Author's Note:
Dear All,
I still hope some are reading - I suspect people will only get into a review frenzy when I write Ardeth or perhaps even Severige! ;-p Whewwill be on vacation for about 3 weeks or so thereabout after this, my apologies in advance, no updates in the meantime (well, unless a cybercafe somewhere so inspires me to write up something). Hopefully things will be up and running after that! And yes, for the early part of this chapter, maybe it'll soothe the savage beast that's rearing its head right now for those who really want Ardeth/Severige. A bit of heavy stuff content wise, although the first part is something for Ardeth/Severige fans which I really am trying to make it PG-13. Alright, you are allowed to imagine yourself in Evelyn's place.
It's dialogue heavy again, this chapter.
Thank you, Ruse, Zarah, Queen A and Mommints for your encouraging responses!
PS: If I did own Ardeth, all reason to write fanfiction ceases.
Chapter 8: In The Camp Of The Other
A book of verse, underneath the bough,
A jug of wine, a loaf of bread - and thou
Beside me singing in the wilderness -
Ah, wilderness were paradise enow!
- A Book of Verse, Omar Khayyam
Those hands, tapering into long fingers. Strong and able, gentle in their experience.
She could not yet see his face; it was impossibly shrouded still.
Evelyn Carnahan, powerless to stop that dream that brought ripe new heights to her, rendering great pleasure in fantasy where real life disallowed as she lay in the guest bed, in the house of Severige and his sister - it appeared almost vulgar that she, a foreigner, was prone to licentious dreaming in a remote and oh so comfortable bed, as though the revelation of her subconscious would perversely display itself in debauched splendour publicly.
It was Severige, so she thought from the flash of green, eyes that shuttered and winked, hooded as the rest of him continued to provoke her, he, who whispered flaming secrets in her ear, the unhurried and dazzling magnetism luring her to heights that shamed and agitated any living being.
It was dawn, she thought dimly, the rare moments when she struggled to rise to wakefulness, but also wanting to sink back into the fitful tossing that aroused her deeply.
Too vivid, too harsh were his hands on her skin, burning, branding her with their fiery light touches in places that made her shudder deeply and endlessly, setting her ablaze; she had to gasp as the tips of them caressed tentatively, as if yearning for her approval before they took a surer path upwards, and then downwards. There was such violent passion visible in the restraint that shook his frame ever so slightly; his face was nevertheless mightily shielded by the dense mist that moved with him each time he turned his head towards her.
But it was his face she wanted to touch and see, a face to put a name to, even if he was merely promising a fleeting tryst to slake repressed desires. The flash of green eyes changed to brown, and then back to green; Severige's face first appeared, then Ardeth's, and magically it was Ardeth who became the lean, complete figure who lay partially atop her in his delicious warmth, his mouth following the path that his fingers took, loudly calling the phoenix awake, harshly summoning the embers and passionless ashes to take life once more at his command.
And this time it was his eyes that glowed a rightful brilliant amber brown, his face a shimmer when she finally caught sight of it, and obediently she arose indeed to heed his call, springing to life with splendid and tremulous movements, writhing in vast spurts of pleasure that only he seemed to be able to give, simultaneously bringing both him and herself to fruition, chinks of silver clashing with sparks of friction, melding.
But she did not care anymore, if it was Ardeth or Severige who cried her name, winding her tightly, unnaturally as would a stringed instrument, slowing bursting at the seams, and she now did not know who was holding her, but in the circle of his arms she left his own need stir again and again, the building excitement feeding her own need, weeping his name -
"Ooof!"
She groaned, loud and long, waking Jonathan to a degree. He rolled over in his quilt at the other side of the room, murmured a soft 'shut up' and became unmoving once more.
"Heavens! The body reminds me of needs that I try to ignore in my waking hours," she muttered to herself, pushing her body arduously into a sitting position.
The hard knock on her head reminded her that it was the unforgiving floor that she had been partially laying atop, having rolled over bodily in her previous excitement, now dissipating into thin air so quickly that it seemed as though it had never existed. And in its place formed a deep disappointment that fantasy was not simply real enough to experience.
