The Nubian camels were fresh and fleet, and Ardeth took advantage of both, pushing them to their limits. He had no idea of Carrie’s condition but was far too cognizant of the dangers that could befall a woman with a newborn child…HIS newborn child…alone in the desert. She had enough water to last several days, IF nothing happened, and he had faith in her resourcefulness and courage. Still, much hung on that single word, ‘if’, and Ardeth Bay was not one to gamble upon such a thing.
The Nubians who rode with him noted his intensity. “He is relentless, this Medjai,” commented Ru’utah, Etosha’s younger sister.
“He has an almost female determination,” answered Etosha, giving Ardeth a high compliment for in the Nubian world, the women were the more aggressive sex when it came to matters of warfare and mating. “I have found him to be a most interesting male.” That she would not have cast him from her bed was left unsaid, for Etosha knew there would never be such a relationship. Ardeth was far too independent a male to agree to the subservience she demanded of her consorts, and she was far too proud a woman to diminish her own standing to accommodate a man, even one such as the Medjai chieftain. Besides, their friendship was a good one, too good to complicate with sex. Etosha firmly believed it was wise to never bed an ally in arms. It often led to unfortunate complications.
Ardeth was unaware that he was the topic of discussion. He would not have cared if he had overheard; he was set upon a singular purpose, that of reclaiming the family he had left hidden in a forsaken canyon. His promise given when he left them was on each breath he exhaled. “I will come back for you.”
Four other riders pushed hard through the night towards the same canyon, although their progress was not as swift, nor their guide, Ay’il, as determined. Ibrahim’s band of travelers was heartened by the hope that they were close to finding those whom they had sought, but this energy did not carry to their leg-weary beasts. Ibrahim wondered how much more they could ask of the camels, but he did not slacken. He, too, understood the danger that gripped Carrie and her son, his nephew, the future leader of the Khere Aba tribe.
He was well aware, too, of the fragile truce existing between Jehan and Tariq, and of the complication presented by the boy, Ay’il. Ibrahim’s instincts told him the lad was truly trying to lead them back to Carrie, but Ay’il had made a several errors, forcing them to retrace their steps before setting out on what was hoped to be the real path. This had pleased neither Jehan nor Tariq, but Ibrahim had squelched any vocalization with a stern, level gaze.
Proper discipline must be maintained now more than ever, as all were at ragged ends.
Ibrahim had also shared his own provisions, both food and water, with Ay’il, finding within himself the hope that the boy was honest, and would not have to die by his hand. Ibrahim held more than a passing compassion for an orphan in this world, even one born of such repugnant parents.
Ay’il was more frightened than he allowed to show, Ibrahim recognized, obviously trying to hide his concerns beneath his bravado. It was a technique not unknown to Ibrahim, who had done the same when he was this age. He was then known only as the orphan without a clan who slept on the floor of Kasim Bay’s tent. The difference was that he had a great protector in Ardeth. Ay’il had no such champion, at least not yet, and Ibrahim was unsure if Tariq would ever look upon this half brother of his as anything but an unwanted reminder of who he had once been.
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Predawn, that ephemeral span of time in which the earth hangs between darkness and light, washed over the unforgiving landscape as Ardeth and the Nubians neared the canyon in which Carrie was hidden. Pale light illuminated the path towards the little cave, and Ardeth was relieved to see that no other footsteps had replaced those made by himself and the boy. At the least, this meant that nothing with two legs had passed this way. Any Cybeline that remained in the region had not ventured into this place.
Riding ahead of the Nubians, he pushed the camel as near as he dared without causing the cave’s collapse. Ardeth leapt from his ill-tempered beast and sprinted towards the dark opening of the sand cave just as the first rays of day peeked over the canyon’s lip. As he neared the cave’s entrance, a wretched stench, that of meat rotted by the heat, shimmered from the hole, caused Ardeth instant concern. “Caroline…” he called urgently so she would know it was him. She was NOT a good shot with a pistol, but he was mindful that she did have it and would not hesitate to use it if she thought he was an attacker. “Caroline, answer me.”
The silence that answered forced his heart into his throat as he slid through the sand into the darkness of the cave. Surely she would have answered him if she could, he reasoned, surely. “Caroline!” he called more loudly, causing the Nubians who waited with the camels to look up in concern.
Etosha motioned to Ru’utah, and the young woman ran through the sand, following the same path as Ardeth, who had just vanished into the cave.
