Shadow of the Sun (The Shadow Saga) (16 page)

“Ah, so how you appear has more importance than your belief and dedication to the Aten? Who are you to judge it so harshly? The Aten would love you no matter your appearance,” said Father as he used his thumbs to wipe away the kohl.

“Please do not confuse my dedication to the Aten and my utter disdain for the Amun priests. Are you not angry at how they ruined our temple and scared away the only worshipers brave enough to visit?”

He contemplated this. “I do not wish to judge the creation of the craftsmen. Perhaps it was by the Aten’s hand that they achieved these stylized new forms. And within our souls, we must find beauty in them.” “There is no beauty in those grotesque drawings. I shall order the craftsmen to destroy them and start again. They must please me as the next Per Aat. I will not please them with my tolerance or leniency,” said Meti. “This time they will pay.”

My father softened his tone. “What ails you? Is it fear? Let us not position ourselves as their enemy, regardless of their feelings toward us.”

Nefertiti, the Beautiful, Nefertiti the One whose power over the Sesh emanated from the flawlessness of her physical form, stumbled backward. She furrowed her brow. I ached to shield her from pain and yet, it fascinated me.

What was worse was that the peace I had so longed for was ruined.

We’d never be able to coax the Sesh back into a temple they feared. Nor would we stoop to the Amunite style of terrorizing their practitioners.

“Fear? What does that have to do with my reaction?” she asked; her eyes mirrored her wrath.

“What emotion hides under your rage?” he asked.

“I do not know.”

“Fear of humiliation. Fear that the Sesh will judge you as less than worthy. Fear that you will lose your power or right to rule. Fear that you will be ridiculed.” He judged her not, only held her with the strength of his love. His violet golden swirls of higher knowledge poured out of the top of his head, dissipating her angry orange flames.

“Oh, Shining One,” she sobbed. “Please forgive me. I felt afraid and ashamed. I gave in to my anger and have shown my enemies my weakness.”

“What is your weakness?” he asked.

“My vanity. My appearance took precedence over my dedication to the Aten. My desire to be portrayed as beautiful to my eye and to yours exceeded my faith.”

Her sincerity only made me love her more.

“These insights into ourselves and our valiant search for inner truth make us most human. Those moments make us one with the Aten. Please do not ever turn from me in your pain. Suffering allows us to see when we veer off course and fall from the light of the Aten. When we find our way again, we can be healed.”

“Let them cast my image in stone. I will not protest,” she said. “After all, you ordered the craftsmen to break tradition. You decreed the age-old law of perfection be banned.” She chuckled and brushed a tear away.

“All their statues look alike. I cannot even distinguish Tuthmosis IV from my father, Amenhotep III and I have their blood.” He laughed in that rich baritone. “Who made the rule that all Pharaohs and Per Aats have to be portrayed as perfect fifteen year-olds? Yes, we are the human embodiments of the Deities but we are all physically flawed in one way or another. Look at my father’s paunch, or my grandfather’s battle scars.” Meti threw her head back and laughed, revealing her delicate swan neck.

“I was intrigued by the artists’ creativity,” said Father. Dare we be different? Let us commission twenty-four colossal statues with these characteristics exemplified and return to the age of the Aten when we were all conscious.”

Meti stood. “Then make them in your likeness. Sandstone statues wearing the Pharaoh’s Nemes headdress.”

“Like you wear father, the Nemesa or the sweet touch of the feminine.” I touched my hair.

He smiled and pointed up. “Yes, and these statues shall represent all the Sesh. Let them have almond Asian eyes, a straight Caucasian nose and plentiful Negroid lips.

My Meti smiled. “The Sesh will remember us. We shall create a new form of art.”

“So we should praise those who dare to be different?” I asked.

“The Aten illuminates the darkness within us,” said Father.

With those words, they included me into a circle so strong I thought it could never be broken.

W
hy were so many parcels readied? Our carriage, packed with baskets of food and trunks headed back to Karnak. Attendants struggled to carry it. The stink of the crowd’s perspiration, the spicy Khyphi incense, the stench of urine, the roasting savory meats and garlic hung heavily on the stale morning air. The essence of Khemit. My mouth watered; my stomach rumbled; my longing heightened.

“What will happen today?” I repeated.

“You and I will attend your Grand Djed’s Amunite Ritual,” replied Meti.

Fear welled up in me, and I buried my head against her. “I do not want to go! Not after what they did to our temple. I want to stay home and play with Meket and Ankhi.”

“The Pharaoh and Per Aat requested our presence. We have no choice,” said Meti. “Do your duty. Sit up straight.”

Sit-Amun would be there. Maybe I should tell Grand Djed how she tried to murder Per Aat Ti-Yee. Then he would turn his heart away from his little sister and throw her out.

“Fresh duck for sale,” yelled a toothless man.

