An arm of the river Nile curved around the tomb like a winding water serpent. Simon could see it snaking its way around the edges of the hill on which the necropolis had been built, its waves black as grave dirt. Although they had spent most of the night travelling, they hadn't gotten much further than a few miles north of Zawte. If Simon squinted, he could almost see the settlement in the distance. He didn't know if the closeness to the township was wise, considering their earlier encounter with Set, but he was too tired to walk any further or argue.

  “You're looking the wrong way,” said Horus nastily at that moment.

  “Well excuse me, I don't have your superhuman sight,” snapped Simon, but turned around and squinted in the other direction where he could indeed make out the shadowy shape of the settlement.

  They were sitting in a cove in the shade of several large obelisks, all of them overgrown with lichens and brush, Horus in their midst, obviously unconcerned by the cold of the night and acting as a heater. Simon pulled his sweater more tightly around himself, tucked his cold hands against his chest, and wrapped his fingers around his hourglass. A chilly breeze had come up in the last few minutes, drifting through the tomb, howling only quietly, as though the resident spirits didn't want to disturb their rest.

  But sleep wouldn't come, and it had little to do with the ghostly climate. He felt strangely exposed in the midst of towering tombstones and flat mastabas, as though the stone structures were watching him accusingly. And on top of that, his brain was restlessly picking apart the contents of his vision.

  He couldn't forget the look on Morgan's face, that miserable melancholy he had never seen on his cousin's features before. It was annoying how much it affected him, especially because he didn't even like the boy. They had known and hated each other for most of their lives. But that's not really true, is it? said the small voice, the annoying voice in his head.

  Simon closed his eyes, his mind travelling back to a time where he hadn't yet despised his cousin as much. After Morgan, too, had lost his parents, he had grown up in the care of their grandfather, together with Simon. Simon could remembered well the first time he had met his cousin, a small boy with a freckly face and large blue eyes, shyly peering out at him from behind Avrak Walker's legs. His cousin had always been like that, a polite little angel, not unlike himself, the scrawny kid with the weird interests, and it hadn't taken long until he was the center of everyone's attention, everyone's darling. Nobody could resist his charm and the way he was always helpful, always kind, not even Simon. He had been quite smitten with the cheerful, patient boy who was his cousin himself; it was impossible not to be. He always wanted a sibling, and Morgan was the perfect little brother.

  And the infatuation had been mutual: Morgan had worshipped him, stuck to him like candy to the fur of a dog, attentive of everything his older cousin had to say. For a long time, it had felt as though they had a special connection beyond being relatives...

  Growing up, however, Simon had begun to see his cousin in a different light, too see him for who he really was: A monster, designed to ruin his life. Not only did he copy everything Simon did, he was much better at it, too.

  At the age of ten, Simon had taken to learning Ancient languages only to spite his cousin. It was boring and dull work, and he had been certain Morgan wouldn't want to do something as tedious and difficult. He had been wrong. Morgan wasn't only much more skilled than him, he was also much more intelligent. In the time it had taken Simon to perfect Ancient Egyptian, Morgan learned that and a Dorset Inuit tongue.

  After that, Simon had spent all of his birthdays wishing that Morgan would die. Die, disappear, be swallowed by the earth or, alternatively, a sea monster, and never return. He had hated the way his cousin looked at him in awe, treating him as though he were a prince of some kind. It had done nothing but add guilt to his hate, guilt because he couldn't, and didn't want to be the big brother Morgan saw in him any more. Simon had been there first, had held Avrak Walker's undivided attention for the first seven years of his life, and had no intention to share. More than once, he had even asked his grandfather if they couldn't get rid of Morgan, but Avrak simply laughed, maintaining that he was family.

  Simon's hands clenched into fists at the memory of the soothing words. Why couldn't anyone see Morgan like he did? Morgan was a spoiled, interfering brat who'd do anything for a bit of attention.

  But of course, what he hadn't realized at the time was that Morgan had already worked his magic on their grandfather as well. And then as they had grown older, Simon had noticed more and more the way their grandfather would speak to Morgan in a quiet voice whenever he thought Simon wasn't listening. Time and time again he had found them huddled together, talking quickly and stopping when they became aware of his presence.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Simon hadn't been fooled. Avrak and Morgan had excluded him, spoken about things they thought he didn't understand behind his back, bonded while he was left out... It had been clear from then on whom their grandfather had chosen, whom he loved more, and of course it was perfect Morgan. The injustice of it had made Simon crazy: Why couldn't he share such a special connection with his grandfather?

  Simon had finally gotten his will in the end, though. At the age of thirteen, some two years ago, Morgan had moved out of Avrak's house and into his own apartment. Not officially, of course, but effectively his cousin had lived on his own. Finally, Simon was at peace again, at least until Morgan had signed up for the same archaeology course and immediately became the darling of everyone of their professors.

