The Song of the Bee-Eater (The Desert Queen Book 4)

by M. L. Bullock

  He stepped back and shoved his sword back in his sheath. “No, you must go. I will take my throne. And when I do, I will send for you.”

  “No!” Meritaten yelled at him through her tears. “You promised we would always be together. You cannot leave me, brother. You cannot!”

  He held her by the shoulders and spoke to her in low tones, “Please listen to me. You must take care of Mother and Tasherit, but I have many others I have to care for. Do you think I can leave Egypt, our Egypt, in the hands of the priests of Amun? I cannot do such a thing. Father has trusted me with this, and I will not fail him. Now go. I will send for you.” As Smenkhkare kissed her, I ransacked my dresser, pulled out a few private treasures and stuck them in a bag. I hid the bag in my skirts and took Meritaten by the arm.

  “Come, show me where your sister is,” I said. Smenkhkare left us, and Meritaten called after him. He did not return. “Please, Meritaten,” I continued. “Show me where. Where have you hidden her?”

  “I told you—she is in Sitamen’s aviary.”

  Without a word, I grasped her hand, and together we fled down the Great Hall. I feared greatly that someone would see us and seize us, but no one did. As we traveled through the corridors I saw heartrending displays of greed—the people were looting the court! But then the medjay appeared and with them a battalion of armed priests. “No! Meritaten! We must go through the tunnels.”

  We ran through the Bull Room, and I slapped the trigger wall to open the door. Then we slipped through the small entranceway. It was dark inside, so dark that I could barely see my hand in front of my face. Meritaten tripped over her own feet and whimpered in the dark, but still I pulled us on toward the aviary. At least I thought it was the aviary. Where was I? A light shone in the distance, and I didn’t know whether to run toward it or away from it. I was thankful my sometimes-wise husband had built these tunnels into his palace; perhaps all along he knew this day would come. I never would have dreamed that one day all of Egypt would turn on us—especially not my dear Menmet!

  “Mother, this way!” Smenkhkare! I ran toward him.

  “I couldn’t abandon you—the palace is too full of priests. I have hidden Tasherit there!” I saw the lid of a large clay pot lift, and my daughter’s head poked out. She cried when she saw me.

  “My treasure!” I lifted her from the jar and kissed her cheek.

  “Quickly! They are coming now! I can see them in the distance. Where do we go, Mother?”

  Please, Amenhotep! Help me!

  I heard a scraping sound to my left. Someone had opened a nearby wall. There were many entrances into our secret tunnels, and unfortunately someone had discovered one very nearby.

  Go to the right, to the wall that leads to the Crescent Pool. And then on to the Green Temple.

  Adijah would meet us there—or so we had arranged. But what if he betrayed me as Menmet had? Then let me first die! I pushed ahead of them. “Take your sister’s hand, Meritaten. Follow me!”

  I raced down the narrow corridor. The voices of the intruders now bounced off the stone walls, and they were getting closer. I glanced back to see my son turn with his weapon drawn. “No! Run, Smenkhkare! Run!” Thankfully he listened and we surged forward, Tasherit crying while Meritaten prayed. I could hear the running of the water—the Crescent Pool was near here. “Wave your torch this way!” With one flick of his torch I could see the brass handle on the wall. I pulled it, and my children and I ran out of the hall. Smenkhkare attempted to push the door back, but I warned him, “It won’t move. It is set on a sand timer. Come now!” We ran to the small gate; it was a minor entrance, one used by the gardeners who stocked the pool and cared for Pharaoh’s private sanctuary. The guards must have overlooked or forgotten it. We ran through the shadowy arbors and out the open gate. Thank you, Amenhotep!

  When we got to the streets there was chaos. Fires were burning, and the leopard coats moved quickly to rid the city of heretics—any Egyptians that were faithful to Amenhotep and Nefertiti were the first to be dispatched. I recognized some, but there was nothing I could do for them. There was no trial for these innocents; they were guilty of believing in Amenhotep’s vision. Guilty of abandoning the Amun temples. They were delivered a speedy death on sight.

