As she ran through the courtyard, the ground began to shake. The dome seemed to be breaking apart. She saw scorpions leaping off the walls in confusion, legs entangled as they hit the sand. Then they righted themselves and scattered in all directions.
“Faster, guys!” huffed Duncan, herding them away from a scorpion.
Mud, dirt and stones rained down. The dome was caving in!
The children raced as fast as they could, dodging claws and scorpion tails, trying to avoid the collapsing walls. From behind them came deep rumbles and crashes as sections of the ceiling fell to the ground. Then Zagora heard another sound, very faint, rising out of the desert. Cutting through the noise was the muffled pounding of hoofbeats, growing louder against the sandy earth, and suddenly she was filled with hope.
The three dove beneath the first archway, huddling together and gaping at one another in fear while the dome continued to spew dust and rocks. A fine dust blew over them, stinging Zagora’s face as her breath came in short, painful gasps. With the dome almost completely down, she could see that they were in a courtyard the size of a football field, enclosed by low walls of rose-colored stone.
She heard the drumming of hooves, much closer now. An instant later she saw an oryx sail into the courtyard in a burst of brilliance that hurt her eyes. Then came another, and another, red sand billowing, all the oryxes with heads lowered and scimitar horns gleaming.
“The oryxes are returning!” Zagora cried, awed by the noble creatures with fearless hearts. “They’re coming to take back Zahir!”
The scorpions froze, legs tensed to spring. There was a profound silence as oryxes and scorpions sized up one another. Then, all at once, they leapt into action, charging one another head-on—fighting, shrieking, colliding—and Zagora’s ears rang with the noise of battle. Terrified, she watched the oryxes, slashing at the scorpions with their horns, and thought how brave they were, how magnificent.
At the far end of the courtyard, where two massive wooden doors had crumbled to the ground, Zagora saw the Azimuth appear, as if in a dream, and for a short while the skirmishing between oryxes and scorpions subsided. The Azimuth came storming in through clouds of sand. They were tall, spectral and warrior-like, wearing elegant purple robes looped over their shoulders, eyes burning with supernatural gazes. They streamed into the courtyard, some on foot, others on camels, carrying swords and flaming torches, led by a tiny birdlike woman in turquoise and scarlet, her face like carved stone. She moved with a regal stride.
“The Azimuth,” said Zagora. “Look, there’s Mina’s grandmother!” She could hardly believe this imposing woman was Noor, the gnarled old lady she’d met in Marrakech.
A slight, wiry figure jostled through the crowd, waving to her. “Mina!” she cried, and both girls began running.
As they reached each other, Zagora saw that her friend looked oddly changed. There was a flush of red on Mina’s cheekbones and her hair hung in plaits beneath a gold headband. The blue silken robes she wore looked almost new, except for a tear down one sleeve. Mina looks like a scrappy princess, Zagora thought as she hugged her, inhaling her minty scent.
Duncan and Razziq came running up, and Zagora felt her eyes blur with tears.
“We’re a team again,” she told them. “Not even the scorpions can stop us now!”
The Azimuth warriors stood silently, contemplating the scorpions across the width of the courtyard, while the oryxes quietly surrounded the pyramid. Nar Azrak, Zagora noticed with sudden panic, was moments away from blotting out the moon.
Squaring her shoulders, she stepped forward, summoning all her courage. Duncan, Razziq and Mina closed in protectively around her. She stood tall, her blue eyes solemn, her dark wavy hair shining, the prophecy seared into her mind.
In a defiant gesture, Zagora raised the Oryx Stone high over her head. The stone flared, and light poured out of it, illuminating the faces of the bedraggled group, containing them inside a mystical circle. The Circle of Four, she thought, that’s us.
“We’re the Circle of Four, the four kids in Xuloc’s foretelling,” she said. She felt herself glowing with a mysterious inner light. “We’re brave and we escaped hyenas and scorpions and we fought Olivia and we took back the stone.” She lifted her chin determinedly. “The Azimuth are depending on us to save Zahir. Your mission is to stand against the scorpions until the stone is in place.” Closing her hand over the stone, she shook her fist in the air. “Death to the scorpions!”
