Darren Craske - The Eleventh Plague

'That's highly unlikely, Mal, especially if my instincts are spot on.' Professor North held her magnifying glass an inch from the bone, inspecting its length carefully. 'It can't be much older than twenty or thirty years at the most. Sorry to say, Mal, there is no place for them in the Cairo Museum of Antiquities…and no way could the Pharaoh's Cradle be buried here. We'll just have to keep on searching, chaps.'

The crowd chorused a disappointed sigh. But rising above it, Polly was distracted by a tumultuous noise echoing all around her.

Screams littered the air.

Aksak Faroud and a band of twelve Scarabs tore into the encampment astride horses. Wearing a dark red hood, the Scarab leader held his sword high in the air. Professor North's crew were caught between an intense desire to flee and the inability to do anything about it, their fear freezing them to the spot.

'Who are these men?' asked Polly of Mal, clutching at the younger man's clothes as he crawled from the trench.

'Clan Scarabs!' he gasped.

'Clan Scarabs?' cried Polly. 'What are they doing so far from their territory?'

'I am sorry, Professor…but I do not plan on waiting to find out.' With that, he climbed from the pit and ran at top speed across the dig site, his arms flailing in the air as if he were being pursued by a swarm of wasps.

Pretty soon many other workers followed his lead. Polly looked around at the ensuing chaos. Her excavation crew were running scared in all directions, the merest mention of the words 'Clan Scarabs' igniting a fire underneath their feet. Polly was dumbfounded, unable to move. What could she do? Where could she go? Polly had never heard of them attacking an archaeological site before.

It made no sense.

Aksak Faroud's quarry was an easy target to spot. The only pale-skinned female around – actually, one of the few people around full stop, for most of the others had fled. Polly gulped down her fear. The bestial pack headed towards her determinedly.

'But this is insane!' she said to herself. 'We have nothing worth taking!'

Apart from Professor Pollyanna North herself, it seemed…

The Kindred Spirits

THE AREA KNOWN as the Wilderlands was an inhospitable, hellish landscape. The flattening of feet, hooves and cartwheels had formed an uneven road from the rough, chalky terrain. Travelling through these lands, you never knew what you were stepping on, or riding across or walking through. You could just as easily set foot in a scorpion's nest as drive your cart into a two-foot-deep trench obscured by the playful sandstorms. As Ahman gently whipped the reins of his small, two-seater cart, his horse whinnied indignantly at the roughness of the terrain. Sat next to the Egyptian, Destine's eyes were occupied elsewhere, not wanting to miss a thing. The stark beauty of the barren locale was unlike anything the Frenchwoman had seen before. Except that was not strictly true. She had seen it all before, she just could not remember. Still, there was something to be said for her umbrella of amnesia – at least she was able to experience such a beautiful sight with fresh eyes.

The final part of the journey from Agra to Sekhet Simbel was uneventful, and yet in the back of the cart, Destine was perched on the edge of her seat for the entire duration. Ahman continued to reassure her that they would not be able to simply pass the temple by and not notice it, and as the cart reached the top of the dunes, she understood why.

Sekhet Simbel was truly breathtaking – in a very literal sense.

The facade of the temple seemed to materialise out of the shimmering horizon, and Destine's fingertips tingled with anticipation.

She was unaware of it, but she was near to tears. She had returned to Sekhet Simbel. Yet this was no joyous homecoming as she was forced to remind herself. This was a matter of life and death. Even so, the temple was an echo from the past – a subject that she so dearly wished to embrace. She climbed from the cart and walked closer, taking in the full splendour of the place. She sensed an unusual affinity spread through her veins, like two kindred spirits coming together. She beamed a huge smile at Ahman, who merely nodded along with her silent thoughts.

'It is beautiful, monsieur. Truly!' Destine exclaimed. 'The closer I get, the grander it becomes.'

Ahman stood back and looked up at the temple, marvelling at its majesty. 'Yah, I know what you mean. Even as an Egyptian, I find this place a marvel myself. Being so close to the Wilderlands, it is hardly first stop on the traveller's trail. We ignore it, we forget it…to our loss, I admit. It is sites like this that bathe the eye and warm the soul.'

'So I am not alone,' noted Destine. 'You are in awe as well, mon ami?'

'How can you not be, ah?' Ahman's pride presented itself as a sparkling twinkle in the corner of his dark brown eyes. 'I remember many folks in awe when the temple was unearthed. The rumours moved from settlement to settlement like the smell of freshly baked bread on the breeze. At that time we did not even know its name…we still do not, actually…its true name I mean, but Sekhet Simbel seems to fit.'

'True name? How do you mean, monsieur?' asked Destine.

'Local legend tells that a young Egyptian girl led two explorers to this area about thirty years ago. With no other documentation to rely on, the men decided to name the temple after her, and she was called Sekhet Simbel. Those explorers put the place on the map, and it was only after the entirety of the temple was revealed, after nearly four years of constant excavation, that the historians and archaeologists began to decipher its use…but they are still only halfway there, apparently. I like to think that its purpose is merely to astound the visitor by its sheer magnificence.'

'It is odd to think that such a thing of beauty lay undiscovered,' said Destine.

'The past has a way of hiding itself from view if it does not wish to be found,' said Ahman, wiping a fine seam of sweat from his neck with his handkerchief.

Destine raised an inquisitive eyebrow. 'An apt snippet of wisdom, Ahman, for my own past might be hiding within this temple and I aim to find it…whether it wishes me to or not.'

'Come then,' said Ahman, 'let us not keep it waiting.'

Ahman led Destine through the large entrance constructed of huge blocks of weathered stone and into the magnificent temple's interior.

In the hazy light beyond, they could see a series of halls going deeper into the distance. The brilliance of the sunlight at their backs shrouded everything in a misty fog, a perfect accompaniment to the grandiose spectacle. The visitors were in the presence of gods and pharaohs, after all. As Destine stood rooted to the spot, tiny flecks of dust rose into the air. She could feel the resonance of history in every stone, every carving and every inscription. It was as if the phantoms of her past had been waiting patiently for her arrival. They swarmed about her, welcoming her into their abode. An instinct made her shuffle a little closer to Ahman, the act masking the footfalls of another visitor to the temple.

'Can I help you?' he boomed.

Ahman and Destine leapt like startled cats as they spun around.

'I am sorry, but the temple is currently closed for scientific studies…as the sign clearly states,' said the new arrival, motioning towards a small painted sign just inside the entrance, virtually obscured by the darkness.

'We did not see it,' apologised Ahman.

'That may be the case, sir, but I must still ask you to leave. Immediately, if you would be so kind,' said the man in an authoritative tone that could not be ignored.

'Monsieur, if you wish to stop people entering this temple, might I suggest placing the signs outside the building?' said a defiant Destine.