***
As she had promised in her letter, Amber went to Professor North and retrieved the remainder of Ardeth's pages. North had succeeded in translating every last page. He had been so intrigued and fascinated by the stories and culture that the author described, that he had not rested until the task was complete.
She had shared the secret of the disappearing papers with her grandfather as well as the translations the Professor had given her the previous day. He was as enchanted with the possibility of the time vortex as she was. He was captivated by Ardeth's story of his life as a desert warrior and was eager to read more.
He wondered if the Medjai still existed and wandered the desert to this day. It made him long for his traveling days and he wished to make a return visit to Egypt to investigate the possibility of these secretive people.
As Amber settled onto her bed, she made a silent vow that she would somehow see to it that he made that return trip. Somehow she would find a way to make it happen for him. She sighed heavily; pushing away her clouded thoughts, she began to separate the translated pages from the originals. She folded those belonging to Ardeth carefully and glanced around her room looking for something to bind them. She had used the leather cord on the previous bundle and a rubber band would be too harsh for the aged paper.
Across the room, she spied an indigo satin ribbon she used to tie her hair back from her face from time to time. Snatching it up from the dresser, she returned to the bed and tied it carefully around the pages. With that done, she flopped onto the bed on her stomach, picked up the translations, and began to read.
Ardeth's writings told stories of adventures, daring and mystical. Exploits where he and his fellow Medjai protected secrets of treasures so vast and magics so powerful that no length was spared in keeping them from being unleashed upon the world. Those who sought them had often wound up dead at the hands of his people.
Although it was a cruel approach for them to take and many innocent people were dealt with in such fatal manner, the Medjai held a strong conviction and belief they carried out their duty for the greater good of mankind. If the evil they protected the world from were to arise, hell would literally live on earth.
Amber continued to read, awe-stricken by the sacrifices he made of himself. He gave no regard to his life and devoted himself to his people. It was easy to see they appreciated his honor and bravery; he was appointed successor to the tribe's Chief, who had died in battle leaving no direct heir. Ardeth had been astounded by the appointment for he was still considered quite young, only twenty-eight years old. He undertook the role with pride and always strove to do what was best for his people and pushed his own needs to the background.
Several years after he became Chief of his tribe, he had been protecting the final resting place of "He Who Shall Not Be Named" when an expedition of explorers and archaeologists attempted to disturb the site. It was his duty to warn them off, kill them if necessary. The creature could not be resurrected.
Creature? Amber thought, disbelievingly. What on Earth?
She read on, spellbound by the tale of Imhotep and his eternal love, Anck-Su-Namun. The lengths the pair went to in order to be together were both romantic and frightening. In the end, they only succeeded in bringing death upon themselves and others.
It was not exactly death that came for Imhotep, according to Ardeth. The man was cursed to exist in the dark pit he was locked inside, forever undead and tortured by his inability to save his love from her fate in the underworld.
The price he paid came with a curse. To call upon such magic, there had to be a balance. The gods decreed that if such a fate befell Imhotep, he would one day have the power to exact revenge if the right words were read to release him.
Ardeth told in his writings how a slip of a woman did just what they had feared for over three thousand years. She released the creature and terror descended upon the earth. Although they defeated Imhotep, many had died in the undertaking. He had nearly met his end a few times on that journey, but Allah had spared him. Live to fight another day.
The only good that had come from the tragedy was that he had met Rick O'Connell, Evelyn Carnahan, and her brother Jonathan. A friendship developed out of mutual respect.
Many years later, long after Rick and Evie had married and had a child, the creature was brought back again. This journey had awakened Evie's past life as the Princess Nefertiri, daughter of Seti the First, the pharaoh slain by Imhotep and Anck-Su-Namun. What a twist of fate.
By the end of Ardeth's journal, Amber felt an affinity for him. She ached for the echo of emptiness she felt in his life. He held his duty above all else and left little for himself. His friendship with the O'Connells was his only refuge from his loneliness. He treasured the times he spent with them, uncaring of their disruptive influence on his life.
The adventures aside, the most enjoyable times were their visits to his camp, quiet and unobtrusive. They vacationed in Egypt often, and never a trip would pass without them spending a couple of weeks with his people.
His family now consisted of his parents, Ashraf and Nadira, his younger sister, Karida, Hashir, his Second-in-Command, and the O'Connell family. He was blessed with them and yet still quite alone. He bore a heavy burden as Chief and always in the back of his mind were doubts that he would fail his people. Because of that fear, he concentrated on his duties and ignored his personal needs.
