Chapter 7
In the distance he could see it. The storm announced its arrival with a spectacle of dark clouds rushing in from the west before it was even felt or heard. Victor cursed the heavens for the hundredth time that day and kicked the solid tire of their disabled Range Rover causing him to shout out another oath from the pain.
"Damn it all to hell!" he cried. "Can this day get any worse?"
"Yeah," Jeffreys interjected, "I still can't reach anyone on the satellite phone."
Victor bit his lip and watched as Tony smirked. The past twenty-four hours had been nothing but a disaster and Victor was so incensed that he was positive he would kill both Rosalinda and that damned dark warrior who took her just as soon as he found them. And with the way Tony was looking at him now, he just might finish him off as well.
"With the looks of that sandstorm blowing in, I'd say I won't be able to reach anyone on this phone for a while either," Jeffreys said as he put the device back in its case. The phone had been damaged the night before by the Medjai, but not to the point where Jeffreys and his men couldn't fix it. Now that they had it operational, the weather was disrupting their link.
"Well, just how long do these sand storms last?" Victor asked.
Jeffreys shrugged. "Depends on the storm. It could blow over in a few minutes, or it could last all night. We'll have to wait and see."
Just then, they felt the first gust of wind and the rising clouds of dust in the near distance told them they would have to move to the shelter of the vehicle soon. The two remaining men of Jeffreys' clan of thugs came around the corner from where they had buried their dead compatriot and all five men entered the shelter of their vehicle.
Though a sandstorm was engulfing the desert, it did nothing to diminish the heat of the day and Victor cursed again the stench permeating the vehicle's interior. Five sweaty, smelly men in one small space baking in the hundred degree temperature was proving to be worse torture for Victor than the bruised jaw and bloody shirt he'd received the night before and his anger and need for revenge was growing tenfold. And to top it off, Jeffreys' two men wouldn't quit babbling in that damned, unintelligible language of theirs.
"Shut them up, Jeffreys, or I'll shut them up with a bullet each," Victor demanded.
Jeffreys said something to them as the men sat in the back seat with him, then he leaned forward between the two front seats and explained, "They want to quit on us."
"Why's that?" Victor asked.
"Those men who attacked last night.the Medjai.they are greatly feared by the locals," Jeffreys relayed.
"Why? They're nothing but a group of desert bandits on horseback. How dangerous can they be?" Victor inquired.
"Local myth speaks of them as being the direct descendants of the pharaohs' personal guards. It is their job to protect the ruins and secrets of ancient Egypt."
"And are we intruding on any ruins or ancient secrets?" Victor interrupted to ask sarcastically.
"Not that I'm aware of," Jeffreys answered. "But they do have your woman now and getting her back will prove to be most difficult."
The men in the back seat spoke out again and Jeffreys listened, then added, "Local myth speaks of the Medjai possessing special powers given to them by the gods. These men are afraid now, Victor, and I fear we won't be able to keep them with us after last night."
Victor's temper was flaring, his blood was reaching the boiling point. All he needed on top of losing Rosa last night and getting his shirt dirtied was a mutiny. But before he could pull his gun and threaten the two men who were staring at him wide-eyed and fearful, Tony decided to speak up.
"This group, the Medjai--would this have anything to do with that warning the old man in Cairo gave us?" Tony asked.
Jeffreys looked guilty for a long moment, his thin face pulling a frown of regret.
"Yes," he finally answered. "But like I said then, it is only a rumor. I have never seen a Medjai warrior until last night. I didn't even know they really existed," Jeffreys confessed.
The two men in the back seat said something quickly and loudly, interrupting and Victor turned abruptly in his seat and yelled, "Shut up! Just shut the hell up or I'll shut you up myself." He held his chrome Walther PPK, the only weapon left after last night's raid, at the ready and the two Egyptians sunk back in their seats. One of them suddenly added something quietly then looked out the window into the dark sea of twirling sand.
"What'd he say?" Victor demanded of Jeffreys.
"He said he would rather face your gun than the Medjai. It seems that their leader was just recently assassinated and it is rumored that the Medjai are seeking revenge. My men will not cross the Medjai again. They are sure a bullet from your gun would be a more just death than what the Medjai will have planned if we pursue them."
"Hell," Victor mumbled under his breath as he clicked the safety for his gun back on and placed it in the waistband of his pants. "Just let the cowards go then, Jeffreys. We don't need men who are frightened of a few damned masked horsemen. Meanwhile, get on that satellite phone as soon as possible and get us out of here!"
"Yes, sir," Jeffreys replied in his accented voice and went back to working the phone, praying a signal would go through soon. This American he was working for was a hot-tempered man and Jeffreys wanted no part of ending up at the wrong end of this man's temper. **
Sand stung ruthlessly as it blew against her exposed skin with a force Rose never knew wind could produce. She'd grown up in Chicago, the "windy city", but even that had not prepared her for the vengeance of the mighty Sahara's winds.
They'd ridden barely for five minutes before the swirling sand became too much to bear, yet Rose had no idea where they were for she was still blindfolded. This time, however, she cherished the covering for it kept her eyes safe from the tiny grains that were stinging the exposed skin of her arms that stuck out from her plain gray T-shirt. Trying to avoid the smart upon her face, Rose turned her head away from the direction of the wind and tucked her face close to her right shoulder. The warrior who rode behind her upon the horse then surprised her by pulling her face closer to his shoulder and shielding it from the wind and sand with his hand and the arm of his robe.
This tender care the man sometimes took with her shocked her to no end. He was an enigma-fierce one moment, gentle the next. And for the life of Rose, she was dying to see what he looked like! Was it their culture to remain covered at all times, or was it merely the fact that she was an outsider that prompted this man to hide himself from her?
Rose chastised herself as she allowed the warrior to provide covering for her face. What did she care what the man looked like or why he hid behind his veil? She was his prisoner and she had no intentions of ever liking the man or giving in to him. And she would continue to lay in wait for another opportunity to flee and find Ali, a man she could truly trust.
"We must stop," the warrior suddenly shouted above the din of the storm. "It is too much for the horses."
Rose said nothing for she agreed that the storm was too intense. But stop where? She wondered just where there was shelter in this rocky canyon for them and their horses.
As if reading her thoughts, the man then said, "There is a cave nearby. We shall be there in a few moments."
True to his word, the warrior stopped the horse and dismounted then pulled Rose off the animal. Taking her hand he tugged her along behind him.
Rose balked at the feel of his hand clutching hers. His fingers were long and strong and not nearly as callused and coarse as she would have expected from a desert man. And his fingers immediately interlaced themselves with her fingers in a familiar fashion that caused her no disgust at his touch, only curiosity.
He led her blindfolded for only a short while, until Rose felt the winds dissipate and the sound of the horses' steps following behind echo around them. It was then that she realized she was in the cave.
The warrior halted and pulled her blindfold from her eyes. "You will need to see in order to keep your footing," he explained. "But do not be foolish and attempt to escape again or I will bind your feet as well."
Rose frowned at him again seeing he had not removed his veil from his face and said nothing for she had no intentions of escaping during the dreadful storm.
He brushed by her and stopped next to the saddled horse. He removed a saddlebag from the horse then returned.
"This way," he instructed, pointing in the direction of a dark narrow path.
Rose glanced around her surroundings. They were in a high, wide chamber obviously large enough for the two horses and two humans. She wondered why they needed to venture any farther into the cave.
"What's wrong with right here?" she asked.
"This way," he again demanded, clicking on a small flashlight.
He never answered her question and had there not been a fierce storm just outside the entrance to the cave, she would have refused to move a step. Looking at the darkness that had crept into the day, Rose decided it better to follow the man than stand there and argue.
