Daughter of the Falcon God

by Mark Gajewski

  “Aya!” Hannu said, scowling.

  She ignored him. She couldn’t afford to remain silent. “What’s more, there are four more women residing there of an age to be joined. Wouldn’t that make more sense than our two bands exchanging only one woman each?”

  “Just where is this camp?” Meru asked. “Farther north in the valley?”

  Aya bent, smoothed a patch of dirt at her feet, took a twig, began to scratch. She drew a long line. “We’re here, on the banks of Iteru, the river, a single mighty channel that stretches north and south farther than anyone I know has traveled. As you are quite aware, plateaus line it closely on both sides, and beyond them are the eastern and western savannahs.” She drew a wavy line, mostly perpendicular to the river. “Here are the wadis you’ve traveled from the eastern sea to reach this camp, according to what Qen told me.” She pointed. “Here, perhaps a week’s journey south of this spot, is a channel that splits off from the river. It runs parallel to the river, never more than five or six miles distant from it, separated from it by a low ridge. After a week’s journey, it empties into a lake, some fifty miles across at the height of the inundation.”

  “I’ve heard legends of such a place,” Meru said thoughtfully.

  “The waters of the inundation that deposit soil on the banks of the river deposit soil on the banks of the lake, too, by way of the channel,” Aya said. She sketched a great irregular oval, wide to east and west, narrower to north and south, drew ridges marching north across the savannah parallel to the great cliff that edged that boundary. “We call this lake Ta–she,” she said. “The whole lake country was given to my people by the falcon god.” She drew the ridge where her camp lay, sketched in the peninsula. She pointed to it. “My band has lived atop this ridge for the past dozen years.” She looked up, her eyes meeting Meru’s. “The inundation at the lake was perfect this year, neither too high nor too low. The wild grasses that grow there are vast and untouched and will most assuredly meet your band’s needs as well as ours.”

  “Do you have any proof that the flood was ‘perfect’ at your lake, as you claim?” Meru asked.

  “We didn’t leave until a few months after the inundation subsided,” Aya replied evenly. She leaned towards Meru, her voice earnest. “We’re at the mercy of the inundation at the lake too, just like you who harvest along the river. Eight years ago the flood was too high. It drowned the meadows and marshes that line the lake for too long, and receded late. The standing water delayed the growing, and damp and fungus destroyed much of the seed, and we were plagued by frogs and rodents. Three years ago, the second of the consecutive low valley floods, the inundation didn’t even breach the narrow gap in the valley cliffs and reach our lake. That left much of the land abutting the shore hard and cracked, topped with crystallized salt. We had to live off the grain we’d stored during the good years.” Aya smiled. “But this year’s flood was perfect, as I said – four feet deep, washing away the salt, leaving a thick layer of mud well back from the shore.”

  “Why would your band stay beside the lake during the inundation?” Meru asked, suspicious.

  “Your band leaves this valley when it floods and wanders the savannah for the next seven months. You return here in time to gather the wild grasses. You live in the valley for the next five months, and then depart when the inundation starts, year after year, repeating the same pattern. Am I correct?”

  “Yes. That is what the river and the herds of wild animals we hunt and the plants we glean and gather dictate.”

  “We return to our lake the same time you return to this valley,” Aya explained. “We harvest. We hunt. We fish. We stay all summer. We have a single camp – we don’t waste time or energy moving from place to place, for we have all the resources we need in one place. Our camp’s on a long flat ridge overlooking the lake, so we don’t have to relocate during the inundation. Our lake is not like the valley, where there’s no dry land between the eastern and western plateaus. Vast stretches of the savannah north of the lake remain untouched by water. So we have no reason to move on until after the inundation subsides and the dry season begins on the savannah. That’s when some of us come to this valley, where there’s good grazing and water for our herds. The rest remain in our camp, watching over the fields.”

  “Tell me more about this lake,” Meru said.

  Aya took his interest as a good sign. It was a step closer to the possibility of both bands going to the lake and permanently settling down together.

