest, there's a team of three archaeologists—my father and his colleague, Akil Hamid, and his assistant, Eric. There are thirteen students working with them, and about fifty or so workers—locals, mostly, although there are some from Egypt, and a couple from Israel. The camp itself is pretty austere." She looked around at the abundance of tropical foliage. "Probably even more austere after this little episode."
"And if we were to go to this camp?" He prodded her for the answer to the most important question. "Would we remain unnoticed?"
"Well, you might be able to blend in with the rest of the workers," she cast a wary gaze at him, wondering if that was strictly the truth. Even if he weren't dressed so…uniquely, the priest had an indefinable air about him, an aura of command that would set him apart from the crowd of laborers. He would be like a thoroughbred stallion among a group of pack mules. But maybe, if they dressed him inconspicuously enough…
She went on. "I certainly wouldn't remain unnoticed, though—I'm the boss's daughter, and besides that, I'm the only female in the camp." She paused, remembering something. "Well, I take that back. There is one other female there—the doctor that arrived yesterday to take care of Eric. She's a local, too."
The mention of a doctor caught Imhotep's attention. "A healer? Why is a healer needed at your camp?"
Eliana looked at him, curious as to why that would catch his attention. "I told you. Eric—Dad's assistant—is ill. He's got some sort of virus, I guess. It's pretty bad—they've sent samples of his blood off for tests, and the whole camp is under quarantine…"
"'Quarantine'?"
"Quarantine—isolation. No one is allowed into or out of the camp. Not until Eric's disease is diagnosed and they can be sure there is no danger of it spreading. No one else has gotten sick yet, but it's only been a short while…" Eliana stopped, worry for Eric showing plainly on her face. "He's very sick."
"What are the symptoms of this disease?" Imhotep asked the question in a casual tone, unwilling to let Eliana see how interested he was in her answer. As she described Eric's illness, the arrival of the doctor, and the subsequent quarantine, he nodded, indicating his understanding, but not allowing her to see the growing dread building inside him. The description of this sickness, the progression of the disease… It jarred in his mind, resurrecting old memories of the days when he himself had been one of Egypt's healers. And the memories were not pleasant ones. Could this be the plague of which Amun-Re had spoken? That he could have stumbled upon it in such a way was almost too easy, too effortless. But finding the plague, and dealing with it, were two very different things. For if this were the plague, and if it was indeed what Imhotep feared it to be, his task would be anything but easy. In fact, it might prove impossible. Still, there was the question of how this man—Eric, she had called him—had contracted the disease in the first place.
"How did he become infected with this disease?" Again, the question was asked in a mildly curious tone, not revealing the underlying concern.
Eliana shot him a glance, not sure if he'd believe her or not. Then again, after all that had happened today, what did it matter if one more unbelievable thing was added to the growing list of impossibilities? "That's the strange part," she said, watching closely to see his reaction to her next words. "He seems to have picked it up by coming into contact with some sort of tainted fluid. Fluid that was flowing from a statue of Anubis that they found down in a grotto inside the pyramid."
Imhotep turned away from her, deliberately hiding his face from her sight. So this disease had its origins inside the pyramid of Ahm Shere? That was indeed food for thought. It was looking more and more likely that this was undeniably the plague he had been charged with eradicating. But how would he go about doing so? That was the real question, now. And the answers would lie with the sick man, in the camp. No matter how reluctant he was to follow it, the path seemed undeniably to lead in that direction. With his back still towards her, he spoke.
"I have decided. We will go to this camp of yours."
"I suppose if you don't want to be noticed, we could come up with some sort of disguise for you." He turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised questioningly. "I mean," she continued, "you're not exactly dressed to blend in very well…"
Imhotep looked down at the clothes he was wearing, and grimaced. No, he supposed, she was correct. From what he recalled of the way people dressed in this age, he would not 'blend in' very well at all. Even wearing the robe, he would look too conspicuous.
