Shadow of the Sun (The Shadow Saga)

by Merrie P. Wycoff

  “Show me.”

  The captain chuckled. “I have been caught in her net like a fish.” Yellow plumes of irritation billowed from his belly, showing his true passion was power and authority over others.

  “Finish it or I shall throw my food to the swine!” Hep-Mut admonished me this way when I hadn’t finished a meal.

  “Do not throw it out.” The boys split the loaves, chugged the ale and fought like wolves over the fish and fruit.

  “It is a wise woman who knows that the heart of every soldier is by way of his mouth. We give thanks,” said the Captain. “If you feed the legion, then you have our loyalty.” He bowed and nudged the others.

  “What title do you have?” I asked.

  “Horemheb.” He saluted.

  “Big News of He Who Comes to the Feast.” I imagined a large party announcing his arrival.

  He sniffed. “An eloquent title for a cheese maker’s son from Khepert. Certainly not titled royalty. I am a lowly servant of the House of the Pharaoh.”

  “Merit-Aten, they will see you now,” said Grand Djedti. I followed her through the hypostyle hall toward a dark room with a stone altar. She bolted the door to the Holy of Holies. “We will be safe to discuss all matters.”

  An imposing statue of Amun with a strand of lilies draped about his neck stood in the center of a mysterious room. Precious jewels decorated his golden fingers. This man of metal’s vacant eyes stared into nothingness. Khyphi incense filled the room with a pungent aroma of death. Our Aten Temple is filled with light, yet these Amunites worshipped in darkness. I peeked around for the red ram.

  At Amun’s feet were offerings of plates of steaming meats, cooked vegetables, freshly baked bread, and bowls of grain. This time I didn’t touch the food.

  Ay, the father of my HeMeti, wore the golden multi-jeweled collar of a titled man.

  He bowed. “Merit-Aten, Hail to you, golden child of Ra.”

  I allowed him to honor my royal standing, and then kissed him.

  “Ay, Hail to thee, Royal Fanbearer and Father of the Deity incarnate.”

  I hoped this pleased Grand Djedti that I addressed him by his titles. Anen was one of the highest-ranking priests of Amun, as signified by the black panther pelt draped over his frame. The black cat’s fur was painted with golden stars to denote this man’s expertise in astronomy.

  “Hail to thee, beautiful lotus of the Nile.” The greeting lacked warmth.

  “Hail to thee, Chief of Sightings.” I didn’t kiss him because he despised the familiarity of touch as much as Grand Djedti.

  “I wish to seek your appraisal of Merit-Aten. Does she have the qualities to rule?” asked Grand Djedti Ti-Yee. “My son is determined to commence the worship of Aten. Two paths could help us succeed. Advise me of the wisest course. Nefertiti desires to build the lineage through her children’s children, but I am not so sure.”

  Anen stepped closer. “I hear that you are capable of more than five senses. Show us.”

  I felt shy and unaccustomed to being questioned by a man other than my instructor.

  “That is no way to address Merit-Aten. She is in line to the throne.

  Children are to be honored,” replied Grand Djedti. Sweat beaded along her henna-dyed auburn hair.

  Anen shot back. “There is still some question as to who will inherit the right to rule after you, Sister. It is not assured that Nefertiti or your son will be chosen. The Amun priesthood believes you Atenists are usurping their power. Remember, Ti-Yee, the Priesthood always chooses the Pharaoh and Per Aat. Royalty never passes on the throne. The Hanuti will not be pushed too far.”

  “What is their plan, Anen? Tell us,” said Ay, leaning closer.

  “The Hanuti have chosen someone else to play the role of Nekhbet in the upcoming Opet Festival. Mery-Ptah, the High Priest, and those in allegiance to the Vizier outnumbered us.”

  “But the role of the vulture goddess has always been mine.” Grand Djedti stomped. “I declined the role so that Nefertiti would be recognized as my next in line.”

  “Who have they chosen?” asked Ay. Sweat trickled down his face.

  “It matters not. Nefertiti is my choice,” argued Grand Djedti, her hands balled into little fists. The violent rage of Hathor-Sekhmet spewed forth. I thought about the text in school we recited: The Eye of Ra rises against you, she devours you, she chastises you. In this moment, the wrath of Sekhmet merged with my Grand Djedti. Both formidable, it thrilled me that I hailed from her lineage. One day, I too would earn this power of Sekhmet.

  “You have authority in court, but the Opet festival celebration is at the discretion of the Amun High Officials.”

  “Who did they chose?” Ay asked again of his brother, more firmly this time.

  “Sit-Amun.”

  I cringed. If they only knew about the red ram and her attempt to kill my grandmother.

  “How dare they? The role of Nekhbet is always offered to the highest ranking female,” said the Per Aat.

  Anen’s voice was coarse. “Did you not think that Sit-Amun would grow weary in your shadow? She still is Pharaoh’s first consort, and no longer the little girl you once kept quiet like a muzzled puppy.” “I warned you she would stand against us one day,” snarled Ay.

