The Archivist

By Robin Ballard

Egypt 1420 BC...Book One begins when the shadow of a dead man is summoned to the world of the living. On the moonlit banks of the Nile he watches as a boy is pursued. He knows the boy, his name is Ahmose, and he knows the fiend who is trying to kill him...
Only a few months before Ahmose had been working the land on his family’s farm, but everything changes when leaves to attend school in the magnificent temple of Amun in Thebes. Under the watchful eyes of the priests, Ahmose visits the House of Life where the injured are cured by magic and he learns from the sacred texts stored in the House of Books. In ancient Egypt the heart is the seat of all thought and emotion, and listening to the texts Ahmose learns that the gods as well as mortals suffer from love, envy and revenge: prime motivations for the archivist’s murder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robin Ballard
• Release date: Oct 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466161757

Robin Ballard

Robin Ballard was born in Los Angeles, California. A graduate of The Cooper Union School of Art, she currently lives in Switzerland. She has written and illustrated many books for children including "Zeig mir ein Tier", her first picture book in German. After an inspiring trip to Egypt, she wrote "The Archivist", a young-adult novel set in ancient times. "The Sage" followed as did "The Singer", the final book in her Lost Spells of Egypt series.

Book preview

The Lost Spells of Egypt

Book One

The Archivist

by Robin Ballard

Copyright 2011 Robin Ballard

Smashwords Second Edition, 2014

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For Martin

Special thanks to Lucy Ulrich, Carsten Knigge, and the Egyptology Department at the University Basel.

Also by Robin Ballard

The Sage, Book Two

The Singer, Book Three

Table of Contents

Prologue : The Ba Speaks

Chapter 1 : Ahmose

Chapter 2 : Thebes

Month of the Small Fire

Chapter 3 : Family

Month of Renenutet

Chapter 4 : The Guardian

Chapter 5 : A Plan Takes Shape

Month of Khonsu

Chapter 6 : The Dream

Chapter 7 : The Foreign Kings

Month of Khenet

Chapter 8 : The Cache

Chapter 9 : The House of Books

Chapter 10 : The God of Wisdom

Month of Opet

Chapter 11 : Beauty

Chapter 12 : The Hippopotamus

Month of Ra-Horakhty

Chapter 13 : Strife and Reunion

Chapter 14 : Amun’s House

Chapter 15 : The Treasury

Chapter 16 : Those Beyond the Year

Month of the One Who Tips the Scales

Chapter 17 : The New Year’s Feast

Chapter 18 : A Magician’s Spell

Chapter 19 : The Boy of Silver

Chapter 20 : A Flock of Ibis

Month of Ptah

Chapter 21 : To Have and Have Not

Chapter 22 : Amun’s Judgment

Month of Hathor

Chapter 23 : To Be a Scribe

Chapter 24 : Ancient History

Month of Sekhmet

Chapter 25 : An Unwelcome Invitation

Chapter 26 : The Hunted

Month of Min

Chapter 27 : The House of Life

Chapter 28 : That Which Is Seen and Heard

Month of the Great Fire

Chapter 29 : In Search of Demons

Chapter 30 : Weighing of the Hearts

Chapter 31 : The Ba Speaks Again

Chapter 32 : Of Faith and Friendship

Chapter 33 : The Pledge

Bibliography

Fill not your heart with a brother,

Know not a friend,

Nor make for yourself intimates,

For nothing is to be gained from them.

When you lie down at night,

let your heart be watchful over you;

For a man has no people, in the day of evil.

I gave to the beggar, I nourished the orphan;

I admitted the insignificant as well as him

who was great of account.

But it was he who ate my bread who conspired against me,

He, to whom I gave my hand, aroused fear therein;

They who put on my fine linen behaved like worthless louts,

They who anointed themselves with my myrrh

made my way slippery,

It was after the evening meal, night had come.

I took an hour of heart’s ease.

Lying upon my couch, I relaxed;

My heart began to follow slumber.

Behold, weapons were flourished,

Council was held against me,

While I was like a serpent of the desert.

I awoke to fight utterly alone…

— The Teachings of King Amunemhet I for His Son Senworsret

Prologue : The Ba Speaks

I was being pulled, not uncomfortably, but with definite speed. Whatever was drawing me was doing so with a sense of urgency. I had been sitting on my roof terrace gazing in the direction of the great desert where the snakes have wings, travel on four legs and leave trails of fire in their wake. I had been contemplating the subtle shade of pink just above the sandy horizon, when I disintegrated. Just like that. My form was gone.

