by Dan Hunter
With thanks to Adrian Bott
First published in the UK in 2012 by Usborne Publishing Ltd., Usborne House, 83-85 Saffron Hill, London EC1N 8RT, England. www.usborne.com
Text copyright © Hothouse Fiction, 2012
Illustrations copyright © Usborne Publishing Ltd., 2012
Illustrations by Jerry Paris
Map by Ian McNee
The name Usborne and the devices are Trade Marks of Usborne Publishing Ltd.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Epub ISBN 9781409554776
Kindle ISBN 9781409554783
Batch no 02355/2
CONTENTS
Link to QUEST OF THE GODS TV advert
Copyright
The Prophecy of the Sphinx
Manu’s Map of Ancient Egypt
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Sneak preview of Akori’s other battles
Quest of the Gods Website info
THE PROPHECY OF THE SPHINX
THE SPHINX AM I
GUARDIAN OF THE PYRAMIDS
KEEPER OF SECRETS
THE PAST I REMEMBER
THE PRESENT I SEE
THE FUTURE I FORETELL
WHEN THE PHARAOH SHALL DIE
AT THE HANDS OF HIS SON
A PLAGUE SHALL FALL UPON EGYPT
THE LORD OF STORMS WILL RISE AGAIN
THE GOOD GODS WILL BE CHAINED
AND MONSTERS WILL WALK THE LAND
THE SACRED RIVER SHALL SLOW AND DRY
THE SUN WILL SCORCH THE LAND LIKE FIRE
THE STREETS OF EGYPT SHALL RUN WITH BLOOD
BUT HOPE WILL COME FROM THE SOUTH
A HERO OF THE WHEATFIELDS
A KING WITHOUT A KINGDOM
THE LAST OF HIS FAMILY
A LOST CHILD OF HORUS
HE SHALL BATTLE THE MONSTERS TO FREE THE GODS
HE WILL CLAIM THE WHITE CROWN
HE WILL CLAIM THE RED CROWN
HE WILL RULE ALL EGYPT
THE SPHINX AM I
THESE SECRETS I SHARE
GUARD THEM WELL
Oba stared down at the old man who was lying on the elegant gold couch. Everyone in the palace knew that the Pharaoh was dying. In the flickering lamplight, a sly smile spread across Oba’s youthful face. Soon it would be his turn to rule…
The Pharaoh groaned feebly and opened his eyes.
“Is that you, my son?” he whispered.
“Yes, Father,” replied Oba quickly. “I am here.”
“Oba, my time has almost come,” groaned the Pharaoh. “Soon I will go before Lord Osiris for my soul to be judged. You are my only son. You must rule Egypt in my place.”
“Yes, Father,” agreed Oba eagerly. “I will be a strong, powerful Pharaoh. Everyone will obey me.”
“Oba, listen to me,” said the Pharaoh, struggling to sit up. “You are young and headstrong. There is more to being Pharaoh than getting your own way all the time. You must respect the traditions of Egypt and rule with the help of the Gods. Promise me you will do this.”
“But, Father—”
“Promise me!”
“I promise, Father,” muttered Oba, scowling.
With a sigh, the Pharaoh fell back on the couch.
“Farewell, my son…”
The breath rattled in the Pharaoh’s lungs one last time. Then he lay still.
Oba smiled. Reaching out, he took the red-and-white Double Crown from the table beside his father’s bed and placed it on his head.
“Now I am the Pharaoh!” exclaimed Oba triumphantly. “The only ruler of Egypt!”
“Not quite.”
Oba jumped at the sound of the unexpected voice.
“Who’s there?”
From the shadows of the throne room, a sinister figure emerged. The man wore the robes of a priest, but he looked more like a warrior. He was tall and well built, and his face was marked with a long, jagged scar.
“Don’t sneak up like that, Bukhu,” snapped Oba. “And what do you mean? I slipped the cobra venom into my father’s wine just like you told me to. Now he is dead. Who else can claim the throne?”
“The person foretold in the Prophecy of the Sphinx,” replied Bukhu.
Oba snorted. “That old riddle? It’s just a legend.”
“I’m afraid not,” said Bukhu, shaking his head. “The prophecy is quite clear: there is still one person who can challenge your power and foil our plans.”
Oba’s eyes narrowed. “Then find this person – and kill him!”
The scarred priest smiled evilly.
“I will send out the soldiers at once, Your Majesty…”
Something was wrong. Akori could sense it, like a bad smell in the air.
“What’s the problem going to be this time?” he muttered.
The shaduf stood waiting for him, as still as an ibis bird on the banks of the Nile. Akori hated it. He remembered the first time he had used the simple water-lifting device. After a long day spent lifting bucket after bucket of water out of the sacred river to irrigate his uncle’s fields, Akori’s muscles had burned with pain. That night, he prayed to the Gods to help him. The next day, a crucial strap broke and the shaduf fell over. Every year since, it had found a new way to go wrong. A rope would snap, or a peg would split. Akori wondered if he had somehow cursed it.
This time, Akori saw with dismay, the counterweight bag had burst. The stones which were supposed to balance the heavy pails of water were scattered over the dry, cracked ground. They would all have to be gathered up and the bag mended, or his uncle would be furious. With a sigh, he set to work.
