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Neff

“Again.”

Neff rubbed her eyes. They were painfully dry, much like her throat, but there was no water in the House of Life. No sunlight either. Nothing that might damage the thousands of delicate papyri stored there. A few other scribes worked nearby, copying words from old papyri to fresh scrolls, either to protect the wisdom from deterioration or to send to another House of Life elsewhere in Khetara. They mumbled the words to themselves as they wrote, never looking up, almost as if they were in a trance. The walls of the chamber were honeycombed with apertures for storing papyri, each one marked with a short line of sacred text to identify the scroll within. It was a strange place, like a dark beehive, humming with concentrated activity.

She’d been spending endless hours in the subterranean chamber, being instructed on the gods’ words by the chief scribe. He stood beside her, his skin pale to the point of translucence, his thin body bent like a shepherd’s crook. He watched her read with round protuberant eyes, reminding Neff of a fish, or some other deep-sea creature who spurned the sun.

“Again,” the scribe repeated, tapping the top of her scroll with a skeletal finger. “From the beginning.”

Neff sighed. She stood at a waist-high wooden table, the papyri lit by several carefully tended oil lamps placed nearby. After introducing her to each of the gods’ words, their sound and meaning, and how to read them—“find a symbol with a face and read in that direction”—the chief scribe set her to reading simple passages aloud. She’d been working on the one before her, “The Forty-Two Ideals of Maat,” for so long that she’d nearly memorized it.

When she’d first come across the symbol for Maat —an upright ostrich feather with a bent tip—she’d stopped.

“It’s like my name,” she’d said. “Nefermaat.”

Because she was already versed in the common script, learning the formal script came to her more quickly and easily than the chief scribe had expected. After all, the common was just a simplified version of the sacred language. Learning it was like moving in reverse, from the curving line she was familiar with back to the bird or the hand symbol it had once been. The chief scribe had nodded sagely at her observation about the ostrich feather and dipped his reed pen into the inkwell on his palette.

“Nefer,” he intoned, drawing a shape that reminded her of a lute, “Maat.” Next to the lute, he drew the feather. “That’s your name, written in the gods’ words.”

“Why a lute?” she’d asked.

“It is not a lute,” the chief scribe corrected her. “That is the heart and the windpipe that allows us to speak. It signifies the voice of the spirit. And the feather, of course, is the symbol for Maat—goddess of truth and justice. Her husband is Thoth, god of writing and lord of all knowledge. The two are inexorably joined. There is no knowledge without truth. That’s why you must learn to read, girl, if you are to correctly interpret the messages of the gods. Please continue.”

She’d passed several days that way, from dawn until dusk, leaving the House of Life only to take her midday meal in the temple garden with Prince Kenna. They’d eat in the shade of the pomegranate trees, and sometimes he’d tell her about embalming—how much natron it took to mummify a body, which organs were left inside and which were removed—and sometimes about Heka, but most of the time he preferred to listen. He’d sit on a rock with his bread, his legs folded neatly under him, attentive to her stories about the market in Bubas and her father’s wild schemes. So far, her company seemed to be all the prince required from his new “assistant,” and that was fine with Neff.

Thinking about food made her stomach rumble. Given the lack of natural light down in the House of Life, she had no idea when she’d be released for the midday meal, but she hoped it would be soon. Blinking her dry eyes, she prepared to read the “Ideals of Maat” for the third time that morning. Each of the forty-two ideals was a statement intended to be spoken to judges, both earthly and divine, attesting that the speaker was worthy enough to enter the Duat, where all good souls went after death. They were simple enough to read, but extremely repetitive.

She stifled a yawn and read the lines, which attested to various gods that she had not been guilty of sin, told lies, done any wicked magic against the pharaoh, or eavesdropped upon others, and many other transgressions. She always choked a little on the eavesdropping line, as she had listened in on quite a few conversations since she’d arrived at the temple. She was in the middle of the twenty-fifth ideal when she was interrupted.

“Excuse me, Chief Scribe?”

Neff and her teacher turned toward the door. Master Montuhotep hovered on the threshold, as if unwilling to enter the dusty chamber for fear of soiling his garments.

The chief scribe bowed his head in obeisance. “How may I help you, Master?” he asked.

“The girl is required at the palace,” Montuhotep said bluntly.

“By whom?”