“Death to the scorpions!” echoed the others in unison, raising their fists.
Zagora turned and ran like the wind, arms flailing. She thought only of the prophecy. A high, hollow whickering filled the air and she saw deathstalkers moving toward the Azimuth warriors. Near the pyramid, darker, larger scorpions clustered in tight knots, lashing their tails and shattering the blue stones. Overhead, vultures gathered.
As she approached the pyramid, the oryxes charged the scorpions. She saw one scorpion escape, its twisted outline crawling up the pyramid, quiet as a ghost except for its hissing breath. Mina screamed, and Duncan shouted “Run!” just as the scorpion lunged.
Zagora jumped onto the pyramid and scrabbled up, her stomach knotted with fear. Gazing out over the courtyard, she saw two blue-cloaked figures, scimitars at their sides, emerge from the whirling sand on white camels, charging in through the crumbled gateway. The first rider was Pitblade Yegen, and the second was Charles W. Pym. Both looked like true desert warriors. Zagora was so happy she thought she might burst into tears.
She clambered higher, grasping the handholds carved into the stones, terrified of losing her grip and falling backward. Shouts from Azimuth fighters echoed throughout the courtyard, along with the clash of oryx horns and scorpion claws.
Scorpions clattered up the pyramid behind her, shrieking with rage. One leapt into the air and landed just below Zagora’s feet, so close she could smell its moldy breath. It had jumped from the ground below! A second scorpion appeared beside the first, hissing wildly, followed by a third that sprang onto the pyramid, claws extended.
Zagora froze. They were closing in on her!
“Oh no you don’t!” shouted a no-nonsense voice, and she blinked in surprise, seeing her father climb expertly up the pyramid, not bothering with the handholds, carrying not one but two torches, the scimitar at his side. The three scorpions came to a standstill. Zagora’s heart filled with pride: her dad was risking his life to save her!
Looking more like an Azimuth warrior than an absentminded professor, Dr. Pym ducked as a huge claw whipped past his head. Zagora watched, hardly daring to breathe, as her father flung a torch, setting fire to one of the scorpions. It reared back with an anguished wail, sliding down the pyramid.
Where on earth had her father learned to fight scorpions?
Chewing on her knuckles, she watched him brandish his remaining torch at the two scorpions. As one of them advanced, he pulled out his scimitar and lopped off a claw; then he plunged his sword into the creature’s crusty shell. With a shudder the scorpion pitched sideways, foam dripping from its mouth, and bumped down the pyramid. From below came a great roar, and looking down, Zagora saw the Azimuth tribesmen, waving their swords triumphantly.
“Keep going, Zagora, you’re nearly there!” shouted her father.
Recovering her balance, she scrambled up, struggling higher, fearing that at any moment she might go hurtling down the side of the pyramid. With blistered hands and a pounding heart, she felt weak from head to toe. Hauling herself up by sheer willpower, she continued, inch by inch, listening to the frenzied clamor of oryxes and scorpions below.
She had a clear view of Nar Azrak, directly overhead, moving into the path of the moon. Don’t give up now, Zagora told herself. You’re going to make it.
From behind her came a crazed skittering, and twisting around, she saw a scorpion, far bigger than the others, surging up the pyramid. Terrified, she scrabbled frantically upward. A claw shot past, like a gleaming scythe, inches away, a
lmost knocking her off.
The scorpion unfurled its poison-tipped tail. Reaching for the Oryx Stone, Zagora pressed her fingers around the edges, feeling it grow warm in her hand. She’d been concentrating so hard on climbing she hadn’t had a chance to use the stone against the scorpions. When she held it up, it glowed with a molten heat, transforming into a sphere of fire far brighter than the stars overhead—brighter, even, than Nar Azrak. A bolt of light shot out and the huge scorpion went up in flames. This is it, Zagora told herself. Nothing can catch me now.
The moon was a thin sliver: in a matter of seconds it would disappear completely. She willed herself up the last few inches, her arms heavy as stones, her nerves screaming and her shoulders blazing with pain. At last she was at the top, suspended between the earth and sky. She took a deep breath, her gaze taking in the whole of the desert.
