Cult of the Cybeline – 34
Ardeth Bay was a smooth-cheeked boy of eleven when his blade first took a life. It was a day he would never forget, for Medjai never took killing lightly. Life, even that of the wicked, was a gift from the Almighty, and not to be taken without thought.
Even after Ardeth had grown to manhood, had many battles behind him and countless deaths upon his soul, he could vividly remember the moment he first felt his sword ending a man’s mortal existence.
It happened on a day that began with a rush of excitement, as his father had taken him into the desert with a patrol of ten other soldiers. Ardeth adored riding with his father, and, on this day, was filled with pride at being treated as a warrior, not only a son.
Kasim Bay was also prideful, as his first-born was on the brink of manhood. Ardeth showed great promise, not only with the tools of battle, but also with those of leadership. The boy had a maturity beyond his tender years, and Kasim believed that the prophecies had been correct, that the greatest Medjai leader, the one foretold for centuries, was none other than his son, Ardeth.
If the seers were correct, the creature they had feared for thousands of years would soon arise and, from all the Medjai, one man would stand alone to lead the battle.
One man. His son.
Ensuring that this boy survived childhood to fulfill this destiny became Kasim’s mission. He was well aware that there were powerful forces aligned to end his son’s life. Kasim Bay had many dangerous enemies within the Medjai who plotted his death as well. Most simply wanted his death to settle old scores of honor and insult, while others, those who were more astute to the mysteries of fate, sought to destroy the man his son would become, a man they knew they would not be able to control.
A realist, Kasim knew it was highly likely that he would not survive to see the boy to full manhood. Towards that, he pushed Ardeth relentlessly, requiring far more of him than was demanded of any other youth. When Ameera protested, her mother’s heart in pain for her son’s trials, Kasim would simply answer that more would be expected of Ardeth as a man, and so, also, as a boy. Ardeth must be ready to meet the abomination that slumbered beneath the sands of Hamunaptera.
The patrol Kasim led that day had nothing to do with the ancient curse that bound them to their duty. It was routine circuit across the open desert through an area frequented by outlaws and renegades; a place where right was determined by might and all life was tenuous. Kasim knew the likelihood of a skirmish was high, and was, truthfully, counting on it. It was time that Ardeth faced real battle, and real death.
It was not long before Kasim got his wish. As the Medjai crested a ridge, they saw the smoldering remains of a small Tuareg caravan, recently raided, the bodies of the dead scattered carelessly around what had once been a camp.
Raising his sword, Kasim called his men to arms. All knew it was unlikely that any of the raiders were in the ruined camp, but it was wise to be alert and they raced in with swords drawn. Ardeth hoped they would indeed find bandits in the camp, as he itched to engage in genuine combat. His mare was fleet, bred for the races, and quickly overtook his father’s horse. Breaking with protocol, he spurred her forwards, taking the lead; his boyish face alit with excitement at facing battle at last.
Kasim allowed his son this liberty, motioning that the other soldiers should stay behind. He wanted to gauge his son’s reactions, for they would speak towards the man who was to come. A chieftain must be ruthless in battle, but merciful, as well.
Ardeth’s youthful excitement turned to horror as he came upon the ravaged and partially burned bodies scattered in the caravan’s ruins. It had been a family, with mothers and children among the dead. Youthful exuberance turned to disgust at the sight of the slaughtered children, some too young to be out of diapers. Reining his mare to a halt, Ardeth felt his stomach lurch twice before leaning over his saddle to retch.
He was still wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when his father’s voice, quiet and deep, echoed his own thoughts. “It is not unlike how we found your sisters, is it not, my son?”
The bitterness of the vomit still stinging his throat, Ardeth nodded, seeing again the murdered bodies of his infant half-sisters. He had been much younger then, but the image was as vivid in his mind as the bloodied bodies before him. His father continued, emotions thickening his voice. “I see them, too, Ardeth, every day, and pray I will live to avenge them.”
