by Diana Kirk
She shook her head. "I--I don't know."
Flies swarmed over severed arms and legs, piled like timber in front of tents, waiting to be thrown onto a pyre that burned continuously. The stench of burning flesh and death covered her like an airless sarcophagus and she gasped for air. The scene swirled around her and her knees threatened to buckle, but she bit her lip until pain forced away the vertigo. She wasn't a green intern. She'd seen just about everything Chicago had to offer in the way of gore. Just about...everything.
"Alex, do you need water?"
She wiped her arm across her sweaty brow. "No--I--" She reached out and drank deeply from the jug of beer the servant handed her. The warm beer coated her throat, yet she'd grown used to its thick, sweet taste and she felt curiously refreshed. "Thanks. I guess I needed that. I'm probably going to end up addicted to this stuff." A weak smile crossed her lips and she pulled the flaps of a gaping abdominal wound together while Tarik prepared her instruments.
During their never ending battle against death, the screams of each warrior's agony echoed in her ears in a cacophony of pain, still, her mood remained high. For she was at her husband's side. Together, she and Tarik stitched and cut, cauterized and bandaged, bled and amputated. As smooth as any surgical team, each understood the other's need and supplied just the right amount of assistance. They worked side by side, colleagues in the pursuit of healing the sick and dying, lovers who together did more than either could do alone. This was the gift of their togetherness. This was their contribution to the world. This was their destiny.
"Alex, do you have any of your pain killer left?" Tarik wiped his hand across his forehead leaving a streak of blood in its wake.
"That's not exactly sterile technique, is it?" she said, smiling and wiped his face with a damp linen cloth.
"The preparation you call morphine," Tarik said, unamused. "Do you have it?"
"Used the last of it hours ago. With the number of surgeries we've done...." Her voice trailed off.
"I am sorry. I will send the servants for my medicines. It is sad that you have no more of it." He frowned.
"If you have poppy seeds, I can make something like it. It won't be the same, but I took organic chemistry in medical school. It's not exactly alchemy as you practice, but there were a few students who liked to brew their own recreational drugs and I think I can throw something together."
"I have those seeds. You can do this?" His tired gaze brightened and a smile finally crossed his lips.
"Sure, I can do anything, remember?" Alex slumped into a chair and rubbed the back of her neck.
"I have forgotten that you must be weary from all of this." He waved in a tired gesture toward the open tent flap and the sea of men beyond. "You must rest," Tarik said. "It has been many hours since you slept."
"The same as you."
His gaze softened and he cupped her chin lifting it to his lips. "You are not the same as I. You are of much greater importance--"
"I don't think--"
"You must sleep or illness will prevail." She opened her mouth object again, but his hand softly covered her lips. "It will not do Egypt any good to have its greatest healer succumb to exhaustion."
She raised up her hands in mock defeat. "All right, you win. I'll rest, but only if you stay with me."
He turned his head. "But--"
She covered his lips with her hand. "And I won't take no for an answer. Looks like you've only got one choice."
He smiled a slow, lazy smile and reached for her. "All right, wife. You have commanded me and I shall obey. But only this once."
For once and for all, in this terrible place, Alex was secure in the knowledge that she would be happy as long as she was near her husband. She snuggled against him. "I don't think so."
JUST AS THEIR days were filled with the gruesome task of repairing damaged bodies and burying the dead, their nights were filled with delights no mortal could describe. In the quiet of the night Tarik watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his wife's chest. After a fitful start, she was now cradled in his arms and sleeping peacefully. A goddess from the stars, Alex was the embodiment of Isis, herself.
And like a goddess he would honor her with the truth of love held within his heart. Yet, still, he kept the secret of the scroll hidden and deep into the darkness of the night he agonized between his honorable duty and his passionate deceit toward the only woman that had ever stolen his heart and now his soul.
He must not do this. And yet, how could he not give her the one thing she wished for the most?
"Yes!" His whisper parted the air between them. He would give the scroll to her as soon as they returned to Abydos. "No!" The knowledge that she might go away forever, opened a fresh wound that tore his heart in two.
