Close Up the Sky (28 page)

The remark caused
a ripple of agitation among Nessif's men, but the Morruk ignored the challenge
to his authority. "What is your tribe?" he demanded. "I do not
recognize the weave of this Santa Claus suit." In Nessif's accent, the
English words sounded like
sundu clus
.

Leahy regarded him
with a cool gaze. He knew that most men of Nessif Eguic Famaed's profession
were cowards, and had no courage unless they outnumbered their opponents or
could strike from behind. Instead of answering the question, he sneered and
asked, “What do you want?"

Nessif uttered a
low laugh and edged the horse slightly closer. He fingered the hilt of his
sword, and as though reacting to a signal, the circle of men around Leahy
tightened a little.

"What is
that?" He pointed to the pack at Leahy’s feet.

Leahy nudged it
with the toe of his boot. "Nothing that concerns you."

Nessif nodded to
the man with the scar, Jakar. He scurried forward and knelt at the pack. In a
swift movement Leahy spun sideways and kicked him full in the face. Jakar
screamed and fell backward, blood gushing from a smashed nose. The other men
jerked up their staffs and assumed offensive positions, looking to their leader
for instructions.

Nessif was livid
with rage. "Fool!" he screamed at Leahy. "You have sealed your
death!"

"I doubt
it," Leahy replied in a calm voice. He produced the Beretta and leveled it
at Nessif.

The Morruk gave
the pistol a contemptuous look. "You will need more than that little club
to save yourself," he snarled. "Take him!' he shouted to his men. The
circle began to close.

Leahy raised the
pistol over his head and fired two quick shots. In the still air the sound was
deafening. The ring of bandits burst into a wild scramble of flailing arms and
legs. Wooden staffs flew into the air as they collided with each other in a mad
haste to flee. The horse bolted away, throwing Nessif over its haunches. The
master of the desert hit the ground with a heavy thump, but the impact did not
delay him from quickly regaining his feet and fleeing after his men.

Leahy watched with
amusement as men and horse streaked away over the flat ground. To make sure
they did not stop, he cracked three more rounds into the air. The effect was
magical. They were already running at Olympic speed, but the additional shots
somehow accelerated them. Their loose robes fluttered out behind them like
capes as they fled in terror from the roaring pistol.

The twenty-first
century man laughed and yelled in English after them, "What’s the matter? You
guys act like you never saw a gun before!" Smiling, he put the Beretta
back in his pocket, but kept watch until they vanished into the distance.

"I guess it
was
a hell of an experience at
that," he mused to himself. "Probably thought I was some kind of
demon or something." When he was satisfied that they would not return, he
picked up the pack and resumed his journey.

By late afternoon
the lay of the land had changed again.
The plain-like terrain
over which he had been traveling since his encounter with the thieves had given
way to gullies, small hills, and masses of jutting rock.
Dry, stubby
bushes that resembled sage dotted the ground where there was enough soil for
them to take root. Here, the going was much tougher and his progress was
severely impeded. He slipped and fell a number of times while crossing the
gullies, but the L-suit protected him from the cuts and scrapes he would have
received without it.

He knew the Nile
lay due east, and he had been using the sun as a reference point in his trek. During
the morning hours it had been easy to keep on course; all he had to do was walk
into the sun.
Now it was behind him, and the going was much
more difficult.
He began to rely on the compass, but in spite of its aid
he still found himself wandering off at an angle to his intended course. Because
of that, he frequently checked over his shoulder at landmarks he had passed
just to keep reasonably straight. It was during one of those checks that he
discovered he was again being followed. There was the barest flicker of
movement as something ducked behind a boulder several hundred yards behind him.
A few minutes later the movement repeated itself. He continued moving, doing
nothing to alert the follower that he had been detected. Just ahead he saw a rocky
stratum about ten feet high. As he passed around it, he jumped to his right,
dropped the pack, and flattened himself against the opposite side. He listened
intently for footsteps, but heard only the gentle sighing of a breeze. He stood
still for an interminable time, barely breathing. The sound came just as he was
about to give up and peer around the edge of the rock. It was almost inaudible,
cut off as soon as it was made. Someone just around the corner had slipped on a
loose stone and sucked in his breath.

