The Final Kingdom

by Michael Northrop

  Slowly, very slowly, Alex and his mom backed away from the entrance.

  “Where now?” whispered Alex.

  “Dendur,” answered his mom.

  Eyes wide-open for any more stragglers, they hurried back toward the Temple of Dendur.

  Ta-mesah took one more swipe at Alex’s image only to see his massive hand pass harmlessly through it. He released a ruffled huff that flared his croc nostrils.

  “They are illusions,” hissed Peshwar. “Tell us where the real ones are, old man.”

  Todtman stood in the shadowy back corner of the room, breathing hard, blood trickling from his nose and split lower lip. All around him, Greek statues bore silent witness to a brave man’s last stand.

  Cut off from the exit by two massive Death Walkers, he could run no more. “They are right here,” said Todtman, gesturing to the two phantom figures next to him. “Don’t you see them?”

  “I see your crude trick,” rumbled Ta-mesah, eyeing the shimmering shells. “The simple work of a street magician.”

  The flickering images vanished, and the smallest of smiles creased Todtman’s froggy features. “Not such a crude trick,” he said as a red glow lit up the room, turning the pale marble statues a garish pink.

  The energy dagger grew long and wicked in Peshwar’s hand. Todtman was certain his next words would be his last. “After all,” he said, “it has kept you both here, so far from where you need to be, for so very long.”

  Peshwar snarled as she whipped the deadly dagger straight toward him. Todtman tried to leap to the side, but his crippled leg betrayed him one last time. The crackling crimson dagger sank deep into his chest, and a heart that had begun beating some six decades earlier in a small village in Bavaria convulsed and fell still.

  His body crumpled to the cold tile floor.

  Alex and his mom were inside the shallow alcove of the Temple of Dendur. The Lost Spells were spread out across the floor, and the letters of the ancient text glowed softly as she chanted the first few lines in a rhythmic, almost trance-like voice. The power of the Spells had saved him once, but now it was taking a heavy toll. His vision was speckled with stars and phantom symbols, and his head was woozy. He sat gracelessly, legs straight out, shoulders against the side of the temple for support.

  Suddenly, his mom stopped chanting and looked up. The glow began to fade, and Alex’s head began to clear ever so slightly. “I can’t do it,” she said.

  Alex struggled to understand her through the slowly lifting fog in his mind. “You need the scarab,” he said, reaching for the chain around his neck with clumsy fingers.

  “No,” she said. “It’s not that. The scarab lets you read the language, understand the spells — that’s how it lets you use the Book of the Dead. But I already read this language and understand these spells. It’s … you. Alex, you’re my son.”

  As overwhelmed as his mind was, he knew exactly what she meant. But he also remembered the sacrifice the others were making to buy them this time. “I know, but —”

  She cut him off. “If I close these doorways, if I undo the damage that I did … ”

  She didn’t have to finish. Alex knew the rest all too well: She could snuff him out like a birthday candle. How could he convince his own mother to risk his life? “But if you don’t … ” he began. He didn’t need to finish that sentence, either. They both knew how it ended: in a death-shadowed world ruled by madmen.

  He met her eyes through the nebula of tiny stars that lit his vision.

  “I am proud of you,” she said, “and I love you, and … I will try.”

  He saw a single tear roll down her cheek, and then he saw a huge figure looming up behind her.

  “Oh no,” he gasped, but it was already too late. The leader reached down and plucked the woman who had once been his wife from the floor by her shoulder.

  She screamed and kicked back at him with her boots. It was useless. “Alex,” she called. “The amulet.”

  Yes, he thought. He’d seen her use it before and knew she was a more experienced and powerful Amulet Keeper than he was. But as he reached up for the chain once again, the leader spared a quick glance for his son. He flicked his free hand in Alex’s direction, and an invisible wave of force slammed Alex back into the temple wall. Alex’s head bounced off stone with the sound of a coconut considering cracking. A jolt of pain shot through him, and he fought to stay conscious. As his eyes fluttered half closed, he saw his mom tossed across the tile platform in front of the temple. She landed on her injured side and slid like a broken toy.

