Stretch Your Arms From Side to Side

Written by: Ethan Cheung

Edited by: Hairong Liu

“Good morrow, Your Highness.”

I nod at the liveried official as he dips his head in reverence, subtly adjusting the shirt under his fringed kilt. The heat of shemu, the harvest season, envelopes the palace in a smothering layer of air that even the fan-bearers behind me fail to disperse. I bark at them to invest more of their strength into their task and continue with a raised head, acknowledging the servants around me with a brief and contemptuous glance.

The subtle breeze offers a brief respite from the sun as I step out onto the verandah. The servants bow once more before retreating to the shade, ready to receive my commands. In the distance, Ra catches the dawn updraft and sails across the sky on his holy barque, the light spilling over the desert mountains on a new day.

Slowly, the light approaches and illuminates the domed roofs and sky-scraping spires of the sprawling megalopolis below. Magnificent towers gleaming with gold rear to great heights, leviathan structures rising from dirt to the sky. Beneath, the many streets, alleyways and dirt paths begin to fill with the lifeblood of the nation: people. The Nile, giver of all life, flows with inexhaustible vigour past grand monument and measly straw hut alike in the [city of gold]. [will make this description smoother later]

A jet of fresh air rushes through my nostrils, instilling in my body the calm needed to carry out the tasks of the day. I prepare to leave and visit the next site of my morning stroll when the familiar tinkle of ornaments catches my attention.

“Father.” I turn, and there my son stands. [describe the son more later]. “Good morrow. How was your rest?”

“Sufficient.” I sigh. My expression softens as I approach him. “Your tutor has yet to arrive, I take it?”

“Yes. But he will arrive soon.” 

I nod and return to the sights. I’d hoped to give my son a good education before I invested him with the royal headdress, but so far he had been struggling, according to his tutor. Perhaps it was time for another change.

“Will you not join me, then? [the city of gold] under Ra’s morning rays is quite the sight to behold.”

“Yes, father.” There is wonder in his expression as he joins me by the railing, but I can see the storm of conflicting emotions brewing behind his lilac eyes. Apprehension. Unease. But most of all, fear.

“Your tutor tells me that you have been struggling in class lately.”

“He is…not wrong, yes.”

“Why?” I turn to him with an inquisitive look. “Senenmut is among one of the most prolific scribes in the city. Is his method of education perhaps unsuited to you?”

“No, father. I believe that he is an exceptional teacher.” he shook his head. “But…I fail to understand the point of this. Why must I learn the art of trade or the flooding cycles of the Nile if I am to be neither a merchant nor a farmer? When shall I ever use such knowledge?”

“Khafaten.” I place both hands on his shoulders, looking straight into his eyes. “When I bestow the royal sceptre upon you, you must be prepared to face the many challenges of managing a kingdom. How are you to restrain the caprice of the mercantile class if you do not understand their trade? How are you to ensure the city is fed if you do not know when the harvest comes?”

Understanding dawns on his expression, but it fails to extinguish the shadow of unease as he gazes across the gleaming cityscape. “I understand. But there is so much to learn…”

“You will master it all in time, my son,” I reassure him. “Now go. Your tutor awaits.”

Khafaten nods and starts away. I take in another deep breath. The day had only begun.

LINE BREAK

“What did you say to me?”

Whispers erupt from the courtiers standing along the sides of the throne room, but a stern glance from Nefermaat, my vizier, smothers them instantly.

I sit on the throne, the sceptre in my hand a mark of my authority over the lands kemet, deshret, and beyond. He kneels on the floor, a tattered travelling cloak draped over his shadowy form. The lowest of the low.

And he would dare threaten me?

“My apologies, Your Highness.” He raises his head. It is as if a dark veil hangs in front of his hood, for despite the light of the sun I see nothing more than his icy blue eyes. “Perhaps I did not speak clearly enough. I have come to warn you. Upon the next waning of Khonsu’s blessing, you must sacrifice your son at the altar of Anubis, for if not your kingdom shall be consumed by the ashes of chaos.”

My gaze hardens, and an unseen fury builds up in my mind. I grip my sceptre tightly, temporarily restraining it. “And on the authority of which deluded clairvoyant do you threaten the stability of this nation? Threaten maat?”

“None but my own, Your Majesty,” he chuckles, as if I have made a jest while watching the latest rowing matches. His teeth, strangely jagged, glint in the sun’s light as his cracked lips pull back in a mocking grin. “The signs have long since presented themselves to us. You need not worry. Sacrifice young prince Khafaten, and maat will prevail, as it always has.”

Struggling to contain the raging beast of my fury, I shoot up from the throne. “You are not the first to threaten myself and my family, pretender.” A transient sort of triumph rises in my chest. “And you will not be the last. I shall deal with you as I did all the others. Guards! Seize our guest and provide him with our most…hospitable accommodations.”

His expression remains unchanged, even as the guards surround him. “I notice that you order me sent away without knowing my name.”

“For what reason would I wish to know? No doubt it is a sickening, subhuman appellation fitting your station.”

The false prophet dips his head, veiling his mocking countenance in shadow once more. He remains silent even as he is led away, but I swear I see [something] as he disappears into the vast hallways.

I tell myself to ignore it. False words invested with promises of death and destruction had been levelled against me many times in the past, and none of them have come to pass. 

Yet against my will and intention, I am unable to erase the subject matter from my mind, even when I retire to my bedchambers.

“But you are alright, my dear? I cannot imagine how that prophet came to such a conclusion. Would that I could knock some sense into him myself–”

“It’s quite alright, my darling. This is not the first threat we’ve received.”

My wife, Iset, sits across the bed from me with worry emanating from all her features. With a sigh, all the tension melts from her face, though not without leaving traces of weariness. “This affects more than just you, Maatkaamun. Do not forget that assassins will target me as well as your son.”

