“May I?” I ask, reaching for his hand. He shrugs and lets me unwrap the dirty strip. The wound looks decent, aside from some mild seepage, and seems to be sealing, crusted over with dried blood. I apply some more honey and murmur another incantation to prevent the gash from festering, then rewrap Pepi’s hand. He nods his thanks and settles back against Nefer, who gives off a little heat.
“It would be nice to have a fire,” Pepi remarks, crossing his arms over his chest. “It was very cold in the pits.”
“How did you come to be there?” I ask, remembering Reb’s speculations. I put a little of the honey between my toes where the sandals rub. The sticky substance feels wonderful. Nefer turns her head, long pink tongue darting out.
“Someone might have betrayed me,” he says with little emotion, as if stating the hour of day, a simple observation.
“Why were you in Thebes?” I let Nefer lick the sweetness from my fingers. As the donkey does not mind that the honey was just between my toes, I decide not to mind her tongue, which is warm and wet and tickles. A laugh escapes me.
“I was gathering information.” Pepi looks at me intently. “A currency worth more than gold or silver.”
“You wished to know how the city fares?” Paser says, making his way out of the shelter. I must have woken him when I retrieved the satchel.
“Yes.” Pepi does not deny it.
“For what reason?”
“The interests I represent want to know such things.”
“And whose interests are those?” Reb, also emerging from the shelter, yawns.
“That is not your concern, young scribe,” Pepi says, but his tone is not unkind.
Reb scowls at being called young by someone only a few years his senior — though there is much about Pepi that makes him seem far older. As if he has seen things others have not.
“Shall we eat?” I interrupt. Reb’s scowl vanishes and we split the limp cabbage and a loaf of bread, chewing slowly, wanting to make it last. Encouraged by the cool air and the smell of our food, small critters begin to make themselves known through their quiet rustles and skittering across the sands. I am reminded that although sometimes the desert can seem lifeless, many animals find a way to survive.
May we be among them.
14
IT IS FULLY NIGHT AND WE TREK under the dazzling stars. I am tired and long to rest. My body protests at treating day as night and night as day. My feet ache.
Pepi had gathered a few of the sturdier sticks from our shelter and tied them in a bundle, presumably for firewood. They lie horizontally across Nefer’s back. I go through a mental list of the rest of our dwindling supplies. The waterskin is a third empty. One stale loaf, some onions, two melons. The honey, the obsidian blade, the turquoise and carnelian, a pair of tweezers, a needle, some linen — everything else was lost to the river or has been eaten. Pepi says we have three days and two nights before reaching the oasis. We will have to make our supplies last.
We talk more in the evenings than during the day, when the soaring temperatures encourage us to keep our mouths shut so we do not lose precious moisture.
Despite not-so-subtle prodding from Reb and Paser, Pepi does not reveal any more information about the mysterious interests he represents. I imagine he has been through tougher interrogations. In fact, Pepi seems particularly good at turning these attempted questionings around.
“I heard the priest call you ‘my son,’” he says to Reb after one such fruitless inquiry. “Yet you left him in the pits — not once, but twice.”
“He is my uncle,” Reb says. “But having the same blood does not guarantee someone will treat you well.” Pepi makes an encouraging noise and Reb continues. “He thinks I am lazy and stupid and that hitting me will make me less so.” Reb’s voice is raw, and I wonder if it is from the dust in the evening air or from suppressed emotion.
“You are not stupid,” Paser says to his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Then why can I not write the scripts as you do?” Reb’s voice cracks. “They sometimes look reversed to me, and it takes me twice as long as you and Sesha to read or draw them.”
Surprised, I glance at Reb. I did not know he had trouble, but with his admission several pieces fall into place: his acting out in class, his uncle’s frustration and anger.
Paser appears to know of Reb’s troubles and reassures him. “That does not mean you are stupid. You just see things differently.”
“I, too, see things from a different perspective,” Pepi offers. “It can be a gift. I also know about pleasing higher powers.” His tone is wry. “Or rather, displeasing them.”
