.

8. Bloody Past, Bloody Future

"Hey. Hey, Hondo. How are you feeling?"

Hondo prises his eyes open and peers blearily up at his friend. "How do you think?" he croaks, and then coughs. His throat feels dry as the skin between a camel's toes even though he's wearing his howli.

The face vanishes. It reappears a few moments later. "Here," Jono says, pressing something against his lips.

Hondo tries to push it away but stops when he tastes liquid and allows his head to be tipped back. The edge of the gourd is rimmed with sand, but even that doesn't stop him from drinking deeply.

"Sip, don't gulp, or you'll make yourself sick. Is that better?"

"Much." His throat is still raw, but he can practically feel the precious water flowing to the parts of him that need it. He's swimming in and out of consciousness, his eyelids sticking together whenever he blinks, but he feels better knowing Jono is there. The wound in his side hurt like blazes to begin with, but now it has faded to a dull but constant throb. He'd be no use if they're attacked, but Jono… Jono…

Hondo fades out again. When he emerges from unconsciousness it's getting dark. He blinks up at a sky not yet speckled with stars, a nail-clipping moon already high above them. His limbs are stiff from being wedged into this rock crevice – the better to keep him safe of predators arrive, Jono said when he carried him up here. Jackals are clever, but they can't climb sheer rock using handholds the way humans can; plus this place would stop him moving too much and reopening his wound. Jono had bound it tight using the linen of his own howli, but he was no healer and trying to get back to camp across open country while smelling of fresh blood would have been a bad idea.

"Jono?" Honda calls tentatively.

No reply.

"Jono, are you there?"

Still no reply.

Apprehension prickles the back of his neck. Jono would never just leave him out here alone. He wouldn't.

Would he?

Voices. Hondo strains his ears, trying to discern if they're familiar or those of a rival tribe. If he calls and they're not his own people he might as well have just allowed the addax to gore the rest of him with its horns the way it did his leg. It would have been quicker than whatever death they'd choose to give him. He's heard stories of what the Sky Scourge tribe do to their captured enemies, and just being a boy of ten winters would do little to stay their hands.

Where is Jono? Has he already been captured? Are the murdering scum at this moment flaying him alive, or attaching the ropes from around his hands and feet to four horses to quarter him? Hondo strains even harder to hear his friend's screams, but realises a moment later there's no point. Jono would never cry out. He would stay silent no matter what they did to him, and he would never, ever tell them he's not out here alone. Jono is strong and the most stubbornly loyal person Hondo has ever met. Since the day they fought over a comment Hondo's grandfather made about Jono's little sister, they have been fast friends. Even if he is being tortured Jono wouldn't let enemies know Hondo is here.

"No…" Hondo dislodges himself. His side abruptly blazes with pain and he tumbles clumsily out of the crevice, down the scree and onto the sand below. He hits something solid but soft, raises his head and recognises the mop of sandy hair. "Jono!"

Jono is breathing but unconscious. His lips are dry and cracked, his nostrils caked with dust and his cheeks pinched with dehydration. Hondo suddenly realises that the water from earlier must have been their last – and Jono gave it all to him.

"You idiot."

"Did you hear that?"

Hondo freezes.

"It came from over there."

"Hondo? Jono?"

Sagging with relief, Hondo recognises his own father's voice. "Over here!" he croaks, tugging his howli out of the way so they can hear him better. "We're over here!"

The men from the tribe are equal parts relived, anxious and angry when they find the two boys.

"What in the name of all the Great Spirits were you thinking, going off alone like that?" Hondo's father demands.

"We were trying to hunt."

"You're only boys, not men. You had no business leaving without telling anyone."

"We just wanted to help with the food stores for when we move camp. We wanted to be useful."

"Useful boys don't worry their elders half to death and make them wander the desert at night looking for them. What did you try to hunt to get a wound like this – a pack of hyenas?"

"It was an addax –"

"Foolishness! Although the wound has been wrapped well enough -"

Hondo interrupts him. "Will Jono be all right?"

