by H. B. Moore
“No! Death would be a reward,” she said.
Batal forced the prisoner to kneel and place his hands on a slab. A shiver moved along Nicaula’s neck, but Batal’s gaze was distant, unnerving, as he held the man’s arms by force. Rona took a step forward and gave the command. A soldier moved into place and brought down his blade against the marauder’s wrist. The clang of metal against stone reverberated through the courtyard. The man screamed so loud that the second strike could not be heard. Nicaula kept her head turned toward the other prisoners, seeing the horror in their expressions.
Two soldiers rushed forward and bandaged the leader’s wrists as he continued screaming and struggling violently against them. But after a moment, his body went limp. As the next prisoner was brought forward, again, Nicaula could not watch. Pity and rage mixed together, creating a hole of nausea in her stomach.
When the last man had met his fate, Nicaula nodded her approval in Rona’s direction. Then she left the courtyard with Batal close behind. His quiet presence was comforting, but she did not turn to him as she had the night before. Her mind was clearer now, her focus more sure.
She left Batal standing outside her chambers as she entered and crossed to Azhara’s mat. The servant still slept, her breathing steady. Nicaula moved toward the basin, removing her veil and headdress, and splashed the tepid water onto her face. She placed her still-wet hands against the table and took a deep, trembling breath. It is finished.
Nicaula removed the small statue of the sun goddess from the side table and placed it on the windowsill. The sun pierced its way through the narrow opening, casting a fiery glow around the miniature body. Nicaula knelt on the rug, then raised both hands and quietly chanted. “O `Ashtartu,” she whispered. “Our victory over Saba comes from your grace. Our avengement for our king comes from your mercy. Our union with Azhara comes from your honorable compassion.”
Azhara stirred fitfully in her sleep.
The queen fell silent, mouthing “O `Ashtartu” again and again.
CHAPTER
16
The Empty Quarter
Omar stretched his arm over the back of Mia’s seat. Despite the furnacelike air blowing full strength, she slept deeply. The sun had risen and peaked, and now made its slow jog to the west. They’d burned through more than half of Mia’s cash at the various checkpoints and toll shacks along the desert route.
As far as Omar could see, there was nothing, unless he counted the occasional scrub brush or spooked hare. Why would anyone want to live in such a desolate place? The expeditions of explorers had been over-romanticized, he decided.
He maneuvered the jeep along the bumpy road, surprised that Mia continued to sleep through all the jostling. He glanced at her aquiline nose and full lips, noticing with a painful lurch how her lashes seemed to flutter above her cheeks. Peeling his eyes away, he stared at the bleakness ahead. He didn’t actually need to look at her to remember every curve of her body.
Omar flexed his sweaty palm against the steering wheel, cursing the heat, the sand, and the woman whose heart had turned cold toward him. Up ahead, against the shimmering desert floor, he saw another checkpoint. At this rate, they’d be broke before they reached their destination. And he was starving. Nothing made him crankier than an empty stomach.
Mia released a huge yawn, and her eyes opened as he downshifted gears. She straightened and leaned toward the bug-splattered windshield. “Looks like trouble.”
Omar squinted as they drew closer to the checkpoint. “Damn.”
Mia stiffened next to him. “What is it?”
“See their head wraps?”
“Grayish—one flap hanging over the shoulder. Yeah?”
“They’re the Bargusoi tribe, originally from the coast of India, and they are known for their fierce tempers.” Omar glanced over at her. “Even if you really were in labor, we wouldn’t be getting through this checkpoint unscathed.”
“Why? Are their guns bigger than ours?”
“It’s not funny,” Omar said. “I’m not worried about their guns. It’s their appetites.”
Mia was staring at him, her eyes huge. “Let me guess—they watched Hannibal or Survivor one too many times and decided it was a great way to save on living expenses?”
“Ha ha,” Omar deadpanned. “All I know is that we can’t go through that checkpoint.”
