STORIES TO TELL
As the sun began to rise, the temperature soared. Laurel kicked off the blanket, struggling out of it as if it were a python set to smother her. She noticed that the bearded warrior was already up, probably had been for hours. She sighed tiredly. What she wouldn't give for a hot bath right now. She wanted to ask him about that, but didn't want him to think her stupid [as she was]. Laurel shook her hair loose from its braid and ran her fingers through it. Her diary had somehow survived the shipwreck, but her hairbrush had not. She quickly began to braid it the moment she had sufficiently fingered out the tangles. The seawater had stiffened it and the task wasn't an easy one. As she braided, she watched her savior readying for the journey. She could sense his impatience with her, but he had yet to speak. He wouldn't stay silent for long. Today, she would likely have to tell him what was going on. He wouldn't ask, but she felt the need to tell him everything. Above all else, she needed his help. She couldn't get that without saying something. By the time her hair was braided and her things gathered, he was ready to move on. Today, he didn't bother arguing with her. He simply slid into the saddle easily, presented his hand to her, and waited patiently. She wanted to resist, but didn't. With her settled against him for the second day now, he gave the horse a command and they rode out. Unlike yesterday, Laurel kept her hands to herself, but held her body rigidly. She wasn't comfortable riding so high. Her mother and Tehotu hadn't been keen on allowing them around animals of any kind. The height, combined with the heat and the glare of the sun, was dizzying. Neither of them had spoken since last night.
After riding for hours and hours, they stopped for a bit to give the horse a break. The poor animal was laboring, but doing so valiantly. Laurel glanced at the environment around her. There was nothing but sand and sand dunes. She had begun to think that there was no village. Perhaps she had died in the shipwreck and maybe this was hell. Her daze was broken when he approached with a water pouch. He had once again referred to her as Dâyi' nafs and asked if she wanted mayy [water]. She nodded and took it from him, taking a precious mouthful before giving it back. She swallowed the water slowly, letting it cool her throat. Laurel wanted more, but didn't want to deplete his supply. It was now time to talk to him, if he would listen.
"What is that you're calling me," she asked suddenly.
Ardeth glanced at her, as if surprised she still had the ability to speak. "Dâyi' nafs. It means lost soul. What am I to call you? I do not know your name."
Lost soul? He thought of her as a lost soul? It was chilling to say the least. He knew nothing about her, but he had summed up her personality with two simple words. "The last time I checked, I didn't know your name, either," she said, her voice taking on a snapping quality. Why was she angry? Why did she suddenly feel the need to smack him? Why did it matter that he had pegged her a lost soul? It's because you are, Laurel. You are lost and have no idea how to find your way. She noticed he was gazing at her cautiously, as if he had read her mind, and was waiting for her to advance on him. Laurel thought for a moment. She knew Reginald made frequent trips to Egypt, but did Tehotu? "I'm sorry," she said, "My name is Sesha Lipton." The lie left her lips smoothly, almost feeling like the truth. Well, part of it is the truth.
He followed through with a curt nod. "I am Ardeth Bay." He waited for her to say more. Her lips were pursed and there was a line across her forehead. It was one of determination. She clearly wanted his help, but despite the temptation, he wouldn't dig for it.
"There's something I need to speak to you about," she began.
"Yes, I sensed as much. However, I think we should wait until we make camp. We must cover as much ground as possible."
Laurel didn't argue. Instead, she followed him to the rested horse and climbed aboard. They rode for several miles that day and the dry heat alone was exhausting her. She clearly didn't understand how he could live like this and stay within those robes. Actually, the dark stranger [she had his name now…Ardeth] fascinated her. She had never seen men like him and there were a thousand questions she longed to ask. Perhaps once she spilled her guts, he might be willing to share pieces of information about himself. She had gotten off on the wrong foot by lying about her name. However, if he knew her family, he would simply get in touch with them, and they would drag her back. Reginald Portafoy awaited her, and he made it no secret that he wanted her. How much did she need to tell him?
