Warnings: None


Where Even Flowers Bloom

Chapter 07:

"Meresankh"


Meresankh despised laundry day. It required gathering the household linen, bundling it up atop her head, and trekking through town to the banks of the Nile. Then she had to unload her burden, stretch it upon the rocks, and begin the arduous process of washing each bit of cloth inch by inch until her hands went raw. Many of the other women didn't mind laundry. It meant gathering together in the sunshine and gossiping, trading household tips and juicy secrets alike. Meresankh did not despise that aspect of laundry day, but the raw fingers she could live without.

Which is why Meresankh was grateful when, midway through the season of Akhet, during the month of Ka-ḥr-ka when the Nile reached its highest point of the inundation cycle, she found herself at the center of a most interesting incident.

Well, she called it an incident. Others—the more fancifully inclined—called it a miracle.


Meresankh woke that morning in a dark mood. She shaved her head in front of a piece of bronze shined to a mirror polish, then donned her favorite palm fiber wig with steady hands. It was laundry day, and she wanted to keep the sun off her scalp. The other women would doubtless be bare-headed, but she didn't much care. She'd always been the odd duck among them. Let them snicker behind her back at this, too. She would not pay them any mind.

Tuhmose greeted her when she left her quarters and entered the kitchen, a square room with a window cut in the white plaster of the wall. Reed mats covered the floor; herbs hung in bunches from the rafters overhead. Meresankh was surprised to see Tuhmose up this early. She typically woke first and cooked breakfast for the old man. That was her duty, after all. He sat on a stool by the stove of mud and stones, the one he'd built for her in the corner two summers previous, fanning the smoke back into the chimney where it belonged. They needed to repair the chimney; a crack in its foundation made the smoke behave oddly. Meresankh made a mental note to contact the city's head stoneworker after she finished the laundry. Surely they would know how to fix it.

"Good morning, child," Tuhmose said. He gestured at the stove and the fire crackling beneath. "I've set a duck to roast."

"This is rare," Meresankh remarked. She went to the larder and selected a gourd, two loaves of bread, and other vegetables, which she began to prepare to accompany the duck. "You, waking before me? Did you have bad dreams?"

Tuhmose smirked. "No. I have an emergency order to fill. A favor, for an old friend."

Meresankh raised an eyebrow. "I did not hear the forge being lit last night."

Tuhmose coughed into his fist. "Ah, yes. That. That still needs to happen."

She couldn't help but roll her eyes. Tuhmose might be the most respected goldsmith in all of Egypt, having served hundreds of contracts for the Pharaohs and the advisors thereof while living in Deir El-Medina, the city of elite tomb-builders, but he was notorious for his lazy attitude. It would take the forge at least a day to grow hot enough to work with gold; Tuhmose usually lit it at night, an apprentice stoking the flames until dawn in preparation for Tuhmose's work. Hopefully this emergency contract wasn't actually an emergency, because Tuhmose had work to do yet before even laid his hands on gold.

"I see," Meresankh said. "Did you gather your laundry like I asked?"

"It's in my room, by the door." He winked at her. "I know better than to anger you on laundry day."

That got a smile out of her. "As well you should," she said, tossing her head. The beaded tips of her wig cracked when they collided. "I am not to be trifled with!"

The pair chatted, describing their tasks for the day as Meresankh prepared the vegetables and Tuhmose tended the duck. When everything was ready, they ate, the duck's crispy skin crackling sweetly under their teeth. Duck was Meresankh's favorite. Her mood cooled a little as she ate.

