Coincidence Theory
Samali led J’tan and Jethro back out of the camp and toward the safety of their cave. They arrived at the battle belatedly, not realising Miriamne was attempting to finish their task alone. They tried to reach her, but it was too late. From distance, they watched helplessly on as Akhenaten wiped out the last fragile resistance in the camp, killing Miriamne in the process. Even at the end, after the explosion that concluded the battle, they could only stare in horror as Akhenaten walked away from the carnage, seemingly unhurt.
J’tan and Jethro, noticeably shaken by the occurrences, stumbled over rocks as they were coerced back into the safety of their hiding place in the mountains, Jethro’s face awash with tears.
Samali was amazed by the actions of Miriamne. She was unsure if in a similar position, she would have acted the same way. Her bravery and sacrifice would not go in vain. Surely, the divine serpent would grant them at least that.
It took until the following morning for J’tan and Jethro to snap out of their dulled mental state. By the time the earliest flickers of orange sunlight were brushing their way across the sands in the valley, they were tucking into a hearty bowl of broth.
When they cleaned away their breakfast accoutrements, the group looked out over the camp of the Israelites. As they watched, a vast crowd gathered around the Tabernacle. Everyone to do with the uprising herded before the great tent. Soon, there were thousands massed in the confined space, surrounded by guards.
J’tan looked at the congregation and felt a sickening knot forming in the pit of his stomach. The crowds knelt in unison, the echoing sound of bodies rubbing against cloth audible even high up on the cliff. They bowed and chanted, as figures emerged from the Tabernacle. It was difficult to tell who they were, but the glinting flashes of gold from the white speck in the centre could only be Akhenaten.
For a while, there was silence, as Akhenaten talked to the throng in a way impossible to hear at distance. The diatribe was a long one, the dot moving agitatedly as it continued into the morning, until eventually all movement ceased.
Jethro glanced at J’tan, his face wracked with tension, as multiple flashes of red appeared and began to move through the multitudes. A great cry of terror went up from the crowd, as the serpents raced through it. People tried to escape the guards that circled the edge, every one summarily hacked to the ground. Terrified and with nowhere to go, Akhenaten’s followers were systematically eradicated.
With a heart wrenching sadness, Samali realised some of the screams belonged to women and children. The handiwork of the Pharaoh in the Great City was appalling. She could not bear to witness it again. She turned, trying to stifle a sob, and ran back into the cave.
J’tan and Jethro watched until the end. At the finale, ten thousand, maybe more, men, women, and children lay felled in the sands. The two remained in stunned silence, as the guards began to loot the corpses of the fallen and ransack their empty tents. Without speaking another word, they silently walked into the cave and began to pack their things.
“What are you doing?” said Samali, breaking out into tears when she saw the look of desolation on J’tan’s face. “We have failed! There is nothing more to do!”
“We will keep going until he is stopped. If it pleases the Gods, they will send…”
“Your Gods are not real! Do you not understand? No Gods are real!”
J’tan turned and grabbed Samali by the wrist, glaring fiercely at her. “It does not matter what you believe to be true or not!” he said, the force of his words catching her off guard. “All that matters now is that we do not allow those who have died at the hands of this monster, to die in vain. We owe it to ourselves, my sister, and my son to continue until we have succeeded in our goal, or we have died in the attempt!”
Samali looked into his eyes and realised he would never stop. He would continue until it was over, even knowing all his attempts would be met with certain failure. Somewhere deep within her soul, she finally understood. He was right. It did not matter what she believed. Not because there was a mission to complete, that was almost impossible now. He continued because it honoured those he loved, and she would follow him to the end, because it honoured her love for him.
J’tan caught the look that crossed her face and shone from her eyes. It lifted his sprits and removed the last granules of doubt, which clung to the corners of his soul. He reached out and gently wiped the tears from beneath her eyes, as he pulled her to him.
Their embrace was warm and deep, their bodies relaxing with the release of tension their communion of sprit produced.
