by Rick Riordan
Bes shrugged, clearly baffled. “That’d be like wiring your home security system to a nuclear missile. Complete overkill. No wonder Apophis hasn’t been able to attack her. That’s some serious protection against Chaos.”
“What happens if I wake her?”
“The spells shielding her will be broken. That could be why Apophis led you here. Once Zia’s out of that sarcophagus, she’s an easier target. As to why Apophis would want her dead, or why Iskandar would go to such trouble to guard her—your guess is as good as mine.”
I studied Zia’s face. For three months, I’d dreamed of finding her. Now I was almost too scared to wake her. By breaking the sleep spell, I might accidentally hurt her, or leave her open to an attack from Apophis. Even if I succeeded, what if she woke up and decided that she hated me? I wanted to believe she possessed shared memories with her shabti, so that she would remember the times we’d had together. But if she hadn’t, I wasn’t sure I could stand the rejection.
I touched the water coffin.
“Careful, kid,” Bes warned.
Magic energy rippled through me. It was subtle—like looking in the face of the water demon—but I could sense Zia’s thoughts. She was trapped in a dream of drowning. She was trying to hold on to her last good memory: Iskandar’s kindly face as he placed the crook and flail in her hands: Keep these, my dear. You will need them. And do not fear. Dreams will not bother you.
But Iskandar had been wrong. Nightmares had invaded her sleep. The voice of Apophis hissed in the darkness: I destroyed your family. And I am coming for you. Zia saw the demolition of her village over and over, while Aphophis laughed, and the spirit of Nephthys churned uncomfortably inside her. Iskandar’s magic had trapped the goddess too in an enchanted sleep, and she tried to protect Zia, calling on the Nile to cover this chamber and shield them both from the Serpent. Still, she couldn’t stop the dreams. Zia had been having the same chaotic nightmare for three months, and her sanity was crumbling.
“I have to free her,” I said. “She’s partially conscious.”
Bes sucked air through his teeth. “That shouldn’t be possible, but if it’s true—”
“She’s in serious trouble.” I sank my hand deeper into the sarcophagus. I channeled the same kind of magic I’d used to part the river, only on a smaller scale. Slowly the water lost its shape, melting like an ice cube. Before Zia could spill off the dais, I caught her in my arms. She dropped the crook and flail. Her staff and wand clattered to the floor.
As the last of the sarcophagus trickled away, Zia’s eyes flew open. She tried to breathe but couldn’t seem to inhale.
“Bes, what’s wrong with her?” I said. “What do I do?”
“The goddess,” he said. “Zia’s body is rejecting the spirit of Nephthys. Get her to the river!”
Zia’s face started to turn blue. I gathered her in my arms and raced up the slippery stairs, which wasn’t easy with Zia kicking and hitting me all the way. I managed to make it across the mud without falling and eased her down next to the riverbank.
She clawed at her throat, her eyes full of fear; but as soon as her body touched the Nile, a blue aura flickered around her. Her face turned back to its normal color. Water gushed from her mouth like she’d turned into a human fountain. Looking back on it, I suppose that was pretty gross, but at the time I was too relieved to care.
From the surface of the river rose the watery form of a woman in a blue dress. Most Egyptian gods grew weak in running water, but Nephthys was clearly an exception. She glowed with power. She wore a silver Egyptian crown on her long black hair. Her regal face reminded me of Isis, but this woman had a gentler smile and kinder eyes.
“Hello, Bes.” Her voice was soft and rustling, like a breeze through the river grass.
“Nephthys,” said the dwarf. “Long time.”
The water goddess looked down at Zia, who was shivering in my arms, still gasping for breath.
“I am sorry for using her as a host,” Nephthys said. “It was a poor choice, which almost destroyed us both. Guard her well, Carter Kane. She has a good heart, and an important destiny.”
“What destiny?” I asked. “How do I protect her?”
Instead of answering, the spirit of Nephthys melted into the Nile.
Bes grunted with approval. “The Nile’s where she should be. That’s her proper body.”
Zia sputtered and doubled over.
