The Shape Of Loyalty

The greatest blasphemy in Egypt is not doubting the gods. It is serving them after the doubt has begun. In exactly nine hours the sun will be gone. Only I understand what that means.

I watch from my chamber window as dawn breaks. On the longest day of the year, a silent throng converges upon the temple grounds. Every face turns east. The sun is a throbbing ball, cutting through the haze and bleeding light across distant palms. Even before the heavens warp, the people feared the sky.

Canet, my young servant, lacked the discipline for priesthood, so I took him into my service. In these uncertain times, loyalty is rarer than intelligence.

And far more valuable.

On entering my chamber, the bruised shadows beneath his eyes betray a night as sleepless as my own. He hovers in the doorway.

“What would you have me do, Master?”

“Find out what the people are saying.”

An hour later he returns pale-faced with fear, hunger, and unrest.

“They want to know whether our land will be blessed again. They ask why Ra has turned against us.” His voice lowers. “Will he rise again, or will Apopis, finally destroy him?”

Beyond fear lies something worse: expectation.

The crowd seeks reassurance. The priests demand obedience. Men like Abet wait for opportunity. Like thieves.

As the day wears on, more gather in the grounds. Would it comfort them to know the priests spent all night burning wax effigies of Apopis in a desperate attempt to stave off the dreaded state of chaos? I suspect not.

^^^

Seven months earlier, the last eclipse came without warning.

Canet described the screams as darkness swallowed daylight. Mothers clutched children. Men prayed on their knees. Some said the serpent-god had devoured the sun.

I knew better. Eclipses obey patterns, not prophecy. Yet knowledge offers little comfort in unstable times.

Then came the flies. Thick black clouds fed upon the flesh of cattle until the poor beasts staggered, raw-skinned, through the fields. Famine followed. For two years the Nile withheld its floodwaters, strangling crops in dry earth. And the Pharaoh stayed absent from public view.

In troubled kingdoms, even educated men learn to fear coincidence. And if my fate is tied to the Pharaoh’s, his is tied to the land itself.

^^^

While training for the priesthood, I studied astronomy, mathematics, medicine, and statecraft. My calculations say another eclipse will occur when the sun enters 21 degrees 41. Only two hours remain.

Excitement stirs in me more than fear, though I would never admit such irreverence aloud. Celestial disturbances are seen as omens of divine displeasure. Ambitious men exploit fear.

^^^

My daily progress toward the Sacred Room feels endless.

All except Abet bow as I pass. We studied together as boys. Mathematics eluded him, but as the Pharaoh’s nephew, he expected the High Priesthood to be his. It was given to me.

Abet acknowledges me with a curt nod, a gesture more of restraint than respect. He will never know what I endured for these robes. Dressed in white linen with leather sandals and a collar of emerald and turquoise, I cross the Hypostyle Hall, admiring its spectacular ceiling of painted stars. A temple built to hold chaos at bay. Every prayer serves one desperate purpose — to preserve the sacred order of maat.

Yet disorder seeps through every stone. The Nile fails. The people starve. The Pharaoh weakens. And Abet watches me like a jackal waiting for the lion to fall.

^^^

Soft paws follow me, a welcome distraction from present tensions. Tail raised high, Smudge follows my gradual ascent toward the temple’s inner chamber where the finest offerings are kept. Since finding her half-starved beside the purification pool, she has attached herself to me with unnerving devotion.

Animals often sense danger before men do. When Abet shouted outside the library, she arched her spine and growled low in her throat. He hated her for it.

Now removing my sandals, I break the clay seal upon the sanctuary door. One of Canet’s duties is to secure it before retiring, a task he performs unceasingly.

Inside, incense thickens the air. As my eyes adjust to the gloom, Hathor’s statue emerges from the shadows. With the Pharaoh lying close to death, power weakens, and old grudges sharpen.

^^^

Smudge winds round my legs, mewing softly. Bending to stroke her noble head, her emerald eyes are the true jewels here.

I will never forget how she saved me from despair after my wife’s death. My wife had been a gifted pharmacist, endlessly studying the toxins of plants and vipers to cleanse the body of swellings and unnatural growths. Sadly, in the end, she was unable to prevent her own death. My sons did their best to comfort me. Smudge succeeded.

“If only you could advise me,” I murmur.

She answers with a clicking purr, then slips into the sanctuary itself. A dangerous liberty. Oblivious, she devours the choicest morsels before retiring to her favourite corner where she sleeps with one eye half-open.

I place offerings before Hathor, though no god has ever eaten. Here lies true blasphemy: I no longer believe with certainty. I trust charts more than prophecies. Numbers more than prayers and spells. And yet I continue the rituals. Perhaps rituals are what the fearful call faith.