  “No!” he called weakly.

  He struggled to stand, but battered from the blow and woozy from the Spells, he was like a boxer who couldn’t peel himself from the canvas. His legs twitched and jerked but refused to gather underneath him. One numb hand pawed his chest, managing only to push the scarab around, not grasp it.

  His mom’s body was still now, and as he stared at it, hoping for any sign of movement, the room began to fill up behind her. He caught snatches of it through his peripheral vision. The hulking figures of Ta-mesah and Peshwar, the ornate robes of the Stung Man, the sea of ragged wrapping as the mummies followed, the growing buzzing in the air. He didn’t know if they’d been called back by their leader or if their chase was simply over.

  Finally, he saw his mom’s hand twitch open and closed. Her legs straightened out and she flopped over onto her back. Alex could let himself breathe again.

  Meanwhile, The Order’s forces had massed beneath the temple’s raised platform, staring up at their leader. Alex saw something move out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Ren and Luke rush into the room last, following the forces they’d been trying to lead away, still trying to get their attention. They stopped cold inside the entrance, just short of the undead army in front of them.

  Alex saw the look of shock on Ren’s face as she spotted his mom’s crumpled body. Then he saw her face collapse as she spied him slumped inside the alcove.

  “It is over, Amulet Keepers,” called the leader, his booming voice echoing through the massive space.

  Ren’s small voice rose up in response: “Then give us our friends and we’ll leave.”

  A layer of mummies moved in between his friends and the door they’d come through, sealing off any escape. “You will get nothing,” said the leader, “and you will go nowhere.”

  Alex tried again to stand but succeeded only in flopping back to the floor — and attracting Peshwar’s attention. “The boy is alive, and near the Spells,” she hissed from her place near the edge of the platform. “Kill him now.”

  The leader looked back. “He can’t even rise to his feet in the presence of the Spells,” he said. “Much less give voice to the chants. He is no danger to us.”

  “Your weakness for the boy puts us in danger,” said Peshwar.

  The leader stared down at her. “Are you challenging me?”

  She bowed her head, pointing the empty sockets of the lioness skull at the floor, but still she spoke. “Kill them all,” she said. “It’s easy. Like this.”

  She tossed something toward the platform. As it clattered to a stop at the leader’s feet, Alex recognized Todtman’s walking staff.

  The realization that Todtman was dead hit him like a punch to the heart. But under Peshwar’s cruel gaze, he felt that sorrow turn to something else. Anger and loyalty and loss mixed in his battered body — and it gave him strength. His fingers found his amulet and finally closed around its familiar form. The ancient energy flowed through him. He looked over at the Lost Spells. He pulled himself closer.

  His father was right: He couldn’t stand in their presence or chant their words. But as he edged closer to the old scroll, he thought he just might be able to read them. The Spells were specialized, his mom had said. They dealt with the afterlife, with its gateways and guardians.

  As Alex’s vision filled with fresh pinpricks of light and his head lolled limply on his neck, he looked for the name of one guardian in particular
.

  “Behind you!” called Peshwar.

  “The boy!” growled Ta-mesah.

  Alex knew the leader was turning toward him, knew he had only seconds left, but he dared not look up — and there it was! The name he was looking for.

  With all his remaining strength and all the breath left in his lungs, he called that name. Just one word, but he filled it with all the anger and sadness and helplessness he felt. His enemies had broken the rules, not just the laws of this world, but the laws of life and death. And they had done so cruelly and for the basest of all reasons: power. As full of stars as his vision was, it was hard to tell, but he thought the word might even have glowed a little, flickered on the page, as he said it.

  A moment later, a fresh wave of force from the leader sent Alex flying backward across the tile. He slammed hard into the back of the alcove. He managed to protect his head this time, but he felt something crack in his chest.

  Just like my mom, he thought as he once again teetered on the edge of consciousness. He peered out of the alcove and saw his father staring in. The Spells were between them, ten feet away. It might as well have been ten miles.