  “The shores and surrounding savannah are rich with grasses, and fruits of dom palm and fig, and tubers of nutgrass and bulrush and clubrush. Our women harvest lettuce and onions and dates and lentils and chickpeas and garlic and melons. They gather enough from late winter through early spring and again from mid–summer to early autumn to see us through the lean months when the inundation covers the lakeshore. Especially in autumn, as the inundation recedes, uprooting plants from the moist soil requires little effort. We hunt oryx, addax, wild boar, barbary sheep, striped hyena, jackals, red fox, wild cats, hare, mongoose, hedgehogs, gerbils, aurochs, hartebeest and dorcas gazelle. Especially in the dry months, they inhabit the fringes of the lake and require little effort to bring down. During the rainy months they disperse more widely, looking for pasture. On occasion we hunt hippos and crocodiles, though we’ve driven most of them to the lake’s southern shore to keep them away from our grain and animals.”

  “I’ve killed half a dozen hippos,” Meru boasted.

  “Our patriarch, Kakhent, has slain several dozen, most in the course of a single month soon after our band migrated to the lake, to protect our grain,” Aya said.

  Hannu laughed. “Kakhent was much younger then.”

  Aya could tell that Meru’s brothers were reluctantly envious of Kakhent. Slaying a hippo was no small task. Kakhent’s tally was unprecedented.

  “We catch soft–shelled turtles and crocodiles in the lake itself,” Aya continued. “They bask on open sandbars near shore. In the winter the lake is alive with migratory waterfowl, especially grebe, duck and coot. There is of course no lack of fish. And we also take blood and milk from our herds.”

  “They’ve domesticated their animals, Brother,” Qen interrupted.

  Meru expressed surprise.

  “Cattle, sheep, goats,” Aya said. “My band obtained the first of them nearly thirty years ago. They belonged to my grandfather and mother, originally. They’ve proliferated since, with careful management.”

  “But surely there’s no grass for your animals to graze in the heat of summer,” Meru said. “The river’s low and sluggish then. I assume the lake must be. Doesn’t the surrounding savannah dry out?”

  “Our animals eat our excess grain,” Aya replied.

  “We’ve never gathered enough grain beyond what we need to survive, certainly not enough to share with animals,” Meru said, his tone expressing doubt. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  From the looks Meru’s brothers were giving each other, Aya knew they were as skeptical as their patriarch.

  “Come harvest and glean by our lake,” Aya urged Meru again. “It’s as lush as this valley, with enough wild grain and tubers and fruits and fish and wildlife to support hundreds of people – our two bands and many more.”

  “Is there nothing wrong with this lake of yours?” Meru asked.

  “There are an inordinate number of crocodiles along its southeast shore,” Aya laughed. “We give them a wide berth.”

  Meru leaned back on his stool. “Perhaps I should send Qen on his expedition, as I ordered, and make my decision on whether to stay in the valley or go to the lake after he makes his report.”

  “Or we could all leave for the lake a few days from now, together, in which case you’ll be able to start harvesting the wild grasses that much earlier,” Aya replied. She had the feeling that if Meru didn’t come now, he wouldn’t at all.

  “There might be advantages to that option,” Meru said cautiously. “But what about our wo
men? Are we agreed that we’ll exchange them before we depart the valley?” He eyed Hannu. “That would be a sign of good faith on your part, a surety that your claims for the lake are true. Otherwise…”

  That wouldn’t do at all. Aya spoke before Hannu could reply. “Patriarch,” she said to Meru, “as I’ve said, we have four more suitable girls and one more suitable man in our lake camp. Surely a short delay would benefit both our bands. And while my father is in charge of this camp, only our patriarch has the authority to arrange joinings. Besides, its our tradition that our men and girls are joined each year at the conclusion of the festival we celebrate to mark the start of the inundation. That’s when we honor the falcon god so that he’ll ensure the fertility of our fields. In return for our offerings, he ensures the fertility of our newly–joined women too, so that they’re fruitful and bear many children. So it has always been. Wouldn’t it be better to wait for the festival to conduct the joinings?” This time her eyes met Meru’s and held there, unflinching.