He led her down a short, rocky path, all the while keeping his hand upon her arm to tug her along. After only a few yards, the path opened up into another chamber. It was dark and dank and smelled of earth.
"What's this place?" she inquired as the warrior released her arm and moved to the left with his flashlight.
Rose's words bounced around them in the room and she thought the echo lent an eerie feel to the atmosphere of the chamber.
The man again didn't answer her question and Rose suddenly saw a match flare in his hand. Not a moment later, a torch was burning and the chamber was illuminated with light.
"You still use those things?" Rose asked with sarcasm as she nodded toward the flame burning on a stick that was stuck in the hard-packed clay floor.
The man only stared at her and his dark eyes gave nothing away. Rose was just about to give up on hearing him speak when he suddenly answered, "The torch will serve us better than the small flashlight. I will build you a fire in a while for heat. This cave grows cold when night falls."
"We'll be here that long?" Rose inquired as she glanced around the chamber. It was fairly large and round, its walls smooth rock. Upon the walls were murals, hieroglyphs and flowing words written in Arabic. The chamber was an enchanting place and Rose found herself wandering around looking closely at the words she could not read and the art that told an ancient story.
Forgetting her question, Rose reached her bound hands out and touched the cold wall in front of her. There was a list of sorts upon the wall and a portrait of a woman's veiled face, showing only her eyes. They were ice blue eyes and that intrigued Rose for she was positive Egyptian women were not known for possessing such light features.
There was a sound of footsteps behind her and Rose spun around quickly. Her gaze landed on a large knife and she gasped as she saw it wielded in the warrior's hands. What was this dark man planning on doing with her? Had he kidnapped her and fought with her only to bring her here and kill her? She shrank back against the wall too shocked to do much else-even to fight.
"No, don't," Rose pleaded with a whisper.
The man remained silent as he reached out and grabbed her bound hands. Rose began to struggle, fear gripping her soul until she felt the ropes slide from her wrists. She stared awestruck at the man's eyes as he replaced the knife in its sheath on his belt.
"What? You thought I had other intentions?" he asked roughly.
Rose rubbed at her wrists, relieved to be untied.
"No," she said, "I just didn't expect you to untie me."
"You will not run again," he said with confidence. "You are safer with me than in that storm. But if you do not believe me.go ahead, brave the Sahara. I dare you."
Rose considered his dare for an instant. However, the angry howl of the wind outside the cave that filtered into her ears was more daunting than the dark gaze of the warrior. Remaining with him seemed the safer decision. Yet she wasn't going to allow him to know that, so she turned away from his gaze and asked nonchalantly, "So, what is this place?"
"It is a cave," he taunted from behind.
Rose frowned but she wasn't angered by his taunt, only shocked for hearing humor come from his accented voice was strange.
"I can see that for myself," she replied dryly. "But what is this place?"
The humor now gone from his voice, the warrior answered, "It's a cave of prophecies. The entire history of the Medjai is recorded on these walls and the prophecies of the future are also recorded here so that every leader of the Medjai understands his duties and the possible dangers that await him."
The man moved forward and his long fingers traced a word written in Arabic.
"My great-grandfather," he said, then his fingers moved to the next word. "My grandfather, Ardeth." His fingers continued to find words on the wall. "My father, Aarif, then me." His fingers were on the name next to the portrait of the woman then dropped to the last name on the wall, "And this will be my son, Adan." The man turned and stared hard at her face. His eyes were unyielding. "Our son."
**
The cave may have been dimly lit, but Ali still saw the blood drain from Rose's face at his words. It had been years since he'd ventured into this cave. In fact, it had been almost a decade. He remembered the day clearly, for that was when he had read his fate upon these walls and seen the eyes of the woman that the prophecy had said he would marry and conceive his heirs with. That was the day he and Yasmeen had gone their separate ways because it had been made clear to him that she was not his future.
But Rose was.
Now Ali realized why Rose's eyes had always seemed so familiar to him. It had taken until now to remember that day in this cave when his future had been revealed to him and he knew now that chance meeting two years ago in the lobby of their office building had not been chance after all, but destiny.
"Wh.what?" Rose asked, stammering on her question.
"It is written upon these walls. This is your portrait that has been foreseen," Ali explained calmly.
"Foreseen by whom?" Rose questioned back.
"By the soothsayers of our tribe. They are elders who know much. They have lasted for several generations, outlived three chiefs and."
Rose interrupted, a fire lit in her blue eyes. "And I'd chance to say they're a bit too old and senile to be making credible predictions," she snapped. "That's not me on this wall and there is no way I'm marrying you and having children with you. For heaven's sake, I don't even know what you look like!"
Ali wanted desperately to reveal himself to her. Yet he knew that she would overreact. He had to wait until they were back in his village and he was himself again and able to explain his history and duty to her in a more serene environment where she would hopefully accept and understand who he truly was.
"You will. Someday," he said. "For now, just know that your future is already planned for you."
"Is that a threat?" she asked.
"It is a promise," he returned.
He could see Rose shaking. It was either from the news he'd just dropped upon her or from the dampness of the cave. Unbuckling his sword belt, Ali pulled off his outer robe and wrapped it around her shoulders for warmth.
"It is a promise of our future together," he continued. "You will be my wife and you will bear the next chief of the Medjai. It is already written into the fabric of time and you cannot deny your fate."
"Oh really?" Rose asked harshly. Then the hard look upon her pretty face diminished slightly as she realized he'd given her his robe. Her eyes raked over him clad in his dark shirt, black military style cargo pants and combat boots, stopping only long enough to obviously take in the handgun holstered at his side. Her gaze then quickly returned to his face and her eyes were not nearly as narrowed and angry looking as they'd been a few moments earlier.
"I'll have you know," she began after a short pause, "that my future was written for me once before and I escaped it. Don't think I won't find a way to get away from you too."
"Yes, you did such a good job of escaping your future that it followed you to Egypt and nearly kidnapped you last night," Ali drawled.
Rose glowered at him from under her fine brow that was smudged with two days worth of desert.
"I will never go back to my life with my father and Victor. They used me and I won't be used again. And that also includes being used to bear some heir to your throne," she hissed.
"You would not be used, you would be cherished. Your position among my tribe would carry much weight and respect as my wife."
Angrily, Rose returned, "Like I told you earlier, I have no interest in positions of power. And I have no interest in some desert warrior like you!"
Her words stung him even though it was illogical that they should. Rose did not know to whom she was arguing. As far as she was concerned, he truly was just an unknown man who'd taken her hostage. In fact, Ali knew he should have been ecstatic that she was denying him so vehemently for it meant she was not a woman who could be easily molded and persuaded. She was strong. She was stubborn. And she was so incredibly beautiful and radiant standing there in the bouncing light of the torch with her defiant eyes that he surely would have grabbed her up and kissed her senseless had she known his real identity.
Yet doing so was cruel. He'd kissed her twice after their struggle near the cliffs and taking advantage of her captivity was unfair of him. So even though he admired her beauty and strength now, he would not touch her.
Instead, he steeled his nerves and argued back, "I am an educated man. You might find that you are surprised by all that I actually am."
When her ice blue eyes only gazed at him with more contempt, Ali explained, "My people, my tribe, have been guardians of the desert and all her secrets for thousands of years. Since the time of the pharaohs. And even in this modern age, we continue to guard her secrets, for there are still those who threaten to reveal them."
Rose pulled the black robe tightly about her shoulders and her eyes appeared to relax at his story. The chill in the cave, however, had increased and Ali decided that if he built a fire and continued talking, Rose might actually relax further.
