~/*\~Julian~/*\~
News trickled in over the next few days. Rumor was replaced with facts; or at least more reliable speculation. The whole western hemisphere was hiding under the bed for a while. The clips played constantly, over and over, day and night.
The Lawyers went back to work, sorting out the changes in law that were sure to follow. Laws were being rewritten for an entirely different kind of warfare. Markets were being shaken by the prospect of vulnerability in one of the world’s most powerful economic strongholds. Beyond the inevitable came the ludicrous, as everyone tried to pretend they could exert some measure of control over this dark new world.
“The Insurance Companies are trying to decide how best they can take advantage. Law enforcement has found a whole new justification for doing as they please.” Humphrey summed up. “Anti-Discrimination laws are all over the place. All of a sudden, half the country wants to set up internment camps.”
“It’s a nightmare.” Julian summed up. “I told Martine that the new millennium was the one where everything starts getting better for the world. I told my wife that it was 2001, and nobody discriminated against religion anymore, and the future was getting brighter every day.”
“You’re too young to remember what it was like the last time we went through something like this.” Humphrey commented. “When I was in high school, they still had ‘duck and cover’. Everyone looking under the bed, wondering if the guys on TV had just said something ‘unpatriotic’. I really thought we were past those days, but it’s starting again already.”
Julian bit his lip. “What scares me is this: We’ve never gone to war against someone that didn’t have a nation, or a government. How do we know when we’ve won?”
Humphrey nodded. “What scares me is some of the rhetoric I’m hearing on the talk shows. The Western Hemisphere hasn’t fought a religious war since the 1600’s.”
Julian let out a breath. “We thought the war would be over in a month. It could still happen. They’re rewriting international law to make it easier to find these guys. We find them, end them; and go back to normal.”
Humphrey gave him a cynical grin. “The guys on the top floor? They’re working from home this week. They’re scared to go into their highly coveted high-rise offices. Plane tickets have been canceled all across the world. From now on, we live in a world where shooting down a passenger jet full of people can be a good decision. Everyone who runs for office, everyone who trains as a pilot… We all live with that in mind now, forever. You’re worried about getting back to ‘normal’. I’m worried this is normal. Forever.”
~/*\~
“The door-to-door work sure changed since last week.” Martine admitted two days later. “Ever since I started the preaching work, I’ve been turned down more often than not. But since it happened, everyone wants to talk.”
“Yeah, I’m seeing the same thing at work. Office hatreds are suddenly being resolved, things that people would argue about aren’t even mentioned anymore. There’s a Muslim kid in the mail room. Nobody wants to let him handle packages anymore.” Julian let out a breath. “The country’s in shock. Like ‘Pearl Harbor’ shock.”
“Yeah.” She agreed. He opened his arms. She stepped into the hug gratefully. “I love you.”
“Love you too.” He took a breath. “Sunday is going to be packed at St Mark’s. Without wanting to restart the fight, I’d like you to come with me.”
“There’s a JW meeting in the afternoon. I’d like you to come with me, too.”
He didn’t want to argue, and it was clear she didn’t either. “I will if you will?”
~/*\~
He was right. St Mark’s Church was packed to the rafters. The usual Priest had stepped aside from the Pulpit, and was arranging seating for everyone. Some of the Church volunteers were bringing in extra chairs. Others had seats reserved up in the front row.
At the Pulpit was Bishop Fitzpatrick, who led the service. “Most of you know me here. I started out at this very Pulpit. Recent events have brought me home, wanting to see some familiar faces.” He smiled warmly at everyone. “Looking around, I see that I’m not the only one.”
There was a murmur of agreement from the audience.
“It hardly feels proper to give a sermon today.” Fitzpatrick continued. “I know a lot of people are asking questions now, dealing with their doubts. In times of great fear and uncertainty, it’s an easy thing to let faith be drowned out. It’s natural to wonder why God would do this. And I admit, I have those questions too. Faith doesn’t mean we have no questions; it means that we trust God’s actions, even when we can’t see what He sees.” He gave them all a sympathetic look. “The streets of heaven are crowded with our loved ones today. And here on Earth, there is fear. People are wondering if it might happen again.”
There was a harsh murmur from the audience. He was right. This was their great fear.
“Well, one thing I’ve learned from many years at this Podium, my children,” The Bishop said grandly. “Faith is always stronger than fear. I have faith that God’s will is always to the betterment of the world. I have faith that the victims have been taken safely into our Lord’s keeping. I have faith that our community will overcome its fear and pull together. I have faith that our leaders will take decisive action. I have faith that this fight has only just begun, and it will be won.” He gestured towards the audience. “I’m given to understand that some of our own in attendance today are servicemen. Be sure that you take our thanks, and our prayers with you; wherever you may be sent. We have faith in you, and the protection you provide us.”
There was a murmur of approval from everyone; along with a light smattering of applause.
