The Forgotten: Aten's Last Queen (69 page)

“The boy I had sentenced to death?” I spat at Horemheb.

“A ruse. Tutankhamun was so upset at the attack, we had to come up with someone to blame. And bringing him to you, well, it was likely you would not make him suffer. You were always so kind. Tutankhamun was appeased. It was forgotten.”

“What about the threat of Aten worshippers?”

“That was no lie, but they loved you and Tutankhamun. They were not against you or wanted you dead. The boy was one of them, but he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Horemheb hung his head. “His death was my fault. I am sorry, Queen.”

“Tutankhamun trusted you!”

“I thank the gods you survived. When I saw Tutankhamun so scared for you, I knew I could never do such a thing again. He spoke of loving you, but until I saw his face -- it was then that I knew he needed you. That dream haunted me, and because of it, I never gave you a chance. But I knew the words Seth spoke would come to pass. I knew eventually you would fail him in some way, and he would die. But it was not you. It was so many things.”

Djhutmose spoke gently to Horemheb, “And do you understand what you must do now?”

“To protect him, I must erase him.” Horemheb replied solemnly.

I was confused. Apparently, Ay was too.

“This is my country now! I command you leave us! I never want to see you again!” he snapped.

Djhutmose smacked the bottom of his staff on the ground, and it sounded like a thunder crack. Moisture formed in the air. A dark mist began to float in between us.

“Elohim shows you mercy again and again. You push Him away! Your obsession and anger caused your second child to die by your hand. Elohim called me while I was on a mountaintop. He brought me here to save her, to reach out to you one last time, but your heart is as shriveled as a grape left out in the sun. Your time will soon come to an end!”

Djhutmose’s staff seemed to shrink from his grasp and melted onto the ground. All the mist in the air was sapped into the shape that was now writhing and slithering on the ground. There were two shapes that grew out and pulled apart from where the staff had once been. Their tongues preceded them over to Ay. Long brown snakes with eyes darker than a sealed tomb. Ay was still as they approached. The snakes seemed to lick Ay’s feet. They twisted themselves up his legs, one on each, and moved up to his waist.

“Elohim will give you five more years to your life.”

Just then, the first snake struck. It jumped up and caught Ay by the arm with its coiled body. Fangs bared, it snapped its jaw around Ay’s right hand. He screamed.

“Your final wish will come true. You will be Pharaoh, but each day, you will become sicker and sicker. Eventually, your body will no longer obey your wishes. Horemheb will help you until your death. Then he will be Pharaoh. He will protect this family, as you should have done.”

The second snake dropped to Ay’s feet again, and it struck his left foot. Ay fell backward and yelped. His buttocks smacked the tile. His flailing arms knocked over chairs and lamps. Lamp flames struck the floor, but they burned out as if the tiles had blown them away.

“Each day for the rest of your life, you will wake up and see the image of someone’s life you have destroyed. For that day, you will feel their pain and sorrow within you. Your heart will bleed as theirs did. Your thoughts will be as confused and broken as theirs became. One person, for these last five years, will fill your days. It starts with the men at your feet. First your son-in-law, then the man who could have been your faithful and loyal son-in-law if he had been given the chance. Both who you killed today by your hand and your actions. You will wish for death. You will feel what they felt before they died. And each new day, you will feel a new person’s pain. One day, perhaps, you will know how much you have been blessed. Perhaps you will understand all that you were given by the day of your death. You will know when this day arrives, for it will be the day you see your grandson’s face once more.”

The snakes let go. They seemed to harden up, grow brittle. They twisted. Their bodies elongated, but they did not join together this time. In a few moments, they were two separate knobby shafts of dark wood.

I heard Amyntas’s sharp breathing as this all happened. He whispered, “It’s just like the stories of Moshe’s visit to Kemet as Adonai’s chosen. God is truly here with us!”

