Finally! Chapter 4 is finished! I am such a lazy bum and haven't been in the mood for writing at all, but somehow my brain kicked in and now I'm making progress. Thanks for your patience. Hopefully, I can keep this up and get this story finished. I have so many other ideas it's hard on my brain. Oh well. Enjoy!
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Chapter 4 – The TempleThe majestic Temple of Karnak, Ipet-isut, the Most Sacred of Places, stood as the height of man's achievements. Regally constructed near the bank of the river Nile, it complemented the glowing walls of the palace with an even greater splendor, a tribute to the gods. Flanked by a sacred emerald lake of water, the grand sanctuary glimmered with gold from behind a towering wall of bricks. Leading into the complex was a long stretch of highway, a path of smooth stones, each carved to perfection, tracing a path through a lush landscaping of date palms. The entire avenue leading toward the entrance of the temple was lined with a procession of ram-headed sphinxes, each protecting between their paws a figure of the Pharaoh. They served, as guardians of the holy place, threatening that any who dared to defy the lord of the kingdom would perish by the hands of the gods. Past the towering gateway, decorated with the flaming winged sun disk of Ra, was a grand courtyard lined on all sides with cylindrical pillars of white limestone, lavishly decorated with elaborate and colorful paintings of the gods, the Pharaohs and the epic battles fought in times long past. At the end of the courtyard was a series of pylons, huge flat-roofed pyramids that imposed the greatness of the temple. Every inch of the smooth walls depicted a scene from history or a tale of the deities and their powers, the lives of the rulers, and records of the mighty empire. Flanking the pylons, obelisks towered over the complex, sending their thin shadows over the white and crimson tiles lining the court. Upon one tapering peak was written: "Remember in the times to come, O people, the deeds of the good king. Let darkness not shroud the heart nor evil conquer good, for in the end darkness shall perish and light shall ever shine!"
The words deeply inscribed upon the grand monument fell into the saddened eyes of Pharaoh Atem. Proceeding across the courtyard among a host of guards, servants and vassals, the young Pharaoh held back tears of sorrowful remembrance, recalling the day that obelisk was erected, the day his father had passed into the next world. He was only a child then, but nothing could persuade him to forget that distressing time. He became Pharaoh that same day, and a heavy load was placed upon his shoulders, that of ruling such a grand kingdom. This, however, was not the time for sad thoughts, not the right moment to be concerned with personal matters. The very kingdom his father had left him, a lush and fertile land filled with happy people, was under threat from an unknown source, and he was determined to discover what it was.
"My lord, is your heart troubled?" asked a soft voice from below.
Atem looked down from his place upon a golden palanquin, to the concerned face of Napthes, the palace scribe, who he had asked to accompany him. He was a man of small stature and of humble heart, dressed in a modest array of linens befitting a servant, decorated only by a necklace of silver carved into the shape of an ibis, the symbol of knowledge. Having been in the service of the royal family for some time, he had gained the friendship and trust of the young Pharaoh. As a keeper of events and recorder of dealings, Napthes held a high position among the other vassals, however he was anything but haughty. Marching beside his king with an astute admiration, he fingered his scrolls of parchment and writing pens as he awaited the Pharaoh's reply.
Atem merely shook his head and answered, "It's nothing."
Napthes bowed humbly and continued walking in silence.
Smiling, Atem acknowledged his wise decision in not bringing Advisor Shimon along with him to the temple. Of course, the young Pharaoh did not in any way disregard the elder's wisdom, nor his way of reassuring him whenever things got out of hand. This time, however, he knew Shimon would be of no help. Concerning the frightful words of the curse, which he clutched in his hands even now, the Advisor had not believed a word of it and passed it off as fancy, deception, a concoction brewed up by the antics of children or crazed drunkards. Earlier, he had assumed that the fugitive found running through the palace and who died in the Pharaoh's arms, was probably acting in a way befitting one who had taken to wine too many times. Atem, however, disagreed completely, having witnessed the fear, sorrow and pain in the man's face as he took his last breath. The whole chaotic investigation concerning Mahaado's death, and the constant barrage of questioning nobles and priests, had all been arranged by Shimon, who viewed it as a benefit to the people if the Pharaoh attended to such matters. Angered by his apparent lack of foresight, Atem refused to have Shimon in his company. The young pharaoh was thankful of Shimon's muted reaction, when the elder was preparing to attend this meeting at the temple. He was not in the mood for an objection. However, he feared that when he returned, he would be doing a lot more homework than usual when the time for his lessons came around.
