LESS THAN A MILE FROM Camelback Mountain, we broke through into a circle of perfect calm.
“Eye of the storm,” Carter guessed.
It was eerie. All around the mountain swirled a cylinder of black clouds. Traces of smoke drifted back and forth from Camelback’s peak to the edges of the maelstrom like the spokes of a wheel, but directly above us, the sky was clear and starry, beginning to turn gray. Sunrise wasn’t far off.
The streets were empty. Mansions and hotels clustered round the mountain’s base, completely dark; but the mountain itself glowed. Ever hold your hand over a torch (sorry, a flashlight for you Americans) and watch the way your skin glows red? That’s the way the mountain looked: something very bright and hot was trying to burn through the rock.
“Nothing’s moving on the streets,” Zia said. “If we try to drive up to the mountain—”
“We’ll be seen,” I said.
“What about that spell?” Carter looked at Zia. “You know…the one you used in the First Nome.”
“What spell?” I asked.
Zia shook her head. “Carter is referring to an invisibility spell. But I have no magic. And unless you have the proper components, it can’t be done on a whim.”
“Amos?” I asked.
He pondered the question. “No invisibility, I’m afraid. But I have another idea.”
I thought turning into a bird was bad, until Amos turned us into storm clouds.
He explained what he was going to do in advance, but it didn’t make me any less nervous.
“No one will notice a few wisps of black cloud in the midst of a storm,” he reasoned.
“But this is impossible,” Zia said. “This is storm magic, chaos magic. We should not—”
Amos raised his wand, and Zia disintegrated.
“No!” Carter yelled, but then he too was gone, replaced by a swirl of black dust.
Amos turned to me.
“Oh, no,” I said. “Thanks, but—”
Poof. I was a storm cloud. Now, that may sound amazing to you, but imagine your hands and feet disappearing, turning into wisps of wind. Imagine your body replaced by dust and vapor, and having a tingly feeling in your stomach without even having a stomach. Imagine having to concentrate just to keep yourself from dispersing to nothing.
I got so angry, a flash of lightning crackled inside me.
“Don’t be that way,” Amos chided. “It’s only for a few minutes. Follow
me.”
He melted into a heavier, darker bit of storm and raced towards the
mountain. Following wasn’t easy. At first I could only float. Every wind threatened to take some part of me away. I tried swirling and found it helped keep my particles together. Then I imagined myself filling with helium, and suddenly I was off.
I couldn’t be sure if Carter and Zia were following or not. When you’re a storm, your vision isn’t human. I could vaguely sense what was around me, but what I “saw” was scattered and fuzzy, as if through heavy static.
I headed towards the mountain, which was an almost irresistible beacon to my storm self. It glowed with heat, pressure, and turbulence—everything a little dust devil like me could want.
I followed Amos to a ridge on the side of the mountain, but I returned to human form a little too soon. I tumbled out of the sky and knocked Carter to the ground.
“Ouch,” he groaned.
“Sorry,” I offered, though mostly I was concentrating on not getting sick.
My stomach still felt like it was mostly storm.
Zia and Amos stood next to us, peeping into a crevice between two large sandstone boulders. Red light seeped from within and made their faces look devilish.
Zia turned to us. Judging from her expression, what she’d seen wasn’t good. “Only the pyramidion left.”
“The what?” I looked through the crevice, and the view was almost as disorienting as being a storm cloud. The entire mountain was hollowed out, just as Carter had described. The cavern floor was about six hundred meters below us. Fires blazed everywhere, bathing the rock walls in blood-colored light. A giant crimson pyramid dominated the cave, and at its base, masses of demons milled about like a rock concert crowd waiting for the show to begin. High above them, eye-level to us, two magic barges manned by crews of demons floated slowly, ceremoniously towards the pyramid. Suspended in a
mesh of ropes between the boats was the only piece of the pyramid not yet installed—a golden capstone to top off the structure.
“They know they’ve won,” Carter guessed. “They’re making a show of
it.”
“Yes,” Amos said.
“Well, let’s blow up the boats or something!” I said. Amos looked at me. “Is that your strategy, honestly?”
His tone made me feel completely stupid. Looking down on the demon
army, the enormous pyramid…what had I been thinking? I couldn’t battle this. I was a bloody twelve-year-old.
“We have to try,” Carter said. “Dad’s in there.”
That shook me out of my self-pity. If we were going to die, at least we would do it trying to rescue my father (oh, and North America, too, I suppose).
“Right,” I said. “We fly to those boats. We stop them from placing the capstone—”
“Pyramidion,” Zia corrected.
“Whatever. Then we fly into the pyramid and find Dad.” “And when Set tries to stop you?” Amos asked.
I glanced at Zia, who was silently warning me not to say more. “First things first,” I said. “How do we fly to the boats?”
