Akhenaten tried everything he could, but to no avail. In front of him, Amjad, the stonemason his brother used to gather the artefacts, was readying an attack. His world seemed to be moving slower; smells suddenly acute, colours vivid, and sounds dull. His mind raced with thoughts of friends, of loved ones, of family, and of home. However, more than anything, he could not shake the distasteful notion that he would now be remembered as the king killed by a commoner.
Smenkhkare began to scream, but Akhenaten did not listen. He stood and cried. His life’s work and the work of his ancestors, everything his great dynasty worked toward, was coming to end. It was the final insult that it would be at the hands of a stonemason.
With a shuddering growl, the mason spat the serpents from the staff. As they grew and moved toward him, Akhenaten could not take his eyes from them. They were beautiful. Their bodies were like cobras and their scales shimmered with radiant fire. Four legs, just like the body, extended down to onyx talons. Their backs carried wings, laced like the finest gossamer, and from which tendrils of flame flicked as they flew. However, he knew something was not as it once was.
Before, when the serpents ensnared the guards, they moved menacingly and with direction. Yet here, as the serpents approached, they seemed to drift along, gliding rather than racing to bridge the gap.
In front of him, the mason collapsed to one knee, his skin drawing tight over his features with the exertion of control. That was the difference. Whatever the serpents used as their power, it seemed to be drawn from within, and it appeared the mason did not have enough of that strange substance left to grant the serpents the power they needed.
As the flaming beasts reached touching distance, Akhenaten could feel the flames licking his skin, but it did not burn. The serpents flew straight through him, their bodies filling him with an inner calm that felt divine. He turned, as they continued out of his back and dissipated into swirling ochre mists.
Upon their disappearance, Akhenaten spun toward the mason and watched as he flopped to the ground, the staff tumbling from his grasp and scuttling away across the alabaster tiles.
Akhenaten paused for a moment, taking in the scene of death. Still confused, he saw Smenkhkare move forward and grab the staff from the ground.
“Get the other artefacts as well.” Akhenaten said, pointing to the pack slung over Amjad’s shoulder.
He sent emissaries to the corners of the known lands to acquire these artefacts, only for them to fall into the hands of high priests and exiled seers when they were within grasp. Now, after all this time, here they were.
“I cannot believe this maggot managed what we could not.”
“He was a very strongly motivated individual.” said Smenkhkare.
“You are wise to have chosen him, my brother.”
The two Pharaohs shared a respectful bow, rudely interrupted by the sounds of hurried footfalls from the entrance. Scores of men poured in, led by a tall and muscular man.
“My lords!” the lead man said, as he surveyed the scene of carnage. “I was worried that J’tan may have arrived before us. Are you well?”
Akhenaten smiled. The man approaching was his chief bodyguard of old. A fiercely loyal warrior called Yashu. When he feigned his death, Yashu vacated his position and came to be with him, to continue his role as protector. He was relieved his most trusted sword was back at his side.
“Do not worry Yashu.” Akhenaten said, moving toward the imposing figure. “The traitorous Egyptian goat at your feet killed my guards before I had a chance to react. I however, managed to kill him before he could inflict any harm upon me or my brother.”
“You are as powerful as you are wise, oh lord.” said the hulking Yashu, bowing his head. “But I must warn you that your brother’s chief bodyguard follows you still. We believe he was trying to stop the mason.”
“You must trust your lords and your God.” Akhenaten said, belaying any fear. “We have not seen J’tan since we arrived, and we now have what we wanted from the mason. Whatever he was attempting, he has failed to accomplish.”
“We must still be careful, my lord. I do not believe it would be safe to remain here longer than we need. J’tan is a powerful and skilled enemy to have.”
Yashu was no fool. Akhenaten knew if he was worried, the situation was indeed grave.
“You have proven yourself worthy of our trust, Yashu.” Akhenaten said, accepting the wisdom. “We will get the last of what we need and then leave this place forever.”
“We have brought everyone who wished to follow us and as many provisions from Akhetaten as we could carry, by hand or by beast.”
“Then there is only one thing left to do. We must go into every city in the region and remove everything of value from them. Especially their gold.”
