Two horses trudged along the crest of a hill, hooves digging into the bright tufts of grass, scattering loose shale and rock. Atop the first horse sat Besset, the upstanding Egyptian commander, the animal’s back loaded with satchels and three spears of varied lengths that swayed in the breeze. The second horse carried two lesser figures: Eliphaz, the red-haired boy hunched over the reins, and behind him, Narina, sitting horizontally so that her two legs jutted out and swung carelessly over the side of the beast. They were far-off from Mount Gerizim now, its verdant peak well behind them, Shechem’s buildings and parapets little more than pebbles that sparkled in the sun.

Narina had just finished speaking. They now rode in silence, the final passages of the girl’s tale weighing upon their hearts. Eliphaz was the first to speak.

“When did you realize?” he asked, voice full of concern. “At that moment, after Mishal disappeared, you believed the Matron’s lies. But when did you realize that all wasn’t as it seemed? When did you see the truth, awful as it was?”

“I never truly realized,” Narina replied. Her tone was emotionless and detached, as it had been throughout the retelling of her memories. “I think that...somewhere in my heart I may have suspected it, but never did I admit it to myself. It was easier to go on living, acting like everything was fine, that the world would sort itself out and that I would find my place within it. Then, the night when they came…” She shuddered and shook her head. “No, I never realized. I may have suspected that the Matron lied about certain things, but that—despite everything—I could never have imagined it.”

A wave of pity came over Eliphaz. He wanted to say something, acknowledge Narina’s pain and offer some words of comfort, but everything that came to mind sounded false, insincere. Besset, too, kept his stoic silence. In the days of preparation after their appearance before Prince Hemor, the Egyptian commander had insisted on leading the expedition, eager to take responsibility for the city under his supervision (and possibly hoping to reclaim some of his lost dignity). Whatever his motives, Besset led the way, rarely speaking except for matters of horses, or pointing out some waystone or landmark upon their path.

For a while no one spoke. Narina didn’t mind; she had come to accept the silent nature of her traveling partners, allowing the lull to rest in the air.

“Well, when fate twists itself, it may twist again and right its course,” she finally said. “It is always darkest before dawn, just as Tammuz must die before he can emerge from the Underworld and bring forth the blossoms of spring. Through the will of the gods, fate finds a way. And surely the gods meant for us to find our way to each other, to meet so that we could lift the curse of Shechem, and set the city upon the path of virtue?”

“Perhaps,” Besset said, his eyes still fixed on the road. “Or perhaps it is simple coincidence; we act not because of divine will, but out of our own human desire. Why bestow greatness to a god, when we can bestow it upon ourselves?”

“The answer to that question lies beyond me, or anyone besides the gods.” Narina’s voice grew warm and wistful, as it often did when she contemplated the divine. She leaned back, letting her hair droop over the side of the horse as she balanced herself on its back. For a second Eliphaz feared she would fall over, but Narina caught herself, laughing with giddy delight. “Say Commander, how did you end up in the city of Shechem?” she asked. “Your journey must’ve been far longer than either mine or Eliphaz’s.”

“It was a long journey, yes, but a great distance does not promise great interest.”

“Fair enough, Commander. Though with more than a day’s journey yet ahead of us, there is still time for lesser stories. Even a mundane story will have to do.” Narina spoke sweetly as she politely pried the soldier. “Don’t you agree, Eliphaz?”

“Of course,” Eliphaz said, though he was only half-listening. His mind was murky, circling through memories as one does when lost in thought. Only with loose disinterest did he track the conversation between his companions.

Besset relented, shifting uncomfortably on his steed. “Very well, then, though I fear that there is not much to tell.”

“Start at the beginning. It is where most stories begin.”

“Then it begins with the city where I was born. Per-Bast, the city at the heart of the river delta, where Iteru branches and divides like a flowering tree. The City of Cats, where felines walk freely through the red streets and watch you with keen, intelligent eyes. It is said that the Daughter of Amun-Ra herself sees through those dark eyes, and so in Per-Bast they are treated as royalty.” As Besset spoke his voice became low and mellifluous, losing its usual brusque character.

“That is where I grew up,” he continued. “Between the marshes and drained fields of grain, where holy kittens stalked herons and thrushes.

“My father was a merchant, though never a good one. Whether he gambled away his money or his scribes fleeced him, I’ll never know. What was important was that he never amounted to much, and so I had to seek my own path.

“My grandmother—on my mother’s side—was related by blood to a Priestess of Hathor, and she was determined to harness her little influence to secure me some degree of fortune. I received admission to the House of Scribes in Menfe, to study the papyrus alongside the second sons of lesser princes and wealthy merchants.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Unfortunately, all I learned in Menfe was that I have no eye for numbers—or letters. My hands were too broad and rough, the stylus would crumple before I could jot down a single word.”

“And so you became a soldier?” Narina asked.

“Precisely. I may not have been suited as a scribe, but there was still honor to be had in Pharaoh’s legions, for the Kingdom is always wanting of soldiers. It was work that suited me, and I did well, presumably due to the discrete work of my grandmother.”

