It Begins The Pharaoh stood silently on the high balcony. Down below, crowds of onlookers cheered and saluted their new leader. The pharaoh looked further out: in the far distance, the snake-like trail of a burial procession wove its way through the scorching sands, passing by the towering statue of the late Pharaoh on its way to the Valley of the Kings. Iris watched until the large heavy sarcophagus was dragged over the hills and could be seen no more. She looked down at her people and her heart raced, beating against the dagger that pressed against her chest. The empire was hers. ------------------------------------------- His screams rang out through the ancient corridors of the temple of Ra. The two small figures huddled to one side clung to each other desperately as the cries of their dying father slowly grew weaker… And then they stopped. Salty tears stung Iris’s young skin; she sought comfort in the closeness of her brother Rhai. The two siblings were both slight in build and wore the same glossy black wigs cut just below the chin. Around their necks, wrists and ankles were clasped elaborate pieces of jewellery. The only apparent difference between the two was the color of their eyes: one a deep jade, the other so dark they appeared almost black. The two had an unspoken bond; emotionally and spiritually they were one. They were now alone. Parentless, having lost their mother in child-birth, they were to be placed in the custody of Akhmin, their father’s vizier. He was neither liked nor revered: Akhmin had been patrolling with their father the day he sustained the injury. The wound had become infected and their father had developed a fever, a fever which tore at his lungs and soaked his linen with rancid sweat. A fever which would inevitably kill him. Rhai blamed Akhmin for not preventing the incident. Footsteps broke her thoughts. Hard and fast, the figure of Akhmin came striding towards them: tall, leathery and lean. “Your father has passed.” His voice was emotionless. Looking at Rhai with barely disguised contempt, he opened his mouth but was cut off. “Leave us.” Rhai’s eyes were set hard but his voice was harsher. Akhmin paused momentarily, meeting Rhai’s gaze icily, before he continued with his speech. “There are matters which must be-“ “LEAVE US!” Rhai thundered. Bristling with impatience, Akhmin opened his mouth, then thinking better of it, let the statement pass unchallenged. “You are obviously in no state to discuss your future” he bowed stiffly and with a nod swept down the corridor and out of sight. The lively bustle of the streets of Tinnis distracted Iris from the emptiness of the palace. She came here often, seeking entertainment and escape. Wonderful sounds and smells assaulted her senses hour after hour as she browsed the stalls, sometimes buying gifts for Rhai and their father. Today seemed to be even more crowded than was usual and she had to shove and push her way through the throngs of people. A merchant, fat and sweating, called animatedly to her, beckoning and waving handfuls of beads. Iris shook her head politely. The merchant, however, would not be so easily deterred. He bent down and grabbed up a brightly patterned shawl, which he swept about his shoulders, motioning that she should try it on. Laughing, Iris again shook her head, ducking and weaving her escape down the street. The hand shot out from nowhere. Rough and bony, it clamped down on her arm and dragged her into darkness. Gagging on thick waves of panic, Iris struggled, scratching and kicking. With a great twist of her body, she brought herself face to face with her captor. To her surprise, she was confronted by an elderly beggar-woman: dark skinned and dirty; small and shriveled. Iris fell still. The woman glared at her, sizing her up and down. “In the name of Isis…” Iris began, but stopped, her eyes open wide. The woman had pulled out a dagger. She brandished the weapon high, her eyes never leaving the girl’s face. “I have no money!” Iris squealed as she backed away, dragging out her empty pockets. Silently she prayed that her collar would hide the gold ankh she wore around her neck. Then the old woman laughed. On and on the dry rasp filled the air as she lowered the blade, stroking it tenderly, her eyes unnaturally bright. Without a word she closed her eyes and thrust it towards Iris. Iris made no move. The woman opened one eye warily and shuffled a little towards her, her face shriveled and sad. “Take it,” she whispered, the jeweled hilt clutched in her gnarled hand. “It calls for you.” Iris felt the panic rise up in her. “But…I don’t want it. Please…it is yours…you keep it...” the girl murmured awkwardly. For a moment the woman withdrew the object, her eyes hungry, her mouth thin. But still her hand reached out. It calls for you.” She repeated. “You must take it.” There was a sense of urgency and importance in her tone that made Iris reach out for the dagger. For a fleeting second the woman held on, hesitant to give up the item that was obviously so precious to her. Then finally, tears trickling through the creases on her tired face, she let it go. “It must be,” she said more to herself than to Iris. “Why?” Iris cried, her head whirling. “You will know”, the old woman nodded, turning away. “In time, you will know”. Painfully bent, she crept back down the crowded street. Iris watched her disappear into the flurry of shapes and colours, trudging slowly, without purpose, frail and empty. Just a shell. Iris looked down at the weapon in her hand. It was a small dagger with a hilt fashioned from intricately patterned gold, inlaid with stones of emerald and jet. The blade was thin but strong, slightly curved, shaped from a metal unknown to Iris. She knew it must be worth more than anything she had ever held. Why would a beggar woman give such a prize away willingly? She had said that