Born of Shadow - Book 1 (complete)

Chapter 41

Zaynah stared at the temple walls formed of mud and brick. It was impressive that these walls had stood there on the hillside of Aghurmi for so long, over 3000 years. Alexander had walked these very streets and entered this very building.

She had traveled on her own following Alexander's path to visit the oracle, a pilgrimage of sorts—more than a pilgrimage actually. She had a larger purpose for coming.

Zaynah remembered back to that night when the voice had finally revealed himself. She had been sitting in her chambers after an exhausting day of creation. She had stripped off her heavy robes and relaxed in a meditative pose on her bed.

Like so many times before, the question formed in her mind, the question she knew would not be answered. It was the same question she had asked when she had opened the jar and the shadow had first taken her. She tried again.

What are you? Silence. She thought deeper. What are you? She felt more than heard a rustling, then a hissing. She repeated the question over and over, until at last the hissing gave way to the voice.

She didn't expect an answer, or at least an answer to the question she was asking. The voice had its own purposes and usually ignored her questions. So it came as a shock when she asked the question out loud and the voice answered.

"Alexander," it had whispered. Then in a flash it became clear. The map. The dagger. The jar she had opened. There was only one Alexander this could be—Alexander the Great.

Zaynah knew in that instant she needed to recover those items from the dig site, that they were key to awakening Alexander fully and gaining her full powers. Her beastie had successfully retrieved the artifacts. She had searched for the jar shard as well, tracking down the man with the charred eyes and torturing him until she discovered its location. By the time she reached the shard, however, it had been removed. She would have to resume that search later. She had more important things to worry about.

Her mind returned to the present. She had sailed from Alexandria and traveled 300 km southwest of Marsha Matruah to Siwa. The temple was located four kilometers from the town of Siwa. 

According to legend, the Temple of the Oracle was founded by a Priestess from the Temple at Thebes. The Oracle was held in high esteem, and it was written that Alexander followed the birds into the desert to visit the temple. Zaynah had followed not birds, but the voice.

Alexander had come to the temple seeking answers to questions. He had supposedly received those answers, but never lived long enough to tell anyone what he had asked. But because he claimed divinity afterward, it was believed that like the pharoahs of old he traveled to the temple to be acknowledged as a son of Amon-Ra, the supreme god, and to establish his absolute authority to rule.

She had asked the voice additional questions, but the only answer she received was wait. She was not good at waiting. It was time to receive answers.

Zaynah surged forward, kicking up the dirt with her footfalls. She neared the temple and climbed the ancient carved steps. She ran a finger along the wall, trying to feel where she was supposed to go. She felt a pull, trusting in her instincts to lead her. She came to a room that was only slightly smaller than the home she had grown up in, about the length of two large tables and the width of one.  A crumbling altar lay in the center of the room. The whispers stopped. She was here.

 She drew the blade from her waist and saw her reflection in its surface. She lightly ran a finger over the green stone hilt. She had been foolish to lose this blade on that fateful night when she had been taken by the shadow. Fortunately for her, Hassri had been stupid enough to take it out of hiding for the exhibit making it simple for her beastie to smash through the glass case. Without the blade, she wouldn't be able to do this, at least that's what the voice had told her.

Zaynah knelt in front of the altar and set the blade on it. She could hear the whisperings faintly, stronger and stronger now. Then words. She repeated what she heard, her lips forming the words slowly and deliberately. It was a strange chant, completely unlike those she used when creating her beasties.

She could feel the power thrumming inside, flowing through her body and down her arms. The ground shook. Pieces of rock smashed to the ground. The power slammed into the altar with an intensity that made her gasp. Zaynah clenched her hands into fists and fought to maintain the power. 

Then as quickly as the shaking started, it stopped. The green light flowed through her arms and into the altar. The light rose and painted the wall behind the altar. She could make out something now—blurred movements on the wall. They came into focus, and she saw a sleeping woman with long black hair pulled into a braid. The woman gasped and went rigid, then screamed and thrashed. Her bedding twisted and wrapped around her, constricting her tighter and tighter.

Why? Zaynah thought. Then she could see it. Flames snaked around the woman. A lightning bolt cracked into her abdomen, and the flames grew. But the woman wasn't burned. Her skin, her hair, her nightgown—none of it was singed. The woman must be dreaming, she realized.

Then the picture merged into a man with dark, curly hair and a full beard. He carried an iron instrument that he pressed into the black-haired woman's pregnant abdomen. She heard skin sizzle, then he pulled the seal away and she could see the blackened imprint of a lion reared up on his back legs roaring. The lion from the jar. Another dream.

The pictures came fast and furious then. The black haired woman holding a baby. Olympias. A toddler sitting on the bearded man's knee. Phillip. His parents. The boy sitting with his friends conversing with an old man in a robe. Aristotle. What were the names of his friends? Ptolemy. Cassander. One other she couldn't remember. It started with an H. The voice whispered the name. Hephaestion. That's right. All were being taught by their mentor.

The boy now a man, arguing with his father. The man on the battlefield, fighting alongside his comrades who have now become his generals.

Then she saw him walking into the temple, into this very room. The altar was immaculate, with little resemblance to the current altar. A woman stood behind it, with clear ebony skin and a flowing white robe. The Oracle of Amun. She could see their lips moving and Alexander gesturing. She strained to hear but was only rewarded with silence. Zaynah shook her head in frustration.

The woman turned abruptly and strode toward the temple wall. She held her hand to the wall. A section of the wall slid open, revealing a hole about two feet wide and high and about eight feet deep. She carefully pulled something out and turned toward Alexander. He was mostly blocking her view, but she caught a glimpse of something shiny. Alexander inclined his head toward her, and she placed the object on top of it.

Zaynah could see it clearly now. It was a hammered bronze helmet in Chalcidian style, like the ones she had seen in her books. It rested on his shoulders in the back. As Alexander turned to the leave, she saw the intricately carved rams horns curling around the portion of the helmet that covered his ear. The ram was the sign of Amon-Ra, she remembered. Alexander had been crowned son of Amon-Ra.

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Today's dedication goes out to a hilarious Wattpadre @Razzzzzia! I have so enjoyed her comments throughout Born of Shadow. To check out her writing, including her funny story "The Mismatched Half," click on the dedication link above.