Shadow of the Sun (The Shadow Saga)

by Merrie P. Wycoff

  “Noonday meal will be set out for us,” said Hep-Mut. “The sun is already bright against the whitewashed buildings. You could burn your eyes. I should fetch the kohl liner. Sit and wait.”

  Never having been alone in the courtyard, it held a great mystery to my eyes. Walking the tiled path toward the pool, the lush garden blossomed with fragrant yellow acacias.

  Hoooop. Hooop. Hooop. A little Hoopoe bird teased from a branch, just a bit farther than the pool. Every time I drew close, my exotic bird flew to the next bush, calling, Follow me.

  Just as I parted the thick foliage of a drom palm, my eyes gazed upon a vision. Resting in a niche in the wall, inlaid with turquoise stars, stood a golden statue of a man. Below the golden man lay a lovely alabaster vase of chrysanthemums, next to a feast.

  “Oooooooo, my lunch.” I plopped down and stuffed a honey cake in my mouth and drank the glass of beer. Eewww. Adult beer. Too strong.

  Next to the delicacies, a palm-sized carved amulet glistened. Not just any token, but that of an ivory prancing horse with peridot green eyes and a tail and mane of real white horse hair. I galloped the icon up my arm and forced the two front legs up high. How did Hep-Mut know I loved horses? I belched. The posted guards paid no attention.

  Something grunted. Maybe an animal had escaped from Grand Djedti’s zoo. I wandered toward the sound, clasping my little horse. What luck to find an amulet. Faraway, I heard my name. Grunting. A wild animal.

  “Here, kitty,” I called, like I would call Grand Djedti Ti-Yee’s little cat, Tau Miu.

  Maybe it hid in that red tent. Lengths of folded red linen tied with colorful cords flapped in the breeze. The grunting became rhythmic. I snuck in. Candles glittered. My eyes became accustomed to the dark. On a plush mattress upon a round pedestal, a woman on all fours cried from being pushed by a man kneeling behind. She threw back her head, covered by a thick black braided wig. Beads of sweat dotted her skin. The scarlet scarf wrapped about her waist matched her blush.

  The woman moaned in agony then recited some ancient text. The words chilled me. Black swirls of smoke poured forth from their noses and mouths. Did their souls leave their body? She recited her incantation louder and the man’s hips thrust hard. The unfolding horrors left me queasy.

  The man wore a panther skin over his shoulder, the insignia of a High Amun official. Frozen in my place, my heart pounded. The woman tilted her face down. Sit-Amun! Danger. Fear. Escape.

  Why did Hep-Mut leave me? I could crawl away. Sit-Amun would never know. There would be no reason to banish my family. The smoky swirls rotated faster. Her body took on a fiendish glow. Another form imposed itself over hers. Mesmerized, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. At the crescendo, Sit-Amun lifted a bowl above her head. Large curling horns appeared like a transparent ghost over Sit-Amun, first a ram’s head, and lastly the body of a man. Huge muscled biceps overlaid those of the fleshy arms of Sit-Amun. Her grunts turned to a guttural moan, which curdled my stomach. Sit-Amun dumped the bowl of red liquid onto her head, and then like a desert jackal, she devoured it. The thick red tongue lapped it up. Blood. I could smell it.

  She pulled out a dagger, brandishing it over a doll modeled after Grand Djedti. “Ti-Yee, I curse you. May death come to you upon the toes of night. May the ram of Amun emerge and consume the blood of this Semite.” A hot, wet trickle soaked my sheath and puddled at my feet. I knocked over the candle holder. Into the thick of the courtyard’s jungle I raced. The ale made my stomach churn. My head spun. I ran as fast as an ostrich. A woman shrieked, “Fire!”

  Guards scattered. The courtyard erupted in chaos. A loud gong sounded. Attendants ran from every door with pails of water. My head pounded. I tripped. My white horse slipped from my hand and disappeared in the foliage. No time for tears.

  Someone threw a blanket over me and dragged me away. My savior waddled to the closest door. Guards yelled orders. Heavy footsteps trampled the foliage. She banged against a locked door. The next one swung open. We tumbled in.

  “Hurry,” said Hep-Mut, “into the storage closet.” She glanced both ways then yanked my hand. We slipped past scared attendants spreading news of an assassin. Hep-Mut tossed the flowers from a vase, dribbled the stinky water on my head then wrapped me in a dirty towel. “To the nursery.” Hep-Mut sang silly bath time songs to me down the hallway.

  “Someone tried to kill Sit-Amun,” yelled the guard. They burned down her tent!”

  Hep-Mut shooed him away. “The royal child must nap. Post the guards outside the nursery.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” said the guard, bolting the door.

  Hep-Mut turned and stared. “What mischief did you get into?”

  My stomach felt hot. I purged upon the limestone floor then belched.

  “Beer. How can that be?” Hep-Mut’s eyes grew wild. “Merit-Aten, did you eat the food laid out near the niche in the wall?”

