Chapter Twenty: The Arrival

 

 

***

 

Dalil raced down the foothill, his black robes flying out from behind him as he ran at full speed toward the mess of tents.

 

“Ardeth!” he yelled frantically, gasping for breath as he passed the elder’s tent.  “Ardeth!”

 

Omar and Sharma stepped out of the tent, staring bewildered as the younger man continued to bellow the name of their leader at the top of his lungs.

 

“My son, what has happened?” Omar asked gently, stepping forward and placing his hand on Dalil’s arm.

 

“Three riders approaching!” Dalil gasped out.   “One says he is Jonathan Carnahan, the man from legend!”

 

***

 

Ardeth had not run this hard since the battle against the army of Anubis.  His heart pounded in his throat as he ran, his black robe billowing out behind him.  He had never felt so many conflicting emotions–fear and hope and relief and incredulity.  It could be a trap.  Or it could really be Jonathan.  Could Rick and Evy be with him?  Was it possible?

 

“Jonathan?” he called out as he reached the ridge, staring down at the three figures approaching on camels.  They were dressed in the clothes of the desert nomad, robes wrapped tightly about their bodies.  But Ardeth immediately discerned that all three riders were men.  Therefore Evy was not with him.  But then who?

 

The rider in front waved his arm frantically in response.  “Is that you, Ardeth old boy?”

 

Ardeth broke out into an exuberant smile.  He would recognize Jonathan Carnahan’s voice anywhere.

 

 

***

 

“My good man!” Jonathan exclaimed jovially, grinning with relief and happiness, as he and Ardeth embraced, holding each other tightly.  Ardeth never thought he would be quite so happy to hear the voice of Jonathan Carnahan.

 

“It is good to see you, my old friend,” Ardeth replied as the two men parted, grinning back at him.

They grinned stupidly at each other for a few seconds.  A crowd of Med Jai had gathered behind Ardeth to welcome the visitors.  They hadn’t seen anyone outside of the tribe for so long.  This was a real surprise, and they did not yet know if it boded well or ill for them.

 

Finally, both seemed to recover at once.  Jonathan began, gesturing towards his friends.  “Ardeth, let me introduce my traveling companions.  This is Hubert, who I worked with in Paris.”  Jonathan hesitated, then decided to tell Ardeth the details later.  “And this is Pierre, who was holding...something for us in Shanghai.”

 

Ardeth nodded at the two men, then turned back to Jonathan.  “You came all the way from Shanghai?”

 

Jonathan nodded, grinning again.  “Didn’t think I had it in me, did ya?”

 

Ardeth smiled.  Jonathan turned to Pierre and Hubert.  “And this is Ardeth Bay, leader of the Med Jai.”

 

Pierre and Hubert both lowered their heads in respect.  Ardeth, too, was a legend, as were Rick and Evy and Jonathan.  Except Ardeth was a complete mystery.  No one knew anything about the desert warrior.  He was a complete enigma.  Pierre realized with a start that he was probably only one of a dozen Westerners who had ever even seen his face.

 

Yes, this man deserved their respect indeed.

 

Ardeth smiled.  “You, of course, are all welcome.”  He gestured behind him.  “These are my people.”

 

Rashid and Sharma stepped forward, Omar and the rest of the elders behind them.  “Jonathan Carnahan,” Sharma began, her steady and confidant voice a strong contrast to her small frame and white hair.  “We bid you welcome.  Needless to say, we have heard much about you, although we never had the honor of your presence.”

 

Rashid nodded.  “We hope that you’re coming all the way here means you have some...good news for us.”

 

Sharma gave him a sharp look.  “Indeed, we have hopes.  But first things first.”  She gestured to a young man.  “Ibne here will lead you to a tent where you can bathe and wash away the grime of travel.”

 

Jonathan nodded and lowered his head in deference to her position as Elder.  “We all thank you for your hospitality,” he said formally.

 

Another young man came forward, taking their camels and leading them away.  The crowd began to disperse, whispering excitedly to themselves, although none dared approach the three Westerners.  Ardeth grinned.  “I will come and get you later, my friend.  We have much to discuss.”

 

***

 

After bathing, putting on a clean set of clothes, and eating, Jonathan, Pierre, and Hubert were met by Ardeth, who led them to his own tent.  The sun had gone down and the entire camp was bathed in dark blue light.  Far to the west, the remains of the sun lingered, rosy streaks hanging blissfully in the air.  It was beautiful, deceptively beautiful.  Too beautiful for such a barren wasteland.

