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Imi wove a slow path through the funerary procession, working her way towards the front. Dozens of feet shuffling along the hard-packed sand had kicked up a haze of dust that hung about them in the hot, late afternoon air. Paid mourners walked alongside the convoy, garbed in white robes and long, flowing veils. They were wailing and tearing at their breasts, smearing dust on their bodies, or beating drums in rhythmic thunder. Their dramatics served as evidence of how respected Nehesy’s father was.
A sem hem-nedter, a funerary priest, led the procession through the city to the burial grounds just outside the city of Thinis. Several men accompanied him, pulling the sled that carried a carved stone sarcophagus with Akar’s mummified body inside. Behind them came Nehesy's mother and great-uncle. The great-uncle was frail, so their pace was painfully slow. Then came Betrest, Amun, their two children, and Nehesy. Servants and slaves followed, carrying crates of possessions to be entombed with Akar. The rest of the hundred or so people were the many distant family members and people that had known Nehesy and Betrest’s father.
Imi had felt disingenuous and out of place before the processions began. She wouldn’t even have come today if Betrest hadn’t asked it of her.
“You’re as good as family,” Betrest had said that morning. “Please come, Imi. It would mean a lot to me. I know you don’t want to talk about whatever happened between you and Nehesy, but... I do think it would mean a lot to him to have you there. You’re his oldest friend. Please say you’ll come?”
Imi couldn’t say no, considering how much Betrest had done for her recently. She’d arrived with Betrest and Amun but had sidled away as people approached the family to pay their respects.
Now, however, as they neared the outskirts of town, Imi felt obligated to rejoin the family before they reached the tombs. She made her way through the crowd to Nehesy. As she neared, she spied the oldest child, Aua, holding Nehesy’s hand. Aua seemed to sense the solemnity of the situation, looking wide-eyed and a little frightened. The youngest was asleep on Amun’s shoulder.
Imi was about to approach Nehesy as the procession left the city, but he suddenly scooped his niece up and set her on his shoulders. She giggled and wrapped her soft, thin arms around his neck. She whispered something in his ear. His face was in profile as he tilted his head to the little girl, and the skin around his eyes crinkled with a smile.
In a different life, if she’d married Nehesy years ago as planned, that could be their child he carried on his shoulders, whispering secrets. Imi’s heart ached, and she pushed the image away. She couldn’t interrupt them now. They looked too sweetly intimate, while she was an interloper.
Nehesy had arrived late, and Imi didn’t think he’d seen her yet. Her skin prickled at the thought of talking to him, tension stringing her nerves tight. She wanted to tell him she was sorry they’d fought, even if she still felt justified in her anger. She wished she’d confided in him about the problems with her fields, so she’d have someone else to talk to. She’d been anxious about it all day. Tonight was the night Namrut, the master gardener’s son, would be away. This was the night she and Hattie, Namrut’s sister, had decided to secretly dig the trenches. Imi’s whole future hinged on whether they were successful.
Amun had arranged for his workers to meet her there at nightfall, after the interment. Imi planned to slip away from the funeral as soon as she could and be at the fields by dusk. If she was running late, though, Hattie would be there to greet the labourers and set them to work.
If they could dig the canals and trenches tonight, it would be several weeks before the fields needed any major tending. Imi would have time to search for her brother. If she could find Hamset, he could help her wrest back control of her land. Then she wouldn’t need to marry anyone at all.
If, if, if.
It was terribly difficult not to feel maudlin at a funeral. Especially because, after they found Hamset, she and Nehesy would part ways. Maybe she wouldn’t see him for years. Or maybe some horrible fate would befall him on the seas, and then she’d never see him again at all.
It was this thought that had kept her up at night, a hollow, lonely feeling in her chest. A part of her wondered if there wasn’t some way to make a marriage work between them. Could she be happy married to Nehesy, knowing he didn’t love her the way she loved him? Or that if he ever did, he seemed unable to admit to it? But then she’d remember that the terms of her father’s imyt-pr required her to live with her husband for three whole years, and Nehesy had already made it clear he wanted to leave Thinis.
