by Rick Riordan
“Lord Ra,” she said. “I live to serve you.”
“Ha!” Ra said. “You live for power, Isis. Don’t try to deceive me. I know you created the snake that bit me! That’s why no one else can find a cure. You desire my throne for your husband, the upstart Osiris.”
Isis started to protest, “My lord—”
“Enough! If I were a younger god—” Ra made the mistake of moving his leg. He yelped in pain. The green venom spread farther up his veins.
“Never mind.” He sighed miserably. “I am weary of this world. Enough scheming and plotting. Just cure the poison.”
“Gladly, my king. But I will need—”
“My secret name,” Ra said. “Yes, I know. Promise to heal me, and you will get all you desire…and more.”
I heard the warning in Ra’s voice, but either Isis didn’t notice, or she didn’t care.
“I swear to heal you,” she said.
“Then approach, goddess.”
Isis leaned forward. I thought Ra would whisper his name in her ear, but instead he grasped her hand and placed it against his withered brow. Her fingertips smoldered. She tried to pull away, but Ra held her wrist. The sun god’s entire form glowed with fiery images of his long life: the first dawn; his sun boat shining on the newly risen land of Egypt; the creation of the other gods and mortal men; Ra’s endless battles with Apophis as he passed through the Duat each night, keeping Chaos at bay. It was too much to take in—centuries passing with each heartbeat. His secret name was the sum of his experience, and even then, in those ancient times, Ra was unthinkably old. The fiery aura spread to Isis’s hand, traveling up her arm until her whole body was wreathed in flames. She screamed once. Then the fires died. Isis collapsed, smoke curling from her dress.
“So,” Ra said. “You survived.”
I couldn’t tell if he felt disappointment or grudging respect.
Isis rose unsteadily to her feet. She looked shell-shocked, as if she’d just strolled through a war zone, but she raised her hand. A fiery hieroglyph burned on her palm—Ra’s secret name, distilled into a single unbelievably powerful word.
She placed her hand on Ra’s poisoned leg and spoke a spell. The green venom retreated from his veins. The swelling subsided. The bandages fell away, and the two fang marks closed.
Ra reclined on his throne and sighed with relief. “At last. No pain.”
“My lord needs rest,” Isis suggested. “A long, long rest.”
The sun god opened his eyes. There was no fire in them now. They looked like the milky eyes of a mortal old man.
“Bast!” he called.
The cat goddess materialized at his side. She was dressed in Egyptian armor of leather and iron, and she seemed younger, though perhaps that was just because she hadn’t yet endured centuries in a prison abyss, fighting Apophis. I was tempted to shout to her and warn her about what was coming, but my voice wouldn’t work.
Bast gave Isis sideways look. “My lord, is this…woman bothering you?” Ra shook his head. “Nothing will bother me much longer, my faithful cat. Come with me now. We have important matters to discuss before I depart.”
“My lord? Where are you going?”
“Into forced retirement.” Ra glared at Isis. “That is what you want, goddess of magic?”
Isis bowed.
“Never, my lord!” Bast drew her knives and stepped toward Isis, but Ra held out his arm.
“Enough, Bast,” he said. “I have another fight in mind for you—one last, crucial fight. As for you, Isis, you may think you have won because you mastered my secret name. Do you realize what you’ve started? Osiris may become pharaoh, but his reign will be short and bitter. His royal seat will be a pale reflection of my throne of fire. This boat will no longer ride the Duat. The balance between Ma’at and Chaos will slowly degrade. Egypt itself will fall. The names of her gods will fade to a distant memory. Then one day, the entire world will stand on the brink of destruction. You will cry out to Ra, and I will not be there. When that day comes, remember how your greed and ambition caused it to happen.”
“My lord.” Isis bowed respectfully, but I knew she wasn’t thinking about some distant future. She was drunk with her victory. She thought Osiris would rule Egypt forever, and that Ra was just an old fool. She did not know that in a short time, her victory would turn to tragedy. Osiris would be murdered by his brother, Set. And someday, Ra’s other predictions would come true as well.
“Let us go, Bast,” Ra said. “We are no longer wanted.”
