| The Sisterhood Of One By V.N. Levitsky |
| Disclaimer: The following characters: Anck-Su-Namun, Ardeth Bay, Evelyn and Jonathan Carnahan, Imhotep and Rick O’Connell are the property of Universal Studios. No infringement is intended. The concept of The Sisterhood and all other characters, except for actual historical figures and actual historical events, are the property of the author. This is for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made. Don’t even think of suing me… the mortgage company owns my very soul for at least another 10 years, so get in line! Submit comments and feedback to DTWarrior@hotmail.com. Author’s Note: The mentions of historical figures and actual historical events, while essentially accurate, have been slightly re-shaped to suit the author’s storyline. This story is rated NC-17 ________________________________________ |
| Chapter One Egypt 1939 A solitary figure, draped in black from head to toe, stands on the rocky plateau of a cliff overlooking the vast Egyptian desert, astride a mercury-hued stallion, using binoculars to eye the camp far down below. From still higher above, intensely white moonlight shines in the black velvet sky, giving just enough illumination to locate the camp. “Come along, Platiado… it is time we made our presence known.” The figure urged the horse along the ridge of the cliff, using the reins to lead him steadily along the narrow length of trail. The only sounds in the night were the hushed whispers of the wind and the slow steady beat of hooves tapping along the jagged terrain. The lone rider brought the horse further down along the ridge and onto a high dune. Advancing on the camp as slowly as possible, at an almost leisurely pace… so as to ensure that the inhabitants of the camp had time to react and make ready. After all, approaching the Med-jai in the middle of the night was not the most intelligent thing a person could do. But not all endeavors require intellect… sometimes expediency was far more necessary and prudent. And this was certainly one of those times… when time was of the essence. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The night winds kicked up the sands along the dunes into indiscriminate patterns as they had done for millennia. There were long wavy ripples, as curvaceous as a woman’s contours. And there were high ridges and sandbanks that appeared as tall and as permanent as a mountain made of rock… that could quickly disappear and become a deep valley should a sandstorm last long enough. But there was a purposeful and distinct break in the sands along the topmost ridge of a dune about a hundred yards away. The four Medjai guards on watch at the camp gates saw this and sensed something abnormal. Taking no chances, they immediately began calling out warnings. “It is Imhotep!” The oldest of the guards on duty this night, Ali, rallied the junior warriors, “Cheb! Hisham! Go rouse Ardeth and the others! Imad and I shall hold him off until your return!” Cheb and Hisham quickly dashed towards the encampment for reinforcements as Ali drew his scimitar and raised it towards the slowly approaching stranger. The rider slowed the horse to a halt, raising one gloved hand, with the palm facing the warrior, in the universal gesture of peace. Young Imad felt as though he were fastened to the very sand beneath his boots. He muttered trance-like to himself. “Buh-buh… buh.. behold… a… uh… puh… puh… pale horse.” For some reason, the stranger’s movements and presence alarmed the younger warrior and jarred something in his mind. Imad was unaware that the growing wet warmth along the length of his legs was his bladder surrendering all muscle control. Out of nowhere, an old memory came to the forefront of his mind, from when he was a mere boy of ten. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ He had been running an errand for his mother, buying some dates and chickpeas in the local bazaar when a ruckus broke out behind him. A missionary, drunk from cheap liquor, wandered out of a tavern, stumbling into the main square, knocking over sacks of dried beans and spices. With his open hand raised over his head, the man of God screamed and ranted, “The end is nigh! Read your Revelations or be doomed!” He dropped to his knees, spittle flying from his lips as he continued his alcohol-soaked shrieks. “Behold! I saw a pale horse. And upon the horse, a pale rider! And the name of the horse was Pestilence… and the name of the rider was Death!” With this said, the missionary collapsed, unconscious. Imad had been so terrified that he ran all the way home, the dates and chickpeas forgotten. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ While the Medjai had developed an astounding reputation, it was not for their endearing social skills. Observing the look of shock on Imad’s face and unable to make sense of his incoherent babbling, Ali tried jolting the young warrior out of his stupor by shouting, “Imad, don’t just stand there, you foolish boy, arm yourself!” Getting no response, Ali cursed at the young man, “You have shit for brains!” Ali turned towards the interloper and yelled his personal battle cry as he prepared himself to attack the invader alone. “Al-Mutakabbir! [The Majestic. He who demonstrates His greatness in all things and in all ways!”] A soothing yet strong voice emanated from the vicinity of the hooded rider’s head, “I am here to help.” Ignoring all, Ali charged at the rider. But as he raised his scimitar in a slashing motion, the hefty sword left his hands by a will other than his own. The sword flew directly towards the rider hilt over tip, until the hilt landed firmly smack into the palm of the leather-clad hand. Ali, a seasoned Medjai warrior, was fairly experienced in the supernatural, what with his mission to help guard Hamunaptra, City of the Dead. This seemingly supernatural action did not disconcert him. He had experienced far stranger occurrences, from