it had ‘called’ for Iris, but she felt no hidden power, no connection. The dagger felt cold and dead in her hand. Sighing, she slipped it into her robes and began her way back down the busy street, drained from shock. A pleasant smell of spices rose from the kitchens below. Iris sniffed the air from the wide balcony, leaning out over the stone parapets. The cool night air was a welcome relief after the sweltering heat of the afternoon sun. Looking out over the barren plains, her eyes were drawn to the statue of the pharaoh, dominating the landscape. She felt the familiar pang of grief. Created to inspire awe, the edifice, for her, simply symbolized pain and silent suffering. Nine years had passed since Rhai had assumed rule and a dark shadow had seemed to creep across the kingdom. At first, Rhai had been reluctant to assume control; his quiet nature had ensured that he was always satisfied to be instructed and led as a child. However, he had risen to the task and slowly; almost imperceptibly, he had begun to change… A feeling of unease washed over her; the air around her suddenly became still and strangely sharp. She shivered and turned, seeking the warmth of indoors but found instead a shadowy figure blocking her way. “You weren’t at dinner.” Rhai’s voice was cold. He had grown over the past year and he now stood a full head taller than Iris. Dressed in nothing more than a white kilt, he was a daunting figure, his arms and torso corded with hard, sinewy muscle. Angered by shock at her brother’s unannounced appearance, Iris could barely contain the irritation in her voice. “I had somewhere else to be.” She offered no further explanation or excuse; it had been a long time since they had spoken openly. “Obviously,” Rhai walked towards her coolly, “you need to rethink your priorities sister.” He was so close that she could feel his hot breath when Iris felt a sudden jab of pain in her head. Almost at the same time she heard the voice, deep inside her mind. “Strike her”, it said in a voice that was her brother’s despite the fact that no sound issued from his mouth. “She must be taught her place”, it continued. A foreign feeling ran through her body – an aggressive, powerful feeling. She felt as Rhai. Still closer her brother came, a cruel look on his painted features. Her mind screamed, in pain and ecstasy. Then it was gone. Iris stumbled back onto the wall behind her. Her body felt limp, her mind exhausted as if she had been emptied of her entire being. And then, as if from far away, her brother’s voice once again intruded upon her thoughts. “Do you know why you could not have a reason worthy of excuse sister?” Iris sensed his anger rising as he continued, “because the pharaoh is greater than all.” There was a mad look in his shadowy eyes. “I am your master!” he shouted, his arm raised above his head. She shrank against the wall - he was going to kill her! “I am your GOD-” “Sire.” Both brother and sister turned in response to the firm command. Cowering against the railing, Iris recognised the voice with a flood of relief – Akhmin. “You are needed in the temple.” His voice was sharp and dry. Rhai did not turn, nor lower his arm. “It can wait.” “I fear, your greatness, it cannot. The village elders have returned and the priest Amonheb demands an audience with you immediately” Akhmin had grown leaner with the years and now walked with the aid of a staff. His air of authority, however, remained undiminished. He continued: “I trust you understand the importance of these issues Sire.” Rhai lowered his arm. Turning, he wavered for a moment and seemed as if he were about to strike Akhmin. At the last minute he swung around and lunged instead at Isis. She flinched and he sneered; a minor battle had been won. Iris remained crouching against the rock. Rigid with fear, she replayed the scene again and again in her head. She knew her brother had changed, becoming hard and oppressive but wanting to hurt her? She would never have imagined it. With a shiver she remembered the voice she had heard, boring into her thoughts, and the inexorable desire for power…and dominance. For a few moments they had been as one. The room was silent except for the droning hum of a large bluish beetle. Iris followed its path with her eyes as it buzzed about the high ceilings of her room. Slowly it lumbered past the dresser which held her jewellery, before finally coming to rest on the tall cabinet in the corner of the room. It contained her few personal treasures – those which had failed to attract the pharaoh’s desire. Next to a turquoise scarab beetle carved from steatite, a statue of Isis and a small golden sphinx (given to her many years ago by Rhai) lay a small leather case. The beetle, crawling now, reared up against it. Sitting up quickly, Iris laughed. She had forgotten all about it - it had all happened so long ago she convinced herself it had all been a dream: a fabricated story created by the mind of a grieving child. Now however it all came flooding back; the alleyway, the mysterious old woman. The dagger. She remembered distinctly that she had told no one of the gift, not even Rhai. She had been overwhelmed by the feeling that this was something that was hers alone – something to be shared with no-one. She remembered dragging the heavy chair over and standing on her toes to place the case in its place. Now however she reached the box unaided. Over the years it had gathered a fine layer of dust which she now swept away with the hem of her robe. The top was intricately patterned and her initials had been carved into the bottom right corner. She opened it. Inside the dagger shone softly against the black silk scarf on which it was cushioned. Unspoiled by the years it was just as she had last seen it. She reached out to stroke the delicate looking blade but the moment that her finger connected with