November 16, 2006 (never posted)

Revised November 17, 2007 (okay, that’s just creepy…)

I revised Chapters 1 through 4 before revising the chapter I never posted, which is this chapter. I also decided to title each chapter after a flower.

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Egyptian Requiem

By Pearl of the Dark Age

Chapter 5: Petunia

So many people! Miru thought as he gazed around the Egyptian bazaar. Medea and her son rested in the shade of an alley between the stalls of a fish vendor and a lapis lazuli dealer. Egypt was more mystical, enchanting, and different than anything Miru had imagined before! His light colored eyes bugged out in wonderment as he raptly watched the many people of all different assortments meander past. It had taken several treacherous and ill weeks to reach the port of this foreign kingdom, but it had all been worth it in Miru’s opinion.

Before, he did not even want to come.

The first thing that had happened was he had cried. He did not want to leave his home – the only land he had ever known. His mother had insisted that it was necessary to break the curse. She packed what they could carry against Miru’s protests. She had sold everything else. The profit still was not enough to cover the cost of a carriage to the port of Gaul. It would have taken far too long to walk the distance; they only had a year, and the cycles of the sun and moon never slowed their dance. Miru could not accept his mother on her knees, and he vowed to help her in any way he could.

Since they needed speedy transportation that she could not afford, she sold the last luxury she possessed: her hair. Medea cut it personally, accompanied by Miru’s silent gasp and the leer of the merchant. Miru remembered how creepy the man had been. He collected and sold human teeth, fingernails, pieces of tattooed skin, and rare colored hair. Miru could remember his large belly that had engulfed the room in shadow, his balding hair and yellow teeth. If he had planned on hurting his mother, Miru was ready to hurt him! However, no harm was done, and he had paid Medea enough gold to transport her and her son all the way to the Nile Delta without having to walk very far.

Miru would glace back at his mother resting in the shade every other moment. He wanted to make sure that she had everything she needed or if there was anything he could do to help. The Egyptians were exotic to Miru, but not as strange as the sight of his mother with short hair. It was longer in front than in the back and fanned out slightly to frame her face. To Miru, it made his mother’s appearance a little more masculine. He wondered how long it would take to re-grow.

Now that he had turned four, he felt as if he was the “man of the house.” He had spent his birthday sea sick green on their voyage across the Mediterranean Sea. He decided that with his father gone and no one to take care of his mother, he was going to have to grow up and be a man. Miru had accomplished a great achievement during their arduous journey: he accepted his father’s death. His mother had told him that Phael’s spirit was a part of the wind, and now Daddy would be watching his son through another man. Miru eagerly anticipated that man, and he knew he would recognize his father once he found him!

They developed a rudimentary sign language, born out of frustration. His mother caught on quickly, and they soon had a vocabulary over 2,000 words and their own grammar. Nouns were easier than verbs, and abstract thoughts were harder still. But they both managed, and his mother had even contributed to refining the different signs and coming up with new ones. It did not take long for Miru to tell his mother how to break the curse upon him, and her reaction was comical in his opinion.

He remembered how wide her eyes became when she realized he was not telling her that she had to get fat but pregnant! She looked as if she might have fainted. Miru had not learned the concept of the passage of time, and to him a year seemed like a long time to get pregnant and give birth, but his mother seemed to think there was a reason to hurry. So, now they were in Egypt, and she was slowly but surely making her way to the palace.

Miru had not told his mother what else Bezzelba had done to him. He preferred to pretend it never had happened, because it caused him to feel ashamed of himself.

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Medea and Miru were now between the dried fruits vendor and the embalming merchant. The smell of the embalming fluids made Miru sick, and he buried his face in his mother’s bosom. She had closed her eyes, resting momentarily. Nothing bothered her for her mind was intently set on reaching the palace. Medea would figure out what to do next. She had practiced a hundred different speeches to the Pharaoh in her mind, but none were satisfactory. She let out a sigh and stroked her son’s hair absentmindedly.

