Daughter of the Falcon God

by Mark Gajewski

  If you had any sense you would have run while I had them occupied, Aya thought when she spied her waiting daughter. What’s happened to you?

  Khay produced a coil of rope made of cattle hair from inside his quiver. He’d tossed it and his bow at Ahaneith’s feet when he’d set off after Aya.

  You could have armed yourself, too, Aya thought, eyeing her daughter.

  “Put out your hands,” Menna ordered.

  Aya spit in his face.

  Menna forced her to her knees, seized her wrists, held them while Khay tightly bound them, leaving a long length by which he could lead her.

  “What about Ahaneith? Should we tie her up too?” Khay asked his brother.

  “If I was going to run away, I would have while you were chasing Mother,” Ahaneith pointed out. “I want to go with you.”

  “Talk Menna out of this foolishness. Please,” Aya begged Ahaneith. “Think of your little sister, Ta–she. She’ll be hungry soon. She needs me.”

  “One of the other women will adopt her, nurse her,” Ahaneith said coldly. “She’ll be taken care of.”

  “Enough talk. It’s time to go.” Khay prodded Aya in the back with the point of his flint knife.

  She felt a trickle of blood.

  “These are the kind of men you want to be with?” Aya asked Ahaneith.

  Her daughter did not reply, but fell in behind Menna as he led the way south towards the lakeshore, winding back and forth through tall reeds, roughly parallel to the distant line of trees to the west that edged the stream.

  Khay walked in front of Aya, holding the end of the rope attached to her wrists, jerking it roughly whenever she moved too slowly, rubbing them raw. Her shoulder and knee were both throbbing now, and blood was trickling down her side and thigh, and she stumbled numerous times, struggling to keep up. All the while her mind was racing, trying to figure out what to do next. Unfortunately, she hadn’t told anyone in camp where she and Ahaneith were going – they’d simply slipped away on impulse to investigate Meru’s camp. She knew she’d be missed when Ta–she began crying to be fed, but likely one of the women would assume she was busy elsewhere and take care of the child. That meant Menna and Khay were going to have a head start of several hours before anyone even realized that she and Ahaneith had disappeared. By then it would be dark, impossible to begin a pursuit. And equally impossible, her potential rescuers would have to figure out the direction she’d been taken. Aya knew what she’d do in their place – send some men east along the lakeshore towards the river, others north through the wadi, for both routes led eventually to the river and neither was more likely than the other. The odds of her being rescued before Menna and Khay reached Meru, Aya realized dispassionately, were extremely slim. Somehow, she had to improve them. She had to slow the flight down and give her rescuers a chance to catch up. Otherwise, she’d spend the rest of her life as Meru’s woman.

  They soon reached the lake. Menna rummaged around in the grass, lifted several leather pouches from their hiding place, no doubt filled with food. His plan had been well thought out.

  “We’ll travel along the shore all the way to the delta,” Menna told Ahaneith. “It’s the fastest route, with the least difficult terrain. Khay and I know every inch of it from hunting.”

  They moved rapidly. At first Aya tried to walk slowly, but Khay constantly yanked the rope and she fell four times. So she abandoned that tactic, tried to match their pace, though by now her knee was swelling from the repeated falls and she was limping badly. Neither Menna nor Khay showed any sympathy. By the time the goddess swallowed the sun in the west, Aya guessed they’d traveled a dozen miles or more east from the marsh.

  The moon rose above the eastern plateaus, a thin crescent in the dark starry sky, and they stopped for a quick bite on the bank of a shallow stream. Aya sat apart from the men with Ahaneith. Her daughter wordlessly washed the dried blood from Aya’s leg and side; with her hands tied, Aya couldn’t. By now her wrists were badly swollen too.

  Aya saw that Menna and Khay were both keeping an eye on her in the near darkness. She welcomed their scrutiny; if she was going to save herself, this was her chance. “It’s good we’re traveling beside the lake,” Aya said in a low voice, just loud enough that the men would think they were accidentally overhearing what she had to say. “Hunefer and Isu and Paser were going hunting for hippos on this stretch of the lake tonight,” she lied. “Some have been threatening our emmer. They’ll be in Qen’s boat, close by the shore, heavily armed. They’ll spot us for sure and land and free us from Menna and Khay. Either that, or we’ll stumble over a nest of crocodiles in the dark. I’d love to see the two of them eaten.”

