Chapter Thirteen: More Waiting

 

 

***

 

There was nothing to do, and Ardeth found himself wandering listlessly around the camp.  While the other Med Jai were completing the basic tasks of desert living, Ardeth had nothing to fill his time.

 

He wandered to the “barn,” which several of the men called it as a joke, where the remaining livestock were kept.  It was actually just a small plateau on the mountain with rocks on three sides.  The male Med Jai took turns watching and feeding the animals–clumps of grass, roots, acorns–anything the desert people could take from the clutching mountain.  Ardeth exchanged pleasantries with the men working there, encouraging them.  But his words were brighter than his thoughts.

 

About seventy five percent of the tribe’s livestock had been destroyed by the Priest’s onslaught.  What remained were some sheep and goats and a few pigs, and they were being carefully tended.  It was crucial–for food, for milk, for clothing–that the animals continue to mate.  If the tribe had lost all of their animals, most of the small children would have died.

 

After speaking briefly with a few of the men on duty, Ardeth walked down the steep path to the women’s circle, where many of the mothers were sewing new clothing while they watched their children play.  Several of the mothers were spinning the precious sheepskin into wool, which would keep many of the tribe warm in the cool desert nights.

 

Finally, weary and bored, Ardeth returned to his tent.  He lay down and closed his eyes, remembering a better time.  As the afternoon wore on, he slowly drifted off, until he was completely asleep.  He slept restlessly, disjointed thoughts swirling through his troubled mind.  As he slept, he dreamed...he remembered...

                               

“Truly, Ardeth, you must know the constellation of Orion, the great hunter,” she murmured, pointing up, where the great stars were twinkling in the dark clear sky.

 

“Indeed, my mother taught me his shape,” Ardeth insisted, attempting to retain a few shreds of dignity.

 

Sakina laughed.  “You have no eye for the heavens, my Leader,” she said, leaning back, her long wavy hair sliding past her shoulders, hanging gently down her back.

 

“I do not spend my time on those things that do not effect me or my people,” he responded seriously. 

 

“But does not everything in our world–the sun, the warm sand, the eastern wind blowing in from the Nile–somehow, somewhere, effect our people?” she asked, a slight twinkle in her eye.

 

“You are disagreeing with me on purpose,” Ardeth exclaimed.  “The design of the stars is constant–it cannot effect how we work and live.”

                     

Sakina laughed.  “Although, my Leader, it may appear so, you yourself know that the sky is constantly changing.”

 

“Perhaps,” he acquiesced, drolly arching his eyebrow. “Although I may not know much about astronomy,” he affirmed, “I know that the great North Star, Sirius, never moves.”  He leaned back, admiring her proud, intelligent face bathed in shadows and moonlight. 

 

“But Ardeth, everything in the universe is moving,” she replied with mock seriousness, enjoying simply teasing him.

 

Ardeth groaned in mock frustration.  “You know as well as I that from our earth the sky appears forever constant and unchanging.”

 

“But the earth, the sand under your feet, is moving too, is it not?”   She smiled gently, the moonlight cascading off her gleaming hair.  Her smile faded softly, and she became serious again.  “Ah, Ardeth, what would you do if suddenly the rudder of your ship failed to steer you home?”  And in that moment, in her dark eyes, Ardeth knew her not as woman of the tribe but as mother, as goddess, as the priestess of the day and of the night who, in her words, will bestow upon men the blessings of wisdom.

 

***

 

Ardeth sat up abruptly, surprised at himself for falling asleep.  What time was it?  He brushed aside the worn flap of the tent, realizing from the position of the sun that it was only an hour or two until sunset.

 

“Damn,” he muttered, rising from his pallet and slowly stretching out his sore muscles.  He made his way outside, shielding his eyes from where the sun was low and orange in the sky.

 

“Ardeth,” a voice called to him, and he turned away from the western sky to face Adil as the young man, breathing heavily, made his way up the steep path. 

 

“Ardeth,” he said again, panting, coming to a rest before his leader.

 

“Yes, Adil?” Ardeth asked, slightly amused at the other man’s eagerness.

 

“I’ve been thinking,” the younger man blurted, regaining his breath.

 

“That’s good,” Ardeth replied, hiding a smile.

 

“I was thinking,” Adil continued breathlessly, “why didn’t Imhotep raise lots of dead slaves to serve him?  I mean, why use lots of human slaves who could be difficult when he could just raise lots of dead, docile slaves instead?” he finished in a rush, bumbling through some of the words in the process of explaining his idea. 

