As dusk crept upon the land and the heat of the day waned, after the small caravan had settled into the rhythm of the journey, Bak fell in beside the nomad. Behind them, the don keys walked in an irregular line led by Psuro, Rona, and Min mose. Kaha and Nebre, the most accomplished trackers in the party, had left the watercourse to range across the wadi floor, seeking knowledge of the landscape around them. The sounds of evening, a bird calling, a hoof striking a rock, a donkey blowing, the men behind talking together, were muted by the stillness of the vast expanse around them.
They spoke for a while of the trek ahead, a journey into an ever-more rugged landscape. With no lofty officers to ques tion his every move, Senna was considerably more relaxed than he had been at Kaine and much less defensive when he spoke of the trip he had made with the young explorer who had vanished.
“I know nothing of Minnakht except what his father told me,” Bak said. “He naturally spoke of the man he knew in the city, not of the explorer, and his eyes were most likely blinded by the love he feels for his son.”
“Minnakht is a fine man, that I can tell you without reser vation. A man of remarkable courage and determination.”
“You sound like his father,” Bak said in a wry voice.
Senna managed a sparse smile. “He’s a good friend to the people who dwell in this part of the desert. They know him well, know how at home he feels with them and their land.
They can’t understand how he could vanish as he did.”
Bak gave the nomad a sharp look. “You speak of the peo ple here as if you’re not one of them.”
“I was born to a tribe that dwells many days’ walk to the north. On this side of the Eastern Sea, but opposite the place where men of Kemet mine turquoise and copper.” Senna must have sensed the query in Bak’s thoughts, for he smiled,
“You’re wondering, and well you might: if I was born a stranger to the land through which we’ll be traveling, how did I get to know it well enough to serve as a guide?”
“The thought struck me, yes.”
“While a boy, I was servant to a man who wished above all things to find gold. Each cool season he explored the Eastern
Desert, trekking farther to the south than the year before. His guide at the time, a man of infinite patience and wisdom, taught me all he knew.”
“As an outsider…” Bak paused, not wanting to rub natron into what might well be an open sore.
“Do the nomads in this area blame me for Minnakht’s dis appearance?” Senna’s smile was bitter. “Why do you think I spent so many days and weeks searching for him?”
A distant whistle sounded off to the left, drawing Bak’s at tention. Kaha or Nebre assuring him and their fellow Med jays that all was well with them. A second whistle followed,
Psuro’s response.
“You’ve no idea how much I regret the illness that pre vented me returning with Minnakht,” Senna said. “Worse yet, I argued with him about his decision to leave in such haste.”
“He made the decision, not you.”
“Still, I must live with what happened. If we should find him alive, I can make amends. If we find him dead or don’t find him at all…” Senna shrugged. “How can I know how he felt about my absence? How can I myself know how I should feel?”
Unable to think of a suitable answer, Bak said instead,
“What do you believe happened to him?”
“Someone must’ve made him their prisoner or, as reluc tant as I am to think the worst, he may’ve been slain. Maybe by the fishermen he sailed away with or by bandits some where along the coast of the Eastern Sea.”
Before leaving Waset, Bak had questioned a seasoned offi cer who had escorted prisoners and supplies through the
Eastern Desert and across the sea to the turquoise and copper mines. He thought of all the man had told him: the long treks between watering places, the enormous and rugged wadis and mountains, the immense sea with its endless coastline and multitude of islands. How could he hope to find one small man in a land so vast?
Full darkness fell. The air grew cool and fresh. The stars sparkled with a crystalline brilliance and the moon, a pale half circle, lit the sand beneath their feet. A donkey shied and a deadly viper slithered away. Night birds called to one an other, a fox barked.
Kaha and Nebre returned to the caravan as silent as the large sand-colored lizard Bak had seen during the day. If the donkeys had not turned their heads to look, he would not have noticed the two men sliding down the bank of the wa tercourse. Smiling, they loped across the sand to report.
Nebre, who was tall and slender, about forty years of age with woolly hair as white as his kilt, planted the point of his spear in the sand. “As far as we could tell, sir, we’re the only men within shouting distance, but others have gone ahead of us. Earlier today, we believe.”
Surprised, Bak looked up the line of donkeys toward their guide. “According to Senna, this path we’re following is sel dom used.”
“Not long after we left you, we spotted the tracks of a car avan. Seven men-four barefoot, two wearing woven reed sandals, and one wearing leather sandals-walking with a dozen or so donkeys. They traveled a route parallel to this channel but closer to the eastern side of the wadi.”
Bak frowned. “Reed sandals? They’ll never last in this harsh landscape. Those two couldn’t have been nomads.”
“No, sir.” Nebre glanced at Kaha, who voiced agreement, and went on with his tale. “Later, about two-thirds of the way between the mouth of the wadi and where we now stand, the tracks of two men wearing leather sandals and walking with four donkeys merged with the first set of tracks. Whether the later group caught up with the earlier or simply trod along the same path, we’ve no way of knowing.”
“Were they also men of Kemet, I wonder?”
Nebre shrugged. “Nomads usually go barefoot, but a few have taken to wearing sandals. Leather sandals.”
“Interesting,” Bak said with a wry smile. “We thought to be walking alone into the wilderness and instead we find our selves to be one segment of a procession.”
“A procession with a spectator, sir,” Kaha said, grinning.
“Just before dark, high on the hillside to the east, I found a single footprint of another man, this one also wearing leather sandals.” Smaller than Nebre and a few years younger, he was equally slender, with long arms and hands as delicate as those of a woman.
“By climbing so high, I’d hoped to see the men ahead.
They were too far away, but I thought the print sufficient re ward for such an effort. It was in a sheltered place overlook 32
Lauren Haney ing this wadi. It hadn’t been disturbed by a breeze or a pass ing animal and was very distinct. As its sheltered location might’ve preserved it, I’d make no bets as to how long ago it was made.”
Minnakht? Bak wondered. No. If he were nearby and able, he would show himself. Who were the others? Men he surely would have heard of if he and his Medjays had taken the time to sit down and gossip with the men of Kaine. No matter. If they had stopped at the well ahead, he would learn soon enough who they were.
On this, the initial day of the trek when men and animals were fresh, they made good time, reaching their destination before midnight. Here, where a subsidiary watercourse opened into the main wadi, was the first of a string of wells that made travel possible along the route they meant to fol low to the Eastern Sea.
A cluster of hobbled donkeys stood or lay near a stand of scrubby tamarisks that marked the location of the well. They saw no sign of a fire, so assumed the men traveling with the animals were asleep. Opting to remain apart, they made camp about fifty paces down the wadi beside a row of stunted trees that followed the watercourse for some distance down stream. Better to approach in the light of day when they would not be mistaken for bandits.
Rona, a hard-muscled young Medjay who had a slight limp, gathered broken twigs scattered around the trees. Min mose, shorter and broader, as cheerful as Rona was serious, whistled softly as he built a small fire on which to warm a slim but welcome meal of beans and onions, which they ate with dried fish.