The Wrath of God

by Jay Penner

  “How did he die, sir?” Sinaruk asks.

  “Bravely,” I lie. “The battles have been intense. We underestimated the Egyptian resolve and ability.”

  Sinaruk pauses. “I will state the original orders, sir, but things have changed here.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “The King and the Supreme Council has ordered that Prince Nimmuruk be declared King of Egypt and for you to conclude the campaign three moons and return, no matter what the situation.”

  “What?”

  Sinaruk stammers. “Prince Nimmuruk—he, he was to be declared King, sir. But since he is dead, we have to discuss what must be done. Those are the orders. The Prince was supposed to continue until we secured victory, or he too would be ordered to return.”

  “The Prince is dead, and I am now the commander of the Atalanni forces in Egypt. Do they think I am a supreme magician to conjure a victory out of nothing?”

  Sinaruk shuffles uncomfortably. “They are no longer demanding victory, General. I am only the messenger—”

  I hold up my palm, silencing him. “We do not know how long we will be here. The Prince made some tactical errors that caused us great harm,” I say, and he avoids looking into my eyes. “What I need to convey to the King is that we urgently need supplies and more weapons if we must secure victory. The Pharaoh is weak, but he has a supply line that will replenish their body and spirits, and we do not. We have lost much, and it is preposterous to abandon now when we can snag victory with some support from home!”

  “I will certainly convey that, sir,” he says, unhappily. He knows that he will be the recipient of a severe tongue lashing, or worse, from the Council.

  I pace around in the tent, flabbergasted. My men look deflated at this turn of events. “What else is happening there? Why are we rushing to conclude the campaign now? Or did you come here empty-handed to hand down useless orders,” I ask. I must know more, especially about Apsara. But I cannot make it obvious.

  Sinaruk looks offended. “This is the first time since the invasion that we are contacting you. No one from here came to Kallistu—no one there knows what is happening here.”

  “Then answer my questions, what is the situation there?”

  Sinaruk rubs his palms and scratches his neck. “The situation in the capital is rather delicate, sir.”

  “How?”

  His eyes dart around the room. “If I may speak to you in confidence? What I say was reserved to the Prince,” he says. I am about to resist sending my men away, but then realize that if Sinaruk keeps his mouth shut, then I may not learn things that are worth knowing.

  I turn to Bansabira. “Prepare the men for our final advance.” He bows and the rest of the men leave with him, leaving me along with Sinaruk.

  “What is it? Leave nothing unsaid. I must know what we are facing.”

  Sinaruk looks deeply troubled. He gulps some more water. “Things are getting much worse back home, General. Far worse than you can imagine.”

  “Tell me,” I say, my heart beginning to thud—what was happening?

  “First, the King has executed many of his nobles, architects, engineers, and governors. He accused them of treason.”

  It takes minutes for Sinaruk to explain—this savagery unsettles me, but I am unsurprised knowing the King’s slow descent to madness.

  “You bring happiness, Sinaruk,” I say, and we smile sadly. “What else?”

  “The tremors have increased. It is now once every few days. There are vents of steam all around the central temple complex and causeway. Cracks everywhere. Many sections of the inner cliffs are beginning to collapse. The main buildings are still standing, but signs of worry are everywhere. The administrators think that we will have a revolt on our hands. People are upset about the war, the executions, and the King has refused to evacuate the people.”

  I shake my head. “I no longer know if the gods are angry because of what we did or what we did not.”

  “The King no longer relies on the counsel of the Oracle,” he whispers as if fearing that Khaia will magically materialize and smite him. “There is much tension between them.”

  “She is quite the woman,” I say, without elaborating further. I am beginning to think that Khaia is far more than formidable—she is dangerous.

  “Besides, there are rumors that the King has faced a far greater shame,” he says, conspiratorially.

  “What rumors?”

