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Water sprayed from beneath racing hooves as the horse plunged into the river. Ardeth's knuckles were white where he gripped the reins, and the muscles of his other arm strained from keeping his cousin upright in the saddle before him.
It had been a routine patrol. A location so isolated that it received very little in the way of excitement. Low stakes, a good training opportunity for one newly appointed to the ranks of the Medjai. Until everything went wrong.
Damp warmth pressed against Ardeth's arm, and he knew that Masud was bleeding again, in earnest. Ardeth urged his horse faster.
++
Ardeth's hands shook as he scrubbed the blood from beneath his nails. This was his fault. He should have kept a better eye on Masud, who was so young, so new to this, and had been placed under Ardeth's protection.
The water was stained red, and he couldn't wash well enough.
What protection had he actually provided? A moment too late, and Masud's blood had stained the sands. He had fallen into Ardeth's arms...and for a terrible instant, Ardeth had thought him dead. Blessedly, Masud had not been. But his life still hung in the balance.
Ardeth scrubbed harder until his skin grew raw.
If Masud died, he would never forgive himself. He would trade places with him in a heartbeat, just to spare his young cousin the suffering. Suffering that Ardeth was certain his own carelessness had caused.
"We have stopped the bleeding."
He stilled at the sound of his aunt's voice, water drip-dripping from his trembling fingers into the reddened bowl.
"And?" He asked, not looking at her. He was tired, like a rope begun to fray.
"He will live," she said in a heavy, though relieved voice. "He is strong, and you got him here in time."
Ardeth sighed, his relief palpable, and could only nod.
"I must return to him." Her hand came to rest on Ardeth's shoulder. "Rest now, nephew. He is in good hands." She slipped away, and he was alone again.
Ardeth's head ached dully, and he pressed a finger to his temple, allowing a small grimace as he sat down. He hadn't escaped the encounter unscathed, but compared to the weeping wound across Masud's chest, Ardeth judged his own bruises and scrapes to be nothing. He was just grateful that Masud had received no worse.
It was then that Hazim burst into the tent, eyes flashing. "How is he?" He demanded.
"He will live."
Hazim nodded. His hands twitched at his sides. "We must find out who was behind the attack."
Ardeth's jaw tightened. As if he didn't know that. "Yes," he said, rising to his feet.
"Then what is our next move?" Hazim's voice made the throbbing behind Ardeth's eyes grow worse. "What is your plan?"
"I have sent men after the grave robbers, and will post more guards at the site."
"I just hope we have not wasted too much time. With such occurrences as these, every moment is precious." Hazim's tone was pointed—an accusation without actually coming out and saying it.
With a last sharp look, he exited the tent, leaving Ardeth to sink back down into the chair and sigh.
Hazim always had some qualm or other with Ardeth's way of doing things, and of course, now, he thought that Ardeth wasn't handling a situation properly. As usual. But what did the man expect—for Ardeth to abandon his cousin to bleed out into the sands just to chase after grave robbers? He'd sent men after them. What more could he do?
Ardeth sighed again, and tried to banish his doubts.
+++
When Ardeth reached his village, he slid clumsily from the saddle, body aching with tiredness and too long on horseback. A boy led his horse away, and Ardeth turned only to jolt with surprise when he came face to face with Fadia.
"Fadia," he breathed. "You startled me."
"I managed to sneak up on you? That doesn't bode well." Fadia gave him an appraising look. "Indeed, you do look terrible. Mother won't be happy about it at all."
"I am not happy about it myself," Ardeth replied, managing a tired smile.
"Well, come on then," Fadia said, turning to walk back the way she'd come. Ardeth fell into step beside her. "The sooner she gets her fussing over with, the sooner you can go to sleep, which I assume is what you want more than anything."
Ardeth merely nodded.
"She probably won't let you go to sleep without feeding you first, of course." Fadia grinned.
"I will not protest."
"That is wise." Fadia's grin faded into a more serious expression. "So, I take it your patrol was eventful?"
