A Divine Romance, page 2
A special temple festival.
Her best friend, Satiah’s wedding.
Perhaps even her own betrothal ceremony—to Sahure. Assuming Satiah had her way, and the best friends became sisters by marriage. Though she was not exactly sure how a ceremony between herself and Satiah’s twin brother would unfold—he was always red-faced and tongue-tied in her presence. She giggled at the thought of him trying to nod his way through the ceremonial questions, and her bold best friend yelling out the answers from behind the nearest pillar.
Shuffling herself out of her lavish ebony bed, she gingerly picked up the kalasiris, and draped it over her brown shoulder such that its skirt fell to her bare feet. Taking a few steps forward, she imagined herself walking down the center of a grandiose hall.
If I am half as elegant as Mother was, the eyes of every man shall be on me. But my eyes shall only rest on one man: my groom. She pictured herself standing tall, front and center of a magnificent chamber, as the priest performing the ceremony began: “Radiances, Reverences, Eminences, and people of Heliopolis, you are wel—”
“Come, my sunshine, your father calls,” a familiar female voice from outside her chamber said, interrupting her daydream.
Father is home! Spinning around and laying the beloved garment back on her bed, she bounded past Na’eemah’s plump, womanly figure, and raced towards her father’s wing.
I wonder what he brought me, she thought with excitement, her waning abdominal discomforts forgotten. She did not know why he was home, but one thing was certain: if her father had returned earlier than scheduled, today was a special day.
Servants raised opulent curtains as she sped from a spacious hallway into a grand antechamber, in a most ungraceful manner. Once before the doors to her father’s receiving chamber, she stopped and took a few calming breaths. Then, stepping inside, she paused at the door frame and looked at him, awaiting his invitation.
He was reclining on his favorite, one-armed sofa. Sitting up, he lifted a welcoming hand toward her.
“Come, gift of Ra.”
“Life, prosperity, and health, to you, Father,” she said, dipping her head in a bow and then entering gracefully.
Smiling, he returned the greeting, “Life, prosperity, and health, to you, daughter. I see your lessons are going well.”
“Yes, Father,” she said, warmed by his rare praise. He seemed almost cheerful today—more like his old self.
Patting the soft cushion beside him, her father said, “Come, sit. I have something for you.”
Eager, she sat and raised her face toward his. “What is it, Father?”
“This,” he answered, holding a sheer, small, white fabric.
What is that? She thought, trying to practice her lesson on listening more than one speaks.
“Na’eemah tells me you are having your first bleeding.”
Why would she tell Father that?! Too mortified to answer, she merely nodded.
“Therefore, you are now a woman. It is time you know you are no ordinary woman . . . Your mother would have been better suited to explain this . . .” Father’s eyes grew distant for a moment, even as her own heart tightened.
“I miss Mother.” She whispered, but Father did not seem to hear her. Shaking his head, his eyes focused on her once more.
“From the first moment you opened your eyes in this world, we knew you were a gift from Ra himself. Yours is no ordinary life—you have a divine destiny.”
“I do not understand, Father.”
“Patience, daughter, your father still speaks.”
She gave an apologetic dip of her head as he continued.
“The gods have destined you to bring honor upon this house, and the eternal favor of Pharaoh, lord of Egypt—long may he live. For no later than the dawning of your eighteenth year of life, you shall become a royal bride. Your husband shall be a pure-blooded royal, chosen by the lord of Egypt.”
I will not get to choose my husband?
“I pray Ra, who has given you such unmatched beauty, sees fit to make you the wife of Pharaoh himself.”
Wife of Pharaoh? Her heart skipped a beat. Mother said Pharaoh has many wives!
Oblivious to her rising anxiety, her father went on. “Henceforth, you are to be preserved from prying eyes. No man but your husband shall see your face.” He picked up the sheer fabric and reached his arms toward her face.
No one shall see my face anymore? The thought was alarming. Before she could stop herself, she raised both hands, shielding herself. “I do not want my face hidden!”
“It is not about what you want, but what is right. Unworthy eyes must not behold the face of Ra’s gift. You are a woman now; comport yourself as such!” Her father tried to hold her head in place with one hand while using the other to veil the bottom half of her face. It was proving to be a herculean task, as the frightened girl was squirming with all of her might.
“Sit still, child!” her father hissed.
She felt like she was suffocating. Why do the gods hate me? They took Mother away. Will they also let Father make me invisible? No. I will NOT be invisible! Forgetting every lesson on propriety and protocol, she did the only thing that came to mind: she opened her mouth and bit down hard.
Her father let out a sound like a wounded animal as he abruptly released her. “The curses of Ra!” He yelled, his plump, fair face suffusing with crimson. “Have you gone mad?”
She leaped off the sofa, blazing eyes aimed right at his. “I hate you! I wish it was you who died instead of Mother!”
He moved so swiftly she did not see it coming. The sound of his open, bejeweled palm colliding with her soft cheek echoed like a solitary thunderclap. She fell backwards onto the floor. Five fingers of fire began spreading up the right side of her face as a lone tear streamed down it. The slap shocked even more than it stung—Father had never struck her before. His re-approaching hands sent waves of panic rushing through her petite frame and she cowered. But the second slap she feared did not follow.
