Song of Isis

by Diana Kirk

  Alex clenched her jaw and thought of the words she'd overheard. "I don't care."

  "But--"

  "Enough." She threw her hand up. "He's got other things to occupy his time, right now. Seta, you don't have to do this. You've got Kasim and your whole life ahead of you, and I've got to make it back to my home. It's far away. Somewhere in a future time. I don't even know if this will work. I just know I have to try."

  Seta placed her hand on Alex's shoulder. "Before you saved me from the crocodiles in the black depths of the Nile, I was dead already, without benefit of the great embalmer, and my ka was doomed to wander the earth forever. Your magic gave me new life and I swore to be with you always. If the gods permit, I have no desire other than to follow you--even to your own world if need be."

  Alex threw her arms around the brown skinned woman and hugged her tightly. With her hand firmly linked in her friend's, Alex strode through the sand in the direction of the sun, far away from the Nile, and as far away from Tarik as she could get.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "I LEAVE YOU now, my Queen." Tarik bowed and turned.

  Tem sighed deeply and the slightest smile crossed her lips. "I can go to Thebes confident in your affections for me?"

  "You have my sworn oath." His sins grew each passing moment. First, hiding the scroll from Alex and now telling Queen Tem he loved her. Yet was it not worth it for the sweet oblivion in the arms of the woman he loved?

  He passed through the doorway and a faint scent of queres filled him with familiar longing. Strange. Ever since Nafari had given it to her, the only one he'd known to wear this was Alex. Even the Queen never wore the precious spice. It was usually hoarded for the afterlife. No. This scent belonged to none other than his wife. A sense of apprehension turned his feet to stone and his legs grew limp and weak.

  He glanced down the hallway. Had she been here to hear his traitorous words of devotion to Queen Tem? Nay. It could not be. He would have sensed her presence. Yet, a foreboding sense of doom shrouded him.

  Tarik hurried to their chambers, threw open the door, and glanced about the clothing-strewn room. Silence greeted him as if it had the power to shatter his soul.

  "Alex? Alex?" he called out as if he expected an answer. He was sure, now, she had stood at the doorway and heard each one of his lies. How long, he had no knowledge of, but it was obvious she had been there long enough.

  His knees gave way and he sat quickly on their bed. Her absence was as final as an embalmer's chant. Had she found the scroll he'd hidden away so carefully? Tarik ran to the locked chest that stood beneath his statue of Isis. The lock was still intact and she hadn't broken the lid. Praise the goddess, his secret was still safe. She might make it to the tomb, but never back to her land.

  He had to find her and stop this madness that had poisoned their union. She would listen--she had to.

  Tarik hurried from his chambers and down the hall. "Bring Seta to me," he ordered to Akiki who'd stumbled lazily into his path.

  Akiki scratched his head and yawned. "She is not here, Master. She has gone with Lady Alex."

  Tarik stopped and grabbed the servant's shoulders. "Gone? Gone where?"

  "I do not know." He shrugged. "Perhaps she has gone where your Lady most wishes to go." His voice sharpened and he pointed West. "Into the desert and the tomb of the Pharaoh."

  TARIK TOPPED one dune and hurried down another. Out of breath and stumbling over the small rocks and soft sand left in his wake, Akiki and Kasim followed close behind.

  "Lord Tarik, I beg you to stop," Kasim shouted and pointed to the orange ball dipping into the endless sea of sand. "Ra dies into the West. We must go back before darkness overtakes us."

  Tarik turned momentarily and eyed the stragglers. "Go back then, you weak old women. I will continue on alone."

  "Nay, Master, we cannot." Akiki ran up and stood beside him. "We will not leave you to the spirits."

  Tarik grinned at the pair. The idea of these two protecting him was beyond comprehension. "I do not need your help, yet your loyalty is much appreciated. You will be well rewarded."

  "There." Kasim pointed to the top of a large dune where a dark mound was shadowed against the sun's last remaining rays. "I see a form. I pray it is not your lady wife."

  Tarik broke into a full run and within moments stood before a figure shrouded in blood covered robes.