sand shifting to the dead coming back to life to fighting the warrior dogs of Anubis and much, much more. If Allah were to bestow him with a thousand years of life… he would still never forget the sights his eyes had beheld. Ali simply reached for his other weapon as the rider thrust Ali’s scimitar into the sand next to the silvery horse. Ali’s hand gripped around thin air. He dreaded looking away from the trespasser, but knew he that he must. He looked down at his weapon belt to see it empty. When he raised his glance again, his eye caught the twinkle of something glinting in the moonlight… his second scimitar was next to the first one he’d brandished at the stranger! Now they both jutted out of the sand like a small palm tree and its shadow. Ali debated reaching for Imad’s weapons, as the young man continued to stand as still as a stone sarcophagus, murmuring softly to himself. Ali heard the stranger’s voice say again, quite calmly, “I said… I have come to help.” With both hands free again, the rider took the reins of the silvery steed and led him in a slow canter into the Medjai camp, past a now disarmed Ali and a still dumbstruck Imad. Ali thought to himself that this could not be the dreaded Imhotep, for he was known to spare no one. And Imhotep needed no weapons to commit his blasphemies. Besides that, Imhotep would not ride a horse when he could travel on the winds. And this entity seemed intent… seemed… intent on not fighting him. Ali could not decide if the sensation he was feeling was relief or anxiety. “Who… what… who are you?” Ali muttered almost to himself. The stranger spoke again, “I am a friend who has come a long way to be of assistance to your cause.” With these words, Ardeth Bey, the mighty leader of the Med-jai approached with over a dozen more warriors behind him, their weapons at the ready. His leadership and his anger were apparent in Ardeth Bey’s voice as he admonished his warriors. “Ali! Imad! You sons of a goat! You have let him cross into our camp!” His dark eyes flashed dangerously as his jaw flexed under his onyx beard. He was not amused that the threshold to their turf had been crossed. Ardeth considered the Medjai camp sacrosanct… he would gladly fight any beast or foe anyplace anywhere, but prided himself on the Medjai’s ability to keep anyone or anything unwanted out of their campsite… their home away from their true homes filled with their loved ones. Ali supplicated himself in front of his leader, fully conscious of his error, but not completely aware of how much this event troubled his leader. “A thousand pardons, my chief! As soon as I sent Cheb and Hisham to warn you, the interloper disarmed me of both my scimitars without so much as dismounting from his horse! Each of my swords were literally pulled from… ” Ardeth raised his hand to Ali, silencing him before he uttered another word. “Ali, either you and Imad have become liabilities to us all by losing your skills or you have lost your mind if you think I can believe this fable you are trying to weave!” Upon mentioning Imad’s name twice, Ardeth looked around. Imad had not said a word in his own defense. Ardeth finally spotted the warrior just outside the camp gate, still at his post, unmoving. He appeared unharmed. The trespasser spoke, “First off, there is no need to reproach this man. Ali did his job swiftly. He earnestly and capably attempted to block my entrance.” Ardeth Bey glared at the interloper as he spat on the ground before expressing himself further. “That may very well be the case. And yet here you are, within the confines of our camp!” The stranger continued as though the Med-jai leader had never spoken. “Second, you know very well that he sent Cheb and Hisham to warn you and apprise the others to the apparent danger.” “But third and fourthly,” the intruder proceeded, speaking softly but firmly as leather gloved hands moved slowly so as not to startle the ever-ready Med-jai… to lift the hood of the dark cape away, “I am not He Who Shall Not Be Named, nor am I a ‘he’ of any kind.” Hushed whispers and pointed fingers were both directed to the foreigner. Utters of “lilin,” “sheytana,” “lilim” and “djinn” floated through the air like phantoms in the night. She smiled sorrowfully as she contemplated their reaction to her. How paradoxical. A giant tribe of men with tattooed faces who took oaths at manhood to protect the entire world from a danger that would force them to exist in a relatively tiny part of that world… how ironic that they should be so affected and disturbed by the presence and appearance of one woman! It was the same greeting she got just about anywhere she went, wherever her travels took her. They were just different words for the same sentiment spoken with the same awe or fear, regardless of the language. Witch. Genie. Bruja. Sorceress. Beldam. Shaman. Siren. Crone. Hex. Lamia. Strega. She was no night-demon. Nor was she a she-devil. She bowed slightly to the irate Medjai chief, catching him off-guard with her humble gesture. “Could someone see about getting my horse some water? I gave him the last of my supply and I fear he’s near collapse.” This seemed to deflate some of Ardeth’s anger, but he was still very mistrustful of this strange woman. He would not let his guard down just yet. She had given her beast of burden the last of her own water… this was something the Medjai and other desert tribes would do. If you were not riding a camel… and your horse collapsed from dehydration away from camp or far from an oasis… water would do you no good if you had to walk miles and miles through the desert heat. Better to give it to your horse, for your horse was often your lifeline. This was a very astute individual and Ardeth could not yet decide if her intellect was of a benign nature… he would have to watch closely and see if she was to be considered an ally or an adversary. He learned long ago that women were just as capable as men in almost