Spiral: Book One of the Spiral in Time (51 page)

CHAPTER 33

The turquoise scarab dangled lifelike from its cord as Akmu-en-Swnw carefully removed it, then the small gold ankh, and last, the image of the goddess Sekhmet—the most precious amulet of all. It was the first step in a ritual that fascinated Sabrann as she watched from the corner of Akmu’s room, on her first day back from her woman’s retreat.

Akmu-en-Swnw did not seem to mind an audience as he prepared himself for the day. He murmured a magic saying to
Ra
as he hung a polished, bronze mirror on the wall. It swayed gently with the ship’s motion.
Mau
ignored this activity and continued sleeping curled up in Akmu’s blankets.

From a box carved with Egyptian script, he opened a corked vial and rubbed oil over his bald head. A delicate scent filled the tiny room.

“Ah, lotus flowers.” He took a deep breath and stood transfixed for a moment. Some pleasant memory brought a smile to his face.

“Well, young maid, today I will teach you how to bandage a broken finger. One of the seamen was careless. But first this.”

Sabrann watched, wide-eyed.

He picked up a gleaming bronze razor and, setting it at just the right angle, drew it firmly across his scalp.

She drew a sharp breath. His balding head was covered with fuzz and only a few hairs. What if the razor slipped? The blade looked sharp, finely hone, dangerous. Yet his hand was sure, and his head went unscathed. Shining with oil, it was soon smooth again and hairless.

Sabrann was mystified. “Why do you do this?”

He laughed his funny, high sound. “So the lice may not find a home! And in my land, the heat is like a huge cauldron that looks for ways to cook you.” He laughed again and patted his head. “This is much cooler.”

“Is that why you do it, you miss Egypt?” Egypt did not sound very wonderful to Sabrann.

He looked into the mirror and cocked his head. “Yes,” he said sadly. “It is my home. I will always long for its heat.”

Sabrann shut up. She knew what it was to long for home, even if someone in Albion wanted to kill her. But why was Akmu not in his Egypt? He seemed lost in thought, drifting away as he sometimes did. She felt alone when he did that. She moved and stood next to him, and his reverie ended with a jerk of his head.

“And now the kohl.” He reached into the carved chest and placed two small jars on the table. One held some kind of ointment, the other, a blackish powder. With a small tabbed stick he mixed the powder and the ointment in a tiny bowl, blending and stirring until a rich black paste appeared. He closed one eye and drew a smooth slanting line with the stick, across the lid and extending beyond his eye. Then he drew one on the bottom lid.

“Kohl,” he said. “It keeps sickness from the eye. Also keeps flies away.” He quickly repeated the lines on his other eye.

“Now I am safe. And no Evil Eye will harm me. It is like an amulet.”

He seemed more at ease with his head shaven and his kohl protecting him, as he placed his amulets over his head.

She looked at her face in Akmu’s mirror and could not imagine black lines around her eyes. Would wearing kohl protect her, too? Sabrann touched her Matrones amulet. She was safe.

Mau
woke up and rubbed her head affectionately on Sabrann’s legs. She was learning that cats spoke sometimes with their bodies:
Mau
was hungry.

“When will you go home?” Akmu just looked in the small mirror and shook his head. She gave up and went to find some food for the cat, which followed her, tail straight up like a flag.

Midacritus looked up. The girl was back! He had just brought the barbarian up to the latrine when he saw her. His eyes bore into her, as if he could kill her with his look.

And here was Captain Adonibaal, come to check on him. Big Nose Dog was always watching. Midacritus kept his eyes down; best not to call attention to himself. He was thirsty; there was no water, and the wine was almost gone. The crew lined up daily to drink a measured portion of wine that Isis handed out like a king.

Soon that would be over. The
Astarte
drew near the trading port of Gadir. It was in Gadir where his luck had changed, when he joined the
Astarte’s
crew. He had no more time; his luck must change again; it was their last stop before Carthage. Once there, the
periplus
would slip from his hands.

He glanced at the girl again. She had not moved.

The last time he saw her was many days ago. They had just left the Tagus River. He had been sitting on the deck, weaving loose strands of hemp into a rope. His nimble hands pulled each thread into a long braid. Everything was valuable now and must be repaired and carefully allotted.

She was tethered by a rope, smiling and talking to the old navigator. They had ignored him. He wanted to go and push her into the water so she would never talk again, never betray him to the Admiral. She paid him no notice. It was as if he were invisible. Maybe she had not recognized him in the Admiral’s cabin. He frowned and bent his head.

But he had to be sure. Each time the Admiral passed him, Midacritus felt his stomach grip, waiting for a death blow: the voice naming him thief. His fear felt like a knife in his gut.

