Author Games: The River of Night

Task One: Of the Earth

Ife Lerato

I was a mother once, when there was a light to my days...

The sun does not come out today. It surprises her how much seems to fall apart when the one basic truth the world has grown to rely on – the sun will always rise – is proved to be false. The streets are in chaos. People are running throughout them without even thinking twice about their behaviour: they drink; they slack off on their work; they steal. There have even been rumours of murder, but she prefers not to believe them yet – to do so would be to accept that things are direr than she could imagine. That the sun is gone, and the gods with it.

She carries on with as much normalcy as she can muster: though the world has fallen to chaos, Ife Lerato has never been much like other people: where they rely on words for balance, she needs nothing but actions. The sun will always rise. Wake up; pray; eat; visit the children; feed them; take a midday nap with them; eat dinner; set them to sleep; visit the temple of Isis. Two different systems. Normally, she would say that neither one is better than the other, if only to avoid ruffling feathers. Now, however, there is no denying the truth: words can be proven not to be true; actions rely solely on her ability to perform them.

Atem grips her hand, hanging on to her arm in a way only he seems capable of. At the tender age of six, he is the youngest of the Pharaoh's children, and while he will likely rule Egypt, one day he might become a grand priest – of Osiris, perhaps. She can see it. Already, when the time comes at night for stories, he always asks to hear about the gods. The rise of Horus is a favourite; Ra's battles throughout the river of night are another. Hotep, on the other hand, marches ahead as though nothing in the world could matter; at eleven years old, he's grown to think that the world belongs to him. And one day, it will. The girls have been in bed for ages already, and soon the boys will join them. Without the sun, it's hard to tell the time – but she has never needed to know the time. It all depends on how they behave.

"But I don't want to sleep!"

Hotep freezes, stomping his foot as he comes to a standstill. Ife takes his arm with her free hand, pulling him forward despite the dragging of his feet against the clay ground. She squeezes her grip tighter and a small squeak escapes his mouth. He hurries his step.

"You hurt me! I'm going to be the Pharaoh one day, and you won't be able to treat me like that!"

"You might rule one day, but I will always be the woman who raised you. Remember that. I'm an aging woman, boy – you'll regret being harsh to me if I die tomorrow."

"No I won't! I won't even miss you!"

She glares at him. "I've lived without you, Hotep; you haven't lived without me. You suckled at my breast before you even had a memory, but I was old already when you were born. Now go to bed."

"Father will be angry with you when he hears about this!" Hotep rushes ahead and into the room, jumping onto the bed with one more scream. Moments later, when she and Atem arrive to the princes' quarters, he is already asleep.

Atem tugs at her hand. "Father won't really be mad with you, will he?"

"No, my sweet prince. The Pharaoh knows that Hotep is a handful, and he knows that it pains me to discipline any of you. Anything I do is completely necessary." She pauses. "Besides, your brother loves me too much to want me to get in trouble – even if he doesn't say it."

They sit on his bed. Atem rests his head on his pillow and his feet on her lap. He shuts his eyes. "Can you tell me about Ra and the mean snake, Ife?"