  The room was quiet, save for the buzz of the spirits, and still, save for the gentle swaying of the mummies.

  “He has failed,” Peshwar hissed into the calm.

  The reply came almost immediately, but it wasn’t from the leader or any of the other Walkers. It wasn’t from any of the Keepers, either. It wasn’t in words at all, in fact. Peshwar got her answer in the form of a great and terrible roar. The cry shook the room.

  Part lion.

  Part crocodile.

  Part thunder.

  Alex leaned his battered frame back against the temple wall and smiled.

  His call had been answered.

  Alex never saw the great beast enter the room. Turning his head toward the source of the terrible roar, she was simply there. She was the size of a truck and as terrifying as she was improbable. Her huge crocodile head dwarfed that of Ta-mesah and gave the Walker no more than a glance as she swept her vision across the room.

  Alex’s head swam and fresh pain stabbed him deep inside. He was terrified for his mom, who was still lying helplessly on the platform. He had called Ammit in desperation, but had no way of knowing what this otherworldly presence might do.

  Ammit was the ultimate enforcer of good and evil in ancient Egypt, the one who devoured the souls of the unworthy, destroying them forever. But now the rules had been cheated, the boundaries between the worlds torn open, and this much was clear: Ammit was mad.

  She released another roar, so fearsome and so close, that Alex could do nothing but cover his ears. Then, with slow, deliberate steps, she began to move toward the platform. Her enormous front paws, those of a massive lion, pushed forward with the fluid ease of a jungle cat, while her huge back feet, those of a hippo, plodded forward to join them.

  As she moved, she brushed by rows of swaying mummies. At the slightest touch, they disintegrated into clouds of dust and scraps of linen. Two more steps and she had reached the platform. With surprising grace, she pulled herself up.

  Suddenly, there were only two people left in her path. Once again, the leader reached down and plucked Alex’s mom up by the shoulder. This time she could offer no resistance, but from his perch inside the temple, Alex saw her eyes flutter open. She stared at the strange creature and breathed her name in awe: “Ammit … ”

  The beast came a few steps closer and seemed to examine her.

  A jolt of fear shot through Alex’s system. His mom was in danger: direct, immediate danger.

  Surrounded by The Order forces, the creature’s paralyzing presence had seemed a reprieve. But now he understood how stupid he’d been. This was the devourer, and she was here for a reason.

  Alex gasped a word of his own: “Mom … ”

  But it was the other half of the family tree that responded. The leader thrust Alex’s mom forward toward Ammit. She pried uselessly at his powerful fingers. Alex managed to get his legs underneath him. He desperately wanted to rush over and help her. But what could he do? Even with his amulet, he’d be little more than another pair of hands prying uselessly at a death grip.

  “Yes,” called the leader. “Take her. She is the one you want. She opened the portals. She started all of this. We merely responded to these changes, traveled between the worlds as a floating leaf would follow a river.”

  Alex glared at him. But the words still stung. She had opened the portals, but she’d done it for him. She didn’t know what would happen, but she had risked everything.

  He looked at his mom, twisting in the grip of a madman.

  He looked down at Todtman’s staff.

  He looked across the room at Ren, who had risked so much for friendship. He saw Luke still standing next to her, with the speed to escape but the loyalty to stay.

  “No!” Alex called out from his sheltered stone alcove. “It’s because of me. The portals were opened to let me back. Don’t take her.” He rose slowly to his feet. “Take me.”

  “No, Alex, don’t,” called Ren.

  But the words were already out.

  Ammit turned her head, and one cold crocodilian eye fell on Alex. He saw the vertical slit in the center narrow as it focused on him. She turned her body toward him now, golden lion fur rippling. Alex put his hand out to steady himself as he walked past the spot where the Spells lay and toward the avenging demigod. He felt the pain in his side and tasted the blood in his mouth, but he kept walking.

  “Yes, take the boy,” purred the leader. “He’s the cause.”