“She still can’t breathe!” I did the only thing I could think of. I tried mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Yes, okay, I know how that sounds, but I wasn’t thinking straight.
[Stop laughing, Sadie.]
Honestly, I wasn’t trying to take advantage. I was just trying to help.
Zia didn’t see it that way. She punched me in the chest so hard, I made a sound like a squeaky toy. Then she turned to one side and retched.
I didn’t think my breath was that bad.
When she focused on me again, her eyes blazed with anger —just like old times.
“Don’t you dare kiss me!” she managed.
“I wasn’t—I didn’t—”
“Where’s Iskandar?” she demanded. “I thought…” Her eyes lost their focus. “I had a dream that…” She started to tremble. “Eternal Egypt, he’s not…He can’t be—”
“Zia—” I tried to put my hand on her shoulder, but she pushed me away. She turned toward the river and began to sob, her fingers clawing the mud.
I wanted to help her. I couldn’t stand to see her in pain. But I looked at Bes, and he tapped his bloody nose, as if warning me: Go slow, or she’ll give you one of these.
“Zia, we’ve got a lot to talk about,” I said, trying not to sound heartbroken. “Let’s get you away from the river.”
She sat on the steps of her own tomb and hugged her arms. Her clothes and hair were starting to dry, but in spite of the warm night and the dry wind from the desert, she still trembled.
At my request, Bes brought up her staff and wand from the tomb, along with the crook and flail, but he didn’t look happy about it. He handled the items as if they were toxic.
I tried to explain things to Zia: about the shabti, Iskandar’s death, Desjardins’ becoming the Chief Lector, and what had transpired in the last three months since the battle with Set, but I’m not sure how much she heard. She kept shaking her head, pressing her hands over her ears.
“Iskandar can’t be dead.” Her voice quavered. “He wouldn’t have…he wouldn’t have done this to me.”
“He was trying to protect you,” I said. “He didn’t know you’d have nightmares. I’ve been looking for you—”
“Why?” she demanded. “What do you want from me? I remember you from London, but after that—”
“I met your shabti in New York. She—you—took Sadie and me to the First Nome. You started our training. We worked together in New Mexico, then at the Red Pyramid—”
“No.” She shut her eyes tight. “No, that wasn’t me.”
“But you can remember what the shabti did. Just try—”
“You’re a Kane!” she cried. “You’re all outlaws. And you’re here with—with that.” She gestured at Bes.
“That has a name,” Bes grumbled. “I’m starting to wonder why I drove halfway across Egypt to wake you.”
“You’re a god!” Zia said. Then she turned to me. “And if you summoned him, you’ll be put to death!”
“Listen, girl,” Bes said. “You were hosting the spirit of Nephthys. So if anyone gets put to death—”
Zia snatched up her staff. “Be gone!”
Fortunately, she wasn’t back to full strength. She managed to shoot a weak column of fire at Bes’s face, but the dwarf god easily swatted the flames aside.
I grabbed the end of her staff. “Zia, stop! He’s not the enemy.”
“Can I punch her?” Bes asked. “You punched me, kid. Seems only fair.”
“No punching,” I said. “No blasting with flames. Zia, we’re on the same side. Th
e equinox starts tomorrow at sunset, and Apophis will break out of his prison. He means to destroy you. We’re here to rescue you.”
The name Apophis hit her hard. She struggled to breathe, as if her lungs were filling with water again. “No. No, it isn’t possible. Why should I believe you?”
“Because…” I hesitated. What could I say? Because we’d fallen for each other three months ago? Because we’ve been through so much together and saved each other’s lives? Those memories weren’t hers. She remembered me—sort of. But our time together was like a movie she’d watched, with an actress playing her role, doing things she never would’ve done.
“You don’t know me,” she said bitterly. “Now, go, before I’m forced to fight you. I’ll make my own way back to the First Nome.”
“Maybe she’s right, kid,” Bes said. “We should leave. We’ve worked enough magic here to send up all kinds of alarm bells.”
I clenched my fists. My worst fears had come true. Zia didn’t like me. Everything we’d shared had crumbled with her ceramic replica. But as I may have mentioned, I get stubborn when I’m told I can’t do something.
