"The Other Side"
DisclaimerThe character of Ardeth Bay belongs to Stephen Sommers and Universal Studios. No infringement intended. This segment is a work of fiction. All the original characters are the creation and property of the author. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Rated: T
Thanks for the disclaimer Dawn, to Serena for the beta and to Dawn, Serena and Staci for always listening, especially when my muse went crazy…and thanks to The Kidd Mdd and SamIam…
...this is for those who have so patiently waited for this, for those who wrote me emails asking for the next installment, for those who listened to my various idea's and ramblings...and for those who didn't lose faith in me.
Enjoy...
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"Each moment is a doorway to time travel. Being in this very moment and no other, time as we know it stops. You can Freeze-Frame and stop. Then you can make another choice. You can stay in the same holographic pattern or you can choose a different one."
Sara PaddisonThe Hidden Power of the Heart
"Every man has his own destiny: the only imperative is to follow it, to accept it, no matter where it leads him."
Henry Miller, The Wisdom of the Heart
"Whenever I prepare for a journey I prepare as though for death. Should I never return, all is in order."
Katherine Mansfield
"Tell me it was real, Kedar. Tell me that I am not going insane. I do not know what I feel exactly, but I do know there is this urgent need to see her again."
Ardeth Bay to KedarIshaq, "Somewhere In Time"
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So many many years from now…
She surmised from the muffled giggles and scuffling of small feet that she was being watched by six or seven young children and sighed, feeling slightly irritated from the intrusion.
She had searched for this secluded spot, this resting place under a large flowering tree that was as far away as possible from her well meaning but meddlesome neighbors. She craved a few moments of blissful solitude so she could reflect on various stages of her life, and on those who she had come to care for so very much. She wanted time to think, to remember and analyze, especially since she had felt compelled to record everything in a journal for the generations to come.
The problem was she was being pursued by the present younger generation with astonishing tenacity, but allotted them a small amount of understanding. After all, she was an oddity. A woman who had claimed she had traveled through time, and back again…she was a curiosity, and an endless source of fascination to children.
She leaned her head back to let the golden rays of the sun warm her face, but peeked through her eyelashes to check on the progress of the small hunting party. True to form, the older children had pushed the smaller, younger ones back in a protective circle and the tallest one had stepped forward, hesitation mingled with bravery showing on his face.
She sat up and gazed at the youngster in fond wonder, noting his height and weight; truly he was his grandfather's son, in looks and mannerisms and she found her first smile of the day. He would grow up to be fine young man, that's if she didn't kill him first for his impertinence.
"Old woman? Are you…Cecelia Adams?" the boy called out in a voice traipsing on the edge of child and young adulthood.
Cecelia narrowed her eyes and glared at the boy, inwardly laughing when she saw his golden eyes widened in alarm. "Do you wish to live to see tomorrow?" she snarled, and abruptly waved him off. "Go away, boy, can't you see I'm trying to rest?"
"All I see is an old woman sitting under a tree," the boy replied honestly. Encouraged by his friends, he took another step closer and then looked down at his side, flashing his best friend a grateful smile. There was strength in numbers and surely she wouldn't dare attack them now...would she?
Cecelia leaned her head back again, and with a loud sigh of frustration, closed her eyes. She had been quite prepared to ignore the little pests, quite prepared indeed, until one of them did the most unusual thing; he bellowed.
"Old woman!" the child roared, his dark eyes flashing with annoyance. "My friends and I wish to speak to you, please open your eyes and let us come over and sit down!"
Cecelia jerked her head down in surprise and wagged one finger at the boy. "You need to learn some manners. Why in all my life I have never heard a child…you would think you…you took lessons from your grandfather, I'll wager."
The first boy tried not to smile as he listened to Cecelia sputter. He nudged his friend and they both came a few steps closer. "We want to hear about how you traveled through time," he coaxed in a surprisingly gentle tone of voice. "We want to hear about the Medjai."
Memories from so long ago came crashing back in Cecelia's mind and she replied without thinking. "There is no such thing as Medjai, my dear boy."
Suddenly a little girl with a head full of dark, bouncy curls broke from the safety of the group, and trotted over to Cecelia on chubby, wobbly legs. She ignored her cohorts' urgent pleas for her return, and seemed more fascinated with how inviting Cecelia's lap looked. When she found Cecelia staring at her, she offered her a wet, baby toothed grin. Then with a soft giggle of happiness, she turned around, scooted backwards and sat down in Cecelia's lap. She wiggled a few times to get comfortable as her friends cheered from across the way.