 

“Why didn’t Imhotep raise lots of dead slaves?”  Ardeth repeated, the question slowly making sense in his sleep addled brain. 

 

“Yes,” the younger man replied, waiting eagerly for Ardeth’s reply.

 

“Why didn’t Imhotep raise lots of dead slaves,” Ardeth said again, thinking aloud.  He began to pace slowly back and forth in front of the entrance to his tent.

 

“That’s a good question, a very good question,” he murmured, his mind working frantically as he tried to remember his own past with the High Priest.

 

“When I encountered the Creature for the first time,” Ardeth began, thinking back on the many times he had faced Imhotep, “we were in Cairo.  He raised many dead slaves to follow and attack us.  They had sores and boils on their skin, and they followed us into the Museum of Antiquities.  I remember, I remember so well...” Ardeth’s voice trailed off as he remembered standing on the balcony as Evy read the ancient words, watching the dead slowly advance towards them...

 

He mentally shook off the horrors of the memory.  “If Imhotep had the Book of the Dead then, and then he used it to raise the dead, why didn’t he do it again?” he asked aloud.

 

Adil wanted to be helpful and give an intelligent answer.  But Ardeth was so far beyond him, in memory and experience, that the young man decided to remain silent, watching his mentor in almost a state of awe.

 

But Ardeth was already running with a new thought, thinking out loud while he paced.  “Imhotep could easily resurrect Anck-su-namun without the black book–their souls were intertwined, tied together in life and death.  Even his dead Priests, his mummies, could be raised without the black book, for they were his guards, his followers, and would obey him.”  Ardeth suddenly stopped, running his fingers agitatedly through his hair.  “But to raise slaves–with whom Imhotep had no binding tie–or modern day citizens killed by his onslaught, he would need the Book of the Dead.”

 

Adil remained silent as he watched Ardeth pace like a panther in a cage, his taut muscles rippling as he moved, silent and graceful as a jungle cat.

 

“But Imhotep didn’t raise ancient slaves or modern day citizens.  Why?”  Ardeth looked up at Adil, both slightly afraid to voice the answer forming in their minds.

 

Ardeth continued, excitement beginning to show in his voice.  “Because he didn’t have the power to.  He couldn’t.”

 

In the silence, the Med Jai leader finished the unspoken thought.  “Perhaps Imhotep does not have the Book of the Dead,” Ardeth breathed.

 

Adil’s young face paled slightly at the implications of this statement.

 

There was a heavy silence while both men considered this new possibility.  “If Imhotep does not have the Book of the Dead, then who does?” Adil asked timidly, breaking the silence.

 

After a long pause, Ardeth spoke.  “I don’t know.”

 

***

 

After informing the elders of their new discovery, Ardeth returned wearily to his tent, his copper skin streaked with dirt and sweat.  He longed for a bath, but water was scarce, so he had accustomed himself to bathing with only one small cup-full of water.

 

They had listened eagerly, excited by the possibility that they had some advantage over the High Priest.  But, as always, they were unsure about taking action.  All of the elders agreed that there was evidence to suggest Imhotep did not have the book, but they also agreed that the evidence was circumstantial.  Ardeth closed his eyes and remembered Sharma’s words.  “Imhotep might still have the black book.  If we are lucky, and he does not have it, we still have no idea where it is.  It is still highly dangerous to take the offensive when we know so little.”  Ardeth watched while the elders all nodded their heads. 

 

Ardeth was so tired of arguing with them he didn’t even disagree.

 

Omar had nodded sympathetically with Ardeth, stating that this was an important insight that could be used to the Med Jai’s advantage.  But, he cautioned, with a note of sadness in his eyes, that the desert tribe was too weak.  “A failed attempt on Anck-su-namun’s life could mean the end of the Med Jai,” he stated gently.

 

And Ardeth had bowed his head, accepting what he had not wanted to ever admit: that the twelve tribes of the Med Jai had been reduced to one, that many had died, that they had been defeated, and that they might never be strong enough to challenge the High Priest again.

 

He sat down heavily on the edge of his pallet, quietly untangling a knot in his dark, long hair.  His thoughts, as they often did, returned to Sakina.  He found himself thinking more and more about her as the weeks passed on, as he and his people became more and more removed from the struggles of the real world.  The longer they did not act, the more Ardeth became entwined in his memories and dreams.

 

Her face rose before him, clearer than ever, and Ardeth allowed himself to fantasize about what life would have been like if Imhotep had not risen again, if he had married Sakina, if he had had children by her. 