"TARIK, MY FRIEND." Mentuhotep clasped his hand in a vise and put his free arm around him in warm embrace. "You have done well with the wounded. Come sit and drink with me. Listen to the news Kensu has brought us from Abydos."
Tarik took the goblet offered him and sat beside his Pharaoh while Kensu took a long draught from his goblet and excitedly paced the tent. His friend was in a great state of agitation and smiled readily between gulps of beer and air.
"We have news," Kensu said. "Of Merikare and his armies. They are near Abydos."
Tarik leaned forward. "Abydos? But what of--"
"I said near. Truthfully, they are still deep within the red lands, hiding like the lizards that crawl the sand, raiding small villages against the Nile, then retreating back into the safety of the endless dunes."
Mentuhotep stood and raised his fist. "This viper is ripe for the picking. We will take our armies, leaving a small guard unit behind with the wounded."
Kensu frowned and placed his goblet back on the table. "I must entreat you, Lord Pharaoh, to give me the able hand of Tarik to fight by my side and heal those who might fall beneath Merikare's sword."
"No. He is still in his--"
Tarik came between the two men. "I must honor Kensu's wishes."
"I will not order this. You still have wounded here to tend and an able wife by your side."
"My Lord Mentu, Alex would willingly bid me to do this. She will stay here and see to those who are too weak to travel." Tarik turned and locked his arms with both men. "You are my king. And you, Kensu, are like my brother. Do not forbid me to exact the revenge that burns my heart, that which is written in the papyrus, and that which my wife would will."
Mentu stared silently at both men with a considering expression on his face. How would he tell Alex of his duty to avenge his honor? She was his wife and a physician in her own right. Of course she would understand full well the importance that he should end the evil Merikare's life. Certainly, she would bid him go.
TARIK STRODE back to the tent and glanced at his wife who tended a wounded captain. Even covered in gore, she had never looked more beautiful. She glanced up at him, trying in vain to hide the fatigue that left deep shadows under her eyes, and smiled.
"Tarik," she said softly. "I'm glad you're here. Give me a hand with this, will you?"
He glanced down at the complicated tear along the man's leg. She was trying to hold pieces of flesh together and stitch, all the while restraining the writhing young man.
"My love, how long have you been like this?" He leaned forward, holding the man with the weight of his body and the flesh with his hands, freeing her fingers to perform their magic.
"Not too long." She flexed her stiff hands and gazed up at him with weary, red-rimmed eyes. "I...I'm just tired, that's all. It's all so overwhelming. Never ending, rather."
She finished the wound and stood, stretching her arms over her head, revealing her lithe, figure silhouetted against the sun. Tarik's heart filled with pride and newfound longing for what could never be.
"And these guys are the winners?" She turned and pulled back the tent flap revealing a sea of tents.
Tarik slid his arms around her and touched his mouth close to her ear. "Yes. We have been gr
eatly victorious. Tomorrow, Mentuhotep and Kensu will lead a raid near Abydos, and I will be at his side."
"Abydos?" Her eyes brightened. "We're going home?"
"No, my love." He kissed her lightly. "Only I shall accompany him."
"But--" Her shoulders dropped visibly, yet her eyes remained dry.
"We have done all we can here and Mentuhotep grows impatient to squelch the remaining Herakleopolis. Merikare and his generals have banded there. You must stay and let those who cannot yet walk recover for a few days before they march to the south." He traced his fingers along her delicate jaw. "There are less than a hundred men here, and you need rest."
Alex pulled away, stepped through the tent opening, and turned back to him her eyes sad, her lips trembling.
His heart breaking, he continued in a soft voice filled with love. "And I have seen the fatigue you wear like a cloak. You will join me a few days hence."
She pulled away from him and folded her arms across her chest. "But you're going into battle? Again? Do you really need to do this?"
"I must avenge my honor and destroy the man who would give you cause to fear for your safety. I can do no less. I am bound by his vow to harm you."
