The Complete Kane Chronicles (15 page)

“So,” Desjardins said coldly, “you admit to consorting with gods. That makes our investigation much easier. Bast is not your
friend.
The gods caused the downfall of Egypt. It is forbidden to call on their powers. Magicians are sworn to keep the gods from interfering in the mortal world. We must use all our power to fight them.”

“Bast said you were paranoid,” Sadie added.

The magician clenched his fists, and the air tingled with the weird smell of ozone, like during a thunderstorm. The hairs on my neck stood straight up. Before anything bad could happen, Zia stepped in front of us.

“Lord Desjardins,” she pleaded, “there
was
something strange. When I ensnared the scorpion goddess, she re-formed almost instantly. I could not return her to the Duat, even with the Seven Ribbons. I could only break her hold on the host for a moment. Perhaps the rumors of other escapes—”

“What other escapes?” I asked.

She glanced at me reluctantly. “Other gods,
many
of them, released since last night from artifacts all over the world. Like a chain reaction—”

“Zia!” Desjardins snapped. “That information is not for sharing.”

“Look,” I said, “lord, sir, whatever—Bast warned us this would happen. She said Set would release more gods.”

“Master,” Zia pleaded, “if Ma’at is weakening, if Set is increasing chaos, perhaps that is why I could not banish Serqet.”

“Ridiculous,” Desjardins said. “You are skilled, Zia, but perhaps you were not skilled enough for this encounter. And as for these two, the contamination must be contained.”

Zia’s face reddened. She turned her attention to Iskandar. “Master, please. Give me a chance with them.”

“You forget your place,” Desjardins snapped. “These two are guilty and must be destroyed.”

My throat started closing up. I looked at Sadie. If we had to make a run for it down that long hall, I didn’t like our chances….

The old man finally looked up. He smiled at Zia with true affection. For a second I wondered if she were his great-great-great-granddaughter or something. He spoke in Greek, and Zia bowed deeply.

Desjardins looked ready to explode. He swept his robes away from his feet and marched behind the throne.

“The Chief Lector will allow Zia to test you,” he growled. “Meanwhile, I will seek out the truth—or the lies—in your story. You will be punished for the lies.”

I turned to Iskandar and copied Zia’s bow. Sadie did the same.

“Thank you, master,” I said.

The old man studied me for a long time. Again I felt as if he were trying to burn into my soul—not in an angry way. More out of concern. Then he mumbled something, and I understood two words:
Nectanebo
and
ba.

He opened his hand and a flood of glowing hieroglyphs poured out, swarming around the dais. There was a blinding flash of light, and when I could see again, the dais was empty. The two men were gone.

Zia turned toward us, her expression grim. “I will show you to your quarters. In the morning, your testing begins. We will see what magic you know, and how you know it.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but I exchanged an uneasy look with Sadie.

“Sounds fun,” Sadie ventured. “And if we fail this test?”

Zia regarded her coldly. “This is not the sort of test you fail, Sadie Kane. You pass or you die.”

S A D I E

THEY TOOK CARTER TO A DIFFERENT
dormitory, so I don’t know how he slept. But
I
couldn’t get a wink.

It would’ve been hard enough with Zia’s comments about passing our tests or dying, but the girls’ dormitory just wasn’t as posh as Amos’s mansion. The stone walls sweated moisture. Creepy pictures of Egyptian monsters danced across the ceiling in the torchlight. I got a floating cot to sleep in, and the other girls in training—
initiates,
Zia had called them—were much younger than me, so when the old dorm matron told them to go to sleep straightaway, they actually
obeyed.
The matron waved her hand and the torches went out. She shut the door behind her, and I could hear the sound of locks clicking.

Lovely. Imprisoned in a nursery school dungeon.

I stared into the dark until I heard the other girls snoring. A single thought kept bothering me: an urge I just couldn’t shake. Finally I crept out of bed and tugged on my boots.

I felt my way to the door. I tugged at the handle. Locked, as I suspected. I was tempted to kick it till I remembered what Zia had done in the Cairo Airport broom closet.

I pressed my palm against the door and whispered,
“Sahad.”

Locks clicked. The door swung open. Handy trick.

Outside, the corridors were dark and empty. Apparently, there wasn’t much nightlife in the First Nome. I sneaked through the city back the way we’d come and saw nothing but an occasional cobra slithering across the floor. After the last couple of days, that didn’t even faze me. I thought about trying to find Carter, but I wasn’t sure where they’d taken him, and honestly, I wanted to do this on my own.

