Jake Ransom and the Howling Sphinx (2 page)

Nassor did. It matched the description in the ancient Book of Thoth. He named the gem. “The Eye of Ra.”

“Bring it to me …”

An arm extended out of the tunnel's shadows. An iron gauntlet hid the hand. Fingers creaked open.

Unable to refuse, Nassor stumbled to the statue. He reached toward the bright eye. As his fingers hovered over the gem, the small hairs on his knuckles stood on end. He froze, sensing a strange power emanating from the stone. His heart thundered in his ears, but he still heard the order repeated.

“Bring it to me …”

With a great effort of will, Nassor closed his hands over the gem. A shock jolted up his arm, but he quickly dislodged the gem out of the eye socket. He stumbled back and stared down at what he held.

The gem was twice the size of his fist. The firelight flowed over its polished surface, bringing out a thousand shades. Nassor had studied enough geology to recognize a fiery ruby, a gem rare for this region and priceless at this size. It was perfect, except for a single blemish along one side. He ran his thumb over the elliptical vein of black obsidian that coursed over one surface of the stone.

It made the gem look like an eye.

Nassor glanced up at the statue.

A serpent's eye.

Behind the ancient sculpture, the man who hired him flowed out of the tunnel. Shadows cloaked and swirled around his shape, hiding his features.

Shocked, Nassor took a step back. Despite his terror, one certainty crystallized in the curator's mind. If even half the stories about the Eye of Ra were true, he could not let anyone possess the gem, especially this shadowy man.

A cold chuckle flowed from the figure, as if the man read Nassor's thoughts.
“There is nowhere to run …”

Nassor tried. He turned toward the tunnel that led to the surface. He had to get the Eye of Ra away from this monstrous man. If he could reach the surface, get it back to his museum …

He took a step—or at least
tried
to take a step. But his feet suddenly went dead cold and refused to obey. He stared down, then gasped in disbelief. His shoes had turned to stone and were melding to the limestone floor.

No, not just his shoes.

Coldness traveled up his body. He watched his legs turn to stone, then his waist. He fought to move, to twist away. Then the coldness swept over his belly and chest—and out along his arms.

Stone fingers now clutched the ruby eye.

“No,” he moaned in horror.

Terrified, he stared across at the row of Egyptian warriors
and realized that his expression now matched theirs. He suddenly understood why he had been summoned here.

“The curse …”
the figure rasped at him,
“… upon whoever tries to take the Eye from its resting place.”

The voice drew up behind him. Nassor could not even turn as the petrifying coldness froze his neck. He had been tricked, brought here to draw the curse to himself.

Nassor fought against it, crying out, “
YOU MUST NOT
—” But his frantic plea died as his tongue turned to stone.

“Ah, but I must …”
the figure whispered in his ear.

An arm reached around, and iron fingers settled on the fiery gem. The Eye of Ra was pried from Nassor's stony grip. Nassor wanted to turn, to see the face of the man who had doomed him; but he could no longer move, no longer speak, no longer breathe. As his ears turned deaf and his vision grew black, Nassor heard the man whisper a final threat—not against Nassor, but against someone else. The cold words followed him down into the darkness.

“With this, I will make Jake Ransom suffer.”

Most days, people don't kick you in the head.

For Jacob Bartholomew Ransom, it was just another Monday. He lay flat on his back on the blue practice mat. His ears rang, and bits of light fluttered across his vision. He'd been a second slow in blocking the roundhouse kick from his opponent.

“Are you okay?” the other boy asked.

Brandon Phan was two years older than Jake and the star pupil of the North Hampshire School of Tae Kwon Do, a junior black belt. He held out a hand to help Jake to his feet. Brandon was half Vietnamese, evident only from a slight pinch at the corners of his eyes, as if he were just about to laugh. Like Jake, he wore a belted white uniform called a
gi
.

Jake took the offered hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. “Didn't see that coming,” he said with a shake of his head. “Felt like I got kicked by a mule.”

Brandon grinned. They had been sparring for three months. Jake had not been content with the usual three classes a week. He had wanted more practice. Luckily, Brandon had taken a shine to him and agreed to help Jake hone his skill. They had the
dojang
hall to themselves for another fifteen minutes.

“You're getting better,” his friend said. “Before you know it, you'll be teaching me.”

“Yeah, right.” Jake shook his head to clear away the cobwebs.

Still, he had to admit that he
was
getting better. Last week, he'd traded his blue Tae Kwon Do belt for a red one. The belt's new color was meant to caution others, to warn them that the student had the skill but not the control of a black belt.

Jake couldn't disagree with that assessment.

These past weeks he'd been pushing himself too hard, becoming reckless and sloppy—but he couldn't help himself. Though it was late June, the events from three months ago remained as fresh as if they'd only happened yesterday. Just this morning, Jake had awoken with his sheets knotted, a scream trapped in his throat, grappling with a winged monster from his nightmares and into the morning's brightness.

In that dream, Jake had been transported back to the prehistoric past, returning to a time before the continents had broken apart, when the world was just one big supercontinent,
a land called Pangaea, meaning “All-World.”

And indeed it had proved to be all worlds.

Jake had visited the place himself in real life.