 

His little son calls his name as he returns, running into his waiting arms.  ‘My boy,’ he murmurs, as Sakina approaches, kissing him gently on the cheek as she lifts his boy out of his arms.  She tells him what they did that day, what little Ardeth said and did, as they eat.  Later, when the boy sleeps, they lie together, speaking in hushed tones, and then they become one, join together as man and woman, and he knows true happiness...

 

But, of course, and as always, it was just a fantasy.  She was dead and gone.  And he had never even kissed her.

 

Gripping his face in his calloused hands, Ardeth admitted to himself that, perhaps, he was more in love with the memory of her than with her.  Sakina represented his old life, his life before Imhotep took control, a time of happiness and prosperity.  She was a symbol in his heart of all that he had lost.  And for the rest of his life, he would bear her memory with him.

                                                     

Ardeth sighed again.  No matter what their relationship was, or how much he had truly loved her, she was gone.  He closed his eyes, allowing himself to float back into his memories.

 

***

 

“Sakina,” he said, coming up behind her at the watering well.  She lifted her bucket, brimming and full, her arms bronzed and strong.  “Let me help you,” he insisted, coming over to lift the weight from her shoulders.

 

“Ardeth,” she replied, with a shaking of her head and a half smile.  “It is my responsibility.  I will carry this load.”

 

And when he protested, she become serious, resting her free hand on his arm while she balanced the heavy bucket against her hip.  “There is not much I can do, Ardeth Bay, as a woman in this tribe.  I will carry this load.”

 

And so he let her, walking her home, feeling foolish as she staggered slightly under the weight.  At her door, she smiled and thanked him.  He would always remember that lovely smile.  “You are a good man,” she said.

 

“Not as good as many,” he responded as she set the water down on the damp earth.

 

“No,” she said after a moment, her eyes searching, pondering his face.  “You are better than most.”

 

“You flatter me, lady,” he said, bowing, lifting her hand up to his lips.  He gently kissed her skin, her hand warm in his palm.

 

She smiled, merriment and pleasure crinkling her eyes.  But there was no coyness, none of the shock of a girl.  “You are wise in the ways of women, my leader,” she said, her voice tinkling with mirth, like the wood chimes Ardeth’s mother used to make when he was a boy.

“Not so wise,” he replied, laughing, “for I still do not have a wife.”

 

They looked at each other, in the silence.  “Nor I a husband,” she replied quietly, slowly withdrawing her hand from his warm grasp.  She turned to go inside, but stopped, looking up into his dark eyes.

 

“You understand me, Ardeth,” she said earnestly, resting one hand on her heart.  “You, too, would do anything for your people.”

 

***

 

The rustling of his tent brought Ardeth abruptly back to the present.  He forced Sakina from his mind, standing up and rapidly rubbing his eyes as Rashid dropped the flap behind him. 

 

“Ardeth,” he said cautiously, moving forward into the light of the candle.  “I have a few words I wish to speak to you,” he continued, looking slightly ill at ease.

 

“Yes, Rashid?” Ardeth asked tiredly, leaning back up against the main pole supporting the burlap tent, expecting another lecture.

 

But none came.  Instead Rashid continued to look at him, unsure of how he wanted to phrase his thoughts.  He looked down at his gnarled old hands, hands that were once supple and strong.  In the end, he opted for honesty.  “I was not happy when you were made Leader.  I thought your father was a great man, and I thought you were too young.”

 

Rashid paused, looking up to see the effect these words were having on the younger man.  Ardeth did not look especially surprised.

 

“You were always respectful enough, Elder,” Ardeth commented wryly.

                                                                                                           

Rashid met his eyes, sympathy and sorrow etching his features.

 

“Ardeth, I may not have always agreed with your decisions, or your methods, but you have proven your bravery, your loyalty, and your good judgement many times.  I understand better than most the tremendous accomplishment of stopping Imhotep.”  Rashid paused to take a breath.  “I know, now,” he conceded, “that you are worthy to follow your father.”

 

Ardeth dropped his gaze, embarrassed at the rush of emotion flooding his own features.

 

“I know also,” Rashid persisted softly, “how proud he would have been of you.”

 

A lump rose in Ardeth’s throat.  Rashid, seeing the effect of his words on the young leader, quickly pressed his point. “We have much respect for you, son of Hakim Muhammed Bay. But that does not mean you are invincible, that does not mean that we cannot advise you.  You must allow us to help you.”

Ardeth turned away to hide the tears in his eyes.

