The Tale of Nefret

by M. L. Bullock

  She swung her thick gown behind her and flew toward me. “Now you say this? Now? What am I to think? It is too late to clear your conscience, Father. You made your choice, and you lost.” The surprise must have shown on my face because she added with a smile, “Oh yes, I know all about it. You wanted Nefret as mekhma—this I know, but that is no matter now.”

  “I never wanted that. I did not want to follow the Old Ways!”

  “Perhaps not, but here we are. I have won! I am mekhma! Take your regrets and leave, Father. I am relieving you of your duty.” We stood eye to eye for an eternal moment. I raised my hand to plead sense with her, but she would not be swayed.

  Yuni stood by her, his hand on her shoulder. “Send for your uncle. Perhaps he will be of better service to you.” Pah agreed, and Yuni then left us alone.

  My mind roiled with what I should say, what I should do. Kadeema’s accusation rang in my ears: “What of our daughters, Semkah?” I would have to answer for my inaction one day. I had buried my heart in my own grief and had failed to protect them from Farrah’s prophecy. I had failed.

  Feeling an icy stare at my back, I walked out too.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Loving the Mekhma—Alexio

  We heard them before we saw them. So ecstatic, so frenzied were they from their bloody victory that they did not notice us. There were only three of us, not enough to challenge the approaching horde. Phares was barely a man, and his brother Ohn was not much older. Still, they had been the only ones I could persuade to accompany me, and I refused to let Pah win the day. If I was going to sacrifice my life and my happiness for the tribe, it would mean something.

  If I could have gone to Biyat to get proof of Nefret’s testimony, then surely the Council would have reconsidered its decision. Unfortunately for me, I had not been selected for that mission. So my friends and I went in search of other proof that Nefret’s warnings were real. If the threat was real, and I believed it was, our tribe was in danger. We could not afford to wait for Aitnu to return. He was traveling to all the tribes for an assessment. And the longer we waited to know the truth, the firmer the grip that Pah would have on the throne. Pah had stolen the throne from Nefret by refusing to wait for her to complete her task.

  I had it on good authority that proof would force the Old Ones to weigh the trials anew. The whole clan needed Nefret—and I did not think that merely because I loved her more than my own heartbeat. I thought it because it was true. Nefret outshone her sister in many ways, especially in kindness, goodness and patience. No doubt Pah had courage, fierceness and strength, but she did not inspire me and would not hesitate in her ruthlessness.

  No matter how many sweet words Pah whispered to me, no matter how like her sister she appeared in some ways, I could not give her what she wanted. In the end, I refused her, and it was then that she began her ruthless campaign against Nefret.

  Now here I lay in the red sand on the side of a dune watching a black-cloaked band of murderers leaving the tiny oasis of Gemia, north of Timia. Tents burned, children screamed and goats shrieked as the bandits pierced them with spears. I grabbed Ohn’s arm to prevent him from reaching for his bow. “There are too many, brother. We need to wait. Wait and watch. Be still, Ohn, Phares. Be still now.” Ohn leaned against the dune and closed his eyes. Tears streamed down his young face.

  “Yes, be still now. Our father will not be happy if I do not bring you home,” Phares scolded his brother. Ohn obeyed and waited and watched until the raiding party left. They rode off into the distance without ever looking in our direction. They were not jinn or giants but men on a mission. I had seen my share of bloodthirstiness before, but these heinous acts were beyond anything I could have imagined. Children were decapitated, pregnant women had their bellies slit, and their unborn children emerged into the world in an untimely, bloody mess. The old men had their heads removed, but not before their eyes had been gouged out; their mouths gaped open in silent screams. Ohn vomited on his sandals and half the burnt grass of the oasis.