No hands or fingers to feel with, no eyes to see, no breath to call out in surprise. I was moving through one substance and then another, clay, limestone, petrified wood, minerals and sand. I was scattered, my whole severed into many, like a flock of birds, twisting and undulating in flight as one beneath the earth, set on an unknown course not of my choosing. The sensation of it seemed familiar. It was coming back to me; I think it was the layer of shale, which tickled my memory. I had traveled this way before.

When I burst forth, all resistance giving way, my being congealed and my senses returned. I was soaring up into the night sky, the full moon almost blinding me, a fierce wind battering my delicate state. I was on the other side — that was clear — the smell of it waking powerful memories: river mud, soggy reeds, cornflowers, and hippopotamus. It was glorious. I could have clung to that moment forever, trapped in the scents of a life lost, but then I saw the great ibis.

I had been waiting for this moment for years, for my master to reveal himself to me again. I had not forgotten my calling to serve him. I was filled with awe taking in his presence, his striking white feathers gleaming in the moonlight, his long beak poised in an arch, the stars reflecting in his deep, all-seeing, black eyes, his wings outstretched, beating vigorously against the elements. I could not help feeling that something was wrong.

And then time stopped, the ibis and I remaining separate from the temporal world. The suddenness of the silence was disconcerting, but it allowed me to take in the scene I was confronted with, the whirling sand, the cacophony of palm fronds battering against one another, and the howl of a hot wind, all of which distracted me. Below, the wide glossy swath of the Nile became a solid mass and on it, caught on a shoal, was a small wooden boat. A boy was falling overboard. He was caught in mid-air, one foot breaking the surface of the water. His hands were tied, a rather curious fact, since in theory no one can bind his own hands. Someone had done this to him.

I focused on his face. His expression was tense, his mouth thin, his eyes half closed in anticipation of his impending impact. Despite the oddity of the moment, I knew who the boy was. I met him in a dream not long before. Brief as our encounter was, it had left me feeling proud.

A grandson. My daughter, Sepedet’s boy.

As soon as I realized this, the wind resumed. The boat jerked along the shoal and drifted on. The boy dropped into the flowing water with a splash. A man’s voice rang out across the distance. If I had had a body the sound of that voice would have sent a shiver up my spine. It belonged to a man who was not to be trifled with. The boy was in danger. Descending quickly, I searched the water’s surface, sure that my grandson was heading for the shore.

I heard another splash. Someone dove from the boat. The boy came up for air and disappeared. I thought for a moment I had lost him and then I spied him coming up within a clump of reeds. I joined him there unnoticed. He shivered with fear, his eyes wide, searching. A man’s form slowly took shape before us. The moonlight played on his wet skin, his profile and features etched indelibly in my memory. A feeling of betrayal returned, a flash of fear and sorrow. I shrank into the reeds forgetting that I was already dead.

What was I now but a mere shadow, helpless against this fiend? I could not beat him with my fists. I could not yell to distract him from the boy, who trembled in the water within his reach. I caught sight of the ibis. My master had brought me here for a reason. I had to act, but I wondered what interest Thoth had in the boy. Why was he here? What had happened during my absence from the world of the living? My master answered. He filled my heart and the story unfolded before me.

Chapter 1 : Ahmose

One year earlier...

It was a fine afternoon, the sun a magnificent disk in a light blue sky. The wind blew gently and filled out the thick linen sail of a trader’s vessel. It was one of many larger boats traveling along the Nile. Its wooden frame rode low in the water, weighted down by its cargo. Its deck was a jumble of goods, which varied at each port.

Wedged between stacked bales of dried herbs and a pile of aromatic logs sat a boy and an old woman whose knobby fingers were busy with a tangled ball of twine. The boy was ten, but small for his age. His scalp was smooth, having been freshly shaved, only his eyebrows and lashes giving an indication that he had dark brown hair that matched the color of his eyes. His skin was deep in tint, and his chest was as bare as his legs, which were crossed before him on the warm worn deck. The only clothing he wore was a coarsely woven loincloth held in place by a knot.

