The Forever Friends
by LadiSwan

Summary: Evy's American penpal arrives in Egypt with her young daughter and younger brother.  But as she sets foot on Egyptian soil, she becomes haunted by dreams of a past life, of a handsome prince, a young concubine, and the concubine's best friend. . .a beautiful girl named 'Anck-su-namun.'  As an ancient evil arises once more, Anck-su-namun finds herself in a Place-in-Between, and while there, she also discovers a chance at redemption. . .if she can look past Ardeth Bey's Med-jai markings.

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After O'Connell and Evelyn's new guest was placed in her temporary room, Ardeth returned downstairs to find his younger brother still playing with Miranda Ferguson.  The chieftain held back, allowing O'Connell and his wife to go first.  It, in turn, allowed him to watch from the safety of the stairway.  Ardeth had given up wishing things had been different many, many years earlier.  He enjoyed spending time with his nieces and nephews, when he had the time.  He didn't always have that time.

Perhaps that was why he took such pleasure in the antics of Alex O'Connell and Miranda Ferguson.  When he was in the village with his sisters and their children, he was often called away by business.  Here, he had more freedom.  That made Ardeth pause.  Freedom.  He had never really allowed himself to think of it that way.  More like a moment of tranquility, before the next problem arose, whether it was He Who Shall Not Be Named or something else.

But there was a freedom here, a strange kind of freedom.  Among these people, with O'Connell and Evelyn, he did not need to be the Med-jai chieftain.  It was a strange sort of friendship, especially since it sometimes seemed to all of them that they only saw each other when there was a crisis of some kind.  Usually, a crisis of the apocalyptic variety; in which case, O'Connell was rarely pleased to see him. 

That was not the case this time.  A smile tugged at Ardeth's mouth, as he remembered his initial indignation when he realized his younger brother had tricked him into taking a holiday.  He would have to keep an eye on Anatol.  Especially since the younger brother had managed to not only get him to Cairo before revealing that he would be free of his responsibilities for two full weeks, he also told the O'Connell family before Ardeth himself knew.  The elder brother grinned to himself.  Yes, he would most assuredly keep an eye on that boy!

And Anatol wasn't the only one.  Ardeth knew Evelyn Carnahan O'Connell well enough to realize she was plotting something.  It wasn't necessary to be the chieftain of the Med-jai tribe to realize what sort of something she was plotting. . .and that he had something to do with it.  Ardeth's instinct was that Evy was planning to play matchmaker between himself and her American friend, Celia.

He should have been angry.  He was so accustomed to the attempts of his people to marry him to one of the beauties of his tribe, or one of the other tribes.  Strangely enough, his mother and sisters never attempted such a thing.  In fact, neither of his sisters, Acacia nor Aleta, liked any of the women in their tribe as a proposed wife for him.  Most of the unmarried women were their friends. . .but both of his sisters told him rather bluntly that they wanted better for him than a woman who was only interested in the prestige of being married to the chieftain.

Perhaps that was why Evy's matchmaking didn't bother him as much.  Evy O'Connell was trying to assess the compatibility between him and her friend.  Not for the prestige, but because she loved Ardeth as she loved Jonathan. . .and Celia as she would have loved a sister.  She wanted to see them both happy.  The trouble was, Ardeth didn't know if he was capable of making any woman happy.  It was not easy, being the wife of the Med-jai chieftain.

He knew, among the Europeans, he would have been called a king or a prince, and his wife would thus be a queen among their people.  That was the problem with Evy's attempts right there.  Celia Ferguson was a Westerner. . .an outsider.  The Med-jai weren't necessarily a closed society. . .they were protective of what was theirs, and Ardeth knew the ramifications of bringing an outsider into the tribe as a bride.  He hadn't met a woman who was strong enough to handle such pressure. . . nor could he imagine subjecting a woman he claimed to love to such an ordeal.

Which wasn't to say, of course, that he loved Celia Ferguson.  He barely knew her.  Although. . .what he did know of her. . .it seemed to him that she was strong, a strength she didn't even know she possessed.  It took strength to keep moving forward after such a betrayal.  And it took strength to raise the daughter left to her by that betrayal with such love and patience.  Ardeth realized that Anatol questioned why she allowed her brother to treat her in such a way, but the leader of the Med-jai thought he understood.

When he saw a spark of rage in her eyes, he also saw how quickly it was snuffed out.  Oh, the rage was still there. . .but Celia feared that rage.  Feared what she could do if she was angry enough, and Ardeth had been raised by a woman very much like the woman whom Evy O'Connell had become.  He knew about the sort of damage a woman could do to a man. . .both physically and mentally.  She was afraid of her rage, and of going too far.  Of hurting her brother.

He respected her for that. . .and feared for her at the same time.  One day, that barrier which protected her younger brother from her fury would be breached.  It was just a matter of time.  Ardeth knew this, as well as he knew anything in his life.  Perhaps it would be a wise idea if he aided her in learning to control that fury, instead of pushing it aside.  He knew that if he did that, he would be inviting further intervention from Evy.

But at the same time, he knew his attempts to aid Celia Ferguson could also save many lives, quite possibly his own.  It was well worth the risk of Evy's matchmaking, the Ferguson boy's dark looks, and teasing from O'Connell.  What concerned him now was his younger brother.  Anatol seemed rather taken with her, perhaps seeing only her vulnerability, and not the iron underneath.  He would have to be careful.

He had thought a few moments earlier that by aiding Celia Ferguson, he could end up saving countless lives, including his own.  It would be a long, long time before he found out just how right he was about that.

.                      .                       .




Anck-su-namun watched in interest, hearing the thoughts of the Med-jai without truly understanding how she was hearing them.  It wasn't important at the moment.  What was important was the Med-jai's decision to help her forever friend channel the rage within her soul.  Anck-su-namun would have laughed if she hadn't still distrusted the Med-jai.  Three thousand years ago, Anck-su-namun had taught Ardath to fight. . .partly to channel her passions until she was Chosen, and partly to make sure her forever friend could protect herself.

