Chapter 10
For the first few hours of her imprisonment, Olivia paced around the small interior of the tent; her mind thinking of ways to escape. Rational thoughts congealed into panic, overriding common sense and she had to resist the urge to run out of the tent and flee into the night. Her emotions were stretched beyond their limits and her agitation was compounded with her need to rescue the warrior. Time was a new adversary as it passed by, each precious minute of life for him slipping away as quickly as each life-sustaining drop of his blood that still flowed from his wound.
Her guard, a young boy barely into manhood, kept a wary eye on his charge during the night. She watched him bring in food and a blanket, sensing his unwillingness in completing his duties. She noted his limping gait and vaguely wondered what could have caused his deformity but the chance to ask him never presented itself. He would avert his eyes from her and quickly leave the tent. Olivia was too emotionally numb to think beyond her primary concerns to question his behavior and resumed pacing.
When thirst finally compelled her to reach for the water pouch, her eyes widened in shock at the sight of her hands. In morbid fascination, she stared at the red stained appendages, intrigued at how the blood was even caught underneath her fingernails. She tried wiping them off with her skirt but gave up when she saw the remains of her clothing - torn, dirty and covered with gore. She rubbed her hands over the material, frantically trying to wipe them clean.
Olivia fell to her knees and grabbed the pouch, pouring as much water over them as possible, scrubbing them against her thighs. Tiny whimpers of despair escaped from her throat as her mind relived Midge's death. The horrid feeling of warm blood spraying onto her face and neck made Olivia scrape even harder, as if by touch alone she could erase this memory that would remain with her for the rest of her life. Suddenly her gaze caught the dim glitter of her wedding ring and she held up her left hand, staring at the diamond and gold rings coated in the tacky red substance. She twisted her hand over and wiped it against her thigh, memories now twisting into caring for the warrior. The strong smell of blood, the tacky feel of it over his robes...dear God, there had been so much blood.
Her whimpers turned into sobs and tears spilled down her face. Olivia collapsed onto her side, arms wrapped around her as she gave into her sorrow. She mourned the passing of a beautiful, vibrant young woman. In the short time they had known each other, Olivia had grown so very fond of Midge and they became more than just friends; they had been like sisters. The station in life of which they lived, employer and maid, mattered not to them for their friendship had transcended those boundaries.
Olivia held up her hand again, staring at the rings and thought sadly that some things could be made pure and clean again with a simple wipe of a cloth. No amount of wiping could repair the damage already done in her marriage to Allan. It had been a mistake; she had never been in love with him, just the idea of being married. Their courtship had taken place over a year, of stolen kisses that left her feeling empty, forbidden touches that held no spark of passion or desire. Allan had always been charming and polite, flashing a brilliant smile and boyish charm that won over her mother, aunts and cousins in a matter of a few moments. The men admired his sharp business sense and shrewd investment strategies. No one seemed to want to mention Allan's only vice - a weakness to gamble. It was theorized that once he settled down the right woman and married her, his desire to continue with the games of chance would disappear.
Olivia gave a small, sad laugh. The only thing that seemed to disappear was the weekly allowance she gave to her husband, since he always spent it quickly and would ask for more.
Admitting the truth to one's self was never easy but as Olivia lay on the ground she thought about her future. In the past few days, she had shown an inner strength she had never thought she possessed. She had managed to survive in a harsh and brutal climate, matching wits with her abductor whose intention was to keep her. She had lost a friend and now acknowledged the fact her marriage that was over. It was time to stand on her own, away from the protective shelter of her well-meaning family. She dreaded the upcoming confrontation with Allan but it needed to be done. Like the wedding rings, a simple cleansing wipe wouldn't repair that damage already done. She needed to do this before she lost all sense of her newly discovered self. Nothing would please Allan more if she reverted back to what perhaps he thought he had married - a pretty porcelain doll. He wanted her to be kept on a shelf, admired for her beauty but not her substance.
