The Pharaoh Key, page 13
“And how far away are these valleys?” Gideon asked.
“Gebel Umm is maybe twenty miles as the crow flies.”
“That’s where we go, then. And pray to God there’s water.”
At this, Garza spoke abruptly. “Excuse me, but Gideon and I need to talk. Alone.”
Gideon followed Garza off a short distance. “What’s the problem now?” he asked.
Garza turned on him. “No way is she coming with us.”
“We can’t just abandon her.”
“She’s lied to us once already. How can we trust her?”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re lying to her as well. And she brought back the camels, didn’t she? She saved our lives.”
“Look, Gideon, if she comes with us, that means sharing our secret. Do you want that?”
“We don’t know what the hell we’re going to find,” Gideon said angrily. “Maybe nothing.”
Garza opened his mouth to reply and then shut it. “I don’t trust her.”
“Manuel, what exactly is your problem? Do you feel threatened by this woman because she’s so capable and intelligent? Think: if we leave her, she dies—and then we die, too. Because she obviously knows a hell of a lot more about this desert than we do.”
After a moment of silence, Garza spat out some sand. “We tell her nothing. We’ll make her wait at a mist oasis while we go on to the Phaistos location and then pick her up on the way back.”
“Agreed.”
They came back to find Imogen hauling a camel blanket out of the sand. “I guess you two wankers got it through your thick heads that we’re stuck with each other, whether we like it or not,” she said without glancing at them. “I’ve saved your hides twice now, and I expect I’ll have to do it again before this is over.”
23
USING THE CAMEL panniers and straps, Garza cleverly rigged up three backpacks. They decided to leave everything but food, water, and a few basic necessities for the overland journey. They started up the wadi, trying to keep to the main course as it branched, then branched again, as Gebel Umm rose above them like a black needle in the shimmering light. Even though the packs were light, hiking in the soft sand, with their feet sinking deep at every step, was brutally hard. Imogen had taken on the role of water-rationing. Every hour they would stop and she would pour half a cup for each person. As the day wore on, Gideon felt his thirst once again mount dreadfully.
The hills grew higher and the wadis narrower, and a dead heat settled over them like a wool blanket. The washes were endless, turn after turn, punctuated by an occasional dead thornbush. Finally, as they rounded yet another curve in the wash, they saw, not far ahead, the mouth of a cave.
No discussion was necessary. Imogen, in the lead, headed for the cave and the others followed. Gideon entered the shady mouth with relief. It was a surprisingly pretty cave, with a floor of pale-yellow sand and walls of smooth lava. Gideon heaved off his pack and collapsed to the ground, leaning his back against the rock wall. Once again he watched Imogen pour out half a cup for Garza with irritating exactness, then half a cup for him, and finally half a cup for herself. Gideon downed his in two gulps. She sipped the water like tea, which irritated him further.
“Let’s take a walk on the wild side,” Gideon said, “and have another round of that firewater.”
“No. Take a nap. We’re going to be hiking all night.”
“I can’t sleep with this thirst,” said Gideon.
Imogen looked at him. “Funny, I didn’t take you for a whiner.”
“Well, I am a whiner. An expert, in fact.” He closed his eyes and tried to relax, but against his will an image came into his head: the bubbling spring he drank from while fly fishing in the Jemez Mountains of New Mexico. The water gushed from a fissure at the side of a boulder and spilled over mossy rocks into a clear pool surrounded by ferns. It was ice-cold and delicious, with a fresh, clean taste. He opened his eyes and tried to think of something else. As he glanced about the cave in a desperate search for distraction, he saw, with a start, a strange thin red man standing on the opposite side of the cave, holding a tall spear. It took him a moment to realize it was a painting.
He pointed vaguely in its direction. “You see that?”
Imogen nodded, brushing a limp strand of hair out of her eyes. “They’re all over the walls.”
And now other images materialized: primitive figures, horned buffalo, camels, antelope, giraffes, and an elephant.
