(Many thanks to Kate for her
patience, her motivation, her knowledge, and her friendship. Also, she's a heckuva writer and beta.)
This one's for Linda! Get well soon, my friend!
THE PRINCE OF URARTY
by
Theresa
(The Mummy -- WHN)
The afternoon had gone very
suddenly oppressive. A heavy static
electricity hung in the air, making his normally smooth hair a damp cap of long
unruly ringlets. He licked his palm,
smoothed a cluster of wayward coal-black curls from his brow, and scowled
upward.
At first glance, the
cloud-dotted sky gave no outward indication of what was to come, yet the young
man’s olfactory sense spoke volumes.
Late summer heat and unusually high humidity at mid-day almost always
resulted in an uncomfortable, very wet evening.
Argishti’s eyebrows conjoined into a deep frown of concentration. First, pursuit by enemy soldiers intent on
their immediate demise had caused them to separate, and now an imminent
thunderstorm threatened to keep them apart.
He could care for himself … was, in fact, already seeking shelter from
the forthcoming inclement weather, but Ervand was unskilled, both as a prince
and as a warrior. He could only hope
that if they weren’t reunited before the storm broke, his younger brother would
also instinctively find safe haven.
Sighing, Argishti lowered his
gaze from the heavens to the surrounding terrain, letting his keen vision take
in the lush trees and foliage through which they had just barreled. Beyond the greenery were hills, sparsely covered
with drying vegetation. And past the
hills, now invisible to his searching eyes, were the fortified walls of a great
city – Tushpah. He struggled to quash unbidden memories of
his years among the people of Tushpah:
stimulating discussions with the greatest teachers and philosophers of
the day; leisurely swims with Ervand in the cool, clear waters of the Lake of
Van; the prayer pilgrimage to Ararat, sacred mountains of Khaldis. And then there was Niari. The very thought of
her brought a crushing ache to his heart.
Even now he could feel the velvet smoothness of her skin, the moist wine
of her lips, and the heady perfume of her silken hair, bathed daily in
petal-scented water. He struggled to
remember the name of the flower. Cra
… Crane … Cranesbill?
Abruptly melancholy, he shook his head, biting back the nagging grief and worry.
The name of the plant was meaningless now. Niari had leapt to her death rather than be
captured and enslaved by the barbaric Assyrians. He had followed, determined to save his
intended bride. His efforts resulted in
an injured leg, but Niari had not survived.
She was forever gone, and he and his brother had barely managed to
escape with their own lives.
Argishti inspected the
landscape once more, ensuring there was still no sign of pursuit by the brutal
savages, then he turned and limped back toward the site where he and Ervand had
separated.
*********
“Lee?”
Admiral
Nelson’s voice seemed to come from incredibly far away. Abruptly dizzy, Lee steadied himself against
the ancient wooden sarcophagus, then, just as quickly, pushed his wobbly body
upright. He looked at his superior whose
face mirrored his own --a mixture of irritation, concern, and confusion.
His
response was automatic. “I’m fine,” he
said trying, with trembling hands, to tighten the hemp rope used to stabilize
their heavy cargo.
Nelson
shook his head. “No, you’re not. Go sit down and strap in. I’ve got this.”
He
knew better than to refuse. When the
admiral used his command voice, there was no arguing with the man. Besides, his head was still swimming, and
FS1’s interior blinking lights painfully skewered his eyes, making everything
blurry and out of focus.
Reluctantly,
he moved to the cockpit, eased into the copilot’s chair. Pulling the seatbelt snugly across his
shoulder and lap, he fastened it and then relaxed into the comfort of the
softly padded leather. A moment later,
Admiral Nelson took his place in the adjacent seat. Although he was outwardly all business-like,
seemingly immersed in FS1’s preflight checklist, Lee could sense the worry in
several clandestine glances. He turned
to reassure his superior that all was well when another voice, from somewhere
beyond, turned his blood to ice.
**********
“Argishti!”
At his brother’s approach,
Argishti looked up, his broad face shiny with perspiration and relief. “Thank
Khaldis,” he said as he caught Ervand in a tight embrace.
“I can’t believe I found you
alive,” the sixteen-year-old gushed, an undisguised tremor of relief in his
voice.
Concerned, Argishti squeezed
Ervand’s shoulder, keeping his hand there until the boy regained his
composure. “You look exhausted. We’ll stop and rest awhile. I don’t believe the barbarians know where we
are and …” Before he could finish, the swollen storm clouds above flashed with
embedded lightning. Several clashes of
thunder followed immediately.
“The gods are angry that we
escaped,” Ervand moaned.
“Khaldis is the one deity! Only barbarians believe in multiple gods,”
Argishti admonished sternly. At Ervand’s
reaction -- a subservient lowering of his head -- he continued with a hint of a
smile to soothe the harshness of his words.
“Besides, that wasn’t much.
Perhaps it’s a sign from Khaldis … to remind us of who we are, what
we’ve left behind, and where we’re going.”
“I don’t want to be reminded,”
Ervand shuddered with the memory. “When Niari jumped from the terrace, and you
followed, I … I thought … well, you know what I thought.”
The two were
uncharacteristically silent for several moments as each pondered his own
memories of the day’s horror-filled events.
Finally, Argishti spoke up.
“You will learn, my brother, that we both have a destiny to fulfill. For the past ten years, we’ve lived in
virtual obscurity, with only a very few knowing our true identities. Our parents sent us to Tushpah to be safe, to
be educated and to be trained to one day take on the responsibilities of
reclaiming and rebuilding our land. And
freeing our people from tyranny. Today
is the beginning of a new life, for both of us.
You are Ervand, younger son of King Menua and his wife, Tirza, prince
and co-heir to the throne of Urarty.”
“Not co-heir, my brother,”
Ervand said, his amber-emerald eyes sparking.
"I do not wish to rule beside you.
I am second in line, and I hope to never to wear the crown.”
Argishti touched his younger
brother’s shoulder lightly. “We’ll deal with it when the time comes. Right now, we need shelter from the coming
storm.”
“And you need to rest your
leg. Time to move on. If the barbarians find us they'll mount our
heads on their spears." He reached
out a hand, and Argishti took it, allowing Ervand to guide his steps, and the
two brothers continued on.
**********
“Lee!
Lee!” Hurriedly, Harry unbuckled his
seatbelt and rushed to retrieve the onboard first aid kit. Opening it, he fumbled for the box of ammonia
pills, grasped one, and hurried back to his unconscious captain. Crushing the capsule, he waited a moment
until he felt his own nostrils tingle, then shoved it under Crane’s nose.
Lee’s
reaction was immediate and violent. He
wrenched his head away from the foul stench, batting blindly at the source of
his distress – a vile chemical stinging his nasal passages and stealing his
breath away.
Reasonably
sure the younger man had regained his awareness, Harry yanked the pill
away. “Easy, lad,” he said, both stunned
and concerned by the incident. “What
happened?”
Groggy
and still fighting to remove the acrid ammonia from his lungs and nose, Lee
managed an answer. “I don’t know. Suddenly I got dizzy. I passed out.” Puzzled, he shook his head, trying to clear
away the last of the cobwebs, and shrugged his shoulders.
Harry
swallowed his anxiety. There was a long
flight ahead of them and a diplomatic mission wherein success hinged on
perfection in timing and location, yet his commander was suddenly almost
incapacitated by some mystery ailment.
Reluctantly focusing on the assignment, the older man returned to the
pilot seat, strapped in, and gave his captain another once-over. Lee’s skin was pasty white, and he could see
perspiration clumping the tips of his bangs together. His eyes, normally a vibrant mix of topaz and
celadon, were lackluster and heavy lidded.
Still
concerned, he reached up, locked the ignition switches into position, and the
Flying Sub purred to life. Grasping the
cyclic control sticks, he turned once more to check out his co-pilot’s
condition. Lee acknowledged the
assessment with a slight shake of his head.
“We’ll
let Doc look at you when we get back,” Nelson said, steeling himself for the
usual grousing and protestation.
His instinctive worry-meter soared when the
only audible response was the gentle hum and whir of FS1’s powerful engines.
**********
“Well?” The captain didn’t even try to hide his
annoyance. Clad only in a bright yellow
bathrobe, he perched on the edge of an exam table, every muscle taut and primed
for imminent escape.
Inwardly,
Doc Jamieson grinned at his patient’s impatience. //God,
how he hates not being in control!//
Outwardly, he adopted a casual tone.
“You’ll live,” he said, handing Crane two pills and a cup of water. “Here, take these.”
“Uh
… what is it?” Suspicion was rife in the
commander’s words.
Jamie
sighed. “It’s a mild sedative. Go on, take it. It’s not going to put you to sleep, just
relax your nerves a bit.”
Frowning,
Crane bristled at the suggestion.
“There’s nothing wrong with my nerves!”
Undaunted,
Jamie kept his reply no-nonsense and firm.
“Go on! Take it!” he repeated.
The
scowl deepened into a bona fide sulk, but Crane obeyed, downing the medication
and water in one gulp. As an
afterthought, he deliberately crushed the paper cup and tossed it aside.
“That’s
better.” Jamieson ignored the minor
tantrum, turning away to grab the hand mike.
He keyed it. “Admiral, this is
Sickbay.”
The
answer was immediate, almost as if Nelson had been hovering over the
communications device. “Yes, Doc. How is he?”
“I’ve
examined every inch of him and, physically, he’s in excellent shape, but there
is some indication of a nervous disorder … nothing serious … but rest is
definitely indicated."
"Hmmm...
you're sure about that? It's nothing
serious?"
"Yes,
quite sure. But I do recommend that he
go to bed at once and that tomorrow he be placed on light duty …” He didn’t get to complete the sentence before
the mike was forcibly yanked from his grasp.
“Admiral!”
Crane interrupted, his earlier pout forgotten.
His voice was buoyant, his tone eager and raring to go. “I feel fine.
I’m perfectly fit for duty!”
"Lee
... listen to me. Doc is here to make
exactly those decisions. Now, suppose we
let him do his job."
It
was apparent in the captain's sudden shoulder slump that Nelson's reply wasn't
the one he'd expected to hear. But he
covered his disappointment well.
"All
right, sir," he acquiesced.
"I'll go to my cabin and hit the sack right now."
"All
right. We'll see how things look in the
morning."
Dismissal.
Jamie
watched as his patient huffed a defeated sigh then, slowly and with emphasis,
placed the offending mike back into his waiting palm. He replaced it in the wall holder, then
swiveled back to view the younger man.
Crane's
frown was back, his eyes dark chocolate and honey. "There's ... nothing
... wrong ... with my nerves," he repeated, stressing each word.
"Just
doing my job, sir," he said as he watched the commander gather up his
belongings and head toward the exit. "We'll see how things look in the
morning," was greeted with sound of Sickbay's door slamming.
Jamieson
grinned. "Good night, Captain.
Sleep well."
**********
Darkness slowly crept in,
crowding the stubborn daylight to the very edge of the western sky. Squatting
uncomfortably in the low-ceilinged cave opening, Argishti remained frozen in
the same position as he had been for hours. His legs had long ago lost all
feeling, a mixed blessing considering how much the injured right one had pained
him before. He knew there were no broken
bones; but, something inside, some muscle, some sinew, had ripped or torn. He had seen wounds like this before and
suspected the damage was permanent. But being left with a limp for the rest of
his life was the least of his worries.
He knew if one of the barbarians should find them, both he and the
sleeping Ervand would be completely defenseless. At this moment, he was
physically incapable of running ... standing … or even walking ... away.
He had heard Assyrian voices
several times during the interminable wait.
At first, some warriors were so close he knew they could hear his heart
racing but, they had fanned out, twice encircling the area where he and Ervand
had taken shelter from the storm. Now,
they had relocated somewhere far behind the stifling cave, and his ears could
only discern the occasional sound of angry voices as they rose in unrestrained
anger. As night continued to advance,
the voices dissipated to whispers on the wind.
Finally, they disappeared altogether.
Worry gnawed at his insides,
yet Argishti was still reluctant to move. If he were to be captured, then he
would be unable to help his brother. He
forced himself to wait another few minutes and, when the barbarians still
didn’t return, he allowed his rump to settle onto the ground. The rustle that
slight movement made paralyzed him again, and he remained still for a few
moments more. Finally, when he was reasonably certain they were safe, he
stretched out his numb legs. Rubbing and
massaging both, life came screaming back into them, especially the injured
right one. Wiggling his toes, he bit
back a groan and forced his feet to wakefulness, then lurched to a wobbly
stand. Once upright, he froze again and listened to the sounds around him.
The waning storm had caused the
birds’ endless chirping to cease. Now
crickets took up the melody, clicking their evening songs loudly and wantonly
to prospective mates.
Argishti took a tentative step,
felt vague surprise when his body and legs obeyed him. He took another, then another, until he was
stiffly trampling in the direction where his brother rested.
"Ervand! Wake up.
It’s time to go."
His brother jerked awake. “Argishti?”
“It’s all right. I think the barbarians have moved on,” he
said hopefully, easing down beside the boy.
Ervand’s taut body relaxed and
he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Then
why can’t we stay here for the night? I know you’re tired. Let me take the
watch while you rest.”
“I’m all right, just a little
stiff. It’s best that we travel
now. It’s dark, and there’s no moon.”
“But without stars, how will we
find our way back? It’s been more than ten years since we were home. You were just twelve when we left and …”
“I know the way home,
brother. No matter how long I’ve been
absent nor how many years have passed … I will never forget the way back to our
land and our people.”
Ervand yawned, stretched tiredly and nodded.
It was late, and fatigue was pressing down on both of them, but neither could
afford to give in to his weakness. Glancing around the darkened cavern one
final time, the brothers trod into the night.
**********
Fuming,
Lee took the corridors from Sickbay to his cabin at a slower-than-usual
pace. Still clothed in his canary yellow
bathrobe, shower slippers, and little else, he clutched the hastily wadded ball
of his expensive designer suit, white linen shirt, and silk tie beneath his
right arm. His left hand occasionally
reached out to the bulkhead to steady his progress.
