A Cry of Defeat
A cry of rage—a cry of defeat—shouted from the rock on which he stood, the Red Sea a colourless void around him. The sun returned, yet did not glitter off the waves. Defeat—a true defeat—the ultimate worst, soul-crushing kind. His country—ruined by pestilence and plague. Ruins smoked from red-hot hail and rain of fire. Dead piles of frogs, locusts, and flies stunk up hidden nooks and crannies. Locusts had long since decimated all of Egypt's crops. Yet, all that paled next to the last and most horrific of all plagues: the death of all of Egypt's firstborn not sparing even the son of Pharaoh Rameses.
His family—Seti had long died as had his mother, Queen Tuya. Moses—what could Rameses say—betrayed him, turned his back on him. He came back only for his people—the Hebrews, claiming their "god" had spoken to him. What god was this who had turned his brother against him? All he knew of were his own gods—Ra, Anubis, Isis, Osiris, and Thoth—the deities he had grown up with and the only gods he had ever known. They were the true gods—all had a name and personality. Who was this unnamed Hebrew god with no name? The same god who had darkened his city for three days and reaped the souls of the firstborn of his proud land?
The weak link in the chain…
His father's words echoed from his heart, catching in the folds of the sea and rocks. Now, as he listened without hearing to the wind and waves, Rameses almost saw Seti's expression of anger when Rameses and Moses had damaged a Temple of Ra when chariot-racing. From that day, he had strived not to be the weak link who would bring down his dynasty. Colossal monuments dominated the skylines, and now most lay in crumbled, irreparable ruin. His reign now knew ruin beyond measure. His Queen Nefertari, incensed and resentful of his inaction, had turned away. His only son—his firstborn—was dead, struck down by the god of the Hebrews. His army—decimated beyond measure, their drowned bodies had sunk under the tumultuous waves of the parted Red Sea as it crashed back over dry land, flinging him like a ragdoll onto a rock.
He couldn't feel more alone out here with no army and a defeated country waiting for his return. Part of him wanted to go after Moses, charge after the Hebrews as he had, but now his chariot and horses were gone. All the horses and men were dead, turning the sea into a horrible graveyard. The men's ba souls would wander aimlessly forever, unable to return to their homeland. To the end of time, their spirits would move aimlessly, confused, as they sought to find a way home.
Your god did this… Rameses thought in a mix of rage and bitterness, Your god has condemned my army's souls to an eternity of wandering!
As the warming air whipped around him and the waves smashing against the rocks, Rameses stood up from his kneeling position. Behind him was a wall of impassable rock, towering over him like a colossal ruin. Around him were other rocks, wet and slippery. Looking behind, he saw more rocks poking out from the water, jutting out in peaks and flat surfaces. But Rameses had no desire to return without his army—he had been defeated, a feat he had deemed impossible. He was the morning and the evening star! He had the gods on his side, and yet—they had hardly shown their help when Egypt was under attack from the Hebrews' gods! There was no way his son would return from death; soon he would meet Osiris and be judged before the forty-two judges. But he had died too young to risk his heart sinking below the Feather of Truth; he would easily pass on to the Fields of Peace. That thought brought no comfort. He wanted his son to be alive—to be waiting for him to return victorious to the palace.
I will not be the weak link!
Rameses cautiously walked toward the edge of his rock where there were several others clustered below. He hesitated, precariously balancing on the edge of the rock. Was it safe to jump down on the ones below? Spreading his arms for balance, he took the risk. Bending his knees, he jumped feet first to the rocks below. His feet smacked against the wet and cold surface of the rocks, his arms out on either side as he recovered his balance. Now Rameses allowed himself to breathe again, surprised he'd managed to inch himself nearer the shore. But this rock was even more slippery than the one from which he had jumped. He would not be the weak link—he would not allow defeat to consume him, and especially not so far away from Egypt! He would not allow his soul to be doomed to wander for an eternity, until Ra grew tired of his creation and retreated to the dark waters of empty Chaos. He would return to Egypt, face the palace and populace, but say the army died valiantly. Though they had not killed a single Hebrew, in Rameses' eyes his brave men had still tried to their greatest of abilities.
