The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

have constructed. Everyone—Elders, Next Generation and humankind—has their role to play. But Tsagaglalal, yours is the most critical role of all. Without you, everything falls apart.”
    “And if I fail . . .?” she whispered. She staggered as the tower shifted. The vibrations were becoming more intense.
    “You will not fail. You are Tsagaglalal, She Who Watches. You know what you have to do.”
    “I know. I don’t like it,” Tsagaglalal said fiercely, “but I know.”
    “Yes. So do it,” he said with difficulty. “You have the Book?”
    “Yes.”
    “Go, then,” the Elder said, his breath the merest whisper. “Count down one hundred and thirty-two steps and wait there.”
    The tower swayed and suddenly a huge chunk of the ancient crystal shattered. The sea below started to boil and foam.
    “I love you, Tsagaglalal,” Abraham sighed. “The moment you came into my life, I realized I wanted for nothing.”
    “I have loved you and I will continue to love you all the days of my life,” she said, and then turned and ran.
    “I know,” he whispered.
    Abraham listened to his wife running down the stairs, her metal heels pinging off the crystal. He counted her steps.
    The tower groaned and lurched, glass shattering, enormous slabs breaking off to explode into the sea far below.
    Fifty steps
. . .
    Abraham turned his eyes to the horizon. Even now, with death—the true death—just a few moments away, he found he was still curious. He could just about make out the faintest line of the polar ice cap in the distance, and the ragged tops of the Mountains of Madness. He had always planned to mount an expedition there, but there had never been time. He’d even spoken to Marethyu about his fascination with the arctic whiteness. The hook-handed man told him he had been there and had seen wonders.
    One hundred steps
. . .
    Abraham had lived perhaps ten thousand years, and there was still so much more he wanted to do.
    One hundred and ten
. . .
    So much more he wanted to see. He was going to miss the joy of discovery.
    One hundred and twenty
. . .
    But more than anything else . . .
    One hundred and thirty
. . .
    . . . he was going to miss Tsagaglalal.
    One hundred and thirty-two
.
    The footsteps stopped.
    “I love you,” he breathed.
    Tsagaglalal stood on the step and waited.
    Abraham had always instructed her never to linger on the steps. At least twelve ley lines radiated from the staircase, and they intersected with at least as many Shadowrealms.
    She felt the tower shiver and a sudden wash of heat flowed up through her body. She looked down and saw a pattern on the stair she stood on, something she had never noticed before: a sun and moon picked out in thousands of gold and silver tiles.
    Tsagaglalal’s aura flared and the air was filled with jasmine.

    The volcano erupted directly beneath the base of the Tor Ri. The tower was simultaneously ripped apart and swallowed into the boiling lava. Within the space of a dozen heartbeats, the crystal tower and all it contained were gone.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
    ONE HUNDRED PEOPLE had followed Virginia Dare out of the marketplace. By the time she reached the square outside the prison, the crowd had swelled to ten times that number, with more and more arriving every minute. They were chanting Aten’s name, sending it rumbling and vibrating across the stones.
    “Ah, your first big test,” Dr. John Dee said, almost gleefully. “In a few minutes the prison gates will open, and the anpu and Asterion will appear. If your people scatter, then you have lost. And believe me, Virginia, as soon as they see blood, they will run. They have been running all their lives.”
    “Thank you for your words of encouragement,” Virginia muttered. But deep in her heart she knew the Magician was correct: when a troop of heavily armed warriors raced into the crowd, the humans’ newfound courage would instantly evaporate.
    “These are farmers, shopkeepers and slaves,” Dee said. “What do they know of war?”
    “Some of them are bringing weapons,” Virginia noted.
    The square before the prison was filling with people, and the new arrivals were indeed carrying makeshift weapons: shovels, spades and sticks. She saw a baker with a rolling pin, and many others were carrying flaming torches.
    “Oh yes, and I can see these ‘weapons’ being very effective against swords, spears and bows.” Dee stood beside her and looked up at the high prison walls. There were guards