Daughter of the Falcon God Read online

  “She’s chasing me. I’m not chasing her,” Pimay sniffed.

  “You know Father won’t let you go after a lion,” Hunefer scoffed. “Only patriarchs and family heads are allowed to hunt them. They’re off limits. They’re too prestigious for you.”

  “Just how will he stop me?” Pimay asked.

  Hunefer ignored his brother. “I’ll slay a wild bull and give you his tail for a kiss, Aya.” He smiled broadly. “Everyone knows bulls symbolize the destructive forces of nature, just as our domesticated cattle symbolize our triumph over nature. So killing a bull is far more important to our people than killing a lion.”

  “And just as unlikely,” Aya laughed. “I’m fairly sure I won’t be kissing either one of you on this trip.” With that she skipped ahead of them.

  Late in the afternoon Kakhent called a halt. “This is the place,” he announced.

  Aya remembered it from her two earlier trips. The wadi narrowed slightly, its bank waist–high on the west and shoulder–high on the east. Its bed was covered with flint gravel and fine sand, and marked with thousands of animal tracks, some old, some quite recent. There was an exposed outcrop of limestone atop the east bank set a few feet back from its lip. Aya climbed it along with everyone else. The overlook afforded a fine view of the savannah for miles in every direction. She saw dozens of ridges rising from flat and undulating plains that were in places dark with herds of animals, the whole covered with tall brown withered grass. Many miles to the south the lake occupied the entire area from the eastern horizon to the western, reflecting the bright sun.

  “Get to work,” Kakhent ordered.

  While the men and boys dragged brush and rolled small boulders to block the narrowest part of the wadi, Aya set up a temporary camp a quarter of a mile away, close enough to be quickly accessible to the ambush site, far enough that the hunters wouldn’t spook their prey. By the time everyone straggled there an hour after sunset, hot and sweaty and exhausted from their labors, she had a cheery fire blazing and bowls and platters of foodstuffs laid out along with jars of water filled from a small spring–fed pool she’d discovered nearby.

  After dinner Aya sat near the fire, weaving long stems of prairie grasses into sturdy baskets by its light. They’d be needed to haul whatever meat the hunters obtained the following day back to camp. The men were at the same time preparing the personal items they’d brought with them to assure their success in tomorrow’s hunt. Everyone knew that a hunter could assume the attributes of his prey by wearing a part of it, and thus gain an advantage. Aya’s father always wore an ostrich mask when he hunted that animal. Her great–grandfather Didia had owned a small stone palette shaped somewhat like a lion; Sitre told her once that he used to grind ochre on it before every hunt and then paint a lion on each cheek. He’d not been injured the time he finally slew one. Kakhent, Aya noticed, was attaching the tail of a wild bull he’d killed years before to a length of leather that he’d no doubt tie around his waist in the morning. That tail would bring him a share of the animal’s strength, virility and aggressiveness. Aya saw that Pimay was shining a bull’s horn and Hunefer was fussing over the tail of a hunting dog, long since deceased.

  Their preparations complete, Hunefer and Pimay seated themselves on either side of Aya as she continued to weave. Pimay handed her a new stem whenever she finished weaving one. Not to be outdone, Hunefer brought her a cup brimming with water. She’d have preferred to be left alone to finish her baskets in peace, but neither boy could be dissuaded from lavishing his attention on her and, exasperated, she eventually gave up trying.

  “Is it true the falcon god actually spoke to you and told you to go with him to Ta–she?” Pimay asked.

  “No,” Aya laughed. “He flew south. I followed where he led.”

  “How did you know he was a god, and not just a bird?”

  “Because I did,” Aya said. “I just felt it.”

  “Weren’t you afraid?”

  “Aya’s not afraid of anything,” Hunefer said loyally, as if Pimay had just accused her of cowardice.

  “Curious, mostly,” Aya replied.

  Hunefer gazed at the talisman. “Was it really cast down from the heavens?”

  Aya set aside the basket she was working on, lifted the talisman away from her chest. “Feel it,” she said.

  Both Hunefer and Pimay did.