Moving to the fire pit in the middle of the cave and seeing that there was still wood left from the last person who'd visited, Ali began lighting a fire. He continued talking as he did.
"In fact, there is a very dangerous group who is currently making their way toward an ancient landmark-the Fortress of Aten," Ali explained.
"If that's true, shouldn't you be out there tracking them down instead of in here proposing marriage to a perfect stranger?" Rose asked sarcastically.
"You are not a perfect stranger," he insisted.
"Oh, that's right. My picture is on your wall," she snapped back.
This was a new side to Rose, Ali realized. He'd never heard her so sarcastic and argumentative. Then again, when they'd been friends in California, he had not taken her captive and given her cause to be so incorrigible.
"You mock our tribe?" Ali asked with forced coldness. It was an attitude he had been taught to express since childhood. Knowing he was going to one day become leader of their people, he had mimicked everything his father and grandfather had said and done. And he remembered they had both been experts at keeping a cool, unaffected façade when necessary.
"Not your tribe, just your crazy ideas about us," Rose explained. "But since you brought it up, isn't it a bit antiquated what you do? I mean, running around the desert cloaked in black like Zoro seems almost ridiculous."
"Perhaps to you," he acknowledged. He paused, how did he explain to Rose the mission and importance of their tribe? To a modern American, it no doubt did seem like some Hollywood creation, but the threat to the world that ancient Egypt posed was nothing Hollywood had created. It was real. It was deadly. And if he failed on this mission, the entire world would suddenly realize just how deadly.
"But you must realize, the Medjai are not a bunch of silly men in costumes," he continued.
"You understood my Zoro reference. You must know American culture then," Rose commented.
"Of course. I know the ways of many cultures and I am well traveled. I told you, I am an educated man."
"Then if you're such an educated and cultured man, why the disguise and the horses and the swords?" she inquired.
"We are a history-bound people," he answered. "Our swords, our horses, our dress signify that. And we have found that horses are much easier to use for our purposes. If we raced about the Sahara in noisy vehicles or helicopters, we'd be easy to spot, easy to see with a variety of technological sources. And as for the disguises.we once showed our faces proudly for all to see. We even marked them with symbols and words of strength and honor. But technology and mass media have caused us to abandon that tradition. Now we are covert-secretive. People know little about us and we reveal ourselves to no one outside our tribe."
"So I guess that means I'll never see your face-even after we're married," Rose drawled.
Ali smiled under his veil and had to hold back a laugh for Rose's sarcasm was tickling.
"Ah, then you are coming to accept your inevitable future?" he prodded.
She glared at him as she moved next to the fire he'd successfully built. "That was sarcasm, not acceptance. If you haven't figured it out already, I'm not some pliable female who'll do what any man tells me to do. And I don't plan on changing for anyone. And since, I'm sure, your culture doesn't want its females that way, you might as well lose the idea about any marriage between the two of us."
Rose was certainly strong-willed when she put her mind to it, Ali observed. Again, he was seeing her inner strength emerge quickly and finding that his best friend was quite different than she'd seemed to him back in California.
"Our people have led a harsh existence for thousands of years. All of our women are strong and strong-willed. That does not dissuade me," he answered.
"Then surely what my ex-fiancé said to you last night will," Rose insisted as she squatted by the fire on the other side of the stone ring. She pulled the black robe tighter about her shoulders and Ali saw the weariness in her eyes and heard it in the tone of her voice. She was quickly losing her fight and her words were no longer argumentative, but spoken softly. "Its true, I'm not pristine."
"That is of little consequence to me," he returned. "I too am not entirely pristine myself."
**
Rose saw a sparkle in his brown eyes and was certain the man was smiling at her under that veil he still wore. His insistence that she was to be his bride was turning into more of a taunt than the threat it had been minutes before. This warrior was an interesting man. One moment he was wielding a sword and cutting down an enemy, the next he was taunting her for his own pleasure. He was complex, dangerous and perhaps a bit charming. Perhaps.
"You're taunting me now," Rose said. "I never would have guessed a desert chief would have a sense of humor."
"I am attempting to make you feel more comfortable," he said simply.
Rose stood abruptly because the last thing she wanted to feel was comfortable around this dangerous man.
"That's very hospitable of you, but know this-when that little storm out there is over, I will escape. And it doesn't matter to me how 'comfortable' you make me feel in the meantime."
She'd said the magic words. She watched as the man's eyes darkened to the color of coal. He possessed very expressive eyes and though she could see nothing else of his visage, his eyes told her enough.
"You will not escape," he said lowly but with much force behind his words. "I will not allow it."
Rose felt a shiver race down her spine and the small hairs at the back of her neck tingled with a strange energy. Those words sounded almost exactly like Victor's words to her just before she had decided to flee Chicago and her family. He'd been a controlling, abusive boyfriend and she'd possessed enough self-esteem at the young age of twenty-three to know that she deserved better. So she'd told her father she was not going to marry Victor. That plan had backfired for Alfonse had wanted the marriage desperately and refused to allow her to back out. With few other options, Rose had decided to flee. Tony had assisted her and for the past five years she'd grown more determined than any woman that she would never find herself in another desperate situation with a man again.
Yet here she was, the captive of a dangerous desert chief who believed in fairy tales written upon stone walls and who was determined to make her his possession.
Well, it wouldn't happen. Not again.
"Why you pompous, arrogant." she began to insult only to be cut off by the warrior who threw a hand up to halt her onslaught of words.
"Enough, woman! I will hear no more arguments," he insisted.
"The name's Rose," Rose corrected coolly.
"I thought it was Rosa."
"It was. At one time. But when I escaped Victor and my father years before, I had to change my name. Rose suits me much better," she explained, finding that her anger over his outburst only moments ago had quickly left her. It was irritating to discover she could not keep up the shield of her anger around this man. After all, he had kidnapped her, held her captive and kissed her without her permission. She should be furious to no end. But for some reason, she was not. Her anger came and went swiftly.
"Rose suits you," he acknowledged with a quiet voice. "It is a name with much beauty, just as you possess much beauty."
Rose hesitated and felt a slight blush invade her cheeks. Such a compliment was unexpected and she stared at him across that fire for several moments before saying, "I appreciate the kind words, but compliments won't win me over."
"I don't doubt that," he answered, "but in time, you will concede to me. Once you learn I am an honorable man, and that I intend you no harm, you will concede."
Rose said nothing, for it was a losing battle to try and tell this warrior she would never agree to his insane fantasy. Better to allow him to believe he could one day win her over, than to stand there in the dank cave arguing that she never would. His insistence was unyielding and it was becoming quite clear to her that he would never acquiesce on that point. The more she argued, the more insistent he became. For now, she would relent and allow him to think he was gaining ground. It was the most prudent course of action.
After two full minutes of muteness, the man's voice spoke lowly. "You did not argue back, my love, what are you plotting?"
Unable to stop the small smile that pulled at her mouth over his question, Rose answered, "Nothing. But please, let's lose the endearments. I am, after all, still your captive and I'd rather not be called your anything."
"Fair enough," he agreed. "I will call you only by your name.for now.but you must agree to talk with me. I will not have you standing quietly by, your brain planning an escape."
With a shrug, Rose moved back toward the fire and sat by it. The dampness in the cave was chilling her quickly and her head still throbbed. She'd relent and grant the warrior his request because she had no more strength to continue on with defiance.
"Fine, I'll play your game," she said. "Talk away."
The man remained mute, but his eyes never left her face. She was about to respond with a sarcastic remark, when suddenly an alien sound echoed through the chamber of the cave. Rose jumped, but the warrior didn't even flinch. Then with much nonchalance, he reached down to his belt and removed a small satellite phone. He spoke for only a few moments in his native tongue, then clicked off the phone and returned it to his gear belt.
