Daughter of the Falcon God Read online

  “I’ve spent the past two weeks traveling north on the river from where my nephew and I intersected it south of here, headed towards the rendezvous point named by my father. That happens to be this very place,” Qen replied. “Menna is an exceptional hunter and tracker. He spotted no sign of anyone on either riverbank – until today.”

  “You must not have been very far to the south when you started downriver,” Aya interjected, glancing meaningfully at Qen’s leg.

  He smiled ruefully. “My nephew was quite disgusted by how long it took us to reach the river in the first place. He never stopped reminding me that he could have crawled here faster.”

  That sounds like something Menna would say.

  “Where were you coming from?” Hannu asked.

  “The shore of the eastern sea,” Qen answered. “Once we arrived at the river I built a sturdy reed raft – it’s a skill of mine. So Menna and I actually traveled quite a distance in the valley.”

  “Everyone of an age in our band is also related to everyone else,” Hannu informed Qen. “Five men and four girls – and me. Frankly, I sent my son to seek another band here in the valley without success a month ago. Our patriarch has resolved to join cousins to cousins at our next fertility festival if I don’t find another band. Perhaps now that won’t have to happen. Especially since four of the men and my granddaughter Ahaneith are here in the valley right now.”

  “Perhaps the gods have arranged this encounter between our people,” Qen said meaningfully.

  “Perhaps they have.” Hannu took another swig of beer. “I take it your band doesn’t stay permanently by the sea.”

  Qen shook his head. “Just part of the year. The rest of the time we live in this valley. We leave when the river begins to rise. We spend the next three months moving slowly eastward, from wadi to wadi, the same route each year.”

  “Following herds?”

  “Yes, hunting as we go.”

  “What’s it like in the East?” Aya asked. She’d longed to cross the river for years, to see what wonders it might have, if any.

  “The savannah is deeply cut by numerous wadis,” Qen replied. “They’re mostly narrow, grassy–bottomed, full of game. As we travel, we shelter from the midday sun in the overhangs of their rock walls. We drink rainwater that’s accumulated in depressions in the rocks. The wadis are winding, interconnected. It’s easy to get lost in them if you don’t know the way. They eventually reach the sea. We camp beside it for a month, do some trading, then retrace our steps to the valley.”

  “To this stretch of river, you said?” Hannu asked.

  “This is the very spot where we set up our first camp every year,” Qen replied.

  “The last inundation removed all signs of your occupation,” Hannu noted.

  Qen nodded. “It’s not our only camp. When we’ve harvested all the wild grasses we can around here we move a dozen miles upstream and establish a second. We do that three more times in the next three months – a new camp each month – gathering as we go, until its time for us to leave the valley once more.”

  “This valley is truly a paradise, with grasses growing in such profusion, and tubers, and fruits, and all the wildlife near at hand, and the fish in the river,” Hannu reflected.

  “Everything we need to survive is close at hand,” Qen agreed. “It’s not like the savannah – when we’re roaming there we usually have to range great distances from our camp each day to find enough to eat. We move our camp every week or so then, more often if the animals we hunt are on the move or if we exhaust the nearby foodstuffs.”

  “Why did your father send you in advance?” Aya asked.

  “Instead of someone able–bodied, you mean?” Qen replied, placing his right hand on his right thigh.

  Aya colored in spite of herself. That’s exactly what she’d meant.

  “As I’m sure you know, the past four years the inundation here in the valley has been inadequate,” Qen explained. “The river only dropped new soil a few dozen yards beyond the riverbanks. In some of our usual camping places south of here the water wasn’t even high enough to spill over the bank and fill the valley’s natural basins.”

  “That’s the key to the valley’s bounty,” Aya interrupted. “The highest ground is along the riverbanks, and the lowest at the base of the plateaus. Once the river overflows its banks the water rushes to the lowest point and is trapped in the basins formed by low east–west ridges dozens of miles apart. The soil settles from the water onto the plain, and as the water slowly disappears the ground remains moist to nourish the plants that begin to appear.”