In spite of all this – or perhaps because of it – Imi had decided she wanted to find a way to make things up with him. So they could part as friends, at least, the way he’d wanted them to be before sex, his proposal, and her feelings had ruined everything. She’d lost enough people in her life that she cared about. It also made her incredibly sad to think that something terrible could happen to Nehesy while sailing in foreign lands, and things had been left unfinished between them.
Ahead of her, Nehesy scooted Aua further up his back and bounced her around until she giggled and nearly strangled him in her efforts to hold on. So much sadness must be confusing for a small child, and Imi appreciated a break from her own heavy thoughts. Some people in the crowd looked askance at the levity amid the funeral procession, but others smiled, too.
Finally, they left the city behind, sand swirling around them as they trekked through the edge of the desert towards the necropolis. Here, away from the river and its lush greenery, the air was even drier and hotter. The sand was not the fine sand near the river, but heavy and rocky. Sharp stones jabbed at the soft leather soles of Imi’s sandals. People shielded their eyes with their hands as they walked in the direction of the setting sun.
The procession came to a standstill, with people fanning out around a small mastaba – a flat-roofed brick hut erected over the hole in which Akar would lay in rest. Nehesy set his niece down and she hurried to wrap her arms about Betrest’s legs. Betrest cupped the back of the girl’s head and held her close. Nehesy stood alone, his family several feet away, the other attendees hanging back out of respect for the family.
The paid mourners reached a crescendo, wailing and dropping to their knees, hands on their heads as they released such a torrent of emotion that even Imi felt anguish rise in her chest.
But this was not grief for Akar. It was for her brother, Altakhsas, gone these past several years, and for her father. For the mother who had died shortly after her birth, and who she’d known only through stories. For her missing brother, Hamset, may the gods keep him safe. For Nehesy and Betrest, who had not had the best of fathers, but who mourned him, nonetheless. Even for their mother, who had never been kind to Imi, but who had lost a husband and life partner.
And lastly, for herself. For being bereft of family, but grateful to Betrest and Nehesy and Amun for taking her in.
Imi gathered her courage, stepped forward, and slipped her hand into Nehesy’s.
He looked down at her, shock in his deep brown eyes. She registered the unshed tears there. To her horror, her own tears spilled onto her cheeks, and she swiped at them with her free hand.
Nehesy gave a small smile and nod, his hand squeezing hers.
She squeezed back.
He bumped his arm against hers.
Warmth suffused her, mingled with relief. They were okay. Everything would be alright. Somehow, she just knew it would. She would always love Nehesy, always long for him. But perhaps one day it would become just a dull ache, or a sense of nostalgia for what might have been.
And tonight, she’d get her trenches dug, and then she’d find her brother. She would accept nothing else.
She leaned her head against Nehesy’s shoulder, and they stood that way while the funerary priest read the rites of passage over Akar’s sarcophagus. The priest spoke of the immortality of the man’s ka in preparation for the afterlife. And how the gatekeeper goddess, Ammit, would weigh his soul before allowing him passage on his journey to immortality.
Imi didn’t listen to it all. Instead, her tired body settled against the warmth of Nehesy’s strong arm. With their fingers laced together, she fell into a drowsy state. The first time she’d relaxed in days. It was a strange sort of rapture to achieve at a funeral. Perhaps more like a sense of closure. As if she were wrapping up her own doubts and fears and sadness, honouring it, then setting it free, thereby releasing herself in the process.
The priest finished speaking and signaled to the mourners, who struck up their cries anew. This show of distress would help Ammit realize the trueness of the dead man’s heart and help speed his passage to the afterlife. It was time for the servants to carry the sarcophagus into the mastaba and lower it into the ground.
Nehesy gave Imi’s hand another squeeze and leaned in close. “I’ll find you later,” he whispered, before letting go and striding after his family into the mastaba. Imi didn’t have a chance to tell him she wouldn’t be staying at the funeral. She didn’t have time to wait for his return, either.
