Alex felt a little swell of emotion. His best friend might argue with him sometimes, but she had never once abandoned him. “Thanks,” he whispered, before Luke ruined the moment.
“Move it, guys,” he said, brushing past. “The faster we get inside this weird door, the quicker we can shut it behind us.”
Neither of them argued with that. For all they knew, The Order was already entering Tut’s tomb. The three friends turned and pushed and prodded the edgeless doorway closed. It made a small, dry hiss as stone met stone, leaving them staring at a blank wall. It was a careful-what-you-wish-for moment.
“Uh,” said Luke. “Guys? What if that doesn’t open again?”
Alex closed his hand around the amulet and tried to sense the workings of the wall in the same way he sensed the inner movements of the locks he picked with the scarab. “I should be able to open this,” he said.
Ren exhaled. The three turned back toward the tunnel. It was lit by an intense, unnatural light that seemed to come from everywhere at once. The tunnel sloped downward and curved slightly, hiding what was at the end. And it was hot. Really hot.
“There’s definitely something down here,” said Alex, still holding his amulet. “This feels … bigger than anything we’ve experienced before.” Alex hoped his suspicion was right. “We’ll be quiet,” he whispered. “Spy mode.” It was a game he and Ren had played back at the Met, back when they were just kids who played at adventure.
Ren nodded. “And if you’re wrong — if it’s the Death Walker’s tomb?”
“Then it will tell us who he is — we can figure out the right spell to use and —”
“Not if we’re deep-fried first,” Luke cut in.
And so they crept forward — carefully — and the deeper they went, the hotter it got.
“Look at the walls,” said Ren, reaching up to wipe sweat from her forehead.
Alex was already looking. Intricate hieroglyphic writing covered nearly every inch of the walls near the entrance. Some of the symbols were painted on and some were cut deep into the stone. He wrapped his hand around the scarab, and once again his mind lit up with a single, nearly overwhelming signal. He forced himself to concentrate on the symbols on the wall, and the meanings revealed themselves. The same few words echoed over and over again within the texts: concealed, hidden, secret, cloaked, guarded.
“What does it mean?” whispered Ren.
Alex could see her hand wrapped around her ibis, her eyes scanning the walls. She was reading the same things he was.
“I think they’re spells,” he said. “Prayers. Just like in the Book of the Dead.”
“But for what?”
Alex looked again, saw the same words take the starring role. The prayers in the Book of the Dead were to help the spirit cross safely over into the afterlife. Words like protect, safe, and spirit were everywhere. But these … “I think they’re supposed to hide something,” he said. A surge of relief and excitement went through him: It really was a hiding place! He looked closer at the faded paint and added, “But they’re ancient, thousands of years old.”
“So the Walker didn’t make them?”
Alex shook his head and whispered as they rounded a bend in the tunnel. “If he’s here, I think he found this place,” he said.
“Hey, Sherlock,” hissed Luke. “Eyes on the prize, huh?”
“Right,” said Alex. “Sorry.” They were deeper now, with an unknowable danger ahead. They stopped talking and crept carefully forward. Forward and down.
The hieroglyphs grew sparser the deeper they went, and the heat increased. Alex’s excitement mixed with fear. A fat drop of sweat rolled down his forehead and into one wide-open eye. He wiped the salty sting away with the back of his hand. The hieroglyphs spoke of hiding, but this heat meant danger.
For just a second, he thought he heard a smooth sliding sound coming from behind them, but then they rounded the corner. A large circular chamber lay before them, and the phantom sound was forgotten.
“What the what?” said Luke.
Alex stared at the chamber. He knew exactly what it was. “It’s a temple,” he whispered. “At least … it is now.”
The walls of this chamber bore no ancient peeling hieroglyphs. Instead, the broad limestone walls were covered in new ones. And these writings had a recurring theme as well: the Aten.
The sun disk — the symbol of the pure light religion imposed by Tut’s father, Akhenaten — was everywhere. All along the wall, royal figures stood staring up at the sky as lines of light and life descended toward them from a massive sun disk on the ceiling. The lines ended in ankhs, held to the figures’ mouths and noses like the breath of life.
