The Stone Warriors

by Michael Northrop

  It flew not toward Alex, but straight at Todtman. And the old man was not nearly as nimble.

  “No!” shouted Alex.

  Todtman had one hand on his amulet and the other on his broom-handle cane. Too late and too slow to duck, he swung the cane like a baseball bat. Germans are not known for their baseball prowess, but somehow the awkward swing connected. The wood exploded in his hand.

  Todtman released a sputtering shout of pain — “Aaghkk!” — and went down in a heap.

  Alex couldn’t tell how badly he was hurt — and had no time to ask. He spread his fingers wider to make his next gust harder to dodge. But before he released it, he took a quick look to make sure his mom and Ren were out of the way.

  And that’s when Ren released another powerful flash of white light. Not looking at her and with her eyes shielded by the sockets of her skull mask, Peshwar barely seemed to notice. Alex, on the other hand, had been standing in the shade and looking directly at it.

  “Gaah!” he blurted, suddenly blinded.

  And so he only heard the flies descend.

  Millions of them.

  The living, swarming cloud of hard-shelled bodies and beating wings felt as thick and tumultuous as breaking waves at the beach.

  Alex knew the stakes now, understood the sort of ancient power and modern malice they faced. They were fighting not just for their own lives but for the fate of the world itself.

  And that fight was not going well.

  The insects engulfed him — swarming, biting — and the only sound louder than their buzzing was the burning crackle of the approaching energy dagger.

  Alex was pushed hard to the ground a moment before the energy dagger arrived, taking another chunk out of the wall behind him. He landed facedown, knocking the air from his lungs. He gasped to replace it and sucked in sand — but that was still better than a mouthful of flies. He could feel them swarming all around. He didn’t even dare open his eyes to see who had saved him.

  The sand flies bit down at the freshly exposed skin on the back of his neck. And the smell was almost worse. The energy dagger had bug-zapped a wide swath of them as it passed. The scent of so many barbecued bugs made him want to retch.

  The scarab, he thought. At least I can whip up some wind and get rid of these bloodthirsty pests.

  But as he reached up for the amulet, he found nothing. He patted his neck and chest furiously. Oh no oh no oh no! He reached around to the back of his bug-ravaged neck. He realized in horror that the worst sting he’d felt hadn’t been a sting at all. It had been the raking scrape of the silver chain being torn free.

  “Don’t let her use it!” he heard. “Don’t let her put it on!”

  There was a rapid-fire barrage of energy daggers — crackle, crash, boom — and then there was a louder sound.

  Much louder.

  KRRAKOOOOM!

  The thunder was so close overhead that it shook Alex’s teeth. Just as he was scrambling to his feet, a vicious wind shear knocked him back to the ground. Suddenly, the flies were gone, and the rain began to pour down.

  Alex opened his eyes into a downpour.

  Lightning crackled overhead.

  His mom had the scarab back.

  The Order operatives had failed. He looked on in awe as she stood tall between him and his attackers. He had managed to summon the wind that came before the rain with the scarab. She had brought the rain itself.

  Ren rushed over to him. “Are you okay?” she said through the lashing wind and rain.

  Alex felt the smashed bodies of the bugs he’d managed to swat sliding off of him in the rain. “I think so,” he said. “Look!”

  In front of them, Todtman climbed back to his feet. Alex caught a glimpse of his eyes: They had changed. They looked like two glittering gems, the eyes of his falcon amulet writ large.

  He stood shoulder to shoulder with Alex’s mom, the wind rippling the back of his white shirt.

  Peshwar and Aff Neb took a look at each other and then a shaky step back. Alex and Ren were novice Amulet Keepers, still trying to figure out what the scarab and ibis could do, but in front of them stood two Amulet Keepers in full. They seemed to be feeding off of each other’s power, and the Egyptian sky roared its approval.

  KRAKOOOOM!

