AN: Hi folks! So sorry for the delay in updating. Not to throw a pity party, but I've had a pretty rough go of it lately. u_u Between a vacation being canceled due to a hurricane (I know, I know, first world problems), some stupid car troubles, and a bad back injury (it hurt SO BAD), I was a total mess for about two weeks straight. It took me a long time to get my mojo back enough to write this chapter, but now that it's done — I'm actually really proud of it! I hope you enjoy reading it. As always, thanks so much for sticking with me and my story! :3
Atem felt as if his body were on fire as he trailed after Mahad toward the temple gate — half from anticipation, half from the lingering animosity between him and Satiah. He wondered if perhaps it was Satiah herself who was giving off the heat he felt, her feet treading loudly on the tiles as she walked only a fraction of a pace behind him.
He was no stranger to the presence of venom in Satiah's voice — after all, it had been dripping from her words the very first time he'd ever heard her speak. But for some reason, her last diatribe had infected him particularly deep. He'd felt it, somewhere between the lashing of her tongue and her strangled intonation — the subtle but ever so distinct reminder that their marriage had been built on a foundation of coercion.
Atem forced himself to swallow his unease as they rounded the corner into the rear courtyard of the temple, where Seto and Aknadin were waiting just inside the westernmost gate, along with a handful of lesser priests. Mahad hurried forward to join the other Guardians, who all turned to face Satiah and Atem as they approached.
"They arrived just moments ago," Seto explained, his voice grave. "They have asked for nothing but an audience with the king and queen."
Atem looked hard at his Guardians. "Who?"
Seto lowered his head, then gestured through the temple gate. Atem stepped into the shadow of the pylon, his gaze sweeping up the western ridge that grew overhead. His eyes went wide at the sight — there, dotted like locusts along the rocky slopes, were dozens and dozens of people — all mounted on horseback and dressed in the unmistakable robes of priesthood.
Atem traced his gaze further down to the base of the mountain, where two shapes stood side-by-side in the rippling heat, no more than twenty yards away. Shielding his eyes from the sinking sun, Atem's heart thundered as the foremost man came into view — Metjen stumbled to his knees, his mouth gagged and hands tied behind his back.
"Father!"
Before Atem could protest, Satiah was already setting off toward the foot of the slope. He opened his mouth to call for her, but she drew to a sudden stop on her own a moment later, when the second man took shape.
Into the heavy evening air, Satiah whispered: "…Jahar?"
Atem knew well this name, though he'd never met the man it belonged to. Jahar was none other than the disgraced Chief Priest of the Memphis Conclave, and Satiah's former mentor.
Not long after his father's death, Atem had been briefed on Jahar's attempts at stirring rebellion in the north. Predictably, Aknadin had been eager to root out the traitor, but in the weeks since Atem rose to the throne, it seemed as though Jahar and his followers had gone completely silent. Without any new intelligence to act on, and with so many other distractions arising, Atem had let the matter be swept from his mind like a wisp of dust in the desert.
But now, that wisp had returned — and in the form of a great sandstorm. Just from his cursory glance, Atem estimated at least thirty priests were dug in along the western ridge, and with the high ground on their side, they would be at a distinct advantage if they decided to strike first.
Quickly and quietly, Atem looked over his shoulder to his Guardians. "No one is to address this man except myself and the Queen," he whispered. "Am I understood?" They nodded, some more firmly than others.
When Atem turned back, a flash of movement caught his eye — Jahar had surged forward and grabbed Metjen beneath the arm, forcing him onward. Atem studied the priest as he slowly approached. Though Jahar was an elderly man — nearing seventy from what Atem could remember from Aknadin's briefings — he had a youthful vigor about him that made him appear much younger. He was completely clean-shaven, even his eyebrows, and he'd painted his lids with so much ink and ash that it seemed his eyes were peering out from the very depths of his soul. He was wearing a bright blue skullcap and a false beard — a tribute to the creator god, Ptah, one of the patron deities of Memphis.
When Jahar had closed at least half the distance between them, he stopped.
"Hello, Sati," he said, his voice thin and reedy, but commanding just the same. "It's good to see you, my dear."
"Jahar," Satiah gasped. Even from several paces behind her, Atem could feel the pain of betrayal in her voice. "Why is my father your prisoner?"