The throne erupted in a column of flames, burning away the blue-and-gold canopy. A ball of fire ascended into the heavens until it was lost in the glare of the sun.
When the smoke cleared, Isis stood alone and laughed with delight.
“I did it!” she exclaimed. “Osiris, you will be king! I mastered the secret name of Ra!”
I wanted to tell her she had mastered nothing, but I could only watch as Isis danced across the boat. She was so pleased with her own success, she paid no attention to the magical servant lights disappearing. The lines dropped. The sail went slack. Oars trailed in the water, and the sun boat drifted down the river, unmanned.
My vision faded, and I sank into darkness.
I woke in a soft bed. For a blissful moment, I thought I was back in my room at Brooklyn House. I could get up and have a lovely breakfast with my friends, Amos, Philip of Macedonia, and Khufu, then spend the day teaching our initiates how to turn each other into reptiles. That sounded brilliant.
But of course I wasn’t home. I sat up, and my head began spinning. I was in a king-size bed with soft cotton sheets and a pile of feather pillows. The bedroom was quite posh, decorated in dazzling white, which did not help my dizziness. I felt as if I were back in the home of the sky goddess Nut. At any moment, the room might dissolve into clouds.
My legs felt stiff, but I managed to get out of bed. I was wearing one of those hotel robes so massive and plush, I looked like an albino Muppet. I staggered to the doorway and found a lovely living room, also bright white. Sliding glass doors led to a veranda that overlooked the sea from quite a height—possibly fifteen or twenty stories. The sky and the water were gorgeous blue.
My eyes took a moment to adjust to the light. On a nearby table, Carter’s and my few possessions were carefully laid out —our old rumpled clothes, our magic bags, and the two scrolls from the Book of Ra, along with Bes’s bag from the Chocolate Museum.
Carter was wrapped in a white robe like mine. He lay on the couch with his eyes closed. His whole body shivered. Bes sat next to him, dabbing Carter’s forehead with a cool cloth.
“How—how is he?” I managed.
Bes glanced over. He looked like a miniature tourist in a loud Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, and flip-flops. The ugly American—size extra-small.
“About time,” he said. “I was beginning to think you’d never wake up.”
I took a step forward, but the room tilted back and forth.
“Careful.” Bes rushed over and took my arm. “You got a nasty bump on the head.”
“Never mind that,” I muttered. “I have to help Carter.”
“He’s bad, Sadie. I don’t know if—”
“I can help. My wand, and the wax figurine—”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll get them.”
With Bes’s assistance, I wobbled to Carter’s side. Bes fetched my things while I checked Carter’s forehead. His fever was worse than before. The veins in his neck had turned green from the poison, just like Ra’s had in my vision.
I frowned at Bes. “How long was I out?”
“It’s almost noon on Tuesday.” He spread my magic supplies at Carter’s feet. “So, roughly twelve hours.”
“Twelve hours? Bes, that’s the maximum time Set thought Carter could stay alive before the poison killed him! Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”
His face turned as red as his Hawaiian shirt. “I tried! I pulled you both out of the Mediterranean and got you to the hotel, di
dn’t I? I used all the wake-up spells I know! You just kept muttering in your sleep about Walt, Anubis, secret names—”
“Fine!” I said. “Just help me—”
The doorbell rang.
Bes gestured for me to stay calm. He called out in another language—possibly Arabic—and a hotel waiter opened the door. He bowed low to Bes, as if the dwarf were a sultan, then brought in a room service cart loaded with tropical fruit, fresh-baked breads, and bottled sodas.
“Excellent,” Bes told me. “Be right back.”
“You’re wasting time!” I snapped.
Naturally, Bes ignored me. He retrieved his bag from the dining table and brought out the chocolate head of Vladimir Lenin. The waiter’s eyes widened. Bes put the head in the middle of the cart and nodded as if it made the perfect centerpiece.
Bes gave the waiter a few more orders in Arabic, then handed him some gold coins. The waiter groveled and generally looked terrified. He exited backward, still bowing.
“Where are we exactly?” I asked. “And why are you a king here?”