  “I’ve never seen or touched any rock like this before,” Aya said. “Have you?”

  They both agreed they hadn’t.

  “Does it give you magic powers?” Hunefer asked.

  “I’m sure it’s magic,” Aya replied solemnly. “It’s already brought me a dream. What other powers it has – I have no idea. I don’t feel any different now that I wear it.”

  “But Bek says you’re special, that you’re the falcon god’s chosen one. That’s why you made the offerings to him when we set up our camp that first night.”

  “Grandfather is far wiser than me, and knows more than I do,” Aya said. “If he says the god chose me, then I have to accept it.”

  “You know more than most of us do,” Pimay interjected. “That’s why you were Sitre’s favorite.”

  “And Didia’s,” Hunefer added. “They both terrified me.”

  “Because you never behaved,” Pimay said.

  “Oh, and you did?” Hunefer retorted.

  “Great–grandmother used to tell me the old tales about our people when we were foraging together,” Aya said, trying to divert them from their arguing. “I used to love being alone with her, listening to her. I could see in my mind everything she was describing.”

  “Tell us a tale,” Pimay urged.

  “About what?” Aya asked.

  “How did our people come to the savannah in the first place?”

  Aya could tell that Paser and Wetka and Kakhent were listening. Tales told around the campfire were how her band and every other passed its knowledge on to successive generations. Aya had been gifted with the ability to remember word for word every tale she’d ever been told, probably because they fascinated her so much. Her great–grandfather’s tales, and her grandfather’s, and father’s for that matter, all revolved around their hunting exploits. Those boastful tales were the ones every man in the band was familiar with. Except for Aya, no one in the band had paid attention to her great–grandmother’s stories about the people’s origins and travels on the savannah. Aya also knew all the tales that belonged to her mother’s band, related around the campfire by her grandfather Iuput, though no one in her band was interested in them at all except her sister and brother and Tabiry.

  “According to Great–grandmother Sitre,” Aya began, “our people once lived much farther west and south than we do today. We dwelt beside a lake in the midst of endless savannah.”

  “The same lake where we live now?” Pimay asked.

  “No. It was in a land called Tjemehu. There were, apparently, a number of lakes in the region, all closely connected, all fed by underground springs. The largest was only a mile across, perhaps less. Its shores were shaded by palm trees. Wild grasses and other foodstuffs grew in profusion there and around and between the rest of the lakes. The plains were alive with animals, easily hunted when they came to the water to drink. Life there was easy. The men hunted and the women foraged.”

  “Why did we leave?”

  “The rains failed,” Aya said. “For many years thereafter plants continued to grow on the lake’s margins, and animals continued to come there to drink, but each year the lakes shrank a bit more and eventually the herds moved away. Meanwhile, the savannah surrounding the lake region turned to desert – so dry in sections that the grasses disappeared entirely and were replaced by sand. Sometimes the wind blew fiercely for days on end, filling the skies with so much dirt and sand and dust that the sun itself vanished from view in the middle of the day, replaced by an orange and red haze. So, to save themselves, our ancestors followed the last of the herds away from that region. We wandered the savannah for perhaps fif
ty generations, always eastward, scratching out a meager existence. But then the rains began again, and came regularly, and the savannah bloomed once more. And when it did our band settled on the portion of the savannah that we ourselves just left. Our people resided there for a dozen generations.”

  “And now the rains are failing again, and we’ve moved on again,” Hunefer concluded.

  “Yes,” Aya replied.

  “Enough stories,” Kakhent called loudly. “Aya, dance.”

  The pre–hunt dance was an important tradition among her people. Aya set aside her work, attached a dog’s tail to the back of her loincloth at the waist, rose, began gracefully twirling in a circle around the campfire, arms raised high over her head, occasionally bending at the waist, letting the ends of her long hair sweep the ground. As she danced she sang, a song she herself had composed, imploring the falcon god to grant the hunters success tomorrow, to protect them from harm, to pass the power of the mighty aurochs to her people, to bring the chaos of nature under her people’s control. The men watched, clapping in time to her movements, the boys eyeing her lustfully. Aya ignored them. She was focused on far more important things. She danced increasingly faster, ever more furiously, until sweat was flying from her fingertips and her feet raised the dust and she could no longer sing for want of breath. And then she stopped.

