A crash. Bone-jarring, fast, a rush of green spinning dizziness
buried under suffocating water.
Afterwards, crawling out of the rubble and twisted branches, unbelieving of the
fact he was still alive after yet another plunge to the earth, he tried to order
his thoughts, his sight, his priorities.
First, himself. Bruised, yes. Battered, a matter of course. But he could stand
and move, see and hear, and nothing was bleeding or broken as far as he could tell.
Second, his companions. His brother Med-jai, O'Connell, was nearby, assisting Evelyn
from the wreckage. They both appeared well, if shaken. He turned to see Jonathan and
the pilot recovering similarly. Ardeth sighed, gladdened that they all had been blessed
once more. They set about retrieving their packs and weapons from the flying ship.
Horus shrieked. Some of the tension between Ardeth's shoulders fell away even as he
raised his arm. It was a relief to know their one link to the Med-jai warriors was safe.
More than that; Horus was a dear friend.
Their small group was ahead of Imhotep now, but would not remain so for long. They
needed to move quickly to both rescue the boy and prevent the Scorpion King from rising.
Ardeth slid the directions for his men into the metal case and launched Horus aloft,
whispering quick words to Allah. Then he gripped the Thompson and set off with the others
into the dense jungle.
A shot. Echoing through the uncaring blue of the heavens, echoing though his skull
like a dead man's cries in the barren sands.
He knew in his heart what the sound meant before his thoughts caught up to reality.
"Horus!"
Horus was gone. A wave of sickness threatened to wash over him, his entire body
wanting to join him in his grief.
Ardeth pushed it down and away with the efficiency bred by years of leadership.
His mind turned to the true problem, one that carried its own black sickness.
There was no way for his armies to find Am Shere. There would be no mass to stand
against the might of Anubis; none unless he guided them himself.
"I must go," he said, his mind already seeking the path he would follow.
Ardeth explained, the words tumbling out by force of necessity alone, but O'Connell
was there, eyes and arm holding him in place.
"I need you to help me find my son."
A breath. Memory rising up, catching hold, and rushing forward like the sullied
waters of the Blue Nile.
O'Connell stood in the falling shadows of the courtyard, sipping from a glass of pale
alcohol as he leaned against the trunk of a palm. He looked different than Ardeth
remembered. Perhaps it was the fancy British suit. Perhaps it was simply that his
face didn't show the tension that came with constantly fighting for one's life.
Ardeth followed O'Connell's line of sight, out to the lively crowd of people in the
courtyard. Evelyn was dancing unashamedly among the guests. Like O'Connell she wore
European fashion, a slim fitting dress in a pale cream like the sand flats under a
full moon. But as usual she had followed her own path. Dark gauze cascaded from the
gold serpent crown in her hair, flowing around her body as she danced. Her face was
painted in the fashion of the bedouin, but it was bare to sight in the way of the
Europeans. She was truly a unique woman.
Word had reached him late, beyond the considerations of practicality. Ardeth had
made haste anyway. Though he had only been acquainted with O'Connell a few brief
times, Ardeth had come to respect and even like him, and Evelyn as well. So he had
made every effort to make it to this most important event. Ardeth had missed the
ceremony, but he had arrived in time for the celebration afterwards. He stepped out
of the darkness of the museum. O'Connell turned at once.
"Ardeth," he said, then strode forward and took his arm in a warrior's grasp. "We
didn't think you'd make it."
"And I almost did not," Ardeth confessed. "It was a long and weary ride, but I wanted
to wish you well, my friend."
O'Connell smiled and squeezed his arm tightly before letting go. "That means a lot."
They fell silent then, both better with actions than words. O'Connell returned to
watching Evelyn, and Ardeth joined him.
"She is a lovely bride," he praised.
O'Connell nodded. "She'll be a heck of a mother."
Ardeth nodded, and that would have been all, had he not noticed a strange note in
O'Connell's voice. A strange mixture of pride and trepidation that twisted in the
throat of a man only in certain circumstances.
"She is with child?"
Rick's smile in the shadows said everything. It fell as he turned toward Ardeth.
"Don't think poorly of her," he started, but Ardeth interrupted him with
a quick motion of his hand.
"Of course not," he said firmly. "I am most pleased that you two have been
so blessed. May Allah guide the child's soul."
O'Connell nodded once, then grinned again. They returned to their silent watch.
"I don't know how I'm going to do it," O'Connell said finally. "It's a dangerous
world out there."
Ardeth turned to face him. His words should have required great deliberation.
Instead they sprang to him without doubt, as had all of his decisions regarding
O'Connell. "Among my people, it is a custom to pledge guardianship of the children
to those who we hold in the highest regard."
O'Connell's eyes were riveted on his own, disbelief and hope reflected in their
dark surface. Ardeth held up his hand, already dripping with the blood from the
cut of his knife.
"So I do pledge."
Almost as if he had known instinctively how to respond, O'Connell reach for the
same knife, drawing across his own palm before joining hands with Ardeth.
"Our blood runs together," he said.
Ardeth recovered from his shock enough to finish the ritual. "And together shall
we guard our blood."
They stayed locked together for a few countless moments, weighing the future
possibilities. Then O'Connell cracked a smile and stepped back.
"Thanks," he said. "I guess it's my job to make sure he never needs you."
Ardeth nodded, smiling in understanding. "I shall hope to be unnecessary."
O'Connell wiped his hand on a handkerchief, though a spot of blood stained the
cuff of his suit.
"Good thing it's getting dark," he said. "Wouldn't want Evie to think I'd been
causing trouble."
Ardeth smiled. "You should return to your wife. She should not be kept waiting on
her wedding night."
O'Connell grinned again, and slapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about that,
my friend."
A blink. Quick as a butterfly's flutter, the barest brush of the inner sight, memory
only the shadow of a lightning strike.
Just that quickly his priorities reordered. Ardeth knew that his people depended on him,
but he would make the impossible happen. He had to.
"Then first, I shall help you," he agreed.
"Thank you," Rick said, and they set off into the jungle.
Ardeth prayed that he had not just sacrificed the world for friendship and the bonds
of blood. Because Allah forgive him, he didn't think he would regret the choice even
if he had.