| Written by Karen L. Kobylarz / Artwork by Marge Simon |
| Firstborn |
I entered the Valley as the last of Ra Sun-Lord’s
light slipped into the Netherworld. As I made my
way down the well-worn path, oil lamp in hand,
the valley walls towered over me, and fingers of
the restless dead brushed my skin. “Help us,
Lady Sit-Thuti! Aid us with your spells like you
did when we lived.”
Along the northern valley wall, I searched for the
openings marking royal burials and kept watch
for guards. The third doorway on the north side,
the assigned meeting place.
“Lady, do not forget us!”
I dismissed the voices, haggard tones of victims
of famine too poor to receive proper burial. With
my free hand, I reached for the slip of papyrus
tucked beneath my sash.
The restless ones took a collective breath. A wind
arose, tearing the slip from my fingers.
I ran after it, grasping with both hands, heedless
of my oil lamp until it smashed against the rocky
ground. My fingers closed around the slip, Lord
Thuti be praised. I had found it nailed to my
garden gate early this morning: “To Lady
Sit-Thuti of Waset: Your work among the people
of our city is known to me. Both I and the Two
Lands are in grave danger and have need of your
services. Meet me in the Beautiful Valley, at the
first hour of night by the House of Eternity of the
Great Royal Wife Nefertari.” A name came after
this message, written in a firm hand: “Merira-of-Waset.”
Merira, the same name as my younger boy, gone these many years.
The lamp oil trickled alongside the Valley path, and the flame followed its course, a miniature river of red,
echoing the color of our River on the day the famine had begun. Shivering, I crouched down and reread
the message.
If only it could be from my Merira, so much more outgoing than his elder brother Amunhir and full of
such promise.
“Merira?” The dead danced around me, causing the flames to flicker. “The son of Pharaoh?”
“Yes.” The word tumbled off my tongue, though silence would serve me better. If any Valley guards were
near…
“He traveled West long before us and dwells in the Field of Reeds. Joining his mother, so we believed.”
Invisible fingers caressed me anew, tracing along my skin, as sun-darkened as a commoner’s after nearly
two decades among them. The dead probed every line on my face, and combed through each strand of
my gray-streaked hair. They found the ring on my right hand, stroked its silver surface, lingered over the
foreign letters etched there.
“Real silver?” Amazement mixed with longing in their words, betraying unspoken thoughts: silver from
the north-lands, more precious in the Two Lands than gold, a gift from the queen of the Hittites. A dust
swirl arose before my eyes and dipped, like a loyal subject bowing before Pharaoh’s Great Wife, a
reminder of wealthier days, when Ramesses and I turned old enemies into friends and brought an end to
war.
I pulled my hand away and sprang to my feet. “I am Lady Sit-Thuti now, Scribe and Magician, nothing
else.” Papyrus slip in hand, I moved closer to the cliff face. Without my lamp, I would have to feel my way
to the House of Eternity. I would meet Merira-of-Waset.
I stumbled along, my sandals catching on every stone. Thuti Moon-Lord, the god I served, should have
taken Lord Ra’s place in the heavens. Tonight clouds crowded the sky, letting pass only the faintest of
Lord Thuti’s beams.
“We will guide you, Great Lady, and keep you safe from thieves!” The dead leapt into a whirlwind behind
me, rushing over the burning oil, snatching a spark, and extinguishing the rest. Air whooshed over me,
and the single spark hovered before my eyes, bouncing up and down like a child’s ball. “Many of us were
there when your funeral procession came. We watched the boats sail up the river to our quay. We wept
as the royal household carried your coffin to the Valley.”
I waved them forward and moved on, the light bobbing less than an arm’s reach ahead of me. “Tell us,
please, how are you alive, and why you hid among us?”
The question brought a lump to my throat and awakened buried memories. “I left Pharaoh.”
“Why?”
The single word cut sharper than any weapon.
The dead around me sighed as if they sensed my pain. “The House is near.”
Their light fell upon a pair of giant double doors set into the cliff face, flanked on either side by guards.
Two torches stood beside them, planted into the ground, casting long shadows along the gray earth. A
rocky outcropping stood between the guards and me, and I ducked behind it, my silent step not having
drawn their attention. Was one of them Merira-of-Waset?
The dead’s flame danced before me in a circle. “Stay here, Great Lady. We will check.” The light sailed
toward the two men and flitted around the one on the right.
The guard waved his hand, and the other turned to face him. “What is it? Gnats again?”
The first man shook his head.
The other grunted. “As long as it’s not more locusts.”
I shivered as the dead came back and swirled around me. “Neither is named Merira.” I fingered the
papyrus slip. Where was Merira-of-Waset, then? In the House of Eternity?
The speck of light dipped low once more. “The doors of the House are damaged, but they have been
resealed. Nothing living is inside.”
Hope flared within me. Nothing living, but what about the dead? Perhaps the letter was from my Merira
after all. He’d found a way to return from the Field of Reeds and reach me.
I shook my head. Impossible, illogical. The writing in the letter was nothing like my son’s.
“You wish to go in, Lady?” The dead sent their spark upwards, their excitement tickling my skin. “We can
distract the guards for you.”
With wind-whipping speed, they raced along the ground with their light, stirring up dust and sending
stones skittering down the path. The guards stiffened with attention, their eyes drawn to the source of
the sound. The one who had grumbled about locusts grasped a torch and dashed down the path, only
to be swallowed by dust.
The second guard lingered, pacing forward a little in the light of a single torch.
One down, one to go. I fingered my amulet of Thuti, searching memory for a distraction spell.
A distant cry from the first guard drew the second after him. The dead had fulfilled their promise.
I rushed to the entrance and ran a hand across the seals, dismissing distraction spells in favor of other
ones. “Open for me, O door guarding this House of Eternity. Open in the name of Lord Thuti, who
watches over the night. Open for—”
Moonlight illuminated the doors, the seals cracked, and a shadow loomed before me. A shadow in the
form of a man. My Merira? I reached out to him, but my fingers brushed wood.
“Stop thief!” A new voice, accompanied by a multitude of footsteps.
The dead: where had they gone?
I dashed away from the entrance, stumbling in the dark. Thief, indeed. If only they knew—everything in
that House had once been mine, including the name on the door: Nefertari, Great Wife and Beloved of
Pharaoh.
Feet scuffled behind me; arms wrapped around my waist.
Taking a deep breath, I prepared a new spell. “Lord Thuti who watches over the night—” The clouds in
the heavens began to part. “—come and protect your—”
“Silence her, fool!” The new voice, filled with unwavering confidence.
The man holding me clamped a hand over my mouth, killing the power of the spell. Another guard rushed
to his side and flung something over my head. Then my world went black.
~ * ~
I lay flat on my stomach, my left cheek pressing against earth, my hands bound behind my back. My
eyes had been covered as well, and the acrid taste of a cloth gag filled my mouth, turning it dry as desert
sand. My stomach threatened to revolt, and I swallowed hard to calm it.
“…sent me to restore order here.” The confident male voice I’d heard earlier spoke, muffled perhaps by
distance. “Interrogate the prisoner and report her words to me.”
“Yes”—another familiar voice: a guard’s—“my Lord.”
I tensed, my thoughts churning with images of my possible future: Me, dragged back to Pharaoh’s court
after sixteen years, forced to grovel before the throne I once shared with him.
Or worse.
Groaning hinges warned me I was no longer outside, nor alone. Several pairs of feet scuffled against the
floor.
Someone seized my gag by the knot, pulled me up, and untied it. The blindfold remained, and a spear
point bit into my neck.
I lifted my chin. “What do you want?” Fear ran through me, sinking into my belly like stone.
“How many Houses of Eternity have you robbed?”
I jerked back, nearly toppling over. “None.”
The guard hissed out a breath. “Liar! We found the ring. What else did you take?”
Ring? My fingers curled and uncurled. Bare fingers. My ring!
The guard repeated his question several more times, phrasing it differently each time and cursing me as I
continued to profess my innocence. His voice rose. “Did you not half a ten-day ago, break into Lady
Nefertari’s House of Eternity and take several golden armbands?”
“No.” I sighed, my heart giving a slight lurch. Merira-of-Waset’s letter must have been some kind of trap.
The door creaked once more.
