The Desert Prince

by Alisha Sevigny

  The High Priest sobs his thanks as a knotted end flies up out of the pit. Instinctively, I lunge to catch it. A firm hand grabs my other arm from behind, keeping me from toppling into the pit. With the way this day is going, I would have likely ended up face first in a pile of Nebifu’s excrement. As it is, I miss the rope.

  “Careful.” Paser releases my arm. He takes my hand in one of his and holds Reb’s in his other to extend our reach.

  “Thank you.” I take a steadying breath, then turn back to the pit. “Again,” I urge Nebifu. This time he throws the rope higher. I stretch, fingers straining, seeking, grasping. Rough fibres graze their tips, but I am unable to get a grip.

  Reb and Paser have their feet planted solidly in the earth. “Once more,” I say, and Nebifu throws the rope a third time.

  Again, Reb and Paser yank me back from the brink. I fall on my bottom, dazed. Looking down, I am surprised to see the rope in my hand, having no recollection of catching it. The boys cheer, already looking around for something to tie the end to. I stand and brush myself off, wincing. Paser and Reb, unaware that they almost detached my arm, come back carrying a large brick between them, straining under its weight. They drop it with a heavy thud.

  “Will this do?” Paser pants.

  Rust-coloured splotches stain the brick and I try not to dwell on what it might have been used for. The Place of Confinement brings back memories of my days on the streets and the feeling of a churning stomach after eating something foul. There is sweat on my brow and a lump in my guts as hard and heavy as the brick.

  This place is home to many uneasy spirits.

  Paser ties the rope around the big square block, knotting it expertly. “We must hold it secure so he can climb up.”

  Reb inhales through his nostrils and throws the other end of the rope back down to Nebifu. “He does not deserve this,” he mutters, looking down at the hole. We brace ourselves and hold the line taut, Paser as anchor, me next, Reb in front.

  There is much grunting and wheezing as Nebifu slowly hauls himself out of his prison. We lean back, using our weight to keep the brick from sliding toward the pit. At last, a hand claws its way up and over the edge, fingernails torn and bleeding.

  “Hold on,” Reb says between gritted teeth, leaning his weight back farther while walking forward, moving one hand over the other, gripping the rope, maintaining the tension, until at last he reaches the edge and grabs Nebifu’s quivering arm. With a few grunts of his own, he manages to heft his uncle over the lip.

  Nebifu lies on the ground, babbling to us, to the gods, to any creature who cares to listen to his tearful exclamations over his regained freedom. He has tied the rope around his waist, and now Paser helps him unknot it. One prisoner free, one to go.

  Paser then walks over to the brick and, bending forward, biceps straining, begins to push it over to the spy’s pit. Reb joins him, their feet kicking up dirt behind them as they use their weight to move the brick. Nebifu finally sits up, taking note of his surroundings and the boys’ efforts. Confusion crosses his face.

  “What are you doing?” he demands as they stand, Reb rubbing his shoulder, the scar left by his uncle stark in the moon’s light. Paser ignores Nebifu and picks up the rope, tossing it down to the spy. Nebifu gasps. “You cannot be serious? You are freeing the criminal?”

  “Do you also consider yourself a criminal, then?” Reb asks. For someone reluctant to free the spy, he seems to enjoy Nebifu’s outrage at our intentions. “Because only moments ago, you two shared the same fate. In the eyes of the pharaoh, you are no different from him.”

  “We are nothing alike.” Nebifu puffs out his chest, apparently affronted by the comparison. “I have served the kingdom faithfully. That man is a spy, a foreigner. He is not a native son of our Black Land.” He spits. “His kind are dogs.”

  I think of Anubis, the dog who saved my brother and me in the market; loyal, intelligent, and brave, I wish he were here right now. But he is with Ky, protecting him, watching over him, which is more than I can do. I walk over to help Paser hold the rope so the prisoner can climb it, as Nebifu did. “Dogs are honourable creatures,” I say, passing by the fallen priest.

  Let us pray this man is as well. Or we may all live to regret our next actions.

