Cursed Times - Only Yesterday! Sequel to Wattys 2015 winner!

Chapter 23: Trueth - Through the Sands Part 1

Trueth felt her legs kick the air as she dropped through a brackish void-and hit an obstacle face-on: A cold wall of sand molded its lethal weight around her body. She spluttered and clawed her way through the choking embrace of tiny grains trickling all around her, dust filling her nose and blocking her windpipe. A desperate push at the grit freed her hands, somebody grabbed them and pulled her upwards and out into the clear icy air of a desert morning.

Trueth leaned into Seisi's reassuring company, trying to catch her breath.

He guided her towards a craggy rock where she started retching sand from a throat that felt dryer than the bit of Sahara she just had snacked on. From the left, an amphora appeared under her nose; a cloth came from the right. She took both, swigged the peppermint water first, then wiped her chin. A swarthy hand clasped hers, as Seisi pulled her to his chest.

Only now did she realise how cold it was. How cold she was.

Peeping over Seisi's bare shoulders that were covered in goose bumps, she spotted the others huddled in a group next to the nearest boulder, seeking shelter from the icy blast that was cutting into her skin. Dust was covering everything and everybody, sand trickling from their sandals, their clothes, their hair. Pharaoh had taken off his headdress to pour out the dirt. The cover had protected his thick brown locks, which seemed to be the lad's most engaging feature.

Behind them, a vortex formed on the desert floor accompanied by a screeching blast that increased her shivers. One by one, the boxes popped out of the ground.

'Where's Metjen?' Trueth shouted into Seisi's ear. He was holding her so close; she could feel the heat of his sun-flow rising in his body, warming them both.

'He will follow, the circle has taken over the portal to send him on, I can sense it,' Seisi said displaying a calm she could not share.

A sound like fingernails raking across a board raised every single hair on her body. With a loud pop the ground spat out the object of her concern; Metjen careened through the air with milling limbs, until he crash-landed back on Earth. Behind him, the unquiet sands burped a final time, spat out a scroll and calmed down.

'You ok, bro?' Ranofer shouted from behind his rock shelter. 'I say, the exit was rather dramatic.' He was beating himself to keep warm. Linen robes had not been invented for arctic conditions.

'I must have aimed a bit low.' Metjen was stumbling to his feet, his breath clouding the air. 'We were not supposed to emerge underground. Sorry for that, folks.'

'We are not amused!' Pharaoh was trying to free his robe from the greyish dust but was not succeeding. 'We must have a handmaiden to clean this.'

'Not many maidens in this world, mate,' Ranofer said with obvious relish. 'You got to sort yourself out all on your own.'

A torn piece of black plastic floated past on the draft, pursued by a bleached page torn from a newspaper. Overhead, a plane thundered through skies criss-crossed with contrails left behind by the previous aircraft.

Metjen had done his job. They were home. As usual, not all was well. His majesty was craning his neck following the progress of the airplane and wondering what dire straits Horus might be in, given that He was making such noises. The professor took him aside and embarked on yet another lengthy explanation. 

'Why is it so frigging cold here?' Trueth was standing on the tip of her toes, to get a better view without losing contact with that precious warm presence next to her. 'Isn't it supposed to be summer?'

'It was when we left,' Rani-Ra said through chattering teeth. 'Can we please get a move on, I'm freezing. Anybody seen the temple by the way? I thought this was where we were supposed to get out?'