NEAR MISSES
It was finally morning. There was no way for Ardeth to know this since there was no window where he could see out. However, he simply knew it was daylight. At an early age, he was blessed with an internal clock that never failed him wherever he wound up sleeping. Even here. Normally upon waking, he would immediately rise, wash up, and dress. Not today. The Medjai didn't subscribe to modern ailments like depression. They understood anger, grief, and happiness. They understood pain. What Ardeth didn't understand were his current mood or actions. It was beyond his regular personality. Lately, he had done many things his former self wouldn't like much. In fact, his wife haunted him in his dreams, forcing him to answer to his frame of thought.
For three months now, Ardeth and a few men of his choosing left the village for 'patrols.' These missions were routine policing of Hamunaptra and the fringes of the Lost City. They would camp out there for three or four days before coming home. only to send others to do the same thing. Some might think this task monotonous, but none of the Medjai did. They would think of the Creature, the damage he had done to their people and the country. Any doubts about their life's work would swiftly be quashed. However, Ardeth had begun taking abrupt detours from Hamunaptra. He would leave the most responsible warriors in charge before electing another to accompany him while he undertook a mission of his own.
The two lone warriors would ride out to Kashfi Narrows or another destination of Ardeth's choosing. He had been hunting Auberjonus for so long that he had begun to learn of the man's other frequent haunts. Oddly, the Auberjonus gang had all but abandoned Kashfi. They had found many other bands of marauders, managing to chase them away with little or no bloodshed, but Auberjonus had seemingly left. This frustrated Ardeth beyond all sanity. It didn't daunt his desire for revenge one iota. He continued to hunt Auberjonus relentlessly. The closest they came to a confrontation happened just two nights ago. Quietly, Ardeth and his fellow warrior crept into an area known as Turbe Min Môt, the name a silly oxymoron. It held fewer of the more aggressive marauders, so Ardeth was quite surprised when he noticed Auberjonus himself sleeping amongst his men. Suddenly, he felt the months beforehand were worth the agonizing struggle to find these men. Suddenly, his life held meaning again. He was no mind reader, but somehow, he knew that his enemy felt safe amongst these men. Somehow, Auberjonus probably knew that Ardeth would never suspect him of associating with a lesser band. Auberjonus was a fool. Tonight, he would end the man's life, settling the score once and for all. Ardeth was certain that he would not walk away from this alive. It didn't matter. None of it did.
Ardeth prepared to advance. Erroll Auberjonus would not know what hit him. Ardeth would ensure this. He certainly would. He stopped when he felt a hand with a steel grip clamping onto his wrist. Snarling, he shot a look full of black hatred to the person hindering his progress. It was a fellow warrior. He was one of the youngest in the set. His name was Karram and he was barely nineteen. He had been overwhelmed and honored when asked to accompany Ardeth and a senior warrior on patrol. It was almost unheard of for one so fresh out of training. Although still quite green, he was no fool. He knew that what the Chieftain wanted to do was wrong. Dying for their cause was one thing, but dying for no reason was another. Karram, like all warriors, had known that Ardeth was fiercely obsessed with finding and killing the man responsible for the death of his wife. No one had suspected her death would come to rule his life.
"Ra'îs," Karram whispered. "We cannot proceed. You are endangering many lives."
"Many lives of the unjust, of murderers, thieves," Ardeth spat viciously. "Go back to camp," he demanded.
"Lâ," he said firmly. "I will not. If I do go back, I will not come back alone. This is a foolhardy move. You know this."
"You are the foolhardy one, Karram. You order me about?"
"Aiwa. I do. I will handle whatever punishment you see fit, ra'îs, but we will not proceed."
Ardeth had every intention of going forth with his plans. He would ignore the fool who saw fit to tell him what to do. But he didn't get the chance. Karram hit him. Hit him hard, knocking the wind out of him as well as knocking him out. He knew one warrior who would soon suffer a fairly stiff punishment for his deeds.