  As a flash of yellow lit the dark clouds overhead, Alex felt a glimmer of hope. The Order lieutenants were intimidated, almost transfixed by the display of power, but the spell was broken by a half dozen gunmen rushing around the perimeter of the old hut.

  Dr. Bauer turned toward the new threat. The men pointed their rifles but then threw them to the ground and dove for cover. Alex hadn’t been holding a chunk of metal, but he felt the sudden electrical charge in the air, too. He grabbed Ren and they sheltered against the battered wall.

  This time the lightning hit the open ground near the prone gunmen. They flopped and convulsed like fish on a skillet before rolling over and hugging themselves in pain. Sand is a natural insulator, but the ground was wet, and even though he was farther from the strike, Alex’s mouth tingled like he’d been sucking on a battery. He turned to Ren to find her formerly rain-slick black hair puffed out in all directions like an oversized dandelion.

  Aff Neb rushed forward to attack. But before he’d made it three steps, he was attacking himself! His fists took turns punching his own head. Alex winced as he saw Aff Neb’s left fist land smack-dab in his bulbous right eye. Todtman’s jewel-like eyes gleamed as he guided the beat-down.

  Peshwar tried her luck, flicking her hand down to summon another energy dagger. But almost as soon as the glow appeared, the red energy began to flicker and snap in her rain-slick hand. Even with the sky as dark as gray wool, Alex could see her eyes behind the sockets of the lioness skull, staring unblinking at his mom.

  Ren saw it, too. Standing behind and a little to the left of Alex’s mom, she raised her hand and pointed her fingers. Alex looked down and away.

  FWOOOOP!

  The brilliant white light filled the dark day — and Peshwar’s unblinking eyes.

  “Daa!” she spluttered, and as she did, the energy dagger fizzled out in her hand.

  After one more punch to his own jaw, Aff Neb dropped to the ground a few steps in front of his soggy, blinded comrade. Twenty yards to the side, the gunmen still writhed in pain as their guns sizzled on the wet sand.

  In a matter of minutes, the tides of war had shifted dramatically. Alex pushed himself free of the old wall, which was suddenly less brick and more mud, and looked around at a battle that seemed won. Joy and relief, strangers to him for so long, began to take hold.

  But not all their enemies were accounted for.

  The leader walked slowly into view. His thick ceremonial robes trailed just a few inches above the rain-soaked ground, but his body language gave the distinct impression of being far above it all. In the dim light of the storm, his golden vulture mask looked tarnished and fearsome. The iron beak was a pure, slick black. Alex’s lungs filled to shout a warning. But before he could, he found himself frozen.

  He could only stare at his mom’s back as she and Todtman turned their attention to Peshwar. The mighty huntress now looked like a sullen, wet cat, her long-nailed hands held out like claws and her robes clinging to her skeletally thin frame.

  Turn around! Alex thought as hard as he could. Behind you!

  In thrall to the leader’s power, he desperately wished he could move — then suddenly, he was moving.

  And then he desperately wished he could stop.

  His feet carried him forward. At first his steps were thick and awkward, but he sped up as the leader became more accustomed to his newest instrument. Next to him, Ren was doing the same thing. Or rather the same thing was being done to her. Alex heard her footfalls in the wet sand.

  No no no! he thought.

  But there was no denying it. They were running directly toward the others. He could feel his breathing, mechanical and even, but couldn’t harness it to say even a single word. Look out,
Mom, he thought. Look out!

  But it wasn’t his thoughts she heard. It was his wet, slapping footsteps.

  Still focused on Peshwar, she risked a quick look back.

  Too late.

  Alex felt his legs sink lower and — NO! — launch him through the air.

  As he flew toward his mom, he felt the leader’s iron grip slip. He did everything he could to soften the blow, curling back in on himself in midair, but it was too late. He hit his mom in the midsection with a flying body block that knocked her to the ground with a muddy splash. Her hand came off the scarab as she reached out instinctively to protect not herself but her son from the impact.

