The Sky Dancer

Mana’s floating steps echoed around the halls of the palace, a delicate beauty holding her hand as they dashed toward the gates. Both ladies caught the stunning news of the army’s arrival that cleared the somber mood from the past weeks. Everyone joined in a festive fervor as they headed toward the streets to receive the victorious troops.

The news about pharaoh Aknamkanon’s passing in battlefield spread like wildfire, his loss a sorrowful strike to the land of Khemet. Priest Karim sent word for necessary preparations once he arrived to the capital. Citizens gathered among the streets, mourning and chanting prayers accompanying the remains of the late sovereign as they were delivered to the temple of Osiris.

The little pupil was among the many who dread the outcome of the final battle between both nations for the fate of Khemet’s future. Her fears increasing once Atemu took command of their legions as well as the role of new pharaoh.

“Mana slow down! I can’t keep up!” Kisara yelled as her pale skin flushed from the effort, pulling her friend’s hand to stop her tracks.

“What do you mean?” the eldest asked with a glower on her face while her friend recovered her breath, a tiny hand over her chest settling her beating heart. “If we don’t leave now we won’t have a chance to see the march!”

Like her mother, Kisara was gifted with breathtaking traits evident in her eight short harvests of life. Her hair gleamed radiantly as liquid silver while her big eyes resembled the shade of a starry night sky. Her skin was so clear that even her endless eyelashes lacked pigment.

“We are not supposed to be out the palace walls.” She answered with clear concern. “Jonoh will scold us if we leave without an escort.”

The pupil gave a big pout while crossing her arms over her chest. “What they don’t know won’t kill them.”

“Yes but…” The youngest continued, still not convinced their idea was acceptable.

“Besides, don’t you want to see your dad?” This obviously caught the attention of the girl who opened her eyes in surprise.

Mana knew her best friend yearned to see her father as much as Mahado and Atemu were present in her mind. She had to constantly comfort her when news of their battalions reached the capital, nightmares invading their dreams for the past three years.

Without waiting for a clear answer the pupil tagged her best friend once more, not willing to wait any longer. “Don’t worry I’ll protect you.”

Kisara watched her wild accomplice as a pretty smile decorated her features, putting the effort to match her excitement as they rushed through the halls again. Their mission would have succeeded if only they have made it to the big arch by the main entrance.

A firm hold of Mana’s tunic stopped her rushed pace, almost chocking her as her body flew backwards. Kisara stopped as well, the blood draining from her face as she spotted her personal guard preventing their escape. Jonoh’s eyes turned toward the pupil who glared at the tall man still holding her against her will.

“Where do you think you are going?” He asked with a stern tone looking at both children.

Kisara turned her gaze to the ground in remorse with her hands against her chest while the freenzy pupil attempted to pull away without success.

“Hey, let go!” She screamed as the man frowned, a deep sigh escaping his lips.

“I should have known both of you would escape from Shimon’s lessons after hearing the news.” He said, this time addressing her silent mistress.

“I’m sorry Jonoh.” She whispered as the man pulled the full weight of the fighter under his arm with relative ease.

“Come on you two. You know that any trips outside the palace are forbidden without an escort, especially for you mistress.” His words only added guilt to the heiress as she raised her eyes toward her guardian.

“We thought that maybe we could see my father and uncle sooner. We couldn’t wait until they get to the palace.” It was an honest answer but no less convincing to the man responsible for her life.

“All the same you know how your father will react if he finds out what you guys tried to do.” Jonoh casually explained as Mana stopped fighting under his hold, a pang of guilt upsetting her stomach after becoming conscious of their little mischief. “Just be patient and wait until they cross the palace’s gates.”

“Yes Jonoh.” Kisara mumbled, disappointment clear in her eyes.

“Fine.” Mana pouted in resignation.

“Come now captain.” A gentle tone called after them, the eldest master Shimon making his way toward their little group. “They only wish to see their family sooner after so long.”

“I understand master.” The man answered, already used to the old title of his position before he was recruited from Atemu himself to watch over his niece. “However, it’s my responsibility to take care of this bunch.”

