The Stone Warriors

by Michael Northrop

  “Dangerous?” said Ren. “What’s The Order going to do, hit people with them? They can’t even move.”

  “Not yet,” said Todtman. At first, she thought he was joking, but the grim look on his face didn’t crack, just deepened. “You already know that the ancient Egyptians believed they could make a statue of themselves in life and inhabit that form in the afterlife …”

  “Right,” said Ren, remembering. “Like in London, the second Death Walker, Willoughby … He looked just like the statue in his crypt.”

  “And King Tut looked just like his famous mask,” added Alex.

  Ren was happy to recall the sight of Tutankhamun in the Valley of the Kings, looking less like a boy king and more like a member of a boy band. “Yeah,” she confirmed. “He was supercute.”

  “I will take your word for it,” said Todtman. “But these statues were not made for their looks. They were made to be warriors.”

  “So wait,” said Alex, “The Order guys want to ‘inhabit’ those forms? They want to be ten feet tall and made of stone?”

  “They want to be invulnerable to harm,” said Todtman. “Unstoppable.”

  “But wouldn’t they need to be dead first? Like Tut and Willoughby?”

  Todtman took his eyes off the road and turned back toward Alex in a way that made Ren fear for her own life. “And you don’t think they would do that?” he said sharply. “The Order —”

  “Is a death cult,” she said. “We know. Could you please keep your eyes on the road?” But then she finally understood the full implication of what he was saying. “So wait, they plan to sacrifice themselves? They plan to turn themselves into Death Walkers?”

  Alex groaned. “Into supersized, indestructible Death Walkers.”

  HONK!

  An approaching truck finally caught Todtman’s attention — with its horn rather than its grille, thankfully. He veered back into his lane. “And I suspect their powers would be just as large as their bodies,” he said. “The Lost Spells unleashed the Death Walkers into this world, and the Lost Spells would allow these new ones to cross over, as well. And with the protection of those Spells …”

  “They would be impossible to banish, brought back for good,” said Alex. Ren turned and saw him looking down at his scarab. “The Book of the Dead, the scarab, nothing could stop them.”

  Ren tried to imagine it. Supersized Death Walkers with supersized powers. “Can you imagine how powerful Peshwar would be?” she said. “Those energy daggers could take down a building! Or their leader? Oh wow …”

  “He could control presidents, nations,” said Todtman. “And nothing could stop them — or even harm them.”

  “No wonder they’re working with the Death Walkers,” said Alex. “They are planning to become Death Walkers.”

  Todtman nodded solemnly. “The world of the dead is already bleeding into the world of the living, already taking hold. The Order and the Death Walkers plan to use that opening to rule — to live forever and rule a world shadowed by death.”

  Ren sat back, trying to imagine a world ruled by The Order and the Death Walkers. It was not a world she wanted any part of. “It’s a good thing we’re on our way to find the Spells right now,” she said. “We need to slam those doorways shut and put everything back the way it was!”

  She looked at the other two. Todtman was nodding, but Alex … Alex looked like she’d just punched him. She didn’t understand his reaction at all, at first. And then she did. “Oh,” she said. “Oh no.”

  Todtman kept his eyes fixed on the road. “Yes,” he said. “We have no way of knowing what will happen if the doorways close for good, but the risk was always clear — the risk to Alex.”

  Always clear? she thought. Clear to who? She hadn’t signed up for this.

  “Was it clear to you?” she said, staring back between the seats at Alex and not entirely succeeding in keeping the pity out of her voice.

  “I was kind of trying not to think about it,” he admitted. “But if we use the Spells and everything goes back to the way it was before, well …”

  He couldn’t bring himself to say it, and she didn’t blame him.

  Because he was sick before — sick, at best.

  At worst, he was dead.

  That night, with the sun gone red again and just kissing the horizon, they arrived in Minyahur.