"As long as he doesn't have sunsickness. The boy appears to have only superficial injuries. Mostly he just needs water."

"Good." Hondo sags with relief once more, but this time he keeps sagging, his body folding up and his mind folding in on itself. He hears his father cry out once more, but what follows him into the dark is the image of Jono's dusty face; a reminder that his friend was willing to die to make sure Hondo lived.

I won't forget this, is Hondo's final thought before the darkness claims him. I won't forget …

Téana sat bolt upright. Her mind was full of pulling darkness, her teeth crunching imaginary sand and a phantom wound throbbed in her leg. The dream had been so vivid that she actually had to check to make sure there was no tourniquet there. Then she bent forward, pressing her face against the bed-linen for the few seconds of coolness it provided her hot face.

She was used to seeing fragments of the future in her dreams, or at least scraps of what might be that her inner eye had plucked from the possibilities presented by the universe. Otog always said the future was not fixed, so what they saw when they looked into it wasn't fixed either. Still, what she had just Seen was too solid to be the future.

Why had she dreamed of the past? And, more to the point, why had she dreamed about someone else's past? Wasn't it bad enough that they knew Hondo was one of those chasing them, without her gifts ramming home the full extent of the calamity?

She remembered the day Hondo's father brought the two boys back, all bloodied and weak-limbed, like the rag dollies made of cloth stuffed with goat hair that tribe children often played with. Everyone had thought they would die, but miraculously Hondo had woken and, though he moved stiffly, forced himself to walk enough to get from his own tent to Jono's. He sat beside him a full day and night, even more attentive than the women who had been set to do the same. When Jono's brow grew feverish, it was Hondo who laid damp cloth after damp cloth on it, and wiped away the sweat that soaked into his friend's bedroll. Despite his own injury, it was Hondo who pinned Jono down when he started to thrash, ad Hondo who closed his ears to Jono's insults when sunsickness made him shout and rage like he was possessed. And it was Hondo who comforted Seren when she snuck in and wept that she was about to lose her last remaining family member.

Jono was the first child to survive sunsickness for over five generations. It helped that his case wasn't as devastating at the one that had killed his mother, but afterwards he was regarded as something of a sensation. People whispered to themselves when he finally emerged from his tent, weakened but smiling. They knew that to save his friend he had fought off an addax, one of the hoofed creatures with long twisted horns that roamed about, and then kept them both alive in the wilderness. His popularity grew. When he proved to be an adept at warrior training as well, people started whispering about him being blessed by the Great Spirits themselves. It meant he had enough clout in camp to protect Seren when the time came.

Privately, Elder Goza believed Jono was a little too popular. He saw Jono keeping Seren in the tribe as treason; sacrificing the good of all for his own selfish desires. Téana remembered the Vision dream she had Seen while they were travelling through the mountains, and how Elder Goza had insisted that publicly executing Jono would be good for the people of the tribe. She shivered and cupped her elbows with her palms.

Jono was not saying much, but Téana knew he had to be hurting about the Elders' choice in sending Hondo after them. Usi and Makalani were bad enough, but it was Hondo's name that cut deepest. If the trio ever caught up with them, it was likely Jono would have to fight his best friend – the best friend who, as Téana had just Seen, he had once almost died for, and who had saved his life in return. The sting of Hondo's apparent betrayal had to be worse than a scorpion's tail.

For a second Téana wanted desperately to go back in time to before the strange girl with the white hair and blue eyes came into their camp, to a time before she had doubted so much and feared the very people she'd once counted as kinfolk. Or perhaps she wanted to go back further still, to when she was a child with a goat hair rag dolly and knew no truth but the one her parents taught her. But she knew her childhood lay behind her, out of reach forever. Her thoughts and feelings over the last few days were proof enough of that. At once, Ammon's face rose in her mind.

She raised her face and tipped her head back. "Are you mocking us?" she murmured to the Great Spirits. "Are our little lives just entertainment for you? Or are we just the creators of our own problems all on our own? I suppose that would be more entertaining."