“Alexandria, Egypt,” Bes said. “Sorry about the rough arrival. It’s a tricky place to teleport to. Cleopatra’s old capital, you know, where the Egyptian Empire fell apart, so magic tends to get twisted around. The only working portals are in the old city, which is off the coast, under thirty feet of water.”
“And this place? Obviously a luxury hotel, but how did you—”
“Penthouse Suite, Four Seasons Alexandria.” He sounded slightly embarrassed. “People in Egypt still remember the old gods, even if they won’t admit it. I was popular back in the day, so I can usually call in favors when I need them. Sorry I didn’t have more time. I could’ve gotten us a private villa.”
“How dare you,” I said. “Making us settle for a five-star hotel. Now, why don’t you make sure we’re not interrupted while I heal Carter?”
I grabbed the wax figurine Jaz had given me and knelt next to my brother. The statue was deformed from getting knocked around in my bag. Then again, Carter looked worse for wear, too. Hopefully the magic connection would still work.
“Carter,” I said. “I’m going to heal you. But I need your help.”
I put my hand on his feverish forehead. Now I knew why Jaz had appeared to me as a ren, the part of the soul that represented her name. I knew why she’d shown me the vision of Isis and Ra.
You’re so close to understanding, Sadie, she’d said.
I’d never thought about it before, but the ren was the same as one’s secret name. It was more than just special word. The secret name is your darkest thoughts, your most embarrassing moments, your biggest dreams, your worst fears, all wrapped together. It’s the sum of your experiences, even those you’d never want to share. Your secret name makes you who you are.
That’s why a secret name has power. It’s also why you couldn’t simply hear someone repeat a secret name and know how to use it. You had to know that person and understand their life. The more you understood the person, the more power their name could yield. You could only learn a secret name from the person himself—or from the person closest to his heart.
And heaven help me, for me Carter was that person.
Carter, I thought. What is your secret name?
Even in sickness, his mind resisted me. You don’t just hand over your secret name. Every human had one, just as each god did; but most humans spent their whole lives not knowing that, not ever putting in words their most private identity. Understandable, really. Try summing up your entire existence in five words or less. Not exactly easy, is it?
“You can do this,” I murmured. “You’re my brother. I love you. All the embarrassing bits, all the annoying bits, which I imagine is most of you—a thousand Zias might run away from you if they knew the truth. But I won’t. I’ll still be here. Now, tell me your name, you big idiot, so I can save your life.”
My hand tingled against his forehead. His life passed through my fingers—ghostly memories of when we were children, living with our parents in Los Angeles. I saw my birthday party when I turned six and the cake exploded. I saw our mother reading bedtime stories to us from a college science textbook; our dad playing jazz and dancing me around the room while Carter covered his ears and yelled, “Dad!” I saw moments I hadn’t shared with my brother, as well: Carter and Dad caught in a riot in Paris; Carter and Zia talking by candlelight in the First Nome; Carter by himself in the library at Brooklyn House, staring at his Eye of Horus amulet and struggling against the temptation to reclaim the power of a god. He’d never told me about that, but it made me feel relieved. I’d thought I was the only one who’d been so tempted.
Slowly, Carter relaxed. His worst fears passed through me, his most embarrassing secrets. His strength was failing as the poison gripped his heart. With his last bit of willpower, he told me his name.
[Of course, I won’t tell you what it is. You couldn’t use it anyway, hearing it from a recording, but I won’t take chances.]
I raised the wax figurine and spoke Carter’s secret name. Immediately, the poison receded from his veins. The wax figure turned green and melted in my hands. Carter’s fever broke. He shuddered, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes.
“Right,” I said sternly. “Don’t ever ride another bloody snake monster again!”
“Sorry…” he croaked. “Did you just—”
“Yeah.”
“With my secret name—”
“Yeah.”
“And all my secrets—”
“Yeah.”
He groaned and covered his face as if he wanted to fall back into a coma; but honestly, I had no intention of teasing him. There’s a difference between keeping your brother in his place and being cruel. I wasn’t cruel. Besides, after seeing into the darkest recesses of Carter’s mind, I was a bit ashamed, possibly even in awe. There really wasn’t much there. Compared to my fears and embarrassing secrets—oh, dear. He was tame. I hoped our situations were never reversed and he had to heal me.