"That's really stupid." Her eyes watered and she batted the tears away. "I don't want you to, and he doesn't matter, anymore. I don't understand."
He stepped forward, gathered her into his arms, and held her tightly against him. The mere scent of her excited him and made what he had to do all the harder. "Do you understand how much it pains me to leave you?"
She lifted her glistening gaze and met his. "I thought you didn't want...." Alex's voice softened to a whisper.
"I want you by my side so much, I do not even dare to touch you." He sifted his fingers through her raven tendrils.
"Then how could you--?"
"By Isis, there is no pleasure on earth as great as the feel of you beneath me." He kissed her roughly. "But you are safe here and that is my wish for you."
"Oh, Tarik." She leaned up and wound her arms around his neck. "Don't go."
"I must. It is my duty."
Her shoulders slumped in sudden understanding and she leaned her head against his chest. As a physician, she had to know duty.
"I love you. If this honor thing is all tied up in who you are, then I guess it's all right," she said flatly as if all her breath was gone.
Just the feel of her in his arms, against him weakened his resolve. "Tomorrow, will be another day of caring for wounded soldiers. I must not tire you. Rest my love. A few days hence and I will send word for you and Kasim to come. Can you wait for me until then?"
"I love you," she repeated. "I'll wait forever."
As much as the words of eternity pained him, they filled him with joy and desire. Tarik covered her mouth with his and relished the feminine hunger and need that boiled within her. The kiss, so gentle in its beginning, soon changed, becoming urgent and hungry. Repeatedly, he stroked the sweet heat of her mouth with deep thrusts of his tongue and braced himself for the want of her that would burn inside him until their joining in Abydos.
But this was not the time. His Pharaoh waited upon him to begin the journey. When Tarik finally forced the embrace to end, he was fully and painfully hard. But sweet release was not to be. He was a soldier first, physician second, and husband last of all. Yet, as Alex gazed at him, with passion-filled eyes and kiss-bruised lips, he could not, dare not linger any more.
With the dagger of regret buried deep within his heart, he released her without a word, left the dangerous enticement of her embrace, and strode from their tent, down the steep slope toward the wharf, and the ship that would take him from the one person who gave him strength. A woman from the future, named Alex.
A COLD FEAR coursed through Alex's veins and she shivered. "You are chilled?" Kasim said and lifted a linen shawl to her shoulders.
She shook her head and thanked him. Pulling the shawl around her, she sat down on the bed. The weight of Tarik's absence already bore down on her like a stone. She hadn't slept or even eaten much since they'd entered the camp. Was this something physical or was she experiencing a premonition of something terrible to come?
And now she had to bear this alone.
"You must rest, my Lady," Kasim said, easing her shoulders back against the head rest. "If the need arises, I will call you. Most of the men who can walk have joined Mentuhotep. I will watch the others."
"I am tired and there were so many wounded, I didn't really get a chance to sleep." Alex nestled her head into the softness of the bed and her lids drifted heavily against her cheeks. "Maybe just for a minute...a short nap...you'll call me...right?"
"I promise." He drew the linen sheet around her. "Now you rest."
The cool bed felt so good against her sunburned skin. It seemed like forever since she'd slept. It reminded her of her internship days.
Kasim was right. What she needed was sleep. Just a short nap and she'd be good as new.
ALEX OPENED her eyes and sat upright. Darkness engulfed her. She'd slept too long. Like she'd been drugged. She had no sense of time or place. "Kasim?" Damn it, he'd let her sleep. "Kasim, where are you?"
Only silence answered her call. She stood, padded toward the opening, and peeked out. The moon bathed the Nile below her in a cloak of shimmering brightness. The few remaining tents were silently dark and a shiver of dread prickled the back of her neck. Where the hell was Kasim?
She opened her mouth to call out his name, but something stopped her. Things weren't right. It was too quiet. No groaning men, no crying out in pain, no movement whatsoever.
Oh, my God! They're all dead!
