The Curse of the King

  “Wait,” Marco said. “Did you say Zeus? Like the god of all awesomeness who never really existed but they made a statue of him at Olympia which became one of the Seven Wonders? That Zeus?”

  “While you were babysitting rug rats, we found that statue, Marco,” Aly said. “It has the fourth Loculus. Which I’m willing to bet is in his sack.”

  “Who are you calling a rug rat?” Eloise shouted.

  “But . . . it’s a statue!” Marco said. “Since when do statues fly planes?”

  “Since when do statues rise out of rock piles, and ancient civilizations hang out across rivers, and zombies frolic underground?” Cass asked. “Since when do normal kids develop superpowers?”

  “Good point,” Marco said.

  We looked closely at the bushy beard, the angular face with its straight nose and close-cropped hair. No question that it was the creature that had chased us in Routhouni.

  But he was reminding me of someone else, too.

  “The face in the tapestry . . .” I said.

  “The who?” Marco asked.

  “Back in the labyrinth,” I said. “There was a portrait. It was the same face.”

  “A portrait of Zeus,” Aly drawled. “How original.”

  “You don’t understand,” I replied. “This guy is not Zeus.”

  Aly and Nirvana peeled their eyes from the screen. They, Cass, Marco, and Eloise looked at me as if I’d grown antlers. “Um, Jack, if you recall, the statue moved from Olympia,” Aly said. “We saw proof. It had a Loculus.”

  “My dream . . .” I said. “It’s all making sense now. I was Massarym. The king had put a curse on me and I cursed him back.”

  Nirvana looked at Aly, jacking a thumb in my direction. “Has he gotten this weird just recently?”

  “The statue was a big hunk of marble,” I went on. “And somehow I—I mean, Massarym—was able to cast him inside it.”

  “Jack, what does that have to do with this?” Aly said.

  I put my hand on the screen, where the man was walking to the edge of the caldera, looking down.

  Looking toward us.

  “Massarym imprisoned his own father in stone—turned him into a statue,” I said. “That statue isn’t Zeus. It’s the king of Atlantis.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  THE TEFLON KING

  “BROTHER JACK, HAVE you been inhaling too much Heptakiklos gas?” Marco asked. “I mean, the statue was official. The Statue of Zeus. So if it wasn’t really him, wouldn’t people see the face and wonder, hey, why is this other guy’s face on the statue?”

  Aly dropped her head into her hands. “Zeus is mythological, Marco! No one knew what he looked like!”

  “In Greece, no one knew what King Uhla’ar looked like either,” I pointed out. “So Massarym could call the statue whatever he wanted.”

  No one said a word. On the screen, Uhla’ar was disappearing from the frame. Downward.

  We looked up. Way at the top of the caldera, barely visible in the moonlight, a tiny black shadow made its way toward us.

  “By the blood of Karai, what does he want from us?” Nirvana added.

  “How did he get hold of a plane—and fly it?” Eloise asked.

  “How could he be alive at all?” Aly asked.

  “So . . . is actually Uhla’ar statue, not Zeus statue?” Torquin said.

  “Personally, I am finding this hard to follow,” Marco said.

  “I don’t know why he’s here!” I said. “All I know is that we found the statue in some cheesy village in Greece, where he spent the last few decades watching TV.”

  Marco spun toward me. “Okay, so the way I’m seeing it, this is great, right? You said this thing had a fourth Loculus. That’s . . . ewoksapoppin’! Wait. What’s the word, Cass?”

  “Emosewa,” Cass piped up.

  “Emosewa,” Marco said. “The guy is handing it to us!”

  A small shower of rocks and soil fell from above, crashing to the ground in a small cloud. Nirvana shone her flashlight upward. The light barely reached the top, just enough to silhouette the king as his sandaled feet dug into the sides of the caldera.

  “Yo!” Marco called up. “’Sup, King Ooh!”

  “He doesn’t understand!” Aly said.

  “Sorry,” Marco replied. “Lo! Greetings, yonder king! What a big Loculus thou hast. Canst we holdeth it?”

  In response, Uhla’ar plucked a rock from the soil and flung it downward.

  “King does not come in peace,” Torquin said.

  “By the way, Marco, there’s one problem,” Cass said. “It’s the Loculus of Strength. Just in case you’re planning to tie him up like a vromaski.”

