Part IIIWhere The Heart Moves The Stones
Lara slept dreamlessly. She was exhausted, overwhelmed with herself, with everything. When morning came she slowly, carefully returned to consciousness, but did not dare to open her eyes immediately.
She made an inventory of her surroundings. She could feel the soft, woolly bedcover on top of her. Then she registered the pair of strong arms holding her around the chest and waist, and silenced a sudden desire to run. She wasn't in a hurry, even though some part of her seemed to think so and her danger sense was confused and overload.
Her eyes flew open. She wasn't really used to waking up like this.
The wall fabric of the tent was flapping in a dry wind that raised clouds of dust on the floor. Bells of brass tingled somewhere.
Lara stifled a laugh. This is just so corny. I was supposed to be working and instead I'm lying on a mattress with..
She turned her head to face Hussain and almost flinched away when she was suddenly staring into his eyes. She had not realized he was awake.
He smiled friendly – not grinning, just an honest smile. "Morning, Lara," he commented. He did not move, did not release Lara from his circled arms.
Lara didn't reply. She had two options. Either she left now and regarded this as just one odd night of fun, nothing important. Or she could lie there for just a few moments more, just until her blisters stopped hurting due to sudden movement.
Lara closed her eyes. Whatever she would have to tell him, it could wait for a minute more.
Lara got up an hour later. She collected her things, not that there were that many. Hussain had headed for the horse fences with a promise to return in a moment. Perhaps he was giving her some privacy.
When she came across the blue dress Hussain's sister had given her she hesitated. If she left now and did not return it would not feel proper to take the dress. She stroked the soft fabric in confusion, and then decided to leave it on the bed.
Should she just leave?
If she had the faintest of suspicions that Hussain was expecting this to lead to something, she would've run off screaming. Not that she could know for certain, but nothing had indicated that this man expected anything from her.
It was as though things had just happened.
Nothing just happens, girl.
Lara stepped out of the tent, peered in for second to make sure she had left everything in a good order, and then walked to the horse fences. She felt like walking and decided to decline if he offered her a horse.
Hussain was helping a young boy open the wooden gate when Lara walked to the area from behind the larger tents. She paused in the open area before the fences to finally steal a good look at him.
Hussain looked her age, perhaps with a few years' advantage on her. He looked distinctly arab, with dark brows and dark hair flowing free. He was not traditionally handsome but a little rough-looking. He did not look like a bandit despite his ungroomed appearance, instead he held the contemplative, peaceful appearance of a man who has made many decisions, even painful ones.
She could not comprehend why so many things in Hussain made her feel as though he was a lot like herself. Nothing about him felt unfamiliar or exotic.
The previous nights she'd met Hussain's male relatives who were approximately his age. They felt so much more childish with their loud voices, jokes and games. They'd begged Lara to teach them some English dances and she'd declined, wanting to sit beside Hussain instead. His presence calmed her because he did not require her undivided attention the whole time and did not become offended when she just sat silently.
How different he was from most men Lara had been with – many had been arrogant rogue-types who'd considered her a worthy opponent and had relentlessly tried to get inside her head after first gaining access to other parts of her.
On the other hand it was strange how his relatives seemed to give Hussain quite a lot of space. He did not provoke the usual hassle when he spoke or danced. He was treated courteously but in Lara's opinion slightly ignored.
Lara approached the fence, unsure what to say and hoping the appropriate words would just pop out of her mouth. That would've been very unlikely, though, as she had no idea what she ought to do or why.
He greeted her with a wave of his hand and a smile and joined her.
"You're going to the tomb, then?" he asked benevolently as though he was assuming this was where she would no doubt say farewell for good. Or perhaps he still had absolutely no expectations.
"I do have to work," Lara said, trying not to sound overtly apologetic.
"Will I see you later?"
It was the first time Lara had heard him choose his words so carefully.
Lara stood on the lowest wooden transom of the fence and gazed into the desert. Distant cliffs shone coldly in golden morning sunlight.
Then she faced him. "I don't know. I honestly don't. There's just so much going on- " In my life, she almost added, but decided she did not wish to make it sound like an excuse, "So much I have to do. I'll probably have to be heading back to England in a few days when I've checked that last site on my map."
Hussain nodded and seemed strangely unaffected by her words. Either he was so certain of himself he thought she would return anyway, or he was better than average at lettings things slip between his fingers.
Lara left.
She found her campsite after three hours or walking after absent-mindedly straying off the mountaineos path that lead to the outskirts of Petra.
It looked so lonely.
