The Final Kingdom

by Michael Northrop

  “I see you have met my friends,” said the founder. He plunged one bony, clawlike hand into his own swirling chest and plucked one of the ghostly wasps. Free from the teeming mix, it grew from the size of a sparrow to the size of an eagle and snapped at the air with jagged needle-sharp teeth. Without even looking at it, the founder plunged it back in. “They started as spirits — human souls. They were drawn to me, because my spirit was stronger. But over the centuries, I have taken over those spirits. We have become a sort of hive. Now they hunger for other souls to consume.” He paused. “As you will see in a moment.”

  Alex knew that the founder would soon devour him, body and soul. He knew he should fight, but the idea seemed absurd. What could I possibly do to this ancient creature? Right now it was one being, more or less. Blasting it with wind or launching some object at it would just scatter the hive — which would pick him clean in seconds.

  Alex’s heart raced with fear and sank with despair at the same time. Because the real pity of it was that he had come so close to his goal. So very close.

  On a raised stone platform directly beside the founder lay the Lost Spells of the ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead. They were covered over with the thin linen of the concealment spells, but he knew they were there. They had given him a second life, and he could feel them in his blood.

  “Yes, the Spells,” said the founder, following his eyes. “For so long we searched for them: a power far greater than our own, a power beyond imagination. And now they are ours. Perhaps I should thank you, but you have caused us trouble as well. So instead, you will die.”

  Alex searched his mind desperately for some escape. He was too far into the room to sprint for the door. There was nothing substantial to hide behind. Even if fighting was futile, he would have to try.

  Alex heard heavy footsteps at the door behind him. He didn’t dare turn around, but he knew that the other Walkers had returned.

  The founder smiled. Vain in the way powerful men have always been, he’d simply been waiting for an audience. He raised one hand, and the hive began to grow there, like a grotesque, inflating fist. Wings sprouted, buzzing loudly; eyes appeared.

  But Alex clung tightly to something the Death Walker had just said: A power far greater than our own.

  The founder was more powerful than him. Ta-mesah was more powerful than him. Even the Stung Man, whom he’d defeated before, was beyond harm here. But none of them were the most powerful thing in this room.

  As the leader lowered his churning arm toward him, Alex used the power of the scarab for the smallest of tasks.

  He flipped aside the light, age-yellowed linen of the concealment spells.

  A wave of power spread through the room like a ripple on smooth water. It was barely visible — just a brief wink and bend to the firelight — but the effect was profound.

  The founder held his vengeful spirits as he turned to look at the powerful ancient text. The other two Death Walkers, who’d been hovering near the door to avoid being caught in the carnage, took a step back.

  Alex was barely aware of any of it. His head swam and his knees nearly buckled. All he could do was stare at the Spells that had brought him back. As he did, the ancient scroll’s ink-black text began to glow a soft gold.

  This is your chance, he told himself. Your last chance.

  For a moment, no one moved. Even the swarming spirits fell nearly still. And then, his legs wobbly and his vision lit by stars and phantom symbols, Alex teetered forward.

  The founder took a step to block him, but Alex willed his dazzled eyes to focus and his breathless lungs to speak. “Get back!” he managed. “I have activated the Spells!”

  “You can’t wield this power,” said the founder. He punctuated his words with a dismissive snort. But he didn’t take another step.

  Alex wobbled forward like a baby deer on ice. “Of course I can,” he said, his voice little more than a pained gasp.

  “He’s used the Book of the Dead before,” said the Stung Man. “He banished me here before the doors were fully opened.”

  The founder looked at the Stung Man carefully. “The Book is one thing,” he said. “The Lost Spells are another.” He turned back to Alex and repeated himself: “You can’t wield this power!”

  Alex stumbled past him, passing mere feet from the deadly swarm. “Why not?” he mumbled. With the Spells so close, he felt like he was speaking underwater, but he poured everything he had left into his next words. “My mother used them … And my father.”

  The founder glared at him. “Enough. I will destroy you.”

