“That’s not true!” I said. “It’s bloody unfair!”
How could Jaz be so calm and nice, even when she was in a coma? I didn’t want to hear that bad things happened as part of some grand plan. I hated when people said that. I’d lost my mother. I’d lost my dad. My life had been turned upside down, and I’d almost died countless times. Now, as far as I knew, I was dead or dying. My brother was poisoned and drowning, and I couldn’t help him.
“No reason is worth all this,” I said. “Life is random. It’s harsh. It’s—it’s—”
Jaz was still smiling, looking a bit amused.
“Oh,” I said. “You wanted to make me mad, didn’t you?”
“That’s the Sadie we all love. Grief really isn’t productive. You do better when you’re angry.”
“Humph.” I supposed she was right, but I didn’t have to like it. “So why did you bring me here?”
“Two things,” she said. “First, you’re not dead. When you wake up, you’ll only have a few minutes to heal Carter. You’ll have to act quickly.”
“Using the wax statue,” I said. “Yes, I figured that out. But I don’t know how. I’m no good at healing.”
“There is only one more ingredient that matters. You know what it is.”
“But I don’t!”
Jaz raised an eyebrow like I was just being stubborn. “You’re so close to understanding, Sadie. Think about Isis. Think about how you channeled her power in St. Petersburg. The answer will come to you.”
“But—”
“We must hurry. The second thing: you’re going to need Walt’s help. I know it’s risky. I know Bes warned against it. But use the amulet to call Walt back to you. It’s what he wants.
Some risks are worth taking, even if it means losing a life.”
“Losing whose life? His?”
The infirmary scene began to dissolve, turning into a blurry watercolor.
“Think about Isis,” Jaz repeated. “And Sadie…there is a purpose. You taught us that. We choose to believe in Ma’at. We create order out of chaos, beauty and meaning out of ugly randomness. That’s what Egypt is all about. That’s why its name, its ren, has endured for millennia. Don’t despair. Otherwise Chaos wins.”
I remembered saying something like that in one of our classes, but even then, I hadn’t believed it.
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” I said. “I’m a rubbish teacher.”
Jaz’s form, all her collected memories, slowly melted into mist. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” she said, her voice fading. “You were an excellent teacher. Now, visit Isis, and see how it began.”
The infirmary evaporated. Suddenly I was on a royal barge, floating down the Nile. The sun blazed overhead. Lush green marsh grass and palm trees lined the riverbanks. Beyond that the desert spread to the horizon—barren red hills so dry and forbidding, they might as well have been on Mars.
The boat was like the one Carter had described from his vision with Horus, though in better condition. Its crisp white sail was emblazoned with the image of the sun disk, glittering in red and gold. Orbs of multicolored light zipped around the deck, manning the oars and pulling the lines. How they did this without hands, I don’t know, but it wasn’t the first time I’d seen such a magical crew.
T
he hull was inlaid with precious metals—copper, silver, and gold designs showing pictures of the boat’s journey through the Duat, and hieroglyphs invoking the power of the sun.
In the middle of the boat, a blue-and-gold canopy shaded the sun god’s throne, which was without a doubt the most impressive and uncomfortable looking chair I’d ever seen. At first I thought it was molten gold. Then I realized it was fashioned out of living fire—yellow flames that had somehow been sculpted into the shape of a throne. Etched into its legs and armrests, white-hot hieroglyphs glowed so brightly they seared my eyes.
The throne’s occupant wasn’t quite so impressive. Ra was an old leathery man bent over in the shape of a question mark, his bald scalp cratered with liver spots and his face so saggy and wrinkled it looked like a mask. Only his kohl-lined eyes gave any indication he was alive, because they were full of pain and weariness. He wore a kilt and collar, which did not suit him nearly as well as it had Anubis. Until now, the most ancient person I’d ever seen was Iskandar, the former Chief Lector, who’d been two thousand years old. But Iskandar had never looked this bad, even when he was about to die. To make matters worse, Ra’s left leg was wrapped in bandages and swollen to twice its proper size.
He groaned and propped his leg on a pile of cushions. Two puncture wounds oozed through the bandages on his shin—very much like the fang marks on Carter’s shoulder. As Ra kneaded his leg, green venom spread up the veins of his thigh. Just looking at it made my ba feathers shiver with revulsion.
Ra looked to the heavens. His eyes turned molten yellow like his throne.
“Isis!” he cried. “Very well! I relent!”