Evelyn Carnahan chose sleep once again, half praying that the dream would return, a sweet revisitation of his sensuality which held great power over her, pleasing and fleshly divine.
The sun hung high in the sky when she woke again, grateful for the fretless sleep the second round had given, yet unable to forget the wildness of it all, shocking and shaming herself with the tweakings of her subconscious, berating it as much as she could without inflicting unnecessary guilt.
A knock on the door, a sharp rap and it opened.
Jonathan was up, she presumed, judging from the mess of clothes strewn carelessly on his corner of the floor and from the unholy amount of cologne he'd splashed on himself.
"Miss Carnahan?" Seeing the timid serving girl's movements made her smile encouragingly, holding the tray that contained mouth-watering sustenance.
"O yes, thank you for the breakfast, umm...lunch. It's lonely in here, might I instead eat outside, or perhaps join my cousins?"
"Certainly Ma'am. She is outside, on the veranda."
It was definitely a well-furnished house, thickly insulated and heavily Ottomanishly influenced but never perfect as Islam demanded with its strategically placed wooden columns, screens and warm Persian carpets extravagantly draped where necessary, well-placed divans under elegant archways under a line of clay bricks.
"Sweet dreams, Evelyn?" Najya Mahadeva rose at the slightest sound of her approaching footsteps. "Is it your habit to rise after the sun has been working hard?" She asked wryly. "I beg your pardon. I am only curious to know my relatives better, how often can one say that one's relatives from England are long lost, and now found?"
You can never tell the extent of its sweetness until you dream it yourself.
"You are alone?" Evy asked.
"Not anymore," Najya smiled. "You haven't eaten. Please, your company will be a pleasure," she insisted. "I have had a few conversations with your interesting brother; perhaps he is like your father whom I do not know very well! But it's time for me to poke the sister to life and see how much of my cousin Rahiq she resembles."
"Where is Jonathan, if I might ask?"
Najya Savita Mahadeva laughed.
"I sent him out to buy fresh produce, tomatoes, beans, meats, since he did murmur that it was growing stuffy in the guest room. He will come back soon, with his hands full I believe."
"Ah, then perhaps he is bewitched only by women, obeying them freely as long as they are not his siblings."
"I am an old woman, Evelyn. I already lived before your brother screamed his first breath." Najya observed in great delight, clapping a hand over the handle of the chair. "We are not cousins of the same generation, I believe."
"Tell me more, Najya. This is all I wish to know - and you are perhaps the only one who can answer everything that I need to ask. Ardeth refuses to."
"Ardeth Bay?" She sounded startled.
"Oh, yes, the Medjai leader." Evy hastened to clarify. "I knew him during the time when Imhotep rose from Hamunaptra. We, Jonathan and I did not quite know of your existence then, well, we do not have much memories of our mother and her family" It was a feeling that always confounded her, stumbling easily when trying to speak with elegance, stumbling every more easily when she tried to apologise for it. And immediately after she felt herself wanting to turn a crimson red, when fragmented memories of her dream returned in a flood of whispers and sighs.
Najya waved it off dismissively.
"Egypt prefers to forget that time. Speaking of such can only bring tears to the eye."
"No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean toI only merely meant to -"
"Ardeth Bay and his Medjai was indeed placed in great glory, although he did try to recede from the fame that Hamunaptra and the hidden secrets of the Pharaoh brought him." Najya Mahadeva nodded the affirmative. "News reports offering so many explanations of all the mysteries then. But these things never last."
"What do you mean?" She leaned forward, curious.
"I mean, Egypt is a country who also looks to the future for progress. The past revives itself in a few weeks, in the form of a cursed mummy, but we always have the past with us - the pyramids, Deir Al-Bahri, beautiful Abu Simbel. The kings are more immortalised than they thought they would be, their fears of immortality now put to rest. They are remembered more than they know."
It was a beatific explanation that Najya had given; it made sense, it sounded logical, yet, she could not stop accelerated heartbeat that came as she heard the thinly veiled patriotism evident in such words.
