Kepi and Menes took their places in the little boat and paddled away from the dock of the village they’d slept in last night. It was barely dawn—Kepi’s favorite time. She looked straight ahead and up a little. If she was lucky, she would see it happen. There was this briefest moment, just a second really, when the sky changed from pale gray but it wasn’t yet blue—an instant of startling white. She had seen it several times since she’d been on this voyage, and it always made her feel that she was glimpsing something very special. She had decided it was the smile of a goddess. She didn’t know which goddess, but it was so luxurious, it had to be that. Kepi laughed out loud.
“So? You’re in a good mood, huh?” said Menes from his spot behind her. “Let’s cross the river and stay as close as we can to the west bank.”
“How come?”
“I wouldn’t want to see you jump in and swim across the whole Nile.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re pretty wild, you know. More like a little animal than a little tempest sometimes. It’s impossible to predict what you’ll do at the first sight of the white walls.”
Kepi pulled her paddle in and rested it across her thighs, so she could turn her head to Menes. He was clearly teasing her, but she had no idea why. “All right. What’s going on?”
He grinned. “The west bank is where Ineb Hedj sits. We’ll arrive today.”
Kepi let out a whoop of joy.
“Not so loud. You’ll scare the crocs.”
Kepi dug her paddle in deep and pushed it back with all her strength. Today. They were arriving today. This journey was finally over. She might do what she had to do and be on a boat going back home soon. Maybe even tomorrow.
That talk about going over close to the west bank was just Menes’s joke. They paddled to the center and stayed there. That was where the current was strongest; that was where they could travel the fastest with the least effort.
And in that moment, the pink cocoon that Kepi had taken such good care of split, and a wet butterfly struggled out.
“Menes, watch.”
They both put down their paddles.
The body was black with white spots. The wings were lion colored.
“See that little pouch on the hind wing?” said Kepi.
“The thick spot, you mean?”
“That shows it’s a male. My father taught me all about butterflies. This kind is the most common in all Egypt.”
The butterfly stretched his wings out wide to dry them. Then he took off, flying straight and low over the water. Kepi watched, her throat tight with worry. But he made it to land and disappeared among the plants at the water’s edge. She clapped. So did Menes.
“Kepi, listen. You’re smart. You know you can’t get your baboon back.”
The words felt like a blow to the chest. “Don’t say that.”
“The crew will have sold him to a temple, and you’ll never get him back from the priests. Besides, people can’t keep baboons in their homes. He’ll grow big, and if he isn’t trained properly, he’ll be vicious.”
“Don’t! Don’t say such a thing about Babu!” But Menes was right. Kepi realized she’d reached the same conclusion at some point over this past month. That was the cause of the nugget of sadness inside her. Babu was gone for good. She hung her head.
“Don’t be stubborn.” Menes leaned toward her. “I’ve made a decision. When we find the crew, I’ll get them to give you a share of whatever they got for the baboon.”
“I’d never take anything for Babu. You don’t trade away a friend!”
“You infuriate me, you know that?” He slapped the side of the boat. “All right, forget it. We’ll talk about it when we get to Ineb Hedj.”
“I need to talk now. About something else. The pharaoh.”
Menes protruded his lips as though appraising her. “Are you really going to try to see him?”
“He hurt my father. Can you tell me where to find him?”
“What do you mean, he hurt your father?”
“My father was working on his pyramid, on the inner chamber, and a chunk of granite fell on his foot. They had to cut it off. Now he can’t farm anymore and everything’s so hard. We could lose our land.”
“That happens all the time, Kepi. Pharaoh Khufu’s been building that pyramid for nearly twenty years, and thousands of men have worked on it. I don’t know—maybe a hundred thousand. They get maimed. They die.”
Kepi pressed her lips together. Of course that was true. Lots of men were like Father. “So you understand. I have to tell him.”
“He doesn’t care.”
“He has to care. We’re his people.”
“Khufu’s father and grandfather, they were good rulers. Djoser Netjeriket and Snefru. They had compassion. Khufu doesn’t know what compassion is.”
“Everyone knows what compassion is.”
“Let me tell you something. Khufu used to have a magician who was trying to learn how to bring dead people back to life. So he chose prisoners for the magician to practice on. Understand?” Menes jutted his chin forward. “He’d kill them so the magician could try to make them come alive again. But they never did.”
Kepi could hardly speak. She whispered, “That’s so terrible. Who told you?”
“It’s what people say.”
“It couldn’t be true. It’s against the law.”
“And people never break the law? Look who you’re talking to, Kepi.” Menes covered his mouth for a moment. “Let’s paddle. I need to think. You should, too. No more talking till we’re almost there.”
Kepi’s insides were jumbled now. But the wood felt smooth and good in her hands. She put all her energy into paddling. She’d think later, when her heart had calmed.
The Nile widened steadily as the morning gently warmed. They traveled for hours. The river grew positively swampy at the edges, clogged with weeds and rushes and the tallest papyrus Kepi had yet seen. A gentle wind came from the north, like usual. But beyond that, there was no motion other than the river’s current. The birds seemed to be asleep late today; even the ducks and geese were absent. And the only herd of gazelles Kepi had caught sight of was in the distance, hightailing it away.
“Do you feel that?” Menes asked.
Kepi flinched. Menes’s voice was such a surprise in this quiet that it came as a rude shock. “Feel what?”
“A cold wind.”
She hadn’t. But now that he said it, she did notice a slight chill. “Yes.”
“Which way do you think it’s coming from?”
“Behind.”
“I know that, but which way, east or west?”
“I think east.”
“Paddle for the west bank as fast as you can!”
