Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Rays of light dazzled the surface of a small oasis which had been constructed as the focal point of the First Prophet's villa. Small, newly planted palms circled a number of artificial sand dunes, and there was a large central reservoir of water encircled by a lush array of reeds, bushes, and flowers.

Since he was young he'd dreamed of living a lavish life which only the pinnacle of society could afford. This particular villa had only been completed a few weeks prior, and he barely had a moment to enjoy it with the Festival of Opet's preparations exhausting most of his time.

As a child he had seen the immense power amassed by the nobility of Egypt, and he had even respected them for a time when he had the opportunity to meet the young Pharaoh, Amenhotep III. He remembered worshipping him like a god, just as everyone else did.

Years later though his father, who was also a Priest of Amun, was forcefully removed from his position and executed on grounds of treason. Ptahmose was told his father was involved with foreign factions growing in Egypt at the time, but he knew his father had no such involvement with foreign affairs — he was a scapegoat for Pharaoh and his agents. His mother, driven crazy with grief, drowned herself in the Nile when she heard the news, and Ptahmose was left alone.

For years, he suffered from the pain brought by the loss of his parents, and it blackened his soul. His thoughts grew dark, and he found himself growing short-tempered, nasty, and resentful of anyone who enjoyed life more than he did. He wallowed in — even savoured — the negative energy that bubbled inside him. Turning to Amun, lord of shadows, was the perfect way for him to channel those thoughts.

Today, Ptahmose had called a summit of senior cult leaders, and he intended to have everything be perfect for their arrival. He already had to get rid of his chief steward mere days before, after learning that preparations were so far behind schedule that it was nearly laughable.

Ptahmose found incompetence absolutely unforgivable. There were standards in the world that people should adhere to — his standards — and he didn't think there was anything particularly difficult about it. Either you were capable, or you weren't. Suffice to say, the steward would not be enjoying the future which Ptahmose was carving out for Egypt.

He had invited a number of senior priests to be present from the religious cults of Ra, Osiris, and Isis, to be present. Some of them had travelled the length of the country to partake in the important meetings with him and his staff in an attempt to win their support.

Before their arrival however, he was to chair a meeting of his own people: his Second Prophet, Siamun; the heads of the other temples of Amun throughout Egypt; and the Third Prophet, Meryptah, who was currently overseeing the temple at Malkata, Pharaoh's palace grounds.

When the priests arrived, they were not disappointed with the endless variety of food and hospitality that was shown by their leader. Cuisines from across the empire were been put together by Ptahmose's cooks; there were dancers and musicians hired for entertainment; even exotic animals had been tied up around the grounds or caged.

It was a display of power as much as it was an inspiration, and Ptahmose was determined to shore up his support within Thebes but across the country, too. He knew that started with his own people, and he wanted them to know that they too could reap the tremendous gifts granted to living souls, not just those which had passed on to the afterlife.

Senior priests within his own organisation were the low hanging fruit. They were already desperate to please, and already did virtually anything he said. He would use them to expand his influence to those in other cults around Egypt, and then — the true goal — within the royal household.

Ptahmose could never become Pharaoh, not born of noble blood. It was this ancient law that he found to be so utterly offensive; an insult to the people of Egypt who had to live under the laws of the Pharaohs. To Ptahmose, it was a matter of principle. Why should he, or anyone else, be excluded from the opportunity to do good for a country he loved?

Either way, he intended to use the Cult's immense power to change those laws, and he was already one of the most powerful citizens outside of the royal family.

Whether it was in his lifetime, or not, he would transform Egypt.

The only way Ptahmose saw this being plausible was to plunge Egypt into chaos then arrive as its saviour. He knew that a significant portion of the population, the poor and the rich, were advocates of the Cult. He'd worked tirelessly to make sure of it for years: influencing local laws, supporting their powerful financial backers on political issues, and spending the vast wealth the cult had amassed to invest in local businesses, conducting essential repairs to city infrastructure, and even buying the loyalty of a few key senior officers in the army.

Most importantly, Ptahmose knew that few were willing to risk the wrath of the gods, not when paradise in the afterlife was at stake. As the primary deity in Thebes, Amun was revered by thousands, and as High Prophet of the Cult of Amun, Ptahmose influenced people in a way that even Pharaoh couldn't, so he estimated.

When the entertainment had concluded and the sky darkened, Ptahmose took his seat at the end of a long granite table, and he began the meeting.

"The Festival of Opet has been a tremendous success," he rasped, lifting his hands to the sky. "We praise Amun, and all the gods, for allowing us the opportunity to bring the people of Egypt a little closer together."

The other priests called out their praises and congratulations, smiling to one another at the table. Some were leaning back and picking their teeth of the evening's food, others were enjoying the expensive wine and beer that had been provided in no small quantity.

