Rick Riordan - The Throne of Fire

“I’m so sorry.” I tried not to break into tears. “If I hadn’t grabbed that stupid scroll—”

“Sadie, don’t be sorry. I’m glad you’ve come.”

“But—”

“Everything happens for a reason, Sadie, even bad things.”

“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.

The 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!”

A shadow rippled under the canopy. A woman appeared, and knelt before the throne. I recognized her, of course. She had long, dark hair cut Cleopatra-style and a white gossamer dress that complemented her graceful figure. Her luminous rainbow wings shimmered like the northern lights.

With her head bowed and her palms raised in supplication, she looked like the picture of humility; but I knew Isis too well. I could see the smile she was trying to hide. I could sense her elation.

“Lord Ra,” she said. “I live to serve you.”

“Ha!” Ra said. “You live for power, Isis. Don’t try to deceive me. I know you created the snake that bit me! That’s why no one else can find a cure. You desire my throne for your husband, the upstart Osiris.”

Isis started to protest, “My lord—”

“Enough! If I were a younger god—” Ra made the mistake of moving his leg. He yelped in pain. The green venom spread farther up his veins.

“Never mind.” He sighed miserably. “I am weary of this world. Enough scheming and plotting. Just cure the poison.”

“Gladly, my king. But I will need—”

“My secret name,” Ra said. “Yes, I know. Promise to heal me, and you will get all you desire…and more.”

I heard the warning in Ra’s voice, but either Isis didn’t notice, or she didn’t care.

“I swear to heal you,” she said.

“Then approach, goddess.”

Isis leaned forward. I thought Ra would whisper his name in her ear, but instead he grasped her hand and placed it against his withered brow. Her fingertips smoldered. She tried to pull away, but Ra held her wrist. The sun god’s entire form glowed with fiery images of his long life: the first dawn; his sun boat shining on the newly risen land of Egypt; the creation of the other gods and mortal men; Ra’s endless battles with Apophis as he passed through the Duat each night, keeping Chaos at bay. It was too much to take in—centuries passing with each heartbeat. His secret name was the sum of his experience, and even then, in those ancient times, Ra was unthinkably old. The fiery aura spread to Isis’s hand, traveling up her arm until her whole body was wreathed in flames. She screamed once. Then the fires died. Isis collapsed, smoke curling from her dress.

“So,” Ra said. “You survived.”

I couldn’t tell if he felt disappointment or grudging respect.

Isis rose unsteadily to her feet. She looked shell-shocked, as if she’d just strolled through a war zone, but she raised her hand. A fiery hieroglyph burned on her palm—Ra’s secret name, distilled into a single unbelievably powerful word.