“And of course, we pray for the nation.” Fitzpatrick continued. “Praying that our government’s response to this might show the very best ideals of mankind; as shown in God’s teachings to servants of Christ; as it is in many other faiths, including the ones we might be suddenly suspicious of. Paranoia is not God’s way. Community is. Under His Grace, there is room for everyone, of all backgrounds, of all Creeds.”
Julian leaned over. “You object to any of this?”
“Nothing he’s saying is bad.” Martine whispered back. “But he’s not speaking for God. He’s speaking like a politician.”
~/*\~
After the Service at St Mark’s, Martine gave him directions to go to the Kingdom Hall for the local Jehovah’s Witness Congregation. She mentioned it was more crowded than usual too.
The difference between the Cathedral and the Hall was immediately obvious. Chairs instead of pews, normal windows instead of stained glass. It was an ordinary building, with no ornate stonework or steeples. Other differences were less obvious. No icons, or community rooms. The people who came over to welcome them to the Hall seemed to know Martine by name, and were happy to see them both.
The prayer after the opening song was emotional, heartfelt. It was a plea for courage and compassion, and for God to be with those who had suffered personally; just like at St Ambrose.
The speaker was introduced, and he stepped up to the microphone. “My talk today was meant to be on the topic of ‘Preparing For The Future’. For obvious reasons, I’ve rewritten it a lot in the last few days.”
There was a murmur of agreement from the audience.
“For many years now, we’ve been pointing out the signs of the times. When tragedy struck, people would ask ‘why would God allow this?’ and ‘why didn’t He do something?’” The Speaker let that hang for a moment. “And the answer is: He has done something: He warned us that life was going to be very difficult for a while. What Scripture calls ‘Critical Times, hard to deal with’, are unquestionably here.”
Julian blinked. It was almost the opposite direction of what he’d heard that morning.
“Critical times are not exactly comforting ideas right now.” The Speaker admitted. “But no matter how bad the world gets, we know that the world will never get so bad that God can not put it right. More than that; He will replace it with something truly wonderful. We know that, because the Bible has warnings that critical times would come… but what Jehovah has promised His people is a global Paradise. And His promises have never failed to come true. Not in times of war, or plague, or even terrorism.”
There was a murmur of agreement. Julian could tell they would normally be listening silently, but times were different here, too.
“In times like these, we all want to know ‘how long?’” The Speaker continued. “How long do we have to keep putting up with the evils and injustice of the world? Well, if you’ve asked yourself that question over the last few days, then you’re in good company. ‘How Long?’ is a question asked by several prophets and kings, including Jesus himself. The Bible counsels us to be patient and remain steadfast, no matter what may come our way. Additionally, the Bible urges us to accept the need to wait willingly. This aspect of patience is highlighted at James 5:7, 8.”
Julian had brought his mother’s Bible, because Martine had asked, but he had left it in his bag. As everyone in the Hall flipped pages easily, knowing exactly where to turn. He was considerably slower; and suddenly realized that Fitzpatrick hadn’t looked up a scripture during his sermon. He might have quoted one or two, but he hadn’t asked people to look it up. Realizing, Martine held out her Bible, already to the right verse.
“Be patient then, brothers, until the presence of the Lord.” The Speaker read. “Look! The farmer keeps waiting for the precious fruit of the earth, exercising patience over it until the early rain and the late rain arrive. You too exercise patience; make your hearts firm, because the presence of the Lord has drawn close.” The Speaker lowered his Bible. “James compares our patient waiting on God to that of a farmer. No matter what he tries, the Farmer cannot make the seasons change ahead of schedule, or make his crops grow at his whim. But they will grow. It’s a certainty, with every planting season. As too, are our assurances from God, that He will make all this agony stop.”
~/*\~
“You want to ask so badly I can hear you thinking it.” Julian said when they were halfway home.
Martine fought back a nod. “What did you think? About what you heard?”
“On the surface, it feels like the same platitudes. One day, everything gets sorted. In Paradise, in Heaven. For us today, it’s the same promise. Be good, and you can go there.” Julian offered. “But there was one major difference.”
She nodded. “I noticed. I think we’re even talking about the same thing for once.”
“Bishop Fitzpatrick talked about evil like it was something that we have to fix. The other guy talked about it like evil was something God was eager to undo, and we just have to hold on until He does.”
“Witnesses make a point of saying that this world is ‘in the power of the wicked one’. Doesn’t mean God is watching helplessly, it just means He’s not fixing Satan’s world for him.” Martine offered.
“You believe that?”
“I left the Church because I can’t accept answers like ‘it’s God’s Will’ when something bad happens to innocent people. That was true before, and it still is now.”
Julian shook his head. “This isn't the time to be talking about this. The dust at Ground Zero hasn't even settled yet, and we’re dragging three thousand victims into our ongoing debate about the boys’ Prep School.”
“I don’t think of it as a debate. It’s a difference of opinion over something fundamental, and we have to find our way through… But as it happens, I’m not in the mood for that either.” Martine conceded. “The world is just too heavy this week.”
