Chapter Twenty-Four: Contact

 

 

***

 

Rick sat idly by the fire, warming his calloused and cracked hands.  The labor had really taken a toll on his hands.  Turning them over in the flickering light, Rick looked closely at the various scars and marks his flesh now bore, evidence of the work he had done for Imhotep.  He would bear some of these scars his entire life.

 

He could measure the passing of time by the state of his hands.

 

The desert cooled at night, and Rick shivered slightly, edging a tiny bit closer to the fire.  Several other men sat silently around it, taking from it what little warmth they could.

 

If he closed his eyes, Rick could see Evy’s face, and if he concentrated, he could see Alex, grown a little, taller, but still with that boyish grin.  He was missing seeing his little boy grow up.

 

He opened his eyes, allowing himself to stare blindly into the flames, to float off into trance.  When he was lost in his memories and his hopes he momentarily forgot the harsh reality of his life.  Each night he picked a memory and held onto it, memorized it, clutched it to his chest and allowed the warmth of it to spread through him.  Anjelica, and the memories, were the only things that kept him sane.

 

Rick sighed, allowing the fire to warm his face.  The flames danced shadows across his face, illuminating and then hiding his weary features.  Tonight...tonight he would pick a special memory.  A memory untainted by Imhotep, by Egypt, by the presence of anyone but her.

 

Evy.

 

Their wedding night.

 

He felt his eyes dampen as he remembered their wedding night.  They had been married in Cairo but had spent a week in Rome for their honeymoon.  They had spent it lying in bed in a little hotel near the Spanish Steps, making love and holding each other and talking.  They had done a little sightseeing of course–Rick smiled when he remembered Evy’s insistence, on their fifth day, that they actually leave the hotel room.  So they had wandered around and done a little shopping and even saw the Pantheon, on Evy’s insistence.

 

It hadn’t been hard to convince her to return to the hotel, though.

 

That week had been so wonderful, so magical.  He had been so nervous that Evy would suddenly realize that she had made a mistake, that she didn’t really love him, that she could never be happy with a man so different from herself.  But that hadn’t happened.  It had been a dream.  She loved him.  And she wanted him.

 

That week was probably Rick’s happiest memory, the happiest memory he had in his entire arsenal of memories.  Evy, and him, alone, tangled in sheets.  Lying next to each other, listening to their breathing in the quiet room.

 

That had been heaven.

 

And this was hell.

 

“Rick.”

 

He looked up as Anjelica sat quietly beside him.  There was no need for more words.  The comfort they gave each other was a silent, gentle support of understanding and acceptance.  Words were often unnecessary.  What was important was sitting next to each other, being there for each other.

 

Rick didn’t feel like talking tonight.  The memory of Evy was too fresh and too painful.

 

They sat in silence for a long time.  The flames flickered over their faces in the dark, soothing their raw nerves.

 

Finally Anjelica spoke.  “I’ve been thinking,” she said softly, “how glad I am that my father did not live to see this.”

 

Rick looked up, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.  “He was a general.  He would have fought to the end.”

 

She nodded softly, a tear glistening on her cheek.  “But if he’d been captured he would have died here, thinking every day on his failure, until it killed him.  Because that’s the kind of man he was.”

 

Rick smiled at her gently.  “But we’re different.  We, too, think every day of our failure.  But we will never allow Imhotep to triumph over our minds, over our will.”

 

“No,” she answered softly.  “But sometimes I think it would be easier to just give up.  To stop caring and stop hating him and just give in.”

 

“Never let him break your spirit,” Rick said gently.

 

She brushed her stringy brown hair away from her face, her words sliding into the dark air.  “Every person has a breaking point.” 

 

“I know,” he replied.  “But I know you.  Imhotep will have to do a lot worse to get you to break.”

 

She smiled at him gratefully.  “Thank you.”

 

They lapsed again into silence.  But the silence was comforting, more than any words could ever be.  He could feel the warmth of Anjelica’s body next to him–the body of a fellow soldier, a comrade, a friend.  They would stick through this together, no matter how long it took.

 

Rick would wait forever for his chance.  Imhotep could scar and mark his body, but he would never break his will.

 

 

***

 

 

As it grew late, Anjelica had to leave to rejoin the women’s quarters, and she softly pressed her hand to his shoulder as she left.

 

Rick sighed, watching her dark form depart.  He should be going to bed soon, too, for it was only six hours or so until dawn.  He needed his sleep.  But this was the only free time they had each day, and Rick was loathe to relinquish any of it.