What he would find there, what he would see crumpled limply against the wall of the cave, would cause the heart of the fierce Medjai to cry out with silent, unspeakable anguish. In the long shadows of the dawn’s light filtering into the sanctuary, he saw Caroline, unmoving, her body without sign of life. “Merciful Allah, do not allow this…do not take her yet from me…” he whispered as he rushed forward, falling on his knees in the soft sand beside her.
He was too late…too late…he repeated in his head as he put his arms around her, lifting her into a sitting position. His hand, trembling, pushed her hair from the face he so loved, from HER face. He saw that she had cried, her tears leaving trails across the soiled cheeks. “Forgive me, Caroline,” he rasped, his voice a rough whisper, and he pressed his lips against her forehead, as he had so often done. As he did, he heard a whimper from the robe bundled at her side. Pushing aside the cloth, he found his son, dirty and exhausted from crying, but alive.
Reaching across Carrie’s body with one arm while holding her close with the other, Ardeth gathered Jabrail up. At the jostling, the baby let loose a resounding wail, announcing his hunger. “I have but water, my son,” Ardeth apologized, his eyes glistening with bittersweet emotions at finding his family, both alive and dead.
He was not aware of the young Nubian now standing behind him until she spoke. “Give him to me, Medjai. I will see to him.” Turning towards the voice, Ardeth saw it was Etosha’s sister, the one with the baby, who lifted a dark breast from her binding cloth. Her meaning was obvious; she offered her milk to save his son, and Ardeth nodded his thanks.
She then knelt beside him, extending her hands to receive the child now cushioned in crook of his father’s arm. She had large hands, and they skillfully cupped the starving baby to her breast. Jabrail instantly latched on, aggressively so, and Ru’utah noted, “He is strong yet, Medjai. I do not think he has gone many hours without milk. He will live.”
Her eyes fell upon the mother of the child. Life appeared to have fled from her, and the smell of the cave was one of death. It was then that she saw the culprit, the mangled remains of an enormous cobra. “Look there. It is a large cobra which must have bitten her,” she said, nodding her head towards the remains.
Ardeth glanced once at the snake. It was already blown with maggots, but he saw how its head had been obliterated. Caroline had obviously fought against the serpent. How valiantly she had defended Jabrail against the deadly viper. Of course, he thought with heart-crushing sorrow, of course, he would have expected nothing less of her. Caroline would have given her life to save their son, just as he would have.
She had been his match in every way, even more so than he ever hoped to find. His woman, his wife, to whom he had gladly given everything he was.
How strong she was…how strong… No longer could he restrain the tears that welled in his eyes, tears for the woman he adored beyond words, his Caroline, who had brought unbounded love into his life. They had such a short time together, less than a year, when he wished to have a lifetime with her, for her, beside her. Weeping silently, he cradled her head against his chest, rocking slightly in grief, tenderly holding her as if she was a precious thing, a treasure of unfathomable value.
She was, for she had been his beloved.
A cry from his son reminded him that he had not the luxury of mourning as the Cybeline were still about, and would still try to claim the boy as their reborn archgallus. Forcing a mask of composure over the anguish of his soul, Ardeth prepared for what was to come. He had to bid a final farewell to Caroline and ride away, never to return. How he hated to leave her here, in this godless place, but knew he must, for Jabrail needed to be taken to safety. As he had so often done before, he had to do what he must.
There would not be time for a proper funerary ceremony, but he would say the traditional prayers for the dead before leaving. She was not of his faith, but it did not matter, for he was certain that her heart was pure and she would find welcome in heaven. His hand stroked her cheek, caressing it once more. She was not yet cold, he thought, and, somehow, that thought clung in his mind, prodding him with memories of other deaths. He had felt the flesh of the dead before, knew its coldness, and realized that Caroline’s skin had not yet this clammy touch.
His fingers swiftly and purposely pressed into her neck, searching for the slightest glimmer of hope, the tiniest spark of life, the miracle that his heart swelled to find. He found it. A small pulse was detectable, its steady patter like the song of heaven itself.
She was not yet gone. His Caroline was still upon this Earth.
Cupping her face between his hands, he brought his mouth down to hers but did not kiss her. Instead, he felt for something far more precious, far more wonderful. Licking his parched lips, he held his breath and waited for a hint of her breath. It felt like a minuscule bit of coolness, her exhalation causing the moisture on his lips to evaporate.