“Times are difficult.” The voice of “my Lord” entered the room, a touch of pathos in it and regal certainty
as well. Not Pharaoh. Ramesses wouldn’t stoop to address a common prisoner. But perhaps one of his
sons…
Amunhir? No, my older boy inherited his father’s warrior spirit but had remained quiet and soft-spoken.
This had to be some other son, born of some secondary wife.
“There’s no excuse for making the dead suffer.”
“Suffering?” I straightened myself as much as I could. He should try leaving the comforts of the palace
and adjusting to a commoner’s life. “I’ve walked along the banks of our poisoned river and watched
locusts devour our crops. Have you?”
The door moaned a third time, as if someone leaned against it. “You’ll see worse if you don’t tell me the
names of your accomplices and what you stole. You must know what fate awaits you.”
Impalement. Slow death on a spike, the assigned punishment for those who robbed the dead. A shiver
ran through me, but I hid it in a shrug.
“My Lord.” The guard broke in. “The ring she carried—should we return it to the House of Eternity?”
The prince must have nodded, for footsteps retreated. “Now.” His voice remained cold and even. “What
Houses did you rob, what did you take, and who is working with you?”
“None, nothing, and no one.” I flung each word at him, my wrists straining against their bonds. If only I
could break free, tear off the blindfold, and stare at him. Then I’d know which of Ramesses’ brats to
curse.
Feet pounded against the floor, and a hand struck my face. My eyes watered, and I bit my lip, holding
back a cry.
“Stupid woman!” A pause followed by rustling of cloth. “I can spare you a painful death. Give me the
names of your accomplices!”
The heat of royal breath brushed my face. I sucked on my bleeding lip and spat. “The Devourer take
you!”
Silence fell, stretching out long and cold. “You will die slowly, and so will those who helped you!” The
spear point pressed harder against my neck.
Wetness trickled across my palms. Sweat or maybe blood.
Still, no blow his guards could give me would be sharper than the knife that had slashed Merira’s arm
sixteen years ago while he and Amunhir were hunting. A cut that became a doorway for fever demons.
And I, Pharaoh’s Great Wife and daughter of a magician uttered every prayer and spell. But nothing
saved him, and Ramesses…
I clenched my teeth as the image of my former husband rose in my heart. He had stood before me mere
months after Merira’s death, arms folded, head tilted up. “You’ve mourned Merira long enough, Nefertari.
You act as if he were your only child.”
My eyes met his, my trembling hands clutching a half-drained cup of wine. “He was the only one…”—who
was truly mine. Alcohol slowed my tongue. I gazed down into the red-violet liquid in my cup, my only
comfort. Ramesses refused to speak of death, and Amunhir avoided me. Wine in sufficient quantities
numbed the pain.
“Remember Amunhir, our firstborn, and come. Fulfill your duties as Great Wife.” Ramesses extended his
hand. When I didn’t take it, he seized my cup, flung it to the ground, and slapped my face. “If you will
not do as I ask, I shall search the Palace of Women for someone who will.”
As he stalked away, fury awakened within me. Let him try to find a secondary wife who was my equal.
Casting off all my royal adornments, except my silver ring, I slipped out of my apartments and made my
way to my family estate, certain Ramesses would follow, begging forgiveness.
Instead, he’d declared me dead and staged a funeral.
For nearly two decades, the world believed me dead and buried. I held my breath and waited for
Pharaoh’s son to give the order to make it true.
Someone knocked on the door and entered with hasty steps. “My Lord, I did as you asked.” The new
arrival, another man, panted for breath. “All the Houses in the Beautiful Valley have been secured. There
are no further signs of break-ins.”
“You found nothing? Over fifty Houses disturbed in less than a month, and all you have is this old
woman? It’s your duty to keep order in Waset.”
The other man cleared his throat. “Let me speak with the woman. Alone. I may be able to reason with
her.”
“You’ve already failed, Overseer. Perhaps we have you to thank for the Two Lands’ misfortune. When the
dead are disturbed, they turn restless and must be appeased.”
Feet shuffled against the floor. “My Lord, give me a chance to correct my error. I won’t fail you again.”
The prince sighed. “Very well. The thief is yours. When you find her accomplices, she’ll watch them die
before she joins them.”
My stomach twisted. Great Thuti, keep me safe.
The spear point pulled away from my throat, and two sets of footsteps thundered out of the room. The
prince and the last guard had gone, leaving me with—whom?
Softer steps drew closer. “Lady Sit-Thuti, make me a promise.”
I stiffened. “What promise?” How did he know my name?
“Swear by your Lord Thuti you will not use your magic against me.”
I grimaced. A clever request, one that could limit my magic, one I could refuse. But what did it matter
now? “By Lord Thuti, I will use no magic against…”
“Merira, Overseer of Waset.” He supplied his name before I could ask.
My heart rose to my throat. Merira! The letter-writer. “I will use no magic against Merira, Overseer of
Waset.”
“Thank you, Lady.” Fingers tugged at my blindfold.
The cloth fell away, and I raised my head, blinking. Shadows cloaked the room, pushed back by fading
light from a high window and by the orange flame of an oil lamp on the floor. A thick-limbed figure
crouched within arm’s reach, his back to me as he adjusted the rope belt at his waist. Two bulging
pouches hung from the belt, along with several leather tubes for holding scrolls and a cloth flask. Gold
bands circled his upper arms, and short-cropped wig covered his head.
He smoothed his tunic and turned toward me. Lines of age had yet to mar his face, and his smile
revealed teeth not yet worn to the gum. Eyebrows untouched by gray arched upward. “I apologize for
not meeting you at the House of Eternity.” He inclined his head, and my heart ached with a thought: My
Merira would have been about this age, had he lived.
“My Lord arrived unannounced and insisted on a thorough inspection of the Beautiful Valley.” Merira-of-
Waset frowned. “He claims Pharaoh sent him to stop the plundering, but I fear he came because my
loyalty is in question.” He unfastened the flask from his belt, drank from it, then drew nearer and
brought it to my lips. “You must think my original choice of meeting place strange, but the memory of
Lady Nefertari is dear to me. She cared for the Two Lands and their people, and they say she filled the
royal palace with happiness. Now Pharaoh’s court is a loveless place, and no one cares that the people
suffer.”
The sweetness of pomegranate juice flooded my mouth. “In your message you said you needed my
help.” I stared into brown eyes so dark they were almost black.
“I do.” Setting the flask aside, he moved beside me and began working the knots that bound my hands.
Once my wrists were free, he gave me the flask and reached for another pouch at his waist. “I have to
escape.”
I frowned. “You need to escape?”
He opened the pouch, fingers trembling, and dumped the contents onto my lap: a hunk of bread and a
fig. “From Waset, from Pharaoh, from the Two Lands. I must leave because of what I am.”
Great Thuti! I stared at him, the fig slipping from my hand. “You’re telling me you must leave because
you’re the man who governs this city?”
He held up his hands. “Not for much longer. My father—may he dwell forever in the Field of Reeds—was
native-born, but my mother is a foreigner. I wrote to you because of her.” Merira-of-Waset leaned
toward me. “The leaders of her people claim it’s time for them to return to their homeland. Their god
battles with Pharaoh and that’s why the Two Lands suffer.” His lips pressed into a thin line, and my skin
prickled.
Pharaoh must have offended the gods if they would allow this to pass. Ramesses, so stubborn, always
demanding his way.
“My mother dwells in Per-Ramesses now as do most of her people.” Merira-of-Waset tented his fingers,
his eyes never leaving mine. “If they leave, she will go with them, and I with her.”
“Deserting the post Pharaoh entrusted to you.” I finished the fig, casting the peels and core aside.
He winced and swallowed visibly. “If I disappear now . . .”
Of course. If he left, it would not only be seen as betrayal, but he would become chief suspect in the
Valley robberies. The royal guard would pursue him, catch him, and slay him.
“I wish no ill upon the Two Lands, but my mother’s my only family now.” He patted the pouches at his
waist. “I have my supplies. I know which roads to take. All I need is to leave Waset with no one seeing.
Can your magic do that?”
Yes. A simple answer, but I held it back. He could be lying, planning to betray the Two Lands to our
enemies…
Yet, in all the years I’d been dwelling in Waset—the last six under this Merira’s administration—the city
had known little strife.