“As a storm,” Amos suggested. “No!” the rest of us said.
“I will not be part of more chaos magic,” Zia insisted. “It is not natural.”
Amos waved at the spectacle below us. “Tell me this is natural. You have another plan?”
“Birds,” I said, hating myself for even considering it. “I’ll become a kite.
Carter can do a falcon.”
“Sadie,” Carter warned, “what if—”
“I have to try.” I looked away before I could lose my resolve. “Zia, it’s been almost ten hours since your pillar of fire, hasn’t it? Still no magic?”
Zia held out her hand and concentrated. At first, nothing happened. Then red light flickered along her fingers, and her staff appeared in her grip, still smoking.
“Good timing,” Carter said.
“Also bad timing,” Amos observed. “It means Desjardins is no longer pursued by the pillar of fire. He’ll be here soon, and I’m sure he’ll bring backup. More enemies for us.”
“My magic will still be weak,” Zia warned. “I won’t be much help in a fight, but I can perhaps manage to summon a ride.” She brought out the vulture pendant she’d used at Luxor.
“Which leaves me,” Amos said. “No worries there. Let’s meet on the left
boat. We’ll take that one out, then deal with the right. And let’s hope for surprise.”
I wasn’t in the mood to let Amos set our plans, but I couldn’t find any fault with his logic. “Right. We’ll have to finish the boats off quickly, then head into the pyramid itself. Perhaps we can seal off the entrance or something.”
Carter nodded. “Ready.”
At first, the plan seemed to go well. Turning into a kite was no problem, and to my surprise, once I reached the prow of the ship, I managed to turn back into a human on the first try, with my staff and wand ready. The only person more surprised was the demon right in front of me, whose switchblade head popped straight up in alarm.
Before he could slice me or even cry out, I summoned wind from my staff and blew him off the side of the boat. Two of his brethren charged forward, but Carter appeared behind them, sword drawn, and sliced them into piles of sand.
Unfortunately, Zia was a bit less stealthy. A giant vulture with a girl hanging from its feet tends to attract attention. As she flew towards the boat, demons below pointed and yelled. Some threw spears that fell short of their mark.
Zia’s grand entrance did manage to distract the remaining two demons on our boat, however, which allowed Amos to appear behind them. He’d taken the form of a fruit bat, which brought back bad memories; but he quickly returned to human form and body-slammed the demons, sending them tumbling into the air.
“Hold on!” he told us. Zia landed just in time to grab the tiller. Carter and I grabbed the sides of the boat. I had no idea what Amos was planning, but after my last flying boat ride, I wasn’t taking chances. Amos began to chant, pointing his staff towards the other boat, where the demons were just beginning to shout and point at us.
One of them was tall and very thin, with black eyes and a disgusting face, like muscle with the skin peeled away.
“That’s Set’s lieutenant,” Carter warned. “Face of Horror.” “You!” the demon screamed. “Get them!”
Amos finished his spell. “Smoke,” he intoned.
Instantly, the second boat evaporated into gray mist. The demons fell screaming. The golden capstone plummeted until the lines attached to it from our side yanked taut, and our boat nearly flipped over. Canted sideways, we began to sink towards the cavern floor.
“Carter, cut the lines!” I screamed.
He sliced them with his sword, and the boat leveled out, rising several meters in an instant and leaving my stomach behind.
The pyramidion crashed to the cavern floor with much crunching and squishing. I had the feeling we’d just made a nice stack of demon griddlecakes.
“So far so good,” Carter noted, but as usual, he’d spoken too soon. Zia pointed below us. “Look.”
All those demons who had wings—a small percentage, but still a good forty or fifty—had launched themselves towards us, filling the air like a swarm of angry wasps.
“Fly to the pyramid,” Amos said. “I’ll distract the demons.”
The pyramid’s entrance, a simple doorway between two columns at the base of the structure, was not far from us. It was guarded by a few demons, but most of Set’s forces were running towards our boat, screaming and throwing rocks (which tended to fall back down and hit them, but no one says demons are bright).
“They’re too many,” I argued. “Amos, they’ll kill you.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said grimly. “Seal the entrance behind you.” He pushed me over the side, giving me no choice but to turn into a kite.
Carter in falcon form was already spiraling towards the entrance, and I could hear Zia’s vulture flapping its great wings behind us.
I heard Amos yell, “For Brooklyn!”
It was an odd battle cry. I glanced back, and the boat burst into flames. It began drifting away from the pyramid and down towards the army of monsters. Fireballs shot from the boat in all directions as pieces of the hull crumbled away. I didn’t have time to marvel at Amos’s magic, or worry what had happened to him. He distracted many of the demons with his pyrotechnics, but some noticed us.