“Yes, it is.”
~/*\~
They let that be the end of the argument for a while, but the next night, as they settled into bed for sleep, she brought it up again. “Julian...” She said softly, almost scared of his response. “Nobody saw it coming.”
“Yeah.” He whispered back in the dark. He didn’t have to ask what she meant. There was only one topic of conversation, even weeks later.
“Nobody saw it coming. The world can change, a full 180 degrees, in the space of twenty minutes.” Martine said, her voice getting more certain.
He sighed. “I think I know where this is going.”
“I found a place that makes me feel certain about whatever comes next.”
“You want to convert.” He guessed.
“I have converted.” She pulled his hand to her heart. “In here, I’ve made the change. In here I feel… right. Right with the universe. The whole planet is trembling over questions like ‘how?’ and ‘why?’ and ‘what happens now?’. And so am I, but I’m not worried about the future. Not in the long term. I Fear No Evil.”
How I envy you. He thought it, but knew he could never say it out loud. “You understand that the Church isn’t just my religion. I don’t claim to be terribly spiritual. It’s…”
“It’s your career. And it’s family tradition. It’s memories of your father and grandfather; and singing Carols with your mom.” She nodded, remembering the last time they’d spoken; but the anger was long gone now. “I’ve been studying with the Witnesses for a while. They view God as a person. A friend, even. Someone who walks with you everywhere you go. I like that idea. After some time with them, I can’t imagine going to a Church where being closer to God isn’t the most important part. And I can’t pay lip service to a place I actively disagree with.” She reached for his hand under the covers. “And I just wish you cared as much as I do; even if it means you disagree with me.”
Julian let out a breath. “Sweetheart, I still have my career to think about. If I start going to those meetings, right across the street from-”
“What about a convention?” She offered. “Being baptized as a Witness? I can ask for it to happen at the next convention, far from St Ambrose. Thousands of people, all nice and anonymous. I can have my ceremony, and you can listen to what they have to say. Nobody needs to know you attended with me.”
“Yes, I saw the note on the calendar.” He still didn’t want to go, but he recognized a counter-offer, and couldn’t refuse. World events had sucked the anger out of the whole topic.
“One day.” He promised. “I’ll go with you for one day of the convention… to support you when you’re baptized.”
~/*\~Satau~/*\~
The Nile was the heart of Egypt. It ran from the southern mountains to the northern coastline, and every major city was built along it. The three seasons were so reliable that the nation had built its calendar around their effect on the Nile. In the wet season, the Nile would break its banks and flood the surrounding areas with rich, life-giving soil, and Egypt would celebrate. The season would change with the withdrawal of the river, and Egypt would plant their crops. Every season of food, every ration of grain, every day of trade and travel; all of it ran through the Nile.
And all at once, The Nile was dead.
The first day was a spectacle. Nobody had ever seen anything like it before. It was horrifying and devastating, but it was exciting too. It was something New, in a world where everything was eternal and unchanging. By the second day, the novelty had worn off, and people had to deal with the consequences.
By the third day, thirst had become a real danger.
By the fourth day, the consequences had become far more extreme and varied than anyone anticipated.
~/*\~
“The Nile is Polluted.” Takarut gave the story to the public. “Every year, the Nile brings topsoil and life-giving nutrients for our crops. This year, the cycle is disrupted by a volcanic eruption, far upstream, at the Nile’s headwaters. The resulting mud and sulfur has created a poisonous red mud to fill the Nile. His Excellency, the Daystar of Egypt, has asked me to assure his loyal citizens that this is a temporary problem, and that the River will return to normal in a few days.”
The public murmured. Satau had watched the transformation, from a distance, and despite himself he found himself critical of his own memory. After all, it would make more sense for it to be a natural disaster, wouldn’t it?
“In the interim, it’s the responsibility of every Egyptian to help each other during this time of thirst. You’ve all been briefed on what to do.” Takarut declared.
(Author’s Note: There is almost nothing in scripture about how the general public reacted to the early Plagues. There’s nothing to describe how the Egyptian Leadership might have explained away the Plagues, or for that matter, if a cover story was needed. Egypt was accepting of the idea of multiple gods. The idea of one god going to war with another was not new to them. Some modern scholars have tried to explain the Plagues as natural phenomena, so it stands to reason that the ancient scholars would have done the same.)
“And what about my father!?” A voice rose over the din, and the panic was sharp enough that even the Priest heard it. He turned to face the man, who pushed his way forward. “My father died yesterday! We have to prepare his body for the next world. We cannot purify the body without washing him in the water of the Nile!”
“We are working on it!” Takarut insisted as he returned to the Palace. “Don’t let the rumors from Slaves and Traitors frighten you, loyal citizens of Egypt.” Takarut declared. “The Nile has not turned into blood.”
~/*\~
“The Nile has undoubtedly turned entirely into blood.” Bakennifi reported.
