The Death of Kings - The Story So Far - Edited

INTRODUCTION1

2

In a time nearly forgotten, back when the gods were still strong, and those that believed in them were without doubt, an ancient, vastly unknown tale was spun. When the gods were separated, each kingdom’s own oblivious to all around them, the dictation of a man was told around warriors’ fires. Stricken by numerous antagonists, he traveled through desert regions, fleeing for unknown reasons. This is that heroic story…perhaps unheroic. The things that transpire within it can sparsely be attributed with the work of heroes, for the efforts of normal men are so greatly swayed by gods.
Nevertheless, listen to these long unspoken words.3

4


KAYUN - prologue5

6


Within an evening sky and under a yellow moon above, the air’s stillness was cut clean by a whistling on the breeze. It flew as a specter across the desert sand below. It past all the spindly trees and branches, twirling its wooden body, its head glinting in the dawn. Over a courtyard burdened with glyphs, an opening approached it quickly in the night. Unexpected and silent, it entered through into the shadowed house.7

Sleepily, Kayun stood next to his bed; his wife still slept peacefully. With a yawn he turned towards the window and moon outside, admiring the stars. One of them winked.8

The arrow plunged into the man, forcing its way through his chest, cracking bones and blood vessels until its iron tip spurt through his back. Gaping at the orange sun lifting in the distance, his crimson liquid shimmered in the light. It soaked his waking linens, dripped down his torso and legs, and bathed his feet. Desperately, the man tried to call for help but the blood at his lips gurgled his voice. Looking at his hands and clenching the end of arrow, he fell to his knees and toppled over backwards onto stone. 9

The light steps of an awoken child arrived just outside the room of her father. Quietly, her small hands pulled back the cloth of the draped doorway as her eyes peeped in. Aghast, she stood rigid as she brought her hands to her mouth and screamed. Her shriek pierced the sleeping household. Kayun’s wife jumped in her bed, bolting upright, strands of hair flying from her face. “Geldeea! Why did you—“ and then she saw it: her husband, murdered, lying by the window. Geldeea ran to her mother’s arms as her mother, Nuranna, called for a slave. Ten came, nearly squeezing to get through the door and into the room. Their expressions were varied among revulsion and shocked gladness.10

“Run an alert,” yelled Nuranna. “Find the assassin.”11

Behind the edge of a dune, an archer lay on his stomach. The bow was firm in his vein-looped grasp. His eyes were bloodshot and his mouth cracked slightly revealing sand-encrusted teeth. He gazed at his target as he tried to prove to himself that he had finished his task. An unsettling scream and chorus of laments billowed into the air. Numerous shouts of cries and alarms filled the home before him, permeating the morning air. His expression never changing, the man crept away past the shrubs that hid his body.12

Back in the house, amidst all the moans and trembling, the Egyptian queen still lay in her bed. Only, her eyes did not leak. Her face was apathetical. Everything about her was calm where she stood, her form dark in the dawn’s shadow. Geldeea had been joined by her two younger brothers and now stood near the window as servants covered the pharaoh with linens. 13

Tears wet the siblings’ cheeks as messengers came into the bedroom. A few minutes later, the runners were sent away with scrolls strapped to their belts. With every stride of their bare legs across the great estate, they spread the alarm to its every corner and member. Messages were sent out quickly, and chariot riders carried the news to every city and settlement: “The pharaoh, Kayun Tepet, has been murdered!” The half-god had died, immediately alerting those that were whole. 14

He had only gotten up to stretch.15

16


CHAPTER ONE17

18


Mount Olympus has always been a fabled place among our people. It has been said that even when Khaos ruled our skies, before the thought of men and women entered its ruled abyss, it had conjured the image of Mount Olympus upon his Gaia, our beloved mother and earth. And then when he created her, the endless void shared it with her.19

Through the millennia of the primordial deities, Titans were born and Titans were imprisoned, their children eaten and spat out. Zeus, in the versatility of his youth, overthrew his father Chronos and set his brothers and sisters free to wander upon Gaia. It was during these times that Zeus locked his father and the other Titans in the cavernous Tartaros among the Hundred-Handed Ones, and he set the cyclopses free.20

Unrecorded battles and wars were fought between our gods and the spiteful Gaia. Monsters were bloodied among the rivers; giants feel among the trees. Our gods were exhausted, removed of feeling and vigor. They needed a home, a solace.21

Upon the final finding of the great mountain, Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, and the rest of their clan took upon themselves their predestined name: Olympians. It was there that they made their dwelling. It was there that Zeus, old and scarred, tried valiantly to watch over a regressing people.22

23

It was but a generation ago.24

Their table was old. From the birth of the rulers, it had been designed and carved. Its legs were thick and its finish was gossamer. Upon its top, uncounted etchings had evolved, parallel to The Three’s tapestry. Stretching on forever in the brightness and darkness, it held the kingdom’s history. At its end, near the farthest wall, a man, large, burly, sat in the depressive silence contemplating. His hands were clasped together, brought up to his lips and touching his graying beard. His eyes, dark and fathomless, were closed. Sighing, he rested his hands on the uncarved part of the table, where history had not yet been recorded. He brushed his fingers against its softness, wishing that it would stay that way, hoping that no more would happen. But history comes, he thought. He cursed that he was retained to the reaches of his people’s kingdom. “If only we had more knowledge,” he spoke softly. Footsteps began to echo in the outside hall, and the man moved to his designated end of the table near the beginning of the recordings.25