Most people had thought Ardath to be sweet, if a bit insipid.  Anck had never made that mistake after the first time the prince met her friend.  They were both fifteen years of age, and one of the children of the Med-jai had been racing to meet his father.  He was all of five years old, and inclined to be excitable, as children that age were.  Anck never had much use for children, but Ardath loved them.

So, when she heard one of the lesser princes growl at the Med-jai child and start to backhand the little boy, Ardath would not stand for it.  She shoved the prince away from the boy, and gathered the little one up into her arms, shielding him with her own body.  It was a crime punishable by death, but the look in Ardath's eyes was anything but fearful.  It was angry and defiant and Anck, for once, was in no position to help her friend.

Just as the lesser prince started to strike Ardath, and the girl tightened her arms protectively around the child, ducking her head over him at the same time, fate intervened.  The prince's hand was caught by Rameses himself.  He was home from the campaigns, looking dirty and sweaty and bloody.  He hadn't yet had the opportunity to wash himself, she learned later, and not particularly amused to find his cousin drawing back his hand to strike a girl of fifteen and a boy of five.  The prince growled out, "What is the meaning of this?  Why would you strike two children who have done nothing to you?"  Up until that point, Anck hadn't seen Rameses.  She was too focused on Ardath and the boy.

But now, seeing an opportunity to save her friend's life, Anck bowed her head to the prince and replied, "My friend shoved him, m'lord, when he attempted to strike the boy."  A dark brow raised as Rameses turned his head to regard his cousin.  Anck had never been able to remember the other man's name.  In truth, she had little use for men in general.  She had little use for people in general, men or women.  Ardath and Imhotep had, in reality, been the only two people whom Anck had ever loved.  And she betrayed them both.

In the years to come, people would speak of Anck's sensuality and grace.  She was beautiful in ways that Ardath was not.  But with her courage that day, her unwillingness to stand by as a child was harmed, Anck's friend had gained the attention of the prince himself.  So strange, how the simplest action could change the entire course of a person's life.  In the centuries and millennia since, Anck had wondered many times what would have happened, if Ardath hadn't taken the actions she did.

It was foolish to wonder, of course.  Ardath took the actions she did because that was whom she was.  Just as Anck took her own course.  Imhotep had ever been amused by the dichotomy from the two women.  He, like so many others, never understood the bond between Anck and Ardath. . .was, in fact, one of many who saw the foreign concubine only as sweet and weak.  It wasn't until the end that he realized just how strong she was.

Just like she was in this lifetime.  She was called 'Celia Ferguson' now, and she was an American.  Like Ardath, she appeared soft and weak, but she had a core of steel within her, and a temper of fire.  Anck had only been observing her reincarnated friend for a short time, but she had quickly come to realize that Celia had been taught to submerge that rage.  Anger was part of being human.  Deny it, and you drive yourself mad.

She heard the Med-jai's voice inside her head.  It is the missing piece of your heart.  If you embrace it, if you accept it, you can do anything.  Anck frowned, not understand why she had heard that.  Not at first at least.  Then she caught sight of Mathayus smiling faintly.  He obviously knew what was going on, but he was most likely waiting for her to figure it out.  He was like Imhotep in that respect.

She fears that part of her, and rightly so.  But unlike Rick O'Connell and his Med-jai heritage, Celia Ferguson has two pieces of her heart which are missing.  First, her memories of being Lady Ardath, concubine to Prince Rameses. . .and second, the acceptance which will allow her to use that rage wisely within herself.  The person who can aid her in the resolution of the second task is the Med-jai, Ardeth Bey, Mathayus said after a moment.

Again, Anck's heart leapt in her breast at the similarity between the name of the Med-jai and the name of her forever friend.  She looked at him.  If he was not Med-jai, she would have found him very pleasing to look at.  He was very tall, about as tall as O'Connell, with black hair which reached just past his shoulders.  But as ever, the tattoos on his face kept her from going too much further with her perusal of his person.  The hatred she had felt for the Med-jai of her time lingered, and was now directed at the young man now considering how he could best help her sister.  She didn't even realize that she had noted Ardeth Bey's youth.

You wonder if there is a link between your sister and this man.  There is.  But now is not the time for you to know that connection.  You must look past those tattoos, Anck-su-namun.  He is your sister's best hope in the days and weeks ahead.  Her brother seeks to awaken a sleeping evil.  The Med-jai, in their grief and guilt, carried out the hom-dai, and thus sentenced their own children to slavery.  But there is another evil, an older evil, which is far more deadly than Imhotep. . .or you. . . could ever hope to be, Mathayus said.

Anck looked at her companion.  Truly, Jason Ferguson was a petty, whining little fool.  But it didn't appear to her that he was truly malicious.  As selfish as Anck knew herself to be, yes.  However, she didn't think it was likely he would ever do the things she had done.  Mathayus continued, I should have said, this evil seeks Jason Ferguson to raise him.  The boy will have no choice.  This is his destiny, just as it is the destiny of Ardeth Bey to face this evil.

For some reason, Anck didn't like the sound of that.  Why, she didn't know.  He was Med-jai.  He had caused her more headaches and heartaches than anyone had since Seti.  And yet, and yet, and yet. . .she couldn't deny that he sought to protect that which was his.  He was trying to protect his people, his family, his world. . .and her sister. Just as, an insidious little whisper told her, you have done.  Perhaps if you had left him alone, left his people, alone. . .he would not have been forced to stand against you.

She wasn't ready to hear that, not yet.  Not after all these millennia.  Not after hearing the desperation in Imhotep's voice as she ran from him.  Mathayus said quietly, So.  You judge the Med-jai for his attempts to protect that which is his, because you failed your lover?  You are not as honest as I thought. Anck glared at the one-time Scorpion King, who just ignored the anger in her eyes, and continued, You seek to blame Ardeth Bey for thwarting your plans, when your plans would have destroyed everyone he ever loved.  Would have destroyed your forever friend.