“Remember,” said Smenkhkare, adding to Akhenaten’s words, “all the items you collect will be shared equally amongst the people. All we ask is the Havilah gold.”
“I do not understand my lord.” said Yashu, looking confused. “We have gathered many items of gold from the people of your city and many of us have golden items we would be more than willing to give to you as tributes.”
“Do not make me ask again, my son.” said Akhenaten, his words aloft and filled with menace. “Yours is not to question our word or that of your God. Yours is to do as you are told, without hesitation. Your God is a jealous God, and does not tolerate those who fail to do as his chosen have asked.”
“I understand, my lord.” said Yashu, bowing his head in servitude. “However, I am unsure how to tell this Havilah gold from any of the other gold we collect.”
Smenkhkare stepped forward and took a lump of gold from his pocket, beckoning a torch carrying guard to stand by his side. “The gold of the lands of Havilah was made sacred by your God. It is imbued with the very essence of his power.” he said, as he took a knife and scored the edge of the golden lump, before holding it to the flame.
Instantly, the orange flicker roared a violent red, its crimson fingers reaching high into the night sky, a plume of black smoke issuing above the flaming jet.
The guard holding the torch nearly dropped it, the flames singeing his brow and burning the hairs on his arm, as the gathered crowd let out gasps of wonder at the divine spectacle before them.
As the flames died down and the torch returned to its normal colour, all that could be seen on the blade was a faint white powder where the gold once was.
“That is how you can tell the good gold from the bad.” Smenkhkare said, raising his voice so all could hear his words. “This is the gold we use to commune with our God. It is what we need to gather up if we are to be led to the lands he has promised us.”
“I understand, my lord.” said Yashu, in awe. “What should we do if anyone refuses to hand over their possessions?”
“You shall tell them that you are children of the one true God.” said Akhenaten, with vile indifference. “You shall tell them that you will reap your God’s vengeance upon them if they do not do as you ask, and if they still do not hand over their gold, you shall strike them down in order, starting with their first-born males. They will soon give in to your demands.”
“You should know the priests of Ra are already gathering to instate a new king and take back their power. What you ask will be difficult.” said Yashu, his apprehension evident.
“Then we must move quickly, my son.” said Akhenaten, his voice taking on a soothing calm. “We must strike with a swiftness remembered by all who witness it. We must move into position and do this in a single evening. Our God will be at our backs. We will move as his hands and strike our enemies with his might.”
“I will ready the men to be in position to do this tomorrow evening.”
“Good.” said Akhenaten, his grin widening.
Akhenaten knew the men required inspiring to do the things he needed of them. He needed to keep up the aura of godhood surrounding him long enough to fulfil his destiny.
“We are now free men.” Akhena
ten said, raising his hands high to hush the crowds. “We were all slaves to the villainy of the priests of our past and we are now free to be exalted by our new lord and master. Our true God!” He paused in the rapturous applause that followed his words, savouring the adulation pouring from his followers. “Therefore, from this day forth, we will honour our forefathers who worked so tirelessly to remove us from the sins of our past, and uncovered our God’s great plan. We shall let go of the bonds that our names bind us with.” He turned and looked into the eyes of Yashu. “You were once Yashu of the lower caste, first bodyguard of the Pharaoh. From this day forward you will be known as Yehoshua, son of Nun, first of the children of Israel!”
The crowd of gathered men cheered, and called out praise to Israel and to Yehoshua, as Akhenaten raised his arms above his head with triumph. Everything was playing out just as he planned.
Once the chanting and song ended, the crowd of men slowly dispersed, making their way back out of the temple.
“There is one other task I must ask of you, Yehoshua.” said Akhenaten, pulling him to one side.
“Anything, my lord.”
“I need you to go back to Iunu and retrieve the other staves, the twelve rods that belong to the high priests who have fought us so long. Do not ask why and do not tell anyone what you are doing. I am placing my faith in you.”
“I will not let you down, my lord. I will also organise for some of the men to remain in ambush for J’tan should he show his face at this place.”
As they all filed out of the temple, Akhenaten looked back at the crumpled body of Amjad. No one lives forever, he thought, as he turned back to the elated group and broke out into another smile. Soon enough however, that would no longer be true.
Chapter 12