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Neff

“Nefermaat,” the priest barked. “Are you listening, girl? We’ve no time to waste. The barge arrived late, and it will be my hide—and yours—if these deliveries are made in error.”

Neff groaned inwardly. It had already been a busy morning and she longed for the midday meal. I thought standing all day in Yati’s stall at the market was tiring—but it was nothing compared to this! “I’m listening,” she said.

“Papyrus scrolls to the scribes in the House of Life,” the priest said, piling her arms high with bundles. “Incense pellets and fresh linen to the sanctuary, and this goes directly to Master Montuhotep.” He handed her a long-necked wine jar, painted carnelian red. “He asked that you be the one to bring it to his chambers.”

Neff nodded her understanding and went on her way. She’d made so many deliveries in the days since she’d arrived that she already knew the temple layout, and many of the priests’ names, by heart. She wondered if that had been the master’s intention when he’d given her the assignment. Or perhaps he was trying to test her mettle, to see if she was truly up to the task of becoming a priestess. Either way, she’d fallen into bed each night and slept like the dead, only to be woken by the Wabet at the break of dawn to bathe and scrub herself until she was raw. Her skin had already begun to take on the polished sheen of everyone else at the temple. To her dismay, she’d been so busy that she hadn’t had time to serve as Prince Kenna’s assistant, as promised. She’d seen him several times in passing but only long enough for a hurried greeting. She hoped that soon that might change.

She threaded her way through the crowds, taking the shortcuts she’d discovered. As she was about to round a corner, she stopped short at a familiar voice.

“The healers are hopeless,” the man said. “They’ve tried every potion, administered every amulet. His condition only worsens. He is asking for us now, though I worry even we have little hope against such a demon. I’ve seen the awful brown marks on his hands and feet—he tries to hide them under sandals and makeup—and his behavior is… erratic.”

Peering around the corner, she spied the Heka priest she’d crossed on her first day at the temple and his two companions as they proceeded through the corridor. Though Neff was still in awe of them, they looked far less intimidating without their animal masks.

Who are they talking about? she wondered. Interested, she remained hidden behind a statue as they walked past.

“We must be careful,” one of the other two said. “He may be ill, but he could still have us beaten for failing to cure him. Or worse.”

The third priest scoffed. “He doesn’t have it in him.”

The first priest made a harsh noise, like a curse. “Watch your words. The walls have ears.” He peered into the shadows near where Neff was hiding, but moved on.

Neff waited before emerging. Was it possible they were talking about the king? She remembered gossip about his illness back in Bubas. But a demon that even the most powerful Heka priests in the land could not vanquish? Her curiosity about the situation, and about the Heka priests themselves, grew. She knew she’d been brought to the temple to learn to be an Hour priest, but she couldn’t get the image of that living snake staff out of her mind. For now, though, she needed to hurry before the master noticed she was late.

She dropped off the papyrus, incense, and linen in short order, then made her way outside toward Master Montuhotep’s chambers. She’d made many mistakes that first day but learned quickly from them. For all her complaints about the many long days she’d spent at the market, her father’s insistence on hard work and tenacity was serving her well in her new role.

She weighed the wine jar in her hand—her last delivery. She hadn’t spent much time with the master since her arrival, but Neff got the feeling that his opinion of her hadn’t improved. Once she’d recovered from the trauma of that first day and gotten accustomed to her reflection in the mirror, Neff had focused on learning whatever she could at the Temple of Amun. She’d tried more than once to ask the master when her lessons would begin, but he’d simply batted her away like a gnat humming at his ear.

At the flat-roofed white building just outside the temple courtyard, she took a deep breath before knocking on the polished wooden door.

A strident voice called out from within. “Enter.”

Neff licked her lips and went inside. She was greeted by an oppressive darkness. The wooden shutters on both windows were closed and covered with thick curtains, effectively transforming the chamber into a shadowy cave. Master Montuhotep sat on a reed mat in the center of the room, his face lit by a flickering oil lamp burning on a low table before him.

“I-I’m sorry to interrupt, Master,” Neff stammered, suddenly feeling that she’d blundered into the middle of a ritual. “I was told to deliver this parcel to you right away.” She hurriedly set the wine jar on the low table next to a small golden cup and was about to withdraw when Montuhotep spoke again.

“Shut the door, and sit down.”

Neff felt uneasy, but knew she must obey. With a bow, she turned and closed the door softly, before seating herself on a mat opposite him.

