35

She sounded like Pirra, but she had the eerily perfect face of the Goddess. Hylas was too dazed to take in what she was saying.

Now she was gripping his hand in hers and leading him along passages, with Havoc running behind.

“The Plague’s gone,” he mumbled. “The gods blew it away.”

“But I couldn’t complete the Mystery,” she said. “I couldn’t bring back the Sun.”

After many twists and turns, they reached a shadowy space where she halted, staring at a smear of blood on the floor. “He’s gone. Telamon’s gone.”

“Telamon?” cried Hylas.

“He fell. I thought he was dead, but he’s gone.”

With a jolt, Hylas’ wits returned. “He could be anywhere, and I’ve left my weapons in the Great Court, we’ve got to get out of here!”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” said Pirra.

Back in her room, Hylas ignored the chaos of trampled food and well-chewed sheepskins and started gathering their gear, while Pirra hurriedly flung on her own clothes and washed her face, completing the change from goddess to girl.

“You knew Telamon once,” she said, cramming her things in a calfskin bag. “What will he do now?”

“He won’t leave Kreon’s body behind, his clan worships their ancestors. When he’s dealt with that, he’ll come after us, no matter how badly he’s hurt.”

She paused. “He thinks I have the dagger.”

The dagger. Hylas had forgotten it, but now his thoughts flew to Userref. Keftiu was vast. How would they ever find him?

The wind was getting up, moaning over the roofs and howling through passages. Suddenly, a savage gust blew aside the door-hanging. Pirra’s eyes widened. “It sounds angry.”

Hylas slung his cloak about him and shouldered his gear. “Come on. Dusk soon, and there’s a storm on the way.”

A gust of wind shook the tent, and the slave bandaging Telamon’s head cringed.

“Storm on the way,” said Ilarkos.

Telamon gave him a cold stare. “So let me be clear. We sent you up that mountain with half our men to catch whoever was up there—and you failed.”

“They slipped away in the dark—”

“Why didn’t you come and help us in the House of the Goddess?”

“We’ve only just made it back to camp!”

“Excuses!” Telamon barked at the slave, who refilled his wine cup.

Haggard with fatigue, Ilarkos watched thirstily. “We saw peasants on the move, my lord. They’re returning to their villages, the priests say the Plague’s gone. Among them I saw that Egyptian who was her slave. His face was dead white, it was horrible, like a ghost—”

“Ghosts!” sneered Telamon. He drained his cup. Maybe wine would ease the pain in his head.

He had a hazy memory of coming to his senses in a dark corner of that dreadful place and staggering around seeking a way out, then finding himself at a window on an upper story overlooking a vast open court. He’d seen Pirra on a balcony, her white arms raised like a goddess; a bull trampling Kreon’s corpse; and a lion leaping to Hylas’ defense.

Telamon ground his teeth. Lions were for chieftains, not goatherds; there were lions painted above the gates of his grandfather’s citadel at Mycenae. It’s all wrong, he thought savagely. Why Hylas and not me?

The wind roared in the pines and shook the tent. His men were huddled around their fires, shocked by their leader’s ghastly death. He should go and rally them, but he felt too angry and bitter to try.

“My lord,” said Ilarkos, “what are your orders? Do we return to Mycenae? These Keftians are no fighters, but if they turn on us, we’ll be hopelessly outnumbered.”

Telamon went still. For the first time, Ilarkos had asked him for orders. His anger vanished. Everything made sense. He had prayed for a chance to prove himself leader, and the gods had heard him. They had killed Kreon—so that he, Telamon, might lead. He would find the dagger and restore it to Mycenae. It was his destiny.

And maybe Pirra had told the truth when she said she didn’t have the dagger. Maybe she’d sent it away.

Flinging aside his cup, Telamon rose. “We will set sail for Mycenae, but not yet.”

“My lord?”

“At first light, the men will retrieve my uncle’s remains and burn them with all honor, as befits a son of Koronos. Then we go after the Egyptian. That was no ghost you saw. He’s alive and he has the dagger, or he knows where she hid it. Either way, we don’t leave Keftiu without him.”