  “No chance of that,” Menna called.

  Aya pretended to be startled.

  Menna and Khay rose and strode to where Aya and Ahaneith were sitting.

  “I heard every word, Aya,” Menna said triumphantly.

  She did her best to look guilty, as if she’d been caught telling a secret.

  “You’ll walk in front of us from now on. If anyone gets eaten it’ll be you.”

  “We heard what you said about your men, too,” Khay added. “So from now on, we’ll travel well north of the lakeshore. You’ve always claimed to know the lake country better than anyone – tonight you’ll prove it.”

  “But you’d better not try to pull any tricks,” Menna warned. “You’ll pay a price if you do.”

  Fools, Aya thought, suppressing her glee. They’d just put her fate back in her own hands. They were unwittingly giving her a chance to save herself. Though the odds were still very long.

  Everyone finished eating. Aya took the lead, heading due north from the lake for half an hour. Now that she was in front, setting the pace, Khay wasn’t jerking her wrists anymore. While that pain wasn’t going to get better, at least it wouldn’t get worse. She stopped to sight the stars, pointed out a particularly bright cluster to the men, turned east as if to follow them. Menna and Khay were hunters, used to tracking game by day and sleeping soundly by night. Aya was counting on them not knowing that the stars slowly wheeled from east to west across the sky, and so by following that cluster they’d actually be backtracking. Aya knew she couldn’t have tricked any herdsman in her band in such a way, for all of them could read the night sky plainly. But Menna and Khay were not that intelligent. So every course adjustment she made from this point forward would lead them slightly closer to the ridge camp, not farther away.

  Even in the dark Aya knew exactly where she was going. She had a perfect map in her head of the entire country, every meandering wadi, every low ridge, every plain, every jumble of rocks and grove of trees and resource patch. She was going to use all of them to her advantage to confuse Menna and Khay. Not until the sun rose would they realize she’d misled them. She’d face their wrath then, but Aya was willing to take whatever punishment they’d mete out to buy her rescuers more time. So she led on confidently, never pausing unless Menna or Khay ordered a stop to rest or drink from a stream, making sure to encounter wadis and ridges and hills that required detours and masked the true direction they were traveling.

  They walked all night, mostly in silence. By the time the sky began to lighten along the horizon in the east Aya could tell that even the men had grown tired and footsore. She couldn’t help smiling to herself. She’d purposefully led them across the roughest country she could. As she’d expected, as soon as the sun rose and spilled golden light over the lake country, Menna and Khay discovered just how little progress towards the river that they’d made overnight. With satisfaction, Aya calculated the distance at less than five miles. They would have easily covered twenty–five traveling along the margin of the lake.

  Menna was furious. He raised his hand to strike Aya.

  Ahaneith grabbed his forearm. “Are you crazy? Meru will beat you senseless if you hurt Mother. You know that.”

  Menna angrily yanked his arm free. “It’d be worth it,” he muttered.

  “You’re not off th
e hook,” Khay said, leaning close to Aya, his eyes hard, breath hot on her cheek. “Be sure that we’re going to tell Father exactly what you did. He’ll have the pleasure of beating you himself.”

  “That’s not really your father’s style, is it?” Aya asked Menna innocently. “He’ll order you to beat Ahaneith instead, then make her show me her bruises to make me feel guilty and get me in line. That’s what he told you to do that night in the marsh, when he was plotting to overthrow Hannu. As I recall, you readily agreed.”

  “Is that true?” Ahaneith asked, locking her eyes on Menna’s.

  “Of course not,” he said unconvincingly, looking away. “Who are you going to believe? Me, or her?”

  Ahaneith stared at Menna for a long time.

  He shifted from one foot to the other, made clearly uncomfortable by her scrutiny.

  “I believe Mother,” Ahaneith said at last. “Let her go, Menna. If you love me, let Mother go. I’ll still go to the river with you.”

  “Father would never forgive us,” Khay argued. “He wants Aya. He doesn’t care if Menna gets you.”

