Page 9

Neff followed Master Montuhotep through a large open courtyard and into a hallway lined with thick columns carved and painted to look like bundles of green papyrus. Together with the ceiling high above—purple-black and decorated with a thousand stars—the hallway gave her the sensation of walking through a great stone forest. He then led her to a small chamber off to the left, where half a dozen women clad in white linen dresses glanced up to see them. Like Master Montuhotep, they too were bald, their eyes lined with black kohl. But they also wore blue-green eyeshadow and rouge on their lips. The women all stood at attention. The room smelled like a bittersweet mixture of honey and salt.

“The high priestess of Bast has brought us this girl to educate in the ways of the priesthood,” Master Montuhotep said, irritation clear in his voice. “You will put her through the purification rituals.”

Several of the women cast pitying glances at Neff, and for the first time, she began to understand what these rituals would likely entail. She put a protective hand over her soft curly hair. Suddenly it became hard to breathe.

Master Montuhotep must have caught one of those glances. “I do not care that she is young,” he added forcefully. “If she is to be a member of the king’s temple, then she is subject to the same customs as the rest of us. Besides, she is absolutely filthy. I will not have lice in my house of worship.”

Lice? Neff thought, offended. Just because I live in a village doesn’t mean I have lice!

One of the women bowed her head. “Yes, Master. Leave her to us.”

“I’ll be back for her shortly,” Master Montuhotep said, and turned from the room.

It was only then that Neff took stock of her new surroundings. The long low table in the middle of the room, covered in little pots and strips of cloth, the line of copper blades mounted on wooden handles, the pool of dark water in the far corner.

“We are Wabet.” The woman’s voice was kind but serious. “Novice priestesses in the House of Amun. You will remove your dress, please.”

Neff hugged herself, her heart racing. She shook her head slowly from side to side.

“You must be brave now, child,” the priestess said, walking forward to lead her by the shoulder to the long table. “For you to be welcome in this temple, it is necessary to remove the impurities of the world from your body. But I will not lie to you. It is going to hurt.”

***

She stayed still the first time they slathered her in the warm honey and patted cloths onto her skin. But after they ripped it off, taking every hair on her arm with it—they had to hold her down.

Hot tears flowed down Neff’s face as they did it again and again, the pain leaving her skin red and raw. She cried out as they ripped the soft fuzz from her belly and the hair between her legs. But it wasn’t until they brought out the copper blades and began cutting off fistfuls of her curly hair that she really began to weep.

For their part, the Wabet said nothing. They did not scold her for her anguish, nor did they offer any comfort. They were like one creature with many arms, each working in union with the others to complete the ritual as quickly and efficiently as possible. Neff didn’t bother begging them to stop. One look at their faces told her it wouldn’t have made a difference. If she was looking for a friend in this place, she doubted she would find one among them.

When they were finished, they sat her up and led her to the pool in the corner. The smell of salt emanating from it stung her eyes, and as soon as she stepped into the water, it lit her already inflamed skin on fire. She shrieked in pain, and tried to scramble back, but the Wabet gently, firmly forced her back in.

“You will be cleansed,” the priestess said. “You will be pure. And the gods will welcome you.”

“Please,” Neff sobbed. She couldn’t help herself now. She felt desperate, like a cornered animal. “Please don’t make me.”

“You will be cleansed,” the priestess said again. “The word is the deed.”

“The word is the deed,” the other Wabet intoned, and the priestess pushed her head under the water.

***

Neff made no sound while the Wabet rubbed her with rough black pumice stones, ensuring that no trace of hair was left on her body. She stared straight at the wall and a large painting of the great mother, Isis. The goddess knelt on a dais, crowned with the sun disc, and spread her golden wings as if about to take flight.

Neff had never seen such a painting up close, and its brilliance and detail mesmerized her, and helped her ignore her body as it cried out for relief. She licked her lips, tasting salt, and didn’t know whether it was from the pool water or from her tears.

Isis , she thought. Queen of the throne. Goddess of magic.

She Who Knows All the Names.

She gazed longingly at the painting and wished that she too, could spread her wings and fly away. That flicker of hope she’d felt on the boat was threating to go out. Was this new life always going to be full of such pain and suffering?

Finally, the Wabet completed their task and guided Neff out of the water, patted her dry with linen towels, and dressed her in a simple gown exactly like theirs. They applied black kohl and green powder to her eyes, and red ochre to her lips. That done, they checked her head to foot and declared her ready to be welcomed into the temple.

“You will await Master Montuhotep’s return,” the priestess said. “He will show you to our quarters and explain what is expected.”

Neff nodded, numb, and began to follow the priestess to the door, recoiling from the soft pile of her hair on the ground. It reminded her of a dead animal. On the way, she caught a glimpse of herself in the brass mirror hanging on the wall.

She stopped. The person staring back at her was a stranger.