Beneath
the fury, he could feel Jamie’s sedative seeping into his muscles, turning them
to the consistency of Jell-O. His,
brain, on the other hand, was still crystal clear, with none of the usual
dulled awareness brought on by the doctor’s tranquilizers. He could only assume that his current state
of mind – irritation at the ship’s doctor, disappointment in his superior
officer’s order and, worst of all, intense anger and concern at his own
weakness and lack of control over the puzzling vertigo and fainting spell – was interfering with the drug’s
effects.
Silently
hoping he’d make it to his cabin before running into a crewmember, or worse,
the Admiral, he rounded the last corner and came to an abrupt halt. Somehow, the passageway leading to his
compartment had disappeared and in its stead was a grove of sweet-smelling
fruit trees. Cool and fragrant, a soft
breeze ruffled his damp hair, nuzzled his cheeks. Above, the dawn sky was bedecked in amethyst
and ginger as the sun peeked over slender silver clouds.
“Ervand! Be careful.
We only need enough to get us through tomorrow. Gather a few and then hurry back. We’ll eat and then rest. It’s not far now, but there are still dangers
out there.”
The
unfamiliar voice, speaking in a language he shouldn’t recognize, came from his
right yet, inexplicably, he knew and understood all. Before him was a tall date palm tree, laden
with fat, aromatic fruits. Without
another thought, he began to climb.
**********
At sunrise, Argishti decided to
set up camp beside a wide, fast-moving stream.
With an almost impenetrable fort of dense forest, thick with late-summer
undergrowth at their side and back, and a swiftly flowing body of water to
their front, he felt reasonably safe and secure. But, even so, the displaced prince decided to
forego a cooking fire.
He busied himself preparing
dried moss and soft leaves as temporary bedding beneath the overhang of several
large fern branches. Earlier, Ervand had
set out in search of something edible.
He had reported almost immediately the discovery of an orchard of wild
fruit trees bordering an adjoining meadow.
“Ervand! Be careful.
We only need enough to get us through tomorrow. Gather a few and then hurry back. We’ll eat and then rest. It’s not far now, but there could still be
dangers out there.”
**********
The cicadas’ furious clicking
stilled as the slightly-built youth scaled the thick date palm trunk. He skillfully made his way higher and higher,
past the barren fronds where forest animals had already picked their fill, to
the very top where a number of plump, seasoned fruits swung from their lofty
perches. Satisfied with his position, Ervand got a firm grip on a thick shoot,
shifted his weight to the backs of his long slender legs, and shook the tree’s
limbs. He was rewarded with the sounds of several large, ripe dates thunking on
the ground below.
Scurrying down, he batted at
the persistent flies buzzing at his face and ears, then hurriedly gathered the
dates into a large makeshift leaf knapsack.
Keeping one, he bit into it enthusiastically; the juice was sweet and
syrupy, the pulp chewy. He had gone
almost two entire days without food, and he savored the taste. Mopping his forehead with the back of his
hand, he finger-combed several perspiration-soaked curls of raven-dark hair
from his ears and forehead and sagged tiredly against the wide trunk. Rustling leaves and snapping twigs announced
his brother’s arrival.
“Ervand,” Argishti said. “I believe I saw a fig tree just beyond that
brush. On the way back, we’ll add a few
to your stash of dates, and that should nourish us until we get home.”
The youth shook his head and
threw the half-eaten date to the ground. The overripe fruit had soured almost
immediately in his stomach. “You go ahead.
I don’t think I feel very well right now.”
“I’m sorry, my brother. The last four days have not been easy for
you. Why don’t you go back to the camp
site and lie down? I’ve gathered leaves
into a soft, cool bed. Rest! I’ll finish gathering food and join you.”
“You will be careful,” Ervand
said. It was more command than question.
“Yes. Home is just over that
mountain ridge,” Argishti said, pointing toward the now completely risen
sun. “I don’t believe the barbarians
will have the courage to follow us this far, but we still must be alert. Go back to the campsite, quench your thirst,
and sleep. As soon as dusk arrives,
we’ll start out again. By this time
tomorrow, you’ll be back in the arms of our mother.”
Ervand looked
uncomfortable. “I barely remember her,
Argishti. Besides, I’m too old to be
coddled.”
“One is never too old to accept
love, Ervand. And, I can guarantee that
she will not have forgotten you.”
Argishti gave the boy a playful shove, watching as he shuffled toward the
raucous stream, then turned and limped toward where he’d located the fig tree.
**********
Ervand swigged a long gulp of
cold water from his hand, refilled it in the clear stream, slurped down another
swallow, then continued pacing the length of the clearing. He had followed his
brother’s orders, returning to the clearing and crawling into the cubby hole of
brush. There, he had allowed his tired
body to relax, and sleep had claimed him.
He had awakened minutes ago with a throat dry as dust. It was only after he’d begun to quench his
thirst at the stream that he realized the sun had passed its zenith hours ago,
yet he was still alone.
Standing, he palmed a dribble
of water from his chin and began to pace.
Even as a small child, he had always paced when he was worried or
anxious. It gave him something to do while his mind whirled vivid endless
possibilities. He glanced upward, once more noting the sun’s position and
calculating in his mind clock how long he had slept.
//Too long!// he chided. Where could his brother be? Why wasn’t he back from gathering a few figs?
“Argishti!” he whispered,
fearful of making too much noise. When
there was no response, he called again, louder this time. But there was still only silence.
Now frantic with worry, his
heart slamming wildly in his chest, Ervand turned, focusing on the area where
he had last seen his brother. There was distinctive movement in the brush.
Cautious, Ervand drew back, hunkering down behind the thick trunk of one of the
larger trees, and held his breath.
“Ervand!” A familiar voice rang out from the thicket.
Sighing with relief, the boy
emerged from his hiding place and walked to the middle of the clearing to greet
his brother. But as he moved forward,
Argishti burst from the weeds, an expression of extreme urgency on his face.
“Assyrians! Just behind me ... run … run, Ervand! Don’t stop for anything and don’t look back!”
“Argishti … no … you can’t make
it alone … not with your injured leg.
Please! Let me help you …” Ervand
worried aloud, but his brother pushed him forward.
**********
Ominous cracklings and guttural
voices wafted from the center of the thicket, spurring the two into
instantaneous movement. They sped toward the denser section of woods and
crashed into its concealing shelter.
“Go! Now!” Argishti raced
through the lush weeds and bushes, unmindful of sharp thorns that raked his
unprotected legs and forearms. Ahead of
him, Ervand sprinted along, seemingly unaware of the low-hanging limbs that
entangled and yanked at his long, curly hair.
He marveled at his younger brother’s swiftness. His own injured leg was on fire, but he
couldn’t afford to stop. If he did, Ervand would surely come back for him, and
they would both be captured and executed, or worse, enslaved. Ervand’s survival and freedom were his only
concerns.
He turned his head, caught
sight of what appeared to be a half-clad barbarian in pursuit behind him. At least two others followed distantly in his
stead.
“Can you see them, Argishti?”
Ervand gasped, glancing worriedly back at his brother.
“No,” Argishti lied. “But that
doesn’t mean they’re not there. Don’t slow down, don’t stop, don’t look
back! No matter what! Do you hear me, Ervand?”
When the boy didn’t reply,
Argishti deliberately slowed his pace.
There was no way he could keep up, and there was no way he was going to
allow Ervand to be captured. He called
again. “Do you hear me, Ervand? As crown prince of Urarty, I order you to
keep going! I order you to survive, to
return home, and to rule as I would have ruled.”
The distance between them grew
farther with each passing second, but Argishti could still hear the boy’s
heartrending sobs.
“I hear... and obey, my prince.”
Argishti limped to a halt and
stood gasping for breath. Far ahead, he could
see Ervand disappear into a hedge of tangled brush. “Բեր ինձ տանից, Ervand! Ես , մինչև ես պառկում եմ հողին Urarty չեմ հենվելու!”
“ Ես ՞
խոստանում եմ , Argishti ! ես մեր բանակները բերել և
քեզ փրկել”
Argishti knew it was the last time
he would hear the sound of his younger brother’s voice. Swallowing his grief, self-preservation took
over, and he started forward again, swerving around a tall oak tree just as a
spear whizzed by his left ear. Another
followed immediately, piercing the skin of his right bicep, splitting muscle
and bone. Dropping to his knees, he
looked one last time at the spot where he had last seen Ervand, but the boy had
disappeared into the denseness of the brush and trees. His brother was
safe. Allowing himself a grim smile of
satisfaction, he turned as the Assyrian warrior approached and waited for the
final blow to fall.
**********
“Bring
me home, Ervand! I will not rest until I
lie in Urarty soil.”
“I
promise, Argishti! I will bring our army
and rescue you,” Lee heard himself say as the weeds and thicket wavered, fading
into the stark reality of Seaview’s corridor.
Panting as if he’d run five miles, he took a tentative step and was
forced to steady himself by leaning against the bulkhead wall. He rested a moment, gathering his strength,
then haltingly took the few steps that brought him to his cabin door. The name tag, an out-of-focus blur, finally
coalesced into "CAPTAIN CRANE.”
//‘Mild’
sedative, my ass!// he thought as he
opened the door and staggered into the darkened compartment. The room was unusually chilly, with a damp,
musty smell in the air. Lee made a
mental note to get a can of freshener sent up from supply, then absently tossed
his balled-up clothes onto the desk. The
hated yellow bathrobe followed. Grabbing
a pair of pajamas from the built-in chest-of-drawers, he shrugged into the
shirt, buttoned it with quaking hands, and pulled on the loose-fitting
pants. It took the last of his energy
to crawl into his bunk and yank up the covers.
Within moments, he was asleep.
**********
Ervand sighed tiredly and
rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He
rolled over, flicked dirt and the corpse of a large insect from his forearm,
and forced himself to sit up. In this particular
situation, all previously instinctive movements had to be carefully thought out
and planned before he could accomplish them.
Moving from a sitting position to standing took several mental shoves,
and he visualized himself rising and walking toward the distant mountain range.
There was an uncharacteristic split-second delay in his body's response, but at
last he managed to stagger to his feet.
Reluctantly, he lurched forward.
Every fiber of his being screamed against returning to Urarty, but love
and an inbred allegiance would allow neither disrespect nor disobedience of his
brother’s final orders.
His mind played back Argishti’s
last command: //”As crown prince of
Urarty, I order you to keep going! I
order you to survive, to return home, and to rule as I would have ruled.”
He would survive.
//Survive.//
But at what cost?
He would go home.
//Home.//
But whose home? Without Argishti, it no longer felt like
home.
He would rule as Argishti would
have.
//Rule.//
But it was his brother who had been
raised to fulfill that duty, not he. He
did not want to be the sovereign of Urarty. Once
more, he heard his brother’s voice.
//”As crown prince of Urarty, I
order you to keep going! I order you to
survive, to live, and to rule as I would have ruled.”
Without Argishti, there was no
reason to survive, no reason to go to a home he didn’t remember, no reason to
rule in a land he knew nothing about.
Without Argishti … there was no hope, no joy, no reason to even exist. An unexpected tear formed, rolled slowly down
his grimy cheek. Incensed at his
womanish reaction, he swiped at it with the back of his hand. The reigning prince of Urarty could not
afford to cry.
Abruptly, he stopped. He had made promises …to survive, to return
home, to rule as his brother would have ruled.
Yet he had made another promise, one he now realized he could keep.
He was still alive, so the
first command had been honored. And … he
would return home … eventually … so that command would also be fulfilled.
However, Argishti’s last order
was the key – “…rule as I would have
ruled.”
Ervand allowed himself a
mordant smile. If Argishti were dead, he
was now the crown prince of Urarty, and he knew his brother well. Argishti would never have left him to die … had,
in fact, sacrificed his own life, to save his.
Nor would he have left him to rot or be dismembered by some vile beast.
He had promised to bring his army and rescue
Argishti. The fact that he was an army
of one didn’t matter. Slowly and
deliberately, he reversed direction and made his way back toward the campsite.
**********
The night air was pungent with wood smoke and the delicious smell
of cooked rabbit. Huddled in the bushes,
hidden from the barbarians’ sight, Lee felt his stomach contract with hunger, followed by rumbling growls
of protest. He couldn’t remember how
long he’d been without food or water, but the lack thereof was the least of his
worries. Panicked that the three men
would hear the loud complaints, he scrunched further into the safety of the
full brush, falling to his bare knees, and crabbing away from the
campsite.
The new vantage still allowed a view of the camp inhabitants – two
men dozed, side-by-side, in a leaf bed that somehow – instinctively -- he knew
had been made for him. But why would he
need a leaf bed? Momentarily puzzling
over the mystery, he finally shrugged it off. His head ached with a vengeance,
his body was sore and bruised, and his memory was as holey as a hunk of Swiss
cheese. Logic forced him to conclude
that he had been captured or assaulted while on an undercover mission for ONI,
suffered some kind of head injury … hence the throbbing pain in the back of his
skull … and he was just now beginning to remember details.
Forcing himself to focus, he reached deeply into the recesses of
his mind, searching for anything that would make sense of his location, his
situation, or his state of dress … or undress considering the scratchy burlap
breechcloth, tunic and sandals in which he was clothed. He closed his eyes, felt invisible fingers
lightly feather-kiss his forehead and, suddenly, the mission was crystal
clear. He was on an assignment to rescue
a kidnapped prince and return him to Urarty … wherever the hell that was.
Abruptly,
he focused on the third man in the camp, an Assyrian whom he somehow knew as
Theron, the leader of this band of renegades.
A tall, scantily-dressed individual with dirty matted hair and a beard
to match, Theron hunched closely to the campfire, crudely tearing strips of
bloody, half-cooked meat from the small animal carcass. The barbarian swallowed the last mouthful,
swiped greasy remnants from his lips with the back of his hand and absently
tossed the skeletal remains away. Lee
saw it land scant inches from the head of what appeared to be the long thin
body of a skinned animal. It hung,
upside down, from a thick offshoot branch but, as the leftovers plopped loudly
to the ground, the ‘body’ reacted, twisting and swaying as if threatened or
frightened by the sound. Lee
sighed. Whatever it was, it was still
alive. Shaking his head at the cruelty
of these enemies of Urarty, he refocused his attention on Theron.
