The Kemetian looks down on his newborn daughter. She is very pale, but he has been assured she is healthy. She has black hair with a few streaks of brown in it, and turquoise eyes that neither parent have, but they didn't care. She is their daughter. And therefore she is perfect.

"Darling..." He tears himself away from his daughter to look at her mother, and his heart lurches. Nejiri is deathly pale, not the healthy one of their child, and when he takes her hand it is cold and clammy. Her breathing is labored, and he knows she does not have long. Looking at her, he remembers all the nights they spent together, the rendezvous they had. He remembers her warmth, and her kindness. He remembers her shyness at first, and then great eagerness. The laughs. The kisses. Hiding from her father. His heart breaks, and he cries inside silently.

"Darling," she says again, gasping. She closes her eyes, seeming to gather will to speak He implores her to keep quiet, save her strength, but she shakes her head weakly and continues.

"I am...leaving...this world...aren't...I?" The Kemtian can not dispute that, and he is terrified. He loves her, and cannot imagine that she will die. So what if he is the god of death? He can not do anything. And besides, if – when – she dies, what will happen to their daughter? Who will care for their child? He cannot take her in, that he knows.

So what would happen to their beloved Auset?

"Anpu...I...always knew...you could not...stay. But...still, I...loved every...mintue of...us. We-we have a...daughter." Neijiri smiles weakly. She pants, and her grip loosens. She is barely clinging to life when she says,

"And, I know...you can't...take her. But...just watch...over her...please." And with those words, Nejiri's ba and ka depart from her body, leaving behind her lover and baby girl.  Anpu looks at his daughter again. He knows he will have to go soon, to help Ma'at at the scales. But he will stay for a while. This is his daughter; should have some alone time with her. He picks her up, and she gurgles, unaware that her mother has just departed this life, and that her future is so uncertain. Anpu closes his eyes, and tears gather at the edges. He is mourning his lover's death, and his daughter's life, because he does not know what will become of her.

He brings his little Auset to his chest, and then pulls away for a brief second to blow on her. A black haze surrounds the baby for a moment, and then subsides. Anpu smiles at the child, who now has his blessing. Though she might not see him, he would always look after her. He gazes at her mother's body for a while, looking at the gold collar that had been a gift to her from him.

Carrying the child on his hip, he undoes the clasp. Quickly etching a message onto the back of it, he puts it in a basket near the bed. He puts a pillow and blankets in the basket as well, arranging it to make it comfortable. Then he places his child in it. The baby girl seems sad at the loss of her father's hands, and begins to cry softly. Anpu puts a finger to her lips, and she quiets instantly. Then he places a kiss on her forehead.

Someday, Desert Princess, I will come for you. And all the gods will recognize you as mine.

..................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Anpu-"royal child", Egyptianized name of Anubis, god of jackals, mummification, and the dead
Auset-"the Throne", Egyptianized name of Isis, goddess of magic, life, sometimes the sky, pharohs and motherhood

Chapter One

"AUSET!"

My aunt screams my name so loud, I am sure the great god Ra can hear it as he passes by in his sun chariot, certainly loud enough for me to hear in our back garden. Aunt Merit stands in the doorway of our white colored, mud-brick house, hands on her hips, glaring at me. I am supposed to be in the kitchen helping Amisi the slave cook, though I mostly think my aunt doesn't want me outside because she doesn't want me to be stared at. She thinks I am very vain— which I am not — though I do consider myself beautiful. My hair — soft, silky, straight, and black in color, with reddish-brown bits that glint like gold in the sunlight — trails down my back until it reaches the middle. My eyes, a striking turquoise that my cousin Baraka once described as 'hypnotizing', are uncommon in northern Kemet, and perhaps the rest of the country as well. I have high cheekbones and full lips, a wide forehead, and a round chin. I don't have many curves or much of a bosom to speak of, but I still have time for them to come, if they do.

I don't know where all these features come from, though, for they are certainly not from my mother's side, at least according to my uncle. I have no idea what my father looks like —because I don't know who he is. I was left, they say, on my maternal grandfather's doorstep, tucked into a reed basket with a note explaining who I was. For a little under a year my grandfather took care of me, but then he died and my uncle and aunt took me in. I owe them everything, I know that, but I do still wonder about who my father might be. Uncle Kahotep claims he doesn't know, or care. Whenever I might broach the subject of my father, my uncle's eyes will darken, and he will grumble all the rest of the day, refusing to tell me anything, and claiming he has nothing to tell. But how can he have no idea who fathered his sister's child, even if they lived in different houses by that time?

Maybe my uncle is right, and there's nothing extraordinary about my father. He was probably another scribe, or the child of one, a sekhau's son betrothed to a sekhau's daughter. Or maybe there was a scandal involving my parents' relationship, and that is why Uncle Kahotep refuses to say anything; maybe my father was a peasant, a poor farmer's son, from whom my mother couldn't stay away despite their class differences. Or it was the other way around and my father was a noble or even a prince.

Now, it is not as if I hate where I am now. No, I am happy enough in my uncle's house, with my three cousins Baraka, Hime, and Kebi. The work is not hard, just what is expected. And I know my uncle loves me as if I were his own. He told me so, once, saying, "You are the daughter of my sister, flesh of her flesh, blood of our blood. I will always take care of you, Auset, as if you were my daughter." Aunt Merit usually acts the same way, but sometimes, when 'the mood' takes her and she is uncompromisingly angry, she tends to treat me more like a servant than a family member.

(Uncle Kahotep and Aunt Merit always wanted a big family, Baraka told me once, but only three children survived the journey from my aunt's womb to the outside and beyond. The other three died inside her, with the last one perishing just before my grandfather died and I was thrust into their care.)

"Auset," my aunt says again, this time sounding like a growl. Realizing I haven't answered her, I turn towards the house, refusing a last wistful glance at the garden behind me, filled with roses, poppies, irises, and daises. The fig trees are also swelled with fruit, and I was about to grab one when my Aunt called me.

When I reach the doorway I lower my head like the good, obedient niece Aunt wants when she gets into this kind of mood. I can feel her eyes on me, staring me down. I squash the urge to meet her gaze and be defiant, because it annoys me greatly when she gets like this, but that will surely get me whipped. Having my own way is not worth that pain. And also, the slaves like me, and I know it pains them to have to beat me, or any of the children, at my aunt's order. So I just keep my gaze down to the ground.

"Yes, Aunt?" I ask. I hear her jaw clench. Not on purpose, though I do enjoy it, I get on my aunt's nerves. But I am her husband's beloved niece, and she cannot do anything to me.

After a while, she says,

"I told you to help with dinner." In a placating voice, I answer,

"Amisi didn't need help, so I thought I would get out of her hair and come outside to tend the garden." I sneak a peek and see that Aunt Merit's face is starting to turn red. It looks odd with her dark skin.

"And you didn't think –" her voice raises in octave "– to ask me for more chores? Or to help your cousins with the weaving? Is that pretty head of yours filled with nothing but play and games and – and romanticizing your father?" The last part comes out in a sneer; Aunt Merit has always been under the impression my father was some low-life who abandoned his daughter because he didn't want the responsibility of a child.

In response to her scorn I feel my own anger flare up. It does not show on my face like hers does, but she must hear it in my voice when I say, with great risk to myself,

"Well, Hime and Kebi did not want me to ruin their work, what with my poor stitching skills. And you looked so cozy with Uncle's friend when he came over that I didn't want to interrupt."

Slap. My head is jerked to the side, and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out, hoping the tears that sprang up in my eyes won't fall. What I said is not completely true, though not completely a lie: my aunt seemed unusually friendly with my uncle's fellow scribe (Akiiki, a small man with such a stutter it is a mystery to me how he ever became a scribe), but I should know better than to insinuate something so scandalous, especially when my aunt is in her one of her moods. Aunt Merit turns away from me, face still that odd mix of black and red, and shouts to the slave closest to us, Nava. Older than me and yet much smaller, with curly black hair and dull eyes, she is always close to Aunt Merit, as she assists her in dressing and sometimes shopping. She occasionally helps us girls dress, too.

"Girl!" Aunt Merit shouts at her. "Go get the whip! Auset needs to be punished for her insolence." Nava bows her head and scurries off as my spirit falls. No, I am not a slave to my aunt, to be subservient and punished for every small thing she disapproves of, but she does have the right as my guardian to discipline me. Nava returns a moment later, the chastising rod, made of reeds, in hand. She glances quickly at me, as if to say, 'What have you done now, fool?' Nava is one of the few slaves (Uncle has about thirty) who doesn't like me. Of course, she doesn't like any of us girls. She seems to fancy Baraka, though I certainly don't know why, and it's not as if he would ever give her the time of day anyway.

"How many lashes should she be given, my lady?" Nava asks. Aunt Merit thinks for a moment.

"Fourteen," she says finally. "One for each year of pain she has caused this family." And then she walks into the house, leaving me with Nava and the whip. The slave looks at me expectantly, and I gulp as I turn around and show my back to her. Fourteen is really not so bad; I will recover quickly from that, but it will still hurt. Ah, there – the rod comes down and I flinch, trying to keep any cries inside my throat. Aunt Merit can be cruel when she wants to be, but if she hears me cry she might reconsider her punishment; however — call me proud or stubborn or a fool — I will not let her think I can't handle this. Fourteen is not so bad. I can take this. Fourteen is fine. I will not cry.

If my father ever comes back to see what became of the baby he left on a doorstep, he will find a strong daughter waiting to receive him.
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AN – northern Kemet: what we would consider Upper Egypt, which is actually in modern times southern Egypt
– sakhau – Egyptian word for 'scribe'
Speaking of scribes, not only were they contracted to write things down – a letter from a farmer to his cousin in the city, say, or to record the amount of a harvest – but also they were expected to read what they wrote (see: letter) as most people in their town probably wouldn't be able to read either; hence, having a stutter would most likely affect their duty.

Chapter Two

When Nava is finally finished with my whipping, Aunt Merit, who reappeared when she heard the lashes stop, smugly orders me to my room, which I share with my two girl cousins, Hime and Kebi (Baraka, the oldest of all of us at nineteen, has a separate room across the hall, as a male). Kebi is in there, practicing the tambourine. I smile as I listen to her, then wince as my back cries out in pain. The three of us make a good team: Hime and Kebi play the harp and tambourine, respectively, and I dance. I love dancing, especially for audiences. When I perform, I completely forget about the world. There is nothing but me, my body, the music, my pounding heart, and the earth. Sometimes I swear I can hear Het-Heru, goddess of dance, whispering steps and encouragement in my ear.

Aunt Merit always told us that, should we not be married, we are to enter into the service of a temple as performers. But I am sure she just means me. Hime is betrothed to a priest of Heru, and luckily for them it is entirely a love match. They are the both sixteen, an age which some people consider too old for a girl to become a bride, but when Hime asked Uncle Kahotep if she could wait a couple years so her beloved, Itennu, would be old enough, her father was more than happy to oblige.

I myself do not fancy any of the men in our town, and most of them are already married anyway. A few even have a second or third wife, but I refuse be a lesser wife. I have informed Uncle of that, and he seems to agree. No one really shows much interest in me anyway, but I don't mind. I even prefer it, having no qualms about giving myself in service to a goddess, preferably Het-Heru, or Nebthet. I know my uncle does not wish me to be a priestess, though. He says the path of the gods is hard to follow, and no one in my family was a priest, so it will be hard for me to find a position, as they are usually hereditary. Well, my future cousin-in-law is, but that does not change the matter. Not unless I marry a priest, too, for only then could he get me a position.

Kebi looks up as I limp in. The youngest of my cousins is the most fortunate in looks. Her glossy black hair is cut just above her chin, and her clear blue eyes are the same as Aunt Merit's: sparkling and alluring, reflecting the colors of the life-giving Nile. She is of average height, perhaps a little taller, and everything is in proportion. Hime, however, is plain with colorless brown hair and unremarkable black eyes. She and Baraka look like Uncle Kahotep, but it looks better on the men.

Kebi sees the way I hold my body so as not to cause it more pain, and sighs. She knows, of course, without the physical evidence; I am sure Aunt Merit's voice carried throughout the compound. Everyone knows of my shame. But I am used to such beatings, because it seems I cannot be peaceful with my aunt, nor she with me, so this is a more-or-less regular occurrence for me.

"What did you do?" my cousin asks, raising an eyebrow even as she rises and helps me to my bed.

"Nothing," I reply stiffly, waving her away. "Your mother's just in one of her moods." Kebi bites her lip, unsure of how to react, but then nods, believing me, and steps back from the bed.

"Alright," she says. "You just...I don't know, sleep it off, or something." I attempt a chuckle at the thinly-veiled exasperation with my rapid healing abilities, but that hurts too much. Kebi always wanted to know how I would be alright after such a punishment but I could never come up with an answer. "I'll wake you in an hour or two and then maybe we'll see if you're up to some practicing, okay?"

I smile, which hurts less, and nod. The time of Hime's union with her betrothed is fast approaching, and the two of us are going to perform at the celebration. Kebi, nods, satisfied, and goes back to her instrument, tapping out a rhythm, changing occasionally as needed; it is to a fast-paced beat that I finally fall asleep.

True to her words, Kebi wakes me up after what she says was an hour and a half, and asks if I was up for some dancing. After assessing myself and determining — probably incorrectly — that I am, my cousin picks up her beloved instrument and beats out the rhythm I last heard before I fell asleep.

