The Falcon Rises (The Desert Queen Book 2) Page 3

  Living in the Red Lands I had grown accustomed to hiding in plain sight, so even if Omel had bothered to occasionally glance over his shoulder he would have had a difficult time spotting me. My clothes were neither bright nor gay, and I wore no jewelry for I owned none. I could be as elusive as I liked. I frowned as he clapped his friends on the back and spoke in low, serious tones. If only I could hear the words! I heard the shuffling of pebbles behind me and flattened myself against a nearby rock. I slid my sword back into its sheath so the fading sunlight would not glint and reveal my hiding place. Slowly I turned my head to see who approached. I hoped it was Astora. I would love to confront the king’s wife with the truth.

  It was Orba! The little man was as loud as a blind goat. I considered getting his attention, but he did not look my way. Clumsily he paused as he sheltered behind one of the larger boulders in the Saqqara Valley. He was in the perfect position to overhear Omel’s conversation. The rocky hollow in which they gathered created an amplifying effect. What fools men were! I removed my sword, my metal cuffs and anything that would clatter and laid them on the ground. I climbed the rock without detection and lay flat staring up at the sky as Omel began to make his case to the gathering.

  He tried to be eloquent, but no words could hide the truth—at least not to me. Omel wanted to be king. It had been his lifelong ambition. I listened as he made insinuations about Nefret and felt hopeful when Fraya questioned him. Ha! This would not be an easy sell for the grasping Omel, Betrayer of Queens!

  I warned Pah that her uncle could not be trusted long before she consummated her covenant with him. Even though the closeness of their association sickened me, I loved Pah even in her delusion. I had loved her deeply and even now scarcely let my mind wonder about where she was or what evils had befallen her. I loved her enough to hope she was dead and not suffering.

  Pah and I had been childhood friends. I understood her and shared some of her feelings. As the only daughter of a mighty warrior with no sons, I felt the same rejection and witnessed my father’s disappointment. Still I trained harder, fought longer and did everything I could to show my father that I had a warrior’s heart. I don’t think he ever saw it. Now he was dead, and I would never hear the words I so longed for. But Pah had seen it. She had commended me when I bet her at our daily races. She recognized my strength and insisted that I help her take her rightful place as mekhma. At the time, I had felt honored. Now I knew the truth. She had used me for her own ends and abandoned me when I needed her the most. It was the hard, bitter truth.

  As I listened to Omel blather on, I thought about the daughters of Semkah. Until this past moon, I had not exchanged more than a few words with Nefret. I had believed Pah, who considered her sister weak and stupid. I related to Pah, who felt lost in the shadow of her radiant sister. The young women were very similar in appearance, but inside they were nothing alike. Pah had an endless need for affirmation—she had to be the best at everything. And when she wasn’t, you saw the worst of her. She reminded me of one of the great cats, the black ones with huge marble eyes. Eyes that were wise and dangerous. Nefret was more like the falcon. She stayed aloof, above those around her. Not in an arrogant way, as I once supposed, but as one who must always look at the larger view. Pah was fierce and fast where Nefret was careful, even cautious. But Nefret had a wisdom about her that surprised everyone. What fools they had been—what a fool I had been—to lift up Pah as mekhma. The thought made me want to spit, but the heat of the rock dried my mouth and drained my strength.

  When Orba made his appearance, I could hear the surprise in the council of kings. Ha! Such fools men were to let someone like Orba sneak into their midst unseen. And these were our leaders? Omel did not back down at first, but the power of Orba’s prophecy disarmed him. I lay upon the rock and listened with tears streaming down my face. When had I last cried? I could not remember. I had not cried when Alexio whacked me with the flat of his sword. I had not cried when my father struck me in a drunken stupor, breaking my tooth and causing me to bleed for hours. I had not cried when I took the warrior’s tattoos, although the pain had been almost more than I could bear. Now I heard the promise from the prophet’s own mouth.

  “A mighty army approaches. But do not fear, Meshwesh, because your Deliverer has arrived. A girl with the power of Egypt in her hands! The falcon rises, and we ride upon its wings!”

