Part II

"Where…is she?" Ardeth gasped and flinched when several pairs of hands probed the bloody entrance wound on his shoulder.  He stared up at each of the three warriors that were tending to him and tried to determine from their facial expressions the severity of his wound, but eventually gave up.  Only Nabil, who knelt by his side, met his commander's intense gaze and Ardeth saw quite clearly the concern reflected in his friend's eyes.  He tried to contain the groan of pain when they pushed him up into a sitting position and applied pressure to the exit wound.

"The woman is with Jameel," Nabil replied.  He ripped a section from his robe and with the help of Honored Second Berin al Usama, sub-commander of the tribe of the Fifth, they wrapped Ardeth's shoulder as best they could. 

"He needs a healer," Berin's deep voice rumbled up from within his chest.  He knelt on the other side of Ardeth and glanced at Nabil, the first signs of worry deeply etched in his dark eyes.  But he held his silence as his large hands quickly and efficiently tied the makeshift bandage.

"We must leave this place and quickly," Jericho ibn Sakhr stated and slowly withdrew his scimitar from its sheath.  He stood next to Berin as his dark gaze scanned the desert horizon.  The blanket of night was heavy and oppressive, covering the landscape, concealing all life as an eerie silence descended.  Jericho's instincts warned him the bandits were not done with their raid yet.  He looked over to the remaining warriors that held the horses and nodded at his sahib, Dharr al Rushdi.  A silent understanding passed between them and Dharr gave a hand gesture for the rest of the Medjai to mount.

~*~

"Drink," the curly haired warrior offered her a canteen with a boyish smile and Cecelia blinked in surprise.  She took it without hesitation and took a sip, too numb to think beyond the moment.  Too scared to dwell on the recent past, especially the death of Scott and his team.  She stared at him unabashedly; he had the kindest and friendliest face out of the stern-faced men who now seemed to be her allies.

"What is your name?" Cecelia asked with a weak smile, surprised that she responded to his dimpled grin.  His eyes were as dark as chocolate, and as mysterious as the night.  She eagerly lifted the canteen to her lips, intent on drinking more of the sweet tasting water but the warrior quickly captured her hand.   

"Ana ismee Jameel ibn Hisein," he replied and gently tilted the canteen downwards.  "Take small sips or else you may become ill."

Cecelia suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth as hysterical laughter bubbled up from inside.  "I may become ill?" she asked and rolled her eyes. "Somehow I think that would be the least of my worries considering I was almost shot by…by this man who God knows what he is then rescued by your friend who I must say really hurt my ribs when he grabbed me and almost flung me onto his horse and did you see…"

Jameel's eyes widened in surprise at her sudden outburst and he glanced over at a tall, silent warrior who stood watching over them, his arms folded across his huge chest.  He shrugged helplessly and the warrior coughed once to hide his laughter.  "She is nervous, ya ukh," he explained.

"Indeed," Makin murmured and turned to mount his horse.

"I am not nervous, I am scared to death," Cecelia cried.  She shoved the canteen back at Jameel and jumped to her feet, determined to speak to the man who had saved her life.  She ignored Jameel's startled shout from behind her; anger over the injustice and sorrow from the death of her associates fueled her actions but blinded her logic.  It gave her a sense of false bravado and she stormed across the sand until she came up to the small group of black robed men still huddled around a figure sitting on the ground.  It never registered in her mind that she should have used caution in approaching them.  Never occurred to her that she was considered an outsider, a foreigner or khawagat in their land and she should try to be diplomatic.  All she knew was that she wanted answers and wouldn't be satisfied until someone gave them.  

Her advance was effectively stopped by a huge mountain of a man who stood solidly in her path, his arms folded across his massive chest.  She gasped in surprise at his sudden, foreboding appearance and her eyes grew round with shock when she realized that he definitely had the height advantage.  He towered over her, the scowl on his face intimidating and uncompromising, the dark tattoos on his skin making him look striking and savage. 

Cecelia tried to step around him but her path was blocked by another warrior, not as tall or fiercesome as the first but nonetheless successful in stopping her advance.  He stood as his comrade did, shoulder to shoulder, silent and indifferent. 

"Oh for pete's sake, must you all do the same thing?  I just want to talk to him," Cecelia sighed exasperated and pointed to the wounded man.

"Berin, Jericho…" called out a weak voice.  "Waqaf la-taHt."

