Jake Ransom and the Howling Sphinx (30 page)

“Get ready,” Nefertiti said, and stepped over to Politor and her uncle.

Through quiet signals, the ship's crew and rebels prepared themselves. Rocks were furtively slipped into hands. Daggers appeared in fingers. Nefertiti rested her palm on her sword.

No one had yet bothered to strip them of their weapons. And why would they? Kree's forces—both on the ground and aboard the barge—vastly outnumbered the few prisoners. And on top of that, a snarling horde of harpies surrounded the entire camp.

Even the Skull King and his witch ignored them. The two stood several yards away, their attention fully focused on the pocket watch like two magpies playing with something shiny. Kalverum Rex had been lusting after this prize for so long; and now with it in hand, he showed little interest in the trapped prisoners.

Jake turned his head to the side, causing sand to sift under his collar. Only steps away, his pack lay on the ground, guarded over by a pair of Blood of Ka priests. The bag still held the emerald crystal.

A sharp call drew his attention around.

“Now!” Nefertiti shouted, and yanked out her sword.

The entire camp charged toward the Crackles as if attempting to make a run for its shadowy canyons and tunnels. They hit the surrounding guards like a battering ram. Caught by surprise, Kree's forces splintered and fell back.

Nefertiti took advantage of the momentary confusion and drove her assault deeper, breaking through the line of guards. But that still left a flying mass of claws and teeth between her and the cliffs. As Nefertiti continued onward, the entire battle shifted in that direction, dragged along with her.

Guards ran over Jake and his friends, pounding after the escaping prisoners. They were followed by the encircling edge of the harpy flock. Within a matter of seconds, the sands were empty around Jake.

He dared not wait any longer.

With a heave, he shoved himself out of the shallow pit. He rolled free, scattering sand and ripping away his hood. The others did the same, like dusty zombies climbing from their graves.

Marika struggled, but Jake grabbed her forearm and
pulled her free. Pindor and Bach'uuk yanked out weapons: a sword and an iron cudgel.

Jake turned to find a single priest still guarding his pack. The other had gone after the escaping prisoners. The black-robed figure made a grab for the shoulder straps, but Marika flicked out her arm. A dagger flew from her fingertips and impaled the man through the wrist.

With a cry, he fell and landed on his backside.

Already moving, Jake sprinted, snatched the backpack in one hand, and kept running. He headed away from the fighting and toward the storm. His friends followed. The priest tried to call out a warning, but it was lost in the clash and screams of the battle.

Then a sharper note cut through the commotion: a girlish cry of fury—coming from the sky.

Jake looked, shocked to find a brawl being fought ten feet in the air. Nefertiti hung from the claws of a harpy while battling three others with her sword in one hand and a knife in the other. She finally jackknifed up and kicked the one that was holding her in the face. With a shriek, it let go; and she plummeted to the sand, hitting hard about thirty yards away, driven down to one knee.

The harpies dove after her—and more were on the way.

She would not last long.

Pindor slowed, his eyes twitching toward the battle. Jake saw the pain in his friend's face, caught between two desires.

Jake understood and pointed to Nefertiti. “Go!”

With a look of relief, Pindor turned and ran to help the princess.

Halfway to the storm, Jake risked a glance across the sand. Off to the side, the Skull King had noted their flight. His black-fire gaze fixed on Jake with a malignancy that caused him to trip. Bach'uuk caught his arm and kept him on his feet.

The Skull King took a step toward them, but he had poor control over Kree's body and would never be able to cross the distance in time. Recognizing that, he waved an arm to Heka.

With a hiss that cut through the cries of battle, she crouched and shot high up in the air.

“Faster!” Jake said, and dug deep into the hard sand.

Marika, as fleet as a deer, passed him, while Bach'uuk kept to Jake's shoulder. Only yards away, the world ended, rising up into a maelstrom of whipping sand, screaming winds, and crackling lightning. Anyone sane would be running away from that storm, not toward it.

Jake looked over his shoulder but couldn't see the witch. Facing forward again, he watched Marika lift an arm across her eyes, heard her cry out. She had hit the edge of the storm. Her feet stumbled as she turned away, her cheeks already sand burned.

Then Jake was at her side. He felt the sting of the storm, too. He sheltered her under one arm, and together they pushed deeper, hunched low, buffeted by winds. Bach'uuk
panted next to him, looking lost.

How were they going to get through this?

Maybe Marika's father was wrong.

Maybe Jake wasn't the true Key of Time.

A screech rose behind them.

They all turned as Heka landed heavily.

Hunched into a crouch, she smiled, baring her fangs. Her wings fluttered back from her shoulders, battered by the storm's edge. She had crossed this deadly barrier before and knew she had them trapped against its flesh-scouring winds.

Heka stalked forward. Squinting against the sand, she raised her staff topped by the ruby timestone. She clearly meant to end this once and for all.

Unable to get to his own crystal in time, Jake grabbed the only thing he could. Reaching out, he took Marika's hand and latched onto his Ur friend's wrist. Jake had sheltered his friends' passage through the barrier to get here. He had to do the same now or die trying.

With his back to the storm, he took a full step into the teeth of the gale, then another. Grainy winds whipped like sandpaper, tearing at clothes, stinging skin. Lightning chased overhead.

