“I guess it is possible that maybe he is a she. Who knows? The point is that someone, anyone of royal
blood, will be ruling Egypt instead of just letting her run to ruin.”
“Tell us about Akhetaten,” Cheftu said, glancing at RaEm, who had fallen silent, her gaze on the horizon, a slight frown on
her brow. He could almost smell the brimstone and sulfur from the workings of her mind. “Does the queen mother live there?”
“It’s a new city, barely built when I left,” Wenaten said. “Most of the court still lived in Waset, though Akhetaten was becoming
populated.” He closed his eyes, as though summoning the image. “The city has very large buildings and very few roofs. We’re
all supposed to bake our brains in service to the Aten.”
“Does the Aten take sacrifices?” RaEm asked, pushing herself back into the conversation.
“Nay,” Wenaten said, shaking his head. “The only person who knows what the Aten wants, or when, or why, is Akhenaten.”
“He has no priests?” Cheftu asked.
Wenaten filled their cups again. “Priests aplenty, but none of them speak to the Aten. Or he doesn’t speak to them,” he said,
waving a hand before his face. “I’m not sure. I never considered myself a religious man. The gods were the gods, we wore amulets
to protect ourselves, we sacrificed when we needed something. They stayed in the heavens, we stayed on earth. Now, now …”
He sighed and drained another beer.
RaEm looked uneasy. “Is that Aten really Allah?” she whispered to Cheftu. “He is so rigid a god.” To Wenaten she said, “What
of the other gods?”
“Banished,” he answered shortly. “Gone.”
How could one man do away with the Egyptian pantheon? “Surely they have just become minor deities?” Cheftu said. “Much in
the same way that Amun-Ra—”
“Are you a fool?” Wenaten interrupted in a hissing whisper, glancing around. “That name is death! Death, I tell you! There
is one god in Egypt! One! His name is Aten!” Wenaten leaned back, calmer, his tone normal again. “It is a punishable offense
to speak the name of another god. Worship is daily, in the Temple of the Rising of the Aten, as a group. No one is excused.
Punishments are levied if one is late or misses.” He rose abruptly. “I must piss,” he said as he staggered off.
Cheftu sipped his beer. “Was the Aten not just a minor element of Amun-Ra?” he whispered to RaEm.
She glared at him for saying the name of Egypt’s god; then, when she saw that no one was watching them, she shrugged. “I have
never heard of this god, this Aten. What a strange thing, Egypt without her gods. What of HatHor? Isis? Neith? Bastet?” She
looked at him. “Are there no goddesses at all?” She gestured to the topsail, hanging limp above them. “This god doesn’t even
have a face! How can we worship something that has no eyes to see us, no ears to hear us?”
Cheftu looked at the symbol: a disk, with rays extended, each ending in an open-palmed hand. How had this pharaoh turned his
people against what they had known and worshiped for so many millennia? It made no sense. “I am for my couch,” he said, rising,
finishing his beer.
RaEm looked away. “I think I will stay up awhile longer,” she said.
You think you will seduce Wenaten, Cheftu realized. However, he nodded and walked away. Once inside the tent enclosure, stretched
out on his pallet, he withdrew the stones again. “What land is Chloe in?” he whispered to them.
“I-n-t-h-e l-a-n-d-o-f-y-o-u-r-d-e-s-t-i-n-a-t-i-o-n.” Cheftu blew out the lamp.
“Zut alors.”
I CURSED, ROLLING OVER . My shoulder was still extremely tender, but at least it was back in place. How the hell I’d survived that insane Batmanesque
tightrope torture wasn’t abundantly clear.
At least I was alive. I could walk. Also, for better or worse, I was the local goddess. I wasn’t sure exactly how it worked,
but by making it across, I had outwitted
blood, will be ruling Egypt instead of just letting her run to ruin.”
“Tell us about Akhetaten,” Cheftu said, glancing at RaEm, who had fallen silent, her gaze on the horizon, a slight frown on
her brow. He could almost smell the brimstone and sulfur from the workings of her mind. “Does the queen mother live there?”
“It’s a new city, barely built when I left,” Wenaten said. “Most of the court still lived in Waset, though Akhetaten was becoming
populated.” He closed his eyes, as though summoning the image. “The city has very large buildings and very few roofs. We’re
all supposed to bake our brains in service to the Aten.”
“Does the Aten take sacrifices?” RaEm asked, pushing herself back into the conversation.
“Nay,” Wenaten said, shaking his head. “The only person who knows what the Aten wants, or when, or why, is Akhenaten.”
“He has no priests?” Cheftu asked.
Wenaten filled their cups again. “Priests aplenty, but none of them speak to the Aten. Or he doesn’t speak to them,” he said,
waving a hand before his face. “I’m not sure. I never considered myself a religious man. The gods were the gods, we wore amulets
to protect ourselves, we sacrificed when we needed something. They stayed in the heavens, we stayed on earth. Now, now …”
He sighed and drained another beer.
RaEm looked uneasy. “Is that Aten really Allah?” she whispered to Cheftu. “He is so rigid a god.” To Wenaten she said, “What
of the other gods?”
“Banished,” he answered shortly. “Gone.”
How could one man do away with the Egyptian pantheon? “Surely they have just become minor deities?” Cheftu said. “Much in
the same way that Amun-Ra—”
“Are you a fool?” Wenaten interrupted in a hissing whisper, glancing around. “That name is death! Death, I tell you! There
is one god in Egypt! One! His name is Aten!” Wenaten leaned back, calmer, his tone normal again. “It is a punishable offense
to speak the name of another god. Worship is daily, in the Temple of the Rising of the Aten, as a group. No one is excused.
Punishments are levied if one is late or misses.” He rose abruptly. “I must piss,” he said as he staggered off.
Cheftu sipped his beer. “Was the Aten not just a minor element of Amun-Ra?” he whispered to RaEm.
She glared at him for saying the name of Egypt’s god; then, when she saw that no one was watching them, she shrugged. “I have
never heard of this god, this Aten. What a strange thing, Egypt without her gods. What of HatHor? Isis? Neith? Bastet?” She
looked at him. “Are there no goddesses at all?” She gestured to the topsail, hanging limp above them. “This god doesn’t even
have a face! How can we worship something that has no eyes to see us, no ears to hear us?”
Cheftu looked at the symbol: a disk, with rays extended, each ending in an open-palmed hand. How had this pharaoh turned his
people against what they had known and worshiped for so many millennia? It made no sense. “I am for my couch,” he said, rising,
finishing his beer.
RaEm looked away. “I think I will stay up awhile longer,” she said.
You think you will seduce Wenaten, Cheftu realized. However, he nodded and walked away. Once inside the tent enclosure, stretched
out on his pallet, he withdrew the stones again. “What land is Chloe in?” he whispered to them.
“I-n-t-h-e l-a-n-d-o-f-y-o-u-r-d-e-s-t-i-n-a-t-i-o-n.” Cheftu blew out the lamp.
“Zut alors.”
I CURSED, ROLLING OVER . My shoulder was still extremely tender, but at least it was back in place. How the hell I’d survived that insane Batmanesque
tightrope torture wasn’t abundantly clear.
At least I was alive. I could walk. Also, for better or worse, I was the local goddess. I wasn’t sure exactly how it worked,
but by making it across, I had outwitted
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