Silently the warriors broke apart and she hurried forward, ignoring the sensation that something horrible was going to happen and soon.  She knelt down by his side, next to another warrior who stared at her with gray colored eyes and she blinked in surprise at this discovery.  In his steady gaze she found no malice or censure for actions.  He gave her a brief nod but did not relinquish his hold on the wounded warrior who now leaned heavily against him for support.

"Please can you tell me what's going on?" Cecelia asked and reached out to touch Ardeth's shoulder. 

"Do not fear…my men will…take care of you," Ardeth replied and fought to remain conscious.  "Even if I am…unable to."

"But I don't understand.  Who are you and why…" her voice trailed away when she thought she heard the sound of distant thunder.

Berin and Jericho heard it as well and they stood poised for a brief moment in time, neither warrior wishing to believe the outcome of this skirmish could end unfavorably.

"Get Ardeth to the horses," Jericho advised Berin and turned around to face this new threat. 

~*~

"I must admit, Miss Adams, that your story has the potential to be quite a movie for Hollywood.  Action.  Adventure. The good guys being chased by the bad guys," Bijan quipped sarcastically.  "The damsel in distress being rescued by…uh, what was his name again?"

"Ardeth Bay," Cecelia whispered.  Despite the warmth from the sun shining through a nearby window, heating the room as it made its eternal ascent into the sky, she shivered and wrapped her arms around her waist.  Just saying his name sent chills of excitement down her spine. 

Bijan chuckled and leaned back in his chair, crossing his long legs underneath the table.  Speculatively he watched the woman who sat across from him, then seemed to come to a decision"A rather odd name, don't you think?"

Cecelia looked at the detective warily. "What do you mean?"

"I don't remember all the details but I believe that was the name of one of the characters from an old horror movie," Bijan said and thoughtfully tapped his chin.  "I think it was about mummies, if I'm not mistaken."

"What does this have to do with anything?" Cecelia asked. 

"Well you could have picked a better name, you know, something a bit more Islamic. Like Ali or Abdul," Bijan replied and his eyes narrowed.  "You have sworn to me there is nothing contrived about your adventure in the desert, yet this man's name contradicts your efforts for authenticity. How do I know that what you've told me is not some wild, elaborate cover-up for the murder of your friends?"

"You can go to hell, I didn't kill anyone." Cecelia retorted angrily and glared at the detective.  She folded her arms across her chest.  "I'm telling you the truth, no matter how absurd or unreal it may seem.  I'm doing you and your partner a favor by cooperating and not simply demanding that I be released to the American Embassy."

"I don't need favors," Bijan stated evenly.  "I need facts.  And what I have so far indicates that Dr. Weaver and his team were murdered by unknown assailants and that you, my dear woman, are conveniently the only witness and survivor?  Did the possibility that your life may be danger ever occur to you?  That the men you call bandits will now come after you?"

"They won't," Cecelia stated.  Her certainty came as a surprise to herself, but what was even more troubling was that she knew it to be the truth; she was safe from harm.

"How do you know?"

"I just know."

"You're going to have to give me a better answer than that…"

"Because they're dead, okay?" Cecelia cried out, frustrated. 

Bijan blinked in surprise and leaned on the table, staring intently at Cecelia.  "How would you know that?" he asked.

"Do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?" Cecelia countered. 

"Yes, please continue.  Where were we?" Bijan mused and leaned back, shuffling the pages of the report.  "Ah yes, you were rescued once, taken a short distance away but had to retreat again because the bandits were still pursuing you?"

"Yes.  Ardeth had been seriously wounded and needed immediate medical treatment."

"Did you at least get the name of this warrior's race of people?  Find out what tribe these men come from?  Men whose names you can't remember save one but you can assure me they all looked similar in appearance?  Same black robes, same tattoos, same weapons?" Bijan asked. 

"I was told they were called Medjai," Cecelia stated softly, surprised at the sudden thrill that raced through her body the way the name rolled off her tongue.

"But Miss Adams," Bijan leaned forward across the table, pining Cecelia with the weight his stare. "There is no such tribe called Medjai."

~*~

The first shot rang out just as Jameel had reached his horse and he leaped into the saddle.  He muttered a dark curse when he saw Makin's body suddenly stiffen and almost topple off his mount.  Sending a silent prayer to Allah for His help, Jameel kicked his horse into a gallop and raced to his friend's side.  He was able to stop the warrior from falling to the ground, but his success was short-lived.  The bandits surged over a tall crest of a dune, a hundred throats filling the air with their battle cries.