Mia pointed to a dry wadi that sloped away from the road. “What about over there?”
He shook his head. “We’ll get shot at least eight times before the jeep overturns because of its dead driver.”
An exasperated sigh escaped Mia. “Maybe we can just offer up one of us, then.”
Omar barked a laugh. “Their ancestors—the Hippioprosōpoi—believed true power came from the consumption of another’s blood, preferably the blood of their opponents. By eating the flesh of their enemies, they would take their enemy’s strengths. They won’t be satisfied with just one of us.”
“Disgusting,” Mia said, then grasped Omar’s arm as they saw movement up ahead. The men had assembled, preparing for their arrival. “I’m convinced. Let’s get out of here.”
“Hang on,” Omar said.
Omar swung the steering wheel to the right, maneuvering the vehicle down the steep incline toward the wadi. He couldn’t see the checkpoint any longer, but his body tensed as he anticipated a shower of shells piercing his arms and back. For several seconds, he concentrated on avoiding potholes and a few sparse acacia trees.
Mia extracted her Kalashnikov rifle from the back and knelt on the seat. Bracing one foot against the dash, she pointed the weapon to the left as she scanned the road that ran parallel to the wadi.
“Faster!” she called out.
Omar jockeyed their speed to nearly fifty kilometers per hour. He knew this would throw off the accuracy of any extra-hungry cannibals, but he hoped it wouldn’t break down the shooting accuracy of the nondistressed damsel at his side.
“Are they coming after us?” he shouted above the roaring engine.
“Yes.”
Omar craned his neck to see above the ridge. Still nothing. “All I see is flying sand.”
“That’s because you’re seeing their dust. They’re going to try to head us off.”
“Should we turn around?”
“No! I’ve got an idea.”
“This better be good,” Omar yelled just as they hit a particularly deep hole.
Mia bounced hard enough that she slammed against the windshield with a thud. Not missing a beat, she straightened and repositioned her rifle. “It’s good.” She grabbed the steering wheel again. “Stop the jeep now.”
“You’re kidding.” He kept the pressure on the gas pedal, but Mia slid her foot beneath his leg and reached the brake.
“We can play footsies later.” He cranked the jeep to a sudden stop, and Mia jabbed him in the ribs. He threw his hands in the air. “All right, all right. You hold them off, and I’ll run in the other direction.”
“Very funny.” Mia stepped out of the jeep, her face and upper body caked in sand. With her gun propped against her left side, she put her finger to her lips then pointed to the ground.
Omar noticed a few patches of mud. It must have rained in the past couple of days. “Where there’s mud, there’s almost always a snake.”
Mia grinned. “Yep. Watch this.” She crouched and lifted her finger. Only a few paces away, a dull-red snake, etched with a black-and-white pattern, lay beneath a rock. “Aha. A saw-scaled viper.” Mia ignored the whine of the approaching engine as she moved stealthily closer.
The viper coiled, creating a rasping sound.
“Mia, let me get it.”
“It’s all right. I’ve handled a few snakes in my life.” Mia used her gun to pin the reptile to the sheltering rock and reached for the snake with one hand. “Got him. He’s small but deadly.” Stra
ightening, she held up the writhing snake like a trophy. Her dusty smile confirmed her accomplishment. “Let’s see if they’re as scared of snakes as their ancestors were. Drive behind me, slowly.”
She moved out in front of the jeep and walked toward the truck barreling along the wadi toward them.
Omar trailed her, keeping a close eye on the movements of the snake. If it bit Mia, he’d have more than one problem on his hands. The approaching truck showed no signs of slowing. Despite all the heartache she’d put him through, he couldn’t help admiring the woman.
The gray-clad pursuers came to an abrupt halt, and the men barreled out of the truck. Eight men. Omar braked quickly and jumped out of the jeep, his assault rifle in hand.
“Must be a slow day in the Empty Quarter,” Omar said as he sidled up to Mia’s snakeless side.
