Close Up the Sky

by James L. Ferrell

  Matt stood up; the others followed suit. Taylor had informed him about her discussion with Nefertari in which she had mentioned Edward's wound, but the queen had not expounded on its seriousness. He looked at Summerhour. "I’ve been meaning to ask you; did you know he was hurt?" he inquired in a calm voice.

  "No, not before now," Summerhour responded. "I told you what I saw when I examined the bodies of his teammates. He may have been injured then, but I had no way of knowing it. If he's delirious, or mad, like the boy says, it could explain his disappearance."

  Taylor turned to Haremheb. "Go see if you can assist the caravan master. Tell him it is urgent that we depart as soon as possible."

  "Yes, my lady." Haremheb jumped to his feet and started to leave.

  "Just a minute." Summerhour reached out and grabbed the boy’s arm. "Did the caravan master say anything about the green stone this man was carrying?"

  "No, my lord."

  "You're sure?"

  "Yes." He jerked away and took off toward the temple.

  "Let's get our gear together and see if we can help with the preparations," Matt said. "The sooner we're out of here the better."

  Before leaving Thebes, Balkem had informed them of the route they would have to take if they intended to arrive at the same destination as Edward. The first leg of the journey, reaching Ipu, had been accomplished swiftly thanks to the Egyptian sailors. From there they would have to cross a hundred miles of desert to reach the west coast of the Red Sea. The Egyptian navy maintained a small fleet of ships there, and would ferry them to the other side where Ramses had established a military outpost of several hundred men to monitor Egypt's eastern flank. Nomads frequently traded with the troops stationed there, and Haremheb hoped to retain some of them as guides to get their party across the Arabian Desert to the Euphrates.

  They departed Ipu when the sun was high. All of them knew it was going to be a long chase, but with the exception of some dark and threatening weather they experienced while crossing the Red Sea, the first part of their journey was uneventful. After reaching the outpost it took two days to arrange transport across the vast desert. Early on the morning of the third day they said goodbye to Haremheb. The men shook his hand, which he considered a strange custom, but Taylor thanked him with an embrace and a kiss.

  The boy stood by as they mounted their camels and departed on the next leg of their journey. He watched them until they were lost in the distance. His heart was heavy for the people he had come to know in so short a time. The woman was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and the thought that she might die gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. He had seen much cruelty in his short life and his instincts told him that one of the men in her party was devoid of compassion, capable of killing without remorse. During their trip to Ipu Haremheb had more than once observed this man watching the others with a strange expression. He had no doubt that he was dangerous, even more so than the demented one they were pursuing. Though Haremheb was a grown man by the standards of his time, it did not stop tears from pooling in his eyes. Miserable and dejected, feeling like a coward for not speaking out, he turned and walked toward the ship that would take him back across the Red Sea.

  The Arabian Desert was the most desolate place Matt had ever seen; even worse than the barrenness of the Valley of the Kings. A blazing white sun hammered them with relentless fury during the day, while at night, without the protection of the L-suits, the wind needled its way through their thin robes and chilled their bones. With nothing to do but ride and observe, he became watchful for signs of life. However, it seemed that not even the resolute scorpion existed here. There were no animals, no reptiles, no insects, and no Morruk criminals to plague them. Few words were exchanged during the day, so to relieve the boredom he occupied himself with learning to sway with the motion of his camel and tried to keep his spirit high.

  The caravan entourage consisted mostly of Babylonians and nomads of unknown origin who regarded the strangers with suspicion. Matt and Chuck were unable to understand their language, so Taylor had to translate all conversation. Hearing the strangers speak English only served to increase their distrust. All of them had either seen or heard about the madman who wore the black suit. They were aware that these strangers were pursuing him, and it caused much anxiety among them. To make matters worse, Summerhour had been questioning them at length about the green stone. Each time the subject was broached the person being interrogated would shake his head and deny any knowledge of it. After two days he resigned himself to the possibility that none of them knew anything about it and gave up. He stopped the questioning and became sullen.