Montuhotep sighed heavily, as if he was less than pleased about the answer. “The pharaoh has gotten wind of the girl’s… talents, and he wishes to meet her.”

The chief scribe’s eyes bulged, until Neff thought they might pop right out of his skull.

“Ah!” he chirped, nodding more than necessary. “Well! Indeed!” He picked up “The Forty-Two Ideals of Maat,” rolled it into a tight scroll, and slipped it back into its hole in the wall. “Return tomorrow and we will continue,” he said to Neff, patting her weakly on the shoulder.

Neff gave him a stiff little bow before turning away. Why would King Amunmose be interested in me? Obediently, she left the dim chamber and climbed the steps, squinting into the brightness of day. Montuhotep strode ahead, and she had to rush to catch up. The head of his leopard skin bobbed side to side as he walked, its ebony eyes glaring at her with disapproval.

“M-master…” she began.

“When you approach the throne, do so with reverence,” Montuhotep commanded, cutting her off. “Keep your head bowed and eyes downcast. Do not speak unless spoken to. And if you are addressed, keep your responses brief. The king is in a delicate condition, and you must not upset him in any way.” He stopped abruptly, and Neff nearly ran face-first into the scornful leopard head. “I will be listening very closely, so I strongly suggest you watch your words.”

Neff swallowed. They walked on, exiting the temple complex and following the wide tree-lined Royal Road to the palace. Guards patrolled the area, swatting away beggars and malcontents, each of them armed with a khopesh and wearing an Eye of Horus collar. They passed the temple bakeries and storehouses, the stables where the pharaoh’s personal and military horses were kept, and another complex of government buildings in the distance. It wasn’t anywhere near as crowded as the Thonis city streets she’d seen from the boat, but it was busy nonetheless. Officials clothed in white robes and fine black wigs argued vigorously under the shade of palm trees, while bare-chested young scribes dashed from place to place carrying bundles of papyri. Soon, they were welcomed through the palace gates and entered the sumptuous courtyard, then the main columned hall, before being led to the throne room. A fine-boned attendant with kind eyes and delicate hands met them at the portal.

“The king awaits you,” he said, waving her inside with practiced elegance. Montuhotep moved to follow, but the attendant put up a hand. “Pharaoh appreciates you accompanying the girl here, Master Montuhotep, but he prefers to speak to her alone. You may return to your duties. I will ensure she is conveyed back to your care the moment her audience with the king is concluded.”

A red flush appeared on Montuhotep’s cheeks. “Of course,” he said with a curt bow. “I serve at the pleasure of the king.” With one last warning look at Neff, he turned on his heel and was gone.

“Don’t worry,” the attendant said softly, guiding her lightly with a hand on her back. “The king has a soft spot for young girls. You have nothing to fear.”

Neff nodded, though his reassurance made her considerably more anxious, not less.

Compared to the vast colonnade hall, the throne room felt intimate, with only six columns lining the central aisle. The columns were painted in vivid shades of red, sky blue, and gold, their capitals carved into blooming lotus. Sunlight filtered in through high diamond-patterned windows, illuminating paintings that covered every wall from floor to ceiling. She saw armies of painted men, their faces pointed toward the throne, and above them, a parade of animal-headed gods all seated on thrones of their own. At the end of the aisle, a ramp led up to a platform inlaid with rich blue tile, flanked by two tall flaming braziers. There, under an ornate canopy, the king slouched in a low-backed golden chair, staring into a bowl of soup while being fanned by a two lanky male servants in loincloths.

“Pardon me, my king,” the attendant said.

The king looked up and straightened when he saw who it was.

“As requested, may I present Nefermaat of Bubas,” the attendant announced, dipping nimbly into a low bow.

Neff bowed too, trying to match the man’s elegance.

“Yes, yes, thank you, Ineni—you may go,” he said, and turned to the servants. “You too. Go on. Out!”

The three men left soundlessly. Neff and the king were alone.

“Come closer, young lady,” he said. “Come, come.” He spoke in an odd, uneven manner, repeating himself and gesticulating jerkily with his hands.

What’s wrong with him? she wondered, and then remembered the conversation between the Heka priests. Whatever had infected the king’s body must be affecting his mind too.

Squeezing her trembling hands into fists, Neff approached the throne, keeping her eyes on the floor as her master had instructed.

“Am I really so terrible that you won’t even look upon me?”

