a&n: 'Why on Earth did she take two weeks to write a chapter that was just as long- if not longer- than the one she took three months writing?' Why, you ask? Easy- I think I'll dedicate this chapter to WolfgoddessMya, who gave me an absurd electro-shock of inspiration. Thanks so much! And to justagirl, too, for bearing with me; you guys are adorable!
(Estora, if by any chance you come across this... you know what I'm about to say, right?)
This fic is coming to its end; it's been three years, which is ridiculous for such a short story, right? Bah! I hope you'll like the boring boringness of the unwinding chapters, because it's a big, boring unwinding of boredom; at least, the last parts were. Tell me what you think!
music: see chapter title: Adagio by Shigeru Umebayashi. Ah, perfection, perfection.

REGENESIS

Chapter twenty-three
Adagio

xxx

The mug set loose a soft grey mist that escaped with an elegant flick, spilling over the edge of the cup and painting the African woman’s plump lips with a hint of humidity.

Leeu scratched her leg, huffing impatiently. It was as hot as the Devil’s ass out here in the Medjai camp, and yet the women seemed intent on soaking her entire nervous system in their infamous herbal tea. Well, she’d gotten used to heat- more like, she’d been trained and conditioned to think of each drip of sweat as a member of the family, so she couldn’t really use the excuse of the temperature to justify the sluggishness that was gradually distilling itself in her muscles. It had to be some kind of plant, some nomad drug that those women in scarves were grinding up and filtering into these damned pots of tea. How was she supposed to trust those women, if they hid their faces during the day and apparently ground up sleep-inducing drugs the rest of the time? Not to mention that most of those fickle ladies had somehow acquired the attention of some pretty smashing-looking warriors; though she couldn’t remember if the couples here were formed out of free will or not. Actually, she couldn’t remember a good deal of what her father had taught her about this place.

Lock-Nah had been part of this particular Medjai clan. He’d been a warrior under Ardeth’s command. How many stories of desert campaigns and harsh training sessions spent rolling around in sand that gave you stronger burns than carpet could ever inflict on little girls’ skins had she spent her childhood dreaming about… in the pleasant, lukewarm temperatures and luscious greeneries of Southern England. How many fond memories did she have of impromptu holidays in her father’s native land, learning the arts of combat and horseback riding, as well as camels when they could get their hands on a few of those dopey animals; she had spent a childhood of luxury and dreams that were infinitely more tangible and present than any of her schoolmates. And oh, how many children had wanted to be granted access to a little space by her side, in earshot of the fantastic tales she had to tell about her father’s past in the nomadic tribes that scoured the Sahara, and were still out there somewhere, gathering water from wells that pierced the Planet’s crusty heart and lending an ear to the desert winds to know where their destinies were headed, riding wild horses bareback and wielding crooking scimitars with rough, tattooed hands…

It was only when she’d gotten a bit older, a bit more mature that her father told her why they could never ‘visit’ the place where he’d been born; that ever-shifting village, more elusive than a mirage; and why it was dangerous for her to venture out alone into the desert on their family trips. He’d been exiled. He’d been humiliated. And, to keep his dignity, probably, he said that it was dangerous for him to see his old compatriots because he’d be overcome by the desire for vengeance- but, growing up, his daughter understood that when a Medjai was exiled, there was no coming back. Not out of bravery, or sentiment, or any excuse that could seem credible at first glance. It was a question of ancient tradition; it was a ritual of sorts. There was no coming back and there were no questions asked.

So, the daughter of the dead man, the daughter of the exile- here she was, sitting in an open tent with a clean linen bandage hugging her ribs and a steaming pot of tea warming her already sticky palms, watching the bustle of the sandy street outside as the nurse pottered around in the chests somewhere behind her, tending to a patient that was moaning softly in semi-consciousness.

She could pretend all she wanted that these people shared her blood; that this was where her roots were, and it was here that she could attain the most honorable death, if she wanted. She could try to look like she fitted in, like she thought it perfectly natural to pinch dirt and rub her hands before setting three sticks of incense at precise hours of the day at a little niche where some unknown Intelligence smiled enigmatically at this stuffy outside world. But… something just wasn’t right. She couldn’t fit in just yet. She felt almost detached… and for her to not be in her element always put her on edge.

Which was why she was trying to soothe her fretful senses by watching Ardeth’s furious pacing in front of the infirmary, his hand pressing on his scimitar hilt so heavily that the muscles had gone white. At least she wasn’t alone in her brooding.

She watched him with a smooth brow and nothing suggesting judgement in her eyes, for once, as he traced wonky ovals in the sand, his robes billowing around his legs, dark sash fitting quite snugly around his waist- it was with a slight start that she realized how thin he’d gotten whilst under her ‘care’. Well, he did look a bit more dashing that way, in her opinion- the sombre, hungry, intriguing sort of man- but really, to the Medjai women, he must’ve seemed pathetically frail compared to his companions and their broad pectoral muscles and trunk-like thighs.

A horse wandered aimlessly down the sandy street, its head lowered, tail whipped around its lean legs by the sandy wind as it trailed its hooves through the terrain of white dust. Momentarily distracted, the Medjai chieftain stopped in his pacing, taking the animal side-on and staring at it in the eye. The elegant quadruped stopped, caught, and waited for this predator to make the next move. The man stepped forward… seeing the animal’s dense muscles tensing up, he stopped, took three steps back and turned his side to the animal again. Fluffy ears perking forwards, the horse gave a low snort and shook its head, advancing towards its master and extended its soft grey muzzle towards the man’s shoulder, inhaling the musky, masculine scent. Did the creature pick up any trace of feminine perfume there, Leeu wondered, watching this little spectacle with a half-interested eye.

