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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Fool. That was who Ramesses was. A foolish man so puffed with pride that he couldn't see straight—couldn't think! Quatesh hissed in frustration as he considered what one of his spies had told him. Ramesses planned to go after the Israelites. The man was a mule galloping straight at destruction. But that aside, the three boys he saw weeks ago bothered him too. Their sighting, no matter how brief, set him on edge.
"Have any of you seen them again?" Quatesh asked as he tapped a finger on the arm of his bronze throne. His new lair was an inner prayer room with bare walls and an absence of furniture. Candles burned on tall heaps of yellow and black wax. The priestess was present, seated cross-legged at a corner and chanting incantations as she drifted through an induced trance.
"Who, master?" The gathering of about twenty thin serpents asked in unison.
"The boys I told you about, Idiots!" Quatesh balled his fists and gritted his teeth. He was on the brink of losing control and he hated the feeling. Fury was brimming and it pushed to be expressed. He fought it though; he had never been one to give in to fury but recently, with all the power that came with worship, his control seemed to be slipping.
"Not good, not good, not good..." he muttered as he tapped a foot. He was beginning to understand why Ra always acted hot-headed. The kind of power worship gave was maddening, like a sea of fire that never stopped raging.
"We saw nothing. But the traitor talks to—"
"Talks to who? What was she saying?" Quatesh asked as he glared down at the little floating snake that chose to speak up.
"We do not know who she speaks to or what she says. Her words were spoken in a different language, either that or she has slipped into insanity."
"We understand every language under the sun." Quatesh spat. "How can it be that you are unable to decipher what she was saying?"
Calm down! Quatesh chided himself. This is not you, it's the power talking. Control this.
Quatesh sighed and relaxed on his throne. Shutting his eyes, he allowed his shoulders to loosen and almost immediately the rage seeped out of him.
Now think, then speak.
But as Quatesh was about to speak, an unfamiliar aura wafted towards him. It was faint, almost as if the owner was trying hard to suppress his presence.
"All of you, leave. Keep watching the woman, and if anything unusual occurs, send words to me." Quatesh flicked his wrists, shooing them away.
"Who said you could leave?" Quatesh asked as he felt whoever the aura belonged to try to retreat.
Focusing on the aura, Quatesh pinpointed the location of the infiltrator. When the spy increased his retreating pace, a smile spread across Quatesh's grey lips. What a tiny challenge.
