Chapter 9
Sita
“Sitaaaaa!”
The voice woke her from the seventh sleep.
“Coming, Mother,” she mumbled, rolling over and pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
She didn’t want to get up. Not yet. She’d wait until Nebet came in with her morning meal, then she’d get dressed and take the food to the pleasure garden to eat.
She’d have plenty of time before she had to meet her tutor for her lessons—
Sita blinked at the dirt floor and became aware of the thin rush mat beneath her, the light pouring through the window of the dusty mud-brick house, and the sounds of men and bleating sheep outside.
Oh.
She groaned as it all came rushing back.
The escape from Thonis. The journey through the desert. The sandstorm. The lost city and the Red Lands tribe living there.
You’re one of us now.
Sita sat up from where she lay on the floor. She rubbed her eyes, and the sensation of being back in the palace quickly faded.
“Sitaaaaa!” the voice called again, not her mother, but a visitor at the door.
Next to her, Behkai rose and stretched his long black body before trotting eagerly to greet them.
As if taking the dog’s appearance as an invitation, a stout elderly woman marched in, laden with parcels.
“Nice boy. Good boy. Now move out of my way, will you?” she said, trying to get past Behkai, whose curious snout found its way into the baskets she was carrying. “Ach! No! Get!”
The woman turned to Sita, exasperated. “Well? Raise yourself from bed and help me, you lazy girl! Before your guard dog eats your breakfast.”
Sita scrambled to her feet and pulled Behkai back by the scruff of his neck. “Sorry, Miri.”
Elyas’s wife had been the first in the tribe to introduce herself to Sita and Karim, and she had taken responsibility for their care.
Clearly, she was grateful for what they’d done to protect her granddaughter.
She set them up with a house, showed them where to get water for drinking and their washbasin, and made sure they each had a woven rush mat to sleep on.
Sita noted that the house Miri chose was in the center of the community, where there were always many eyes to watch them.
The Hudjefa didn’t trust her and Karim not to sneak off in the night, despite the fact that they’d never survive the journey back without provisions or a map.
They had no choice but to stay long enough to secretly gather supplies and look for an opportunity to escape.
For the time being, though, they were safe. Knowing this, she and Karim had decided they might as well use the time to explore the city and see what they could uncover about Setnakht.
The old woman set down the baskets and began unpacking a stack of flatbreads, a jug of fresh sheep’s milk, and some dried dates.
“You and your husband had better hurry. They’ll be expecting you both in the bakery for the day’s work.
Where is he?” She looked at the solitary rush mat and quirked an eyebrow at Sita.
“Um,” Sita began, but Karim’s appearance on the ladder from the roof saved her from having to explain. He wore only a loincloth, and Sita couldn’t help but watch the muscles in his back contract as he climbed down to their level.
“There you are!” Miri exclaimed.
Karim ran a hand through his mussed, wavy hair and stretched like the dog. He gave Behkai a pat on the rump and looked between the two women with apprehension. “What? Were you looking for me?”
Miri put her hands on her hips. “Yes, I was looking for you, sen—why are you sleeping on the roof and not next to your wife?”
Sita and Karim’s eyes met. They’d lied and told Elyas and the others they were married so the tribe would allow them to live in the same house and not think their traveling together was suspicious.
The tribe had been universally shocked at the concept of a Red Lander and a Khetaran being wed—for they could tell right away that Sita was one of the river people.
But Sita had woven a story about how they’d met at the marketplace, how Sita had shown Karim an old Khetaran map in hopes that he could lead her through the desert to find where it led, and how they’d fallen in love and gotten married along the way.
That same map, Sita claimed, had eventually brought them to Perset.
The tribespeople, particularly the women, had been so riveted by her tale of adventure and romance that they didn’t think to question its validity.
Sita knew telling the Hudjefa they were husband and wife was a strategic move, but keeping up appearances had proven to be a challenge.
Miri stood with her hands on her hips, waiting for an answer. “Well?”
Karim frowned at Sita, eyebrows raised, as if to ask, What do I say?
Sita subtly shook her head. Say something, you fool, or else I will!
“She snores,” Karim blurted, at the exact same time Sita said, “He snores.”
Sita glared at him.
Karim shrugged.
Miri guffawed and patted Karim’s cheek with affection.
“Then perhaps you should both consider putting wax in your ears rather than distance between you.” She made to leave, telling Sita as she passed, “If I had one like him, I wouldn’t allow a little snoring to keep me away.