"Najya, actually, my intention was simply to -"
"...to find out what happened to your parents, leaving you and Jonathan orphans." She finished calmly. "Jonathan mentioned your parents' death in passing. It was a difficult time, no?"
"One learns the way of living again," she replied flatly.
"The hour is getting late, Evelyn. I wish to answer your questions, but maybe we can start on that when Yasser returns." She made the statement sound as if she asked for permission, smiling apologetically. "Please, do not think that I wish to delay answers as Ardeth Bay had. You probably do not know much of your mother and her family - let me speak of that."
"I suppose it is relevant," Evy conceded reluctantly.
"No one in our family was in any way glad when Rahiq married your father, Rohan; she was still young, and was maybe easily swayed by ideals. We grew up without lacking, you see, and that was most fortunate, when people died daily on the streets - that most of us gained the opportunity to receive an education from London. Rahiq was no different; she thought herself, as we did ourselves, belonging to a new generation of Arabs who believed in a modern world that a very exciting 20th century might bring for Egypt. Europe was in upheavalwhat we saw on the streets - we could not believe that factories had brought so much progress; Germany was new in Europe, France was unhappy. But we were more disillusioned to realise that Westerners still had a completely different idea of superiority and inferiority. But the true test of our minds came when Rahiq announced her engagement to Rohan Carnahan."
"So the cause for Egypt and her independence is something you have decided to fight for?"
The astuteness that had come from Evy impressed her greatly.
"We can step back a little. How did you know such?" Rahiq prodded.
"Jonathan and I, well, it was Jonathan really, who stumbled on 2 short pieces of correspondences, which are, actually, the reasons that spurred us to return here." Evy admitted.
"Can you remember what was written? Or did you bring it here?"
"It was basically a letter that asked my mother to return to Egypt."
It was a precarious balance, between trusting a suddenly long lost and found family and telling all that she carried on herself this far.
"Yes. You see, it was difficult for Rahiq's parents, who were ill at that time to give their consent for her marriage to a Westerner, to an English man moreover! They had strongly felt that the English were only as robbers in the garb of the gentleman who wanted Egyptian treasures," she paused, seeing the indignance that grew on Evy's face.
"But..." She sputtered, not knowing how to respond, wondering if the new habit of speechlessness was in for keeps.
"You are half of both, Evelyn. And so is Jonathan. Let me finish my story however, if it will help you." Najya gave her a slight smile.
"Do go on. You mustn't mind me too much. Jon says that I wear changing emotions on my face as often as I change women's stockings."
But Najya's eyes were dark in her reminiscence; Evy's attempt at jesting had passed her by and like a dull sky, asleep on the edge of the abyss, those were eyes that hinted at shadows which Severige and Ardeth carried with them.
"We prided ourselves as students who could build a bridge between the great powers of the West and us, countries of the Ottoman Empire, countries that wanted badly, the influence of Western civilisation. Rahiq's engagement to Rohan Carnahan had hit us badly and made us wonder if we could truly call ourselves children of the world, under Western influence. They married, eventually, and stayed here for the early part of their married life, and then they returned to England, with you and Jonathan, before returning to Egypt once more after 7 years there."
It sounded so simple, like a romantic drama that wafted past her ears; she was hardly able to digest the fact that the people in the story were her parents.
"Was it -" They both turned, the trail of conversation forgotten when the door bolt lifted.
So the question drifted off, lost on her lips when Severige entered the house in a smooth, single step, smiling at her in greeting, before conversing shortly with his sister in Arabic.
"You rested well," he said simply; it was a statement as he turned back to her suddenly, the flash of green in his eyes cutting her through soul and spirit, and she fell inexorably, under the potent spell that his eyes and smiling gaze had unconsciously placed.
"Why, yes," she stuttered clumsily, wondering if she was indeed a disgrace to her own sex. For his presence brought back the erotic fog that rolled by her in the early hours of the morning, something she thought impossible since it was the sweltering middle of the day.
"Shall we sit inside instead?" He looked at her earnestly, regarding her in silence for a while, so much like their first meeting in the museum, where he had offered his hand for her to take.
"Gladly," was her only reply, taking his extended hand with great care diffused and with lesser distrust than she had the first time around.