“Abilities can be cultivated, but the seeds of them must already be there, or no amount of water will make them grow.”
“Very well,” I say, feeling my stomach twist as we approach the horses, my heart beating faster. “What am I to do?”
He nods at the four-legged animals. “Your first task is to get on one of those.”
“What?” I gape at him. So Pepi teaching me to ride was not a pretense after all. “I just mended a man’s leg snapped in two by one of those beasts.”
“His was an unlucky accident. Besides,” he points out, “it is no different from riding Nefer, which you did in the desert.”
“Nefer is different.” I eye the horses. They are much faster and not as solid as the donkey, whose gait is best described as plodding.
“As this is your first task, I will give you some assistance.” A few of the horses paw the ground as we approach, tossing their heads like the ladies at court, manes flying out behind them. “Which one do you want?”
I scan the herd. My eyes lock with a russet-haired creature. It appears calmer than most, chewing placidly at tufts of grass.
“That one.” I lick my lips, nodding at the horse. “Are you sure this is safe?”
“No.” His teeth flash in a brief smile. “But it will not be the most dangerous thing you will have to do as a spy.”
I exhale loudly. “How do I approach her?”
“Hold your hand out.” Pepi takes something from his pocket and places it in my palm. “It is good manners to bring an offering when approaching someone you wish something of.”
Holding the pomegranate in my hand, I walk forward slowly, giving myself some inner encouragement. Come, Sesha, if you can tame venomous snakes, you can handle a horse.
The creature looks up as I draw nearer, nostrils flaring. “Greetings,” I say to it. “I am Sesha.” It snorts. “May I ride you?” It gives a toss of its long mane. I am not sure if this is a yes or a no. It turns its head. A brush-off, then. “Has it been ridden before?” I ask Pepi uncertainly.
“That is why these ones are here,” he says from behind me. “They are being trained.”
“Who is their trainer?”
“Akin was. I will be assisting for now.”
“Nefer is not jealous?”
“You are stalling, Sesha.”
I take the few remaining steps toward the creature. It does not back away. Holding my hand as far from my body as I can, I console myself that if the horse bites me, I will probably not die — one advantage over Apep, the snake I worked with. The horse sniffs, nostrils flaring wide again. It noses my hand, then its long pink tongue reaches out and takes the fruit from my palm with such surprising delicacy that Merat herself would be impressed by its manners.
“It tickles,” I say, feeling the smile bloom on my face.
“And now that you are acquainted, it is best to get on with it. Hesitation will only make both of you more nervous.” He grips his hands together, making a place for my foot, as he did when helping me onto Nefer. With my hands on the horse’s back and a boost from the Hyksos, I swing my left leg over the horse. It shifts under my weight, and my heart flutters as I try to keep my balance.
“Peace, brown one.” My voice is soothing, as if addressing a patient. The horse sidesteps and I clutch on to its neck. It gives a whinny of protest at the pulling of its hair. Forcing myself to release its tresses, I sit up straight, balancing awkwardly. “Now what?” I ask Pepi.
“Ride her.”
“Is that not what I am doing?” I retort.
Pepi brings his hand up to his mouth to hide a smile. “You are not moving.”
“I am,” I say, wobbling slightly, trying to keep steady but failing. “It’s the horse that’s not moving.”
Pepi presses on. “Horse riding is not a skill many in this land have. It will give you a great advantage of speed. And a convenient method of escape.”
“If people do not ride them, what are the soldiers doing with them?” I squeeze my stomach muscles tight so that my weight stays centred on the warm back.
“You will learn that soon enough,” he says. “For now, focus on the task at hand.”
I grit my teeth, hands resting lightly on the base of the horse’s neck. “How am I to make her go forward?”
“Nudge her with a squeeze of your legs,” Pepi says.
I apply some pressure to the horse. She doesn’t budge.
“Harder,” he says encouragingly. I do as he says. The horse huffs and takes a few steps over to a patch of grass that has caught her attention.
