Author's note: I keep saying it; I have so many stories I should be finishing (I count eight in progress in my account; that's not including one-shots that I haven't published yet). But I keep getting new ideas, and I want to strike at them while the iron is hot. Never mind that so many others have long since gone cold (I have intentions to finish them all, I swear!)

First of all, a quick explanation of what this story is. It's not primarily a romance story; there will probably be romantic implications later on, but I'm not sure that I would call them the story's main focus. It's mostly an action/adventure, supernatural/historical type story, with some fight scenes and intrigue thrown in here and there (at least, that's what I think it will be; I'll get back to you in a couple of chapters.)

Mostly, I just wanted to write a story that explored Egyptian mythology, something I've been interested in for a long time, and which the film either side-stepped, or approximated in a haphazard, Hollywood-type way.

Also, obviously, I wanted to do something with the mostly unexplored character of Ardeth Bay; this story delves primarily into what he did after the second film ended, as well as giving a brief, yet crucial, insight into his past - his childhood circumstances, how he became leader of the Medjai, what his life and his duties really entail.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

~ W.J.

The Shadowed One

Prologue

Many thousands of years ago, in the blessed black lands of Kemet, there was a time when the gods still prevailed upon the mortal realms. The Ogdoad, the Eight Divine Deities of the Highest Pantheon, maintained the balance, or maat, that ordered the world, keeping the forces of chaos at bay and dictating the rightful actions of man. The gods themselves were presided over by the greatest among them, the sun god: Mighty Protector, Lord of the Silent and Saviour of the Wretched, Amun-Ra.

They say that during that time, in ages before reckoning, some men came to resent the fact that the gods wielded the power to subjugate them, wishing to manipulate the formations of maat for themselves. Amun-Ra heard tell of the rebellion these dissidents were planning, and swiftly wrought vengeance upon them. He cast down his All-Seeing Eye, in the shape of the vicious lion-goddess Sekhmet, and tasked her with ridding the world of these abhorrent ones. Having feasted on the blood of the criminals, Sekhmet became enamoured with the killing lust of the hunt. She disregarded her master and the mandates of maat; she prowled the land, slaughtering indiscriminately and creating chaos wherever she went. Even Amun-Ra himself could not contain her; and so it fell to humanity – perhaps assisted in part by the Sagacious One of the Western Skies, Lord of Divine Words and Timekeeper of the Heavens, the wise celestial god Thoth – to use their cunning wit to save themselves.

With the wild goddess temporarily sated, Amun-Ra realized that his power was waning; the heka, bonds of magic which allowed the gods to influence the mortal world, were losing their effect. Old and weary of his long rule, Amun-Ra retreated into the realm of Duat far beyond the horizon; only his faint radiance still lit the land from above, in the form of the solar disc of the Aten, watching over man and gifting him with life-giving warmth. The other gods also receded, and the maat on earth unravelled, plunging humanity into chaos, turning them at odds with themselves. Thus humans struggled on through their paltry existence. Sometimes they remembered the gods, sending prayers and offerings to either please or placate them. Sometimes the gods would respond by bestowing reward where it was due, or sowing retribution where they felt it deserved. Then the Nine Bows entered Kemet, coming from foreign lands and enforcing dominion over the native people. They brought with them their heretic ways, replacing the gods of old with their own. The people forgot about the maat and the keka and the Sacred Pantheon, becoming accustomed to the new chaotic ways that the foreigners brought with them.

However, one goddess would not leave her presence unfelt, nor go unacknowledged. Though the world had mostly forgotten her, she would not release it from the grudge she bore against it. For thousands of years, she continued to persecute these low beings who had so humiliated her. From each new generation of man, she demanded the life of one amidst their number, satisfying her blood lust for a short while, until times turned again, and she recommenced her rampage.

