A-in gazed upon the Mistress's body, lying senseless upon the ground. Horror seized him, yet amid that terror there stirred within his chest a strange quickening, his heart throbbed not with mere fear, but with something unnameable. Turning, he beheld his mother. Tabia stood trembling, her breath short and ragged, her hands quivering as though she had just fulfilled some dreadful impulse she long suppressed.
"Mother, what are we to do?" cried A-in, his voice faltering.
Though the sun burned fiercely above, a cold sweat gathered upon his brow.
Tabia seemed to awaken from some dark trance. She stared at her own hands in disbelief, and the stone she had held slipped from her grasp, falling to the earth with a hollow sound. Both hands flew to her mouth, stifling a cry that trembled on her lips.
"What are we to do? Oh, what have I done?" she murmured, her voice breaking. "It was never my intent! I only—"
"Calm yourself, Mother," said A-in, though his mind was in disarray. Somehow he forced himself to think, to plan. What should be done with the Mistress's body? He knew that once the Master returned, their doom would be certain.
Should they hide her? Yet the Mistress was no child to be concealed easily. Dismember her? The thought alone made him sick, besides, the blood would betray them. The Mistress's head was gashed and bleeding freely while Tabia pressed her trembling hands to the wound, as though her feeble touch might hold back death itself.
Suddenly, the sound of approaching footsteps froze them both. They turned and there stood the Master.
He halted, confusion clouding his brow at the sight before him. His wife lay upon the ground, her face concealed by Tabia's body.
"Hilda?" he called, uncertain. "What are you doing there?"
The Mistress made no answer.
He stepped nearer. Both mother and son flinched as though struck.
"Master," stammered A-in, forcing steadiness into his tone, "you have returned sooner than expected. The Madam collapsed from the heat. She seemed faint, must be dehydrated. Leave her to us, we shall carry her to your chamber."
"Nonsense," said the Master sharply. "Your Mistress is not a woman to fall beneath the sun. She is strong, harder than iron. You know that well."
It was true. The Mistress had overseen harvests beneath harsher suns than this, commanding slaves even when others fainted from the heat.
"But she seemed dizzy earlier…" A-in faltered.
The Master's brow darkened. "What do you mean by that?"
He stooped to examine her more closely. The body still bore a semblance of life, sturdy, warm, but no motion came from it. Then a dreadful certainty dawned upon him.
"What in the name of Ma'at have you done to my wife?" His voice rose to a roar as he advanced upon them.
"Master—!" cried A-in, stepping back.
But the Master seized Tabia by the shoulder and flung her aside. She fell heavily, striking the ground. Then, kneeling beside his wife, he pressed trembling fingers to her neck, then to her wrist. No pulse. Not a single beat.
A sound of anguish tore from him, raw and terrible, a cry that split the air.
A-in's stomach turned to ice. He knew their fate was sealed.
The Master's hands shot out, seizing both mother and son by the hair, forcing their faces into the dirt. From his belt he drew the whip that never left his side.
Again, as on so many other days, the lash cracked through the air, each stroke burning flesh and soul alike.
"How dare you!" he bellowed. "After all I have done for you this is how you repay me? Treacherous wretches! You conspire to murder your Mistress? May the law of Ma'at condemn you both!"
The whip fell again and again, its fury unending, the air itself trembling with each blow. The new wounds tore through the old until flesh and pain became one.
"P-permission to speak, Master," came Tabia's voice at last, broken and small.
Her words only enflamed him further. "How dare you address me, you murderer!" he thundered, and with a savage kick struck her face. Her head snapped back, thudding against the earth.
"I… I did not do it, Master," Tabia wept. "Please—have mercy."
A-in's chest ached at the sight of his mother. She was frail, far slighter than he, yet she endured the blows without raising a hand in defense.
"Mother…" he whispered.
"There was… there was a man," Tabia gasped. "He struck the Mistress upon the head. I was only trying to stop the bleeding hoping she might live…"
A-in seized upon her words. "Yes, Master! That is true! It was not my mother, it was another! Please, spare us!"
The Master's eyes blazed. "Do you take me for a fool? There are only two of you here! If not you, then who?"
Tabia, trembling, slowly lifted a hand and pointed into the air, towards her son.
"It was he, Master," she said, her voice hollow. "It was my son who struck her down. He raised his hand in anger and smote her mercilessly."
A-in froze, eyes widened. For a heartbeat, he could neither breathe nor speak.