by Jay Penner
“I understand. For the last month, there has been a steady, unquestionable increase in the activity below us. Our instruments may be crude, but they are good enough to indicate changes. The pits in other chambers,” he says, pointing to other areas beyond this cavern, “show similar symptoms. And when we see such activity, it is certain that there will be more tremors, very soon.”
“What is very soon? You said ten days.”
The man bows again. “I stand corrected. Yes, no more than ten days. Could be as soon as five.”
The leader contemplates the situation. The Egyptians wait to hear the King’s proclamation, and they have so far been kept in the dark.
“How bad will it be?”
“Should be tremors, nothing more. But they will be felt.”
“As bad as last time? Those almost destroyed the central temple.”
“Not as bad. We learned from that one—”
“If you are wrong, I will have your head.”
“As you wish, sacred Khaia,” says the man, as he bows to the Oracle.
“Is that all?” asks Khaia.
The man shuffles on his feet, nervously. His two assistants look nervous. Khaia wipes her eyebrows and takes a step closer to the chief engineer.
“You are nervous, what is it?” she asks.
“I wanted to wait a few days before I told you, Khaia,” the Chief Engineer says. “But you are too astute to ignore my emotions.”
One half of the Chief Engineer’s face reflects the warm glow from the pit, and he looks like a strange apparition from the otherworld.
“Well, go ahead. I do not want surprises.”
“The measurement pits near the central temple and in the two western extremities tell a different story.”
“What do you mean?”
“There is much greater violence in the molten rock; it is rising fast, and there is an almost continuously increasing tremor.”
Khaia wipes her face again and fans her face. There is a hint of nervousness in her voice. “What does that mean?”
“While the next tremors might be gentle, Oracle, I am afraid we are headed to a far worse eruption.”
There is silence.
Except the bubbling and soft hiss from the uneasy earth.
The Chief Engineer explains what the signs mean and what the implications are. Khaia listens intently, sometimes asking questions and clarifications. And when it is over, she swears them all to secrecy under pain of execution.
There is much to be done and not enough time.
Finally, Khaia walks gingerly to the edge of the pit. Her thick footwear protects her from the heat on the rocks. She peers over the side—the scene is both beautiful and terrifying. The bright orange-red liquid rock swirls beneath—It almost looks delicious to eat, and yet it is nothing but the harbinger of death.
She steps back—now struggling to breathe. She signals the others that it is time to go and asks everyone to leave.
As she begins her climb back, her mind is a red-hot cauldron of emotions.
CHAPTER 39.
KALLISTU
The trembling of the ground starts as a gentle vibration under the feet and then feels like the heavy breath and grunt of a horse or a bull. The quake lasts for minutes—never too severe but just enough to get the multitude out in the open. A hairline appears on the barrack wall. Other structures around us, including the palace walls, are unharmed except for a few cracks. A few loose compounds and decrepit walls come crashing down.
Birds fly in the sky, animals make a great ruckus, and people wait for the trembling to end. The sea below sways gently, with waves rising higher but never with enough intensity to damage the temple causeway beyond its current ruined state.
By the time the tremors end, most people are out in the open. I make my way to the palace along with a few senior officers and find Phaistos and his contingent climbing up the steps that lead to the palace compound at the edge of the western side of the inner cliffs. The quake stops after about twenty minutes, and as is customary assessors fan across the island and light up large signaling lamps to exchange casualty and damage reports.
We make our way to the large open arena that is sometimes used for high-level meetings, and the King’s Guard is there directing us to be seated and await the royals. I speculate that these tremors bode ill for our plans with Egypt. We wait for two hours before the King and his entourage finally appears—he looks grim, and Nimmuruk seems angry. The Royals take their seat, with Apsara beside the King looking sullen and avoiding my eyes. The Prime Minister stands right beside the King.
Soon, the Oracle and her people make their appearance. They are all dressed in their ceremonial garb, with each holding a bronze-handled, gilded double-ax in one hand and bronze bell in the other. These instruments are used when the Oracle has anything momentous to declare.