When they finished breakfast, Meresankh bid Tuhmose goodbye and gathered the laundry. She took all of it outside before bundling it up and piling it atop her head. A few of the apprentices eyed her, smiling when she passed them on her way out of Tuhmose's property. Tuhmose had a large house, white plaster gleaming in the light of the sun, set in the middle of a massive garden he kept full of flowers and fruit-bearing trees. His forge lay at the far south of the compound, where it could catch the strongest winds that would keep the forge afire for days at a time. Meresankh wasn't a conceited person, but she was thirteen years old, well within marrying age, and she was the only person to whom Tuhmose intended to leave his considerable land and important title. The apprentices all wanted her hand, she was sure. She had proud features, chiseled and slender, and she'd be a true woman in a few years. Prime marriage material. Proposals were not far off, she was sure.

Not that she'd accept a proposal from any man in her village of Thebes, though. The men were all too impetuous and rude for her tastes, cracking foul jokes when they thought she couldn't hear. She deserved better. She'd remain a maid until someone suitable came along, and happily.

The walk down the hill to the Nile wouldn't take long, but Meresankh dawdled on her way, stopping to observe the pomegranate trees in Tuhmose's garden. She picked one of the ripe fruits, tucking the pod into the pocket of her linen kilt. It would make a wonderful, cool snack later in the day, when the sun rose high and hot. Even in winter, the sun beat upon her head with relentless strokes. She thought about that snack with longing as she left the compound and walked down the road toward the Nile's bank. Oh, yes, the pomegranates this time of year were so sweet…

Soon Meresankh left the walls of Tuhmose's compound. She walked down a dirt road for a time, until the road began to slope downward toward the river's basin. There she paused to view the land, spread as it was before her. From that height she could see the Nile stretched out below, arching to the north and south like a silver snake twining its coils through the desert. Across the river she could only just distinguish the crests of the hills denoting the entrance to the Valley of the Kings—sacred ground where common folk like her dared not tread, even if her guardian Tuhmose did forge much of the jewelry worn by the interred pharaohs. If she turned around, she'd see the white mud houses of her neighbors stretching to the west. Tuhmose lived at the outskirts of the city of Thebes, the edge of his property only a few hundred feet from the river's uppermost inundation point...a most coveted plot of land, Meresankh thought with pride.

Because the river was high at the moment, water covering the farmers' fields, the farmers had nothing to do and had been conscripted to the capital, working for the royal stonemasons and architects in exchange for food from the palace's winter stockpiles. When the Nile reached its low point and their land emerged covered in a layer of rich silt, the farmers would return to their fields for planting, growing, and harvesting. That meant the road to the Nile hosted mostly women this time of year, all doing laundry or other washing. Meresankh preferred it that way. She didn't like the stares of the young men, who inevitably leered at the women walking on the road. She nodded to some of the women as she passed down the hill along the road, asking them if they'd heard from their husbands or if their children were well. Many children accompanied their mothers to the river, naked bodies glistening in the sun. Meresankh always smiled at the children, even if she didn't like their mothers.

And Meresankh didn't like all of the mothers. When she reached the Nile, to her immense displeasure she saw a knot of them hunched together at the water's edge, beating lengths of linen with stones and brushes. One of the women raised her head when Meresankh approached. Sharp brown eyes swept Meresankh up and down before ducking back down into her group; the women all started giggling, turning to shot Meresankh surreptitious looks. They were all farmer's wives or farmer's daughters, running the households while their husbands and fathers built for the Pharaoh in the capital.

Meresankh refused to let the gossipmongers upset her. "Hello, Ebhim!" she called to the sharp-eyed ringleader. Meresankh's smile was sweet and sunny. "Good morning, everyone!"

They tossed back a muted chorus of greetings. Meresankh kept her smile in place as she set her washing down a bit further up the bank from their group. She'd brought a stone and a plank of wood with her to use as a washing board and scrubber; she took these out and set up her cleaning station, scanning the river before moving to kneel amid the reeds in the water. The cool water swirled around her thighs, gentle and invigorating. She saw no crocodiles that morning, although several hippopotamuses swam far off in the river's center. She'd have to be mindful of them, keep watch if any of them swam below the surface. Hippos were quick to anger. She counted six in the river. If any disappeared from view, she'd leave the water and hide among the reeds like she'd been taught. Doubtless the other women were keeping similar watch, even as they made conversation.