Jahar smiled as he glanced at Metjen, who was sporting several fresh bruises and a large cut above his brow. "This fool…" Jahar turned, projecting his voice louder across the clearing and the ridgeline: "came to beg my surrender!"
Atem flashed his eyes up the slope as laughter staggered through the company of opposing priests.
"It seems he has grown weak in the months without his ka," Jahar went on. "Still, he should have known better than to assume I would kneel before heresy so easily."
Satiah raised a hand to her heart. "Please," she breathed. "Let him go."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Sati," Jahar replied. "Not until I've spoken with the Pharaoh." Jahar's dark eyes shifted, settling directly on Atem. "Come now, your highness — why do you cower behind your wife? Why not face me bravely like the god-king you claim to be?"
Immediately, Atem felt himself compelled into motion. He came up beside Satiah, where he laid a heavy hand to her shoulder and squared his body in front of hers.
"You have your audience," Atem said, cutting quick. "Now release Metjen."
Jahar smiled. "As you wish, my king." He lifted a hand and pushed hard on Metjen's shoulder, causing him to stumble several paces forward before falling roughly to the ground.
Satiah rushed out and dropped to her knees before her father, pulling away his bonds and gag and helping him to sit up.
"I'm sorry, Sati," he said in a low voice. "I failed you…"
She shook her head and hugged him, then helped him to his feet. Together, they receded back toward the temple. Atem met his wife's eyes only for a flicker of a moment as she passed him. Whatever anger she'd been holding onto from their previous dispute was now completely gone. For perhaps the first time in as long as he'd known her, Satiah looked truly fearful.
With a deep inhale, Atem returned his stare to his foe.
"Atem, son of Aknamkanon," Jahar called, drawing himself up proudly. "Your reputation precedes you. Barely a month upon your father's throne, and they say you have already added a god to your growing collection of stolen spirits."
Atem felt his breath circling painfully in his lungs. "Chief Priest Jahar," he replied loudly. "I must admit, my patience for rebellion runs even thinner than my father's." He swept his eyes along the ridgeline behind the old priest. "Tell me, what grievance do you bear that would cause you to threaten such violence on the doorstep of your own homeland?"
Jahar scoffed dismissively. "When we defected from the Conclave, it was out of loyalty to our fallen nomark — and anger for the upheaval of his noble lineage." He shifted his eyes briefly toward the temple, where Satiah was tending to her father's injuries just inside the gate. "But when that lapdog came to me, pleading for my surrender… I realized there was much more at stake than just a simple matter of bloodlines. For years we have been forced to live under the tyranny of your father, watching as the souls of our brothers and sisters across Egypt are ripped out and sealed for all eternity. When Anubis finally came for him, we rejoiced—" Atem curled his hands into fists. "—hopeful that his successor would put an end to these crimes. But you were not content to simply follow in your father's footsteps, were you? You have since defiled the tombs of your holy ancestors, and added heresy to the list of your family's many sins!"
With some effort, Atem unclenched his quivering jaw. "I have lived my whole life in the long shadow of my kin," he started. "But I will not be bound by their actions — sinful or otherwise. Nor will I entertain such treasonous claims from my subjects! This country has seen decades of peace under the rule of my father, and so it shall remain under mine." Atem thrust his hand out to his foe. "To that end, you will kneel before your Pharaoh, or you will suffer the fate of all traitors."
Jahar barked a wry laugh. "How tempting an offer! After all, it seems with enough groveling, even a traitor can rise to become the Pharaoh's faithful lapdog." More amusement rippled among the priests along the ridgeline. "But I assure you, we have no intention of bowing to heretics or boy-kings."
"Then it is a good thing he is neither."
Atem tensed at the familiar voice, and he turned to see Satiah standing behind him again, her amber eyes aflame in the light of the sinking sun.
"It was the very gods themselves who charged the Pharaoh with securing the Holy Ka," she went on. "Our battle — the only battle that matters now — is against the darkness. And no one else."
Atem looked back at the old priest. His eyes had gone wide and shining as his former student addressed him directly. "Satiah," he said softly. "All of Memphis wept the day you were taken from us. We hoped against hope you would one day return to serve as rightful caretaker of this nome." He blinked, and any hint of sentimentality was quickly purged from his stare. "But I see now our tears were in vain. If you would rather bow to your royal husband than take up your father's mantle, then so be it."