It was indeed like a breeze sent from above, and his soul rejoiced in the gift.
“Caroline…sweet wife, I am here. I came back for you.” She did not respond, and he continued, crooning quietly, in a gentle voice, “We must go…we cannot stay in this place. I need you to try to open your eyes, my love.” Looking back at Ru’utah he asked, “Is there a healer among you? She lives, but is weak.”
“We have none, Medjai. All are in the main camp.”
“We must get her to the camp, then. We ride immediately.”
Ru’utah thought it exceedingly rude for a man to speak to her thusly, but Etosha had ordered her warriors to follow the Medjai’s commands as if they were her own. Accordingly, she complied, taking the boy-child with her, climbing out of the cave just in time to see an band of Fulani on camels at the canyon’s mouth. Already, the other Nubians raised their rifles in answer to the assumed threat, with Etosha taking a place near the front.
Hurrying to her sister’s side, Ru’utah bowed in respect, waiting for Etosha’s permission to speak. It came as a question, “This is the Medjai child?”
“It is. He is strong but the woman suffered a cobra bite. She is near death. The Medjai wants to take her to our healers. He orders the camels made ready.”
Etosha did not reply as her eyes locked on the three people now dismounted from their camels, their scimitars drawn and flashing in the newborn sun. It was obvious that they carried Medjai blades and were not Fulani despite their clothes. Lifting a well-polished spyglass to her eye, she discerned even more. She recognized the man in the lead as Ardeth’s brother. Lowering the glass, she barked to those around her, “They are Medjai. They are friends. Prepare the camels.” She then looked at her sister and the pale infant rapaciously suckling upon her breast. “Bring him,” she ordered simply as she walked otherwise unescorted towards the Medjai, her arm raised in a sign of greeting.
********************************
Ibrahim had been the first to draw his sword when they first spotted red-clad Nubians swarming around the cave where Ay’il swore Carrie and her child were secreted. It hadn’t taken much to make his nerves jangle with the anticipation of battle. It would come as a relief to feel again the sword swinging with purpose in his hands. He was far more comfortable with a soldier’s life, where decisions were black and white than with that of a chieftain, in which subtleties muddied every issue.
Tariq and Jehan followed Ibrahim’s lead, putting their own swords at the ready, and all leapt from their camels, knowing they were outnumbered but intending to succeed, none the less. It was the Medjai way.
Ay’il remained upon the camel, unsure of what to do. He had come to look upon Ibrahim as a sort of protector and asked him, “What should I do, liege?”
The answer was immediate. “Stay on the animal. If we do not return, take it towards the rising sun. There are villages there.” The rest of the message did not need to be spelled out. There were villages where he might find what little refuge was allowed an orphan, quite probably as a slave.
The Nubians were respected in battle, although the Medjai seldom interacted with them. Still, their prowess with the rifle and javelin were well known. Ibrahim assumed they would be first met with a phalanx of spears, but, instead, saw two of the female warriors walking towards them, one, her hand raised in greeting, wore the cheetah skin of a queen about her shoulders. The guard with her carried two babies, one in a cloth tied to her back, the other cradled in her arms.
Raising his own hand in answer, Ibrahim remained cautious. “Hold. Let us see what they have to say. Stay here. Lower your blades but do not sheathe them.” He walked forward, his hood pushed back to show he was Medjai despite the Fulani robes. It was better the Nubians knew who they faced, and Ibrahim refused to go into battle disguised.
“Medjai,” Etosha called. “Your brother is with us.”
“He is your hostage?”
“Do you not recognize your brother’s ally?” Etosha smiled broadly as she gestured at Jabrail. “Or his son? Ardeth is my friend, and he is in need of you. Come.”
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Inside the cave, Ardeth pressed his efforts to rouse Carrie, trickling water from a dampened rag over her face, further streaking the caked dust and sweat. At long last, she sputtered and coughed. “Can you hear me, Caroline?” he asked, wiping the cloth across her cracked lips.
“Ar…..?” was all she managed, but it was enough.
“I am here.” Smiling, he kissed her forehead again.
“Ar….. are….where….?” Shaking, her hand reached his face, the fingers touching his cheek. “You’re back.”
“I am.”
