by Candy Crum
The Pharaoh and his Queen were kind and just, though you would never know that by looking in a history book. My fellow servants and I never received harsh punishment as a terrible form of what those in power grossly considered “motivation.” We were simply expected to perform well, or our station would be changed until we did. We were well fed and praised for our work and dedication. Never harmed for mistakes. To make a mistake was human, and it was forgiven—as it should be. From what I saw in the empires that rose and fell afterward, that kind of treatment was not the norm.
Humans haven’t changed much over the years, only their methods have. As I’ve aged and gained wisdom, I have become more motherly. Humans, Werewolves, even the Immortals—as long as they show compassion for those that are different than them—whatever they may be, I find myself wanting to care for them and be responsible for them. My mother was the same way, though she didn’t live long enough to see me become what I am. A Vampire. A Queen. She did not live to see the cataclysm that spawned from her death, and mine soon after. This is something to be grateful for, though I believe she would have been proud of me.
I find myself releasing a heavy sigh as I write this. My heart is heavy thinking of my mother. Perhaps yours will be as you read of her kindness and love for those around her. Maybe she was like your own mother, or someone you thought of as a mother. Finally, I have gathered the courage to tell my story, her story. The world will never recall her having existed. Not the real Nefertari, true Queen of Egypt.
The history books have no record of our existence, as it was completely stricken and then rewritten. It had to be so we could cover the existence of the shadow world and protect the humans and protect ourselves. Even then, not everyone completely took to the compulsion, to the magic. Legends of our existence passed through the generations, but were lost down the road as myth. Fairy tale.
This is my journey. My memoirs.
The Egyptian deserts are both beautiful and dangerous. In some places, the heat rises and scorches everything that it touches. The rolling sand dunes in the distance are magical to look at, but can wreak havoc in the wind. The days are intense and the nights are frigid, making the desert an unbearable place for some of those who visit, but to a native, it is home. The River Nile gives life, and we built our villages, cities, and empires on its shores.
Pharaoh Amenhotep built his kingdom north of Thebes in the Eastern desert. It was a prosperous kingdom, as the Pharaoh had spent much time growing the trade into and out of Egypt. He took pride in being able to feed his people, but they had to work hard for what they had. Nothing was simply given.
The Nile wasn’t far away, but it was far enough that it was quite a trip in the hot sun. In fact, it was on a secluded section of the shore of that very river that I took my first breath. In the company of a midwife, and two of her most trusted servants, my mother gave birth to me. It was early morning, as she told it, and the sun was only beginning to kiss the top of the sand dunes in the distance. The heat would be unbearable soon, as the days in Egypt usually were, and my mother prayed to the gods that labor would move swiftly.
In the wee hours, just before the sun had fully risen, my mother gave birth to a girl that she said was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. I had her darker olive skin and her obsidian hair, but green eyes that was very unique to a native Egyptian at that time. It turns out that I inherited much more from her than only my looks. A fact, of which, I have always been proud.
“Queen Nefertari, what will you call her?” Nephthys, the midwife, asked.
My mother, Nefertari, smiled. “She will have a name unlike any other. I will call her Khanae.”
“It is as beautiful as she is, my Queen. Feed her while you have the chance. Once you have finished, we must take her. Soon, the villagers will come to collect water. We cannot allow you to be seen with the child. The people believe you have been ill for months. They must believe Ipy is the mother. Those were the Pharaoh’s wishes,” Ahset, one of my mother’s servants, had said.
My mother told me that the tears she wept right then should have overflowed the river. In those days, and for many, many years after, if a woman gave birth to a child that was not her husband’s, she was killed. The Pharaoh, as I mentioned earlier, was not that kind of man.
My mother’s indiscretion was considered a great mistake. He loved her like any woman deserves to be loved. Not only was he kind and patient to his people, but he was even more so to his beloved wife. She was a wonderful queen, and one that was respected by the people.
The Pharaoh couldn’t bear the thought of bringing harm to her. This included shunning her, or even allowing the public to know. He knew they would only judge her, and she knew they would judge him as well. He would be seen as weak. Together, they decided to protect their family and their thrones.
He decided that she would carry me, and I would be born, but in private. I was to be raised by the servants, as a servant. My station was to be with the Queen. We were never to be parted. The Pharaoh would never place me in the harem, and I would never be sold off. The only stipulation was that the secret never be told.
In the public eye, I was a slave girl. Never a daughter.
Behind closed doors, however, my mother would breast feed me as a baby. She would bathe me and kiss my face. She would sing to me, and the Pharaoh even allowed her to sleep next to me. As I got older, she would brush my long black hair, dress me in the finest jewels and clothing—for private show only, of course—and she would take meals with me. I always brought extra when I served her meals.
Alone with my mother and the women she trusted most, I had the life of a princess. Outside, I was no better than the common villager. One would think it was a terrible way to raise a child, but to me, it was wonderful. At that time, it allowed me to be with my mother instead of being sent to a village to be raised by a stranger. So, instead of being hurt by it, I was grateful for what I did have. It is because of living both sides that I grew to appreciate the hardships of those under the Pharaoh’s rule, but I also saw what it was like to have extreme wealth and power. Even as a child, I didn’t care much for it. Riches didn’t interest me.