The Royal Court was closed to the public. Only the Pharaoh and his high officials were present. Such confidential meetings were not uncommon, but they were usually scheduled well in advance; as part of the routine management of the Empire. This was an emergency session.
“We’ve taken samples from all up and down the river.” Bakennifi continued. “There’s no way to know if it’s human or animal, but it’s definitely blood.”
“To be clear, that’s the last time that is to be said in this room.” Pharaoh declared. “Or anywhere else in Egypt for that matter. We must present a united front to the public.” He waited as everyone made noises of agreement. “Now, Moses himself said this would only last seven days. Less than four now. If he’s wrong, then he’s not behind it. If he’s right, then this is already half over. This meeting is not to discuss how or why it happened, only to clean up the mess.”
“The Mess along the River is not the problem.” Neb-en-toneb declared. As High Priest of Hapi, god of the Nile, he was the most knowledgeable about the waterway. “The problem is the reservoirs.” He turned to the map of Egypt. “The Flooding Season has ended, which means the waters of the Nile are dropping to their usual levels. But when that water level is raised, we capture a great deal of it in Reservoirs, for use in Agriculture. The entire Delta is kept watered that way until harvest. All that water has also turned to… reddish mud, and unlike the Nile; it is stationary.”
“If the Nile changed back to pure water today, the current would wash the mess and the dead fish away. The water in those reservoirs would remain polluted by the after effects.” Bakennifi nodded.
Pharaoh turned to Chenzira, his Minister in charge of Agriculture. “Your position?”
“The after-effects continue to multiply.” Chenzira told the Court. The Nile was our main trade route, and the trade ships are facing delays, due to the change in the water. The year’s crop was planted, but is likely ruined. If Moses is right and the waterways repair themselves in four days, we’ll still have to drain the reservoirs in the delta, and the aqueducts.” He grit his teeth. “It’ll be a race to see if we can refill them, and replant our barley and wheat crops in time.”
(Author’s Note: As stated before, the Nile had three phases, on a regular yearly schedule. The flooded season would deposit growing soil and fill the waterways of the Delta. The waters would then drop, and the farmers would grow their crops. The harvest would come and the soil would be used up, only to be replenished by the next ‘flooding’.
This pattern gave me a timeline to work by. Exodus 7:19 says that all the canals, marshes, and reservoirs of Egypt were turned to blood. On the topic of ‘Nile’, the Insight Book says: ‘To retain some of the floodwaters for later use in irrigation during the growing season, the Egyptians built up earthen embankments to trap the muddy waters in large catch basins. Thus when Jehovah brought the first plague on Egypt, turning its water to blood, the Nile itself, the water in its canals and reedy pools, and the “impounded waters” were all converted into blood.’
If those ‘impounded waters’ were full, then it puts the First Plague either during, or just after the Flooded Season. Which means their crops would have either been planted, or about to be. Seeds might have been fertilized by blood, but seedlings would have been ruined. Either way, the planting season would have been dramatically altered by the Plague of Blood, which would have been devastating in the delta. The Seventh and Eighth Plagues apparently destroyed the crop at harvest time. Barley takes three months to grow. Wheat takes four months.
This is entirely my own speculation and deduction, but for purposes of my books, the length from First Plague to Tenth Plague is less than six months long.)
“Food shipments along the Nile have stopped already. The blood is just too-”
Pharaoh snapped his fingers hard at the man who had spoken.
“The muddy water is much thicker than usual. Our normal boats just aren’t sailing it like they could a week ago, and you know as well as anyone, my Pharaoh, we don’t want to send too many rowers. They could easily splash the grain sacks.”
Pharaoh gestured at Takarut, who spoke quickly, his comments prepared. “Nobody is arguing the official story. Truthfully, nobody wants to make sure of it. People are fleeing the riverbank. I hear some of the marketplace’s largest players are attempting to set up somewhere else, and sell their current holdings.”
“Good.” Pharaoh said simply. “Begin buying all that property, and put it under direct ownership of the Palace. It was the most prosperous and expensive property in the city once. If they’re foolish enough that they can’t outlast a slave, then we’ll charge them all a ‘cowardice’ fee when they return to the Nile.”
The King had made a cunning remark, so everyone smiled and nodded in agreement. Once the moment passed, Takarut continued the report. “The real problem is drinking water. Our supply has dropped dramatically, and people are hoarding as a result.” He took a deep breath. “Others are… leaving. There are reports that the Nile has only… changed, as far as our borders. Those that live close to the southern border are heading out of Egypt to get water and bring it back in.”
(Author’s Note: The Plagues were on Egypt. Some of the later ones were limited to the Egyptian People, and didn’t affect the Israelites at all. But the Nile extended a long way, beyond the borders of modern Egypt entirely. The Bible doesn’t say if the Nile Waters were turned to blood beyond their borders. It would be a very pointed message if other lands could still make use of the Nile while only Egypt could not; but this is my own invention.)
