The Celestial Conspiracies

by Talhi Briones

  Soromeh frowned and held Iram’s hand tighter.

  Hermes leaned further towards them, his eyes growing more intense. “I do have the theory that all afterlives are one and the same despite what the clans say. Actually, I’m pretty sure all Celestials are the same race, but—”

  “No,” said Aïden. “No.”

  “...But it’s a controversial theory. I have to do my research alone, never knowing public approval.” He gestured to the papyrus rolls on the table.

  Soromeh cleared her throat. “Where did—no. I can’t.”

  “I saw Onamu enter the afterlife,” said Hermes, gently. “The doors opened for him. I saw daylight, felt its warmth, a breeze that smelled like a garden. I saw the shape of a young girl waiting in the light, her arms open.”

  Soromeh let out a sob.

  “He used to tell me about his older sister,” muttered Iram. “Sobi.”

  “I don’t know where Barak is,” said Hermes. “He’s Hebrew, and the angels don’t share their ways with the other clans.”

  “We throw murderers in a lake of boiling blood,” said Aïden, trying to help.

  “Barak is not a murderer,” said Hermes quickly. “He didn’t kill the king. And the angels do not have a deal with the demons, so it’s impossible that he’s in Hell!”

  Iram looked elsewhere, his hand squeezing Soromeh’s a bit too hard.

  “And Naími?” she asked.

  Hermes sighed. “Things get more complicated from here, little princess. Naími did not have a human soul. A Celestial cannot die, but they can disappear from this world and end up in Limbo. We don’t know what’s in there.”

  “No one ever came back,” said Aïden.

  Hermes placed a hand over her mouth to shut her up, but took it back immediately, with a grimace. It was now covered in blood. He wiped it on Aïden’s tunic.

  “What’s important here is that anything can still happen.”

  Soromeh lowered her head. After a moment of thought, she stood. “I’m going to see what she left.”

  She entered the bedroom, followed by Iram, and closed the door. Everything was in the same place. Daylight shone on a hastily made bed. There was a misaligned cushion.

  “I’ll start with this chest. You start with that one. I want… I don’t know what I want.”

  They found dresses that were gifted to Naími, the ones she used frequently and the ones she never wore. Her jewelry was carefully classified by type, her perfume bottles by color. Her brushes, ointments, pearls—everything was ordered impersonally.

  “She hated them,” remembered Soromeh. “Like I do. More so, I think. She told me that she never owned many things in her life. She didn’t know what to do with all these gifts.”

  Another chest held her traveling clothes, the veil that Naími wore during their first encounter. Soromeh grabbed it. She also kept the one dagger that was left.

  On the small table, there were hair oils, a mirror, a salve where traces of fingerprints were still visible. A bottle of perfume, almost empty. Soromeh removed the stopper and had to fight her tears when she recognized Naími’s smell.

  They went back to the table. Soromeh placed the veil, the dagger, and the perfume bottle in front of her.

  “Human perfumes stink,” said Aïden. “Not as much as humans, but they still stink.”

  “Be polite. She’s a princess,” said Hermes.

  “No, she stinks more than the others. She has that childbearing smell. It’s annoying,” she said, grimacing.

  “What are you talking about—”

  Hermes stopped in the middle of his sentence and turned to Soromeh. He tilted his head, listening for something.

  “May I?” he asked, extending a hand.

  Soromeh stretched her arm and was surprised to see him press two fingers inside her wrist. After a few moments of silence, a smile illuminated his face.

  “Can I be the first to congratulate you?”

  “What?” asked Soromeh. “I really hope you’re not insinuating that—”

  She turned to Iram, who was pale. She shook her head and went back to Hermes.

  “I feel two heartbeats,” said Hermes.

  When they said nothing, he grew awkward. “Is this not good news?”

  “I—we need to talk about it,” she said. “Iram?”

  They stood at the same time and strode out of the room. They went back to Soromeh’s quarters and closed the door, still not meeting each other’s eyes.

  “… Is this a good thing, or a bad thing?” asked Iram.

  “I don’t know!” panicked Soromeh.

  Iram fell on a chair, his face in his hands.

  “The choices remain the same. Staying or leaving.”

  “I can ask the midwives to…” She trailed off, twisting Naími’s veil. “I heard some women could stop a pregnancy. I think?”

  Iram looked at her, sadly.

  “Most don’t survive, Soromeh,” he muttered. “Maybe the palace healers can do better than the ones in the city?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know if I want… Iram, I don’t know. I’m not ready!”

  He joined her near the door and grabbed her hands.

