The Forest of Myrrh (Imhotep Book 3)

by Jerry Dubs

  She was naked. She was most comfortable without clothing, he knew. She was on one knee, bent down to examine something she had found in the sand. The moonlight lay on the graceful curve of her back. Imhotep wanted to stand there and watch her forever and he wanted to throw aside his walking staff and run to her as he had so many years ago.

  “I thought it was an empty shell, but it moved,” Meryt said.

  Imhotep walked to her and knelt beside her. She pointed to a small, curved shell. A black spiral ran along its sides. As he watched, a small head slid from one end of it and the snail inched forward.

  “I wonder what the world looks like to it,” Meryt said.

  She turned and smiled at Imhotep. “The grass are its trees, pebbles are boulders and the river is an endless ocean.” She looked above them at the countless stars.

  Imhotep rubbed her frail shoulders. “How are you, my love?”

  She shivered. “Your touch has always been different. I love the water washing over me and the sand, oh I know how you love the sand,” she teased. “And I loved to hold Tjau and Maya when they were infants. But your touch, Imhotep, it has always lit a fire in me. A river of fire. It runs from your fingers to my skin, through my body and everything comes alive. My nipples stand up. Look, they are doing it now!”

  She took his hand and moved it to her breast.

  Turning to him she lifted her face and moved closer to kiss him.

  He understood what she said about his touch. He felt it as well. When they met – their mouths, their hands, their stomachs – it felt like the collision of two galaxies. Stars dueled, planets crashed, light and heat flowed over each other and every atom was alive with energy.

  He opened his eyes and saw amusement in hers as her tongue slipped across his lips and her hand slid down his side and tugged at his loincloth. He reached down and helped her and then, standing, he stepped free of the cloth and took her hands in his.

  She raised herself on her toes, kissed him lightly and then, turning away, she began to run into the water. He followed her, his throat thick with desire, his eyes wet with tears as he remembered their past and wondered how he could ever live without her.

  Waist deep in the water she turned and waited.

  As he drew near, she raised her arms and locked her fingers behind his neck. Rubbing a leg against his, she said, “Take me here, Imhotep. As we did the first time.”

  - 0 -

  Sweat in their eyes, Akila, Hapu, and Bata gave up and backed away from the door.

  “Why won’t it open?” Maya asked.

  “We don’t know,” Hapu said gently as she and Bata moved the stone bench to the next doorway.

  Akila stared at the hieroglyphs she had drawn, comparing them to the ones Imhotep had left on the paper. They matched exactly. For a moment she wondered if Imhotep had made an error or if he had mis-drawn them because he wanted to stay here. To die here.

  Or perhaps the symbols no longer worked. Or maybe the doors she had tried had been knocked down and were buried under the sand in the twenty-first century.

  She crossed her arms and stared at the wall.

  If a patient doesn’t respond to treatment what do I do? She asked herself. Get a second opinion. There aren’t any. Okay, then either the diagnosis is wrong or the drugs are mislabeled.

  She stared at the symbols on the papyrus. A different date, she thought. If the doors don’t survive until my time, perhaps they endure until some other time, some time when a rebel army led by a crazy man isn’t outside the walls.

  “Hapu,” she said, hurrying to the next doorway. “Which symbol is the number?”

  - 0 -

  “The world is beautiful, isn’t it, Imhotep,” Meryt said as they walked back toward the temple.

  “Right now it is,” he agreed.

  She shook her head laughing. The laughter turned into a cough and they stopped until she was able to breathe freely. He started to say something, but her eyes told him that she was trying to tell him something.

  “The water that washed over us when we made love. It is the same water that washes over turtles and rocks and crocodiles. The wind that sweeps across the sand that you love so much. It also flaps against the palm leaves and it dries the beer on your lips.”

  She stopped and waited for him to stop beside her and look into her eyes.

  “You are like that, Imhotep. You brush over everything, you see everything, you touch it and you understand it. But, sweet love, you are apart from it.

  “I am not the wind or the water. I am the mud and the tree roots,” she laughed.