Ardeth waited patiently for the creature to quit sniffing him in order to return the favour, raising a hand to scratch that little gap between its large cheekbones, on the underside of its head. He seemed more than just a little preoccupied, and when the messenger that he awaited came to give him the news of the rations he’d been waiting for- a delay in the shipment, Leeu guessed, judging by the sour expression that pinched at the warrior’s mouth- he waved away the lesser man and barked a few orders in Arabic, dismissing him at the same time.

“Troubles, darling?” she tentatively called, marking the first casual dialogue they would share since she came here. It had been only a week since Evelyn and co had left in their great, oversized balloon, and though they’d seen quite a lot of each other, they had never quite looked at each other in the eye, only exchanging ideas when it came to leading the Medjai tribe; where next to import supplies from, seeing as this season had been particularly rough and their nomadic agriculture hadn’t given them sufficient supplies for the upcoming weeks; when to dispatch troupes, if such-and-such ancient land was under the modern Man’s threat, and who to send… amongst other things.

The young African hadn’t realized that the chieftain’s nerves were so raw; he snapped his head over in her direction as soon as the last syllable had trotted off her proud lips and in the second that followed he had turned on his worn heel and stormed her way, chucking great carpets of sand with his footfalls onto the scarlet rugs that served as a flooring in the infirmary. The nurse looked up at him from where she was, seated on her heels beside the moaning patient with a spatula bearing heavy drips of some greasy substance in one hand, and instinctively she lowered her chin into the endless folds of her scarf, seemingly shrinking in his field of vision.
Leeu, however, did nothing of the sort. If he thought he could play dominance games with her, after all they’d been through already, then he was out of his mind. Alright, so logically thinking, perhaps it was his turn to publicly humiliate her or do something horrid like that, but just because he was in his rights to do so didn’t mean she was going to bow her head and take his blows like some pathetic martyr. She had taught him to respect her, somewhat- now she supposed he was going to do the same.

Vengeance. Oh, what child’s play it all was… she, of all people, had come to understand that at last.

So it was with a grain of understanding that she set aside her pot of tea and took on the morose chieftain’s assault with no visible change in her face- he grabbed her by the flimsy collar of her maroon shirt, lifting her up and somehow towering over her though they were practically the same height.

“Do not speak to me,” he spat at her hoarsely, before throwing her back, making her stumble to regain balance, and unsheathing his scimitar from his hip in one smooth movement, one smooth metallic purr. The nurse didn’t dare to look up, though her shoulders dislodged the heavy piles of fabric that hugged her torso as they tensed in fright.

Leeu merely raised an eyebrow. Oh, this would certainly be entertaining. She’d never seen the Medjai chief so unstable, and she’d been his hellish captor for countless weeks, so she was bound to have seen him swayed by all possible mood swings; she knew she would’ve been scared senseless right about now, if she hadn’t spent those weeks conditioning herself to his bizarre frames of mind.

She knew what it was that dangerously bubbled over the surface of his self-control, swathed in those black robes and safely hidden from the harsh eyes of the world. She had never really known love to its full extent to know what torture it could really be, but she had a few, fairly good ideas. Taking up her father’s place in the Hafez sect had certainly turned more than a few intrigued male heads her way, so she had happily toyed with the sentiment a few times, but what she’d witnessed growing between Evelyn and this man would’ve terrorized her, had she been one of its puppets.

“Going to give me some of my own medicine, at last?” she asked grimly in Arabic, eyeing his scimitar and wiping the splash of tea that was smudged on the corner of her lip. Her heart thudded steadily, heavy in her chest- she wasn’t sure if she should be scared, or simply indifferent to what was clearly her rightful punishment.

“Perhaps it is time,” Ardeth acquiesced grimly.
“Won’t you miss my advice, duckie? Your politics are hardly in a better state than you are.” She had a cocked eyebrow, an amused glitter in her eye, and her all-too-familiar face was started to get to be too much.

“I could try to shatter everything around the precious core of your common sense, so that nothing would go to waste,” growled the chieftain.

“Please,” the nurse unexpectedly piped up, leaning forward and pleading Leeu with her large kohl-rimmed eyes, “We have welcomed you here, daughter of the exile, but it is unwise for you to stir unrest in our leaders’ hearts.”

Leeu stared at her for a second, more ensnared by the woman’s peculiar beauty than really intimidated by her words.

“Should I feel guilty because I’m obliged to return the kindness?” she snapped, and Ardeth waved a hand impatiently.

“Peace, Anjallah,” he hastily said, interrupting Leeu’s end of phrase. “This abandoned daughter is of no potential harm to us.”

Leeu’s eyes narrowed. “Wha- of course not!” An irritated sigh. “Is there even the slightest, most infinitesimal chance that that huge head of yours might one day burst? I’m here to help you, you big knob. Besides, what chances of survival would I have, when I’m all alone with a crappy reputation hanging over my head and fifty or so of the planets most virile and well-trained men observing my every move?”

“Trying to help me, are you?” Ardeth sniffed.

“For God’s sake- yes.”

“What would you do about the supplies?”

The question surprised her. “Well- uh, I’d do what you did. Send for the nearest productive village instead of calling for help amongst the other Medjai tribes, who could see you as weakened by a lack of self-sufficiency.” It sounded false. But Ardeth didn’t even tell her what he thought of that.

“And for the scouts?”

They had encountered unaccounted-for travelers in the desert just recently. “I’d meet the strangers. Make no moves for capturing them. Ask their business. Then, dismiss myself from their presence, bid them a fair journey, before eclipsing myself and following them from an invisible distance.”

“Why?”

“Because, you damned Medjai and your secrecy have already kicked me in the ass enough times for me to understand your main principles. See all and never be seen.”

“And if the strangers were running a foul business?”

“Then they’d slip out of existence faster than ice cubes out there in your desert.”

“And what of women’s rights?”

He was testing her. Throwing question after question at her, not seeking coherence or orderliness. Just to see if she could truly pay attention, if she still had enough good ideas for that scimitar to waylay its visit to her throat.

