TEMPLE RUN

 

 

Jagger and Aria bumped along in the dark for what seemed like hours. Her skin felt wet and clammy against his. Worse, her breath was ragged. What if her asthma was reaching the danger zone? He wanted to ask her, but the priests carrying the float were so close he could hear them panting from exertion.

Jagger tried to distract himself, tracking the whereabouts of Mut and Babi with his amulet: she was across the Nile with Hemet and Mutef, but the captain was sticking by the float as the procession moved to the small temple then headed back the way it had come, toward the larger temple of Amun-Ra.

Mostly, Jagger fretted. What if Aria’s asthma spiraled? What would happen if they didn’t find Herihor? What would Jagger say if they did find the High Priest? He concocted speeches in his mind, designed to convince the priest to help them. Jagger could only hope Herihor would know what to do … if they managed to find the guy.

Finally, the sounds of the crowd faded. They must be entering the large temple. Egyptian temples were built like long corridors. The large, front areas were open to all worshippers, but the holy of holies, the deepest part of the temple, was only accessible to the highest-ranking members of the priesthood. That’s where the god’s statue would rest.

He flinched when the float finally sank to the floor with a thunk—a thunk followed by the sounds of receding footsteps. The silence was all encompassing after the roar of the crowds and musicians. The smells of sweat and livestock were replaced by the smells of incense and cooked meat.

Aria’s fingers found his. She was slick with sweat, sniffling softly. Was she trying not to cry? That thought terrified him—Aria only cried when she was feeling sorry for someone else, like a stray dog or a bullied friend. “Can we get out now?” she moaned lowly.

“I’m trying.” He shoved the door, harder, but it didn’t budge. “I think the float is on the ground.” His heart was racing. He needed to get his sister out of here, but the door was stuck. The float must not be on stilts like it had been at the way-station when they crawled into the trapdoor on the bottom of the float.

Their plan had been to sneak out when the holy of holies was empty and find Herihor. But now they were trapped.

Aria squirmed, shoving a hard elbow into his stomach. Jagger was relieved to hear the hiss of her inhaler.

“I’ll live.” The sound Aria made was part laugh, part sob. “Unless we’re about to run out of oxygen.”

“No,” Jagger whispered back. “There’s a tube connecting this space to the god’s mouth. It’s for—”

“Please, no history lessons now, Brainy.”

Jagger sighed. Right.

“Shhhh,” she hissed. “Someone’s coming.”

Jagger froze. Soft footsteps shuffled their way. They stopped just in front of the float. A man’s voice began chanting melodiously. “Hail to thee, Khonsu, Mighty Traveler, Protector …”

Jagger’s mind whirled. On one hand, he was worried about his sister. Maybe he should scream at the top of his lungs so the priest would get them out. But what if the guy was working with the General and Smenkare? For all he knew, the chanting guy was the General’s favorite uncle. Mut thought that they’d be taken to Herihor if they were discovered in the temple. But what if she was wrong?

Aria’s breath grew loud enough to drown out the chanting. She couldn’t take much more. He knew what he had to do. But it wouldn’t do her any good to be rescued then dragged back into danger.

Jagger wiggled his hand into the pocket sewn neatly into his kilt and pulled out his phone. Clicking it on, he aimed it at Aria. Black smudges marred her cheeks, the kohl so carefully drawn around her eyes now dripped from her chin. She clutched her inhaler to her cheek.

Scrolling frantically through apps, Jagger selected one he’d downloaded for a Halloween party he and Andrew hosted a few years ago. It recorded anything you said and played it back in a spooky voice. Thinking briefly, Jagger whispered into his phone. Then he held it close to the tube that was connected to the god’s mouth. He hiked up the volume and pushed play.

“To whoooom are yooouu loooyaaal?” The spooky app voice was amplified by the tube.

Silence.

Jagger pushed the play button again. “To whooom are yooouu loooyaaal?”

The man cleared his throat. “I am loyal to you, my god, Khonsu. And to your parents, the illustrious Amun-Ra and your mother, Mut. My loyalty to the old gods is assured.” The voice was that of an old man, but still a rich baritone.