  She leaned her head against his chest. “That is why we are so good together.”

  He held her, waiting for her to continue.

  “We have had so much life, my love,” she said. “This cough I have, the pain from the knife wound, even the greater pain of losing Tjau. Those pains are part of my life. They are me. They aren’t something that can be taken from me.”

  He started to cry and the tears fell onto her shoulders.

  “I know that you do not believe in the Eternal Field of Reeds, Imhotep, but do you think there will be pain there? I do. I hope so. Otherwise it would be like the heat of the sun. It feels good, but after a while you need water, or beer if you are Imhotep.” She hugged him tighter. “Too much joy without pain would be like ... am I talking too much. You used to tell me I chattered all the time.”

  “You still chatter,” he managed to say.

  “You don’t mind my chatter when I breathe it into you ear while you are riding me.”

  He sighed deeply, afraid that if he listened to her much longer he would begin to shudder and break down.

  She turned her head and kissed his chest lightly. Looking up at his wet eyes, she traced his lips and smiled. “Take care of Akila, Imhotep. I like her very much and this world lays on her harshly.”

  - 0 -

  “We need more paint,” Akila said, looking at the empty jar.

  They had painted two more doors without success. There were four doors left to try, but the last of the paint was drying above the lintel above them.

  “We could search that last storeroom,” Akila said.

  “There must be some wax,” Bata said. “And I can char some wood. I am sure there are oils somewhere, no temple is without oils.” He squatted beside Maya. “I know you are tired, Maya, but could you help me find some treasures?”

  “You mean wood and wax and oils, don’t you?” Maya said.

  Smiling, Bata picked her up. “When I was a boy we didn’t have toys like your smart father made for you. All we had were sticks and rocks, so yes, wax and oils are treasures. Now, come on,” he said with mock seriousness as he carried her toward the priests’ chambers.

  “I thought fifty was a good idea,” Akila told Hapu as they started walking toward the storage room.

  “We will try a different number on the next door,” Hapu said.

  - 0 -

  Outside the temple entrance, Imhotep and Meryt paused. She had leaned heavily on him as they followed the path from the western shore to the temple and he, in turn, had leaned heavily on his wooden staff.

  The temple pylon was dark slab standing in the night and blocking the stars. There was a faint glow at the mouth of the wall, the fire that Kewab had lit, Imhotep thought. As he sniffed the air, searching for the smell of smoke, he felt Meryt stiffen.

  “I hear voices,” she said. She pointed across the temple toward the path that led to the eastern bank.

  He heard them, too. Men’s voices.

  He tilted his head toward the temple and, holding her hand, they walked as quickly as they could manage. Halfway to the entrance, Meryt started to cough again, long, wracking spasms that left her weak.

  Imhotep held her until it passed and then they stumbled into the temple.

  “There are men coming,” Imhotep told Kewab.

  The soldier nodded. “I sent Weneg and Teta down the trail as soon as Weneg saw the torches crossing the river
. They will let us know how many men and how close they are.”

  - 0 -

  Akila and Hapu ran from the storage room, across the interior courtyard to the inner entrance to the wall of false doors. Akila carried a small paint jar cradled in both hands while Hapu carried the small torch.

  As they reached the corridor, a bat flew into the night and Akila thought about the thick hair she had cut off. Her thoughts drifted to the army that was expected at dawn and she wondered what soldiers did with women in the ancient world.

  What they have always done, she thought and then she refocused her mind.

  She was carrying enough paint for one more try. If it worked they would escape. If not ... she started to mentally examine the remaining contents of her med kit ... she would find a different escape.

  Bata was waiting by the doorway, holding Maya who was asleep, her head lying on his shoulder. “We didn’t find anything,” he said quietly, his eyes finding the jar in Akila’s hands.

  “Enough for one door,” she said.

  - 0 -

  “Can you bring Maya to me?” Meryt asked Imhotep. She was sitting on the ground of the courtyard, resting against a stone basin that held the water of the river Iteru during ceremonies.

