Reflections in the Nile (8 page)

Except that his weren't the dark eyes she'd seen and come to expect on everyone. They were amber, topaz, and gold swirled together and bordered by thick black lashes that accentuated his long, straight nose.

She dropped her gaze and searched through the “other” mind for some clue about this man. When she got it, her head snapped up in surprise and she tried not to gape. He was closer now, opening his basket and pulling out metal instruments.

“First we must do an examination.” Without meeting her gaze, he called over his shoulder, “Keonkh! Take down our comments.” One of the boys settled himself on the floor, crossed his legs, and smoothed his kilt over them tightly, forming a table of sorts. The other boy busily added water to a black pad and twisted his brush tip into a fine point.

“We are ready,
Hemu neter
Cheftu,” said the boy called Keonkh, his voice cracking.

“Very good,” Cheftu said with a warm glance at the boy. “Now, Batu,” he addressed the other, “what is our first point in examination?”

The boy came forward and looked at Chloe, who was seated silently on her night couch “Health, prosperity, and life to you, great priestess,” he said. Turning to Cheftu, he answered, “First we examine her color, then the secretions from her nose, eyes, ears, of the neck, belly, limbs, looking for any swelling, shaking, broken veins, sweating, or stiffness.”

“Very good.” Cheftu walked behind Chloe, staring over her head. “Tell me of her color.” The boy observed her skin carefully, and when she met his perusal he blushed faintly.

“Please extend your arms, my lady,” he requested, and Chloe stuck them straight out as he carefully went over every inch of her newly browned skin.
“Hemu neter,
” he said, “the lady's color is perfection. There are no abrasions, no swelling, no odors, and no discoloring.”

Cheftu came around staring at her blankly, like an exhibit, which Chloe supposed she was. Keonkh was furiously taking down every word Cheftu and the boy spoke. “Send the girl Basha for the lady's morning removal,” Cheftu said and the boy left, music from the main temple audible when he opened the heavy curtain.

Cheftu asked Chloe to open her mouth. He examined her ears, pressed down on her nostrils, and checked her neck.
“Assst,
” he mused as he finished his search and tilted her head back to look full into her face.

“Try to speak,” he said.

The sounds that issued from her mouth were garbled and painful to them both.

“Haii.
That is enough at present.” He stepped back and she looked away. “Have you had any secretions, my lady?” he said as he counted her pulse, his fingers warm and tingly on her cool flesh.

Chloe shook her head.

Keonkh went for water. Then Cheftu tilted her head forward and placed his hands on either side of her head his long fingers probing in her carefully arranged hair. “My lady, did you fall?”

She shrugged.

“Did you dream of grapes? Or figs?”

Was he weird? What kind of bizarre question was that? Then the “other” reminded her that those dreams were warnings from the gods of an upcoming illness. She shook her head no. No fruit-filled dreams.

Basha entered the room with Batu, carrying a large pot. Chloe recognized it as the chamber pot she'd stumbled to this morning. Cheftu had it set on the floor, and then he and Batu bent over it, discussing the contents in quiet tones.

The physician turned to her, and Chloe felt the breath catch in her throat. This couldn't be real. It must be a dream, a hallucination. He looked familiar, so apparently he was someone she'd liked and so had given him a role in her Egyptian fantasy—just as the
Wizard of Oz
was populated with Dorothy's friends and enemies. She dropped her gaze to his hands.

They were beautiful—the hands of an artist or scholar—with long fingers, squarely trimmed nails; not rough, but not soft, either. Hands to create and heal.

Her thoughts were interrupted as both boys returned to their places: Keonkh rapidly writing, Batu assisting Cheftu. From an alcove beside the door Cheftu removed a cow-headed statuette and replaced it with a jackal-headed obsidian statue. He then lit a dish of incense before it.

She searched her memory, trying to place the god's face and name. Cheftu withdrew a small papyrus from his basket and handed it to Chloe. “Since the problem is within your mouth, we shall speak to the god of your lips.” Chloe took the scroll in her hands and looked at it. It was written in hieratic, a shorthand version of hieroglyphs.

