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8

Rae

Rae woke the following morning with an itch to fight. Her father was already up, having eaten his morning meal and cared for the zebu while she was still asleep.

“We have much to do,” he said when Rae emerged, rumpled and blinking into the sunlight streaming through their front window. “If we have any hope to harvest enough grain for the king’s tax, we must work from dawn until dusk.”

Rae groaned, imagining all Buto’s boasts when she failed to show up. She longed to introduce his smug face to the dirt, to stand over him in front of all his arrogant friends and—

She clenched her fists.

Not today.

Her father thrust a hunk of bread at her and got to work attaching the sickle to the raw stump of his arm.

Rae grunted and took a bite of the stale bread. “Ugh,” she said, choking down the food and reaching for the water jug. “Do I at least have time to get some fresh loaves from the baker?”

“Fine,” her father said irritably, “but don’t be long. We have no time to waste.”

His face was deeply lined, and there were dark rings under his eyes. He was far from an old man, but the past two seasons had aged him considerably. They’d been hard days, and it seemed that they were only going to get harder. Rae felt a twinge of dread.

She washed with cold water from the basin, tied her hair up with a strip of linen, and shouldered past her father out the door.

“Don’t start without me,” she warned him. “I don’t want you hurting yourself trying to do too much.”

Her father gave her a look of contempt. “I’m not the one going into town and challenging every man in sight, now am I?”

Rae froze, a blush rising to her cheeks. “You know about that?”

Her father laughed. “They took my hand, daughter of mine, not my eyes and ears. I’d have to be a fool not to see what’s really been going on. How many times can one person possibly trip over a rock and fall on her face?”

“Oh.” Rae could hardly meet his eyes. “Are you… are you angry?”

Her father sighed. “Your mother—may she live forever in the West—was a gentle woman. You didn’t inherit your belligerence from her. ”

Rae’s gaze flicked over her father’s shoulder to the small shrine in the corner of their house. There was a low offering table before a mud-brick pedestal, on which stood the small limestone bust of her mother. Her father had traded away a fine silver ring he’d gotten from King Rahotep to have her likeness made after she died.

“You have her eyes, and her smile,” her father went on. “But I’m sorry to say that the rest you get from me. I may not seem like much these days, but there was a time when I, too, had fire in my belly. When war had me longing for a blade in my hand and an enemy before me.” He adjusted the sickle on his arm with a grimace. “But that fire went out long ago. Still, I cannot fault you for stoking one of your own. So no, I’m not angry.”

Rae exhaled in relief. “Thank you, Father.”

“That doesn’t mean I condone your behavior,” he added sternly. “It has not been safe in Sakesh since the Unification—and it’s even less so now. Trouble enough will find you without you looking for it. Find another way to cool your passions, Raetawy. I cannot lose you too. Understand?”

Rae nodded, contrite. “Yes, Father.”

“Good. Now get the bread—and be quick about it.”

***

After a hurried trip into the city, Rae headed back to the farm with two still-warm loaves in her shoulder sack. She walked along the river road, thinking of the conversation she had with Omari the day before. Her anger had burned itself out overnight, leaving worry behind in its ashes.

He had spoken passionately about this group of “like-minded men” and their collective calling to fight for Low Khetara. But he was a fool—a fool she loved dearly, but a fool nonetheless. There was nothing a few farmers and artisans could do against the immense power of the throne. He would only succeed in getting himself killed.

Rae shook her head that someone as even-keeled as Omari would be taken in by such a scheme. Aren’t I supposed to be the reckless one? Then again, affairs in Sakesh were dire, and everyone had their own ways of dealing with the strain.

He’s always been there to talk sense into me , she thought. It’s only right that I do the same for him.

When the reaping was done, Rae decided to visit his workshop. Surely if she laid it out, calmly and logically, Omari would see she was right and give up his plans.

She was just approaching one of the neighboring farms when she heard raised voices.

“Have you no heart?”

She recognized that one as Baki, the shepherd who worked the land. Baki was a quiet man, so Rae was surprised to hear him speaking with such vehemence.

“Have you no sense of mercy? I have a wife, children who still wear the sidelock of youth. You would leave them to starve?”