"You carry swords and ride horses, yet you have a mobile phone," Rose commented. "Odd."
"We too make use of modern technology," the man explained simply.
"And who called you in the middle of this storm?" she inquired, certain he would tell her to mind her own business for he seemed to be a very private man who's every word was planned in advance.
He surprised her by answering. "My men at the oasis. They were worried that I had not yet returned. They thought perhaps you had bested me," he said with amusement in his tone. "But that will never happen again."
"You are arrogant," Rose observed.
"It is an inherited trait," he replied. "I will not apologize for it."
"Inherited," Rose repeated. "From the men on the wall?" She threw her hand back toward the painted cave wall.
The man nodded. "A long line of proud men, who have served the Sahara well," he said. "We have protected humanity from some horrible wraths and we have earned the right to be a little arrogant."
"Wraths?" Rose asked back with a disbelieving tone. "Like what?"
"Ah, you westerners do not believe in the mystical. You probably think we are mad men who run about the desert playing sword games for fun. But what you do not realize is Egypt hides many dangers that are unseen by the modern world. Dangers that most would never believe and that no American could ever comprehend."
Again thinking this man lived in a fantasy world better served in a place like Disneyland, Rose suggested, "So tell me just what type of spooky terrors Egypt hides."
Standing abruptly, the man stalked away from the fire and snapped, "You mock me, woman!"
"Rose," she corrected again.
He looked her way but did not apologize for his outburst. Instead, he began speaking of the mysteries of Egypt.
"Egypt is steeped in dangers incomprehensible to people like you," he explained. "Your world believes every question to the universe has already been answered and that nothing on this earth is a mystery. But let me tell you that Egypt is. The pharaohs and gods of ancient times left behind curses and evils and riddles that must never be uncovered or they'll pose a danger to the world we know."
It was obvious to Rose by the tone of the man's voice that he believed in what he said. His words were convincing, his manner persuading, and Rose found herself curious.
"Such as?" she asked seriously.
"Such as creatures that are immortal and armies of sand that could conquer in the name of evil. Or temples and fortresses that have the power to catapult people back in time where they could change the past and control the future."
Rose thought she heard a hint of anxiety enter his tone as he talked about dangerous temples and fortresses and time travel, but she couldn't be certain for he continued on quickly, his voice echoing in a low tone throughout the cavern.
"Many of these hazards have nearly been unlocked in ages past. My grandfather once battled a creature reborn from the dead that sucked the life force from people and brought the ten plagues upon Egypt. And my father, I have just recently discovered that he was killed by the use of a power that allows man to see into a realm of combined space and time. A realm that gives one the gift of sight beyond what is in front of them."
"You mean a power like your Medjai prophets?" Rose interrupted to ask, finding herself drawn into the warrior's story.
"In a way, yes. But this power is only given to the one who controls the Staff of the Sun," he answered. "And it is much more powerful than our Medjai oracles. Our elders can only see what is written for our tribe, not what is written for the world. This staff allows its holder to see anything the holder wishes and unfortunately, I have just been informed that it is being used by a very dangerous group of men who want to find the Fortress of Aten."
"The Fortress of what?"
"Aten," he said. "Or perhaps you have heard the name Aton. It has been translated both ways. He was the sun-disk god of ancient Egypt and the pharaoh, Amenhotep, believed he was the only true god. In fact, Amenhotep believed it so deeply, he changed his name to Akhenaton, 'spirit of Aten,' and tried to force Egyptians to worship only one god."
"But ancient Egyptians were polytheistic," Rose interjected.
"They were indeed. But Akhenaton was certain Aten was the only true god. He was so certain he moved the capital city from Thebes and even attempted to erase the plural of the word 'god' from their language."
"Was he successful?" Rose questioned.
"Not entirely. He met with much resistance, even though he was the pharaoh. But apparently he was on to something for the fortress he built wields much power."
"The Fortress of Aten? What is it exactly?" Rose was asking questions because his history lesson was sounding less like some bizarre fantasy and more like a plausible story. It was obvious from the conviction in his deep voice that he truly believed the myth of this fortress.
"It was a secret burial temple built by Akhenaton. When Akhenaton died, he was supposed to be buried in the royal tomb like every other pharaoh. But because of his monotheistic beliefs, he did not want to be buried like the other pharaohs. Secretly, he had the Fortress of Aten constructed in a great cavernous canyon and it is said that his mummy was placed there."
"And that makes this fortress so powerful? Because some mummy is there?"
"No, his mummy is not what brings power to the fortress. What brings it power is Aten. The history states that Aten was so pleased by Akhenaton's beliefs that he granted the power to alter time and history to the controller of the fortress in the hopes that all of Egypt would be changed to worship only Aten."
"And when this god granted that power to the fortress, did it even consider that someone might use it to alter more than just Egypt's religious beliefs?" Rose inquired.
"Your question would imply that you are finding my story to have some truth," the man commented.
Rose shrugged. "Not entirely. But I do come from a family steeped in history and mystery. Perhaps I can relate a bit."
"Let me assure you, Rose, what I have told you is very true."
"If that's so, then why hasn't your tribe used the power of this fortress for the betterment of humanity?" she asked sarcastically.
"I never said my tribe's mission in life was to better all of humanity. Our mission is to protect the secrets of the desert. And we are honorable. We will never use the powers of Egypt for our own cause or to change the world. It would be wrong," he explained.
It was obvious this man knew the difference between right and wrong. If that was the case, then why was she still his prisoner?
Rose remained quiet while she considered this. Victor had not known the difference between right and wrong. To him, killing was a sport and she'd been a prize. This man didn't strike her as being as ruthless as Victor, but he definitely was not as kindhearted and tender as Ali. He was a breed all unto himself.
"What are you thinking, my darling?" the warrior suddenly asked.
Rose jumped at the sound of the endearment. Ali had called her that too the last time she'd seen him and in that instant her heart broke. She missed Ali horribly, she realized. And for the first time since this ordeal began, she doubted her ability to ever find him again.
With new determination, Rose glanced to her left and saw the swords the warrior had left on the cave floor when he'd removed his robe. In one quick move, Rose pulled a curved sword from its sheath and stood.
"I was thinking it was time you let me go," she demanded.
He looked at her across the fire, neither speaking, nor moving.
"Now!" she shouted and the echo of her voice startled her.
"It sounds as if the storm has relented some," he finally spoke up. "Perhaps you could find your way." In one smooth action, the warrior had drawn his handgun and the barrel of his Glock was aimed at her.
"Or perhaps not," he added with a shrug before he pulled the trigger.
Rose would have screamed but she didn't have time. The bullet exploded from the muzzle with a flash and the crack of the gun rang loudly in the cave. A fraction of a second later, the bullet connected with the sword's blade and it was ripped from her hand. She stood there, stunned beyond belief at what had just happened, and glanced down at the sword as it lay on the ground at her feet.
"I would prefer to have you remain here," the man then said as he holstered his gun.
Rose had been through entirely too much for any person to handle sanely. With only one option left, she bolted for the exit to the cave only to be halted when the warrior agilely jumped to his feet and beat her to her mark.
"Like I said, I would prefer you to remain here," he growled lowly, as his large hand wrapped around her upper arm and dragged her to him.
Rose's bravery broke in that instant and all she could do was cry. She'd handled herself with much composure and nerve until this last scene and she had no strength left with which to fight. Shattered, she fell into the warrior's embrace and sobbed uncontrollably. She was surprised when he held her to him tightly and whispered soothingly to her in his native language. And she was shocked that he never taunted her for her weakness. **
In the distance he could see it. The storm announced its arrival with a spectacle of dark clouds rushing in from the west before it was even felt or heard. Victor cursed the heavens for the hundredth time that day and kicked the solid tire of their disabled Range Rover causing him to shout out another oath from the pain.
