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Sometimes, Miri got a chance to wander. Though she loved the circus dearly—even more so since Amenemhat had begun teaching her to fulfill her purpose—sometimes it was also nice to wander the cities they visited, filling her eyes and heart with glorious sights.
The temples were the best, of course, looming and majestic in every city. This being Miri’s first visit to Thebes, she was extraordinarily interested in how this new place honored the gods. Ra’s temple here was legendary—other members of the Tempest of Set told her that it was solid gold and glistening. Eager as she was to give praise to the most prominent, commanding voice in her head, Miri had to admit, at least to herself, that she was nervous.
And so she stood instead outside the Temple of Hathor, Ra’s consort and goddess in her own right. Hathor was murmuring louder than usual, pleased at Miri’s choice, leaving the nearly-sixteen-year-old to smile softly. The temple was impressive. Towering and intricately carved, Miri felt the power embedded in the entire area. The feeling tingled in the base of her spine, spreading warmly throughout her body. Chiseled marble and vibrant gossamer perfectly captured the essence of Hathor herself: sensual and feminine yet somehow still powerful and fierce. Miri’s rare smile broadened as she stared up at the nearest carvings, shimmering white in the spring sun.
Yes, you chose well for your first visit, Miri, the gods chorused, urging the girl forward and up the steps to the temple. Inside held even more gossamer, twirling and swooning around the columns and falling like waterfalls from the ceiling. Miri exhaled softly as the warm feeling in her stomach expanded. It was beautiful. She scarcely noticed the lovely priestesses gliding around, opting instead to wander slowly throughout the temple, hand reaching out to hover just above each surface, feeling the energy flow. There was power here, yes, and with Hathor humming contentedly in her head, Miri nearly forgot that she had never yet paid proper tribute to the gods in a temple.
The past few months were still foggy, and Judea was of course devoid of offerings to the true gods, and a quiet voice in Miri’s head—her own, this time—was reminding her that she did not know what to do. It was one thing to converse with the gods and honor them in her own quiet way, following their instructions and heeding their murmurs, but here? In a glorious temple, surrounded by proper priestesses? Though her body language stayed poised and she continued to move slowly between the columns, Miri was suddenly uncertain. Praise me, girl, Hathor was whispering, but Miri did not know how. To ask would be to put her lack of knowledge on display, to admit that she was blind to the proper way to worship.
Hazel eyes, slightly blurred, scanned the temple, trying to find someone to subtly observe. A girl or woman with curly dark hair stood across the way with her back turned. Clearly a priestess by her garb, though Miri could see neither or face nor what she might be doing. Miri turned away, back to the gossamer columns, marveling at the way the tiny threads were woven into such complex patterns. Though the warm pleasantness was still there, a knot was forming in her stomach, too. Perhaps if she stood here too long, it would become clear that she had no inkling what she was meant to be doing. She would have to return to the circus encampment soon, for rehearsal and then the show. But her proud and poised nature held her there. She would not ask for help. Not when the gods themselves spoke to her.
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Sometimes, Miri got a chance to wander. Though she loved the circus dearly—even more so since Amenemhat had begun teaching her to fulfill her purpose—sometimes it was also nice to wander the cities they visited, filling her eyes and heart with glorious sights.
The temples were the best, of course, looming and majestic in every city. This being Miri’s first visit to Thebes, she was extraordinarily interested in how this new place honored the gods. Ra’s temple here was legendary—other members of the Tempest of Set told her that it was solid gold and glistening. Eager as she was to give praise to the most prominent, commanding voice in her head, Miri had to admit, at least to herself, that she was nervous.
And so she stood instead outside the Temple of Hathor, Ra’s consort and goddess in her own right. Hathor was murmuring louder than usual, pleased at Miri’s choice, leaving the nearly-sixteen-year-old to smile softly. The temple was impressive. Towering and intricately carved, Miri felt the power embedded in the entire area. The feeling tingled in the base of her spine, spreading warmly throughout her body. Chiseled marble and vibrant gossamer perfectly captured the essence of Hathor herself: sensual and feminine yet somehow still powerful and fierce. Miri’s rare smile broadened as she stared up at the nearest carvings, shimmering white in the spring sun.
Yes, you chose well for your first visit, Miri, the gods chorused, urging the girl forward and up the steps to the temple. Inside held even more gossamer, twirling and swooning around the columns and falling like waterfalls from the ceiling. Miri exhaled softly as the warm feeling in her stomach expanded. It was beautiful. She scarcely noticed the lovely priestesses gliding around, opting instead to wander slowly throughout the temple, hand reaching out to hover just above each surface, feeling the energy flow. There was power here, yes, and with Hathor humming contentedly in her head, Miri nearly forgot that she had never yet paid proper tribute to the gods in a temple.
The past few months were still foggy, and Judea was of course devoid of offerings to the true gods, and a quiet voice in Miri’s head—her own, this time—was reminding her that she did not know what to do. It was one thing to converse with the gods and honor them in her own quiet way, following their instructions and heeding their murmurs, but here? In a glorious temple, surrounded by proper priestesses? Though her body language stayed poised and she continued to move slowly between the columns, Miri was suddenly uncertain. Praise me, girl, Hathor was whispering, but Miri did not know how. To ask would be to put her lack of knowledge on display, to admit that she was blind to the proper way to worship.
