My shout wakes the others. Pepi scrambles around for stones to throw while Paser races forward, joining Reb in shouting at the wild animal. The hyena growls again. It will not be intimidated into dropping what promises to be its best meal in months, judging by its scrawny hide. Pepi launches a stone, and with an indignant yelp, the hyena races off into the night, the satchel still clutched in its jaws, dragging on the ground.
Paser and Reb run after the thieving animal. Pepi whistles loudly. I’m not sure if it is directed at the hyena or at the boys, signalling to them to return before they are lost to the vastness of the desert. Nefer stomps her feet and brays in a most hysterical fashion.
“Calm yourself,” I say crossly, feeling sick at the loss of our food. Nefer brays again loudly, then snorts and tosses her head. Perhaps there are more hyenas nearby. One on its own is no real cause for alarm, but a pack of the vicious creatures … or maybe it is something else she senses. Something bigger. To distract myself from these thoughts, I scold Nefer. “Now you make a fuss? Where were you when that mongrel was stealing our food?”
Pepi walks to where the satchel’s contents lie scattered on the ground. I join him to see what we can salvage. Grief hollows out my already-empty stomach, not only over the loss of our remaining food, but also over the loss of the few precious items we carried with us. And over the bag itself. Despite the gruesome contents it once held, I love that satchel. It was my physician’s bag; carrying it reminded me of my passion and duty: healing others. Must I lose everything that has value?
Pepi and I drop to our knees. Khonsu, still a crescent, does not offer much help. As I swirl my hands through the sand, something slices my finger. I pick it up. My father’s obsidian blade. The tightness around my chest loosens a cubit.
Pepi stands and cups his hands, calling for Paser and Reb to return. He turns to me. “They must not go far, or they will not find their way back.”
I grip the blade and search for any other items that might have fallen from the satchel, hands brushing over the cool ground. The cut left by the knife is deep; the sand stings and grates as it enters the wound. Wincing, I stick my finger in my mouth, then spit out grains of sand.
Pepi strides after Paser and Reb, shouting again for them to come back. I set the blade on a rock and continue sweeping with my hands, not wanting to give up. Nothing. As my eyes adjust to the dark, I make out a small shape. I pick it up, thinking it a rock.
By the gods, it is the honey.
Continued searching produces only a few grimy linen strips. The tweezers and needle are lost, as are my mother’s gemstones, the talismans for our journey. I do not want to think about the implications of this. I hear Reb and Paser coming back with Pepi, all three cursing the hyena who is feasting somewhere, likely feeling he has entered the Field of Reeds.
“What now?” Reb kicks the base of a palm. At least he still has his sandals. I have none. Nor food.
“We keep walking,” Pepi says.
“We should stay another day to scavenge for food,” Reb argues.
Pepi disagrees. “It is better to keep moving. We slept too long. Besides, we will not find much here.”
“I am hungry.” Reb is stubborn.
Pepi dismisses him. “Hunger will not kill you. I have known men to go over twenty-one days without food. Our bigger problem is that we are low on liquid.”
“I thought you said we would have enough?” Reb gives Pepi a look.
Paser shakes the waterskin. “There’s just under half left.”
I hold up the jar, wanting to smooth the rising tension. “At least we still have the honey.” Praises to Ra, it did not appeal to the hyena.
“With careful conservation we should have enough.” Pepi narrows his eyes at Reb, a subtle insinuation that he may not be capable of properly rationing the drink. “But we need to leave now,” Pepi says. “Every minute without adequate liquid brings us closer to the underworld. We must use every minute of night available.”
Nefer brays her agreement.
I sigh. “At least it will not take us long to pack.”
17
THERE IS NO SINGING THAT NIGHT. Unless you count our stomachs, which grumble together in a disharmonious chant of hunger. We share the honey before leaving the oasis. Each of us sticks a finger into the jar and scoops out a small portion. With our consent, Pepi also offers Nefer a fingerful, which she licks from his hand. I savour the sweet substance as if it is my last bit of food. It may very well be.