"iHna lazim mishwar!" Jameel shouted to his fellow warriors.  He took the lead rein from Makin's horse as the warrior slumped over the horse's neck and with the animal in tow, rode over to his fallen chief.

~*~

"iHna lazim mishwar!"

Nabil reacted instantly to the shout and pulled Ardeth to his feet.  Berin swiftly appeared by his side and despite Ardeth's weak protests the sub-commander hefted the warrior over his shoulder as if he weighed no more than a child.  As Berin raced towards the nearest horse, the metallic ring of metal pulled from its sheath announced Nabil's scimitar was free from its scabbard.  He reached for the woman and pulled her into the safety of his arms.

"Come," he urged her and together they ran for the nearest horse.

Jericho followed behind them, his own weapon raised in puny defense as the bandits charged closer, their rifles blazing with round after round of ammunition fired.  He felt the breeze from one bullet pass by his ear and instinctively ducked, then turned to make certain Ardeth was seated on a horse.  He watched as Berin slapped the animal's hindquarters and it leaped away, guided by another warrior to safety.  He took a few steps backwards, guarding Nabil's back as the warrior pushed the unwilling woman onto another horse.  A few moments, she was safely on her way with the rest of the Medjai, away from the oncoming flood of bandits.

Nabil backed himself up against Jericho and waited, his face grim with determination, his weapon held point out and ready for battle.  Berin joined them a moment later, and together the three warriors bravely waited as their own deaths closed in on them from all sides.

Each man took a small measure of comfort with the knowledge that their chieftain was safely riding away from the danger and that they as Medjai were honoring their oath…hatta maut.

~*~

Cecelia stood paralyzed with indecision in the middle of the makeshift encampment the warriors had swiftly constructed, and seemed almost oblivious to the frenzied activity that had erupted.  Yet she was keenly aware that she wasn't the only one who had suffered the loss of friends on this terrible night.  Riderless horses straggled in alone or in pairs and were quickly captured by the warriors, and then led away and hobbled nearby.  Although she was rapidly learning that these strange men were quite adapt at hiding their emotions, a sense of sorrow hung in the air.  Each new arrival could mean only one thing - the death of these warriors, which seemed pointless and confusing.

She recalled that on the third night they had made camp, the guides had spontaneously entertained the men with stories.  They spoke of the mythical guardians of the desert:  fierce, tattooed warriors dressed in black and exceptionally skilled in battle.  Scott and his friends had all laughed, needing the release since the sand storm had raised concerns that their current course towards Dendera had been altered.  They were all blissfully unaware that the real danger lurked in the shadows of the night: soulless, godless men that had watched and waited to attack.  The tranquility of the darkness had been shattered with their battle cry and like a swarm of locusts, they swept through the camp, capturing and killing indiscriminately. 

Cecelia felt a shiver of apprehension race down her spine as she recalled the narrow escape of her own demise and wrapped her arms around her body to ward off the chill.  Her thoughts drifted back to her rescuer:  the feel of his strong arms around her waist, the odd remembrance of his scent, a heady combination of male, spice and warmth.  The heated passion that had infused her body when she responded to his kiss…

She needed to know that her dark rider was alive, that he had somehow survived the reluctant retreat away from the danger and yearned for the reassurance she would see looking into his eyes.  Quickly her gaze swept over the encampment until she saw his warriors had once again surrounded him and his name sprang to her lips in an anguished whisper.  "Ardeth…"

~*~

"Has the rider returned with the healers?" Dharr asked Sharif.  He stood in the center of the camp, issuing commands and trying to establish some sense of order.  The Medjai were uncharacteristically thrown off-balance, rattled by their sudden involvement when Ardeth had impulsively ridden into the foreigners' camp and rescued the woman.

"Aiwa, they have returned a short time ago," Sharif replied.  "Raphael is…"

Dharr ignored Sharif for a moment and hurried over to help Ardeth into the healer's tent.  "Hold him gently, ya ukh, and be mindful of his wounds," Dharr patiently instructed his sahib Solman as the warrior slowly lifted a semi-conscious Ardeth from his horse.