He took out the
Beretta and gripped it in his left hand. A full minute passed, but no one
appeared. A droplet of sweat trickled down the side of his nose and across his
upper lip. The little breeze died away, magnifying the silence. More
perspiration formed on the outer edge of his left eye. It started to sting and
he squeezed the lid shut. At that same instant a man stepped into view. With
startling speed he jumped from his position behind the ridge and delivered a
terrific blow with his right fist to the pit of the man's stomach. The stalker
made a wheezing cry as air rushed from his lungs. The punch bent him double,
and Leahy followed up with a fierce uppercut with his knee. It caught the man
full in the face and knocked him to the ground. He screamed, covered his face
with both hands, and rolled onto his side in the fetal position.

Leahy stepped back
and brought the Beretta up in a two-handed police grip, ready for more
attackers. He scanned the area around him, but saw nothing. The injured man
moved as though about to get up.

“Freeze!” Leahy
barked in English. "Damn," he muttered, then said in Egyptian, "Do
not move, or you will die."

The man held up
his hands, palms forward. As he
raised
his head Leahy
saw blood oozing from smashed lips. "Please do not kill me, lord," he
pleaded in broken Egyptian. "I meant no harm."

Leahy eased the
pressure on the trigger, but kept the weapon pointed at the man's head. "Who
are you, and why were you following me?" he demanded.

"I am called
Hanik, lord.
A humble servant of the Morruk tribe.
I
followed you because I have never before seen a god." He twisted his body
into a prone position, face down, arms stretched full length toward Leahy.

"Why do you
call me a god?" Leahy asked. He lowered the pistol, but remained on guard.

“Lord, who but a
god may command the thunder
?
” He kept his face pressed
to the ground, muffling his voice.

Leahy eyed him
suspiciously. "You were with that band of thieves this morning," he
accused. "You would have robbed and murdered me."

"We did not
know who you were, lord," he replied in a trembling voice. "Please
forgive us."

Alert for any
sudden moves, Leahy went to the man's side and carefully patted him down for
weapons. He located a small curved knife under his robe near the waist. He
removed it, threw it away, and stepped back a few feet. "Get up," he
commanded.

While Hanik was
getting to his feet, Leahy again scanned the area for the rest of the band. No
one was visible, but the irregular terrain provided a multitude of hiding
places. They could have been within a hundred yards and he would not have seen
them. He scrutinized the man before him. His sparse beard was caked with blood
and dirt from lying face down on the ground. He wore a filthy, knee-length robe
of a light colored material with brown vertical stripes. A leather thong that
served as a belt held the garment around his waist. Instead of shoes, he wore
loose fitting sandals secured by leather cords tied around the ankles. The
toenails jutting out the ends were gnarled and broken, as were his fingernails.
A grimy looking rag made from the same material as the robe was tied around his
head for protection from the sun. Now that he had a closer look, Leahy
remembered him from his earlier encounter with the Morruks. The face set in
oily black hair reminded him of a rat. "Where are the rest of your
men?" he demanded.

Hanik eyed the
pistol and licked his thin lips. "In our camp, lord, to the north." He
cocked his head in that direction.

"Why are they
not with you?"

"They were
afraid, lord. Their courage deserted them when you cast the thunder at us. I
alone followed you."

Leahy grunted. "So
you are braver than the rest, are you?" he said with a sneer.

The Morruk made no
reply to the sarcastic remark. He averted his eyes and pretended to be looking
at the ground, humbled.

"I have no
desire to kill you, Hanik, but if you wish to live you will not follow me
again. My patience grows short. If I see you after this day, you will
die." It was an empty threat and he knew it. There were a number of reasons
why he might kill a man, but this was not one of them. It was just the only
thing he could think of that sounded like something a pissed-off god might say.
In any event, it had the desired effect. Hanik fell to his knees and put both
palms on the ground. He fairly cringed in terror.