“It’s not working,” I say.
“Do not give up so easily. If one way does not produce results, try another.”
I slide off the horse’s back and give Pepi a look. “This is not me giving up,” I say, walking around to the horse’s front. She lifts her head and looks at me, chewing the grass in languid chomps.
Looking into her eyes, I will the horse to see my thoughts and my heart. Like the snake, she must sense my Ba, my very essence, if there is any hope of connecting. I stand there for several minutes, gazing at the horse, letting all sounds fade away. Her eyes are old. Wise. She has seen my kind before, even if hers is new to me.
You have nothing to fear.
The horse blinks. This time I place both my hands on her back and clamber on without Pepi’s assistance. There is no elegance in the manoeuvre, but the horse lets me haul myself up, and though I still wobble slightly, I keep my balance a little more easily this time.
“Go!” I nudge her forward with pressure from my thighs. Nothing. Sighing, I turn to look at Pepi. “I think she is feeling lazy to—”
With no warning, the horse rears up and I tumble off in a tangle of limbs, ending up flat on my back. Pepi is laughing and both my pride and my bottom feel the beginnings of a bruise. It will be purple and blue, like the sky I stare up at. Pepi offers his hand. I take it and he hefts me to my feet as I force air back into my lungs.
“Does that mean I fail?” I wince, rubbing my backside. My training is not off to a good start.
“You will not know if you pass or fail until I say so,” he says, with a glance at the darkening sky. We should be getting back to the main camp. There are animals that come to the oasis at night to drink and to feed on the smaller prey. Pepi echoes my thoughts. “It is always good to get back on the horse, but for now, let us go get our dinner before something decides to make us theirs.”
33
MERAT, REB, PASER, AND I SIT BY THE FIRE, up later than usual that evening. Namu, the storyteller, tells a tale of one of Akin’s many exploits, in honour of the fallen soldier. Weaving his words around the crowd, Namu entrances the people of the village, who often gather after the sun goes down to share adventures of the day and exchange stories, music, and dance.
Despite the adventure Namu enacts, it’s difficult to pay attention. Although excited by my plan, I am unsure what my friends’ reactions will be, given the boys’ mistrust of Pepi and Merat’s desire to escape the oasis. My gaze wanders around those at the fire. We are the only ones of similar age in the community; everyone else is a few years older, like Amara, or much younger, like her baby. At last the tale is done and the conversation is dying, along with the flames. People begin to leave the fire, one at a time, then in twos and threes, shaking their heads at Akin’s misfortune and discussing the outcome for recovery as they retire for the evening. Soon Paser, Merat, Reb, and I are alone at the embers, chatting quietly among ourselves. The time has come.
Glancing at their three firelit faces, I send a prayer up with the smoke. “I need to tell you something.”
“You have come up with a way to get to Avaris!” Merat exclaims in a happy whisper, clapping her hands together.
“Perhaps.” I keep my voice low.
“Is it to do with Pepi?” Paser asks.
“Yes,” I say, taking a deep breath. “He is training me to be a spy.”
Paser’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline. “A
spy?”
Reb also looks doubtful. “A spy for whom? The Hyksos?”
I am not sure how to answer this, as I do not quite know myself. “It is not much different from soldiering,” I reason. “Besides, there is no way we can get to Avaris without his help.”
Reb gives his head a shake. “How did we come to be here?” He poses his question to no one in particular. “Soldiers and spies against our own people?”
“Things are not always so black and red. This might be our best chance of leaving the oasis,” I say, urging them to understand. “And it is better than doing nothing. I also do not wish to see things escalate between our peoples. Perhaps there is something I can learn or do to keep a battle from happening.”
“You? Stop a war?” Reb snorts, looking into the embers. “You always did think highly of yourself.”
Merat comes to my defence, her voice cool. “Sesha is right. Fighting is not the answer.” I give her a grateful smile.