“Our stockpiles of food will last until the next season without too much trouble.” Bakennifi said agreeably. “And even if it does come to that, we have more than enough wealth in the treasuries to insure buying more food until our crops recover. A late harvest, or a slightly diminished one is a trial we can survive. It’s the desert. We’d survived it before.” He paused. “That’s assuming, of course, that Moses can’t just do it again...”
Pharaoh nodded, taking that in. “Chief of the Guard?”
An attendant stepped forward. “The Chief of the Guard begs the Pharaoh’s indulgence, but he cannot attend. He hasn’t had water in three days, and the Healers are trying to break his delirium. He refused to drink until his men had water. The wells that are not polluted have been the scene of riots. People are fighting over the rations. Most people had only a few days of stockpiles.”
“Make sure the soldiers know to keep people in line-”
“Respectfully, my King… The guards aren’t able to stop the riots because they’re part of them. Soldiers need water too, and they wear armor, and they have weapons. They’re taking drawn water from anyone who gets within range of their swords.”
Pharaoh growled in his throat. “Redeploy the soldiers to the borders where people are leaving Egypt for Water, and to the edge of Goshen. The slaves will not take advantage of this, and our people will not be allowed to cross the borders and tell the world that Egypt is thirsting. If the soldiers want to drink, let them slip across the border instead; but Egyptians Stay in Egypt.”
It was a clear edict, and the Scribes scribbled it down.
~/*\~
The stone quarry was still for the first time in as long as Leahe could remember. She’d been carrying water to the workers since she could walk, and now the work was all but stopped. There was still some carving, and a little masonry continuing, so that the foreman could pretend it was just a delay until the stone was ready. The truth was, without water, nobody could work for long; under the Egyptian sun.
“Would you look at that?” Leahe said in disbelief.
Tzioni nodded. “Our people have run out of water at last. We’re still a few days ahead of the city. Moses assures me this will end on the seventh day. By then, we may not have any masters left.”
Leahe lowered her voice. “I heard we lost El-Aid’s family.”
Tzioni nodded. “They had melons. It’s one of the few foods you can eat and almost feel like you’re having something to drink. El-Aid’s family had more of them than most. Their master had them all killed so he could take the melons and not have to share.”
Leahe scowled. “We told them to keep their rations hidden with us!” She paced around for a moment, then paused, conserving energy. “You remember how the foremen and the drivers used to guzzle from my water-skins, just to show off that they could have as much as they wanted?” Leahe commented tightly to her grandfather. “We’ve got one advantage they don’t: They don’t know how to be thirsty.”
“The people who stockpiled on Moses' word have been generous, sharing with those that didn’t. For the first time in decades, there’s nobody willing to inform. Egypt might hold the whip, but Jehovah holds the Nile.” Tzioni commented darkly.
(Author’s Note: Exodus 7:15 suggests that Moses was given some advance warning of the first plague, and what would happen, but not much. One night, at most. Long enough for his people to gather water, but at this point, at least some of Israel was blaming Moses for their increased workload. There is nothing to say how they handled the water shortage.)
“It’s my first day without orders in… my life.” Leahe almost smiled. “Without water, there’s nothing for the water carriers to do.”
“Nothing for any of us to do.” Tzioni admitted. “The Drivers can’t keep going without water, any more than we can. If we drop from thirst, the guards can’t be bothered to drag bodies away. The whole city has paused, waiting out the Plague.” He smirked. “One or two have asked me if I can turn their own supplies back into water.”
Leahe laughed.
“They’re asking very nicely.” Tzioni smothered his own laughter. “Speaking of that, how did the well go?”
“Groundwater’s still there, oddly enough.” Leahe admitted. “Pretty much the only construction going is people digging new wells. It’s working, sort of. Groundwater runs slowly, but it’s easier than trying to drink the Nile right now.” She paused, trying to think how to phrase the next point. “It has been suggested that we could trade the water we have left for certain concessions. The Drivers have been left in disarray because of the men dropping from thirst.”
(Author’s Note: The Nile was a major water source for Egypt. A week without any water in a desert nation would have been fatal for most of Egypt. The December 1st 1977 Watchtower (referenced earlier in this book) also points out that according to Exodus 7:24, ‘Unaffected water could apparently be collected by digging wells in the moist soil in the area of the Nile.’)
“According to Moses, we only have another day or two to get through.” Tzioni sighed. “Our job isn’t to exploit the critical times, it’s only to help each other endure them until Jehovah says the right time has come.”
“Ohad-Ittai is keeping on top of it. He’s making sure people don’t drive themselves to thirst digging the wells, and he’s rationing our stores out to people fairly.” Leahe reported, and then she smirked. “Think anyone has told Pharaoh that the construction of his new plaza has stalled?”
~/*\~
“What do you mean ‘stalled’?” Pharaoh asked dangerously. “I ordered their workload doubled. If they’re going to give their God credit for a muddy river, why should we let them stop working?”
