Sands of Sin

My condolences to the gods, they hiss. Ra has lost his best soldier.

Emanating from arches of rough-hewn marble, a trio of voices laments. They are ragged, climbing up scratchy throats to perch on parched tongues and ooze out of cracked lips. Much like our man-handled bodies, their words sting with despair.

I trip to the door and peer in. I see naught but an empty council chamber. Am I hallucinating again?

I call upon the strength I had exuded fighting the Romans mere days ago - and there is nothing. I am an empty reservoir wilting in the Egyptian heat. Zet-nefer does not know I come for him, though now, it seems, I bear him little threat.

The walk through the palace is convoluted, but it passes in the flip of an instant. I have only just begun to think of what I will say to my superior before I am being led to his door. I tighten my jaw, and knock twice. It rings ominously through the corridor.

“Enter.”

I push the door wide, taking in the man behind the desk, this jackal of the sands. Even seated, he is imposing, muscles carved along each arm, individual tendons clearly visible. Torchlight gleams off of his bald pate. Beneath a dark brow, Zet-nefer glares at me.

“Ah, General Unsu. Have a seat.”

Why must my hands start shaking now? I lower myself into the chair and grip the arms until they steady.

“General,” I start, “there is a matter we must discuss, I -”

“No, Unsu. There is a matter I must discuss with you.”

I stiffen. “Of course.”

He smiles. “Very good. Send a message to your wife. You will not be returning home tonight.”

I balk. “Excuse me? With all do respect, I -”

His voice is the calm in the eye of a desert storm, and three times as cold. “This is not negotiable.”

I take to my feet, obstinate. “Then I will not negotiate, I will-”

“The city is lost.”

A blanket falls over the world. I grab the back of the chair. “Come again?”

“The city is lost, Unsu. Forfeit. We are nothing against ten thousand fresh men.” I have never seen this man cower from his own voice before. I see it now. A shadow could cut his puppet strings and he would fall, lifeless, to the ground.

“But they were defeated, our army….” Where are the words I was looking for? The walls shrink closer around us. The torches dim of their own accord.

“It would seem that was a mere hint of what was to come.”

“Surely, there’s something we can do, something clever enough to save the city?” If you took my words and put them to parchment, you might read a hint of hope among them. But there is no scrap of hope in the tone of my voice.

“No.” Zet-nefer does not meet my gaze. “Send a message home, Unsu. Tell your wife to pack. You will assist me here in the palace tonight and, if all goes smoothly, we will evacuate by dawn. You may rejoin your family then.”

The heat is constricting my throat. I promised Imhotep I’d come home. I promised Imhotep a home to come back to.

A stronger man than I would have nodded gravely and turned for the door, summoning parchment to write on. He would compose a regretful but truthful message, stand, and deliver it to the nearby messenger on horseback ready to cater to his demands. Then, he would stand at Zet-nefer’s side until no longer needed.

But I am not so strong as he. For I wave aside the parchment he offers me, slump into my chair, and weep. In those moments of closed, watering eyes, I relive the last day, each and every second since my long-awaited return….

“Father?”

I turn, and there she is, Imhotep, clear as a gem behind my lids. Sweet, darling Imhotep! All too-long legs and braided raven hair, darting towards me with a huge grin.

“Father!”

“Imhotep! Daughter!” I sweep her into my arms and spin in a circle, trying to support her with one arm and realizing I’ll need both now. “You’ve grown! I won’t be able to lift you much longer!”

“I know, Daddy, I know, look!” She proudly shows off a large scrape running the length of her tan forearm, already half scab and half scar. Gods, I’ve missed so much. “I brought the cattle in all by myself last moon!”

I smile, curling away the pain and tucking it deep inside my chest. “Wonderful!” I praise her, resting her frame on my hip as we walk in the direction of home. As rare as breezes are on blazing days like these, it is fortunate one has decided to visit; it calms my nerves. I rub Imhotep’s back and she lays her head on my shoulder. My fingers fiddle with a stray thread of her childish white shift. She’ll need a new one soon. I’ll need money to buy it.

Goddamn Zet-nefer. I pray he falls before Ra himself in pieces. I will confront him tomorrow.

“What was that?” Imhotep mumbles into my neck, her breath a soft whisper of butterfly wings against the weather-roughened skin of my collarbone.