The
Assyrian seemed sated and at ease. After
the all-day hunt, he was enjoying his reward:
sitting beside a cool stream, eating the day’s catch. Theron rose, scratched his distended belly
enthusiastically, and moved toward the captive beast. Walking past his dozing comrades, he stopped
when he reached the tortured creature.
Lifting the flap of his breeches, the tormentor relieved himself, aiming
specifically at the bloodied head. The
action wrung a guttural groan from the injured animal. Instinctively, it wriggled in a feeble
attempt to move away from the stinging fluid.
“Вы
не мертвы пока,
Argishti, но вы
пожелаете
что вы было.”
//’Argishti?’// Lee’s ears perked up at
the name. He strained to see
clearer. Even in the shrouded gloom of a
moonless night, he could discern the evil grin that split the barbarian’s face.
Theron
finished urinating, lowered his breechcloth, then purposely kicked the helpless
form in the back. This time there was
only silence as the limp body swung back and forth from the thick tree branch. “If you thought we would let you die quickly,
Argishti, you were deceiving yourself.
Think again about telling us where your brother is because, if we must
find Ervand ourselves, we’ll skin you alive in front of him and then feed him
your entrails.”
“Argishti!” The whispered name sprung unbidden from Lee’s
lips as realization dawned that the bloodied and beaten ‘animal’ hanging from
the tree was not only human, but the prince he’d been sent to rescue. An inexplicable mixture of emotions boiled
inside him – outrage at Theron’s disrespect and humiliation of royalty and
anguish and guilt at the plight of Argishti.
The fury inside threatened to explode into uncharacteristic rash action
and, for a moment, he teetered on the edge, but reason and training tamped down
the urge.
Inching
forward, Lee watched closely for any sign that his small movements were being
detected. To his right, insects clattered furiously while somewhere
behind him a small unidentifiable animal scurried from one sheltering bush to
another. He froze as he saw his enemy
heft and hurl a spear in the direction of the disturbance. It fell uselessly to the ground, scant inches
to his left, completely missing both him and the small beast. Cursing, the warrior stomped carelessly into
the tangle of weeds to retrieve his weapon.
This time, Lee’s actions were immediate and
dramatic. Bustling on all fours toward
the wayward weapon, he located it a moment before the half-clothed warrior
emerged from the other side of the thicket.
Lifting the spear, he held it aloft, deliberately allowing the man’s
momentum to impale him. An agonized
shriek reverberated through the forest before the savage collapsed onto his
back, the spear deeply imbedded mid-chest.
Concerned at the volume of the scream, Lee
turned, peered into the shadows to check for any sign of his victim’s
companions. A resulting eerie silence
temporarily stilled the forest noises, a momentary quiet that abruptly ended
with the half-hearted hooting of an owl. The bird’s monosyllabic calls echoed
hollowly from the middle of the wood.
Its cries were joined almost immediately by the humming of reassured
insects and the scurrying feet of timid field mice and rabbits.
Lee violently yanked the spear from the
barbarian’s torso. He was still alive, blood
and saliva frothing from his lips, but both men knew the wound was mortal. Kneeling beside the dying man, he sought out
and locked on his pained gaze.
Theron’s eyes widened in recognition and
fear. He managed a gurgled “Errrvvannnd
…” coughing as a fresh torrent of blood gushed from his nose and mouth. He struggled to get another breath, but it
was obvious there would be no more.
Feeling physically and emotionally detached
from the drama unfolding before him, Lee watched the suffering dispassionately. Then, on impulse, he sent a mouthful of wet
spittle to mingle with the frothy blood on the corpse’s face. “Before this day is through, Assyrian, I swear
Khaldis will close and lock the gates of paradise on both of us for what we
will have done!” he whispered harshly just as a voice came from the vicinity of
the clearing.
“What was that, Brid?"
"The last cry of the living surrendering
to death.”
"It was terrible. It woke me from a sound sleep."
"Probably just Theron hunting another rabbit. You know he always has better luck at
night. Go back to sleep. You’ll need all your strength to continue the
search tomorrow. Before the
“Do you really think he’s still alive? After all, he’s just a boy, inexperienced in
survival and warrior skills...”
“Inexperienced, perhaps …” Lee began as he rushed from the thicket
and drove the already-bloodied spear into the closest man’s back, killing him
instantly. He quickly withdrew the
weapon and pointed it at the startled survivor.
The remaining man fell to his knees in surrender and, suddenly,
the why, where, and who of this bizarre situation was as crystal clear as the
herculite windows on his beloved Seaview.
It was inexplicable, but he could no longer avoid the truth -- an
ancient identity, rooted in his immortal soul, had awakened.
**********
Stepping over the
limp body of his second kill, he stood erect, glowering down at his humbled
enemy. “…I am Ervand, son of King Menua
and Queen Tirza of Urarty,” he affirmed in a language he didn’t recognize, yet
somehow came naturally to him. “… and I
declare that both my brother and I are born warriors. You,” he continued. “You are Nava?” Not waiting or even expecting an answer, he
waved the spear toward the filth and blood-covered human hanging upside
down. “Release Prince Argishti and tend
to his wounds.”
“Yes, I am known as
Nava. I see King Menua’s piglet believes
himself to be grown,” the savage spat defiantly, lifting his head and meeting
the younger man’s glare head on. “And if
I don’t cut him down, what will you do?”
Ervand returned the
stare, never dropping his eyes or his weapon.
“The same thing I did to both of your companions,” he said with steely
conviction. He watched the man as the
stunning realization that Theron and Brid were dead sunk in. Finally, reluctantly, Nava moved toward
Argishti, untied and unwound the hemp rope from the tree trunk and gently
lowered the injured man. The dust and
gravel beneath his scourged flesh wrung an agonized cry from the prince.
Never letting the
spear or his guard down, Ervand rushed to Argishti.
“Brother … I am
here,” he comforted.
“Er … vand … be … careful
… don’t let him …” ended in a dry hacking cough.
“Do not trouble
yourself with worry, Argishti. I have
control. I promised to get you home, and
I will.” He gestured with the weapon,
threatening the now captive barbarian.
“You will give him water, cleanse his wounds and find clothes to cover
his nakedness. But first, sit down, put
your hands behind your neck and hold your feet together so I may bind them.”
“But if you tie my
feet, how can I get drink or clothing for Argishti?”
“I will not bind
them tightly. You will still be able to
walk upright … if you are very careful,” Ervand said as he used the hemp rope
to hobble the man. “Stay where you are. Do not move,” he ordered as he stood and
deliberately walked behind the Assyrian’s head.
Abruptly, he drove the spear into the flesh of his enemy’s right bicep,
piercing the skin until he felt bone stop the progress. This brought a howl of protest from the
seated man, but Ervand swiftly repeated the process once more, rendering his
prisoner’s right arm useless.
“Now, Nava, unlike
your friends, you are blessed to serve Prince Argishti. You will be his handmaiden, feeding him,
tending his wounds and dressing him.
Ready yourself to be the mule you were born to be.”
“You have bound me
like an animal and crippled me, young Ervand.
It will not bode well for your future to turn your back on me.”
“I did nothing more
to you than you did to my brother. Even
your barbaric brain can understand justice.
Move, Nava! Argishti needs treatment. Afterward, I will give you instructions on
how to make a device that will help you bear the prince to Urarty.”
Ervand watched his
captive struggle clumsily to get to his feet.
Holding his injured right arm with his left, Nava wobbled toward the
stream, fell to his knees and cupped handfuls of water onto his wound.
Ever watchful of
his prisoner, Ervand sidled over to the prone Argishti, knelt down and surveyed
his brother closely. The man’s long
curly hair was matted with dirt and clots of brownish muck. Lackluster hazel eyes stared out of a face
that was ashen beneath the grime and blood.
“I’m sorry I
abandoned you,” he said in a somber voice, reaching out to check the spear
wounds.
Argishti flinched
away at the touch. “Why … are you here? You … were to continue … home. Ervand … you … you MUST live.”
“I don’t intend to
die, my brother. But it is not I who
will reign over Urarty. Somehow I know
Khaldis has already made his decision on my destiny, and it does not lie in our
homeland with its mountain ranges, olive trees, and endless sand. No, it will be my fate to sail the sea, to
feel salted mists on my face, to smell the coming of a storm in the air. One day, I wish to captain a boat. In this way, I can serve you, my brother and
my prince.”
Argishti sighed
softly and carefully shook his head.
“You have always … been about dreams … Ervand.”
“It is not a dream
that I am here and that I am taking you home.
As I promised.”
A haggard smile lit
the horribly bruised face. “Then I will
make you a promise … my brother. If we
get home safely, I will build your boats and you will … be the captain of all
….”
“One will be
enough, Argishti. Just one … long and
sleek as a serpent … with port holes of impervious glass.”
At that moment, the
prisoner returned, and Ervand lurched to a stand, spear at the ready.
“I have water for
him to drink and to bathe his wounds. We
can tear Theron’s clothing into bandages.
Brid is almost the same size, so his garment will cover Argishti’s
nakedness.”
Ervand nodded,
indicating that Nava was to begin.
At the first touch
of the damp cloth against his lips, Argishti winced and moaned softly.
“Cause him no
further pain, barbarian!”
“Water will sting
broken skin! If you think you can do
better, here!” Nava held out the cloth.
Ervand ignored it, threatening once more with
the spear. “You will do it better, or
you will pay with your life.”
Nava stood, his
face gone dark with rage, his stance threatening. “And if you kill me, young piglet, how will
you get the prince of Urarty to his royal bed?”
Momentarily
confused, Ervand risked a quick look at Argishti.
“It is all right …
Ervand. I can endure the pain. Just stand safely afar. Do not … let this savage near enough to take
… the … spear …” Argishti’s voice ended
in an agonized groan that grew louder and louder.
**********
The scenery and its inhabitants suddenly winked out. Closing his eyes to an unexpected attack of
vertigo, Lee felt a strange tug within, as if someone or something had reached
inside his body and forcibly removed his soul.
Weightless and dizzy, he dangled in a quiet limbo, a broken marionette
with tangled strings. Then,
inexplicably, he opened his eyes to find himself on the bottom of the ocean,
the surrounding pressure squeezing both the oxygen from his lungs and the life
from his body. The salt water stung his
eyes and, for a moment, he was completely disoriented, but a quick look upward
showed light. Lungs screaming for air,
Lee kicked off the sludgy bottom, swimming and pushing against the forceful
current that threatened to hold him in place.
Using every muscle and sinew available to him, he headed for the surface. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t
see, but he could hear the echo of someone calling to him.
“Ervand! Help me! Keep your promise!”
//Ervand?//
Kick!
Swim!
An eternity passed until his head emerged from the depths. Drawing in heaping gulps of oxygen, grateful for
the warm sunlight on his face, he treaded water, turning in a slow circle to
survey his environment. Almost
everywhere was ocean, beautiful blue-green water, gently swelling and
undulating before him. A few feet away
was a beach, sparkling with white powdery sand and bordered by foliage so lush
he could smell the varied fragrances of flowering plants and fruit trees. The intensity and beauty of the scene calmed
him. His heart stopped slamming inside
his chest, slowing to a regular rhythm, and his heavy gasps for air grew
lighter and unhurried. Casually, with
deliberate strokes, he began a leisurely swim to shore.
Suddenly, a shadowed insubstantial form appeared. It hovered above him, blocking his vision,
dimming the daylight and shattering the serenity of his surroundings. The clear, sunny sky above abruptly became
overcast. Dark billowing clouds brought
chilling wind and threatening rain.
Lightning flashed and the sea that had so warmly and lovingly embraced
his exhausted body grew rough and angry, tossing him forcefully about.
“Ervand!” a disembodied voice croaked. “Keep your promise!”
"Chem
haskanum." He heard his voice speaking an unknown tongue yet
instinctively knew the meaning of the words. //I don't
understand.//
“Ervand, don’t let them take me …” The
voice turned guttural, ending in a terrifying animalistic growl.
Abruptly, a cresting wave captured his
form, flip-flopping him over and over.
He fought to breathe, to see, to get control, but he was caught in the
throes of a ferocious sea. Survival
training kicked in; he stopped struggling, letting his body go limp and be
carried along to the shore. The
deafening roar of the ocean blended with disembodied groans and growls as he
tumbled helplessly along. Finally, the
back of his skull struck something hard and solid and, for a moment, everything
went black.
When he finally managed to raise his
heavy eyelids, he discovered that he was lying on the beach. Far away, an extremely long distance, he
could hear distinct echoes of gunfire.
Instinct told him to get up … find shelter … hide … until all his senses
returned. But the vertigo assailed him
again, paralyzing him in his prone position, forcing him to close his eyes to
the wildly spinning earth. The putrid
smell of rot and decomposition suddenly filled his nostrils, making acidic bile
rise in the back of his throat. He
gagged, barely managing to hold back further retching. But, just as swiftly as it had appeared, the
odor dissipated, leaving in its stead a heady floral fragrance. He recognized it as Cranesbill, one of his
mother’s favorite flowers. The
familiarity of the scent let him settle down, but the reaction was momentary. He tensed again as he felt invisible fingers,
whisper-soft and flighty, gently caressing away the frown lines from his
forehead. A sense of tranquility and
peace flooded through him, and he relaxed once more.
//A dream,// he thought as he felt himself drifting off. //It has to be a dream.//
But, somewhere, inside his essence, he knew
it was real.
**********
He came to on the hard cold floor of
his cabin with three familiar faces staring down at him.
"Lee! Lee, what is it?" The admiral's voice was shaken, his blue eyes
bright with concern.
