Speak Softly
The Mind Killer

1935: Ardeth Bay is resurrected from the dead. He awakens to a world vastly different, to familiar faces changing and to the knowledge that he is Egypt's final hope for freedom.

He also finds out just how far love and despair can take him.

~~~~~~~

The little girl was asleep now, thankfully, having missed her time due to fears and tears. Jonathan ran a tired hand through his hair and looked once more at the secret entrance. Hours had passed, bringing the softness of a dawn without a sign of either Layla or Kaysaan, creating in Jonathan a nervous energy usually saved for when he broke something at the palace or some such. Every moment tempted him sweetly with thoughts of entering the streets himself to try and find his missing friends. He hadn't been out there since his little night-walk to Aladdin's, though. Just how many of Jorin's men patrolled the streets regularly? He sure didn't have night on his side, however.

At a time like this he could use a hearty drink to settle himself down. His little stash had gone dry a little under an hour ago. What was going on out there? It was too late, far beyond an understandable time span. Yet she had been fairly angry and many times had Kay dodged the guards before. Maybe she was trying to make him pay for his secrets. Maybe she was having a trick. Maybe she and Kay were in trouble. Jonathan looked at the dimness streaming through the window and cursed.

His adrenaline rushed with curiousity and fear and annoyance. Jonathan's eyes darted to the hole in the wall as someone clambered through quite loudly. In about two blinks of an eye the young boy was in, out of breath and stomping to where Jonathan was sitting on the floor with sleeping Sania. The elder put his fingers to his lips with stern eyes. "Sorry," Kaysaan wheezed, rubbing his chest and looking very scared. Something was wrong.

Immediately Jonathan stood up and took the boy by the shoulder, leading him into the kitchen area so as not to disturb anyone. Kaysaan took a chair and looked up gravely. "What is it? What's wrong?" Carnahan asked quickly, before the kid could manage a word.

Kaysaan shook his head, his breath coming back to him. "She's been grabbed, old man!" He looked up with wide, startled eyes. "Some of Jorin's men got her from an alley. I found a stick and went after them, but there were too many. It was all I could do to escape."

"Good lord!" Jonathan gasped, rubbing his forehead in thought, pacing the run down kitchen floor. "How long ago? Where did they take her? Did they do anything to her?"

Kay again shook his head. "They took her to Jorin's house on the hill outside of town. It was about midnight I'd say. I had to hide for a little bit, you see. Couldn't lead the bastards back here. Then I fell asleep."

Nodding hastily, Carnahan finally brought himself to the sink to get some water. Now his frayed nerves were pulsating with pained need to do something. The water spilled over the edge of the cup as he shoved it in front of the kid. "We've gotta do something. We can't leave her there."

Taking a long drink, Kay watched him, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve when he was done. "No. We aren't supposed to try and save people. That's what Esam says. It's too dangerous!"

"What?" Jonathan retorted angrily with a firm shake of his head. "We can't just leave her there! The men won't lift a finger?" Kaysaan shook his head sadly, gorging himself on another long drink.

His mind raced for answers. He had been planning on asking Layla for help in retrieving Rick until he had learned otherwise, but if these people wouldn't even save their own he was truly alone. And poor little Sania. She was going to suffer when she heard this. No…he wouldn't let her hear…he couldn't. That little girl needed her mother just as much as Layla needed her. He would go and save her. Simple as that.

Jonathan paced a little more, trying to come up with something in himself, some sort of plan. He cursed the life that had led him to his free spirit and for never putting much thought to things that required serious planning. Kaysaan watched him keenly for an answer that he just wasn't sure he had.

"Is there anyone that can help?" he asked and was answered much what he expected. People had enough problems without having to bail others out all the time, but there had to be someone out there willing to help. He had to do something, beg or cheat or steal. Surely it wasn't that impossible to penetrate Jorin's defenses. "I've got to talk to Esam. He and the other men are in the basement just now playing cards. Maybe he's feeling generous."

Kaysaan shrugged as if to say, 'go ahead, but…' and it was that 'but' that nagged at Jonathan. He shared a long gaze with the boy and Kay sighed. "We aren't allowed to talk about it, but that's where Naseera is. That's Sania's sister. That's why Layla won't speak to the men hardly and probably why she won't let 'em touch her either. And that there's probably why she's such a b--"

Jonathan narrowed his brows, warning, "You watch your mouth, lad. I've heard some of the stuff that comes out of there and I won't have you saying it about her. She does her fair share around here and more."

The boy shrugged and flicked his empty cup around the table. "Esam said it anyway. He's a big, er…jerk sometimes." Kay grinned up at his elder. "Told me to kiss his ass once and I gave him the finger and said to him, I said, 'I wouldn't know where to start 'cause that's all you are, you big…' Well, it wasn't very nice anyway. Boy, oh boy did I get a good scolding about talking about people's parts from Layla. Say, what are we gonna do about her, anyway?"

"You, my boy, are gonna watch over Sania," Carnahan replied with a furrowed brow. The boy made a few terse replies, but he ignored them. There was no help for it. He was just going to have to sneak into Jorin's place and smuggle Layla and her daughter—hopefully—out.

One thing was certain, though, as he puzzled through just what he was going to do so as not to get himself killed. He was going to need some scotch. He looked at the boy expectantly with his hand held out and Kay feigned ignorance. "You'd better have something on you, be it my drink, my money or possibly some of both." He waited while the boy groaned and fished through his pant pockets.

Kay grinned and produced a little bottle with an already loosened cap. Strangely, about a fourth of the liquor was missing.