Userref had shaved off his eyebrows in mourning and whitened his face with lime. Now, as lightning flared and rain hammered down, he kneeled on the windswept hillside and shouted prayers to his gods. “Auset, Protectress of the Dead, watch over she whom I loved as a little sister! Heru, Lord of Light, transform her spirit into a falcon, for her heart is righteous in the great balance!”

But he knew it was hopeless. Why should the gods of Egypt hear him, when Pirra had been a barbarian?

Someone grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet. “What are you doing?” yelled a voice in Akean. “Don’t you know the Crows are after you?”

The stranger was strong, dragging Userref downhill and deep into the woods, where he found an abandoned farmhouse hidden in a thicket, kicked open the door, flung Userref inside, and slammed it shut behind him. “What were you doing? D’you want them to kill you?”

Userref backed away, clutching his precious bundle. “If they did, I’d deserve it for letting her die!”

The stranger snorted. “Then why’d you paint crows on the soles of your boots? I thought Egyptians did that to curse their enemies!”

Userref was startled. Who was this man, that he knew the ways of Egypt?

The stranger was tall and broad-shouldered, with the long dark hair and uncouth beard of an Akean. He looked poor, but the fierce intelligence in his light-gray eyes warned Userref that he was no ordinary wanderer.

Alarmed, he watched the stranger pull a wineskin from the sack on his shoulder and cut a hunk of grimy cheese with a large bronze knife. “So why are they after you?” he said with his mouth full.

“My mistress fell ill,” Userref said guardedly. “I went to fetch dittany. When I returned, I found a smoking ruin. Later I saw their leader with her sealstone on his wrist . . .” He choked. “She died by fire, so her spirit is incomplete and she can never gain eternal life!”

Thunder shook the farmhouse, and both men ducked.

“But Keftians have their own gods to look after their souls,” said the stranger.

Userref wished he could believe that. But if only Egyptians knew how to attain eternal life, didn’t that condemn all barbarians to oblivion? All he knew was that his little sister was dead, and he would never see her again.

“You still haven’t told me why the Crows are after you,” said the stranger.

“You’re right, I haven’t,” Userref said politely. Slipping his hand inside his sack, he touched the snakeskin bundle that hid the dagger of Koronos. “Why did you help me?”

The Akean shrugged. “The Crows are my enemies. I saw them hunting you. And maybe—because you’re a long way from home, and so am I . . . You must miss the land of the Great River,” he added in Egyptian.

Userref’s eyes stung. It was years since he’d heard it spoken by anyone but Pirra.

Then he had an alarming thought. Why would some ragged Akean cross his path, speaking Egyptian? Was this man a god in disguise? “Wh-who are you?” he faltered. “What do you seek?”

“Well, I wasn’t seeking you. Let’s just say I’m looking for some people I used to know who hate the Crows as much as I do. What about you? Where are you heading?”

Userref hesitated. He’d sworn to Pirra that he would keep the dagger safe until he found a way for a god to destroy it. But how could he, when he was an Egyptian, to whom the gods of Keftiu wouldn’t listen?

If this man was a god, then he could destroy the dagger. But if he wasn’t? The risk was too great. “I don’t know,” he said. “Where do you think I should go?”

The stranger who might be a god took a pull at the wineskin. “Go home.”

Userref stared at him. “I can’t.”

“Why not? Your mistress is dead. Why stay on Keftiu?”

Hope leaped as Userref pictured the sacred papyrus waving on the banks of Iteru, and his long-lost family . . . And surely in Egypt he would find a way to honor Pirra’s last wish.

Again, the stranger spoke in Egyptian. “Whatever you decide, my friend, may you have long life and the sight of the Sun, and find your way to eternal peace on the horizon.”

Userref bowed low, in case this man really was a god, then returned the traditional blessing: “And may your name live forever in eternity. I shall do as you say.”