Shimon smiled kindly, moments such as those giving him a rest of the sorrow he endured from the past weeks. In his youth the man had been a formidable warrior and brilliant conjurer, earning him a place among the closest friendships of the late sovereign. He was one of the few remaining founders of the millennium items and wielder of the millennium key, before it was passed down to his pupil Shada. The news of pharaoh Aknamkanon’s passing grieved him beyond repair and added years to his once strong and unyielding appearance.

“Well if that is the case perhaps you young ladies can help this old man get to the reception. So many halls and my failing memory, I seem to lose my way quite often lately.” The man spoke, both girls lighting up at the suggestion of their old mentor.

“Let’s go!” Mana yelled excitedly, her friend agreeing with her.

Jonoh made a sullen expression, not quiet believing Shimon’s sharp mind could wither no matter how old he got throughout the years.

“Captain, will you join us?” he asked before the strong warrior put the pupil back into the floor.

“Not that I have a choice, besides I don’t think these two will even bother paying attention to their lessons with all these excitement going on.” He expressed, a part of him secretly wishing to join the cheers for his returning companions from the battlefield.

“Very well then, lets be on our way.” The councilor spoke as the girls lead their party into the exotic oasis.

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A third fraction of the troops marched along the councilors after arranging the necessary preparations for their return to the capital. Their sovereign recovered enough strength to embark in their journey after several transfusions of Ka essence that provided enough stamina to ride, his refusal to travel on a sedan chair unyielding.

A significant portion of their troops settled back in Kerma while the key bearer monitored the situation. Shada was assigned as Nubia’s official spokesman, making a formal briefing for the surviving population of Kerma by decree of the pharaoh.

The declaration before the people presented the remaining key military characters and dangerous orators of the new nation. They were to join their expedition to the capital for a public hearing of their crimes against Khemet. Meanwhile, Sulum’s only surviving descendent would abide to Egyptian laws and face his verdict as a political prisoner after proven his innocence before the council’s supreme judge and as an act of mercy and goodwill.

The people remained silent as they listened under the watchful eye of the soldiers’ surveillance.

Another declaration was made that all surviving citizens of Nubia were now protected under the new rule so long as they abided to the law of the nation. Provisions and medicine would be delivered, as well as resources to restore the capital, something that surprised the crowd as they turned their eyes toward each other in confusion. Yugi watched everything from the window of his chambers, surprised by the news like the rest of the population.

After his audience with the pharaoh he was confided to his chambers, receiving his meals from transient attendants hired for the menial jobs of the palace. His injuries were healing quickly and he used his long hours of confinement for dancing and stretching exercises before exhaustion force him to stop.

The cursory events around the capital and the preparations for their departure had settled his fears of the almighty sovereign demanding his presence. The revival of his formidable bearing made his body shake and his stomach flutter. Officially he was a political prisoner, an evident fate for the surviving royal members after a war. Yet, something about him had impressed the pharaoh, attaining his attentions and lustful advancements. There was no doubt in his mind the sovereign would attempt to sleep with him, nothing he could do or say to prevent such destiny.

Their journey was remote and arduous, the prince grateful his position earned him the exemption to ride over a camel while other prisoners endured long hours under the blazing gaze of Ra. They embarked before dawn to avoid the heat as much as possible, making the struggle no less painful for both army and prisoners. However, the walls from the capital eventually were distinguished among the distant dunes of sand and every member of the battalion gave a cry of gaiety, their exhausted spirits enlighten at the sight of their homeland.

Orders were delivered and battle horns echoed from the distance, the sentinels receiving the message and joining with calls of their own as they delivered the legion’s return to the capital.

A march around the main avenues was a standard protocol at the return of war, a mandatory requirement that every citizen had to attend. Promptly the markets, temples, and households, emptied the structures and gathered among the streets. The entire week settled to present offerings to the temples of Osiris and Montu, as gratitude for their blessings during battle and celebration of the desuetude of decades of corruption and tyranny.

Another standard protocol consisted of the reception of commanders and their sovereign at the front of their battalion, a rule that the new pharaoh disregarded.

He requested his fellow soldiers to open the march and receive their well-deserved ovation. It was thanks to his armed comrades and brave efforts they managed to obtain the victory they so much sought. Cheers and applauses erupted as the soldiers marched with dignity and valiant expressions, flowers flying from the balconies on a few routes. Elated tears were shed, several reaching for the fighter’s shoulders and the sides of the horses as they passed throughout the city in direction of the palace.

