Scars

Chapter 3- Before the sunrise

The young bloke was on medication for several days, but he recovered speedily. His body seemed to be fine but he was at times lost in thoughts, too stunned to speak, often daydreaming. His condition got better when he was taken to the temple of Goddess Isis. He slowly gained strength and was soon back to his normal condition.

Or so people thought. The only thing that was on his mind now, was that sight. A mace right in the skull and a sword slicing the guts. He learned something about himself: he could not stand the sight of the aftermath of this fight he witnessed, yet he couldn't think of another thing since then.

After the morning rituals as it was a full-moon day, the 17 year old boy decided he would leave his home and have to face his father's absolute wrath, he might even not get to see his face again. But he did not want to run, or hide. For that'll hamper his father's image. He walked towards his house.

In his white robe with golden lining and a shaved head, his father looked absolutely divine. He felt a sudden feeling of immense remorse as he saw him look away. "Father" he said, with his eyes full of tears and his voice shaking.
"You are a disgrace, Djehuty!"
"I might be, father. But how can we figure that out already without at least trying? I can not put my heart in it and was it not always you that said, don't put your head where your heart wouldn't rather be? I'm not running away. I'm not willing to let you down. But I'm also not willing to live a life led in absolute confusion and ignorance. I want to explore my caliber. I want to explore my possibilities. And I feel I shall make you proud."
"Show me your face when you get where I wanted to see you, my way or yours."
He smiled, a smile of relief mixed with a little heartbreak. He had a strong feeling that something was calling him. Something that had a meaning. A purpose. Him getting that book under the tree where barely anyone showed up, a rarest of rare fights being witnessed by him: no man alive in the state of Kermet had seen two men die at each other's hands in a duet. His mind had a lot going on but he focused on this moment.

He asked for his blessings. He gave him his ring that he has had since Djehuty could recall. "If I get this ring back, I'll feel proud." He said. "But if I never did, I'll die in peace."

Djehuty kept it safely with the rest of his belongings and got with the rest of the boys, headed to the school of Tahtib, which kept the ancient fighting techniques of the land of Kemet alive. He would not only learn the ancient martial arts, but all about war.

Three months down the road, and Djehuty could already feel his body transform. Waking up three hours before the sun, intense workouts and punishments if you failed. Good thing, he kept taking all the tasks and excelling at it, soon enough for Henenu himself to notice.

"And you must be, Djehuty?"
"Yes, your highness." He spoke confidently.
"Your performance has been the talk lately. Why don't you tell me something about yourself?"
"Definitely. I came from-" he stopped as Henenu, the royal minister and the head of the school of Tahtib gestured him not to speak and said, "A warrior who speaks first is of no importance."
Djehuty stood there, bedazzled, as Henenu walked out of his chamber. Many teachers, and no less than a thousand students gathered there already, as the word was spread that Djehuty was called into Henenu's office. Everyone was aware with the natural skill that he possessed and he had earned massive respect, probably more than just a student could have. But many hated him too, as they thought he was just a half-blood foreigner, and his skill was just physical.

Henenu waved to his assistants and they brought a huge, shiny Khopesh, a mace and a cudgel to Djehuty. "Pick one."

He was confused for he had barely started to move his muscles and was not skilled enough for a duet, but he couldn't dare say a word about it. He picked the Khopesh as it seemed the most brutal. He always liked swords anyway.

"Be ready for the next morning. We ride at the dawn." Not only Djehuty but the entire school was stunned when they heard those words. Would he be taken to a battlefield? He's just 17! It was all the boys talked about that night. At the dinner table, he barely ate as he was tired of being the centre of attention and had zero clue what he had to be a part of the next morning.

It must have been two hours past the midnight. The weather was a little cold, so he was dozing off under a few layers of clothing. His sleep broke when he heard someone moving in his room. Two men, asked him to come along.
"It's midnight, what do you want?" He did not try to fight as this must be the staff, he figured.
"You come with us. That's what we want. Now."

He put on the body armour, thinking more about what even was going to happen. But he was clueless so he thought he'd stop thinking about it and just be vigilant. It could be a test, a bluff to simply taste his temperament or a situation that might teach him something. But he was to be accompanied by the royal staff, who were pretty skilled with their blades. "I think I'd be safe long as I stick with them."

"What is your name, sir?"
"I think you better keep that mouth shut." The man's words sounded harsher than his rugged face, with a thick beard.
"Oh come on! Let the child speak, he's going to be speechless for months anyways!"

Djehuty laughed faintly, as he grabbed the handle of his new weapon firmly.

"What the hell is he talking about now?"