After our last argument in New York, I wasn’t sure how I felt about my brother. The idea that he could be jealous of
my
life while he got to travel the world with Dad—please! And he had the nerve to call my life
normal
? All right, I had a few mates at school like Liz and Emma, but my life was hardly easy. If Carter made a social faux pas or met people he didn’t like, he could just move on! I had to stay put. I couldn’t answer simple questions like “Where are your parents?” or “What does your family do?” or even “Where are you from?” without exposing just how odd my situation was. I was always the
different
girl. The mixed-race girl, the American who wasn’t American, the girl whose mother had died, the girl with the absent father, the girl who made trouble in class, the girl who couldn’t concentrate on her lessons. After a while one learns that blending in simply doesn’t work. If people are going to single me out, I might as well give them something to stare at. Red stripes in my hair? Why not! Combat boots with the school uniform? Absolutely. Headmaster says, “I’ll have to call your parents, young lady.” I say, “Good luck.” Carter didn’t know anything about my life.

But enough of that. The point was, I decided to do this particular bit of exploring alone, and after a few wrong turns, I found my way back to the Hall of Ages.

What was I up to, you may ask? I certainly didn’t want to meet Monsieur Evil again or creepy old Lord Salamander.

But I
did
want to see those images—
memories,
Zia had called them.

I pushed open the bronze doors. Inside, the hall seemed deserted. No balls of fire floated around the ceiling. No glowing hieroglyphs. But images still shimmered between the columns, washing the hall with strange, multicolored light.

I took a few nervous steps.

I wanted another look at the Age of the Gods. On our first trip through the hall, something about those images had shaken me. I knew Carter thought I’d gone into a dangerous trance, and Zia had warned that the scenes would melt my brain; but I had a feeling she was just trying to scare me off. I felt a connection to those images, like there was an answer within—a vital piece of information I needed.

I stepped off the carpet and approached the curtain of golden light. I saw sand dunes shifting in the wind, storm clouds brewing, crocodiles sliding down the Nile. I saw a vast hall full of revelers. I touched the image.

And I was in the palace of the gods.

Huge beings swirled around me, changing shape from human to animal to pure energy. On a throne in the center of the room sat a muscular African man in rich black robes. He had a handsome face and warm brown eyes. His hands looked strong enough to crush rocks.

The other gods celebrated round him. Music played—a sound so powerful that the air burned. At the man’s side stood a beautiful woman in white, her belly swollen as if she were a few months pregnant. Her form flickered; at times she seemed to have multicolored wings. Then she turned in my direction and I gasped. She had my mother’s face.

She didn’t seem to notice me. In fact, none of the gods did, until a voice behind me said, “Are you a ghost?”

I turned and saw a good-looking boy of about sixteen, dressed in black robes. His complexion was pale, but he had lovely brown eyes like the man on the throne. His black hair was long and tousled—rather wild, but it worked for me. He tilted his head, and it finally occurred to me that he’d asked me a question.

I tried to think of something to say. Excuse me? Hello? Marry me? Anything would’ve done. But all I could manage was a shake of the head.

“Not a ghost, eh?” he mused. “A
ba
then?” He gestured towards the throne. “Watch, but do not interfere.”

Somehow I wasn’t interested in watching the throne so much, but the boy in black dissolved into a shadow and disappeared, leaving me no further distraction.

“Isis,” said the man on the throne.

The pregnant woman turned towards him and beamed. “My lord Osiris. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, my love. And soon we shall mark the birth of our son—Horus, the great one! His new incarnation shall be his greatest yet. He shall bring peace and prosperity to the world.”

Isis took her husband’s hand. Music kept playing around them, gods celebrating, the very air swirling in a dance of creation.

Suddenly the palace doors blew open. A hot wind made the torches sputter.

A man strode into the hall. He was tall and strong, almost a twin to Osiris, but with dark red skin, blood-colored robes, and a pointed beard. He looked human, except when he smiled. Then his teeth turned to fangs. His face flickered—sometimes human, sometimes strangely wolflike. I had to stifle a scream, because I’d seen that wolfish face before.

The dancing stopped. The music died.

Osiris rose from his throne. “Set,” he said in a dangerous tone. “Why have you come?”

Set laughed, and the tension in the room broke. Despite his cruel eyes, he had a wonderful laugh—nothing like the screeching he’d done at the British Museum. It was carefree and friendly, as if he couldn’t possibly mean any harm.

“I come to celebrate my brother’s birthday, of course!” he exclaimed. “And I bring entertainment!”

He gestured behind him. Four huge men with the heads of wolves marched into the room, carrying a jewel-encrusted golden coffin.

My heart began to race. It was the same box Set had used to imprison my dad at the British Museum.

No!
I wanted to scream.
Don’t trust him!

But the assembled gods oohed and aahed, admiring the box, which was painted with gold and red hieroglyphs, trimmed with jade and opals. The wolf-men set down the box, and I saw it had no lid. The interior was lined with black linen.

“This sleeping casket,” Set announced, “was made by my finest craftsmen, using the most expensive materials. Its value is beyond measure. The god who lies within, even for a night, will see his powers increase tenfold! His wisdom will never falter. His strength will never fail. It is a gift”—he smiled slyly at Osiris—“for the
one and only
god who fits within perfectly!”

