The Final Kingdom

by Michael Northrop

  “I doubt it,” muttered Ren.

  But with his hearing clearing and a thick door blocking their pursuers, Alex was more optimistic.

  Ahead of them was another cellblock, and a familiar face pushed outward between the bars of the nearest cell. He recognized the froggy features immediately — the sloping chin, the bulging eyes.

  “TODTMAN!” screamed Ren.

  “Hallo, Ren!” he called in his crisp German accent. But even as he said it, the smile fell from his bar-pinched face. “Look out behind you!”

  The friends turned too late. The gliding apparition had come straight through the thick door and was swarming over Luke.

  “Aah, get it off!” he shouted.

  Ren grabbed her amulet and felt the ibis’s edges press sharply into her palm. She felt its power surge through her, a prickling, electric rush. Then she raised her right hand in a fist and opened it suddenly. “Go!” she shouted.

  Once again, a blast of concentrated moonlight brightened the dim tunnel. But this spirit was different: bigger and darker and more dangerous. It didn’t vanish. It steamed. Gray vapor hissed upward from the inky edges of its frame. Its head spun around, and two glowing eyes focused on Ren.

  “Uh-oh,” she mumbled.

  The ghostly presence released Luke, who fell to the floor clutching his arms to his chest and shivering visibly. Then it rushed toward Ren. She heard the click behind her, the creaking arc of a door unaccustomed to opening, but she didn’t dare look back.

  Instead, she took a deep breath and opened her fist once more. “Go!”

  FWOOP!

  The thing shimmered and steamed in the second blast of light, and for just a moment it seemed to stumble in its stepless movement. But the moment passed and it resumed its swift attack. As Ren bumbled backward, the toe of her left boot caught the heel of the right.

  “Guh,” she said as she went down in a heap.

  The spirit shot forward and loomed over her. She felt its lifeless chill.

  And then — Oh no! — a second dark silhouette appeared in front of her, slicing in from the side. I’m done for! she thought. Her last thought was of her family, who she missed more than anything. But that’s when she realized what she was seeing.

  It wasn’t the front of another spirit. It was the back of Dr. Ernst Todtman in his trademark black suit. In his first act as a free man, he had stepped in front of the onrushing menace. The evil presence enveloped him, as it had Luke, and for a moment he seemed to be completely eclipsed by it.

  Then it broke apart like a wave hitting a rock. For a moment, it hung shredded in the air around him, like a flock of scattered crows. Then it pulled back and began to re-form, the dark patches reconnecting like liquid pooling in the air.

  Pushing it all back was the silver chain and falcon amulet hanging loosely from Todtman’s left hand.

  “Ready, Ren!” he called.

  She gathered herself and took hold of her own amulet. The spirit had almost entirely re-formed now. But as the last few wisps rejoined its hanging frame, Todtman swung his left hand, and the falcon amulet sliced the apparition’s head clean off. “Now!” called Todtman.

  The spirit’s head hung in the air like a black balloon; its glowing eyes blinked twice in seeming disbelief. Ren aimed her blast right between them.

  FWOOP!

  The floating orb hissed and steamed and then Ren heard the faintest pop! and it was gone. The rest of its body fell to the floor and faded into nothingness.

  For a few long seconds, everyone was silent. All Ren could hear was her own labored breathing and her own pounding heart. As she began to calm down, she managed a few words: “What was that? Another sheut?”

  “No,” said Todtman. “The taxonomy of the Egyptian afterlife is long and complex … ” Ren smiled despite her frayed nerves: Such a Todtman thing to say. “But that was older, more dangerous. A dark khu, perhaps.”

  “Felt like a walk-in freezer,” said Luke, rising to his feet, still hugging himself and shivering slightly. “But it’s good to see you again, Dr. T.”

  Todtman did a quick double take. Ren wasn’t sure if it was because no one had ever called him that before, or because last he’d heard, Luke was a traitor and a spy.