  “Go see the midwife,” he said. “When we have a confirmation, we’ll go speak with Sir Damon. If we stay, this child would be his.”

  She nodded frantically.

  “Are you feeling better?” he asked.

  She shook her head even faster.

  * * *

  Lady Shiphrah, midwife of the palace, kept dark and austere quarters. Iram paced the antechamber once more. After an unending wait, Soromeh came in from the next door, her expression upset. Iram raised his brow, and she nodded.

  Lady Shiphrah was giving her instructions. “You can’t keep eating so little. You have to eat for two, now. Also, no more running through the palace like you used to.”

  The old woman glared at Iram.

  “It’s a shame Sir Damon couldn’t come,” she said with disdain. “The father should be there for these appointments.”

  Soromeh glared back. “I’ll tell him right now.”

  She left the room with renewed energy.

  “If—if I’m having a child,” she muttered to Iram, “I won’t have them grow up in this snake nest. People here are always throwing little snide comments. It’s insufferable.”

  “They also tried to behead you,” he added.

  “Yes, that too. If I’m having a child, I want to be somewhere they’ll be able to run. Without walls to stop them and eyes to judge them.”

  “Have you made a decision?”

  “Yes. We’re leaving. Tomorrow morning.”

  “Good. Our travel bag is ready.”

  She stopped right in her tracks. The smile she gave him, the first one in too long, was blinding.

  “Iram, I will keep you for the rest of my days.”

  He lowered his head, smiling shyly. There were people in the hallway, so he could not answer, but she knew. They went back to the royal wing in silence.

  Soromeh stopped in front of Damon’s door.

  “Let me in,” she told the guards. “I want to see my husband.”

  She entered alone. The rooms, usually spotless, were a complete mess. The tables were covered in documents and melted candles, plates with remnants of meals, and half-empty cups. Most of the furniture had been pushed back, leaving a central space where Damon was training.

  “Damon, by the gods!” she exclaimed. “You look like a Hittite!”

  He stopped and scratched his unkempt beard.

  “I let myself go,” he admitted. “But what about you? You look paler than I am!”

  “I haven’t been outside in a while. Listen, I have to speak to you, and I have to do it before the midwife spreads the rumor.”

  “The midwife? Soromeh, are you—”

  The doors opened with force, and soldiers entered the room.

  “What is the meaning of this?” shouted Damon, placing himself in front of Soro
meh. “The king never forbade my wife from visiting me!”

  “The king wants to see her,” answered one of them.

  “She won’t go without me.”

  Upon leaving the quarters, Soromeh caught Iram’s eye. She made a discreet head movement towards her own door. He nodded and went inside.

  The guards escorted Damon and her to the council meeting room. All the members stared openly. The midwife stood next to the king.

  “Damon, I did not call for you,” said the king. “But, since this concerns your wife, you are allowed to remain.”

  “Tell me what her charges are so I can disprove them once more,” he growled.

  “Lady Shiphrah told me Soromeh was pregnant.”

  “How is this a crime?”

  “It’s a crime if the child she bears is not yours, Damon.”

  “How dare you accuse my wife of adultery without any proof?” he shouted.

  “People talk. It is known that you did not share your wedding bed, did not go to her after your return of the war, and have been imprisoned in your own quarters since. The sentence for adultery is a public stoning.”

  “I am the only one who can demand such a punishment, and I refuse! If I claim this child, no one can oppose me!”

  “There’s another complication,” said the king. “The man who shares Soromeh’s quarters, the one I once caught sleeping next to her, the one who went with her to see the midwife, is her servant. He should be executed for touching the wife of a nobleman.”

  “Again, I’m the only one who can demand this!”

  “Damon, he’s Hebrew. Soromeh’s child has a Hebrew father.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “There’s a new law being currently applied that controls Hebrew birth rates. Male children have to be killed at birth. Soromeh may be your wife, but this does not exempt her from the law.”

  Soromeh placed a hand on her belly. She searched for something in her brother’s eyes and did not find it. He was not even looking at her. The other council members stared at her in disdain.

  Except the master scribe.

  Pamiu was looking at her, his brow furrowed, with determination.

  Soromeh suddenly understood. Naími had told her of her mission, of the demon she was tasked to find, of the plans he had to exterminate all Hebrew children to make sure a specific one never lived.

  Pamiu stared as if he also had realized something.

  “Damon,” she whispered to her husband, “I’m going to run.”

  “Your majesty, how dare you!” Damon yelled, louder. “This law is horrendous! My king, I was loyal to you, but I know now that you are a monster!”

  He jumped towards the king. All the soldiers threw themselves at him. Damon knocked out three of them but was eventually captured and fought back with all his strength and rage. Soromeh took advantage of everyone’s distraction to flee.

