by Dawn Carter
As she made her way across the hot sand, her vision began to blur, and she couldn’t go on anymore. It was almost night again. She could rest and get some relief from the heat. Please…please, someone save me. Dehydrated, no tears welled in her eyes—she fell to the ground with a hard thump, and all went black.
●●●
The feeling of something wet and cold on her forehead startled Spencer awake, and her eyes shot open. She was lying on a few sheets of grey cloth on the ground, in a small, slightly lit hut-like building with no furniture. Her eyes fluttered open. A tall, dark woman, dressed in thin white native clothing, knelt above her. Her black hair was braided, and her eyes were surrounded by thick mascara that stretched to the edges of her face. If she’d had the energy to move, she would have scooted back, but her body was heavy with exhaustion.
The silence was broken as the woman spoke quietly, with a thick accent. “How are you feeling?”
Spencer didn’t reply. Her mind tried to rationalize in case it was a dream. “Who are you?” she heard herself ask, all the while staring into deep brown eyes with yellow specks. “Where am I?”
Gently, the woman reached out her hand, but Spencer jerked back.
“Do not be afraid,” the woman said soothingly.
An awkward silence filled the air between them. Sweat trickled down Spencer’s face, and her skin burned. Though she had not acknowledged it before, her limbs ached. The last thing she remembered was wandering in the desert, exhausted and thirsty. Did this woman just save my life?
“Who are you?” Her voice cracked from the lack of water.
“I am no one,” she replied softly, and lifted her hand to Spencer’s forehead. After a long moment, she drew it back.
Trying to pull herself up, Spencer let out a harsh tired breath. “I need to get back.”
“Tomorrow. Rest for now, and I will be your guide back into the city.”
Suffering heat stroke, Spencer didn’t answer, but at the same time, she couldn’t object. Her eyes were heavy, and sleep was just on the edge of her consciousness.
When she woke, her eyes fluttered open, one at a time. She could hear the sound of water, and feet rustling throughout the tent. The woman stood above her and smiled, a white sheet in hand. “Come, we have a long journey, I will protect you from the sun.” She handed the sheet to Spencer, and wrapped herself in a similar cloth. Copying her, Spencer managed to put the sheet on. Nothing but their eyes was visible. She moved with surprising ease toward the entrance, and pushed the cloth to the side, revealing mountains of sand, blending with the yellow sky. Miles of endless desert lay before them; Spencer shuddered as she took a step outside. Her feet sank with each step, and she lost her balance and fell. She expected the woman to laugh, but she heard nothing, not even footsteps. Picking herself up, she spun around. The tent was gone, and there was not a single living creature in sight. Where did she go?
The white cloth she was sure she’d had moments before was gone too, and where the tent had been, there was a small entrance to what looked like a cave made out of sand and rocks. Somehow, she had found her way out of the elements. Had she been dreaming? She had heard stories from the locals of how people had gotten lost in the desert and gone insane.
Her ears perked up. From the distance, she was sure she heard voices. Following in that direction, she turned and ran as fast as she could, falling several times. There was no one there, yet she could hear the voices directing her forward.
For a moment, she watched ghostly figures just ahead, yet she remained stationary, believing it was only her imagination—then it occurred to her that the figures were getting bigger. Oh, my goodness! Her eyes lit in realization. They’re headed straight for me. I’m saved.
When her vision blurred, Spencer fell to her knees and hit the sand hard. She could feel shards of sandstone cut into her skin. She listened closely, and the voices were gone. Another figment of her imagination! She couldn’t be sure of anything now. Was she losing her mind? She began to gasp for breath, but her lungs filled with the thick, intoxicating hot air. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she coughed violently. Gripping her throbbing chest, she sank further to her knees. Her mind finally relinquished control of her body, and she drifted into a calming darkness.
“Are you okay?” a deep voice roared. She jumped, and hastily turned to see the owner of it. There was no one. The air was silent again, except for her breathing. She had just imagined it, she reassured herself once more. Relax, Spencer, just relax.
Strong arms lifted her from the ground, and sure she was hallucinating, Spencer allowed her body to fall limp into them. There was no reason to fear the unknown, since it was all in her mind. She knew in that moment she was going to die upon the same sand that had claimed her life so many years before.
●●●
Behind the cloak of darkness, she felt pain, and that meant she was still alive. One at a time, she opened her eyes. She was alone in a room; it was not the same as the hut she’d imagined earlier. Please let this be real. Just as she was about to pull herself up, a figure entered the room; it was dark, and the only thing she could make out was the silhouette of what looked like a man.
“I’m glad you’re awake,” a deep raspy voice said.
“Where am I?” her voice cracked.
“Relax, you are safe.”
“Where am I?” she asked again, this time the words seemed more forceful.
“You’re in the temple. I will let Shamod know you are awake.”
Spencer watched him disappear. She was about to scream out for him to come back, but then, from the dark recesses of her brain, the name rang a bell. “I wonder if it’s the priest he’s talking about?”