Cecelia rolled her eyes heavenwards in a silent prayer for divine deliverance; instead the rest of the children came running over and after much debate, ordering, and jostling, sat in a small half circle around her feet. The first boy, Cecelia noted, had given one of the best seats to a younger child and the gesture warmed Cecelia's heart; his had been a difficult birth and he had been a sickly babe. But with the help of his loving family and close friends, he had survived the first few tentative years of his life and had regained his health. His dark chocolate brown eyes shone with happiness and Cecelia couldn't help but reach out and touch his curly hair in reverence.
"Tell us a story," the boy who had bellowed demanded. He stood next to his friend and had deferred his seat to a young girl, folding his arms across his chest in a gesture of impatience. "We want to hear about the Medjai and their leader, Ardeth Bay."
Cecelia had to wait for the enthusiastic acceptance of the boy's suggestion to die down, and then she held up one hand for silence. She purposely waited until every child's attention was focused on her, and as thoughts of having a few moments peace drifted away like seeds in the wind, she decided to grant their request. Perhaps after hearing the story, they would leave her in peace.
"Some say that I traveled through a rift in time to meet my destiny," she began softly as the memories surfaced in her mind…
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What came before…
Secretary Cecelia Adams had believed that a surprise business trip to Egypt to meet the famous Dr. ZahiHawass and join the archeological dig cataloging recent discoveries in the Valley of the Golden Mummies had been a chance of a lifetime. And she had eagerly agreed to accompany her employer, Dr. Scott Weaver, on the trip, blissfully unaware of the doctor's true motives for the journey.
When the truth was revealed two days into the trip that Scott was actually guiding the team towards the Temple of Hathor in Dendera so he could perform a cleansing ritual to rid himself of the cancer that was growing from within, his colleagues and friends rallied around him. They had devoted themselves to the quest to save Scott's life.
Resuming the journey, Cecelia and her party had unwittingly traveled through a portal in time, and landed in a world where desert warriors protected mankind from an ancient evil…
…where their leader was the charismatic and mysterious Ardeth Bay…
…and where Cecelia learned that sometimes love can transcend time and space, reuniting two lost souls.
The trip back to her world had been shrouded in confusion and fragmented memories, and Cecelia was placed in jail for disturbing the peace as she struggled to grasp what had happened. In the interrogation room she met the handsome and enigmatic Detective BijanRasheed-Mudawar and had been cleverly coerced into signing a confession that omitted the existence of Ardeth Bay and the Medjai. Mentally drained and exhausted from the detective's intense questioning, Cecelia almost missed overhearing Bijan's suspicious phone conversation that intrigued her inquisitive mind far more than it should.
Curious about the detective's abrupt and secretive behavior, Cecelia acted on a hunch and after being reunited with her college friends, Eric Hanover and Jamie Richards, they followed Bijan through the streets of Cairo in a mad chase that ended with the startling revelation that Cecelia had been right all along the Medjai do exist.
Astonished to discover Bijan's true identity, a Guardian for the portal of time between the two worlds, Cecelia and her friends accept his hastily given offer to stay at his home and in the weeks that followed, they formed an uneasy alliance in aiding Sharif's recovery.
Although Cecelia was at home in her world, she started to experience vivid dreams and feared for Ardeth's life; she had to help him no matter the cost. Oblivious to the growing attraction between Sharif and Jamie, or the friendship that blossomed between Eric and Zayn, Cecelia battled to keep her sanity just as she fought to keep the memory of Ardeth alive in her heart.
She had dared to risk losing everything…her friends…her family…all that she held dear so she could save the one man who had so effortlessly captured her heart and soul with one searing kiss.
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Somewhere deep in the shadowy recesses of Jamie Richards' mind, she began to dream…
The sound of her heartbeat seemed as loud as thunder as she struggled to overcome the paralyzing fear, slowly walking down the dimly lit antechamber. Cobwebs hung in thick, heavy curtains that were draped from corners and columns bearing silent tribute to the passing of time. The air was musty and ripe with the smell of death and decay. Dust particles danced like tiny fairies on an errant wind, kicked up by Jamie's feet as she continued towards an unknown destination. Several yards ahead she saw the flickering, feeble golden light that valiantly tried to pierce the gloom, and she reached out, skimming her fingertips across the stone walls for guidance. They danced across hieroglyphics and drawings that were dated over three thousand years old but Jamie was oblivious to the story they told. She remained focused on taking each step, trying to suppress the fear that stubbornly gripped her heart and refused to let go.