 

He would stay up, a little bit longer.

 

Two men on the other side of the fire were playing checkers on the sandy ground with pebbles and sticks.  Rick groaned to himself.  He could really use a swig of brandy.  He remembered life in the Cairo prison, and at least there, if you had the means, it was possible to trade for luxury goods–cigarettes, chocolate, a hair comb.   Here, there was nothing but desert.

 

Rick rubbed his red eyes.  He should really go to sleep.

 

He opened his eyes only to see the dark shape of a body sitting down next to him.

 

No one ever sat next to him except Anjelica.

 

He looked up sharply.  A young man was seated next to him, warming his hands by the fire.  He seemed calm, composed, as though he had no idea who Rick was.

 

Everyone knew who Rick was.  And that’s why they stayed away from him.  Fear, awe, respect–all those things kept men distant.

 

But this one sat, warming his hands.  Rick tensed, on his guard.

 

“Can I help you, friend?” he asked, narrowing his eyes and looking him over.

 

The young man looked over at him.  “You are Rick O’Connell?”

 

Everyone knew who he was.  “Yes,” he replied plainly.  “Who are you?”

 

The man turned his face towards him, and Rick could see the Med Jai tattoos there.  “A slave here, like yourself.”

 

Rick’s eyes danced over the dark marks on the young man’s face.  He couldn’t be more than twenty years old.  “I see.”

 

“You are unhappy here,” the darker man said, looking into the fire.

 

“Really?  What makes you say that?” Rick asked sarcastically.  His eyes flickered once again over the Med Jai tattoos.  They looked like Med Jai tattoos.  But it was equally possible that they weren’t.

 

“No one wants to be a slave,” he replied calmly.

 

This could be trap sent by Imhotep.  Rick hesitated, unsure of how to respond.  Could Imhotep be trying to trick him into saying something that could get him executed?  But if Imhotep wanted him dead why wouldn’t he just kill him?

 

“No, no one chooses to be a slave,” Rick replied carefully.

 

“And all slaves want to be free,” the man replied.  He paused, musing.  “And in time, they will gain their freedom.  No people can be contained forever.”

 

Rick gave a short laugh, trying to hide how intently he was studying his face.  “So you are an idealist.”

 

“If you like,” the stranger agreed, rubbing his hands gently near the fire.  “Nothing lasts forever.  Kings fall.  Power shifts.”  He met Rick’s eyes.  “Nothing is certain.”

 

Rick turned away, looking into the flames.  He couldn’t miss the obvious allusions the man was making to their own enslaved situation.  Was this a trap or not?  He couldn’t tell yet.  “True,” he replied guardedly.  “All things must come to an end.  Eventually.”

 

“We think that they will come to an end.  Soon,” the other man said casually, as though he were commenting on the weather.  Rick tensed, felt his muscles coil into readiness.

 

“We?” he asked curiously.

 

“I have been sent.  To find you and tell you of recent...developments in the resistence movement.”

 

“And what are these developments?” Rick asked, knowing he was treading on very dangerous ground.

 

“There will be a battle launched against Imhotep’s palace.  Soon.  We must prepare the slaves to be ready.”

 

The man looked quickly around the fire, looking carefully at the other slaves sitting nearby, but no one was paying them any attention.

 

Rick examined the man’s face in silence.  He looked sincere.  But something was wrong with this picture.  How did the man get here?  How did he get that information?  And, as far as Rick knew, all of the surviving Med Jai were imprisoned by Imhotep.  Something was definitely wrong.

 

“And who exactly sent you?” Rick asked, his eyes seeking out a weapon he could use quickly if he had too.  He quickly picked out a stick in the fire, one end sticking into the night air, the other end smoldering with flame.  He tensed, ready to spring for it if he had to.

 

The younger man hesitated. “Ardeth Bay sent me.”

 

Rick’s heart shot up into his throat.

 

Without hesitating Rick grabbed the stranger by the throat with both hands, his eyes narrowed and glistening fiercely in the firelight.  “Wrong answer, buddy.  So who are you really working for?”

 

Adil gasped, his hands flapping feebly about his neck, but Rick was not holding him tight enough to suffocate him.

 

“My friend,” Adil got out, “Ardeth is alive.  I have seen him.”

 

Rick tightened his hold.  He would kill this little upstart for lying.  “Where?”