  Eloise was trembling. “Maybe I could try biting him?”

  The king descended slowly, the Loculus sack bouncing on his back, and I had an idea. “I don’t know why he’s here, but something tells me he’s not going to give up that Loculus. Marco, if we get him to drop it, could you catch it?”

  Marco smiled. “If it’s not falling fast enough to burn in the atmosphere, yeah, it’s mine.”

  My eyes darted toward a pile of Karai equipment against the wall, stuff the rebels had managed to salvage. I ran over, quickly rummaging through coils of wire, sections of rubber hose, tools, and metal frames.

  There.

  I pulled out a small Y-shaped pipe riddled with holes along each side. It looked like part of an old sprinkler. I never thought that in a tropical rain forest the Karai would have to use sprinklers.

  Grabbing a length of rubber hose, I quickly tied one end to each section of the Y.

  Perfect slingshot.

  “David?” I said, handing it to Marco along with a baseball-sized rock.

  Marco looked at it blankly for a second, then smiled. “Ohhhhh, I got it . . .” Nestling the rock into the hose, he held the contraption upward, pointing it at Uhla’ar. Then he pulled the hose back . . . back . . . “Right upside Goliath’s head, Brother,” he said.

  As he let go, the rock hurtled into the darkness.

  I could hear the dull thwock on the back of Uhla’ar’s head. The old man let out a cry of surprise, then turned his face toward us and shouted in obvious anger. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but in Nirvana’s flashlight beam I could see him swinging the sack around. He was cradling the Loculus like a football, as if he were trying to protect it. I could now see that the sack had been cut in several places, like preslashed jeans. Which meant his fingers were in contact with the object inside.

  “What do you guys think you’re doing?” Aly said, racing toward us. “You want to kill him?”

  “The guy’s Teflon,” Marco said. “He survived a bazillion years.”

  “You’re just getting him angrier!” Aly said. “What if he’s here to help? What if he wants to return the Loculus to the Heptakiklos?”

  Using his free hand, Uhla’ar was moving like a spider, clutching tree roots with his fingers, leaping from one foothold to the other with perfect precision. Like a dancer on steroids.

  Marco dropped the slingshot. “Holy mutation. He’s climbing down with one hand. Who does he think he is— me?”

  We all backed off. In a few moments, King Uhla’ar landed on the caldera floor with a solid thud. He faced Marco, his eyes red and accusing.

  “’Sup, Spidey?” Marco said.

  As he walked forward, his hands still tucked into the slashes of the sack, Uhla’ar glared at us silently. “What’s with his eyes?” Marco said. “They’re all swirly.”

  “He’s not human!” Aly said.

  “Does he understand English?” Marco asked.

  “He’s been watching lots of TV,” I replied.

  “Okay, that makes total sense,” Marco said.

  Aly stepped forward toward Uhla’ar. “Greetings, O Great King of Atlantis, trapped cruelly in stone and now released just in time to restore the Loculi to their rightful places. We greet thee with joyful open arms.”

  “Get to the point,” Cass hissed.

/>   Holding the sack tightly, the king turned slowly to Aly. His eyes were like small torches. He didn’t react to her words, but instead began walking directly toward her, as if she weren’t there.

  She jumped away. Uhla’ar was heading straight for the center of the caldera.

  For the Heptakiklos.

  In my ears, the Song was like a scream now. I could see Uhla’ar shaking his head, hesitating. He must have been hearing it, too. Aly’s face was creased with worry, but Cass put an arm around her. “He’s putting it back,” Cass said.

  “I thought he was supposed to hold and protect it,” Aly replied. “He killed that guy centuries ago who tried to take it. He tried to kill us.”

  I thought about the dream. About how the king blamed Massarym for the island’s destruction. Uhla’ar wanted one thing only—to undo what his son had done. To return the Loculi to Atlantis.

  “He’s no dumb statue, Aly,” I said. “He’s Uhla’ar. He was protecting the Loculus for himself—so that one day he could bring it back to his homeland.”

  “Jack, this is amazing,” Aly said. “He’s helping us. We’ve been going after all these Wonders to fight for the Loculi. Now one of the Wonders is bringing a Loculus to us!”

