The Lost Scroll of the Physician

by Alisha Sevigny

  “What are you so content about?” I ask, irritated. “You do not deserve to be tasked with these chores.”

  “Your arrival has made things around here much more interesting. That in and of itself is enough reason to be in good spirits.” He grins. “Besides, I’ve been waiting for my chance to see the bodies up close.”

  My broom clatters to the floor. “What bodies?”

  Paser sees my face. “Not your parents, Sesha,” he hastens to say. “The ones they’ll be using to demonstrate the mummification process.”

  My stomach rolls over. “Where are they being kept?”

  “In the embalming room, of course.” Paser looks at Reb. “Are you coming?”

  The temple is darkening, most of the activity ceasing for the day as the priests retire for the evening.

  “What is your hurry?” Reb looks uneasy. “We will see them tomorrow.”

  “I will accompany you,” I say, heart thumping like the hind leg of a hare. With most of the scribes gone for the evening, there might be an opportunity to lose Paser and make my way to my father’s study.

  “Me, too.” Reb straightens and shoots me a challenging look brimming with defiance.

  I stifle my scoff as we finish our sweeping. Reb is a fly. Annoying, but harmless.

  We put away our brooms, walk to the edge of the room, and turn down a long hallway. Torches flicker, illuminating the ceiling above painted with stars and clouds to mimic the night sky. The walls are decorated with the kings of the past, presenting their offerings to the gods. We do not talk, not wishing to attract unwanted attention.

  Paser stops at the entrance to a large chamber. “This way,” he says, beckoning us over, voice hushed.

  “Are we allowed to be here?” I ask, eyeing the purple curtain draping down to the floor, a cloth barrier between us and the room’s silent occupants.

  “Why, are you frightened?” Reb asks, conveniently forgetting his earlier resistance to the expedition.

  A feeling of uncertainty has been making itself known during our trek to the room, not of what we will find, but of what could happen if we are discovered. Or more accurately, if I am found alone in Nebifu’s chambers. Not that it matters, I am going either way. But still, one likes to be prepared.

  “What will happen if we are caught?” I ask Paser, ignoring Reb.

  “There is no one to catch us,” Paser says, neatly sidestepping my question. “The remaining priests are all involved in the sacrificial closing ceremony at the other end of the temple.” He walks into the large room, Reb following behind him.

  A slight noise farther down the hall attracts my ear. Whipping my head toward the sound, I strive to come up with an adequate excuse to explain our presence.

  No one is there.

  Must be one of Reb’s rats. Taking a quick breath, I push aside the curtain and step into the room.

  15

  I TAKE A STEP CLOSER TO the bodies. I have seen many with their Ba and Ka departed before, but it is always an adjustment, where one expects to see life, to see only an empty shell.

  “Who are they?” I ask. Despite Paser’s assurance that they are not my parents, it is the bodies of a man and woman who lie there, similar in colouring and age, though the features are different enough.

  “One of the nobles and his wife,” Paser answers. “They will be embalmed and then placed in one of the smaller tombs with the items they will need for the afterlife.”

  “One of the mastabas?” I ask. This is where Queen Anat said my parents are resting. I step closer. The woman’s hair is like my mother’s: long, dark, and silky, falling past her shoulders. It’s all too easy to imagine that it is my mother.

  A scream claws its way up my chest into my throat like an animal trying to escape its confines. An overwhelming urge to flee washes over me and suddenly all I can think of is that I must find Ky. He is all I have left. I need to make sure he is safe right now. The scroll will have to wait one more day.

  Whirling, I turn and start for the exit. “I have to go.”

  “You will be a poor physician if you cannot abide a body or two,” Reb calls after me.

  “Where are you going?” Paser asks.

  “To hunt a hippo.” Pushing past the purple curtain, I do not wait to hear their reaction.

  It is almost fully dusk as I race past the marketplace, the golden disk in the sky sunk low and heavy, like a woman near her time.

  “You won’t find them,” a voice calls behind me. I look over my shoulder to see Paser hurrying to catch me.

