The Desert Prince

by Alisha Sevigny

  My friend nods and I make my way along the path, back to the continued merriment of the Hyksos. The celebrations sound fully underway. I suppose the villagers were looking forward to a party, one way or another. I am reminded of my last night at the palace, of another celebration, of finding the scroll and of Ky’s surgery. That night ended in the physical loss of my home, and the even more devastating loss of my brother.

  Keeping my eye out for either Reb or Paser, I walk closer to where the fire is, but I don’t see either of them. The smell of blood has been replaced by the aroma of cooked meat, and my stomach rumbles. I hope the Hyksos gave proper thanks to the lion-headed goddess, Sekhmet, for the life of one of her own. The goddess of protection and healing, she is also one of vengeance, and if proper appreciation is not shown for her sacrifice, she may be angered. It is said her breath formed the desert, and having had recent experience with that place, I would not wish for her wrath to come down on me. Or on the people I currently reside with.

  “Sesha.” A figure wobbles toward me. It is Paser. I wonder if the power of my thoughts summoned him.

  “Paser,” I whisper. “I need my father’s blade. Do you have it?”

  “Yes,” Paser says. He seems a little unsteady on his feet, body still stained with blood.

  “Have you been drinking?” I say, thinking of an oasis vineyard Merat mentioned during one of our swims. This may take longer than I want.

  “Not by my choice. But I am well enough.” He pulls the blade from the belt around his waist and places it in my hands. “Are you feeling better?” He peers closely at my face, and I feel the warmth of the fire coming from his clothes, his skin.

  Now that he asks, I am quite itchy again. “I will be fine.” I wave a hand. “Are you?” I ask, with a pointed look at the scuff on his cheek.

  “You witnessed that?” he says, looking slightly abashed. “It was the spy’s idea,” he says, confirming my guess that Pepi planned the whole thing.

  Still exulted from the delivery, I rush to tell him. “I helped a mother birth her child tonight.”

  “That is wonderful,” he exclaims. “The child will share my birth day.”

  “Your birth day?” I repeat, shocked. “Why did you not speak of this earlier?”

  “There has been much happening.” He smiles. “It is not important.”

  “Of course it is important. Every year alive is something to be celebrated.” Especially in these perilous times and considering our recent journey.

  “I did not say I have not been celebrating.” His smile widens.

  “I wish there was something I could give you, as a gift.” I look down at my father’s blade. He wraps his hands around mine, silently suggesting I do no such thing.

  “Your friendship is enough,” he insists. “And you give me one adventure after another. Remember I told you how much I enjoy them?”

  “Likely more adventures than you bargained on.” I smile, thinking of him helping me find the scroll and free the spy from the pits, and of our perilous crossing of the Red Land.

  “Oh, listen to you.” Reb stumbles up to us, also splattered with dried blood. It looks like he, too, has been enjoying the festivities. I do not begrudge them. After everything that has happened, they deserve a night to celebrate. “There is something you can give him.”

  Paser gives Reb a look that would silence anyone with more sense. But Reb is never one to shy away from saying exactly what he thinks. “A kiss.”

  26

  A KISS?

  “Pay him no attention.” Paser shoots Reb another menacing look.

  “The Hyksos’s drink is quick in, quick out,” Reb says, hurrying off into the bush to relieve himself.

  “Sesha, I am sorry —” Paser starts to apologize, ever a man with honour. As it is his birth day, and he is now fifteen, he is a man, not only in age but also as evidenced by his behaviour and bravery.

  Before I change my mind, I stand on the tips of my toes and brush my lips lightly to his warm cheek. “The happiest of birth days to you, Paser,” I say softly. His hand comes to his cheek, but before he responds I am off, on my way back to my healer’s duties.

  What made me do that? Perhaps it was the celebratory mood of the camp, the thrill of a new life, and a thank you for seeing me safe. Paser has always made me feel safe. He and Merat, and even Reb, are my home now, as much as people can be.