  "Alex," Tarik cried out and pain ripped through his chest. Had his foolish actions ended in tragedy for them both? How dare he think he could save her from Tem and not lose her to the gods. He reached down and lifted the blood-soaked cloth from her head. Relief stilled his heart. "It is Seta."

  Kasim rushed to her side and wrapped her in his arms. "She is alive, my lord, but barely so."

  Tarik picked up the bag Alex always carried and looked inside. Empty. Its contents had been strewn about the desert. His beloved Alex was still out there somewhere amidst the shadowed dunes. The urge to run about searching blindly for his wife consumed him, but there were other, most urgent matters to attend. From the amount of blood lost, Seta hovered between life and death. She needed him now. He knelt down and examined the wound on her head. "It is deep, but she should survive. Seta," he spoke gently. "Where is Alex? Has she gone to the tomb?"

  He clenched his fist and fought the urgency within his heart. "You must take her back. I will go on to the tomb for Alex."

  "Nay...." Seta's voice but a whisper, she reached out and gripped Tarik's arm. "She is not at the tomb."

  "Woman, tell me where," Tarik ordered but Seta had lost consciousness. He scanned the shadowed horizon for another blood -soaked form, a silhouette, a figure he could run and gather into his arms, but only the shifting sands answered his gaze.

  "I will find Alex and when I do, I will kill the jackals who took her."

  SETA SIPPED the broth Tarik fed her and thanked him. Tears streamed from her eyes and she thrashed her head against the headrest. "I have failed her, my Lord. She is lost to us forever."

  Tarik's heart thrummed heavily against his chest and he fought the urge to shake the information from her. "Nay, Seta, it is I who failed."

  "Oh, my Lord, I was stricken before I could--"

  "Shhh. Quiet, Seta." Tarik ran his hand along her cheek to quiet her. "You must not move, or you will break the stitching. There is little time to waste. Tell me everything from the time you left the house."

  "I am sorry, Lord." Seta's eyes grew wide. "Lady Alex was very angry and she took only what she brought."

  "Her medical bag from the future?"

  "Yes, Lord. She would take nothing more."

  Tarik stood and paced the room. He pounded his fist to his palm. "I should have taken it from her. She would never leave without it."

  "You would destroy her only belongings?"

  He stared at her a moment, desperately trying to clear his raging thoughts. Talking with Seta had accomplished nothing. Too much time had passed. Now, he would never find his beloved Alex. His stomach tightened, his lungs cramped, he clenched and unclenched his fists. His mind was too angry for words and a chill had gripped his heart. Fear bombarded him with an urgent need to be out there searching, seeking.

  He gazed into the servant's fearful eyes. She blamed herself. Yet, it was not her fault he had lost his only love. Tarik forced his lungs to fill and spoke in even measured tones. "Nay. It is only my worry speaking, Seta. Please go on."

  She took another sip of broth and sighed. "We walked to the point where you found me. We were surrounded." She hiccuped a sob and covered her eyes. "A great hoard of warriors stopped us. She struggled so, my Lord." Tears filled her eyes and she grasped his arm. "Our Lady Alex is very brave."

  "Who were these warriors, Seta? Did you see them?"

  "Oh yes. I shall never forget their faces. The Herakleopolis. They must have followed us from Abydos and they...they...they took her. I tried to stop them, but they hit me and left me for dead."

  Tarik's heart stopped. "Did you see her? Was sh
e alive?"

  Seta shook her head and a new round of tears flowed down her cheeks. "I only saw her strike at one of the warriors. They were fiercely dressed and spoke with angry tongues."

  Tarik patted her arm. "You did all you could, Seta. And you will be greatly rewarded. Do not fear. Isis will lead me to her."

  "But Lord, I fear for you. The Herakleopolis are our enemies and will do anything to destroy us. Perhaps--" Seta swallowed hard. "--she is already dead."

  "Nay. I will not think so. Now drink this." He offered her more broth. "It will heal you."

  "DOES NO ONE tell me what is happening in my own kingdom?" Mentuhotep's angry voice echoed throughout the rooms. "Am I not Pharaoh and a living god?"

  "That you are, my king." Kensu bowed low and prostrated himself. "I only learned this instant, Tarik and Alex are gone. I came to you immediately."

  "Gone? What do you mean gone?"

