The Red Pyramid

by Rick Riordan

  I swallowed and looked at my smoldering staff. “How much worse?”

  “You could literally burn up.”

  I hesitated, thinking how to ask my next question without saying too much. “But I’ve done magic before. Sometimes it doesn’t exhaust me. Why?”

  From around her neck, Zia unclasped an amulet. She threw it into the air, and with a flash it turned into a giant vulture. The massive black bird soared over the ruins. As soon as it was out of sight, Zia extended her hand and the amulet appeared in her palm.

  “Magic can be drawn from many sources,” she said. “It can be stored in scrolls, wands, or staffs. Amulets are especially powerful. Magic can also be drawn straight from Ma’at, using the Divine Words, but this is difficult. Or”—she locked eyes with me—“it can be summoned from the gods.”

  “Why are you looking at me?” I demanded. “I didn’t summon any gods. They just seem to find me!”

  She put on her necklace but said nothing.

  “Hold on,” Carter said. “You claimed this place was sacred to our family.”

  “It was,” Zia agreed.

  “But wasn’t this...” Carter frowned. “Didn’t the pharaohs have a yearly festival here or something?”

  “Indeed,” she said. “The pharaoh would walk down the processional path all the way from Karnak to Luxor. He would enter the temple and become one with the gods. Sometimes, this was purely ceremonial. Sometimes, with the great pharaohs like Ramesses, here—” Zia pointed to one of the huge crumbling statues.

  “They actually hosted the gods,” I interrupted, remembering what Iskandar had said.

  Zia narrowed her eyes. “And yet you claim to know nothing of your family’s past.”

  “Wait a second,” Carter protested. “You’re saying we’re related to—”

  “The gods choose their hosts carefully,” Zia said. “They always prefer the blood of the pharaohs. When a magician has the blood of two royal families...”

  I exchanged looks with Carter. Something Bast said came back to me: “Your family was born to magic.” And Amos had told us that both sides of our family had a complicated history with the gods, and that Carter and I were the most powerful children to be born in centuries. A bad feeling settled over me, like an itchy blanket prickling against my skin.

  “Our parents were from different royal lines,” I said. “Dad...he must’ve been descended from Narmer, the first pharaoh. I told you he looked like that picture!”

  “That’s not possible,” Carter said. “That was five thousand years ago.” But I could see his mind was racing. “Then the Fausts...” He turned to Zia. “Ramesses the Great built this courtyard. You’re telling me our mom’s family is descended from him?”

  Zia sighed. “Don’t tell me your parents kept this from you. Why do you think you are so dangerous to us?”

  “You think we’re hosting gods,” I said, absolutely stunned. “That’s what you’re worried about—just because of something our great-times-a-thousand grandparents did? That’s completely daft.”

  “Then prove it!” Zia said. “Duel, and show me how weak your magic is!”

  She turned her back on us, as if we were completely unimportant.

  Something inside me snapped. I’d had the worst two days ever. I’d lost my father, my home, and my cat, been attacked by monsters and had ice water dumped on my head. Now this witch was turning her back on me. She didn’t want to train us. She wanted to see how dangerous we were.

  Well, fine.

  “Um, Sadie?” Carter called. He must’ve seen from my expression that I was beyond reason.

  I focused on my staff. Maybe not fire. Cats have always liked me. Maybe...

  I threw my staff straight at Zia. It hit the ground at her heels and immediately transformed into a snarling she-lion. Zia whirled in surprise, but then everything went wrong.

  The lion turned and charged at Carter, as if she knew I was supposed to be dueling him.

  I had a split second to think: What have I done?

  Then the cat lunged...and Carter’s form flickered. He rose off the ground, surrounded by a golden holographic shell like the one Bast had used, except that his giant image was a warrior with the head of a falcon. Carter swung his sword, and the falcon warrior did likewise, slicing the lion with a shimmering blade of energy. The cat dissolved in midair, and my staff clattered to the ground, cut neatly in half.