  “But when the inundation is poor – disaster,” Qen said, nodding. “These past years the wild grasses have been so sparse that we barely harvested enough to feed everyone, and that only by establishing three extra campsites. So my father sent me ahead of my people to assess the adequacy of this year’s wild grasses – its my particular skill to be able to determine the yield from a given area.”

  The inundation had been equally poor at the lake the past four years, Aya recalled, but that had made scarcely any difference to her band. Their usual fields had not been covered with soil to the normal extent, so they’d simply scattered their emmer and barley seed on additional fields closer to the shoreline that had been blessed with fresh soil. They’d continued to harvest bumper crops.

  “Do others of your people take such an interest in wild grasses?” Hannu asked.

  Qen laughed. “Aside from Father, they care only about what they can slay. For obvious reasons” – he indicated his leg – “I’ve chosen to become expert in the grasses that grow in the valley. The task my father set me was to locate enough camping places to keep us fed.”

  “That should be no problem this year,” Hannu said. “Clearly, the inundation was far better than it has been.”

  “That’s my conclusion as well,” Qen said. “But I suppose that you and my father will have to decide between you which band will camp where, so each can harvest what it needs.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Hannu said. “We’ll be leaving the valley within the week.”

  “Going where?” Qen asked politely.

  “My people live on the north shore of a lake a week’s travel to the west,” Hannu said. “A few of us bring our herds to the valley at the start of the rainy season, where there’s plenty of water, and grass to graze.”

  “The animals I saw being watered in the river?” Qen asked.

  “We’ve domesticated them.”

  “I’ve heard of wild creatures being transformed and controlled. But I never expected to see any in my lifetime – and not so many at once,” Qen said excitedly, leaning forward on his stool.

  Hannu shrugged. “Our herd grows larger every year.”

  “Do you raise your animals for meat?” Qen probed.

  “We drink their milk and blood, mostly. We only slaughter on special occasions.”

  “To honor our gods,” Aya interjected.

  “Amazing.” Qen shook his head. “If you don’t mind my asking, Hannu, why does your band leave this valley for a lake when wild grasses grow along this river?”

  “Because they’re more lush at the lake,” Hannu replied. “The lake rises, just like the river, and drops soil on the shore. River and lake are connected.”

  “You’re telling me you experience the inundation at your lake?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, because the river valley is lush this year, you assume the lake will be too?”

  “No, I know the shores of the lake will yield plentifully,” Hannu said.

  “How do you know?” Qen asked.

  Aya considered it rude that Qen was openly doubting Hannu. Would he have spoken so to his own patriarch? Did this barbarian have no manners?

  “Because we didn’t leave the lake with our herd until well after the waters of the inundation receded,” Hannu replied, unoffended. “The plains abutting the shore were quite nicely covered with new soil. Soon the grasses growi
ng there will be ready to harvest. In fact, half my people are still there in our permanent camp, caring for it.”

  Qen pondered what he’d been told. “You’ve roused my curiosity, and you will my Father’s as well,” he said. “He’ll be extraordinarily pleased that I’ve encountered a band with whom we can exchange women. Father gave me the authority to treat with any patriarch I found and make any commitments necessary to assure the survival of our band in that regard. But since he’ll be here tomorrow I’ll not exercise that authority.” Qen downed the last of his beer. “You and he will have much of importance to discuss – especially if you’re leaving the valley so soon. If we’re to exchange women it will have to happen quickly.”

  “It will,” Hannu concurred.

