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Sita

Sita saw many wonderful things during her journey out of Thonis—farms of golden wheat, herds of humpbacked gray zebu, pyramids piercing the horizon like sharp teeth. But what enchanted her most were the flowers.

Her pleasure garden was home to many lovely blooms, some brought from distant lands as gifts to the king, others so delicate they could only survive in the rarified soil nurtured by the royal gardeners. Everything grew within its allotted space, and any rebellious sprouts that dared venture beyond those limits were quickly rooted out. Sita had always thought it was the most glorious place in the world, but that changed after only a few hours of walking through the Khetaran landscape with Karim.

He’d led her away from the river to avoid being spotted by Meryamun’s ships, but they remained within the fertile strip of land that surrounded the Iteru on both banks, following its general direction south. Along their path, flowers flowed in torrents over the earth: deep-purple cornflowers, golden river hemp blossoms, and frilly chrysanthemums in orange and white and red. They grew wild, intermingling with nightshade and bitterweed until it was difficult to tell the flowers from the weeds.

How different are they, anyway? Sita wondered. They were all beautiful, and the weeds deserved respect for having the strength to thrive even in the harshest terrain. She was amazed at how well the plants all grew with no one tending them, and how they tangled up in each other to survive the capricious winds. The wildflowers may not have been the faultless blossoms of the pleasure garden, but in a lot of ways, she preferred the freedom of the natural landscape. On a whim, she picked a yellow chrysanthemum bloom and tucked it into her hair.

They’d been walking in silence since leaving the city—Sita, Karim, and the black dog. It was easier to make headway in the afternoon heat without the effort of conversation, and besides, Sita needed the time to think.

The past few days felt like a violent storm that had brought devastation with surprising speed. The thing was—she’d seen it coming. She’d seen it rolling in from the horizon ever since the Festival of Bast. But she’d done nothing to avoid it. Nothing at all.

Now, they’re all dead.

Maet.

Father.

The pharaoh’s entire court.

All at the hands of a brother she had trusted and loved—a brother who was about to take the throne for himself. A brother who had planned—for days, weeks, years?—to take her into his bed.

It was unthinkable.

How could someone she’d grown up with, someone she thought she knew as well as her own heart, turn out to be such a monster? The revelation threw everything she believed into chaos. She combed over her memories during that walk, viewing them with new eyes, and was shocked to see evidence of Mery’s intent everywhere among them.

The way he liked to pick out dresses for her to wear to the banquets, and how he’d linger to chat while she changed into them.

The way he’d brush his hand against hers across the table whenever they played Mehen or Hounds and Jackals.

The way his eyes had flashed when he’d caught her with Femi in the ship’s cabin the night of the festival.

In retrospect, his objective hadn’t been hidden. Not really. But how could she have anticipated what was to come? How could anyone?

Not that it mattered, because as far as she was concerned, the blame rested fully on her shoulders. She wasn’t stupid. She always got through her lessons quickly and frequently beat Mery in their games. She was as sharp as her brother, despite what members of the court—and her own family—might think.

But Mery knew all her weaknesses, her blind spots, her naivete.

Sitamun, Sitamun, you look at the board, but somehow you don’t see it.

She turned back toward the huge white pylons of the palace, now barely visible on the horizon.

Mery never truly cared about winning the little games we played , Sita thought . He only cared about winning this one.

With a heavy sigh, she lifted her robes again and trotted quickly after Karim and Behkai, who hadn’t noticed her slowed pace.

“Wait for me!” she called out. Her feet throbbed. She wasn’t used to walking in the heat for so long, and her sandals were made for looks, not travel.

Karim halted and squinted back at her, his rugged yet boyish face peering out from his dark hood.

“Tired, princess?” he asked—a little flippantly, she thought.

“Not at all,” she replied, raising her chin. She made an effort to catch up, then surpass him. In response, Karim accelerated his own stride until they were both out of breath. Finally, they fell into an easy rhythm, side by side.

Sita studied him from the corner of her eye. Earlier, he’d removed his white tunic and slipped into a set of dark voluminous robes that he’d taken from the skiff before they’d fled, robes that were similar to her own. He was lean, and a little taller than her, and hairy. Is that what all men would look like if they didn’t shave? she wondered. Despite her initial disapproval at his lack of hygiene, she had to admit she didn’t mind it so much. There was an audaciousness about his look and manner that she almost found appealing.

But there was a secrecy about him too. His manner was light and breezy, but an undercurrent of tension lay beneath it, and she wondered at its source. She’d noticed that he glanced over his shoulder as they walked and startled at sounds in the brush.