She knew some of the legends about the Egyptian gods, and always thought they sounded far more human than most stories about humans did. The Great Spirits, by comparison, were a benign presence that rarely intervened and seemed to have no emotions like those of the mortals created from the dust of the first deserts. The Great Spirits had their own plan for the world and never let on to mortals what it might be. People just had to trust that everything happened for a reason. Now, however, Téana wondered whether the Great Spirits were really as far removed from the Egyptian gods as she had thought.

"If you really do have a plan for the world, it would be nice to know how all this heartache and uncertainty fits into it."

As ever, she received no reply.

Otog was eating when Elder Goza walked into his tent without declaring himself first. This was the height of rudeness, but when he looked at Elder Goza's hard eyes Otog recognised the barely controlled anger there. He lowered his bowl, set his hands in his lap and waited for whatever the man had to say.

Otog had little love for Elder Goza. Of all the Elders, Goza was most aggressive, most impatient, and most likely to overrule anyone who disagreed with him. He had his own ideas about how to run the tribe, and sometimes Otog wondered whether those ideas were really all that beneficial to the people who had to live by them. Still, Otog was loyal and dutiful. He didn't have to like the Elders, but he would never disrespect or lie to them – although sometimes he came close to breaking that resolve.

"I don't think you're telling us everything you could be about how to reacquire those traitors," Goza said without preamble.

Otog stared at him. He knew his stare could be unnerving. He had spent long hours as a child perfecting his ability to sit or stand perfectly still and not blink. At the time he just wanted to seem more impressive and less like a freak, but as he grew into his role as Tribe Seer the skill had proved useful in helping him to win arguments, or when he just wanted to be left alone. Téana used to creep up behind him when he wasn't looking and make loud noises, and then pout when he didn't blink. Those times he returned the gesture she nearly tore through the roof of the tent when she jumped.

Elder Goza, however, held Otog's gaze without flinching.

"I've been nothing but truthful."

"I disagree."

Otog bristled. Elder or not, he resented his integrity being called into question when he had already made sacrifices he wasn't proud of in order to maintain it. A seer was nothing without the trust of those he or she prophesied for. How could you believe anything foretold by a known liar? Otog's place within the tribe relied on his reliability, so he had always been scrupulously truthful, even when the Visions he Saw told him things that part of him wanted to keep secret.

His Visions about Téana were like that. With each one he felt the tug to lie for her growing stronger within him. Every time the runaways had evaded capture, or Usi's hunting party had lost their trail, that part of Otog cheered, and tried to hold back the next Vision that could ruin their chances at freedom.

"Have I given you some reason to doubt me, Elder?" Otog asked in a dangerous voice.

Elder Goza snorted and banged his staff. The collection of gruesome trinkets rattled, but Otog didn't break their staring match. "You were always very close to that apprentice of yours," Goza said accusingly.

"I was her teacher and her friend. It stands to reason I'd be close to her."

"Close enough to withhold any Visions you've had of her?"

An entire pack of wild dogs had nothing on Otog's rising hackles. Slowly, still not breaking Elder Goza's gaze, he stood up. He was tall for his age and thin with it. While Elder Goza wasn't a small man he was still a hair shorter than Otog.

"I have never," Otog said in a deceptively soft voice, "told anything but what I See, when I See it. If you want me to conjure her exact location on command, then you'd be better asking the stars themselves to show you. My inner eye opens and shuts according to the will of the Great Spirits, and they haven't seen fit to tell me more than she led Jono, Maibe and Seren to the mountains."

"We sent Usi to the mountains. He hasn't come back with them."

Good. I hope that brute falls into a hole and never returns. Otog tried to squash the thought but it rose up like a drowned corpse floating to the top of the Nile. "Then I would advise patience," he gritted, keeping his tone polite, if not exactly pleasant.

If Elder Goza cared what Otog thought of him, it would have been a first. "We break camp soon. If they're not back by then …"

They'll be free, cheered that rebellious part of Otog's mind. And you won't be able to crush them under your heel anymore. "The Great Spirits have a plan," he said instead It was his answer for everything whenever he found himself with a question he couldn't answer.

