History.
Posted: Mon Dec 23, 2002 12:50 am
The pattern of life in her homeland was an established one. The hierarchy of society was Gods, King, the Dead and then the rest of humanity. By right of birth, and blood, Na’diraa and her brother Memneth ruled their kingdom from the throne at the head of the Great River – positioned where that purveyor of life divided into two – streaking down across the Kingdom. He was the manifestation of the gods upon the earth, he ruled with their blessing, and wielded their power, and by his side – his sister bride shared his power.
Although their position brought with it great power, there were also a great many sacrifices to be made – life in the valley of the Great River depended upon the whim of the Gods, and the flowing mass of water itself. The seasons were based around the behaviour of the River: akhet, the inundation, and peret, the season when the land emerged from flood, and the shomu, when the time of water was short.
At each passing akhet, the River would flood inundating the grassy plains, blessing them with water and life. The situation was always a precarious one, not enough water, and the crops would not flourish – the people would starve. Too much water, and the crops would be flooded, people drowned, and of course, starving when the high suns rose. The reign of the ruler, and his sister-wife was blessed by the Gods, and in the years since the twin’s birth, and their ascension to the throne – their people flourished under heavy harvests, and the wise rulership of their King and Queen.
Living with expectations was always difficult. From the time of her birth, Na’diraa knew that she had been destined for greatness. It was in her blood. Power and nobility coursed through her veins – generation after generation of brother and sister wed had assured that her line was pure. Whilst she had the dusky skin, and slightly tilted eyes of her people – both she and her brother bore the signs of the Sun God. Dark auburn hair, as though kissed with his touch, and the brilliant green eyes of the feline – a sign of luck. Destiny, destiny could not be evaded. It was ever present, ever guiding and pushing.
Na’diraa had always accepted readily what she knew to be her birthright. It was her duty to make sacrifices to the Gods, and perform all of the duties entailed in both being a Queen, and a Priestess of Ra, the Sun God. The day had been celebrated, the proud warships, helms slicing through the dark green waters of the Great River had caught and hunted many of the noble hippopotami. Her clothes, pure and white, were a stark contrast to the burnished tones of her skin, coloured from natural heritage, and many years in the sun.
Amongst her own people, she was considered a figure of great beauty – a generous mouth; expressive eyes with heavy lashes – and of course, that remarkable and unusual colouring. For a people with mostly dark browns and black in hair and eyes – the royal family had always been revered for the blessing of their appearance. It was one of the reasons they always bred through pure lines: it would displease the Gods if their blood was shared, weakened.
Her hand maidens had been dismissed, and she stood now upon the shore of the Great River, knelt in prayer – face upturned to the sky, where the sun was slowly setting, staining the blue expanse with a rich crimson. She removed her clothing, a loose linen of a style crafted to avoid the intensity of the heat – pure white in colour, layer by layer, until she stood naked beneath the light of the setting sun. The once noble creature lay before her, its eyes glazed with death, its great grey form drying slowly in the remaining heat of the day.
The desert grew to remarkable temperatures during the day – foreigners to the land were often caught by surprise by its intensity, and their skin was burnt a bright red. They made the same mistake at night, assuming the warmth would remain – yet, a couple of hours after the sun set, the temperature would plummet, and when the sun rose once again – it would be upon the bodies of those who were caught unawares by the chill.
Na’diraa knelt before the offering, the ritual curved knife held firmly in her hand. Uttering prayers and blessings to the Gods and to the Dead, she raised the knife – there was no maddened plunging into the body, no the cuts she made were almost surgical in their precision. Yet, for all that, due to her own small stature, which barely reached five foot – and the sheer mass of the creature, her naked, dusky flesh was of course spattered with blood here and there.
Her emerald gaze gleamed with the impassioned vehemence only a true fanatic and devotee could express. Her breath came in gasps from the exertion, muscles of arms trembling at the rigorous effort it took to flay open the blubbery flesh of the dead animal. Yet, finally, even as dusk was setting in, the task was at least partially completed. The blade was reversed in her grasp, and she climbed over spilling entrails, and began to remove the vital organs. One by one, they were removed and placed within earthenware pots, handcrafted by her over the course of many moons, especially for this occasion.
Bloodied, and on the verge of exhaustion, she then lifted the papyrus parchment, scribed with her offerings. The parchment, constructed of papyrus was extremely important to her people and her culture. Another blessed gift from the Great River. It was harvested wild, at first, but after innovations from her and her brother – it was cultivated and farmed. It provided a perfect material for trading: a rare substance that could only be grown in the marshy banks of the Great River. Yet, beyond trade, it provided clothing, sandals, weaving mats, and most importantly, it was the primary writing material.
With papyrus, and a fine quill, constructed of the hardened reed, the end sharpened, and hollowed to allow the ink to flow, she had written her petition to the Sun god. And now, now she placed that careful exhortation to the gods inside the vessels. It was a complex ritual , as were most of those practised by her people – this one had taken the turnings of many moons to prepare – and finally complete.
