by Lara Temple
—Captives of the Hidden City,
Desert Boy Book Four
Bahariya wasn’t quite what Sam had expected. Once they’d passed the rippling tan and gold sand dunes, what met her gaze was not an encampment of tents, but a sprawling town of mudbrick structures tucked between date groves.
At least they were finally there, she thought with relief, because every last inch of her ached and she had to consciously stop herself from licking her lips because they dried so quickly in the desert breeze it felt like they might crack open like overripe fruit.
Her body felt like it had taken a beating but her pride was faring the worst.
Edge must be almost as out of practice at riding a camel as she, but he sat as gracefully on the dusty cloth saddle as Daoud and Youssef while she felt her joints might need re-attaching.
She tried to rub her leg without being obvious and Edge glanced at her briefly, but as usual she could not tell what he was thinking, or if he was thinking at all. It was like riding beside a living statue. She wished she could draw him just as he was—with the protective cotton scarf and his skin darkened by the sun he looked like he belonged here.
At least until he looked at you with those deep-water eyes. They’d always reminded her of moonlight reflecting off a lake, leaving you wondering if it was merely inches deep and full of nothing more than muck and algae or a crevasse stretching miles into the earth and filled with fantastical creatures like the Lake of Sorrow in the third Desert Boy book.
She wondered if Edge had ever come across the Desert Boy books, or if Poppy and Janet ever told him she was the illustrator of the novels that had become one the most successful novels in England. It was part of this silly descent into childish impulses since his arrival that she wanted him to know. He would probably not be impressed and he definitely wouldn’t understand how important the Desert Boy books were for her. She hardly dared admit it to herself. Other than Lucas and Chase, who were already fading away from her into their marriages, the books were the one firm anchor in her life. Which was ludicrous considering she didn’t even know who wrote them.
A trickle of perspiration ran down her cheek and she brushed at it, grateful for the faint coolness it brought with it. Out here in the emptiness of the desert everything felt insubstantial. Perhaps she could just keep on riding, aching joints and all, and never have to make a decision about her future.
‘Almost there.’ Edge guided his camel closer to hers and she scowled at his commiserating smile.
‘That sounds suspiciously like “I told you so, Sam”.’
‘I never strike an opponent when they’re down. You look like one nudge would topple you from that poor camel.’
‘Trust you to pity the camel, Edge.’
His smile widened, but his attention was drawn away by the crowd gathering as they entered the town. They were mostly women and children in plain cotton robes, eyes wide with curiosity. They stopped near a well between the buildings and Sam gathered her resolution to dismount, but before she could move Edge was beside her, holding out his hand.
‘It’s been years since you’ve ridden a camel let alone for so many hours, Sam. You’ll need help.’
He’d unwound his headscarf and his face and hair were dust-streaked, his temples and cheeks marked by dark rivulets of perspiration. She could only imagine what she looked like, she thought with a rush of embarrassment. But even unkempt and dusty he looked unfairly handsome. No, even more handsome than usual. He looked raw and unvarnished, like a statue before it was sanded into perfection.
‘Well? You can’t stay up there all day. If there is trouble awaiting us, we will need you to scare them off.’
It was an olive branch and she felt foolish at the magnitude of her relief.
‘How do you do that?’ she asked.
‘Do what?’
‘Laugh without laughing.’
The lines at the corners of his eyes deepened.
‘Years of training. It wouldn’t do to encourage you.’
He unhooked her leg from the saddle and swung her down to the ground before she’d even adjusted her balance. She grabbed hold of his arms, steadying herself and thoroughly resenting that he was right—her legs were as stiff as logs and bursts of sparkling pain danced up from the soles of her feet. She managed to snap off her groan by gritting her teeth.
‘That bad?’ he murmured, his arm supporting her, his other hand splayed on her waist as she half-leaned her elbows against him.
‘Someone has put needles in my boots while I wasn’t watching,’ she replied, trying not to think of the hard surface of his chest, the dark, warm smell of his body so close to hers.
