VII. Making Rain
"So you're sending me away?"
Mathayus and Menes had risen well before dawn to ride out to the plains. Accompanying them were three red guards, a standard bearer, the falconer, the horse master, and a scribe--all of whom had been left a half hour's walk behind them. Their only other companions were a tame cheetah, whom Menes had named Sekhmet, and a whip-tailed coursing hound that Mathayus simply called Dog.
"You'll live and work with Balthazar, in Nubia, for two years. He'll teach you what I can't."
Mathayus whistled sharply, sending Dog racing after a hare. The hound took off in the blink of an eye, and for a few moments, the pair stood admiring the hunter's lean grace and efficiency. Then the hare was caught, the hound whistled back in. Mathayus wrestled the bloodied carcass from Dog's mouth and, with quick and calm efficiency, gutted it.
"What can I learn from Balthazar that I can't learn from you?"
The king finished dressing the kill and hooked the raw carcass to his belt. "That's King Balthazar to you, until you're his equal."
Menes thought of the Nubian's enormity and wondered if he'd ever be the giant man's equal. He chirruped to Sekhmet and watched her speed out after a small herd of gazelle. The hunting cheetah was swifter than Dog, her spotted pelt more pleasing to the eye, but she was no match for her prey's ability to turn as swift as a falcon midflight. She came back panting heavily, unsuccessful.
"I don't want to leave you, Father."
"And I don't want you to go. But you'll be king over farmers, not warriors, and I can't teach you how to plant or harvest, how to thresh grain or bake bread." The king shaded his eyes, turning to check the sun's position in the sky. "I can teach you how to swing a sword, Menes, but not a scythe."
Menes knelt down, meaning to check the pads of the animals' feet for injuries, but ripping up a long blade of grass instead. "I won't return until I'm sixteen." Bits of the torn blade floated to the ground or drifted away on the breeze. "I'll be a man before you see me again."
His adoptive father's shadow fell across his own; a hand large and strong enough to crush a man's skull landed gently on his shoulder. "You can track, you can hunt. You know how to kill quickly and cleanly. You've fought in battle, even faced dismemberment. To the Akkadians, you'd be a man already."
The prince nodded at the subtle rebuke. An Akkadian wouldn't complain about leaving his family. An Akkadian would be proud of the sacred trust his father placed in him. Then he rose and looked up at Mathayus. "I didn't hide in that wagon because I wanted to fight. I hid in that wagon because I wanted to fight with you. Because even then, you were my father."
Mathayus enfolded Menes in a quick and hard embrace, as if he thought that if he held on too long, he'd never let go. Then: "I have something for you."
From a stiffened leather pouch at his waist, the king drew out a large gold bracelet. "Philos crafted this. Despite the old man's disbelief in anything he can't see and touch, I managed to have him bind a few protections into it."
The bracelet was an intricate work of art, and Menes wondered why, if Philos was capable of this level of craftsmanship, he kept himself to odd machines and explosive powders.
Taking Menes' arm, the king fastened the bracelet around his son's wrist. "The scorpion is because you are my son. The head of the jackal is to warn any who desire this bracelet for themselves that it will only give them death." Menes gaped at Mathayus, who smirked back. "Don't worry, son, you can wear it without fear, and so can your lady mother and I--but it's deadly to anyone else."
He kissed Menes on the forehead then, the way he had when he'd declared him his son. "Wear this when you go to Nubia, in case you're ever lost. It'll show you the way back home, the way back to me."
* * *
"Hand me that little thingamajig, would you?"
"Which little thingamajig, Philos?"
"The one there, yes, the one just to the left of that other gizmo."
Cassandra suppressed a laugh and picked up a fragile-looking contraption of sticks and twine. "And what, pray tell, is this supposed to do?"
Philos stopped in the middle of packing knickknacks and frowned at her. "What, you don't remember that? It's the rain maker you built for me when you were just a little girl."
Cassandra's mouth fell open. "But... You mean you hung on to this, all these years?" She stroked the thing, only now remembering the hours she'd spent constructing and reconstructing the toy. She'd never meant it to actually make rain--she just wanted to build something that looked like the rest of the odd gadgets filling Philos' chamber.
"Well, of course," the old man snorted. "You don't think I'm just going to leave it somewhere for any young rascal to pick over?"
"You know the king has asked you to stay," she said by way of reply. "He values your wisdom."
Philos heaved a monumental sigh and set his pack gently down. "Wisdom. Now, that's something no one can give to the king but himself."
"Menes already has friends in Nubia. He and Balthazar will get along fine..."
"Ah, so now we come to it. It's really you who wants me to stay!" He scratched his beard and chuckled good-naturedly. "My dear, how many times have I told you that I'm far too old for you?"
Taken off guard, the sorceress laughed, but then she sobered. "I need your guidance, old friend. He's changed so much since the days when he was just a wandering hire-sword. He used to be the kind of man who paid no attention to destiny." She smiled fondly for a moment at her memories. "But now he won't do anything without consulting me first."
"Sounds like a well-trained husband to me." He winked at her, but this time she didn't laugh.
"I didn't see anything off about the siege of Abydos. It was a victory, I suppose, but the army was decimated, and only one of Mathayus' red guards made it back alive." She rubbed her arms, shivering. "And so the kingdom has expanded, but the price..."
She saw Menes lying in a pool of his own blood, a look of shock etched on his boyishly handsome face. She saw him seated on a throne, a young woman of striking beauty at his side.
She saw herself running from her husband's fury. She saw herself nursing her husband's child, smiling.
She saw Mathayus victorious in battle. She saw him driven away with his army to die of thirst in the desert.
She saw nothing but contradictory images, dreams that shaped themselves, only to vanish as the next rippled over them. Nothing made sense any more.
"Nothing makes sense any more." She realized she'd spoken aloud and added, "Please don't go."
Philos gave a gentle smile. "You know as well as I that the boy will need a familiar face where he's going. Oh, don't worry about me, Cassandra, dear. I'll be fine."