"Ardeth ya ra'is," Solman replied fervently as he obeyed Dharr's instructions and effortlessly cradled the body of Ardeth against his broad chest.  His eyes widened in surprise when his hand brushed against the sticky fabric of Ardeth's robes, the congealed blood seeping through his fingers and he looked at Dharr for reassurance.

"Aiwa, you are correct. Now take him to the healer's tent and do not worry," Dharr said as he continued with his instructions, "Ardeth will be fine."

"Dharr ya sahib," Solman murmured quietly and turned away, his purpose now focused solely on complying with Dharr's command.

As the giant warrior slowly lumbered away with his burden towards the tent, Dharr gave a weary sigh as Sharif appeared by his side.

"How many are unaccounted for?" he asked as they slowly followed Solman towards the tent. With growing horror, Sharif realized that the path they followed in Solman's wake was splattered with tiny ruby colored droplets of blood.

"We have lost Talal and Yusef that we know of, and Nabil, Berin and Jericho are still missing," Dharr replied grimly.  He glanced back to where the woman had been standing since she had first arrived at the encampment and he fought against the anger that settled in his heart.  Loyal to his chief and to his people, Dharr was beginning to find it hard to reconcile the loss of his fellow warriors and possibly his chief against the life of one mere woman.

"What in the name of Allah happened?" Sharif couldn't help but ask as the two warriors stopped in front of the entrance to the tent.

Dharr didn't have an immediate response as he continued to stare at the woman he believed to be the reason for so much sorrow.  "We honored our vow and obeyed the law of the desert:  to protect those who are weak and defenseless.  I can only hope that performing our sacred duty will not cost more than we can afford to pay," he finally said after a few moments of silence. 

"What of the woman?  You do realize what she is, do you not?" Sharif asked.

"Aiwa, one only has to look at her strange clothes to realize she is not of this world," Dharr sighed. 

"We must keep contact with her down to a minimum, according to our laws and the tribal decrees," Sharif stated.  His dark gaze swept over her form, silently appraising her appearance and he raised an eyebrow in surprise when he noticed the odd shoes she wore on her feet.  "Although I must confess I am curious; I have never met a barranidinyi mara before."

Dharr found his first smile, albeit a weak one, of the night at Sharif's comment.  "Nor have I."

~*~

Raphael had been ready to retire for the evening when a lone warrior rode into the village on a lathered horse, shouting for a healer.  His intentions of resting disrupted, Raphael and another healer had only enough time to grab their satchels of medical supplies before they were riding out of the city and into the night.  As they rode across the desert towards an unknown destination, the warrior could only give them the briefest of details.  The chieftain Ardeth Bay's squad had been attacked by rogue bandits who had been tormenting various cities along the Nile, and Ardeth had sustained a serious injury. 

Eventually, Raphael found himself standing in the center of a tent, directing the tide of warriors that flowed around him. His mind sorted through the wounded and quickly determined who needed immediate care.  He watched as his fellow healer Mahir rushed over to help Jameel as he brought Makin over to a nearby pallet.  Suddenly Makin uttered a low moan, slipped out of Jameel's arms and crumpled to the ground. Mahir shouted for help and several tense minutes later, Makin was resting on the pallet as the healer tore open his robes.  With Jameel's assistance, he assessed the wound in Makin's side and treated him as quickly as possible.

Satisfied that the warrior was being cared for, Raphael turned around just as Ardeth was gently deposited onto another pallet.  Although Solman had carried Ardeth with infinite care, the movement nonetheless had invoked a moan of pain from him.  He regained consciousness just as Raphael bent down by his side to examine the wounds. 

"Sahil, sahil, ya ra'is," Raphael murmured gently to Ardeth.  He leaned over the weakly struggling warrior and with a fatherly tenderness, stroked his warm brow. "Save your strength, you will need it for your recovery."

"I cannot…rest until I know…the fate of my men," Ardeth replied, the words mingled with gasps as he fought to remain conscious.  Awareness ebbed and flowed, habitual instinct prompted him to rise and take command but his trembling body refused to obey. He tried to sit up and rest on his elbows, but the pain shooting down from his shoulder was too intense. Instead, he fell back, unable to stop the cry of agony that spilled from his throat.

"Rest you must," Raphael gently contradicted and with a slight nod of his head, Solman appeared by Ardeth's side.  Solman placed his large hands on Ardeth's good shoulder, effectively and carefully keeping the warrior from rising again.  "I need to tend to your injuries now."

