Phibis

"General, we are taking heavy casualties at the Heptastadion causeway… we are holding, but Caesar is making progress…"

Hegemon Horos commanded the defense forces protecting the southern bridge of the Heptastadion.

"We cannot lose the bridge," Ganymedes responded. He knew that losing this position would give Caesar a direct path to Pharos Island. Turning to the High Priest of the Order of Ra, he asked:

"Are the Servants ready? Are they here?”

"Deliverers!" shouted the High Priest, projecting his voice from the darkest depth of his lungs.

"Deliverers!" he cried again, his voice striking every wall of the Royal Palace, bouncing from ceiling to floor, creating a haunting echo.

The summons produced four Deliverers. They stood facing the High Priest. One of them was Phibis.

Phibis had served the Order of Ra for as long as he could remember. A devastating drought had impoverished his family; to save his life, he had been given to the temple, where he would serve the Order for the rest of his days.

Phibis and his three companions had their bodies covered in thick black lard, creating a stark contrast with the whites of their eyes. A metallic artifact resembling a goat’s head — with curved horns and gold leaf — covered their heads. They had practiced the ritual many times before.

"Do they have names?" the general asked, studying them, trying to understand.

"No," answered the High Priest. "They are servants of Ra. They are eternal."

"Are they loyal? Will they fulfill their destiny?"

A thought crossed Phibis’s mind:

I have a name. My father named me Phibis, as his father did before him. My grandfather served in your grandfather’s army; he told us the stories. He was brave — I saw his sword. My family helped build the channels. Water is Egypt.

He thought of speaking, but the last time he spoke out of turn, the High Priest had broken two of his teeth. He remained silent. He felt the moisture on his palms.

"They are loyal to Ra… through me," said the High Priest. "They answer to no one else."

A messenger arrived directly from the battlefield. From his armor, Ganymedes could see he came from the garrison posted on Pharos Island.

"Sir, message," the messenger said, handing over a tattered papyrus with dark stains blotting the corners. Ganymedes read it, then looked at the High Priest and spoke urgently.

"We need them now."

"Listen to my voice," the High Priest commanded the Deliverers.

"By the authority of the gods, given to me by the earth we stand on, carry out the work of Ra swiftly. You are guaranteed a direct path to the afterlife."

Phibis had heard this proclamation many times, but this time the High Priest’s voice carried finality. He did not know exactly what that meant, but the words struck him.

A soldier led Phibis to the causeway, where a familiar vase waited. He knew he had to grip the tail of the Golden Cobra wrapped around the container, holding a gold disk in its mouth.

What Phibis saw terrified him: men crying in pain, projectiles and arrows flying in all directions. The smell of blood and burned flesh was new to him, sending chills from his cheeks down through his body in intermittent quivers to the soles of his feet. He grabbed the vase, held it tight to his chest, and ran toward the point the soldier had indicated. The clanging of swords echoed violently in his ears. He ran as fast as he could until he found himself in the midst of the fighting.

Then the horn blew — unmistakable. It was time to stop. He felt invisible, standing in the center of the chaos. He could smell the men, their sweat and breaths. The second horn sounded. Phibis gripped the tail of the snake.

In previous rituals, gripping the snake opened compartments; then he would raise the vase to the heavens, and Ra would know what to do next.

But this time was different.

The wind carried black earth, and from the openings of the vase a blue glowing light shone in all directions. It burned his arms and face. He wanted to say, "Ra, Aten‑Khem is called in your name — release the Akhu‑Sheut,"but he could not. His throat produced blaring, unrecognizable sounds. He wanted to see, but he could not. He wanted to scream, but he could not. In the last gasp of life, he summoned his strength with all his might and managed to shout:

"WHY?"

Ra could not hear him. Scores of terrorized men drowned out his voice.

Aten-Khem