the blade she was thrown into a world of darkness. She was unable to move or speak; she could only watch. The world around her grew lighter and a picture began to form from the haze: the temple of Ra. Bustling, filled with people; it was obvious that an important ceremony was taking place. A small group of figures stood on the altar at the far end of the hall. Iris could see one of the figures carrying a large and elaborate headdress which she recognised immediately: a crown. The crowded room grew quiet as the figure in the centre stepped forward. Iris strained to see the figure’s face though it was, as tradition dictated, downcast. The priest carrying the ceremonial crown approached the figure. A few words were spoken and the crown was placed atop the figure’s head. Suddenly, the great hall was filled with the sounds of the cheers of the crowd. The new Pharaoh looked up and smiled at the crowd of people. She gasped noiselessly as she recognised the face. The straight nose, full lips and deep emerald eyes: she was looking at herself. Once again the world slid away into darkness and when it returned she was back in her room. What did this mean? Had she seen into the future? Was she to become Pharaoh? If so when? Why? Her head whirled. Again, she suddenly felt as if drained from within. She felt her head fall back. And was asleep within moments. She woke early. The sun was just rising, casting warm rays over the scorched land. For three days now she had grappled with the problem of the dagger and its ‘vision’. The words of the old beggar-woman ran constantly through her head. “It calls for you.”, “It must be.” Just as she had done yesterday she once more opened the small case and held the dagger. Nothing happened – again. Sighing, she returned the case to its place above the cabinet. A dark thought crept around at the edge of her mind. It had formed as soon as she had held the dagger, all of three days ago. She had pushed it to the back of her mind and until now had refused to think of it. What if she was supposed to use the dagger? Use it to become Pharaoh. But that would mean- No, she would not think of it. He was her brother. Still the thought persisted. He has led the people into famine. He has spent the taxes on building a shrine to himself. Our people are dying. If Iris were Pharaoh the people would flourish, if Iris were Pharaoh…what power she would yield. She thought back to the way she had felt when she shared Rhai’s mind. What blissful supremacy, such authority. Such domination. It was decided. She would make her own destiny. It was a bitingly cold night as Iris stood once more on the empty balcony. After having decided to do as the dagger bid the previous morning, she had spent all day pondering possible situations, ways of getting the Pharaoh alone. She had been so consumed by her thought s that she didn’t notice the fall of light into darkness. By the time she had risen back to the world of the living it was late evening. She now watched the dark sky above her swimming with stars. Maybe she would enter his bed chamber while he was sleeping…she had considered poisoning his meals, but she felt that this would be wrong. No, there was only one way. The dagger must be used. A sudden sharp tap sounded behind her and Iris whirled around. A startling sense of déjà vu enveloped her as she gazed up at the towering figure of the Pharaoh. He appeared exactly the same as before, but for one difference - he was carrying a heavy staff. “Good evening sister.” His voice was icy. “We missed you at dinner.” She tried to speak but found nothing. “I wa-” “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I was of the opinion that we had previously resolved this matter.” As if Iris was seeing their last confrontation replayed he began to walk towards her, tapping the staff as he went. “Clearly, you need to be told ag-” Suddenly Rhai was clutching at his head and moaning in pain. Unsure of what to do a wild thought sprung into Iris’ mind. Maybe someone else has already got to him .Maybe he’s been poisoned! At that moment Rhai was quiet. He straightened up and to Iris’ shock he had a smile on his face. “You wish to kill me sister?” Iris froze. Rhai gave a short laugh. “I would never have thought you so…” He chose his words carefully, “pathetic.” Looking down on her, disgust in his eyes, he continued. “To think that you, you could ever hope of achieving anything of any worth, least of all unseating the Pharaoh. I find it amusing.” Clutching his staff tightly he circled her. “You know of course, dear sister, that you have committed treason. Plotting against the throne… I take it you know the punishment.” A cold sweat broke out on Iris’ forehead. The penalty for treason was death. “I deserve the ri-” He silenced her instantly with a blow to the stomach, knocking her to the floor. “You will not,” a look of pleasure crossed his face, “speak in the presence of the Pharaoh.” Iris looked up at him, eyes watering and the breath knocked from her lungs. “You are not worthy of a moment of his time.” With this he raised the heavy staff over his head. “You should know, I do this not because I find you any threat. You are nothing to me. It is a simple matter of principles.” He took a final step towards Iris, both arms raised above his head and a look of triumph in his eyes. Suddenly, Iris sprang to her feet. In one sweeping movement she pulled the small dagger from where it lay hidden in her robes and with all the strength she could muster drove it into the Pharaoh’s exposed chest. A shocked rasp escaped the dying man’s throat as he stared in disbelief at the woman who was once his sister. The staff fell loudly behind him as he fell to his knees. For a few moments he sat staring at Iris bewilderedly. Then without another sound he slumped forward and was still.
Copyright © 2006 Kristen Karlson |