As wonderful as my life was in my eyes, accepting it as normal was all done by habit. Repetitive training. In my five-year-old brain, some things didn’t make sense. I knew that my mother was indeed my mother, but I was trained to call her Queen. I knew that the Pharaoh was not my father, but he treated me like a daughter. I never learned who my biological father was.
It wasn’t until I was older that I learned that my mother’s “indiscretion” had been more the effects of alcohol and opium—which was common-use then—combined with a rotten servant who took liberties with the Queen against her wishes in hopes of rising in rank. My mother said that she’d been hurt so that he may leverage a position out of her as a warrior instead of a servant. He blackmailed her for a more respected position.
Unfortunately for him, my mother was a very honest woman and told her husband what happened, and what the man had asked for. My mother never divulged to me what happened to him, but I always suspected that it wasn’t anything close to what he’d asked for. Just because the Pharaoh had been understanding and compassionate to my mother, didn’t mean that he would be forgiving to the man that had assaulted her while partially unconscious.
My earliest years, up to the age of five, I spent time with many women that served in the kingdom. I played with royal cousins and, essentially, what would be considered step-siblings in the harem. They had no idea who I was to them. Though, I suppose that it didn’t matter much. I had so much fun.
During the day, I learned to be a servant. Even less than five years old, I was taught strict discipline. I was given ample time to play and be a child, but I was also taught how to cook basic things, how to wash clothing, and how to fetch water, though I was too small to ever carry it back on my own at that time. Anything that I was tall enough to reach or strong enough to lift, I was taught to use and employ as a t
ool.
During the nights, my mother taught me nobility. She taught me how to speak properly. How to read. How to write. I was terrible at it, but I did love to try. I even learned some things about imports and exports, though I was too young to understand most of it. She taught me to walk tall, even as a small girl, and how to move with confidence.
“Never allow anyone to force you to look down. You may bow your head as a sign of loyalty. There is no shame in that. But do not ever allow anyone to force you to submit. You are strong. You are smart. You are beautiful. Believe me when I say, a beautiful woman with strength and intelligence is a true force to be feared. No one can stand in her way. No man can cage her. Maybe her body, but never her spirit.”
I’ll never forget that as long as I live. I was only five years old on that day, but those words stuck with me. I believed them with all I had. But as a child usually does, I had my own ideas.
“I will never be weak. One day, I will be strong enough that no one, not even their army, can cage me.”
My mother smiled at me like a mother does upon hearing her child’s wild fantasies. She touched the side of my face and kissed my forehead.
“Then you will be a queen that no one can touch. A true warrior for your people.”
Looking back, that conversation gives me chills. Neither one of us knew just what a pivotal moment that had been or what it would lead to. It was that same night that my mother held me in her arms and told me that she was pregnant. I would have a little sibling. Of course, the Pharaoh wanted a son, but it would be a long while before we knew what sex the baby would be. It didn’t matter to me. I was just happy to see my mother so happy. She loved being a mother. Even though I knew the new baby would be their legitimate child and would be welcomed by the kingdom as such, I was still excited.
There was no way for me to know just how much my life was about to change.
Chapter One
For nine months, I watched my mother’s belly grow. Every day she grew more and more beautiful. I was so very grateful that I got to see my little baby sibling develop as he or she did. It seemed like forever to someone like me, an impatient child that wanted the baby right away. Then, finally, just two months after my sixth birthday, a beautiful baby girl was born.
It hurts to speak her name. Soon enough, you will understand why. So, for now, to keep whoever may read this from making any assumptions based on what they may know about my life and my beginnings, I will simply call her, Ineni, after one of the many queens of Egypt.
Ineni was born with beautiful black hair as soft as silk, and that flawless darker skin that we Egyptians were blessed with. Her eyes, unlike mine, were a deep chocolaty brown. She was perfect, and I loved her from the moment that I laid eyes on her.
“She is yours as much as she is mine to protect, you know,” my mother, Nefertari, said to me. Her smile was so pure. She was filled with so much happiness right then. “We are a family, my sweet Khanae. You are sisters. You must always stick together. You must always protect one another.”
“I love her,” I said as I gently ran my hand across her little fuzzy head. “I will always protect her.”
She smiled again. “I know you will. And when you are with her, you must always remind her of the things I will teach both of you. There will come a time when she will listen to you more than me. It happens with all younger siblings. You have been alone this whole time, and I have been all you have come to depend on. You listen to me because I am your rock. She will have you as a barrier between us, and she will use it. I promise. Being the older sibling is a great responsibility, and I will need you to be my rock in return. Can you do that for me?”
I remember kissing little Ineni’s face then and telling my mother that I would do anything that she asked of me. I’d meant it. Some promises, however, are quite difficult to keep!