What’s he so scared of?

The most obvious answer was the royal guard. It was unlikely that Mery would have sent soldiers out this far, but it made sense that Karim would keep a lookout. Though she deeply feared being caught and taken back to the palace, she’d surely be taken alive. Karim, however, was a different story. She had no doubt that if they were found together, he’d be executed right then and there.

The black dog, much like his master, also seemed to be on alert. He’d often scout ahead, sniffing around and then bounding back to them, pink tongue lolling. He’d been doing just that when he ran up to her, dropping a dead shrew at her feet with obvious pride.

“Ugh, why?” Karim kicked the mangled creature off the path. “At least find us something we can eat.”

But Sita was pleased at the gift and patted the dog on his big head. “Thank you, Behkai,” she said with a smile.

Karim grumbled and walked on.

Clearly, she owed the man a debt for his help getting her out of Thonis, but after having plenty of time to think, she’d started to wonder if his actions were purely altruistic. He was, after all, leading her farther and farther from civilization, and if there happened to be a band of desert thieves waiting at the end of this journey, a runaway princess would be quite the bounty. For all his charm, he could be nefarious as the rest of them.

If she’d learned anything from her recent experiences, it was to stop being so trusting. She felt for the dagger at her waist. If it came to that, she’d do what she had to do.

“We’ll stop here, sena,” Karim announced, his arms akimbo. They’d crested a small hill and came upon an irrigation canal at the edge of a farm, with a stand of willow trees surrounding it. “We should rest and refill our waterskins.”

Sita nodded—she was parched. Mimicking Karim’s movements, she bent to dip her waterskin into the canal and held it there until it was full. Then she took a long drink. It was cold and fresh, and she guzzled the whole thing. It was easily the best-tasting water she’d ever had—probably because she’d never been so thirsty before. She hurried to refill her waterskin so she could have more.

“Take it easy,” Karim scolded her. “If you drink too fast, you’ll throw it all up again.”

She pouted but slowed down.

Pulling off his hood, Karim ducked under the drooping branches of one of the trees and sat in the shade. He took a deep, slow swig of water, letting the excess drip down his throat and onto his bare chest beneath. Then he poured the remainder over his head, closing his eyes as the water soaked into his dark curls and caught in shining droplets in the stubble on his cheeks. She watched him, her lips still resting on the mouth of her waterskin.

He opened his eyes. He must have sensed her watching.

Sita looked away. “We only have a few more hours until nightfall. Is it safe to stay this close to the river?”

“We’ll venture farther out to set up camp,” Karim answered. “But you needed a break.”

“I told you, I’m fine. ” Annoyed, she bent at the edge of the canal and splashed cool water on her face. She blinked at her reflection. Her hair was messy, her face sunburned, and her lips chapped. She should have been mortified but couldn’t bring herself to care.

Behkai ran up next to her, bending to noisily lap at the water before shaking his head, spraying slobber everywhere.

“Eugh!” Karim exclaimed, swatting at the dog.

Behkai capered around him, mistaking it for a game.

Sita couldn’t help but laugh. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that. It felt really freeing at first, but then it felt wrong. How can you laugh after all this tragedy? How can you even smile?

She stopped. With one wet hand, she tried to smooth the wild strands of her hair. Only when she’d managed to tame it did she turn to face Karim again.

He sat gazing at a browned translucent papyrus spread out on a rock in front of him. It was covered in rough sketches of mountains, valleys, and little red stars.

“What’s that?” she asked.

Karim glanced at her, and for a moment, Sita thought he might reroll the document and give her some vague answer—like when she’d asked where he was from. But he set his jaw and replied.

“It’s a map.”

Interested, Sita sat next to him where she could see the papyrus for herself. It was a partial map of Khetara, showing lands south of Thonis. Some of the town and city names were familiar, others less so—and many places that should have been marked on the map were missing.

“This is old,” Sita remarked, her interest piqued. “Really old. Where did you get it?”

Karim tensed beside her. Then he asked, “Can I trust you?”

Sita frowned. It was the most unexpected question she could imagine. “Can you ”—she pointed to him, with his bristly face and coarse robes, and then back at herself—“trust me ? I’m Khetaran royalty, for Amun’s sake.”

“Yes, exactly,” he said with slight distaste. “So, can I trust you?”

Sita raised her eyebrows. “Um, yes?”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

She sighed in frustration. “Yes, Karim. You can trust me.”

“Sena, I pray to your gods and to mine that your word is good.”