//What is what?// His head spun and the
universe trembled around him. Overhead,
stationary bolts of lightning flashed, hurting his eyes. He closed them reflexively. "I … don't know," he heard himself
reply.
"What happened?"
He recognized Chip's voice, equally troubled and probing.
But why was Chip here?
Confused, he tried once more to open his eyes, found help in the blurry
fingers of Jamieson as the doctor deftly pulled one long-lashed lid up.
“Doc?" Admiral Nelson
spoke again.
"What's he shooting at?" Chip added from somewhere near
his feet.
//Shooting?// Lee struggled to remember where he was and why he was surrounded
by what appeared to be three very worried and extremely inquisitive friends.
"I don't know. No sign
of any intruder."
Arms lifted him, settling him on his bare feet, and, for a moment,
the room tilt-a-whirled. Swallowing hard
to quell the resulting nausea rising in the back of his throat, he touched his
forehead, grateful for the arms that still held onto him protectively. "Oooh, that dizziness again," he
said.
"Who were you firing at?"
//Firing?//
"Firing?" Confused, he forced his eyes to focus, peer
around the cabin. The admiral was there,
still in uniform. Chip and Jamie were
also present, both clad in pajamas and robes.
Looking down at himself, he noted that he, too, was dressed for bed.
"Nearly a full clip fired," Chip was saying.
Almost fully awake and aware now, Lee shook his head at the
mystery. The gesture was a huge mistake
as his surroundings see-sawed again.
When all had stilled, he replied, "I don't remember firing a
shot."
"Better get back into bed."
He balked, determined to decipher the dreams he'd had, the gun
he'd fired, the language he'd spoken.
"No, I'm all right now."
"Sure, sure, you're just fine," Jamie was saying as he
arranged the covers on the bunk so Lee could lie back down. "Come on, Skipper. Off your feet."
There was no use arguing.
He was outnumbered and knew it.
Reluctantly, he slid his backside on the bunk, flip-flopping onto his
stomach. The blanket was pulled over him
and tucked in at the sides. Its
cocoon-like warmth was soothing and relaxing.
Vague bits of conversation between the admiral and the boat’s doctor
were captured, but the sedative’s effects still interfered with his ability to
process information.
"Doc? Is he ...to be
... right?"
"Sure he will ... after a ... night's sleep."
"Well, let's get out ... and see that he ... one."
The room went semi-dark and silent, and Lee pulled the pillow
closer, snuggling into a haze of slumber.
He would obey his doctor's orders … for now.
Later, he knew he would follow the commands of another.
**********
Harry had read the same sentence at
least three times, and, although he understood every word, it was still incomprehensible.
Sighing, he rolled off his bunk, closed and put the book down on his
desk, mentally logging the page number for later. His mind wasn’t really on Rare Treasures
of the Middle East. Right now, it
was hovering somewhere between his cabin and the one down the hall that
currently housed his ailing captain.
He lit a cigarette, then noted the
time on his watch. Nearly 2330. All seemed quiet and in order on the
boat. Yet a deep-down gut feeling told
him something was amiss. Disturbed at his
uncharacteristic unease, he took a long drag of the Marlboro, snubbed it out,
and headed for the door. Opening it
furtively, he poked his head through, looking left, then right. The corridor was empty, so he struck out for
Lee’s cabin. Just as he rounded the
corner, he spied a familiar figure exiting the captain’s room, surreptitiously
closing the door behind him.
“Ahem!” he said, inwardly smiling at
the guilty start by Chip Morton.
“Er … ah … Admiral! I was just … doing rounds,” the blond man
said, fiddling nervously with the belt of his robe.
Harry raised one eyebrow and did his
best to scowl. “In your jammies?” he
asked, shaking his head.
“Well … um … you see, sir,” Chip
stammered for a moment, then adopted an attentive stance. “Lee fired an awful lot of bullets in his
cabin, and we were all too upset at finding him unconscious on the floor to
check for bulkhead damage.”
“And did you find any?” Harry asked
pointedly.
The exec studied his feet for a
moment, then replied, “None, sir.”
“I see.” There was a long, uncomfortable silence, made
even more so by Harry’s look of expectation.
Finally, “So, how is he?”
Chip feigned ignorance. “How is who, sir?”
“You know exactly who I’m talking
about, Commander. How is Captain Crane?”
Sheepishly. “He’s sleeping peacefully, Admiral."
Harry nodded. “As you should be, mister,” he said sternly,
letting a faint smile soften his demeanor.
Chip echoed the smile. “Aye aye, sir. Good night, Admiral!"
“Good night, Commander.” Harry watched his second-in-command until he
disappeared around the corner of the ‘officer country’ corridor, then turned
and strolled back to his own lodging. He
trusted Chip to correctly assess Lee’s condition and, if his executive officer
said the captain was sleeping peacefully, he could accept that. Except when he put his hand over the knob to
open the door to his own compartment, the uneasiness returned two-fold. Drawing his brows together into a frown of
irritation, he released the handle and retraced his steps back toward Lee’s
cabin.
As he neared the captain’s bungalow
a second time, he encountered another recognizable figure; however, on this
occasion, the individual was quietly entering the room.
Harry waited until he saw the door
close from inside, then took up a position to the right of the entrance. He crossed his arms, bent his knee, leaned
backward against the bulkhead wall, and waited.
The urge for another drag of his unfinished Marlboro rose unexpectedly
inside him, but he quashed it, preferring instead to greet the uninvited
visitor in person.
At least fifteen minutes passed
before the door cracked and Doc Jamieson peered outside. He started when he saw Harry standing in
wait, then continued his exit. Silently,
he closed the door and turned to face his commander.
“Well?” Harry asked.
“Well what?” Jamieson countered, his
chin lifted in defiance.
“Well, you’re the second person I’ve
caught disturbing the captain’s prescribed good night’s rest.”
The doctor’s brows knit together
into a frown of displeasure. “Who was
the first?”
“Chip. He reported that Lee was sleeping
peacefully.”
“Which is exactly what he’s
doing. I can also tell you that he has
no fever, his heart rate and respirations are normal, he’s in a good REM sleep
state, and the additional sedative I just gave him should keep him out for at
least another six or seven hours.”
Harry nodded at the news, then
opened his mouth to ask another question.
He never got the chance.
“By the way, Admiral, I’m the person
who prescribed that treatment, and it’s in my job description to keep check on
my patients. Mr. Morton had no business
going in there, and I can only assume that your presence at the exec’s visit …
and mine … can only lead to the conclusion that at least one other unauthorized
person planned to cross the captain’s threshold tonight.”
“Uhhh … I was only … ”
“Exactly. You are ‘only’ going back to your own cabin,
Admiral,” Jamieson said, looking at his watch.
“I know you and Lee think you’re superhuman, but you’re not. I’m prescribing a good night’s sleep for you
too.”
“But …” Harry stammered.
“No ‘buts’, Admiral! In fact, I seem to remember you telling a
certain captain not very long ago that I’m
‘here to make exactly those decisions.’
Now, suppose you let me do my job.
Hmmmm?”
Sighing in defeat, Harry stared at
his ship’s doctor. “Aye, aye,” he said
in a sulky tone and started for his cabin.
“Good night, sir,” the doctor said
politely.
“Good night, Jamie.”
“Oh … and Admiral? A word of warning. I intend to check on my patient several more
times tonight. I don’t expect to see you
when I’m out and about. Got it?”
Harry stopped , assumed a look of
pure innocence and turned back. “Got
it,” he said begrudgingly. Then, “Oh, by
the way, did anyone ever tell you that you’d make a good drill sergeant?”
The doctor smiled. “Once or twice. I’ve also been accused of having delusions of
grandeur and a Napoleon Complex.” He
chuckled and head-gestured toward Lee’s doorway. “Mostly by the big-pain-in-the-ass patient in
that room.”
This brought a grin to Harry’s
face. “You know I feel your pain,
Jamie,” he said, then sobered. “So, he’s
going to be all right?”
Jamieson nodded. “I think so.
He overdoes everything, never takes a second out for himself. He’s one of those damned Alpha
personalities. They refuse to take ‘no’
for an answer, at least not without a fight.
Unfortunately, we’re all mortal and, eventually, our health begins to
suffer. If he continues to show these
same symptoms for more than a week, when we get back to port, I’ll order some
neurological tests.”
“So, it could be something serious
after all?” Harry said with a hint of concern in his tone.
“I doubt it. Like I said before, it’s my humble opinion that
he just needs to get some rest. Let
someone else carry the weight of the world on their shoulders for a while.”
“Well, I won’t argue with you on
that point.”
“And you won’t argue with me on my
medical orders either. To bed, Admiral
Nelson, or I’ll give you the same sedative I just gave your captain.”
“None for me, thanks! Good night, Jamie!”
“Sleep well, sir. Don’t worry.
I’ll check on him periodically.”
“Jamie …” Harry’s voice went soft.”
“Sir?”
“If I’ve forgotten to mention this
in the past, you’re one of the best. I’m
proud to have you on my boat.”
The reply was even softer. “Thank you, sir. I’m very proud to serve here. Good night.”
**********
A loud thud startled him awake. Immediately alert and wary, Harry jerked
upright in his bunk and looked around the brightly lit room. Nothing seemed unusual or out of place …
except … He leaned over, peered down expectantly and felt a slow grin
start. The large, hardback book he had
been browsing lay
face down where it had landed on the floor.
Exhaustion and worry had finally pulled him from reading into slumber.
Shaking his head, Harry checked his watch. 0310.
No wonder he’d fallen asleep. The
book, Rare Treasures of the Middle East, was fascinating, informative
reading, but sometimes the body’s primal needs usurped curiosity and the desire
for knowledge. He slid off his bunk,
retrieved the book from the floor, and placed it on his desk. Another, more urgent, biological need sent
him to the head. Relieved, he washed his
hands, glanced pointedly at his reflection in the mirror. The man who looked back at him had tired,
puffy eyes, copper-gray stubble on his cheeks and unkempt hair. He splashed cold water onto his face, toweled
off, then ran short freckled fingers through his tangled red mane. Another glance at himself brought a nod of
semi-satisfaction. Jiggs Starke
wouldn’t approve of the five o’clock shadow or the wrinkled uniform. But then Jiggs wasn’t here – he was stuck at
the Pentagon in D.C., awaiting his turn to address the Joint Chiefs of Staff on
the volatile situation in the
The assignment was relatively simple – return the remains of
an ancient pharaoh to his homeland with all the pomp and circumstance befitting
royalty.
Sighing, Harry left the head and retrieved an open pack of
Marlboros from his desk. He selected
one, put it between his lips, lit it, and pulled in a deep breath. Another
drag, held longer, relaxed and soothed away some of the stress keeping him edgy
and awake. A third inhalation seemed to
do the trick, and he stubbed the cigarette out in the desk ashtray. Beside it lay the fascinating book he’d
retrieved from the Institute library before they’d launched. He’d learned that many of the ‘rare
treasures’ were on display in museums around the world, ancient plunder that
had been recovered from mansions of the rich, the famous, the secret
collectors, and former high-ranking World War II Nazi officers. There was a chapter on known priceless relics
that had yet to be found. And then there
was a segment on those treasures that had already been unearthed from darkened tombs
and sand-covered ruins only to be totally unknown mysteries of the ages.
Harry glanced longingly at his bed, then turned to look at
his cabin door. Down the hallway was
another mystery – his ailing captain.
Doc Jamieson seemed assured that the malady afflicting Lee was easily
treatable, something akin to exhaustion and overwork. Sedatives and “a good night’s sleep” seemed
rather generic treatment, one of those ‘only time will tell’ remedies. Yes, Lee was exhausted and overwrought which
he guessed could account for Jamie’s diagnosis of a nervous condition. Seaview had been on back-to-back missions for
the past six months, none of them routine milk runs. The physical and mental stress and strain
might have worn his captain’s usual resiliency thin enough to bring on these
attacks. Yet, for some unknown reason,
he couldn’t agree with Jamieson’s opinion.
He had seen Lee Crane injured, tortured, possessed, comatose, and near
death only to quickly recover and bounce back, stronger and even more
determined to be the best submarine commander on (and under) the high
seas.
A longing to see Lee, confirm he was resting comfortably
suddenly overwhelmed him. Jamie and his
threats be hanged. He was an admiral,
the owner and designer of Seaview, and both Will Jamieson’s and Lee Crane’s
employer and superior officer. Come
hell, high water, or the boat’s doctor, he was going to check on the condition
of his captain and friend. Stealthily,
he opened the door of his cabin and listened.
The only sounds were the faint reassuring thrums of Seaview’s powerful
engines. Poking his head out, he glanced
left, then right. The corridor was
deserted. Checking his watch once more,
he noted the time: 0325. Jamie’s first examination of Lee had been
close to
Closing his cabin door behind him, he smiled and strode
cautiously forward, stopping only to peer around the corner into the next
hallway. As expected, it was empty too,
and he quickened his stride, arriving at and entering Captain Crane’s cabin in
record time. He eased the door shut,
then made directly for Lee’s bunk.
The soft amber glow of the bed light added a façade of warmth
and color to Lee’s pale cheeks, and Harry stood beside the sleeping man, gazing
down at him. Sweat damp hair, black as
ebony, swirled and coiled on Lee’s aristocratic forehead, and his straight nose
and square cheekbones lent their own aspects to a kind of nobility. His hazel-green eyes were closed, but long
lashes rested upon dark crescent moon-like circles. That he was exhausted and unwell was evident.
Instinctively, Harry reached out a hand, feathered his
fingers lightly across the captain’s brow.
Lee was cool to the touch, but then the cabin was unusually chilly. Frowning, he moved to the front of the room,
checked the thermostat. It read 72, the
default setting for the entire boat.
Yet, Crane’s cabin was so cold he could almost see his breath.
Shivering, he hurried back to Lee’s bedside. The covers were in disarray, evidence that
even with two sedatives in his system, his friend was not resting comfortably
nor getting the good night’s sleep prescribed by the ship’s doctor. Harry reached out, smoothing the sheet and
blanket, and pulled them up to shield Lee’s neck and shoulders from the
chilliness. He then began tucking the
ends under the mattress, cocooning his friend.