“You would’ve served around the same time as my father.” Narina paused, thinking. “It was never something father spoke of. Of course, I was so young, far too self-absorbed to learn everything my parents could have taught me. What was it like, Commander? Perhaps through you I can learn something of father, even long after he left me behind.”

For a moment Besset did not respond, turning the question over in his mind as he thought of a proper response. Finally he spoke, each word slow and ponderous upon his tongue: “I can’t imagine your father’s service having been too difficult. Pharaoh has blessed us with a time of peace, for the holy blood within his veins is strong, and Amun’s light shines through it. The only true threat to the Black Kingdom are the Hittites to the north, who occasionally challenge our vassals in Amurru and Retenu. So I don’t see your father seeing much battle, unless he was sent beyond Wase to subdue Kush or otherwise survived a skirmish against the godless Hittites. Otherwise, a soldier’s task is one of peacekeeping: trawling the roads for bandits and keeping the desert tribes at bay. As a Hurrian, I imagine your father may have been an accomplished horseman, and traveled across the desert plains and mountains, bearing messages between Pharaoh’s outposts and fortresses. More than that, I cannot say, for the true answer lies beyond me.”

Narina smiled at Besset’s borrowed turn of phrase. “Thank you for your help, Commander, and for entertaining my rather silly notions. I’m sure you have your own stories to tell, of great battles and heroic deeds. What is the use of talking of a man one has never met?”

Besset let out an uncomfortable laugh, perhaps more of a painful chuckle. “Well…” he stammered, unsure what to say. “...the truth of the matter is that I never saw much battle. Once my training and basic skills were acquired, I quickly rose through the ranks, not entirely out of personal merit. And so I escaped those bloody frontlines, for more elevated—but nonetheless honorable—positions. It’s how I came to oversee Shechem, where I am tasked with collecting the annual tax, and ensuring that gold is sent to fill Pharaoh’s chambers within the city of Amun.” Besset’s confidence seemed to deflate more and more as he spoke. “There’s not much glory in overseeing a city in Retenu’s backwaters. And I may have...overlooked the sacrifices as simply yet another barbaric practice of this foreign place…” He sighed. “Having led the life of a soldier, it feels that I have failed to complete any of the roles most crucial duties. Your father was a great man, Narina—but me, on the other hand…”

“I see…” Narina said, trying to think of a way of delicately addressing the Commander’s insecurities. “But you are here now, are you not? Leading us into danger, towards Shechem’s liberation. That is a great thing, a thing of glory—and more importantly, it will become a great story: a crown jewel to adorn your soul, more precious than that of any prince. The weight you feel now is nothing but the darkness before dawn; to be lifted by the reborn sun.”

—

The party descended into the dusty plains below them, passing underneath cedars that clung to the hillside with desperate roots. Eliphaz was happy to let Narina and Besset talk, feeling no need to contribute anything besides an occasional murmur of assent. Of course, that changed as Narina’s attention turned towards him.

“What of you, Eliphaz? Now that both Besset and I have shared our stories, is it not your turn?”

Eliphaz’s mind froze, an unexplainable terror rising in his stomach. “What is there to say that I haven’t yet said? Ishtar spoke to me in a vision, granted me a strange power and led me to Shechem.”

“Surely there is more to the story than that?” Narina playfully nudged his back. “One does not simply wake up one morning, receive a godly vision and decide to fight an order of brutal priests—unless I’m mistaken?”

“There is really nothing to speak of,” Eliphaz stammered. At the same time, a dreadful series of memories flashed through his mind: His uncle Jakob, cowering in the desert as Eliphaz’s blade hovered over his neck; Eliphaz fleeing his family’s tents, not daring to look his father in the eye. All the shame, failure, and helplessness he had felt as the Moabites bound him. There, Eliphaz had thought to himself: how could his life have gone so wrong?

Why had he fought his way through Melzichek and his men? And why was he now on this grim quest, preparing to slay whatever unspeakable evil that lurked at journey’s end? However he tried to justify his actions, Eliphaz knew he was lying to himself. He was here because the alternative, the mere thought of returning home, filled him with fear and shame as he was reminded of the deed he had both attempted and failed to complete.

Again the memory returned. His hand, trembling as he gripped the cursed Sword of Lamech. One swift movement was all it would have taken, and the blood of his fathers would have spilled upon the desert—

“What a curious sword!” Narina had rooted through their pack, and pulled the sword out of its pouch. The sword. “...and what an awful status effect! Who would ever wish such terrible harm upon one of their own family? And to risk the wrath of the gods at the same time?”

“Put that back!” Eliphaz snapped. The emotion burst out of him without warning, the girl’s remarks breaking some seal in his heart that Eliphaz didn’t know existed.

Narina was taken aback by the anger in his voice. Carefully she returned the sword to its pouch. “Are you alright, Eliphaz?”

Eliphaz’s heart pounded in his chest, and he felt his face grow flushed. He kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, so Narina couldn’t see his pained expression. He took a deep breath.

“It’s nothing,” he lied. “That sword is an old relic. I don’t want it to get damaged.”

Eliphaz didn’t dare turn around. He could already imagine Narina’s large black eyes, full of skepticism and concern.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Eliphaz?” she asked. Her voice wavered, questioning and tentative.

He nodded, then sighed. “There’s nothing else to say.”