Hours later, Ardeth had awakened in his tent at camp. He sent Karram back to the village to await his wrath. Not heeding the pleas of the remaining warrior in camp, Ardeth went directly back to the same place, hoping and praying to Allâh that Auberjonus would still be where he was. But his fortune was not that good. Lately, it was never that good. New anger surged through his veins. Anger toward Auberjonus and his men, to Karram, to himself, to everyone he knew in his well protected village. It was enough to poison his mind, heart, and spirit. His life would never be the same again. He had felt this and told himself this many times since Liliana's death. It had never rang truer than today.
Defeated, he rode back to camp and sent the other warrior home. He protested, knowing that alone, Ardeth would surely die if attacked by an enemy faction. However, Ardeth insisted, stating firmly that he needed to ride alone. He knew what he needed to do, but he didn't want word to get back to Faras or Rimâd. Since Rimâd had come to the village to stay on as an assistant healer, romance had bloomed quickly between her and Faras. Although she was an adult, Danforth and Millicent Harding left their daughter in his charge. He had taken on the duty, but performed it shabbily. After learning of Rimâd's desire to stay, of her desire to begin a romance with his Second despite what he thought, Ardeth backed away. There was little he could do to stop it. Yet, when he was in the village-which hadn't been much lately-he would watch them together, aching to say something to them, to tell them to cool down their relationship. His heart was eaten alive by jealousy, not jealousy toward the warrior or his silfa, but jealousy of their love, their closeness, and the simple fact that they could see each other when they wanted, however frequently they wished. He was not so lucky with his love, now was he? It wasn't just that, either. He could have protested Rimâd's decision to stay, he could have protested her romance with Faras. He didn't. He simply didn't care enough to do so, not anymore. His life had taken on a new duty. He was consumed by it. Nothing else mattered. His feelings were so that both Faras and Rimâd had noticed. He knew they cared about and respected him. They offered all types of unwarranted, unneeded advice, counseling him as if he were feeble minded. He needed none of that. What he needed, what he wanted, he would find. Perhaps one day, his mind would clear and he would regret what he had made a part of his new routine. Until that day, he rightly didn't care what anyone said or thought.
Ardeth pondered these thoughts, pondered his situation as he sat up weakly on the side of an ever increasing familiar pallet. He wasn't physically ill. His mental being was another story altogether. He wasn't inside a comfortable tent nestled within the loving arms of his people. Instead, he was inside a dingy adobe structure on the outskirts of Tokan, Egypt, approximately fifty miles south of Cairo, even further away from his desert home.
Tokan was a settlement village founded by Asian nomads who were run out by solicitors and purveyors of the flesh. A huge skin trade had developed within a few short years of Tokan's founding, most of the women were original inhabitants or their daughters who were traded for goods or simply a chance to live. If a man said he was going to visit Tokan, most people knew what he would be looking for once he arrived. It was a simple fact of life. Many of Ardeth's own men from different tribes came here at least once a month. All of them were young, unmarried, and inexperienced in the ways of dealing with women. It wasn't unknown to happen. It also wasn't forbidden unless the warrior was married. The Medjai considered their partners their life mates. It was as simple as that. Once wed, it was a lifelong commitment, one only broken by death. Relations within the marriage were to only occur between the gôz and the gôza. Infidelity was not tolerated and punishment was severe. Ardeth was aware that probably more of his home tribe's warriors had visited here than he wanted to know about. Yet, he had never visited here before. He had given his heart to Liliana upon first sight, believing that he would never love or want another. It wasn't to say he had never known a woman before, he had, but it happened before he set his eyes on his life mate to be. Once that seemed to be written in stone, he knew no other.
Almost a month and a half ago, his mind had changed about Tokan. He knew it existed, knew how to get here, and after a long night of wakefulness in the desert heat, he had decided to stop at the village after an unsuccessful jaunt in finding Auberjonus. With each unsuccessful mission, he would come here and take the same woman. Her name was Sahar. She was young, probably no more than twenty. Unlike the other women here, she wasn't Asian or Egyptian. She was American. Her hair was blonde, falling past her hips, and her eyes were a pale shade of blue. The first time he had seen her, he knew he wanted it to be her. Her features were very different than those of his Liliana. He balked when offered a woman with dark hair and eyes. He remembered shaking his head, pointing to the pale one. It had to be her or no one.
