The Celestial Conspiracies

by Talhi Briones

  “If I have to.”

  Hermes raised his brow. “I am impressed. You don’t often see this kind of devotion between two sworn enemies.” His voice was heavy with meaning.

  “I owe him my existence.”

  Hermes landed and started walking next to him in the narrow streets. “That sounds like an interesting story.”

  Harouk glared.

  “Oh, don’t be so distrustful. Am I or am I not at your side every night in this endless research?”

  Harouk pointed up, to a dark shape against a darker sky. “You’re here for the demon.”

  “Among other things. I’m also very curious.”

  He waited. Harouk shrugged.

  “I was nothing,” he said. “I spoke to no one. I had no awareness of the passing days, years, or centuries. I was slowly fading.”

  “Oh, what a horrible end. I heard similar stories where Celestials let themselves waste away until they just… disappear. It’s said that they end in Limbo.”

  Harouk nodded, lost in thought.

  “I guess Anubis changed all that?” asked Hermes, trying to get him back on track.

  “...He asked for my name,” said Harouk. “I’d forgotten I even had a name.”

  At that moment, Aïden landed on a nearby roof, glaring at something over her shoulder.

  “The small humans are getting closer,” she hissed in annoyance.

  Street kids had been following them since the first day. Harouk had tried to question them, but they ran whenever he approached them. Aïden didn’t like them and often came down to tell of their whereabouts.

  “They’re smaller than you,” noted Hermes.

  “Small humans never come alone,” she snapped back.

  “They don’t even see you! They can only see Harouk because he stubbornly keeps a human form instead of using his wings. Anyway, what do you think they’ll do, throw rocks at us?”

  Harouk interrupted him. “We’re nearing the Hebrew neighborhoods.”

  Few lamps were lit in that part of the city. The houses were piled on top of each other without any semblance of order, and the narrow streets were often blocked by chariots, wooden beams, or empty jars. The calm was eerie.

  Hermes looked around, eyebrows raised. “A bit early for everyone to be asleep. There must be a patrol nearby.”

  “The soldiers are over there,” said Aïden, pointing. “It looks like they’re going to eat one of the small ones.”

  Harouk started running.

  They reached a slightly larger street. In the light of an open door, two soldiers were trying to restrain a Hebrew couple, while a third grabbed a crying small girl from them. The patrol captain held a young boy under his arm.

  “The conditions were clear, Hebrew!” he shouted over the yelling. “If you don’t pay the tax, the king will come and get it. Your daughter will make a fine addition to the royal harem! Be glad we leave you your son.”

  “I paid the tax, again and again!” cried the father. “Leave me my daughter!”

  “Would you rather give us her mother?”

  “I don’t know, Chief,” said another soldier. “She doesn’t look too fresh. You think the king would want her?”

  “She’s still got both arms and legs. I know a seller that would pay a good price for that.”

  In the alleyway, Harouk closed his fists. Hermes watched in pity.

  “Humans acting like humans. We can’t do anything about it.”

  The boy tried to bite the soldier holding him. He was thrown at the house wall. The mother started yelling. Harouk left the shadow of the alleyway.

  “We’re not allowed to intervene!” yelled Hermes after him.

  “What’s going on?” demanded Harouk.

  They all turned towards him. The patrol captain lifted the torch and looked at him suspiciously.

  “Unpaid taxes,” he said, looking at the emblem on Harouk’s uniform. “Nothing that concerns a palace guard.”

  “I work directly for the royal family. Everything that happens in Egypt is under my jurisdiction.”

  “Tell the king we take care of strangers living on his lands without paying.”

  “Sire!” called the Hebrew father. “I pay the tax, as the god of my ancestors is my witness!”

  “The registers will prove your word,” said Harouk. “The king does not allow the tax to be paid in human flesh. Let them go.”

  The captain sneered and motioned at the others. The girl was released, and her mother immediately hid her inside. The father took his unconscious son in his arms.

  The patrol captain turned to Harouk. “Be careful, palace watchdog. Our boss, Senedjet, will soon gain enough power to get rid of your lot.”

  He left with his men.

  Hermes came out from the alleyway, having lost the shine of his celestial form and clothed once again in a scribe tunic.

  “You intervened!” he pulled at his hair. “We have one law, and you broke it! Where I’m from, the guilty are chained to a cliff to get their liver eaten by eagles! I don’t know what your people do, but—”

  “No angel has ever broken that law,” said Harouk. “I’m the first.”

  He went back to the father, who was trying to wake up his son. The man eyed the soldier’s uniform and held the child closer.

  Harouk raised his hands. “I want to help. How is he?”

  “He hurt his head,” said the father, wiping blood from the child’s forehead.

