Monday, March 28, 2016

Free short story: Son of Egypt - Part 3

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Parts: 010203040506070809101112131415161718 - 19

Copyright © 2016 by Cyci Cade. All rights reserved.

I wake up in the next morning and the world continues the same. I´m inside a stuffy tent, my tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth, my eyes seem full of sand… well, they are full of sand. Everything is full of sand.
The camp is quiet and the sun is very high, I image it´s around ten o´clock. As I don´t have an option, I push my legs out of bed, take a quick shower, and return to my tent where my mother gently left a tray with my breakfast. I wonder how long this kindness will last. I´m in this camp less than twenty-four hours and noticed that everybody has a job. I won´t be the one who doesn´t have a task. Besides, I need to occupy my mind in order not to think that I lost my father—it hurts a lot—and I´m condemned living in a cemetery.

I notice that my mother left some books about Egypt, archeology, pharaohs… I snort; as if I´d waste my time with this kind of literature. I look to the box with my bow and arrows. Yeah! I left many things behind. Too many. But, I brought my bow and arrows. Finding a place to practice may be easy.

Leaning forward to open the box, I notice that somebody enters the tent. My mother? I don´t think so; she isn´t as silent as a calm breeze. In slow motion, I straighten my body and turn to the person.

I have to tilt my head up to look to his face; he is tall. It´s impossible not to notice his puffy chest and arms, and his stomach? Oh my God! It´s the dream of any bodybuilder. I have to control myself in order not to stretch my arms, walk to him, and touch that sculpted stomach. I lower my eyes to his legs, they are very good too. They are muscular, strong, thick… I wonder if he works in the harbor of Luxor because only a dockworker will have arms so… so… big, strong, muscular.

He is wearing just a white linen mini-skirt decorated with a feather-like pattern. The authorities should forbid this kind of clothing. It´s very hot during the day but this… is too dangerous. This specimen can cause a heart attack or something like that. He is the man I found last night, the one who insulted me.

“Where are my shabtis?” His rough voice echoes inside the small tent breaking my daydream.

I had forgotten about those shabtis and his unpolished manner. Still mesmerized by the handsome man in front of me, I shake my head, my jaw dropped open. He looks like a god. Oh, he does! I didn´t know there were such handsome men in Egypt.

Due to my silence, he says, “Follow me, servant.”

I do.

The sunlight hurts my eyes breaking my trance. I shake my head. “What? I´m not your servant!” I protest; even so, I follow him. This isn´t my usual behavior; it scares me.

He walks to the ruins. I keep following him like an obedient and well-trained dog. It annoys me. I don´t like to follow orders. However, it seems that I lost control of my body. I can´t command any different reaction. I can´t think anything different, just follow the stranger toward the ruins of the Valley of the Kings.

Okay. I´m very scared now. I have a bad sensation when I enter the ruins. The world seems to close in on me. I´m panicking, my heart beating faster and faster, my breathing short and superficial, my legs moving in an awkward and unstable way, but they continue to move, following the stranger closely. I don´t want to do it! I do not! Why do I keep walking? I just need to turn around and return to the safety of my tent. It´s easy. It just seems impossible.

He doesn´t bother looking back to check if I´m still with him. He knows that I´m still here. Too close. We take a corridor and go down, then we turn to the left, right, and left again. I hear voices, my mother and her team; they are distant from us. As we go down, their voices dwindle away to nothing. Now, it´s only the stranger and I. If he kills me, nobody will find me.

Entering a large chamber full of treasure, old things, and… him, I gulp. We are alone here, I can´t forget it. He enters another chamber with a sarcophagus and stops.

“Where are my shabtis?” He asks the same question. Slowly, he turns toward me and looks straight into my eyes as if trying to read my thoughts.

What the hell are shabtis?

“Look, I don´t know where your shabtis are. I don´t have any idea what they are or how they look like. I don´t belong to this place. All of this is a big mistake…”

“Silence, servant!” he says in a loud tone. He is angry.

I throw my hands up. “I´m not your servant, okay?” I spin on my heels and take advantage of the fact that I´m not under the effect of his beauty to run away from this frightening tomb and his daunting and disturbing presence.

“Lucky you. On the contrary, you´d be punished for serving me so badly,” he says, his tone different now, as if he is making fun of me, as if I´m entertaining him.

His words act as a trigger. I halt my pace, press my lips together, ball my hands, and wonder what I´m doing. Wasn´t the plan to run away?