Chapter 7 The Hem-netjer
The Hem-netjer
Warm sunlight fell on Zahra’s face as a library servant returned from the kitchen with a cup of warm liquid. Zahra moved her arm over her eyes, leaning her head back on the couch as he approached. He placed the cup on the table beside her, bowed to Namir, and left.
Namir sat on a couch opposite her, staring at something on the other side of the room. His hands were clasped against his chin, and his leg bounced.
With a heavy sigh, Zahra pushed herself into a sitting position and grabbed the cup.
She pulled her legs to her chest and rested the cup on her knees, but she did not drink from it.
The pressure on her skull was heavy, and her stomach churned with the might of a storm at sea.
She feared if she ate or drank anything, she would only vomit again.
Namir shifted his attention to her, considering her with curious eyes. “How is your arm?”
“It’s fine, my King.” It was a lie, of course.
A local physician had found nothing wrong with it.
She knew better—though the eagle had helped, her arm still burned as if the skin had been torn.
Her leg also ached, but the physician attributed that to her collision with the bookcase.
He had bandaged her hand and ankle and went on his way.
Namir had not asked what had happened or why she had fallen. He had rushed her upstairs and thrown her into the care of the staff without a second thought. He only joined her once she was changed into different clothes and no longer reeked of vomit.
Namir spoke after a minute of silence. “The drink might help.”
Zahra stared at the liquid, but she did not move to drink. “You do not need to be here.”
Namir stared at her.
Zahra swallowed the bile rising in her throat once more. “What I meant, my King, is that I don’t need anything more. You can continue your research.”
Namir considered her words, his expression calm but his eyes scrutinizing her face and hands.
He leaned back on the couch and placed his hands on his knees, one flat and the other clenched in a fist. “I would rather wait until tomorrow when the mess is gone. None of the people here know of that library’s existence. I would prefer to keep it that way.”
Zahra accepted his answer with a nod, speaking softly. “If that’s your will.”
Zahra inhaled a deep breath, lifting the cup to her mouth. She tested the temperature against her lip before drinking it. The mixture was warm and reminded her of the tonics her father would make for her as a child. It sloshed in her stomach, calming the fury within.
Namir leaned forward, clasped his hands once more, and considered her as she drank.
His study of her unnerved her. Finally, Zahra lowered the cup. “What is it, my King?”
His gaze shot to hers. “What do you mean?”
Zahra hesitated. “It seems that something is on your mind.”
Namir’s eyebrows raised in surprise. He lowered his hands from his face. “I have a question for you.”
Zahra’s stomach churned at the words. “I will answer whatever questions you may have, my King.”
Namir considered his clasped hands. When he said nothing for several moments, Zahra lifted the cup to her lips with shaking hands.
Namir’s question came. “How long have you known you were a sibyl?”
The liquid sputtered from Zahra’s lips, dripping down her chin and chest. She coughed, wiping at her face as she tried to speak. “What did you say?”
“A sibyl,” he repeated. “A servant of Nebthet.”
Zahra shook her head. “I am not.”
“You must be.” He unclasped one of his hands, revealing the silver ring from earlier.
Zahra flinched. “Why do you have that?”
“Something happened down there.” He squinted at the piece of moonstone on the ring.
“It was as if you were in a trance. When the pottery broke, you did not move, and when I spoke to you, it was as if you could not hear me. I tried to grab your arm, but as soon as I touched you, strange symbols appeared on your face and skin—the same symbols that the sibyls in the drawing bore.”
Zahra’s face paled. “It—It was dark. It was a trick of the light.”
“I know what I saw. It was not until I removed the ring that you came back to yourself.” He held the ring closer to her. “I imagine, if you held the ring now, it would happen again—”
His voice cut off, his forehead creasing in concern as Zahra focused on the ring. The cup trembled in her hands, and tears formed in her eyes.
Namir leaned back and lowered the ring. “What did you see?”
“Nothing.” She turned away. “It was a dizzy spell, my King. Nothing else.”
Namir was silent for a moment. “Did you truly not know?” he asked softly.
Zahra let her hair hide her face. “I am not one of them.”
The door slammed open, and Zahra and Namir turned toward it.
The medjay from the front of the library were there.
The one whose sword Zahra had tried to take was in front.
A mob of curious priests, scholars, and servants followed him.
His gaze darkened when he saw Zahra. “It was her! She cursed me.”
