Ismara sang softly. Her mother always said singing to an unborn child instilled good qualities into it. Unborn children were sensitive. They can feel better than any human ever could. If the mother felt anything, the child will feel it too. If the mother learnt anything in the time of pregnancy the child will gain that knowledge too. If an unborn child listened to music at least everyday, the language of the universe, they say it will be happy. They say special even legendary qualities were instilled in the child. But only if that music comes from the mother.
"On the golden sands the river sang
The reeds and trees whispered
Oh how the fish in the river swam
How the silver scales glittered"
Sabra too drunk in the beautiful sound of Ismara's voice, and she knew the child would be like no other.
Suddenly the singing stopped.
"What's wrong?" asked Sabra.
"I don't know. A lot of things."
"There will be a riot tonight" said Sabra after a long silence. "The slave women will be set free. Keep you doors locked."
"Give me a dagger. I want to join the fight."
"But the baby...Kahmunrah...I promised..."
This wasn't just a matter of her safety. There was also the matter of recognition. If they saw her like this, questions will be asked.
"If I wear a mask no one will recognise me. Besides its impossible that I'll return alive anyway."
If there was one thing about Ismara she was stubborn. Sabra handed her a dagger.
"Fine but stay close by me follow my shadow. We only have a few to do anyway. I did most in the day time."
Ismara smiled and took the knife.
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"Montu is here? In Ineb-Hedg?" asked Kahmunrah.
"Yes. He was quite brusque." replied Ahkmenrah.
"I don't understand he was so kind to both of us. He used to give us sweets every time he came back from the market. How could have turned so bitter?"
"I don't know. But he hates me. Actually that doesn't really matter. He called Kain a coward."
"But Kain was the exact opposite. He gave his life for a country that wasn't his own."
"I know!"
That's what also added to the pain. Kain didn't even have to give his life but he did. Ahkmenrah knew it was out of a type of love. It hurt to know that Kain will never see that love return. Unless he had eyes from his heaven or his underworld.
Kahmunrah sighed.
One sigh in the whisper of many that was carried by the wind. People usually sigh when they were relieved. When they were disappointed. When there was nothing more to do. When they had given up. But the wind carried the sighs of the hopeful but oppressed. It was a sigh of acceptance of their current sorrows and misfortunes. But it was also a sigh saying that was a glimmer and spark. Better times were to come.
After all hope may be frail but it is hard to kill.
"I do wander..." Started Ahkmenrah.
"Wander what?"
"Don't kill me. How Ismara is...I haven't seen her since well the coronation."
"Why would I kill you?"
Does he know? Does he suspect?
"You were the one who told me to not worry about her. And here I am worrying."
"Ahk...this worry is a good kind of worry. It shows that you're honourable..."
But even Kahmunrah found the words hard to force past his throat. Ahkmenrah gave the smallest of smiles. Kahmunrah realised there was still some love.
Even though what he had done was a world away he still felt as if he had betrayed his brother's trust.
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Red sloshed in a golden goblet. Blood and gold. Except the red wasn't blood. It was wine. But it may as well have been blood. Workers forced to make the wine under the merciless heat without an inkling of repayment. The wine may as well have been the blood of the workers.
Sargon was the drinker of this blood. Blood and wine it made no difference to him. He was still red eyed and drunk. He wasn't always like that.
But it was in this haze of drunkenness that he would sometimes revert to his former self. In this drunken haze he would remember his wife and daughter. Hilimaz and Enkara.
He had by now forgotten his sudden passion for a plain warrior woman. Instead his feeling were almost romantic, as if in a summer haze. Sabra was only a conquest. A way to assure himself he was powerful by conquering a woman like her. But Hilimaz his wife was what people call the one. The one who guided you away from the winds and into the eye of the storm. The one who could make you smile by the mere thought, even in your most darkest days. The one who was there when no one else was. He remembered her beauty her soft dark curls her smile. He missed her.
Then he saw his daughter Enkara. She had his black eyes, but the rest was the spitting image of her mother. He remembered the three year old's last words to him before he left to conquer.