  Todtman saw Ren approaching, but he didn’t understand the threat. “Ren?” he said, the jewel-like glow fading from his eyes. Then she launched herself — despite herself — and hit him low. He yelped like a kicked dog as she plowed into his bad leg, and they both went down hard.

  The thunder faded and the rain stopped.

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” said Alex, rolling over. The four of them had fallen into a lumpy heap on the ground, and were now turning and twisting as they began to disentangle themselves and sit up. He looked over to see if his mom was hurt or mad. “I couldn’t help it!”

  Instead of anger on her face, he saw a flash of confusion give way to a steadier glow. A rosy red light washed over her. She reached for the scarab, but stopped halfway as the point of a fresh energy dagger extended down almost to her nose.

  “Don’t,” purred Peshwar.

  And as the unnatural clouds pulled apart above them and the strong desert sun shone through, a second shadow fell across them.

  The leader surveyed the wreckage wordlessly.

  Alex heard the sound of the trapdoor popping open inside the hut. Almost immediately, the remaining gunmen rushed out like ants from a shattered anthill. They pointed their rifles down at the fallen Amulet Keepers.

  “The Spells, please,” said the leader, breaking the heavy silence.

  “We don’t have them,” said Todtman, sitting up and seemingly daring the gunmen to shoot.

  The leader looked over. “Who do you think you’re talking to, Ernst?” he said.

  Ren was on Todtman’s left and Alex caught her eye and mouthed one word: Ernst?

  “I know exactly who I am talking to,” replied Todtman.

  “Then you know you cannot lie to me,” said the leader. He searched Todtman’s face and seemed to find something there. He turned toward Dr. Bauer. “The backpack, please.”

  “Mom, don’t!” called Alex, but she was already taking her backpack off, already handing it over. He could see the square edges of the briefcase through the nylon.

  One of the gunmen reached down and took the pack. Alex glared at him as he ripped the top open and removed the briefcase. “Bring it to me,” said the leader.

  Alex looked around desperately, seeking some means of escape. But they were surrounded by enemies. The leader’s eyes gleamed beneath his mask as the gunmen held the case out flat for him to open.

  “Are they in there?” came a familiar voice. The smell as much as the tone told Alex that Aff Neb was back on his feet and approaching.

  “Yes,” said the leader. “I can feel their power.”

  Alex turned to his mom, ready to follow her lead. Instead, he saw her hand slip down toward her pants pocket.

  Pop-pop!

  The leader popped the clasps, and all eyes, even Peshwar’s, shifted to the briefcase. Only Alex watched as his mom slid a plastic baggie from her pocket and removed a small black device from inside.

  His pulse revved and his head swam as the leader slowly opened the case. But he was determined to stay conscious this time. Something was happening. An image flashed through his mind: His mom folding the protective linen wrapping back over the Lost Spells, a small lump just visible …

  The lump was some sort of explosive charge. His mom would destroy the Spells rather than hand them over!

  “There’s something in here!” said the leader, alarmed. He pulled back the linen and Alex swayed and swooned. If he hadn’t already been sitting in the wet sand, he was pretty sure he would’ve fallen over. But despite the powerful effect of the uncovered Spells, he fought to keep his fluttering eyes open.

  His mom raised the little remote.

  Press it, he thought. Press it now!

  But she hesitated. Just for a second. Alex watched as she flexed her thumb without pressing down — and then the chance was lost.

  The leader saw it now. He held out one hand, palm up, and the little device tore free from Maggie’s grasp and flew to him. He cradled it gently as it arrived, catching it as if it were an egg. A moment later, it disappeared into the folds of his dark robes.

  “Take their amulets,” he said.

  Alex watched woozily as Peshwar plucked the scarab from his mom and Aff Neb took Todtman’s falcon and Ren’s ibis. Alex bowed his head, helpless and beaten. The leader watched them carefully until the amulets were secured. Then he grabbed a small silver box from the briefcase and tossed it into the sand.

  “Incendiary device,” he said as it landed with a soft thud. Taking a long, hungry look at the Spells, he added, “They’re beautiful.”

