Shadow of the Sun (The Shadow Saga) (4 page)

F
our years later, the Amunite priests dedicated to the worship of Amun, the Hidden Lord still retained control over the Temples and subjugated the Khemitian people through the use of greed, superstition and intimidation. My family yearned to free the
Ses
h, the downtrodden commoners and the uneducated rabble of our country, by introducing the loving light of the single deity, the Aten. I longed for a way to help. And for that it would take a miracle…or magic.

My feet padded over the limestone floors of the Malkata Palace where I took my first
titi
, the
Khemitian
word for steps. Holding a bundle of worn scrolls, I could barely see over them.

“Merit-Aten, put down those papyri. Come, let me tend you.”

Hep-Mut, my white-robed dwarf nursemaid, waddled after me like a clumsy pelican. Nurturing me awake by singing, kissing my bruised knees when I fell, or creating a hand-sewn menagerie of spice-filled toys, my nursemaid swept away all my childhood upsets with her loving grace.

“When will the scribes deliver more?” I asked. “I have torn
Horus and the Black Pig
to shreds.” The Khemitian myths enchanted me. Those who had been wronged—simple folk and deities alike, could, by nature of their purity and valor, magically overcome their foe and restore justice, or
Ma’at
.

“I cannot believe that a four-year-old read all of those,” said the Bath Mistress. Her lips puckered as though she’d just eaten a slice of tart lemon. “Luckily, she is a Royal. No one teaches us commoners to read.”

Hep-Mut leaned in, “The Deities blessed this one. Always been far ahead of others her age. She has the smarts,” said Hep-Mut pointing to her head before swooping me up like a falcon snatching its prey. “And she is clearly her father’s daughter. Always studying.” The dwarf kissed my forehead. “Hurry, the Mitanni entourage has arrived. You will miss the Greeting Ceremony unless we leave now.”

The Bath Mistress wrinkled her nose. She never pretended to enjoy attending to all the new foreign women my grandfather, the Pharaoh, brought into the palace. So she pecked like a hen about the faults of the outsiders while bragging she was a native Khemitian.

“Merit is blessed to have grown up in this fine mudbrick palace,” said The Bath Mistress. “I dreamed of stucco walls gilded in gleaming gold instead of the pig’s sty I came from.” She mimicked the royalty’s gliding steps, a swan skimming the water.

“A far cry from my dirty farm near Akhmim,” said Hep-Mut. “I was born with dung between my toes, too.” Hep-Mut adjusted my sheath. “Now, I sleep upon a feather bed and use a real toilet instead of a bush outside. This fortress is at least safe. I am happy every time The Pharaoh marries another daughter of one of his enemies. Less barbarians crossing our borders to rape us and pillage our villages.”

I heard the commotion in the courtyard and on tiptoes peeked out the window. “Hep-Mut, they have arrived. King Tushratta’s daughter is welcoming her forty new attendants. Why are there so many children?” Hep-Mut glanced out the window. “They belong to the attendants. Some are your age.”

“They look clean. Look at all the camels loaded with presents for Grand Djed and Djedti.” I hoped there would be something magical in those treasures.

“Where will they all fit?” asked The Bath Mistress. “Those foreigners cling to their traditions and language like the trunks of possessions from a land that has already forgotten their faces.” Hugging the folded towels to her breasts, she imitated the haughty women who paraded around the palace refusing to learn our language. “I swear they are panthers with hidden claws coming to scratch out more of our land and our men.”

Hep-Mut hushed her. “Big eyes hide everywhere.” She made circles with her fingers as if she spied. “Remember the watchful eyes of the hidden Amun priesthood. They hear and see all. It means death if the watchers hear you sully the sacred name of the Pharaoh or his consorts. Just a fortnight ago, the guards yanked the gardener from his cot and beheaded him for treason because he spit at the feet of a foreign daughter who allowed her goat to eat his prized flowers.”

Pointing to the ground, The Bath Mistress whispered, “I hear the vermin have tunneled under the floors to listen. They record and report all our words and actions back to their Amun superiors. Take a look at this, you filthy spies.” She lifted her sheath to expose her ample rump. Hep-Mut exploded in the hee-haw laughter of a donkey. After The Bath Attendant and I joined in the merriment, Hep-Mut returned to her daily chore of shaving half my head clean with a razor. With a precise hand, she avoided my side lock of six dark braids on the right side of my head, which symbolized my youth. “I think the Pharaoh and Per Aat should be allowed to choose their own heirs,” said Hep-Mut. “Then all this chaos would stop.” The Bath Mistress set down the water urn. “I hear the Amun priests insist that Pharaoh choose his own sister, Sit-Amun, as his successor instead of his son, Merit’s father. That would bring calamity. She displays that Magical Papyrus of Amun upon her altar and probably casts evil spells.”

That caught my attention, but I pretended to gaze at my image in the polished brass mirror with the
Hathor
head handle. A new papyrus?
Magic
. That word made my skin tingle. If I could learn magic, I could block spying Amun priests and vanquish all these invaders. That would help me fulfill my destiny. I had to find the Papyrus of Amun.

