CHAPTER 19

From time to time as a child, Jimmy had experienced vivid waking dreams, the kind in which he moved through the world, at peace with his surroundings…and almost fell out of bed when his alarm clock went off, so surprised was he to discover that what he had perceived as reality was no more than fantasy. On waking—once he regained his bearings—he would recall as much as he could of the last few moments of sleep time and note that something small had been off about his world, perhaps a location, perhaps a companion, though all had seemed perfectly normal at the time. Dropping Tima off in the grocery store parking lot on a Tuesday morning to take a walk with Grandpa? To his dream logic, it made sense, but once awake, he realized how bizarrely his thoughts could mix and intermingle. Grandpa and a parking lot? At best a disjointed image.

Now images of Tamar and Tiffany competed in his head. Tamar? Tiffany?

First, he thought that the images of Ishmael and everything that happened after he had decided to take a shortcut to meet the bus on the other side of the mountain was in fact one big dream induced by the second bout of chemo; he certainly felt worse now than after the first bout, though he had no recollection of how he had returned from Ethiopia to the hospital in New York. He had read that the kind of drugs dripping into one’s veins could erase a whole chunk of memories.

But he was not sure.

Then he felt as if a girl was carrying him on a horse. He could feel the strong arms beneath him and smell the woman’s faintly clean scent, but the idea seemed ludicrous—he was in bed, he needed his pills, and they had made him drink that godawful potion.

He lost track of time and of all feelings.

Tamar pulled her scarf over her head and watched as one of her warriors slung Jimmy’s limp body over the back of a horse.

“Make sure he’s secured,” she whispered.

The warrior slipped into the saddle behind him and gave his back a light pat. “Safe with me, my lady,” she replied, and gestured for one of the others to help Tamar onto her horse.

Tamar shook her head and mounted unaided with the ease and nimbleness of a seasoned warrior. She had trained with her warriors and never demanded or ordered them to do tasks she could not do herself. She had seen Amnon, the spoiled child-prince of the Priests, who was either too fat or too lazy to hoist himself into a saddle, and wished in no way to be associated with the likes of him. Once she was in the saddle and Jimmy was secured, she waved her hand in subtle command for her retinue to follow her to the city gates.

The gates of Sheba were locked and barred at night, though whether to keep strangers out or citizens in was a matter that Tamar had never resolved to her satisfaction. It was the Law, and that was sufficient. After sundown, no one could enter or leave unless he was on official business, and even then the matter needed to be of great importance.

The sentries at the gates did not dare to question Princess Tamar, however, especially when a platoon of her warriors rode with her. They opened the gate just so that the princess and her warriors could slip out of the city.

As soon as they cleared the plaza and Tamar was sure they were out of the sentries’ sight, she steered the platoon off the road and into the forest. Once in the wood, some rode ahead, a spearhead guards and scouts, others keeping close to Tamar and Jimmy for protection. They traveled in silence, signaling with quick pulls of head and reins, and the horses moved sure-footedly over the uneven trail.

Soon the land began to dip, and then the trail disappeared into a deep ravine. The warrior holding Jimmy pointed in query, and Tamar nodded. “River first,” she whispered, and off they rode, traveling single-file as the walls rose around them.

The trail had been laid along one side of the ravine, running parallel to the stream that had carved the canyon and defined its course. Tamar called a halt at a wide space in the trail, where road and river nearly touched, and waited as her warrior lifted Jimmy off and carried him down to the water.

“Drink.”

Jimmy cracked his eyes open and saw fractured moonlight rippling off black water.

“Drink,” Tamar coaxed, cupping her hand and holding it to his lips. “Drinkest thou this, ’tis wonderfully good.”

He hesitated, still wondering whether he was asleep or awake, then weakly held his hands beneath hers and brought the water to his mouth. She tipped it in, waiting as he swallowed, then slowly pushed his head toward the river. “Here,” she said softly, “takest thou all thou can.”

Jimmy’s head plunged into the river as he gulped at the running water, swallowing in choking mouthfuls until he was sure his stomach was about to burst and fell back against the bank. “My God,” he muttered, “I feel like the Goodyear blimp,” and belched.

Tamar bit her lip to keep from laughing. “I know not of what thou speakest. Goodyear?”

“Later,” he groaned, and belched again as the warrior lifted him back onto her horse.

They had ridden in silence through the ravine, Jimmy burping all the while, when three warriors from the advance party met them in the trail. Tamar led her horse forward to meet them, then returned to her pack. She consulted with her warriors and quickly reached a decision. Once the decision had been made, no discussion followed; each warrior knew her position and task, and so Tamar turned her attention to Jimmy. “Amnon—dost thou know of him?” she asked.