She was completely bald, her skin glistening, her face outlined in color like one of the wall paintings. But it was her eyes that struck her most. They were huge and dark and haunted, no longer her own. They had seen things, wonderful and terrible things. In the matter of a single day, she had lost everything about her life that was familiar, including her own reflection.

From the wall, Isis watched her with eyes not unlike her own.

Who am I, now? she asked the goddess. If you know all the names, can you tell me mine?

It was too much . Too much for a young girl who’d only that morning been at home with her mother and father, waking to another day at the market. It was too much for anyone, really. She took a step back from the mirror, and then another, and then pushed through the gaggle of unwitting priestesses and ran.

***

Neff dashed through the corridor, her breath coming in shuddering gasps. She had no plan and no idea where she was going. She passed other small chambers and ran past several young priests who shouted at her when she nearly upset the armfuls of papyri they were carrying.

She didn’t stop.

She was tired and scared, and wanted nothing more than her mother’s arms and the comfort of home. Bast was a mother herself—wouldn’t she understand?

She turned right, then left, then right again, eventually losing track of where she’d been and uncertain she’d be able to find her way back. The corridor sloped downward, and Neff realized it was leading her into an underground tunnel beneath the temple. She hesitated, her eyes unaccustomed to the sudden murk. Thankfully, there was no one else around.

As Neff’s heart slowed, regret set in. This is hopeless. I can’t go home. I have to go back . When Master Montuhotep finds out I ran away, I’ll be in terrible trouble … The thought ignited a whole new fear in her belly as she imagined the high priest’s punishment. She was about to turn around when a low, monotonous chanting reached her ears. It was coming from a chamber at the end of the hallway. Flickering torchlight spilled from the portal, creating dancing shapes on the floor and walls beyond.

Curiosity and fear battled within her as she stood there, listening.

“Heka,” the voices said. “Open to us the words and ways of magic. Open our eyes, bless us with your wisdom, and we shall be your humble vessels upon this earth.”

Curiosity won.

Neff crept toward the firelight, her bare feet silent on the smooth stone floor. She pressed herself against the edge of the doorway, taking several deep, steadying breaths before peering into the room.

The underground chamber was shadowy, lit only by two torches on the far wall. Even still, Neff could see that the walls were covered in the gods’ words, the black writing crawling from floor to ceiling like an army of spiders. In the middle of the room, surrounding a table covered with a variety of strange objects that Neff couldn’t identify, two masked priests stood facing each other with their arms raised to the heavens. A third priest stood with his back to them as they continued to chant—now quietly enough that Neff couldn’t make out the words.

They wore half masks with animal faces: an ibis bird with a long beak like Thoth, the god of writing, and a falcon with piercing eyes and a sharp beak like the sky-god Horus. They looked frightening, there in the firelight, but at the same time, Neff was entranced. Her father had taught her about the many different types of priests in Khetara, and so she knew at once who these men must be and what it was they were doing.

Heka priests.

“Magic,” Neff whispered to herself. “Real magic.”

She watched, transfixed, as the third man turned around to face the others. He too wore a mask, but his was in the shape of a ram. In one hand, he held what looked like a hippopotamus tusk, rounded at the edges, and covered in delicate engravings. As she watched, the words carved into the tusk seemed to move and glow with an unnatural light.

Am I imagining it? Neff wondered, thinking perhaps it was another vision. No, there was none of the surreal quality of a dream. She could feel the roughness of the wall on her fingers, the coolness of the floor beneath her feet.

“Open to me, Isis,” the priest intoned, “And blow the breath of life where there is none.”

“The word is the deed,” the other two priests chanted.

Neff’s eyes widened as the light brightened, illuminating what he held in his other hand: a long serpent-headed staff. The priest brought the staff close to his mouth and spat on it.

But wait—was it a staff? How could a wooden staff move as this one did? Undulating, curling upon itself like something made of flesh and blood?

Neff gasped.

The priests froze. All three of the animal faces, grotesque in the firelight, turned toward her.

“Who’s there?”

Neff jerked back from the door and pressed herself against the wall. If they catch me here, I’ll be in even more trouble! She tried to slip back the way she came and made it halfway there before a hand fell upon her shoulder. Instinctively, she tried to pull away, but the hand only gripped her harder.

Neff turned to see one of the Heka priests, his eyes glinting from beneath the ram-faced mask.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “You dare spy on a sacred ritual?”

Neff felt the bones of her shoulder grinding together under the man’s grip, and she whimpered, knowing there was no one, not in the temple, nor even the city beyond, who could help her. She was absolutely, completely alone.

“I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes, waiting for the blow. The angry words. The promise of punishment.

“Ah, Herihor!” said a new voice, clipped and somewhat raspy. “I see you’ve found my assistant.”

