The Red Pyramid (Kane Chronicles 1) - Page 56

I turned and saw a good-looking boy of about sixteen, dressed in black robes. His complexion was pale, but he had lovely brown eyes like the man on the throne. His black hair was long and tousled—rather wild, but it worked for me. He tilted his head, and it finally occurred to me that he’d asked me a question.

I tried to think of something to say. Excuse me? Hello? Marry me? Anything would’ve done. But all I could manage was a shake of the head.

“Not a ghost, eh?” he mused. “A ba then?” He gestured towards the throne. “Watch, but do not interfere.”

Somehow I wasn’t interested in watching the throne so much, but the boy in black dissolved into a shadow and disappeared, leaving me no further distraction.

“Isis,” said the man on the throne.

The pregnant woman turned towards him and beamed. “My lord Osiris. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, my love. And soon we shall mark the birth of our son—Horus, the great one! His new incarnation shall be his greatest yet. He shall bring peace and prosperity to the world.”

Isis took her husband’s hand. Music kept playing around them, gods celebrating, the very air swirling in a dance of creation.

Suddenly the palace doors blew open. A hot wind made the torches sputter.

A man strode into the hall. He was tall and strong, almost a twin to Osiris, but with dark red skin, blood-colored robes, and a pointed beard. He looked human, except when he smiled. Then his teeth turned to fangs. His face flickered—sometimes human, sometimes strangely wolflike. I had to stifle a scream, because I’d seen that wolfish face before.

The dancing stopped. The music died.

Osiris rose from his throne. “Set,” he said in a dangerous tone. “Why have you come?”

Set laughed, and the tension in the room broke. Despite his cruel eyes, he had a wonderful laugh—nothing like the screeching he’d done at the British Museum. It was carefree and friendly, as if he couldn’t possibly mean any harm.

“I come to celebrate my brother’s birthday, of course!” he exclaimed. “And I bring entertainment!”

He gestured behind him. Four huge men with the heads of wolves marched into the room, carrying a jewel-encrusted golden coffin.

My heart began to race. It was the same box Set had used to imprison my dad at the British Museum.

No! I wanted to scream. Don’t trust him!

But the assembled gods oohed and aahed, admiring the box, which was painted with gold and red hieroglyphs, trimmed with jade and opals. The wolf-men set down the box, and I saw it had no lid. The interior was lined with black linen.

“This sleeping casket,” Set announced, “was made by my finest craftsmen, using the most expensive materials. Its value is beyond measure. The god who lies within, even for a night, will see his powers increase tenfold! His wisdom will never falter. His strength will never fail. It is a gift”—he smiled slyly at Osiris—“for the one and only god who fits within perfectly!”

I wouldn’t h

ave queued up first, but the gods surged forward. They pushed each other out of the way to get at the golden coffin. Some climbed in but were too short. Others were much too big. Even when they tried to change their shapes, the gods had no luck, as if the magic of the box were thwarting them. No one fit exactly. Gods grumbled and complained as others, anxious to try, pushed them to the floor.

Set turned to Osiris with a good-natured laugh. “Well, brother, we have no winner yet. Will you try? Only the best of the gods can succeed.”

Osiris’s eyes gleamed. Apparently he wasn’t the god of brains, because he seemed completely taken in by the box’s beauty. All the other gods looked at him expectantly, and I could see what he was thinking: if he fit in the box, what a brilliant birthday present. Even Set, his wicked brother, would have to admit that he was the rightful king of the gods.

Only Isis seemed troubled. She laid her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “My lord, do not. Set does not bring presents.”

“I am offended!” Set sounded genuinely hurt. “Can I not celebrate my brother’s birthday? Are we so estranged that I cannot even apologize to the king?”

Osiris smiled at Isis. “My dear, it is only a game. Fear nothing.”

He rose from his throne. The gods applauded as he approached the box.

“All hail Osiris!” Set cried.

The king of the gods lowered himself into the box, and when he glanced in my direction, just for a moment, he had my father’s face.

No! I thought again. Don’t do it!

Tags: Rick Riordan Kane Chronicles Fantasy
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