Desert Oath: The Official Prequel to Assassin’s Creed Origins

by Oliver Bowden

  ‘You still want one day to become protector of Siwa?’ asked Khensa bluntly.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, and my voice shook with conviction. It was the truth I could finally own, without any doubt hampering my certainty. ‘I think that I’ve changed. Maybe I just played at it before, but now I know. I want to be the protector of Siwa, to follow in my father’s footsteps.’

  ‘So you think you know your destiny?’ asked Khensa. I wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question, only that I felt under scrutiny. But my certainty didn’t fade.

  ‘I know my path,’ I told Khensa, meeting the directness of her gaze with one of my own. ‘It is to train as my father’s apprentice and serve as Siwa’s protector. That’s all I want.’

  That, I thought, and Aya.

  ‘What do you know of the Medjay?’ said Khensa.

  Her question came out of the blue, and I stared in puzzlement. Aya answered for me, and I was thankful, though also a bit surprised. ‘Why?’

  Khensa nodded slowly, acknowledging Aya and her timely intervention, while still focusing on me. ‘The fact is, Bayek, that if you know nothing of the Medjay then you know nothing of your path. Everything you believe – well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s been a lie, but it certainly hasn’t been the whole truth.’

  I fought irritation, close to becoming anger. ‘Then why don’t you tell me?’

  So she did.

  And then I understood.

  28

  ‘Your father is a Medjay.’

  I swallowed. I didn’t even know what a Medjay was, but even so I heard myself say, ‘He can’t be,’ confusion evident to my own ears.

  ‘Nonetheless, Bayek, he is,’ said Khensa.

  ‘But they no longer exist,’ said Aya quickly. ‘The Medjay died out years ago.’

  At least Aya knew something. It was reassuring, somehow. A truth I could use to calm myself. While I recentred myself, Khensa spoke.

  ‘They didn’t, not fully.’

  ‘Wait,’ I said. I needed to know, before the conversation swept past me. ‘What exactly is a Medjay? A soldier of some kind? A protector?’

  Khensa nodded. ‘A protector, indeed. They are – or were – the reason that people respected the tombs, for one. They were the protectors of such things. And as a protector your father was sworn to guard the temples at Siwa, thus the whole village, from any forces willing to act against it or against the aims of Medjay.

  ‘But what you must understand is that his role as Medjay went much further than that. It made him a guardian, not just a guard. It made him a protector not only of Siwa but also of an entire way of life. A protector of Egypt.’

  Aya looked doubtful. ‘What way of life?’

  ‘The way our enemies like to think of as “the old way”, as though that’s a bad thing, as though its being old makes it somehow out of date.’

  The shadows of the flames flickered against the wall, as though pantomiming a story I could not fathom. I glanced at Aya and kept quiet, letting her ask her own questions. She was as much part of this as I was.

  ‘Well, then, maybe they’re right, maybe it does,’ responded Aya, drawing herself up. It wasn’t quite a challenge, but it certainly was blunt.

  Khensa shook her head, serene. ‘No system, new or old, is without its flaws,’ she said. Of all the things Khensa excelled at, knowing and understanding people was one of them. Confidence clearly shone through as she went on. ‘No doubt the old ways were in need of modernization; clearly some thinking needed reappraisal but …’ And here she held up a finger, ‘but they existed for thousands of years and they existed in a belief that we are on this earth to work together in our worship of the gods rather than simply to increase our own wealth and prestige. I know what you’re thinking,’ and here she turned her attention to Aya. ‘You’re thinking of yourself as an enlightened one. Perhaps you have given up on the gods.’

  ‘I haven’t given up on the gods,’ replied Aya instantly, though we both knew it wasn’t strictly speaking true and her words rang hollow. Even Tuta gave her a surprised sideways glance.

  But Khensa smiled. ‘It is good, to be full of questions. I know that you see it as a sign of your intelligence and enlightenment that you question, and that’s something I can fully understand.’

  As I raised both eyebrows at her, remembering being scolded far too often about all my pesky questions during survival training, Khensa rolled her eyes at me and deftly nudged a rock, causing it to bounce off my foot and ricochet into the fire.