‘I knew I shouldn’t have allowed you to come.’
‘You did not allow me, Edge. I’m not a child.’
‘No. You’re not.’ He let her go, turning to follow the others towards a series of large tents pitched beside the date groves. She bit back a curse and steadied herself against the camel instead. He was the only man who could ensure she acted like a child, blast him.
She’d promised herself she wouldn’t fall into her old behaviour around him. Any of her old behaviours. And yet here she was, either prickling like the hedgehog she used to call him or being aware of every nuance of his expressions.
She wasn’t a child any longer and her foolish infatuation was a thing of the past. She was now an experienced widow and could appreciate what a fine specimen of manhood he presented without making a fool of herself. And that was that, she assured herself as she hobbled after him to join Poppy and Janet.
They were escorted to a large tent set in the shade of palm trees and greeted with effusive warmth by the white-haired Sheikh and his wife Aziza. Sam’s Arabic had improved since she’d returned, but there were still times when her weary mind stopped making the effort to understand and this was just such a time. She surreptitiously worked away at the needles still tingling along her legs until she noticed everyone had turned to her.
‘So. You are the youngest Sinclair, yes?’ al-Walid said, slapping his knees. ‘You are very like your brothers.’
‘You remember them?’ Sam asked, not certain if this was a compliment.
‘Of course. There was trouble when they came here last. Remember?’ He turned to Edge.
‘Of course. A Bedawi tribe took offence at our exploring Senusret’s ruin. We had a worrisome moment until you and Poppy came to our rescue.
Al-Walid laughed.
‘A worrisome moment! You three were nearly skewered on a spit like lambs over a fire! I forgot you speak like a rock after sitting out in the coldest night. I named you well, Geb.’
‘Geb?’ Sam asked and al-Walid’s laughing eyes turned to her.
‘Geb. God of earth. You do not know the story?’
Sam shook her head, her curiosity sparked as much by Edge’s annoyed frown as by al-Walid’s enthusiasm.
‘Good. Now I have something to share by the fire tonight. But first—Aziza’s honey cakes!’ he announced as women entered the tent bearing trays.
‘You like?’ Aziza’s smile was confident which was hardly as surprising as Sam reached for her third helping of the date-filled cakes. Sam laughed and nodded, licking the sticky residue on her lips.
‘These are dangerous; it is impossible to eat only one!’
‘Truly these are the only reason al-Walid married me.’ Aziza sighed, but her smile belied her words and al-Walid gave a snort of dismissal.
‘It is lucky I had not tasted your cakes before I bargained with your father or I would have dispensed with your dowry completely. Whenever the neighbouring tribes stir the dust, I remind them that to insult me is to forfeit these delights. Our disputes rarely pass the rising of a new moon.’
‘A very interesting negotiation tactic. We never thought to employ anything so sensible during the war.’ Edge smiled at Aziza.
/> ‘That is because you are English,’ al-Walid dismissed. ‘The French would win every battle. You are lucky your stubbornness compensates for your lack of taste. Now tell me why you are here, Geb.’
‘Why do you presume we are here on my business and not Poppy’s?’
‘Because you are simmering like a pot on a campfire and your brow is as dark as a sandstorm on the horizon. Or would you prefer to discuss this in four eyes?’
Edge shook his head.
‘No, I would be grateful for Sayidti Aziza’s thoughts as well. You are right, it is my problems that bring us here. Or rather my brother’s.’
When Edge finished recounting his quest al-Walid beckoned to one of the men beside him and after a few swift words the man departed and with him al-Walid’s solemn mood.
‘By darkness tomorrow we shall know if your brother has come through our desert. Now go rest and tonight we shall hold a feast to celebrate old friends and new.’
* * *
‘Good Lord, I shall need a camel to move me,’ Poppy groaned as he rose and helped Janet to her feet from the low cushioned stools beside the campfire outside al-Walid’s tent.