As she begins to play, I close my eyes and start to sway. Then I take a few steps forward, to the side, backwards, to the other side. I swing my hips and arms, leaping and spinning and clapping my hands. I open my eyes and laugh, going around in delicate, timely-placed circles. I shake my head, and leap, clicking my heels. I repeat these moves in different patterns, and times, weaving them together to form a dance worthy of the gods.

You make us proud, daughter of Death. Dance for us, desert child. We are watching.

I stop abruptly, shocked by the words in my head. No, more than words — a myriad of voices all jumbled together and saying the same thing. Did I hear that right? It was not Kebi's voice; in fact she does not even notice my shock, thinking this pause is new part of my act, and adjusts the rhythm accordingly. So it was not my cousin, and certainly not my own thoughts — and yet it was so clear. Could I have imagined it? Wait, what if it was some evil spirit, trying to take over me?

But they said they were proud of me.

I have never had anyone say they felt that way about me, not even my uncle. Suddenly, I want to move and dance and jump until my feet bleed, so the voice will come back. Perhaps one of voices is Lady Het-Heru, deigning to grace me with her praise.

We are watching you dance.

And so I dance for this voice, this god or evil spirit, and I can feel a presence over me, watching, guiding, and praising me. Being proud of me. It makes me feel elated — exuberant, even, as if I could take on the world

Three Weeks Later...Wedding Banquet
Husband's House

I fidget in my gown of white silk, which, tight-fitting and already sweaty, is cinched around my waist with a gold belt, impatient for my turn to come in. Hime is sitting next to her new husband, Itennu, dressed in a long white tunic with a gold sash, an opal- and gold-studded headdress, and dozens of silver and gold bracelets. She also wears earrings made of lapis lazuli and a silver necklace with a turquoise pendant, which has been in Aunt Merit's family for generations, also hangs around her neck. An amethyst ring also sparkles on her finger, given to her as a gift from Itennu during their short engagement, completing her dazzling display. The dress and all the jewelry are the last things Hime took out of our house, and the last things she brought into this, Itennu's house, now a shared home between them since the marriage contract was signed and Hime and Itennu brought all their property together under one roof.

Because she is the bride, Hime will not perform with us; instead she gets to see the performances up close and in the front, instead of from the back, peeking out from behind the screen that separates the current performers from those getting ready. Aunt Merit, Uncle Kahotep, and Baraka sit with Lord Kemosiri, the High Priest of Wo-seer and Itennu's father, with his wife and six other children. Slaves and servants (most of which Itennu received from his father) stand at the ready, already having served a delicious dinner of beef, veal and gazelle (the last didn't settle well with my stomach), grapes, sweetmeats, and bread. Many wines were served, along with beer, of course.

"Auset, stop moving around. They'll see us!" Kebi scolds me, taking hold of my shoulders and keeping me still. I shrug her off, but stop fidgeting. I am annoyed with Kebi's corrections, and with the slow place the other performances are going. We are the last act, 'saving the best for last' as Itennu's father, Lord Kemosiri, said. I felt honored at his words, and I still do, but just standing here is getting tiring.

Finally, the act before us gets off the stage. We are on. Kebi and I step out from behind the screen and get ready. My cousin picks up her instrument and starts to play, tapping out a brisk, joyful tempo.

And I begin to dance.

It is just like in my room, but much more frantic, with more repeats and twists than before. I clap, stamp, jump, swing my hips and arms, close my eyes, and spin. And while I dance, I sing. Everyone in my family has said that my voice is amazing, and anyone who has ever heard me. I put all my talent into this, matching the notes of the tambourine.

Yes, yes! Dance! Sing for us!

There it is! There it is, the multitude of voices praising me and loving my voice and body. I feel happy and peaceful and proud. Nobody knows of this; it is a secret between me and the gods — the gods, yes, because I am sure that these voices are no evil spirit. They are something divine, something holy. I am proud to give them pleasure.

You please me in everything you do, Princess. Had I not trained myself to keep going even with these new and unexpected distractions, I would have faltered and ruined the dance. I am surprised, because this is a single voice, that of a man. He does not sound giddy, pleased, or ecstatic. Instead his voice has a gentle tone to it, and it makes me feel safe and loved, like the voice of a father's might.

If I think about it, his voice seems familiar, stirring a long-forgotten memory that is just out of reach.

When the dance ends, all too soon, and I stop, breathless, Kebi and I are acknowledged by a standing ovation. The first person out of his chair is Meti, Itennu's twin brother. He is a priest as well, but in the temple of Chons instead.

He is a good man. You would like him. He could make you happy. The fatherly voice comes back, and what he says brings heat to my cheeks. I look away from Meti, to see that my family is up, and so is Lord Kemosiri and his family, all clapping violently, and shouting praise for our performance. Kebi and I bow. My face is flushed, and I am panting heavily, but grinning all the while as I soak in the applause, until the it finally dies down.

Then we hear a soft, slow, deliberate clapping that comes from the corner of the room. All movement ceases as everyone turns to look at what is going on. Leaning against the wall in the corner is Lord Kemosiri's third and eldest son, Kamenwati. There is a rustle among the servants, and I know why. Kamenwati is estranged from his family, for what I don't know, (in fact, I'm not sure any one in my family knows why) but I do know he is unwelcome in his father's house, and, consequentially, his brother's too.

Lord Kemosiri advances on his ex-son with rage in his features, and Itennu is right behind, ready to defend his home. But Kamenwati does not pay attention. He is staring at the two of us, his light green eyes (also quite an unusual color for our country) looking us over. When his eyes meet mine I fight the urge to look away; his gaze is sharp, and predatory, and it gives me chills

The male voice in my head snarls suddenly, a sound that gives me a pounding headache. Do not get involved with him, Princess, he warns. He is a troublemaker, and a liar. He is cursed by all the gods except-

The voice cut off abruptly, as if about to reveal a secret. Curiosity piqued, I hope he will continue, so I can know which sole god favors Kamenwati, but the voice is silent. Deciding I should judge the man based on what I see, I look at the nineteen-year-old. He is tall with dark skin and a great build, and the black wig common among rich and poor, young and old alike. He wears an amulet, just a simple ankh made of gold, the symbol for life.

"Lovely performance, ladies," he says at last. His voice is smooth and sweet like honey. His eyes, which had finally acknowledged Kebi behind me, flicker back to mine, and my pulse quickens. I feel strange, staring at him, and my cheeks feel warm.

"I especially enjoyed the dancer," the man continues. "A lot of talent, that one." I flush again, this time pleased. Maybe it means I am shallow, but I love when my performance is praised. And if the one who does the praising happens to be somewhat attractive...well then, all the better.

"Kamenwati," Lord Kemosiri says, voice low and containing a note of warning. The man looks at his ex-father, and he bows at the waist dramatically, mockingly.

"My lord, " he says snidely, and I notice Lord Kemosiri lean backwards, as if afraid. The intruder then nods to Lady Shepsit, the wife of Lord Kemosiri, and then turns to Itennu. His smile does not look pleasant: too wide, and far too naughty-looking.

"Hail, brother!" he exclaims, a hint of mockery in his voice. "I come to congratulate you on your marriage. What a beautiful thing, your young bride is." Kamenwati smiles at my cousin, who looks at him with uncertainty. Uncle Kahotep, Itennu, and Lord Kemosiri stand in front of her, all glaring at Kamenwati. He bows his head. "I wish you many years of happiness and life, according to the gods' will."

"Kamenwati, I do not remember inviting you to my wedding." Itennu's voice is steely and authoritative. Kamenwati looks shocked and hurt.

"Oh, but brother-"

"You are not my brother-"

"-I only wanted to visit my own flesh and blood and wish him well. Surely I can greet the people who were my family, once in a while?" Tension is in the air, and it is thick enough to hang around everyone like a blanket. I am afraid that something horrible will happen. The men stand in a tight circle around Aunt Merit, Lady Shepsit, Hime, and Lord Kemosiri's five daughters. But then, when something seems just about to happen, Hime stands up and says in a commanding voice,

"Stop! This is ridiculous. And it is ruining my wedding feast." She faces her husband and latches onto his arm. "Now, I don't know why Kamenwati is no longer your brother; but he has done no wrong to me, and I do not mind having him in my house." She lifts her chin defiantly. "Now, since marriage is making a home together, I believe that can be a seen as an invitation, no?"

Kamenwati smirks at Itennu as Itennu stares at Hime. Then, Uncle Kahotep and Lord Kemosiri sit down slowly, leaving the three of them standing, staring at each other. Kebi and I are still on the stage, frozen.

Finally Itennu sighs, exasperated. "Fine," he concedes, still sounding none too happy about it. Kamenwati, on the other hand, laughs, a loud, care-free sound, and embraces Hime, greeting her warmly and calling her his 'sister.' Despite the obvious tension still hanging in the air, the party resumes and Kamenwati joins in, a slave being ordered to get a chair for him.

Later, when the men are drunk on wine (Baraka and Meti are passed out, and Lord Kemosiri is vomiting) and the women are getting drowsy, Kamenwati approaches me. He smiles, and I heat up again, even though the smile is like a cobra's.

"I don't believe we've been properly introduced," he says, offering me a hand. I don't take it, and he lets it hang in the air for a moment before letting it drop.

"Well," he comments with an eyebrow raised, "you're rude."

"You were rude first," I snap back, aware he's right but not happy he called me on it. "You crashed my cousin's wedding party, after all."

"Oh, so you're the bride's cousin?" he replies, smiling, as if triumphant to glean that information from me. I press my lips together. Maybe if I just stay quiet he'll go away. If he has been kicked out of his family, there must be a good reason for it; I won't let him charm me into thinking otherwise.

Wait. Is he charming? He's barely said twenty words to me, and half of them made up an insult. How can I be attracted to that?

I hear a sudden, feminine-sounding giggle in my head, and for some reason it makes me blush.

"Well, so I know you're fair Hime's cousin, but I still don't know your name," Kamenwati presses, with an impish-looking grin that somehow seems to contradict his words and turn them into a bad joke. Remembering myself, I stand up straighter and toss my hair over my shoulder, attempting to look aloof.

"And you've no reason to," I respond stiffly, attempting to walk around him to get to Kebi, where she is squealing over something with a couple of Lord Kemosiri's daughters. But he moves with me, keeping his body in my path. Laughing softly, he tells me,

"Oh, I like you a lot. You're feisty; you're bold. And if you won't tell me your name, then I guess I'll just have to call you 'Cataract'."

I frown and glare at him. I don't like nicknames — least of all one given to me by a complete stranger — but names, true names, have power in them, and more so for the one who possesses it than bears it. Though Kamenwati has done nothing to me, he is still plainly a troublemaker, and the fatherly voice in my head warns against him, too. So maybe I should let him call me 'Cataract' for now, if that will stop him from pestering me about my real name.

Such a plan would have worked, too, if only Kebi didn't come and ruin it. Apparently having seen with talking with the intruder, she marches over and takes ahold of my arm, glaring at him as she does.

"Stay away from my cousin," she snaps, pulling me to her as if I am a child and she my mother. Though I understand her anger, I purse my lips, annoyed with her. She is only a year older than me; who does she think she is to pull me around like this?

"Kebi-" I start, but she cuts me off as she starts dragging me away,

"No, Auset; just come with me."

Oh, Kebi, I groan inside my head as a bright smile appears on Kamenwati's face, obviously pleased to have more information on me. Angry at his glee, I turn away and follow Kebi more freely, hoping to forget him in the corner.

"Auset, hmm...like the goddess," I hear him say behind us. "Very nice, but I prefer Cataract." I stop then, curious, causing Kebi to stumble a bit. I turn my head around to stare at the party-crasher, and, unable to help myself, ask,

"Why?"

He grins, and suddenly I curse myself for falling into the trap of his smile. He does answer me, though. "Because a cataract, like yourself, is feisty. Dangerous, too, and unknown." I frown, not very pleased with the comparison.

"They cause death by the boatfull," I add. Kebi pulls on my arm again, but I need to hear how he responds so I shake her off.

"Yes," he drawls, and simply stops at that. What does that mean? Does he mean to say I am a killer? How dare he! Furious indignation flares in my chest, and I spin on my heel, brushing aside Kebi, who looks somewhat relieved I am finally listening to her.

"And beautiful," I hear his voice call from behind me. "That is the most obvious resemblance!" Despite my best efforts, a blush that has nothing to do with anger appears on my cheeks as I take a seat next Kebi and her new gossip partner, resolutely determined to forget him now.

But how can I forget such a lovely compliment — about me just in general, not about my dancing or singing — when it sounded absolutely and completely sincere?

One day, Kebi and I are playing senet in our room (it feels somewhat empty, without Hime or her things). During Kebi's turn, I decide to ask her if she knows what Kamenwati did to be disowned. I can't help obsessing over it, and the fatherly god-voice in my head won't answer me when I ask, just telling me to let it go. But I can't, my curiosity about him having been stirred when he called me beautiful. I want to know what he did, and I also want to know if I can, maybe, eventually, forgive him for it.

"Kebi," I begin. She looks up just as she is about to toss the throwing sticks.

"Yes, cousin?"

"Do you...I mean, have you heard – " I take a steadying breath, then continue, "Do you know why Kamenwati is no longer Lord Kemosiri's son?" A sharp intake of breath. I can imagine what she thinks of this question, and I do not imagine the disapproval in her eyes. She looks down at the board, refusing to meet my gaze.