Jethro waited patiently by the side of their horses, turning his back to the pair to give them the privacy their moment deserved. He stared out at the blue sky and wondered what could be for his son if they succeeded. He wondered if the God of his fathers, the God of the great prophet Abram, truly looked down upon their actions and the thought made him pray. He had not done so for many years, working as he did in the false guise of a priest of another faith. Surrounded by those he loved, he allowed his soul to guide his thoughts.
He prayed to his God, the great father, to look down from the starry heavens. He prayed that his Lord’s kingdom on Earth was still to be found. He prayed for his God to guide him and to allow him to do on Earth as his God did before in the heavens. He prayed for him and his family to be granted the blessing of food. He prayed to be forgiven for his transgressions and for the ability to forgive others for theirs. He prayed his family would not be tempted to turn from their path by evil intent. Finally, he prayed that he, and the two brave souls that were his companions, were given a chance for redemption.
When their communal moment was over, the group mounted their steeds and slowly trotted round the hillside. They took a longer route, leaving the mount they were on and traversing a narrow brook, before climbing the hill the Israelites camped beside and selecting a plateau not far up the eastern slope from which to plan their next move.
In the centre of the levelled space, a solitary olive tree struggled up from the parched ground, its trunk withered, and only a few barely green leaves clinging to its brackish spines. A man leant against it, his garb ripped and his head hung awkwardly into his chest.
They cautiously dismounted and began to walk toward the figure. As they closed, it became apparent that although the tunic was rough it was made of the finest linen, woven around the neck and hem with the most delicate purple and red threads.
“Smenkhkare?” said Jethro, quickening his pace.
J’tan removed a pouch of water and one of berries from his horse, and jogged across to the fallen Pharaoh.
Jethro crouched by Smenkhkare and lifted his head, the scene so horrid he turned away to regain his composure.
Smenkhkare’s skin hung from his flesh, as withered as the tree he was tied to. He reached round, unbound his hands from the back of the thin trunk, and allowed them to flop by his sides.
As the rope relaxed, Smenkhkare’s eyelids began to flicker. “I… I…” he said, the words lost in his hoarse voice. “My brother…”
“We know. His retribution against those who opposed him has been visceral.” said Jethro, his voice laden with remorse.
“I am sorry… I tried…” said Smenkhkare, a tear escaping his faltering eyes and trailing down his mangled face.
“I know. My granddaughter was a fine and brave woman. I did not believe her when she said you had changed, and for that it is I who should be asking for forgiveness. I am proud to have been able to have you as a member of my family, my son.” said Jethro, bowing his head in respect.
Smenkhkare tried to smile, but his skin did not possess the malleability to reproduce the emotion, and the attempt turned to a wince, as pain surged through his crippled body.
“You should rest. Try not to move.” said Samali.
“It is too late for me.” said Smenkhkare, with a knowing look. “But it is not too late for you.”
“Of what do you speak?” asked J’tan.
Smenkhkare convulsed, as anot
her heady blast of pain wracked his body. “You must listen to me. There…” he said, wriggling feverishly and lolling onto his side, drool beginning to issue from his mouth. “My brother… he travels to the mound of the thirteenth... it is the only place to complete… in the sight of the ruins of Jericho…”
Jethro tried to hold Smenkhkare’s head still, as he watched the agony of effort torture him.
“You must… atop the hillside… only at dawn… he can still be stopped… Forgive…” In a moment, Smenkhkare’s wriggling ceased and a peaceful look descended over his lifeless features.
J’tan placed a supportive hand on the shoulder of his father. For all the pain Smenkhkare’s actions caused, he knew his father’s beliefs meant all sins were absolved if change was made and forgiveness requested.
They spent the afternoon preparing a grave in a style traditional to the followers of Abram, placing a simple headstone in front of it upon their completion. Jethro intoned the dreams of the prophet and cast the spells of rebirth upon his simple ceremony’s end, hoping that they had done enough to secure his place in the heavens.
There, in the late afternoon shadow of a twisted olive tree, Smenkhkare, king of Egypt, finally found the peace of his people, and perhaps the eternal salvation of his God.
Chapter 48