  Meru gazed up at the stars that had winked into the darkened sky, apparently lost in thought. As he did, Aya scanned the strangers. They were watching their patriarch expectantly – all except Qen – their faces in turn shadowed and highlighted by the flickering campfire. Qen was staring into the flames, as if he sought an answer there to some question. Aya saw Ahaneith slip her hand into Menna’s. She could guess what Ahaneith was thinking – she wanted to be with Menna, now, not months from now, a desire that was blinding her to the possibility that she might never see her home again. It had also not occurred to her that if the joinings took place tomorrow she’d belong to Meru, not Menna. Then Aya felt Meru staring at her. She met his gaze, looked deep into his eyes, saw desire for her, the need to possess her, the will to dominate her. They drew her in, mesmerizing. She had the feeling he was binding her, drawing her into a trap from which there was no escape. She was suddenly very afraid of him.

  “Would this please you, Aya, if we wait until your festival?” Meru asked.

  That he should ask her such a question in front of her father and the rest of these men was embarrassing. But she couldn’t ignore his question, for he was a patriarch. And if she was silent, and the joinings took place immediately, she’d never forgive herself. Aya colored. “Very much.”

  Meru slowly stood. Hannu rose beside him.

  “I must discuss your offer with my brothers, Hannu. For us – leaving this valley we know so well for a lake we do not, even if for a single season – is a big change. And now, I am weary. I’ve traveled many miles to reach this river and wish to rest. Thank you for your hospitality. Tomorrow I will return the favor, and we will talk, and I will tell you what I’ve decided.”

  Hannu nodded.

  Meru bowed to Aya, letting his eyes linger on her one last time, then led his brothers towards the rude camp a little ways south of Hannu’s, for it was too dangerous to try to cross the river in the dark. Aya saw that Pageti had lit the campfire there and filled more bowls and platters and cups and was waiting beside them to serve the men. Qen trailed his brothers, hobbling along, leaning on his staff. He did not glance at Aya as he passed her.

  Menna helped Ahaneith to her feet. She kept hold of his hands, looked deep into his eyes. “Convince your father to come with us,” Aya heard her say softly, “for my sake.”

  “You can count on me,” Menna promised.

  Menna released Ahaneith’s hands and turned to follow his elders. Aya watched him and the rest go. Her life, one that had seemed so certain two days ago, was now completely unsettled. Her future and that of all her people was unclear, in doubt. Would Meru lead his people to the lake? Would they settle there permanently if they went, or depart at the end of the season? Would Meru agree to delay the joinings until the festival, or would he insist on them happening tomorrow? Would Hannu agree if he insisted? Aya grasped the talisman dangling around her neck and whispered prayers to the falcon god and every other god recognized by her people, that they’d convince Meru to come to the lake with them. It was the only course of action that could minimize the impact of the change that now faced everyone in her band. Qen was the last to be swallowed up by the darkness. Aya was glad to lose sight of him. He was despicable. He’d exaggerated his own importance and authority the day of his arrival when he’d met with Hannu. He’d made promises he couldn’t keep. Tonight he’d almost caused the leading men of the two bands to come to blows. He’d given Meru leverage over her father. Then he’d used her to achieve his own ends, whatever those might be. What he might do in the future she scarcely dared guess. She sighed. Her head was pounding, unable to process everything that had happened. So she whispered one last prayer to the gods, that Meru would accept the offer to go to the lake, for otherwise her life would be ruined.

