“You stink,” Horus woke him after what felt like seconds, prodding him with a toe, apparently intent to make up for the joke they had shared the night before. “Go and wash yourself at the river, so you're presentable for the Pharaoh.”

  Simon glared at the god sourly. It was hardly his fault if he smelled. He hadn't chosen to be dragged around half of Egypt on foot or sleep in graveyards. But Horus was watching him closely again, and he really did need a bath...

  Pushing himself off the ground, his left arm locked painfully as he put weight on it.

  “Ouch,” he couldn't help wincing. Horus' eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Just stiff from sleeping on the ground,” Simon lied swiftly.

  He pulled himself up the rest of the way, favouring his right side and careful not to let his shirt slip from his left arm and shoulder. He didn't know why he didn't want anybody to see, only that the black spots made him feel queasy and sick, as though his blood had been contaminated somehow...

  Simon gathered his other set of clothes in a hurry, keen on getting out of the god's immediate area of reach and a wash.

  “Be quick about it!” Horus shouted after him as he left for the riverside, causing him to walk deliberately slowly in response. All the way to the Nile, he thought about the conversation he had overheard. The idea that Horus, who wouldn't even admit that there could, possibly, be a force mightier than himself, was somehow wary of him (even if that made him a spy for Set in the god's eyes) was rather pleasant.

  Approaching the river, he could hear bird's song, and distinct splashing noises of water against flesh that told him somebody was already down there … No doubt Nefertari, washing up.

  Simon strode through the bushes, emerged onto the sandy bank, and –

  “Yikes!” Simon yelped. He caught an involuntary glimpse of drops glistening on dark, tattooed skin, full, round curves, and not the tiniest hint of a blush before he could close his eyes. Had the girl no shame? “Why are you naked?!”

  “It's called a bath, you should try it some time,” said Nefertari dryly, and then, “By Ra, have you never seen a naked girl before? Oh, why am I even asking? Of course you haven't,” she finished with a snort, the words hitting too close to home for Simon’s liking.

  “I'll be upstream, taking a bath,” he said with pursed lips.

  Careful not to catch another glimpse of naked flesh, Simon shuffled away sideways along the water's edge, ignoring Nefertari's cawing laugh. He wandered upstream, following the Nile's curving course until he couldn't hear the laughter any more, took off his shoes (which had been feeling unusually tight those past days) and stepped into the stream.

  The cool current was like balm on his tortured feet.

  It was peculiarly tranquil on this particular stretch of riverbank. The birds he had heard earlier had ceased to sing, leaving the air mirthless without their voices, the only sound the gurgling of water around his feet and bare legs. As he watched, trying not to let the abrupt silence perturb him, the surroundings seemed to shift. The palm trees, bushes, and other plants growing on the riverside flickered and blurred, as though they were on fire, their edges becoming indistinct and fuzzy, as though a blueish shimmering veil had been draped over them. At the same time, the sand seemed to fuse with the water, a sandy brown smudge …

  It took Simon only seconds to realize what was happening. Was he going to have another vision? Was someone attacking him? He thrust his hand down the front of his shirt, closing his fingers around the hourglass on its chain. Surely enough, it was warm, lit (A look down confirmed this), and pulsing in warning. And then something flickered to life in the corner of his eye, just out of his field of vision.

  Simon turned around slowly, dreading what he would see behind him, his brain racing with ideas how to protect himself … His best bet was to run, get away from the spot and out of the strange, blueish bubble. Another part of him, probably the most irrational one, supposed he could always pass out again...

  Very funny, Simon chided himself, turned a hundred and ninety degrees, and came to an abrupt halt.

  Set was standing there, watching him with the same dark smile, yet again the only thing with a sharp outline in the nebulous, vague surroundings. Close up, Simon could see that the god's opaque eyes were crimson, framed by long, dark lashes, giving him the look of a somewhat sinister English gentleman. Again, Simon could not help marvelling at the fact how unlike this tall, dark entity was in comparison to his slightly built, fair nephew.

  “Er – General Set?” Simon said tentatively into the silence, his eyebrows rising. Why wasn't he more surprised to find the man here, stalking him? Set inclined his head, still with that little smile and apparently pleased that Simon knew who he was. A casual movement, neighbours greeting each other on a morning run, but Simon was certain the god had come here for something more specific.

  “Er – is there anything I can help you with?” he prompted when Set didn't speak, thinking that he most certainly wouldn't be assisting the god with anything.

  This time, when Set opened his mouth, Simon could hear the words clearly.

  “A pity we had so little time to chat the last time,” Set said, in a deep voice that was both silk and honey, dangerous and dark, and suited his carved features just fine, watching him with the hungry expression of a predator about to pounce, “and were so crudely interrupted by the descendant...”

