The Twice Born Read Free Page B

a great opportunity for you. The priests there are famous for their learning. There are many boys your own age who live together. You will make friends. You will do well.”
    “But I don’t want to make friends!” Huy sobbed. “I don’t like other boys! Anyway, I have a friend already! I don’t need any more friends!” His father held a cup to his mouth and he drank in great gulps in spite of the ache in his throat, tasting a grain of the bitter lees before Hapu set the vessel back on the table. The shedeh-wine had been undiluted.
    “You call Ishat your friend, but you are not kind to her,” Hapu went on. “You tease her. You hide from her when she comes to play with you. You throw spiders at her.”
    “She tries to be my Overseer,” Huy protested. The strong wine had instantly begun to calm him. He felt a pleasant and wholly unique sensation of numbness stealing over his limbs. “She always wants her own way, but that is not fair because she is only the daughter of a servant. She should do what I say.” His words were interspersed with hiccups as the storm of crying receded.
    Hapu rocked back on his heels. He regarded his son gravely. “I love you, Huy. But there are lessons about being a man that you must learn early, for if you do not, then no one will want to play with you at all, ever. You do not deserve Ishat.” He stood. “Itu, put him to bed. And Huy, I do not want to see the skittles exchanged for something else when you open that bag at the temple tomorrow.”
    Huy let out a howl. “But I want my figs!”
    For answer his father walked around the table, folded himself once more onto his cushion, and poured himself more wine. After a moment Itu also rose, Huy still in her arms. “I know you are right, my husband,” she said hoarsely. “But like every mother I wish that he could remain a little boy forever.”
    When he was an old man, feared and worshipped by the whole of Egypt, wealthy beyond the dreams of any save the King himself, Huy would find himself pondering those words. But now he stood rebelliously while his mother washed and dried him. Then she laid him on his cot and drew the sheet up over him. “Little brother,” she said softly, using the greatest term of endearment possible, “you will learn to read and write at school. Think of it! I can do neither. You will be more clever than I! Won’t that be fun?” For answer he turned on his side and showed her his back. He heard her sigh then walk across the room and pull the wooden shutters closed. At once the dusky light of sunset dimmed. Coming back, she kissed his hair. “There is fresh water beside you,” she told him. “You may be thirsty in the night. Your father should not have given you strong wine, but it made you feel better, didn’t it? He always knows what is best for us, Huy. Sleep now. Tomorrow is your Naming Day. Think about that.”
    He wanted her to go away. With one petulant gesture he deliberately brushed the kiss away, and at that she said no more. Hapzefa came in, picked up the basin of dirty water, bade him a good night, and presently he sensed that he was alone at last. Wriggling onto his back, he lay gazing up at the ceiling. The whitewashed mud bricks had several interesting cracks in them that snaked over his head. On most nights he imagined that one was the river and he was sailing north on it, through the Delta and out into the Great Green to have adventures with the Lycian pirates who often attacked the island of Alashia and were even impudent enough to make lightning raids on the coast of Egypt itself. He was the King’s Destroyer of Pirates, and with his crew of warriors he chased the Lycians, sinking their ships and dragging them back to Weset to be rewarded by a grateful monarch. “Huy, you are a good boy and have served me well,” the King would say. “This toy boat has a steering oar and ramming prow and you can really float it. It is my gift to you. Also some gold.”
    Another crack could