My people did not forget the old ways. Since antiquity, we have served the Glorious and Terrible Ones, meeting their needs and earning humanity some respite from their demands. For millennia, we have attempted to placate The Ravager, the mighty goddess who demands blood tribute at the turn of every generation. When I reached adulthood, it became my turn to serve the Merciless One; like those who had gone before me and those who served alongside me, I devoted my body, weak though it is, to shield the world from her wrath, limiting the destruction she would wreak upon us.

There was but a small cost to pay, in order for the entire world to escape her grasp - to spare the people of the land of Kemet, now known as Egypt, who have dwelt within her reach since ancient times, yet remain so ignorant of how precariously their fragile lives lay in the balance.

The price that must be paid for the prevention of utter carnage: the life of one single man. A small loss, perhaps, in the greater scheme of things; and yet, for that ill-fated one, it is everything that he has to give.

Thus it has been since antiquity; even now, in the modern era, this cannot be changed.

In the Year of the Lion, the Powerful One, Mistress of Slaughter, She Who Mauls, the terrible goddess Sekhmet, will again demanded a life.

As those who serve her, it will be our duty to select one for her taking.

Chapter 1

July, 1934

El-Qasr Plateau

The sky was a deep, flawless blue. It stretched above in an immeasurable arc, far out of reach of mortal hands; yet even it seemed to shimmer in the heat haze that rose from the desert floor. The bold colours of sand and sky formed a stark contrast, like gold and lapis lazuli laying side-by-side.

In the midst of this jewel-bright vista was a smudge of black; a mere speck of dust compared to the immensity of the land and heavens.

A lone man stood upon the ridge of a glittering dune, as still as if he were a figure carved out of onyx. He remained unmoved even as the rough, grit-laden strands of desert wind dragged themselves through his silver-patterned burnoose. The ground shifted about his feet, like running water around a pillar of stone; a burst of scorching-hot air slithered by, grazing his cheek and sending his dark hair fluttering in all directions. Yet he stood in the centre of this unforgiving landscape as though he were simply on a rolling hill overlooking the sea, or in a softly-turfed meadow beneath mild sunshine. To the average person, even one acclimatised to harsh conditions, the unrelenting heat and oppressive tension in the air would have been scarcely tolerable.

The Medjai are not ordinary men; not a one of them could be said to be average.

This man stood with his head thrown back, eyes staring upwards. It was debatable which was more direct, the sweltering rays of the late-afternoon sun or the steady path of his gaze. He faced the endless swathe of blue as though he were silently communing with it.

Somewhere in the distance, a bird let out a shrill cry; the note swelled and dropped away. One could be fooled into thinking that it had been the scream of a djinn, or perhaps the voice of the wind itself.

The man remained motionless, perhaps listening for more, or merely contemplating what the cry had told him. He didn't look about, not even when approaching feet crunched on the sand a few feet from him.

"You are not surprised that I am here, are you, Shadowed One?" a voice asked.

At these words, Ardeth Bay turned. A smile suffused his features; the flash of white against his swarthy complexion was almost as brilliant as the sunlit sands that stretched before him.

The man who had addressed him was Deniyah Basir, his second-in-command and most trusted among his company of Medjai. He was a lean, weather-worn warrior of Sudanese descent, his dark skin burnished by years spent under the desert sun, until it had taken on the appearance of tanned leather. His wiry frame was threaded with strong sinews, subtly indicating the force with which he could swing a scimitar, how steadily he could shoulder a rifle. Yet, for all his skill, he couldn't succeed in sneaking up on his chief.

"You were observed, my friend," Ardeth replied, with a good dose of humour in his voice. "Horakhty warned me of your approach."

He raised a fist towards the sky; it was cloaked in a heavy leather gauntlet. A black crescent appeared out of the dazzling blue above, circling the sun before knifing through the air and racing down toward the two men.

The falcon alighted on Ardeth's outstretched arm, eyeing him with pupils that seemed to be made of topaz, glimmering amidst the tawny dullness of his feathers.

"You have already trained him well," Deniyah opined. His leader was watching the bird with pride plainly writ upon his face. "He is a fine replacement."