The thought filled her with fear. Her breath froze in her chest and a cold sweat prickled her skin. Something had happened while she slept and she'd bet her ticket out of this place that it was something bad.
Her gaze darted around the shadowed tent for a weapon, but there was nothing other than her bag. She grabbed it and pawed frantically through the contents. Let's see, there was a syringe, maybe? Her lighter, maybe? She pulled out a small leather case and lifted the lid. Her scalpel? Razor sharp and gleaming in the moonlight. Perfect.
She gripped the scalpel, hid it into the folds of her gown, and slipped out of the tent. Moonlight sparkled over each grain of sand giving the dunes a diamond-like glow. Why did something so beautiful feel so deadly?
Alex skirted around to the back of her tent and about one-hundred yards from the infirmary. It was too quiet. What had happened to the men who spent the better part of each night wailing for the pain to end? Where were the servants who'd stayed behind to help her? What'd happened to the two-dozen soldiers who guarded the camp? Where was Kasim?
Her mind scrambled for answers. God, had they abandoned her? Maybe she was in the middle of a very realistic nightmare? Fat chance. She'd tried that rationale when she'd first landed in this dynasty. No. This wasn't a dream. This was reality and she had to make the best of it. Or die trying? She mentally shook herself. Stop it! She wasn't making anything better by thinking that way.
She'd check inside the infirmary. It had been filled with men when she went to sleep. They had to be there. If they weren't, then she'd deal with that too.
Alex took a deep breath, straightened, and glanced around. Nothing. Just the ever-present quiet, not so much as a snore disturbed its spell. She tiptoed at first, then broke into a full out run, rounding the side of the tent. She parted the flaps and stepped in. Dark and still, a sense of foreboding weighed heavily upon her chest. She stepped cautiously forward, reaching out her hands in front of her until they met flesh. Cold, sticky flesh.
She gasped and reeled back, stumbling into the moonlight. Her hand bore the dark shadow of blood. She gazed around at the remaining tents in horror. She'd seen death before, but she'd never seen cold-blooded mass murder. And for what? And by whom?
Her lungs burned for air in the deafening silence. She was all alone, out here in the middle of the desert, away from help, aw
ay from Tarik, wondering what was about to happen next.
Alex whirled and started back toward the only place where she felt safe, each step growing faster and faster, the tent she'd shared with Tarik only hours before. Gasping, she ran through the flap straight into a hard, solid wall of flesh.
"Ah, my sweet Alex, we meet again!"
She shivered violently as the cold, familiar voice chilled her blood to her marrow.
Chapter Seventeen
"I WILL NOT be kept prisoner. I am the mother of the birthright to Egypt." Tem shook an indignant fist. "And why has my physician not come to me immediately upon his arrival?"
"Tarik is not your physician anymore, and your son is not Pharaoh yet, my queen. And you do not have a choice," Mentuhotep slammed his hand upon the table and paced the chamber. "You will stay under guard until this is finished! Until we find that desert devil and execute him at your feet."
Hatred welled up inside her and she lifted her chin. "What are you saying?"
He stopped and glared into her eyes. "I know what you have done. That you sold Tarik's wife to Khety, as well as treasoned yourself against the throne of Egypt."
Tem swept across the room and turned her back on Mentuhotep. A dangerous course, no doubt, but one she must play out to its finish.
"And you shall never prove your accusations, my king and husband. Where is Tarik? Where is his whoring wife? The one who makes these claims against me?"
Mentuhotep strode up behind her and seized her shoulders in a punishing grasp. "Lying asp. I have all the proof I need, for I myself spoke with Alex days ago. She told me of your plot to rid Egypt of its healer." He loosened his grip. "You have been unmasked. There is no course but to face your guilt and pay the price of your deception."
She whirled to face him, anger shaking the control she had fought so hard to maintain. "As you wish, my Lord. But you will never find Merikare, for he is as slippery as a cobra and just as deadly."
Her husband's face darkened with rage. "You dare to talk of this man to me? And what price paid you for this favor?"