Chapter 15
Sita
Sita sat at the bottom of the dark pit, gripping her candle like a lifeline. Karim’s rapid footsteps had faded into silence, and the only sound that remained were her own panicked breaths.
He’ll be back soon, she assured herself. He promised.
She sat uncomfortably on the pile of rubble, leaning her back against the wall of the pit. Rocks poked her, and every time she shifted, a bolt of pain lanced up her leg. She’d told Karim that it wasn’t broken, but something in her ankle had snapped on impact.
She didn’t want him to worry.
Or maybe she didn’t want to admit to herself that in an instant, all her plans had been dashed.
If her ankle was broken, how would she escape Perset and make the journey across the desert back to Khetara? Stopping both Mery and Setnakht already felt like an impossible task, and now this…
I am a fool, she thought miserably. How did I ever think I could succeed?
Sita sat up and gritted her teeth against the pain.
Stop thinking and focus on the candlelight. Wait for Karim to return.
She stared at the flame, doing her best to steady her breathing. At first, the light was still, but after a while it began to flicker.
How is there a breeze down here? She squinted into the darkness, but the candle only illuminated a small area around her. For all she knew, the pit might lead to a tunnel. If she were able to walk, she could explore her surroundings, but that was out of the question.
The breeze flowing toward her strengthened. It carried a scent as strange and familiar as a forgotten dream.
The flame guttered.
“No! Please!” Sita cried, shielding the candle with her hand.
The light went out.
Darkness swept in, thick and stifling and complete. She dropped the candle and wrapped her arms around herself, a hysterical moan of terror rising in her throat. Whether her eyes were open or closed made no difference at all.
Suddenly, it was very hard to breathe.
Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think—
The weight of the darkness pressed inward, growing heavier, crushing her. She felt her body disappear into the void, piece by piece—first her feet, then her legs, then her hands and body and neck, until she was only a mouth struggling to breathe and a mind drowning in despair.
There, in the pit, she’d fallen into the very place where she’d buried all her guilt and shame. With no love or light to drive them away, they threatened to consume her whole.
In the darkness, she heard Maet’s mother crying over her daughter’s body.
She saw the dead on the floor of the Horus Room.
She felt Mery’s breath in her ear and heard the words that turned her world upside down.
Just as Osiris had his sister-wife Isis and Set had Nephthys, so will I have you.
Little by little, the memories began to tear her apart.
“Please,” she said, sending a prayer into the endless silence. “Someone help me.”
She could pray all she wanted, she knew no one was coming. It might be hours before Karim returned. Until then, she was alone with her thoughts. Alone with her demons.
Then—deep within the murk, she saw a pinprick of light, orange and dancing.
Was she imagining it?
Sita struggled to bring it into focus. Was it very small, or simply far away?
The light grew and grew, bobbing gently like a butterfly, drawing closer.
As her eyes grew accustomed to the radiance, she saw a hand below the light, holding it aloft.
Sita’s heart soared. There is a tunnel down here—and someone’s coming! The figure approached, and she watched in amazement as the one shape revealed itself to be two.
The women walked in silent symmetry. They were long and lithe, with shining hair that was either black or blue, Sita couldn’t tell.
The one carrying the torch had sand-colored skin and eyes like a cloudless sky, while the woman beside her had midnight eyes and skin as brown as the richest earth from which all green things grow.
There was a contrast in their manner, too.
Where the woman carrying the torch smiled brightly, the second was somber, and kept her hands clasped in front of her as if in prayer.
Despite these differences, however, their faces were exactly the same.
Sita knew at once—as one recognizes one’s self in others—that they must be twins.
“Who are you?” Sita asked when they stopped in front of her.
The bright one dipped her head in greeting. “We are here to help, Sitamun.”
“Did Karim send you?”
The somber one gave a small smile, as if enjoying a private joke. “We were sent, yes.”
In any other situation, Sita would have noticed how their gowns—one white, one black—looked more like fine Khetaran kalasiris than the simple, embroidered dresses of the Hudjefa.
She would have wondered how the women knew her full name, when she’d only introduced herself to the tribe as Sita, or how they’d arrived in that tunnel, so far below the temple floor.
Yet Sita did not question the two women, as one does not question the events of a dream.
“Can you walk?” the bright one asked.
Sita shook her head. “I think my ankle might be broken.”