  Where is this going? thought Simon warily, as silence fell yet again and the words continued to ring in his head. There was something most peculiar about this, and he couldn't help feeling that he should be a lot less easy and way more frightened. As it was, however, he merely felt awkward and somewhat impatient with the god's secrecy.

  Feeling reckless, too, he tried once again, perhaps a little sharper than he had intended to, “What do you want?”

  “I wish to meet you,” Set said softly, “only that...”

  Set's predatory smirk was unnerving, bothersome, as were the god's random materializations. Simon would sooner have the god tell him what he wanted without delay and then disappear again to whereever he had come from.

  “Well, I'm here, you're here. Now what?”

  “This is merely an illusion, an image, means of communication,” Set chuckled, an icy gesture that did not warm his eyes. “I would be more partial to meeting you face to face.”

  “Not going to happen,” said Simon flatly, having heard enough about the lunatic, murderous god from Nefertari and Horus not to desire a meeting.

  Set didn't seem fazed by the rejection, though his eyes flashed momentarily.

  “Walk with me,” the god said, with the authority of a person used to having his orders followed, and he began to stroll up the riverside, the crisp outline of his soles never touching the fuzzy ground beneath. Simon, whose hair had risen on end at being given an order, wanted to defy Set, show the god that he wouldn't be controlled, but mastered the impulse, deciding against such an exercise. Set didn't seem like a person it was wise to deny.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Tell me one thing, Simon Walker,” said Set softly, once Simon had fallen into step next to him

  (Simon suppressed a noise of irritation: How come everyone he met, people whom he had never seen before, people wasn't acquainted with at all, knew his name?). “Did you like what you saw in your vision?”

  Simon stopped dead. “How do you know I saw any – wait a minute –“ A horrible thought sprung to his mind. “It was you! You sent that vision?!” The idea unsettled him: If it was so easy for the deities to get into his mind, what stopped them from changing his thoughts, controlling his mind? No wonder the last thing he had seen before he died (never mind that he hadn't, indeed, lost his life) had been Morgan, if it was the God of Chaos who had sent it …

  “Apep was right, you are quite intelligent – special, one might think,” Set chuckled again.

  “I know,” Simon said, feeling somewhat flattered that, at long last, someone finally seemed to recognise his potential.

  “You are correct, of course,” Set continued, watching him beadily. “It was I who sent you the vision. I designed it for you specifically, I created an image of what you wanted to see the most, a gift, if you will have it so, an incentive.”

  “And why would you do that?” Simon asked apprehensively, thinking that it hadn't quite worked, wondering why the god would go to such lengths just to entice him...

  “I have a proposal,” said Set, his tone brisk and businesslike now. “I want you to ally yourself with me.”

  There was a long moment of silence for the information to sink in. Simon couldn't help thinking that this was distinctly odd. What reason could there possibly be for Set, a powerful war deity, to want an alliance with an archaeologist? On the other hand, did it really matter? There could be many reasons, and the request alone had sent a frisson of excitement through Simon. He had always known he was special, so why was it this difficult to believe that someone else had seen it as well? Should he really refuse such an offer? But how could he decide without knowing what was in it for him? He was not a pawn to be used at someone else's leisure...

  And at the same time, he couldn't quite ignore what Nefertari and Horus had told him about Set either, remembering too well the uneasy atmosphere of the crowd in Zawte… And yet, Set had never done him any personal harm, quite the contrary... Then Set spoke again, momentarily halting his train of thought, his words doted with a seduction sweeter than anything Simon had ever known.

  “There is potential in you, Simon Walker. With a suitable guide, you could become exceptionally... powerful.” Set paused, allowing this compelling information to sink in, then said, “A sorcerer of great renown, mighty enough to bring down the wrath of heavens, rule the expanse of the sky, crush the Earth within a single fist, rule an army of creatures of your own design.”

  “What about treasure?” Simon croaked, his defences crumbling in front of the pictures Set's words painted in his head. Set's lips twitched upward knowingly, making his taut, pale features look even more like a waxen mask.

  “Anything you could ever desire, Simon Walker. I reward my followers well,” the god said, “and so does the great lord, Apep. You will have everything you have dreamed about and more.”

  Set's words were addictive, like a drug, and the images in his, Simon's, head even more so. Simon swallowed thickly, his tongue suddenly very dry. Painstakingly, slowly, he dragged himself out of the daze of the imagines riches and forced two words out of his clouded mind: “Why me?”

  Set had obviously expected this question, and he was prepared to answer.

  “You could help us. You are friends with princess Nefertari of Aten-Atlanta, the last descendant of Ra, are you not?” the god said softly.

  Simon's heart gave a jolt, his brain whirring into action once again. Was Set going to ask him to betray them? And if so, was there anything to stop him from doing so? He owed them nothing, had received nothing from them, had risked his life for Horus without so much as a thanks... Could he even really call them friends? They didn't include him in their plans, didn't want him there, and though Nefertari had said she trusted him, did she really?