Pepi offers me Nefer’s back, which I refuse at first. But after we’ve walked on the rocky sand for several pyramid lengths, my pride yields to the soles of my bare feet. Pepi hoists me on top of Nefer, who does not seem to mind much. I am wary at first. It feels strange lurching along in such a manner, but my body soon grows accustomed to the odd rhythm and settles into its new gait. I sit on the folded linen at an angle, legs to one side. The bundle of sticks strapped to the donkey rests horizontally behind me and I hold on to it every now and then for support.
Reb and Paser walk ahead, speaking in low tones. Pepi walks beside Nefer and me. The donkey and her owner seem very fond of one another.
Trying to distract myself from my thirst, I look up at the dark skies. I get Pepi to teach me the names of some of the lesser-known patterns shining above. There are a countless number. Many lights streak across the sky, going about their lives, bright tails streaming behind them.
“Where do you think the gods go when they dart across the sky in such a great hurry?” I ask, thinking of Merat, the reason we push on despite one blow after another. She would have a creative answer. Her Highness is a poet with a romantic streak as bright as the stars above. Perhaps she is looking up at the sky this very moment, composing poems for Paser. The thought chafes, like the sand between my toes. Not wanting to examine it too closely, I focus on what Pepi is saying.
“Perhaps the lights come down to be with us for a time,” Pepi says. “Making their lives among us, as friends and family.”
“Do you have any family?” I ask, shifting my weight on Nefer, who walks at a plodding pace.
“I do,” he says, but does not elaborate. Extracting information from Pepi is like squeezing water from a stone.
“What of the chieftain Merat was given to?” I ask. “Do you think he knew where you were?”
“Perhaps.” Pepi’s tone is evasive.
“Then why did he not free you?”
“I can think of many reasons. Bargaining for the princess’s hand would have kept him occupied. If indeed he did know, I could have been a casualty of the negotiation.” He keeps his head straight, his tone difficult to interpret. “Or maybe he believes that a spy who fails in his duties no longer has any value.”
“What about your value as a man?” I ask. “Our king thinks your people are preparing for a battle. Does an army not need all its soldiers?”
“Why does the king think there will be an attack?” Pepi asks. “We have ruled from the North since our ancestors settled there years ago, without any major conflicts.”
“Perhaps he thinks the rulers of foreign lands wish to expand their territory.” If there is indeed famine throughout the land, resources will be scarce. I think of Queen Anat’s words about giving away her priceless treasures as tribute. Maybe the Hyksos will also protest if the stream of riches coming from the palace stops.
“We have brought many good things to this land,” Pepi says. “When is one allowed to call a place their home? My family came here generations ago. How long must we wait?”
I do not know how to answer. My family has been in Thebes for many years as well, and yet, according to those who rule it, it is no longer open to me, no longer my home.
“How are your feet, young scribe?” Pepi asks. “Fine,” I say. “How is your hand?” I forgot to look at it at the oasis, the devastation of losing our food overriding everything else, even my duties. My own finger, hastily bound in a linen strip, still throbs from the cut of the blade.
“F
air enough,” Pepi remarks. “You have much skill as a physician. Perhaps the Hyksos will not kill you three after all.”
“Would they really harm us?” Children and young people are revered in Thebes, as many do not make it to adulthood. During the moon Ky and I spent on the streets, a few strangers inquired about our well-being, but we avoided them, unsure whom to trust.
“I cannot answer for them,” Pepi says. “Did your own queen really intend to have you entombed alive?”
“I believe that was her plan,” I admit. Perhaps not everyone in Thebes reveres youth.
He shrugs. “You will be no worse off with the Hyksos tribe. You said your father was the physician to the royal family. How does he feel about his queen attempting to do away with his offspring?”
With difficulty, I swallow the anger and pain, forcing the emotions down, a lumpy, bitter brew. “She did away with him before he had a chance to object.”
“Ah,” Pepi says, voice quiet. “And have you no other family?”