That evening, they made camp and Laurel offered as much assistance as she could. She noticed that he had set up the tent again. Would there be another argument like the night before? Mostly, she stood back and watched. She had no idea what she was doing anyway. She grabbed the burlap bag and dug into it until she found her diary. She had clipped a pen inside it, but she didn't have any ink. There were so many thoughts swirling in her head that she didn't know what to do. She had to get them down on paper or she thought she might explode. Laurel didn't notice Ardeth as he lowered himself next to her. He took that moment to gaze at her curiously. She was entirely too young to be here. Her beauty was gentle and innocent, not yet marred by the harsh realities of life. He hadn't been exposed to many women outside his village, but those he saw were not like this one. Apparently, she had been sheltered and protected her entire life. She had taken a brave step in coming here like this, but it wasn't a sensible one. Ardeth felt a bit uneasy judging her in this fashion, but he wanted to get to the heart of her request. For two days, he had said nothing. It wasn't like him or any of his people to take in outsiders unless it was completely warranted. He felt that her situation was.
"You wished to tell me something," Ardeth prompted.
Laurel jumped as if shocked. She hadn't realized she had been so zoned out. "Y-yes," she muttered. "I came to Egypt to find someone. The night you and your men saved us, I thought there was something familiar about you. I thought if I found you and followed, you could lead me directly where I wanted to go. I'm searching for my father. He has ties to your people and from what I've been told, he bears a bit of a resemblance to you. He's a college professor and my mother told me that he retired in this country."
Ardeth remembered the night he had pulled her from the sea. Ustâd. The college professor had visited the village more than once. His people had embraced the man because he was of their blood. Yet, could she be talking about the same man? As far as Ardeth knew, he didn't have a daughter. "I know a man such as you describe, but he did not have a daughter. He had sons. We call him ustâd, which means professor. The night we assisted you, I noticed that you look like him. I can take you to the village, but I cannot promise you a meeting with him. I am not sure where he lives."
She nodded. "This man, my father, he doesn't know I exist. My mother didn't tell him about me. I wanted to find him, so that's why I came." There was more to tell, of course, but she didn't want to go into the complexity of her family's weird arrangement with Reginald Portafoy. It was information he really didn't need to know right now. She stopped talking as her words dried up totally. Spoken out loud, they made little sense. Basically, she sounded like a twelve-year-old on a useless venture for a stolen toy. How could she have been so naïve to believe she could do this? The stress of the last several days had stockpiled inside her. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "I can't believe I've done this," she whispered. Whatever resulted from this trip was virtually useless to her. She would wind up back in England as Mrs. Reginald Portafoy.
Ardeth almost didn't hear her words. He focused his dark eyes on her face. "You cannot believe what," he asked, concern tingeing his voice. She looked as if she might cry, scream, or both. "Are you all right?"
She focused her blue-green eyes on his face. "Don't you see? I'm chasing a fantasy. I'm a little girl trying to find her father. I must have been an idiot to pursue this. Mr. Bay, I'm sorry I dragged you into this deluded fantasy of mine. Once we make it to your village, you don't have to help me find him. I'll go home."
Something about her words and the way she looked at him convinced him that she wasn't telling the truth. There was more. She didn't want to go home because she was running. Why else would a well-bred young girl travel with nothing more than a burlap bag? Why else would she risk life and limb to follow them out into the barren desert? He felt the greatest urge to press her for information, but he had no right to do so. "I am not Mr. Bay, I am Ardeth," he began. "Your search is not a deluded fantasy and I will do whatever I can to help you."
Laurel bit her tongue. She was close to spilling everything. What good would it do? He couldn't help her with anything else. He couldn't prevent Tehotu and Reginald from finding her and dragging her back [which was what they'd do as soon as they found out where she was]. He couldn't stop the wedding if it was Tehotu's wish. Her destiny, her fate, was not her own. She had dragged another into the mire and had been somewhat responsible for the deaths of several men. She was afraid this Ardeth Bay would end up in the ground as well. Yet, he wasn't exactly helpless. She had seen what he could do if pressed. "Thank you," she said quietly, "but it's a trip not worth making. He's probably unreachable."
