Vingette 9: Moment of Truth

Nine—Moment of Truth

From the moment he stepped off the boat, Hunefer wanted to run, but thick darkness pressed in on both sides of him. Striding silently in front of him appeared the broad back of his guide. Behind him the silent river crouched and the boat quietly disappeared in the murky shadow.

He thought there was something odd about the boat ride. It was too quiet; not a ripple reached his ears. It was night, too. Why would he be taken to trial at night? The guide had told him that he was appearing before the fourteen judges. The guide. . . there was something odd about him, too. But for the life of him he could not think what it was.

Not wishing to be left behind, dreading what lay ahead, he kept pace with the guide until a huge doorway appeared before them. At the guide’s signal, Hunefer went in and stopped. Horror stamped itself on each bulging eyeball, too-thick sweat oozed from too-small pores, drums throbbed inside of his head, and a tongue-filled dry mouth could not utter a work. Fear-filled dawning of knowledge ties a knot around his middle; he couldn’t breathe; this was it, the Hall of Truth!

Standing in the middle of the room, a huge set of gleaming balances taunted him with a tiny feather on one golden tray. Something funny about that guide? Just that he had the head of a jackal. Even now the jackal-headed Anubis was testing the tongue of the balances; Hunefer stared with glazed eyes. Eyes that saw and reared that awful monstrosity; Amemit drooled and was expectant; Hunefer’s heart was going on the other golden tray. . . to balance the feather.

Hunefer was dead!