As Ineni grew, we became fast friends. She was trained, just as I had been. She was taught that in public, I was her servant. In private, however, she was more than welcome to hug me, kiss me, or tell me that she loved me. She was free to call me sister. My love for her grew every day, and I loved the short moments that I got to hear her call me sister. It was a high position, as far as I was concerned, and one that I took seriously.
One day, I was sent to the river to gather water. I remember that day well, as I do most. That day in particular, though, opened me up to a world that I wasn’t quite sure that I believed in. As an Egyptian, we were taught about the gods. We built obelisks out of respect for them, and had temples built in their honor. By the age of twelve, I had a great knowledge of them, but I didn’t trust them.
In my eyes, I couldn’t understand how the gods could allow my mother to be assaulted by a man and then force her to go through a pregnancy with a child she would never fully be able to embrace. Then force that child to live a life as her mother’s servant, instead of allowing her the luxuries that other children had with their own mothers. Even the children that grew up poor were still able to hold their mother in public. I could not. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in the gods…
I just hated them.
I believed they existed. I’d heard enough stories to believe in their existence—but I hated them. As long as I respected them, I figured that I didn’t have to like them much. Just don’t make them angry, and all will be well. Things wouldn’t get worse.
All of that went through my mind on that day traveling to the river. It was a long walk, and one that I would make alone. I had quite a bit of time to think on the way there. Just as I had as a smaller child, I was grateful for the life I’d been given. It could have been so much worse, or never have existed at all. But like most would, I suppose, I still had moments of weakness. There were times when I was bitter about my limitations. My six-year-old sister had the world at her feet. I didn’t care about all that. I only wanted my mother. Our mother.
The desert was particularly hot that day, and the sand burned my feet and ankles as I walked. More than anything, I just wished that I could have had someone to talk to during my journey. I wasn’t even able to take a horse. I had to go on foot. That was not by the order of my mother, I should point out. But of Ipy, the woman that posed as my birth mother to the public.
When I reached the Nile, I dipped my feet in the water. It was so cool and felt so wonderful against my hot skin. I stood there, looking across the river and watching the waves of heat rise off the sand. It must have been just over a hundred degrees that day. My first priority upon arriving was cooling myself, but it quickly dissipated as the thirst set in.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead and leaned over to get a drink, but I was struck with dizziness because of the abrupt change in position. I slipped, falling hard and hitting my head on a rock that rested just at the river’s edge. I immediately fell unconscious—the moving water flipping me over onto my stomach. While unconscious, I had no way of knowing that my face was also down in the water. I was drowning.
While blacked out, my eyes opened elsewhere. I was surrounded in pitch darkness, with only the subtlest of ambient light. I had to focus my eyes hard as I looked around, trying to find my way. There was nothing around me. No sign of where I was, or what I was seeing. I could find no one.
“Hello?” I said.
There was nothing to respond to me. I felt around for what seemed like several minutes. I could hear the sounds of my own breath, and I could see it coming from my mouth in little puffs. It had suddenly grown very cold wherever I was.
“Hello, girl,” a voice said. It was deep, dark. A growl accompanied each of the words as if they scratched their way out of his chest. There was a bone-shaking chill that came with it.
Fear raced through me, and my breath quickened as I looked around in an attempt to find something, anything that would allow me to escape.
“Are you afraid?” he asked. I couldn’t answer. I became frozen as I realized the voice was closer. “You need not answer. I can smell it.”
Dear gods, I thought
to myself. Please… Please save me.
There was a laugh then that echoed against whatever walls we stood within. I had never felt a tremble in my life quite like that.
“You pray now, but not long ago, while on your way to the River Nile, you cursed us?”
My eyes widened, and my jaw dropped. Chills raced through me, raising goosebumps on my skin as he came into view.
“Anubis.” It was all I could manage to say when I saw him.
The Egyptian god of death himself. I dropped to my knees and bowed my head. As I mentioned earlier. I didn’t have to like them to show respect.
Tears fell down my cheeks. I knew that I’d fallen, but I had no idea of what happened to me after that. If I stood there with Anubis, however, it was pretty obvious.
“Relax, girl,” he said. “Rise. Your time is not yet, but soon will be if you do not heed my warning.”
I dared to look up. Anubis stood there, his full form towering over me. I was just under five feet tall at that age and down on my knees. At his full height, he was well over seven feet tall. Maybe over eight. It was hard for me to judge right then.
Slowly, I stood, terrified of what he may do if I moved too quickly.
“W-warning?” I asked, my voice trembling.
His eyes were coal black. He looked like a hybrid between a Doberman and Great Dane. His shiny fur was the same color as what we would now call a “blue” in dog coat coloring—though I must add, that this would change over the centuries—and his obsidian eyes seemed to swallow and even radiate darkness. Only the ambient light gave away their location. His ears were tall, his shoulders broad, his legs full and powerful. His hard, lean musculature was obvious, even under the thick coat of short fur. Looking at him then, I could not deny his beauty, his otherworldly presence.
