Journey to the Lost Tomb (Rowan and Ella Book 2) (26 page)

           
She
had found a long sharp stick the morning before and hidden it in the bushes
near the animals. She retrieved it now and stood near Ahab who was kneeling in
the sand. He swung his head toward her and bared his teeth. She cracked him
hard in the mouth with the blunt end of her stick. When he reared his head in
reaction, she leapt onto his back and grabbed the reins. She felt his head jerk
around to get his teeth in biting distance of her knee but she was ready for
him. She yanked hard on the right side reins and did the one thing she never in
a million years would have thought she would need to do to pull off a clandestine
get-away: she began screaming. She whacked the beast on the back end with her
stick and screamed and yipped and yelled as loudly as she could, trying to
ignore the immediate running presence of at least one Bedouin woman who dropped
her water bucket when she saw Ella.

           
That’s enough to get me killed right there,
Ella thought desperately as she continued to scream and deliver loud thwacks on
the camel’s flank. More slowly than she would have liked, she felt the animal
shift forward as he moved to get up from his back legs first. Ella leaned back
as he started to stand. More women gathered near where she was struggling with
the camel and they were now all screaming as loudly as she was. Finally, the
camel raised its front legs, forcing Ella to lean far forward. She switched
hands with her stick to hit it on the front shoulder and screamed until she
thought she would hyperventilate.

           
When
she turned the beast eastward, aiming straight through the camp, she saw the
scrawny form of Gita standing directly in her path. Ella urged the camel
forward and watched as Gita stood her ground, her hands on her hips, and then
step aside to let Ella pass. She could swear she saw the old woman smile as she
and the camel thundered past.

           
Before
she had breeched the other side of the small camp, the camel broke into an
ungainly canter that nearly unseated Ella as it strode over the dips and rises
in the rocky earth. Unlike with a horse, Ella was sitting too far away from the
animal’s head and neck to clutch a mane, if there had been one, or anything
else for added security. She decided to pray that the camel stayed true and
didn’t swerve or provide any surprises. Her injuries from the beating Ammon had
given her three days before had felt healed until she subjected them to the
punishing loping gait of the camel. The brutal cadence of the faster gait pounded
her backside with every footfall. Bruised bottom or not, she knew she was
dangerously and insecurely balanced on her mount and could come flying off at
any moment. As she watched the ground rush by below her, she forced herself to
look up and in the direction she was going.

           
And
she was going due east.

Valley of the Kings

Rowan and Carter
had gotten in the habit of playing a game of chess before dinner each night.
Claiming it calmed him to better enjoy his meal, Carter had his valet set up
the chessboard and prepare the pre-dinner cocktails in honor of his American
competitor (although Rowan, like most of his 2013 contemporaries, no more drank
cocktails before dinner than he wore a boater and loafers). Rowan looked
forward to the evening matches and Carter let down his guard more completely
when they played. During the game, his tone with Rowan quickly turned from
jailer to confidant and equal. It was during these times, even more so than at
the dig site where Rowan continued to accompany him, that Carter would ask
Rowan about the things Rowan knew—the things he shouldn’t possibly be
able to know.

           
His
skill at chess matched Carter’s closely. They usually traded wins and losses.
Rowan knew the value of the hour bent over the chessboard with Carter and he
didn’t often waste it. Whatever inroads he was making into Carter’s affections
were being made here during this daily hour of chess. However the great man might
pull away once they shook hands after the game, when they came back together to
play, their camaraderie was a little bit deeper.

Rowan looked
forward to the matches. He had to admit what had become increasingly clear the longer
he stayed in Egypt—he loved it here. He loved this place and this time. As
frustrated as he was at his situation, as worried as he was about Ella, as
unsettled as he felt about all that he had left behind him in 2013, when he
found himself forced to accept the situation directly in front of
him—this world, this heat-baked mountain of sand—he found himself
startled by moments of pure joy. The moments always snuck up on him, like the
time he was sitting by the fire after dinner, a warmed brandy in his hand, just
listening to the sounds of the desert night.
 

