The Tale of Nefret

by M. L. Bullock

  The date palms beside us swayed under the influence of the winds. I half wondered if we were responsible for this storm, our passion suppressed for so long now that it had loosed the elements themselves. We kissed again; neither of us spoke. He took my hand, not bothering to dress. I reached for my tunic and covered my naked body with it, following him into the darkness just beyond the camp.

  We were alone at last with no lights in sight. It felt like we were the only people in the world. Rain sprinkled down upon us like an anointing from above. In the rain there was a solemnity, and I was very aware that what we were about to do was not unseen by the gods or our ancestors. I wondered what Farrah would say about our union.

  I held Alexio’s hands in my own and kissed them. His beautiful dark face radiated a complex blend of desire and seriousness.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, his voice rough and needy.

  “Yes, I am sure.” I drew myself up tall and straight as I had seen Farrah do and said, “I am the Queen of the Meshwesh. I take you, Alexio hap Omel, as my consort. From this day forward you are my equal. Hear me, oh gods and ancestors, this is my husband, the one I choose. Bind us together for eternity. Bind us together, body, soul and mind. For we are one.”

  Alexio’s brilliant smile flashed across his face. He repeated my words. “Hear me, oh gods and ancestors, this is my wife, the one I choose. Bind us together for eternity. Bind us together, body, soul and mind. For we are one.”

  We fell to our knees, and the weightiness of what we had just done surprised me.

  With the formalities completed, Alexio and I lost ourselves in one another’s arms. He was gentle and kind at first, stroking my skin, touching my hair, kissing my lips. Yet that was not enough for me—I wanted more of him, not to be toyed with. I needed him as a woman needs a man.

  With rising urgency, I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him close to me. I knew enough about lovemaking to know that it could be painful, but I welcomed the pain. I who had suffered so little compared to my people deserved to feel pain. I wanted this. I demanded it.

  Fiercely I whispered, “Do not be easy, Alexio.”

  My words made him shudder, and he obeyed me. I kept my eyes trained on his handsome face. I slid my arms under his shoulders and pushed my body against his. He responded, penetrating me quickly as I had asked him to do. I cried out in pain as I felt my maidenhead burn away. It was a sacrifice to the Sahara, a blood covenant between Alexio and me. As the pain subsided, other sensations crept over me; a surprising warmth emanated from all parts of my body. For a moment, we hung there together in our pleasure before he collapsed beside me on the sand.

  When it was over, he kissed my neck and stroked my copper hair. I shed no tears. I felt no shame. What we had done was right. It was the beginning of healing for our tribes. According to the Old Ways, our union made us father and mother of Meshwesh. I had been the mekhma, the mother of our clan. Now the clan had a father as well.

  We rose from the sand no longer Nefret and Alexio. We were one.

  And we would always be together!

  Chapter Sixteen

  Astora’s Eyes—Omel

  Astora greeted me with her lovely smile, but the sight saddened my soul. She looked beyond me, expecting to see her son riding behind me, but she would not see him. Never again. Her queen’s blue jewel dangled upon her pretty brow and sparkled in the light. Upon closer inspection, the woman whimpered at my appearance.

  “Omel? Is that blood? Are you injured? Where is Suri?” Others surrounded me, curious to hear the fate of the young man. “Suri!” she called.

  “Cut down. Kiffians overran Biyat, Siya, Gemia and Timia. The tribes at Biyat and Siya have been murdered, but there are a few that remain at Timia. We must go to them. Benada! Omri! Gather supplies and men. We ride for Timia within the hour!”

  “Kiffians? How long has it been?” Omri asked, the young man’s eyes narrow and angry.

  “I will go gather what we need,” Benada answered, taking Omri with him.

  “Suri?” Astora asked again.

  “It is true, Astora. He is gone, but Suri fought bravely,” I lied.

