The Haunting Past
DESTINE HAD BEEN asleep for several hours, yet Ahman had not closed his eyes once. Few travellers used the roads by nightfall, so they would be safe – and yet still he could not relax his guard. The strange episode that had bewitched the Frenchwoman only a few hours before occupied his thoughts mercilessly. He sat against the tree like Destine's guardian angel, his eyes snapping to any sound around him. The lapping of the lake nearby, the gentle rise and fall of the wind across the cold sand, the digging of small rodents against the trees – every noise seemed to trigger his nerves. Ahman glanced over at Destine's peaceful form, the embers of the fire illuminating her soft features in a golden glow, and pulled his blanket up to his chest. Eventually, he let sleep embrace him.
As night took hold, Destine became restless. She rolled in her sleep, mumbling and whispering. Her eyes snapped open, searching for Ahman by her side – but he was not there. His blanket was lying crumpled and cast aside on the cold sand.
A sudden scream pierced the silence. Destine's first thought was of Ahman, and steeling her nerves, she threw off her blanket and rose to her uncertain feet. Taking gingerly steps, she pushed through the ring of trees, their sharp branches pricking her exposed face and hands. Her eyes and ears were aflame. She was being pulled. Pulled through the trees, pulled through the edge of the clearing…but pulled where? And towards what?
A cold rush enveloped her flesh as she stepped through the trees into an open space. It wrapped around her like a cocoon, restricting not just her physical body but her senses too. Her eyes were covered in a gossamer film and she was immobilised completely. As her breath hung in the air, she tried to blink sight back into her eyes and, gradually, her blurred vision dissipated. Destine knuckled the itching sensation from her eyes. But although her sight had returned, she was still not convinced that what she perceived was real.
What she was looking at was a desert encampment of some kind, lit by huge torches, flaming from pillars buried deep in the sand. Madame Destine's mouth fell open as she pinpointed the origin of the scream.
The encampment was besieged by a veritable army of men clad in pitch-black robes. Some were on foot, some were astride horses as black as their clothing. Tattered and torn, the material clung to the men's bones like the rags of hellish wraiths. Everywhere she looked Destine saw the flash of a blade as the demons attacked, scything at anyone in their path.
A nearby row of tents seemed to be the safest place to hide, and she quickly rushed to them. Keeping to the cloak of darkness, she was just about to furl back one of the tents' entrance and dart inside, when a dirty hand clamped itself around her mouth.
Destine could not scream even if she wanted to, the fear had paralysed her. She was viciously spun around – where she came face to face with a man. Not Ahman, or a face she recognised – it was smudged with dirt, had a few days' growth of beard, and a neatly waxed moustache was perched precariously above his mouth. His oiled hair sparkled in the moonlight – and all at once, his features softened.
'Destine?' he hissed, releasing her, taking a step back. 'My God, woman, what the hell are you still doing here? Are you trying to get yourself killed?'
'But, I-' was all she managed before the man led her brusquely back into the cover of the trees.
'I told you to get away! What good can you do here against them?' he said, gesturing towards the pack of demonic hyenas rending flesh from bone, spilling blood in their wake. 'The Clan Scarabs are killing everyone in the camp – you've got to leave, Destine…now!'
A shaft of moonlight lighted the man's face and Destine gasped.
'Aloysius?'
'What?' asked Aloysius Bedford.
'What…what are you doing here?' asked Destine, dumbstruck.
'I could ask you the same thing!' snapped Aloysius. 'You're as stubborn as an ass, Dusty! I told you to get out of the camp as soon as Nastasi's men arrived, didn't I? Umkaza is no longer a safe place to be!'
'Umkaza?' Destine asked.
Umkaza was the excavation site named in Aloysius Bedford's journal – the very same Aloysius Bedford who now stood beside her, seemingly very angry, very much alive…and very real. It was as if Destine was caught between two places at once – the past and the present, colliding together within her mind. Her senses told her that she was still near the lake, in the clearing where she and Ahman had settled for the night, and yet everything that she saw and felt contradicted that. Were her senses betraying her somehow? If so, which reality was the truth? Her mind was being fed tantalising sensations, similar to the rush of pins and needles whenever she experienced a premonition – which partly explained her confusion. She had no clairvoyant abilities any longer. They were gone, stolen from her weeks ago. Whatever this was, it was no message from the future.
'This place is Umkaza?' she asked, grasping Aloysius's forearms. 'But how…how can this be? How did I get here? Aloysius, what is happening here?'
'It's a damn massacre, woman!' said Aloysius. 'It seems your premonitions were right on the money. Joyce, the no-good lying snake, has betrayed us all.'
'Joyce,' mumbled Destine. 'The name from the journal? He stole the treasure?'