"Jahar—" Satiah choked. "Please don't do this."
"I'm sorry, Sati. But you leave us no choice." Jahar cut Satiah from his gaze, settling it squarely on Atem now. "Come, boy. If you truly believe yourself to be the god's chosen one — then prove it. Duel me."
Atem sucked in a deep breath, feeding the fire in the pit of his stomach. A footstep nestled into the sand behind him, but he held out his arm before his wife could speak the words on her tongue.
"I accept," he announced. "On one condition: You and I shall be the only competitors in this duel. No one — not a single soul on either side — shall interfere."
Jahar smirked. "I would have it no other way."
Atem smelled the salt of brimming tears behind him, but he dare not take his eyes from his foe. "Tend to your father," he said in a low voice, barely so much as turning his shoulders to Satiah.
The heavy silence was cut in half by a sharp breath, followed by hurried footsteps. When Atem was sure the battlefield was clear, he angled himself toward his foe and drew deeply from the anger thrashing in his soul.
"DIAHA!"
Light crashed down from the heavens — two ragged bolts surrounding the duelists, sending forth their hostile ka. Atem called instinctively on his trusted God-Tamer Magician, who had since grown to be his strongest companion after their triumph in Menkaura's tomb. It materialized at Atem's command, adorned now in sleek armor and bearing its coiled whip.
Across the clearing, the white light of magic turned skyward and unfurled to shimmer umbral in the sinking sun. Silky black wings stretched out from Jahar's creature, framing a narrow bird-like head, beset with eyes as red as sun disks. All the way down its slender neck, body, and tail, dark sinew rippled like freshly forged armor. "Red-Eyes Black Dragon! Cleanse this tyrant with your burning flame!"
The air was filled with a shrill cry, which echoed and distorted into something much more sinister as the red-eyed Dragon circled over the arena. It stopped to hover above Atem's Magician, and the creature's jaws separated, white teeth flaring red as fire gathered behind them.
Hurriedly, Atem ordered his ka to dodge — and not a moment too soon. The Dragon unleashed a hellish ball of fire from its mouth, careening toward the earth at lightning speed. It erupted against the ground, and Atem himself had to shield his head from the debris which rained down afterward. Thankfully, as he turned his eyes up, his Magician appeared to have escaped the damage as well. The spellcaster was flying well within striking distance of the Dragon now — slightly below and behind it.
"Attack!" Atem ordered.
Obediently, the Magician curled its whip, which snapped forward in a blur of black and a crash of broken air. Atem clenched his fists in triumph to see the whip had connected squarely with one of the Dragon's wing's, its black flesh tangled in the barbed tether. The monster roared its disapproval, beating its free wing in an attempt to pull away. But bravely, the Magician held on.
Across the arena, Jahar shouted an incoherent command. Immediately, the Red-Eyes changed directions. Instead of flying away from the Magician, it took a steep dive toward it, then began curling its body in a tight spiral — spinning so fast Atem could no longer make out any of its distinctive features. He could sense the Magician's fear as the whip was nearly torn from its hands, until finally the Dragon pulled up from its dive and spread its wings again — this time, freed from its bonds.
Reeling, Atem almost missed it when another glow of red began to form in the creature's jaws. He swept his arm out toward his ka, and the Magician just barely managed to escape yet another full-force blast of fire from its foe.
Weakened from the effort, the Magician was forced to return to the earth, where it sank down to one knee to gather itself. Urgently, Atem tried to restore a meaningful connection to his ka — to give it the strength it needed to prevail. But by the time the spellcaster staggered to its feet, the Dragon was already circling again, letting out another screeching cry ahead of its next attack.
But heat and fire never came. Instead, Atem looked up, just in time to see the red-eyed Dragon pulling in its wings, its sharp body bolting toward the ground with the speed of a swooping falcon. Again, Atem ordered the Magician to dodge, and clumsily, the spellcaster hurled itself skyward — almost directly into the path of the Dragon's attack.
Atem felt it first — searing pain scratching down his back like hot nails, pulling forth a tortured groan from his lungs. The same pain echoed in the cry of his spirit, and through squinted eyes, Atem saw the Magician clutching at its own back as it continued to flee desperately into the air. Four sharp gashes were now carved deep into the spellcaster's robes and armor, all the way down to bloodied skin.
