Lauren Haney - Path of Shadows

Awakened by the donkey as Bak had been, the Medjays scrambled to their feet. Following his example, they looked around at a world they had not been able to see clearly in the moonlight. The plateau that edged the wadi to the west looked taller than it had in the night, and closer. The row of tamarisks followed the modern watercourse around a gentle bend to the north. The secondary wadi up which they would travel-for no more than three days if the gods smiled upon them-led off to the east through the gap they had seen the previous evening between the ridge and the mound they had skirted for much of their journey from Kaine. An irregular row of scraggly trees meandered up that watercourse for a hundred or so paces

Senna, making no secret of his interest in the men camped near the well, watched them as they roused themselves from sleep and began to get ready for their day’s trek. Bak, too, was curious. What had prompted so many men to journey along this particular trail, normally frequented by only a few nomads? Had they, too, heard rumors of gold? Had they been lured into this harsh and unforgiving land by the same tale of riches that he had heard in Kaine?

Minmose passed around a loaf of bread and the bowl con taining the cold remains of their nighttime meal. The taste of onions seemed stronger in the light of day. As soon as they had eaten, Psuro and Kaha unhobbled the donkeys.

Rona, Senna, and Nebre loaded water jars and goatskin wa terbags onto the sturdy creatures, and the five men led their charges off toward the well. Minmose scoured the bowl with sand, rolled their sleeping mats, and gathered up their supplies for loading onto the animals. Content that all was well, Bak hastened along the row of tamarisks to speak with the men camped near the well. A pair of small black-and white birds, wheatears, flitted from branch to branch, keep ing pace with him.

“Lieutenant Bak.” With a warm smile, Amonmose has tened to meet him and ushered him into the camp, where he presented him to a tall man about forty years of age. “User, this is the man I told you about, the officer who stands at the head of those Medjay soldiers.”

He gestured toward Psuro and Kaha, drawing water from a well encircled by a waist-high stone wall built to prevent an imals from fouling the precious liquid. Two donkeys were drinking from a rough-plastered stone trough, while a dozen or more waited nearby. The nomad tending them was carry ing on a conversation of sorts with Kaha, who had some knowledge of several desert dialects, but was a master of none. Psuro lowered and withdrew the large red pot tied to the rope so quickly that the water had to be close to the sur face. Kaha held each large jar until it was filled and plugged the top with mud that would dry quickly in the heat. Senna,

Rona, and Nebre, while awaiting their turn at the trough, had led their animals upstream to nibble on some low green bushes Bak could not identify from so far away.

“This is User, Lieutenant,” Amonmose went on, “the man who agreed to let my friend and me accompany his party across the desert.”

Bak gave the explorer a genial smile. “Amonmose tells me you have considerable knowledge of the land between here and the Eastern Sea.”

User greeted him with a nod. “I’m more familiar with the desert farther south, but I’ve done some exploring in this area.”

His body was lean but muscular. His skin, weathered by sun and wind, was the color and texture of leather. He spoke in a voice so deep it sounded as if it had come from the depths of the netherworld.

Bak glanced around the camp, which looked to be in total disarray. Three nomads hustled about, packing up so they could load the donkeys. Two served as drovers, he assumed, and the third must be the guide. A large muscular man, obvi ously from the land of Kemet, was helping, while two other men of Kemet looked on. “You left Kaine early yesterday, I understand.”

“At sunrise. We stopped here to rest through the heat of the day and thought to go on before sunset, but when Amonmose and his friend showed up, thinking to travel with us, I de cided to remain overnight. They’d pushed their donkeys hard, and I thought it unwise to drive them farther without rest.”

“If the truth be told,” Amonmose laughed, “Nebenkemet and I were as tired as the animals. The delay was most wel come.”

Bak noted User’s fleeting grimace. The explorer had not been happy with the delay. He also recalled the wide-awake man who had come to their camp in the night, displaying no sign of fatigue. “From what our guide has told me, the next well is a long, hot march ahead of us.”

“If he knows what he’s doing, he’ll take you up the wadi to the east. There’s no decent shade north of here.” User queried Bak with a glance, as curious about the newcomers as they were about him, understandable in this cruel and des olate land.

“We plan to travel east, yes, and since you recommend the route, I assume you’ll go that way, too?”

“Ah, here’s my good friend Nebenkemet.” Amonmose drew close the man who was helping the nomads break camp. He was a burly individual close to Bak in age. “He’s the man I told you about last night, Lieutenant. He’ll dwell for a year or so at my fishing camp, where he’ll build at least one boat, hopefully more, and some huts.”

Bak raised a hand in greeting. The man, whom he assumed to be a carpenter by trade, eyed him with the mistrust of many a poor man faced with authority. He wore a tunic so wrinkled it looked as if he had slept in it-as he undoubtedly had. His limbs were thick and muscular, and he looked as strong as an ox. His sandaled feet were heavily callused, his hands and lower arms scarred. He had lived rough in the not too-distant past.

“Do you share Amonmose’s enthusiasm for journeying through an unknown land?” Bak asked.

“Our trek has barely begun, sir.” Nebenkemet’s demeanor, like his voice, held neither humor nor warmth. “I’ve had no time to know.”

“Nor have I,” Bak admitted with a smile. “My men and I must learn to dwell in this land, so unlike any we’ve ever known.”

Amonmose flung him a sharp look. “You were posted on the southern frontier. Is that not equally barren?”

“It is, yes, but unlike this Eastern Desert, the river that flows through the land of Kemet also gives life to Wawat. In many places, fertile plains hug the river, allowing for a con siderable amount of farmland. The escarpments enclosing the floodplain can be high, and rocky mounds rise from the desert sands, but there are no mountains like those I’ve been told form the spine of this desert. I’ve heard of no great sheets of sand here or long, high dunes such as those found west of the river.”

“You’re well informed, Lieutenant,” User said.

“Thanks to my nomad guide, Senna. During much of the trek from Kaine, we spoke of the land through which we’ll pass.”

“Senna?” User’s head snapped around and he stared with narrowing eyes toward the guide. “He wouldn’t be Min nakht’s guide, would he?”

“User!” The voice was sharp, peremptory. “Shouldn’t you be urging those wretched nomads to hurry?” A young man of about eighteen years, slapping his leg with a fly whisk, strode up to the explorer. He would have been handsome but for the scars on his face. Like Psuro, he had been marked by some childhood disease. He was one of the pair who had been watching the men toil, making no effort to help. “At this rate, we’ll never set off up the trail.”

Nebenkemet exchanged a quick glance with Amonmose, then slipped away to return to the drovers and the task he had left unfinished.

“This man you see before you is Wensu, Lieutenant. He wishes to become an explorer.” User’s face held no expres sion whatsoever and the words carried no hint of sarcasm, but Bak sensed animosity.