Ancient Egyptian Mehen -- The Forbidden Game of the Serpent
Prolog
2003 BC., near the winding desert trade route, running from oasis to oasis, and connecting Egypt to Kush.
Nakht wiped his brow and hunkered down as close to the sand as possible behind a rock outcropping. Beneath his robe he clutched the golden papyrus cylinder containing the playing marbles and the six lion amulets of Mehen. Powerful they were, and dangerous, and he would be glad to be rid of them by sending them to their final resting place at the bottom of the Nile. These were the last of the ancient magical pieces handed down from generation to generation among the members of the Cult of The Mysteries of Mehen.
Two years before, The Cult had fled Egypt and sought refuge behind the military might of Awa’a, King of Kush. They had been friends once, the Priesthood of Re and the Cult of The Mysteries of Mehen. The Cult had been a brother order, an honored special adjunct, but their activities had become perilous and their ritualistic playing of the game of Mehen had turned evil and dangerous to The Sun God. The game had now been forbidden in Egypt and The Priesthood had attempted to gather up the magical game sets to ‘bury’ them in the Nile. There were three such sets, used from ancient times, and two of these had been recovered and ‘buried’. But the third had been taken by The Cult to the south so quickly that there had been no time to stop them, and the accursed ‘Land of the Bow’ had welcomed their magic and teachings and given them a place to worship behind its formidable military might.
Yes, The Priesthood had influence with the Egyptian military, even the Pharaoh, but a military campaign against the Kushites at this time was out of the question. No, they reasoned, one man, one priest, might infiltrate their former brethren, and destroy the last board and pieces before they weakened The Sun God irreparably. Nakht was that one man, a lone surrogate for the might of the Egyptian empire, and its Priesthood of Re. A ‘cover’ had been provided him -- an order for his arrest issued -- and with the help of The Priesthood he had feigned a flight to the south -- and to The Cult.
It had taken him a year to prove himself to them, then another 6 months to station himself in a position close to the board. But four days ago he had decided ‘now or never’. The six High Priests of The Cult, each wearing one of the Amulets, had assembled to the temple to prepare for the entering of the inner sanctuary at dawn to divine and work their magic. It was, he had thought, perhaps his best chance to destroy the board and fling the amulets in the river and he had tried to carry out his plan in the darkness of the night. But he was discovered just after he had smashed the board. Clutching the papyrus case into which he had stuffed the amulets and marbles, he had been forced to flee away from the river into the desert with pursuers hot on his tail. He had been so close to the river then – so close, so close -- but still too far away to have made it to the Nile’s banks to complete his task. The desert had offered his only hope of escape.
Now, far inland, he had thought of cutting out perpendicular to the trade route to reach the Nile far downstream from The Cult but decided against it. The people along the Nile in that part of the country were very hostile and would likely kill him before he reached the river and then trade the amulets back to the Kushites. No, better to first cross over into Egypt, passed the border stele and behind the protection of the border guards, and then, and only then, make for the river. It was a good plan, but a short-lived one.
Faint, but distressingly clear, the early morning air suddenly carried the sound of baying hounds. Dogs! They had set dogs after him. His chances of making it anywhere at all became very bleak. He panicked, began to run, but quickly came to his senses. He might never make the Nile now. If he didn’t, the amulets would be recovered by The Cult and that would be unacceptable. Yes, the board was smashed, and the magic of The Cult would be weakened, but a board could be replaced, and played with the ancient amulets, the game would still harm The God. Better to ‘bury’ the amulets here in this ocean of sand than to risk a quick recovery by The Cult.
Nakht hurriedly scooped a deep hole in the sand, right beside a rock outcropping, and buried the papyrus case within it. He then erased the signs of his hoard as best he could and quickly began running. His only hope was to keep ahead of the dogs long enough to melt into the ragged trading caravans and sparse villagers along the oasis route. If he made it to Egypt, perhaps, if The Priesthood so ordered, he could come back to recover the amulets himself. Then again, chances were that even -he- could not pin-point their resting place once he had fled a few miles further – and he was counting on that one comfort – not remembering the site – in case of capture.
Nakht lasted longer than any man should have. He was young and strong and courageous and his desire to reach the Egyptian border was matched only by his cunning. But it was not to be. 10 hard fought days and nights later, almost within sight of the boundary stele of Egypt, the hunters caught up with him. Nubian arrows shot out, intending only to hobble, but mortally wounding instead. Nakht lay dying. ‘You dogs! Idiots!!!’ yelled the cult Priest to his mercenaries. "I want him alive! Alive!". Reaching down, he roughly rifled through Nakht’s robes. No amulets! "Where are they!? Tell me!!," the cult priest demanded of Nakht as he forced the dying man’s head upward and glared into the rapidly dimming eyes. Nakht, coughed and with a dying gasp breathed out, "May Re live! And the Turtle die!" "No!!!" The evil priest raged as he slammed Nakht’s lifeless head down and kicked and flailed out at the errant bow men. "Search back along his trail, he must have hidden them somewhere near here! Quickly! Search! Search!!".
But it was far too late for that. A storm was brewing and carried by the winds the shifting sands gently buried the cruelly stripped and abandoned corpse of Nakht and utterly erased all traces of the burial place of the amulets, now miles and miles back along the trail. And in one merciful night the locations of these two ‘graves’ became known only unto God . . .
1998, The Sudan.
