Dreamers

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Authors: Angela Hunt

Tags: #Fiction, #Religious, #General

BOOK: Dreamers
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Praise for t

P

he novels of

he novels of

“Prolific novelist Hunt knows how to hold a reader’s

interest, and her latest yarn is no exception…Hunt packs

the maximum amount of drama into her story, and the

pages turn quickly. The present tense narration lends

urgency as the perspective switches among various

characters. Readers may decide to take the stairs after

finishing this thriller.”


Publishers Weekly
on
The Elevator

“Christy Award and Holt Medallion winner Hunt

skillfully builds tension and keeps the plot well paced and

not overly melodramatic.”


Library Journal
on
The Elevator

“Angela Hunt has over three million copies of her

award-winning novels in print today, and this poignant

tale about breast cancer will only help to make the

number rise. Jonah and Jacquelyn are both strong

characters, and the medical terminology is well-written

without confusing the reader. Both must learn to trust

in a God they weren’t sure really cared about them

anymore, and ultimately find that God’s grace

will see them through.”


Romance Junkies
on
A Time to Mend

“Only a skillful novelist could create such a multilayered,

captivating portrait of Mary Magdalene…Hunt’s attention

to detail in her historical research, combined with her

bright imagination, fills in the sketchy biographical facts

and creates a fascinating and convincing Magdalene.

First-rate biblical fiction.”


Library Journal
on
Magdalene

Also by

A Time to Mend

The Elevator

The Face

Refreshed version, newly revised by author

Published by Steeple Hill Books™

CONTENTS

TUYA

6

POTIPHAR

72

SAGIRA

144

YOSEF 216

MENKHEPRURE,

PHARAOH TUTHMOSIS IV

278

AMENHOTEP III

338

For Gary

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.


“He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven”

William Butler Yeats

TUYA

And they said one to another, Behold, this dreamer

cometh. Come now therefore, and let us slay him, and

cast him into some pit, and we will say, Some evil

beast hath devoured him: and we shall see what will

become of his dreams.

Genesis 37:19–20

Prologue

Dothan

The collision of bones and rock stopped his fall.

He did not immediately lose consciousness, but gasped in

the depths of the narrow cistern, his limbs and tongue and vision

paralyzed by shock and a wave of unspeakable horror. Murder

had gleamed in their eyes. Did they truly hate him so much?

Pinpricks of pain ripped along every nerve of his body, and

after a moment of senseless suppression Yosef released the

scream clawing in his throat. The sound echoed through the

rock-walled cistern and grew into a chorus of agonized cries.

From somewhere above him, his brothers heard. And laughed.

Familiar voices, crackling sharply in hostility, came spiral-

ing down from the mouth of the cavern. “Hear that? The dreamer

is not hurt badly enough. We should have found a deeper pit.”

“The brat isn’t so high and mighty now. Yet just last month

he had visions of authority and power!”

“They were but the dreams of a seventeen-year-old, for all

youths think themselves invincible and immortal. Even you,

Dan, were of such a mind when you were his age.”

10

Dreamers

“Dan never had the gall to predict that even our father

would bow down to him. Yet our father scrapes before the boy

already, he gives Yosef everything—”

“We should kill him, I tell you. If he survives, this tale-

bearer will run to our father. He’ll take even our birthrights,

for he is the pampered favorite—”

“Yehuda is right, our father sides with the would-be king

in every argument. Have you noticed how the old man smiles

at him? My stomach churns when I think of it. My own son

is older, stronger and better-favored, and yet—”

“I despise his pride, as do you.” Re’uven’s voice quieted

the others and echoed in the pit. Listening below, the boy bit

his lip in an effort to quiet his involuntary moaning as Re’uven

continued: “I, too, have reason to hate him. I should receive

the first-born’s inheritance, but I know our father will honor

this stripling with the largest share of his goods. But we are

of the same flesh. I cannot kill him, and neither can you.”

“Then we will have someone else do it.” Dan’s voice

brimmed with eagerness. “If you are hesitant, Re’uven, I

will hire someone to spill his precious blood over this

cursed coat—”

“We will say a lion caught him,” Levi interrupted. “Our father

will believe it, and we will forever be rid of the troublemaker.”

Re’uven’s stentorian voice hushed the others. “Would you

have our father die of grief? We will not kill him. We shall

leave him here, and let him ponder his own fate. Let him who

aspires to rise a king pass the night in the depths of the earth.”

The brothers mumbled and murmured, but most of them

moved away. “I’d still like to spill his guts,” Asher grumbled,

his voice overriding the fading voices. “Look at him whim-

pering there! If he rises from this pit, our father will never

forgive us for his injuries. But if we cut out his tongue, he will

never boast again.”

Angela Hunt

11

“We’ll shed no blood before dinner,” Re’uven answered.