A lieutenant pulled his horse up beside Kasim’s, dipped his head in respect and gestured towards the rocky badlands nearby. “Liege, tracks lead towards those hills. Shall we pursue?”
Kasim nodded once and spurred his mare forward, leading the warriors towards the robbers’ lair. This time, Ardeth was content to ride amidst the others, grateful for the quick looks of understanding several of the men gave him as he dropped back in the group. He was well liked by the men, to whom he always showed respect and humility. One day, they knew, he would lead them into battle, as a chieftain with all the privilege of rank. Now, he was a boy who walked in the long shadow of his father and who dipped his head for all who had earned the marks of a full Medjai.
He asked no special treatment for being the son of a chieftain, but received kindness for showing proper deference to all the other soldiers. One, a senior warrior named Tardok, even put a fatherly hand on the shoulder of the boy, giving him a bit of comfort just before the Medjai rolled at full gallop into the bandit camp. “Stay near me, pup. We will rid the desert of the scum that killed those Tuareg babies.”
It was lightly guarded, with only a solitary sentry posted, as the thieves thought no one would come after them in this lawless place. The caravan was fair pray, they believed, and the fault rested on the leader, who had foolishly tried to save a few days of travel by taking a camel road known to be frequented by highwaymen. No one would care that they had wiped out an entire family of Tuareg, no one except the relatives who waited for them, and they would never learn of the deaths unless they, too, were stupid enough to travel across the badlands.
The bandits drowsed in their tents, their bellies full of stolen food, secure in their ability to literally get away with murder.
They had not counted on the Medjai. The sentry’s neck was slit before he could utter a warning to those who carelessly napped in the tents just beyond, but the Medjai battle cry roused the hapless thieves. Like banshees from hell, the black-robed horsemen struck down the bandits with chilling efficiency, giving no quarter.
Ardeth, sword raised, stayed close to Tardok, and witnessed the deaths of several raiders, but had not engaged a single one himself. There was a hierarchy within the ranks regarding battle, with the senior soldiers garnering the right to first strike, which Ardeth would not violate. Still, his blood burned anew with the heat of combat, mingled now with a thirst for justice.
At last he understood what it meant to be the tool of Allah, the bringer of retribution and the avenger of the innocent dead.
There had been nearly thirty bandits, typical of them as they swept like a hungry pack of jackals across the sands. Although outnumbered, the Medjai easily overpowered the thieves, and those not yet dead or mortally injured fled like scalded rats. Ardeth’s eyes locked on one that was escaping on a camel, thrashing the beast into a scrambling pace. Tardok noted this as well, and, seeing Ardeth’s eyes narrow like those of a lion before the kill, urged the boy to follow his birthright… and the fleeing thief. “Take him, boy. May your blade drink deep of his blood!”
The words were barely said before Ardeth spurred his mount into pursuit, his saber raised and his voice ringing with the Medjai yell. His mare was the fastest in his father’s stable, a fine blood bay filly with a lineage as royal as the boy who sat upon her. Racing was her birthright, and she stretched her neck out as if she became an arrow sent from the bow to pierce an enemy’s heart. Her legs pounded the hard-pack like pistons, her breath coming in deep pulls as she seemed to drink the wind itself, becoming one with it. She quickly closed the distance between the camel and herself, and when abreast the laboring beast, aggressively slammed her shoulder against it, sending it to the ground.
The camel lurched roughly, landing hard on its knees. The bandit landed hard on the sand but scrambled in a panic, his feet sliding from under him. Ardeth was off his mount in an instant, and his sword tip pricked at the Adam’s apple of his quarry. At first, the bandit saw only black robes and a glinting scimitar. At least death came quick at the end of a Medjai sword, he thought with resignation. The black-robed demons were merciless but did not torment their captives, as did some tribes. Then he noted the age of the youth behind the sword. He was but a boy, his downy cheeks exposed when his veil fell away, his skin devoid of the blue-black tattoos of his heritage.