  “I have to try,” I say, knowing that he is probably right. “My brother is with them.”

  He reaches my side. “They will be by the water’s edge, most likely on the outskirts of the town.”

  “Or on the water. Someone may have seen the boats leave from the docks.”

  “Let us go, then.”

  “You need not come with me,” I say, looking up at him. “Ahmes will be most unimpressed.”

  “I know.” Paser grins. “But why miss out on a chance to witness the hunt?”

  “I am not sure why men need to kill a creature to prove their superiority,” I say as our pace increases again.

  “Not all men.” Paser looks at me. “You know there is great meaning in the expedition?”

  “Of course,” I say dismissively. “But that doesn’t mean I want my brother dying for the sake of a symbolic story.” Everyone knows that hippos, often associated with chaos, are dangerous, unpredictable, and lethal beasts. When a pharaoh or prince successfully hunts the aggressive animal, he is considered to be defending his lands from this chaos and maintaining Ma’at, the order of the world — his most important duty as king.

  Paser glances sidelong at me. “Most would be grateful for the honour to be by the young prince’s side. He will one day be pharaoh, you are aware?”

  “If he manages to survive long enough,” I mutter.

  We walk through the village. The wind has picked up and dust swirls around our ankles. With any luck there will be a storm and the hunt will be called off. But I know it will not. The dust only adds to the challenge, making things more dangerous. In return, the pharaoh and the prince will be beheld as that much braver. More powerful.

  Men. I sniff.

  “Do you smell something?” Paser asks.

  “No, I …” I stop short and sniff the air again. There is a scent in the air. The smell of eggs rotting in the hot sun. “Hippo,” I say, keeping my voice low, straining my ears. A large group of people is attempting to move quietly just off in the bushes, but every crack of a stick, every murmur, is as loud as a shout, announcing their location.

  “Over there.” I nod to Paser. The golden disk is almost fully down; the sky is a light purple, streaked with orange and pinks. We have reached the banks of the Nile.

  “Watch out for crocodiles,” I whisper over my shoulder.

  “Crocodiles?”

  A deep grunt and snort to our right cuts off my response and has the hairs on my arms standing on end. Forget the crocodiles.

  “Did you hear that?” Paser whispers. There is another snort and a large whuff of air, meant as a warning, like the growl of a lion. But the outline of the shape looming just behind Paser is ten times larger than that of a lion.

  “Don’t. Move,” I say, voice barely audible.

  “For the glory of the gods!” A high voice ululates as men charge out of the bush, spears waved high.

  I look around frantically, trying to spot Ky, praying I will not see him. Paser is frozen to the spot, eyes wide.

  “Paser,” I shout, urging him to follow me. “This way.” The hunters stampede past us, throwing their spears at the hulking shape directly behind him. He doesn’t move.

  An even louder roar fills my ears and the ground quakes as the massive hippo lowers its head and paws the ground, bone-crushing jaws and deadly incisors ready to gouge anything in its path. Unfortunately, this happens to be Paser.

  Ducking my shoulder low, I run at P
aser with all my strength, knocking him out of the path of the charging beast. My body tenses, anticipating the sharp stab of tusks or the trampling of limbs under its heavy bulk. But the only things that graze me as the animal thunders by are a few wiry hairs. A whiff of hot rank breath envelops us both as we tumble over. The force with which I’d flung myself at Paser causes us to roll across the ground and down the banks of the river.

  We land with a splash beside a patch of long papyrus reeds. My feet scramble to find bottom and scale back up the riverbank as fast as possible. The crocodiles I warned Paser about like nothing better than lurking among the lush grasses of the water’s edge — their yellow-green eyes just above the surface, as they wait for an easy meal to present itself, much as we had.

  Luckily, it isn’t deep here and my feet touch, digging into the sand and rocks, each toe thrusting like one of the spears above to find purchase. A face appears over the bank and peers down, then another, giving a low whine.

  “Sesha?” Ky says, voice disbelieving. Anubis lets out a happy bark.