  Hermes scratched his hair. “Head wounds bleed a lot. He’ll probably feel better with some rest. If I were you, I would boil some water and prepare clean wipes—”

  Harouk and the man turned towards him. The Olympian crossed his arms, feeling defensive, then looked back at the unmoving child. He winced.

  “For future reference, I want to point out that this kid is not about to die right this moment, so I wouldn’t be breaking any law from any divine tribunal if I bandage his wound,” he said hurriedly.

  Avoiding Harouk’s eye, he followed the father inside. The man came back out a moment later and threw his arms around the angel.

  “You saved my family, sire,” he said with heavy emotion. “I am in your debt!”

  “I’m not looking to be paid,” muttered Harouk awkwardly.

  The man kissed his cheeks and held him at arm's length. Harouk could see, through the abundant beard and hair, a face more wrinkled than it should have been.

  “I am Amram, son of Kohath, from the tribe of Levi. My home is open. You and your people will always be welcome, until the sons of my sons have their own sons!”

  “I, err, I appreciate it,” said Harouk.

  He tried to find help, but Aïden, who was perched on the roof, was busy staring at the mice in the alley. After a moment, Hermes exited the house, wiping his hands. Amram also kissed him on both cheeks.

  “Don’t cry, please!” said the Olympian. “It’s just a cut and a bump! I really need to make it clear to whoever may be listening that your son was clearly not dying!”

  “May the Lord bless you, sirs. Please, give me your names so I may add them to my prayers.”

  “I’m Cicero, scribe,” said Hermes. “He’s Harouk, soldier. But a better soldier than the ones who patrol here.”

  “Please, stay and share our meal,” insisted Amram. “Yocheved! Take out the bread and beer!”

  “We can’t stay!” yelped Hermes. “We have lots of things to do at the palace. But it’s a generous offer! Please, keep your food!”

  Harouk was looking around, frowning. “If the patrols come back to bother you, give my name at the palace. I’ll take care of it.”

  Amram let them leave after many blessings. They got back to their search through the city’s various twists and turns.

  Hermes broke the silence. “Don’t judge me! You acted first!”

  “I said nothing.”

  “The kid reminded me of the other one,” he said, crossing his arms. “Onamu. Except that this time, I could do something. There. You told me
a secret. I told you one of mine. We’re even.”

  “Thank you?”

  Hermes looked sideways. “The kid smiled at me,” he muttered.

  The angel did not answer. Hermes uncrossed his arms, scratched his hair with both hands, and gestured frantically, trying to find his words.

  “At the door to the afterlife. I went with him because I promised the little princess I would, and I waited in line because you just can’t mess with Thoth’s system. I saw Onamu’s soul climb on the golden scale and be lighter than their stupid Feather of Truth and… And he walked to the doors. They opened, and there, in the light, there were silvery shapes. People waiting for him. Have you ever caught a glimpse of the afterlife? It’s such a beautiful melody, such a soft light…”

  Harouk nodded.

  “Right before entering, do you know what he did? He turned and smiled. At me. The idiot who didn’t raise a finger to keep him alive. The one who used his death to go see a woman.”

  He laughed, bitterly, and crossed his arms once more. The rest of the way back to the palace was spent in silence.

  Chapter 15

  The Bitter Taste of Victory

  The Egyptian fleet had set anchor in the bay near one of Amurru’s cities. The new soldiers had joined the troops in a silent siege outside the fortifications. The boats floated in silence, mostly empty.

  Sethy observed the campfires from the deck of the royal ship. Somewhere behind him, sentinels were standing guard. Damon came to find him at the prow.

  “My king, the night fell a long time ago. Do you have trouble sleeping?”

  “No more than you, it seems.”

  “I try, but my efforts are in vain. My bed is small, cold, and atrociously empty.”

  “Don’t complain. You sound like a spoiled child. Our men, over there, have to lie on pallets.”

  “You know I exaggerate, my king. It’s the waiting that gets to me. Ten days we’ve been here, and nothing has happened. My sword shivers with impatience.”

  “Calm it down. I won’t be the first to break the peace treaty.”

  “Tell that to King Muwatalli! He sent his troops to a city that has belonged to us for centuries, just to feed his arrogance!”

  “The treaty states that he can’t shed a single drop of Egyptian blood, which he hasn’t done.”

  “Only because Amurru’s leaders surrendered without a fight. Muwatalli pushed us against the wall. How can we reclaim a city without starting a war?”

  “One day at a time. They will eventually yield to hunger. I promise you that at the first scratch on our soldiers, I will let you kick down their gates and charge.”

  Damon burst out in laughter. Sethy looked at him with affection.

  “The sea air suits you,” muttered the vizier. “I’ve missed your smile.”

  “It’s been hard,” admitted Sethy. “I don’t know how my father could withstand the weight of the crown for so long.”

