CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Marty focused on the mental image he’d captured of the merchants’ map-boulder. In the intervening three days, they’d walked past two villages that had been marked on the map, and were completely abandoned. Aside from empty mud-brick homes and farmland that had been almost taken over by encroaching sand dunes, there was nothing to see. No food. Not a single piece of unbroken pottery or any valuables that might be usable for trade.
As they walked farther east, the terrain had become noticeably drier, which was a concern. They’d found food by hunting and managed to preserve a few hundred pounds of meat for their journey. Marty worried they’d run out of water.
As the group crested a shallow rise, Marty spotted a few palm trees in the distance. This wasn’t listed on the map. They were past the map, and beyond the personal knowledge of the warriors of the host.
Surjan walked up to Marty and spoke with a hoarse whisper. “I smell trouble up ahead.”
Marty gave the tall Sikh a sidelong glance. “Literally? What is it that you’re smelling?”
“I smell blood.”
A cold sensation washed over Marty and he focused on the terrain ahead.
“I can smell the copper in the air,” Surjan continued. “Something is dead, and it bled out recently.”
“Could it be antelope?” Marty asked.
Surjan hesitated. “I don’t think so.”
Marty crouched low and everyone stopped. “Surjan, tell everyone to back up and stay behind the rise. Let’s not make anyone aware of our presence yet.”
As the Sikh herded everyone back, Marty scanned the group and settled on his Egyptian companion. “Kareem.” He curled his finger at the young man, who approached. “You’ve got better eyes than I do, tell me what you can see.”
Kareem’s focused on the land ahead of them. After about ten seconds, he frowned. “I see movement near the palm trees. Looks like people and . . .”
“Sethians or people people?”
Kareem shook his head. “I think I see six people and a camel.”
Marty looked over his shoulder and motioned for Surjan to come back.
The tall man bent low and scrambled forward, crouching beside Kareem.
“Can you tell what direction you smell the blood coming from? Is it from the direction of the oasis?”
Surjan took a deep breath and shrugged. “The wind has changed. I don’t smell it anymore.” He pointed to the east. “But the wind was coming from that general direction before. It could be the oasis, or somewhere else in that general direction.”
François walked forward and said, “Are we going around them or trying to meet with them? I guess I don’t understand why the sudden concern. There are sixteen of us, they should be the ones who are nervous.”
Marty sighed. “Let’s approach, but be ready for anything.”
Tafsut, standing next to Surjan, turned and made a cutting motion with the tip of her spear.
Two Ahuskay warriors strung their bows and moved to the wings as the group began moving forward.
Surjan hung back a bit and began giving instructions to the group. “Spread out. If there’s trouble, we make an easier target if everyone is standing next to each other.”
As they got closer, Kareem walked up to Marty and whispered, “It definitely looks like six people. I don’t think they’re Sethians, praise be to God . . . unless these are short, fat Sethians.”
Marty focused on the scene ahead as they walked toward the oasis. At about one hundred yards, it was clear that his group had the undivided attention of the people standing in the shadows of the palm trees.
All six ragged-looking men were armed, with spear, sword, or bow. In fact, two of them had strung their bows and nocked arrows, and appeared to be aiming in Marty’s general direction.
François’s greeting boomed across the sandy plains. “Greetings, fellow travelers, we come in peace. Lower your weapons so we can talk.”
Something about the Frenchman’s voice had a profoundly soothing effect on Marty. So much so that it took all of his will to keep his eyes on the men ahead of them instead of looking in François’s direction.
However, three of the men at the oasis lowered their weapons and did turn to face François.
One of the others yelled something unintelligible and whipped something in the Frenchman’s direction. Immediately, two arrows flew from Marty’s group directly at the attacker.
One of the men tried pulling at the camel, which bellowed in protest and refused to move. Then he shoved his own spear through the camel’s neck.
The camel collapsed in a fountain of blood. The camel driver and the other men raced south away from the oasis and Marty’s group.
Some of the villagers began chasing the men. Surjan yelled at the top of his lungs, “Do not follow them!”
The warriors halted as the tall Sikh took charge.
“That may be exactly what they want. There may be traps. There may be others out there. Do not give them the advantage, do you hear me? Secure the oasis!”
Over the cacophony of voices, Gunther yelled, “François!”
Marty turned and a chill raced through him.
François was holding his arm as blood streamed down from the tips of his fingers.
He’d been hit.
Gunther raced to François’s side as the Frenchman sat down on the ground, staring wide-eyed at the sudden appearance of his own blood. “It’ll be okay.” Gunther knelt, cutting open François’s sleeve with his ankh.
François’s voice quavered. “I barely felt anything, it happened so quickly.”
Tearing open a wider hole in the sleeve, Gunther felt for the source of the bleeding and found a short metal spike buried in François’s upper arm.
