The Death of Kings - Chapter Two

In a sudden burst, birds leapt into the sky and ibex of various sizes raced from a common spot, crisscrossing each other’s paths. The shallow and spiked breathing of a trampled beast fell soft against the rumble of its brothers. Uninvolved, the trees merely sat by.1

The Greek was yelling, screaming, and shrieking as he scurried across the rocks and shrubs that pulled at his legs. The jagged desert bushes ripped his foot coverings, bloodied his toes. Falling twice, his back was covered with spines. His arms waved in the desert breeze. Sweat bubbled from his skin, soaking his garments and his eyes darted back and forth from nothing to nothing. If it were possible to see into his mind, the twist and turns of it would dumbfound the oracles.2

His bow was hung upon the brawn of his back, and every time he misstepped it would strike his head, urging him to run faster. A whisper hung desperately onto his ear, worming its way inside. “I am coming, Zanoth,” it said. “I am right behind you.” Every time it spoke, the Greek reached for a knife on his thigh and turned. Seeing nothing, he would continue his awkward escape, sweat droplets flying as he leapt.3

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There is an ancient creature of Egypt, born from the very depths of Duat—the hell of the sands. Away from the judging eyes of Anubis the scrawny monster wriggled and squirmed. Deadened, nasty hearts were thrown to him—those that were judged unworthy of the splendor of afterlife—and were devoured. Though…"devoured" is an understatement.5

The serpentine monster would slither in his clammy corners, his teeth revealed by the seldom light of a good heart, and he would wait. His eyes, unseen, were always focused on the doors that the deceased would enter. But he just didn’t want another lunch, friends. He wanted out of the judging rooms. He wanted the midnights of the sands and the cool hidings of their days. Hated and worshipped against by almost every Egyptian, he would never find acceptance or favors in the sight of the jackal-headed Anubis.6

Apep, for that is what the vile serpent was called, made an accord with a seldom worshipper above, enraging his fellow deities. But such things are not to be spoken of at the moment. It is enough to say, now, that Apep had gotten what he desired. Behind Zanoth, by maybe a thousand cubits, he slithered through the dust and burs, his many tails scattering the rocks in a spray. In the desert sun, his entire form could easily be seen. Where his tails joined, long hooked spines jutted out, vibrating with his movements. His legs likened those of a scorpion and a large head—almost human-like—looked left and right searching for the assassin. His mouth, filled with the teeth of a crocodile, was open slightly and yellow eyes, as all are that are formed by darkness, were hateful. The creature kept calling to Zanoth, projecting his voice to the assassin, warning him.7

Zanoth sensed the creature, prompting him ever faster. He had unsheathed his knife and now held it tightly in his left fist. No longer did he turn and look for it was dangerous to do so. He knew he was being followed. Soldier and survivor instincts kicking in, he cut off to the left up an incline where he knelt, calmly placing the knife on the ground and taking the bow from his back. He rested it in his left, took an arrow from its case, and placed it on the bowstring. Greatly arching the wooden limbs, he pulled the arrow towards him as kept his eyes focused. Waiting was always hardest… His follower still made no sound, and the veins of Zanoth’s arms bulged with the pressure flushing through. He spat out sand and gritted his teeth. Something had appeared in the distance. The serpent Apep hadn’t seen Zanoth but Zanoth had already glimpsed a tail. The Greek pulled the arrow back a little farther—almost to the breaking point of the string. And then, when he finally saw the head of his pursuer, he gaped. The arrow loosed sloppily from his grasp and spiraled through the air landing five cubits in front of the beast. Zanoth’s eyes widened as Apep shot his gaze to the hills. The Greek placed his bow back, plucked his knife from the ground, and hastily sprint through the brush of the hill, maddened once again but in far more danger than before. Apep had seen him stand and began immediately to crawl up the hill.8

Ten cubits—that was the only distance between the two. The growls from Apep and the panting from Zanoth blended in with the dust flying into the air and the tree branches grabbing at their bodies. The spines of Apep’s back elongated reaching to the front of his head. Zanoth was desperate and his insides burned. His legs were nearly numb.9

Dodging off to the right, to the left, and back again he found the monstrosity still with him. The bow banged his head harder, pushed him faster. He clutched the knife tightly as his knuckles whitened. Apep was gaining. The serpent’s legs weaved back and forth crisscrossing. Seven cubits—that’s all the space there was now.10

The land began to even out as the hill faded away with the brush. Sand took the place of the gravel, stones, and good footing. Zanoth’s feet fell from him as he crashed into the hard-packed desert. His breath was driven away and sand flew into his face. Quickly, he got onto his back and stretched his arms across his face immediately expecting the spines.11