 

“Feeling better?” Ardeth asked as he settled himself on a pallet, lighting the torch that illuminated the small space.

 

“Yes, much,” Jonathan confessed as he made himself comfortable.  Hubert and Pierre did the same.

 

“So,” Ardeth began, looking expectantly at Jonathan.  He was a very patient man, but his hopes and curiosities could not be contained any longer.  “You’d better tell me how you managed to get here.  And why.”

 

Jonathan took a deep breath, and began.  He left some of the details out, but he related his story fairly accurately.  Ardeth listened spellbound, gratified and excited upon hearing about the resistence movement in Paris, nervous during the recounting of their meeting with Bhunia.  By the time Jonathan got to his meeting with Pierre, Ardeth could not contain himself and the questions tumbled out of his mouth, directed at the Frenchman.

 

“You had the book?  For a month?  In China?”

 

Pierre smiled wryly.  “Indeed.”

 

Ardeth was flabbergasted.  It was the duty of his people to watch over the books.  But they were sacred to Egypt and her gods.  How did the book get to Shanghai?

 

Ardeth shook his head.  “Where did you get it?”

 

A smile tugged at the corners of Pierre’s lips as he realized how ludicrous this was.  “An antique shop.”

 

“And how did the owner of the shop get it?” Ardeth pressed.

 

Pierre shrugged.  “The guy didn’t really want to speak about it.  I had to give him a lot of encouragement to pass it over.”

 

“You didn’t ask?”

 

Pierre shook his head.  “In my business you learn not to ask too many questions.  I don’t know where he got it.”  He paused.  “All I know is that there is a lot more to this book and to the legends than anyone ever knew.  I have no idea how the book got there, but I would hazard a guess that no human being brought it all the way to China.”

 

Ardeth nodded, a slight smile flitting across his face.  “I suppose I must agree with you.”

 

Jonathan quickly finished the tale, bringing Ardeth up to date.  He also informed him of the information Nazir had given him.  “Evy is still alive, enslaved in Imhotep’s palace.  And Rick is supposedly alive too, toiling with the other slaves in building the grand palace.”

 

“And the boy?” Ardeth asked.

 

“Alex?  Yes, he’s alive too, apparently with Evy.”

 

Ardeth exhaled, and gave him a truly hopeful smile.  “So we’re all still alive.  That seems more like fate than coincidence, does it not?”

 

Jonathan smiled tentatively.  “We’ve never lost before.”

 

“No, we haven’t,” Ardeth agreed, nodding his head.  “And we won’t start now.”

 

Jonathan felt warmed inside.  It felt good to see the old Ardeth–the leader, assertive and self-assured.

 

“So we’re all still alive, and you’ve brought me the book,” Ardeth continued, a tinge of awe in his voice.  After so many months of depression and fear and utter loss of hope–well, it was almost unbelievable.

 

“Yes, but we can’t open it,” Hubert inserted dejectedly.

 

“What?” Ardeth asked, immediately crashing out of his reverie. 

 

“Yes, we were hoping that you had the key,” Pierre said.

 

Ardeth was crushed.  “We don’t have it.  I was assuming that you did.”  He sighed, reality crushing all of his new hopes.  “I suppose it must be buried, somewhere out in the desert of Ahm Shere,” he concluded reluctantly, his disappointment and frustration showing clearly on his face.

 

“Actually, erm,” Jonathan coughed.  “That’s not quite right.”

 

“You know where the key is?” Pierre asked with interest.

 

“Erm, yes, I do,” Jonathan admitted, afraid to spill the beans after guarding the information for so long.

“Well, where is it?” Ardeth demanded.

 

“In my suitcase.”

 

Silence descended upon the quartet.  Jonathan winced.

 

“You had the key to it all along?” Pierre asked softly.

 

“Yes, old boy,” Jonathan replied cheerfully.

 

“You had the key all along?” Pierre yelled, standing up and waving his arms about.

 

“Calm down,” Ardeth said, ducking his head to see Jonathan through Pierre’s legs as the Frenchman gesticulated wildly.

 

“Uh huh,” Jonathan admitted charmingly, smiling up at the Frenchman.

 

“Where?” Pierre demanded, looking at Jonathan accusingly.

 

“Inside the clay figure of the Virgin Mary.”

 

Abruptly Pierre laughed.  “You mean it’s been inside that ugly figurine this entire time?”