"Do what you can, healer," Dharr said as he and Sharif stood at the foot of the pallet.  He tried to maintain his composure, but seeing his chief literally shaking from pain made his last words come out hoarse with grief.  "We cannot lose Ardeth."

"I will do what is necessary, but I fear the wounds need to be cauterized with a heated blade," Raphael murmured as he peeled back one section of Ardeth's bloody robe and studied one of the wounds.  "It is the only way if we are to take him back to the city; I dare not risk performing any procedures here.  The chance of a severe infection would be too great."

"Where…is Nabil?" Ardeth asked as he struggled not to surrender to the overwhelming desire for sleep.  His head swam and he felt his stomach roll with nausea; the pain that burned from his shoulder all but stole his breath away.  Coherent thought was rapidly becoming impossible but the need to know the fate of his men, of his warrior brothers pushed Ardeth to test the limits of his physical endurance.

An uncomfortable silence followed the question as Raphael gestured for help in rolling Ardeth to his side so he could examine the other wound.  He glanced up at Dharr and Sharif, and then frowned a moment later when he realized the warrior's reluctance to answer meant only one thing - the loss of more brothers.

"Nabil?" Ardeth asked again, unable to hold back the groan that slipped past clenched teeth from Raphael's ministrations.

"He has…not yet returned," Sharif replied, hesitating to tell his chief that one of his most trusted commanders and friend may have not survived the attack.

"We will send out a patrol…" Dharr's suggestion was unexpectedly interrupted by the sentry's shout announcing the arrival of riders into the encampment.  Tentative hope bloomed in his heart that the missing had returned and he hurried over to the tent flaps, his hand almost touching the canvas to push it aside.  Suddenly they were thrown open and he stepped back a few paces as the large form of Berin ducked inside.

Surprised and excited shouts of "Hamad" filled the air as the warriors crowded around the once believed missing men.  Dharr eagerly took the weight of Jericho away from Berin and helped his friend hobble over to the nearest pallet. He gave a silent prayer of thanks to Allah that his sahib only sustained a minor wound on his right leg and shouted for some assistance from a healer.

Sharif went to offer his help to Berin but the warrior refused, his face stoically grim as he stiffly turned away and walked out through the flaps.  Sharif tried to follow but stepped backwards when Berin reappeared, this time supporting the weight of Nabil who walked beside him. 

"Ana mabsoot, ya ukh," Nabil tried to reason with his friend but Berin stubbornly refused to listen and the two of them argued until Nabil was finally sitting on a pallet.  "I have only a few minor cuts…"

"You are injured…" Berin replied.  He saw the other healer hurrying by, and with one large hand reached out and grabbed Mahir by the nape of the neck, propelling him straight towards Nabil.  The growled command of, "You will look after ya sahib, hal-waqt ajab" sent the man scurrying over to the Commander within moments and Berin grunted with satisfaction.

"Ya ra'is do you see?" Raphael whispered to Ardeth and gently cradled his head in his lap.  "Nabil has returned along with Berin and Jericho, Allah be praised."

Silence immediately filled the tent as the warriors waited expectantly for Ardeth to respond.  He pushed past the pain that had blanketed his thoughts and weakly raised a hand, gesturing for the men to come closer.  "Kif" he whispered when Berin and Nabil were by his side.  "How did…you…?"

"It was by the grace of Allah, ya ukh," Nabil replied as he knelt down by Ardeth's side.  He frowned when he saw the pale complexion of Ardeth's face and the waves of pain that continually washed over it.  Gently he took Ardeth's hand with his own and believed that by this contact alone, it would lend his wounded friend some much needed strength.

"Reinforcements arrived, led by Commander Ishaq from the Tribe of the First," Berin stated and leaned over Nabil's shoulder.  "The bandits were repelled by the force of Kedar's assault and will never again attack the innocent and unsuspecting."

With a heartfelt sigh of relief, Ardeth could now finally cave into the darkness that had been threatening to consume his consciousness.  Most of his men had safely returned and as Raphael prepared the blade to seal the entrance wound on his shoulder, his last thought was of the woman who had seemed to be the catalyst of these recent events.

As his head lolled to one side, Ardeth was heard to whisper, "Where…is she?"

~*~

"What's that?" Cecelia warily eyed the brown paper bag that Bijan had casually tossed onto the table.  "Incriminating evidence?"

