by Scott Peters
This was it. She’d be wearing his amulet; he’d have to take it from her. He’d have to. He couldn’t just stand there and watch her wearing it. He wouldn’t.
His knuckles turned white as he clenched the basket and entered.
The family lounged on plush cushions around a low table with carved legs. A vase of blue cornflowers and yellow chrysanthemums from the garden brightened the room. As usual, Sepi colored at the sight of Ramses playing servant. He struggled up from his seat, slamming his knees and spilling a cup of wine.
"Sweetness, how many times do I have to tell you? Sit down!" Aunt Zalika said. "Now hurry up Ramses, we’re trying to have a nice family dinner."
He turned slowly to face her, afraid of what he’d do when he saw the amulet around her wiry neck.
But it wasn’t there.
So where was it?
Ramses shot Sepi a questioning look, but his cousin turned away.
"Don’t just stand there," Uncle Hay said. "Bring the bread over!"
Ramses, stone-faced, stuck out his arm. Uncle Hay’s pudgy fists raided the basket. He grabbed six hunks—three in each hand.
"Enough, Hay," Aunt Zalika said. "Your teeth are wearing away into ugly little stumps."
Ramses stifled a snort of laughter. For once, he felt glad it was impossible to sift sand out of ground wheat. It would serve Uncle Hay right if he got a toothache from all that gritty bread.
"Don’t give me that grumpy face, boy," Uncle Hay said. "You act as if you’re the only one doing any work around here. I’d like a little respect. I spent the whole day slaving to keep this place in shape." He glanced at Aunt Zalika. "It’s hard work, this farm business," he said and tried to flex his flabby arms.
"You look ridiculous," Aunt Zalika said.
Uncle Hay’s arms plopped against his sides.
Suddenly Sepi spoke in a harsh tone. "You haven’t offered me bread, cousin." Everyone turned to stare. "Bring it. Now."
A smile curled the corners of Aunt Zalika’s thin mouth. "Well then."
Ramses walked stiffly to Sepi’s side.
"Lower," Sepi said. "Do you want me to stand? Don’t you know I’m a cripple?"
"Of course I know," Ramses muttered.
"My darling is hungry?" Aunt Zalika asked with delight.
"I need to get strong for when my drawing tutor arrives, don’t I?" Sepi took a slice. "Wait." He wiped his mouth with his napkin. "This is filthy," he said. "Bring me a new one." He shoved the napkin at Ramses.
"Don’t stare at me. Go!"
Chapter Twenty
Seated on her cushion across the dining room table, Aunt Zalika laughed.
Ramses’ arm shook with growing fury. His fingers tightened around the napkin. Then he felt something hard inside the folds of fabric. Something hard and small. He met his cousin’s eyes, and for an instant Sepi’s flickered with delight.
A warm feeling flooded Ramses chest. He should’ve known he could depend on Sepi to keep the amulet safe.
"Did you hear me?" Sepi asked.
"Well, well, listen to you!" Aunt Zalika said. "Looking so strong."
"Why are you waiting?" Sepi cried. "I want a clean one, now!"
Aunt Zalika smiled at Ramses in triumph.
Ramses bowed low. "Cousin," he said, watching his aunt’s smile begin to fade. "I am so grateful for the opportunity to bring you a fresh one. More bread, Uncle?"
Aunt Zalika snatched the basket. "No, now get out!"
"As you wish."
He darted into the hall and pumped his fist in triumph.
Happiness surged through him as he unfolded the napkin and touched Neferet’s amulet. At the sight of the goddess’s face, he remembered Neferet grinning with her mud-stained cheeks. He could still hear her laugh, could still see her bright eyes.
He just had to get to that exam.
He just had to win.
Suddenly he knew practicing in the sand wasn’t good enough. He’d have to find a better way. His thoughts drifted to the freshly whitewashed shed. Maybe Uncle Hay’s undertaking wasn’t completely useless after all. He had a great idea.
Until he tried it, he wasn't sure it would work. For now, he decided to keep it to himself. He tucked the amulet into his tunic and started down the passage. He could still hardly believe it was safe! When Hebony and Sobek asked what he was grinning about, Ramses opened his mouth, unsure what to say.