Cunning, mixed with hope, sprang in the man’s heart. “Great Medjai, I am only a poor camel skinner, forced into labor by these fiends. May Allah curse their decrepit souls.”
Ardeth’s sword did not waiver, but his resolution did. What if what this man said was the truth? What if he was an innocent victim of the raiders? Would not killing him for their crimes be in error?
Seeing the glimmer of doubt in Ardeth’s eyes, the robber pressed further, prostrating himself in the dirt. “I beg for mercy, in the Prophet’s name.”
Kasim Bay had seen his son’s courageous pursuit of the man and galloped after him to witness Ardeth’s first blood letting. Leaping from his saddle, he swept to Ardeth’s side, his own bloody sword still gripped in his left hand. Hearing the disgusting whines of the thief, he snarled, “What sort of groveling pig have you captured, my son?”
The robber, cleverly recognizing Kasim’s rank as chieftain and father of the boy, turned his entreaty towards him. “I have a family, too, great lord, who have suffered much since my capture. I have many children who have missed their father.”
Kasim was not moved, however, and ordered his son to dispatch the cur. “Kill him, Ardeth, and be done with it.”
“But, father, what if he speaks the truth? Killing him would be wrong.” Ardeth turned to look at his father, taking his eyes from the robber for a split second. In that moment, a stinging backhand spun Ardeth around, nearly putting him in the dirt. The blow came not from the bandit, but from Kasim, whose own sword now pricked blood from the prone man’s throat.
The chieftain’s voice was a low powerful growl, the sort of which had sent men far more seasoned than Ardeth running for cover. Kasim Bay’s temper was infamous, as was his intolerance for nothing short of absolute obedience from his troops. “You question my order?”
A heavy pause hung in the air as Ardeth, his eyes locked with his father’s, struggled with an answer. Indeed he had questioned it, as if he and his father had been alone, and he understood his error in doing so before the men. He was still puzzled over the correct path, and stated his case in a polite but assured voice, “I beg your forgiveness, liege. I spoke out of ignorance and will accept any punishment deemed correct. I would ask a question myself, if it is allowed.”
It was a bold premise, and a number of soldiers who now stood in a semi-circle around the group murmured in hushed tones. Kasim himself was taken by surprise at first, but then realized he had often encouraged his son to speak his mind whenever a question plagued him. Without turning to look at the men, he gestured once with his head and ordered them away. “Leave me, all except my son and our guest.” When the men were gone, Kasim’s voice became softer, “What is it you would ask?”
“How can I tell if he tells the truth? I do not want to kill an innocent man.”
“Ardeth, we kill many innocents in the service to our duty. It cannot be helped, but you are correct to wish to minimize this.” It was true, and something all Medjai boys were raised to understand. This was not just any boy, however, and Kasim knew the prophecy involving his son included a riddle about finding allies where once were enemies. Kasim had long known that he had within himself an ability to feel things before they came to pass. It was not as if he was a seer, however, and he did not always control, or comprehend, this gift. He had long believed that his son also had this vision and realized it was now time to test it. “Look into your heart, my son. Perhaps you have it within you to know those in whom there is good. Do you feel this man speaks the truth or lies?”
The bandit, still grasping at what he believed was a decent chance of survival, grinned through tobacco-stained teeth at Ardeth and raised his hands in the universal sign of supplication. Ardeth stared at him, boring his dark eyes into the essence of the man, seeking the answer that would let him know if death or mercy was the proper path. It came to him slowly, not in a brilliant flash of realization, but like a warmth that builds gradually at first, then bursts into fiery reality. It was as if the bandit was surrounded in a halo of reddish-brown light, a dark, ominous aura, and Ardeth’s reaction was without pause. Raising his sword swiftly, he swung with all his might, severing the man’s head completely. “He lied. He was bad,” was all he said as he watched the head roll across the desert floor, but when he looked at his father, tears rolled across his boyish face.