Across history, lost tribes of mankind—Mayas, Egyptians, Romans, Vikings, Native Americans, and many others—had been stranded there, stolen from their own times and dropped into that savage landscape of marauding dinosaurs and primeval forests. To survive, they had banded together and found shelter in the valley of Calypsos, protected by ancient technology left over from Atlantis.

In his nightmare last night, Jake had returned to Pangaea and was being hunted by a pack of winged and clawed creatures called
grakyl
, the monstrous minions of Kalverum Rex, the horrific Skull King of Pangaea. Even now Jake could hear the screeches of the grakyl deep inside him, as if the Skull King were still searching for him.

And maybe he was.

So Jake knew that he had better be prepared.

As if reading his mind, Brandon backed up a step and fixed Jake with a steely stare. “Ready?”

That was a good question. Jake had better be ready. For the past few days, a strange pressure had been building in his chest. Like a storm was coming.

“Let's go again.” Jake brushed his sandy blond hair out of his eyes and took a defensive stance, balancing on the balls of his feet.

Though Brandon was older, they were evenly matched
in size. Jake studied his opponent's face, looking for a clue to show how he would attack. The Japanese taught to watch the eyes of an attacker. The Chinese believed it was better to stare at an opponent as a whole.

Brandon studied Jake just as intently—then his friend's eyes flew wide-open, shining with shock and disbelief. His gaze shifted past Jake's shoulder. The hairs on the back of Jake's neck prickled. Reacting on instinct, he dropped and twisted around. The front window of the school exploded as a black sedan hopped the curb and barreled straight toward them.

Already crouched, Jake lunged and hit Brandon at the waist, knocking them both out of the car's path. The front bumper brushed Jake's toes. He landed and rolled with Brandon across the practice floor.

The sedan roared past them and slammed into the back wall with a crunch of metal.

Jake flew to his feet, hauling up the stunned Brandon.

Across the room, the sedan's engine sputtered and died. Smoke rose from under the crumpled hood.

Jake took a step toward the wreckage. Despite his pounding heart, he had to make sure no one was hurt.

“Careful,” Brandon warned.

Jake smelled gasoline. Oily liquid was pouring from under the smoking car. Shouts rose from the street outside. Others were hurrying to the site of the accident—
if it was an accident
.

Dread iced through Jake. Ahead, the smoke grew thicker and blacker. Jake approached the trunk of the car and peered through the rear window. He expected to find a slumped figure behind the wheel.

But no one was there.

He stepped closer as gasoline spread over his bare toes. His eyes were burning from the smoke, but he had to be sure. He couldn't just abandon someone in trouble. He leaned toward the side window and checked the front and back seats.

Empty.

How could that be?

“Jake!” Brandon yelled, and pointed.

Jake tore his gaze away from the mystery of the driverless car. Flames flickered from under the hood.

Jake backpedaled across the room and yelled to Brandon. “Run!”

Together, they sprinted toward the smashed window. Outside, a small crowd had gathered. Sirens sounded in the distance.

“Get back!” Jake hollered as he and Brandon leaped like frightened gazelles through the demolished storefront.

And not a moment too soon.

A muffled blast exploded behind them. An invisible hand shoved Jake from behind and flung him into the arms of the waiting crowd. Heat followed as he rolled and stared back into the
dojang
hall. It was like looking
into the mouth of a furnace. Flames filled the back of the training hall. Smoke churned like a living creature within the blaze.

For a moment—dazed, ears ringing—Jake watched the smoke twist into the towering shape of a shadowy figure. Eyes opened within that smoke, dancing with black flames, and fixed their fiery gaze upon him.

Stunned, Jake flashed back to three months ago. Again he was back in the prehistoric world of Calypsos huddled in the doorway to the great Temple of Kukulkan as the Skull King stalked toward him, armored in shadows, with blazing eyes. Kalverum Rex was a rogue alchemist who dabbled in blood magic, twisting natural creatures into monstrous creations. His goal was to rule all of Pangaea and bend every inhabitant to his will. Jake had stopped him once before, challenging him and staring him full in the face.

Jake gazed into those same eyes now. As he did so, the world darkened at the edges until all he saw were those fiery eyes. They burned through him, down to his bones, making it impossible to move. He fought against it, feeling himself slipping away—

Then a horn blared, deafeningly loud. The smoky creature shattered away as the horn dissolved into the blare of a fire engine's siren. The world snapped back into focus. Jake turned as the lumbering red truck pulled to the curb.

Chaos followed.

Someone examined him, ran hands over his body, dragged him away, and planted him on a park bench down the street. Besides a little singed hair (which smelled awful), he was unscathed. He'd not even cut his bare feet on any broken glass. A heavy blanket was dropped over his shoulders. The same was done to Brandon.

All the while, Jake kept his focus on the burning school. Arcs of water sprayed into the heart of the inferno. He kept watch for the return of the fiery demon.

He nudged Brandon next to him. “You didn't see … inside the school … a monster with fiery eyes.…”

Brandon shook his head a bit too quickly and eyed Jake as if he were a few fries short of a Happy Meal.

After a few breaths, Jake realized his friend was right. Dazed and shocked, his stunned mind must have blurred the real world with his nightmares of Pangaea.