Song of Isis Read online

  The Jason Alexander look-alike babbled to the tall hunk in that strange sounding dialect--what was it? The sounds were vaguely familiar, but still beyond her comprehension.

  She glanced around, half expecting to see the director charge up the dune, angry that she'd interrupted his scene. But nothing more than desolate desert surrounded her.

  "I know. I know. I must look like pond scum, but the earthquake almost pulled the whole tomb right down on top of me." She gestured at her sand-covered clothes and laughed. "In fact, I think I'm wearing the tomb."

  Alex reached down and dusted the sand off her legs.

  She scanned the desert for the familiar tents and vehicles of her father's camp. Should've been situated right here. Now, only blowing, writhing sand greeted her.

  Where was everything? And how long had she been in the burial chamber? Surely not long enough for the camp to have moved. Maybe she got turned around and came out another entrance on the wrong side. Or could this all be one of her father's notorious practical jokes? It wouldn't have been easy, but he could have moved the camp.

  Yes, this whole thing was a joke and he'd sent these two, dressed like ancients speaking in--

  She laughed out loud. Ancient Egyptian! Sure. No one really knew what that sounded like. If they murdered a line or two, who'd know the difference? Obviously, her father had told them to remain in character, no matter what, and bring her to his new campsite.

  She smiled in self-satisfaction; he'd love it if she put up a fight--no--this time she'd get in character, too.

  She raised both arms in the universal halt sign and the two froze.

  "Take me to your leader," she commanded and pointed. The tall hunk's gaze followed along her outstretched arm and returned, the look on his face a puzzled one.

  In spite of their rapid speech, Alex recognized two words, Pharaoh and Mentuhotep. She searched her memory. Mentuhotep was a little known pharaoh of the early tenth or eleventh dynasty. Ezekiel Stone had thought this newly discovered tomb to be from that period. And now he'd used this find, and a couple of starving actors, to play a most meticulous joke on his only daughter.

  She laughed again. Well, she wouldn't let her father down. She'd play along. He was, no doubt, hidden behind a dune, watching through high-powered binoculars. Alex loved her father above everything else and if a little play-acting would bring joy to him, why not?

  Raising her hand, she hailed her captors and bent in a long, sweeping bow. She smiled sweetly and repeated her earlier command, "Take me to your leader."

  HOURS SEEMED more like days in the unrelenting heat. They'd already climbed dune after dune through endless waves of sand. Alex was hot, tired, and more than a little irritable. Even the sight of an intriguing backside undulating beneath the cloth of the hunk's scanty costume failed to lift her spirits.

  "A joke's a joke," she said, planting her feet firmly in the sand and refusing to go another step. She grabbed the man's arm swinging him around. "Hey, I give up. I'm not a good sport. Just tell me. Where's my father?"

  He stared at her with pointed annoyance, jerked his arm away, and continued trudging up the dune.

  "Come on, I mean it. I'm not taking another step."

  He threw her a negligent glance over his shoulder and muttered something unintelligible. An odd thought slashed through her. A remembered word. A phrase. This wasn't gibberish. The words sounded mysteriously like what she'd always imagined ancient Egyptian would sound like. Of course, that wasn't possible. No one really knew the sounds of the long forgotten language. Still, these words had all been in her books. Hieroglyphics were phonetic. Countless times during her childhood, her father had taken her to tombs and temples, translating each colorful picture so that she could understand the majesty of this ancient culture.

  Alex formed a mental image of the pictures and, taking a stab at a few Egyptian phrases, again asked for her father.

  The tall man glanced at his side-kick questioningly. Then slowly, comprehension dawned. He nodded and pointed to some distant place across the endless sand. "Abido."

  "Swell." Alex said. That wasn't exactly the response she'd hoped for, but it was better than nothing. At least that was a word she recognized. It sounded like Abydos, the city housing the temple of Seti I.

  What was her father doing in Abydos, and why had he gone there? No matter. She'd give him a piece of her mind when she found him. And find him, she would. Must be over the dune that rose before her like Mount Everest. Thank goodness. She was tired of games and ready to settle down to dinner and a good night's sleep. Then she'd have a long talk with dear old Dad.