  She grabbed her skirt and ran through the hallways.

  “Cicero!” she called. “I need your help!”

  Hermes appeared at her side, floating and slightly glowing.

  “Little princess?” he asked.

  She blinked away her surprise and kept running. “The king ordered the death of my child, the master scribe wants to slice me open, I have guards after me, and I’m leaving this palace for good,” she panted. “What can you do to help?”

  “Nothing!” he said, frustrated. “I am not allowed to intervene!”

  “Can you give a message? Iram is in my quarters. Tell him to meet me at the stables!”

  “I am messenger to the gods. I don’t know if I can—”

  “I am the daughter of the king of Egypt, god amongst men!” she yelled.

  “That works.”

  He disappeared.

  Soromeh kept running. As long as the alert wasn’t given, she would be left alone. People barely raised their heads at her passage.

  She exited through a side door, ran through the luxurious greenery of the royal gardens, and hid by the low wall delimiting the soldiers training grounds, near the stables.

  There were many grooms working, brushing horses and cleaning chariots. She stayed by the wall and waited. After what seemed to be an eternity, Hermes appeared at her side once again.

  “He’s coming. I’ll tell him where you are. I can’t do more for you, little princess.”

  “I have escaped many times without your help, Cicero.”

  He hesitated, worried, and disappeared. Iram joined her a moment later, panting. He was carrying the travel bag.

  “Master Cicero can fly,” he said, incredulous.

  “It’s not really useful. He won’t help. Come, we’re going to steal a chariot.”

  The stables were not guarded. They managed to slip inside without being seen. Soromeh pulled Iram into an empty stall and closed the door. They watched the comings and goings through a crack in the wood.

  There was the familiar call of a trumpet.

  “Our reprieve is over,” she muttered. “Oh! The king’s war chariot, over there!”

  “The wheels are chained to the ground,” he noted. “And all that gold is not subtle.”

  “But he would be so mad… All right, spoilsport. Let’s take that other one.”

  “I only know how to drive ox carts. You?”

  “Camels and feluccas. We could still reach the docks—it’s not too late.”

  “We would be stopped by the river patrols. I think I can manage horses.”

  “It’s like an ox cart but faster, right?”

  They sneaked from stall to stall to reach the chariot. It looked solid and discreet. Soromeh pushed it in the central space while Iram got two horses. He was almost done harnessing the second when a voice interrupted them.

  “Oi, you there! Do you have permission to take a chariot?”

  “My orders come from high up,” said Iram, showing off his royal servant bracelet.

  The groom hesitated. Iram got in, next to Soromeh, and handed her the bag.

  “Huh, aren’t you the princess?” asked the groom. “Or the one who was a princess. I don’t know anymore. I thought they were looking for you? They just sounded the alarm…”

  “Hang on,” muttered Iram.

  He cracked the whip. The horses took off in a thunder of hooves. The groom jumped to the side to avoid being crushed. They burst from the stables to a chorus of shouts.

  Iram held on with one hand and pulled the reins with the other. The horses ran at top speed, people rushed out of their way, and guards yelled. Behind them was the Nile. In front, the palace.

  “Where do we go?” shouted Iram. “I don’t know if I’ll manage to turn!”

  “Take a left! No, wait! Go there!”

  She was pointing at the palace back doors. A group of guards were marching Damon to the royal prison. His skin was covered in bruises and his hands were tied in front of him.

  “Charge!” she yelled.

  Iram cracked the whip once more. The guards were taken by surprise and threw themselves out of the way. Damon avoided the horses, twisted out of the soldiers’ grip, grabbed the chariot with his tied hands, and jumped in, all in one fluid movement. He took the reins from Iram and regained control of the chariot. Soromeh and Iram grabbed him by the waist to keep him on board.

  “Go over there!” she shouted. “The delivery entrance!”

  “Through the palace?” shouted back Damon. “Is it wide enough?”

  “If a whole roasted hippo can enter, so can we!”

  Damon changed directions and took the delivery ramp, entering the palace through a large archway. It was barely high enough, they had to crouch under the ceiling lamps. Servants yelled and ran out the many adjacent doors. Damon had to slow down a bit, for the corridor ended with a solid wall, and they wouldn’t be able to turn back.

  “Any ideas?” he asked.

  “There, to your right, between the columns!” said Soromeh. “It’s the throne room!”

  Damon winced. They were still goi
ng too fast to make it easy. He clenched his teeth and took the turn, managing to get the horses through the archway. The chariot hit a column, and Iram let out a shout of pain.