The outer doors were thrown open and various conversations swelled in the meeting room, all becoming a mess of sound. The voices’ owners surrounded the table, taking a chair at their spaces, all continuing to speak and disregard the wanted silence of their leader; ignoring him; shunning him and fighting amongst themselves for what each desired. At his table’s end he began to rub his temples, staring at the pinewood in front of him. 26

“Silence,” the king murmured, trying to withhold energy. None of them listened and his lip began to tremble from the stress of it all. Once more he called for silence and once more was ignored. Standing up slowly, he looked upon the seated others, finally earning half of their minds. “To Tartaros with all of you. Quiet,” he shouted, falling back into his chair. “As always”—he took a breath—“there is reason for holding these meets.” Without turning, he motioned behind himself with a chiseled arm. “My daughter, Athena, whishes to speak.”27

From a dimly lit corner, a woman in simple yet glamorous garb stepped forward. Next to Zeus, her seated father, she stood tall and composed. On her head she wore a headdress of intricate design, meticulously crafted and high on her brow. Her hair fell from underneath it, long golden strands flowing over her shoulders. In the grasp of one hand she held a spear, and upon the forearm of her other arm rested an owl, large eyes spying out from its face.
With a calm motion she ran her vision over those at the table, noting one of the attendees absent. “We have a situation in Egypt,” she spoke, her voice thick with the fluency of an orator. “It seems,” she paused, “that an assassination has taken the life of Pharaoh Tepet.”28

Zeus beckoned his daughter down to him and whispered. “How do we know of this?”29

“Apollo.” At her answer numerous murmurs ran across from deity to deity.30

<~>31

The breeze blew strongly, uncaringly upon the palms. Bending to its will, they staggered low over the oasis, dipping their green blades into the rippling water. They went in and out at every other moment, giving the desert pond little rest and then finally dropped their branches into it, splashing the man’s boots.32

Kneeling, he cupped his hands together and took a draught, letting the clear water wet his lips and then travel down his throat, cooling as it went. He sighed. An ibis waded with long legs to the sand beside him and continued walking, drawing his gaze. In between three trees it met the company of four others of its own kind, each with the same slender curve to their necks, sheltered against the wind. “So far away,” he said, trudging away, his cloak whipping at his legs. He kept his face angled from the dusty wind. “What a damned place to govern,” he spoke through gritted teeth.33

Through the blazing and shimmering light of the sun, he looked towards a temple situated on a nearby dune. The aged stone that formed it was pocked and degraded from the many sand storms that ate it away. Yet, in wholeness, it seemingly stood strong and confident. Something about its presence there seemed rooted, as if it would never fall even though it leaned to the right. As the man pressed up the hill, his golden eyes observed the many pictures and symbols among the temple’s pillars with passiveness. He had seen it before. Too many times.34

Here, in this place, he was isolated. Through the dense wooden doors he walked and the sights of charred walls and sliced drapes filled his eyes.
“The temples were different in Greece,” he muttered taking a fallen torch from the floor. “Blast that bird.” He strode to oval patch of dirt in the middle of the temple and threw the unlit torch onto it. Blazes of abnormal light leapt up immediately, filling the square. They formed and bent, changing themselves into a miniature form of the temple. Dancing, they grew into further shapes of the outlying lands. Dunes were rippling tongues of candescent glows and buildings stood as blue specs. It was from here that the he, Apollo, had spied the pharaoh’s murder; from here, the time-worn, sand-worn temple of Ra, that he had come to arrive in Egypt.35

Ever since their separate followings had given birth to them, they had run against each other in the skies, racing each other. Usually, they were evenly matched. However though, there were times when Ra would lead the duo, dragging the sun quickly across the sky and shortening the day. Apollo strove to overcome him. Every day, he’d whip his chariot leads fiercer, driving their sparkling bodies through the heavens. Their hooves thundered over the clouds.36

But Ra kept his lead skillfully. He used all advantages of the sun’s midday strength. His falcon head bent slickly into the winds and his naked feet bounced from sky to sky. Every night, the two would return to their homes, Ra to his worshipers in Heliopolis and Apollo to his gatherings in Delos and Delphi.37

Realizing that that he, bound by the day’s task, could not catch the beast, he reverted to the treacherous night. Worshippers of Amun-Ra had gathered in the desert, surrounding the oasis and stone-wrought temple where they would great the new year’s sun. In Delos, Artemis, the sister and twin of Apollo, took her brother through the night, pulling the moon along with her. She readied her bow as Apollo readied his.38

39

The desert crowd was large. Brown and bald heads gleamed in the moonlight as the twins circled above in Apollo’s chariot. The night shielded the glints of arrowheads being pulled back on bowstrings. At the moment the first two shafts were released, a brilliant streak of sunlight shot forth across the dunes. Ra, with falcon sight, had seen the twins and was desperately trying to come to their aid.40

Another two arrows fired into the crowd as screams twirled with the air. Egyptians fell and their god was still too far away. Apollo looked to his sister, motioned to the growing sphere in the east, and grasped a net from the chariot’s bottom. Artemis kept firing arrow after arrow and men and women kept falling.41

“Come,” Apollo murmured. His golden curls fell before his eyes that spied the full falcon dashing towards the temple. Once more, a dying grunt broke the air. Taking hold of the reigns, Artemis directed the beasts towards the bird. The vessel careened downwards and Apollo threw the net over Ra and gathered it quickly, struggling with Ra’s talons.42