  “Of course,” Imhotep said. He rose and said to Kewab, “She will be safe?”

  Kewab nodded, but Imhotep saw that it was an empty gesture. If an army was on the way, none of them was safe.

  He hurried across the courtyard and entered the covered corridor.

  - 0 -

  Akila stepped down from the bench. The paint jar was empty, the last symbol drawn. Hapu had drawn a new symbol on the papyrus to replace the number fifty and Akila had copied it onto the stone wall.

  While Bata held Maya, she and Hapu slid the stone bench aside.

  Holding her breath, Akila stepped to the false doorway and placed her hand on the left side of it. She closed her eyes and pushed.

  The stone moved.

  She heard footsteps and worried that someone was coming through the doorway, but the sound was coming from behind her.

  “Did it work?” Imhotep asked as he approached, his staff tapping a third footstep on the stone floor.

  “Yes,” she whispered, hardly believing it.

  Imhotep looked at Akila, Bata, Maya, and Hapu. “You four go through,” he said, “I’ll go get Meryt and the soldiers.”

  “We should wait,” Bata protested.

  “No,” Imhotep said. He leaned toward Maya and kissed her cheek. “The soldiers are right outside the temple. We might not have time. But you go through ... ”

  “I am a soldier,” Bata argued.

  “Yes and I need you to protect my daughter and Hapu and Akila. I can’t,” Imhotep said. “Now, please, Bata, we don’t have time to argue. I’ll get Meryt and we’ll be right behind you.”

  He grabbed Bata’s arm. “Please, old friend. I have to know that my daughter, at least, is safe,” he pleaded.

  Bata nodded and Imhotep turned away.

  - 0 -

  “I have to stay here,” Akila said as Imhotep disappeared into the dark hallway.

  “No,” Bata said. “You heard him.”

  “Yes but I can’t go through the doorway,” Akila said. “Someone has to stay here to cover the symbols if the rebels get here before Imhotep. You have to keep Hapu and Maya safe. We can’t let the soldiers follow you through this door.” She looked down at the paint pot. “There’s enough paint for me to cover at least one of the symbols. I must stay.”

  Bata shook his head. “I don’t like this,” he said.

  “She is right,” Hapu said, taking Bata’s arm. “I don’t like it either, but she is right.”

  “Bata,” Akila said, “Protect them. Imhotep, Meryt, and I will be right behind you.”

  Suddenly they heard the sound of men shouting. “Now!” Akila said.

  Carrying Maya, Bata stepped through the doorway. Hapu turned to Akila and said, “I can stay.”

  Akila quickly shook her head. Hapu leaned forward and kissed Akila’s cheek. Then she followed Bata through the time portal.

  Akila quickly pushed it shut behind them. Stepping back, she studied it a moment. Satisfied that it looked like any of the other doors, she set down the paint jar and looked down the corridor hoping to see Imhotep and Meryt.

  - 0 -

  Teta was stunned by a volley of rocks and then his head was smashed by a crude wooden club that left splinters in the torn skin of his head. Weneg outran all of the men except two who brought him down just outside the temple entrance.

  And then the rebel army poured into the courtyard.

  Kewab hid Meryt behind the stone fountain as the sound of footsteps drew closer and stood now away from the fountain, his spear in one hand, his knife in the other.

  Four men wearing dirty army kilts came in first. They stopped at the sight of Kewab and one of them shouted back into the darkness. Two of the men slid off to the side as a hunchback pulled by two hyenas attached to leashes at the end of poles came into the temple.

  Sabni dragged the hyenas toward Kewab, who backed away from the beasts.

  “Imhotep!” Threshen shouted as he entered the temple behind Sabni.

  “Lord Imhotep is not here,” Kewab said.

  Threshen nodded at the four soldiers and they charged at Kewab.

  The men spread apart as they got closer and Kewab focused on the man closest to his knife hand. The man looked drunk; they all did. But there were too many and Kewab knew that eventually he would die.

