The Bone-Setter's Daughter

Chapter 2

I scream for my father, the words ripping roughly from my throat and tearing through my lips until I taste copper at the back of my tongue.

My cries bring the slaves scurrying quickly like drones to their queen bee, who then stand motionless and look on in horror.

Bak's head is cradled in my lap, his dark face ghastly white, as he wails and whimpers like a babe. His left leg is twisted, and snapped like a twig. The brown skin has peeled backwards from his thigh, exposing his flesh like the goat that is being readied to roast over the kitchen hearth, sharp shards of white bone stabbing through the mess.

A compound fracture, my studies have taught me it is called.

"Papa!" I screech again.

A keening cry comes from across the yard, and through the tears that cloud my vision, I see A-at sprinting toward us. She skids to a stop beside me on the ground, her knees scraping and bleeding with the rough impact, but she does not seem to notice.

She has eyes only for her son, who she lifts from my lap and cradles against her breast as though she has traveled back to a time where gentle rocking and a kiss could soothe all wounds.

The scream that breaks from Bak's white lips at the movement makes the hair at the base of my neck stand on end and curdles my blood. A-at pales, and runs her fingers over Bak's coarse, black hair.

"What were you doing? How many times have I told you not to go up there?" she asks, her voice cracking.

Guilt, heavy and thick as a cloud of incense in a dark temple, envelops me. Bak had only scaled the roof in order to convince me to come down. I should be the one lying on the ground, writhing in agony. Not him.

"What's all this?" my father's voice booms, as he pushes past the circle of servants who have gathered around us, whispering to one another and wringing their hands.

His dark eyes are calculating as he takes in the scene, and the creases on his face deepen when his gaze settles on Bak's thigh.

"Anat. Bennu. Bring him into the main house. Lay him in the guest suite," my father orders two of our largest slaves. The two men take Bak from his mother's arms, and quickly comply with my father's instructions. The screams that come from Bak as he is jostled sound like the tortured cries emerging from the depths of the underworld.

I want to stuff my ears with linen and beeswax to make them go away.

A-at grabs a hold of my hand so tightly it feels like my knuckles will be ground to sand within her grasp. She tucks me into the generous curve of her side and holds me close.

"Everything is going to be okay," she whispers. "Your father is one of the most talented bone-setters in Thebes."

I'm not sure if she says those words to comfort me, or herself.

We follow my father, Anat, and Bennu through the wooden gate that separates the servant's yard from the ornamental gardens of the main house. We pass date palms, ornamental hedges of jasmine, the cooling pools filled with blue lotus flowers that Bak and I had spent so many sweltering summers swimming though.

A-at whimpers at Bak's screams as he is carried up the stairs and in through the front entrance of my father's home. The servants carry him across the tiled floors, and deposit him on the bed in my favorite guest room- the one whose ceiling is painted in a fresco of the night sky.

The moment Anat and Bennu step back, A-at rushes forward to her son's bedside, running her fingers over his hair. One of her hands is still clasped around mine though, dragging me forward with her. She clings to us- the child of her blood, and me- the child of her breast, while my father tentatively probes Bak's leg.