His gaze was fixed on the passing scenery; date palm groves and wide-open fields, their earth rutted by the plow and dotted with farmers sewing seed. Small herds of cattle were being driven down to the muddy banks of the river to drink and look for tender grass. But the boy did not take in what he saw. He was brooding. In his hand was a papyrus scroll. It was the cause of his discontent. With a grudging sigh he unrolled it, as he had many times over the past few days. He read the neatly formed script, which determined his future, and were indeed the reason he was on this trip at all.

Year 9, 3rd month of Planting

Salutations Sepedet, daughter of Osirankh,

I, Ani, being teacher, priest, and a member of the High Council of Temple Construction in Amun’s House in Thebes, request the presence of your son, Ahmose, at the temple’s school. His subjects will include mathematics and written works, the duration of his studies will depend on his aptitude. His room and board will be provided; all he need bring is his desire to learn.

Regards,

Teacher Ani

P.S. It is expected that Ahmose arrive in a timely manner.

The boy’s grip tightened, crinkling the papyrus. The old woman looked up from her twine and scowled.

Ahmose, put that away now, before you damage it, or worse lose it to the river.

And what if it were lost? the boy asked, tempted by the image of the scroll bitten to bits by a hungry perch.

You would still be going, the old woman said, snatching it from him.

But why can’t Senu go? He’s older. He should be the one, not me.

Your father needs your brother on the farm.

But he also needs me.

Yes, of course he does. But somehow the old woman’s words did not sound as if she meant them. Do not forget, Ahmose, that Senu cannot read or write. Only you and your mother can do that.

Then my mother should go!

Really, you are being absurd.

Reading and writing — I don’t need them to plow the soil and harvest grain.

That is why your brother will be doing that. Besides, I know that you like to read and are quick to learn. Your mother has told me.

Ahmose looked away from her and pretended great interest in a lone crocodile sunning itself on the far shore. He could not deny it. He liked reading well enough, but not when it made him different from the others. It was fine with his little sister. She had always looked up to him. She took an interest in the glyphs and called Ahmose a magician because he could understand what, for her, remained a mystery. But he did not like it when it set him apart from his brother. Senu and their father were close. They worked the farm while Ahmose had his lessons. He had memorized passages and copied texts. He had been introduced to the works of the masters, whose writings inspired thought. His mind would return to those passages at night when he lay next to his brother, who slept. A force existed in the written word. Ahmose did not quite understand it, but it attracted him nonetheless. He did not share his curiosity with anyone, not even his mother, who was his teacher.

The captain, a swarthy man with powerful hands, called to his crew. He stood at the back of the boat and, gripping the steering oar, pulled it toward himself. The boat rocked heavily to one side; the sound of something large coming loose in the hold caused a sailor to swear below deck. Ahmose lost sight of the crocodile as the boat tacked and he felt the surge of movement when their square sail caught the wind.

It might be hard for you to understand now, the old woman continued, righting herself, but the priests of Amun’s House are powerful men. If they ask a small boy like you from the countryside to go to their school then we must do as they ask. It would not be in our best interests to refuse. Think of how such an education could help your family. At the end of your studies you will be a scribe. Do not think only of the here and now. Think of your future. Your financial rewards could be great.

And what if I fail? the boy asked, his voice raised, his soft eyes looking moist.

You will not fail! You come from a lineage of — she stopped, her mouth open in mid-sentence.

Lineage of what? asked the boy, turning to her.

Of — of people — she said, looking flustered. People who were — persistent.

What?

Well, yes, we go on. You do not get my age by giving up. Now listen, everything will be fine. I will be in Thebes to set things straight. You will not be alone. She rolled up the scroll and placed it carefully inside her travel basket. Oh, this reminds me — I have to ask the captain if he would act as a courier for your mother’s letters. I heard the sailors talking and they said that they travel this route monthly.

What letters? Ahmose asked, straightening up.

His great-aunt Ini patted her gray hair into place and got to her feet. Did she not tell you? Your mother wants to write to you while you are away. She wants to tell you about the goings on at the farm, so you will not be lonely.

Oh.

Listen, while I am gone work on that twine some more. I want to use it to hang up your sheet so we can have some shade. I am turning much too brown sitting in the open sun all day.

Ini’s skin was always brown. Brown and leathery. Ahmose took up the twine and picked at it absently, watching his great-aunt dip behind a bale of fragrant bark. As soon as she was gone he remembered the bag of dried figs his mother had packed for their trip up the Nile. His great-aunt would not notice that a few were missing. There were so many and his stomach growled at the thought of them.