"Do not bother with that man, Auset," she warns. "He is wicked, that one, and if he is not cursed by Lord Heru himself than there are no gods!" My eyes widen in shock at her exclamation. Kamenwati must have done something absolutely horrendous to receive such ferocious curses. But, if it was such a heinous crime, why is he still alive? Why has Ma'at not been appeased with his blood? Or, at the very least, given some punishment more than being disowned?

"If you say this, then you must know..." is all I say, unable to voice the other questions on my mind. Kebi sighs and stares at the board for a long time. I count the seconds, hardly breathing as they tick by. Eventually she sighs again and looks at me square in the eye, and deadpans,

"He defiled a priestess of Auset in the Lady's temple with his seed." I gasp with horror. I went through all the crimes against man and god, and this one never crossed my mind. I feel sickened. Sex is a sacred act between two people, meant to bring pleasure, or a child into this troubled world. Why would such a thing be forced? How could one do such a thing? I swallow the bile in my throat. And then I vow to never see Kamenwati again.

Kebi notes my reaction and nods. This is what she hoped for, probably. She stares at me, and I stare back, each waiting for the other to say something. Finally, the silence grows to be too much, and I ask in a shaking voice,

"Has he been...punished accordingly? Has he been...removed of his manhood?" Kebi shakes her head. She seems disgusted as she nearly spits more than says,

"No. No one caught him, the priestess would not say anything. But, somehow, his family knows, and so his father disowned him. Rightfully so, of course." Then she turns back to the board and refuses to say more on the subject, just, "It's your turn now, Auset."

And our conversation is over.

...

Later that day, I hear, from the garden, a man's voice in the kitchen, talking with my aunt. He is familiar, but I cannot place his voice. I move closer to the house to better hear what they are saying.

"-like to ask you for her," the man says.

"You are sure she wants you?" Aunt Merit's voice, suspicious.

"Well, no...but after a while I'm sure she would."

"Hmph." Finally I recognize the man's voice: it is that of Meti, Itennu's twin brother. My face flushes and my heart speeds up suddenly when I remember the fatherly god's words and Meti's own actions. Oh, has he come to...court me? What should I do? What should I say? Should I go in there and confront them? Or should I stay and listen, maybe pretend to have heard nothing if they catch me? Deciding to be bold, I barge in.

"Aunt!" I yell as I go in, as though I have some important news to tell her. Then I skid to a halt, feigning surprise over seeing Meti there. When he sees me he straightens his tall frame until he is parallel to the wall, as if trying to reach the ceiling that is still two and a half feet above his head. I greet him warmly, then turn to Aunt Merit.

But before I can say anything, she shakes her head. "Why don't you and Meti sit for a while and talk?" she suggests. Then she goes off as my polite protest dies on my lips, ordering some slave to do this for that reason. I turn to Meti, and give him a smile I hope isn't too inviting as I lead him to the couch to sit. He's handsome enough, I guess, with warm brown eyes and full lips, and seems sweet. It won't kill me to sit and talk with him for a while.

As Meti prattles on about something — his job at the temple, I think — and I smile and nod, my mind begins to wander. Unfortunately, looking at this priest, I can't help but see the resemblance to Kamenwati. This, in turn, makes me think of the man, when I most want to forget him. He has no place in my mind or heart, and should stay absent from both.

Perhaps Het-Heru sends you a message. The single, fatherly voice is back, and I am a bit stunned by his words. He is actually encouraging me to think about Kamenwati seriously when before he pressed me to stick with Meti, when he knows what the man has done? Something is very odd, yet very relieving, about this.

Meti has gone silent, and I realize he is waiting for me to speak. I can't quite remember what he has been saying, so I scramble for something to comment on and finally come up with this: "So you enjoy your job, then?"

The priest nods. "Oh yes," he affirms, "I'm quite honored to serve the god in my position. I have always admired the moon, up there in the sky, and becoming a priest of its god, Lord Chons, just seemed the next logical step."

"Of course," I respond, nodding and trying to seem interested.

"And what about you, Auset?" he asks. "Which god is your favorite?" A sly smile plays at the corner of his mouth. "The Lady Auset?"

"No, Lady Het-Heru," is my reply, feeling annoyed at his attempt of a joke; I have heard some version of it so many times before.

"Ah, the goddess of love!" he exclaims, and suddenly he is leaning in closer, and I am nearly overcome by the stench of incense emanating from him. While it might be the favorite smell of the gods, I can hardly tolerate it. I didn't notice it on Itennu or Meti at the wedding, but maybe Meti just came from the temple.

Just as I am trying not to crinkle my nose in disgust, Meti has moved ever closer, so much that I can feel warmth coming from him; I feel my cheeks go red, and then even more when I see his eyes flicker down to my lips. Maybe I should scoot away, I don't want to give him any ideas –

I feel a quick pressure on my lips, and it takes me a few seconds to realize that Meti is kissing me. Kissing me, Meti is, my first kiss ever. His mouth, which has the same incense smell just like the rest of him, tries to synchronize with mine, moving and pushing, but I don't know what to do so I just sit there. Then, finally I break away, too awkward to continue. I stand up, and stare at him.

He looks back at me, and his eyes look disappointed, but he is quiet, seeming to want me to go first, so I open my mouth; I don't know what I plan to say, so I just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, "I'm sorry!"

Now the priest looks embarrassed. "Oh, please don't," he begs. "It was – it was all my fault. I thought – I thought maybe I could try. I guess I shouldn't have. Um. Should I – do you want me to leave?" Despite his question, he is still sitting and doesn't seem to want to move. I don't really want him to stay, but I don't want to send him away either, if only maybe for politeness' sake.

"Um, no, that's...that's alright," I assure, though my voice is the very opposite of assurance. We stay like that for a while, staring at each other, until he finally opens his mouth; when he does, though, I have a certain revelation that shoots from my mouth as soon as it is formed, "You look a lot like your brothers!"

Meti's face darkens, and I realize it must be because, by saying 'brothers', I implicitly mentioned the one who is no longer his brother, Kamenwati. It would make sense for his name be taboo in their family, and I hope I haven't upset the priest too much. To be polite and make sure he isn't offended, I tell him,

"Oh, I didn't mean — please forgive – "

"No, no," he interrupts, waving away my apology though he still looks slightly troubled. Eventually, Meti smiles again, though it is obviously forced, and says, "But you are right. The three of us take after our mother."

At this I stare at him. There is no way Lady Shepsit, with her delicate hands and fine bones and somewhat fair hair has left any mark on her tall, dark, and sturdy sons. Meti sees my expression and laughs softly. I become annoyed, wondering what is so funny. When his chuckles die down, the man explains,

"Shepsit is my father's second wife. My sisters — that whole flock of girls at the wedding your cousin Kebi was so fond of — are Shepsit's daughters, while Kamenwati, Itennu, and I were born of Shemeit, Father's first wife." A small pause. "Our mother is dead."

"Oh," I say, immediately sympathetic though not sure what else to say. "Did you know her well?"

Meti shakes his head. "She died in labor. I was born first, and it was fairly easy, but there were...complications as she brought forth Itennu. His feet were first, you understand." I do. While wealthy women usually don't have to worry about complications during birth, as they get the best care, there are still things that make deliveries hard, and an infant who tries to come from the womb feet first instead of headfirst might cause some problems.

Meti continues, "He and I didn't know our mother, but Father and...and Kamenwati would tell us about her, sometimes." Meti's voice grows somewhat wistful at the end of his sentence, and then he is quiet for a long time. Finally he stands up and looks around, as if checking for spies, and then leans in to whisper in a hushed tone, "Do you know why Kamenwati is no longer my brother?"

Slightly distracted by our proximity, I nod reluctantly, not sure, and a little afraid, of where this is going. "Yes. And I completely agree-"

"It's not true." My mouth falls open as I stare at him. Not true? What Kebi told me was a lie? I could not wrap my head around the concept.

"What?" The word practically falls out of my mouth. Meti nods solemnly, his face entirely serious.

"My father – he loved my mother, still does – and he blames Kamenwati for her death. I do not know why, as it was our birth that killed her. But Father believes Kamenwati weakened her greatly, to the point that another birth was too much for her." Meti takes a deep breath and continues, "So finally Father snapped and banished Kamenwati from our home. He concocted the defilement story because he didn't want anyone to know of my mother's shame."

He stops, and I find myself leaning forward, eager to hear more. My mind is whirling, full of so many things. Kamenwati. Shepsit, Kemosiri. Meti. Shame, defilement. Shemeit. I don't think I would hear the fatherly voice through the thick cloud of thoughts, should he choose to speak.

"What shame? What has your mother done, that your father didn't want known?" I breathe, desperate for answers. Meti bites his lip, and begins to chew, looking away from me.

"I don't know," he admits. "I don't know any details. Only that Father — when he drank a lot of wine, and was a little drunk, he would talk about the past, about our mother. He would call Kamenwati our mother's great sin, and a shame to us all."

"That's it?" I exclaim, my voice shriller than I mean it to be. Meti still looks worried as he shakes his head.

"I know nothing more," he whispers, almost apologetically. Then he stands up abruptly.

"I must go," he blurts, and then strides out quickly, almost running, leaving me alone in the kitchen, stupefied. His revelation should have been comforting, but it has only left me with more questions than ever.

...

Nighttime, on roof...

I cannot find release even in sleep. My mind is kept busy thinking over Meti's words. I cannot believe it. Yet, deep inside, I feel a deep relief at the thought that Kamenwati is not as evil as he is made to be. Oh, but that I could reconcile Meti's words with Kebi's! Better yet, if I only knew why Lord Kemosiri hates his son so much, and what his beloved first wife could have done to so jeopardize her eldest child's future.

I feel terribly bad for Meti right now; he gathered enough courage to kiss me today, and all I can do is think about his disowned brother.

A noise startles me out of my musings. I dismiss it at first, assuming it is an animal, perhaps Nile, our cat, pouncing on some vermin come to steal our grain. But it comes again, and I find myself getting up, peering over the edge of the roof. What I see makes me gasp, softly though, so as not to awaken my still-slumbering family.

Kamenwati stands outside our house, looking around before lifting his head. When he sees me, he smiles, a slow curling of his lips, more smirk than smile, really. I look back at my aunt and uncle and cousins, and whisper just loud enough so he can hear,

"What — what in the Lady's name are you doing here?" He looks thoughtful for a moment, as if he has no reason to be here, as if he was just merely taking a stroll and just happened to pass by. I don't know where he lives, since he has been disowned, but I would guess not so far from where I do, for he doesn't look winded or sweaty.
He flashes me his half-smirk, half-smile again and, not bothering to lower his voice, exclaims,

"Why, the Lady indeed! I've come for you, Auset." His eyes flash with something, I am too far away to see what, and he says, in a softer, more gentler voice, "Cataract."

"Don't call me that!" I growl. By now, though I am a fool to venture out into the realm of Nebthet, where the great Ra shines not, I am tiptoeing carefully down into the house, determined to get rid of him before any of the slumbering members of my family awake. When I reach Kamenwati outside, his eyes sparkle and a grin is plastered onto his face. He gives me a half mock, half serious bow, and proclaims,

"Tis the Lady Herself, come back from the Duat! Allow me to serve you, sweet goddess of life."

"Stop!" I cry, horrified at the blasphemy and terrified that Lady Auset will strike us both down for such remarks. But Kamenwati just laughs, and suddenly takes my hand – my small hand which is encased in his, and feels far too comfortable where it is, a fact that makes me blush– and begins to lead me away from the house. At first I am too embarrassed to react, but when I get my wits about me I resist his tugging, realizing what a fool I'm being, and snatch my head away from his. It feels hot and sweaty, and I try to tell myself it's because he's hot and sweaty and not because I am flustered by his sudden appearance and almost undivided attention.

He looks at me and then raises an eyebrow at my action, as if I am merely being stubborn and he thinks he can move me with pretty words or some such thing. Self-conscience of my sleep-mussed hair, I cradle my arm to my body so he can't take it again and try not to care about the aforementioned sleep-mussed hair.

"What are you doing?" he asks me, his tone implying I'm acting like an imbecile. It makes me angry.

"That's what I should ask you!" I hiss at him, wrapping my arms around my body to keep out the unusually cold night air. It doesn't work very well, as my white linen calasiris tunic barely reaches my knees and whose sleeves go only to my shoulders. "What do you think you're doing – how dare you trespass on my uncle's property and expect to...to whisk me away somewhere!"

"Are you afraid?" He tilts his head, looking at me with curiosity as he asks the question. My face feels hot and I want to turn away, but I also don't want to. A smile spreads across his face, cocky and arrogant-looking.

"Are you afraid of me?" he presses, a laugh bubbling in his throat. "Oh, little Cataract, what a shame!"

"I told you not to call me that!" I exclaim, angry at his accusation. "And I am not afraid. Of anything. Certainly not of you. So there." I lift my chin and stare at him, hoping he'll turn away first and leave so I won't have to.

He chuckles, and does not seem inclined to move. Didn't I first come out here to make him move, to make him leave? I feel almost ashamed I got thrown so off course by his presence. "Well," he says, "if you're so fearless, then why don't you come with me?" He offers me his hand. I stare at it, my heart pounding, and clench my jaw. It would be stupid to go with him. I don't know who he is, really, just his reputation, but what good is that if Meti says none of it is true? He's still a stranger (one who makes me feel like no one else, not that I've had much experience) and maybe he just wants to take me away from my home so he can kill me in the desert. Maybe he's done it before and that's why his father disowned him.