“I told Jabrail….I told him you would come back…” She looked down to where her son had been and saw the empty place in the cloth. Panicked, she turned back to Ardeth. “He was…was here…where…?”
“He is safe, little one. There is a woman here who is nursing him. He is safe and his belly is full.”
“Thank God….thank….” Her words trailed off weakly as she leaned against his chest, exhausted.
“Ardeth.” A voice from the cave’s entrance caused Ardeth to look up. It was Jehan, who had one of Carrie’s medicinal bundles tucked under an arm.
Carrie mustered a grin for her friend as Jehan took her hand in hers. Carrie’s voice was reedy and small but her happiness was enormous. “Jehan…I thought you were….dead…oh how, how good to see…you.”
“It takes quite a bit to kill me, Carrie.” She gave Ardeth a sidelong look punctuated with a sly wink. “I am tough like my brothers.” Her smile was like her brothers’, too, broad and open. Like them, she also never lost sight of what was most important, even when making light banter. “I can be the doctor now. Tell me what I need to know.”
“Um…my leg, it bit my leg, the mother….motherfucker… I bashed it.”
“It is well dead.” Ardeth added as Jehan quickly surmised what Carrie had done to the wound. Swiftly, with fingers made nimble by worry, Jehan removed the bandage, showing the extent of the damage to all.
“Me too, I fear,” Carrie said as she looked at the amount of blackened skin.
“It is not so bad,” Jehan began, although it was not entirely good. She had helped Carrie treat several cobra bites, and knew the danger posed by tissue turning gangrenous. “There is still pink here…” She poked with a finger into the calf. “And here.” She touched the ankle. “ I think the skin is more bruised than dead. What poultice did you use?”
“Not one Ottah ever taught me. Salted meat and spit.”
Jehan’s brows arched in surprise as she observed, “It pulled the venom out. It saved your life.”
“Flatnose would be pr…proud…” Carrie smiled slightly as she leaned against Ardeth’s chest. He had no idea what she was talking about but it did not matter. She didn’t speak further while Jehan cleaned and dressed the wound using the supplies in the kit. It was hard enough to stay awake and she closed her eyes, losing track of time for a few minutes.
She was unaware that Jehan had left and Ibrahim had entered, Jabrail in his arms, until Ardeth shook her gently. “Little one, look who else is here.”
Carrie groaned at the effort of opening her eyes but was greeted by a wonderful sight; her son, happily cooing in his uncle’s arms. “Oh, baby boy… he is such a good baby.”
“He is a fine son, Carrie,” Ibrahim told her. “Fine and strong.”
“Ibrahim, my friend, how good to see you, too…oh, but you should be home. Safi is due… you should be with her.”
Ibrahim smiled indulgently, warmly, his amber eyes crinkling at the corners. “Who do you think sent me to find you? Do you think I could return to the village empty handed? I would never disappoint my Safi thus.”
Carrie returned the smile, but felt her life ebbing away. It was all too much…too much and she was so incredibly tired. “I am afraid…afraid…you will have to disappoint her. I’m sss…ssorry… I don’t think I can…make…”
Ardeth’s eyes, filled with concern, met his brother’s. Both had seen friends die and they knew Carrie had about her the aura of death. Ibrahim continued, “You must make it, Carrie. You cannot entrust the raising of this fine boy to my clod of a brother. He nearly ruined Jehan, you know.”
“You….will…help…help him.”
Another exchange of meaningful stares passed between the brothers, and Ibrahim knew to give them some solitude. If Carrie was passing, Ardeth needed a few private moments with her. Dipping his head in farewell, he hid well the worry in his heart. “I will be honored to help you both. Now, I must leave and ready the camels. Carrie, I will find one with an even gait for you, as I know you do not like their jostling. Allah’s blessings be upon you, my sister.” His hand came to rest on Ardeth’s shoulder in a movement of sympathy and fraternity.
“How….how wonderful to see them…them again.” Carrie sighed. “I….I didn’t think I would….Hell, I am so…damned tired, Ardeth.” It was then as if her air went out of her, in one long sigh.
“Caroline….I know. I know, but you must not give up. Sometimes I have been tired like this. I have wanted to sleep, to close my eyes and simply let myself drift away. But then I would remember those who needed me, those whom I loved. Love gave me strength, little one, just as it does to you now.” She gave no answer, but Ardeth felt her still breathing and his hand on her ribs felt her heart beating. He held his small water skin to her lips and she drank a small bit, which gave him an idea. “The Nubian camp is but a long day’s ride and there is water there, fresh water, not stale like this, and food, and a soft bed in which I can hold my wife all through the night.”