"What choice did I have?  If destroying the world was the only way Imhotep and I could love in peace, then so be it!" she snarled.  And then she heard the last part of his sentence, and the guilt almost drove her to her knees.  If Ardeth Bey hadn't challenged them. . .she regarded O'Connell as a mere nuisance, as her information told her that he was reluctant to get involved until his wife and son were threatened. . .then she would have once more killed her friend.

What. . .kind. . .of. . .love. . .is. . .that? Mathayus hissed.  Anck looked away.  She wanted to remind him of his choice to sell his soul to Anubis for his life and the ability to conquer his enemies.  She wanted to remind him of the blood he had shed.  But. . .she couldn't.  Because reminding him of what he had done, was no balm for what she had done.  Would have done.  She had loved Ardath so much, and yet she had taken her friend's life. 

The scene changed with a sweep of her companion's hand, and she saw her friend once more dying as she sought to protect her child from the Anubis Warriors who had swept over the world after Imhotep killed the Scorpion King.  She saw little Miranda dying.  And tears poured down her face.  This would have been the fate of so many, if she had gotten her way.  If Ardeth Bey hadn't challenged them, or if he had died before he could help the O'Connells rescue their son.  O'Connell was nothing more than an annoyance. . .Ardeth Bey was the true threat.

The scene changed once more, returning to Ardeth Bey looking pensive as he considered what he should do to help Celia.  Mathayus said quietly, "You must remember what you saw, Anck-su-namum.  Both Ardeth Bey and Rick O'Connell are Med-jai.  They will both be needed, though it's Ardeth's destiny to face your ancient enemy.  And they will need help, because this is something two men cannot do alone.  The question becomes. . .do you have the strength of your forever friend?"  And with those words, the picture changed once more.

.                      .                       .

The sound of laughter echoed through her dreams, and in her mind's eye, she could see two young girls chasing each other around the columns of the palace, playing tag with each other and the beams of sunlight.  They were no more than fifteen years old. . .no longer children, but not truly adults either.  The less graceful of the two tripped on something, and went tumbling down the steps.

Her darker, more exotic looking companion stopped what she was doing, and ran down the stairs after her friend.  It wasn't a long fall, and the stairs weren't particularly steep, but neither fact took away from the fear on the second girl's face.  The first girl was already shaking off the effects of her fall, but the dark girl pushed her down, saying in a language long dead, "No, Ardath, stay still. . .you might have been hurt in the fall!"

Her friend smiled and replied, "I am fine, Anck!  I fell but a short distance."  She started to get up, but her ankle gave way.  The girl named 'Anck' grabbed her waist and gently eased her back to the ground, as the girl named 'Ardath' bit down on her lower lip.  She whispered, "Perhaps I spoke too soon, but my ankle is all that pains me.  Please, dear friend, do not worry for me.  If anyone is punished, it will be me, for being so clumsy."

Anck's dark eyes flashed with rage as she replied, "Neither of us shall be punished.  Come!  I will take you to Imhotep, and he can help you.  Remember, you are to go to the bed of Rameses tonight, my friend, and if you please him. . .you will have nothing more to fear."  She kept a careful arm around her friend's waist, helping her stand.  She continued, "I made a promise, Ardath, and I will keep it.  No one will ever hurt you again."  Nothing more was said for several moments, as Anck helped her friend toward the chambers where they would find Imhotep.

They had been friends for many years, two children who forged an alliance in an atmosphere of distrust.  Anck could not say, exactly, what had led her to take the small, pale hand of the little house slave into her own protectively.  She only knew that when Ardath's fingers closed around her own. . .well, Anck was not accustomed to feeling such protectiveness, such warmth, toward another.  Much less someone who could take away her security.

But in that strange way, Ardath had become her security.  They took care of each other.  Anck was harder, more cynical. . .darker, clichéd as that might be, and in reference to her mind and her heart, rather than the fact that her complexion was darker than that of her friend.  It would have been a simplification to call them light and dark, but the desire was often there.  But Anck had her soft side, and his name was Imhotep, for even as she warmed the bed of the Pharaoh Seti I, she was falling in love with the handsome high priest.

Ardath was her other soft side.  And just as Anck had her soft side, brought out by Imhotep and her forever friend, Ardath was steel encased in velvet.  Anck had seen that steel many a time. . .she was not outwardly defiant, but she would do what she felt best.  A determination which had resulted in many beatings for her.  Anck smiled grimly, remembering sneaking away from her ailing friend's bedside to deal with whoever had harmed Ardath.  Many a drunken soldier who had dared to strike her friend found themselves regretting it in the moments before their own deaths.

They found Imhotep with Rameses, and Anck could hear Ardath quietly cursing herself for being a fool.  But to Anck's relief, only concern lit the dark eyes of the prince.  He strode over to the two young concubines and swung Ardath up into his arms.  Anck grinned to herself, pleased that her friend was too startled by the prince's action to protest.  Imhotep asked, "What happened, Anck-su-namun, that she was hurt in this way?"  Anck almost laughed at the glare Ardath directed toward the high priest.

It was just too bad that he could not have seen the ire in that look.  Anck knew Imhotep considered her friend to be soft and weak, but as Rameses gently settled her on a cot, the concubine also realized that Rameses saw the steel underneath the velvet.  There was only concern as he sat next to her, his hand resting at her waist . . . concern, not condescension.  He asked very softly, "What occurred, my Ardath?"  My Ardath????”

Anck raised her eyebrows at the endearment, but held her tongue as her friend quietly explained everything which had happened.  Rameses frowned, then gently kissed the top of her head, saying softly, "I am pleased you were not hurt worse.  And do not call yourself foolish.  Nefertiri has lost her footing on those stairs many times herself.  Once Imhotep has finished with your ankle, I will take you to my chambers, so you can rest."

