Coincidence Theory

A bodyguard of the Pharaoh made his way down a dune, securing his bow across his shoulder and buttoning his quiver.

  J’tan moved with all the grace his years of training gave him, which was some feat today. His right thigh was heavily bandaged, blood trickling from the wound beneath and trailing down to his ankles.

  J’tan had been in the employ of the Pharaoh since he was a boy. His position gave his family great respect and was one he excelled at. He was head of the Pharaoh’s bodyguard and trained to a military standard most men could not match. He was a skilled hunter, lethal with bow, knife, spear, and sword.

  The position became J’tan’s after his teacher and mentor, the fearsome warrior Yashu, was exiled after the death of his master.

  J’tan’s new master, the exalted Pharaoh Smenkhkare chose him above all others to be his new chief protector. It was one of the proudest days in his life.

  He jumped at his first task with barely restrained eagerness, organising the moving the capital back to its rightful place by the holy land of Iunu and helping to begin the process of reinstating the temples of the gods.

  The previous king, the first Pharaoh Akhenaten, decreed that all other gods were not to be worshipped upon pain of death. Across the land, temples to Ra, Sobek, Ptah, and even his own guiding light Horus were closed; much to the fevered disquiet of the populace. All this the Pharaoh did in his quest to make the people worship his new god, the so-called ‘one true god’, the Aten. Part of that edict saw the capital moved to Akhetaten, far down the crystal blue waters of Iteru, the mother river.

  Restoring the temples gave J’tan a sense of fulfilment. When he was young, all he ever wanted to be was a priest. However, his lowly caste did not allow it. His only choice was to become part of the Pharaoh’s bodyguard and hope one day to oversee the protection of the holy temples at Iunu. However, Akhenaten put paid to that. Re-opening what was once closed brought him as close to his dreams as he would ever get. Now they were shattered. It was the price of rebellion.

  J’tan turned and reached out a hand as he strode across the top of the dune, assisting his strangely beautiful companion Samali over the crest.

  Samali was a good head and shoulders shorter than he, and her long, black hair, was knotted into a taught bun on the back of her head and held in place with strangely adorned sticks. Her features were slight and flat, and her face rounded, belying her age and giving her an attractiveness that radiated from her fierce green eyes and out across her unusual, yellowish skin.

  Just this morning, whilst tracking the mason around the immense Atef-Pehu oasis, he found her. She was laid in a tent, all colour drained from her, as still as the night sands. To all the hosts of gods she looked to have passed beyond the great seal and begun her journey across the rivers below this firmament to her afterlife.

  After attempting to prevent the escape of his quarry, and the ensuing battle with the guards that led to his current state of physical disrepair, she miraculously appeared at his side. Her ability with the herbs of the field was impressive. Soon his injuries were clean and he was saved from the horrors of the decaying rot that would have festered there.

  As she tended his injuries, they talked. Her soft, rounded words flowed like music to his ears and he found himself telling her everything that transpired to bring him to her.

  A few days ago, J’tan finished his daily training of the initiates and made his way to see an old friend at the temple of Horus in Iunu. He found his friend by the edge of the offering table, his face covered in boils and pustules. His chest bore the marks of repeated stab wounds, and his skin was drawn so tight over his bones he looked to have aged at least ten summers. There was little he could do but listen as his friend gargled out his last words.

  The staff of the Zep-Tepi, one of the three gifts the gods of the First Time left to the people of the lands, had been stolen. With his last breath, J’tan’s friend begged him to retrieve it. He said the mason was attempting to gather all the artefacts of the First Time, and with them, he would hold the power of the gods themselves.

  He sat, cradling his friend’s head and taking away his fear as he crossed over, bowing his head in prayer as the light finally dissipated from his eyes.

  Before J’tan could begin his search, the guards of Iunu challenged him. They stood in the entrance of the massive temple, telling him to disarm and come with them as they began to circle. It was clear they thought he was responsible; and what reason did they have to think otherwise? He had no choice. To help his friend he could not allow himself to be captured, but to flee would set in stone his guilt in their eyes.

  With no options, he thought back to the teachings of his mentor. Live for others as you would live for yourself. In that one thought, his rebellion was assured.

  As Samali stroked the aches from his muscles and carefully applied her strange salve to his wounds, J’tan realised he would have told her anything. Her presence was delirious intoxication.

  For her part, Samali told him about how the mason came to her at the pyramid of Meidum and about how she foolishly led him to Atef-Pehu to meet a man she only knew as The Seer. She was unsure as to what happened next, but when she awoke, both The Seer and the mason were gone.

  It did not take J’tan long to figure out what occurred. The jar of wine the three shared was tipped on the rug in the tent. Around its edges, where the harsh sun dried the pungent liquid, a fine dust remained. He recognised it immediately. It was an extract made from the Pillious plant; a mixture the Mycenae traders called Mandrake. From the quantity left behind, it was not a dose intended to stupefy, but to corrupt. One mouthful should have been sufficient to kill.

  Samali could give no explanation. She had drunk of the wine and so had The Seer. It made no sense. Neither of them should have survived.

  As J’tan looked out across the shimmering wastes, he knew their time was short. A massive sandstorm, one of many that frequented the skies in the wake of the droughts that plagued his lands for so many seasons, hurtled across the horizon towards them. They must find a place to hide from its might.

  Across the desert to their side lay a bluff of rocks that stretched into the distance. It was partially covered by massive dunes, which piled atop the ancient stones like a blanket. They may not make the safety they sought there, but it was their only hope.

  Scrambling for all they were worth, they hurried across the ground toward the closest section and began to climb, as silt lashed at their skin. By the time they reached a high shelf on the rocks, the ferocity of the winds was making footing difficult.

  Spying a cave, J’tan grabbed Samali and hurled her through the mouth, before darting inside the small space after her.

  Panting hard and coated in a thick paste of sand and sweat, they lay on the floor and shared a smile. They were safe, for now.

 

  Chapter 4