by Dan Hunter
Burning! The thought brought him to his senses. The farm had been set on fire!
“Uncle Shenti!” cried Akori, sitting up at once and pushing back the sheets.
Beside the bed, a strange shape jumped in surprise. Akori saw a mass of tangled hair. Was it a wild animal? No. It belonged to a girl.
She crouched by the bed, watching him. Judging by her plain, homespun tunic, she must be a slave. But that didn’t explain why she hadn’t taken more care with her appearance. Her tangled hair looked like a bird’s nest! Just for a second, the lamplight caught her eyes. They seemed to reflect it back, like a cat’s.
“Where…where am I?” Akori asked.
The strange girl merely stared at him. Then, without a word, she sprang to her feet and ran from the room. Her bare feet made no noise on the stone floor.
A moment later, she returned. With her was a boy who seemed strangely familiar. With a start, Akori realized where he had seen his nervous face before.
“It’s you! You pulled me out of the river! But I thought you were a man.”
“Not yet,” grinned the boy ruefully. “And the priests say I’ll never be a man if I stay so skinny.”
“Priests?” asked Akori, puzzled. “Where am I?”
“This is the Temple of Horus,” declared the boy with pride. “My name is Manu. I’m training to be a priest here. This is Ebe.”
“Hello, Ebe,” said Akori with a smile. Ebe smiled back, but didn’t reply.
“She’s a mute,” Manu explained. “She can’t speak.”
Ebe scowled.
“Nothing wrong with her ears, though,” Akori said with a grin, and Ebe rewarded him with another smile of her own. “I’m Akori. And thank you for…well, for saving my life.”
Then Akori frowned, remembering what had happened. “But what am I doing here? And who were those men on the scorpions?”
Manu laid a hand on Akori’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t say too much,” he said carefully. “Can you walk? Then come with me. The High Priest will explain everything.”
Manu helped Akori to stand up. For a moment he felt dizzy. He was still weak from his battle with the river. Then Akori shook himself. He needed to find out what had happened, and only the High Priest could tell him. Ebe watched silently as the two boys left the room.
“Thank you, Ebe,” said Akori. “See you later.”
Akori and Manu walked in silence through the temple, along an avenue of gigantic animal-headed statues. The light from the lamps made the huge figures seem alive. Their great jaws were full of dancing shadows. On the walls, carvings and paintings showed scenes from the lives of the Gods. Akori recognized some – Ra, God of the Sun; jackal-headed Anubis; and Sobek the Crocodile God.
Manu paused in front of one huge wall. It showed two Gods, facing each other as if they were about to fight. The one on the left had the head of a falcon. That must be Horus, Akori knew, God of the Sky and guide of the Pharaoh. The other had the head of a grim black beast. Was it a donkey? A wild pig? Akori couldn’t tell, but something about the image made him shudder.
Row upon row of hieroglyphs surrounded the figures. Akori imagined that the picture-writing must tell the stories of the Gods. How good it must be to be able to understand them, he thought.
“Do you know the story?” Manu asked.
“No, I don’t,” admitted Akori, his cheeks burning with shame. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Manu that he had always been too busy working in the fields to learn how to read.
“It’s the tale of Horus and Set,” explained Manu. “They have been enemies since the founding of Egypt. You see, Horus’s father ruled Egypt until his brother Set murdered him out of jealousy. Horus swore to avenge his father and to prevent Set from ever ruling the land. When the first Pharaoh was crowned, Set offered him power, strength and dark magic to share his reign. But Horus offered to help the Pharaoh rule through wisdom, not through brute force and terror. The Pharaoh chose Horus, and so Set has hated Horus ever since.”
As they passed through into the main hall, Akori gasped. The room was enormous – as big as one of his uncle’s fields. The ceiling was lost in shadow, held up by titanic stone columns. Each column was decorated with lotus flowers, symbols of the life of Egypt, and they formed a kind of corridor, with burning torches along the way.