The master’s eyes, alive with reflected fire, regarded her briefly before taking up the lamp and holding the flame to a bowl filled with small yellow rocks—some kind of resin. Soon, the resin began to burn.

“What do you know of dreams, child?” he asked.

Neff coughed as a plume of pungent, bittersweet smoke filled her nostrils. “I don’t know much,” she began, recovering herself. “Only that they are messages from the gods, and that Hour priests can tell us their meaning.”

“Correct,” the master replied. “The gods do not speak directly, as men do. They speak in images and symbols, and so Hour priests must become fluent in the divine language. To be given this opportunity is a rare honor—not everyone is suited to hear the word of a god.”

He paused, folding his hands neatly on the table between them. “The high priestess delivered you here with assurances that you were touched by Bast. Still, the journey from layman to priest is long—longer for a common girl like yourself. Do you truly wish to drink from the primeval waters, child? To fill yourself with its secrets? Or would you rather I send you back to Bubas and your mother’s knee? I could bear the high priestess’s wrath. You have seen for yourself the hardship of temple life. I will not make it easy for you, nor will any other priest in this place. It is understandable that you would not wish to remain here. No one would blame you for going home. Not even the goddess.”

His mouth tightened, and he regarded her with glittering black eyes. “I warn you: once you drink from those waters, the act cannot be undone. For the right person, it can bring about enlightenment, but for the wrong one—it is a poison that will destroy you from within.”

Neff’s brow furrowed. When she’d come to the temple, she’d imagined learning to read the gods’ words, poring over scrolls, unlocking the mysteries of the divine. But what Montuhotep spoke of was very different from long days spent in candlelit libraries.

It sounded dangerous.

Perhaps she should accept the master’s offer and leave this place while she still had the chance. Isn’t that what she’d wanted when they cut off her hair and turned her into a stranger? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be home again? Back to her own sleeping mat, to her family and friends, to days spent selling spells at the marketplace with her father?

She paused.

How would Yati react if I returned home from the temple? To know that I gave up on the priesthood before even trying? Mother would be thrilled to have her back, but would he?

No. He’d be disappointed.

The master was wrong. The goddess would blame her for leaving, and she wasn’t the only one. So why would Master Montuhotep make her such an offer?

He doesn’t want me here . He’s trying to drive me away. First with the endless errands, and now with this ominous warning. Stepping outside of her emotions, it all seemed so clear. So obvious. I might be young, but my father didn’t raise a fool. The goddess brought me here for a reason, and I promised to see it through. It will take a lot more to get me to break that promise.

Neff cleared her throat. “I want to stay.”

The corner of the master’s lip twitched, almost imperceptibly. “Very well. Then we will begin.”

“Begin what?” Neff asked.

“You wish to drink from the waters,” the master said, lifting the wine jar and pouring something dark and thick into the golden cup. “This elixir opens your mind to the divine. Visions are capricious things—they don’t always come when they’re called, especially to a novice. The elixir brings them to the fore. Once you drink it, I will ask you some questions about dreams I have interpreted in the past. I already know the proper meaning of these dreams, and what came to pass after the dreamers woke. If the gods wish to speak to you, the correct answers will come. If not…” He handed her the cup. “May Amun have mercy upon you.”

Neff accepted the cup with trembling hands. She brought it to her mouth and hesitated, glancing over the rim at Montuhotep.

He wants you to fail.

The thought stoked a fire in her belly. All at once, she drained the wine to the dregs.

The elixir stung the back of her throat. It was cloying, the sweetness disguising a bitter, herbaceous flavor and a coppery tang that reminded her of blood. She gritted her teeth and swallowed it down, grateful she was able to do so without gagging. She placed the cup on the table and folded her hands on her lap, then returned Montuhotep’s stare. His expression tightened, and that pleased her.

“Look to the lamp,” the master intoned. “Soften your gaze and concentrate on the flame. Look to the darkness at the center of the light. Let it surround you; let it become your world. It is there you will be found—or lost.”

Neff focused on the lamp. With the windows covered, no breeze blew through the chamber, so the flame did not flicker. It was so still, it seemed almost solid, like an object she could hold in her hand.

Time passed as she stared at the flame. Slowly, she began to feel a strange weightless sensation, which intensified with each passing second. Then a breathless wave of pleasure, the likes of which she’d never felt before, crashed over her. It sharpened her focus, making the flame brighter, richer—a sublime array of gold and violet light. She wanted to touch it, to taste it, to crawl inside and become one with it.