Rest?  Was that all he had in mind for her friend?  Anck looked at the prince, not entirely sure if she could trust him.  He was, after all, the son of Seti, and the pharaoh wasn't the kindest man.  Rameses himself could demonstrate an ugly temper on occasion, but Anck had to admit that he had only demonstrated compassion toward her sister, compassion and concern.  As bratty as Nefertiri was, Anck had been surprised to learn that Rameses was capable of compassion.

And yet, here he was. . .sitting at the side of her friend, his hands gripping her friend's shoulders as Imhotep first examined, then wrapped her ankle.  It was merely twisted, not broken.  Ardath had kept silent through the examination, with only the lines in her face to testify to the pain Anck knew she was experiencing.  But as Imhotep pronounced his findings, Ardath glared at her and growled, "I told you it was nothing, Anck!"  The other girl only laughed.

Imhotep finished wrapping her ankle, not even touching her flesh, particularly in the presence of the man who had chosen Ardath as his concubine.  Once he was finished, Rameses once more swung the foreign girl into his arms and rose to his feet.  Anck followed suit, inclining her head before them both.  Impulsively, she took her friend's hand as Rameses carried her from the room, and Ardath responded with a gentle squeeze.

In those days, before Seti had chosen Anck to be his next queen, Anck did not wear the body paint which would mark her as Seti's.  Instead, she dressed as Ardath did, and there was no reason for Imhotep to avoid touching her.  Which he did now, putting his large, warm hands on her shoulders.  Anck covered his hands with her own, whispering, "She was very brave, did you see?  She never even made a sound."  Imhotep didn't answer.

Anck-su-namun simply glared at the man she was quickly growing to love.  Men could be such fools, even Imhotep!  Why did he not see that other people drew their strength from Ardath?  Anck herself did. . .she had seen others do the same.  Why were men such fools?  Why did they never understand that sometimes, strength was hidden?  That was, Anck realized now, the reason why Ardath had always seemed apart from the other concubines.

She wasted little of her strength on the games and the back-stabbing.  She remained honest and true to herself, and that gave her the strength she needed.  The strength she gave to Anck.  And when Ardath's own strength ran low, that was when Anck returned the favor, and did whatever her forever friend needed from her.  Anck would do anything for Ardath.  Nothing was too terrible to imagine. . .nothing except losing her friend.

By this time, Anck recognized that Ardath was the better part of her.  Which wasn't to say her friend was weak. . .but she had been raised with love by the Hebrew slaves who had found her in that flowering field, so long ago.  Anck had never known love, until she found her forever friend, until that small, pale foreign girl slipped her fingers around Anck's.  She had no idea how to react to the idea of losing Ardath.  No idea, except rage.

At last, Imhotep said dismissively, "She had a twisted ankle, nothing serious.  She has never been wounded in battle. . .there is no valor, in holding back a scream from a twisted ankle."  Anck rounded on the high priest, her dark eyes wide with fury.  A twisted ankle?  No, perhaps he was right, perhaps a twisted ankle was not as serious as a battle wound, but that meant nothing.  Women often endured grievous pain, even away from the battle field.  Anck could still remember hearing the anguished cries of her mother during childbirth.  She remembered many things.  And, she reminded herself that it was she who nursed Ardath during her illnesses and after her beatings.  Imhotep didn't know Ardath as she did.

She tried to remember that, but it wasn't always possible.  It was times as these that she saw not the man who treated her with such kindness, but just the high priest.  She said now, "True enough, priest, but I have known men to howl for lesser reasons."  Usually when she was busy killing them for harming Ardath, but she said none of this to Imhotep.  It was not something important for him to know.  Anck was cunning, as well as cold when she killed.  Each time, she had made it look like self-defense.  A lifetime on the streets of Thebes had taught her well.

And in turn, she was now teaching Ardath.  Little by little, gauging what were her friend's strengths and weaknesses.  One thing about Ardath which had surprised her, was the strength in her upper body, particularly in her arms.  Anck didn't question her friend after the first time she commented on it, because of the pain she saw in Ardath's eyes.  Perhaps those six years between the time she was found by the slaves, and the first time the two girls met hadn't been as loving as Anck originally thought.

That was of no importance now.  She was expected to join the other concubines, except Ardath.  It would not do for her to be late.  She gave the high priest a curt nod and sashayed from the room, feeling his eyes on her as she left.  Because she was still angry with him, she enjoyed the feeling of power it gave her.  Desire was power.  And that power would give her the means to protect herself and those she loved.  No matter what the price.




.                  .                          .




Celia awoke from her dream, rattled.  It wasn't an unpleasant dream, simply. . . strange.  In the first place, she often didn't remember her dreams, and in the second. . .if she did remember those dreams, they were mere fragments of reality.  The dream she had just had played more like a memory. . .or a movie.  However, it wasn't a memory.  It couldn't be, because she knew the thoughts and emotions of both girls.

As if that wasn't bad enough, she was disoriented when she looked around. . . where was she?  Oh.  Celia sighed, allowing her head to drop back onto the pillow.  She was in Cairo. . .visiting Rick and Evy O'Connell.  You'd think after the journey she had just completed, she would remember that.  Stupid, stupid girl.  Things returned to her now.  Her argument with Jason, lugging the luggage behind her while watching over Miranda. . .and the meeting with Ardeth Bey.  Yes, she remembered everything now.

What she didn't remember was how exactly she got here.  Not here, in this house. . .that she remembered.  However, the last thing she did remember was resting her head on her forearms in Evy's kitchen while her friend was preparing lunch.  Lunch.  Food.  She hadn't eaten in what seemed like forever, and she made her way down the stairs. No one was paying attention, so she slipped into the kitchen.

"Oh, good, you're awake. . .do you feel better?" Evy asked, puttering around the
kitchen.  Celia nodded, and Evy continued, "Good, I'm glad to hear it.  In case you're wondering, I had Rick and Ardeth carry you upstairs.  I was concerned they might wake you, with the way they were behaving. . .like a pair of naughty little boys, they were." Celia just raised her eyebrows at that.  Somehow, she had a hard time seeing Ardeth Bey behaving like a naughty little boy.