“We thought you weren’t going to come home,” she repeats, pulling away to stare into my eyes. Her own are a stormy blue, an anomaly courtesy of my wife’s European heritage. She continues. “Mommy said you might not come back. That the Romans had taken you away for good and we were going to have to learn to survive without you.”

Cursing inwardly, I hug her close. It is moments such as these when I am reminded of her innocence and vulnerability. Seven years old is far too young to have to be worried if your father will be slain by foreigners. Seven years old is far too young to know your home is threatened by forged steel points brandished by a thousand men. Seven years old is barely enough to bring the cattle in alone.

“No, sweetheart. Don’t worry. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere for a long, long time.” I duck into our home, welcoming the cool carried by the shadows.

“But what about the Romans?”

My gut twists. “Let Daddy worry about that, alright?” I set her down, and she latches her hand into mine. “You will be safe here, I promise.”

“You promised that last time, too.” Her eyes cut into me, swirling with that bluntness of youth incomparable to any adult I’ve ever met. You’ve failed her. You lied to her again. You swore the army couldn’t twist you to dishonesty…. I shake away the snakes behind my eyes.

Our home is as it always has been, only two rooms. One large space with a well-loved wooden table, three chairs, and a small cubicle housing a cot for my wife and I. Imhotep’s pallet is out here across from the table. Her thin blanket is tumbled haphazardly over the sheet. I smile, reminded of myself, impatient as ever to get out of bed and up to mischief with no thought for neatness.

“Where’s your mother?”

“Out at the bazaar! She promised to get me a surprise!” Imhotep bounces on the balls of her feet.

“And spices, too, I hope!” I tease, taking stock of our dwindling supply.

A warm, furry body presses against my calf and I jump. Imhotep laughs and plucks our cat from the packed earth floor, petting him between his soft, gray ears.

“Is that really Nex?” I ask, incredulous. When I departed, Nex was barely more than a kitten with such a high-pitched cry he sounded like the desert mouse who had made her living just outside.

“Yes!” Imhotep beams proudly. “Isn’t he beautiful? I trained him myself, watch!” She sets him carefully on the ground and makes a series of gestures. Nex winds around her legs, purring. “Nex, come on! We practiced this.” Her gestures graduate to more frantic movements.

“Perhaps he’s shy,” I offer, and poke her on the tip of the nose. “You can show me another time.”

I pass through the rest of the evening in a dream-like state. Everything blurs together; moments with my daughter, Nex’s soft mews, the return of my wife, who bursts into tears when she sees me at home once again. We kiss and hold on to each other tightly, her findings from the bazaar forgotten on the floor. Everything I see is brighter than it should be, blinding with relief and happiness. Our dinner is celebratory, the conversation lively. I summarize my adventures, censoring what I would have fall upon my daughter’s ears which is - disturbingly - almost every experience I can think to tell. I will relate the details to Sitra later, when we are snuggly settled together in bed, hidden by the night. Somehow, words are not so scary when it is dark.

I assist Imhotep with her writing practice before sending her off to sleep. We sit side-by-side on the edge of her cot as she thrusts rolls of tattered parchment into my lap. She has markedly improved, her lines clearer and beginning to develop an artistry I have only ever seen in letters to and from the palace. That will be sought-after, someday.

When a scroll slips from her sleepy fingers, I push her gently back against the pallet, promising more lessons tomorrow.

“But I was just -” she stifles a yawn “- getting started! Please?”

“Tomorrow, my flower. We will have plenty of time tomorrow.”

“Swear you’ll be here when I wake up? This isn’t another trick?”

“I swear.” After she closes her eyes, I grimace. Will I be permitted to return tomorrow night after the encounter I plan to have with Zet-nefer?

Nex leaps silently onto the bed and curls in the crook of my daughter’s arm. I am glad she has had him, at least. A constant friend.

With Sitra by my side, a bed has never felt quite so welcoming. I half expect her to wink as I lay down, and whisper hints about the midnight pleasure of adults, but she does not, and I am grateful. Sweet as it would be, my body aches with fatigue, muscles stretched and straining with the overwork of months, and it is enough to simply lay by her side. I entwine my fingers with hers. My eyes fall shut.