  For safety, the four time travelers slept in the same tent at night and were rarely separated by more than a few yards even in daytime. Under no circumstances were they ever out of sight of one another for more than a minute. Haremheb's ominous belief that if it had not been for fear of Ramses the previous caravan members might have killed Edward and disposed of his body in the desert served as a constant warning for them to remain on guard. Given the taciturn demeanor of the caravan master, it was not difficult to believe that such a fate might also await them at a propitious moment. The ancients had a way of blaming things they did not understand on denizens of the underworld, and they might not hesitate to destroy anything that seemed abnormal. However, in that regard they were no different than many of their descendants. The Salem witch trials and the Spanish Inquisition were two notable examples of human extremism that served a particular purpose.

  Williams remained especially alert for any sign of betrayal. He never missed an opportunity to sharpen his knife when any of the nomads were watching, and he always remained coldly aloof when dealing with them. Even Matt found himself touching his concealed Beretta more and more frequently as the journey progressed. Then, on the evening of the fourteenth day, they reached their destination: a wide river that the caravan master identified as the Euphrates. Without comment the caravan workers began unloading their supplies and tents. When they finished, they mounted their animals and departed. The four time agents stood in the twilight and watched them vanish into the desert.

  Summerhour had a sour look on his face. "We better get set up for the night." He removed his contemporary robe and sandals and stuffed them into a pack. The men turned their backs to afford Taylor some privacy, and within a few minutes all of them were clad in their L-suits. Utility belts complete with weapons were strapped around their waists. They did not expect to encounter any more people before reaching the Gulf, but if that occurred they were prepared to meet force with force. They had come too far and risked too much to permit further delay.

  Williams scanned the land around them. His keen eyes found several places where campfires had burned. "Are there any people living around here?" he asked.

  "No villages, if that's what you mean," Summerhour answered. "But if you're looking for company, Babylon is about a hundred and fifty miles north."

  Williams shrugged and put his hands on his hips. "No thanks. I was just thinking that it might be a good idea to set up a night watch. You don't have to be real smart to figure out that someone’s been here before us. The ground’s all torn up and there are some places where fires were made. And by the looks of it, not too long ago."

  "Yeah," Summerhour observed. "We'll take turns, two hours each. We need to be out of here well before daybreak."

  "Is this a place where people ordinarily camp?" Matt asked him. "I mean, who do you think made these fires?"

  Summerhour went over to one of the ash mounds and squatted. The others followed him. He picked up a dead ember and stirred the ashes. "I'd say this isn't over two days old."

  Matt knelt and felt the ashes with his fingers. "I agree. But again, who made it?"

  "My guess is the caravan that dropped your brother off. It wasn't any accident that our guide brought us to this very spot. Most of these people know each other, so our nomads probably knew exactly where Edward's group was headed. We probably passed
them somewhere in the desert on their way back after they left him here. Judging from what Ramses said about the locals avoiding the sea people’s village, this is probably as close as they dared to get."

  Williams had walked a few yards away from them and was looking around along the riverbank. He called out and motioned for them to come over.

  "This may be what we're looking for," he said, pointing to a trail of footprints leading south. Someone wearing boots had obviously made them.

  Matt stooped and examined the prints. "It must be Edward's trail."

  "They probably forced him out of camp as soon as they arrived," Williams theorized. "No doubt afraid of him."

  Taylor knelt and gently ran her hand over the prints. She seemed to be almost caressing them. "Maybe we should leave now," she said in a small voice. "We could at least close the distance to some degree. I can't stand thinking that he's hurt and alone."

  Summerhour shook his head and glanced around the area. "We'd never be able to keep on the trail without lights, and we don't want to attract unnecessary attention by using them. In fact, we won't make a fire tonight just to play it safe."

  Matt knew that the Euphrates and Tigris Rivers eventually joined and flowed southward as the Shatt al Arab to empty their waters into the Persian Gulf. “How far is it to the junction of the rivers?” he asked.