Akori was strong and fit, but he was soon drenched with sweat. It was sweltering! This was supposed to be the Akhet season, the time of floods, not high summer.
His uncle’s words came back to him as he piled up the stones: “Make sure the shaduf is ready, and be quick about it. Sirius has risen! We’ll be needing that shaduf any day now, you’ll see…”
Akori wasn’t so sure. He knew that for hundreds of years the Gods had sent the bright star Sirius into the night sky as a sign to Egyptian farmers that the Nile was about to rise and cover their fields with fertile mud. But the star had appeared more than three weeks ago now, and still the floods had not come.
Pausing for a moment, Akori sat down on a large stone and looked out across the Nile. The sacred river lay low and sluggish, like a sleeping serpent, undisturbed by the boats sailing up and down its back. Sailors waved and joked as they passed each other, boasting of the cargoes they carried:
“No bricks finer than the bricks of Nubt!”
“Linens as white and soft as the feather of Maat!”
“Wine and spices, bound for Waset!”
The exotic names tugged at Akori’s heart. Since he had come to live on his uncle’s farm he had never travelled further than its boundaries, but visiting merchants had told him stories of many wonderful far-off places �
� the shadowy tombs of Saqqara, the gleaming city of Waset, the great temples at Karnak. Akori wished he could just dive into the cool water of the river and swim away to an adventure somewhere.
As his mind wandered, Akori’s fingers strayed to the birthmark on his arm. He traced its outline, pretending it was a falcon bracelet made of gold, like some noblemen wore. The mark even looked like a bird with its wings spread wide. Birds could fly anywhere they liked…
A shadow fell over him, blotting out the sun.
“Boy! Do you call this working?”
Uncle Shenti!
Akori leaped to his feet. “I was only—”
“Only wasting the day the good Gods gave!” Uncle Shenti raised his hands to the sky. “You see, O great God Ra, what I have to put up with? I work until I drop, just to put food on the table, while this idle boy lies basking in the sun like a temple cat!”
Uncle Shenti’s bristly face darkened. “You are almost a man, Akori. What do you think will happen when you come of age? You won’t be able to sit around daydreaming then!”
“But I—”
“Don’t answer back!” snapped Uncle Shenti. “I don’t want excuses – I want that shaduf mended by the time Ra’s royal sun-barge reaches the horizon, you hear? By tonight, Akori!”
Akori bit his lip to hold in an angry reply as his uncle turned and walked away. He had been barely five years old when his mother and father had died and he had come to live on the farm, but Uncle Shenti had put him to work straight away. It felt as if he hadn’t stopped working ever since.
Noon approached, the pile of stones grew higher, and the sun blazed down without mercy. It was hotter than Akori had ever known. His uncle hadn’t even left him a waterskin to quench his thirst. There was nothing for it – he would have to find shade and rest. In the shadow of a palm tree, near the thick reeds beside the river, Akori lay down and closed his eyes.
As he dozed, Akori felt his body grow lighter and lighter, drifting upwards towards the sky, where Ra’s golden sun-barge burned its way from east to west. Turning his head, Akori saw that his arms were no longer arms, but feathered wings! He was a falcon, the royal bird, and all the splendour of Egypt was spread out beneath him.
He could see the massive pyramids, with the Sphinx crouching beside them, full of secrets. There was Waset, the mighty capital city, and the Nile, glittering like the jewels of Isis. On the opposite bank of the river were tombs and temples carved deep into the rock, where the mummies of ancient Pharaohs lay.
It should have been a beautiful sight, but everywhere Akori looked he could see something terribly wrong. Smoke rose from burning buildings. Armed men fought one another in the streets, their blood dripping into the dirt. Families wept and begged for food, their hands covered in dust. The fields lay dry and scorched, as if by a fire – the empty furrows for seeds looked like some huge beast had raked the earth with its claws.
Then, swooping lower, Akori saw that there were monsters – monsters stalking the land. Strange dog-like creatures with cruel, curved teeth and eyes that glowed red. Gigantic scorpions as big as Nile crocodiles, their jagged pincers strong enough to tear a person to pieces…
“Akori!” called a deep voice in his head. “Akori!”
Akori opened his eyes with a jolt. For a moment, he had no idea where he was. Then he realized he was back under the palm tree by the river. Akori shook his head. The dream had seemed so real – he could still smell the harsh smoke of the burning buildings.
Akori jumped to his feet. The smell wasn’t just a dream! In the distance, a thick column of dark smoke was rising into the air.
The farm was on fire!
Akori raced towards the farm. Uncle Shenti was in danger – he had to put out the flames…
As he drew closer, Akori stopped dead in his tracks. The farm was already burning fiercely. There was no way he could ever hope to extinguish the blaze on his own. There was no sign of Uncle Shenti anywhere, but Akori could see dozens of mounted men galloping among the burning buildings. Perhaps they had come to help – it was hard to see through the swirling smoke.