  Sinaruk suddenly looks extremely uncomfortable. “Well, not for me to further royal rumors, sir, it is nothing of importance…”

  I am about to dismiss the conversation, but a royal rumor? “No one from the Council is here, Sinaruk, and we’ve been in the mud and rut for a long time. A little gossip wouldn’t kill you,” I say, smiling.

  He grins. “But still, who am I to comment on the King’s marital woes?”

  My heart palpitates. I do not know if Sinaruk caught my expression, but I control my reaction.

  “What of it?”

  He leans forward. “It turns out—pardon me for I am only relaying hearsay—the Queen spread her legs for someone else!”

  Blood rushes to my face, and I turn away as if to cough—but I am trying to catch my breath for it feels like a foul ghost has thrust itself to my mouth and sucked the air out of my lungs.

  “That is unfathomable!” I say, faking outrage.

  “Not only that—the harlot is pregnant and has been sentenced to death with haimskaia. She has another fifty days to reveal her lover or she dies,” he says, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head in admonishment. “The woman has refused to tell who she is fucking!”

  I almost feel like vomiting, and my head spins.

  Pregnant.

  Sentenced to death.

  My love and my child!

  Here we are fighting a fruitless war, and there she is, alone, imprisoned, with my child, and soon to die.

  “What is haimskaia?” I ask, dreading the answer.

  Sinaruk lowers his voice. “It is an ancient, ruthless punishment reserved for only the greatest outrages against the King, sir,” he says, whispering as if the very name of the punishment must not be uttered.

  “What is it?” I ask, a little more sternly.

  “She will be tied naked to a post in front of the people. An executioner will break the bones of her hand, legs, and waist, slowly and one-by-one, with a heavy club. He will then severe each of her limbs and let her bleed to death,” he says, his eyes fixed to the floor.

  I pretend like my cough is worse—I walk out of the tent and throw up violently. My body shakes with guilt, terror, anxiety, and anger. I take a while to recover and think about what I must do. When I return, Sinaruk has a puzzled expression on his face.

  “This is far worse than I thought. Does the Council not realize what must they must do before we lose the capital?” I ask, doing my best to look serious and angry.

  He is confused. “What do you mean, sir?”

  “Think, Sinaruk! Tell me about the state of our reserves and security in the capital, and it might strike you as obvious.”

  Sinaruk thinks for a while, his deep brows furrowed. Then he says slowly. “Phaistos is struggling to contain Kaftu and maintain a semblance of control. Kallistu has bare reserves for security; the troops there are not well trained—we never anticipated this situation so quickly. The senior officers are either here or dead. The Supreme Council do not seem to trust anyone in Kallistu anymore, and you may have guessed by now general that they no longer see Egypt as a priority. They want you to get a quick victory—they want to leave this behind.”

  Why am I not surprised? But this gives the opening I seek.

  “We might not have a capital to go back to if we lose control there, Sinaruk. I must return and bring order before there is a civil war. The Queen’s execution will hasten it! I must keep the Council safe.”

  Sinaruk looks horrified. “General, you cannot leave—”

  “When is the Queen scheduled for execution?” I say.


  He thinks a bit, still looking concerned. “Fifty days if they stay true to the order, but—”

  “Did you not hear what I said?” I tell him. “What is the point of fighting for Egypt if we lose Kallistu?”

  “We are not going to lose Kallistu or Kaftu, General,” he says, his voice now hostile. “It seems you are trying to find an excuse to run from the battlefield!”

  “How dare you accuse me of trying to leave?” I roar at him.

  “Phaistos can be recalled to support the reserves in the capital, and I am here to issue the King’s order to you! You will pay for insubordination and defying royal orders!” he shouts. His face is etched deep with anger and resentment.

  “Do not—”

  He raises his palm in front of my face. “The King will hear of this! Follow your orders, or it will be your head, Teber,” he says and turns to leave.

  I lean and grab Sinaruk by his throat. I pull my dagger out and stab him in the chest. I squeeze his throat to prevent him from shouting and hold him until he slumps against my chest.

  His blood is all over me.

