Clash of the Dark Serpent

by Dan Hunter

  “That sounds easy enough,” Akori replied, secretly relieved that he wouldn’t have to use his own tomb, as he had before. Climbing inside his coffin gave him the creeps.

  Shaking his head, Horus replied, “It will not be easy, Akori. The dead are unable to find peace with Osiris imprisoned. They are angry and restless.”

  Akori gulped, remembering his fight with the dead Pharaoh Amenhotep. Oba had sent the mummy as an assassin to kill him. The memory of Amenhotep’s tattered flesh and the beetles crawling from his eye sockets sent a shudder down Akori’s spine. The dead were fierce, and difficult to destroy. Putting the thought to the back of his mind, he said, “Is there anything else we need to know, Lord Horus?”

  “Only that you take my blessings with you as always.” The mighty God raised his hand. “I bid you, and your companions, farewell. All of you have my gratitude.”

  Ebe purred at Akori’s feet. Akori noticed that Manu was blushing. For the High Priest of Horus to win the gratitude of the God he served was an overwhelming honour. “Thank you, My Lord,” Manu muttered.

  Horus stepped back inside his statue. The light faded, plunging the shrine back into darkness. The God was gone.

  Akori lifted his torch, turning to face the old priest. “We must leave now,” he said, quickly. “Can I ask you to look after things while I’m gone?”

  The priest nodded. “It will be an honour to do so.”

  Akori smiled at him gratefully. “Thank you. It will be difficult to stop people panicking.”

  “I will tell them the truth,” the priest replied. “That their Pharaoh has gone to set the sun back in the sky. It will give them hope.”

  Akori nodded. “We will be back as quickly as we can,” he said.

  After the old priest had blessed them and headed back into the palace, Manu unrolled the scroll, and read the travelling spell to take them to the palace of the Dark Pharaoh. Although they had used the spell to get there in their last quest, the sensation of travelling without moving still felt strange to Akori. With a bump, the three friends arrived in the gloomy ruined palace. Here, in the eerie darkness, centuries of deathly silence filled the passages and chambers. Even though he had been here once before, Akori still couldn’t help shivering.

  Behind him, Manu cleared his throat. “Umm…before we go any further, I should probably tell you some things about Apep,” he said, nervously.

  “Like what?” Akori asked, brushing a huge dusty cobweb aside.

  “Well, for a start, although we know he takes the form of a giant snake, no two scrolls agree on his exact size,” Manu replied. “Only one thing’s for sure. They all say he’s big.”

  “How big?”

  Manu cleared his throat again, sounding uncomfortable. “One scroll says forty royal cubits.”

  In his mind, Akori pictured a snake longer than ten tall men. “That is big,” he muttered, heart sinking.

  “All the other scrolls say much, much bigger,” Manu continued. “Big enough to circle the world and to swallow the sun whole.”

  Akori stared at Manu in disbelief, one eyebrow raised. “Is there anything else you can tell me?” he asked.

  “Well, he’s Set’s oldest ally and he’s…um…sort of…impossible to kill. Only a God of equal power would be able to destroy him. And as he’s one of the most powerful Gods in existence…” Manu looked at Akori apologetically.

  “I meant, is there anything you can tell me that might help me fight him?” said Akori with a sigh.

  Manu shook his head. “Not really. Sorry.”

  Akori touched the three Stones in his collar, reminding himself that he had already defeated Oba and his corrupted Gods three times. Feeling slightly braver, he gave Manu a small smile. But inside, Akori could feel his nerves building. He wondered what new horrors awaited them in the Underworld. Oba’s army of the dead would be even bigger by now, and even stronger. They paused by the Dark Pharaoh’s doorway.

  “You read the spell, you’re better with words,” Akori said to Manu.

  With shaking fingers, Manu unrolled the ancient paper and raised his voice:

  “Gods of the night, hear my command:

  Lift the veil. Let mortals through.

  Into the darkness, where Osiris rules…”

  The spell went on and on, Manu’s voice sometimes pleading, sometimes commanding. Akori tensed, fingers clutching the hilt of his khopesh, waiting to be whisked to the Underworld, ready to fight.

  Finally, Manu finished. He let the scroll drop to his side, looking around in confusion.

  “Nothing’s happening,” Akori whispered. “Are you sure you read it properly?”