  The image of the boy pinned to the ground by a Kiffian’s blade appeared unsummoned in my mind. It was I who had cut Suri’s attacker down, first sliding my blade across the back of his knees. Then, spinning like an angry whirlwind, I had removed his screaming head from his shoulders. In a final act of defiance, the severed head had rolled onto Suri’s convulsing body. With a vicious kick I had sent it skittering across the grass and with an anguished cry pulled the weapon from the skinny boy’s stomach. His mouth had spewed crimson, and his dark, frightened eyes pleaded for help but only for a moment. I squatted beside him, whispering the words I had never spoken during his life, “My son.” He made an inaudible gurgling sound and left this world’s realm.

  But this I would never tell his mother. Nor would I tell of Alexio’s desertion—how he left me and his brother and fled into the desert. I spat on the ground at the memory. She hated him for reasons I never understood.

  Astora buried her face in my chest, and I stroked her hair gingerly. Perhaps I could have delivered the news differently, but there was no time to navigate feelings. I did not cry, although sorrow pierced my heart as well. I could not allow myself the luxury of tears when our lives were hanging in the balance. I would mourn Suri in my own way when the time was right.

  “Astora, listen to me. You must gather everything you can—we have to move. It is not safe to stay here. We must gather together all the Meshwesh if we are to stand against these invaders.” Her eyes were full of questions, and tears streamed down her dusky face. “No, you must trust me. We will mourn our son, but now we must go. Pack the oils, and we will bury him together. Do you understand?”

  She nodded and then examined my face with narrowed eyes. “What of Alexio? Is he dead also?”

  “No. Hurry now. You must lead the women. We leave within the hour.” Something passed behind her eyes, but I could not fathom it. One day I would get to the bottom of her hatred for my eldest son, but today was not that day.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Unseen Hand—Nefret

  My uncle had returned—I heard the sounds of jubilation, but I did not join in the welcoming party. Our relationship had always been distant. I had the distinct impression that Omel disapproved of me in some important way. Perhaps because he and Father were always at odds or because Pah went out of her way to endear herself to him. It was not until the trials that I saw clearly how much he favored her. But now she was gone. Grief stabbed in my heart. No, I would not give up on her. Somehow I would find her.

  Father stirred beside me. I press the cloth against his feverish forehead. His eyes flickered open, “Kadeema.”

  “No, Father. It is me—Nefret.”

  “Nefret.” Recognition flickered across his face, and he gave a ragged sigh.

  “Do you want some water?” I filled the sponge with water and pressed it against his lips. He pulled the water from the sponge thirstily. I smiled at him. Surely this was a good sign.

  “My arm?”

  My smile disappeared. I did not want to tell this warrior that he was a warrior no longer, but what else could I do? “It is gone, Father. Orba did all he could to save it.” Despite the removal of the nearly severed arm, the chance of infection and death remained. The stitches were red, and Orba had gone in search of the ingredients he needed to cleanse and fuse the wound. Father attempted to move his shoulder but grimaced in pain. His tanned skin was pale—his dark eyes stared at the white canvas that hung above him as he gasped.

  “In my tunic pocket—the necklace. Take it.”

  As I removed the necklace from his bloodstained tunic, my breath caught in my throat. I had forgotten about my found prize. The green stones felt cool in my hand.

  “Where did you find this?” he asked me.

  “I found it in the sand behind the camp. I know that it is forbidden to leave
the oasis unattended, but I needed time to myself. I am sorry, Father.”

  His head rolled with a halfhearted laugh. “You have no need to apologize. You are the mekhma—you always were. I told those fools! The necklace proves that.”

  “What does the necklace have to do with the mekhma?”

  “It was Kadeema’s necklace.”

  I sat still, trying to comprehend his words. Surely these were the words of a fevered brain. “How can that be?”

  He shook his head sadly. “It is not by chance that you found this. Your mother led you to it. Claim it and keep it, Nefret. It is a queen’s necklace—it belongs to the queens of Grecia whose blood runs in your veins. Now you are truly the queen of the Meshwesh.”