An unexpected cold wind blew through the hallway and the torches housed in tarnished golden scones suddenly sputtered and blazed, casting macabre shadows on the walls. Jamie's eyes widened in shock when the shadows solidified, turning a seething mass of vapors into men; like solemn sentinels they lined the walkway but didn't challenge Jamie as she passed by. They kept their faces covered and eyes averted yet Jamie could feel the waves of sorrow emanating from them; their style of dress seemed vaguely familiar.
And then with startling clarity Jamie knew…
Despite any formal education in Egyptology, Jamie realized she was in an ancient burial chamber and when she passed by the last warrior, the torches stationed around a small raised platform flared to life, illuminating the body that rested there. She stopped walking and covered her mouth to stifle the cry of grief that welled up from her heart when she recognized the body. Suddenly she felt something touch her shoulder. She spun around and met the melancholy gaze of a warrior whose gray eyes sparkled with unshed tears.
He reached for her even as his sadness tore at Jamie's heart and she whirled away from him, stumbling a few feet over to the platform. Despite the obvious signs of embalmment, she noted how the oils used highlighted the warrior's proud physique and called attention to the two long jagged scars that crossed his midsection…
…marks that were still pink around the edges from the wounds that had taken his life.
"Oh God," Jamie whispered and shook her head in disbelief. "Sharif…"
At the utterance of his earthly name, the warrior's eyes snapped open and he turned his head, instantly impaling Jamie with the intensity of his stare. Regret and confusion were among the turbulent emotions that danced across his face as he struggled to sit up, but lacked the strength to do so. Frustrated, he fell back and reached out with one hand in entreaty…a hand covered with the fading marks of his tribe.
"Musa'adi…ana…" he managed to rasp after a few moments. (help me)
Jamie shook her head. "I don't understand," she whispered and impulsively reached out to touch him. Their hands were only a few inches apart when a startling and gruesome metamorphosis swept over Sharif's body.
"M-m-usa'adi…ana…ajab!"Sharif begged. (help me please)
In helpless horror Jamie watched as Sharif's flesh shriveled and melted away until there was nothing left but long skeletal fingers that kept reaching…trying to touch her…
Jamie opened her mouth and screamed.
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Base camp within the triangle of AbydosDendera, and the West Bank of Luxor
Fifty miles south of the original gateway
1999 Day 4
"I'm nuts," Eric Hanover muttered to himself as he dragged his arm across his forehead, missing the other tiny rivulets of perspiration that meandered down his face and neck. He gingerly plucked his soaked cotton tee shirt from his body and pulled it a few times, as if that action alone would cool his heated body.
"Yep, I'm a certified nut case," Eric stated a little louder and glanced in the dusty rearview mirror, wondering if his statement had gained any attention from the Land Rover's other two occupants. He resisted the urge to give a dramatic sigh when it appeared that neither Zayn nor Sharif was paying him any attention. But considering that their present condition was a mixture of frustration and exhaustion, he grimly concluded that conversation was the least of their concerns.
Eric had been dubious about assisting them from the first day Bijan had suggested it, but had caved in to the insatiable desire to know more. Cecelia's adventure into another world where she had been rescued from marauders by a desert warrior from a fictional tribe seemed fantastic and untrue, but Eric never doubted Cecelia's story for one moment.
He was a good and loyal friend, and had given Cece the time and space she needed to recover from her ordeal. Eric frowned from a sudden notion as he gunned the engine and climbed over a steep sandy incline. Cece wasn't recovering as quickly as he had hoped, and the dark circles under her eyes were worrisome as well as her lack of appetite.
Eric shifted the gears as he remembered Sharif's injuries had been slow healing as well. While taking him to the nearest hospital would have been the wisest course of action, Bijan had reminded them that stab wounds were reported to the authorities. He had no desire to draw any further attention to himself, or to the odd living arrangements that were now present in his modest home.
Sharif's recovery took three long weeks, and Eric knew that during that time his quest for knowledge about the other realm had often tested the boundaries of Bijan's patience. Intrigued by Sharif's stories of battling the undead and guarding the wealth of Egypt, he had coaxed Zayn into revealing more about their tribe than Bijan had originally permitted. On more than one occasion Zayn was seen out in the courtyard trying to placate the aggravated older man. While Eric and Zayn discussed what limited knowledge there was regarding the rifts, Bijan brooded over that shared information and the women devoted themselves to helping Sharif.
