Evening deepened around them, the stars kindling in the wide black expanse above. When it grew too dark to see, two young temple acolytes came with torches in iron stands; they placed one at the table and on either side of the door of the guesthouse, and then withdrew.
Night drew on. Occasionally, one physician or the other came to the table for refreshment; Arthur went now and again to sit at his wife’s side. She slept the restless, troubled sleep of the sick, and though Arthur dutifully bathed her face and neck and feet with the cool water, it no longer seemed to bring her burning body any comfort.
As midnight approached, Xian-Li began to lapse in and out of consciousness. She moaned and murmured in increasingly fretful sleep, sometimes calling out, the words garbled and indistinct. Then, suddenly, she would wake and struggle to rise, fearful, no longer knowing where she was. Arthur did his best to calm her and soothe her restless spirit, all the time fighting his own growing fears.
The physicians, meanwhile, tried to get her to drink and continually refreshed the damp cloths. The last time she was able to drink, she vomited it all back up, and from then on could not be induced to take any more water. As the terrible night wore on, she began to sweat and shake with chills-so violently that once Khepri held her jaws together with his hands lest she shatter her teeth.
Gradually, the shaking grew less strenuous, which Arthur took as a good sign. But Khepri said, “Her strength is failing. The fire inside is consuming her.”
Arthur could but look on in helpless anguish as his young wife’s breathing grew ever more shallow and erratic. The sweating stopped. Her chest rose once and fell. Between one breath and the next, Xian-Li, her life devoured by the fever, expired. She was gone.
It took a moment for Arthur to realise what had happened, and even then he could not grasp the awful finality of it. The end had come so quickly, and right up until the moment she died he had been certain she would pass the crisis. He had not had time to prepare for the possibility that she might not survive. Uncomprehending, he simply sat and stared at her beautiful body as the lines of tension in her face and limbs eased and she relaxed into death.
A few moments passed, and then the two physicians bent over the body and began to unfold a linen cloth to cover the corpse.
“No,” murmured Arthur. “Leave her be.”
Khepri nodded to his father, who extended his palm in a gesture of respect and backed from the room. “I am sorry,” Khepri said. “It was the will of the gods. There was nothing to be done.”
“What?” Arthur roused himself. “What did you say?”
“We were powerless before the mighty will of the gods.” He glanced with sadness at the still body. “If you wish, I will begin making the arrangements for her embalming. It is best done quickly.”
“No,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “Thank you, Khepri, but no. I will make my own arrangements.”
“As you will, master.”
Anen came in then and, seeing what he had already been told had taken place, he embraced his friend and expressed his sorrow. Then, spreading his hands over the body, he intoned a chant for the dead. Arthur listened, unable to make anything of it. When the priest finished, he turned and asked, “If you wish, I will have the body prepared for its journey into the afterlife.”
“How long until the sun rises?” asked Arthur.
“Not long. The night is almost gone.”
Arthur turned and rushed into the courtyard. Cupping his hands to his eyes to shut out the glare of the torches, he quickly scanned the heavens. From among the billions of bright pinpricks of light, he located the one he hoped to see: a star of piercing intensity, easily the brightest light in the heavens.
“Then we must hurry. There is not much time,” he said, rushing back into the guesthouse. Bending over the pallet, he gathered the still-warm body of Xian-Li into his arms.
“What will you do?” asked the priest.
“I’m taking her to reclaim her life.”
Anen opened his mouth to protest. “But-”
“Please,” said Arthur, cutting him off, “I must be at the ley before sunrise.”
Anen saw from the set of Arthur’s jaw that it was no use arguing. “What do you require?”
“Your chariot-is it still here?”
“I will order another.”
While the priest went to fetch the vehicle, Arthur wrapped his wife in the linen cloth Khepri had left for him. Then, when he heard the sound of the horses in the courtyard, he gathered up Xian-Li’s body and walked out. Together, they laid the corpse on the floor of the chariot, and Arthur started to climb up.
“Have you ever commanded such as this?”
Arthur admitted that he had not.
“Then allow me,” said Anen, taking the reins from his friend’s hands. “Stand behind me and hold tight.”
Arthur took his place in the chariot, and they rolled out into the darkened street and were soon on the road leading out of the city. By the time they reached their destination, the sky was pearling in the east. Wasting not a moment, they lifted Xian-Li’s body and arranged it so that Arthur could carry it more easily.
As the first golden rays of the newborn sun struck the unnaturally straight path, Arthur started walking.
“Where will you go?” Anen called after him.
“There is a place beyond that star,” Arthur replied, indicating the solitary star still ablaze in the fast-fading sky. “If Xian-Li can be healed anywhere, it will be there-at the Well of Souls.”
CHAPTER 34
In Which a Tour Guide Is Engaged
It has happened!” cried Lady Fayth. “We have made-”
The nausea overtook her before she could finish. Turning away quickly, she bent over and vomited politely. Though he felt sorry for her, Kit did admire her form. Giles was also affected; the sturdy coachman swayed on his feet and then crumpled onto hands and knees, emptying the contents of his stomach into the dust at the side of the road.
“Don’t try to fight it,” said Kit, sounding like a veteran of the wars. “Just breathe deep through your nose and let it wash over you.”
This well-meant advice met with a cool reception from Lady Fayth. “You knave!” she muttered as soon as she could speak again. She dabbed her mouth with the back of her hand. “You knew full well it would make us sick.”
“Well, yes, unfortunately it does rather-”
“You might have warned us.”
“I thought I did,” replied Kit lamely. “Did I not?”
“You most certainly did not,” she fumed. “I would have remembered such a salient fact.”
“Then I do most heartily apologise, my lady,” replied Kit stiffly. “It is in the nature of the leap, I’m afraid. It does monkey with your internal navigation system.”
She glared at him. “What are you babbling about?”
“It makes one feel seasick,” he explained. “But the feeling passes quickly, and one does seem to get used to it eventually. I feel quite normal, see?”
“How pleasant for you.” She sniffed. Turning her eyes away from Kit, whom she held to be the source of her discomfort, she took in the sight of the sphinxes. “Heavens!” she gasped. “Where are we?”
“Egypt somewhere, I reckon,” answered Kit. He looked to Giles, who was still kneeling in the dust. “How are you feeling?”
The servant nodded and rose unsteadily to his feet, his skin a pale, waxy hue. “Better,” he said without conviction.
Kit quickly scanned their surroundings. A more desolate landscape he could not have imagined: not a blade or