  “You could tell Meru you tried, that our men drove you off,” Ahaneith said. “You’re obviously good at lying, Khay – you can think something up.”

  “Aya’s coming with us,” Menna insisted.

  “If you don’t let Mother go, I’m not taking one step further,” Ahaneith insisted. “She was right. This was a mistake.”

  “It’s too late for that,” Menna replied. “You’re coming with us, Ahaneith, if I have to tie you up too.”

  In response Ahaneith held out her hands, wrists pressed together. “I’m so sorry, Mother,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “I should have listened to you.”

  Khay cut the rope securing Aya in half and tied Ahaneith’s wrists with the second piece. Then he took up both long ends, tied them around his forearm. “You’re both going to be sorry,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  They reached the delta late in the afternoon after hours of extremely hard travel, this time along the very edge of the lake. Aya had never been so sore in her life. Her knee was nearly twice its normal size and she had to lean on Ahaneith for assistance as they walked, for she could barely put weight on it. Her shoulder and wrists throbbed endlessly. Whenever she fell, and she did often, the scabs on her side and leg cracked open and bled anew. They were caked with dirt now too. Aya was parched with thirst and starving; Menna and Khay had not seen fit to feed either her or Ahaneith during the day as punishment. At last, after a difficult climb, they finally stood atop the ridge that overlooked the channel that sliced through the delta and emptied into the lake.

  “Stop for a moment. Please,” Aya pleaded at the top of the ridge. “Let me catch my breath.” That was an excuse – she desperately wanted to gaze at the lake country one last time, fix it in her memory. Beside her Ahaneith was gasping. Her wrists, like Aya’s, were swollen and bloodied from the rope that Khay had roughly yanked over and over in his haste to reach this spot.

  Khay leaned so close that his face was only inches from Aya’s. “We’ll stop when I say,” he laughed. “A couple hours more and you’ll be with Father. Don’t you want to hurry to him?”

  “I’m sure she doesn’t.”

  Khay and Menna both spun around. Aya looked past them. Qen stood blocking the worn narrow path that led over the plateau and on to the river, leaning on his staff. Aya heard a sob escape Ahaneith’s lips. Or perhaps it was hers. A single rescuer had come. Where were the rest of her men? Had they abandoned her and Ahaneith to their fates? What could Qen alone do against his two able–bodied nephews?

  Menna had the same thought. “Have you come to stop us, Uncle?” he sneered. He looked around. “Alone?”

  “I have, actually,” Qen said calmly.

  Menna made a great show of drawing the flint knife at his belt. He laughed uproariously. “I’m going to enjoy killing you so much. I’ve waited a long time to finally get rid of you. Father’s going to be so happy.” He took two steps forward.

  So quickly Aya could hardly follow, Qen leveled his staff and jabbed Menna in the stomach with all his might. Menna doubled over, dropped his knife, clutched his stomach with both hands, gasped for breath. Khay swore, simultaneously pulling an arrow from his quiver with his right hand, fitting it to the bow he held with his left and drawing it back. His left forearm was the one to which the ropes he’d used to lead Aya and Ahaneith were tied. Just as Khay released his arrow Aya yanked the rope with all her might, throwing Khay slightly off balance. The arrow skittered into the dirt. At the same moment Qen slashed with his staff, striking Khay just above his ear with a sodden thud. Khay dropped his bow, clutched the side of his head. Qen pivoted, drove his staff down on the back of Menna’s neck where it met his spine. Menna crumpled to the ground, senseless. Qen spun again, smashed his staff upwards into Khay’s jaw. With a scream Khay toppled to the earth.

  Qen stood over them, shakily balanced on his good leg, clutching his staff so tightly that both of his hands were white, his chest heaving, nostrils flaring, entire body wet with sweat and splattered with blood. He watched his nephews writhe in the dirt for a moment. Then he exhaled a great breath. All the fight seemed to go out of him. His eyes caught Aya’s for the briefest instant. Then he turned away from her and sank to his knees.