All the spells circling in my thoughts since the guards captured me longed to be spoken, and the bare
finger on my right hand ached for its lost ring. Yes, let this son join his mother. “Untie my ankles, Merira-
of-Waset. I will help you.”
~ * ~
Merira-of-Waset guided me to the door, my ankles free but the gag replaced and my wrists bound
behind my back—both with loose knots. He rapped on the door. After a moment it swung open, and a
pair of Valley guards faced us, spears in hand, eyes wary.
Merira-of-Waset stepped forward. “I must escort the prisoner to our Lord’s residence. She’s ready to tell
him what he wishes to know.”
With sharp nods, the guards moved aside. Merira-of-Waset shoved me through the door, and I
stumbled into a square mud-brick room, unfurnished and torch-lit. Another door on the far end led to
the outside. One guard took hold of my left arm, while the other gripped my right. Anger pounded
through my heart, each beat filled with the words of the spell I would use.
As they dragged me toward the door, Merira-of-Waset lifted one of the torches from its bracket and
shouldered past them, taking the lead. We went out into the night. Beneath a moonless, star-spotted
sky, four more guards hunkered around a brazier while two others stood watch. All turned to Merira-of-
Waset who approached them and repeated his mission.
While he spoke, so did I, my voice muffled by the loose gag. “Come all you who wander in the Western
Desert, longing for the Field of Reeds.”
What living ears missed, dead ones heard. A whistling shriek came in answer. Merira-of-Waset’s torch
snuffed out, the fire in the brazier sputtered, and the stars faded into blackness. The guards cried out in
surprise. Those holding me tightened their grip on my arms.
“Come to me, I, who aided you in life and drive away those who would hold me.”
A wind arose from the west. Invisible fingernails tickled my arm, but then must have been less than
gentle to the guard on my right. He yelped and released me. The man on my left bolted. Curses,
screams, frantic footfalls—all faded into the distance.
“Lady?” Merira-of-Waset’s voice came from somewhere ahead of me.
I wriggled free of my bonds and pulled off the gag. “The darkness will pass.”
Soon stars streamed back across the sky, and Lord Thuti Himself joined them, shining down in the form
of a single white eye.
Merira-of-Waset was trembling. “Are they gone?”
I hastened to his side and patted his shoulder. “Yes. We should go before they regain courage.”
He breathed deeply and nodded. The landscape stretched before us: a stark, craggy desert, where the
squat guardhouse stood, a solitary sign of life. Twenty paces ahead, the ground sloped down into a
narrow valley where the Houses of Eternity lay. On the other side of the Valley, the night-shadowed peak
of Meretseger, the Silent Mountain, loomed over a city of dead royal sons, daughters, and wives.
Above us, Lord Thuti gazed down, encircled by a black cloud threatening to swallow Him. Nevertheless,
His light streamed along the path leading into the Valley. Merira-of-Waset and I moved as fast as his
sacks and my age would allow. We kept to the shadows, close to the Valley wall. My ears strained for the
sounds of returning guards but none came, only the clicking of loose rocks beneath our feet.
As we moved, I counted the Houses: one, two, and then mine, the third on the right, where Ramesses
had buried someone or something in my place during that false funeral long ago. The entrance gaped
before us, unguarded. The restless dead must have driven them off for good this time.
I touched Merira-of-Waset’s arm. “Here we should part ways. Go east—”
“Until I reach the River. Then I will follow its course to the North.” After a moment, he inclined his head.
“I may be leaving the Two Lands, but I have not forgotten my way.”
I returned the gesture. “Now for the spell of protection I owe you.” I knelt before him and traced the
spell in the sands. Words both written and spoken held the greatest power of all. “In the name of Lord
Thuti, let nothing on the earth or in the waters, nothing in the heavens or in the Netherworld, keep
Merira-of-Waset from joining his mother.”
I lifted my eyes to the heavens. A shaft of Lord Thuti’s light came toward us, resting on Merira-of-
Waset’s head and slowly encircling him. After lingering for ten heartbeats, it faded, its only trace a thin
ring of white around the pupils of his eyes.
I rose. “It is done.”
Merira-of-Waset bowed and hastened down the path into the desert.
Once he vanished into the darkness, I crept back toward the House of Eternity. One of the guards had
spoken of placing my silver ring inside, and I intended to retrieve it. I rested my hands on the doors.
“Open in the name of—” They gave way before I finished the spell. Someone had already broken the
seals.
Inside, darkness gathered. I turned back to the moonlit night and stretched out my hand. “Come to me
light of Thuti. Come, brighten the path of Your servant.” Beams of white light settled in my palm, taking
a circular shape.
I stepped into the House of Eternity, the light revealing ten stairs leading down. I followed them into an
antechamber. A bed, several chairs, three footstools, and a long-legged table had been lined up along
the wall to my right, while to my left was a wide entryway flanked by Anpu, the jackal-headed god of
embalming, and green-skinned Usir, Lord of the Dead. Beyond that lay a vestibule and an annex.
The light in my hand awakened white-plastered walls. Eyes and hands and lips of deities and men danced
before me, plunging back into shadow as I moved along. I passed beneath guardian serpents rearing in
gold and green and red on the lintel, and gods leapt from vestibule walls to greet me: the falcon-headed
Ra, the dung-beetle Khepri—both Lords of the Sun; Lady Hathor, Mistress of Love, sheathed in red.
Chips of pottery, broken caskets, and empty unguent jars lay at their feet, a testament to the work of
thieves. Ahead, stood a narrower doorway, a black-and-red vulture hovering above it.
My footsteps echoed in the gloom. I paused, but the sound continued—far beyond a heartbeat or two—
then stopped. Was someone else here? I studied the shadows.
No one.
Dashing beneath the vulture’s wings, I wound my way through a maze of storage chests, including the
squat ebony one I used to keep by my bedside, where I stored my favorite jewelry. It sat by the far wall,
at the feet of a seated image of Atum, the Creator. When I lifted the lid, I found a small linen bag
undisturbed atop other carefully wrapped items. I snatched it up and spilled the contents into my hand.
Four precious rings fell into my palm. One by one, I examined them: Nefertari, Nefertari, Nefertari,
Amunhir.
I stared at the last ring, which bore the name of my elder son. He must have placed it here.
“Remember Amunhir, our firstborn.”
Tears welled in my eyes. Curse Ramesses and his words!
Shaking thoughts of him and our surviving son away, I sifted through the rings a second time, each one
gold; no silver. I placed them in the bag and returned them to the chest. As I turned to leave, another
figure leapt out at me from the wall: a white-clad woman with rich black hair cascading over her
shoulders. She was crowned with gold, her skin flawless, her waist so thin I might have closed my hands
around it.
Me, drawn forever young and perfect as I would never be in life.
The image of me on the wall extended her arms in homage to Atum, as a courtier might honor Pharaoh.
Pharaoh, whose hard-heartedness brought suffering to the Two Lands. Pharaoh, who might have yielded
if I—
If I had stayed with him.
Atum’s image smiled at me as if to say, At last you understand, Nefertari.
No. I shook my head. I hadn’t brought famine to the Two Lands or belittled someone’s grief. Blame
Ramesses and his stubbornness, not me.
I backed away from the god’s image and fled to the antechamber. Light flashed before me. Not white
moonlight, but the orange-gold of torchlight. Someone else had entered.
“Now I have you!”
The words slapped me as I shielded my eyes from the brightness. Lord Thuti’s light dissolved into the
shadows, and a torch fell to the floor. Hands clamped down on my shoulders, spun me around, wrapped
around my neck.
“Do not speak.” Breath brushed my ear, each word spoken in clipped regal tones. The prince, my earlier
interrogator, had found me. His fingers tightened around my throat. “That thieving overseer may have
escaped, but I’m glad you’re here.”
Black spots danced before my eyes. I gasped for air.
The prince released me and shoved me forward. “Move.”
Light bathed the walls and the heat of his torch beat against my back. A sword rattled in a sheath at his
side. Straight ahead, a long ramp slanted down, deeper into the rock, to the House of Gold—the burial
chamber. I stumbled toward it, shadows parting before me, pushed back by the torch in his hand.
Perhaps he’d guessed the truth or recognized me and would leave me to suffocate in the depths of my
own House of Eternity. No doubt many in the Palace of Women would smile and call it a fitting end for
the Great Wife who abandoned Pharaoh.