She heard silence, followed by her father’s long, weary sigh. When she looked up at him, his face bore a strange look.
“Come, gift of Ra. One cannot hide from one’s fate.”
As she rose on shaky legs, the truth soured her stomach like a rotten pomegranate: there was to be no fighting her father or fate.
She approached him with her head lowered in defeat.
He lifted her face toward his, but she kept her eyes averted from his. Tenderly drying her now wet cheeks with the offensive article, he used it to conceal the bottom half of her face. “One day, you will thank me for this,” he said. Then he rose and strode out of his chamber without a backward glance.
She lowered her head and let the tears fall. She did not realize anyone else was there until she felt soft, fleshy arms envelop her.
“My sunshine, do not cry.” Na’eemah comforted. “Your father is only doing what is best. You are the gift of Ra. When your time comes, you will be the envy of all royal wives—”
“No! I do NOT wish to be a royal wife!”
“Bite your tongue! Ra must not hear you speak so! It is your destiny.”
“No. I do not want . . . I do not want them anymoooore!” she wailed.
“Them? Calm yourself, child. You are losing reason.”
The tears poured down her veiled face as sobs shook her frail frame.
“I . . . I do not want . . . I only want Mother!” She crumbled to the floor and gave rein to her renewed, intensified sense of grief. She wanted to tell Na’eemah, but she could not speak past the guttural groans gushing from her throbbing throat. Not that it mattered. Na’eemah would not understand. Only Mother could, for only Mother had known.
The wedding kalasiris.
The grand feast.
The village of a family.
She no longer wanted them. They no longer mattered—she was now invisible. If no man can see me, how could any ever love me? Even Father does not love me anymore.
She could not have been more wrong about today.
It was not a special day.
It was a sad, bad one—a black day.
Were the gods inclined to grant her desires above Father’s, she would make but one, four-word request of them: Take me to Mother.
Part I: Veiled
Chapter 1
Colors of sunrise
Splashed across earth and sky. Lo!
A glimpse of heaven
***
SIX YEARS LATER
Shimmering.
The waters of the Nile were golden with the reflection of the sun. The clear sky was brightest of blue hues. It was the perfect day for a leisurely boat ride. A rather tall, large oarsman stood at the helm of the cedar canoe in which she sat. Her father was seated in the crevice before her, the only other passenger on their small water vessel. He had his back to her, and he seemed quite intent on studying the man rowing their boat. She was wondering whether to break the silence with an inquiry about their destination, or a comment about the wonderful weather, when something strange caught her eye.
The oarsman had dropped his rather thick, long, single oar and lifted both his hands skyward. As if on cue, the sky grew overcast. Strong winds streamed in from the east and began rocking their sea vessel. She grabbed on to the sides of the small catamaran, desperately trying to stay in her seat, as her father fell out of his, landing on his knees.
“Father!” she yelled, alarmed. He made no response. Why is he silent? Is he injured?
She tried to rise and was immediately knocked to the floor of the wind-tossed craft. Maintaining a grip on one side of the boat, she slowly began shuffling her way toward her father, hoping to come to his aid. Much to her surprise, the boatman seemed perfectly in control of his stance.
“Oarsman! Come. Help my father!”
The enormous man approached. Not bothering to look at him, she kept her eyes on her father. He was rocking back and forth on his knees as if bowing. She had just reached his side, and was trying to stretch one hand out to assist him, when the oarsman towered over her.
“It is not your father who needs help,” he said, in an amused, eery voice.
Utterly stunned that any servant would dare question her instruction, especially one so obviously urgent, she snapped her head up. “How dare you—”
The sight of his fearsome face paralyzed her. His eyes were a burning yellow and filled with hunger, and his head resembled that of a horse. But it was his large, pointed teeth grinning at her that sent chills racing down her spine. “By the mercy of Ra!” she whispered fearfully.
“I will show you the mercy of Ra!” he said sinisterly, reaching down and grabbing her neck.
She felt her throat closing in and her air supply cutting off. He lifted her off her feet as effortlessly as one would pick a stray thread off a cloak. She tried to kick him with her legs, but it felt like she was kicking against copper. His ensuing laughter chilled her blood. She attempted turning her head to look at her father. He had turned and was looking up at her. Help me, Father! She screamed on the inside, the words unable to push their way past the death grip on her neck. Through her blurring vision she made out her father’s features more closely, and any hope she had of him saving her shriveled up and died. His lips were sealed shut and his arms were bound in front of him.
With tears streaming down his face, he continued bowing, silently pleading with the one who was presently draining the life out of her. She felt her limbs grow numb, and the image of her father distorted as her life ebbed. Suddenly, she felt the vice-like grip on her neck loosen. She gasped in a gulp of air and felt her senses return for the briefest of moments. Just long enough to feel herself being swung through the air in a circular motion.