I wonder, suddenly, passionately, what his lips taste like, and if they are much different from Meti's.

Hesitantly I take his hand, and he leads me away from the house.

A meow stops us both in our tracks. Nile sits there, swishing her tail. Her white fur stands out in the darkness, and it seems odd not to see the black spots I know cover her fur. Kamenwati moves forward, a hand put out. He crouches, and does that odd half smile.

"Hello, Lady," he murmurs, speaking to Nile as one would to Bast, goddess of cats. Nile stares at him, sniffs as if disgusted by his scent, arches her back, and hisses. She looks at me, mews like she doesn't want me to go, and then scampers off into the night.

"Well," I say as Kamenwati straightens, "it seems you are not in Lady Bast's favor tonight." Kamenwati laughs, a sarcastic sound that suits him very well.

"I am not, I assure you, any of the gods' favorites. In fact, all but one hate me, I'm sure." I blink in surprise. Isn't that what the fatherly voice told me? How can Kamenwati be so sure? And which god still favors him, I wonder? So many questions in my head, I don't know where to start. But Kamenwati takes my hand again, and we resume our trek. Still not sure why I am doing this – allowing him to lead me to who-knows-where, trusting him in the first place – I follow him into the black domain that is night.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
AN: Glossary:
* Lord Heru – (Horus); falcon-headed son of Wor-seer (Osiris) and Auset (Isis) [sometimes confusingly given as their brother]; he was the god of the sun, kingship, and war, and was the patron god of the pharaohs, who were said to turn into Living Horsuses upon their ascension to the throne
* "...no longer a man..." – the ancient Egyptian government wasn't too concerned with sex and sex crimes, but there were two sex acts that were considered crimes: adultery and rape. A man could be punished for rape by being castrated.
* Nighttime – during the hotter months of summer most Egyptians would sleep on the flat roof of their homes during the night, where it was coolest.
* Nebthebt – (Nephthys) goddess of night, rivers, and lamentation; also the wife of Sutekh (Set) and mother of Anpu (Anubis); sister of Wor-seer (Osiris) and Auset (Isis). The "realm of Nebthebt" would be night, when the sun ("great god Ra") doesn't shine
* Duat – the spirit world/Underworld, where the gods resided and the spirits of the dead traveled through to reach Osiris' Hall of Judgement. * calasiris — a garment wore by the ancient Egyptians; a linen tunic with fringes on it

Also, in case it wasn't clear, 'the Lady' they keep mentioning is Auset (Isis), sister/wife of Wor-seer (Osiris), mother of Heru (Horus), and goddess of life, protection, mothers, children, pharaohs, king/queenship, and magic

"Where are we going?" I ask, looking around almost fearfully, wondering if anyone else is awake at this hour. We have already walked past the houses, encroaching on the black, fertile soil that makes up the farms and grows our food.

"You'll see," he says, a smile in his voice as he holds tightly to his secret. I sigh, and ask myself once more why I am doing this. Is it wise, to be out here so late with him? Is it a mistake to allow him to lead me? I should know those answers (No and yes) but I don't, so I am doing it anyway, and I can only hope it doesn't get me into trouble.

Soon enough, I start to hear the rush of the Sacred River, and after that it isn't long before I see the River itself, running its course northward. The reeds growing along its bank do hide it somewhat, but Kamenwati leads me to a spot where there is a clearer view. When we have reached the bank of the River, he sits down and pats the dirt next to him invitingly.

"Come," he says. "Sit."

"And do what?" I ask, half cautious and half curious. Kamenwati shrugs.

"Talk. Admire the River." His voice, suddenly, sounds disinterested, bored, even, as if all he wanted to do was bring me here and now he doesn't know what to do. I contemplate his offer for a while, then decide it is a safe enough request and sit down next to him, but not too close. The dirt is cold and smooth and moist beneath me. For a while we are silent, gazing at the River. I am in awe of the quiet, the calm that surrounds us. I have never been this close to the Sacred Water, and I wonder what it would feel like to run my fingers through it. I suppose it would feel cold. And wet, of course. But would I feel something move inside me? Would the voices come back, ecstatic again? The Nile is the life-giving water after all, something blessed by gods themselves. Then I am struck by a sudden thought: should I be praying to Nebthet, to keep me safe? She is the goddess of night and rivers, after all. She would be the best patron.

"Auset." I turn to look at Kamenwati, and see he is staring at the River intently. Then he looks at me, with the same seriousness.

"Yes?"

"Do you honestly believe in the gods?" I am startled by such a question, and I am struck dumb for a few moments. Do I believe in the gods? Well, of course I do. It would be blasphemy if I didn't. They would curse me and not allow me entry to the afterlife; I would not be able to join my ancestors and family in the Land of Reeds. And not to mention, they were the ones who kept the universe in good order, protecting us against chaos. To not worship the gods would be to not worship order and goodness, truth and righteousness.

"How can you ask such a question?" I say finally, my stomach suddenly sick. He purses his lips.

"You did not answer it." His words are an accusation.

"Because you should know the answer," I bite back.

He cocks his head at me. "Should I? Do I know you that well that I should hold the secrets of your heart?" I look down and my face reddens just a bit. He is speaking so... softly, so intently. He is not even smiling, as if he is joking; he really wants to know. I feel like he is giving me an opening, but to what I do not know. He does not, should not, will not ever, know my heart, but it seems he is inviting me to know his. At this hour, in this place, I feel like if I asked him anything he would answer.

"Everyone believes in the gods," I say, giving him what he wants, though not exactly because I still haven't said my opinion. He nods thoughtfully and then turns his gaze back to the water. I catch movement next to me and I see he is digging his fingers into the earth, drawing up clumps of rich soil.

"I suppose," he muses. "The common people do, I'm sure. Maybe the more higher ups as well. But I was raised by a priest. I know the temple's secrets." My eyes widen as I take this in. What does he mean? Is he saying what I think he is saying? That the gods aren't real? That the priests lie to us? No, that can't be!

"What do you mean?" I whisper, almost afraid of the answer.

He looks over, and then gives a half smile. "Ah, I am sorry, Auset. Did I scare you?" He chuckles. "I am not saying the gods do not exist, nor do I think the priests are false. I just...rather, I question the gods' reason."

"Their...their reason?" I repeat, confused. His answer has reassured me, but something else he said is bothering me. What is it?

"Yes. Why do they care about us? Do they really inhabit the temples and devour the offerings we leave? Can the Per roh really become a god*? He was, after all, born a man."
I gasp. I really cannot believe him. This man is so disrespectful and blasphemous, it is a wonder he was not smote a long time ago. His name - 'Dark Rebel' - suits him well. How can this be the same man who has a father and two brothers in the priesthood?

Wait a minute. I was raised by a priest. That's what Kamenwati said before. Why did he word it in such a way?

"Why...why did you say you were 'raised by a priest' instead of 'I am a priest's son'?" I ask, oddly ravenous for the answer. Kamenwati is an intricate man, full of thoughts and secrets of which I cannot even dream. Some are incredulous, others are frightening, but I want to know them all. I want to enter into his mind, his heart, and see what makes him, him.

Kamenwati beams, as if he is pleased with me. "Ah, you caught that? Good." He looks at the River again, then back at me, as if deciding something. Then he nods to himself, and continues, "And what would you say, Auset, if I told you Lord Kemosiri is not my father?"

I stare at him, my mind blank. And then a million questions burst into my head, fluttering around until I can sort them out. For a moment I am doubtful, but then I remember my conversation with Meti, about how his father blamed Kamenwati for their mother's death, how Lord Kemosiri wanted to cover up his beloved first wife's shame. Could this shame be having been unfaithful to her husband? If so, Lord Kemosiri's attitude would make much for sense; such a thing is certainly scandal-worthy, and something I've sometimes wondered about my own father, when I'm feeling bitter towards him, imagining him to have had a wife before he knew my mother and that he is why he left me.

Finally I find my voice, "If that is true, do you know who your real father is?" Why, out of the millions in my head, did I ask that question? Is it because I do not know my own father, and wondered what Kamenwati's relationship to the man who sired him is? I do not know.

Kamenwati nods, then smiles. But it is not a nice one, it is that half smirk again, combined with a grin. This wicked grin-smirk stretches across his face, and then he leans in close. His lips brush my ear, and I freeze, not sure what he is doing. Is he going to kiss me? My breath hitches a bit, and I wonder if he can hear my heart beating faster.

He whispers in my ear, soft, like the wind, "My father is Lord Sutekh, god of deserts, storms, and chaos. And guess what else, Auset? Your father is a god, too."

A pause. His words hang in the air, and are met with silence. I stare at him, not comprehending and all thoughts of a kiss thrust out of my mind, until my tongue remembers how to work. When it does, I gasp, "What?"

Such a statement is nonsense. Nonsense. Only royals are born of gods, doesn't he know that? Why would such heavenly beings bother with the lower classes? More than that, it is blasphemy, outright untruthfulness. How can he say that? How can he bring me into his arrogant and self-centered fantasy? I do not wish to offend the gods by claiming to be higher than I am. What a fool this man is!

"You heard me. Auset-" I scramble to my feet and refuse to listen as he tries to explain. I glare at him and he stops talking. My mind is a jumbled mess; I do not know what to think. My hands start shaking. Should I leave? I should leave. I shouldn't have been here in the first place, and Ra shall soon ascend in his sun boat; my family wakes up earlier than that. They will notice my absence.

I turn and start walking away, though I am not positively sure where I am going. Kamenwati shouts my name, but I am determined not to listen. A hand on my arm stops me, and I turn to glare at him again. His eyes are hard, stubborn. They bore into me with such an intensity that I feel uncomfortable.

"Let go," I growl, feeling nothing but anger – and perhaps a tiny bit of fear – at his touch. He does, but his eyes still pin me in place. We stare at each other for a long time, before he whispers,

"Don't you hear them, Auset? The voices in your head? That's them, you know: the gods. Don't they sound so joyful? So ecstatic? You know what I'm talking about, don't you? I can see that you do." I shake my head and turn away, trying to hide my surprise. How could he know about that? How could he know about my secret joy, my hidden pleasure that takes over whenever I dance, so that I may hear their praise? He can't. Not unless...not unless he experiences the same joy?

But still...such presumption...

 What if it's true?

 No!

"You're lying. I'm not...this isn't true," I say, my voice strained; the trembling in my hands increases. Kamenwati sighs, then leans in.

"Are you so sure? You don't know who your father is, do you? I have always known; my mother made sure I knew Kemosiri wasn't my father."

"Your mother died when you were three," I argue, shaking my head to emphasize my point. He shrugs and a slow smile comes upon his face.

"I have a good memory."

Suddenly I am livid and I push him away. He looks surprised, but quickly regains his composure. His easy smile is annoying yet still also charming but I can't focus on that because I am also now frightened; surely someone will hear and come to punish us, maybe even one of the gods who inhabits my mind, and if we incur divine wrath who would plead for mercy on our behalf?

"Listen," I hiss at him. "Listen. I want you to stop talking about this. I want to go home, and I want you to stay here. Do not come near me again, do not come near my family, and do not come near my house." Kamenwati seems absolutely startled by my newfound ferocity. I am, too. But I find I like this wildness, and at the same time I don't because it is not 'me', and I believe it is borne of my interactions with the Rebel.

"Do you understand?!" I demand, when he still hasn't answered. Slowly, he nods, and steps back once more.

"Yes." His voice is cool, flat, and very quiet, in great contrast to my shrieking. In his eyes I see distaste, and disappointment, and even a little bit of hurt. "Yes, fine. I won't bother you again, Auset." I swallow a sudden and unwelcome lump in my throat, turn on my heel, and run.

Can per-roh become...-It was believed that the Pharoh was Horus incarnate, and when he died, he became united with Osiris, and his son/heir became the new Horus
*Sutekh-"dazzling, dazzled one"; the Egyptianized name of Set/Seth, god of chaos, deserts and storms.

Chapter Five

2 Years Later...

"Mother! Kebi, Auset, how wonderful! Have you come to visit me?" Hime exclaims, embracing each woman in turn. I smile as I hug my cousin, glad to see her. It has been a while, though in our defense, our household has been busy preparing for Kebi's upcoming marriage.

"Yes, yes, my dear." Aunt Merit smiles at her eldest daughter, and then brushes by her to get in the house. Almost as soon as she gets in the door, however, she is tackled by a small shape, emitting a small Oomph! from my aunt. Kebi and I have to stifle laughs as Hime hurries to help her mother. The small shape is none other than Hime and Itennu's two-year-old daughter, Shemeit. She is named after Itennu's mother.

"Granmoder!" Shemeit cries, grinning. Though some of her pronunciation leaves something to be desired, her vocabulary is coming along nicely, more quickly than the average child, a fact of which Hime is very proud. Aunt Merit's smile is tight, no doubt a little uncomfortable with the lack of polite respect she usually expects from younger family members, but nonetheless she scoops her granddaughter in her arms and starts cooing at her.

"Hello, my little one! How have you been? Have you been a good girl for Mother and Father?" Shemeit nods vigorously, and Aunt Merit's smile turns more relaxed. "Why, of course you have. Why don't you say hello to your aunts?" Shemeit twists in Aunt Merit's arms and smiles at Kebi and me.