  I had seen enough. There was no one alive, no one to testify against the killers. I wondered what I could bring back to the tribes to prove these tall men were indeed real and not a fabrication by a girl who had failed her trial and was desperate to claim the title of mekhma. I had no chance of following Aitnu or making it all the way to Biyat now. Perhaps if I had been by myself, but not with Phares and Ohn. Although brave and keen to serve with me, they did not have the stamina necessary to make such a speedy ride. I needed to go home; it was only a half day’s ride back to Timia, too close to stand idly by and wait for the murderers to destroy our tribes. As I scanned the bloody scene, I wondered what proof to bring. Then I saw my answer. Pinned to the chest of a dead young man was a piece of fabric. Someone had taken the trouble to leave this message—it should not be ignored. I removed the sword from the dead boy’s chest, saying a silent apology as I did, asking his forgiveness for this one last offense. I removed the cloth and shoved it into my tunic.

  “Let us leave this place of death,” I told the young men. Anxious to leave the horror behind us, we wasted no time. As swiftly as the animals would allow, we rode pell-mell to the east. I glanced behind me as we rode, trying to shake the feeling that the death god Osiris himself followed us.

  I slapped the sides of the camel with my rough leather strap and hugged it, keeping my head down and back straight as I had been taught. Our tribe was known for its desert speed—proper riding technique was something the son of a king or even a half-king such as my father would be expected to know. Now I would put that talent to good use in the hope of saving my tribe and Nefret’s. As I raced back toward Timia I prayed that all would be well with my people, although logic suggested that it would not be well at all. These tall men or whoever they were seemed to be specifically targeting Meshwesh. The Algat and other tribes were around, but no reports had come in from their locations. I had witnessed with my own eyes that these people had a bloodlust that knew no bounds.

  Whoever they were, their reach was long, for they had traveled to Biyat and to the tiny oasis of Siya without much opposition. It only made sense that they would attack wealthy Timia, and in a way it was fortuitous that my father and his tribe were currently there. Together the tribes made a mighty force, but to withstand such a foe? We were not prepared! I needed the help of the entire clan! The Bee-Eater must be sent and the call made to all the Meshwesh. We would stand together, or we would die!

  We crested a dune and suddenly Timia sprawled before us, lush, green and filled to the borders with Meshwesh warriors, their families and their lowing cattle. A heavy plunder waiting to be plucked. To my great relief all appeared safe. The camp was noisier than normal, but that was to be expected; the mekhma trials were historic events to even the lowliest Meshwesh. Representatives from some of the tribes had arrived to hear the decision of the Council; others had not made the trip. But there was not much argument. It had been accepted from their birth night that either Pah or Nefret would be the promised leader who would guide us back to Zerzura. One day we would be safe. Or so everyone assumed.

  I pulled the reins of the camel and waved the brothers to me. “Listen to me. We don’t have much time. Let me do the talking. I will find Semkah and give a report.”

  Ohn’s eyes widened with surprise. “Yes, but the mekhma….” He appeared unsure. “Should we not speak to her first?”

  “Please, you must trust me, brothers. I know what I am doing. Say nothing to anyone. Not yet.”

  Catching his breath after the furious ride, Phares nodded his consent, and together the three of us rode the rest of the way into camp. They busied themselves with the camels as I went in search of Semkah. From the moment I began to walk through the camp, I could feel the sadness. Something had happened! The faces of the Meshwesh were full of despair. I greeted many by name, but no one offered any explanation. Suddenly, women began to howl—and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. An urgency rose within me, and I ran faster toward t
he king’s tent. What had happened?

  Nefret!

  I found Semkah in his tent with my father, in the midst of an argument. That was always the way with them, struggling with one another. My father’s stubbornness and ambition made it difficult for him to trust anyone. For my uncle’s part, he kept his involvement to a minimum, leaving many to believe that he was not confrontational enough to be the clan’s warrior-king. I knew firsthand that it was a title that father coveted. Theirs was a difficult relationship to manage, and few tried to interfere.

  “What has happened?” I blurted out, trying to catch my breath.

  “Foolish boy! What do you mean by leaving without my permission! You know we planned to leave today and now… “

  “Farrah is dead,” my uncle broke in.

  “What? How?” Again the hair on my neck crinkled.

  “That is what we must find out, but you must account for yourself.” Father’s dark brows knitted together.