Hazel eyes, slightly blurred, scanned the temple, trying to find someone to subtly observe. A girl or woman with curly dark hair stood across the way with her back turned. Clearly a priestess by her garb, though Miri could see neither or face nor what she might be doing. Miri turned away, back to the gossamer columns, marveling at the way the tiny threads were woven into such complex patterns. Though the warm pleasantness was still there, a knot was forming in her stomach, too. Perhaps if she stood here too long, it would become clear that she had no inkling what she was meant to be doing. She would have to return to the circus encampment soon, for rehearsal and then the show. But her proud and poised nature held her there. She would not ask for help. Not when the gods themselves spoke to her.
Sometimes, Miri got a chance to wander. Though she loved the circus dearly—even more so since Amenemhat had begun teaching her to fulfill her purpose—sometimes it was also nice to wander the cities they visited, filling her eyes and heart with glorious sights.
The temples were the best, of course, looming and majestic in every city. This being Miri’s first visit to Thebes, she was extraordinarily interested in how this new place honored the gods. Ra’s temple here was legendary—other members of the Tempest of Set told her that it was solid gold and glistening. Eager as she was to give praise to the most prominent, commanding voice in her head, Miri had to admit, at least to herself, that she was nervous.
And so she stood instead outside the Temple of Hathor, Ra’s consort and goddess in her own right. Hathor was murmuring louder than usual, pleased at Miri’s choice, leaving the nearly-sixteen-year-old to smile softly. The temple was impressive. Towering and intricately carved, Miri felt the power embedded in the entire area. The feeling tingled in the base of her spine, spreading warmly throughout her body. Chiseled marble and vibrant gossamer perfectly captured the essence of Hathor herself: sensual and feminine yet somehow still powerful and fierce. Miri’s rare smile broadened as she stared up at the nearest carvings, shimmering white in the spring sun.
Yes, you chose well for your first visit, Miri, the gods chorused, urging the girl forward and up the steps to the temple. Inside held even more gossamer, twirling and swooning around the columns and falling like waterfalls from the ceiling. Miri exhaled softly as the warm feeling in her stomach expanded. It was beautiful. She scarcely noticed the lovely priestesses gliding around, opting instead to wander slowly throughout the temple, hand reaching out to hover just above each surface, feeling the energy flow. There was power here, yes, and with Hathor humming contentedly in her head, Miri nearly forgot that she had never yet paid proper tribute to the gods in a temple.
The past few months were still foggy, and Judea was of course devoid of offerings to the true gods, and a quiet voice in Miri’s head—her own, this time—was reminding her that she did not know what to do. It was one thing to converse with the gods and honor them in her own quiet way, following their instructions and heeding their murmurs, but here? In a glorious temple, surrounded by proper priestesses? Though her body language stayed poised and she continued to move slowly between the columns, Miri was suddenly uncertain. Praise me, girl, Hathor was whispering, but Miri did not know how. To ask would be to put her lack of knowledge on display, to admit that she was blind to the proper way to worship.
Hazel eyes, slightly blurred, scanned the temple, trying to find someone to subtly observe. A girl or woman with curly dark hair stood across the way with her back turned. Clearly a priestess by her garb, though Miri could see neither or face nor what she might be doing. Miri turned away, back to the gossamer columns, marveling at the way the tiny threads were woven into such complex patterns. Though the warm pleasantness was still there, a knot was forming in her stomach, too. Perhaps if she stood here too long, it would become clear that she had no inkling what she was meant to be doing. She would have to return to the circus encampment soon, for rehearsal and then the show. But her proud and poised nature held her there. She would not ask for help. Not when the gods themselves spoke to her.
Nafretiri would give birth sometime in Tammuz. It was now Nisan.
She certainly felt every day of six months pregnant- that and more!
She still jumped a little every time a footstep she didn't recognize sounded on the stone floor of the temple. And she shivered if she felt someone was watching her.
Like now.
Someone seemed to be watching her. But she could tell only because she sort of felt a presence, not because she could actually see the person. The smoke of the incense obscured any view of people she might have at all, for now.
It smelled softly of blue lotus, and while that scent was supposed to be a noted aphrodisiac, for Nafretiri, it meant something entirely different.
Safety. Peace.
Still, she sighed as she took one last deep breath of the smell before turning to regard the perceived worshiper who seemed to be waiting patiently. Would there ever again be a scent in her nose that smelled like home?
She stroked her belly, wondering what the word home would mean to this child. It hadn't meant much to Nafretiri, now that she thought about it. Home was the place her father left every morning to sell his wares, the place where he got to escape from and she and her mother remained.
Her mother who had not loved her.
She swore by the gods that even if her labor and delivery turned out to be as difficult as her mother's had been, she would love this child anyway. She hadn't belonged in her own home- when her father was absent from it- and she didn't really belong here, either- a Hathor priestess who had not learned many of the ways to worship Hathor! Oh, true, music and dancing were ways to worship Hathor, but the most obvious way to worship her- pleasure- was something that Nafretiri knew absolutely nothing about, though she knew the goddess was aware of her situation. She hoped Hathor did not fault her. She hoped, rather, that Hathor blamed the father of this child for that lack of knowledge on Nafretiri's part.