Returning his attention to the task at hand, Pharaoh Atem and his procession were greeted by a group of servants, who, after bowing their faces, led them into the dark sanctions of the temple. Gracefully stepping down from his golden palanquin, the young Pharaoh was escorted through the immense Hypostyle Hall, a grand assembly area consumed by a forest of massive limestone columns. Swathed with elaborate paintings and praises to the many gods, they glowed beautifully in the dim light filtering down through the linen draped ceiling. Many people of all different races, wealth and backgrounds, had assembled there to pay tribute and give thanks to their divinities. From amongst the crowd, Atem caught sight of a young woman, with her two small children clinging to her, kneeling before a great statue of Osirus, pleading for strength at the loss of her husband. Tears spilled down her cheeks like the floodwaters of the Nile, sending a sharp pain of sorrow through his heart. Slowing his step, the young pharaoh lingered, halting in the center of the grand temple, his soul yearning to turn around and offer some form of comfort to the woman and lift away her burdens.
Atem gasped softly as he heard Napthes' voice behind him say, "My Lord, the High Priest is waiting."
Sadly, he glanced once more at the woman who had by now noticed his presence and lay prostrate on the floor before him, urging her children to be still and show reverence to their king. The weanlings looked up at him with unsure and fearful eyes. Atem smiled at them, which lifted their spirits and their fears. The scribe made way as the young pharaoh turned and continued toward the lengthy corridor. Behind him he could hear the sweet voices of the children saying: "Mother! The Pharaoh, he smiled at me !" and " Did you see? The king looked at us!" and the woman replying: "My children, we are blessed to have such a good king."
Though his heart was pleased that just a mere passing glance could bring back the nearly dead joy in such unfortunate ones, how it pained him to realize that such sufferings were only beginning. Was this one widow's plight just a foregleam of what would come to all of his people because of a mysterious curse? Clutching the scroll in his hand, he fought to crush it, as he followed the group down a dimly lit hallway in the direction of the meeting chamber.
Soon they came to a concealed room, used only for visits from those of high rank, the highest being the Pharaoh. Servants and young priests stopped their duties about the temple halls to pay their respects to their ruler, as the young pharaoh made his way down the corridor and into the lavishly decorated meeting room. Entering through a large doorway, he was ushered into a splendidly furnished room, decorated with golden leopard statues and painted walls depicting many scenes from the holy writings. Lead to a plush chair draped in leopard skins and linens of a deep crimson shade, Atem seated himself and requested one of the attendants to send for High Priest Seto.
Moments later, a large man with skin as black as the onyx stone, entered the chamber and came before the Pharaoh. Though he kneeled, his massive form towered over the young ruler, great muscles bulging on his arms and legs. He wore nothing more than a guard's kilt and carried with him a small dagger, but despite his size, his demeanor was as a young lamb. The man glanced upward, his eyes flashing with a great fire; the spirit of a hardened warrior reflecting in his pitch-black orbs, yet his voice was soft as he spoke to the king.
"My Lord Pharaoh," his voice echoed into the chamber, husky, low and deep, like the low growl of a lion in the grasslands. "I am Adham, servant of the High Priest. I was sent to inform you that he will appear before you shortly."
Nodding, Atem acknowledged that Seto was probably busy with priestly duties and replied, "I shall wait for him. However, I trust he will not be long. I have a matter of great importance to discuss with him."
"Of course, my Lord. I shall inform him at once." Rising to his alarming full height, Adham exited to room as quickly as he had come.
The minutes began to pass, like the dripping grains of sand in an hourglass, as Pharaoh Atem grew more and more impatient. His eyes fell upon the golden scroll case in his hand, the carved vulture head gazing back at him with dark soulless eyes. The room seemed to grow in gloom, darkness engulfing all, 'till nothing remained except he and the cursed thing in his grasp. The young pharaoh's heart trembled with anxious fear as he contemplated the great danger that could befall him and his kingdom should he find nothing to dispel the strange words that had ended so many lives and threatened countless more. A flood of dread grew in his heart, weighing down his very soul, and he felt himself drowning in the golden deathfowl's unearthly gaze, void of any feeling. His fear soon turned to rage at the thought of succumbing to the darkness, and Atem forced his eyes upward, breaking the cold spell of terror that had threatened to engulf him. If he had any glimmer of hope left, it was with the most trusted member of his court, the highest rank in all of Egypt second only to him, the High Priest Seto.
Having been familiar with Seto for most of his life, Atem knew that, although he kept to himself and was known to posses a snide personality, the High Priest was possibly his most loyal servant, vizier and advisor, even more so than Shimon. Their relationship was not as close-bonded as the one he'd shared with Mahaado, despite the fact that the High Priest shared his blood. Still, Atem was willing to put fate in the hands of his most trusted comrade.