He stopped, realizing that he might not ever hold her through another night, and lowered the water bag. She coughed and he tentatively called, “Caroline?”
She tilted her head to look up at him, her blue eyes cracked open, and she sighed. “Is that all…all you ev… ever think about?” Pausing, she swallowed the thick cotton in her mouth before continuing. “Getting me in bed?”
Cupping her chin in his broad hand, he saw that the light had come back into her eyes. She was joking with him, and once again, hope soared in his heart. “You know me too well, little one. But what man would blame me for wanting to bed such a sweet-smelling woman? You are fragrant like damask roses.”
“Oh, I bet I …I smell like rotten roses and skunk cabbage.”
“Worse,” He chuckled softly, lovingly.
“I feel worse,” she mumbled. Turning her head so she could see the commotion outside the cave’s entrance, she added, “They’re ready to go.”
“All is ready, little one.”
“All except me.” Looking back at Ardeth she asked, “You’re going to ask me to move, aren’t you?”
“If you can.”
“You ask for a hell…”she coughed again, and he held her tenderly until it passed. “You ask for a hell of a lot, cowboy.”
“I know, but I will be at your side to help.”
“I know. Okay, let’s get this sh….show on the road.”
“Can you stand?”
“I can try.” She so wanted to make it out on her own power, even if she did rely on Ardeth’s arm to balance herself.
How carefully could a man assist his wife in standing? How protectively could he support her as she clung to his robes? None as thoroughly as did Ardeth Bay, who, despite his own battered body, did not waver as Carrie leaned against him. Nor did he hesitate to lift her up when she stumbled on her injured leg, his arms sweeping her off the ground before she fell. “Sorry, for being such a wimp,” she whispered meekly as she put her arms around his neck.
“There is nothing to be sorry over, little one. I will carry you the rest of the way.” And so he did, taking her to the camel that knelt obediently. Tariq was at its head, ensuring it did not rise until bidden.
Ardeth dipped his head in greeting while Carrie managed a quiet, “I thought MY honeymoon was short.” Tired as she was, she recognized that Jehan and Tariq had spent most of their married life in the desert, hunting for her, instead of loving each other as newlyweds should.
“It is good to see you, doctor,” Tariq answered, still using the title he used before his wedding made him part of her family.
Carrie shook her head meekly at the formality that clung to this young man, and put her hand on his chest. “Carrie. Call me….Carrie, damn it.” She was tired, then, so very bone weary, and let her hand drop away, limply.
Tariq lifted it, tucked it into her lap and, in a kind voice, agreed. “Carrie.” He then met Ardeth’s appraisingly piercing gaze. “With my liege’s permission.”
The compassion with which Tariq had addressed Caroline was not at all lost on Ardeth, and he saw the man in a different light. Besides, Tariq was family now. “Permission is not needed, for you are her brother by marriage. A good and loyal brother to us both.” The praise was not lost on Tariq who again, nodded in answer as Ardeth further requested, “Hold the beast while I mount. I wish no jarring of my wife.”
As Ardeth eased into the saddle, he realized how light she had become since the birth of their son and the dehydration that came after the bite. It made it easy to mount the camel with her in his arms, but also reminded him of how much she had endured. Securing her, he looked up as Etosha called his name.
The Nubian held Jabrail in her arms, the tyke sucking contently on her pinkie. “He should be with his mother,” she said with a startlingly brilliant smile. “He has been fed, and will fall asleep as soon as the camel begins rocking. Here…” Etosha handed the child to Ardeth and then removed a scarf from her neck, knotted it and put it over Carrie’s head. Taking the baby back from Ardeth, she laid him in the cradle formed by the scarf. “You see? Nubian women carry their children like this. It is good.”
Carrie’s energy reserves were almost depleted, but she thanked Etosha before closing her eyes to sleep. She had no way of knowing that she had just addressed the most feared of all the Nubian queens, or that the scarf around her neck that humbly served as a cradle for Jabrail bore the pattern reserved for only the highest ranking Nubian royals.
None of this mattered.
All that mattered was that she was in Ardeth’s arms and she and her son were finally, at long last, safe.
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The Cult of the Cybeline – Chapter 31