  “He’s okay, I think,” said Ren, offering the firmest endorsement she felt ready for. “Anyway, we let him out. And he’s right: It is nice to see you.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Alex. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.” He looked around the little group. “Any of you.”

  Todtman was not an overly emotional man, but he flashed a big, froggy smile now. “Well, then,” he said, glancing back toward his cell. “There is someone else here I am sure you will be glad to see.”

  “Mom?” Alex called, rushing past Todtman into the cell.

  Todtman grabbed his shoulder. “Be careful. She is badly hurt.”

  Badly hurt? Alex shook Todtman off and darted inside.

  “Alex, honey, is that you?” he heard.

  And there she was, holding her side and just now rising from a cot. “Hi, hun,” she said, her voice soft and hesitant.

  Holding her side … Oh no.

  “Are you okay, Mom?” said Alex. “Are you hurt?”

  The dim light from the hallway filtered in through the door, and the little lamp shone weakly from the floor, but her face remained in shadow. Alex stepped forward, his arms already open to hug her. Over the last few weeks, he’d lost her and found her and lost her again, and he wouldn’t let it happen anymore.

  She put her arm out to block him. “Careful,” she warned.

  Alex stopped short. “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s my ribs,” she said. “Mostly.”

  Alex took the news like a kick to his own ribs.

  “What happened?” asked Ren from the door.

  Dr. Bauer managed a quick, mischievous grin. “What, you think you’re the only ones who can try to escape? After they caught me, they threw me back into Todtman’s cell — so that he could take care of me.”

  “I tried to tell them, I am a doctor of Egyptology,” said the German ruefully. “I begged them to get her a real doctor.”

  Not knowing what else to do, Alex reached out and gently took his mom’s hand. She leaned down to wrap him in an awkward one-armed hug.

  Ever the pragmatist, Todtman cut the emotional reunion short. “We have to go now,” he said sharply.

  Alex’s mom straightened up and wiped a tear from her eye. “I can walk, but I’ll just slow you down.”

  Todtman gestured down at his own bad leg, crippled by a scorpion sting in their battle with the first Death Walker in New York: “That is my job.”

  For a moment, the two old friends shared the smallest of smiles. Alex was watching them intently and smiled when his mom did, a sort of sympathetic reflex. He’d grown up sharing the same small apartment with her, their schedules wrapping around each other like vines. Early morning drop-offs on the way to work, doctor’s visits scheduled for half-days. They knew each other’s moods and expressions the way ship captains know the tides.

  The moment was broken by another sound echoing down the tunnel. It was the cry of a mummy, the ragged, rattling product of a time-shriveled tongue. A second hoarse cry rose up to answer the first. Their pursuers had broken through and were on the way.

  The hobbled crew hurried down the hallway as best they could. Dr. Bauer had one arm pressed against her injured left side, and Alex, doing his best to support her, pressed against her right. Their pursuers were so close that they could see their dim shadows playing at the edge of the curved tunnel, a nightmarish mix of stretched and distorted shapes, arms and heads and gun barrels.

  “The tunnel branches off up here!” called Ren, who’d rushed ahead of the others.

  Alex rounded the corner and saw the two passages, like gaping mouths in the earth. Ren was standing with her eyes closed, focused on the ibis amulet clutched in her hand, but her feet were tapping nervously. The amulet’s main power wa
s information. It gave her images to interpret: scenes from the past, present, or future, and she was trying to find out which way led to freedom.

  As Alex watched, her eyes flew open.

  “I can’t get anything clear — it takes time to interpret —”

  But their time was up. Behind them, the twisty shadows and angry shouts were drawing closer.

  “If we’re going to guess, I’d go left,” said his mom. “To the sun.”

  It was a cryptic comment, but her son understood immediately. In ancient Egypt, everything had been oriented around the north-flowing Nile. The maps were drawn with south at the top instead of the bottom, making the eastern bank on the left and the western bank on the right. For the Egyptians, the eastern bank represented the sunlit land of the living. The Order still followed the old ways, which meant the friends needed to go left to leave these tombs and find the sun.