And in the bright light of the chamber there could be no more doubt about how the symbols were made — or by whom. All the images were black, standing out starkly against the light sandstone walls. Alex stepped forward and carefully touched one of the lines. Dark flakes brushed free on his finger. “Burned,” he said. “Burned into the stone.”
His heart pounded as he looked around. Fear made the walls feel like they were closing in on him. Calm down, he told himself. This is the Walker’s tomb, but the Walker isn’t here … Focus on the room. The first thing he saw was the false door — a pair of raised columns framing a painted indentation in the wall — the same ceremonial gateway to the afterlife they’d found in all the other tombs. But he saw none of the treasure and stolen finery they’d found in those other chambers. The room was sparsely decorated and dominated by a low sandstone table in the center. A single ancient clay jar rested atop it. The heat in the chamber was so intense that it stung Alex’s lungs as he drew the breath for his next words: “It’s an altar.”
He’d seen enough. He knew now, beyond a shadow of a doubt in the shadowless room. “The Death Walker is the priest,” he said. “From the museum.”
Alex heard Ren unzip her pack. He turned and saw her riffling through her notebook. “Akhenotra,” she read, “royal priest in the court of pharaoh Akhenaten, died circa 1319 BC.”
“That’s him,” he said. “It has to be. This whole thing is a chapel, a priest’s chapel. The Aten is the symbol of Akhenaten’s sun cult.”
“Okay, great,” said Luke. “But we’re going to burst into flames. Let’s hide in the tunnel until The Order goes away.”
Alex knew they couldn’t stand this heat much longer, but his eyes continued to scan the room. He still hadn’t found what he was looking for. Then he saw it. The little alcove didn’t look like much, just a scooped-out hole in the wall with a little shelf inside. The only reason he even looked twice was the hieroglyphs. Small and finely carved, they surrounded the little hole in the wall. He didn’t even need to grasp his amulet to recognize the now familiar symbols: conceal, cloak, hide …
He was sure now. This whole thing: the edgeless doorway, the tunnel, the ancient chamber, the alcove. It wasn’t built as a tomb or even as a chapel. It was built to hide one thing.
The Lost Spells.
He turned toward Ren. She’d followed his gaze, and he watched her eyes size up the shelf and light up as she made the same connection. This is where the signal was coming from. It wasn’t from where the Spells were but from where they had been. Like a radioactive trace, thought Alex in open awe. Just how powerful are these things?
“Guys?” said Luke from near the tunnel entrance. “Why aren’t we moving yet?”
His mom had been here, in Tut’s tomb and in this chamber, he thought. This is where she’d found the Spells. And now he was pretty sure he knew why she hadn’t put them back: She’d come back only to find that the hiding place had been discovered.
But the friends had pushed their luck too far. And now they had been discovered, too.
Words echoed through the chamber. Luke put his hands up in front of him and began backing slowly away from the tunnel.
Alex reached up for his amulet. He needed to: The words coming from the tunnel were in ancient Egyptian.
“He’s here,
” gasped Ren.
Alex barely heard her over the sound of his pulse pounding in his ears. But he saw the first sandaled foot step into the chamber clearly enough, and he saw the second one bring the Walker with it. The old priest turned to regard them — and smiled. A blister on the cheek of his heat-ravaged face burst and the pus ran down his chin, but still he smiled.
“Little blasphemers,” he said. “Delivered unto me.”
Akhenotra waved his hand and the tunnel entrance sealed behind him, the stone on one side seeming to reach out and fuse with the stone on the other.
Alex’s mind flashed to the thin slice of light that had drawn them there in the first place. “You left it open, didn’t you?” he said. “To lure us here.”
Akhenotra answered vaguely. “Even the most fragile creatures feel safe in the light of the day.”
It was a priest’s analogy, soothing language for a florid sermon, but Alex was thinking of another saying: like moths to a flame.