But, she was getting annoyed. Her eyes were getting narrower by the minute.

“The fuck d’you think I care about women’s rights!?” she barked, exasperated- her remark somehow drew a rare smile from her interlocutor’s glum expression.

“Forgive me the thoughtless question. I had forgotten your mind worked on purely masculine ethics.”

“All the better to counter your damn pansy way of thinking,” the viper bit out at him, crossing her arms over her imposing bosom.

“I have simply acquired balance. You, on the other hand, are like a thread burning on both extremities. You will let yourself be guided by some untrustworthy instinct that is nevertheless your own, and shun all other possibilities.” Maybe he took pleasure in taking lunges at her pride? Whatever this was all for, it only succeeded in irritating her. “It is evident in the way you fight.”

“Psh,” she huffed. “Let’s all build psychologies based on how one maneuvers his sword.”

“Psychologies are built on a great number of things. I find that one’s character can be most accurately defined in his reaction to danger.” Ardeth’s eyebrow was teasing her, bobbing as he spoke, and she found that around him stirred a dark cloud of something resembling authority and power, seemingly manifesting itself the most when he was truly in his element: this cloud of something seemed to be growing larger and larger, all of a sudden becoming more oppressive- and then she realized he was simply coming closer to her, step by felt step. She wondered a little egotistically if she had had this sort of effect on her men, back when they were still alive, Allah forgive her- and then she hadn’t even had the time to finish smothering that stray thought when Ardeth’s hand seemed to draw a flash of silver light in a perfect, skyward arch, coming her way- she had nowhere to go, save back, and in a mindless explosion of reflex she tripped backwards to avoid the blow that would’ve probably sliced her skull in two neat halves- her hand flew out and her fingers caught on the low table at her left, taking down the maroon cloth that covered it and the little empty oil-lamp ontop of it, making a mess as she fell.

She would’ve wanted to catch a breath to be able to yell at him, ask him what the hell he was doing, but she didn’t have the time to do even that- his hand was painting new kaleidoscopes of white light in the air, just skimming her hair as she rolled at his feet to avoid the scimitar’s deadly bite; she heard the nurse’s shrill little yelp of surprise and terror, and she could only think, ‘Yeah, same here’ as her head thudded in her ears at an African drummer’s pace.

Once she was done trying to discard her primitive fear and surprise and get herself in hand as her father had taught her when faced by an ambush, her eyes automatically started combing the floor for a weapon of some sort- finding none, which was pretty obvious since they were in an infirmary; she finally abandoned herself to the rhythm of her pulsating instinct and lunged at Ardeth’s legs, letting rip a yell of effort as her shoulder took on his knee with a shattering force- his entire leg bent as she leaned into it and he used her loss of stability to extract his leg from her grip in one elegant little leap. She took this chance to hop back up onto her feet, turning to face him with an inhuman grunt, her chest quivering and her arms out at the ready, fingers twitching in the absence of a proper weapon.

He had backed out into the street now, and was smiling ironically at her, his eyes dark and his mouth particularly grim even as he invited her to take him on.

“Unlearnt in the ways of hand-to-sword combat, are we?” he laughed without a trace of humour, “And it thought it could oppose me in skill and knowledge!”

Rage thoughtlessly ravaged her veins, making her insides buzz. “I can oppose you in anything I want,” she growled, taking a mammoth step forwards and from there running outright towards him to tear him down with her bare hands and nails; “bastard- didn’t I prove that by succeeding in making you into a sniveling, bloodied wreck after a measly couple of weeks?”

The same angry red ink soaked Ardeth’s otherwise ebony-hued eyes, and he easily threw her off with a menacing swipe of his scimitar, before containing his urge to slice her into pork ribbons (which wasn’t actually his intention, as hard as it was to believe) and spinning around in the middle of the sandy street, devouring the distance between that wandering horse and himself with gluttonous strides; he launched himself into the air, landing on his stomach onto its sleek back just as it was taking off in surprise, then heaving up his leg so that he was straddling it properly, grasping a tuft of mane in his swordless hand.

Using only body weight and natural focus, the Med-jai bent the frightened animal to his will and turned it around so he was facing Leeu, who stood there on the street with her eyes on the village men who had started to gather around the tents, wondering what had overcome their chieftain. She took in bare, tattooed chests, long sashes and robes of purple, dark red, black; a lot of the men had particularly long hair, shining black and suave as satin. And practically all of them had ivory or wooden hilts tucked in their sashes, belts, shoes, even- she tried to decipher in their faces which ones would hand her a weapon to defend herself with if she asked for one.

“You proved something with that abysmal kidnapping affair of yours, did you?” Ardeth yelled hoarsely from atop his rather skitterish horse, quite clearly beside himself with anger and, it seemed, every single emotion he’d carefully hidden beneath lids that had finally become too much to handle. “You proved that you could bring back from the dead a queen that you assumed was completely insane- the only thing you proved with that was that you utterly, revoltingly disrespected the ancient Egyptians and their gods, blessed may they remain- you proved that your little ways of thinking by obsessive induction took all the wrong turns possible- you proved that you could strip all dignity from whomsoever you choose, and so declare yourself a strong, experienced and wise enough person to do so, when that is absolutely not the case, and far, far from it- you proved nothing, nothing save that you have not a shred of respect for anything, and that victory, for you, is running down those whom you appropriately weaken beforehand- you call this wisdom, you cowardly wretch?”

His horse was jumping on the spot and throwing forth its front legs, impatient, feeling the yearn for violence of his rider and wanting to escape from between the legs of such a demon- so when Ardeth finally leaned forward, pitching his body weight in such a way as to encourage the animal onward, it sank its hind hooves deep into the sand and sprang forth, bounding into a frenzied gallop, heading straight for Leeu’s stricken figure.