  Clutching the necklace tightly, I whispered, “My mother’s necklace. I have heard the story of her disappearance, but I know nothing about her. You never speak of her.” I did not mean to upbraid him at such a time, but to hear him speak of such things was a rare event. Perhaps it was the fever after all.

  “Wear it. Put it on and claim your right.”

  With shaking fingers I did as he asked me. His warm hand cupped my face, and he gazed into my eyes. “There is much you do not know. I have not been a good father.”

  “You are the best of fathers!” I held his hand and squeezed it.

  “A nice lie. Such love—love that I do not deserve. So like your mother. All these years I believed she left me. I wanted to believe that. In that there was at least some peace.” Tears slid down his temples. “I should have known she would never have left me or our daughters.” I could hear my uncle and the men of Fayyum, my uncle’s tribe, approaching.

  “Promise me something.”

  “Yes. Anything, Father.”

  “Find your sister. Whatever her crimes, she does not deserve such a fate.”

  “I will find her—I promise.” With a groan of pain, he lay still with his eyes clamped closed.

  I mulled over his words, hoping he would sleep. But with sudden ferocity his eyes sprang open and he said, “Omel will say that you are too young to lead—too inexperienced—but do not listen. If you renounce your right to rule, even temporarily, you will never get it back. He is not an evil man, but he is stubborn and ambitious, and these are troubling times.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Nefret, you must rally the remaining tribes. Go to Saqqara and tell the tribes to meet you there. If Biyat and Siya have fallen, the only place you can go is east.”

  “But what about the Nabataeans?”

  “No, stay away from Petra now. You must go to Saqqara! Have Farrah…no, I forgot. Have Orba send the sigil of the Bee-Eater to all of the remaining tribes. They will answer; they will obey. Go to Saqqara. The Kiffians will not follow you there—it is the City of the Dead. They fear it.” Bright red color bled through the bandages that Orba had encircled his stump with.

  “Father, your wound! Hold still until Orba returns. We can discuss this later.”

  “There is no time! Listen to me.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Egypt is the answer.”

  “Egypt? What about the Cushites or the Algat? Haven’t you said all your life that we cannot trust Egypt?”

  “The Kiffians will come again. This time they’ll come with fire and they’ll burn everything away. There will be nothing left. Go to Egypt, to Pharaoh. He knows the way to Zerzura. You must unite the clan—take us home, Nefret.” He groaned in pain, and sweat poured off his forehead.

  The snakes of destiny twisted in my stomach. My father had been a wise ruler, and I knew he offered me his best advice.

  “Go now. Meet Omel. Do not let him see me like this. Be strong and don’t waver. You must build the tribe’s confidence—give them something to believe in, Nefret. You can do this.”

  I kissed his forehead and stood on shaky legs. Thirsty and exhausted, I straightened my clothes and opened my tunic slightly so all would see my necklace clearly. The necklace would be proof to them that I was doubly a queen. I would let no man challenge me. With my head held high, I stepped out from under the canvas. With a purposeful stride, I went to meet my uncle and his tribe.

  My uncle and his consort were busy greeting and consoling my people. An old woman wept upon Astora’s shoulder, and Astora whispered in her ear. Since my uncle did not greet me as I approached, I called out to him. Without summoning them, Ayn and Alexio took their places beside me; one on my left and the other on my right. I did not look at them, but their presence gave me strength.

  “Omel, thank you for returning so swiftly. My people thank you.” Omel did not make haste to greet me, but he did not risk ignoring me either. He bowed briefly and summoned his consort to attend me. My father had been right. Omel had a mind to rule. Astora walked toward me with her arms wide open. A look of understanding and sadness was upon her face, but it was merely a mask. Her expressive black eyes revealed something very different. I stepped back from her arms, refusing her embrace, and greeted her with respect.

  “Astora, I welcome you to Timia. Your healing hands are welcome here, for there is much to do before we leave in the morning.” My words grabbed my uncle’s attention, and he faced me now. His expression was angry, even aggravated.

