Warriors Vow (The Mummy FanFiction)

Chapter Four: The Boat and The Men in Black Robes

Evy prowled the dock like a caged beast, every scratch of her boots against the weathered planks echoing in the salt-thick night air. The tang of seaweed and brine clung to the wooden pilings. Her gaze flicked to the low-slung schooner tied to the pier. "Do you really think he'll show?" Her voice quavered, as brittle as shattered ice.

Jonathan's breath came in a measured gust, his shoulders locked like coiled steel beneath his dark coat. "Undoubtedly. He prides himself on his word, no matter how much of a cowboy he may appear." Evy resumed her restless pacing, her coat tails brushing against the rotting rope mats.

She spat the words out as if to rid herself of them. "He's filthy, uncouth—a complete scoundrel. I don't care for him one bit."

At that moment, a tall figure emerged from the shadows: clean-shaven, clad in tan trousers and a matching jacket, suspenders stretched over a crisp white shirt. His boots clicked on the planks. Jonathan's jaw twitched; Evy skidded to a halt.

"Anyone I know?" O'Connell asked, voice low.

"Oh—hello." Evy forced a sheepish wave. Their sister, Adalinda, stood behind him, her eyes bright with mischief at Evy's surprise.

"Smashing night to begin an adventure, eh, O'Connell?" Jonathan slapped their guest on the arm. O'Connell merely slipped a hand into his pocket.

"Never steal from a partner—"

"Partner," Jonathan repeated, rubbing his wrist with a tight laugh.

"That reminds me—no hard feelings about the uh—" O'Connell raised both fists in feigned menace. Jonathan flinched, then forced a grin.

"Oh, it happens all the time," Jonathan said, still chuckling. Adalinda offered a curt nod, as if she'd walloped him for less.

Evy stepped forward, her spine rigid as an arrow. "Mr. O'Connell, look me in the eye and promise this isn't some flimflam. Because if—"

He cut her off with a low, rolling laugh. "You're warning me?" His gaze hardened, the brim of moonlight glinting off his cheekbones. "My whole damn garrison believed in this so much they marched halfway across Libya into Egypt. When we got there, all we found was sand... and blood." He bent smoothly, scooped up their battered trunks and trunks as though they were feathers, and hefted them onto his shoulder. "Let me get your bags." He pivoted toward the boat; Adalinda slipped in beside him, her weapons bag heavy over one shoulder. Evy swallowed hard.

Below deck, a gaunt warden greeted them with a leer that crawled under Evy's skin. She edged closer to Jonathan's side.

"I know we're asking a lot," Adalinda murmured once they were crammed into a dim cabin scented of damp rope and tar, "returning to a cursed place you swore to avoid." O'Connell met her gaze but said nothing. He set the bags down with a thud and melted into the shadows.

Later that night, silver-blue moonlight slashed between the railing posts as Adalinda reemerged on deck, now wearing a white skirt and blouse embroidered with gold thread that caught the glow. A canvas duffel sagged on her shoulder, a slim leather-bound volume on Queen Rana tucked under her arm. She drifted among stacked crates and barrels, the wood rough beneath her fingertips, searching for her siblings or O'Connell.

Ahead, cards slapped against the table. Jonathan sat in a ring of American gamblers, cheeks crimson from lost wagers, curses curling from his lips.

"Don't lose all your money, Jon," Adalinda teased, sliding onto a battered chair. The men whistled; Jonathan sputtered and ignored her. She smiled, then slipped away toward a darker corner, where the moonlight thinned to slashes of silver.

Between two looming crates, Adalinda sank to the deck, lifted her book, and let time unravel. The air smelled of spilled whisky and wet canvas. Then, before she could turn a page, the sharp crack of gunfire cleaved the night. Metal rasped against metal; screams rose in a terrible chorus.

She bolted for the sleeping quarters, heart hammering like a war drum. "Evy!" she screamed.

Bodies collided, and the decks pitched under her feet. A rough hand clamped over her mouth, another locked around her waist. She thrashed, elbowing him, fingers clawing at his wrist. He dragged her through the panic toward a corridor glowing with flame and thick curls of black smoke.

"Stop fighting," he snarled in Arabic, his voice a granite rasp, tightening his vice-like grip. She kicked out wildly, her nails raking down his forearm, but he held her as easily as one might cradle a child.

When her struggles slowed and her thoughts cleared, she realized with a jolt that she knew this man: Ardeth. The wordless question burned in her mind—why was he here? The man relaxed his hold, and she whirled to confront him, but the world rippled. For a breathless moment, they stood on a sun-baked vessel drifting down the Nile, the air heavy with the scent of papyrus and incense, distant voices chanting in forgotten tongues.

Then the scene shattered like thin ice. She toppled into cold, churning water. The river seized her breath, icy fingers biting her lungs. She surfaced coughing, arms slick with river sludge, the moon's reflection dancing on the ripples. Her duffel bobbed nearby; she seized it and kicked toward the far bank. Through the spray, she glimpsed Ardeth's silhouette shimmering, then dissolving into the mist.

She crawled onto coarse sand, drenched and trembling, her clothes clinging to bruised skin. Above, the moon cast ghostly light across the water. On the opposite bank, Evy and Jonathan stood motionless, faces ashen.

"Lovely to see you worrying about me, Evy," she gasped, voice ragged as driftwood.

"Hey, Beni!" O'Connell's shout echoed from upstream. "Looks to me like you're on the wrong side of the river!" He strode forward, a lean grin on his face, while a weaselly man behind him jabbered in a thick accent about missing horses.

Adalinda rubbed numb arms, feeling the warden's leering gaze fixed on her torn, waterlogged skirt. She let her hair fall forward until it hid her chest; the man's eyes flicked away.

"There's a trading post about a day's walk from here," O'Connell said, lifting his own duffel and slinging a shotgun across his back. He fell into step down the shore toward the rolling dunes.

They followed in silence. The moon hovered low, a pale guardian in the star-cracked sky. Sand shifted with every footfall, each step sending lilliputian whirlwinds across the shore. Adalinda's ankle throbbed, heat and ache spreading like wildfire. Without a word, O'Connell paused, glanced back, and hoisted her pack onto his shoulder. Her cheeks flamed; not one of the others stirred at his kindness.

Questions about Ardeth dug at her mind like scorpions in the sand—why he had attacked her, why she'd dreamed of him. Twice, they halted before the first blush of dawn near a row of wooden stalls that lay silent as a forgotten village. Evy and Adalinda huddled close; Jonathan leaned against broken beams, snoring to a death rattle. O'Connell sat erect, shotgun across his lap, the warden muttering in slumber.

Beyond them, horses pawed the earth and riders swung into saddles, ghosts slipping into the grey horizon. Adalinda closed her eyes against the growing chill. Then she nudged Evy. "Wake up." A jab in Jonathan's ribs startled him upright, indignation rushing to his face. O'Connell chuckled, helped Evy to her feet, and gently took Adalinda's hand to steady her.

She brushed fine grains of sand from her skirt, smoothing the tattered edge until it was no more than a faint memory. Beneath a sky paling with dawn, they set off once again, trailing behind O'Connell into the uncertain promise of daybreak—knowing this, their true journey, had only just begun.