  “I have the proof—Nefret told the truth. Don’t you want to know the truth? Look at this! It was found on the body of a dead boy at Gemia. All of them are dead! Just like Biyat and Siya! This is the proof that it was as she says.” I pulled the bloody rag out of my tunic and handed it to the king. Without a word, Semkah took it.

  “You say you found this at Gemia?” he asked as he spread the crumpled cloth out on the table.

  “Yes, uncle.”

  “The raiders are moving.” Semkah’s voice shook.

  “Yes, my king. The Meshwesh at Gemia were all dead. We saw them—the tall men. One of them pinned this to a man with the man’s own blade.”

  My father made a snorting sound. “We have no king anymore, boy. We have a mekhma, remember? What happens if she finds out you left without permission?”

  Defiantly I challenged him. “I am no boy. Uncle, Father, surely this symbol means something. A message, perhaps?”

  “More like a warning,” Semkah said. He leaned over a lambskin map that rested perpetually on a sturdy table with an onyx top.

  Together the three of us stared at the map and then the cloth, but the pattern was not clear to me. After a moment, Semkah turned the cloth and the image became apparent. A lightning bolt clutched in a hand.

  “What is this? What does it mean?”

  “I have seen this before, Omel. This is Kiffian. The hand symbol—these are the tall men. We thought they were all dead.”

  “I have seen them, my king. They are indeed tall—taller than any Meshwesh. And they kill without mercy. No one will stand before them if we do not prepare for battle. I have no doubt they will come here next. Why wouldn’t they?”

  “You should leave the battle planning to us, boy.”

  “Father, this is…”

  Before we could continue, a great commotion filled the camp. The mourning wails were replaced with screams of terror. We raced outside to see with our own eyes what we already knew. The tall men had arrived—they must have followed us here!

  “By the gods! We must fight!” I ran behind them toward the racks that held our wicker shields and curved fighting blades, and my father raced before us all.

  Semkah reached for me. “Wait! You must find Nefret!”

  “Where is she?”

  “She left this morning. Look to the north; she headed to Petra.”

  “But why? Why would she go there?”

  “Because I sent her! I let this happen. I have no right to ask, but please help her. Go now—go north. She cannot be that far ahead.”

  The shrill sounds of swords clashing and screams filled the air. I caught a glimpse of Phares and Ohn, who ran into the fray with their swords drawn and were battling clumsily for their lives. The invaders were tall and muscular—much taller than the slender Meshwesh. Semkah towered over most of his tribe, and even the king was slight in comparison to the red-haired Kiffians. I watched my father run toward a massive beast of a man and with one swing cut the man down. Swords clanged, and the Kiffians pressed into the camp easily, killing all who tried to stand against them.

  “But I must fight! You need me!” I screamed at him, still ready to race into battle. “Ohn!”

  I saw Ohn fall to the ground not fifty feet away, and blood gurgled from his mouth. A giant laughed above him, ignoring his pleas for mercy. I lurched toward him, but Semkah grasped my arm.

  “Please, for the love you bear my daughter! Go! While you still can!” Then the angry king turned on his heel and pulled his curved blade from his belt. With a war cry, Semkah spun and lunged toward the nearest enemy. His blow landed perfectly at the beast’s neck.

  With a heart torn in two, I ran back toward the nearest camel—I could not linger if I was to obey Semkah. I reasoned with myself that I was merely following the king’s commands, not abandoning my brothers or my father. As if he could read my mind, Father called me. His sword banged another and he struggled with his foe. “Alexio! Come now, son! Help us!”

  With all my heart I wanted to heed his summons, but I had to find Nefret. Surely he would understand. With the sounds of war in my ears, I rode away as tears streaked my face. Once more I heard someone call my name. I did not look back.

  I knew it was a sound that I would never forget.

  Chapter Fourteen

  For the Tribe—Nefret

  The North Star shone bright when I left Timia. I followed it obediently, reminding myself of my father’s promise to help me. I was not alone. I followed the star until the sun rose and then kept my path straight toward the north and to Petra.