Her sleeping bag, mattress and cans of foods lay neatly stacked against a tomb wall.
Ropes along with other climbing gear lay neatly stacked on a rock.
Lara closed her eyes. I don't want to be here anymore.
What was even more alarming was that she couldn't care less for what she would probably find in the last storage chamber in the ruins.
How long will I continue this? I'm acting as though I'm chasing for the ultimate discovery that will solve all my problems. But none of this can. This is history. History can't solve present-day troubles.
She slumped down onto her sleeping bag. Light was plentiful in the tomb. She really didn't feel like lacing her boots tight and heading out in the midst of the hoardes of tourists just yet.
After checking the last site, what then?
She couldn't say returning to England held much allure. But staying was not a very realistic prospect either. What would I do then? Become either a mistress or a good little Moslim wife? I doubt I'd be much good at either.
Did staying have to include Hussain at all?
If he wasn't included in the picture, would I be considering it at all? Probably not.
Did she want him? Did she want to be with him?
Lara kicked a rock in frustration. She did not love him. Nor did she wish to spend her life with him.
But why did she feel like she needed him so much then?
Or did she really need him?
Feeling as though a stress-induced headache was on its way, Lara abandoned her dilemma and decided to brush up on her notes. She dug out the material from her backpack, and in addition found a book she'd unintentionally carried with her – she'd meant to leave it in her hotel room for bedtime reading as it did not deal with Petra. She leafed through it.
It was an old volume on Christian symbolics. She opened a page she'd marked as good reference material.
"The rose is the holiest of all flowers. The flower of the Virgin Mary, it symbolizes above all love in its many forms. Mary is said to be the mistress of seven roses. If white they symbolize her seven joys including the birth of Christ and the appearance of the angel Gabriel. Seven red roses would signify her seven great moments of pain. The rose is a symbol of heavenly joy and paradise – saints have been told to have had visions of paradise including blooming roses. Early Christians despised the rose due to the fact that to the Romans the rose had also had much significance as a the symbol of Afrodite. They celebrate the rose in their rosalia feasts, a tradition which has in part survived in Italy. The rose was also closely related to Dionysos as it was believed that roses would keep a drunken man from revealing his secrets. This belief was imported into Christianity: confession booth decorations included roses and everything that was said would be said "sub rosa", 'under the rose', meaning that it would stay between the two conversants."
"Red roses also symbolize heavenly love, depicting the blood of Christ as he hung on the cross. Dante calls this love "rosa candida" in his Divine Comedy. On the other hand, troubadours in Medieval times used red roses as the purest symbol of earthly love ande desire. White roses depict purity, and it some cultures, death. Many esoteric Christian sects give great value to the flower, the Rosicrucians being the most prominent example. The fact that roses have spikes has been considered to be a metaphor of life."
Nothing about rosa mystica. Lara closed the book. It did not seem this would aid her much after all.
She decided to check out the last site. It wasn't as though she had anything better to do.
She walked past the propylaea steps, and disappeared behind the ruined west wall of the Nymphaeum. In ancient times it had housed a large reflection pool dedicated to water spirits, Nymphs, which had been important deities in Nabataean mythology. Lara recalled reading an essay once which had claimed that the primary reason the Nabataeans had made human sacrifices was to create Nymphs to serve them as guides in the spiritual world. It was true that the Nabataeans had possibly sacrificed humans by throwing them off the high rock faces that were omnipresent in the area, but only bones that were belonged to young males had been found. Nymphs had been thought to be female.
Lara had hiked up to the Jebel Umm-al-Biara, "Mother of Cisterns", a large hill quite near the city ruins and inspected the altar on top. Attached to it was a slant of rock that lead to the edge of a gorge. It gave her chills.
Behind the walls she found a short paved passage which ended soon – the remains of an ancient pathway.
Making sure noone had followed her she began following the pathway. After a kilometre or so it lead up on top of the Garden tomb, and down a winding series of roughlöy carved stone steps into an inconspicuous ravine. To Lara this seemed promising – the previous sites she had inspected had somehow seemed too out in the open.
She felt a little better now. More focused. Her mind was far from being clear, but she felt as though she'd finally at least gotten used to the haze she'd been walking in for the past week. Not that it was a particularly good thing.
The steps ended abruptly. Jordan was no stranger to earthquakes, and a quake was a likely reason to the pathway's demise. The path disappeared into a wide opening in the rocks – an uninviting-looking black maw. Broken pillars had fallen onto the gaping hole, forming an almost unpassable entrance. Lara dug out her flashlight from her backpack and pointed it into the darkness. A flock of sparrow-looking birds flew out, startling her. It was no wonder they'd been there – crevices and tombs made excellent nesting places.