I sat on my low ebony stool, playing with a wood ball. With clumsy hands, Hep-Mut guided the golden feather-shaped clasp into my braids. I touched the green swirls of light near her heart and could feel her soothing love for me. I smiled.

“We are late,” said Hep-Mut. “We had best cut through the back estate.” She took the shortest route by shepherding me past the hall with the statuary carved by my talented Aunt, Sit-Amun.

“What is down there?” I asked, tossing my ball to Hep-Mut.

She flung it back. “Sit-Amun’s private quarters. We are not allowed in there.”

“Is that where the magic scroll of Amun is?”

“Perhaps.”

That magic scroll with words ancient and powerful beckoned me. I had to know. It might be my only chance to ever read it. I was never allowed on this side of Sit-Amun’s private palace.

“Catch!” I tossed my ball over Hep-Mut’s head. It sailed down the foyer and rolled out of sight.

“Ears of Hathor. Do not think I will get it for you.”

“I will get it.” I ran after the ball.

“Wait!” Hep-Mut chased me.

A half-cracked door led to a room filled with flickering light. I tiptoed in. Hundreds of candles stood at attention like royal guards. An alabaster bowl positioned in front of a tray with a piece of rotting flesh was now peppered with flies. Upon the black granite altar lay a decorated papyrus propped up by an easel. The beautiful symbolic writing intrigued me. There had to be magic here.

“I have your ball. Let us leave.”

“Just one look.” My fingers traveled over the sacred texts. I read aloud, “Ah-Mun, the Hidden One. May He rule in darkness forever. Hail to Thee, Master of all Deities, who stole the throne of Osiris to illumine the Netherworld. Come thou who carriest out the plans of the Shadowed Ones.”

A shrill whimper pierced through a linen-draped cage. Moving closer, I reached to examine it.

A plume of black smoke whirled into the room as Sit-Amun manifested. “How dare you? You trespassed in my private sanctuary. No one is allowed here!”

Startled, I turned and tipped over the orange-veined alabaster bowl, the contents of which soiled the altar. A thick red puddle splashed upon the sacred book.

“Fools!” Sit-Amun snarled. An ink bottle tumbled off her tray and spilt upon her ancient crimson ceremonial robe. Little veins of ink seeped across the rich woven linen embroidered with golden symbols. “Look what you have done!” She hovered over us. The violent mystery of her hardened beauty made me tremble. Her cold black calculating eyes—so like a jackal—accentuated her inhumane howl. My heart pounded. The terror of getting caught and the certainty of punishment made my knees knock.

“I am sorry for my clumsiness,” said Hep-Mut, her voice quaking as she scurried to clean up the mess.

Aunt Sit-Amun drew back her hand to slap Hep-Mut, then stopped. “Is this any way to treat the Royal Consort of Pharaoh? And you, you wretched little thing.” She pointed at me. “You are Nefertiti’s first born? I have beheaded slaves and hung them upside down in front of the red obelisk for lesser acts. You have ruined a precious hundred-year-old relic. You will pay for this.”

My lower lip quaked. No one had ever raised a voice to me. The pleasure Sit-Amun took in my discomfort danced in her eyes. Hep-Mut shielded me. “Glorious One, she is only a child.” I wished Sit-Amun had slapped us both and banished us. My stomach churned. I felt like a worm before a praying mantis. “You are Khemitian, Hep-Mut. How can you serve those not from our pure lineage? It is an abomination. The Amun priests should never have allowed my brother’s joining with a Semite.”

“But Ti-Yee and Nefertiti are kind to me.” Hep-Mut shook with fright. “I will tell Merit-Aten’s father you came here as a thief to ransack my private chamber.” Hep-Mut fell to her knees. “Please, I beg you, do not smear my name.” “I have the power to throw you both out into the street for your indiscretion today.” Sit-Amun smirked and dropped the remaining black ink bottles, which shattered on the limestone floor. Black ink seeped into the cracks between tiles. Sit-Amun smiled with a smugness that made me flush. Why did she have to be so cruel to my nursemaid? This was my fault, not Hep-Mut’s.

Sit-Amun pointed at Hep-Mut. “Kiss the hem of my sheath.” The dwarf crawled to do the eerie woman’s bidding. Sit-Amun laughed like a gloating hyena after killing its prey. How dare she treat my nursemaid like this? Why did I have no power to stop this?

“Clean up this entire floor all the way down the hall. Every piece of limestone must shine.”

Red swirls burned at the base of Sit-Amun’s spine. The red rage of survival signaled her compulsive fear. Sit-Amun always used fear to reduce others into submission. While I dreaded her jackal’s wrath, the swirling colors mesmerized me.

Hep-Mut ripped her gown and beat upon her chest. “Please forgive us.” The ugly black ink stain turned into one hundred spiders, which enveloped Hep-Mut. She shrieked and swatted them off her face and body. Sit-Amun gloated as the black arachnids engulfed my diminutive caretaker. I threw up my hands to keep them from jumping onto me. How did Sit-Amun have so much power and magic? A sharp noise pricked the air as the drape-covered platform quaked.

“What is that?” I asked, pointing at the stand.

Distracted, Sit-Amun waved her hand and the spiders evaporated.

“You are dismissed. Go now. You dare not say a word about this, or I will keep my promise.”