~~~~~~~

The antechamber of the Temple of Osiris was empty, gray and decorated with statues depicting Osiris and candles on stands.

Beyond the hall lay a large chamber where chanting filled the ears of the two companions. Stealing glances, Ardeth saw men and women clad as he was, with their knees upon mats before shrines of the ancient gods, offering prayers to each. All ignored the newcomers as if this were a regular event, though if roused, Bay did not doubt they would be apt enough to defend.

Two halls lay on either side and one straight ahead. They went left with the creature's direction and there at the entrance they were finally stopped by a man only definable as such by his shape. All the priests had their hoods drawn. His voice was soft and musical, whispery almost as he greeted, "Welcome to the Temple. I am Adeben. Is there anything I may do for you?"

"I bring this plague victim for care," Ardeth replied in a low tone to match the quiet of this place and Sajul rasped for effect.

The young priest said nothing, merely nodded and stepped back with a gesture of waving his hand over Ardeth's brow. A gesture all too familiar, yet alien to him. The Med-Jai stopped, assailed by memories…visions of shadows and love, Imhotep and Ancksunamun sharing this symbol, and he wondered why this young man would echo that. Necromancer's cough brought him back into the here and now, however, and without knowing why, Ardeth knew he must return the gesture. He did and they proceeded.

"Search what you know of him," Necromancer suggested when they were out of earshot. "You will learn what that symbol means."

Ardeth did search, startled by the remembrance of want and pain. Again he knew that to understand his enemy was folly, but there was nothing he could do to stop it now that the search had begun. It conveyed the blessings of Osiris. Ardeth exhaled and retorted, "You may have told me that knowledge would be needed. What if I had not remembered to return it?"

Necromancer hissed to himself as he ripped his arm away. "Don't be petty, Ardeth. Hhrr. Come this way."

The Med-Jai followed, eager to have this done. These chill surroundings did not fall well on his heavy heart. This was a place even Imhotep equated with the lonesome solitude of dedicating one's life to death. Before Imhotep had risen to the title of High Priest he had dwelt in a place much like this one, intent on studies and encouraged to harden his heart, for to mourn the dead for whom he cared would wear him down to despair. It occurred then to Ardeth why Imhotep may be the way he was, why the curse worked so easily through him. He was desensitized to death and suffering, for that was the whole of his life, a trait forced and nurtured by his caretakers. This made him the perfect vessel for the curse.

"Forced or not," the necromancer hissed, feeling the momentary sorrow Ardeth himself barely recognized in his thoughts, "it is there, has festered and long since killed the man Imhotep may have been. He chose how far to forget the human heart. He is responsible. I would see you fail, but not for so despicable a reason as pity."

