Free Counted With the Stars by Connilyn Cossette Page B

on the ground next to me—“this is our reality. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner you will stop believing such foolishness. The Nile changing was a natural thing, the priests said this happens every hundred years or so.”
    â€œIf it was a natural occurrence, how do you explain that it happened at the height of inundation? Most of the silt came down the river a month before. How did it happen at the precise hour Mosheh hit the water with his staff? Can the priests explain that?” She lifted her brows, lips pursed.
    The other women had left the canal, and Shira and I were free to leave the green prison of tall grasses that had protected us, but I felt compelled to keep her from raising her hopes too high.
    â€œMaybe your Mosheh is a powerful sorcerer. You said he was educated in Pharaoh’s household . . .”
    She nodded.
    â€œThen he might have been taught the arts of divine persuasion. Besides, if your god-without-a-name is powerful enough to threaten Pharaoh the Almighty, why has nothing else happened since then? It’s been a week. The river runs clear. And I am fairly sure Pharaoh did not release you. Or am I mistaken?”
    â€œEben says that Elohim is not finished yet.” A frown settled on her lips. “This is only the beginning.”

8
    T orch in hand and skin crawling, I walked between two enormous statues of our Pharaoh at the grand entrance to the Temple of Iunu. I searched for something but knew not what. Somehow, though, I sensed it lay deep at the center of the holiest chamber.
    Blackness hemmed me in, augmenting the lonely silence and my fear of the dark.
    Passing through one deserted courtyard into another, I came to a cavernous hall. My footsteps echoed off the endless lotus and papyrus columns. I held the torch high and tipped my head back, taking in the beautiful etchings that stretched from the floor into the dark reaches above me. The ceiling seemed to be only an endless black sky. The darkness pressed down upon me, heavy with the weight of spirits that roamed this temple in the darkest hours of the night.
    Statues of lesser gods guarded the holy sanctuary before me, their faces obscured by the liquid vision of dreams. I stepped past the thick bronze doors and into the chamber, grasping the torch in front of my chest, a burning shield against whatever lay ahead.
    Ra loomed large in the room, his golden body burnished to gleaming by the ministrations of the priests. Wilted lotus flowers encircled the base upon which his throne stood, and food offerings lay rotting at his feet. I raised my torch higher to take in his face and his obsidian eyes. But his eyes were not black—they gleamed red! Dripping red. The smell of the bleeding Nile met my senses, and I choked. Hapi, Osiris, and Isis—all the gods hemorrhaged bright red blood from their eyes, ears, and noses.
    A shriek ripped me from deepest sleep . Was I screaming? The smell of the cursed river had plagued my nightmares for days.
    But it was not my own scream that awakened me. Tekurah stood atop her sleeping couch, shedding her bedclothes. “Get it off! Get it off!”
    â€œWhat is it, mistress?” I sat up on my mat and rubbed my eyes, never surprised at Tekurah’s ravings.
    â€œSomething just crawled across my face. And then something else moved against my hand. Get it out! Now!” She tumbled off the bed, tangled in a flurry of nightclothes and sheets, ranting at me. With all her noise, Shefu’s men would burst through the door at any moment, swords drawn.
    The oil lamp on the table burned low. Tekurah had fallen asleep early last night, and I risked a reprimand by keeping it lit. So many nightmares plagued me lately, I could not bear the pitch-black one more night. I retrieved the clay bowl, thankful that the wick had lasted so long. Something brushed my foot on the way. A cat’s tail perhaps?
    I pulled back the linen cover on Tekurah’s bed and