“I’m not leaving you.” I gestured at the ruins of her village. “Zia, this place was destroyed by Apophis. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t your dad’s fault. The Serpent was targeting you. Iskandar raised you because he sensed you had an important destiny. He hid you with the pharaoh’s crook and flail for the same reason—not just because you were hosting a goddess, but because he was dying and he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to protect you anymore. I don’t know what your destiny is, exactly, but—”
“Stop!” She reignited the tip of her staff. It blazed more brightly this time. “You’re twisting my thoughts. You’re just like the nightmares.”
“You know I’m not.” I probably should’ve shut up, but I couldn’t believe Zia would actually incinerate me. “Before he died, Iskandar realized the old ways had to be brought back. That’s why he let Sadie and me live. Gods and the magicians have to work together. You—your shabti realized that, when we fought together at the Red Pyramid.”
“Kid,” Bes said more urgently. “We really should go.”
“Come with us,” I told Zia. “I know you’ve always felt alone. You never had anyone but Iskandar. I get that, but I’m your friend. We can protect you.”
“No one protects me!” She shot to her feet. “I am a scribe in the House of Life!”
Flames shot from her staff. I grabbed for my wand, but of course I’d lost it in the river. Instinctively my hands closed around the symbols of the pharaoh—the shepherd’s crook and the war flail. I held them up in a defensive X, and Zia’s staff shattered instantly. The fire dissipated.
Zia stumbled backward, smoke curling from her hands.
She stared at me in absolute shock. “You dare to use the symbols of Ra?”
I probably looked just as surprised. “I—I didn’t mean to! I just want to talk. You’ve got to be hungry. We’ve got food and water back at the pickup truck—”
“Carter!” Bes tensed. “Something’s wrong…”
He turned too late. A blinding white light exploded around him. When the spots cleared from my eyes, Bes was frozen in a cage of bars glowing like fluorescent tubes. Standing next to him were the two people I least wanted to see:
Michel Desjardins and Vlad the Inhaler.
Desjardins looked even older than he had in my vision. His graying hair and forked beard were long and unkempt. His cream-colored robes hung loosely on him. The leopard-skin cloak of the Chief Lector was slipping off his left shoulder.
Vlad Menshikov, on the other hand, looked well rested and ready for a good game of Torture-the-Kane. He wore a fresh white linen suit and carried a new serpent staff. His silver snake necklace glinted against his tie. On his curly gray hair sat a white fedora, probably to cover the head injuries Set had given him. He smiled as if he were delighted to see me, which might’ve been convincing—except he didn’t have his sunglasses anymore. Through the wreckage of scar tissue and red welts, those horrible eyes gleamed with hatred.
“As I told you, Chief Lector,” Menshikov rasped, “Kane’s next move would be to find this poor girl and attempt to turn her.”
“Desjardins, listen,” I said. “Menshikov’s a traitor. He summoned Set. He’s trying to free Apophis—”
“You see?” Menshikov cried. “As I predicted, the boy tries to blame his illegal magic on me.”
“What?” I said. “No!”
The Russian turned to examine Bes, who was still frozen in his glowing cage. “Carter Kane, you claim to be innocent, and yet we find you here consorting with gods. Who have we here? Bes the dwarf! Fortunately, my grandfather taught me an excellent binding spell for this particular creature. Grandfather also taught me many spells of torment which were…quite effective on the dwarf god. I’ve always wanted to try them.”
Desjardins wrinkled his nose in distaste, but I couldn’t tell whether it was because of me or of Menshikov.
“Carter Kane,” said the Chief Lector, “I knew you desired the pharaoh’s throne. I knew you were scheming with Horus. But now I find you holding the crook and flail of Ra, which were recently discovered to be missing from our vaults. Even for you, this is a brazen act of aggression.”
I looked down at the weapons in my hands. “It’s not like that. I just found them…”
I stopped. I couldn’t tell him the symbols had been buried with Zia. Even if he believed me, it might get Zia in trouble.