You stand on a broken slab of ancient rock and survey the shimmering, glaring desert vista before you. Here and there rocks break the surface of the many sand dunes and in the distance, low, jagged hills mark the skyline. But it is not completely barren. Hardy, tough plant life – grasses mainly – eke out a paltry existence in this place and cling here and there to the surface. Even so, it is pretty much the most desolate place you have known. But plant life, sand, and desolation are certainly not why you are here. Careful analysis of satellite images has revealed the possibility of ancient impact structures in the Sudan and this place is one of them.
From high in space, all that really can be determined is the wisp of a circular structure that -may- indicate the site of a high velocity bombardment by asteroid or meteor many eons ago. Of course, a ‘circular structure’ does not an ancient impact crater make. No. "There must be thrusted and overturned structures indicative of centripetal block movements in central uplift zones, megabreccias, shatter cones, penetrative shock lamellae in quartz, recrystallised and melt breccia, devitrified tridymite and sanidine-bearing assemblages", you mentally quote the textbook, and it is for these signs that you search and for that reason that you find yourself here, on the ground, in this seemingly god-forsaken place. The other team members are spread out collecting samples here and there as you have just done on your ancient rock pedestal.
You step down into the sand to proceed to the next collection site when your trailing foot drags up an object, a heavy one, from under the sand. "A rock perhaps," you think as you impatiently glance behind you. No, not a rock. There, half buried in the sand of your footprint, lies a golden tube of curious workmanship. You stand stunned for a moment before reaching down to hold it in your hands. It is heavy, unexpectedly so, and not of modern workmanship that you can see. Its outside is finely decorated, but no letters or writing appear on it, and it seems to contain several object rattling inside it. You want to open it, to examine it more closely, but a shout from a colleague puts inexplicable fear into your heart and you quickly shove the container into your pack for safe keeping until you can reach your base camp many miles away to examine it further.
Late that evening after several hour’s jeep ride over rough and uncertain roads you scatter to the tents along with the rest of the team to get some needed rest. No ‘singing around the campfire’ tonight, nor even friendly camp banter – everyone’s just too dog tired. But you have better things to do than sleep. Crouched in your tent over the small camp table, and in the light of a camp lantern, you examine your find. Carefully, cautiously, you pry off the cap of the golden case and pour out its contents. The marbles and amulets spill noisily onto the table. You glance hurriedly towards the tent door, afraid that someone might discover your treasure. Even in the dim, uneven light of the lantern, the gleam of the golden lion amulets seem to light the walls of the tent and you bunch them together and hover over them to try to contain their brilliance.
At that very moment, the moment the amulets were freed from their ‘prison’, and only mile or so away, something stirred under the sand. Dried, mummified hands and legs reanimated, a head appeared, then a mummy – not a man-made creation swathed in mummy wrappings and dried in natron, but a natural mummy created over many years by the dry air and sands of the desert -- stood upright, turned, and began walking toward the camp . . .
But you are unaware of its coming . . . nor are you able to care . . . for the power of the amulets has overcome you and your selfish thoughts of riches and fame are washed away with dark dreams as frightening apparitions race through you mind. In the end you find yourself playing a game, an ancient game, at stake is your life, and your soul . . . you want to scream, but cannot . . .
Epilog
With a jolt you are out of your trance -- the game images are gone! But the terror isn’t over just yet. Your eyes regain their focus only to behold a dried hand clutching the papyrus case, as another emaciated hand drops the last amulet in, and replaces the cap. As your gaze widens and clears you see the mummy before you. Fear grips you and stifles your cries, but quickly subsides. In a manner beyond human understanding, you sense that the mummy is grateful to you somehow and has rescued you from evil’s cold grasp. "Why?", your tortured mind queries. The mummy’s lifeless face holds no clue, its eyes mere sockets, its mouth tightly mute, but even so its thoughts pierce your mind – ‘May Re live! And the Turtle die!’. With that the mummy turns, and with the golden case, walks out the tent door and into the night. You sit stunned, unable to sleep for a long, long while. . .
In the dark and wind of the desert night. the mummy of Nakht, clutching the papyrus case, made its way northward toward a now forgotten boundary. At the border waited the Ka of Nakht, as it had for thousands of years in its exile from its earthly cocoon. They joined as one where anciently had stood the boundary stele of the empire that Nakht knew so well and had yearned to pass thousands of years earlier. Nakht now turned eastward, and following his original plan, angled toward the river. By early morning he reached the river’s banks. As the light of dawn colored the eastern sky, he flung the case far out over the water. His 4,000 year mission was over – mission accomplished. As the case entered the water, the emaciated assemblage of mummy and Ka seemed, at least by limited and finite earthly eyes, to crumble into a fine dust onto the good Egyptian soil . . .
But it was not truly so. . .
For in ‘The Field of Reeds’ in ‘The Horizon of the West’ the transfigured Nakht, Beloved of Re, found himself whole, and young, and full of life, and standing on the banks of a beautiful, broad river. Wonderful, familiar, ships plied the immense golden waterway, great flocks of birds flew over head, the scent of flowers filled the air, and in the distance he could see The Great Double Portals of a colossal and palatial city. Then came the lilting laughter of a child and a small hand clutched his own. Looking down he beheld the face of his little sister Tima who had hugged him and kissed him good-bye before he left those thousands of years ago. Tears wet his face. "Do not cry, honored brother," laughed Tima, "Father and Mother await us up ahead. You are home now." In the cool breeze of the river’s bank, Nakht, Beloved of Re, and little Tima walked hand-in-hand toward their heavenly home. Yes, It was good to be finally home.