  4

  ALTHOUGH THE HYKSOS SPY was in the pit longer than Nebifu, he scales the rope more deftly and quickly than the out-of-shape priest. He stands at the edge, alert, hands raised in a defensive position, eyeing us as if we might push him back in. His eyes and hair are as dark as the night; the beginnings of an unkempt beard shadow his full lips and high cheekbones. He looks a few years our senior, maybe seventeen or eighteen years old, with a lean, muscular body, almost as tall as Paser. His skin is streaked with dirt and he smells no better than Nebifu.

  “We mean you no harm,” I say, glancing at Paser, wondering if he’s also having second thoughts about this course of action. Will we be able to control him?

  “Why have you freed me?” the spy rasps. I do not know what I am expecting, but overall — aside from the filth and the stench, which, to be fair, is unavoidable after a week in a pit — he is completely ordinary. I suppose this is a good thing to be, as a spy.

  “We need your help,” I begin, glancing at Nebifu. I do not want to say too much in front of the priest. Now that he is free, there’s no telling if he’ll go running to the queen.

  “You cannot do this!” Nebifu rises to his feet and walks toward the stranger, arms raised, finger wagging. “He is a defiler and a criminal. His people are a plague on our lands!”

  The spy ignores him. “Do you have any food or water?” He licks his cracked lips. His clothes are filthy, hanging off him in rags. “I’ve drunk little and eaten nothing but a few pieces of mouldy bread since being thrown in the pit.”

  I look at Paser and Reb, who both shake their heads. Now that he speaks of food, I realize it’s been some time since I last ate well, consumed as I was with copying the priceless scroll, with Ky’s surgery, with Queen Anat’s treachery. My stomach rumbles loudly, and the spy’s mouth tugs up at one corner.

  “No,” I say, licking my own lips. “But I know where we can find some.”

  “Where?” Reb asks with his usual skepticism. “Everything was collected for the Festival of the Inundation.”

  “Exactly,” I say, turning to confer with him and Paser. “It is all assembled in one spot: the storehouse near the palace grounds. Everyone should be sleeping off the effects of the celebrations by now.” The brief rains, desperately needed, will have given the people reason to rejoice at the festival’s success in appealing to the gods. The security around the storehouses will not be as stringent as it might have been, which is fortunate because, despite the danger, we must find food and drink or we will not have the energy to go anywhere. “Let us divide the tasks. I will go to the storehouses. Paser, you and Reb can take him” — I gesture at the spy — “to find a boat. The fastest way to move is on the river.”

  “Do you think splitting up is wise?” Paser murmurs, taking full stock of the spy, who sways slightly. Weakened by hunger and thirst, he is manageable now, but we will need to rely on our strength as a trio to keep him in line.

  “We must have supplies for our journey, or we will not get far,” I say. “And we must be on the river before Ra rises if we want any hope of escaping.” Paser’s muscle and Reb’s wiry strength will, hopefully, be enough to prevent the Hyksos from doing anything … unanticipated while they look for a boat.

  “You said you need my help.” The spy eyes us, chin raised. “What do you wish of me?”

  I turn to face him directly. “We want you to take us north, to your people. Our friend was taken by one of your chieftains and we wish very much to find her. For this, we give you back your life.”

  “You cannot trust him!” Nebifu, who has been spluttering in shock these past few moments, starts in again. “He will betray you the second he gets the chance.”

  The Hyksos gathers him
self, looking coldly down his proud nose at Nebifu. “I swear on the lives of my family and my gods, I will see you safely to my people. Once there, though …” He lifts a shoulder. “You are on your own.”

  “That is acceptable,” I say, crossing my arms.

  “It is likely they will kill you,” the spy adds, not looking at all bothered at the thought.

  “We will take our chances.” I eye him warily. Besides, we have no other options.

  “I am coming with you,” Nebifu says to us.

  “To the palace?” I say. That does not seem like a wise course of action.

  “No.” Nebifu grimaces. “North.”

