“Answer me, and I will leave you with your throat intact.” I will my hand to remain as steady as my voice.
“Yes,” he croaks. I pull the blade back. A small drop of blood runs down the man’s neck. One of his hands goes to his throat to massage it.
“Why did you follow us?” Pepi asks, but the answer is becoming obvious. Pharaoh, Wujat, or even the queen will have sent him after us, desperate to know the location of the oasis, a prize jewel along the trading routes and the cradle of the rebellion. It is always advantageous to know where the nests of your enemies lie.
“Thebes will put down this rebellion like the wild dogs you are!” the man coughs.
“How?” Pepi asks with scorn. “You think we will allow you to go free so you can stagger back to spill the grain about our location?”
The man gives Pepi quite a contemptuous look for one who finds himself in the hands of his enemies, but he says nothing.
“There were two of you,” I say, heart plummeting again.
“Your companion left you behind?” Pepi demands. I know he is probably cursing himself for not being aware we were followed. Our elation at retrieving the scroll made us careless.
“There were only enough supplies for one to return,” the man says, lip curling. “For the sake of my city and my king, I deliver myself into your grasping claws so my partner can return with the oasis’s location.”
“He will not make it.” Pepi spits on the ground beside the spy.
“He might,” Paser says, coming over with some linen bandages to tie up the spy. “And he may bring an army back with him.”
“Let them come,” barks Pepi. “They will arrive at our camp, beaten down by the desert. Our weapons will make short work of them.” I can tell he is very angry at Yanassi for leaving. He binds the spy’s wrists together and then his legs, leaving him trussed like a goat for sacrifice.
“And who will wield these weapons?” I say, gesturing at the sick gathered around the main water supply. “The chieftain left with most of his guard, gone to claim a crown.” And likely to prevent Pepi from doing the same. “Those left behind are weakened by sickness. These are not good odds.”
“Then we must go to Avaris,” Pepi says, his tone brooking no argument.
“All of us?” Reb is skeptical. I see his friend Zina in the distance, giving water to some of the ill.
“We will take the horses.” Pepi turns to Min. The healer is breathing hard from his sprint and looks ready to collapse. I do not like the look of him. Nor Paser. My friend is pale and sweat dots his brow. “How long will this illness last?” Pepi asks.
“It seems to have a short lifespan,” Min wheezes. They will have had no break from tending the ill. “The risk isn’t so much the sickness itself, but that the affected are unable to keep food or water down. We will need a few days to tend the sick, so they may regain some strength before the journey.”
“Some may not survive,” Paser says quietly. “They will not survive at all if they are left behind to face an army unprotected.” Pepi’s voice is terse.
“If we are to leave for Avaris, then there is no need to conserve anything,” I say, not knowing if we made Pharaoh more or less inclined to attack with our visit. “We can use all remaining supplies to improve the condition of the sick. Pentu has many stores of honey. We will feed them a reviving elixir.”
Min nods. “There are a lot of medicines. The challenge is having enough hands to get them into the mouths of the ill.” I remember the plant the caterpillars were so fond of. We prepared a fresh large batch of medicine with it before I left. I still have our bottle.
“Gather those healthy enough and we will tell them our plans,” Pepi orders. With the chieftain gone, he is now in full command here. Reb, Paser, and Min stumble off.
“What about him?” I nod at the prisoner.
“We will leave him here, so that when the Thebans arrive he can tell them to meet us in Avaris. If they dare.”
“Our people will cast your people out, like the plague of locusts you are,” the spy says, defiant to the last. “And you.” His gaze falls on me. “You and your friends will rot for eternity for deserting your homeland.”
“I did not desert my home,” I say, looking down on him. I’ve learned that home is not just territory; it is the people who make it so. And I will never desert the people I love, no matter where they reside, no matter where I live. I think of Ky. I know I will see him again and that he will always be my brother, wherever our bodies fall on a map.
And thanks to the endless whims of the gods, it looks like my body is finally going to Avaris. The gods seem to enjoy playing with my fate. We sought the scroll to save Akin so that the chieftain would take us to the capital, where we might escape. Now we are travelling there of our own accord, to seek out Yanassi himself.
“Sesha.” Pepi leads me away from the sullen spy. “Now is not the ideal time, but there is something important I must tell you.” The tone of his voice has me turning to look at him.
“What is it?” I say, wondering at the tautness of his body, the hesitation in his expression.
His eyes lock with mine. “It concerns a prophecy.”
“Regarding the scroll?” I demand. We pored over the document during our crossing, looking for clues, studying the cases pertaining to Akin’s injury. Pepi feels the need to go into details now?
“No,” Pepi says, and the way he looks at me makes all the hairs on my body stand on end. He eyes the blade still in my hand, as if wary of where I might stick it. “There is another prophecy. An older one. One that has monumental implications for our kingdom and was made by the same oracle, an oracle who has never been mistaken.” He pauses and then, as if surrendering his soul to the gods, takes a deep breath. “It concerns you and your brother.”
I stare at him. I’ve grown accustomed to his shattering pronouncements, but this one takes the honeycake. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Paser step, falter, and go down like a sack of bricks. Alarm flares.
“You will tell me every word of this prophecy later,” I say evenly, locking eyes with Pepi again. “Both of them.” Then, twisting my hair back and up, I hold it with one hand while sliding my father’s knife through the tight coil to secure it in place. Heading straight for my fallen friend, I survey the moaning masses beyond him, and push everything else from my mind. “But right now,” I call over my shoulder, “I have patients to attend to.”
Acknowledgements
THIS AUTHOR GRATEFULLY acknowledges the work of all those who contributed to The Desert Prince. To everyone at Dundurn, especially Kathryn Lane and Jenny McWha, who are shepherding me through this process of writing a series on a tight timeline. To superstar editors Jess Shulman and Susan Fitzgerald for helping me smooth out the divots (and a few gaping holes) in the foundation. And to art director Laura Boyle and my wildly talented illustrator, Queenie Chan, for this stunning cover.
To my author friends who keep me going on difficult days, particularly the exceptional Meaghan McIsaac and Angela Misri. To my children, Aira and Nolan, for their patience and understanding when Mommy is working. And to the one person without whom this book would not have been written at all: my structural beam, Aaron, who’s provided every kind of support possible.
To all of my incredible friends and family who support and encourage me, and finally, to those of you who read and love the books: thank you for giving my words a home; I hope they do the same for you.
May you all have as many adventures as Sesha and her friends (albeit slightly less dangerous ones).
Alisha
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The Desert Prince Page 23