“Admiral?” Lee’s
voice, gravelly with sleep and narcotics,
startled him.
“Yes, it’s me. Sorry
to wake you, but the room was cold, and you’d kicked the covers …”
“… and you were concerned...” Lee paused for a moment
to catch his breath. “Thanks,
Admiral. I wish I knew … I wish I …” He
smiled at his frailty, then his expression grew pensive.
“No need to get worked up about it. Doc says you’re exhausted, overtaxed. But, he assures me that by this time
tomorrow, you should be feeling like yourself again.”
A disbelieving snort met his ears. “I don’t think it’s that at all. It’s something … I can’t put my finger on …I
wish I could tell you…how I know …what … what I … feel …”
Eyes the color of raw honey sought out and locked on
pewter-blue, but Harry severed the visual connection almost immediately.
He was worried and anxious, and he knew it showed in his face and stance. He also knew that even in his weakened state,
the intuitiveness of his young captain could be disturbing.
He reached out a hand, squeezed his friend’s shoulder
gently. “I think we’re both aware enough
that we don’t have to voice it, lad.
Now, back to sleep. That’s an
order.”
A weak grin lit the finely-chiseled features of his
captain’s face, and he closed his eyes obediently. “Aye aye, sir,” was a hoarse whisper.
Nodding his approval, Harry turned to leave. He took a step forward, and felt his shoe
strike something small and hard. It slid
across the cabin floor, making a slight metallic thunk as it slammed into the bulkhead
wall.
//Now what!’ Harry thought as he bent down to pick up the tiny object. His fingers closed around it, and he
frowned. Straightening from his stooped
position, he brought his hand up to eye level, then opened his fist to confirm
what he already knew. Lee’s most
sentimental and prized possession rested in his palm – a gold and black onyx
ring.
“Lee,” he started, heading back to the bunk side. “Did you know your ring was on the floor?”
The younger man turned, cracked his eyelids slightly. “Whaaaa …” he mouthed sleepily.
“Your ring,” Harry said, holding it out so Lee could
see. “I thought you never took it off.”
Still trying to blink away the fog, Lee opened his eyes
wider, then reached out and took possession of the small gold circle. A puzzled frown crinkled his forehead as he
inspected the ring, turning it over and over.
“Did you remove it and forget to put it back on? Sedation is notorious for short memory loss,”
Harry soothed. He made to retrieve the
jeweled item but, before he could touch it, Lee purposefully hurled the ring
across the room. It hit the built-in
chest of drawers and ricocheted back onto the desk.
For a moment, Harry stood in stunned silence, open-mouthed
shock and disbelief on his face. Then,
before he could utter a word, Lee Crane, eyes gone near-black with fury, lifted
his right hand and pointed his index finger threateningly at Harry.
“Chem haskeshi, Nelson.
Noy ghi pum te sher, Argishti!” he said in a voice not quite his own.
“What … what in blue blazes are you talking about?” Harry reached out a hand to calm Lee, but the
moment he touched the captain's shoulder, he collapsed, limply falling back
onto the pillow.
"Lee ... Lee!"
A soft shake brought no response.
Seaview's captain had thrown a treasured heirloom across the room,
spewed some unknown words in a language he'd
never heard before, and lost consciousness.
"I thought I'd find you in here."
Puzzlement and concern had distracted him to the point where
he didn't hear the cabin door open.
Jamie, dressed in his duty uniform, stethoscope around his neck and
doctor's bag in his left hand, walked to the bedside. "Well, since you're here, trying to do
my job while disobeying my medical advice and orders, how is he?"
"I haven't a clue," Harry
said, still bewildered by what he had just seen.
Doc looked up from checking Crane's pulse,
worry lines creasing his forehead.
"His heartbeat's up, racing like he just ran a hundred-yard
dash." He placed the stethoscope in
his ears, held the end on the captain's chest.
"Admiral, was he up and about?"
Harry shook his head, stroked the stubble on his chin. "No.
When I got here, he was out like a light, but the room was ice
cold. I pulled his blanket up, and I
guess that woke him."
Jamieson popped a thermometer into
Lee's slack mouth, held it closed with one hand while rechecking his pulse with
another. "Was he coherent?"
the doctor asked, nodding satisfaction at the second results. "That's better ... much better."
"I thought so. But then he went off on a tangent, speaking
words I didn't understand. He seemed
furious."
“About
what?"
Retrieving
the ring from where it had fallen on the desktop, Harry held it up for Jamie to
see. "This," he said, eyes
wide with puzzlement. "I found it
on the floor, tried to give it back to him, and he sat up, took it, and threw
it across the room."
"Is that all?"
"No, it's not. I've heard of people speaking in tongues
before, but I'd never seen or heard it until now."
Doc checked the thermometer reading. "No temp," he reported. Shaking the mercury back down, he replaced
the instrument in his bag and peered at Harry.
"Probably the sedative, Admiral.
I've had a couple of other patients act similarly -- agitation fear,
hallucinations. I think I'm going to
send one of my PA's down here to sit with him until he's completely out from
under the influence."
Harry shook his head. "No need, Jamie. I'll stay with him."
"No, Admiral, you won't. I want you back in your cabin and in your
bunk now! If you think I can't see the
signs of exhaustion and lack of sack time, then you don't know me very
well."
"I'm all right, Doc. A few more hours and this mission will be
finished, and we've all got nearly six weeks layover in
"Do you want to know how I can tell you’re
overly tired and sleepy? You don't lie
as well. Your six-weeks won't be spent
on the golf course, the beach, or even the local bar. You'll spend it hunched over that desk at
N.I.M.R., twelve hours a day, seven days a week. Now, for once in your life, will you listen
to me? Please?"
Harry had the presence of mind to look
sheepish. Nodding absently, he peered
once more at his sleeping captain.
"You'll have someone with him from now on?"
"I will."
"What's wrong with him, Jamie?"
"Nothing serious. The unusual behavior is probably due to the
medication I gave him. If he needs
something else, I'll change to a different sedative. Now, go get some sleep, Admiral. I can do my job."
This brought a wry smile. "I know you can."
Jamie turned back to his patient, began to
unbutton his pajama top. "I'm going
to give him one more 'once over' and then I'll be in my office. Where will you be, Admiral?"
Harry shuffled toward the cabin door. "I shall be at my place of duty,
Doctor. My bunk."
"Good
night, Admiral. Again!"
"Jamie
..." He paused at the door and looked around. Doc was palpating Lee's abdomen and belly.
"He'll
be fine, Harry," Jamieson said without looking up. "Now off with you."
With
one final glance, Harry turned, opened the door and headed back to his own
cabin.
**********
From the moment Harry set foot on the bridge,
things started going to hell in a hand-basket.
To make matters worse, the circumstances escalated to serious, then to
downright critical. With Lee still on
bed-rest, the captain’s very conspicuous absence was wrecking havoc with his
usually stellar crew’s efficiency. Minor
mistakes by experienced seamen were happening all over the ship. Kowalski’s misinterpretation of a radar blip for
an enemy sub caused the organized chaos of an unnecessary red alert. Then Patterson slipped on someone’s spilled
coffee and was now in Sickbay with an ankle the size of a softball. Finally, Sharkey revealed that one of their
newest crewmembers, Simpson, had failed to report for breakfast or his morning
detail. Morton had ordered a search
party for their AWOL seaman.
It was then that
“Bad
news, sir?” Commander Morton, who had edged so close that Harry could feel his
exec’s breath on the back of his neck, asked needlessly.
//Damn
politicians! Damn false détente! Damn 3,000-year-old dead kings. Damn, damn, damn!// “The
emergency cabinet meeting has been called 12 hours sooner; that means our
deadline is 12 hours earlier!” Harry snarled caustically.
“Twelve hours!”
Morton was aghast. “There's
absolutely no way we can make it in that amount of time!”
“Oh, there's a way ... the Flying Sub.”
“But what about the matter of secrecy?”
Harry sighed and sent Chip his best ‘fed-up’
glower. “We've got to make some kind of
a sacrifice, and we can't afford to be late.
Now get the Flying Sub ready,” he ordered. Then, just because it gave him pleasure to be
in charge of ‘something’ in this mission, he added, “At once!”
Morton got the message. Looking around the control room, he spied
Sharkey standing nearby. “Chief,” he
barked.
Hearing the agitation in both his superiors’
voices, Sharkey reported sharply. “Sir!”
“Ready the Flying Sub for immediate launch!”
The executive officer’s tone brought the CPO to
near attention, but he quelled the instinctive urge to stand and salute. Instead, he replied in his most professional
voice. “Aye, sir,” and headed for the
entry well to FS1.
**********
When their journey finally
ended, it was mid-morning, and the Urartan township almost burst at the seams
with noisy villagers engaged in daily chores.
Ervand paused at the start of the cobblestone street, shifted his weapon
from one hand to the other, then ordered Nava to halt.
The Assyrian hauled the
travois containing a suffering, yet still alert, Argishti to a spot directly
beside his captor. Exhausted, Nava
leaned forward and mopped his sweaty brow.
Both princes and barbarian surveyed the bustling scene around them.
At the open market, women
held on to their babies and toddlers while examining fresh fruits and
vegetables for evening meals. At another section, a large farmer argued loudly
with an even larger man about a misdirected order of fertilizer. Nearby, a wagonload of the foul-smelling
material drew swarms of flies.
Ervand watched as the
merchant filled several large containers with fertilizer and presented them to
the irate customer. The man was still not pleased, but he seemed to accept the
replacement, loading all onto a nearby wagon and stalking off to another
section of the market. As soon as the farmer departed, Ervand walked
deliberately to the fertilizer dealer.
“Good morning, citizen. I seek King Menua and Queen Tirza. Can you tell me where they reside?” he asked
the man politely.
“Shah … do I look like someone who would know
the comings and goings of royalty?” the merchant said over his shoulder as he
stacked several cloth bags of fertilizer into another wagon. He brushed his
long-fingered hands together to rid himself of any leftover material, then
turned around. The undisguised impatience on his face was
immediately replaced by shock as he viewed the filthy youth and the wounded,
bound barbarian at his side. Gazing down
into the travois, he recoiled at the sight of the bruised and bloodied
Argishti. “Who are you, stranger,” he asked, loudly, suspicion rife in his tone
and manner. Others on the street stopped what they were doing and curiously
looked and listened as the conversation continued. “Why have you brought these barbarians to our
village,” he continued, “and what business could you possibly have with our
rulers?”
“I am Ervand, Prince of
Urarty, second son of King Menua. I
captured the Assyrian two days ago and rescued my brother, Prince Argishti,
from their warrior band.”
The large man moved closer and,
glancing around, Ervand could see some patrons leaving the markets and starting
toward them.
“Our princes are no longer
with us,” the merchant said, sidling nearer.
“It was reported days ago that they were killed by Assyrian warriors in
the town of
Ervand took a step back as
the angry trader’s stance turned threatening. “What I speak is the truth!” he
proclaimed loudly, so that the crowd now gathering around them could hear. “Tushpah has been overrun by these
barbarians ... the palace and holy
places plundered and destroyed. My
brother’s intended is dead and, as you can see, we barely escaped with our
lives. But, I assure you, Prince
Argishti and Prince Ervand survived. We
have come home.”
“Death to the teller of
lies!” rang out from one of the surrounding villagers.
“Kill them! They disgrace our royal family with their
filth and untruths!”
Ervand moved to shield his
brother, raising his spear threateningly.
“I do not lie! Argishti lies here
…” he waved his free hand over the still body.
“But the breath has not left his body.
He has the strength of a warrior, but even he cannot survive much longer
without medical care. Is there not one
of you who can look at us and see beneath the blood and bruises of battle? Can not one of you recognize your
princes?”
The large merchant moved
even closer, reaching out a ham-sized hand to grab Ervand’s arm. Ducking, the boy feinted to the right,
shoving his weapon toward his aggressor.
The man froze just as the rust-colored tip pierced the skin of his
gullet.
“Stop!” A strong voice stilled the angry mob, and a
hushed gasp of incredulity went up as the battered man in the travois struggled
to his feet.
“Argishti!” Ervand took a step back, undecided whether he
should continue to keep the crowd at bay or help his fragile sibling.
“Do not harm him, brother. He is merely paying homage to us and to our
parents!”
“But they do not recognize
us … they will not show us the way.”
“I know the way …” Argishti
whispered, glancing toward the west end of the township. He lifted a grime-encrusted hand, pointed a
trembling finger toward several nearby knolls.
“There … in the basin of those hills … there is where we played as
children, watched over … by our loving nurse …”
He took a step, tottering in the attempt, yet brushing away hands that
reached out to steady him.
The merchant sucked in a
surprised breath. “What was the name of
your nurse, boy?”
With the threat of attack
lessened, Ervand pulled the spear slightly back. Peering up at his brother, he could see the
adrenalin surge waning. Dropping his
weapon on the ground, he barely managed to catch the ragdoll limp body before
Argishti collapsed. With great
tenderness and care, he maneuvered his brother back onto the travois. As he started to return his attention to the
merchant, vise-like fingers closed around his right bicep. He felt himself jerked forward, nose-to-chest
with the larger man.
“I asked a question! What was the name of your nurse?”
Ervand suppressed the urge
to spit into the ugly face. “What is it
to you who my nurse was?”
“I’ll give you one more
chance to answer. If you do not, then we
will kill the three of you and dispose of your bodies so that King Menua and
Queen Tirza will never know of your deception.”
“Tell him, you fool!” Nava
shouted. “Tell him before all of this is
for naught.”
“But I don’t … remember … I
was only …”
“You were only six.” A soft voice wafted over the crowd. “But I thought surely that you would never
forget me.”
A middle-aged woman elbowed her way
through the throng, emerging only two or three feet from where Ervand stood,
still ensnared in the huge fertilizer trader’s grasp. Dressed in a flaring olive-green skirt and
long-sleeved plum-colored blouse, she appeared to be in her late forties. Her black hair, streaked with gray, was
meticulously caught up and pinned to the back of her head in a neat bun, and
she viewed the situation with animated brown eyes. Her gaze finally
settled on the merchant.
