Path of Shadows by Lauren Haney

Author:Lauren Haney [Haney, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

“Are you sure you’re all right, sir?” Psuro, seated on the damp sand at the edge of the wadi with Bak and Amonmose, seemed not to know whether he should laugh with delight at finding them alive and well or worry about their many bruises, scratches, and cuts.

Bak finished eating the grouse and threw away the last of the bones. Cold though it was, it was as delicious as the warm birds he had eaten the previous day. “You’ve no need to worry, Psuro. Considering how fast the water flowed and the many objects it carried with it, we fared very well.”

“I thank the gods you came when you did.” Amonmose glanced toward the goats, waiting patiently for their small shepherd. “I was beginning to look upon those lambs as a tasty meal.”

Bak eyed the child, who stood a few paces away with User and Senna. He was small, dark-skinned, and dressed in rags, a miniature version of Imset. “The boy would never have for given you. Those animals are his responsibility, and he must return them to the family flock.”

The child’s reserve had melted away when User had given him a grouse. He had gobbled the food and eagerly accepted a second bird. After he finished eating, however, when the explorer had summoned Senna and tried to talk to him, his shyness had returned tenfold. He seldom raised his eyes from the wadi floor, did not know what to do with his hands and feet, and seemed to have lost the ability to speak.

User, with the guide translating, was trying to learn where the boy’s family might be found. The child had nodded when asked if he had been caught in the defile while searching for strays, but had shaken his head when asked where his mother was camped with their flock.

“They can’t be far away,” a frustrated User said. “Why won’t he tell us where they are? His mother might wish to trade for medicines or cloth or needles, or any of the other necessities I’ve brought that she’ll never be able to find in this wretched desert.”

“He knows where they are,” Senna said, openly irritated.

“Why he won’t tell, I can’t say.”

“Something has to be troubling him,” Bak murmured to his companions.

“You should try, sir.” Psuro stood up and took the halter of the donkey, prepared to return it to User’s string of animals, gathered at the edge of a puddle spread across the wadi floor.

“He’s seen with his own eyes that you’re a brave man, the way you survived the flood. And he knows you’re an officer, the one we Medjays look to for guidance. For those two rea sons alone, he might speak.”

Bak studied the two men and the boy. The latter had dis played no shyness toward User until he began asking ques tions. Could Senna’s presence have inhibited his speech?

“Summon Kaha, Psuro. I wish to use another translator.”

“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said, not bothering to hide his ap proval. He had not witnessed Bak’s fall into the floodwaters, but he had heard the tale from men who had.

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