  Aya had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. After all the years Kakhent had spent looking for another band she knew Hannu wouldn’t let this opportunity pass, even if the other band was made up of barbarians. Qen, it seemed, was equally bent on exchanging women, and then moving on. She was more than a bit surprised that he’d be willing to give up four women from his band for only one from hers. In his place, she wouldn’t have made such a one–sided transaction. He wasn’t as smart as he seemed, apparently. The possibility of traveling with her band to the lake to make a fairer exchange didn’t seem to have occurred to him. Hannu hadn’t brought it up either, for the obvious reason that he was going to come out ahead. So, in less than a week she’d lose Ahaneith. Her daughter would stay behind in the valley with Iry’s people, then spend the rest of her days roaming between the valley and the sea, searching for food from sunup to sundown, living a diminished life. It was too horrible a prospect to contemplate. Aya couldn’t restrain herself. “It must be easy for you to give away the girls of your band when you have no family of your own, no stake in what happens to them after,” she snapped at Qen bitterly.

  “Aya!” Hannu exclaimed sharply. “Remember your place!”

  She kept her eyes fixed on Qen’s, defiant. She couldn’t stop what was going to happen, but at least she could make sure these men knew she didn’t agree with it, however fruitless and impotent her protest was.

  “Forgive my daughter,” Hannu told Qen, glaring at Aya. “She speaks too often out of turn. She’ll regret her words before the night is over.”

  Aya knew what that meant. She’d tasted Hannu’s stick often enough before her joining to Kakhent. But she knew Hannu’s threat now was an idle one. Father or not, he wouldn’t dare lay hands on the woman of his band’s patriarch.

  “Don’t punish Aya on my account,” Qen said evenly. “I’d think less of her if she said nothing.” He addressed Aya. “The fact is, I stand to lose my sister and three of my nieces to your band, more if my sister’s younger children are allowed to accompany their mother to her new home.”

  That made the projected exchange even more one–sided.

  Qen’s gaze settled on Aya. “I trust that in the years to come you’ll look after my family the same way my father will care for the woman you send us.”

  Aya had not expected such a response from Qen, one both caring and challenging. He was something of an enigma. And for the first time she considered that the girls from Iry’s band were going to be afraid and confused and homesick and feel uprooted and completely out of place when they came to live with her people, the same way Ahaneith would be when she left. As the patriarch’s woman, Aya knew it would be up to her to help the barbarian women transition as easily as possible to their new lives. She knew Kakhent wouldn’t even give that a thought. She nodded.

  “Thank you for your hospitality, Hannu,” Qen said, picking up his staff and using it to rise to his feet. He bowed. “I’ll signal my nephew to come get me and wait with him on the other side of the river until my people arrive tomorrow.”

  “Nonsense,” Hannu said. “You’ll stay with us. Since you’re so interested in my animals…” He turned to Ahaneith. “Take Qen to Iuput.”

  “Yes, Grandfather.” She stood.

  “Iuput is my son,” Hannu said. “He’s in charge of my band’s animals. He’ll tell you all about them.”

  “That’s exceptionally kind of you,” Qen replied, beaming happily. He bowed again. “Until tomorrow, Hannu.”

  “Until tomorrow.”

  Ahaneith led Qen away, towards the herd.

  “I’m surprised you’re letting that barbarian stay in our camp,” Aya said distastefully. “He might learn a great deal about us between now and tomorrow.”

  “Information he won’t be able to pass on to his father before I myself meet with him, as Qen could if I let him return to the other side of the river tonight,” Hannu replied.

  Aya nodded. She hadn’t considered Qen’s continued presence from that angle. Hannu’s conniving was useful on occasion. “I’ll prepare for the arrival of Iry’s family heads,” she said. “I’ll make sure a hot meal is waiting for them tomorrow when they speak with you.”

  “I leave it in your capable hands to make them feel welcome,” Hannu said.

  Aya pondered for a moment. “You know you’re going to have to invite these barbarians to come to the lake, right?”

  “Why?”

  “Do you think they’re going to give us four of their women to join with you and Iuput and Isu and Intef, and take only Ahaneith in return?”

  “I’m quite willing to trade only Ahaneith – as long as I myself receive a woman in return. As for the others – I don’t care.”

