THE EMPTY GOLDEN WALL stared back at her with a vengeance, half hidden in the shadows of the overhang and burning a hole through Acenath's thoughts. Behind her, Atsu stood with his arms crossed and warm golden eyes narrowed, as if he were wondering too what she was about to do. In all honesty, Acenath was lost. It was, after all, just practice. Without a subject, she was practically talentless.
"Cows?" suggested Atsu casually.
Acenath turned to give him a burningly incredulous look.
He shrugged. "It wasn't a bad idea."
She put her head in her hands, peeking through her fingers at the harshly barren stone. Coming up to stand behind Atsu, his twin, Khons - named aptly after the moon god for his hard grey eyes - made a noise of sympathy. Acenath sighed.
"You're good at cows," pressed Khons, taking over Atsu's pushy role. "That's all I'm saying."
"Ahrgh, son of Set!" snapped Acenath, backing away from the stone. Her hands flew up to her head. As she stood there seething and shaking, trying to inspire herself(as this was an important task, however droll it may have seemed), Khons held out to her a brush, and black and white paints."I told you, I am not doing cows!"
"Stubborn," enunciated Khons.
"King's placenta," she snarled back. Khons turned an impressive shade of red.
"Oooooooooh," whispered Atsu.
"You promised not to bring that up!" growled Khons, his silver eyes stark against his blush. Acenath tilted her head mockingly at him. The boy had been getting on her nerves all month long.
"HOMAAR!" she shouted.
"For Ra's sake-"
"GAZMA! GAATAK DAHYA! IBN KALB!" fumed Acenath(Donkey! Shoe! Go to hell! Son of a dog!). Atsu reached out in a futile attempt to console her, but she remained rabid, pacing and nearly biting his hand off. Drawing back, he instead threw her a piece of bread he had stolen from a kingdom merchant. Acenath caught it and angrily ripped off a large section with her teeth, chewing testily.
"For the love of Ra," muttered Atsu, throwing her the rest of the loaf. Acenath remained chewing, pacing in tight circles in the dimming light behind the temple. The rest of the subjects and artisans had gone home, while the two remained to discuss Acenath's new assignment. Khons had stayed for a moment, caught sight of Acenath, turned on his heel, and left.
"This is an-" she paused to catch her breath. "-an outrage - why me? Why not some sun god worshipping, spineless, cowardly idiot donkey scribe? CURSE PTAH!"
Atsu stared at her in shock; Acenath's eyes widened and she clapped a hand over her mouth, beginning to turn in frantic circles. Insulting the god who brought the world into creation was not to be taken lightly.
"Acenath, are you insane? Ptah will take you and turn you into a...a...mastaba!" Atsu hissed, pulling at his overgrown hair.
At this, Acenath could not hold a back a snort, even with her arm pressed to her nose and mouth. "Really, Atsu, really? He is going to turn me into a bench?"
"Okay, maybe not," muttered Atsu. "But a scarab! Or sistra!"
"A beetle or a priests rattle," replied Acenath flatly. "Wow."
Atsu glared.
"But, anyway, Atsu, please," begged Acenath, with an abrupt change of subject. "Please, please, please!"
Her friend raised a dark eyebrow, arms crossed. "Hahahahahaha, NO."
"What do I have to do?"
"Acenath..."
"Atsu!"
"I'm sorry."
"What?"
"It's going to be just as hard for me-"
"But-"
"But what?"
"Please!"
"I'm not going to!"
"PLEASE!"
"NO!"
So there they stood outside the temple, glaring at each other with mirror expressions of frustration and anger and desperation on their faces, arms crossed, hips out. Acenath's honey brown eyes stared straight into Atsu's near-black ones with fierce, cold determination. Atsu didn't waver, his lips twisted into a single-minded, decided line. They stayed like that for a few stubborn minutes and finally Acenath, without looking away, spoke. "Please?"
"No."
Acenath stared at the sight before her in horror and awe, transfixed and almost melting under the sweltering heat. Six other scribes and artists stood beside her, clutching brushes and tablets and pencils, open mouthed and in shock. It rose up above them as if it were rearing a head, perfectly even and golden, shining in the light, casting a massive shadow over a triangular block of sandy ground and obscuring the Nile far behind it.
Ahkenaten's pyramid.
And then Acenath's stomach knotted, because a tall figure was walking toward them with a crook and flail, striding with long, purposeful steps; and as it stopped before them and the sun spots in her eyes cleared, the figure became the pharaoh.