  “I am sure she has made a pact with the Hanuti,” said Ti-Yee. “Losing this role at the Opet Festival will be of great consequence. The Sesh love Nefertiti. If she does not represent the vulture goddess, this will be a public humiliation. It weakens our hold on the throne.”

  If we lost the throne, my family would perish. Our dreams of peace would perish. There had to be a way to keep my parents in power.

  “The Amun priesthood spreads filth that your son is not a pure Khemitian. They whisper that we will taint the line because Yuya, our father was a Semite, even though our Mother is full Khemitian. Sit-Amun, too, is pure Khemitian, and she pushes the Hanuti to intervene.” “Mery-Ptah and his priests feel Pharaoh blasphemed the Khemitian custom by allowing you two to join and make you his Chief Royal Wife,” said Anen. His face paled even in the candle light. “Sit-Amun calls our ancestors Semite sheepherders. She claims we have the smell of manure still on our hands. As of late, she turned the favor of the court against me.” “Am I pure Khemitian?” I asked, realizing this seemed important.

  Grand Djedti shook her head. “No, Merit-Aten, you too are a mixture of Semite and Khemitian blood.”

  My knees knocked. “Does that mean that my parents cannot rule?”

  “Not if I have the power as the Per Aat.”

  Ay’s eye twitched. “Sit-Amun has an alliance with Mery-Ptah. I have heard whispers she will choose him as her new consort once Pharaoh wests. If the Pharaoh does not announce that your son will rule by his side, then we are lost.”

  Ti-Yee spit on the ground twice. “I should cast the evil eye upon her. How dare she cross my path?”

  Anen shook his head. “Take care, Sister. The dark side of the Hanuti favor her.”

  “Those are only rumors. If I could prove she practices the black arts, then the Pharaoh would have to exile his little sister,” stated Ti-Yee. I gasped.

  “I heard Sit-Amun had her Royal Nit Picker publicly flogged for lying today,” said The Bath Attendant, snuffing out the candles in my chamber a few days later.

  Hep-Mut yanked my side lock hard, making me whimper. “Lying about what?”

  “The Nit Picker told The Wig Maker that she saw a bowl of human blood upon the altar in Sit-Amun’s private chamber.”

  The dwarf pinched my arm. “Simply foolish.” Hep-Mut’s hands shook.

  My stomach churned as I recalled knocking over her bowl of blood. “I have no time for gossip. Nefertiti is expecting Merit-Aten in the presentation hall so she can take her fifth year test. If she passes, she will be allowed to learn the Aten Rituals.”

  “These are glad tidings,” said the Bath Attendant. “Sorry for interrupting your studies. I shall just clean.” She scrubbed the floor on her knees.

  “N
ow how many stages does the sun evolve through each day?” asked Hep-Mut.

  I glanced at the Bath Mistress, wishing she’d leave. “Five.”

  “Name them.”

  “The baby sun in the morning is Kheper. The child sun is Ra. The mature ruler is Oon. The old man who becomes the Wesir of the Aten. The death or darkness is the Amun.” The Bath Attendant kept mopping the red granite.

  “Correct.” Hep-Mut gave me a satisfied look. “When our earthly sun arises anew in all its glory, we call this the dawning or Kheper. This is when we awaken to what was hidden or forgotten during the long night. The symbol is the Kheper scarab beetle. When the sun travels overhead, this is the age of Ra. Early afternoon the sun becomes the great ruler Oon. As the sun ages during the day, at last it becomes the benevolent ruler, or Aten, the Wesir, the one who must sacrifice itself when it reaches perfection, just like Osiris did. I think you are ready. It is time to see your Meti.”

  We made a hasty departure both of us silent until we turned the corner.

  “That poor Nit Picker.” Hep-Mut squeezed my hand. “She was the third one.”

  “Third?” I gulped and felt faint.

  “Promise you will never tell anyone about the red tent or Sit-Amun’s private chamber. Or we too could disappear.” Hep-Mut wheeled me around and looked into my eyes.

  “Promise.” Pledging that oath forbid me revealing any of this to Grand Djedti.

  * * *

  I thought about that oath during my entire test but still I passed with ease.

  Meti clapped her hands. “Merit, this is a day of celebration. You did the Salutation to the Sun ritual so well. Your father will expect you to perform for the opening of the Gem-Pa-Aten Temple during the Opet Festival. I will order a special ceremonial robe to be made for you to match mine. Practice with the musicians one more time. When you are finished join us in the reception room.”