They came to a turn in the hall and the creature stopped. "Beyond is the door, guarded by two priests. Be swift, for they may use magic. I cannot use my powers to take a human life and I have no weapon, so you will endure this alone. Give them no leave to speak, Ardeth. Draw your knife and cut them down quickly." There was a momentary flicker, a minor thought that did not even take shape into words, an idea born that these priests may not be guilty of any crime other than heeding the lure of a seduction. An idea that may have caused Ardeth to hesitate in fighting. Something was affecting him, whispering to his senses and he closed his eyes, trying to see what could not be perceived as anything other than a weak suspicion in the back of his mind. Necromancer scowled darkly. "By all means, Ardeth, do not fight your foes. Then listen closely as Imhotep takes her beneath him. Feel his lust satiated, knowing that he has won, that he has raped her again, and that the reason is because of your weak inability to fight!"

It was the exact right thing to say. Ardeth knew it and accepted it, and his hesitance diminished. For her he would give up his own soul, do any evil to see her safe, even become Imhotep. He closed his eyes to hide Necromancer's dark grin, forcing himself to forget the curse and the things that stalled him. These people would likely kill him on sight if they knew who he was. They were the enemy, not innocents.

Opening his eyes, Ardeth steeled himself and gripped the dagger within his robe, curling his now bloody fingers around the finely crafted hilt. Morals forgotten for now, he wasted no time in rounding the corner without the necromancer. If this were a trap he would have to meet it head on. Time grew silent around him as he heeded the call of destiny.

Just as his former-friend had said there were two guards by a non-descript wooden door. They startled as the Med-Jai headed for them on silent feet, now lifting his chin to show his face. One young man backed away slightly, for his intent was not to be mistaken. Ardeth drew his weapon. The boy-priest's companion thought quickly on his feet, drawing a short sword from his belt. The sound of metal hitting metal echoed through the hall when Ardeth's blade hit that of the older priest's.

Quickly the other man drew his own weapon and struck out, easily deflected and kicked into the wall. The priest fell to the floor as the elder continued his own attack. "Who are you?" the elder questioned darkly, glaring Ardeth down in anger. "Who are you that dares to disturb the rest of the dead?"

"Imhotep's Fear," Ardeth replied, taking the name for himself, ready to live his predestined identity. The priest laughed at this and continued fighting as the youth once again came to his feet to help. Arms wrapped around Ardeth's chest and he stumbled back at the pull, but maintained balance enough to fight. The elder priest followed with malicious intent as the younger dragged the Med-Jai back. The short sword climbed in height upon the air and bore down on Ardeth.

He waited and watched, swallowing his fears and acting on instinct alone. With a grim smile the elder plunged the sword forward and Ardeth threw himself to the side with the intent that the younger take the blow, but such was not the case. The young priest escaped and stumbled as his enemy wrenched himself away, then fell into his elder with a rough kick to the hip. "Draw your sword!" the seasoned man ordered, shoving the boy away. His scowl remained on Ardeth. "So, you take the name of Imhotep's Fear? That is a name that will see you in your grave! Do you think you are the only foolish man that has come here claiming to be Imhotep's Fear?"

Sword and dagger clashed again and both men glared into each other's eyes, straining to overpower the other by force. "No," Ardeth replied, conceding to logic that he was likely not the first man to bear that name. He shoved the priest away from him and dodged the younger as he thrust his weapon. "But I am the only man that will fulfill it." Perhaps a little dramatic on his part, but right now he felt he had earned it. Again the youth came forward with fire in his gray eyes. Four blows were delivered and all four Ardeth deflected with ease.

"You must kill them, Ardeth," Necromancer said from his place guarding against either priest taking off down the hall to warn others. "Kill them both!"

Of course that was exactly what he was trying to do, naturally, while his friend remained passive and without an aiding hand. The elder came up behind Ardeth and caught him in a choking hold as the younger kicked Ardeth's hip in recompense for his own pain. "Imhotep's Fear," he sneered, drawing his blade up as his elder had. The other priest knew Ardeth's trick and held him more tightly.

