The Bone-Setter's Daughter

Chapter 1

"When the star-dwellers crashed into our sands, our lands were being terrorized by two serpants with bodies as long and undulating as the Nile. They had poisoned the waters, and illness coursed through our forefathers. The Star-Dweller Heka stepped from the swirling sands, lifted his staff, and the serpents were reduced to stone and ash. Heka opened his veins and healed us with his blood. And thus the people of Egypt were awakened to magic."
                                                                     - Aki-Amun's Papyrus Of Histories

1356 BCE

"Heka, Heka, what do you see? Strong blood magic flowing through me!

Hathor, Hathor, what do you wear? Kohl on your eyes, and beads in your hair!

Sobek, Sobek what do you do? Create the Nile, and make babies too!"

I sing the age-old chant as I balance precariously on the top ledge of the mud-brick wall that wraps its way around my father's estate. With each careful step of my foot, I sing another line, moving slowly with the beat.

"Mayet!"

I cringe at the sound of my name, and take another step.

"Mayet, I know you can hear me!" my milk-brother, Bak, calls out.

"Sekhmet, Sekhmet, what do you hear? The blades of war, and prayers in cats' ears."

I continue the chant and keep moving, ignoring Bak as I carefully plant one foot in front of the other, my arms spread out wide like the wings of the goddess Ma'at for balance.

"Mayet! Come on! Mom said that I'd be mucking out the cattle pen for a week if I let you go up there again!" Bak complains, and I roll my eyes.

"Like you could stop me," I mutter, inching closer to my goal.

"Horus, Horus, where do you fly? Over the battlefield to restore your eye." 

The roof of the servant's quarters is in reach now. I grin as I stand on tiptoe, and then climb up the side of the whitewashed, mud-brick wall with as much ease as Babi, the baboon deity of the underworld. I perch on the tiled roof of the slave's quarters, where Bak and his mother- my nursemaid and former wetnurse, sleep.

"Mayet!" comes Bak's exasperated cry from below me. He shades his eyes against the bright afternoon sun. "Please!"

"Why don't you join me? Or is that too childish for you now that Papa started training you to be his record-keeper?"

I hear Bak muttering some choice curses below me, and I grin. "The pomegranate trees make for a good ladder!" I call down to him, knowing I've won, and he scowls up at me.

"I'm the one who taught you that trick in the first place!"

I shrug, and then turn toward my prize: the view of Thebes, sprawling out below and around me. The city has its own heartbeat- it pulses with the linen billowing on laundry lines, with the laughter of children running down the avenues, with the old men playing board games in the street. In the distance, I can make out the obelisks of Luxor Temple, and the Avenue of Sphinxes leading to Karnak.

"My mother is going to skin us alive."

I look down, and see that Bak has arrived at the juncture of the enclosure wall and the servant's quarters building. I offer him my hand, and he grins as he pulls himself up to sit beside me on the sun-baked tiles of the roof.

"She won't stay mad for long," I assure him, and he snorts.

"Maybe not with you. But me? I think I'd rather face Ma'at's feather of truth than my mother."

I laugh, and he shudders.

"She's terrifying," he insists. 

"Really? More terrifying than having your heart on a scale, and the creatures of the underworld waiting to devour you if it weighs more than a feather?"

"Give me the Hall of Justice any day," Bak affirms. I laugh again, and shake my head.

"Your mom's really proud of you, you know," I say, after a moment, and Bak glances at me out of the corner of his eye.

Someone pushes a cart through the street below, gesturing to an assortment of freshly baked bread as he hawks his wares. The scent wafts up to the roof, and my mouth waters.

"For learning to be Papa's record keeper, I mean. Numbers are hard. Hieroglyphics are harder. But Papa says you're doing really well."

"Well enough, for a slave," Bak replies, the twist of his mouth bitter. I frown.

"You know I don't think of you and A-at like that. A-at is the mother I never had, and you're my brother in everything but blood."

Bak sighs. "It doesn't matter how you think of us. We belong to you."

"Not for forever. I'll set you free. Both of you. As soon as I complete my training and become a wabau like my papa. I promise," I vow. Bak only shrugs.

We sit in silence, for a time, watching the linen-garbed people rush through the streets below us. There are golden-skinned Egyptians, Nubians with skin so black it gleams purple in the sun, small children running naked, old women clutching shawls around their shoulders despite the heat of the day.

I have never been anywhere but Thebes, but I can't imagine loving any place more than my home.

"Shouldn't we be studying?" Bak asks me, after a time, and I sigh.

"All we do is study," I reply.

"The more you study, the sooner you'll become a wabau. The sooner you become a wabau, the sooner my mother and I will be free."

I bite my lip, feeling guilty. As the daughter of a noble physician, I have the freedom to act like the ten-year-old I am, playing hide-and seek in the garden, chasing the chickens, and scaling the walls of the servants quarters. Bak is not as blessed as I. At nearly eleven, he has to behave more man than boy.

"Alright, you've convinced me. Let's go hit the scrolls."

Bak grins as he pushes himself up to his feet, and offers me his hand. I accept his help, and brush the dirt off my bottom as Bak steps across the roof to scale down the wall.

I hear a crack, and time stands still.

One moment, Bak is staring at me, black eyes wide, his lips opening in silent horror. The next, he is sliding backwards, limbs akimbo as he struggles to maintain his balance when a roof tile cracks and slips out from under his feet.

I shout for him, reaching out for his hand.

I am too late.

His gaze never leaves mine as he falls backwards.

When his broken body hits the earth with a painful thud, I can't tell if the screams that rend the air are his or mine.