  ‘Hush, you.’ I had heard those fond words many times from her, and I grinned, unrepentant, and feeling on familiar territory once again.

  ‘My people question things, too. Everyone does. Change is growth. It’s the only way to survive. But it doesn’t mean we have to cast everything aside.’ She looked into the fire, eyes distant. ‘There is grace to be found in ritual, and in tradition. It has kept my people alive. We rely on it. What we cannot afford, however, is to let tradition become a yoke that slows us down, drags us under.’ She hooked her fingers, miming a driver pulling back a team of oxen. ‘Being in the city, never moving – in a way, that’s one form of stagnation already. It makes certain things even easier: selfishness, venality, corruption. Cities are beautiful.’ She offered Aya a crooked grin, an honest gleam of admiration in her eyes. ‘But they also make it easier for bad things to fester. They can quickly become a world in which the wealthy and powerful fashion artefacts, and whole cities in some cases, in praise of themselves, monuments to their own vanity.’

  ‘It’s not the gods who have failed us.’ Aya’s voice was subdued, and she sighed – though she’d never shared this thought with me, it did not seem a new one to her. ‘It’s people.’

  Khensa gave her a sympathetic look and turned her attention to me. ‘Bayek, that is what your father as a Medjay believes, and that is what we in our tribe also believe. There are still many who believe in the ways of the Medjay. Our scout, Neka, tells me of a man claiming an allegiance to the Medjay imprisoned in Elephantine. There are pockets of us, Bayek, pockets of resistance. But all of those who feel drawn towards the ways of the Medjay are in need of guidance, and whether they know it or not they need guidance from the bloodline, the true Medjay. They need guidance, Bayek. That could be you, someday.’

  I thought of what the priestess had said: You may soon find yourself with more than just Siwa’s temples to protect, and I felt infused with a sudden sense of purpose.

  ‘But I’m not ready.’

  ‘The best leaders are never ready.’ She tilted her head, inspecting me. ‘And I concede, you do have much to learn yet, before you can properly lead.’

  Khensa sat back. The firelight danced, and what I saw was a look on her face that convinced me I was doing the right thing by naming my path and following it. It was an expression that spoke of something deeper than emotions we wrestle with every day, our usual aches and pains and gripes as human beings; it spoke of something deeper, something more ancient. What I saw in her face was knowledge. I felt it myself, even though just a little bit. Though uncertainty still nagged at my heels, I wanted this. I wanted to know more about the Medjay. I wanted to help people – all the people of Egypt. It felt good. A fervour and resolve. The overwhelming conviction that I had found my path. I just needed to keep learning. To become more.

  ‘Are you Medjay, too?’ I asked her.

  She shook her head, snorting in amusement. ‘Of course not. My clan and I, we are our own people. But many ages ago we discovered that our principles were aligned well enough with those of the Medjay, our ideology the same.’

  ‘My father?’

  ‘An ally, yes.’

  ‘I think now I understand what I was up against,’ said Aya suddenly. ‘This is it, isn’t it? To Sabu I represented the new ways. The ways that destroyed the Medjay. Is that why he didn’t complete Bayek’s training …’

  ‘No,’ Khensa interrupted, ‘though it took me a long time to understand why.’ She flicked h
er gaze towards me, inscrutable for a moment, then shrugged. ‘Being Medjay, it is about something more than you or I. It’s about the greater good, about looking beyond today, tomorrow, next week even next month and asking what happens in ten years’ time, fifty years’ time. The Medjay is a way of life. It’s a way of being, a way of saying that I reject values forced upon me by a society I no longer support. It’s a better way of being at one with the world and with the people in it. It is about giving everything, sacrificing everything if needed.’ She paused and shrugged. ‘I think that’s why Sabu held back on the training.’

  Aya listened intently and I caught a look of dawning understanding in her eyes. Though Khensa had always been skilful at hunting, and I lucky to have her to teach me, her skill at reading people is what had always awed me. But I didn’t understand what Khensa was trying to tell me. I did not ask her to elucidate further – she’d just be annoyed at my thick-headedness.