  Manu checked the scroll, opening his mouth to speak. But all that came out was a shout of shock as the slab of rock beneath their feet suddenly tilted. Instantly, the three friends began plummeting downwards.

  “Manu! Ebe!” Akori yelled as he was pulled down, arms thrashing, faster and faster.

  He tried shouting again but it felt as if all the air had been sucked from his lungs. He fell deeper and deeper, like he was dropping down into an endless well. It was so dark Akori couldn’t see the others. He couldn’t hear them either. He was falling so fast now all he could hear was the roar of the air rushing past his ears.

  Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the falling stopped, and Akori hit the ground with a jolt.

  “Hey, careful. You nearly flattened me!”

  Akori opened his eyes, and saw Manu sprawled on the floor beneath him, with Ebe in his arms.

  “S-sorry,” stuttered Akori. “Are you both okay?”

  “Horus wasn’t joking about this not being easy,” Manu replied, managing a feeble smile. “I think I almost preferred travelling in your coffin.”

  “Where are we?” Akori glanced around. They were inside a dark and dingy chamber, lit by one meagre torch. But there was something oddly familiar about the room. It reminded Akori of a room in his own palace, decorated with pictures depicting the stories of the lives of the Pharaohs. Akori peered through the gloom at his surroundings. Paintings covered these walls too, but instead they showed gruesome images of his ancestors in torment and agony. In one corner, Akori noticed a vast ornamental chest, similar to one in his own palace. The lid was open, but where Akori’s featured a picture of him riding in a chariot, this chest showed the young Pharaoh, chained in a prison.

  Akori gasped. “We’re back,” he whispered. “This is Oba’s palace.” He shuddered despite himself. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “I don’t like the feel of this place.”

  Staying close together, Akori, Manu and Ebe slowly crept through the palace corridors. The darkness seemed to clutch at Akori, whispering evil into his ear. Red-eyed spiders squatted in cobwebs, spitting as the three travellers passed by. Akori glanced at one of the pictures on the wall. It showed the fate that awaited the unworthy in the Underworld – the gaping jaws of Ammit the Devourer, eater of souls. He shuddered.

  At last, they reached the shrine. Akori looked around. It was identical to his own shrine in shape and size, but where the statue of Horus should have been was a heap of broken rubble and the walls and columns were scrawled with hideous curses.

  The gloomy air hung with a stench that clung to Akori’s nostrils and made him feel sick.

  From the look on Manu’s face, Akori knew his friend was even more horrified than he was. Quietly, he touched his shoulder. “It could be worse,” he said. “At least we haven’t had to fight the dead.”

  They all froze as they heard a terrible rasping sound, growing louder and closer by the second. Spinning around, Akori saw a figure staggering towards them. It was wearing priest’s robes which hung in rags, showing the pale, worm-eaten flesh beneath. The hilt of a dagger jutted from its chest. A raw scar zigzagged across its face.

  At Akori’s feet, Ebe hissed and snarled. In reply, the monstrous figure opened its mouth, making a grotesque, gargling sound.

  “Oh no!” Manu turned to Akori, his eyes wide with fear. “It�
�s Oba’s evil priest, Bukhu, risen from the dead,” he gasped. “He tried to kill me!”

  Akori watched as their undead attacker lurched towards them, the dagger buried deep in his chest. Akori gave a shudder of recognition. Manu was right. In Egypt, when Oba was still Pharaoh, Bukhu, the High Priest of Set, had been his closest ally. The last time Akori had seen him, Bukhu had tried to block his path to Oba, using Manu as a human shield. He had threatened to cut Manu’s throat, but the young priest had escaped his clutches. In fury, Bukhu had thrown his dagger at Akori but it had rebounded from his shield and buried itself in Bukhu’s heart instead, where it still remained.

  Bukhu glared at Akori and opened his mouth wide, revealing the blackened stumps of his teeth. A screech of pure hate echoed around the temple as Bukhu’s fingers plucked the weapon from his heart. Maggots spilled from the open wound. “Revenge!” Bukhu muttered. His voice rose to a cry of mad hatred as he staggered through the gloom, dagger held high.

  Akori passed the burning torch he was holding to Manu. He drew his golden khopesh. Stepping forward to protect Manu and Ebe, he sank into a warrior’s crouch. “I would have let you live, Bukhu,” he said grimly. “It was your own foolishness that killed you.”