“Cave art,” Imogen said.
“Amazing that people once lived in this godforsaken place.”
“In Neolithic times it was a lot wetter. The Eastern Desert and the Sahara were grasslands until about ten thousand years ago.”
“Maybe that means there’s water around here somewhere,” said Gideon.
“The water’s long gone. Stop thinking about it.”
“Easier said than done.” He closed his eyes again and tried not to think of that spring, which of course only made him think of it more. His mouth tasted of copper. Eating was out of the question: he had no appetite and the idea of putting dry food into his already dry mouth was disgusting.
The afternoon wore on, the shadows outside the cave slowly getting longer. Gideon dozed fitfully, but woke up every time he dreamed of water. He glanced over at Garza, who had been resolutely silent. The man was sitting up, back propped against the rock, staring out the cave entrance with a grim expression. Imogen, on the other hand, had fallen asleep, her head on her pack, tangled blond hair spilling all over.
When the light became orange, she woke, rose, stretched. “Water, anyone?”
“Hell, yes.”
They each got a full cup this time, which did little to slake Gideon’s thirst. As the sun slipped below the horizon, they hoisted their packs and left the cave. They soon reached an area where half a dozen tiny washes came together. They picked one that seemed likely to take them in the direction of the mountain and started up it. The landscape began to change, the rocky foothills with their winding wadis giving way to rough slopes and pitches. They were climbing the flanks of the Gebel mountain range, following boulder-choked ravines leading into the secret fastnesses of Gebel Umm.
Imogen led the way, keeping a steady pace. She had been, Gideon thought, uncomplaining, resourceful—and mysterious. He watched her climb, picking out the route, sometimes through great boulderfalls, rimrock, and volcanic rubble. She had tied up her galabeya, exposing lean muscular legs. He couldn’t help but admire her steady resilience. Garza remained silent and stern.
For the first part of the night they had a crescent moon to see by, which cast a fine silvery light over the otherworldly landscape. It set after midnight, and the outline of Gebel Umm, which they had been able to see from time to time as they came over ridges and passes, disappeared into the darkness. But Imogen continued on, picking the way up one steep slope after another, or else working their way down terrifying inclines. Every two hours they rested a few minutes, downing half a cup of water.
When dawn broke in the east, red morning light touched the top of Gebel Umm, turning it into a spear of fire. This time when they stopped, they only got a quarter cup each. “We’re running out,” said Imogen.
“We’ve been going all night and the mountain doesn’t look any closer,” said Gideon.
“This landscape is more deceptive than I figured,” she replied. “For every mile forward, we’re going two up, down, or sideways.”
As the light rose, a lunar terrain of knuckles and talons of stone became visible around them. Looking eastward from where they had come, Gideon could see past layers of peaks and hills to where the flat desert vanished into the horizon. Ahead lay a maze of interconnected canyons, ravines, and needles of stone.
“We don’t have enough water to wait out the day,” said Imogen. “I think we’d better keep going.”
When there were no objections, she shouldered her pack and carried on. Now they were out of the sand entirely, picking their way over slopes of volcanic rock, which wound back and forth in endless switchbacks. As the sun climbed, the rock became so hot that Gideon could feel it through the soles of his boots. His thirst was intense and he could feel his legs growing shaky, his strength failing. He glanced back at Garza, who hadn’t spoken a word in twenty-four hours. The man looked like a walking corpse, his skin gray. Even Imogen appeared bedraggled and exhausted.
They came to the top of yet another stony ridge, which ended in a cliff. They were now high in the mountains. Gebel Umm finally seemed to be getting closer, its ramparts of basalt towering across the middle distance. But between them and the peak still lay a devil’s garden of slot canyons and rock formations.
Imogen paused, looking ahead. She contemplated the landscape for several minutes.
“It doesn’t look passable,” said Gideon.
“Manuel?” Imogen asked. “You see a way through?”
Garza shook his head.
