Idu made a face but didn’t press matters. “Yes, Uncle. Sorry, Uncle.” He moved away into the shadows beyond the fading fire, where he squatted with his back to us.
As soon as Idu backed down, his uncle’s attitude changed radically. He dropped the throwing stick and went over to speak with his nephew. I couldn’t hear exactly what passed between them, but I did catch the older man’s coaxing, persuasive tone. At first Idu objected—a voice raised in anger is unmistakable—but his uncle’s went from cajolery to something far darker, judging from the way he almost growled. Was he threatening him? If so, it was effective. For the second time that night, Idu surrendered; he let his beaming uncle bring him back to the fireside.
“There, we’re all friends again,” the older man declared, well satisfied that things had worked out his way. “Nefertiti, I promise that I won’t trouble you with any more questions tonight, and Idu promises he truly won’t bother you with any more of his unwanted … attention. How does that sound?” I nodded. “Good, good. Now your part of the bargain is to promise that you won’t shed any more tears until morning, all right?”
“I’ll—I’ll try.”
“No, you have to give your word. We’ll help you honor it. No more questions and we’ll keep your mind on other things. I know some fine songs, and Idu’s mother taught him plenty of stories. We’ll stay merry until we fall asleep, and in the morning, we’ll see to it that you get where you’re going safely.”
I thanked him and Idu sincerely. “It’s a bargain; you have my word.”
We seemed to be at peace with one another, but I could still sense the tension between Idu and his uncle. It was there even when the older man began bawling a harvest song so badly that it was clear he was clowning. He followed it with a comical song about why the baboon had a red behind, and this time he carried the tune beautifully, letting the words and not his performance make us laugh. True, Idu was laughing, but it didn’t sound natural. I wondered why.
After his uncle was finished with the baboon song, Idu told a few stories about the adventures of the gods and about brave princes who were dogged by dreadful curses. They were stories familiar to every child I’d ever known, but a familiar tale can still be entertaining if it’s told well.
Idu did not tell his stories well. His heart wasn’t in the task, and he spoke in a monotonous way that reminded me of an ox’s plodding steps.
When he was done with his third tale and about to begin a fourth, I spoke up. “Let me tell one now, please. All I’ve done since I’ve met you kind people is take and take. I want to make you a gift, even if it’s just a story.” With that, I began to tell them one of the tales that I’d made up myself, many years ago, to amuse my little sister, Bit-Bit. It was called “The Princess Who Danced on the Moon,” and when I came to the part where the handsome prince sees the princess singing and dancing, I got to my feet and acted out her part, clapping my hands and lifting my voice, caught up in the enchantment of my own words.
When I finished, Idu’s uncle cheered his approval. “Ah, Idu, you should learn the way to tell a tale from this girl! Nefertiti, I’d rather listen to one of your stories than ten of his. Now I know why you’re headed for Dendera: You’re going to serve the goddess as a singer and dancer in her holy temple. Am I right?”
“It would be the greatest honor to dance for Hathor,” I replied, choosing my words with the greatest care. “I doubt it’s one I deserve.”
“Nonsense! The goddess would be lucky to have you. Anyone, god or mortal, would call you a little treasure.” His good eye twinkled, and he grinned so wide that I could see every badly worn-down and broken tooth left in his mouth.
“Stolen,” Idu muttered so low that I only caught that single word.
“What did you say, boy?” The older man’s grin vanished.
“I’m tired,” Idu said in a sullen voice. “I’ve had enough songs and stories. I want to sleep.”
“Hmm, not a bad idea. We’ll make an early start in the morning.”
We all stretched out on the ground and soon slept.
My dreams were vague and confused. The sacred river swirled through them, becoming plumes of smoke one moment, bundled serpents the next. I was calling out something to someone, but I couldn’t hear my own voice, only the distant sound of a harp playing a melancholy, wandering tune. Nava’s harp … I tried to run toward the sound, but the smoke and the serpents and the sacred river tangled my feet. I opened my mouth to scream as I fell, but I couldn’t make a sound. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t—
“Shhh. Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” Idu lay on top of me, one hand covering my mouth. His face was concealed by the darkness. I squirmed wildly and made a smothered, squealing sound; he only tightened his grip, pressing the insides of my cheeks painfully against my teeth. “Stop that. You have to believe me—I won’t hurt you, Nefertiti. I swear it. May Ammut eat my heart if I’m lying. Listen, there’s something important I need to tell you, something you have to know, but I don’t want Uncle to hear me. Promise you’ll be quiet?”
I scowled, but I nodded and stopped struggling. Gently he released my mouth and pushed himself back onto his knees and helped me sit up. His breath was warm on my ear as he drew near and whispered, “They’re alive, Nefertiti. Your friends are alive.”
3
LINES DRAWN ON SAND