"Damn it all to hell!" he cried. "Can this day get any worse?"
"Yeah," Jeffreys interjected, "I still can't reach anyone on the satellite phone."
Victor bit his lip and watched as Tony smirked. The past twenty-four hours had been nothing but a disaster and Victor was so incensed that he was positive he would kill both Rosalinda and that damned dark warrior who took her just as soon as he found them. And with the way Tony was looking at him now, he just might finish him off as well.
"With the looks of that sandstorm blowing in, I'd say I won't be able to reach anyone on this phone for a while either," Jeffreys said as he put the device back in its case. The phone had been damaged the night before by the Medjai, but not to the point where Jeffreys and his men couldn't fix it. Now that they had it operational, the weather was disrupting their link.
"Well, just how long do these sand storms last?" Victor asked.
Jeffreys shrugged. "Depends on the storm. It could blow over in a few minutes, or it could last all night. We'll have to wait and see."
Just then, they felt the first gust of wind and the rising clouds of dust in the near distance told them they would have to move to the shelter of the vehicle soon. The two remaining men of Jeffreys' clan of thugs came around the corner from where they had buried their dead compatriot and all five men entered the shelter of their vehicle.
Though a sandstorm was engulfing the desert, it did nothing to diminish the heat of the day and Victor cursed again the stench permeating the vehicle's interior. Five sweaty, smelly men in one small space baking in the hundred degree temperature was proving to be worse torture for Victor than the bruised jaw and bloody shirt he'd received the night before and his anger and need for revenge was growing tenfold. And to top it off, Jeffreys' two men wouldn't quit babbling in that damned, unintelligible language of theirs.
"Shut them up, Jeffreys, or I'll shut them up with a bullet each," Victor demanded.
Jeffreys said something to them as the men sat in the back seat with him, then he leaned forward between the two front seats and explained, "They want to quit on us."
"Why's that?" Victor asked.
"Those men who attacked last night.the Medjai.they are greatly feared by the locals," Jeffreys relayed.
"Why? They're nothing but a group of desert bandits on horseback. How dangerous can they be?" Victor inquired.
"Local myth speaks of them as being the direct descendants of the pharaohs' personal guards. It is their job to protect the ruins and secrets of ancient Egypt."
"And are we intruding on any ruins or ancient secrets?" Victor interrupted to ask sarcastically.
"Not that I'm aware of," Jeffreys answered. "But they do have your woman now and getting her back will prove to be most difficult."
The men in the back seat spoke out again and Jeffreys listened, then added, "Local myth speaks of the Medjai possessing special powers given to them by the gods. These men are afraid now, Victor, and I fear we won't be able to keep them with us after last night."
Victor's temper was flaring, his blood was reaching the boiling point. All he needed on top of losing Rosa last night and getting his shirt dirtied was a mutiny. But before he could pull his gun and threaten the two men who were staring at him wide-eyed and fearful, Tony decided to speak up.
"This group, the Medjai--would this have anything to do with that warning the old man in Cairo gave us?" Tony asked.
Jeffreys looked guilty for a long moment, his thin face pulling a frown of regret.
"Yes," he finally answered. "But like I said then, it is only a rumor. I have never seen a Medjai warrior until last night. I didn't even know they really existed," Jeffreys confessed.
The two men in the back seat said something quickly and loudly, interrupting and Victor turned abruptly in his seat and yelled, "Shut up! Just shut the hell up or I'll shut you up myself." He held his chrome Walther PPK, the only weapon left after last night's raid, at the ready and the two Egyptians sunk back in their seats. One of them suddenly added something quietly then looked out the window into the dark sea of twirling sand.
"What'd he say?" Victor demanded of Jeffreys.
"He said he would rather face your gun than the Medjai. It seems that their leader was just recently assassinated and it is rumored that the Medjai are seeking revenge. My men will not cross the Medjai again. They are sure a bullet from your gun would be a more just death than what the Medjai will have planned if we pursue them."
"Hell," Victor mumbled under his breath as he clicked the safety for his gun back on and placed it in the waistband of his pants. "Just let the cowards go then, Jeffreys. We don't need men who are frightened of a few damned masked horsemen. Meanwhile, get on that satellite phone as soon as possible and get us out of here!"
"Yes, sir," Jeffreys replied in his accented voice and went back to working the phone, praying a signal would go through soon. This American he was working for was a hot-tempered man and Jeffreys wanted no part of ending up at the wrong end of this man's temper. **
Sand stung ruthlessly as it blew against her exposed skin with a force Rose never knew wind could produce. She'd grown up in Chicago, the "windy city", but even that had not prepared her for the vengeance of the mighty Sahara's winds.
They'd ridden barely for five minutes before the swirling sand became too much to bear, yet Rose had no idea where they were for she was still blindfolded. This time, however, she cherished the covering for it kept her eyes safe from the tiny grains that were stinging the exposed skin of her arms that stuck out from her plain gray T-shirt. Trying to avoid the smart upon her face, Rose turned her head away from the direction of the wind and tucked her face close to her right shoulder. The warrior who rode behind her upon the horse then surprised her by pulling her face closer to his shoulder and shielding it from the wind and sand with his hand and the arm of his robe.
This tender care the man sometimes took with her shocked her to no end. He was an enigma-fierce one moment, gentle the next. And for the life of Rose, she was dying to see what he looked like! Was it their culture to remain covered at all times, or was it merely the fact that she was an outsider that prompted this man to hide himself from her?
Rose chastised herself as she allowed the warrior to provide covering for her face. What did she care what the man looked like or why he hid behind his veil? She was his prisoner and she had no intentions of ever liking the man or giving in to him. And she would continue to lay in wait for another opportunity to flee and find Ali, a man she could truly trust.
"We must stop," the warrior suddenly shouted above the din of the storm. "It is too much for the horses."
Rose said nothing for she agreed that the storm was too intense. But stop where? She wondered just where there was shelter in this rocky canyon for them and their horses.
As if reading her thoughts, the man then said, "There is a cave nearby. We shall be there in a few moments."
True to his word, the warrior stopped the horse and dismounted then pulled Rose off the animal. Taking her hand he tugged her along behind him.
Rose balked at the feel of his hand clutching hers. His fingers were long and strong and not nearly as callused and coarse as she would have expected from a desert man. And his fingers immediately interlaced themselves with her fingers in a familiar fashion that caused her no disgust at his touch, only curiosity.
He led her blindfolded for only a short while, until Rose felt the winds dissipate and the sound of the horses' steps following behind echo around them. It was then that she realized she was in the cave.
The warrior halted and pulled her blindfold from her eyes. "You will need to see in order to keep your footing," he explained. "But do not be foolish and attempt to escape again or I will bind your feet as well."
Rose frowned at him again seeing he had not removed his veil from his face and said nothing for she had no intentions of escaping during the dreadful storm.
He brushed by her and stopped next to the saddled horse. He removed a saddlebag from the horse then returned.
"This way," he instructed, pointing in the direction of a dark narrow path.
Rose glanced around her surroundings. They were in a high, wide chamber obviously large enough for the two horses and two humans. She wondered why they needed to venture any farther into the cave.
"What's wrong with right here?" she asked.
"This way," he again demanded, clicking on a small flashlight.
He never answered her question and had there not been a fierce storm just outside the entrance to the cave, she would have refused to move a step. Looking at the darkness that had crept into the day, Rose decided it better to follow the man than stand there and argue.