  Carter’s avatar shimmered, then disappeared. He dropped to the ground and grinned. “Fun.”

  He didn’t even look tired. Once I got over my relief that I hadn’t killed him, I realized I didn’t feel tired either. If anything, I had more energy.

  I turned defiantly to Zia. “Well? Better, right?”

  Her face was ashen. “The falcon. He—he summoned—”

  Before she could finish, footsteps pounded on the stones. A young initiate raced into the courtyard, looking panicked. Tears streaked his dusty face. He said something to Zia in hurried Arabic. When Zia got his message, she sat down hard in the sand. She covered her face and began to tremble.

  Carter and I left our dueling circles and ran to her.

  “Zia?” Carter said. “What’s wrong?”

  She took a deep breath, trying to gather her composure. When she looked up, her eyes were red. She said something to the adept, who nodded and ran back the way he’d come.

  “News from the First Nome,” she said shakily. “Iskandar...” Her voice broke.

  I felt as if a giant fist had punched me in the stomach. I thought about Iskandar’s strange words last night: It seems I, too, can rest at last. “He’s dead, isn’t he? That’s what he meant.”

  Zia stared at me. “What do you mean: ‘That’s what he meant’?”

  “I...” I was about to say that I’d spoken with Iskandar the night before. Then I realized this might not be a good thing to mention. “Nothing. How did it happen?”

  “In his sleep,” Zia said. “He—he had been ailing for years, of course. But still...”

  “It’s okay,” Carter said. “I know he was important to you.”

  She wiped at her tears, then rose unsteadily. “You don’t understand. Desjardins is next in line. As soon as he is named Chief Lector, he will order you executed.”

  “But we haven’t done anything!” I said.

  Zia’s eyes flashed with anger. “You still don’t realize how dangerous you are? You are hosting gods.”

  “Ridiculous,” I insisted, but an uneasy feeling was building inside me. If it were true...no, it couldn’t be! Besides, how could anyone, even a poxy old nutter like Desjardins, seriously execute children for something they weren’t even aware of?

  “He will order me to bring you in,” Zia warned, “and I will have to obey.”

  “You can’t!” Carter cried. “You saw what happened in the museum. We’re not the problem. Set is. And if Desjardins isn’t taking that seriously...well, maybe he’s part of the problem too.”

  Zia gripped her staff. I was sure she was going to fry us with a fireball, but she hesitated.

  “Zia.” I decided to take a risk. “Iskandar talked with me last night. He caught me sneaking around the Hall of Ages.”

  She looked at me in shock. I reckoned I had only seconds before that shock turned to anger.

  “He said you were his best pupil,” I recalled. “He said you were wise. He also said Carter and I have a difficult path ahead of us, and you would know how to help us when the time came.”

  Her staff smoldered. Her eyes reminded me of glass about to shatter.

  “Desjardins will kill us,” I persisted. “Do you think that’s what Iskandar had in mind?”

  I counted to five, six, seven. Just when I was sure she was going to blast us, she lowered her staff. “Use the obelisk.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “The obelisk at the entrance, fool! You have five minutes, perhaps less, before Desjardins sends orders for your execution. Flee, and destroy Set. The Demon Days begin at sundow
n. All portals will stop working. You need to get as close as possible to Set before that happens.”

  “Hold on,” I said. “I meant you should come with us and help us! We can’t even use an obelisk, much less destroy Set!”

  “I cannot betray the House,” she said. “You have four minutes now. If you can’t operate the obelisk, you’ll die.”

  That was enough incentive for me. I started to drag Carter off, but Zia called: “Sadie?”

  When I looked back, Zia’s eyes were full of bitterness.

  “Desjardins will order me to hunt you down,” she warned. “Do you understand?”

  Unfortunately, I did. The next time we met, we would be enemies.

  I grabbed Carter’s hand and ran.

  C A R T E R

  17. A Bad Trip to Paris

  OKAY, BEFORE I GET TO THE demon fruit bats, I should back up.