Elder Goza made a frustrated noise and banged his staff again. Otog refused to react. It was a battle of wills neither was willing to concede. Elder Goza had never conceded anything in his life, and at the moment Otog wanted nothing more than to push that staff right down his throat.

In the end the winner of their small battle was never determined. The backs of Otog's eyes began to hurt, which was unusual. He blinked several times. On the third blink he opened them to find himself looking, not at Elder Goza, but at a magnificent palace surrounded by a collection of blocky buildings. As if he was a bird flying overhead and looking down at it, Otog recognised the shape of a great city. He soared towards a balcony at the front of the palace, where a young man in a crown approached the edge and raised his hand at a tremendous crowd. Every single one of the people below bowed to him, until the streets were a carpet of down-turned faces. Otog's spirit sailed towards the young man, until he could see the sheen of his eyes, which were abruptly replaced by an image of the great Nile flooding its banks and pouring life-giving water onto the fields of Egypt.

Otog's spirit ratcheted around and re-entered his body. He blinked rapidly at Elder Goza, who didn't show a scrap of concern about his wellbeing even thought Otog was breathing hard. Waking Visions were always harder than hose given in dreams.

"What did you See?" Elder Goza demanded.

Don't tell him! begged the rebellious part of Otog's mind. Or tell him something different. Tell him you saw the tribe moving out without Téana and the others. Tell him you saw his death. That should give him something else to think about. It pricked like a conscious. Maybe that was what it was.

Otog's honesty batted it back like a hyena pushing aside a caracal to get at its fresh-kill. "The city of the Pharaoh in Egypt," he said, not caring much bitterness infused his tone. "That's where they've gone. They're staying until at least the start of the flooding season."

Elder Goza nodded but frowned. "I suppose we could put off moving camp for another moon to give them time to get back to us. If we sent a hawk to Usi with a picture of the Pharaoh's mark on it, he's an intelligent lad. He'd know what it meant-"

"Why do you want them back so much?" Otog suddenly demanded. "I can understand wanting to retrieve Téana, but you're also set on catching Jono and Maibe. Why? Why spend all this time and effort for an untested warrior and a woman?"

"Because they're traitors to our very way of life."

Because they disobeyed your ruling, Otog translated. Because they didn't fall into line and you want to punish them for it, and make sure everybody sees so nobody else will try to think for themselves around here. He frowned.

Elder Goza stepped closer. "I would be careful what you say and who you say it to, Otog," he murmured. "You may be the seer, but you don't lead this tribe."

Otog fixed him with another impenetrable stare. "I know."

Satisfied, and therefore completely missing the point, Elder Goza walked out, leaving Otog alone with his conscience and guilt.

In the end, it all happened because Seren woke up one morning and saw the same with her eyes open as she did with them shut. Jono came running at her cry, Téana and Hopki on his heels. Maibe was already there, cradling the younger girl and making soothing noises as she sobbed into her hands.

Blind by the end of the full moon, Téana thought, remembering Otog's prophecy as she watched Jono's hands tighten into helpless fists by his sides.

In actual fact it wasn't the end of Seren's sight. After a while light mottled back into her world, but even through her relieved tears she was forced to admit she could see less than she had been able to before she went to sleep the previous night.

"It won't be long now. I promise I won't be so weepy next time. It was just a … a shock. I wasn't expecting … well, yes I was, but somehow the full moon always seemed so much further away before. And after what you said about the future not being fixed, Téana, I had hoped I'd have a little more time…" Seren trailed off miserably.

Téana immediately regretted trying to explain about how she Saw the future. If she had given Seren false hope, even unintentionally, it was the cruellest thing she could possibly have done.

"I … I don't want to stop seeing things completely," Seren said in such a heartfelt whisper that not one of their hearts didn't clench for her.

Even Hopki's expression was one of remorse, and his eyesight wasn't much better than hers. The difference was that he'd had a lifetime in which to look at the world and remember its beauty. Seren had lived only fourteen years, and most of the last few she'd spent staring at the inside of a tent because she was forbidden to step outside it.