But I’m an old woman who’s been married for forty-three years. What do I know?”
Miri left with their thanks. When she was gone, Karim leaned against the doorframe and grinned. “Apparently, I’m quite the catch, sena.”
Sita rolled her eyes. “What you are is late for work. Come on. We have to eat and get going if we want to finish in time to do more exploring before dark.”
In the two afternoons they’d spent scouring the city, they hadn’t found anything of note, but they still needed to search Setnakht’s palace. Sita was certain that if they were going to find something important, it would be there.
She cleared her throat, working to keep her gaze level with Karim’s. “Maybe you should get dressed first?”
Karim looked down at himself as if only just realizing he wasn’t wearing any clothes. “If you prefer, sena,” he said with a smile.
***
Sita was in the bakery grinding wheat when it happened.
The warm hum of women’s chatter was interrupted by a chorus of shouts from outside.
Sita followed the other women to the door to see what all the commotion was about.
She saw the brute Zev running down the street toward them, carrying a young man in his arms. A boy of about fifteen ran beside him, his face creased with worry.
“Elyas!” Zev bellowed. “Elyas!”
Karim appeared at the bakery door, a large bundle of wheat on his back. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“I think someone’s hurt,” Sita replied, and ran to meet them.
The young man Zev carried was as pale as death, his one leg soaked in blood. Through the mess of flesh, Sita could see the sharp end of a bone poking through the skin.
“What happened?” she asked Zev as he continued shouting for aid.
“Find Elyas, woman, if you want to be useful! Otherwise, get out of my way!”
The young man groaned, his eyes fluttering as he fought to remain conscious.
“Please, let me help,” Sita said.
Zev’s nostrils flared. “You will not touch him, Khetaran. Elyas may have spared your life, but that does not mean you are one of us. Not to me.”
“What’s going on here, Zev?” Elyas hurried toward them, walking as quickly as his elderly legs could carry him.
Zev turned to the frightened young man at his side. “Tell him, Amal.”
Amal wrung his hands. “I-I…”
“Speak, boy!” Zev roared.
“Sami and me were f-fooling around on the roof,” Amal sputtered. “We were jumping from my house to his, a-and when Sami jumped, he…” The words died on his lips.
Elyas examined the terrible wound, his expression darkening. “Bring the boy inside, Zev. Amal, find Sami’s mother at the oasis. She will want to be with him.”
Amal hung his head, then took off running.
Sita followed Elyas and Zev into one of the houses, which had been set up as a kind of infirmary with rush mats and simple linens for bandages.
“Put him there, Zev,” Elyas said. “Then go get Miri. Tell her to send the others for fresh water and to come right away. We must try to stop the bleeding…” He shook his head, dropping his voice to a whisper.
“Even if the boy survives the night, he’ll never walk again.
But we must try, for his mother’s sake.”
Sita glanced at Sami. Zev had lain him on one of the mats, and the boy had grown quiet, too quiet. His lips were open, his face gray. Something stirred in her, a force powerful and bone deep. She touched her carnelian Isis knot amulet.
The blood of Isis flows through your veins, my girl.
Isis. The goddess of magic. The Great Mother.
She Who Knows All the Names.
“Let me help him, Elyas,” Sita said softly.
The Hudjefa leader’s brow furrowed. “Help him? What do you know of medicine, sena?”
“I am no priest, but I know some Khetaran healing techniques, and people come from all over the region to learn such wisdom. At least let me try!”
Zev reared toward them like a cobra, ready to strike. “Elyas, you mustn’t entertain the whims of this woman! She is a stranger! She hides the truth from us, I know it. I can see it in her eyes!”
Sita felt a sudden fury well up inside her. Every second they wasted arguing brought Sami closer to death. “You will allow me to help this boy!” she commanded. The air inside the infirmary vibrated with the strength of her voice, and the two men fell silent.
“Please,” she added softly.
Elyas narrowed his eyes, studying her with newfound intensity. “Who are you?” he whispered.
“Do you want me to answer the question, or do you want me to save Sami’s life?”
Elyas swallowed. Zev’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing more.
After a long moment, Elyas stepped back, allowing her passage to the injured boy.
Sita rushed to Sami’s side and fell to her knees before him. The wound looked bad, but then again, she’d brought Karim back from the dead. Why shouldn’t she be able to heal a broken leg?