Fist of Horus

While I was in the crocodile’s belly, I’d been preparing to summon the Fist of Horus, a giant glowing blue hand that can pulverize doors, walls, and pretty much anything else that gets in your way. My plan had been to punch my way out of the monster. Gross, yes; but hopefully effective. I guess that spell was still in my head, ready to be triggered like a loaded gun. Facing Camper Boy, I was furious, not to mention dazed and confused; so when I meant to say the English word fist, it came out in Ancient Egyptian instead: khefa. Such a simple hieroglyph: You wouldn’t think it could cause so much trouble. As soon as I spoke the word, the symbol blazed in the air between us. A giant fist the size of a dishwasher shimmered into existence and slammed Camper Boy into the next county. I mean I literally punched him out of his shoes. He rocketed from the river with a loud suck-plop! And the last thing I saw was his bare feet achieving escape velocity as he flew backward and disappeared from sight. No, I didn’t feel good about it. Well…maybe a tiny bit good. But I also felt mortified. Even if this guy was a jerk, magicians weren’t supposed to go around sucker-punching kids into orbit with the Fist of Horus. “Oh, great.” I hit myself on the forehead. I started to wade across the marsh, worried that I’d actually killed the guy. “Man, I’m sorry!” I yelled, hoping he could hear me. “Are you—?” The wave came out of nowhere. A twenty-foot wall of water slammed into me and pushed me back into the river. I came up spluttering, a horrible taste like fish food in my mouth. I blinked the gunk out of my eyes just in the time to see Camper Boy leaping toward me ninja-style, his sword raised.

SoB pg.13,14