Suddenly, the smoke parted for a moment and Akori had a clear view. The mounted men wore the glittering armour of the Pharaoh’s soldiers, but with a gasp Akori saw that they weren’t riding horses – they were riding scorpions! Giant, red scorpions bigger than horses, just like the ones in his dream!
As Akori watched in horror, one of the men hurled a flaming torch into a grain store. In a flash, flames began to crackle up the building’s sides. The man gave a cruel laugh, like the bark of a jackal. Shouting for the others to follow him, he urged his scorpion on towards the farmhouse.
Akori stood dumbfounded. For a second he wondered if he was still dreaming. But as he stood open-mouthed, the last of the scorpion-riders suddenly looked round and saw him.
“The boy! The boy is here!” he cried. He wheeled his scorpion around and charged.
Akori ran for his life, dodging between the burning buildings of the farm. He was a fast runner, but the scorpion was faster. The huge creature’s legs made a horrible rattle as it bore down on him, its massive pincers snapping and clicking.
The scorpion was gaining on him. Any moment now it would reach out and grab him in its claws! Akori knew there was no way he could outrun the eight-legged monster.
Then he had a brilliant idea. The river! Surely giant scorpions couldn’t swim…
Turning sharply, Akori sped towards the banks of the Nile. Yelling a fierce war-cry, the rider spurred the scorpion after him.
Akori doubled his speed. He had almost reached the thick bed of reeds beside the river. He was going to make it! But then, looking over his shoulder, Akori saw the beast was right behind him! The monster’s curved tail reared up and plunged down towards his back like a thunderbolt.
At the very last second, Akori flung himself aside. The scorpion’s deadly sting jabbed into the dirt next to his face, and black drops of poison spattered the earth. Before the beast could strike again, Akori leaped to his feet and scrambled into the reeds.
Crouching down low, Akori peered out from his hiding place. The rider turned his scorpion towards the reeds, but it hesitated. Akori could guess why. Although they had been dried by the fierce sun, the reeds were still as thick as a jungle. The scorpion could not follow him into the reed bed.
For a moment, Akori thought he was safe. Then the rider jumped down from his scorpion steed. Drawing his curved khopesh sword, he licked his lips and shouted:
“Little weed, come out of the mud!”
Akori held his breath and tried not to move a muscle. Looking up, he caught a glimpse of the man’s face as he prowled past, along the edge of the reed bed. The man was thin and pale. He looked as dried-up as the reeds themselves, but his eyes glittered with hatred.
“If you will not come out, little weed, then I shall have to cut you down.”
With one swipe, the man hacked at a cluster of reeds. The razor-sharp blade of the khopesh sliced easily through the brittle stems and the reeds tumbled to the ground. Akori gulped. The sword would cut through him just as easily!
Akori felt terror rising inside him. He could see the rider’s foot, so close he could almost touch it. With a swish of the khopesh, the man slashed down another swathe of reeds. Akori’s heart raced. If he stayed still, he would soon be caught. If he moved, he would disturb the reeds, and the rider might see him. But what choice did he have?
Slowly, carefully, he began to back away through the reeds, trying not to make the slightest noise. Again the blade flashed in the sun, and Akori heard the rider laugh as more of the reeds fell. He was getting closer!
Akori stepped backwards again, and wet mud squelched beneath his feet. He was at the very brink of the Nile. There were no more reeds left to hide in. One more step and he would be in the water…
With a hiss, the rider’s sword slashed through the last of the reeds. As they tumbled to the ground, the man saw Akori and grinned, raising the fearsome blade
to strike.
There was nothing for it. Taking a deep breath, Akori threw himself backwards into the Nile.
Instantly he was lost in a whirling watery world. Akori was a good swimmer, but the Nile was much stronger. The river dragged him away with the strength of a giant.
Within seconds the current had already carried him far away from the scorpion-rider. Akori could see his attacker shaking his fist at him in the distance. But the bank was far away too, and now the river had him in its grasp.
Akori struggled against the flow, but he was exhausted. After working all morning and his race with the giant scorpion, he had no strength left to fight the river. Slowly, Akori felt himself begin to sink into peaceful darkness. Was this what it was like to drown? His vision blurred. Was that the green face of Osiris, God of the Underworld, waiting to receive him…?
Suddenly, he felt hands clutching at his arms. Someone was dragging him up! Limp and exhausted, Akori let himself be hauled out of the river and on to a boat. He coughed muddy water from his lungs. It hurt, but it told him he was alive.
The bright sun was in his eyes again, and the vision of Osiris was fading from his mind. But there was a new face blotting out the sun. A pinched, nervous-looking face. Weakly, Akori reached out towards it…but then, overcome with exhaustion, he fell back unconscious.
This time, he did not dream.
Akori woke slowly. It was dark, except for the flickering of a single lamp. He was wrapped in something cool and soft, and at first he thought he was still in the water. Then he opened his eyes and saw that he was actually in a luxurious bed, draped with white linen. His head was resting on a pile of embroidered pillows.
Amazed, Akori fingered the linens, which were far finer than any he had ever touched before. Was he in a rich merchant’s house? Who could have brought him here? Had he been dreaming? No – he could still taste muddy water, and the smell of burning lingered in his nostrils too.