  Aya stood transfixed, stared at his back. Qen had just risked his life for her. He’d single–handedly defeated her captors for her. He’d saved her and Ahaneith from a terrible fate. Gratitude washed over her like a wave. She wanted to rush to him, take him in her arms, thank him for saving her. She realized she owed him so–far unexpressed thanks for so many things – for saving her band from Meru the night of the inundation festival, for making her the patriarch of her band, for helping her defeat Meru when he seized control of half the lake country. But she remained rooted to the spot. Qen wasn’t even looking at her. Any other man would’ve dashed to her side by now to see if she was uninjured, to comfort her. But why should he? She’d made it clear time after time this past year that she despised him, wanted nothing to do with him, didn’t trust him. No doubt he’d saved her from his nephews today out of a sense of duty to his patriarch, or maybe guilt, not because he cared for her personally. Perversely, she found herself wishing he did care. She was suddenly feeling something for Qen that she knew was far more than gratitude. It was something she’d never felt for any man before. Something she’d only experienced in the falcon god’s dream. Aya felt her face grow hot. I’ve fallen in love with Qen.

  Before Aya could even begin to ponder the implications of that revelation, the crest of the ridge was suddenly swarming with men, her men, streaming towards the two weary captives and their captors. Iuput moved to Aya’s side, gently cut her wrists free. She embraced him, pressed her face against his shoulder, began to sob. After a moment she glanced to the side, saw through her tears that Ahaneith was wrapped in Isu’s arms. Whatever reticence her daughter had once felt towards her man had clearly disappeared this day. At least one good thing had come from this awful experience.

  Aya soon broke Iuput’s embrace. She roughly wiped her tears away. Crying was a luxury right now, one that she, as her band’s leader, could not afford. She needed to deal with Menna and Khay.

  Hunefer and Intef had already stripped Menna and Khay of their weapons. Both lay groaning on the ground, in obvious pain. Of the two, Khay had suffered most. He was missing teeth and blood oozed from a nasty swollen welt on the side of his head and from his mouth and nose. Pitilessly, Siese and Paser hauled them both to their feet. They used the same ropes that had secured Aya and Ahaneith and tied Menna and Khay’s hands behind their backs.

  “What do you want us to do with them, Sister?” Iuput asked, pulling the rope around Menna’s wrists so tight he cursed.

  “Kill them!” Isu shouted, still clinging to Ahaneith with all his might. “It’s what they deserve!”

  Ahaneith nodded tearfully. “Yes, Mother. Kill them!”

  Aya
stepped towards the prisoners, looked them both in the eyes, disgusted, angry. “You both deserve to die,” she said evenly.

  “Mercy,” Menna pleaded, focusing his eyes on the ground. He began to shake uncontrollably.

  “Mercy you didn’t show me or Ahaneith?” Aya queried. She grasped Menna’s hair with her right hand, ignored the throbbing pain in her wrist, forced his eyes to meet hers. “In spite of that, I’m going to let you both live.” She leaned close. “Tell your father that if he ever shows himself at my lake again his life will be forfeit – not just because of what he ordered you to do, but for murdering the patriarch of my band.”

  “The same goes for you and Khay!” Ahaneith cried harshly.

  “The same goes,” Aya concurred, nodding. She released Menna’s hair.

  Qen moved behind the two prisoners. Aya had lost track of him. “Start walking, Nephew,” he hissed, lowering his staff, prodding Khay hard in the middle of the back.

  Khay cried out. More blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

  Aya stepped to the side. Siese and Hunefer and Paser joined Qen. They herded the prisoners onto the trail that led to the river valley. Aya watched them until they all disappeared around a bend in the path. She sensed she’d seen the two barbarians for the last time.

  It wouldn’t be long until nightfall. Iuput gently grasped Aya’s elbow and led her down the slope to the section of the lakeshore where the band always camped on its visits to and from the valley. She let herself be led; she was dead on her feet and too exhausted to think. Iuput made her sit beside the water, then tenderly washed the grit from her wounds and bandaged them. A few paces away, Isu attended to Ahaneith.

  In the meantime, one of the men laid out a pallet for Aya and Ahaneith to share on a flat place a little up the slope. Iuput carried Aya to it, laid her down gently. She stretched out, stiff, aching. Ahaneith joined her and Aya took her daughter in her arms. Both were too worn out to even eat. Iuput retreated a dozen yards away to where one of the men had built a fire, giving them their privacy.