He led her down a short, rocky path, all the while keeping his hand upon her arm to tug her along. After only a few yards, the path opened up into another chamber. It was dark and dank and smelled of earth.
"What's this place?" she inquired as the warrior released her arm and moved to the left with his flashlight.
Rose's words bounced around them in the room and she thought the echo lent an eerie feel to the atmosphere of the chamber.
The man again didn't answer her question and Rose suddenly saw a match flare in his hand. Not a moment later, a torch was burning and the chamber was illuminated with light.
"You still use those things?" Rose asked with sarcasm as she nodded toward the flame burning on a stick that was stuck in the hard-packed clay floor.
The man only stared at her and his dark eyes gave nothing away. Rose was just about to give up on hearing him speak when he suddenly answered, "The torch will serve us better than the small flashlight. I will build you a fire in a while for heat. This cave grows cold when night falls."
"We'll be here that long?" Rose inquired as she glanced around the chamber. It was fairly large and round, its walls smooth rock. Upon the walls were murals, hieroglyphs and flowing words written in Arabic. The chamber was an enchanting place and Rose found herself wandering around looking closely at the words she could not read and the art that told an ancient story.
Forgetting her question, Rose reached her bound hands out and touched the cold wall in front of her. There was a list of sorts upon the wall and a portrait of a woman's veiled face, showing only her eyes. They were ice blue eyes and that intrigued Rose for she was positive Egyptian women were not known for possessing such light features.
There was a sound of footsteps behind her and Rose spun around quickly. Her gaze landed on a large knife and she gasped as she saw it wielded in the warrior's hands. What was this dark man planning on doing with her? Had he kidnapped her and fought with her only to bring her here and kill her? She shrank back against the wall too shocked to do much else-even to fight.
"No, don't," Rose pleaded with a whisper.
The man remained silent as he reached out and grabbed her bound hands. Rose began to struggle, fear gripping her soul until she felt the ropes slide from her wrists. She stared awestruck at the man's eyes as he replaced the knife in its sheath on his belt.
"What? You thought I had other intentions?" he asked roughly.
Rose rubbed at her wrists, relieved to be untied.
"No," she said, "I just didn't expect you to untie me."
"You will not run again," he said with confidence. "You are safer with me than in that storm. But if you do not believe me.go ahead, brave the Sahara. I dare you."
Rose considered his dare for an instant. However, the angry howl of the wind outside the cave that filtered into her ears was more daunting than the dark gaze of the warrior. Remaining with him seemed the safer decision. Yet she wasn't going to allow him to know that, so she turned away from his gaze and asked nonchalantly, "So, what is this place?"
"It is a cave," he taunted from behind.
Rose frowned but she wasn't angered by his taunt, only shocked for hearing humor come from his accented voice was strange.
"I can see that for myself," she replied dryly. "But what is this place?"
The humor now gone from his voice, the warrior answered, "It's a cave of prophecies. The entire history of the Medjai is recorded on these walls and the prophecies of the future are also recorded here so that every leader of the Medjai understands his duties and the possible dangers that await him."
The man moved forward and his long fingers traced a word written in Arabic.
"My great-grandfather," he said, then his fingers moved to the next word. "My grandfather, Ardeth." His fingers continued to find words on the wall. "My father, Aarif, then me." His fingers were on the name next to the portrait of the woman then dropped to the last name on the wall, "And this will be my son, Adan." The man turned and stared hard at her face. His eyes were unyielding. "Our son."
**
The cave may have been dimly lit, but Ali still saw the blood drain from Rose's face at his words. It had been years since he'd ventured into this cave. In fact, it had been almost a decade. He remembered the day clearly, for that was when he had read his fate upon these walls and seen the eyes of the woman that the prophecy had said he would marry and conceive his heirs with. That was the day he and Yasmeen had gone their separate ways because it had been made clear to him that she was not his future.
But Rose was.
Now Ali realized why Rose's eyes had always seemed so familiar to him. It had taken until now to remember that day in this cave when his future had been revealed to him and he knew now that chance meeting two years ago in the lobby of their office building had not been chance after all, but destiny.
"Wh.what?" Rose asked, stammering on her question.
"It is written upon these walls. This is your portrait that has been foreseen," Ali explained calmly.
"Foreseen by whom?" Rose questioned back.
"By the soothsayers of our tribe. They are elders who know much. They have lasted for several generations, outlived three chiefs and."
Rose interrupted, a fire lit in her blue eyes. "And I'd chance to say they're a bit too old and senile to be making credible predictions," she snapped. "That's not me on this wall and there is no way I'm marrying you and having children with you. For heaven's sake, I don't even know what you look like!"
Ali wanted desperately to reveal himself to her. Yet he knew that she would overreact. He had to wait until they were back in his village and he was himself again and able to explain his history and duty to her in a more serene environment where she would hopefully accept and understand who he truly was.
"You will. Someday," he said. "For now, just know that your future is already planned for you."
"Is that a threat?" she asked.
"It is a promise," he returned.
He could see Rose shaking. It was either from the news he'd just dropped upon her or from the dampness of the cave. Unbuckling his sword belt, Ali pulled off his outer robe and wrapped it around her shoulders for warmth.
"It is a promise of our future together," he continued. "You will be my wife and you will bear the next chief of the Medjai. It is already written into the fabric of time and you cannot deny your fate."
"Oh really?" Rose asked harshly. Then the hard look upon her pretty face diminished slightly as she realized he'd given her his robe. Her eyes raked over him clad in his dark shirt, black military style cargo pants and combat boots, stopping only long enough to obviously take in the handgun holstered at his side. Her gaze then quickly returned to his face and her eyes were not nearly as narrowed and angry looking as they'd been a few moments earlier.
"I'll have you know," she began after a short pause, "that my future was written for me once before and I escaped it. Don't think I won't find a way to get away from you too."
"Yes, you did such a good job of escaping your future that it followed you to Egypt and nearly kidnapped you last night," Ali drawled.
Rose glowered at him from under her fine brow that was smudged with two days worth of desert.
"I will never go back to my life with my father and Victor. They used me and I won't be used again. And that also includes being used to bear some heir to your throne," she hissed.
"You would not be used, you would be cherished. Your position among my tribe would carry much weight and respect as my wife."
Angrily, Rose returned, "Like I told you earlier, I have no interest in positions of power. And I have no interest in some desert warrior like you!"
Her words stung him even though it was illogical that they should. Rose did not know to whom she was arguing. As far as she was concerned, he truly was just an unknown man who'd taken her hostage. In fact, Ali knew he should have been ecstatic that she was denying him so vehemently for it meant she was not a woman who could be easily molded and persuaded. She was strong. She was stubborn. And she was so incredibly beautiful and radiant standing there in the bouncing light of the torch with her defiant eyes that he surely would have grabbed her up and kissed her senseless had she known his real identity.
Yet doing so was cruel. He'd kissed her twice after their struggle near the cliffs and taking advantage of her captivity was unfair of him. So even though he admired her beauty and strength now, he would not touch her.
Instead, he steeled his nerves and argued back, "I am an educated man. You might find that you are surprised by all that I actually am."
When her ice blue eyes only gazed at him with more contempt, Ali explained, "My people, my tribe, have been guardians of the desert and all her secrets for thousands of years. Since the time of the pharaohs. And even in this modern age, we continue to guard her secrets, for there are still those who threaten to reveal them."
Rose pulled the black robe tightly about her shoulders and her eyes appeared to relax at his story. The chill in the cave, however, had increased and Ali decided that if he built a fire and continued talking, Rose might actually relax further.