“Why? What’s the matter?”
“A sandstorm. Paddle! We have to make it to the west bank before it hits.”
Kepi had never been outdoors in a sandstorm. The very idea terrified her. At home they all huddled in the storage cellar when the winds blew.
They paddled as hard as they could. The cold wind came faster now. She looked back over her shoulder. A thick cloud was speeding toward them, all red and gold from dust and sand swirling together. It barreled up the river, spreading out as far as she could see to the east. It stretched upward through the skies so that there was no blue beyond. She let out a yelp and paddled harder, faster, deeper.
“All trade boats take passengers,” shouted Menes.
“What?”
“I told you it wasn’t allowed. I told you that when I first got you to come on our boat. But I was lying. If something happens to me, beg a ride home on a trade boat and they’ll take you in exchange for cleaning fish or gear or whatever.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you, Menes.”
“In my cloth satchel is the glass bead necklace I bought you at Nekheb. I was going to give it to you when we got to Ineb Hedj. Put it on now. Just in case.”
Kepi knew what “just in case” meant. “Stop talking like that. We won’t die, Menes.”
“Set is the god of storms. And you’re his little tempest. He might protect you, but he sure won’t protect me.”
“I didn’t pray to Set for a storm. I promise. I’d never do such a thing.”
“I know that. Sometimes the gods just do things, all on their own. But I’ll fight. I won’t give up. And you’re like me—you don’t give up. You remember that. What-ever happens.”
“Stop it! Really. You’ll put that necklace on me when we get to Ineb Hedj.”
The clear air turned dark gray in an instant, as though someone had just blown out the wick flames in a bowl of kiki oil. The sand cloud reached so high, it blocked out the sun.
Menes steered them into the middle of the closest rushes. The little boat jerked as it slammed against the plants. Menes threw his paddle into the bottom of the boat and grabbed the pole. He poled them deeper into the rushes, till the boat couldn’t move at all. Then he opened his cloth satchel and took out a ball of fabric and stared at Kepi. “I only have one.”
That ball was a sand scarf. Kepi knew all about them. You wrapped them around your whole head, to protect your eyes from being scratched blind by the sand and to keep the dust and sand from filling up your nose and mouth and suffocating you. The cloth was thin enough to see through, so you could still breathe, and firm enough so that it could hold itself away from your mouth. A flimsy scarf could get pushed into your throat and choke you. Without the protection of the right scarf, no one could survive a sandstorm. Kepi stared back at Menes.
He turned his back to her and wrapped his head, winding fast. Then he stopped and unwound. He looked at Kepi and took out his knife. “You’re right. Everyone knows what compassion is.” Menes slit the cloth and handed her half. “If we make it through this, I’ll go with you to talk to the pharaoh. Hurry now.” He closed his eyes and wound his half around his head. Around and around. So fast his hands were a blur. He was expert at it. When he finished winding, he curled up on his side in the bottom of the boat and hugged himself.
Kepi had better be fast, too. She was holding her half by one end when the wind blew upward and snatched it away, over the tops of the papyrus, lost to sight!
The cloud had become a solid wall, pushing forward with wild winds. Only the gods could save her now. Kepi opened her mouth to pray, but the wind stole her words. It pulled her hair. It tried to rip off her dress.
Kepi pulled her dress off over her head and the wind tore at it, but she held on for dear life this time. She tied the top of it into a knot, so the dress was like a bag now. Then she pulled the bag down over her head and bunched the bottom of it around her neck, clutching it tight with her hands. She curled into the bottom of the boat.
The storm roared. It bellowed. It screamed. It was as though every wild animal in the whole world cried out in anger at once. The dust and sand scoured Kepi’s bare skin raw. She tightened into the smallest ball she could, to protect at least the front of her. Her back and upper shoulder burned savagely. She felt something wet spread from that shoulder down to the well of her neck, then get sucked away by the wind. She was bleeding. She’d be skinned completely if her body stayed out in the open like that.
She got to her knees, fighting against the force of the gale, and hurled herself over the edge of the boat. She couldn’t even reach out to catch on to anything, because it took all her strength to hold her dress bunched tight around her neck. She landed in papyrus so thick, it was almost impenetrable. It held her up. She thrashed and kicked and wiggled, and slowly, slowly she worked her way down. Her feet found their way under the cool water. What enormous relief. Then her legs and bottom and finally her shoulders. Papyrus surrounded her. It slapped down on her head from every direction.
The storm raged on. The noise deafened her. Her dress blinded her. The water and papyrus enveloped her. She felt a part of her close off from the world outside. It gathered itself together and sealed away in a secret spot she’d never known she had, deep in the center of her being. Was that her ka? Was it preparing to separate from her body? Kepi didn’t want to die. Please. Please.
She pressed the side of her head against the papyrus plants. She could still feel their pressure. But only barely. She wanted to sleep. The need to doze off was huge. But she had the sickening conviction that if she let herself sleep, she’d never wake.
Aiiii! Something bit her foot. Kepi kicked at it like a maniac. She could barely move, wedged into the reeds like that, but she still kicked until she couldn’t anymore. It was all she could do just to hold on to her dress and breathe.
And still the storm raged. It just wouldn’t stop. Kepi lost all sense of time. It was as though she’d always been here in this water in these papyrus leaves, and she always would be.
Finally the noise lessened. Did it really? Kepi couldn’t be sure of anything. Maybe her ears had truly stopped working. For now she couldn’t hear anything. It wasn’t like before, when she felt deafened by noise. This was just absence. Nothingness. Did she live still? She moved her tongue around in her dry, dry mouth. Her teeth were still there.