  Summerhour considered that for a moment. “It can’t be more than ten miles or so.”

  “I still think we should leave now,” Taylor repeated. “We can see by starlight if we have to. Besides, the moon will be up soon.”

  Matt reached down and took her by the arm, helping her up. "I want to go right now too," he soothed her. "But we have to wait. We should be able to move faster than he can because of his injury. As much as I hate to, I have to agree with Mike. Come on, babe. Let's make camp before it gets dark."

  They walked the short distance to where the nomads had dumped their supplies. Summerhour opened a large bundle that contained their tent and rolled it out on the ground. The others pitched in, and they had it set up before the twilight faded.

  "I'll take first watch," Williams offered. "One of you relieve me in two hours." The others acquiesced and crawled into the stygian darkness of the tent.

  It was close inside, but large enough to permit a few feet of personal space. Summerhour lay down, rolled over onto his side, and exhaled deeply. Taylor pitched a blanket on the far side of the tent where she and Matt lay down. She nestled up close to him, put her arm across his chest, and nuzzled his ear. He drank in the sweet perfume of her femininity and felt contentment sweep over him. He put his arm under her head to cushion it from the hard ground.

  "I love you," she whispered in his ear.

  He squeezed her tightly and kissed her on the forehead. "I love you, too," he breathed. "You'll never know how much." They held each other and drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

  Outside, Williams walked over to the river and stood staring at the water. He remained in deep thought for a few minutes then went over to where Edward Leahy's footprints led away from the campsite. He studied them for a long moment, nodded to himself, and went back to the tent. He sat down a few feet away from the entrance and crossed his legs, Indian style. The desert was completely still, lit only by the pale starlight. He listened intently, but no sound reached his keen ears. After a while he took the long-bladed knife out of his boot and stuck it in the sand before him. He was not as familiar with the geography of the ancient world as Taylor and Summerhour, but he was not completely lost. During his career he had had occasion to serve in most Middle Eastern countries, and had even led military patrols along the banks of the Shatt al Arab. He wondered how much the twenty-first-century-river he knew had changed from the one of this time period. In a way, being in this particular part of the world was almost like coming home. He was aware that their mission was almost over, and he dreaded the end. He had come to admire the courage of the three people who slept inside the tent, and he did not want to lose them. He had never made any real friends in the modern world. The only people he knew were soldiers with whom he had shared a few brief days before moving on to other assignments, never to see them again. He had no family and no wife. But in retrospect, his life had not been completely wasted. He had been decorated a number of times for service to his country and was proud of his accomplishments. In a way, this mission was simply another opportunity to serve the land he loved. He closed his eyes and tuned his senses to the voice of the desert. After a while he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, feeling the tension drain away. Many years ago he had learned that quiet meditation was the most effective way to fight loneliness. He smiled inwardly and felt his body begin to relax.

  Chapter 20

  The watcher crouched behind a boulder and scrutinized the man climbing the hill toward him. A tingle of excitement ran along his spine and saliva dripped from his mouth. As though the man became aware that he was being observed, he stopped and looked directly toward the watcher's hiding place. He put his hand above his eyes to shield them from the sun as he studied the hill’s summit. The watcher flattened his body against the boulder and held his breath. His intended victim stood surveying the terrain for a long moment, then resumed his climb. The watcher's lips pulled back into a maniacal grin, revealing yellow teeth. More saliva dripped from his mouth and caught in the stubble of hair sprouting from his chin. In a moment the man would be within striking range. Assured that he had not been detected, he exhaled a long fetid breath and willed himself to relax. While he waited a mist seemed to clear from his eyes, and he felt a strange feeling of kinship with the man. He cocked his head like a dog trying to understand its master's words. He searched his memory, seeking some association, but the attempt was lost in the sharp pain that suddenly surged through his head. It was excruciating, and his whole body writhed in agony. Each time the pain came it brought confusing images he could not understand. Sometimes they moved through his mind at terrific speed, each flash revealing an unfamiliar place or action. Men, desert, stone corridors, night sky, and pillars of green fire all rolled through his brain in an endless kaleidoscope of confusion. In the beginning he had tried to understand the images, but now he simply accepted them as part of the agony, knowing that they would vanish as the pain subsided. Somehow the images seemed to be connected to this particular place. A powerful force had been continually at work inside him, driving him on until he reached this hill. He could not remember how or when he had arrived, but hunger and thirst had been tearing at his insides for many days now.

