His muscles were tensed and hot burning in the searing sun. Ammon could see nothing but darkness. Time may have passed, time may not have. He was not sure. All there was, was the burning sands against his skin, blood like fire in his veins, the painful greed of hunger and thirst.
He felt faint. He couldn't tell if he had slipped in and out of consciousness all he saw was black. Whenever he could feel himself falling forward or too the side he could hear the shouts of fellow comrades telling him to stand straight. Tchanun's voice the most passionate of them all. After all Ammon had taken his place in this punishment. But it was worth it, for what Tchanun had done was something great. Defiance. That was best thing that had happened in the time they had been on this dreaded march.
Peril surrounded him.
His hands were bound behind his back, his feet bound as well as he knelt. Ten spears, angled towards him surrounded him in a circle. They were tipped with poison. Any wavering, any wayward sway he was dead. This meant he was unable to sleep for feel he might fall unto his death. Hence the calls from his comrades every time he wavered, in order to keep him awake.
The first few hours had been easy, but unconsciousness threatened to be the end of him.
Tchanun looked on. He wanted to cry but it seemed as if all water had been taken from him. He could not produce tears. But tears or none the guilt and gratitude were the same. He could not move at all, save every time Ammon swayed in the direction of the death tipped spears that was when he called out with all his heart and soul. He did not want Ammon to die for his sake, and for his cowardice.
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First there were whispers. So tempting so seductive, but he could not make head or toe of them. Maybe that's what attracted him towards them. The avarice for knowledge.
Then vivid colours settled. Then he saw her, Ismara with a small child in her arms. She looked at him with such sadness that he felt a twinge of guilt grapple at his heart. He hadn't protected her as was his duty. He approached her, she looked up at him with her sad grey eyes.
"Ismara...?" Kahmunrah breathed out.
"Kahmun...don't...please" she pleaded softly.
He came closer to her. He hated to see her like this so sad and broken. He tried to embrace her. To give her comfort, if not completely at least let her know he was there for her. But as soon as they touched she vanished and he was left with a newborn baby in his arms.
The baby smiled and cooed. And he recognised the child as his own. Tears welled in Kahmunrah's as he held the baby boy close to him and kissed his forehead. The scene around him shifted until dark mauve clouds surrounded him. The billowed about him sending flecks of sand towards him. Soon the flecks turned into a full He turned and bent over holding baby boy closer to him to protect the child from harm.
The winds stopped and he felt the harsh scratching of sand on his back cease. He looked up. There was a huge magnificent Pyramid made from mismatched white stones. Upon the Pyramid stood a large throne made from gold and upon it was a figure.
A sudden intense passionate curiosity burst through his soul. He had to know what was atop that magnificent Pyramid. So with the child still in his arms he stood up and made his way towards the Pyramid. He could feel the stones beneath him fracture and sink under his weight as he took his first step but nonetheless he climbed up the Pyramid. The time it took to reach the top seemed to stretch on. As soon as he was sure he reached the apex another ten thousand steps seemed to be laid before him. But with grim deathlike determination he made his way up.
After what seemed like years, he finally reached the top.
The throne was a magnificent thing gold, encrusted with the finest and rarest jewels he had ever set eyes upon. A myriad of colours shone with their own light, giving the throne and ethereal glow.
Upon the throne was the slim, crowned figure of no one other than his younger brother, seemingly asleep.
"Ahk!" he exclaimed. "Wake up! What are you...."
He trailed off seeing the dark crimson blood running down his younger brother's neck in three perfect rivulets. A impeccably thin straight incision embellished his throat. The crimson also coloured his lips a tiny creek of blood running from the corner of his mouth, down his chin meeting the slit at his throat. It all looked so flawless and beautiful, in a strange macabre way. But it shocked Kahmunrah to no end.
"No..." he whispered under his breath, something clasping at his throat so neither a sob nor another word escaped him. He looked down at his hands, hoping that the forever-smiling cooing baby could offer him the little comfort he desired. But the baby no longer remained in his hands.
There was blood on his hands!
His eyes widened and he sucked in his a breath. He wanted to scream, to curse the gods, to curse his own existence. But nothing escaped his lips. He looked back at the throne that had glowed with such beauty and life now was as dull and as grim as death itself.
Ahkmenrah's body vanished, leaving behind grey ashes. The stones beneath his feet started to crumble. He looked down and realised that they weren't stones, but on fact human bones. He was standing atop a pyramid of bones.
A huge gust of wind blew in his face, he shielded himself with his bloody hands sending splatters of crimson to his face. The now grey dull stone throne cracked and crumbled as the bones gave way beneath him.
For the first time he was a able to cry out for help. But by then it was too late. He was already engulfed by darkness.
Kahmunrah awoke with a jolt. Then a searing pain erupt throughout his body, he merely grimaced at the pain and got up. He realised his body was slick with cold sweat. But that was normal considering what he had seen in his dream. He felt it again. The power that had coursed through him. He pushed the memory of the dream away.
No! He will not let the tablet control him! He was not allowed to think it true! Maybe just maybe if he forgot this prophetic dream (for every dream from the tablet was prophetic) he might just be able to evade fate.
He sucked in deep breaths, controlling the powerful surge of emotions that threatened to burst through his sanity. His felt convulsive sobs rack his body, and welcomed fully the tears that came with it. Sometimes tears can offer relief, they can be the one thing that keeps you from driving insane, they can be the only thing that can bring you back, they are the one things that prove you have a heart.
He leaned against a wall and let it all out. The sobs shaking his body, heaving it till ached all over. Right now he needed Ahkmenrah. He never appreciated how much his younger brother could help alleviate his worries as much as he did now.
(A/N: What do you think the dream represents?)
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Khufu leaned back. A huge grin plastered across his face. The workings of his mind could now rest. They were sure to win this battle. And then...then his real ambition would be in place.
As long as the gods agree to help them all will be well. He needed to call a council. The plan had to commence as soon as possible. He wanted his crown as soon as possible.
Khufu was doing the right things for all the wrong reasons.
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Yes! Another Update! I realise this may be slightly boring at the moment but I promise it will get better soon. I must study for Chemistry (wish me luck guys!).
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