Jagger whispered into the phone again, then pushed play.

“Aaand theee Geeeneraaaal? Can weeee cooouunt on yooouur looooyalty to the Generaalaaaalllll and theee roooyal priiiiiince?”

More silence.

Then, footsteps walked away, followed moments later by the sound of more footsteps coming back toward them. Aria’s breath was so loud it was difficult to hear what was going on outside of the float.

Jagger jerked as the float was lifted. The trap door flew open, and they tumbled onto a cold, marble floor in a heap. He squinted at Aria. Sweat dripped off her as she shoved her inhaler in her mouth and gulped in a blast of albuterol. Her princess gown was destroyed, gems dangling by threads. The rich cloth that had covered her hair was a wet rag, stuck to her sandal, and dark blond curls were pasted to her face.

“Who are you?” The old man leaned down and peered at him.

Jagger recognized the voice: it was the man he’d been talking to. He wore a white kilt, and his chest was bare. In spite of his age, his body looked strong and healthy. He was bald with fuzzy eyebrows, speckled with gray.

“I asked you a question, young man.” The old man stood tall and crossed his arms.

Jagger sagged. Being sneaky was exhausting. He glanced at his sister. Her breathing was normalizing. He turned back to the old man, ticking through options in his mind. Grams’ voice trickled into his head: truth is less fuss.

“We’re looking for Herihor.” Jagger fidgeted. “Meretaten sent us. Our letter of introduction was, uh, lost.”

The man’s mouth hung open. He looked like one of the fishes Gramps mined from the Chicago River. He leaned toward Jagger menacingly and grabbed the amulet that still hung from his neck, now sticky with sweat. After giving it a good look, the old man stood, gave Jagger a quick stare, and strode out of the room, whispering to a nearby priest before he pushed through the elaborate, golden double doors at the far end of the small chamber.

Aria and Jagger stared at each other.

Now what?

Jagger glanced around the room. It was small and white with a bright, marble floor and a gilded, gold ceiling. Khonsu’s gold statue was exposed. Bowls of food sat in front of the god—the smell of food crept up Jagger’s nose, triggering hunger pains.

The gold door opened with a click, and two priests stormed toward them. One grabbed Aria’s arm, pulling her up. The other took hold of Jagger. The priests herded them toward the gold door. Aria threw a longing glance at the food sitting at the statue’s feet, pining for the god’s feast, no doubt.

The clickety-clack of their footsteps bounced off the walls as the silent priests led them through an elaborate, stone corridor. It was high and narrow, stark white. Cedar doors peppered the long stretch of pale stone. The cloying smell of incense was nearly overwhelming in the enclosed space.

Jagger wiped his clammy hands on his kilt, eyes glued to the back of Aria’s head. What if Herihor wouldn’t see them? Or saw them but wouldn’t help them? For all they knew, the guy was on vacation.

“Where are you taking us?” Aria must have felt as bad as she looked—she didn’t even try her you-gotta-love-me smile on the priests.

It wouldn’t have made a difference. Neither man uttered a word. The sound of their sandals slapping against the floor was joined by a creaking noise when the priest, who was holding his sister’s arm, shoved open a door, pushed Aria inside, and slammed it shut. It happened so fast Jagger didn’t have time to react.

“No!” His yell echoed down the stone hallway. “My sister …”

The priest’s fingers dug deeper into his arm. The other guy opened a door, across the hall from the one Aria disappeared into, and tossed Jagger in. He was strong for a priest.

“No!” Jagger banged on the door that had crashed shut behind him. “Aria!”

“I’m here,” she called back. “I’m fine. Chill!”

He should have done something to keep them together. Now they were trapped in a gigantic, stone prison, separated, and at the mercy of men who could be the General’s biggest fans for all he knew!

He was yanking uselessly at his door when it flew open, and a different priest stomped in.

“My sister—”

The large priest hushed him. He pushed him gently toward a stone basin, filled with water. The small tub sat on a slab of stone at the far end of the room, simply furnished with cedar stools and chests and a few chairs covered with leather throws.

The man nodded at the basin, then pointed at an alabaster vase, sitting on a wooden stool next to it.