"Yes," Ardeth agreed, though his smile had now vanished. He was thinking of the falcon's predecessor- a fine bird, which had been shot out of the sky by one of his bitterest enemies. Though it had been a mere animal, Ardeth had considered Horus to be a comrade and close companion. He had raised that bird from the time it had been a mere untamed fledgling. Though his heart had been hardened by years of duty and heavy losses on the battlefield, its death had still hurt him.

"He is named well," Deniyah added, having seen his chief's expression rapidly cloud over. "Horakhty: 'Ra-Horus of the Two Horizons'… a good name, well suited to the remembrance of that which has gone before."

"Indeed. A reminder that the sun will always set again, as well as rise."

Deniyah considered his leader's words for a moment, then quoth: "The sun will set amidst the serpent's coils in the west."

"The sun will rise again on the falcon's wings in the east," Ardeth finished for him. It was a common Medjai saying; words that they trained by.

Words that they lived by.

They stood for a moment in companionable silence. Then Ardeth asked: "Have you come to fetch me for some reason, Deniyah?"

"No, Shadowed One. All is well at camp; much the same as when you left it. I merely came to… check on you."

Ardeth looked bemused. "Did you fear that the sands had swallowed me up?" he asked teasingly.

Deniyah snorted. "No, Shadowed One. I know that you can run the dunes like a jackal, throw a knife as straight as any eagle flies, fight like a whirling dust-devil. No, I was not concerned for your person; it is your mind for which I worry. For two weeks we have been stationed at Dekhala Oasis, yet the men are now feeling more uneasy than when we arrived."

"What is the cause of this?" Ardeth asked, with genuine concern. He was the leader of the Medjai's twelve clans; if his personal garrison were troubled, it was his trouble as well.

From what Deniyah said next, it seemed that the reverse was true as well. "I regret to admit that you are the cause, Shadowed One. We are meant to be at rest, yet you roam further into the desert than any of the scouts on duty. Rather than staying at the encampment, where your men would laud your achievements and seek to learn from your wisdom, you instead choose to wander in seclusion, telling your secrets only to the sky. I would not dare criticize your actions, Shadowed One, but the men grow nervous, and I myself have begun to wonder. Do you come out here, if not to teach your falcon, merely to watch the sun's journey overhead? Or do you search the sky for answers which your willing friends and allies cannot provide?"

Ardeth looked down at the sand. The edge of the dune was like a wave of gold cresting beneath his feet, remaining stationary but imperceptibly drifting with every stream of wind that raked it. It seemed the same wind ruffled the surface of his mind, disturbing its depths.

"It is not a quest for answers that brings me out here," he said slowly, his brow furrowing beneath the tattoo that adorned it. "At least, I have no questions; or if I do, they are not ones that I can put into words." He looked at Deniyah; his most trusted warrior looked back impassively, obediently waiting for his next words. "I cannot justify why I must refuse to remain still. When I am at camp, I feel restless… Even here, amidst the stillness of the sand and sky, I detect the ceaseless motion of all around me, and my soul moves with it. Though my body is in repose, my mind is forever roving onward, forcing me to keep pace with it or else lose track of it completely. I don't know why I should feel such turmoil; for now, the world is safe…"

"Is it the approach of an adversary that disturbs you?"

"I do not believe so." Ardeth allowed himself a chagrined look. "My archaeological friends, the O'Connells-"

"You mean that miserable insect that you let crawl out of Hamunaptra?" Deniyah asked, in what were meant to be innocent tones.

Ardeth put on the wry expression he customarily donned whenever Deniyah made such remarks.

Nine years ago, as they had watched a lone Legionnaire limp away from a battle he had just fought against the Tuareg, Deniyah had suggested to his leader that they take care of him, as a necessary precaution. Ardeth, perhaps out of some attempt at charitableness, had instead opted to let the desert perform the task for them.

