Warrior of the Nile (The Gods of Egypt)

by Scott, Veronica

  But he has no idea he’s to lose his chance at the Afterlife. He wasn’t given the opportunity to choose that part of his fate. Heartsick, glancing at Isis, who was studying the game board, Tiya delayed, wanting to keep hope alive for a few more precious moments. Touching the edge of the second flower, she traced the veins along its velvety softness. Keeping my oath to Nephthys, marrying Smenkhotep and dying, carries a sad price for both of us as well. But it ensures the safety of Egypt.

  Something odd about the flowers caught her eye and she looked at the lotus again, bending closer. There was a small bud nestled under the twin flowers. “Great One? What’s the meaning of this third bud?”

  Her lips curling in a subtle, secretive smile, Isis sighed, rubbing a black game piece between her fingers. Tiya studied the bony visage carved into this game piece, not recognizing the face. Isis set the pawn on the board close to the white pawn representing Tiya. “A most unlikely outcome.”

  “A draw? Khenet and I don’t have to die? His soul remains intact? Is such a thing possible?” Struggling to keep her excitement contained, she knelt on the grassy bank to see the little bud more clearly, reaching out a hand but not quite touching the furled petals. “How does a draw affect Egypt?”

  “Egypt would be secure in this game, yet not the way my sister desires. Not a win yet not a loss for her. A win for you because the pawns aren’t sacrificed. Egypt might be left stronger for the future in ways Nephthys hasn’t considered.” Tiya started as she realized that Isis had moved to her side. “But to achieve a draw requires you to fight, and the outcome is not certain. You might lose all. Do you have that much risk taking in you?”

  She wants me to say yes. For whatever her own motives are, Isis thinks this is better than Nephthys’s plan. Pulse pounding, dizzy at being peripherally privy to disagreements among the gods, Tiya closed her eyes for a second. Rocking back onto her heels, she stared up at the goddess. “I don’t understand. I’m no soldier. I mean, Khenet has talked more than once of trying to find another way to end this, to defeat Smenkhotep without our deaths, but I didn’t pay much attention, honestly. How could we oppose what Nephthys wants?”

  “Your warrior has a brave heart.” Isis pointed at the tiny bud and the flower began to open, much more slowly than the others had. “To achieve this draw, you’d have to trust him.”

  “I do—” She turned her attention to the small flower, fully in bloom now but revealing nothing—no visions of alternate futures.

  “You don’t.” Isis’s rebuttal was harsh. Softening her tone, the goddess reached out to pat Tiya’s cheek. “If you trusted him, you wouldn’t have sought me out in an attempt to save him. His words would have been enough for you.” A swallow flew down from the tree, alighting on the goddess’s shoulder. The bird leaned to look at Tiya, tilting its head, trilling a query. Reaching up, Isis removed the bird from her shoulder, holding it perched on her hand. “Your heart has courage but your fears muffle it. You love him, but are you brave enough to fight beside him? Or will you stand aside as he is sacrificed?”

  Fascinated, Tiya watched as the bird turned to fiery gold, then became a small dagger, the beak turning into the wicked blade and the body, wings folded, compressing into a graceful handle.

  Isis pointed the knife at her heart. “What is your choice, daughter of Nephthys?”

  Tiya looked at the three flowers again. Does he love me as I’ve come to love him? I hope so. She touched the necklace at her throat. But he’s spoken no words of love to me. Do I trust him or not?

  The tiny third flower swayed in the breeze, off by itself on an offshoot of the thick stalk. Leaning out over the still water, Tiya pulled the blossom closer, holding it to her nose to sniff the heady perfume. She looked at Isis. “I choose to fight beside Khenet, in whatever way he can find for us.”

  Smiling, the goddess flipped the golden dagger and extended the weapon to her, hilt first. “I give you a gift then, to bolster your courage in the dark moments ahead. Don’t imagine the way will be easy. Remember the outcome is far from settled. The only sure path was for you to stay here in the Afterlife with me, setting him free of his oath.”

