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10

Rae

When the brightest star crossed its zenith, Rae set off.

Her father didn’t stir when she rose from her sleeping mat. It had been an emotional, exhausting day. He’d gotten up first thing in the morning, and prepared to work all day to harvest enough wheat to meet the nomarch’s unreasonable demands. When Rae offered to assist him, they’d argued—only to be interrupted by the arrival of several neighbors and their families, including Omari and Baki. As the healer had predicted, word had spread of Rae’s good deed, and many in the community had shown up to help.

Seeing them out there, working together to harvest a neighbor’s grain despite their own troubles—for the king’s tax spared no one—made Rae feel a fierce pride for her fellow Sakeshis. Like the wheat, her people bent in the wind, but did not break.

When he’d first arrived, the shepherd had grasped her hand. “I don’t know how to repay you, Raetawy. That beating should have been mine.”

Embarrassed by Baki’s gesture, Rae shrugged. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“No,” Baki said, ardently. “They wouldn’t have.”

Ankhu watched the exchange with an expression Rae couldn’t identify. Pride? Anger? Dread? It could have been all three.

Despite everyone talking about the incident with the nomarch, Rae and her father didn’t speak of it. In fact, besides the argument, they hardly spoke at all. At sundown, they’d stopped work, settled the zebu for the night, and eaten supper in silence. And after shoving bits of bread and salted fish into his mouth, her father had finished his beer, gotten up from the table, and went to lie down on his mat. Within moments, he was asleep.

Rae had cleaned up the meal, washed her face and hands in the basin, and then lain down next to him. She watched over him for hours, just as he must have watched over her the night before.

She remembered how impossibly large he had seemed when she was growing up. To her, he was the strongest man alive. A bulwark against an increasingly wretched world. He’d kept them both clothed and fed until she was old enough to help with the farm, and sheltered her from the ugly reality of life in Sakesh to give her the gift of a happy childhood.

It had been a shock to them both when Rae grew not only as tall as her father, but surpassed him by a fingerbreadth or two.

“Don’t be smug, lest you be humbled,” he’d said the first time he’d realized it, wagging a finger at her. “You’re still my little girl, and always will be.”

Watching him sleep, she couldn’t help but notice how small he looked, his thinning, work-hardened body curled under the thin blanket.

I’m sorry, Father , she thought. But you can’t protect me anymore.

When it was time, she left her bed and padded softly to the door, stopping to don a shawl and pluck her father’s knife from his belt. It was a fine bronze blade with a blackwood handle—one of the only relics left of Ankhu’s life as a scribe in King Rahotep’s court. The hilt was engraved with geometric designs and a large wedjat eye, its pupil inset with carnelian.

Some mornings, she’d catch him praying, knife in hand and eyes toward the dawn, the last vestige of his crumbling faith. “Hear me, Ra,” he’d say. “Maker of Hours, Lord of Days—hear me and cast your light upon me. Burn away the fear in my heart, and watch over me so that I may see you again tomorrow.”

Rae whispered her father’s prayer as she pushed the knife into her own belt and stepped into the chill night. She rubbed her arms, her teeth chattering, and wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders as she walked toward Omari’s house. She dared not bring a torch, so she relied on the moon to light her way. Khetarans generally avoided travel at night, as anything done after sundown was generally viewed with suspicion.

“Only jackals and criminals lurk in the dark,” people said.

I wonder what that makes me? Rae thought as she approached the workshop.

Omari was waiting for her outside, also wrapped in a dark shawl. When she tried to greet him, he pressed a finger to his lips. He pointed toward a path into the mountains and motioned for her to follow. It wasn’t until they’d left the workshop far behind that he finally spoke.

“Are you sure about this? There’s still time for you to turn back.”

Rae adjusted the hood of her shawl. The movement caused the torn flesh on her back to stretch and sting. She winced, but the pain served as a reminder of why she was there in the first place. “‘My eyes have been opened to injustice I can no longer tolerate,’” she said wryly, throwing his own words back in his face. “You want me to close them again?”

Omari’s jaw clenched in exasperation. “Curse you, Ay. I only told you about this because I wanted you to support my fight against the High Khetarans. I never intended for you to join me in it. These men… they won’t look kindly on me bringing a woman into their midst. For all I know, they’ll throw you out the moment you arrive.”

Rae put a hand to the hilt of the knife at her side. “Let them try.”