Apparently learning about another world and its race of people was a big no-no in Bijan's book as Eric had surmised, but then again the detective had a long list of 'do not and do's' in his repertoire.
"The man probably folds his underwear, for God's sake," Eric muttered as his mind digressed and mentally listed all the faults he had found in dealing with Bijan.
"A Guardian must be organized, in a position of power, and be able to render decisions without lengthy deliberation," Zayn spoke up and leaned forward, his hand gripping the passenger seat's headrest.
Eric snorted and rolled his eyes. "You make Bijan sound like a friggin' boy scout."
Zayn blinked in confusion. "What is a boy scout?"
"Never mind," Eric sighed. He steered the SUV towards the north by northeast using the compass on the dashboard, and then glanced over at the Traveler. "So, you want to tell me what's going on? Or have you suddenly lost all of your love for your chauffer? Why the trip out to the middle of the desert? Who set up the camp that we stayed in, and what's wrong with Sharif? He looks wiped-out, kind of like he's fading and don't ask me why I said that, I just did and…"
Zayn held up one hand and stopped Eric's diatribe. He waited a few moments to gather his thoughts, struggling for a way to explain his actions from the past few days as well as internally wrestling with a startling revelation. "It appears that the rift will not open," he began.
Eric hooted with laughter and then quickly looked in the rearview mirror back at Sharif; thankfully the warrior was still asleep and seemed undisturbed by the outburst. "Tell me something I don't know," he murmured.
"That once I return to my village, I must speak to the Elders and request that they amend the chronicles, stating that the aperture between our worlds works randomly, without reason or cause. I had originally thought that by bringing Sharif back to where I believe we had exited our world his presence alone would have opened the portal. He should have been able to return home." Zayn shoved a hand through his thick unruly hair and glanced at Sharif.
"Should of but didn't. So, do you have any idea of what's wrong with him?" Eric's question finally broke the silence. He felt guilty for not investigating the strange and alarming weakness that plagued Sharif once they had settled in camp. But he had been too busy trying to figure out who had erected the tents, gave them fresh water each morning, and cooked their meals.
Zayn leaned back and stared at the passing landscape for a few moments, running his fingers down the grimy window as he contemplated his answer. "Commander Ishaq has such trust in me," he mused. "Yet I am an unseasoned guide if you compare my record of service to other Travelers."
"Is that your way of saying you have no idea?" Eric asked with a faint smile as he turned Rover onto a long gravel road.
Zayn smiled, but its joy never reached his eyes. "As you know, there are many theories," he began softly. "Some believe that the rift is controlled by a higher power, and opens only for what is meant to be."
"Destiny?"
Zayn nodded his head. "Others believe that we can control it, bend and shape it to our every whim. Sadly our research and knowledge about the rift is very limited, therefore my answer to your question must be based on my own conclusions and conjecture."
"Conject away," Eric said and waved a hand around the truck. "It's not like I'm going anywhere."
Zayn smiled and shook his head at Eric's words. "You are, to use your own terminology, one strange dude."
"Ha! This coming from a man who travels back and forth between two worlds," Eric retorted.
Zayn grinned and suddenly decided to sit in the passenger seat. "In the chronicles, there are chapters that have been devoted to recording our vigilance of the rift," he said as he climbed over the console and arm rest. "There have been several scenarios suggested regarding possible problems that could arise over a period of time and are broken down into categories. Unfortunately the information is vague, if not confusing. However I do recall reading one passage, during my training, where it spoke of the consequences if a person from one realm where to be injured and pass into another."
"Yeah, but Sharif was injured in your world," Eric pointed out.
Zayn nodded his head as he settled into the seat. "True, but the passage reads, "One world is our birth and death, the other only to see our breath. If blood is spilt in another time, two cannot exist without reason or rhyme."
"Um, say what?" Eric asked, puzzled.
"Sharif was born in my world, and was injured prior to his passing. But he has also bled in this world and it is my belief that this is creating a pull on his physical as well as spiritual form. According to the passage it will be only a matter of time before his birth world seeks to completely reclaim him."
"I'm almost afraid to ask how will it reclaim him?" Eric inquired.
"By slowly drawing me back," Sharif stated softly as he pushed himself up, gently waving away Zayn's awkward assistance.
"Are you serious?" Eric murmured in disbelief as he divided his attention between watching the road and staring at Sharif's pale face in the rearview mirror.
