Hand in hand, they strolled toward the steps again. With Xander at her side and her father’s last gift to her back safely in her arms, her life had never been more complete.
They walked down the streets of Cairo and she smiled, even though Xander wouldn’t see. To be forever at his side. This is what she wanted. More than the greatest discoveries of tombs and cities in Egypt. More than anything.
CHAPTER 12
The city sounds became distant. Instead of diesel and pita bread, a scent of straw and camel manure wafted through the air. The scene began to fade, though her mind fought to keep it alive, to keep it playing.
She wanted to relive it again and again. But it was slipping from her grasp. The camel scent only grew stronger. A deep, guttural groan met her ears. It was like she was lying in a barnyard.
Camels. Funny creatures. In fact, if she tried to open her eyes, willed herself to see, she could almost see some, moving toward her. Blurred like a mirage.
Her vision returned to darkness, this time accompanied by a strange weightlessness. It wasn’t exactly an out-of-body feeling, or even a sensation of flying. It was as if she was on top of a camel, even though it had been over a year since she had last mounted one.
But it was another one of her fondest memories, back in the good old days when she and Xander were still enemies. She had to share a camel with him and hated every moment. Her heart clenched at the thought. What she wouldn’t give to do it all over again. She could almost feel the swaying gait, hear the deep, gurgling wail. If only it were real. If only her mind would stop playing tricks on her, then she could ride to safety.
Her heart skipped a beat as the realization hit her. The sensation of moving wasn’t real. Her visions of camels weren’t real. Her organs were failing from the dehydration. She was hallucinating. Her brain was shutting down.
Was this to be her dying thought? Riding a camel? Maybe it was metaphorical. Like riding a camel into the sunset, into the afterlife. This wasn’t the way she expected it to be at all. People with near-death experiences always spoke of lights. Sometimes angels. She didn’t see any angels.
Maybe that was a bad sign?
Her heart pounded as fear of the unknown trickled into her thoughts. Whether she was ready or not, she was on a journey she couldn’t escape. She had no control over her new destination. Where would she stop?
All her strange thoughts of camels vanished as the visions of the desert ships turned into dark figures. There were her angels. Dark angels. Fear swirled around her heart and squeezed. She struggled for breath. She wanted to cry, but no sound would come out of her throat. It was too late. Most definitely too late. She couldn’t change things now. There was no going back. No matter how hard she tried, her body wouldn’t move. She was completely, utterly helpless.
The angels moved closer, holding a hand toward her. They were speaking but their words were a jumble and their voices echoed in her head.
One word kept being repeated: “Meyah.”
Water. It was Arabic. Now that she could place the language, more of their words began to make sense, although she struggled to put it all into context. It wasn’t quite the same they spoke in Cairo but the melody was similar.
One angel crouched beside her. A soft, reddish glow surrounded the silhouette, keeping his or her face shrouded in darkness. A cooling sensation trickled down her throat.
The effect wasn’t immediate, but with each passing moment, she could feel her strength returning. She could move her jaw as her mouth begged for more of the liquid. Then she could feel the cup against her hardened lips, and then the slow stream of water being poured into her mouth, running down the sides of her face. It was like drinking pure energy. Her skin prickled as the numbness faded. The fog over her mind began to lift. Her vision became brighter, even if it was still fuzzy.
She focused her blurry gaze on the angel holding the cup. Although the top of his head was covered in a dark wrapping, she could make out his beard, then his eyes, mouth and nose. Did she know that face? His eyes flashed and his lips curled up into a scowl. With a jolt of panic, she recognized him. Faris Al-Rashid.
“No,” she croaked, her own voice strange and unfamiliar. It sounded weak, desperate. Even though it had been a year since she last looked the man in the face, there was no mistaking him. The same mocking eyes, the sneering twitch of his mouth. Faris Al-Rashid sat in front of her.
It couldn’t be him. He was in prison. How was this possible?
“Ishrab,” he snarled, commanding her to drink. He thrust the cup toward her, some of the contents sloshing over the edge.
There was no escape for her in this condition. If the desert hadn’t killed her, he surely would.
“Stay away from me,” she cried out, though the effort to speak quickly drained her of what little energy she had.
“Abdullah, you’re scaring her,” another Egyptian voice came from the side—a softer, feminine sound. Faris turned away from Leila, looking in the direction of the speaker.
“You can leave now,” the lady said firmly. “I’ll take it from here.”
The man gave Leila a sideways glance, his jaw twitched and his eyes narrowed. Gradually, Faris’s face morphed into the face of a stranger with a short black beard and fiery brown eyes, framed by the dark cloth of a headscarf. He was younger than Faris, perhaps in his late thirties or early forties, and wore a brown leather jacket over a long, shirt-like jellabiya, dusted with the grime of the desert.
He averted his glare and set the cup down. Without another word, he jumped to his feet and stomped out of the tent. While Leila was relieved it was only a hallucination and he definitely wasn’t Faris, she hadn’t mistaken his disdain.
A woman slid into his seat and offered the cup to her. “I’m sorry,” she said softly in Arabic. “Don’t mind Abdullah. He is like the desert. Harsh and dry.”
Leila stared at the cup in her hand and struggled to breathe steadily again. Her mind raced to figure out what was going on. Was she dreaming? Was this the afterlife? Where was she exactly?
At the sound of soft fluttering and a light whistle of the wind, her gaze darted around her new environment. Colorful striped rugs covered the sand. Pillows of different sizes and colors lined the walls that were made of heavy fabrics, flapping gently in the breeze. A mound of sand near the middle of the tent was lined with rocks with a large metal teapot sitting in the center crater. The scent of burning wood filled her nose.
“Please. Drink another sip,” the woman reminded her.
Leila tore her eyes away from her surroundings and settled them on the woman. She had almost child-like features—a round face and wide eyes. Her hair was neatly covered in a headscarf that gracefully draped over her shoulders and her loose-fitting kaftan dress.
Although the lady looked only a few years older than herself, she had thick skin that wrinkled around her eyes and deep laugh lines that framed her mouth. Her full lips curled upward in an encouraging smile, her dark, round eyes glittering in the dim light of the tent. Clearly she meant well.
Leila nodded and quickly took the cup, unable to refuse the offer any longer.
“My name is Amina,” the woman continued as Leila poured the contents into her mouth. Enough for a single sip. “You’re welcome to stay here until you’re feeling better. I’m so glad Abdullah found you.”
Abdullah? So the angry dude had saved her? Leila leaned back with a groan, her head pounding relentlessly. A side effect of dehydration. Though she had no idea where she was or who these people were, there was something calming about Amina’s kind demeanor that made her feel safe.
Amina refilled her cup and handed it back to her. “You were almost dead.”
Her words sent a chill down Leila’s spine. Almost dead meant that at this moment she would be mostly dead. If not all dead. She gulped down the mouthful of water.
Amina reached out and gently wiped Leila’s arms with a damp cloth. She then pressed the rag to her forehead. It felt cool against her hot skin, the wetness soothing her sunburns and scrapes. An herbal scent wafted through the tent. A calming, earthy smell. Even if she had been almost dead, she was definitely still alive. Thanks to grumpy Abdullah. Thanks to kind-hearted Amina. Relief and gratefulness flooded her, but she failed to find the words, let alone the strength to speak them.