Desjardins nodded as if I’d confessed. To my surprise, he looked a little sad about it. “As I thought. Amos assured me you were an honorable servant of Ma’at. Instead, I find you are both a godling and thief.”
“Zia.” I turned toward her. “You’ve got to listen. You’re in danger. Menshikov is working for Apophis. He’ll kill you.”
Menshikov did a good job of looking offended. “Why would I wish to harm her? I sense she is free of Nephthys now. It’s not her fault the goddess invaded her form.” He held out his hand to Zia. “I am glad to see you safe, child. You are not to blame for Iskandar’s odd decisions in his final days—hiding you here, softening his attitude toward these Kane criminals. Come away from the traitor. Come home with us.”
Zia hesitated. “I had…I had strange dreams….”
“You are confused,” Desjardins said gently. “This is natural. Your shabti was relaying its memories to you. You saw Carter Kane and his sister make a pact with Set at the Red Pyramid. Rather than destroy the Red Lord, they let him go. Do you remember?”
Zia studied me warily.
“Remember why we did it,” I pleaded. “Chaos is rising. Apophis will break free in less than twenty-four hours. Zia…I…”
The words stuck in my throat. I wanted to tell her how I felt about her, but her eyes hardened like amber.
“I don’t know you,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”
Menshikov smiled. “Of course you don’t, child. You have no business with traitors. Now, with Lord Desjardins’ permission, we will bring this young heretic back to the First Nome, where he will be given a fair trial”—Menshikov turned toward me, his ruined eyes burning with triumph—“and then, executed.”
S A D I E
15. Camels Are Evil…
YES, CARTER, THE WHOLE BUSINESS with the water demons must’ve been horrible. But I feel no sympathy for you, as 1) you brought that trip entirely on yourself, and 2) while you were rescuing Zia, I was dealing with camels.
Camels are disgusting.
You may think But, Sadie, these were magical camels, summoned by one of Walt’s amulets. Clever Walt! Surely magic camels are not as bad as normal camels.
I can now attest that magic camels spit like, poo like, drool like, bite like, eat like, and, most disgustingly, smell like normal camels. If anything, their disgustingness is magically enhanced.
We didn’t start with the camels, of course. We worked our way up to them in a series of progressively more horribl
e modes of transportation. First we took a bus to a small town west of Alexandria—a bus without air conditioning, packed with men who had not discovered the benefits of underarm deodorant. Then we hired a driver to take us to Bahariya—a driver who first had the nerve to play ABBA’s greatest hits and eat raw onions, then drove us to the middle of nowhere and—surprise!—introduced us to his friends, the bandits, who were keen to rob defenseless American teenagers. I was delighted to show them how my staff turned into a large hungry lion. As far as I know, the bandits and driver are still running. However, the car had stopped, and no amount of magic would revive the engine.
At that point, we decided it was best to stay off the grid. I could deal with dirty looks from the locals. I could deal with attracting attention as an oddity—an American/British girl with purple-streaked hair, traveling alone with a boy who did not look like her brother. In fact, that fairly well described my life. But after the highway robbery incident, Walt and I realized just how much the locals were watching us, marking us as a target. I had no desire to be singled out by more bandits, or Egyptian police, or, even worse, any magicians who might be lurking undercover. So we summoned the magic camels, charmed a handful of sand to point the way to Bahariya, and set out across the desert.
How was the desert, Sadie? You might wonder.
Thanks for asking. It was hot.
And another thing: Why do deserts have to be so bloody huge? Why can’t they be a few hundred meters wide, just enough to give you the idea of sandy, dry, and miserable, then yield to some proper landscape, like a meadow with a river, or a high street with shops?
No such luck for us. The desert went on forever. I could imagine Set, the god of the wastelands, laughing at us as we trudged over endless dunes. If this was his home, I didn’t think much of the way he’d decorated.
I named my camel Katrina. She was a natural disaster. She slobbered everywhere and seemed to think the purple streak in my hair was some kind of exotic fruit. She was obsessed with trying to eat my head. I named Walt’s camel Hindenburg. He was almost as large as a zeppelin and definitely as full of gas.