Looking at the torches reminded Akori of the flames devouring his uncle’s farm. A cold fear was growing in his chest.
“What happened to my uncle?” he asked. “Is he all right?”
Manu wouldn’t meet Akori’s eyes.
“I am sure the Gods are with him,” he said quietly.
As Akori was about to speak again, Manu raised a finger to his lips.
At the end of the hall, a man was waiting. He was dressed in rich robes and in his hands he held a staff that gleamed with gold. Warmth and kindness seemed to shine from him, and Akori knew at once that this was the High Priest.
Manu bowed in silent respect, but Akori remained standing upright.
“Welcome, young Akori,” the High Priest said. Now he looked closer, Akori could see that the High Priest was very old. His skin was like dry papyrus, and his eyes were milky white.
“Yes, I am blind,” said the High Priest, as if sensing Akori’s thoughts. “I no longer see by the light of the sun. The light of Horus himself guides me from within.”
“Do you know why those men attacked our farm?” demanded Akori. “Who were they? And where’s Uncle Shenti?”
The High Priest hung his head in sorrow.
“Akori, you carry a heavy burden today. Heavier than your young shoulders should have to bear. Your uncle is dead.”
“Uncle Shenti, dead?” Akori felt his legs trembling beneath him. It was impossible!
“I am truly sorry, Akori,” the High Priest said. “You are not to blame. There was nothing you could have done. We will pray for the Judges of the Underworld to treat him kindly.”
Akori thought of his uncle’s soul standing before Osiris, Lord of the Underworld. He would only be allowed to pass into the afterlife if his heart was lighter than the feather of the Goddess Maat. If it was heavy with wicked deeds, it would be gobbled up by a demon. Akori shuddered at the thought. Uncle Shenti had not been a kind man. He had even been cruel, some days. But Akori still prayed for him silently. May the Gods guide your soul to the afterlife, Uncle. Mean or not, you were the only family I had.
Raising his head, Akori felt anger burning in his stomach.
“It was those men on scorpions, wasn’t it?” he demanded. “But why would they want to kill Uncle Shenti?”
“They killed him because he was in the way,” the High Priest explained. “They are ruthless men. When someone gets between them and what they want, they kill them. They give it no more thought than swatting a fly.”
“But what did they want?” asked Akori, confused. “Uncle Shenti was only a farmer – he didn’t have anything to steal.”
The High Priest sighed. “They wanted you, Akori.”
“Me?” Akori didn’t understand. “Why would soldiers want me?”
“Those men were not ordinary soldiers, Akori,” replied the High Priest. “They are warriors of evil. The God Set is their master, and they follow him down the path of darkness and destruction. Their master had given them orders to kill you.”
“Their master? You mean…Set?” Akori felt a chill run down his spine at the thought that a God might want him dead.
The High Priest shook his head. “I mean his ally – the new Pharaoh, Oba, may his name be blotted out from the Book of Life. Since the foundation of Egypt, all Pharaohs have ruled with the help of Horus, but Oba has turned his back on tradition and allied himself with Set instead.”
Beside him, Akori heard Manu gasp with horror.
“Why has he done that?” Manu asked.
“Because he wants more power,” answered the High Priest. “He wishes to be feared by everyone, and Set is giving him what he wants.”
The
High Priest struck the stone floor with his staff-tip. “Set, the Lord of Storms, has become proud and strong, and he has done something terrible. He has imprisoned the good Gods of Egypt, who have been our guardians for so many years. Without them to protect Egypt from Set’s power, chaos is taking over. Already the land is suffering.”
Suddenly Akori understood. “So that’s why the Nile waters haven’t risen!”
“Exactly,” said the High Priest. “This fierce heat is causing the Sacred River to dry up. Soon there will be famine and drought, and many will die. And that will only be the beginning of Oba’s rule. Unless he is stopped.”
“But who can stop a God?” asked Akori.