And then she found herself thinking, much to her shock, So, he carried me upstairs, and I wasn't awake enough to enjoy it. . .CECELIA! She couldn't believe she just thought that!  True enough, she wasn't a lady, and hadn't been for quite some time, but she did like to at least attempt to maintain some degree of decorum.  Struggling to recover that degree of decorum, Celia asked, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Oh, no, no, I'm almost finished. . .go sit down, you're still exhausted," Evy replied, shooing her back into the sitting room, where Rick O'Connell and Ardeth Bey were discussing something in low voices.  From their expressions, it seemed rather serious.  Her daughter was still being entertained by Anatol Bey. . .Miranda seemed quite fascinated by the tattoos adorning Anatol's cheeks, forehead, and hands.

"MOMMY!  You're awake, we don't gotta be quiet now!" Miranda shrieked, catapulting from Anatol's side to fling herself into Celia's arms.  The American woman dropped to one knee without even thinking about it, catching the four year old in an equally fierce hug.  Celia barely managed to keep back her chokes and gasps as her daughter threatened to hug the very life out of her.  A quick glance over Miranda's head told her that Anatol was struggling against a smile.

She found out the reason why a moment later, when Anatol raised his eyes and called, "Ardeth, does that look familiar?"  The dark eyes of the Med-jai chieftain shifted from Rick O'Connell to Celia and Miranda, and a faint smile appeared.  Anatol continued, his dark eyes dancing with laughter, "Our nephew does that, Miss Ferguson, every time Ardeth comes back after one of his patrols.  One would think that he had not seen Ardeth for several years, instead of just a few weeks."

"Anatol, to a small child, a few weeks does seem like years," Evy observed, joining them in the sitting room.  Evidently, she knew how old this oldest nephew was.  The Englishwoman sat down on the arm of the chair which held her husband, and rested her hand on Rick's shoulder.  His hand immediately covered her own, sending a pang directly into Celia's heart.  It was easy to ignore her own loneliness when she wasn't confronted by a loving couple. . .which Rick and Evy obviously were.

She saw that same reality when she looked at Ardeth Bey.  Strange. . .she wouldn't have expected a man as breathtaking as he was to be lonely.  But she could tell from his expression that he was experiencing the same pangs as she.  At least, until a stoic mask slipped into place, and the sadness was gone.  However, the kinship established within those few seconds remained, long after the sadness disappeared. 

Then Miranda was chattering away, drawing her mother's attention back to her, along with a patient smile.  Miranda, not surprisingly, was absolutely entranced by both Anatol and Ardeth Bey.  They were, to the little girl, extremely tall. . .quite exotic. . .and incomparably handsome.  And though Miranda was a little girl, she already knew beauty when she saw it.  Both brothers were most assuredly beautiful, strange as it was to apply such a word to men.  Carstairs was not what she considered 'beautiful.'  Come to think of it, he wasn't even handsome.  He had pleasing features, but cold eyes.  That should have warned her.  Stupid little fool.

       And Miranda had no fear of these men, despite her initial reaction when they met.  She was a fearless child, all around, which always shocked Celia. . .and worried her, too, on occasion.  How a coward such as herself managed to not only birth, but raise such a fearless little girl, took her breath away.  Where had Miranda learned her courage?  Surely not from her mother. . .not from her uncle, either, and Carstairs was long dead. . .damn his soul to the Underworld.  Where had she learned to be so brave?

"And Ardeth says that his mother and sisters know how to fight, 'cause they might have to defend the village when Ardeth and the other men are away, and says that girls can fight too!  Anatol thinks that girls are scarier than boys sometimes," Miranda rattled on as Celia settled herself on the bottom stair, her child in her lap.  She didn't miss Anatol's chagrin or his older brother's amusement.  Miranda took a deep breath, raised her face to Celia's, then asked perfectly seriously, "Mommy, how old do I gotta be 'fore I can marry Ardeth?"

Ardeth almost spit out whatever he was drinking, then doubled over in his chair, coughing helplessly.  Rick reached over and started pounding on his back, while Anatol sank deeper into his own seat, laughing helplessly.  She could almost see the tears streaming down the young warrior's face.  Evy had covered her mouth with her hand, but Celia could see her friend's eyes dancing with suppressed laughter.

"Ew!  Then you'd be kissing all the time, like my mum and dad!" Alex blurted out.  Rick grabbed a hold of Ardeth, who looked about ready to fall out of his chair.  The boy's remark set everyone to laughing again, everyone except for Miranda, who looked at her mother in bewilderment, and Celia, who was struggling to keep from laughing herself.  She didn't want to hurt her daughter's feelings.

"Alex, you say that like it's a bad thing," Celia replied around the lump she had in her throat from swallowing her laughter.  She turned her attention back to her daughter and replied, "You know, honey, Ardeth may already be married, and we don't know if he's allowed to have more than one wife."  She glanced up, looked over her daughter's head, to see Ardeth shaking his own, still fighting to breathe.  Whether that meant he was only allowed to have one wife, or wasn't married, Celia wasn't sure yet.

Anatol provided the answer, by replying, "We are only permitted one wife. . .and Ardeth has not yet taken his."  A hand swiped the back of Anatol's head from the general direction of his older brother, but that didn't prevent the young man from continuing with a mischievous grin, "And you must be at least sixteen years old in order to wed, little one.  By that time, I fear my brother will be. . .too old."

Celia ducked her head as she saw Rick remove his hand from Ardeth's shoulder, realizing what was about to come next.  She was right.  Ardeth tackled his younger brother, a smile of unholy glee decorating his handsome face.  Anatol yelped, struggling under the older and taller brother, and it took a moment for Celia to realize what Ardeth was doing.  She leaned back against the stairs, giving way to her laughter.  She swiveled Miranda on her lap, so her daughter could witness this as well.