His friends leaned against him.

Heka cocked her head like an inquisitive bird studying a worm, but curiosity only bought so much time.

With a wrench of her arm, she slammed her staff into the sand.

Again the petrifying spell of the timestone rippled outward, turning the sand to dark gray. Behind the witch, it washed over a few stray harpies who had followed her to the storm's border, turning them into statues with startled expressions fixed to their bestial features. One straggler tried to flee; but the wave struck just as it leaped, freezing it to a stone in midair before it crashed back to the sand.

Jake prepared to suffer the same fate.

But as the dark ripple hit the storm's edge, it stopped. A few inches away, the line was as straight as a chalk line on a baseball field, as if the spell were afraid to enter the storm. If true, that could mean only one thing.

“We're in the storm,” Marika said.

“In time's river,” Bach'uuk added, his brow furrowed in thought.

Jake sensed that Bach'uuk was pondering something important, but now was not the time for questions. He
matched gazes with Heka. She seemed equally surprised that they had made it into the storm and still lived. To make sure, he moved them all deeper. The winds still screamed, and sand ripped across their exposed skin, but they were still alive.

With each step, the storm of sand thickened. Jake lost sight of the camp, of the battle. At least the fighting had been beyond the reach of the witch's petrifying spell.

Marika's grip suddenly tightened on him. She pointed with her other arm. “Jake!”

The image of the witch grew clearer through the blowing sand. She had pushed into the storm, following them. And she wasn't alone. With a ripping shriek, she summoned the horde to her. Dark shapes dove into the winds. The harpies made their home here and were returning to their roost—and they clearly didn't like trespassers.

One came tearing out of the dark storm with a furious screech. Jake dropped low, pulling the others down with him. Claws raked his back, then the creature was gone, whipping back into the storm.

Jake moved faster, hoping the harpies could not reach the deeper folds of the storm. Heka followed, gaining ground. She held up her staff. The ruby crystal glowed, as if the winds had somehow charged it. It cut a path through the storm ahead of her, but it failed to fully protect her. The sands still scoured her flesh. To shield herself, she tucked her wings around her body.

That's how she must have crossed the first time. Her natural harpy blood and the alchemy of the stone allowed her to scrape her way through, step by painful step.

Which gave Jake an idea.

He had his own stone.

“Switch positions!” Jake called out, and motioned for Bach'uuk to take Marika's other hand, then let go of his. They dared not break the chain of skin connecting them all together.

Once his hand was free, Jake reached to his pack and fished out his emerald crystal. As he raised it to the winds, a small fire ignited at its heart, casting a soft emerald glimmer. The shine seemed to push back the storm and hold it at bay.

Bach'uuk lifted a hand in wonder. While the sand still whipped savagely, the stinging grains no longer seemed to find them. It was as if they had stepped outside of the storm.

“Keep going!” Jake said, backing away.

They set a harder pace, but Heka followed with her horde.

“Jake!” Marika yelled. “Behind us!”

He glanced over a shoulder. Dark shapes swirled in the sandstorm like leaves in a whirlwind. So that's where the horde had gone, obeying some silent command of their queen. With the trap set, the witch had been pushing the three of them into an ambush.

“What do we do now?” Marika asked.

The answer came from a most unexpected place. Out of nowhere, a small twisting shape appeared above Jake's raised stone as if it were a green curl of smoke rising from the crystal's fire.

Marika gasped and jerked away, but Jake kept a firm grip on her fingers.

“Don't worry,” he said.

After a breath, she leaned closer, curiosity overcoming her initial fright. “What is it?”

“A wisling.” He didn't have time to explain how they met. “A friend.”

At least I hope so
.

The winged serpent writhed around and around the stone. Jake had seen it do the same thing before. Somehow it must be drawn to the crystal. Maybe that's why it had been following him in the canyons of the Crackles. According to Nefertiti's uncle, the creatures were tied to Ankh Tawy, as were these stones.

Jake didn't understand the connection, but he knew that there must be one.

With a blurring buzz of its wings, the wisling twisted up Jake's arm and rose to stare him in the eye.

“Yes, you like the stone. I get it, but I don't have time. Why don't you go pester that other stone?” Jake nodded to the witch, who was less than ten yards away. “Go scare her.”

Its tiny head tilted as if pondering this idea. Then with a hiss it vanished. One second it was there, the next gone.

This time Bach'uuk gasped, as surprised as Jake.

Where did it go
?

The answer came with a shriek.

Across the short distance, Heka struggled with her staff, shaking it. Jake spotted an emerald rope twisted along its length, hissing back at her—then as before the wisling vanished, blinking out of sight.

Taking the staff and stone with it.

Across the sand, the witch screamed—not in fury this time, but in pain. With the protective shell of the ruby crystal ripped from her, she no longer had any shelter from the storm. The Great Wind fell upon her with all its might. She leaped, attempting to fly free, but she was no harpy. She twisted in the winds as sand shredded the skin
from her wings, from her face. As she flew, blood blew like black smoke from her writhing form, turning her into a burning flag of agony.

Tossed end over end, she vanished up into the storm, leaving only her shrieking pain behind—then even that finally ended.