"I want to know what the world looks like. I want more time, so I can see more things and remember them. If I could only have a little more time to put things in my memories, I could live without my sight." She sighed. "It's bad luck that we have to stay indoors so much here while the threat of Usi hangs over us. After he and his men have gone back to the tribe we'll be allowed to explore the city as much as we want, as well as the land around it, but by then I'll be …" She trailed off. Then a thought crossed her face so clearly it might as well have waved to everyone. She sat up straight, jarring her thin body out of Maibe's arms. "I'm not saying I want you to take any unnecessary risks by going out into the city for longer than is safe! I'm really easy to recognise even with a headscarf and make-up, and I know I can't go as fast as everyone else. I wouldn't ask anyone to take any more risks than they already have just so I could be sentimental -"

"Shut up."

Everyone stared at Jono.

His lips moved slightly, as if he was muttering to himself, but his eyes were shut so nobody could tell what he might be saying or thinking. When he opened them again they were full of the kind of determination that had convinced everyone he'd be certain to pass the Warrior Test until he fled the tribe.

"We'll make memories for you," he said firmly.

"But -"

"But nothing. We won't take any stupid risks, but we're going to take you to see whatever you want to see before …" Before you can't see it anymore. Before it's too late. Before you go blind. Any one would have been accurate for that unfinished sentence. "We're in the city of the Pharaoh and it's his coronation soon. You'd have to be mad to want to miss that. There's going to be a parade, right?" Jono asked Hopki, who nodded.

"The crowning ceremony should have happened much earlier than this, but the court put it off so that it coincides with the celebrations to welcome the flood season. They believe it's a good omen to be crowned on such an auspicious occasion, and the new Pharaoh's reign will be one of prosperity and fruitfulness if he begins it during a celebration to honour the same gifts given to us by the Nile. The festivities should be extra spectacular. People are coming from many far-flung places to pay tribute and see the new ruler make his first formal address as Pharaoh."

"Did you hear that, Seren?" Jono gestured wildly. "Don't you want to see that?"

"I … I'd love to, but -"

"No buts. We're going to make sure you've got all the spectacular memories you want. As of now, you're officially the most important person here. Your wishes come first. Am I right?" He glared at the others as if daring them to disagree.

None of them would have even if he hadn't been eyeballing them. Maibe shot him a disapproving look, and Téana returned his glare with one of her own, as if to say 'Did you really need to confirm that?'

"I-I don't know what to say," Seren stammered. "I wasn't trying to -"

"Hush now," said Maibe. "I'll help you dress while Téana makes the food. We can discuss the finer details of where you want to go after we've eaten." There was a pause. "Jono. Hopki. May we have some privacy while we change our clothes?"

Hopki hastily backed out of the room. "A thousand apologies."

"Uh, yes. What he said." Jono followed suit, his cheeks suddenly flaming even though neither he nor Hopki were strangers to the sight of bared flesh. You couldn't live in this kind of climate without seeing it, thought tribeswomen generally kept themselves covered to prevent sores from sand. Yet for some reason the idea of it now made his face turn the colour of raw meat.

Téana got the feeling it was only one woman who had caused that reaction in him – and it wasn't herself or Seren.

"It's admirable how much you care about her."

Jono looked up. His back was against the wall and he had to twist to see who had spoken, but he didn't need to cup his hand over his eyes thanks to the shade of the building now the sun had shifted in the sky. Maibe sat beside him, both of them relishing the small respite from the heat.

"Seren?" Jono said.

"Who else?"

"I care about all of you."

"But you care most for Seren." It wasn't said acrimoniously, just matter-of-factly, as if this was the way it should be. "You gave up everything for her."

Jono rested the back of his head against the wall. "I think I would have given up more if I hadn't deserted." He frowned slightly. It was a tiny change in expression but Maibe still caught it.

"You still feel some loyalty for the tribe?"

"Don't you?"

"Not really."

