Queen of the Heavens (5 page)

“I’ll try,” I replied, though I needed to force the words from my lips.

“You must do more than try,” Maya admonished. “We’ll end today’s lessons early. Pray to Isis. Ask that you may be tolerant of those who doubt. Remember, they punish themselves with their doubting, not you.”

I did as Maya suggested, seemingly to no avail, for the anger stayed with me. Later in the day, Mother beckoned me from my room. She stood by the lotus pond with a young man with a shaved head wearing a white kilt that reached nearly to the ground.

“This is Menna, a priest from the Temple of Ptah,” Mother said. “He wishes to speak with you.”

“About what?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Your cousin,” Menna said. “People say you brought him back to life.”

“They speak the truth.”

“How did you know what to do?”

“Isis instructed me.”

“Does Isis often tell you things?”

“No, not often. At least, not yet… ”

“A friend of mine at the temple needs healing. Can you help him?”

I knew there was more to the priest’s inquiry than he let on.

“Do you really want me to help him,” I asked, “or do you and other priests want to test my healing powers?”

Menna was taken aback by my question.

“We want both,” he said. “There are some who question whether a young girl like you could possess such ability.”

“Would they test Isis?” I asked in a tone that left no doubt my question was a reprimand. As soon as the words crossed my lips I wished I hadn’t spoken them.

Why am I so arrogant?
I thought.
Isis was with me when I healed my cousin, but will she be with me if I try to heal this man’s friend? If I try and fail, all will doubt and ridicule me. Isis, what should I do?

Isis didn’t respond, at least not with words, but a man needed my help and I knew in my heart that I had to at least try to heal again.

“With my mother’ permission, I’ll go with you to your friend,” I said.

Mother didn’t hesitate. “You have my permission.”

Menna and I immediately set out on the path for the Temple of Ptah, exchanging not a word as he led the way several paces in front of me. When we reached the temple, we passed through the massive main gate, crossed the courtyard and entered the columned passageway. I had first trod this path years before, on the day when I met the
Sem
Priest and told him of my visit to the realm of the Neters. This time, priests stopped to stare at me, no doubt wondering whether a girl so young could possess powers greater than their own.

My short journey ended at a healing alcove adjacent to a room not far from the temple’s sanctuary. Sunlight poured through windows high above me, illuminating healing spells carved into the sandstone walls. In the middle of the alcove was a waist-high granite block slightly longer and wider than a human. A statue of Horus as a child rested in a stone basin on an altar nearby.

“Wait here,” Menna said.

Soon, he returned with another young priest, leading him by the hand.

“This is Siptah,” he said. “Tuya stands before you.”

“Can you heal me?” Siptah asked, his eyes directed not at mine, but at the wall behind me.

“What happened?” I inquired.

“While traveling in Nubia not long ago I came across a cobra. I walked around it thinking I would be safe, but the serpent was of the spitting kind, unknown to those of us from the north. The venom from the snake traveled twice the length of a man and hit me in the eyes. I’ve been blind from that day since.”

“Have you seen a physician?”

“Yes. He applied the liver of oxen to my eyes. He told me he had helped others with this cure, but it didn’t help me. His prayers and spells were worthless, too.”

“The liver of oxen,” I scoffed. “This remedy can help heal abrasions of the eyes from a sandstorm, but it’s a useless treatment for an injury such as yours,” I declared, not knowing where my knowledge was coming from. “Why do you think I can help you?”

“I heard of how you brought your cousin back to life.”

“Many say I did nothing of the sort.”

“Some here at the temple doubt your power, but the
Sem
Priest said he had met you years ago and knew then the gods would someday work through you.”

“It is because of the
Sem
Priest,” I said, “that I now am able to read and write, and am as learned about the gods and goddesses as you and other priests.”

“Do you think you can restore my sight?” Siptah asked.

The questioned frightened me. I had no idea whether I could heal this man. A part of me wanted to run from the temple and hide in my room, but instead I inquired, “Are you willing to be healed?”

“Of course I’m willing.”