Whispering a prayer to the goddess for strength, she caressed her belly one last time and then turned to face the worshiper. Her eyebrows lifted as she realized that she might very well know this person. At least she looked familiar. But it felt strange, not having heard Hebrew in eight months or more, to think that she might have to use that language again.
Well, if I can't smell home, I will at least be able to hear it for awhile, she thought. Home was more than the house you lived in. That, precisely, was not what Nafretiri missed. She missed the language, and the sense of community that came from speaking one language and living in one country.
Still, she blinked, making sure her eyes were not possibly deceiving her.
"Miri of Lea? Is that you? I am Rivkah of Lael."
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Nafretiri would give birth sometime in Tammuz. It was now Nisan.
She certainly felt every day of six months pregnant- that and more!
She still jumped a little every time a footstep she didn't recognize sounded on the stone floor of the temple. And she shivered if she felt someone was watching her.
Like now.
Someone seemed to be watching her. But she could tell only because she sort of felt a presence, not because she could actually see the person. The smoke of the incense obscured any view of people she might have at all, for now.
It smelled softly of blue lotus, and while that scent was supposed to be a noted aphrodisiac, for Nafretiri, it meant something entirely different.
Safety. Peace.
Still, she sighed as she took one last deep breath of the smell before turning to regard the perceived worshiper who seemed to be waiting patiently. Would there ever again be a scent in her nose that smelled like home?
She stroked her belly, wondering what the word home would mean to this child. It hadn't meant much to Nafretiri, now that she thought about it. Home was the place her father left every morning to sell his wares, the place where he got to escape from and she and her mother remained.
Her mother who had not loved her.
She swore by the gods that even if her labor and delivery turned out to be as difficult as her mother's had been, she would love this child anyway. She hadn't belonged in her own home- when her father was absent from it- and she didn't really belong here, either- a Hathor priestess who had not learned many of the ways to worship Hathor! Oh, true, music and dancing were ways to worship Hathor, but the most obvious way to worship her- pleasure- was something that Nafretiri knew absolutely nothing about, though she knew the goddess was aware of her situation. She hoped Hathor did not fault her. She hoped, rather, that Hathor blamed the father of this child for that lack of knowledge on Nafretiri's part.
Whispering a prayer to the goddess for strength, she caressed her belly one last time and then turned to face the worshiper. Her eyebrows lifted as she realized that she might very well know this person. At least she looked familiar. But it felt strange, not having heard Hebrew in eight months or more, to think that she might have to use that language again.
Well, if I can't smell home, I will at least be able to hear it for awhile, she thought. Home was more than the house you lived in. That, precisely, was not what Nafretiri missed. She missed the language, and the sense of community that came from speaking one language and living in one country.
Still, she blinked, making sure her eyes were not possibly deceiving her.
"Miri of Lea? Is that you? I am Rivkah of Lael."
Nafretiri would give birth sometime in Tammuz. It was now Nisan.
She certainly felt every day of six months pregnant- that and more!
She still jumped a little every time a footstep she didn't recognize sounded on the stone floor of the temple. And she shivered if she felt someone was watching her.
Like now.
Someone seemed to be watching her. But she could tell only because she sort of felt a presence, not because she could actually see the person. The smoke of the incense obscured any view of people she might have at all, for now.
It smelled softly of blue lotus, and while that scent was supposed to be a noted aphrodisiac, for Nafretiri, it meant something entirely different.
Safety. Peace.
Still, she sighed as she took one last deep breath of the smell before turning to regard the perceived worshiper who seemed to be waiting patiently. Would there ever again be a scent in her nose that smelled like home?
She stroked her belly, wondering what the word home would mean to this child. It hadn't meant much to Nafretiri, now that she thought about it. Home was the place her father left every morning to sell his wares, the place where he got to escape from and she and her mother remained.
Her mother who had not loved her.
She swore by the gods that even if her labor and delivery turned out to be as difficult as her mother's had been, she would love this child anyway. She hadn't belonged in her own home- when her father was absent from it- and she didn't really belong here, either- a Hathor priestess who had not learned many of the ways to worship Hathor! Oh, true, music and dancing were ways to worship Hathor, but the most obvious way to worship her- pleasure- was something that Nafretiri knew absolutely nothing about, though she knew the goddess was aware of her situation. She hoped Hathor did not fault her. She hoped, rather, that Hathor blamed the father of this child for that lack of knowledge on Nafretiri's part.
Whispering a prayer to the goddess for strength, she caressed her belly one last time and then turned to face the worshiper. Her eyebrows lifted as she realized that she might very well know this person. At least she looked familiar. But it felt strange, not having heard Hebrew in eight months or more, to think that she might have to use that language again.
Well, if I can't smell home, I will at least be able to hear it for awhile, she thought. Home was more than the house you lived in. That, precisely, was not what Nafretiri missed. She missed the language, and the sense of community that came from speaking one language and living in one country.
Still, she blinked, making sure her eyes were not possibly deceiving her.
"Miri of Lea? Is that you? I am Rivkah of Lael."
Miri waited a while longer, gazing around the temple with a vague sort of expression. There was a unique sort of power here, flowing from the carvings and up from the floor, floating in the air and filling her lungs. Praise me¸ Hathor whispered again, voice laced with mirth at Miri’s lack of knowledge. Miri did not dare to ask the goddess herself for guidance. She rarely asked the gods for anything. They knew what was best and if they did not wish to help her now, then there was surely a reason.