All he could think about now, day and night, was getting hold of the Admiral’s
periplus
, and the wealth it would bring him in Massalia. The dumb barbarian was not going to help him; he would have to do everything on his own.

That day, when the girl went below, Carloi the navigator had coiled up the rope he tied around the girl and motioned him over. The old man spoke to him in a low, questioning voice. Midacritus knew the Tartessian tongue well and understood what the old man said, even as he repeated it again.

Midacritus felt like laughing at what Carloi said. The navigator asked him to mend a small fray on the girl’s rope. If the gods sent gifts, Midacritus knew he just received one. He smiled and nodded at the navigator. Yes, he assured him, he knew exactly what to do.

After that, he had not seen the girl again. She was sick, they said.

Until now.

Midacritus looked up, and she was still there, standing at the railing, watching something in the water. He gave a furtive glance around. Big Nose Dog was gone. No one else was about, just the navigator guiding the ship. The crew was below, busy rowing the ship through a suddenly calm ocean, as the
Astarte’s
sail hung flaccid.

It was time. She was back and could name him thief to the Admiral. It would take just one push over the side, and the rope the navigator had asked him to mend—the rope Midacritus had carefully weakened, cutting each rough strand in the middle where it would not show—that rope would break apart, sending the girl into the ocean. Silencing her, forever.

His heart pounded, filling his ears. His fingers twitched. Without thinking anymore, he started forward. He was very close to her. Two more steps.

Then, behind him, someone shouted! Midacritus turned as Carloi the navigator came from behind and grabbed his arm. The old man wrapped his arms around Midacritus and clung to his back. His arms were thin, yet strong as an anchor rope. Carloi’s nails dug into Midacritus’s arms and he could not shake him loose.

The girl looked over her shoulder and screamed.

He couldn’t stop now! Midacritus jabbed his elbow back with a sharp jab into the old man’s ribs, and the navigator yelped in pain. In a rage, Midacritus shook him free and, with one powerful lunge, flung him toward the railing.

The navigator’s body hit the girl and the old man’s hand grabbed and caught hold of the rope, pulling the girl at the same time.

It broke! It still encircled her waist, and the navigator flew over the side with the girl following him, like a hawk tied to a lure.

From the stern, Midacritus heard a loud “
Stad
” and more voices. No! He turned, quickly saying, “Come help me! She fell over!”

Then he looked down. The girl was still there, clinging to the side! The old man hung beneath her, one hand gripping the rope. Panicked, Midacritus reached down and grabbed her hand. And then, watching her stricken face, slowly let go.

She dropped, screaming all the way.

Vertigo made her dizzy beyond bearing. She was falling from an impossible height. Once again the cold sea poured over her and scoured her skin. She heard her name and her eyes flew open.

Glas’s face looked down on her. His eyes were like holes in the sky, his white hair frizzed up like a cloud, and he smiled. “
Mo caraid
, you fell. We were afraid for you. But now you are safe.”

Caraid
. Hero called her that, too. But that was a hidden joy.

Her body shivered with a deep chill. She reached up with her hand and touched Glas’s forehead, warm and wrinkled with worry and ... she saw nothing! Her eyes, heavy with salt, painfully grew wider. Was it truly gone? The gift of seeing that brought her so much pain? Was it washed away by the sea?

She reached up again, this time with both hands, touching the light froth of his hair. What had happened to her? He gave her a questioning look. She could only smile back.

Her eyes closed. She was cold and so tired.

The next time she awakened, Rosmerta watched her from a corner of the room, and Sabrann did not know if she was awake or if this was a dream. Wrapped in a dark green cloak, Rosmerta’s pale red hair spread in waves over her shoulders. With a stern expression on her face, she held up one tattooed hand, and Sabrann saw one of her own amber beads strung on a thin bracelet. Sabrann’s leather belt pouch lay open on the floor.

“You will always be easy to find, now. With this.” Rosmerta rubbed the amber bead and held it next to her hair. The hairs reached out and stuck to the bead. “And with this.” Rosmerta raised her other hand where Sabrann’s soul stone gleamed white.

Sabrann gasped and wanted to grab the stone; she could not lift her arm.

“But something has happened, child. What has changed? You cannot hide anything from me.” She reached out and touched Sabrann’s hand to her head. “Tell me what you see.”

Sabrann thought of Hero and said, “Nothing.”

Rosmerta leaned forward, looking deep into her eyes and Sabrann knew she saw her love for Hero, hidden away in a secret place.

And, most of all, she saw Sabrann’s gift of seeing had vanished.