The woman watched as this enraged duo came speeding down the street; in her wide eyes reflected a whirl of sand that the horse’s hooves kicked up, its bobbing head as it snorted with each exhalation, coming ever nearer, threatening to completely trample her if neither of them altered their course. She could only think, sword, I need a sword- she’d only think of moving after she had one of those beautifully carved ivory hilts pressed in her palm.

She looked at the line of cross-armed men who were standing on the side of the street, some of them with their mouths open in a boyish expression of awe and wonder, others simply eyeing her with stony indifference.

Her eyes narrowed. She wouldn’t plead. If such was her fate, to be trampled, then so be it- if, however, she was meant to live thanks to the mercy of some blessed black-clad warrior here, then that was the way things would be. Her father had ever tried to tame her rebellious side, anyway- which was why, later on, she would feel the full force of the sting Ardeth’s words had inflicted; since childhood, her father had always tried to get her to bear the utmost respect toward anything that required as much. And to disobey her father… to know her actions would’ve disappointed him… that was the one and only thing in the entire world that could have a real impact on her.

But not right now. There was a horse in her field of vision and a line of stoic men to her right, and a whirring cloud of sand threatening to be her grave- and she refused to cheat Fate, not again, not now that she finally understood the consequences.

Her breathing hitched.

I know what I’m doing, damnit.

xxx

“Alex, have you seen your mother?”

Rick’s voice resonated in the corridor, rebounding on the sculpted banister and wide, mahogany shelves that lined the walls. Alexander finished dragging his school shoes to the couch before kicking the damned things off and letting his backpack drop heavily onto the cushions, heaving a sigh of irritation.

“She is in. The darned. Library. God, dad, she’s your wife before my mother, so technically I shouldn’t be the one who knows all her hiding places,” the ten-year-old shouted up the stairs, jogging around the couch to get to the kitchen door, knowing that he’d find Sierra sitting on the table, swaying her legs and waiting for him to arrive.

“Where’s my little sister?” he was crooning in a sing-song voice, as though chasing after a cat, and he burst into the kitchen with a bellow worthy of a certain ancient High Priest, scaring the living daylights out of the little Arabic girl, who let loose a shrill scream before dropping down from the table and running around to hide in a cupboard- the empty one on the corner, that Evy had ransacked on that terrible night when so many wine bottles had been sacrificed. The little girl slammed the door shut to conceal herself, making such a racket that, in a normal situation, she would’ve made Evy jump three metres in the air, an entire storey and a couple of extra rooms ahead.

The library was upstairs: it wasn’t very big, smaller than an office, and in the beginning it had been some kind of walk-in closet that they’d transformed into a room with the walls completely covered in books. One would have to sit on the clutter of cushions on the floor to read, leaning one of the big ones against the shelves to be more comfortable. They’d tried to be a bit original, seeing as all the luxury and velvet-covered chairs were getting a little monotone. And seeing as Evy had gotten used to sitting on the floor by now, (and just wanted to feel those old sensations again), it was with particular affection that she’d greeted the library upon coming home; she spent most of her time there, now.

At first, no one really spoke to her, afraid to trigger some silent spell or strange, forced ways of acting on her part, and also giving her a bit of time to herself out of understanding. But Rick, being an impatient fellow, could hardly contain himself any longer when the end of the first week home arrived; he started invading her privacy without really meaning to disturb her- he had good intentions, she knew, but then he didn’t really understand how she balked at the thought of falling asleep against him, or kissing him, or even looking at him in the eye properly. She was aware that it hurt him beyond her imagining when she turned her head a fraction so he’d miss his kiss, or when she answered his implicit questions with soft, sad smiles.

She made efforts… she truly did… but then, if the slightest awkward thing happened, she’d think to herself that her efforts were futile anyway, and she was exhausting herself for nothing; and then she’d shut herself up in the library, poring over the books she used to read in her childhood that she’d lovingly preserved, more for herself than for Alex, though she didn’t admit that to anyone.

How is this done?

How can I simply live like I used to?

Must I erase everything from my memory- which some have said is entirely possible- and try to lead the old life again?

Oh… but she didn’t… didn’t want to erase anything. That was the problem- though she was constantly trying to find different reasons, more complex explanations that she knew, deep down, didn’t really exist. It was a question of personal choice, and her choice was, keep them. Keep the memories. It’s so easy to forget, to bury events, to try and stitch a new skin over the beautiful wound… but she knew that, if ripped, the pain would be the death of her.

And who on this living Earth would want to bury such a beautiful… beautiful-

The door handle gave a brass whine as it turned, and Evy was jolted out of her endless cycle of thoughts, sitting there on the cushions with a book in her lap, open on the same pages as it had been for the last two hours- she twisted her spine around to see the intruder’s face as he came in, knowing full well who it was and dreading the coming moment. Her heart was pounding anxiously, and she hated to worry so, to feel such reluctance whenever she saw her husband.
“Evy?” Rick stuck his head through the door, looking down at her with a carefully constructed blank mask on his face. She gave him a wide, toothy smile that made her cheeks crease and her eyes glitter fondly. Oh, what a master she was at this make-belief- she wondered if that was a feat she’d developed herself, or if it was another of Nefertiri’s stains.

“Hello,” she purred, wanting not only for him to believe in that love in her voice, but for her to start believing in it, too. She had to change. She wanted to change. Whenever Rick arrived, that was what tortured her- the need for her entire mind to back-pedal on itself and come back to the old way of thinking, that well-being, for God’s sake. But, as soon as he left… it was a never-ending cycle. She would smell incense and feel dark eyelashes mingling with her own, a fictive breath stealing across her lips… oh, Christ. It was much easier to convince herself that she’d acted horribly when Rick was around to make her yearn for change- and though she sought solitude above all else so as not to make trouble in the harmony of the family, it was solitude that made her feel most on edge; her thoughts ran in hopeless circles, and she balked at everything, distracting herself only to kill time, as if she were waiting, waiting… for some opportunity, some chance, some darned hammer to strike this luxurious life- some kind of event that would make the Sahara desert her only choice of destination; because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Choices. Which was bad, which was good- according to whom, and with what consequences, and, Jesus, she was out of her mind with thoughts and frets and even when she was a teenager she didn’t think she’d been so preoccupied. That dark stranger who stole into her dreams… he remained absent from her life. And, as much as she had wanted to meet him in those days, it had probably been much better that way.