'He was never in it for the damn treasure!' hissed Aloysius. 'Neither him nor my damned benefactor! They just wanted to use me…just like you said. Only I didn't listen, did I? I was so blinded by my obsession. But I'm not blind any more, Destine…and that is why Nastasi and his band of Scarabs are here. They won't take no for an answer. So now I must take matters into my own hands.'
'But do what? What can you do?' asked Destine.
'Anything!' yelled Aloysius. 'Don't you see, woman? Your vision was right! About what would happen…about what could happen. You told me not to trust him, so this is my fault, my penance to pay…and pay it I shall – but I will never let them get their hands on the Cradle.'
'The Pharaoh's Cradle? So you did find it then, after all?' asked Destine, finally finding her footing in this remarkable dream; for that was what she had convinced herself it was – nothing but a dream. But how could that be? How could she be dreaming about past events with such clarity – and ones in which she was an active participant? Dreams stem from the subconscious, stray thoughts accumulated over time jumbled up into a semblance of reality. But Destine had no knowledge of her past time in Egypt. Was this real – or a subconscious distortion of reality? She was not sure, but she could feel the cold sand between her bare toes, the feel of the cold wind upon her cheeks, and the stench of blood on the air. And she could clearly see the look of fear within Aloysius Bedford's eyes. It was as real as real got and, gradually, Destine's mind became convinced of the most bizarre of all occurrences.
This was no dream.
'Oh, I found the Cradle, all right…but that's not all I uncovered,' continued Aloysius, wrenching Destine's thoughts back into the present – or was it the past? 'To hell with making a name for myself, this is too important. Joyce and his friends will never find the Pharaoh's Cradle whilst I draw breath.'
'But you will die!' blurted Destine uncontrollably, recalling the words from her letters. 'It…is unavoidable.'
'Maybe so,' said Aloysius, 'but maybe this time your clairvoyance has got things wrong, eh? Maybe I'll live to a ripe old age, watch my children grow up…bounce their own on my knee.' Aloysius smiled, one of a man in acceptance of his fate. 'Or maybe not. I know it will kill me, Destine…but better me than anyone else on account of me – and that includes you! For Christ's sake, woman, take a look around. You need to get away from this place…as far away as possible. Take my journal – it's all in there. Everything! Tell someone, Destine – tell anyone – about what happened here! Tell them…do you swear? Don't let this be forgotten…don't let it be repeated. Swear to me!'
'I…I swear,' Destine heard herself say.
'I have to go,' said Aloysius. 'I have to put things right.'
A sudden wall of flame burst free from the centre of the hellish encampment. Destine spun around, covering her face from the glare. Her ears were numbed by a dull sound, like the sound of many birds overhead. Something made the Frenchwoman look up. The moon was low, almost right above her. Its white light shone like a beacon. And when she looked down…once again the world rearranged itself.
'Aloysius!' Destine shrieked.
Gone were the sounds of men's screams, gone was the potent stench of death in the air. In an instant, she was transported back into the clearing – if indeed she had ever left it. She was laid upon the cold sand…clutching Aloysius's journal tight to her chest.
Ahman leapt awake, rushing to her side in a moment. 'Destine! What is it?'
The Frenchwoman was pale, her forehead speckled with beads of perspiration.
'I was there, Ahman,' she whispered. 'In Umkaza.'
'Yah, Destine, we know that. Twenty years ago,' said Ahman, knuckling his eyes.
'Not just twenty years ago, Ahman…just now.'
Ahman's face was a picture of bewilderment; he was convinced that Destine was confused. 'Can we not talk about this in the morning?'
'It is true, Ahman! I was just in Umkaza…with Aloysius Bedford stood right in front of me…as clearly as I am here right now,' Destine explained.
Ahman shook his head. 'But, Destine…you have not moved from this spot.'
'Maybe not my physical form…but my mind most definitely travelled,' whispered Destine. 'At last, my task is growing ever clearer! I know what happened…the massacre at Umkaza…and I know who was responsible!'
'You do?' asked Ahman. 'But…how?'
'Aloysius told me,' replied Destine.
'The Aloysius who is dead?' asked Ahman.
'Who else?' Destine said. 'Rather than a premonition, I am certain that what I sensed was the opposite…a vision before the now, as opposed to the after. An apres-monition, if you will. I did not see the future, Ahman…but I saw the past – my past…as though my soul was transported from this body to inhabit that of my younger self! Ahman, it was so real – you must believe me!'
Ahman took hold of her shaking hands. 'I do believe you, Destine, I promise. Look at you…you look shattered, my dear. Try to go back to sleep, ah? We can discuss this newfound knowledge of yours in the morning.'
'Oui, mon ami,' Destine agreed. 'I do feel somewhat light-headed by all this excitement.'
'I know just how you feel,' grinned Ahman.