The Egyptian god shrieked from his beak, trying to rip at the ropes, clawing it with his feet. He beat his wings fiercely.43

“Poor Ra,” said Artemis sweetly. “This was crafted by Brontes the cyclops.” Setting her bow again, she let another arrow fly into the crowd. “No manner of pecking will subdue it, nor may you change forms,” she hissed. Ra howled. The stench of blood smothered the daybreak aromas.44

45

After their errand, the twins had flown back to Delos and found a place suitable for the creature. They placed the falcon in Apollo’s central temple, in one of the lower, damp chambers. A cage, also wrought by Brontes, was situated in its center. He had shoved Ra into it and banged on the bars, and then— walking away towards the doors—he turned back, smiled, and slammed the doors shut with a ramming echo. From outside, he listened to the continuous shrieks of the deity. There were no second thoughts.46

Returning to Egypt with the sun following his back, he addressed a second group of Egyptians who had come to inspect the massacre from the day before. 47

“Humble followers,” he called, lacing his voice with poetic placidness. “I am now your Ra. His time has ended and I will carry your sun.” Furious and astonished faces stared at him. “Do not worry, my friends, I will not betray you. Come to admire me.”48

Back within Greece, upon her mountainous home, Athena informed her father of what had happened, for with her wisdom, unparalleled visions came. She told of how Apollo had overtaken Ra and of her gracious approval. Trusting his daughter, Zeus bowed his head and agreed. “This shall turn to be promising, Athena,” he spoke in his unconnected tone.49

Now though, in the present time, such promises were aging him.50

51


CHAPTER TWO52

53


In a sudden burst, birds leapt into the sky and ibex of random 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.54

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.55

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 need a heart,” it said. 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.56

57

There was 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 would wriggle and squirm. Deadened, nasty hearts would be thrown to him—those that were judged damned and unworthy of the splendor of afterlife—and be devoured by him.58

The serpentine monster would slither in his clammy corners, his teeth revealed by the seldom light of a good heart, and would wait. His eyes were always focused on the doors that the deceased would enter. But hunger was not the look in his eyes—he didn’t want another lunch. He wanted out of the judging rooms. He wanted the midnights of the sands and the cool hidings of their days, the land that he had come from before Ra was captured. Hated and worshipped against by almost every Egyptian, he would never find acceptance or favors in Duat. Anubis, the jackal-headed guardian, would not allow it.59

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 feet, 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.60

Zanoth sensed the creature, continually prompting him onwards. 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 hand, took an arrow from its case, and placed it on the bowstring. Greatly arching the wooden limbs, he pulled the arrow towards him and kept his eyes focused. Waiting was always hardest.61

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 feet 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.62

Thirty feet—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.63

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. Fourteen feet—that was all the space left.64

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.65

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. 66

Zanoth stood up awkwardly as his mouth gaped. 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 chariot. Zanoth’s eyes closed and his body suddenly toppled.67

68

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.69

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 strange pyramid, each corner flooded with paintings of fire and white figures. He cocked his head and blinked. Flames erupted in the eye’s pupil and he jumped back clutching the blade at his side.70

Nothing happened.71

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.72

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 lightning, 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. 73

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 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 and scarabs, falcons and elderly men. Glancing at them peculiarly, he crept past and into the corridor.74

There was practically no light there, 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 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 stood there breathing.75

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. “Don’t be so afraid. 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. Such things are distasteful, although Ares would say differently… Do you know who I am?”76

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.77

“Greek, do you know who I am?” said Apollo a second time. 78

Zanoth, if not had he been trained, would have gone on gazing. “Yes. But you shouldn’t be here.”79

“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 the 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?”80

The Greek ran his gaze along the temple’s dark outlines. “If I answered the question, would I be stating the obvious?”81

“That depends on your answer.”82

An ibis squawked from its shelter. “I’m lost, “ Zanoth said.83

84


CHAPTER THREE85

86


Zanoth was never supposed to know. That is why he was always kept busy. If you are able to keep the body working—muscles stretching and contracting—the head begins to only focus on keeping you doing what you are doing. It bans all other thoughts from entering your mind as sweat pours down from your temples, stinging your eyes. Whenever Zanoth tried to remember why he was there, the bow would strike him in the head and the thought would flow away. Excruciatingly, his mind worked to block him against his will, to cut the strands of home from his senses. 87

And it was doing rather well.88

89

Apollo stood in the center of the room at the eye as Zanoth pondered in his blankness. A thought would appear as a swirl and then swiftly break into discordant dots, emphasized by the changes of expression on Zanoth’s face. He tried anxiously to call up memories, travels, people, even sounds, but none of the dots interlocked. There was only one image in his mind and it seemed to be formed of cheaply mixed pastels: a barren olive tree surrounded by patterns of swirls and shields. This held no meaning to the poor soldier. He could only remember old memories—memories from his childhood and perhaps four months before his run from the creature Apep. But those recent ones, too, were blurs.90

He was born in Athens. That was the first thing he remembered. The second thing he remembered was that his mother’s name was Lenisa. He remembered the warmth of her embrace when he was young and unmarked—how her long, wavy hair was scented. He pictured her shadow against the backdrop of his old home, the home of a layman, of a farmer’s family. Always, he had stumbled or ran through the gardens as a young child while his father worked with the plants and sustenance.91

“Watch out for the holes, Zan,” he heard his father echoing. “I’ve just dug them.”92

His family had always provided for themselves with those garden patches until the Lacedaemonian raids.93