Olivia stayed huddled on the ground for the remainder of the night, hugging her knees tightly as she reflected on her life. Towards dawn, she thought about the warrior and despaired when she still had no idea of how to help him. The answer came in the most unlikely form of her guard when he shuffled into the tent.
The boy's dark head was down and he limped over to the cold, untouched food. He stopped in surprise and finally looked up at Olivia.
"You must eat," he said. "You need your strength."
Olivia's first inclination was to refuse but she realized he was right; eating would help her remain strong if she were to survive the next few days.
"Of course," she agreed.
He brought over the bowls then surprised her by sitting down in front of her, apparently wanting to make sure his prisoner ate.
"You were brought in with the Medjai," he said.
"Yes, I was." Olivia broke off a piece of bread and handed it to him. She had no idea why she had done that perhaps compassion had prompted her to do so. The boy was very thin, dressed in large, ill fitting and ragged clothing. He hesitated for a brief moment before accepting the offering. Olivia watched him stuff the food in his mouth as if he were ravenous while he kept his eyes averted. She looked closer at his appearance, finding bruises around his forearms, face and neck. Someone had beaten the boy, perhaps ingraining the submissive manners in which he now displayed. On impulse, she reached out wanting to brush some dirt off his face but he jerked away from her hand. Olivia let it drop to her lap and waited until he could try and trust her again.
"The guards say he will soon die," he said around a mouthful of food.
"Oh God...it's too late," Olivia whispered as her heart constricted with panic. She pushed the rest of the bowls towards him and sat back, suddenly losing her appetite.
He blinked in surprise at her gesture but refused to eat.
"We...could help him," he suggested and glanced up, waiting for her reaction.
"Help him? How?" Olivia asked.
"I must first speak to the warriors and let them know of my plan. If they agree, we must leave as soon as possible, preferably tonight."
"Why would you consider this?" Olivia asked in confusion. "Aren't you loyal to your leader?"
The boy let out a sudden bark of laughter. "I was never part of Jahm's army. They promised to make me a fighter but instead, because of my leg, I am forced to do menial tasks. They treat me no better than a slave."
"What is your name?"
"I am Faris, once of the Tuareg. When they captured the first commander, I felt a sense of foreboding. I was never aware that our enemy was the Medjai and I did not wish to be a part of any attacks against them. My people and the Medjai have been enemies for over two thousand years and there is no honor in letting a warrior needlessly suffer. It is my hope that in helping him, perhaps their Elders would consider me joining one of the helper sects."
Olivia felt the first tiny spark of hope flair up in her heart. Yet she still had her suspicions.
"Why would you help me?"
Faris climbed to his feet and limped to the entrance of the tent. He looked back at Olivia, his face conveying a sorrow and wisdom that made him look far older than his actual age.
"We all carry our own personal chains of bondage, whether it be of sorrow or happiness. I did not wish for you know the physical aspect of them as well."
~*~
"His condition has become worse," Wajeeh sighed and closed the robes over Nabil's shoulder. "The wound has stopped bleeding but the fever is getting higher."
Aliyy held Nabil's head cradled in his lap, having sat with him through the night, offering what comfort he could while he helplessly watched the life slowly ebb out of him. Nabil drifted in and out of consciousness, moaning in his delirium, as hallucinations possessed his mind. There had been times when it took both commanders to hold him down as he thrashed about, his movements growing weaker as the hours passed.
Aliyy ran a weary hand over his face, swallowing against the anger in seeing Nabil's suffering.
"There is nothing more to be done," Wajeeh confirmed the obvious and placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Perhaps if you were to tell me of his father..."
Aliyy found a tentative smile. "You wish to hear of Nabil's heritage?"
"Aiwa, the boy has always intrigued me. In the past, Nabil has acted with a level of honor and dignity that sometimes surpasses the most seasoned of warriors. It was not a surprise he was promoted to commander at such a young age, a feat accomplished only by one other. Ardeth."