For Rick O'Connell, such an ill-chanced demise had never eventuated. Deniyah liked to say that if they had only killed the man back then, he would have never managed to contribute to the unleashing of not just one, but two unholy forces of evil over the course of subsequent years. Ardeth let his subordinate say these things, only because as well as his right-hand man, Deniyah was also a close friend. He could always end the argument by stating that killing Rick O'Connell had obviously not been part of Allah's intended plan; and after all, had they not managed to save the world, thanks in part to the actions of that very same meddler who had caused such chaos in the first place? Deniyah would grumble that the Medjai had succeeded in staving off the doom of humanity for thousands of years without the interference of some foreign devil, and the undisciplined whelp was far more trouble than he was worth.

"The American paladin," Ardeth gently corrected him now, making Deniyah roll his eyes but dare not say anything more, "and his clan are safely out of the way at their English home, and will be until the turn of the season. If they were in our land today, I might indeed worry that they had newly brought about yet another eminent apocalypse; but we have nothing to fear in that regard, for a time at least. No, it is not even a definite threat that troubles me… and yet…"

He trailed off. These were very personal thoughts; inner doubts which he would never confide to anyone other than Deniyah, and even then only because the man had asked him outright. Ardeth was the Shadowed One, the ordained chieftain of the Medjai's twelve clans, burdened with the protection of his nation's heritage and the safe-keeping of all the world's human life; yet he was also just a man. Deniyah was a subordinate, but also a comrade and confidant. Even if his leader were beyond his reproach, he was more than willing to offer his friend reassurance and advice.

"It is not so inexplicable that you should feel unsettled, Shadowed One," he began consolingly. "Little more than six moons ago, the Medjai fought against the most ferocious enemy it had ever faced. The Battle of Ahm Shere disrupted both the soft realms of the mortal plane, and the very depths of Hell; perhaps the clash of blades was heard as far away as beyond the horizon, in Heaven itself. After riding against such peril, it is difficult to so swiftly shed the accoutrements of war; having faced such a threat, it is not easy to resign oneself to a time of peace, however welcome it is. You have led us and fought for us well, Shadowed One. Your reward for bringing such favour upon us will come in due course. You need only steady your heart and wait for the echoes of war to fade, as they inevitably will. The currents on the air and the motions of the sand flow onward in their time; so too shall this."

Ardeth smiled at his words. "You should be a soothsayer, Deniyah, with such wise counsel within you."

"And waste such a pair of hands, Shadowed One?" Deniyah retorted, raising a set of ten digits before him; his hands showed tough callouses on palms and finger joints, where the skin had repeatedly been grazed by the hilt of a scimitar, or felt the recoil of a heavy firearm. "I would not so readily lay down my weapons; not while I ride behind the Shadowed One. For now, though, I shall ride ahead, and see that the cooking fires are being lit. Tonight the men shall toast your good health, and with their blessing hopefully banish this disquiet from your soul."

He half-turned to go, then paused. "Perhaps further action might also form a balm for your nerves, Shadowed One. Our sentries to the south reported seeing a plume of dust travelling due-east across the plateau. They swore it looked like the trail left by a fast-moving convoy. I thought it unworthy of mention, for only those who are not Medjai, nor possessed of any good sense, would head so deep into the desert at the height of the warmest months. It was most probably just a minor dust storm; but perhaps you should ride with the men tomorrow and patrol the grounds of Isheru, as a precaution."

Ardeth grinned. Deniyah was a conscientious fellow, if not more than a little bossy; he was always suggesting that his leader should order this or the other to be done, 'just as a precaution'.

"You may be an able soothsayer, Deniyah," he said, with mock severity, "but that doesn't mean you can tell me what I will do before I myself have decided."

Deniyah hid his own mirth with an unconvincing mask of feigned servility. "I wait upon your word, Shadowed One. For now, I shall go back to camp and also await your return. Come back whenever you have finished watching the sky." With a last respectful gesture, he withdrew as quietly as he had come, his footfalls squeaking only slightly on the loose sand.

