SECRET OF THE EGYPTIAN CURSE: Kids of Ancient Mythology

by Scott Peters

  Despite Denger having shoved it deep into his tunic, the goddess figurine had almost worked its way free. Even stranger, the tiny figure had righted itself, so that it stared straight at them.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  "Answer me, Denger," Neferet said.

  "I’m warning you, get out of my way," Denger replied.

  "Tell me or I’ll—"

  "You’ll what?" Denger snarled, his hand reaching for his sword.

  "Run!" Ramses shouted; the ropes catapulted him back. "Run! He’ll kill you!"

  The sentry lunged, but she was too quick. She jumped out of the way and sprinted up the path. With a shout, Denger sprinted after her. Ramses dug in his heels, straining to hold back the heavily muscled sentry. Sand skidded under his bare feet; the ropes tore into his flesh. He fell to his knees and was dragged forward.

  Neferet was fast, but her dress kept catching underfoot. Denger gained on her, his powerful strides dragging Ramses forward.

  She glanced back, tripped and fell in a sprawl. With a cry, she jumped up.

  But Denger was on her—he caught her hair in his fist.

  "Should’ve listened to your father." Denger wrenched her head to look at him. "Too late for that now."

  "Stop it!" Neferet screamed.

  Somehow Ramses got his bound hands around a stone. He slammed it into Denger’s head. The rock hit with a sickening thud. The guard didn’t pause. His elbow shot straight back into Ramses’ jaw. Pain exploded in his mouth. Denger’s fist slammed into his head, again and again.

  "Stop!" Neferet screamed, kicking him. "Stop it!"

  Denger smashed her aside and kept pounding Ramses. Seeing stars, he fought to ward off the blows. He was almost unconscious when he realized Denger had stopped. The man’s face swam into view overhead. Blood oozed over his left eye. Somewhere in his fogged mind, Ramses registered satisfaction. Denger was hurt. The stone had made a nasty gash. He wasn’t invincible.

  "Bad idea." Denger laughed.

  "How could you?" she cried. "You’re supposed to protect us."

  Holding a kicking Neferet by her hair, he yanked his sword from its scabbard and pressed its into her back. "Walk," he growled. "Quickly."

  "Jabari trusts you," she said. "Your brother trusts you!"

  "Shut up."

  "Did you see his face? How much he cares about you? Don’t do this!"

  "Shut up or I’ll kill you right here."

  Ramses head swam as he scanned the ground for another weapon, a stone, a stick, anything.

  Denger yanked him up. "You too. Walk! Both of you!" Sword to Neferet’s back, he angled her away from the path. The three of them headed left for the steep valley wall. They soon reached the slope’s base.

  "Up," Denger said.

  They started to climb. It was hard work.

  "Faster!" Denger said, glancing at the ever-brightening sky.

  "Let her go," Ramses said, his words muffled by his swelling jaw. "I’ll help you!"

  "Shut up, climb."

  "They’re going to find out," Neferet said. "Jabari will find out, I swear it!"

  "Shut your mouth!" Denger said, jabbing her back. A red spot oozed through the fabric of her dress.

  Dawn was approaching; the hills looked gray as ash. Ramses’ throbbing skull pounded in time with his anger. He spat the blood from his mouth, his mind furiously searching for a way to take Denger down.

  Life just got worse and worse. He’d tried to be happy on his farm. He’d tried to enter the Place of Truth. He’d tried to leave and go away forever. He’d tried everything to make the gods happy. The old priest was right. He was cursed.

  All he’d wanted was a place where he belonged. Behind them, the houses of the craftsmen’s whitewashed village were growing visible. He imagined the sound of chisels ringing in the clear air, the smell of paints filling his nostrils.

  He had been so close. So close.

  They’d reached a dizzying land-bridge that connected this hill with the next. The narrow ridge could only be traversed in single file.

  "Move," Denger said.

  "Why should I?" Neferet spat. "Why don’t you just kill me now?"

  "And hide your body where?" Denger laughed. "Just a little further now."

  "Your brother will never forgive you," she whispered.

  "Keep him out of this." Denger thrust his blade harder; the stain on her back deepened.