  Todtman seemed to understand, too. “Good thinking. Alex, buy us some time,” he called. “They must not see which tunnel we take.”

  Alex nodded. As the others hurried to the left, he grasped the scarab. His pulse pounded; his eyes focused. The scarab was a symbol of rebirth, but rebirth took many forms in Egypt. Alex extended his right hand and whispered: “The wind that comes before the rain.” Instantly, a whipping column of wind shot back up the tunnel. Confused shouts rose up, only to be drowned out by the hurricane howl. The shadows were beaten back, disappearing from view.

  Alex gave it everything he had. When it was over, he stood gulping down air, the bright, hot cinder of a headache just beginning to burn in his skull. He turned to see the others disappearing into the shadows fifteen yards down the tunnel.

  Except for one. As Alex turned to hustle after them, he was surprised to find Luke waiting beside him. “Let’s go, cuz,” he said. “That won’t hold ’em for long.”

  The boys rushed up the tunnel. The sounds of argument and confusion grew behind them as the hunting party debated directions. Soon, the voices faded.

  Silent and fast, the boys raced toward the others. The way was harder here, but they didn’t mind at all.

  It was harder because this tunnel had begun sloping ever so slightly upward.

  Alex and Luke quickly caught up with the others, who were waiting at the next fork in the tunnel. It split again after that, and the friends relaxed ever so slightly, confident they had lost their pursuers. The tunnels continued to slope upward and a hundred yards farther along the group paused to examine a tall archway built into the wall. As Todtman ran his fingers across the hieroglyphic symbols cut deep into the framing stone, Alex knew exactly what he was looking for. They needed to figure out what The Order was doing with the Lost Spells, and ultimately, they needed those Spells back. Their power was the only thing that could set things right again.

  Alex turned his eyes to the hieroglyphs and saw one symbol more than any other: the lioness. Again and again, the elegant predator was carved into the stone entrance. Sometimes crouched on its own and sometimes in the midst of a swirl of other symbols.

  “It’s a tomb,” he said. “And I think I know whose.” He remembered all too well the vicious Order operative who wore the skull of a lioness as her mask. “See that symbol, the lioness?”

  “Peshwar,” said Luke, spitting the word out bitterly. “I hate that cat lady.”

  “But if this is a tomb,” said Ren, “does that mean she’s dead now?”

  “Perhaps,” said Todtman. “We need to know what The Order is up to now. And there is one way to find out … I’ll be right back.”

  He took a step toward the tomb mouth and winced as his weight landed on his injured left leg. Alex could tell that all this hobbled running was catching up to Todtman. His limp was worse than ever. A few feet away, Alex’s mom was leaning against the wall and holding her side. Alex’s concern mixed with guilt. In his tireless quest to find her, he’d led The Order straight to her — and to the Spells she’d tried so hard to hide.

  “No, wait,” he said. “I’ll go.”

  “We’ll go,” chirped Ren, stepping forward.

  “Me too,” said Luke, but Ren shook her head.

  “No,” she said firmly. “You should stay here and look out for Todtman and Dr. Bauer.” Alex could tell she was cutting him out because she still didn’t trust him. But it seemed to work.

  Luke nodded. “Can do,” he said. He didn’t seem particularly disappointed not to be sneaking inside yet another dark, creepy tomb.

  Alex and Ren crept forward.

  A dim passageway gave way to a huge room lit by two iron cauldrons with flames floating on the surface of the liquid within. Alex had been in enough tomb chapels to know that this was the outer chamber. Through an archway at the far end of the room he could see flickering firelight and shifting shadows in the inner chamber. Muffled voices came from within.

  Alex and Ren slunk silently forward. They were in the middle of the floor now: If one of those shadows emerged, they would be caught in the open like deer in the headlights. Alex took the lead, as they passed between the two flaming cauldrons. He eyed the eerie flames — barely daring to breathe — and that’s when it happened. The floor started to move.

  The floor. The walls. The world around them.

  It was another tremor. The room jolted and jerked like a carnival ride, and Alex toppled to the side. Ren reached for him but she was too late.