“The word is the deed,” Sita intoned.

“What?”

“You’ve never heard that before? It’s a common Khetaran phrase, something you’d say at the end of a prayer. It means that words have great power. When you speak something out loud, it goes from your lips to the gods’ ears, and by doing so, you make it happen—you make it true.” She cocked her head. “You really aren’t from around here, are you?”

Karim shook his head. “I hail… from the Red Lands.”

Sita’s eyebrows shot up. The Red Lands! Of course! She’d heard of the desert tribesmen, but had never met one herself. Her father had considered them little more than bands of godless, unscrupulous ruffians who spent most of their time fighting among themselves. Someone like Karim would never have been invited within a mile of the palace.

“You don’t seem like a warrior.”

“I’m not. Most of my tribe are shepherds, not warriors. But I’m not one of those either. I’m a… a…”

“A what?”

Karim hesitated.

“Spit it out, will you?” Sita said impatiently.

His cheeks flushed. “I’m a tomb robber, all right?” he said, a little too loudly.

Behkai whined, his tall ears flattening against his head.

“I was part of a group called the Jackals. We’d find Khetaran tombs in the desert, strip them of valuables, and sell the spoils. Now, the map—that I stole that from the Temple of Amun—but strictly speaking, that’s an outlier. Usually I steal from the dead, not the living. So there. Now you know.”

Sita rocked back. Karim had given the whole speech in a fast, angry rush, and then fallen silent. She’d heard of men—Khetaran and otherwise—looting tombs, but somehow Karim didn’t fit the image in her head of what such a man would look like.

“Your disgust means nothing to me, sena,” Karim said, his voice harsh. “If your people agreed to formal trade with mine and didn’t treat us like heathens, perhaps we wouldn’t have to resort to such activities, hey? You all think you’re superior, with your fertile river and your hundreds of gods and—”

“I’m not disgusted!” Sita broke in. “I’m… surprised.”

Karim folded his arms over his chest.

“I have no right to pass judgment over you and the things you’ve done in the name of survival,” Sita said. The tribesman’s confession, though shocking, was refreshing in its honesty. It made her want to be honest too. “You’ve stolen baubles from the dead. But I…” Guilt nearly took her breath away. “I’ve stolen life from the innocent.”

Karim’s anger melted into astonishment. “You killed someone? That’s why you’re running?”

“No, not exactly,” Sita replied, and suddenly, she found herself telling him truth. “My brother poisoned the king, our father, so that he could take the throne for himself.”

Once she started, the secret poured out of her like water. “He did it slowly, over a long period, so it would seem like an illness. No one suspected—although he inadvertently killed a child in the process. Then as soon as the king was dead, my brother slaughtered the entire court so he could replace it with his own.”

Karim puffed out his cheeks. “And here I thought you Khetarans were supposed to be civilized!”

Sita shot him a withering look.

They sat in silence for a moment before Karim said, “I don’t understand what you meant about stealing life from the innocent. Your brother killed those people—not you.”

“But I knew about the poisoning,” Sita argued. “I found out when there was still time to save my father and Maet. Yet I was too afraid to speak. I wanted to believe Mery was doing the right thing, even though deep in my heart, I knew it was wrong. My brother may have dealt the killing blows, but my silence was just as deadly.”

She wrapped her arms around herself and spoke more softly. “The same day my father died, Mery told me that I would be his queen. It was an ancient royal custom, marrying your sister—much like killing a king’s court so a pharaoh could bring them to the afterlife—but it hasn’t been done in a thousand years. It’s all part of Mery’s plan to return Khetara to its former glory. He’s fanatical about it—he believes it’s his destiny. I know he will be pharaoh, and a pharaoh is like a god, and yet… I fear what he’ll do, how far he’s willing to go to achieve the greatness he seeks.” She swallowed. “Not all gods are good gods.”

“So… you ran away?”

“One of the guards helped me escape,” Sita replied, her voice breaking as she thought of Femi. “I can only pray that Mery hasn’t killed him too. I can’t bear another death on my conscience.”

“Well, sena,” Karim said, running a hand through his hair. “That, at least, is something we have in common.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve made some questionable choices of my own lately. Do you see this?” Karim pointed a red star on the map, located deep in a mountain valley. “That star marks an ancient tomb. I found it, untouched and full of treasure. I had a young boy with me, Djet—and he and I were in the middle of ransacking the place when it happened.”

“When what happened?”

A haunted look came into Karim’s eyes.

“Something… awoke. It rose from the grave and killed Djet.”