The floor evened out for a short way until we reached the entrance to the House of Gold. There, three
stairs led down into a room shimmering with gold. The gilding threw torchlight in my eyes. I squinted. A
carved limestone block stood in the center: an outer coffin with its lid removed and resting against one
side.
“Go!” He gave me another shove. I staggered toward the coffin, holding my hands out before me. My
palms smacked against the stone, and my body quivered from the force of the blow.
Closing in behind me, he pinned me against the coffin and held the torch over my head. “Look inside.”
My fingers curled around the edge. Within the stone coffin, rested another of wood carved in human
form and plated in gold. It, too, had been opened, its lid leaning against the inside of the first. And in the
golden coffin--
Nothing.
Ramesses had left it empty. For me…
“I came here to see what damage you’d caused. I knew thieves stole gold and unguents, but bodies?”
The prince leaned over my shoulder and placed his free hand upon mine. “What have you done—?”
The rest of his words brushed against my ears unheard. A gleam on his little finger drew my gaze. The
gleam of silver. My ring! He was wearing my ring. “What are you doing with that ring?” I grasped at his
finger, but he caught hold of my wrist, then pressed his arm against my waist, pinning me between the
coffin and himself.
“What have you done with her body?” His question rang with fury.
I stared down into the coffin, my heart just as empty. What had I done? I wasn’t the one who staged
the funeral. “Ask your father!”
“Curse you, woman!” He pulled me away from the coffin.
Struggling in his grip, I managed to wriggle one arm free. I reached for the ring once more, my fingers
closing around his.
He dragged me back up into the antechamber and up the steps to the outside. “You will learn respect.”
“Learn respect? From where? The end of a stake?” The cool smoothness of silver slid from his finger into
my palm. I closed my hand around it.
A puff of night air struck me. We were heading toward the entrance, and within moments, we were back
in the Valley. The circling cloud had swallowed Lord Thuti’s light. The prince shoved me to the ground
and thrust the end of his torch into the sand. The flame danced less than half a cubit from my head. He
bent over me. “Give it back.”
The ring pressed into my palm. “No.”
He gripped the collar of my dress. “Give it back!”
Somewhere nearby, a loose rock skittered across the desert.
I craned my neck in the hopes of meeting his eyes, but his face was cloaked in shadow. “Why? So you
can bring it to your mother, and she can gloat over it?”
With a swift motion, he rose and drew his sword. The point pressed against my throat.
“Lord Thuti—” Send me aid. The end of my prayer died before it passed my lips.
“The ring was my mother’s.” His words rasped in my ears, followed by rushing footfalls against the Valley
floor. A stone hissed overhead; Pharaoh’s son cried out and fell to the ground.
A loud crack, a hand on my shoulder. “Lady, are you hurt?” Merira-of-Waset. He’d returned. “There are
guards out in the desert. I heard a voice telling me to go back.” He nodded at the heavens. “Then I
heard you cry out. We have to leave now.”
Leave…The ring slipped from my hand. The ring was my mother’s. Had I heard right? “Amunhir?”
The hands on my shoulders tightened and gave me a shake. Merira-of-Waset stood before me, his gaze
locked with mine. “He’s unconscious. Hurry, before he wakes. The gods are warning us.”
Above us, Lord Thuti broke through the darkness, but the black cloud continued swirling around Him.
Amunhir lay sprawled on his back, his sword on the sand beside him. A thin stream of blood trickled from
his forehead, where Merira-of-Waset’s stone had struck. A flesh wound, nothing more. The tightness
growing within me eased. He moaned, eyelids fluttering, head rolling to one side. The ground beneath
him had darkened, gleaming in the moonlight like polished obsidian.
Great Thuti! I broke free from the hands holding me, knelt beside Amunhir, and lifted his head into my
lap.
Please, let it be obsidian or some trick of the light.
Not blood.
Blood flowing from my Merira’s arm so many years ago. A cut that had killed him as we stayed by his
bedside, Amunhir, and I.
Merira, Amunhir, and I.
Merira-of-Waset dropped to his knees on the rocky ground and buried his face in his hands. A jagged
stone four times the size of a fist lay beside us, blackened with blood.
The north wind beat against me, as a warning rose in my heart. “Go. Leave them.”
Leave my son and Merira-of-Waset who helped and defended me?
Lord Thuti’s light rested upon me. “You left them all long ago.”
Amunhir stirred. “Where…?”
“Hush, my son.” I bent down and kissed his forehead. “All is well. I’m here. I’m here.”
Confusion rushed into his eyes. “Mother?” His voice dwindled to a rasp, and his hand clutched at mine.
“I’m sorry, Amunhir.” I kissed him again, this time on the cheek. “I’m so sorry. I missed your brother so
much, and your father— ”
Your father was so stubborn. Words I’d said so often to myself died in my throat.
Though I longed to tell him more, nothing more would come. I pressed his hand in mine, but he did not
squeeze back.
Death lay in my lap, a still and silent weight. Amunhir, as much my son as my Merira had been, and I’d
left him. Left him to the mercies of the royal court. I’d failed him more than I had failed his brother. I
kissed his brow one last time and lowered him onto the sand.
Muffled sobs came from beside me. Merira-of-Waset remained on his knees, his hands covering his face.
In the distance, shouts arose: voices of men, the guards returning. Once more, the wind buffeted me.
From the north, where a different mother awaited her son. A son who would die if the guards found him
here.
I stood up. My skirt, drenched in blood, clung to my legs. More blood pooled at my feet. I tore my eyes
from it and reached for the sheath at Amunhir’s side.
“Take this.” I pulled the sheath free and thrust it toward Merira-of-Waset. Without waiting for him to
obey, I turned my attention back the ground. Amunhir’s sword had fallen less than a pace away. As I
hefted it up, moonlight and torchlight mingled orange-white upon the blade, and two more steps ahead
something else glittered. A spark of silver in the desert: my ring. I retrieved it, slid it back on my finger,
and brought the sword to Merira-of-Waset. “You’ll need this, too.” When he didn’t stir, I prodded him
with the hilt. “Get up and arm yourself. If the gods are kind, you’ll never use it.”
He uncovered his face, his eyes bright with tears and realization. Clasping my hand, he ran a finger
across my ring. “Silver from Hatti-land…Lady Nefertari? How? Why? All these years you have been—” He
turned away, tears trickling down his cheeks.
I reached out and wiped them away with my hand. “I ran away. I thought Pharaoh would follow and beg
me to return.” I glanced back at the House of Eternity. “He chose to bury me instead, so I became
someone else.”
Merira-of-Waset gazed down at Amunhir. “He was your son. He would have been Pharaoh if I—I never
meant to—”
“I know.” I held my son’s sword out to him.
“I killed him.” More tears came, but this time he brushed them away himself.
My eyes burned as I forced the weapon into Merira-of-Waset’s hands. “Go. No one will follow you.”
With a bow, he sheathed the weapon and secured it to his belt. “My Lady.”
Guards’ voices rose and fell on the wind.
Merira-of-Waset seized Amunhir’s torch and scrambled off into the darkness.
I watched him go, aching with a thirst that could never be quenched, a pain no one else could share.
Except Ramesses, who would be too proud to grieve, as I had been too proud to return to him.
The silver ring weighed heavy on my hand. I slipped it off and returned to Amunhir’s side. “Goodbye, my
son.” Taking his hand in mine, I placed my silver ring upon his little finger and waited for the guards to
find us.
light slipped into the Netherworld. As I made my
way down the well-worn path, oil lamp in hand,
the valley walls towered over me, and fingers of
the restless dead brushed my skin. “Help us,
Lady Sit-Thuti! Aid us with your spells like you
did when we lived.”
Along the northern valley wall, I searched for the
openings marking royal burials and kept watch
for guards. The third doorway on the north side,
the assigned meeting place.
“Lady, do not forget us!”
I dismissed the voices, haggard tones of victims
of famine too poor to receive proper burial. With
my free hand, I reached for the slip of papyrus
tucked beneath my sash.
The restless ones took a collective breath. A wind
arose, tearing the slip from my fingers.