  ‘So why did he leave?’ I heard myself say. ‘Why did my father leave Siwa?’

  ‘I don’t have the answer to that. I can see why Rabiah sent you to me, but as for why your father has left Siwa unprotected, I don’t know. Find him and you’ll find out. And also, when you find him, then perhaps your induction can continue.’

  ‘Do you think I am to become a Medjay?’ I was perhaps a bit breathless as I asked, but I valued her opinion. And she was a mentor of mine as well, after all. My first dedicated teacher.

  She laughed, and I had to admit I’d likely earned that. ‘I know that your father was training you in the ways of the Medjay, even as he worried. But, you see, it’s not just a matter of learning combat, or subterfuge and surveillance. It isn’t just a series of skills such as those I once taught you in Siwa. Becoming a Medjay is about adopting a new way of life. It’s about changing your way of thinking. Medjay isn’t something you choose, like whether to eat bread or fish. Medjay is something you are.’ She thumped her own chest, the sound like the beating of a drum in the cave. ‘It’s something only you can define. Whether you like it or not, Bayek, you are the son of Sabu. In that you have no choice, along with everything it brings. But being Medjay? Well, regardless of what Sabu believes, that’s entirely up to you now, isn’t it?’

  29

  How did I feel about setting out on a path that would make me a Medjay?

  To be honest, it seemed just a step further than being a protector of Siwa. Ironically, that was exactly why my induction had not been completed. My father’s doubts and worries had likely been exactly along the lines: even if he taught me how to protect Siwa, how much more would it take for me to learn, and protect if necessary, the Medjay ethos?

  On the other hand if I were to reject Medjay ways, just as Egypt herself had done, what would it mean? For all Khensa’s talk about the Medjay being in my blood, it wasn’t as though I could somehow magically embody their ideals overnight.

  Belief wasn’t something you carried in your blood.

  Conviction was part of one’s spirit and ideology. That much I knew with certainty. I was confident Aya would agree with me on this – she was the one who had exposed me to modern philosophers and poets, after all. In the meantime, there was still much to learn.

  ‘What will you do now?’ asked Khensa.

  I shrugged. ‘Do what I’ve been doing. Continue to teach myself what I can as I search for my father. Keep learning.’

  I could practically feel Aya’s approving smile – a quick glance in her direction confirmed I was right.

  ‘This Medjay in Elephantine,’ Aya said. ‘Could he help us?’

  Khensa looked doubtful. ‘It’s unlikely the man they have in prison is a legitimate Medjay. No doubt he’s a pretender, someone adopting the mantle and claiming adherence to its ways without true understanding of the history. There are plenty of those about. Besides, how would you reach him?’

  ‘With your help.’

  She was nodding, thinking. Unsurprised by my presumption.

  ‘We thought Sabu leaving might have something to do with you being here,’ prompted Aya.

  ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you.’

  ‘But you are here because of my father, aren’t you?’ I probed. ‘It’s true that your people decided to go after Menna?’

  Khensa nodded.

  ‘Then where is Menna? Dead? Close by? Where?’

  ‘He is near,’ agreed Khensa. ‘Menna has been at his current location for almost six years but we believe he may now be on the move. My scout, Neka, is looking into it now.’

  ‘You can’t lose him,’ I said quickly, perhaps a little too sharply, wincing immediately afterwards. I had no right to order Khensa in such a high-handed way.

  She pulled a face, clearly agreeing with my regret. ‘I ought to slap you just for suggesting such a thing. While you’ve been in the sun wondering why your father hasn’t been teaching you to play swords, I’ve been out here watching my family die at the hands of Menna’s men. Ours has been a long war of attrition, Bayek. I have no intention of letting him go, and if you think you’re going to arrive here and start telling me my business …’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. I was sincere. For all that had cast a long shadow over my life, as well as the man with the crooked eye who had crept through my window the night of the attack … the consequences were a bit more immediate for Khensa.

  ‘He exists, then?’ I said at last.

  ‘Menna?’

