by P. J. Hoover
Her plan did make sense—if there was any chance it would work. I kind of liked the world just like it was—minus Horemheb. I didn’t want to see it change and have the world become a plaything of the gods.
We ended up in an atrium. In the center sat a building that looked like the crown jewel of the whole complex. It towered above every other structure and reminded me a lot of an oversized Lincoln Memorial: square with giant columns and a ton of steps. Trees of all sorts lined the perimeter, placed in stone urns, each big enough for Horus’s four sons to sit in. And instead of a statue of Abraham Lincoln sitting at the top of the stairs, a giant sculpture of Set stood in its place.
Over the years, I’d seen various incarnations of Set. Thank the gods I’d never seen him in all his flesh-and-blood godliness. But the incarnation in front of me now was the most ferocious, venomous, deadly image of the god I’d ever seen.
He stood thirty feet tall, had clawed hands and feet, and muscles popping out of places I never knew muscles could pop out of. He held a sickle with a blade sharp enough to slice passing dust particles in half. And his face drew my eyes and held them. The fanged teeth were bared, protruding from the snout nose.
“Nice statue,” I said.
Tia immediately put her finger to her mouth in a shushing motion. I couldn’t help but notice how pretty her lips were. Inwardly, I groaned. I was getting more pathetic by the second. So I filled my mind with thoughts of demolishing Horemheb. It was really going to happen. But my thoughts got the better of me, and flowers and leaves started sprouting on the trees nearby.
“What are you doing?” Tia ran to the nearest tree and clamped her hand over the new growth, attempting to hold it back. But branches and leaves pushed through her fingers.
I swore inwardly and tried to turn off my godly power. “I can’t help it.”
“You better learn to help it soon, or we’ll get caught,” she said.
“Would you get in trouble, too?” I said, trying to be funny, even as I tried to focus on controlling my supernatural powers.
Tia glared at me. “Just stop the flower thing, okay?”
“I’m trying.” And I was. Ten deep breaths later, all the new growth had come to a halt.
“Good,” she whispered.
I wondered how long I could keep control of the plant situation. Hopefully until I got the knife and cut out Horemheb’s polluted heart. We climbed the steps, hiding in the shadows. I hoped she knew what she was doing.
“Who’s there?” a voice called.
Both Tia and I froze mid-step.
“I said who’s there?”
I peeked around a column, not daring to breathe. A priest wearing a fake Set head stood inside the temple, near the altar. His ears reached a foot tall each, and fangs had been painted in bright red around his mouth. On top of the altar was a golden bowl that was big enough to bathe Horus in—not that I’d ever given Horus a bath—oh, except for that one time back in ancient Mongolia, but he’d sworn me to secrecy about the whole thing. The priest took a step toward us, even though we were hidden. Behind him, ten flowers bloomed on a fig tree.
“Ungrow them.” I could hardly hear Tia’s words between her clenched teeth.
“I can’t ungrow them,” I whispered back. “Plants don’t work that way.”
“Is anyone there?” the priest called again.
Neither of us moved.
An excruciating minute passed. I was sure we’d be caught any second. I barely held control of my powers. They threatened to explode with each second. Finally the priest shook his Set head and turned back to the altar.
The flowers on the fig tree burst into full bloom.
The priest tensed. I forced myself not to breathe, knowing at any second he’d call out the whole Cult of Set security force. There was no way that would end in my favor.
He stepped from the altar and slowly circled the room. Tia’s hand grabbed my arm and her fingernails dug into my skin. I’m not sure if she was trying to help matters or whether she was just nervous. I held my breath.
After what felt like an eternity longer than my immortal lifetime, the priest said a prayer to Set, then left the temple.
The second he was out of sight I relaxed, and in a final burst, every tree in the place blossomed. Bugs crawled from the walls, spilling out onto the floor. Flies filled the air, clustering around the lights like shadows.
“That was way too close,” Tia said. “Control yourself.”
“Get your fingernails out of my flesh.”
Blood pooled under each of her nails. Tia instantly let go and I passed my hand over the wounds, channeling energy from my scarab heart and healing them over.
“And stop showing off,” she said. But the torches around the temple gave off enough light that I could see she was impressed.
“One of the benefits of immortality,” I said.
“Can you heal this?” She pulled her sleeve up and held out her arm, causing her bracelets to hang low over her hand. A red line ran from her elbow to her wrist, just barely scabbed over. It looked like someone had cut her with a knife.
“How’d you get that?” I reached out and touched it, pushing her bracelets out of the way.
“A fight,” she said.
I’d lived long enough to know there was way more to it than that.
“Something to do with your quest?” I asked.
Tia nodded. “The last object I tried to steal. I almost got caught.”
“What was it?” I asked, tracing my fingers over the cut on her arm.
“Did you forget about the secrecy thing?”
Her and her secrets. “Can you at least tell me if you got it?”
She scowled. “I didn’t get it. But I will next time.”
I let go of her arm even though I kind of enjoyed holding it. “I can’t heal other people. Just myself. I’m sorry.” And I really was. It was a great power, being able to heal myself. But it also felt kind of selfish. Like I should be able to do more for other people but never could.