  The words formed clearly in Alex’s troubled mind: The gods are stronger …

  “No!” he shouted. “With a word, I can summon the Devourer! Her ancient name glows at the top of this page. Don’t you see it?”

  It was a bluff. A total bluff. The top line could have said Cheez Whiz for all he knew. He could barely see the walls with all the stars swirling in his eyes, much less read a scroll. With one last lurch, he stumbled toward the stone platform. Just inches from the Spells, his blood ran hot and his head went blank. He flung his free hand up gracelessly, but it worked. The concealment spells flapped upward like a wing and then fell across the face of the scroll.

  Alex’s head cleared slightly, and he scooped the ancient texts up against his chest: the thin, gauzy concealment spells and the heavy old scroll they guarded. It felt like hugging an electric eel, but he held on tight.

  “One word!” he blurted, doubling down on his bluff.

  Then he turned unsteadily and lurched out of the room.

  With hate in their eyes, his stunned enemies let him pass.

  Out in the hallway, he pulled the linen veil tight over the old scroll and took off running.

  As soon as Alex began to run, the Walkers realized he’d been bluffing and came after him. Alex bolted out the short hallway at full speed and rushed between the crocs, now lying motionless on their backs. He heard Ta-mesah’s heavy footsteps slap the stone floor of the hallway and then soften as they hit dirt. He was right behind him!

  “Over here!” Ren called from somewhere in the field.

  Alex angled toward the sound and grimaced as Luke added: “Don’t look back, cuz!”

  He did his best to protect the ancient Spells with his arms as he ducked his head and rammed into the barley. Luke and Ren were waiting a few rows in.

  “I have them!” Alex gasped. “We need to get back to the portal where we came in!”

  “Okay,” said Ren, already turning to run. “We can head to the riverbank and follow it back!”

  The three friends crashed and stomped through the tall, fragile stalks.

  With his friends beside him, their long-sought prize in his arms, and the concealing crops all around, a wave of hope washed over him. The Spells had saved his life twice now — and he’d just gotten a glimpse of their power. Three unstoppable Walkers had been held hostage by the mere threat of it.

  But it wasn’t just the Spells they feared: It was Ammit. The gods really were stronger. Anubis had turned the Walkers back at the river. He was the guardian of the afterlife, and his word was law here. But Ammit was the enforcer of that law, and her jaws brought oblivion.

  As Alex ran, the stalks stinging his face, a wild thought occurred to him: Maybe they could win.

  And if they did … This whole time, he’d been almost as afraid of finding the Spells as of not finding them. They could save his world, but they could also end his life. He’d been willing to risk it before.

  But now? Knowing that this plot began long before him, that his mom had never abandoned him, and that the Spells in his arms scared his enemies stiff … He still wanted to win, but feeling the wild elation of escape, the sensation of flight as he ran alongside his friends, he knew something else. He wanted to live, too. But how?

  A sound much louder than three grain-stomping kids rose up behind them. Alex looked back over his shoulder and saw the barley bend forward in a massive wave. As it did, Ale
x felt a swift slap strike his whole body at once. “Guh!” he blurted, stumbling onto one knee.

  Ren was knocked to the ground beside him. Only Luke managed to keep his balance. All around them, acres of slender stalks were pushed to the ground as they were overrun by the invisible wave. Regaining his balance and turning once again, Alex saw the source. The hulking frame of Ta-mesah stood in the twilit distance. His arms were extended and his palms thrust outward.

  He had used his formidable powers to flatten the grain.

  The three Amulet Keepers were suddenly out in the open. Movement caught Alex’s eye and he raised his gaze to the gray sky, which was turning a deep, bruise-like purple behind them, clouding over with a swarm of fast-flying shapes.

  Ren scrambled to her feet, eyes darting back at the rows of flattened grain and up at the swarm of hungry spirits. “The portal’s too far away,” she said. “We’ll never make it!”

  “We have to try,” called Luke, reaching down to help Ren up. He alone had the speed to escape, but he wouldn’t do it without them.