Rick smiled down at her, and when she glimpsed through his glass mask and saw the hesitance he was trying to cover up, she put down her book without even bothering to mark the page and got to her feet, stumbling over the piles of cushions and falling against him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Gods, woman, won’t you change already? This is a wonderful man you’re holding…

“I haven’t seen you all day, hon,” Rick murmured into her hair, soothed by her behaviour, though he was constantly on edge, too. “You haven’t been cooped up in here since this morning, have you?” When she didn’t answer, he slid his hands up to grasp her shoulders and force her to look up at him. “Tell me you ate while I was out, Evy.”

He had taken up his work at the gunsmith antiquary a few days after they’d gotten back to London, having to sign all sorts of papers and make up all sorts of excuses to win back his job; he only won it back because not many others were as passionate as him when it came to ancient guns and the immense care they required. Taking the things apart as cautiously as possible and cleaning each part separately helped to take his mind off his wife, and this complicated situation they were in. Every time he saw her, she seemed glad to see him, but… there was this strange reluctance that she somehow managed to erase after the first few moments, but that he still noticed. And he didn’t like it when certain things came between him and his wife that only she was aware of.

The dinner table was shining with porcelain and crystal, interlacing roses on blood-coloured stems decorating the tablecloth, the dim light flowing warmly from the lit candles, perched like great wax birds with dripping wings on their twisting candelabras.

Evelyn sighed, and it sounded like contentment if it weren’t for the look in her eyes as she nested her chin in her hands. She watched Rick and Alex eating up the meal she’d spend several hours preparing; they complimented her on the food, jested playfully between themselves, talked of school and this and that and mummies, as usual.

As usual…

The setting was like that of a fairy tale: stereotypical, clichéd. Some called it ‘the Happy Families syndrome’, to yearn for something entirely different after several years of confinement with the same men, the same decorations, the same rooms and staircases bearing their respective memories, painful or no.

But that wasn’t it… Evy’s eyes were vague, the candlelight slicking the smile on her lips as she melted further into her reverie. The shadows had broad shoulders- in the corner of the cozy dining room there was the flutter of a midnight robe, an imaginary glint of an eye, tattooed fingers tracing patterns on the wall.

She hadn’t noticed that Rick and Alex had been silent for a while, her son playing with his food, her husband kneading his forehead with his fingers, hiding his gaze from her even though she wasn’t looking.

xxx

“What’s happening?” murmured the man. “Why isn’t she moving?”

“I think she’s waiting for some action on our part,” responded a shorter warrior who stood to the other’s man’s right. He had a slightly admiring look in his yellowish, globular eyes, and he followed the movements of Leeu’s sleek black limbs as she stepped backwards hesitantly, helpless against the fury of the galloping horseman.

“What kind of action do you mean?” asked the first man. He saw the shorter man flex his fleshy fingers over the hilt that stuck up from his belt, and his eyes widened. “You’re not going to…help her?”

There was a general murmur amongst the lined-up men, so Leeu couldn’t quite discern what they were saying. The shorter man gave his interlocutor a glance that meant a million things at once, before according him a bizarre smile.

“I believe it is on her that depends the sanity of our chieftain, right now, and I believe Allah would want her to be given a chance against his wrath.”

Before any further speech could ensue, the hilt had flown from its resting place, and Leeu’s head just had the time to snap to the right, eyes focusing on the spinning object- her hand shot out, grabbed it out of the air, and she jumped aside, leaving the space clear for the horse’s hooves to cleave through. Her free hand grasped Ardeth’s leg as it passed at her eye-level, and then she was dragging him down, but he’d been expected that, so he came down ontop of her and managed to throw an arm around her shoulders so that they both went rolling down onto the floor, each trying to get their weapons out of harm’s way.

Casting a foot into the sand, Ardeth pushed himself up angrily after disentangling himself from Leeu, and then just as she pulled up her legs to bounce back on her feet he brought his blade down on her, demoniacal rage lighting his facial features with a vigour that none had seen before, and that none had really been ready to witness- except his current opponent, who had always known this moment would come. Relying on her reflexes as always, Leeu swept his attack off of her, before rising to take on his spinning attack with as much grace and efficiency as always; Ardeth was insane, and though his very heart seemed to have exploded into smithereens, he still had enough sense left in him to know when to turn, when to counter, when to fall back and side-step; all of which he effortlessly executed, knowing at the same time that Leeu was not to be harmed.

This wore on for what seemed like a gap in Time itself, both furies advancing down the street in an animated fencing match, black and maroon robes and ribbons outlining their pirouettes and hurried side-steps, eyes constantly burning into each other- it seemed like their bodies were revolving on themselves like planets in complete revolution, and all that really connected them was the thread that held between their eyes like an impossible scaffolding and the sweet white kisses their scimitars exchanged between their bodies.

Ardeth knocked her down at some point- they’d come to the empty marketplace, and by now they’d attracted quite the crowd; essentially children and young couples who came to see what all this racket was about. The elders knew their young chief had been on edge for a while, and that this was a just let-out of the demons that had been breeding inside of him for much too long. If it had been seen as something unjust- this fight- then of course they’d have been stopped. On the contrary, the wiser warriors knew what it was to endure suffering that would’ve destroyed lesser men, and they knew that if anything, this fight would simply justify the ferocity of their chieftain, doing wonders to the place he occupied in the children’s minds, and the respect he had earned from the older residents.

