I am convinced that the scorpions have been drawing energy from an unworldly source, namely the blue stones that were used to build the Pyramid of Xuloc. It is common knowledge these stones were meteorites from Nar Azrak. And so, infused with the planet’s dark powers, the scorpions have grown larger … and more intelligent.
Zagora shuddered. Intelligent scorpions? That sounded a bit weird. Yet she didn’t think Edgar would make something like that up. He struck her as too old-fashioned, a bit of a fuddy-duddy, in fact.
She listened to the rustle of palm leaves above the occasional low sound of the wind, carrying the dry smells of the desert. In the quiet of the night, she heard tiny feet pattering: lizards. Crossing her arms mummy style, she took a deep breath and settled into the rug. Images whirled through her head: a small pyramid of blue stones in Zahir, golden oryxes, the mysterious tribe of the Azimuth. She saw Nar Azrak and the scorpion in Olivia Romanesçu’s tea, Mina and her strange grandmother, Abdul and Uncle Ali.
Was there a chance that, in some inexplicable way, all these random things were linked? This was her last thought as sleep suddenly overwhelmed her.
She dreamed of a thin figure wrapped in gauze robes, hair shooting out like fiery cobwebs. Mina! The girl sprang from the shadows of an alley, crawled up the side of Abdul’s house, swift as an insect, and vaulted over the terrace wall, her scorpion tattoo glistening.
“I don’t have the stone!” Zagora cried out. “Go away, Mina, I don’t have it!”
“The treasure belongs to Zahir!” Mina hissed, reaching out with spidery hands.
Then Mina was gone, and Zagora was standing in the lobby of their hotel. She could see Olivia Romanesçu, dressed in bright robes, holding a glass box filled with scorpions, which were scuttling up and down the sides. A moment later the box exploded and the scorpions rained down, tails coiled into tight knots, landing on Zagora’s shoulders and arms, tangling in her hair, sliding down the back of her neck. Screaming, she tried brushing them away, but more and more came falling down.
“Hey, I’m trying to get some shut-eye here …,” mumbled Duncan. His eyes flew open and he jumped to his feet in a kung fu stance. “What’s all the noise?”
Zagora stood up, trembling. “I dreamed about scorpions,” she whispered. “They were in a glass box and it blew up and they were crawling all over me. It was so scary!”
“Oh man,” said her brother, “I hate scorpions, worse than desert horned vipers, even.”
Zagora was comforted to know that Duncan sympathized with her. In the past he would’ve been rolling on the floor laughing.
Turning her head, she saw the flicker of a lantern behind the beaded curtain.
“Please, what is wrong?” shouted Abdul. “Why are you screaming?”
Holding the brazier high, he moved, phantomlike, onto the terrace, cloak blowing in the night air. The parrot fluttered at his shoulder. Behind Abdul, Zagora could see Uncle Ali, his eye gleaming like a pale marble. Her screams must have been really loud—maybe loud enough to wake up the whole neighborhood.
Abdul stood over her, swinging the brazier and looking concerned, his skin an eerie blue.
“I had a nightmare,” she whispered, her teeth chattering. “First I saw Mina, then she turned into Olivia, and then—” She knew she wasn’t making sense, and she wished her dad were there instead.
“Then a box of scorpions blew up,” said Duncan.
“Scorpions were crawling all over me,” said Zagora with a shudder. “Hundreds of them. It was horrible!”
Uncle Ali moved nearer. Looking into his blind milky eye, Zagora wondered if she’d made a mistake telling them about her nightmare.
“These people in your dream,” said Abdul in a quiet voice, “who were they?”
“Mina Ash-Shaulah,” she told him, sounding out Mina’s entire name. It had a strange ring to it. “She’s a kid, like me.” She could see Uncle Ali frowning. “And Olivia Romanesçu. They’re just people I met in Marrakech.” Edgar’s words came back to her, about people in dreams trying to communicate. “Do you think they were trying to tell me something?”
Abdul and Uncle Ali huddled together, conversing in hushed tones.
“In Arabic, ash-shaulah means ‘raised tail of scorpion.’ ” Abdul seemed to glare at Zagora. Behind his angry countenance, she caught a glimpse of something else. Was it fear?