Rae stopped at the path through the shepherd’s field, where three dozen sheep stood, grazing. Up ahead, a group of people stood by the house. Baki gripped his long shepherd’s crook in one hand, but the others’ backs were toward her. Even so, she knew who had come calling. The nomarch’s boat was anchored down by the riverbank, its ram-head sail billowing in the breeze. She took a few steps closer to better hear what they were saying.

“Watch your tongue, lest you wish to part ways with it,” replied the nomarch. “It is very simple, so I’ll say it again, more slowly so you understand. You will pay the king’s tax and hand over half your flock in two days’ time. The welfare of your women and children is your problem, not mine.”

“The king’s tax!” the shepherd exclaimed. “When is the last time King Amunmose has observed the Shemsu Hor and paid Sakesh a visit? How do we know that you aren’t simply taking our livelihood for yourselves in his name? How do we know the king still lives? There are men who say he is ill, that his death comes on swift wings, that it is only a matter of time before—”

He never finished the sentence.

Quick as a flash, the nomarch pulled a leather flail from his belt and whipped Baki across the face. The shepherd cried out, and his crook clattered to the ground. Startled, some of the sheep bleated and scattered.

“On his knees,” the nomarch said to his men. He sounded almost bored.

Two of the nomarch’s guard stepped forward, grabbing the shepherd by the arms and forcing him to the ground.

Rae’s fists clenched at her sides.

Father is waiting for you at home , she told herself.

A moment later, a naked boy, no more than four years old, came tearing out of the shepherd’s house. The long braid that trailed from one side of his head bounced as he ran.

“Yati!” He ran to wrap his arms around the shepherd’s neck.

“No, no!” Baki cried. “Go inside!”

The shepherd’s wife appeared in the doorway, an infant in her arms and terror in her eyes. Rae watched her clutch the child to her breast, watched her realize she dared not intervene if she wanted to keep her children safe.

Rae’s fists clenched, her body trembling.

Don’t you ever think about it, Rae?

Ignoring the presence of the little boy, the nomarch raised his flail again to bring it down on the man’s back. His son, still clinging to him, let out a high, thin wail.

Rae’s peripheral vision faded, until all she saw was the nomarch’s face and the smile touching the corner of his lips. He was enjoying himself.

Don’t you ever wonder why you’re so angry?

“Stop!” she shouted.

Before she fully knew what she was doing, Rae had dropped her sack and run up the path toward the nomarch and his men.

The nomarch paused in mid-swing. He and his entire guard turned to her, but she closed the distance between them before they could respond. Catching the nomarch’s arm under hers and pinning it to her body, she swiveled her hips until the flail fell from the man’s grip. Then she stumbled back, stunned at what she’d just done.

Nobody moved. When the blow didn’t come, Baki raised his head. His eyes widened at Rae standing there among them.

The nomarch stared at her, his face scarlet with rage. “By Amun, look who it is,” he said through gritted teeth. “Ankhu’s girl.”

Rae raised her hands in the air. Shit, shit, shit . What was I thinking? Father is going to kill me.

She spoke quickly. “My apologies, nomarch. But I was worried for the boy. He could have gotten hurt.”

Rae knew she should stop talking, but the words kept coming. “You can’t blame the shepherd for his anger. He only speaks out of concern for his family.”

The nomarch blinked, as if deeply considering her words. Then he nodded to the guards, who released Baki and grabbed Rae instead. She grunted as they shoved her forward, her arms pinned behind her back.

“Well, Raetawy,” the nomarch said, calm and in control once more. “I knew you were stupid, but this…” He opened his hands to encompass the entire situation. “This is really something, even for you.”

Rae struggled in the guards’ grip, and one of them wrenched her wrist higher on her back until her shoulder nearly broke.

“Be still, woman,” the guard hissed.

Her lip curled into a snarl, but she made no sound.

The nomarch bent to retrieve his flail from the ground, then walked toward her with slow, deliberate steps.

“You want to save this man and his child from his punishment, eh? That is very generous. Very generous, indeed. But someone must pay the price for his insolence. I suppose now that someone is you.” He smiled. “I should thank you. I will enjoy beating you a great deal more.”

He turned to the guards. “Strip her.”

They ripped the tunic from her body and threw it to the side, leaving her in only her loincloth. She tried to fight back, but there were too many of them.