  The hopelessness that I had carried with me to the top of that rock floated away. I believed Orba’s words—I snatched them out of the air like they were living things and wrapped my faith around them. And I knew something else: I would serve Nefret for the rest of my days. That was all I ever wanted. To serve the mekhma, to offer my hands, heart and soul if required on behalf of my people. And even if she never recognized me or thanked me, these words would be enough. As Orba prophesied, Nefret would be our deliverer. She was the promised falcon. She would rise to the heights of power and would need someone she could trust. I had chosen poorly when I chose Pah, and I had failed Nefret once already by losing Paimu, but not again.

  Wherever the mekhma went, I would go too—even if that meant traveling the far reaches of the Red Lands or traveling down into death. I would not allow Omel to abuse her as I’d seen him abuse Pah. When Nefret returned I would tell her everything! I heard the men below leaving their rocky fortress with encouragement on their lips. Whatever Omel’s intention had been, this surely was not it. I stifled a laugh. I leaned up on my elbow slightly and watched them return to camp. The sun had gone down now, and the first, brightest stars appeared above me. The sky was the color of magic, somewhere between a deep purple and a blazing red. A streak of light slipped across the sky—a messenger of the gods, no doubt. It was an omen, but I did not ponder it. My heart was too full of hope to wonder at what tomorrow would bring. As I lay on the rock, my hands outstretched beside me, a song rose up from within me.

  Hear now, Kings and Queens

  Warrior and Maid

  This is the tale of Nefret.

  She is the falcon that rises,

  Rises above the earth,

  She will lead us home,

  The City of White,

  The City of Little Birds.

  I did not wonder from whence the song came. My mother sang the songs of the gods, or at least she used to, and I heard them many a night when my father would go on long journeys along the trade route with his king. Songs such as these, spontaneous and magical, came unbidden from the gods, she told me. When I was a young girl, before I had breasts and before desire coursed through my veins, I sang too. But when it became clear that I would receive no love from my father Nari’s hands, I abandoned the softness of music in favor of the unyielding, unloving metal of the sword.

  I let the notes of my song fade on the breeze and then sang it over and over until I had memorized the tune and the words. This was not all…no, this was only the beginning of my gift to the mekhma, for queen she would remain.

  As the air turned cool, I slid down from the rock and gathered my items, strapping on my sword and cuffs. I walked back to the camp, wondering who I would stay with tonight. There were only a few tents available; some families were hidden in the caves but even in the camp of the Meshwesh it was not wise for a woman to share a bed with a man. I had a few offers when we arrived but refused them all with a sneer. I needed no man’s protection, for I had a sword and knew how to use it.

  I decided to see if Semkah had food and wine, but to my surprise another tended to him. She was not from our tribe; perhaps she was from Omel’s, but I couldn’t be sure. She put her fingers to her lips when I entered, instructing me to be quiet. I stared at the king and watched him breathe for a few seconds before I left. I spotted a boy standing guard outside one tent. I had seen no one enter the shelter in the two days we had dwelt in Saqqara. I wondered to whom it belonged.

  “You there. What is your name?” I stalked toward him authoritatively.

  The young man, whom I did not recognize, could not have seen more t
han thirteen winters. He replied, “I am Amaktahef, but people call me Amak. How may I help you?” He was polite with bright eyes and dark brown skin, like the tribes from the west.

  “Whose tribe do you belong to, Amak?”

  “I am Siti’s son. We are from Dahkia.”

  I saved him the trouble of asking me anything. “I am happy to see such brave young Meshwesh standing guard in our camp. Tell me, whose tent is this?”

  He poked out his bony chest and raised his chin, somehow offended that I did not know. “This is the mekhma’s tent. We keep it for her until she returns.”

  I smiled wryly. “And which mekhma are you waiting for, Amak?”

  He thought about it for a moment and then answered confidently, “Whichever one comes back first.”

  I nodded but said nothing. There was no need to correct the boy. Pah was never coming back. She was dead or worse. But Nefret would return—he would see soon enough. “I am Ayn, the mekhma’s guard. I will stay here until she returns.”