“Let me see,” the somber one said. She kneeled to examine Sita’s injury. In the torchlight, Sita could tell that her foot was horribly swollen, purple-yellow bruises already appearing on one side. Did it look crooked as well?
She swooned.
“Do not be afraid,” the woman said softly, and she took Sita’s ankle into her hands.
Sita sucked her teeth, anticipating more pain—but it didn’t come. The woman stroked and prodded her foot, yet Sita felt only a cool, relaxing sensation.
“My sister knows much about the body,” the bright one explained.
“She and her son work with the dead, which actually teaches one a lot about life.” Her voice was bell-like and danced like the flames of the torch.
“Her talents are often overlooked, misunderstood. She doesn’t like to brag, but she’s quite the gifted healer. ”
The somber one gave her companion a wry but loving grin. “My sister brags enough for the both of us.”
Sita’s eyes suddenly welled with tears.
The woman stopped her prodding. “Have I hurt you?”
“No,” Sita murmured to her, then looked up at the bright sister. “What you said reminded me of my brother.”
“Your brother,” the somber one echoed, continuing her ministrations. “Tell me about him.”
“He works with the dead too.”
Overlooked. Misunderstood.
“He’s brilliant. Though I don’t know if anyone’s ever told him so.” Sita frowned. “I have failed a lot of people, but I fear I’ve failed him the most. I have not seen him for who he really is.”
The somber sister considered Sita. Up close, her face was as smooth as if it were carved from obsidian. “Did you ever think that, perhaps, your brother feels the same way about you?”
Sita scoffed. “He thinks I’m a silly girl—silly and weak.”
“Are you?” the sister with the torch asked.
Sita didn’t answer.
The kneeling woman released Sita’s ankle. “Many think that you must shine a light to see clearly. But some things can only be understood in the dark. Perhaps you’ll know yourself better before you leave this place, Sitamun.” She stood and reached for Sita’s hand. “Now get up.”
Sita blinked at her. “But my ankle…”
The woman cocked her head, birdlike. “Is there something wrong with it?”
“What do you mean? It’s—” The words died on Sita’s lips as she looked down. Her swelling and bruising were gone.
It can’t be…
Tentatively, she flexed her foot. There was no pain. She tried putting a little weight on it.
It was as if the injury had never happened.
“Come along now,” the sister with the torch said merrily. “Mustn’t dawdle!”
Sita rose to her feet, perplexed. “But how—?”
“As I said, my sister has quite a gift!”
Sita stared at them in wonder. Quite a gift indeed! She’d put Khetara’s greatest healers to shame.
She followed the two women as they retraced their steps through the tunnel.
“It’s not often that I meet another set of twins,” Sita said as they walked. “You are twins, aren’t you?”
“We are,” the somber sister replied.
“My brothers and I are triplets, but everyone always says Mery and me might as well be twins, we’re so alike. That used to make me proud. Now…” She trailed off.
“What is he like, your brother Mery?” asked the bright sister.
Sita ducked under a sunken stone in the ceiling. “Charming, fun, passionate…”
“Ah!”
“…selfish, manipulative, ruthless, cruel…”
“Ah.”
“No one in the world was closer to him than me. If anyone should have known what he was capable of, what was truly in his heart…” She wasn’t sure why she was opening up to strangers, but shock and fear had made her honest. Plus, they were very good listeners.
“He did bad things, your brother?” the bright sister asked.
Sita swallowed. “Unimaginable things.”
“And you fear if this evil exists in him, it must exist in you?”
“I suppose I do,” she replied.
“It does.”
Sita didn’t know how to respond. She stopped and leaned against the wall, momentarily short of breath. “W-what?” she finally said.
“People often make assumptions about us,” the bright sister went on. “They believe I am the benevolent one. But I have wrath. I can manipulate and deceive. I have punished those who have not given me shelter, and I have stolen secrets from my own father in his time of need.”
“Others believe I am mournful,” the somber sister added. “Yet I also bring comfort. Joy. I have nursed the children of strangers and given guidance to the lost.”
The sisters then began speaking in tandem, first one, then the other, like the recitation of a poem written long ago.
“The existence of evil does not negate the potential for good.”
“Nor does the existence of good negate the potential for evil.”
“Within the vastness of your soul, there exists all things.”
“Just as the earth contains wonders and horrors in equal measure,”
“The brightest sunlight casts the deepest shadow.”
“And in profound darkness, the smallest star can be a beacon.”