He must have fallen into a slumber, because when he woke, there was a sliver of light on the horizon. Momentarily disoriented by the sight of the pale blue firmament, which had met his eyes as he had opened them, and the funny rocking motion underneath him, he whipped his head around. His gaze fell almost instantly onto the sandy ground moving beneath him, and a bare pair of feet, on which each toe was blinking with a golden ring. Simon struggled against the firm grip (there was something wrapped around his waist), imagining himself falling...

  “Sssh!” hissed a familiar voice on his right, and the events of the day came streaming back to him.

  He was still on Horus' shoulders, and Nefertari was standing before them, her features tense. A clatter of something like hooves was coming toward them through the desert.

  “Come on, get moving,” said Horus, frowning, and he and Nefertari began running toward a small, dried out bush, a motion that sent Simon, now hanging lopsidedly off the bronze shoulders, bumping and bouncing against the boy's back. He knew better than to voice his discomfort, however, given the apparent urgency of the situation and the click-clacking sound of hooves, which was closing in.

  They slithered down into the sand just behind a dune, into a shallow pit that Simon hadn't seen was there, for the area was scattered with coarse, bone-dry bushes.

  Inside the pit, Simon, his glasses askew from the wild ride, stayed quiet although Nefertari was leaning heavily onto his injured shoulder. If whatever was coming their way (Simon suspected it might be a horse, judging by the sounds it made) appalled those two maniacs enough to hide, then perhaps it wasn't the best time to try his luck with an escape manoeuvre.

  From where he was lying flat on his stomach, however, he could spot a flaw in their plan: The fresh indentations their footsteps had left in the powdery sand were as good as a signpost, saying, “WE'RE HERE, COME GET US”. Really, whom were they kidding, thinking that the horse (or whatever was on top of it) would overlook those tell-tale tracks?

  “What about the traces?” Simon hissed.

  “No time now,” whispered Nefertari and, next moment, she had pushed his head deeper down into the sand, so that his chin dug into the ground.

  Now, Simon had seen a great variety of different and mostly horrible things and creatures in the past few hours, but nothing could have compared him for what had appeared on the path they had just deserted: A gigantic, black horse with gleaming red eyes came into view, carrying a rider that was as inhuman and terrible as anything Simon had ever seen. He thought it might even be worse than the chimaeras.

  The abomination on top of the mare was human in appearance down to the waist where, instead of legs, there was a smooth extension like a snake's tail. Its head was flat with thin lips and slits as a nose, and it was covered in light red armour over palish-green skin, which seemed to shimmer and glitter like algae where it was touched by moonlight. Three split tongues flicked out from the beast's mouth, tasting the air and hissing with fury.

  Horus, who seemed to anticipate a fearful scream, placed his hand (which was surprisingly hot to a point where it was barely bearable) over Simon's mouth.

  But Simon, who could hear his heart thundering loudly in his ears, didn't need the warning. He wouldn't have dared make a sound even if his life had depended on it. For a long moment, Simon lay frozen, breathing in sand and the scent of hot skin and wondering what kind of dreadful being Horus was.

  Simon thought it was a miracle Horus was still on his legs with a fever like that... The boy's white-hot skin felt as though it was burning at a eighty degrees at the very least, but, even so, the feverish heat in his hand and arm (which Simon could feel pressed against the side of his ear) didn't seem to bother the boy much.

  And then the cool desert breeze changed direction, bringing with it the acrid stink of the creature before them, a scent of charred flesh so powerful that, for a split second, Simon thought Horus had finally caught fire. But then, underneath the burnt smell, Simon could detect another, something sweet and rotting, and he almost gagged.

  After what felt like an eternity, the creature urged the horse on, without taking so much as second glance at their tracks in the sand. Simon, who had been holding his breath after inhaling what was surely an unhealthily large dosage of the infernal smell of the beast, took a gulp of warm morning air. As he did, he could see the head of the creature twitch, but it did not turn around, and, before long, the clattering noise of its mount's hooves had disappeared into the distance.

  “What was that?” Simon hissed.

  “Apophis,” Nefertari said shortly. “Minion of the false god. Now get moving, there might be more around and the sun's almost up.”

  Not much of an explanation, thought Simon, but he was too tired to argue. He stifled the impeding yawn before it had a chance to escape, determined not to need carrying again.

  On the horizon, there a faint, lemony glow now. The sun was raising slowly over the desert and, within minutes of its ascent, the star's scorching morning rays made their path thrice as difficult to walk.

  Simon could feel his skin blister as they made their way through the sand. The heat was burning into his skin, the dryness of the air made it near impossible to breathe, every breath seared his raw, thirsty throat like acid, and once again his clothes stuck to his back. Beside him, Nefertari loosened a piece of fabric from the back of her tunic and draped it over her head like a hood. Vaguely, Simon recalled Morgan handing him a hat, and wished that he had it with him now. Then he remembered that he did.

  “Give me my bag,” he demanded.

  Nefertari quirked an eyebrow at him. “I don't think so.”

  “Fine,” Simon's jaw clenched irritably. Horus was watching him with a very dark look indeed, his lip curling. “There is a hat in my pack, do you think I could possibly have it?” said Simon.

  “This thing?” Nefertari held up the striped bush-hat, sounding amused. Simon grimaced at her, took the hat, and put it on his head. Never would he have thought he could feel this grateful toward Morgan again.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Keep moving then, it's not far any more.”

  Nefertari had not lied. Before the sun had reached its zenith, the small group reached the desolate, crumbling remains of an old sanctuary.

  The temple appeared to Simon as though it had been built several years ago, but its construction had been terminated, leaving it half-finished. He didn't have to look far to find the reason for this unholy desertion: There was a stream in the back of the ruined building, a small, cheerfully chattering stream that could only be an arm of the Nile river. Reeds were floating gently in the soft current, tiny silvery fish were flitting through the scintillating, transparent water, and half of the temple's inside had been flooded with and destroyed by the tide.

