The Sky Dancer

The men gathered around the fire in thrilled spirits from the recent victory as the night air filled with laughter and camaraderie. Songs choir for the fallen companions who received a proper homage from today’s battle. Their sacrifices contributing to the reality of freedom for Khemet with each passing day, while Nubia had suffered a terrible casualty after one of their main trading cities had fallen that night. Soldiers secured the citadel and soon enough they would march into the capital to defeat the tyrant that for many seasons retained its grasp over their fair country, plundering its riches and tormenting their citizens.

Priest Mahado joined the group of soldiers with a mug on his hands, the alcohol having little effect on him. He was in no mood for celebration that evening. His injuries were minimal and the power of his millennium ring sucked his essence invariably, burdening his already drained body. He was chosen by one of the most unyielding items from the seven powers, his synchrony hardly stabilized.

Distracting his tired eyes from the golden article on his chest his sight diverted to the laughter of his master, currently on the company of two beautiful women. He could hold his liquor better than any man in the troops, yet that tonight he seemed to drink heavier than usual. Even under vow, he could not protect his sovereign from the wound that was currently tormenting his conscience, promising to unquestionably support him for the sake of their old friendship.

The man had been deprived of his title and rights, as punishment for defying the ruler of Khemet. As a pardon to his life, he was assigned into the army as a simple soldier. His skill and merits on the battlefield earning him the trust and loyalty of his troops.

He fought, cried, and bled at the side of his fellow soldiers, songs about his merits reaching the masses between both nations. The son of the pharaoh had earned the nickname, ‘The Prince of Blood’, his scarlet eyes gleaming bright red with the clash of his sword. Perhaps his hand on the affairs of the war would earn him the trust of his father and the right to sit by his side again. His new responsibilities meant to break his pride and arrogance, enduring torture, betrayal, and fatal injuries, while remaining loyal to his country with an unbroken spirit.

Regardless of his fighting skills and brilliant mind, he was still weak to his needs and desires. His thirst for wine had increased as well as his need for women’s warmth. Several times he found him on the company of a female, or even two, when waking him up from his tent.

As a witness of that day, Mahado understood the current predicament of his best friend and couldn’t blame the consequences that followed. In his eighteen harvests of life, the man already had his share of suffering. No honor, praise, or woman could possibly rescue him from the void of loosing his lover and child. He knew that a part of him would never forgive his father for the decision he had taken that changed his life forever.

Atemu’s sudden outburst snapped him from his thoughts getting him back to the present. His arm embraced one of the girl’s shoulders with the mug on his hand, the other holding the whore’s naked thigh by his opposite side. Their complexions were as black as coal, glowing from the flames of the bonfire in front of their party. Mahado too a deep breath, noticing the monarch’s inebriated demeanor that could make him snap into terrible fits of rage. Several of the soldiers had to hold him down to stop him from gravely hurting someone after several episodes. His strength was formidable and increasing each day.

It didn’t take the priest long to stand from his spot and approach his fellow soldier on the other side of the fire. His skin glowed with the reflection of the flames, his rough exterior and vigorous complexion becoming even with the lack of his royal vestments. Despite been a man, Mahado could see the charms on his noble features. His body was toned and his rough skin was colored in a sensual tone of copper. As children, Atemu had been tormented by whispers and harassed for the unusual color of his eyes. The rich scarlet coloring had serve him well on his adult years, respected and feared as a demon with the justice and loyalty of a god, a god of war.

“My friend I believe you had enough for tonight.” Mahado whispered only for his ears to hear, the man hardly taking notice of his presence while enjoying the festive mood.

“What nonsense are you speaking of?” He mentioned as his baritone voice carried the command of a leader, even in his inebriated state.

“Tonight is a night for celebration! LONG LIVE THE PHARAOH!” Atemu cheered as he raised his mug, spilling its content around him and soaking the sandals of the priest who didn’t seem to pay any mind. His shout raised the mugs of the soldiers and caught the attention of the troops around them. He was very charismatic and it was impossible for people not to follow him, this was a clear example of his influence over others as a trueborn leader.

“MY FELLOW SOLDIERS! MY BROTHERS! TONIGHT IS A NIGHT TO REMEMBER, FOR TODAY’S VICTORY NOT ONLY MARKS THE GREATEST DISADVANTAGE ON NUBIA’S RESOURCES.” He was standing now, pacing around the fire as the soldiers drank his words with voracity. All eyes were on him, his words carrying power over their hearts and souls. “WE WILL FREE KHEMET AND END THE REIGN OF A TYRANT. FUCK KING SULUM! WE WILL END HIS RULE OF TERROR JUST LIKE TONIGHT AND COME BACK HOME VICTORIOUS! AS FREE MEN!”