  Soon, the three of them were on the narrow ridge. Pebbles skittered over the edge and clattered far below. Ramses struggled to stay focused, but his head oozed blood. Glancing down at the breathless drop, he started to slip.

  Denger glanced back, his face white. "Quit it you nasty—"

  The rope tugged at the sentry; trying to keep balance, he let go of Neferet’s hair. His arms swung as he fought to right himself. "I said, quit it!"

  The drop gaped under Ramses’ feet; the dizzy sight sucked his breath away. But then, with suddenly, with total clarity, he knew what he had to do. It was the only way to keep Neferet safe. It was the only way to end this.

  He jumped.

  And then he was airborne. He was free.

  It was finally over.

  He watched Denger teeter on the edge, eyes peeled wide in terror. The rope stretched tight between them. Denger tried to pull Ramses up with his left arm. His right arm, his sword arm, began to spin in circles. The blade flashed, arcing wider and wider.

  "Too late," Ramses said, and thrashed out violently with both arms and legs.

  For one breathtaking second, Denger hung over the valley, his feet still on the earth. And then he toppled. Neferet screamed.

  The fall was exhilarating.

  They plunged downward. Ramses’ stomach lurched into his throat. Wind ripped in his ears. The air was crushed from his lungs.

  The free-fall seemed to last forever.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Shoulder first, Ramses hit the earth. He slammed, bounced and flipped upward. He hit a second time, his knees grinding into the ground. The hillside reared up at him and he thrust out his hands. Driving his fingers in, he scraped to a stop.

  Denger slammed into his back. Knotted together by the rope, they rolled over and over, falling downward all over again. Ramses’ hands were twisted, bound down against his legs. Pebbles flew high over Denger’s back.

  "Boulder," Ramses gasped, his eyes peeled wide in horror.

  The boulder clipped his foot. He sailed past. But Denger took it full force. A sickening crunch sounded as the man hit the stone.

  The rope wrenched them both to a halt.

  Rocks and pebbles rained down in a violent shower of dust. Ramses lay, gasping under the onslaught. Finally, the world fell silent.

  A few long moments passed. Then Denger made a low whine—eerie and frightening. Wincing in agony, Ramses forced himself to roll over. Still knotted by the ropes, he inched across the few feet that separated them.

  The whites of Denger’s eyes showed. He was half-slumped at an awkward angle, staring at his belly. Ramses followed his horrified gaze.

  Buried in the man’s stomach, all the way to the worn leather hilt, was the sentry’s own sword. Worse, it wasn’t a clean cut. The blade had gored him badly, exposing his guts.

  Weakly, his sweaty hand grasped at Ramses. "Help . . . me!"

  No matter how much Ramses had wanted to hurt Denger, hollow desperation stole over him—he didn’t want this. He nodded quickly, avoiding the sentry’s terror filled eyes. "You’ll be okay," he lied.

  "So much . . . blood."

  "Don’t move." Ramses brought his bound wrists to the exposed sword-edge. Swallowing his nausea, he carefully began to cut himself free.

  "Please," Denger gasped. "Please . . ."

  "I have to get help."

  Ramses tore off his tunic. He tried to staunch the wound, but the blood was coming too fast. Scrabbling footsteps sounded on the hillside, and then Neferet was beside him.

  "By the gods . . ." she gasped and put her hand ove
r her mouth.

  At the sound of her voice, Denger searched for her as if through a fog. "It wasn’t me," he whispered. "Not me. It was Weris. I . . . didn’t want to . . ."

  "We’ll get help—from the village—"

  Denger’s shoulders sank back against the earth. "Too late . . ."

  "We’re going to help you!"

  "Tell Jabari, tell my brother I . . ." He swallowed and closed his eyes. A tear slid down his rough cheek.

  They waited for him to speak, but his eyes didn’t open.

  Ramses met Neferet’s horrified stare. "We need to get help. Now!"

  And then they were running. Sprinting. Flying across the earth.

  The Peak of the West glowed in shades of ruby. Up ahead, the walls of the Place of Truth came into view. A group of men stood gathered in front of the village gates. A boy stood between them, a lean boy around Ramses’ age.