She turned back to stare at the unknown priestess once more. At the look, the girl turned and began gliding towards her through the incensed air. And yet, something about her seemed familiar. It was like the smoke had seeped into her mind, obscuring any memories of the face before her. She was quite obviously pregnant, walking as though the cargo in her belly was her most precious possession. Miri wracked her brain, still definitively puzzled. Perhaps she had come to one of the performances? Miri would not have done a reading for her—she remembered every face and most of their fortunes—but perhaps she had seen her through the crowd? Something did not seem right.
And then the girl spoke, and the smoke dissipated. Hebrew. It was like Ra, parading out from behind the horizon. Of course. Still, she could not recall a name until the pregnant priestess gave her one. Rivkah, of course. It felt horrible and strange, to be face to face with an Israeli girl so far from home, in a temple, not of Yahweh, but of the true gods. The Egyptian gods.
“Rivkah,” she said after a moment, voice steady and quiet despite the wretched feeling in her stomach, “Of course. Yes, it is me.”
She wanted to run. Run fast and far and never look back at the past that was clearly trying to haunt her. She did not know Rivkah, not really, but Israel held only sad memories that left a bitter taste in her mouth. The gods were silent and cold, challenging her to do this on her own.
Fortunately, it hardly looked like Rivkah would be returning to their shared homeland anytime soon, being both pregnant and an Egyptian priestess. That boded well for any connection the gods might will. “How have you ended up here, so far from home?” Keep her talking, she advised herself, taking up the space the gods usually filled. Make certain she is not a danger to you or the circus. “And in an Egyptian temple, no less.”
Images flashed through her head. Passing smiles in the marketplace, the sun beating down on their heads. Tiny, surface level conversations when they crossed paths. Rivkah, patting Arih’s head and asking after their parents. Meeting eyes across the temple at home, as recent as a year or two ago. An acquaintance from ‘home’. Miri ought to be thrilled, but she still only wanted to leave. Israel was not home, and Rivkah was not her friend. The girl before her was only a morbid reminder of the life Miri had escaped. Gossamer and incense and a familiar face were nothing compared to her higher purpose. She wanted to go back to the circus encampment and watch the acrobats fly. To watch Amenemhat captivate audiences with a powerful gaze. To watch Kesi’s snakes dance and slither and hiss. To feel safe and truly home.
Hathor would understand, though she was still silent and mocking. Miri would certainly be back, to offer proper praise. But her feet stayed planted on the ground. Her face stayed largely neutral, with a faint guise of excitement forced into her eyes. “What a strange and wonderful coincidence.”
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Miri waited a while longer, gazing around the temple with a vague sort of expression. There was a unique sort of power here, flowing from the carvings and up from the floor, floating in the air and filling her lungs. Praise me¸ Hathor whispered again, voice laced with mirth at Miri’s lack of knowledge. Miri did not dare to ask the goddess herself for guidance. She rarely asked the gods for anything. They knew what was best and if they did not wish to help her now, then there was surely a reason.
She turned back to stare at the unknown priestess once more. At the look, the girl turned and began gliding towards her through the incensed air. And yet, something about her seemed familiar. It was like the smoke had seeped into her mind, obscuring any memories of the face before her. She was quite obviously pregnant, walking as though the cargo in her belly was her most precious possession. Miri wracked her brain, still definitively puzzled. Perhaps she had come to one of the performances? Miri would not have done a reading for her—she remembered every face and most of their fortunes—but perhaps she had seen her through the crowd? Something did not seem right.
And then the girl spoke, and the smoke dissipated. Hebrew. It was like Ra, parading out from behind the horizon. Of course. Still, she could not recall a name until the pregnant priestess gave her one. Rivkah, of course. It felt horrible and strange, to be face to face with an Israeli girl so far from home, in a temple, not of Yahweh, but of the true gods. The Egyptian gods.
“Rivkah,” she said after a moment, voice steady and quiet despite the wretched feeling in her stomach, “Of course. Yes, it is me.”
She wanted to run. Run fast and far and never look back at the past that was clearly trying to haunt her. She did not know Rivkah, not really, but Israel held only sad memories that left a bitter taste in her mouth. The gods were silent and cold, challenging her to do this on her own.
Fortunately, it hardly looked like Rivkah would be returning to their shared homeland anytime soon, being both pregnant and an Egyptian priestess. That boded well for any connection the gods might will. “How have you ended up here, so far from home?” Keep her talking, she advised herself, taking up the space the gods usually filled. Make certain she is not a danger to you or the circus. “And in an Egyptian temple, no less.”
Images flashed through her head. Passing smiles in the marketplace, the sun beating down on their heads. Tiny, surface level conversations when they crossed paths. Rivkah, patting Arih’s head and asking after their parents. Meeting eyes across the temple at home, as recent as a year or two ago. An acquaintance from ‘home’. Miri ought to be thrilled, but she still only wanted to leave. Israel was not home, and Rivkah was not her friend. The girl before her was only a morbid reminder of the life Miri had escaped. Gossamer and incense and a familiar face were nothing compared to her higher purpose. She wanted to go back to the circus encampment and watch the acrobats fly. To watch Amenemhat captivate audiences with a powerful gaze. To watch Kesi’s snakes dance and slither and hiss. To feel safe and truly home.