           
Rowan
loved the heat. He loved the land, and he loved knowing what would happen next
at Carter’s dig. For the first time in his life, he didn’t have a plan. While
he knew that he was working to free himself to search for Ella, he also knew
that success was largely out of his control. Without a single lead, he couldn’t
just go charging into the desert to find her. For the first time in his life he
found he was helpless to do anything but react to what the next day would
bring.

           
The
newness and the relief of that were mind blowing.

Somewhere in the Sahara

She could
smell
the river. She could feel the
humidity in her clothes and on her face. Excitement rippled through her body
erasing the pains and throbbing aches. Every time the camel slowed, she began
to yell and tap him with her stick to force him back into a canter. She had
only allowed a walk once—for both their sakes. Whether one of the women ran
after the men to alert them of her escape or whether Ammon simply decided to
come home earlier than usual, she knew she couldn’t count on much of a head
start.

           
And
this time recapture meant death. That thought prodded her forward as the sun
baked her head under her thin
hijab
.
She was surprised she wasn’t sweating this time. There wasn’t enough fluid in
her to sweat. In the end, she knew it didn’t matter and that worrying wouldn’t
help. Whatever would happen now was out of her control. She could only run as
far and fast as possible. Everything else would unfold as it would. Because it
took all her focus to stay balanced astride the camel at a run, Ella had no
other thoughts. Not for Rowan or the baby or herself. The cold truth of the
matter was, unless she was successful this time, nothing else would matter.

           
But
when she smelled the river and knew how close she must be, she cried out with
joy. The camel, already exhausted, reacted to her shout by immediately slowing to
a walk. Tired too, Ella allowed it.
Just
for a moment
, she thought.
I’m so
close now. Just for a moment.

           
It
was when she relaxed just a bit that she looked over her shoulder and saw them.
Tiny and in the distance but moving quickly toward her. Seeing the flapping,
dark robes, she knew it was Ammon. She grabbed the camel’s reins and batted his
hind end viciously with her stick while yelling at him. But the animal had had
enough. With a groan, he lowered himself to his front knees, catapulting Ella
over his head onto the sand. She landed on her back, still holding the stick in
one hand and the reins in the other.

Chapter
Eighteen

Ella scrambled to
her feet. She grabbed the camel’s bridle, unmindful of his teeth, and jerked
his head around to face her.
Was he about
to keel over like the horse did?
In the distance, she could see the
Bedouins riding steadily closer. She flung the reins over the camel’s neck and clambered
up on his back. She yelled at him while she banged on his rump with the stick.

The camel
remained rooted to the ground.

They were going to kill her.
She looked around to see if there was
any way out of this horror show. In spite of the dry heat, she felt her hands
grow instantly clammy. She knew she was blinking rapidly as she scanned the
horizon. And her breath was coming in short, ragged bursts. There was nothing
but desert as far as she could see. She couldn’t just give up. She couldn’t
just let them take her.
Let them kill
her? Kill the little one?
She walloped the camel on the hind end and was
surprised when he grunted and pitched her backward again as he leveraged his
feet under him to rise. She twisted around to see Ammon’s group much closer
now.
 

Dear God, why? Why couldn’t they just let her go? Why are
they doing this?

When her camel
finally came fully onto all four legs, Ella was facing in the direction of Ammon’s
group. She saw the Bedouins had stopped about a hundred yards away. She risked
the waste of a split second before turning away to see why and was astounded to
watch them hurriedly dismount. The four men in Ammon’s band appeared to be tying
rags over their horse’s faces.

Are they afraid I’ll be able to identify the horses?
Ella thought in bewilderment. Before she
turned her camel eastward once more, she watched the men gather together in a huddle,
holding their horses with their noses pointed down and their faces covered.
Ammon—she was sure it was him—seemed to give her one last look
before diving into the middle of the pack. Deciding not to waste any more time
trying to figure out their strange behavior, Ella jerked her camel’s head in
the direction of the river. As the camel turned Ella saw that the sky and the
ground and everything in between had vanished in a swirling wall of beige.
Disoriented and confused, she rubbed her eyes to try to adjust her eyesight.
Just then, wind cut into her face with a shower of sand that filled her nose
and her mouth.

It was a
sandstorm. She shut her eyes and tried to spit out the sand but more filled her
mouth and began to scrape and blister her face. She dropped the stick and the
reins and fumbled for her
hijab
to
pull it completely over her face. When she did, she was totally blind and still
she felt the wind and sand mercilessly rake her. But she could breathe without
taking in sand through her nose.

