Chapter Twenty-Six: The Coming Battle

 

***

 

Jonathan and Ardeth were hunched over in the afternoon sun, busy going through the stockpiles of weapons the Med Jai had managed to salvage from their destroyed villages.  As they sorted through the swords and knives and guns, various Med Jai came up to receive the weapon that they would use for the coming battle.

 

After handing a scimitar to another warrior, Ardeth leaned back and closed his eyes, allowing the meager breeze to blow through his sandy hair.  With a tired sigh, he opened his eyes and turned them to the men and women below them.  Down the mountain a little bit was a plateau where many Med Jai were practicing with their scimitars.  They had not been in a fight for some time and Ardeth had insisted that everyone stay sharp and battle-ready.

 

Jonathan was still looking carefully at their options which lay scattered on the dusty ground: Many scimitars and various swords.  Some knives, most of them dulled.  A few handguns.  One very old, rusty hunting rifle.

 

Jonathan picked up the ancient looking weapon, examining it.  “I say, do a lot of deer hunting out here?”

 

Ardeth rolled his eyes, a strand of dark hair blowing across his face.  “It’s obviously of no use to us.”

 

“No, really,” Jonathan continued.  “I can see why your people decided to save this gun, out of all of the others that must have been lying around.  It must be very valuable, being an antique and all.”

 

“I thought that the rifle was your favorite weapon,” Ardeth commented dryly.

 

“Well, my good son, so it is.  I have won more than my fair share of awards,” Jonathan acknowledged, feigning modesty as he tossed the gun back onto the sandy ground.

 

“Uh huh,” Ardeth replied indifferently, having already heard about Jonathan’s achievements.

 

“And, I say, I don’t remember ever seeing you use a rifle,” Jonathan continued out loud.  “The only gun you ever used was a Thompson.  Who can’t use a Thompson?  It’s a submachine gun!  You can’t miss your target with that thing.”

 

“And I didn’t,” Ardeth replied pointedly, wiping some grime from his forehead as he crouched in the dust.

 

“Well, neither did I,” Jonathan responded with a grin, raising his eyebrow.  “Don’t forget how I saved your life in the Ahm Shere jungle.”

 

Ardeth turned away, rubbing his eyes.  “I’ve been trying to forget,” he mumbled to himself.

 

“I heard that,” Jonathan announced as he rooted through the guns.  “Oh!  And another thing!” His eyes brightened.  “A Thompson is the weapon of a gangster, old boy.  A rifle is the weapon of a gentleman.”

 

Ardeth rolled his eyes–for about the fifteenth time that day.

 

But Ardeth knew that Jonathan’s chattering was his way of hiding his nervousness, having learnt Jonathan Carnahan’s habits under pressure quite well over the past twelve years.  And, Ardeth admitted to himself, Jonathan’s stream of babble was helping him keep his own nervousness in check.  It helped him keep his mind mostly off of the coming battle.

 

They all knew that Imhotep would return to his palace sometime in the next few days, and everyone was preparing for the attack.  Below them, the male and female Med Jai continued to practice fighting with scimitars.  Ardeth handed out two more to a pair of gruff looking middle aged warriors.

 

He sighed, rolling his neck.  He had to be calm and focused in order to lead his people into battle effectively.  But he was incredibly tense.  He had no idea how Adil was faring or if he had been able to contact Rick.  Ardeth had no idea if the slaves would be prepared and ready for the Med Jai attack.

 

Jonathan stood up, abandoning his work for the moment, and clapped Ardeth on the back.  The seasoned warrior was surprised at how much Jonathan Carnahan was able to comfort him.  For all their differences, they understood each other.

 

“I know you’re nervous, old boy,” Jonathan said.  “But we’ve got to do it.  This is our chance and we’ve got to take it.”  The Englishman sighed, watching the fierce mock fighting of the Med Jai below them.  “And these people...they would follow you anywhere.”

 

Ardeth swallowed proudly, giving Jonathan a half smile.

 

“Even I can see it,” Jonathan added with a grin.

 

Ardeth laughed.  “Thank you, my friend.”

 

Jonathan placed his hands on the back of his neck, lightly massaging his own muscles and trying to relax.  Ardeth watched silently, seeing the tension in his back and neck.  Jonathan sighed, looking out into the desert.

 

“Ardeth...we’ve known each other for a long time...” the Englishman looked down. “I need to know something.  Er, there’s something I want to ask you, because I trust you, and because you’re a warrior.  And because you’re my friend.”

 

Ardeth waited, curious as to what Jonathan would say.

 

“Do you think I’m a coward?”