  At first, Ramses thought they were watching him and Neferet.

  But as he came closer, he saw they were looking the wrong way. The boy and the craftsmen weren’t facing the road; for some strange reason, they were staring at the place where Ra was about to shine his rays across the earth.

  The sky grew brighter and brighter, glowing with the coming light.

  "Run!" Neferet shouted at him.

  At her urgent tone, he found a reserve of strength he didn’t know he had.

  Suddenly, the boy at the gates thrust his fist in the air and whooped. "It’s mine! I’m the new apprentice! The apprenticeship is mine!"

  "Father!" Neferet screamed.

  Everyone turned at once.

  "I have him," she screamed. "I have Ramses!"

  The boy who’d been shouting turned quickly. "Too late. It’s daylight already!"

  "Not quite," Neferet’s father said.

  At that moment, the first burst of golden sunlight shot across the horizon. It beamed over Neferet’s father’s shoulders, and illuminated Ramses’ face. Ramses glanced down to see his bloody kilt shimmering as if it were made of precious metal. His whole body shone so bright that Neferet stumbled back with a little cry.

  All of the craftsmen—gnarled men with paint-stained fingers, giant blacksmiths with hands like sledges—stared.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  "The sentry!" Ramses said quickly. "We need help! Now!"

  Instantly, the spell was broken. The pain from the fall suddenly threatened to overpower him. He ground his jaw, determined to control it.

  "It’s Denger," Neferet said. "He’s hurt, he . . ."

  A man stepped forward. "My brother?" His face was ashen beneath his leather helmet. "Where? What happened?"

  Ramses spoke through his swollen mouth. "Sir, he—"

  "No!" Neferet cried, stopping him from saying more. "What I mean is, there was an accident." Her voice broke. "I’m sorry Jabari. He’s in the valley."

  Jabari spun on his heel and took off.

  "I need to find the physician," Neferet said, her voice shaking.

  "Go, find her, now!" her father said.

  Without a word, she fled through the gates and disappeared. Ramses was left standing alone. In the commotion, he’d forgotten the boy who’d shouted at him earlier, but now the boy barged forward.

  "You’re accepting him?" the boy said. "Instead of me?"

  "Hold your tongue, Akil," Neferet’s father said.

  "You don’t even know if that drawing was his!"

  "Do not presume to do my job."

  The boy’s face reddened. "I’ve been more than patient. I’ve stayed here all night."

  "So have we, my friend." A huge man with the black, stained fingernails of an ironworker slung his arm around the boy’s shoulders. Then he shot Ramses a dark look.

  The Chief Scribe took a deep breath, rubbed his face and turned to Ramses. "We’ve all had a long night. And I’m sorry, but it’s not over."

  He called for water. Moments later, a jug was produced, along with a handful of clean rags. Skin had peeled away from Ramses arms and legs, replaced with ground in pebbles and dirt. He winced, cleaning it as best he could. The bleeding on his scalp had slowed to a trickle. Despite his wounds, he sensed the man’s impatience.

  "Again, I’m sorry to do this. But it can’t wait," the Chief Scribe said.

  Ramses was glad the man didn’t seem curious about how he’d got this way. He was glad to keep the details to himself. He’d seen the way Neferet had protected the sentry she’d called Jabari from the truth.

  "If you’re ready?" the Chief Scribe said.

  Ramses nodded.

  "Good. Follow me." He motioned him into one of the tents.

  All Ramses wanted was to rest. For just a little while. He wanted to put his aching head down and sleep. His ribs throbbed. From where he’d landed on his right shoulder, spasms of pain cramped his right arm to all the way to his wrist. It was his drawing arm.

  He glanced down at it; it was swollen. He tried to form a fist. When he couldn’t, he broke out in tiny pinpricks of sweat. A black foreboding swept over him.

  "Sit down. There’s something we need you to do."

  Ramses flexed his hands, trying to bring the feeling back.

  His fingers had gone numb.

  A craftsman approached, holding a sheaf of blank papyrus.

  Ramses should’ve known this apprenticeship was far from decided.

  They’d want him to prove himself.