  Later, I skipped out of the chamber, thinking only of the nest Hep- Mut promised to show my sister, Meket, and me. Down the hallway, some of my classmates huddled. Keshtuat tossed her long braids. She wore her usual finery made by her Meti, the court seamstress. She bragged to Sarawat, the second-born akh of the court wigmaker, about her new bed to be carved with the head of a lioness. Her Meti was commissioned to design an elaborate ritual outfit. This honor would garner much attention because of the clever use of expensive materials and fine handwork. Sarawat bragged her HeMeti had designed a most unusual wig, and that this opportunity would afford them many elaborate gold and lapis bracelets. The other akh begged to learn more. I tried to edge my way into the conversation, but they ignored me.

  “My father told me that any material fancy enough for an Opet Costume would take many moons before it arrived at our docks,” said the Chief of Imports’ son, Ra-Awab.

  Keshtuat flipped her braid. “She commissioned this special costume to be as blue as the sky, with real feathers plucked from the wings of a vulture. This will be the finest ritual costume ever made.”

  “What costume?” I raised my voice.

  “For the Festival in two months,” replied Rennutet in her mouse-meek voice.

  “The wig that we designed is also blue and layered in the Nubian style,” said Sarawat. “Never has such a wig been created.”

  Meti had already placed her order for my costume. I wanted to brag that it was mine but my older classmates disregarded me. I hung my head and slumped my shoulders.

  “We are all going to the temple square this afternoon to buy some of the imported perfumes,” said Rennutet. “Would your HeMeti allow you to join us?”

  “She expects me in the Royal reception chambers.”

  “Another time,” she said, then turned her attention back to the crowd.

  I had discovered Meti’s surprise. The hairs on my arms stood up. HeMeti said I would need new dressings for my first ritual. I did love blue too, but as of a fortnight ago, I told Hep-Mut that I changed my favorite color to malachite green. I would alert HeMeti, not blue, but green. And vulture feathers were ugly. HeMeti would understand.

  Peals of laughter overflowed from the reception chamber. A game of rolling pins was set up on the floor of the granite hall. My father, wearing his tall blue war crown, focused on his mark. He let loose a stone ball, which gathered the force of a boulder tumbling downhill. It slammed into the rows of yellow carved jackals and Nile blue hippopotami.

  Grand Djedti Ti-Yee squealed. Two younger boys set the pins back into tidy rows like ears of corn. HeMeti and Ay heckled Ti-Yee.

  “Sister, take care not to cast that burden behind you,” said Ay with great gusto. “This is the final round and we trail you by only a hippo and three jackals.”

  “Do not let it sail into the air like a reckless swallow.” Meti lifted her wineglass.

  Grand Djedti set her ball a sail onto the ocean of green tile. The ball knocked down all but one crocodile. “I smote them like the Hittite army.”

  “Wish to wager?” Ay nudged his sister, Ti-Yee. “A case of vintage wine from my northern estate. Those grapes are as sweet as the milk of Hathor,” he said, clearly making reference to the cow Deity known as She of the Magnificent Breasts.

  “We shall wager that your score will sour that milk,” said Father. “I bet a fine new chariot with one of my feistiest stallions the color of white Khemitian cotton.”

  Ay knocked down the whole left course of pins.

  “Aha,” shrieked Grand Djedti Ti-Yee with glee, “your boast was as empty as that aged bottle shall be tonight when my lowliest attendant indulges in it.”

  Meti sent the ball off and knocked down the jackals, which slew the hippopotami, and all the crocodiles.

  “Well done,” shouted Ay as he did a dance of joy.

  HeMeti waved to me. “Merit-Aten, come join us for refreshments on the patio.”

  I felt grown up to be included in their victory party. Father guided me out with languid steps while Grand Djedti raced ahead. She enjoyed her brother’s torment, as they had been sparring like this since their youth. Father looked up at the radiant orb in the sky and let the rays penetrate him.

  “It is the greatest symbol for life, and the greatest source. It gives of itself endlessly. And because it gives so, it finds new life within itself.”

  “It is beautiful, Father.” I shielded my eyes.

  “The sun never needs to go outside of itself. It has all that it needs within. I aspire to be like the sun and shine upon my people, renewing their faith in every moment.”

  “You are my sun, Father. Your arms encircle me like rays of the sun.” Meti poked her head outside. “Come join us. Ay says he will take a chariot ride to the wine estate. You should go. You work too hard.” The moment passed between us. Father now sought her arms again.

  “I have a meeting with the Council tonight,” said Father as he patted me on the head.

  “Could I go for a ride with Ay?” Meti’s eyes grew wide with hope. Father stalled and turned ashen. “The Per Aat would never allow it. Chariots are dangerous. You know what happened to my older brother.” “Yes, of course. It just looks so exciting,” she said as we entered the shaded patio.

  Hep-Mut pulled a little wooden crocodile. Every turn of the wheels opened the croc’s jaws full of sharp teeth. Meket-Aten ran with outstretched arms, warning her nursemaid to take heed of the ferocious reptile.

  I watched the childish game and shivered. Was that what used to amuse me? My news took precedence over Hep-Mut’s silly games with a baby.