“Usually when you part a river,” he grumbled, “it doesn’t involve punching a dwarf. Now, get me out of here!”
I managed to pry him free, which caused a sucking noise so impressive that I wished I had recorded it. [And no, Sadie, I’m not going to try to make it for the microphone.]
“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I didn’t mean to—”
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.