The distinct pharaoh was received with the warmest of welcomes, moved by his citizen’s admiration and respect. His demeanor represented the dignity and bravery not even his father, a legendary soldier, had summoned among the population in his years as commander. He rode with his face held high and his vision always in front, his magnificent steed arching his elegant head while his hooves passed over the flowers on the floor. The priests and commanders also rode looking ahead, their presence no less magnificent.

The short numbers of the army accelerated the transition of the march among the capital, reaching their final destination at the palace’s gates.

Aristocrats and priests cheered in reverence, the youngest children of the high class waiting among the lines to deliver flowers to the commanders and their ruler. The high priests of the council received their pharaoh and their fellow members who dismounted their steeds once they passed the massive access.

Priest Aknadin was present with his beautiful granddaughter by his side. The man was likewise a founder of the millennium items and the only bearer of the millennium eye. He was a veteran of unbreakable fortitude, his age betraying his bearing and a clear influence to his son Seth. The man opened his arms as he welcomed their party, embracing his nephew with effusiveness. He was dressed in a royal tunic for official events, the golden item shinning under the gleam of the sun. His arms surrounded the strong frame of the pharaoh for a long time before his hands gave an affection patting over his cheek, looking at his eyes with fatherly affection.

“Welcome back son.” He began with a deep, sedating voice. “We are joyous and thankful for your safe return.”

Atemu displayed a dazzling smile as he received the welcome of a man who had cared for him like his own father. His elegant fingers grasped his forearms firmly, conscious more than ever that his exile had caused a massive grievance among his closest circle. A part of him knew that he could never compensate what his actions had caused, a silent promise to dedicate his life to make Khemet prosper under his rule.

“The Gods had indeed aid us through our journey. We are ever thankful of the hospitable reception of the people and our closes friends, dear uncle.” He spoke with magnificent praise, the priest closing his eyes in concession before looking at his nephew once again.

“Welcome back uncle.” A sweet and clear voice stole the attention of both authorities as they gazed upon the little heiress. Kisara was dressed in a beautiful clear dress with silver ornaments around her hair, a moonlight cascade that reached the back of her thighs. She was holding a bouquet of lotuses that resembled the tone of her clothes.

Even the dashing philanderer couldn’t help the slight blush from reaching his cheeks as he marveled the radiant child. He kneeled before her, their eyes meeting at the same level before he took her small figure between his arms.

“There is no doubt you will be the most beautiful queen of all ages Kisara.” The man whispered close to her niece’s ear, a divine giggle escaping her in shyness. “I missed you terribly.”

The man laid a soft kiss over her delicate hand as she welcomed her affectionate and favorite uncle. She delivered the bouquet in her hands before the pharaoh took one of the flowers and arranged it behind her ear, the blossom dressing her overpowering beauty.

“Kisara.” A fair voiced called her name as both, child and monarch, turned their heads in his direction. Seth dismounted once they reach the gates, standing strong and dignified as his eyes leaked some of the longing he endured during his absence.

The child remained frozen, tears swelling in her eyes before she broke into a run. Her father took her vigorously into his arms and disregarded the principal of never displaying emotions among aristocratic members. Everyone became affected by the inspiration the eight year old spread, calling after her father over and over between her frantic embrace. Aknadin excused himself as he greeted his own son in a strong grip, the unusual display of emotion evident before the crowd.

“Welcome your highness.” Another voice called after the pharaoh, the man receiving a deep bow from the healer priestess Isis.

The passing years had done nothing to diminish her remarkable presence and great impression. Her natural beauty matched a brilliant mind owned by the bearer of the millennium necklace since a young age.

Her ancient and wise eyes reflected the universal assimilation of the world around her as well as the understanding of future events, making her an invaluable asset for the council.

“Thank you Isis.” He expressed while handling the bouquet into her arms, received good naturally by the young priestess. The monarch could feel her perceptive eyes as she made her diagnostic with a calm reflection. Conscious the man was under deep strain, disguised perfectly by his smooth composure.

Shimon was the last of the regents to greet the sovereign. His eyes were full of emotions ramping inside his head as the man pressed him into an iron grip.

“I’m sorry.” He was only able to convey as the old man returned the embrace. He understood that his silent apology was delivered for countless messages. The death of his father, his actions that dispatched him to exile, and the grief he cause to him and the people for been unable to protect the late pharaoh from battle.

