The Throne of Fire

He waved aside the apology. “You handled the water demons. That’s what matters. Now we gotta see if you can handle that.”

I turned and saw the tomb.

It was a rectangular pit about the size of a walk-in closet, lined with stone blocks. Steps led down to a closed stone door etched with hieroglyphs. The largest was the symbol for the House of Life:

“Those demons were guarding the entrance,” Bes said. “There may be worse inside.”

Underneath the symbol, I recognized a row of phonetic hieroglyphs:

“Z—I—A,” I read. “Zia’s inside.”

“And that,” Bes muttered, “is what we call in the magic business a trap. Last chance to change your mind, kid.”

But I wasn’t really listening. Zia was down there. Even if I’d known what was about to happen, I don’t think I could’ve stopped myself. I climbed down the steps and pushed open the door.

C A R T E R

14. At the Tomb of Zia Rashid

THE SARCOPHAGUS was made of water.

It was an oversize human figure with rounded feet, wide shoulders, and a larger-than-life smiling face, like other Egyptian coffins I’d seen; but the whole thing was sculpted from pure glowing liquid. It sat on a stone dais in the middle of a square chamber. Egyptian art decorated the walls, but I didn’t pay too much attention to that.

Inside the sarcophagus, Zia Rashid floated in white robes. Her arms were crossed over her chest. In her hands she gripped a shepherd’s crook and a war flail, the symbols of a pharaoh. Her staff and wand floated at her side. Her short black hair drifted around her face, which was just as beautiful as I remembered. If you’ve ever seen the famous sculpture of Queen Nefertiti, Zia reminded me of her, with the raised eyebrows, high cheekbones, graceful nose, and perfect red lips.

[Sadie says I’m overdoing it with the description, but it’s true. There’s a reason Nefertiti was called the most beautiful woman in the world.]

As I approached the sarcophagus, the water began to shimmer. A current rippled down the sides, tracing the same symbol over and over:

Bes made a rumbling sound in his throat. “You didn’t tell me she was a godling.”

I hadn’t thought to mention it, but of course that’s why Iskandar had hidden Zia away. When our dad unleashed the gods at the British Museum, one of them—the river goddess Nephthys—had chosen Zia for a host.

“That’s the symbol of Nephthys?” I guessed.

Bes nodded. “Didn’t you say this girl was a fire elementalist?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmph. Not a good combination. No wonder the Chief Lector put her in suspended animation. A fire magician hosting a water goddess—that could kill her, unless…huh, that’s pretty clever.”

“What?”

“The combination of water over fire could also mask Zia’s powers. If Iskandar was trying to hide her from Apophis…” His eyes widened. “Holy Mother Nut. Is that the crook and flail?”

“Yeah, I think.” I wasn’t sure why he acted so shocked. “Didn’t a lot of important people get buried with those?”

Bes gave me an incredulous look. “You don’t understand, kid. Those are the original crook and flail, the royal instruments of Ra.”

Suddenly I felt like I’d swallowed a marble. I don’t think I could’ve been more surprised if Bes had said By the way, you’re leaning against a hydrogen bomb. The crook and flail of Ra were the most powerful symbols of the most powerful Egyptian god. Yet in Zia’s hands they didn’t appear to be anything special. The crook looked like an oversize gold and blue candy cane. The flail was a wooden rod with three spiked chains at the end. They didn’t glow or say property of ra.

“Why would they be here?” I asked.

“Dunno,” Bes said, “but that’s them. Last I heard they were locked in the First Nome’s vaults. Only the Chief Lector had access. I guess Iskandar buried them with your friend here.”

“To protect her?”

Bes shrugged, clearly baffled. “That’d be like wiring your home security system to a nuclear missile. Complete overkill. No wonder Apophis hasn’t been able to attack her. That’s some serious protection against Chaos.”

“What happens if I wake her?”

“The spells shielding her will be broken. That could be why Apophis led you here. Once Zia’s out of that sarcophagus, she’s an easier target. As to why Apophis would want her dead, or why Iskandar would go to such trouble to guard her—your guess is as good as mine.”

I studied Zia’s face. For three months, I’d dreamed of finding her. Now I was almost too scared to wake her. By breaking the sleep spell, I might accidentally hurt her, or leave her open to an attack from Apophis. Even if I succeeded, what if she woke up and decided that she hated me? I wanted to believe she possessed shared memories with her shabti, so that she would remember the times we’d had together. But if she hadn’t, I wasn’t sure I could stand the rejection.

I touched the water coffin.

“Careful, kid,” Bes warned.

Magic energy rippled through me. It was subtle—like looking in the face of the water demon—but I could sense Zia’s thoughts. She was trapped in a dream of drowning. She was trying to hold on to her last good memory: Iskandar’s kindly face as he placed the crook and flail in her hands: Keep these, my dear. You will need them. And do not fear. Dreams will not bother you.

But Iskandar had been wrong. Nightmares had invaded her sleep. The voice of Apophis hissed in the darkness: I destroyed your family. And I am coming for you. Zia saw the demolition of her village over and over, while Aphophis laughed, and the spirit of Nephthys churned uncomfortably inside her. Iskandar’s magic had trapped the goddess too in an enchanted sleep, and she tried to protect Zia, calling on the Nile to cover this chamber and shield them both from the Serpent. Still, she couldn’t stop the dreams. Zia had been having the same chaotic nightmare for three months, and her sanity was crumbling.

“I have to free her,” I said. “She’s partially conscious.”

Bes sucked air through his teeth. “That shouldn’t be possible, but if it’s true—”

“She’s in serious trouble.” I sank my hand deeper into the sarcophagus. I channeled the same kind of magic I’d used to part the river, only on a smaller scale. Slowly the water lost its shape, melting like an ice cube. Before Zia could spill off the dais, I caught her in my arms. She dropped the crook and flail. Her staff and wand clattered to the floor.

As the last of the sarcophagus trickled away, Zia’s eyes flew open. She tried to breathe but couldn’t seem to inhale.

“Bes, what’s wrong with her?” I said. “What do I do?”

“The goddess,” he said. “Zia’s body is rejecting the spirit of Nephthys. Get her to the river!”

Zia’s face started to turn blue. I gathered her in my arms and raced up the slippery stairs, which wasn’t easy with Zia kicking and hitting me all the way. I managed to make it across the mud without falling and eased her down next to the riverbank.