Neff was suddenly seized with panic. I’ve only been here a moment, and already I’ve bungled it! “N-no, my king, not at all,” she stammered, unsure what to do. She glanced up at him without lifting her head, and saw he was smiling. Instinctively, she smiled back, though she worried it was more like a grimace.

She had always wondered what a pharaoh might look like. He was, after all, a god on earth. Would he shine with an inner light? Would he be as regal as the statues made in his likeness?

The reality was nothing like that.

Looking at King Amunmose, she was reminded of the small beeswax figurines her father sometimes made for his customers. He’d carve them in the shape of an enemy of their choosing, then instruct them to take the figurine in hand, abuse it to their liking, and toss it into a fire. By doing so, the idea was that their enemy would suffer terribly, just like the figurine. Neff had watched him demonstrate the ritual a few times, watched the little wax faces grow soft in the flames, slowly melting away to nothing.

The king’s face looked just like that. As if it had been molded to resemble life, but was all too rapidly falling apart. He seemed to be disappearing into his rich robes, his jewel-encrusted gold cuffs hanging loosely from his bony wrists.

“Come, come,” the king repeated impatiently, coaxing her closer. “Don’t be shy.”

Working to maintain her smile, Neff took a few obedient steps up the ramp onto the low platform, until she was close enough to catch a whiff of the king’s heavy perfume. It was sweet, but did not cloak the sick, sour smell wafting from his body. Her stomach twisted in disgust, and she stopped.

“That’s better,” the king said, settling back into his seat. “Your reputation precedes you, my girl—despite Montuhotep’s attempt to keep you his little secret.” He wagged a finger. “That was very naughty of him! But… it’s very hard to keep a secret from me for long. Very hard!”

He coughed, a wet, bone-shaking sound. “I heard you were a gift from the high priestess of Bubas, and that you have the makings of a very talented seer.” He paused, his yellow-tinged eyes studying her closely.

“I hope so, my king,” Neff replied.

The king nodded and fussed with the bowl of green soup on a small table by his side. “Do you see this, Nefermaat? Here I am, the pharaoh, and what do they feed me? This… sludge. Boiled mallow leaves. They say it settles the stomach, but I feel queasy just looking at it.”

The savory soup was likely the only pleasant smelling thing in the room.

“I’m sure it’s quite delicious, my king.”

Amunmose chuckled. “Yes, perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I should take my medicine like a good boy. But first—” He broke off a piece of a mound-shaped honey cake from a little plate on the side table and popped it into his mouth. He chewed it and winked at her wickedly.

“You’re probably wondering why I’ve called you here. Well. You see, Nefermaat… It’s a lovely name, did I mention that? A lovely name for a lovely girl. What was I saying? Oh, yes.” He leaned forward, his eyes darkening. “I’ve been having the strangest dream. Every night. I was hoping you could tell me what it means. Montuhotep has ideas, of course, but sometimes he can be an absolute brick. No fun at all. So I’d like to hear what you think.”

Neff felt her palms grow slick with sweat. She wanted to tell him she wasn’t ready. That despite her work with Master Montuhotep and her studies with the chief scribe, she still had so much to learn. But she knew none of that really mattered. Disobedience wasn’t an option.

“I’ll do my best, my king,” she said.

King Amunmose gazed up at the painted ceiling and chewed a second piece of cake. “The dream starts right here, in this room. I’m on the throne, and outside, the sun is setting. I’m wearing the double crown, but there’s something strange about it. Instead of the serpent and the vulture, my uraeus has two serpents—one red and one black. After a moment, the red serpent slithers down from its place on my brow and bites me on the neck. But the black serpent doesn’t move. It just sits there, watching.”

The king suddenly frowned and clutched his stomach until whatever pain he was feeling seemed to pass. “What does it mean, child?” he asked, a little breathless. “What are the gods trying to tell me?”

“Two snakes,” Neff murmured. She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing, as the master had taught her. “One red, and one black.” She cast her mind into that in-between place she’d first encountered in Montuhotep’s chambers, the place inside the flame where she could hear the whispers of the gods. It didn’t happen right away, and she began to worry that the vision wouldn’t come. But finally, in the shadows behind her eyes, she envisioned the two serpents on the king’s crown, and saw the whole scene play out before her. The red serpent’s fangs. The bite. The king’s open-mouthed silent scream. The black serpent, still and watchful from its seat on the crown. Then, the words came.

