The Tale of Nefret

by M. L. Bullock

  In half a minute she was on my back, and I began our descent. As I made my way down, a strand of long copper hair dangled irritatingly in my face. I couldn’t help but notice that half the camp had come to witness the rescue but Pah had disappeared. Once we got a few feet from the ground, Paimu threw herself off my back and into Alexio’s waiting arms. My tribe clapped at the happy ending before they walked away to attend to their chores and various jobs.

  I stood grinning at Paimu. “Good job, little monkey. Next time, though, don’t climb so high.” I kissed her head, and she went running back down the path to find her friends. “Thank you for your help, Alexio.”

  “I was happy to provide it. You’ll make a monkey out of her yet. Although I don’t think your sister appreciated the show. Aren’t you expected at your father’s table this morning?”

  My eyes widened. “Oh no! I have to go! Thank you again!” I ran down the path, his playful laughter in my ears.

  Father’s colorful tent was at the center of the camp. It was easy to spot—the falcon banner, the symbol of our tribe, flew over the top of it. I walked through the crowded camp, greeting those who greeted me without stopping too long for small talk. A few of my uncle’s tribe openly sneered at me; it was no secret that they hoped Pah would become the mekhma. I wasn’t sure why, but it was no matter to me. I had no skill at politics and no desire to seek support from anyone. I stepped inside the tent and was immediately greeted by Mina.

  Farrah’s acolyte greeted me silently with a demure smile and a bowl of fresh water. Quickly, I sloshed water over my hands as was the custom before dining with the king. The tent was full of dignitaries, including our uncle Omel and his sons except Alexio, his youngest. I took my seat to the left of our father; Pah always sat at his right during these official visits. We sat cross-legged around a low round table that was heaped with food. I stared at the tempting wheel of cheese near me, but I didn’t dare partake until Father did. The king always took his food first. Father had the bearing of a king, or so I believed. He dressed in his royal blue tunic with the gold hand stitching around the hem. His dark brown hair was oiled and braided, and it hung down his back. He wore no jewelry today; his arm tattoos shone, and I imagined I could see them twist around his arms like living snakes. I shook myself, reminding myself to stay present in the moment.

  Looking around the room, I recognized most of the faces. Sitting exactly opposite of our father was his brother Omel, another Meshwesh tribal leader. Omel’s tribe and ours migrated from one rain oasis to the next as our people had done since we’d lost Zerzura to the Nephal, the giants who came down from their homeland far to the north. The giants believed this was their land, although Egypt’s kings had defeated them a lifetime ago. Occasionally, they still made incursions into the Red Lands to murder, terrorize and rape our women. After they took Zerzura, they disappeared again, but not before hiding the city in the sand first. Or at least that was the story we were told.

  I shivered, feeling as if someone were staring at me. I looked around the room and saw that it was Farrah, the Old One, the head of the Council. Her lips were pursed as she seemed to look right through me. I shivered again and crossed my fingers behind my back to prevent her from reading my mind. With those dark piercing eyes, I suspected that she had the power to stare into my soul.

  Our father was king, but the Council acted as the spiritual leaders of all the Meshwesh. They heard various matters concerning inheritance and sickness, and they settled property disputes. They were wise and learned and could detect a lie before it was told, or so they told us. Truthfully, kings did not hold much power in our clan. Naturally, they were the leaders of our clan when there was no mekhma, but beyond protecting the people and developing military strategies, their powers were limited.

  For a millennium, the Meshwesh were ruled by the mekhmas, wise young women selected by the Council of Old Ones. According to the legends, many had special magical powers bestowed upon them by the gods they served, and the king and clan served the mekhma with their lives—if it was so required. My mother had been no mekhma—she was born in a faraway land called Grecia. She served as the king’s consort only—the Meshwesh had not had a mekhma since Ze, the sister of Farrah who died during the flight from Zerzura.

  I smiled at Farrah to stop her staring and began doing some studying of my own. There was much to see here today in our camp. Thankfully, there were no monkeys or tigers, no traders telling us fantastic stories. How many hoped that by doing so we would divulge the location of our sacred gold and turquoise mines? No Meshwesh would ever do such a thing.