I ran after it, grasping with both hands, heedless
of my oil lamp until it smashed against the rocky
ground. My fingers closed around the slip, Lord
Thuti be praised. I had found it nailed to my
garden gate early this morning: “To Lady
Sit-Thuti of Waset: Your work among the people
of our city is known to me. Both I and the Two
Lands are in grave danger and have need of your
services. Meet me in the Beautiful Valley, at the
first hour of night by the House of Eternity of the
Great Royal Wife Nefertari.” A name came after
this message, written in a firm hand: “Merira-of-Waset.”
Merira, the same name as my younger boy, gone these many years.
The lamp oil trickled alongside the Valley path, and the flame followed its course, a miniature river of red,
echoing the color of our River on the day the famine had begun. Shivering, I crouched down and reread
the message.
If only it could be from my Merira, so much more outgoing than his elder brother Amunhir and full of
such promise.
“Merira?” The dead danced around me, causing the flames to flicker. “The son of Pharaoh?”
“Yes.” The word tumbled off my tongue, though silence would serve me better. If any Valley guards were
near…
“He traveled West long before us and dwells in the Field of Reeds. Joining his mother, so we believed.”
Invisible fingers caressed me anew, tracing along my skin, as sun-darkened as a commoner’s after nearly
two decades among them. The dead probed every line on my face, and combed through each strand of
my gray-streaked hair. They found the ring on my right hand, stroked its silver surface, lingered over the
foreign letters etched there.
“Real silver?” Amazement mixed with longing in their words, betraying unspoken thoughts: silver from
the north-lands, more precious in the Two Lands than gold, a gift from the queen of the Hittites. A dust
swirl arose before my eyes and dipped, like a loyal subject bowing before Pharaoh’s Great Wife, a
reminder of wealthier days, when Ramesses and I turned old enemies into friends and brought an end to
war.
I pulled my hand away and sprang to my feet. “I am Lady Sit-Thuti now, Scribe and Magician, nothing
else.” Papyrus slip in hand, I moved closer to the cliff face. Without my lamp, I would have to feel my way
to the House of Eternity. I would meet Merira-of-Waset.
I stumbled along, my sandals catching on every stone. Thuti Moon-Lord, the god I served, should have
taken Lord Ra’s place in the heavens. Tonight clouds crowded the sky, letting pass only the faintest of
Lord Thuti’s beams.
“We will guide you, Great Lady, and keep you safe from thieves!” The dead leapt into a whirlwind behind
me, rushing over the burning oil, snatching a spark, and extinguishing the rest. Air whooshed over me,
and the single spark hovered before my eyes, bouncing up and down like a child’s ball. “Many of us were
there when your funeral procession came. We watched the boats sail up the river to our quay. We wept
as the royal household carried your coffin to the Valley.”
I waved them forward and moved on, the light bobbing less than an arm’s reach ahead of me. “Tell us,
please, how are you alive, and why you hid among us?”
The question brought a lump to my throat and awakened buried memories. “I left Pharaoh.”
“Why?”
The single word cut sharper than any weapon.
The dead around me sighed as if they sensed my pain. “The House is near.”
Their light fell upon a pair of giant double doors set into the cliff face, flanked on either side by guards.
Two torches stood beside them, planted into the ground, casting long shadows along the gray earth. A
rocky outcropping stood between the guards and me, and I ducked behind it, my silent step not having
drawn their attention. Was one of them Merira-of-Waset?
The dead’s flame danced before me in a circle. “Stay here, Great Lady. We will check.” The light sailed
toward the two men and flitted around the one on the right.
The guard waved his hand, and the other turned to face him. “What is it? Gnats again?”
The first man shook his head.
The other grunted. “As long as it’s not more locusts.”
I shivered as the dead came back and swirled around me. “Neither is named Merira.” I fingered the
papyrus slip. Where was Merira-of-Waset, then? In the House of Eternity?
The speck of light dipped low once more. “The doors of the House are damaged, but they have been
resealed. Nothing living is inside.”
Hope flared within me. Nothing living, but what about the dead? Perhaps the letter was from my Merira
after all. He’d found a way to return from the Field of Reeds and reach me.
I shook my head. Impossible, illogical. The writing in the letter was nothing like my son’s.
“You wish to go in, Lady?” The dead sent their spark upwards, their excitement tickling my skin. “We can
distract the guards for you.”
With wind-whipping speed, they raced along the ground with their light, stirring up dust and sending
stones skittering down the path. The guards stiffened with attention, their eyes drawn to the source of
the sound. The one who had grumbled about locusts grasped a torch and dashed down the path, only
to be swallowed by dust.
The second guard lingered, pacing forward a little in the light of a single torch.
One down, one to go. I fingered my amulet of Thuti, searching memory for a distraction spell.
A distant cry from the first guard drew the second after him. The dead had fulfilled their promise.
I rushed to the entrance and ran a hand across the seals, dismissing distraction spells in favor of other
ones. “Open for me, O door guarding this House of Eternity. Open in the name of Lord Thuti, who
watches over the night. Open for—”
Moonlight illuminated the doors, the seals cracked, and a shadow loomed before me. A shadow in the
form of a man. My Merira? I reached out to him, but my fingers brushed wood.
“Stop thief!” A new voice, accompanied by a multitude of footsteps.
The dead: where had they gone?
I dashed away from the entrance, stumbling in the dark. Thief, indeed. If only they knew—everything in
that House had once been mine, including the name on the door: Nefertari, Great Wife and Beloved of
Pharaoh.
Feet scuffled behind me; arms wrapped around my waist.
Taking a deep breath, I prepared a new spell. “Lord Thuti who watches over the night—” The clouds in
the heavens began to part. “—come and protect your—”
“Silence her, fool!” The new voice, filled with unwavering confidence.
The man holding me clamped a hand over my mouth, killing the power of the spell. Another guard rushed
to his side and flung something over my head. Then my world went black.
~ * ~
I lay flat on my stomach, my left cheek pressing against earth, my hands bound behind my back. My
eyes had been covered as well, and the acrid taste of a cloth gag filled my mouth, turning it dry as desert
sand. My stomach threatened to revolt, and I swallowed hard to calm it.
“…sent me to restore order here.” The confident male voice I’d heard earlier spoke, muffled perhaps by
distance. “Interrogate the prisoner and report her words to me.”
“Yes”—another familiar voice: a guard’s—“my Lord.”
I tensed, my thoughts churning with images of my possible future: Me, dragged back to Pharaoh’s court
after sixteen years, forced to grovel before the throne I once shared with him.
Or worse.
Groaning hinges warned me I was no longer outside, nor alone. Several pairs of feet scuffled against the
floor.
Someone seized my gag by the knot, pulled me up, and untied it. The blindfold remained, and a spear
point bit into my neck.
I lifted my chin. “What do you want?” Fear ran through me, sinking into my belly like stone.
“How many Houses of Eternity have you robbed?”
I jerked back, nearly toppling over. “None.”
The guard hissed out a breath. “Liar! We found the ring. What else did you take?”
Ring? My fingers curled and uncurled. Bare fingers. My ring!
The guard repeated his question several more times, phrasing it differently each time and cursing me as I
continued to profess my innocence. His voice rose. “Did you not half a ten-day ago, break into Lady
Nefertari’s House of Eternity and take several golden armbands?”
“No.” I sighed, my heart giving a slight lurch. Merira-of-Waset’s letter must have been some kind of trap.
The door creaked once more.
“Times are difficult.” The voice of “my Lord” entered the room, a touch of pathos in it and regal certainty
as well. Not Pharaoh. Ramesses wouldn’t stoop to address a common prisoner. But perhaps one of his
sons…
Amunhir? No, my older boy inherited his father’s warrior spirit but had remained quiet and soft-spoken.
This had to be some other son, born of some secondary wife.
“There’s no excuse for making the dead suffer.”
“Suffering?” I straightened myself as much as I could. He should try leaving the comforts of the palace
and adjusting to a commoner’s life. “I’ve walked along the banks of our poisoned river and watched
locusts devour our crops. Have you?”
The door moaned a third time, as if someone leaned against it. “You’ll see worse if you don’t tell me the
names of your accomplices and what you stole. You must know what fate awaits you.”
Impalement. Slow death on a spike, the assigned punishment for those who robbed the dead. A shiver
ran through me, but I hid it in a shrug.
“My Lord.” The guard broke in. “The ring she carried—should we return it to the House of Eternity?”