"Old is it?  I will show you 'old,' little brother, and you will pray you actually live that long!" Ardeth growled.  Anatol squeaked, wriggling around on the floor, trying desperately to get away from his brother's waggling fingers.  He wasn't succeeding particularly well, and it was all Celia could do to just keep her arms around her daughter as she laughed helplessly.  A quick glance told her that Evy was almost on her knees from laughing so hard, while Rick was just staring at Ardeth in shock.  Alex was leaning against his mother, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Anatol blurted out something in Arabic, and Ardeth continued, keeping up the attack, "What was that, little brother?  I did not understand you!"  A bright, sinister grin flashed across his face, taking at least ten years off his age, and Celia realized for the first time that he was only a few years older than herself.  No more than thirty-two or thirty-three, an understanding in her brain, but not in her heart.

That was dangerous ground. . .too many similarities between herself and Ardeth Bey.  Or rather, noticing them.  The last time she had done that. . .  Celia's arms tightened around Miranda and forced herself to concentrate on the now.  Ignore the past and her brother's pouting.  It wasn't as hard as she might have imagine.  For the first time she could remember in a long time. . .she was happy.  Cecelia Anne Ferguson was a number of things, but she wasn't a complete fool.  She would take this time of joy and enjoy it.  For as long as it lasted.




.                      .                      .




Anatol's holiday with his brother was turning into something entirely unexpected.  He would have never imagined that his elder brother, the quiet and serious chieftain of the Med-jai people, still had enough of the small child within him to tackle Anatol to the ground and tickle him, as if they were still thirteen and five.  Although, at that time, Anatol and Andreas often double-teamed Ardeth.  His brother released him, stopping his assault, and Anatol pulled back to look at his brother, both of them breathing hard and laughing.

Andreas.  He would have enjoyed the tussle. . .would have enjoyed seeing Ardeth's bright, mischievous grin, and the long black hair almost covering his eyes.  Strange as it sounded, Andreas was never as serious as Ardeth.  Looking back now, Anatol could remember Andreas laughing far more frequently than their brother, even in the four years after their father's death and before his own.  Andreas, though, was larger than life.

He had been a big man, even as young as he was. . .not just taller than Ardeth, but wider as well.  And he laughed.  As often as he could, and sometimes when others thought he shouldn't. But he was loved.  He hadn't yet taken a wife at the time of his death. . .he was too young, he told their mother.  Twenty-two years old.  Too young to marry, and too young to die.

Ardeth, on the other hand, had always been quiet and serious.  To use a word which he had heard Evy use in conjunction with his brother, he was shy with girls.  He was always more comfortable in training than outside, when he had to interact with the young ladies of their village.  Anatol knew how the maidens of their tribe saw Ardeth. . .from the maidens themselves and from their two sisters.  He became all the more attractive after Andreas died. 

But Ardeth pulled back from other people, allowing his new army, and his family, to take first position in his heart.  It was, nine year old Anatol understood, the best way Ardeth had to protect himself.  The seventeen year old was under an enormous amount of pressure, as the new Med-jai king.  It would have been hard enough, to simply be the new Commander of their particular tribe, but the chieftain. . .the king?

An impossible task, said many.  They didn't know his brother.  Ardeth had been stubborn, even before his birth.  Anatol hadn't understood, the first time his mother said that.  Aleta, the quieter, more serene sister. . .the sister most like Ardeth. . .had taken Anatol aside and explained that Ardeth had almost died at birth.  Their parents believed for some time afterward that Ardeth would die before he reached his first birthday.

He should have died, being born before his time.  He should have died several times before his birth and his seventeenth year.  He didn't.  The Bey family was stubborn by nature, by blood, and Ardeth was the most stubborn of a stubborn family.  Anatol never doubted, in those dark days after watching Andreas die, that his brother would prevail.  Part of it was the hero worship of a nine year old boy for his brother. . .part of it was simply knowing Ardeth.

It took time, but Ardeth ended up winning the battles within their tribe, within their nation.  Things came to a head after the Creature rose the first time.  For nine years, Ardeth had sought to bring the Med-jai into the twentieth century.  It had taken the beating at the hands of the Americans. . .actually it was a draw, but it was a terrible blow to the collective ego of the Med-jai.  Anatol was eighteen at the time, and at his mother's request, he disobeyed his brother.  Ardeth had wanted him to, as the Americans put it, stay put while he headed to Cairo.

Actually, he disobeyed only when he saw the plane crash.  Anatol somehow knew that his brother was on that plane. . .actually, he found out later that Ardeth was strapped to the plane.  Anatol didn't ask any more questions after that.  He didn't think he wanted to know.  The plane was flying toward Hamunaptra.  The young warrior was immediately informed that he was to go help his brother, because Altair Bey would not bury another son. . .and she would not lose Ardeth to the Creature.

Anatol left the village as soon as his mother spoke, vaulting onto a horse.  He hadn't gone but a mile, when he noticed one of the village elders.  One of the men most opposed to the modernization of the Med-jai. . .until his son was cut down in the initial skirmish with the Americans.  It was strange to Anatol.  He had grown up fearing Aric. . .and now, he only saw a beaten, tired old man.  Aric had tried to blame Ardeth for the death of his son. . .but how could he blame the chieftain, when his own complacency and pride had prevented the young king from doing what had to be done?

No. . .no, Aric would atone for his arrogance, which had cost the lives of so many Med-jai.  He would help Anatol find his brother, and rescue him, if need be.   Besides, Anatol happened to know that until Ardeth became chieftain, Aric had been courting Altair.  The fiery Greek matriarch of the Med-jai quickly turned against him, a mother's protectiveness coming to the fore.  Many man had underestimated Altair's love for her children. . .all of them regretted it. 

It was Anatol and Aric who pulled the unconscious chieftain from the forbidden city.  The sound of the explosion attracted their attention, and for several terrifying moments, Anatol had thought he would now be the chieftain.  He, the youngest.  That gave him renewed strength to get to his brother.  It took almost ten minutes to dig their way to Ardeth, another two minutes to toss the rotting corpses away from his brother, and just one to feel the weak pulse under his fingers.  It was the longest thirteen minutes of Anatol's young life.