The room around her darkened, then fell away altogether. She could no longer see Montuhotep sitting across from her or the table between them. Even her body, the weight of her flesh and the places where it touched the floor, disappeared. There was nothing but the flame.

From across an ocean of nothingness, a voice reached her. Dimly, she recognized it as the master’s.

“The dreamer is climbing up the mast of a great ship. What do you tell him?” Montuhotep asked.

The flame guttered. In her mind’s eye, Neff saw shapes appear within it—a man rising up, lifted by animal-headed figures that danced in the flickering light.

“He will rise above his people, held aloft by the hands of the gods,” she said. Her voice belonged to a stranger, as if something huge and foreign were speaking through her lips.

“He sees himself in a mirror.”

Again, the images came, shifting within the flame.

“This man will have great sorrow—he will lose his wife.”

“His face is not his own,” the master said. “But the face of a leopard.”

“He will become a leader among his people.” The answers were coming more quickly now, flowing out of the flame and into her mind like water.

“He is in a deep well.”

“He will be imprisoned for his crimes.”

“He sees a shining moon.”

“The man will be forgiven.”

The wave of euphoria was cresting, burning through her senses, filling her mind with color and light so vivid that it was almost unbearable. She tried to look away, tried to break her connection with whatever it was that spoke through her, but another image appeared at the center of the flame.

“The lamb,” she whispered.

There was silence for a moment, then Montuhotep spoke again. “The lamb from your vision? The high priestess mentioned this. Tell me what you see.”

Neff wanted to stop. The longer she stared into the flame, the more it clung to her, pulling her from her world into an abyss from which she was uncertain she had the strength to return.

“No more,” she begged. “I can’t…”

“You can and you will,” Montuhotep commanded. “Tell me what you see!”

Neff moaned, trying to focus despite the overwhelming sensations. Dozens of images passed through the flame, almost too quickly for her to register them.

“I see war,” she said with difficulty. “I see a long journey. I see betrayal and death—so much death…”

“What else?” The master’s voice was impatient.

Neff searched through the chaos, trying to see beyond it. Four figures emerged. One wore a crown, another carried a scepter, the third had two shadows, and the last… the last…

She was small.

“Tell me!” Montuhotep shouted.

A second later, there was a loud bang, and Neff’s world exploded with light. A sudden wind blew through the chamber, and the flame went out. She blinked into the sunlight, gasping as reality came crashing back. Neff turned. A strong wind had blown the door to the chamber wide open.

The euphoria quickly soured into a bleary daze that made Neff’s head hurt and her stomach churn. Across from her, Montuhotep cursed and reached across the table to grasp her wrist.

“What did you see, child? Tell me before the vision fades!”

Neff met his gaze. Then she vomited on the floor.

***

It took the work of several Wab priests to clean Montuhotep’s room to his satisfaction. Neff would have helped, but she was too ill to move. The master continued to prod her about her vision of the lamb while she recovered, but she simply shook her head.

“I’m sorry, I can’t remember,” she lied.

In fact, she remembered everything. But the timing of the wind, the way the door blew open on an otherwise windless day, made her think she was meant to keep that particular vision to herself. Or at least, not to share it with Montuhotep. Until she found someone worthy of her trust at the temple, it was her secret to keep. Clearly, the goddess had called her to that place to interpret the lamb’s message—and to somehow use that information to avert disaster. Her dream had been nothing but grim portents, but the vision had provided something new.

The four figures.

She hadn’t been able to see their faces, or anything beyond the small details she remembered, but she knew one thing for certain: the last one was her.

But what role could a girl like her possibly play in such a grand design? She wasn’t a leader or a warrior, and other than her wits, she had no particular skills.

Then she thought of the Heka priests and the snake—wood one moment, flesh the next. Real magic .

Hadn’t Prince Kenna said he’d studied every element of the priesthood in order to choose which one he liked best? If he could learn them all… two couldn’t be so hard, could it?

It was the better part of an hour before she felt well enough to return to her chambers. Before she left, Montuhotep stopped her, his large hand gripping her shoulder.

“You will go to the House of Life tomorrow, after your deliveries are done. The scribes will begin instructing you in the gods’ words.” He added, “It is one thing to see—but it’s another to understand what you’re seeing. If you are to be any use to me at all, you must have discipline and control. You must learn from the scrolls.”

Neff nodded, excited by this development. “But… my interpretations of the dreams,” she said. “Were they correct?”