  I wept against the wall but did not allow myself the luxury of grief for long. “We must go to the Green Temple. A friend waits there for us.” Smenkhkare took in the sight of the murders, and I saw his jaw set, just as his father’s had done when he was overcome with anger. I touched his arm, and together we journeyed to the Green Temple. Smenkhkare came across an abandoned wagon; he searched through it and tossed us all some clothing.

  “Cover up. The closer we get to the Temple of Isis, the greater the chance that someone will recognize you. Leave your robes and wigs here, Mother. Here, put this on.” Taking the bundle of rough fabric he handed me, I did as he asked. Smenkhkare also shed his headdress and put on a plain brown robe. He tossed his gold prince’s cuffs in the wagon as payment for our robbery. His eyes widened to see my shaved head, but he said nothing. There was no time for such questions.

  “Tasherit, Mother will carry you. Mother, Meritaten, keep your faces covered.”

  We scurried down the colonnade that led to the front gates of the temple. We were too late; the priests of Amun were here and were attempting to enter that holy place. I gasped at the sheer number of them.

  As if she read my mind, Meritaten whispered, “There must be hundreds. They will kill us!”

  “Nefertiti,” a voice whispered. A hooded figure stood at the end of the nearby alleyway. He pushed back his hood, and I could plainly see Adijah’s fair hair. He waved, and I began to run toward him.

  Tasherit whimpered, and I shushed her. “Keep quiet, Tasherit. We will be safe soon. All will be well.”

  “Yes, Mother,” she whispered into my clothing.

  We made it to the Grecian warrior, and I struggled for breath. I had not run so far in so long. My lungs were burning, my feet ached, and my arms hurt, but I would not put my daughter down. “This way, there is a wagon that will lead us out of town. We must go to the hills for now. We will hide until the priests stop looking and then go across the sea. I have everything ready, as I promised your sister I would. Here, let me hold her.” I handed Tasherit to Adijah and reached behind me for Meritaten. But she was gone. As I looked down the alley I could see Smenkhkare and Meritaten running hand in hand back to the city.

  “No!” I screamed in anger. I tried to run after them, but Adijah prevented me.

  “You cannot help them. If we go back into the city, you will die. They have made their choice, lady. We must go.”

  “I cannot leave my treasures,” I said in tears. “What will become of them?”

  Adijah’s voice did not scold me. He simply asked, “And what about this one?” Tasherit was sobbing for her sister.

  He was right; there was nothing to be done. I had to leave Meritaten and Smenkhkare to their own fate. What was done was done. Could I allow Pah’s sacrifice to be in vain? She saved me—and she saved Tasherit.

  “Very well. Let’s go.” With tears streaming down my face, I left Amarna behind. Never again would we see the glory of Egypt. Never again would I behold the face of my son, the face so like my husband’s. Sweet, loving Meritaten would always be absent from my arms.

  Farewell, Amenhotep. You will remain in my dreams.

  Epilogue

  New Treasures—Tasherit

  “Come let me hold you, my own dear treasure.” Mother’s aged hands reached for me, and I did not hesitate to put my hands in hers. She was not prone to show affection, at least not as she once had—I learned to accept it when it was offered, for I loved her with all my being. I pretended I did not notice how twisted and old her hands looked. I winced at seeing the scars again, painful reminders of the sacrifice she’d made that last night in Amarna. I had similar burns on my legs, but they were not as severe as hers. The flames had licked me, but I had healed. Her skin had bee
n forever changed by the conflagration. The once-proud queen had taken great pains in recent years to keep her hands covered in her robes when they weren’t working hard at whatever task she was working on. Most days that was drying fish or selling ribbons to the visitors who came to our island for its healing waters.

  Adijah had abandoned his sword long ago and traded it for a boat. That had been our life since our escape from Egypt. After months of grieving and mourning for my siblings, Mother had come around again; ready to face life and whatever challenges it might offer. And she was finally mine exclusively, except for her nights, which she spent with Adijah. But that was all coming to an end now. She would be gone soon.

  I had seen myself grieve—but now I must live it. And with her passing would pass the last of my family.