She felt for the
reins and gathered them up. Unlike with a horse, it was impossible to bury her
face in the camel’s neck, so she hunched down on him as far as she could to
withstand the worst of the onslaught of blowing sand.
 

Suddenly,
and to her complete astonishment, she could feel the camel begin to walk. She
clung to his back, gripping with her hands, her thighs and her heels. She bent
down as close to the animal’s hump as possible. Ella didn’t know if she was
riding toward or away from Ammon and his men. She only knew she was moving and,
at least for now, alive.

The camel’s
rocking horse gait lulled Ella in spite of the sandstorm’s howl and she found
herself several times having to catch herself from dozing off and falling. She
had no idea how long she rode like that. It felt like hours. At the point where
she knew she couldn’t stay upright any longer, the camel stopped and sank to
his knees. The storm still swirled around her but it had lost its force. She
knew that if she dismounted and he ran away, she would die. Yet she craved
sleep. She slid off him and her knees felt the sand beneath them. She leaned
against him, still holding the reins and vaguely aware that she was in easy
striking distance of his teeth.

She realized she didn’t
care. Peeling a corner of her scarf away from her face, she could see patches
of blue showing the wall of whirling sand. She had ridden all night. The
camel’s thick eyelashes were coated with sand but his eyes were clear as he
regarded her. She had chosen well. If she’d taken one of the horses, she would
have died in the storm.

Is that what happened to Ammon and his crew?
She looked in every direction but could
see nothing but swirling sand and undulating dunes.
Was she still anywhere near the river?
They had walked for
hours—at least five by Ella’s reckoning.
Was she five hours closer or further away?
As the wind died down
and the sun reasserted itself, Ella tucked herself against the camel for shade,
praying for the animal’s tolerance. And slept.

When she woke up,
the sun was setting and it was cold. The camel seemed ready to move again. Ella
took a moment to evaluate her situation. She was parched. Her face and tongue felt
swollen. She had slept with the
hijab
pulled around her face. When she took it off, she could feel sand in her mouth,
between her teeth, and in her nose. Her face was abraded even from just the short
time it was exposed to the storm. She touched her stomach. Aside from hunger
and exhaustion, she was fine.
 

Now’s when a canteen of water would be good
. She stood next to the camel and
surveyed her world. Sand everywhere. No hint of the river. No smell, no
humidity. She patted the camel on the neck. He had saved her from both the
storm and the Bedouins.
And
he was
still alive. As she ran her hand down his neck, she noticed that there was a
leather pouch tied to the bridle that she hadn’t noticed before. Praying there
was something in it to eat, she untied the leather strings that bound it and
sat down on the ground to open it up.

The thing inside
was black and desiccated, like the apple head dolls people used to sell roadside
in rural Georgia. When she realized what she was holding in her hand, she
dropped it at her feet and stared at it in horror.

It was a mummified
hand.
 

Why was it in the bag? What possible value could it have?
Who would want the grisly thing?
She wiped her own hand on her pants and was about to turn away when she saw something
gleam from the wrist of the small hand. It was a slim bracelet. Ella picked up
the hand again and detached it from the narrow copper band. There was etching
on it. She held the bracelet up to the dying sun and then slipped it on her wrist.
Kneeling, she buried the little mummy hand and took a moment to say a prayer
for the woman or child to whom it had once belonged.

She lay down near
the camel again and slept. She knew she should get up and start riding while
the heat of day was gone but she was too tired and too thirsty to bring herself
to remount. A part of her was pretty sure she was going the wrong way in any
case.

When Rowan came
to her this time, she didn’t have the energy to throw her arms around him or
jump up and down.
 
She was surprised
to see him, of course. Glad, too. But so, so tired. Annoyingly, he didn’t seem
to think she needed to rest. Which was unlike him. Usually Rowan was so
thoughtful. And all the while he was talking, the most amazing golden light
began to flicker just over his shoulder. Soon, she realized it wasn’t just
flickering. It was
beckoning
her.

           
“I’m
so tired, Rowan,” she said, watching the beautiful light. “Can’t we all be
together
here
?”