The guards shoved her face down in the dirt. Sharp pebbles scraped her breasts and belly, and she coughed as sand went down her throat. She made to get up, to run, but a foot came down on the back of her neck. Panting, she felt a shadow fall over her, as the nomarch’s fine beaded sandals stepped in front of her face.

“Hmm,” he growled. It was a hungry sound, full of hatred and desire.

With a whistling and a crack, the flail came whipping down on her back. The pain was sudden and searing. Before she could react, the sensation came again. And again.

Don’t cry , something inside her commanded. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

She clenched her teeth until she felt that they would shatter.

He whipped her. Again, and again, and again, until she lost count. Until time lost all form as her flesh parted from itself, first in one place, then another. A curtain of warm blood coated her, dripping down the curves of her shoulders and pooling between her breasts. She drooled, the saliva intermingling with the blood and the sweat and the silent tears streaming down her face.

But she didn’t make a sound.

Dimly, she heard the nomarch panting with exertion above her. The strokes came less and less frequently, and with less force. Still, each felt worse than the last. She tried to hide inside her mind, to untether herself from the pain, but her body kept her present. She never went numb. She felt everything.

The strokes slowed until, with one final gasp from the nomarch, they stopped altogether.

It was quiet then, broken only by the occasional bleating of a lamb.

Rae’s back pulsed with the beating of her heart, each time spilling a little more blood down the sides of her naked body. Fingers dug into her scalp and pulled her head up by her hair. Her eyes fluttered, and through the mist of pain, she saw the nomarch kneeling at her side.

“That’s very good,” he cooed, licking his thin lips. “But I would have enjoyed it more if you screamed.”

Rae stared at him, a long string of spit dripping from her chin. Then, with effort, she chuckled.

The nomarch’s smile dropped from his face. “Are you… laughing?”

“You’ve used all your strength,” Rae said, pink-tinged spittle spraying from her mouth, soiling his pristine white robes. “And you still can’t break me.”

The nomarch recoiled in disgust, dropping her head to the ground. His foot made contact with her temple, and everything went black.

***

Rae had no idea how long she was out, but it couldn’t have been very long.

Sound returned first, like a rush of wind in her ears. For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was or what had happened—then the blinding pain in her back and head reminded her. She opened her eyes to a blur of noise and color, and her stomach twisted with disorientation.

“You have two days to prepare your flock for transport,” a voice said, distorted and strange. “Your fields are unburned, and the girl still breathes. Is that not mercy, shepherd?”

There was a pause, and then: “Yes, Nomarch.”

Rae felt a cloud of dust pass over her, stinging her eyes, as the nomarch and his guard departed.

Baki’s stricken face appeared before her. She watched his eyes rove over her body, his nostrils flaring, before he reached for her tunic and laid it gently over her.

“Yati?” a tiny, frightened voice said.

Baki looked up. “Go to your mother, son.”

After the little footsteps receded, the shepherd looked back at her, grim. “I’m so sorry, Rae, but this is going to hurt.”

Pulling her gently onto her side, he laced his hands underneath her legs and shoulders and lifted her into his arms. The movement stretched her torn skin, and the pain was white-hot.

This time, she screamed.

Then Baki was running, as fast as his legs could carry him. Rae’s head lolled on his shoulder, and she saw the grazing fields turn to wheat.

“Ankhu!” the shepherd shouted. “Ankhu, you must come quickly!”

She couldn’t bear to see the look on her father’s face as he emerged from the fields, but thankfully, she didn’t have to. Her body, knowing that the worst was finally over, released its stranglehold on her mind, and she fainted.

***

“Will she be all right?”

It was the first thing Rae heard when she came to again. She was lying on her sleeping mat, dressed in a fresh tunic and covered in a thin blanket. She no longer felt sticky and gritty with dirt, and she wondered who had bathed her. When she turned her head, her father was standing at the door of their house with a portly man who she recognized as the local healer.

“The blow to her head was not hard enough to cause permanent damage, so I would leave that alone,” the healer replied, hiking his leather satchel up onto his shoulder. “But I’ve applied a linseed ointment over the injuries to her back and left you a bottle of willow, dill, and myrtle extract that she can take with her beer for the pain. A few drops will do. Still, the damage was extensive… She may always experience some discomfort due to the scarring.”