Moving to the fire pit in the middle of the cave and seeing that there was still wood left from the last person who'd visited, Ali began lighting a fire. He continued talking as he did.
"In fact, there is a very dangerous group who is currently making their way toward an ancient landmark-the Fortress of Aten," Ali explained.
"If that's true, shouldn't you be out there tracking them down instead of in here proposing marriage to a perfect stranger?" Rose asked sarcastically.
"You are not a perfect stranger," he insisted.
"Oh, that's right. My picture is on your wall," she snapped back.
This was a new side to Rose, Ali realized. He'd never heard her so sarcastic and argumentative. Then again, when they'd been friends in California, he had not taken her captive and given her cause to be so incorrigible.
"You mock our tribe?" Ali asked with forced coldness. It was an attitude he had been taught to express since childhood. Knowing he was going to one day become leader of their people, he had mimicked everything his father and grandfather had said and done. And he remembered they had both been experts at keeping a cool, unaffected façade when necessary.
"Not your tribe, just your crazy ideas about us," Rose explained. "But since you brought it up, isn't it a bit antiquated what you do? I mean, running around the desert cloaked in black like Zoro seems almost ridiculous."
"Perhaps to you," he acknowledged. He paused, how did he explain to Rose the mission and importance of their tribe? To a modern American, it no doubt did seem like some Hollywood creation, but the threat to the world that ancient Egypt posed was nothing Hollywood had created. It was real. It was deadly. And if he failed on this mission, the entire world would suddenly realize just how deadly.
"But you must realize, the Medjai are not a bunch of silly men in costumes," he continued.
"You understood my Zoro reference. You must know American culture then," Rose commented.
"Of course. I know the ways of many cultures and I am well traveled. I told you, I am an educated man."
"Then if you're such an educated and cultured man, why the disguise and the horses and the swords?" she inquired.
"We are a history-bound people," he answered. "Our swords, our horses, our dress signify that. And we have found that horses are much easier to use for our purposes. If we raced about the Sahara in noisy vehicles or helicopters, we'd be easy to spot, easy to see with a variety of technological sources. And as for the disguises.we once showed our faces proudly for all to see. We even marked them with symbols and words of strength and honor. But technology and mass media have caused us to abandon that tradition. Now we are covert-secretive. People know little about us and we reveal ourselves to no one outside our tribe."
"So I guess that means I'll never see your face-even after we're married," Rose drawled.
Ali smiled under his veil and had to hold back a laugh for Rose's sarcasm was tickling.
"Ah, then you are coming to accept your inevitable future?" he prodded.
She glared at him as she moved next to the fire he'd successfully built. "That was sarcasm, not acceptance. If you haven't figured it out already, I'm not some pliable female who'll do what any man tells me to do. And I don't plan on changing for anyone. And since, I'm sure, your culture doesn't want its females that way, you might as well lose the idea about any marriage between the two of us."
Rose was certainly strong-willed when she put her mind to it, Ali observed. Again, he was seeing her inner strength emerge quickly and finding that his best friend was quite different than she'd seemed to him back in California.
"Our people have led a harsh existence for thousands of years. All of our women are strong and strong-willed. That does not dissuade me," he answered.
"Then surely what my ex-fiancé said to you last night will," Rose insisted as she squatted by the fire on the other side of the stone ring. She pulled the black robe tighter about her shoulders and Ali saw the weariness in her eyes and heard it in the tone of her voice. She was quickly losing her fight and her words were no longer argumentative, but spoken softly. "Its true, I'm not pristine."
"That is of little consequence to me," he returned. "I too am not entirely pristine myself."
**
Rose saw a sparkle in his brown eyes and was certain the man was smiling at her under that veil he still wore. His insistence that she was to be his bride was turning into more of a taunt than the threat it had been minutes before. This warrior was an interesting man. One moment he was wielding a sword and cutting down an enemy, the next he was taunting her for his own pleasure. He was complex, dangerous and perhaps a bit charming. Perhaps.
"You're taunting me now," Rose said. "I never would have guessed a desert chief would have a sense of humor."
"I am attempting to make you feel more comfortable," he said simply.
Rose stood abruptly because the last thing she wanted to feel was comfortable around this dangerous man.
"That's very hospitable of you, but know this-when that little storm out there is over, I will escape. And it doesn't matter to me how 'comfortable' you make me feel in the meantime."
She'd said the magic words. She watched as the man's eyes darkened to the color of coal. He possessed very expressive eyes and though she could see nothing else of his visage, his eyes told her enough.
"You will not escape," he said lowly but with much force behind his words. "I will not allow it."
Rose felt a shiver race down her spine and the small hairs at the back of her neck tingled with a strange energy. Those words sounded almost exactly like Victor's words to her just before she had decided to flee Chicago and her family. He'd been a controlling, abusive boyfriend and she'd possessed enough self-esteem at the young age of twenty-three to know that she deserved better. So she'd told her father she was not going to marry Victor. That plan had backfired for Alfonse had wanted the marriage desperately and refused to allow her to back out. With few other options, Rose had decided to flee. Tony had assisted her and for the past five years she'd grown more determined than any woman that she would never find herself in another desperate situation with a man again.
Yet here she was, the captive of a dangerous desert chief who believed in fairy tales written upon stone walls and who was determined to make her his possession.
Well, it wouldn't happen. Not again.
"Why you pompous, arrogant." she began to insult only to be cut off by the warrior who threw a hand up to halt her onslaught of words.
"Enough, woman! I will hear no more arguments," he insisted.
"The name's Rose," Rose corrected coolly.
"I thought it was Rosa."
"It was. At one time. But when I escaped Victor and my father years before, I had to change my name. Rose suits me much better," she explained, finding that her anger over his outburst only moments ago had quickly left her. It was irritating to discover she could not keep up the shield of her anger around this man. After all, he had kidnapped her, held her captive and kissed her without her permission. She should be furious to no end. But for some reason, she was not. Her anger came and went swiftly.
"Rose suits you," he acknowledged with a quiet voice. "It is a name with much beauty, just as you possess much beauty."
Rose hesitated and felt a slight blush invade her cheeks. Such a compliment was unexpected and she stared at him across that fire for several moments before saying, "I appreciate the kind words, but compliments won't win me over."
"I don't doubt that," he answered, "but in time, you will concede to me. Once you learn I am an honorable man, and that I intend you no harm, you will concede."
Rose said nothing, for it was a losing battle to try and tell this warrior she would never agree to his insane fantasy. Better to allow him to believe he could one day win her over, than to stand there in the dank cave arguing that she never would. His insistence was unyielding and it was becoming quite clear to her that he would never acquiesce on that point. The more she argued, the more insistent he became. For now, she would relent and allow him to think he was gaining ground. It was the most prudent course of action.
After two full minutes of muteness, the man's voice spoke lowly. "You did not argue back, my love, what are you plotting?"
Unable to stop the small smile that pulled at her mouth over his question, Rose answered, "Nothing. But please, let's lose the endearments. I am, after all, still your captive and I'd rather not be called your anything."
"Fair enough," he agreed. "I will call you only by your name.for now.but you must agree to talk with me. I will not have you standing quietly by, your brain planning an escape."
With a shrug, Rose moved back toward the fire and sat by it. The dampness in the cave was chilling her quickly and her head still throbbed. She'd relent and grant the warrior his request because she had no more strength to continue on with defiance.
"Fine, I'll play your game," she said. "Talk away."
The man remained mute, but his eyes never left her face. She was about to respond with a sarcastic remark, when suddenly an alien sound echoed through the chamber of the cave. Rose jumped, but the warrior didn't even flinch. Then with much nonchalance, he reached down to his belt and removed a small satellite phone. He spoke for only a few moments in his native tongue, then clicked off the phone and returned it to his gear belt.