  “I will not travel with this man.” The Hyksos narrows his gaze. “He will try to slit my throat the moment my eyes close. Not that this flaccid pasty maggot would succeed.” He waves a dismissive hand at Nebifu. “But there is the principle of the matter.”

  Nebifu’s mouth drops open in shock. “How dare you! I am High Priest of all the land —”

  “Was,” Reb interjects.

  Nebifu ignores him. “A man of my position and esteem would not stoop to commit a crime so hideous.”

  “In my experience, it is those kinds of men who commit them the most,” the spy says. “Particularly when it satisfies their interests. Many powerful people, accustomed to getting their way, will not hesitate to ensure their own success.”

  I think of Nebifu sitting on a mountain of treasures back at the temple. There is no way to know if he is telling the truth when he says he was protecting them for our kingdom.

  “I am sorry, Nebifu,” I say. We need the Hyksos spy more than we need the priest.

  “I will go to the pharaoh!” he cries, finger wagging in the air again as if he is berating an errant student. “I will tell him of your plans. He and the queen will know what you are up to —”

  It happens so quickly, I do not have time to blink. The Hyksos grabs Nebifu’s finger and tugs hard, pulling the priest off balance so that he stumbles to the edge of the pit, arms flailing. Before he can get his balance back, the spy kicks Nebifu squarely in the bottom, sending him over the edge of the pit with a screech that would have been comical had it not ended with a thud and yelp of pain.

  We stare at the Hyksos in shock.

  “I am very hungry.” He smiles, showing excellent teeth. “Shall you go and find us something to eat?”

  5

  I AM ALONE AGAIN.

  It seems unreal that it has been only a matter of hours since I left the palace after Ky’s operation, at his insistence, to seek answers from Nebifu. Then, I was confused but essentially oblivious, free to come and go. Now, after learning of the queen’s involvement in secreting the kingdom’s treasures away from her husband, I am a threat and must be careful. My mother’s scarf, still smelling faintly of smoke, is wrapped tightly around my head to hide my face, only the slits of my eyes showing. I need to move unseen, in and out of the shadows, if I do not want to be recognized. I am counting on the fact that after days of vigorous partying, everyone, guards included, will be resting before continuing with the celebrations.

  Holding my breath, I approach the area where the vengeful fruit vendor and his wife attacked me on the way to the Place of Confinement. Tightly clutching the strap of the waterskin slung across my body, I squint to make out their shapes on the ground. The luck of Shai, god of fate, is with me — the vendor and his wife are no longer here.

  Were it not for Paser and Reb knocking the pair out with bricks, I would most likely be dead, as payment for the outrageous crime of taking a little food to feed my brother. Newly orphaned, near starving, and unsure of whom to trust, we kept away from the eyes of the palace for a whole moon and did what was necessary to survive. Coincidentally, it was Crooked Nose who discovered us as a result of that very theft and brought us before the royals.

  As it has turned out, my instincts to avoid the palace were correct, though not for the reasons I thought. It is the queen, not Pharaoh, I need to fear. We all do now. My life will be in the hands of my friends, and theirs in mine, on the journey ahead. And in the hands of the Hyksos spy. Strengthening my resolve, I reflect on past events and on our upcoming journey: I managed to keep my brother and myself alive in the city with only my wits — if we find Merat and escape to Avaris, I can do it again.

  Taking the servants’ route into the palace grounds, the very place I should be avoiding, I grab a basket discarded nearby and put it on my head, lowering the front so I can see just where my feet are walking. It is quiet, though not everyone is sleeping. A group of servants ahead talk among themselves as they make their way to the storehouse, which is just off the physician’s chambers. Behind them I spot a familiar form and dart behind a palm, rage clouding my vision.

  Crooked Nose.

  Lowering the basket and hazarding a quick peek around the tree, I watch him stalk toward the storehouse, likely in search of the same thing as me. Attempting to bury children alive on the queen’s orders must work up an appetite. My blood bubbles, as much for the part he played in my parents’ death as for my inability to do anything about it. I bite my lower lip to keep from screaming in frustration. It will not do for my temper to get the upper hand. We need food.

