Shadow of the Sun (The Shadow Saga) (21 page)

“Although the women maintain the lineage, our custom is that only men shall rule Khemit. Since Queen Hat-shep-sut broke the tradition and declared herself Pharaoh, the Amunites have killed any other woman who threatens their power. The Hanuti already do not approve of Ti-Yee because she is half Semite even though her mother is pure and from one of the finest Khemitian families. They favor Sit-Amun, a fullblooded Khemitian, to rule if she makes Mery-Ptah the Pharaoh. If the council does not approve Ti-Yee, your father, Nefertiti and you, will…” her voice trailed off.

I shivered. “What?”

“Will be banished or worse,” she said. “Merit-Aten, you must take your stand with the women of your lineage. The Sesh must see you united. Strong and fearless. Fortunately, Sit-Amun has no heir, so that will be in our favor.”

“I will ride on the barge of Amun if you come with me. But this will be the last time.”

“Yes, dearest. I shall notify your Meti.” Hep-Mut scurried away.

My hand searched for the smooth ivory body within the secret compartment of my grooming chest. I enclosed my horse within my palm, my whole body relaxed.

Meti entered and said, “While I wish that I could hold you during this ride, I must tend to Ti-Yee. I shall not apologize often. You are old enough to understand that my duties take precedence over all else. I am sorry for your disastrous experience last night.” She stroked my back and gave me a loving glance. Her face expressed her compassion.

* * *

O
ur barge was well hidden in the reeds. As if a finger of the Nile pointed another direction, this little inlet kept us within the protection of her palm. No wild crowds of onlookers would interrupt this quietude. The wind carried angry words exchanged between Sit-Amun and Grand Djed Amunhotep up on deck of the barge.

Sit-Amun glared at us. “Why do they have to be on our boat?”

“Quiet yourself, Sister. This outcry does not become your rank as a Royal Consort. Nefertiti and Merit-Aten will always be honored as family.”

“Mes-seh,” said Sit-Amun, referring to the Khemitian word for anointment. “They will never be our family. Brother, we carry the ruling family’s blood. Since you allowed these foreigners into our family, things have soured. They have turned you against Amun,” Sit-Amun argued in a low, guttural voice.

On board the barge, Grand Djedti Ti-Yee steered clear of the wrath of Sit-Amun. Butterflies made my stomach jumpy. I strained to hear if Sit-Amun knew if they returned the golden boy to his pedestal.

“I pay tribute to Aten, the lost age of enlightenment,” said Grand Djed as he put his hand to his aching tooth. “I pay worship to Amun, as our bloodline has for generations in order to stay in power. Do not ever hold even a grain of sand’s worth of belief that if we did not meet the demands of the Hanuti and fill their coffers that any of us would still be alive.”

“I am a daughter of Amun,” replied Sit-Amun. “The Hanuti support me. We walk in alliance since you and those Aten followers have left the path. Brother, I am your first consort, your first chosen,” she said, putting a hand upon his chest.

“You have the title, little sister,” Amunhotep The Magnificent replied. “Remember, you cannot bear me an heir, so of that I will speak no more.”

The veins on Sit-Amun’s forehead pulsed. “You should be cursed for what you have done to me, yet I will forgive you. The Hanuti have damned the followers of Aten. I can still save you and your eternal soul, but you must leave the Aten behind. The light of the sun will always be inferior to the darkness of Amun.”

“Sit-Amun, I warn you. If I turn my heart against you, it will be war. You have shown me your childish ways. A good ruler always puts the needs of his people before his own. Besides, you have not been initiated into the purer mysteries, so you do not understand the meaning of true power.” Sit-Amun’s eyes grew owl wide. “You think I have no power? Be wary, Brother.” Her dark eyes smoldered within, her long black crusty fingernails raked her sheath.

“You think it comes from out there?” he said, and pointed all around him. “True power emanates from within. No, I deem you unworthy to rule.” Sit-Amun’s face flushed as if her blood boiled with fury. Her breathing became labored and those horrible owl-like eyes looked as though she could kill her prey with one strike. “Why, I could throw those Atenists out of my Palace if they dare cross my path.”

I shivered. I knew it would come to this. It was all my fault.

“Your Palace? I may have dedicated it to you, and I allow you to rule over the staff. But you know full well that Ti-Yee, the Per Aat and my true love, owns it all.”

She lied!
I thought. All this time I believed Sit-Amun had power.

The Oarsman summoned Meti and Ti-Yee to their place at the bow of the boat, and positioned me near the stern. Hep-Mut gossiped nearby. To quell my fury, I withdrew my little horse that was tucked into the folds of my sheath. No one paid attention. With the explosion of tempers and the declaration of war between the Amunites and the Atenists, perhaps I had slipped from their minds. The noonday sun beat down. Rippled waves of heat painted the horizon. I became grumpy. So, I reared my horse upon his hind legs.

