Path of Shadows lb-8 Page 15

  “I’m certain something’s happened to him.” Bak glanced down the broad dry watercourse toward the west, where long fiery fingers of light reached into the sky. “User’s trying to convince himself that he’s not worried, but he’s as concerned as I am.”

  The trio fell in beside the string of donkeys twenty or so paces behind Senna. With Dedu gone, Minnakht’s guide walked once again at the head of the caravan. He should have been happy that he had regained his position, but he was sulking instead. He resented the fact that Bak had allowed

  User and Amonmose to choose the route they would take to the next well, and took every opportunity to remind him that he was the sole man among them who had earned his daily bread by guiding other men through this barren desert.

  Bak had had to bite his tongue to keep from reminding him that he had been Minnakht’s guide when the young explorer had vanished.

  “Did you happen to spot the watching man?” Bak asked.

  “No,” Nebre said. “Nor did we see another print like the one Kaha found in the gorge.”

  “Do you think…” Rona looked at Bak and Nebre. He had no need to finish the question. The glum look on their faces made it clear that they feared the watching man had lured

  Dedu out of the gorge and had slain him somewhere in this vast wasteland.

  Dusk was falling when three large birds, their calls loud and jarring, drew Bak’s attention. The ravens dropped out of the sky to perch on the tallest of the many craggy boulders that formed a shoulder of rock nudging the south side of the wadi. They cocked their heads, watching the men below and the world around them. Their brownish black neck feathers shone iridescent in the setting sun. Another harsh call sounded at a distance. As if summoned by the lord Set him self, they bounded into the air and streaked up the wadi to swerve into an intersecting watercourse a couple of hundred paces ahead.

  When the caravan drew closer to the intersection, Bak heard more birds, their bold, demanding calls carrying across the empty landscape.

  “Something has died,” Kaha said.

  Bak glanced at the Medjay, whose expression was as grim as his own. “Let’s go see.”

  The two men picked up their pace, told Senna where they were going, and trotted up the wadi. To their left, looking in the clear air almost close enough to touch, rose the precipi tous southern side of the massive red mountain that domi nated the Eastern Desert. The birds had flown up a narrow, steep ravine that cut into the base of the mountain. Its slopes rose steeply to either side, intimidating masses of broken and craggy red granite.

  Beyond a strip of sand fifty or so paces long, the floor of the defile rose up the side of the mountain in rough and irregular steps. Some distance up and scattered on the rocks to ei ther side were twenty or more ravens. Not far below them, a huge brown-black bird flapped its long, broad wings, trying to frighten the smaller birds away. Each time it turned its back to probe among the tumble of rocks on which it stood, the ravens hopped closer, only to be chased away as before.

  “The vulture doesn’t want to share,” Kaha said.

  “If that’s what I fear it is, we’d better hurry.”

  They ran forward, yelling and waving their arms to scare off the birds. The vulture fluttered awkwardly up the slope to watch them from a flattish boulder. The ravens darted a few steps away to settle on rocks projecting all around and to scold and watch and wait. As Bak and Kaha climbed up to where the vulture had been, they saw among the rocks the right shoulder and upper arm of a man, the flesh torn away by the sharp beak of the bird. Someone had buried him, but not well enough.

  Bak handed his spear and shield to Kaha and knelt beside the dead man. He shifted a few rocks off the head.

  “Who is he, sir?”

  “Dedu. As we feared.” Bak remembered the guide’s denial that he knew the name of the man who had defiled his daugh ter. He regretted his failure to press for the truth. If he had done so, would Dedu still be among the living? Or had the lie been a senseless act, having nothing to do with his death?

  “How was he slain, I wonder?” he asked, more to himself than to the Medjay.

  He flung more rocks aside, baring Dedu’s torso. Flies swarmed over and around a bloodied wound below the guide’s breastbone. The birds had not been able to get to this part of the body. As he waved away the insects, he felt as if he were reliving the moment when first he had seen the wound of the man who had been slain at the well north of Kaine.

  “He seemed a good man,” Kaha said, his voice softened by compassion.