"Is there nothing you can do?" Ardeth hissed, struggling as the short sword came against his chest.

His former-friend chuckled from the shadows. "Really, Ardeth. How do you expect to face Imhotep if you cannot even face down his priests?"

Rolling his eyes, Bay used the irritation and desperation mounting in him and thrust the priest's hold away from his neck and dropped before the younger took the initiative to stab him. Quickly moving, he darted his hand towards the short sword and forced the youth's momentum into the elder priest. It struck a target, buried in the other's side and he cried out loudly. A warning to all others in the temple. Ardeth groaned and fell to the floor as the youth pounced on him. The elder was still moving, he saw from beneath his foe, pulling himself backwards towards his fallen weapon.

It was then Necromancer decided to at last offer help, shaking his head and padding quite calmly towards the priest. His foot stepped onto the priest's wrist with an audible crunch, causing the man to jerk and yell out in agony. "Fools," he muttered, taking the sword up for himself and wandering towards the struggle nearby.

Ardeth flipped his enemy over onto his back and fought to keep the youth's fists at bay, unable to look up at the movement his eyes caught but could not behold fully. It made his skin crawl to know Necromancer approached with a deadly weapon, but his friend took no sudden action against him. The hilt of the sword met his view and he took it, ready to use it against the young man beneath him. But the same sweep of emotion that had come over him earlier struck again. What if this man were an innocent? "Kill him!" Necromancer growled, his hands hovering between taking the action for himself and not. "They are coming! Kill him!"

It was wrong. This kid of not more than seventeen glared back on him with unreasonable hate, but somehow Ardeth felt this was wrong. "No," he said firmly, standing and pulling the boy with him. "I will not shed unnecessary blood." Keeping the blade, Bay shoved the gray-eyed teen into the hall and the young priest needed no hint. With a parting glare he turned away and fled down the hall to gather the others.

Necromancer jerked the door they had sought open with a dirty look and ripped a torch from the wall. "Very well, St. Ardeth. Shall we?"

Wiping an arm across his sweaty brow, he followed wordlessly into the beginnings of the catacombs and shut the door behind him. The atmosphere behind him felt distinctly different, sad almost as he turned and looked around. Even here at the very beginnings were caskets lain within niches on either side of the hall and the air felt cold in here. His inhale filled his ears as Necromancer watched him. "This place," he whispered, but did not continue. No words were needed to describe it, so plain was the tense emotion filling this place. Sajul would know already what he felt.

His companion grunted and set his torch down upon a nearby altar, then walked through the dimness to one of the niches. His fingers coiled around one end of the casket within and his eyes glittered sadly. "We will have to block them," he advised, nodded his friend to join him.

Ardeth nodded and pulled himself away from the door, knowing this to be true. How they ever hoped to escape this place, he didn't know, but that bridge would be crossed when they came to it. Somehow it would work out. It had to. The casket they lifted was a great burden, made of some heavy wood and would likely keep the door closed for a good amount of time. Setting it down parallel with the door, Bay hovered on his knees for a moment and looked around. Everything in here was gray, from the concrete floors to the stone walls. Everything, but white candles on metallic stands and the white coffins that lined the walls like a procession of death. It was soft upon his eyes and the sorrow inside him increased.

When he wandered his vision again to Sajul he saw no mocking or a threat, but an odd expression filled with regret and that same unspoken pain from earlier. "Lift, Ardeth. They will break the door," he said low and Bay complied without comment.

They placed the coffin upright against the door and another at the base to increase stability, and then both men turned towards their destined path. Necromancer was first, heading into the dark with his reclaimed torch, and Ardeth followed. The chill grew only colder as they walked and the quiet enveloping, as if it would swallow them whole. As if one were to try and speak, they would not be able to make a sound.

Not that he wanted to speak, anyway. The time was drawing near and soon his friend would be but a memory, for Ardeth never wanted to look upon Necromancer again. As if he were one of the bodies out in the Field of the Med-Jai, sure enough Sajul was dead also. He was a dark thing, evil and twisted. Yet there was this small place inside Ardeth that refused to believe Sajul was truly and completely gone. He had trouble letting go no matter how much truth stared him in the face.