Hathor would understand, though she was still silent and mocking. Miri would certainly be back, to offer proper praise. But her feet stayed planted on the ground. Her face stayed largely neutral, with a faint guise of excitement forced into her eyes. “What a strange and wonderful coincidence.”
Miri waited a while longer, gazing around the temple with a vague sort of expression. There was a unique sort of power here, flowing from the carvings and up from the floor, floating in the air and filling her lungs. Praise me¸ Hathor whispered again, voice laced with mirth at Miri’s lack of knowledge. Miri did not dare to ask the goddess herself for guidance. She rarely asked the gods for anything. They knew what was best and if they did not wish to help her now, then there was surely a reason.
She turned back to stare at the unknown priestess once more. At the look, the girl turned and began gliding towards her through the incensed air. And yet, something about her seemed familiar. It was like the smoke had seeped into her mind, obscuring any memories of the face before her. She was quite obviously pregnant, walking as though the cargo in her belly was her most precious possession. Miri wracked her brain, still definitively puzzled. Perhaps she had come to one of the performances? Miri would not have done a reading for her—she remembered every face and most of their fortunes—but perhaps she had seen her through the crowd? Something did not seem right.
And then the girl spoke, and the smoke dissipated. Hebrew. It was like Ra, parading out from behind the horizon. Of course. Still, she could not recall a name until the pregnant priestess gave her one. Rivkah, of course. It felt horrible and strange, to be face to face with an Israeli girl so far from home, in a temple, not of Yahweh, but of the true gods. The Egyptian gods.
“Rivkah,” she said after a moment, voice steady and quiet despite the wretched feeling in her stomach, “Of course. Yes, it is me.”
She wanted to run. Run fast and far and never look back at the past that was clearly trying to haunt her. She did not know Rivkah, not really, but Israel held only sad memories that left a bitter taste in her mouth. The gods were silent and cold, challenging her to do this on her own.
Fortunately, it hardly looked like Rivkah would be returning to their shared homeland anytime soon, being both pregnant and an Egyptian priestess. That boded well for any connection the gods might will. “How have you ended up here, so far from home?” Keep her talking, she advised herself, taking up the space the gods usually filled. Make certain she is not a danger to you or the circus. “And in an Egyptian temple, no less.”
Images flashed through her head. Passing smiles in the marketplace, the sun beating down on their heads. Tiny, surface level conversations when they crossed paths. Rivkah, patting Arih’s head and asking after their parents. Meeting eyes across the temple at home, as recent as a year or two ago. An acquaintance from ‘home’. Miri ought to be thrilled, but she still only wanted to leave. Israel was not home, and Rivkah was not her friend. The girl before her was only a morbid reminder of the life Miri had escaped. Gossamer and incense and a familiar face were nothing compared to her higher purpose. She wanted to go back to the circus encampment and watch the acrobats fly. To watch Amenemhat captivate audiences with a powerful gaze. To watch Kesi’s snakes dance and slither and hiss. To feel safe and truly home.
Hathor would understand, though she was still silent and mocking. Miri would certainly be back, to offer proper praise. But her feet stayed planted on the ground. Her face stayed largely neutral, with a faint guise of excitement forced into her eyes. “What a strange and wonderful coincidence.”
"Strange, yes. But up until now, it hasn't been so wonderful." Nafretiri sighed. "And yet- as awful as it's been, perhaps I've escaped, too." She knew Miri well enough to know that Miri might understand at least a little of her previous life. "My mother- well, you know how she was towards me, I think. And my father and I...we didn't really fit in. Not anywhere." Nafretiri's father, while an observant Jew, questioned some of the laws, and liked to debate them- perhaps rightly so in certain cases, but it seemed most people he was around didn't really like the effort of potentially thinking for themselves.
It wasn't that much better for her now, but at least her unusual skill- for home- of mathematics was valued here.
She considered how to answer Miri's other question without possibly making her too sad and scaring her off. It had been a long time since she talked to someone who seemed to understand the complications of being a stranger here.
"Didn't you know that Jerusalem was part of a famine- I mean- under siege? We had to leave- while we still could." Nafretiri had known of tensions with the Greeks, but she never imagined anything could top it. "The desert was hot. My mother died. And I was captured by slave traders. Then- well, my former master took what he wanted. I had a kind mistress, though, and she was tired of his- indiscretions, infertile as she is. So I am here, and called Nafretiri now- though why this particular goddess seems to have chosen me after that, it's hard for me to say. She's the goddess of music and joy- things I sorely need in my life at present- but she's also the goddess of...um...what you do to get pregnant." Despite her condition, Nafretiri blushed. "You see, it was my first time, having become a woman only the month before we had to leave, and it wasn't pleasurable at all.." If she didn't feel as though it would probably add to the awkwardness she and Miri probably already felt, Nafretiri might want to cry. She took a deep breath to keep the tears inside. "Sometimes I wonder why Hathor, after everything, though I do know better than to question anyone who might choose to show me kindness." She admitted softly.
"And you...?" Nafretiri asked.
