Jagger Jones and the Mummy's Ankh

by Malayna Evans

  Babi landed last, and the old man nodded to a nearby hole in the cliff wall.

  The tomb.

  Should it be open? It might as well have TRAP written in flashing lights above it.

  Jagger swallowed the bile that crawled up his throat. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself to follow the priest in before realizing Aria wasn’t behind him. He twirled in place, panicked. She was next to the cliff wall, playing with the rope.

  “What are you doing?” Jagger hissed.

  “Hiding it,” she replied. “There.” She stepped back to view her work. Jagger had to admit, it was good thinking. The rope that had been just hanging there, announcing to anyone who looked this way that someone had just dropped from the cliff above, was now tucked neatly into a crack in the wall, secured by a hair scrunchy from Aria’s purse.

  She blew out a puff of air, then gave Jagger a quick nod.

  This was it.

  “Let’s go.” Herihor waved them toward their fate. He paused just inside the tomb to let their eyes adjust. It was dim. And it would get darker as they went deeper.

  Jagger grabbed his phone and flipped on its flashlight.

  Herihor gasped. He stared, open mouthed, at the illumination bouncing off the tomb walls, then he nodded approvingly. Modern day America may not have magic, but it did have some pretty cool tech.

  Jagger cast his light down the top few stairs. They couldn’t see far. After listening for a moment, hearing nothing but their own breath, Herihor led them forward. Jagger pushed Aria in front of him, where he could see her, and folded himself between her and Babi, who brought up the rear.

  The priest led them into a narrow corridor that slanted downward. Jagger’s heart raced as he walked into the abyss—an abyss he might never emerge from. He stayed close to Aria as they followed another staircase downward, then another descending corridor that opened into a small, square room. A deep pit covered the floor.

  “It’s a well,” Jagger mumbled, watching Herihor skirt it.

  Jagger shifted in front of his sister. He hugged the wall, balancing on the narrow space that circled the hole.

  Aria paused at the edge, biting her lip. “What’s it for?” she whispered.

  Jagger stopped and looked back at her. “Maybe for floodwaters. Or to fool tomb robbers. Or maybe it’s part of their religion—like the waters of creation to help Pharaoh’s rebirth.” He swallowed hard. “Doesn’t matter. It’s just a hole. We can get past it.”

  “I know,” she peeped as she began creeping around the edge.

  When Jagger turned back, Herihor had reached the other side of the well and disappeared through a doorway. Jagger caught up, peeking into the small room that was painted to look like a giant papyrus roll covered in hieroglyphs: beige and black, with accents of red and yellow. The stale smell was overwhelming.

  “AAAHHHH!”

  Jagger whipped around, heart in his throat. “Aria!”

  She was frozen in place, balanced in the narrow space between the hole and the wall, eyes glued to something in the pit.

  “Scorpion,” Jagger breathed.

  That was a colossal understatement. The thing was enormous. It clung to the side of the well. It was six feet long from its head to the end of its long tail, and its pincers were about two feet each. It slashed at Aria. Its tail slapped the far wall, lashing out to sting. Mist drifted around the oversized creature, filling the hole so Jagger couldn’t see the bottom. Were there more monsters behind this one?

  “Run.” Jagger urged his sister toward him, moving to the side so she could run into the pillared room ahead of him.

  Zap!

  A familiar hissing sound: the door filled with mist and sand. Jagger threw his body against it. Blocked. The back door was similarly filled. Babi shoved against the mist, then turned and shook his head. They were trapped in this room with the creature.

  “Herihor!” Jagger shouted.

  He heard the High Priest chanting on the other side of the blocked door. Jagger couldn’t make out the words. Herihor must be trying to get to them.

  “Help us,” Jagger yelled.

  “One moment. I need to undo this spell.”

  Jagger looked back at his sister. Aria threw her body from side to side, weaving to avoid the giant pincers as she struggled not to lose her balance.

  Arrows bounced off the walls. Babi was searching for the creature’s weak spot, but the arrows ricocheted off its natural armor, useless.

  Jagger couldn’t move. His worst fear was here. Aria was going to die, and he would just stand here and watch it all, too scared to budge.

  “Almost there,” Herihor yelled.

  Almost wasn’t good enough.

  “No!” Jagger’s primal scream bounced around the small room. It was as if a hidden compartment in his gut opened up, barfing out anger Jagger didn’t even realize he’d buried deep. Anger at Dad for being unavailable and irresponsible. Anger at Mom for leaving him in charge all the time, making it impossible to just be a kid. Even anger at Grams and Gramps for being old; the truth was, Jagger took care of them more than they took care of him. And anger at Aria for needing him so much. Jagger watched after himself by the time he was eleven. Why couldn’t she?