"You're strange, Maibe. You talk about things no woman is supposed to talk about, think things nobody else thinks, cast aside your past and your people like the remains of a bad meal, and -"

"You'll make me blush," Maibe interrupted sarcastically.

"And yet," Jono went on, "you're capable of more compassion than I've ever seen from anyone. You talk about me caring for Seren, but who was holding her this morning? Who's the first one there when she wakes in the night? You gave up everything too. She looks to you now, as well as me."

"She looks to all of us for different reasons. She looks to me for comfort. She looks to Téana for guidance. She looks to Hopki for friendship. She'll always look to you for love." The conviction in Maibe's words was undeniable. Nobody argued with her for long if they knew what was good for them. For reasons he couldn't name, this one reassurance caused the tightness in Jono's chest to ease.

"We're all the family we have now," he muttered.

"You and Seren?"

"Yes." He considered for a moment. "No."

Maibe nodded, pleased with his answer. "We have to look after each other. When we move on from here we'll be relying on each other, and things will be different when Seren can't see anymore. Our progress will be slower. We need Usi's party to have already returned to the tribe before we set out. We know the tribe will head north at this time of year, so we should go south."

"Hopki will miss Seren," Jono said thoughtfully.

"He misses his granddaughter more. Seren is just a placeholder for Bekah."

They'd all heard stories of the amazing Bekah by now – how she was a wonder who could have been adopted as a scribe if she'd been born a boy, how her smile was the brightest in all Egypt, how her eyes used to follow Hopki's hands as he worked on his baskets and copy what he did. What they hadn't heard much of was how she died, though they knew it was disease that had taken both her and her mother. Hopki said he knew they had gone on to a better world in the afterlife, which had led to a startling conversation about how the 'akh', the part of Egyptians they believe to be immortal, rises into the sky after death to become one with the stars. Jono had explained to an equally surprised Hopki how tribal beliefs said the 'soul' became one with the stars after they died, sometimes returning to earth to be reborn, but always ultimately returning to the heavens.

"I see we are not so different after all," Hopki had said. "Your people and mine, we have more in common than one might think."

Of course, they had a lot of differences dividing them, too. Even though they lived in Hopki's house, practically sharing his sandals with him, each of the runaways had at one time or another felt estranged from the friendly old man through no fault of his. Little things broke them from their comfortable daily patterns, reminding them sharply that this wasn't their city, and these were not their people. The painting of the goddess Bes that stared at them from the alcove whenever they entered the house was a constant reminder. The painted eyes seemed to stare hatefully at them, judging them uncultured intruders from the wasteland, until they passed out of its sight. Hopki treated it reverentially to make sure the protective goddess safeguarded his home and all those in it.

Despite his certainty that his daughter and granddaughter had gone on to enjoy eternal life in paradise, Hopki was still sad about their deaths. He had been left behind and managed to outlive not one, but two generations of his own family. His neighbours saw him as bad luck and avoided him. He was excruciatingly lonely – or at least he had been until Jono, Maibe, Téana and Seren arrived.

"I think he likes Seren for who she is, not just who she reminds him of," said Jono.

Maibe shot him a sceptical look. "You're biased. You want the whole world to love Seren as much as you do."

"Can you blame me? She hasn't had nearly enough love in her life - definitely not as much as she deserves. She deserves to have as much as there is water in the Nile."

"She's not the only one," Maibe murmured.

For a second Jono was flummoxed, until she spoke again.

"I worry about Téana."

"You do?" Jono scratched his chin in embarrassment. "Um, why?"

"We put a lot of pressure on her."

"We do?"

"Stop being stupid." The look Maibe gave him this time was scathing. "You and I gave up everything to save Seren, but so did Téana. She came with us because I asked her to, not because she was inspired to do it on her own the way we were. Then she worked hard to get us across the desert alive."

"I did too," Jono protested. He raised his hands palm-outward. "But I understand what you mean. You're saying we're as responsible for her as we are for Seren, right?"

"Wrong."

"What?"