  Bak began to replace the rocks he had moved. “We weren’t very careful where we walked, but you’d better look for tracks. I’ll go to the caravan and bring back help. We must bury him here, but not on this slope where a multitude of scavengers can reach him.”

  Chapter 10

  After burying Dedu deep in the sand and covering him with stones, the caravan continued down the main wadi and around the red mountain. User was very quiet, speaking only when spoken to. The drovers went on with their tasks, as silent as the explorer. The loss of their incessant chatter and easy smiles, the empty space where the guide once had trod, affected everyone, and much of the time no sound could be heard but the braying of a donkey, a hoof striking a stone, or a smattering of curses when the sand was especially soft, making walking difficult.

  Like everyone else, Bak walked in silence, weighted down by Dedu’s death. He could not understand why the guide had had to die. True, his death fit a pattern of sorts. Minnakht was an explorer, as was the man who had vanished almost a year earlier. The man slain north of Kaine looked to be a soldier, an archer, perhaps a man who patrolled the desert. Bak smiled grimly at himself, acknowledging a guess stretched to fit the known facts.

  Dedu had served as a guide, as Nefertem’s father had, and both had traveled with explorers. Unlike the tribal chief’s parent, Dedu had not led any men or caravans through the desert for many years. What could have happened in the nine short days he had been with User that had made him a target for death?

  As the sun dropped behind the red mountain, leaving the eastern slopes in shadow and the surrounding heights bathed in the hot glow of late afternoon, clouds enveloped the tops of its craggy pinnacles. Senna and the nomad drovers grew wary, constantly looking toward the hidden peaks. User mumbled something about rain.

  Dusk deepened the shadows. The breeze lost its heat. The faraway roll of thunder could be heard and long spindly fin gers of lightning flickered through the clouds, reaching out to the peaks hidden among them. User suggested they look for higher ground on which they could spend the night should the wadi be inundated by floodwaters.

  Bak, who had long ago witnessed a desert storm while hunting in the broken landscape west of Waset, knew the power of the torrents that infrequently filled the dry water courses, washing away everything in their path. He had also seen the wadis on the southern frontier filled with racing wa ter from storms so far away that not a cloud could be seen. He sent Nebre and Kaha on ahead to scout the hillsides and the tiny feeder wadis, telling them to seek a safe haven.

  The clouds dropped lower over the mountain, enveloping the slopes below the pinnacles. The flashes of lightning drew closer, so bright they blinded the men trudging along the wadi.

  The thunder was loud enough to awaken those who dwelt in the netherworld. The donkeys grew uneasy and threatened to bolt. Minmose and Rona strove to calm Bak’s string of ani mals, while Amonmose, Nebenkemet, and even Ani and

  Wensu stepped in to help the drovers control User’s string.

  While the gods were rampaging over the mountain, the sky above and to the south and east was twilight bright and empty of clouds. None but the moon and the most brilliant stars could outshine the firmament. The wadi was filled with an eerie yellowish glow, which drained the landscape of its reddish color. The air smelled different, clean and damp.

  User, walking with Bak near the head of the caravan, pointed to three gazelles ascending a hillside farther to the north. “
They fear a flood. They’re climbing to safety.”

  “If my men don’t find a safe place soon, we’d better follow their example and drive the donkeys up into the rocks.”

  “These storms don’t usually last for long, but they can drop a significant amount of water. With no soil or sand to absorb it, huge quantities can race down the mountainside, carrying away boulders as large as a house.”

  Not to mention men and animals, Bak thought, shuddering.

  The storm ended as quickly as it had begun. The lightning and thunder faded away. The clouds fragmented and scat tered, leaving a silhouette of the mountain displayed against a flaming sunset sky. The features of its pinnacles were lost in the deep shadow of dusk. The donkeys grew calmer, but their ears remained cocked and alert. Whether they sensed a threat or could feel the men’s unease, no one knew.

  The lord Re entered the netherworld and darkness fell.

  The moon glowed its brightest and stars lit up the sky, allow ing the men to see a surprising distance ahead. Bak and User were watching two gazelles, a mother and her young, climb a steep, rocky slope when Nebre and Kaha appeared around a bend in the wadi. The Medjays hurried up the watercourse to meet the caravan.