As the days passed, they stopped at the merchant harbors while the captain traded his goods. The old woman bartered for the small luxury of fresh food, but mostly she and the boy ate their own supplies. It was not long, though, before the dried figs had mysteriously disappeared, the once freshly baked bread was drier than sand and the salty fish the old woman pressed on the boy at every meal became intolerable. On the sixth morning aboard the ship Ahmose woke, smelling smoke over the Nile. He crawled from under the sheet’s protection, his head still heavy with sleep. Along the western shore several large fires burned, but they were not roasting slabs of meat, or boiling pots of thick porridge — of which Ahmose had been dreaming; they were bubbling inedible substances. Near-naked men worked the bellows in the vast shipyards, where the frames of boats of various sizes perched on land. The old woman stirred next to Ahmose and, sitting up, she pulled her shawl over her hunched shoulders.

We have arrived. This is Thebes, she announced.

The captain tacked, and the boat heeled. The sail swung aside, opening up a magnificent view. Ahmose felt his heart skip a beat, his thoughts of breakfast quickly disappearing. Buildings clustered densely along the river’s edge, stretched out endlessly as far as Ahmose could see. Beyond them, the sun rose from the eastern hills and the city’s pale walls were soon marked by the stark shadows of morning. Something caught Ahmose’s eye: two points of gold shone between the fluttering flags atop a massive gate.

That is Amun’s House, his great-aunt said. I asked the captain to let us disembark near the temple harbor and now he has missed his chance. Too much traffic.

Laden merchant vessels from the south descended on the city. Ferries full of people bobbed across the river. Reed skiffs and other small crafts loaded with fish or produce gathered, and some came alongside to barter their wares.

Never mind, we will just have to walk back. Now, Ahmose, come away from the edge of the boat. Stop looking at that vegetable seller — you are only exciting him. We do not need any lettuce. He can keep his beans, too. His great-aunt pulled her travel basket close to her and began to pick through its contents. You need to get ready. You certainly cannot show up at the school wearing that, she said, pointing to his loincloth.

What do you mean? I always wear this.

Not any more. Put this on, and she passed him a tunic and kilt.

In addition to her other work, Ahmose’s mother wove cloth on her loom, which she usually sold at market. When she learned that Ahmose was going to school in Thebes she had quickly gone to work and made him new clothes. When he unfolded the tunic and pulled it over his head he smelled her scent on the cloth, but it did not bring him ease. He felt strange wearing so much clothing. It was as if he were playing at being someone else, and he wondered how anyone was supposed to walk normally with so much cloth flapping around his knees. He looked to his great-aunt hoping to hear words of disapproval, but she instead handed him a pair of sandals.

Oh no — I don’t need those! Ahmose said, drawing back from them as if they were poisonous.

Of course you need them! In the city it is best to present oneself in a more refined manner. Now stand still so I can put on the kohl, and with deft hands and a firm grip she painted two thin black lines along each of his eyes.

With the sailors on the lookout, the captain skillfully navigated without mishap through the chaotic mass of boats along the waterfront. Ahmose wondered where they would dock, for there appeared not to be one slip left. But the other traders, seeing the vessel coming toward them at a sound speed, scrambled to save their livelihood and made way.

Do not forget to bring the letters you have promised to deliver. I am making more than a fair trade for your services! Ahmose’s great-aunt said to the captain after the boat was tied up.

The swarthy captain crossed his massive arms over his chest. But I have agreed to transport these letters free of charge.

Free of charge? Think of what this could mean for you — the words you can place on your grave: ‘Here lies a trader. Let him prosper in the afterlife, for he conveyed the words of a distant mother to the heart of her lonely son.’ The gods will look kindly on you — that is surely payment enough!

She called for the sailors to make way and with their travel baskets in hand, the boy and the old woman disembarked.

Chapter 2 : Thebes

Stepping off the gangplank of the trader’s boat Ahmose and his great-aunt were swept up in the crowds on the docks. Porters, bowed from the weight of heavy packs, jostled by them and they had to dodge a throng of women carrying jugs of water on their heads. The air was thick with the sounds of voices and animals, and the pungent smell of produce. The bartering between the traders and the city’s merchants was fierce — if not indecent — and Ahmose felt his cheeks flush.