The air is chilly; it is as if a dark force is swirling around us.
Everyone sits on the open arena. I am in the front, on the innermost ring of the circular stone benches, close to where the Royals are. It is still hard for me to accept that I am one of the most senior ranking officers of the Kingdom. The ushers ask the audience to listen.
An announcer takes the stage on the stone podium in the center of the arena.
“We have lost sixty people to crumbling walls and collapsing cliff sides,” he says, “and there are cracks on the throne.”
There are gasps from the audience. An Atalanni throne is a sacred object—it is made of a solid slab of granite, overlaid with marble and sandstone, and decorated with sacred symbols. It is a beautiful throne, though I have little respect for the man that sits on it.
“The King will speak,” he says and steps away. Two men with musical horns sound a note and Hannuruk stands up. It is clear to anyone who sees that the King is in no condition to speak—he sways where he stands and when he raises his hand, it trembles. After several guttural attempts, he turns to his son and grips his shoulder. “Him,” he utters a single word and collapses back to his seat.
Nimmuruk bows to his father and stands up. This is not a good development—the King may be a drunk and losing his faculties, but at least he ruled in peace and considered options before making decisions. I can see that Nimmuruk is working up rage as I have seen so many times before. He huffs and puffs up his chest. His face is red, and he clenches and relaxes his fist repeatedly.
This is his first full command of the senior audience.
He waits for a while as all eyes are fixed on him. Nimmuruk turns to the Oracle. “Sacred Khaia, tell everyone what you told us,” he says.
Khaia stands up and the audience bows. She takes two steps forward, and two of her chief-priestesses stand behind her and swing their double-axes. These women are mesmerizing. The blades glint in the evening sun. They then gently ring the bells on the other hand, and the soft tinkle brings calm to the arena.
“The gods are displeased,” she says. There is a hush, and I can sense many taking a sharp breath as intake. “They do not approve of our agreement with Egypt,” she says, softly, but her words are clear to all. The Prime Minister bends his head down in deep thought, and Phaistos’ eyes catch mine. There is a quiet understanding of what this means.
“The rumbles are a warning, but that it is gentle is a message that we must stay our original course. A small patch of land is an insult, not an accomplishment,” she says. “The Goddess Mother of Earth appeared in my dreams nights ago, just after our conference with the Egyptians, and she spoke no words as I implored her. All that came of her were sounds of the tremor we all heard just a few hours ago,” she says. The audience, including me, make signs of peace and seeking forgiveness from the Goddess. No wonder the Goddess sent her message to the Oracle and followed up with the tremors.
“You all know that I asked to wait ten days before we gave our assent to the agreement, and now you know why.”
There is a murmur in the audience. King Hannuruk sways in his chair, and a servant wipes the droo
l from the corner of the King’s mouth.
Khaia continues. “The desires of the gods are mysterious and yet meaningful. The relationships of Kingdoms are complicated. The dominion of one over the other is a natural state of the world and superiority of one people over the other must be exercised through their free will. The gods of the Atalanni ask that we show our worth to them.”
The priestesses ring the bells again.
Khaia kneels and raises both her hands to the skies and her priestesses walk around the kneeling Oracle in circles, chanting hymns. The ceremony lasts several minutes. Finally, the Oracle rises and speaks loudly.
“This is not the news I wanted to bring to this noble attendance, but it is my interpretation that the gods expect us to evacuate this capital—”
There is a sudden rise in the noise. Most of us react with shock. Leave the capital?
After much commotion, the ushers bring the audience to silence and let Khaia continue.
“That we stay here with little urgency and ambition has been a cause for their frustration. That we compromise easily on tough questions is of shame. Today’s tremors are a beginning, but the earth will shake in anger again, not in the too distant future. Why? Because our divine powers wish us to make a home in the mainland and spread our seed and our power. That hour has come. And we must plan for that.”