She turned to the left and they followed the cliff’s edge. There seemed to be no way down, and—even if they could descend—no apparent way up the far side. A mile finally brought them to a scree slope plunging down the depths. Imogen paused at its top. It offered a perilous, but not impossible, route.
“Do we?” she asked.
“I don’t see any other way,” Gideon replied.
Imogen started down, picking her way among the razor-sharp rocks. Gideon’s cracked hands started to bleed again. His arms trembled uncontrollably, and waves of dizziness swept over him.
The canyon bottom was hot as an oven and filled with split boulders that had fallen from above. They rock-scrambled their way up the ravine on the far side, making only a few hundred yards over the next hour. At last they came to a pour-over, a lip of stone fifteen feet overhead that they could neither see beyond nor apparently get over.
There was a silence. Imogen finally said, “We have to backtrack.”
Wearily they descended the few hundred yards they had spent the past hour climbing. From there they ascended another scree slope to traverse a narrow layer of rock above the ravine, forming a kind of shelf. Around a turn in the canyon, the shelf led toward the upper part of the ravine, forming what almost looked like a natural trail. The canyon tightened dramatically at the far end, narrowing to a crack from which a dim green light came.
They inched forward on the trail, the canyon so narrow they could brace themselves against both sides with their arms. Imogen went through the narrow crack and Gideon followed, suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of water. The valley opened up into a belly-like hollow of stone, a hundred yards long and perhaps fifty wide. A mass of vines hung down a section of cliff.
“Water!” he croaked.
A dark rivulet came running out of the greenery and into a pool no bigger than a sink, which itself overflowed and disappeared into the valley floor. A thin layer of mist lingered at the surface of the water.
They fell upon the pool in silent desperation, cupping their hands and sucking up the clear liquid. After the initial scramble, they took turns with the cup. As Gideon felt his thirst begin to dissipate, an irresistible exhaustion fell upon him. Clearly, Garza and Imogen felt the same. They stretched out upon the shady ground and fell into a deep sleep.
Gideon woke and sat up in darkness. At first, he thought evening had fallen, but then he realized that they had all slept straight through the night and that dawn was just breaking. Imogen was awake as well and looking at the map, hair hanging down in a tangle. Garza was still sleeping. The upper rim of the canyon glowed gold with the rising sun, and a cool, delicious flow of air was washing over them. He looked around, taking in their surroundings for the first time. While there was water, he had to admit the valley itself was a disappointment. The single rivulet ran just a dozen feet from the watering hole before sinking into the sand. Except for the hanging greenery, a few mounds of moss, a group of overgrown thornbushes, and an ancient tamarisk with a screw-like trunk were the only signs of life.
He seated himself next to Imogen. “So this is the mist oasis?” she asked.
“It isn’t quite what it was stacked up to be.”
Garza now woke, sitting up. He looked around, not bothering to conceal the expression of disappointment on his face.
“Maybe there’s more canyon farther on,” said Gideon. Anticipation was overcoming his hunger.
Garza held out his hand. “Be my guest. Looks like a dead end to me.”
Gideon set off along the sandy bottom of the little valley, still cloaked in the shade of dawn. Imogen jumped up to walk with him. Garza watched them wordlessly. He made no complaint about Imogen exploring further. Guess he’s given up, Gideon thought.
The upper end of the valley narrowed once again, then made a turn. They came around it only to be blocked by a blank face of stone.
Imogen gazed up at it. “Looks like this is as far as we go. This miserable little watering hole must’ve gotten talked about and talked about until it grew into the legend of the mist oases.”
Gideon looked around. There was no apparent way out of the dead-end valley. They would have to backtrack through all that awful terrain. He gazed around at the basalt cliffs rising on all sides. The rising sun was gilding the mountaintops.
“Wait. Is that a trail?”
Imogen squinted up. “Probably made by Barbary sheep coming down to the watering hole.”
“Don’t waste your time,” said Garza, coming up behind.
Ignoring him, Imogen started climbing, and after a hesitation Gideon followed.