The prince must have nodded, for footsteps retreated. “Now.” His voice remained cold and even. “What
Houses did you rob, what did you take, and who is working with you?”
“None, nothing, and no one.” I flung each word at him, my wrists straining against their bonds. If only I
could break free, tear off the blindfold, and stare at him. Then I’d know which of Ramesses’ brats to
curse.
Feet pounded against the floor, and a hand struck my face. My eyes watered, and I bit my lip, holding
back a cry.
“Stupid woman!” A pause followed by rustling of cloth. “I can spare you a painful death. Give me the
names of your accomplices!”
The heat of royal breath brushed my face. I sucked on my bleeding lip and spat. “The Devourer take
you!”
Silence fell, stretching out long and cold. “You will die slowly, and so will those who helped you!” The
spear point pressed harder against my neck.
Wetness trickled across my palms. Sweat or maybe blood.
Still, no blow his guards could give me would be sharper than the knife that had slashed Merira’s arm
sixteen years ago while he and Amunhir were hunting. A cut that became a doorway for fever demons.
And I, Pharaoh’s Great Wife and daughter of a magician uttered every prayer and spell. But nothing
saved him, and Ramesses…
I clenched my teeth as the image of my former husband rose in my heart. He had stood before me mere
months after Merira’s death, arms folded, head tilted up. “You’ve mourned Merira long enough, Nefertari.
You act as if he were your only child.”
My eyes met his, my trembling hands clutching a half-drained cup of wine. “He was the only one…”—who
was truly mine. Alcohol slowed my tongue. I gazed down into the red-violet liquid in my cup, my only
comfort. Ramesses refused to speak of death, and Amunhir avoided me. Wine in sufficient quantities
numbed the pain.
“Remember Amunhir, our firstborn, and come. Fulfill your duties as Great Wife.” Ramesses extended his
hand. When I didn’t take it, he seized my cup, flung it to the ground, and slapped my face. “If you will
not do as I ask, I shall search the Palace of Women for someone who will.”
As he stalked away, fury awakened within me. Let him try to find a secondary wife who was my equal.
Casting off all my royal adornments, except my silver ring, I slipped out of my apartments and made my
way to my family estate, certain Ramesses would follow, begging forgiveness.
Instead, he’d declared me dead and staged a funeral.
For nearly two decades, the world believed me dead and buried. I held my breath and waited for
Pharaoh’s son to give the order to make it true.
Someone knocked on the door and entered with hasty steps. “My Lord, I did as you asked.” The new
arrival, another man, panted for breath. “All the Houses in the Beautiful Valley have been secured. There
are no further signs of break-ins.”
“You found nothing? Over fifty Houses disturbed in less than a month, and all you have is this old
woman? It’s your duty to keep order in Waset.”
The other man cleared his throat. “Let me speak with the woman. Alone. I may be able to reason with
her.”
“You’ve already failed, Overseer. Perhaps we have you to thank for the Two Lands’ misfortune. When the
dead are disturbed, they turn restless and must be appeased.”
Feet shuffled against the floor. “My Lord, give me a chance to correct my error. I won’t fail you again.”
The prince sighed. “Very well. The thief is yours. When you find her accomplices, she’ll watch them die
before she joins them.”
My stomach twisted. Great Thuti, keep me safe.
The spear point pulled away from my throat, and two sets of footsteps thundered out of the room. The
prince and the last guard had gone, leaving me with—whom?
Softer steps drew closer. “Lady Sit-Thuti, make me a promise.”
I stiffened. “What promise?” How did he know my name?
“Swear by your Lord Thuti you will not use your magic against me.”
I grimaced. A clever request, one that could limit my magic, one I could refuse. But what did it matter
now? “By Lord Thuti, I will use no magic against…”
“Merira, Overseer of Waset.” He supplied his name before I could ask.
My heart rose to my throat. Merira! The letter-writer. “I will use no magic against Merira, Overseer of
Waset.”
“Thank you, Lady.” Fingers tugged at my blindfold.
The cloth fell away, and I raised my head, blinking. Shadows cloaked the room, pushed back by fading
light from a high window and by the orange flame of an oil lamp on the floor. A thick-limbed figure
crouched within arm’s reach, his back to me as he adjusted the rope belt at his waist. Two bulging
pouches hung from the belt, along with several leather tubes for holding scrolls and a cloth flask. Gold
bands circled his upper arms, and short-cropped wig covered his head.
He smoothed his tunic and turned toward me. Lines of age had yet to mar his face, and his smile
revealed teeth not yet worn to the gum. Eyebrows untouched by gray arched upward. “I apologize for
not meeting you at the House of Eternity.” He inclined his head, and my heart ached with a thought: My
Merira would have been about this age, had he lived.
“My Lord arrived unannounced and insisted on a thorough inspection of the Beautiful Valley.” Merira-of-
Waset frowned. “He claims Pharaoh sent him to stop the plundering, but I fear he came because my
loyalty is in question.” He unfastened the flask from his belt, drank from it, then drew nearer and
brought it to my lips. “You must think my original choice of meeting place strange, but the memory of
Lady Nefertari is dear to me. She cared for the Two Lands and their people, and they say she filled the
royal palace with happiness. Now Pharaoh’s court is a loveless place, and no one cares that the people
suffer.”
The sweetness of pomegranate juice flooded my mouth. “In your message you said you needed my
help.” I stared into brown eyes so dark they were almost black.
“I do.” Setting the flask aside, he moved beside me and began working the knots that bound my hands.
Once my wrists were free, he gave me the flask and reached for another pouch at his waist. “I have to
escape.”
I frowned. “You need to escape?”
He opened the pouch, fingers trembling, and dumped the contents onto my lap: a hunk of bread and a
fig. “From Waset, from Pharaoh, from the Two Lands. I must leave because of what I am.”
Great Thuti! I stared at him, the fig slipping from my hand. “You’re telling me you must leave because
you’re the man who governs this city?”
He held up his hands. “Not for much longer. My father—may he dwell forever in the Field of Reeds—was
native-born, but my mother is a foreigner. I wrote to you because of her.” Merira-of-Waset leaned
toward me. “The leaders of her people claim it’s time for them to return to their homeland. Their god
battles with Pharaoh and that’s why the Two Lands suffer.” His lips pressed into a thin line, and my skin
prickled.
Pharaoh must have offended the gods if they would allow this to pass. Ramesses, so stubborn, always
demanding his way.
“My mother dwells in Per-Ramesses now as do most of her people.” Merira-of-Waset tented his fingers,
his eyes never leaving mine. “If they leave, she will go with them, and I with her.”
“Deserting the post Pharaoh entrusted to you.” I finished the fig, casting the peels and core aside.
He winced and swallowed visibly. “If I disappear now . . .”
Of course. If he left, it would not only be seen as betrayal, but he would become chief suspect in the
Valley robberies. The royal guard would pursue him, catch him, and slay him.
“I wish no ill upon the Two Lands, but my mother’s my only family now.” He patted the pouches at his
waist. “I have my supplies. I know which roads to take. All I need is to leave Waset with no one seeing.
Can your magic do that?”
Yes. A simple answer, but I held it back. He could be lying, planning to betray the Two Lands to our
enemies…
Yet, in all the years I’d been dwelling in Waset—the last six under this Merira’s administration—the city
had known little strife.
All the spells circling in my thoughts since the guards captured me longed to be spoken, and the bare
finger on my right hand ached for its lost ring. Yes, let this son join his mother. “Untie my ankles, Merira-
of-Waset. I will help you.”
~ * ~
Merira-of-Waset guided me to the door, my ankles free but the gag replaced and my wrists bound
behind my back—both with loose knots. He rapped on the door. After a moment it swung open, and a
pair of Valley guards faced us, spears in hand, eyes wary.
Merira-of-Waset stepped forward. “I must escort the prisoner to our Lord’s residence. She’s ready to tell
him what he wishes to know.”
With sharp nods, the guards moved aside. Merira-of-Waset shoved me through the door, and I
stumbled into a square mud-brick room, unfurnished and torch-lit. Another door on the far end led to
the outside. One guard took hold of my left arm, while the other gripped my right. Anger pounded
through my heart, each beat filled with the words of the spell I would use.