  “We found a place to camp, sir,” Nebre said. “A wide, flat shelf too high for floodwaters to reach. It offers plenty of space for all of us, men and animals.”

  “How far away?” User asked.

  “At the pace you’re traveling, it’s almost an hour’s walk down this wadi. And there’s no clear path up to the shelf.

  We may have to unload the donkeys to get them up the slope.”

  “Nothing closer?”

  “No, sir.”

  “The gazelle have been climbing to higher ground for al most an hour,” Bak pointed out.

  “We saw a few, and a couple of ibex.” Kaha, looking none too happy, eyed the mountain, a dark mass looming above the wadi to the northwest. “We can climb up into the rocks at any point along the way, but getting the donkeys to safety wouldn’t be easy. If water comes racing down this wadi, we wouldn’t have time to unload them.”

  “We must push them harder,” Bak said, “and tell the men in the back to close ranks. We don’t want the caravan spread out should we have to save ourselves.”

  Looking grim, User swung around and walked back along the row of animals.

  Thanking the lord Amon that the explorer was proving far less difficult than he had originally seemed, Bak walked with the Medjays back to his sergeant. “You must take our don keys on ahead, Psuro. Kaha will show you the place where we’ll camp. The two of you must find the best paths up to the shelf and clear them of obstacles if need be. The rest of us must stay behind to keep User’s caravan moving.”

  “What of Senna?”

  Bak eyed the nomad guide leading the caravan. “You won’t need him. We will.”

  “We’re about two-thirds of the way to the shelf where we’ll camp,” Nebre said, eyeing a large monolithic rock pro jecting from the wadi floor.

  Bak accepted the statement as fact. While on the southern frontier, his Medjays had learned from the desert tribesmen to use such formations and other less obvious natural forms to find their way across the desert.

  Nebre paused, raised a hand for silence, and listened.

  Bak heard it, too, a faroff roaring sound. “A landslide?”

  “You might call it that.” User scowled at the mountain towering off to their left. “That’s water rushing down a slope, carrying rocks and boulders with it.”

  Feeling the worm of fear creep up his spine, Bak tried to sound hopeful. “It sounds too far north to flood this wadi.”

  “The mountain must be draining in that direction. The first rains fell there, I’d wager.”

  “Would the rain have traveled with the lightning as it came this way?”

  User gave him a grim smile. “You never know what the gods intend, Lieutenant, but I’d not be surprised to see water before sunrise.”

  “Pull him up!” Amonmose yelled and slapped the donkey hard on the flank.

  Nebenkemet, standing at the animal’s head, holding a rope that had been tied around its neck and forequarters in a fash ion Bak thought exceedingly clever, literally hoisted it up the steep, narrow gap between two boulders.

  While the craftsman urged the donkey on up the hill to the shelf where Minmose and Psuro waited to unload the sup plies it carried, Bak went to the next animal in line. There he found Ani standing a couple paces up an incline covered with loose rock chips, tugging ineffectually on a donkey’s halter.

  The animal’s two front hooves were on the slope, but it re fused to climb farther on the treacherous surface. Bak whacked it on the flank and shoved. With a furious bray, the creature lunged up the slope, sending rocks clattering down behind it. Ani scurried out of its way and hurried along be side it, guiding it to the shelf.

  Bak helped Rona coax a donkey up a steeper but more sta ble path and waited to help Wensu follow with another ani mal. He and User had decided not to unload the donkeys except as a last resort. They had to assume their time was limited, and they did not have enough men to carry the heavy water jars and other supplies and, at the same time, urge the tired and stubborn creatures up the difficult slope.

  “How many more?” User called from above.

  Bak glanced back at the animals yet to be urged to safer ground. “Four.”

  Nebenkemet plunged down the slope. Sweat poured from him as he stopped beside the first donkey in line and began to tie the rope around it so he could haul it up the gap while the other men urged the remaining animals up the easier paths.