  They turned and ran across the flattened field.

  Ta-mesah had flattened the grain all the way to the edge of the field, and Ren squinted into the dim distance as she ran.

  And there it was: an army on the march.

  An uninterrupted line of men appeared out of a glowing gateway in the air at one end, only to march steadily forward and disappear into the air at the other. Ren had seen this before, when her amulet had shown it to her. She knew they were stepping out of one false door and into another, traveling from Egypt to New York by a macabre shortcut through the afterlife.

  An odd feeling washed over her overheated system. As the infernal buzzing grew louder and closer and as the Death Walkers closed in, she stared at the spot where the undead soldiers were disappearing. New York, she thought. At least I’ll die close to home.

  The fading gray twilight was filled with darkening swirls and whorls and streaks. Wails and growls and disembodied gasps filled her ears. Soon this would be the menacing nighttime world she’d seen on her first trip to the afterlife — if she lived that long. She turned her attention to the uneven ground in front of her. As she did she saw a faint but familiar glow hanging in the gray air just up ahead. Her muscles burning and her legs pumping, she looked a little closer.

  “PUH!” she gasped as she felt a hard, sharp push from behind.

  She stumbled forward, falling through the spectral light and into darkness.

  Sure, Alex felt bad about pushing his best friend through the glimmering portal. And maybe he felt a little weird about grabbing his cousin by the hand and tugging him through. But he felt worse about tripping over Ren once he leapt through himself, and worse still when Luke fell through on top of him.

  “Duh-off!” he blurted as his foot caught Ren’s leg, and he blurted something worse when Luke sandwiched him onto the hard floor. He did his best to land on his shoulder and protect the ancient Spells from the impact.

  As Luke rolled free, Alex shot a look back to make sure nothing was coming through the portal after them. Had they lost them in the dim light and distance? he wondered desperately. And if so, for how long?

  He turned to examine their new surroundings. They could be anywhere there was a false door, including some old tomb deep beneath the ground. As he looked around, he realized that they were in a tomb. But the mix of natural and electric light told him that this tomb was in a museum.

  “Why does it look so —” Ren began.

  “Familiar,” said Alex. He was sure now: the immaculately restored old stone, the little silver information plaques, the lights burning softly overhead … He turned back to the others, unable to keep the smile from his face. “We’re at the Met,” he said. “We’re home!”

  They were in the big, reconstructed tomb at the entrance to the Egyptian wing, the one that always had a line snaking through it in the summer. Alex peered out of the tomb mouth and saw the back of the north-side ticket booths. Beyond that, huge banners hung down from the ceiling of the Great Hall. Sunlight streamed in the museum’s high windows. It had been twilight in Egypt, but it was still midday in New York.

  “Finally,” said Ren, her voice breaking with emotion.

  The three climbed to their feet, grunting and groaning as their bumps and bruises required. Alex carefully refolded the concealment spells. His head swam, and a hot, static energy tingled through his fingers as he touched the scroll beneath them, but he felt better again as soon as he pulled the linen veil tight. He removed his old backpack and stuffed the bundle deep inside, putting the old scrolls already in there on top to pin the protective linen in place.

  “I’ll take that,” said Ren. “I know they make you kind of swoony.”

  Alex didn’t argue — they did make him swoony. He handed over the pack, and she put it on.

  Alex looked out into Room 100 of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, a place as familiar to him as the lobby of his own apartment building. The lights were low, and the room was empty. The museum was closed tight in the middle of the day. Alex edged out of the tomb mouth.

  “See anything?” asked Ren, a few steps behind him.

  “Hear anything?” added Luke, a few steps behind her.

  “Nothing,” he said, turning back to them. They were quite a sight. Ren’s nose was running from her allergies, and tears from her watering eyes had carved tracks through the thick layer of dirt and grain dust on her cheeks. Luke looked like the “Before” picture in a laundry detergent ad.

  “How did you know this portal led back to New York?” asked Ren.