As they dragged me toward the door, Merira-of-Waset lifted one of the torches from its bracket and
shouldered past them, taking the lead. We went out into the night. Beneath a moonless, star-spotted
sky, four more guards hunkered around a brazier while two others stood watch. All turned to Merira-of-
Waset who approached them and repeated his mission.
While he spoke, so did I, my voice muffled by the loose gag. “Come all you who wander in the Western
Desert, longing for the Field of Reeds.”
What living ears missed, dead ones heard. A whistling shriek came in answer. Merira-of-Waset’s torch
snuffed out, the fire in the brazier sputtered, and the stars faded into blackness. The guards cried out in
surprise. Those holding me tightened their grip on my arms.
“Come to me, I, who aided you in life and drive away those who would hold me.”
A wind arose from the west. Invisible fingernails tickled my arm, but then must have been less than
gentle to the guard on my right. He yelped and released me. The man on my left bolted. Curses,
screams, frantic footfalls—all faded into the distance.
“Lady?” Merira-of-Waset’s voice came from somewhere ahead of me.
I wriggled free of my bonds and pulled off the gag. “The darkness will pass.”
Soon stars streamed back across the sky, and Lord Thuti Himself joined them, shining down in the form
of a single white eye.
Merira-of-Waset was trembling. “Are they gone?”
I hastened to his side and patted his shoulder. “Yes. We should go before they regain courage.”
He breathed deeply and nodded. The landscape stretched before us: a stark, craggy desert, where the
squat guardhouse stood, a solitary sign of life. Twenty paces ahead, the ground sloped down into a
narrow valley where the Houses of Eternity lay. On the other side of the Valley, the night-shadowed peak
of Meretseger, the Silent Mountain, loomed over a city of dead royal sons, daughters, and wives.
Above us, Lord Thuti gazed down, encircled by a black cloud threatening to swallow Him. Nevertheless,
His light streamed along the path leading into the Valley. Merira-of-Waset and I moved as fast as his
sacks and my age would allow. We kept to the shadows, close to the Valley wall. My ears strained for the
sounds of returning guards but none came, only the clicking of loose rocks beneath our feet.
As we moved, I counted the Houses: one, two, and then mine, the third on the right, where Ramesses
had buried someone or something in my place during that false funeral long ago. The entrance gaped
before us, unguarded. The restless dead must have driven them off for good this time.
I touched Merira-of-Waset’s arm. “Here we should part ways. Go east—”
“Until I reach the River. Then I will follow its course to the North.” After a moment, he inclined his head.
“I may be leaving the Two Lands, but I have not forgotten my way.”
I returned the gesture. “Now for the spell of protection I owe you.” I knelt before him and traced the
spell in the sands. Words both written and spoken held the greatest power of all. “In the name of Lord
Thuti, let nothing on the earth or in the waters, nothing in the heavens or in the Netherworld, keep
Merira-of-Waset from joining his mother.”
I lifted my eyes to the heavens. A shaft of Lord Thuti’s light came toward us, resting on Merira-of-
Waset’s head and slowly encircling him. After lingering for ten heartbeats, it faded, its only trace a thin
ring of white around the pupils of his eyes.
I rose. “It is done.”
Merira-of-Waset bowed and hastened down the path into the desert.
Once he vanished into the darkness, I crept back toward the House of Eternity. One of the guards had
spoken of placing my silver ring inside, and I intended to retrieve it. I rested my hands on the doors.
“Open in the name of—” They gave way before I finished the spell. Someone had already broken the
seals.
Inside, darkness gathered. I turned back to the moonlit night and stretched out my hand. “Come to me
light of Thuti. Come, brighten the path of Your servant.” Beams of white light settled in my palm, taking
a circular shape.
I stepped into the House of Eternity, the light revealing ten stairs leading down. I followed them into an
antechamber. A bed, several chairs, three footstools, and a long-legged table had been lined up along
the wall to my right, while to my left was a wide entryway flanked by Anpu, the jackal-headed god of
embalming, and green-skinned Usir, Lord of the Dead. Beyond that lay a vestibule and an annex.
The light in my hand awakened white-plastered walls. Eyes and hands and lips of deities and men danced
before me, plunging back into shadow as I moved along. I passed beneath guardian serpents rearing in
gold and green and red on the lintel, and gods leapt from vestibule walls to greet me: the falcon-headed
Ra, the dung-beetle Khepri—both Lords of the Sun; Lady Hathor, Mistress of Love, sheathed in red.
Chips of pottery, broken caskets, and empty unguent jars lay at their feet, a testament to the work of
thieves. Ahead, stood a narrower doorway, a black-and-red vulture hovering above it.
My footsteps echoed in the gloom. I paused, but the sound continued—far beyond a heartbeat or two—
then stopped. Was someone else here? I studied the shadows.
No one.
Dashing beneath the vulture’s wings, I wound my way through a maze of storage chests, including the
squat ebony one I used to keep by my bedside, where I stored my favorite jewelry. It sat by the far wall,
at the feet of a seated image of Atum, the Creator. When I lifted the lid, I found a small linen bag
undisturbed atop other carefully wrapped items. I snatched it up and spilled the contents into my hand.
Four precious rings fell into my palm. One by one, I examined them: Nefertari, Nefertari, Nefertari,
Amunhir.
I stared at the last ring, which bore the name of my elder son. He must have placed it here.
“Remember Amunhir, our firstborn.”
Tears welled in my eyes. Curse Ramesses and his words!
Shaking thoughts of him and our surviving son away, I sifted through the rings a second time, each one
gold; no silver. I placed them in the bag and returned them to the chest. As I turned to leave, another
figure leapt out at me from the wall: a white-clad woman with rich black hair cascading over her
shoulders. She was crowned with gold, her skin flawless, her waist so thin I might have closed my hands
around it.
Me, drawn forever young and perfect as I would never be in life.
The image of me on the wall extended her arms in homage to Atum, as a courtier might honor Pharaoh.
Pharaoh, whose hard-heartedness brought suffering to the Two Lands. Pharaoh, who might have yielded
if I—
If I had stayed with him.
Atum’s image smiled at me as if to say, At last you understand, Nefertari.
No. I shook my head. I hadn’t brought famine to the Two Lands or belittled someone’s grief. Blame
Ramesses and his stubbornness, not me.
I backed away from the god’s image and fled to the antechamber. Light flashed before me. Not white
moonlight, but the orange-gold of torchlight. Someone else had entered.
“Now I have you!”
The words slapped me as I shielded my eyes from the brightness. Lord Thuti’s light dissolved into the
shadows, and a torch fell to the floor. Hands clamped down on my shoulders, spun me around, wrapped
around my neck.
“Do not speak.” Breath brushed my ear, each word spoken in clipped regal tones. The prince, my earlier
interrogator, had found me. His fingers tightened around my throat. “That thieving overseer may have
escaped, but I’m glad you’re here.”
Black spots danced before my eyes. I gasped for air.
The prince released me and shoved me forward. “Move.”
Light bathed the walls and the heat of his torch beat against my back. A sword rattled in a sheath at his
side. Straight ahead, a long ramp slanted down, deeper into the rock, to the House of Gold—the burial
chamber. I stumbled toward it, shadows parting before me, pushed back by the torch in his hand.
Perhaps he’d guessed the truth or recognized me and would leave me to suffocate in the depths of my
own House of Eternity. No doubt many in the Palace of Women would smile and call it a fitting end for
the Great Wife who abandoned Pharaoh.
The floor evened out for a short way until we reached the entrance to the House of Gold. There, three
stairs led down into a room shimmering with gold. The gilding threw torchlight in my eyes. I squinted. A
carved limestone block stood in the center: an outer coffin with its lid removed and resting against one
side.
“Go!” He gave me another shove. I staggered toward the coffin, holding my hands out before me. My
palms smacked against the stone, and my body quivered from the force of the blow.
Closing in behind me, he pinned me against the coffin and held the torch over my head. “Look inside.”
My fingers curled around the edge. Within the stone coffin, rested another of wood carved in human
form and plated in gold. It, too, had been opened, its lid leaning against the inside of the first. And in the
golden coffin--
Nothing.
Ramesses had left it empty. For me…
“I came here to see what damage you’d caused. I knew thieves stole gold and unguents, but bodies?”
The prince leaned over my shoulder and placed his free hand upon mine. “What have you done—?”
