Inanna was out again with the medjay for an excavation.

This time, they were to inspect a burial site of commoners. The special thing about it was that those all were the holy remains of children, some accompanied by the forever grieving mothers. It was a very solitary place, as it should have been, but somewhat neglected. Inanna saw the men wash off the dirt and uproot the bad plants growing out of the infertile soil. By the looks of the stones and the hurried finishing of the graves, she estimated that the oldest burial was done at least forty years ago.

"Which dates back to the day Pharaoh Menes was crowned," she mused, sitting across from the labouring medjay. "His ascension to the throne was widely rumoured to be jinxed due to the sudden death of babies."

This harrowing pattern continued on for several more years, and then stopped all of a sudden. Inanna was born in the generation of the last dead children, fortunately being one of the survivors. She often thought if she was sick and almost dead, the reason which her parents gave her up. Or perhaps her mother had died giving her birth, and considering her unlucky, she was thrown out.

Master Hor-Aha never told her much about how she was found. The story that was ingrained in Inanna's mind went like this: You were crying near the river. I was passing by and your tears called to me. I was surprised; how could someone leave a baby in a time when it was considered a blessing for one to be born alive? So I took you home. Bergin became a very good brother to you.

Upon inquiring if she showed signs of any fatal illness or any permanent damage done to her body, Hor-Aha laughed. The chime was always nervous, but his lips were waxed tight. No, you were one of the healthiest babies, he would say. Yet, as Inanna recalled, a speck of dust was enough to make her sneeze and catch an allergy. A small cut to her feet led to infection. It was only around five years of age when she became robust. After that, rarely did she fall to the claws of disease. Perhaps, like many other kids, her constitution was weak initially and she grew stronger later.

"I doubt memories, their strength," Inanna muttered. "Time never got me a dream until now. Even if I had dreams in infancy, they were smudged by my stubborn beliefs. Memories are so fragile. I wonder how much my own mind has woven."

"You speak in a very philosophical way."

Inanna jerked around. Her eyes narrowed. "My eternal nemesis," she hissed. He would always find her in the most vulnerable moments. It was good that he didn't take the literal meaning of her words.

Alexandros was carrying a bundle of papyrus under his armpits. "You are really a mystery. You confuse me who you are– a healer, a prostitute or a seer? Is it all three?"

"Healing comes with wisdom," she replied tartly.

"Well, love is healing too."

"Why are you so obsessed with me being a prostitute?" She flicked her hair. "Do you fantasise me?"

He raised a brow, his glimmering crimson gaze falling on the wavy curve of her collarbone. "You can't be entirely wrong. After all, you are wise." He chuckled. "But you make me doubt your every step. Especially with your nighttime adventures."

"He wanted to be healed in secret–"

"And how strange it is that he is acting grumpy after that night." Alexandros gritted his teeth. "Maybe your medicines didn't work. Or does he want you by his side more?"

"I-I will give him another concoction if the prescribed recipe wasn't effective." She gulped. The coldness of his fury was so untamed. "But you need not poke him when he is already disturbed."

"Feels like his problem is very shameful. Some kind of... erection issue?" Alexandros muffled his grin. Further suppressed, it intensified his rage.

Inanna clenched her jaws. "You are a man yourself. Don't make fun of such a thing."

"I wonder if you heal those as a healer or as a, uh, lady of–"

"See, Alexandros," she craned her neck to stare daggers at the medjay, "I have my own life. My nighttime adventures, if they do exist, isn't troubling your investigation. I am not a lady of love, and even if I had been one, I don't see what is your problem. I shouldn't interest you."

"I can't help but be interested." He cupped her face– a gelid touch– shocking her tender nerves. "More so after you ran away upon seeing me."

Inanna couldn't make out if he was anxious or angry. "Anybody would. You are scary."

"You don't seemed to be scared of me."

"I am disgusted by you."

Alexandros clutched his heart. "Bitter than a scorpion's bite."

"Then may you be bit by one!" she thundered.

"You hide a lot, Inanna. And it's not good. Somehow, if I find out you are involved in nasty deeds, I will punish you severely."

"Prove it that I am sinful." She jutted her chin. "Because I am not. The gods are a witness. I am only faithful to my profession, which by no means is about selling dignity."

"Of course a woman who willingly climbs onto the bed of a man isn't doing anything foolish. She knows what she wants." The sun shone over his flaxen curls, a glow of saffron illuminating his face. "And Inanna, you have invited me to suspect you. Your dubious activities have left you in suspicion. So yes, I will haunt you."

****

Men, with gilded crowns and garbs as white and pure as the unseen snow of Greece, assembled in the audience chamber of Pharaoh Menes. Unlike the times of greatness when goddesses walked amongst men, the only daughter and the firstborn child of the Pharaoh was curtained behind a black veil, sitting above the hall. And yet, a farsighted saint would call it a sign. Perhaps this was because the deities had run for the clouds, high up in the skies, much like high-seated Princess Bintanath, whose purple eyes dilated at the arrival of her father.

Wearing the blue khepresh embroidered with sequins and rings, Pharaoh Menes gestured for his ministers to begin the meeting. The first ones to address narrated the complaints of irrigation and tax, and so went on the regular morning. But the Pharaoh's flickering gaze searched for someone in particular. His attention was not on the issues of the public. Beads of perspiration trickled down his face, drizzling over the leopard skin kilt.

