The Tomb of Shadows

by Peter Lerangis

  I stopped short. “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Playing.” Torquin’s eyes were moist. The little instrument looked even smaller in his huge hands. “‘Oh! Susanna.’ Professor’s favorite.”

  I knelt by the professor, leaning close to his ear. “Professor, it’s Jack. How are you?”

  He didn’t turn his eyes. But I sensed he could hear me.

  “Jack, he’s unconscious,” Dr. Bradley said.

  “A little while ago, Professor,” I pressed on, “you looked at me and said something. I didn’t understand you then, but were you telling us to look for a Loculus of Healing?”

  I stared into his face for what felt like an hour, looking for the tiniest flicker of recognition. All I could see was a white ring in the pupils of his eyes, reflecting the fluorescent lights above. Cold and unmoving. With a deep sigh, I stood up to leave.

  The white ring moved.

  “Jack . . . ?” Aly whispered.

  Bhegad’s eyes were turning toward me. His mouth shuddered slightly but no sound came out. I leaned again, so that my ear was close to him. I felt a soft breath of air. A vowel followed by a kind of hiss. “Is that a yes, Professor?”

  Professor Bhegad’s face moved up and down in the weakest nod I have ever seen.

  “We found a coded letter from Charles Newton,” I said. “The guy who discovered the remains of the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus. The code said something about the lame walking and the sick rising. Is that the place we need to go? Is that where we’ll find the Loculus of Healing?”

  “Newton . . .” Bhegad said. “. . . Massa . . .”

  “Charles Newton was with the Massa?” I said. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  But Bhegad’s energy was spent. His lids slowly closed, his breaths deepening into a snore.

  As Dr. Bradley stepped in, I backed away toward the door. If I had two spitballs, I could have launched them into Aly’s and Cass’s mouths, which were hanging open. “You were right about the Loculus . . .” Aly murmured.

  “Which means we might be able to save him,” Cass said.

  “Dad,” I blurted out, “we have an emergency. A big one. That aircraft on the runway with an MGL logo—can we use it? Can you get a pilot to take us to Turkey?”

  “What?” Dad looked flabbergasted. “Would you mind telling me what the heck is going on?”

  This was not going to be easy.

  “Follow me.” I barged past Dad, Cass, and Aly, jogging back to the office. Now my whole body felt weird, like I’d caught a cold. When we were all in the office, I shut the door behind us and gestured toward the black padded desk chair. “Sit, Dad, and listen. Promise you’ll hear us out until the end. This is going to sound weird.”

  “I don’t know if I can take more weird,” Dad said.

  “Inside that pack,” I said, pointing to Torquin’s bulky backpack against the wall, “are two Loculi. Spheres. Orbs. One of them can make you fly, the other can make you invisible. They were made by Queen Qalani, wife of King Uhla’ar, mother of Prince Karai and Prince Massarym.”

  Dad’s tense expression softened. “Karai . . . Massarym . . . of Atlantis. I know those names. Your mother was fascinated by the legend.”

  “It’s not a legend, Dad,” I said. “It’s real. Atlantis was this unbelievably peaceful place, amazingly advanced. All due to this magical energy from a breach in the ground. Qalani was a scientist. She wanted to analyze the energy, thinking she could transport it if she needed to. So she managed to isolate it into seven components, which she put into the Loculi. They had to remain in a place called the Heptakiklos, passing their energy in a kind of circuit, so it would all be in balance. But Massarym liked to sneak off with the Loculi and play with them. When the continent was hit by earthquakes, wars, and disease, Karai thought his mom was to blame for disturbing the sacred energy source. So he figured destroying the Loculi would end the problem. Massarym freaked, and secretly hid them away where Karai would never find them. One went into the Great Pyramid. He commissioned six other structures, like storage lockers, but, well, magical and powerful. They became known as the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.”

  “The continent sank,” Aly went on. “Totaled. But centuries later the explorer Herman Wenders discovered the remains, a small volcanic island. His son, Burt, was a Select like Jack and Cass and me. Wenders and his crew stayed there and founded the Scholars of Karai. They couldn’t save Burt, but now there’s an awesome high-tech laboratory where they’ve been working on many of the secrets of Atlantis—including finding a treatment for people like us. The problem is, the breach is widening, weakening. It could blast open a rift in time and destroy the world. Already some Atlantean beasts have slipped through.”