The other women were silent for a time, but then their conversation resumed.

"…promised to me," one of them giggled. Her name was Alorhim, daughter of a local farmer. "He has such fine eyes. I think I might say yes!"

"But the baker's son has his eye on you too, doesn't he?" said one of the others. "How shall you choose?"

"Oh, I'm not sure," said Alorhim. She looked genuinely torn at that; Meresankh felt a little sorry for her. "They both like me so much."

Ebhim inclined her head, shaved scalp gleaming in the sun. "Choose the richest, obviously."

Alorhim looked unsure. "But—"

"Love is grand, but it doesn't feed your children," Ebhim said, looking down the length of her nose at the other women. When they averted their eyes, not wishing to argue with their leader, Ebhim shot a combative look at Meresankh. "What say you, Meresankh?"

Meresankh said nothing, for a time. Contradicting Ebhim would surely bring about an argument, but she did not agree with the woman about what made a proper husband. In the end, rather than oppose the other woman outright, Meresankh thought it prudent to change the subject. "Choose the one who is most devoted," she said. "He will honor you in marriage, I am sure."

Alorhim's smile was tense; she shot Ebhim a sidelong glance, waiting for the other woman to react before composing her reply. Meresankh soon saw Alorhim was wise to do this.

"What would you know about it?" Ebhim snapped as she took offense with Meresankh's words. She jerked her chin at Meresankh's washing board. "Shouldn't a servant be washing your clothes, anyway?"

Meresankh's cheeks colored. It was true. Tuhmose could afford servants, but he chose not to employ them, leaving Meresankh to do the washing. The implication was that Tuhmose might not be as wealthy as his title and occupation implied. Meresankh hoped that implication would be enough for Ebhim, and that the older woman would cool off now that she'd lobbed an insult.

But Ebhim was not finished. "Coming here in your wigs, with those flashy faïence beads," she said, eyes afire as she looked Meresankh up and down. "What a braggart, you are!"

One of the other women picked up the call. "Yes, braggart!" she agreed. She splashed her hand in the water, sending drops Meresankh's way. "So prideful!"

"What would you know about needing to marry a rich man?" another added. "You know nothing of our struggles to find good husbands. Tuhmose takes care of you!"

"But not very well, it seems." Ebhim cackled like a Nile water bird. "He won't hire her a maid, so she has to do her own laundry!" The woman's dark eyes flashed, venomous like a desert cobra. Her words came soft and biting. "Maybe he regrets adopting you, after all!"

Meresankh couldn't help it. She tossed her washing into the river with a splash and stood, rounding on the other women with fists clenched. They all recoiled, each of them looking regretful—except for Ebhim, of course, who stared at Meresankh with defiance. Meresankh's blood burned hot inside her veins. Ebhim truly knew nothing of Meresankh's situation with Tuhmose, Meresankh's adoptive father and legal guardian, and yet Ebhim spoke with such insulting authority on the matter! Such a slight could not be tolerated. Meresankh held too much love for Tuhmose to allow him to be insulted. He had rescued her off the street, provided her a position with his wife as a maid, and when his wife died, he'd adopted Meresankh for a daughter. Such a kind, generous man would not suffer indignity because of Meresankh. Not if she had anything to say about it.

"Enough!" Meresankh spat at the women. Winter sun beat on her neck and bare chest, stoking the fire of rage inside her like the wind stokes Tuhmose's kiln. "You know nothing of my life! You—"

Meresankh would have continued speaking. She had much more to say, after all. But just then, from behind her, there came a sound like thunder. The other women went still, mouths gaping as Meresankh turned to look.

When she did, her words died upon her tongue.