“What do you have in your hand, you little heathen?” Sit-Amun demanded.

The one person I needed to hide it from caught me.

“My horse. You little thief, hand it over,” she clutched my hand, digging in her nails.

“No!” I shouted. The thought of parting with my greatest comfort was unbearable. “Mine!” I wrenched my hand away.

Sit-Amun turned persimmon red. A grim unsettling smile crossed her face. “All along, it was you who stole my offering. I should have known.” Her evil hand clutched at me again. Red flames shot like daggers from her nethers. I whimpered. “You stick your nose into all the wrong places. My mother gave me that horse before she died.” Her fingers uncurled. “Now hand it over.”

I loved that horse. I wouldn’t give it back; instead I held it to my heart.

“Ask for my forgiveness, because I know you spied on me in the tent,” said Sit-Amun. “Such a dirty little fly on the wall. Did you get a good look? You filthy little Semite invader. You set my tent on fire and burned Mery-Ptah’s face.”

“You did bad things. I saw you. I saw the Red Ram,” I said, my chin lifted in defiance. “You tried to kill my Grand Djedti Ti-Yee.”

She slapped me hard across the face. I struggled as tears poured down my face. How dare she? I would not tolerate two people hitting me. I held my hand over the side of the barge, thinking the water would keep my horse safe.

“Sit-Amun, unhand that child,” ordered Hep-Mut, in her deep voice accustomed to commanding servants.

My interrogator reeled back, clearly unused to being ordered.

“Hep-Mut, you little piggy. I shall make you pay for your insolence. Your filthy child has my horse offering. I demand she return it with an apology.”

Hep-Mut blanched. Sit-Amun had accused all the attendants of stealing this horse from her offering tray, yet I, her beloved child had hidden it from her. My nursemaid frowned, the hurt of betrayal evident in her dark eyes. She motioned with her hand. “Merit-Aten, you shame yourself. Do give it back.”

Sit-Amun smugly held out her hand. I lost all reasoning. I released my treasure into the depths of the Nile as an offering to Hapi, the Deity of Water.

“Merit, no,” wailed Hep-Mut.

Sit-Amun cursed me to the heavens.

Hep-Mut jumped over the side of the boat into the watery abyss. A strange expression swept over Sit-Amun’s face. Something shifted. Her eyes glazed over. She mouthed something. Those red swirls again shot like flames from her tailbone. Survival.

A sense of foreboding tormented me. My devoted nursemaid arose from the crystalline Nile waters, displaying my ivory horse in one hand. She slapped at the water. I knew she’d never learned to swim. Yet, she stayed afloat.

Out of the corner of my eye, something moved. A duck or fish, perhaps. No. Something bigger, more like a crocodile. My heart pounded in horror.

Sit-Amun recited her incantation a bit louder.

Wait. Please. Do not hurt Hep-Mut,
I thought to the croc.

No answer. Why didn’t it respond?
Please stop. I beg you do not hurt her.

A great row of teeth opened wide. Hep-Mut paddled doglike unaware. Gruesome jaws snapped. Hep-Mut screamed. They both plunged under, rolling until the water churned, the croc’s yellow underbelly revealed, water bubbles rising, life’s blood draining away. Then stillness. Awful stillness.
It should be me.
I screamed and thrust my hands over the side of the barge, nearly falling overboard before strong hands yanked me back on board. I kept this horse hidden from Sit-Amun, but at what cost?

“Crocodile, off the stern,” the captain yelled. “It is a big one.”

Sit-Amun smirked then mouthed the words, “Look what you did.” She may well have shouted, so deeply did her words stab into me. With unspeakable anguish, I recognized in my heart that she was right.

I
t should have been a day of grand celebration. Pharaoh Amunhotep pronounced his son, the fruit of his loins Akhenaten, and his son’s consort, Nefertiti, to be the new co-regents of Khemit. He blessed them forever and ever, and stamped the document with his golden seal. Thus commenced Year One of Meti and Father’s rule. Pharaoh didn’t even stay for the celebration. He complained about his toothache and summoned his attendants to carry him back to his bed chamber.

I thought I would be joyous. But I wasn’t. My family had waited so long for this moment, but the festivities didn’t wash away the stain from my heart. I had lost Hep-Mut, my one true friend. If I hadn’t taken that white horse, Hep-Mut would still be alive. I would never forgive myself. I would lock my heart to guard against future pain. I would never have a devoted friend like her again.

Even worse, Sit-Amun and the Amunites declared war upon us in Thebes. Terrible lies scattered through our city like an infestation of diseased vermin. Unprotected journeys could no longer be taken in Thebes because of the Amunite’s increased attacks against the Atenists. The day one of my classmates wore the Aten sun symbol upon a chain around his neck, he was beaten and left bloodied in the streets by Amun villagers. I knew it was my duty to do something.