Octavian wants me to come to him before he’ll order an attack on Alexandria. He wants me to openly admit that Caesar is not my father so he can rebuke me publically for my mother’s lie. A waste of time that’d be anyway. He’s only the adopted son, and has no real claim to the throne. Although, Rome will accept him before they accept me.”
I touch his sun-warmed shoulder, my chest heavy for his burden. “You are Caesar’s son, Xarion. Octavian is only jealous—he has no blood ties. All this will be settled when the queen defeats him and brings home the victory.”
He nods. “She will, and then my true battle will begin.” I squint, and he laughs. “Oh, Mother is never defeated, be assured. I’m in for it when she returns with whoever she has in mind for me to marry. That is the battle I’m dreading.” He grasps my hand before taking off toward the Library. “Come.”
As we pass under the striped awning, scribes bow to Xarion and offer to wash his feet with rose-perfumed water. He waves them off, and we continue through the lotus columns that reach past the entrance. Scholars dip their heads to the pharaoh, and he acknowledges them. I blink, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dim lighting after being in the bright Alexandrian sun.
The scent of papyrus fills the airless entryway, the smell of ancient and recently created documents—musty and new. The smell of the Library. Oil lamps hang from the tall ceiling, their firelight spilling over the floor. Voices echo against the stone walls; lectures being taught. Clanking and grinding, the sound of automata, bounces from the far rooms where the scientists work with the Narcos’ Flame to build steam-powered devices.
We make our way to the rows of stacked scrolls that cover every inch of the Great Library. Every tome, every codex in the known world is here. There is not a vessel that docks in the harbor that goes unsearched by the scholars. Every written word is handed over and made into a copy before returned.
Once we reach the Egyptian scrolls, Xarion chooses a desk in the corner where we can work undisturbed. “Start in the sorcerers’ tomes, and I’ll work my way through the pharaohs’ diaries.”
We both wash our hands and towel them off, so that the oils from our skin will affect the papyrus as little as possible. I take down five scrolls and one large tome, then anchor the first scroll with weights against the desk, preventing the corners from curling in as I read.
For hours I pour over old texts, hunting the ancient ways of the sorcerers. I dig deeper than the common knowledge of how Pharaoh Ahmose I ordered the creation of the first Kythan, and come to a section that describes in detail his bidding for the sorcerers to construct a powerful army to rival his enemies, the Hyksos.
Considered invaders, the Hyksos ruled over Lower Egypt, but were not supported by the majority of the people, even after they took Set as their praised deity. Having learned this much as a child, I gloss over the details of their reign, and finally find what I’m seeking.
Five of the most powerful sorcerers gathered around a sacred amulet to perform a creation ritual of the gods. Amun-Ra—self-created, and thought to be the creator of other gods—held the power of creation in his hand: his was scepter.
I’ve seen its likeness many times, as the Kythan are likened to Set. The head of the Set animal tops a long staff with a forked tail at its base. But how the sorcerers came to possess the was scepter, I can’t fathom. I read on, immersed.
The sorcerers performed the ritual on Egyptian rebels of the war, infusing their bodies with the Ka of Set; his essence. For days, the prisoners suffered, enduring constant pain throughout their first shift, madness at having their Ren —identities—stripped away, and in severe cases, death. Not only a physical death, but once the shift took effect, the Akh died a permanent death, never reaching the underworld; never being able to
I touch his sun-warmed shoulder, my chest heavy for his burden. “You are Caesar’s son, Xarion. Octavian is only jealous—he has no blood ties. All this will be settled when the queen defeats him and brings home the victory.”
He nods. “She will, and then my true battle will begin.” I squint, and he laughs. “Oh, Mother is never defeated, be assured. I’m in for it when she returns with whoever she has in mind for me to marry. That is the battle I’m dreading.” He grasps my hand before taking off toward the Library. “Come.”
As we pass under the striped awning, scribes bow to Xarion and offer to wash his feet with rose-perfumed water. He waves them off, and we continue through the lotus columns that reach past the entrance. Scholars dip their heads to the pharaoh, and he acknowledges them. I blink, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dim lighting after being in the bright Alexandrian sun.
The scent of papyrus fills the airless entryway, the smell of ancient and recently created documents—musty and new. The smell of the Library. Oil lamps hang from the tall ceiling, their firelight spilling over the floor. Voices echo against the stone walls; lectures being taught. Clanking and grinding, the sound of automata, bounces from the far rooms where the scientists work with the Narcos’ Flame to build steam-powered devices.
We make our way to the rows of stacked scrolls that cover every inch of the Great Library. Every tome, every codex in the known world is here. There is not a vessel that docks in the harbor that goes unsearched by the scholars. Every written word is handed over and made into a copy before returned.
Once we reach the Egyptian scrolls, Xarion chooses a desk in the corner where we can work undisturbed. “Start in the sorcerers’ tomes, and I’ll work my way through the pharaohs’ diaries.”
We both wash our hands and towel them off, so that the oils from our skin will affect the papyrus as little as possible. I take down five scrolls and one large tome, then anchor the first scroll with weights against the desk, preventing the corners from curling in as I read.
For hours I pour over old texts, hunting the ancient ways of the sorcerers. I dig deeper than the common knowledge of how Pharaoh Ahmose I ordered the creation of the first Kythan, and come to a section that describes in detail his bidding for the sorcerers to construct a powerful army to rival his enemies, the Hyksos.
Considered invaders, the Hyksos ruled over Lower Egypt, but were not supported by the majority of the people, even after they took Set as their praised deity. Having learned this much as a child, I gloss over the details of their reign, and finally find what I’m seeking.
Five of the most powerful sorcerers gathered around a sacred amulet to perform a creation ritual of the gods. Amun-Ra—self-created, and thought to be the creator of other gods—held the power of creation in his hand: his was scepter.
I’ve seen its likeness many times, as the Kythan are likened to Set. The head of the Set animal tops a long staff with a forked tail at its base. But how the sorcerers came to possess the was scepter, I can’t fathom. I read on, immersed.
The sorcerers performed the ritual on Egyptian rebels of the war, infusing their bodies with the Ka of Set; his essence. For days, the prisoners suffered, enduring constant pain throughout their first shift, madness at having their Ren —identities—stripped away, and in severe cases, death. Not only a physical death, but once the shift took effect, the Akh died a permanent death, never reaching the underworld; never being able to
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