A deep serenity fell over her. She could feel the transcendent energy of the Oyrx Stone. It seemed as if the desert world was struggling to right itself. As for her, she knew she wasn’t the same girl who had entered the desert just a few days before.
Lifting the stone, Zagora closed her eyes and murmured a series of words, all of them incomprehensible, and she sensed someone was speaking through her from another place and time. She felt the blood beating behind her eyelids as, in her own language, she whispered, “This is for you, Edgar Yegen.”
Wedging her foot against the side of the pyramid, she leaned forward and set the Oryx Stone into the small hollow space, like placing a crown on the forehead of a high king. The stone fit perfectly.
At that instant a mass of dark blue exploded overhead. Zagora looked up to see Nar Azrak careering away from Earth at an almost impossible speed. The wind faded to a dull roar, the sand ceased to blow, the vultures flapped away and her hand was suddenly empty. Down in the courtyard the giant scorpions lay scattered and unmoving, like huge chess pieces turned on their sides. Even from this distance she could tell they were dead.
Desert peace and quiet prevailed. The moon and stars shone like desert jewels.
Exhausted but victorious, Zagora gazed down at Duncan, Razziq and Mina, her dearest companions in the world. Standing at the base of the pyramid in a half circle, they looked up at her, waving and shouting in triumph, the oryxes lined up behind them, radiant in the moonlight, their noble heads lifted to the sky.
Zagora stood on the turret at the top of the Tower of the Enigmas, gazing up at Nar Azrak. For hours, ever since the Oryx Stone had been returned, the planet had been growing visibly smaller. Duncan was certain that it was heading back into its old orbit. It must be true, she thought dreamily, because Nar Azrak was much dimmer, and the stars and moon were breathtakingly visible.
Pitblade Yegen was showing Duncan and Razziq how to work the astrolabe, and everyone was taking turns looking through Duncan’s telescope, set up on a lightweight tripod he’d dug out of his pack. Zagora and the boys had exchanged tearful goodbyes with Mina, who had left with Noor to celebrate the Azimuth tribe’s return to Zahir. Pitblade had promised to have the city excavated and ready to move into by the next summer.
Zagora gazed out at the city of Zahir rising mysteriously out of the dunes. From here she could see the Pyramid of Xuloc, glimmering in the dark, and she thought of her precious Oryx Stone, and how in this ordinary world there existed extraordinary things, just waiting to be found.
As they trooped downstairs for the evening meal, she thought, The nights won’t be scary or dangerous anymore, now that the scorpions are gone. She sniffed, suddenly feeling hungry: the air was redolent of cheese and olives. They shared a meal of crusty bread, figs and melons, and as they ate, they talked about the scorpions and the Oryx Stone.
“We need never fear the scorpions again,” said Pitblade. “Each of us played a role in returning the Oryx Stone—you especially, Zagora.”
“Simply put,” her father said, “you were exceedingly brave. I’m terribly proud of you.”
Zagora beamed. She’d never really done anything important or meaningful in her life—until now.
The adults mulled over the unknown fate of Olivia Romanesçu. Finding no trace of her or her henchmen in the palace, they of course feared the worst.
“I feel responsible for Olivia’s dreadful actions,” said Pitblade. Zagora saw a look of regret on his face. “She was my cousin, after all, and I trusted her.”
“No one blames you. How could you have known her true nature?” said Dr. Pym. “Such a strange woman. While I was being held prisoner Olivia told me she’d glued a scorpion, still alive, to the envelope containing your letter to me.”
“Good heavens,” said Pitblade.
Zagora’s father narrowed his eyes at her. “That was the scorpion you dropped into Olivia’s tea, wasn’t it? Hmm, quite wicked of you.”
“Served her right, the old witch,” Zagora muttered.
“Let me guess,” her father said. “The scorpion was programmed to grow bigger the moment it made contact with water. One of her cutting-edge genetic engineering experiments.”
“You had that creepy thing in your pocket all the way from Boston to Morocco?” said Duncan, wrinkling his nose.
Zagora nodded. Scorpions were now at the top of her list of the Most Disgusting Creatures on Earth.