Acenath's heart nearly stopped. Fear coursed through every vein in her body, mixed with anger; if he could only see her vicious opinions of him, she would be dead in a moment. As it was, he stopped there - a tall, slender man wearing a ceremonial beard and jeweled collar, with a sharp, cruel face, high cheekbones, and narrow dark eyes. Acenath and the scribes fell to their knees in a bow, as the high priest behind them explained their presence. Eyes closed against the burning golden sand, Acenath clenched her teeth, anger-tainted thoughts swirling through her head.
"Get up."
She and the scribes scrambled for footing in the sand, climbing eagerly to their feet. Akhenaten surveyed them coldly with kohl-lined eyes, long, spidery fingers clutching the crook and flail tightly. His thick lips, out of place in the rest of his cat-like narrow face, parted. "Bring them inside. They will begin work immediately."
The priest bowed, the pharaoh left, and with no more words the scribes were herded into the pyramid.
Hours later, when the brunt of the slaves had gone, Acenath was still sitting crosslegged on the floor of the main gallery, with the scene she was supposed to be drawing by her side.
So far, she had made five marks.
Sighing, she got to her feet in the empty hallway, rubbing her temples. The torch lit wall looked back at her as it had before, mixing frustration with her hatred of the pharaoh. He had banished worship of all gods but Aten, who represented the sun. The majority of his subjects were not happy...but still cowards.
Groaning in frustration, Acenath plastered her sketch to the wall with one hand and picked up a piece of charcoal with the other. Slowly, she drew in Anubis' face on the right side of her space, a black collared jackal, in profile. The rest of him came easily enough: a short neck, sloping shoulders, a bare chest, arm and wrist bands, linen "skirt" and feet. On the left she sketched out Horus: a falcon's head and crown, jeweled cloth collar, armbands and wristbands, muscled torso, skirt and bare feet, too. And in the middle Akhenaten, wearing a skirt, crown, and beard, jewelry, and armbands, with a golden wig and smug expression, watching as both Horus' and Anubis' hands extended to touch his shoulders. Suddenly disgusted, she threw down the coal and let it crack on the floor, glaring at the piece. With no other choice and hate in her head, she painted in the drawing as quickly as possible and added the required hieroglyphs floating around the gods and pharaoh.
It was disgusting.
And with the thought that she would have to do this over and over again - paint flattering pictures of a pharaoh Egypt hated - Acenath nearly wilted. She looked around the empty gallery and slumped against the wall, groaning.
Wait.
It was empty.
You're going to kill yourself, said a voice in her head, countered by a second: Do it.
Don't.
Do it.
Don't don't don't don't-
With shaking hands Acenath picked up another charcoal stick, with her heart drumming in overdrive. She took a step towards the empty wall on her left and stopped short.
Do it do it do it do it do it.
Don't you dare! Don't, don't don't-
Do it, do it!
Her feet shifted across the cold floor, bringing her closer to the wall until she was staring right at it, only a foot away, trembling all over. It stared back at her, half hidden in the deeply black shadows of the pyramid. The unfinished door to the actual tomb glared at her.
Don't.
Do it.
If you die, you die-
If you live, you are forgiven.
The coal tapped against the wall.
You decide.
The wall looked right back at her. Acenath looked back at it, shaking, furious, afraid.
I will die, for the rest of Egypt.
And the charcoal flashed over the wall, creating a scene on the wall: the scale for the Weighing of the Heart, Ammit the Devourer on one side, Osiris on his throne in front of Isis and Nepthys, Horus and Anubis and Ahkenaten in shock at the sight on the scale. The pharaohs heart plunged toward the ground, scorched and blackened with sin, while the Feather of Truth rose in the air, burning brightly yellow, signaling the treason of this man.
And the rest of the pyramid filled with pictures signifying the pharaoh's evil, streaming out of Acenath's hands: the pharaoh eating the richest foods in the Great House as hordes of starving, angry subjects lined the paths outside; Akhenaten in a battle chariot, pushing a warrior ahead of him so that he could die instead of the royalty; the "living god" trapping Horus in a cage already crowded with the other gods - Isis, Ra, Set, Geb, Nut, Shu, Amun and more - and leaving Aten free, swirling smugly around the cage. Off to the right, a transparent pharaoh's coffin held Ma'at, the goddess of all things good, right, and free, clawing at the coffin in righteous anger.
Hours later, when the main gallery had filled with hateful drawings, Ahkenaten came to survey the progress of the scribes. He found the art suggesting his cowardice and idiocy and the young girl who had made them, panting and laughing as if she were insane. He killed her on the spot as she screamed defiance; only days later, Egypt's subjects took his life in exchange for hers. The drawings remained until the end of Egypt, as a reminder of the peoples strength and the faults of a cowardly pharaoh.
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