"He's happy because we're ahead in the harvest," Sobek said.
"Yes, I'm definitely glad about that," Ramses said, relieved he could speak true.
Hebony seemed contented Ramses didn’t say it was because of the apprenticeship.
Darkness had long since fallen when he was finally able to leave the kitchen. He made his way across the courtyard and shoved open the door to the old animal stall that was his windowless cell. As usual, the smell of manure lingered like a curse. That, combined with the still sour smell of his rushes, made him groan.
He hurried inside, tripped over something, and landed in a sprawl.
"Ow!" came a voice. "That was my leg."
"Sepi?" Ramses whispered. "What are you doing in here?"
"That’s how you greet your best friend?" Sepi said. "Some host you are."
Ramses grinned. "Shh, you’ll get us both in trouble."
"Don’t be such a scaredy-cat." Sepi flopped back on the straw. "You might think about changing this stuff once in awhile. Or does it always smell like this?"
Ramses gave up and reached for his lamp. "Look, you can’t stay here!" He lit it, using the oil he’d managed to save up—which wasn’t much. The walls flickered and bobbed to life.
On the straw, Sepi crossed his thin arms behind his head. "So let me get this straight," he said. "The girl who gave you that amulet—what’s her name?"
"Neferet."
"Yes, Neferet. Her father’s the most important man in the Place of Truth, right?"
"So?"
"So, problem solved. Get the papyrus from her. She must have piles of it."
"I can’t."
"Why not?"
"Just—" Ramses rubbed his forehead. "Forget it. It’s too hard to explain."
"Why?"
He grabbed a fistful of straw and groaned. "Only because I let her think I’m some rich farmer who goes around in gilt-edged kilts. That’s all. Nothing major."
"Oh. I see. Not good."
Ramses rolled his eyes. "Great. That makes me feel a lot better." He let the straw drift to the floor. "You know what? What if I’m wrong? I bet I’m wrong. I bet she’s not like that. I bet she wouldn’t care. I’m going to find her. I’m going to find her and tell her the truth!"
"Whoa! Whoa, whoa," Sepi said. "Stop! Are you crazy?"
"What?"
"You can’t tell her that!"
"Do you think?"
"Of course I think. Come on, she’s daughter to the Scribe of the Place of Truth. You can’t tell her. Ever!"
"Ever? What if I get in?"
"Deal with that later. Right now, don’t even think about it."
"Well then how am I supposed to—"
"Hold on." Sepi straightened up, staring at the muddy object draped across a battered wooden chest. "Is that my tunic?"
"Um . . . yeah?"
"Please say you're lying. That isn't really my favorite tunic? Is it?"
"Yes . . . yeah. Sorry."
Sepi looked skyward. "Tell me you had good reason for this abuse."
"It made a great rope?"
"It what?"
"Listen." Ramses yanked open the lid of his trunk, "I can’t talk now! I have to go." He pulled out his secret collection of lamp wicks. There were five: at an hour each, they’d give him five hours of lamplight.
"Where? It’s the middle of the night."
Ramses bundled up the wicks and jar of lamp oil, blew out the lamp and wrapped that up too. "To work on my design. Out on the plough shed."
"On some shed? How do you draw on a shed?"
"Charcoal from
the stove. The building is freshly whitewashed. I have to go."
"I get the picture, I’m leaving. But don’t be an idiot." Sepi grabbed Ramses arm. "Don’t forget to be back before the farm wakes up."
"Do you think I’m crazy?"
"Definitely."
Chapter Twenty-One
Ramses waited until Sepi had safely returned to the house. Then, carrying his bundled lamp and oil jar, he headed for the outdoor stove.
The night seemed strangely silent.
All he needed were a few pieces of charcoal and he’d be gone. He crept past the window to his aunt and uncle’s room. It was dark. They were asleep.
Almost there.
His big toe slammed into a rock. His foot exploded with pain as Hebony’s grain-grinding stone clattered across the paving tiles, loud enough to wake the underworld. Strangling a curse, he pressed his bundle to his chest and froze.
