"...A decadent, voluptuous and erotic tale. Sheils uses the life of Akhenaten as the presumed foundation for the Greek tragedy Oedipus Rex. The story of Akhenaten is told in five parts dedicated to the women that influenced his life. Each section reveals new and interesting information about the life of Akhenaten and his contemporaries. Dreams For The Wind is the story of the fall of a doomed Pharaoh. It is also the story of a weak man and his inability to rule wisely...Sheils paints a vivid picture of life in ancient Egypt. He provides lush details of the religion, culture and people of ancient Egypt. This is a great novel for historical fiction lovers. Readers who love detail will consume this book. It is a wonderful marriage, piecing together the little-known facts of the era and fantasy to make an extremely interesting tale. Sheils has managed to create a novel that is an interesting addition to the genre. He has taken a king that was reviled and expunged from the history of his people and recreated his life. From the very beginning the story is filled with intrigues and secrets. Everyone has an agenda and they use or allow themselves to be used to further their causes. There are dark undertones to this story; there is violence, sexual torture and murder. The incest and sexual nature of the book makes Dreams For The Wind a book that should be restricted to mature audiences. If this aspect does not bother you, read this book. It is a must for lovers of all ages of history!"—Anita Jo Stafford, Timeless Tales

"4 Stars!...Set in ancient Egypt, this is the fictionalized autobiography of a pharaoh who tried to do the right thing and ended up doing just about everything wrong. Akhenaten has a mind of his own and uses it, but doesn't always think through the consequences. His adopted sister, his mother, his wife and later his concubine all play major roles in his life—forcing it along lines predetermined by a seer's vision at his birth, and following closely along a 'newly' heard Greek story, Oedipus...A thought-provoking and outright sensuous saga of one man's lifetime and the people in it. This book does contain graphic sex, which is actually an integral part of the plot. Sheils has crafted a sweeping story of the intrigues, incest and incredible dramas of ancient Egypt."—Karen Larsen, Scribes World

...As I slowly made my way down the dark stairs, the flicker of torchlight became visible, and, at the bottom, I found myself in a lighted hallway that led to a large vaulted chamber.

And that was where I discovered a scene that I don’t know whether I can bring myself to describe, even this long after.

The lovely girl with the skin the color of cedar, whom I had seen with Tirhya in the garden yesterday, was there. She was on her back, naked, with her arms and legs spread out straight and tied to four posts which were set on four pedestals, so that the girl was suspended about four inches off the floor, her body stretched out grotesquely. Her head flung to one side; her eyes now closed in a faint.

A tall black man in a scarlet mask and a pair of black gloves and nothing else was kneeling inside her thighs and bending over her. And I saw as he raised his hand that there were claws on the gloves he wore, like the talons of an eagle.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

I wheeled to see an officer I had not noticed before in my absorption with the naked girl.

“I am the Chief Security Officer of the Queen, Ankh-em-Aten. I have the right to investigate any room in the palace,” I answered, almost without a stammer.

“I have heard of you,” the guard said. “You may stay, Captain.”

“The girl, a concubine, is being punished.”

“What was her crime?”

“She did not please the Pharaoh.”

“For that alone?”

“Yes.”

“But the Pharaoh is an old, sick man. It must be nearly impossible to satisfy him.”

“By normal sex, yes,” the guard leered. “But the punishment?” He shrugged. “That’s him over there in the hooded robe.”

“The King is here to watch the punishment?” I gasped, peering at the small huddled figure, in the far, dark corner, that certainly had the Pharaoh’s outline.

But a cry from the girl whipped my gaze back to her. Two slaves had dumped a bucket of water on her and she was staring at the Nubian. Then she moaned piteously, for she was far past pleading for mercy now. Her cry was, if anything, a plea to end the agony, to reach the inevitable conclusion.

Then the Nubian took the clawed index finger of his right hand and traced a bleeding line from the base of her throat to the top of her pubic hair. Then another across her body under the breasts, symbolically quartering the torso. And the girl stared at the bleeding lines in stupefied awe.

He stood up, and took a step backward, half-turning to the huddled figure of the king.

The hood of the robe nodded and a thin voice issued from within.

“Now,” it said.

That’s when it happened, the thing I can barely describe because my mind would not let me see it all.

The bases of the posts, to which the girl’s wrists and ankles were tied, must have been mounted on some mechanism below the floor, for they began to move toward the four corners of the room, resulting in an agonizing further stretching of the girl’s body in all directions. And I knew I was witnessing a slow and infinitely more agonizing version of the Camel Death.

I turned away, terrified to watch more. I fled the room, my stomach heaving. But I still caught a glimpse of the Pharaoh, my father, as he threw back his hood. He was smiling a smile of awful satisfaction.

And the shrieks of the girl followed me up the passageway, reaching a terrible screeching climax.

And the silence after that was worse.

I feverishly ran about the throne room, vomiting, and, in my hysteria, forgetting where the passage to my quarters was located. When I found it at last, I flung myself up it, staggered into my bedroom and fell onto the bed sobbing and retching dryly.

That is where Tirhya found me and, despite her repeated questioning as to what was wrong, I could not find the voice to tell her.