Zayn turned around and reached into a small cooler, pulling out a bottle of water. He handed it to Sharif and fussed over the warrior for a few moments before turning back to Eric. "The dissolution of Sharif's body will start out gradually, and then increase in strength and occurrence."
"The attacks make me feel as if I am being torn in two by an unseen force; it hurts to think or breathe. And when they are done, I feel weaker, as if I am vanishing," Sharif clarified.
"Eventually Sharif will disappear from this world," Zayn said. "However I do not know if he will be alive once the transition is complete."
"Damn," Eric muttered. "Talk about not messing around in between the two worlds."
Zayn turned to Sharif, the guilt he felt for what he had done showing in the expression on his face. "SamaH ana," he said earnestly. "I only thought to help you; I never meant to complicate the situation."
"There is no need to apologize," Sharif replied. "You saved my life and for that, I am very grateful."
"I have brought you into this world without regard for the consequences," Zayn stated.
"If you hold no regard for your actions, then why are you still attempting to return me home?" Sharif asked quietly as he looked the younger man. "You question your skill as a traveler yet for myself, I have no doubts."
"The only person I know of that will have doubts about returning Sharif to Cairo will be Bijan," Eric said and glanced over at Zayn. He inwardly cringed when he saw the apprehension flicker in the young man's eyes and gave himself a good mental kick in the butt for mentioning the growing tension between the two men. "Um, what I mean to say is that Bijan…erm, he may not be…"
Zayn waved off Eric's stammering with a faint smile of understanding. "My failure in completing my assigned task will remind Bijan yet again why he believes I was never meant to be a Traveler."
"Sorry, Zayn," Eric lamely offered.
"There is no need to apologize," Zayn said as he contemplated Eric's observations about the detective that he heard in the camp. According to Eric, Bijan was stubborn, moody, harsh, and unforgiving. "You are far more astute than you lead us to originally believe, and your comments about Bijan were quite accurate."
Eric peered out of the front window and stared at the weathered sign by the road side that indicated how many miles till they reached the city. "Well it's a habit of mine to observe people, but since we're on the subject, Bijan's just prickly about temporarily living with Cece under one roof. And if I know my friend the way I think I do, I'll bet she's reminding him of what he did whenever she can. I just hope that bringing Sharif back won't compound any issues."
"Tell me more about Jamie," Sharif asked softly and knew he had surprised Eric with his interest. He tried to recall the vague memories of when she had tended to him, and the tenderness of her touch. Hazy recollections showed him a young woman with a heart shaped face, hair colored like the sun and mesmerizing eyes that were as green as fresh leaves. But it had been her hands that had captured his attention during the long hours of the night when they had soothed his fevered body.
Delicate looking hands that held so much strength…
"'Imil ma mush Rarbi fa'inn shu intu byimkinni malak," Zayn stated firmly to the warrior. (Do not wish for what you cannot have)
Sharif's amber eyes darkened with anger for a moment and then a wistful smiled danced across his face. "La wakhri, ya saHib," he murmured. (too late)
"Hullllooooo," Eric waved at both men. "English speaking friend here, remember?"
Zayn seized the chance for some levity and pretended to look perplexed. "I cannot seem to recall who you are," he thoughtfully tapped his chin and then turned to Sharif, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth. "Do you know who this man is?"
Sharif struggled not to smile, grateful for the change in topic. "I have never seen him before in my life," he said solemnly.
"Suddenly everyone is a comedian," Eric huffed and gunned the engine as he maneuvered around a small cart abandoned on the side of the road. "I volunteered to learn your language but Zayn said there was no need, that both you guys knew enough English and that…"
"He is doing it again," Zayn gave a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes, thoroughly enjoying Eric's discomfort.
"SamaH ana, ya saHib." Sharif smoothly interrupted Eric's tirade. He grew thoughtful for a few moments as he recalled the days spent in the other man's company, and believed that a good and loyal heart lurked beneath the jovial façade Eric always used as a shield. "It is quite simple to lapse back into the native tongue of my homeland; I miss it very much and was not thinking."
"So teach me your language and I'll give you all you want to know about Jamie," Eric said with a devilish grin.
"I want no part of this," Zayn waved off the two men and turned his attention back towards the passing landscape. He grew quiet and pensive when he realized he would be facing Bijan later in the day; how would he explain Sharif's presence?
"Ana qibil," Sharif said.
"English?"
"I accept," the warrior clarified. "Now tell me, Eric, are you in love with Jamie?"