“My mother is gone,” I say, voice as sad as the scraggly grasses Nefer was chewing on this morning. I do not feel her with me anymore. I hope she is with Ky. “Many of our family perished in the plague some years back. Mother and Father did not have any surviving brothers and sisters.” Plague, intermittent famine, the great line of kings fracturing and splintering — our land and its people have suffered much of late. “My brother remains at the palace.”
“With the queen?”
“He is young Prince Tutan’s closest confidant and friend. The queen loves the prince and would not wish to make him unhappy. She will not let any harm come to his companion.” I hope her threat was only bluster. “He is treated as one of the royal sons.”
“I recall seeing the pair running around together during my brief time in the palace, as a … messenger.”
“Is that your official occupation?”
“One of them,” Pepi says.
A realization is growing on me, like a warty lesion needing removal. “I do not think Queen Anat will harm my brother,” I say slowly. “But she might use him in her schemes. I can only pray that she does not bother to concern herself with a young boy.” And that Ahmes and Bebi will help protect him.
“I, too, will pray for your brother’s safety.” Pepi pats Nefer on her side. “And that the queen does not use him like a pawn in a game of Senet.”
I look at him, startled at his generous words. He gives me a half-smile. “Are you more surprised by my prayers or by my familiarity with the game of Senet? I happen to be an excellent player, you know.”
“Perhaps when we arrive at the camp, we can have a match,” I say, no longer wishing to think about Queen Anat’s potential schemes. “I beat my father a few times.” I smile at Pepi. “He did not let me win, if that is what you are thinking.”
“I was thinking no such thing.” Pepi’s voice is solemn. “To survive the deaths of your parents, the complexities of palace life, and now a perilous journey up the Nile and into the desert?” He holds up his bandaged hand. “All this, in addition to your skills as a healer, leaves little doubt of your brilliance.”
I look down at Nefer’s back, flushing at his words. “Or of your courage,” he adds, voice soft.
“Tell me of your strategies for Senet,” I say, suppressing my confusion. “Since you will not tell me anything else about yourself.”
“The best strategy,” Pepi begins, smiling, “is to make someone think you are not a threat. Until it is too late.” He shares a few of his favourite moves, and I try not to think about why he gives them up so easily — I did challenge him to a match when we reach camp, after all. Despite my best efforts, a bleak thought crystallizes. Maybe it is because he thinks we will never have the opportunity to play the game.
Speaking of Senet, we continue our trek through a desert with no end in sight.
18
THE SUN IS RISING AND THERE IS NO SIGN of shade. While the temperature is still mildly tolerable, it will not be long before it becomes unbearable.
Pepi gauges the clear sky. “We should stop.”
“Here?” Reb looks around. “There is no shelter. The barley drink is almost gone. We have no food.”
“It is best if you forget about food, young scribe,” Pepi says. “It only increases the need for water.” He picks up a small rock and licks the dewy bottom of it. “There is moisture to be found. Take what you can. Then we must dig.”
“Dig what?” Paser says through cracked lips. My mouth feels like the desert itself, dry and full of sand. I am no longer hungry. Water is all I can think of.
Pepi scans the sands. “There.” He points to a depression between two dunes. “We will dig a trench and pile the sand high along the sides, which will block the worst of the rays. Hurry.” He picks up another rock and licks the bottom. “Ra is coming.”
After licking more rocks than one should have to in their lifetime, we start digging. The fiery orange ball ascends higher in the sky. Paser and I dig while Reb and Pepi pile the sand high on three sides, leaving one open for airflow. Sand is everywhere: under my fingernails, on my tongue, up my nose, in my eyes. But we keep digging, racing against the unstoppable morning. Ra’s relentless pursuit feels almost personal. Maybe Reb is right and the gods are angry at us for desecrating the tombs of our ancestors, for betraying the royal family, their representatives.