"Once we reach the camp," she continued, a small frown wrinkling the skin between her eyebrows, "I'll see if I can find some clothing for you. Sabir might be able to help…"
"Sabir? This is someone you trust?"
"Well, as much as I trust anyone there." Her words didn't inspire the greatest confidence, but they would have to do. They had little time, and fewer choices. "In the meantime, you might want to tear a few strips of cloth from the hem of that thing, and wrap them around your feet. You've got no shoes, and your feet must be hurting terribly…"
Imhotep stared at her. She was actually worried about him? Worried about his feet? If the whole situation hadn't been so utterly preposterous, it might have made him laugh. In another time, another lifetime, he would have laughed. Instead, he simply shook his head.
"I am fine. We must go on." Quickly, he donned the robe, glancing again at the shadows moving among the foliage. "Which direction is the camp?"
Eliana looked around, biting her lip in frustration. She was totally turned around in the unfamiliar terrain, and their headlong flight from the pyramid had confused her even more. She looked up, and saw the sun's rays, coming from low in the sky to her left. Which would make that west. And the camp was due north from the excavation, and the pyramid, which meant they had already been traveling in the right direction. She had no way of knowing how far they had already come, but the camp, or whatever was left of it, should be somewhere straight ahead of them. She pointed in that direction.
"That way. I think."
Imhotep nodded, and took her hand, preparing to lead the way into the dense undergrowth. Suddenly he stopped, turning back to her. "Do you still have the Scepter?" Sometime during their flight through the jungle, he had paused to hand the collapsed spear to her, telling her in no uncertain terms that if the need arose, she was to use the weapon. She had lifted an eyebrow at him then, wondering why he was so concerned about what might be lurking in the jungle, but she had not questioned him. Instead, she had simply attached it to the waistband of her jeans.
She patted the weapon that hung by her side. "Yes. I have it."
"Good. Remember—if the need should arise, you are to use it. Do you understand?"
She nodded, and he pulled her into the jungle.
The shadowy fronds of foliage concealed the man who skulked within, huddled over the satellite phone's transmitter. He was not far from the camp, but thanks to the new ground cover, he didn't need to be. Nooks and crannies in which to hide, scarce before, were now plentiful. Quickly, he punched in the series of numbers that would connect him to his contact in Tripoli. Every few minutes, he spared a quick glance over his shoulder, out into the shifting patterns of sunlight and shade in the surrounding jungle. No one was there, but it felt like he was being watched. He had been in this business for many years, and he was not prone to skittishness or unwarranted fear. So the eerie feeling that there were eyes all around him, watching him as he conducted his covert business, unsettled him greatly. When the call finally went through, his conversation was brief, to the point.
"Yes. There have been some unexpected developments here." He described the recent events succinctly, in a smooth, unbroken flow of Arabic. "This has changed things, somewhat. I believe that the additional men you offered before would be of some use now."
He listened, as the voice on the other end of the line offered clipped instructions. Nodding, he answered, "Yes. I will do as you say, and I will be waiting for the additional men. I am grateful." With that, he severed the connection and hurriedly packed up the compact phone, all the while nervously looking around for the unseen watchers.
"You are sure that this is the right direction?" Imhotep stopped, turning towards Eliana. The doubt in his voice, and on his face, was obvious.
"No, of course I'm not sure! If I was sure, don't you think we'd have found it by now? Don't you think that I want to get there, too?" She very nearly shouted at him. She was discouraged herself—she had no idea if they were even going in the right direction. Everything looked the same out here, and to make matters worse, it was getting darker and darker. The sun had almost set and the deep shadows in the jungle were lengthening, merging into one another, forming a vast blanket of darkness. She felt like screaming in frustration—like falling to the ground and pounding her hands and feet like a thwarted two-year-old. With every minute that passed, her worry for her father, and Eric, and everyone else in the camp grew stronger. What if the camp was simply…gone?