What else is it? I do wish you would tell me, he thought. He gazed earnestly at her face, but she had torn her eyes off his. She folded her hands in her lap and directed her gaze downward. She had clasped her hands together tightly, and he could see that they were turning white under the pressure. They were delicate and fine-boned; it appeared as if her fingers could snap easily with the slightest of touches. He looked away after a long moment. It wasn't proper for him to stare at her. He brought himself to his feet. "You will take the tent tonight," he said. "I can see how exhausted you are. Please do not argue."
Although she hated the idea of sleeping on the sand again, freezing her butt off, she shook her head. "I have to argue. I am the intruder here and I can't do this to you," she said quietly.
This girl, this Dâyi' nafs, was a stubborn one. He was half tempted to pick her up and place her inside, but he couldn't touch her. It simply wasn't proper. She would likely think he was set to hurt her as she had first thought. He could sense by her stilted movements that she still didn't trust him. "Do you wish to repeat what happened last night? I cannot allow you to stay out here again. As I said, you are not accustomed to this climate, but I am. For the last time, take the tent."
"For the last time…no."
He focused his eyes skyward for the briefest of moments as if praying for strength. After a moment, he took in a deep breath, and then moved suddenly, sweeping her into his arms before she knew it. She had no idea what he was trying to do with her. Panicking for a moment, she began to beat at him. Images of Reginald Portafoy popped into her head. With him, she had had a little control. With this Ardeth Bay, she had nothing. Deftly, as if he had done this a thousand times, he began sliding her into the open space that served as an entrance. He apparently wanted 'payment' for what he had given her. Nothing was free. He startled her when he placed her down onto the pile of blankets and backed away. You idiot. He wasn't attacking you. He was trying to help you. Without looking at her, he closed the tent flap. She came close to springing up and out of the tent. She wasn't about to take orders from him as if she were some small, curly haired lap dog. She had done that enough in life and had no desire to do it again. Yet, the moment she had settled within the makeshift pallet, she realized that it felt heavenly. Before this, she had never slept outdoors, and it wasn't easy. It didn't take long for her to pass out. She hadn't noticed that she didn't eat a bite the entire day.
Ardeth remained outside and scanned the territory around him. They were no more than a day's ride from the village. He thought of Dâyi' nafs asleep in the tent, snoring very, very lightly. He hoped that he could find the man she said was her father. She was haunted, her eyes pained and wounded. Regardless of what she said, she wanted to find the man. She wasn't exactly his responsibility, but he had somehow taken her under his protective wing and didn't want to fail her. He wrapped up snuggly, but it would take hours before he found sleep. It wasn't the chill in the air or the uncomfortable sand. His mind kept drifting to the tent, to Dâyi' nafs.
* * *
Reginald had gathered three of his friends [fellow thieves] and he acquired a private steamer to take them to Egypt. He would hit Cairo first. According to Tehotu, it was where his wife had met Laurel's father. The strategy was to find the girl and bring her back. However, Reginald had other plans for her, plans that would ensure she married him. He thought back to her birthday party and the night he was alone with her in the limousine. Her lips were sweet and her hands were those of a China doll. He had tasted those lips and wanted the chance to do it again. He longed to feel her slender fingers wrapped tightly around him. Oh yes. She would submit and do it again and again and again. If she didn't, he had ways of persuading her and wouldn't mind using them. After this little stunt, even if Laurel told Tehotu what he had done, he wouldn't care.
