by Diana Wilder
Huni shook his head. “My son was almost killed,” he said. “And Paser was killed, and it was all that ghost. I never thought—” He broke off and looked at Khonsu. “Why are you staring at me?”
Things had begun to fit together in Khonsu's mind. Paser's death, the supposed haunting, the words Nebamun had spoken to Huni's son that strange, frightening night. But though he could almost grasp the truth behind the facts, there was much he did not yet understand. All he did know at the moment was that Nebamun was, as he had said, playing a deep, dire game for high stakes. And someone could get killed.
“All this talk of ghosts is foolish!” he said. “I have no patience with it! And I want no other such incident! Warn your men! And now I must return to my post.” He turned to leave.
Huni was frowning at the shaft of the arrow. His eyes were narrow as he looked up. “Wait just one moment, noble commander,” he said. “Tell me once more: how did this arrow come to you?”
“It was shot into the midst of my men just this morning,” Khonsu replied.
Huni's lips bent into an odd smile that made Khonsu wonder why he ever judged the man to be negligible. “I see,” he said. “But the point isn't blunted, nor the fletching damaged in any way.”
“You keep saying it's a ghost's arrow,” Khonsu said. “Would such a one be damaged like others shot by mortal men?”
Huni lifted a small copper bell and rang it. “You have just told me, Commander, that this talk of ghosts is foolish,” he said in a voice of silk as the door opened behind Khonsu. “And yes, the other arrows were damaged. How odd to think that they, carrying a message from the dead, suffered the fate of normal, mortal arrows, while this one, brought north from the Heretic's city by a living man, is intact. I wonder which is the lie and which the truth? And whether I may have been mistaken about the one who's summoning me. Maybe I'd best turn my thoughts to other possibilities.”
“Think of them another time,” Khonsu said. “I must return to my command at once.” He turned to leave and found his way blocked by a group of men with drawn swords. He was not surprised by this development, but it was not welcome. He turned back to Huni.
“The noble commander is weary,” Huni said with an odd smile. “Take him somewhere where he can rest. The prison in the barracks will do. And then tell my butler I'll be boarding my boat and sailing south. It's time I met this elusive Nebamun and got some answers.” He looked at Khonsu and smiled as he tucked Nebamun's arrow into his belt.
** ** **
The southeastern gate of Akhet-Aten was choked with baggage wagons and men shifting on their feet and staring wide-eyed back into the heart of the city. They were awaiting the word to march south along the Nile half a day's journey toward the gap in the eastern cliffs opening to the city of Sumneh.
They had spent the day piling combustible materials, dried grasses, splintered wood, straw and dried reeds, against the walls of the four temples in the city and then daubing them and the walls with pitch. When that was completed, they were sent to the gate to await General Seti's command.
But they thought the command would not come soon. The General was still in the heart of the city with His Grace and Father Perineb. There had been no word; the wind sighed through the streets of the city and kicked tufts of sand into the air and whispered of the destruction of fine, beautiful things.
The men turned their backs on the city and gazed south along the shining river and spoke of other things until a thread of darkness, crossing the westering sun, raised a cry of surprise.
Smoke was drifting southward in a dark plume away to the north near the heart of the city. The strand of smoke was thin and fine as it trailed upward to catch the wind; it darkened into a knot of blackness and flame at the ground.
“What is it?” someone demanded.
“There's fire in the city!”
“What?” demanded a junior officer, his fist tightening on the handle of his knife.
“Look for yourself!” exclaimed one of the priests. “It's just beyond the palace!”
The officer peered and started backward with an exclamation. “There's another!” he cried.
“Where?” asked the priest.
“To the north: the desert altars!”
Wide-eyed, appalled silence fell. White-rimmed eyes were raised to watch the sky as the two dark plumes of smoke were joined by a third and then a fourth. The smoke caught the wind and tangled together to form a knotted skein spreading across the sky as the sound of a great wind seemed to rise and swell from the heart of the city itself.
The priest turned away from the sight. “He's firing the temples,” he said quietly.
** ** **
The fire gulped in air and released it in jets of flame like earth-bound lightning. Tendrils of flame darted in red-gold streaks, racing across the stones in the courtyards, eddying about the lintels and architraves, garlanding the temple with fire and smothering it beneath a pall of black, billowing smoke that darted flashes of sullen red light.
Lord Nebamun sent his torch spinning into the inferno before him with a flick of his arm and turned away to face his officers and senior priests. “It is done. Now it is time to make an end. Go to the southeastern gate and take the men to safety, General. Perineb will lead my men from the city under your escort.”
Seti had been holding a fold of cloth over his mouth and nose. He lowered it. “Your Grace said you would be joining us!”
“I will in good time,” Nebamun said.
The pylon was completely engulfed now, the men and women on its walls cast so swiftly into alternating shade and highlight they seemed to be writhing in the heat.
Perineb watched the racing flames as they coursed along the walls with the swiftness of hunting dogs. “'Raising their hands and crying out in the flames',” he said softly to himself. “It was just as he said...” He turned back to Nebamun. “This was not necessary, Your Grace.”