Ptahmose commanded a presence like few other men in Egypt, and he knew this was one of his most precious qualities. Some felt it was how he used his hands so expressively; others the imposing height he cut; some the eloquence and choice of words he used. He virtually bled charisma, and people listened when he spoke.

Visibly, he was unusual to look at: his head was shaven, as was typical for priests, and he had a long, bony face marked with acne scars and a large, curving nose. His eyebrows were thick and bushy, speckled with grey, and he had a pair of beady green eyes that were set close together.
"It is worth noting that this year, of all years, has seen the greatest results. We now have more loyal priests in major positions around Egypt than ever before."

He waited for the mumbles of assent to die down before continuing patiently.

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"The level of ritual magic we have been able to achieve means that we can, for the first time, truly bless the population with the determination and will that is owed to Amun — and that they owe to themselves! Now, the masses listen. They are guided towards His will. They are focused."
More shouts of praise. More cheers.

"The Book of the Dead has finally yielded its secrets," he said with the hint of a smirk, "And we are eternally grateful to Third Prophet Meryptah for his tireless work in the translation of these old texts."

Everyone present, except Second Prophet Siamun, was eager in their praise for Meryptah. Those next to him clapped him on the shoulder, and those further away hooted their joy. The young priest simply smiled back and bowed his head respectfully to Ptahmose, but remained otherwise silent.

"The Book has not only allowed us to show Egypt's lost souls the right path to salvation, but we are close to penetrating some of the more powerful spells that our greedy, power-hungry rulers use to control us.

"In a few days, you will all see the true power of the secrets locked within the Book." Ptahmose shared a brief look with Meryptah, which Siamun observed curiously. A few of the other priests also looked looked at each other, some confused and curious at the news, some obviously excited.

Ptahmose went on, a bony hand gesturing grandly. "Before we touch on other, more mundane, matters, I will briefly address how we will be moving forward. I trust that each of you will know how you fit in the bigger picture, and urge you to find me afterwards for clarification." Everyone murmured their acknowledgement, heads bobbing.

"There are arrangements being made to welcome a batch of new Acolytes. For those of you who aren't aware, these are an ancient rank within the Cult responsible for the practice of an unusual ritual magic. Magic based on the Book of the Dead," Ptahmose said calmly.

"Historically, they have been difficult to train. Finding the right individuals devoted enough, the resources required to train them, and a purpose meaningful enough to set them towards.
"The secrets revealed within the book have also shed light on this, and we are fortunate to put more resources towards this cause than arguably any previous incarnation of this institution. Coupled with the control we can now exert after our success at the Festival of Opet, we're in the perfect position to grow a new, devoted academy of Acolytes."

Ptahmose sipped wine from his stone goblet. He still had his audience rapt.

Smiling to himself, he continued in his own time. "These Acolytes will be the backbone of our magical endeavours not just within Egypt, but beyond its borders as well. With them, we will unite Egypt under a new regime."

There was a varying degree of applause to this, some bound by necessity to do something with their hands, and others genuinely inspired by the notion that somehow the country wouldn't be united behind Pharaoh's, as it had been for centuries before.

Siamun, in particular, was not moved by what said. "Pardon my interruption, High Priest Ptahmose."

Everyone at the long table turned to look at the Second Priest, eager to see what the interruption might bring.

"Talk of a 'new regime' is dangerous. Don't you think such drastic changes will be struck down by the Pharaoh?" he queried.

Only two other priests nodded their approval of the question, where others, including Meryptah, soured at the interruption.

Siamun was a known conservative of the Cult, and fiercely loyal to Egypt — traditions and all. His ties to the royal family had made him hard for Ptahmose to replace, however.

Ptahmose held an obviously forced smile at Siamun. "I suppose that will depend on who our next Pharaoh is. We all know that Amenhotep is in poor health, hmm?"

He looked to a few of the priests who were agreeing with him for support, like a lioness encouraging her pride to a kill.

"Again, please pardon my being so bold, but..." he hesitated for a moment and cleared his throat. "The Pharaoh is not dead yet."

Ptahmose laughed a dry, polite laugh. "No, Siamun, he's not. And I will pardon your boldness. It doesn't happen often." Several of the other priests, including Meryptah, lit up with laughter at the comment.

"Suffice to say," the laughter died out swiftly after Ptahmose began speaking again. "This is a critical moment in Egypt's history. If the past has taught us anything, the end of a reign this long and prosperous is bound to herald disaster. I assure you all, here and now, with Amun as my witness, we shall not let that happen."

The priests lifted their drinks and cheered the First Prophet, and some even kicked their chairs back to stand and show their loyalty.

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