  Ammit paused. Her head swung back and faced the leader. Her strong, huffing breaths rippled his robes as they looked at each other. Alex’s mom hung an arm’s length away, and Alex was nearly out of the temple now.

  Ammit looked over at him one more time, and then back at his mom.

  Then, with a speed Alex would not have imagined possible, Ammit’s head swung back. Her jaws flashed open, extending all the way down to the floor and revealing rows of huge white teeth.

  Alex heard a huge gulp of air as the devourer pulled her prey toward her.

  Alex’s heart stopped and his eyes closed as the enormous jaws snapped shut.

  Quiet.

  Alex slowly opened his eyes. His mom was still there. The leader’s arm began to fall limply from her shoulder.

  Just his arm.

  The rest of him was gone.

  He had been devoured in one swift bite, by a creature who had seen so many hearts weighed and so many souls judged that she was quite capable of doing it herself.

  “Yes!” shouted Ren.

  “In your face!” added Luke.

  Alex’s heart started again. He breathed.

  The leader’s arm hit the floor with a soft thud. No longer the size of a small tree trunk, it was just a human arm again, tightly wrapped in strips of linen.

  Alex’s mom wobbled on her feet, and Alex wanted to rush over to help her. But he could still barely stand himself.

  Ammit swung around and took a few plodding steps toward the edge of the platform. She opened her mouth again, not to devour but to roar. Ammit’s cry shook the room. When it was done, she stood firm at the front of the platform, in between Alex and his mom and The Order’s forces. The meaning seemed clear: protection.

  Alex’s mom walked unsteadily back toward the temple — and the Spells inside.

  “Are you okay?” Alex said, stumbling out to help her.

  “No,” she said. “But I know what I need to do. I looked into Ammit’s eyes, and I saw something there. I think I understand her.”

  As Alex’s mom knelt down over the Spells, the ancient text began to glow once more. She took her time now, confident in the protection afforded her.

  Would the Death Walkers dare attack Ammit to try to stop this? Alex wondered. His answer came in a crackling of crimson energy and the rising buzz of a purple swarm, but that was the last he saw. As the ancient words rose
on the air, his head swam and his knees buckled. He knelt on the cool tile as his vision filled with light and color. Behind him, he knew, his mom was reciting the rest of her chosen spell.

  A minute later, Alex’s head cleared. I’m still here! He understood now: His mom wasn’t the only one under Ammit’s protection. Somewhere in front of him, he heard the creature give one last satisfied huff. The swirling colors faded from his vision as he stood, but he still didn’t believe his eyes. All around, the mummies lay like dominoes on the floor, their bodies curling in on themselves stiffly.

  It was a sight both gruesome and glorious, because there were new mummies among them, as well. Alex wheeled around and found each one in turn. Ta-mesah and Peshwar were merely mummies in masks, their bodies no larger than they’d been during their hateful lives. The Stung Man was a mummy, too, albeit a much older one, as timeworn and leathery as any of the others. And oldest of all, the founder, who was now little more than a skeleton wrapped in ragged yellow cloth in the far corner of the room.

  Alex looked back toward Ammit, but she was gone. She had vanished just as mysteriously as she had appeared, although with far fewer witnesses.

  “I don’t under —” he began, but suddenly arms wrapped around him from behind. His mom. They hugged each other softly, both injured now. A moment later, two more arms wrapped around them. Ren had no intention of missing out on the victory party.

  Alex turned his head to take a breath. Through vision clouded not by mystic stars but by the first hint of tears, he saw Luke standing a few steps farther back. Not much of a hugger, Luke gave his cousin a big thumbs-up. “Bauer power,” he said.

  The others hugged for a while, though.

  “Todtman,” Ren said, and Alex could feel her shoulders heave with a small sob.

  “I know,” said Alex’s mom. “He was a good man.”

  But that wasn’t good enough for Ren. “He was a great Egyptologist,” she said.

  And that did it for Alex — a sob shot through him, too, as happy tears and sad tears rolled down his cheeks. The tears mixed there softly, joining together and continuing on, like the waters of the mighty blue Nile.