  Alex climbed out of the car into what felt like a different world, one where stone monsters were waiting to be born and where winning the battle against them might mean losing his life. He looked around as the others stood and stretched beside him. The little village was locked up as tight as a bank vault. It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet, but the half dozen buildings that made up the center of town slumbered like huddled animals. The doors were locked and the windows were dark and shuttered. The only light came from the rising moon and one lone streetlight.

  This was Minyahur, the place his mom thought of as a sanctuary, a quiet shelter in a mad world. The place he hoped to find her now.

  “Well, at least they have electricity,” Ren said, stretching her legs and gazing up at the flickering bulb.

  There wasn’t much for the faint light to reveal: A sandy landscape stretched out into the darkness. Lopsided mud-brick huts slumped together in modest bunches, with squared-off redbrick structures scattered among them like dropped Monopoly houses. Even the most run-down buildings seemed to have heavy doors and thick wooden shutters on the windows. Are there lights burning behind those shutters? he wondered. Is the town asleep, or is everyone gone?

  “Not very welcoming,” said Ren, looking around skeptically.

  Alex removed his scarab from under his shirt. It felt hot in his hand. Whatever the fate of the villagers, he now knew this: The dead are walking here.

  “Why don’t you two start looking around?” said Todtman. “I will try to find us somewhere to stay.”

  Ren looked at the dark, quiet buildings, each one as silent and still as a gravestone. “What if something has happened to them all?”

  “Exactly,” said Todtman. “We need to make sure that everything is all right here, that we will be safe for the night. But don’t go far.”

  Alex and Ren watched him turn and head toward the street, his broomstick cane making soft stabbing sounds as it punched into the sandy ground.

  “Come on,” said Alex. “There are some more buildings over this way.”

  They started out along the road, but it felt too exposed and without a word they veered off into the soft sand alongside. Wearing the boots he’d broken in in the Valley of the Kings, he felt at home in the sand. Boots just like his mom had always worn on her work expeditions.

  For the first time in what felt like forever, it seemed not just possible but likely that she was nearby. The familiar anticipation stirred inside him. He looked around at the desolate village: It looked like she had run to the very ends of the earth to escape them. To escape him. And this time, he didn’t really blame her. Who wouldn’t run from a spider?

  They headed deeper into the village’s sandy outskirts. One direction, Alex knew, led to the Nile — the source and anchor of all life in Egypt, rolling slowly north somewhere just beyond his sight. The other led farther into the vast Sahara desert. He looked out at it. The sand glowed like endless snow in the moonlight. It was beautiful, but he needed more than his eyes could give him now. He reached up and wrapped his hand around his amulet. His pulse quickened and his breath caught as he felt the exhilarating rush of ancient energy crackle through his system.

  Suddenly, the world around him began to shimmer ever so slightly. He’d hoped he could use the scarab to pinpoint a single strong signal. Instead, the living dead — or the death magic that brought them back — seemed to be all around them.

  “Not good,” he said, letting the scarab go. Using it for too long gave him a headache, anyway.

  They were approaching a little hut made of mud bricks, and Alex wasn’t sure if they should avoid it or check for signs of life. Up clos
e, he could see that it was painted a mustard yellow that seemed oddly cheerful. As he eyed it, he saw a ragged figure pull itself from the dark side of the house and out into the open. “Ren!” he said, but she’d already seen it.

  They both reached for their amulets with gunfighter speed.

  The figure stepped clear of the house and out into the moonlight. It was a raggedly dressed old man. Ren let out a deep breath and Alex felt his shoulders relax. But neither of them let go of their amulets as the old beggar began to speak.

  “Ah, children, strange children,” he said.

  Alex looked at the man. His skin was leathery and his hair was a matted and windblown mess. His frame was extremely thin and covered in an old brown robe. Alex hadn’t expected khakis or anything, but a ratty robe? They really were in the middle of nowhere now.

  Alex took a deep breath and plastered on a smile. “We’re looking for someone,” he said.

  “Oh yes? And who might that be?”

  “A woman,” he said. “A foreigner.”

  “I think I might know something about that,” said the old man enigmatically.

