That’s all he could do.
* * *
Hours later, well into the night, a knock sounded on his door.
Jake woke out of a dream in which his eyes were burning, spitting out black flames that consumed everything he touched. He bolted upright as a knock again echoed across the set of rooms he shared with his sister. He touched his face. His eyes were still there.
At least that was good.
Night after night, that same nightmare plagued him. And he knew why. He hadn’t told anyone about the image he’d seen in Thoth’s mirror: his eyes blazing with black fire. Maybe it meant nothing; maybe he’d just imagined it amid all that blood and chaos. Either way, he thought it best to keep it to himself. Still, it plainly troubled him enough to invade his dreams.
As a third knock sounded—more loudly now—he rolled from under his covers and headed out in his boxers and socks. His bedroom adjoined a common room. He found his sister, dressed in a long nightshirt, stumbling out through a doorway on the other side.
“Who’s bothering us at this hour?” she asked.
Her voice must have been heard through the door. “It’s I … Shaduf!”
Frowning, Jake crossed to the door and unlatched it. As he pulled the door open, Nefertiti’s uncle came rushing inside. He wore a dusty cloak, spilling sand with each step. He’d finally shaved his beard, revealing how much he looked like his older brother, the pharaoh. Still, a wildness remained in his eyes.
“Shaduf,” Kady asked, “what’s wrong?”
Something had plainly got the man all riled up.
Shaduf crossed to the table and set down a parchment scroll. “I came straight here,” he said. “Knew you two should see this first.”
Jake moved next to him. Kady stepped to Shaduf’s other side.
“I was in the desert,” he said. “Exploring near the Crackles.”
Jake knew Shaduf spent most of his time outside now. After two years of being imprisoned in Kree’s dungeon, the man found any walls around him hard to take. Plus Shaduf had always had a fascination with the sands around Ankh Tawy and the crystals found there.
“I set up my bedroll in the shadow of the cliffs—but shortly after moonrise, a scraping drew me to the wall.” He glanced to Jake and Kady. “To the Prophecy of Lupi Pini.”
Jake looked to Kady. “The words Mom wrote …”
“Yes, yes, that’s right,” Shaduf said in a rush. “But as I reached the cliff, I found new marks carved into the stone.” His eyes grew huge. “As I watched, more and more came to life, stroke by stroke.”
He pantomimed with thrusts of his arm, his eyes glinting too brightly.
“They appeared right below the old prophecy.” He pointed to the scroll. “A new prophecy … but I could not read it, so I sketched it and brought it to you.”
“Why us?” Kady asked.
He turned full upon them, agitated, trying to get them to understand. “It is a new prophecy … a new prophecy of Lupi Pini!”
The old man nodded to Jake.
“You think our mother wrote this new message?” Jake asked.
“Yes, of course. Who else?”
With his heart beginning to pound, Jake shared a look with Kady. They both leaned closer.
“Show us,” Jake said.
Nodding vigorously, Shaduf pinched the scroll and unrolled it across the tabletop. Words appeared, scrawled in a crude script.
“I took great care in sketching it,” Shaduf said. “It looks like it was written with some haste, with some fright.”
Kady turned to Jake. “It’s English. Could Mom have really written this? Is this some message from the past?”
Jake pictured his mother escaping the fall of Ankh Tawy but remembering something she needed to say, to tell them. The only way she could do it was to return to the cliffs of the Crackles and add to her older message. The new words must have traveled up through the centuries and appeared here on the cliff face.
From the frantic lettering—so unlike his mother’s—he knew she must have written it with some desperation, with little time to spare.
“It has to be important,” he mumbled.
To prove it, he reached to his neck and pulled out the gift his mother had given him: the tiny flute made of animal horn. He squinted at the gold letters imbedded in the surface.
They were clearly Norse runes. Jake had already examined them as best he could with the resources at hand. He’d even consulted the Vikings at Bornholm but had hit a dead end. Elder Ulfsdottir had said the writing was gibberish. But maybe it was written in a script the Vikings in Calypsos didn’t know. The only detail that made sense was the large rune in the center. He studied it again.
It was the rune called algiz, representing a raised shield. He remembered his mother’s words: the flute will help protect you.
Jake stared at the scroll.
“Beware of Loki,” he read aloud, and glanced significantly at Kady. “Loki was the Norse god of mischief.” He held up the flute. “Mom gave us this. It’s a flute covered in Norse runes. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“What is she trying to tell us?” Kady asked.
“I don’t know. She must have been in a hurry. That’s all she could write.” Jake locked gazes with his sister. “But she also told me to go home. Maybe we should listen to her. If we’re going to have any hope of figuring it all out, I’m going to need to consult experts in Norse runes and languages.”
“So you want us to go back home?”
He slowly nodded.
“When?” she asked.
The answer came from the doorway, in a voice hoary and old. “Before the moon sets this night, you must be gone.”
They all turned to find the Elder of the Ur tribe hunched in the doorway, leaning on a thick staff, his heavy brows shadowing his eyes.
Bach’uuk stood at the old man’s side and stepped into the room. “Magister Mer’uuk met with our people’s seers, those who dream in the long time.”
The Ur Elder nodded. “Something stirs in the great river. It is coming for you, Jake Ransom. You must be gone from here before that happens. For all our sakes.”
Kady grabbed his arm.
If Jake had any doubts about his decision, the Elder’s words ended it. The Ur were the first of the tribes to come to Pangaea. They had been living in the shadow of the great Temple of Kukulkan far longer than anyone else. They’d become uniquely attuned to the energy given off by the Atlantean technology, sensitive to time’s flow.