The morning came far too slowly for Madame Destine. She stretched her arms wide and cast her blanket onto the sand next to her. Rubbing the sleeping dust from her eyes, she looked around the small clearing by the side of the makeshift road through the desert. The clearing was still and Ahman's empty blanket lay discarded next to her. Destine's heart leapt, remembering the vision from the previous night. It had begun just as it was unfolding now, with her waking, searching for Ahman and finding him absent. Was she still trapped within that nightmarish vision?
The apres-monition had shed a little more light on the task laid at her feet, but in true mystifying fashion, it had also conjured up yet more questions. She gripped Aloysius's journal so tightly that her knuckles threatened to burst through her skin. It had become a buoy for her to cling to – a lifeline to the ghosts of the past. Somehow, with Aloysius's journal close to her, she felt a connection to all the memories that she had lost. No matter how painful they might be. The link to Aloysius – his face now given form, given life – was clearing the fog from her head. What she had seen in Umkaza was so real. Similar to a memory, yet not one where it is viewed with hindsight – one in which she retained her own mind, her own fear. With Aloysius's words still resounding amidst her thoughts, Destine's hunger for the truth was even more intense.
Arranging her long, silver-white hair into a loose bun, she stepped barefoot onto the cold sand. She leaned against a tree and pulled on her ankle boots. With one last yawn, she searched around for clues as to Ahman's direction. She soon spotted his footprints. The wind had dragged the sand to obscure them, but not completely, and so Destine followed them. Slowly at first, but then something told her to make haste. Without her clairvoyance, she was learning to pay heed to her instincts.
Ahman was not far away. His horse was drinking thirstily from the lake near the tiny patch of trees, and the little man was sitting cross-legged on the sand.
'Good morning, Madame,' he said. 'How did you sleep?'
'Bonjour, mon cher.' Destine leaned down and kissed him on his soft-bristled cheek. 'I slept surprisingly well…apart from my disturbance. I am sorry for waking you.'
'Ah, think nothing of it, Destine,' said Ahman. 'I am just pleased that you came to no harm. That…what did you call it? That apres-monition…it was startling in the extreme from what you say. I must admit that I am at a loss to explain it.'
'As am I,' said Destine, forcing a smile to ease the carpet trader's frown. 'You must excuse me, Ahman, for as a fortune-teller I am so used to being in time with my time. I know of my yesterdays, my todays and my tomorrows. They are all arranged in a neat and tidy collection in my mind. Having my yesterdays jumbled up with my todays is a most disconcerting thought.'
'I can well imagine, my dear. I only wish that I could be of more assistance, but those sorts of things are unknown to me.' Ahman held his hand to his brow, looking at the slow climbing sun in the sky above. 'So, where do we go from here?'
Destine smiled. 'Onward to the past, Ahman – where else?'
Ahman chuckled. 'That sleep did you good, ah?'
'I feel like a new woman, Ahman, one who is energised to carry on with our search. Yet I do not think it was the sleep – rather what I learned whilst I slept. I have ploughed the past and revealed the first seeds of what happened that night, and now I must learn it all. Aloysius said that I should warn people. But warn them of what exactly? It is still only a part of what I need to know. Where can I go to find the rest of it? The encampment that I was transported to last night…Umkaza…I am being drawn to that place. I wish to see it for myself…again.'
'But why, Destine? Surely you do not believe that any evidence of that night still remains?' asked Ahman. 'It was so long ago.'
'Not physical evidence perhaps,' replied Destine. 'But I am feeling a resonance from Aloysius's journal, giving my mind nuances of the truth. If what I am picking up from the book is giving me these tantalising snippets of the past, imagine what knowledge standing in Aloysius's footsteps might bring. I am sensitive to human emotions, remember? Even emotions buried within rocks and sand, two decades old. Some emotions leave a stain. Negative emotions most of all. Fear, pain, death…there seemed to be much of that in Umkaza, if my apres-monition was any judge.'
Ahman scratched his bearded cheeks noisily. 'But to Umkaza? Destine, there is nothing there. It is a barren landscape! Surely whatever may have occurred all those years ago has long since faded away, swallowed by the desert winds, forgotten by time.'
'And not just by time, monsieur…by me!' declared Destine. 'When I was clairvoyant, I experienced many visions that mean nothing to me…just shards of the future. They were not real, not yet anyway. But in time they would occur, I knew this for a fact, and so I had time to take heed of my warnings. But with this mystery laid at my feet, I am blind. I know facts, dates, aspects…similar to my premonitions, but I feel none of it, Ahman! Not in here.' Destine tapped her forehead. 'Or in here,' she said, clamping her hands to her heart. 'Umkaza may hold the key to unlocking the spaces in between the truth. I can feel it drawing me there…and I cannot resist its pull.'
She was not of a mind to be swayed, Ahman could see that. 'Very well, Destine,' he sighed. 'To Umkaza it is, and may the heavens illuminate us once we get there.'