instinct was alive in me now, and I already guessed where they were going; I followed, tracking their progress through the dark labyrinth of the city. I arrived at the merchant’s house in time to see the figures slip through the big wooden doors.
I stood in the shadows, listening intently for any sound from the house. I watched the full moon as she moved slowly across the dark ocean of the night, and the great stars wheeled around her. Eventually, in the darkest hour of the night, when she was about to sink below the horizon, the doors opened once more, and the cloaked figure slipped out, accompanied by his two guards. I ran silent as the moon through the dark ways of the city, found the place I had decided upon in my head, where several lanes merged into a small open space, and waited. I was ready.
As the group of figures appeared, I sent an axe hurtling through the shadows with all my strength; it thudded exactly into the centre of the first guard’s forehead with a crack, and he slumped to the ground. The cloaked figures of Nakht and the other guard stopped in their tracks, trying to identify their attacker; the second guard moved quickly on his feet, fully-concentrated, coming towards me, his curved blade slicing at the shadows before him. I tormented him with a scatter of small stones cast against the wall beside him. He turned, and I plunged my scimitar deep into his belly, jerking the curved blade sideways until his guts spilled out, warm and slippery, into his clutching hands. His face tipped up to the stars; it was Nakht’s manservant, Minmose. Perhaps he recognized me, for he muttered something; but the blood in his mouth choked him, and he died. I lowered his body to the ground.
The hooded figure had already disappeared silently into the narrow streets. But he didn’t know his assailant was me; nor did he know I knew exactly where he was going. And above all, I knew how to get there faster. I ran like a jackal, with the supreme power of the opium surging through me; and I was waiting for him in the shadows opposite the door of his mansion when he arrived, breathless and silent. The moment had come. Just as he reached his door, and safety, I stepped into the street and revealed myself. He stared at me.
‘Show yourself,’ I said.
‘Why?’ he replied. ‘Do you not know who I am?’
‘I want to look upon the face of Obsidian.’
‘Obsidian has no face,’ he replied.
‘We have that in common, then. I, too, am a shadow returned from the Otherworld to feed upon revenge. So show yourself. Or is the great Obsidian afraid?’
He slowly slipped off the hood. In the moonlight, the face was familiar, and yet now it seemed possessed by a stranger. I knew him and I did not know him. His eyes were black stones.
‘Names are powers. You should use them carefully, with respect,’ he replied. ‘They bring the forces of eternity to life in this world.’
‘You lied to me. You left me to die.’
Obsidian’s face betrayed no emotion.
‘Have you not discovered there is so much more to yourself than you ever believed? And is it not so much darker than you could ever have imagined?’ he said.
I took another step closer to him. I could see a faint sweat on his skin. His right hand held on to a hidden weapon. He stood poised, like a different man entirely.
‘I have lost my family,’ I said.
‘All earthly things end. But the way forward calls you now to something far greater…’
‘Don’t talk that rubbish to me. I know you too well,’ I said.
‘You do not know me at all.’
‘
Obsidian almost smiled.
‘Your old life is gone. It’s finished. But there is a place for you, in the future of a new world, without dynasties-if you join me now.’
I tightened my grip on my scimitar.
‘What future? Ankhesenamun cannot prevail now. Horemheb will occupy Thebes. Nothing you have done will prevent that calamity. You have simply made it possible,’ I said.
‘The royal dynasty is finished. General Horemheb is a soldier without imagination. He believes he will bring “order” to the land. It is a shallow ambition. He would stifle the priesthood, and impose his own dynasty. Egypt is the greatest of all empires. But it has for too long been ruled by kings and dynasties, beset by vanity and jealousy. That shall be no more. There will be no more kings. And that is not all. There will be no more worship of the Gods, for they too have failed. Only Osiris, Lord of the Dead, eternally incorruptible, will rise again at the midpoint of the night, reborn in me. When Ra ascends tomorrow, time itself will begin again, a new age and a new world,’ said Obsidian. ‘It is I who will prevail.’
Somewhere in the distance a dog howled, and another answered. It would soon be dawn.
I took another step forward. With the next I would be close enough to slay him. But he was prepared, too. He watched me carefully. The city was silent all around us. I looked up at the eternal ocean of the night, glittering with stars. A harrowing sorrow entered my heart.
‘I have one last question,’ I said.
‘Of course you do,’ he said.
‘Why did Obsidian kill Khety?’
‘You already know the answer to your own question,’ he said, simply. ‘Because
He might as well have cut my heart out with his knife. I had told Nakht about Khety for the first time on the boat, on our way to the palace. I had trusted him.
He took one more step towards me.
‘You have looked into the dark mirror of the truth, so you now understand.’
He touched his heart. And when he smiled, I attacked.
Our swords sliced through the moonlight. His was made of obsidian; a long, black, deadly, shiny blade, honed to the finest edge. This was what had cut off the head of my friend. This was the blade that had sliced him apart, while he was still alive.
We fought intently, closely, our faces almost intimate, our breaths close in the cold air, our swords desperate to find each other’s hearts.
The obsidian blade whispered through the silence and I twisted out of its dark path, parrying each brilliant thrust and slice with my own curved blade, battling to maintain momentum. Suddenly his sword sliced into the muscle of my right forearm. My blade clattered across the stones, and blood slipped from the perfect cut.
He leapt back, light as a cat on his feet, and disappeared around a dark corner of the street. I tore a piece out of my robe to bind the wound, and stood still, listening to the silence. Then I picked up my sword in my left hand and moved slowly around the corner. The shadowy doorways seemed empty. Up ahead was a derelict space between two buildings, where a large house was being reconstructed. I knew he must be in there. I knew he was leading me away from his mansion.
As I entered the darkness, sand and grit crunched lightly under my sandals. I peered into the gloom. Here and there slants of moonlight entered through the timbers of the roof. I inched forward, my sword ready, trying to see into the gloom. And then I heard something, the faintest whisper-the obsidian blade slicing through the air. Just in time, I threw myself down, and as it flashed over me, catching the moonlight, I twisted around on the ground, drew my old dagger from its place across my chest, and threw it, left-handed, with all my strength. There was a moment of silence; and then Obsidian’s face loomed out of the shadows. The dagger was planted in his chest. He looked curiously at the bloom of black blood that stained his linen robe, made luminous by the moonlight. And then, to my astonishment, he offered me the obsidian blade.
‘Take it. Kill me. For Khety. For the dead boys. Taste your revenge.
I hesitated. Was he now himself again? But then the wrong smile crept over Obsidian’s face. He began to draw the dagger out of his chest. Blood followed. He hissed in some kind of dark rapture. Then he pointed the dripping blade at me.
‘I knew it … you are too weak even to take the revenge you have sought for so long,’ he said. ‘But I am perfect.’