Aunt Zalika must have heard!
Overhead, heavy palm leaves shushed together, moved by a sudden gust. It died away. The hum of insects rose in one long note and then fell silent.
Several minutes passed. No lights came on in the house.
He exhaled and tiptoed the last few steps. Easing open the oven door, he winced at its low whine. Reaching inside, he flicked some charcoal pieces forward, avoiding the still glowing coals.
Almost there, he just had to wrap them in his bundle and—
A light flared in Aunt Zalika’s room.
Ramses’ breath caught. He scooped up everything and slouched in the stove’s shadow.
The kitchen door opened. Aunt Zalika stepped outside.
"Sobek!" she barked. "Get this monster out of my house."
Bastet shot out the door.
Aunt Zalika raised her fist at its retreating tail. "Next time, I’ll kill it!"
Kill a sacred pet of the gods? She wouldn't dare!
The bundle shifted in his arms and the clay lamp threatened to topple free. He clutched it against his thighs. Her light pooled at her feet. One glance to her right and she’d see him.
"Sobek!" she said.
A door slammed.
"On my way," Sobek said in a weary tone.
A beetle tickled Ramses’ foot. He clenched his jaw as it crawled up his ankle.
Sobek crossed from his sleeping quarters, sandals slapping. His face grew visible as Aunt Zalika raised her lamp; as she did, the farm manager’s eyes strayed to Ramses’ hiding place. For a heartbeat, his stride slowed. Sobek coughed and quickly turned to Aunt Zalika.
"Where’s the cat?" he asked her.
"You’re too late. But look what it did to my arm." Three long red scratches glistened from elbow to wrist.
"Go inside. I’ll find honey for those wounds."
"Humph," she said, but let him turn her around.
To Ramses’ relief, the two disappeared into the house.
A red moon brushed the horizon and began its slow climb. Ramses tore across the fields. In the distance, the plow shed looked like a small, shadowy cube. Its walls glowed faint crimson in the moonlight.
The dirt felt hot and soft against his bare feet. Behind him, the inky cluster of buildings dozed in silence, while he alone was awake and free.
He slowed and began to whistle a tune.
Something rustled in the rows of wheat. The tune died on his lips.
Was someone following him?
A spitting hiss sounded low against the earth. Barely two paces away lay the terrifyingly familiar sight.
The blue-eyed cobra had tracked him down. It was as if she were watching him. As if she knew what he planned to do. As if she were furious that her last warning hadn’t stopped him. This time, she was livid. She rose, hissing and flaring her hood. She bared her teeth and shot toward him.
He shouted, stumbled on the rutted ground, and fell.
Charcoal scattered everywhere.
Nerves on fire, he braced for the strike. Scrambling to his elbows, he prepared to make a crazed sprint.
The snake was inches from his face.
Blood pulsed into his head, constricting his vision.
Do not even swallow.
The snake began to sway. Her forked tongue flickered between her fangs.
Mesmerized, he stared into her blue gaze.
"Meretseger," he whispered, calling the cobra-goddess by her name.
At the sound, the cobra grew larger, swelling as if the goddess herself had come to earth and slid into the creature’s jeweled scales.
Ramses’ hair prickled in terror. His damp limbs shook and his teeth chattered. Sweat stood out in beads on his face. He knew now he’d never make it back to the house alive.
He truly was cursed. The gods had given him his talent, but by using it, he’d earned their disapproval.
And now, deciding to take this exam, he’d gone too far.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The cobra held Ramses’ gaze.
He set his jaw in defiance. "Kill me or let me pass."
She swayed, her eyes challenging his, locked on as if it were a deadly game.
He wouldn’t back down. Not now. He’d never asked for the talent to draw! If the gods wanted him to stop, she’d have to kill him.
She continued to sway and her hiss grew louder, swelling like the buzz of a thousand bees. The wheat stalks shook. His jaw and bones began to vibrate. He balled his fists against the shaking.
He would not turn away. She couldn’t make him.
He ground his jaw and shut his eyes.
But still he saw the goddess; her image burned through his lids.
