From the other side of the dune, half-hidden by darkness, emerged a dark figure.

  Simon gasped and skipped closer to Nefertari, who seemed serenely unconcerned about this sudden appearance.

  As the figure detached itself from the shadows and came closer, Simon recognized it as a young boy of a slight yet sinewy built, with bronze skin and muscular shoulders. His ankles, wrists and biceps were adorned with handsome, golden cuffs, his ears scattered with earrings (some of them drooping strips with precious jewels set into the golden edge, others plain rings and bands) that tinkled metallically with each step. A gilded collar was drooping onto his chest, a schenti was tied around his slender hips, and he was carrying a brightly gleaming golden spear in his right hand.

  He walked toward them on bare feet with a proud, self-satisfied expression and the unmistakable air of someone who felt himself aloof and superior to everyone in his surroundings. In the light of the rising sun, Simon could see high, angular cheekbones, palish glowing eyes, and a long, beaky nose under an unruly rebellion of white-gold hair, which gave the stranger the look of someone who had just travelled through a fierce storm. Close up, the boy looked not much older than thirteen.

  Simon relaxed considerably, thinking that a child could hardly prove dangerous to him, though he would have much preferred had the boy not had a weapon. As it was, he kept the spear in his vision when the stranger, his sharp-angled face contorted into a very ill-natured expression, advanced, came to a halt in front of them, and glared at Simon contemptuously.

  “You there,” the boy demanded in a sullen voice which sounded as if he were speaking through clenched teeth, “what business do you have with the Pharaoh?” He lowered the tip of his spear toward Simon's chest. Simon decided at once he did not like the boy.

  “Don't worry,” said Nefertari brightly, before Simon had so much as opened his mouth. “He is no danger to us.”

  A mischievous and slightly cruel grin flit over the boy's face at her words. Before Simon could move, he had lowered his spear and thrust it at him, missing the stunned archaeologist by inches.

  “Stop!” To Simon's great annoyance and horror, his voice was barely a squeal. Next moment, he huffed indignantly, irritably about being made a fool of by this child. Disregarding the menacingly sharp tip of the spear, Simon puffed out his chest with authority, intent on putting the brat into its place.

  “I will have you know that --”

  “Hah!” exclaimed the stranger, jumping lithely and rather suddenly at Simon, who skipped out of the way just in time. The spear buzzed past his already throbbing shoulder, and punctured the air next to yet again.

  “AAAAARGGH,” screamed Simon undignifiedly.

  He landed on his backside in the cool sand and shuffled further away from the pair on the bottom of his shorts. The boy grinned at him with an exuberant, self-satisfied sort of expression that reminded him strongly on his cousin Morgan.

  “That's enough,” said Nefertari sharply, though her eyes were twinkling amusedly.

  “As you wish, Pharaoh,” said the boy glumly, and he withdrew his spear. Then, he casually strolled over to where Simon was sitting and extended a slim-fingered hand to pull him up from the ground. “No offence,” he said, smirking smugly. “It's not every day I get to play with humans … The name's Horus, by the way.”

  Simon snarled, not listening to a word and unwilling to dignify the boy's rude, uncivilized behaviour with an answer.

  “Suit yourself,” the teenager shrugged.

  Simon clambered to his feet. He was beyond irritable, more like waiting for an explosion, after several hours of madness in the pyramid and the exhausting walk through the desert. On top of the tiredness in his bones, his clothes were drenched in sweat and clinging to his body like a straitjacket. All he wanted was for this madness to end.

  The stranger turned to Nefertari. “If I may make the suggestion to move?” he said. “There are scouts coming our way.”

  Scouts did not sound half bad to Simon; if he waited for those, at least he would be able to get rid of those two mad people, and perhaps even find a way back home. As the other two moved forward, he stood quite still, as though rooted to the spot. He had no intention whatsoever of following them.

  It took a moment or so for Nefertari to realize he wasn't moving; she turned her head around and peered at him over her shoulder. “Come,” she said commandingly.

  “I most certainly will not,” Simon responded stubbornly, intent on standing his ground this time around.

  “If I may request to let him stay?” said the boy scathingly. “Let the scouts deal with him.”

  “You may not,” said Nefertari impatiently.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The boy raised the spear at Simon again, “The Pharaoh asked you to move. You will obey her orders.”

  “You're mad! Both of you!” exclaimed Simon indignantly.

  What came next happened so fast that Simon had trouble following it with his eyes: The boy whipped around, pounced, like a flash, onto Simon, who then fell backward into the sand with him on top. The tip of the golden spear impacted in the sand inches next to Simon's face, and the boy gazed at him with great dislike.

  Only now, Simon could see that the dark skin underneath his eyes was tattooed with black markings, sort of crosses that ended in a twirl on the outer side like the wadjet, the eye of Horus. It was then that he got a closer look at the boy's eyes too; they did not match each other. One of them was the colour of liquid gold, the other a ghostly silver that shone like a floodlight and seemed to pierce right through Simon.