 

Ardeth blinked.  Well, yes.  No, not really.  Ardeth’s eyebrows furrowed in thought as his mind skimmed over his memories of the past twelve years.

 

Jonathan Carnahan had always made a joke of his own cowardice, had always mocked his own fear and laughed at his own tendency to panic under pressure.

 

“I think–” Ardeth stopped himself.  No, he was thinking of the exterior Jonathan, the Jonathan that most people knew.  Jonathan appeared on the outside as many things: a coward, a drunk, a lousy brother, a gambler, even a criminal.  But Ardeth knew that there was a depth to him that most people never saw.

 

Yes, Jonathan always made jokes about his fear.  But when his family needed him he had always been there.  Ardeth remembered how Jonathan had driven the double-decker bus, how he had gunned down Imhotep’s minions in the jungle of Ahm Shere, how he had distracted Anck-su-namun so that Alex could resurrect his beloved sister.  Jonathan might seem like a shallow man–but he was brave when he needed to be.

 

“You are not a coward, Jonathan.  I’ve seen you in enough serious situations.  I know you.”

 

Jonathan looked down at his feet.

 

Ardeth continued, the honesty of his words apparent in his voice.  “People who don’t know you probably think that you are a coward.  But I’ve seen you save people’s lives.  I’ve seen you risk your life to save others.  I’ve seen you stand up and deliver under pressure.  And you saved my life.  I will never forget that.”

 

Jonathan looked up, his eyes glimmering.  When he spoke, his voice was scratchy.  “Thanks, old chum.”

 

Ardeth smiled gently.  “Anytime.”

 

The tender moment ended abruptly as Pierre’s voice broke into their conversation.

 

“Please tell me you have something else I can use besides a sword,” Pierre lamented as he walked up towards Jonathan and Ardeth.  He had been discussing fighting techniques with Rashid and was despairing over his lack of swordsmanship skill.

 

“I say, this is your lucky day,” Jonathan exclaimed, immediately coming out of his thoughts.  He had that uncanny ability, Ardeth reflected, to change moods immediately–to go from drunk to sober, amused to serious, fearful to brave.

 

“Oh yeah?” Pierre asked, tossing a gunny sack onto the ground.

 

“We have just the thing for you!”  Jonathan picked up the rusty rifle, holding it out to Pierre.  “If it doesn’t fire, you can hit the mummies over the head with it.”

 

Pierre smiled, looking at the ancient weapon.  “Thanks Carnahan.  Is that a tested technique or are you just trying to get me killed?”

 

“Just giving out the free advice, old boy,” Jonathan explained, going back to rummaging through the various pistols and handguns.

 

“I haven’t fought with a sword in years,” Pierre continued aloud, brushing dirty blond hair out of his eyes.

 

Jonathan picked out a gun for himself and handed another to Pierre.  “Will this suffice?”

 

Pierre looked it over and smiled.  “Sure thing.  Got any grease?”

 

Jonathan and Pierre sat down and began greasing the various handguns, oiling them to battle-ready perfection.  Ardeth began dispensing more of the swords to Med Jai who approached, ready to get their own weapon for the coming battle.  He looked down at the dwindling stockpile, chewing his lip.  “I hope we have enough scimitars,” he murmured to himself.

 

Suddenly Dalil’s voice could be heard, calling up to Ardeth from down the mountain path.  “My leader!”

 

Ardeth turned and watched as the young man came jogging up them, sweating in the afternoon heat.   “Sir, Imhotep has returned.”

 

Ardeth’s eyes widened in surprise.  “Already?”

 

“Yes sir.  His plane landed early this morning.”

 

Ardeth smiled grimly.  The time had come.

 

Turning to where various Med Jai were practicing, sharpening their swords, and running about preparing the camp for battle, Ardeth began to speak.  “My brothers!  My sisters!  My family!  There is news from the scouts.”

 

Quickly the Med Jai stopped and watched Ardeth, ready to listen and obey his will.

 

“Imhotep has returned to his palace today.  You all know what you must do.  Tomorrow we launch our attack.”

 

A great cheer rose up from the Med Jai as they celebrated.  Ardeth smiled down on them, pain and pride mixing equally in his conflicted emotions.  There was no turning back after tomorrow.  After today, Ardeth did not know if he could ever be truly happy again, since many of his people must die.  Even if they defeated Imhotep, they were a decimated people.

 

Jonathan, having oiled his gun to a gleaming silver, stuck it in the waistband of his pants.  “I’m going to go get a drink,” he announced, standing and squinting in the sun.  “So really, Ardeth, where’s your stockpile of whiskey hidden?  I know you must have one.”