  I reach Merat and Amara. Both the mother and child are doing well.

  “How is the baby eating?” I inquire. Early attempts at feeding can be as challenging as the birth itself.

  “She is a greedy thing.” Amara nuzzles her baby’s nose. I cut the cord while they are both distracted, but it is no matter, as neither feels it.

  “Do you wish me to find the father?” I ask, reluctant to go back to the party. It will be difficult to find a stranger in the dark. In addition, I do not wish to start a panic if someone sees me, infectious as Merat and I are assumed to be.

  But Amara looks up at me, eagerness all over her face. “Yes, could you please?”

  Merat squeezes my hand. “I will go. The people will not harm me, ill or not.”

  “What will you tell the chieftain?”

  She shrugs. “That the dangerous time has passed.”

  “What if he thinks it is too soon?” The chieftain does not strike me as someone who is easily fooled. I think of Pepi, trying to hide his smile at our obvious schemes. “Find Pepi,” I ask, feeling certain. “He will assist you.”

  “What is your husband’s name?” Merat asks Amara.

  “Akin. He is the chieftain’s man.”

  Merat nods and leaves.

  “Are you able to walk?” I ask Amara. It is better if we go to a spot nearer the water. She will want to wash.

  “I think so,” she says, and I help her stand. She is strong and young, and as the birth was simple, she should recover well, by the grace of the gods. She wraps one arm around my shoulders, holding the baby tight to her chest with the other.

  We awkwardly make our way to Merat’s and my small fire, which is almost out. I blow on the ashes and add a few twigs, hoping to get it going again.

  “Go wash.” I nod at the water. “I will hold the baby.”

  At first she does not want to leave the child, even for a second, but she relents and makes her way down to the water’s edge. Stripping and wading in, she scoops silt from the bottom of the lake and rubs her skin with it in a circular motion.

  The moonlight is much brighter on the beach. “Let us have a look at you,” I say to the baby, unswaddling and examining her closely. Like Reb and Paser, she is streaked with dried blood, but seems alert and healthy enough. I feel a sense of responsibility for this child, the first I have delivered entirely on my own.

  Her lashes are long and dark, and she has more hair than most. She blinks at me sleepily, and I smile. “Would you like to bathe as well?” I take the child down to the water’s edge and give her to her mother, who, now clean, begins to wash the baby. Surprised by the cool water, the baby lets out a cry, piercing in the night. Soothingly, in a low sweet voice, Amara begins to sing to the child.

  The tune is hauntingly familiar, and I am stunned to recognize it. “Where did you learn that song?”

  “My mother sang it to me.” The baby whimpers at the interruption, then lets out a few more squawks of protest at her bath.

  “As did mine,” I say. How is that possible? We are from two different worlds.

  “There are many similarities between our people,” Amara says. “The Hyksos have lived in the delta for many years. We all speak your language, have assumed many of your ways, and shared our knowledge as well. Perhaps we are more alike than those at Thebes would allow you to believe.” She continues singing, and after a few moments, I join in softly, our voices mingling together in the night. The baby’s crying stops.

  Merat and I remain in quarantine for the next few days as the self-inflicted rashes on our bodies begin to heal. We vehemently concur we do
not want to marry and try to work out a way to leave the oasis. She agrees with the impossible suggestion of fleeing north to the Hyksos capital, as well as with the equally difficult tasks of finding Paser’s estranged family once we reach the city, and convincing them to help us.

  First, though, there’s one small matter: how to depart the oasis. Or rather, not how to depart it, but how to survive the desert once we do. The caravan is a tenuous option, should it ever arrive, but it is doubtful we can join it undetected. Despite Paser and Reb’s mistrust of Pepi, it is looking more and more like I will have to speak to him. Preferably before talks of weddings resume. Most fortunate for us, the celebration seems to have satisfied everyone for the moment. During one of his visits Paser reports that the extra stores of food and beer put aside for the wedding were consumed and, reassuringly, that it will take a few weeks to increase the stocks again.