After completing the ceremony, I devote myself entirely to Smudge, scratching beneath her chin and whispering secrets into her twitching ear. I love her because she is the only creature here incapable of betrayal.

Even with my sons, I am cautious. They stand outside now, watching the skies. And now the Pharaoh weakens. If his son inherits the throne, men like Abet will thrive. The thought chills me far more than the coming eclipse.

I carry Smudge from the sanctuary before someone discovers her there.

^^^

Other than my bedchamber, the library is the place I feel most at ease.

There, I devote myself to astronomical charts and ancient papyri inked by priests now encased in ancient tombs.

Abet’s shadow falls across my table.

“I see you are buried in your charts again.”

“Yes.”

“I need to speak with you.”

His tone immediately sets my teeth on edge.

“This is not a good time.”

He steps closer regardless. Natron fails to conceal the sourness of his breath.

“I found your cat retching in the corridor yesterday.”

Without looking up, I answer, “Then perhaps you should concern yourself with cleaning up the corridor.”

His jaw tightens.

“I hope you have not been feeding it temple offerings.”

Now I raise my eyes.

“Are you accusing me?”

“I’m merely questioning your judgement.” His gaze drifts deliberately toward the sanctuary. “Cats are sacred, yes, but in desperate times even sacred things must be weighed. The people do not want truth. They want stability. And I intend that give them that, whatever the cost.”

The words are daggers to my heart.

“How dare you speak to me like that?” I rise slowly. “Your dislike of cats is strange. They are creatures of blessing.”

“That may be so during peaceful times. But peace is vanishing.” His voice lowers. “The gods demand sacrifice. Sentiment cannot be allowed to interfere with necessity.”

The grinding of his teeth sets my own on edge.

I am about to tell him precisely into which hole he may place his advice when a knock sounds at the library door.

A temple dancer enters, bowing gracefully.

“Forgive the interruption, Master, but the King’s Son is here. He requests your presence in the Appearance Room.”

“Very well.”

Abet steps aside with infuriating calm.

“We shall continue this conversation later,” I tell him.

“As you wish,” he replies, eyes glinting.

^^^

The Prince reclines upon a carved throne within the Appearance Room. Two servant girls fan him with ostrich feathers.

He resembles his dying father, though his features have hardened into arrogance.

Stretching out one hand for me to kiss his ring, he speaks without preamble.

“The crowd outside grows restless. What do you intend to do about it, High Priest?”

The problem belongs far more to him than to me, though wisdom prevents me from saying so.

“With your permission, my lord, I believe the people seek reassurance.”

“Hmmm.” His mouth tightens. “My father rewarded you generously, did he not? High Priest and Chief Astronomer.” His eyes narrow. “As such, I expect you to justify his faith.”

“I shall do my utmost.”

I clear my throat carefully.

“According to the movement of the celestial bodies, the sun will shortly disappear. If my calculations are correct, the land will be plunged into darkness.”

The prince pales.

“You should have informed me sooner.”

“I wished to avoid unnecessary alarm. The darkness will pass quickly. Once Thoth restores the moon eye of Horus stolen by chaos, the light shall return.”

The words leave my mouth smoothly enough, though inwardly I marvel I can still speak such myths with conviction.

“Hmmm.” He drums his jewelled fingers against the arm of the throne. “The kingdom grows unstable. Even the pyramid workers whisper of striking.” Disgust twists his lip.

I take a deep breath.

“The people suffer, my lord. Perhaps taxes could be eased until the famine passes.”

His gaze sharpens instantly.

“Careful there.”

“Or perhaps the latest pyramid works might be delayed until—”

He raises one hand.

“Enough. Royal finances are not your concern.” Rising abruptly, he grips an ornately carved staff. “I expect you to calm the crowd. If you fail, I shall hold you personally responsible.”

“I believe they will listen.”

“For your sake, let us hope so.” His expression cools further. “My father often warned that pride invites downfall.”

The meaning behind the words strikes cleanly.

Someone has been speaking against me.

And it’s not hard to guess who.

Before leaving, the prince pauses beside me.

“One further thing.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“I dislike weakness in holy men.”

Then he walks away, leaving the scent of myrrh and threat lingering behind him.

^^^

There is no turning back now.

Within minutes, the moon will slide across the sun and cast its shadow upon the earth.

The stone plinth where I must address the crowd waits in the centre of the courtyard. Beyond it stands the shadow clock. Before me, hundreds of frightened faces.

If I fail them today, Abet will strip the remains of my authority before sunset.

I climb the platform slowly.

“The heavens are entering a temporary darkness,” I announce. “But you must not fear. This eclipse is a natural phenomenon. It does not mean the gods have abandoned Egypt.”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. A child begins crying.

“If my calculations are correct, the darkness will last only seven minutes.”

“Will the floods return?” a woman calls desperately.