 

Jonathan nodded sheepishly.

 

Pierre continued chuckling.  “I knew it, Evans.  I knew you weren’t the religious type!”

 

“Stop,” Ardeth commanded, compelling silence.  “You’re telling me that you’ve brought me both the Book of the Dead and the key all the way from Shanghai?”

 

All three men nodded.

 

Ardeth stood, his black robes flowing over his muscular form.  For the first time, he stood before the three men as a leader, as a warrior, as a man born to rule his people.  A new look came over Ardeth’s face, one of determination and purpose, and Jonathan recognized it.  He had seen it but a few times in his life, but it was the same look Ardeth had worn as he demonstrated the only way to kill an Anubis warrior, before he himself ventured into the jungles of Ahm Shere.  A look of resolve, courage, and utter self-confidence.

 

Ardeth was a man to be feared, but above all, respected.

 

“Go and get them.”

 

All three men stood in silence.  Jonathan looked into Ardeth’s eyes as he spoke.  “Hubert, get our suitcases.”

Hubert disappeared.  A few moments later he reappeared, dragging the heavy suitcase behind him.  Without speaking, Jonathan opened it and lifted out the clay figurine.  Without fanfare he turned, lifted it high above his head, and smashed it against the rocky ground.

 

The clay flew apart, shards flying and landing all over the small tent floor.  Dust hung in the air over the chalky mess, and Jonathan got down on his hands and knees, sorting through the remains. 

 

After what seemed like an eternity, he picked up a dust covered object.  With reverence, he wiped it on his new clothes, gently cleaning the object until it gleamed silvery in the torchlight.

 

“Oh my God,” Pierre murmured in awe as Jonathan turned the key in his palm, feeling the familiar touch and weight of it.  Something always drew Jonathan to the key, as though he were meant to be its keeper.

 

Hubert’s jaw dropped.  There was something...unsettling about the silver object, something mystical...it was almost as if the little box had its own aura...its own sinister purposes...

 

Ardeth moved forward, getting a closer look at it.  Jonathan handed it over without a word, feeling foolish.  If anyone was the keeper of the key, it was Ardeth.

 

Ardeth tested the weight in his palm, then, surprisingly, handed it right back to Jonathan.  It was certainly the key, but it never felt right when he held it.  He felt uneasy, knowing that the key was an object of the Gods, an object not of this world that refused to be contained by human hands.  It gleamed in the light, and it seemed to be taunting him... “It is as you say,” he stated.  “It is the key.”

 

Hubert’s jaw dropped another inch.

 

Ardeth turned, still every bit the King of the Med Jai.  But when he spoke, his voice was scratchy with emotion.  “And the book?”

 

Without a word Jonathan lifted out the two false bottoms, the elaborate costume jewelry sliding out and falling to the ground.  And he lifted out the black Book of the Dead.

 

Ardeth shook his head gently, as though his mind refused to believe what his eyes told him was true.  Jonathan lifted away the cloth and revealed the book in all its majesty.  In his hand he still held the key.

 

“Open it,” Ardeth whispered reverentially.  Jonathan hesitated.  Was he ready for this?

 

“Do it,” Pierre murmured, caught up in the spell the book wove with whomever came in contact with it.

 

Jonathan searched for the trigger, and finding it, pressed the button.  The key opened with a hiss, the five prongs whipping out with perfect synchronization.  It held an odd, sinister beauty that Jonathan could not resist.

 

He placed the key in the opening to the book.  He slowly turned it.  The hinges of the book clicked, popped open.  The sound of the book unlocking woke Jonathan from the spell, and he released the key, leaving it in the lock, and stepped away from the table, almost afraid of what he had done.

 

“Leave it,” Ardeth said, looking almost afraid of what he had started.  “We need a plan.”

 

 

***

 

Ardeth left abruptly to search for the Elders and to inform them of the recent developments.  He promised to return soon and bring them before the council.

 

Jonathan and Pierre sat waiting on a rock near Ardeth’s tent.  Hubert had gone off to get some water for them, so the two men sat in silence, ruminating over the recent events.  Inside the tent, the book still lay, but neither man felt like sitting inside with it.  It was eerie, unnatural...they felt uneasy around it, both understanding implicitly that it was not of their world, and not to be trifled with.

 

“So, Carnahan,” Pierre began, picking his teeth with his knife.  Jonathan noticed that this was the first time Pierre had called him by his Christian name.  “Why didn’t you tell us about the key?”