"Yes." Ardeth grimaced, familiar guilt returning as a pit in his stomach. "Masud was wounded."
"What?" Fadia's eyes grew wide. "Is he all right?"
"He was faring well enough when I left him. I intend to return and check on him before long."
Fadia heard the guilt in her brother's voice, and nearly rolled her eyes. He always did blame himself for things that weren't his fault. Still, she didn't call him out on it. Instead, she said, "I'd like to go with you. I haven't seen our dear cousin in awhile, and I think it's high time I brought him some decent conversation."
Ardeth smiled to himself. By 'decent conversation', Fadia meant, of course, that she wanted to annoy Masud by chatting his ears off. "He may not appreciate it," he said, "being wounded and all."
"Well, I'll just motivate him to mend faster, won't I, so he can escape me?" Fadia said emphatically. "Besides, it isn't my fault he barely says one word in a week."
"Not everyone is as fond of talking as you, little sister."
"A terrible tragedy, really."
Ardeth gave an amused huff.
"Oh, and you have a letter from your—I mean, from England." Fadia lacked the usual mischief she associated with the subject, but Ardeth hardly noticed.
Communication from that quarter had been sparse since Cairo, and it felt an age since Ardeth had received a letter from Jonathan. To receive one now felt like a beam of gentle sunlight breaking through a bank of black, swirling clouds. Even with all that had happened in Cairo, Ardeth felt a dizzying relief at the news.
Fadia watched his face and shook her head. She hated to see him so desperate for whatever scraps the Englishman might throw his way. Yes, she'd been told Jonathan didn't know anything, he wasn't at fault, blah, blah, blah. She still felt bitter. But because Ardeth looked so worn out, she kept her thoughts to herself.
++
After Ardeth had eaten and at last returned to his own tent, he lay back against the cushions, knowing that, despite the fatigue that blurred his vision, sleep would not find him while the letter waited. He slid his finger along the seal of the envelope, unable to stop himself from thinking of Jonathan's hands having touched the very same paper.
Summer 1930
Dear Ardeth,
How are things in Egypt? I hope all is well, and that you're getting to lounge about in splendid laziness and not having to deal with any sort of unpleasantness at all.
Summer has settled in nicely over here, and I couldn't be happier about it. My joints are especially grateful.
We went up to the cottage for a couple of days because Rick was absolutely determined to shoot at old stumps or whatever he does to occupy himself out there. He's teaching Evy to shoot, too. Dreadful racket. Still, I won't complain about her learning to defend herself.
Alex is a regular loveable little terror. He's in quite a state these days, running about creating messes. He got hold of some paints the other day—mine, I'll have to admit, but I won't admit what I used them for—and painted half the kitchen wall before we found him. Evy was quite dismayed, but Rick proclaimed the wee tyke an artistic genius. All in all, I can honestly say I've seen worse murals, and I daresay it looks better than some of the things I've seen in museums. Perhaps he'll be an artist, rather than an academic. One can never tell.
At the moment he's just a very adorable hurricane, and I do wonder if other children his age possess such uncanny skill at destruction. Clumsiness runs in the family, of course, but he's quite deliberate about it (I think that comes from Rick's side). I suppose this is just something children do, although I really wouldn't know. The worst thing Evy ever did as a child was read too many textbooks. As for myself, well, I just didn't do what I was told. And you probably read too many books just like Evy, in between various adventures. I'd ask if Fadia was a catastrophic child, but if she found out I asked she might wallop you over the head for trying to answer.
Well, except for the fact that it's raining again, I can't think of anything else to relay. So, say hello to everyone from me, and wish us luck with Alex and his boundless energy.
Your friend,
Jonathan
Ardeth, with a small, tired smile, held the letter to his chest. He wished he could talk to Jonathan now. A proper conversation with him would be as a drop of water to a cruelly parched throat. At the very least, it was nice to hear from Jonathan at all, and to know that he seemed in good spirits. He was too tired to even wonder if Polly was the reason for those good spirits.