  “So we need to return the Loculi and close the breach,” Cass said. “But here’s the bonus—if the Loculi are put back into the Heptakiklos, and their energy is in balance, moob! We’re cured. We have long, happy lives as superbeings and awesome people.”

  Our words hung in the air. Dad looked at each of us for what felt like a long time. “And you believe all this?”

  “We’ve seen the evidence,” I said. “Cass has talon marks from the griffin. We made the Colossus of Rhodes rise from rocks. We traveled to Ancient Babylon in a parallel world progressing at one ninetieth the speed of our own.”

  Cass had pulled open his shirt to show the griffin scars, but Dad was shaking his head. Both of his heads, actually—my eyes were starting to see double. I shook it off, but my head felt weird.

  “Where are these things—the griffin, the Colossus, the ancient civilization?” he asked. “If all this happened, why wasn’t it in the news?”

  “All destroyed,” I explained.

  Dad took a deep breath. “Look, I am so grateful that you’re alive. I know you’ve been through a lot. But I’m a man of science. I don’t doubt that these things happened, in some form. Many miraculous things happen. But all of them are explainable by physics, biology, brain studies, perception.”

  “So you think we’re seeing things?” Aly said.

  Outside the room, I saw people in white lab coats racing to the operating room. We were running out of time, fast. And I was starting to feel queasy.

  I scooped up Torquin’s backpack, then took Dad’s hand. “Come with me, okay?”

  Bewildered, Dad followed me out of the office, down the corridor, and outside. Aly and Cass ran behind. From the end of the hallway, I could hear the strains of a ukulele playing “Oh! Susanna” accompanied by a voice that was a cross between a foghorn and a complicated belch.

  We left the building into the silence of the Mongolian steppe. The sun was beginning to set, and the early-evening chill soothed my aching head. I set the pack down against the glass building and took out the canvas bags holding the Loculi.

  “Can you see what’s in here?” I said, opening the bag that contained the Loculus of Invisibility.

  “No,” Dad said. “There’s nothing.”

  I reached down into the bag until I felt the surface, keeping a careful eye on my dad’s reaction.

  As I disappeared from sight, he jumped backward. Cass and Aly each took one of his arms. “Jack?” he murmured. “What the—?”

  “I’m still here, Dad,” I said. “I am going to reach out and take your hand now. When I do, the power will transfer. You will see me and the Loculus, but you and I will be invisible to everyone else.”

  I touched his hand, and he gasped again. “Aly?” I said. “The other Loculus, please?”

  Aly took the Loculus of Flight from the other bag and approached Dad and me, hand outstretched. “Hang tight,” I said, clasping my hand around his wrist. “To Aly and to me. Really tight.”

  Dad grasped Aly’s hand. She began to rise, pulling him off the ground. He was heavy, and she went slowly, maybe about six vertical feet.

  “Yeeeaagghh!” Dad cried out. His legs were dangling beneath him, his eyes wide as satellite dishes. “Set me down! Set me down!” />
  Cass was cracking up. “Oh . . . oh . . .” he said, nearly choking on laughter. “Sorry . . . this is the funniest thing I’ve ever not seen.”

  Aly brought us down gently. When we were sure Dad was stable on his feet, we returned the Loculi to their bags. He was breathing shallow and hard. “What . . . just happened?”

  “Those,” I said, “are the first two Loculi. The third, we’re pretty sure, is a Loculus of Healing. We need to find it now. For Professor Bhegad and for us. The Mausoleum at Halicarnassus is in Turkey, which isn’t that far from here, really.”

  “I can navigate,” Cass said.

  Dad closed his eyes for a long time, as if hoping this whole thing would go away. “My wife faked her own death,” he said. “My son is doomed. I’ve built a genetic company based on a false premise. I just flew off the ground but no one saw it happen. As a father, husband, scientist, and businessman, I have failed. Tell me I’m dreaming.”

  “You’re awake, Dad,” I said, “and you’re not a failure. You’re the best dad ever.”

  Dad opened his eyes. Tears were forming at their corners.

  “I think I’m going to cry,” Aly said.