Pepi unties the bundle of sticks and unfolds the sheet from Nefer’s back. “Sesha, your blade,” he says, and I hand it to him. Making four small slits in each corner, he hands me back the knife, then offers each of us an end of the sheet. We pull the fabric taut over the long hole. Pepi stabs a stick through one of the corner slits in the sheet and spears it deep into the ground. Reb, Paser, and I each grab a stick and do the same. It strikes me, with his calm and sure movements, that Pepi has done this before and survived. This gives me hope. We work in silence, too parched to talk, burrowing the sticks as far into the sand as we can, our efforts causing us to lose precious moisture through our sweat.
Pepi picks up a few of the licked rocks and piles them around the base of the sticks for support. He turns and gestures for us to do the same. His hands then mimic the winds, which can blow strong in the desert, and our shelter flying away. We pile rocks where necessary to reinforce our makeshift tent.
The sun climbs even higher. Our quick work will have to do; it is time to get out of the heat. Pepi clicks his tongue at Nefer and she lies down on the sand at the entrance to our shelter. He begins to bury her. The shelter is not big enough for her body, but she will stick her head inside, as she did our first day in the desert. We help him cover her with sand. She grunts, then licks the salty sweat from my face. Her tongue feels as dry and scratchy as mine.
Paser and Reb manoeuvre around Nefer into the shelter. I follow them, feeling the immediate relief of the shade. It is cooler under the linen sheet, but still roasting hot. We have many hours to go until evening. It is too hot to sleep and too hot to talk, so we lie side by side, cooking like sausages, and wait for night.
We make it to dusk.
Barely.
My lips are split and it feels as if sand fills my head and insides, like the salt the priests stuff into bodies to preserve the dead. I cannot move. All I can think of is water, water, water. I would give anything to be in the cool depths of the Nile right at this very moment …
“Sesha,” Paser croaks. “We must be on our way.”
Pepi, already outside the shelter, scans for the first stars. “We must get to water.” His voice, too, is raspy. “The camp is not far. Now that it is night, they may send a scout to patrol the borders.”
“Who would approach your borders?” Reb’s voice is a hoarse whisper. “Why would anyone enter these hostile lands?”
“It’s not as bad when you are prepared,” Pepi says. “We did not have that opportunity.”
I roll over onto my side, groaning. “Leave me,” I say. I am done. Done with this desert. Forgive me, Merat.
&nbs
p; “Get up.” Paser walks over to me and offers his hand. I do not take it. He bends down and grabs my arm, pulling me to my feet. He hands me the waterskin, and we each take a too-short drink before passing it to Reb and Pepi. It is almost empty.
“Yes, young physician,” Pepi says, passing me the warm drink again. I tilt it back against my mouth and one final drop lands on my parched tongue. “We have come far. You cannot give up now.” He yanks the sticks out of their holes. Paser and Reb grab the ends of the sheet and walk them together, folding it in half as neatly as palace handmaidens.
I sigh, swaying. Pepi is right. Besides, I would rather die on my feet than in a pool of sand. Though I may not have much choice in the matter.
Nefer also gets to her feet. She blinks at me but seems otherwise all right from being baked by the sun. Her thick hair and the sand provided an effective layer of protection from the worst of the rays. Pepi puts the sheet over her back again and brings his hands together for me to place my foot in, to hoist me up.
“Someone else should take a turn,” I croak, desperately wanting to climb onto Nefer’s back but feeling guilty for riding her the previous night.
“We still have our sandals,” Paser points out.
I nod, too tired to argue. Placing one foot in Pepi’s hands, I climb up onto the donkey, who I now regard as an unequivocal beauty. He then passes me the bundle of sticks and we reposition them behind me. We set off: bellies empty, mouths dry, heads and hearts downcast.
As the sky grows darker, the stars grow brighter.
“Are we almost there?” Reb ventures.
“We are close,” Pepi says. “We should reach the camp by mid-morning if all goes well. A good thing, as I do not like to push Nefer for more than three days without water, though she has gone longer.”
“I do not think I will mind much if the Hyksos decide to put me out of my misery,” Reb says, voicing my own thoughts.
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