Just as he was about to step to another rock, Rameses hesitated, turning his head back to the opposite shore. The Hebrews had gotten away, reached safely ashore. His slaves were gone for good, led away by his so-called brother, Moses. Moses, whom he still called to even after defeat. Moses, whom had led away his country's workforce, his economy. Moses whom had tirelessly tried to persuade him to let his people go, never buckling even under the strength of Rameses' stubbornness and immobility of heart. Moses, whom he had first greeted with great joy, having believed he had perished in the formidable desert where Set reigned. Moses, who had returned the ring symbolising his role as royal architect, a final relic of his former Egyptian upbringing rejected and returned to Rameses. Moses, who had reached to his shoulder when Rameses was grieving over the body of his lost son. Rameses had sharply pulled away from his hand, telling him to leave and take his people with him. How dare Moses try to console him when he knew full well his god had taken his son's life!
I am the morning and the evening star!
Pushing all thoughts of the Hebrews out of his heart, Rameses tensely traversed the rocks hidden or jutting out of the sea, trying to return to his homeland that still bewailed the loss of the firstborn. He tried not to think of his father, Seti; he would be furious to see the ruins of a once great nation.
"But one weak link can upset the chain of a dynasty!" Seti had shouted at him once, so long ago, before Queen Tuya quickly rushed to her king's side to soothe his rage.
I will not be the weak link! Rameses shouted in his heart. I will not allow defeat to overpower my heart! I will return Egypt to her glory!
He should have listened to Moses, should have—now Egypt was in ruins, and all because he refused to soften his heart and put his stubbornness aside. While Rameses raged and fumed, Moses had remained dignified with a quiet fury that only showed in his words and eyes. Yet, there always was that compassion deep in him—compassion rejected in rage at the death of Rameses' son.
"Leave me!"
Rameses stopped to take a rest at a rock much nearer the shore where he could see the distant remains of his palace, half in ruins. He would not allow himself to be taken by the tumultuous water. He stood still, heart racing, and breathing hard from the exertion, looking once again toward the opposite horizon, where the shore came to meet the sky.
You were always there to get me out of trouble again.
What if he had listened to Moses? Would Moses have got him out of trouble again? Would his son still be alive? Would Seti have called him the weak link for listening to Moses? Or would his refusal to see the obvious power of Moses' god brand him as the weak link? Could he call himself the morning and evening star again?
Why can't things be the way they were before?
Would they? Would things have been the way they were before?
Rameses' feet finally found the blessed land of Egypt once more. An empty joy artificially filled his heart. He was in Egypt, a land now depleted of her army and any promise of a new heir for the throne. Yet…though the pain of losing his beloved son would be with him to his last heartbeat, he could still secure another heir to the throne. An heir who would bear the weight of his crown and reign over an Egypt that had learned from a grave and horrible lesson. Her firstborn should never be put in danger again.
I am not the weak link—I will not allow the dynasty to die, nor for Egypt to crumble under ruthless denial.
Once again, he looked down at his feet which were half hidden in the damp sand of the shore of Egypt. He stood firmly on the homeland, a land which would see her people rise from the ashes. When he passed the throne to his future heir, it would be a crown unburdened by the threat of being the one to destroy their dynasty. He would be sure his heir would never put Egypt under the vengeful wrath of the Hebrew god again. Moses' god.
If only he could tell Moses, promise his brother he would listen if he ever returned to command to let the slaves go. But now the Red Sea separated them forever. He thought he'd lost his brother once, now who knew if he'd see him again. He likely would never see Egypt restored to her former—but wiser—beauty once again.
Rameses took a deep, steadying breath, letting it out all at once in a half-sad, half-fatigued sigh.
"Goodbye, brother."