It did not take J’tan long to catch up with Akhenaten and Michaenas, as they marched down the slope to the encampment. Ensuring he stayed behind them, he kept hidden in the early morning shadows thrown out by the boulders lining the track.
As J’tan approached the camp, rising plumes of uncontrolled fires emanating from the heart of the patchwork carpet of tents filled his view. He could hear the cries of battle floating on the breeze and could smell the unmistakable aroma of death that hung in the air. Men, women, and children scrambling to pack possessions, their livestock laden with frenzied rapidity.
J’tan snuck from tent to tent, as Akhenaten made his way toward the centre, each footstep taken across the parched earth bringing the sounds of conflict closer. Soon, he was not only paying heed to the advance of the Pharaoh, but also to the area around him, his senses on full alert.
It was not long until the tents became deserted, their lonesome entrance cloths wafting in the early morning sirocco. The fires that once warmed their interiors, long since stilled to smoke.
Yet, on strode Akhenaten. He barely paused to look, as he entered the desolation of the interior. His stride was sure and even, as the first bodies of those felled in battle were encountered.
If Akhenaten felt anything for those fallen, J’tan could not tell. His proud gait and assured demeanour belied no trepidation, as he marched through the carnage.
After a final rank of tents led to a large clearing, a stand of men came into view. As soon as their eyes caught sight of Akhenaten, the men fell to the sand, burying their heads low like the running birds of the Nubian wastes.
“Arise, my warriors.” said Akhenaten, his voice deep and powerful. “Do not be afraid. Israel is with me.”
The lead man raised his head and stared at Akhenaten, his face contorted in terror.
Akhenaten turned to Michaenas and gestured forlornly for him to deal with them, as he strode off through the clearing.
As Michaenas struggled to get the guards to heed his words, J’tan skirted their position and quickened his pace. If he could close the gap quickly enough, he could be on top of Akhenaten before he reached the main body of his army.
J’tan sprinted along the line of tents to the side of his target. He drew his knife and curled his fingers round the handle. He scanned ahead to where, no more than thirty strides away, another clutch of guards waited by the side of the royal camp. He could not allow Akhenaten to reach them. He tensed his muscles in preparation for his attack, aiming for a gap so he would appear in front of the Pharaoh.
As he darted into the break, something hit him in the chest and forced the air from his lungs. His head snapped forward and his legs parted the ground, as he came to a complete stop. He caught a glimpse of a huge, dark-skinned arm wrap around his waist. It crunched him to the earth, as a massive hand clasped itself over his mouth and stifled any sound. As his vision blurred and his world span, he was dragged into one of the tents; the huge figure holding him down so firmly he was unsure if he could move at all, as another form came into hazy focus.
“Shhh” the vaguely familiar voice sounded. “Do not struggle.”
J’tan’s vision slowly cleared, as he tried in vain to release the powerful grip. Standing over him was a massive wall of muscle. The man must have been half as large again as J’tan, and his skin was dark and beaded with sweat. Standing to the figure’s side, a diminutive figure warmed his heart to see. “Samali? What is going on?”
“You were about to blow our cover.” Samali said, placing a hand on his cheek and smiling. “I hope you are unhurt.”
“My chest disagrees with what I am about to say, but I believe I am fine. I nearly had him.”
“You would have been killed. Whilst I have been in the camp, I have learnt much from the Midianite priests. They say Akhenaten has consumed the energy of the high fire stone. That is why his face glows as it does. Until the glow is gone, no mortal can harm him.”
“So how do we stop him?”
“Akhenaten has tasted the star fire, but according to the priests he has not utilised it correctly. Until he has, his power is temporary.”