She held the limp snake in front of her.
The driver was just climbing out when he noticed the snake, apparently for the first time, because he shimmied right back behind the wheel. He shouted something in a panicked voice to the other men, who stopped—hearing the warning and seeing the snake at the same time.
“Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna,” Mia chanted.
Omar didn’t know she had such melodic talent. It sounded like some oldie playing on Saudi radio.
“O Krishna! O Radhe . . . O Caitanya Mahaprabhu . . . O Nityananda Prabhu . . . Please be merciful!”
The men stood still, seemingly mesmerized by Mia’s voice. Her words grew in strength and rose in pitch. Suddenly the snake jerked awake as if it had been sleeping.
The men pushed and tripped over each other as they stumbled to their truck. They flung themselves into the bed with a few grunts and yelps. The driver wasted no time in stripping the gears into reverse, turning the truck around, and creating rising billows of dust in farewell.
Omar turned, openmouthed, to Mia. She squatted near the ground and released the snake, which slithered away as though it didn’t mind the brief interruption. Mia brushed her hands together and straightened. With one hand shielding her eyes, she glanced at the sky. “We should make it before nightfall.”
“And you became a snake charmer, when?”
“My stepfather was a herpetologist, remember?”
“Uh, yeah. But I didn’t realize you had such a knack for reptiles.”
Mia flashed a grin as a breeze lifted the damp tendrils from her face. “No big deal. I’m glad it was useful.”
He smiled back. “Yeah. Me too. And the whole chanting thing? Also learned from your dad?” He remembered something about her father’s scientific interests, but now he wished he’d paid a little more attention.
“My mom.” Mia climbed into the jeep. “Remember she taught ancient Arabian studies at Hebrew U? On the side, she threw in a little belly dancing and snake charming. That’s how my parents met; he saw her charm a snake.”
“Makes sense. I don’t know any herpetologist who wouldn’t fall for a snake charmer.”
Mia lifted a brow. “That’s what you said last time I told you.”
“Ah,” he said as he settled into the driver’s seat. “I’m seeing the larger picture.” I am an idiot.
“I knew you’d come around.”
He fought the incredible impulse to apologize for being a possessive jerk, an idiot, a moron . . . but stopped himself just in time. “What do you mean by ‘come around,’ exactly?”
“What do you mean by ‘seeing the larger picture’?”
“Just that I’m beginning to realize that maybe you were a little right that I should have been more attentive when we were together.”
“I’m only a little right?”
He cast a sideways glance at her, turning the key in the ignition. “If you weren’t so standoffish, I’d show my gratitude with more than saying thanks.”
Mia propped her heavy boots on the dash. “Keep dreaming—”
The engine sputtered to life, drowning out her last words, but Omar detected the slight hint of a smile.
CHAPTER
17
Ethiopia
Jade settled against the leather upholstery in the first-class cabin with a sigh. The last hour had been a whirlwind as she and Lucas were escorted by the patriarch’s bodyguards through airport customs and into the first-class section of the EgyptAir flight.
Lucas sat across the aisle from her. He fished in his pocket and brought out a folded piece of paper. “Read this.”
She read the printed e-mail from Dr. Lyon, written to the patriarch, about a tunnel excavation in northern Jerusalem. Palestinians had dug the tunnel to escape harassment at the Israeli guarded border.
A diagram was found. Very confidential. Call me as soon as possible.
She looked at the date. Then a chill spread across her arms. It was written the same day Dr. Lyon had died. “Did the patriarch call him?”
“Yes, but he said there was no answer.”
“How much do you think the patriarch knows about what Dr. Lyon wanted to tell him?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Maybe the queen was buried in Jerusalem.”
Lucas chuckled. “Quite possible, mademoiselle.”
A shiver warmer than the cool plane touched Jade.