Nebamun's eyes were fixed on the flames swirling around the carved disk of the Aten as though, released from the sun itself, they had come to life in its temple and were ready to engulf it. The light bathed him in flickering red. He seemed, himself, to be made of flame and shadow. The polished carnelian Udjat charm at his breast caught the glint of the fire and flung it back like a miniature sun.
“I judged it best,” he said. “He would never have wanted anyone to be drawn into error through his actions. Sooner than that, he would have destroyed this temple with his own hands. And so I do it for him.”
“But isn't Your Grace coming with us now?” Perineb demanded.
“No.” Nebamun's voice was almost swallowed by the hiss and roar of the inferno beyond him. The billowing soot had darkened his face. “I have one matter still to complete,” he said, bringing the back of his forearm across his eyes and smearing the lighter tracks scoring his cheeks.” I will join you when I can.”
“But the fires—”
“I won't go near them, you have my word. But the matter is pressing. Go now. I'll join you when I can.”
Seti started to protest, but when Nebamun said, “His Majesty has indicated his complete approval of my actions. Do you contest his wisdom, then?” there was nothing more to say.
Seti turned to look over his shoulder as he passed beneath the Window of Appearances. He saw Nebamun, framed by the carved limestone, standing like a shadow against a red-gold tapestry of flame.
LI
“You're with the Nome Army,” Khonsu said through the grille of his cell. “Aren't you?”
His guard stopped in the act of slamming the door shut and frowned at him. “That I am, my lad,” he said grimly. “And you'd best remember it! I'll take no lip from you!”
“Oh you'll get no lip at all!” Khonsu said, trying to keep the smile from his face. “I'm Nome Army, too, from Khemnu. My name is Khonsu: perhaps you have heard of me.”
The name did not impress the guard, who cocked his head and eyed Khonsu with irony. “Oho!” he said. “So you're Commander Khonsu! It
's a pleasure meeting you. And I'm Djeser-Khepru-Re, but you may address me as Horemheb.”
“No, I mean it,” Khonsu said. “I am Khonsu, commander of the Army for this Nome, and if you're one of my men, you'll–”
“Well I'll damned well not open the door on your say-so and let you walk out!” the guard snorted. “Commander, indeed! You're a smooth-tongued bastard!”
“No, listen to me,” Khonsu said. “I'm not asking you to free me. But I do ask you to bring Captain Hapu here right away. He'll identify me for you. What happens after won't be upon your head, but if all goes well, I'll remember you.”
The guard considered, idly testing the security of the lock, then nodded. “Maybe I'm a bigger fool than usual,” he said after a moment. “But you don't talk like the usual spate of liars I run into. I'll bring Hapu to you, like you said. If you're lying to me after all—”
“If I'm lying to you, you can bastinado me yourself,” Khonsu said. “I'll even hold still for it.”
The guard tested the door one last time, nodded thoughtfully, and left.
Khonsu watched the door close behind the man and sat down with a curse. He had been caught as neatly as any green recruit! He should have noticed the arrow was untouched and taken steps to remedy it. A moment's work would have saved him all this annoyance and he could have been well on the way back to Akhet-Aten at that moment. But it would not take long to mend matters.
Khonsu had not raised any objection to his arrest. Huni had been more frightened by the arrow than he had cared to admit if he had forgotten that Khonsu was Commander of Army for his Nome. Khonsu had realized this and turned back to fix Huni with a frowning gaze.
His expression had remained unchanged as the guards seized him and, upon Huni's command, marched him to the barracks and handed him over to one of the officers, who took him to a cell.
The room was fairly comfortable; Khonsu folded his arms behind his head and took a deep breath. He still had time, and if all went well he could take care of matters without exciting Huni's suspicions further.
He heard the sound of approaching voices; he turned and watched as the now uncomfortable guard returned with the man that he, Khonsu, had introduced into the Nome Army and set on the path to an excellent career.
“I knew you were jealous of your own power, Hapu,” he said as the other stopped and stared at him, his jaw sagging. “But I never dreamed you would clap me in prison!”
** ** **
Neb-Aten hesitated before the blazing pylon of the temple of the Aten, his fingers tightening on his horses' reins, his eyes narrowed against the glare of the flames. The heat beat against his cheekbones, and he could feel the gold of his necklace grow hot and burning around his neck.
Heat and light, creation and—sometimes—destruction. You can feel it in the sun, like hands touching all around them, imbuing them with light and beauty. He could hear his uncle's voice, as though he were speaking across the years of silence. Even the fire that dances on our hearths is an echo of the Aten, the sun's long years of shining imprisoned in the fuel that feeds the fire and breaking free once more to return to its place of birth.
And now it is indeed returning, Neb-Aten thought. Returning and taking with it all memory of the brief interlude of my uncle's reign.
The horses tossed their heads and sidled. The fire was probably heating the bronze of their bits and making them uncomfortable. The sudden movement rattled the arrows in their quivers to either side of the body of the chariot. Neb-Aten clucked to them and moved southeast, toward the frowning line of cliffs, at a smart trot. There was much to do, and time was growing short. Dusk would be coming soon.