“It’s okay. It will heal on its own.” Tia pulled her sleeve back down and pointed to the altar. “Anyway, your knife is up there.”
“In the bowl?”
She nodded.
“But that’s so easy,” I said. Amun, I could have found that on my own with a little more time to look around.
“It’s protected by a deadly weapon,” Tia said. “So be careful.”
“What kind of weapon?” I asked. Why couldn’t anything be easy?
“A deadly one,” Tia said, enunciating the word deadly as if to say, Didn’t you hear me the first time, moron?
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks.”
“Good luck,” she said. “And hurry up.”
I tried to still my nerves, but insects continued to pour into the room. I needed the knife. And anyway, how deadly could the weapon be? I was immortal.
When I got within two steps of the altar, I heard the voice.
“Tutankhamun.”
It was so soft that I thought it was a whisper. But when it came again, I realized it wasn’t even a whisper; it was in my mind.
“Tutankhamun.” A red glow escaped from the bowl along with the scent of burning cinnamon.
I took another step and reached out, wanting to touch the light. I inhaled the smell, and things started to get a little fuzzy.
“Tutankhamun,” the voice said again. Along with my name, it started pushing something through my mind. Or pulling. Memories began to flow.
I was back in my palace, running like a wild child through the halls, getting in the way of every servant I passed. I’d never been raised to be pharaoh. That was always going to be my brother, Smenkhkare’s, job. I got to do whatever I wanted. Play in the mud. Skip out on boring formal events. Smenk, on the other hand, was the one who had all the instruction. He was the one with the prearranged marriage. He was the one who had to spend his childhood sitting in on important meetings with our father. And he was also the first one killed.
<
br /> I’d been the one to discover his body. I’d run into his rooms in what was just one more attempt to get him to play with me. But when I pushed the doors open, even though it was midmorning, Smenk was still in bed. I tried to shake him. He didn’t wake. I tried harder, calling his name and trying to lift him up, but his body fell limp back to the bed. Smenk blurred in my vision and my eyes got really watery. He wouldn’t get up.
I screamed at him. Kicked him. He never moved.
It was my cries that had drawn the palace guard. An investigation had been made. But no foul play had been found. I was only five at the time, and in my mind, my brother was perfect and cool and awesome. Everything a big brother should be. Except he was dead.
* * *
My memories shifted, and I sat with my mother in the palm house. Life sure changed after my brother’s death. I had all sorts of responsibilities. All kinds of training. I was destined to be pharaoh after my father, but I had no clue how to rule a country. I had tutors for every subject possible, so education took up the bulk of each day. I had to learn manners and foreign languages and how to be a good moral judge. It hurt my head. Most of it I hated.
My mom knew exactly how I felt and insisted I get time with her each day. We’d spend our time in the palm house, which was connected through a breezeway to the main palace. It was our special place, and when we were there, no one else was allowed in. The servants would bring us a light snack, most of which I would feed to the fish. My mom would tell me stories while I played in the pond and studied the plants. I would pretend I had important tasks to do, cataloguing the different species, just so she would stay with me a bit longer. She always went along with my games. She told me of all the magnificent things I would do when I became pharaoh. How wise and just I’d be. I believed her.
I remembered the day her voice fell silent. She’d been telling me a story about how the world was created with a cosmic egg. Even though it was a long story about religion, which had never been my favorite subject, the way my mom told it had me laughing and crying in the span of minutes. She’d just finished a particularly sad part. I thought she was taking a break. Having a sip of wine. I kept feeding the fish and hid my tears so she wouldn’t think I was weak.
When she didn’t begin talking again, I looked in her direction. She lay slumped over on the bench.
“Mother!” I rushed to her side.
“I don’t feel so well, Tut,” she said. “I need help.”
It was too late by the time I got help. My mother was dead.
Horemheb had been behind it. He’d been in control of the death reports. It was no wonder foul play had never been found. I should have been suspicious because, when my tears fell into the pond, all the fish were dead, too … from the food I’d been feeding them.
* * *
My mind shifted again, but this time it was no memory. I stared down at my own dead body, laid out in the sarcophagus made of granite. Natron covered every part of me except my face. Even though I was dead, my entire body ached, like all my insides had been pulled out while I was still alive. Like somehow I was dead in the sarcophagus and yet still alive.
“You will die, Tutankhamun,” the voice in my head said. “You will fail at everything in life and then you will die. You are a failure. You are worthless. You are the reason your family is dead.”
It was my worst fear.
This wasn’t real.
This wasn’t going to happen.
And I’d had enough.
* * *
I pushed the images away. They came back with twice the strength, nearly dropping me to the ground with the horror of emotions they brought. Memories from my past and visions from my future flooded me. I pushed harder against them. Failure. Worthless. The words were repeated over and over again.
I was not a failure. I was not going to be a part of these visions. And I didn’t have time for games.
I plunged my hands into the golden liquid. It began to coil and twist like liquid mercury. I tried to pull my hands out, but they were locked in place. The golden liquid seeped into my pores. I tried to push it out, but it was no use. It burrowed inside me. And then it was gone.