Kasim dropped to his knees, pulling the boy to him. As he held his child, and let his robes shelter him in this moment of vulnerability, Kasim intoned, “Ardeth ibn Kasim ibn Horem, blessed are thee, my son, for you surely are the chosen one.”
Indeed, Ardeth had the gift, and Kasim rejoiced in this, but was at the same time humbled by the vision he had of Ardeth, grown to manhood, leading the Medjai tribes through their darkest days. It was both a curse and a blessing to know such things about one’s beloved son.
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Ardeth was a man given to thoughtful reflection. He adored the open desert for its way of allowing his mind to drift along what winds blew it about, and wished to do so now. Alas, he was far from home, and he couldn’t even guess when he would next feel one of his horses beneath him as he rode alone through the familiar sands of his part of the Sahara.
He would be happy to see Caroline and his baby again, but knew that was many hours away. The hunting party to eradicate the Cybeline was supposed to last only a day. Instead, it had been three days of a running, bloody slaughter in which one nest of the cultists had led to another and yet another. It was, he decided, like killing mice in an infested granary; there was always another bunch to be destroyed.
Some had not been evil. He could tell these things about people, and knew that many of the cultists had simply been victims of circumstance. Sold or bartered into the temple as children, they had little choice but to obey their leaders. Some had still been mere children. It made no difference, however, for Ardeth knew all of them must be killed. There could be no nucleus of survivors to rise anew and seek out his son.
He thought, suddenly, of his father, and of the first man he had killed. He had been eleven and had, for the first time, seen the aura of evil clinging to a man. It was like looking into his soul. He had seen that same dark light on many of the Cybeline, as well, even though he had not called the gift forth. He had learned to control it, and use it, and often left it slumbering. He preferred not to know such things unless it was necessary. Most often, he did not even think of it, as he had developed a canny ability to read people without turning to this special sight.
Still, it had saved his life a few times, and had caused him to spare several adversaries whose lives would otherwise have been forfeit.
One was O’Connell.
Ardeth dropped his head, smiled, and softly chuckled when he recalled the brilliant blue light he had seen flowing from O’Connell’s entire body the first time he laid eyes on the man. Even given the distance between them – Ardeth had been on his horse watching from a ridge overlooking Hamunaptra while Rick staggered across the desert floor below – the strength of spirit had been startling, and it had kept Ardeth from ordering his death.
It had saved his life later, twice, when Ardeth violated his duty to let him live, and yet, it was something O’Connell would never accept, just as he would not ever completely admit to the plan that pulled them all together to defeat the beast.
His American friend was uniquely stubborn in accepting his place in the river of fate.
No, Ardeth corrected himself, Rick was not unique in this. Caroline, too, was skeptical that fate guided her path, despite all the evidence she had seen. It was an American thing, Ardeth decided, stemming from their nation being so young and so separated from the spirituality of the ancients.
Caroline….his Caroline, his sweet wife in whom he had found the answers to so many ancient riddles. How could she not be a gift from Allah? Surely, fate had crafted her to be his true mate, molding her from stardust itself. Of this, Ardeth had no doubt, and he ached to hold her near, to feel the warm breath of her slumber on his chest. He hoped it would not be much longer before he rejoined her in the Nubian camp. No further Cybeline had been encountered, and, if there were indeed none left, he would be at her side by sunset tomorrow.
His thoughts of her were interrupted by his brother’s approach. Ibrahim, holding a flatbread laden with roasted antelope, stood a few steps away, as was correct military procedure, waiting for Ardeth to speak first. “Ibrahim, join me. There is no need for such formality here. Besides, the smell of that food is reminding me that I haven’t eaten since dawn. Amazing women, these Nubians; they fight like tigers and cook like goddesses.”