A smoky light shot from her. It swirled into him, streaming downward, moving and twisting into his chest. It coiled around his heart. Tighter and tighter it squeezed until he could barely breath, until his head spun.
"Stop!" he shouted.
He opened his eyes, but saw only swirling light.
Like an intruder, it felt as if she’d crawled right inside his soul—was seeing the images of his life past, was seeing Neferet’s face through his eyes and laughing at him, was searching for the source of his talent, searching for treasures worth stealing.
"Stop!" Ramses shouted again.
The light crystallized into a million points, and fell in a shower of blinding sparks.
He found himself face-to-face with the cobra. Huge now, her jeweled scales glistened with a glow of their own.
He knew it was over. He waited for her to rear back and strike.
Instead, she sank to the ground.
Her halo-like light disappeared. For a moment, he wondered if his fear had made him imagine the whole thing. The snake was back to normal size. Then she shot him a mocking glance.
With a flick of her tail that reminded him of Bastet, she slithered over his foot, into the wheat stalks and was gone.
Shaken, Ramses stayed where he was, waiting for his heart to stop pounding.
What did Meretseger want with him? Had that been a test—or a warning?
Again his frustration rose. He felt the familiar, awful confusion about his life. He was a farmer, but he loved drawing. His parents were dead, but he owed it to them to try and get the farm back, to take control of his inheritance. That much he knew. So what was he doing out here? There were no easy answers. He wished the gods would simply come right out and tell him what to do, but it didn't work like that.
Swallowing his frustration and unease, he gathered his charcoal, his lamp and his jar of oil. He resumed his trek, but as he walked, the moonlight made the world look strangely different. The stalks seemed taller and, instead of cut wheat, the earth smelled of exotic, fragrant flowers. His stomach clenched as he passed a boulder he didn’t recognize. Where was he?
He wandered, lost, before finally spotting the building. Baffled, he corrected his course.
Finally, he reached the mound. The air lay silent and dead as a tomb.
Above him, instead of the simple building his father had built to keep the plows dry during the Nile inundation, the
shed rose like a great monument. It was the moonlight, he told himself, that’s all.
Still, something had changed. He sensed that the boy who’d stood before the cobra was no longer. He was different now. He shrugged off the frightening thought.
"Don’t be an idiot," he said out loud. Shouldering his bundle, he climbed to the top and unpacked his lamp. He was here to work, and that’s what he’d do.
Quickly, he cracked his flint. A moment later, a circle of yellow light sprang up. The strange night fell away, forgotten. All that existed in front of him was the wall.
It was time to focus.
The moon rose higher. Ramses was still staring at the wall. It was completely blank.
He was stumped. For the first time in his life, he had no idea what to draw.
It wasn’t just a matter of drawing. Like Sobek said, it was drawing the right thing—the thing the examiners wanted. And how could he know what they wanted? A scene or a simple figure? Human or a god? Maybe a specific figure? Was it too simple to present an image of one god, of Ptah, for example, the way he'd drawn him on the riverbank?
Maybe he should draw a big battle, showing Pharaoh conquering his enemies. Ramses was good at carts and horses. He ground his flint against his charcoal, sharpening it to a smaller and smaller point.
What would the other boys draw? Maybe they'd all be ten times better. Maybe he was fooling himself, thinking he was better than he was. How could he know? The only people who said he could draw well were farmers like his parents and Sobek. And one priest. But what did they know of drawing?
He had a horrible flash of arriving at the Place of Truth and being laughed at. What if they told him his drawings were amateurish? What if they told him he was a stupid fool, a farmer who didn't belong and never would? Maybe that's why Meretseger warned him off, to save him from himself.
His flint nicked his finger. He looked down to see he’d sharpened the charcoal away to nothing. He threw it down and picked up another piece. He wouldn’t spend all night going in circles. He wouldn’t spend all night agonizing over things he didn't know.
He just needed to draw something. Now, on this wall.
He stuck the charcoal to the surface. Pressing hard, he drew a firm line. His eyes widened at the sight. He'd been afraid, unsure of how the charcoal would react on the whitewash.