“Fare thee well!” yelled the frightening steerer of their boat as he opened his arm and released her. The splash her plunge created assaulted her ears. Her next gasp for air filled her lungs with icy waters. Coughing and spluttering, she tried to swim, but it was as though watery hands beneath her worked in tandem with the coppery ones above her. While the latter pushed her, the former pulled. She felt herself sink lower and lower until there was neither fight nor breath left in her. Nothing remained but black, chilly silence. It was so cold, it started to feel warm. But then the warmth grew, and a brightness seemed to surround her. As though being pulled up by invisible arms, she began to rise, faster and higher, until she broke through the water’s surface, gasping and flailing her arms wildly.
She was still panting and tossing when she realized she was actually in a very different, much safer location. Familiar carvings were etched into the ceiling above her, and beneath her were the softest, most expensive bed sheets in the land. Knowing she had been dreaming did not immediately translate to the calming of her alarmed senses. Her heart was racing and her hands were shaking. She was drenched. Flinging the covers off her sweat-soaked skin, she swung her legs over the side of her high bed.
By the life of Pharaoh, what does this dream signify?
She had not the faintest idea, but the sinking feeling in her stomach told her it boded no good. Experience had proven that her dreams were self-fulfilling prophecies of doom. The first time she’d had such an unsettling dream was the day before Osiris ushered her mother into the afterlife. The last time was the morning of the black day. Until now.
She still felt like she was suffocating. I need air! Lightly rubbing a hand over her throat, she looked around her chamber. Judging by the dimness both within and outside its latticed window, the day had not yet dawned, but she did not care. This would not be the first time she had escaped to her place of comfort without the help of sunlight. She slipped her feet into the papyrus sandals at her bedside. Just beside her cot stood an intricately carved small cedar table. She reached for the veil that lay on it, pausing a handbreadth from it. Although it was now like her second skin, it seemed unappealing after her vivid dream.
It is still dark anyway. I can do without it for now. Rising, she fastened it to a fold in her sleeping tunic. My cloak. Feeling her way around the room, she took her cloak down from its usual resting place and wrapped it around herself, then stealthily made her way out of her chambers, not wanting to awaken the snoring handmaiden nearby. She needed neither assistance nor interference for this excursion, merely stealth and speed.
***
She did not know what it was like to dwell in an immortal paradise, but surely, the serenity of this elevated place was comparable. Lifting her oval face skyward, she closed her eyes and began taking in deep, calming breaths. Her brief but brisk excursion out of her luxurious home had been worth the few scratches it had earned her. This was the one place where she could rid herself of the disconcerting feelings that had filled her since awakening. Dwelling on the mysterious dream would not shed light on its meaning, only fan the flames of her mounting anxiety. She was not blessed with the gift of interpreting visions of the night. Merely the curse of having them before misfortune manifested itself in her life. Were he not himself cast in her dream in an unflattering light, she might ask her father for a meaning.
Satiah might know. Her childhood best friend had been conscripted into the life of a priestess since the girl’s crimson visitor showed up, one short month after her own. The separation had stolen whatever little sparks of joy might have remained in her childhood after the black day. She had been too heartbroken to make another real friend since. Seeing Satiah at the occasional temple festival was still the highlight of those ceremonies. And today was one of such. Although, there was neither a guarantee she would see Satiah nor that the priestess would have any insights about her disturbing dream. It was probably best she focused her efforts at Temple today on beseeching the gods to blow away whatever ill wind was coming. Until then, she would make the most of this moment of serenity and liberty.
A gentle breeze rustled through her waist-length hair, causing curls to envelop her slender frame. She speculated if the resulting soft, tingly feeling might resemble a lover’s caress.
Not that I will ever know that pleasure; I will be eighteen in less than a year. The thought was unnerving. The age that inspired celebration for most noble young women inspired dread in her. Like a never-ending plague, the memory of the black day past stained her present. She rued the day of her veiling like the visit of an armed bandit. It had robbed her of two irreplaceable things: faith in her father’s love and hope of finding true love. Feeling a familiar sorrow wrap itself around her heart, she shook her head. Stop these miserable musings; you came here to forget.
Shutting her eyes more tightly, she drew her mind back from images of her foreboding future to sounds in her present, pleasant surroundings.
The melodic chirping of a bird in a branch nearby.
The whispers and whistles of the wind whipping through the leaves.
Sensing the faint light of dawn suddenly intensifying, she opened her eyes and involuntarily caught her breath. There was something mesmerizing about the bronze, orange, and yellow hues of a new dawn. The seamless blend of colors never ceased to amaze. Each was distinct, yet together they formed one spectacularly luminous shade.
Horus is indeed a celestial artist without a human rival to paint such multicolored magnificence every morning. Adding to their awe-inspiring quality was the fact that even though each dawn broke at about the same time daily, no two dawns were exactly alike. The one thing they had in common was that each, including the one she now gazed upon, was breathtaking. A slow smile spread across her unveiled face.
Here, where heaven kissed earth, was her favorite place to be.
Here, looking down and drinking in the scintillating scenery of the city of Heliopolis, or looking up and soaking in the splendor of the stunning sunrise.
Here, nestled in the thick branches of the largest tree that sat at the top of the highest mound, in the fields at the end of a weathered path, emerging from an almost imperceptible gap in the fence surrounding the luxurious residence she called home.
