Grimacing, Maddie asked, “What happened?”
I couldn’t meet her gaze, ashamed I’d brought us all here. “We didn’t find anything. The statues’ arms are missing, and some locals pushed us out.”
Snatching the phone from my hands, she studied the video for several minutes. “I’ve got something!” Yanking out her laptop, she clicked violently. A sepia-style photograph of the sanctuary appeared, looking a hundred years old. “I ran across this during my thesis research.” The hands of the three dismembered statues were intact, their fingers arching from their thighs in atypical fashion.
My heart jumped in surprise. But the shadows cast upon the statues from the camera flash were blurred. Damn it! I gritted my teeth in frustration.
Maddie’s hands and eyes vibrated. “I have a simulator program on my desktop, and a smaller version here … to study shadow and light on monuments.” Attaching my phone, she imported the video and drew in the arms, hands, and fingers from the old photo. “No one’s placed much emphasis on the mobile elements of light and shade in ancient Egyptian art even though they worshipped the sun’s life-giving rays above everything.” She took a deep breath and whispered, “Gavin, never stare directly into the light, or you won’t see its shadows.”
Images morphed as she redirected the origin of the light.
“Let’s bounce,” Aiden yelled. His fox’s pink tongue lolled out in a pant, as wide as a soupspoon. He’d paid extra just to bring the animal on the flight.
“Give us another minute,” I said.
Groaning, Aiden trudged back up the path. “Kaylin’s in a mood. She wants to go right—” He stared at the screen. “That’s freakin’ awesome!” Whirling around, he ran after Kaylin, his green shorts flapping above untied shoes and long black socks.
Maddie completed the reconstruction. The spinning pinwheel of death popped onto her screen. I held my breath in suspense. A minute passed and the pinwheel disappeared. Pixels clarified and shapes appeared. The shadows almost created images.
“And Abu Simbel was moved in the sixties,” she said, brushing her hair behind an ear. “This changed the day that the temple received light from the 22nd to the 21st. The date and change in location would’ve altered the angles.” She played with the light, shifting shadows across the statues. Distorted hieroglyphs emerged on the abdomens of the three bathed in sunlight, like an ancient finger-puppet show.
“My god!” I said. “Were the arms intentionally removed?”
She shook her head. “Transporting the temple was a huge undertaking. Maybe they were damaged in the move.”
“But someone sealed us inside a tomb,” I said with an eyebrow raised.
Her glasses reflected the colors of the screen, her brow wrinkling in thought. “Touché.”
The others sauntered back just after the second daily caravan of tourists arrived from Aswan. Aside from these two guarded tours, visitors could only arrive via the nearby airstrip.
“What is it?” Kaylin asked, her eyes burning with either interest or anger.
Maddie squinted and read, “Rameses II, he …” The image of a standing man holding a walking stick and a scepter followed. “I may have to check this, but I think his statue obstructs or blocks the secret path or tunnel.”
“Or stands on it,” I said.
“The Hall is here?” Kaylin squealed, jumping up and down.
We waited for the longest hour or two of my life. Anticipation made my palms sweat. Tourists wandered in, gawked, and listened to their obnoxious guide who hid behind sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat. As soon as the first old woman in a purple dress and red hat shuffled out the entrance, we wandered in, attempting to sneak past the guards. But the two men in uniform carrying machine guns followed us. Fear created a hollow feeling in my stomach and a tingling in my neck and face.
Jenkins positioned himself to obstruct the soldier’s view, so that we could duck under the ropes and enter the sanctuary. I prodded around the feet of Rameses the Great. The stone was solid.
“We need more time,” Mr. Scalone said, glaring at me.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked. “Maybe you should distract them.”
“And leave you here to not find the answers again?” His Italian accent hung thick as he shook his head, tossing his lustrous hair.
Aiden pushed by Jenkins, running back down the hallway screaming, “Let’s carve our names into those statues outside!”
My eyes closed with regret and irritation. “Most of us will have to leave or only one guard will go after Aiden,” I said. “The other will come in here.” I chased after the teen.
Pausing before the guards, Aiden held up his hands. One lunged, snatched his collar, and shook him like a doll before shoving him back toward the entrance.