  The words seemed to anger Bukhu even more. Howling, he launched himself at Akori, the dagger blurring in the air as it slashed at his throat.

  Akori dodged to one side, his khopesh blocking the blow. Bukhu staggered. Recovering quickly, he turned back to Akori with an even angrier snarl of “Revenge!” and threw himself into a fresh attack.

  The khopesh sang through the air once more. Sparks flew as metal met metal. In death, Bukhu’s vicious rage had given him more strength than he ever possessed when he was alive. This time, Akori was forced back. Knocked off balance, he tripped over a piece of rock. Sprawling awkwardly on his back, he dropped the khopesh. It skittered away across the floor.

  Both Bukhu’s ragged hands now clutched the hilt of the dagger. “Die!” he screeched, staggering forward to plunge it into Akori’s heart.

  “You’ll have to kill me first,” yelled Manu, jumping over Akori to battle Bukhu.

  Bukhu turned at the sound of a deep, rumbling roar. Ebe had transformed. As the Goddess Bast, she had become a gigantic wildcat. Bukhu was now trapped between the two of them.

  The dagger gleamed as its edge caught the light. Bukhu turned this way and that, trying to find his escape. “You,” he rasped at Manu. “I should have spilled your life’s blood when I had the chance – cut your throat and let it pour out onto the sand.”

  His gaze flickered to Ebe. “And Bast. Even a Goddess is not safe in my temple of hate. You will both die. By my hand.”

  “Not while I am alive,” said Akori, scrambling to his feet.

  “Then I’ll kill you first,” Bukhu said to Akori, before grabbing a handful of dust and gravel, and flinging it in Manu’s face.

  With a shout of shock and pain, Manu dropped the torch and sank to his knees, wiping grit from his streaming eyes.

  Snarling, Ebe pounced into darkness, but the dead priest was no longer there. Bukhu had hurled himself at Akori, tattered rags streaming out behind him.

  Akori ducked to one side. The dagger’s blade glanced off the golden collar at his throat as the full weight of Bukhu slammed into him. Instinctively, he grabbed his opponent’s wrist.

  As Bukhu’s weight bore him to the ground, Akori reached out, clutching a handful of rags and bringing his opponent down with him. Over and over, they rolled, wrestling for the knife. Akori’s head hit a broken rock, dazing him for a second. His stomach turned as a foul smell hit him. It was Bukhu’s breath. The dead man’s face was so close to his own, his rotten teeth snapping at the air. Bukhu was trying to bite him! Just in time, Akori’s fingers curled around his throat, holding him off.

  Bukhu pulled the dagger back to strike again.

  The Pharaoh Stones, Akori told himself desperately as he struggled. If only he could touch one of them the extra surge of magical speed or strength would be enough to overcome the priest. But he needed both hands to fight Bukhu. There had to be another way. As he tumbled across the floor, holding off the shrieking Bukhu, Akori forced himself to think.

  The answer came as Bukhu rolled on top of him. Grunting with effort, he began edging the dagger, bit by bit, towards Akori’s unprotected face.

  His muscles burning, Akori strained. Closer and closer, the dagger came, until its deadly tip was almost touching Akori’s eye. “Revenge,” hissed Bukhu.

  “No!” With every last ounce of his strength, Akori heaved himself to one side, jerking his head away.

  The dagger smashed into the ground in a spray of sparks. Cursing, Bukhu raised it again.

  He was too slow. Releasing his grip on Bukhu’s wrist, Akori shoved him as hard as he could. Howling with pain, Bukhu fell back, allowing Akori to twist out from beneath him.

  Scrambling to his feet, Akori leaped up the heap of rubble.

  Bukhu rose. “Coward,” he spat, his voice like the cracking of bones. “You will not escape me.”

  In the shadows, Akori heard Ebe growl with soft menace. “No, Ebe, leave him,” he said softly.

  “Yes, little Goddess, your turn will come,” snarled Bukhu in reply. “Let us end this.”

  “Ha!” Akori shouted at Bukhu. “You couldn’t end this the first time and you’re not going to end it this time either.”

  Bukhu’s growls reached a deafening roar.

  “Why did you say that?” Manu hissed. “Now you’ve made him even madder.”