  He should’ve realized there would be a test in store.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Haunted by the image of Denger’s sword jutting from his belly, Neferet ran for the physician. But it was the memory of Jabari’s face—his shock at hearing his little brother lay bleeding to death on the mountainside—that made her run faster.

  Her breath came in ragged gasps, the air dry and sharp. She passed silent windows, hardly able to believe the villagers still slept on, peaceful and oblivious.

  Merit, the physician, however, had an ear for emergencies. She opened her door as Neferet approached.

  "What is it?" she demanded.

  "There’s been an accident."

  "Yes?"

  "It’s Jabari’s brother . . . He—he fell. On his sword."

  "You mean tripped? As in cut himself? His leg, arm?"

  " . . . It went through his belly."

  At this, a shadow crossed Merit’s face. "I see." She came to life, striding down the steps. "Where is he now?"

  "On the mountain. But they’re bringing him here."

  "I want the linens sterilized, the needle and thread boiled."

  Neferet nodded.

  "I’ll meet him at the gates. Have a sleeping draught ready." She paused. "Take care you make it right."

  "Of course!" Hadn’t she always made it right?

  "I’m telling you because there’s something wrong with your herbs."

  "There’s—what?"

  "Just do it. Understand?"

  "Yes." She hurried inside and stopped dead at the sight of the workroom. All the herbs had been pulled from the shelves. Over a hundred drawstring bags, ranging from tiny to large, were spread across the huge wooden table that filled the center of the room. All of them open. It looked as if Merit had been in the middle of examining the contents of each one.

  She had no time to think what it meant. Instead, she searched, frantic, for the bags she needed. She began pouring measures into the stone mortar.

  Out of the last bag spilled a black, wrinkled berry.

  The evil thing sent horror slithering down her spine.

  A deadly belladonna berry? Here, in her own stores?

  It couldn’t be. She didn’t believe it. It was something else. It had to be. Hands trembling, she picked it out of the mortar, pinched it and held it to her nose. The scent of its oils confirmed her worst fears.

  Carefully she set it aside, trembling like a bird before a sandstorm. Never once, out gathering herbs, could she remember seeing a belladonna plant. Clearly she was worse than blind. Worse than incompet
ent.

  She was downright dangerous.

  A knock sounded at the door. It swung open and Layla stood there in a new, gold embroidered gown. She looked perfect, except for her kohl-lined eyes, which were bleary with sleep.

  Layla took in Neferet’s torn dress. "Well, look at you. Filthy, as always."

  Neferet felt her cheeks color. "What do you want?"

  "Where’s Merit?"

  "Do you need medical attention?" Neferet went to stoke the flame in the oven, then poured water into a pot and set it there to boil.

  "Please. You can drop the act."

  "Excuse me?"

  "You know why I’m here." Layla laughed, making the strands of her gold-beaded wig jingle and chink. "Or maybe Merit didn’t tell you? Apparently it’s a matter of business. I think someone might be losing their job."

  "Wait, Merit told you to come here because—" She stopped. Of course. The physician would never want to keep her on now. She could’ve poisoned someone!

  Layla’s eyes glinted with amusement.

  "She’ll be back soon," Neferet said numbly. She reached for Merit’s needles, stabbed her finger and cursed.

  "Perhaps I should do that for you," Layla said.

  "Out of my way." She threw the needles into the boiling water.

  Layla reached for the mortar and wrinkled her nose. "Eww! What is this foul brew?"

  "Don’t touch that!"

  "I’ll touch whatever I want. And do a better job than you." She plunged the pestle into the sleeping draught. The mixture exploded, splattering across the table.

  "A guard is hurt. You want to help? Get the linens from the shelf."

  "Don’t you dare—"

  "Then leave me alone! I have work to do!"

  "You think you’re so important. You think—"

  "This isn’t about me. Someone’s dying!"

  "Always so dramatic, aren’t you." She pushed Neferet aside and reached for the linens. "I’m perfectly capable of getting them. And doing whatever else you think you know how to do. What next? Hmm? Shall I make some soothing tea to calm his nerves? Or think of a nice story to relax him so he can feel better?"