More Bones (3 page)

“I'll leave last,” Jon told his classmates. Some sneered at him for being such a fool. Magnus thanked him.

On the last day, Jon and his classmates began the long climb up the dark stairs. The shaggy gray arm was holding the iron door open at the top.

One by one his classmates exited into the first sunlight they had seen in seven years. When Jon reached the door, he saw the shaggy arm reaching for him.

“I am not the last,” Jon shouted. “See the one behind me?”

Jon leaped out the door, while the shaggy arm seized Jon's shadow instead. When the arm realized what it had done, it rang that iron door like a monstrous cymbal clanging its fury all the way to the center of the earth.

Jon was free. He was almost dancing down the path.

Then he saw a demonic grin on Magnus's face. “Do you realize that whatever that gray arm takes, it never gives back?”

Jon stared at the ground where his shadow should be.

“And do you realize,” Magnus asked, “what troubles you'll have with no shadow? Everyone will think you are a demon. They will run away screaming.”

Jon suddenly noticed that Magnus had no shadow either.

“Welcome to my world,” said Magnus, shaking Jon's hand. His grip was excruciatingly painful. Jon looked down in horror.

Creeping down Magnus's arm was a wave of shaggy gray fur.

The Prince's Fate

EGYPT

 
 
The king and queen of Egypt could hardly believe it. Was their baby boy to die some frightful death? That's what the Hathors said—the seven goddesses who could see into the future.

“Your son shall die by serpent, crocodile, or dog,” they decreed. Then they left the palace without another word.

The queen wept and the king paced the floor. Would a poisonous serpent bite their son when he was a baby? Or would a crocodile from the mighty Nile River devour him when he was still a child? Or would he grow to manhood only to have a dog tear him limb from limb?

How could they protect their son?

“We must build a strong house for him, far out in the desert,” said the king, “and never let him venture outside its walls.” They supplied the young prince with the finest foods. He grew strong on melons, figs, dates, fish, and fowl—and special bread made with fruit and honey for the royal family.

The finest teachers taught him how to read hieroglyphics, the picture language that was inscribed on papyrus paper and in the great pyramids and tombs. He learned various board games and was given clay balls for playing catch.

Servants anointed his body with precious perfumes and oils, and they clothed him in the finest white linen. The king and queen thought their son had everything he could desire. They even sent dancers, musicians, and acrobats to entertain him.

But the prince was lonely. He climbed the stairs to the flat roof of his home and looked out across the desert. What lay beyond that vast expanse of sand?

And what was that animal he saw running and jumping and playing with the hunter passing by? The prince raced downstairs and asked one of his servants, the Inspector of Horns and Hooves and Feathers.

“That's a dog,” the servant replied.

“Tell my father I must have one,” said the prince.

The servant turned pale. He knew what the goddesses had decreed. “A dog?” the servant cried.

“Yes! A dog.” The prince ordered the servant to race to the king's palace that very day.

The king had never said no to the prince, no matter what his son desired. But he didn't expect him to ask for a dog. What if the very puppy he gave the prince grew up to be the dog the Hathors had warned against? “Tell my son he can't have one,” he told the servant.

But the prince didn't stop asking. Every day he sent messages to his father. And each time the king visited, the boy told him, “I want a dog.” The poor king didn't know what to do. Finally, he decided he must tell the prince what the goddesses had foretold.

For a moment the prince was silent. He knew full well how dangerous serpents and crocodiles could be—but a furry little dog?

“He'll be my friend,” the prince told his father. “I'll raise him myself.” So the king finally relented. He couldn't stand to disappoint his son. He ordered his servants to find the friendliest tail-wagging puppy in all of Egypt.

The prince named his puppy Brave One, a fine name for a royal dog. Night and day they were together, even when the prince was studying. The puppy chewed up the prince's sandals and nipped at his toes. But the prince had never been happier.

Still, he longed to see the world beyond his desert home. He grew to manhood and could no longer stand being cooped up in a house in the middle of the desert. When he saw his father, he cried out, “Let me be free. Let my fate unfold.”

The king and queen feared for their son's safety, but they knew it was time for him to find a wife, so they let him set forth into the world—his dog by his side.

“Always wear this,” said the queen, and she gave her son an amulet, a piece of magical jewelry. “It might protect thee.” But she turned her face aside so the prince would not see the fear in her eyes. When had the Hathors ever been wrong?

The prince rode his horse northward, followed by his loyal dog. He had been told that the chief of Nahairana had a lovely daughter, kept in a house with seventy windows, which reached seventy cubits into the sky.

The prince looked from the tip of his middle finger to his elbow—the length of a single cubit—and he tried to imagine how high seventy cubits must be. For the chief had decreed that anyone who wished to marry his daughter must scale the wall, all the way up to her topmost window. Many princes had fallen—and died.

By the time the prince reached the princess's home, his muscles were strengthened by the long journey. His hopes were high. Besides, he surely would not fall to his death. That was not a fate the Hathors had decreed. So he climbed without fear, never looking down. And when he reached the princess's window, she clasped his hand and pulled him into her room. The prince was delighted to see that she was friendly, spirited, and every bit as lovely as everyone had said.

The princess was equally pleased with the young man and agreed to marry him, even when he told her what the Hathors had said—that a deadly serpent, or crocodile, or dog was lying in wait for him.

“Let thy dog be killed,” she begged.

He would not hear of it. “Brave One is my friend.” So the princess vowed to study magic spells to protect her prince.

