J’tan stirred briefly, his battered mind trying to take in the vague outline of shapes. He could still hear the sandstorm raging, but could no longer feel it searing his skin. He tried to focus and found his eyes unwilling to perform the duty. His head pounded and his mouth was dry as parchment. He could feel the coolness of shaded air swirling around his dazed head and it felt good. He tried to right himself and twist toward the sound of the desert, as a hand gently pushed him back to the ground.
“Please stay still. I cannot check your injuries if you a writhing like a baby.” said Samali, with an elegant, playful tone.
Samali removed a hide water-skin from her pack and gently supported his head as he drank.
“Do you feel as though you are ready to travel? We must not let the mason reach the temple.” said Samali, wiping his brow with a damp cloth.
J’tan nodded, and Samali pulled back the sheet to look at the bandaged wound on his thigh. She inspected the surface carefully and reached for the pot of waxy substance she applied the night before.
“The wound is healing well. The pain should have subsided by tomorrow, but for today I fear it may still hinder your movement.”
J’tan was amazed to see the flesh around the spear hole already beginning to fade from its deep, purple hue. “My thanks are with you for what you have done.”
Samali grinned and lowered her head, completing the application of the salve. “When you are ready we shall continue our journey.”
As she rose, J’tan sprang to his feet by her side. She reached out a hand to steady him, but retracted it when she realised no assistance was needed.
“It must take great strength to control your body in such a manner.”
“More than you know.” said J’tan, as he tested his range of movements.
During his training, one of the first things J’tan was taught was pain suppression. Reed sticks were habitually lashed across the legs and backs of trainees, those who flinched or howled soon expelled from the order. To be given the respect the position brought, you had to be strong of character. You must become the lion, the fearless hunter whose actions were not tainted by fear. Only when you could master your emotions, could you impose your will upon others and act as the hand of the gods. It was training that served him well. Now he needed it more than ever.
“We should make haste. The Great Monuments are not far.” J’tan said, packing his things.
“This would be much easier if you had not destroyed my camp in your attempt to capture the mason.”
J’tan stopped what he was doing and looked at Samali, her radiant face gripped by a sternness he had not seen before.
“Do not be so surprised.” Samali said, as she walked outside. “I know you had no way of preventing what occurred. We both lost a great deal to the mason that day.”
“I am sorry. At the time, I did not know who you were.”
“You bore no reason to know. I accept your apology. I only hope your eagerness does not hinder our chances of success.”
J’tan could tell Samali was hurt by his actions, but at the time, he could see no other choice. The mason was in the camp and he needed to get to him. The servants simply got in his way and were dispatched. It was not a topic he would linger on, no matter how infuriated she was. His only focus was his mission. It was all he had left.
“Why do you track the mason?” J’tan asked, stepping outside into the dry desert air. “My assessment of what happened to you makes me believe he was once an ally.”
“He was.” said Samali, lost in thought. “He seemed open an honest when he arrived at my camp in Meidum. However, I now know he tried to kill The Seer and me. I have every reason to want to find him.”
Samali’s face twisted with barely supressed rage as she spoke. Whatever her reason for chasing the mason, his attempted murder of her was not it.
“You are lying.” J’tan said, calmly. “There is more to this story than you are telling me. What are you concealing?”
Samali turned and appraised him. J’tan knew that if it were not for her action he may now be dead, but that did not change the fact that if he did not understand her motives, he could not trust her further.
Samali went to speak, and then paused. She gave him a quizzical look, before glancing down to her feet. “And how do I know you will not try to kill me if I tell you the truth?” she said, finally.
“So there is a truth?” said J’tan, walking round her and beginning to make his way down the bluff. “You should know you cannot hide your thoughts from the people of the gods.”
“You Egyptians!” Samali said, with frustration. “You think you are so mighty, and yet you know very little other than that which concerns you.”