Carter and I landed just inside the pyramid’s entrance and returned to human form. Zia tumbled in next to us and turned her vulture back into an amulet. The demons were only a few steps behind—a dozen massive blokes with the heads of insects, dragons, and assorted Swiss Army knife attachments.
Carter thrust out his hand. A giant shimmering fist appeared and mimicked his move—pushing right between Zia and me and slamming the doors shut. Carter closed his eyes in concentration, and a burning golden symbol etched itself across the doors like a seal: the Eye of Horus. The lines glowed faintly as demons hammered against the barrier, trying to get in.
“It won’t hold them long,” Carter said.
I was duly impressed, though of course I didn’t say that. Looking at the sealed doors, all I could think about was Amos, out there on a burning boat, surrounded by an evil army.
“Amos knew what he was doing,” Carter said, though he didn’t sound very convinced. “He’s probably fine.”
“Come on,” Zia prodded us. “No time for second guessing.”
The tunnel was narrow, red, and humid, so I felt like I was crawling through an artery of some enormous beast. We made our way down single file, as the tunnel sloped at about forty degrees—which would’ve made a lovely waterslide but wasn’t so good for stepping carefully. The walls were decorated with intricate carvings, like most Egyptian walls we’d seen, but Carter obviously didn’t like them. He kept stopping, scowling at the pictures.
“What?” I demanded, after the fifth or sixth time.
“These aren’t normal tomb drawings,” he said. “No afterlife pictures, no pictures of the gods.”
Zia nodded. “This pyramid is not a tomb. It is a platform, a body to contain the power of Set. All these pictures are to increase chaos, and make it reign forever.”
As we kept walking, I paid more attention to the carvings, and I saw what Zia meant. The pictures showed horrible monsters, scenes of war, cities such as Paris and London in flames, full-color portraits of Set and the Set animal tearing into modern armies—scenes so gruesome, no Egyptian would ever commit them to stone. The farther we went, the weirder and more vivid the pictures became, and the queasier I felt.
Finally we reached the heart of the pyramid.
Where the burial chamber should’ve been in a regular pyramid, Set had designed a throne room for himself. It was about the size of a tennis court, but around the edges, the floor dropped off into a deep trench like a moat. Far, far below, red liquid bubbled. Blood? Lava? Evil ketchup? None of the possibilities were good.
The trench looked easy enough to jump, but I wasn’t anxious to do so because inside the room, the entire floor was carved with red hieroglyphs—all spells invoking the power of Isfet, chaos. Far above in the center of the ceiling, a single square hole let in blood-red light. Otherwise, there seemed to be no exits. Along either wall crouched four obsidian statues of the Set animal, their faces turned towards us with pearl teeth bared and emerald eyes glittering.
But the worst part was the throne itself. It was a horrid misshapen thing, like a red stalagmite that had grown haphazardly from centuries of dripping sediment. And it had formed itself around a gold coffin—Dad’s coffin— which was buried in the throne’s base, with just enough of it sticking out to form a kind of footrest.
“How do we get him out?” I said, my voice trembling. Next to me, Carter caught his breath. “Amos?”
I followed his gaze up to the glowing red vent in the middle of the ceiling. A pair of legs dangled from the opening. Then Amos dropped down,
opening his cloak like a parachute so that he floated to the floor. His clothes were still smoking, his hair dusted with ash. He pointed his staff towards the ceiling and spoke a command. The shaft he’d come through rumbled, spilling dust and rubble, and the light was abruptly cut off.
Amos dusted off his clothes and smiled at us. “That should hold them for a while.”
“How did you do that?” I asked.
He gestured for us to join him in the room.
Carter jumped the trench without hesitation. I didn’t like it, but I wasn’t going to let him go without me, so I hopped the trench too. Immediately I felt even queasier than before, as if the room were tilting, throwing my senses off balance.
Zia came over last, eyeing Amos carefully. “You should not be alive,” she said.
Amos chuckled. “Oh, I’ve heard that before. Now, let’s get to business.” “Yes.” I stared at the throne. “How do we get the coffin out?”
“Cut it?” Carter drew his sword, but Amos held up his hand.
“No, children. That’s not the business I mean. I’ve made sure no one will interrupt us. Now it’s time we talked.”
A cold tingle started up my spine. “Talked?”
Suddenly Amos fell to his knees and began to convulse. I ran towards him, but he looked up at me, his face racked with pain. His eyes were molten red.
“Run!” he groaned.
He collapsed, and red steam issued from his body. “We have to go!” Zia grabbed my arm. “Now!”
But I watched, frozen in horror, as the steam rose from Amos’s unconscious form and drifted towards the throne, slowly taking the shape of a seated man—a red warrior in fiery armor, with an iron staff in his hand and the head of a canine monster.
“Oh, dear,” Set laughed. “I suppose Zia gets to say ‘I told you so.’”