Gasps and exclamations rippled among the spectators, friend and foe alike. Atem's already incensed nerves were suddenly whipped into a thrashing sea. Given a burst of strength, his ka responded, twisting its body to face the Red-Eyes again, which was still maintaining its pursuit. With both hands, the Magician snapped its whip, sending a black bolt streaking toward the Dragon.
This time, there was no satisfying crack of a successful tether. Instead, the Dragon let loose a screech of triumph, and Atem felt his heart falling through his core to see the creature had caught the barbed end of the whip in both its hands.
The next brief moments passed like an eternity. The red-eyed Dragon soared overhead, wrapping the Magician in the slack of its own whip. With its foe entangled, the Red-Eyes then swooped backward in a wide arc, swinging the Magician like an obscene pendulum over the arena and back down toward the earth. Atem braced himself for the impact, but the brutal force still brought him crashing to his knees, his chest caving painfully inward.
More shouts and curses filled the air as Atem clutched to himself, barely managing to survey the smoke-filled field through one squinted eye. Though he could not make out the shape of his spirit through the dust and sand, he knew his ka hadn't given up yet. But as the sun was blotted out overhead, Atem feared the Magician's time — and his own — might still be running out.
Sure enough, heat soon gathered above him in the shadows, and Atem turned his face up to watch as the red-eyed Dragon let loose a storm of hellfire down upon his defenseless spirit in the center of the arena.
Another frozen moment was given new life at the sound of footsteps. Atem turned his head, though he already knew well whose feet were dashing across the hot sand — Satiah surged past him, her arm held up to the sky in preparation to summon her ka.
"No!" Atem staggered to his feet, thrusting both his hands out to his spirit where it lay several yards ahead. Grunting, the Magician sat up and curled its whip, cracking it in a tight circle over its head. A shimmering vortex appeared above the spirit, forming a windforce shield that succeeded in absorbing and diverting most of the Dragon's attack. But the resounding clash of gale and fire cleaved a forceful void through the air, and Atem was forced to watch helplessly as his wife was knocked off her feet by a hailstorm of heated wind thrown in her direction.
When her body hit the sand, Atem felt as if his spirit had died a thousand times. But nothing — not even so much as a breath left his lungs. Not until her shoulders stirred and her eyes lifted weakly up to meet his.
Then — everything.
Every possible emotion lashed itself across his heart: Fear. Sorrow. Guilt.
Rage.
Wrath and fury unlike anything he'd ever felt before. And suddenly — pain trickled white-hot from the top of his head, and he turned that pain to his opponent — now no more than a fearful old man hiding beneath his spirit creature.
Atem felt the ground shaking beneath his feet, and within moments a shadow grew behind him, huge and towering and cloaked in Holy retribution. Fear infected the arena like disease, but not a single man or woman could bear to take their eyes away from the God who had come to mete its wrath upon the plane of the living.
Across the way, Jahar fell back a step, into the safe shadow of his spirit creature. "Is this…?"
His head still clenched in a fist of pain, Atem finally allowed himself a life-giving breath. "Obelisk!" he cried. Then, he lifted his hand, stretching just one finger out to channel every ounce of his essence toward his foe.
"Attack."
The God lifted its mighty foot and surged over Atem's head, striding by him like a giant over a mountain. Bravely, Jahar made a move to order his ka, but no matter where the spirit flitted, it was only inches away from the hulking mass of Obelisk. Even as the red-eyed Dragon tried to unleash an attack, its fire sparked pitifully off Obelisk's blue armor. Growling with impatience, Obelisk reached one of its clawed hands out and swiped at the air, easily catching the Red-Eyes in its grasp. The Dragon cried out like a fowl caught in a trap, its black wings slithering between Obelisk's mighty fingers. The God bared its gleaming teeth in a grin of satisfaction, then swung its arm in a high arc over its head and loosed Jahar's creature like a meteor toward the earth.
The thunderous impact nearly drowned the old priest's strangled cry, but Atem made sure to savor every moment of it just the same. When the smoke cleared, Obelisk was left standing over the shattered husk of the Red-Eyes Black Dragon, driven deep into a scorched and smoldering crater.
Across the battlefield, Atem's opponent slumped first to his knees, then teetered forward like a broken statue to collapse face-first into the sunbaked sand. Though Jahar's ba was surely drained, Atem swore he saw the sun flickering off the body of his spirit creature. And so with pain still smoldering in his heart, Atem raised his hand again in gesture to his God. Obelisk groaned its consent, then lifted its hand to the sky, where sparks of white light gathered at the tips of its clawed fingers.