“Respectfully, my king; the Slaves aren’t the problem this time. The foreman are dropping from thirst. The slaves are used to working on limited water rations, our people are not. Everyone who can still wield a pick or shovel is digging for water along the Nile banks. The groundwater is still drinkable, but digging it up is proving… exhausting.”
“Well, we have something the slaves do not.” Pharaoh declared implacably. “We have stockpiles. The granaries are still full. The slaves will starve before even one Egyptian misses a meal. We’ll eat them if we have to.”
Bakennifi spoke next. “There are plans in place for times of famine. We’re a desert people; methods for rationing water are well-established.” He let out a breath between his teeth. “It’s the things we never expected that are causing the most panic.”
~/*\~
The place of purification was tense, filled with worried people. There was a crowd of terrified people out front, trying to get in, as though yelling at them would make the impossible happen.
Satau went to the ibu, and asked the embalmers directly. “We get people brought here every day. The rituals for mummification are many and varied; and each one a holy thing.” The embalmer told him seriously. “And the rate of people coming in is… increasing quickly. Water shortages are becoming extreme.”
“Surely you have reserves?” Satau exclaimed.
“For the sweet wines, certainly. For the salts, and natron, and canopic jars, and straw and sawdust... everything else we need; we have stockpiles. But we never bothered to keep a huge supply of river water. There was traffic to and from the river every hour. The Season of Flooding just finished. Who would have thought the Nile would run out?!”
Satau looked around in horror. Thirst was making the bodies pile up. Is there to be no burial for any of them? No embalming? How will they reach the next world?
~/*\~
There was little Satau could offer. If he could conjure water, everything would be fine. Takarut gave variations on the cover story every day, from the steps of the Palace. “Weren’t they supposed to have a ‘professional’ come in to replace you by now?” Satau commented to him as they walked towards the Throne Room.
“Oddly enough, nobody seems to be in a hurry to take the job from me.” Takarut said grimly.
“It’s a good cover story, as far as it goes. But it’s not… convincing.” Satau admitted.
“The Nile doesn’t dry out, Satau.” Takarut said darkly. “No matter what it’s made of, it’s still… flowing. Sort of. Besides, nobody’s going to check. They’re fleeing the banks of the Nile in droves just to get away from the smell. It may be thicker than water, but it’s still affected by the tides. Low tide, it bakes in the sun, and the stench is driving people crazy.”
“Well, if anyone does go back for a closer look; it’ll be easy to explain the blood along the banks, given that every living thing in the water is confirmed dead.” Satau commented. “The fishermen are reporting that their most recent catch is being rejected in the marketplace. Nobody wants to risk it being caught from a river of blood.”
“The marketplaces will have to shut down anyway. Most of them are near the Nile, to bring trade goods directly for sale. The City is already on full rationing.” Takarut sighed. “Besides, nobody cares about explanations. We’re a desert people. Thirst is a pretty powerful message to send to a whole nation.” He glanced around. “By the way, thank your father for the melons.”
“They’re one of the fruits that will quench your thirst.” Satau sighed. “This is insane. How can the whole city be brought to a halt so quickly? And why Moses?! It just doesn’t make sense. Why this man, out of the whole workforce?”
“Moses isn’t one of the workforce.”
“He’s a shepherd.” Satau repeated. “He went from Palace-Trained, to exile. He spent forty years out there, and if he spent it building a power base, or raising an army; I can find no sign of it. He came back with a shepherding rod instead of a sword. The same tool that apparently turned the Nile to blood.”
“Are there sorcerers in Midian?” Takarut suggested. “Someone that could have trained him?”
“None that I’ve heard of.” Satau shook his head. “There’s something I’m missing.”
Takarut bit his lip. “Well, I’m still under orders to find any useful information on Moses’ past.”
“As am I.” Satau nodded. “My father mentioned he was adopted by the then-Pharaoh's daughter. Maybe there’s a record? The Priesthood keeps all the records on the King’s extended bloodline. The Palace must surely have a copy?”
Takarut nodded. “Let’s go.”
~/*\~
Egypt kept records of most things, though a fair amount of it was ‘revised’ for the public. The private records kept by Egypt’s highest authorities were kept under lock and key, in a little-traveled part of the Palace. Takarut was under the King’s authority, and Satau was known by the Royal Court as the next likely High Priest. They were able to get full access between them.
“One thing I’ll say for Moses’ little magic trick…” Takarut commented as they searched through the records room by lamplight. “He’s making a lot of people paranoid and superstitious. Everything we do feels like the ‘fate of the world’ depends on it now.”
“If the fate of Egypt is ever up to us, gods help us.” Satau retorted. “I think I’ve found it.”
Takarut came over, and the two of them unrolled the papyrus sheet. The writing had faded, and the scroll had cracked after so many years. “Here it is…” Satau read. “The record of all business before Pharaoh that day. Lots of reports on the Goshen Campaigns from military commanders. Reports from the Slavers on prisoners taken… And the Daughter of Ramensti the first, adopted a son; age three months. Named him Moses, meaning ‘saved from the water’.”