  Exhausted, Alex plopped onto the sand and rubbed her hands over her face wearily. The sun had already baked her skin dry and she could really use about a gallon of ice cold water, right now. Heck, since she was wishing, how about a convenient oasis so she could take a bath? The man stopped and trudged back over to glower down at her, hands on hips.

  "What?" She returned the glower, shielding her eyes. "I've got to rest. Fun's fun, guys, but this has gone far enough. I'm not going one more step until you tell me what's going on."

  He studied her, his gaze probing with curious intensity. Something flared in the smoldering depths of his obsidian eyes. Anger? Exasperation? Or was it something else altogether? Something as instinctive and elemental as breathing. Uneasy, she lifted her hands to her flaming cheeks.

  His face was bronzed by wind and sun, and a muscle quivered at his firmly set jaw. She fanned herself. The inexorable heat, their behavior, the solitude--not even so much as a jet soaring through the vermillion sky--all of this was so strange, as if the whole world had suddenly reverted to by-gone days. The days of pharaohs and pyramids and men in short, tight kilts.

  He reached down and in one fluid motion, jerked her to her feet, shoving her forward.

  "Hey! What's the big idea?" She rounded on him, hands planted on her hips. "I said, enough!"

  "Abido," the tall one said again, pointing off across the rolling dunes.

  "I told you once, pal, until I start getting some answers, you can consider me a permanent fixture right here in the middle of nowhere." She crossed her arms across her chest. "I'm not budging."

  The men exchanged baffled looks.

  Alex ran her palms over her sunburned face and glared up at the tall one, but he clenched his jaw and crossed his arms as if determined to wait until she'd cooked completely. A shiver of panic passed through her and cramped her stomach. She leaned forward, wrapped her arms around herself and groaned. Something very, very wrong had happened.

  She offered a silent prayer that this was simply a joke, an hallucination, anything but what it seemed to be, but the sinking sensation deep inside told her she needed more than prayers.

  With a resigned sigh, Alex stood, trudged up the hill, and gazed down at the far away village. Bathed in the waning sunlight, the square, mud-brick buildings of Abydos stretched across the valley at the base of the dune. Relief flooded through her. Finally! A sight she recognized. Oh, heavenly Abydos! Like a trip through time, the ancient village still bore resemblance to her childhood memories--no electricity, no plumbing, no running water. The Temple of Seti stood somewhere close by. But ahead of her, there was nothing except brightly colored, square, two-story mud-brick homes, shops, and courtyards. Bizarre. It looked exactly the same and yet strangely different. As a child, she'd romped through the streets playing touch-tag with her Arab friends. It was all she'd known and Abydos was still the same except for....

  The niggling sensation of fear tickled the back of her neck and she kneaded the tense muscles. Perhaps they were somewhere else. Another town. One similar to Abydos in all its basic aspects? She moved away from her captors and wandered aimlessly down the dune directly toward the town.

  Upon closer inspection, the brightly colored structures assaulted her senses. These homes weren't the ancient, dusty dwellings of Abydos. They were new. Men bustled about their day's work. Their scanty dress was similar to the pictures sh
e'd seen in her father's books. No traffic, ringing phones, beepers...nothing but palm trees, ferns, and sand.

  No!

  Her mind screamed for answers. Her lungs screamed for air.

  She turned and glanced back at the men who'd forced her to accompany them across the desert. The tall one stood directly behind her with his legs apart and his arms crossed. His frown faded and a slow, lazy smile spread across his lips, softening the hard angles of his face. His grin, so blatantly masculine, reminded her of the self-assured surgeons she'd locked horns with on a daily basis.

  For one moment she forgot she stood in the middle of the Sudan with sand crusting her skin and sweat trickling down her back. When he spoke, his words flowed, unintelligible gibberish.

  The half-smile on his face faded and Alex thought she saw a flash of anger cross his onyx eyes. Stepping forward he reached for her arm. Alex shrank back. "Look, Mister."

  He continued forward and ground out several words in a slow, deep guttural tone. Alex picked up a few dimly remembered words. "`Woman,' know your place. I am `Tarik,' Royal Physician to `Pharaoh Mentuhotep' and you are `his slave.'"