 

A few of the other slaves around the fire noticed the scuffle, but turned their faces away, ignoring Adil’s gasps for air.  If there was going to be trouble, they wanted no part of it.

 

“Are those Med Jai tattoos even real?” Rick continued disdainfully.  “Or did you copy them from the corpse of a real man?”

 

“In the mountains, to the west.”  Adil’s chest racked with a cough as he attempted to draw more air into his lungs.

 

“And why exactly should I trust you?” Rick asked casually, a single flap of hair falling forward over his searing blue eyes.  He tightened his hold on Adil’s neck.

 

“I will tell you,” Adil gasped.  “I have a message, from Ardeth, your ancient brother.”

 

Rick paused.  While most people knew Rick and Ardeth had fought together against Imhotep as brothers in spirit, most did not know that they had been best friends in ancient times.  It was possible the stranger was telling the truth.  If this really was a Med Jai he didn’t want to kill him.  Having nothing to lose, Rick abruptly released him.  Adil gasped and breathed heavily, regaining his composure.  But he made no move to run away.

 

“Talk,” Rick ordered as the younger man rubbed his sore neck.

 

Adil looked up at Rick, afraid but not angry.  Adil felt as though his eyes had been harshly pulled open.  He was just beginning to realize how difficult it was to live and survive in this treacherous, broken world.

 

Adil had been protected his entire life.  He had never left the Med Jai village, and the past two years he had been isolated in the mountains.

 

But Rick O’Connell had been living utterly alone in the world, forced to rely on only his instincts, forced to survive with no one to trust.  This was where real men lived, fought, and died; where there was nowhere to hide.  Adil suddenly realized just how young and inexperienced he was.

 

“Let me speak plainly,” Adil began shakily.  “Med Jai live.  Ardeth lives.  We have been plotting in the mountains since the day Imhotep began his battle against the world.”

 

Rick’s eyes narrowed.  “Prove it.”

 

Adil nodded gently.  “Ardeth told me,” he began, “that a man, a Rick O’Connell, was a Med Jai in heart and soul.”  Adil looked into Rick’s eyes.  “Ardeth called this man his brother–a man who would fight by his side, a man he would die for.”

 

Rick relaxed slightly as he lowered his eyes, memories of Ardeth washing over him.

 

“He explained to me,” Adil continued slowly, “that this Western Med Jai had a certain mark on his wrist.  The sacred Med Jai symbol of brotherhood, of two kings over a pyramid.”

 

Adil slowly reached over to Rick’s arm.  His fingers grazed the material of Rick’s shirt as he felt for just the right spot.  His fingers came to a rest right above the wrist.  He pressed down gently where the dark symbols hid underneath the flimsy fabric.  Rick’s tattoo burned under his touch.

 

Adil slowly pushed up the fabric of the shirt, revealing the dark symbol imprinted on Rick’s skin.  The tattoo glowed, illuminated, as the warm light from the flames danced over his skin.

 

Rick looked at the familiar mark, the mark he tried to conceal.  The mark that had tied him to Ardeth, that had tied him to his ancient past, that had revealed his fate to kill the Scorpion King.  That mark was the emblem, the evidence of his destiny as a warrior for God.  Rick’s eyes dampened in the dark air.

 

His gaze wandered over his own tattoo, familiar and yet foreign, his gaze an invisible caress.  When he spoke, his voice was rough.  “What’s your name?”

“Adil.”

 

Rick nodded, still feeling his dark tattoo burning in the night air.  He raised his eyes to meet Adil’s.

 

The younger man immediately saw that the sorrow was gone from his eyes.  The sadness had been replaced with a courage, a steely strength that made Adil suddenly remember why this man, too, was the stuff of legends.

 

“What other news is there of Ardeth and the Med Jai?” Rick asked.

 

Adil smiled genuinely.  “Great news.  Jonathan Carnahan arrived at the Med Jai camp just a week ago, with two other men.”

 

Rick’s mouth dropped open in surprise.  “Jonathan?”

 

Adil nodded.  “He brought the Black Book with him from Shanghai.”

 

Rick attempted to conceal his surprise.  “You said Jonathan, as in my brother in law?”

 

Adil grinned.  “Yes.  And there is more news, as well, news Jonathan brought with him from Cairo and from the resistence movement in Paris.”

 

Rick paused, looking suspiciously at Adil.  “My Jonathan was working for the resistence movement in Paris?”