“You want me to clean up?” Jagger shook his head, mystified.

The man smiled, revealing three missing teeth.

“But my sister …” Jagger argued.

The man pointed again.

Jagger eyeballed the water. “If I do this can I see my sister?”

The man’s gap toothed smile grew wider.

Jagger rushed back to the door. “Aria. Are you still there?”

The pause felt eternal. “I’m fine. I think they want me to take a bath … or a shower … or somehow get clean. I’m goin’ in. You need to relax. It’s fine. I’m sure Herihor is just finishing up a meeting or something.”

With a sigh, Jagger dipped his head at the priest.

The water was lukewarm—it felt good. When every bit of dust and sweat was removed, the bald priest handed him a clean, white kilt then led him to a cushy stool with golden, lion’s paw feet. Another priest entered and laid platters of food on a small chest. Okay, it may be a prison, but at least it was a clean one, with food that smelled like Heaven on a plate. He was beyond famished and surprised he had any appetite at all.

“You said I could see my sister if I scrubbed off the grime.” He glanced at the food, stomach rumbling. He ached to dig into the spread, but first he needed to make sure Aria was safe.

The large priest held up a finger then walked out.

A few seconds later, the door opened, and Aria rushed in. She was clean, dressed in a simple, white, linen shift. Her wet curls were pulled back into a fresh, fat braid. Her purple purse hung from her shoulder.

“Food,” she squeaked when she saw him surrounded by a feast that rivaled the god’s.

Jagger almost smiled. His sister’s appetite was as mysterious to him as her mood swings. She actually enjoyed trying new things, often opting for sushi or tandoor even when burgers were an option. At the moment, Jagger was too hungry to care. He dug into the fruit, smelly white cheese, and aromatic stew with abandon.

Casting a glance at the nearby priest, Aria whispered with a mouthful of food. “Did they say anything about Herihor?”

“No,” Jagger replied. “They didn’t say anything at all. But we’re here now. We’ll just have to see what they do.” He glanced at the priest, wondering if he sounded cooler than he felt, or if his sister saw right through him.

The truth was, Jagger usually felt superior to his sister. He was used to being the smart one, always annoyed by his needy, little sis. But he was grudgingly impressed by Aria’s quick thinking since they got here. He felt a little intimidated. He wanted to prove he was up to this challenge. But what if he wasn’t? Did Aria wonder too? She would soon, if she didn’t already. Why on earth had the gods chosen him?

“Why do you look like someone just stole your A+ homework assignment?” she whispered.

Jagger sniffed a mystery-meat kabob. It smelled delightful, but his appetite died.

Aria considered him over pursed lips. “You know we’re going to do this, right? It’ll be fine.”

He dropped his head back, sighing. “What exactly makes you so confident? Fighting with giant crocodiles? Having an asthma attack when you’re stuck inside an ancient float, maybe?”

A red fruit was lifted for examination. She plopped it in her mouth and shrugged. “For a genius, you’re really not that bright. We already succeeded. Don’t you see?”

Jagger shook his head. What was she talking about now?

“The gemstones were in the tomb. On the ankh! If they were there in the future, that means we succeeded.” She smiled, obviously proud of her powers of deduction.

Jagger moaned. “Wrong. Did you see them? They weren’t real. They were like ghost stones. If you were right, real stones would have been there … if that’s even how this stuff works.”

Aria narrowed her eyes and bit her lips. “But … Why?”

“I don’t know!” He stood up, and the piece of cheese resting on his knee dropped to the floor. “Maybe it was a hint from the gods, like Tatia said.” Jagger fidgeted with the hem of his kilt—he couldn’t believe this stuff was coming out of his mouth. “Or maybe they represented the possibility. You know, like it’s possible Kevin Durant will suddenly appear, scoop us up, take us home, and give me a basketball contract.”

“That’s not possible—”

“Exactly!”

Creak.

The door shot open, and the old man they’d seen when they tumbled out of the float walked in. Without a word, the priest pulled up a nearby stool and eyed the siblings from head to toe. He crossed his arms and sat up straight.

“Much better.” He nodded. “This is how one dresses to appear before the High Priest of Amun-Ra.”