Leeu’s head came down hard onto the sand, and her entire brain seemed to shake in its bone walls- she brought her sword up to her neck to defend herself when the Med-jai chieftain dropped down onto her, straddling her hips and clashing his blade against her own so that both tips touched the ground, their kiss giving birth to brilliant golden sparks.

“I hope you know this is the only reward you really deserved since you began playing with the Gods,” he breathed, trembling so hard as they each struggled to counter the other’s blade weight that his face was only an inch or so from hers, raven strands of hair brushing her forehead, and her hot breath scathing his lips as she panted harder than she would’ve allowed herself in normal circumstances.

“Allah,” she spat, glaring up at him, “if you think I was expecting any reward from you other than to have you scream and writhe for me, you were obviously mistaken-”

“Oh, but you obtained that, didn’t you?” Ardeth growled, leaning his full weight on his blade so that it dramatically neared her neck, “I suppose you never had such thrill in your life than when you had me on my knees, bound up, unarmed, whilst you went in circles with depraved insults that gradually became as senseless as your whiplashes, uncoordinated, clumsy, so lacking pain that it became almost comical to see you believe in your antics so-”

“Oh, yes, so lacking pain that I had you bleeding and restraining screams- but you never did like being the- the-” And with an inhuman effort, she pushed him back, letting rip a bestial growl of strength as she rolled ontop of him, so that their positions were reversed; it was her straddling him, with their blades at his neck. “the fucking victim- oh but you know, I don’t give two shits what you do to me now, now that you’ve relieved me of that desire I had to see you crawl at my feet- you, chieftain, lovesick weakling-”

The warrior for God’s lips curled over his teeth, and he gave an animalistic grunt as he pushed against her, making her topple backwards, leaping at her throat with his bare hands, discarding his sword and rolling in the sand with her shining chocolate limbs thrashing around him, her weapon lying somewhere in the sand too.

“I, the weakling- the one who bettered your fool of a father in all the ways you could ever imagine-” He was hissing into her ear-

“They exiled him because they were afraid!” Leeu hissed right back, letting slip a cry of pain as his hand dug painfully into her waist as he tried to get a stronger grip of her; her thighs were half around his waist and she had her fingers up and down the fabric that covered his torso; she could hardly feel what started where and where the ends were, and she wasn’t even sure if this pure hate was really coherent, if it was just influence, the result of his mindless rancor rubbing off on her.

“Afraid, woman?” Ardeth barked a laugh, so dry and humourless that it almost scraped her ears to hear him utter it, “Afraid he might take his pagan views of the world and drag us all down with his graceless, power-hungry leadership? I suppose you’re right.”

He had come atop her again, towering over her in the sand, one gritty hand wrapped around her neck- fingers pressing against her strong jawbone, palm on her pulse point. His delirious eyes sought out the fear in hers as she looked up at him, her plump lips parted and her lithe hands holding onto his wrists in vice-like grips that gradually eased as she realized he wasn’t putting much force into his throttling affair.

“They were afraid of his ideas, that much is true,” she whispered in a voice mixed with velvet and venom, stubbornly holding his gaze, “But he was born of the same tribe as you. He fed from the same blessed midwife bosoms as you. Isn’t there some kind of fraternal bond between the men of this culture? Did you feel it was your duty, or was it on a simple whim that you showed him such fraternal love when you fucking slit his throat?”

Ardeth’s mind was whirring. He thought he was going to kill her- this woman he held between his hands and thighs, this trembling nymph of burnt bronze skin, with eyes like black fire and that wretched forked tongue he’d come to know so well. But, nevertheless, as he watched her struggling silently, with dignity, against his hold, her words seemed to seep past the fog of his anger and confusion; he saw again, the days before teenage-hood, when he was receiving his training to become chieftain along with the other boys of the tribe who were of age and competence to put themselves to the test. He saw again, that grand, bulky adolescent with golden rings hanging from his lobes and that sly smile folding up his bulbous lips, white ivory in black palms flying like wingless birds during their practice sessions. The arrogance of those tender ages… it seemed that it had lasted through the years, though dimmed somewhat, and their boyish competitiveness had come in the way of common sense and, most importantly, honour.

The sombre man had never thought it over. A slice across the stomach, a slice across the neck. And then, he had practically tripped over the red-clad body as it lay in the rain of the tropical forest, throat becoming a geyser of blood and eyes bulging grotesquely.

Leeu watched him hatefully, a scowl crumpling her voluptuous features.

“Dishonour, eh? You spoke of me not being able to respect anything, and yet, have you even looked at yourself?”

His mind snapped. It was too much- just then, just there, she’d crossed the line. His hand flew, ripples rode cruelly over the glittering black of her cheek as she took the blow to the face, her head thrown aside with the force of his punch. She thought she tasted blood once she regained full awareness, and then suddenly she realized his weight was slipping off her, his legs sliding over her hipbones as he let himself fall to the side, rolling onto the sand beside her and panting outright, eyes squeezed shut against the burning sun and hands hanging feebly in the air, elbows digging into the sand by his sides.

They stayed like that for several minutes, regaining their breaths and wits, staring up sightlessly at the too-bright sky.

He was the first to swallow, to strum coherent life into his vocal chords.

“Look at us,” he said bitterly, ending with a short, mocking laugh. “Wretches. Sightless, vengeance-seeking little children.”

“Does it feel familiar?” Leeu asked him, and his laugh renewed itself.

“In many different ways, yes.”

He was so very aware of this woman lying in the sand beside him, limbs slicks with perspiration, ribcage trembling, so beautifully black against the whitened sand, so alike her father… the man he’d always held in high regard, even though now- twenty-five or so years later, he realized that he’d been jealous of the black man’s independent mind. His modern way of thinking. So very interesting and new, and intelligent, nonetheless.

He’d never felt remorse for the way he had killed the man- and perhaps the Gods had punished him for being so careless, and had sent this vituperative creature as a punishment, or perhaps as a reminder to rectify his mistake.

