It had been almost a month since she had been brought from Cairo to the village wherein the Medjai dwell. There had been many things to which she had been adjusting. The lifestyle, the customs, the lessons, the expectations. For eight, and almost nine, years, she had lived a life in Cairo very different from the one she had been given here…
Yet she finds that, even for being around what should be counted as ‘her’ people… She feels like an outsider, as though she is completely unlike the rest of them.
This, of course, is one source of her current unhappiness.
Since her arrival, she been passed off from one family, to a second within only a few week’s time. Why?
Judging by the conversations she had heard while not eavesdropping, the first family she had stayed with found her too loud, too spirited, far too everything apparently. As for the second, well, she suspects from those conversations on which she had also not eavesdropped, she’ll soon be moved to a third family.
Honestly, she tries not to let it affect her, but it is difficult. To go from being an orphan to being passed around from one family to the next? Is it any wonder she feels like an outsider, or that she feels as though she is as unwanted now as she was in the orphanage. Perhaps the orphanage had been better in that regard. At least at the orphanage she knew that she had only been placed there because her mother had been taken from her at an early age.
She tries to give this second family space, goes out for walks by herself, tries to see to it that she causes them no undue strain, but simply being herself seems to be enough.
It is on one such walk, as she winds her way through the streets and alleys that she happens across someone she had not seen much of since he brought her here.
She almost calls out to him––he had been so kind to her when he found her and when he brought her here, it would be a comfort to speak to someone who did not seem bothered by her––but then she hesitates and looks down….
What if he had heard talk from the two families? What if he, too, would think her a bother now…?
On second thought, she decides that she will simply resume her walk and leave him to his day…
So decided, she turns away to do just that…
Ardeth’s day had started as usual. When the rays of the
morning sun filtered in through his open window and
begun to warm his face, the chieftain’s eyes slowly pried
open, and he greeted the daylight with a croaky, irritated
groan. Next, Ardeth cleaned up and dressed, then shuffled
into the pantry and pulled out the food he bought from the
market to make breakfast.
This morning ritual was repeated every single day in a
monotonous loop that kept Ardeth hoping for some type
of excitement to spice up the predictable village life.
Spending a whole day fighting mummies, ba birds, or
even running from the legendary desert Sha was a plus
compared to this torture. Ardeth was a man of
action —— not of subtle movement and constant repetition.
As soon as the sun climbed its way above the rolling
horizon, Ardeth set out into the open, marching down dirt
pathways past dilapidated facades of village shanties.
Many of the rectangular huts were made of stone, while
others were crafted from wood and other materials found
by the Nile after windstorms or floods. None of these
buildings were meant to last for long and were abandoned
as soon as Ardeth announced it was time to move again.
The men and women were now outside, tending to what
little land they had while elder members of the Medjai
sat on creaky wooden chairs and gossiped about the latest
scandal, the peculiar rise in German nationalism, or how
they envied the New Deal act being enforced in America.
Children played in the sand with their friends and an
unleashed saluki roamed around the countryside, sniffing
at heels and terrorizing a group of birds taking a break
after a long flight.
In ten minutes time Ardeth was in the urban area of the
village, where vendors sold the crops they’d grown by
the Nile during the spring and summer. Some tried to
give away their embroidered rugs and silk headscarves,
while others cooked fish and antelope directly on the
curb. This part of the village was akin to a smaller version
of the markets in Luxor and Cairo, minus the shoulder-to-
shoulder traffic and annoying tourists.
Ardeth approached one of the vendors and leaned against
the flat top of the makeshift tent, eyeing the goods that
were spread about on the surface. He’d been saving up to
buy a new bridle for his horse, and lo and behold, the most
perfectly crafted harness Ardeth had ever seen hung right
above the vendor’s head.
After a few minutes of negotiating, Ardeth reached for
a rucksack that hung by his belt and retrieved from it
a small leather bag filled with Egyptian pounds. He
dumped the entire contents of the bag onto the counter,
watched as the vendor took down the bridle and handed
it to him, then left with a curt nod and a murmur that
might have been a ❛ thank you. ❜
Out of the corner of his eye Ardeth could see the vague
blur of a familiar face as he walked away. At first he
decided to ignore it, but common courtesy and curiosity
caused him to pivot and face the phantom. Standing there
was a girl, probably no older than nine or ten, with her
solemn gaze fixed onto the ground.
Ardeth frowned. That was the orphan girl. He had welcomed
her to the village only a month ago, plucking her from the
slums of Cairo after noticing the small pyramidal tattoo that
marked her as a descendant of the ancient Medjai. It had
taken him only thirty minutes to explain why he’d ❛ kidnapped ❜
her, but other than that the two hadn’t talked very much since
their hasty introduction.
❝ Zafirah ——— ❞ Ardeth paused, staring at the girl in
bewilderment. ❝ Why are you out here alone, shouldn’t
you be with Assayeda Hawass? Aye, you are going to
give that poor woman a panic attack, child ——— ❞