Ardeth never wanted to converse with her or begin any type of regular relationship with Sahar. Despite his desire, despite the fact that he told her as much, Sahar spent a great deal of their time discussing her life, her past, and her wishes for the future. According to Sahar-Ardeth had a hard time distinguishing what was fact and what was fiction-she had come to Egypt when she was eighteen on a trip with her best girlfriend. Her friend had taken ill, dying in the desert, leaving Sahar to fend for herself. Gushingly, she went on, stating that she loved men, that she loved touching them, so Tokan had basically called for her. Her name, obviously Arabic, was a derivative of its American counterpart. Simply listening to her, Ardeth discerned that she was obsessive, petty, and something of a liar. Sahar would not allow any other woman to spend time with him. He never argued with her. Her droning voice actually drove away some of his own grief and feelings of failure. Her colorful wish fulfilling stories provided an uneasy distraction. It gave him an opportunity to think of nothing else other than escaping her clutches. The cycle simply repeated itself whenever he could not smell the blood of Erroll Auberjonus. He felt demeaned, so what other way to express that feeling than seeking solace in the arms of a whore? He didn't need the physical contact, her lips, her arms, or her sex. What he needed was a warm body, something to erase the shadows in his mind, to dull the pain. It was funny how coming here only dissolved those issues temporarily. A whole new world of hurt awaited him whenever he made his way to the village, to his home tribe.
Although Faras had never made a habit of dabbling into Ardeth's personal life, he knew his Second suspected what he was doing after his unsuccessful bouts. It was Faras who expressed a desire to accompany him on his trips out into the desert to find Erroll Auberjonus. Ardeth never permitted him to come along. If anyone could keep Ardeth on a straight path, it was Faras. Both men knew this. Both men knew it was why Ardeth didn't want him to come along. Frankly, Ardeth also knew what his Second and his mar'a were thinking. They believed he was losing his grasp on his mental faculties. They were certain he was losing more than that. Out of respect, neither had spoken those words to his face. They knew better. Rebuke from one bitter Ardeth Bay was worse than that from any other. Lately, his life was about nothing more than rebuke and hatred. Perhaps one day, it would change. For now, it was something that could not be undone. Besides, Faras' tagging along would put an abrupt stop to his Tokan visits. Like the way his life was constructed now, those visits were also an unchangeable part.
Ardeth flinched when he felt Sahar's fingers flitting lightly across his shoulders and back. He hadn't know she was awake. He had hoped he could escape Tokan without her ever waking. Of course, that simply wasn't to be. Sahar had to talk about herself for an hour or more before he left. It was almost ritualistic. Vaguely, he feared that she would want him again. More than once with her would shatter the routine, shatter his mission. Then again, there was nothing of which to trade for another time, not this morning. One day in the near future, Ardeth would think back to these visits with Sahar and realize what he was actually trying to run from. Today, it wasn't a part of his consciousness or awareness. It wasn't meant to be for some time.
Sahar was fascinated with this young, handsome man. She didn't know what his business in the desert was, but he always came to her in flowing robes and a burnoose. He wasn't a nomad. Of this she was certain. Most nomadic groups contained women, children, and other family members. Visits to a local house of ill repute wasn't something they did. He had marks all over his body, all of which were drawn with some type of black inking. His body was well toned, rippled with cords of solid muscle. His long, curly black hair hid many marks that were about his neck and shoulders. She loved touching his hair, burying her face in it. He would often draw away from her, telling her firmly, but gently, that he didn't want her to touch him in any type of intimate way. It was an odd rule. How could one lay with another without touching him intimately? Nevertheless, Sahar wasn't offended. He was a voracious lover, bringing her to more releases than she had ever experienced with any of her other visitors. It had gotten to be where she could not allow another in Tokan to touch him. He was hers. He was only hers. No other girl here could touch him. She made sure of that every time he visited. She had valuables, she didn't mind parting with them, especially if it meant she could have him all to herself. She often fantasized that he was her husband, ultimately sweeping her into his arms and taking her away from this life.