“Not really,” said Jimmy, struggling to sit up on the horse.

The warrior grabbed him by the back of the robe and hoisted him upright, and he muttered his thanks in broken Sheban. She kept him from falling off the horse by unabashedly hugging him, but there was nothing tender in her embrace; it was as firm as an iron vise.

“He is the son of the High Priest, a prince,” Tamar continued, keeping her voice low. “And he has prepared an ambush for us ahead, in the canyon. We must wait for the moment.” She dismounted and offered her hand, and Jimmy leaned against her as he slid off the horse.

Tamar led him to a large rock beside the trail while one warrior corralled their horses and the others rode off to join the advance party. When the sound of hooves had faded, she asked, “What is this ‘Goodyear’?”

“Goodyear? Oh, that,” he shrugged. “It’s a company. They have this blimp, a huge balloon full of gas. Kind of like me,” he offered with a grin, and covered his mouth as he burped again.

She laughed at his embarrassment. “The Brew will cure anything.”

He waited a while, then whispered, “I still need my medicine.”

Tamar looked into the distance in silence, and Jimmy repeated, “I need my medicine, Tamar. It’s keeping me alive, at least for a little while…”

Before she could reply, one of the warriors returned and spoke rapidly, and Tamar pulled Jimmy to his feet. “The road is clear,” she said, then left him to the warrior and mounted her horse.

Jimmy had thought that sitting upright on the horse would be better than riding like a sack of potatoes slung over the saddle, and he let the rider behind him embrace him to keeping him from falling.

How he wished that it was Tamar behind him instead of the warrior.

His thoughts shifted as soon as they rounded a bend in the canyon, and Jimmy almost fainted at the sight of the slaughter. The moon illuminated the scene ahead, and he tried to count the bodies by their shining armor as they approached the pass.

Beside him, Tamar jumped off her horse and handed the reins to the warrior behind Jimmy. “Come,” she whispered, “the horses cannot pass.”

He stared down at her, taken aback. “You mean we’re walking through…”

“They are dead,” she snapped, waiting for him to take her hand. “Thou art not affrighted by mere corpses?”

“No,” he mumbled, letting Tamar help him slide off the horse; he was surprised that his knees did not buckle and his head did not swoon, and he meekly followed Tamar toward the narrow path.

The trail was indeed too steep for anything save mountain goats, and they were forced to slide down on their hands and knees, sometimes crawling, sometimes crab-walking, occasionally helping each other over the roughest patches. As much as Jimmy relished the feel of Tamar’s hand on his—and he noticed that she was helping him more than was strictly necessary, even in his condition—the pleasure was dampened every time he rounded a bend in the trail and found himself facing a headless body, or a corpse with its throat sliced.

The corpses were all men, the High Priest’s soldiers.

When he began to gag, Tamar gripped his shoulder until he brought himself back under control, then whispered, “My women had to work swiftly. There was no other choice.” She pointed to a body further along the trail, then led him closer until he could see that it was one of her warriors, fallen with a long spear jutting from her chest. “’Tis ugly and brutish,” she continued, gently pulling the spear free, “but there is no other way. Not when he desires this.” She tossed the spear into the river, closed the woman’s eyes with two fingers, and kissed her cheek.

Jimmy watched, unsure of what, if anything, he should say, and finally produced, “Did you know her?”

“Know her?” asked Tamar, still staring down at the body. “Aye. All of my warriors are known to me.” She straightened and wiped her hands on her robe, then pointed to a flickering light in the cliff ahead. “Mamgorot,” she said, pronouncing the name with trepidation.

She walked toward the light, which resolved into a torch burning in a sconce on the wall of a large cave. One of Tamar’s warriors emerged from the shadows and briefly spoke to her, and Tamar nodded slowly. “Two of Amnon’s men escaped into Mamgorot,” she told Jimmy. “We shall go armed.”

“Armed?”

“Aye.” She accepted a sword from the warrior, then waited as another warrior strapped one to Jimmy’s waist. “Canst thou fight?”

He was too scared to answer.

She made a face, then spoke to one warrior, who pressed a knife into Jimmy’s hand. “Canst thou throw a blade, at least? I have seen thou do as much before, have I not?”

He shrugged, testing the weight in his hand, then turned and threw it at a rotten log. The knife hit with a deep thud, and both of the warriors nodded approvingly as Jimmy retrieved it.

When he had slipped the knife into his sword belt, he turned to find the warriors embracing Tamar, each in turn, and silently kissing her forehead before slipping away. After they were alone again, she exhaled deeply, then lifted her head and turned toward the cave.

“Follow me,” she commanded him.