She grabbed the jug of water.Someone might need it.
Rae continued down the corridor, stopping in front of a heavy wooden door locked with a sliding bolt. There was a hole in the middle of the door, but nothing larger than a cat could have used it to get in or out. The window allowed a little light in, but even so, it was too dark to see inside.
Still, she recognized it for what it was. A cage.
Rae lifted one of the clay oil lamps from the wall in thehallway. Then, taking care not to make any noise, she slid the bolt free and pulled the door open just enough for her to slip inside.
The smell hit her first. The stink of unwashed bodies, of excrement, of despair. It was so potent it nearly made her gag. She raised the oil lamp in front of her as she crept into the room, the small globe of light illuminating the prisoners in bits and pieces.
A skeletal woman curled into a corner, her feet in wooden fetters, shielding her eyes from the sudden glare. It was difficult to tell whether she was young or old.
A man lay on his side next to her, either sleeping or unconscious, his face lumpy with bruises, his wrists bound behind his back.
Another woman began to cry when Rae approached. Her feet were also in fetters, and she raised her hands in surrender. “Please don’t hurt me,” she moaned, her voice a dry rasp. “Please, please…”
The words transported Rae back to Sakesh, to the moments after she stabbed the traitorous brewer and watched him die, to the look of fear on his daughter’s face when she saw Rae standing there, covered in blood—
Please don’t hurt me, she’d said.
Rae gasped and dragged herself back into the present. She’d broken into a cold sweat.Not now!she told herself, shoving away the memory.
“I’m not your enemy,” she whispered to the woman, and held out the jug of water.
The woman took it in disbelief, tears rolling down her dirt-stained face. “Oh!” she cried. “Bless you! Bless you!”
Rae nodded. “Drink, then share it with the others. I’m sorry I don’t have more, but—”
“Raetawy?”
The voice came from the shadows. Heart in her throat, Rae carried the oil lamp toward the weak, familiar voice.
“Father?” Rae barely got out the word before emotion overwhelmed her. “Father?”
The light struck him, and he squinted into it. She watched his pupils constrict. His dry, peeling lips opened and closed, until finally he said, “Is this a dream?”
Rae found his hand and pressed his work-roughened palm to her face. “It’s not a dream, Yati,” she replied. “I’m here.”
Ankhu stared at her for several seconds, his pale, withered face a mask of shock. Then, it crumpled. With surprising strength, he pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her.
“I can’t believe it,” he murmured, his voice thick. “My girl. My beautiful girl. Thanks be to Ra. I thought I would never see you again. I thought…I thought…” He held her tightly, rocking back and forth on the filthy stone floor. Rae leaned into his embrace. In all her life, she had never seen her father cry.
“Did they hurt you?” Rae asked when he released her.
Ankhu sniffed and wiped his face, seemingly eager to put the uncharacteristic display of emotion behind him. “They only beat those who resisted,” he said. “Besides that, they’ve simply left us in this chamber to starve.”
“No one has interrogated you?”
Ankhu shook his head.
Rae’s brow furrowed. Even if Meryamun planned to use the prisoners for his cursing ritual, why not question them? Why miss the opportunity to gather information about the southern rebellion straight from the source?
Rae went cold.
Back at the farm, when pestilence overtook a portion of the wheat, she and her father were forced to set fire to the entirearea to ensure the disease wouldn’t be passed on to the next crop.
Why bother rooting out the pest if you plan on burning the whole field?
“Sakesh…” she whispered.