“Libarid,” she said, clasping her small hand over the big
man’s larger one. “Let the boy go.”
Ervand watched as his captor hesitated, seemingly gauging
his chances of disobedience before thinking better of it. He felt the fingers pinching his arm suddenly
loosen, and he hurriedly backed away, again taking up a protective stance near
his brother.
The woman then turned her haunting eyes on him, and he met
her unyielding glance head on. But she
was intimidating in her stare, and he suddenly felt as though she could see
right through him. He squirmed, inwardly uncomfortable in the grip of her
stare, and dropped his gaze. When he
looked up again, he saw that her piercing look was now focused on Argishti.
Ervand saw a flicker of some unrecognizable emotion flash
fleetingly across her lined but still handsome face as she examined his brother
with her eyes. It disappeared before he
could discern what it was. Then, just as
suddenly, her stare held him physically at bay.
Reaching out her hand, she stroked his cheek tenderly. “Libarid,” she said to the merchant. “He may not recognize me, but I know the face
of the child I nursed from the day of his birth. This is
Prince Ervand,” she declared, all the while pulling him into an embrace.
Normally, he would have recoiled from the touch of a
stranger, but something made him stand still for the embrace. She smelled of rose water … clean linens …
fresh baked bread ... tantalizingly familiar scents that awakened long-buried
memories.
When she drew back, there were tears of joy in her eyes, and
the smile on her face was no longer sad.
“… Marmar?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.
“Yes, my prince. It
is your Marmar. Welcome home, child!”
**********
The small room was balmy, moist from the
hot water of the bath and the richness of the
Ervand ducked his head, submerging his
entire frame in the large recessed bath.
Savoring the freedom of floating in complete silence, he allowed his
mind to wander over the past few seasons.
It had not been an easy adaptation for either of them. His parents’ joy and surprise at their sons’
almost miraculous ‘resurrection’ had been short-lived. Once King Menua learned of the attack and
destruction of Tushpah by Assyrian barbarians and the capture, torture, and
subsequent maiming of his first born, his outrage and drive for justice was relentless. Urarty had enlisted allies from all
territories, most of whom had also suffered losses of land and inhabitants to
the uncivilized minions.
The war had been swift and costly to all
sides, but, in the end, Urarty’s legions prevailed. The Assyrians were a beaten tribe, and what
peoples survived had moved far to the east to resettle.
//And
regroup.// Ervand thought grimly as his
need for air became urgent. He lifted
his head from the water, sucked in a deep breath and shook the excess droplets
from his long dark locks. The sound of
unexpected, yet familiar, laughter made him swipe his eyes of moisture.
“So here is where you spend your
afternoons!” his brother said. “Lolling
and wallowing like a water hound in the
Ervand focused on Argishti, marveling at
how well his sibling had recovered from his ordeal. He would always limp, and his left arm was
useless, locked and frozen into a bent position, but he was alive. That, in itself, was a miracle.
In spite of his afflictions, his brother
stood tall and handsome. His breeches
were walnut brown, blousened above ecru leather boots. His tunic, a dark forest green, accentuated
the jade and gold flecks in his eyes.
His raven hair was shoulder-length, held in place on his forehead by a
slender band of silver.
Ervand slithered through the water, halting
only when he reached the corner of the spa.
He placed his bare arms on the edge and stared up at Argishti. “I like water. Perhaps, in my next life, I will be a water
hound,” he said matter-of-factly. “So,
tell me, brother, why are you dressed so formally on a regular day?” He dropped his arms, placed his feet on the
sides of the bath, and pushed, sending his body floating backward.
“You mean you haven’t heard? Father wishes to see me about something
important at the
Ervand allowed his lower body to sink until
he was standing in the water. “I might,”
he teased. “I think he and mother have
finally found a woman who will have you.”
“What!” Argishti was aghast. “That’s… that’s barbaric … arranged marriages
are archaic, and I won’t be pushed into anything of the kind. Of all the stupid
… ridiculous …” Ervand’s laughter
stopped his tirade in mid-sentence.
“My prince, how can you be so brilliant as
a warrior, yet so gullible when it comes to your little brother?”
Argishti moved closer to the edge of the
bath. “Perhaps because my little brother
is just as brilliant at deception as he is persuasion. One day you will make a fine ambassador for
Urarty.”
Ervand again approached the edge of the
spa, placed his elbows over the edge and started to draw himself up. “Only if you keep the promise you made to
me.” He pulled himself half out of the water,
sliding his buttocks onto the tiled floor, and reached for the towel he’d
placed nearby. Before he could touch it,
Argishti grasped the towel and held it behind his back.
“What promise, Ervand?” he said calmly and
succinctly. “I don’t recall any such
promise to such a scalawag as you.”
“Argishti!
The towel! I’m wet and cold. And you remember the pledge of a boat, long
and sleek. An ambassador travels … as
the captain of my ship, I can take care of my responsibilities to Urarty and
live my dream.” He scooted his behind
farther from the rim of the bath and held up his hands. “The towel, my brother! Now!”
But the crown prince merely smiled, turned
on the heel of his good foot and limped out the door of the bathhouse. “Oh,” he said, putting a hand to his chin and
looking back at the naked, shivering Ervand.
“I forgot to mention that father wants you at the
“Argishti!!!” Ervand looked around the small enclosure,
searching for something – anything – to cover his nakedness. The clothing he’d worn before bathing had
already been picked up by one of the maids, and he’d only asked for a single
towel. //Damn
you, brother!//
Moments later, the door opened again. Ervand looked up expectantly, “Argish …ti …
ohh …no…” he said, scooting over the tiles and sliding back into the now cool
water.
“Prince Ervand,” the young maid
gasped. “I’m so sorry, sire. I didn’t realize you were still …”
Ervand stood in the shoulder-deep water,
garnering as much dignity as he could in the situation, and managed a slight
smile. “It’s all right, Reyna. No harm done.”
//Yet!// he fumed silently.
The servant stuttered something unintelligible
and turned to leave.
“No!
Reyna … please. I need you.”
“Sire?”
The girl froze in place and stood stiffly. “How can I please you?”
Ervand felt his face flame. //Damnation!! Argishti … you are a scoundrel!//
“I just need a fresh towel or a clean
garment if you will fetch one for me please.
You can just place it inside the door.”
From his viewpoint, he could see the
servant visibly relax.
“I will bring both immediately, sire,”
Reyna said and hurriedly slammed the door behind her.
For a moment, Ervand merely stood and
seethed. Then, with a whoop of
frustration, he dunked his entire body into the cool, refreshing water.
**********
Lee Crane felt the water in his tiny shower
growing colder and, reluctantly, reached out and turned the stream off. Exiting, he toweled off in the small area,
ran a hand over the fogged-up mirror and rechecked his facial hygiene. He’d been a bit shaky with the razor, but his
reflection showed no nicks or blood. He
ran a small black comb through the mass of ebony curls on his head, frowning as
the perfectly groomed hair slowly and deliberately returned to its original
state. Sighing, he squeezed a dab of
Brylcream into his hand, palming it onto his hair. Another comb-through showed marked
improvement. The hair wasn’t smooth, but
he could deal with waves over curls any day.
A fresh uniform awaited him in his closet. Lee donned it quickly. Some unknown and unexplained sense of urgency
drove him to hurry. He had obeyed the ship’s doctor, getting a full night of
rest, but now he was feeling fine and raring to go. Something was amiss on his boat. He knew it instinctively and
intuitively. Applying the comb one more
time to a stubborn coil on his forehead, he patted down his hair and stepped to
the door. Damn the torpedoes and Doc
Jamieson! He exited his cabin at full
speed and headed for the Control Room.
**********
“Mr. Morton, would you come down to the flying
sub?” Sharkey’s emotionless voice echoed
through the hollowness of FS1’s connecting chute up to the control room.
//Now
what?// Harry thought, recognizing the
“Simpson,” Harry said to his executive officer
who returned to the control room just after the crewman. “I'm very sorry to hear about that. How’d it happen?”
Morton shook his head, his eyes
locked on the corpse as it was carried across the room. “We don't know, sir, but we're
investigating.”
As the dead man disappeared through
the portal door, Harry shook himself mentally awake, refocusing on their
situation. “The wrecked controls?”
Morton seemed in the same state of
shock, but, at his superior’s questions, he startled alert. “Well, they're still being repaired, but
there's no telling how long that'll take.
We’ll never make our deadline now.”
Harry was somber. “I agree.”
“I don't,” came from the spiral
staircase behind both officers.
Harry managed an outward frown of
displeasure but, inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief as Lee Crane continued
down the steps, stopping just in front of the plotting table. His captain looked well-rested and brimming
with health. His uniform was crisply
pressed, his shoes spit-polished to a perfect shine. Every hair was in place, every curl relaxed
and tamed. His hazel eyes revealed open
curiosity, anticipation, and excitement.
In spite of the commander’s outward appearance, Harry couldn’t help
himself. “What are you doing on your
feet?”
Crane grinned sheepishly. “I was getting a little tired of being
useless, Admiral. I thought I could
help. Looks like you could use a little.”
“I'm afraid it's no use, lad. We’re more than twenty-four hours off
schedule; the flying sub is laid up.
There’s no way we can make that deadline.” Harry knew the moment he said it that his
captain would take the bait.
“He's right, Lee. We can't make it,” Chip chimed in. Both men exchanged knowing glances and waited.
“I think we can,” was said without
boasts or promises. Crane was calm,
efficient and composed. “It'll be
close,” he added, exchanging looks with both Harry and the exec. “But there's a chance.”
“How?” Harry asked, checking the
younger man for the return of any signs of stress, dizziness, or weakness. Crane exhibited none.
“By running at flank speed the rest
of the way,” he said nonchalantly.
“You can't do that!” Morton was aghast. “The engines would never take it.”
“We've never run half that long at
flank speed,” Harry added.
Crane
looked to his commander, then at his second-in-command, waiting for more
protests. There were none. “Then it looks like we're about to set a new record,
that is if I'm still in command of the ship,” he said, locking gazes with
Harry.
There was no hesitation. “Yes, you are.”
Crane grabbed the mike, coiling his
long fingers around it. He used his
thumb to key it twice. “Engineering!”
“Engineering, aye,” was the
immediate response.
“This is the captain.
Come to flank speed, hold her wide open until further orders!” Not waiting for a response, he turned to
Morton. “Chip, how did we get so far off
course?”
“Somebody tampered with the automatic
navigator.”
Harry watched in awe as the younger
man took complete control of the situation.
“So far, we … uh … we don't know who,” he admitted, feeling a bit
foolish.
The captain keyed the mike
again. “Master at arms!”
“Security, aye.”
“I want armed guards posted at all
vital areas of the ship. Maintain around
the clock detail.”
“Aye aye, sir!”
A faint grin lifted Harry’s lips,
and he could’ve sworn he heard the whole control room crew sigh in contented
relief. “Well,” he said to the man at the
helm. “Welcome back to duty.”
Artificial
night had always been his favorite time on Seaview. The corridor lights were dimmed every evening
at 1800,
Lee
stopped, put his hand on his holstered weapon and adjusted the belt to the
right. With the fit a bit more
comfortable, he continued his patrol, nearing a side corridor. A sharp right brought him nose to weapon with
an ever-ready Chief Sharkey.
At
the sight of his captain, the CPO visibly relaxed and reholstered his gun. “Sir,” he acknowledged.
“Good evening. Everything all right in this section?” Lee looked around, examining the darkness at
the end of the bulkhead.
“So far, so good. Are you feeling any better, sir?” Sharkey
asked, not taking his eyes off Crane.
Lee pretended not to notice. “I’m feeling fine,” he said and quickly
changed the subject. “Just make sure
that the guards stay on their toes, all right?”
He forced a slight smile of encouragement.
The CPO returned it. “You can count on that,” he said with a crisp
nod.
“Very well. Carry on.”
“All right, sir.”
Satisfied with the level of security
in the area, Lee moved on, rounding another corner. He was halfway down the corridor when a
strange sound accosted him. He closed his
eyes, listening as cheers erupted, bells rang incessantly, and the tantalizing
smell of Cranesbill filled his nostrils.
For a moment, he was in an ancient city at some vast celebration … and a
split-second later, he found himself leaning against the cool bulkhead of his
boat. Frowning, he shook off the sense
and smell of another time, and continued on his way.
Seconds later, the unexpected howl
of the ship’s emergency claxon hit him just as he reached the stairs leading to
the control room. A sudden, familiar
dizziness overwhelmed him, and he felt the back of his throat burn with
bile. Reaching out, he grasped one of
the small steel pylons beneath the staircase to steady himself, but his knees
had already melted into jelly.
He knew he was blacking out, knew he
was falling.
He didn’t feel himself hit the
ground.
**********
Sickbay was standing room only, that
is, if one could stand on his own.
Unfortunately, most crewmen reporting in weren’t completely
ambulatory. Jamieson surveyed the ward and
shook his head. Three unconscious men,
including the captain of the ship, and seven other sailors occupied the beds
and gurney in the room. In the outer
area, men lined up with everything from bruised fingers and toes to possible
broken arms and concussions. It was a
good thing Admiral Nelson had added two more physician’s assistants to
Sickbay’s mandated crew.
And speaking of Nelson, Jamie
watched as the admiral made his way through the ward, patting one patient on
the shoulder, just staring down at another, speaking softly to a third. He turned, acknowledging Jamieson just as he
entered the room.
“Pretty strange group of
casualties,” he said to the admiral’s unspoken question.
“Strange? Strange in what way?”
Jamieson made his way to the left and
pointed at an unconscious crewman.
“Well, Blair, the man who was standing guard at the circuitry room when
it blew up … he has a bad bruise on the back of his neck.”
Nelson’s brows knit into a
frown. “Back of his neck? Well, how could he get that in a fall?”
