As she had spoken, her eyes began to glitter and her face flushed slightly in the reflected firelight. There was no doubt, Gideon thought, that this was in fact her real love. “I had no idea,” he said honestly.
“It’s true. Monotheism grew out of Egyptian religion, specifically through the Pharaoh Akhenaten, also known as Amenhotep the Fourth. He decreed the elimination of the many gods and declared that henceforth Egyptians would worship one god only, Aten.”
“Who was Aten?”
“Nobody is sure, but he seems to be some aspect of the sun. But the effort failed, and after Akhenaten died the Egyptians went back to worshipping their many gods. But he was the first to introduce that revolutionary idea—which would lead to Judaism and Christianity. The idea that there was only one god—which seems so normal to us now—was incredibly radical back then. There are even scholars who claim that the Old Testament God of Judaism had His origin during the captivity in Egypt. Aten in fact may have been the basis of the Hebrew word ha’Adon, or Adonai, meaning ‘the Lord’—”
At this point the tent flap rustled again. Imogen stopped in mid-sentence as Garza slipped in. He glanced back out through an opening in the flap, then pulled from beneath his garments a solid chunk of wood, a few sturdy saplings, some rawhide leather string, and a few bits of bronze, lining everything up on the dirt floor.
“What’s all that?” Imogen asked.
Garza looked from Imogen to Gideon and back again. “Ask Gideon. It was his idea.” Then he turned back to Gideon. “Haven’t you gotten started on making those bolts yet?”
“Sorry.” Gideon motioned to Imogen. “Come on. I’ll explain as we go.”
30
GARZA JERKED AWAKE in a cold sweat, the night split by screams. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes. Surely it hadn’t been more than five minutes since he’d dozed off? But suddenly it seemed as if the entire encampment had exploded into hysteria.
“What the hell—?” Gideon and Imogen came out of their sleeping corners, while Garza rose, threw on his robe, and lifted the flap of the tent to see what was happening. Burning firebrands were being lit, casting a lurid glow over the scene. A tent next to the chief’s had been partially torn open. People in hysterics were running about carrying brands, collecting spears, and shouting. Amid the hubbub he could hear a woman’s terrified screams again, off in the darkness.
Gideon and Imogen joined him in peering out.
“That tent up there has been slashed open by some animal,” said Imogen.
The chief had now appeared in the midst of the crowd. He was panic-stricken as well, waving his arms and crying out, gesturing with his staff toward a ravine above the rear of the encampment, from which the woman’s screams seemed to be coming.
Imogen listened intently to the babble. “It sounds like someone was dragged off by that one-eyed demon leopard they keep talking about.”
Garza stared at the scene. “Why the hell aren’t they pursuing it? Christ, if they don’t get to her right away, she’s dead.”
“They’re terrified of it,” said Imogen. “They won’t follow.”
And Garza could see it was true. The men were making a terrific racket, arming themselves and lighting torches, and the chief was hollering and gesturing at them—but nobody, not even Blackbeard, was actually running toward the ravine.
“Screw this.” Garza threw back the goatskin and grabbed the crossbow and the small bundle of handmade bolts.
“You just made that tonight!” Imogen protested. “You haven’t even tested it yet!”
Ignoring her, Garza sprinted from the tent and headed toward the mouth of the ravine. Along the way he yanked a planted torch from the ground to light his way and, he hoped, drive off the beast. He could hear a lot of unintelligible shouting behind him, but no one followed.
The mouth of the ravine was not far, just a few hundred yards. On the sandy floor of the wash he could see drag marks and blood. The marks were easy to follow, and they led to a big pile of broken boulders a hundred feet inside the ravine. The screaming had ceased and Garza realized the cat, or whatever it was, must have dragged the woman up into the rocks.
“Hah!” he screamed and picked up a rock, flinging it toward the pile. “Come out of there, you bastard!”
He heard an answering growl. Then an immense leopard appeared on the topmost rock, staring down at him with one luminous eye. In place of the other eye was an ugly, puckered scar that ran from ear to snout. It crouched, still growling.
Garza waved the torch. This was the demon cat the whole tribe was scared of. And he’d decided to run after it. Nice one, Manuel.
There were only two choices: either drive it off or get close enough to shoot it with the crossbow. And the cat didn’t seem to be going anywhere. That meant ascending the rock pile, with the beast crouched above. As he circled, trying to find a defensible route up, the leopard made deep coughing sounds, moving to keep Garza in view, tensing its muscles.
Using the crude lever, Garza cocked the crossbow, set a bolt into the groove, and aimed it—but the only exposed target was the animal’s head, and it was too far away to be penetrated by a bolt unless he scored a hit on the eye, which was highly improbable. He’d grabbed for the crossbow instinctually as he ran from the tent, and now he recalled Imogen’s warning: they hadn’t even tested the thing yet. Its aim might be out of whack…or it might not work at all.
He yelled at the creature and waved the torch again, trying to drive it off. It snarled again, baring its teeth.
“Hyah!” He threw another rock, which missed.
The leopard gave an answering roar, shaking its head at him. The sound echoed mightily off the canyon walls before dying away.
At least it’s distracted from eating, Garza thought.
Garza hoisted himself up one boulder. The leopard slid back a bit and growled again. He scrambled up another boulder, waving the torch ahead of him, hoping that fear of fire would drive it off. But the creature stood its ground, growling fiercely.
“Get away, you son of a bitch!” He hoisted himself up onto the next boulder. Now the leopard was less than twenty feet above him: not a good thing. At least it wouldn’t leap on him as long as he held the burning torch—or would it?
From this vantage point he could see, just behind the animal, the tuft of a robe: a girl. The leopard was evidently standing guard over its victim. She was probably already dead, but there was a chance she might still be alive. After all, he hadn’t given the beast much time to begin its meal.
Garza yelled again and waved the torch. The leopard rose up slightly, its one good eye reflecting the flickering orange torchlight, its glossy fur rippling with musculature. Garza took aim, but all he could see was the animal’s head and neck. What he needed was the chest. Why had he brought along an untested weapon, anyway?
He rose further and jabbed the torch at the snarling animal, shouting at the top of his lungs: “Go away! Get lost!”
The animal backed up and Garza had the sudden hope it would turn and flee. He yelled, jabbed again—and then the leopard leapt at him from above, descending with its great claws unsheathed. Garza managed to fire the crossbow just as the animal fell on him.
It was like being hit by a car. He was thrown backward from the boulder, the leopard tumbling with him, issuing a terrifying screech as the two landed on the sand, swiping at him with a massive paw, catching the side of his face and raking the flesh. Blood was suddenly everywhere, a fountain of it, as the animal—now on its back—thrashed and bit at the bolt buried in its chest. Garza tried to scramble backward, but the animal pinned his leg even as it clawed at itself. And then, with one convulsive growl, it shuddered and ceased moving.