TRAPPED IN HIMSELF
“Above all else, learn.”
Tersh’s words to Kareth as they parted on the dock had etched themselves into his mind, like the hieroglyphs on the building walls. Learn. The word tasted bitter to him. Learn, he muttered to himself every morning as he woke with the sun. And learn he did. By the end of the first day working in the stables he understood the words for water and horse and oats, and that he dare not look confused by the orders Piye was shouting at him. He learned to watch the other stable boys and mimic what they did. By the end of the second day he had learned the names of the horses, of which ones would bite and kick, and which ones would nuzzle your face with their soft noses and let you feed them oats from your hand.
“Learn.”
The word screamed in his mind as he felt the stick strike his thigh. This was not the first time he has been beaten by Piye. The stable master was always angry. And he would find any excuse to hit you on the ear. It was so hard that sometimes you couldn’t hear properly for the rest of the day. His anger would burst from him if you were too slow, or too weak to carry something, or looked too sleepy in the morning, or just if he wanted to.
Kareth had broken a vase, just a small ceramic container. He had been filling one of the horse’s troughs, and had slipped and broken it. Piye seemed to reach him from the shadows. Stepping out and grabbing his ear, yanking it so hard he thought for a moment it had been ripped from his head. Then the stable master had dragged him outside, throwing him to the ground and striking him with one of the horse crops over and over. The other stable boys watched on with gleaming eyes. He knew they would have laughed, but if they did Piye was just as likely to turn on them next.
Working in the stables wasn’t terrible because of Piye, or because of the smell and the biting horses – in fact he quite liked the horses. It was truly unbearable because the other stable hands were cold to him, barely speaking to him. The only friends he made those first few days were the mares.
Ten of the horses, massive stallions, were chariot horses. The biggest of them were fierce black ones that made Kareth feel nervous to be around. Their names were Horem and Meheb, and they were Imotah’s favourites, apparently. There were six other stallions, smaller than the chariot horses, and they were used for leisure riding. They were more gentle. Finally there were four mares, they were the same colour as the great sea of sand he had once called his home. He liked brushing them, gazing at the contours of their shoulders and haunches, remembering the sand dunes he had once played in.
At night he would return to the servants’ quarters. The servants all slept within the main building, but on a lower level near the kitchens. Those who worked in the stables had the smallest rooms, three or four sharing with each other. Kareth was given his own room, though he could barely stretch out in it. It was smaller than the horse stalls he cleaned every day, and he imagined it hadn’t been meant as a room in the first place, probably just a small storage space they weren’t using at the moment.
At first he felt annoyed. He would listen to the other boys whispering and laughing softly to each other as he drifted off to sleep. He felt envious, and he felt alone. A few nights he would feel tears in his eyes, and he would bury his face into his cloak, breathing in the musty scent of leather and his people.
Kareth dared not wear his cloak on Imotah’s property, and kept it in his room, draping it over the scratchy hay to give him some comfort at night. Everyone had warned him that he would have enough trouble if they found out he was a Whisperer; wearing his cloak would only encourage someone to steal it or worse. It was better left in his room, hidden from eyes. It pained Kareth to leave it every morning, but he knew he had no choice. He had to live with these people, even if their ways were strange.
Learning the language at that point became his only goal. Suddenly understanding their words was the one thing protecting him from most of Piye’s swift anger. He started mimicking the other stable boys. As they chatted in the stalls next to him or in the small common room for their morning and evening meals, he would repeat everything they said under his breath, keeping a careful eye on their lips. At night he would just repeat songs he knew, or commands Piye had shouted. As the days accumulated and a turn of the moon passed, their words and sentences began to make sense. He began to connect the sounds and actions with thoughts. He began to understand the conversations he was eavesdropping on.
Although he understood more and more every day, he still had no one to speak to. It wouldn’t have mattered if they knew he was a Whisperer, he realized. They had no love of foreigners here. They would stand up from a table if he sat next to him. They would turn away if they saw him coming. No one was cruel to him. No one made faces. In fact, other than Piye, usually people would smile at him, but it was always a distant, uncaring smile.
“Master Piye!” A small voice cut through the crowd gathered around watching Kareth getting beaten in the dirt. Kareth lifted his face, caked with mud and tears to see a young girl walk through the boys. She was taller than most of them, though far thinner and of lighter skin. She looked very delicate next to the gruff crowd.