“Hey bro, get off me,” Aiden said, stumbling away while straightening his shirt.
The guards’ suspicious eyes and sneers focused on me. I froze. Jenkins and Kaylin approached, the large man holding his hands up while hovering over the woman. Strutting by in her tiny shorts, Kaylin winked and rubbed her buttocks.
“It’s really hot,” she said. “Let’s go skinny dipping in the lake.” Inching her tank top from her body, she exposed a white lace bra.
Gawking, the guards whispered to each other and followed.
We paraded down to the water. A few lingering locals shouted.
“We can’t go in,” I whispered. “There’re crocodiles.”
Bending over, Kaylin slowly pulled her shorts down and exposed her lower cheeks beneath skimpy panties. “Many Middle Eastern men believe Western women are whores and might naturally do this kind of thing. Come on, Gavin, show some skin.”
What? Oh. I unbuttoned my shirt with shaky fingers and let it fall. Clutching my pale chest, I reached for my belt and released it. Kaylin sashayed toward the lake like a runway model, her glutes jiggling. Locals gasped and shouted in Arabic, waving wildly. Aiden gagged. Jenkins turned his back, facing the onlookers.
Slipping off my pants, I shuffled after Kaylin, wearing only boxer briefs and a fedora. The guards still pursued us. What now?
Kaylin dipped a toe in the water, reaching back to unclasp her bra.
Journal Translation
THE MAN BESIDE PHARAOH HIDING under his new wig was the magician, the son of Hapu, the old wise man of Egypt! Only now the black lines upon his face had faded to wrinkles and spider veins engulfed his exposed cheeks. The magician now stood to become Pharaoh after Amenhotep passed.
Tripping in bewilderment, I caught myself before falling and spilling mugs everywhere. It must be the magician I couldn’t trust, not the doctor. The son of Hapu had told me to run far away, but why? I couldn’t stop his ascension, and preferred him over Akhenaten.
Perhaps Mutnedjmet wasn’t lying. Glancing over, she was giggling at my recent stumble. Her eyes lingered. Shaking my head, I walked on. I’d trust only Nefertiti and Croc.
Music echoed to the far reaches of Egypt. Squat, dark-skinned boys with black curly hair climbed onto each other’s shoulders—five high. The entertainers wore short beards—so no, they weren’t children—and their heads appeared large compared to their body, their limbs short.
“Nubian dancing dwarves,” the servant beside me muttered as he moistened his cracked lips with his tongue.
Dancing to choreographed routines, these dwarves performed flips, lifts, leaping, and catching, displaying more strength and agility than I’d witnessed in any man. Smiling as wide as a delighted child, Mutnedjmet clapped, whistled, and hollered. Nefertiti barely opened her green-painted eyes. My heart melted in sorrow. What was going on inside my love’s head?
A tall man with feminine attributes appeared, adorned in gold armlets, a chest-encompassing necklace, and a stylized black wig. Akhenaten! The throne room fell silent. Parading past the attendees, wood rattled as my master scooted a seat beside Pharaoh.
“Hello, Father,” Akhenaten said for all to hear. His eyelids closed to reveal black paint that made
his eyes appear as empty sockets.
Moist meat fell from the god-king’s yellowed teeth, betraying his shock.
Akhenaten dangled a lock of black hair shining like silk, the gift from the foreigner intended for Thutmose! Running the strands over his pursed lips, his eyes popped open. “Pharaoh does not need offerings, only fear and respect.”
“Much of our wealth comes from friends beyond our lands,” Amenhotep said. “The King of Babylon, and of Mitanni, and Hatti bring—”
Cheering erupted as the crowd parted. A black bull the size of ten men stomped forward. The white diamond marking upon its head matched the wings stretching across its shoulders. Snorting, the beast’s eyes twitched wildly.
“Apis Bull!” Pharaoh cried, his withered lips lifting as he staggered from his seat. “My friend.” He reached out to the animal. “This is the last time we celebrate on this side.”
The bull’s hot breath roared from flaring nostrils before the beast barreled away from Pharaoh, parting the spectators. Attempting to give chase, Pharaoh took two wobbly steps and fell to his hands and knees. Akhenaten vaulted over the table and sprinted after the beast, gangly like a newborn giraffe. The people erupted with applause.