Ibrahim grinned in agreement as he sat next to his brother, removed a clean square of cloth from a pouch, and placed the food upon it, tearing a bit off for himself. “And they are teaching those skills to our sister. She assisted in this meal and they are showing her the use of their spears, as well. She fits in with them as she never has with the Medjai women.”
“Except for Safi. I do not know why, but those two always understood each other.” Ardeth pulled away a corner of flatbread, scooped up the meat with it and pushed it into his mouth.
Ibrahim slowly chewed and swallowed before answering. “Safi understands the warrior heart.” His amber eyes lifted towards the north, towards
Further words were not needed, as Ardeth understood how deeply his brother adored his wife and worried about the impending birth of his first born. Still, there was the issue of Ibrahim following him into the desert, against his orders, and Ardeth chose this moment to question this. “As I recall, you were to secure the village until I returned. If you had done as I ordered, you would be at Safi’s side instead of mine.” It was the first time the two had spoken of Ibrahim’s decision.
“You gave that order based upon what you knew at the time. Your mother provided me with additional information on the Cybeline, and the dire circumstances painted by the men you sent back mandated a different course of action. You named me as chieftain in your stead and I issued new orders. As chieftain, that was my right.”
Ardeth’s eyebrow crooked upwards at his brother’s confident statement. It was the explanation of a leader of men, a commander in the army, a chieftain comfortable with the title. It was not that Ibrahim had ever lacked self-assurance, it was just that he had never wished to bear the weight of the chieftain’s mantle and had often found it discomforting to act in Ardeth’s place. “You seem to have adjusted to the privileges of rank.”
“I did what was necessary and what was right.”
“It is all any chieftain can do. You did well.”
Ibrahim dipped his head in thanks. “I had a good teacher.”
“Our father taught us what we needed to be leaders,” Ardeth agreed, downing another swallow of the meal.
“With all respect to he who sired us, it was not our father who taught me how to lead men. He had no expectations of that for me. What I know, I learned from you.” Ibrahim had been only twelve when their father had died, and was still a nameless orphan, or considered as one, then. It had been Ardeth’s hand that had guided Ibrahim into manhood. Ibrahim broke the heavy moment of male emotionalism with a jest. “Of course, you taught Jehan the same way, and now there will be hell to pay.” He smiled broadly as he gestured with a nod towards where a campfire illuminated the silhouettes of several women practicing the spear, one of whom was Jehan, her long hair swirling with each move.
Ardeth laughed, too, and let his eyes linger on his sister. She was indeed a natural leader. He had seen that many times on this hunt, as the Nubian women easily followed Jehan’s instructions. This was a society of female warriors, and Jehan melded into it seamlessly. It had been, at first, odd to ride with a patrol of mostly women, but within minutes after the first battle began, Ardeth stopped thinking of the Nubians as anything but remarkable fighters. Several times, he had watched in appreciation at their power, grace and utter, complete ruthlessness.
He had also noted how well Jehan and Tariq fought together. It was a truly beautiful thing; the two of them side by side, like a perfectly paired team of fine horses; each anticipating the moves of the other. Ardeth was still cautiously observant of Tariq, as trust was not something he easily gave to anyone who had been aligned to an enemy, but found within himself a growing appreciation for the dark man; almost a fondness. No one could say that Tariq had been anything less than unquestionably loyal and courageous throughout this campaign. It was plain that he loved Jehan, but it was just as obvious that things were not as they should be between them.
“Our sister spends more time with the Nubian women than with her new husband,” Ardeth noted quietly.
Ibrahim grunted in agreement. He had not yet told his brother of Jehan’s missteps or of his concerns for the future. There had been little time in which to do so, and so, he took the opportunity now offered. “There was a difficulty on the way to your rescue, brother. Our sister took matters into her own hands, as she is prone to do, and it has caused problems.”
“If it caused a problem between Jehan and her husband, it is for them to resolve unless they ask our help. Do you know the nature of their disagreement?”