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"Strange, yes. But up until now, it hasn't been so wonderful." Nafretiri sighed. "And yet- as awful as it's been, perhaps I've escaped, too." She knew Miri well enough to know that Miri might understand at least a little of her previous life. "My mother- well, you know how she was towards me, I think. And my father and I...we didn't really fit in. Not anywhere." Nafretiri's father, while an observant Jew, questioned some of the laws, and liked to debate them- perhaps rightly so in certain cases, but it seemed most people he was around didn't really like the effort of potentially thinking for themselves.
It wasn't that much better for her now, but at least her unusual skill- for home- of mathematics was valued here.
She considered how to answer Miri's other question without possibly making her too sad and scaring her off. It had been a long time since she talked to someone who seemed to understand the complications of being a stranger here.
"Didn't you know that Jerusalem was part of a famine- I mean- under siege? We had to leave- while we still could." Nafretiri had known of tensions with the Greeks, but she never imagined anything could top it. "The desert was hot. My mother died. And I was captured by slave traders. Then- well, my former master took what he wanted. I had a kind mistress, though, and she was tired of his- indiscretions, infertile as she is. So I am here, and called Nafretiri now- though why this particular goddess seems to have chosen me after that, it's hard for me to say. She's the goddess of music and joy- things I sorely need in my life at present- but she's also the goddess of...um...what you do to get pregnant." Despite her condition, Nafretiri blushed. "You see, it was my first time, having become a woman only the month before we had to leave, and it wasn't pleasurable at all.." If she didn't feel as though it would probably add to the awkwardness she and Miri probably already felt, Nafretiri might want to cry. She took a deep breath to keep the tears inside. "Sometimes I wonder why Hathor, after everything, though I do know better than to question anyone who might choose to show me kindness." She admitted softly.
"And you...?" Nafretiri asked.
"Strange, yes. But up until now, it hasn't been so wonderful." Nafretiri sighed. "And yet- as awful as it's been, perhaps I've escaped, too." She knew Miri well enough to know that Miri might understand at least a little of her previous life. "My mother- well, you know how she was towards me, I think. And my father and I...we didn't really fit in. Not anywhere." Nafretiri's father, while an observant Jew, questioned some of the laws, and liked to debate them- perhaps rightly so in certain cases, but it seemed most people he was around didn't really like the effort of potentially thinking for themselves.
It wasn't that much better for her now, but at least her unusual skill- for home- of mathematics was valued here.
She considered how to answer Miri's other question without possibly making her too sad and scaring her off. It had been a long time since she talked to someone who seemed to understand the complications of being a stranger here.
"Didn't you know that Jerusalem was part of a famine- I mean- under siege? We had to leave- while we still could." Nafretiri had known of tensions with the Greeks, but she never imagined anything could top it. "The desert was hot. My mother died. And I was captured by slave traders. Then- well, my former master took what he wanted. I had a kind mistress, though, and she was tired of his- indiscretions, infertile as she is. So I am here, and called Nafretiri now- though why this particular goddess seems to have chosen me after that, it's hard for me to say. She's the goddess of music and joy- things I sorely need in my life at present- but she's also the goddess of...um...what you do to get pregnant." Despite her condition, Nafretiri blushed. "You see, it was my first time, having become a woman only the month before we had to leave, and it wasn't pleasurable at all.." If she didn't feel as though it would probably add to the awkwardness she and Miri probably already felt, Nafretiri might want to cry. She took a deep breath to keep the tears inside. "Sometimes I wonder why Hathor, after everything, though I do know better than to question anyone who might choose to show me kindness." She admitted softly.
"And you...?" Nafretiri asked.
Strange, strange, strange. Two girls so far from home, talking about a world that no longer felt real. The gossamer that draped the temple felt like a veil between that old world and this new, better one. Miri nodded in feigned sympathy, casting her memory back to Rivkah’s parents for a brief moment. She still wanted to run. What did the family life of an old acquaintance matter? Still, there was a piece of it that was important. An anxious part of Miri hoped that Rivkah was estranged from her family… she would not go home, where any news of Miri might bring Anubis’s hell down on her head. Keep her talking, keep her talking. The silence was deafening.
Jerusalem, under siege. Miri had not known. She felt her stomach turn sickeningly, felt as though her head disconnected from her body and floated away entirely. Israel didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. It was not her home. And yet, the thought of everyone she had ever known struggling through a siege… and she had not known… “I did not know,” she said quietly, eyes flickering towards the ground and then back up to Rivkah’s face. A horrible tragedy. Unavoidable. Not her fault. Miri’s resolve returned, her expression as neutral as ever.
“I am sorry to hear of your misfortune, Rivkah.” Miri was sorry, in her cold, neutral way. For a Jewish girl to end up an abused slave in a foreign land… it was undeniably sad. But Miri also knew that the gods acted in accordance with the past, the present, the future. If it had happened, it was meant to happen. And so she could not feel the pain Rivkah must feel, not really. Rivkah looked like she might cry. Miri couldn’t remember how it felt to cry. “Should I call you Nafretiri, then? My Coptic is quite good these days.” The fortune teller was unsure if, like herself, Rivkah might wish to do away with any reminders of home.