J’tan hid a smirk as he continued downward. If Samali would not tell him what he needed to know directly, he would prise the information from her. It appeared making Samali vexed would be the lever in this instance. He would continue to irritate her until she blurted out in anger what she would not in calmness.
“My people are renowned throughout all the lands of men as the most knowledgeable and advanced. People come from all around to wonder at our accomplishments.” J’tan said, keeping his voice suitably filled with pride.
“And that is the problem with your people. You believe that you are the most advanced people in the world, and right now that is correct. However, what of tomorrow or yesterday? Can you say that you hold all the knowledge of all peoples? Can you say that everything you have accomplished will not be surpassed in ages to come?” said Samali, scampering down the rocks to keep pace.
“My people are strong and will always be at the summit of man’s abilities.”
“But I know that is not what you believe. You own history tells of the Zep-Tepi, when your Gods built the world. Are they not more powerful than you?”
Samali was attempting to move the focus on the discussion back to him. He would not allow it. “The gods are more powerful than all men. They built and fought over this world and now look over us and guide us.”
“If your gods built this world and guided the men of this land, then why do you know more than your grandfather? Why did he know more than his? Surely, the gods taught your ancestors everything through this guidance, but that guidance and knowledge was not granted to your grandfather’s grandfather, only the people who live today have it. Why?”
J’tan stopped his descent and looked back up at Samali. He was confused by what she was saying. The people of his land were the light of the world. Their power and majesty spread to everyone who dare witness their glory. He caught himself before he responded in anger. It appeared Samali was a very clever negotiator. He could not allow himself to fall into the trap she was baiting.
“You simply do not understand. You do not live with the light of the gods in your actions and so you cannot see.” J’tan said, with renewed conviction.
“I see more clearly than you can know.” said Samali.
The comment was low and measured, a hook tempting him to break his stoic rebuttal of her words.
“Is it not true the first Pharaoh shut all the temples except his own?” asked Samali.
“The will of the Pharaoh is absolute. His should not be questioned, for he sees the desires of the gods.” J’tan said.
“So does that make it easier to worship your God?”
J’tan did not want to answer. Although he knew to worship other gods was no longer punishable by death, he was still of the opinion the Pharaoh frowned upon it.
“Do not worry servant of Pharaoh.” Samali said, as she caught his grimace with a smile. “I am sure that Horus will guide you still. I assume he needs no temples to show his godly will.”
J’tan stopped on a wide shelf, not far from the desert floor. He twisted, trying to keep his composure, as Samali arrived at his side. There was little point playing this game any longer. It was clear Samali was as good at it as he was. The conversation was going nowhere.
“Just tell me what you know. What are
you hiding from me?”
Samali let out a deep exhale of air and whispered something under her breath as she closed her eyes. It looked as though she was praying.
“The stonemason stumbled across something even your Pharaoh did not know.” Samali said, returning her focus to J’tan. “He now travels the desert to gather items that may have been left by the gods.”
“My friend told me as much. I know of the Zep-Tepi and of the stories that abound about the First Time. I need more. What am I missing?”
“The mason is not chasing three items as you believe; he chases four. Your own history tells you where the three he has accumulated came from, and about the fourth. The three he possesses were kept inside a box, which was beset about with the purest gold and heralded by two winged serpents. Your mason stole something from The Seer. If your stories are true about the staff and the uraeus, he now has everything he needs to utilise this fourth; what you call The Ark.”
Realisation dawned on J’tan and his mind raced. What Samali was describing was the fabled Ark of Ra.
In the stories J’tan was told as a child, Ra, the omnipotent creator of everything, grew old waiting for man to come of age. So that his most prized possessions were not lost upon his death, he gave a golden snake holding the knowledge of the world, a staff containing the power of the sun, and a lock of his own hair as a reminder of his power, to his son, Osiris. Stored in a magical Ark that would protect itself from all attempts to open it other than by Ra’s children, the items remained untouched, even when Osiris’ kin betrayed him, cutting his body into pieces and scattering them to the four corners of the world. It was Osiris’ son, the great teacher Horus, who was also J’tan’s birth God, who next took possession of the artefacts, travelling the lands with his twelve disciples and using their power to heal the sick and teach the young.