"Lunch," Bijan replied, eyes twinkling with humor.  He had just returned from stepping outside the room for a few minutes and reached into the bag, pulling out two small, wrapped items.  "According to the universal laws and rules passed by the Geneva Convention, I am to treat my prisoner as humanely as possible.  So eat."

Despite the tension of the past four hours from the detective's arduous questioning, Cecelia smiled and felt her stomach rumble in response to the food.  She reached for what she thought to be a sandwich, peeled back the wrapper and tentatively took a bite.  As the strong taste of feta cheese and tomato flooded her mouth, she looked over in surprise to find the secretary had left the room.  She was alone with Bijan.  Giddy with the knowledge and feeling unfettered by any reproachful glare she may have gotten from the other woman, Cecelia seized the opportunity.  She stared at the detective with a critical eye, her gaze roaming over his appearance:  the short, black hair neatly combed back, the dark, intense color of his eyes, the shadowy hint of a beard accentuating his firm jaw line, the full lower lip. She assessed the broad width of his shoulders, the way the short sleeved shirt he wore highlighted the strength in his arms and hands.  Bijan was quite a handsome man and that thought prompted Cecelia to reevaluate her original impression of him; he was now an extremely good looking hard-assed detective.  She took an enormous bite of her sandwich to stop herself from giggling. 

Bijan pushed a bottle of water at Cecelia.  "You look like a chipmunk, Miss Adams," he stated dryly. 

"Well, you don't look like a cop," Cecelia retorted, disturbed at how easy the conversation between them had turned casual, easy and almost…intimate, like they had been friends for years.

"You would never make a good card player," Bijan commented with a chuckle, strong white teeth flashing in a dazzling smile.  He folded down a portion of the sandwich wrapper and debated on where to bite next.  "All one has to do is watch your eyes and face to determine what your thoughts and emotions are."

"You know, I never could figure out why I can't play a decent hand of poker," Cecelia smiled.  "Now I know why."  She continued her study of Bijan, watching as he continued chewing his food, slowly, methodically.  Just like his method of interrogation, she was certain he would eventually chip away at her perception of time and events over the past several days, until there was nothing left of her but a quivering mass of nerves.  And hopefully, the truth. That's all she wanted, to know and to understand.  "What else do you see in my eyes?" she had to ask. 

"Fear," Bijan finally replied after a few moments of intense study of Cecelia's face.  He suddenly pushed the small, uneaten portion of his sandwich away.   "Anger.  Exhaustion.  From what you have told me so far, you have gone through a traumatic experience, losing your employer and friends like you did.  Then to be rescued by a fanatical group of men who called themselves warriors; I am honestly surprised your psych evaluation came back with no findings."

"I never said they were fanatical," Cecelia stated and pushed away her own sandwich, her hunger having suddenly dissipated. 

"No, you haven't, but I have to presume they were fanatics with some sort of religious belief, for why else wouldn't they seek immediate medical attention for their wounded?  Why didn't they take their injured men to the nearest town?"

 "I don't know…"

"Ah, the standard answer," Bijan sighed, exasperated.  He shoved the remaining food into the paper bag and swept it off the table and into the nearby trash can. He stood up, pushing his chair back and ran a hand through his hair, pacing in front of Cecelia.  "When will the answer change?"

"When I can remember something," Cecelia replied frustrated.   

"How did you get back into Cairo?"

"I don't remember…"

"What happened to the bodies of Dr. Weaver and his team?"

"I don't know…" Cecelia felt herself starting to get hysterical and wrapped her arms around her midsection, her stomach tightening from nausea. 

Bijan stopped pacing and whirled around, slamming his fists on the table.  He ignored Cecelia's yelp of surprise and leaned down until his face was inches away from hers, ignoring the stab of compassion he felt when he saw the wild, frightened look in her eyes.  "What do you know, Miss Adams?" he asked softly.

"That one moment you're being nice to me, and the next moment you're yelling at me," she cried out.  "Why are you doing this?"

Bijan muttered a curse and pushed himself away from Cecelia, shoving a hand through his hair and taking a deep, calming breath.  "What I am trying to do is keep you safe.  What I need to do is find out the truth, because I suddenly find that the alternatives are unacceptable."

"What alternatives?" Cecelia asked fearfully. 