  “Yes.”

  Hep-Mut wailed. Her little fists beat upon her chest as she moaned, although not nearly as loud as when she cleaned up the ink from Sit- Amun’s tray. But, orange swirls poured forth from my dwarf ’s abdomen signaling her irritation.

  “Dearest, I set your lunch by the fish pond. The other was an offering to Amun, who will eat that food in solitude, then give blessings to Sit-Amun.”

  “Why would Amun bless Sit-Amun for trying to hurt Grand Djedti?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I thrust my hands upon my hips. “She cursed Grand Djedti and tried to hurt the little doll.”

  Hep-Mut narrowed her eyes. “You cannot tell anyone.”

  I shivered and prayed. How could I have crossed her path yet again?

  The Celestial Lords sent me to save my family. Now they were in danger because of me.

  Over the next seven months, not a day went by without my recalling the gruesome interlude in the red tent. I worried that Sit-Amun would command my family to depart, so when a courier arrived with a papyrus wrapped with a golden string, I burst into tears.

  HeMeti tore off the binding. “Why tears? Grand Djedti Ti-Yee requests that you accompany her to Karnak. Merit-Aten, this is quite an honor.” Meti stroked my face. “Women pass on all the knowledge of Khemit. You and I will be a link to our past and to our future, which bonds us and keeps this chain of history strong. Learn well, Little One.”

  The Captain of the Guard, a large barrel-chested man, lifted me onto a gilded palanquin carved with golden heads of hawks. The Lady Ti-Yee wore the crown of two white ostrich feathers in front of a copper solar disk. A royal blue sheer shawl covered her left shoulder and tied at the hip over a yellow sheath with lapis-beaded embroidery around the hem. Her painted golden sandals were tooled with hieroglyphic blessings. The Khemitian title of Ti-Yee said it all: “She Is The One.”

  Her stride was short and steady, and, like a lioness, her face wore a ferocious determined expression. Even her guards cowered. I would learn to make that fierce expression of undeniable power.

  Docked at the harbor, The Dazzling Aten barge glistened in the gentle morning sun, with red and yellow flags snapping in the wind. Soon, we glided across the water, which glittered like liquid electrum. The wind swept back my side lock plaits. I felt relieved to leave Sit-Amun behind. What if that red ram could swim? I shuddered.

  “Sit up straight. Do not fuss,” ordered Grand Djedti. Her thick golden bracelets, studded with turquoise, appeared to weigh down her tiny hands.

  I quit bouncing. I yearned to stroke her cheek, knowing that Sit-Amun could have taken my grandmother’s life. The Per Aat abhorred sentimentality. I kept my hands in my lap.

  “This is your first crossing of the River Nile. This river is the lifeblood that flows through the veins of our land.” Grand Djedti pointed with her chin.

  The black alluvial soil painted the shoreline, reminding me why our country is named Khemit or KMT, meaning Black Land. Thick rows of crops sprung from the rich silt. I couldn’t see any trace of the hot, arid desert. Where could all that sand come from that
scratched my face and infiltrated my clothing when the wind blew? Our barge docked. We disembarked and strolled past the palm-lined street toward Karnak. In the distance, a long, white tent draped a massive new construction.

  “This is the new Gem-Pa-Aten. I must give these signed requisitions to your father,” said Grand Djedti.

  Hoards of workmen unloaded sandstone bricks in great piles, while others trimmed the blocks. Workers atop high scaffolding adhered gypsum plaster to the top rows, creating a neat crafted wall of alternating headers and stretchers. The Northern, Southern and Western walls were already whitewashed and prepared for designs. Pentu, the Physician, insisted my father drink something.

  “Netri!” I yelled.

  I thought the Malkata Palace was grand, but here I felt minuscule. The heat of the massive limestone pylon and entrance rose through my sandals. This edifice nearly scraped the heavens and took my breath away. A brilliant white stone temple offset the azure blue skies and the openness and light felt vibrant.

  “Greetings,” said Father, lifting his cup.

  Per Aat Ti-Yee inspected the etchings with a scowl. “You call this art? Where are the scenes showing the Pharaoh smiting our enemies or the carcasses from his royal lion hunts?”

  “I wish to portray how life under the Aten touches everyone,” said Father. “See the shepherds herding their flocks, artisans creating sculptures in their workshops, and brewers gathering hops and rye for our daily beer? When I rule, I shall no longer force the Nubians or Asiatics to be subservient to the Khemitians.”

  “Father, may I be on your walls?”

  “Do you wish to learn the sacred rituals to Aten?”

  “I do.” I hoped they were magical so that I could keep the red ram away.

  “Then you will be taught next month when you reach your fifth year,” said Netri. “The Gem-pa-Aten will be completed before the Opet Festival. It will mark the first time the offerings to Aten will be allowed by the Amun priesthood. We must make a glorious presentation.”