  Farrah had taught us that Petra was haunted, and now here I was racing toward that very place. According to my father it would take five days to reach Petra, but what would I find there if and when I made it? Probably no living soul. I shuddered under my cloak thinking of the story of Numa and the jinn. I had never heard of the Nabataeans until I was sent to their court.

  All that we knew—all that we had been told—was a lie. I had seen the Shining Man; he made no claim to be a god, yet I knew he was something other than human. And he was in control of my life. Besides him, there were no gods and goddesses. Isis, Hathor even our dead ancestors—they could not hear the voices of mere mortals. No one cared for man, only men themselves. I struggled with this new realization and thought of my sister, who now ruled our tribe. I had been wise to leave, of that much I was sure. No doubt she would’ve made an example of me, parading me in front of her friends before she sent me to my death in the desert with no water or food or even the companionship of a donkey or camel.

  Poor Paimu! Whenever she came out of hiding, how angry she would be to know that I left without her. Forgive me, little one.

  How strange it was to see no one. Every morning before, I had been met with friendly Meshwesh faces. Isha, who gave me bread. Paimu and Ziza, who chattered through their breakfast nearly every sunrise. Now I was doomed to a life without the company of my clan. Why had Father sent me here? There were no Meshwesh in Petra. Was I to remain by myself? Surrounded by a sea of sadness, I continued to track north. I spied a few serpents and caught a glimpse of a clever hawk searching for those slithering tasty morsels. They quickly hid themselves in the sand. I was like them now, a lowly snake hiding in the sand. Tears welled up in my eyes but I did not allow myself the luxury of crying. I needed to preserve my water, not shed it over my heartless sister.

  Soon the heat of the day was upon me, and I began to worry about where I would find shelter from the blazing hot afternoon. To add to my discomfort, the wind began to blow, kicking up sand all around me. Wrapping the cloak around my face, I made a slit for my eyes and continuously scanned the horizon for a place to camp.

  Someone must be looking out for me, I thought, as just a few minutes later I spotted a rocky outcropping nearby. I made for it quickly but cautiously, knowing I may not be the only person looking for shelter. Sweating under my cloak, I dismounted from my camel and led him up the side of the rocky hill. He complained and spat furiously, but I was immune to his disdain. “I am
trying to save our lives, stupid,” I scolded him. Clucking at him, I snapped the rein a few times, and he unhappily followed me. “Just a little further—come on now. I will call you Ginku, the stubborn one.” He snorted his disapproval but obeyed me.

  We inched upwards until we came to the flat place. “Here we go. This will do. You sit there.” I patted his shoulder and immediately he plunked down, curling his legs under him. In just a few minutes I had a makeshift shelter made of a cloth and two sticks I had carried with me from Timia. Unrolling my bedroll, I sat upon the pallet, happy to be off the swaying camel for a little while. The sun burned above me, but my small patch of shade brought some relief. I took a long drink from my goatskin.

  I had been riding for hours—at least six, but it felt longer. Every step away from my tribe was a step toward the unknown. I was too tired to build a fire for food. I looked around nervously, hoping there were no bandits secreted in the caves above me. Even in the land of the Meshwesh it would be foolish to believe that a single woman was safe here among the many peoples of the desert. To the untrained eye, the Red Sands may have seemed like an endless sea. But to the intrepid trader or mercenary, the Sahara was a highway—a rich highway loaded with treasures, including slaves.

  For the first time in my life, I whispered a prayer into the surrounding heat. I had no incense, no gifts or food to offer, only my words. “If you can hear me, I beg you. Lead me as you promised you would.”

  With sleepy eyes but an active mind, I forced my eyes to remain closed.

  Suddenly I was flying, soaring above the reddish-brown earth below me. I was no longer Nefret but a falcon—a Heret falcon with massive, curved wings. With just a flick of my wings I rose high, soaring on the gust into the white clouds. With an easy flutter, I sailed downward and began to skim the sands. I screeched and rose higher and higher until again the lands below appeared small and unimportant. From my cloudy hiding place, I watched and waited. But for what I did not know.