“It goes beyond marital discord. Tariq was on watch and Jehan was with the camels, or, at least that was her assignment. Instead, she went to Tariq and they were as a man and woman. They ignored their duties as soldiers to be lovers.”
Ardeth suppressed a grin, as he knew that few newlyweds could have withstood such temptation. “This is not such a large transgression. Can you say you would have shown more restraint had Safi been with you beneath a desert moon? At least both were awake.”
Ibrahim wished it was only a case of a newly joined couple having relations while one was on watch. It would have been handled right then without the involvement of the tribal elders. “It was what came after that caused the trouble. When they were done, she knocked him senseless with a rock, vandalized the camel saddles and stole one of the animals, thus abandoning her post as well as striking a ranking Medjai. Tariq is …. well, I do not think he has yet come to understand her reasoning. I am not certain that I do.”
Ardeth muttered a mild curse as he listened to his brother. Jehan’s further violations were serious enough to mandate a tribunal before the tribal elders, which concerned him greatly. There was more Ardeth needed to know, however, before speaking his mind. “Tariq wishes to disavow her over this?” It would not be unreasonable for a man to distance himself from a wife so accused, and it would not assist Jehan’s defense. It would be far better for Jehan if Tariq stood by her as husband even though forced to testify against her as a soldier.
“No…no, I do not think so. He, in fact…” Ibrahim hesitated for but a moment before sharing with Ardeth the depth of Tariq’s commitment to Jehan. “He would take her from the village if the judgment is harsh, and I would help him.”
Ardeth gazed into the darkening sky as night swept across the land, contemplating the trouble his sister was in. Attacking another Medjai was a serious issue. Indeed, if the elders mandated the full punishment for these transgressions, Jehan could face banishment or death. He knew the unspoken pledge in his brother’s words, and understood that Tariq and Ibrahim would skirt their own vows to save Jehan’s life. Ardeth, too, knew he would do the same, and took heart in his brother’s strong statement of support for their sister. “You believe her innocent?”
“Hardly, but I believe she is guided by the infinite forces. She had a vision that she was compelled to follow. Ardeth, She indeed has a great gift. It led us to you. I cannot find fault in actions driven by the divine sight.”
This was another wrinkle in the issue. If Jehan was a seer, she had certain protections under their laws, but she had nothing to identify her as such except for Ibrahim’s word. It was not a bleak outlook, but was not one to treat lightly, either. Ardeth sipped from a water skin before thoughtfully answering, “The tribal elders are not unreasonable, and Masoud leads them. He carries a good deal of weight and would listen to Jehan’s explanation with an open heart. If she has the gift, it will help, greatly. Still, I do not envy you your role as executor of their justice. It is an unpleasant part of being a chieftain.”
Ibrahim looked sharply at his brother. “I am no longer chieftain. You will the one tasked to apply whatever sentence is levied.”
Ardeth’s eyes locked with his brother’s as there had to be complete understanding between them. Ibrahim’s role in this had already been cast and Ardeth’s return would not change it. “The transgression took place under your command, while you were chieftain. Just as you had the right to countermand my orders, so do you have the weight of meting out Jehan’s punishment.” Ardeth put his hand on Ibrahim’s arm in a sign of unity and strength. “I will do what I can. Know this, should the sentence be severe, I will oppose it and I carry weight where these issues are decided. There are yet unknown truths that may change the outcome.” He fell silent, letting the mood settle about them. It occurred to him that he should speak to Tariq, and rose, brushing the sand from his robes. “I must see to our new brother, then, for there are things he should know.”
Tariq had observed his two brothers in law dining together, noted their occasional glance in his direction, as well as those towards Jehan, and surmised the topic of conversation was himself and his bride. How could it be anything else? He was not surprised, then, when one of them walked towards him. Tariq, seeing it was Ardeth, sighed. He preferred Ibrahim’s company, and surmised that Ardeth’s presence meant the discussion to come would be of ‘some import’. Tariq resisted an impulse to speak first, as if he was the ranking soldier. It would only create more trouble, he realized, and waited for Ardeth to speak.