Omari sighed. He didn’t call her “donkey” for nothing. Still, Rae caught him casting worried glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

They walked across the barren terrain, having left all vegetation behind. After a while, Rae crested a low hill and saw a large landform ahead. It looked like a ragged, oddly shaped mountain—except it seemed to have a perfectly rectangular man-size doorway cut into it. She could see moonlight shining through from the other side.

“Is that where we’re headed?” Rae asked.

Omari nodded. “It is the Hesep-Mut—the Garden of the Dead. Thousands of years ago it was a vast necropolis, but now it’s a ruin. No one goes there, and it provides a great deal of cover, so it’s the perfect meeting place.”

“A necropolis, you say,” Rae said, feeling a tingle up her spine.

“Yes, so watch your step.”

As if on cue, Rae’s foot caught on something under the sand that almost sent her sprawling. When she looked back to see what it was, the top half of a human skull peered out at her, the holes of its eyes filled with sand.

“Come on,” Omari urged. “Hurry up or we’ll be late.”

Rae tore her gaze from the skull and rushed to follow. He didn’t have to tell her twice.

As they approached the door, Rae could see that the structure was a monument of incredible size, built with thousands of mud bricks, their edges softened by time. In its heyday, the Hesep-Mut must have been an awesome thing to behold—even now, its sheer size nearly took her breath away.

In fact, she was so distracted by the sight of it that she didn’t notice the man slip out from the shadows toward them.

Rae gasped as a knife pressed against her throat. She went to reach for her own weapon, but the blade pressed harder against her flesh.

“Don’t,” a gruff voice said from behind her.

In the next moment, an archer appeared silhouetted in the doorway, an arrow nocked in his bow and ready to fly.

Omari ripped the hood from his head and raised his arms in surrender. “Please, we come in peace! It’s me, Omari! I attended the last meeting. My friend wishes to join our number.”

The archer called out to them without lowering his arrow. “The falcon sails across the sky.”

Omari licked his lips, his eyes flicking to Rae. The man’s arm held her firmly to him, and she stood rigid, trying not to inhale his sour breath.

What is that supposed to mean? Rae thought.

“We shall meet him on the horizon,” Omari answered.

There was a pause before the man’s grip loosened and the blade dropped away. Rae whirled on her assailant, a wart of a man who she could toss over her shoulder without much effort. He had scraggly whiskers and absurdly large ears, which gave him the overall impression of a donkey. She shoved him.

“Son of a dog!” she spat.

“Rae!” Omari barked. “Leave him alone. He was only doing his job.”

“And what job is that?” Rae muttered, still glaring at Big Ears.

“An important one,” the archer replied. “Keeping spies out of our midst.” He lowered his bow and stepped out of the shadows. “Which, in turn, keeps us all alive.”

Unlike his friend, the archer was a strapping man of about her father’s age, his short black hair and beard shot through with silver. He wore a short schenti and a coarse, sleeveless black robe that seemed cut from the night itself. A green scarab amulet, laced on rough cord, rested on his bare chest. He moved with assurance, and Rae thought he would have looked quite at home riding a chariot. The archer seemed unbothered by the cold as he reached out to grasp Omari’s hand at the wrist.

“I welcome you,” he said, one eyebrow raised. “Though I’m beginning to question your judgment.” He shot a glance at Rae.

“You’re not alone in that…” Omari admitted.

Rae scowled, a thousand curses on the tip of her tongue.

“However,” Omari went on, “I have known this girl for many years. She can be trusted. I give you my word, Asim.”

Rae swallowed the curses as Asim approached her. He was a little taller than her and gave off a powerful but not unpleasant scent of burning wood.

“You may join the meeting, kitten,” he murmured. “But if you breathe a word of it to anyone, I will find out, and I will not hesitate to slit your throat from ear to ear. Do you understand?”

She stared back at him, unflinching. If this was Asim’s way of scaring her off, it wasn’t going to work. “The name is Raetawy.”

A smile quirked at the edge of his lips. “Do you understand… Raetawy?”

Instinctually, Rae’s hand came up to touch the tiny wound where the other man’s blade had pierced her throat. “I understand.”

Asim nodded. “Very well. Then come with me—we are about to begin.”