Sita was incredulous. “You must be mistaken. It could have been an animal, or—”

“No. I thought that too, at first, but no. I saw it with my own eyes, sena. You’re the first person I’ve told. I… I can’t keep the secret any longer.”

Sita had read papyri about Heka magic and the existence of powerful spells of reincarnation. Though how a tribesman from the Red Lands could trigger one, she wasn’t sure.

“So you’re telling me a mummy killed your friend—what happened next?”

“I tried to stop it from escaping the tomb. But it followed me and killed again—an old priest in a Temple of Khnum.”

“Khnum?” Sita suddenly felt dizzy, remembering her strange interaction with the old woman who visited her at the palace before her father’s death. The woman spoke as if she was the goddess Heqet, consort of Khnum, the ram-headed creator god who sometimes appeared as a lamb.

Karim explained how the old priest had helped him discover the name of the man who’d been buried in the tomb: a forgotten king named Setnakht. And how he’d traveled to the Temple of Amun seeking more information about the old pharaoh, where he stole the map from the House of Life.

“You met Bakenamun?” Sita asked when his tale was finished. “And that young priestess you described… I think I know who she is.” She recalled the strange girl who’d stared at her with intensity at the Bast Festival, and who Mery claimed had saved his life with a premonition. Could it be the same person? “What an odd coincidence.”

“That’s the thing,” Karim said. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence at all. I saw something else in that Temple of Khnum. The old priest explained that this painting on the wall was an ancient oracle. He called it the Oracle of the Lamb.”

Sita felt a chill up her spine.

“There were four figures depicted,” Karim continued. “They all surrounded this image of a bloody lamb. One of them was me.”

“You? In a Khetaran oracle?”

Karim nodded. “The second was a warrior, the third a priestess…” He swallowed, his eyes meeting hers. “And the last was you.”

“What?” Sita shivered as a cool wind blew through the willows, bringing with it a strange scent—sweet and smoky and intoxicating. Behkai raised his quivering nose to the air, but as soon as it had come, it was gone. “How can you be sure?” she asked.

“There were three royal children,” Karim explained. “Your two brothers and you. Your face. Your eyes. It could be no one else.”

As an afterthought, he added, “You held a heart in your hands.”

Sita shook her head. It was all too much to believe. Still, she was shaken by the thought of her image holding a heart, weighing it as the gods did at judgment. She and Mery had taken lives into their own hands—what punishments might they face for usurping the gods’ will? “What did it foretell, this oracle?” she asked.

Karim’s expression darkened. “Nothing good. Ruin. Betrayal. War. A river turned to blood.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled up Sita’s throat. She put one hand on Behkai’s head, and the dog leaned against her leg, as if to comfort her. The hysteria subsided.

“Naturally,” she said bleakly when she regained her composure.

“Since both you and your siblings are pictured, maybe your brother’s rise to the throne has something to do with the oracle. And this business with Setnakht—that’s part of it too. The painting showed me opening his tomb.”

Karim cast another glance over his shoulder. “I thought I’d killed the monster—the ‘mummy,’ as you call it—but ever since we left the city and its crowds and distractions, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched. It is as if these events are connected… like streams converging into one river.”

So that’s why he’s been startled by every little noise , Sita thought. Still, she was skeptical. Without seeing this so-called oracle for herself, she had only a few coincidences and Karim’s word to go on.

“So what are we supposed to do about it, us four? Did the lamb happen to mention that?”

Karim shook his head.

“No, of course not,” Sita said.

“You don’t believe me.”

Sita gave him an apologetic look and shrugged.

“Now, listen, princess—these are your gods who dragged me into this, not mine! That young priestess knew all about it already. She’d had visions of all this. That’s why she helped me at the temple. I didn’t want to believe it either! I only came to Thonis because I made a promise to that old priest before he died. And just when I thought things couldn’t get any stranger— you show up. When I found out who you were, I knew our meeting couldn’t be a coincidence.”

Sita dropped her head onto her hands and stared at the map lying between them. Evading Mery and figuring out how she was going to stop him was hard enough—now this? The very idea that she was wrapped up in some kind of ancient prophecy was simply too much for her mind to handle.

Her eyes focused on a block of text written next to the red star marking the location Karim had indicated as the mummy’s tomb.

“‘Here lies Setnakht,’” she read aloud. “‘His spirit indestructible, as powerful as a god. If he commands you to die, you will die. If he commands you to live, you will live. The word is the deed.’”

Karim stared at her.

“You can read it?” he asked, and then smacked himself in the forehead. “Of course you can read it. You’re probably the most educated woman in the kingdom. Is there more?”