Djhutmose pointed to me. “Look at your granddaughter, Ay, and see. Everything she asked for in life was taken away. She fell in love. You tried to kill the boy Elohim led my people to and saved. She never asked to be queen. You and your sister forced Akhenaten to take her as a wife. She wanted her family remembered. You ordered their tombs to be desecrated. She wanted to raise her daughter and live quietly. And your firstborn? You forced your own daughter to kill her children so nothing more of Akhenaten would survive. Your hatred of him was greater than your love for her. Elohim interceded to save An’s baby. Because He wanted no more death that day, no more of my family died. Then you plotted to eventually kill the son of my brother, Tutankhamun. You stirred up evil thoughts so he lost all hope. Even if their children had survived, you had plans to kill them. You wanted nothing more of my family. But you did not count on faith. You did not count on love to win over you.”

All warmth drained from me then. My body went numb. Did I have limbs anymore? I could feel nothing but the words that were spoken. They were too horrifying for my heart to comprehend. While I had suspected much of it, hearing it all said… my heart seemed to drop out of my body. My eyes blurred red. I remembered this hatred, this anger from long ago.

Djhutmose’s next words seemed to take away the sharp colors from my vision. “She was given nothing, but she approached everything with as much love and acceptance as she could. And you, Ay, you who was given everything, what did you do?”

Ay was crying. His wounds were bleeding. The blood coming from him was so dark, it looked black. “Where was your God when my daughter married that crazed man you called brother? When she called for help and guidance, when she longed to hear your God, where was He? Where was he when her son died? You say He loves us, He spared us. Then where was He when we called out His name!”

“Ay, you were supposed to be that guidance. You were supposed to help your daughter and my brother. You were to be that voice. Why did you not listen? My brother needed you. He needed your guidance. My brother was very impressionable, but I prayed you would lead him well. I loved him. Instead my brother became confused and angry. He was manipulated. Your country lost its budding faith. Where were you?”

Ay’s face changed as if he had been slapped. His expression was slack. The skin seemed to sag off his high cheekbones. There was no more power behind his eyes. There was defeat. He spoke almost in a whisper, “Because He never gave me what
I
asked for most. If your God is so powerful, then why not this one request? He could have granted it. He is a selfish God, that is who you follow. All I wanted was a son.”

I wanted to charge Ay then and slap him so hard that his skin would always burn from the anger that now was alight inside of me again. A son! This all boiled down to a son? This person poisoned my father. The one who told him a daughter was not good enough. The one who looked down upon his own daughter because her son died. All he had wanted was a son! Ay also tainted my husband. Told him a harem was needed, a son was needed. It consumed all of our lives. It destroyed us all. This want! This sour, selfish want!

But I too was selfish. I thought of all the times I had acted solely for my own wants and needs. When I had taken things selfishly. Were they any better than Ay’s? Yet these wants did not drive my ka. They were not the motivations in my life. They did not dominate my thinking. How could one want completely take over a life?

Djhutmose seemed the only one capable of speech, “Was that not the same for Horemheb? He also asked for a son. But his wife caught a river fever and left this world. What did he do? Douse those around him with his grief? Today, yes, he did. But before this day, he poured his care over the young prince who needed a father. And his wife bore him no daughters or sons.”

“I had a son!” Horemheb interjected, his voice hoarse, “His name was Tutankhamun. It does not take flesh to make a family. He was my family. I will make sure he is protected in the Afterlife. Though it will hurt me to erase his name from the walls, I know that I must. A father cannot always do what is best for him. He must do what is best for his… his family.”

Djhutmose approached Ay. He outstretched his hand, and Ay took it. Djhutmose pulled Ay to a stand. Both men had tears on their faces.

“This hurts Elohim, to condemn you. To make the rest of your life sickness and death, but until you feel what others felt, you will never understand how much He gave you. Nor how much He loves you. I forgive you, Ay.”

As Djhutmose drew back his hand, I could see Ay visibly age. Shades of yellow seemed to bleed out into his skin. Brown spots blossomed around his cheeks, down his neck, and across his chest. What little hair he had around his ears seemed to fall away. His posture became stooped. Djhutmose picked up the walking sticks and handed one of them to Ay. With trembling hands, Ay took it.

“I forgive you,” Djhutmose said one last time.