Batu handed Cheftu the water, and Chloe watched as he poured some of it in a black alabaster cup decorated with carvings of the jackal-headed god. He poured the remainder in a cup he'd brought. Chloe watched in trepidation as he pulled small jars out of his basket. His broadly muscled back hid his actions, but she could hear him murmuring while he worked. He turned back to her with a cup of yellow green water. “Drink, my lady.”

Chloe sniffed the water and tried to hide her smirk. This great ancient Egyptian physician had fixed her herbal tea! She sipped gratefully, honey easing the ache in her throat. He watched, his arms crossed over his chest. Closed body language if ever she'd seen it.

“Have you been relieved, my lady?”

Chloe met his look. His eyes were as emotionless as the stone on his finger and as exquisitely colored. He reminded her of a cat watching, carelessly and coldly. Hesitantly, because she didn't know what he was talking about she shook her head.

Cheftu's lips twisted in a cold smile. “Shall I call a slave, or would my lady prefer a sister?” Chloe shrugged. His eyes twinkled maliciously. “Batu, fetch the lady's slave!” Irit came in a few minutes later, crossing her breast.

“Life, health, and prosperity to you,
Hemu neter,
” she said. “My lady.”

Cheftu acknowledged her with a nod. They walked toward Chloe, and Batu handed Cheftu an instrument, narrow and long, no wider than a number eight paintbrush. Irit looked offended, but they both stared at Chloe. Her mind raced, consulting the “other,” who remained suspiciously quiet. Even Keonkh caught up in his dictation.

Cheftu's eyes darkened. “Does my lady need assistance?” he inquired icily. Chloe shook her head, and Cheftu handed Batu the instrument. He stared at Chloe, as if weighing a decision. Before she knew what hit her, she was turned over on her chair, her gown around her waist, and
something was being pushed up her…

Chloe tried to squeal and squirm, but a large, hairy knee was pressed into the small of her back. “Relax!” Cheftu commanded. “You are making it difficult for Irit.” Chloe forced herself still and looked over her shoulder, trying to see what was going on. Then she felt it water pushing through her system. An ancient enema.

I don't believe this!
her subconscious screamed. Irit's face was mahogany from the exertion of blowing water into Chloe's bowels. No wonder she looked offended, Chloe thought. Then it was over. The long instrument was removed and Cheftu dropped her narrow skirt over her bare bottom, removing his knee.

She stood haughtily, pulling her frail gown straight. Cheftu was turned away, and Irit had already escaped, giving Chloe a moment to calm herself. She hated enemas! Mimi had administered them regularly when she and Cammy were children, believing them to be a cure-all. Chloe seated herself, trying to ignore the squishy feeling in her body.

Cheftu asked over his shoulder, “Can you write yet, my lady?”

They had been handing her writing utensils for days now, and as her other memory supplied, she was able to understand and remember more of someone else's life. But it was only facts, figures, chants, languages. She had no idea how she had related to her family, her friends, the mysterious Sisterhood everyone spoke of…
no emotional memories at all.

However, she knew enough fact to know she previously had been betrothed to the tall, straight-limbed man before her and could fathom no reason why anyone would have exchanged him for that pig Nesbek.

She watched his long-legged body move across the room, pouring water from the alabaster cup over the statuette of … Anubis, the “other” mind provided. The god not only of embalming, but also of her lips and ability to speak. Cheftu caught the water in a cup as it poured off the figure, and he brought it back to Chloe. “Since you are unable to invoke the god, I will speak for you, lady.” His voice became singsong, rich, and hypnotic.

“Hail to you, Anubis, god of the West, speaker of the desert, he who protects the voice. I come to you, I prize your beauty, your sharp talons, which take illness from this priestess's side. Your teeth, which with mystery and justice tear apart the
kheft
which prevents the priestess speaking your worship….
” Then he threw the water in Chloe's face. She flinched in surprise and saw Basha step farther away, clutching at the Eye of Horus pectoral she wore.

Cheftu stood before Chloe, watching her face. “Basha,” he called over his shoulder. “The lady must take the water from Anubis’ power four times a day for four days. You must recite the prayer for her, until she can speak for herself.” Chloe dropped her gaze, feeling the water drip down her face and dress, making it transparent. She crossed her breasts with her arms. Cheftu noted her movements and gave a hollow bark of laughter as he walked away.