In reply, the High Priest beckoned Akori and Manu towards one of the huge pillars that held up the roof. Set into the base was a block of ancient sandstone, rougher than any of the stone around it. The surface was marked with writing, although the hieroglyphs were almost worn away with age.
“This is the Prophecy of the Sphinx,” the High Priest said solemnly. “It is old – much older than the rest of this temple. It was brought here many centuries ago, but nobody knows how old it truly is.”
The High Priest smiled as his fingertips traced the symbols in the stone. Then his voice became strange as he began to chant:
“The Sphinx am I
Guardian of the Pyramids
Keeper of Secrets.
The past I remember
The present I see
The future I foretell…”
Akori listened intently. The words were strange, and yet somehow familiar at the same time, like a story he had heard before but forgotten.
“When the Pharaoh shall die
At the hands of his son
A plague shall fall upon Egypt.”
That part must be about Oba, Akori thought. Had the new Pharaoh murdered his own father? Akori curled his lip in disgust.
“The Lord of Storms will rise again
The good Gods will be chained
And monsters will walk the land…”
The Lord of Storms? Akori frowned. That was what the High Priest had called Set.
“The Sacred River shall slow and dry
The sun will scorch the land like fire
The streets of Egypt shall run with blood…”
Akori could feel his own blood pounding in his ears. He could barely believe what he was hearing. Streets running with blood? Monsters walking the land? He had seen all this in his vision, while he lay dreaming beside the Nile! The ancient prophecy was coming true!
“But hope will come from the south
A hero of the wheatfields
A king without a kingdom.
The last of his family
A lost child of Horus
He shall battle the monsters to free the Gods…”
So, there was still hope! Akori tried to imagine the hero, tall and strong, striding out in golden armour to fight the monsters. But where had he been when Set’s soldiers had attacked the farm? Uncle Shenti might still be alive if this hero had come to help.
“He will claim the White Crown
He will claim the Red Crown
He will rule all Egypt.
The Sphinx am I
These secrets I share
Guard them well…”
The High Priest was silent for a moment. Then he spoke again:
“So you see, Akori, all is not yet lost. Although we face great peril, there is still hope. Everything that we suffer today was foretold by the Sphinx. As well as describing the dangers, he tells us that there is someone who can help. Someone who can defeat the monsters, release the Gods and become the ruler of Egypt.”
Akori didn’t know what to say.
“Well, I hope you find him soon,” he finally replied.
“I already have,” said the High Priest, turning his sightless eyes on Akori.
“What do you mean?”
“The truth is right in front of you,” said the High Priest. “Your arm, Akori. Look at it.”
Akori stared down at his arm. It looked the same as it always did: brown, sunburned skin; hard muscles earned from long hours of farm work; and his strange birthmark.
“Do you see?” urged the High Priest.
Akori didn’t see at all. It was a farm boy’s arm – so what? He frowned. The old man was making him feel stupid. The High Priest belonged to another world, dressed in his rich robes, with a gleaming necklace around his throat. Shaped like a falcon with its wings spread, it was made from gold and blue lapis lazuli. It was probably worth a fortune.
Suddenly, Akori’s heart skipped a beat. He had seen that shape before! It was all around the temple, carved into the walls, but that wasn’t what took his breath away. It was the fact that the High Priest’s necklace was the exact same shape as the birthmark on his arm!
“My amulet is only made of metal and jewels,” the High Priest said, again seeming to sense Akori’s thoughts. “You carry something far more precious. It is the Pharaoh’s Mark.”
Akori almost laughed. Obviously, the High Priest had mistaken him for someone else. “Me, with the Pharaoh’s Mark? That’s impossible!”
“No, Akori,” said the High Priest, shaking his head. “It is the truth. That birthmark proves that royal blood runs in your veins.”
“Royal?” spluttered Akori. “I was raised on a farm!”
The High Priest nodded. “‘A king without a kingdom’.”
Akori opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it again. Could the High Priest really be right? His eyes widened as he finally realized what this meant. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Somehow he forced them out.
