Chapter 1: Into Egypt
The dry heat clung to the caravan like a jealous hand, squeezing out every ounce of moisture from their cracked lips and weary bones. The camels trudged forward, heads low, their shadows like ghosts drifting over the sands. Dust clung to the hem of Sarai’s robes, and she adjusted her veil to block the worst of the grit.
She could hear Abram ahead, speaking in low, steady tones to the caravan leader, discussing their arrival in Egypt. The word itself tasted foreign in her mouth—Egypt. A place of wealth, towering monuments, and gods made of gold and stone. She had heard the stories. Pharaoh's city was not for people like them, wandering foreigners with empty bellies and borrowed courage.
“We’re nearly there,” Abram said, falling back to walk beside her. His eyes, usually steady, flickered with something else—nervousness.
“Will they take us in?” Sarai asked softly.
Abram hesitated. He was not a man who enjoyed questions he didn’t have answers to.
“They will.” He glanced ahead, his face tightening as the towering gates of the city came into view. “But we must be careful.”
Sarai waited for him to explain, but when he remained silent, her heart tightened.
“Careful of what?”
Abram stopped walking and turned to her, lowering his voice. “You know how the world sees you.” His hand brushed against hers, not in tenderness, but in caution. “Your beauty—it’s dangerous here.”
Sarai’s breath caught, though she couldn’t tell if it was from his words or the fear that uncoiled in her stomach.
“When they see you,” he continued, “they’ll want to take you for themselves. Pharaoh has his pick of any woman in the land.” He looked at her as if memorizing her face before something unthinkable happened. “So you must tell them you are my sister.”
The air between them thickened, heavy with the weight of the request.
Sarai blinked, unsure she had heard him correctly. “Your sister?”
Abram’s jaw tightened. “Yes. If they think you are my wife, they will kill me. But if you are my sister—they will spare me. They may even reward me.” He paused. “We will survive this.”
We? The word rang hollow in her mind. Sarai felt the shift in the sand beneath her feet, as though her very place in the world had tilted.
“And what will become of me?” she asked, her voice quiet but sharp.
Abram’s silence was answer enough.
The gates loomed closer now, the din of the city swelling around them—the shouts of merchants, the clatter of carts, the music of a thousand lives unfolding. Sarai stared ahead, her pulse thrumming beneath her skin.
She thought of the promises Abram had spoken to her under the stars, of the covenant he had claimed with their God. She thought of the strange tension between destiny and desperation. And now she thought of what it meant to be seen by men who measured value with wealth and desire.
“Very well,” she said at last, though each word tasted bitter. “I will be your sister.”
Abram’s shoulders relaxed with relief, though Sarai noted he did not thank her.
As they passed through the gates into the heart of Egypt, Sarai pulled her veil tighter and whispered a silent prayer. The city’s shadows seemed to reach for her as though they already knew her name.
The first lie had been spoken.
And Sarai knew it would not be the last.