  "I cannot say, only that--"

  Mentuhotep motioned for Kensu to rise. "Get up. Get up. You've done no wrong. Just tell me everything."

  " Alex has been taken by the Herakleopolis and--

  "What do you mean taken? In my compound? They dare to intrude here?"

  "Tarik has gone in search of her."

  Mentuhotep stood in disbelief. "What?"

  "I--"

  "He took the armies with him, did he not?"

  "I--"

  "Stop Kensu. I have no need to hear more. Where are the Herakleopolian armies?"

  Kensu hurried to the map tables and rolled out a scroll. "My spies say they march along our borders with many men. But I am confident we can overtake them as they expect us to be in chaos searching for our great healer."

  "Alex?" Mentuhotep furrowed his brows. "How did they know of our Alex?"

  "As we have spies, my King, so do they."

  Mentuhotep set his jaw and slapped Kensu on the back. "Or maybe someone in my court has betrayed me. I do not take their insult lightly. They have stolen the woman who saved Pharaoh's life."

  "And many others," Kensu said.

  "Then it is settled. Assemble all our armies. We will not only return Alex to us, but we will take their lands for our own and join the Red and Black kingdoms for all time. We wage war on these pretenders to the true throne of Egypt. Set the attack at Ra's rebirth."

  ALEX LICKED her dry, cracked lips, wishing she could plunge headfirst into anything wet. A pond, a stream, even the Nile. She was way beyond fear of crocodiles, she needed water and lots of it.

  She struggled to get up, but her hands were bound in front and there was a cloth, or blindfold, or sack of some sort covering her face making it difficult to breathe. She tried to remember. Had she passed out or had they knocked her unconscious? How long had she been like this? And where in hell was she?

  She lifted her head and jolts of pain slammed against her temples. Her head felt like it'd been turned inside out. For days and nights and days again she'd been jostled about in some sort of cart or was it even a boat? She tried to lean against the side, but an unseen hand yanked the rope tied around her throat, choking her.

  "Take me to Abydos this instant," she croaked in her most commanding voice. Her answer was a hard blow to her cheek and she toppled against a solid mass. A wall? The bitter metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and cold realization fought smothering heat; they had no intention of taking her back.

  Harsh voices and heavily accented Egyptian--different from Tarik's cultured tongue--eddied around her. Were these the Herakleopolis she'd heard Tarik and Kensu speak of? Some things never changed. Past or future the Middle East was always a hotbed of turmoil and trouble.

  Alex hung her throbbing head. She was tired and hot and hurt from her cracked lips to her cramped toes. And thirsty. She'd never been this thirsty in all her life. All her thoughts screamed as one.

  Water.

  She had to have water soon, or it wouldn't matter where they took her; she'd be dead.

  "Water," she pleaded hoarsely. "Please, I can't breathe. I need water."

  Stinging words followed and something splashed over her, soaking her blindfold. Cold. Wet. Her breath caught from the shock of it and she sucked cool droplets from the coarse cloth.

  "Ah, foreign slave. You are not so haughty, now." A deep voice mocked her.

  The bag was ripped from her head and for a few moments the bright sunlight blinded her. Slowly, slowly a silhouette came into focus--tall, dark, broad shouldered, and dressed in some sort of metallic mail that glinted in the sun.

  Her head throbbed where he'd hit her. The man bent, touched a finger to her cheek and lifted a drop of blood that trailed from her mouth.

  "Ah, the great healer bleeds. Perhaps she is not the goddess they speak of."

  She spat out the blood and wiped her cheek against her shoulder. "If I were a goddess you'd be dead now, creep. I'm a doctor, plain and simple and if you don't untie me, you're going to need one." Where are the Marines when you need them? "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  He shoved her again, hard, and she fell against the cart. "You will not address me with your impertinent questions. You are professed to be a healer, are you not?"

  "I've done a few--"

  "You will heal our lord Pharaoh."

  She straightened, hope sparking to life, and glanced around the room. Mentuhotep was here? Then who was this guy? Why would the pharaoh allow his cruel treatment of her? From what she'd seen, the ruler was kind and benevolent. He'd never stand for this. But, what if he was mad at her for leaving Tarik?