I fidget. Many others hug themselves as if the cold finger of fate has brushed against their neck.
“What that means, as I have explained their Majesties and the Prime Minister, is that we begin the evacuation of our cherished treasures, divine weaponry, libraries, and symbols of worship, and move them to the secret holdout we have designed in the eastern desert. And at the same time, we must conclude our war with Egypt and take possession. Nothing else will bring the mercy of our gods back.”
With that, Khaia steps back and takes a seat. The priestesses ring the bells again and chant their hymns as the audience sits in stunned silence.
Okoninos and Pausinur rise from the seats seeking to ask questions, and it is clear that they are hostile to the Oracle. The usher asks them to sit. I have so many questions and emotions that I do not know how to react. I am also angry that I had not been privy to this information before this announcement.
I have led a war for them. I saved the Prince many times. Brought us back from Egypt. And yet I am not allowed the innermost thoughts of the high powers of the land. I wallow in self-pity and self-righteous anger for a while, until Nimmuruk rises again.
We all wonder what next.
“Bring them!” Nimmuruk announces.
There is some commotion, and from the entry door, the Egyptian Princess Sitkamose and Prince Binpu appear, followed by their bodyguards and our soldiers behind them. They look bewildered but make their way to the center of the arena and face the royals and other officials. They are only partially dressed in their high gear, and Sitkamose’s hair is a messy tangle.
Once they settle in the center, Nimmuruk speaks to Khaia again. “Tell them, Oracle,” he says.
I can see Khaia’s annoyance at being ordered around, but she rises and addresses the Egyptians. “Our gods have spoken, Princess Sitkamose and Prince Binpu,” she says, as they watch her intently. “We cannot accept the truce you bring to us.”
Sitkamose and Binpu look at each other and when Sitkamose attempts to speak the Oracle holds up her hand asking them to remain silent. “Your offer, while generous at the outset, does not commensurate with the equation of our powers and prestige of our people,” she says. I wonder if her mind is pre-occupied with the momentous announcements just made.
Sitkamose responds. “We feel great sorrow,” she says, with dignity.
Khaia bows to the Princess and resumes. “I am sure Egypt came to us with good intentions—”
“They came to deceive us!” shouts Nimmuruk, interrupting the Oracle. Khaia turns to him in irritation, but the Prince is up and gesturing excitedly. “Their gods sent them here to fool us and forcing us into a false sense of accomplishment! Now look at our situation, we will lose our capital, and our gods are angry at our weak response. They tried to turn our gods against us!”
“Your Highness—” Khaia starts, but Nimmuruk ignores her.
“These two came here with an evil heart, and their god, the Pharaoh, is a wily trickster!” he says and spits at the Egyptians.
Sitkamose shouts back at the Prince. “This is preposterous! We came in peace and yet here you are accusing us of—”
Khaia puts a hand on the Prince’s shoulder. “Your interpretations go too far, Prince,” she says, and suddenly this formal gathering has turned into a spectacle.
“Be quiet, Oracle!” says Nimmuruk, as he swats away her hand and ignores his father’s flailing gesture. “Why is it preposterous?” he shouts, pointing to Sitkamose, “You ugly dog-worshipper! The only thing you have not done so far is trying to suck me as a bribe!”
Binpu rushes forward and curses. His bodyguards hold him back as our soldiers surround the Egyptians. Sitkamose still stands with her head held high, but I can see intense anger and humiliation in her face.
I wonder if the translators are doing their job correctly.
Sitkamose shouts back. “Your words are beneath the dignity of our Kingdom and your gods laugh at your words, Prince Nimmuruk. How do you not know that these tremors may be your gods telling you not to reject our proposal?”
Nimmuruk is flummoxed, but then he returns to his rage. “How stupid do you think we are? Have you not heard the Oracle’s words? You are in our land, and our gods hold great power over yours—”
“Then why did you run with your tails between your legs in the last great battle?” says Sitkamose. “Our gods seek harmony with yours and yet you spit at their benevolence!”