“Nobody gives a child an unlucky name such as this,” he went on. “Scorpions bring bad fortune, always. Dreams of scorpions awaken old curses. Years ago Uncle Ali had such a dream and the following day my cousin Josef was attacked by a scorpion.”
Zagora, her mind full of dark questions, stared first at Abdul, then at Uncle Ali. They both appeared to be extremely nervous. Was Abdul saying her dream was connected to some bad-luck curse? And what about Josef: had he survived the scorpion attack?
“Dreams of scorpions,” said Abdul, shaking his head. “This is very worrisome.”
He and Uncle Ali strode off, murmuring to each other, leaving Zagora and Duncan in the glowing blue darkness. Why were those two acting so strange? she wondered. It was only a dream.
“Zagora, look,” whispered Duncan, pointing to the sky.
She followed her brother’s finger, shocked to see Nar Azrak. Vast and glimmering, it loomed over them, shining so brightly it seemed almost supernatural. The planet was so much bigger than she had envisioned, its light intense—not at all like the pictures she’d seen on TV back home.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but as she stared at it, fearful and disbelieving, the planet seemed to loom larger by the minute, expanding to a monstrous blue globe on the distant horizon.
Early the next morning Zagora watched her dad as he loaded their packs into the trunk of their car. She’d hardly slept the night before, thinking about Abdul’s cousin being attacked by a scorpion, and worrying about Nar Azrak. It had looked awfully big for a planet.
“All set to go. The car’s running like clockwork,” her father announced. “We’re renting the camels from a fellow by the name of Badi al Raman, just a ten-minute drive from here.”
Zagora grinned, forgetting her worries. Today was the big day, and more than anything, she was deliriously excited.
“Dad, what did the astronomer say on TV last night?” asked Duncan, loping over to the car. She could tell by his bloodshot eyes that he hadn’t slept much, either.
“Sorry, kids, Abdul took me to the café, but unfortunately they couldn’t get the television to work. Never mind—we’ll get the details when we’re back in Marrakech.”
Duncan’s face fell.
“It’s okay, Dunkie,” said Zagora, seeing her brother’s expression. She felt anxious, too. “Nar Azrak was kind of big last night, but it’s still like a zillion miles away.” At least, she hoped it was; unlike Duncan, she had no idea how to estimate distances in outer space.
“Hello, good morning!” shouted a familiar voice. “I bring you an excellent guide!”
Zagora whirled around to see Razziq hurrying toward them, along with a young man wearing a baseball cap and a white burnoose bleached by the sun.
“Razz!” shouted Duncan, his face breaking into a wide grin. “Razz, you made it, buddy!”
“This is Occam,” said Razziq. “He is my uncle’s second cousin, and he has much desert experience. His English, okay, maybe not so good …”
Occam shook hands with each of them. Looks kind of skinny, thought Zagora, but maybe he’s real tough underneath.
“Razz’s coming with us, right, Dad?” said Duncan. “He can be our translator.”
Zagora saw her father hesitate, no doubt thinking, Oh no, one more kid to worry about.
“Please, Dad,” she said. “Razziq was born in the desert.”
“Yeah, and if anything goes wrong, Razz is our man,” added Duncan. “He knows how to kill snakes and stuff.”
“You might call me a desert rat.” Razziq flashed his toothy grin. “You’ll have no worries about me. My fam
ily does not worry, either. They know I am with Occam.”
“Hmm. Well, I suppose so,” said Dr. Pym with a sigh.
The three of them—Zagora, Duncan and Razziq—grinned excitedly and gave one another high fives. Now we really are a team of explorers, thought Zagora.
The next moment shouts filled the air and Abdul ran out from under the arcade, waving his arms and shouting: “Please, come quickly!”
Everyone raced to the shop. Zagora was the last to enter, calling after Duncan and Razziq, but they’d already disappeared into the gloom. The air hung thick and smoky, laced with smells of incense and musty carpets—and, she realized, something else: the electric smell of fear. From the back of the shop came a low keening wail and she felt a prickling down her spine.
“Abdul!” called Dr. Pym. “What’s happened?”
In the murky light Zagora saw Abdul on his knees, struggling to lift Uncle Ali. Face twisted with pain, Ali gave a low moan. The parrot on Abdul’s shoulder cried out as if its tiny heart were breaking.
