“The word is the deed,” the priests intoned.
Come on, come on, Neff thought anxiously.What’s taking so long?
“Today I am the Great Sun Disk, soaring above the horizon on golden wings!” Meryamun continued. “I see every enemy in every land, and I curse them with my words, my blows, and the blood of many rivals! Let none who oppose me escape my Eye, and let all suffer the scourge of Horus, Son of Isis, Avenger of the Great Father, the Morning and Evening Star!”
“The word is the deed!”
With one swift strike, Meryamun brought the stone mace down upon the head of the first kneeling figure.
A sickening crack cut through the quiet.
The prisoner arched, stilled, and then slid lifelessly into the pit.
The three priests remained silent. There was no wind in the courtyard, not even an exhalation.
Horrified, Neff stared into the pit, then at Meryamun. Did he look brighter than before?
Neff found Rae in the crowd again, and the rebel’s face blazed with anger and despair.For the love of Amun, what if that man was her father?Between the hoods and shapeless rags the prisoners wore, it was nearly impossible to tell one from another. For Rae to come so far and do so much, only to lose the very person she came to save!
Either way, an innocent person had just been executed, and another would soon follow.
The king stepped up to the next prisoner in line, and the priests resumed their chant.
“Please!” Neff cried out. “Stop!”
Meryamun raised the mace—
“Wait.”
The muffled voice came from the prisoner himself. It was deep, calm—the voice of a man who’d accepted his fate with grace.
Meryamun paused, curious. “Speak.”
“If I am to die,” the prisoner went on, “I wish to do it with my eyes upon Ra, with His glorious light upon my face.”
The king considered the request. “Very well,” he said, and pulled off the hood.
It was then, as Meryamun raised his mace once more and the older man lifted his sun-bronzed face to the sky, that Neff noticed his arms bound behind him. He had only one hand.
30Rae
Rae’s peripheral vision vanished. All she saw was her father’s serene, emaciated face, turned up in reverence to a god who had forsaken him.
Rae didn’t care that the signal hadn’t come. She didn’t care that if she ran to him, if she tore a bloody hole through the crowd standing between them and leaped over the yawning pit, she would be cut down long before she reached him. She would do it. Even if she couldn’t save him, she would die trying.
Kroo! Kroo!
To the crowd, it was simply the call of a nightjar. But to Rae, it was salvation.
She reached back to grasp the neck of her dress and tore it from her body with a flourish. Beneath was the golden armor, stolen first from the court of King Rahotep and again by Rae herself when she reclaimed it from the Medjay. The armored wings folded over her short tunic, each feather glittering. Thenshe reached for the sekhem scepter strapped to her back and pulled it free.
She held the scepter aloft, its long stone head pointed to the sky.
“For Khetara!” she roared.
The king froze, and every eye in the courtyard turned to her, as the rebels hoped they would.
“What in Amun’s name is she doing?” Meryamun said. Beside him, Sitamun gazed toward her, emotionless.
