Chapter 10

The world that her eyes could make out was starting to blur before her; her breathing had accelerated very slightly and by that Alex knew she was exceedingly tired. She barely made it to her bedroom, noticed its loveliness for a fleeting moment before opening the trunks to find her nightclothes.

Her bedroom contained warm and deep shades -maroons, burgundy and browns, softly lit with tiny petrol lamps; illuminating sharp angles and casting beautiful shadows onto the walls.

She stared at her haggard reflection in the bathroom mirror before washing her face and arms down. The girl that had grown into a woman did not seem to bring the optimism and exuberance of youth with her. She was too cautious, commitment-conscious to approach situations with a daredevil attitude (probably a result from her nomadic travelling days with Cordelia who had instilled in her the love of movement and the liberty of freedom); this was probably the greatest exception in her life; packing her things and transporting them to Egypt without a second thought.

Alex yawned widely. The brain has ceased to function under the luxuriant furnishings and the soft mattress with its multi-coloured quilt's hold on her was suddenly unbreakable. She flopped down on the bed, not sure of the moment her head touched the downy pillow.

When signs, words and pictures were turned over, mixed and thoroughly jumbled, he knew he had turned himself in to the past. Ardeth drifted in an dout of wakefulness; he was powerless to stop the thick mist that flew on multiple wings - he thought he saw Horus's flight in mid-air - Horus' wings that flapped madly around his head, Horus screeching loudly, his wings once more a blur around him; Horus was no sleeper, he thought hazily -

And when the wings were removed from in front of his eyes, the scene cleared to display lovers locked in another time, sheltering each other in an intimate embrace; they were different people this time, he realised, a dark haired man and a dark haired woman. He saw them at a distance -their faces hazy; mere silhouettes whose shapes and actions were their only distinguishing features.

They stood close together; the man's arms grasped the woman's shoulders tightly, crumpling her diaphanous gown around the shoulders, but she had not given heed to it; her arms -one around his neck, the other on his chest and Ardeth felt a tinge of embarrassment for watching their intimacy, but the embarrassment faded to horror when the woman was left alone, this time wielding a knife in her hands, its blade descending very deliberately-

He sat up with a start, felt around him to recover the solid sensation of wakefulness, his fingers gripping the cushions tightly; they were his first firm grips of reality, before his eyes accustomed itself to the darkness.

Papyrus reeds in vases, cartouches and carpets. A comfortable cot lined with the finest Egyptian cotton.

He was still in the O'Connell residence, sleeping on their low, wide divan.

And he was not alone. Alexandra Khalan stood over him, and he thought he saw a worried look on her face in the darkness, but he could not tell.

"Mr. Bay, I hope that my movements did not startle you." She spoke softly, not wanting to wake the entire household.

He sat up tiredly, ran a hand through the black hair made unruly by sleep and rubbed his eyes.

"Dr. Khalan, do not worry yourself. I woke up because of entirely something else. Are you unable to sleep?" He replied, matching her formal address and tone.

She considered lying, that she was hungry in the early hours of the dawn, and had come down in search for something to chew, but gave that idea up.

"I was on my way down when I heard you cry out." She had measured her words carefully, not revealing that she had awoken because of a fretful sleep, dreamless, but nonetheless restless.

"You know Arabic do you not? It is merely the modern form of the ancient languages you say you study." He questioned her.

"Ah, yes, the demons of the day are still persistent by night, I see." She observed wryly, answering him in passable Arabic, gauging his response.

"Very nicely said, Dr. Khalan." He observed.

"My Arabic is lousy, even though I am fully aware that it is a derivative of 10th century Coptic Egyptian, Mr Bay. I shall not murder your language and insult your nationality any further. Please, let us converse in English. Your English is in any case far better than a sentence of Arabic that I might be able to string together."

"Ah, but that is where you are wrong. Hearing foreigners speak Arabic surprises any native, who is then more likely to give you more concessions and favours than the rest who do not." Ardeth challenged.

"Perhaps," She shrugged. "I have not stayed in Egypt long enough to see that, but yes, it generally happens elsewhere too."