At the bottom of the empty bowl lay the knife. Three gemstones decorated the hilt, and the blade was pure gold. The only time I’d seen it had been in Horemheb’s unworthy hand in the cemetery.
Now it was within my reach.
I grabbed the knife and held it victoriously over my head. I would have my revenge.
20
WHERE I STEAL THE HOLY SCEPTER OF SET
No sooner was my hand out of the bowl than the golden liquid regenerated.
Tia stared at me with wide eyes. “You’re crying.” She took a step forward and her arms moved out a little, like she wanted to hug me but wasn’t sure if she should.
I stepped to the side, out of her reach. “It’s nothing.” I tucked the knife into the waist of my jeans.
“Are you sure?” She reached up like she was going to wipe my cheek.
I didn’t want her pity. I wanted revenge on the person who’d made those memories part of my past in the first place.
“I’m fine,” I said, willing my eyes to dry up. “Now what?”
“Tut…” Tia’s blue eyes pulled me in. Made me want to trust her.
Gods, I just wanted to trust someone. Why did the world have to be such a difficult place filled with people who all had their own agendas?
“I promise. I got what I wanted. Now what do you need me to do?”
Tia blinked a few times, and I swear there were tears in her eyes. Or maybe I was imagining it because I wanted her to care. But she had her own agenda just like everyone else in the world.
“I need you to get the scepter of Set,” she finally said. She pointed across the temple to the looming statue of Set.
The scepter was so small that I’d missed it before. Set held it in an upraised hand, resting it on his palm. Torchlight bounced off it, casting gold sparkles everywhere. It was up kind of high, but aside from that, it was just sitting there, not even bolted down. “What do you need my help for? Couldn’t you just use a ladder?”
Tia looked like it pained her to admit she needed help. “Only an immortal can take the scepter from the hands of Set.” She scuffed her feet, kicking a few of the overgrown leaves out of the way.
“Oh.” For a second, an overwhelming feeling that she was using me set in. But then I looked at her, and her blue eyes looked into mine, and I knew I’d steal the scepter for her. Tia wasn’t the kind of person who liked to ask for help. That was obvious. And her quest—this whole thing about reuniting the gods—well, at least it wasn’t self-serving. She had a noble cause. She was trying to help the world. It made my whole quest for vengeance seem petty.
“Just tell me what I need to do,” I said.
Relief flooded Tia’s face. “Thank you, Tut.” She hugged me really quick and pulled away, not meeting my eyes.
My face had to be bright red. Tia had hugged me. I tried not to think about it too much. I was still in the den of the Cult of Set. My life was in danger.
“You’re welcome,” I said.
“Okay, so here’s what you need to do,” Tia said. “Climb up onto the statue and grab the scepter. Oh, and try not to grow any more flowers, will you?”
I ignored her jibe about the flowers. She was back to her usual sarcastic self.
“That sounds easy enough,” I said. “And then what?”
“Then run.”
I handed her my backpack and started forward. I’m not sure how many times I turned to check the entrance. The closer I got to the statue, the more I actually wished someone would come through the door and catch me, forcing me to run away. Set was scary—like the worst mummy movie come true. When I looked up at him, I swear I saw saliva dripping from his fangs. Or maybe it was blood. I couldn’t see the color in the torchlight.
“It’s only a statue,” I muttered, but I knew I’d probably turned green.
�
�Did you say something?” Tia whispered.
No way was I going to let her think I was scared of some stupid statue. Even if each step I took made my knees feel like collapsing under me.
“No, nothing,” I said. But then I started to lose control, and within seconds, the trees burst into motion. Branches sprouted, twisting toward the ground under the weight of the leaves and flowers that filled them. Petals fell, blanketing the temple floor. And the tallest trees pushed at the sanctuary ceiling, groaning as they were pushed back by the beams overhead.
“Stop it!” Tia said. “The priests are going to come back.”
“It’s not the priests I’m worried about.”
I looked Set right in the eye. Searing pain tore through my side. I collapsed onto the floor. In my whole life, I’d never felt anything like it.
“Holy Sekhmet! Are you all right?” Tia knelt on the ground next to me.
Through my tunnel vision, I saw her face—forehead creased and bottom lip pressed between her teeth. The sight of her calmed me, and the white started to fade along with the pain.
“Just give me a second.”
“Are you going to die?” she asked. Maybe I was fooling myself, but I swear I saw concern on her face.
I wasn’t sure how to respond. I mean, the whole thing made me feel so weak—so human. But my side hurt like I’d been bitten by a crocodile. I thought Isis’s healing stuff had fixed me.
“Would that bother you?” I asked, having no idea what her answer would be. But if I’d had a list of possible responses, what she said next would have been last on the list. No, it wouldn’t have even made the list.
“I guess we’ll find out when they mummify you,” she said.
“What!” I jolted up, pain or no pain in my side.
“Quiet!” she said. “The priests!”
“I don’t care about the priests,” I said. “What do you mean mummify me?”
She shrugged. “You know.”
“No, I don’t know,” I said. “What are you talking about?”
She looked at the looming statue of Set, illuminated in full hideous glory by every torch in the room. “Just get the scepter, and then we can get out of here and talk about it.”