When they made it to Cairo, the men immediately began asking around and showing Laurel's picture to anyone who would stop and look. Reginald didn't receive a reaction from anyone and he had begun to wonder if they'd taken a false lead. However, before he could curse her name, he eyed a huge tent set up in the center of town. He understood only basic Arabic, but he thought the symbols meant this flimsy structure was some type of healer's tent. He wasn't sure what made him focus on this area, but he couldn't tear his eyes away for a long time. When he could move again, Reginald took his picture and walked toward the tent. Ducking inside, he noticed that most of the cots were unoccupied and only two people, a nurse and the healer himself, tended those who were ill. He approached the healer and immediately, he received the answer he was expecting and needed. A half hour later, he met his men on the side of the dusty street. Reginald and his most trusted friend, Bishop, had gotten more information than all of them combined. They had discovered that Laurel's ship had capsized and she was only one of six survivors. The healer had treated her, mentioning that she had been visited by who he assumed was a Nomad carrying a wicked sword [it sounded like the man who came to the museum]. Another man told Bishop that Laurel had purchased an elderly camel from a scam artist and had gone out into the desert, following the strange robed men.
Reginald was actually aching to get on the trail. Why would she follow a band of Nomads out into the desert? It made no sense. It mattered little. He felt they were close to her. Yet, it was getting dark, and Reginald wanted to wait until everyone was rested before they struck out. They needed supplies. There was a great chance that Laurel was alone and she knew nothing of the desert, had never been outside England, and a great chance existed that she would die. She could not die. If she did, what would become of his hopes and dreams? What would become of the money? It would definitely not belong to him. Laurel Sesha Aciquilla was a selfish, selfish little bitch.
* * *
A noise awakened Ardeth and he noticed it was Dâyi' nafs. She climbed out of the tent, shaking her head, and mumbling incoherently. For a moment, he thought she might be sleepwalking, but she wasn't. He couldn't see her eyes, but he saw her head move toward him.
"I didn't mean to wake you," she said.
"Are you all right?"
"Y-yes. It was a nightmare. I'm okay."
Her voice told him she was definitely not fine, but he said nothing. Again, he was tempted to dig into her mind, to find out whatever secrets she held, but he resisted with everything in him. "You should try to go back to sleep. Dawn swiftly approaches."
She shook her head. "I can't sleep. It's over. You can go inside now, I'll be fine out here."
"No," he said. "I will put the tent away." He unwrapped himself from the blanket and approached the tent. She turned to help him and he watched curiously. She looked up and met his gaze once, but quickly turned her head. "Have you ever done this before?"
She snapped her head back toward him, not quite meeting his gaze. "No, but I refuse to stand back and allow you to wait on me."
He wanted to tell her he wasn't serving her. He didn't serve anyone, but it would only alienate her further and cause another 'who is more stubborn' argument. He didn't know this girl, but had an urge to push her to talk. How many times in so many hours had he thought that? Awkwardly, they stepped toward each other, almost parodying a waltz, as they folded the tent. Forward. Back. Fold. Forward. Back. Once the material was folded into a tiny bundle of cloth, Ardeth took it and stuffed it into his knapsack. When he looked up, he caught her looking at him again. She was obviously as curious about him as he was she.
"What…who…are you," she began. "Are you a thief? What do you do?"
He glanced at her with a wry smile on his lips. Would she understand? Would she believe him? Dare he tell her? "My men and I travel between our village and Cairo, searching for shipwrecked souls to rescue."
At first, she walked right into it, but when she absorbed the words, she shook her head incredulously. "You're definitely not a vaudeville comedian, Mr. Bay," she said icily, storming away.
Was it stress? The sun? Exhaustion? Insanity? Whatever it was, he turned away so he could laugh in relative privacy. It was impolite, but he couldn't hold it back. After a moment, he went after her. "Dâyi' nafs, I am sorry. I cannot truly explain. I do not mean to laugh. I am simply not asked that question very often."
She didn't know whether to accept his apology or slap him. His dark eyes were sparkling and he would burst into laughter again at the drop of a hat. "Fine," she said grudgingly. "If you don't want to tell me, just say so. When I get back to Cairo, am I going to see your face on a 'wanted' poster?"
"No, I can promise you that. Please, come."
Silently, she followed him back toward their campsite. She didn't get on the horse with him. Instead, she chose to walk. Ardeth kept pace with her, repeatedly asking that she ride. Nope. I won't do it. Nope. I refuse.
____________________
To be continued…