  “Alex!” hissed Ren, taking a step back.

  But Alex ignored her, taking a step forward. Does this old man really know something about my mom?

  “I’ll tell you,” the man said. “For a coin.”

  Alex reached into his pocket.

  “Alex!” said Ren, louder this time.

  He shot her a look: Not now! With his hand still on his amulet, he felt safe. He pulled a handful of Egyptian coins out of his pocket. The man extended his hand, long nails pointing out, his palm creased with dirt. But as Alex dropped the coins into the man’s hand, something occurred to him. How can I understand this man? What are the odds that a beggar on the fringes of Arabic-speaking Egypt speaks perfect English? As the change began to fall, he looked down at his amulet — the one that allowed him to speak ancient Egyptian when he held it. Uh-oh.

  The change hit the man’s greasy palm — and fell right through it. The coins thunked softly into the sand below.

  The old man — or his spirit, anyway — looked down at the fallen coins and then looked up at Alex with a sheepish grin. “I never was very good with money,” he said. And as he did, he began to change. His mouth widened, his eyes went black in the moonlight …

  Alex scrambled back and felt his foot catch on a stone. He windmilled his arms for balance but it was too late. He hit the ground hard enough to feel a sharp pain shoot up his tailbone into his spine. He looked up and saw a ring of sharp teeth with a pure blackness at its center. His hand had come off his amulet in the fall, and he fumbled for it desperately.

  FWOOOP!

  A blinding white flash lit his vision, leaving him seeing stars and nothing else. He rolled away blindly, the gritty sand rubbing against his skin and slipping into his clothing.

  When his vision cleared, he looked up to see the teeth replaced by … Ren.

  “If I am going to keep saving your butt,” she said, “the least you can do is stop falling on it.”

  “Yeah, ha-ha,” said Alex, extending his hand and attempting to salvage at least a little of his dignity. “If you’re going to keep blinding me with that thing, the least you could do is help me up.”

  Ren reached down and took his outstretched hand. “I think we should probably head back now,” she said, giving him a tug.

  “Yeah, good idea,” said Alex, eyeing a desert that suddenly looked less beautiful than eerie.

  They walked back wordlessly. Alone with his thoughts, Alex finally allowed himself to really think about what Todtman had said: “The risk was always clear.” A risk … Not a certainty.

  And what exactly was the risk? He could deal with being sick again, though he would dearly miss this new health. He stood up straight and breathed in the clear desert air. He felt his system working smoothly and efficiently: extracting oxygen, pumping blood. There was no needles-and-pins stinging in his limbs, no bowling-ball queasiness in his gut, no lead-heavy exhaustion. He’d gotten so used to this, almost took it for granted now. Yeah, he’d miss it. But it was the other possibility that he needed to face: Will this mission cost me my life? Or is there some way we could end The Order’s plans without ending me, too?

  The truth was, he didn’t know, and that’s what he needed to make peace with. He listened to the muffled crunch of his best friend’s footsteps and stared up at a moon as pale as bone. He’d caused so much trouble to so many people already. Maybe this was the way it had to be. Ren had been risking her own safety for him this whole time. Maybe it was time for him to take the biggest risk of all, for her — and everyone else.

  He glanced over at his friend, her small frame dwarfed by a barren desert that stretched to the horizon. He felt as if he had dragged her to the end of the earth, too, put her through so much. Am I willing to die to end all this? he wondered.

  He kicked the ground and walked on.

  I should be dead already.

  Todtman had found them a place to stay, all right — right back in the Benz. “There are people here,” he had said. “But they are afraid. I think, perhaps, it is best not to impose on them right now — or to trust them.”

  An hour later, Ren was lying in the backseat, since she was short enough to fit. The other two had the front seats reclined as far as they would go. She looked out the wide rear window at the sky above. It was so dense with stars that it seemed to shimmer and pulse. It didn’t press down on her vision as much as lift it up. They were still parked behind the same little cluster of buildings. Are we safe here? she wondered.