Suddenly, his thoughts were broken as a pair of servants entered from the opposite side of the room, kneeled and held the doors open as if ushering in someone of grand stature. His assumption was correct, for into the room strode the High Priest himself, Seto. Clad in linens of white and blue that elongated his already tall form, the imposing cleric tread across the floor with utmost pride, his height usurping even his servant Adham, though his frame was much more slight and sinuous. An azure and gold headdress framed his lengthened face with plates of gold on either side of his high cheekbones, and a snarling hooded viper poised at the brim. His long white cape billowed behind him as he halted before the pharaoh. Atem fought rising to meet him, knowing such action would be indecent, and waited anxiously through the customary bow.
Lifting his face to the Pharaoh, his striking, almost foreign, blue eyes shining in the darkness, Seto spoke, "What troubles you, my Pharaoh?" Though he performed the traditional display of reverence, in his tone there was obvious displeasure in having been torn away from his priestly duties.
Tilting his head forward so that only the High Priest's ears may hear, Atem requested, "If I am to speak of these pressing matters I shall do so in private."
With a wave of his hand, Seto dismissed his consorts, as well as the pharaoh's vassals and escorts, who filed out silently, leaving them alone.
Once all had departed, Atem began to unfold the account. "In normal cases, I would not have called you on such a day as this, however, what I have to discuss may concern the fate of the entire kingdom."
Seto stood before him, cocking an eyebrow, curious as to what the brash, young pharaoh spoke of.
"Yesterday, this scroll was brought into the halls of the palace by an intruder who had broken through the surrounding guard. It was given into my very hands as he was hounded into my path, pale and bleeding and he lay dying before me. The scroll's content was unknown to me until after I had dealt with this disturbing incident and had retired to my private chamber. I shall not read it aloud to you now, for after the text had fled from my mouth, word of the death of Mahaado, Priest of the Ring, fell upon my ears, the sacred item he possessed stolen, and an uprise of instability flooded the palace. In addition, though I have sent men to uncover the murderer, he has eluded my patrol and there has been revealed to me nothing more than a foreign name: Ras Al Khaimah."
As Atem finished speaking and his voice echoed through the vast emptiness, his hands trembled as he held out the cursed scroll. He fought to control his unsteady hands, but Seto had already seen. Reliving the horrid disruption of peace that had befallen him and those in the palace, sent shivers down the pharaoh's spine as he fought to keep his face stern. The fear that had come to him in dreams now threatened to revive itself, and Atem struggled not to give in. This was serious and he did not wish for the High Priest to witness any form of weakness in him.
Seto laughed lightly at his apparent lack of concealing his anxiety. Atem drew a breath through his teeth. This was no time to be laughing, as if his report was but a child's fancy.
Cocking his head to the side, Seto's bright eyes glancing at the pharaoh complacently. "Dear cousin, I do believe you're making this a far-grander deal than intended. I'm sure the village idiot who wrote it as a sheer ruse has long been laughing at your state." Taking the scroll from the king's hand, he studied it, noticing the fine detail and intricate carvings and added, "Well, at least a wealthy idiot." Removing the vulture's head, he slipped the parchment from its metal sleeve, allowing his eyes to scan the handwritten message. Within moments his smile faded as he read the encrypted words. Atem sat at the edge of his seat, gripping the armrests, his gaze locked on Seto's expressionless face, searching for some glimmer of emotion, wondering if he'd gleaned anything from it, some clue as to whether or not the priest had concluded the text as a drunkard's rant or a sorcerer's prophecy.
Anxious, Atem breathed, "Well?"
Seto pursed his lips, ignoring the pharaoh's inquiry, and after several agonizing moments, his reply was simply, "Hmm." He rolled the parchment up slowly and carefully, his eyes never leaving the page until it disappeared behind the seal. "I'd like to keep this for further study. The other priests may be able to use their talents to decipher it's meaning. It remains to be seen whether a unanimous conclusion can be found. In the meantime, I suggest you forget about it for a while. You might end up making yourself ill over something that could turn out to be nothing at all."
Dissatisfied, the young pharaoh sighed demurely to himself before rising. "I see. Then I await your answers. Let me remind you though that time may not be on our side in this matter, Seto. Be sure not to idle about. My heart will not rest until I know for sure what is to befall my kingdom."
"I understand," Seto bowed as Atem began his exit. Glaring upward from beneath the shadow of his azure circlet, the High Priest hissed after the king, "However, I do not see why you fear mere words on parchment, but know this, I am not ignorant as to what this may entail. Just try not to blow things out of proportion…cousin."