 

Adil nodded.

 

“And he brought the Black Book all the way from–did you say Shanghai?–to the Med Jai hidden in the desert mountains?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Rick leaned back, letting out a long sigh, but his face was twisted with a mixture of amusement and sadness.  “A lot has changed since I knew him.”

 

“But not all,” Adil said, leaning forward.  “Your wife and son live.”

 

Rick shot forward.  “What?” he gasped.

 

Adil nodded.  “Shhh,” he cautioned, jerking his head to the other prisoners, looking on with passive interest.

 

“Tell me, man!” Rick whispered urgently, grasping and squeezing Adil’s shoulder.

 

“Jonathan learned from various contacts that Evelyn and her son Alex are imprisoned within Imhotep’s palace,” Adil said quickly, twisting out of Rick’s death-like grasp.  “Your wife and son are apparently unharmed.”

 

Rick’s voice was heavy with emotion.  “They live?” he asked, the words sounding so naive, so hopeful, Adil felt like weeping.

 

He nodded, a lump rising in his young throat.

 

“How do we know for sure?” Rick whispered.  Evy and Alex alive!  He felt a sudden relief wash through him, so sharp it was almost painful.  And Jonathan and Ardeth alive too.  All five of them had survived Imhotep’s rule.  Was it possible?

 

Somehow, from somewhere, it seemed that he heard Ardeth’s voice. There is a fine line between coincidence and fate...

 

Adil was answering his question.  “Various translators and advisors who have been inside Imhotep’s palace, and have seen those imprisoned there, have been through Cairo on business.  While many have guarded their secrets well, a few have been known to let their tongues slip.  One of those men frequented a Cairo bar called–” Adil paused, trying to remember.  “A kasbah of some sort.  The Kaiser’s Kasbah?  No....wait, I’ve got it.  The Czar’s Kasbah.  No, that’s wrong too.  Uhm, I know it.  The Shah’s Kasbah!  That doesn’t sound right.  Wait, maybe it’s–”

 

A smile flitted across Rick’s face.  “The Sultan’s Kasbah?”

 

Adil nodded in relief, smiling.  “Yes, yes, that’s it.  Do you know it?”

 

Rick smiled in remembrance.  “That’s where I first met Jonathan.  Way before I even met my wife.  Before I had ever heard the name of Hamanuptra or Imhotep.”

 

Adil looked down, allowing this man some privacy in his memories.

 

“Let me guess,” Rick asked, “did a certain man named Nazir give Jonathan some information?”

 

Adil nodded.  “Then you know him.”

 

Rick hesitated.  “I did know him.  But the rule of Imhotep has changed everyone and everything.  I’m not sure what I know anymore.”

 

“Much has changed,” Adil agreed softly.

 

“No,” Rick corrected sadly.  “Everything has changed.”

 

Adil’s heart twisted.

 

These last two years, he had learned an awful lot about life.

 

Ardeth had taught him to fight like a warrior, to face enemies with bravery and confidence, to plan and organize with skill and determination.  But Rick O’Connell was teaching him what it was to love, to fight for that love, to survive and stay alive for that love.

 

Ardeth was fighting for his people, for honor, for revenge, for the future of the freedom of the world.  But Rick O’Connell was fighting for his wife and son, for a woman he had loved in many lives, for the future right to hold her and raise his son and live with them in peace.

 

Such was devotion.

 

Two brothers.  One fought for his people, one for his family.  Both fought for freedom.  Together they formed the coin of life, the double-edged sword, the key and the lock that would open the way for triumph.

 

Rick swallowed at looked at the young Med Jai.  “What is the plan?  What am I to do to fight Imhotep?”

 

Adil paused, unsure of how to answer.

 

“Why have you come for me?” Rick pressed, looking into the younger man’s eyes.

 

A smile flickered across Adil’s weary face.  “I am here to make you ready for the coming battle.  And to give you hope.  Will you be ready to fight, when the time comes?”

 

Rick looked up into Adil’s eyes, and it was almost like he was seeing what Ardeth had looked like, many years ago.

 

“I have been ready to fight since Imhotep drew his first breath.”  Rick’s eyes hardened as he looked deep into the fire, the face of the Priest rising before him.  “I’m looking forward to getting my hands on him again.”

 

Rick smiled grimly.  “We have some unfinished business.”

 

And in this sad crusader, Adil also saw the cold steel of a warrior.

 

 

***