  I lay his body on the floor and go outside. I tell a commandant to bring Bansabira and the remaining commanders to my tent. My temple throbs violently, and it feels like a giant crab is wringing my guts from the inside. I calculate the situation—Bansabira must continue here, and I must return.

  For Atalanni.

  For Apsara.

  It is time for me to take control when they are weakest. Once they are all there, I first take Bansabira to confidence. My story is that Sinaruk threatened all of us for the Prince’s death and that the delicate situation in the capital required me to return immediately to prevent a revolt and also take control of the situation. It takes some convincing, but Bansabira is proud to carry the mantle as the general of the forces in Egypt, and his commanders agree to his leadership. We arrest the rest of Sinaruk’s aides and put them on peripheral duty.

  The plan is for the Atalanni forces to hold firm, to the extent possible, until I return. But deep in my heart, I know that Ahmose will not wait, and my men face annihilation.

  I will return and bring this all to an end.

  CHAPTER 49.

  LOWER EGYPT – PERKHURE

  I bid goodbye to Bansabira and my men. My final speech is one of hope and duty—and I tell them to remain faithful to the attack plan. They receive the news of my departure bravely, and they have many kind words to say about my leadership.

  They do not know the vast turbulence in my mind.

  I pick Itaja and one hundred highly experienced soldiers to join me on my return. I cannot take more men for we are already depleted, and I must leave enough capable men for Bansabira. As I walk away North from the camps, we climb a small hillock and look back at my army. A vast assemblage of tents and ditches stretches at a distance, and men scurry about in preparation for the next fight. A gentle mist of the morning obscures the view. I stand there for a while, watching the fine clouds slowly hide our forces, and I wonder if this army will vanish from history.

  With a heavy heart, I turn and walk away. I look around at the ancient land around me, still out of reach. They say my journey will take thirty to forty days on account of the weather. The wait will be tortuous, but that is my punishment for having left Apsara alone. I have told the captains that we will swing wide of Kaftu and go directly to Kallistu. I do not know what is going on in the Kingdom and who is hostile, and Phaistos is in Kaftu. I do not trust him.

  I pray for favorable winds and skies.

  On the way, I plan to warm up my men to the idea that we will stage a swift coup if necessary and take control.

  Once there is peace again, and the dancers return to the courtyards, I will reunite with my beloved Queen.

  CHAPTER 50.

  KALLISTU

  Khaia has finally managed to get access to Apsara in the dungeon. The pretext is that the Oracle must bless the Queen and the priestesses must conduct final prayers.

  There are only twenty days for the deadline to expire, and so far, Apsara has remained resolute and refused to speak of her paramour, much to everyone’s frustration. The King is going mad—he rages most of the day, screaming at everyone, lamenting the dire situation on the island and lack of news from Egypt. Rishwa has twice dissuaded the King from torturing Apsara, and Khaia has lost most of her access to Hannuruk. The inner ledges of the North-Western part of the Island are bleeding molten rock into the sea, a spectacular and frightening sight. The liquid causes the water to boil and hiss. The sounds carry in the cold winds of the night as if the goddess is whispering ominously. Khaia has her bodyguards and a protection force, for it is unclear now what might happen. There have also been isolated incidents of revolt and people trying to flee, only to be arrested and executed on the spot.

  She hopes that once Teber is here, she can gain control of the Island and eliminate the King.

  She paces along the cobbled pathway to the stairs of the underground prison. It is dark and damp as they descend deeper. Khaia shudders—it is as if she is walking down the stairs to a well of despair. It is a long walk, and the cracked stone corridor becomes narrower.

  The dim lamps are not enough to fight the darkness that hugs them.

  Guards let her through the thick wooden doors to a long pathway—on both sides are doors to the cells. She thinks she hears crying and shouts of despair. Two men from the King’s Guard go with her.

  She finally comes to the end of the corridor. In front is a bronze-studded stone door with a small peephole. Two men guard the door, and they salute the officers from the King’s Guard and kneel before Khaia.