I wouldn’t have queued up first, but the gods surged forward. They pushed each other out of the way to get at the golden coffin. Some climbed in but were too short. Others were much too big. Even when they tried to change their shapes, the gods had no luck, as if the magic of the box were thwarting them. No one fit exactly. Gods grumbled and complained as others, anxious to try, pushed them to the floor.

Set turned to Osiris with a good-natured laugh. “Well, brother, we have no winner yet. Will you try? Only the best of the gods can succeed.”

Osiris’s eyes gleamed. Apparently he wasn’t the god of brains, because he seemed completely taken in by the box’s beauty. All the other gods looked at him expectantly, and I could see what he was thinking: if he fit in the box, what a brilliant birthday present. Even Set, his wicked brother, would have to admit that he was the rightful king of the gods.

Only Isis seemed troubled. She laid her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “My lord, do not. Set does not bring presents.”

“I am offended!” Set sounded genuinely hurt. “Can I not celebrate my brother’s birthday? Are we so estranged that I cannot even apologize to the king?”

Osiris smiled at Isis. “My dear, it is only a game. Fear nothing.”

He rose from his throne. The gods applauded as he approached the box.

“All hail Osiris!” Set cried.

The king of the gods lowered himself into the box, and when he glanced in my direction, just for a moment, he had my father’s face.

No!
I thought again.
Don’t do it!

But Osiris lay down. The coffin fit him exactly.

A cheer went up from the gods, but before Osiris could rise, Set clapped his hands. A golden lid materialized above the box and slammed down on top of it.

Osiris shouted in rage, but his cries were muffled.

Golden latches fastened around the lid. The other gods surged forward to intervene—even the boy in black I’d seen earlier reappeared—but Set was faster. He stamped his foot so hard, the stone floor trembled. The gods toppled over each other like dominoes. The wolf-men drew their spears, and the gods scrambled away in terror.

Set said a magic word, and a boiling cauldron appeared out of thin air. It poured its contents over the coffin—molten lead, coating the box, sealing it shut, probably heating the interior to a thousand degrees.

“Villain!” Isis wailed. She advanced on Set and began to speak a spell, but Set held up his hand. Isis rose from the floor, clawing at her mouth, her lips pressed as if an invisible force were suffocating her.

“Not today, lovely Isis,” Set purred. “Today, I am king. And your child shall never be born!”

Suddenly, another goddess—a slender woman in a blue dress—charged out of the crowd. “Husband, no!”

She tackled Set, who momentarily lost his concentration. Isis fell to the floor, gasping. The other goddess yelled, “Flee!”

Isis turned and ran.

Set rose. I thought he would hit the goddess in blue, but he only snarled. “Foolish wife! Whose side are you on?”

He stamped his foot again, and the golden coffin sank into the floor.

Set raced after Isis. At the edge of the palace, Isis turned into a small bird of prey and soared into the air. Set sprouted demon’s wings and launched himself in pursuit.

Then suddenly
I
was the bird. I was Isis, flying desperately over the Nile. I could sense Set behind me—closing. Closing.

You must escape,
the voice of Isis said in my mind.
Avenge Osiris. Crown Horus king!

Just when I thought my heart would burst, I felt a hand on my shoulder. The images evaporated.

The old master, Iskandar, stood next to me, his face pinched with concern. Glowing hieroglyphs danced round him.

“Forgive the interruption,” he said in perfect English. “But you were almost dead.”

That’s when my knees turned to water, and I lost consciousness.

When I awoke, I was curled at Iskandar’s feet on the steps below the empty throne. We were alone in the hall, which was mostly dark except for the light from the hieroglyphs that always seemed to glow around him.

“Welcome back,” he said. “You’re lucky you survived.”

I wasn’t so sure. My head felt like it had been boiled in oil.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Look at the images? And yet you did. Your
ba
left your body and entered the past. Hadn’t you been warned?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “But…I was drawn to the pictures.”

“Mmm.”
Iskandar stared into space, as if remembering something from long ago. “They
are
hard to resist.”

“You speak perfect English,” I noticed.

Iskandar smiled. “How do you know I’m speaking English? Perhaps you are speaking Greek.”

I hoped he was kidding, but I couldn’t tell. He seemed so frail and warm, and yet…it was like sitting next to a nuclear reactor. I had a feeling he was full of more danger than I wanted to know.

“You’re not really
that
old, are you?” I asked. “I mean, old enough to remember Ptolemaic times?”

“I am
exactly
that old, my dear. I was born in the reign of Cleopatra VII.”

“Oh, please.”

“I assure you, it’s true. It was my sorrow to behold the last days of Egypt, before that foolhardy queen lost our kingdom to the Romans. I was the last magician to be trained before the House went underground. Many of our most powerful secrets were lost, including the spells my master used to extend my life. Magicians these days still live long—sometimes centuries—but I have been alive for two millennia.”