"These marks, Ramîq WaHda," she said. She never knew his name. He wouldn't give it to her, so she made a special one for him. "What do they mean?"
Her lips were against his shoulder. He preferred that she wasn't so close, but he felt too weary to tell her to back away. She had called him 'dark one' since the first time they lay together. He hated it, but he didn't want her to know his name. Was he ashamed? Probably. But he was no saint. He was a man. A flawed man. Perfection was a lie. "I must go," he said before removing her arms from his body.
Standing before her completely naked, Sahar was tempted to kneel before him on the pallet, to taste him, to take him into her mouth. She would not tell the Madâm. This she would do without payment. Perhaps it would endear him to her. He didn't want her to ever touch him like that, though. He took control in bed. He did want he wanted, but he asked for nothing from her in return. She felt it necessary to give him this gift. She learned that all men liked this, even a brooding dark one with haunted eyes and hair the color of a raven's wing. Whatever he was, whoever he was, he was only a man, bound by the same weaknesses of the flesh like any other. She reached out to him, nearly had her hand upon his member, but he stepped back.
"Lâ," he said sharply. "I must go. Your Madâm would not be happy." He reached for his discarded clothing and began to dress.
Rebuked by the ultimate owner of said action-even if she hadn't been aware of this-Sahar sat back with a pout on her full, pink lips. "She wouldn't have to know. My favors can be given freely of my choosing. Why won't you let me pleasure you? You give me such..."
He held up his hand, silencing her. Even here, even in what would be considered a sinful place by many, he garnered respect. He garnered it even if he didn't think he deserved it. Today, he didn't feel as if he did. "Sahar, I must go. My reasons for my behavior do not concern you."
She sat back on the pallet, still pouting, and crossed her arms over her overabundant breasts, like the world's most oversexed child. For a moment, Ardeth felt sick to his stomach. "You will be back," she stated rather than questioned.
"Aiwa," he said with a brief nod of his head. "I probably will be back." He almost added that he would ask for another woman. That wasn't true. He probably wouldn't.
After almost three months, Ardeth had finally found a healer who could perform duty full-time. In a way, Ash was relieved. She loved working with the Medjai people, enjoyed utilizing her skills on the sick and injured. Yet, for some time, she had been solely in charge. Giving up the helm had been difficult, but she hadn't argued against it. It gave her more time to spend with Faras.
Since making her decision to stay, Ardeth had little to say about her relationship with his Second. In fact, he hadn't spoken one word against it after she voiced her determination to stay. It didn't give her or Faras much comfort. They knew he was in a world of hurt. He went on overextended patrols of Hamunaptra, usually taking two or three warriors along, sometimes an entire tribe. But they knew the story. Ardeth was not going straight to Hamunaptra and back no more than she was leaving Egypt to become a vaudeville comedienne. Erroll Auberjonus had consumed his soul. Nothing anyone had to say ever reached Ardeth. Some day soon, they were afraid his hold would break and he would sink into an unreachable mental oblivion. If he would only allow Faras to go along...he never would. Faras knew the reason. Despite this, he wouldn't tell Ash everything he knew. When she did discover the truth, it would open old wounds between her and her brother in-law, wounds that had just begun to heal, wounds that would fester before finally closing forever.
For now, for today, Ash was satisfied with her new life, knowing that her assistance was needed in the healer's tent, knowing that her heart unfailingly belonged to Faras. She had known this after the first time he had kissed her. Since that day, since her decision to stay in Egypt, they had shared many kisses, long talks, even longer picnics at the village oasis. She had fallen very deeply in love with the young warrior, and she was certain that he felt the same. In fact, he had made his feelings known to her during one of their long picnics just a few short weeks ago. They shared their meal of roasted mutton, vegetables, and in season fruits. Afterwards, they sat quietly gazing at the calm waters of the lovely pool before them. He took her hand in his, kissed it, and then his lips found hers. Pausing for breath between kisses, his often gruff voice softened ever so slightly, long enough for him to whisper his endearment in Arabic. Ana maHabbi inti. She had lived here only a short time, but she knew what he meant. She kissed him harder than ever before, nearly taking his breath. In his arms, she cried, admitting that she, too, loved him. Although blissfully happy, there were days when she felt that her relationship with Faras was harming Ardeth in some way. He would never utter a word to her about it. If she approached him, he would dismiss her, turn away, and escape to his lonely tent.