Letting out a shaky breath, Rae followed the three men through the doorway into the Hesep-Mut. Beyond it, the structure opened into a massive courtyard, surrounded by towering, uneven walls. Here and there, the broken remains of pyramid-topped pillars stood, along with wide altars nearly buried in windblown sand. A group of more than two dozen men waited by one of the altars, talking among themselves.

Rae recognized quite a few of them—fishermen, farmers, the brewer, the potter’s son. Others she’d met once or twice because they were acquaintances of her father, ex-soldiers in King Rahotep’s army who would sometimes offer to work in exchange for a meal. Their sinewy arms, trained to wield a khopesh in the heat of battle, were forced to make do swinging a sickle instead.

The murmurs fell silent with Asim’s approach. The archer—who Rae recognized must be their leader—dropped his bow beside the altar and nimbly leaped onto it.

“My brothers,” he declared, “Esteemed members of the Horizon. I have heard about the nomarch’s visits to your fields and workshops, and about the pharaoh’s merciless ultimatum. As if the drought was not bad enough—now Amunmose wishes to steal the very food from our children’s mouths!” There were angry murmurs in reply. “Brothers—this cannot stand!”

A rallying cry went up from the men.

“A generation ago, Sematawy, the so-called Great Uniter, and the armies of High Khetara invaded our land and slaughtered our king, leaving Sakesh in ruins. Even now, there are ghosts among us! Men whose bodies still walk the earth, despite their souls having died the day the war was lost! And now Amunmose, a pretender who has never carried a khopesh in his life, he wears the White Crown of our kingdom and calls himself a god-king! But he is no god, is he, my brothers?”

“No!” the crowd replied.

“This tax increase is the act of a coward and a fool, and we must not accept it—lest we too become cowards and fools! And so, I propose we send a clear message to Pharaoh with a raid on the House of the Medjay, the very men who help him enforce his laws and keep us defenseless. We have been waiting for the right moment to act—my brothers, this is that moment! My messengers tell me that Amunmose is very ill. In his weakness, he has allowed his soldiers to become idle. Fewer guard the House of the Medjay than ever before! If we follow my plan and work together, we can cut them down like wheat in the field before they can raise an alarm.” Asim paused for breath. “Now,” he cried, “Who’s with me?”

The question was greeted by an uncomfortable silence.

Rae stood at the back of the crowd, watching the men stare at the ground or each other, mumbling softly and shaking their heads.

Asim was looking at them too, consternation clear on his face. “I’m disappointed in you, brothers. You have been coming here for months, airing your grievances, and now that I ask for your help to allay those grievances, to fight back against this injustice—suddenly you’re at a loss for words? Where is your passion? Is there nothing between your legs but the wind?”

Again, silence.

“I’m with you.”

The words tumbled out of Rae’s mouth before she could think better of them.

Omari elbowed her. “What are you doing?” he whispered harshly.

“What?” she whispered back. “You said you wanted to fight, why didn’t you volunteer?”

“I was about to, but then you—”

“Who speaks?” Asim called out, scanning the crowd.

The people in front of her parted, leaving a clear path to the front. But when the men saw who she was, they erupted with exclamations of surprise and irritation.

“Is that Ankhu’s girl?”

“Raetawy, this is no place for you!”

“What fool brought her here?”

“That fool brought her.” Asim pointed at Omari. Omari ducked his head as the jeers were diverted in his direction. “But this fool let her in.” Asim pointed to himself.

The crowd quieted.

“And with good reason, it seems, if it takes a farmer’s daughter to shame you all into action.”

“It’s not that we don’t agree with you, Asim,” the brewer called out. He was a short man, shaped like a barrel. “But what chance do we have against the Medjay?”

The other men nodded their agreement.

“We all want change,” the brewer continued, “but there must be a way to achieve it that doesn’t put all our lives at risk. It’s all very well for this girl to volunteer, but she can’t really fight , so—”

“I can fight,” Rae broke in.

The brewer scoffed.

Omari must have caught the set of Rae’s jaw, even in the dark, and uttered a warning. “Ay…”

Rae ignored him. Her pride had run away with her, leaving caution far behind. She threw off her shawl, dropping it in a heap on the ground. Her wounds stung in protest, but she ignored them too.

Two farmers stood nearby, leaning on their walking sticks, watching the scene unfold.

“Do you think I could borrow those?” Rae asked them.

Puzzled but curious, the men agreed. With the long palm-wood sticks in hand, Rae turned to Asim.

“I can fight,” she said. “Give me a chance to prove myself in a match of tahtib. I challenge any man here who wishes to make me a liar.”