 

Jonathan hesitated, unsure of what to say.  Finally he decided on the simple truth.  Pierre was a man who could handle it.  And after all that they had been through, he deserved to be told the truth.  “I wasn’t sure I could trust you.  And–”

 

“What?” Pierre prompted, not offended in the least and truly interested.

 

“The truth is that every time that book has been opened it’s been bad news.  I didn’t want to tempt fate, you know?”

 

Pierre nodded, staring out into the desert, black and endless and strangely seductive.  “I think I understand.”

 

“And–” Jonathan hesitated again, but Pierre did not push him.  Finally Jonathan spoke.  “The truth is that I’m afraid of what I might do with the book.  I’m not like my sister Evy or my nephew Alex.  I’m not good enough to handle it.  I just don’t have a good enough grasp of the ancient language, its innuendoes and double meanings.”  Jonathan sighed, hanging his head.  He felt tired and worn out.  “The book is so powerful...I was afraid if I opened it, I would be unleashing something that I wouldn’t be able to handle.”

 

Pierre leaned back, stretching his arms high over his head.  He turned and looked at Jonathan, and their eyes met.  “Well, we’ve taken it to the right place.”

 

A weary smile flickered over Jonathan’s face.  “Yeah,” he agreed.  “The only place.”

 

 

***

 

“This new information is invaluable.  This is what we have been waiting for,” Ardeth asserted, beginning to pace again.  “Let us plan for the future.  First, we must infiltrate the slaves.”

 

The council was having, as usual, a heated debate, except that this time Ardeth discerned, not with a little enjoyment, that the elders were much more willing to listen to his advice.

 

“To reach the imprisoned Med Jai?” Sharma asked, immediately understanding where Ardeth’s thoughts were leading.

 

“Yes,” Ardeth replied, rubbing his hands together as he thought.  “We must send an emissary to tell our brothers that we still live.  We know from our scouts–Hamir and Dalil–that there are at least twenty Med Jai enslaved by the Creature.  And,” he added, “we have just learned that Rick O’Connell is enslaved there also.  If this is so, it is imperative that we reach him.”

 

“What good would reaching them do?” Rashid asked, cautiously, but without rancor.  “We have no plan.”

 

“We must give them hope,” Ardeth argued.  “Those that are imprisoned do not know if any Med Jai still live.  If we can reach them, we will let them know there is a reason to survive.  Giving them hope will prepare them for the coming battle–the battle we must fight if we are ever to defeat Imhotep.”

 

“This is true, Ardeth, but shouldn’t we wait until we know what our plan is before sending someone off to be a slave?” Sharma asked, raising her eyebrow.

 

Ardeth hesitated.  “Ideally, yes.  But if something should happen to our emissary, and he was...discovered, tortured...he must know nothing.  He must have nothing to give away.”

 

“So,” Rashid began, a hint of sarcasm filling his voice.  “Who will you choose to undertake this dangerous mission?”  Silence descended over the council.

 

“I will do it,” a voice spoke up from the corner.

 

Rashid turned his head, searching into the dark corners of the tent for the owner of the brave statement.

 

Adil stepped nervously forward.  “I will join the slaves and tell them that their tribe lives.”

 

Ardeth shook his head.  “Adil, no, you are too young.”

 

But Adil stood his ground.  “I am nearly twenty years old, and I am ready to serve my people.”

 

A lump rose in Ardeth’s throat, as he realized that Adil would run through fire for his commander, for his leader–for him.  Ardeth had truly come to see Adil as the younger brother Allah had not blessed him with.  For all his talk, Ardeth suddenly realized how much he wanted to protect him, how little he wanted to risk yet another life.

 

Ardeth swallowed and walked forward and embraced the younger man.  “Are you sure, Adil?”

 

“Yes, my leader.”

 

Ardeth sighed heavily.  “Then this quest will fall upon your shoulders, Adil.  Know that our hearts and minds are with you.  We pray for your safety.  You sacrifice and risk for your people, who honor you.”

 

Adil nodded, his face suddenly looking every inch the young nineteen years that he was.

 

Ardeth continued, smiling gently down at Adil, his features full of pride.  “Do not take stupid risks.  We need men like you.  Come back to us safely.”

 

Adil nodded seriously.  “I will, my leader.”

 

“How do you propose,” Rashid interrupted, “we reach the Med Jai and O’Connell without giving ourselves away?”

 

Ardeth smiled, looking up at Rashid.  “I have an idea.”

 

 

***