“Odd name.” Takarut commented, reading over the notes. “There’s something… something familiar about this.”
Satau was still reading. “There’s no word on where he came from. That’s odd. If he was adopted by the Pharaoh’s daughter, surely there’d be many details on his birth family.”
“An adopted son can’t be part of the line of succession.”
“Doesn’t matter. He was trained in the Royal Court, and adopted by a Royal. He’d surely have his background recorded…” Satau insisted. “Unless…”
“Unless someone deliberately removed that part of the story for some reason?” Takarut agreed. “I can’t imagine why…” His eyes changed. “I recognize this writing.”
“What do you mean?”
“My father was a Scribe, just as I was. He taught me how to read and write, even before my lessons in the House of Life.” Takarut frowned. “And this is definitely my father’s handwriting.”
(Author's Note: It’s important to point out that all of this is my own invention. Moses and the Ten Plagues is arguably the most famous story of the ‘Old Testament’. Certainly, it’s been turned into more movies than most Pre-Christian Bible stories. Almost all of the movies have Moses unaware of where he came from, which is a position not supported by the Bible record. But in this story, I’m leaning on the ‘revisionist’ angle; that the Bible tells the truth about it’s own heroes and their flaws, where secular authorities of the time routinely rewrote the history books to be more favorable to the powerful.
There’s little in the Bible about how Moses’ return sat with the Egyptians. Maybe he had friends in the court, maybe enough time had passed that nobody knew him. Theorizing that was a big part of the planning for this book; but all of this is my own imagination. Even the Pharaohs involved in almost all Biblical accounts are unnamed, except for their titles, so the name Ramensti is also my own invention. There is much speculation as to which Pharaoh was in charge during the Plagues, but nothing definitive.)
Satau couldn’t help the grin. “If literally anyone else was here, helping me look-” He broke off. “You look worried now.”
“My father wasn’t even born when Moses was adopted by the Princess.” Takarut said, hushed. “Why was he writing this down?” He went back to the shelves, looking through the scrolls. “Unless this scroll was added many years later?”
“My father told me that Moses was exiled forty years ago. Maybe it was bad enough that they went back and struck his past from the record entirely?” Satau offered.
“If so, there’s no chance we’ll find a copy somewhere.” Takarut sighed. “If they replaced the official record with a revised one, then the first thing they’d do is burn the original.”
Satau bit his lip. “What are the odds Thabbit would remember?”
“You want to ask my father directly?” The scribe was surprised.
~/*\~
Takarut’s father was their next stop. A Scribe did not retire at the same age as most, but his time in the Palace was over. He worked commercially now, using the contacts he’d made during his years of government service. Businessmen often kept copies of important contracts, to ensure honesty in the transactions.
“Logic and reason won’t work with my father. He’s been talking his way around people like us for longer than we’ve been alive.” Takarut warned briskly. “Don’t get drawn into a conversation, or a debate. Focus on what we know, and put it to him, until he gives us more.”
Satau nodded.
~/*\~
“We know the record was changed.” Satau challenged the older Scribe. “We know it was you who did it. There’s no accusation here; because people like you don’t do those things on your own. Someone gave the order. We don’t care who. We only want to know what the record used to say.”
“No.” The answer was curt.
“It doesn’t make sense, father.” Takarut said. But his tone wasn’t of a son. It was of an investigator, making connections. “Moses was adopted eighty years ago… And you weren’t even born yet… So why are you so frantic to keep this buried? Who are you protecting?”
“Takarut, I am now ordering you to stop.” Thabbit snapped.
“It can’t be anything typical. You know I ‘rewrite’ the record myself. It’s a basic part of the job.” Takarut said, and Satau pulled back, giving him space. He was working something out, and it was coming slowly. “So whatever it is, if you’re not willing to tell me, even off the record, it’s not something political or commercial. So… is it personal?”
“Takarut...” His father was begging now.
“Eighty years ago…” Takarut thought it through, and he snapped his fingers. “Grandfather! I was just in the archives; going through all the Court reports of that day. I recognized the Chariot units listed. It was grandfather’s, wasn’t it? Is he the reason you changed the records forty years later?”
Thabbit’s eyes flashed. “You stay away from him!” He snapped with such venom that Satau and Takarut jumped back a step. “Takarut, I’m serious now! You talk to your grandfather about this, and I will disown you!”
“Father-”
“NO!” Thabbit roared.
Stunned silence. Satau was embarrassed, intruding on this family argument. Takarut was breathing hard, looking as though he was seeing his father for the first time.
“Okay.” Takarut said finally. “We won’t talk to him.”
~/*\~
The two of them left the house. “We’re going to talk to him, right?” Satau said quietly.
“We’re going right now.” Takarut said immediately. “I have no idea what’s going on, but whatever it is, the mere mention of my grandfather scared him halfway into the next world.” He grit his teeth. “But of course, there’s the small matter of getting to my grandfather first. We’ll have to cross the Nile.”