"I believe part of the credit may lie in his childhood." Aliyy determined quietly. "I heard stories from his youth...children can be cruel."
"The honesty of a child is...not often compromised. It can often be as sharp as the edge...of a scimitar."
"You are awake..." Aliyy said in surprise and looked down at Nabil.
"For now..." Nabil moaned from a sudden spasm of pain. "Please, I wish to hear more about my father."
Aliyy sighed. "I am not sure where to begin. Instead I choose to talk about your mother first. Once I do, you will understand why I bring this memory up first. Her name was Mirah and she was sister to Dharr, Honored Helper of the Seventh and my betrothed. How shall I describe her to you? She was a gentle as a dove, as beautiful as the moon in a cloudless night sky and had warmth that surely burned brightly from the goodness in her soul. She was my heart and we loved each other very deeply. We were to be married in the month following the flooding of the Nile, when our land was at its richest and most fertile from the life giving waters. When the time came prior to the ceremony, she petitioned the Elders to give her a small escort so she could travel to Cairo and visit with Dharr, then bring him back to the settlement. A day outside the city, they found a man that had been left out in the desert to die. He had been beaten and robbed. She took pity on the foreigner and brought
him to Dharr's home, where she nursed him back to health. When he was strong enough to repay her kindness..."
"Go on..." Nabil softly urged when Aliyy suddenly broke off his narration.
A muscle twitched in Aliyy's cheek as he strived to maintain control over his emotions, surprised how deeply the wound to his heart still ached.
"One night, when he knew they were alone, he seized the chance and used my Mirah the way a man uses an unwilling woman. He left the next morning, never to be seen or heard from again. We had always assumed he returned to his homeland. Mirah returned back to the settlement a few days later and struggled to hide her shame in the weeks that followed as best she could. She rejected my proposal and refused to see me, avoiding me and repeated requests to speak with her. One day I found she was leaving the settlement to go live with Dharr in Cairo. I confronted her that night and she finally broke down, unable to lie any further. She revealed she was with child and the Elders had suggested she live elsewhere for the remaining months of her pregnancy," Aliyy said.
"I was born in Cairo, not in the settlement of the Seventh?" Nabil asked.
"Aiwa. When she left, I refused to speak to her, wounding her more efficiently with my silence than a blow from my scimitar ever could. I was angry and frustrated, wanting to extract my revenge on a man that was no longer within my grasp. In the months that followed, I refused to speak her name and the Elders had it removed from all records. One night, she went into early labor and you were born. I am told she died a few hours later from severe blood loss, never seeing you or being able to hold you in her arms. Dharr took you out that night with every intention of leaving you on the steps of an orphanage for he had no desire to care for a baby. For reasons unknown, he took you back to the settlement, presented you to the Elders and demanded they make a decision if you should live or die. It mattered not to him as long as he did not have to look upon you. The Elders displayed their compassion in the decision that Yusuf and Aleaha would be your foster parents and you were
adopted the next day."
"I have a khal?" Nabil asked, his face schooled into stoic indifference but Aliyy saw the hope flare up within the depths of his eyes.
"La, Dharr died a few years later."
"You knew the truth of my...father and mother. Is that why you protested Yusef's petition for my presentation into the warrior sect?"
Aliyy could not meet the accusing gaze of the younger warrior. "I resented you because you were alive, yet what I had held most dear to me was taken away. I protested the petition along with a few other warriors, for we all believed in since you were not of the true blood..."
"I would not produce true heirs, thus weakening the Medjai blood lines," Nabil finished.
"Aiwa," Aliyy confirmed.
The young commander's face never altered in its appearance but Aliyy detected the sorrow deep within his eyes. Nabil shifted on the sand and Aliyy immediately compensated for the change, as if keeping the warrior comfortable could somehow ease the torment of his heart.