  Catching the halter of the second donkey, Nebre urged it up a sloping rock along which, six or eight cubits above the wadi floor, a diagonal channel filled with sand made an easy path to the shelf. Just below the channel, the animal’s hooves slid on the granite and it fell to its knees. Amonmose climbed up to help pull it erect.

  Wensu started down the hillside to get another donkey.

  Bak heard what at first sounded like a child rolling rocks around the inside of a pottery bowl. To the southwest, some where up the dry watercourse. The sound became a faraway rumble, which steadily grew louder.

  “Go back, Wensu!” he yelled. He grabbed the rope halter of the third donkey and flung it at Kaha. “The water’s coming!”

  Terrified by the sound, which had grown ominous enough to frighten the lord Set himself, the donkey bolted, practi cally dragging the Medjay up the slope. A wide-eyed Wensu met him part way, let him pass, and stood in the one spot as if turned to stone. Amonmose and Nebre got their donkey on its feet and urged the frightened animal onto and up the diago nal path.

  Flinging a quick look up the wadi, Nebenkemet tied the fi nal knot and hurried to the head of the donkey he meant to haul upward. Bak slapped it hard on the flank, getting it started, and swung around to grab the halter of the last ani mal. The creature, terrified by the rumble of rocks, which had swelled to a dreadful roar, swung away from his hand. Bak caught the strap holding the water jars in place, halting its flight. The donkey flung its head and kicked out, trying to break free. Staying well clear of those mean little hooves,

  Bak dragged it to the slope up which Kaha had gone. Amon mose met him, managed to catch the halter, and began to pull the animal upward.

  Bak glanced up the wadi and saw, coming around a bend, a wall of water taller than he was, gulping up rocks and boul ders, dead brush and trees. Its roar was horrendous. The don key, white-eyed with fear and braying wildly, fighting to free itself of Amonmose’s grip, blocked his path. He slapped it hard, hoping to get it moving. It kicked out, forcing him to duck onto the slope covered with rock chips.

  Senna came down the incline above him, half-running, half-sliding on the loose surface. To slow his headlong plunge, he grabbed hold of a projecting crag, his feet slid out from under him, and he kicked Bak into the wadi.

  Bak fell against the wall of water so hard it knocked the breath from him, and he t
hought his back was broken. The flood sucked him up, tumbled him like the rocks and debris around him, and swept him downstream. The rumble of the rushing water and rolling, twisting rocks was deafening, the sand swirling around him blinding. Trying not to breathe, forced to close his eyes, he was caught up in dead brush and pelted by rocks, chunks of wood, and the lord Amon only knew what else. He was too shocked, too paralyzed by fear, to think. Unable to tell up from down, one side from another, he curled into a ball, trying to spare his face and chest from the battering, and let the current carry him downstream.

  Along with a craving for air, the will to live rushed through him. He recalled falling against the wall of water, the trememdous impact. Could he save himself?

  Praying to the lord Amon that his back was not broken, he uncurled his body and stretched full length. He was sore but uninjured. Vastly relieved, he looked as best he could through the swirling sand. What he had thought was the wadi floor below was brighter than the water above. Pushing away the dead, spiny limb of an acacia, he rolled over and fought his way toward the light. He broke the surface, gulped air, and took in some gritty water with it. Coughing, he tried to see over the roiling surface, searching for the nearest land.

  The leading edge of the flood had passed on down the wadi, which was filled with swift-moving, turbulent water from wall to wall as far as he could see. Each small wave glistened in the moonlight, a gleaming silver shard that shat tered as fast as it formed. Stones rumbled over the floor of the wadi beneath him, driven by the water, while brush and trees, dead lizards and birds and insects, were swept downstream on or near the surface.

  He was about twenty paces from a hill that looked much like the one on which the caravan had found shelter. He was not surprised to find this slope empty of life. At the speed he was moving, he had to have been swept a considerable dis tance downstream.

  Twenty paces to dry ground. An easy swim at the best of times. An intimidating expanse with the surface so rough and the current so strong, with so much debris floating around him and so many rocks and boulders tumbling below him, their clatter muted by the water to an ominous growl. With no other choice, he set out, swimming diagonally across the cur rent. He could and he would save himself.