  Tiya clutched the knife to her breast, shaking her head as she got off her knees. “I trust my warrior and I will fight beside him—for him. And for Egypt.” As she tucked the knife into a hidden pocket of her dress, Tiya stopped, one hand going to her lips in dismay. “But if I carry this weapon, won’t Nephthys know when she takes over my body? Isn’t there a chance the Nomarch Smenkhotep may spy it before I am able to use it?”

  “Nephthys and I may be sisters, but I am the elder,” Isis said, a disdainful smile on her lips. “My powers are stronger, child. Neither she nor anyone else can detect this weapon unless you choose to display it. I’ve bespelled it, and the magic will hold until you release the power by speaking my name while you hold the blade.”

  Isis walked away, going to the game board again. “I wish you well, Tiya, daughter of Nephthys.”

  A terrifying thought came to Tiya. “Wait!”

  Isis half turned, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

  “I understand about the spell on the dagger but can’t Nephthys read my mind? Will she know I—we—are trying to fight her?”

  Shaking her head, Isis moved another game piece, studying the result without looking at Tiya, dismissal plain in her attitude. “Unless you speak your thoughts aloud, my sister won’t be privy to them. She can only watch your actions.”

  “But when she inhabits my body—” Tiya shivered, the thought still repugnant.

  “She pushes your soul aside, as you have experienced. Even if she allows you to stay in your body with her, as a silent witness to her deeds, she doesn’t become you.” Isis held her hand up, palm facing Tiya. “Our time is done.”

  The mists swirled around Tiya in a dizzying vortex. She closed her eyes against the vertigo, and when she reopened them a moment later, she was standing on the hillside, outside the temple, next to the humble shrines. A chill breeze struck her and she realized the sun was going down. Time in the Afterlife must flow differently. Isis and I spoke for only a few moments! Hastily she checked to be sure the golden dagger was still hidden inside her clothing. As the wind picked up, she ran down the road.

  Approaching the outskirts of the town, she saw Khenet coming toward her, with three of the River Horse’s sailors at his back. Happy to see him, reminding herself she couldn’t give voice to what she’d discussed with Isis, Tiya hastened down the road to meet him.

  Khenet picked up his pace as he came toward her, grabbing her by the shoulders and looking her up and down. “You’ve taken no hurt?”

  Shocked by the tightness of his grip, she tried to shrug his hands off. “Of course not. I’m fine.”

  He refused to release her but stood staring down into her face for a long moment, his own countenance grim, unsmiling. “Care to explain this day’s adventure to me?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t. There was something I had to do.”

  “Something Nephthys commanded?”

  She thought there was a note of hope in his voice, but as rapidly as the idea came to lie to him, she dismissed it. “No, this had nothing to do with the goddess.”

  He nodded. “I was afraid of that.” His grip on her shoulders tightened painfully.

  Making a futile attempt to jerk herself free of his grip, she said, “Khenet, let go of me. What’s the matter with you?”

  He slid one hand down her arm, shackling her wrist. “Did you rethink your vow? Decide you didn’t want to die at the goddess’s command after all?”

  Hurt by the accusation, she stopped walking. He drew her forward with a jerk, the sailors falling in behind. Stumbling at the fast pace he was setting, she said, “No, of course not.” Tugging fruitlessly to free herself from his grip, she pried at his fingers with her other hand. “Do you intend
to drag me through the town like an errant child? I insist you take your hands off me!”

  “After what you’ve put me through today, you’re lucky I have any patience left at all,” he said grimly, striding onward past staring villagers. “I should carry you back to the ship over my shoulder. You lied to me. Deceived me, Lady Tiya. Taneb’s crew and I spent the entire day searching this miserable hellhole of a town and the surrounding countryside for you.” He stared at her. “Why did you come back? Lose your nerve?”

  “I was always planning to return to the ship today,” she said, stumbling a little in her effort to keep up with him. “I told you—I just had something to take care of.”

  “Something you couldn’t tell me? Do you know how that sounds?