  The tremor in her hand traveled up her spine and took control of her body. The niggling fear had turned to full-blown terror.

  Alexandria Stone wasn't in Kansas anymore.

  Chapter Three

  SUN, HEAT, and lack of food or water had sapped what was left of the woman's strength. Her knees gave way and she crumpled into a small, dusty heap on the sand. Amused, Tarik nodded to Akiki who grudgingly scooped her up in his arms.

  "Shall I beat her when she wakes, Master?"

  "Akiki, you dung-beetle. Take her to the servant's quarters and have her bathed and dressed worthy of Pharaoh's court."

  "But, Master--"

  "Do not dispute me," he said, adding a warning to his tone. Akiki bobbed as best he could with a sleeping woman in his arms. He turned and trudged down the street.

  Tarik shook his head. Decent servants were hard to come by, but, for a slave, Akiki had taken to his tasks like a crocodile to the banks of the Nile. He was a good man, and Tarik was fortunate to have him. Still, the manservant's suggestion to beat the woman annoyed him. He did not hold with such practices as beating his slaves out of hand. Broken bones did no work and as a physician, it was his place to heal--not to harm. Beyond that, she was no slave, this woman. Alabaster skin so translucent and as soft as the whisper of sheerest linen did not belong to a slave.

  Tarik had physically resisted the urge to touch her, take her from Akiki and bear her to his quarters, himself. Tempted, yes, he had been as tempted as any man. But it would not do for him to entangle himself, just now. Not when he had so many duties to attend. As chief physician, his time was indeed limited. Tem, Mentuhotep's noble wife, made sure of that with her endless false complaints and imagined ailments. Pharaoh, on the other hand....

  Tarik smiled, an idea forming. Pharaoh had many slaves to serve him, dark exotic Nubians, almond eyed beauties from the north regions, hot blooded Greeks. But none with skin so creamy it rivaled the softest unguents, so fair it could have been wrought of marble. A gift of such rare quality would surely earn Tarik great honor in Mentuhotep's court. A man with Pharaoh's favor could go far. He smiled again, Pharaoh would be well pleased with him this day.

  ALEX BLINKED and bolted upright.

  Darkness. Black as pitch.

  The quake must have knocked out all the lights. The darkness of the chamber and close confines left her with the uncomfortable sensation of being entombed. Buried alive like some latter day mummy with one very notable exception: She wasn't even close to being dead.

  Alex drew in a breath of hot, musty air and tried to swallow down her rising sense of panic. Now wasn't the time to lose her head. Lights or no lights she had to get out of here, even if she had to crawl to do it. She groped along the floor hoping to encounter some kind of landmark that might help her get her bearings.

  How long had she been down here? she wondered, trying to distract her mind. Long enough to dream. And, oh, what a dream it had been! He'd seemed so real, the ancient Egyptian her subconscious had conjured. From the hard, sculpted muscles of his bare chest right down to that completely sexy, buns-hugging kilt he'd worn. Wow! Imagination overload. Maybe she'd been in the desert too long or maybe she just needed a man.

  Whatever the case, everything in the dream had seemed so vivid. The people, the village, the sights, the sounds, the smells...all of it left such a clear picture in her mind, she could almost taste the grit of the Sudan, touch the compact pecs of her gorgeous dream-man. She'd even thought they were actors. Strange how her mind had picked up on that little tidbit of information and blended it right in.

  Hands outstretched, her fingers brushed a wall. She felt her way along the smooth plane, palms skimming like a blind man's. It amazed her how complete was the absence of light. Even so, as deep inside the catacomb of chambers as this room was, she'd have thought some trickle of light would find its way through; some lighter degree of darkness marking the entrance. But there was nothing.

  Another thought struck her. Good Lord! She hoped the opening wasn't blocked. Hoped the earthquake hadn't shaken loose some boulders and trapped her here. Her poor father would be frantic. A bit on edge, herself, Alex skimmed her way along the smooth surface. Odd that this wall should feel so finished, almost polished, when all the others had been nothing more than coarse, gritty sandstone. And something else struck her. Sounds. Voices. She hadn't registered the muffled conversation before, but now she heard them. Not clearly by any means, but definitely voices. Maybe the quake had blocked the entrance, after all, and the workers were trying to dig her out.

