Fight of the Falcon God

  With thanks to Adrian Bott

  First published in the UK in 2013 by Usborne Publishing Ltd., Usborne House, 83-85 Saffron Hill, London EC1N 8RT, England. www.usborne.com

  Text copyright © Hothouse Fiction, 2013

  Illustrations copyright © Usborne Publishing Ltd., 2013

  Cover illustration by Staz Johnson. Inside illustrations by David Shephard. Map by Ian McNee.

  With thanks to Anne Millard for historical consultancy.

  The name Usborne and the devices are Trade Marks of Usborne Publishing Ltd.

  All rights reserved. This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or used in any way except as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or loaned or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  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 9781409568421

  Batch no: 02926-02

  British Museum endorsement

  Copyright

  The Sacred Coffin Text of Pharaoh Akori

  Map of Akori’s journey through the Underworld

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Collect all of Akori’s quests

  Quest of the Gods website info

  Collect the cards and play the games

  The boy stood on the shores of a lake of fire and stared down into the never-ending flames. Back when he had been Pharaoh in the world of the living, he had enjoyed looking into the fire. Back then, it made him think of destruction, suffering and other things he loved. Now he thought only of revenge.

  The boy’s name was Oba, and he was alive. This was not, in itself, a remarkable thing; but here, in the realm where the dead came to be judged, to be living was strange and terrible. The souls of the dead stared at him. Their jaws gaped. The monstrous creatures that dwelled in this cavern of the Underworld glared at him with hatred and licked their lips. It would have driven grown men insane with fear, let alone normal boys. But Oba wasn’t afraid, neither of the dead nor of the monsters. He was under the protection of a being far more fearsome than they could ever be.

  An ugly wound lay like a badly ploughed furrow across the smooth skin of Oba’s chest. He fingered it now and thought back over how close he had come to death. Images flashed through his mind. The golden blade plunged into his chest in that final fight. The sweating face of the boy who had shoved it there. Oba’s protector had saved his life, but the magic had hurt. Oba grimaced. He remembered the fingertip that had seared like a red-hot poker, the blistering pain. The wound had burned. The blood had scalded his skin like droplets of hot oil. Oba had screamed, wept and screamed again for nine days and nights, but he had lived.

  That had been when he was new to the Underworld. Set’s dark blessing had passed into his flesh since then. Fire hardly bothered him at all now.

  “Akori,” he said, spitting out the name as he had done so many times. “Farm boy oaf. You did this. You defeated my allies with your filthy tricks. You dared to shed my royal blood!” His voice was like a reptile’s hiss. “Powers of the Underworld!” Oba called out across the flames. “Show me what Akori is doing now!”

  Obediently, the flames coiled and twined into an image. Oba peered eagerly at it as it took form. He prayed to all the dark Gods that he would see Akori suffering. Perhaps Akori was sick, dying slowly and painfully. Perhaps he had been thrown from a horse and broken a bone. Better still, perhaps a cobra had bitten him, and he was writhing in agony at this very moment, soon to make the journey to the Underworld himself…

  But the boy whose face finally appeared in the flames did not seem to be dying. He wasn’t even in pain. He was laughing.

  “No!” Oba wailed.

  Akori was leaning back in the Pharaoh’s throne in the main room of the royal palace, laughing and cracking jokes with someone Oba couldn’t see. The Double Crown of Egypt was on his head, proclaiming him the ruler of both the Upper and Lower Kingdoms.

  “That throne doesn’t belong to you!” Oba screamed. “It’s mine! It’s all mine! Give it back! Give it baaaack!”

  Akori couldn’t hear Oba’s furious screams. He went on smiling and talking as if everything was just fine.

  Oba couldn’t bear it. He sank to his knees, beat the sand with his fists and let out a howl of cheated rage.

  A huge black fist thrust through the image of Akori. It abruptly broke apart into fiery shards.

  Oba started. His eyes widened. “My Lord?” he whispered, suddenly quiet. “Is that you?”

  Set, the Lord of Storms, strode up from the lake of fire. He brushed a burning ember from his broad chest as if it were a stray wisp of cotton. Tall as a giant, with the head of some strange beast, like a cross between an ass and a pig, he was Oba’s protector and ally.

  “You seem distressed, my young friend,” Set said to him. Everything about the God was filth, fire and darkness. Even his voice was like molten tar bubbling in a cauldron.

  “It’s Akori,” Oba said hoarsely. “You saw him! Living in my palace, smirking like the idiot he is. He thinks he’s so clever. He thinks he’s won. I want to wipe that smile off his stupid face.”

  “In that case,” Set gloated, “I have some good news for you.”

  Oba’s eyes bulged with astonishment. “Good news? You mean – the plan? It’s finally ready?”

  “Indeed!” Set laughed. “I struck like thunder from the darkness, and defeated Osiris before he knew I was upon him!”

  A horrible grin spread across Oba’s face. He couldn’t believe Osiris, God of the Underworld, had been beaten by Set.

  “Osiris now lies imprisoned,” Set said. He laid a smouldering hand upon Oba’s shoulder. “It is time you and I began to make plans for our conquest.”