  “Ky, thank the gods you are safe! What are you doing out here?” I demand, though I know very well.

  “What are you doing?” he asks pointedly.

  “We were looking for you.”

  “We?” He looks puzzled.

  Only then do I notice that Paser is not beside me. Only seconds have passed since we rolled over the riverbank and into the dark, wet confusion. In the light of the rising moon, I glimpse the white of his shendyt, the kilt that normally hangs neatly from his waist, swirling languidly in the flowing Nile.

  Turning, I jump back into the water and grab him. He is unconscious. His eyelids flutter and there is a large gash bleeding at his temple. His head must have hit a rock when we rolled down the bank. He is heavy, especially with his soaked clothing dragging him down into the river.

  Even though the water is not deep here, it is still awkward pulling him up onto the sandy bank. Grunting with effort, I manage to get him into a position where he’s leaning back against the rocks, and kneel anxiously beside him.

  He is not breathing.

  16

  QUICK, QUICK, QUICK.

  Did Paser swallow any water? I whack his back a few times, a crude but usually effective treatment.

  Nothing.

  I mumble a curse that would’ve shocked my mother and lay him on his back, tilting his chin up slightly toward the indigo sky. Pinching his nostrils closed, I cover his mouth with mine and blow hard. Still nothing.

  I blow a few more times, alternating between smacking my fist down hard on his chest. “Breathe, Paser.” No response. With a frustrated cry I bring both fists down folded together, on his breastbone, with all my strength. He coughs then, sputtering out river droplets, eyes flying open. I offer a heartfelt thanks to the gods.

  “What … happened?” He coughs again, as I roll him onto his side so he can spit out the rest of the water.

  “Hippo.” I sit back beside him, drained, as Ky scurries the rest of the way down the embankment. Shouts and unearthly howls from above have me thinking this is as good a place as any for him.

  “How did you come to be here?” Ky asks, checking me over for any injuries. Anubis bounds gracefully down the slope.

  I wave a half-hearted hand, reassuring him I am in one piece. Then, remembering Paser’s injury, I lean over to examine him. He winces as I probe the wound gently. It is superficial, but the head bleeds a lot and my hand is covered when I pull it back. The smell of blood is sharp on the wind, whether it is all Paser’s or from the hippo above, I am not sure. What I am sure of is this: if there is not a crocodile nearby now, there will be one very soon.

  Most likely more than one.

  Scrambling to my feet, I look at Ky. “Help me with him.” We each put a shoulder under Paser’s arms and hoist him up to his feet. “I wanted to make sure you were safe,” I say to Ky, in answer to his previous question on how we came to be here. My eyes scan him: his health, so fragile this past month, seems rejuvenated by the recent food and care he’s received at the palace.

  “How thoughtful of you,” Ky says. “But as you can see, I am fine.”

  Paser attempts to stand on his own and sways. Ky and I grab him before he falls. The reeds swish from side to side with an unnatural rhythm, catching my eye. Anubis lets out another low whine.

  “Let’s move,” I say. The three of us start to make our way up the embankment, an awkward trio. “You might have been killed by that beast,” I say to Ky, glancing over my shoulder. The surface of the water ripples. Maybe from a loose stone, kicked down in our climb. Maybe not.

  “From what I saw, it seemed like you two were the ones in danger.” Ky’s tone is scolding. “Hunting hippos is dangerous work.”

  My mouth hangs open. “I was going to tell you that.”

  “I was with men who were armed,” he pants out as we struggle up the embankment, grabbing at grasses and whatever we can to heave our bodies up the incline.

  “That does not guarantee your safety.” I exhale as, at last, we reach the top.

  “Sesha, when is our safety ever guaranteed?” Ky says.

  “He makes a point,” Paser admits, flopping to the ground. The commotion of the hunt has moved off to the left. It sounds like the hippo is not making things easy for its attackers.

  “You should be back at the palace,” I say to Ky, after introducing them and giving Paser another once-over. Aside from the cut on his head, he appears to be all right.