"Hi Aunt Kebi, hi Aunt 'Set," she chirps. I hold my arms out for the child, and my aunt hands her to me. By now we have all entered the house; the slaves are bustling around to get us comfortable – some carry glasses of water, and one starts fanning my aunt at her command while another offers a plate of fruit to Kebi and me, which I decline on account of the child in my arms.

"Hello, Shemeit," I say softly. All of a sudden I am struck by how much she resembles Itennu so much — who looks like his mother...and older brother. Kamenwati.

Kamenwati, whom I haven't been able to completely forget about in two years, and for some reason especially not today. True to his word, the man has not come near me once in that time, and sometimes I think that night at the River was all a dream, but then a part of me will remind me that it wasn't. I know I should be relieved that he is out of my life — and should be able to move on with his brother, Meti, who has made his preference almost painfully clear — but a small, hopeful little part of me thinks that I want Kamenwati to come back, and tell me everything he knows about his father and my father and everything else.

I bring myself back to the present and smile at my niece. "And where is Father today?" I ask. The child pouts at my question, and I see Hime's smile turn strained, and I wince. Are things not as good between husband and wife has one would hope?

"He's at da temple," Shemeit replies, still pouting. "He's dere all time and comes when I'm asweep!"

"Oh my, how horrible," I gasp, hoping to appease her. "But you know your father has an important duty to the gods, don't you, Shemeit?" She nods, but still does not look happy. I kiss the top of her head and set her down, only for her to be picked up and smothered in kisses by Kebi. I turn to my other cousin and smile.

"Hello, Hime," I greet. "How have you been?" Her smile grows and her eyes positively shine. Her joy radiates from her, and I find myself leaning in to hear better what the good news is.

"Oh Auset," Hime explains, "oh, Mother, Kebi, you have to know, too — I have found out, just a few days ago...again, I am with child!"

We surround her with hugs and well-wishes, shrieking and sharing our happiness. I cannot be more ecstatic for my cousin. How wonderful — another child! I look at Shemeit, and she is giggling, and I am rather relieved she is also happy with the news of a sibling. Sometimes, especially with young children, they do not appreciate a rival for their parents' attention.

"Congratulations, cousin," I exclaim, embracing her. "This is wonderful news. May the gods bless you, and I pray the Ladies Auset and Nebthet and Taweret protect you." Hime smiles her thanks and hugs me back. Kebi and Aunt Merit express similar things, and soon we sit down and discuss other things, mainly, Kebi's marriage to a scribe — a friend of Baraka, actually.

"And what about you, Auset?" Hime asks. I look at her and raise my eyebrow.

"Hmm?"

"Well, you're sixteen now, the same age I was when I married Itennu. When are you going to get married? Has Father arranged anything yet? Do you have any suitors?" I blush when I think of Meti.

"One," I say evasively. Aunt Merit snorts, then 'hmphs'.

"Yes, that son of Kemosiri. He's persistent, I'll give him that, but I don't really like him – he's too skittish, too childish. Not really yet a man, certainly not ready to be a husband," she complains. I feel a little pleased that she cares so much about me to want me to have a good marriage. And that she isn't just throwing me at men. I am not totally sure I want Meti, either. He is pleasant enough, but rather boring, and Aunt Merit is right — he is skittish. Not sure of himself.

"Wait." Hime frowns. "Do you mean...Meti? Itennu's brother?" I nod. Hime looks thoughtful, and then beams.

"Why, my cousin, if you married him, then we would be sisters as well as cousins! Not," she amends hastily, "that I do not love you as such now. But — you do know what I mean, right?" I smile a tight smile and nod. I am sure Hime does not want me to marry Meti just for that, but I suppose it would be interesting.

Itennu has another brother, my mind whispers — or is it possibly one of the gods, come to finally break the long silence they have held for two years? Even when I dance, I have heard not a whisper. It is as if they are punishing me for my disbelief of Kamenwati. But surely they would not defend a liar and a blasphemer.

Kebi's voice brings me back into the conversation, "Well, Auset doesn't have to worry about marriage too soon. She hasn't even starting bleeding yet." My face burns as both embarrassment and anger courses though me. Did Kebi have to bring that up? Did she have to make comment on the fact that I am not yet a woman? I am sixteen and have still not bled. To make it worse, both Kebi and Hime got their flow when they were a year younger than I am now. Perhaps the tardiness comes from my father's side? Or maybe a mixing of sides, because fifteen is a bit of a stretch in some minds. Sometimes I worry over it, wondering if I will ever get it. Will I end up a barren girl? I suppose I will have to become a priestess then, though that is hardly the reason I want to enter in a god's service.

Hime is frowning, thinking. Then she smiles at me and says soothingly, "Do not worry, Auset. I am sure your flow will come soon; you just need a little patience." I smile back at my cousin, grateful for her kind words. Kebi and Aunt Merit do not seem to understand what a sore subject that is for me, and they are not very sympathetic. It is times like these I miss Hime being at home, and I wish I saw her more.

About two hours later – hours filled with laughter, rumor-swapping ("Did you hear Akiiki's sister is having an affair with her husband's brother-in-law?") and a particularly competitive game of Dogs and Jackals – Aunt Merit stands up. "A wonderful visit, daughter," she says to Hime. "But we must go. Come, Kebi, Auset." We say good-bye to Hime and Shemeit, and start home.

...

I dream that night. Of course, I have dreamed before, but nothing important, just colors and images and wishes I had as a child. But this seems more as if I am witnessing a memory, an event that happened long before I was thought of.

An ebony-haired woman with a sturdy-looking yet slender frame reclines at a table, though it is after dinner and she is alone. The wind blows in through the window, bringing with it some of the desert sand. I think nothing of it, but soon more and more sand comes pouring in, and the wind kicks it into a mini sandstorm. The woman jumps up, and at first I think she is frightened, as I am, but then she smiles and claps her hands in delight. When the wind stops, there in place of the sand is a man. Tall and muscular, with dark skin, brown hair and red eyes, he smiles lovingly at the woman, who rushes into his arms.

"Sutekh!" she cries. "Oh, love, I was afraid you wouldn't come, after last time." I cringe at the name and make a sign against evil. What sort of parents did this man have, to name him after the chaos god? Do they not know it is an evil name?

The man, Sutekh, laughs. "I am not afraid of that mortal, darling. He thinks he can drive me away? What a fool." He laughs again and then kisses the woman, so passionately and so desperately I wish to turn away from their private moment.

The couple breaks apart and the woman leads Sutekh to the couch at the table. They lie there, just looking at each other, when the woman looks down and says shyly,

"Love, there is something I must tell you." Her lover cocks his head, and I, too, am intrigued.

"What?" he asks. The woman looks away and bites her lip. She faces me, though she does not know it, and something about her is familiar. I know that face, though I am sure she is a stranger to me.

"Come now, Shemeit, you can tell me anything," the man prods. I am taken aback at the woman's name. That is the name of Kamenwati's mother. And suddenly I know why she seems familiar: I have seen her, in the faces of her sons. I am seeing a past event with Kamenwati, Itennu, and Meti's mother.

But that is most certainly not Lord Kemosiri.

"I – I am with child," Lady Shemeit says at last. The man — for surely he must be a man, I stubbornly insist to myself — looks shocked. Then he leans in and kisses his lover, and she wraps her arms around him, and once again I wish I could turn away.

"You know, of course," Sutekh began when they pulled away, "that he will know it is not his." Shemeit snorts and says dismissively,

"Oh, he will not care. Well, he will, but it's not like he will kick me out. No, he will accept the child as his own though he knows it is not. He will not shame himself by claiming otherwise." She giggles and goes in for another kiss, but he stops her, placing a hand on her shoulder and pushing her back a little.

"You also know our child will be special, yes? He has divinity running through his veins."

"Yes," Shemeit admits. "But you...you will not leave us, will you? You will help me with the baby, won't you?" Sutekh brushes a piece of hair out of her face, a gentle smile on his face, and promises,

"Of course, love, of course."

Shemeit and her house falls away, until only Sutekh and darkness remain. He turns his head and looks straight at me. He smiles wide, showing pointed teeth. But what disturbs me most is his head. Not only does it flicker between that of a man and a beast, the beast form also flickers, making his head seem like it is not there.

"Hello, Auset," Sutekh says. "Do you still doubt my son, and his origins, now that you have seen this? How about your own? Hmm, child?" He chuckles. "Though you won't be a child for long, now, will you?"

I wake up with a gasp, which I quickly stifle so as not to wake my family. I find myself shaking, greatly disturbed by my dream. Did I really witness a past event? Was that truly Lord Sutekh, god of storms and chaos? I do not want to believe it, but deep in my heart I know it is true. Kamenwati has told the truth. He is the son of a god.

Am I then, too, the daughter of one?

I feel the need to relieve myself, so I sneak past the sleeping bodies and down to the chamber pot. As I wipe myself, I notice a dark stain in my undergarment, and when I go to experimentally touch it, it feels sticky. I stare at it for a while, at first dumbfounded, but slowly, slowly the reason comes to me. I smile widely, and feel a sense of euphoria at this occasion. "You won't be a child for long, now, will you?" The god was right. I am not a child anymore.

Now, finally, I am a woman.

* Tawaret – hippo-headed goddess of childbirth and protector of women and children, particularly in childbirth

Chapter Six

How the time flies! Already it is Kebi's wedding day. Dressed in a long tunic with pearls, amethysts, and lapis lazuli sewn into it, my cousin looks as radiant as any bride should. Her eyes are lined with kohl and her lips dabbed with rouge, and in her ears she wears a pair of silver hoops which Hime and I got her once for her birthday. She turns away from talking to her new husband, Anu, for a moment to see me peeking out from the screen behind the stage. Her lips quirk in amusement and she gives me a small wave and sees me return it before whispering something to Hime, who sits next to her sister with Itennu and Shemeit on her other side. Hime, her pregnancy now very visible and nearly over, giggles, and it gives me the sudden urge to be over there with them. But as at Hime's wedding, I am the last act, once again the singer/dancer, and though I am honored to have been asked to perform, it also makes me sad that this time neither Kebi nor Hime will be playing with me – the time for such playful things is gone now.

But I cannot dwell on my sadness for too long, because there is my cue. I throw myself into the dance, twisting and leaping, using my body as a symbol of the elation I feel for my cousin. This is a happy day for her, and I am will not let my own sentimental feelings get in the way of her joy. The steady beat of the drums keeps me grounded and focused, as the bells and harp lift me the height of my imagination.

Lovely as always. There! There they are! The gods have finally deigned to speak to me again. Oh, how happy their presence makes me! It lifts my spirits immediately, and now my mood befits a wedding celebration. Beforehand, when I danced at Hime's wedding, I could not match any voice with one god, especially not lost in the mingling of words in my head. Now, though, I can pick out Lord Sutekh's voice — lower, more harsh sounding than the rest. See, now he laughs in my head, amused. Can the gods read my thoughts when they crowd into my head, I wonder? I do not know, and the idea almost frightens me, but they wouldn't hurt me, surely?

Never. As before, one voice stands out among the rest: that of the gentle, fatherly voice. I would not let them, my child. I will protect you. I smile at the voice's declaration and finish the dance, gasping for breath. The gods depart, fading from my consciousness one by one. Sutekh is the last to go, except for the gentle one, who usually stays after the dance anyway.

Won't you remember our dream, my dear? I fear you will need to before the night is out, Sutekh says before he leaves, traces of anger and — worry perhaps? — hiding behind care-free amusement. I almost frown, worried myself, but I cannot let that show; I will deal with it later. I smile and graciously accept the applause my routine brings, and sit down next to Hime, and the feast commences.

(I must resist, several times, from looking in the corners of the room to see if anyone is there.)

At some point, Hime turns to me, and her blue eyes look worried. She clenches the tablecloth and the smile she sends my way looks strained. "Auset," she says, "I need – I need to tell you something."

Curious, and a little worried myself, I stop eating and face her completely, giving her my whole attention.

"Alright," I reply. "What's wrong, Hime?"

"Oh, well, nothing's wrong, per se," she says, laughing nervously. I raise an eyebrow, not believing her. She sighs, then continues, "Well, really, nothing is wrong, it's just I – well, I'm being silly. I just had a bad dream last night, with you in it, and it scared me. It just felt so real, you understand. But it's nothing."

"Are you sure?" I ask, placing a hand on her shoulder. The dress she wears is very short-sleeved, so most of her skin is exposed. When I touch her shoulder I nearly draw my hand back, shocked at how cold she feels. Hime doesn't seem cold; she's not hugging herself for warmth, nor are her teeth chattering, but why does she feel so cold?

My cousin waves away my question. "Yes, I'm sure," she answers. Her smile is much more relaxed now. "Let's just enjoy the party, alright?" Slowly, I nod.

"Alright," I say. And she speaks no more of it throughout the night.

While I try not to let my worry show during the celebration, I cannot help but wonder about Hime's attitude. I also wonder about Lord Sutkeh's words. Surely he was talking about the vision he'd shown me from his past, the scene with Shemeit, Meti and Itennu (and Kamenwati's) mother. That was the night that I both became a woman, and finally believed what Kamenwati had told me so long ago. I even entertained the idea that I, too, might have godly blood — maybe my father is Lord Heru, perhaps, lord of all Kemet? Or Lord Djehuti, god of knowledge and writing, maybe, or Lord Chons, the moon god? I've always loved nights when the full moon was out — but surely I was being silly. I am not like the mighty god-kings who could boast Ra or Amun for their fathers, no matter what Kamenwati thinks or how exciting it might be.