  ***

  Aya relaxed atop the ridge overlooking the delta at the point where the channel emptied into Ta–she. Choked with reeds and papyrus, the delta spread wide at its northern end like a fan, the ribbon of water slicing through its heart reflecting the colors of sunset. Some distance below her, to the left, Aya heard an occasional shout or laugh or command emanating from the temporary camp laid out at her direction a few hours earlier on the east bank of the channel. The camp housed both bands. She saw women moving about preparing their evening meals beside blazing campfires, men conversing with each other, a few hunters carrying in game they’d slain farther south along the channel. Iuput was watering the herd along the lakeshore a short distance north of the delta; Aya saw Qen helping him. Behind her, Intef and Isu had just loaded the last of the cobbles she’d selected from the outcrop at the crest of the ridge into sturdy leather pouches and, grumbling, were beginning to lug them down the hill towards camp; her people never passed this spot without replenishing their supply. The pouches would be carried to the ridge camp on the backs of the cattle. Aya’s eyes swept the familiar distant hills to south and west and north, rocky terrace–like plateaus delimiting the margins of the great basin that contained the vast lake, rising one atop another like stair steps, some gently rounded, some faced with sheer cliffs, the highest in the north, the lowest in west and south. They too had taken on the colors of the sky, which was beginning to turn from red and orange to deep blue as the sun slipped towards the horizon. Soon, the goddess would swallow the sun and darkness would blanket the land. Aya closed her eyes, took a deep breath, inhaled the scents of mud and water and growing things, felt the kiss of the breeze on her face. She smiled, hugged her knees to her chest. A few days’ travel north, then west along the curve of the lake, and she’d be home.

  The two bands had journeyed without incident from their initial meeting place to the trail that crossed the ridge between valley and lake, their speed dictated by the pace of Iuput’s animals. Aside from the family heads and their women, most of Meru’s band consisted of young people – nine in their teens, eleven even younger. There was one older woman, Nebtu, Meru’s mother, and one woman carrying a newborn in a sling. Men and women were dressed poorly, in loincloths made of animal skin or woven grass secured by belts, but all wore necklaces made of shells or bits of copper or colorful stones. The younger children were all naked. The strangers carried their few possessions in animal–skin pouches slung over shoulders or tied in bundles balanced atop their heads or in rudimentary reed baskets. None of their containers were decorated; most were quite crude and showed signs of hard use and much mending. Aya assumed most of the containers held food, not personal belongings. Her band was traveling just as lightly; their finest earthenware jars and cups and platters and tools and baskets were stored in their permanent camp beside the lake. Those she’d made for use beside the river they’d left there.

  Today’s trip across the ridge had not been unpleasant, for while the day had been warm a cooling breeze had blown from the west. At its start Menna had fallen in beside Ahaneith, carrying her bundles, walking apart from everyone else. During the two weeks the bands had remained camped together in the valley before setting out for the lak
e, he’d been the winner of a lively competition with three other boys for the favor of her daughter. Every night in the valley, after everyone had fallen asleep, Ahaneith had crept onto Aya’s pallet and in a whisper told her everything Menna had said that day about the places he’d seen on his travels, of the sea, of the wadis, of the many ways he was trying to impress her. Despite her reservations about Menna, Aya couldn’t help smiling – her daughter was clearly glorying in his attention, and knowing such attention would not last forever Aya was not going to put a damper on it. It would be a memory for Ahaneith to hold on to in years to come when she was a tired overworked woman caring for a flock of children and taken for granted. Ahaneith was already looking forward to the inundation festival a few months from now when she’d be joined to Menna. Despite Aya’s continued warnings, Ahaneith didn’t seem concerned that Meru might lead his people away from the lake after that. But Aya was; the thought ate at her constantly. But she was not one to sit idly by when her future was threatened. Every night Meru talked with Hannu before his campfire. Aya made sure to be present, to sing or play the reed pipe while her daughters danced. She never missed the opportunity to speak with Meru, to subtly or overtly portray for him the advantages presented by living at the lake. She was determined to convince him to give up his wandering life long before the day of the inundation festival, so as not to lose her daughter and sister and the rest of the women in her band.

  Aya heard a rustling in the grass to her left and turned. Meru was scaling the ridge directly north of the camp. She stood up as a sign of respect. He gained the crest, moved beside her.

  “Does what you see please you, Patriarch?” she asked, indicating the lake country, still mostly visible in sunset’s afterglow.