  “Time to sleep,” Kakhent announced as she stood with hands on knees, gasping for air. “Aya, have breakfast ready an hour before dawn.”

  Aya moved to where she’d laid out an animal hide on the far side of the fire, rolled herself in it, and promptly fell asleep.

  At first light Paser rushed into camp. He’d been watching from atop the outcrop at the wadi. “Aurochs,” he hissed in a low voice. “A dozen cows. A giant bull – I’ve never seen one so large.”

  Kakhent smiled knowingly.

  By then everyone had eaten, donned their tails and horns and other paraphernalia, painted themselves, seen to spears and flint knives.

  “Pimay, Hunefer – swing around behind the beasts, at a distance,” Kakhent directed. “Don’t spook them, but drive them slowly into the wadi. There are plenty of low spots along the west bank where they can descend into it from the savannah. Once they’re in the wadi, keep them moving north, but remain well back.” He turned to his older sons. “We’ll station ourselves atop the east bank, just south of where we’ve placed the obstruction. Once they reach it and stop, I’ll kill one of the cows at the rear of the herd. It’ll fall and block the wadi and trap the bull. Then we’ll all use our spears on him.”

  “Remember,” Hunefer whispered, leaning close to Aya. “After I kill the bull, I’ll trade you his tail for a kiss.”

  “Don’t do anything foolish,” Aya urged.

  Hunefer laughed. He and Pimay hurried south, spears in hand, bows and quivers slung over their shoulders, and were soon lost to view. Aya followed Kakhent and Paser and Wetka to the watching station, her pouch of medical supplies and another of water slung over her shoulder just in case. The men positioned themselves five or six feet apart from each other, crouched behind the lip of the outcrop, Kakhent at the end farthest from the obstruction and closest to the approaching prey. Each arranged three or four extra spears on the ground within easy reach. From the expressions on their faces, Aya knew the men were about to engage in a serious dangerous business and none of them was taking the upcoming encounter lightly. They’d given themselves an advantage, with the favorable terrain at their ambush site, but even so, an aurochs was a creature to be feared under any circumstances. In fact, if these men had encountered one on the open savannah they would have let it pass. There weren’t enough men in the band anymore to attack in that situation, even in a group, with any assurance of success, for aurochs were both swift and aggressive.

  The sun rose above the horizon, instantly drenching the savannah with golden light, leaving the wadi and other low places in shadow.

  “There!” Paser whispered.

  Aya carefully raised her head just enough to see more than a dozen aurochs leisurely lumbering towards her, led by the bull, strung out in a line, half a mile away, already in the wadi. That augured well. Their hooves were raising dust on the dry ground and it rolled behind them, low down then spreading as the wind caught it. Aya squinted; she thought she could make out Hunefer and Pimay through the haze. She thought they were both too close to their prey.

  Aya held her breath as the animals reached her where she lay at the southern end of the line of hunters, so close she could have reached out and touched them. She stared at the bull, in awe. She’d never seen such a magnificent and fearsome beast. She guessed his weight to be three thousand pounds, maybe more. The height of his shoulders nearly matched the length of his torso. His legs were long, belly slim, waist slender, and his back dipped slightly. His hair was black; Aya saw long scars on his flanks, no doubt from fights with other bulls. His head was long and large and straight, with long and curly hair on his forehead. But what drew her attention most were his horns – each nearly three feet long, curving upwards from his skull and then swinging straight ahead, their tips pointed and viciously sharp. She almost thought it a shame that he was going to die this day. On the other hand, Kakhent was going to gain much power from him, power that would benefit her people.

  The cows that trailed the bull were much smaller, their coats reddish brown. There were three calves, too, all chestnut in color.

  “There’s a second bull,” Wetka hissed. “A year old, maybe two.”

  He was a few paces behind the rest of the animals, his hair deep brown, with a white stripe down his spine. He was about a third the size of his father. His horns were not as long, but looked equally deadly. His presence, Aya knew, was unexpected.