He left to mix some herbs, taking the others with him. Chloe sat in her chair; she had serious doubts about the success of the medical care she had just received. Hadn't Cammy said the Egyptians were far advanced medically? Enemas and herbal tea? She sighed. Apparently the lean Egyptian was not a graduate of Johns Hopkins, Wasetian style. Now that she didn't have an audience, she wiped the water off her face.

It had been fourteen days since she had awakened in this white room. Fourteen days of hearing she was in ancient Egypt during the peaceful reign of the Great House, King Hatshepsut … called pharaoh in Chloe's time.

Fourteen days of inhabiting her own body in the skin of another. Fourteen days of seeking an explanation between the alternatives of drugs, insanity, Technicolor dream … or reality. During her time here, she'd grudgingly acknowledged that just as she had merged,
if she had merged,
with RaEmhetepet's body, she also had access to RaEmhetepet's mind. How and why—and sometimes even
if
—it had happened, she did not know and did not know whom or how to ask.

She had been regaining her strength and wondering how to get back to her own life—provided she could. She decided to sneak out of her room later tonight and run back to the altar where she'd been found, hoping that some combination of time and position would throw her back into her own century. If, indeed, she had time-traveled at all.

If that was a possibility.

Meanwhile people kept showing up, threatening, cajoling, and speaking of incidents and stories that were apparently a part of the emotional memory she did not have, like the hooded figure who had stood beside her bed in the middle of the night and recited charms over her, her face hidden by her cloak. Chloe had remained immobile, turned on her side, head resting on her arm. The visitor obviously had not expected her to awaken, and when Chloe heard the threats she was making, Chloe didn't want to. Something about revenging her family, the
ka
of her brother finally resting.

Everyone was trying to prompt her memory; what they did not realize was that she had the wrong memory. Whatever else RaEmhetepet might have been, she had associated with some real slimeballs and was walking on the edge of something dangerous.

Cheftu's cold voice brought her out of her reverie, “… to dream about your happy future.” He placed an alabaster jar on the table before her and turned to go. The boys were cleaning up the supplies. Chloe reached out, grabbing his forearm.

He turned to her, his golden eyes angry, his voice bitter and disinterested. “Leave me be, RaEm. I am no longer interested in your plotting and games. I cannot imagine why you are not speaking and what magic you have used to change your eyes, but I am beyond caring. The past is gone—only for the sake of your position am I here. Take your talons from me.”

Even as he finished the angry words that apparently RaEm would have understood, Chloe could sense him softening as he looked into her eyes.

S
WEET
I
SIS,
C
HEFTU THOUGHT.
Somehow RaEm did not know what to do or where to go. Though nothing was physically wrong that he could find, her memory seemed genuinely incomplete. If so, she was at a distinct disadvantage. She didn't seem to know that Hat and Hapuseneb were stalking her, trying to ascertain if she had broken her vows, gauging how to find out and rid themselves of this unknown factor. Cool and calculating RaEm, for once
she
was under the blade.

Cheftu felt no surge of power or sweet taste of revenge as he saw the faint lines of strain in her forehead and around her full lips. Had he forgiven her? He certainly had not forgotten.

She snatched back her hand and clasped it so tightly in her lap that white showed around the knuckles.

“RaEm,” Cheftu said, wondering at himself, “there are those who will not betray you. Tell them your tale. Maybe they can help you; these are uncertain times. Though we have hated each other these past years, still do not forget we once were close. For the sake of your family, and my esteem for Makab, tell me for whom to send. You can trust my discretion.”

She did not look up.

Cheftu stood, anticipating for a moment, then cursing his own hopeful stupidity. With a curt word he and the two
w'rer-
priests left. She didn't move, but Cheftu felt her gaze as he walked down the cool, dark hallway away from her.

CHAPTER 3

C
hloe slipped out of her room. It was dark, and she knew Basha was gone. Drawing a thick white cloak around her, she stepped outside her door, alone for the first time since waking in this fantasy world.

The heavy odor of myrrh floated in the air. It was Amun's favorite, so Pharaoh had sent to Punt and brought back myrrh trees. The temple was filled with their fragrance at all times.