  “I didn’t,” Alex admitted, lowering his voice as they eased silently out of the room and toward the ticket booths. “But I figured that’s where all those mummies were headed, and this one was close by. Plus, you know, we were about to get torn into a million pieces by those wasp things.”

  Ren nodded, satisfied with his deductive reasoning.

  “Good call,” added Luke.

  They edged past the empty ticket booths and looked out into the grand marble expanse of the museum’s entrance hall. The huge old building felt solid and familiar, but far from safe. Just up ahead, near the center of the hall, flashing red light washed in through the tall glass doors and painted the walls and floors. The friends rushed toward it.

  “It looks like a war zone,” said Ren once they reached the big glass doors.

  Alex could only nod. Wooden barricades and stacked sandbags lined the streets in front of the museum. The flashing lights came from two NYPD cruisers parked on Fifth Avenue, bookending two large, blocky armored personnel carriers with thick knobby tires. Alex craned his neck to look up East 82nd Street. He saw a cloud of thick gray-and-black smoke billowing up in the distance. Somewhere nearby, a fire was raging.

  Silhouetted figures shifted inside the police cruisers, but there was no traffic and the normally packed sidewalks were deserted. A city of millions was on lockdown. The only sound was the rumble of the army vehicles’ idling engines purring through the safety glass. Police, military, open fires, and empty streets … He could hardly believe this was the same bustling city where he’d grown up.

  “My parents,” moaned Ren. “I hope they’re okay.”

  “I’m with you on that,” said Luke solemnly. And Alex thought of his well-meaning aunt and uncle, and all that Luke had suffered to keep them safe.

  “Yeah,” Alex said, “but before we find our families —”

  “I know, bro,” said Luke. “What’s the plan?”

  “Call Cairo,” Alex said, the red lights washing over his dirt-smeared face. “I can’t use these Spells — they knock me for a loop — but my mom can. And then she can, you know, save the world.”

  “Yeah, that part sounds important,” agreed Luke.

  The friends took one more look out at the war zone where they’d grown up and then headed toward the main office. “So how did you escape from all those Death Walkers back there, anyway?” Ren asked Alex.

&
nbsp; Alex managed half a smile. “I told them Ammit was on the way.”

  “They are really scared of that dude, huh?” said Luke.

  “She’s a lady,” said Alex. “Sort of. But yeah: really scared.”

  They walked quietly for a while and then Ren leaned in toward Alex and said a few hesitant words: “I was thinking … ”

  Alex smiled at her. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  She got to the point. “The Walkers are afraid of the gods. And the gods definitely don’t seem to like the Walkers. Did you hear the way Anubis talked about them? He knew they were evil … ”

  “They don’t exactly keep that a secret,” said Alex.

  “Don’t you get it?” she said. “What if the gods could do something more than scare them? What if they could do what they’re scared of? They’re afraid of that ceremony, the weighing of the heart. They’re afraid of being judged. What if there was someway to, I don’t know, put them on trial?”

  “That would be awesome,” said Alex. It was as if his best friend had read his mind — and then taken his thoughts a step further. The two had known each other nearly their entire lives, and their thoughts often ran along the same lines, like two trains on parallel tracks, with Ren’s maybe half a length ahead. But all tracks still led to the same question that had stopped Alex before. “But how do we get the gods to do it?” he said.

  “Yeah,” Ren answered. “That’s the thing.”

  A few minutes later, they were in Alex’s mom’s office. Alex had the emergency cell phone she kept in her bottom drawer pressed to his ear. His finger shook as he held it steady next to a line midway down the Hs in his mom’s address book: “Dr. Hesaan, Cairo.”

  Now they had to hope that one flickering bar of service — Alex imagined one last stubbornly functional cell tower somewhere in the Bronx — would be enough to connect two crisis-crippled cities six thousand miles apart.

  The phone rang: once, twice, three — “Who is this?”

  The connection was weak, but the voice was familiar. Alex exhaled mightily and put the phone on speaker for the others. “Hey, Dr. Hesaan,” he said. “It’s Alex. Can I talk to my mom, or Todtman?”