Accidental Gods (21 page)

Chapter 35

I worship God as Truth only. I have not yet found Him, but I am seeking after Him. I am prepared to sacrifice the things dearest to me in pursuit of this quest. Even if the sacrifice demanded my very life, I hope I may be prepared to give it.

—Mahatma Gandhi

The man, dressed in typical, nondescript clothes, came running up the main approach to the palace entrance from the city. By the time he reached the gates, he was breathing so hard he could barely stand.

“They are at the house,” he managed to squeeze out between his gasps for air.

At that, he leaned against the wall, bent nearly halfway over, and drew out his panting into wheezing, long breaths.

One of the guards nodded toward someone inside the palace.

***

Their light armor clanked, and their copper-tipped spears bobbed as the squad of soldiers marched in lockstep down the packed-dirt road. It was rare to see the pharaoh’s soldiers in this area of the city. Far more common were pairs of city guardsmen roving in idle patrols.

What made this squad even more unique was the high priest they followed. His white robe was already hemmed in brown from dust and dirt as it swished about him, marking an eerie cadence with the bouncing of the gold bracelets on his arms. Behind him walked two acolytes, similarly dressed, although without the gold. One carried a clay jar and a brush. The other carried folded cloth of deep red.

The few people on the streets backed out of the way of this strange group and glanced furtively at the sixth pyramid, whose apex was visible from almost anywhere in the city, the pyramid they now knew to be complete. A high priest with a military escort walking in the city’s streets could mean only one thing.

The procession stopped in front of the outer door of one of the affluent houses that lined the riverfront. The high priest turned to the acolyte with the clay jar, who handed the brush to the priest and held out the jar. The priest dipped the brush into the jar, dragged the excess gold-toned paint from the brush at the jar’s lip, and painted the outline of a diamond on the door.

“The Creator bound the world,” he intoned.

And he put a dot at the top of the diamond, just inside the outline.

“The Architect designed our world.”

He put a dot just inside the outline on the right side.

“The Builder brought the world to life.”

He put a dot in the middle of the diamond.

“The Guide brought us out of Darkness.”

He put a dot on the left corner.

“The Scribe records our path.”

He put a final dot in the inside bottom of the diamond.

“The Darkness takes us all.”

Then he knocked on the door. A heartbroken wail escaped from the courtyard as the door opened. A man, his black hair cropped short in the current fashion, looked stoically at the priest.

The priest placed a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Your daughter has been chosen as the vessel to link our god on Earth, the Pharaoh Altememnor, with the creators through the activation of the sixth holy pyramid.”

The man slowly nodded. His eyes seemed empty, as if their light had been snuffed. He held his wife, who was wailing by his side. Everyone turned and faced the girl.

She was fourteen, in that awkward phase between girl and woman, and stared back with every ounce of defiance she could muster.

The other acolyte stepped into the courtyard and unfolded the piece of cloth. He walked around the girl and placed it across her shoulders like a shawl, covering the rainbow scarf. As his hand touched her shoulder, she screamed.

A black shape shot across the courtyard and slammed the acolyte to the ground before anyone could even register what was happening. A spray of blood from the acolyte’s severed jugular spattered the high priest’s face and painted a diagonal line across his white robe.

In the half second of shocked silence, the cat lunged at the high priest. The priest raised his arm to make a holy sign or to protect his face, and then he was buried beneath the cat.

The other acolyte dropped the jar, and it shattered at his feet. He dove to the floor and covered his head. Gold paint spattered in a giant starburst in a bright mosaic on the tiles that covered the courtyard, adding new yellow spots to the cat and speckling the legs of the girl’s parents. The mother collapsed, sliding down the father’s leg as she fell onto her knees in a kneeling position. She wailed between the girl and the father, at the center of a golden and red starburst of paint and blood.

The cat and the soldiers charged each other. The soldiers were unable to maneuver their spears in the chokepoint of the doorway, and the huge, fast cat batted away shafts as it lunged. The cat attacked blindly again and again, mauling two soldiers while they swung their spears wildly. One soldier finally impaled the cat, and then two more shoved their spears in—killing the large cat.

Around the cat were three dead soldiers, one apparently killed by his own comrade’s spears, and the man and the woman, also speared to death, either out of confusion or spite. The surviving acolyte stood up uncertainly, beneath the glare of the remaining soldiers.

“So much blood,” he said. “This is not how it is supposed to be.”

The girl stood still, in her original spot, except for almost imperceptible shudders that periodically rippled through her body beneath the heavy red cloth, tears running down her cheeks.

Blood was spattered all over the wooden door. It had not broken the diamond, but it had mingled with two of the dots, the Builder and the Darkness. In fact, they were now connected by the blood. He wondered what that might foretell.

The acolyte bent down to the high priest and carefully removed his still bloody vestments. They were required to anoint a new high priest, and that was critical now. This was not the time for hesitation.

He then grabbed the girl’s arm and dragged her deeper into the courtyard but discovered he hadn’t needed to force her. She followed without resistance. He proceeded through the house, the soldiers on his heels leaving a trail of bloody footprints on the tile floors. He walked out the house’s back and made his way past the family’s felucca to a waiting military longboat. The ship’s master looked at him as they boarded, then at the girl, then at the reduced squad of soldiers, and then stared at all blood. He decided not to ask any questions.

He nodded at the coxswain, who shouted, “Row!”

The oarsmen heaved, and the boat moved out of the pier and into the river. The shoulders of the twelve oarsmen rippled as they fought the current, moving upstream toward the sixth pyramid.