  Desperate to avoid the burning liquid, he put his hand out toward the iron side of the cauldron. He winced, anticipating the searing metal burning into his hand. But the iron was cool to the touch. These flames burned cold. He pushed himself up. “I’m okay,” he whispered, reminding himself to forget everything he knew about the laws of science. It was the laws of magic that ruled down here.

  They moved past the cauldrons, arms out for balance as if they were on a tightrope. A few steps later, the room fell still. The talking started up again in the next room. The words were in an ancient dialect, and Alex closed his hand around his amulet so that he could understand them. He was close enough now to recognize the first voice — and the powerful presence behind it.

  He sucked a short, sharp breath into a chest gone tight with fear. Even at this distance, his father’s words had the solemn weight of a judge pronouncing a death sentence. And there was something else about them, something outsized and otherworldly.

  He turned back to Ren. Her eyes were round with fear, the whites gone pink in the flickering glow. They reached the tall archway and slowly, carefully peered inside.

  Alex’s heart raced. The tomb chapel’s inner chamber was bright with the light of four flaming iron pots. Carved lionesses lounged on stone platforms, eyes of bloodred rubies all staring at the ornate gold-painted sarcophagus in the room’s center. Intricate paintings and deep-cut hieroglyphs covered the walls. The ceiling was high, as the archways and indeed the tunnels themselves had been. And now Alex knew why. For inside walls stood two massive figures.

  He’d expected his father to be one of them, and he was half right. The larger of the two had once been his dad. The mask, the voice, the presence were all unmistakable. But the figure standing before him was more than ten feet tall — higher than a basketball hoop.

  He’d done it. The cult’s plan had worked. His father, whom he had never really known in life, was standing before him now in death. Warm bile rose in Alex’s throat, seeking an exit. He swallowed hard.

  Ren squeezed his shoulder in support. Alex felt a sudden emptiness inside, as if something big had been taken from him. And it had been. Whatever his father had once been, that man was gone now. He had left the living world and used the power of the Lost Spells to inhabit a new form: the massive statue he’d had made in his own image. Then he’d used that power to escape the afterlife. He had become a Death Walker.

  And he wasn’t alone.

  Peshwar, the woman for whom this tomb was built, now stood nearly as tall as the leader and had the outsized skull of a lioness perched atop her shoulders. Beneath her
crimson robes, her frame was almost as skeletal.

  Both Walkers were facing away from the entrance, allowing Alex to peer into the room unnoticed. He followed their gaze: They were staring at a large false door. He knew from experience that Egyptian tombs contained at least one of these symbolic gateways to the afterlife, just a recessed indentation in the stone to serve as the door, and a raised border to form the frame. But he had never seen one so large.

  “And what if I cannot find my way?” rasped the creature who had once been Peshwar.

  “You will know,” said the leader. “A path has been cleared and you are our finest tracker. We have constructed these portals especially for our purposes. Keep to the borderlands and travel as if to Aswan.”

  As Alex watched in breathless horror, he couldn’t help but remember the last time he’d seen these two together, during that fateful battle in Minyahur. They’d been humans in masks then; now they were monsters.

  He glanced once more at Peshwar’s sarcophagus. Just a relic now, he knew. The body beneath that golden lid had been needed only for the trip into the afterlife. It had been abandoned there, like a discarded rocket booster falling back to earth. Thanks to the power of the Lost Spells, her spirit, too, now resided in one of the massive stone statues he had seen in the desert.

  He looked back at the leader and watched the firelight wash across his avian features. There used to be a human face under there, he thought. Maybe it even looked like mine. No more. Now it had been transformed by the magic of the Spells into pockmarked bird flesh and a cruelly curved beak. All in the name of power.

  “And once I arrive?” asked Peshwar.

  “Prepare the way,” said the leader. “The tremors grow more frequent. The undying army’s arrival draws near. I will go to the seat of power and consult the Spells.”

  The stunning words went off like cherry bombs in Alex’s head: the undying army, the seat of power, the Spells …