Samali told him of the events since they parted company. She spoke of her conversations with the head of the Midianites, a man called Golan, and how he was already of the opinion Israel was not the true God. Golan explained it was Akhenaten’s knowledge of the First Time, which first made him believe he was telling the truth. All too soon, he realised the Pharaoh’s knowledge was as incomplete as his own was. He told her about the twelve and more importantly about the serpent, the thirteenth. He explained that the serpent’s followers, whom the Midianite and Akkadian priests called Anunnaki, spread the story of the First Time. Golan also taught her about his story of the deluge. He explained how the sea rose and the rivers flooded so repeatedly no area of land could be settled, the raging waters washing whole cities away. He recounted how the weather changed so rapidly no crops could be sewn, the last few survivors of the storm setting off in their remaining boats to find lands, untouched and fertile, from where to start anew. The remnants of these people, whom the Akkadian priests called Palastu were now a nomadic tribe of seafarers, leeching off the seaports and small towns lining the two great seas, their once proud heritage a distant and faded memory.
“So, how badly goes the battle?” asked J’tan, still struggling to regain his breath.
“It has been raging most of the morning, but the masses have not joined the fray. It is just the priests and the warriors. We have lost a few thousand men already and the Pharaoh an equal amount. However, Akhenaten’s followers are too numerous for us to contain long. We cannot keep losing men at this rate and succeed.”
“Who do we have on our side?” asked J’tan, concerned.
“Just the Midianites and those loyal to them. Maybe ten-thousand in number still remain.”
That was not good news. “The Pharaoh has nearly four times that amount.” J’tan said, their chances of success disappearing with every new revelation.
“But he does not throw them all into the battle. He is using his troops to assist the civilians escape the fighting. He is winning them over by helping them.”
“That does not sound like Smenkhkare.” said J’tan, puzzled by the Pharaoh’s actions.
“It does not.” said Samali, contemplatively. “We managed to corner Smenkhkare last night. He was walking the camp when the rumbling of the mountain began. Golan decided it was the best time to make our move. We managed to kill his scribe Hur and dispatch his guards, but something happened before we could apply a killing blow.” Samali’s words became light, all confidence expunged from her voice. “I do not know how to describe what transpired. A statue, made of gold, formed in the ground. It simply created itself, gold running in channels across the earth and piling up to form it.” she paused, shaking her head. It was as if she did not believe what she was saying. She took a deep breath and smiled, continuing with her story. “Since he has awoken, Smenkhkare has been a different person. The death of Hur and the attempt on his life appears to have affected him badly.”
J’tan would not linger on the statue. Whatever the truth may be, now was not the time to be chasing such a curiosity. “Smenkhkare always bore a darker side. It will not be good for our chances of success if he has developed some of his brother’s traits. We can only hope his actions are not what they appear.”
“And what of the temple?” Samali asked, hopefully.
“Yashu was prepared for any assault. I was never given an opportunity to get near either the Ark or the artefacts. Although, Yashu is bringing them down toward the camp as we speak. Perhaps if we can use the last of our army’s strength to make an assault on him as he travels, we can…”
Before J’tan could finish, a horn sounded with ferocious volume, forcing them to place their hands over their ears to hold back the noise.
“Hear me, children of Israel!” said Akhenaten in the still after the sound, his voice resonant. “You have made a grave mistake thi
s day and angered your lord. Your God is a jealous God and will have no other worshipped before him. Drop your weapons and stay this fight, or he shall put a plague on those who oppose him! This is your last chance. Fall to your knees and beg forgiveness or you will take your folly to you and children’s graves. Four generation will he plague of your progeny. Your inequity will be the scourge of your lineage.”
J’tan walked outside to gain a vantage point from which to witness what was occurring. Through the tents and down a slight slope the centre of what was once a battlefield was visible. Thousands of men gathered amid smashed frames and fallen comrades, half standing and half kneeling. In their midst stood Akhenaten in full regalia, the staff of the thirteenth raised high above his head.
Down in the dirt before Akhenaten, his face bloodied and battered, was Golan, the head priest of the Midianites. Towering over him was Yashu, a ceremonial sword held to the back of Golan’s neck, its blade flashing menacingly in the light cast out by the Pharaoh.
Samali’s guard turned and stared at the unfolding scene, his face twisting in anguish. He swivelled, readying to set off to rescue his master.
“You must not do so stupid a thing Bil’am.” Samali said, gently placing a hand against his heaving chest. “Golan would not want you to sacrifice yourself to such a fruitless task. If the warriors have given up the fight to protect their leader, then they are the ones who have made the sacrifice.”