  The night before we fled Luxor, I didn’t get much sleep—first because of an out-of-body experience, then a run-in with Zia. [Stop smirking, Sadie. It wasn’t a good run-in.]

  After lights out, I tried to sleep. Honest. I even used the stupid magic headrest they gave me instead of a pillow, but it didn’t help. As soon as I managed to shut my eyes, my ba decided to take a little trip.

  Just like before, I felt myself floating above my body, taking on a winged form. Then the current of the Duat swept me away at blurring speed. When my vision cleared, I found myself in a dark cavern. Uncle Amos was sneaking through it, finding his way with a faint blue light that flickered on the top of his staff. I wanted to call to him, but my voice didn’t work. I’m not sure how he could miss me, floating a few feet away in glowing chicken form, but apparently I was invisible to him.

  He stepped forward and the ground at his feet suddenly blazed to life with a red hieroglyph. Amos cried out, but his mouth froze half open. Coils of light wrapped around his legs like vines. Soon red tendrils completely entwined him, and Amos stood petrified, his unblinking eyes staring straight ahead.

  I tried to fly to him, but I was stuck in place, floating helplessly, so I could only observe.

  Laughter echoed through the cavern. A horde of things emerged from the darkness—toad creatures, animal-headed demons, and even stranger monsters half hidden in the gloom. They’d been lying in ambush, I realized—waiting for Amos. In front of them appeared a fiery silhouette—Set, but his form was much clearer now, and this time it wasn’t human. His body was emaciated, slimy, and black, and his head was that of a feral beast.

  “Bon soir, Amos,” Set said. “How nice of you to come. We’re going to have so much fun!”

  I sat bolt upright in bed, back in my own body, with my heart pounding.

  Amos had been captured. I knew it for certain. And even worse...Set had known somehow that Amos was coming. I thought back to something Bast had said, about how the serpopards had broken in to the mansion. She’d said the defenses had been sabotaged, and only a magician of the House could’ve done it. A horrible suspicion started building inside me.

  I stared into the dark for a long time, listening to the little kid next to me mumbling spells in his sleep. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I opened the door with a push of my mind, the way I’d done at Amos’s mansion, and I sneaked out.

  I was wandering through the empty marketplace, thinking about Dad and Amos, replaying the events over and over, trying to figure out what I could’ve done differently to save them, when I spotted Zia.

  She was hurrying across the courtyard as if she were being chased, but what really caught my attention was the shimmering black cloud around her, as if someone had wrapped her in a glittery shadow. She came to a section of blank wall and waved her hand. Suddenly a doorway appeared. Zia glanced nervously behind her and ducked inside.

  Of course I followed.

  I moved quietly up to the doorway. I could hear Zia’s voice inside, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. Then the doorway began to solidify, turning back into a wall, and I made a split-second decision. I jumped through.

  Inside, Zia was alone with her back to me. She was kneeling at a stone altar, chanting something under her breath. The walls were decorated with Ancient Egyptian drawings and modern photographs.

  The glittery shadow no longer surrounded Zia, but something even stranger was happening. I’d been planning to tell Zia about my nightmare, but that went completely out of my thoughts when I saw what she was doing. She cupped her palms, the way you might hold a bird, and a glowing blue sphere appeared, about the size of a golf ball. Still chanting, she raised her hands. The sphere flew up, straight through the ceiling, and vanished.

  Some instinct told me this was not something I was supposed to see.

  I thought about backing out of the room. Only problem: the door was gone. No other exits. It was only a matter of time before—Uh-oh.

  Maybe I’d made a noise. Maybe her magical senses had kicked in. But faster than I could react, Zia pulled her wand and turned on me, flames flickering down the edge of the boomerang.

  “Hi,” I said nervously.

  Her expression turned from anger to surprise, then back to anger. “Carter, what are you doing here?”

  “Just walking around. I saw you in the courtyard, so—”

  “What do you mean you saw me?”

  “Well...you were running, and you had this black shimmery stuff around you, and—”

  “You saw that? Impossible.”

  “Why? What was it?”