I look down at the sand. I was blessed with a father who treasured me, one who saw as much value in me as in my brother. After my time at the temple and with Nebifu, it is easy to see why he faced criticism for training me to become a physician like him, and for other radical ideas that many of the priests were resistant to, such as learning from our neighbours to the north. Yet he was not afraid to speak out and do what he thought was right.
“Nebifu will survive the pits. The queen will fish him out.” Reb says this with bitter confidence. “He was helping her protect Egypt’s treasures.” He seems to consider his next few words, and when he speaks them, his tone is accusatory. “Much has been pilfered over the years to pay tribute to your rulers in Avaris.”
Pepi’s posture stiffens but he lets Reb’s comment pass, and we continue walking in silence.
I contemplate Nebifu’s motivations. Was he really under Queen Anat’s orders to protect the treasures? Or was he hoping to secure them for himself? Will Pharaoh feel betrayed by the queen’s actions? Or will she persuade him that she was doing the right thing in preserving her family’s legacy? For that matter, was she? I shake my head, which is throbbing as much from unanswered questions as from lack of water. Things were easier when I was a child and it was clear what was right and what was wrong. The more I learn of the world, the muddier its waters become.
It is during a period of quiet reflection that Reb begins to sing, softly at first, then louder. It is a temple song, one I am familiar with. His voice is unexpectedly beautiful, and I listen to it for a few minutes before joining in. Paser, too, begins to sing and the three of us continue into the fading night, our voices spiralling up to the heavens above.
The sky is lightening. The giant red disk will soon come up from the underworld to light the day. We have entered a sea of sand, waves cresting higher and higher, with no end in sight. I am exhausted, but Pepi pushes us to keep moving before it is fully morning, as there is no shelter here. I have a feeling he thinks someone or something may be following us. He glances over his shoulder frequently and stops to scan the horizon behind us.
“Do you know where we are?” I ask, peering anxiously at the dunes from under my hand, trying to see what he sees. It looks the same in every direction.
“The sands shift. It is wise not to look to them,” Pepi says. He points at the sky, at the birds soaring overheard. “We will follow the animals. They know the way to water.”
We trudge on, the sun peeking above the horizon. The red-orange dawn will soon give way to the bright light of morning. I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, trying not to think of water, possible pursuit by the queen’s men, or even a hungry lion stalking us — a ready-cooked meal. At last Pepi lets out a triumphant shout, and I look up to see a few bedraggled palms around a tiny dot of something that is not beige or brown. Even though we are exhausted, our pace quickens.
I give Pepi a sidelong glance. “Did you know this was here?”
“I was praying to find something like this soon.” His smile is tired but full of relief. “There are a number of spots throughout the desert like this, where the water appears.”
“Where does it come from?” Reb asks, scanning the sky.
“From under the ground,” Pepi responds. “Natural springs bubble up in places. They might be nothing more than a small pond, as this one appear
s to be. Or they can be larger, like the oases used as stopping points along the trade routes. The Nile itself is one giant oasis. We are headed to a lesser-known one, where there is a substantial Hyksos camp.”
“How do you know these routes so well?” Paser inquires.
“I have been travelling the desert my whole life,” Pepi says.
“See?” I tease Reb, feeling uplifted at seeing the specks of green and blue. “Are you not happy we freed him from the pit?”
We reach the shade of the small knot of palms, startling some birds from their perch. Maybe even the same ones we followed to get here. I drop the satchel under a palm and head straight to the pond’s edge, eager for a drink. I want nothing more than to dive into the water.
My foot sinks deep into the wet sand. Then my other foot vanishes, my leg sinking to mid-calf. I try to lift my back foot up and bring it forward. It does not budge, and my movements make me sink even more. Struggling to free myself only gets me more stuck, but I am in almost up to my waist before I realize what is happening.
“Sesha, stop moving!” Pepi shouts.
Quicksand.
15
“STAY CALM,” PEPI INSTRUCTS.
