Shadow of the Sun (The Shadow Saga) (6 page)

Did she mean that I was a mistake? Didn’t they want me? My heart hurt. I buried my head against Father’s chest.
I know I’m only four years old but they forget how much I understand.

“You are not a vessel who can hold the vibration of the Aten,” said Ay with a pat to his daughter’s pregnant belly. “You would shatter or burn up. I forbid it, Daughter.”

HeMeti flushed. “I am in service to the Aten, too. I participate in the rituals. When we build the big temples like you promised my Heart, then I will be in charge.” Mother clasped Netri’s hand. Her tone seemed convincing yet unsure, as if crossing an untested rope bridge. Orange flames shot forth from her nether region, the color of desire for recognition.

“I want to serve the Aten,” I announced. “May I do the rituals?”

Before Father could answer either my Mother’s or my question, Ay rose abruptly and paced with nervous tension. “Temples?” asked Ay, as he wiped his forehead with his linen handkerchief. “What temples, Majesty?”

Father smiled. “Sit-Amun mentioned that as a token of her good-will, she would demand that the Amun priesthood erect a commemorative temple for us in Karnak. Instead, I have designed plans for a colossal stone Temple of Aten between Luxor and Karnak.”

“Is that why Sit-Amun wanted to speak to you?” I asked, alarmed that she only pretended to betray Hep-Mut and me.

“Majesty, this is too hasty,” said Ay. “First, a small Aten Temple in Karnak. If the Amun priesthood is agreeable, we could eventually merge both forms of worship.”

“The Aten deserves a magnificent structure to hold the grandest rituals ever created,” said Netri, lifting his hand with a regal flair.

I smiled. Maybe I wouldn’t have to expose Sit-Amun’s secret. We didn’t have to defeat the Amunites; instead we could ease in Aten worship right in front of them. How simple. Let the people choose. “The ruling families are merely figureheads,” said Grand Djedti. “For thousands of years, the Amunite Priesthood controlled the coffers, the military, and the temples. They truly controlled the people. The blood of Amun has built the entire economic and political system of Khemit.”

“The prophesy has come to pass. Merit-Aten has easted now,” said Netri. “We must introduce the light of the Aten to free our people.”

“This Aten worship you dream of reviving is an enormous threat to the Amunites,” argued Ay. “Murder is not beneath them. I caution you, zealotry will be considered heresy.” He pounded his fist on the table. “Father,” my HeMeti said to Ay, “this darkness chokes our land and strangles the life out of the people who follow Amun. We only ask for one tiny temple to Aten.”

Ay snorted and rolled his eyes. I could tell he didn’t believe it any more than I did. If any temple would be noticed, this one would.

T
he next morning, Meti joined me to play in the gardens. Her orange pulsating lights of procreation warmed me on this chilly fall morning. Her expression hid something. Maybe Grand Djed had made my parents his co-regents.

Meti blindfolded me with her scarf and spun me around. “What direction are you?” She touched my nose.

I quieted my head, sensing that slight tingle.

“North and a bit East.”

“Correct. How do you do it?”

I lifted my blindfold. “Cannot everyone feel where North is?”

She shook her head. “No. You do things others cannot. The Ancients said we were given the gift of 360 senses, but the
Sesh
fell from grace and have forgotten all but five senses. You have your sense of direction, a sense of timing and knowing.” She kissed my forehead.

I kicked at the black soil in the garden. She didn’t mention my sense of the colors that emanated from everyone around me. “You do not have these things?” I slipped my hand into hers suddenly realizing that maybe I did have a special power of my own. A Hoopoe bird trilled above, with its fan tipped head and black and white wings pulled about it like a Mitannian shawl.

“Taste, smell, sight, touch, and hearing,” she said and touched her mouth nose, eyes, fingers and ears as if counting them off. “I only have five.” I hugged her. “I could teach you.”

She pried me away. “I need to tell you something.”

“What?”

“Like all Khemitian children, you have learned to speak, write and paint your first papyrus scrolls at my knee. I taught you about nature because everything we need to learn in life is first shown to us here. Understand?” “Yes.” I pointed at the cornflowers, red poppies and iris blossoming fair, which I had helped plant. A shiny black scarab beetle pushed its ball of dung across the stone path reminding me how its babies are birthed from a primordial ball of nothingness. Regeneration was all around us. I loved our time alone during our daily walks in the Malkata Palace gardens. Here, my mother bestowed her full attention upon me without her distracting court duties.