  Aly, Cass, Marco, Nirvana, and I followed Uhla’ar. Could it be? Not long ago we were as good as dead. Now we had a chance of being more than halfway to our goal.

  Four Loculi.

  My heart was pounding so hard, I wasn’t even thinking about the Song. Uhla’ar stopped at the edge of the Heptakiklos. The rift light surrounded him in an amber-green halo, flickering in the mist.

  He set the bag down and bent over the Heptakiklos. Then, wrapping his fingers around the broken blade, he began to pull.

  Marco was the first to run forward. He grabbed the king’s shoulder. “Whoa, that’s a nasty mistake. Trust us.”

  The king whirled on Marco. With his free hand, he grabbed Marco by the collar and lifted him clear off the ground. “MAKE MY DAY.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  BRAGGART, TRAITOR, DESERTER, KILLER?

  TORQUIN RAN FORWARD to help, but Marco managed to shake himself loose from the king’s grip. “Stay back, Red Beard! I can handle this guy.”

  “We need backup!” Nirvana cried out to the other rebels.

  As Uhla’ar turned back to the rift, Marco grabbed him in a headlock. The king roared, but Marco held tight, pulling him back . . .

  Back . . .

  They were clear of the mist now, clear of the light. With a powerful thrust, Marco threw the king away from the Heptakiklos, toward the middle of the caldera. “Just stay away!” Marco yelled. “What is wrong with you?”

  The king landed hard and rolled, then sprang to his feet.

  Nirvana was holding a crankshaft now, Fritz a rusted metal pipe. The rebels were all armed with the detritus of the old headquarters.

  “What are you doing?” I said.

  “We need that Loculus,” Nirvana replied. “We’ve worked hard. Our ancestors have worked hard. We don’t need him to ruin everything for us.”

  “He’s the king!” I replied.

  “Not anymore,” she said.

  Uhla’ar’s eyes scanned across the line of Karai. Marco stood solidly between the king and the Heptakiklos. “AT . . . LANTIS . . .” the king growled, unsheathing the dagger from his belt.

  Its hilt was huge, weirdly large for a knife that size. It housed a jagged blade, twisted and sharp like a broken bottle.

  “What the—?” Marco sputtered.

  “Watch out!” Aly shouted.

  Marco darted over toward the Karai pile and pulled out a long, hooked crowbar. Leaping between the Karai and the king, he thrust it toward Uhla’ar’s head like a sword.

  The king’s free arm seemed to vanish for a moment as it moved to block the attack. With a sharp clank, the dagger stopped the thrust and sent Marco sprawling.

  “COWABUNNNNGAAAAA!” King Uhla’ar said, charging toward Marco again.

  Marco spun around, took two steps toward the wall, then leaped. His head snapped backward as he took three gravity-defying steps up the wall. With a powerful thrust, he backflipped over the head of Uhla’ar.

  The king’s jagged blade jammed into the dirt wall.

  “Enough!” Torquin grumbled. As Marco landed, the big guy lunged for the king. He wrapped his thick arms around Uhla’ar and threw him to the ground. The king landed with a loud thud, inches from the sack he had carried here on his shoulders.

  The Loculus.

  I dived for it at the same time Marco did. He managed to grab the fabric first, pulling the Loculus out of the sack.

  “ARRRGGGHHH!” The king’s cry echoed in the caldera as he sprang to his feet, pulled his stuck dagger from the wall, and started for Marco.

  Marco tucked the Loculus of Strength under his left arm. Wheeling around, he twisted away from Uhla’ar’s thrust. The blade flashed. Blood sprayed from Marco’s leg. Now Torquin was coming at the king again, holding aloft a long mallet with a thick metal head.

  Uhla’ar turned calmly to face the big man. As Torquin’s powerful blow flashed downward, the king ducked. With a swift, continuous move, he grabbed Torquin’s arm and threw him against the wall. His head hit the stone with a dull thud, and he fell limply to the ground.

  No.

  I picked up a rock, reared back with my arm, and threw it at Uhla’ar. It connected with his shoulder, and he stumbled.

  “Steee-rike, Brother Jack!” Marco said. Holding the crowbar aloft with his right hand, his leg red with blood, he lunged at the king and swung hard. With a loud clank, Marco knocked the dagger out of the king’s hand.

