by S.A. Bodeen
Kiva cleaned up the plate and straightened the things on the shelves. She righted a vase with blooming white narcissus flowers she’d picked that morning and set it back on the table. Her stomach growled and she grabbed a handful of dates. She knew it was selfish to hope that her mother would go to the market and bring home a chunk of fish. Sabra was late and probably had far too much to manage in the palace to worry about Kiva’s favorite meal. Childish, she supposed, to be searching for comfort after the day she’d had.
The cat jumped onto the large blue-striped cushion near the window. Kiva plopped down, snuggling Sasha in her lap as she stroked her sleek fur. Seth had always loved the cat.
Kiva groaned.
Again, the moment her mind had time to wander, who did she think about?
But it was hard not to think about Seth after seeing him. At one time, he’d spent more hours in Kiva’s home than his own. He told her the palace was too big and he liked the smaller houses better. His mother, Nell, had been close to Sabra. Best friends, in fact, and the children often had sleepovers. Never at the palace, which was fine with Seth.
Kiva didn’t mind. She only wanted to be with her best friend, she didn’t care where.
Then, about four months before Kiva turned twelve, Nell became ill. Kiva’s twelfth birthday was the last time she saw her. Kiva insisted on wearing her new blue sheath that day, even though it was slightly too big and the straps kept slipping from her shoulders. She also convinced her mother to line her eyes with kohl and rub ochre on her lips.
Sabra had invited Fai as well. That day, Nell looked beautiful and healthy. But the adults spoke unfamiliar words in hushed tones when they thought the children weren’t listening.
Kiva asked Seth, “Is something wrong with your mother?”
His hair was shaved but for a side-lock, which he tugged. “She’s sick.”
“But she looks fine.”
Worry showed in his face. “She stays in her room a lot. I only see her a little each morning.”
Kiva touched his arm. “Maybe she’ll feel better soon.”
“Maybe.” He reached into the waist of his shendyt and held out a small package wrapped in a slightly crooked palm-frond bow. “Happy birthday, Keeves.”
“But your parents already gave me—”
“I know,” he interrupted. “This is from me.”
Kiva undid the stiff makeshift ribbon. The palm fronds fell apart, revealing a bracelet woven from bright red linen, a delicate trail of white chevrons lining the edges. She smiled. “It’s beautiful.”
Seth shook his head. “It’s just a small thing. I made it, but the pattern got a little crooked on that end and—”
Kiva squeezed his hand. “It’s perfect. I love it.” She held it out. “Put it on me?”
Seth concentrated so hard on tying the bracelet that he stuck his tongue out.
Kiva grinned.
He frowned. “Too tight?”
“No.” She circled her wrist in the air. “Just right. Thank you.” She leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek. Her lips left a red smear, which she tried to wipe off with a finger. “Sorry.”
“You’re pretty without it.” Seth’s gaze dropped to her arm, where one of her straps had fallen. He slid it back up, and his finger lingered on her shoulder.
“Kids,” Sabra called. “Time to eat.”
Less than a month later, Nell was gone.
The school closed down for a week, and Seth was absent after it reopened, which seemed only natural. He’d lost his mother.
But he didn’t return.
The others grew used to his empty seat next to Kiva’s at the long classroom table.
Kiva could not.
Seth’s scroll remained there, next to hers. One day she came to school and it was gone. “Where is it?” she cried.
“We moved it out of the way.” Ada pointed to the side table.
“Don’t ever touch it!” Kiva moved the scroll back to Seth’s place.
When they came back after summer break that year, the scroll was gone.
She didn’t ask where it went.
Because that might make it seem like she cared. And she didn’t want anyone to know that she still did, because by then, she hadn’t seen or spoken to her best friend for over a year.
Only a fool would keep hoping after that much time had passed.
Occasionally she saw Seth at community celebrations and state dinners that she was forced to attend with her mother. The first time, she had been excited, waving at him to try to get his attention.
But he didn’t wave back, even though she was certain he noticed her.
The next time, she didn’t bother to wave. Fortunately, there were often many people, and it was easy to sit at opposite ends of the massive table.
In all that time, they hadn’t come face-to-face.
Until today. The day the earth shook for the first time Kiva could ever remember. “It’s a sign, Sasha.” Kiva tapped the cat’s warm pink nose. “A big sign.”
She kept busy as she waited for her mother to come home. Finally, near sunset, the door creaked open.
“Kiva?”
Kiva pushed the cat off her lap and stood. “Mom?”
“Oh, I was so worried.” Sabra embraced Kiva, holding her far longer than usual. “Are you all right?”
Kiva nodded. “I was with Fai. We hid under the table.”
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. The palace was a mess and—” Her mother sounded odd. The day had been a strain for everyone, but there was something else. Sabra sat on the cushion and stroked the cat.
Kiva’s shoulders tensed.
Her mother was not a fan of Sasha. In fact, she never touched the cat except to boot her outside when she bestowed one of her rodent gifts upon them.
So she asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I have news.” Sabra patted the cushion next to her.