But Sutekh has got me thinking that way again. What will happen tonight? Will it be something awful? Oh Lady Auset the Divine, I pray, possessor of magical protection, goddess for whom I am named, I beg you not allow any evil to befall this night. I do not wish to mar Kebi's special night.

After a while, my fears slip to the back of my mind as the celebration goes on smoothly. Hime and Itennu have left a while ago, Itennu carrying his sleeping daughter in his arms. Uncle Kahotep is talking with Anu's father, Imhotep, while Aunt Merit and Imhotep's wife, Ati, have their own discussion. Baraka seems to be gambling with Imhotep's three other sons. Kebi and her husband are giggling and talking by themselves in the corner, and I smile at the overall scene. However, I do not feel like being around them at the moment. I sneak out to the garden on the side of Imhotep's house, basking in the light of Lord Chons' moon. I cannot see the garden as well as I would like in the dark, but it is peaceful, and I like it here, so I stay.

Are you troubled, my child? The fatherly voice is back, and just hearing it makes me feel better. He's right, though; I am uneasy. I am hoping the night will end well, but I have a feeling that it will not. And, if it does not, what is my role in all of this? What does it mean, to be a god's daughter? I do not know myself as such — I hardly know if such a claim is trueor not.

As I am musing, I hear a clatter and exclamations from the house. I turn quickly, sneaking a peek through the doorway, and am astonished to see the police force burst into Imhotep's house. I am terribly frightened, but I have to go inside, to be with my family, to prove innocence—

No! The fatherly voice is harsh, and there is a buzzing noise in my head, which sounds almost like growling, like that of a dog. Don't go in, Auset. You must stay here. Stay here! Not having to think twice, I obey, stepping further into the shadow, crouching behind a statue of Lord Djehuti. I cannot see much from where I am, but I can hear the officers rummaging through the house, and the sounds of Imhotep, Anu, and Uncle Kahotep's protests. Huddling on my knees, fear more than obedience keeps me there. What's happening? Is this what Sutekh meant? Oh, Auset, why did you not grant my prayer?

I hear the creak of the garden gate and catch my breath. Are the officers going to search the garden? Will they find me? What will happen if they do? My heart hammers against my chest, and a sheen of sweat covers me like a blanket.

"Auset? Are you here? Auset?" I release my breath in a whoosh of air. It is Kebi! I stand up too fast for my cramped legs, and nearly topple over; the length of my dress, nearly to my ankles, does not help either, and as my bracelets clink together I'm afraid someone besides Kebi will hear. When I finally right myself, I am just able to make out my cousin, squinting in the dark.

"I am here," I answer, speaking just loud enough that she can hear me. My cousin follows the sound of my voice and finally she reaches me. Her face is pale and drawn, her eyes undeniably fearful. She grasps me by the shoulders.

"Auset," she breathes, "you must go. Leave, right now, and go to Hime's house."

"What?" I ask, baffled. I am to flee, like a thief in the night? Like a tomb robber who has committed crimes against the gods and Per-roh? Is that what Kebi is saying?

Her nails bite deeper into my skin. "You heard me," she insists. "Go to Hime's house. Quick, before the police catches you. Please, cousin."

"They want me? Why? For what possible reason?" I sputter, flabbergasted. I have always been a law-abiding citizen; how is it that I am now being hunted by the highest law in the land?

"They said they wanted the niece of Kahotep the scribe, for questioning on charges of..." Kebi falters for a moment, and she has to clear her throat before continuing, "charges of treason." I nearly faint. Treason? Treason? I have been accused of the highest crime? How?

Finally I find my voice, and exclaim, "I have done nothing of the sort, cousin, I swear it on the Lady's name itself! I am innocent!"

"Yes, yes, I know that," Kebi soothes. She risks a look behind her at the house, where I see the men arguing with the officers. She turns back to me, her face exasperated.

"Yes, I know that, but the police do not. They're prepared to haul you to Per-roh's palace itself in chains. Do you understand that, Auset? Father and Imhotep are doing what they can to stall, to argue, but they can't keep it up forever!"

"But would it not be better to show myself, and prove my innocence?" I question, flabbergasted over Kebi's reaction.

"No!" My cousin's voice is harsh, and I wince. Her eyes soften and she pulls me into a quick embrace, giving me a tenderly kiss on the forehead before pleading,

"Please, Auset, you must do this. Cousin, dearest cousin, one who has a place in my heart reserved for her, you must listen to me. Heed your cousin's words: run from here, and go to Hime's house. Tell her that you have been falsely accused, that you need to stay with her." Kebi swallows and glances behind her once more. She turns back to me and continues,

"I beg of you, Auset, my cousin, go to Hime's house now. There you will be safe, and we can proceed from there."

You should listen to her, instructs the voice. My throat constricts and I must blink back tears. Kebi is just trying to protect me, like the kind older cousin she is. She is the youngest of Uncle Kahotep and Aunt Merit's children, but she can be just as friendly and considerate and motherly as Hime sometimes.

"Alright, Kebi," I say. "I will go to Hime's. I...I am just sorry this had to happen on your wedding night."

Kebi looks relieved, and gives a small laugh. "Oh, my sister," she says, and I am surprised, and pleased, at the added endearment. "Oh, my sister, this day, my wedding day, has been one of the best. But what will be better is the day when my younger sister can walk as the innocent, righteous, and free Kemetian that she is." She gives me another kiss on the forehead, hugs me tightly once more, and pushes me in the direction of the outside before slipping back toward the house.

I am just far away enough from the house so that, when the officers burst into the garden a few moments later, they do not see me sprinting away into the night.

...

Hime's house...

"Hime!" I shout, bursting into her home. It is dark and empty, and feels cold, too, without people bustling around. "Hime!" I must tell her what has happened. I must prove that I am not guilty of treason, no matter what Per-roh thinks I did. I must make sure my family is safe afterwards. There are so many things I must do I am not sure I can do them all.

"Auset?" Hime appears in the hall, looking at me with a bewildered expression on her face. Flustered looking slaves move about about her, looking worried. Though they all seem tired, not one of them, oddly enough, looks as if they were just awoken. "What are you doing here? What's wrong?"

Winded and somewhat hysterical, I manage to tell my cousin what happened at the wedding feast. At each word she grows paler and paler, until she resembles a corpse. Still, though, she tries to soothe and comfort me, telling me that of course I can stay until things get sorted out. I am so tired and so relieved I fall into Hime's embrace. I gaze over her shoulder, not really seeing, but then something — someone — catches my eye.

"Kamenwati?" I shriek, flabbergasted at his appearance in my cousin's home. I have not seen the man in nearly three years, and this is our first meeting since then? Not, of course, that I have ever thought that I would see him again, that is. But still...

Kamenwati smiles at me, his signature half-grin-smirk that I at first found distasteful, but now I am hit with a sudden longing for it. Hime seems surprised by my shock as she looks between her brother-in-law and me.

"Oh," she says, "that's right. You didn't know he was here, did you, Auset?" I stare at her. Then my shock twists into anger and, ignoring my cousin for a moment, I turn on Kamenwati and say accusingly,

"I thought I told you to stay away from my family." Kamenwati regards me thoughtfully, and I want to scream at him. He seems little changed from the last time I saw him: perhaps a little taller, a bit more muscular. He has obviously been working hard, some sort of physical labor.

"That you did," he responds lightly. "And I have kept my promise. But Itennu is my brother, and his daughter is my family. You cannot forbid me from seeing my own, can you? And if we happen to share family — well, so be it." I can scarcely believe my ears — or my eyes, for that matter. I whirl on Hime.

"What are you thinking?" I hiss. Hime's un-awoken appearance makes more sense now, seeing as she had been entertaining a guest. "Does Itennu know about these — these late-night visits? Where is your husband, anyway?" Hime's concerned face twists into a bitter scowl.

"At the temple," she says scornfully. I blink, once more bewildered. Itennu is at the temple? At this hour? Alright, I can see why Hime might resent that, but...

"I can see what you are thinking," Hime says, interrupting my thought process. "But it is not like that. Kamenwati truly does just come to see Shemeit." I truly want to believe that, and most of me does, but there is a very small part that is — jealous of Hime. I know I am the one who ordered Kamenwati never to come near me again, but due to, well, recent revelations, I've found I've missed him. Oh, I've missed him terribly.

Kamenwati looks between us, then takes a step back. "I think I'll just stay back here for a bit," he says nonchalantly. "Let you two settle things." He makes a purring noise in the back of his throat, like a pleased cat, before moving to another room. Kamenwati has always brought out mixed emotions and reactions in me — right now I want to throttle him.

My cousin regards me. Then she offers me a smile, and I feel horrible for being angry at her. How could anyone be mad at sweet, lovable Hime, or suspect her of any wrong-doing? Hime puts her arm around me and leads me to her bedchamber, some of her female slaves flocking around us, almost protectively. Most have their heads down respectfully, but there is one who openly stares at me. She is tall, with almond skin, brown hair, and hazel eyes. Her facial features are that of a Hebrew. I am uncomfortable under her gaze, and look away, just in time to see Hime flinch and grasp her stomach. The slaves press in closer, and then it is I who have an arm around Hime as she bends over as far as she can with her baby-belly.

"Hime!" I exclaim. She waves her servants and me off, and then straightens.

"I'm fine," she insists. "The baby's just...kicking rather hard tonight." I don't believe her, but I don't know how to contest her claim, and besides I have other things to worry about now.

When we reach Hime's room, she dismisses all of her slaves except three, one of which being the tall Hebrew slave. My cousin sits us down on her bed and takes my hands, looking at me kindly.

"Oh, dear cousin," she says, "I am sorry such ill has befallen you. I believe you are innocent, and I pray that this ordeal ends soon for you. You may, of course, stay here as long as you like. Though I have a feeling you will not." I look at her sharply, puzzled.

"What do you mean?" I ask, cautiously. Hime smiles fondly at me and smoothes back my hair.

"Oh my dear, I am not sure you will believe me," she says quietly.

"Oh, cousin, do not say that," I protest. She looks down, contemplating, then looks back up at me, biting her lip.

"Well, cousin, you know how, tonight, I told you I had had a dream about you? The one that felt so real?" She pauses while I nod. "Well, what I dreamed was exactly what happened to you at Kebi's wedding tonight. I thought at first it was just silly things, or perhaps a result of the – ugh – the pregnancy." Hime winces again but valiantly continues,

"But with tonight, I feel they must be...must be visions. From the gods, you know." She laughs weakly and then moans again. I am about to say something, but she keeps talking, "And would you like to know what I saw, Auset? In my dreams? You. You're running — afraid, and hunted, but you aren't alone. There are at least two others with you. And I'm – ugh – well, I'm dead."

"Dead?" I echo, startled at the turn of events. Hime nods.

"Oh, yes. Can't you feel it, Auset? You of all people?" She laughs, seeming not-all-concerned that she is going to die in...twelve hours. I know the exact time; why do I know that? What's wrong with me? How can I be so sure? But I am drawn out of my thoughts by another gasp from Hime, which sounds louder and more painful, and then my cousin is sliding off the bed, hissing in pain, and where she sat is a big, sticky pool of blood. I gasp and drop down next to her as her slaves hurry to their mistress' side, trying to shoo me away, but I hold tight to Hime, terrified of what happen if I let go.

"Hime, Hime," I whisper, shoving away a servant at my side even though I know she is trying to help. "What do I do, what do I do, stay with me, Hime!" My cousin reaches out to touch my cheek, stroking it lovingly once before her hand drops weakly; her touch, once more, feels like ice.

"You will know what to do when the time comes, little sister," my cousin answers, and that is the last thing she says to me as I am ripped from her side and moved out of the room, a waste of space that should be occupied by the physician or midwife one of the servants had sent for. I bite back a sob as Hime begins screaming, and the perfect image of her cold, still body pops into my head and refuses to leave, no matter how much I will it.

* Lady Auset, the Divine, possessor of... – actual titles of the goddess

* sister-the term 'sister' could be applied to any female relative, and the greatest honor a husband could give his wife was to call her his 'sister'.

* Djehuti – "he who is like an ibis", Egyptianized name of Thoth, god of wisdom, measurement, magicians, and scribes

Chapter Seven

The child — which pushed itself free from Hime's womb early, determined to enter the world as soon as it could — survives, and is a girl.

She is a small babe, and very pale, and only after the midwife gives her bottom a few good smacks does she begin to cry. She is so delicate, so fragile that I am sure she will die, but it is not the certainty I had for Hime, who, despite all my prayers and the best efforts of a physician fetched when it looked as if Hime might not survive the birth, entered Wor-seer's' realm to be judged on the scales. She had just enough breath to name her child, who has her mother's eyes and her father's face, 'Hime', which I suggested, for I could not bear the thought of my lips never shaping that beloved name ever again. And then, when my cousin's ba left to join her ka, I could not keep in my tears, and my grief erupted like a flood.

I do not know how long I sat in the hallway, weeping and tearing at my hair. The slaves, too, were shocked and dismayed when they learned of their mistress' death, for they also loved her dearly. Even now I can see silent tears streaming down their cheeks as they prepare my cousin's body to be brought to the Beautiful House. Oh, why, dear Auset, powerful Wor-seer, have you seen fit to take Hime from this life? Indeed, I know that she will enjoy peace in the Field of Reeds, but how empty life will be now! And to leave two young daughters - how cruel it seems! I remember how happy – how ecstatic – Hime was to find out she was pregnant with Shemeit, and for months all she could talk about was what her baby would be like, what would she look like, would she take after Itennu or her more? More tears stream from my eyes as I realize my cousin will miss out on her daughters' lives.