After the end of the Peloponnesian War, lingering Lacedaemonian—Spartan—captains had grouped Athenian farmers together on community fields, demanding payment in food from the men and clothing from the women. Zanoth’s family belonged to one such community field, but they did not work peacefully.94

The Athenian families revolted against their Spartan dictator with farm tools. As brave, lusting fools they were quickly beaten and killed. And, in the rage of their despot, their fields were burned and their children were taken—Zanoth with them. Those who were too old, eight or so, were all murdered and cast to the embraces of crags, and those who were young enough wished for the fate of the others. All four boys left were sent through the training of the military and its cruelties. The girls, each with foreseen Athenian beauty, were sent to the guardians of the oracles.95

Zanoth, by miracle or by abandonment, was still alive.96

As a young man around his fifteenth year, he was pushed into a hunting run with another youth. His name was Jeros.97

They had started off in Sparta’s lowlands, looking for game such as deer and the like, but were quite unsuccessful. Then, when they finally turned to the rocky regions, thoughts began filling Zanoth’s head—graphic thoughts, strategic thoughts. Jeros was insufferable and stupid, a blight on a blister, a terrible hunter, and Zanoth would have no second thoughts at all from killing him. But the bastard was large.98

They started up the cliffs with a picture of goat meat in one of their minds. Both had bows set and ready—knives at their sides and bags over their shoulders—and their eyes were wide, one set searching, one set also searching. Following closely behind Jeros, Zanoth tried to not give the Spartan any idea of treachery. He looked off to the sides of their path to the rocks of the Grecian city-state and down to the tangled shrubs covering the pebbled dirt. It wouldn’t be hard to hide someone up there.99

“Hey, Athenian,” Jeros said, stumbling a little on the loose rocks. “When you were young did you ever look at the moon closely?”100

“Sometimes, I guess. Why?”101

“I always liked Artemis more. She seems more calming of the two twins. And she’s the goddess of hunting too, so maybe she’ll help us out here.” Jeros began using his bow as a cane.102

I’d rather have Hermes with me, Zanoth thought. “When you use a bow like that, you fool, you anger Artemis.”103

“How so?”104

“The bow is one of her symbols, Spartan.”105

106

After an hour of walking and climbing, a bush quivered to the left. Jeros nodded back at Zanoth and the two slowly crept up to it, careful of their footing. A horn moved behind the leaves. Jeros let an arrow loose, running up to the bleating animal and Zanoth stood still, raising his bow. The Athenian’s mouth opened and his hands shook uncontrollably. He didn’t have the benefits of experience yet.107

“Zanoth,” Jeros called and looked back at him. “Help me with—” 108

He stood silently, staring at Zanoth’s aim and expression, the look in his eyes and the shallow breathing. “Zan!” he screamed. “You daft fool, put it down.”
Zanoth, in exception to his pulsing heartbeat and hands, didn’t budge.109

“Damned fool,” yelled Jeros. Kicking rocks at Zanoth and diving for his legs, he knocked him to the rocks, grappling with his arms and writhing legs. Jeros flung his fists decisively and strong to Zanoth’s ribs and chest and face as the Athenian tried to block them, desperate to roll over on top. Each blow landed with a bruise. Zanoth began wiggling his hips up to where Jeros’ knees had straddled him. A second later, he pushed up with his waist, knocking Jeros forward so that his hands were above Zanoth’s head. Instantly, Zanoth grasped one of the Spartan’s hands and locked up a leg. He threw his weight to the side and landed on top. But Jeros was ready for the systematic defense. He squeezed Zanoth’s ribcage with his legs causing Zan to cry out in pain. Jeros unhooked his knife from his belt and held it in front of Zanoth’s face motioning up. Quietly they both unlocked from each other and stood, both breathing heavily. Jeros slid forward quickly holding the knife to Zanoth’s throat. “That was a bad move, Athenian,” he said. But he couldn’t say another phrase as he fell backwards, as Zanoth’s foot was in the air, held oddly at the height of Jeros’ head. Immediately he brought his right foot down to the Spartan’s throat.110

“A bad move yourself, Jeros.” Zanoth’s chest heaved. Then, with a blink, he kicked Jeros’ head to the side with his other foot. A long crack sounded out. Irregular neck bones pushed out against Jeros’s skin.111

Zanoth wiped his lips with his palm and rubbed the sweaty oil from his chin and neck. He dragged Jeros to a cliff—one lush in plants—and kicked him over, watching his body tumble and break as it went down.112

“Stupid goat.”113

He went back to the animal and prepared it with salt from his bag that had been thrown during the fight. The goat would be his meat as he made the long walk back to his farmland and home.114

115

“Zanoth,” Apollo called loudly, waking the dreamer from his thoughts causing him to blink and raise his eyebrows. “What are you thinking about?”116

Zanoth pinched the sides of his nose and rubbed his eyes. “Memories.”117

“Have they told you anything?”118

“Nothing.”119

Apollo knelt down by the pyramid’s eye.120

121

Zanoth trudged on through the crags, always heading northeast to Athens. The sun came down magnificently among the clouds, streaking each one with tendrils of red and violet. There were no thoughts of betrayal or deserting in Zanoth’s mind as he fled the Spartan army. It was unnatural to have no other thoughts in one’s mind than the processed ways of killing, the best ways to charge cavalry, battle formations. In his teenaged mind, he missed his parents.122