“Then I will try. Lie down on the stone block,” I said, as if I knew what I was doing. Menna guided Siptah into place.

What should I do next?
I thought.
Isis. help me.

Isis said nothing, so I stalled for time.

“We will meditate,” I told the two priests, hoping Isis would soon speak to me.

Menna and I sat cross-legged on cushions next to each other, our backs against a wall, while the blind priest lay still. At first I heard nothing, save for the palpitations of my anxious heart. The meditation soon settled me, however, and the violet hue again filled my consciousness. To my great relief, I heard Isis’ voice.

“I will instruct you, Tuya, but not in words. Trust your intuition. Let it guide you.”

No Isis. Speak to me
. I said through my thoughts.
Tell me exactly what I must do as you did with Rahotep.
Isis ignored my request so I sat still, afraid to open my mouth.

To my amazement, the fear quickly vanished and words poured forth from me with authority. “Menna. Bring frankincense and lotus oils, fresh water and a jar of mud from the Nile, two small amethysts and two large squares of linen.”

“It will take a while to gather these things,” Menna replied. “I must go to the river.”

“Be as quick as you can. Your friend and I will remain in meditation until you return.”

I sat with my eyes closed for quite some time. When I finally opened them, I saw an aura of rich and beautiful colors surrounding Siptah, except at his eyes, where the colors were drab and dull.

I must fix this,
I said to myself, then drifted again in meditation until startled by Menna’s voice.

“I have brought what you requested,” he said.

“Place the items beside Siptah, then leave us,” I told him.

After Menna departed, I walked to the blind priest. I took the scarab amulet from around my neck and placed it on his heart center, as I had done with my cousin. I scooped some Nile mud from an earthen jar, smeared it over Siptah’s eyes and wiped my hands clean on one of the pieces of linen.

Delicately, I placed an amethyst atop the mud over each eye, and rubbed the oil of frankincense on the priest’s throat and lotus oil on his forehead. I found a three-legged stool in a corner of the alcove and placed it by Siptah’s crown. After sitting down, I reached out and placed my hands, one atop the other, over the vortex between Siptah’s eyebrows.

Isis. Restore Siptah’s sight
I silently beseeched the Queen of the Heavens over and over again. As I did so, I felt Isis’ loving energy flow from my heart, through my arms and hands and into Siptah’s forehead. Her love soon came in powerful waves and my whole body quivered and shook, but I managed to keep my hands in place.

Eventually, the waves of love began to subside. After the last ripple had passed through me, I picked up the jar of fresh Nile water and walked to the altar. I poured the water over the statue of Horus, and dampened the remaining piece of linen in the basin where the water had collected. Standing next to Siptah, I removed the amethysts and gently wiped away the mud.

“Sit up and open your eyes,” I said.

Siptah did so, but with a dejected countenance. “I see nothing.”

Siptah’s words came as a shock.
Isis.
What did I do wrong?
I asked silently.

“Wait,” the priest said as a smile crossed his lips. “I see some light.”

He blinked several times. “I’m beginning to see you.”

Siptah stood up. “I can see again. Not perfectly, but I can see!”

The priest was joyous. I was pleased and relieved. “Your sight will continue to improve and in a few days you’ll see just as well as before,” I said, somehow knowing this would be so.

The priest dropped to his knees and kissed the ground in front of me. “You have the power of a goddess and I shall worship you as one.”

“Rise,” I said. “Pray to Isis, not to me.”

Siptah ignored my words, so I bent down, placed my hands under each of his shoulders and guided him to his feet.

“I must tell the other priests that I again can see,” he said. “Come with me, Tuya. They’ll be gathering for the procession to evening prayers.”

We walked through the columned passageway to the edge of the courtyard. Standing side by side, we looked out at the great crowd of Siptah’s colleagues who were walking about.

“My brothers,” Siptah shouted in a voice so loud that all could hear. “I can see! I can see! Tuya has healed me.”

All noise in the courtyard ceased as the priests, now still as statues, looked at us. Menna approached and broke the silence. “I am in awe,” he said to me. “I confess that at first I questioned your power, but now no one can doubt you.”