  “Oh, my Meritaten. I have missed you.” I sighed as she enveloped me in her bony arms. It would do no good to correct her. She would be dead before the sun rose. Yes, I had seen it in the fire and the water many months ago. Until her sickness last moon, I had no reason to expect her death. From my first memory until that moment, my mother had always been a vital woman, full of energy and focused on whatever purpose she put her mind to.

  Although the memories of the painted walls of Egypt had faded to muted scenes from another life, tonight they were all around us, at least in our spirits. I could almost see my favorite panel shimmering behind her, as it had when I visited her apartments in the Great Palace. There was no lack of colorful things to see in Amenhotep’s city, but this particular scene had enchanted me to no end. Besides the broad swath of blue water, which represented the Nile, there were many boats and fishermen. But best of all there were hundreds of animals. I recognized the cruel crocodile and the spindly storks, but there were also strange fishes, half-fish and half-human creatures, and so many animals that I had never seen before. And that was saying something. As the children of Pharaoh, we were often gifted with queer little animals and playful birds and even fish in colorful bowls.

  During those visits to Mother’s apartments, I would quiz my sister until she grew bored and then Mother would invite me into her lap. She would repeat the names to me and tell me stories about them. And such stories she told! Mother had a way of making everything seem magical.

  Perhaps it had been a silly goal, a child’s dream, but how I wanted to see the river before I died! I could not understand why no one would take me. It wasn’t that far. However, during every Sed and Sokar Festival and on every journey to the Island Temple, I was left behind with a promise that next year I would be permitted to attend.

  But I never saw the blue waters of the Nile. I ached for the river. I longed for it as if it were a part of me. A part I would never know.

  “Mother, tell me about the river.” I leaned against her and let her stroke my hair. It was no matter that my hair was as white as hers. It was no matter that I had children of my own—no, I now had grandchildren. None of that mattered. For a few minutes she was the Great Queen Nefertiti still and I was her beloved daughter, Tasherit. I closed my eyes and waited to hear her tell me the story of the river and all the animals that called it home.

  “What shall I tell you, Tasherit? Surely you recall all their names by now.” My heart fluttered to hear her call me by my name, my true name! No one called me by my royal name anymore. Not even my husband, Herxes. Here, on the small island of Cythera, we were not to mention the past. Even now I could see Adijah’s disapproving look at the mention of my former name. But what could it matter now? Egypt’s evil priests did not search for us any longer, if they ever had. They had peaked in power. I prayed that somehow they would be called to account for the blood they had shed. No, Adijah did not frighten me—and I knew he would deny my mother nothing. He loved her more than she loved him, but he was not unhappy with that arrangement. To the once-mighty warrior, she was always the Great Queen of Egypt, even if he did not want anyone to know his wife’s true identity. He always treated her with great deference and honor.

  “Tell me, Great Queen, my mother. Tell me about them.”

  “Let us look, then, Dearest One. See there? There floats the mighty Zephonites—the strongest crocodile in the river. He is very old, so old that he takes very long naps, sometimes for months, before he reappears to fill his belly with fish—or whatever else he finds. And that in the corner there is the Hydrus! No animal can defeat Zephonites but Hydrus. Ah, he is clever. He allows himself to be eaten, and when the King of the Crocodiles thinks he’s won, the Hydrus bursts out of his belly and kills the monster.” I did not shiver as I once had when she told me such tales, but I loved hearing again the tale of the Eternal Battle. She was skipping many details, but she was tired. I knew she was tired. I would not correct her or ask her excited questions to dig for more information as I had when I was a child.

  Thinking to redirect her mind from the monstrous creatures and thoughts of death and destruction I asked, “What of the Singers, Mother? Tell me about them.” She did not answer me immediately but clutched me to her as she coughed and struggled to claim another gasp of air. Her breathing sounded shallow, and I could hear the rattling of her lungs, but I could not let her go. I would not. I wanted to keep her talking. If she was talking, she was living. It was selfish, but I couldn’t let her leave me. Adijah offered her a cup of water, but she shook her head. I closed my eyes and clung to Mother as if I might go with her when she died, if I were quiet and still.