  With Crooked Nose prowling around the storehouses, there is no help for it — I must seek out food inside the palace. Hoisting the basket back onto my head and pulling it low again, I slink toward the outer doors to the main kitchens. Every step farther inside the premises adds to the risk. However, it is not only my rumbling stomach that has me willing to take it. It is the thought of Ky. I stop in front of the wing that houses the physician’s chambers and look up.

  There.

  A light shines in the small high window, and my heart leaps. I am so close. Perhaps there is a way I can see my brother? Not to speak to him, no; the queen might have placed guards outside his room. But I need reassurance that she did not immediately return to the palace to exact revenge for my crimes, as she threatened to do. I make for the cluster of date palms outside the window. One in particular leans forward at a slight angle, making it easier to climb.

  Without stopping to think, I dart to the slanting tree and drop my empty basket at its base, along with the empty waterskin. Moving quickly, before anyone can walk by, I hike up my dress and scuttle up the palm, rough bark scraping my hands and shins. It feels never-ending, but I know only seconds pass before I reach the leafy fronds and can hide in their partial cover.

  A candle burns in the room, but it is difficult to see much. I need to get closer. Now that I am here, it is impossible to refuse the temptation of saying goodbye in person. A hazardous gamble, but one I am compelled to take. It may be the last opportunity I have to speak to my brother. Besides, the queen probably still thinks we are trapped in the mastaba. Crooked Nose would not want to tell her the news of our escape on an empty stomach.

  I scamper back down the palm, throw the waterskin over my shoulder, and grab the basket, placing it on my head. After adjusting the scarf, I sneak quietly inside the palace. Security is always more relaxed during festivals — even guards deserve a break during the Inundation. The halls are dark, but it will only be a short while before Ra surfaces from the underworld to light up the day.

  There are sleeping bodies everywhere, and I tiptoe around snoring servants and the guests who did not make it back to their quarters. After what feels like an eternity, I reach the physician’s private chambers, where I left Ky resting, and slip inside.

  The room is empty.

  6

  ALARM SPREADS THROUGH MY BODY, flickering like the candle on the table.

  Where have they taken my brother? Was I grossly mistaken in assuming the queen would not come back for him? After everything he has been through, that we have been through, it cannot end like this. Despair rises along with Ra, whose first rays penetrate the room. A sound at the door has me whirling, prepared to beg, fight, or die in the effort to discover what has happened to Ky.

  A servant stands
there, looking at me blankly. It is my friend Bebi. “Can I help you? If you are looking for the physician, he is tending patients on the main floor.”

  Heart still pounding, I unwrap the scarf from my head.

  “Sesha?” Bebi blinks as if she is having a vision.

  “Where is Ky?” I ask urgently, moving toward my friend. Back at the mastaba, Ahmes said he’d left my brother in her care while he and Prince Tutan came to find us.

  “Kewat and I moved him to the handmaidens’ quarters.” She yawns. “We are taking turns tending him and he is doing well.”

  Relief floods my body and I grab Bebi, hugging her tight. She emits a surprised squeak.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “What is happening?” she asks, apparently sensing my heightened emotions. I forgot she has no idea of anything that passed at the tomb.

  The light in the room grows brighter. I am running out of time. I wrap my head back up. “I am leaving Thebes.”

  She blinks again. “Why?”

  “There is no time to explain and doing so will only put you in danger.” I look around, searching for anything that might be of use on our journey. I grab a small jar of honey, some bandages, a needle, and a pair of tweezers and shove them into a satchel left here during Ky’s surgery, one that once held brains in the not-too-distant past. “Please tell Ky I came back to say goodbye, and that I love him.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Farewell, Bebi. You have been a good friend. I leave my brother in your care.” With that I lean over and kiss her on the cheek, then walk out the door.

  “Wait!” she follows me. “Why won’t you tell me what is going on?”

  “It is complicated,” I whisper, glancing down the hallway, calculating. I am not sure if her presence will help or hinder my escape.