Rae shifted. Her entire torso was wrapped in linen bandages.

Her father nodded, looking at the floor. “Thank you for coming. I will have the brewer deliver a week’s worth of beer to your household as soon as possible.”

The healer waved away her father’s words. “Do not worry yourself about payment now, Ankhu. You have your hands full finishing the harvest. Rae shouldn’t move from her bed for at least a couple days, until the wounds begin to heal.”

There was a pause. “I do not know how I will do it without her,” her father whispered.

Rae winced.

The healer put a beefy hand on Ankhu’s shoulder. “The tale of what Raetawy did for Baki has already swept through the farms, my friend. I have a feeling there will be many hands to help.”

Her father put his hand over his mouth and nodded.

After the healer left, Ankhu came to her side. Rae closed her eyes, feigning sleep. She felt like a coward, but she wasn’t ready to face him. Wasn’t ready to answer the questions he was bound to ask.

Why?

Why couldn’t you let it be?

Why did you have to fight?

She listened to his short, shallow breaths. She felt his hand touch her hair, brushing it from her eyes. Then he said something that made her feel worse than any angry words or threats of punishment ever could.

“My brave girl,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

***

Rae waited until her father had gone to sleep.

She rose from her sleeping mat, quietly so she wouldn’t wake him. Her legs were weak at first, and every movement set fire to the wounds on her back. She was dizzy too, so she grabbed a jug of water and drank half of it, tipping it until cool rivulets spilled over the edges of her lips. It helped, a little.

She peered out the window. There was still some light left. She’d passed the remains of the day in and out of fitful sleep, dimly aware of voices speaking in hushed tones outside the house. Curious neighbors, most likely. Her father must have been so exhausted from the ordeal that he turned in early.

Perfect. Omari will still be working.

It was a short walk to the workshop, but it felt unbearably long. At one point, she lost her balance and nearly fell, but managed to catch herself against a palm tree. She felt one of her wounds reopen beneath the bandages and gasped. But she kept going.

The workshop was a long, low structure, kept in pristine condition—exactly what you’d expect from a family of carpenters. Firelight flickered from the open doorway, and the rhythmic strike of a hammer echoed from within. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she stumbled through the door.

Omari looked up, his hammer poised over a wooden peg. Tools lay all around him in neat lines—pull saws, adzes, bow drills, and small jars filled with glue and more wooden pegs. Wood in all shapes and sizes leaned against the walls, where several lit torches burned, filling the air with the smell of smoke and sawdust. Despite only wearing a small loincloth, Omari’s whole body was shiny with sweat.

He dropped the hammer to his side and hurried over to her.

“Rae?” Omari asked, clearly alarmed. “What are you doing? I came to your house as soon as I heard what happened, but your father said you weren’t seeing visitors. He said you weren’t to move for two days! Ay—what were you thinking, coming here?”

She thought of the broken soldiers, muttering on street corners about the lives they used to have.

She thought of Tamerit, and how she’d fled with her family from a place even worse than Sakesh, seeking refuge from the despair that seemed to spread like a plague across Low Khetara.

She thought of Baki, armed to defend his family with nothing but impotent rage.

And finally, she thought of her father. His expression when the healer told him she’d be scarred for life. The sound of him crying at her side. The weeping stump of his arm, and how he strapped that sickle to it each day without complaint.

She thought of his fire, no longer burning.

And hers blazed brighter.

“Omari,” she said, ignoring her friend’s questions. “Those secret meetings you mentioned, with the ‘like-minded men’—when is the next one?”

Omari’s blinked, surprised. “Why?” Then his gaze was redirected. “Rae, you’re bleeding,” he said, gesturing toward the side of her leg. “Let me take you home—”

“Never mind that now!” Her legs went weak again and she grabbed onto Omari’s arm for balance. He dropped the hammer to the floor and steadied her. “The meeting…” she pressed.

Omari scoffed. But he’d been Rae’s friend long enough to know it was easier to do what she asked. “Tomorrow. The next one is tomorrow. Why?”

Rae swallowed, forcing herself to stand up straight.

Find another way, Raetawy , her father had commanded .

“Because,” she said, “I’m coming with you.”