Bijan grabbed his chair and sat down at the table, carefully avoiding Cecelia's probing gaze.  He reached for the file folder and as he pushed some papers back inside, he replied, "Charges may be filed against you for murder, although at this point I highly doubt it since there is no evidence.  No fingerprints, no weapon or motive, nothing Forensics would be able to use in building a case against you.   Seeing no other recourse, my superior may petition the courts to have you detained and committed to an asylum for further psychiatric evaluation."

"Oh my God," Cecelia whispered, horrified.  Her stomach rolled with nausea as her mind splintered into a thousand frantic thoughts.  "What am I going to do?"

"Tell me what happened next," Bijan answered earnestly. "Try and remember all the facts, so that maybe we can piece this puzzle together and hopefully, present a compelling enough case that will eventually have you released from custody."

"You still want to know what happened to Ardeth?" Cecelia asked, doubting that a judge or Bijan's superior would want to hear about the fate of a man who supposedly didn't exist. 

"Yes, I still want to know," Bijan answered eagerly.  "Any information you can give me will be helpful.  Please continue."

Cecelia took a deep breath and nodded her head, gathering her thoughts.   "They…they began treating Ardeth's wounds," she said and began rocking back and forth, lost in the horrible memories…

~*~

Cecelia stood in the entrance of the tent, then pushed herself off to one side and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible.  Wide-eyed with shock and wonder, she watched as the activity within the tent reached an almost fevered pitch.  Although she couldn't understand what was being said, she could tell that terse orders were issued and quickly obeyed.  Injuries were assessed and examined, treated and wrapped with bandages; patients were made as comfortable as possible considering the circumstances but eventually left alone.  Those that were healthier and able to walk gravitated towards the far wall and since her curiosity was aroused, she had to take a step closer to investigate.  What was pulling them over?

Wishing she had her glasses, Cecelia cautiously moved nearer, squinting her eyes to compensate for the dimly lit interior of the tent and moved between two men.  She peeked over one of their shoulders and her eyes widened in shock when she saw who they had gathered around:  Ardeth. 

"Oh God," Cecelia whimpered, wishing she had the strength to look away.  Morbid fascination compelled her to watch; it held her captive and made her become a reluctant witness to the proceedings.  Four men were holding Ardeth down, each anchoring a hand or foot to the bed as another man quickly stripped him of his belts and clothing.  Cecelia had brief glimpses of a muscular, bronzed colored chest, its perfection marred by the ribbon of red that lazily trickled down one side.  Ardeth's dark, raven colored hair was damp from sweat and obstinately clung to his forehead and face, despite being brushed back several times.  A man was bending over Ardeth, his face a complex portrait of gentle concern and anxiousness, and he seemed to be whispering words of comfort to the warrior.  Someone produced a small piece of wood and handed it to the same man, who coaxed Ardeth to take it into his mouth, settling it between his teeth.  Another warrior stepped forward and placed his hands on Ardeth's head, immobilizing it and before Cecelia could ask or even think about what was going to happen next, a glowing white hot knife was given handle first to the man. 

Cecelia heard a sound, unsure of its origin and then realized it was coming from her; she was whimpering.  She clutched at the robes of the warrior in front of her, oblivious to his reaction in finding her standing there.  Instead her eyes were riveted to the man who held the blade above his head for a moment, as if invoking a prayer.  Then with the speed of a striking snake, it descended, like a bolt of lightning from the heavens above.  The man skillfully laid the heated weapon on Ardeth's shoulder wound and the reaction was swift and instinctive.  Ardeth's cry of agony was partially muffled from the wood in his mouth as his body arched and twisted, as if desperately seeking an escape from this new torment being inflicted.  He strained mightily against his unwilling captors, hands clenched into tight fists as his cry reverberated through the night, causing even the most stoic of warriors to flinch from the sound of it.  He weakly struggled; bucking against those that held him and Cecelia watched the man work the blade around the wound. 

"Please hurry, please hurry," she whispered over and over again, her hands clenching and tugging on the warrior's robes.  The smell of burning flesh, Ardeth's hoarse cries of pain, combined with the heat that radiated from those around her made Cecelia's head spin and she felt her stomach roll.  Keeping the queasiness at bay, she watched as Ardeth was carefully picked up and cradled against Nabil who now sat on the edge of the pallet, his head resting on Nabil's shoulder.  Two other warriors came up behind Nabil and held onto Ardeth's hands and the remaining two stood behind the man, apparently as a precaution in case Ardeth tried to break free from his constraints. Cecelia saw it as unnecessary, however, for thankfully Ardeth had passed out.  Another heated blade was given and just as quickly and efficiently as the first, it was pressed against the exit wound on Ardeth's shoulder, searing the injury shut.  