The priest shook his head before holding his shoulders firmly, hope manifesting in his heart after taking in the changes the man endured after all those years.

“You have become a fine warrior and I can never thank the gods enough for your safe return.” He expressed, his tears barely holding behind his eyes.

Atemu held his cheek affectionately before standing straight again, addressing the greetings and congratulations he received from the highest members of aristocracy.

Their fellow priests greeted the councilors, Karim joining the reception by the side of the tempestuous pupil who welcomed Mahado in an emotional greeting. Seth delivered several instructions about the accommodation of the troops and prisoners before the entire party was welcome inside the palace.

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During the fugitive days, high authorities engaged in a rigorous schedule that brought life to the palace. Settlements were dispatched for funeral arrangements and the official coronation of Atemu as new pharaoh.

The compensation and celebration for the troops was immediately decided as well as the religious ceremonies that would take place after the public execution of war prisoners.

Isis tirelessly spent most of her waking time in the recovery of the monarch whose symptoms had taken for the worse after the exhausting journey. The man expelled a massive amount of blood on a coughing fit that put everyone on high alert.

The summoning of Obelisk was a tremendous accomplishment with no precedent, even adding a newborn fear among the lands across the sea. The pharaoh was as feared as respected, his performance on the battlefield putting him on the spotlight that affected his recovery. He was isolated from the public eye a few days to recover his strength, the time used for meditation as his heart adjusted to the hasty changes of his life as latest leader. Sometimes he would find himself thinking of the radiant beauty from the Nubian kingdom, the child whose attributes could rival the perfection of worshiped deities.

On their first meeting, the small boy had caused an impression like no other in a brief amount of time. His skin was as white as ivory with lean soft curves under his garments that danced with each delicate step he took, the action resembling the act of soaring. His exquisite face contrasted with the dark locks and red tips that were common among the Nubian race. Atemu’s eyes locked on those huge orbs full of determination and bravery during his speech, a pair of amethysts that the gods themselves would envy.

In the mean time, the teen was left to the care of two slaves with shaven heads and white shanties under their hips, a golden bracelet by their upper arms symbolizing their rank as palace’s servants. A small room with sufficient comfort had been provided for him where he was to remain inside during the lapse of official ceremonies. The slaves were forbidden to speak, their heads bowed as they aided the monarch with bathing tasks and delivery of meals. He spent most of his time looking outside the window as people walked among the gardens.

The events and changes combined with the incertitude of his fate affected his health as a blazing fever burned his skin, forcing him to spend his time lying over his bed.

Aknadin and Shimon took care of arranging the preparations of the events, giving the remaining members time to recover and make proper visits with Isis for their recovery. After mending their injuries, therapy sessions were enforced especially for Seth who was wounded by a sword’s cut on his right calf that produce immense pain when he walked. The other warriors confronted similar discomforts, while emotional wounds remained the hardest to deal once they returned to the familiar walls of their homeland.

Citizens gathered at the main temple, a wooden platform arranged for the criminals’ presentation before the raging crowd of peasants and aristocrats alike. They screamed obscenities and threw small rocks in their direction that had to be prevented by the soldiers.

Officials delivered a long list of crimes committed against the nation of Khemet followed by the public execution under the watchful eye of the pharaoh and the council, seated on the royal podium. The prince of blood raised his hand in a sign of approval once the verdict was delivered, the soldiers pushing the criminals to their knees and a sharp blade extinguishing their lives as heads rolled over the hot sand into the audience’s feet.

Slender Arabian horses carried an elegant chariot the same night as it pulled Aknamkanon’s body into the temple of souls, the journey into the afterlife lastly beginning.

The monarch and priests traveled behind the late sovereign, a trace of incense and the sound of a bell echoing among the streets. No tears were shed from the royal family, their somber features dressed in quiet dignity as the ritual of departure took place. Their offerings were made in the final resting place around the sarcophagus, the body inside sealed after a parting speech from Aknadin to the audience outside. Only the priests and royal members were allowed within the temple to close the tomb.

Days of mourning came to an end once the coronation of commander Atemu approached. The arrival of travelers and visitors flooded the streets for the great event, coming from different cities around Khemet.