  He does not mention the brief kiss, and I wonder if he has forgotten, as there was much happening that night. Yet, something slight has shifted between us, like when the sun hits an object from a different angle, illuminating something previously unseen but always there. I do not mention the kiss to Merat, unsure if doing so will give it more meaning than I intended in giving it.

  Aside from Amara, who visits once with the baby, both doing well, I am forbidden to see patients. She does not repeat what I told her of our fake illness, whether as a courtesy to me or because she is so wrapped up in her new infant.

  Our other visitors, Paser and Reb, occasionally bring us food and more balm. We spend our time under the shade of thick palms thinking of ways to reach Avaris, only to dismiss this plan and the next as impossible, as futile as looking for tiny crystals in the desert sands. Frustrated by the morning’s unproductive scheming, Merat and I take a break, and instead resume her study of hieratic scripts, which we began at the pharaoh’s palace. We draw them over and over again in the sand.

  She frowns at a particularly complex one now. Her red welts are almost gone, as her skin darkens in the sun, unused to so much time out of palace walls. “I cannot seem to write this one,” she says, biting her lip. Merat has a quick mind and becomes frustrated when there is something she does not immediately grasp.

  I draw it again. “You cross it here. Then up, down, and loop it around.”

  “Up, down, loop it around,” she repeats under her breath, focusing on perfecting the script, which is already decent enough.

  Loud voices have us looking up from the sand. The chieftain and Pepi come into view. Merat and I glance at each other. This is the tribe leader’s first time visiting since our “sickness” began. I am not sure if Pepi deliberately kept him away or if he did not want to risk becoming ill. Either way, it looks like our temporary reprieve has come to an end.

  27

  “THERE IS MY BRIDE!” the chieftain calls as he gets closer, examining us carefully. I get the feeling that, like his cousin, he does not miss much. “You are looking much healthier, dear one.”

  Merat nods, acknowledging his compliment. “Many thanks. I seem to be recovering well.”

  “It helps when you have your own personal physician attending you,” Pepi says, eyes dancing mischievously.

  “Yes,” Merat says, with no trace of irony. “I am very lucky to have Sesha.”

  The chieftain’s gaze falls to the ground, noticing the letters written in the sand. “What is this?” He kicks at the inscriptions.

  “Nothing,” Merat answers quickly. “Just something to pass the time.”

  “If you are well, you both should be helping the other women,” the chieftain admonishes us. “Not scribbling in the sand. All hands are needed here. No one rests in the desert, not even princesses.”

  “As to that, we come to ask what duties might interest you,” Pepi interjects smoothly. He is more diplomatic than the chieftain, who is obviously accustomed to his commands being followed without question. “You may choose how you will assist the tribe.”

  I look at Pepi, feeling slighted, even if it is irrational. Though we do not plan to stay permanently with the Hyksos, he does not know that. He does know about my experience as a physician and, thus, where I would prefer to be: tending patients alongside Paser, Reb, and the other physician, yet to arrive with the sandblasted caravan. I am unable to resist asking, “Am I not to doctor the people, then?”

  “We have enough physicians.” The chieftain waves a hand. “Your brothers and the tribe’s healer are more than able to care for the villagers. One of our scouts says the caravan will arrive today, and the doctor with it.” Merat stiffens beside me. “Besides, a young woman is better used in other areas, like preparing the food and washing the linens.” His eyes narrow at me. “Which you seem to go through a lot of.”

  “Ah …” I look at Pepi, wanting to protest.

  He gives his head a slight shake in warning. Future family member or not, I am not to question the chieftain’s commands. “Is there something else that interests you, Sesha?” Pepi asks. My mind tries to come up with another task, but for me there is nothing but helping those who medically need it. I despise cooking, hate laundering, and have no talent for making things clean and tidy.

  “Perhaps the gardens?” Merat suggests, sensing my distress. “She can help prepare the medicines. I am afraid we have gone through all of the balm.” She holds up the empty tub.