  Then there was Seta, lying so still and alone in the desert. Surely, she'd been killed. And for what? Alex knew nothing about this barbaric race of people. But if Mentuhotep was really here, then there was hope, even if it was small.

  ""Mentuhotep? He's here? Please take me to him. He knows me."

  "Silence!" His hand shot out and slapped her face again. A fresh trickle of blood oozed from her lip. "Blasphemer! Mentuhotep is not pharaoh. He is but one of the lesser princes of the upper regions that would hope to destroy the sacred birthplace of Horus."

  "But, I'm--"

  The tall man reached out and yanked the rope bringing her face to within inches of his. "Nay, woman. It is the true Pharaoh, Khety, who governs these lands and I am his royal heir and son, Merikare."

  He jabbed his finger at her chest. "My father has written instructions so that I may conquer the regions to the south. Now, you belong to the black lands, and you will show your allegiance to my lord, father. Khety grows weak from fever. You have been promised to heal him."

  "Who promised this?" she croaked against the tightening rope.

  "The Queen of the red lands and wife of the pretender to the throne."

  A cold, dark hatred welled up inside Alex. "Let me guess--" She trembled, not in fear of what was to happen, but in anger at the betrayal that had been forged against her by the man who was her husband. "Tem?"

  He nodded.

  "I won't cure your pharaoh."

  "You refuse this?" He tightened the rope. The room whirled and, gasping for air, she fought for consciousness. In her last remaining moments, before the blackness overtook her, she heard his voice, deep and cruel. "Then you will die."

  "I MUST GO, MENTU. You must not delay me." There was fear in the voice of the woman who, only hours before, had openly defied him. Why all of a sudden was she so insistent upon returning to Thebes. Had she not begged to come here? Had she not used tricks and deceit to force a visit with her physician?

  "We are at war, woman. You cannot travel until it is safe." He sat upon his throne and contemplated her agitation with a slight sensation of pleasure.

  "I must, husband. I must return to Thebes."

  She paced the distance between them, stirring the air in her wake. Since Alex and Tarik had been reported missing, it seemed his wife was overly insistent upon leaving this place for the comforts of home.

  Very curious, indeed. Tem always knew more than she revealed and, in this instanc
e, Mentuhotep suspected that, somehow, she was behind their disappearance.

  "Silence." He stood, closed the gap between them, and gripped her arm. "What part do you play in this, woman?"

  Her eyes widened in shock and her jaw dropped. "What does my Lord say? Accusations against the mother of his son?"

  "Of late you have grown hard of hearing? Nay. I think you know the reason for this war."

  She shook her head. "No, my Lord, I do not." She cast her gaze away. "Tarik is my physician. I fear only for his safety."

  Mentuhotep released his hold. "Nay, woman, there is no room in your heart for another. You fear for no one other than yourself. Not even Lord Tarik."

  Pharaoh sat again upon his throne and pointed to her. "Mark this, Queen Tem and mother to my son, if they perish, so shall you." She shrank back in horror and he continued, his voice strong with righteous anger. "And by my own hand, I will avenge your evil interference."

  Tem flung herself at his feet. Denying. Demanding. Pleading. If she had consorted with the clan of Khety, then so much the better when he crushed their reign beneath the scepter of a united Egypt. He would alert his spies. Until he saw this matter settled between them, his wife would no longer be free to come and go as she pleased. And he meant to see it settled. One way or another.

  THE VOICE seemed far away, and dream-like, unreal in the hazy fog of her brain Alex fought open her eyes. She lay on the hard ground, her cheek plastered against a cool, damp sandstone floor. She lay in an awkward position on her side, one arm twisted beneath her as if she'd been flung to the ground like a discarded rag doll.

  The place was oddly familiar, as if she was deep inside a tomb. Yet she was certain she'd never been here before. Pungent scents assailed her, of unwashed bodies, of the dank, mildewed odor of a place that rarely saw sun-light. This was no tomb and she sure as heck wouldn't have forgotten a place like this. The stench of the room was enough to burn any like experience into her memory. In a word, it reeked.

  The voice sliced through her fugue. An odd voice, male, and annoying, yet.... "Ah, are you to be sacrificed for the festival?"