Thoughts, Musings, and the Writing Life of YA Author Kimberley Griffiths Little
“They’re beautiful,” Faye murmured. I watched Travis put his arms around her waist as he bent to kiss her neck.
I glanced away, embarrassed, but then I peeked back again, curiosity getting the better of me. I wondered what it would be like to be that in love with someone. Since I couldn’t answer my own question, I went to go have some pain perdu and sausage. I’d just filled my plate and found a spot on the lawn when a tall, dark-haired boy walked up and sat down on the grass next to me. I looked up and stared into the eyes of T-Jacques Landry. I was so startled I swallowed a piece of sausage wrong and started coughing. T-Jacques thumped me on the back and then I took a gulp of punch.
“What are you doing here?” I managed to splutter.
Mamma usually wore a bit of cherry lipstick after breakfast, adding more makeup if she was going into town to shop. Since the accident, Mamma’s face was pale and splotchy, her lips colorless like a corpse. She didn’t even look real anymore.
I stopped three feet from the hospital bed and gave a shudder when Mamma’s legs started to jerk. I backed up as fast as I could, my head spinning like I’d just gotten off a roller coaster.
“Olivia Marie Mouton!” Faye exploded. “Mamma ain’t going to bite! She can’t even open her eyes.”
“Leave Livie be,” Daddy told Faye mildly through the doorway. “She gonna do things in her own time."
Faye bit at her lips, ignoring me again, even when I clutched at my queasy stomach. I swear my sister had no heart.
Queen Ankhesenamun gently placed the king’s hand back onto the table against his side. “I’m finished. I just had to see him one last time. And to know that he’s in good hands. You will take care of him?”
“With my life, your majesty," Imarus told her. "And all my heart.”
She gave him a small smile, a single tear making a path down her cheek. “I feel that I can trust you. Tutankhaten did, too.”
Imarus realized that tears were filling his eyes as well. “I’m honored, my queen.” He stopped as his voice began to crack.
Pesashet came across the small space between them and Imarus felt the touch of her hand on his arm. “Thank you for giving us these few moments with him. You have a gift, Imarus, and I don’t think you even know it.”
Through the blur of his vision, Imarus realized that he felt closer to Pesashet, this girl that he loved, and the feeling spread through him with a sudden warmth. They were communicating in a way they never had before, but it wasn’t due to any private conversations or intimate caresses. Their souls had somehow collided in this awful moment in time.
Somehow, Pesashet knew how agonizing it was for him to mummify Pharaoh. It was as though she read his mind, and his heart both.
Queen Ankhesenamun drew the linen cloth back over her husband’s body, and raised her head. Lips white, she said, “May I see my baby now, please? And then I’ll be gone.”
This new corpse's chest was a mess. It was going to take some skill to fix the crushed ribs and remove the organs where blood had pooled in a dark stain under the skin. The hyenas had probably come down in search of food, which was common at harvest time. The hyenas were probably rabid, too. One of the other bodies waiting in line for Imarus’ embalming knife had died of rabies, another from lung disease, a fourth knifed in a bar-room brawl. Heart attacks, chariot accidents, swamp fevers—Imarus saw it all.
He stared at the sun-browned skin, the long hair a sweaty tangle of black strands. Strangely, a fistful of grass and seeds were still clenched in his fist. Imarus' gut clenched as he loosened the man’s grip. Tiny white flax and crumbles of drying mud fell into Imarus’ palm. The dead man’s fingers involuntarily curled again, and Imarus sucked in his breath, his heart stuttering in his chest. A tiny symbol of the Aten god was tattooed on the lower palm of the man's hand.
He jerked the ragged cloth off the face. Imarus hadn’t recognized the weeping elderly man who had brought the body, but he knew this face. This dead man was Kuni. Kuni.
A flood of memories from the late-night meetings in his father’s shadow-lit study washed over him. Kuni had attended every secret meeting, one of the younger men sitting in the rear, listening but not saying much. He couldn't be more than a few years older than Imarus. Even though a poor farmer, Kuni had been a valuable link between the Aten underground organization and the farmers they were recruiting for the future.
This could be me, Imarus thought, feeling a shiver crawl down his spine.
