Nefertiti enters and we stand ready. The stars go out one by one and the square of sky we can see above us becomes a pale grey-blue. We wait, and it seems as though the whole world waits for the Aten to enter in pageant. I miss my brother at my side. He had always particularly loved this ceremony.
From the shadowy colonnade around the otherwise unroofed court I can hear the chanting as the priests begin the great hymn to the Aten Akhenaten had composed. It starts low and rises and falls throughout in rich and moving cadences. It is already sounding in my heart.
As the sky begins to stain with red Nefertiti lifts her arms so that her fingertips may touch the descending rays of the god — so that she may be transformed in light.
I have watched this ritual more times than I can count and ea