“Rest assured, they will not come for a while. We captured one just last night!” 

She sighs once more. “This is no laughing matter. Not even your father was under such pressure from death threats.” My attempt to infuse humour into the situation falls on deaf ears.

“Trust me, Iset. All will be solved in time.”

Yet I do not believe even my own words. The pretender’s prophecy, if such a crudely worded prediction could be called as such, inevitably burrows into my mind like a parasitic flatworm. I eventually begin thinking of ways to prevent the downfall of my kingdom. I suppress any foreign religions and lines of thought, so they may not incite the public to rebellion. I levy high taxes, so that the populace will be too starved and destitute to start such a rebellion. I even begin to suspect my trusted advisors, and have them secretly executed under various pretences.

And one night, I dream.

I dream that the vast and blue skies of the goddess Nut have disappeared, and in their place are endless columns of black ash which descend upon the city and erode all that come in contact with it. I run through the palace, trying to find my wife and son before the once magnificent structure collapses, but it is all in vain. From the darkened clouds emerges a jackal-headed god, bringing his sceptre down on the city in deadly judgment.

Before I know it, I fling myself out of bed, startling Iset, and storm through the hallways barefoot until I reach the innermost prison block, where the subject of my rage lies. 

“What,” I ask, barely keeping my voice and anger under control. “Have you done to me?” I continue to speak, ignoring the protests of the guards saying that he had refused to talk, as well as all food and drink.

He is silent for but a moment. His head rises soon after, and those icy blue eyes and mocking smile greet me once more. “So you have finally realised.”

“I have realised only that you are a pestilence upon this land that should have been eradicated long ago.” I spit. The bars are the only barrier keeping me from him, I tell myself. I could command the guards to open the cell door and dispatch this pretender to Duat, but I say to myself it would be unbefitting of a person of my station to imbrue my hands with such a base task. Even when I recognise the fear welling up in my throat as I look at the pretender. “But worry not. I shall relieve you of your pitiful existence, to a better life under Anubis. Guards! Dispatch him!”

Despite my orders, they glance amongst each other wearily, as if debating whether to obey. To obey me, the pharaoh.

“What are you waiting for? Kill him!”

“That’s enough, Maatkaaten.”

I whirl around, surprised that he would address me by my name directly. “What gives you the right to address me as such, pretender? Who are you?”

He chuckles. “Ah, so now you wish to know my name. Apologies, Your Highness,” the term takes on a deriding tone. “But I’m afraid that you must not know for the time being.”

“There is no such need,” I refute. “Guards! Kill him now, or I will have you fed to the crocodiles. Such is the way of maat!”

“Haven’t you had enough?” he interrupts me again. “It is quite comical. You abuse your power to bring punishment to your undeserving subjects. You have suppressed all freedom and concentrated the wealth of the nation into your hands. You claim to uphold maat, but you have dashed every foundational principle of that just concept into the desert sand.”

“Silence!” I bellow, but his expression remains amused as always. “You’re punishment awaits you, pretender. I shall see to it that soon your head no longer finds support from your neck.”

LINE BREAK

“Your Highness! Your Highness!”

A guard rushes towards me as the last of those swarming foreign dignitaries leaves the audience chamber, perspiration soaked completely into his outfit.

“What is it?”

He falls to his knees, still taking heavy gulps of air. “Th-this one begs for your forgiveness! The pretender, the false prophet…he has escaped!”

I stand up, anger flaring. “You…allowed him to escape?”

The guard dipped his head to the floor. “Please forgive this one! My focus lapsed for but a moment, but the pretender…”

“Your punishment shall be administered later,” I fail to keep the venom out of my voice. “Take me to his cell. Now.”

I follow the guard, who quivers in fear during the whole journey. The sight that awaits me haunts my remaining days in this world.

Blood is splattered all over the crumbling floor, spreading a thin veil of crimson over the numerous bodies scattered around the area. On each cadaver hangs a horrified expression, frozen in place even in death. Already the stink of death wafts through the entire complex.

But the most terrifying aspect is that their attire is pristine, apart from the blood. No wounds mar their bodies. The only substance other than blood is black sand.

Black sand.

I return to find that my son has suddenly fallen ill and that he is spewing the same substance that was coming from the mouths of the soldiers, the same substance that fell from the sky and destroyed my kingdom.

And not long after do the pretender’s words come true.

“Your Majesty! We must leave, now!”

I take one more hesitant glance out the balcony of the palace. The populace has gathered by the palace gates, screaming and yelling like a crowd of savages. They have heard of the northern invaders and they are afraid. Afraid for their families and of the enemy soldiers. They expected me to protect them. But instead I am about to run, run from my city and leave it to the enemy coming south.

I duck into the secret passageway and say goodbye to my kingdom forever.

My guards take me through the streets, blanketed in a plain cloak. Near the city walls, I am ushered onto a boat travelling through the Nile. I am to escape the city and never return.

But as I row along the river, fire rains down on me and my boats. The enemy has arrived. An arrow strikes my boat, and immediately the left side is set alight with a dirty yellow flame. I dive into the Nile and flounder, attempting to stay afloat, but whether by my skill or the blessing of Renenutet, I manage to plant my hands on the bank and haul myself up.

I hear my soldiers calling my name, but it is too late. Enemy soldiers wearing pointed helmets and brandishing scimitars surround me from all directions, cutting my men down.

“Please,” I beg, all honour disposed of as I work to save my own life. “Spare me.”

The leader sheathes his blade and approaches me. I stare on in horror as he takes his helmet off. It is the pretender. Black sand whirls around and obscures my vision.

“You’ve met a horrible fate, haven’t you?”