Sita squinted at the next words, which were faded and harder to decipher. “‘He shall not travel West, for his work is unfinished. Through the…’” She paused. “I’m not sure about this symbol. Blood? Flesh? ‘Through the… flesh of an acolyte, he will live again.’”

Silence fell between them.

Karim had gone pale. “His work is unfinished… What work?”

“Unless you found more information about him at the temple, I guess we’ll never know,” Sita said.

“There was a letter,” Karim went on, “From an embalmer who’d been involved in the king’s burial. It didn’t say much, but it did mention that Setnakht abandoned Thonis and built his own capital city in the desert, away from the rest of the kingdom. Do you know where it is?”

Sita shook her head. “I’ve never heard of such a place. But that’s not surprising. If Setnakht’s very existence was erased from the history books, his city was probably abandoned too. It’s been a thousand years—it’s probably been retaken by the sands.”

Karim grew excited. “Maybe, or maybe not. Do you think you could find it on this map?”

Sita studied the other marked locations. Ignoring the ones she already knew, she went through the unfamiliar names one by one. Most were too close to the Iteru to have been overlooked, and others seemed to simply be old names for new towns. There were a few burial sites marked as well. However, one outlier caught her eye, located midway between High and Low Khetara, deep in the eastern desert. The symbols written beside the star were an open square—the symbol for house—and the Set animal. Sita pointed to the name. “Perset, The House of Set.”

Karim gazed up at her, his eyes wide. “That’s got to be it, princess. Perset. That’s where we have to go next!”

Sita pushed the map away, her momentary fascination with the story of Setnakht soured by the certainty in Karim’s voice.

“No, no, no. There is no ‘we.’ If you want to head into the desert to find this ruin, be my guest—but I’m not going with you.”

“But the oracle, sena!” Karim protested. “If it’s true, then we were meant to face this together.”

“And if it’s not true?” Sita argued. “I could waste weeks chasing ghosts while my brother tightens his grip on the kingdom. If he kills more innocent people in his quest for power”—her voice broke—“more people that I love, then I could never forgive myself for being diverted by some tribesman from the marketplace.”

Karim’s face fell.

Sita felt a tug in her heart but didn’t allow it to take hold. She’d just met Karim, and despite how easy it was to talk to him, and how so much of what he said rang true—she couldn’t allow herself to fully trust him. She wasn’t sure she could trust anyone ever again.

“This ‘oracle’ of yours makes it seem like every encounter has a greater purpose, is part of a larger plan,” she went on, her voice harsh. “But real life isn’t like that, all right? We each make our own decisions. Real life isn’t a story, Karim.”

She stood, her whole body trembling. “I believed in stories once. I won’t make that mistake again. We’ll stay together for the night, but when morning comes, we part. I’ll find my way to Bubas alone.”

Karim stood too. “As you wish, sena.”

He went to gather up his things, and she tried to overlook the disappointment on his face. Even the dog seemed subdued.

As they left the canal, Behkai trotted beside her with his tail between his legs. They walked in silence for a few minutes before Karim spoke again.

“For what it’s worth, before today I would have agreed with you. My life before all of this was arduous and sometimes felt devoid of meaning. This oracle has brought terrible things into my life, but it also brought experiences I never would have had without it. I took a journey down the river. I ate a pomegranate. I inherited Behkai.” The dog cocked his head at the sound of his name.

Karim gave her a sidelong glance. “I found you.”

Sita could not meet his eyes.

“These past few days, I’ve started to wonder if my life would be different if I stopped running away from things, and started running toward them. Do you know what I mean?” When Sita didn’t respond, Karim cleared his throat. “All I’m trying to say, sena, is that even if we never meet again—to me, none of this has been meaningless. And for what it’s worth, I hope your story gets a happy ending.”

His words touched her—Sita couldn’t deny that. And regardless of how outrageous it all sounded, she couldn’t deny that something in his story of the oracle seemed genuine. But Sita knew better than to let herself be carried away by some fantasy, by a romantic notion that she was singled out, with the others, to save the kingdom from destruction. The most she could hope for was to somehow repair the damage she herself had done, and even that seemed insurmountable. Still, she had to try.

Though she knew she must, she didn’t look forward to parting ways with her new companions, the hound and the jackal. They were so strange, and yet so familiar—two pawns moving across the landscape, hoping to reach journey’s end in one piece.

Sita hoped that, for once, she was seeing the board clearly. That she wasn’t making another mistake.

They walked the rest of the way in silence.