‘You are retiring for the night so soon?’ al-Walid asked.
‘You must excuse our old bones, my friend.’
‘Of course, but the young must at least remain until I fulfil my promise to tell them about Geb and Nuut, yes?’
‘That excuses me, I dare say,’ Edge said, beginning to rise.
‘Sit down, Geb.’ al-Walid waved him back. ‘You are still but halfway on your journey through life.’
Edge grimaced.
‘That is a depressing thought.’
Janet touched his arm as she passed.
‘The second half shall be better, Edge.’
Sam waited for Edge’s expression to reflect his disdain of such a very Janet-like comment, but though he shook his head he smiled at her.
‘From your mouth to Allah’s ear, Aunt.’
Al-Walid leaned back, staring at the darkened sky. Sam eyed the cushions next to her with longing, wishing she was brave enough to stretch out like al-Walid. In her previous life she would not have thought twice about doing just that. Behind them the fabric of the tent flapped as the evening winds pummelled it like a beast trying to escape, but beyond the vain flapping the only sound was the shushing of the wind in the palms.
‘This is a good wind,’ al-Walid said. ‘It will be cool tonight and some dew tomorrow. Shu is hard at work.’
‘Shu?’ Sam asked.
‘The god of air and wind, aanisah.’
‘Do you believe in the old gods, then?’
‘We believe first in Allah and in Mohammed his prophet, but the old gods are part of this land my ancestors came to before our memory began. It is smart to heed them because they gathered much wisdom about the desert. Shu was the father of Nuut, goddess of the sky. Have you heard of her?’
Sam had, but she wanted to hear al-Walid’s tale so she shook her head. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a flash of Edge’s smile, but ignored him. She didn’t care if she was behaving like a child. She felt like one again and it was wonderful.
‘Nuut and Geb were inseparable and one day the greatest god of all, Ra, grew jealous of their closeness so he set Shu to keep the lovers apart—that is why the air stands between the earth and the sky, do you see?’
‘Yes, but how sad!’
‘Awful,’ Edge interposed, his voice as dry as the desert. ‘He was such a successful guardian they only succeeded in siring five children.’
‘It is still sad. Five stolen encounters hardly amount to a happy relationship.’
‘Five children would naturally imply a great many more than five encounters,’ Edge replied. ‘Given the limited likelihood of conception at each encounter that would mean—’ He broke off and Sam couldn’t help laughing.
‘Must you ruin the story with both pedantry and prudishness, Edge? Where is your sense of romance and excitement? Besides, these were gods—perhaps part of their divine properties was to time their encounters perfectly and each encounter was so magical as to...’
‘Yes, very well. Why don’t you allow Sheikh al-Walid to continue?’
Sam smiled at his discomfort and turned back to al-Walid.
‘Did Ra punish them?’
‘No, their children prospered and ruled the earth, but also caused much strife. In the temple of Senusret beyond the valley you can see the images of Geb and Nuut—Geb is composed of earth and trees and Nuut is arced above him, made of the night sky and stars with hair both dark and touched with sunset. Very like you, Najimat al-Layl.’
Sam gasped in surprise. ‘That is what Ayisha our housekeeper calls me; how did you know?’
‘Poppy effendim has spoken much of his household over the years. Your name was well chosen, Night Star—your eyes are like stars and your hair shades of darkness.’
‘It was not meant as a compliment, Sheikh al-Walid,’ Edge interposed. ‘Ayisha named her thus because Sam... Lady Carruthers often wandered at night and set the whole household searching for her.’
‘Thank you for clarifying that, Edge,’ Sam said with a bite and Edge bowed.
‘You are welcome, Sam.’
She turned her shoulder to him.
‘But why do you call Edge Geb, Sheikh al-Walid?’
‘Ah, yes. The name was given him by the tribe that tried to capture him and your brothers at Senusret’s temple. It is told that at the peak of the battle the god Geb appeared on the temple roof in the form of a statue with emeralds for eyes and brought with him a great sandstorm, whipping the very earth from under them. We came across them riding away from this apparition and they warned us not to risk our souls by proceeding and angering Geb.’