  I watched our uncle; I could see that he did not defer to his people in anything. I suspected he had no desire to have a mekhma to lead him. He wanted nothing but to be king—and to convince his brother to make a lasting peace with Egypt. To this suggestion, our father always laughed. And despite the seriousness of today’s gathering, Omel did not miss an opportunity to bemoan what he considered his brother’s lack of foresight in regards to Pharaoh’s most recent offer.

  “Again, brother? I have given my answer.” Our father took a handful of grapes, popped a few in his mouth and handed the bowl to Omel, who accepted it. He did not take any grapes but put the bowl back on the low cedar table with an odd thumping sound. Omel wasn’t satisfied.

  “Hear me out, Semkah. This is what our father would have wanted! Peace and safety for the Meshwesh. I have it on good authority that Egypt is willing to give us lands—lands of our own! No more traveling the sands, brother, searching for a lost city! We can be a nation again with a strong defense—walls to protect us.” When Father didn’t answer him, Omel continued with his plea. He may have thought he was convincing his brother, who said nothing, but I could have told him not to waste his time. For Father and our entire tribe, Zerzura would be our only home. Meshwesh blood had been shed there, holy blood. It would not be forgotten.

  “I have been talking to the traders, brother. They say that families have disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again. Let me call Ohn in here to tell you what he saw. He’s just returned from Siya, where he was to trade with the men there. Nobody was there. The oasis was empty, yet the tents remained.”

  Father raised his hands, his tattoos plainly showing. For the briefest of seconds, again it appeared as if the snakes were alive and writhing. I gasped and blinked as Father said, “Brother, enough of this! I will hear Ohn later, but let us tend to the things that are before us first.”

  Omel rose to his feet in a shot. I did not know what his intentions were, but he looked dark, very dark indeed. “You sit here in your comfortable tent while people die in the Red Lands! I tell you the Nephal have returned, and they care not for your kingship or the mekhma! We need the help of Egypt if we are going to withstand them!”

  Father rose to calm him, but Farrah stood instead. “Omel! Do not disgrace these proceedings! You will have a chance to speak, just as Semkah said, but now is the time to bless your brother’s daughters before they begin their trials.” Omel unhappily returned to his seat but refused to look at his brother, even when he addressed him. The proceedings were long. Farrah recited the long list of mekhmas that had served the Meshwesh over the centuries. I knew them all by heart, as Pah did. Pah and I were formally introduced at anni-mekhmas, or queens-in-training. The leaders politely clapped for us as we stood before them. The tent grew hotter as the day went along, and there seemed to be no end to the formalities. Finally, Farrah and the others were ready to dismiss us, warning us not to discuss with the others anything that was said or done.

  “These are sacred proceedings, and even as anni-mekhmas you must take care to preserve our traditions. Go now. Enjoy your final night together.”

  “What?” Pah and I stared at one another. “What do you mean?” I asked Farrah.

  “Tonight is the last night you share a tent. Tomorrow, you begin your new life and your trials begin in earnest—we will present you to the tribe as anni-mekhmas. When you leave this tent you are no lo
nger Nefret and Pah, sisters, daughters of Semkah. Hug one another now.” We hugged awkwardly, and then Pah pulled away from me and waited silently to be excused. Farrah nodded while our father and the others clapped respectfully. Pah disappeared out the door flap and I ran after her.

  Chapter Two

  The Necklace—Nefret

  Despite my most ardent attempts at conversation, my sister refused to speak with me beyond a few words. When we left the king’s tent she ran to be with her friends and left me behind once again. I spent the rest of the day playing with the children and avoiding adult conversation as much as possible. If this was to be my last day as a child, simply a daughter of Semkah, then I would make the most of it. At the end of the day, I walked back to our tent but Pah was not there. I took my supper alone and crawled into bed, only to fall asleep waiting for her.

