The Guardians of Truth

Chapter 3

Someone was calling her name. Surely it could not be morning already. She did not want to rise yet. Eyes closed, mind groggy, she reached for the blanket to draw it up over herself. But had her hands really moved? She felt nothing.

The insistent voice came again. Years of training and discipline broke through the fog in Meret's mind. She could not be late for morning exercises.

Meret sat up, brushing hair away from her eyes, and blinked into the darkness. Sand caked her arms and legs and the hardness of a wall pressed against her back. Stars sparkled overhead like grains of salt scattered across an onyx table. A few dim shapes shone faintly in the black night.

One of them moved toward her.

The figure glowed more brightly as it approached, until everything else faded from her vision. A young man in a pleated kilt looked down at her. A small part of Meret felt ashamed at being seen in such disarray, but the thought quickly vanished under her awe at the youth's beauty.

"Go to the abandoned temple of the Pharaoh Queen," he said. "There you will find help."

Before she could think of questions, before she could even consider his words, he faded.

Meret awoke with a start, staring wildly around at the empty desert, barely visible under the weight of the night sky. She searched for the man, but the only forms visible were the pale stretch of the wall behind her and a distant bluff etching a line against the sky. She had been dreaming? Many dreams faded or shattered into fragments when one awoke, hardly leaving anything to take to a dream interpreter. But this time, she could picture the young man as if he still stood before her. She stumbled to her feet and scanned the area all around.

She stood alone.

Hunger clawed at Meret. She'd had nothing to eat all day except a few more pieces of fruit plucked from trees hanging close to garden walls. How had she come to this? A noble girl, raised in luxury, and now she was reduced to sneaking scraps so she would not starve. She wanted bread, meat, milk or spiced wine sweetened with honey. She wanted to go back home where servants waited on her, bringing her rich food, bathing her and oiling her skin. She wanted to scream at her father for bringing their family to this.

She wanted her father.

Meret sighed. Unless she wished to visit her father in prison, her only chance of reuniting the family was to uncover the plot against him. She would rescue her father and get his property and possessions returned. She would not be cast out, destitute.

She moved to the corner of the building and looked down the street toward the east. A faint light heralded dawn. She doubted she could sleep more, so she turned toward the alleyway, brushing sand from her dress. She might as well start figuring out how to get to the mortuary temple of Hatshepsut, the Pharaoh Queen from five generations before.

The scroll! Meret whipped around, trying to identify where exactly she'd been sleeping, curled in a pocket of soft sand close to the wall. She scrabbled in the sand until her fingers brushed against the tube. Chunks of dried mud crumbled off as she held it. Her fingers tightened, wanting to crush the papyrus. Was this really the cause of all their trouble?

She could leave it, throw it into the desert, rid herself of its danger. But it was too valuable - the only valuable thing she had now - and she might need it, either to trade for wealth or favors, or to use if she could find some way to access the magic.

She clutched the scroll to her breast and glanced around uneasily, as if the Pharaoh Akhenaten himself might overhear her thoughts. He and his God Aten would not approve of her using magic. But her family already suffered for the crime. She preferred to earn her punishment.