“Come, Asher, our meal is waiting.”

Yosef remained still until he was certain the last of his

brothers had gone, then he struggled to focus his blurred

vision on the walls around him. Re’uven would not let them

kill him. Re’uven was respected; he would be obeyed, but for

how long? Murderous intent might bring any of the brothers

back during the night with a dagger thirsting for blood.

He had to escape. He pulled his heavy head from the rock

and steeled himself to ignore the white-hot pain that shot

along his limbs as he fumbled against the stone beneath him.

His left arm would not cooperate, and when he glanced down

at his side he saw why: above his elbow, where there had once

been smooth skin and healthy muscle, a white shard of jagged

bone protruded from an oozing red wound.

A hoarse cry escaped his lips as unconsciousness

claimed him.

Chapter One

Thebes, Egypt

A high-pitched giggle broke the stillness of the garden.

From between the branches of the bush where she hid, Tuya

saw her mistress pause in mid-step on the path. “Tuya, I

command you to speak,” Sagira called, peering around the

slender trunk of an acacia tree. “You must make more noise,

or how am I to find you?”

Tuya deliberately rustled the ivy on the wall behind her,

but the noise was slight and Sagira did not turn toward the

sound. Finally Tuya took a deep breath and spoke: “Life,

prosperity and health to you, my lady!”

“Aha!” Sagira turned and sprinted toward Tuya’s hiding

place as the slave girl darted from the bush. “I found you!”

“But you haven’t caught me!” Tuya cried, arching away

from Sagira’s grasping hands.

The two girls ran, laughing, through the garden, until Sagira

tripped over a rock at the edge of the pond. Pinwheeling, she

struggled to keep her balance, then surrendered to the pull of

the earth and fell with a splash into the shallow water.

Angela Hunt

13

Tuya’s heart leapt into her throat, but after a moment Sagira

sat up and howled with a twelve-year-old’s unrestrained glee.

Tuya laughed, too, then stopped. The lady Kahent might be

watching. Would she have Tuya whipped for this mishap? She

glanced toward the house. “I am sorry, mistress, truly I am.”

Sagira pulled dark ribbons of wet hair from her face and

stood in the knee-deep water, then took a deep, happy breath.

“It wasn’t your fault, Tuya,” she said, moving to the edge of

the pool. Her thin linen sheath clung to her wet body and

accented her budding figure. A trace of mud lay across her

delicate face and her dark eyes sparkled with mischief. “Would

you like me to pull you in? The water is wonderfully cool.”

“No, my lady.” Tuya looked toward the house again. “I should

not like to muss my dress. Your mother would not approve.”

“Then I command you to keep still.” The floating lotus

plants jostled each other as Sagira climbed out of the pool.

“Our little game is not done.”

Tuya stood as still as a post, her arms hanging rigid until her

mistress dripped in front of her. “There!” Sagira clapped wet

hands on the slave’s bare shoulders. “I caught you! I win again!”

“Yes, my lady.”

“I must win.” Sagira grinned wickedly as she flung water

from her hands into Tuya’s face. “It is only fitting that

Pharaoh’s niece should win in everything she undertakes.”

Tuya said nothing, but smiled as Sagira pirouetted in front

of the long reflecting pool. She paused and studied her watery

image. “Do you think me beautiful, Tuya?”

Tuya lowered her gaze as she pondered her answer. Should

she speak as a friend and tease Sagira about the small gap

between her front teeth? Or should she reply as a dutiful ser-

vant and assure her mistress that no girl in the two kingdoms

could rival her beauty and charm?

Not an easy decision, for Tuya had lately been reminded

14

Dreamers

of the solid line between friendship and servanthood. She

had been only six years old when presented as a gift for

Sagira’s third birthday, and as children they had shared ev-

erything. But though she often felt like Sagira’s older sister,

when her mistress’s red moon had begun to flow, Sagira’s

mother, the lady Kahent, had urged her daughter to put aside

her baby name and assume a mantle of dignity. Her new

name, Sagira, or ‘little one,’ referred to her petite frame.

Tuya had never been called anything but Tuya, for slaves

were not permitted the luxury of adult names, and of late

Sagira’s mother had been quick to emphasize the gulf existing

between masters and their slaves. Certain attitudes and actions

were proper while others were not. Twice Tuya had been

whipped for overstepping the bounds of propriety, but Sagira

seemed not to have noticed the newfound care with which

Tuya formulated her answers, attitudes and comments.

Diplomacy won out. “You are beautiful, mistress,” Tuya

whispered, lowering her head in an attitude of deference.

“Lucky is the man who will be your husband.”

“And you, Tuya? Do you never dream of marriage?” Sagira

cocked her head and gave her slave an engaging smile. “Do

you wonder what it is like to kiss a man? To sleep with him

as my mother sleeps with my father?”

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