“Ugh.” Satau said profoundly.
~/*\~
They rode in Takarut’s chariot along the Nile for a while. The Acolytes from various temples were at the edge, their robes stained with blood as they performed their various rituals and prayers to the River, summoning the water back. None of them succeeded.
“I don’t know how he did it. I kinda hope that it does turn out to be a natural disaster.” Satau commented as they found a small boat, abandoned by the bank. The bound reeds would float, but never handle open waves. Takarut took the oar, and started pushing them along. Neither of them spoke for a while, covering their noses. The feel of the boat was unlike anything either of them had ever felt, rocking along as they pushed their way across a vast river of blood.
I’ve never even had a nightmare like this. Satau thought. “They say the sacrifices to Hapi have been increasing all week; in an effort to show our love for the Nile.” He said finally, voice hushed. “They say that the goddess Hathor loved the taste of human blood so much that the other gods invented wine just to give her something else, so that she could drink herself unconscious on wine; before she wiped out humanity. All the stories about her lust for rivers of human blood are… terrifyingly relatable now.”
“Maybe your father was right, about the gods wanting us to take their worship more seriously.” Takarut said quietly, bunting them along. “I know I’d apologize if they’d agree to make the world go back to normal.”
Nothing more was said until they reached the opposite shore.
~/*\~
“You realize, of course, that whatever your father was so terrified of, it might have nothing to do with Moses.” Satau commented as they found a local stable and arranged the use of a horse.
“I know. And I won’t ask you to come in with me.” Takarut agreed. “I’m told my grandfather suffers from madness. He may not have a clue what we’re talking about, and whatever he says might be gibberish. But I know that if I don’t ask, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering.”
“Is there…” Satau rolled his eyes. “Pardon the choice of words, is there ‘bad blood’ between them?”
“Between father and grandfather? I’m not entirely sure. I know that my father has him in a small dwelling, away from town. I also know that I was never allowed to be alone with him. I haven’t seen him in… wow, many years.” Takarut admitted, surprised to realize just how much time had passed.
“You say he fought in the Goshen Campaign.” Satau commented. “I thought your grandfather was a scribe?”
“He was a commander. Fought in the Army with distinction, but he wanted his own son to do something else as a career. Paid over his entire pension for my father to be Trained as a Temple Scribe.” Takarut nodded. “I always thought it was unusual that he didn’t want his son to continue the family tradition, but some combat veterans are glad to keep their children away from battlefields.”
“The military is pretty much the only place one can advance to fame and reputation without being born to it.” Satau nodded.
~/*\~
The dwelling was in a distant spot. Most dwellings in Egypt were made of mud-brick, and packed in close together. This one was away from the city, on the edge of a barley farm, but away from the silos. It would be unlikely that he had visitors.
When they went to the door, there was no answer. Takarut led the way in, and they both reeled back at the smell. After nearly a week of the Nile being the worst stench in living memory, they thought they were surely immune, but the small house was still wretched with the smell of liquor and vomit.
Takarut led the way inside, with an awkward look to Satau. They were there on business, but it was still a family matter, and Takarut didn’t want his friend to see the shameful family secret. Satau carefully kept his expression neutral.
Face down on a stained cot, was Takarut’s grandfather. The retired soldier was snoring, arm wrapped protectively around an empty clay amphora. There were several more scattered around the bed.
“Grandfather!” Takarut said firmly, shaking him. His sleep was heavy, and he wouldn’t be roused. The Scribe took the jug from under his arm, and the old man woke up.
“Wha…?” He looked up blearily, and seemed to go back to sleep for a moment from the effort. “Takarut? Wh’r you d’ng here?”
“We want to know about Moses’ adoption.” Takarut said firmly, trying to break through the haze. “We want to know why the record was changed.”
“I dunno who tha’ is…” The old man groused, reaching for the amphora beside his bed, pouring himself another cupful.
There was something that didn’t add up. Satau wasn’t sure what it was, but he looked around the room. No furnishings, except the bed, the stink of liquor was so strong it was seeping out of the walls…
It suddenly hit Satau. “He’s not drinking to ease his symptoms.” He said slowly. “He’s sick because he’s been drinking for so long.”
Takarut nodded. “My father wouldn’t be the first to cover up a relative’s… excesses, with a more dignified story about an illness. It keeps people from judging, or coming too close.”
“That whole ‘revision’ thing happens in families too, I guess.” Satau was trying not to sound disgusted, but he went over, taking the cup from the old man’s trembling hand. “What happened eighty years ago?”
The old man suddenly jerked like he’d been slapped. He was drunk enough to barely recognize his own grandson, but that question went straight to his heart. “W-we weren’t meant to talk about anything except how well it went. It was… duty, and service; and ever’th’n else was…” He rocked back and forth dizzily, and then passed out.
“Think we can sober him up?” Takarut asked.
“Not fast.” Satau admitted. “We gotta wait.”
~/*\~~/*\~~/*\~
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