  He covered them back up and snapped the case shut. With the Spells once again concealed, Alex’s head began to clear. He leaned toward his mom and whispered, “Why didn’t you press it?”

  She dropped her head. “I couldn’t.”

  “She spent her whole life searching for them,” interrupted the leader, his booming voice seeming to mock their whispers. “The greatest find in the history of archaeology. Not an easy thing to destroy.”

  “And instead,” she said, staring down at the sand, “I have destroyed the world.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic, Maggie,” he said. The last word echoed through Alex’s mind like one final peal of thunder. Maggie … Who was this man who knew both Todtman and his mom? “The world will not be destroyed in the Final Kingdom. It will be reborn. You, of all people, should understand that.”

  Alex’s mom finally looked up at the man who mocked her. “A living death, then, ruled by tyrants.”

  Her tone was so sad and defeated that it tore Alex’s heart in half. “It’s not your fault,” he said to her, trying anything to make her feel less miserable. “He made me run into you. I couldn’t help myself.”

  Alex’s mom looked over at him, her eyes softening even as the old worry lines deepened. “I thought I told you,” she said. “Don’t blame yourself.”

  “No, don’t,” said the leader, continuing to intrude on the conversation. “You did as I wished, but then, a boy should obey his father.”

  Alex stared at the man. “What?” he heard Ren say. Alex tore his eyes from the leader and looked back to his mom for confirmation.

  “Alex, honey …” she began, but she didn’t seem to know where to go from there. A moment later, the time for talk was over. They were prodded to their feet at gunpoint. Alex felt a rifle barrel digging into his back and reluctantly complied.

  A few feet away, he saw Ren help Todtman to his feet. The friends were wet and battered and bowed in defeat.

  Alex looked back at the leader, this man who claimed to be his father, this man whose face he’d still never seen. This man who’d been ready to sacrifice him in that pit. Alex wondered if he’d kill them all now.

  The Order had everything: the amulets and their Keepers; the Lost Spells and their power. The Death Walkers would return; the stone warriors would rise. There was no force left in the world that could stop them.

  Alex felt the gun barrel dig into his back again.

  He shuffled slowly forward. What else could he do?

  Michael Northrop has written short fiction for Weird Tales, the Notre Dame Review, and McSweeney’s. His first young adult novel, Gentlemen, earned him a Publishers Weekly Flying Start citation for a notable debut, and his second, Trapped, was an Indie Next List selection. NPR picked Micha
el’s middle-grade novel Plunked for their Backseat Book Club. He has also written about a rescued Rottweiler in Rotten and, most recently, some treacherous seas in Surrounded By Sharks. An editor at Sports Illustrated Kids for many years, Michael now writes full-time from his home in New York City. Visit him online at www.michaelnorthrop.net.

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  A sneak peek of the next

  Book 5

  The Final Kingdom

  By Michael Northrop

  Making mummies is an ancient and grisly business, but business was good once again. The bodies lay on low stone tables beneath the timeless sands of Egypt, lit only by flickering torchlight.

  Half a dozen acolytes in ancient dress gathered their implements nervously, the jewels and glass beads of their thick collar necklaces glinting, and the light linen of their shendyt kilts shining a pure, audacious white. They began with the body on the highest platform. For while all men may be created equal, all mummies are not. This body was taller than the others, and broader in the shoulders, with skin the color of wet sand, a hawklike nose, and sharp features that seemed determined even in death.

  The acolytes dipped their cloths in a bucket of cool well water, wrung them out, and got to work washing the corpse.

  Their hands trembled slightly as they put down their rags and picked up their blades. They were nervous as they made the first cuts: Everything had to go perfectly. The blood was drained from the man’s body and taken out in buckets. Once that was done, the internal organs were removed, one by one. Only the steadiest hands made these cuts. The others busied themselves packing the carefully culled pieces into sacred canopic jars for the trip to the afterlife. Only the man’s heart was left in his body: the most vital organ, the home of the soul.