“Hathor is a mother,” she said simply, sure that as a new priestess, the girl before her would be well aware. “The mother of us all. You needed protecting, and there she was.” Hathor hummed gently in her head, and went silent. Miri could feel the warmth of her love easing the still-anxious knots in her stomach.
And you? Miri stared blankly for a moment, empty without the gods’ guidance. They rarely left her to make important decisions like this for herself. The fear bubbled once more. And yet… perhaps this conversation was not so important after all. Pregnant and alone in a new land… Rivkah was unlikely to return to the old country, disgraced and with a child in tow. Any news Miri might give her would stay in Egypt.
“I made my way here last spring with Arih,” she said vaguely, forcing the corner of her lips into a gentle smile. “I don’t know if you ever met her, but my sister, Raziya, is here, too.” The girl her father had told everyone had perished. Abandoned in a foreign land as a child, alive, alive. “We stay with the Tempest of Set, have you heard of us? We perform—they are our family now.” No talk of the misfortune, or the running away in the night. Perhaps she could pretend she left in advance of the famine, somehow knowing it was to come. It did not matter.
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Strange, strange, strange. Two girls so far from home, talking about a world that no longer felt real. The gossamer that draped the temple felt like a veil between that old world and this new, better one. Miri nodded in feigned sympathy, casting her memory back to Rivkah’s parents for a brief moment. She still wanted to run. What did the family life of an old acquaintance matter? Still, there was a piece of it that was important. An anxious part of Miri hoped that Rivkah was estranged from her family… she would not go home, where any news of Miri might bring Anubis’s hell down on her head. Keep her talking, keep her talking. The silence was deafening.
Jerusalem, under siege. Miri had not known. She felt her stomach turn sickeningly, felt as though her head disconnected from her body and floated away entirely. Israel didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. It was not her home. And yet, the thought of everyone she had ever known struggling through a siege… and she had not known… “I did not know,” she said quietly, eyes flickering towards the ground and then back up to Rivkah’s face. A horrible tragedy. Unavoidable. Not her fault. Miri’s resolve returned, her expression as neutral as ever.
“I am sorry to hear of your misfortune, Rivkah.” Miri was sorry, in her cold, neutral way. For a Jewish girl to end up an abused slave in a foreign land… it was undeniably sad. But Miri also knew that the gods acted in accordance with the past, the present, the future. If it had happened, it was meant to happen. And so she could not feel the pain Rivkah must feel, not really. Rivkah looked like she might cry. Miri couldn’t remember how it felt to cry. “Should I call you Nafretiri, then? My Coptic is quite good these days.” The fortune teller was unsure if, like herself, Rivkah might wish to do away with any reminders of home.
“Hathor is a mother,” she said simply, sure that as a new priestess, the girl before her would be well aware. “The mother of us all. You needed protecting, and there she was.” Hathor hummed gently in her head, and went silent. Miri could feel the warmth of her love easing the still-anxious knots in her stomach.
And you? Miri stared blankly for a moment, empty without the gods’ guidance. They rarely left her to make important decisions like this for herself. The fear bubbled once more. And yet… perhaps this conversation was not so important after all. Pregnant and alone in a new land… Rivkah was unlikely to return to the old country, disgraced and with a child in tow. Any news Miri might give her would stay in Egypt.
“I made my way here last spring with Arih,” she said vaguely, forcing the corner of her lips into a gentle smile. “I don’t know if you ever met her, but my sister, Raziya, is here, too.” The girl her father had told everyone had perished. Abandoned in a foreign land as a child, alive, alive. “We stay with the Tempest of Set, have you heard of us? We perform—they are our family now.” No talk of the misfortune, or the running away in the night. Perhaps she could pretend she left in advance of the famine, somehow knowing it was to come. It did not matter.
Strange, strange, strange. Two girls so far from home, talking about a world that no longer felt real. The gossamer that draped the temple felt like a veil between that old world and this new, better one. Miri nodded in feigned sympathy, casting her memory back to Rivkah’s parents for a brief moment. She still wanted to run. What did the family life of an old acquaintance matter? Still, there was a piece of it that was important. An anxious part of Miri hoped that Rivkah was estranged from her family… she would not go home, where any news of Miri might bring Anubis’s hell down on her head. Keep her talking, keep her talking. The silence was deafening.
Jerusalem, under siege. Miri had not known. She felt her stomach turn sickeningly, felt as though her head disconnected from her body and floated away entirely. Israel didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. It was not her home. And yet, the thought of everyone she had ever known struggling through a siege… and she had not known… “I did not know,” she said quietly, eyes flickering towards the ground and then back up to Rivkah’s face. A horrible tragedy. Unavoidable. Not her fault. Miri’s resolve returned, her expression as neutral as ever.
“I am sorry to hear of your misfortune, Rivkah.” Miri was sorry, in her cold, neutral way. For a Jewish girl to end up an abused slave in a foreign land… it was undeniably sad. But Miri also knew that the gods acted in accordance with the past, the present, the future. If it had happened, it was meant to happen. And so she could not feel the pain Rivkah must feel, not really. Rivkah looked like she might cry. Miri couldn’t remember how it felt to cry. “Should I call you Nafretiri, then? My Coptic is quite good these days.” The fortune teller was unsure if, like herself, Rivkah might wish to do away with any reminders of home.
