Trial of Anubis

٢٢: ZIARA

      Wraith's features faded in and out of black. She reached up to hold his face or any part of him to ground her to reality but felt nothing. She rolled onto her side and wheezed, instead of the jagged gravel press into her cheek, cold alabaster soothed her burning skin.

       Frowning, she slowly rolled onto her back. Tatted orange and yellow drapes hung low between the lotus columns extending into darkness. Large woven vases contained dead papyri fronds and the braziers's flames had long since burnt out.

       Ziara sat up and supported herself against the column. She craned her neck towards the large annex leading into a courtyard, unlike the rest of the dim temple the enclosure pulsed with light. She hobbled between the pillars and instinctively hid behind one when a black cloaked figure moved into her peripheral vision.

       Ziara leaned closer, the figure was hunched over a body. She recognised the detail of the New Kingdom robe and gilded sandals. The pot belly signified wealth but the wide hips eluded to a woman. It was only when she noticed the lotus buds growing in the shallow pool that Ziara recognised this place; it was from Wraith's memory she was in Armarna—this was Akhetaten.

    The figure removed a chisel and workers' mallet from the folds of their cloak and set to work on defiling Akhenaten. The chisel easily broke the foundations of the Pharaoh's mouth to reveal a gaping hole of mangled bone and teeth. It then produced a thin ivory stele which acted as a scalpel, slicing the fabric covering Akhenaten's chest. The ribcage was then crushed to expose the mangled heart. Almost as an afterthought, it thumbed Akhenaten's eyes out.

       Ziara wanted to vomit. She sunk to her knees and tried to collect her breath.

       It reached back into its robe and set four canopic jars down. Duamutef's gilded head was placed gently next to the main urn while the stomach was crammed in. Qebehsenuef dripped in blood as the intestines protruded from its hawk-carved lid. Hapi could barely contain the portion of lungs cut from Akhenaten as did Imseti with the liver. However, the jars weren't the final resting place for Akhenaten's organs, it tapped the stele against each decorative deity head before hurdling them at the courtyard wall.

      A trail of intestine stuck to the stone whilst the others left bloody smears. It pocketed the butchers' tools and placed a flat stone in the cavity of Akhenaten's sternum before washing their hands in the murky water.

      "Betu-a pu emmat neter an."

        What I hate is the man who calls himself God.

        To her surprise, the voice was deep and rich and directed at her.

       The figure pushed the black linen from his shoulders to reveal a heavily tattoo laden body, identical to a Son of Anubis. The veil of darkness didn't leave their face, obscuring it from view. A knee length shendyt hugged his muscular legs as he padded to the entry way. He flicked the stele at her, and an invisible force grabbed her legs, pulling her towards him.

        She let out a blood curdling scream and tried to claw at the floor but couldn't gain traction. Ziara lay in front of him, unable to move.

       He tucked the stele into the waistband of his kilt and took a knee over her. On closer inspection, the wand that he carried was a Pesesh-Kef, an intricate designed hilt of lotus fronds and an upside-down Ankh—the opposite to what it was supposed to represent; life.

       His hand, ashen in colour, caressed the side of Ziara's brow and travelled to the curve of her cheek bone. His bloodied fingers slid across her bottom lip, staining them with the metallic remanence of Akhenaten. His hand continued to wander to the nestle between the separation of her breasts, the indent of her bra beneath her shirt and further to her exposed stomach.