“That’s easy for you to say.” Panic rises as I sink farther, the sand now almost up to my chest. “You are not being swallowed by the desert!”
“The sands will not swallow you.” Pepi and Nefer have stopped a palm tree away. Paser strides by them, extending his hand to pull me out. Pepi grabs his arm and yanks him back.
“What are you doing?” Paser says angrily, shaking off Pepi’s grip. “I mean to give her my hand.”
“And then you will be stuck as well,” Pepi says. “Listen to me, Sesha. Stop moving. The more you fight the sand, the more it will pull you in, sucking the strength from your body.” He points at the sun, which is climbing higher into the sky, the heat of the day rising along with it. “The danger comes not from below, but from above.”
“What am I to do?” I ask, holding my arms at shoulder height. The soupy clay slurps at my body, making it almost impossible to move.
“Bring your legs to the surface,” Pepi instructs. “You will need to crawl out.”
I try to lift a leg, but the sand will not release it. My limbs feel heavy, like they no longer belong to me but are becoming part of the desert itself. “It’s not working!”
“Steady your breathing,” Pepi says, his voice calm. “Lean forward onto your chest. You need to spread your weight out evenly.”
His instructions go against every instinct I have. The last thing I want is to put more of my body into the sand, but I try to calm my breath and do what he says.
Leaning forward, I push down on the crust of the quicksand. It is slightly firmer, but still my hands begin to sink. I lift them back up, not wanting them to disappear beneath the muck, too.
“Reb!” Paser shouts, taking off his head covering and gesturing for Reb to do the same. “We will tie them together.” Pepi takes off his as well. Paser knots the belts together, forming a rope. Pepi ties one end around Nefer’s body.
“Catch, Sesha!” Paser says, letting the rope fly.
His aim is direct, and I catch the linen in my clay-covered hands. Pepi gives Nefer a swat with his hand and the donkey steps forward, one dainty hoof at a time. I let the rope take some of my weight and try to float my legs to the top. It feels like they are encased in granite blocks.
“Come to me,” Pepi coaxes Nefer, who stops and flicks her tufted tail, not overly concerned with my predicament. Pepi throws his hands up in frustration. He grabs the satchel and pulls out some green onion, clicking his tongue at the indifferent donkey. He waves the onion in front of her. Nefer sniffs at it and takes another step forward. I cling to the makeshift linen rope, praying for the thick clay to release me. Nothing happens.
“Move your legs in small circles, to let some water trickle down. This will lessen the sand’s suction,” Pepi says, continuing to walk backwards with the onion. Nefer takes another few steps forward. The rope slides through my muddy grip until I am left holding nothing but a few threads. Tears come to my eyes.
“Try your back,” Pepi urges, locking eyes with me, his expression encouraging. Float on my back in quicksand? But I am running out of options. Letting go of the linen strings, I lean backwards, trying to bring my legs to the surface. I think I feel them rise closer to the top, but it is not enough.
“Sesha!” Paser frees one of the sticks from the bundle across Nefer’s back. “Put this under your hips for support, so you can raise your legs higher.” He throws the branch and it lands beside me. I grab it and push it deep into the muck under my bottom. This keeps my hips from sinking and lets me bring my legs up a little more.
“Good,” Pepi says. “Now stroke, to propel yourself out.”
Lying almost completely flat, I hold my head out of the thick silt. I spread both arms wide and push myself backwards, hands digging into the sucking sand. Cubit by cubit, I wriggle myself back toward the edge of the quicksand by bringing my arms behind me and shoving the mud forward. At last, my fingertips graze firmer ground.
Mustering my remaining strength, I roll onto my side and up over the lip of the deadly circle. Panting hard, I crawl slowly, inching farther away from the pit that held me firmly in its grasp only seconds before. Paser, Pepi, and Reb grab me and haul me to solid ground, laughing and cheering while I try to catch my breath. I am covered in mud and must resemble some hideous beast. Nefer brays loudly at all the commotion, tail swishing.
“So much for your sandals,” grins Paser, giving me a tight hug.