Suddenly feeling shy, she turned to Pitblade and said, “I have something for you.” Reaching into her backpack, she pulled out an ancient leather book, dust falling from its beetle-chewed pages, and handed it to him. His eyes misted over as he ran his fingers across the battered cover, and his face took on a faraway expression. He’s remembering his childhood, she thought.
“Thank you, Zagora,” he murmured, opening the worn leather cover. “You’ve no idea what my grandfather’s written words mean to me.”
Her father threw her a stern look, and she braced herself for an unpleasant scene.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had Edgar’s journal?” he asked.
Duncan and Razziq, sitting on either side of her, fell noticeably quiet.
Zagora felt a lump at the back of her throat. Why was she always messing up? “I just wanted to read it, that’s all. I always planned to give it back. I’m sorry, Dad.”
To her surprise, her father smiled. “When I was locked away in the palace, I had plenty of time to think about you and Duncan,” he said. “I know you try hard to be good, and maybe I’ve been too hard on you—perhaps I should give you more credit for the things you do right. You have a generous heart, Zagora. That’s what I love most about you.”
She felt her cheeks burning. Blinking back tears, she jumped up and threw her arms around her father.
Pitblade leafed slowly through the pages of the journal. “If you only knew the hours I spent as a boy poring over my grandfather’s words and sketches, fantasizing about one day becoming a desert explorer,” he said. “He died when I was very young, yet I feel as if I knew him well—maybe because his words have stayed with me all this time.”
“Me too, I feel the same way,” whispered Zagora, sad to think she’d never meet this remarkable man in person. It was odd how Edgar’s journal had become so real to her, more real at times than her life back home. She had come to regard Edgar almost like a fellow adventurer on her journey through the desert—an invisible companion through all the dangers she’d faced, advising and enlightening her along the way.
As the meal wound down, there was a knock at the door. Duncan jumped up to answer it. Zagora wondered who could be calling that late at night. A man in a turban and dust-covered robes, his face caked with dirt, staggered into the tower.
“Occam!” cried Razziq.
Dr. Pym rose to his feet. “Why, that’s our guide!”
After they’d all welcomed Occam and offered him bread and cheese, he turned to Razziq, speaking in rapid-fire Arabic.
“Occam left our campsite to look for the two camels,” Razziq translated. “On his way back, he was swallowed by the sand and fell down a dark hole with steep sides. There was no way t
o escape, and he worried that the sand might bury him alive.”
“Geez,” murmured Duncan.
Zagora leaned forward, curious to hear more.
“Occam shouted for help but no one came, so he played his flute instead. Fortunately a tribe of nomads passed by on horses and heard his music, and they helped Occam out of the hole.” Razziq paused. “But before he was rescued, Occam realized he wasn’t down there alone, because he felt something warm next to him, breathing on his fingers: an animal. Then he saw two big eyes—”
“An oryx?” whispered Zagora, though an oryx didn’t seem likely.
“A camel.” Razziq grinned. “A camel that had been pulled under the sand.”
“What?” shouted Zagora, her heart thumping wildly. “Where?” Leaping up, she rushed out of the tower, stumbling into the moonlit night.
A few yards away stood a raggedy, bony-ribbed camel, munching on a prickly pear bush. The camel stopped chewing and raised its eyes.
Zagora nearly fainted. Even in the darkness, she’d know those eyes anywhere. Big and brown, they were filled with the light of the desert, with extra thick lashes, just like Mrs. Bixby’s—minus the plastic-rimmed glasses, of course.
“Sophie!” Tears blurring her vision, she stumbled over to her long-lost friend. “Is that really you?” She threw her arms around the camel’s neck, kissing her weatherworn face.
“You still smell like Sophie,” she murmured, kissing the camel’s bristly fur, feeling a thrill of perfect happiness.
Zagora was on the last page of the biography of Helen Thayer, the first woman to walk across the Sahara on an ancient camel trade route, when she noticed her plane was starting down for a landing. Marrakech! That summer she was traveling solo to meet her father, who was already in Marrakech, after convincing him of how trustworthy and responsible she was now that she was twelve. Duncan, currently at a junior astronomers’ camp, would be joining them in August.
The Scorpions of Zahir Page 22