“Oils for the pretty,” hawked a woman from her draped booth. “Spices, the best in town!” promised a third in front of his multitude of baskets. Vendors shouted out their wares for sale. I hadn’t ever seen such an array of clay urns, linen shawls, baskets heaped with exotic spices, and amber colored perfumes.

I spotted some of my classmates in the crowd making purchases. I envied their freedom. That made me pout even more. I crossed my arms. Khestuat and Rennutet in their bright colored sheaths smiled and waved. Ra-Awab nodded. How odd—I could see every person’s colors swirling around them, but not those of my classmates.

“What is all this?” I squirmed, hoping we could linger. Nefertiti sat like a statue, resplendent in her disinterest. Not once did Meti cast her eyes to either side. Neither Grand Djedti Ti-Yee nor Grand Djed Amenhotep in the palanquin ahead seemed enchanted with the busyness.

Sit-Amun noted my wild curiosity. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, reinforcing her boredom. Why wasn’t there anyone with whom to share this? I longed for Hep-Mut. She would have bargained for me.

The guards announced our arrival. The heavy gates swung open.

Once inside the sanctuary, they locked the gates to ward off the unworthy. Before us the Amun priests gathered in plentitude. Grand Djedti Ti-Yee wore her golden solar disk crown. Grand Djed Amenhotep wore the Peshent Crown, the peaked, white oval headpiece of Upper Khemit. The inside crown was like a red chair symbolizing Lower Khemit. “His crown represents the womb of his dead mother, Mut-tem-wia. And see the white oval cap inside?” asked Meti.

I nodded.

“The knowledge says that the white inner crown represents the thymus gland.” She tapped her breastbone. “The thymus gland controls whether a woman will keep her pregnancy or lose her baby. So Grand Djed gives thanks to his HeMeti for not kicking him out of her womb.” She stifled a laugh.

Grand Djedti Ti-Yee and the Pharaoh commenced the processional.

We followed. Then came Sit-Amun and her entourage of priests including Mery-Ptah, Vizier Ptah-Mose, and Ases-Amun. My father had declared earlier that he would no longer serve Amun at the Opet festival. By changing his name to Akhenaten, he publicly stated that his sole dedication remained with the Aten. ‘No longer,’ he had said, ‘could I stay in my truth by pretending to worship the stage of the sun still in darkness.’ No one had tried to change his mind.

We headed to the Opet shrine. Grand Djed embellished the original simple shrine erected by Per Aat Hat-shep-sut, who declared herself Pharaoh and created this grand festival. Grand Djed ordered that the lotus pillars in the colonnade hall be painted in glittering golds, royal lapis blues, and carnelian reds. But even I could see it was just an illusion to cover the darkness that lay within these walls. How would the Hanuti feel if we desecrated their pretty paintings?

We stopped before the innermost shrine shrouded in darkness. Grand Djedti took me to meet her brothers here. The temple gates burst forth. Over the heads of the gathered Sesh sailed the most beautiful little boat, gliding upon a sea of hands lifting it skyward. The gold hull, now polished to a radiant shine, had a ram’s head posted upon the prow. Inside the naos, the covered shelter in the middle of the boat stood the golden man, Amun. Forty priests carried him and his boat aloft on their shoulders.

Two more exquisite barques then sailed over the waves of people. Upon banking at the shores of our feet, the priests removed the cult statues of Amun, his consort Mut, and lastly, their shining golden son, Khonsu. Khonsu! If I could only wake him up. I could explain about harmony between Amunites and Atenists. I just knew he’d listen. After all, he only looked a bit older than I was. Even though he was gold, he seemed peaceful.

The statues moved stiffly past us to enter the sacred inner shrine. We trailed behind. The doors banged shut. I shuddered to be so enclosed. Burning incense thickened the air. I struggled not to cough. The Amun Officials bathed the statues with water then ritually blessed them. Next they anointed the golden beings with unguents and draped the statues with strands of blue lotus blossoms. Another applied fresh antimony to their eyes. We drank goblets of sweet red wine laced with blue lotus. I swayed to and fro, for Meti had told me this mixture made us walk between worlds.

If I could just be alone with the Khonsu statue he would listen to me. Maybe today the gilded idols would consume the feast laid before them. My stomach jumped.

Sit-Amun stood next to The High Priest Mery-Ptah. He brushed his jeweled hand over his face. I noticed an ugly, red bubbling scar, probably from too much sun.

“Rise, Lord of the Land, Precious is the Justice of the Second Stage of the Sun, Amunhotep, the Peace of Amun,” announced Mery-Ptah, using the Holy names of the Pharaoh.

I stood next to Vizier Ptah-Mose. His brown belly protruded over the top of his kilt. His foul labored breath and the stench of his sweat made me nauseous. His arm brushed against my body. His brown hawk eyes surveyed me like a predator. A shiver ran up my spine.

Amunhotep, with gray hair and shoulders rounded with age, stood bent from the burden of too much responsibility. His obesity spilled over to his wrinkled knees. His pendulant breasts emphasized his envious wealth. He looked absentminded as he held the side of his face and rocked.