"I do not
wish to die, mighty one," he whined, "but it would be better to meet
death at your hands than to go back in failure. Nessif will surely kill me in a
most horrible way." He hunched his skinny shoulders and trembled piteously.

"What do you
mean?" Leahy asked. He could not see Hanik's eyes, but he had the feeling
that they were turned upward toward him.

"It was not
courage alone that made me follow you, lord. Our leader fears that we have
offended you, and that if you are not appeased you will bring the wrath of the
gods down upon the Morruk tribe. For that reason he sent me, his most humble
servant, to find you. It is his greatest wish that you
will
honor us with your presence so that we may celebrate your coming with a feast. I
am to be your guide, lord. Command me, and I will obey."

Leahy had no
intention of accompanying Hanik to the Morruk camp, but it occurred to him that
the man might be useful in another way. Until now he had only been guessing
about the distance to the Nile, but Hanik would doubtless know its exact
location. He might also be valuable in helping to avoid any impassable terrain
that might further delay his reaching the river. Since the man believed him to
be a god, Leahy saw no reason why he should not turn it to his advantage. But
he did not delude himself. His previous experience with the Morruks had taught
him that Hanik was more than just a simple desert nomad who only wanted to
please a god. The ratty look was not just the way nature had arranged his
features, it was also a personal characteristic.

"Stand
up!" Leahy commanded.

Hanik got to his
feet and regarded him expectantly.

"Perhaps you
can make amends for your earlier transgression," Leahy offered. He pointed
a finger directly in Hanik's face and tried to look as omnipotent as possible. "But
if you fail me, I will be without mercy." It had the desired effect. Hanik
dropped to his knees again and clasped his hands together against his chest.

"You have
only to command me, lord. Say the words and I will obey." His voice had a
slight tremble, but whether it was real or only for effect Leahy could not
tell.

"You are
familiar with the land around us?"

"I have
traveled here many times, great one. Not even the scorpions know the desert as
well as I." His tone was growing more confident.

"How far is
it to the great river?"

A narrow-eyed look
flickered across Hanik's face, but disappeared as quickly as it had come. He
cast a surreptitious glance toward the east then looked back at Leahy. "Less
than half a day's march."

"What lies
between here and the water?"

"Only the
desert."

"There are no
people?"

"People, my
lord?"

"Yes, people.
Other tribes."

"This is the
land of the Egyptians, lord. They alone are permitted to live here."

Leahy stuck the
pistol back in his pocket and walked over to his pack. He put it on and
gestured for Hanik to get up. "Lead me to the river, Hanik. Walk before me
and see that your steps are true. If you serve me well you will be rewarded; if
you fail me, you will die."

The Morruk scrambled
to his feet and bowed. "It shall be as you command, great one. The river
is this way." He beckoned for Leahy to follow and started off in a
northerly direction.

Instead of
following, Leahy stood his ground. "Is the river not in that
direction?" He nodded toward the east.

Hanik scurried to
within a few feet of him, and bowed slightly. "That is true, but in that
direction there is a great rift. It is between
us and the
river
. We must go north to avoid it."

Leahy peered at
the man, trying to read what lay behind the smiling mask of his face. For the
first time he noticed that Hanik's teeth were small and pointed, accentuating
his rat-like appearance. For a few seconds he continued to stare at him in
silence then relented. He would soon know if he was being conned, but for the
moment it was expedient to give Hanik the benefit of a doubt.

"Lead
on," he directed. They started off toward the north, Hanik ten paces
ahead.

Late in the
afternoon they came to the base of a high ridge. Leahy estimated it to be at
least five hundred feet above the rest of the terrain. At first its rocky face
rose almost vertically; but as they continued to walk around it, the angle of
incline began to lessen. When the slope became gentle enough to climb, Leahy
called a halt. He took out his water bottle, drank sparingly from it, replaced
the cap and tossed it to Hanik.