  Yes, perhaps I could fool death. Maybe Osiris would take me too. He hung in the sky tonight…maybe he would!

  “The Singers now appear as frogs, croakers large and small, but they were once beautiful women who gathered at the river and sang to Osiris every night. They hoped to seduce the god and have children by him, but Isis intervened and transformed the sisters into green frogs. Osiris had pity on them, and although he could not change them back, he did grant them their wish. He entered the water and cast his seed upon them. And now as frogs they continue to reproduce, and they sing there still.”

  I said suddenly, “Mother, do not leave me. How can I live without you?”

  “Oh, my own daughter. You are stronger than you know. You are brave and have treasures of your own now. And I promise you, we will see one another again. All will be well.”

  A moan caught in my throat. “How can you know that, Mother? How can you possibly know that? And I am not strong, not at all.”

  She kissed my head and said quietly, “Hush now, Tasherit. I know because I have seen it in the fire—and the water. The same as you.”

  “But I have not seen that, Mother. How I want to see that! Show me, please.”

  She coughed and patted my shoulder. “Yes, I will show you. Stir up the fire, daughter. Stir it up and we will look together.”

  I didn’t want to move from her arms, but how could I deny her? I had asked for this, hadn’t I? I left her arms, tossed a twisted grass log onto the fire and watched it smoke. There were few trees here, but the grass logs burned long and hot. I tried not to spy on Adijah as he came to her, whispered in her ear, kissed her and quickly departed. Even after all these years, it seemed strange that Mother would kiss anyone but Father. She’d been so devoted to him; we all had, until he cast us off. Her love for Adijah was not white-hot and long-suffering as it had been with the Pharaoh of Egypt, but it seemed to make her happy. He glanced at me sadly as he left us alone. As always the warrior was uncomfortable with our magic. He did not believe in such things, but neither did he speak against it.

  “What do you see, Tasherit?” She leaned back against her pillow and closed her eyes.

  I squatted and poked at the fire pot. “Nothing yet, Mother. I look still.” And I did. There was nothing in the flames, only color and sparks.

  “Keep looking. You will see. Soon you will see.”

  I reached behind me and squeezed her hand briefly, but I kept my eyes on the fire. I wanted to see. I had to see. I needed to know! Would I see her again? And what about Smenkhkare and Meritaten? We knew abo
ut their horrible deaths—they had ruled for less than two years before they too were murdered. Smenkhkare never sent for us. They had traveled to the Otherworld together, and together they would always be, as they wanted. But what of my glorious father and my aunt Nephthys? I stared hard and began to see the shifting in the center of the flames.

  “I see a figure, Mother! Something is moving in the flames!”

  She coughed again, but I kept my focus. “Keep looking, Meritaten.” Oh no, I thought. Her mind is wandering again. She would soon forget my name forever. Please, let me see before she leaves me and forgets me.

  The flames shimmered, just as they always did when magic moved in them. I gasped as the image cleared—I could plainly see the painted wall! “Mother!” I exclaimed at the sight.

  “Keep looking,” she whispered assuredly. I saw my sister’s round face, and my hand flew to my mouth in surprise. Never before had I seen the dead in the fire or the water. I laughed with joy. “Meritaten!” I pointed at her excitedly. Suddenly, standing beside her was our brother Smenkhkare. He looked handsome, his royal garments clean and white, as they always were in life. His arm went protectively around Meritaten’s waist. I saw no horrific wounds, no bloody gashes—whatever they suffered through was no more. Death was not as I had imagined. No, here they were alive and together somehow.

  Then there were other familiar faces. Some I knew by name; others I did not, but they knew me. I could see by their expressions that they knew I watched them through the flames. My eyes burned and my throat felt raw from the heat, but I would not relent. I called to them, but they did not speak to me. They spoke only to each other, but they were happy to see me. This I knew. Then they faded and my father appeared. His hands were on the shoulders of my brothers—and yes, there was my little sister. She had died when she was just a babe, but she was a babe no more. How did I know she was my sister? She looked so much like me—and my father.