Cecelia took several deep gulps of air, the smells overpowering and yet she stayed for as long as she could, watching the man and warriors as they finished caring for Ardeth.  The wood was removed from his mouth and tossed aside.  His shoulder was wrapped with bandages that stood out in contrast against his dark skin, small blotches of red obscuring their pristine whiteness.  Someone produced a small rag and water pouch and she watched as the man softly wiped Ardeth's face, neck and arms.  He quietly conversed with the warriors that stood around the bed and she had no doubt that perhaps he was reassuring them.  

Cecelia wanted to run to Ardeth's side, to convince herself that his chances of survival had greatly improved but movement was impossible.  Fear that had once paralyzed her body had changed into exhaustion and it was taking its toll; her world tilted precariously.  She still held onto the warrior's robe and she tugged on it hard, in an effort to keep herself from pitching forward into oblivion but it was useless.  She felt herself falling but instead of hitting the hard ground, she was swept up by a pair of strong arms and cradled against a broad chest.  With a ragged little sigh, she curled her arms around the warrior's neck and closed her eyes, leaning her head on his shoulder.  He smelled nice, and felt so warm….

~*~

A/N:  In all fairness, this little note goes out to my beta, Jennifer Lee, who has been a godsend with her help, idea's, suggestions and of course, correcting my perpetual mistakes of trying to put comma's where they don't belong.  She is the silent inspiration for this story, the one that took my wild idea's and made me think them through, then patiently read what I sent over and over until I was satisfied with the result.  I've only had two betas' in my short career as a fanfic writer and I feel quite lucky to have her as my beta now…heck she's the one that makes me look good. LOL Special thanks to Jennifer for putting aside her own writing to help me with mine…love my beta. ;-)

Translations:

Waqaf la-taHt - stand down

iHna lazim mishwar - we must ride

hatta maut – till death

ya ra'is – my chief

barranidinyi – outer/world

mara – woman  Or my attempt at saying Outworlder.  LOL

sahil – easy

Hamad – Praise God

Ana mabsoot – I am fine

Hal-waqt -  now

Kif – how [Syrian dialect] 

Hopefully that covers everything, if I missed something, let me know?  ;-)

Ok time for the shout-outs, I love these.  LOL

Dawn – thanks for the review and this story, as I mentioned, is already going into sequels.  ~yikes~  LOL

Lilybird – so nice to see you on FF and I'm glad the idea of time travel makes sense to you, oh learned one.  ;-)  How does Cecelia get back to Cairo?  You'll see and may not like the fairness of it.  Heh heh

Deana – Post more? I did, I did.  LOL And I see you posted more on your story with the namus [different spelling I know, different book LOL]  I promise to leave a review and soon.  ;-)

Hi Dee, Kathy and Cindy – usually when I see new reviewers, I love to drop them an email to thank them personally for reading and reviewing.  But since y'all didn't leave an email address, that's okay…LOL I'll thank you here.  So, thanks!  ;-)  I appreciate the comments and please, keep reading. 

Lula – thanks for the review, sweetie and the poem.  Sheesh, that was priceless and so-oo Nabil  ;-)

Marxbros – glad you liked the intro and the introduction of Cecelia, she is indeed quite an interesting character.  You know me, women characters that are complex and compelling.  LOL And a tasty Ardeth is a nice treat, indeed.  Thanks!

Marcher – Hey there my friend, good to see you, hope life is treating you well.  Glad you like the story so far and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.  ;-)

Rusegot your email, my friend and shall answer shortly.  Glad you like this so far and I saw Dr. Hawass on one of the educational channels we have, which of course inspired me to look up his site, which of course led to…LOL If you want the link to his site, let me know.  It's interesting stuff.  ;-)

Lori – Hi there and welcome, thanks so much for reading.  You need not beg, I've been working on this as much as I can but alas, I will have to stop and go back to Heroes.  However, I hope this chapter satisfies for now and don't worry, there will be more to come.  Laws, yes…more to come.  ;-)