 

“You drank it all already,” Ardeth replied.

 

“No wonder I don’t remember last night,” Jonathan called out over his shoulder as he made his way to the water well, as Ardeth and Pierre shared a chuckle.

 

Ardeth sat down on the rock next to Pierre and began sharpening his scimitar.  He looked over and watched as Pierre loaded his handgun, quickly and efficiently.  He looked like a man who’d had a fair amount of experience with guns.  Ardeth smiled to himself, remembering a similar moment with Jonathan, two years ago, as he had prepared to go into battle in the Ahm Shere jungle.

 

“So, are you any good with that?” Ardeth asked the Frenchman, hiding his smile.

 

Pierre looked up, snapping the barrel into the gun.  “I’m still alive, aren’t I?” he responded blithely.  “Are you any good with that?” he asked, nodding his head at Ardeth’s gleaming scimitar, which lay across the warrior’s lap.

 

“Let’s just say I’m better than most,” Ardeth replied calmly.  “I’ve killed my fair share of Anubis warriors.”

 

Pierre examined the gun one last time before sliding it into his holster. “Anubis warriors?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.

 

“Of course,” Ardeth replied seriously, but there was a twinkle of mirth in his eye.  “You can’t fight Imhotep unless you know how to kill an Anubis warrior.”

 

“And what exactly is an Anubis warrior?” Pierre asked, pulling a cigarette from his shirt pocket.

 

“A jackal headed beast made of sand that fights and obeys only the God of the underworld,” Ardeth replied calmly, sheathing his sword.

 

“Oh, ok,” Pierre responded with a grin.  “In that case, can I request a different assignment?”

 

Ardeth laughed.  “Sure thing.  But know that the only way to kill it is by cutting off its head.”

 

“Thanks,” Pierre replied, taking a long drag of his cigarette.  “But what makes you think Anubis’ army will fight for Imhotep?”

 

Ardeth sighed, turning serious.  “I don’t know if they will.  But Imhotep is a High Priest of Osiris.  He has a lot of tricks up his sleeve.  I don’t doubt that he could raise the army of a God.  We have to be prepared for anything.”

 

“I’ve seen a lot in my lifetime,” Pierre mused, watching the Med Jai continue to practice below them.  “But I have a feeling that tomorrow I’m going to see a lot of things I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to forget.”

 

“It doesn’t work,” Ardeth murmured, rubbing his tired eyes.  “There are some things you never forget.”

 

Pierre looked away, turning his gaze into the limitless desert, to give Ardeth more privacy with his thoughts.  “Our plan is good, Bay.  But it is also very risky.”

 

Ardeth blinked and nodded.  “My grandfather once said to me: when you strike at a king, you must slay him.”  He looked into Pierre’s eyes and saw perfect comprehension mirrored there.

 

The Frenchman nodded.  “I know what I’ve gotten myself into.  If we lose...”

 

Ardeth finished his sentence grimly.  “We die.”

 

Pierre looked out into the desert, vast and serene and beautiful.  But for all its lonely beauty, it was barren and empty. “If I wasn’t here, fighting with you, but off hiding somewhere...” his voice trailed off.  “I don’t think I would want to live at all in this world if I didn’t have any hope.”

 

Ardeth felt himself nodding.  And suddenly he found himself wanting very much to confess his true thoughts to Pierre.

 

Somehow, it would be easier for Ardeth to reveal his genuine feelings to this foreign warrior than to anyone else.  His Med Jai brothers, even Jonathan, had known him for most of his life.  It would be a relief to speak to someone who did not truly know him, someone who would not judge him.

 

Ardeth swallowed, allowing himself to be completely honest and unguarded.  “I would rather die in this final battle, with honor, than live under the rule of the Priest.”

 

Pierre smiled, a mere ghost of a smile.  “I have fought with different men, in different countries, for different causes.  Some I believed in...others I didn’t.  Sometimes I didn’t even know what I was fighting for, except that if I turned to run away there would be a man ready to shoot me.”

 

Pierre met Ardeth’s eyes.  “I know that you are a man who has always fought for a reason.  But finally...I feel as though I have found my cause.  If I ever fought and trained for anything it was for this.”

 

Ardeth smiled gently.  “So you have found your place.  Not all men are so blessed.”

 

Pierre looked down.  “My place?  You believe that everyone belongs somewhere?  That everyone was born to fulfill some sort of purpose?”

 

“Some people are, yes.”

 

Pierre sighed.  “I wish that I could believe that.”