Kiva sat down, not taking her gaze away from her mother’s. “It’s bad?”
“Well, it’s…” Sabra let out a long breath. “Yes. The worst.”
Her mother seemed more anxious than stricken. Sabra put an arm around Kiva’s shoulders. “I need you to be brave.”
Kiva’s hands balled into fists. “Tell me.”
“The earthquake caused … damage at the palace.”
“Was anyone hurt?” She didn’t understand why her mother wasn’t just telling her.
Sabra nodded.
“Bad?”
Sabra took a deep breath and blew it out. “Seth was killed.”
Kiva drew back. “What?”
“I’m so sorry.” Sabra set a hand on Kiva’s face. “I know how close you were and—”
“No.” Kiva shook off her mother’s arm and stood up.
“I know it’s hard to hear, but he didn’t suffer and—”
“No!” Kiva’s face grew hot and her hands clenched once more. “I mean we’re not close anymore, we’re not even friends, and I never wanted to see him again anyway. This makes it that much easier!” Kiva took a big gulp of air that turned into a sob on its way back out.
Sabra swept her into her arms.
Tears filled Kiva’s eyes. An invisible hand clutched her insides, making it impossible to breathe.
Why did it have to happen today?
She had just seen Seth again, after so long. She was so close to being able to not care about him anymore. And now … she couldn’t help it.
Finally, between sobs, she said, “I missed him … so much…” She shuddered. “Today … I thought … he came back … to be my friend.” She broke down again, unable to finish.
But he didn’t want to be her friend. And even if he did change his mind, it doesn’t matter. He’s gone forever.
Sabra stroked Kiva’s hair. “It’ll be all right.”
“No it won’t,” she muttered into her mother’s shoulder.
“Just give it time and you’ll see. It’s not as bad as you think.”
“How can you sa
y that?” Kiva wiped her face on her sleeve and sat up, staring at her mother. “He’s dead.”
Sabra looked down.
Kiva didn’t understand. She didn’t want to. “I’m going for a walk.”
“You should eat, sweetheart.”
“I want to be alone.”
Outside, Kiva sprinted along the riverbank, parallel to the crimson setting sun. A group of voices rose, panicked by the aftermath of the shaking. She paused at the shadowed edge of a dwelling and crept forward, panting, hands on the rough bricks.
She listened.
“There’s destruction all over.”
“There’s never been a quake before.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
She waited for someone to mention the prince’s death.
No one seemed to be aware of it yet.
She wished she wasn’t.
Kiva ran farther along the river, stopping at a bend beyond the cluster of houses. There, she knelt beside a clump of reeds, out of sight from anyone coming from that direction, and caught her breath.
She didn’t think she could miss Seth any more than she already did, but this was worse. This was so final.
At least, for the past three years, there had been some optimism.
Even after today, with her anger and subsequent decision not to care, there always had to be a tiny sliver of faith that he would come to his senses.
But now?
All hope died along with the prince.
Kiva’s throat grew thick, her eyes warm, and she began to cry again.
She couldn’t believe he was gone. Had he thought of her before the end? Maybe he even wished he had said more to her that afternoon. Been nicer.
Been her friend again.
“No.” She didn’t like picturing his last moments being filled with regrets.
Even though she’d been mad at Seth for a long time, and he hadn’t been the best friend to her, she wanted his last moments to be full of peace and good memories of his life.
At least he didn’t have to miss his mother anymore.
She sniffled.
Where was Seth at that very moment?
Probably in a quiet, candlelit room in the palace.
The palace priest, Natron, would have been called in as the chief embalmer. She pictured him wearing the jackal head of the god Anubis as he regarded the prince’s body.
She wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
The process was nothing new to her; she’d been pretending to make mummies since she was a child, Seth often her willing play victim.
The memory brought a wan smile to her face.
First, there would be an epic battle in which the prince would meet a fitting heroic and dramatic end. Kiva would then arrange his body as she assumed the role of priest and chief embalmer.
But somewhere, that very moment, Seth was not pretending.
This time, his end was real.
Still, it hurt less to focus on the anatomical aspect: the concrete skin and bones that remained, rather than the weightless, abstract mind and soul that did not.
Natron would insert a hook through a hole near the nose and pull out part of the brain. Then he would use a flint knife to cut on the left side of the body near the stomach, and all the contents of the abdomen would be removed. The priest would then wash the cavity a first time using palm wine, a second with various spices. Then the body, Seth’s body, would be filled with pure myrrh, cassia, and other aromatics.
The lungs, intestines, stomach, and liver would be sealed in canopic jars carved from limestone. But the heart …
Seth’s heart would be placed back inside his body.
Perhaps, at that very moment, Natron held the prince’s heart in his hands.
Kiva’s face crumpled and more tears leaked out.
Thinking about Seth’s heart hurt her own far too much.
“Be a doctor.” Kiva spoke the words aloud and rocked back and forth as she rubbed the rough edge of her broken nail. “Focus. What comes next?”