The crowd stood from their places screaming the name of their country, drunk on dreams of independence. Their howls carried the name of Atemu as everyone renewed their joyous spirits through the camp.

Mahado approached the man who was currently been praised by the soldiers and eaten away by the whores standing on his side. Their mouths and tongues fought for the prince’s lips and skin.

The priest noticed Atemu’s unsteadiness, deciding to take him away before things escalated to a different level. His size and strength managed to pull him firmly by the arm, the soldiers ripping away the women by his side. He felt himself been carried by his best friend, putting no resistance as they slipped away from the commotion.

“Your drinking seems to be getting worse. At this rate you will die of intoxication before they get a chance to kill you on the battlefield.” He whispered as the man lay on his makeup bed of simple blankets on the ground. The comfort was minimal, even for a soldier with the status of a prince. All this molded the character of the man who was used to the luxury of the aristocracy.

“You worry too much, like always.” He mumbled, his deep voice barely coherent.

“I cannot help worrying about you. You know this behavior is not appropriate of the future pharaoh of Khemet.” Mahado preached as he helped the man into a blanket to protect him from the chill of the night.

“That is impossible. I have no intention of ruling this country.” His whisper was just loud enough to make Mahado shiver. “I couldn’t protect her, what kind of man could rule his citizens, when he is helpless to save the woman he loves?”

His eyes grew huge in realization as he watched his friend sleep peacefully. There was no way Atemu could renounce to a destiny that was given to him at birth by the gods themselves. Mahado remained frozen unable to offer any words of consolation to a man who had lost everything.

Atemu gave up his rights as a monarch and was open to the idea of making his cousin, Seth, ruler of Khemet when it was time for his father to step away from the throne.

Seth was everything anyone could expect of a future king, owner of a brilliant mind with superior fighting skills and magical ability like no equal. His emotions were always on check and he commanded authority and respect over the ranks of Khemet. His heart and mind were iron forged, that would not waver under any circumstances. Although Atemu was just as brilliant as his cousin, he was at times too emotional, his recent predicament a clear example of his limitations as a ruler.

“Rest my friend. I’ll see you at dawn.” Mahado whispered keeping his thoughts to himself as his childhood friend surrendered to the arms of sleep.

The next morning the men rose early before the rays of Ra reached the earth with their warm embrace. The soldiers’ impeccable march beat the earth as their boots kicked and crushed the sand beneath them. Mahado and Atemu rode their horses among the troops, orders delivered to reach the pharaoh’s army for the final assemblage.

Their parties had been divided and commanded by different members of the council with the aid of experienced generals. Their previous victory had been essential to reinforce their efforts and strike the capital while the enemy received a heavy casualty to their main lines.

Mahado turned to look at the prince whose eyes gave away no emotion as his sight focused ahead of him, no trace of his state of the previous night among his features. His armor was polished and a new cape decorated his broad and strong shoulders, representing his status as commander. A well-deserved title as his tactics had saved heavy casualties to Egyptian forces.

Three years passed since his banishment and the declaration of war between the two nations. As only heir, many objected to the idea to throw the man in charge to secure the future of their country into war where his life could be forfeit at any time. He would never admit it, but Mahado knew that Atemu regretted the day he raised his sword against his own father.

It had taken great pain and determination to throw away his birthright and privilege for a woman who never loved him back. Few understood his reasons and were unable to blame him, his sacrifice something a man with less character would have never dared to pursue. Mahado also assumed that the pharaoh’s actions had been the only way to save his foolish son. No one would follow a leader who was ready to sacrifice so much over nothing. It had been a sign of weakness that could have sealed his fate, had he not proven himself an excellent and courageous warrior.

The prince was determined to face the Pharaoh and take responsibility for his actions, bowing to never love nor betray his demeanor to his feelings again. Deep down he still inflicted himself for his weakness, something that cost the very life he was liable for. Atemu knew that Taenea hadn’t betrayed him when she had branded herself a whore, seeking his affections to secure her position in society. A sacrifice she paid to save his life, one he didn’t deserve.

The reins under his hands gave a squeak as he crushed the leather with force. He didn’t know how he was going to react when he saw his father again. Whatever was to become he would never forgive him. Yet, the only way to atone for his sins would be by liberating his country from Nubian’s tyranny. His passion bubbled inside quickly turning into rage, ready to give his life for such purpose. He had nothing holding him in this world and if he were to die on the battlefield, he would gladly turn his wretched soul to Anubis back into the underworld only after his task had been accomplished.

The prince rode forward as he made his pledge, his eyes manifesting nothing but hatred and thirst for revenge aimed to one man. He would pay with his life, his heart pierced against his sword and his blood running to the ground.

The kingdom of Nubia shall perish under his hand.