“My uncle has been attacked!” said Abdul. “He is stung by scorpions.”
Zagora felt her stomach drop.
“Let’s get him out of here,” she heard her father say. “Hurry!”
“Oh no!” croaked Duncan. “What’s that on the floor?”
Zagora stamped one foot and heard a crackling beneath her sandal. “Scorpions!” she cried, wheeling on Duncan and grabbing him by his shoulder.
His face was deadly white. “They’re all over the place!”
Spinning around, Zagora saw one scorpion, then another … and another. Terror engulfed her. She felt as if she’d been here before. Then she realized that the scene was just like her dream the night before. There were dozens of scorpions, dropping from the carpets and walls, crawling down cabinets, scuttling across the floor. A scorpion the size of a mouse leapt onto the counter, knocking over the basket of coins. Zagora was terrified.
Duncan gave her a push and they bolted for the door. Trembling, she waited outside with her brother and Razziq, who both seemed as dazed as she was. Soon the door flew open. Her father and Abdul carried Uncle Ali out of the shop and set him down in the shadowy arcade.
“Is Uncle Ali okay?” asked Zagora, staring at the welts on the elderly man’s neck.
“Did I not tell you scorpion dreams awaken old curses?” Abdul glared furiously at her. “Ash-shaulah: ‘raised tail of scorpion.’ You bring into my house a plague of scorpions!”
“That was just a dream!” she cried. “Those scorpions weren’t real!”
Duncan stepped forward. “This isn’t my sister’s fault, Mr. Abdul,” he said, surprising Zagora with his boldness. “My sister hates scorpions. She wouldn’t go near one if her life depended on it.”
She threw her brother a grateful smile.
“Your accusations are unfair, Abdul,” said her father calmly. “You are talking about old superstitions from the desert.”
“Think again, my friend.” Abdul’s eyes were filled with cold fury. “This girl is not like us. She sees things that we cannot.” Zagora stiffened, hearing his words. “Perhaps she has the power to call up scorpions, who knows?”
What was he talking about? Desert sight was one thing, but he was talking about an evil kind of power.
“This is ludicrous!” shouted Duncan. “My sister doesn’t have a mean bone in her body!”
Zagora blinked hard; she still couldn’t believe her brother was actually defending her. He never would have done this back home.
Abdul rose slowly to his feet and she shrank from his withering gaze. The parrot hopped and chattered on his shoulder. Even that silly bird seemed to be accusing her. “Please go, all of you,” said Abdul in a weary voice. “You are no longer welcome at Maison Tuareg.”
Zagora sat in silence as the car sped southward, tires hissing on the road, heading for Badi al Raman’s compound. She wanted to enjoy the desertlike scenery, but all she could see was Uncle Ali’s terrified face and scorpions coming out of the walls.
“There must be a scorpion nest in that shop somewhere,” said Duncan, clearly trying to explain away the strangeness of what had just happened. “There were hundreds of those things! They could’ve attacked us in our sleep!”
“Thanks for defending me, Duncan,” said Zagora. “I can’t believe Abdul said all those things.” She felt a new warmth toward her brother—not just because of the snake incident, but because of the way he had stood up to Abdul.
“I can’t believe Abdul kicked us out of Maison Tuareg,” Duncan muttered. “Why did he accuse us? We’re just tourists! And all that stuff about artifacts and black market meteorites, like we’re this gang of international smugglers or something.”
Abdul’s harsh accusations had hurt Zagora—and she still couldn’t help finding him a bit mysterious. She knew he’d sensed that she was different in some way, but he’d guessed wrong, thinking she had the power to call up scorpions. Even if it turned out she had desert sight, that was a different sort of power. Desert sight was seeing into the past, not attacking people with scorpions.
“This man, Abdul, was angry,” said Razziq, “but I think also he was fearful.”
“Abdul was distraught,” said their father. “He said things he didn’t mean. But I suspect you’re right, Razziq: he was afraid. I think perhaps Uncle Ali has influenced him—and Ali is superstitious, fearful of many things.”
Zagora remembered the creepy feeling she’d had the night before when she told Abdul and Uncle Ali about her dream.