"I am Medjai, Commander of the Fifth. I thought to have proven myself in my thoughts, deeds, and in battle..." his voice broke from emotion. "Yet what I seek the most to gain is approval from my peers. Strange that the color of my eyes or ...question of my heritage should seem more important."
"You have been greatly wronged. If you were blood of my blood, I would have been honored to call you my son."
"Speak his name..." Nabil ordered weakly.
"Be of good heart, al sahib," Wajeeh advised.
"I will try," Nabil answered softly. "But revenge for my mother, for myself...it governs almost every rational thought."
His hands are shaking from anger and they clench into tight fists at his side. "Speak it..."
"His name was Lord Derek E Mallory, brother to the Captain at Fort Brydon."
Aliyy and Wajeeh watched Nabil carefully for his reaction.
"My khal is alive and lives in Cairo?" His composure seemed to weaken but his question was spoken in a deceptively firm voice.
"Aiwa," Aliyy said.
"It is your right to challenge him for the honor of your mother," Wajeeh suggested.
Nabil closed his eyes and Aliyy could only guess to the emotions the warrior must have been feeling. Years ago, his own rage against the Englishman had tried to dictate a more aggressive course of action against the Captain, but he had listened to the wise counsel of his friends.
"I have no...reason to challenge this man," Nabil murmured weakly. "He is innocent of what transpired just as I am. I have sought the knowledge of my heritage, curiosity appeased. I embrace it with neither joy nor malice but accept it on the most basic of terms. It simply is..."
Aliyy and Wajeeh accepted Nabil's wise decision and all three men fell silent, recognizing events of the past predetermined the course of the future.
A sudden commotion outside the tent captured Wajeeh's attention and he quickly moved over towards the opening.
"Someone has approached the guards," he called out softly.
Aliyy waited impatiently. "Are they coming in?"
Wajeeh backed away from the opening and stood directly in front of the two commanders. His stance was rigid and alert, as if prepared for confrontation, his fists clenched by his sides. A moment later the tent flap flew open and a thin, young boy hobbled into the interior. Wajeeh took a step forward, his eyes glittering with an unspoken challenge and the boy immediately cowered.
"Assalamu alaikum, Medjai. I mean no harm," he quickly said. "Instead I bring news."
Wajeeh openly scoffed at the announcement but Aliyy spoke up from behind him.
"What news could a Tuareg bring us in our enemies camp?"
"May I enter?" he asked. "Words of which I need to speak need not be heard by unwelcome parties."
He silently gestured towards the guards outside and waited.
"Stand down," Aliyy called to Wajeeh. "Let us hear what this youth has to say."
Wajeeh backed off to one side, allowing the boy to pass along side of him, then followed him over as he sat down on the ground near Aliyy. He sat down next to the youth, intentionally crowding him to intimidate, but the boy didn't move. Wajeeh saw him glance down at the now unconscious Nabil.
"Does he still live?"
"For the moment yes. Explain your presence here," Wajeeh ordered.
"It is time to plan for an escape."
Aliyy shook his head. "You speak of what we have already attempted for the past few days and failed."
"A few days ago the guards were more alert and eager to obey Jahm. Now, there is unrest and speculation, the guards are less attentive. Rumors say Jahm has gone mad. He has sequestered himself in his tent, refusing to leave the chest unattended, reading the ancient symbols as he mutters to himself. More messengers are missing and Loch-nah impatiently awaits for his master to arrive from Cairo before he will act."
"What of Jahm's second, Kasim?" asked Wajeeh.
"He tries to maintain control over the men, sending out additional patrols to look for the missing messengers but he fears your people are gathering their forces for an attack. Like a rat, he scurries back to the safety of the camp having no wish to be caught out in the open for when the assault comes. The time has come for you to escape, Medjai. I will lead you and your injured brother to freedom, but it must be tonight. If you wait any longer, he will die."