Montuhotep was quiet, but his expression said it all. “When you are stronger,” he said, irritation clear in his voice, “we will do this again.”

Then he sent her away.

Neff stumbled back to her chambers, her stomach still roiling. Despite her nausea, she felt deeply satisfied. She knew her interpretations had been correct. Montuhotep had tried to frighten her, but she’d proven herself worthy of a place at the Great Temple. Finally, she arrived back at her rooms, and without answering the Wabets’ prattling questions, she collapsed onto her mat and fell asleep.

***

Neff spent hours in the seventh sleep.

By the time she woke up, she was starving. She’d missed the midday meal, and the sun was already low in the sky. After convincing the cook to wrap up a hunk of bread, a boiled egg, and a wedge of cheese for her, she took the little parcel over to the temple gardens to eat.

Settling down under a fruit tree, she tore into the bread and egg, and took small bites of the squeaky white cheese to make it last longer. She’d almost finished when she heard people approaching on the path.

“How could you miss the Bast Festival, Kenna?” a female voice asked. “All of Thonis was there—everyone except you!”

“I’m not one for festivals, sister,” Prince Kenna replied in his raspy voice. “You know this. I was there to see the goddess on her way—that is enough. Besides, I suspect my presence wasn’t missed.”

Sister?! Neff scooted herself behind a jasmine shrub and peeked through its leaves. Prince Kenna’s hair was as wild as ever, and he was dressed in a plain black linen tunic belted with fine leather. He wore no adornment, aside from a simple Anubis collar, beaded in black, white, and blue. The girl facing him was dressed differently than when Neff had seen her at the opening ceremony of the Bast Festival, but there was no mistaking who she was. Princess Sitamun.

Unlike her brother, Sitamun looked very much like royalty. She had a prominent aquiline nose like her brother’s, but where it looked beakish on Kenna’s narrow face, it made the princess look regal. Her lustrous black hair fell to the middle of her back and glittered with golden beads, and she wore a blousy green linen dress with a plunging neckline that accentuated her curvaceous figure. Her jewelry, by contrast, was quite simple. Two amulets strung on black cords—one a red Isis knot, and the other a simple green scarab. It was hard to look away from the princess. She was like a chameleon—exotic, vivid, and ever-changing. Neff felt a pang of envy.

“I just think it would be good for you to visit the palace once in a while,” Sitamun said, glancing toward the temple with a look of unease. “You can’t hide in here forever.”

“I’m not hiding,” Kenna shot back. “I’m working. You should try it sometime.”

The princess pursed her lips. “You know, brother,” she said. “Maybe if you spent a little more time around the living, you’d know how to speak to them properly. You didn’t used to be so cruel.”

Kenna closed his eyes and sighed. “Forgive me, Sitamun,” he said with deliberate patience. “I thought I’d made it very clear that I have no interest in palace life. I ask for nothing except to be left to my work. Mother may not understand the importance of what I do—hardly anyone gives the Men of Anubis the respect they deserve. But when I joined their number… it made a difference. The other priests’ behavior toward them began to change.” He shook his head. “The embalming chamber might be the only place in the kingdom where my presence shines a light instead of casting a shadow. So I’m sorry for disappointing you, sister, but I think I’ll stay here.”

Sitamun fiddled with a lock of her hair. “But Kenna… I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“About Father.”

Kenna’s shoulders fell. “Ah.” He put his hands up in a helpless gesture. “The priests are doing all they can, Sitamun. There’s certainly nothing I can do that isn’t already being done.”

“But what if… what if they’re wrong about what’s afflicting him?” Sitamun asked. “What if it’s not a disease demon, but something else?”

Kenna scoffed, offended. “I understand you’re worried, Sitamun, but you should not question the priesthood. Where is this coming from, anyway? Have you been reading those stories again? I know you’re prone to flights of fancy, but I should have thought you were old enough not to allow your imagination to run away with you.”

“It’s not my imagination!” Sitamun’s cheeks reddened with anger.

“Then what is it?” Kenna asked. “Can you give me one reason to believe the priests are wrong about Father’s illness?”

Neff leaned forward, waiting to hear what the princess would say.

A pained expression crossed Sitamun’s face as she opened her mouth to speak. But in the end, she simply shook her head.

Awkwardly, Kenna placed his hand on his sister’s shoulder and gave it a pat. “I realize this is hard for you. Father’s health may improve, or it may not. Sometimes the gods simply wish to call their children home, and there is nothing anyone can do about it. But if he must go West, I will be there to prepare him for his journey. As it should be.”