Zahra’s jaw fell, and she glanced at Namir.
The medjay followed her gaze to Namir. He bowed deeply with his hand on his chest. “My King, she is a dangerous sorceress who cursed me. We must get you to safety.”
The other medjay stepped forward, holding a rope.
Zahra stumbled from the couch. Her cup fell from her lap and broke in half on the stone floor. The liquid within it splashed on her feet. “I did no such thing! My King, I—”
Namir lifted his hand toward her, silencing her. His gaze settled on the medjay as he stood. Namir stepped in front of Zahra. “What is the meaning of this accusation?”
The medjay that had accused Zahra stood tall. “An illness overtook me but moments ago. I was of perfect health until a specter rested upon me.” His gaze narrowed on Zahra. “It had her face.”
Zahra’s lungs grew tight. She had done nothing to him. At least, she thought she had not. All she had done was grab his sword. Her gaze dropped to the floor as the medjay continued.
“The spirit of evil zapped my strength. I only recently recovered. She is a sorceress, my King. She has brought illness upon us all!”
The group murmured and gasped behind him. The other medjay turned to Namir for orders.
“She is not safe, my King,” the medjay claimed, straightening. “She is a threat to your life.”
Fear penetrated Zahra’s heart.
“That is enough.”
Zahra glanced at Namir in surprise.
Namir motioned to the medjay with the rope. “Put that away.”
The medjay stashed the rope in his bag and bowed. The one accusing Zahra stared for a moment in shock before bowing. “My King….”
“Enough. You have tarnished my image by accusing a random servant of something only Re can control. What would you have done if your accusation had convicted an innocent woman to capital punishment?”
Zahra realized his meaning. He was talking about the lie she had told him that morning, about why his medjay were after her and her father.
The medjay’s eyes went wide and filled with terror. “I….”
“Get out.” Namir pointed toward the door. “Go home. I do not want to see you for the remainder of the day.”
The medjay lowered his head in a bow. He shuffled out with the others, shooting a glare back at Zahra before the door shut.
Namir sighed heavily once they were alone, collapsing back into the seat.
Zahra slowly sat down as well, regaining her composure. She rubbed her aching arm. “Thank you, my King.”
He stood, walking to a small table on the other side of the room. “Of course. I promised no harm would come to you from my men, and I intend to keep that promise.”
Namir stuffed an old papyrus into a bag.
Zahra picked up the broken cup from the floor and placed it on the table. “Are you leaving, my King?”
“Yes, to the temple.” He lifted the bag to his shoulder and turned to her. “I wish to show something to the Hem-netjer. You will remain here. I will send someone to ensure you are not bothered.”
The temple. Zahra had forgotten all about her father. It was not yet the hour of Re. She could still stop him.
Zahra jumped to her feet. “Allow me to come with you, my King.”
Namir studied her face. “You are ill.”
“It has passed,” Zahra assured. “Please, let me accompany you to the temple. I want to help you in any way I can.”
Namir glanced at the doorway, stilling as he considered it. He motioned for her to follow him. “Let us go, then.”
Zahra grinned and followed him out of the room.
The temple complex of Re stood tall in the daylight as Zahra and Namir went through the front gate with Victory in tow. There were crowds of people going about their midday worship. Though the majority was Auran, there were a few Ionians.
Zahra avoided the gazes of her people as she walked behind Namir.
There had been many Ionians—her father included—that had abandoned Selene after Ionia was conquered by the Parsans.
Parsa slaughtered thousands of innocents with destructive fires and brutal armies.
Those that remained were enslaved or crossed the Sea to escape.
When Pharaoh King Thutmose, Namir’s father, let thousands of Ionian immigrants into his land, many began to worship Re. She couldn’t argue that Re was a kind theos, but she wouldn’t leave the goddess her mother had loved.
A young Auran girl dressed as a temple servant stepped forward and bowed. “My King, welcome.”
Namir nodded his head to her and handed her Victory’s reins. “Let the Hem-netjer know I am here.”
The temple servant bowed her head once more before leading Victory away. Zahra followed Namir deeper into the temple complex.
The temple of Re was sacred ground. This her father had made clear since she first came to Aur.
The exterior was a wide and open space, with statues of Re scattered throughout.
Pharaoh King Thutmose had been known for his devotion to the sun netjer.
Many of the statues, she guessed, were commissioned by him.