A column of pale blue light had appeared above the Nile, spearing into the water's depths and arching high into the cerulean expanse of the sky. The column sored so high, Meresankh couldn't see its top. The water glowed a beautiful, deep green where the light pierced it, lit from within like a jewel. With a cry Meresankh held up her hand, shielding her eyes from the brilliant illumination, but then she saw something in the depths of the light a few feet above where it disappeared into the river. Something dark emerged from the heart of the light—no, two somethings, one tall shape and one shorter but wider figure. They gained detail and color as they bloomed from the light's center, and soon Meresankh could see exactly what lay within.

It was a girl. A girl hovered above a gigantic stone slab of golden rock, her feet almost touching it, like a person standing atop a table. The rectangular slab must have weighed many hundreds of debens, and yet it floated within the light like a seed on the wind. Meresankh's breath hissed in her throat. What was this sight she witnessed? And who was the girl in the light, the one with waving hair the color of copper and skin like cool milk? She couldn't discern the girls' features from this distance. The Nile ran wide, here, and the girl in the light was at least a hundred cubits away.

"Look!" Alorhim whispered.

The reeds on the banks shivered, like an unfelt wind had passed through their stems—and then the waters of the Nile bubbled from below, white froth turning the blue waves to pearl. From the depths rose hundreds of green leaves, round and wide, buds of white flowers crowing their centers as they burst into the air. They coated the entire river, shore to shore, stretching far away in all directions and out of Meresankh's sight.

For a moment the river went still, green and calm. Then the budding blossoms trembled, and their petals unfurled as one, blotting out the green leaves with their purity. A carpet of the white flowers as thick as paint coated the surface of the Nile as though placed there for decoration. They looked thick enough to walk upon as their petals stilled, sweet scent permeating the air in a rich cloud.

In an instant, the Nile had turned pure white with sacred lotus blossoms.

"They bloom even in this season?" Ebhim whispered from behind Meresankh's back. Lotus only bloomed when the sun was hot, submerging themselves deep beneath the Nile's waves during the Egyptian winter.

"And so many of them!" another woman added.

"To see so many summer flowers in the dead of winter…" Alorhim murmured.

Meresankh heard a thump, and then another, from behind her. When she turned she saw the women had fallen to their knees, hands clasped as they bowed their heads, praying with quiet voices to their favored gods—Hathor, Sekhmet, Ra, Osiris.

"We witness a miracle!" Ebhim said. She lifted her face toward Meresankh, earlier anger vanished in the wake of awe. "Truly, we witness a miracle!"

Meresankh turned back to the Nile, disliking the look in Ebhim's eyes. Unlike the others, she'd visited the capital before. She'd seen the Pharaoh's high priests work with heka before, harnessing magic to summon monsters and judge the hearts of the impure. This surely was no miracle. Surely they bore witness to some spell or another, not an actual act of the gods above.

But magic had to have a master. Who, therefore, had created this spectacle?

The mysterious, light-born girl hovered another moment above the river, skin like lapis in the column's blue glare—but then the light flickered, the beam that pierced the sky going pale, its color only barely darker than the sky itself. Then it flickered again, and again, before disappearing completely.

When it vanished, the girl and the slab hovered for one final moment in the sky. The, like pebbles dropped by careless hands, both plummeted toward the surface of the water…

…right into the pack of hippopotamus, who had swum toward the light to investigate.


Many miles upriver, in the capital city of Thinis, Lord Seto, chosen Pharaoh of Egypt, felt the magic of his soul pulse and sway as he sat upon the throne. Before him a commoner was being judged for a crime. One of his newly-appointed High Priests, a tall man named Ranefer, used the Millennium Key to view the man's heart. At the same time Seto felt his magic ripple, Ranefer gasped and dropped the Key most carelessly to the floor. He turned to his Pharaoh with expression dire.

"Sire?" he asked as he recovered the Key, tone urgent.