Once the dead man’s possessions were added – food, jewellery, amulets for protection, and other items needed for the afterlife – they would close the tomb, and there would be a celebration of life here outside the building.
Betrest and Nehesy’s mother had not once acknowledged Imi throughout the ceremony, despite standing nearby. Either she was intentionally ignoring Imi or deemed her of too little significance to notice. The older woman had always looked at Imi with a mixture of disdain and confusion, as if wondering how this odd urchin had appeared in her home. It stung Imi a bit that this hadn’t changed. Then again, she had no wish to speak with the older woman either.
Nehesy’s tall figure disappeared into the torchlit darkness of the mastaba along with the rest of his family. Imi turned and made her way back through the crowd.
She had trenches to dig, and her own future to save.
***
By the time Imi reached her fields, she was late. Only a sliver of light remained on the horizon. The neat rows of produce were black lumps against a navy sky. Imi trudged toward the wilted lettuce, all of which had gone to seed in the hot, rainless days of Shemu. Their tall, dry, flowering stalks stretched high enough to brush her waist as she entered the edge of the property.
It was eerily quiet, and she paused to scan the fields.
They were empty. Not a single person toiled to create a trench. Not even a shovel in sight.
Dread gripped Imi with icy fingers. Where was everyone?
Even if all the labourers were late, Hattie should at least be here. There should be torches pushed into the ground to allow the workers to see at night.
Imi squinted into the growing darkness. In the distance, she could just make out the backlit shapes of the work shed, with all its tools, and the master gardener’s two-story home. The windows were all dark.
She scanned far to her left, where a line of trees divided the fields from the great river. Perhaps there had been a change in plans, and the workers had come by boat. Perhaps they were even now unloading at the nearby dock.
Imi hurried toward the tree line. The tall trunks of the date palms were mostly bare, but the palms were interspersed with balsam trees, which were denser and harder to see past. Her head swiveled as she moved through the fields, searching for signs of Hattie. Hattie’s brother, Namrut, should have left long ago to visit his friend the next town over. Unless... what if something had happened to prevent him leaving? What if he'd discovered Hattie and the workers, and sent them away?
Imi couldn’t imagine a worse scenario.
Snap. Thump. Imi hit the ground with a grunt. She’d been so focused on the landscape she’d tripped over her own feet and landed right on top of a row of lettuce. Drying seed stalks snapped beneath her.
“Did you hear that?” a man’s voice growled nearby.
Imi froze in the act of pushing herself up. That couldn’t possibly be Ludim’s voice, could it? What was her stepbrother doing here?
“Huh?” a second voice said.
“Ssshh. I thought I saw something over there.” Definitely Ludim.
Silence thrummed in Imi’s ears. Her cheek rested on a lettuce head; its leaves turned stiff with the heat. Broken stalks pressed against her belly. Something crawled over the back of one hand, and she resisted the urge to fling it off. A mosquito buzzed near her ear.
She closed her eyes. Please, oh Nefertem, protect your acolyte tonight. Lend me your strength to stay still and go unnoticed.
“You’re being paranoid, and I’ve delayed long enough because of you. I’m leaving.” That was Namrut, Imi was sure of it.
Holy gods above. Namrut and Ludim were together somewhere nearby along the tree line. Panic fluttered in her chest like a fly trapped in a jar. She didn’t want to think about what those two would do if they caught her. It was the worst sort of nightmare for any woman alone in the dark.
“Wait, damn it. I’m warning you.” That was definitely Ludim.
“I’ve already waited all night for you,” Namrut sneered. “You were supposed to be here before sunset, and now I’m going to be late. I earned this night out.”
Imi shifted, lifting her head a finger’s width to scan the tree line for the two men. There were too many tree trunks, however. She only knew they were close enough to hear. She thanked the gods that the men hadn’t noticed her walking in the first place. For once, her short stature had been of benefit, they must not have noticed her in the midst of the tall lettuce stalks.
Ludim scoffed. “Earned it? Doing what, exactly? You better not be messing this up. We have an agreement.”
“I know, I know.”
