The six Bedouins stood behind him, swords in hand, awaiting his commands.
Nosferatu stood still, taking in the changes, particularly the pyramids. There were piles of stone at the base of the Great Pyramid, as if it were not complete, or perhaps, Nosferatu mused, there had once been a facing on it that had been stripped off for some reason. So much change in 650 years. It was quite incredible considering how little change had occurred during his time imprisoned along the Roads of Rostau.
The real issue, though, was who ruled now? The sailors had been able to tell him nothing of Egypt, their home being far to the west along the Inner Sea. They had talked of an island kingdom ruled by a fearsome lord in the Middle Sea but it had meant nothing to Nosferatu.
Even in the deep desert, what happened in Egypt mattered nothing to the Bedouins, who stayed away from the Nile and the rule of law there. To them it was a place to avoid.
Nosferatu could see people on the plateau, even though it was the middle of the night. Soldiers on guard. Priests scurrying about. There were ships moving on the Nile, carrying grain and other cargo.
Nosferatu rode down the far side of the dune and to the Nile, where he spurred his camel into water and crossed over, followed by his small party. On the east bank, Nosferatu skirted the large temple, where armored guards stood watch. He moved to the place he remembered, the secret riverbank entry to the Roads of Rostau.
He was surprised to find that the entryway was submerged, the level of the river obviously having risen over the years. Nosferatu considered the change for a few moments, then made a decision. He needed information before he took precipitous action. He left four of the warriors with the camels, hidden among some massive building blocks. He took the remaining two Bedouins with him farther along the riverbank.
The small stone hut was still there, huddled among dozens of others. The mark was still in place above the entryway, faded with time, but visible to those who knew to look for it. Nosferatu didn’t bother knocking. He pushed aside the cloth hanging in the doorway and entered without knocking, the two Bedouins right behind.
There were four people inside. A man and a woman sharing a pallet to his left; a young girl sleeping on another slightly raised platform to the right, and a young boy sleeping on the floor directly ahead. Nosferatu was across the room in three steps. He snatched up the boy, hooking an arm around his neck and pressing a blade against the flesh.
The other three in the room were awakened by the noise. The man held his wife back as she lunged for the boy whom Nosferatu held.
“You are the Watcher?” Nosferatu asked. “The Wedjat?”
The man was blinking sleep out of his eyes, fear slowly taking its place. “I am Kajihi.”
“The Watcher?”
“How do you know—”
“Tell me what you have seen,” Nosferatu said. “What? Who are you?”
Nosferatu tightened his grip on the boy’s neck, eliciting a yelp of pain. “I ask the questions.”
“May they leave?” Kajihi asked, indicating his wife and daughter. “They will go to a friend’s. We cannot go to the Pharaoh’s guards, as you may know, if you know I am a Watcher.”
“‘Pharaoh’?” The word was unfamiliar to Nosferatu. “He who rules here.”
Interesting, Nosferatu thought. That was not the name of one of the four remaining Gods. Of course, that might be what one of them was called now. “A man? Or a God?”
Kajihi shrugged, relaxing slightly as he realized his intruder was interested in information. “He appears to be the former. Although there are some who claim he is a God. But each Pharaoh has died after a normal life span, so if they are Gods, they only enjoy the benefits in the afterlife. The Pharaoh before this one caught the water fever just like a man and died shortly afterward, just like a man.”
“How many Pharaohs have there been?”
“The Great Pharaoh Tuthmosis, son of Amenophis, is the seventy-fourth Pharaoh to rule and the fourth of the Eighteenth Dynasty.”
Seventy-four, Nosferatu thought with a shock as he did the math. Thousands of years of human rule given their life span. Nosferatu felt a chill of unease. “And the Gods? Where have they gone?”
“Who are you?”
Nosferatu nodded, indicating for the two females to leave. Then he let go of the boy. “Go with them,” he ordered. He took a seat, indicating that Kajihi should do the same. The Bedouins flanked Kajihi, their swords at the ready, their faces unreadable. “My name is Nosferatu.”
Kajihi’s eyes widened. “You are the Undead. I was told of you by my father who was told in turn by his father and down the line for many, many years. I thought you were just a myth.”
“I have been away for a while,” Nosferatu said. “Many years as you note. When I last saw the plateau, there was only the Black Sphinx.”
“The Black Sphinx!” Kajihi was astounded. “The Black Sphinx is only spoken of in whispers. Some say it never was. Some say perhaps the Great Sphinx that is on the plateau was once painted black and gave rise to the legend.”
“There was a Black Sphinx and it was not made of stone but of some metal,” Nosferatu confirmed, remembering Lilith’s and Chatha’s horrible deaths atop the structure. “Most noble and imposing, much more than the stone image that sits on top of it now.”
“You are indeed from the First Age then.”
Nosferatu spread his hands, indicating he had no clue. “What age is this?” “The Eighteenth Dynasty of the Third Age of Egypt. The Age of the Rule of the Pharaohs. The First Age is spoken of as legend. The Age when the Airlia Gods themselves ruled.”
Nosferatu nodded. “Yes, they ruled. I saw them myself. I killed one of them with these hands. So much for Gods. Who ruled in the Second Age?”
“The Shadows of the Gods made in the image of Horus.”
Nosferatu knew Horus well, one of the six Airlia Gods, and his father. “And what are Shadows?”
“Men who have minds of the Gods and are constantly reborn. They are long gone although I have heard there is one who still wanders the world, the Shadow of the God Aspasia, made to do his bidding while the God himself sleeps.”
That made little sense to Nosferatu. “And now a man rules here?” “Yes.”
“What happened to the Gods?”
“Some say they are still in the Roads of Rostau. Others say they’ve gone far away. No one really knows. Not even the high priests, although they pretend to know. Often they will point up to the sky, as if that is where the Gods have gone.”
Or where they came from, Nosferatu thought, remembering what the strange woman, Donnchadh, had told him when she freed him. “And the Shadows?”
“Gone also, although, as I said, there is rumor that the Shadow of the great god Aspasia is across the Red Sea in the wasteland of the Sinai. That he has been there since the beginning of time. Waiting.”
Nosferatu understood waiting. “Waiting for what?”
“No one knows.”
Gods, then Shadows, and now men. Nosferatu felt a surge of fear and hope. Time had worked in his favor, but how much time? More than 650 years, that was certain. “How long has it been since the First Age?” He had an idea how long the humans had ruled here, but none about the Shadows of Horus.
Kajihi spread his hands. “Over six thousand years according to the records kept here by my family.”
Six thousand. Nosferatu felt as if he’d been hit in the chest. He’d been off by about a factor of ten when he’d set the tube to wake him. A slight miscalculation in terms of pressing the hexes, a massive one in terms of time. Was Nekhbet still alive? Was the influence of the Airlia Gods now little more than a representation in a human called a Pharaoh?