I gnashed my teeth in resentment as my stomach burned. Pharaoh was supposed to run with the Apis Bull. Did this foretell of Akhenaten’s rise?
After days of celebration the visitors departed, leaving the stench of rotting food. Remorse pulled my heavy head into my palms. I hadn’t even had the chance to speak to Nefertiti, much less save her. Would my life vanish before my eyes, performing menial chores? Soon I’d be a grown man still serving a wicked—
“Pharaoh has died!” a soldier yelled to Mudads.
Springing from my bed, Croc leapt out the window, his orange fading into the dawn.
My heart froze with apprehension and my jaw locked closed. What did that mean for Akhenaten, for Egypt? I shuffled to my master’s room. Rattling furniture and voices already sounded within. Emerging, Akhenaten strode straight for the royal baths where I scrubbed and anointed him in viscous oil. After assisting him into golden regalia, we marched into the throne room. All of the royal family, guards, and council were already here, standing in silent attention—their gazes fixated.
A figure stood beside the raised throne, the morning sunlight reflecting off of his gold-encrusted body and the royal seat beside him, so I could not see his face. Such a display of power, he must have the Aten’s blessing.
Akhenaten halted beside me, his knuckles blanching white upon his walking stick as he straightened. Did rage consume him? What would he do? My throat constricted from the suspense.
Ten priests marched a golden sarcophagus into the hall, setting it before the throne with a hollow clunk. Waving gilded wands over the bright red and blue jewels on the head, the hairless men spoke an ancient tongue and blessed the deceased with white smoke and sweet incense.
Stepping forward, the figure beside the throne opened his arms. The blinding rays redirected away from my eyes … The son of Hapu! The next Pharaoh of Egypt … My teeth clenched in anger. That trickster, lying to me the entire time while attempting to gain power for himself.
“My fellow Egyptians,” the son of Hapu said, his voice booming, “it is with great remorse that we gather here today. The mightiest of Pharaohs, Amenhotep, has passed into the next world. But Egypt has found its new Pharaoh.”
An orchestra of rattles, drums, and stringed instruments hummed. An eerily deep voice carrying a dark timbre rose over the music, its haunting beauty sending chills up my spine and creating goose bumps on my arms. Akhenaten’s mouth stretched wide, his tongue flat as he sang! Echoing off the walls of stone, his lyrics and bass vibrato composed a hymn to the Aten. Everyone stood in stunned silence, entranced by dark beauty.
The music faded. “God has ascended to the horizon!” Akhenaten yelled with raised arms, making me jump. His voice boomed and carried to the far reaches of the palace as he strode up toward the magician and the throne. Sliding aside, the magician made way for my master. “The king of Upper and Lower Egypt has flown to heaven. The Aten and Amenhotep III have merged as one!”
People wailed for the greatest of kings.
My eyelids pulled back into my head in suspense, and fear. Was the son of Hapu no longer next in line to be Pharaoh? Had he and my master had a confrontation from which Akhenaten emerged as the victor? Please God, no …
“I am the son of God!” Akhenaten continued, reaching the raised platform and spinning to face the packed hall. “The living manifestation of the Aten. Only I am privy to Father’s bidding and desires! If you please God by worshipping my ascension and obeying my laws, Egypt will be supreme again. But if you displease Him, you will all suffer. I will lead the faithful to the greatest glory attainable by man!”
Silence. Then a roaring applause. My body slumped in utter defeat.
An enormous procession led out of the palace, transferring Amenhotep to his final resting place inside the pyramid mountain.
Long months followed. I transformed into a wandering mummy cut off from the afterlife—released from one quarantine and placed into another. Days of service blended together in miserable boredom and suppressed rage. Mudads scrutinized me as I trailed Akhenaten, serving all of his needs.
Perhaps my best course of action would be to portray the most loyal servant in the entire kingdom. Then, after time, maybe he wouldn’t watch me so closely.