Amber rolled over onto her back, laying aside the last bit of translated journal. She turned her head slightly and her eyes fell upon the neatly bundled papers that lay ready to be sent back to their owner. She was still awed by the first set's disappearance from the bottom of the chest. Even though she had been sure they would not be there when she opened it that morning, it did not stop the realization from taking her breath away.
Why was this happening? What reason was there for this magical connection between the past and the present? She had no answers to her questions, but it was possible that the Medjai Chieftain did. With that thought in mind, she went to her desk and withdrew a sheet of stationary and put pen to paper.
***
Ardeth fell onto his bedding with force. Hours of arguing with the Council of Elders had resulted in a standoff. After he had heard enough of their argument, he had stormed from the meeting, mounted his black Arabian, and stole away to a little known oasis miles away. He needed to think and sort things out for himself. He couldn't do that with the Elders making demands that he come to a decision at the very moment they put their motion in front of him. No, he wasn't ready for such a step.
He had lost track of time while he contemplated his future; hours had passed and it was early morning by the time he had returned to his tent. The quiet haven had allowed him to relax and come to terms with his fate. If he could not find his future himself, one would be chosen for him. There was little appeal in the latter choice, so it would be a priority to select someone to share his life with, share his bed, and produce the heir the Elders so desperately worried about. They did not wish the same fate to befall the tribe if their Chief were to be unexpectedly taken from them again.
Turning onto his side, he spotted the chest amidst the darkness of his tent. He felt its pull, as though it contained a secret it wished to share with him. Perhaps the woman named Amber had returned the remainder of his journal as she had promised.
The chest was close enough that there was no need to move from his bed. He lit a candle, illuminating the room in a soft glow, and reached out to open the chest. Fumbling with the false bottom, his fingers finally contacted what was contained therein. He removed the neatly tied pages, his fingers absently caressing the smooth ribbon that bound them.
As he realized that only his own pages were held in his hand, he felt disappointment deep in the pit of his stomach. He had hoped, that with the remainder of his journal, he would also receive another message from the stranger. How she had obtained his journal was a mystery. Perhaps there was meant to be contact between them. Could it be possible she had information from the future that would serve him in his duty to protect the ancient secrets?
Truth be told, he was disappointed because the outside contact with anyone sounded appealing to him. He sighed as he sat up and reached for the pouch inside the chest that contained the other half of his journal. He removed the leather cord from the first bundle and the bluish ribbon from the second. He joined them together and retied them with the leather strap.
He ran a finger over the sleek piece of ribbon and wondered about the person to whom it belonged. Curious, he chanced another look into the false bottom. The candlelight allowed his eyes to find the light dusty pink envelope that hid in its depth and his heart pounded furiously within his chest. His fingers gripped it tightly as he removed it, afraid it might slip away and disappear forever.
Mr. Bay,
As promised, here are the remaining pages of your journal. I hope this letter finds you well and that you have somehow found it in your heart to forgive and understand the circumstances in which I came to be in possession of your property.
I will not lie and say that I have not read the most recently transcribed pages; I have read them and found them fascinating. I wonder why it is that I believe every word that you wrote in those pages, because a logical mind would not think there was a bit of truth in them. I find logic cannot explain the unexplainable, such as your journal appearing and disappearing within the false bottom of my (your) beautiful chest.
I have no real reason for writing this note, for I doubt you can or will respond, but I cannot seem to stop myself. While reading your words, I felt such emotions that I wanted to share some thoughts with you. You seem to me, through your writing, to be a proud, strong man. You are noble, and although your actions have been harsh and swift in some circumstances, you acted only for the greater good. I admire your courage and your faith.
Somewhere in the middle of all that you poured out, you alluded more than once to the feeling of being alone even when you are not. That is a situation I can relate to all too well. I do hope you will one day soon find the missing part of you that will make you whole.
Sincerely,
Amber
Ardeth sat unmoving, transfixed by the letter and the kind words of the stranger. He took comfort in her understanding and acceptance. It was unsolicited and most welcome at a time when his life was in emotional turmoil. He took the candle and moved to the small table at the other side of his tent. Fountain pen in hand, he set himself to the task of writing a short note of thanks to the stranger.
***
to be continued...