Still not trusting herself, she pinched her arm—it hurt. Not convinced, she slid off the bed, steadied her feet on the floor, and reached for the glass filled with water. Her arms felt as if they weighed twice as much when she lifted the glass to her lips. Tipping it ever so lightly, the cool liquid filled her mouth and soothed her throat as she gulped.
If this was a mirage, it was a welcome one. It was so much better than the reality of death.
Chapter 15
“We’ve been at this for a week. You’re working us like dogs,” Jordan spouted; though tall, Claire’s stature was no match for the six-foot man.
“Then leave, no one’s stopping you.” Claire was getting angry; she was tired of his constant complaining.
Sophia saw her face begin to turn red. Under her breath, she warned, her eyes locked with Jordan’s. “She’s the archaeologist and you’re just the student. You need to learn your place.”
“Learn my place?” Jordan sputtered, nearly choking on the words. “I resent your implications that she is better than me. I’m sick of watching all these guys follow blindly, led by a pair of tits and a swaying ass.”
“Jordan, I told you to back off. One more word and you’ll be off my team.” Claire cranked her head back and glared up at him for a few seconds, shrugged, and then took a few steps back. She wasn't about to let her guard down, though.
“Jordan, dude, what’s your problem?” Chris began, poking Jordan in the chest, which stopped whatever else he was going to say. The tent went silent. Chris crossed the room and stood next to Claire. “We’re all tired, boss. Everyone’s getting cranky.”
Claire thought about what he said for a moment, and turned to face the group. “I know we’ve been working nonstop. I know all of you are tired. You’ve done a great job cataloging all of the artifacts and bringing them up for shipment. All I’m asking is two more days to study and uncover anything else, then we should be done. If we’re not, you can take the rest of the week off, and I’ll work it alone.”
Everyone nodded and agreed. Yet there were a few moans. Claire was ready to challenge whoever considered themselves equal to, or better than, her.
They worked feverishly throughout the rest of the day, and uncovered six more tablets, four complete pots, and what seemed to be the remnan
ts of at least a half a dozen more jars filled with remains. What Claire found odd was the eight other vessels they had found stuffed in a sealed box, the purpose of which they couldn't readily identify yet.
From the edging on the jars, she assumed they were the remains of the slaves who were always buried along with royalty to take care of them in the afterlife. Yet nothing about this tomb was consistent with those uncovered in the past.
●●●
Claire had sent the last of the student workers back to their tents to retire for the evening, and was securing the site for the night, when a messenger from the city rode into camp.
The note was from the Shamod, the old priest; he needed her to join him at the Temple immediately. The note sounded urgent. In the past, the only reason he would be calling for her was if he had news on what they’d been discussing. This felt different.
“Please tell him I’ll be there tonight, as soon as I finish up here so we don't lose any ground overnight.” She turned back to the corner of the tarp she was securing, signaling the end of the conversation. Or so she thought.
When she walked around to tighten the last corner, the messenger cleared his throat. Claire stopped and turned toward him. “Yes?”
He stepped closer and raised his voice. “I am here to escort you…”
When Claire raised her eyebrows, he backed down. “I am to escort you to the Temple, and Shamod told me not to take no for an answer.” The poor messenger looked as if he was a little scared when Claire put her hands on her hips and looked down on him.
Finding the little man amusing, Claire laughed. “All right, don't get your panties in a bunch. Let me tighten this corner, and I'll be right behind you.”
All the way back into the city, Claire wondered what he had found out. Nothing about the day felt right; then again, Claire had not known what normal felt like for years. Throughout the day, she had to keep pushing the urge to go into Cairo out of her mind; ironically, that was where she was going now, and it was not through her choice.
Chapter 16
In the dark, Spencer walked briskly down the hall of the palace, looking for someone, anyone. The further she walked barefoot along the damp, musty corridor, she knew immediately where she was. Turning the familiar corner, she entered into the library where she and Shamod had studied the scrolls a week prior.
“I’m indebted to you.”
“You were foolish, and risked your life.” He did not turn around.
Spencer lowered her head, moved across the room, and sat in the chair next to his. “I know who she is.”
“Yes, I know. Mohammad told me you asked for directions to where she is unearthing your final resting place.”
Taken aback, speechless, Spencer blinked rapidly at the information.
“Come.” He rose. “I have something to show you.”
A multitude of thoughts ran through her mind as he led her down the hall. The cold, damp air wrapped around her like a heavy coat of chains as she descended down the tight staircase. In the absence of flaming torches, the dimness gave the impression of a dungeon. Spencer opened her mouth to chide him, when everything suddenly changed around her. Swirls of brilliant lights danced around her. She was transformed into a bright room, beautifully decorated with silk and gold statues.
“Hello?” she called out.
“Step forward,” a voice said, but there was no one there.
“I can’t see you.”