  The lead bull reached the obstruction, stopped. The cows behind nudged those in front, began milling about. Aya realized she was trembling, whether from fear or excitement she did not know. The ambush was about to begin. Kakhent slowly rose beside her, spear cocked. He’d slay the rearmost cow. Then he and his sons would together attack the bull in the confusion that followed.

  Out of the corner of her eye Aya caught sight of Hunefer dashing towards the herd down the center of the wadi. With a loud cry he hurled his spear at the young bull, aiming for the portion of the spine directly between the shoulder blades. But the spear merely grazed the bull’s shoulder, leaving a long stripe that immediately began to bleed. For an instant Hunefer stood, stock still, disbelief on his face. He hadn’t expected to miss. Then the bull bellowed in pain and anger, pivoted on its rear legs, spotted him. Hunefer sprinted for the east side of the wadi, desperately tried to scramble up the rocky sandy face to safety, but he was too slow. The bull lowered his head, charged, caught Hunefer’s legs beneath his horns, tossed him into the air. Hunefer screamed and crashed to the rock–filled wadi floor and lay still. Bright red blood pulsed from his right leg.

  Simultaneously, Kakhent and Paser and Wetka buried three spears deep in the bull’s back, hurled downward with all the force they could muster from atop the outcrop. The beast took a step, staggered, dropped to his knees beside Hunefer, fell onto his side. Aya saw that Kakhent’s spear had delivered the killing blow. Kakhent jumped down into the wadi, crouched between his disabled son and the now bawling herd, his spare spear lowered menacingly. Paser and Wetka joined him, their spears lowered as well. About that time the giant bull pushed aside the obstruction in the wadi as if it wasn’t there and led the cows and calves hurriedly north.

  Kakhent dropped his spear, lifted Hunefer, one hand underneath his back, the other beneath his knees. He found a low place in the east bank and Aya met him there, helped him from the wadi. Paser and Wetka walked backwards to the same low place, spears at the ready just in case, then also climbed to safety.

  Kakhent lay Hunefer down in the shade of some boulders two paces from the wadi. Aya knelt beside him. Blood was flowing copiously from a long gouge on his right leg where the tip of the bull’s horn had caught him. The si
de of his head was swelling and turning purple from where he’d hit his head on a rock when he landed. Aya had never encountered injuries as serious. She feared they were beyond her capability to fix. Fortunately, for both of them, Hunefer was unconscious. That would make what Aya had to do easier. She took a deep breath. She couldn’t afford to panic. She reached into the pouch of medical supplies she’d carried with her against just such an emergency, pulled out a small empty jar. She searched in the pouch and found some particular herbs and put them in the jar.

  The men were standing over Hunefer, watching. Suddenly Pimay appeared. “I told him not to!” he exclaimed, trying to catch his breath. “He just laughed at me.”

  “This is your fault!” Kakhent snarled at Aya. “He went after the bull because of you! You’d better not let him die!”

  I didn’t ask Hunefer to be an idiot, Aya said to herself. She dared not express that sentiment to Kakhent aloud. She knew he’d been counting on gaining the power of the giant aurochs for himself. He was going to hold missing out on it against her for a long time. Not to mention the injury to his son.

  Blood was coloring the dirt beneath Hunefer’s leg now, flowing down both sides of his thigh.

  Aya picked up the pouch that held water. She was just about to pour it into the jar containing the herbs when something occurred to her. Hastily, she removed the talisman from around her neck, placed it over the opening of the jar, poured water into the jar over the talisman. Maybe this talisman is magic, she thought. It better be. Help me heal Hunefer, she prayed to the falcon god.

  Aya put the talisman back around her neck, picked up the jar and mixed the herbs into a paste with her finger. Then she washed the gaping wound as best she could with more of the water, and when it was clean packed it with the paste. Blood continued to well, though at a lesser volume. Aya reached into her pouch, extracted a long thin needle made from a bird’s wing, then pulled out long thin thread made from some animal’s intestines. “Hold the sides of the wound tightly together,” she ordered Pimay.