A fight had broken out between the man with the dried fruits and the woman with the embalming liquids. The man insisted that her concoctions were driving away his customers, and she insisted that no one wanted to buy his wrinkly rotten fruits anyways! The fight had attracted the attention of a large crowd, and Medea and Miru watched with interest.

A malignant looking man spotted Medea through the throng of people edging closer to the fight. He took a long look at her lengthy figure, assets, and exotic features. He noticed Miru, too, and small silver and gold coins danced in his vision. He rubbed his hands with relish, plotting how to spend his fortune. With the shouting of the venders, no one noticed a woman and child being abducted in the nearby alley.

Medea had put up an incredible fight. The slave trader now nursed a broken nose, cut lip, two black eyes, and a couple bones that felt like it might have been broken. He was bandaging his bleeding leg, courtesy of Miru, who presently glared at him, bound and gagged unnecessarily next to his unconscious mother, who laid on the cart pulled by two camels. The slave trader spat at him and shouted for his aids to keep an eye on them as he stood up and strode over to his camel in the lead of the line. “Come on! We’ve got buyers to sucker in Upper Egypt, and I don’t want to be late!” He urged his camel to its feet, and they caravan set off towards Thebes.

Medea awoke several hours later as the sun was setting, tasting rope in her mouth. They had tied rope around her head to gag her, and also around her wrist and ankles to prevent her from escaping; or, as the slave trader feared, more harm to his person. His traveling companions - assistants, fellow slave traders, and merchants - could not understand what all the fuss was about. So, by nightfall, there were several versions of tall tales circling around about the demonic woman and her hellion imp from the lands across the sea from the great delta. The slave trader was so disturbed by their taunts he nearly cried.

They stopped at night, lit a dozen small fires, and huddled around them. They brought the animals and captured people to be sold into slavery under the care of one extremely burly and formidable Nubian, one of the slave trader’s assistants. He removed Miru’s and Medea’s gags, but he left their hands and feet bound. He carried everyone personally over to the fire so no one was cold. Medea thrashed, trying to free herself, screaming curses.

She ended up gagged again moments later.

Miru gave her a look that plainly said, “At least you’re warm,” as she sat on the cold sand staring into the fire morosely. Medea refused to cry. The pain of losing her beloved husband was still very intense, and the guilt still burned hot within her. The determination to free herself and her son overpowered her emotions, and she resolved to stay strong. She made a deal with Dartz by accepting his magic stone; she did it to save Miru.

She only hoped that she was not making a mistake.

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The Pharaoh stepped out into the open courtyard. The water-lilies floated gently on the still surface of the large pool. The sun’s reflection on the water blinded the eyes, and Seti sought refuge in the shade of a date tree. He sat down, not caring about getting his skirt dirty. He kicked off his golden sandals, letting the sand creep up in between his toes. He was alone, lost in his thoughts.

He had forgotten all about the redheaded foreigner whom he had confronted in the room next to him. He had even already put his mind to rest on the day’s events. Everything was proceeding according to plan. It seemed as if the busy days would come to an end soon. What will I do with all that spare time? he wondered. Perhaps give special training to the army. The thought immediately reminded him of his father.

The tall figure of Aknadin loomed over him, holding a sword to his throat. Seto had lost again. The image remained burned in Seti’s mind. He still struggled with the memories of his father. Part of him hated Aknadin for abandoning him and his mother, and part of him was grateful for the guidance he had received while training to be a high priest. Seti still had no regrets over killing the monster his father had become, for he chose to honor the memory of the beloved mentor he once knew.

Also, Seti still yearned for Kisara. Love at first sight could hardly describe how he felt, but his obsession over her and her death had not been assuaged. Her baa had been passed to him, and for some unknown reason, Seti found that it multiplied. He assumed this might have something to do with his grief, but he was not sure. Mana could not explain the fact that there were now three white dragons. He found them very useful, and put two of them to work right away, while the third he kept in reserve.

Seti thought of Kisara every single day, in every moment that his mind could spare a thought. He still agonized over her needless sacrifice, he still woke up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, and her breathtaking image came to him when he felt lonely. He wished he knew more about her. All he had was her image…

He leaned back lazily against the trunk of the tree, watching a dragonfly flit from lily to lily in the pond. Somewhere behind him a call of a heron could be heard. The atmosphere was as hot and arid as ever, and the warmth blanketed the pharaoh. Who could ever replace Kisara? He rubbed his naked arm absentmindedly, remembering her touch.