Soon after the wedding, the princess awoke one night when Brave One growled. She wondered if she had been right about the dog after all. But as she lay quietly beside the prince, she heard a slithering sound. In the faint light of an oil lamp she could see a serpent. A poisonous cobra! It came closer and closer.

She held the dog back and began to recite an old spell, declaring that she herself was Horus, the mighty god. “Rise venom, then fall to earth. Horus spits upon thee. Thou art weak and blind. Thy head droops, for I am Horus the great magician.”

Then she pulled out her dagger and chopped the serpent to bits. The prince awoke and was amazed at what she had done.

“Behold,” she said. “The gods have given one of thy dooms into thy hands.” The prince gave praise.

The princess not only learned spells, she acquired a magic wand made from a curved hippopotamus tusk. On its surface were carved animals, symbols, and demons that she could call upon in time of trouble.

Soon the prince and princess traveled back to Egypt, where the prince took daily swims in the Nile. The princess and Brave One stood on the bank watching. One day a crocodile surfaced behind the prince. It opened its great jaws, ready to clamp its vicious teeth on his foot. But Brave One barked, warning him.

The prince swam quickly toward the riverbank, with the crocodile snapping its jaws behind him. The princess shook her magic wand at it. She called upon the gods for help. “Get thee back, beast of waters. Do not show thy face to Osiris. Ra shall close thy mouth. Thoth shall cut out thy tongue.” The prince splashed ashore and raced up the riverbank, and the crocodile sank beneath the murky waters.

That very afternoon, the princess fashioned small crocodiles out of wax. She stabbed them with thorns, spat upon them, trampled them, and threw them in the fire to assure the death of any crocodile that lay in wait for her prince. Dozens of the menacing crocodiles sank to the bottom of the Nile that day, never to arise.

The crocodiles didn't manage to eat him, but the prince was sure that the Hathors' prophesy would come true—somehow—someday. So he embraced life while it lasted.

One morning he and Brave One hunted foxes in the desert. The prince shot an arrow but missed. Brave One chased the fox behind a huge rock lying at the base of a cliff.

The prince followed. All he saw was the dog's tail, disappearing down the foxhole. He called and called, but Brave One didn't come back, so the prince dug with his hands, throwing sand aside to make the hole bigger. He squirmed his way in and found that he was in a low passageway lined with crumbling mud bricks. Suddenly the bricks gave way beneath him, and he tumbled to the bottom of a long shaft. Very little light filtered down from the hole above. But when the prince's eyes adjusted, he could see that he was in an underground tomb with paintings and hieroglyphics on the wall.

He picked himself up from the pile of mummified cats that had broken his fall. He was merely bruised, but he was horrified to see that he had smashed some of the sacred mummies.

It was hot and humid in the tomb. A swarm of fleas began to bite him. He was brushing sand flies and gnats out of his eyes when he heard Brave One bark far above him. The dog was leaning over the edge of the hole, peering down into the gloom.

“Go home!” the prince commanded. “Go home!” He hoped that everyone would begin searching if the dog showed up without him. But Brave One was too loyal to leave his master. He tumbled down the shaft to join him.

The prince caught him but staggered backward. As he did, he stepped on a trap designed for tomb robbers—a slab of stone delicately balanced over an even deeper hole. Both the prince and Brave One went crashing through.
A vile-smelling, powdery dust swirled up around them.

And while he lay at the bottom, gasping for air, the prince saw more hieroglyphics on the wall. The faint light made it hard to see, but he slowly read aloud: “‘Death shall come to him who damages this tomb.'”

He could breathe no more.

The Hathors were right. It was a dog—a brave and loyal dog—that brought about the prince's doom.

The Headless Horseman

IRELAND

 
 
Rain dripped from the brim of Morty's oil-skin hat, and sheets of lightning flashed across the sky. His coat was soaked. Suppertime was long past, but he still had miles to go. He urged his mare on, nudging her with his heels. Not that she needed much encouragement. Wasn't she the horse who jumped any fence, raced any challenger, and galloped home with the bit clamped in her teeth? She was as eager to get back to her dry stall as Morty was to reach his fireside.

“That's a girl!” he said as she galloped along the bank of the Blackwater. Morty had ridden all the way to Ballyhooley to buy a new bridle for her. Only the finest leather, stitched by the finest saddler in Ireland, was good enough for his old mare. But he had lingered too long in the village with friends. It wasn't until the sky suddenly darkened that he noticed the storm clouds roiling overhead.

His mare slowed to a trot when they reached the bottom of Kilcummer Hill. To the left were the ruins of the old church. Torrents of rain splashed off the broken walls and gravestones. Morty looked at the sky, hoping to see a break in the clouds, but all he saw was more lightning. It lit up the road. Worse yet, it lit up something unbelievable just beyond his right shoulder. His mare snorted.

Morty wiped the rain out of his eyes. There was no way that a big black horse's head could be moving along beside him—without a body and without legs. He wiped the rain out of his eyes again and blinked. But there it was, with its short ears, enormous eyes, and broad nostrils. It was higher than his mare, as if the head belonged to a much bigger horse.

Now Morty wasn't one to spook easily. If he were, he wouldn't be traveling in the dark with lightning crackling overhead. Nonetheless, he felt a bit strange riding beside a horseless head.

Just imagine how he felt when the rest of the horse appeared. Morty was dumbfounded! Another sheet of lightning had revealed a six-foot gap between the horseless head and the headless horse. Yet both parts moved steadily down the road. His mare snorted again but didn't bolt. She was every bit as hard to spook as her master.