  She dropped her wand and the fire died. “I don’t appreciate being followed, Carter.”

  “Sorry. I thought you might be in trouble.”

  She started to say something, but apparently changed her mind. “In trouble...that’s true enough.”

  She sat down heavily and sighed. In the candlelight, her amber eyes looked dark and sad.

  She stared at the photos behind the altar, and I realized she was in some of them. There she was as a little girl, standing barefoot outside a mud-brick house, squinting resentfully at the camera as if she didn’t want her picture taken. Next to that, a wider shot showed a whole village on the Nile—the kind of place my dad took me to sometimes, where nothing had changed much in the last two thousand years. A crowd of villagers grinned and waved at the camera as if they were celebrating, and above them little Zia rode on the shoulders of a man who must’ve been her father. Another photo was a family shot: Zia holding hands with her mother and father. They could’ve been any fellahin family anywhere in Egypt, but her dad had especially kindly, twinkling eyes—I thought he must have a good sense of humor. Her mom’s face was unveiled, and she laughed as if her husband had just cracked a joke.

  “Your folks look cool,” I said. “Is that home?”

  Zia seemed like she wanted to get angry, but she kept her emotions under control. Or maybe she just didn’t have the energy. “It was my home. The village no longer exists.”

  I waited, not sure I dared to ask. We locked eyes, and I could tell she was deciding how much to tell me.

  “My father was a farmer,” she said, “but he also worked for archaeologists. In his spare time he’d scour the desert for artifacts and new sites where they might want to dig.”

  I nodded. What Zia described was pretty common. Egyptians have been making extra money that way for centuries.

  “One night when I was eight, my father found a statue,” she said. “Small but very rare: a statue of a monster, carved from red stone. It had been buried in a pit with a lot of other statues that were all smashed. But somehow this one survived. He brought it home. He didn’t know...He didn’t realize magicians imprison monsters and spirits inside such statues, and break them to destroy their essence. My father brought the unbroken statue into our village, and...and accidentally unleashed...”

  Her voice faltered. She stared at the picture of her father smiling and holding her hand.

  “Zia, I’m sorry.”

  She knit her eyebrows. “Iskandar found me. He and the other magicians destro
yed the monster...but not in time. They found me curled in a fire pit under some reeds where my mother had hidden me. I was the only survivor.”

  I tried to imagine how Zia would’ve looked when Iskandar found her—a little girl who’d lost everything, alone in the ruins of her village. It was hard to picture her that way.

  “So this room is a shrine to your family,” I guessed. “You come here to remember them.”

  Zia looked at me blankly. “That’s the problem, Carter. I can’t remember. Iskandar tells me about my past. He gave me these pictures, explained what happened. But...I have no memory at all.”

  I was about to say, “You were only eight.” Then I realized I’d been the same age when my mom died, when Sadie and I were split up. I remembered all of that so clearly. I could still see our house in Los Angeles and the way the stars looked at night from our back porch overlooking the ocean. My dad would tell us wild stories about the constellations. Then every night before bed, Sadie and I would cuddle up with Mom on the sofa, fighting for her attention, and she’d tell us not to believe a word of Dad’s stories. She’d explain the science behind the stars, talk about physics and chemistry as if we were her college students. Looking back on it, I wondered if she’d been trying to warn us: Don’t believe in those gods and myths. They’re too dangerous.

  I remembered our last trip to London as a family, how nervous Mom and Dad seemed on the plane. I remembered our dad coming back to our grandparents’ flat after Mom had died, and telling us there had been an accident. Even before he explained, I knew it was bad, because I’d never seen my dad cry before.

  The little details that did fade drove me crazy—like the smell of Mom’s perfume, or the way her voice sounded. The older I got, the harder I held on to those things. I couldn’t imagine not remembering anything. How could Zia stand it?

  “Maybe...” I struggled to find the right words. “Maybe you just—”

  She held up her hand. “Carter, believe me. I’ve tried to remember. It’s no use. Iskandar is the only family I’ve ever had.”