  Not very good. But how could I tell you I was going to ask Isis to save your life? To preserve your ka? And now I can’t say anything or Nephthys might learn of what I did. Tiya hurried up the gangplank of the River Horse in Khenet’s wake, flushing with embarrassment as she realized Captain Taneb and the other sailors were gawking at her.

  “Did you take care of my request?” Khenet asked Taneb as they hurried past him.

  “Yes.” The captain sounded troubled. He took a step forward but Khenet waved him off. “Is the lady all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Tiya said over her shoulder, as Khenet gave her no time to pause and chat.

  They descended the stairs to the cabins in such a rush Khenet had to catch her as she fell down the last step, stopping in front of her cabin door. Even in the gloom Tiya could see that a crude bolt had been attached to the outside of her door. Jerking her wrist free and rubbing at red marks where his fingers had dug in, she said, “Am I to be your prisoner now?”

  “You left me no choice. I gave my word to Pharaoh to deliver you to the Viper Nome as Nephthys wants, and after your trickery today, I can see you’ve played me for a fool.”

  “No, Khenet, you’ve got it all wrong,” she implored him.

  Hands on his hips, he stared at her. “Make me understand then.”

  “I-I can’t.”

  He stepped closer, crowding her in the tiny corridor. Lowering his voice, he said, “Was this because of the incident with the dancer last night? I swore to you she meant nothing to me—”

  Tiya rested her hand on his arm. “Please, just trust me.”

  Throwing open the door, he stood aside for her to enter the cabin. “Trust is hard earned and easily shattered, Lady Tiya.”

  She straightened and brushed a tear from her cheek, walking silently past him into her cabin. The door closed behind her and she heard the heavy bolt slam shut as the man she loved locked her into what had become a cell.

  * * *

  He was walking up a small ridge, taking deep breaths of the fresh mountain air, inhaling the perfume of delicate white flowers that grew nowhere else but here. Pausing at the top of the rise, he saw the village safe in its snug valley. Only it had not been safe, had offered no shield for his people from the violent sickness brought one spring by a flock of migrating birds that had fallen from the sky, ill, dying. By the next sunset, the first villagers were sickening. First came the chills, then the fever and the aching muscles and joints, as if a man’s bones were breaking. No matter how many times he had this damn dream, no matter how hard he tried, he could never control the sequence of events as they unfolded, the direst of nightmares, based on the most painful memories in his soul.

  All he could do was walk through it until the last, bitter moment when he could force himself awake. Again.

  Tugged along by the dream, he walked into the village, heading down the dusty central street. The road was empty, no merchants calling out their wares, no women gossiping, no children playing...only the buildings watched him, the windows like blank eyes, doors hanging open like silent screaming mouths. Even the pets and livestock had vanished in his dream. He knew the dead lay fallen behind the walls of their dwellings.

  As he walked, unable to help himself, Khenet stared around with deep longing. The village itself was always unchanged, just as it had looked the day he’d hiked out, untouched by the disease, sent by his father, the village headman, on a useless journey to the provincial capital to plead for help. Oh, the nomarch, Nat-re-Akhte’s grandfather, had sent help—he was a conscientious provincial ruler—but the assistance had arrived much too late to do anything but bury the dead.

  Khenet’s family’s modest house stood at the end of the road.

  The only good part about this dream was that he never got that far, never had to open the door and see what had happened to his parents, his brothers and sisters.

  Because now the worst portion of the dream was going to begin, as it always did.

  The village priest, skeletal, covered in sores, staggered down the steps of the temple, shambled toward him screaming “Last man! Last man!” at Khenet, till he wanted to scream himself—

  And he woke up, shivering, covered in cold sweat, yelling at the phantom priest, “I tried, I got the nomarch to send help, I was only a child—”

  Khenet sat bolt upright in the narrow bunk, disoriented. Gods, why do you curse me with this dream? Rising, tying his kilt around his hips with a hasty knot, he snatched his red cloak and went out into the corridor, passing the bolted door of Tiya’s cabin with a fresh stab of pain, and went on deck. Heading to the harbor side of the ship, he nodded to the sailor on night watch and leaned on the rail, staring out over the water made silver by the moon. Heartsick, he stayed there till dawn, reluctant to risk going back to bed and falling into the dream again.

