In the aftermath of nine devastating plagues that ravaged ancient Egypt, a high priestess desperately seeks to prevent the impending tenth plague. Still, her efforts fail, leaving her at the mercy of an enraged pharaoh. Meanwhile, the pharaoh's son...
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"Is that all?" Ramesses asked the priestess, aghast.
"Yes, o noble Pharaoh. I was caught in a trance this evening and within that period I communed with the gods. The great Ra himself gave the instruction. All firstborn sons from the Pharaoh's wives and concubines must sleep in a single room before midnight."
"No. No. No. I do not accept this. Tell the gods I do not accept it. Even now, those at Goshen are slaughtering livestock and smearing blood on doorposts, but all you tell me is sleep. Where is the assurance in that?" Ramesses' head grew hot with fury. Perhaps this priestess did not value her life.
Instead of giving a response, the priestess stared ahead and maintained a stoic expression he itched to slap off her face. Save for two palace guards, they were the only ones present in the throne room.
"I need something tangible," Ramesses said. "There must be something we must do rather than sleep."
The priestess remained silent. That same flat expression.
"Do not think I jest. If Moses' threat comes to pass, I will kill you. We'll see if the gods can save you from my hands." No sooner did the words leave Ramesses lips, when a freezing draft swept through the throne room.
When Ramesses glanced at the priestess, he flinched.
The priestess's formerly healthy face appeared gaunt and leeched of blood, and her eyes—sunken and ringed with black—possessed a menacing sharp glint. Her exquisite beauty had vanished and in its place was dried-up hideousness—like a slender tree twisted and drained of every moisture. And those eyes...
Ramesses shifted in his throne, as an alien feeling of terror rose within him.
"Ramesses." It was with the deep voice of a man.
Raising a brow at the use of his name without honorifics, Ramesses raised a hand to stop the guards from cutting her down. Something was amiss. He met the priestess' gaze and immediately regretted it. Twin holes of death stared back; he barely noticed his sceptre slip from his grip.
"You have grown fat with pride, Ramesses. Did we not place the crown on your grandfather, a man without a drop of royal blood? Indeed, you forget your place."
The priestess circled a pillar, posture bent at an awkward angle and eyes unblinking. She tutted and scraped sharp nails across the frescoed column. Ramesses watched in disbelief as unnaturally thick pointed nails left deep scratches across the smooth surface.
"Remember your place, Ramesses. We can end your life in a moment." The priestess snapped her fingers and chuckled. It was like a thousand men chuckling, and there was nothing humorous about the sound. Ramesses shook his head to clear it.
The two guards present looked at Ramesses with questions in their eyes. He ignored them as he forced himself to think. Understanding struck. The gods were speaking through the priestess. A small relieved smile formed on his lips as an idea blossomed. Now was a rare chance to ask the questions that had burned within him for the past months.