“Sight is only one way you will find me, you will have to open your heart and trust what is about to come. A great sacrifice will need to be made. Don’t fear, my love, we will be together soon.”
“What sacrifice? How will I know when it’s time?”
“My sweet Yiara, you will know. Come forward into the light, reach out for me, and I will be there.”
“Why can’t I see you?”
“Open your eyes…” the voice faded slowly until it was gone.
Spencer ran from one side of the room to the other in search of the messenger. “Don’t go, tell me what I’m looking for.”
There was no answer. The room began to swell, then spin, and all went silent. On her knees, Spencer looked up into Shamod’s eyes and whispered. “I think it’s almost time.”
“Yes, the prophecy is coming to pass.”
“Have you learned anything new?” She felt a little foolish interrupting him, but she had so many questions.
“Come,” he said in a low voice. He was obviously leading her somewhere important. She had questions, he had the answers, so she took a few hurried steps after him as he started to walk away. “There,” he said, holding up one hand and pointing down the hall.
At the end of the stairwell, they entered a medium-sized round room with stone columns holding up the roof, well lit by oil lamps. Spencer pursed her lips. “What are we doing in here?”
“You have just recovered from a terrible ordeal, rest and wait here.”
She did as she was told, taking a seat, and pouring herself a glass of water. Tired, she blinked her eyes groggily, and reached up to rub at them with one hand. She squinted, and then sat back with a yawn.
When Hemed brought in the tray of food, Shamod waved his hand. “Eat.”
●●●
An hour passed, and neither spoke. Spencer was beginning to get annoyed. It bothered her that he was being vague.
“Why are we in here, and how much longer do we need to sit here?”
The priest bit the inside of his mouth, and somehow forced his voice to remain level. If he had been addressing one of his own kind, he felt he wouldn't have been able to maintain his composure. He folded his fingers together as he spoke, “All in good time.”
“You have to tell me something.” He looked away and said nothing. It was then Spencer got an odd feeling. Her heart began to thunder in her chest; his silence only meant one thing. He had sent for her. Please, let her come. Let me at least see her. She shut her eyes again and prayed silently, hoping she was not wrong.
Time had stretched out too long. Spencer let out a small sigh, stood, and reached over to dim the lamp next to her chair. “How much longer should we wait in here? I need to rest.”
Shamod raised his gaze for a brief second, then looked back down to the book in his hand. “There’s a foot stool, make yourself comfortable.”
He could see the heat burn in her cheeks, and knew his tone and avoidance to her question angered her.
“Ten minutes, that’s it. Then I’m leaving.”
He did not look at her this time. A slight smile curved his lips and he began to hum.
●●●
Upon approach, Claire looked on at the Temple. From her vantage point, it looked like it was leaning over on the hill. The moonlight shone on the craggy, tumbled-down surface. Moss clung in the shades of ancient walls like a shaggy beard. The once proud turrets had crumbled in places, the once smooth rock was pitted and scarred. The old structure of the hill knew how fleetingly time passed, how soon the present became the past, and the important became the irrelevant.
Claire breathed a sigh of relief. The journey back was longer than what she was used to. She was annoyed after having to abandon her jeep in the desert when it had hit a patch of quicksand and had partially sunk. Sharing the camel with the messenger was not only uncomfortable, but his lack of hygiene assaulted her senses.
She had never been so happy as she was at that moment, to enter the Temple forecourt. Any other day, it would have caused her to shudder. The place lacked life. The walls stood mute, the pond water awaited the call of the wind to ruffle and move it like molten glass of a deep green. All around her, grey stones rose from the land, unapologetic and cracked. It wasn’t a world of fantasy, yet, since she’d discovered the reason for her dreams, she felt as if she was living in a movie. Even though everything she could see around her was real, at the same time it seemed impenetrable. This time, it was different, the atmosphere was dense and heavy—something had changed since the last time she’d been t
here.
A sound from behind caused her to jump. She turned to look. Nothing. Not even a shadow, except those that already crawled down the walls. She didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed. Another sound, and a light escaped from a doorway.
“Come, we’ve been waiting for you.” Hemed held the door open and shone his lantern along the path. He said nothing as they walked, the only sound was the clacking of her boots against the stone passage. The quiet was deafening, and she wanted to scream. She’d thought she would be used to it by now. The younger of the priests never said anything to her, yet, if she listened, she would hear him talk to the older priest when he was sure she was out of earshot.
He lifted his hand; the shadow on the wall looked like a thin tree branch with fingers, pointing. “In there,” he said, loud enough for only her to hear.
For a brief second she froze. Claire stood just outside the closed door—and she could feel her. Turning on her heels, eyes wide, she asked, “She’s here?”
Hemed did not say anything, he confirmed with a slight smile.
Both of her hands made their way over her clothes, straightening them. “Do I look okay?”
He only nodded his head, stepped forward, and opened the door.
Light illuminated into the dark hallway, but she didn't speak. Even though her mouth was open, no words formed.