He took out a notebook from his bag and started to sketch a timeline with his pencil. “Let’s start with what DiscoveryArch revealed about the Jerusalem tomb. The inscriptions on the tomb walls omit any reference to David or Solomon.”
Jade leaned across the aisle, watching him draw. “Well, it wasn’t their tomb, then.”
“It wasn’t Solomon’s tomb, but the king buried there lived during the same era as Solomon.” Lucas printed the word Amariel. “The name of Amariel was one of three inscriptions found. This king apparently ruled Jerusalem from 960 to 949 BC. Above Amariel, the name of Turug was found; apparently his father, who ruled for fifteen years. And after Amariel, the name of his son and successor was listed as the final inscription. The son’s name was Tambariah, and he ruled from 949 to 936 BC. Early reports state the sarcophagus belongs to Tambariah.” He wrote the names David and Solomon and circled them. “Some on DiscoveryArch have suggested that the kingdom was divided, or these new kings ruled over Babylonia.”
“Not possible,” Jade said, noticing how his tanned fingers wrote the words in elegant script. “Solomon is considered to have ruled from Syria to the borders of Egypt from as early as 980 BC to as late as 950 BC.”
“Right.” Lucas continued drawing, inserting numbers as he went. “But those years that Solomon supposedly ruled overlap Amariel and Tambariah, creating evidence that perhaps Solomon never existed. If there were two kingdoms, and two kings, why isn’t that in the Bible? The new tomb’s evidence cannot be discredited easily.”
“You’re right. That doesn’t leave much room for David or Solomon.”
“Exactly. After all, the tomb in Jerusalem proves that these kings existed. And proof of existence is something we don’t have for either David or Solomon.”
Jade entered the names of Amariel and Tambariah into her phone. “What about the Ark of the Covenant that the queen’s son stole from Solomon and brought to Ethiopia?”
He closed the notebook. “The existence of the Ark has always been anyone’s guess—at least, for those who consider the Bible to be historical gospel.”
“It is gospel,” Jade said. If anything could be considered gospel in the world, it was the Bible. She noticed how relaxed Lucas seemed, as if he’d spent many hours debating this very topic. His expression was open, amused. Like a predator, waiting for his prey to fall into his trap. So smooth, so patient. She twisted her ring, feeling her face heat.
A hint of a smile rose to his lips. “Not everyone has such conviction as you, mademoiselle, and they’d like to see that conviction destroyed.”
“Why?”
“Money
.”
Jade fought not to roll her eyes. “All right. Beyond the money, what benefit is there to prove that David and Solomon weren’t the kings we thought they were or that they ever existed?”
“How many nations recognize Israel as a state?”
“Most of them, except the Arab ones—”
“Not necessarily.” Lucas folded his arms. “The major dispute in Israel between the Jews and the Arabs is not about religion, but land, or, more specifically, ownership of what they consider sacred land.”
“Of course, that’s understandable.”
“What do the Jews call Israel?”
“The Holy Land.”
“Yes. But they also call it their homeland.” Lucas crossed his legs. “They claim Israel as their homeland because they are descendants of the great kings David and Solomon.” He lowered his voice. “If Solomon never existed, where does that leave the Jews?”
“Without rightful claim to Israel.”
“Correct.” A triumphant smile spread across his face. “As we speak, someone is desperately trying to line up all the appropriate evidence to prove Israel’s statehood illicit. And Dr. Lyon knew it. And the tomb in Jerusalem cast enough doubt—”
“So they bombed it.”
“Yes. Dr. Lyon’s theory about Ubar may be only a theory, and perhaps he came up with it in defense of the tomb excavation in Jerusalem, to explain the line of the three new kings in how they related to David and Solomon. The Yemenis in particular would love to believe the professor is right, and nations will spend millions to uncover any threads of evidence.”
Sighing, Jade jotted a couple more ideas into her phone. “What’s our role?”
“We’re going to the region of Ubar right after Addis Ababa—to finish what Dr. Lyon started.”
“What about my thesis?”