“Shouldn’t they feel safe in the sun?” said Alex, trying to keep the Walker talking as he swung the pack off his back with his free hand. The weight shifted within as the pack settled on the floor: the metal clank of the flashlights, the wooden thunk of the Book. “Doesn’t the sun give life?”
The Walker huffed out a little laugh, the meaning of which hadn’t changed at all in the last three millennia: nice try.
“The light was meant for another,” he said, his gaze turning from Alex to Luke and Ren. They were standing near the stone altar in the center of the room, the only meager shelter the chamber provided. “But you three will do for now. I will need my strength for the battle to come.”
Akhenotra turned back to Alex and raised his hands above his head. Even as Alex’s left hand tightened around his amulet and he felt the electric rush of its power, his right hand tugged on the zipper of his backpack. If it was a battle he wanted …
“Your tomb sucks!” called Ren, her small frame nearly eclipsed behind the stone altar.
Akhenotra lowered his hands slightly and turned to face her. “I have modest needs, little one.”
“Yeah,” she said, the ibis channeling her living words into a long-dead tongue. “Or The Order just doesn’t like you! You should see the tombs they built for the others.”
Alex knew what she was doing: provoking, distracting. It was a dangerous game. His pack gaped open, revealing a corner of the Book of the Dead.
“I didn’t need their help,” said Akhenotra. The defensiveness in his voice told Alex that, though his tomb was more modest, vanity was a weakness for this Walker, too. “This chamber was provided for me by the beneficence of the Aten.”
“You just found it!” said Alex. Two could play Ren’s game. “They wouldn’t even build you one.”
Akhenotra’s broad chest puffed out slightly. “We will work together in the Final Kingdom, when I will rule this land in the name of the Aten.”
The Final Kingdom? Alex wanted to know what he meant, but survival mattered more.
“For now, all I need is a place to worship,” continued Akhenotra. “And sustenance.” He raised his hands again, and this time flames began to form in the air between them. “Enough talk,” he said, over the low crackle. “Make peace with your profane gods.”
“DON’T LOOK AT IT!”
This time, Ren’s warning had come in time.
Alex tore his eyes away from the rolling fire. He yanked out the twin boards holding the ancient texts. Holding his amulet, his eyes washed across the small, precise hieroglyphs. He knew who the Walker was now, so he was pretty sure he could figure out the right spell. Something about the sun, maybe, or priests, or …
“Look out, Alex!” cried Ren.
Alex swung his head back around and flame filled his vision. The Walker had released his fireball, and it was rocketing toward him.
Instinctively, disastrously, Alex raised his hands, which still held the ancient text. The Book of the Dead became a shield for the living, as the flaming sphere crashed into the tightly held boards. Dry wood and ancient papyrus that had survived thousands of years instantly went up in smoke, and Alex was left shaking his burned fingers.
“Nooo!” cried Ren.
Alex’s heart dropped, but he wrapped his heat-stung hand around his scarab.
“That is twice you have surprised me, little heretic,” said Akhenotra. “There won’t be a third time.”
Alex felt the heat of the chamber against his sweat-slick skin. His right hand was at his side, like a gunfighter’s, as he waited for Akhenotra to make his next move. He’ll raise his arms over his head and look up, he thought. That’s how he summons the fire; that’s why his face is so scarred.
But what was Alex’s next move? The Book was gone, along with any hope of banishing the Walker. Escape was their only option — but where could they run if The Order was still right outside? Alex felt cornered, desperate.
Luke was just looking for a way out. He’d used his speed to sprint around behind the Walker and was pawing uselessly at the spot where the tunnel entrance had been, but the bare wall offered no handle to pull, no knob to turn.
Alex was sure he could open it. Maybe if they made it back to the tomb above, they could seal the Walker inside … A plan formed: He’d wait for the Walker to raise his hands, hit him with a concentrated spear of wind, and then they’d run.
Instead, Akhenotra’s jaw suddenly dropped open. Flame poured from his open mouth. Alex lurched to the side and tried to fall back out of the way —
“AAAAAAH!” he screamed as he felt the searing flames burn through his shirt and bite into the soft flesh of his left shoulder.
