The Rise of Ankor

By LOURDES URREA

A thirst for adventure has taken a couple of young American boys from the busy streets of Chicago to the mysterious alleys of Cairo, Egypt. Surrounded by mummies and ancient treasures, they dream of becoming great archeologists. Little do they know that as they dust and tag pieces of pottery they are about to embark themselves on a life changing experience, a deadly experience that will make them wish they had never taken the job!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palibrio
• Release date: Feb 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781463320027

LOURDES URREA

Lourdes Urrea has dedicated her life to education in many different ways. As a writer, she believes that reading can not only amuse and educate, but also inspire, and transform. She is the author of the “Cuentos de Escalofrío” and “Castillo del Terror” series for young readers, and of “English for the Latin student” and “Spanish for the foreign student” language text books. She has also written two books of Poetry “Versos Prohibidos” and “Historias familiares” as well as numerous essays and newspaper articles. As a speaker, her commitment to promote reading has taken her to all sorts of audiences and countries. Her multimedia lecture “The goodness of Reading” has been presented in libraries, schools and theatres around the world, and inspired children and adults to take up reading as an enriching life experience. Her writing depicts her vast traveling and the author’s desire to give children a glimpse of the diversity of cultures in the world. Each one of her stories takes place in a different country. In 2008 Lourdes Urrea was honored with the Doctor Honoris Causa appointment by the Latin American Council of Education, for her contribution to education in Latin American countries. Get in touch: www.lourdesurrea.com [e-mail] www.institutodelalengua.org

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Copyright © 2012 by Lourdes Urrea.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2012901746

ISBN:   Softcover   978-1-4633-2003-4

            Ebook   978-1-4633-2002-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

This book is also available in Spanish

Copyright year: 2003

ISBN: 968-78-7312-4

ISBN year: 1999

ISBN publisher: Orbi

ISBN Title: Una leyenda Egipcia

ISBN: 970-20-0362-8

ISBN year: 2003

ISBN publisher: MacMillan

ISBN Title: El reloj de arena

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Epilogue

To Edma Dumanian Moutafian

For believing.

PROLOGUE

Uaset, Upper Egypt

1337 B.C.

N o one in the kingdom knew that under the beautiful temple of Ast, goddess of nature and birth, the evil priest Ankor had built an altar to Sutej, god of death and darkness, creator of envy and violence. Protected by a secret passage, the underground chamber had served the wicked priest to perform dark ceremonies, tortures, and deadly spells. He had betrayed the confidence and praise that the Pharaoh had bestowed upon him, poisoning the minds of members of the court, and killing anyone who opposed his diabolical desires. He had incited wars with their neighbours, and abused the common people in every possible way.

But Ankor’s evil reign was coming to an end. Now, a more powerful priest served the Pharaoh: Horumept, who was, it was said, protected by the gods. Ankor was preparing himself in a way nobody could imagine…

Oh, Sutej, Ruler of the Underworld, grant me my heart’s desire and let me overcome death. I will return to serve you. Accept this offering of blood, and let me die, only to come back to life and honour you!

As Ankor performed the ritual, he could hear noises outside the secret passage; Horumept was coming for him.

Take my life in your hands, oh Sutej, and guard me!

Upon uttering these words, Ankor drank a deadly potion. Horumept barged in with the royal guard.

Horumept, priest of Uaset! shouted Ankor. Tell the Pharaoh I shall have a proper burial and embalming, according to my rank; my body shall not be burnt, or he and his descendants shall be cursed!

Then, Ankor the evil priest fell to the ground, dead. None of the soldiers wanted to touch him, so great was their fear. Soon, a group of minor priests from the temple of Ast came to prepare the body. Horumept ran to the palace to inform the Pharaoh of Ankor’s death.

I’m not afraid of the curse of a dead man, said the Pharaoh.

My Lord, I know you are the bravest Pharaoh the Nile has ever known, Horumept said, respectfully inclining his head and lowering one knee onto the ground. But Ankor was aided by dark and powerful forces.

What should I do, Horumept?

I believe you should order me to bury him far from here, where no one can find him, in a tomb with no name, answered the priest, opening his arms in sign of obedience.

So be it! said the Pharaoh.

The loyal priest travelled north with a large group of workers, some soldiers, and the mummified body of Ankor, along with the evil priest’s most important belongings, as befitted his rank. The Pharaoh had done his part. Eight months later, the tomb was nearly finished. It was a simple tomb of only three chambers; a tomb with no name, covered by the sands of the desert.

Two weeks before Ankor’s eternal resting place was to be sealed, a man by the name of Naguib sneaked out of his tent in the middle of the night. He was part of the crew of workers that engraved the stone, and he was one of Ankor’s most faithful followers. He had brought his tools with him; he needed them to perform his master’s last will, the final piece of the incantation that would bring Ankor to life again.

For thirteen more nights, Naguib would go unnoticed, his master’s dark forces no doubt protecting him. He worked for hours at a time, the sound of his chisel unheard from above. Naguib knew no one would care to enter the third chamber, where the sarcophagus laid; they were too much afraid of being cursed; the rest of the men could not wait to return home and forget Ankor ever existed.

Just before dawn on the day the tomb would be closed, Naguib was finished. The change to the tomb door was not obvious to an indifferent eye, and it was sealed according to plan, not to be opened ever again…

CHAPTER ONE

Wednesday, Day One

I n the downtown area of Egypt’s capital city stands the magnificent Museum of Cairo, home of the royal mummies, and of ancient treasures rescued from ransacked tombs and greedy collectors. Built in 1897, the beautiful pink building hosts the largest collection of Egyptian antiquities. In one of the many chambers unseen by visitors and tourists, a couple of young American boys work as part of a cultural exchange program. They are descendants of an Egyptian doctor, who settled in America shortly before the Second World War; even though their clothing and language are typical of American teenagers, one can still see their Arab lineage in their olive skin and dark eyes.

This sucks, Abib! Kabul complained, dusting a piece of ceramic. It’s already dark outside. Why did we take this job?

It was the only way we could travel for free, Abib reminded him wearily. ‘Transportation, room, and board included,’ remember? If you had a better attitude, you might find some of this interesting.

"Sure. Dusting broken pots with a brush is awesome, Kabul replied. Then he added in a girly voice, Gee! This is so much fun! Why don’t we dust it all over again?"

You’re a moron.

Maybe I am, because I’m finally in Egypt, my dream come true, and the only thing I’ve seen is broken pottery and your miserable face!

It’s only our first week. We’ll have all the weekend to sightsee. You should thank me, Kabul, after all I had to do to get us here. Remember, I had to vouch for you; the committee wasn’t accepting kids under seventeen.

I’ll be seventeen in a couple of months, Kabul reminded him.

Do you know how many others back home would have killed for this opportunity? If it weren’t for me —

You’re just one year older than me, so stop acting so superior, Kabul snapped. "Where are the pyramids? The tomb of Cleopatra? The digging? This is so boring!"

Be careful. That piece you’re cleaning could be three-thousand years old, Abib warned.

Yeah, right. It’s probably something a tourist dropped fifty years ago, just like everything else we’ve been dusting.

It’s not like they were going to make us full-fledged archeologists right away. Even Indiana Jones had to start somewhere, Abib said.

"When did I ever say I wanted