Maibe sighed. She was quiet for a moment, her eyes looking outwards but seeing inwards at things Jono couldn't begin to guess at. "Too much pressure can cause people to crack and make bad decisions. Or to miss opportunities they'll regret afterwards. Who can know the difference when faced with a choice we don't know if we should make? We're only human, after all. We all have a breaking point – a time when logic and reason seem so much less important than they used to, and more fragile things take their place."

"You're not saying Téana doubts her abilities as a seer, are you?"

"Humph. How much do you know about the way a woman's heart works, Jono?" Maibe's question was as startling as the stare she fixed on him.

"Uh …" Jono fumbled for a reply. He picked the one he thought she wanted to hear. "The … way a man's heart works?"

Maibe frowned. "Now tell the truth. Tell me what you think, not the words you think would fall into my ears with fewest ripples."

Once again he searched for an answer he didn't have. The men of the tribe had always maintained that the female body and mind was feebler than the male, and that women were governed so much by their emotions they could never make good warriors because they'd want to tend every fallen warrior on the battlefield and get themselves killed by more ruthless enemies. Men were strong. Men were powerful. Men ruled women because that was the way it had always been, and there was a reason for it that went beyond tradition.

However, Jono knew if he said anything like this to Maibe she would be angry. And truth be told, since starting this trip he was beginning to have his doubts about that theory anyway. Téana coped with Visions, Seren faced the prospect of blindness with a smile, and Maibe marshalled them all in practical things like eating and bathing to stop them wallowing in their own misfortune and turning into puddles of unmotivated angst. He wondered whether Elder Goza could have done the same, or Usi, or his own dead father – or even himself, Jono, the boy who regularly lay awake wondering whether he'd be a boy forever and never attain manhood because he'd never take the Warrior Test.

"I don't know," he said at last, this time truthfully.

"It's a fickle thing," Maibe informed him. "A woman's mind can be strong, but her heart can ruin whatever foundations it lays with a single beat. Her heart sometimes thinks it is her mind, and so she has two minds trying to think for her at the same time. No person cans last forever with two minds in one body, and eventually one must win out as the stronger, crushing the other." She dipped her head, staring at a particularly riveting piece of dirt next to her left sandal. "Crush the mind and the self is lost. Crush the heart and the soul is lost. Which is easiest to lose and live without? Which can repair itself over time if ripped away by fate and fortune?"

"I don't understand." Jono was genuinely confused.

Maibe sighed and rose to her feet. "When Téana and Seren return from getting the water, send them inside so I can put it in one of Hopki's urns. Then come inside yourself. People are going to ask why you aren't in the fields or working somewhere like all the other young men."

She left Jono sitting uncomfortably, going over their brief conversation and wondering what Maibe meant.

Priest Seto was furious. This in itself was not unusual, but it still chafed Isis that he felt the need to vent at her when she already knew the problem.

"Seto," she said eventually, "I am aware of your concerns. However, there is little I can do about them at this present moment."

Seto fell back onto his metaphorical haunches. As the youngest of the sacred priests he often felt that he had to prove himself, which translated to him being the most zealous amongst them. His loyalty to the Pharaoh's line was absolute and undisputed, which was valuable when facing the religious cults that gave credence to Atem's claim on the throne, but less useful when he was standing between you and the Chamber of Sacred Fire in the middle of a full rant.

The cults never used to be as powerful as they were today, and Isis reflected that Seto's reservations were actually quite valid. The increase in outside influence over the populace was worrying for a regime that focussed entirely on a single person as ruler. The pharaoh may have been the gods' avatar on earth, but belief was a tricky business that relied on maintaining the numbers of the devout. Those loyal to the king needed to eclipse those who supported the cults in order for the Pharaoh's line to remain in control, and for that he had to be seen as infallible, wise and unbeaten – someone the gods truly would want ruling their chosen people. He could not be seen to weaken in any way or it might spell disaster and give the cults both a valid reason and the opportunity to wrest power from him.