  “It’s all right,” Akori whispered. “I’ve got a plan.”

  “Come on!” he yelled at Bukhu. “What are you waiting for?”

  As Bukhu started charging towards him, Akori lifted his fingers in the darkness to touch the Stone of Speed on his collar.

  Energy surged through him and he flitted backwards, away from Bukhu’s lunging arms. “Too slow,” he taunted.

  Bukhu shook his arms in fury, causing clouds of dust to fill the air.

  Akori raced back through the palace to the first room they had arrived in, with Bukhu in furious pursuit.

  “Why are you going back down there?” Manu cried. But Akori ignored him. He had to – he couldn’t let Bukhu know what he had planned.

  Down in the passageway Bukhu’s roars echoed even louder through the darkness. Akori sped back past the picture of the monstrous Ammit. He was moving so fast the cobwebs were blown from the walls.

  “Is that as fast as you can go?” he yelled over his shoulder at Bukhu as he reached the room.

  “Insolent wretch!” Bukhu screeched. “Wait and see how slowly I kill you. It will be agony.”

  Akori crouched in the darkness beside the door. As Bukhu came charging into the room, Akori extended his leg. There was a yell, followed by a thud as Bukhu tripped and went flying into the open chest. Quick as a flash, Akori touched the Stone of Strength before racing over and slamming the stone lid shut.

  “Nooooooo!” Bukhu cried, his hands pummelling the lid. But it was too heavy. Bukhu’s yells became fainter and fainter. And then, finally, the monstrous priest fell silent.

  Akori felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw Manu right behind him, his eyes wide with awe. Ebe, who had returned to her small form, wound herself around Akori’s legs and purred with pride.

  Akori smiled at his friends gratefully. Then he adjusted his armour. “Come on,” he said. “I have to get my khopesh. Then we’d better get moving.”

  Once Akori had retrieved his sword they cautiously ventured further through Oba’s dark palace. Akori scanned the passage beyond, watching for more attackers. In the distance he could hear wind moaning around the walls and the groans of dead slaves.

  “Apep won’t be here,” Manu continued. “The scrolls all say that he dwells in the caverns. We’ll have to find our way out.”

  “The quickest way is by the courtyard,” said Akori.

  Manu gulped. “But that’s the busiest part of the
palace…” His voice trailed off.

  Akori gripped the hilt of his khopesh. “We’ll be careful,” he said, quietly. “Come on, it’s not far.”

  Keeping to the deepest shadows and treading softly, Akori led Manu and Ebe along the passage that led to the courtyard. Halfway there he heard a scratching sound. He froze, his skin prickling with fear, until a skeletal rat scuttled past. Ebe’s golden eyes glowed and she mewed quietly.

  “There’s no time for hunting. We have to rescue Ra, remember?” Akori told her.

  She walked past him, her head high and the tip of her tail twitching haughtily.

  “Once we’re through the courtyard, it’s just a short way to the caverns,” Akori said.

  Holding his breath, and back pressed into the wall, Akori peered around the arched gate that led into the courtyard. His eyes widened. He had been expecting something different from the splashing fountains and sweet-smelling blossoms he enjoyed at home, but the Underworld courtyard shocked him to his core.

  Manu gasped beside him. “Are you sure there isn’t another way through?”

  Akori shook his head, eyes fixed on the scene in front of him. Before them was a thick forest of cacti. Tall, dark green columns rose towards a boiling grey sky. Each cactus had long sinewy arms, covered in spikes the size of a man’s fingers. Where there would usually have been elegant columns lining the edge of the courtyard and leading out into the open, here, every escape route was blocked by the monstrous cacti.

  “I really hate this place,” Manu muttered.

  “We’ll just have to be careful not to touch them,” Akori said. “Take it slowly. Watch every footstep.” Akori edged into the lethal thicket, trying to keep his eyes on every spike ahead of him. They looked sharp enough to slide through skin like needles.

  Hardly daring to breathe, Akori inched his way through the cacti, twisting his body this way and that to avoid the spikes. Every few steps he stopped and looked back. Manu’s forehead was furrowed in a frown of concentration, but he was keeping up, with Ebe slinking along at his feet. Akori’s heart lifted. It was slow going but it looked like they were going to make it unharmed.