But there were none. Moving his arms and opening his eyes, he looked slowly to where the creature should have been, but there was no horror there. Apep had gone. 12

Zanoth stood up awkwardly as his jaw fell. There weren’t any markings other than those of his own feet. There were no whispers in his ears; practically no sounds at all. He looked towards the hills, at all the scattered stones and broken branches to find nothing. And then, as if only to bring him out of his state, a voice called out. “Hello, Greek,” it said to his right. Turning to his side, Zanoth saw, standing a distance away, an armored soldier with two hands holding the reigns to a magnificent chariot. Zanoth’s eyes closed and his body suddenly toppled.13

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When the assassin had finally awoken, he found his sight blurred and his throat dangerously parched. Walls surrounded him and a single torch lit the corner he was slumped in. He still hadn’t escaped the dust for the stone floor was filthy and he could even smell it in the air. “Hello?” his voice cracked. He had slept with his mouth open and the desert had even crept into his throat. Unable to talk, he decided to get to the doors.15

Wiping his face, he cleared his eyes a bit and looked around the room. Everything was built from stone, and, apart from torches and a few torn and burnt drapes, the walls were adorned with Egyptian paintings of falcons and setting suns. As he walked across the room he found a triangular pattern in the floor, all wrapped around an oval in its center. Peering closer, he found the oval to be an eye and the triangle to be a pyramid. He cocked his head and blinked. Fire erupted in the eye’s pupil and he jumped back clutching the blade at his side.16

Nothing happened.17

Staring curiously he moved to the side and slunk towards the large, elaborate exit. He shoved them open and the cool night air flushed into the room, blowing his hair from his face and rippling his clothes against his body. He closed his eyes instantly in reaction but this time there was no sand in the breeze. Rain fell outside.18

In the court beyond the doors, the rain plastered the ground and three ibis stood gawking in the shelter of pillars and arches. In brief flashes of light from the sky, puddles were illuminated as sudden potholes of reflection. Bringing his hand up to his forehead, Zanoth squinted out against the downpour. The hazed forms of Egyptian idols stood at the entrance to the corridors off to the left and scattered pieces of rubble littered the courtyard. Beyond the pillars, it was impossible to see anything but blackness and other far-off flashings of lightning. Seeing no where to go, he decided to return indoors. 19

As he turned though, a slight sound caught the numbness of his ear. The faint, tremulous hum of a lyre—almost inaudible against the fall of rain—came from the dark of the corridors. Hesitating but for a moment, Zanoth quickly picked his way down the stairs through various pieces of obliterated stone and across the yard to the statues. He saw that they also were quite deformed from blows, but he could make out the shapes of youths, scarabs, falcons, and elderly men. Glancing at them peculiarly, he crept past and into the corridor.20

There was practically no light in the hall, but the sound of the lyre grew, reverberating off the curved walls. A small glimmer of flame danced in the distance, and Zanoth continued to feel his way towards it. He thought he heard humming, or, perhaps singing. A soft falsetto wound along with the echoes. Starting as a glimpse in the shadow, Zanoth saw a head bob slightly with the music. He broke into a quick-paced walk. “Hello?” he whispered. Abruptly, the music stopped; the glow vanished. “Hello?” he yelled, but only the noise of the rain outside answered him. Waiting, he just stood there breathing.21

Then finally, after nearly two minutes, the light appeared again. “You’re still here,” said the man who had been playing. “Encouraging.” Standing from his chair, he beckoned with his hand and Zanoth cautiously crept into the chamber, keeping his eyes fixated on the tall soldier. “Do not be so afraid, Zanoth. These halls are not like the catacombs of our home.” The soldier, Apollo, took a few steps toward Zanoth. “I will not kill you in here; not at all. Such things are distasteful, although Ares would say differently… Do you know who I am?”22

Zanoth didn’t say anything. He couldn’t reply because his eyes and mind were astonished. The flame, glow, or light was coming from the man before him.23

“Greek, do you know who I am?” said Apollo a second time. 24

Zanoth, if not had he been trained in Sparta, would have gone on gazing. “Yes... But you shouldn’t be here.”25

“True.” Apollo placed his lyre back within his robe and guided Zanoth out towards the statues. The rain still came down, but it had started to recede. The god breathed in, deeply, and sighed. “This is the only respite in this lake of dunes,” he said, looking out to where the oasis would be in the light. “I love it.” He glanced down at the assassin next to him. “You should be in Greece, Zanoth. Why are you here?”26

Zanoth ran his gaze along the temple’s dark outlines. “If I answered the question, would I be stating the obvious?”27

“That depends on your answer.”28

Zanoth cast his eyes downwards and his shoulders slumped. “I'm lost.”29