Her petition was a simple one. She was with child. The climate within the kingdom was rife with tension. Dark whispers filled the corners of their spacious palace – and indeed the entire city. Unsettling rumours emerged from the far outreaches of the kingdom, the bonding which held the Upper and Lower Kingdoms together under Memneth’s rule was strained, and threatening to break. She requested Ra’s guidance, and blessing, for her, the most favoured child. It would not do for her son, and she was sure it was a son, to be born under such a dark auspice.
It was not that Memneth was not a strong leader, and a valiant warrior. Like his twin sister, it was obvious the blood of Kings and Gods flowed in his veins. His long, dark auburn curls hung in waves about his shoulders, and his emerald gaze was passionate, powerful and had the ability to inspire and captivate those around him. He was capable of winning a man to his side without the utterance of a single word.
He was surrounded by loyal guards, many of whom had known him since birth, and others who had been childhood friends. The people of his land worshipped him and his Queen like they had no other before. Yet, the bureaucrats had gained more and more power. It seemed that no matter which way they turned, there was whispering of traitors, and failure in the wings. It hadn’t been helped by the usual unrest generated in the season of shomu: the time of sparse water put everyone on edge.
Na’diraa shook her head, clearing it of disturbing thoughts. She was the beloved of Ra, as was her brother, lover, husband and king. There was no reason to doubt that his favour would not shine upon them again. Yet, still, a ripple of uneasiness shivered down her spine. Something was wrong. Something terrible was coming, but she could not pinpoint it. There was only the persistent and lingering sense of foreboding. She moved closer to the bank of the Great River, stepping into the warm water, and giving a soft gasp at the sensual pleasure of the liquid against her skin.
Little did she know that something was wrong. The darkness had been watching her for quite some time, even now, its heavy gaze rested upon her. Yet, she was oblivious to this, as she arched her back, dipping her head beneath the water, slowly washing the blood from her body, and allowing the clean liquid to cleanse dark auburn curls which caressed the edge of her buttocks. The water glistened from her dusky skin, shimmering in the moonlight; Ra’s fiery chariot had long ago ridden across the sky – leaving his Sister, the moon to reign in the night sky.
And that lingering presence in the darkness, it watched, and waited. Silently, and hungrily – it was not her physical beauty that had drawn it in. Long ago its tastes had progressed beyond the merely aesthetic. No, it was drawn by her majesty – the confidence, the power, and the surety in every motion of her lithe form, which even now, was showing the slight swell of stomach – of the children growing within her. He could hear their heartbeats – yes, there were two of them, as surely as he could hear hers. He wanted to possess her. He wanted to break her.
And very soon, he would.
For when Antonius desired something, he was never denied.
To be continued.
Although their position brought with it great power, there were also a great many sacrifices to be made – life in the valley of the Great River depended upon the whim of the Gods, and the flowing mass of water itself. The seasons were based around the behaviour of the River: akhet, the inundation, and peret, the season when the land emerged from flood, and the shomu, when the time of water was short.
At each passing akhet, the River would flood inundating the grassy plains, blessing them with water and life. The situation was always a precarious one, not enough water, and the crops would not flourish – the people would starve. Too much water, and the crops would be flooded, people drowned, and of course, starving when the high suns rose. The reign of the ruler, and his sister-wife was blessed by the Gods, and in the years since the twin’s birth, and their ascension to the throne – their people flourished under heavy harvests, and the wise rulership of their King and Queen.
Living with expectations was always difficult. From the time of her birth, Na’diraa knew that she had been destined for greatness. It was in her blood. Power and nobility coursed through her veins – generation after generation of brother and sister wed had assured that her line was pure. Whilst she had the dusky skin, and slightly tilted eyes of her people – both she and her brother bore the signs of the Sun God. Dark auburn hair, as though kissed with his touch, and the brilliant green eyes of the feline – a sign of luck. Destiny, destiny could not be evaded. It was ever present, ever guiding and pushing.
Na’diraa had always accepted readily what she knew to be her birthright. It was her duty to make sacrifices to the Gods, and perform all of the duties entailed in both being a Queen, and a Priestess of Ra, the Sun God. The day had been celebrated, the proud warships, helms slicing through the dark green waters of the Great River had caught and hunted many of the noble hippopotami. Her clothes, pure and white, were a stark contrast to the burnished tones of her skin, coloured from natural heritage, and many years in the sun.
Amongst her own people, she was considered a figure of great beauty – a generous mouth; expressive eyes with heavy lashes – and of course, that remarkable and unusual colouring. For a people with mostly dark browns and black in hair and eyes – the royal family had always been revered for the blessing of their appearance. It was one of the reasons they always bred through pure lines: it would displease the Gods if their blood was shared, weakened.