All this… because of his arrogance, his selfish desire for leadership, and his enormous self-confidence that had enabled him to step up as high as he’d come.

Perhaps it was a good thing that Allah had sent this creature to put his mind right again… this certainly wasn’t the way of the Medjai. Such jealousy and hatred among the adolescent men of the tribe wasn’t normal- wasn’t right.

He hadn’t even realized that he’d started laughing, hysterically no doubt, at his own blatant ridiculousness. The way of the Medjai. He’d encouraged the elders to exile Lock-Nah, when both were eighteen, adversaries in the very last exercises that would determine who would claim the right to become the next chieftain in line- he’d always wanted to prove himself, after all, but that was hardly an excuse. He’d lost many, many of his men in the fight against the Anubis warriors, thanks to his clumsy war-making abilities. He’d bedded a woman whose soul belonged to another… a man to whom he owned many debts that he was far from repaying.

And, this woman…you should feel regret for having taken her- yet you feel regret for letting her leave!

He was Ardeth Bey, leader of the twelfth tribe of the Medjai. And he was lying here in the sand, pitiful, pitiful, burdened by so many mistakes of the past that refused to let him go, burdened by feelings that he should’ve long since gotten rid of, for the sake of the entities he held dear…

“Stop laughing, man. The children are scared out of their right minds at the mere sight of you.”

He opened his eyes a crack, noticing that the glare of the sun was refracted into a thousand painful shards through the tears that had gathered on the raw thresholds of his eyes. Leeu was crouching beside him, staring down at him, and once she saw she had his attention, she extended an arm, offering to help him up.

He took her entire forearm as though she were a man, and then she heaved him up with such effort that they both staggered when they were on their feet again, leaning against each other like drunkards and tripping over the sand. A great clamour arose from the groups of children who had been holding their breaths, and they ran around laughing shrilly and grabbing at the hems of the adults’ robes; those who were still present, sitting in groups in the sand or simply in the doorways of their tents, watching their chieftain and his old enemy do their awkward business.

“How’s your face?” Ardeth grunted as he caught Leeu around the waist, hoisting her up and pressing her against his side as though he was helping a wounded soldier back on his feet. The woman gave a snort.

“How’s yours?”

“I shouldn’t have struck you. It wasn’t proper.”

Leeu thought she’d have burst out laughing at that, if her throat hadn’t been twisted up like a scrap metal pipe a few minutes ago.

“I suppose I should’ve said the same thing after flogging you,” she sneered, “‘Oh, sorry darling. It wasn’t very gracious of me to rip the skin off your backbone.’”

“Those scars are going to stay for the rest of my sojourn on this Earth, you know.” Ardeth tried not to kick the little children away from his legs as they scuttled around them in an exhilarant mob. “I suppose I should thank you for that- it makes me look more…”

“Convincing?” Leeu tried to fill in for him. They’d come to his tent- he shoved her inside after unwinding her arm from around his shoulders, not even bothering to be more gentle about it because she was a woman- to him, she was just as solid and capable as one of his fellow warriors, so he saw no reason as to why he’d give her some exceptional treatment. And besides, she’d done more than prove to him that he didn’t have to be careful when handling her at all.

“Well, seeing as you’ve reduced me to skin and bones, I suppose a few scars make me look less pathetically frail,” he said bitterly, going over to the pottery jar of water that stood behind the low table, lined up against the rug-covered wall amongst the jars of dried foods and various riches. He took off the lid, dipping a bowl into its contents and coming back around to set the water-filled bowl on the table, taking up a rag and soaking it in the cool water. Leeu hadn’t waited for permission to pull aside a chair and let herself fall into it, right next to where Ardeth was standing, bent over the side of the table with the wet rag in his hands. He turned to the woman and, after a moment’s pause where both just stared at each other without quite knowing which eyes to put on, he chucked the rag unceremoniously at her and proceeded to washing his hands and face with the bowl.

Leeu brought the rag to her swollen cheek, and they both cleared themselves up for a few minutes, the only sound being the general outdoor bustle and the gentle plopping of water droplets as they dripped from Ardeth’s beard back into the bowl.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, being together in the same tent and being fully aware of their new state as firm allies- but it sure was strange. Here was a man who Leeu had whipped and abused of- here was a woman that Ardeth had beat to a pulp. And yet, it seemed as though they had long months of collaboration ahead of them, if the tribe still accepted Leeu in its confines after all she’d done.

It was almost amusing. After all that had happened, all the distress, the scheming, the blood, the fear…

“You missed a spot,” the warrior told her, pointing to a spot of blood that was incrusted in a delicate fold of skin on her eyelid. She couldn’t quite scrape it off, so Ardeth impatiently wrestled the rag from her and, ignoring her indignant huff, tenderly wiped off the little crimson stain.

He lingered in front of her seated figure for a little while, the rag hanging in his fingers, her chin in the air as she contemplated his face curiously.

What a strange sentiment, hate is… it comes like a vicious fire, and once its purpose is abolished, there is naught left of it but ashes from which are free to bloom all sorts of different feelings that are strange and new.

Neither of them had lost enough pride to start apologizing to the other just yet. But, somehow, as their gaze wore on, each understood what the other didn’t explain in words. Ardeth’s eyes were on the dark crevasses that cut up the plum-coloured lips of this viper, and her own eyes were traveling over the rough plains of his face. Neither trying to hide anything anymore.

xxx

Her forehead leaned against the cold glass, breath making a fog on the transparence, her reflection closing its insubstantial eyes. The mummy behind the glass stared at her evenly with its gaping eye sockets, and if one were to trust the tricks of light and rotten bandages, one would’ve thought it had held a compassionate look about its fleshless face.