Neff opened her eyes. The voice had come from a doorway at the end of the corridor, where a young man stood in shadow, holding a roll of white cloth in the crook of his arm. He was small and slight, only a handsbreadth taller than Neff herself. By his face she could see he was older than she—seventeen or eighteen, perhaps. He had a beakish nose and eyes so large that they reminded Neff of a creature who’d lived in the dark too long. But despite his gaunt aspect, there was kindness in the curve of his lips.

He also sported a nest of dark unkempt hair, which Neff later realized should have tipped her off that there was something very different about him. After all, why—among a sea of hairless priests—was this strange little man allowed to keep his own?

“Assistant?” the priest Herihor asked, his grip on Neff’s shoulder loosening slightly.

“Yes, I’ve been overwhelmed with work lately,” the small man said, walking toward them with an odd, sloping gait. “And it isn’t easy for an embalmer to find good help. Isn’t that right, Mistress…?” He eyed her meaningfully.

“Nefermaat,” Neff blurted.

“Indeed,” the small man went on smoothly. “Mistress Nefermaat and I just came by to collect some fresh wrappings. She must have gotten turned around while I was in the storage chamber.”

“Y-yes,” Neff added, playing along. “I’m afraid I got lost. I’m new.”

Her rescuer bobbed his head. “The temple does take some getting used to!”

Herihor lifted his mask, revealing a narrow, pinched face. He regarded the small man with more deference than Neff would have expected. “Your… assistant,” he repeated, as if the words were foreign to his tongue.

“Indeed!” the small man said with an air of finality. “Now, I must beg forgiveness for interrupting your…” He craned his neck to peer inside the chamber, and Neff followed suit. The two other priests stood ramrod straight and silent. The serpent staff was nowhere to be seen. “Communion with Heka. Amun knows how important it is to get everything exactly right. It won’t happen again.”

Herihor’s gaze flicked from the small man to Neff and back. Finally, he nodded and released his grip.

The small man bowed his head, and Neff followed suit.

“We’ll be on our way, then,” he said, and handed her the bundle of wrappings. “Good day to you, Herihor.”

The priest bowed his head in return. “And to you, Prince Bakenamun.”

Neff’s eyes widened, but she said nothing, then hurried to follow the small man up the corridor and back into the temple proper.

Like everyone in Khetara, she knew of the king’s triplets. The tale of their divine birth, attended by the gods themselves, was one told to many children by their mothers as they lay down to sleep. Prince Mery and Princess Sita were more well-known, as they were the ones sent to greet the people during holy days and festivals, but Prince Kenna, their estranged brother, was more of a mystery. Neff had once heard the papyrus seller at the Bubas market say that Bakenamun had rejected palace life in favor of serving the gods as a Sem priest—not a high priest, but an embalmer. Her father had rejected the gossip as ridiculous.

I guess the papyrus seller was right.

Even still, the small man didn’t seem like a prince. It was as if he tried to take up as little space as possible and was accustomed to going unnoticed. But whether or not he looked or behaved like a prince, he was a prince. If he had been anyone else, Neff had a feeling that the Heka priest wouldn’t have let her go unpunished.

“Thank you, m-my prince,” she mumbled, suddenly uncertain how to behave. “I’m very grateful for your help.”

Prince Kenna shrugged. “I have a soft spot for misfits, considering I am one myself. You’re Montuhotep’s new novice, are you not?” He scoffed. “Someone in your position needs all the help she can get.”

“How did you know?” Neff asked, taken aback. “I only just arrived.”

“Oh, it’s simple, really. Very simple. First, I saw one of Montuhotep’s servants running to his quarters with a jug of wine, and the high priest only drinks when he’s upset. Second, it’s clear from the state of your skin that you have just come from the Wabet, which means you’re newly arrived. Third, you have freckles—leading me to believe you spend a lot of time in the sun. Probably not an upper-class girl. Daughter of an artisan? Or a merchant, perhaps? Quite an unusual choice for the priesthood. So, a common girl is initiated into the priesthood at the same time that Montuhotep—who does not like children—is driven to drink.” He shrugged. “I put two and two together.”

He must have noticed the apprehension on Neff’s face, because he continued. “Montuhotep is more bark than bite, and most of the other priests are too busy with their work to give you a hard time. Still, you must be more careful in the future.” He waggled a long, skinny finger at her. “I won’t always be around to get you out of trouble.”

Neff nodded, amazed at the prince’s powers of deduction. He didn’t seem to fit with the priests she’d seen so far, so serious, elegant, and pure. He was a vulture among herons, a bit off-putting, but probably just misunderstood.

Also, unlike the other priests she’d met, Prince Kenna made her feel safe.

When they reached a fork in the corridor, the prince stopped. “You can hand back those wrappings now. Head over there and make a left. You should get back to Montuhotep before he works up too much of a temper.”