  “They're not my friends,” Simon said firmly, ignoring the way his stomach seemed to knot in outrage, feeling somewhat bitter and resentful.

  “Is that so?” Set asked, in a tone of voice that instantly worried Simon he had said something wrong. What if Set decided without the connection to his captors, he wasn't worth it after all? But then, Set said, “Isn't that even better?”

  “B- Better?” Simon stammered, bemused.

  “But surely you want revenge,” Set suggested coolly, “surely, you could aid us.”

  “I – I,” Simon stuttered. “No – I can't do what you ask of me.” The words had come without his volition, and yet he knew them to be true. Simon Walker might be many things, but he wasn't a traitor, not even to those people who he knew no loyalty for.

  Set stopped in his tracks, and for a moment, it looked as though the god would begin to shout.

  “You owe nothing to those people!” Set hissed then, the patience in his voice straining. “You mean nothing to them! They don't want you around, they avoid you, they lie to you, they spy on you! Do you not feel it would be prudent if they met their ends at your hands?”

  “Horus is your nephew, your brother's son,” Simon retorted angrily, “and you want to kill him?”

  Set's smile flickered, his eyes flashed scarlet again, as though he couldn't bear being thought of as Horus' relative, and, for the tiniest instant, his features slipped into... Anger? Pain? Disappointment? Hurt? The moment of insecurity was gone so quickly, it might have been just a trick of light.

  “The child of my filthy brother does not matter to me,” Set said, his voice softer and more dangerous now than before. “Osiris defiled my sister, our sister. Isis was supposed to be mine and the child ours...” He was breathing heavily through his nose, and Simon thought the only thing keeping him safe from the deity's wrath was perhaps the fact Set wasn't really on the riverbank, only his projection.

  The god composed himself again.

  “It does not matter any more, not now. My siblings have already paid for their transgression. Their fates were sealed a long time ago. It is you I care about, Simon Walker. Powerful blood flows through your veins, and great potential. I would teach you myself, instruct you and assist you on your path to greatness, mightier than those surrounding you, mighty as us, who are learned in the divine arts, mighty enough, even, to conquer time...”

  Simon's heart skipped a beat. Set had played his cards well, touching upon the one point he could not simply overlook last … He did not know whether Set knew about his travel in time, or whether this was merely another attempt to tempt him, but if the god could show him, get him back to Giza, he could return home...

  He thought about the promised treasures, the wealth, the magic he could take back home, where nobody, not even Perfect Morgan, would be able to compete with him any more. It was almost difficult to envisage the amount of praise he would receive, the way people would worship him, like a deity, Simon Walker, the greatest sorcerer of all time. And for what price? All of this for the whereabouts, the lives of two, two who had done him nothing but wrong … And yet, the thought of betraying Nefertari and Horus to Apep was unbearable.

  “Of course,” said Set at that moment, as though he had read Simon's mind, “It might not be necessary to kill the descendant and my nephew, if you can convince them to... come quietly.”

  But Simon remembered the way Horus had looked, staring at his uncle's form from a distance, still as a statue and frozen by hatred. There was simply no way he would ever be able to make Horus forget his unknown grudge.

  Simon struggled on the verge of speech for several minutes (in which Set watched him hawkishly, almost panting with excitement) then the words came, once again without his volition.

  “I don't believe you.”

  Set did not move for a moment. Simon could see the god struggling to keep his temper. Then the god said, somewhat waspishly and with conviction, “You don't have to decide now, Simon Walker. But there will come a time when will have to, when you will need me, and when that moment comes, you will come and find me.”

  Even as the last of his words echoed away, the environment changed again. Underbrush, beach, the waves of the river Nile came back into focus slowly as the magic faded, birdsong breaking the boundaries of the invisible barrier of their own, private bubble. Simon could hear someone calling his name in the distance, and he looked downstream for the voice, but turned again before the image of Set had vanished entirely.

  “You were wrong, by the way,” Simon called after Set, who raised an eyebrow. “The vision didn't show me what I most wished to see. It showed me what I hated most.”

  “My vision didn't fail,” Set chuckled. “Often when you feel something fiercely enough, the margins between emotions blur together, until you cannot see clearly any more which you want, and which you don't.”

  “You're wrong!” Simon bellowed after Set, but the god's silhouette was fading rapidly now, and the voice calling his name was becoming clearer, like the sirens of an ambulance interrupting the calm of a Sunday morning … Set's eyes, scarlet and gleaming, still staring at him, were the only things left now, two glowing embers of a destructive inferno … He was going to regret rejecting the god...

  And then they were gone as well, and Nefertari splashed through the current toward him.