“You won’t get anything more from me until I get control of these fields. I want to know what in the underworld you’re doing to help make that happen,” Ludim said.
“A few more days and the floods will have begun,” Namrut sounded pleased with himself. “Then it will be impossible to dig the trenches. Without them, the silt won’t spread properly for next year’s harvest. She’s been harping on me about it. She knows she’s screwed for next year.”
Argh! Imi’s fingers dug into the dirt. Those goat buggering jackals! They were planning to sabotage her fields. That’s why Namrut had been putting off digging the canals. He never planned to do it in the first place.
“Good.” Imi could practically hear Ludim’s disgusting smile. “She’s close to breaking down. She hasn’t married anyone else yet. Soon she won’t have a choice.” Ludim chuckled.
“What if she doesn’t marry you? Hasn’t yet, has she? Seems like she doesn’t want you.” Namrut mocked, voicing Imi’s own thoughts. Why would Ludim think she’d marry him now, after all he’d done to her?
Ludim’s voice was filled with malice as he said, “If she doesn’t marry me, I’ll ruin the bitch. Either way, I win.”
A shiver of fear jerked through Imi. Her elbow hit a nearby lettuce stalk, causing several of them to waver and clatter together.
“Sshhh,” one of the men hissed.
Imi held her breath. The men were silent. The air around her stretched tight with tension. She didn’t know if they were just standing and listening or walking towards her right now.
If they came near, they might see her white dress splayed on the ground. Thankfully, she’d landed atop a row of pale green lettuce, rather than on bare dirt. All around her, tall seed stalks rose. With luck, and lots of prayer, she might blend in.
An owl hooted. A nightjar called, and then a flock of small birds took flight, calling and chirping as if in distress. Fearing a hunter in their midst.
Imi knew just how they felt.
“Forget it,” Namrut said, from somewhere much closer. “I’m going.”
“Fine,” Ludim said, frustration clear in his tone. “But you better do your part.”
“Yeah, yeah. I still expect to get paid, you know. I’m risking my livelihood for this.” Namrut’s voice was already fading as he walked back towards the tree line. He probably had his skiff tethered at the small dock near there. Ludim said something in response, but Imi couldn’t make it out. Perhaps he was following Namrut and they were both leaving now.
Still, some lingering sense of doom kept Imi on the ground, waiting. She moved a little, trying to peer between the leafy rows. It was growing darker, but the last sliver of light was directed towards the great river and the tree line. She strained to see anything.
Feet, pale legs, and the bottom of a long, white linen skirt walked past the end of the row.
Imi shrunk back, then held still.
“When I have control of these fields, that dumb, lazy farmer is out on his ass.” Ludim muttered. From the angle of his feet, he seemed to be looking out to the water, addressing Namrut.
Imi’s tense muscles were in agony, and she somehow endured the suckling of a mosquito on her exposed ankle, which made her skin crawl and itch everywhere. Regular night sounds resumed, buzzing, clicking, croaking, and chirruping.
Ludim swore and kicked at a lettuce stalk. The stalk snapped, and he laughed. “So much for next year’s lettuce, huh, runt?”
Then he moved away.
Idiot. It would take a lot more than a few scattered seeds to ruin next year’s harvest. Imi wouldn’t let him triumph over her. She’d dig the damned trenches herself tonight if she had to. Even one trench would save a small strip of land for next year. If she had to start anew with just that, she would. She would never let this disgusting man destroy her family’s legacy.
She forced herself to lay still long after his feet disappeared. She counted until she lost track of the numbers and started over again. When she reached a thousand, she lifted her head from the mashed lettuce beneath her and peered around.
It was darker now, the horizon turned to deep indigo. But the moon and stars in the cloudless sky cast a silvery glow that enabled her to discern black shapes well enough. She ached everywhere. She pushed herself up on to her knees and glanced once more at the tree line where Ludim and Namrut had both been. Beyond, she glimpsed the silvery moonlight reflecting off the great river. There was no one there.
She turned her head in the direction she’d come from.
Her heart stopped.
A figure moved through the dark rows, stalking straight toward her.