Piye spat into the dirt, standing up straight and lowering his crop. Looking clearly annoyed by the interruption. “What? I’m busy!”
“Forgive me, master,” she nodded her head in respect. Kareth recognized her then. All the servant girls wore the same simple white shift and a plain black braided wig. But he recognized her big nose and small chin, and most of all her smile. The first time he has seen her, when she had helped to wash and shave him, he had thought she looked rather funny, but now he couldn’t help think she looked like one of those graceful white ibis birds he had seen along the shores of the Nepata. “Mistress Ankhet has asked for him.”
“Him?” Piye snarled, showing off the gaps in his teeth.
“Yes,” she stared at him, a small smile on her narrow lips. Kareth had never seen anyone look so directly at Piye before, and for a moment was afraid the stable master might lash out at her too, but instead Piye just spat again.
“Take him. I am done with him for today anyway,” Piye turned towards the stable boys who had gathered to watch. “Get back to work you lazy sods! Who said you could have a break!” He kicked at the nearest one who just managed to dodge and they all ran back into the stables.
Kareth started pushing himself up, his legs burning. For a moment he wasn’t entirely certain if he could stand.
“Are you all right?” The girl kneeled next to him, for the first time her face showed concern.
“I’m fine,” he said, wincing. She took his arm and helped him to stand. He looked down and was surprised to see that despite the fact that he felt like his thighs had been cut with knives, there was not a drop of blood. Obviously Piye was well practiced at beating the boys, while leaving them able to work.
She leaned in close, and he was taken aback by the smell of perfume on her. He was so used to smelling horseshit all day, but she smelled like lily, myrrh, and cinnamon. He leaned back, suddenly self-aware that she might think he stunk, but she showed no signs of disgust.
“Mistress Ankhet doesn’t really need you, I just can’t stand crotchety old Piye hurting anyone.”
“Will you get in trouble?” Kareth asked, worried.
Her face brightened. “Wow, you’re speaking much better these days!”
Kareth’s face felt warm. He knew he still had a thick accent, but he tried his best to correct it. “Well, I, uh, practice lot – a lot.”
She nodded enthusiastically. “That’s great! We better go. I can find something for you to do in the kitchens for today. You’ll have to wash first,” she laughed softly. The same laugh she had when she had helped to cut his hair before.
“Um… your name. What is it?” Kareth asked as they walked across the wide promenade to the main house.
“Oh, Tahye,” she said. “I forgot to introduce myself, I guess.”
He was taken aback for a moment. Tahye was the name of the oldest of the mares, she was the gentlest horse in the stable and for that reason his favourite. He would spend the most care when brushing her down, making sure she had a glossy coat before moving on to the next horse. He wondered if the lords of Mahat saw servants the same as pets.
“I’m Kareth, son of Resh,” he had long ago stopped telling the name of his tribe, hiding his identity as a Whisperer.
“Oh, I know,” she smiled.
He couldn’t help but look at her body out of the side of his eyes. He’d started to notice girls a lot more recently. There was something distracting about the curves beneath the shifts they wore. Tahye was still at that awkward stage between girl and woman, her face had the full cheeks of youth, but her limbs were long, with just the hint of breasts on her chest. The hypnotic smell of her perfume made Kareth swallow hard.
“Um, so, you’re a kitchen girl?” He asked, trying to focus on his sandaled feet instead of her body.
“I usually serve in the manor, but that takes me to the kitchen more often than not. I like the kitchens better. There’s always the smell of something delicious cooking, and I like the energy. And sometimes Mistress Ankhet lets us have the leftovers after a banquet, and…” she trailed off, seeing the look of confusion on Kareth’s face. “Sorry, am I talking too fast?”
“Uh, maybe, but it’s okay.”
They entered and Kareth went to the washing room to get rid of the stench of the stables. He washed there every evening with the other stable hands, almost always hiding in the corner. It was nice to have the room to himself for once. He splashed a bucket of cold water over his head, gasping as the water hit the welts on his thighs. Bleeding or not, they still stung intensely. He strained his neck to see the back of his legs, the ugly red marks seeming to swell as he looked at them.
“Does it hurt very much? Do you need something for the pain?” Tahye asked, her concerned face popping through the doorway.
Kareth nearly fell over, turning way, his hands instinctively covering his crotch. He wondered where that shame of being naked in front of a woman came from.
Kareth tried to laugh his embarrassment off. “Uh… do you have coriander?”