  Dad put an arm around my shoulder. “You realize,” he said, “this is totally flipping crazy.”

  “Crazy,” I said, “is the new normal . . .”

  “But I can’t do this,” he said. “Not without further study. I’m sorry, son.”

  I pulled away. My knees felt like they’d been swapped out with saltwater taffy. Dad was standing before me in duplicate, then triplicate. His eyes were floating before me, wide and intense.

  “Jack . . . ?” he said.

  “Jack, what’s happening to you?” Cass demanded.

  I fell to my knees. “Just . . . a headache . . .”

  The last thing I saw before hitting the dirt were six pairs of arms reaching out to catch me.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  WORK TO BE DONE

  THE STORM RAGES. Though the building is not yet complete, it is a fine shelter, the construction solid. For my plans, it will be enough.

  I hear a thunderclap and look up. The door is open to the grim night. My would-be assailant lies unconscious over the threshold, at the feet of the guard. In silhouette the guard looks small and frightened, as though the worst is yet to come.

  He has no idea how much worse.

  At the foot of the stairs is a statue, not yet mounted onto the structure’s roof — a ruler who has died, and his wife who is still alive. For a moment I think about my own father and mother, a king and queen in a place long gone. My throat closes and I choke back a sob. I will never have the opportunity to do for them what I am about to do now for this ruler who calls herself queen.

  The ocean crashes at the bottom of the cliff. The building is cold and forbidding. But this will soon change. Beyond the building is an unspeakable place that will make this darkness seem bright, this bleakness seem like great cheer.

  The queen is about to rule again.

  I reach into my bag and remove the smooth cobalt sphere. The earth shakes but I am no longer afraid. It is all as it should be.

  I am Massarym. And there is work to be done.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE TAILOR WAKES

  “HE’S AWAKE . . .”

  “No, he’s not . . .”

  “His eyes are moving.”

  “Jack? Jack, do you hear me?”

  Jack. My name is Jack.

  The dream was breaking up into flinty shards, images that shimmered and vanished. I could hear voices. Real, not dream voices. Cass and Aly. I tried to move my eyes but they weren’t working. I tried to talk but I couldn’t.

  “He needs at least a half hour recovery, maybe more.”

  “He can recuperate while we’re moving him.”

  Dr. Bradley. Aly.

  What was happening?

  A warm hand clasped my arm. I was moving. Rolling. “He wasn’t due for one of these for another week, you say?”

  “Early. Like Cass.”

  “Then we can’t waste time. What about Bhegad?”

  Dad. Torquin. Dad again.

  “I appreciate the concern . . . but I will feel better . . . if someone destroys that banjo . . .” Professor Bhegad.

  “Is ukulele.” Torquin.

  Where am I going? What are you doing to me?

  WHY CAN’T I—

  “Taalk!”

  The rolling stopped. My eyes popped open and I blinked. We were in the hallway, outside the recovery room.

  “Did you say something, Jack?” Dad was staring down at me, his eyes creased with concern.

  I blinked. “I said talk. I think.”

  “I knew it!” Aly blurted out, clinging happily to my dad’s arm. “He’s okay.” She leaned close to me. “JACK, ARE YOU FULLY AWAKE? CAN YOU HEAR ME? YOU HAD A TREATMENT. YOU ARE BACK TO NORMAL NOW.”

  “Why are you yelling at me?” I asked.

  Cass appeared on the other side of the bed. “Bhegad’s awake. We asked him about the Loculus of Healing. And about the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus. Just to be sure. And guess what? You were right—about both!”

  “Good work, Tailor,” Aly said.

  “Tailor?” Dad asked.

  Bhegad’s soft, breathy voice called out. He was on a gurney next to mine. “Tinker . . . tailor . . . soldier . . . sailor . . .”

  “I’m the Sailor, because of my emosewa lanoitagivan ability,” Cass explained. “The Soldier is Marco—you never met him, Mr. McKinley, but he’s cool—because he’s mad athletic. And Aly is the Tinker because of her tech amazingness.”

  Dad smiled. “So what’s the Tailor’s special ability?”

  I smiled weakly. “I was hoping you’d tell me.”

  The one who puts it all together, Bhegad had once said. But that seemed like an excuse. Like the trophy you get even if your team finishes last.