  “Go? Where are we going?”

  “We leave Timia in the morning before the sun casts its first light over the desert.” I looked him steadily in the eyes. He wanted to say something, but I rebuffed him. I turned to face the tribe that was gathering around us. I felt such sympathy for them. Broken, confused and without hope. These were my people!

  Once again I felt the unseen hand moving across my heart and mind. In the crowd, I imagined the Shining Man smiling and watching me. It gave me confidence to believe that the words I was about to speak were his words. Indeed, I believed that they were. I raised my voice as I had heard Farrah do a hundred times before. I missed the Old One, but I continued in my speech.

  “Sons and daughters of Ma! It is true that Biyat, Siya and Gemia have been overrun! It is true that many of our brothers and sisters here at Timia have vanished from the earth and will never walk in the Land of the Living again. But it is also true that we are alive and that their blood and the blood of our ancestors still flows in our veins. We can no longer be many tribes; we must be one clan! We are Meshwesh!”

  Some of the women cried, and I could not help but notice that there were very few children among us. Oh, Paimu! Still, many were stirred by my words and shouted, “Hafa-nu, mekhma!” It was a phrase that meant much, both an expression of thanks and an offering of blessing. I raised my hand in acknowledgment and continued.

  “These are evil days. Many of us have lost much. Even our mekhma, my own sister, has fallen prey to these evil men. But they shall not prevail. Tomorrow we leave for Saqqara. It is many days’ walk to reach the City of the Dead, but we shall be safe there.”

  Astora scoffed. “Saqqara? What will we do there? There are no oases, and the Egyptians will not welcome us into their territory. Are we to dig graves and become one with those who have been buried in the brick mountains?” She sneered at me. Ayn hissed at her, but I ignored her.

  “As mekhma, I will send the sigil of the Bee-Eaters to the remaining tribes, summoning them to Saqqara. I need riders to carry the sigils. Who will ride for me?” Many men volunteered, even my uncle, but I could not risk an insurrection. If my uncle were to rally another tribe against me, it would mean further division and death for the Meshwesh.

  “Brave uncle, you honor me with your hand, but I need you here as a valued member of my Council. You men—yes, you four. You must leave with all haste and return to us at Saqqara. Ayn!”

  “Yes, mekhma?”

  “Take these men to Orba. He will find the sigils. Provide them with everything they need for their journey.” With the sign of respect, Ayn backed away and did as I bade her. The men followed close behind her. Alexio and I stood together—I resisted the urge to reach out and take his hand. This was no time to show weakness.<
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  “Tonight there will be no fires. If you must cook, prepare what you need now. When darkness falls upon the Red Lands, let everything be silent. No songs. No mourning. Keep quiet. Mothers, tend to your babies. We will not fall prey to this enemy again. The darkness will protect us. My uncle will assign warriors to watch the camp through the night.” Omel stared at me but did not argue. “You will go to the caves and then on to Saqqara. It is a long journey. Pack wisely and leave what you can.”

  I walked through the crowd, stopping to touch the face of a grief-stricken mother and pat the shoulder of a man who had lost a daughter in the raid. “I know you feel broken—I feel the loss too! Comfort one another!”

  “Hafa-nu, mekhma!” someone cried out spontaneously.

  “Hafa-nu, my people.”

  “Tonight, I go before you to Egypt! All will be well. All will be well. I go to Pharaoh, but I promise to return to you. And then, my people, we will return to Zerzura! No more wandering in the desert. It is time to go home.” The faces of the people lit up with happiness. They whispered to one another. Yes, home. We must go home. It is time!

  The shock on my uncle’s face silenced his consort. This was what had to be done, and I was prepared to do it. There was nothing Omel could do now to take this away from me. I nodded to him in acknowledgement. With his fist over his heart, in the Egyptian way, he acknowledged me. Astora scowled and turned her back on me.