If Samali was correct, then could it be possible that the Ark had been found? Or indeed, somewhere out there Horus still lived? Whatever the truth was, his part in the story was clear. He must stop the mason, no matter the cost.
“I know of the Ark.” J’tan said, solemnly. “I also know of the legends of its might. We cannot allow it to fall into the hands of those who would misuse it. We should go.”
Without further pause for conversation, they made their way back out into the dissipating orange glow of early morning and down the side of the bluff.
The trek to the Great Monuments was arduous, their remaining water supplies gingerly sipped at to preserve them as long as they could.
By the time they reached the temple of the Sphinx, Set was nearing his throne in the heavens. As they ran up the incline toward the massive structure, it was clear they were not the first to arrive. A fire, somewhere inside the complex, poured mellow warmth onto the surrounding stone, and washed the area in a still calm of orange.
“If we do not find any more water we will die out here.” said Samali, sloshing their skin to gauge how much remained.
J’tan gazed upon her. Samali’s radiant features were beginning to draw, and the smooth, lustrous skin that held firm over her sculpted figure was cracked with dehydration.
“Nobody will be dying here today, unless it is by my hand.” J’tan said, as confidently as his dry mouth would allow. “Come. We will make our way to a vantage point at the rear of the Great Protector. I need to see what we are dealing with.”
J’tan took Samali by the hand and they made their way up the slope toward the back of the temples that lay by the statue. Eventually, they reached a spot behind the loose masonry at the near lip of a wide pit.
J’tan had seen the Great Protector, this imposing Sphinx, many times. His history told that one of his kings, the fourth Tuthmosis, rescued the statue from the sands after it asked him to; the Sphinx granting the king eternal life when he delivered it back into the light. He loved this story as a child, almost as much as he loved the stories about the exploits of Horus and his disciples. After what recently transpired, those childhood memories had begun to sour. The last remnants of his innocence being unceremoniously erased. In its place, a selfish security of fact was being built, block-by-block.
From their vantage point, it was easy to see the interior of the temple. Four men stood around a box, partially concealed from view. Two were regally dressed and chatted amongst themselves, as their attendant guards set about lighting torches. One of the men he recognised immediately from his gait. It was Smenkhkare. The other regal man’s manner was also strangely familiar. He glided with the same grace as the Pharaoh, but somehow the actions seemed older, more trained.
Once the lighting of the sconces was completed, the guards dismantled the box and removed something from its interior. It was the Ark.
Bold, beautiful, and adorned with two winged creatures, the Ark was a remarkable sight. It was at least the length of a man and half a man high. Two poles, so perfectly smooth they defied belief, attached to golden rings clutching its sides. Its feet, tapered like claws, grasped the ground and dared the surrounding men to move it. So much gold was used to make it that its brilliance seemed to shine brighter than the descending darkness would allow; lighting the temple with an eerie shimmer of light.
J’tan fidgeted, as the light threw the men’s faces into focus, suddenly recognising the second regal figure.
“The man with Smenkhkare…” J’tan said, his words stumbling from his lips. “It cannot be. It just cannot be!”
“Your eyes must be like an eagle’s.” Samali said, trying to follow his line of sight. “I cannot tell one man from another at this distance.”
“I thought I knew the man from his bearing. Now I am sure I know who he is, but it simply cannot be him. I attended his burial! I saw the stone seal placed on his tomb!”
If J’tan was correct, then the last few summers of his life spent labouring in an invention. The works of his people, the events organised to pay homage to a fallen leader, even the magnificent burial; all fabricated to allow this man to vacate his position and seize the Ark. His entire race tricked into allowing their most prized artefacts to be taken from them.