Regaining some air, I manage a casual shrug. “They were giving me blisters.”
The sun climbs overhead, scorching everything below. I see why getting stuck in quicksand is so dangerous. Not because you sink completely, but because your energy and strength evaporate quickly in the sweltering sun, leaving you to starve or dehydrate, shrivelling like dried fruit.
Once again we make our way down to the small pond. Pepi allows us to go in briefly so we can wash and cool ourselves after our early morning exertions before we settle down to sleep. With great attention to where we step, we enter the water in our clothes, which will dry fast enough. The pond is not deep or wide, and I sink onto my knees, voluntarily this time, as does Pepi.
“Wait,” he says, sniffing the water. He cups some of it to his mouth, then immediately spits it out. “Do not drink from here,” he warns. “The water is too salty and will only increase your thirst.”
We stare at him in disbelief. “But what about filling the waterskin?” Reb asks, holding up the container.
“With careful rationing we should have enough,” Pepi reassures him, yet he looks as desolated as I feel.
I close my eyes briefly. It will do no good to cry; it will only make me lose more moisture. Grumbling, Reb wades out farther, Paser behind him. At the least it feels good to rinse off the sweat and dirt.
“How did you know I should spread my weight across the sand?” I ask Pepi, trying not to think about the tantalizing liquid surrounding me. Liquid we cannot drink.
“As I said, I have travelled the desert all my life. Both its gifts and its hazards are well known by my people,” Pepi says, with one eye on the merciless sun. “That’s enough,” he calls to Paser and Reb. “We need to get into the shade.”
Before Pepi and I leave the pond, we reach down to scoop up cool mud from its bottom and smear it all over our bodies. Paser does the same, then walks out of the pool, giving himself a shake, hair flying. Reb goes for one last dunk and comes back up, spouting a defiant arc of water from his mouth. He gags and splutters at the salty taste and Pepi shakes his head.
Back under the shade of a scraggly palm, Nefer chews on even sadder-looking grass, which looks surprisingly appetizing, for grass. I am starving. We have not eaten much these past days and my struggle in the quicksand has whipped my stomach into a storm rivalling any Set could cast.
Paser pulls the last loaf of
dry bread and the fruit out of the satchel.
“We should save them for later tonight,” I say, despite wanting nothing more than to shove the entire sandy loaf in my mouth, which would be watering were it not so dry. “We need the energy for our trek.”
“Sesha is right.” Pepi plucks some of the limp grass Nefer chews on. “Let us rest now. When the sun goes down, we will search the oasis at dusk for anything to supplement our rations.”
Despite my hunger, sleep tugs at me like a child at her mother’s arm, insistent and impossible to ignore.
Giving the area with quicksand a wide berth, I choose a spot under one of the trees. There is not much shade at the small oasis, about a dozen palm trees in all. Flopping down in my wet clothes — which will cool me at least a short while — I settle in to sleep. The last thing I see before my eyelids flutter shut is Pepi, one hand shielding his eyes and a frown furrowing his brow, scanning the desert behind us.
16
I DREAM OF WATER, OF FOOD. The smells from the market fan my hunger, like fronds at a flame. I see the vendor and his wife, Ky held firmly in their grip.
“Sesha!” he cries out to me. The frizzy-haired vendor’s wife turns into Queen Anat, who laughs in our faces. Tutan is there now and shouts at his mother to release Ky. His shouts become louder and angrier, and now Tutan sounds more and more like Reb.
“Away with you, beast!”
I shake my head to clear it of the lingering dream. It is dark, but I can just make out Reb, clapping his hands at a growling, hunched shape with four legs. In the confusion of awakening, I think Anubis has found us. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sit up eagerly, squinting into the night.
It is not Anubis.
A wild hyena has the satchel in its mouth, ears pressed back against its head. Wide eyes glint in the moonlight as it shakes the bag vigorously and some of the contents fly out.
Our food.
“Leave it!” I command. If the hyena does not understand my words, at least it catches my meaning. It growls, deep and low in its throat.
The Desert Prince Page 6