"You sound well-travelled, Dr. Khalan." Ardeth offered after a minute of silence.

"I suppose you can say that, Mr Bay." Somehow it did not seem appropriate to present to him her entire life story; neither did she expect him to reveal anything - it was best that they kept their conversations as safe as possible. Something else had caught her attention.

She had noticed the impropriety of their proximity to each other, improperly dressed, she, bare-footed in a nightgown with no robe, he in a dark shirt and pants, shoeless as well. She was glancing down uneasily at her attire, or lack thereof, when she heard his quiet voice.

"We are not living in the Middle Ages, Dr. Khalan," There was a smile now in his tone, shocking her into awareness of its rich warmth and sensuousness.

So he had noticed!

"There is hence, no need for you to be uncomfortable in anyway. I may be armed but these weapons are meant for defensive means. You will not be finding yourself in any position where I drag you to a cave and proclaim you the newest addition to an ever-increasing harem."

Was that a joke that she had heard spill from his lips?

Intellectual conversation skills, Alex Khalan, she reminded herself.

"Nothing has changed except for appearances, nothing will change, regardless of any era that one lives in." She answered in a teasing tone.

"Perhaps you are right, Dr. Khalan," Ardeth stood up from his reclining position and faced her. He stretched a little, grimacing.

"Alex. Alexandra. My Name." God, when had she lost her eloquence, surprised by the revelation of how desperately she wanted, no, needed a friend. The greater surprise was that she sought a friend in him, she but a few seconds earlier was determined upon superficialities. She sneaked a glance at his tired face, even more astonished to see the amusement flit across his face at her mild embarrassment. It was in his eyes, she realised, the soft glint of pleasure that shone through when he smiled.

"So we begin again. Do we get past niceties, then? The name is Ardeth. Do not forget it then," He made a movement to light a lamp, but not before she protested.

"You prefer the dark?" He questioned her, watching her get comfortable in the midst of the numerous cushions and half-unpacked boxes in the O'Connell's living room.

How was she to answer this question?

"Well, yes. Is not the earth rightly dark and light and fairly divided? Don't we have equal hours of day and night? Let us leave it at that, shall we? The night will be night. The eyes get used to the darkness fast. It after all has a far greater power, bewitching people far easier than its bright counterpart, think you not?"

Ardeth agreed. The Medjai were warriors of darkness and of the night. He was fast becoming a creature of darkness.

"That they do." He watched her curiously, barely making her form out, the darkness heightening other senses where sight was limited.

There was, for crying out loud, she thought, another period of awkward silence, which she now struggled to empty out. Alex was grateful for the darkness, for he was then not able to see her flailing about for a conversation topic that might interest both of them. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, on the verge of talking, and withdrew always. An idea struck her.

"Well! It...it truly is a warm night, is it not?"

Ardeth wanted to laugh aloud. The tension that was between them was not hostile, neither was it thick enough to be cut with his scimitar, and the amusing attempt she made at starting a dialogue was starting to tickle him. It was something that he was grateful for; it took away the torment of his dreams of the blade, the knife and the woman; it took away also the dull pain of Ahm Shere, and Anubis' Army winked as a distant memory, and faded.

"Most Egyptian nights are this way, unless there is a violent sand or rainstorm. But sleeping under an Egyptian night sky is a complete otherworldly experience. " Ardeth agreed immediately, settling back comfortably into the cushions opposite her.

"Oh."

"Tell me Dr. Khalan," he began easily, not wanting to call her 'Alex'; the masculine name on a feminine form unfamiliar and unwilling on his tongue, "What is your area of specialisation? You say that you are a student of history? Or is it of language?"

She wanted so badly to thank him for rescuing her out of her discomfiture that she answered more than readily.

"It is more of ancient languages, actually. In the undergraduate year I found my poor clueless self, walking towards the humanities department, registering for a place in the history faculty, and by the time I was a postgraduate I was never surer that it was what I wanted to pursue as a lifelong passion. Well, the interest eventually narrowed down from world history to ancient civilisations. And then a smack on the forehead - to study the ancient civilisations more completely, I had to learn their languages, no two-ways about it. So that is where you find me now."

