Ahwere gasped softly, but Samlor's heart had leaped also and his arm tightened on Ahwere's waist. If the crocodile were waiting for them, he would raise the book and blast the creature with a word. .
But the great carnivore had disappeared, and the still greater beasts which had splashed and bellowed in the swamp were gone as well. Nothing remained but the soggy heat and the reeds nodding dimly beneath a red sun that seemed to be nearing the horizon. Here, at least, time passed as it did in Napata.
"The. .," said Ahwere. Swallowing so that her voice did not catch during the words, she went on, "The fire is next, then?"
"It can't hurt us," said Samlor.
Water curling around the hulls of the linked vessels gurgled like a drowning giant.
Sarnlor gave the lie to his own statement by lifting the crystal toward his forehead in case-
The invisible membrane separating the swamp from the tunnel shimmered across them like a curtain into night. The flames that had clawed the vessels when they first entered the tunnel now glowered like the eyes of a whipped dog. The oarsmen stroked forward, so shadowy that they could have been no more than the lumps of wax which Samlor had formed.
One bubble of fire spat toward them, but it was no more than a spark flung from a collapsing backlog. Even before it reached the barrier which should still protect the wax boat, the spot of blue fire disintegrated into a thousand scintillae and vanished.
The vessel lurched again and, straining the charred hawser behind, splashed thunderously into the current of the River Napata.
"We're safe," said Ahwere.
The tone of her voice reflected the fear which ruled Samlor's own feelings. Returning to the Realm of Men meant that the sun hammered them and that the gnats which buzzed from the marshy banks were used to preying on humans. There was a brightly-colored crowd waiting on the temple quay, folk whose questions would not cease even though they were directed at a man who had become a god.
And for all Ahwere's stated confidence, neither she nor her husband really felt safe.
Samlor looked back. The ancient wall was solid again, and the relief of the god's face was anonymous beneath its coating of silt.
The priests of Tatenen were a scarlet and gold bloc at the end of the quay, but Shay the bosun had elbowed his squat form into their midst. As the boat neared the quay, the crewmen backed water so fiercely that spray flew over Samlor and Ahwere in the bow-and reminded them that they were still naked. Ahwere murmured in despair, reminding her husband that they remained human and members of society despite the powers he had gained.
Shay tossed a line, ignoring the shouts of greeting and benediction from the remainder of the crowd. Samlor snubbed the rope off one-handed on the wax bowsprit-and found the bowsprit was only wax which pulled away in white fractures when it took the first strain.
The bosun swore, then bellowed to bring forward more of his sailors. The royal yacht drifted with the momentum of the sand still filling it. The wooden prow crushed the wax stern with no more sound than the gasp of air bubbling out through broken seams.
Ahwere glanced at her husband, then reached for the stone coping. She didn't have a chance to touch it because Shay's broad hand snatched her from the crumpling boat and then reached for her husband.
Samlor had a sudden vision of branching timelines as his bosun jerked him to safety. If he dropped the Book of Tatenen here, it would sink into the mud at the bottom of the river. He would never find it again, though he had all the resources of the temple-and the kingdom-with which to dredge and drain. .
He did not drop the silk-wrapped crystal.
The wax boat, crushed and already slumping with the sun's heat, began to drift downstream while Shay leaped aboard the yacht and called for more help. His curses at the charring and claw-marks which defaced the vessel were heartfelt.
Tekhao and several other priests were babbling oratorical-ly while servitors offered clothing and refreshments, but Samlor had a mind only for his wife and their infant now nestling again at Ahwere's breast.
He put his arms around them both and said, "This is the beginning of a new age for mankind, and we three are its leaders."
But when the silken parcel in his left hand brushed Merib, the child began to wail.
CHAPTER 18
THE FESTIVAL OF THANKSGIVING going on in the temple courtyard was an enthusiastic background, even in the royal suite facing the river. Rushlights on the roof made the reed tops shimmer and turned the stone causeway into something softly metallic.
A single lamp lighted the room where Samlor made his preparations and Ahwere crooned to Merib in a chair across from her husband.
Samlor brushed the final glyphs onto his parchment with a sure hand. He used sepia, cuttlefish ink, for his medium because its animal nature-and that of the parchment- would add to the virtue of the spell he was creating.
The Book of Tatenen could not be committed to human memory. In use, the mind became a facet of the book instead of the reverse.
But portions of the book could be excerpted by a man of the proper skills and powers; and one portion was enough to safeguard him against attack by men or gods.
"There. .," Samlor breathed as he contemplated the page of writing. He felt soggy, weighted down as if he had eaten salty food and drunk heavily. It was merely his reaction to returning to the Realm of Men after another excursion in the dazzling acuity of the Book of Tatenen.
Merib was asleep. Ahwere got up, cradling the infant with an ease which belied the slenderness of her form. She took the jug of beer from the sideboard and carried it to her husband.
Samlor smiled wanly at her and set the jug on the table beside his brush and parchment. "Next you'll do this, too," he said, reaching up to take her hand.
Ahwere shrugged, resigned and bitter, though she made an effort to pretend otherwise. "You're the scholar, my husband," she said. "I'll never learn-" her chin nodded toward the parchment. "Any more than you'll ever bear a child."
Merib whimpered softly.
Salmor didn't let his face set in anger, but animation of a hard sort prodded through his weariness. "There's no reason you can't learn to read and write," he said. "Just as Merib will. It's very important now."
"Yes, in time," said Ahwere in what a different tone could have made agreement. She walked back to her chair and sat.
Samlor poured beer into the mug which served as the jug's cover. "When I've drunk this," he said, though he had tried to explain the process before, "the spell of protection will be a part of me. Nothing will be able to harm me again."
He rolled the parchment and set it on end in the mug. The pale beer began to darken as it dissolved the ink. Fluid climbed the parchment cylinder slowly by osmosis.
"Yes," said Ahwere. "That must be why everything is out of balance. Because of what we've done."
Samlor turned the rolled document carefully and set it back in the beer with the other end down. The remainder of the symbols added their substance in swirls of color that merged with earlier glyphs and lost definition. The fluid was now the color of the yacht's cedarwood rail after the tunnel had seared it.
"Don't be foolish," he said sharply. "We are part of the balance. Nothing's wrong. And you will learn the glyphs so that the book protects you as well."
He dropped the soggy parchment on the table. It oozed a mixture of beer and ink and power. Without looking at his wife, Samlor lifted the mug and drank down its contents. "Yes, my husband," said Ahwere. "I will learn the glyphs. If there is time."
CHAPTER 19
THERE WERE CLOUDS both on the western horizon and high in the east, but the sky directly above the yacht was clear and perfectly framed by the sunset. The west was a mass of boiling red with only one opening. The beam which escaped through that gap flared in a great keyhole across the opposite cloudbank.