  It hadn't mattered that much at first, because at least he had his grandfather to himself again, but as time passed, Simon realized how wrong he had been. All those joyful hours spent with Avrak didn't feel right any more, the feelings of affection and respect replaced by the knowledge that the old man had, given a choice, chosen Morgan instead of him. And thus, the boy had irrevocably ruined everything he had ever cared about. And yet, facing death he had thought about nothing but his cousin.

  As dawn broke over the horizon in a magnificent display of colour, layers of cool orange, amber and apricot, Simon finally drifted off into long awaited sleep. His rest was short and his dreams haunted by images of Morgan's anguished expression and tall shadows pursuing him to the edge of a cliff, where he finally jumped and woke with a start.

  Simon blinked blearily into the sunlight, his eyes sticking together with the remnants of sleep. His glasses had fallen off some time during the night, and his sweater had unravelled somewhat, letting in a cool breeze like the breath of a thousand ghosts. He closed the buttons, then fumbled for his glasses, put them on with stiff fingers, and looked around.

  The sheltered cove in which they had spent the night was empty, but he could hear noises from the direction of the Nile river close by, a low hum of people conversing. His heart gave an involuntary jolt, his body tense as he scanned the environment for anything to use as a weapon, thinking they had been found, but then he recognized the voices. Nefertari was speaking, and though he couldn't make out what she was saying, he was certain she would have woken him had anything unfavourable happened. Looking around again, he found a leaf topped with an assortment of berries and the same, rough grained bread from the day before laid out for him.

  Simon reached out for the food, but at that moment, a jab of fierce pain shot through his left side, making him wince. He had forgotten all about his arm aching, though he could remember quite clearly now the way it had seared, not unlike it did now, when he had clashed with that apophis before Horus had materialized to rescue him. Simon removed his sleeve quickly, finding that the rash had become worse since the last time he had examined it. It had spread from his forearm, across his elbow, and up to his shoulder. He peeled back the sleeve of his shirt carefully to find that the rash had become worse overnight and spread from his forearm across his elbow and up to his shoulder. The black crust covering the outbreak of pustules was even harder now, and the form of the blisters more distinctly like scales.

  Concealing his arm again, he contemplated the pattern in his head. He had never seen anything like it, though he supposed it looked a bit like the black death, but not really. Simon thought that Morgan might have known more (the boy had always been interested in medicine) but that didn't help him very much right now. Even if he knew what the rash was, how was he supposed to find any kind of medicine in this godforsaken time? Simon gulped down his food hastily, letting the rising sun thaw his frozen limbs. Sleeping inside the graveyard hadn't been very comfortable, never mind the odd dreams that had tortured him all night, and he was still sore from spending most of the evening being thrown about like a rag-doll. He could still hear Nefertari and Horus talking, and he meant to make out a third voice as well. Why was it that he was always left out of their conversations? Then again, nobody had told him stay out of them either.

  His mind set, Simon rose from his patch of sun-warmed sand and made to join his companions. He made his way across the top of the windy hill, following the sound of their voices to where he assumed they were huddled together on the riverbed. He slid and slipped down the sandy slope on the other side of the hill, hurtling into a cluster of thick, green bushes. As he fought his way out of the greens, wrenching apart brambles and avoiding thorns, he could hear their voices carrying toward him with the constant, cool breeze. He was about to announce his presence, bending twigs this way and that as he wound through them, when Horus' voice gave him pause.

  “I'm telling you, something has changed. The human is –“

  “No different than usual,” Nefertari's voice intervened, rather reproachfully. “Really, Horus. Simon even went looking for you, and yet you still insist –”

  “It could have been a ruse,” Horus shot back mutinously. “A ploy to convince us we can trust him. It would fit my uncle's style very well.”

  “Don't mind my saying, God of the Sky, but perhaps you are being rash,” said an unknown, deep, somewhat lethargic voice.

  Simon sighed soundlessly. Why was it that he spent most of his time eavesdropping on people nowadays, and why did no one feel inclined to talk to him personally, or tell him anything? It was Morgan and Avrak all over again. He, Simon, had half a mind to run down there right now and crash the party, but then he would never know why they were talking about him. Angry, though determined not to miss a word, he edged closer, as far as the greenbelt would allow, and peered through the branches. Horus was standing at the water's edge, the tide rolling over his bare feet, his arms crossed, and wearing a stubborn, mulish look. Nefertari was sitting on a boulder next to him, dragging her feet (still in sandals) through the water and frowning deeply at him. One more person was down there at the stream: A tall, dark stranger wearing long, billowing robes, plain sandals, and a hood. When the man moved, Simon could smell soap and herbs, making him aware of his own, unpleasant smell, a mixture of dirt and stale sweat. Scrunching up his nose, Simon strained his ears in an effort not to miss a word.