After rinsing the insides of Seth’s body with wine and spices—the most precious, befitting his royal stature—Natron would cover the corpse for at least forty days. After about seventy, the body would be wrapped in linen strips and placed in a wooden sarcophagus inside the burial chamber.
The tomb.
Some of them were huge.
The Seth she knew, her best friend, wouldn’t have liked that. If he found the palace to be echoing and lonely, imagine how he would find a massive tomb for all eternity.
But he wouldn’t even know he was in a tomb, he wouldn’t have a chance to be lonely.
The loneliness would dwell with her, because she was the one left behind.
Kiva hugged her knees to her chest.
In the time she’d been sitting at the shore, night had fallen. Lights twinkled from the small homes along the river. She couldn’t stay there forever.
* * *
When Kiva returned home she crept in the window and lay down on her bed. She would go back out later and enter through the front. Sabra meant well, but Kiva didn’t feel like talking.
Voices came from the front of the house.
Her mother.
And who else?
She didn’t care to listen.
Until her mother’s voice rose. “Who decided this?”
Kiva opened the door a crack.
Fai was speaking. “We didn’t expect it to happen this way. But our hands are forced.”
What were they talking about?
“Fai, I don’t understand why this is the only way. Seth is already gone.”
Fai cleared her throat. “He can’t go alone. You of all people should know that.”
“Fai, you know it could easily be one of us, one of the adults. Is this the right thing to do?”
“This is the only way. It will satisfy—”
“Who?” demanded Sabra. “Who will it satisfy?”
“You know who! The ones that will cause trouble if Seth is not accompanied. The dissenters demanded this.”
Kiva frowned.
Seth was dead. Why did anyone need to be sent with him?
Kiva sucked in a breath. Did they mean a retainer sacrifice?
Some believed that royals must be accompanied into the afterlife by servants to care for them. Kiva heard stories about the practice, but no royal had ever been entombed in her lifetime. Seth’s mother’s mummy was in a family crypt, awaiting the Pharaoh’s death.
Kiva had never seen a sacrifice, and until now she didn’t believe it to be something that actually occurred.
“But a child?” Kiva’s mother was talking once again. “Why must it be a child?”
Kiva exhaled. If the retainer sacrifice was going to be a child, then it had to be someone she knew.
She braced herself as she ran through the list of people she cared for. Ada, Rem, Rom: she’d feel terrible if it was any of them. Anyone else, of course she’d feel bad for them and their family.
The whole idea was too awful to even consider.
Sabra asked Fai, “Tell me the truth. Are you part of it?”
“I argued with them for hours. You know that!”
“It could be anyone else.” Sabra sniffled.
Was her mother crying? She didn’t know when she’d last seen her mother cry. The day had been hard on everyone, and maybe her more than most.
“Sabra.” Fai’s tone was quiet, comforting. “I care for her as much as you do.”
Kiva froze.
“But in the end, she’s my child.” Sabra sobbed. “Kiva is mine.”
Oh Gods, thought Kiva. It’s me.
She closed the door and leaned back against it.
The sacrifice is me. Her legs gave out and she slid to the floor.
“No. I won’t do it,” she whispered.
But why was she chosen?
Was it because she and Seth had been close? Had the Pharaoh made the final decision in his shock and grief? She was Sabra’s daughter—surely it
meant something to spare the child of someone so important to the royal family.
Kiva longed to burst into her mother and Fai’s conversation and beg them to find another solution. But she couldn’t let them know she’d heard.
Quickly, she rose and slipped out the window. She thought about drying her tears, but realized they would attribute her sadness to Seth.
She walked to the front and pushed the door open.
The two women froze when they saw her. Sabra’s face was tear-stained, her eyes red.
Kiva shut the door behind her. “Sorry I was so long.”
Her mother forced a small smile. “Are you hungry?”
Kiva caught her breath. Her mother had just been discussing her death, and she wanted Kiva to eat?
Food was not a priority for Kiva. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
Sabra stood and gave her a long hug. Too long for a simple goodnight.
That hug was definitely of the sorry-you-are-going-to-be-sacrificed nature.
Fai called, “Good night, dear.”
But Kiva couldn’t even look at her.
In her room, she shut the door and fell into bed.
She was heartbroken over Seth, and sorry that he was gone. But she did not intend to go with him.
Kiva needed a plan.
Fortunately, the traditions and protocols of entombment would give her roughly seventy days to make one.
3
Kiva woke and jerked upright. Sasha lay curled at her feet.
Events of the previous day rushed back.
Seth at school.
The earthquake.
Seth dead.
And she was to accompany him.
As a sacrifice.
But she had to act normal, not let on that she knew. There was plenty of time to come up with an escape plan.
Kiva slipped out of bed and padded into the main room.
Sabra sat at the table, sipping tea. Her eyes were red. “Good morning.”
Kiva sat down across from her, hands clasped together on the table. “You’re not at the palace.”
“No work today.”
“Because of the earthquake yesterday?”
“No. Sweetheart…” Sabra set a hand on Kiva’s. “The earthquake was the day the prince died.”