Eliana wiped the back of her arm across her eyes, using the sleeve of her long-sleeved T-shirt to dry the tears from her stinging eyes. If she started crying now, she was afraid she'd never stop. Turning away from the priest, unwilling for some reason to let him see this weakness, she continued to mop at her eyes, angry with herself for the uncharacteristic display, but unable to stop it. For some reason, ever since she'd been in that accursed pyramid, her emotions had been spinning out of control, and she had been incapable of stopping them. It was like riding a runaway roller coaster, and she didn't like the feeling. It made her feel weak, vulnerable…exposed.
Eliana stiffened as she sensed him walk up behind her, near enough to touch. He was so close that she could feel the heat radiating from him, smell the musky, spiced scent of his skin. She was painfully aware of every breath he took, even though she herself seemed to have forgotten how to move air into and out of her lungs. When his hands fell lightly on her shoulders, she nearly jumped out of her skin. It was an impersonal touch, much as one would offer any acquaintance in need of comfort, and yet the feel of his hands burned through the thin cotton of her shirt.
"I am sorry," he said, and for a fraction of a second, his fingers tightened their hold on her shoulders. "We will find the camp."
His words were meant to calm her, to comfort her, but they simply made her angry. How did he know that they would find the camp? For all either of them knew, the camp had been destroyed, and they would spend eternity wandering through this miserable rain forest. She was about to shrug off his hands and stomp off, wanting nothing more than to indulge in a gigantic burst of self-pity, when she looked up and saw a…face. If it could be called that. Framed all around with dense foliage, the small, wrinkled visage stared back at her through eyeless, shrunken sockets that were gaping holes in its brown, leather-like face. Slowly, the hideous, decayed mouth curled back in a feral grin that revealed rotten, yellowed teeth that had been filed to sharp points. A hissing noise wheezed from the Pygmy's mummified lungs, filling the air with a sound like the rattling of bones.
At her startled intake of breath, Imhotep looked up, and he, too, saw the nightmarish vision peering at them from the leaves. Unlike Eliana, he knew what they faced. In an instant, he had pulled her back from the little demon, stepping in front of her so that his own body shielded her from any attack. Imhotep knew that he had little chance of controlling the monster that confronted them, even though he had successfully done so the last time he had trekked through the Oasis of Ahm Shere. That sort of mental domination had depended entirely on their recognizing him as their master, an undead creature himself, lord of their kind. He was now a mere mortal, possessing no special powers over the creatures of Ahm Shere. Still…
Imhotep traced a quick gesture in the air, a low, slashing motion with his hand, one that commanded unquestioning obedience to his will. In other times, the gesture would have been instantly obeyed, the creature bowing and scraping in mute supplication before losing no time in making a hasty retreat. Now, the demonic little thing simply stared blankly at the priest, an almost confused look crossing its face, as though it wondered what the mortal was attempting to do. And then its toothy grin widened, and it looked back over its shoulder, hissing out a low command to its comrades. Imhotep backed away slowly, pushing Eliana behind him, still shielding her. He was not surprised at all that the creature had failed to be intimidated. The powers granted him by the Hom Dai were completely gone, along with his immortality. Which meant that he was just as susceptible to the poison-tipped spears wielded by these little devils as his caravan had been, seventy years ago. And out of that massive caravan, less than a handful had survived.
"Now what do we do?" Eliana was scared to death. She knew that they were horribly outnumbered, and the tiny, vicious-looking creatures looked like they could move quickly through the dense forestation. She and the priest had backed up several meters already, and yet the creature and its troops waited, not attacking, but simply watching them as they slowly moved away.
Imhotep took her hand in his, his fingers wrapping tightly around hers, his grip firm and strong. Giving her hand a quick squeeze of reassurance, he looked back quickly, and met her eyes. "Now, we run…"
In a burst of movement, he turned, pulling her with him into the jungle and plowing through the trees and undergrowth, heedless of the grasping branches and sharp thorns. They raced for their lives, hurtling through the ever-darkening jungle, and behind them, the forest exploded into a fury of branches and vines as the creatures of Ahm Shere finally gave pursuit.