“Allah be with you, my brother,” came the formal greeting.
“And to you, brother. It is late for an inspection.” Tariq could not completely withhold his tongue, and his words bordered on challenge.
If Tariq expected Ardeth to respond in kind, he was mistaken. “No inspection, Tariq. I simply wish to thank you for all you have done for me and my wife. Is that a strange thing?” The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, neither looking directly at the other, as was Medjai custom.
“No. It is just that you and I have not always been….” Tariq could not find quite the right word.
“Compatible?” Ardeth asked, with an amused grin visible in the firelight.
“As you say.” Tariq grinned back, albeit, cautiously. “Your lady has always been most gracious to me. I was honored to have been of a small help in her recovery. I pray she is well.”
“My lady has always championed you, as has my sister. It is about Jehan that I would speak now.” The words, while spoken easily, carried a great deal of weight.
Tariq instantly understood the reason for this meeting and pushed the subject, not wishing to take the indirect Medjai way of dancing around such issues. “Perhaps it is because of how I was raised, but I prefer frankness. Speak plainly when it concerns myself and my wife.”
“As you wish. I, too, see the virtue of economy in words. Tariq, I am aware of Jehan’s actions. When she faces the tribal elders, you will have to testify against her. I ask you, as one soldier to another, but also as a man who loves your wife as only a brother can, will you stand with her as husband through this?”
Tariq’s answer was swift and sure, and carried more than a hint of aggression. “I would stand with her through hellfire.”
Ardeth smiled slightly at this bravado, and placed his hand on Tariq’s shoulder. “You would not stand alone by her, my brother, this you must know.” When the other man nodded in understanding, Ardeth continued, “You are indeed her mate, and I am thankful fate brought you to us, although I did not always feel this way.”
“I can not fault you for your suspicions. I only ask I be allowed to prove myself.” Again, the edge was in his voice, but, this time, mingled with earnestness.
“You have, my brother. You have. Now, it is our family that must prove itself to you.” Turning towards Tariq, making the discussion now one of familiarity and not formality, Ardeth added, “You must let us stand with you. Our house is not without influence and I will use it to save Jehan.”
This shook Tariq as he knew the depth of Ardeth’s power within the Medjai.“You think she will need such intervention?”
Ardeth nodded once, his manner serious. “She may. There are factors at work that are beyond anything I can do. Ibrahim believes she has the gift of divine sight. There are certain allowances made if she does.”
“She has told me she has these visions. They plague her with terrible headaches. She said one caused her to…the night she …”
Ardeth waited for Tariq to finish, but the younger man could not find the words. How could he explain how Jehan had betrayed him? Ardeth attempted, prompting Tariq, “The night she struck you and stole a camel?”
“Yes. I did not think she could do such a thing, not to me.”
“Women are often like the wild mares of the open desert; unpredictable yet loyal to the death. It is difficult to understand what drives them. I have tamed a few to satisfaction.”
“The women or the mares?” Tariq could not resist a jest at Ardeth’s vivid analogy.
Ardeth laughed softly, in open appreciation for the moment of levity as the topic at hand weighed heavily upon his heart. “Both, but the mares are far easier. I do not think I will ever tame my Caroline, nor would I want to.”
“Your wife never came to you with love as sweet as the dawn one moment and then struck you in the head with a rock the next.” Tariq’s point was blunt. The doctor was a heathen, but she was not prone to attacking her husband.