When the God closed its fist, Atem felt his rage being replaced with something new — something almost euphoric. He found his face breaking with a smile as Obelisk reared its hand back, ready to unleash righteous judgment upon its master's enemy.
"STO-OP!"
Warmth and mercy enveloped him, and Atem felt his new power fading like rain on dry sand. He blinked, and suddenly Satiah was everywhere, all around him — her trembling arms thrown about his middle, her tear-streaked face a canvas of tender pain and sorrow. Immediately, Obelisk halted its attack, almost without Atem even commanding it to do so. With a soft groan, it loosened its mighty fist and let it fall slack to its side.
"Please," Satiah begged, her voice hitched and halting. "No more."
The battlefield fell as silent as a tomb, but each of his wife's withering sobs was a spear through Atem's heart. She crumpled against him, her fingers clawing at his cloak and arms. Even as shame wracked him, he could not bring himself to support her — to lift her back up and hold her as he so longed to do. His eyes were locked on the battlefield ahead — where the might of a God still towered over his conquered foe.
Slowly, Atem lifted a hand and wished away all the ka before him. They disappeared like so much sand in the desert, leaving nothing but the eyes of man gazing down upon him from all angles. He felt their fear and anger — their wonder and horror. Along the ridge, Jahar's followers stirred restlessly, trading whispers and uncertain glances in an attempt to find purpose in their leader's full and resounding defeat.
Atem finally let his head fall away from them, turning to look at where Satiah still clutched weakly to his middle. Her amber eyes were as round as moon disks and drowned in tears. Atem clenched his teeth and lifted a hand to cover one of hers. At first, he meant only to hold it — in the hopes his touch might reassure her somehow. But soon, he found himself tugging on her fingers, loosening her death grip on his cloak. Coldly, he released her hand and made a move to leave her. The choked sound she let out sent another stake of shame into his heart, but he pushed through it — striding purposefully across the battlefield to stand over the motionless body of his opponent.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze back up to the sun-streaked mountainside. Wide eyes bloomed like stars across the ridgeline, but Jahar's followers bravely stood their ground — a fact Atem could not help but respect.
"Your traitorous leader has been defeated," he declared, his voice echoing among the rocks like a war drum. "By the grace of the gods, I have spared his life. Now, the time has come for you to make your decision. Submit to me unconditionally and I promise, no more blood shall be spilled. But if you should turn your back on your Pharaoh today, I swear upon the wrath of the Holy Gods — we will show you no such mercy as was given here today."
Silence fell in the wake of his words, broken only by the snuffing of a horse or the trickle of sand across stones. Moments passed like hours, with the heat of Ra's eye slowly winnowing to a thread behind the ridgeline. But in the end, not a single man or woman found words with which to address their king. Instead, one by one, they turned their horses westward, letting nothing but the hollow song of the wind speak for them.
Footsteps hurried across the sand behind him, and Atem knew his Guardians were rushing to his side. "Pharaoh!" came Aknadin's panicked voice. "We must not let them get away! Quickly, send the Conclave in pursuit—"
Atem held up his hand, stopping the Guardian in his tracks. In the next brief silence, the sound of his wife's weeping came flooding to his ears again. He looked back to see her being gathered in her father's arms like a child. Atem watched guiltily as Metjen turned and receded toward the temple, his daughter's face buried into his shoulder.
Briefly, Atem dropped his eyes to Jahar before he rounded on his Guardians. "Take him to the cells," he said, setting off for the temple.
Suddenly, Seto stepped forward. "What of his ka?"
Atem stopped, though he kept his eyes locked on his wife and her father until they disappeared beyond the temple gate. "Leave it."
Seto looked vexed. "But, my king—"
"That was an order," Atem snapped.
Stunned, Seto lowered his head and pressed a hand to his heart. Mahad made a quick gesture to the group of priests standing near the edge of the temple, who sent two men over to take Jahar under the arms. Swiftly, they carried the old man into the temple, with the rest of the priests and Guardians trailing behind.
When they were gone, Atem turned his eyes back to the ridgeline to watch the last of Jahar's followers disappear into the safe embrace of the mountains.