any endeavor, good or evil. Evelyn Carnahan-O’Connell had more than once unleashed a virtual hell on Earth, albeit unintentionally. But she always managed to right her wrongs, and that counted for much of the respect that Ardeth had for her. And she was quick with a blade in her hand as well. He had more than once fought side by side with Evelyn and her husband, Rick. Technically she was a librarian and museum curator, but she was also an excellent swords-woman, and Ardeth would not want to come up against her in a fight. It was far better to have Evie on your side, klutzy as she could occasionally be. And while Ardeth had never had to directly face Anck-Su-Namun, he knew all that she had done to help betray and murder Pharaoh Seti with her lover Imhotep thousands of years ago. And Meela, her most recent incarnation, in her attempt to rejoin Imhotep, had been a ruthless cold-blooded killer as well. It was Meela who had mortally stabbed Evelyn during the last battle with Imhotep. Only because of Alex, Evelyn’s son, was Evelyn even alive today. The boy had his mother’s love for all things Egyptian and managed to pull her back from the clutches of the other side by reciting from the Book of Amun-Ra with the help of his Uncle Jonathan. Ardeth signaled to young Cheb to take the horse to the stable. Cheb could sense that the more experienced warriors were perplexed by the presence of this woman. It disturbed him that these powerful and fearless men seemed at a loss as they stood around, muttering like a bunch of gossiping women washing clothes at the Nile’s edge. Platiado reared up on his hind legs, sensing the apprehension in the young Medjai as he approached the steed. The woman deftly controlled the horse and got him back down on all fours, soothing him with soft words, “Shhh… calmate, Platiado, son amigos, pero nos tienen un poco de miedo. [Calm down, they are friends, but they are a bit frightened of us.]” As if the horse literally understood her, he immediately became docile. She motioned to Cheb to approach again. She slid out of the saddle, a night breeze catching her cape and billowing it around her. “He won’t give you any trouble… but if he does get a bit skittish, just scratch him between his ears… he loves that.” She smiled softly at Cheb as she showed him the spot she meant. The pale horse whinnied so gently and nuzzled her neck that Cheb giggled. Ardeth shot him a venomous glance and Cheb immediately straightened his face as the woman handed him the reins. She grabbed a small saddlebag from around the horse’s neck, leaving her bedroll, her rifle and other supplies on his back. As Cheb led the horse away, she called out, “Bis spatter, mein Begleiter. [Until later, my companion.]” Ardeth made a mental note that she had so far spoken three languages and also had excellent control of her horse. But his thoughts went back to something else that was bothering him. Imad. Thinking back to all the names the warriors had just tossed around, he doubted that she would answer him truthfully, but he had to at least try. “What did you do to Imad? Have you cast a spell on him?” She shook her head earnestly. “No… not the way you think. He was traumatized by seeing me, yes. But only because I reminded him of something that frightened him in his past… at least that’s the sense I got.” She bit her lower lip nervously before she spoke again. “I know that you don’t want to believe me… but I assure you I have done nothing intentionally to Imad. I imagine he will come ‘round when his mind is ready.” With the horse now on his way to the stable, Ardeth and the Med-jai continued their somewhat apprehensive appraisal of the woman. She stood where she was, knowing that this was something of a test… surely the first of many that the Medjai would probably put her through before they decided that she was no danger to them. The fact that she never reached for her rifle as Platiado was led away helped matters along… it would have been the perfect distraction. Her complexion was a darkish caramel. And even though she had yet to see her thirty-fifth birthday, her hair was as white as the brightest cloud in a summer sky. Her body was somewhat hidden away under the bulk of the large wool cape. Dark leather pants and dusty cowboy boots with well-worn spurs peeked out from beneath the hem of the cape. But it was her eyes that almost every warrior gazed at as they whispered among themselves. Her eyes were almond-shaped and turned slightly upward towards the ends of her eyebrows. Her eyes were the shade of the late afternoon desert sky. Ardeth had only seen that tawny shade of eye color once before. And it had not been human. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ It was during his childhood when his home was Cairo, not the desert, before Ardeth had proudly sworn his life over to the mission of the Medjai. There had been a traveling circus making its yearly stop in the city. Acrobats tumbled about in the streets. Fire-eaters devoured flames. There were many exotic animals in wheeled cages that his young wide eyes had never seen. There was even a gigantic cat, bigger than a man, covered in thick fur, with stripes of onyx black and brilliant orange. It made Ardeth recall the statues and carvings of Bastet and Sakhmet, the cat-headed and lion-headed goddesses. But it was the eyes that had captured young Ardeth then just as they did now. The tiger had seemed to look directly at him, with eyes the color of warm honey. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The eyes of the tiger had not been as benevolent as the eyes that met his gaze now. And those eyes were not human. The seemingly bottomless depth and warmth in these eyes before him disturbed him. These eyes were human… or were they? ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The Sisterhood Of One - Chapter 2 |
| “Behold, I saw a pale horse…” “I am the doorway.” “Death is only the beginning.” |