  As the end man planted his outside leg to turn toward him, Kewab feinted with his spear, ducked under the man’s counterthrust and drove his knife into the man’s side. The man fell and suddenly a volley of rocks hit Kewab from the mob that had gathered inside the gate.

  Kewab switched his spear to his right hand and raised his left arm to block the stones. One hit his thigh and another glanced off his shoulder. Squatting below the stones, he turned as the three remaining soldiers changed direction to come at him.

  The men moved slower now, wary and stunned by the death of their companion.

  More rocks were thrown at Kewab and then Threshen shouted, “Sabni, loose the hyenas!”

  Kewab turned toward the barking beasts, but as he pivoted he saw one of the soldiers charge. Holding his spear in both hands, Kewab turned back quickly and thrust the weapon at the soldier. He felt the tip sink into the man’s chest and then suddenly the other two soldiers were on him.

  As they dragged him to the ground, the mob crowded around swinging their clubs at him.

  As they beat Kewab to death, Threshen heard Meryt cough and he dragged her out from behind the water stand. Roughly pulling her to her feet he shouted, “Where’s Imhotep?”

  “I am here,” Imhotep answered, limping across the dark courtyard, clutching his staff tightly in fear and anger.

  Smiling, Threshen watched Imhotep come to him.

  Stopping by Meryt’s side, Imhotep leaned close to her, kissed her head and whispered, “Run down the corridor, dear wife.”

  “I will not leave you,” she answered as Imhotep saw movement out the side of his eye.

  He jerked around as Threshen thrust a spear at him. Without thought, Imhotep swept his staff at the spear, catching its tip and knocking it away from his chest.

  Meryt moaned and Imhotep realized immediately that the spear had found a different target.

  “No, no!” he shouted, turning to Meryt who was looking down at her stomach where blood tumbled out around the shaft of Threshen’s spear.

  As Meryt’s legs buckled, Imhotep grabbed her and sank to the ground with her. He cradled her head in his arms and cried.

  “I will see Tjau soon,” she whispered as her eyes closed.

  Imhotep hunched over her, kissing her eyes and unmoving mouth. He felt a jerk and looked up as Threshen pulled the spear from her body. Laughing, Threshen drew the spear back again and Imhotep glared at him with hatred.

  The
spear darted forward and Imhotep waited for his death. But the bloody tip of Threshen’s spear suddenly disappeared behind a flash of polished metal.

  Lost in the pain of losing Meryt, Imhotep dimly heard shouts behind him and then a woman’s scream. Feet shuffled in the dirt of the courtyard and Imhotep wished that his heart would stop because the ache was more than he could bear.

  - 0 -

  Threshen looked in shock at the broken shaft of a spear he was holding. Looking toward Imhotep he saw instead a young soldier who was holding a glittering curved blade longer than Threshen’s forearm.

  The soldier stepped forward quickly and gripped Threshen’s neck, choking shut his throat and said, “Are you Threshen?”

  Threshen tried to answer but the grip on his throat was too strong. As he glared at the soldier, he felt fiery pain in his stomach and then the pain traveled up from below his navel to his chest. The soldier released his grip and Threshen looked down to see blood trickle from a long cut through his stomach. And now something yellow pushed through the cut and suddenly coils of his guts were pushing through.

  Screaming as he recognized that the soldier had sliced his entire abdomen open, Threshen frantically tried to hold his organs inside his body. His legs buckled and he dropped to his knees, still cupping his bloody stomach.

  He looked up at the soldier and started to shout at Sabni, but the wicked blade swept through the air, through Threshen’s neck and spine. His head bounced off his shoulder and fell onto the ground. The mouth twitched, his eyes blinked in disbelief as they saw his body fall forward into the dirt.

  As if waking from a nightmare, Imhotep felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up he saw a man’s face, the skin clear, not yet carrying a beard.

  “I am sorry we didn’t get here faster, grandfather,” the soldier said. Then he nodded at unseen figures and Imhotep felt hands under his arms.

  The soldier stooped over Imhotep’s lap and took Meryt’s slight body in his arms.