Spiral: Book One of the Spiral in Time (67 page)

“I don’t know. I have to bury the body,” Lorc said, and slumped to the floor.

Akmu-en- Swnw had come to keep his promise to Sabrann: he would look after Glas. Isis, the other rider, slipped from his horse and gathered the reins of the wagon’s mules.

The physician went to the back of the wagon and drew the cover back. His surprised eyes found another passenger, hidden under the stinking canvas. Tawe, the temple prostitute!

A shrouded body lay on top of the discarded carrion from the Tophet sacrifices.

He pulled back the shroud and, touching his hand to the charred neck where the life force was always strongest, stood still for a long time, not quite knowing what he would do next. He was a physician and of habit, always felt for a sign.

“Yet he lives!” he whispered, shocked. Then he nodded. A faint beat! No more than the irregular flutter of a tiny bird. The girl uttered a soft cry.

From far off, in the direction of Carthage, came the sounds of many horses, a search party sent by the Lord Hanno, no doubt.

Akmu-en-Swnw climbed into the driver’s seat and pulled Tawe up next to him. Lorc lay unconscious on the floor. Isis and the horses waited behind the wagon.

“Come, Isis, my friend. We go to Egypt,” Akmu said. He turned the wagon from the scrub- lined pathway of a road into the rough desert country. The midnight-blue, curved vault of the sky soared above, endless in its wonder, sprayed with glittering stars and trailing comets, but no moon to betray them.

“To the desert, Land of Prophets. To Siwa, where none will follow.”

ENGLAND

2006

QUEEN’S HOSPITAL

Awakening

August, 2006

Germaine O’Neill opened her eyes with a cry, caught in a fiery vision as black clouds and flames leaped into the sky. The small boat rocked ... Hero was there, too, and Lord Gisco ...

Glas!

With a sob, she remembered—he was gone.

And she was alone in a dimly lit room. Where was she? How did she get here? She couldn’t move. Was this some terrible dream?

Suddenly the room filled with a brilliant, white light, and a woman rushed to her side.

“Dr. O’Neill, you’re awake!”

Germaine stared at her, shocked.
No! I am Sabrann.
She barely moved her head and everything spun about. Nauseated, she started to gag, and the woman held Germaine’s head over a basin. Afterwards Germaine closed her eyes and laid still.

Her name was Sabrann ap Durot and nothing made any sense. She remembered everything that ever happened in her life.

Who was this Dr. O’Neill? And Glas. Her chest tightened as she silently cried out his name. He had saved her. It was all so vivid: the Tophet, the
Rab-kohanim
, Hero and Akmu ...

Yet now there was this other name.

Exhausted, she dropped back into a black nothing of sleep.

When she next opened her eyes the woman was still there. And a man. A dark-haired man with light, gentle eyes.

“Where am I?”

“Queen’s Hospital in London, Germaine,” the man said. “You’ve been in a coma for weeks. Do you remember anything?”

She shook her head no, and the nausea swept over her again.

“You were injured at the dig when the burial chamber collapsed and hit your head. A very serious concussion. They had a hard time getting you out. You are lucky to be alive.”

He called her Germaine, not Sabrann.

A hospital, yes. Somehow, she knew she was in a hospital. She looked down. Tubes and catheters dangled from under the covers. Monitors of some kind beeped on the right. A needle was taped to each arm. Oxygen gently filled her nose though a clear plastic tube.

But nothing fit together right—like two pieces of a torn photograph, laid side by side, but not aligned with each other.

Glas! She wept, saying his name and pulling at the restraints on her arms.

A sharp sting ran up her arm and she looked at the woman. She had attached a vial of something to the IV needle stuck in Germaine’s arm.

“A shot of Valium. Now that you are awake, we want you to stay calm. Your head has not healed completely.”

Germaine felt a warm flow of well-being, and shut her eyes, floating.

Four weeks. She had lived a lifetime in that time.

It was morning; her head swept clear of dreams and Valium. The blinds on the window opened to a city of tall dark buildings. Pale gray light filled the room; ugly hospital green painted walls. The smell of alcohol and antiseptic cleanser filled Germaine’s nose.