"You have so much trouble believing," Necromancer commented from his place ahead. He stopped as the path branched into several different directions, then motioned the Med-Jai into the darkness bleeding from the left. "This place is where the dead priests of Osiris are stored, their bodies and their spirits trapped, bound in slavery to the Master of the Dead. Anyone who joins this backward order does so at their soul's peril, but will not learn that fact until the time of caring has passed. These poor spirits are conduits from which Imhotep and his favored priests draw power and use it for their magery. The dead of this order of death are used as fuel, pledging their services to the dread priest forever. Priests of Imhotep would better name them, for in truth it was he they gave their lives and souls for, not Osiris."

A sad tale that Necromancer spoke no more of as they continued on in the dark. Ardeth could feel the truth of it and could feel Imhotep's interest perked across their link. His emotions were deep and dark, regretful almost, but firm in the choice of what he needed to maintain his hold on the world. The blood of others was an acceptable price to pay to the priest. In this way kingdoms were made and in his blindness he saw their slavery as a compassion. Ardeth let Imhotep know how morally wrong he thought that was through their bond and the priest turned away the blame. The curse gained another stronghold upon the king so far away.

"I will not let them suffer much longer," finally, after a long span had passed, Necromancer said. He led Ardeth down another turn and stopped, fixing eyes on his former-brother. "You have seen me past the guards, Ardeth, and now my need of you is complete."

Necromancer smiled and moved before Ardeth could react. Suddenly the torch was snuffed out and everything went hopelessly black.

~~~~~~~

Disclaimer: No infringement intended. Ahamad, Nashean, Mayadeh, Sajul/Necromancer, Arya, Layla, Sania, Reyhanen and Kaysaan (and a few less significant originals) belong to me.

A/N: Fear is the mind-killer. Mmmm. So is Leto Atreides II, for to look upon him is to look upon hotness. That DVD is so mine when it comes out. :D I know, I know. Less inane babble, more story. :D

To Reviewers:

Self Plug: I have a new Mummy website. Isn't that special? :D geocities.com/adesertpower

Marcher – Aaaw, thank you very much, my friend! :D I certainly never wanted to see Imhotep defeated badly. *sniff* And yeah…I love Jonathan, so I'm pleased to write him and highly pleased when I get to read stories like yours and Marxie's that deal with him. He's really an awesome character. :D Thanks!!

Lula – Thankie, my friend! I'm glad you got to feeling better with your tummy! Thanks for the compliments…I rather like Kaysaan myself. I enjoy writing him! Prolly cause he's kinda like a mix of Jonathan and Rick. :D If you pound on Immy, leave certain parts of him in working order, if you know what I mean. ;-D I still got a soft spot for the poor jerk. As for Neccy, I've been trying to visualize his face as you were suggesting I do and I did get something…not sure if I think it's him, but the same image keeps coming back to mind. *scratches head* :D Thanks!

Mommints – Thanks! Hehehe. Yes, I like to make people feel bad for Imhotep…I've got a good chapter for that coming up in about…hmm 7-10. Close to the end! Muahaha. ;-) As for the big Sajul/Ardeth contest…hmm…I wonder who will win too. ;-) Just never know!

Dead-Girls-Watch – Aaw, that's very nice of you to say! You're very kind. :-) Thanks for compliments on liking Jonny better...He's a doll anyway, so I'm glad I'm writing him well! :-D

Deana – Hehehe…yes, I'll be chickening out until the end. And all through the next installment. I just can't leave Ardeth out. He's so purty, after all. ;-) Yes, Neccy is quite the abusive company to be keeping. Him needs a pankin. As for what ultimately happens…he wins and peoples the world with dead people! Muahahaha! Well, we'll have to see about that. :-D

And a big thanks to everyone who allowed me to archive their stories! If you still want to send me a copy, please, by all means I'm open. I just wanted to get a prototype of sorts up and running. Thanks muchly!!! :D You all rock!