Her hand maidens had been dismissed, and she stood now upon the shore of the Great River, knelt in prayer – face upturned to the sky, where the sun was slowly setting, staining the blue expanse with a rich crimson. She removed her clothing, a loose linen of a style crafted to avoid the intensity of the heat – pure white in colour, layer by layer, until she stood naked beneath the light of the setting sun. The once noble creature lay before her, its eyes glazed with death, its great grey form drying slowly in the remaining heat of the day.
The desert grew to remarkable temperatures during the day – foreigners to the land were often caught by surprise by its intensity, and their skin was burnt a bright red. They made the same mistake at night, assuming the warmth would remain – yet, a couple of hours after the sun set, the temperature would plummet, and when the sun rose once again – it would be upon the bodies of those who were caught unawares by the chill.
Na’diraa knelt before the offering, the ritual curved knife held firmly in her hand. Uttering prayers and blessings to the Gods and to the Dead, she raised the knife – there was no maddened plunging into the body, no the cuts she made were almost surgical in their precision. Yet, for all that, due to her own small stature, which barely reached five foot – and the sheer mass of the creature, her naked, dusky flesh was of course spattered with blood here and there.
Her emerald gaze gleamed with the impassioned vehemence only a true fanatic and devotee could express. Her breath came in gasps from the exertion, muscles of arms trembling at the rigorous effort it took to flay open the blubbery flesh of the dead animal. Yet, finally, even as dusk was setting in, the task was at least partially completed. The blade was reversed in her grasp, and she climbed over spilling entrails, and began to remove the vital organs. One by one, they were removed and placed within earthenware pots, handcrafted by her over the course of many moons, especially for this occasion.
Bloodied, and on the verge of exhaustion, she then lifted the papyrus parchment, scribed with her offerings. The parchment, constructed of papyrus was extremely important to her people and her culture. Another blessed gift from the Great River. It was harvested wild, at first, but after innovations from her and her brother – it was cultivated and farmed. It provided a perfect material for trading: a rare substance that could only be grown in the marshy banks of the Great River. Yet, beyond trade, it provided clothing, sandals, weaving mats, and most importantly, it was the primary writing material.
With papyrus, and a fine quill, constructed of the hardened reed, the end sharpened, and hollowed to allow the ink to flow, she had written her petition to the Sun god. And now, now she placed that careful exhortation to the gods inside the vessels. It was a complex ritual , as were most of those practised by her people – this one had taken the turnings of many moons to prepare – and finally complete.
Her petition was a simple one. She was with child. The climate within the kingdom was rife with tension. Dark whispers filled the corners of their spacious palace – and indeed the entire city. Unsettling rumours emerged from the far outreaches of the kingdom, the bonding which held the Upper and Lower Kingdoms together under Memneth’s rule was strained, and threatening to break. She requested Ra’s guidance, and blessing, for her, the most favoured child. It would not do for her son, and she was sure it was a son, to be born under such a dark auspice.
It was not that Memneth was not a strong leader, and a valiant warrior. Like his twin sister, it was obvious the blood of Kings and Gods flowed in his veins. His long, dark auburn curls hung in waves about his shoulders, and his emerald gaze was passionate, powerful and had the ability to inspire and captivate those around him. He was capable of winning a man to his side without the utterance of a single word.
He was surrounded by loyal guards, many of whom had known him since birth, and others who had been childhood friends. The people of his land worshipped him and his Queen like they had no other before. Yet, the bureaucrats had gained more and more power. It seemed that no matter which way they turned, there was whispering of traitors, and failure in the wings. It hadn’t been helped by the usual unrest generated in the season of shomu: the time of sparse water put everyone on edge.
Na’diraa shook her head, clearing it of disturbing thoughts. She was the beloved of Ra, as was her brother, lover, husband and king. There was no reason to doubt that his favour would not shine upon them again. Yet, still, a ripple of uneasiness shivered down her spine. Something was wrong. Something terrible was coming, but she could not pinpoint it. There was only the persistent and lingering sense of foreboding. She moved closer to the bank of the Great River, stepping into the warm water, and giving a soft gasp at the sensual pleasure of the liquid against her skin.
Little did she know that something was wrong. The darkness had been watching her for quite some time, even now, its heavy gaze rested upon her. Yet, she was oblivious to this, as she arched her back, dipping her head beneath the water, slowly washing the blood from her body, and allowing the clean liquid to cleanse dark auburn curls which caressed the edge of her buttocks. The water glistened from her dusky skin, shimmering in the moonlight; Ra’s fiery chariot had long ago ridden across the sky – leaving his Sister, the moon to reign in the night sky.
And that lingering presence in the darkness, it watched, and waited. Silently, and hungrily – it was not her physical beauty that had drawn it in. Long ago its tastes had progressed beyond the merely aesthetic. No, it was drawn by her majesty – the confidence, the power, and the surety in every motion of her lithe form, which even now, was showing the slight swell of stomach – of the children growing within her. He could hear their heartbeats – yes, there were two of them, as surely as he could hear hers. He wanted to possess her. He wanted to break her.
And very soon, he would.
For when Antonius desired something, he was never denied.
To be continued.