But submission poisoned my soul so deeply I never discovered the antidote. The details of life faded. My dead father must’ve cursed his own living son. Perhaps my only purpose in life was to serve Akhenaten, my miserable fate. I was good at it, better than the others. My stomach heaved and I vomited, streaks of blood appearing in the bile. I lay down and never wanted to get up, but others kicked me and yelled, “Prepare for Akhenaten!” The magician was right, I should’ve run. Or I never should’ve cursed the Aten that desert night, or turned the boat around to pick up Akhenaten’s body. The mysterious ba had risked its existence to try to save Egypt when it visited me at night and spoke the warning about not turning around. I had failed.
During these endless days I stood beside the golden throne in the company of the royal council and family. I caught Nefertiti’s green-painted eyes watching me. She smiled. Her beauty had increased after maturing into a young woman, making my heart beat faster with excitement. What did she think of me now? I served the most powerful man in the world, but my master was her affliction, as well.
“A plague still ravages the land,” a withered man at the council table said, his tone pessimistic. The air hung rank with the heat of evening as I fanned the god-king with a blue lotus leaf that had a single ostrich feather attached.
“Yes, but we do not need to worry,” Akhenaten replied, waving the golden crook and flail. “The contagion only strikes blasphemers. The deaths are executions by God himself. If they embrace and worship only the Aten, they will not die. But the defiant … well, Egypt will only grow stronger.”
My head cocked in surprise. But no one else at the table seemed shocked. What barbarians were unfaithful to the Aten? And what did they worship instead?
Honking trumpets broke the tension. Akhenaten stood, wearing the united red and white crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt—the cobra and vulture watching from atop his clean-shaven head.
Mahu entered and knelt in the sand before Pharaoh, kissing the dirt. Akhenaten examined his incised thumbnail, which resembled an image of the sun rising between two peaks.
“You have returned with her?” Akhenaten asked as he stroked a lock of black hair.
“We’ve traveled across sand and mountain to the Valley of the Pine Tree,” Mahu said. “The daughter of the king of Mitanni, the Lady Kiya, awaited us. She desires nothing more than to be the wife of Pharaoh.”
“Bring her in,” Akhenaten said.
Shaking rattles preceded a woman hooded in white. Her skin held a yellowish hue, her eyes were elongated, and her black hair
fell only to her upper neck. She was beautiful in an exotic sense, but her allure diminished when she was inside the same room as Nefertiti.
Akhenaten, now always shielded in gold, studied his prize with a hunter’s eyes. “I am Akhenaten, Pharaoh, God.”
“I am Kiya,” the young woman said, not lifting her gaze.
“You will join me in my chambers.” Akhenaten strode away as if walking on air. “Nefertiti will join us later.” Kiya hesitantly trailed behind.
Several days later, before the midday heat of the Aten crashed upon western Thebes, I followed the royal family out of the palace. Akhenaten’s mother, still sporting lustrous red hair with thick curls, sauntered beside Nefertiti’s father and a handful of servants. Nefertiti, Beketaten, and Kiya whispered to each other as they walked. Mutnedjmet was not present. Neither was Mudads.
Columns of sandstone brushed the heavens before us, and as was customary, no roof blocked out the glorious light. Early rays cast themselves upon the altars. Positioning myself beside Nefertiti, I closed my eyes in silent worship. The warmth of the life-giving beams pierced the ceiling and flowed around the pillars, soaking into my soul. I grew hot, but forced out criticism. Requiring the favor of the Aten and Amenhotep, I only allowed gratitude and prayers of forgiveness. Falling to my knees, I opened my palms in divine adoration. My mind fell quiet.
Shouting erupted, tearing me from my prayer for salvation. Two royal guards brandished swords and stepped between us and a man cloaked in black. Gasping with fear, I recalled the nights in Memphis. But embroidered stars dotted this man’s robe, as if I gazed upon the heavens in the absence of the Aten.
Limping across the sand with arms hidden beneath his cloak, the man uttered incomprehensible words.
“Stay back!” Mahu said, crouching.
“He wears the black panther’s skin!” Akhenaten yelled, pointing with his scepter. “One of the great blasphemers! Kill him!” Squeezing a crocodile-shaped hilt of gold at his belt, he shoved me aside.
Eve of the Pharaoh: Historical Adventure and Mystery Page 25