“I’ve missed you,” she tells the darkness between us. I close the gap, nestling her head in the crook of my neck.

“I have missed you, too,” I murmur. Two heartbeats elapse before she speaks again.

“What happened, Unsu? Where have you been?”

Fire licks up the darkness before me, the flash of steel and bite of bronze, coupled with the permanence of blood’s stench filling my mouth and nose. I almost gag. “I never imagined I’d see such things, Sitra. When I departed the worst I had seen was the broken leg of a girl in the bazaar. She had been kicked by a donkey. Her bone punctured through her skin and stuck up like the columns in Pharaoh’s palace.” I grip her hand tightly.

“And now?” she prompts, gently.

“I have seen the bodies of children ripped apart. I have found their pieces miles from the place they called home. I have seen hearts pulled, still beating, from chests; men scalded by oil and metal and fire alike; floggings of disobedient commoners who’s only desire is to protect their home.” And you approved. You ordered the floggings. You were proud to be winning. I flinch.

“You should have come home, Unsu.” Despite the sympathy that lingers in her voice, I hear only her accusation.

“Come home? Come home to what?” Spitfire ignites in my chest. “To a bedridden wife with no way to support her child?”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair! It was never fair! I left so you could get better! War is a handsome price to pay for barely enough gold and grain to get by, but I paid it gladly and sent every last piece to you and our daughter. Gods know Imhotep deserves something of a normal life.”

Motionless, we breathe into the stiff silence. Sitra lets go of my hand and rolls over, facing the wall.

“I recognize what you did for us. And I appreciate it. But next time, don’t lie about it.”

I swallow my retort and stare at a particular spot of darkness for a long time. Sitra’s breathing steadies out. I choke back guilt and stack it amongst the growing pile of serpents and memories and lies in my brain. Sleep drags me under.

When dawn arrives, it is not the sunlight that awakens me, but Imhotep’s little hand, tugging at mine.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” she cries, pulling me from a listless dreamscape. She wears the same white shift as the day before, although now it is dirtied by the sand, and a slash of color adorns her from shoulder to waist like a sash. “Look at my surprise from the bazaar!”

“It’s lovely! You look like a princess,” I say, clearing sleep from my throat with a cough.

Breakfast is brief, but as welcome as a kiss to my tongue after hundreds of days of crumbling bread and half-rotten fruit. This fruit is sweet and plump, and we dribble the juice across leftover flatbread from the night before.

At the door, with new sandals strapped to my feet, I kiss Sitra farewell and squeeze my daughter’s hand.

“I will be back for supper tonight,” I promise, beating at the serpents of deception coiling in my stomach. Lies, they hiss. You’ve never been good at keeping promises. “Wait for me.”

My memories catch up with the present. I have cried myself dry, wrung of hope and guilt and pain and now staring blankly at Zet-nefer’s desk.

“Take heart, General Unsu,” he says to me, noting my effort at composure. He makes his way to my chair and rests a rough, muscled hand on my shoulder. “We may be losing the city. But we will keep our families and friends. Evacuate them now, and we will all stand a chance.”

I nod, pressing the last of my tears back into my eyes with my fingertips. I close the gate on this flood of memories. Sitra and Imhotep are waiting for me, no matter how weak their faith in the brittle trail of trust I have laid out for them. It is the only trail I have not cut off from my heart completely.

“Ink and parchment, if you please, General,” I say gruffly. He motions to the boy by the door, and my supplies are provided. I take up the reed and inscribe a message to my family. I fold it carefully and stand. “I will return momentarily.”

Striding down stone passages, I wind my way to the grand entrance of Pharaoh’s palace, stepping out onto the sand. Beneath the shady awning of the stables, a messenger stands waiting for her next job. I hand over the parchment, dictating instructions. She nods, leaps upon her horse, and thunders away. I watch her fade.

Sitra, Imhotep, forgive me. It is the last lie I tell, I swear it. The serpents coil tighter in my chest.

I close my eyes, letting my lungs fill. Zet-nefer will be waiting for me. I reopen them and walk back across the sand, noting a snake has slithered onto the cool stone near the palace entrance, resting. In three more steps, I’ve reached the marble, and I step firmly on the snake’s head.

It’s skull cracks.

I leave it to the desert and return to Zet-nefer.