The smooth metal shaft practically fell out of the wound as soon as he touched it and the blood gushed from the pencil-diameter wound at an alarming rate.
“I’m starting to feel nauseated,” François said as he closed his eyes.
With his right hand, Gunther squeezed just above the wound, trying to stanch the flow of blood as his heart raced with worry. As a medic in the German army, he’d seen similar wounds. With such a seemingly minor wound gushing blood in spurts, the spike had undoubtedly pierced the brachial artery. François would bleed out in a matter of minutes.
Focusing on the wound, Gunther fumbled for the strip of cloth he had in his back pocket, all the while squeezing François’s upper arm as hard as he could. The German’s heartbeat thundered in his ears as his skin tingled and his mind flashed back to that moment when Marty had cut himself at the rocky outcropping. He’d gripped Marty’s cut, just trying to hold it closed until he could seal the wound, and then warmth had connected him to Marty . . . and the cut had shut.
Gunther felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as a strange tingling sensation washed over him, and he tried not to panic as he focused on François’s arm. He touched the gushing wound and the tingling in his body intensified. Heat flooded through his chest, down his arm, and into his hand.
Through the thundering sound of his heartbeat, he saw his hand glow with an eerie incandescence.
Gunther slid his grip down to the wound and wondered . . . how was it possible?
He willed the warm sensation flooding through him to go into the wound.
He had no idea what he was doing, or how it worked. But he had confidence that he could heal by touch, that his healing gift was part of some new skill almost seemed natural, as if it was meant to be.
François’s bleeding slowed and then stopped.
The glow faded and a wave of exhaustion fell over Gunther.
François looked at his arm and grew pale. “What did you do?”
Gunther blinked his eyes and shook his head. He wiped the wound with a clean cloth from his back pocket and smiled.
He stood. He chuckled and shook his head, short on words.
“What?” François looked at his arm and flinched as he pulled out the projectile that had fallen down to the end of his sleeve. He held up the six-inch-long metal dart. “It was this that hit me?”
Marty rushed over and knelt by François. “Do we need a tourniquet?” He unbuckled his belt and Gunther put his hand on Marty’s. Gunther laughed almost hysterically. “What?”
“It’s healed,” Gunther said.
Marty’s face held a surprised expression. He leaned closer and probed François’s arm for a full ten seconds before he looked back and forth between the Frenchman and Gunther. “I can’t find a wound. All that blood and stickiness, but no wound.”
Gunther helped Marty and François stand.
Surjan raced to them, wide-eyed. “François—”
“He’s going to be fine.” Marty motioned toward the oasis. “What’s the story with the blood you smelled?”
Surjan continued to focus on François. “Are you sure you’re okay? Your sleeve is a mess.”
François smiled and patted the big man on his arm. “I’m a little woozy, but Gunther managed to patch me up. I probably need to get started on the meal—”
“Gunther didn’t patch you up,” Surjan said.
“No,” François said. “Apparently, Gunther can heal by the laying on of hands. Of all your gifts, the most useful. No offense to the rest of you.”
“You need rest, someone else will cook.” Surjan shook his head and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Some of the warriors are butchering the camel, so there’ll be kebabs.” He turned to Marty. “As to what I’d smelled, we found a body. I think that group came upon some hapless traveler and murdered him for whatever valuables he possessed. I’d wager that one of those possessions was that camel they ended up killing.” He offered François his arm. “Let’s get you by the fire.”
Gunther watched as the head of security escorted the wobbly financier toward camp.
Marty scanned the blood-spattered dirt and turned to Gunther. “I don’t understand. It looks like he spilled pints of blood, but you managed to heal him.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”
Drawing the ankh from his makeshift holster, Gunther pressed his index finger against the tip hard enough to draw several drops of blood. “I’ll show you.”
Sheathing the ankh, he used his other hand to press on the cut finger and tried summoning that warm tingling sensation. As he focused on the cut, a few drops of blood dribbled down his finger. He felt a dull ache bloom at the back of his head as he continued trying to summon the glow he’d just recently willed into existence.
Marty furrowed his brow, but he remained silent.
After a full minute of trying to pull something out of the same well and only getting a headache for his trouble, Gunther harrumphed. He stuck his finger in his mouth to suck on the wound. “I don’t know. I felt really tired after healing him. Maybe I’m drained. Maybe I used it up.”
Marty smiled and draped his arm over Gunther’s shoulder as they began walking toward camp. “Lucky for François, that you had it to use up. Lucky for all of us, that Kareem has eagle eyes and Surjan has the nose of a bloodhound and Lowanna hears animals talk.”
“And you know kung fu.”
“Well, I always knew kung fu.”