The gods have tried to comfort me all the while, assuring me my cousin will certainly pass the Feather Test, and she will definitely find love and peace in the next life. Indeed, they try so hard that, as they all clamber to be heard, their voices begin to give me an awful headache.

At least she did not die in vain, Lord Sutekh tells me, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. She has given life to her daughter, after all. I feel so surprised that he is trying to lift my spirits (and so of course he then starts ranting about how wonderfully understanding he is, sounding like his regular self) that I do not notice when Kamenwati appears behind me, seeming out of nowhere. To tell the truth, with all the commotion, I forgot him, even though, when after the physician arrived and I burst into hysterics because I couldn't shake the feeling that the physician wouldn't be able to do anything and Hime would die, Kamenwati tried to comfort me. He brought me water, talked soothingly to me, and even held me at one point when Hime began screaming far more than labor would induce.

Now, he places a hand on my shoulder, and I whirl around, startled as I scramble to my feet. He looks at me with sympathy, and though I'm sure it is genuine, I cannot help but hate the way it looks on his face. Why should he be sorry for me? Why should he feel my pain? Maybe the sadness on his face is for Hime, but that also makes me angry. He didn't know Hime as long as I did, didn't love her like a sister as I did, so why should he be as grieved as he is? Like always he brings out a whirlwind of emotions I can hardly control.

"We must tell Itennu," he says to me gently. I frown and stare blankly at him, uncomprehendingly. If it were in better circumstances, I might notice how close he is to me, or perhaps how intensely he gazes at me, but now those things are nothing. He sighs and elaborates. "Itennu, Auset. You know, Hime's husband? He must be told that his wife is dead." I flinch at the word, and the blunt way he says it. But Kamenwati is blunt, isn't he? When the situation calls for it? He says things that no one else will, simply because they are truth.

"I sent a servant out hours ago," I reply dully, surprised I remembered. When Hime first started screaming loudly, I told a slave to go find my cousin's husband, but he returned alone with the news Itennu wasn't at the temple, and he couldn't find him anywhere.

Kamemwati doesn't seem discouraged by my words; instead he replies, "Then send another. Perhaps my brother has returned to the god's house and is waiting there." Reluctantly recognizing he may be right, I turn to one of the male slaves.

"Go to the temple and see if your master is there," I order. "Tell him his wife, Lady...Lady Hime, has given birth to their child, and...and that..." I take a deep breath to calm myself before continuing, "and that Hime has gone to be with the gods." The slave nods, but stands there for a moment, eyes wide as he stares at me. Irritated at his slowness, I snap at him. "Go!" He departs with much more haste.

I lean against the wall and bury my head in my hands. My head is silent; the gods are letting me grieve alone right now, it seems. I wonder vaguely what things little Shemeit's nurses have told her to keep from inquiring about her mother and baby sibling. Does she even know the child is a girl? Ah, what will my little niece do when she hears the news? She is only two! And the babe herself (Hime, my mind, or perhaps another god, whispers to me, the child's name is Hime) is without a mother, as soon as she entered the world. For a moment, I feel the tiniest bit of resentment towards her; she killed my cousin after all — but it is such an ugly and evil thing to blame a newborn for anything, least of all for being born, so I squash the feeling immediately. Hime would never want me to feel that way about her daughter, and besides, not every mother survives the act of giving her child life; my own died the very same way.

Is that my fate then? Could it be that this weakness, this infirmity, is passed through my mother and uncle's family? Will I, too, suffer and die some day because I desired a son or daughter?

"Auset." I look up from my reveries to see that Kamenwati is still there. Sympathy is still in his gaze, but there is something else, too. Determination — fortitude, even, swims in his black orbs. He seems to want something. What? What could I possibly offer him in my distressed state? I barely have the strength to think straight.

"What?" I say, and my voice sounds tired. My throat and head hurt from the tears I shed earlier, and I imagine my face is red and blotchy.

"You came here for a reason, didn't you?" he asks. "You came here to hide, from the police." I bolt upright, his words like a bucket of cold water to my face.. That's right. In all this time, I have forgotten why I came to Hime's house in the first place. Oh, sweet Auset, are the rest of my family all right? Uncle Kahotep, Baraka, and Kebi? What about Aunt Merit, and Anu, Kebi's new husband? And where might they be now; I've spent half a day at Hime's. Are they being detained for my sake? It is common for family members of a criminal, or alleged criminal, to be questioned, often roughly, in order to get the answers the police want.. And then of course there is still the question: why am I being hunted? What does Per-roh want with me?

"You've no idea what you may have done?" Kamenwati asks, once again bringing me from my thoughts. I frown at him, uneasy with him all of a sudden. It is all well and good to come visit his niece once in a while, which I grudgingly admit is his right and Hime's right to let him, and it was nice to be able to turn to someone during Hime's delivery, but it seems that he is here for another reason.

As if he can read my thoughts, Kamenwati leans in and confesses, "I have no idea what I might have done either. Though I'm sure you will have no trouble doubting that." I look up in surprise. So I was right, and he does have another reason for being here: he, like me, is hiding from Per-roh's persecution. Is he wanted for treason as well? Like he said, I'm not surprised he would be accused of that, but if I'm accused of the same, maybe Kamenwati is as innocent as me. What made Per-roh think either I or he is guilty, then?

Oh, what do else can you expect from one under Heru's protection? This is Lord Sutekh's scathing remark, and the hate in his voice makes me want to scrub my mind to get rid of such nasty emotions.

This is absolutely not my fault, another voice says. Given the context, I conclude that this strong, young-sounding voice must be that of Lord Heru, the god who through the Per-rohs reigns. Knowledgeable about the two gods' history, I sincerely hope they don't start fighting; I would rather my mind not be their next battlefield, especially not when I'm so tired.

Shush, now, both of you, comes once again another voice. This one is female-sounding, and makes me think of the Sacred River's rushing waters. They are trying to have a conversation here.

Are we? I look at Kamenwati, and he is still staring at me urgently, as if my face holds answers to a question he's had for many years. We stay like that for a long time, silent, and probably would have stayed like that for a long time, had the door not shuddered and cracked as someone bursts into my cousin's house.

At first I am afraid it is the police, but soon I realize it is just Itennu. He has crashed into his home, eyes wild as he looks around, as if his wife will be standing in the hallway. Not seeing Hime, he lets out a heart-wrenching wail and races into the back room — the room of life and death. My cousin-in-law, though he must have seen us, does not seem to notice me or his ex-brother. Some of his servants try to prevent him, crying "My lord!" as he passes them, but Itennu will not be deterred. He reaches the place where his wife's body lay, and when he does, he wails and screams some more.

Against my better judgement, perhaps, I go stand in the doorway to see Itennu tearing at his clothes and sobbing by Hime's bedside. Kamenwati follows. The slaves who had attended baby Hime's birth stand about, looking terribly unsure of what to do. Only the Hebrew slave has the courage to approach him, and with what looked like disgust in her eyes, she asks her master, "Will you not look at your daughter, my lord? Do you even want to know her name?"

Itennu snaps his head up, staring at his slave as if she has nine heads. Then he rises, slowly, and reaches out to take little Hime. He stares at her, though without seeing his face, I cannot tell his reaction.

"What is her name?" he asks quietly, and I feel compelled to answer.

"Hime." Itennu startles, whirling around to finally notice the guests in his home. His eyes widen when he sees me, and his jaw drops when he catches sight of Kamenwati. We face off against one another as Itennu struggles to compose himself. Finally he manages a quiet, "What are you doing here?"

I am about to explain things but Kamenwati jumps in and says in a flippant tone, "Oh, just running from the authorities. You know, like usual." I turn to him, hardly believing my ears, as Lord Sutekh chuckles in my head. Itennu stares at us, confused for a moment, and then curls his lip in disgust.

"So you are criminals, then?" he asks, in an indiscernible tone. I begin protest, but his eyes have glazed over and he does not seem to be listening. The Hebrew stiffens all of a sudden, and her eyes widen in horror as she looks at her master. I am trying to understand her reaction when all of a sudden Itennu thrusts little Hime into my barely-ready arms and jumps back as if burned. His voice is shrill now as he shrieks at us, "Go! Go, you filthy law-breakers! Leave my house and take that — that dirty murderer with you before I alert Per-roh's guards!" Dazed, we stand still in the doorway, and he grabs a pot off the bedside table and makes to throw it at us. Kamenwati moves forward, perhaps to shield me as I instinctively turn the child away.

But the Hebrew boldly catches her master's arm and demands of him, "How can you? How can you as the father of this child abandon her within the first day of her life? And what of your other daughter — shall you tell her you played favorites and kicked her sister out of your home, all for being born? The Holy One will curse you for your actions!"

Itennu turns toward her, and strikes her hard across the face with the pot, knocking her to the floor. I think I yelped. Another slave (also Hebrew), younger and who looks remarkably similar to the slavegirl, rushes forward as Itennu rages.

"You dare grab me and proceed to scold me?! You dare call down curses on me from your filthy foreign god? I may do as I like in my own house! And Shemeit — Shemeit— well, they can take that little brat along with them, too!"

It takes me a moment to realize that, Itennu is, in all actuality, abandoning his daughters to Kamenwati's and my care, all because he has decided Baby Hime is to blame for her mother's death. Shocked, and utterly disgusted, I glance at Kamenwati to see his reaction; his face is a mask of calm, but I can see in the set of his jaw and his clenched fists that he is furious. Taking a deep breath I decide to try and reason with my cousin-in-law, so we can hopefully avoid more violence.

"Itennu," I begin, attempting to make my voice soothing. "come, calm down. I know how grieved you, truly I do; but you have no excuse for giving away your children! Try to calm down and be reasonable. I'm sure, once you let a little time pass, your feelings will be changed."

It seems my speech did not work, for Itennu only gets angrier and snarls at me, "Oh, do not attempt to control me! Do not presume to lecture me where I am master here!" He gestures wildly to the bed, where Hime's body still lies. "Here lies my wife, newly departed, and so I must bring her to the Beautiful House. I will not tolerate criminals on my property, so I am telling you — I am ordering you — take that evil child, and Shemeit, and yourselves and leave before I call for the soldiers. And while you're at it, take her, too!" He reaches down and takes the Hebrew by the arm, and then flings her onto the floor in front of us. The younger slave hurries to her side, clutching at her arm and crying out in their native tongue.

Kamenwati steps forward, trembling with rage, and I wonder if he is going to start a fight with his brother. Baby Hime is wailing her little lungs out and the rest of the slaves seem too shocked or terrified to do much more than tremble in the corner. I don't blame them; I, too, am frightened by such violent behavior. Who would have ever thought Hime's seemingly sweet-tempered husband could be capable of such fury?

There is movement behind me, and then a little body squeezes between me and Kamenwati. Shemeit stops a couple feet in front of her father, seeming oblivious to the tense atmosphere around her. Itennu blinks and looks confused, as if he didn't expect to see her here. At first I think Shemeit's presence will calm Itennu down, but then his eyes harden and my heart beats faster. Once more not noticing anything is wrong, Shemeit begins talking excitedly, "Fader, Fader, where's Mama? I wanna see her. Is dat my sister? I wanna see her. Why's Aunt 'Set here? Fader?" As Shemeit rambles on, her father glances between his daughters, and perhaps the resemblance between the sisters fuels his ill-conceived rage; without warning he reaches out and slaps Shemeit across the face, sending her sprawling. Again, I may have cried out. I do know I gathered my young niece off the floor and pressed her to me, her shocked silence scaring me more than crying would.

I don't know what either Kamenwati or I might have done then — Kamenwati makes a choking sound as if he can't contain his anger — but then the Hebrew girl — actually she is a few years older than me, around Kamenwati's age — picks herself up and hisses at me, "We must leave now, Kemetian, or else he will call your heathen soldiers and they will take you. You do not want that to happen. The children are better off with us, so come with me." I am baffled, and I'm not sure I want to follow, but between her insistence and Itennu's glaring, I decide it's best if I do. The other houseslaves make no objection as we file out of house, the Hebrew and I carrying the girls and Kamenwati and the younger slave right behind us. Once out of the house I hear a pot shatter, and then a few more. I wince each time I hear something else break, more victims of their owner's rage.

"Don't worry," Kamenwati whispers in my ear as Itennu starts screaming obscenities. "Leah knows exactly what's she doing. You can trust her."

Is that so? I want to laugh at the near-irony of it. I can trust someone Kamenwati trusts, when I barely trust Kamenwati himself, or understand the situation I am in now? Oh, but Ihope I can trust them. Oh, gods of Kemet, I do.

* ba — one of the seven parts of the human soul, in life it is the conscience; in death it enables the soul to travel to the underworld and reunite with the ka, to take the next step in reaching the afterlife
* ka — one of the seven parts of the soul, sort of like a spiritual twin that lived on after death; the ka was the reason the body had to be mummified so the soul would be able to live and move on to the afterlife
* Field of Reeds — place where the righteous dead went after being weighed on the Scale; a version of Egyptian Heaven, where everything was the same as it was in life, except without sickness, pain, violence, or the need to work.
* Beautiful House (per-nefer) — the place where the deceased where brought to be mummified.