Seto rose from his throne. The guards snapped to attention when he strode off the dais, heading for the exit that would take him to the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The assembled courtiers and commoners in the throne room bowed when he passed, tittering behind their hands at his odd behavior. It wasn't appropriate for the Pharaoh to leave during the middle of an audience session. How unseemly. Whispers followed Seto as he walked, but he ignored them in favor of more pressing matters.

Let the commoners wonder. He had no time for their small-minded ilk.

"Sire!" Ranefer repeated. The priest followed Seto from the room, every word he spoke straining in his throat. "Sire, what magic do you work? It is like nothing I have felt from you before, and originates from so far away!"

Seto did not answer. He strode purposefully down the hall, heart beating a tattoo inside his chest (but he did not let his trepidation show on his face, of course). Eventually he passed through the archway leading to the balcony—the same balcony where he'd stood to ascend to the throne, the people gathered below to welcome his rise to power. The overlook viewed the whole of the enormous palace courtyard, east-facing to catch the light of a rising sun. Seto did not face east, however. He turned instead to the north, where he felt the magic call to him.

Ranefer, from behind him, gasped: "What is that?"

Far away, spearing the blue of the sky like a needle through linen, a hair's-breadth column of pale azure light split the heavens. It glowed white at the heart, bright and gleaming, and even from a great distance Seto had to squint against its glare. The guards and peasants in the courtyard pointed at the sky, murmuring amongst themselves at the phenomenon. Seto knew what they were asking even before the whispers drifted to his lofty perch upon the balcony.

"What is that light?" someone said with wonder.

"What is causing that?" someone else said with awe.

"Have we another calamity upon ours hands?" whispered a few with fear.

Seto's hand tightened around the hilt of the Millennium Rod. The people had not yet recovered from the devastation wrought by former Priest Akhenaden and his dark master, Zorc Necrophades. The death of the former Pharaoh, Atem, weighed heavy on the hearts of Egypt's citizens. They were not yet accustomed to their new Pharaoh, either, distrustful of Seto and his sudden rise to power. He was not of the royal blood, they claimed, and unfit for the throne despite Atem's dying wish he receive the crown.

How ironic. The commoners had looked upon him with admiration when he, an orphan, had become a High Priest—a man of riches born from rags. Now, though, they thought he had overstepped. Fickle people. He had to suppress a sneer, just thinking about their unsure hearts.

None of them knew Seto's true parentage, of course. No one would believe it if he tried to tell them he was cousin to the previous Pharaoh—and if they did find out, and believe he was the son of the traitor Akhenaden, they'd depose him in an instant.

Akhenaden.

The commoners did not know the truth, that Atem had sealed himself inside the shattered Millennium Puzzle. They merely thought him dead.

Dead, at the hands of Akhenaden.

Akhenaden, Seto's father, the traitor. Killer of Pharaoh Atem.

Seto prayed they never learned the truth, even if a blood tie to the throne would ease his transition into power.

"Sire?" Ranefer was asking. "Sire, what magic is this?"

"I don't know," Seto replied—but he knew why Ranefer asked him, specifically, that question.

The beam of light pulsed with the color of Seto's personal magic. The white core, the pale blue luminescence…the hue was unmistakable. The magic in his heart flickered in time with the column of light, reacting to it the way he'd react to any magic he himself summoned. The magic inside him grew dimmer as the column continued to burn, like his ba was being drained to fuel the far-off light.

Somehow, someone was siphoning the power of his ba to fuel that spell. Seto had no idea who, or how, or for what purpose.

He did not know which question troubled him more.

"Sire?" Ranefer asked again, confused. "Sire, why—"

"Ranefer," Seto said, and the holder of the Key went silent. Seto turned to the priest, blue gaze hooded, eyes smoldering with barely-checked rage beneath the shadow of his crown. "I do not work that magic. Someone is using the force of my heka to create that light, and it is not me."