*Author's note: I cannot express how much I appreciate the reviews and emails from you all. They are often inspirational. Do I still have writer's block you ask? Ardeth and I say together: we think not. LOL
For the first few hours of her imprisonment, Olivia paced around the small interior of the tent; her mind thinking of ways to escape. Rational thoughts congealed into panic, overriding common sense and she had to resist the urge to run out of the tent and flee into the night. Her emotions were stretched beyond their limits and her agitation was compounded with her need to rescue the warrior. Time was a new adversary as it passed by, each precious minute of life for him slipping away as quickly as each life-sustaining drop of his blood that still flowed from his wound.
Her guard, a young boy barely into manhood, kept a wary eye on his charge during the night. She watched him bring in food and a blanket, sensing his unwillingness in completing his duties. She noted his limping gait and vaguely wondered what could have caused his deformity but the chance to ask him never presented itself. He would avert his eyes from her and quickly leave the tent. Olivia was too emotionally numb to think beyond her primary concerns to question his behavior and resumed pacing.
When thirst finally compelled her to reach for the water pouch, her eyes widened in shock at the sight of her hands. In morbid fascination, she stared at the red stained appendages, intrigued at how the blood was even caught underneath her fingernails. She tried wiping them off with her skirt but gave up when she saw the remains of her clothing - torn, dirty and covered with gore. She rubbed her hands over the material, frantically trying to wipe them clean.
Olivia fell to her knees and grabbed the pouch, pouring as much water over them as possible, scrubbing them against her thighs. Tiny whimpers of despair escaped from her throat as her mind relived Midge's death. The horrid feeling of warm blood spraying onto her face and neck made Olivia scrape even harder, as if by touch alone she could erase this memory that would remain with her for the rest of her life. Suddenly her gaze caught the dim glitter of her wedding ring and she held up her left hand, staring at the diamond and gold rings coated in the tacky red substance. She twisted her hand over and wiped it against her thigh, memories now twisting into caring for the warrior. The strong smell of blood, the tacky feel of it over his robes...dear God, there had been so much blood.
Her whimpers turned into sobs and tears spilled down her face. Olivia collapsed onto her side, arms wrapped around her as she gave into her sorrow. She mourned the passing of a beautiful, vibrant young woman. In the short time they had known each other, Olivia had grown so very fond of Midge and they became more than just friends; they had been like sisters. The station in life of which they lived, employer and maid, mattered not to them for their friendship had transcended those boundaries.
Olivia held up her hand again, staring at the rings and thought sadly that some things could be made pure and clean again with a simple wipe of a cloth. No amount of wiping could repair the damage already done in her marriage to Allan. It had been a mistake; she had never been in love with him, just the idea of being married. Their courtship had taken place over a year, of stolen kisses that left her feeling empty, forbidden touches that held no spark of passion or desire. Allan had always been charming and polite, flashing a brilliant smile and boyish charm that won over her mother, aunts and cousins in a matter of a few moments. The men admired his sharp business sense and shrewd investment strategies. No one seemed to want to mention Allan's only vice - a weakness to gamble. It was theorized that once he settled down the right woman and married her, his desire to continue with the games of chance would disappear.
Olivia gave a small, sad laugh. The only thing that seemed to disappear was the weekly allowance she gave to her husband, since he always spent it quickly and would ask for more.
Admitting the truth to one's self was never easy but as Olivia lay on the ground she thought about her future. In the past few days, she had shown an inner strength she had never thought she possessed. She had managed to survive in a harsh and brutal climate, matching wits with her abductor whose intention was to keep her. She had lost a friend and now acknowledged the fact her marriage that was over. It was time to stand on her own, away from the protective shelter of her well-meaning family. She dreaded the upcoming confrontation with Allan but it needed to be done. Like the wedding rings, a simple cleansing wipe wouldn't repair that damage already done. She needed to do this before she lost all sense of her newly discovered self. Nothing would please Allan more if she reverted back to what perhaps he thought he had married - a pretty porcelain doll. He wanted her to be kept on a shelf, admired for her beauty but not her substance.