Given the right incentive, the cults could acquire enough support to tear down the sacred court and bury their new pharaoh before he had a chance to establish himself. Prince Atem's ideas for a new world order weren't popular with everyone, and the sacred court had worked to keep knowledge of them to a minimum while representative of the cults were around for the crowning ceremony. They had come from far and wide, and while they toadied as custom demanded, Isis had seen the way some of their eyes gleamed with the light of greed when they saw evidence of the riches of Egypt's great empire. You couldn't fight politics with Millennium Items the same way you could use them to win a war. As a result, it was imperative that the prince and his advisors made a good impression over the coming days.

Easier said than done when Prince Atem was constantly vanishing on errands of his own that led him to seclude himself in remote parts of the palace. More than once Isis had sought him out in his lessons, only to find him poring over scrolls in the library, or walking aimlessly through the grounds when he had no real reason to be there. She worried that his resolve was not as strong as his words, and that he failed to understand the importance of the coronation. More than simply removing his prince circlet and replacing it with his father's crown, the ceremony was to be a public show of support from the various factions the whole court needed in order to avoid rebellion. Keeping good relations with rising powers, however much they didn't like those powers, was basic politics.

"You would think," Seto gritted, as if reading her mind, "our prince was completely ignorant of even basic politics, based on his behaviour."

Isis frowned. "There are some who would call such thoughts treasonous." To openly criticise the pharaoh was to call into question all he stood for and all the faith put in him by so many. Any ruler needed the support of his court to validate his authority, but a new Pharaoh needed the support of his closest followers and champions if he was to cement himself and his reign.

"Are you one of them?" Seto asked shrewdly.

Isis didn't answer the question. "I will admit," she instead admitted, "he could be more committed to his duties. But he is not yet Pharaoh."

"Only in the official sense."

"It is enough. The wisdom to rule is something that comes with time and experience, of which he has none. Yet."

"Hence his impractical schemes about peace with nations that have been at war with Egypt since the dawn of time." Seto's brows knitted so much they practically met in the middle.

"He has grand plans for his empire. And it is his empire, Seto." Isis met his eyes for a moment – blue on blue, both unusual in this country where everyone was swarthy and dark-eyed. It was no wonder they had ended up in such illustrious positions. Some might say their unusual colouring had singled them out by the gods and destined them for greatness from birth. "Better he has a dream he wishes to make reality than no vision at all for the betterment of Egypt."

"You're too soft," Seto said after a sullen moment. Isis knew she had won the argument that wasn't really an argument. Seto complained, but he would follow whatever orders his new Pharaoh gave, and would give up his own life to protect him if necessary. Atem could not have wished for a better man to wield the Millennium Rod. "You bend too easily."

"And you do not bend enough – especially for one so young. The sapling that bows to the wind will last longer than the tree which remains rigid and is uprooted in a gale."

Seto snorted. He hated to be reminded of his age, though his achievement of rising so far in rank in such a short time was nothing short of phenomenal. He could not, however, seem to shake off his certainty that he was being judged as immature for his age and uneducated for his humble origins. His self-doubt showed itself in moments of pronounced egotism, wherein he overcompensated for what he thought he lacked, but did not actually lack at all. He made much of his book-learning, showed off his skills with his Millennium Item, and needled others to demonstrate their own expertise so he could prove he was better. It made him an unlikeable character even to those who knew him best, but Isis had seen through his behaviour from the very beginning.

Her tone softened. "Prince Atem will be ready when the time comes. He will not betray the legacy of his father, and his father's father, and all their ancestors before him. Remember, the blood of Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen runs in his veins."

This seemed to mollify Seto – or perhaps his temper had simply run its course now he had unloaded his worries into Isis's ears. "It would still help if I could find him when I need him."

Isis actually smiled at that. "Do not worry. He is like candied dates – always in attendance at a good meal."

Seto made a disgusted noise and turned away from her. He stalked down the corridor, leaving her free to finish her journey to the Chamber of Sacred Fire, where she once more attempted to divine what she'd seen in her disturbing dream weeks earlier, and once more left again with nothing but frustration to show for her efforts.

To Be Continued …

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