It was a good thing the common folk did not understand heka, nor knew how to identify the casters of whatever magic they might witness. Because if that column of light boded ill, and the people knew their new, untrusted king had powered it, his reign as Pharaoh would be contested even further still. He knew that for a fact as the anxious whispers in the courtyard rose to cries of outright fear.

Whoever was responsible for this would pay dearly for their impudence.

Seto, Pharaoh of Egypt, clutched the Millennium Rod tight and swore to make them suffer.


NOTES (long ones):

Yay, Seto! Ruthless as always.

This takes places after Atem sealed Zorc and his own soul into the Puzzle, and the Puzzle shattered, and Atem passed the throne to Seto. So…Seto is the Pharaoh, per Atem's dying wish. Yaaaay. Sort of. The common folk aren't too happy…but more on that later.

Other priests have been recruited to control the remaining Millennium Items, since most priests died during the fight with Zorc…not looking forward to making more OCs, but to fit with canon, I'll have to.

I adopted a slightly archaic writing style for this chapter, since characters from the ancient past are narrating. Hope it flowed! We'll return to Daisy's POV shortly.

"Heka" was the term used in the Yu-Gi-Oh! manga to refer to magic, so that's what I used. No idea if it has actual historical significance. The "ba" is basically the soul.

And…welcome to Ancient Egypt. Please allow for some cultural errors. I'm trying my best, but it's hard. The anime says Atem lived 5000 years ago (so, the 2nd Dynasty) but the manga and Japanese anime say 3000 years ago (so, roughly the 20th Dynasty). Ugh! Those periods are TOTALLY DIFFERENT in terms of politics, religion, trade, all sorts of stuff.

I've officially set this fic in the 2nd Dynasty. Little is known about that time period, so if magic existed, that's a prime time for it to exist in. The 20th Dynasty is well-documented, so it would be hard for a lost portion of history to take place during that time.

I'll likely throw details from many different dynasties into this fic because…well, very little is known about the 2nd Dynasty, so I'm short on real historical details and need to fill in the gaps from somewhere. There are both advantages and disadvantages to setting a story in the 2nd Dynasty, as you can see.

Some facts: Life in Ancient Egypt depended on the Nile. When it was at its high point, it covered the farmlands, and farmers had nothing to do but sit and wait for the water to recede and leave behind its rich layer of silt (caring for animals and mending tools only lasted so long). As a result of half the population being out of work for a few months, farmers were often put to work during this time by the Pharaoh, building monuments, roads, and other buildings. Slaves didn't actually do much work of that kind; the idea that slaves alone built the Pyramids, for instance, is a bit of a misconception.

Right now it's winter, season of Akhet, and the Nile is at its high point. Farmers are working for the government for the winter since their fields are currently flooded.

Tuhmose is a goldsmith, as was mentioned a few times. He'll be important later on, and of course Meresankh will be important from here on out. He's pretty high-class and wealthy, but he's not the type to flaunt it, so he lives modestly with few servants. That's why it's weird for Meresankh to do the washing. Someone of Tuhmose's status should have servants for that.

Most women of the upper class shaved their heads and wore wigs. That's why I wrote that detail into Meresankh's character design, given her class. Frustratingly, there's little written about the commoners of Ancient Egypt (most couldn't even read, let alone record details of their daily lives), so I'm having to use details about the royal way of life and tweak them to fit the different classes.

Random Cultural Bits: Most women went topless. Kids didn't wear clothes until they hit puberty. People had lots of pairs of underwear, funnily enough. Bread had a lot of sand in it because of the way they ground their bread. Egyptians had very worn/ground-down teeth because of this, but few cavities, because they basically didn't have sugar or sweeteners that rot teeth. Houses were built of plaster, painted white to reflect the sun and dispel heat.

And…yeah. More to come. Will explain cultural bits as they come up.

MANY THANKS to the reviewers of the previous chapter. I wish more of you would comment, but c'est la vie! I'm grateful people are reading at all. Thank you Guest and FicReader for your comments!