Eliana skidded to a stop, arms flailing in the air, only steps away from the edge of a rocky drop off that plunged twenty meters straight down. Thankfully, the priest's reflexes were quick, and he managed to bring himself to a stop before he crashed into her and sent them both flying over the edge. Eliana turned a panicked green gaze his way, asking without words what they would do now. The sounds of pursuit came ever closer, the evil chittering of the creatures growing louder and louder, and they could see the menacing ripple in the groundcover relentlessly flowing towards them.
"Do you still have the Scepter?" Imhotep turned to Eliana, extending a hand for the weapon. "We have no choice. They are coming too quickly. We will have to stand and fight. Stay behind me—I will try to shield you."
"You can't possibly hold them all off by yourself," Eliana protested, unhooking the collapsed weapon and handing it to him. As he quickly expanded the Scepter, completing its metamorphosis from talisman to weapon, she bent and picked up a thick branch from the ground. With a quick half-smile in his direction, she added, "I guess this is better than nothing. We'll see if all of that softball in high school and college paid off—maybe I can still wield a mean bat, huh?" Then, seeing his confused look, she waved away the question. "Never mind—not important."
Just then, the first of the creatures burst from the groundcover in front of them, not more than two meters away. It was followed quickly by more and more of its comrades, until they faced a veritable army of the evil-looking creatures.
"Stay behind me," Imhotep ordered Eliana, stepping in front of her, and bringing the spear out in front of him. He held the light, elegant weapon in both hands, his stance defensive but unyielding. The reaction of the creatures, though, was as if he had suddenly produced a flamethrower and turned it on them. A collective gasp went up from their hideous, gaping mouths, and as one, they threw down their weapons, shielding their eyes from the sight of the spear, bowing their heads in subservience and backing away from the two humans. Like a receding tide, they slowly melted back into the shadowed darkness from which they had come.
"What…what happened?" Eliana asked, expelling the breath she had unconsciously been holding, in anticipation of the impending attack. "What did you do?"
"I did nothing," the priest answered her, shaking his head and slowly lowering the spear. He sounded as mystified as she was. "If anything, it was the Scepter that frightened them away."
"The Scepter? But how would they know about the Scepter? Why would they be afraid of it?" As Eliana spoke, she stepped backwards, forgetting for a moment about the cliff behind her. As her boot came into contact with the loose, uneven soil, she slipped, dropping the branch she held, and swinging her arms out to try to regain her balance. Imhotep lunged forward, reaching out for her, but the soil beneath her foot gave way, collapsing in on itself and falling away down into the ravine below. She slipped, and his hand grasped empty air as Eliana began to slide down the crumbling embankment.
Suddenly, the entire cliff face seemed to give way, heaving itself away in a sickening lurch from the solid ground just over a meter from where they stood. As the entire ledge began to fall to pieces and slide down the side of the precipice, Eliana and Imhotep went with it, plunging downwards in a free fall, scraping and sliding over the stony cliff wall. As he slid down the rock face, Imhotep managed to grab onto Eliana's hand, holding on tightly as they plunged downwards.
With a sickening thud, they landed on a narrow ledge, a small outcropping of rock about halfway between the top of the cliff and the floor of the ravine. Groaning, Imhotep pulled Eliana up more securely onto the ledge, and then collapsed beside her. She lay there, her eyes closed, not moving, but he could see that she was breathing steadily and deeply, and she didn't appear to be bleeding anywhere. Fighting against the tide of exhaustion that was threatening to overwhelm him, Imhotep moved her so that he lay between her and the edge. Finally, with nothing more he could do for either of them in the gathering darkness, he lay back and closed his eyes, giving in to the weariness that consumed him.