  * * *

  It took Taneb and his crew an entire day to install the new mast, during which Tiya remained locked in her hot cabin. Khenet brought her meals, though she barely touched them, and she made no attempts at conversation. He allowed the ship’s cat to keep her company—a small enough gesture given the tension between them, but one she appreciated and took comfort from.

  The next day, the River Horse made its way out of Zauimu harbor at dawn, continuing on the Nile voyage toward the Charging Lion Nome with two new crew members and a stout replacement mast. Tiya slept in, waking at some point when they were well on their way downriver. Stretching and yawning, she petted the cat, which had become her constant shipboard companion.

  Tiya lay back, contemplating the little cabin that had been her home for eight days now. I’ve been happy here. Maybe the happiest time in my life, thanks to Khenet, until this misunderstanding over my trip to the temple of Isis.

  Scratching the cat’s chin, she confided her thoughts to the disinterested animal. “I wish I could tell him what he wants to know. I wish I knew if I was more than a duty to him. I wish I could get him to talk more about himself. I wish—oh, I wish so many things. Why couldn’t I have met him in Thebes long before now? Maybe then neither of us would be here on this cursed journey.” Sadness pressed down on her like a blanket.

  Blinking its green eyes, the cat purred louder.

  Khenet’s signature three impatient taps sounded on the door and he called to her, his deep voice carrying easily through the thin wooden panel. “There’s a flock of ibis wading in the shallows. I think you’d enjoy the sight.” She heard the bolt sliding open and a moment later he stood in the doorway.

  Stomach in knots, tongue-tied with all the things she wanted to say to him and couldn’t, Tiya tried a wavering smile. “I’d like to see the ibis. Are you going to allow me on deck now that we’re out on the river again? I give you my word—”

  His face set in grim lines, he held up his hand, stopping her. “As we’ve seen, your word is useless. Spare me.” He studied her for a moment. “I’ll allow you on deck during the day as before, but be on notice I’ll be watching your every move.”

  “You think I’d try to drown myself?” Hot anger and cold astonishment warred in her gut.

  “
I don’t know what to think anymore, Lady Tiya. I do know you become ill if left in your cabin while the River Horse sails, and my task is to keep you healthy. Get dressed and I’ll escort you to your place on deck. Breakfast is waiting.” Without another word, he retreated to the corridor, closing the door to allow her privacy.

  * * *

  The tone was set for this last portion of the river journey. Khenet was icily polite, attentive to her needs, even unbending enough to play senet with her on occasion to while away the long hours. He didn’t allow Taneb or any of the crew to interact with her, and she cried herself to sleep every night, locked in her cabin.

  On the afternoon of the last day before they were to reach Dendaret and begin the overland part of the trip, she tried making conversation yet again, still hopeful they could reestablish the friendship that had been building before her secret trip to see Isis. “Such an unusual tattoo you have on your shoulder, all those interlocking sinuous black lines. I’ve been fascinated by it ever since we first met.”

  He glanced at his left shoulder and flexed the bicep. “It isn’t finished. I got the outline as a boy, when I killed my first lion. It was the custom of my people to add details each time a significant event happened, or a great accomplishment, in battle, in the hunt.”

  His phrasing caught her attention. Tiya raised her eyebrows. “Your people? Aren’t you from the Nome of the Striking Hawk?”

  “We were a small tribe, living in a village on the farthest border of the province. I don’t know where we came from, who we were. Not Egyptian—not originally anyway.” Unconsciously, he fingered the amulets on his wrist, sliding his fingers over the two beads.

  Tiya studied his face. There must be more to the story. She held her tongue, though, returning to her original subject. “But what was the tattoo going to be?” She reached across the game board and traced the swirling design on his shoulder lightly, moving the tip of one finger over his bulging muscles as she followed the three curving lines down toward his elbow. His skin was so warm, his muscles so hard. “This part resembles a cartouche.”