           
“This
isn’t a good place for us, darlin’,” Rowan said. “You need to get up and keep
moving. It’s just a little bit further.”

           
She
wondered how he could say it wasn’t a good place. As she looked around, she
could see the prettiest little spring just bubbling and gurgling right next to
him. And that light seemed to create the most beautiful halos around everything,
making it all glow and vibrate with the sheer
goodness
of the light.

           
“I
don’t think I can,” she said sleepily.

           
“I
know you can, Ella. You have to. Do it for me and for the little Tater Tot
you’ve got there.”

           
After
that, he pretty much dissolved into the mist surrounding the palms that had
sprung up. It occurred to Ella that if the trees weren’t real, then Rowan might
not be either. But the conversation with him, real or not, had spoiled her joyous
descent into the golden light. She forced herself to turn her head from it and
when she did, darkness quickly engulfed her. She opened her eyes and could see
it was still night. If she didn’t have the strength to get up
now
while it was still cool, she never
would when it was beastly hot.

           
The
hardest part was forcing herself to a sitting position on the cold sand. After
that, she knew she would stand and put one foot in front of the other. She put
her hand on her belly to give her the strength she needed and was amazed to
feel the bulge.
It had grown so!
If
someone were to see her now, they might actually guess she was pregnant.

           
Come on, Tater,
she thought as she
pushed herself to her feet and felt for the camel’s reins again.
Let’s go find your daddy.

The Valley of the Kings

Rowan was
dreaming of Ella most nights now. Sometimes it felt so real seeing her, talking
with her that he awoke with absolute disbelief not to find her curled up next
to him in bed. Disbelief and grinding disappointment. But the dreams did more
than just tease and frustrate him. They gave him a lifeline to her. Down deep, he
knew
in his bones
that Ella was still
alive. The dreams gave him an overwhelming sense that she was. He clung to that
feeling to fuel the strength he knew he needed to forge on day after day while waiting
for his time to come.

           
The
evening after Digby’s return, Rowan was careful not to ask Carter for any
favors. He’d been pushing Carter pretty hard recently and it was time to ease
up and let the long hours of friendship do their work.
 

Twice during their
evening game, Digby walked by the chess table. The second time, he stopped near
Carter’s elbow. After a few moments of silence, Carter abruptly said, “May I
help you, Digby?” Digby turned on his heel and wheeled away from the table
looking for all the world like a toddler who had just had his favorite toy
taken from him. Rowan glanced up from the board and saw Carter shake his head
in annoyance.

           
After
Carter won the game, he and Rowan moved to the dinner table.

           
“You’re
changing your gambit,” Rowan said, as he flapped out a starched linen napkin
across his lap.

           
Carter
smiled. “I wasn’t sure you’d notice,” he said.

           
“How
could I not? You set me up from the start.”

           
“Ah,
well.” Carter motioned for the servers to begin but Rowan could tell he was
pleased.

           
“It
won’t work a second time,” Rowan warned.

           
“You
never know, Pierce,” Carter said, a smile on his lips

           
It
was a smile, Rowan thought, of a man who had everything right with his world.
He was doing work he loved that he was well-trained to do. Carter was doing
work that had already given him a certain amount of international celebrity. It
occurred to Rowan that he didn’t know anything about Carter’s personal life. He
assumed there was a wife and children floating around somewhere back in
England. If so, Carter didn’t seem to miss them much. At least not so that one would
notice.

           
Digby
strode up to the table and took his place between the two men. “Finished your
game, I see. Who won, if I may be so bold as to inquire?”

           
“Mr.
Carter took the day,” Rowan said, spooning a portion of the chicken
tagine
onto his plate.

           
“
This
time,” Carter said modestly. “Mr.
Pierce is a worthy adversary. It is a fight to the death every time. Wouldn’t
you say so, Pierce?”

           
“I
would.”

           
“Never
played chess, myself,” Digby said. “Always been more of a cricket man. Both
Lord Carnarvon and myself were
dedicated
to the game in school.”

           
For
several moments, the sounds of utensils clinking against china as the men
filled their plates were the only sounds in the quiet of the evening.

“I was thinking
of moving the dig site,” Carter said casually.

           
Rowan
looked up from his plate. “Yes?” he said.