“How dare you say we ran? It was your Pharaoh who went pissing his gown and sent you here to make a mockery of us. You laugh at us!”
“We have not laughed at you, do not make false accusations, Prince!”
Rishwa is on his feet, and I rush to the center. We both try to reason with Nimmuruk that insulting Egyptian royalty was not a wise idea as we did not know how our gods viewed such behavior. Besides, the protocol between Kingdoms requires respect between royalties.
But Nimmuruk does not back down. He screams expletives at the delegation and disregarding all norms pushes his way through the guards and faces the Egyptians directly. I signal two of my officers to accompany me and ask one of them to fetch me a sword. The Egyptian bodyguards are all unarmed—as was the requirement for them to appear in this assembly—but they form a protective cover around their master and mistress. Khaia comes to me directly, looking very worried. The Prince’s guard prevents her from reaching him. “Teber, force Nimmuruk to stand down!” she says urgently, and I nod to her. I move ahead and try to stay close and defuse the situation before it gets uglier.
As if by divine intervention, storm clouds begin to gather above in the sky, and it gets dark quickly, and the wind picks up speed.
I am unarmed and frustrated that the man who was supposed to get me a sword has vanished. Nimmuruk is now pushing against Binpu, and Sitkamose hugs her cousin protectively.
“We will crush you like cockroaches and burn your land, you lying daughter of a whore!” Nimmuruk screams as he stabs his fingers at Sitkamose. He has worked himself to a dramatic rage—his face is red with exertion and slick with sweat.
“Show respect to my sister, Prince Nimmuruk. You are brave only when surrounded by your armed guards!” shouts Binpu. I push ahead and form a barrier between the two Princes and ask the translator to tell Binpu to back down. There is a brief respite, and the two Egyptians look to me for intervention.
“Get back Teber, stand back before I cite you for disobedience,” says Nimmuruk. He is not done.
“You stand back, Your Highness, this is not the way to conduct our treaty!” I yell back at him. We should be ashamed at our conduct.
What better are we than the Asiatics?
The King’s Guard pushes me back, and my orders have no effect. I have no authority over them. Even Khaia is powerless as the King ignores her pleas, and the Prince prevents her from getting close.
“I will come and destroy Egypt and take you all as slaves! Your sister will be spending her life chained to my legs, and I will fuck your Pharaoh’s wife!” Nimmuruk shouts.
Sitkamose holds steady even as his men restrain Binpu. I admire the tiny Egyptian Prince for holding his stand even though in a severely disadvantaged position. He says something, and the translator does not respond. Then Nimmuruk goads the translator. “What did he say? What did your sister-fucking bastard say? Speak it!”
Sitkamose puts a protective hand on her cousin as the translator resists.
“Tell me what he said, or I will cut your head off!” screams Nimmuruk. But the translator remains mute and Sitkamose, and Binpu looks on defiantly.
At that moment, the Atalanni translator steps forward. He looks angry and upset and speaks loudly. “The Prince curses that may Amun strike our land, may Horus smite our warriors, may you, Prince, burn to death, and may the wails of our women and children carry through eternity.”
Before anyone can react, Nimmuruk pulls his obsidian dagger and stabs Binpu just below his ribcage. I launch at the Prince and pull him back, but it is too late. Sitkamose screams and grabs her cousin, and his blood sprays on her. The bodyguards begin to shout and jostle with the soldiers, and I scream at everyone to stay contained. I push the Prince, and my officers jump into the fray. After some shouting and screaming, the King’s Guard steps back. The Prince is hidden among them as my men pull the Egyptian bodyguards back and restrain them while we rush to the collapsed Binpu and the wailing Sitkamose.
I scream for a royal physician as I bend down to hold the Egyptian Prince, and Sitkamose glares at me. There is fury and sorrow in her face, but I have no time to deal with her.
This is the second time Nimmuruk—the cowardly weasel—has attacked someone unarmed and unprepared. If the gods should be angry at anyone, it should be us!