“Hathor is a mother,” she said simply, sure that as a new priestess, the girl before her would be well aware. “The mother of us all. You needed protecting, and there she was.” Hathor hummed gently in her head, and went silent. Miri could feel the warmth of her love easing the still-anxious knots in her stomach.
And you? Miri stared blankly for a moment, empty without the gods’ guidance. They rarely left her to make important decisions like this for herself. The fear bubbled once more. And yet… perhaps this conversation was not so important after all. Pregnant and alone in a new land… Rivkah was unlikely to return to the old country, disgraced and with a child in tow. Any news Miri might give her would stay in Egypt.
“I made my way here last spring with Arih,” she said vaguely, forcing the corner of her lips into a gentle smile. “I don’t know if you ever met her, but my sister, Raziya, is here, too.” The girl her father had told everyone had perished. Abandoned in a foreign land as a child, alive, alive. “We stay with the Tempest of Set, have you heard of us? We perform—they are our family now.” No talk of the misfortune, or the running away in the night. Perhaps she could pretend she left in advance of the famine, somehow knowing it was to come. It did not matter.
Nafretiri smiled, trying to reassure the girl, as Miri seemed to be nervous too, though she also looked like she was at least trying to hide her nerves. Poor girl! Nafretiri could well understand how she felt. She still felt that way in here sometimes herself. Actually, in part because of her pregnancy, Nafretiri felt that she could have used a little more confidence, but in this case, she was not the newcomer here, and had better stop thinking about her own problems. Even her questioning about why Hathor might have picked Nafretiri given her circumstances might seem a little out of place since Miri was the guest in this case, but thankfully, Miri didn't seem to mind. And she was right, Hathor was a mother to all, or at least that's what Nafretiri was learning at the temple.
She nodded. "Yes, call me Nafretiri now. There is little chance I can see that I can ever return home. And in spite of not knowing anyone here very well until I saw you, perhaps it is best. My life would likely not be pleasant there anymore." Though now that she thought about it, could she ever really say that at one point she'd had even a taste of the life she wanted?
Well, that was how life seemed to go, most times.
She sighed, then gasped at the news about Miri's sister. "I had heard about her, yes. I'm so glad she was found!" She shook her head, though, at the mention of the Tempest of Set. "Since I arrived here, I don't go out much." Sometimes she wished she could, but it would be so much easier if she had someone she trusted to show her around!
"What sort of act do you perform, exactly, and what do you do in it?" she asked, her curiosity activated even if her fear might not allow her to see what Miri did for herself.
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Nafretiri smiled, trying to reassure the girl, as Miri seemed to be nervous too, though she also looked like she was at least trying to hide her nerves. Poor girl! Nafretiri could well understand how she felt. She still felt that way in here sometimes herself. Actually, in part because of her pregnancy, Nafretiri felt that she could have used a little more confidence, but in this case, she was not the newcomer here, and had better stop thinking about her own problems. Even her questioning about why Hathor might have picked Nafretiri given her circumstances might seem a little out of place since Miri was the guest in this case, but thankfully, Miri didn't seem to mind. And she was right, Hathor was a mother to all, or at least that's what Nafretiri was learning at the temple.
She nodded. "Yes, call me Nafretiri now. There is little chance I can see that I can ever return home. And in spite of not knowing anyone here very well until I saw you, perhaps it is best. My life would likely not be pleasant there anymore." Though now that she thought about it, could she ever really say that at one point she'd had even a taste of the life she wanted?
Well, that was how life seemed to go, most times.
She sighed, then gasped at the news about Miri's sister. "I had heard about her, yes. I'm so glad she was found!" She shook her head, though, at the mention of the Tempest of Set. "Since I arrived here, I don't go out much." Sometimes she wished she could, but it would be so much easier if she had someone she trusted to show her around!
"What sort of act do you perform, exactly, and what do you do in it?" she asked, her curiosity activated even if her fear might not allow her to see what Miri did for herself.
Nafretiri smiled, trying to reassure the girl, as Miri seemed to be nervous too, though she also looked like she was at least trying to hide her nerves. Poor girl! Nafretiri could well understand how she felt. She still felt that way in here sometimes herself. Actually, in part because of her pregnancy, Nafretiri felt that she could have used a little more confidence, but in this case, she was not the newcomer here, and had better stop thinking about her own problems. Even her questioning about why Hathor might have picked Nafretiri given her circumstances might seem a little out of place since Miri was the guest in this case, but thankfully, Miri didn't seem to mind. And she was right, Hathor was a mother to all, or at least that's what Nafretiri was learning at the temple.
She nodded. "Yes, call me Nafretiri now. There is little chance I can see that I can ever return home. And in spite of not knowing anyone here very well until I saw you, perhaps it is best. My life would likely not be pleasant there anymore." Though now that she thought about it, could she ever really say that at one point she'd had even a taste of the life she wanted?
Well, that was how life seemed to go, most times.
She sighed, then gasped at the news about Miri's sister. "I had heard about her, yes. I'm so glad she was found!" She shook her head, though, at the mention of the Tempest of Set. "Since I arrived here, I don't go out much." Sometimes she wished she could, but it would be so much easier if she had someone she trusted to show her around!
"What sort of act do you perform, exactly, and what do you do in it?" she asked, her curiosity activated even if her fear might not allow her to see what Miri did for herself.