She couldn’t help feeling like this. It was the never-ending what if, now, making her life a senseless spiral where she couldn’t recognize the ups from the downs and where the steps were invisible to her- only the ground she’d come from stayed in her mind. What if… what if she was wasting her time here, trying to be right about things, trying to revert to the old ways? What if she was wasting a wonderful lifetime as a Sahara nomad with her lover, because she had to admit that’s what he was, with feelings that would be in past and present tense? What if… what if Ardeth ended up falling in love with his fifteen-year-old betrothed? That trollop- that she had never even seen, and yet was allowing herself to judge?

The new curator of the British Museum came up into the storage room where she was currently offering company to the stored dead people who were yet to be displayed, withered antiquities that they’d become. Maybe she’d known these people, for Anubis’ sake- the thought itself revolted her.

“Mrs O’Connell?” the curator gently probed from the doorway where he was standing. “I have dismissed the personnel. You may take your leave also.” He had an attractive accent that added a flick of elegance to each word he pronounced, and all of a sudden she found herself recalling the old curator who had died to save their skins from a crazed mob.

“Mr Gion,” she said as she turned around and pressed her back to the foggy glass, addressing the gentleman a proper smile.

“Mrs O’Connell, if I may, you have not been very well since your coming back from that rather enigmatic sojourn of yours. I hope nothing is disturbing you?” He was so clipped and polite, caring at the same time, though she couldn’t quite work out if it was sincere or gentlemanly etiquette.

“Mr Gion,” she said again, still smiling, though her eyes shone fiercely. “Tell me something- have you ever wondered if there’s some better way that you’re completely missing? Have you ever wondered if you’re completely wasting your time for reasons that are only real at certain times of the day?”

The stiff man gave her a rare chuckle, his carefully trimmed mustache tickling the rosy sliver of his upper lip.

“It’s a deep question that you ask, ma’am. I’m not sure I fully understand where you’re coming from; I never doubted much, I never let myself clouded by other possibilities, because they’re always there, just around the corner- there’s always a better way of doing things, just like there’s a worse way of doing them, but your choices are of no rank; they are neither more right than wrong. They are simply yours.”

Evelyn bowed her head a little, trying to fish herself out of the well of thought he’d just plunged her into.

“…thank you for the insight. That’s a very nice way of putting it…”

“Mrs O’Connell,” the curator said carefully, stepping towards her, feeling that there was something wrong with the introvert woman. “If you’ll allow me to say this; there may be times when we are between two towers of rock, knowing that either is a challenge to climb; knowing that once we’ve begun climbing one, it will be all the more difficult to change our minds. My advice is… do not be mindful of the foundations of these towers- do not place your trust in the solidity of their respective roots. It is only in yourself that you must trust- once you have embraced your sentiments, once you’ve found truth… you’ll know. You’ll know which to choose.”

She was searching for some sign of erased tattoos on his cheeks, holding her breath so as to rapturously capture and save each word he uttered.

“Choices in life are, after all, just crooked stepping stones whose paths you must decipher before heading forward. Some learn to fly… whilst others are brave enough to try keeping them under their feet. Only those who don’t blame the stones for their mistakes find the paths that were destined to be their own.”

…Once Evelyn had left the room with a respectful “Mr Gion” and a swift smile, the curator straightened his tie and passed two fingers over a wayward strand of his longish hair that had escaped from his ponytail. He turned on his heel and exited the room after distractedly looking it over, closing the door behind him and turning the key in the lock.

His heart was pounding. Such pain mingled with the wonder he’d seen in that woman’s eyes… such an old look about her eyes, as if she’d seen it all, lived through lifetimes of pleasures and horrors and somehow survived it, only to drift in the now with her eyes cast behind her, not quite knowing how to keep going.

A British man in a stylish, mayonnaise-coloured suite came to him in the corridor as he was shutting off the lights and locking the doors- he turned around, still pondering that look, those eyes that he knew would not leave him even when he went home to his wife. He smiled at the British man, a friendly face whose fist contained treasures as he held it out. The curator look one look at the Brit’s outstretched fist, before waving a hand in polite decline.

“Thank you very much, but no- this is not something that concerns money.”

The Brit didn’t get it; this man had accepted to help him, and have Evelyn listen to someone who wasn’t family now that none of the family men knew how to say what they wanted her to understand. He raised an eyebrow, before pocketing the money and fondly slapping the curator on the back.

“You have my most sincere gratitude, old chap,” the Brit said, and he accompanied the curator to the Museum’s main doors, his hand lingering on the curator’s sizeable shoulder blade. His eyes were keen; his gait rather light compared to the last weeks.

This might just work! She might decide to stay…

The faithful brother didn’t know just what impact that night had had on his dear sister. Some things are just like that, sometimes… entire lives based on single moments that don’t seem to make much difference on the spot, but whose consequences gradually come to surface.

All he wanted was for her to confide in him again, to open her eyes a bit, to take herself out of that muck that was still sticking to her skin; muck that, to her, must’ve resembled glitter and gold. Where was his pompous old mum, the one that chided him and nagged him and actually cared enough to make a fuss out of the slightest thing- the Evelyn he’d known since babyhood, for Chrissakes! He wouldn’t let anything hollow out the slightest distance between them- and if he had been helpless as their little adventure had hollowed out a sea between her and all those who weren’t part of her ancient life, he certainly wouldn’t stand idly by when he had all the tools to build a bridge over the great gap.

Had it really all come down to him to stitch the family back together…? How amusing… they’d never really counted on him, and up to this day, he was sure no one really did- but it didn’t matter if no one noticed his efforts. As long as the results were there, and entire lives were bettered, what did it matter?

He didn’t even stop by the twenty-two houses of the women he was currently engaged with on his way back home- and his eyes didn’t even flicker when he crossed the dark tavern where he went to gamble and drink with men he didn’t know upon coming in, and who became his drunken friends-for-life upon coming out.

There was a mess, and if no one had enough motivation to move their asses, then he’d start booting them into action, for God’s sake. Ah, Jonathan. When this’ll all be over, they’ll still have all the wrong ideas about you. Too bad!