THAT’S THE GENERAL IDEA

 

 

Jagger moaned. His head was pounding. He opened his eyes—it hurt. He rolled over, squinting to adjust to the dim light. The lump next to him was Aria, lying on her back with her eyes open.

“Aria!” His hand shot out to touch her. She was warm. And breathing. He exhaled.

She blinked, and tears gathered in her eyes. She struggled to sit up, holding her head with both arms and groaning. “Where are we?”

Jagger turned his thumping head. They were in a small, dank room, carved out of rough stone. Babi was lying next to them, out cold. “Where’s Herihor?” Jagger mumbled. He grabbed his amulet: the High Priest was close. A jab of hope rushed through him. Maybe he was working on their rescue plan right now.

“Babi.” Aria rolled over and poked the captain. “Wake up.”

The captain’s eyes fluttered. He opened them and growled, then felt around for his weapons. They were gone. “What happened?” Babi’s eyes moved past Jagger and froze.

Following the captain’s stare, Jagger saw another sand filled door. Long, vertical bars of mist and sand stretched from floor to ceiling. It offered a view into the burial chamber beyond. They must be in one of the small, storage rooms adjoining it.

Scooting to the door, Jagger looked out at beautifully decorated walls covered in more papyrus scroll décor. The room was illuminated by flames from torches, which were stuck to the walls every few feet. The ceiling was painted dark blue, peppered with thousands of stars. A large, red quartzite sarcophagus was just in front of them, at the bottom of a short flight of stairs. Wide columns filled the space, covered with images of the gods.

A voice leaked out from the next chamber, and Jagger stilled, straining to hear.

“If you had done your job right in the first place, they would not be here at all.”

He knew that voice.

He clutched the amulet, heart pounding.

Herihor!

“Yes, unlike my crocodiles, your scorpion really finished them off,” a familiar gravelly voice responded, dripping with sarcasm as Herihor entered the tomb chamber, the teenage prince grumbling behind him.

“With Smenkare,” Babi breathed. “The priest was working with them all along. That’s why the goddess …” The captain paused, and dropped his head in his hands.

Jagger met Aria’s eyes. She might not have his math skills, but she was obviously doing the same calculation he was: two magicians on the bad guys’ side, none on theirs. Where was Mut when they needed her? Some Protector she’d turned out to be!

“Okay,” Aria sighed. “So maybe that one we shouldn’t have trusted.”

“You think? How about both of them! You thought Smenkare was the Protector!” Jagger hissed. He fell onto his back, covering his face with his arms. Why had he trusted the High Priest so quickly? He had a rule never to trust people until they proved to be trustworthy. He’d been so desperate to get Herihor’s help, he’d believed him simply because he wanted a powerful ally to save the day, mostly because he didn’t think he could do it himself.

“Enough!” The new voice was deep and scratchy.

Jagger sat back up, craning his neck to see who was speaking.

“That’s the General,” Babi whispered.

All three men walked into view and stood in front of the sarcophagus: the prince, the High Priest, and another man, larger than either of them, with short, black hair, bulging muscles, and an immaculate, white kilt. His gold earring shimmered in the torchlight, and gold armbands circled his impressive biceps. The General was even scarier in real life than he’d been in Jagger’s imagination.

“Forget about them,” the General sneered. “We’ll kill them before we leave. We needed you here, Herihor, and finally, here you are. If nothing else, these intruders managed to get you out of that temple. Now, start the Heqa-oo Moot! It’s time to get this done.”

“I told you, I can do it.” Smenkare’s voice cracked. “You didn’t need to involve him. And you should have asked my permission before you did.”

Herihor’s bushy, gray eyebrows jumped in scorn. “Let us leave this one to the real magicians. The Death Spell is far beyond your abilities, boy.” At least Herihor hadn’t lied about his low opinion of the prince.

Smenkare turned away, probably to hide the blush creeping up his torso and neck.

Babi shoved Jagger sideways as the prince wandered their way. “Sleep,” he whispered.

Jagger peeked through closed lids as the prince stared down at them through the bars. Smenkare walked off, scuffing his feet like a sulky teenager, kicking something in front of the door: Aria’s purse, Jagger’s phone, and Babi’s sword.

“I think I can …” Aria lay on her stomach and reached her arm through the bars of mist. She squirmed, but she couldn’t reach their stuff. She moaned and rolled back over, blinking away tears.

Jagger had never seen his sister look so dejected. Mad, often. Sad, sometimes. Dejected, never. He knew he should do something to help, but what could he say? Hard to put a positive spin on dying in an ancient tomb jail, knowing all the people that are relying on you were going to die too.

“Why?” Jagger turned to Babi.