“Coriander? I’ll ask,” she disappeared and Kareth grabbed his tunic from a hook along the wall, throwing it over himself before she came back. He was just clasping his belt with the silver buckle as she walked into the room, her arms so full of bottles and bowls it looked like she might drop one any second. “Do you need fresh coriander, or oil, or dried and crushed?”
“Um… oil… maybe.”
She brought her bundle of jars over, placing them not too gently on the floor, looking through the labels of hieroglyphs he couldn’t read. He felt a twinge of jealousy as he watched her eyes scan the symbols.
“Ah, here we go,” she handed him a small thin ceramic bottle. He popped off the topper. The strong smell of coriander, a mix of spicy and sweet, nearly overwhelmed him. “Do you need help rubbing it on?”
He had a sudden thought of Tahye on her knees behind him, her thin fingers covered in oil, rubbing the soothing coriander into the skin of the thighs. He nearly fell over his own feet trying to back up, and hurriedly calling out, “No, no, no, no, no – no thank you!” He turned away from her, afraid she’d see the flush creeping onto his face.
Kareth poured some of the oil onto his hand, awkwardly leaning back to rub the red welts he could just make out. The feeling of relief was so quick he actually sighed. Wherever the oil went, a cold tingling began to spread. When he was finally finished he wiped his hand onto his tunic and handed the bottle back to Tahye.
“Here,” Tahye handed him a cloth, “you might want to clean your hands a little better. Coriander doesn’t taste bad, but they might wonder upstairs if the bakers have changed their recipes. Who taught you to use it as a medicine?”
“Thanks,” Kareth wiped at his hands and fingers until only the faint scent remained, then rinsed them for good measure in the water. Before Tersh had left, she had taught him a few important words like the names of herbs, in case he ever needed to ask for medicine. “Many women in my…” tribe, he wanted to say, but couldn’t, “village use it.”
“One of the lake villages?”
He nodded. He knew he had to make up some kind of backstory to account for the fact that he wasn’t from Mahat. He had decided to tell people – if they asked – that he had come from one of the lake villages he and Tersh had passed through before entering Mahat. At the very least he could remember enough about them that his story wouldn’t be entirely dubious. “Sometimes they boil it and rub on you, or drink.” He shrugged.
They started walking to the kitchens, Kareth helping Tahye to carry the coriander jars. The kitchens were always alive with the fire of the ovens. The servants who worked here did not wear wigs, even Tahye had removed hers while he washed. The boys were content to leave their heads bald, but the women all wore white linens wrapped around their scalps.
“Are you two going to play or prepare that bread?” Mistress Ankhet yelled at them from across the room, but unlike Piye there was no lash to her words. In fact, she seemed more amused than anything. She was the woman who had helped shave and wash him the day he started working in the stables. She was quite old, her back slightly hunched, and she was rather chubby. Many of the kitchen servants had a little extra weight to them. He assumed they freely helped themselves to extra food.
“Yes, mistress! He just needed a little aid,” Tahye called back, putting the other jars and bowls away as he took a seat at one of the large wooden tables. He held his breath as he sat down, his thighs still throbbing.
Tahye sat down next to him, pointing to a pile of little balls of dough on a wooden tray. She took one of the balls and flattened it into a small circle with her knuckles. Then with a dull knife she cut it into the shape of a crescent moon. “Tomorrow’s bread. We get the dough ready now so all the bakers need to do in the morning is put them into the oven.”
He wasn’t fond of bread. He never ate it before coming to Mahat. It was dry, and bland. However, it did fill your stomach nicely, and he enjoyed using it to dip in sauces and wrap fish or whatever vegetables they could get into an easily managed meal.
“Why don’t the bakers do it?” Kareth asked, grabbing one of the soft balls and trying to squish it flat. It had a lot less give than Tahye made it seem.
“The bakers need to get up before the sun. It’s good to help them.”
Kareth shrugged. “Oh.” Anything was better than cleaning up after horses.
“I hope you’re not letting Piye get to you. I know he can be unbearable, but the worst thing is when you let a man break you.” She gave him an encouraging smile.
“He doesn’t–” he made a sharp intake of breath as he shifted on the wooden bench. Kareth started imagining the dough was Piye’s head before he squished it. “He doesn’t… bother me. Not… really.”
“Sorry?” Tahye looked up in confusion.
“Piye. He doesn’t bother me.”