“We’ll never know if Uncle Ali has made it or not,” she said, wondering if there was such a thing as antiscorpion medicine. “I hope he’ll be okay.”
“I will return to Maison Tuareg,” promised Razziq. “I will find out and tell you.”
“Thanks,” Zagora said, throwing the boy a wan smile. It seemed she could always count on Razziq. “I’m going to worry about him until I hear.”
Noticing a basket on the seat beside her, she remembered that Abdul had packed them a lunch. She passed around sandwiches of potato, egg and peppers on flat-bread, and they munched quietly. Duncan dropped pieces of egg on the upholstery, but Zagora didn’t mention it—not after he’d turned out to be her ally.
Gazing across a treeless plain, watching sunlight bounce off the stones, she suddenly realized she was forgetting all the things she’d left behind. She could hardly recall her trilobite collection and Tintin comics, her collection of Harry Potter figurines and her new five-speed bike. The faces of real people, like Aunt Claire and her Latvian email pal, Doña, were fading. She tried to remember, but couldn’t recall, the smell of pickles and fly spray in Aunt Agnes’s kitchen.
She was alarmed at first, but as she leaned out the window, breathing in the sunbaked earth, she felt oddly serene, as if those things didn’t matter or had happened in another lifetime. There was a reason she was forgetting: because something much larger loomed ahead. Events she couldn’t explain were taking place, things she never could have predicted. She would be going home eventually—but not to the home she knew.
“Occam says we turn here.” Razziq pointed to a narrow sand-blown track. “This road will take us to Badi al Raman.”
Zagora saw a palm grove floating in a wavy green line and, beyond, a square building with a low thatched roof. This was it: the camel place! Her father pulled into a courtyard surrounded by acacia trees and she bolted from the car.
“Where are the camels?” she yelled, kicking up yellow plumes of dust.
“First we drink tea and barter for dromedaries—what you call camels,” said Razziq, climbing out after her. “Then we will go to the desert. This is the order of things.”
Zagora recognized dromedary from one of her books about camels in the Sahara. The word had a solid ring to it, like a term from one of her dad’s geology books. Dromedary, lapidary, sedimentary.
“Hello, my friends, welcome!” A round-faced man with rimless glasses and a black mustache appeared at the door
way. “I am Badi al Raman. Please, come inside.”
Badi al Raman came out and took them into the cool, darkened building. Everyone sat on the fuchsia-and-gold carpet while their host bustled around, making jokes as he poured tea from a copper pot, putting them all at ease. Zagora thought he looked like a cross between a garden gnome and a Buddha. The dirt floor had been swept clean, but she had a funny feeling that this was where the camels slept. It smelled sort of like, well, camel.
Dr. Pym bartered with Badi al Raman for camels, a tent, food and supplies. Zagora could tell from his confident manner that her dad had done this plenty of times before. After two rounds of tea and some good-natured arguing, her father ceremoniously handed over a stack of dirham notes to the camel owner. Then the two men shook hands.
Badi al Raman took them outside to a dusty square. Three camels, each with a leather harness and saddle on a brightly colored blanket, stood chewing the tall weeds. Heart pounding in excitement, Zagora ran around each camel, laughing as they snorted and showed their leathery gums and square yellow teeth.
“Hey, guys, where’s Razziq’s camel?” asked Duncan. “He needs one, too! So where is it?”
Zagora saw Razziq place a hand on her brother’s arm.
“I will walk into the desert,” said Razziq. “Do not worry, my friend, for me it is not a hardship.”
“But it’s hot out there. It’s over a hundred degrees!” Duncan thought a moment. “Listen, Razz, if you get tired, you can take a turn on my camel. I don’t mind walking.”
Had she just heard Duncan offer Razziq his camel? This desert adventure and the snake attack really were changing her brother in extraordinary ways. Duncan wasn’t a nervous, paranoid kid anymore. He’s way tougher and braver, Zagora thought, and kind of, well, likeable.
Occam hoisted her onto a bony-ribbed camel and adjusted her foot straps. Once everyone was ready, the camels plodded out of the square, their driver, Occam, walking ahead of them, leading them down a sandy track through a grove of cypress trees. She looked back to see Razziq, walking barefoot, with a euphoric expression that she knew mirrored hers.
The Scorpions of Zahir Page 10