Shadow of the Sun (The Shadow Saga) (11 page)

Children are to be honored,” replied Grand Djedti. Sweat beaded along her henna-dyed auburn hair.

Anen shot back. “There is still some question as to who will inherit the right to rule after you, Sister. It is not assured that Nefertiti or your son will be chosen. The Amun priesthood believes you Atenists are usurping their power. Remember, Ti-Yee, the Priesthood always chooses the Pharaoh and Per Aat. Royalty never passes on the throne. The Hanuti will not be pushed too far.”

“What is their plan, Anen? Tell us,” said Ay, leaning closer.

“The Hanuti have chosen someone else to play the role of Nekhbet in the upcoming Opet Festival. Mery-Ptah, the High Priest, and those in allegiance to the Vizier outnumbered us.”

“But the role of the vulture goddess has always been mine.” Grand Djedti stomped. “I declined the role so that Nefertiti would be recognized as my next in line.”

“Who have they chosen?” asked Ay. Sweat trickled down his face.

“It matters not. Nefertiti is my choice,” argued Grand Djedti, her hands balled into little fists. The violent rage of Hathor-Sekhmet spewed forth. I thought about the text in school we recited: The Eye of Ra rises against you, she devours you, she chastises you. In this moment, the wrath of Sekhmet merged with my Grand Djedti. Both formidable, it thrilled me that I hailed from her lineage. One day, I too would earn this power of Sekhmet.

“You have authority in court, but the Opet festival celebration is at the discretion of the Amun High Officials.”

“Who did they chose?” Ay asked again of his brother, more firmly this time.

“Sit-Amun.”

I cringed. If they only knew about the red ram and her attempt to kill my grandmother.

“How dare they? The role of Nekhbet is always offered to the highest ranking female,” said the Per Aat.

Anen’s voice was coarse. “Did you not think that Sit-Amun would grow weary in your shadow? She still is Pharaoh’s first consort, and no longer the little girl you once kept quiet like a muzzled puppy.” “I warned you she would stand against us one day,” snarled Ay.

“I am sure she has made a pact with the Hanuti,” said Ti-Yee. “Losing this role at the Opet Festival will be of great consequence. The Sesh love Nefertiti. If she does not represent the vulture goddess, this will be a public humiliation. It weakens our hold on the throne.”

If we lost the throne, my family would perish. Our dreams of peace would perish. There had to be a way to keep my parents in power.

“The Amun priesthood spreads filth that your son is not a pure Khemitian. They whisper that we will taint the line because Yuya, our father was a Semite, even though our Mother is full Khemitian. Sit-Amun, too, is pure Khemitian, and she pushes the Hanuti to intervene.” “Mery-Ptah and his priests feel Pharaoh blasphemed the Khemitian custom by allowing you two to join and make you his Chief Royal Wife,” said Anen. His face paled even in the candle light. “Sit-Amun calls our ancestors Semite sheepherders. She claims we have the smell of manure still on our hands. As of late, she turned the favor of the court against me.” “Am I pure Khemitian?” I asked, realizing this seemed important.

Grand Djedti shook her head. “No, Merit-Aten, you too are a mixture of Semite and Khemitian blood.”

My knees knocked. “Does that mean that my parents cannot rule?”

“Not if I have the power as the Per Aat.”

Ay’s eye twitched. “Sit-Amun has an alliance with Mery-Ptah. I have heard whispers she will choose him as her new consort once Pharaoh wests. If the Pharaoh does not announce that your son will rule by his side, then we are lost.”

Ti-Yee spit on the ground twice. “I should cast the evil eye upon her. How dare she cross my path?”

Anen shook his head. “Take care, Sister. The dark side of the Hanuti favor her.”

“Those are only rumors. If I could prove she practices the black arts, then the Pharaoh would have to exile his little sister,” stated Ti-Yee. I gasped.

“I
heard Sit-Amun had her Royal Nit Picker publicly flogged for lying today,” said The Bath Attendant, snuffing out the candles in my chamber a few days later.

Hep-Mut yanked my side lock hard, making me whimper. “Lying about what?”

“The Nit Picker told The Wig Maker that she saw a bowl of human blood upon the altar in Sit-Amun’s private chamber.”

The dwarf pinched my arm. “Simply foolish.” Hep-Mut’s hands shook.

My stomach churned as I recalled knocking over her bowl of blood. “I have no time for gossip. Nefertiti is expecting Merit-Aten in the presentation hall so she can take her fifth year test. If she passes, she will be allowed to learn the Aten Rituals.”

“These are glad tidings,” said the Bath Attendant. “Sorry for interrupting your studies. I shall just clean.” She scrubbed the floor on her knees.

“Now how many stages does the sun evolve through each day?” asked Hep-Mut.