  ‘I mean, he’s not an idea or a group of people. Some means of scaring children to go to sleep at night?’

  ‘Oh no, he’s none of those things, said Khensa. There as a long pause as she seemed to think, poking at the fire with a stick and blinking slightly as the flames leapt in response. ‘You found your way here,’ she said at last, directing her words at Tuta, ‘do you think you can find a horse and cart?’

  Tuta nodded enthusiastically.

  Two days later, we had a horse and cart.

  30

  Before we left, Aya and I went to see Nitokris once more. We made the journey to the Temple of Karnak, navigating the guards and temple workers to her inner sanctum, where she greeted us as though she had known we would appear, leading us to the same spot to sit.

  ‘So,’ she said, turning a serene smile on us, looking from me to Aya and back again, ‘you return.’

  ‘When you said there was much more to things …’ I trailed off under her knowing gaze, then smiled somewhat ruefully. ‘I understand now. We know of the Medjay, and that my path involves being much more than just Siwa’s protector,’ I told her.

  ‘And you embrace that path, do you?’ asked the priestess.

  ‘I wish I had known earlier,’ I said. The shade of the temple was soothing, wind blowing gently through the hallways, cooling our skin. For all my resentment at having had this hidden from me, this place calmed me down, moment by moment. I needed the focus.

  ‘It is no small responsibility, embarking on the path of a Medjay,’ she said. ‘The Medjay is no mere guard or protector. You will have been told that the Medjay uphold an ancient ideology, I’m sure, but your duties go beyond even that. Your task as a Medjay is not merely to protect old things, but to provide balance, justice and equilibrium. As a Medjay you will revere Amun. You will be the living embodiment of Ma’at, the ancient beliefs in truth and harmony.’

  I was holding my breath, I realized, and forced myself to exhale, then breathe slowly and regularly. Finally. Simple, straightforward information. Something I could rely on.

  ‘Once upon a time, every Egyptian would apply the principles of Ma’at to their own lives and follow them, but these things along with so much more has been lost in the rush to modernity. These things are what make us good, Bayek, son of Sabu, and as a Medjay you are not just charged with preserving and promoting those principles, you are those principles. Do you understand?’

  I nodded. This I could cleave to. Information I could absorb and draw conclusions from. This was something to aspire to, to craft an entire life from. Be go
od. Protect the innocent. Take down the corrupt. Focus on the day to day, but also look to the future.

  ‘I know you do,’ said Nitokris. She spoke with utter certainty and, in that instant, reminded me of Khensa, and her uncanny ability always to know what truly drove someone. She angled her head slightly, then stood, the meeting at an end. ‘Do you know the symbol of Ma’at?’ she asked me.

  I shook my head.

  ‘It is the ostrich plume.’

  As she left I reached into my pouch and pulled out the items I had been gathering on my travels.

  In my hand were feathers. White feathers.

  Khensa led us on a journey of many days. With us was Seti, the scout Neka having yet to return. The five of us must have made a strange sight, wedged in between supplies on the cart as we trundled over land to the west, away from Thebes.

  We described a circuitous route. An approach from the west was too dangerous according to Khensa and Seti, so when we reached the low, shallow mountain that was apparently our destination, we kept our distance and took a long route around the base of it, coming at it from the east.

  We left the cart in the foothills and made the ascent on foot until we reached a vantage point – a plateau offering a view of the glittering sea over to the east as well as what looked like the beginnings of a large hollow through the centre of the mount below.

  There we gathered, crouched, in a circle, looking to our guide for advice. Khensa had warned us of the need for quiet when we reached the top, and when we arrived she pressed a finger to her lips and fixed us with one of those fearsome, tight-lipped stares she was so good at, reserving special intensity for Tuta, who had proved to be a bit too excitable for her liking during the journey.

  She commanded us to go on our bellies and we edged to the lip of the plateau, looking down into what was part-hollow, part-valley – an almost circular gash in the mountain falling to a basin below. There on the valley floor, hidden by mountain walls on all sides and accessed by a single road leading in from the east, was a collection of buildings. The buildings were badly constructed, but they were buildings. They spoke of permanence.