  “My place is beside Tutan,” Ky says, stiffening with what I realize is pride and anger. “This hunt symbolizes his approaching manhood, and I am missing it.”

  “I did not ask you to come help,” I say, crossly. Anubis comes up beside me with a low whine, head nudging into my hand, and I rub between his ears.

  “Though it is much appreciated, young Ky,” Paser assures him.

  “And I did not ask for yours,” Ky shoots back at me. “I am not a child.” He spins around and walks off in the direction of the ferocious noises. Anubis gives me an apologetic look and trots after him, tongue lolling.

  “Ky!” I shout, bewildered.

  “Let him go.” Paser puts a hand on my shoulder.

  “With a deranged hippopotamus running amok?” Shrugging out from under his grasp, I follow Ky. There is a booming crash and the earth trembles. It sounds very much like a hippo toppling over onto the ground. Victorious shouts and hoots go up. Ky takes off running in the direction of the ruckus, Anubis barking at his heels.

  “Ky!” I race after him.

  We run up and over a small hill. Higher in the sky now, the moon basks the skirmish in a pale glow. Hunters surround the massive fallen creature. Spears stick out from its tough hide as the warriors throw nets over it, pinning it to the ground. Pharaoh stands back watching, the young prince at his side. He pulls a sharp dagger from the scabbard at his waist and presents it to Tutan, who holds it aloft, a look of excitement and fear in his eyes.

  Ky and Anubis hurry down toward them. I stay, not wanting to interfere with the proceedings. At this delicate moment, a distraction could be fatal.

  Tutan sees their approach, nodding at Ky, and together they approach the dying beast. The hunters stand back, in deference to their future king. They do not lower their spears, however, and I notice the ones holding down the nets grip them more tightly as Tutan walks up to the beast.

  “I, Prince Tutan, do take thy life in the name of Osiris and his son, Horus.” His voice trembles only slightly as he crouches, preparing to inflict the final wound.

  The thick skin of a hippo does not give way easily and a considerable amount of force must be used to pierce it. I feel sympathy for the creature as it lets out another low grunt, the life force leaving her body. For it is a she; I see the teats hanging low, where multiple offspring may have nursed. Hippos might be associated with chaos but they are also renowned for being fiercely protective of their young. Briefly, I wonder if her children are fully grown or if they sti
ll need their mother. What will happen to them?

  They will either survive or they won’t, a cold voice says at the back of my mind. I shiver.

  Tutan plunges the dagger with all his strength up into the throat of the hippo. The blade, sharpened to the point where a floating strand of hair would slice in two on contact, sinks into the animal. The beast emits one final bellow, its body shuddering, then relaxes into horrible stillness.

  A great cry goes up from the crowd below. My cheeks are wet and I sense Paser’s presence behind me.

  “He is all right,” he says softly.

  “Is he?” I whirl and start back for the palace.

  Back at the palace there is great jubilation and much celebration over the success of the hunt. I know I should be relieved that no one was severely injured, but I cannot shake my feeling of unease. Maybe it was the bodies at the temple earlier that affected me so?

  “Sesha,” a commanding voice calls on my way to the handmaidens’ quarters. Turning, I see Merat walking toward me. “Are you coming to the feast?” She eyes my slightly dripping, mud-splattered clothes.

  “I should go and study, Your Highness.” I make a small bow, noting she is dressed for the party in fine pleated linens, a collar of gold around her neck decorated with coral and turquoise beads. Her eyelids are painted with vivid green malachite.

  “I will not hear of it.” She shakes her head, tiny individual braids swinging. “Besides, you need to reacquaint yourself with your table manners before the Festival of the Inundation next week. People are coming from all over the land: nobles, their families … potential suitors.” She casts me a sidelong glance.

  “I have no interest in parties, Your Highness.” Or suitors, for that matter. I need to focus my energies on finding the scroll.

  “Come, now. You wouldn’t want to offend the gods, would you?” She gives me another look, this one punctuated by an arched brow. I freeze. Reb accused my father of the very same thing this day. And the reason for the unease I’m feeling becomes clear, having been masked by the evening’s events.