  “Horus!” shouted Nefertari, her voice cutting through the air like a recently sharpened blade.

  The boy, Horus, froze, his expression becoming almost quizzical as he stared into the depths of Simon's eyes. Simon froze too.

  “Horus?” he said as the name sunk in, taken aback and momentarily forgetting that he was quite displeased with the situation. “What, like the god?”

  “Yeah, like the god,” drawled Horus with a bored, haughty look.

  “You're kidding me,” said Simon, gobsmacked. It sounded almost as though this kid was implying he was a god...

  “Am not,” said Horus tetchily, and then shrugged.

  His two differently coloured eyes were still piercing into Simon's with that eerie quality. It was enough to send a shiver over his back. The moment of silence seemed to last forever, in which Simon felt as though his very soul was pierced by those mismatched orbs, unable to escape their alluring power.

  “You are a long way from home, Simon Walker,” said Horus calmly. Simon lay frozen. He could have easily pushed past the boy, but something kept him in place. How does he know my name? “But that's not even your name, is it? Your real name is … hidden … or are you the one hiding it?”

  Simon stared. What was the boy playing at? With the greatest effort it had ever cost him, he tore his gaze away. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he said.

  “No, I can see that, too,” said Horus cryptically. “But you won't find what you seek with the servants of Apep.”

  They stared at each other for several more moments, in which Simon was too flabbergasted to speak, before the teenage god (if he was that) climbed off his chest swiftly. Once again, Simon picked himself off the ground, trying to ignore the sand trickling down his bare legs.

  “And certainly not with you either!” Simon said hastily.

  “Death alone is certain,” said Horus dismissively as they began to move again. Simon figured that, for now, there was no way out, but he wouldn't miss the first opportunity to flee. “Did you find what you went to seek, Pharaoh?” Horus' eyes did not stray from Simon, as though he found him untrustworthy.

  “No,” said Nefertari wearily.

  “I have good news from Memphis, then. The imposter remains unaware of the artefact's location himself,” he said, though he sounded even more sullen than before instead of convinced his message was a good one. When Nefertari did not reply, the boy added, “Is this not a reason for cheer?”

  “If only,” said Nefertari airily. “Only we remain just as far from discovering it than he is.”

  They walked for what seemed to be hours in silence, Simon trailing behind them, staring resentfully at Horus' back. It was evident that both Nefertari and her young friend were advancing more slowly than they would have liked because of him. Yet, they seemed hell bent on dragging him with them. Once again he asked where they were going, only to be reprimanded by the boy.

  “You'll see when we arrive,” Horus said shortly, then fell silent again.

  Simon was glad when the boy's back was turned. He did not like those mismatched eyes, which glowed in the darkness like floodlights … He would not at all have been surprised if those two orbs had their own sentient minds as well, for they looked almost alive...

  They moved on. Soon, Simon was drenched in sweat again, his body prickled with exhaustion, and his throat was raw from the dry air and felt like the parchment of the map of the Great Pyramid, which he appeared to have lost; it wasn't in his pockets, anyway, as far as he could tell with his hands bound.

  When they stopped again, both Horus' and Nefertari's faces were as fresh as morning dew. The long journey through the desert seemed to have taken no toll on them at all. And then they turned around to frown at Simon, who was suddenly scared again that the two of them had decided to leave him after all. He was an obstacle, holding them up. Horus made so much clear with the look he gave him now.

  “Shall I carry him?” Horus asked then.

  “No!” yelped Simon at once. He had already lost his home, belongings, and treasure, he would certainly not lose his dignity as well. He caught up with his two companions in an eager run to prove his capability, but stumbled and landed face-down in the sand, mere inches from a small insect creature that shuffled away from him in a hurry.

  “It will be best,” said Horus with a malicious smirk, no doubt relishing in the thought of making him, Simon, more uncomfortable than he already was, and he picked him effortlessly off the ground in a fireman's lift.

  Simon protested and struggled immediately, but nothing he did made Horus put him back on the ground. As though he was as light as a feather, the boy carried him across the dunes until tears of anger and humiliation ran down Simon's cheeks. Morgan would have a field day if he could see him now, he thought angrily.

  But Horus' muscles moved evenly underneath him, his pace was but the soothing swaying of a boat … Simon's eyelids drooped … He was still angry, too, of course he was, but maybe this arrangement wasn't as bad as he had thought... At least it gave him the opportunity to think about everything he had seen and heard lately...

  How his archaeology colleagues would envy him if they knew where he was. ancient Egypt. If he decided to, he could experience life in the sixth dynasty first hand. Later, before he went back home to his time (if ever), he needed to find something to show for his adventure, to prove where he had been, what he had done, a piece of evidence of his journey through time that he could shove right into Morgan's stunned face...