As he began a lengthy descent to plains, his breathing began to settle and his shoulders perked themselves up an inch or two. The sun now sat on hind legs in the darkening skies—its nose poking above the edge of the world. To the West a little way’s off, a small grouping of olive trees stood with intertwined branches. He patted his bag with the goat’s meat and waded through the long grass to their embrace. After a burnt meal and burnt fingers, he kicked the fire out.123

He sighed, disgusted with his culinary skills, and slumped into the nearest tree, crossing his arms. He sighed again. By this time the sun was gone, Apollo was on his way back to Egypt, and the moon had begun to rise. The grass, which was really wheat, blew with a slight breeze back and forth and the faint sound of an owl’s hoot drifted along with it as Zanoth fell asleep.124

125

“Anything, Zanoth?”126

“I don’t know.”127

128

In the morning, he didn’t remember falling asleep nor did he remember dreams. But that was as normal as waking. What he did remember though was his last sights of the tree he slept under—long, spindly, and leaf-adorned. However, the olive tree he was now under was bare, naked, nude, even trimmed of excess branches. He pushed himself up with his elbows and gazed out at the fields. They were perfectly fine, even bulbous. He craned his head back up at the tree and began breathing from his mouth. His knife itched, but moreso his hand. Simple explanations for his predicament began running through his mind but each were defeated by the sense of reality.129

An owl flitted to a nearby branch and his memory ended.130

131

From his spot in Apollo’s adopted temple, Zanoth stood awkwardly. Sweat drenched his uncleansed clothes making its hard areas soft and previously unadorned areas scented. His sun-scalded lips parted and closed slightly as the image of the tree burnt itself into the irises of his eyes.132

“Fifteen.”133

Across the room, Apollo turned from a charred tapestry and stared back at Zanoth’s eccentric appearance. “Fifteen what?”134

“Years.”135

The assassin collapsed.136

137

When he finally awoke, he felt almost the same as he had when he had awoken under the olive tree. Only this time, instead of an unnatural tree, an Olympian deity loomed over him. Apollo’s golden eyes pierced Zanoth’s blue ones, his brow furrowed.138

“’Fifteen years’ what?” he asked, ordering.139

“What?”140

“Exactly. You’ve been asleep for a day and nearly caused the sun to stay at one o’clock for an extra hour. Now of what importance is fifteen years?” he yelled.141

Zanoth’s eyes started darting and Apollo sighed.142

“Before you collapsed, you muttered ‘fifteen years.’ I want to know what you meant, Greek.”143

Zanoth swallowed. “My last memory is from when I was fifteen-years-old.”144

“But you are nearly thirty,” Apollo said.145

“I know,” Zanoth said as he closed his eyes again and blinked a few times.
Apollo turned around frustrated and began taking a few steps as he thought. The fire slowly rose in the triangle’s eye. Apollo stopped after nine strides. 146

“What of Apep?”147

“Apep?”148

“The creature that was chasing you that you foolishly tried to shoot down. What of him?” he yelled.149

“I don’t know,” Zanoth cried. “All I know is that he was trying to kill me.”150

“With good cause.”151

“What do you mean?” Zanoth asked angrily.152

Apollo turned on him quickly and stared at him. “Even a deluded man should remember, Zan—”153

As quickly as it had come, the anger receded from both of them. Zanoth’s head began to bob slightly as he looked at different sand patches in the floor, trying to make sense of anything in his head. “Then I’m insane, because I don’t remember anything, Sir.”154

“Nothing?”155

He looked up to the god. “Only running from Apep.”156

Apollo licked his top lip and tasted the dirt on it. He strode over towards the doors and propped one open, leaning out. He looked curiously normal to Zanoth, with hardly even a semblance of godliness. Apart from the slight tinge of inhuman confidence—though that too wavered with the dust-laden wind—Apollo seemed a typical creature of humanity. He seemed wrinkled even, worn down as he gazed into the desert.157

“What are you watching for?” Zanoth asked.158

The degraded deity waited a few moments before answering. “Nothing of importance,” he said. “But I want you to come and see something.”159

160


CHAPTER FOUR161

162


{Three months prior to the assassination}163


Nuranna was never content with life. It was nearly two in the morning when the queen found herself in the lower ends of the city Hermopolis that stood on the borders of Upper and Lower Egypt. A few lamps hanging from nearby shops and homes scantily lighted the dirt road she was on. A sole passerby, a late drunk, only brushed past as she nodded to him. Coming to a cross street, Nuranna turned left down an even darker path. Her breathing was erratic, her hair—tousled.164

Down the road by about fifty steps, two short stonewalls broke off from the right. They were set four feet apart creating the path that she took. The faint glow of the moon was now the only light. As she walked she found her thoughts breaking against each other, some filled with doubts about what the others were bringing up. She was angry and greedy, lustful, but she was also scared. She pulled at her cloak. Warmth eluded her body as it pooled towards her face.165

The walls began to break away into a courtyard fully lined with stone blocks and bricks. Remains of torches and holy decorations lay in shambles in the corners and a single, beastly idol stood lopsided against an alcove. She kept walking until she came to the center of the courtyard, and then paused. With a quick glance, she looked back to the walkway, drew in a breath, and then looked back to the alcove. Webs draped its corners and also covered the stone statue. The queen licked her lips. “Emptiness should hold within one’s mind,” she chanted. “Death should come quickly to those whom it must.”166