 

Ardeth paused, considering.  “I think that certain people are destined to face the same obstacles in lifetime after lifetime.  They are forced to relive their destinies, over and over.  They are marked and can never escape their pasts.”

 

Pierre rubbed at the stubble on his cheek.  “That sounds kind of depressing.”

 

“Perhaps,” Ardeth replied thoughtfully.  “But it can be a blessing, too.  Some people are fated to find each other because their souls have been matched by the Gods.”  Ardeth turned his face away slightly.  “But some people’s lives become so interwoven...that they find each other, for good or ill, in life after life.”

 

Pierre looked up carefully.  “Are you speaking of yourself?”

 

Ardeth remained silent for some time.  “My soul is a thread that has been deeply woven into an intricate tapestry.  I cannot be reborn unless I am reborn with the rest of the tapestry, with the other people and places I am linked to.  This will be true for me, in lifetime after lifetime.”

 

Pierre stubbed out his cigarette.  “You truly believe in reincarnation?”

 

A wry smile crossed Ardeth’s lips.  “After all you have seen, you do not believe in it?”

 

Pierre paused, considering.  “Before 1934, there were a lot of things I would’ve sworn couldn’t happen....but then they did.  I don’t know if I believe in reincarnation.”  The warrior sighed.  “What I guess I’m trying to say is that, right now, I’m not ruling anything out.  The world has a lot of hidden mysteries and she keeps her secrets well.”

 

Ardeth looked away.  “Perhaps it is time for me to explain to you the true meaning of the Med Jai.”

 

Pierre’s eyes widened slightly.  “Do you guys ever run out of secrets?”

 

Ardeth laughed.  “We have many, but they are kept that way for the safety of all.”

 

Pierre reached for another cigarette.  “So, tell me,” he urged, fumbling for his lighter.

 

Ardeth paused.  Where to begin?  When did this long, complicated history start?  “I suppose that this all began over three thousand years ago.  The Med Jai were a race of body-guards, charged with protecting the Pharaoh and the royal family at all costs.

 

“One night, Imhotep, High Priest of Osiris, and his lover, Anck-su-namun, murdered Seti I in his bedchamber.  My ancestors had failed.  The Pharaoh was dead.  The Med Jai found and cursed the High Priest Imhotep with the Hom-Dai, the most horrible of ancient curses.  For murdering his Pharaoh, we corrupted his soul, ensuring that he would never find peace with his Gods.

 

After our duty was performed, we were banished, sent to guard Imhotep’s immortal soul from ever being reborn into the world.  For three thousand years, we completed our duty well.”

 

Pierre nodded.  “Most of that I’d heard, in one form or another.  But what happened in 1923?”

 

Ardeth sighed.  “We did not know it at the time, but the ancient tapestry, the cycle of love and death that had taken place in ancient times, was ready to replay itself.”

 

Pierre’s eyes narrowed.  “I don’t understand.”

 

“Because I did not mention that Pharaoh Seti had a daughter, Nefertiri, and she was in love with a Med Jai named Menmet.  He was...my best friend.”

 

“Menmet was your best friend?  Three millennia ago?”

 

Ardeth simply nodded.

 

“So who were you?” Pierre asked skeptically.

 

“I was the leader of the Med Jai.”

 

“How do you know that?”

 

Ardeth smiled grimly.  “I have my memories.”

 

Pierre’s mouth fell open.  “Oh.”

 

“With Imhotep’s third rebirth into the world, I was somehow gifted my memories.  I do not know how or why, but I remember most of my former lifetime.”

 

Pierre took a long drag, trying to accustom himself to this new information.  “So what happened with Nefertiri?”

 

An image immediately popped up in Ardeth’s head, an image of a young woman with dark wavy hair, a woman who had saved his life, who had fought by his side.  “She was rebirthed into the world as Evelyn Carnahan.

 

“The cycle had been set in motion...but it wasn’t until she met Rick O’Connell that things got out of control.  They found each other again, and fell in love.  Unfortunately, and unknowingly, they found their way to Hamanuptra, where they woke Imhotep from his grave.”

 

Pierre sighed.  “I’ve heard the rest, I think.”

 

Ardeth nodded.  “The rest is public information, most people know what happened in 1923 and 1933.  The only change was, the second time, Anck-su-namun, Imhotep’s lost love and Seti I’s mistress, was reborn and raised her dead lover herself.”

 

“But both times you defeated him.”

 

Ardeth nodded slowly.  “The first time Imhotep arose he was...angry.  Disoriented.  Confused.  Vengeful.  He wanted regeneration and Anck-su-namun by his side.  Other than that, he had no grand ambitions.