I glanced at the Bath Mistress, wishing she’d leave. “Five.”

“Name them.”

“The baby sun in the morning is Kheper. The child sun is Ra. The mature ruler is Oon. The old man who becomes the Wesir of the Aten. The death or darkness is the Amun.” The Bath Attendant kept mopping the red granite.

“Correct.” Hep-Mut gave me a satisfied look. “When our earthly sun arises anew in all its glory, we call this the dawning or Kheper. This is when we awaken to what was hidden or forgotten during the long night. The symbol is the Kheper scarab beetle. When the sun travels overhead, this is the age of Ra. Early afternoon the sun becomes the great ruler Oon. As the sun ages during the day, at last it becomes the benevolent ruler, or Aten, the Wesir, the one who must sacrifice itself when it reaches perfection, just like Osiris did. I think you are ready. It is time to see your Meti.”

We made a hasty departure both of us silent until we turned the corner.

“That poor Nit Picker.” Hep-Mut squeezed my hand. “She was the third one.”

“Third?” I gulped and felt faint.

“Promise you will never tell anyone about the red tent or Sit-Amun’s private chamber. Or we too could disappear.” Hep-Mut wheeled me around and looked into my eyes.

“Promise.” Pledging that oath forbid me revealing any of this to Grand Djedti.

* * *

I
thought about that oath during my entire test but still I passed with ease.

Meti clapped her hands. “Merit, this is a day of celebration. You did the Salutation to the Sun ritual so well. Your father will expect you to perform for the opening of the Gem-Pa-Aten Temple during the Opet Festival. I will order a special ceremonial robe to be made for you to match mine. Practice with the musicians one more time. When you are finished join us in the reception room.”

Later, I skipped out of the chamber, thinking only of the nest Hep- Mut promised to show my sister, Meket, and me. Down the hallway, some of my classmates huddled. Keshtuat tossed her long braids. She wore her usual finery made by her Meti, the court seamstress. She bragged to Sarawat, the second-born akh of the court wigmaker, about her new bed to be carved with the head of a lioness. Her Meti was commissioned to design an elaborate ritual outfit. This honor would garner much attention because of the clever use of expensive materials and fine handwork. Sarawat bragged her HeMeti had designed a most unusual wig, and that this opportunity would afford them many elaborate gold and lapis bracelets. The other akh begged to learn more. I tried to edge my way into the conversation, but they ignored me.

“My father told me that any material fancy enough for an Opet Costume would take many moons before it arrived at our docks,” said the Chief of Imports’ son, Ra-Awab.

Keshtuat flipped her braid. “She commissioned this special costume to be as blue as the sky, with real feathers plucked from the wings of a vulture. This will be the finest ritual costume ever made.”

“What costume?” I raised my voice.

“For the Festival in two months,” replied Rennutet in her mouse-meek voice.

“The wig that we designed is also blue and layered in the Nubian style,” said Sarawat. “Never has such a wig been created.”

Meti had already placed her order for my costume. I wanted to brag that it was mine but my older classmates disregarded me. I hung my head and slumped my shoulders.

“We are all going to the temple square this afternoon to buy some of the imported perfumes,” said Rennutet. “Would your HeMeti allow you to join us?”

“She expects me in the Royal reception chambers.”

“Another time,” she said, then turned her attention back to the crowd.

I had discovered Meti’s surprise. The hairs on my arms stood up. HeMeti said I would need new dressings for my first ritual. I did love blue too, but as of a fortnight ago, I told Hep-Mut that I changed my favorite color to malachite green. I would alert HeMeti, not blue, but green. And vulture feathers were ugly. HeMeti would understand.

Peals of laughter overflowed from the reception chamber. A game of rolling pins was set up on the floor of the granite hall. My father, wearing his tall blue war crown, focused on his mark. He let loose a stone ball, which gathered the force of a boulder tumbling downhill. It slammed into the rows of yellow carved jackals and Nile blue hippopotami.

Grand Djedti Ti-Yee squealed. Two younger boys set the pins back into tidy rows like ears of corn. HeMeti and Ay heckled Ti-Yee.

“Sister, take care not to cast that burden behind you,” said Ay with great gusto. “This is the final round and we trail you by only a hippo and three jackals.”

“Do not let it sail into the air like a reckless swallow.” Meti lifted her wineglass.

Grand Djedti set her ball a sail onto the ocean of green tile. The ball knocked down all but one crocodile. “I smote them like the Hittite army.”

“Wish to wager?” Ay nudged his sister, Ti-Yee. “A case of vintage wine from my northern estate. Those grapes are as sweet as the milk of Hathor,” he said, clearly making reference to the cow Deity known as She of the Magnificent Breasts.