  He opened his mouth like a fish out of water. With a sigh I went into the tent and removed my sword, tossing it on the pallet. It was a small tent, but it would do. There were no fine trappings like cedar tables or hanging lanterns, not as when we stayed at Biyat or Timia, but it was better than climbing into bed with a grasping man. To my surprise, the boy followed me inside. I turned to face him and removed my cuffs. “Yes, what is it?”

  “I just…are you sure? I don’t want to get into trouble with my father. He said no one was to enter until the mekhma arrived.”

  “Did he now?” Curious and suspicious, I felt the hair creep up on the back of my neck. I picked up my sword and used the blade to shift the blankets around. No snakes slithered out, and no scorpions struck at the metal. After a few seconds, Amak’s curiosity got the better of him.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “It is nothing. I thought I lost something. Tell me, Amak. Is your father a good man?”

  “The very best man. He is good to all his children and his people.” His grin told me that he believed what he said. This was not propaganda.

  “Did he provide all this for the mekhma?”

  “Yes, he did. He is a kind man, my father. He says she will return and lead us to Zerzura. It is a wonderful place. My father saw it when he was just a boy, and now he says I will see it. Have you seen it?”

  “I have not, but we will. You tell your father that the mekhma’s guard stands ready to serve him if he should need me.” I put my hand on the boy’s shoulder and looked down into his face. I was easily a foot and a half taller than he. “I am grateful for his thoughtfulness. It is good to know that she has friends.”

  A large smile spread across his wide face. “I will do so. Do you require anything? Perhaps I can serve you? I have been so bored standing here all day.”

  “Who bakes the best bread, Amak? A warrior needs food.”

  “Oh! My mother, the wife of Siti! I shall go now and fetch you bread and something to drink.”

  Amak didn’t move but stood at attention.

  “What is it?” I asked him, my stomach rumbling at the promise of food.

  “Well, don’t you have to dismiss me?”

  Trying not to smile I said, “Very well, you are dismissed. Return quickly. No dawdling. And bring me an oil cloth for my sword when you return. And do not barge into the tent without announcing yourself first. I have a sword, Amak.”

  “Yes, Ayn.” He scurried out of the tent, and I sat on the disturbed pallet, thankful for this happy turn of fortune. It was dark and getting darker. I opened a small box near the entrance of the tent and found a stub of a candle and a clay candle holder. I quickly stepped outside and lit the candle, returned and placed it in the candle holder. It wasn’t much light, but it was more than many people had. By my estimation there were less than two thousand people in the Meshwesh camp; that was significantly less than the estimates had been before the destruction at Biyat. We lost many at Timia, but at least some of us had survived. Biyat’s tribe would never walk the earth again. I opened the second box and found it full of Pah’s things. I recognized her treasure box, and like a sneak I opened it. I picked up the small block of scented wood and sniffed it.

  Oh, Pah. Why did it have to end like this? I pray you are happy in the life after. For some reason I felt compelled to place the items around the candle. I bent in front of them and prayed to my ancestors. I begged them to make Pah welcome, for she had once been mekhma. I prayed to the gods Ma’at and Hathor to forgive her for the evil deeds she had done. I pleaded with them to let her pass into the afterlife or send her back to complete her work. I ended my prayers and heard Amak outside the tent.

  “Lady Ayn!” he called to me. “I am here with my father, Siti.”

  Rising to my feet, I eyed my sword but decided to leave it where it lay. There was a time for swords and there was a time for laying down swords. I could not kill a king, unless it was Omel. Him I could kill.

  “Please come in.”

  Amak’s arms were loaded with a basket. He began removing the contents hurriedly to the nearby crate, and I stood with a calm face watching Siti.

  “Ayn, you are the daughter of Nari, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, my father was Nari. He is dead, killed at Timia.”

  “Sad day for us all.” His brown eyes showed sadness as he continued, “The mekhma’s guard is welcome to stay with us. We have an extra tent and are inclined to share our hospitality with you.”

  I couldn’t hide my surprise. “I am honored, King Siti, that you would offer your hospitality to me. But my place is here. I will wait for Nefret to return.”

  “Please, it’s just Siti. There are enough kings in this camp already. Speaking of kings, how is Semkah? No one will allow us to see him. As the mekhma’s guard, surely you must know.”