Will shook his head, confused. “He couldn't!
That’s what's so strange. Looks
to me like someone hit him.”
Nelson appeared thoughtful for a
moment. Then, “How is he now?”
“Soon as he gets rid of that
headache, he'll be ready for duty.”
Nelson nodded, liking the
report. “Good. Now … Kowalski …”
The doctor scratched his head,
already anticipating the reply to this diagnosis. “That's another strange case,” he said. “If he had a broken arm, I’d know how to
treat him, but I can't find anything wrong except a pure shock syndrome.”
The admiral’s frown was back, and
this time it was darker. “That's the
same diagnosis you made about Captain Crane!”
“That's right. The cases seem to be identical.” Perplexed, Will shrugged his shoulders.
“How are they now?” was barely
controlled.
“They're both coming out of it
nicely. Nothing wrong with either one
that a good, sound night's sleep won't cure.”
Nelson seemed angered, but he kept
his voice lower than Jamie expected.
“Look, you said that before about Captain Crane, and this is his third
attack!”
Will sighed his own
bewilderment. “Yes, I know. Well, as I said, a broken arm would be much
simpler.”
“All right,” the admiral said. “As
soon as the captain's on his feet, have him come down to my office.” He looked around the room once more, shook
his head in disgust, and headed for the door.
“Right.” Jamie finished to his
departing back.
**********
The carnival atmosphere and brightly strung outdoor lanterns
made the courtyard a jubilant place to be. Everywhere he went, Ervand
found smiling faces, an uncommon sight since the passing and entombment of King
Menua only one month ago. He shoved the distressing thought to the back of his
mind and concentrated on the attendants.
Strolling through the crowd of visiting royalty, local dignitaries,
subjects, servants, friends and family, he greeted each in turn politely. Great-aunt Manush, from his mother’s side,
snatched him, buried his face in the flesh of her large bosoms, squeezed his
torso in an almost unbearable hug, and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. Embarrassed,
but not wishing to hurt her feelings, he allowed the indignity, then quickly
excused himself from the group of elderly female relatives whose sole reason
for living seemed to be conversing about the upcoming celebrations: the coronation of his brother, Argishti, and
his brother’s wedding to the lovely Palisan one day later. Sidestepping any further overt shows of
affection, Ervand entered the grand ballroom, closing the heavy doors behind
him.
Siphoning in the hushed calm of the room, he sighed with
relief, then gazed around the ornately decorated space. Flowers were everywhere. Bright garlands laced through the high beams
of the ceiling, potted plants of fragrant herbs and spices, bouquets of
greenery and blooming Cranesbill decorated the coronation throne and family
chairs.
A multitude of
brightly lit lanterns, lush ferns and more blossoming plants filled an adjacent
room. Long tables were laden with more
food than anyone could possibly eat.
Large kegs of wine and ale had been retrieved from the cellars, some of
which, he suspected from the crowd’s animated excitement, had already been
imbibed.
“Ervand?” His
brother’s voice echoed softly from the small antechamber on his right.
“Argishti,” he acknowledged, entering the tiny room.
The prince, resplendent in a pristine shirt of cambric linen
and dove grey breeches that blousened into fawn-colored knee boots, sat on a
hand-carved wooden bench. His raven
locks were pulled straight and tied into a thick queue that hung down his
back. He nodded at Ervand’s
approach. “Here,” he said, patting the
seat. “Sit beside me.”
The younger man obeyed, sliding next to his brother. “Are you not excited?” he asked, noting
Argishti’s furrowed brow and obvious melancholy.
A breathy sigh was his answer and, for the first time,
Ervand noticed a round shiny object in the prince’s hand. He was twisting and turning it
nervously.
“No … I’m afraid, my brother. Afraid for Urarty. Afraid for our people. But especially … afraid for you.”
“For me? Why would
you fear …”
Argishti stood, his golden eyes flashing electric
anger. “Do you not understand, Ervand? I am not strong enough to be your king. How can a man with a useless arm and crippled
leg lead an army against invaders? And
what kind of woman would want to marry a man who cannot even embrace her with
both hands?” His fury extinguished,
Argishti hung his head despondently. “I
am not fit to wear our father’s ring. It should be yours. You are also Prince of Urarty – a whole man
who can defend the country against our enemies.
Urarty …her future, her safety, her might … should belong to you, my
brother.” He opened his hand, exposing
the ancient symbol of Urartan power – a thick circle of gold enhanced by a
single emerald-cut onyx gemstone. “Take it, Ervand. Take it and wear it for our people, for our
father, for me.”
The younger prince felt his face burn, his breaths quicken
with mounting anger. He stood, nostrils
flared, eyes darkening with disillusionment and rage. He reached out, snatched the golden ring, and
held it up for Argishti to see. “If I
accept this, would you have me take Palisan as well? After all, she is contracted to wed the King of Urarty! I have seen the two of you together. You love her.
And she loves you,” he said, noting the grimace of uncertainty that
flashed across his brother’s face.
“Don’t doubt her, Argishti. She
loves you – the love of a woman for a man -- without pity -- without
embarrassment. Yes, the marriage was
arranged, but I doubt if even Niari cared as much for you as Palisan. Would you condemn her … and me … to a
loveless union, all because you are too afraid your professed infirmities make
you less of a man, less of a leader? Can you not see what the rest of us
see? What our father saw on his death
bed when he passed the ring and the responsibility to you.” Ervand closed his fingers over the small
piece of jewelry, drew back his arm, and threw it with all his might into the
decorated sanctuary. “Chem
haskeshi! Noy ghi pum te sher, Argishti!
I do not
wish to marry your princess, nor do I wish to take your place as leader of
Urarty.”
“You don’t understand, Ervand. I am no longer able or worthy to wear the
ring.”
“Five years ago we returned to our homeland. I was only a boy, tried and tested by Khaldis
…”
For the first time, Argishti lifted his head and locked
gazes with his younger brother. “A trial
you passed, confirming your warrior status at only sixteen … which is why now,
it must be you, not I, who will be
king.”
Ervand’s voice went brushed velvet soft. “I also seem to remember a warrior, bent and
bloodied, captured, tortured, and burning with fever, yet still strong enough,
brave enough, courageous enough to spur that boy onward. Had it not been for your wisdom and your
guidance, Nava would have killed us both.
Our bleached bones would still be lying undiscovered in the desert.”
On impulse, Ervand exited the antechamber, searched
frantically through the sanctuary until he found and reclaimed the golden
symbol of Urartan power. Returning to
the small room, he studied his brother closely, noting the doubt still plaguing
the future king. On impulse, he fell to
his knees, reached out and gently placed the ring on Argishti’s left
forefinger. “My king,” he said
humbly. “I vow to serve you and Urarty
in any capacity you deem fit. You have
my loyalty, my respect, my admiration, and my undying love, for now and for
always.”
As if on cue, ceremonial horns sounded, trumpeting the
beginning of a new era. Cheers arose
from the crowd outside as the doors to the sanctuary were opened. Ervand turned, watching as spectators filed
past the antechamber in search of seats with good views. He stood, reached out his hand and helped
Argishti to his feet, then turned to enter the rapidly filling room. A hand on his shoulder stopped his forward
motion, and he looked back to find his brother’s face alight with both
excitement and anxiety.
“Come, my king,” Ervand smiled.
“Wait!” Argishti said in a new, commanding tone.
Still grinning, Ervand genuflected. “I await your orders, sire,” he said in a
slight teasing tone.
“I have a question,” Argishti said, his face suddenly
serious.
Ervand sobered, raising his brows in expectation.
“After I am crowned king, what do you suggest should be my
first order of business?”
The younger man thought for a moment, then answered. “If it were me, I would free Nava. Send him back to his homeland so he can be
with his family. Perhaps that small
kindness will be multiplied when next we meet
Argishti nodded in agreement. “So wise for one so young. A gift of freedom to an enemy is something
that will never be forgotten.” He took a
step forward, pulling his damaged leg along, then halted once again. “Any other words of advice for me, my
brother?”
Ervand watched as several family members wandered by still
looking for vacant seats. Spying one
particularly large woman, he ducked back into the anteroom, crouched down, and
peered clandestinely around the doorway.
“Just one suggestion,” he said somberly, “but it is very important
advice and must be heeded.”
Bemused, Argishti cocked his head, trying to see around his
brother’s compact body. “And what might
that be, Ervand?” he asked.
“If you like your ribs and enjoy breathing, beware of
Great-aunt Manush!”
**********
The knock on the door was soft, the
opening tentative, revealing an uncharacteristically hesitant Captain Crane. Harry palmed the mouthpiece of the telephone
he’d had plastered to his ear for over an hour.
“Come in, Lee,” he said in a low voice, gesturing for the captain to
take a seat to his left.
Crane closed the door and moved
stoically to his assigned place. He
seemed despondent, his face pasty as bread dough, his eyes dull and
guarded. Harry again held his hand up,
signaling for the commander to stand by.
“All right, Doctor,” he said,
continuing the phone conversation. “You consult with Professor Alikhanov
on the second matter. I’ll trust your
judgment on the first. Let me know as
soon as you can. Appreciate it. Yes, yes, I know, I know. You can sleep tomorrow, and next time Seaview
gets to
Harry pushed one of the white
buttons at the bottom of the phone, then rested the receiver in its
cradle. Sighing heavily, he looked into
the haunted eyes of his friend. “How are
you feeling, Lee?”
“As well as can be expected, I
guess,” the younger man replied. “I
still have no idea what happened.”
Leaning back in his seat, Harry
reached for the cup of coffee that had been keeping him going for more than 28
hours. “Then let me bring you up to
date,” he said, sipping the warm brew.
When he had finished relating the circuitry room sabotage, the boat’s
resultant damage, and the ongoing repair work, Lee looked up, his chameleon
eyes wide with concern. “I had no idea
all that happened. I was checking the
guard details when I suddenly blacked out.
Next thing I knew I woke up in Sickbay.
What do you think’s wrong with me, Admiral?”
“I don’t know, Lee. Neither does Doc. But we can’t afford to take any more chances
with your health. That’s why I’m
relieving you of all duties until we reach port.” Harry waited for the typical explosion, but
his captain’s reaction was strangely mild.
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” he said rather
offhandedly. “I’m all right now.”
Harry was emphatic. “I said I don’t want to take any more
chances.” Again, he braced himself for a
flurry of Crane-logic on why he was perfectly fine and fit for duty. And, once more, the captain’s response wasn’t
the expected one.
Lee’s downcast eyes focused on the
deck floor. “You ... uh … you think I’m
going to have another attack, don’t you?”
Temporarily at a loss for words,
Harry finally managed to stutter a reply.
“Uh … it’s a possibility. I want
you to get a good rest, that’s all.”
“Well, what about the mission?” the
younger man asked.
“Oh, I’m not concerned about
completing it.”
At this, Crane’s detached manner
suddenly slid away. “Not concerned! You
tell me yourself there isn’t a prayer of reaching port before the deadline!”
Harry allowed himself an invisible
smile of satisfaction. Finally,
something had kindled a recognizable reaction in Lee.
The admiral kept his voice
nonchalant. “I have no intention of
reaching it by then. I’m taking the
sarcophagus in the Flying Sub.”
“What about your orders?” Crane
asked, his brows furrowed, his hands fisting and unfisting in frustration.
“I have an okay to change them. They would've preferred a less spectacular
way, but any method's better than none.
I’ll fly out tomorrow morning.”
“I see,” Crane said, obviously not
understanding at all.
“So, there's really no reason why
you can't take the next couple of days off.
Get some rest.” Harry stood,
offered a comforting pat on the shoulder, signifying that the discussion was at
an end. Crane also stood and headed for
the door.
“Maanak parov, Lee,” he said so
quietly he wasn’t sure his friend had heard.
“Bedkee yertam hima, Admiral,” Crane replied automatically as he reached
for the knob. Seemingly unaware that he
had both understood and replied in an unknown language, he turned, managed a
grim smile, and left the cabin.
Harry watched worriedly as the
slender man exited the room. A few
moments later, he cracked his door, peeking through to ensure that Lee went
back to his own compartment. As soon as
Harry saw him enter and close the door behind him, he returned to his desk and
picked up the phone receiver. He
released the ‘speaker-off’ button, re-establishing contact. “Paul?
Are you still there?” he spoke into the mouthpiece. “Good.
So you heard everything? What do
you think?” He listened as the British
professor confirmed his suspicions. “I
agree with everything you’ve said.
You’ve known him nearly as long as I have – something is definitely
‘off’ there – and I’m certain it’s connected to our 3,000-year-old friend. When you hear from Professor Alikhanov,
call me via radio-telephone. If you
can’t reach me that way, contact Angie.
I’ll check in with her periodically after I’m aloft.”
The voice from
Still smiling, Harry hung up the
phone and checked his watch. Five
minutes had passed since Lee left for his own cabin. Sobering, Harry again opened his door and
checked the corridor. When he found it
empty of personnel, he hurried to the control room.
*********
Even before he descended the spiral
staircase into the nose of Seaview, Harry knew something was amiss. Halfway down, he noted the crash doors were
sealed, a definite sign that all was not as it should be on board. He grabbed the mike, pressed the button and
called Morton.
“Why are the crash doors closed?” he
asked, his voice hinting of irritation.
“Engineering recommended we close
them until they could check the framework for leaks, sir. Do you want them opened?” Chip replied.
Nelson pondered the situation and
decided his plan would probably work better if the area remained sealed. “No.
Leave them closed,” he ordered, disengaging the mike before Chip could
answer. He placed it back in its holder,
checked the holster and weapon he’d donned before entering the control room
nose, and headed for the entrance hatch to FS1.
Moments later, hunkered down in the
gloomy darkness of his revolutionary flying submarine, Harry waited. The thunderous silence enveloped him,
heightening his apprehension. If Paul’s
revelations were correct … if Professor Alikhanov confirmed his English
friend’s suspicions … if the trap he was laying caught the saboteur …
Heaving a deep stress-relieving
sigh, he forced his reeling mind to stillness and focused on the task at
hand. Less than a minute later, he was
rewarded with the sound of FS1’s top hatch being opened, followed by footsteps
descending the entrance stairs.