 

The two men, one a battle-hardened warrior and leader of his people, one a revered, wise, and frail old man, stood in silence together.  And perhaps, as they stood there, they began to come together, and each repented the enmity that had come between them.

 

After a few long minutes, Rashid gently broke the silence.

 

“Do you know, Ardeth, of the Greek tale, the story of Perseus?”

 

Ardeth slowly nodded his assent, wondering where the old man was going.

 

“It was the great Perseus who slayed the terrible beast Medusa, with her head of writhing snakes.  He was a brave young man, full of tales of honor and glory and the greatness of his ancestors.”  Rashid paused, the deliberate pause of the storyteller. 

 

“When Perseus reached that place, Medusa’s birthplace, that place of silence and terrored stone...”  Rashid paused again, the ancient words flowing like poetry off his tongue.  “He watched her rise above him, watching her through the gleaming metal of his golden shield.”

 

Rashid paced a few steps, his voice haunting and melodious, enveloping Ardeth in the ancient story.  “They fought.  They fought a horrible battle, as no mortal has ever seen or dared to imagine.  Finally, in his darkest moment, with Medusa’s hot breath against his neck, when he was sure that all was lost....”

 

Rashid swallowed, his eyes slightly glazed over. “He struck, he struck her with his mighty sword, he severed her writhing head from her body.  And when he held her giant head in his hands, the snakes torpid and cold...”  Rashid paused again, lost in the images of his tale. 

 

“When he held her head in his hands, they say that

‘none could have passed him then–

no garland bearing girl, no priest

or staring boy–and lived.’”

 

Ardeth was silent, lost in the ancient fable, the same words of spoken poetry passed on from generation to generation.  It chilled him slightly to think that this, one of the many stories his mother had told him as a boy, had been told to his ancestors thousands of years ago.

 

Rashid slowly turned to Ardeth, his eyes slightly damp.  “In stopping the horrible beast, Perseus himself became the murderer.  He himself became the creature he had sworn to kill.”

          

Ardeth stayed silent, understanding the parable yet still caught up in its majesty.

 

Rahid sighed.  “Do you understand what I am saying, Ardeth?  No matter how badly we wish to fight and destroy Imhotep, we must not sink to his levels.  We cannot risk becoming what we have pledged to hate and destroy.”

 

Ardeth remained silent, not quite trusting his voice to hold steady.  “Sometimes does it not take a monster to kill one?”

 

Rashid nodded gently.  “But we must hold true to the honor of our ancestors.”  He took a step towards his Leader.  “Would you kill one innocent man to send Imhotep back to his grave?  Two?”

 

Ardeth looked up, but could not answer.

 

“Would you kill fifty innocent people?  A hundred?  A thousand?

 

“Ardeth...”  the elder spoke into the silence. “These are not easy questions.  But you must be ready to answer them.”  He paused again, struggling with the difficult words. “You see...I am afraid of what we might do in the name of our people.  I am afraid of what we might sacrifice, in integrity, in humanity.”  Rashid met Ardeth’s eyes.  And in the old man’s eyes was a plea.

 

“I am afraid that in this final battle we will be forced to act, to make choices...we will lose our honor.  And we will lose ourselves.”

 

“I will never become Imhotep,” Ardeth asserted fiercely.  But in the old man’s words, the Leader of the Med Jai heard wisdom.

 

Ardeth was no wise-man, and he was certainly no scholar.  He was a fighter, a leader, a man who inspired such bravery and loyalty in his troops that they would follow him to the ends of the earth.  Indeed, Rashid’s words touched him, but it was not the words of a parable that touched his heart.  It was his warrior’s instinct.

 

In the silence that followed, Ardeth remembered words he had spoken long ago, words he had spoken to a friend in need.  Words he had spoken to stop a man from throwing his life away.

 

He remembered the look of pain on Rick O’Connell’s face, the frustration, the anger.  The deep, burning desire of a warrior to fight, to prove his valor, to use his strength and skill.  But Ardeth had held him back. 

 

They truly were brothers, weren’t they?  And with the same words, whispered in his own memories, Ardeth held himself back.

 

Live today, fight tomorrow.

 

Ardeth sighed heavily, looking up into Rashid’s concerned eyes.  “We will wait.  We will wait until we are stronger.  And when that day comes, when the moment comes when we have an advantage over the Creature...we will strike.”

 

And Rashid, too, in his wisdom, bowed his head.

 

 

***

 

Note: The quoted lines at the end of the chapter are from the Robert Hayden poem “Perseus.”

 

***