  Unfortunately, Bhegad had fallen silent.

  “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s awesome,” Dad said. He gave a signal, and I felt myself being wheeled again. We were heading away from the recovery room toward the exit.

  “What’s happening?” I asked. “Where are we going?”

  “I had some time to think about what you told me before you passed out,” Dad said. “Since then, I’ve chatted with Dr. Bradley, Torquin, and your friends. I have decided it’s important to start planning for your fourteenth birthday. And fifteenth. So we’ve reserved Brunhilda to help us.”

  “What the heck are you talking about?” I said.

  We stopped by a small, empty room. Two McKinley Genetics Lab people stood just inside, holding some folded-up clothing.

  “Brunhilda is the name of our corporate jet,” Dad replied. “Change quickly. I’m going to get you a cell phone in case we get separated at any point. Wheels up in ten minutes. With Bhegad. Torquin’s flying.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  BRUNHILDA

  “PAH!” TORQUIN YANKED the steering mechanism to the left. “Slippy is like Lamborghini, Brunhilda like minivan!”

  “Her ride feels smooth to me,” Dad said from the copilot’s seat.

  The jet banked gently left. “Smooth, yes,” Torquin shot back. “Fun, no.”

  Cass, Aly, and I sat quietly in three padded seats behind the two men. Cass was fiddling with his flash drive/worry beads again, staring at the Charles Newton letter. “There’s something funky about this,” he said. “Did you notice some of the letters are lighter than the others?”

  Aly peered over his shoulder. “Bad photocopy,” she said.

  “Or bad typewriter,” Dad added. “On those old machines, the keys responded to pressure. If you didn’t type hard enough, the letters were lighter.”

  “But the light letters actually spell something,” Cass said. “‘The destroyer shall rule.’ Look.”

  “Are you sure?” Aly said. “Because a lot of those letters look light.”

  Cass shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like that could be a coin
cidence. Maybe it has something to do with King Mausolus.”

  “He wasn’t a king,” Aly said. “He was a satrap. Kind of like a governor.”

  “Maaa . . .” groaned Professor Bhegad from the back of the plane.

  We all turned. Bhegad lay on a reclined seat, a wheelchair folded up and strapped to the wall behind him. “How’s he doing?” I asked.

  “The commotion drained him,” Dr. Bradley said. “He hasn’t been awake this whole flight. For a human being in his condition, travel is very nearly the worst possible thing.”

  “He’ll make it as far as Turkey, right?” Cass asked.

  Dr. Bradley cocked her head but said nothing.

  Unbuckling her seat belt, Aly knelt by Bhegad and took his hand. “I don’t know if you can hear me, Professor, but if there’s a way to heal you, we will find it.”

  “Slippy,” Torquin grumbled, “would already be in Holly—Holla—Turkey.”

  “Halicarnassus,” Dad said. “And it’s not called that anymore. The Knights of Saint Peter changed the name to Petronium. Which, over time, became Bodrum. That’s where we’re headed. Bodrum, Turkey.”

  Torquin nodded, then glanced at his GPS. “Ninety-seven miles from Boredom.”

  I turned away, focusing on the monitor that swung out from the armrest of my seat. Since leaving home for the KI, we hadn’t had internet. Now I was making up for lost time, collecting research on the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus. If I had time, I wanted to look into the other Wonders, too.

  I zoomed in on some drawings. The place wasn’t sprawling or gaudy. It wasn’t a phenomenal feat of engineering like the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. But there was something unbelievably beautiful about it, almost modern—tall, columned, nearly square all around, like the top of a skyscraper. It was ornamented with massive statues and covered with carvings. At the top, like a hat, was a pyramid that rose in steps up to a statue of a chariot holding two people.

  “‘More than one hundred thirty feet,’” I read aloud. “Taller than the Statue of Liberty, not including the base. It lasted sixteen centuries. The whole thing is surrounded by columns, thirty-six of them. Mausolus and his wife, Artemisia, sat at the top in a chariot—well, they didn’t, but a statue of them did. The place was called Caria back then, not Halicarnassus. It was part of Persia. The structure was considered crazy modern, even shocking. In those days fancy buildings were decorated with classical scenes, historical battles. But they used statues of animals, portraits of real people.”