A singsong voice cut through the pharaoh’s reminiscing, “You’ll burn to a crisp if that’s all you’re wearing!” He turned to see Mana walking towards him. She smirked at Seti’s near nakedness and rare immodesty. “Come and see what I’ve got for you!” she exclaimed giddily.

“I won’t burn sitting in the shade,” Seti replied lazily, not moving. He closed his eyes, pretending she was no longer there.

“Seti!” Mana cried, annoyed. She knelt down beside him, poking him in his bare chest. “You have got to see what I’ve been working really, really, really, really hard on!” she reiterated, giggling. “I promise you’re going to like this!”

“Somehow, I doubt it,” he answered. She continued to poke him until he grabbed her hand. “Stop! I’ll go, but you are going to return the favor by filling in for me on the council of domestic affairs this evening.”

“NO!!! That’s boring!”

“Hence why I’m having you do it!” Seti smirked triumphantly. He let go of her hand, stood up, and indicated that he would follow her lead to what ever it was on which she had been working. She bounced to her feet and skipped through the door into the large foyer. Mana led the way up a couple winding stairs, until they came to a newly restored wing of the palace.

Seti groaned, “I could have you executed for this…” It was another empty threat, and Mana was used to those. She smiled and opened the door to a large room. In it were about a dozen or so beds, soft fabrics strewn about in a mess, and veils over the windows. There were three women sitting down, and all of them promptly stood up and paid their respects when they saw the Pharaoh enter the harem.

“See! I started collecting only the prettiest women I could find for you!” Mana exclaimed. “You said I could!”

“I did not!”

“Yes you did!”

“I d-” Seti stopped short, fearing what would turn into another circling childish argument. “Mana, I said that I would think about it. I didn’t say that you should start… doing… this.” He gestured needlessly.

And it went ignored. “This is Oshairana, but everyone calls her Apricot.” She pointed out a young maiden with straight brown hair and blue eyes. Her appearance strongly resembled Mana’s, so Seti’s first thought was that Mana was exceedingly vain about her own looks.

“Only the prettiest women you can find, huh?” he remarked sarcastically. Oshairana blushed and hung her head slightly.

“Yeah!” Mana agreed enthusiastically. “This is Shemei, she’s an Amazon!” She pointed out a foreign woman with long, wavy blonde hair and sharp, hawk-like violet eyes. Shemei smirked at the pharaoh, almost daring him to retort. He ignored her and followed Mana’s gestures to the third girl: “This is Nafrit. She’s Egyptian, but I think her grandfather was a Phoenician nobleman, so she’s got good blood!” Nafrit brushed aside her auburn bangs and smiled as best as she could, nervous as she was. Blue eyes looked coldly into hazel ones for a moment, as if considering her existence, but then Seti turned his gaze to the floor.

Mana beamed at her small collection. Seti made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, turned on his heels, and walked away without further comment, leaving behind four shocked women. Mana trailed after him quickly, her footsteps echoing in the hall. “I promise I will find more!!!” she exclaimed. “This is only the beginning! I am going to meet a slave trader from Lower Egypt, who says he’s got some fresh cargo!”

Mana received no reply, and the hardened expression upon the Pharaoh’s face would not yield clues. However, when Seti passed through a door with Mana one step behind, she got the door slammed in her face.

Mana stood still, stunned. Her nose was touching the door, but she had not been hurt. The shock evaporated faster than a puddle under the Egyptian summer sun, and the young magician scowled and muttered half-hexes under her breath. Determined as ever to make Seti see reason, she marched down to the stables and demanded a chariot.

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Petunia in the language of flowers means three things – resentment, anger, and “your presence soothes me.”

Oshairana – means fruit

Shemei – means desire

Nafrit – means virgin

Special thanks to Skippy’s Cat for all the help you gave me nearly a year ago! Thank you.