“So you’re saying that the hero of the wheatfields is…is…” Akori couldn’t go on.
The High Priest smiled patiently. “Yes, Akori. At last, you understand. That hero is you.”
“It can’t be!” Akori’s mind whirled. “There must have been a mistake.”
“There is no mistake,” insisted the High Priest. “You are the last of a long-forgotten branch of the royal family that once ruled Egypt. You are the lost child of Horus mentioned in the prophecy. Only you have the power to free the Gods. That is why Oba and Set want to kill you.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Akori angrily. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Look!” exclaimed Manu suddenly, pointing to Akori’s birthmark.
Akori gasped and rubbed his eyes. The strange mark was glowing! A soft golden light shone through his skin as if it were parchment held in front of a lamp. At the same moment, the torches in the hall flickered. An unseen wind ruffled the High Priest’s robes.
“What’s happening?” asked Manu, edging nervously closer to Akori.
“It is a sign from the Gods!” said the High Priest in awe.
In the middle of the hall, an enormous form began to take shape. It was transparent but growing more solid, like thickening mist. There was a head, limbs, and hands vast enough to pick up a chariot. Akori swallowed hard. Whatever it was, it was huge! Manu fell to his knees, trembling all over.
Although the figure was ghostly and dim, Akori knew that he was in the presence of a power far greater than anything he had ever known before. It was a man, powerfully built, his skin as brown as the desert sands. Even on his knees, he would have towered above Egypt’s tallest warrior. He had the head of a falcon, majestic and terrifying.
“Horus!” Akori whispered, kneeling too.
The stone statues in the temple had not prepared him for how it felt to be in the presence of a God. It was like comparing a lion’s paw-print in the sand to a living lion. And yet this God was also a prisoner. His wrists and ankles were bound with black chains that twisted and writhed like coils of smoke.
“Akori!”
The voice of Horus was deep and rich, and seemed to come from everywhere at once. Yet it was also strangely hollow, as if he were speaking from far away. There was something familiar about it, too. Then Akori remembered where
he had heard it before. It was the same voice that had woken him from his dream when the farm was attacked.
“My High Priest has spoken the truth. Set has imprisoned me,” Horus said, lifting his massive arms and straining at the dark, snake-like bonds that encircled them. “This shadow form that I take is my ka, my spirit body. I can send it out to speak with you…though the cost is great.”
Akori heard the pain in Horus’s voice, and felt a surge of anger and pity. How dare the evil Set force this noble being to his knees?
“Through treachery and murder, the young Pharaoh Oba has stolen the throne of Egypt,” continued Horus. “He must be defeated. But only someone of royal blood may challenge the Pharaoh. You are the last of the royal line, and so all hope now rests with you. But we cannot force you to take this path. The choice is yours.”
Akori closed his eyes and tried to make sense of it all. He had often dreamed about being a hero and of travelling Egypt and seeing its many wonders. Maybe this was his chance. Besides, Horus’s words seemed to prove the High Priest had been telling the truth. If Akori really was the only person who could save Egypt, he had to try. He took a deep breath.
“What do I have to do?”
“Ancient law demands that a royal challenger must face the Pharaoh in single combat,” said Horus. “You must battle Oba and defeat him.”
Akori nodded. A face-to-face fight wouldn’t be so bad. Even if Oba was bigger than him, he could still try his best. Akori had fought boys older than himself, and sometimes won. At least it was a chance. Besides, it was Oba’s fault that Uncle Shenti was dead.
“I’ll do it!” he declared fiercely, clenching his fists.
“You cannot face him yet, young lion,” Horus warned. His falcon’s beak could not smile, but Akori could tell from his voice that the God was pleased with his answer.
“Why not?”
“Set himself is giving aid to Oba,” explained Horus. “Unless you have help to match his, Oba will be too strong for you.”
Akori’s heart sank. “But with the good Gods imprisoned, who else can help me?”