“You dare lie to a priest?”
Karim blinked at the brawny, hairy old man. “You’re a priest?”
The man tore his gaze from the amulet to give Karim a withering look. “Yes, and you’re a tomb robber.” He stepped forward, shaking the stone in Karim’s face. “And if you tell me where youreallygot this, I’ll let you live. Tell it well, and I might throw in a meal and a place to sleep.”
In the west, the sun finally dipped under the horizon, throwing the desert into almost instantaneous darkness—like someone blowing out a candle.
What are you going to do?Djet’s voice whispered.
Karim nodded to the priest. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
What Jackals are meant to do, sen, he thought.Survive.
***
That evening, Karim sat with the priest by a crackling fire in the open courtyard of the building, underneath a roof of stars. The priest had given him water from his well, both to drink and to clean his wounds. The cool night air was a balm, soothing hisburnt skin and aching muscles. He’d explained his injuries by telling Pa he’d gotten into a “disagreement” with a friend, and thankfully, the priest hadn’t pressed him for more details.
From a series of chambers that Karim assumed formed the priest’s living quarters, the man had brought hunks of rough bread, a bunch of white onions, and a jar of beer. Karim hadn’t wasted a moment digging in. He was ravenous. It was a simple meal, and it was exactly what he needed. As soon as the sweet beer and nourishing bread hit his stomach, he felt more like himself again. The dog, Behkai, had made himself comfortable by his side, staring at the food in Karim’s lap and licking his lips. The giddy madness that had been creeping over Karim receded, leaving his mind blissfully clear.
And with that clarity, came questions.
“So, Pasenhor,” he began, struggling to pronounce the strange name the priest had offered him. “This is your home, this place?”
“Call me Pa,” the priest rumbled. “And yes, it is. Although more importantly, it is a temple. A House of Khnum—though I’m sure that means very little to you.” He scoffed. “Very little to most of Khetara, I’m sorry to say.”
“Khnum,” Karim mused. It was a round word, rolling like a ball in his mouth. “He is one of your gods, hey?”
Pa nodded. “One of our oldest.” He gestured toward a faded painting of a ram-headed figure. The figure held a jar from which water flowed into a river below. “God of the Iteru, the Divine Potter—he who sits at the Great Wheel and forms man out of clay, placing him in the wombs of our mothers and onto Fate’s path.”
He paused, gazing into the shadows of the sanctuary beyond the courtyard. “This temple guards an oracle Khnum gave to our people long, long ago. An old king placed it here for safekeeping, so that when the time came, the word of Khnum would be remembered and the people of Khetara would take heed.” Hehuffed and spat a piece of grit into the fire.
“If this Khnum is so great, why don’t your people worship him anymore? Why does his House sit forgotten by all except you?”
Pa stopped chewing and gave him a look. “Time, for one. Khnum is one of the old gods, and people are fickle. Gods fall in and out of fashion like women’s dresses, and traditions are forgotten. Over the past few generations, Amun has taken precedence in the north, and Ra in the south. Amun can also take the form of a ram, but Khnum is the original ram-headed god. The one true lamb.”
Karim didn’t comment in hopes that Pa would continue. Despite his feelings about the Khetarans, he was fascinated by the priest’s story. Sure enough, the old man had more to say.
“The current king hasn’t helped. Under Amunmose, the kingdom slips ever further into perdition. Do you know the last time someone from the surrounding villages came here to pay their respects? At least a season—perhaps two!” He shook his head. “The king thinks his three children and their fortuitous birth legitimized his rule, but there are many Khetarans who still believe—”
Pa stopped himself and chuckled, before shaking a gnarled finger at Karim. “You’re very clever, aren’t you, boy? Trying to get me riled up, talking all night. You’re probably waiting for me to tell you where you can find more Khetaran treasures. No, no. The deal was—I ask the questions,youanswer. If you don’t like it, I have a very sharp spear to reintroduce you to.”
As before, Karim held up both hands in surrender and said nothing.
Pa refilled his cup of beer. After a moment’s consideration, he refilled Karim’s cup too.
“Now, tell me how you came upon this scarab.” He held the lapis amulet in his palm.
Karim shivered, a finger of cold night air slithering across hisneck. “I discovered an old tomb in a valley west of here. It was hidden in the cliffside, untouched for hundreds of years, maybe more. I don’t know a lot about Khetarans, but I’ve seen enough tombs to know that this one was ancient, and not only that, it was the tomb of a king.”
He expected the priest to be surprised by this revelation, but Pa expressed only confusion. “It is… troubling,” he said, studying the stone.
“What is?”
“I have been a priest for many years—since Sematawy’s reign. But before Unification, I studied to be a scribe. It served me well, not only to be skilled in reading and writing the gods’ words, but also to be educated in Khetara’s long history. One of the first documents I produced during my tutelage was a complete list of Khetaran pharaohs. As you can imagine, it is a long list and good practice for any scribe. I wrote the name of each and every pharaoh and memorized them all.
“This here,” he said, pointing to the oval shape carved into the stone, “is a shenu. It is a circle of protection we draw around the names of our kings. Names are powerful, you know, and must be protected at all cost. If evil comes to know your true name, they can harm you gravely.”
Karim leaned over to see the stone better in the firelight. There were four symbols: what looked like a folded cloth, a loaf of bread, a jagged line, and a vulture. “So the word inside the circle is the name of the king who was buried in that tomb? I’d wondered.”