“Alex!” shouted Ren.
He had fallen to the ground. He rolled onto his side and grabbed the wound with his right hand. His skin felt scalding hot and alarmingly wet.
His eyes blurred with tears but he forced himself to look up. Ren had one hand on the stone altar and one hand stretched out toward him, as if trying to pull him safely toward home base in some childhood game. Luke was pounding both fists against solid stone.
Akhenotra walked calmly toward Alex, looming over him. He was speaking, but Alex had dropped his amulet and couldn’t understand him. The temperature in the chamber had soared, and Alex felt on the verge of passing out from the heat and pain.
The Death Walker raised his hands, and fresh flames began to form. Alex allowed himself to look at them this time. For a few merciful moments the hypnotic trance eased the burning in his shoulder, eased the knowledge of the world of pain to come and the oblivion to follow.
He had come halfway across the world: searching for his mom, chasing ghosts, and now it would all end here.
But … There was a noise: a smooth sliding sound from along the wall.
But … The Walker turned toward it, the flames above him flickering.
But … What is it? Alex didn’t understand what was going on, or why he was still alive. And then he raised his head enough to see the passageway opening again and Luke stepping aside to make way.
Tut.
The boy king, Tutankhamun, glided gracefully into the chamber. His crimson robes flowed vividly in the bright light.
Akhenotra glared at him with a look that held both anger and awe.
Though Alex’s right hand still held the warm slick mess of his wounded left shoulder, he slowly raised his left toward his amulet. It hurt tremendously, but this exchange would determine whether he and his friends lived or died. The friends who had followed him into mortal danger.
“Hello, priest,” said Tut. “Hello, traitor.”
“You are the traitor!” spat Akhenotra.
“Well,” said Tut, making a casual circle with one hand. “I was just thinking that since you killed your pharaoh and all …”
Akhenotra smiled wickedly, and then his image shifted again, just as it had in the desert. There was a brief veil of heat haze, and when it subsided, an old man in ornate ancient garb stood in his place. “It was easy, you know?
” said Akhenotra, the priest’s voice coming from the old man’s lips. “Who would stop your humble cupbearer, your most trusted servant, from entering your chamber as you slept?”
“Mmmm,” said Tut, unimpressed and slowly advancing on his enemy. “A trick of the light, a cheap charade … It is still treason to kill your pharaoh.”
“You were never my pharaoh,” said Akhenotra, the false image fading away and his old form returning. “You are the snake who undid your father’s good work.”
“Who abolished his silly cult, you mean?” said Tut, advancing farther, the tunnel door already beginning to slide shut behind him. “The Aten was a gimmick. What is the sun without the rain, the day without the night?”
Akhenotra unleashed a roar of anger at Tut’s words, and before the scream stopped, the flames began. A blazing orange and red stream poured from the priest’s mouth toward Tut. Alex watched in horror, Ren gophered her head back beneath the altar, and Luke, who’d been tiptoeing toward the fading doorway behind Tut, dove for cover.
But Tut merely pressed both hands together in front of him as if praying. The flames broke on his hands like a wave splitting against a pier. Tut was shrouded in fire.
Finally, Akhenotra snapped his mouth shut.
And there was Tut. Here and there, patches of his robes had turned black, and a few spots smoldered. But Tut’s face remained calm. “You have misused my royal robes,” he said, looking down at one sleeve. As he did, he caught Alex’s eyes. “And my strange friends.”
“And you destroyed the religion I gave my life to!” roared Akhenotra, taking a step toward Tut and holding one hand up in front of him. Heat haze shimmered in his palm, and when it faded, the priest held a fierce-looking ceremonial mace. Its copper head was heavy and ringed with spikes, and Alex had the sinking feeling that this image was no illusion.
In response, Tut waved one arm toward the floor. The sleeve of his robe snapped from the quick, crisp movement, and suddenly Tut held a vicious, sickle-bladed sword. Alex stared at it as he struggled to sit up. It was a khopesh, Tut’s royal sword.
Valley of Kings Page 11