He felt much better after ridding himself of the accumulated dirt, sweat, and sand of a day, and opted for a thorough investigation of the temple to pass the time until the others remembered he was there; if he was lucky, he might just find himself a little prize he could take back home … If ever he did figure out how to return...

  His mind set, Simon waded deeper into the water until he was submerged to the knees, then made his way toward the entrance of the second room. As he has assumed, the whole of this annex, which he recognized as a ceremonial place, was filled with water. The blue-shimmering liquid scintillated beneath a square skylight, underneath which rose a bulky, rickety table from out of the waves. Simon had the strong impression that he was gazing into an operation room of sorts.

  Albeit the temple had long since been deserted by its constructors, it seemed that there had been no time to clear it out before fleeing the rising tide. It looked as though whoever had built it must have been surprised by the stream, for it was littered with fragments of old tools and cracked pottery. In no time, Simon had found several pieces of construction equipment, a beautiful, broken vase and an ornate dagger on whose handle was depicted the river goddess Nephthys.

  He stooped to pick up the blade, of which the edge was chipped and the tip corroded by rust. It was a waste for such a masterpiece of smithery. Clearly, whoever had left it behind had had no interest in such classy things.

  But it wasn't just a trinket any more for Simon either; if he was going to attempt an escape, he would need a weapon...

  “So it is true,” a snarling voice behind him made him jump.

  He let go off the dagger, which broke the water's surface with a splash.

  “What?” Simon whipped around to find Horus leaning against one of the pillars lining the basin, his arms crossed tightly and his face screwed into a very dark scowl.

  “You are a robber. A thief,” the teenager said, inclining his head to where the dagger had vanished under the waves at Simon's feet.

  Simon's cheeks flushed with an angry red colour that had nothing to do with the high temperature outside. Not a second he had considered what it would look like to his captors if he took this dagger for his own. Neither had he considered it might just belong to somebody already. To him, it had been just another relic to be catalogued and shipped off to a museum.

  Simon could feel his temper rising again … He had only looked at it after all, hadn't even thought about keeping that mangy old object, except maybe to use it as a weapon, but he choose to ignore that fact for now … He was miserable enough without the brat reprimanding him for everything he did.

  “I was not stealing it!” he snarled, with emphasis.

  “Oh I forgot... It's not stealing if you take it away from its proper place for safety reasons,” said Horus casually, but there was no mistaking the icy tone of his voice.

  “I wasn't going to,” Simon snarled, unwilling to explain himself to this boy.

  “Then what did you plan to do with it?” Horus grimaced, strolling over to where he, Simon, was standing with an unmistakably confrontational air.

  Simon did not respond, having no answer, except that he really hadn't had a plan when he'd picked up the weapon. He didn't think that Horus would accept this as an answer, however, for the boy looked rather argumentative.

  “Did you plan to take it with you to where you came from? As a prize, perhaps?” Horus suggested.

  “What do you know,” snapped Simon.

  Horus' dark smile was razor-sharp, but his eyes remained cold.

  “I know enough,” he said.

  Now that the boy was close, Simon could see that, instead of the silver eye which had glowed at night, when they had met, now it was the golden one that seemed to radiate by itself. It reminded him on the story of the god Horus' eyes, and how the deity's right eye was a representation of the sun, while the left symbolized the moon.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Simon surveyed the boy closely, interestedly and with something like excitement now. Could there really be truth to the boy's claim of being a divinity? Even now the pool had begun to sizzle and bubble where it came into contact with his skin, as though it was starting to boil. Could this, the boy's unnaturally hot flesh, be proof for what he had professed?

  Horus was no longer grinning, but had resumed his scowl.

  “What? Why are you staring at me like that?” the boy – or god, whichever – snapped.

  “No reason,” Simon snarled. Why had Horus come here in the first place, if all he wanted to do was start a fight?

  They eyed each other with equal contempt for several seconds, then Horus said, “Did your shoulder, by the way.” His lip curved nastily. “That must have hurt.”