“Not all the Hyksos want war,” I say, bolstered by Merat’s support. “There are those who wish to resolve conflict, rather than provoke it.”
“Like Pepi?” Paser says, an edge in his voice.
“Yes, like Pepi,” I say.
“You are quick to believe the words of someone you’ve known only a short time,” Paser remarks. “Do not forget the man is a spy, Sesha. He is skilled in making people believe he is on their side. He could be using you.”
“He brought us through the desert and saved our lives. We never would have found Merat without his help,” I say. “What reason would he have for manipulating me?”
“I can think of several,” Paser says. “Perhaps he thinks you’ll be able to extract valuable information out of Thebes.” He throws the stone he has been palming into the fire. “Or maybe it is as simple as wanting an excuse to spend time with you.”
“He doesn’t need an excuse for that,” Merat says, “Sesha is his betrothed.” Her words are like a bucket on the fire.
“As you are the chieftain’s.” Paser stands, brushing himself off.
“That is not our fault,” I say, voice quiet.
“You are right.” Paser’s expression is bleak, and I notice a bruise high on his arm, a token of the day’s drills. It pains me to see my friend so wretched. “We must rise early for training,” he says to Reb, then nods at us. “Good night.”
Reb stands to follow his friend, bidding good night to Merat and me, leaving us among the dying coals. That did not go as well as I hoped.
Emotions tumbling, like a desert weed caught in a strong gust of wind, I turn to Merat. “Why is everything getting so complicated?”
“This is the time in our lives when it becomes so,” she says, standing as well. “Good night, Sesha.” Her voice is strained.
“Merat,” I call after her. “Wait.”
She stops and turns.
“Are you upset with me?”
“You are only doing what you think is best for all of us,” she says, not meeting my eye. “I cannot fault you for acting in accordance with your conscience.”
“We will get to Avaris,” I promise.
“No, Sesha. You will get to Avaris.” She looks at me then, pulling her hair back from her face. “But perhaps it is time I stop avoiding my fate and begin to act like a princess.”
34
THE NEXT MORNING MERAT IS CIVIL ENOUGH, but I sense some lingering tension as we part ways after our morning meal, she to tend the children, I to the gardens. It seems odd going about these daily tasks while other plans are in motion, but I suppose we are surviving the best way we know how: moment to moment. Slicing up some eye-watering herbs, I am wondering how to smooth things over with my friends when Amara appears in the distance. I lift a hand in greeting.
“How is everything this day?” I ask when she gets closer, wiping my hands on my robes.
“The little one is eating well.” I glance down at the babe, who does look better, cheeks tinted a rosy colour. “She’s soiled herself three times in the past hours.” There is as much pride in Amara’s voice, as if the newborn had swum the length of the Nile.
“Praises!” I say, returning her smile, which, despite this good news, still seems tinged with sadness. Akin’s mangled leg appears in my mind. “How is your man?” I ask.
“Not as well,” she admits, and I see the dark circles under her eyes that come from tending a new baby and an injured husband. “I think he’s in pain, but he says nothing.”
I feel bad for the young mother and put a hand on her arm. She’s been struck a few blows this moon.
“Sesha, Amara.” Min, who was at the other end of the garden, walks over and greets us. “How is Akin? I was planning to come by today with a fresh poultice.”
“His spirits are low,” Amara confesses. “They seem to have taken a turn for the worse.”
“We will bring him something to ease his discomfort,” Min assures her. “Come, Sesha, let’s go check on our patient.”
“You have my thanks.” Amara’s eyes shine with grateful tears.
“Why don’t you and the babe go and bathe?” I say, smelling sour milk on the exhausted mother, who likely has not taken a minute for herself. “We will go to Akin at once.” She nods obediently, too tired to resist my gentle insistence. “Be well, Amara.” I kiss the baby on the forehead. “May you have the appetite of the caterpillars who mow their way through the leaves of our garden,” I whisper. Min’s been cursing the creatures all morning for devouring some of the rarer herbs.