  At last the pain subsided and awareness returned. He peered around the boulder and saw that the man had gotten much closer. A few more yards and he would be within reach. The morning sun glinted off the distant sea, and a breeze stirred the leaves of a bush growing near his hiding place. Everything seemed at peace. The man did not suspect anything. The watcher held his breath and bunched his muscles in anticipation of the attack. A fly found a bloody sore on his throat and began to probe it. With supreme effort he managed to ignore the insect and remained perfectly still. The man was now within striking distance, just a few feet from his hiding place. Then without warning, he leaped from his concealment and stood before his victim. His breath made a hissing noise as it escaped through clenched teeth. The man froze, his eyes bulging in terror at the apparition that had appeared in his path. His lips worked, trying to form words, but no sound came. He began to back away, but his foot twisted on a stone and he stumbled backward. As he fell, his leg folded under him and the bone snapped like a dry twig. He screamed as he slid in the loose rock. An object he had been holding in his hand made a shrill sound as it struck the ground. He tried to rise but the broken leg caused him to fall again. He continued to struggle, and as he lifted his face the watcher saw blood trickling from his lips and nose. For a few seconds the man hung his head and remained still, his breath coming in rasps, his face distorted by pain. Slowly he looked up at the specter standing over him.

  “Please,�
� he begged as he raised his arm in supplication.

  The watcher's eyes glowed with hatred, and a low snarl came from his throat. A surge of dark power flowed through his body as he leaped upon his victim. The man's scream was lost in the hot wind that gusted across the hilltop.

  Williams walked in the point position, about fifty yards ahead of the others. They had been underway for almost an hour, and it was obvious that Edward Leahy was following the river to the sea. His tracks were irregularly spaced, sometimes only a foot or two apart; other times so wide there was little doubt that he was running. Taylor felt that his erratic gate might have been due to delirium, or hallucinations caused by his injury. They all agreed, and felt compelled to close the distance as quickly as possible. However, none of them was willing to speak the unspeakable: Edward might die before they overtook him. Being on the point, Williams set the pace and increased their speed almost to a trot. No one complained.

  It was gray dawn and the air was still cool. A refreshing breeze that carried a pleasant water scent came from the river and caressed their faces. For the first time in two weeks Matt felt clean and strong. They had all bathed in the shallows of the river before dawn; Taylor first, then the men. Breakfast had consisted of some dry nuts and an unidentified species of jerked meat provided by the nomads. The cuisine was not appetizing but it filled their stomachs and provided energy. The thing Matt missed most was coffee: hot, black, aromatic coffee. He would have given almost anything for a cup of French Roast.

  Taylor walked beside him with Summerhour bringing up the rear. Her hair was tied in a ponytail that dropped to her shoulders, and she wore a wide-brimmed canvas hat that she had produced from her pack. The L-suit accentuated the lines of her figure and her eyes sparkled in the growing light. But to Matt, her physical beauty was only one of her many attributes. In addition to her intelligence and quick wit, he could feel an enduring strength flowing from her. As they walked she matched his pace with an easy stride, moving over the rough terrain with balance and grace. She could have had her pick of a thousand men, and he was still amazed that she had chosen him, completely and without reservation. Even more unbelievable was her confession that she considered herself among the most fortunate of women to have his love. It was a dream beyond his wildest imagination. Fate had brought them together, but it was the sure and certain knowledge that they were truly meant for each other that welded the bond between them. Their spirits were mated, now and forever, and neither of them could ever go back.