  A car, when it came right down to it, didn’t offer much shelter. And yet, she didn’t feel afraid. Part of that was her company. Todtman was formidable with his falcon — even if he was snoring a little too loudly at present. And sometimes it seemed like Alex could move mountains with that scarab. Amazing for a kid who couldn’t even get through gym class a year ago … But part of it had nothing to do with the others. She looked down to see the ibis glowing softly in the starlight.

  She considered it again with fresh eyes. She could do so much more with it now. She could pick locks and zap spirits and blind the occasional giant fly. And as for the images, maybe she had just been thinking about them the wrong way. She’d always thought that it was giving her answers and she was failing to understand them half the time. But what if it was just giving her information, guidance? What if it isn’t the answer key? What if it is the studying?

  Alone in the backseat, she smiled. More than anyone else she knew, she liked studying.

  A moment later, she was snoring, too.

  The next morning dawned sunny, despite it all.

  Alex woke up first, seat-sore and hungry. His body felt creaky, but inside he was buzzing. If this was the day they finally found his mom, it could be the best day of his life. It could also be the last. It felt like Christmas morning, with maybe a little too much Halloween thrown in. He tried to imagine seeing her again, after so long. Would I run up and hug her? he wondered. Would she let me?

  He twisted his stiff neck toward the backseat. “Hey, Ren,” he said over the sound of Todtman’s precise, measured snoring. “You awake?”

  “I am now,” she groaned.

  The exchange woke Todtman. “Guten Morgen,” he croaked.

  Alex and Ren responded with grunts.

  Donk! Donk! Donk!

  All three heads whipped around. There was a man outside the car, knocking on Todtman’s window. Todtman straightened his seat and lowered the window. There was a quick conversation in Arabic, a few bills handed over, and the man vanished.

  “That is the owner of the store we are parked behind,” said Todtman. “There is a fee for parking here. I suspect it has been in effect for exactly as long as we have been here. Also, he wanted to know if we want breakfast.”

  “Definitely,” said Alex. His feelings were a confusing swirl, but his stomach was making itself very clear by rumbling loudly.

  Th
e three climbed out of Hotel Mercedes and into the bright Egyptian daylight. They walked around the buildings and onto the main road, doing their best to stretch and smash down their Benz-head hair as they went.

  Alex was surprised by the number of people on the street. Minyahur had been a ghost town the night before — literally — but now it was alive with activity. He checked the time on his phone. Apparently, the village that shuts down early wakes up early, too. Looking at the heavy wooden shutters, flung open now, he thought he understood. Ren had saved him from a terrifying fate with her ibis last night, but these people didn’t have amulets. They had only solid walls to hide behind.

  He heard footsteps and stepped aside as a group of women walked past on the cracked concrete sidewalk. They were wearing traditional Muslim garb, covered head-to-toe in long black abayas and veils that left only their eyes visible.

  “Aren’t they hot?” whispered Ren as they passed, looking down at her own sporty, short-sleeved outfit.

  Alex scanned the village center. There were dozens of people, carrying bags or leading children or just walking swiftly toward some unknown destination. Most of the men wore pumpkin-sized turbans and the traditional white Egyptian gowns known as galabeyas. But almost all the women were wearing those same all-concealing black outfits. It’s a perfect disguise, he realized with both horror and some small bit of admiration. Mom could walk right past me and I’d never know.

  A bell tinkled as they pushed through the front door of the store.

  “Ah!” said the shopkeeper. “Breakfast, yes?” He gave Alex and Ren a quick look and a slick smile. “How is my English? Good, yes? It used to be, but I do not get a chance to practice much out of here.”

  Alex smiled back politely. “So,” he said. “What kind of breakfast are we talking about?”

  It was mostly dry, sugary biscuits and tea, but they all wolfed it down at a small table in the back of the store. Then they headed toward the front to pay for the food — and extra for any information. “The shopkeepers hear everything in a town like this,” whispered Todtman.