"Oriental languages. Very unusual subject for any European to undertake. Is it not then, that ignorant artists in Europe paint impressions of the East as merely exotic, every country resembling the Orient as an Ottoman or should I say, a Turkish delight?" He raised a brow.

She said lightly, "My ancestry is hardly a quarter European, I believe. Moreover, the feel for language in general is not restricted to one's nationality. For all I know, Ardeth, you may spring a surprise on me and start speaking Latin, Dutch or Spanish, all of which I have only a baby's knowledge of."

Ardeth took time to think over what she had just said. It all explained then, her unusual appearance, the burgundy and scarlet highlights in her otherwise black hair, cut to a straight shoulder-length instead of the tight, thick curls that most women wore in emulation of actresses. Her chameleon eyes behaved like the reptile itself, its shifting colours that sometimes appeared more green, sometimes more brown under different intensities of light. She was not conventionally and familiarly attractive, nor was she full of the dark beauty that the Egyptian ladies had, with a medium build and darker skin tone than most Europeans, but intensely striking in a most remarkable way, he concluded, a fusion of the ancient East and the modern West, yet not fully either, a rare appearance that could only be found once in many thousands.

And he was discovering, the beginnings of a charm she kept well hidden that rivalled her extraordinary appearance.

She leaned forward, "It is your turn now, Ardeth. Why not give me an account of what the Medjai are, instead of what history books report?"

"It is very much what you have been told by the O'Connells."

"I believe you are letting that slide off me easily, Ardeth." Her lips twitched.

"We protect history, not research it, if that is what you wish to know. Therein lies the difference, I like to believe. The Medjai have records of their own history," He glanced at her sideways, thoughtfully, wondering if he was revealing too much. "And records of nearly the whole of Egypt's history also."

Her mind reeled, her eyes widened and the intellectual in her, having not shrugged off sleep despite the early hours of the morning - breathed in delight - the availability of sources, possibly primary sources, had caused colour to flood her cheeks, and possibly, the answer to -

But before she or Ardeth could say anything, steps were heard descending from the second tier of the living room, as Evy sleepily padded down, yawn halted mid-way when she caught sight of her two guests in conversation.

"I do not believe I will sleep anymore tonight; I am going to ask you so many questions until you cannot think straight." Alex said in half-jest.

But Ardeth's concerned gaze was on Evy, going to her side in case she needed anything.

"Rick is having a fever. Probably the excessive Cairo dust that he inhaled."

Ardeth nodded. He hoped to heaven that it was in no way connected to the aftermath of the Scorpion King or to the one who shall not be named.

His concern must have shown in his hesitating silence, such that Evy placed a comforting hand on his wrist.

"He will be alright -no overt superstition from you, Ardeth. Rick will personally take a shotgun to your head if he hears you say aloud that Imhotep has bewitched him," she laughed. "I'm only getting a glass of cool water for him. At breakfast you will only see a man who, if under any possible spell, will be under a spell of grumpiness that's all."

Ardeth nodded, recognising the Nefertiri that stood out in Evy, realising that he now knew exactly what she had rambled on about in Izzy's dirigible; he believed it then, but never more so now, only because it has touched something so familiar in the recesses of his mind that he was not ready to probe yet.

The past was near, yet was not, until the thousand images that constituted the soul was first released and reconstructed. He was naturally guarded, reflexes as sharp as his mind, born of an existence of strain and wariness. It was barely easy for him to have a superficial conversation with a doctor who specialised in ancient studies.

How long had he been standing there, left to his thoughts long after Evy had returned upstairs?

He realised that Alex was scrutinising him curiously. The question of his sanity has probably dropped a notch down in her estimation, he thought with an inward snort.

"Excuse that silence, Dr. Khalan. We mystics place great importance on communicating with our souls and spirits," He raised his brows at her, opting for a lighter, humorous response.

"Surely, Ardeth, communicating with one's spirit, so you say, is a tad bit uncalled for. Rick O'Connell has just fallen ill. Do Medjai always make mountains out of molehills?"

"Always, Dr. Khalan. Always." They laughed then, at the high level of ridicule that their talk contained.