Ardeth remained on the dune for some time after he had gone. He indeed turned his gaze upward again. In the west, the sun was gradually dropping toward the horizon. Where the edge of the dune shielded it from the angle of the solar disc's final rays, the sand had turned from gold to pewter. The change spread in a broad swathe of translucent shadow, like a bolt of sheer, dark cloth partially concealing the vast desert floor. Ardeth watched the vibrant colours steadily deepen, becoming muted even as they darkened, until he stood in a realm of amethyst twilight.

Horakhty had taken to the air whilst he had been talking to Deniyah; now he wheeled low overhead. All his cries were hopeful enquiries as to whether they would soon be returning to the oasis, where strips of dried meat waited to fill his avian belly.

Ardeth watched him soar above. Every fibre in his being felt heavy. Yet the weight moved, clawing at him as it shifted uncontrollably. His senses thrummed, though there was nothing there to have triggered them. It was a sensation he had been living with for weeks now, since even before they had reached the Dekhala Oasis. He had done his best to explain his conduct to Deniyah, and though his comrade's words had comforted him somewhat, he was still perturbed; mostly because he could scarce even explain it to himself. He was a born and raised warrior, with keenly honed instincts; something told him that this sense of unease wasn't going to be fleeting. The problem, however, was that the very disruption he felt seemed to emanate from within. More than anything, he felt most at odds with himself.

'Shadowed One'.

That was the title given to the overriding chieftain of the Medjai. Ardeth had been the Shadowed One for less than a decade; this was a relatively short time, when one considered that the formal contest leading to succession began as soon as the approved candidates reached adulthood. Ardeth was well past his thirtieth year now. He had come into the honoured position late, having been bestowed it via circumstance rather than through a display of personal valour. It was a burden he had grown accustomed to shouldering, and as such, the manner in which he had been handed leadership seldom rankled with him.

Was that what bothered him now? Even after he had led the Medjai into the fiercest battle of their long history, and emerged with most of them unscathed? Future generations would no doubt tell of Ardeth Bay, the Shadowed One who had ridden with their ancestors against the Army of Anubis and returned victorious; such glory was nearly unfathomable for a cavalry of mere mortals, waging war as they had against the much-feared gods of the netherworld. If he hadn't fully deserved the title at his ascension, he had surely earned it upon the battlefield. He should be basking in adulation, savouring his status as a living legend, or at the very least appreciating the fact that he had survived Ahm Shere with all his limbs still intact.

Yet the scourge of conflict seemed to have seeped right into him, tainting all that he did. His enemies were defeated, no longer posing a threat to all he stood for; yet he felt as though he were still fighting, somewhere deep within himself. Just what it was that he opposed – or which opposed him – he couldn't even begin to say.

Ardeth sighed, and the desert wind seemed to echo the sound, whistling petulantly amongst the peaks of the dunes, as the night swiftly advanced upon its back. It seemed a fitting voice for the sentiments he felt within him.

As he watched darkness descend over the desert, he mused that the title of 'Shadowed One' had perhaps never suited him better. He felt as though a shadow had been cast over his very soul.

Author's Note: A quick note on the names and writing style I chose to use in this story.

The character names I used are either borrowed from other fictitious universes, or inspired by Middle-eastern names. Since Ardeth Bay isn't a real name (it's actually an anagram of 'Death by Ra') I continued in a similar vein. Deniyah is a made-up character; I haven't been back to check what any of Ardeth's comrades in the films looked like so I invented them. (and no, Deniyah is not a potential vehicle for slash)

Most of the place names I use are real, though they aren't meant to refer to a specific real-life location. The mythology is all stuff I researched, but I maybe embellished it a bit to suit the story.

The title of 'Shadowed One' is completely made up, it isn't used in the film at all; I just thought it sounded better than the men referring to him as 'Ardeth' or 'Bay' all the time, and it becomes more important down the track (shhh, spoiler!)

I imagined that the Medjai aren't native English speakers, but mostly use Arabic amongst themselves. I tried to reflect that in their speech patterns, as well as inject a bit of culture and idiom into their dialogue.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it - the rest of the story is plotted, but I have no idea when the next chapter will be written, so stay tuned!