Olivia stayed huddled on the ground for the remainder of the night, hugging her knees tightly as she reflected on her life. Towards dawn, she thought about the warrior and despaired when she still had no idea of how to help him. The answer came in the most unlikely form of her guard when he shuffled into the tent.
The boy's dark head was down and he limped over to the cold, untouched food. He stopped in surprise and finally looked up at Olivia.
"You must eat," he said. "You need your strength."
Olivia's first inclination was to refuse but she realized he was right; eating would help her remain strong if she were to survive the next few days.
"Of course," she agreed.
He brought over the bowls then surprised her by sitting down in front of her, apparently wanting to make sure his prisoner ate.
"You were brought in with the Medjai," he said.
"Yes, I was." Olivia broke off a piece of bread and handed it to him. She had no idea why she had done that perhaps compassion had prompted her to do so. The boy was very thin, dressed in large, ill fitting and ragged clothing. He hesitated for a brief moment before accepting the offering. Olivia watched him stuff the food in his mouth as if he were ravenous while he kept his eyes averted. She looked closer at his appearance, finding bruises around his forearms, face and neck. Someone had beaten the boy, perhaps ingraining the submissive manners in which he now displayed. On impulse, she reached out wanting to brush some dirt off his face but he jerked away from her hand. Olivia let it drop to her lap and waited until he could try and trust her again.
"The guards say he will soon die," he said around a mouthful of food.
"Oh God...it's too late," Olivia whispered as her heart constricted with panic. She pushed the rest of the bowls towards him and sat back, suddenly losing her appetite.
He blinked in surprise at her gesture but refused to eat.
"We...could help him," he suggested and glanced up, waiting for her reaction.
"Help him? How?" Olivia asked.
"I must first speak to the warriors and let them know of my plan. If they agree, we must leave as soon as possible, preferably tonight."
"Why would you consider this?" Olivia asked in confusion. "Aren't you loyal to your leader?"
The boy let out a sudden bark of laughter. "I was never part of Jahm's army. They promised to make me a fighter but instead, because of my leg, I am forced to do menial tasks. They treat me no better than a slave."
"What is your name?"
"I am Faris, once of the Tuareg. When they captured the first commander, I felt a sense of foreboding. I was never aware that our enemy was the Medjai and I did not wish to be a part of any attacks against them. My people and the Medjai have been enemies for over two thousand years and there is no honor in letting a warrior needlessly suffer. It is my hope that in helping him, perhaps their Elders would consider me joining one of the helper sects."
Olivia felt the first tiny spark of hope flair up in her heart. Yet she still had her suspicions.
"Why would you help me?"
Faris climbed to his feet and limped to the entrance of the tent. He looked back at Olivia, his face conveying a sorrow and wisdom that made him look far older than his actual age.
"We all carry our own personal chains of bondage, whether it be of sorrow or happiness. I did not wish for you know the physical aspect of them as well."
~*~
"His condition has become worse," Wajeeh sighed and closed the robes over Nabil's shoulder. "The wound has stopped bleeding but the fever is getting higher."
Aliyy held Nabil's head cradled in his lap, having sat with him through the night, offering what comfort he could while he helplessly watched the life slowly ebb out of him. Nabil drifted in and out of consciousness, moaning in his delirium, as hallucinations possessed his mind. There had been times when it took both commanders to hold him down as he thrashed about, his movements growing weaker as the hours passed.
Aliyy ran a weary hand over his face, swallowing against the anger in seeing Nabil's suffering.
"There is nothing more to be done," Wajeeh confirmed the obvious and placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Perhaps if you were to tell me of his father..."
Aliyy found a tentative smile. "You wish to hear of Nabil's heritage?"
"Aiwa, the boy has always intrigued me. In the past, Nabil has acted with a level of honor and dignity that sometimes surpasses the most seasoned of warriors. It was not a surprise he was promoted to commander at such a young age, a feat accomplished only by one other. Ardeth."