The drop to the floor was about ten metres. Lara was certain there had been a staircase to the bottom. She could see broken columns and chunks or stone on the sandy bottom of the maw – probably remains of the steps. Lara dug out her rope and tied it carefully onto a broken pillar which lay across the opening and tied it around her waist. She'd chosen her thickest rope – it would be the easiest to pull herself up with. She grabbed the upper end of the rope, twisted her ankle around the slightly lower part, and began slowly lowering herself into the maw.
The rope slid in her hands, the rough surface of it cutting tiny wounds into her palms. Sunlight turned into echoing darkness as she descended.
After a minute of slow sliding she let go of the rope and dropped onto the floor.
The air smelled as dusty and old as everything else in Petra. It felt as though time had only passed somewhere above, outside this construction. Inside, it was still the age of the Nabataeans.
Lara lit three chemical torches and placed them in cracks in the rock walls. They lit most of the chamber in a eerie green glow.
She found a pile of bones, lying near a low entrance to a chamber with a dried-up well. The skull was pressed in on the back – probably due to a blow the owner had gotten into his or her back when he was still alive. A few metres off the pile of scattered bones lay a sword.
It would hold no interest to a collector as it was nearly through-rusted. Only a sharp net of metal remained of the handle. It had perhaps once been decorated with stones – there were round, empty spots near the handle where they could've been attached to. Now it was useless and looked as though it would crumble at the feintest touch.
It was not in its original place. There was a pressing in the sand near the bones exactly the shape of it. Maybe whoever had killed this man had inspected his sword, cut out the ornaments and discarded the weapon.
Perhaps the pile of bones had belonged to a guardian. That would speak of the place's importance.
Lara abandoned the sword and its wielder and walked deeped into the shadows, flaslight in her right hand.
There were large amphoras stacked near a wall, and the rest of the deeper part of the chamber was filled with shelves. Lara expected to find at least a scroll or two in the amphoras – important papyri finds had been made in Petra before, the most recent one in 1993 near the Byzantine church.
They were empty, as were the shelves save for a bird skeleton. Lara touched the delicate bones with her forefinger and felt a sudden wave of sadness overcome her.
She could not imagine a fate much more terrible than dying here, all alone. The guard had probably wanted to seek help after being assaulted, but decided he could not leave his post. The bird had perhaps got lost in the dark and had starved because it could not find any food down there. The maw should have provided some light, but it narrowed before opening into the chamber so that most of the underground area was pitch dark. There were sheaths for torches in the walls, but Lara could see no torches.
Now she herself was there. All alone. Would she be alone like that for the rest of her life? As alone as she'd always been? It was not just physical loneliness but mental as well. The feeling that there were not many people who would grieve her demise. Aunt Gillian, Jean, a few colleagues, but no close relatives.
Is this about Father again?
Lara turned around, gathered herself and began inspecting the rest of the area.
The well chamber was tiny, and the well was dry. Lara surveyed the bottom of it with her flashlight, and decided it wasn't worth the while climbing down as it was only a few metres deep and obviously empty.
Lara returned to the larger chamber, and ran her flashlight around, desperation creeping into her mind. It couldn't be empty! It just couldn't! A place so inaccessible was unlikely to have been emptied. Jordan had no serious history of grave-robbing, and when the Anglo-Swiss geographer Burckhardt in 1812 rediscovered Petra after hearing rumours of a lost city in the desert, a lot of artefacts had been found, undisturbed.
Lara's heart leapt when she found what she'd been looking for – a small opening near the chamber ceiling deep in the cavern with the shelves. She placed the flashlight between her teeth, jumped up, and vaulted into the small opening. It was so low she nearly slipped. Spiderwebs stuck in her hair as she pushed forward in the small tunnel. After several minutes of crawling and getting scrapes onto her knees she could drop down into a small room.
She lit another torch to aid her flashlight which had clanked onto the tunnel wall and was now flicking annoyingly.
She'd arrived in a barrell vault with the ceiling shaped like a cylinder, with almost Greek-style wall-paintings.
In a corner a large pile of rusty swords lay unorganized. Most of them were inconspicous, but the pile of glittering flakes on the floor wasn't.
Lara inspected the flakes. As far as she could tell they were real gold.
She stood up and began inspecting the murals after digging out her notes of the previous ones.
They did indeed form a story.