"You carry swords and ride horses, yet you have a mobile phone," Rose commented. "Odd."
"We too make use of modern technology," the man explained simply.
"And who called you in the middle of this storm?" she inquired, certain he would tell her to mind her own business for he seemed to be a very private man who's every word was planned in advance.
He surprised her by answering. "My men at the oasis. They were worried that I had not yet returned. They thought perhaps you had bested me," he said with amusement in his tone. "But that will never happen again."
"You are arrogant," Rose observed.
"It is an inherited trait," he replied. "I will not apologize for it."
"Inherited," Rose repeated. "From the men on the wall?" She threw her hand back toward the painted cave wall.
The man nodded. "A long line of proud men, who have served the Sahara well," he said. "We have protected humanity from some horrible wraths and we have earned the right to be a little arrogant."
"Wraths?" Rose asked back with a disbelieving tone. "Like what?"
"Ah, you westerners do not believe in the mystical. You probably think we are mad men who run about the desert playing sword games for fun. But what you do not realize is Egypt hides many dangers that are unseen by the modern world. Dangers that most would never believe and that no American could ever comprehend."
Again thinking this man lived in a fantasy world better served in a place like Disneyland, Rose suggested, "So tell me just what type of spooky terrors Egypt hides."
Standing abruptly, the man stalked away from the fire and snapped, "You mock me, woman!"
"Rose," she corrected again.
He looked her way but did not apologize for his outburst. Instead, he began speaking of the mysteries of Egypt.
"Egypt is steeped in dangers incomprehensible to people like you," he explained. "Your world believes every question to the universe has already been answered and that nothing on this earth is a mystery. But let me tell you that Egypt is. The pharaohs and gods of ancient times left behind curses and evils and riddles that must never be uncovered or they'll pose a danger to the world we know."
It was obvious to Rose by the tone of the man's voice that he believed in what he said. His words were convincing, his manner persuading, and Rose found herself curious.
"Such as?" she asked seriously.
"Such as creatures that are immortal and armies of sand that could conquer in the name of evil. Or temples and fortresses that have the power to catapult people back in time where they could change the past and control the future."
Rose thought she heard a hint of anxiety enter his tone as he talked about dangerous temples and fortresses and time travel, but she couldn't be certain for he continued on quickly, his voice echoing in a low tone throughout the cavern.
"Many of these hazards have nearly been unlocked in ages past. My grandfather once battled a creature reborn from the dead that sucked the life force from people and brought the ten plagues upon Egypt. And my father, I have just recently discovered that he was killed by the use of a power that allows man to see into a realm of combined space and time. A realm that gives one the gift of sight beyond what is in front of them."
"You mean a power like your Medjai prophets?" Rose interrupted to ask, finding herself drawn into the warrior's story.
"In a way, yes. But this power is only given to the one who controls the Staff of the Sun," he answered. "And it is much more powerful than our Medjai oracles. Our elders can only see what is written for our tribe, not what is written for the world. This staff allows its holder to see anything the holder wishes and unfortunately, I have just been informed that it is being used by a very dangerous group of men who want to find the Fortress of Aten."
"The Fortress of what?"
"Aten," he said. "Or perhaps you have heard the name Aton. It has been translated both ways. He was the sun-disk god of ancient Egypt and the pharaoh, Amenhotep, believed he was the only true god. In fact, Amenhotep believed it so deeply, he changed his name to Akhenaton, 'spirit of Aten,' and tried to force Egyptians to worship only one god."
"But ancient Egyptians were polytheistic," Rose interjected.
"They were indeed. But Akhenaton was certain Aten was the only true god. He was so certain he moved the capital city from Thebes and even attempted to erase the plural of the word 'god' from their language."
"Was he successful?" Rose questioned.
"Not entirely. He met with much resistance, even though he was the pharaoh. But apparently he was on to something for the fortress he built wields much power."
"The Fortress of Aten? What is it exactly?" Rose was asking questions because his history lesson was sounding less like some bizarre fantasy and more like a plausible story. It was obvious from the conviction in his deep voice that he truly believed the myth of this fortress.
"It was a secret burial temple built by Akhenaton. When Akhenaton died, he was supposed to be buried in the royal tomb like every other pharaoh. But because of his monotheistic beliefs, he did not want to be buried like the other pharaohs. Secretly, he had the Fortress of Aten constructed in a great cavernous canyon and it is said that his mummy was placed there."
"And that makes this fortress so powerful? Because some mummy is there?"
"No, his mummy is not what brings power to the fortress. What brings it power is Aten. The history states that Aten was so pleased by Akhenaton's beliefs that he granted the power to alter time and history to the controller of the fortress in the hopes that all of Egypt would be changed to worship only Aten."
"And when this god granted that power to the fortress, did it even consider that someone might use it to alter more than just Egypt's religious beliefs?" Rose inquired.
"Your question would imply that you are finding my story to have some truth," the man commented.
Rose shrugged. "Not entirely. But I do come from a family steeped in history and mystery. Perhaps I can relate a bit."
"Let me assure you, Rose, what I have told you is very true."
"If that's so, then why hasn't your tribe used the power of this fortress for the betterment of humanity?" she asked sarcastically.
"I never said my tribe's mission in life was to better all of humanity. Our mission is to protect the secrets of the desert. And we are honorable. We will never use the powers of Egypt for our own cause or to change the world. It would be wrong," he explained.
It was obvious this man knew the difference between right and wrong. If that was the case, then why was she still his prisoner?
Rose remained quiet while she considered this. Victor had not known the difference between right and wrong. To him, killing was a sport and she'd been a prize. This man didn't strike her as being as ruthless as Victor, but he definitely was not as kindhearted and tender as Ali. He was a breed all unto himself.
"What are you thinking, my darling?" the warrior suddenly asked.
Rose jumped at the sound of the endearment. Ali had called her that too the last time she'd seen him and in that instant her heart broke. She missed Ali horribly, she realized. And for the first time since this ordeal began, she doubted her ability to ever find him again.
With new determination, Rose glanced to her left and saw the swords the warrior had left on the cave floor when he'd removed his robe. In one quick move, Rose pulled a curved sword from its sheath and stood.
"I was thinking it was time you let me go," she demanded.
He looked at her across the fire, neither speaking, nor moving.
"Now!" she shouted and the echo of her voice startled her.
"It sounds as if the storm has relented some," he finally spoke up. "Perhaps you could find your way." In one smooth action, the warrior had drawn his handgun and the barrel of his Glock was aimed at her.
"Or perhaps not," he added with a shrug before he pulled the trigger.
Rose would have screamed but she didn't have time. The bullet exploded from the muzzle with a flash and the crack of the gun rang loudly in the cave. A fraction of a second later, the bullet connected with the sword's blade and it was ripped from her hand. She stood there, stunned beyond belief at what had just happened, and glanced down at the sword as it lay on the ground at her feet.
"I would prefer to have you remain here," the man then said as he holstered his gun.
Rose had been through entirely too much for any person to handle sanely. With only one option left, she bolted for the exit to the cave only to be halted when the warrior agilely jumped to his feet and beat her to her mark.
"Like I said, I would prefer you to remain here," he growled lowly, as his large hand wrapped around her upper arm and dragged her to him.
Rose's bravery broke in that instant and all she could do was cry. She'd handled herself with much composure and nerve until this last scene and she had no strength left with which to fight. Shattered, she fell into the warrior's embrace and sobbed uncontrollably. She was surprised when he held her to him tightly and whispered soothingly to her in his native language. And she was shocked that he never taunted her for her weakness. **