  “Open it,” she says.

  A foul stench greets her as the door creaks open. It is dark inside and takes Khaia time to adjust her eyes. There are two small lamps on a ledge, and the room is sparse.

  Khaia finally sees her.

  Apsara sits with her back to the wall on her bed, on a stone platform on which there is a flimsy sheet for comfort.

  This is the Queen!

  Khaia turns to the King’s Guard behind her. “Stay back. It is time for ceremony.”

  “Sacred Khaia, we have been instructed to—”

  “Get out! Do not interfere in sacred duties,” she admonishes them. After some hand wringing, the two men step out of the room, leaving only Khaia and her two priestesses who carry some bread, buckets of water, scented cleaning herb-extracts, and medicinal salves.

  Khaia walks towards Apsara. The lamps reflect off of the Queen’s face—her hair is dirty and disheveled. She wears a filthy, half-torn rag and her once smooth skin has scabs—wounds healed from itching.

  “Apsara, listen to me,” she says, as she kneels before the bed. She lays a gentle palm on Apsara’s withdrawn knees. The Queen flinches at first but does not move away. Khaia caresses Apsara’s shoulders. There is a gasp, and the Queen starts crying. Khaia lets her be.

  Eventually, Apsara calms down.

  “Why are you here?” she asks, feebly.

  “I may have my differences with you, but I had no hand in this and no desire to have you treated this way,” Khaia says.

  “Then why did you not stop that monster?”

  “He is beyond reason now, Apsara. We have tried.”

  Apsara gently removes Khaia’s palm from her shoulder. “Why are you here, then?”

  Khaia does not answer. Instead, she turns to her priestesses and nods. The two women come to either side of Apsara and gently hoist her to her feet. “They are not here to hurt you,” Khaia says.

  Apsara says nothing. The women proceed to remove her robes and pour warm water over the Queen. They cleanse her. Apsara’s chest heaves throughout, and the suppressed sobs are the only sounds along with the sound of water sloshing in the bucket and dripping to the floor. Her belly is beginning to show—a child grows there, Khaia thinks, but will never see life. Once the Queen is clean, they apply perfume and dress her in fresh new linen. The priestesses chant prayers as they c
ircle the Queen.

  Once the ceremony is complete, Khaia orders them to stand outside. The senior man from the King’s Guard is watching as he leans into the room from outside.

  “Are you preparing me for execution?” Apsara asks. There is no fear in her voice, just acceptance.

  “Not yet. There are ten more days. Tell them who your lover is. Make this easy. I cannot protect you from your betrayal of the King, but I can lessen the pain of punishment.”

  Apsara scoffs. “As if I have not suffered enough.”

  “Apsara,” Khaia says with urgency, “listen to me, child. You do not want the death the King has announced if you do not reveal the father.”

  “My death is guaranteed. My child will never experience air, water, and blue skies. I will not add the name of the man that loved me to the King’s death list. Besides, how do you know he is not already dead?”

  Khaia sighs at the stubbornness of youth. “You are a fool. That man who loved you could not keep his penis in control, and you will die because of his lust and your stupidity. How reckless could you be?”

  “Love. Not lust. What do you know about love? I have only seen venom from you.”

  The Queen’s words sting Khaia.

  “Do not lay blame on my feet. It was you who fucked someone behind your husband’s back, and you make it seem like I had something to do with it. You are a Queen, not a market whore. Duty comes first, and love later, for those who are designated to rule kingdoms.”

  Apsara retreats to the back of her bed. Khaia does not give up and sits by Apsara’s side. “Things are dire. You feel the rumbles. The people are restless. We have inadequate security,” she says, hoping her candid assessment will help Apsara trust her more. “We have sent a messenger to Egypt to find General Teber and tell him to bring victory.”

  Khaia hears Apsara take a sharp intake of breath. The Queen goes still for several moments. “General Teber will know of what is happening here?” she asks.