  Simon thought that the brook must have swelled over its boundaries unexpectedly halfway through the building process, for most of the temple's ground structure had been washed away onto the riverbank. Chunks and chips of rubble, signs of its abandoned nature, lay scattered around the premises, adding to the temple's air of neglect.

  “In Nephthys' sanctuary, you shall find rest,” Horus said solemnly.

  “Marvellous,” exclaimed Simon, unable to stop himself.

  Despite the temple's run-down state, he could not help feeling slightly awed at the sight of the carefully crafted obelisks and pillars surrounding the entrance. He was in no doubt that, in his time, this sad, ramshackle excuse of a prayerhouse would haven been the find of a century. In the light of recent events, having already lost one treasure, he felt that if he could remember this one's location, then…

  Nothing, Simon reminded himself. He still didn't know anything about this world, how he had gotten here, or how he was going to get back.

  “He's an archlogist,” Nefertari said, and Simon was too lost in thought to correct her.

  “What's that?” asked Horus, who had been watching Simon critically again. As Simon watched, the boy collected an armful of loose, thick stalks of reed from the muddy ground of the riverbed, making the water next to the area swirl murkily.

  “A modern grave robber,” said Nefertari.

  “That is not true,” began Simon hotly. “You know, I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer.”

  “You just did,” said Horus smugly, departing into the direction of the barely-still-standing temple.

  Simon wanted nothing more than to wipe that arrogant smirk off the brat's face, but he was too afraid of cutting himself on that sharp, pointy beak of a nose. He compromised by glaring at Horus' retreating back instead.

  “The relics fare much better in museums, where they are protected from wind and weather,” he explained irritably, following after the boy. “It would be waste to leave everything underneath the earth.”

  “Oh spare me. You remove them from their rightful owners, it's thievery,” flared Nefertari at once, her eyes flashing angrily.

  “We save and preserve them,” Simon shot back, equally irritable.

  “They contain heka. They don't need to be preserved!” hissed Nefertari.

  Simon was about to open his mouth with an angry retort when a loud crash echoed from the entrance of the temple. He flinched, and Nefertari's head whipped around, her hand halfway to the khopesh strapped to her hips.

  While they had been arguing, Horus had climbed onto the temple's roof, where he sat cross-legged and carelessly handsome, his slender fingers already busy weaving the reeds he had brought into a flat, square shape. The source of the crashing noise, an ugly, cracked bowl, lay in the entrance beneath his up and down jiggling feet.

  “Sorry,” he said, with a disapproving look that told them he wasn't sorry at all. “You should rest,” he continued rather flatly, “both of you. It does not do for a descendant of Ra to quarrel with a human like a reprimanded child.” And when Nefertari looked sheepish, “I shall take the first watch. Everything else can wait until the right eye has closed again.”

  Horus was right of course. Despite his nap on the adolescent boy's shoulders, Simon was drained from their long journey through the desert. The feeling in his legs varied between lead and jelly, and his arms and shoulders felt bruised and numb. Without another word, Simon followed Nefertari, whose cheeks had flushed angrily, into the temple.

  Inside, his first impression was that of a vast indoor pool or a bathhouse, with a row of columns propping up the roof over their heads and a central area that had been lowered several inches into the ground. A set of stairs on the edges could be used to descend into the stone floor's shallow midst (though one step from the original floor would have done as well), and at the other end of the basin was a narrow doorway, which seemed to lead into another room. A deluge of clear water drifted lazily in and out of the hollow in floor through the passage, the site behind which had to be filled by the stream.

  On the edges of the first room, however, it was pleasantly dry and the air warmed by sunlight. By the time Simon had finished his examination of the place, Nefertari had already found a dry niche and deposited her belongings (together with Simon's bag, to which he thought she had hardly any right) against the wall. She washed her face in the pool, whose contents Simon now realized must be excess water from the river outside, then settled comfortably on a mattress made of reeds.

  After Simon had drank his fill from the river himself (the water was tepid, no doubt because the sun was warming it outside before it entered into the temple), he felt strangely pacified and content, despite his odd situation. He settled down in a dark, cool corner of the room with Morgan's bush-hat as a pillow, a position which wasn't very comfortable but would do for the night. He doubted he would be able to sleep anyway, what with Nefertari's snoring (the girl had fallen asleep as soon as her head had hit the reeds) and his racing mind.

  Too much had happened that day, inviting thousands of different questions into his mind as he folded himself tightly into his nook, removed his glasses, and closed his eyes. He had almost accepted the idea that he might have travelled in time (for there really was no other option than to accept this as fact), but that did not explain the odd and rather disturbing creatures he had seen that day. Nor did it shed light on the fact that he was supposed to sleep in a dilapidated temple, like a fugitive.

  This thought posed yet another issue in his head. Were his companions indeed fugitives, runaways, or downright criminals? And if so, what were they fleeing from? Simon remembered the chimaera and the snake-creature from the desert and shuddered. Nefertari had called that particular one apophis, minion of a false god.

  But why false? And why god? Did gods exist in this peculiar aeon of time? And if so, was Horus really a god like he had claimed to be? And if gods were real, was magic as well? And more importantly, if it was, could he learn to use it? And on top of all those questions waiting to be answered, he still had an escape to plot, for he had no intention of staying with his two captors.

  All in all, it was no wonder that Simon's head was buzzing more loudly now than a hive filled with angry bees. And yet, as soon as his last question (Could there really exist such a phantasmal thing as magic?) had echoed away inside of the confines of his skull, merciful sleep fell over him like a soothing blanket and all thought was wiped from his mind.