“Oh… well good,” she smiled.
“He reminds me of story – a story. The Chief Trapped In Himself.”
“What’s that?” Tahye leaned in a little, clearly interested.
“My grandmother told me… many times.” He hadn’t thought of his grandmother in a long time. She had died before his father had. She had seemed fine, but one morning she simply did not wake up. “She has gone back to the earth,” his father had told him. He had missed her for a long time. He wanted to hear her stories, feel her warm embrace. Then his father had died and her memory had been eclipsed in his mind.
“Can you tell me?” Her smile was wide.
He felt himself grin at the attention she was giving him.
“There was a chief. He was strong and fought well, but unkind. He wanted power. He wanted all knowledge. He wanted to help only himself. One day he went to the…” he furrowed his brow, trying to think of what he could call the Rhagepe. “Um… I don’t know the word. Someone who answers a chief’s questions?”
“Like a tzati? A councillor?” She cocked her head to the side.
Kareth nodded. “Yeah, like that. He asked a councillor. There were three. One knew about life. One knew about death. One knew about rebirth. He asked the councillor for life for the secrets of the desert. She told him go to the desert. She told him find two scorpions. She told him put the stingers in his eyes. The chief went to the desert. The chief found two pale scorpions. Their stingers were as big as his nose. He stabbed his eyes with the stingers. Suddenly, he was blind. He screamed in pain. He had to go back to the… uh, village.
“He knew he needed to go east. He waited until morning. He felt the heat on his face and walked towards it. His hearing was better now. He could hear lizards move in the sand. He could throw his spear and hit them. He skinned them, with his teeth and fingernails. Twenty days he lived in the desert. Every day he was stronger. He could hear the water under the sand. He could dig deep into the dark to drink the springs.
“He returned to the councillor. He was angry. He wanted kill her. ‘Why did you trick me?’ He screamed, but she laughed. ‘Now you know the secrets of desert.’ It was true. He traded his sight for the secrets. He was happy.
“Next he went to the councillor of death. He wanted everyone to love him. She told him to take her fire knife and cut out his tongue. He took her fire knife–”
“What’s a fire knife?” Tahye interrupted him.
“Oh… it – it’s made from black stone. Very sharp. Very magic… magical.”
“Sorry, go on.”
“He took her fire knife, and cut out his tongue. All his words became… um,” he made a low moaning sound.
Tahye giggled softly. “Groans?”
“Yes, groans. He groans, all day. Everyone who sees him loves him. There’s no… respect. They feel pity. They love him with pity.”
“That’s very sad,” she frowned.
“Maybe,” Kareth shrugged. “He felt sad. He went to the last councillor.”
“Rebirth?”
“Yes. He asks rebirth to give him bliss. ‘Please take away my pain,’ he asks.”
“I thought he couldn’t speak,” Tahye said with a teasing lilt to her voice.
Kareth rolled his eyes. “It’s a story. Maybe she understood his groans? The Rha… councillors of my people hear things.” Like the gods, he thought.
“So… she says she’ll help?” Tahye tossed another piece of flattened bread on a wooden tray, this one in the shape of a fish.
“Yes, she tells him to go back into the desert. She tells him kill a snake. She tells him eat the snake. She tells him take the bones of the snake. She tells him stab his ears with the bones…”
“… And?”
“And he did all this. He went to the desert. He killed the snake. He ate the snake. He stabbed his ears with the bones.”
Tahye leaned forward. “… And?”
“And there was silence. And there was peace.”
“So he just spent the rest of his life in silence?”
“Trapped In Himself.”
She furrowed her brow, as though trying to decide if she liked the story or not. “If you want only for yourself, you’ll have only yourself,” he flattened another piece of dough, trying to shape it into a turtle, but on second glance it looked more like a palm leaf. “Piye will end up only with himself. Anyway, he’ll probably scare a horse one day and get a hoof to the head. I dreamed it…”
“A dream? I see all sorts of things in dreams.”
“But sometimes my dreams come true,” The thought made him smile. He had dreamt about that happening a few nights ago and had been happy for the first time since Tersh had left, though the feeling had only lasted until he joined the others for his morning bread. If only he did have visions like the Rhagepe.
She laughed, obviously not believing him. “Don’t worry so much about dreams, just focus on the dough. Nice cactus.”
“It’s a…” he nearly corrected her, then smiled. “Yes, thank you.”