With thoughts of her shattered brother in-law occupying her mind, Ash left the healer's tent for some much deserved rest. She had ducked her head to enter her tent when she saw a familiar figure sitting quietly on her pallet. It was Faras. As soon as he saw her, he stood to embrace her, crushing his full lips onto hers. He greeted her the same way any time he saw her, even amongst his fellow warriors. He didn't care. For maybe the first time in his young life, he was in love and wanted everyone to know it, which brought him to Ash's tent.
Faras broke the embrace to gaze down into Ash's eyes. "Karram came back yesterday. Did you hear?"
Ash shook her head. "No." She didn't want to hear what happened, but she couldn't help it. "Why?"
Faras sighed, took hold of Ash's hand, and led her to the pallet. Together, they sat down. "Karram said Ardeth wanted them to ambush the entire Auberjonus gang. Two men. Karram stopped him by knocking him out and Ardeth sent him back to the village to await punishment. He may send Karram into exile."
Sadly, Ash shook her head. There had only been one warrior she had heard of that had gone into exile. It wasn't a pleasant occurrence, neither were the marks that said warrior received for such misguided behavior. "He's not thinking clearly, Faras. You can't allow him to do that to Karram. He's no more than a boy."
"Aiwa. This I know and I will do my best. The next time Ardeth goes out, I will insist on accompanying him whether he wants it or not." There was more he wanted to tell her, more he wanted to say about Ardeth's 'trips,' but he held back. He had another purpose in meeting her like this, but news of Karram's banishment from camp had shocked him. The only way of dealing with it was telling the woman he loved, the woman he trusted more than any other. "We will deal with this all in good time. Ardeth will return soon."
Ash nodded. "Okay." She pulled her hand out of Faras' to rise so she could bathe before the evening meal. However, he took her hand again, holding fast to it. "What is it," she asked curiously, noting the earnest look in Faras' eyes.
"Since your brother in-law is your official guardian, I can make formal request for this upon Ardeth's return, but for now, I think I can share this with you alone," he said with a smile. "If I am to be on guard with Ardeth in the near future, I want my life...our lives...solidified before I make leave."
Confused, Ash's brow furrowed. "What are you saying, my love?"
"I am asking for your hand," he said simply. "I am asking for you to be my wife, my life partner, the mother of my children. I want no other. Only you, Ashlyn Harding. Only you."
She wanted to cry, but oddly, she laughed instead. Puzzled, Faras gazed at her as if she had lost her mind. "I remember when Liliana and Ardeth married. How I despised everything Egyptian. Everything Medjai. When she began speaking Arabic, I thought I had lost my sister forever. But now, I understand her love, her desire to be the wife of a Medjai warrior." She sighed heavily, a spray of nervous giggles escaping her lips. "So, in memory of my sister, I say aiwa, yâ maHabbi. Ana arâda kân inta gôza."
She had struggled with the Arabic, spitting it out carefully, one word at a time. To Faras, it sounded like music from the gods. He took her into his arms and held her tightly against him. He would never understand, or want to understand or know, that his happiness would be short-lived.
A/N: As far as the author is aware, there is no Tokan, Egypt fifty miles south of Cairo. This is a town which exists solely in the mind of the author. No similarity to any location, fictional or otherwise, is intentional.
Translations:
Turbe Min Môt–Tomb of Death
Ra'îs–Chief(tain)
Lâ–No
Aiwa–Yes
Rimâd–Ash
Silfa–Sister in-law
Gôz–Husband
Gôza–Wife
Mar'a–Woman
Ramîq WaHda–Dark One
Ana MaHabbi inti–I love you (said to a woman)
Aiwa, yâ maHabbi. Ana arâda kân inta gôza–Yes, my love. I will be your wife
To be continued...