  But along with the bile came a realization: he didn’t want to protect his sister because it was his duty. She was the only other person on the planet who shared his bizarre life, who understood what it was like to bounce back and forth between Mom and Grams and Gramps and, on occasion, Dad, not to mention whatever continent they landed on.

  All that occurred to him in an instant, and he knew he needed to do something. If he didn’t act, he’d never forgive himself. An old Martin Luther King Jr. quote thundered through his head: If a man has not discovered something that he will die for, he isn’t fit to live.

  Aria was worth dying for.

  Jagger tensed, ready to throw his body onto the scorpion, driving them both into the pit to their deaths, sacrificing himself to save his little sis.

  Okay, so that was Plan B.

  First, he needed to get to his sister.

  Move!

  Sliding around the narrow space, he eased himself over to Aria. She looked terrified, eyes bright and skin sallow. She was staring intensely at the big bug, trying to read its intentions so she could dodge the next pincer move.

  More arrows bounced off the walls, and Babi cursed, dropping his bow and pulling out a sword. Moving to the far side of the well, he screamed at the scorpion. He banged the sword against the rock, trying to pull the creature’s attention away from Aria.

  “Face me, you ugly beast,” he yelled.

  It worked.

  The scorpion scurried to the other side, toward Babi, just as Jagger reached Aria. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her forward and shoved her against the sand-filled doorway, but their path was still blocked.

  “Now, Herihor!” Jagger yelled as he put himself between Aria and the creature.

  “I am trying,” the priest shot back. “I am occupied fighting my own battle at the moment. Just hang on.” The old man sounded winded. Jagger wondered what kind of monster he was facing.

  What if what was on the other side of this door was even worse than the scorpion? At least Jagger was now between his sister and imminent death—that was something.

  Aria grit her teeth and scowled. “We have to do something. We have to pull it together and do something. We can’t fail Mek,” she wailed, as if the princess was here battling a giant scorpion, rather than them.

  Jagger’s brain ticked through possibilities, scanning the small room for anything they could use, rubbing his hands down his own body as if he might find a giant bug-repelling machine gun hanging at his side.

  “Your purse. Anything in your purse we can use?”

  Aria shook her head, then paused, bright eyes looking at Jagger in surprise. “Maybe.” She rummaged through it and pulled out a small spray can. Jagger wasn’t sure what she th
ought minty water was going to do for them.

  “Babi,” she yelled. “Catch.” She threw the can, and the captain caught it. Slashing at the creature with the sword, now in his left hand, he grasped the can with his right.

  “Spray it at him. Try to get his face, his … eye thingy.”

  “What’s water going to do to a giant scorpion?” Jagger prayed the mist would drop so Herihor could magic the creature away, like Mut had the crocodiles.

  “It’s not water.”

  Babi sprayed the scorpion in the face.

  The creature paused, as if stunned for a moment.

  “Keep spraying,” Aria yelled.

  Babi leaned toward the creature, aimed the canister at its eyes, and pumped over and over.

  Jagger didn’t know if normal scorpions could screech, but this one did. The racket ricocheted off the walls as it screamed, falling into the well on its back. Steam erupted from the hole, covering them all in a damp mist. The scream echoed around the chamber for a moment longer.

  Thunk.

  Hiss.

  Then silence.

  Babi and Jagger stared at Aria. The sound of Jagger’s heart was loud in his ears.

  “What was that?” Jagger looked down at the menacing hole. Steam wafted out from it but dissipated before reaching them.

  “Bug spray.” Aria massaged her head with her hands. “From the girl’s weekend camping trip Mom and I took last summer.”

  Jagger remembered the weekend. He’d spent a rare Saturday night alone with Dad while they were gone. He’d been looking forward to it and remembered how secretly relieved he was that it actually happened, and that Dad had been in a good mood. Dad had even played violent video games with him—games Mom would never let him play.

  Zap.

  The sand blocking the door to the next chamber fell to the ground in a heap.

  Jagger and Aria stumbled forward, Babi on their heels.

  “Thank the gods, you’re safe.” Herihor waved them to the left, toward the stairs that led down into the large, tomb chamber.

  Jagger grabbed Aria’s hand and pulled her toward it.

  Two steps later, something hard struck his head.

  Blackness took him.

  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.”r />
  “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.”