He is betrayed by those closest to him.

The message hit her like a gale in a storm, nearly making her stumble.

He will die at the hand of one, while the other bears silent witness.

The vision vanished. Neff gasped and opened her eyes.

“What is it?” the king exclaimed, leaning toward her.

Neff felt sick with horror. She couldn’t possibly deliver such a prophecy to the king. Montuhotep told her not to upset him in his fragile state, and she couldn’t think of anything more upsetting than the prediction she’d received.

Such a message would cast suspicion upon his family and his closest advisers here in the palace , she thought. What if I’m wrong? It could cause all kinds of trouble, terrible trouble.

She had no idea what to do.

So she lied.

“The gods are telling you to trust the priests,” Neff blurted out. “The red serpent is your doubt and will harm you if you choose not to heed their advice. The black serpent is patience. The black serpent waits for happiness to return, and it will be rewarded.”

The king regarded her with an odd expression. “Incredible. That’s exactly what Montuhotep said.”

Neff’s shoulders sagged with relief. “The master is very wise.”

In her peripheral vision, a shadow moved. Her gaze flicked to the portal to the left of the throne, where the two attendants had exited. Had someone been lingering in the doorway?

“Very wise, very wise,” the king murmured. For a moment he looked confused, as if he’d forgotten where he was, before he looked at her and seemed to remember. “Do you know, Nefermaat? There is something else in the dream—a sound. The bleating of a lamb. What do you think of that?”

Neff felt her knees buckle.

He continued, muttering to himself. “That rough-looking priest that came to the palace, all those years ago, he’d been ranting about a lamb, hadn’t he? What a fool.” He turned his gaze back to Neff. “Funny, though, that I would hear a lamb in my dream, isn’t it, child?”

He frowned again, as if his pain were returning. Even with the thick makeup that covered his face, it still looked a little green. “I must…” he gasped, struggling to speak, “return to my chambers… now. Ineni!”

The elegant attendant appeared, along with four litter bearers carrying the king’s palanquin. Neff was quickly forgotten among the activity, so she took it upon herself to back out of the room.

In the main hall, she leaned against one of the columns and tried to catch her breath. Small groups of courtiers and palace officials spoke in the corners, but they seemed oblivious to her presence. She closed her eyes.

A dozen questions whirled through Neff’s mind. If her explanation of the king’s dream had been a lie, did that mean that Montuhotep had been lying to him too? She worried about her vision being wrong, but what if it was right? What if it wasn’t a disease demon making the king sick, but someone in his inner circle? What if Montuhotep himself was involved somehow, and that’s why he lied about the dream?

Neff’s heart began to race at the thought.

But even that wasn’t the most terrifying part of the king’s dream. What frightened her most was the fact that the king was dreaming of the lamb.

Take heed, Thonis, Great House of Amun!

The lamb’s words came back to her like the sting of a snakebite, the words and the blood and the terror.

Sorrow and ruin to the Children of the Two Lands!

“Are you all right, little priestess?”

The voice was so close that it made her jump.

Neff opened her eyes to see Prince Meryamun standing before her. She recognized him from the Bast Festival, when he and the princess had come to the temple to pay their respects. He was dressed in a beautifully pleated green schenti and a gauzy shirt that was open at the chest, revealing an intricately beaded carnelian collar around his neck. His eyebrows were thick and dark over his hooded eyes, which studied her with amusement.

“Oh! Greetings to you, my prince,” Neff said, dropping her head.

“You were just in the throne room, interpreting your first royal dream, were you not? It seems it took a lot out of you.”

“I was,” Neff replied, steadying her voice. “I am honored by the king’s faith in me. I… I was a little nervous, that’s all.”

“That’s not what I meant,” the prince whispered, leaning close. “I meant it must have taken a lot out of you to lie to the king’s face. That’s not an easy task—nor a safe one.”

She froze. The shadow in the doorway—had the prince been watching them? Even so, how could he know that she’d been lying?

As if reading her mind, the prince grinned. “You see, words may lie—but the body speaks the truth. When you’ve been lied to all your life, you learn what deception looks like.”

Neff’s entire body began to quake. She thought she’d done the right thing to protect the king’s health, to protect herself, but now—

“Do you know the penalty for such a crime? It’s quite severe. Perhaps you believe he’d be merciful to one so young, but—” He crinkled his nose. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

Tears welled in Neff’s eyes.