  Ah, so there is a reason…

  “I have just seen him. He is resting and has a devoted healer by his side. I am sure he will see you soon.”

  He breathed a noticeable sigh of relief. “For that I am grateful. Semkah is a good man, a true king. I would hate to discover that he had been mishandled.” I could read between the lines: he did not trust Omel. I could not tell him that I felt the same way.

  “I can assure you that if that were the case, I would not be standing here.”

  He had something else to say but before he could share whatever was on his heart, a noise rose in the camp. Shouts and sounds of battle. I reached for my sword and ran out of the tent toward the noise. Oh, please, ancestors! Don’t let it be the Kiffians! We are not ready!

  “Hold! Do not attack! Those are Egyptian flags! That is Nefret! The mekhma has returned!” Jubilation rose from the camp as Nefret galloped toward us, her red hair and green cloak trailing behind her. She rode the largest horse I had ever seen, black with a braided mane and muscled legs. Beside her rode a dark-haired man with a proud face, strong legs and broad shoulders. He was the handsomest and fiercest-looking man I had ever seen. He slid from his horse before it came to a good stop and ran to Nefret, helping her down as easily as if she were a feather. The cheers of happiness diminished as the sound of hundreds of horses’ hooves pounded in behind them.

  “Greetings, Meshwesh,” Nefret called, settling down the retinue.

  “Hafa-nu!” a woman called, and others echoed her devotion. “Hafa-nu, mekhma.”

  Nefret smiled and returned the greeting, “Hafa-nu, Ankanah. All will be well.”

  The people quieted after a few moments. They eyed the Egyptians suspiciously, but their souls leaped seeing that their brave queen had indeed returned. “This is Ramose, Pharaoh’s general, and these men are Pharaoh’s soldiers. They will do you no harm. They have brought us food—and weapons and all manner of things. Things we will need to make the journey home.” As Nefret spoke I could not help but stare at the black-eyed man. Yes, his physique was stronger than any I had ever seen, but it was his sword that I could not tear my eyes from. It had a double ed
ge and was made of a metal I had never seen before. The hilt shone in the firelight, and I could see a strange script on the glittering scabbard. He stared back, but only for the smallest of seconds.

  “All will be well, Meshwesh. Do not be afraid.”

  “Hafa-nu, mekhma!”

  She waved her hand as Farrah used to do. “Ayn!” She reached her hand toward me, and I hugged her as if she were my sister.

  “Mekhma, I am glad you returned so soon. I was beginning to worry. Let me show you your tent. King Siti arranged a place for you.”

  We walked together and she whispered, “Siti? Tell me, what have I missed?”

  “Quite a bit,” I said sternly. “What did I miss? Are you a prisoner, then?”

  “Hafa-nu, mekhma,” the people greeted her as they passed. Some kissed her cheek, while others hugged her.

  “Shh…we will talk more later. First, take me to my father, and then we will see what is what.”

  “Very well, mekhma.”

  “Please call me Nefret. I miss hearing my name.”

  Finally I had something to smile about. “Very well, Nefret. Come, he is just down here.”

  Chapter Four

  The Snakes of Destiny—Nefret

  Speaking to my father proved difficult, as many of my people wanted to touch me and speak to their mekhma. Thankfully, the hard-jawed Egyptian general did not follow me but set about his own tasks. I was happy about the absence of his company. During our frantic journey to Saqqara the tension between us did not lessen. Even though I was much younger than he, I could read him quite easily. He did not like me much and thought even less of his errand, but he would never speak against his queen. Still, if I had pulled back my covers at night and invited him in I knew he would have accepted my invitation—his eyes were ever upon my figure, especially my breasts. That was one invitation he would never receive.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I turned my attention to my treasures, my tribe. I didn’t mind their reaching hands and greetings; providing them with some comfort and continuity of purpose was the least I could do. A young man with a ragged red wound across his face stepped into my path; his eyes were empty and feverish, and I suspected that his evil-looking cut needed attention. I recognized his face but did not recall speaking to him before this day. “Hafa-nu, mekhma. Are we going home now?” he asked in a weary voice.