A roar of excitement greeted her offer, but Asim silenced them. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

His voice was kind, and that annoyed her. “My challenge stands,” she replied.

Asim shrugged, his eyes glittering with amusement. “Very well, Raetawy. But as you can see, I am the leader here. If you’re to fight anyone in this company, it will be me.” He held out his hand.

Rae’s breath caught in her throat. As usual, her ego had led her into deep waters. She’d occasionally participated in tahtib matches in the street fights, so she was comfortable with an asa—plus, she’d already sized up the men in the crowd and felt confident she could hold her own against them. But she’d never considered Asim. Aside from Omari, he was the largest man there, and despite his age, he looked as fierce as a lion.

No turning back now , she thought grimly, and tossed one of the improvised asa sticks to her opponent. Asim caught the asa and spun it, rolling it over his hand and catching it again with fluid dexterity. Hopping down from the altar, he approached and the crowd backed away, leaving them a wide berth. Holding the long sticks by their ends, Rae and Asim circled each other, swirling the weapons around their bodies, like a dance. The crowd began to chant and beat their hands against their thighs in a steady rhythm.

Rae and Asim met in the center of the circle and struck their asas together three times with the beat.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

“Begin,” said Asim.

The amusement in Asim’s eyes set Rae’s fury aflame. With a guttural cry, Rae spun away, sweeping her asa into a low arc to strike at Asim’s knees. But Asim was ready for her, nimbly dodging the attack and lunging forward, thrusting his weapon under her guard. It struck her full in the chest and took her breath away.

Gasping and enraged, Rae lunged wildly, slicing her asa through the air toward Asim’s shoulder, but he easily parried it away and gave her a smack on the back for her trouble.

Rae sucked her teeth as her wounds sizzled with pain. The crowd of men laughed and hooted, spurring on the fight. Rae thought Asim would laugh with them, but his eyes never left hers.

“Focus, Ay!” Omari called out. “He’s trying to rile you up—don’t take the bait!”

Rae was about to ignore him like she usually did, when she remembered all the fights she’d lost, not because she wasn’t good enough, but because she’d lost her temper. Those fights had cost her a few baubles. Losing this one would cost considerably more.

She felt the weight of her father’s knife at her hip. When she turned ten he’d taught her how to use it, and pointed out the wedjat eye painted on its hilt. “You must treat your weapon with respect,” he’d said. “For just as Ra’s light can both create and destroy, so can the blade be used for good and for ill. It can cut you as easily as it can your enemy.”

Rae felt the familiar rage burning through her veins, urging her on as she circled Asim, who hadn’t even broken a sweat.

Use your rage , she told herself. Don’t let it use you.

So instead of allowing her fury to overtake her, she closed her eyes and felt its power within her.

“What are you doing?” Omari shouted. “Are you out of your mind?!”

But Rae barely heard him. She focused on the weight of the asa in her hands, and the sensation of Asim moving near her, his shadow passing over hers as they continued to circle each other. In the darkness, she could feel the way their bodies made curving, sinuous ripples in the cool night air, which was scented with smoke, honey, and wine.

She felt a disturbance in those ripples. Asim was about to attack.

She opened her eyes and sidestepped as Asim’s asa came slashing down toward her. His stick hit the ground, and Rae lunged to strike at her opponent’s shoulder. The hit was clean and took Asim totally by surprise.

The crowd shouted in dismay, and Rae smiled. Asim recovered quickly and moved around her with greater caution. His casual amusement was replaced with intensity. The crowd sensed a change between them and quieted, though they kept the steady drumbeat going.

Rae matched her breath with Asim’s, watching his chest rise and fall, rise and fall. And when she saw that quick intake, saw his muscles grow taut and his eyes narrow, she moved in parallel with him, curving her body away to allow his asa to pass by her. They moved that way together for several minutes, their feet throwing up clouds of sand, in a dance that was both elegant and brutal.

Rae landed several more strikes, but nothing that made Asim pause, and she was getting tired. Despite her improvement, Asim clearly had superior strength and technique, and fatigue was making her sloppy. After a frenzied exchange of blows, Asim seemed ready to thrust his weapon toward her, so Rae dodged away. But his attack was merely a feint, and as soon as she was exposed, he whirled, sweeping his asa into another blow to her back.

Her wounds reopened on impact.