  “Very well,” says the chieftain gruffly. “And you, Merat?” She startles at the use of her name. It sounds strange coming from his full lips, spoken with care, respect.

  “What about helping with the children … Yanassi?” she says tentatively, calling him by his own name in return. It is the first time I have heard her do so. “Sesha has taught me enough that I can pass on some knowledge of writing. Or at least keep them occupied so their mothers may give full attention to their own tasks?”

  “The children can already make shapes in the sand.”

  Not ones that mean anything.

  Merat bites her lip. I do not think the princess wants to be cooking and cleaning either. The chieftain puts a hand under her chin. “Very well,” he says, tilting her face up to look at him. “You may care for the little ones. It will give you knowledge for when we have our own. When the time comes, I wish to have many sons and daughters.” Merat blinks and he lets go of her, turning to Pepi. “Come, let us see what the caravan brings us.”

  “Helping in the gardens? I’d rather be sewing up wounds and setting bones!” Merat and I walk toward the main village camp, having been given the official pardon to rejoin the people. “Not that I do not appreciate your quick thinking,” I say to Merat, sighing. It is better than laundering or cooking and a small thing when compared to the enormity of our plight. Perhaps that is why it’s easy to be upset about it.

  “We do not plan to be here long,” Merat reminds me again. “Will it be so bad, preparing medicines? An effective poultice or brewed concoction can do much to help the wounded or ill. And you will have access to valuable items should we need them for our journey.”

  “This is true,” I admit. “It is only my pride taking issue with stirring pots and grinding up herbs instead of being the one to administer them with instructions and care.”

  “At least your main job in life is not to give a giant many babies,” Merat says darkly. I look at her with sympathy, knowing her fear of childbirth and remembering her courage in facing it by coming back with water and linens for Amara.

  “As you said, we will not be here long enough for that to happen.” It is my turn to remind her.

  We reach the village. I did not take detailed notice of it upon our arrival, in the condition I was in then. I look at it now, spreading out before us. There are several huts in addition to the chieftain’s, doubtless for some of his higher-ranking men. The rest of the accommodation consists of tents. Skins and linens are stretched out as far as the eye can see, under the shade of numerous palms and other plants.

  “The oasis is truly a gift of the gods.” I can’t help but admire i
ts size and organization, as well as its lush abundance.

  “I am glad you like your new home,” Pepi says, suddenly behind us. “For now, you two will share one of the huts.”

  Merat and I look at each other in relief. For our people, a woman is considered married when she moves her belongings into her husband’s house and there is a celebration to mark the occasion. Now that I think upon it, as I have so little to my name, I wonder if the arrangement can even take place?

  Pepi laughs at the expression on our faces. “We are not so bad,” he says, spreading his hands, presumably to encompass his cousin and his people. “We will provide for you and keep you safe.”

  I owe Pepi much, including the lives of my friends, not to mention my own, so I smile, though I can feel that it does not quite reach my eyes. He seems to think we are staying. Unless we can come up with a brilliant scheme, that may very well be our fate.

  I point at the thickest part of the oasis, far off in the distance. “What is over there?” I ask, though I have a fair idea.

  “The training grounds,” he says.

  “Why do you come all the way to the desert to train?” Merat asks. “Would it not be easier to remain at Avaris?”

  “It would,” Pepi agrees. “But part of winning battles is the element of surprise. There are many eyes and ears in the city, and the Nile is a great communicator of gossip and news.” He clasps his hands behind his back. “The king there is my uncle and the King of all Foreign Rulers. Yanassi persuaded him that some of our training should be done in secret, in the chance war becomes necessary. There are many soldiers in Avaris, of course, but here there is a more … specialized regiment.”

  Wait. Pepi’s uncle is the King of all Foreign Rulers at Avaris? A Hyksos king?

  The Hyksos king?

  That makes the chieftain … a … a prince?