"I believe part of the credit may lie in his childhood." Aliyy determined quietly. "I heard stories from his youth...children can be cruel."
"The honesty of a child is...not often compromised. It can often be as sharp as the edge...of a scimitar."
"You are awake..." Aliyy said in surprise and looked down at Nabil.
"For now..." Nabil moaned from a sudden spasm of pain. "Please, I wish to hear more about my father."
Aliyy sighed. "I am not sure where to begin. Instead I choose to talk about your mother first. Once I do, you will understand why I bring this memory up first. Her name was Mirah and she was sister to Dharr, Honored Helper of the Seventh and my betrothed. How shall I describe her to you? She was a gentle as a dove, as beautiful as the moon in a cloudless night sky and had warmth that surely burned brightly from the goodness in her soul. She was my heart and we loved each other very deeply. We were to be married in the month following the flooding of the Nile, when our land was at its richest and most fertile from the life giving waters. When the time came prior to the ceremony, she petitioned the Elders to give her a small escort so she could travel to Cairo and visit with Dharr, then bring him back to the settlement. A day outside the city, they found a man that had been left out in the desert to die. He had been beaten and robbed. She took pity on the foreigner and brought
him to Dharr's home, where she nursed him back to health. When he was strong enough to repay her kindness..."
"Go on..." Nabil softly urged when Aliyy suddenly broke off his narration.
A muscle twitched in Aliyy's cheek as he strived to maintain control over his emotions, surprised how deeply the wound to his heart still ached.
"One night, when he knew they were alone, he seized the chance and used my Mirah the way a man uses an unwilling woman. He left the next morning, never to be seen or heard from again. We had always assumed he returned to his homeland. Mirah returned back to the settlement a few days later and struggled to hide her shame in the weeks that followed as best she could. She rejected my proposal and refused to see me, avoiding me and repeated requests to speak with her. One day I found she was leaving the settlement to go live with Dharr in Cairo. I confronted her that night and she finally broke down, unable to lie any further. She revealed she was with child and the Elders had suggested she live elsewhere for the remaining months of her pregnancy," Aliyy said.
"I was born in Cairo, not in the settlement of the Seventh?" Nabil asked.
"Aiwa. When she left, I refused to speak to her, wounding her more efficiently with my silence than a blow from my scimitar ever could. I was angry and frustrated, wanting to extract my revenge on a man that was no longer within my grasp. In the months that followed, I refused to speak her name and the Elders had it removed from all records. One night, she went into early labor and you were born. I am told she died a few hours later from severe blood loss, never seeing you or being able to hold you in her arms. Dharr took you out that night with every intention of leaving you on the steps of an orphanage for he had no desire to care for a baby. For reasons unknown, he took you back to the settlement, presented you to the Elders and demanded they make a decision if you should live or die. It mattered not to him as long as he did not have to look upon you. The Elders displayed their compassion in the decision that Yusuf and Aleaha would be your foster parents and you were
adopted the next day."
"I have a khal?" Nabil asked, his face schooled into stoic indifference but Aliyy saw the hope flare up within the depths of his eyes.
"La, Dharr died a few years later."
"You knew the truth of my...father and mother. Is that why you protested Yusef's petition for my presentation into the warrior sect?"
Aliyy could not meet the accusing gaze of the younger warrior. "I resented you because you were alive, yet what I had held most dear to me was taken away. I protested the petition along with a few other warriors, for we all believed in since you were not of the true blood..."
"I would not produce true heirs, thus weakening the Medjai blood lines," Nabil finished.
"Aiwa," Aliyy confirmed.
The young commander's face never altered in its appearance but Aliyy detected the sorrow deep within his eyes. Nabil shifted on the sand and Aliyy immediately compensated for the change, as if keeping the warrior comfortable could somehow ease the torment of his heart.