  Aya knew her father would do it, too. He’d give her daughter away without a second thought. Well, that wasn’t acceptable. “Kakhent would care,” Aya insisted. “We need more people at the lake, allied to us, so we can farm more productively, protect our herds more easily, utilize the land’s resources better, ensure our survival. That’s why he’s tried to find another band all these years. If you think you can get away with letting this encounter with Iry’s band benefit you alone, you’d better think again. Kakhent will surely question your fitness to succeed him as patriarch if you let this opportunity pass – no matter what he promised you in the past.”

  Hannu’s face was suddenly grim. He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “How am I to convince Iry? Expect him to take on faith whatever I tell him about the lake country? Remember what happened when you tried to convince Bebi and Amenemope to go south with us? They were more comfortable continuing to live the way they always had than take a chance on something better. And they were our blood, not strangers.”

  “You’d better figure out a way,” Aya warned. “It’s time for you to step up and act like a patriarch, Father. Or else you may never be one.”

  ***

  Aya knelt beside the river, cleaning the pots and cups and bowls used at dinner the night before and breakfast today. The ones she’d already washed were on a reed mat, drying; the pile of those still dirty was nearly three times as large. The sun was just peeking above the rim of the eastern plateau, spilling gold upon the highest part of the western bluffs, slowly creeping downward. Soon the sun would be high enough to illuminate the narrow green strip extending from the western plateau’s base, then her people’s huts and the river and the entire eastern shore. Aya’s camp had long ago come to life behind her. Smoke was spiraling from the cookfire where she and Ahaneith had prepared breakfast. Pageti and Betrest were knee–deep in the river a little upstream, refilling earthenware jars with water. They’d already gathered armloads of acacia branches from groves beside the river and dried dung from the vicinity of the herd and piled them near the fire for use throughout the day. Well downstream Aya saw Iuput directing the watering of the herds, assisted by Intef and Isu. Qen was standing next to her brother, observing, his interest obvious.

  “This is the last of them,” Ahaneith said, placing a stack of platters on the ground and falling to her knees beside Aya.

  “I hope so.” Aya yawned.

  “Tired, Mother?”

  “I waited on your father and Wetka deep into the night. They were discussing the bar
barians.”

  “Barbarians?”

  Since Ahaneith was on the verge of being joined to one of the newcomers – Aya expected her father would trade her daughter for a woman of his own if he couldn’t convince the strangers to go to the lake – Aya believed she deserved to know the truth about these people with whom she was going to spend the rest of her life. “Come sit with me,” she said, setting down the pot she’d been cleaning.

  Aya led Ahaneith to a cluster of palms that leaned over the river. Their reflection shimmered in the water. Aya sat on the bank and dangled her legs to mid–calf in the water. Ahaneith sat to her right.

  “You and I live much differently than these newcomers do,” Aya began. “We camp in the same place the whole year round, by the lake, except, of course, for those few of us who bring our animals to the river. Do you remember the stories I’ve told you about your father’s side of the family?”

  “Of course.”

  “Those ancestors lived like these strangers still do. They wander constantly – from the river, across the eastern savannah to the sea, back to the river, then up and down the valley. They live in temporary huts for a week or two at a time, then move on and build new ones in new camps. Their men hunt and fish, like ours do. But they own no herds of animals, have no milk, no blood to nourish them. Wherever the wild animals lead, they must follow, or starve. We plant emmer and barley, harvest our grain, store and live off the excess. They glean whatever wild grasses they can find in the valley, and because those grasses are less bountiful than our emmer they spend more time harvesting and winnowing it than we do. Imagine – they pull the grasses up by the roots, because they don’t use sickles. Like us, their women search for fruit and tubers and other plants, but unlike us they do it from sunup to sundown every day of the year. And, of course, their women have and raise babies, though less frequently than we do, for they cannot have a second child until the first is old enough to travel on its own. Their lives are less stable and less predictable than ours.”