Seven years later, he looked at his brother, still gasping for breath.  Ardeth's head rested against the chair, his eyes were closed, but there was the faintest hint of a smile on his face.  A real smile.  Anatol said in Greek, "I have missed you, my brother."  Ardeth opened his eyes and lifted his head, to look at Anatol, who continued, "And we have all missed your smile.  It is good to know, that my brother is still in there."

Ardeth's smile widened, ever so slightly, and he replied in the same language, "I have never gone away, little brother.  I have always been here.  I sometimes do forget, though."  Anatol nodded, his earlier impulse to take care of his brother returning in full force.  For some reason, he had forgotten how close they came to losing Ardeth at Hamunaptra.  They had almost lost him at Ahm Shere, and Anatol knew his brother still had nightmares of that place.  Ardeth took a deep breath, then asked, "What brought this on, little brother?"

"I was remembering digging you out of Hamunaptra. . .and Andreas.  You frightened me badly, brother.  I was afraid I would lose my brother, afraid I would be chieftain," Anatol replied with the customary honesty of his family.  One thing Altair and Suleiman had taught all five of their children was to be honest.  Honest with their opinions, honest with others. . .and that loving your brothers and sisters was not a weakness, but a strength.

Because he was the youngest, and had none of the pressures faced by his older brother, Anatol had always been far better at expressing himself.  He loved his brother very much, and never hesitated to show it.  Ardeth's dark eyes softened, but before he could say anything, respond in any way, Evy O'Connell said, drawing their attention with a gentle cough, "Much as I enjoy finally hearing how Ardeth escaped the explosion, I should remind you that some assembled here do speak Greek."

Much to Anatol's astonishment, his brother actually blushed, and Rick O'Connell asked, "They said how Ardeth escaped?  How?"  The awkwardness of the moment passed as Rick grabbed his brother's arm and pulled him back into his seat, muttering under his breath all the while.  Anatol hid a smile as his brother rolled his eyes yet again.  Rick added, in a somewhat louder voice, "You never did answer my question. . .who are you and what have you done with Ardeth Bey?" 

"I am whom I have always been, O'Connell. . .if you were paying attention," Ardeth retorted.  Evy covered her mouth with her hand again, and Ardeth continued, "And in answer to your question, my then-eighteen year old brother disobeyed a request I made of him.  Although, in his defense, I should add that he disobeyed me at our mother's request.  He came after us, after the plane crashed, with the father of a man who died at Hamunaptra.  When I awoke, I was lying on the sand where they placed me after digging me out of the cave-in."

"Very wise young man," Evy said, nodding serenely, "I would obey your mother as well."  Anatol simply smiled at her, thinking about how much she reminded him of his sister Aleta.  Evy continued, "And now that the boys have had their fun. . .it's dinner time.  Alex, would you like to escort Miranda into dinner. . .and Ardeth?  Please escort Celia?"  Anatol almost fell over laughing.  He should speak with Evy about her matchmaking.  She was entirely too obvious!

.                      .                       .

As they headed into dinner, Rick O'Connell resolved to have a little talk with his wife.  He didn't know what scared him more.  The idea of her going off on another treasure hunt. . .e.g., Hamunaptra or Ahm Shere. . .or the way she was tempting fate with her matchmaking.  He knew she was trying to help. . .trying to ease the loneliness, or supposed loneliness, of two people whom she loved.  But really. . . Ardeth was a big boy, he could take care of himself.  Look at all the times he had saved Rick's family, after all.

And Celia was thirty years old, hardly a young girl.  Rick wasn't even sure she was right for Ardeth, Evy's matchmaking aside.  She was shy. . .let her brother walk all over her. . .on the other hand, she sure nailed Ardeth about asking for help.  Still, it wasn't their concern.  After all, how would Evy feel if Celia did fall in love with Ardeth. . .and he didn't return her feelings?  No, he had to have a talk with Evy, before any hearts got broken.

There was no time, however, because at Evy's suggestion, Ardeth gravely offered his arm to Celia, which she accepted with a smile.  Rick had to grudgingly admit that Celia seemed to be going into things with her eyes open.  She didn't have a glazed look in her eyes which read 'ooh, handsome man likes me.'  And Rick knew women thought Ardeth to be very, very attractive.  He wasn't about to share his opinion on that. . .

Still, Rick couldn't quite ignore the little devil which gloated at the way Jason Ferguson was glowering at his sister and Ardeth.  He had no doubt that his old friend could handle the kid.  Ardeth had learned to fight when he was Miranda's age.  Rick would be very surprised if the Ferguson brat could throw a punch properly.  He didn't even have to fight their old buddy Imhotep. . .just be ready to hold his own in an alley fight.

He knew from Evy that the brother and sister came from money.  But even as he dismissed his wife's feeling that Celia and Ardeth might be good for each other, Rick couldn't deny that the older sister seemed to have a better grip on the world.  She came from money, but she had been providing for herself since she was eighteen.  She was thirty now. . .that gave her a helluva lot of experience in the real world.

That wasn't even taking into account her experience with Miranda's father.  It wouldn't have surprised Rick at all to learn that his own reaction mirrored that of Anatol Bey.  It wouldn't have surprised him, either, to discover that Celia blamed herself for not seeing the man for what he was.  Rick didn't know much about the jackass, but it was his experience that men like that worked real hard at making sure people didn't see their true colors.

And then there was Ardeth, who was the exact opposite.  Okay, so maybe Evy had a few points.  But that didn't mean she should be matchmaking for the pair.  For one thing, just because Ardeth was the exact opposite of the man who had almost destroyed her life, didn't mean he was what Celia needed.  And for another, if Rick did think about such things (which he didn't), he wouldn't be so sure that Celia was what Ardeth needed.

But again. . .the Med-jai was a grown man.  He knew what he needed and wanted.  Didn't he?  It was still none of Rick's business, especially now that he was questioning just how well he knew Ardeth.  He had known the Med-jai for seven years.  Usually when the world was about to end, because of this curse or that curse.  Like the second time they met, only months after they put Imhotep in his grave the first time.  He and Evy were not yet married, and it was before they returned to England, before Alex came to them.