Now she knew Sabrann was gone. And this was not Carthage.

“My girl! I’m so happy to see you awake.”

It was Aubrey. Dear Aubrey. At least she knew who he was. And the dark-haired man next to him? Nicholas Greenwood. He reminded her of someone. He smiled and the vertigo returned. She remembered those eyes. They were Lorc’s. Her hands turned icy—Lorc wanted to kill her! She struggled against the bed restraints and could not move. She violently moved her head from side to side. She had to escape!

The nurse tightened the restraints and put a neck brace on Germaine.

“We do this for all head injuries,” she said to Aubrey. “I’ve called for Dr. Ramachandra.”

Germaine continued her futile struggle until the nurse returned and gave her another shot. She drifted off into another valium haze.

Dr. Ramachandra finished examining her. The lights in her room were turned down to see the images from her tests. Displayed on a lighted panel on the green wall were X-rays of her skull and spine and the MRI image of her head—a three-dimensional scan of her brain.

Germaine lay with her head facing the X-rays. They had reluctantly taken off her neck brace, but only after she promised not to move.

Aubrey sat by the bed holding her hand while Nicholas Greenwood leaned against the wall. Aubrey was telling her how caring Nicholas had been, spending long hours talking to her and reading books aloud to her while she lay unconscious. Everyone talked to her as if she were a child. She felt agitated, disoriented.

She was Sabrann, not Germaine. Where was Sabrann and what happened to her? She remembered everything so clearly. If she closed her eyes, she could see Glas, Akmu, everyone.

Dr. Ramachandra smiled at her.

“The deepest level of coma lasts two to four weeks. And now you are awake. This is good. You are awake and, even better, you are alert. Let’s talk about what we know so far. You were buried under the roof of the burial chamber ...” His voice drifted off.

Her head hurt. She shut her eyes and saw something. Above her, in a black void, a bronze sword glittered, spinning toward her. It was going to kill her!

Germaine opened her eyes and blinked hard. The sword floated away. She was in the dimly lit, ugly green, hospital room.

“Miraculously, the beams fell in such a way that you were protected. Buried alive your co-workers said.”

Germaine kept her eyes open, not wanting to see more. She stared at the X-rays.

“So you had a severe concussion and fell into a coma.” He pointed to one X-ray. “There are several hairline fractures in your frontal skull. And they are healing.” Then he pointed at the MRI.

“Fortunately, your brain does not appear to have any trauma. When your head is hit hard, the brain can crash into your skull and temporarily stop working normally. The most common side effect is your memory might be impaired; the cerebrum controls most of your memory.

“You keep calling for Sabrann. Do you remember her? Was she someone you knew before the accident?”

“No, I think she is me.”

The doctor’s forehead wrinkled up ever so slightly.

Germaine swallowed hard. She knew it sounded strange, even crazy. She glanced at Nicholas. He nodded and gave her a reassuring look, as if to say go on.

“You don’t understand. I didn’t just see another person. I
was
another person: Sabrann. In a different life.”

Now there was a frown on the doctor’s face. Aubrey gently patted her hand. Nicholas’s face was carefully expressionless.
They are all humoring me
, she thought.

She panicked. Was she crazy? Sometimes when she looked at Nicholas, she saw Lorc. She knew everything about Sabrann and Germaine. Sabrann’s life lay side by side with hers—it was like she was two people.

“But Sabrann
is
me. And I don’t know what is going to happen to me now. The boat ... Gisco and Hero. Where are they?” She started crying.

“I know her! I am her!”

“Let’s give it some time,” Dr. Ramachandra said. “Rest is usually the best remedy. We’ll want to keep you here for observation. It wouldn’t do to let you go until everything is stable.”

You mean until I stop saying I was another person, thought Germaine, understanding exactly what he meant. They thought she had lost her mind.

But I’m not crazy and I did not imagine that. Or did I?
She turned her head away from the doctor. Maybe something terrible and permanent had happened to her brain.

She was sedated, and they thought she was asleep. The attendant had left her in the hallway, waiting to be transported down into the bowels of the hospital for yet another test. She lay very still. A man was speaking in a low voice.