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The sound of the gentle lapping of water against his thighs invaded his awareness, the soft rhythmic sound soothing him and drawing him back to himself away from the tortured visions, memories, and fearful flight. Hamakto could not forget that despite his intentions he was now in a very precarious position. By the very act of fleeing, he had condemned himself.
Taking a steadying breath, he tried to think of what his next course of action should be. Ideally, he should talk to Pharaoh again, try to make him see reason, to understand the danger that was poised to overcome the land, but the priest knew it was a lost cause. He had seen the wonderment and lust for power that reflected in the ruler's eyes as he peered into the goblet that held the shimmering water. The same water that elicited such fear within the depths of his own soul.
He had options. He was not without family and resources and though one could never really flee from Pharaoh, perhaps a bit of distance would be the best course for the time being. During the time of inundation, there was little for farmers to do and most would be subscribed to the building projects or the stone pits. Merchants, priests, and those of better fortune would be journeying to the many feasts and festivals throughout the country. The river was high, making travel both easy and abundant. It would not be hard for a single figure more to slip in amongst the crowd. In fact, he was sure of a least one person who would be happy if he made his already planned trip to Lower Egypt earlier than anticipated.
The thought of seeing her again brought with it the peace to calm his rattled nerves. No matter what, she would be on his side, that thought alone bolstering him up with renewed hope. Enveloped in the thought of his heart's fondest desire, Hamakto did not register the ripple of water the opposite the river's natural rhythm.
The stillness exploded, a bulky head broke the surface followed a sleek body, the water clinging to it glinting ominously in the moonlight. The impact of that monstrous form knocked the breath from him. Before he could fight back, he was immobilized by a strong coiling mass wrapping around his body, followed quickly by a sharp piercing pain in his shoulder.
A evil laugh sounded in his ear. "You should know that no one escapes the master's wrath, you treacherous rat."
"You fool." A deep rumbling voice came from beyond his line of sight. Not that it would have made much difference, the world was beginning to spin and tilt around the defeated priest. "We were commanded to bring him back alive."
"Eh. I only used one fang. He should survive and if he doesn't…" The thick roped body released him unceremoniously to land in the mud with a splat. "... I will have done His Eminence a favor." The voice retreated, still laughing until it ended abruptly with a splash, the disrupted waters' wake rustling the nearby vegetation.
A rumbling growl came from above him. "Always leaving me his messes to clean up." Hamakto looked towards that voice, trying to find a point to ground himself in a now shifting world. The priest locked onto a pair of golden pupiless orbs that were not meant for this world and the form they were attached to only confirmed that conclusion. His vision went black as Anubis' boney claw reach towards him and Hamakto's last thought was that he hoped when his heart was weighed on the jackel god's scale that it would be found worthy.
Hamakto did not pass through the gates of the underworld, though only by the slightest of margins. It was several days later when he awoke, mouth dry and body sore, in a section of the temple that he recognized as being dedicated to healing. His russet skin was slick with oil and sweat, smelling of herbs with an undercurrent of sickness. He did not try to leave the bed and was soon attended to by two acolytes who made no attempt at conversation. He was allowed another day to rest, ensuring that he was indeed well enough to leave his bed. He was bathed, dressed in a clean belted shift and what jewelery had survived his encounters given back to him, make-up applied and given a decent meal. That was the end of kindnesses extended to him.
He was pushed harshly through the corridors by guards that had a predatory air of anticipation about them. It did not take long to discover the reason behind their slick glee. He was beaten and kicked, to make sure he was appropriately quelled before his next appointment. Though he had seen worse scraps amongst overly energetic young boys, his recent poisoning left his body unable to cope with the rough treatment and found his legs momentarily unable to support him.
The polished sandstone floor allowed for his bruised body to be dragged easily across the chamber to the raised dais where Pharaoh sat upon a golden couch, draped in the pelts of beasts from far-away lands. Hamakto was dropped abruptly but still managed to catch himself before his face connected with the unyielding stone. The room was filled with an almost oppressive silence, broken by his pained breathing, yet amplifying the small sounds that would otherwise go unnoticed. The rustle of feathers as a servant fanned, the buzz of flies as they sought to land on sweaty skin only to be chased away, the tantalizing flow of liquid being poured, the chink of metal against metal, the smooth glide of fabric as bodies shifted, and all around the sound of people holding their breath, waiting for the word of their master.