 

“The second time he woke...Anck-su-namun and her friends had grand ambitions for him.  Instead of using his power for personal reasons, he wanted to use his power to conquer and destroy the world.  Imhotep decided to accomplish that goal by defeating the Scorpion King and commanding his army.”  Ardeth sighed, rubbing his chin with his calloused hands.  “Imhotep wanted power.  He wanted revenge.  He wanted the world to bow at his feet for all of the suffering he had endured.”

 

Pierre gave Ardeth a wry smile.  “I guess I can understand that.”

 

Ardeth did not smile back.  “But this time...we have never fought him when he was at the height of his powers, as he is now.  I think we have a true chance of victory, and I have hope.  But I don’t know.  I just don’t know.”  Ardeth sighed and looked down.  “I am prepared to die in this battle.”

 

Pierre swallowed and looked out into the desert.  “That there are things worse than death.”

 

“True, my friend.  There are many things worse than death.  I pity those who live through this battle and must face the other side.”

 

Pierre stubbed out his cigarette.  There was nothing more to say.  The two warriors understood each other, and they sat together in silence.

 

Ardeth looked out into the desert, the place he had called his home for his entire life.  He loved the desert, and yet there was something so cold, so empty about it sometimes.  He sometimes thought that the desert itself was reflecting Imhotep’s barren and soulless reign.

 

Ardeth sighed.  What tomorrow would bring, no one knew.

 

 

***

 

 

Ardeth stood, his black desert robes billowing in the wind.  He was standing in the middle of a desert, a desert that stretched all around him.  He turned, rotating in a circle, his eyes searching every direction.  But there was nothing but desert and sky.

 

There were no tents, no encampment, no signs of life.  Not one cactus littered the desert, no white clouds dotted the horizon.  It was a two-tone world.  The azure of the sky was bright against the sun color of the endless sand.

 

His dark robes fell around him, the wind blowing them back and forth over his skin, so that the fabric caressed his flesh.  He looked down–the black color of the robes contrasted harshly with the beauty of the landscape.

 

His eyes returned to his surroundings, beautiful and yet somehow empty.  It was perfect–too perfect.  It was the wasteland before God added life, the barren wilderness before the first plant sprouted in the dust.

 

But suddenly, as Ardeth stood there, he heard a sound, a great rushing as though of a waterfall, and he turned and shifted and a great wind blew at him.  It blew his robes, his hair, they whipped around him, and suddenly the wind rushed through him as through his physical body had melted away.  The wind buoyed him up, it entered him, and Ardeth felt that he himself were made of air.

 

The wind continued to blow through him, coursing through his veins like crystalline blood, pure and cold and clean, and for a moment Ardeth thought that he must be floating.

 

And then, suddenly, the wind stopped.

 

Ardeth felt his body slump, slacken against the rough sand.  He closed his eyes–

 

–and it was as though lightening hit him.  He jerked, struggled, felt a force much more powerful than himself take hold of him, clasp him, smother him...no, it was cradling him...

 

And a glimpse of the future seared itself into Ardeth’s mind.

 

He saw with the clarity of the divine, with knowledge that no mortal man should know.  He saw the long road before him, saw the huge timeline of history spread before him, and saw that Imhotep would never rise again.

 

He could not see how the story would end, nor could he see if his own life would be required in the fight to return Imhotep to his grave.  He felt the presence of the greater being, the indulgent smile, the caressing voice...No man can know his own fate... who was speaking?  Ardeth struggled to hear, but the sounds were lost in the wind.

 

You can see no more, child...open your eyes...

 

And Ardeth opened his eyes.  He was laying, face down, in the sand.  He struggled, pushed, managed to lift himself to his knees...he was still in the endless, barren desert, a place that existed only in the minds of men and in the arms of the Gods...

 

Ardeth struggled to stand, but he could not move, his limbs were frozen.  And then it was as if the wind returned, harsh and threatening, and the very sand rose, swirling in the wind, lifelike...and came for him...

 

Ardeth woke with a start, sweat pouring down his back.  He sat up in the darkness of his tent, breathing heavily.  Realizing where he was, he shook his head slightly, trying to clear the images from his mind.  He was desperately trying to get some sleep before the battle tomorrow, but there were dreams, vivid and colored, crowding his exhausted mind.

 

Ardeth sighed, blinking in the dark.  He did not doubt the message his dream had given him.  Imhotep would never rise again.

 

But the knowledge of that fact frightened him.  What would Imhotep accomplish in this rebirth that he had been unable to complete in his others?

 

A sinister chill went up Ardeth’s spine.

 

 

***