The rest of his words brushed against my ears unheard. A gleam on his little finger drew my gaze. The
gleam of silver. My ring! He was wearing my ring. “What are you doing with that ring?” I grasped at his
finger, but he caught hold of my wrist, then pressed his arm against my waist, pinning me between the
coffin and himself.
“What have you done with her body?” His question rang with fury.
I stared down into the coffin, my heart just as empty. What had I done? I wasn’t the one who staged
the funeral. “Ask your father!”
“Curse you, woman!” He pulled me away from the coffin.
Struggling in his grip, I managed to wriggle one arm free. I reached for the ring once more, my fingers
closing around his.
He dragged me back up into the antechamber and up the steps to the outside. “You will learn respect.”
“Learn respect? From where? The end of a stake?” The cool smoothness of silver slid from his finger into
my palm. I closed my hand around it.
A puff of night air struck me. We were heading toward the entrance, and within moments, we were back
in the Valley. The circling cloud had swallowed Lord Thuti’s light. The prince shoved me to the ground
and thrust the end of his torch into the sand. The flame danced less than half a cubit from my head. He
bent over me. “Give it back.”
The ring pressed into my palm. “No.”
He gripped the collar of my dress. “Give it back!”
Somewhere nearby, a loose rock skittered across the desert.
I craned my neck in the hopes of meeting his eyes, but his face was cloaked in shadow. “Why? So you
can bring it to your mother, and she can gloat over it?”
With a swift motion, he rose and drew his sword. The point pressed against my throat.
“Lord Thuti—” Send me aid. The end of my prayer died before it passed my lips.
“The ring was my mother’s.” His words rasped in my ears, followed by rushing footfalls against the Valley
floor. A stone hissed overhead; Pharaoh’s son cried out and fell to the ground.
A loud crack, a hand on my shoulder. “Lady, are you hurt?” Merira-of-Waset. He’d returned. “There are
guards out in the desert. I heard a voice telling me to go back.” He nodded at the heavens. “Then I
heard you cry out. We have to leave now.”
Leave…The ring slipped from my hand. The ring was my mother’s. Had I heard right? “Amunhir?”
The hands on my shoulders tightened and gave me a shake. Merira-of-Waset stood before me, his gaze
locked with mine. “He’s unconscious. Hurry, before he wakes. The gods are warning us.”
Above us, Lord Thuti broke through the darkness, but the black cloud continued swirling around Him.
Amunhir lay sprawled on his back, his sword on the sand beside him. A thin stream of blood trickled from
his forehead, where Merira-of-Waset’s stone had struck. A flesh wound, nothing more. The tightness
growing within me eased. He moaned, eyelids fluttering, head rolling to one side. The ground beneath
him had darkened, gleaming in the moonlight like polished obsidian.
Great Thuti! I broke free from the hands holding me, knelt beside Amunhir, and lifted his head into my
lap.
Please, let it be obsidian or some trick of the light.
Not blood.
Blood flowing from my Merira’s arm so many years ago. A cut that had killed him as we stayed by his
bedside, Amunhir, and I.
Merira, Amunhir, and I.
Merira-of-Waset dropped to his knees on the rocky ground and buried his face in his hands. A jagged
stone four times the size of a fist lay beside us, blackened with blood.
The north wind beat against me, as a warning rose in my heart. “Go. Leave them.”
Leave my son and Merira-of-Waset who helped and defended me?
Lord Thuti’s light rested upon me. “You left them all long ago.”
Amunhir stirred. “Where…?”
“Hush, my son.” I bent down and kissed his forehead. “All is well. I’m here. I’m here.”
Confusion rushed into his eyes. “Mother?” His voice dwindled to a rasp, and his hand clutched at mine.
“I’m sorry, Amunhir.” I kissed him again, this time on the cheek. “I’m so sorry. I missed your brother so
much, and your father— ”
Your father was so stubborn. Words I’d said so often to myself died in my throat.
Though I longed to tell him more, nothing more would come. I pressed his hand in mine, but he did not
squeeze back.
Death lay in my lap, a still and silent weight. Amunhir, as much my son as my Merira had been, and I’d
left him. Left him to the mercies of the royal court. I’d failed him more than I had failed his brother. I
kissed his brow one last time and lowered him onto the sand.
Muffled sobs came from beside me. Merira-of-Waset remained on his knees, his hands covering his face.
In the distance, shouts arose: voices of men, the guards returning. Once more, the wind buffeted me.
From the north, where a different mother awaited her son. A son who would die if the guards found him
here.
I stood up. My skirt, drenched in blood, clung to my legs. More blood pooled at my feet. I tore my eyes
from it and reached for the sheath at Amunhir’s side.
“Take this.” I pulled the sheath free and thrust it toward Merira-of-Waset. Without waiting for him to
obey, I turned my attention back the ground. Amunhir’s sword had fallen less than a pace away. As I
hefted it up, moonlight and torchlight mingled orange-white upon the blade, and two more steps ahead
something else glittered. A spark of silver in the desert: my ring. I retrieved it, slid it back on my finger,
and brought the sword to Merira-of-Waset. “You’ll need this, too.” When he didn’t stir, I prodded him
with the hilt. “Get up and arm yourself. If the gods are kind, you’ll never use it.”
He uncovered his face, his eyes bright with tears and realization. Clasping my hand, he ran a finger
across my ring. “Silver from Hatti-land…Lady Nefertari? How? Why? All these years you have been—” He
turned away, tears trickling down his cheeks.
I reached out and wiped them away with my hand. “I ran away. I thought Pharaoh would follow and beg
me to return.” I glanced back at the House of Eternity. “He chose to bury me instead, so I became
someone else.”
Merira-of-Waset gazed down at Amunhir. “He was your son. He would have been Pharaoh if I—I never
meant to—”
“I know.” I held my son’s sword out to him.
“I killed him.” More tears came, but this time he brushed them away himself.
My eyes burned as I forced the weapon into Merira-of-Waset’s hands. “Go. No one will follow you.”
With a bow, he sheathed the weapon and secured it to his belt. “My Lady.”
Guards’ voices rose and fell on the wind.
Merira-of-Waset seized Amunhir’s torch and scrambled off into the darkness.
I watched him go, aching with a thirst that could never be quenched, a pain no one else could share.
Except Ramesses, who would be too proud to grieve, as I had been too proud to return to him.
The silver ring weighed heavy on my hand. I slipped it off and returned to Amunhir’s side. “Goodbye, my
son.” Taking his hand in mine, I placed my silver ring upon his little finger and waited for the guards to
find us.
| THE LORELEI SIGNAL |
Karen L. Kobylarz first encountered ancient Egypt and Rome while watching The Ten
Commandments and Cleopatra at the age of eight and has been a devotee ever since.
Her previous publications include the short stories “Cleopatra’s Needle” (Paradox), “Imperishable
Stars” and “The Book of Thuti.” (Leading Edge), “Mistress of Magic” and “To Serve a God”
(Mindflights), and “Breath of Amun” (Lacuna).
When she’s not exploring the mysteries of the Land of the Pharaohs, Ms. Kobylarz teaches third-
grade students at a local elementary school. She has B.A. in Elementary Education and an M.A. in
Writing.
She finds ideas for her stories from three sources. She remains an active student, attending as many
classes, workshops, and lectures on ancient history as she can. Nonfiction books are also a source
of inspiration as are educational programs on the National Geographic Channel, History,
Discovery, etc. Sometimes a seemingly insignificant detail or a fleeting image raises the question:
What if . . .?
Commandments and Cleopatra at the age of eight and has been a devotee ever since.
Her previous publications include the short stories “Cleopatra’s Needle” (Paradox), “Imperishable
Stars” and “The Book of Thuti.” (Leading Edge), “Mistress of Magic” and “To Serve a God”
(Mindflights), and “Breath of Amun” (Lacuna).
When she’s not exploring the mysteries of the Land of the Pharaohs, Ms. Kobylarz teaches third-
grade students at a local elementary school. She has B.A. in Elementary Education and an M.A. in
Writing.
She finds ideas for her stories from three sources. She remains an active student, attending as many
classes, workshops, and lectures on ancient history as she can. Nonfiction books are also a source
of inspiration as are educational programs on the National Geographic Channel, History,
Discovery, etc. Sometimes a seemingly insignificant detail or a fleeting image raises the question:
What if . . .?