“No, but my wife is not as is yours.” Ardeth rarely discussed his wife with other men, and then only with those to whom he was close, so it was an expression of how sincerely he wished to help Tariq understand Jehan that he expanded on this. “Caroline is stubborn, independent and quite capable of making her will known, even to the extent of defying me, but she and Jehan are very different. Jehan is like no other woman I have ever known, with a warrior’s heart bolder than that within the chest of most men. Tariq, I have loved Jehan from the moment she first drew breath outside our mother’s womb, but she is what she is.” He lowered his head and shook his head in wonder at how the world worked its magic. How he could be here saying these things to this man, of all men on Earth? “When she crept into your tent, that night before the joining, you remember?”
Tariq cursed under his breath. “How could I not?”
“She was angry at you for not accepting her offer.” At Tariq’s shocked expression, Ardeth explained, “Yes, she told me she offered herself to you.”
“Ordered I show myself to her is more like it. Merciful Allah, I thought she had lost her mind.” In remembering that night, Tariq forgot his anger of the present and smiled as he thought of the look on her face at his refusal. “She was livid when I forced her to leave my tent.”
“She cursed you to the heavens for behaving like an honorable man, and I had to remind her that she had defended you as such for months.” He paused as he remembered the moments they had shared as just brother and sister and grinned. “It was NOT what she wanted to hear. Now, I am telling you exactly what I told her, and I doubt if you will welcome it any more than did she. You knew who Jehan was when you fell in love with her. She has not changed. Have your feelings for her changed?”
“No. I love her as much as I ever did.” More, he realized, despite his smoldering resentment at her betrayal.
“How much?”
The answer came easily. “Until death, and beyond, Allah willing.”
His response, given without a pause, what exactly what Ardeth hoped for, and he quickly explained, “There is something you must do, then, to help her should our defense fall short. We would need time to clear her name, and she must be kept safe in the meantime.”
Tariq expected Ardeth to order him to take her from the village before sentencing. It was, after all, the course of action of which he and Ibrahim had already spoken. That Ardeth Bay was willing to be a party to the skirting of Medjai law shocked Tariq, but he was secretly relieved at it. He was left speechless by Ardeth’s next words, however, for they were not at all what he anticipated.
“You must get her with child, and quickly.” At Tariq’s shocked silence, Ardeth continued, “By our law, a pregnant woman cannot be put to death or banished until the child is born and weaned if the father of the child so petitions the council. Only you can do this.”
“She will never bear my child.” Tariq did not realize he had spoke out loud. Appalled that he had exposed an unpleasant truth about himself and Jehan, he looked Ardeth in the eye and validated his previous words. “It is impossible.”
“What? Is there ….” Ardeth’s concern was obvious in his voice. “Forgive my impoliteness, but is there some difficulty that prevents her from catching with your seed?”
Tariq knew it was best to state the rest of the facts. “She and I have not been as a man and woman since the night of the incident. Surely, it has been noted that we are not…as we once were with each other.”
Ardeth looked away, wanting to give Tariq as much privacy as he could, given the delicacy of the discussion. “Again, I apologize for the rudeness, but it has. I did not realize it went so far. Is it by your choice or hers?” The legality of the joining was at risk if either mate refused the sexual needs of the other without due cause. This could become an issue at Jehan’s trial as well as for the union between the tribes created by the marriage.
Tariq looked towards where his wife sat with a knot of Nubian women. Wryly, he admitted, “It is mutual. She chooses the company of the Nubians, and I, the camels. We both avoid togetherness.”
“At least you have that in common, that and love. The one must overcome the other, Tariq. You must find a way. If we are unsuccessful in convincing the elders that her actions were guided by divine sight, it may be her only chance. You must impregnate her.”
“Do you…. Do you give this as an order or as advice?” Tariq was unsure as to Ardeth’s meaning.
In answer, the chieftain turned towards where the new moon rose in the east. “I prefer to say advice, but consider it an order if you must. May Allah protect you.” Without further discussion, Ardeth strode away, leaving Tariq with much to ponder as the night ripened around him.
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The Cult of the Cybeline – Chapter 35