Gunther nodded. “You know, once I left the Army, I didn’t think I’d be fixing up patients ever again.”
Marty laughed. “We have thirty days left on this journey. I’d be surprised if we don’t have occasion to call on your gift again.”
Gunther nodded. That was what he was afraid of. Was the healing a fluke? Could he do it again, on command? And if he could, what if when it was needed, it wasn’t enough?
Lowanna was missing at the campfire, so Marty went looking for her. He found her a hundred yards away, staring into the darkness alone.
“You missed the excitement,” he said. “Gunther laid hands on François and healed him. Neat as any serpent handler.”
Lowanna turned and looked directly at him. In the reflected glow of the lights of camp, she looked like a woman made of gold. “Is that how François ended up a bloody mess, but didn’t seem any worse for wear?”
Marty leaned closer. “You don’t seem surprised. I mean, it looked like a dart had punctured one of François’s arteries. That man should be dead, yet somehow, without even a tourniquet, Gunther managed not only to stanch the flow but François looks like nothing happened. Not a hole in his skin, not a scratch, not even a bruise. Just the bloody mess. Don’t you think that’s a bit nuts?”
Lowanna shrugged.
What mistake had Marty made?
“I’m not saying it’s more impressive than what you do,” he said. “I mean, even without the talking with animals stuff. Your wilderness skills alone have saved us many times. And yes, you have gained some undeniable . . . special . . . powers. I’m jealous.”
Her expression stayed distant. He didn’t seem to be digging his hole any deeper, he was just digging on a completely different planet from where the hole was.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’m sorry.” She grabbed his calloused hands. “I have mixed feelings about Gunther saving François’s life.”
“I don’t think you really mean that.”
“I only joined this dig for the money,” Lowanna said.
“Yeah,” Marty said. “Me too.”
“It wasn’t even to get rich, though,” she pressed. “My family . . . needed the cash. This was the only way I could help.”
Marty resisted the temptation to tell his own story. “You did a good thing.”
“And he’s lorded it over me.” Lowanna sighed and squeezed his hands. “He did it more before you had joined the team. The guy’s a total wanker. He always treated me like a lesser part of the team. He felt it was my role to make tea and coffee whenever he wanted it, and I’ll be damned, I actually did it.”
“You did that for your family, too.”
“Yeah.”
“He didn’t ask anyone else?” Marty didn’t doubt Lowanna; he had confidence in François’s ability to be a callous jerk evenhandedly to the entire crew.
She shook her head. “Snide sexist comments all the time. I’d lose my girlish figure if I ate too many of those hard candies in the break room. How lucky I was to be hanging out with a bunch of men. Which did I find sexier, his money or Surjan’s muscles.”
“Maybe it’s not so much that he’s sexist,” Marty said, “as that he’s French.”
Lowanna laughed. “I’m embarrassed because I let him treat me like that for a paycheck.”
“You didn’t do it for a paycheck.” Marty gave Lowanna’s hands a squeeze and felt himself flush with warmth as she stepped closer.
“So I guess I’m not especially excited that Gunther healed him. I mean, yay, Gunther . . . but . . .”
She was tall, and she stared directly into his eyes.
They were alone. She was beautiful.
The two of them were so close, they were breathing each other’s air.
“I understand,” Marty said. “I should have objected back at first. I noticed that he said a few things that might have been off-color. I’m sorry.”
Lowanna slid one hand up onto his shoulder. “You noticed? You pay attention to me?” A sly expression bloomed on her face.
She slid her other arm around Marty’s waist and pulled him in for a kiss.
The world stopped.
Her supple lips, the probing tongue, the primal urgency as she pressed against him . . . she took Marty’s breath.
And just as quickly, Lowanna pulled back. “No. I can’t do this.”
Marty blinked.
Lowanna cupped his chin with one hand and smiled. “I’d take you right here, right now, but I can’t risk getting pregnant in this place.”
Marty nodded dumbly. She leaned her head against his shoulder and spoke softly.
“This place is completely bonkers. I had an implant put in just before coming to Egypt, a girl can never be too prepared. And that damned thing somehow wormed its way out of my arm after being here only a day or so. They’re not supposed to do that.”
“Implant? I don’t understand.”
Lowanna chuckled and gave Marty a hug. “A contraceptive. They last two or three years and are implanted just under the skin. Mine was in for a solid two months and out it came.”
She took a step back and stared at Marty with dark eyes. “I’m not one for public displays of affection, if you know what I mean . . .”
Marty laughed. “It’s dark, I don’t think anyone can see.”
Lowanna grinned, then looked down at her feet. “Maybe we should check in with the team again. On what everyone’s experiencing, I mean. Gunther can heal . . . what else has happened?”
Marty tried not to frown. “You’re not going to tell people about your contraceptive . . . or that we kissed . . . are you?”