I look toward the darkening sky knowing the alignment of the stars is already moving in our favour.

“There is reason for hope. Sirius will soon herald the rising of the waters. The Nile will flood again. The harvests will return.”

Then the light dims and begins to die.

A gasp sweeps through the courtyard. As the moon devours the sun, darkness crashes across the earth, and a sudden, freezing wind sweeps the grounds.

For one terrible moment, fear claws at my chest. What if all my calculations are wrong? What if chaos truly waits beyond the light?

Then, as if the heavens themselves are answering my call, rain bursts from the sky. An impossible, heavy, warm rain.

Children laugh and throw back their heads. Men collapse weeping into the mud. Women lift trembling hands toward the sky in gratitude for a miracle born of cold air and hot desert dust.

And slowly, gloriously, the light returns.

^^^

I can hardly wait to tell Smudge the good news.

But when I return to the temple, she is nowhere to be found. Not in my chamber. Not beside the library. Not near the purification pool where I first found her.

Only one place remains.

^^^

The smell of burning flesh reaches me before I reach the Sacred Room.

Incense cannot mask the sight of blood.

Abet stands before the altar with smoke curling around him. The glow from the brazier throws strange shadows across his face.

Ice floods my veins.

I cannot bring myself to look beyond him. Not yet.

“Where is Smudge?”

“That no longer concerns you.”

“What have you done?”

“While you were out entertaining the crowd, the prince had already entrusted the sanctuary to me.” His smile is thin and cruel. “He feels a firmer hand is required.”

Rage strikes so suddenly my vision blurs. “You poisonous little jackal.”

“Careful.” He folds his hands inside his sleeves. “You no longer speak from a position of authority. From now on, I shall serve Hathor in your place.”

Every word lands like a blow.

“You should be pleased,” he continues. “You are now free to devote yourself entirely to your precious charts. Though for how much longer, remains to be seen.”

For a moment I imagine taking the ceremonial knife from beside the altar and driving it into his throat. I imagine the surprise in his eyes. The blood soaking his immaculate robes. The silence afterwards.

Instead, I force my hands to remain still. There are other less obvious ways. I need time to think.

“If that is the prince's wish,” I say hoarsely, “then I will leave you to your duties.”

I turn and walk away.

But something inside me has shifted. And Abet, in all his smugness, does not yet realise it.

^^^

The temple pharmacy lies deserted. Dust hangs in shafts of fading light.

This was my wife's domain. The place where she spent years studying medicines, venoms and poisons in search of cures. I have avoided it since her death. Today I cannot stay away.

I search through her records. Notes written in her careful hand. Observations. Experiments. Warnings.

The hours slip by unnoticed. Outside, the temple celebrates. Abet will be revelling in it by now. Accepting congratulations. Receiving bows. High Priest in all but name.

I close the final scroll. I know exactly which poison to use. And how.

The thought should horrify me. Instead it comforts me.

^^^

The celebration beyond the walls grows louder. I rise. It is time.

A creature of habit, Abet always drinks from the same cup. He’ll be too drunk to notice.

I leave the pharmacy and make my way back towards the Sacred Room.

Smoke still curls beneath the doorway. I push it open.

And stop.

For a moment my mind refuses to take in the sight. A body lies sprawled before the altar. Face down. Motionless.

The ceremonial knife protrudes from his back. Blood darkens the stone floor.

Abet.

The name forms slowly in my mind.

As though it belongs to someone else's thoughts. Only moments earlier I had imagined his death in vivid detail. Yet now that it has happened, I feel no triumph. Only emptiness.

And something far colder. The certainty that I am no longer the most dangerous man in this temple.

“Master?”

Footsteps sound behind me. I turn.

Canet stands in the doorway.

Smudge trembles in his arms, very much alive.

Relief hits me so hard I almost stagger.

“Thank Ra,” I whisper.

Tears spill down Canet's face.

“I found her beside the altar.” His voice breaks. “He… he was going to sacrifice her.”

My gaze shifts from the cat to the blood pooling around Abet's body.

Canet follows it. For a moment neither of us speaks. Understanding settles between us, heavy as stone.

“Master,” he whispers.

I hear the confession before he speaks it.

“I did it for you.”

I look at the boy I brought into my service. The nervous youth who hovered by doorways awaiting instruction. The boy I trusted because he was loyal. The boy who listened more carefully than anyone realised.

And suddenly I realise. He must have heard every insult. Seen every slight. Remembered every humiliation. He hadn’t feared Abet. He had recognised him as a threat. And when the jackal raised his hand against what he loved, he removed it.

Not as a servant or a boy, but as something I have never truly seen before.

The poison in my sleeve is no longer necessary. For the first time, I understand that loyalty has a shape of its own.

And it is standing before me.