  Oba’s flesh sizzled under Set’s touch, but he didn’t care. He was grinning like a maniac; revenge was within his grasp at last. Let Akori smile while he still could. Soon, the armies of the dead would haul him down from his stolen throne, pull the crown from his head, cut the head from his body and send his soul screaming into the Underworld.

  Yes, Oba would have the last laugh, after all. And what a long, cruel laugh it would be.

  The Pharaoh Akori sat beside his new High Priest of Horus, Manu. His brow was furrowed in concentration.

  “Come on, My Pharaoh,” laughed Manu. “Time’s running out! You’re not going to let me beat you at a riddle contest, are you?”

  When Oba had reigned, the royal palace had been a darkened, shadowy place of fear and hushed whispers. Now the daylight shone on carved columns and colourful wall paintings, ornamental chairs of gilded wood, and hangings of fine white linen. A few cats lounged in the sunny spots, because cats in this kingdom came and went as they pleased, even in the courts of kings.

  All around, the gathered palace staff looked on expectantly. Nobody said a word, but everyone was smiling, from the officials with their scrolls and shaven heads to the guards at the doors, even down to the servants who kneel
ed with their trays of food and pitchers of water. When Oba had been on the throne, they would have been silent out of fear. Not any more.

  “I should have challenged you to a wrestling match, Manu!” Akori joked. “But you’re so skinny, you’d snap like a dry twig!”

  Manu rested his chin on his fist. “You could always give up,” he teased. “Let your High Priest win for a change. Wouldn’t that be refreshing?”

  “Never!”

  “Very well. I’ll repeat the riddle one last time. The man who makes it doesn’t want it for himself, but the man who uses it will have it for ever. What is it?”

  Akori racked his brains, trying to think of what the answer could be. Once, he might have been angry at his friend Manu for pitching such a brain-teaser – was the priest trying to make him look stupid in front of his court? But he knew Manu was really showing him great respect. Akori was Pharaoh now, and a Pharaoh needed to be a thinker as well as a fighter. Manu wasn’t going to make it easy for him, not even by letting him win a simple riddle contest.

  What sort of thing would a man use for ever? Most objects got used up or thrown away over the course of your life. Even a house would be useless after you were dead. But wait – maybe that was what the riddle meant! Something that was yours for ever after you died…

  “A coffin!” Akori shouted triumphantly. “That’s the answer!”

  Manu bowed his head, graciously accepting his defeat.

  Victory! The officials clapped politely, the guards yelled and cheered and banged their spear hafts on the floor, and the servants made whooping noises and danced on the spot.

  Akori stood up smiling, and called for quiet. “Once again, your Pharaoh has beaten his loyal High Priest at a game of skill. I declare this lunch break over! Chancellor Imhotep, what’s this afternoon’s business?”

  A small, fat official came forward, scroll in hand. “Ambassadors to receive from Athens, My Pharaoh, and harvest reports from the southern kingdoms to look over—” He stopped and frowned.

  The light in the room, already bright, was becoming blinding. Murmurs broke out. From somewhere in the distance came the sound of rushing winds, roaring over the rooftops, howling around the palace. The hangings blew inwards and flew like flags in a gale.

  Akori felt cold excitement in the pit of his stomach. His arm was tingling. That only ever meant one thing! He glanced down. Sure enough, his falcon-shaped birthmark was glowing fiercely.

  Manu looked at it, looked at him, and they both grinned. “Horus!” they said together.

  Akori swept his arms outwards as if he were parting the sea. “Everyone, stand back!”

  The crowds hurried away from the centre of the room. A column of dazzling golden light slammed down into the space. People gasped. In the column’s midst a huge figure appeared. He had the head of a falcon and the body of a powerful warrior.

  Everyone in the room fell to one knee in worship. The God Horus was here, come to visit his champion, the Pharaoh Akori.

  Akori himself was shaking with excitement. Horus had not appeared to him since that fateful day when the future of all Egypt had hung in the balance. Then, still a farm boy, Akori had faced the almost impossible challenge of freeing five of the good Gods, including Horus himself, from Set’s magical prisons. When this was complete, Akori had become Pharaoh and his life had changed for ever. But why was Horus here now?

  “Akori,” said Horus. His mighty voice echoed around the room like a roll of thunder, shaking the shutters and toppling a vase from its stand. “I must speak with you urgently. I have need of my champion once more!”

  Horus wasn’t just troubled by whatever new evil had arisen. He sounded grief-stricken. The God of Light had sounded that way only once before, when his own mother, the Goddess Isis, had been imprisoned by Set. But that couldn’t have happened again…could it?

  The crowds of onlookers began to mutter anxiously among themselves. If Akori didn’t do something, rumours would get out of control.

  “Everyone, please leave the room!” Akori commanded. “Except you, Manu. I need you with me.”

  “Yes, My Pharaoh.” Their earlier jokes were instantly forgotten.

  Horus did not speak again until only Akori and Manu were left facing him.

  “My father, Osiris, God of the Dead, is the rightful Lord of the Underworld,” Horus began. “But Set has turned against him. He persuaded a group of Gods to rebel and join his evil cause, and together they have imprisoned Osiris!”