Chapter Eight

"Auset? It's all right to come out now — they won't see us here." I look up at Kamenwati from my scrunched position in the corner of a deserted alleyway. With a bit of difficulty, for my legs are numb, I stand and stretch. I feel tingly all over, as if my whole body has fallen asleep instead of just my legs. My eyes immediately seek, and find, my two nieces: Baby Hime is being nursed by Leah, the older Hebrew woman, and Shemeit listens, enthralled, to the younger one, Chaia, tell her stories of their odd belief system (one god? To do everything? How busy he must be!). Though she seems all right now as she gazes up somewhat adoringly at Chaia, I worry about my darling niece's state; she has not uttered a single word since we told her of her mother's death, and the only sounds she's made thus far are small whimpers and sobs, and she still doesn't smile even despite the fact that Chaia tries her best with her tales.

There is hardly anyone around as Ra's boat sinks in the sky, the end of the second day since we left Itennu's home. We have been running ever since, trying to find different places to stay throughout the day, and night, mostly gardens of the wealthy. It has been hard on the girls, especially the baby, whom we've somehow managed to care for rather well; Leah provides food, of course, and we've all shortened the lengths of our clothes to provide urine clothes for the newborn. And last night Kamenwati even managed to construct a crude cradle from from sticks and some rope he'd found; Baby Hime sleeps when we are stopped, and usually Chaia carries it when we are moving

I do not know where we are going — perhaps none of them knows either — nor whether or not my family is all right. Quite a few times I question the wisdom of running from the law, but whenever that happens, the gods are quick to assure me this is the best course of action.

Do not let them catch you, ever, Lord Sutekh commands.

It would be best if you stayed free, Lord Heru admits. And the fatherly voice just begs me to trust them all. I try.

"Where are we going now?" I ask, wondering if maybe someone has an idea this time as we skirt along the edges of buildings, wary of guards. Leah looks at me with a hard expression, as if she is studying me, then sighs and answers,

"We are going to go along the riverbank, to try and get to some small village. We can probably hide there better."

"But why?" I ask, trying to see her logic. "Wouldn't it be easier to blend into crowds here in the city? There won't be much in a little village, where everyone knows each other."

"Which is what Per-roh's guards will likely think, and so they won't come after us," Kamenwati says. I frown, thinking about it. I suppose that makes a bit more sense, but I am still wary. And frustrated — I want things to go back to the way they were, with Hime alive and I with my family and not running away from the law of Kemet with two strangers and a man I never wanted to see again. Why can't that happen?

It will one day, child, says the father voice. I cannot grant the first request, but know she is happy here in the afterlife. She sends her love, and she wants you to do this. She trusts you to take care of her children. You can do that, can't you?

Of course I can, I respond, a sudden, fierce protectiveness for my nieces coming over me. Hime trusts me? She knows that her husband has disowned their children, that we are fugitives, and yet she wants me to protect her daughters? I will do it. If I ever falter because I don't want to run for my sake, then I will just have to remember Baby Hime and Shemeit.

"Alright," I say. "Let's do as you say." First though, I turn to Shemeit and spread my arms wide, as if to embrace her. She looks at me blankly for a moment, but then toddles into them and I scoop her into my arms. After making sure we are both comfortable, we set out toward the bank of the Sacred River.

"What town are we supposed to hide in?" I ask along the way. "Or are we just going to settle wherever we will be accepted?" I trip over an object in the road — a pot perhaps, or brick, hidden in the dark, and barely manage to right myself before I fell to the ground.

"The second part, most likely," Kamenwati answers. "I'm hoping we can get to Karga in a few days — it usually takes about 3 from Zawty, if a man just keeps walking, but we have two little ones with us and hardly any supplies, so we'll need to rest longer probably."

I frown, trying to process things. Staying here in the city of Zawty, the place I was born and grew up in, does seem to go against Kamenwati and Leah's 'hide-in-a-small-village' plan, so leaving does make sense. But he wants to go to Karga?

"Karga is on the western bank," I say uneasily. "To go there is to receive grievous luck." The west was where the sun died, after all. Who would want to got to a place where darkness won against the strongest god in the heavens? It is also a small oasis that isn't known for its friendly atmosphere.

"You two are wanted by your king, apparently," Leah points out. "Your luck is hardly wonderful right now. And besides, isn't this city also on the western bank?"" Well, she does have a point.

"Yes, but it faces east," I argue. "And here we are protected by the gods Wepwawet and Anpu; Karga is further west, in the middle of the desert, and has no such patron gods." The slavegirl looks at me with disdain, as if I am a fool for thinking such things.

"Right now it is the safest place for you," Leah counters. "So that is where we shall go. Unless you have a better idea?" I do not, so I keep my mouth shut and glare at her. She does not look at me (though her sister, who hasn't said a word to me, Kemetian or otherwise, returns my glare) and goes back to nursing my niece. Baby Hime smiles in delight as she suckles greedily from the slave's breast. Though we have managed to grab some food supplies from various vendors the past couple days, paid for by the few coins Kamenwati and I happen to have had with us, my newborn niece is truly the only one well-fed.

But, now that I think about it, Leah the Hebrew seems an odd choice for a wet nurse. There is always the possibility that a mother will die in the birthing process; nonetheless the child will still need milk from the breast. Usually families of wealth, as Hime and Itennu were, hired a reputable wet nurse from a peasant family. Why then had the slaves given baby Hime to the slavegirl? Had she been the choice for Shemeit, too, two years ago? And where is her own child, the one that should by right be attached to this girl's breast?

All of a sudden I want to snatch my cousin's newborn from the slave's arms, never mind that mine are already full with Shemeit. How do I know I can trust these strange foreigners? Why should I allow them to dictate where I go, or take my cousin's daughters off with them into the wilderness? Kamenwati said I can trust them, but what does that matter, if I barely trust him?

"Where is your child?" I blurt out to Leah, who at my question has stopped in her tracks, startled. It is an odd thing to ask, but I cannot get rid of the absurd image that has suddenly popped into my head, that of the Hebrew butchering her babe before her milk ran dry. Don't these people have a story (a story of which they are oh so proud) where a father gives his own son as a sacrifice to their god? Where is the humanity in that?

"Well?" I demand, my voice a tad shrill. I stop moving, as stubborn as a camel, clutching my niece to my chest. Leah stares at me, still shocked, while her sister gets an absolutely infuriated look on her face and Kamenwati glances between the three of us, unsure.

Baby Hime, for her part, continues to drink her fill, and Shemeit lays her head against my shoulder, unconcerned.

Leah's sister, Chaia, is the first to speak, snarling at me in Kemetian,

''You've no right to know! What kind of question is that? Why should you know that? Stupid Kemetian! Stupid, stupid, stupid!'' I reel back at the animosity in her tone; was the question that bad? I suppose my reason for asking is, but they can't possibly know the motivation behind my inquiry.

Leah snaps a reprimand at her sister, then addresses me, saying in a sad voice,

''The Holy One does not always see fit to breathe life into every lump of clay that breaches its mother's womb.''

Though I am partly disturbed by the way Leah describes her child, the rest of me is immediately sympathetic, and very guilty. Of course, why didn't I think of the possibility of a stillborn? Why did I automatically assume the slavegirl had harmed her babe? Chaia is right. I am a stupid Kemetian.

Though I must admit, the thought process was amusing, snarks Lord Sutekh.

It's quite understandable, you being paranoid after everything that's happened, I assure you, another voice chimes in. Really, I would be worried if you weren't psychologically affected!

Please stop, I moan. Now was the not the right time to listen to the gods' idle chatter; if they weren't giving advice, I didn't want to listen.

"I - I am sorry. Sincerely, I am," I say, apologizing weakly to Leah. She shrugs, seeming unconcerned, and presses on. But Chaia is still angry with me on her sister's behalf, and says something bitingly to me in her Hebrew tongue; no doubt it is an insult, and I am not surprised.

What does surprise me, however, is when Kamenwati turns to Chaia and replies to her words in the same language. His tone is annoyed, but when both Chaia and I stop in our tracks and look at him incredulously, a small, amused smile graces his lips.

"You – you know how to speak Hebrew?" Chaia asks, stunned. Kamenwati nods, still obviously pleased with the reaction he's received.

"As well as you speak Kemetian," he replies. Leah, I notice, does not look surprised. I wonder what past connection she has to Kamenwati, for surely there must be one, for them to trust one another so well.

"This is the one I told you about, Chaia," Leah says to her sister. It finally occurs to me that she is possibly doing me a courtesy by speaking in Kemetian, even when addressing her sister. That just makes me feel even more ashamed for being so unkind to her in my thoughts.

Chaia looks confused. She starts to question her sister in Hebrew but then all of a sudden breaks off, and her eyes widen. She glances at Kamenwati, then at her sister, and then back again. She rattles off a hurried-sounding sentence at Leah, who nods in response.

I glance between all three of them, once more becoming uneasy. What did Chaia say? What past does Kamenwati and Leah share? It's probably not my place to know, but I'm curious — that's all.

Ooh, I could tell you if you like, one of the gods (goddesses, actually; the voice is clearly feminine) squeals inside my head.

No, Het-Heru, Lord Sutekh snarls. It's none of her — or your — business.

Hmph, Lady Het-Heru responds, obviously put out. Well, fine; it's your right after all. But don't think I listen to you now! To me, she says with a sigh, Sorry, love, you'll get no secrets from me. Ask on your own, if you really want to know.

There remains a slight buzzing in my head, as if the gods are still there, but other than my own thoughts my mind is silent.

Ask on my own? I suppose I can do that, but I feel I've reached my question quota for the day. It really isn't my business, like Lord Sutekh said, but I very much want to know.

''How do you know each other?'' I ask, finally deciding I might as well and see if they answer. Leah and Kamenwati cease walking to look at me, then at each other. Finally Kamenwati replies in a light voice,

''I met her once, long ago. It wasn't too important – except, unlike you, Cataract, she believed me.''

I frown at the nickname, though I also feel like blushing. But wait, she believed him? About what? Then I gasp, realization hitting me like one of Aunt Merit's slaps. ''She – knows? You told her?''

''Didn't have to'' is his response, a note of levity still in his tone. ''Took one look at me and knew. Even told me my lineage and everything.'' He pauses, and levels a look at me. It feels accusatory. Uncomfortable heat floods me and I have to look away.

I know now, I want to tell him. I believe you now, too. But such a conversation seems much too private to have in front of these Hebrews, and also too luxurious as we head towards the desert. Just a little farther until we make it to the River. I shift a dozing Shemeit in my arms and try to ignore the the pangs of hunger gnawing at my stomach.

''I know about you, too,'' Leah says to me. I glance at her in surprise. What can she mean now? She narrows her eyes at me and looks as if she would like nothing more than to bury me in the sand under her feet

''What about me?'' I demand, not liking the way she stares at me. Instead of answering me she suddenly turns and ducks between two houses, yanking her sister with her and whisper-yelling at Kamenwati and me to follow. We quickly do, fearful of what she has heard.

"What's wrong?" Kamenwati asks in an urgent whisper. Leah holds up a hand to silence him; soon after a pair of men walk by our hiding spot, thankfully oblivious to our presence. Clearly drunk, they are laughing much too loudly and stumbling about, holding on to each other for support. Leah gives them a dark glare as they pass.

"It wouldn't have been good if they caught us," Leah says softly, still staring after them. "They are wicked men."

The certainty of her tone surprise me. "How can you be so sure?" I demand of her. "Can you see into the hearts of men?"

She turns her angry glare on me. "No one but the Holy One can do that," she replies in a hard voice. "But if men's natures are revealed through their actions, and those actions are abominable, are not those men wicked?"

"And you got that merely from seeing them stumble drunkenly?" I exclaim incredulously. We have moved out of the space between the buildings, thankfully, so we are not crowded. Chaia sticks to her sister's side, shooting me disdainful looks while Kamenwati looks nervous, glancing between us and the end of our path.

"We should continue –" he begins, but Leah cuts him off to answer me viciously,

"I know things you do not, half-breed. Do not presume to know my life or anything else about me; just know what I do, I do to save you." She shakes her head in exasperation as I seethe in confusion and anger at the 'half-breed' remark. "Truly only the Lord knows why, but you would do well to do what I say, when I say. Are we clear?"

I stare at her. She holds a sleeping Hime to her chest just as I hold a sleeping Shemeit to mine; she has a hold on my niece and I do not like it. But where else am I to go, who else can I trust? So far Leah's actions have been in sync with the gods' instructions, so perhaps she does have a better understanding of things than I do. So — for now — I will trust her.

"We're clear," I answer reluctantly. She stares back at me, then nods once, sure in her victory. She balances Baby Hime with one hand for a moment, using her other hand to reach the small pack attached to her waist. She takes a decent-sized piece of bread out and passes it to her sister.

"Break that up and pass it out," she instructs. "We still have far to go." Then she turns on her heel and presses on. Not to be outdone, I hurry to match my step to hers, mindful of our other companions', especially Kamenwati's, eyes on my back.

A.N – Glossary:

* Zawty – the ancient Egyptian name for the modern city of Asyut; also called Lykopolis in Hellenistic times. Zawty was an important stop on the caravan route from the Karga oasis to the lands below the first cataract. Its two main gods were Anpu (Anubis) and Wepwawet, a wolf-headed war and death god closely associated with Anpu, said to be either his brother or his son.

* Karga – an oasis situated in the west of the Nile; because of its relative isolation and harsh weather conditions, it was used as a place of exile for convicts and political enemies, from Pharaonic times up to Roman times, and was a popular place for early Christian hermits.