It was during that second meeting that Rick and Evy learned a little more about the man who had first tried to kill them, then would have sacrificed his own life to save them.  Rick had been shocked to learn that Ardeth was his own age, only twenty-six at the time of the first rising.  And only seventeen when his father died.  For some reason, he had found himself thinking of Ardeth as being older than he was.

Through the years, he had seen the proud, stubborn chieftain slowly relax. . . though he had never seen Ardeth as relaxed as he was just a few minutes ago.  He had dimly heard his friend laughing softly at Jonathan and Izzy's antics on the dirigible.  But until he had seen it, Rick would have never believed that Ardeth Bey was even capable of tackling his younger brother to the floor and tickling him, as if they were both Alex's age.

Rick's thoughts were interrupted as Celia asked thoughtfully, "You know, Evy, I just realized. . .you've never explained how you came to meet Mr. Bey.  Something was said a few minutes ago, about an explosion."  Rick almost coughed on his soup. . .which, fortunately, was ignored.  Celia had another question in mind, as she continued, "Ummm. . .you know, I never asked.  I'm so sorry. . .what's your title. . . how should I address you?"

She switched her attention from Evy to Ardeth as she spoke.  Rick looked at his friend, wondering how Ardeth would handle this.

"You may call me 'Ardeth.'  You are Evy's friend. . .if she trusts you, then I am willing to do so as well.  We have no titles among our people," came the reply.  Rick almost rolled his eyes, until Evy kicked him under the table.  Trust Ardeth to make things more complicated than they had to be.  On the other hand, Ardeth had a point.  He had never heard the Med-jai refer to him as anything other than 'our chief' or something similar.  Never 'your Majesty,' but that wasn't the Med-jai way of doing things.

However, Celia simply inclined her head in acceptance and said almost as formally, "I thank you for your trust.  Evy tells me that you don't give it easily. . .I will do my best to be worthy of it."  Whoa, where did that come from?  Celia continued, "My father's people were Scottish, Ardeth, and among the Highlanders of Scotland in particular, the head of each clan was called the laird.  Or, in the case of our family, 'the Ferguson,' when speaking of him."

"Customs interest you, Miss Ferguson?" Ardeth asked politely, and Celia bobbed her head.  Jason Ferguson snorted in disgust, and Rick watched with amusement as Ardeth turned his patented 'Ardeth Bey Glare of Doom' on the younger American.  Jason swallowed hard, dropping his eyes until he was staring fixedly into his own soup.  Ardeth continued, "What sorts of customs interest you?"

"Firstly, if I'm to call you 'Ardeth,' then it's only fair that you call me 'Celia,' or even 'Cecelia.'  That's my name after all," came the ready response.  Rick grinned. . . fair enough.  Ardeth nodded his agreement, and Celia continued, "All customs interest me.  Customs of marriage, customs of death.  Burial, I should say.  That's what got me interested in Egypt in the first place. . .learning about funerary customs among your ancestors.  Well, at least your father's side of the family!"

"And these customs do not disgust you?" Ardeth asked with interest.  Rick looked at his friend.  Ardeth was giving nothing away, none of the secrets which he himself held.  But Rick knew he had to be thinking about them, since they were related to what they were discussing.  Celia shook her head vehemently, and Ardeth continued, "Why not?"  Actually, that was something Rick wanted to know as well.

"Well, once it got my attention, I started studying up.  Not just ancient Egypt, but other cultures as well.  And I know it's silly to say, that it's only common sense, but every burial rite I've ever come across is some sort of preparation for the life after this one. . .if you believe such a thing exists.  If you take it in that context, and the time and place of these people, things make perfect sense," she replied.

"I still say what you told me about that one punishment is just plain sick.  I mean, what could possibly be worth inflicting a living death on someone. . .what was that called, sis?" Jason asked.  Rick felt his blood run cold.  Not just at the mention of the hom-dai, but the way the boy mentioned it.  He looked over at Ardeth, who was staring back at him, his dark eyes filled with concern, the same concern Rick was now feeling.  He remembered what he was thinking earlier, about Jason going to Hamunaptra, and quietly cursed himself for it.  Now, he desperately hoped
the boy didn't do anything of the sort.

"The hom-dai, Jason.  And you're right, reading about that was awful.  Can you imagine. . .never mind, we're at the supper table," Celia said, shaking her head.  It wasn't just that, but the fact there were little ears listening as well, Rick was sure.  Celia continued with a pointed look at her brother, "In any event, since we haven't seen any plagues sweep over the earth, like the kind unleashed by Moses, it seems likely any victims of the hom-dai have never been awakened."

Rick almost choked on what he was eating, and Celia looked at him with a puzzled frown.  He responded with a reassuring smile. . .until Jason retorted impatiently, "Oh, don't tell me you believe in that, sis?  C'mon, I thought you were smarter than that!"  This time, Rick didn't miss the look of sheer fury that blazed from Celia's dark eyes.  Whoa.  Maybe he underestimated her, after all.

Her voice was cold as she retorted, "And why shouldn't I?  After all, you believe in the ten plagues, unleashed by Moses against Egypt. . .the parting of the Red Sea.  Why shouldn't I respect the possibility that the hom-dai is real?"  Again, Rick's eyes sought and found Ardeth's.  The Med-jai looked as worried as Rick himself felt. . .and not because of the brewing family argument.  Jason began sputtering, and Celia added, "I will not discuss this further with you, Jason.  This is being very rude to our hosts, and Grandmother would be very disappointed."

All the color drained from the boy's face at that remark, as it hit its target.  Looked like Celia had claws after all.  She turned her attention to Evy, continuing in a low voice, "My apologies, Evy, I shouldn't have allowed this to get out of control."  Out of control?  No punches had been thrown, and she had silenced her brother. . . by Rick's figures, that meant they were ahead of the game.

One of these days, he would know better than to think like that.