The shadows, cast by the moon, began to fade as the moon itself began to fade. Darkness ebbed its way into the courtyard and Nuranna tugged at her covering, pulling it even closer to her body. An eerie chill pricked her hair. A low whisper escaped her mouth. It sounded familiar to her, mesmerizing, but she did not know what she had said—perhaps something from childhood, something superstitious murmured before bed. 167

Nuranna swallowed and looked around quickly. ‘ Death should come—why?‘ Then, immediately, as if connected to her strewn thoughts, the statue moved. The queen gasped sharply and shot her eyes wide open. It moved again.168

And again.169

She almost ran for the path, but something held her, something in the soul of her heart, something she had to do. Her lips quivered with the chill in her. The statue kept moving, but now it was moving back and forth—quicker. Against one wall of the alcove it crashed and then the other, each time harder than the first, each time louder. Nuranna let out a shriek.170

“There’s no need for this,” she screamed into the quickly darkening blackness. “None!”171

The statue froze and then it righted itself in the center. Within three blinks, the night had reached its strongest point and Nuranna was now blind. Her breathing caught in her throat as she ran her eyes against the nothingness. There was nothing to be seen—nothing to be heard. She licked her lips continuously and nibbled at her bottom one. For many seemingly timeless moments, nothing changed.172

But the crashing resumed and shattered shards of light began dancing in the courtyard. She heard pieces of rock fall and skitter against the stone blocks and bricks. The light emanated from the statue that was breaking itself apart.173

“There is much need,” called a voice, slimy and accentuated. The statue kept demolishing itself, but there was something underneath the stone for it retained its shape. Some odd, ethereal being shook under the dusty remains of the stone.174

Finally removing all dirt, the creature showed itself. “There is much need, Nuranna,” Apep said, inclining his head low.175

176

As simply as a conversation between two strangers could be, the monstrosity had said “hello,” and what followed afterward had led to various plotting and plans. The queen, Nuranna, was very selfish as all with attainable, close-to-your-grasp power are. She felt misused almost. Kayun needed to be murdered. Egypt needed a more powerful queen. Certain abominations can always be acted upon.177

It was now two days before Kayun’s murder, and Nuranna once again found herself in that hardly-visited temple. Other than the drunken man passed out in the corner, again there was no one else there. She looked at the man more closely and found that spiderwebs had started to form around his arms. He was dead.178

“Back again, Nuranna?”179

The queen turned around to find Apep in the pathway to the courtyard, standing there in his grotesque form. The sun still had about twenty-five minutes until it went down, which meant twenty-five more minutes of viewing his deformities. 180

“Isn’t a bit unsafe for you to be wandering around where people could see you?” she asked.181

Apep began crawling over to the man in the corner. “People here are either drunk, like this man, or too over-worked to notice any difference. Plus, no one’s ever around my temple unless they’re here to die—either accidentally or purposely.” He turned his head back to her and offered a disgusting smile with his large, twisted mouth. “Do you mind?”182

Nuranna turned her head, and, given his answer, Apep began on his lunch in the corner. It doesn’t need to be described.183

“Has,” he mumbled juicily, “has everything been set out?”184

Nuranna kept her eyes on the opposite corner. “If you’re not referring to eating utensils, then yes. Everything has been set out. The guards have been removed from my husband’s spring home, and they promised that they would be sending someone.”185

“How can you trust what they say?” Apep asked. Nuranna heard a slurping sound.186

“They’re gods—each of them.”187

“Yes, but they might be my class of deity,” he chuckled.188

“Yes, but they’re not Egyptian gods.”189

“Ah.” Apep licked his teeth with a stained tongue. “You can turn around now if you don’t mind a couple spots on the wall.”190

“I’m fine. You remember all that you’re suppose to do?”191

“Yes,” he sighed.192

“Then remind me.”193

“So I would have to clean up all of this to get a beauty such as yourself to look at me?” he questioned. Nuranna knew he was smiling.194

“You would have to do more than that. Now tell me.”195

“Fine.” He began scraping at the wall with his legs. Lifting them as high as he could, he still couldn’t reach the highest spots. “I chase the assassin after he has killed your… your amazing husband, Kayun, and then I kill him…the assassin.”196

“Precisely. Then what?”197

“I eat of course.”198

Nuranna closed her eyes and stuck her tongue between her teeth and upper lip, keeping herself from biting out. “No. You bring the body to Kayun’s throne so we can exhibit it for the people. Remember the exchanges of power and popularity, Apep.”199

“Of course. I come back with the assassin’s carcass, you say how you employed me to track down Kayun’s murderer—giving you an already popular position as the new governing force and me a more popular position as a god, perhaps more worshippers and temples—and then we sit back and let normal idiots take care of the other things… Perhaps I’ll have a new cult following and a new role under the sands.” By the time he spoke his last sentence, a wandering look had begin to creep into his eyes. He was tired of his role, to say the least.200

The sunlight had vanished by this time, so Nuranna cautiously turned around to look at Apep. “Good,” she meant this in response to both his speech and the fact that he and his mess could no longer be seen. “And in case you are unable to execute the assassin?”201

“That will not happen, milady,” he stated confidently.202

203

But his confidence was soon degraded to mere ripples of prowess. Apep was now desperate to relieve his situation. After he had lost Zanoth to the Greek god, he turned to the underworld a couple of days later. He feared the gazes that would meet him there, but his failure had to be mended.204

When he entered the chamber, Apep was greeted by the scornful glances of Anubis and Osiris. Thankful that a judgment was underway, Apep scurried to his corner where a pile of deadened hearts sat uneaten. They reeked.205