“And Mery will take the throne?”

At that, Kenna turned to the fruit tree and plucked a ruby-colored orb from its branch. “And Mery will take the throne.”

The princess nodded.

“Go back to the palace, sister,” Kenna told her. “And stop worrying yourself about things you cannot change.”

That advice seemed to hurt the princess the most. Without another word, she walked out of the courtyard.

Kenna watched her go, his hooked nose set in profile against the setting sun. After a moment he said, “You can come out now.”

Neff blanched. Then, she peeked out from her hiding place, abashed. “How did you know I was here?”

“Generally, jasmine bushes do not wear sandals,” Kenna said with amusement, nodding toward her feet sticking out from behind the shrub.

Neff stood up, her cheeks hot. “I-I’m so sorry, my prince. I came to eat in the garden. I didn’t intend to eavesdrop.”

“No need to apologize,” the prince replied to her immense relief. “All you heard were the lamentations of a girl who has everything and wants more.” He pulled a small knife from his belt and started to carve his fruit.

Neff moved to watch him, having never seen that kind before. “What is that?” she asked.

“A pomegranate.”

“Mm,” she murmured. “She’s really pretty, your sister.”

Ruby red juice slipped down the prince’s blade. He licked it clean. “She is.”

“It’s nice that she wants to spend time with you.”

Kenna pulled a slice of pomegranate from the whole, exposing a cluster of glistening seeds within. “I suppose.”

Neff knew she shouldn’t say more, but she couldn’t help herself. “So… why don’t you spend time with her at the palace? You could visit and still do your job here, couldn’t you?”

The prince popped a few seeds into his mouth. “Why do you ask me these questions, Nefermaat?” he asked after chewing.

Neff thought a while before answering. “My mother wanted five children. One for each finger on her hand. But Father was only able to give her one child. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why he’s always been so desperate to make us rich. To make up for not giving her what she really wanted.”

She’d had nothing to drink with her meal and her throat was dry. She licked her lips, then continued, her voice a bit quieter. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve never wanted anything more than a sister. So it’s hard for me to understand why you’d turn yours away.”

The prince stopped chewing. His nostrils flared.

Neff suddenly wished she could take it back. He was kind, it was true, but the prince could still have her thrown to the crocodiles. And here she was, scolding him for not being nice to his sister. What was she thinking?

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she blurted, taking a step back from him. “I’ll go.” She turned and started back toward her quarters, hoping to escape before he decided on a punishment.

“Wait.”

Neff froze. She turned, and one glance at the prince’s face told her he wasn’t angry, just troubled.

“I’m sorry you have no siblings, Nefermaat,” he responded. “But there is something to be said for being so special. So wanted. The waters of your parents’ love all wash upon your shore, and yours alone. I am one of three, born all at once. My father spent the first year of our lives spreading the story of our births far and wide, sharing how the gods blessed him with abundance and sanctified his place on the throne. Yet I have always felt like an afterthought.

“I love Sitamun. But she lives for parties and finery and stories of passion and romance. That is not my world, and I won’t have her dragging me back into it. The fact is, Father might die. It is sad, but death is a part of life, and like everyone else, Sitamun must learn to face it without behaving like a child. We all need to grow up sometime.”

He glanced at Neff, and his expression softened. “Perhaps you’ll never have a sister, but you can call me brother, if you wish.”

Neff could hardly believe her ears. “I’m just a girl from Bubas. You’re a prince. You’d call me your sister?”

Kenna shrugged. “Crown or no crown, we are all children of Khetara.” He held out a seed from the red fruit.

A crown , Neff suddenly remembered. Wasn’t the first figure I saw wearing one? Perhaps one of the three young royals had something to do with the lamb’s prophecy. If so, her friendship with Kenna was meant to be.

Neff took the seed from him and inspected the tiny jewellike fruit. “I’ve never tried one of these before,” she said, before popping it in her mouth. It was unlike anything she’d tasted—crisp and sweet and tart, with a hint of bitterness at its center. It was wonderfully refreshing.

“I have a feeling you’ll try a lot of new things in the coming days, little sister,” Kenna said.

“May I have more?”

“You can have it all,” Kenna replied, handing her the rest of the pomegranate.

Neff took it and sunk her teeth deep into the fruit, suckling the flesh until its juice dripped down her chin.