“It would appear it is one more lie of these Pharaohs that I must endure.” said J’tan.
“These Pharaohs?”
“Yes. The man with Smenkhkare is his brother, Akhenaten.”
During Akhenaten’s reign, J’tan served the Pharaoh with distinction and even believed in the promised return of the one true God, the Hor-Aten. He helped organise the troops that protected his new city of Akhetaten, even whilst messages returned from his friends at the limits of the empire telling stories of the hardships they were facing. He executed his duty, and when his Pharaoh left this life to travel to the next, he was part of the guard of honour that escorted him to his tomb. It made him feel sick to the pit of his stomach that it was all for nothing. He was a bystander in a great plan to deceive the people of his lands. It was an insult to everything he held dear that this dead man was using his people for his own ends. However, if Horus stood by his side, the Pharaoh would soon pay for the effrontery of his actions with his life.
“I know much of this Pharaoh.” said J’tan, remembering the steely calm with which Akhenaten had changed everything during his reign. “If it is truly he, we should be careful.”
J’tan turned his attention to the temple’s entrance, where he could see the lone figure of his quarry, the mason Amjad, slowly entering.
The wound on Amjad’s neck was festering and his clothes were wind-worn, coated with a thick mix of blood and sand. He staggered forward, dragging himself onward, the pain of every step visible in his grimace.
“It is good to see you again, stonemason.” said Akhenaten, upon spying Amjad’s arrival.
As the guards turned and made their way toward the crippled man, J’tan prepared to make his move. “As soon as the mason has proved he has the items, I will make my attack. I will try to separate the artefacts from the men. You must make sure you get them as far away from here as possible when tha
t time comes.”
“What about you?” Samali said, clasping his muscular forearm.
“I will follow, if Horus is willing.”
Before J’tan could move, Amjad ripped something from his pouch and spun, dropping to his haunches. In his grasp, a golden staff with a crooked top flashed menacingly in the swirling light of the temple. He held it out, straight at the oncoming bodyguards, and issued a shuddering scream.
The air crackled in front of the staff, as two tendrils of fire like winged snakes leapt from its tip and wrapped themselves around the men. The mysterious creatures hissed and spat as they meted out their vile wrath, consuming the guards as they danced over their skin.
With a dusty thud, the withered bodies of the guards fell to the ground, as the serpents turned and began to close on the terrified Pharaohs.
“Let us not be so hasty, stonemason.” said Smenkhkare, as he backed toward the Ark.
“You can still have everything we promised you.” said Akhenaten.
Amjad ignored the pleadings of the Pharaohs. He stumbled on, his legs barely able to propel his body forward.
“What have you made me do!” said Amjad, tears welling in his eyes and his face twisted into an anguished snarl. “I was a good man! You have ruined everything!”
“Do not judge yourself so, mason. The Hor-Aten will make those judgements, and your work here will ensure your place in his eternal grace.”
Amjad howled through the thick spittle brought on by his tears, dragging his free hand to his head and squeezing his temple. It was clear to see he was torn between his family’s future and his need to punish the men.
“All I ever wanted was to finish my grandfather’s work. But you! You turned me into a murderer!” Amjad said, his voice high and cracked. “You turned me against my friends, my family, my faith, and my honour. How do I look my children in the eyes now I have killed for a lie? What sort of afterlife will it be for me to be reminded of my actions for eternity? What have you done?”
The Pharaoh’s panicked faces belied their fear. They staggered back, arms held out in vain protection as the mason continued to advance.
“If you ever wish to see your family again, you will give us the items. Now!” said Akhenaten, trying to make a stand. “Do not make your family pay for any more of your mistakes!”
For a moment, their bravado held Amjad still, but the glare soon returned to his eyes, a glorious fury that would have its revenge.
As Amjad raised the staff once more, a chilling tranquil engulfed the temple. There, bound within its dark confines, the Pharaohs began to scream.
Chapter 9