His interest was drawn to the court when his son rose up from the seat. Prince Djehuti was he named by the late queen, for she was a great lover of Thoth. Alas, the Pharaoh never admired the name, a certain dislike bubbling in his blood at the mention of that god. But Djehuti was his son, the worthiest one alive, so he was supposed to compromise with harsh memories.

"I bear bad news," the prince declared. He had a head full with the colour of midnight, a ruddy tint over his bronze complexion. Hair covered his forearms like the mane of a majestic horse. Contrasting the ministers who boasted shimmering white, he had draped himself in scarlet, reminiscent of blood. "The plague is caused by magic indeed."

Words left his lips like an arrow rushing out of a bow. Pharaoh Menes held on to the sides of the throne, heaving a long sigh. "The medjay have found it?"

"Yes. Reports have arrived. The culprits play with the hearts. The sacred organ is missing from many freshly plundered graves–"

He was interrupted by the thudding footsteps of another man. The scent was too strong and revolting for Djehuti to ignore. Despite the rank he was in, the prince was forced to seal his mouth.

"Apologies for making the prince pause," the man said. "I am bound to Amun. He required my presence a little more this dawn."

Djehuti's smile was as wrinkled as this noble's forehead. "Chief Priest of Amun, revered Amunhotep," his hands balled into fists, "apology accepted. Take your place."

Pharaoh Menes was immediately restless, eager to know what the golden man had to say. Djehuti knew well his father, so cut his speech short. "The medjay are continuing their search and if clues be found, shall inform soon."

"What does the esteemed priest have to say on this?" Menes asked.

The religious head of Kemet adjusted his khat, running a hand through his smooth skirt. "I offer to cast a protection spell over the graves of your ancestors and family. They need to be guarded from the exploitative hands of these wicked souls."

"Permission granted. You may proceed–"

"No." From behind the black partition came the booming voice of Princess Bintanath. All heads turned to the cursed lady of the kingdom, their lips twisted at the sight of her hideous purple orbs. "They shall not touch my husband and child."

"Late husband and child, my princess," the priest corrected, hands joined in a prayer, "you forget they are no more."

"They are alive in the Field of Reeds," she said. "I know my word has no value, but as the widow of Prince Khufu and the mother of his late child, I have the first right on them. More than their father." A glare was directed at the quivering Pharaoh, and a frown returned to her as a gift. "You may use your sorcery on anyone else, even my mother, for if my father, the honourable Pharaoh, wishes so. But I forbid you from going near the burial site of my husband and child. I won't tolerate any disobedience."

"You want to risk their souls, Bintanath?" Menes hissed.

"Sister has suffered enough. I am sure we can listen to this request," Djehuti's nails sunk into metallic hilt of his sword, "I am there to see my dead brother. I will protect him and my niece."

Menes massaged his head. "For you then, Iry-pat Djehuti. The Chief Priest of Amun will take his retinue and within a week complete the purification of the royal graves, except those of my son and granddaughter."

"Princess Bintanath mistrusts me," the priest said. "Have I committed any sin?"

"She is mad!" Menes scoffed. His raw abhorrence was nothing unique. "Yet, do as she asks. I do not desire more discord. Court adjourned."

The ministers dispersed. The Chief Priest of Amun stole a glimpse of the princess and bowed at her tear-soaked cheeks. It was for more than a few moments that he captured her otherworldly gaze, holding them for as long as he willed. Princess Bintanath strode off towards her room.

A chill ran down her spine at the remembrance of Khufu's corpse– his wide open eyes devoid of pupils, parted lips dried as leather and limbs blue as the crown. The nobles paraded his body through the capital, with her lurking behind, maligned by the lowly hands of humans who knew nothing but cheap sympathy. The eyes of Amunhotep, more dead than her husband, chased her vision. With a yelp she froze.

"Sister?"

Bintanath spun around on her slipping toes. "Djehuti?" She relaxed. "Do you wish to speak?"

"I understand that to both of us, Amunhotep isn't a man very likeable. But to oppose him openly was a bad move."

Bintanath's skin turned paler, waning like the moon. In her heart arouse a tide of emotions. She raised her palm, waving her fingers through the invisible breeze. "No, I must."

Djehuti followed her deep eyes. They were lost in a dream, again. A dream of the future which would unfold soon. Before the death of their dear brother, she had been perturbed by the same. She always witnessed what no one else could.

In Amunhotep's words, that made Bintanath inhuman.

"The Chief Priest of Amun is a powerful man," Djehuti said. "You do not want to welcome trouble."

Bintanath clawed at the walls. Tears streamed down, a river of unexplainable pain cascading down her starry robe. She looked at her brother. "I beg you to take his care," she referred to Khufu, "he is still living in my soul. He shared my body and blood, even if not my spirit."

"I will." Djehuti bobbed his head. "But tell me, what plagues you sister?"

"The plague plagues us all, isn't it?"

"I know you see more."

Her gaze fled to the horizon, roaming around the sun rays and the whirling sands of the desert. Conjuring a prophecy, they whispered in her ears the events of the near future. Her giggle was an icy and frightening ripple in the solemn silence of the corridor. "I see..."

Djehuti placed a hand on her shoulder, his patience running loose. "You see?"

Bintanath shoved him away, swaying to the haunting music of the unknown. Striking the strings of an invisible harp, she sang, "It is a king who invites the plague, but a bastard who kills it."