Neff looked down at the wrappings and found that she didn’t want to give them back. Doing so would mean her business with the prince would be finished.

“Do you… really need an assistant?”

The prince blinked. “That was a bit of a fabrication,” he said, apologetic. “I do most of my work alone. Most people find it… unpleasant.”

Neff imagined sharpened blades and dead bodies and swallowed, feeling a little sick. Yet anything was better than being alone.

“I could help with that,” she offered, trying not to sound forced.

“I don’t know,” the prince said. “Montuhotep will need you for lessons, and he’ll surely send you all over the temple running errands for him. He does that with the novices. You won’t have much free time. I doubt you’ll want to spend it with me.”

He started to turn away, and Neff’s heart sank. Then she remembered her father’s words. You give up too easily. All that customer needed was a little more convincing!

Don’t let him go , Neff thought to herself. His mouth is saying no, but his heart is shouting yes!

“I like keeping busy,” she blurted. “Whenever I’m not with Montuhotep, I could come and help you, fetch you things. Whatever you need!”

Prince Kenna stopped midturn and regarded her with interest. “And what would you ask of me in return?”

Neff hesitated. She couldn’t ask him to be her friend, but she could ask for information. “If I have questions about life here at the temple, would you answer them?”

“Why wouldn’t you ask the master such questions?”

Neff decided to be honest. “Because the master frightens me. And you don’t.”

Prince Kenna’s eyebrows shot up, and he chuckled. “I cannot argue with that logic. As you wish. You may assist me by accompanying me back to my chamber and carrying the wrappings. But we should hurry.”

Neff squeezed the wrappings, elated, and began walking next to him again. He gave her a sidelong glance. “Why do I get the feeling you already have a question?”

“‘The word is the deed,’” she said, recalling the phrase she’d already heard more than once. “What does it mean?”

“Ah, yes,” he said. “That is the central tenet of Khetaran magic. It refers to the idea that words alone have great power—when we speak something into the world, in many ways we make those words true. It is at the heart of every curse, every blessing, every prayer. What we say makes the world.”

Again, this reminded her of something her father had told her. You have to believe in the product. Maybe her father knew more about magic than she realized.

“Heka is created by the combination of objects, words, and actions,” the prince went on. “How one combines them to create a specific effect is known only to those granted access to the secret knowledge housed in this temple. The papyri here contain something like cooking recipes—take this item, move this way, say these words, and aha! The gods approve your request. If you know how to do it, it is as simple as breathing. If you don’t, it’s like someone asking you to turn day into night.”

He thought for a moment and added, “Although I suppose you can make an exception for royalty. It is said that unlike priests, who must study papyri to do magic, those of royal blood are born with Heka within them.” He snorted. “Although as yet, I have no access to such powers.”

Neff was fascinated and wished she had time to hear more. “How do you know so much about magic if you’re not a Heka priest?”

“When I first came to the priesthood, I wasn’t sure where I wanted to focus my studies. So I learned all of them.”

“All?!” Neff exclaimed.

“Of course. How was I to make an informed decision if I didn’t have all the facts?”

Neff had no answer to that.

“You are a curious girl in many ways, Nefermaat,” Prince Kenna mused, stopping at a portal which must have led to his work area. “As I mentioned before, it isn’t every day that someone such as yourself would be attached to Master Montuhotep, to be taught in the ways of the Hour priest. Something quite extraordinary would have to happen to bring you to him.” The unasked question hung in the air between them.

“I had… a vision,” Neff offered.

The prince’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Of what?”

There was a pause. In the silence, images of blood and violence flashed through Neff’s mind.

Again, the prince seemed to read her expressions as if they were one of his papyri. “I’m asking too much. You’re tired. You’ve had a long day.”

The longest , Neff thought.

“Perhaps you can tell me about it tomorrow. I’m certain to have some mundane tasks for you to complete, once the master has finished with you.”

“I would like that,” Neff said, relieved.

The prince bobbed his head. “Good.” He held out his hands.

It took a second before Neff understood. As soon as she placed the roll of wrappings into his hands, the prince turned on his heels and disappeared through the portal.

Neff was elated, her earlier anguish temporarily forgotten. She had done the first important thing! She’d found someone in the temple who she could look to for help. For guidance. Someone that someday, she might be able to trust. And not just anyone—a prince!

The master’s booming voice thundered down the corridor. “Nefermaat! Where are you? It’s festival day, girl! I don’t have time for this!”

Neff stopped, the urge to run threatening to overcome her once more.

No. You were brought here for a reason. You promised the high priestess you would stay on the path. And now you’ve promised a prince of Khetara that you’d be his assistant.

Her father’s last words to her echoed through her mind. Can’t keep the goddess waiting.

Gingerly, she touched her head. It was smooth and warm. It didn’t feel quite like part of her yet, but maybe someday it would.

Then she took a deep breath and called, “I’m here!”