Everyone desired to look their finest for the grand ceremony, seamstresses overwhelmed by the amount of orders coming to their shops. Markets and wineries could hardly match the demands for the banquets that would be distributed around the capital. Even the inns couldn’t house all visitors that arrived in search of rooms.

The members of the council and the royal family were no exception, their personal team of stylists rushing to work for the festivities. Even jewelers and blacksmiths arrived without rest to deliver the orders of new accessories and armors.

Atumu watched from the distance toward the balcony, the edges of the roofs barely visible from his spot. The best females servant from the palace arranged his royal attire as he stood still with an indifferent look. One of them fixed his rich hair while another placed his violet cape over his armor, a third one fixing his jewelry with soft oil in her fingers.

The day he would make his royal debut had arrived, the first speech and appearance as pharaoh of Khemet toward his citizens.

A knock on the door distracted his absent thoughts as he allowed the entrance of his visitor. His cousin marched inside, looking dashing and smart in his armor and tunic with the millennium rod at his belt. The crown of his status as royal family member was under his arm as he made a slight bow toward his cousin.

“I came to check on you. How are feeling?” He asked while the monarch watched him from the reflection of the golden mirror.

“This is only a formality.” He began, hardly betraying an emotion. “Things will remain the same as they have.”

“If that’s the case then I have nothing to worry about.” He answered with the same calmness.

Atemu raised his hand to dismiss the girls, the strict polishing of his appearance hardly necessary for a man who spent the last three years taking care of himself.

“I look like a clown.” He whispered mostly to himself, arranging the golden wristbands that restricted his movement.

“You look as your are supposed to. You are not foot soldier any more.” His cousin scolded him, his arms crossing in front of his chest as he laid his crown over Atemu’s bed.

The man fidgeted with his armor, mostly for decorative purposes rather than offering some real protection for combat. His attire for his coronation consisted a white piece with a golden and heavy belt, the accessory holding his attire in place. The armor over it was obstructive, a long plum cape symbolizing his royal status. Rings and earrings decorated his appearance as well as his arms and legs, dressed by golden bands that reached his elbows and knees. Even the millennium puzzle hanged over his chest, the heavy and unfamiliar weight grievous for the young monarch.

“Perhaps a good side of this is how I can order you to dress like this each day.” The man mentioned good-naturally, a smirk displaying on his lips as his cousin glared from his spot.

“You are right, those clothes do become you.” The priest mentioned sarcastically at the agreement of the clown appearance. Both laughed silently before the crowd cheered from outside.

The commander once again regained a serious expression as he took a swift breath. His cousin placed a comforting hand over his shoulder, Atemu giving a nod before both made their way to the ceremony.

Gates opened and people filled the royal gardens, palace guards preventing the entrance inside the structure. The pharaoh would make an appearance to the people after crowning him leader of Khemet inside the throne room.

The chamber was decorated with thousands of fresh flowers and tapestries. The air was sweet and purified with the scent of incense. Every member of the royal council formed a half ring behind the throne room with each respecting item at plain view. Aristocrats, politicians, and priests filled the room waiting for the start of the commemoration. Seth joined the group after giving a discreet mention to his father that everything was ready to take place. Shimon received a nod from the man before raising his arm in a signal, horns and drums announcing the beginning of the ceremony.

The royal walked into the room guided by an escort of palace guards at his side, turning to face the small audience before taking a seat over the golden chair. A description of Khemet’s law was expressed that confirmed Atemu as blood descendent and his divine right to inherit the power over the land. He pledged to renounce his restrictions as a mortal and be reborn as a descendent of Osiris, a god among men. The religious ceremony took place after his pledge, the pharaoh offering a sacrifice before the gods and taking his place on the throne.

Kisara delivered the white hedjet, resting over a violet cushion. Shimon took the crown and stood before sovereign, raising the symbol to the small audience.

“Let the gods guide your way into a prosperous rule and cast their blessings over this land.” His words echoed among the chamber as the crown was placed over his forehead, the weight of his people now resting within him.

“By the power vested in me, I present Pharaoh Atemu, son of Aknamkanon. New ruler of the nation of Khemet and Nubia!” The crowd cheered as the horns and drums joined the chorus of his name.

“LONG LIVE PHARAOH ATEMU! LONG LIVE RULER OF KHEMET!”