Bes came over with Lenin’s head tucked in the crook of his arm. He’d obviously been having a nibble, as Lenin’s forehead was missing—victim of a frontal choco-lobotomy.
“Good work, Sadie!” He broke off Lenin’s nose and offered it to Carter. “Here, boy. You’ve earned this.”
Carter frowned. “Does chocolate have magic healing properties?”
Bes snorted. “If it did, I’d be the healthiest dwarf in the world. Nah. It just tastes good.”
“And you’ll need your strength,” I added. “We have a lot to talk about.”
Despite our looming deadline—as of tomorrow, only two more days until the equinox and the end of the world—Bes insisted we rest until the following morning. He warned that if Carter exerted himself physically or magically any sooner after being poisoned, it might well kill him.
Losing the time made me quite agitated, but after going to so much trouble to revive my brother, I rather wanted to keep him alive. And I’ll admit I wasn’t in much better shape. I was so drained magically myself, I don’t think I could have moved farther than the veranda.
Bes called the front desk and ordered a personal shopper to buy us some new clothes and supplies in town. I’m not sure what the Arabic word is for combat boots, but the shopping lady managed to find a new pair. When she delivered our things, she tried to give the boots to Carter, then looked horrified when Bes pointed at me. I also got a supply of hair dye, a comfortable pair of jeans, a cotton top in desert camouflage colors, and a headscarf that was probably all the rage with Egyptian women, but which I decided not to wear, as it would probably clash with the new purple highlights I wanted for my hair.
Carter got jeans, boots, and a T-shirt that read Property of Alexandria University in English and Arabic. Clearly, even personal shoppers had him pegged as a complete geek.
The shopper also managed to find some supplies for our magic bags—blocks of wax, twine, even some papyrus and ink—though I doubt Bes explained to her what the
y were for.
After she left, Bes, Carter and I ordered more food from room service. We sat on the deck and watched the afternoon go by. The breeze from the Mediterranean was cool and pleasant. Modern Alexandria stretched out to our left—an odd mix of gleaming high-rises, shabby, crumbling buildings, and ancient ruins. The shoreline highway was dotted with palm trees and crowded with every sort of vehicle from BMWs to donkeys. From our penthouse suite, it all seemed a bit unreal—the raw energy of the city, the bustle and congestion below —while we sat on our veranda in the sky eating fresh fruit and the last melting bits of Lenin’s head.
I wondered if this was how the gods felt, watching the mortal world from their throne room in the Duat.
As we talked, I set the two scrolls from the Book of Ra on the patio table. They looked so plain and harmless, yet we’d almost died retrieving them. Still one more to find, then the real fun would begin—figuring out how to use them to awaken Ra. It seemed impossible we could do so much in forty-eight hours, yet here we sat, sidelined and exhausted, forced to rest until the morning. Carter and his bloody heroics, getting bitten by that Doctor Dolittle snake…and he calls me impulsive. Meanwhile, Amos and our rookie initiates were left alone at Brooklyn House, preparing to defend against Vlad Menshikov, a magician so ruthless, he was on a secret-name basis with the god of evil.
I told Carter what had happened in St. Petersburg after he got poisoned—how I’d given up Set’s name in exchange for the location of the last scroll: someplace called Bahariya. I described my vision of Anubis and Walt, my chat with Jaz’s spirit, and my trip back in time to Ra’s sun barge. The only thing I held back: what Set had said about Zia’s village being named al-Hamrah Makan. And yes, I know that was wrong —but I’d just been inside Carter’s head. I now understood how important Zia was to him. I knew how badly any information about her would rattle him.
Carter sat in his lounge chair and listened intently. His color had returned to normal. His eyes were clear and alert. It was hard to believe he’d been on death’s door only hours before. I wanted to credit my healing powers, but I had a feeling his recovery had just as much to do with rest, several ginger ales, and a room-service cheeseburger with chips.
