Excerpt from my novel, A Serpent's Tale.

There are some who would assume that I am another unfortunate soul, misbegotten and victim to a god’s wrath. They would not be entirely false. I am neither an extraordinary person nor ordinary, and for all that, I played no major role in the ongoing games and feuds of the gods; I was merely unfortunate enough to be linked to those that did. My role in the game was accounted for well before my birth and I daresay had my father acted more rationally, I might not have had to play a role at all.1

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I was born to a major and active member of a harem in Meroe. Unfortunately, I was not the get of any underling or minor nobleman of Nubia. I was gotten on my mother by royalty – foreign royalty at that. He was Persian, and indeed the second eldest of seven sons, beloved of the mighty empire across the sea.3

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Had my sire been a Nubian, matters may have fallen out differently and I’d have been born into the Harem and raised therein as the community daughter and lived a life of great luxury and languor, and there’d be no need to tell my story. Alas, my father visited to seal the alliance between two mighty nations and drinking himself into a stupor and stumbling upon the harem in the small hours of the night, sought solace in my mother’s bed. It was not the first time he’d visit my mother and indeed they talked into the small hours of the morning and shared many thoughts and romantic dreams together. My mother was older than he was and already had a daughter nearing womanhood, gotten on her by a stable lad. But her beauty was deepened with age while the latter tempered her youth. It was her beauty and passion that engulfed and seduced my father and brought him stumbling into her bed many nights there after. It was the beginning of a liaison brought on not by Fate, but by a deep-laid game played by two feuding and rivaling deities. Neither of which could lay claim to the land, let alone the continent of Africa. 5

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By their umpteenth meeting, it was evident to all the members of the harem and the Head Mistress that my mother had fallen in love with him. The Head Mistress warned my mother not to lose her heart in the bargain simply because he was a wild barbarian prince out to tumble with exotic flesh between the sheets. My mother, blinded by passion and love, did not heed her warning and continued to see my father while he stayed in Meroe. Unfortunately, he would have to leave and he promised to light a candle to his god for her, saying he would be back come spring, which in our land, would be the dry season. Thus were their fates forever linked and mine sealed. He returned indeed to find my mother’s belly swollen with child and cast out of the harem and forced to retreat to her village of birth, which lay outside the city, a good many miles away. It did not deter him from discerning the nature of her seduction and why she was fearful of having this child; me. 7

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My father realized then, that my mother was an agent of his nemesis and thus had to keep his distance so as not to endanger me. On the night of my birth, he set out to strike a deal with the evil god Machiavellia. Of that pact, there was no result save for news of his death shortly after my birth. I was scarce cleaned of the afterbirth residue when word came to my mother that my father’s body had been found, mangled and dismembered by the god’s minions, though the messenger knew not the nature of his death, only that he and my mother had been in love and of it, and I was the result. It is said that my mother wept for my father so much she tried to take her own life but my elder sister prevented it while my elder brother cared for me. Of course, being a babe-in-arms I remember little to nothing of this, only what I learned later on in life from the evil god’s rival, an angel from Ch’in. So I was born unto the village of Al-Akeem, and despised for my appearance.9

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My mother had been fearful that my appearance would be a harsh reminder of the part she played in my father’s killing and indeed she had not been wrong. When my series of amniotic sea-changes was complete it was obvious that I was indeed my father’s child, stamped upon my skin which was fairer than that of Nubian stock. My hair, was an angelic wisp of silken glory, my fingers long and dexterous, and my limbs supple and full, and my body slender; and my eyes...those hurt worst of all. They were large and brown, rimmed in long lashes that echoed of my father’s intensely passionate stare, set within an oval-shaped face, my nose straight and narrow. Ah, if my mother could have the choice of a miscarriage when she found out how I quickened, she would have chosen it. I was Hakim Maharat’s child and despite popular belief, and unlikely heir to the throne of Persia through a properly arranged marriage. This of course, would never happen as there was no proof besides my appearance that would allow me even minor access to the mighty ruling house of Persia.11

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My mother could find naught else to do with me save try and blame my appearance on her bloodline, saying that perhaps I had gotten my fair skin from some dim Arabian ancestor of hers, or even an ancestor from northern Africa. Even so, she could not hide who she was from her people and they knew her for a whore, and me for a whore’s unwanted get. My sister was one too, but because her father was Nubian it was not judged so harshly and she was counted as an honest mistake. My brother was the only legitimate child my mother had through a marriage from a husband long dead. I was different. I carried Persian blood and Persians are treated with dissent in Nubia’s Empire. It was they, and the Arabs that overran the place thousands of years ago and forced their ways upon many of us. But that is neither here nor there, and hardly plays but a small role in the molding of my nature.13

I was raised normally, for the most part, and was not entirely ill-treated by the denizens of Al-Akeem. Instead, I was put to work in the kitchens and by the time I was five years old I could prepare a feast worthy of kings. In those days, things were relatively peaceful in the household and in Nubia’s kingdom. My brother, eldest of the three of us, decided to take it upon himself to show me kindness. I was scarce accorded any attention in the household unless it was an order or chastisement. So my brother, Rashid, took me out to the fields and began to teach me to sit a saddle properly and shoot a bow. These things I enjoyed, if not for the experience then it was because my brother had loved me. He also began teaching me the rudiments of wielding a scimitar. My mother did not know of our late-night excursions in which we would ride out into the Steppes and play, laugh, sing, and train.14

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Unfortunately, all good things must come to and end.16

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The Egyptians had begun to fall to Roman rule and influence and we knew that if Rome could get to Egypt, naught could prevent them from sweeping across the land like an ague. Despite our rather tentative alliance with Egypt, we are children born in the cradle of life, the Nile – all of us. We know how to unite against a common enemy. So the king of Meroe sent word across the land to gather the best warriors of the villages and cities and send them to keep the Romans at bay. My brother, unfortunately, was one of them.18

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Mother wept of course, as did my sister, but I was unaware of the magnitude of his sacrifice, ensconced in child-like ignorance. When my brother was packing I demanded to know why I could not come with him.20

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“Ah Little One,” he murmured, cupping my cheek with his rough, callused hand, “war is no place for a fresh little warrior like yourself. I would be too busy worrying about you than battling for our nation. Wait for me Little One, I shall return bearing the spoils of war in your honor.” Stooping low he kissed my brow and led his horse out. He had some parting words with my mother and sister, but I selfishly guarded the words he’d shared with me in the stable. He would come back, I promised myself, and he would take me away to another place away from these people who had no care for a half-breed bastard child of a Persian Prince. I wept for my brother that night, alone in his room, which I slept in undisturbed by my mother and sister. I wept because he would not take me away with him, and had left me with my unloving mother and sister. His room wasn’t the largest in the house, but it was certainly bigger than my little room which barely had room for one to turn around without brushing one’s fingertips against the wall.22

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As I lay there that night, it began to rain. Not the heavy usual rain, but a soft gentle shower, a gentle wind ruffling the curtains of the barred window. I heard voices, faint and cheerful out in the distance, commingling with the sound of the gentle shower. I wish my brother had been jesting when he rode off to battle. I wish he had turned about with a whooping laugh and scooped me into his arms, twirling me about and kissing my face, telling me he had only been jesting and wished to take me away from this place so that we may live in peace. Alas, my heart was left to its own devices, grieving and bleeding for his absence but I would not let him come home to find me floundering. Nay, I would continue my practicing in his absence and when he returned I would be the best little warrior he’d ever met!24