  “It didn't,” said Simon wrong-footedly, turning away from the teenager. He couldn't even pretend that he wasn't surprised it had been Horus who had done his bandages, and he couldn't get himself to feel grateful for the god's medical attention either.

  Either way, how could Horus really be a god? The boy didn't even look fully adult yet, and his attitude suggested that he was stuck somewhere in the middle of adolescence … Then again, Simon had never seen a god before, so he couldn't really compare...

  Next, there was a faint hissing noise, and Simon turned his gaze downward to watch a billow of steam rise from the water around Horus' knees. The sound brought back the image of a revolting creature riding through the desert, sideways on its equally terrible mare. Simon shuddered, sudden aware of how exposed they were in this windy old temple.

  “Is it – er – safe here? I mean, with all those things creeping around the desert?” he asked into the silence which had fallen after he had spoken last.

  “This temple has long been left behind.” There was a drawl in Horus' voice, as though the god was weary of the conversation already. “The human halfwits dare not come close any more.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it's never been finished,” drawled Horus, watching him lazily. “People are afraid of the wrath of Nephthys for deserting the temple built in her honour. If only they knew how lazy she is herself...”

  Unsure what to make of the comment, Simon laughed airily, but stopped immediately when he noticed the cold, unamused look in Horus' eyes. He had no doubt that the god despised him, though he couldn't fathom why, and anyway, the other's hatred didn't bother him. If anything, the feeling was quite mutual.

  “And those – those mad things? Those crazy beasts?” said Simon, daring not to use either of the words Nefertari had used to describe the creatures, in case he had misinterpreted them. Even so, he remembered Nefertari calling that snake-man apophis, which he knew was a synonymous name for the evil god Apep. And hadn't she said the beast was a minion of the false god? Was that what she had meant?

  At his words, Horus' scowl became more pronounced; for a teenage deity (Although Simon wasn't sure he believed it yet and, even if he decided to, wouldn't have known what that really meant), he was rather grumpy.

  “The Apophi,” Horus spat, as if the word was undiluted acid. “Something as impure and vile could never enter a sacred place like this sanctuary.”

  “But what are they?” Simon pressed on eagerly, his interest caught.

  “Apophi are synthetic beasts, controlled by the god who – er – created them,“ Horus said, rather as though he had learned the phrase by heart, his nostrils flaring impatiently.

  “And the chimaeras?” asked Simon, keen now to keep the conversation going. “Those wolf-things with the wings?” he added, upon seeing Horus' brows twitch with what he thought was confusion.

  “Ah,” said Horus, nostrils inflating irritably. It was obvious the god would have preferred not to investigate this topic too closely, but it seemed as though he felt he had to, because he continued nonetheless, “chimaera is a collective term used for all unnatural beasts... Beasts that are no real animals,” he clarified. “Apophi are like that, yeah... complexer than the wolves, though... only gods can create something like that.” He paused as though he was reconsidering this in his head, then shrugged in a way that suggested he wasn't really sure about this either. “Some of them are from the Duat,” Horus finished with a shrug.

  “From the Duat?” repeated Simon, feeling his eyebrows move upward.

  Horus made a move as if to cross his arms, but they were already crossed; it looked as though he was trying to push them into his chest.

  “Tell me, Simon of the faraway world, is it still your wish to wait for them now that you know what they are?”

  Simon shuddered at the memory of his idea to let the scouts pick him up. Until now, he had successfully banished any thought of what might have happened, had he got his will, out of his mind. Now, he suddenly felt very inadequate, useless and insufficient, the way he thought a person stranded in the Amazon without mosquito net might feel.

  “Most certainly not,” he spat belatedly.

  “A wise decision,” another voice said from somewhere behind them.

  Nefertari had appeared at the entrance of the temple. To Simon's great relief, she was smiling, and even Horus' sharp, angular features loosened into a less severe scowl.