The powerful Bil’am looked at her, unsure of what to do.
“Do not worry about me. I have all the protection I need now that J’tan is with me. Your tribesmen need you more than ever. Go and save them.”
Bil’am bowed, giving J’tan a light nod of respect, before running as fast as he could down the slope.
Samali and J’tan turned their attention back to the Pharaoh, who stood with his hands high, looking out over the battle. To their right, four guards came carrying the statue that formed the previous night.
The first sight of it unsettled J’tan. It was clearly a statue of a bovine, perhaps a younger representation of Hawt-Hor. It shimmered in the daylight and its surface rippled as if alive.
“You have sinned a great sin against your lord. Now you must purify yourselves, to be free from the evil you have committed.” Akhenaten said, as he lowered his staff to the calf.
A jet of bright red fire danced forth and engulfed the statue, the air around it vibrating with the contact. Suddenly, the statue exploded with light and a pillar of fire towered into the sky. For a moment, everyone except the Pharaoh and his entourage fell to the ground, baying and praying to the sight of their God.
In front of Akhenaten, Golan took his chance. “Do not be fooled!” he said, lifting himself from the floor. “This is not your…”
In a moment, Golan’s speech was ended. The fire darted from the calf and covered him from head to foot. It crawled over his flesh like insects. Twisting and swirling as it removed hair and skin, then flesh and blood.
Seconds later, it was over, Golan’s desiccated skeleton falling to the earth and raising a cloud of dust with its lifeless impact.
In front of Akhenaten, a pile of white powder stood where the statue once was. Motioning for guards to bring him six large water jars, they placed them in a row in front of the mound and began to pour handfuls into each.
“All those who have defied their lord will drink of the waters to cleanse themselves.” Akhenaten said, motioning for Yashu to bring men forward. “Those who refuse will surely die.”
One by one, the warriors of the Midianites were forced to imbibe a small amount of the water. The men who consumed the liquid lined up in rows, made to kneel and face Akhenaten.
“We will now see how Israel will judge you.” said Akhenaten, the exertion of his actions having dulled the glow from his face, reducing the intensity of his voice. Behind him, four men brought the Ark, placing it in the sands.
As the Pharaoh spoke, J’tan could make out the form of Smenkhkare stood to one side of a tent’s entrance, guards having to restrain him.
Akhenaten cracked an intent-laden grin and raised his arms. “I call upon our lord Israel to judge our sins! Come down from your heavenly seat and purify these men!” The air whistled around, as he slammed his hands downward, levelling the staff toward them. The Ark rattled and a groan reverberated from within, flowing out like a great stench.
A golden shaft of light shot from the tip of the staff and struck the first of the kneeling warriors squarely in the chest. The man bolted upright, his mouth open and terror crossing his eyes. Without pause, it moved through him and spread from warrior to warrior. With each new contact, the bolt grew brighter. It flexed and whipped in the air, zigzagging between them and erecting each in the same pitiless fashion as the first.
J’tan looked from Samali and back to Akhenaten. The Pharaoh’s grin was broad and his eyes filled with deadly venom. He realised there was but one choice left.
J’tan reached behind his tunic and removed his bow. Wrapped his fingers round the reed tie at its centre, he stretched it, flexing the wood and feeling the force it relayed as it bent. He rested the shaft of an arrow across his fingers. The deliciously smooth surface fired his nerve endings and heightened his desire. He felt the morning wind across his face, as he slowly lowered his bow towards his target. With a powerful, ego-laden, involuntary motion, he released his grip. His bow snapped back into shape, the arrow launching out toward its target. It gave out a light whistle as it followed its arc, the sound resonating with the satisfaction of employed skill.
Akhenaten stood next to the Ark, the golden light from the staff finally making contact with the last of the men, the pulse increasing in brightness tenfold as the arrow hit him.
Instinctively his muscles flexed, releasing his grip on the staff and sending it clattering to the ground.
The Ark groaned so loudly the tents in the area began to vibrate, and a wave of light blasting from the figures adorning its lid and drenching the very mountains around them in its brilliance, before everything descended to nothingness.
Chapter 37