“You must have had an awful vision to take such a risk,” the prince mused. “What was it?”

She felt like a bird in a net that was slowly tightening all around her. But the prince left her with no choice but to tell him the truth. Perhaps if she did, he’d show her mercy. And perhaps if her vision was correct, the prince might be able to use the information to help save the king.

“The gods told me that the pharaoh will be betrayed by those closest to him,” she finally said. “He will die at the hand of one, while the other bears silent witness.”

Neff saw the prince’s pupils constrict.

“Fascinating.” He licked his lips.

“You’ll help him, won’t you?” Neff said quietly. She knew she should keep quiet, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

“I’ll make sure that the king is taken care of, don’t you worry,” the prince replied soothingly. “Now, what if I ask you to decipher one of my dreams, young Priestess of Bubas? Are you going to lie to me too?”

“No, my prince,” she said.

“Good,” Prince Meryamun said, and leaned against the column next to her. “Then hear this: for the past two nights, I’ve dreamed of Sobek. I cannot tell you more than that—only that I know it is him.” He stared at her, expectant.

“Sobek,” Neff repeated. She knew the name from her father’s spells, some of whom he’d directed to the fierce crocodile-headed god. Most of the time, he’d sell those spells to traders and fishermen who wanted protection from the various dangers of the Iteru River.

Once more, she closed her eyes and cast her mind to the in-between place. She imagined the reptilian face of the god crowned with feathered plumes, ram’s horns, and the shining disc of the sun—

“When you are confronted with the power of Sobek,” Neff found herself saying, “kneel.”

The prince blinked. “That’s it?”

Neff sagged against the column, feeling weak in the knees. The message had come more quickly this time, but the experience was no less exhausting. She nodded.

Prince Meryamun scoffed. “Not terribly illuminating, is it?”

“That is the message, my prince,” Neff murmured. Her stomach growled. She’d long since missed her midday meal.

Noticing her distress, the prince seemed to relent. “I suppose they’ll be expecting you back at the temple. Go, then. But now that you’ve told me this prophecy about my father, it is imperative that you keep it to yourself. One never knows who to trust, so you must guard your secrets with care. You were right to keep it from him—which is why I’m not having you whipped for lying to the pharaoh. I will handle it from here. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my prince.”

The prince grinned, his face lighting up with pleasure. It was terrifying how handsome he was when he smiled.

“Good girl,” he cooed, and lifted a ringed finger to his lips as a reminder.

Neff bowed and turned, walking slowly out of the hall, through the courtyard, and past the palace gates. When she was out of the complex, she began to run, her sandaled feet slapping the ground until she reached the temple gardens. She was going so fast that she nearly crashed directly into Prince Kenna.

“Hey, hey, hey!” he exclaimed, grabbing her by the shoulders. A basket hung off one arm, with what looked like the remains of a simple meal inside. “Where have you been? I waited, but you never showed.”

“I was… at the… palace,” Neff said between panting breaths.

Kenna’s face drained of color. “Why?”

Neff opened and closed her mouth, unsure of how much to say.

“The king,” she began. “He wanted me… he wanted—” She looked at the prince’s sharp, angular face, and his wild nest of black hair. He wasn’t handsome like his brother. But he was a most beautiful and welcome sight.

She couldn’t help herself. She fell into Kenna’s arms and sobbed like a lost, terrified child.

The prince’s body went rigid at her embrace, but slowly Neff felt him relax. Then, she felt his arm wrap around her shoulders. He patted her gently. For what seemed like a long time, he just let her cry. Neff finally understood why he’d cloistered himself at the temple, far from the machinations of the palace.

They were both part of something so big and so terrible that she could only see it in pieces, like watching a sandstorm approach through a keyhole. Whatever was coming was just as unstoppable. Just as catastrophic. She wanted to tell Kenna everything that had happened, but she’d promised Prince Meryamun that she wouldn’t speak of it. She had to obey. Didn’t she? If she told Kenna and his brother found out, surely she’d be severely punished, and it might even put Kenna himself in danger.

No. She had to stay silent.

When her sobs finally faded to sniffles, Kenna spoke.

“It’s all right,” he said softly. “You’re safe now.”

Neff held on to him tighter, as if doing so might keep them both from blowing away in the coming storm.

“No,” she whispered into his chest. “I’m not.”