  "I'm in here!" she called, hoping to guide the rescue party in the right direction. Claustrophobia pressed in on her. "I'm in here!" she cried again, punctuating the words with her fists against the wall as she scraped and fumbled her way toward the growing source of noise.

  Stay calm. The last thing she needed was to get all worked up, maybe trip over something in the dark and end up out cold on the chamber floor. That'd look real professional once they found her. If they found her.

  The thought stopped her. She listened for the expected sounds of shovels and picks chipping away at stone. Nothing but silence. The voices, too, had gone, disappeared like a mirage in the desert. God, she hoped she hadn't imagined the whole thing!

  Alex groped along a few more steps, pounding her fists against the impregnable walls, calling out, desperate now to make herself heard. A sliver of light knifed into the darkness. No chipping, no shoveling, no iron crashing against stone. It just appeared, as if someone had opened a door. The sliver grew into a shaft, and then into a wide band spreading out and diffusing the dark into a murky dusk. It was a door, she realized with a start, this chamber was not the tomb at all, but a room with curtains and furniture and a low standing bed. Where the hell was she?

  Alex scrambled forward, jerked the door fully open and would have flung herself though it, but a figure loomed up suddenly, blocking her escape. With a cry of alarm, she stumbled back, affording herself a better view.

  It was him. The man from her dream, solid and real and annoyingly in her way. Either she was still asleep, or this was no figment of her imagination. He stood in the open doorway glowering down at her, proud and regal as a king or a tyrant.

  "Who are you, and where the hell am I?" she demanded in her best no nonsense, doctor's voice. Dream-man only continued to stare. It was that way, was it?

  "Look, pal, I don't know what kind of game you're playing here, but I've had just about enough of it. Now, get out of my way. I'm leaving."

  He didn't move. Great.

  This was one big guy. Rocky big. Schwarzenegger big. She doubted her YMCA self-defense training would even make a dent. Unless he decided to let her pass, she wasn't going anywhere. He knew it. She knew it.

  Just then, a small woman holding what looked like a camping lantern straight out of the Middle Ages, scurried
behind him. He moved aside, allowing her into the room.

  She, too, was oddly dressed, wearing little more than a tattered rag. What kind of place was this? Some sort of bizarre religious cult? If these guys were actors, they had her vote for the Oscar.

  Dream-man mumbled something unintelligible to the girl, who seemed reluctant to approach Alex. He gave her a little shove to get her started. She kept her gaze trained on Alex, a mixture of curiosity and fear on her pretty, dark face. She hurried about the room lighting lamps, casting Alex wary glances at each step. A second woman, this one better dressed than the first, entered next. Over one arm hung a length of gauzy, white material. And in the opposite hand she held a large pottery ewer, its bulging sides decorated with crisp, clear hieroglyphics. Item one she deposited on the bed, item two on a nearby chest, then, with the same mute efficiency, made for the door. Alex caught the look of wry admonishment the woman gave the big guy on her way out; the one that said `Yeah, I know what you're up to here, pal.' In answer to this, his face took on a stern, no nonsense quality the woman didn't buy. Neither did Alex.

  Something was definitely rotten in Denmark. Or in her case, Egypt, and she was going to get to the bottom of it. All she needed was two minutes alone with the other girl. She looked just scared enough to need a friend, or a confidante. And Alex had a wonderful bedside manner. If only Dream-man would stop glowering at them and take a hike.

  As if reading her thoughts, he stirred from his post by the door, muttered some dire pronouncement, from the tone of it, to the young woman and left, closing the door firmly behind him.

  Alex let go a relieved sigh. There was no way of knowing how much time alone they'd have and she meant to make good use of it. She turned to find her quarry cowering next to a heavily gilded bier, presumably trying to make herself as small as possible, brown eyes sharp on Alex.

  Alex approached, keeping her movements deliberate and slow, as if coaxing a stray cat on the verge of bolting. This one was more a kitten. She had the slender, coltish figure of a teen, her face smooth and supple as chocolate milk. Wide, dark eyes took up the whole of her face and short, nappy hair, burled tight against her fine-boned skull.