Amara starts for the lake, her step a little lighter, while the physician and I walk toward the village. I carry his bag for him, full of medicines and instruments.
“Amara told me how you helped her and the baby.” Min gives me a sidelong look. “That was a smart thing, clipping the tongue.”
I incline my head at his compliment. “Your impressive tools made it easy,” I say, with an admiring glance down at the bag at my side. “What is that metal called?”
“Bronze. It is a combination of metals, much stronger than copper alone. Our people use it to make many of our devices.”
“You said you knew my father,” I say in a rush, looking at the ground. Min has been gracious about letting me work with him, continuing my training while respecting my own knowledge. I take that as a sign he respected my father.
“Yes, he came and trained some of our physicians in the delta.”
I look at him in surprise. “He did?”
“Some years ago. You would not have been on this earth yet.”
We reach the hut where Akin and Amara are residing. “Do you think we might speak more of him later?” I say, shy but determined.
“We will need a fresh batch of pain medicine. You can ask me your questions later, while we grind up the herbs.”
I follow him into the hut and turn in a circle, amazed. It appears to be the main storage facility for the entire village. Crowded with odds and ends, it looks as if all the caravan goods were brought here.
Among all the items is a body. Akin lies on a blanket in the only clear space in the room. A cup and plate of food rest beside him, untouched.
“Hello, friend. How are you this day?” Min asks. I focus on the patient.
The soldier nods his head, but his expression is bleak. “Well enough.”
“Let’s take a look,” Min says, kneeling.
I stand back and the soldier’s eyes meet mine as Min unwraps his leg. He starts speaking, probably in effort to distract himself from being poked at. “You have my thanks for attending my wife at the birth of my child. As well as treating my injury.”
“I was happy to help them. Amara is very brave, like her husband.” It’s true — Akin barely winced when I set the bone. I do not wish to imagine what that felt like.
“A captain of the chieftain’s army must be brave, if not foolish,” he says, with a disgusted wave at his leg.
“You would not be in charge if you were foolish,” Min says mildly, running a finger down the
swollen limb, which sports an impressive assortment of colours. Blues, greens, and purples bloom proudly in varying shades of intensity.
“Maybe not foolish then, but definitely clumsy.” The soldier’s voice is bitter. Min presses down on the bone, but Akin does not flinch.
Surprised, I look at Min, but he is intent on his patient, prodding and pinching his way up and down Akin’s legs. There is no reaction from Amara’s husband.
A creeping coldness makes its way into my chest.
Just then, the chieftain comes into the hut, bending low. “I will not have you demean my best man that way,” he says in his gruff voice, offsetting the mild scolding of his second-in-command with an affectionate smile. “How are you, my brother?”
“A scratch,” Akin says, propping himself up on his elbows. “I will be up and about in no time.”
My heart hurts for the soldier. I do not think this is true. I curse myself for not coming in to change the dressing myself yesterday. Though there is little I could’ve done, regardless.
“You will do no such thing.” Min looks sternly at him. “You must not bear any weight for some time.”
“How long?” the chieftain asks.
“One moon at least,” Min says, lying through his decent teeth.
“This will delay our plans significantly.” Akin nods at the chieftain in apology. “I am sorry, my chief.”
“Just focus on getting well,” the chieftain says, gripping his man’s hand, but he looks grim. “I need you.” He bows his head low to his friend and the men speak in lowered voices. There is a strong bond between them.
Min pulls items from his bag and applies the new poultice before rewrapping the leg with fresh bandages. He is administering some medicines when Amara returns with the baby, an expression of cautious hope on her face. “How are you, my husband?”
“Come, let us leave them to one another.” Min motions to the chieftain to follow him out of the crowded hut. Grabbing Min’s bag, I start to follow, wondering how the chieftain will react when Min delivers his news.
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