‘But that could not possibly have been Edge,’ Sam said primly. ‘He does not approve of climbing on the antiquities. Do you, Lord Edward?’
‘Under normal circumstances I do not. I was merely trying to assess how many men we were facing and whether they were trying to outflank us. I believe self-preservation justifies my actions rather more than your habit of using antiquities as a painting perch.’ His voice was pure Edge, but his mouth was relaxed and indulgent.
‘Of course it does, oh, mighty Geb,’ she replied. ‘I’m certain you always have a reasonable excuse for breaking your own rules.’
‘Not always, Sam.’ His eyes narrowed into the jewelled slits that had helped send the Bedawi warriors into flight. She felt it, too, the quivering of the earth beneath her, as if a herd of horses burst suddenly from their pen. He might not have been referring to that moment eight years ago when he kissed her back, if such a brief response could have been called a kiss, but the memory rose as clear as yesterday, erasing the chasm of time between them.
The wind picked up, her hair snaking about her face and neck. She brushed it back, but her hands felt clumsy, twice their size and filled with sand.
‘Shu is hard at work,’ said al-Walid. ‘Perhaps he feels he must intercede more forcefully than usual. Insha’alla tomorrow brings good news, Geb. Rest well, Najimat al-Layl.’
He wandered off and Sam was immediately aware of the silence. It wasn’t soundless, but filled with the threshing of the palms and the huffs of animals further away. But it was still a silence that wrapped around them like the emptiness of a great ocean. Edge was staring into the darkness, his sharp-cut profile gilded by the last glimmers of the campfire. Above them the stars were growing, multiplying, gathering into a lacy ribbon arced across the sky. Even in Qetara she had never seen so many or so clearly.
‘We are lucky there is no moon. It is rare to see such an abundance of stars,’ Edge said in reflection of her thoughts and she shivered. ‘Are you cold?’
‘No, not at all. It’s the...weight of them. I could never paint this in a million years.’
<
br /> He nodded and stood and she felt a burst of pain, like a surprise blow to her chest. She didn’t want to retire yet.
‘Come. There is still too much light and noise here,’ he said, holding out his hand.
Come?
Without asking he helped her to her feet and led her past the well.
‘Edge. The house is over there.’
‘In a moment. You should see this. Even in the desert a night like this is rare.’
Within moments the remnants of sound and light from the encampment fell away. The ground was hard and pebbled and at first Sam stumbled a little on the uneven earth, but Edge held her arm firmly but without pressure. He seemed to know precisely where he was going though there was nothing to see but the faint milky surface of the ground.
The further they walked, the less her eyes strained to see. The ground became luminescent, a cream swathe of silk pockmarked by the indigo shadows cast by each pebble and rock. Above them the sky was everything, a massive dome hung with a myriad of silvery eyes, blinking or staring but strangely still. Sam didn’t even notice they’d stopped. She was reduced to nothing but an awareness of being both insignificant and part of everything. The fabric of space was breathing with her, in and out, shimmering and dancing through her.
‘I’m breathing stars...’ she whispered. ‘I’m swimming in them.’
‘Don’t swim away. I’ll never find you in this infinity.’ His voice was low and rough as the ground beneath them. ‘If you walk twenty yards in the wrong direction, you will be lost and might never find your way back.’
Sam turned. Very faint in the distance behind them was the pale glow of what could be the village, but other than that there was no sign of life, of anything. She looked up at the darkness that was Edge. Even this close he was nothing but a monolithic form with faint outlines of the same silky cream as the ground, as if he’d been transformed into a statue of obsidian and alabaster—hard and soft. Pared down to his truth.
She tried to push the thought away—it was nervousness brought on by the vastness of the desert, the memories of this old life of hers when she’d still felt so real, so alive, so absolutely unthinkingly herself.