  I did not hear her return. When I did wake, it was near morning. As usual, I awoke before Pah. I longed to push back the wheels of time so the two of us might become children again. Then I would wake her with tickles or a playful nudge. She would not bark at me or deride me for being childish. How long ago that had been! Now I dared not disturb her in such a way. “Pah, are you awake?” I whispered in the darkness. She did not answer me. I heard her soft snore. Still in the dream world; it would be cruel to wake her now.

  Dread washed over me. The unknown challenges yawned before me, and my imagination began to spin fantastic tales about what things I may have to accomplish. I sighed in the darkness.

  Sliding out of my pallet, I reached for my robe. Many of the gold thread tassels were missing, but I could not part with it; it had been one of the few items that belonged to my mother. Pah had Mother’s braid—her princess lock—I had her robe. I slid into the comfortable garment and stepped outside through the fold in the back of the tent. I did not want to draw attention to myself.

  Fingers of red light looked like a hand as the first glints of the sun stretched across the far horizon. Our herdsmen would be long gone to their destination by now. Anyone doing trade with the tribe would soon arrive. Most avoided the midday heat and chose to linger inside the tents of the Meshwesh where the air was cool and sweet.

  I walked down the small hill behind our tent, digging my heels into the sand to maintain my balance. I was only a few yards from the oasis but since I could no longer see it, I might as well have been a hundred miles away. I liked the imagined distance. Sometimes I craved adventure. Oh, to be Mahara or one of the other courageous women in my stories!

  As children, Pah, Alexio and I whispered long into the night, talking about the places we would go, the things we would see. Alexio had traveled to many places, including south to the gold mine and east to the edge of Thebes. The stories he told us of what he saw were hard to believe, but I could tell by the wonder in his eyes that he told us the truth. Pah and I had known only life in our camp.

  Ungracefully, I climbed another sand dune. Satisfied finally that I was completely by myself and far enough away from my tribe to not be found, I pulled my mother’s robe tighter around my body and lay back on the sand. The glistening stars above me were beginning to fade, threatened by the nearness of the sun.

  I sighed and stared up at the distant moon. I imagined flying up, up and up, like a jinn or one of the gods, then looking down upon the earth. What would I see if I were a bird? What must it be like to see the Red Lands from the sky? I had to admit that I envied the gods and their vantage point—if they existed. I did not pray to them as I should. Or to anything at all, really.

  Pah had a heart for faith, but I did not. How could I worship an invisible being that insisted on sacrifice, adoration and perpetual prayers? Some claimed to have seen a god or goddess, but I had seen nothing. According to the traders, the local deities were a jealous lot who would kill mortals on a whim to get what they wanted—which was often a human woman or a special musical instrument. Now the gods commanded that I compete with my sister to lead the tribe and the entire clan. As spokesman for the gods of the Meshwesh, Farrah should be able to tell us who it should be! Why must we go through trials? I felt angry, even rebellious as I lay in the sand.

  How many times had Farrah taken me to the fire and commanded me to look? “Look harder, Nefret. Look with your mind’s eye!” Despite her encouragement, I never saw a thing besides the flickering of the flames and the burning herbs. No queenly visions for me. My sister had that gift, and to me, Pah’s vision was the proof I needed that the gods had made their decision. They had chosen my sister to lead. Although my spirit resisted this thought, my heart was happy. I only wanted my sister to be happy, I reminded myself. Suddenly I sat up. “That’s what I’ll do. I will tell them my sister should be the mekhma. Then we can end all this!” The idea suited me, and I ignored the small, still voice that said, “No! You must be queen!”

  I frowned at the moon above me. “You do not control my life!” I was tempted to raise my fist at the moon, but what good would it do me? What would you know of Nefret and Pah, moon? Do you even know who we are? Of course, the moon said nothing to me. I dug my toes into the cool, red sand. I dug first with my big toe, and then I buried all my toes in the sand. Pah would complain later than I had strewn sand in our tent, but wasn’t there always sand in the tent? You could not avoid it. I hardly noticed it anymore.