Sleep crept up on him before he realized it and, with Jonathan's words pressed to his heart, he dreamed of England.
+++
Jonathan begrudgingly went outdoors into the dismal rain with an umbrella. He'd seen the postman come and go, and as pathetic as it made him feel, he couldn't wait even until the downpour ceased to fetch the mail, since he was certain a letter from Ardeth had finally arrived.
It was pitiful, how much he counted on them. Even with everything he did to keep himself occupied—the parties, the drinks, the ill-fated games of chance that had him making more frequent trips to his vault downstairs—it felt like he was always perched on the edge of his seat, a schoolboy impatient for the arrival of summer, waiting, watching...hoping. It didn't matter if a letter was as short as a few lines or as long as some of the papers Evy wrote, they sustained him like nothing else.
And it was worse now, the impatience, the ache, since letters from Ardeth had been slower and shorter lately. Jonathan grew more desperate for them all the time. He didn't even bother to pretend otherwise in front of Evy anymore, sometimes even allowing himself to say wistfully that the mail seemed awfully slow these days, then she'd look at him funny, and he would move on to something else.
His bold trek out into the muck and wet was rewarded. Along with some things for Evy, there at the top of the small pile was a letter addressed to him in Ardeth's familiar, looping script. The rain didn't seem so dismal now.
He hurried back inside, setting the rest of the letters on the hall table, and practically ran up the stairs to his room.
Warmth, despite the rain, and a painful sort of elation buzzed through him as he shut the door and settled into his armchair by the window. He couldn't rein himself in, he couldn't stop the feeling. And he couldn't stop imagining that he could smell the desert on the envelope, or hear Ardeth's voice in every curve of every letter.
Summer 1930
My Dear Friend,
I had just returned from a long and trying errand when your letter was placed into my hands like a blessing. The timing could not have been better.
A recent patrol went awry and my cousin was injured. I cannot help but blame myself, though Fadia quite fervently assures me that I am not at fault. I must admit, I find it difficult to believe her. Masud has only just joined our ranks, and, being young and inexperienced, he relied on me to safeguard him. Mercifully, he will live, but that does not erase the damage, nor my regret at being unable to prevent it.
As for your hope that I am indulging in splendid laziness, it is, unfortunately, impossible at the moment. It seems that I am always running here or there these days, and that people are overeager to uncover things they should not.
But enough of this, I do not wish to trouble you. As Fadia says, the fools will find something else to do eventually.
How are you? All of you? I can only assume that Alex has wreaked more havoc since you sent your letter. Does he enjoy the cottage? More room for him to run free out of doors is perhaps both a blessing and a curse, and I trust that you get plenty of exercise chasing after him. It is an amusing image, and I hope you will not be offended by my saying so.
On another note, I risked great injury and asked our mother, where Fadia could hear, if Fadia was as destructive as Alex at that age. I was told many stories that I had not yet heard, including one of how Fadia managed to knock down the family tent, and had set upon another before she was apprehended. I fear she has never outgrown such mischief, she merely directs it differently. Also, I will admit that when not busy training, I did spend much of my childhood years reading.
As for Alex, I am certain that in a few years, when you have properly recovered from his adolescent chaos, recollection of it will prompt more laughter than fatigue. You must send me a photograph of him soon, as I am sure he is much changed from when last I saw him. I hope you are all still doing well.
Many blessings,
Ardeth
Jonathan frowned at the letter, concern welling up inside him. Ardeth seemed tired and forlorn, even just through the written word. And he worried, too, who or what was keeping Ardeth and the rest of the Medjai so busy. Probably just the usual sort of dastardly grave-robbers, but still....
He ran a hand through his hair and cast his eyes out the rain-streaked window, his chest growing tight. Staring out at the grayness and the lights of London shining through the haze, he wished he could see Ardeth, just to make sure he was all right.