Lowanna pinched Marty’s cheek. “That’s what I like to see, a man off balance and uncertain. Let’s head back and talk with the others.”
As most of the villagers lay on reed mats to sleep, the crew sat in a circle away from the campsite, sharing new developments in their experience.
Lowanna shared what she’d been hearing from animals recently.
“Woah!” Gunther shook his head. “That still amazes me.”
“Says the guy who healed François by touch.” She laughed. “Sadly, they don’t tend to say much of interest, most of the time. They’re tactical and immediate, they have short horizons.”
Marty motioned to Kareem. “How about you? Any new abilities, sensations, anything out of the ordinary?”
The youngest member of the crew shrugged. “My vision is good.” He tapped at the corner of his eye. “At night, too, praise God.”
“At night?” Marty pressed.
“As good as by day,” Kareem said. “Different, but just as good.”
“Nothing you don’t already know about me.” Surjan shrugged.
Marty shifted his gaze to François.
“You have all gained powers.” The Frenchman rubbed the top of his head. “Unless growing hair is a skill, I don’t think I have anything new going on with me. Unless, of course, Gunther’s success was due to my power to be healed.”
“François, you’re not seeing clearly.” Marty stabbed the sandy soil with a stick. “Or hearing, rather. There’s something going on with your voice.”
“Eh?” François said, sounding for all the world like Snidely Whiplash.
“Yes,” Surjan agreed.
Lowanna looked surly, but nodded.
“When you sing,” Marty continued, “your voice is like a jackhammer.”
“I’m flattered,” François said.
Marty shook his head. “It’s not that you have a good voice or a bad one, it’s something about the tone of your voice lately that kind of forces me to look in your direction.”
“I noticed that as well,” Gunther affirmed.
Marty panned his gaze across the team. “Everyone is still physically in top form?”
Everyone nodded.
“Not a blister,” Surjan said.
“I used to always get a stiff neck by the end of the day.” Gunther rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s gone.”
François frowned. “I’ve been thinking about that. At first, I thought it might have been the ankhs. Now I’m wondering if it could have something to do with those blobs of energy we’re picking up from our kills?”
“I have a question about that,” Kareem asked. “What are those cursed things? Are they the souls of the dead?”
“I hope not,” Surjan growled.
“It’s energy,” Marty speculated. “Vitality, power. It seems to come along with our . . . new abilities. And . . . I don’t know about the rest of you, but did you have a euphoric experience after contact with the light?”
The crew nodded.
Kareem hesitantly raised his hand. “But is it a sin? To experience this . . . this . . .”
“Orgasm,” Lowanna said.
Marty coughed involuntarily.
“Let’s face it,” she said, “it almost feels like a small orgasm, and anything that feels like that can’t be bad.”
“Where there is orgasm, there can be no sin,” Surjan said. “The Book of Lancaster, chapter one, verse one.”
“My boy.” François spoke with a warm tone as he addressed the young Egyptian. “We aren’t killing to achieve such a . . . thrill.” He shot Lowanna an exasperated expression. “Or to gain . . . powers. Yes, the collection of this energy has some beneficial effects, but we aren’t killing things for that goal. We fight and we kill to save ourselves, to save each other. Ultimately, that cannot be a sin. Do you understand?”
Kareem nodded. “And the people of Ahuskay? Do you think they experience the same thing?”
Marty shrugged. “It really doesn’t matter—”
“It does, though,” Gunther insisted. “They may be able to tell us what this is about. These energy blobs, as you call it.”
“Why does that matter?” Lowanna asked. “What would we do with that information? We’re here in this bizarre timeline just to get back to where we came from.”
“It could be very important to know,” Surjan said. “If we are fighting a battle, and our enemies might potentially have superpowers . . . or worse, might potentially gain superpowers during the fight . . . I’d want to know.”
“They get blisters,” Gunther said.
“Eh?” François again.
“The people of Ahuskay get blisters,” Gunther said. “I bandaged a few for Munatas today. Maybe that suggests no powers.”
“No guarantee the two things are connected,” Surjan pointed out.
Gunther shrugged.
“Guys, we need to be careful,” Marty interjected. “As it is, with our clothes and our . . . ways, we stand out. If we start asking questions that maybe give away that we’re not from this place, or maybe from this time, or worse, questions that make it seem like we’re not like them . . . that can only hurt us. Let’s stick to what we need to know, and continue onward. We’ve got a long way to go, and who knows what dangers are lurking ahead of us?”
“Agreed,” Lowanna replied and then the others all nodded in agreement.
“I think, for now,” Marty said, “our working hypothesis is that the natives of this time don’t experience the blobs of light and don’t gain the special abilities.”
“And the Sethians?” François asked.
No one had an answer.