"Leave us. All of you."
The cacophony of sound was immediate as servants, guards, concubines, musicians, priests, and advisers all made haste to obey. The broken form took the opportunity to raise up onto his knees, a proper position of supplication when before the Lord of Lower and Upper Egypt, yet before he could lower his shaved head back to the ground the sheer white gauze of a delicate raiment filled his vision. The perfume that clung to the figure paused beside him was familiar, and he could not help but look up, hoping to dispel the new aching fear that had lodged in his gut. His eyes meet hers within their dark painted frames and fear consumed them both, petrified to find each other in these chambers and afraid that this would be the last time their paths would ever cross. Too quickly, she was torn from his side as a guard grabbed her shoulder and escorted her from the room. The last glimpse he was ever to catch of his beloved Tashket was of her struggles to return to him as the richly painted doors closed and her anguished cry reverberated through the hall.
His lovely Tashket, she should have been dancing at a festival in Luxor, where, in a few weeks time he would have would have joined her. With her days of devotion complete, they would have wed and feasted there at the temple of Bast, under the first rays of Ra combining their deities and their lives before friends and family. How was it that she was here, in Giza, in Pharaoh's throne room? It didn't make sense, nothing was making sense. In defeat, he lowered his forehead to rest on the ground, his arms stretched out before him, bound at the wrists, altogether a mockery of the once tall proud man, priest of the sun god, seer of things to come and interpreter of dreams.
The sound of harsh laughter filled the emptiness and reminded Hamakto that he was not alone. "So much spirit for a simple dancing girl. I shall enjoy taking tally of her talents. That is, of course, unless you object, for it seems you have some claim on the creature, Hamakto priest of Ra." Sandals of the highest workmanship colored gold and red filled his vision as he dared to raise his head but he knew better than to speak.
A pregnant pause hung heavy in the air, as though the king was just waiting eagerly for the hint of defiance and when none came he huffed and walked back towards his throne. "Rise and and speak, your Pharaoh commands it."
He was sluggish to respond, wishing to spare Tashket from the unnecessary attention. They had met many years ago, when he was just rising from the ranks of acolyte, his talent for visions and interpretation of dreams advancing him beyond his tender years. He had yet to choose for himself a wife, though his mother would have many young prospects to parade for him on the few occasions he had to travel to his families' home in the south. It was on one of these trips that he saw her, she was in an open court pressing oils, Ra beaming upon her face, making her glisten and shine, like the god himself had deemed her worthy of his attention. Then, pausing from her labors, she looked up, noticing Hamakto as well and graced him with a friendly smile. It was then that he committed his first sacrilege, for at that moment he knew that there would never be anything else in his life that would shine as bright as her.
"If you had held your tongue this well the last time you were before me, perhaps your fortunes would not be as poor as they now are." Hamakto finally looked up at the god king and noticed the bandages covering one forearm and the left side of the ruler's face. The shock of seeing the pink of healing discolored skin peeking out from underneath, a bright contrast to the king's naturally brown complexion, caused the priest to gasp in realization.
"Finally noticing your handiwork, eh? Fleeing into the night without a thought for the damage left in your wake. Thought you could run? Did you really think that you could escape me? I am Pharaoh!" The man rose from his seat and his voice was a booming echo in the space before going quiet again. "I had been content to leave you in peace, perhaps maybe even reward you for your oh so helpful vision. Now…" he traced a finger over his bandaged eye. "... well now things have changed."
The priest felt his guts grow cold, never before had a simple phrase caused such unabating fear within him. Yet he could not stop himself from stammering out an explanation, something, anything that may divert Pharaoh's rage. "Myyy.. my l..lord.. the potion… I could not allow…"
"And WHO do YOU think you are to give or take away Pharaoh's permission to do anything! Still, I am not entirely displeased with the outcome of your little stunt. THAT is the only reason that you still live."
"I do not understand."