“Some always will doubt,” I replied, recalling the words Maya had spoken to me that morning. I turned to Siptah. “Rest your eyes, and don’t venture into the bright sunlight for several days.”

“How can I ever repay you?” he asked.

“Perform oblations to Isis after you pray to Ptah. That will be payment enough.”

“I will do so each day for the rest of my life, and beyond,” he promised.

“It is not safe for you to return home by yourself at dusk,” Menna said. “I would be honored if you allow me to accompany you.”

“You may do so,” I told him.

Menna and I retraced our steps across the courtyard, but this time I led the way. Once again the priests stared at me, only now each bowed his head as I passed by.

V

With the healing of the blind priest, doubters became believers and people began seeking me out. If it weren’t for my parents’ turning away most of those who approached our house I would have been overwhelmed by requests from the ill and infirm to use my healing ability.

I certainly wasn’t the only healer in Memphis to whom people went for help. Indeed, there were quite a number. An old woman just up the river from the city had achieved great fame for her healing knowledge and skills. Aunt Sitra went to her when she was barren, and soon after conceived my cousin Rahotep. Priests and priestesses at the temple performed healing rituals as well, as did physicians, who also set bones, prescribed tonics and sewed up wounds.

Maya, however, told me a great number of people thought I was a healer of a higher order.

“You speak with Isis,” she said. “Other healers have considerable abilities, but the people know the Queen of the Heavens’ love flows through you.”

In the next two years I saw perhaps three-hundred people, though many times that number sought my assistance. Those my parents allowed through the gate were among the well-connected whose rank in society equaled or exceeded our own.

Most of those I ministered to improved at least a bit, and with more than half I achieved great success. I restored movement of limbs and caused tumors to vanish. In one instance, I removed the demons from a woman who had tried to kill her husband and children. Still, I wasn’t able to help everyone, which caused me great distress.

“Why does Isis allow me to heal some people but not others?” I asked Maya one day. “Last month, I healed ulcers on a man’s leg, yet I couldn’t help his young son who suffered terribly from trouble in the bowels. The child died within days after I saw him.”

“Sometimes people aren’t meant to be healed,” Maya said. “They come to the earthly realm for a purpose. When they’ve fulfilled the purpose, it’s time for their souls to be released.”

“But the boy was so young.” I continued. “He didn’t have time to fulfill his purpose.”

“How do you know? He may have entered the earthly realm with the understanding he would die after but a few years so that his parents might advance their souls by loving him, but also by learning how to accept death. The mysteries of the Divine Pageant are many, Tuya. Be content to know there are reasons for people to be healed, and there are reasons for people to die, though they may not be apparent to you.”

“I don’t know, Maya. Dying young seems like such a tragedy.”

“A tragedy for whom? For those who die or those who live? I’ve heard people from other lands say we Egyptians are obsessed with death. No, Tuya, we are obsessed with life, for death is but a transition to a greater life.”

Neither my parents nor I asked for compensation for my healing work. We knew my powers were a gift from Isis and seeking payment might offend the Queen of the Heavens. Nevertheless, those whom I helped were generous with voluntary offerings of fine food and drink, farm animals, furniture and exquisite linen.

I approached my calling with passion, and as time passed I sensed that Isis wished for me to expand my work to include Egyptians of every status.

“You’ve allowed me to see noblemen and scribes, wealthy merchants and their wives and children but I also would like to heal the poor,” I said one day to my parents, who were surprised by my comment.

“You must remember our station in life, Tuya,” Father replied. “It would not look good for you to mingle with the lower classes.”

“They need more help than the wealthy, Father. Isis loves them as much as she loves the well-to-do.”

“We have our reputation to think of, Tuya,” Mother said.

“Isis doesn’t care about our reputation,” I responded.

“Enough, Tuya,” Mother snapped. “Your father and I will determine who sees you, and you will not treat the poor.”

I went to my room and sulked. I didn’t want to openly challenge my parents’ wishes, yet deep within me I kept hearing the message that I should not ignore those less privileged around me.