“You have advanced so quickly… Grand Djedti decided that you must start schooling tomorrow. You are only four, and should not start for another year, but I am not allowed to interfere.” She blinked away a tear. “Hep-Mut confided to her that you want to meet the other harem children and find friends your age.”

“Friends?” I’d rather find out if they knew of magic.

“Yes.” She hesitated and held my two palms together. “You are intelligent beyond your years. I hope it will not ever be a curse. May the Aten look after you.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

* * *

T
he next morning, I joined the classroom in the Harem with the children of the six hundred women who lived within the walls of the Malkata Palace. They were sorted into groups by those who knew the basics of the sacred texts and those with no training at all. Maybe today I would find out about magic.

“She will be the youngest in the advanced group,” the instructor told Hep-Mut. “It will be a great honor to have the Per Aat in-waiting in our classroom. I shall take care of her. Class, let us continue.” We sat crossedlegged upon mats.

“What is your name?” he asked an ebony girl with the longest braids I’d ever seen.

“Keshtuat. I come from Nubia.”

“And what does Nubia mean?”

“Nubia means the Precious Land,” responded the nine-year-old.

“Who can tell me why Nubia is called that?” he asked.

“Nubia is called the Precious Land because it is rich in gold, silver and copper mines,” replied Ra-Awab, the nine-year-old son of the merchant who supplied pottery and other imports from Mycenae. He had the aquiline nose of his Semite ancestry.

“And what are the Nubians skilled in?” the teacher asked.

With confidence I waved my hand.

“Yes, Merit-Aten.” The teacher pointed.

“Nubians are skilled in mining. They remember the ancient knowledge of how to extract the precious metals from the rock quarries. My father says that Nubian miners make mysterious sounds. The rocks give way to reveal the rare veins holding the desired metals. Certain Nubians can float the slabs right out of the quarries.”

The others stared at me. Ra-Awab frowned at me. “That is not true. No one can do that.”

“Yes, it is,” I whispered. “My father said so.”

“That is some bedtime story told to babies,” said Ra-Awab, rising. The teacher pressed Ra-Awab back down to his seat.

“You may not address any female with rudeness,” said the instructor, “especially the Per Aat in-waiting, and Merit-Aten is correct. You will stay after class and scrub the floors.”

The instructor’s well-worn sandals flapped past us on the blue
faience
glass tile floor, hands clasped behind his back. His linen kilt shone crisp and white as befit his status as Royal Scribe. “I believe you.” Rennutet, the frail eight-year-old Babylonian girl, looked like she didn’t want to take up space.

The teacher finished the day with math, astronomy, geography, and the language of diplomacy, all subjects I had studied with Pentu, our Physician. I felt blessed to be among the lucky handful of Khemitians able to attend a school and learn to read, but when would he teach magic? Next, we gathered in a circle about the teacher’s feet. I sat in the front with the younger Sesh and the older Sesh sat cross-legged behind. We breathed deep and filled our lungs, allowing the breath of life to warm us. All Khemitian students learned the lesson of breath. After all, if one did not understand how to breathe, then how could one live a full life?

“Our breath tones our muscles and allows us to rest and refresh after our minds have worked hard,” said the teacher. “And if you practice diligently, you could even levitate above the ground or travel anywhere your thoughts can carry you.”

That sounded like it could be magic.

“Teacher,” I said as I waved my hand, “could you teach me?”

The
akh
children snickered and elbowed each other.

“The little lamb is brazen,” said Sarawat to Keshtuat as they giggled and rolled their eyes.

I cringed and blushed. They judged everything I said. Why did they ridicule me? Still, I could not keep my mind off the idea of floating. At the conclusion of our studies, the guards unlocked the great wooden doors. In glided the Royal Ornaments, dressed in their white linen sheaths, wide gold necklaces inlaid with precious jewels, and wristfuls of jangling bracelets. They arrived to pick up their children. Even though these foreign women clothed themselves in the finest designs of the Khemitian court, each one still retained something from her own country, such as a handmade shawl bursting with the see-saw pattern of her village, an amulet of a foreign deity, or a hair comb. These women seemed as different as the swirling patterns within the same green granite floor tiles. I strained to see my HeMeti, the most beautiful woman in all the land.

How proud I would be.

These women, so unaccustomed to the sacred ordered life of our classroom, chattered in their native tongues, reminding me of a yard of bright chickens clucking out their morning gossip. Different perhaps, yet each mother held her child and sprinkled them with loving kisses. Hep-Mut hopped up and down vying for my attention above the flurry.