"Love you Papa! Come back soon!"
But will he come back to her? He wasn't sure.
He drained the goblet of its contents before staggering over to the balcony. The same balcony that Ahkmenrah and Kahmunrah spent their time laughing and fighting. Generally being what they were famous for. Brothers.
Sargon could feel it, in all his heightened senses. In every scratch, every fault, every joint there was love and laughter. It filled his body with ecstasy. It also filled his body with pain.
Hilimaz, Enkara...wherever you are do you remember me? Are you holding out hope that I'll come back? I know I've changed. I know ambition has taken ahold of me. But underneath all that I'm doing this all for you. You disapprove I know. But I promise you things will get better. Just wait for me to come home.
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Great going Sabra. Your on a mission with a pregnant woman dressed as a cow. You'll be lucky to make this one out alive.
This wasn't really the case. Ismara had only the mask of Hathor, the cow goddess of love and female sexuality, her patron goddess.
Had Kain been aware of this she wouldn't have heard the end of it. But this sudden thought sent an icy knife through her heart.
Kain if only you were here.
She stopped short in front of a door. Sabra pressed her ear against the door. She could smell wine and hear the sound of a man snoring. The sound of woman whimpering. Carefully she opened the door.
Dark doe-like eyes stared back at her in amazement. Another warrior woman reduced to a slave used for sexual purposes. Sabra put a finger to her lips. And beckoned for her to put on her clothes no matter how scant. She then handed her a dagger.
"For the guards." She whispered. "Await my signal and come to entrance."
She had told every woman of this. All she needed to do now was check a few more doors and then provide Shepseheret with a dagger. Other servants can be freed later. They faced no danger yet.
She then turned to Ismara.
"Go to the entrance. Stay hidden. If you see a guard." She made stabbing motion with her hand.
Ismara nodded.
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Shepseheret smiled when the all too familiar white figure of Sabra emerged.
"Ready?" Asked Sabra.
There was a glint of mischief in Shepseheret's eyes as she snatched up the dagger.
"Ready" the former Queen of Egypt replied.
As soon as they left Sabra sent the signal.
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There where three loud screeches.
Then dead silence.
Then there was a patter. For a moment Ismara thought it was the rain that they all had been waiting for. But she quickly realised that was not so. This pattering was that of many feet rushing towards the entrance hall where she stood. There had been two guards. One was dead. The other had fled.
Ismara couldn't help but feel astonished at the fact that she had killed so easily. But there was also guilt.
The man she had killed probably had a family back where he came from. A wife, children, a sister, a brother, a mother, father. Maybe he had a little farm, with a dog waiting for his return. How they will weep, when they will know he died. Not in their arms, but in the embrace of a foreign land. They will weep. The will lament. The children will be fatherless.
But they will get used to it. Man can get used to anything, that villain.
The first few women who saw her thought she wasn't earthly. Indeed her beauty, enhanced by her pregnancy, and the Hathor mask in the eerie moonlight made her look godlike. The women thought that the goddess Hathor was here to lead them freedom. Ismara seized at the role. It was her best chance of not getting recognised.
Sabra appeared beside her.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Ready"
There voices sounded unearthly. The women gathered at the entrance hall could barely hold in a gasp. In front of them was a legend reborn.
The White Lioness, Sekhmet, Goddess of War and the Mother, Hathor, Goddess of Femininity. In legend they were they same, two halves of one whole. Sisters. Polar opposites but the same person. Here they were hand in, leading the women to victory.
That night shrieks of laughter could be heard. Through the palace walls and through the streets. Those who stood in their way, Sumerian guards and soldiers were killed. But those who didn't assisted in any way they could, food and clothing etc.
Sekhmet and Hathor, who really were their very own Sabra and Ismara, lead them to hideout prepared by Khufu and his henchmen.
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Ha ha! Yes Chapter 50 of Ahkmenrah! It has officially reached half a century!! And guess what I still have heaps left to portray. Shite I'm not even a third-way through the story!
Tell me what you think!
- Sarg