"I am Medjai, Commander of the Fifth. I thought to have proven myself in my thoughts, deeds, and in battle..." his voice broke from emotion. "Yet what I seek the most to gain is approval from my peers. Strange that the color of my eyes or ...question of my heritage should seem more important."
"You have been greatly wronged. If you were blood of my blood, I would have been honored to call you my son."
"Speak his name..." Nabil ordered weakly.
"Be of good heart, al sahib," Wajeeh advised.
"I will try," Nabil answered softly. "But revenge for my mother, for myself...it governs almost every rational thought."
His hands are shaking from anger and they clench into tight fists at his side. "Speak it..."
"His name was Lord Derek E Mallory, brother to the Captain at Fort Brydon."
Aliyy and Wajeeh watched Nabil carefully for his reaction.
"My khal is alive and lives in Cairo?" His composure seemed to weaken but his question was spoken in a deceptively firm voice.
"Aiwa," Aliyy said.
"It is your right to challenge him for the honor of your mother," Wajeeh suggested.
Nabil closed his eyes and Aliyy could only guess to the emotions the warrior must have been feeling. Years ago, his own rage against the Englishman had tried to dictate a more aggressive course of action against the Captain, but he had listened to the wise counsel of his friends.
"I have no...reason to challenge this man," Nabil murmured weakly. "He is innocent of what transpired just as I am. I have sought the knowledge of my heritage, curiosity appeased. I embrace it with neither joy nor malice but accept it on the most basic of terms. It simply is..."
Aliyy and Wajeeh accepted Nabil's wise decision and all three men fell silent, recognizing events of the past predetermined the course of the future.
A sudden commotion outside the tent captured Wajeeh's attention and he quickly moved over towards the opening.
"Someone has approached the guards," he called out softly.
Aliyy waited impatiently. "Are they coming in?"
Wajeeh backed away from the opening and stood directly in front of the two commanders. His stance was rigid and alert, as if prepared for confrontation, his fists clenched by his sides. A moment later the tent flap flew open and a thin, young boy hobbled into the interior. Wajeeh took a step forward, his eyes glittering with an unspoken challenge and the boy immediately cowered.
"Assalamu alaikum, Medjai. I mean no harm," he quickly said. "Instead I bring news."
Wajeeh openly scoffed at the announcement but Aliyy spoke up from behind him.
"What news could a Tuareg bring us in our enemies camp?"
"May I enter?" he asked. "Words of which I need to speak need not be heard by unwelcome parties."
He silently gestured towards the guards outside and waited.
"Stand down," Aliyy called to Wajeeh. "Let us hear what this youth has to say."
Wajeeh backed off to one side, allowing the boy to pass along side of him, then followed him over as he sat down on the ground near Aliyy. He sat down next to the youth, intentionally crowding him to intimidate, but the boy didn't move. Wajeeh saw him glance down at the now unconscious Nabil.
"Does he still live?"
"For the moment yes. Explain your presence here," Wajeeh ordered.
"It is time to plan for an escape."
Aliyy shook his head. "You speak of what we have already attempted for the past few days and failed."
"A few days ago the guards were more alert and eager to obey Jahm. Now, there is unrest and speculation, the guards are less attentive. Rumors say Jahm has gone mad. He has sequestered himself in his tent, refusing to leave the chest unattended, reading the ancient symbols as he mutters to himself. More messengers are missing and Loch-nah impatiently awaits for his master to arrive from Cairo before he will act."
"What of Jahm's second, Kasim?" asked Wajeeh.
"He tries to maintain control over the men, sending out additional patrols to look for the missing messengers but he fears your people are gathering their forces for an attack. Like a rat, he scurries back to the safety of the camp having no wish to be caught out in the open for when the assault comes. The time has come for you to escape, Medjai. I will lead you and your injured brother to freedom, but it must be tonight. If you wait any longer, he will die."
*Author's note: I cannot express how much I appreciate the reviews and emails from you all. They are often inspirational. Do I still have writer's block you ask? Ardeth and I say together: we think not. LOL