There have always been great differences between each kingdom’s gods. In the northern regions of the world, the barbarians’ gods were usually grouped into sanctions of war and fertility, the Æsir and Vanir. In Greece, the deities were completely divided into different areas—wisdom, war, art, beauty—but the gods themselves were involved with the men and women of their kingdom; they liked to involve themselves in a human’s daily practices, play with it. But in Egypt, though priests and idolization worshiped them regularly, even though they were also sanctioned into different followings and areas, most of them sat back and enjoyed themselves—save for the gods of judgment and the god of the sun. 206

Nepthys, Anubis, and Osiris were always the ones that could be found in the judging chamber—the door to Aaru, the Egyptian heaven. Nepthys, to be simply described, was an abnormally large, dreaded cat that watched over the deaths of Egyptians. Osiris was more normally shaped, but he was a giant or was perceived to be. His lanky form and adornments added on to his stone imitations, where gatherings worshipped him for his judgments of souls. The third god, Anubis, was the equivalent of Charon, our oarsman to the other side. If judged worthy, the jackal-headed Anubis would lead a gleeful soul from the chambers and into Aaru. It seems all the Egyptian gods, apart from Isis—whose beauty was only lesser to Aphrodite, were monstrosities. The pompous Egyptian gods were arrogant also. They were quick to anger, and Apep didn’t expect to be welcomed very warmly.207

208

This would still be Ammit’s job, Apep thought as he scowled, remembering that he had cast out the lumbering, tri-animal devourer for his position. Things had withered down from his prior standings of power and influence and Apep had to scrape and scratch at whatever he could take with his claws.209

When Apollo had fought for dominance, Apep made it easier for him. Every morning, just as the sun peaked among the dunes, Apep would battle with Ra, the opposite of his evils and his conqueror. Apep, before his popularity was shed, was the ruler of the desert skies, slithering through the clouds and thus he fought, every day, to defeat the sun falcon. When Apollo came with Artemis, Apep had given everything, trying to tire Ra out and hold him back as Apollo and Artemis slaughtered the men and women at the stone temple. He snapped at Ra’s neck and winged arms, drawing blood in the only the slightest ways, cutting him on weakening limbs. Amun-Ra shrieked and shouted as he tried to escape and rush to his people, seeing them in the distance—a chariot sweeping overhead. The sun god paid no attention to Apep as he tried to fly away. And Apep took every advantage, but he wouldn’t kill him. Only people could decide his death.210

When Amun-Ra was finally imprisoned in the depths of the temple at Delos, Apep found that he had no use once again. The people would hate him for his vengeance, so he decided to make them fear him for it too. Pushing himself down into Duat, he murdered Ammit, another monster as himself, and took on his role in the tomb-like judging chamber where he now sat eating at deformed hearts.211

212

Apep spat out the taste, remembering to save a few for a later payment. Osiris’s judgment was nearly over as a light had begun to gleam from the weighted and arbitrated heart. The man standing next to the organ began to grin as his heart was placed back within his chest and was lead through the doors of afterlife. As he and Anubis disappeared past the doorway, Osiris turned his head towards Apep’s corner. He wore the crown of old Egyptian kings and carried their tools. “Come out of there, serpent,” he demanded, his
voice booming. “I cannot see you where there is no light.”213

“Yes, Osiris,” Apep said quietly.214

“Good,” Osiris said. “You know the question I’m going to ask.”215

“I was in Hermopolis, at my hovelled temple.”216

Osiris breathed in deeply. “I see. Why have you been gone so long then?” 217

Apep looked back towards his corner, trying to think of an answer. He spotted the hearts once again. “There is something that could make Egypt much stronger.” He spoke a little stronger, too, as confidence came back to him.
“And what is that, creature?” spat Osiris. Even for all his wisdom and rightful judgment, Osiris still held his prejudices.218

Apep hated the head of the Egyptian deities. He looked back at Osiris. “A powerful queen and some nasty hearts,” he smiled.219

Osiris bent over the creature, bending his brow downwards. “What do you mean, Apep? What have you been doing?” Osiris spoke quickly and softly, now close to Apep’s face.220

“I’ve been chasing the assassin of Kayun Tepet,” stated Apep. Orsiris’s eyes widened.221

“Have you caught him?”222

“No. But I’ve been planning with the queen also. We need the assassin to come here and be judged unworthy.”223

“Do you know where he is?”224

Once again, Apep stared back to the hearts. “He’s been with Apollo for last few days.”225

226

CHAPTER FIVE227


Zanoth crouched down by the pond of the oasis, dipping his fingers in the water and watching the shimmering halos run away from his touch. The oasis was placid in the early morning with the bright moon above—Artemis in a race of her own.228

“Those small ripples that you are creating,” Apollo said to the Greek. “We need to alter them. Make them centripetal.”229

“What do you mean?”230

“We need to make them gravitate towards you instead of from you. We need to alter your thoughts.”231

Ignoring him, Zanoth slipped his hand into the water and plucked a rock from under the surface. Holding it in his hand, he found that there were many small creases in it, the tiny remnants of liquid blinking in the moonlight. “Why do I need to know what has happened?” he asked, turning the stone over, stroking it with his finger. “I’d rather not know.”232

“I need to know.”233

“Why?”234

“Because you’ve murdered someone, Zanoth. You’ve assassinated a king.”
The Greek looked away from the oasis. “An Egyptian one?” He shook his head and rolled the rock up in his sleeve. “I’ve been chased by an abnormal serpent—can’t you gleam something from that? I don’t want to have my mind probed.”235