Mutbenret put a soft hand on Ay’s shoulder. “I forgive you too, father. One day, Nahkt-min and I will be together again. He is preparing our home until my soul is ready to join him. I do not blame you… not anymore. Nefertiti is there. Father, she is just as beautiful as we remember. She is happy. Her daughters --”

Her voice was split apart by Ay’s cry. This time, it was filled with sorrow and grief. I felt my own heart tear a bit at the sound. I turned away from him and looked into Amyntas’s eyes.

Tia stood up, her hands folded together. Djhutmose approached her. “You are a blessing, and Elohim smiles at the mention of your name.”

Tears sprang from her eyes. Djhutmose put a hand on her shoulder, “Know that you will soon be needed at your daughter’s house. And let me be the first to say congratulations,
grand
mother.”

“Praise your words!” She cried, “How they have been trying! Praise Adonai!”

“Blessed one, the rest of your days will be filled with love,” he said and then kissed her forehead.

Djhutmose approached us last. “You are welcome to join me. Years from now, our people will enter the Promised Land. Would you like to be among those people?”

“Great prophet,” Amyntas spoke, “I wish to continue the work my father started here in Kemet, as long as An is by my side. If she agrees…” He hung the question before me.

I smiled at him and nodded my head. Tawaret took my left hand in hers. I looked at her. She, too, nodded her head. I found myself crying and smiling at the same time. It felt like the first time I had laid eyes upon her. But this time, my eyes could see the baby and the woman she was all at once. I could see our future in that brief breath of time. She would be all right, she would live. It was all I had ever wanted.

“You will prosper and live under the blessing of Elohim for generations.” Then Djhutmose looked to me. “I am very proud of you. Your mother would be too.”

“Thank you for reaching out to me.” I said urgently, because I could see the cloud reforming around Djhutmose. He smiled back as his features began to smear within the cloudy whiteness. It was like a papyrus dipped into the Nile. The colors and the sharpness spread out and disappeared. The papyrus, the cloud, dissipated. There was nothing left.

I knew I would never see him again. I knew this was the crossroads, and we had just met in the middle. He was going one way, I would go another. Our paths would not intersect again. But I was all right with that. Elohim had answered my prayers. He had always answered my prayers, He had always listened.

I let out a deep breath, and his name seemed to form from between my lips. I would never be afraid of a name again.

“Praise Elohim!”

Those Whom The Gods Guide Cannot Get Lost
1258 B.C
.

Tawaret

My daughter and I led Mother outside. Her eyes could no longer see, but her hearing was as sharp as Horus’s beak. At 87 years old, I was surprised her legs still worked. Mine protested at such a distance as I, myself, was a great-grandmother. But she was strong. No one I knew lived this long. Father had come close. He died only a few years ago, the same year as my own husband.

As we stepped outside, I heard Mother take in a deep breath. She always loved the air of the sea. We had settled in the coastal town of Pikuat because of this scent. She had smelled this once before in a long-ago vision of her family. She would often say how her golden fields would have such a peaceful air. I remembered that day; the day when Elohim saved my mother from pharaoh. While I did not see the vision she was given, our travels did not stop until the scent of this plot filled her nostrils. She said it was to here that her ka had been called.

It was loud outside. It was the time of the year when our family gathered together. Everyone traveled to my mother’s home yearly for this celebration. It was a time to give thanks. The children were loud and boisterous as we approached the dining tables. They could smell the sweet meats and breads that were about to be served, and their anticipation was taking control of their senses.

After we had set Mother down, my youngest went off to find her children within the crowd that made up our family. She was my child who looked the most like her father: short, strong jawline, small deep-set eyes, and light-colored hair. He had been a boat builder and loved to fish. We had met shortly after my family settled here. I remembered that first time I saw his form outlined in the rising sun as he worked on a near-complete fishing boat. I had been asked to gather some food from the market, and as I looked out across the horizon in this new city, my breath had caught at the sight of him. I was inexplicably drawn to him, I had to go over and speak with him, and from that day on, I continued to visit him. Soon after, we crossed the threshold together. What an amazing and caring man he was. All four of our children had picked up his light-hearted disposition and easy smile. How I missed him.