Immediately after the boat pulled away, light flared from the top of the sixth pyramid. Its giant braziers had been set afire, the bright light visible to the whole city, announcing the night’s ceremony.

***

They marched, with guards flanking Nefirti, from the dock around the newly completed pyramid. The scorching sun further baked the blood that covered them. They turned around the back of the pyramid, the part invisible from the city, and she was shocked. It was like a carnival. A large, open tent stood at the foot of a giant staircase. The ground was covered with blankets. Servants swarmed about like ants.

A small group relaxing on piles of pillows in the middle of the tent shouted when they saw her. They climbed to their feet, still shouting, and rushed over to them.

When they got close enough to see the blood, they slowed and their shouts waned, ever so slightly, but still they came, most with white robes—similar to the former high priest’s but with fewer gold accoutrements—that flowed about their feet. Four of the group were dressed differently: one in an extravagant purple robe heavily accessorized with gold, two in armor, and one in simple garb highlighted only with a purple sash.

“Where is the high priest,” one white-robed man asked when they got to the group.

“He is dead.”

“Dead?” another asked as if trying to interpret a new word.

“Her cat went berserk defending her. It killed the high priest, an acolyte, and three soldiers.”

The soldiers didn’t pause in their march, and the second white-robed man half-trotted along to keep up.

“The high priest is dead?” he asked again still trying to understand.

Most of the group was now alternating looks between the bloody duo and another man. She looked at him. He was the one in purple. It was a tunic, and he wore a gold belt, bracelets, rings, and a circlet just above his brow—gold was everywhere. She assumed he was the pharaoh.

She briefly wondered if she could kill him. He looked too strong, and the two armored men, presumably his bodyguards, stayed close to him and looked like they could strike her down before she could so much as scratch him.

“What does this mean?” the pharaoh screamed at the others. “Tell me! What does it mean?”

They fell back from him, clearly in fear of his wrath.

One man, the one with the purple sash, stepped close to the pharaoh, indifferent to the guards. He whispered something.

The pharaoh looked ready to explode. It took him a moment to regain his composure. Then he turned to one of the priests.

“Kneel,” he growled.

The man did.

The pharaoh spit on the man’s head and then turned slightly and grabbed a small knife from the belt of one of his bodyguards. The pharaoh cut a slice into his hand and slapped the kneeling priest so hard that it knocked his head sideways. The impact was loud and left blood on the priest’s cheek in a smeared image of the pharaoh’s hand.

“May my blood and water anoint you and make you strong. For you are the representative of the god on Earth and speaker for the creators. May the Builder make you strong, the Guide lead you forward, the Scribe record your deeds, and the Darkness wait on you. Rise, High Priest.”

The acolyte came forward and placed the old high priest’s vestments, still bloody, onto the new high priest.

The man rose.

“Now what in the name of Darkness does this mean?”

“Nothing, my lord,” the new high priest said. “The girl is here. The ceremony will occur as preordained. The rest doesn’t matter.”

The pharaoh seemed to debate internally whether to believe the new high priest or not and then nodded. “Clean her up.”

***

She was patient as the slaves scrubbed away the blood that covered her. It hurt, especially as they dampened and brushed the blood-clotted kinks from her hair. But soon it was over and she was covered in a blue smock.

The high priest appeared before her, flanked by several other priests. They looked at her as if they expected a fight, but she had lost the will to resist.

They led her up the stairs behind the pyramid. It was a long climb and made every muscle in her legs burn long before they got to the top. The new high priest moved slightly faster the higher they got. It seemed that, rather than making his leg muscles burn, their growing height up the pyramid made his desire burn. He panted with it by the time they crested the top, and she was nearly blinded by the light from the two giant braziers.

They led her to a large granite slab, where she saw her name carved into the stone. She was told to lie on top of it and did so without a fight. Though the braziers engulfed her with searing waves of heat each time the breeze paused, the stone was a constant chill against the backs of her arms and lower legs. It gave her goose bumps, and the tiny, downy hairs on her forearms and the back of her neck seemed not to know whether to stand on end or shrink from the searing heat.

The priests tied her arms and legs down. The whole thing was like a dream. She could barely see outside of the small open room, but she could tell the darkness was coming—and it was coming for her. She heard chanted prayers, songs of glory. It all mingled into a giant macabre, surreal ceremony to her. Shadows danced on the edge of her peripheral vision as the Alphan star began to set.

The darkness had come. The light from the braziers sent shadows dancing all around her. Soon, the shadows flickered over her, and she heard men approaching, very close. The pharaoh stood above her, the new high priest at his side. The high priest held a ceremonial dagger, and the sight of the blade made her see the soldiers and their spear tips piercing her parents again and again, Muu Muu fighting and dying for her.

Everything inside her exploded, and she struggled against her bindings and the heat and cold and the darkness.

“I curse you all to the grasp of Darkness!” she screamed. “This pyramid will be destroyed before my blood is even dry.” She didn’t realize how loudly she must have shouted. The words reverberated in the small room and took on a life of their own. It encouraged her. “And you,” she glared at the Pharaoh and shouted even louder, even more confidently, “will be wiped from this Earth. The Scribe will erase your name. The Builder will destroy your pyramid. And Darkness will take your progeny. What you do is not the way of the gods.”

The pharaoh’s face contorted in rage. He snatched the dagger from the high priest and drove it through her heart so violently that she heard its tip ring against the stone beneath her.