Apollo rapped him on the head. “The reason why Apep was chasing you is obvious; why you killed Tepet is not. I need to know what happened, Zanoth. You can’t tell me what you did, but what were you thinking of before?”236

“Nothing.”237

“I very much doubt that. You remember up into your fifteenth year, what was in it?” Apollo asked.238

The Greek didn’t want to answer. Of course not. Did he even have to? In the presence of a god, was he not already found out? “How much do you know of me?” he questioned, looking up at the sun god.239

“I know you’re an assassin.”240

“Before that. Do you know anything of me at all?”241

“Your name is Zanoth Luthean Olianne. Born to an Athenian farmer, your childhood is not very mark-worthy, but that’s all I know of you,” Apollo said, kneeling down next to the water and splashing his face.242

Zanoth watched him, eyeing him quietly. “Then you actually know nothing of me. With what conviction do we put our lives in your hands? You do nothing.”243

“We supply your superstitions.” Apollo wiped his mouth. “We stand by like the idols you’ve fashioned after our forms—that you worship under and never look up at, that you call out to but never converse with. We know nothing of you because you know nothing of us.244

“I need you to talk to me, Zanoth. Tell me what your last memory is. Please.”245

Zanoth said nothing. He dipped his fingers again into the water and created a ripple hardly visible in the now-waning light. His bow was propped against a palm tree to his left. “It is true,” he said, “I was born to an Athenian, but I was raised as a Spartan in the years after I was taken from my father. I was then educated by historic wars and their tactics, in killing, before I was fourteen. Then, when fifteen, I murdered and deserted…”246

“What more, Zanoth?”247

“The last thing I remember, Apollo, is waking up under an olive tree with an owl in its branches. When I had fallen asleep, the tree was healthy; but, when I awoke, it was nearly dead. I remember no more. Only the tree had changed overnight, none of the surroundings.”248

“An olive tree?”249

“Yes.”250

Apollo stood and looked toward the east. “An olive tree may be significant,” he said softly. “Go back to the temple,” he ordered Zanoth. “I’ll be back when the sun sets.”251

252

It was Zanoth’s third day at the temple, and, as he trudged up the dune, he couldn’t help but ponder how isolated it was—how, even though the sands always moved, the temple seemed firmly placed in that lonely spot. Just as Apollo had seen it earlier, so had Zanoth now. It was curious to him. Odd.253

He entered through the opening of the courtyard and looked back towards the sands, completely abandoned. There was nothing upon them save the oasis and the slow growth of the sun. There were no plants, no visible animals, no colors. It was almost revolting, and Zanoth, who felt trapped there, sunk down at the steps of the temple. 254

There was hardly anything to do. He couldn’t read the Egyptian on the walls, and Apollo had left him only with his thoughts, instructing him to meditate more thoroughly on them. But that was not Zanoth’s wish. Instead he had previously spent his few days shooting and eating ibis—there weren’t as many squawks now—and inspecting the burnt remains indoors, of which he had found very little interesting.255

He now looked towards the hall that he had first encountered the Greek god in and stood up. Within a few moments, he was at its mouth, peering inside. He had no light with him, no torch or anything to make a fire with. Then he remembered the triangle and eye inside the temple. He tore a strip of cloth from his shirt and ran towards the large doors, slipping through the open crack between them. Kneeling down by the eye, he held the wad of cloth right above it and waited for the spark. But nothing happened. He blew on the stone, yet there was no reaction. He rubbed the cloth against it, and still nothing happened. Then, though it presumably should not have happened, when the cloth was simply left there, the eye sparked and lit it. 256

Zanoth leapt and puzzled for a moment before picking up the cloth on his knife and wrapping it around it. Carefully protecting it against a breeze with his other hand, he made his way back to the corridor.257

Even with the resourceful torch, the hallway was still dim. Zanoth kept close to the ground, crouching and holding the torch near the floor. He couldn’t see much of the walls this way, but it allowed him to see openings in them if there were any. Creeping along he eventually reached the room where Apollo had been playing his lyre. In it, he found another torch, lit it, and then snuffed out his. The room’s walls were immediately illuminated with the greater light. Just as in the temple and on the pillars, pictures adorned the walls along with numerous cracks. However, the pictures here were not as those outside.
Simply, they were paintings. They ran around the room, creating a story.258

Now, Apollo had already told Zanoth about his battles with Ra, how he had acquired the stone temple, but as Zanoth turned with the paintings, he found more than he was told. Apollo had been writing on the walls in Greek. Within the paintings, he saw how the temple was not Ra’s central sanctuary—that his actual home was in some “city of the sun.” He saw how the stone temple was passed over at midday, at the strongest point of power, when Amun-Ra would change to the form of a falcon and rest at an oasis. Then, as Zanoth began to read the writings, he found arguments and philosophies, outbursts and short poems.259

There was a poem there that read,260

The love of souls—
So intricately felt—
Between the worlds
Of grass and sky,
Of night and day,
Within penumbrae.261

If only!262

When things have gone,
The days long lost,
Only then will they see
How much there was,
How little they had,
And how we could have been.263

Sentinels and guardians
Around them have been set.
Where has their sight gone?
When will I be found?264

Apollo had been shouting for attention and had received none. Zanoth sat there, on the floor, gazing at his writings and scratching at the ground with his knife, perplexed.265

Apollo would still be gone for the remainder of the day.266