  “As every king did before him and as every king will do until the end of times. Manage fires from dawn till dusk, sleep, start again.”

  “When we come back, I’ll write a law that cancels wars, weddings, and anything of the sort for a whole season. Kamilah will have to wait before overthrowing me.”

  “Oh! Write one that gives the king and vizier a free morning every fifteen days! Make sure it’s the same morning, we wouldn’t want—”

  He was interrupted by yelling coming from a ship some distance away. Their sail had caught fire. Before they could react, more dots of light pierced the darkness. Fire arrows flew over them and landed on several boats, including their own.

  “They made us wait,” said Damon, unsheathing his sword.

  “They’re desperate.”

  A horn sounded the alert. Dozens of small crafts had crawled between the Egyptian ships in the utmost silence. The Hittites, dressed in dark clothing, were almost invisible in the night.

  The Egyptian sentinels counterattacked with arrows, but the Hittites had come prepared. They raised heavy shields, making every boat as impenetrable as a turtle’s shell.

  On the royal ship, the main sail caught fire too. Servants ran to extinguish the flames, the linen burning fast.

  Damon pulled on Sethy’s arm. “It’s time to get some cover.”

  “We can’t stay in the cabin. If the fire spreads, we’ll suffocate. Let’s just get our shields and be ready.”

  They heard several splashing sounds all around. Grappling hooks caught on the wooden bannisters, and not a moment later, dark-clothed men were climbing aboard.

  Damon stood at the ready. “Remind me of the conditions of the peace treaty. Should I wait to be wounded before defending myself?”

  “Never mind the treaty. I forbid you from getting hurt,” warned Sethy.

  “Yes, my king.”

  The Hittites rushed at them.

  Damon found himself facing two of them, quick and agile. They were armed with short blades and used both arms: quick, efficient, deadly. Without shields, their sole purpose was to kill, not caring about their own safety. Damon had trouble keeping them both in sight, having to stay on the defensive. His sword was heavier and slower, his experience and quick thinking the only chance he had against the assassins.

  He couldn’t see Sethy, couldn’t spare a moment to look his way, but he could hear fighting sounds somewhere to his right. One of the assassins yelled in pain, which was music to Damon’s ears. The Egyptian sentinels finally reached them and came to the king’s aid.

  The assassins, seeing that their time was running short, became desperate and deadlier. Damon avoided a blade to the side, but in doing so, came into range of the other one, who sliced his arm. Damon yelled and stepped back, unbalanced, and without taking a moment to gather himself, used the momentum to swing his blade towards the man’s throat. The Hittite was taken by surprise and had to press both hands to stop the gush of blood.

  In the moment it took the first man to fall to his knees, Damon had turned towards the second one and charged. He put all his strength behind his blows and made the Hittite take a step back, then two, then caught him against the rail. With a last blow, he pushed him overboard.

  Damon turned, catching his breath, and looking for Sethy. The sentinels were subduing the rest of the attackers. There were Hittite bodies on the floor. Sethy stood further back, alone. Damon pressed a hand on his own wounded arm and joined him.

  “I’m sorry, my king. I got hurt. I disobeyed your orders. But it’s just—”

  Sethy whined in pain. Damon noticed that he was holding both hands over his abdomen and that the tunic underneath was slowly becoming red.

  “Sethy?”

  The king dropped his sword and fell to his knees. The sentinels yelled for help.

  Damon threw himself at Sethy’s side and held him with his unwounded arm. He could feel the terror growing inside of him.

  “Sethy, please, stay awake. Help is coming!”

  Sethy lifted a bloodied hand from his wound and weakly, lovingly, pressed it on Damon’s cheek. Then he lost consciousness.

  * * *

  The next day, at dawn, the lookout of the western wall of Amurru announced movement on the shore. A chariot approached slowly, dragging three bodies on the dirt behind it. It was driven by a man, tall and blond, his face marked by the red shape of a hand.

  Damon drove up to the city gates. He cut the ropes pulling the bodies and turned to the lookout.

  “I am the envoy of the king of Egypt!” he called. “Who speaks for the prince of Amurru?”

  A general leaned over the ramparts. “What do you want, Egyptian?”

  “You sent your men, we’re giving them back. They broke the peace treaty. They spilled Egyptian blood!” He pointed at the red hand shape on his face.

  He gestured towards the general with his sword.

  “Go see your prince and tell him he has three days left to his reign. In three days, my king will enter this city, reach the palace, and will see the Egyptian flag hois
ted above the door!”

  * * *

  Under the tent, the council members were muttering among themselves.

  “He’s too young,” said a captain. “We can’t let a teenager lead our troops!”

  “He’s the same age as the king,” said Debeheni with exasperation. “I taught them everything. The vizier is more than ready to lead this war.”