  “My son, I fear there are not enough artisans to complete this temple in time,” said Grand Djedti Ti-Yee, wagging a finger. “Every change and embellishment takes both time and gold. I never ask from which coffer you take but even the legendary riches of Khemit can be exhausted.”

  “The Hanuti have offered me as many craftsmen as I need,” he said. “Why would they?”

  Father winked. “Perhaps the Ever-Loving Aten has warmed their hearts, and they are willing to embrace our differences.”

  “Take heed in accepting gifts from them,” said Ti-Yee. “All gifts come with a price. You are my only son.” In a rare moment of softness, she gazed up at him. “Now, I wish to show Merit-Aten Karnak and go see your uncles.” She stiffened and resumed her royal stance.

  We rode the palanquin toward the two towers heaving skyward in pristine rawness from where the sun rises and sets daily. Entering through the glorious pylons into an open courtyard paved in electrum, I detected the rosy copper mixed into the silver and gold street. Like a colony of white ants, hundreds of white-robed men and women poured out of the Temple.

  They stumbled into each other when they saw the Per Aat standing beneath the portico.

  Grand Djedti appeared indifferent as she marched toward a red granite spear in the distance. Upon recognizing the Per Aat, they prostrated themselves. Unknowing priests tumbled over each other. I giggled at the chaos she invariably created by her presence.

  The lower priests purified themselves for Amun in the sacred lake. While chanting their prayer texts, they shaved all hair from their bodies.

  “Why do they do that?” I asked, raising my voice.

  “To achieve a state of cleanliness and purity, just as you will do one day,” she said. “It happens four times a day.”

  I wrinkled my nose. Why anyone would want to bathe in cold water that often? I kept my eye upon that red spike, which grew larger as we got closer. “Grand Djedti, is that the Hwt Ben Ben?” I asked. Hep-Mut had told me about the talking red tower. That was where Sit-Amun beheaded her servants. I quaked, hoping their bodies would not still be there.

  “Indeed. Where your uncle told us to meet him,” she said as we approached the sleek red granite slab. “The Mycenaean barbarians call it an ob-e-lisk, or the needle of a Deity. But if this is the needle, then how big is the hand? Stay here while I meet first with Anen and Ay.”

  I squatted in the shade, shuddering at the thought of Sit-Amun’s cruel torture of hanging her wested servants upside down. A young girl brought a basket of fresh bread, a jug of morning sweet beer, dried fish, and fresh fruits. The guards ignored me. From the courtyard pranced a fine-boned feline as whitewashed as the temples. This little cat had blue Nile eyes, which made me think of Asgat or water.

  I tempted the white ghost with a bit of fish. “Come.”

  Two younger soldiers begging for war stories yapped like pariah dogs at the captain.

  Was it grand to fight for the glory of Khemit? Had he driven a chariot in the Nubian battle? How did he smite the enemy?

  One paw, two, the cat stepped toward my unexpected offerings. She appeared to be an unwelcome guest, judging from the thinness of her shoulders compared to her pregnant belly. Those watery azure orbs intrigued me. I could swim in her feminine energy.

  “Come closer, I will not hurt you. Take it from my hand,” I said, kneeling in the dust.

  Bring it here, she responded in thought which I could hear.

  She jumped back.

  No, you come here.

  You come to me, or I shall make my way to the sacrificial square strewn with debris. The tip of her tail tapped an impatient song while her large ears twitched.

  You are so impudent. That’s what Hep-Mut would call a disobedient attendant.

  The cat yawned.

  It is not impudence you object to, but freedom. I have freedom. You do not. You two-legged creatures have so few choices. You are kept in tighter cages than I shall ever be.

  I dropped the fish. What could she mean? I was in line to the throne.

  All of KMT would be my inheritance. I would be free to rule any way I pleased.

  The cat breezed forward like a sail and stole her prize.

  I have to find a quiet hole to deliver my litter. The apparition floated away. I wanted to run after her, but the verbosity of the young guards startled me. They begged with puppy eyes for juicy bits of news the gruff captain threw to them like a bone.

  He stood outside their circle, bragging about the spoils of war, how much bounty he claimed from his enemies, and how he had captured their women for his household slaves.

  “Captain, is it true the Amun priesthood cut off our wages to build more temples?”

  The captain draped his thumbs over his heavy bronze belt. “It is. We have been reduced to royal babysitters.” He tilted his head at me.

  My face burned. His insults felt as sharp as a stick. I was no longer hungry.

  “Captain,” I said, imitating the authority of Grand Djedti Ti-Yee and surprising the broad-shouldered official.

  Bowing at the waist, he made sure his small battalion watched his mockery. “My Lady, how may I serve you?”

  “Finish my basket of food.” I slid it toward them. The soldiers probably had no more than bread beer this morning.

  “We have plenty to eat.” He patted his stomach. “We brought extra rations.”