** ** **
“Those damned arrows have driven the man out of what mind he had!” Hapu said as he and Khonsu hurried along the quay toward Lord Nebamun's ship. “It started a year ago, and it's continued unabated ever since! He couldn't get it through his head that someone was playing a prank and if he ignored it, it would go away.”
“A prank?” Khonsu said, trying to ignore the panicked tightness gripping his temples. “No, I don't think so. When he came to Akhet-Aten—”
“He went to the city?” Hapu demanded. “He's always stayed away from it, as though he was afraid of it. Or as though...” He hesitated, weighing his words. “As though he was afraid he might meet his greatest fear in its streets.”
“He certainly acted like a man with something on his conscience,” Khonsu said. He stopped and frowned at the Second Prophet's ship, seeing in his mind's eye Huni's blank, blazing glare.
The memory of that narrow glare frightened him. If ever an omen could be read in an expression, this was the time. And it was bearing down on Akhet-Aten even as he hesitated.
He turned to Hapu. “Huni's heading toward Akhet-Aten,” he said. “He took a guard with him-how many?”
“He has five men he trusts,” Hapu said. “They were soldiers once, just like the mayor. They aren't in the army: he's their commander He was in the army, himself, once, if you believe him, and they do what he says.”
Khonsu nodded. It was as he had feared. “Have you a faster boat?” he asked. “I need to reach Akhet-Aten near the time he does.”
“We have a galley close by,” said Hapu. “It's small, and it goes along even more swiftly when it has a sail up and helping the rowers. That'll get you back to Akhet-Aten in good time.”
“Take me to it,” Khonsu said. “And find a crew for it. We haven't a moment to lose!”
** ** **
Neb-Aten feather-edged the chariot into a tight pass in the cliffs and then stepped down and hobbled the two horses. The burning temples were casting an increasing pall over the city; from where he stood he could see the thickening, ropy smoke interspersed with flashes of red fire. The heat fanned out toward him; he could feel it against his skin.
He smiled to himself as he turned away and reached to the floor of the cab to take up a stonemason's mallet and chisel, and a torch. He turned back toward the city with them heavy and solid in his hands, and gazed into the flame and darkness with stinging eyes.
He had expected to feel sorrow at Akhet-Aten's destruction, but the sight made his heart thrill with pride. The city of his childhood was as magnificent in its death as it had been beautiful in its life. Let those who did not understand say whatever they wished, Nefer-Khepru-Re Akhenaten, his uncle, had been a splendid architect and a great man.
The thought of art made him remember mallet and chisel. He nodded, turned, and climbed the slight incline leading to the courtyard of the tomb. He crossed the flat, sand-choked expanse and paused to take the ember-carrier from his belt and light the torch.
The dry, pitch-impregnated wood caught satisfactorily. Neb-Aten raised it and entered the tomb.
The fitful light of the torch highlighted a hypostyle hall leading back toward the bowels of the rock. He could see partially hewn pillars before him, rising up out of the rock-strewn debris of the floor.
The walls were blank, all but the ones to either side of the opening.
Neb-Aten raised his torch and went over to it, and as he approached, the streets of Akhet-Aten sprang to vivid, busy life. The king and queen stood at the Window of Appearances and showered gold, jewels and even a pair of gloves upon the tomb-owner, Huy, and Teye, his wife. Huy's arms were raised in adoration while a crowd of soldiers, dancers and children behind him shouted their joy.
Huy had left the palace; his friends surrounded him, crying congratulations and admiring the gold chains and necklaces weighting him. Two sentries squabbled over which could leave his post to witness the celebration; a schoolboy dropped his satchel and ran to join the festivities.
The cobra of royalty had been carved lightly on the brow of all Huy's depictions, obviously added some time after the initial carving to reflect that he had become pharaoh.
“Well met, Huy,” Neb-Aten said. He wedged the torch between several heavy stones, took up the chisel and hammer and stepped over to the carvings. He touched one of the arc
hed serpents with a dark smile. “I know you have been expecting me,” he said as he set the tempered copper point against the cobra-crowned face of the owner. A blow of the hammer drove it downward through the stone as Huy's face vanished in an explosion of stone chips.
Neb-Aten turned his calm attention to the name beside it. In a moment that, too, was obliterated, and he was moving down the register with his chisel ready to strike at name and face wherever they appeared as the day flowed away on the sound of chisel against stone.
The torch was giving a feebler light when Neb-Aten finally stepped back through the scattered stone fragments and gazed upon his work.
“There,” he said. “It is done. My father will know that I have beaten for him the one who hounded him to a hideous death. I only regret that I was not able to do it while you walked beneath this sun and could feel every stroke in your living flesh. It is almost tragic to reflect that fate is reserved for one who was little more than your cats-paw. But his evil was his own choice. And now it is time to deal with him.”
LII
Hapu's ship skimmed the surface of the Nile as though it had wings. The banks slid past Khonsu's gaze in a blur of motion, and the wind of his travel strained his hair back from his forehead. He gazed southward along the river, and as the distance shortened between him and the city, it seemed as though the shadow of foreboding in his mind was finding reality in the growing smudge of darkness lying to the south.