“Oh, Brainy,” Aria moaned. “You and your whys. Why does it matter why?”

“Because I don’t understand. Why is Herihor helping them? Maybe if we knew why …”

The captain rubbed his bald head. “Who knows what drives people to do the things they do? Maybe Herihor wants to get rid of the family that supports Amun-Ra’s rival god, the Aten. I’m no magician, but my understanding is that as the Aten’s power grows, the magical abilities of the old gods’ followers diminish. Herihor has had powers far too long to give them up easily.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Jagger shook his head. “By siding with the General, he’s helping the Aten.”

“Short term, perhaps. But if he gets rid of the royal family, the Aten’s power may fade away.” Babi shrugged. “Or maybe he thinks the old gods are doomed, so he’s switching sides. Maybe he believes the Aten will enhance his power. Or he just wants riches. Or maybe he’s old and confused. I don’t know. Blasted priest! I should have known not to trust a priest.”

“Ee-ee ti en ee,” the old man started chanting, arms weaving madly. “Come to me.”

Herihor held an alabaster, boomerang-shaped wand in the air. It was inscribed with scorpions, snakes, and frogs. Were the creatures wriggling? Jagger cringed. He never wanted to see another scorpion as long as he lived, but the squirming creatures didn’t seem to bother Herihor. He placed one end of the wand on the ground and began to draw a shape on the floor. It was a triangle. The sarcophagus was at the flat end, inside the triangle’s border. Smenkare and the General were inside as well. As the priest connected the final ends of the triangle, Jagger felt wind on his clammy skin and wondered briefly how there could be wind in the tomb, as if that was the oddest thing happening at the moment. Red tinted lights floated above the sarcophagus, spreading across the star-speckled ceiling.

Herihor pulled a green tinged scroll from his robes and stood at the point of the triangle, across from the sarcophagus. He motioned the prince and General to take up positions at the points to each side of the sarcophagus so that all three points of the triangle were occupied. “Come, mighty Aten.”

The wind picked up. The eerie, red lights pulsed, and a sour smell surged through the chamber. A strong breeze whipped the lights around, loud in the silence of the tomb.

Jagger’s gut clenched as he watched the old priest produce squares of wax and begin crafting what looked like small bodies.

“You depict the enemy of Aten. You are a threat to our country. Your name will be written. You will be spat on, trodden on, and destroyed in the fire of the god.” Herihor chanted this repeatedly, addressing each wax figure as his speedy hands fashioned them.

“Seven … eight … nine,” Babi counted softly, and slowly, as the priest chanted, the wind whipping faster through the tomb. “There are nine. One for each of them: the king, the queen, their five daughters, the queen mother Tiye, and Tutankhamun. Smenkare gets left out, I’m guessing.”

“Nine stones,” Jagger mused. The number nine was powerful in ancient Egypt. The gods were usually organized in groups of three—a father, mother, and child. An Ennead was made up of nine gods. Potent stuff. He hadn’t realized the family had nine members too, excluding Smenkare, of course. “Tatia said there’d be nine.”

Jagger shook his head. It didn’t make sense. Tatia had been certain every member of the royal family would die if this spell was cast. Did Smenkare know that? Could the princess have been wrong? If so, maybe their family would survive after all. They could be distant descendants of the corrupt prince. Jagger didn’t love that idea—it did nothing to help Mek or the royal family—but it was better than the alternative.

Herihor scrawled on each wax figure with a reed pen, his deep voice chanting melodically as the red lights danced with the lights of the torches, animated by the wind. Jagger couldn’t see what was written, but somehow he knew the old man was writing the names of the family members on the wax figurines. The prince and General watched in silence. Smenkare shifted his weight back and forth, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“The nine are assembled, the Ennead is created,” Herihor intoned. “The Ka will be shared, the Ka will be destroyed, the enemies of Aten will cease to be.” He walked to the sarcophagus and placed the nine wax figures on top, holding his hand out to the prince.

Smenkare glared at the High Priest. Jagger thought the prince would refuse to cooperate.

“Now!” the General’s nasally voice rang out.

The prince flinched, then handed Herihor a fine, linen bag. The old priest poured the stones onto the sarcophagus. Lifting the largest, green and rough, he examined it with a frightful smile. The wind whipped faster as if it recognized the stones, like a maelstrom was forming just outside the barred door.

“The Ka.” The old man stuck the large, green stone into the largest wax figure and set it in the middle of the sarcophagus. Red lights erupted from the stone, sparks flying. “I name you Meketaten, daughter of the king’s body, beloved of the queen …” The titles continued.

SSSssssssssss.

Jagger jumped as something close to them hissed.