"Of course you don't." Pharaoh descended once again and paced around the humbled priest who was hard put not to follow his path but keep his gaze focused ahead as the conversation continued. "I was not the only one you left a gift with that night. Faihoruko's potion was only partially successful in it's attempt to commune with the Aten. While he was elevated above man, able to discern one's innermost thoughts it also left him subjugated to their will." He snorted with derision. "Pharaoh will not bow to anyone but his eminence has now become emissary between us and they are powerful allies indeed. My name and glory will be greater than any before me with their assistance."
Hamakto felt as if he was missing key bits of information that his eavesdropping had not included. "Who are these allies, my lord?" he whispered, a part of him terrified to know the answer, yet unable to stop himself from asking.
Stopping in front of him, Orahkusakmet cocked a painted eyebrow. "Hmm, it appears that you do not know after all." The Pharaoh strode over to a brass shield suspended on a frame, took the hammer hung on the corner and struck the gong, the rich sound filling the audience chamber and seeping into the surrounding rooms. Within moments, a butler appeared and made haste to the king's side who whispered something in his ear before being dismissed.
The air was silent, but oppressive. Ohrakusakmet climbed to the dais but did not return to his throne, instead choosing to remain standing with his back to his captive. Hamakto, for his part, tried to push the soreness invading his consciousness to the back, trying to piece over his knowledge and comprehend just what exactly was going on.
Quietly, then with increasing vigor, the sound of ram's horns came from the back of the hall, advancing till a procession flowed around Hamakto, forming a circle around him. Two strong bearers carried a large stone slab, slung on strong wooden poles and lashed securely. In the middle of the stone was obsidian polished to a shine, it's darkness reflecting his own battered image. The circle of men began to chant softly and Faihoruko appeared, placing himself between Pharaoh and the stone, his back to his subordinate.
"It seems that formal introductions are in order. Present him as tribute." Orakusakmet commanded and the high priest bowed in acknowledgment before turning to face the dream priest.
The change in his appearance was subtle but apparent. The high priest's haughty countenance was even more pronounced, his arrogance prevalent on his wrinkled and sun darkened face, even as he sneered at his younger counterpart. His eyes were the most prominent change, they appeared sunken and hollow, strain that even his thick eye make-up could not mask, and where it had once been white was now clouded red, altogether giving the impression of madness and a lust for power.
The chanting of the circle became more pronounced at some unbidden signal, forming into a prayer to Aten, with Faihoruko beginning a spell to bring the sun disk up from the underworld. It was a perversion of the the true text, for it was suppose to be Ra, as the rising Horus, who emerged into the world, then take on the form of the sun to bless the people with his light. Only a small moment was dedicated to these thoughts, for the ceremony progressed and the high priest produced a jagged crystal and with typical flare, held it high above his head before plunging it into the top of the stone where a hollow had been carved to hold it. The crystal glowed and then the obsidian shimmered, growing out from its center a small pink dot appeared then grew to encompass the dark disk, glowing and shimmering in those bright horrific shades that were known to him from his dreams.
A set of strong hands forced Hamakto forward to kneel before the glowing disk, though his mind told him to run and flee, his body did not respond. The world fell away and he could no longer hear the spell being chanted, was not aware of the bodies surrounding him, or the gaze of Pharaoh from his golden perch, even the stone under his knees could not ground him to this world. There was only the rolling, shifting circle before his face and the pulsating thrum that accompanied it.
Agonizingly slow, something began to emerge. It was pink, thin and fleshy, the tip pushing through then broadening out into a spade before narrowing again to a tubular appendage. The tentacle was soon joined by another, then another. The Aten fully formed before his eyes, glowing bright with long arms reaching, it was glorious and horrible.
Hamakato could feel his heart pounding, wanting to flee from his chest, the terror of knowing what he had seen those arms do, squeezing his soul. Then a jagged toothed smile emerged framed in a pink face, a head soon followed that was wrinkled, the flesh in pronounced coils that looped in and around on itself. The grotesque feature reminding him of things that should be inside a body and not displayed outside it. Eyes of bright green snapped open, the yellow sun centered within them, marred by on the smallest pinprick of black, but completely filled with a malicious joy as the priest could no longer hold back his screams.
Vaguely, underneath the echo of his fear reverberating through the chamber, Faihoruko could be heard pronouncing the verdict.
"The Karaang finds the tribute worthy."
A/N: Thank you for all the kind reviews. They are much appreciated. Next chapter will be uploaded in three days. :)