  I leaned forward and put my elbows on my knees. This was a special moment, out here alone in the quiet. Today, the camp would be full of visitors come to watch Pah and me compete. My stomach twisted, and I felt another sigh rise from within me. I wiggled my toes deeper and felt something cold and foreign under my foot. I drew my toes back, afraid that a scorpion or snake was hidden there. The sand did not move, so I poked it again with my toe. It wasn’t a creature. Now sitting cross-legged, I dug at the spot where my toes had been.

  Suddenly a tiny whirlwind in the sand appeared; I fell back and watched as it spun. I shielded my eyes with my fingers to protect them from the spinning sand. When the whirlwind’s work was complete, it simply dissolved into nothing; all was calm once more.

  There! I could see something, something shiny. I touched it—it was a flat chain with the shine of gold. But it wasn’t gold, at least none that I had ever seen. I tugged on the end until the full length of chain was free from the sand. Curious, I examined the necklace. It was beautifully made with exquisite, unfamiliar craftsmanship. Even in the muted darkness I could see this was a rare treasure. Hanging from the chain was an oval-shaped pendant. It was flat with inscribed images like I had never seen. I could see a snake, the sign for water—the rest I could not make out. Still, I knew I had found a precious thing. Perhaps it had fallen off one of the trader’s caravans? I had no explanation for the small whirlwind that had unearthed it.

  I looked about me nervously. Cupping the necklace in my hand I spun about the top of the dune. I didn’t see anyone, and there was no evidence that anyone had been near recently. However, the sand shifted daily. How would I know that anyone had been here? I felt the cool metal in my hand. I would keep it, but I would keep it to myself. I grabbed my robe. My heart beat fast in my chest as I scurried back to my tent. Pah was awake and dressed but still not speaking to me. She stroked her hair with her brush and wrapped it into a neat braid. How I wanted to talk with her! To hear her speak kindly to me, but she did not. I shoved my secret treasure under my blanket and watched her balefully.

  My stomach twisted again. Mina told me once—and I had heard her voice only a handful of times in my life—that there were two snakes of destiny fighting inside each of us. These snakes caused the twisting sensation. “The gods place the snakes inside your belly before you are born. As you grow, they grow, and one struggles to dominate the other. When the struggle ends, your destiny is decided.” I begged to hear more, but she said nothing else. I understood none of it. The thought of snakes in my belly made me even more nervous and nauseous.

  Farrah’s acolyte had a soft voice, which always sounded raw and husky—probably because she rarely used i
t. Mina lived under a vow of silence, a vow to Ma’at. She was a master at nonverbal communication, using her facial expressions and hands to say much more than I could ever express with my storytelling. I admired the woman’s quietness and calmness—two qualities I did not possess.

  As I brushed the tangles from my own hair with an ivory comb, I watched Pah begin her day. She tossed spoons of fragrant incense into the hanging burner, filling the room with lush scent. She leaned close to the golden lamps and fanned herself with the thick clouds of smoke. How bitter it was to know that she prayed against me! Pah opened her cedar box and examined each of the items. Although I always made a show of not watching her, I knew each item by heart. A braid of light brown hair from our mother, a block of rare fragrant wood, a seashell given by a friendly and handsome servant of a Cushite trader and one more item that she took great pains to hide from me. It was the newest treasure in her collection—a stolen piece of blue fabric from Alexio’s shirt. Something she kept after repairing a tear for him.

  I felt a sad sigh rise in my chest but said nothing. My hands wove my hair into a braid, and I tied the end with a piece of leather. Pah and Alexio—I could not wrap my mind around it. She loved him, of that I was sure. At least she thought she did. Perhaps she only thought she loved him because she believed I did. Maybe she wanted to hurt me as only another woman could? How could I have predicted that our childhood friend would drive us further apart?

  How did I feel about Alexio? My cousin had strong, muscular arms and legs. He ran faster than anyone I knew and was frequently called upon to carry out the wishes of the kings—both his father and mine. His dark hair, which he kept at shoulder length, hung about his face like strands of silk. His warm brown eyes seemed to grow more expressive as he grew older. His face was square, with a straight nose and proud lips, but he was always laughing at someone or something—most of the time at me. He laughed much less now. We all did. How different he was from the boy I once knew! We were no longer children, the three of us.