  Akori struggled to take the news in. He could hardly believe that five minutes ago, he and Manu had been laughing together. Everything had seemed so secure, with the kingdom safe, the people happy…but now his old foe, Set, was working his evil once again.

  “Set has a champion, too,” Horus said bitterly. “You know his name already.”

  “Oba!” Akori could hardly have forgotten the evil, mocking boy who had usurped the Pharaoh’s throne. “I should have killed him when I had the chance,” he groaned.

  “You very nearly did,” Horus said. “You struck a killing blow. Set saved Oba’s life with dark magic. Oba is no longer a mortal boy. He is part demon.”

  “Lord Horus,” said Manu, who had turned very pale. “I do not understand. Your father Osiris is the judge of the dead – but if he has been imprisoned, then who is judging the dead now?”

  “Nobody,” said Horus darkly.

  “But without their judge, how can the dead pass on to the afterlife?”

  “They cannot. The dead are remaining in the outer caverns of the Underworld. Their numbers are increasing. Anubis, the good God who guides the dead, believes Oba and Set are plotting to gather them into a huge army. Once the army is complete, they will unleash it upon Egypt. Oba will reclaim his throne and rule over a nation of enslaved Egyptians, backed by the power of Set.”

  “So that’s their plan,” Akori said. “My Lord, we have to stop them. I’m ready. Tell me what I must do.”

  “Me too!” said Manu quickly. “Don’t even think of forbidding me to come, Akori. We’ve been through too much together. High Priest or not, I’m with you.”

  Akori grabbed Manu’s offered hand in a brotherly grip.

  “I warn you,” Horus told them, “there are dangers ahead like nothing you have faced before. Osiris has been imprisoned in a dungeon beneath his Hall of Judgement, right at the very heart of the Underworld. To get to him, you will have to follow the perilous path taken by the dead.”

  Akori heard Manu swallow hard. He couldn’t blame him. The priest knew better than Akori what horrors awaited the dead in their journey through the Underworld.

  An old, cold fear was creeping into his bones. He had faced down evil Gods, battled monsters, and won a kingdom…but to enter the Underworld itself, and follow in the footsteps of the dead? No living person had ever done that before – except one; evil Oba, who was no longer fully human.

  He took a deep breath and summoned up his courage. “I’ll do it,” he said.

  “I knew I could rely upon your bravery,” Horus said. “And I have not come to you empty-handed. This will help to protect you.” He held out something that looked like a short-sleeved tunic made of overlapping golden scales. A small breastplate along the collar held five hollow sockets in a curved pattern. They looked as if jewels or stones had been prised out of them.

  Akori took it, and placed it over his head, amazed at how light it was. “It’s armour!”

  “The armour of Montu, God of Battle,” Horus replied. “For you have many battles to fight, Akori, if you are to free my father from Set and Oba. Five Gods will stand in your path, each of them a part of a spell that Set has woven. Your first task is to open the Gate to the deeper Underworld.”

  “One of those Gods must be Set himself,” Akori said gravely. “But who are the others?”

  “I’m afraid I do not know what horrors await you,” Horus said apologetically. “You will only learn who your opponents are as you make your journey. But you must defeat them and rec
laim the Pharaoh Stones if you are to have any hope of defeating Set.”

  “Stones? What stones?”

  Manu answered before Horus could speak. “They are ancient sources of magic forged by Ptah himself, the builder of the Universe! Osiris was appointed as the guardian of the Stones, until a Pharaoh arose who was worthy to bear them. That has never happened. Each Stone is said to represent one of the qualities of the ideal Pharaoh: strength, speed, courage, intelligence and honour.”

  “When Set defeated my father, Osiris, he stole the sacred Pharaoh Stones and gave them to his monstrous servants, filling them with power,” Horus explained. “You must reclaim the Stones and place them in the armour. Then their power will transfer to you. Once you have all five, you will have a chance of overcoming Set and Oba.”

  A question was gnawing at Akori’s mind – a question he didn’t really want to ask. “Last time I faced Set, you were there too. But you can’t help me this time, can you?”

  “No,” Horus said. “By entering the Underworld as a living soul, you are placing yourself beyond our help. Only those who travel with you can help you.”

  Akori looked down at his new golden armour. He still had his khopesh sword, the gift of Horus from the last quest. He’d just have to hope they would see him through the battles to come. And he’d have Manu’s advice, which had saved his life in the past. But if his last quest had seemed hard, this new one seemed all but impossible.

  “I must give you one last warning,” Horus said. “After each battle, you must make it back out of the Underworld by sunrise. If you do not, then the Underworld will claim you for ever. Your mortal body will perish, and your soul will join the ranks of the dead.”

  Akori was grateful to have been given the armour of Montu, God of Battle, for his next quest. It fitted him like a well-tailored tunic, as if it had been meant for him alone. The light shining from Horus’s body made patterns of dancing lights on the walls and floor where it reflected off the armour.

  “How do we get to the Underworld?” Akori asked.

  “Go to the valley across the Nile where the Pharaohs of old are entombed at the Necropolis of Waset,” Horus told him. “Seek for one tomb among many.”