The Age of Ra

''I don't think that's…'' she began.

''Appropriate? Relevant? Proper? You're right, you're so right, absolutely. I didn't say it. It never happened.''

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

David hated how easily embarrassed he could sometimes be. He knew he didn't lack courage, but in certain awkward situations he would always retreat in a hurry, taking refuge behind a barricade of diffidence or dry humour. Better to do that than press on with an attack that might leave him exposed, vulnerable.

''Well,'' said Zafirah. ''Yes, then. Good.''

To her relief, and David's, one of her men shouted for her attention.

''I must go,'' she said, turning away. ''Something about the weather.''

She paused, then turned back.

''You ran into that Bedouin camp, under heavy fire, to save people,'' she said. ''People who'd been going to sell you to the Nephthysians.''

''Yes. And?''

''Nothing. But as we're talking about challenges — why?''

''Seemed like the right thing to do. Seemed worth it.''

She gazed at him. ''Most challenges are,'' she said finally, and walked away.

''Something about the weather'' turned out to be a sandstorm blowing in from the east. But rather than batten down the hatches and stay put, the Liberators leapt into their cars and hared off in convoy.

The sky dimmed in an eerie twilight, the air browning as though burnt. David peeked through the rear flap of the ZT's awning to see a wall of dust approaching, like hills on the move. It filled the horizon, rising higher as it swept closer. It was coming fast, faster than the cars could go, and it gave off a monstrous moan, which David could hear even above the off-roader's roar.

The sandstorm engulfed the tail end of the convoy. One after another, vehicles were swallowed into its billowing mass, disappearing from sight. When it reached the ZT there was a whump that rocked the car on its shock absorbers. The awning clenched like a startled heart. Ahead and behind, visibility was reduced to a few yards. Sand swarmed and scratched all around, hissing like a million emery boards. The wind slammed itself in from every side, knocking the off-roader about. David clung onto the roll bars for support, while the driver and passenger up front, securely seatbelted, chortled and whooped. Their radio transceiver jabbered constantly, members of the group keeping one another updated on their whereabouts and making wild jokes about the driving conditions. As long as each car remained in view of the next in line, nobody would get lost.

They pressed on for hours through the seething storm. The ZT's windscreen wipers worked tirelessly, clumping the sand at the edges of the glass, until all at once they were no longer needed. The sky, like a miracle, cleared. The sandstorm had blown itself out.

The Liberators regrouped. Zafirah came over to the ZT just as a jolted and dazed David climbed out.

''Bet you didn't sleep through that,'' she said.

David clapped dust off his hair and clothing. The awning had been anything but airtight. ''You lot have a strange sense of fun.''

''Fun? You think that's why we did what we just did?''

''Looked that way to me.''

''The sandstorm was cover. We travel at night for the same reason. So we won't be seen.''

''By who? The Nephs? The Setics? Us? But Freegypt's a no-fly zone. There are no spotter planes here, no Saqqara Birds, none of that. It's not allowed.''

''That's where you're wrong. We believe the Nephthysians are keeping an eye on us all the time. And not only them. We have to be incredibly careful.''

''Paranoia. This is the only place on earth the major powers aren't interested in. The gods couldn't agree among themselves who should own the land where their worship first sprang up, so they decided it was best if none of them had it. Meaning none of the divine power blocs can lay claim to it. Even spying on Freegypt is against international law. Not just that, it's tantamount to heresy.''

''Freegypt, the Unholy Land,'' said Zafirah with a trace of sarcasm. ''The world's blind spot.''

''Yes!'' said David. He looked at her. ''Or… no?''

She shook her head. ''Not any more.''

''What's happened?''

''More like what's happening. Have you not heard of Al Ashraqa? The Lightbringer?''

''The who?''

''Evidently not. I suspect the Hegemony governments know about him, even if they haven't shared that knowledge with the public. The Nephthysians have certainly heard of him, the Setics too. They've heard of him and they're very, very scared of him.''

''The Lightbringer. Who is he?''

''A man.''

''Does he have another name? A proper one?''

''He does, but very few people know it.''

''What is he then, some local warlord with ambitions? He wants to take over all of Freegypt, and the Nephs are scared he'll destabilise the country even further and trouble will spill over the borders into their territory?''

''No.''

''Could you be any more enigmatic?''

''Does it annoy you?''

''Frankly, yes.''

''Then I will try to be as enigmatic as I can possibly be,'' Zafirah said, and for the very first time he heard her laugh. It was taunting laughter but he liked it nonetheless.

''So you've massaged my curiosity and now you're going to leave me dangling, so to speak,'' David said.

''Yes.''

''You could at least give me some clue about him.''

''Why? You'll find out all you need to know soon enough.''

''Eh?''

''Where do you think we are headed, David Westweenter? We are headed for the Valley of the Kings, and there we are going to meet the Lightbringer.''

8. Luxor

In a restaurant on Luxor's Corniche, which ran alongside the Nile, they ate shish kebab and pigeon stuffed with rice and washed it down with ice-cold Alexandrian beer. Feluccas plied the river, their lateen-rigged sails spread to catch the syrupy evening breeze. Mopeds farted up and down the street, swerving around donkey carts and battered old Mercedes Lotus taxis and filling the air with their two-stroke tang.

Luxor, the village-with-aspirations city, teemed. According to Zafirah it had never been so busy, not even during its heyday, back when Freegypt was more stable and tourists used to flood in from all over to view the temples and monuments and breathe in the dusty atmosphere of the cradle of the world's religion. Nowadays only a trickle of visitors came. You hardly saw a sunburned white face any more, and chances were it belonged to a journalist, down here to write some tone-piece on the Upper Freegypt ''crisis''. Either that or an executive from a holiday company on a jaunt sponsored by the national tourist board. The difference was easy to spot. The journalist came alone and looked intrepid. The holiday company exec came with an armed escort and looked scared.

''Visit Freegypt,'' David said. ''You probably won't get caught in the crossfire.''

Zafirah nodded as though not seeing the flippancy behind his deadpan tone. ''It must be said, things have got a lot better. There are still territorial skirmishes between the militias now and then, but for the past three years we have known something close to peace. The south and the north are trading along the Nile again, and Cairo is