Lowering his gaze to the floor, Atem stood fast, hearing the High Priest's cape billow in the stagnant air as he exited the meeting chamber. Clenching his fist slightly, a seething anger boiled within him against Seto for his aggravating comments and ever-painful insults. Meeting privately with such an arrogant man grated on the young Pharaoh's patience. It seemed his cousin could always find a way to cut down the king's dignity without breaking any kind of law or upsetting any of the attendants. This time, like all other times, he hadn't taken the king seriously, but had subtly mocked him. Not wanting his emotions to shame him more, Atem straightened and proudly stepped from the chamber into the audience of servants waiting in the hall. Like a flock of anxious birds, they followed after him as he strode down through the corridor and exited the temple. Hurrying to walk beside him, the scribe, Napthes, insisted that the pharaoh get into his palanquin, else he would suffer the sweltering heat. Atem refused, wanting to walk off his frustration, and shooed away the pestering servants. As he walked, his flurry of vassals keeping pace, he allowed his mind to wander to better things, an image that might sooth his anger. Staring off into the distance, he viewed his palace and was suddenly reminded of the lovely treasure that lay within. The face of Lady Hora formed from the rippling heat and sands, her astounding beauty cooling his flame and calming his senses. Soon he would return to the palace and see her, for in her presence he knew he could forget about his troubles for a little while.
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Lady Hora quietly stepped down the limestone steps leading to the bathing pools. The Nile glistened languidly in the noon sun, half shaded by the fronds of date palms and papyrus reeds. Tucking a few strands of raven black hair behind her ear, she kneeled to the waters edge and removed her bejeweled sandals. Beside her, another girl very close to her age tended her, placing the footwear upon a strip of linen and assisting her mistress in removing her garments. Solemnly, Hora waded into the cool river, dipping her long hair into its flowing clearness, refreshed. Now waist deep, she halted as shadows played on the water's surface before her. From behind the reeds, a pair of white ibis floated into the pool, taking shelter beneath the shade of the river shrubs. She watched as one lengthened its neck and began preening its mate lovingly, and cooing softly.
Tears came to Hora's amber eyes, moist beads trickling down her smooth copper cheek, as she gazed upon the white water birds and their display of love. Standing nearby on the stairway, the maidservant, whose name was Zomar, became concerned over her lady's tears and wondered if she was well. For the past two nights, her lady had been very silent and sad, sitting for long hours on her terrace, staring at the moon and shedding many quiet tears. Was she not happy to be in the house of the Pharaoh, or had she grown ill? Her trail of thought was suddenly broken by the sound of rustling silks and sandals tapping upon the stone walkways above. As she turned to see who was nearing the bathing pools, her dark eyes grew wide and she fell to her knees. Below, Lady Hora turned at the sound of her maidservant clapping against the stone stairs, her gaze following the steps upward to rest within the pools of ruby stone belonging to the young pharaoh. Atem, having come from the temple and still dressed in his finest, had apparently come looking for her and stumbled upon her bathing. He gazed upon her form with curiosity and awe, as if he were still but a boy. Unsure as to if he was intruding but remaining aware of his authority, the young pharaoh gave a kind, almost apologetic smile. Without a hint of shyness or concern, Lady Hora merely gazed upon him with sadness, fear and contempt boiling behind her honey-colored eyes. The shot of anger pierced Atem's heart, and he fought to catch his pride as she turned and waded out of view.
Confused, the young pharaoh fought to understand why she had looked upon him in such a way. Had he not given her a comfortable place in his house? Why then was she so unhappy? Could this be another piece of evidence leading to the fulfillment of the curse? Or perhaps she was merely homesick? Surely it must be the latter.
How cruel I've been for ignoring it. In the morning, I shall ease her sadness and relate to her my sojourns to the Delta. Then perhaps if I show her the many wonderful sights of Thebes, her heart may be enlightened. When seeing my kingdom, and all its beauty, perhaps then she may open herself to me. Though I have only known her a very short time, I feel in my heart it is right.
And as the sun set, Atem returned to his quarters eagerly awaiting the morn, yet deep within his heart, he feared it, for as each day passed and the mystery of the curse remained unbroken, a darkness began to grow within his heart, and he feared a dire fate would come upon his beloved kingdom…very soon.
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Next Chapter:
"Golden Desert, Azure Nile"
Pharaoh Atem tries to get to know Lady Hora better, and make her feel more at home in Thebes. Will she open her heart and let him be her friend, or will she remained distant? Will the Priests find the meaning behind the strange curse? And why was Lady Hora crying? Is it rally homesickness or something else? Who really is the Ras Al Khaimah and what will befall the Pharaoh and his Kingdom? To find out, read on!