Instinctively, he reached out a
freckled hand, grabbed an ankle and pulled the intruder off balance. The tall man fell heavily backward but
recovered quickly enough to put up a fight; however, the brawl that ensued was
short-lived. Harry quickly finished him
off with a stiff left to the solar plexus and a hard right to the jaw, sending
him crumpling to the floor.
Palming his smarting knuckles, Harry
moved toward the unconscious figure.
Even in the dark, he could see the man was slender-bodied with long
legs, and he was clothed in the standard khaki uniform of a Seaview
officer. On closer inspection, he
recognized the square-jawed profile and dark, wavy hair. As much as his conscious mind refused to
believe what his eyes told him, there was no longer any doubt about the
saboteur’s identity. He was Lee
Crane.
**********
No matter the time of day
or the number of occupants, Sickbay always smelled of Lysol disinfectant, rubbing
alcohol and the concoction Doctor Jamieson laughingly referred to as
‘coffee.’ Harry doubted if more than
one-third of it was actually from the Folgers jar kept beside the well-worn Mr.
Coffee, but then he also had his own special potion hidden in a desk drawer in
his cabin. There were times when
military men – off duty, of course – deserved the warm calmness of a smooth
brandy or a shot of Jack Daniels #7.
Tonight,
however, relaxing with a Marlboro and a glass of fine whiskey would have to wait
a while longer. Although physically
fatigued from the long round-trip flight on FS1, he was more mentally exhausted
from dealing with conference skeptics and political red tape. There had been heated discussions with both
American and Middle-Eastern ambassadors who at first refused to hear him
out. Having a Nobel Award-winning
university professor like Dr. Paul Langford and the well-renowned
archaeologist, Professor Nakim Alikhanov, back him up with historical facts and ancient
relics finally made even the most cynical politicians reluctantly pay
attention.
It had taken more than thirty-six
hours to rectify the situation, correct the mistakes, and soothe all the
ruffled opinionated feathers. But, in the end, unreasonable men were forced to
listen to logic and truth and then act accordingly. The results were the ruination of one dead
man’s reputation, the rectification of a seventy-year-old error, a compromise
among disputing nations, and a fragile peace that would, hopefully, hold long
enough to prepare for the next Middle-Eastern emergency.
Still clad in his black leather
flight jacket, Harry snorted at the odors in the dispensary, then walked over
to the gurney where a prone and apprehensive Lee Crane looked up at him.
Leaning on the raised metal bedside,
Harry grinned. "One sacred sarcophagus signed for, sealed and
delivered. I think the crisis is over.”
The captain’s face showed both
pleasure and disappointment.
“Congratulations,” he said quietly.
“I’m afraid I wasn't much help.”
“Well, it wasn’t your fault,” Harry
soothed, reaching out to touch the vivid bruise his fist had raised on his
friend’s cheek. “How do you feel?” he
asked, swallowing the guilt that threatened.
Lee’s lush lashes dipped, ebony fans
on his olive skin. “Much better,
thanks. At least for the time
being.” His lids lifted showing eyes the
color of honey and jade. “What if I get
another attack?”
“You won't! We've taken care of it.” Harry was adamant.
“Must've exerted some sort of
control over my mind …” Crane said pensively.
“Definitely.”
Again, Lee sought out and held his
superior’s gaze. “How do you explain
it?”
Harry was thoughtful for a moment
before replying. “You know, Lee, I think
that there are some things that are better left unexplained.” He fingered the bruised cheek once more. “I also think you should get some rest. We’ve reversed course, but it’s still a long
way to Santa Barbara.”
“I 'm tired of resting,
Admiral. Besides, you look
exhausted. When was the last time you
slept?”
Harry mulled the past few days
through his memory, then chuckled. “To
be honest, lad, I can’t remember the last time my bunk and I were
friendly.”
“Then I suggest you remedy that …
before Jamie catches you."
Harry pushed off the bed
railing. “Is that an order, Captain?”
The blinding smile Lee flashed was a
healing balm to Harry’s soul. “No,
sir. Just a sincere recommendation.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” he said,
turning to leave Sickbay. He got all the
way to the entrance, paused, and then looked back. “Before I go, answer a question for me,
Lee," he said. "Have you ever
heard of the ancient kingdom of Urarty?"
Crane looked puzzled, then slightly
shook his head. "I don't believe
so."
"Well, when Doc finally puts
you on quarters, I have a book that I think you might be interested in
reading."
"A book? What kind of book?"
"It's called Rare Treasures
of the Middle East."
Crane's confusion deepened, bringing
a grin to Harry's face.
“Sounds more like something you’d want
to study,” the captain said.
"I guess we should thank our
lucky stars that I was interested enough to read it. To tell you the truth, it stopped a
war."
At this, Crane’s curiosity
crested. “How?” he asked, struggling to
sit up on the gurney.
Harry yanked a pillow from a nearby
bunk, returned to the bedside, and placed it behind his friend. He then helped him ease back into a more
comfortable position. “You’re going to
get both of us in trouble if you don’t stay horizontal.”
Lee reclined into the pillows, but
he was still bursting with curiosity.
“Admiral … how?”
Pulling up a stool, Harry slid his
tired body onto it and looked directly into Lee’s hazel eyes. "Because I discovered that the American
archaeologist who found our ancient friend seventy years ago misidentified
him."
"What?" Crane moved to sit up again but, this time,
Harry was ready for him.
Nodding, he placed his palm onto
Lee’s chest and exerted a slight pressure.
The younger man sighed heavily and allowed himself to be repositioned
onto the pillows.
“Anyway,” Harry went on, “Before I
delivered our 3,000-year-old friend, I talked to Professor Paul Langford from
the University of London.”
“I know him,” Lee interrupted. “He was one of my history professors when I
did some grad work in England.”
“Yes, and I owe him a very expensive
bottle of Dom Perignon.”
“1959,” Lee finished, nodding in
remembrance.
“Exactly. Anyway, I noticed that things started to go
to hell on a handbasket after we got the sarcophagus onboard. You were periodically ill; we lost a crewman;
the automatic navigator’s destination was changed; and none of us knew what in
blue blazes was going on. Luckily, the
first night we were back aboard, I began to read a book I’d recently bought -- Rare
Treasures of the Middle East.
“And this book stopped a war?” Lee
interrupted, impatient to hear the rest.
“It did,” Harry continued. “I told Paul what was happening on Seaview
and detailed your sudden, strange illness.
He was listening when we had our conversation in my cabin.”
“When you relieved me of duty,” the
captain said softly.
“I had no choice, Lee," Harry
replied apologetically. "Paul isn't
just a genius in history and antiquities; he's also quite interested in the
occult, paranormal science, and reincarnation."
"Which is relevant how? I don't understand, sir."
"I didn't either at the
time. Nor did he until I told him what
was happening to you – the fainting spells, speaking in a foreign language …”
“I did what?”
“You spoke to me in ancient Armenian,
Lee. Paul was listening as we talked in
my cabin -- he even told me how to say 'good night' in the language. And he heard you reply in kind -- 'Have a
good night.' I'd already related some of
the things you’d done and most of what you’d said the night you threw your ring
on the floor. He was very
concerned. Said he had to contact a
professor of ancient Armenian history, Dr. Nakim Alikhanov…”
Lee’s brows drew into a mystified
frown. “I don’t remember any of this,
Admiral. I spoke to you in Armenian? And I threw my ring?” he asked, holding up
his left hand and examining the cherished golden circle.
“You threw it across your cabin and
then pretty much told me what I could do with it – in Urartan.” At his captain’s appalled look, Harry held up
his hand. “Like you said, Lee, you
didn’t know what you were doing or saying.
And, in truth, it wasn’t you … at least not you in your present form.”
“I don’t understand … again,"
the captain said in obvious frustration.
“Neither did I … nor did Paul … at
the time. I told him what I could, even
mentioned some of the words you said -- 'chem haskim' -- and what seemed to be
a name: Argishti. That’s when Paul asked
me to examine the king's left hand and tell me what I found. I went to the storage area, opened the
sarcophagus, lifted the wrappings from what was left of his fingers, and found
an ancient ring of pure gold with an onyx gemstone imbedded in the top. It was then Paul proclaimed that our friend
was not the king the cabinet representatives were looking for, but instead, an
ancient ruler of Urarty – King Argishti.
After he and Professor Alikhanov discussed the strange goings-on aboard,
a sarcophagus that had to come from the Bronze Age, and some of your ancient
Armenian words, we knew we were returning the wrong king."
"The wrong … king. And I spoke in an ancient language. I don’t believe this, Admiral!”
"You don't have to, Lee. Let's just say that you helped fulfill a
3000-year-old promise."
"I ... I did ... what?"
“Professor Alikhanov clued me in
while I was on my way to the conference.”
Harry repeated the story of the two ancient princes, their seclusion in
the village of Tushpah, Argishti’s maiming, coronation, marriage, and Prince
Ervand’s fame as a great seaman and ambassador for Urarty.
"Sounds like a nice fairy tale,
Admiral, but I still don't know what this has to do with me."
"Do you believe in
reincarnation, Lee? Never mind ... never
mind ..." he said, reacting to the look of naked skepticism that greeted
his question. "Just open your mind
a little and listen. The princes were as
close as two brothers could be. At just
21 and 16, both avoided death by fleeing their sanctuary city of Tushpah. Unfortunately, Argishti's left leg and right
arm were permanently damaged, and he was captured by Assyrian soldiers. Ervand was ordered by his brother to escape,
to return to their parents in Urarty, and to rule as he would have ruled. But Argishti also made Ervand promise that,
if he died by the hands of his captors, the boy would seek out his body and
ensure it was entombed on Urartan soil."
Harry paused to let the information sink in. Then, “Don't you get it, lad? We were delivering the King of Urarty into
the hands of an old enemy. He just
wanted to go home."
"To Armenia?"
"Exactly."
"And what did I have to do with
it?"
"The name Ervand means nothing
to you?"
Lee slowly shook his head. "I don't think so."
"Well, believe me, after you’ve
read the book I have and another that Paul is sending, it will.” Harry yawned,
covering his mouth with the palm of his hand.
"Well, we can talk some more after both of us have had a good
night's sleep. Get some rest, lad," he said, standing up to leave.
"Wait!" Lee started to sit up again, thought better
of it, and lay back into the pillows.
"Admiral, you can't just tell me this and then leave? Who is this Ervand? What does he have to do with me? And what about the real king the cabinet was
expecting?"
"Paul took care of that -- he
knew that the correct Middle Eastern king was in a rival country's museum. With a little bit of political maneuvering,
some bribery, some threats and some promises, we got the custodial country to
present the correct king to their enemies.
Making everyone happy."
"Except Argishti ..." Lee
looked pensive.
"I arranged for his return to
his tomb at the base of Mount Ararat myself, Lee. He'll be receiving a royal homecoming and
burial next to his queen, two of his children, and his beloved brother. He's back home where he wanted to be. I think both brothers' souls are now resting
in peace."
"Okay, what's going on in
here?" Doctor Jamieson said as he entered Sickbay for 2300 hour
rounds. He reached for the blood
pressure cuff and stethoscope and turned to the captain. "I know I gave strict orders that you
were to rest here for 48 hours, then be on quarters until we reach
Both men had the presence of mind to
look guilty.
"It's my fault, Jamie. I wanted to clue him in on the mission and
how it went."
Jamieson put the stethoscope in his
ears and placed it over Lee's heart.
"Breathe deeply, Captain.
Once more. All right, lean forward
and let me listen to your back."
As Crane sat up, Jamieson turned his
attention on Harry. "Admiral, how
long has it been since you had more than an hour or two of sleep? Another deep breath, Captain. And again."
"Too long, Doctor. Believe me, I want to follow your
orders. I'm leaving now."
"Eight hours, Admiral Nelson. That means I don't want to see you anywhere
else on this boat, especially here in Sickbay, until 0700 hours tomorrow
morning. Do I make myself clear,
sir?"
Harry smiled. "You do, indeed, Jamie. And I can't say that I disagree with you one
iota. I am tired." He headed for the exit.
"Well, just in case you find
yourself walking in your sleep and wind up back in here disturbing my patient
... do you see that syringe and the little glass bottle next to it in my
medicine cabinet?"
"I see it," Harry said
knowingly.
"That's the sedative you asked
me to use on Lee before you flew off in the Flying Sub ... the special one that
works for twenty-four hours?"
"What about it?" Harry
asked suspiciously.
"It's also a great remedy for
sleepwalking. Good night, Admiral. I'll see you at breakfast in the
morning."
"Good night, Jamie. Good night, Lee."
Crane swiped the blood pressure cuff
away. "Admiral, you won't forget
... the book?"
"No, Lee, I won't forget. When you've recovered a bit more, I'll bring
it to your cabin and let you read it. I
think it'll explain a lot of things that have happened in the past few
days."
"I look forward to learning
more about this King Argishti and Prince Ervand," Lee said, finally submitting
to the doctor's attempts to take his blood pressure.
"Ban gisher, Lee," Harry
said as he crossed the Sickbay threshold.
Lee's reply was automatic. "Good night, Admiral."
The End
NOTE: Argishti and Ervand were real ancient
Armenian princes who were secreted away by their parents to be educated in the
large villages of Tushpah which bordered the Lake of Van and was built at the
base of Mount Ararat. Khaldis was the
name of the one god worshipped by the ancient Armenians, and the name for Armenia
in the B.C. time period was Urartu and/or Urarty. All other happenings in the above story
squeezed out of my twisted mind. My main
motives for writing this were: #1 -- I
wanted to explain why and what the Mummy was after. #2 -- I noticed through dozens of viewings
that the Mummy never tried to harm Lee -- only to communicate with him. And #3 -- I am an Egyptology and ancient
history buff, so I thought I'd try to lend a little credence to a story that (