“If you find the gold mines of the pharaohs, let me know,” Garza called up in a sarcastic voice.
“Is he always this pissy?” Imogen muttered.
“You’re not exactly seeing him at his best.”
They clambered up the rocky slope until the animal track skirted a precarious boulder and came out above the pour-over that had stopped their progress before. Now they found themselves looking into another dry ravine that cut steeply up a great volcanic ridge. The ravine narrowed at its far end to a mere crack in the earth. They climbed toward the crack, through which—as they approached—a strange orange glow emerged. Imogen, reaching the crack first, stopped abruptly. Gideon came up behind her, then did the same. They walked into it.
The crevice was like a doorway into another world. It suddenly opened up, and below them lay a valley, sunken in a deep mist that glowed gold in the early-morning sun. Gideon saw mysterious plants hanging from the walls and flower-dotted grasslands punctuated by mounds of deep moss. Ancient fig trees graced the landscape, mingled with sycamores and clusters of date palms. He could hear, coming from somewhere, the echo of burbling water. As the sun cleared the rim of encircling mountains, the glow brightened, and as the shadows grew shorter he saw ruins take shape on the far side of the valley. A row of toppled stone columns led to a pair of gigantic statues, shattered and broken. Only the feet remained on pedestals of stone.
“Oh my God,” breathed Imogen. “A real mist oasis.”
Then she fell silent and the two stared wordlessly at the ruins, wreathed in swirling mists.
“Jesus,” said a voice from behind as Garza came up. “I take back what I said.”
Now they walked down a trail that led into the center of the valley, where it fell in alongside the embankment of a stream. A trickle of water ran across a bed of fine sand, overhung with convolvuluses. The air smelled of damp earth and flowers. Larks, butterflies, and swallows flitted about.
They walked alongside the stream, the mist collecting on their clothes. Not far ahead a massive fig tree jutted out of the ground like a muscled torso, its branches heavy with fruit. They stepped up to it and Gideon picked a fig from the nearest branch, soft and round and still warm from the previous day. He bit into it, the juice gushing. Imogen and Garza followed his example. They were all ravenous.
Suddenly Imogen stopped eating and froze. For a moment, Gideon didn’t understand. But then, catching movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned to see a dozen figures materialize out of the mist, surrounding them with daggers drawn.
24
THE MEN SILENTLY closed in on them. They were bareheaded, with long, unkempt black hair falling to their shoulders in curls. One of them, evidently the leader, was gigantic: well over six and a half feet tall, with a broad black beard and a massive neck and chest. They were dressed alike, in a long piece of deep-orange cloth wound around their waists with one end draped over the shoulder. The orange dye had come off in places, giving their skin a bronze appearance. The huge barbarian had an elaborate bracelet of what looked like human molars fastened to one of his wrists. Each man wore a leather belt around the middle, with the sheath of a copper-bladed dagger snugged tight against the stomach. Those daggers were all out, in their hands.
“We’re friends,” said Gideon. “Friends!”
“As-salamu alaykum,” Imogen said in Arabic. “Peace be with you.”
Both greetings were ignored. The heavily bearded man and two others stepped forward, moving in absolute silence, like ghosts. The bearded man seized Gideon’s upraised hand, pulled it behind him, and in one efficient movement threw him facedown on the ground. Gideon struggled but the man quickly tied Gideon’s wrists together with a leather thong, then pulled him back to his feet. In seconds the three of them had been seized and tied, then leashed to each other in a line. It was done so swiftly Gideon barely had time to think, let alone resist.
The huge bearded man took the end of the leash and gave it a jerk, pointing down the trail.
Garza yanked back. “No one’s going to lead me around like a dog!”
The man stepped toward Garza, waving his crude dagger. Garza charged him, intent on butting him with his head, but the man was too fast and dodged the blow, neatly stepping aside and slamming Garza across the face with the back of his fist. Then the man spun Garza and held a dagger to his throat.