A white-hot bolt of pain was followed by a gush of warmth beneath her bandages. She tried to raise her asa once more, but it was too much. Every movement caused her skin to feel like it was ripping apart. Because it was.

The world spun, and she fell to her knees.

Omari was next to her in an instant, laying her gently on her side until her dizziness passed.

Asim looked bewildered, his asa forgotten. “I don’t understand,” he said, and gestured at the bloodstains spreading across the back of her tunic. “I didn’t hit her that hard.”

“You didn’t,” Omari said. “Someone else did. Yesterday morning.”

Asim dropped to one knee next to them.

“May I see?” he asked Rae, his voice soft.

I’ve already lost , Rae thought miserably. Why not? She nodded.

Gingerly, Asim pulled her tunic aside and examined the bloody bandages covering her back. He grimaced and got back to his feet. “Who did this to you?”

“The nomarch,” Rae replied. Her teeth chattered with sudden cold.

Asim’s expression darkened. “Why?”

“She did it for me,” a new voice called out. Rae lifted her head as Baki the shepherd pushed to the front of the crowd. “I’m sorry I’m late, Asim. I had a bit of trouble getting away from home—my son is ill. But it appears that I’ve arrived just in time.”

“What do you mean, she did it for you?” Asim asked.

“The nomarch came to make his demands, and I gave him a piece of my mind. He was going to beat me and my little boy both, but Raetawy stopped him, so he beat her instead. I thought she’d be bedridden for weeks after the lashes he gave her… and yet here she is, up and fighting the very next day.”

“She can’t be stopped,” Omari said helplessly. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Fight with me, then,” Rae said. “Fight for Sakhesh.” She tilted her chin toward Asim. “This man has a plan to raid the House of the Medjay, and he seems to know what he’s doing.”

“Quite the compliment,” Asim said with a chuckle.

“Come on, now,” the brewer retorted from the crowd. “This is obviously a suicide mission. Think of your family, Baki—your son!”

The shepherd shot a fierce look at his friend. “In the name of Ra, brother—I am thinking of nothing else! Do you expect the High Khetarans will stop increasing our tax? They won’t stop until everything we have, everything we are, has been ripped from us.”

Rae winced as Omari removed her soaked bandages and tore fresh strips from his shawl to try and stop the bleeding. Rae pushed herself upright, clutching her shawl to herself to cover her nakedness, the pain nearly forgotten with the men’s exchange.

Baki gestured to Rae. “You have a girl about her age, don’t you?” he asked the brewer. “What if the nomarch had beaten your girl? What if it had been her blood soaking into the sand? Would you tell me to think of my family? Or would you pick up your khopesh and seek retribution, no matter the cost?” He shook his head. “I’ll do it. I’ll fight for Sakesh. And for you, Raetawy.”

Many of the men in the crowd nodded in agreement, and Rae could sense the energy around them shifting, gathering strength.

Asim must have noticed it too.

“What say you then?” he cried, walking in a wide circle, looking every man in the eye. “A shepherd and a farmer’s daughter have made cowards of you all tonight. Will you let that stand? Or will you find your courage and join them?”

“I will,” Omari declared, as if he’d been waiting for the moment to speak.

“And I,” said another man.

“And I.”

Dozens of men stepped forward, until nearly every single one had offered his hand in battle. Even the brewer, who watched with growing unease as the men around him volunteered, relented and said, “Gods help us, I’m with you too.”

The men loosed a cheer, and then immediately broke into smaller groups to discuss inventories and strategies for the raid.

“I should get you home,” Omari said to Rae, pulling the bloody tunic back down over her torso and draping her shawl over her shoulders. “We need to change your dressings properly.”

Rae wanted to stay, but she knew Omari was right. She let him help her gently to her feet, but that was all. She refused to be carried.

The amusement was back in Asim’s eyes. “Well,” he said, his hands akimbo. “I guess it wasn’t so bad after all, letting this fool bring you here.”

Rae blushed and was glad it was too dark for Asim to notice. As they made their way back to the stone doorway, she took one last look at the group of “like-minded” men, talking and planning. They seemed different somehow, their faces brighter, like embers catching fire after having nearly gone cold.

“What have we done?” Rae whispered, shaking her head.

She hadn’t meant for Asim to hear it, but he did.

“My dear girl,” he rumbled, the words a deep rumble. “You’ve gone and sparked a rebellion.”