  Uhla’ar was weaponless now. His eyes were fixed in the direction of the Heptakiklos. “He’s not going to cooperate,” Marco said, clutching and unclutching the crowbar. “He’s obsessed with that thing . . .”

  “Please, Marco, you’re losing a lot of blood!” Dr. Bones called out.

  Marco blinked hard, as if trying to maintain his balance. A pool of blood gathered below his foot. “I’ve got the Loculus of Strength, baby, I’m good.”

  As the king leaped toward the Heptakiklos again, Marco blocked him. Both thumped to the ground. The crowbar went flying, but Marco held tight to the Loculus. With his right hand now free, he pinned the king by the neck to the ground. “Sorry, dude,” he said. “If you’re not going to cooperate, we have to take you out.”

  “Marco, you’re choking him!” Aly yelled. “Have you gone crazy? He was the king of Atlantis!”

  I raced toward him. As Marco pressed harder on the neck, Uhla’ar’s legs kicked like beached fish. The king began to raise his arm as if to strike out, but instead it fell to the side.

  I wrapped my fingers around the Loculus. Marco wouldn’t let go, but the orb’s power jolted through me, too. I yanked him upward by the collar and he flew backward, tumbling toward the shadows.

  “Jack . . . ?” he said in disbelief.

  The king’s body was slack. His chest was still.

  Marco groaned, clutching his injured leg. Dr. Bones raced to his side, quickly wrapping the injury with a tourniquet.

  Cass stared at the king. “Is he . . . ?”

  Racing over to Uhla’ar, the doctor placed her fingers against his neck. “No pulse.”

  “I—I didn’t know he could die . . .” Aly said.

  I set the Loculus down against the wall, not far from Marco. We had it in our possession now, and that was good. But I didn’t feel any sense of triumph. “He was there, when it happened to Atlantis,” I said. “He could have told us so much. Answered so many questions.”

  “Professor Bhegad . . . Fiddle . . . now the king of Atlantis,” Aly said. “All dead. When does it stop?”

  Eloise was whimpering, standing with her fists clutched to her sides. “My second dead person ever.”

  All of our eyes were locked on Marco. Slumped against the wall, he seemed to fold into himself. I wasn’t sure who I was looking at anymore. He’d be
en a protector and friend. He’d been a braggart, a traitor, and a deserter.

  But he’d never been a killer.

  “I—I had to do it . . .” Marco stood slowly, backing away from the body along the wall. As he glanced at us, from face to face, we turned away. No one knew what to say.

  I kept my glance focused on the body of the king. In death, the anger was gone from his face. He looked handsome, wise, and weirdly familiar.

  It took awhile for me to realize he actually resembled my dad.

  Behind me, the grave digging had begun again. There would be two bodies now. I figured I’d have to help.

  As I got up to go, I finally turned away from the fallen king.

  But not before I saw his fingers twitch.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  THE SWORD AND THE RIFT

  “HE’S FAKING!”

  My shout rang through the caldera.

  But it was too late. King Uhla’ar was on his feet, with a clear path to the Heptakiklos.

  “No-o-o-o!” Aly was the closest. Screaming, she ran to block his way.

  We all converged toward him. But Uhla’ar grabbed her by the neck, holding his dagger high. “I . . . will . . . kill . . .” he said.

  My feet dug into the ground. All of us stopped. “Let her go,” I said.

  The king didn’t reply. Instead, he dragged Aly with him, toward the rift. She was trying to say something, but Uhla’ar had her tight around the neck. Her face was reddening by the second.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Fritz the mechanic lifting a gun. “Don’t do it!” I called out. “It won’t affect him, and you might hit Aly.”

  “We have to do something,” Nirvana said.

  I stepped toward Uhla’ar, reaching toward Aly. “Give her back to us, Uhla’ar. Release her and go ahead. Open the rift.”

  Uhla’ar smiled.

  “Jack, no!” Nirvana cried out.

  With a rough shove, the king threw Aly toward me. As she stumbled into my arms, he leaped toward the rift, his snaggletoothed dagger in hand. From the center rift, the mist rose like coiled fingers. The piece in the middle, the broken blade I’d idiotically pulled out when I first got here, was glowing brightly.