Woman, powerless in a fight

by nineteen year old not quite a lady

The two brothers walked hand in hand along the halls of the ornate residence. A shadow appeared from behind a large pillar and lunged at them, only at the last second revealing itself with a pre-adolescent giggle, to be in fact the six year old child of a high ranking officer. She seemed puzzled by their reactions -- which were none at all. Both men having seen the child flanking them by the pillars while they easily spoke of other things, the only reaction the mischievous offspring could achieve was mild and momentary irritation. The dark-featured men looked down at the little girl with identical blandness. She looked up at them with wide blue eyes that crinkled in interest concerning her apparently unflappable companions.

"Aren't you scared? My father says that most everybody is afraid of the dark and that I shouldn't try to scare them." The brothers glanced at each other and Mahmoud deigned to answer.

"Your father must be a very wise man and I'm sure he would not like you to disobey him." At this assertion the brothers moved forward along the hall.

"My father says that if people don't face their fears they die inside," she stated grimly.

Mahmoud and Ali had continued to move along the sleek hallway, but Mahmoud stopped and his head swiveled around. "Your father is indeed a man of intelligence. You don't just die when you refuse to meet your fear -- you destroy yourself, eating yourself away." They formed a line throughout the hallway with Ali at the lead, Mahmoud in the middle and the child at the end standing in the shadows.

"But," and at this proclamation he moved to stand in front of her and bent his knees so as to be on eye level with the girl, "Facing your terror doesn't give you life, it sometimes has just the opposite effect. You can lose your life by facing your fears, you can be brave, child, and die on the outside too."

Her eyes grew wide at this thought and suddenly she smiled at him. His eyes serious, Mahmoud stood and was not surprised when the girl walked along with him to rejoin Ali. Ali was leaning against one of the many ostentatious pillars, sourly whittling away on a delicate circular piece of wood. She walked along to Ali and tugged on the sleeve of his robe.

"You really weren't scared?"

"No," Ali replied solidly.

"Good," she answered and did not elaborate.

"So no more trying to scare the people here?" Ali inquired.

She was silent, looking over his shoulder at the expanse of sky. Mahmoud smiled and moved on and this time it was Ali who paused.

"Listen to me carefully child," he intoned, leaning over her. "Men have many fears in the world... natural ones, and especially around a place like this... thinking of them takes up most of their time. Their fears occupy their minds and if you were to frighten one of these men and he was carrying a weapon...he might overreact." At this possibility her eyes now seemed to be blue orbs floating in the darkness. Seeing this thought enter her mind, his next pronouncement was less grave.

"And besides, in this land there are enough things jumping out at people in the dark without adding a little girl to the list." He paused for a moment and his eyes turned to a more menacing shade of brown, their color seeming almost black.

"And do you know what else?" He purred at her, his voice hard.

"What?" Her voice was small as she answered thinking over the things he had said, considering them carefully in her way.

"Most of those things that come out of the dark are my brother and I," He growled, leaning over her his dark eyes piercing her own, holding her to the spot. "Do you see?"

She raised her head suddenly and took a step toward his intense and threatening face. She looked him in the eyes and she smiled. Her small teeth gleaming in the darkness and smiling, she stuck her tongue out at him. She scampered past Mahmoud and out of the shadows on the hall and before leaving she turned again and this time Mahmoud was the beneficiary of the point of her tongue. Giggling, though more quietly, she was gone.

"The feeling of blood ties is natural among men, with rare exceptions."

"Did that little wretch remind you of anyone?" Ali asked through lips that were pursed in dour reflections.

"Amir should be down from his bath in a few minutes, Ali. Patience."

"Taking care of children is not how I prefer to spend my days," Ali pronounced sourly.

"You can hardly think of him as a child, Ali. Amir is 19 years old. And a very capable nineteen years at that," He added thinking of the display of strength at Beersheva and her retaliation against Ali. Ali darted his head around to look at Mahmoud.

"I did not find that incident amusing, Mahmoud."

"I am not laughing, Ali."

"Then what are you saying exactly --" Ali interrupted quickly. Mahmoud moved his hand at him in a gesture of dismissal and spoke quietly enunciating the flow of Arabic slowly and clearly.

"What I am saying, my brother, is simply that Amir possesses a good mind, strength and loyalty."

"Loyalty!" Ali seemed at loss for words and seized on the last quality his brother had mentioned.

A lieutenant-colonel interrupted their intense conversation without seeming to notice anything out of the ordinary. "If you would be so good, gentlemen, breakfast is being served." They arrived after their two traveling companions. Holmes and Russell were already seated, or rather, Holmes and Amir were already seated, Mahmoud thought to himself with a trace of amusement. With Ali taking the offered seat next to Holmes and Mahmoud taking possession of the one next to Amir, the breakfast conversation was stilted indeed, with the only emotion shown coming from Ali, who persisted in throwing dark and cold looks at Amir every chance he got. Amir, Mahmoud noticed with some pride, responded to Ali's continued abrasive behavior with polite conversation. They spoke of unimportant matters until breakfast was finished. Finally, with breakfast done and finding themselves alone, they were free to speak of what Allenby had commanded them to do.

"After our search last night for patterns and finding nothing -- I admit to being curious," Mahmoud offered this conversational gambit. Ali looked on in silence. Holmes was smoking a cigarette and Amir sat on his left.

"Curious?" Amir asked patiently, "Because the fact that we have found no pattern suggests that there is in fact none to be found? We will be going to Jericho at any rate, is that correct?"

"Yes," Ali answered, his voice filled with condescension.

With that consideration on their minds all four became aware of the sound of footsteps, military boot heels approaching them across an impeccably tiled floor. Ali growled at the interruption and the low ranking officer who appeared to show them to their transport was as oblivious to the intense tone of the conversation as the previous lieutenant-colonel. The car was a Vauxhall, solid, worn and comfortable. Mahmoud sat next to the driver on the left and he was not surprised to see Ali take the seat behind him, leaving Holmes to clamber in next to him and Amir to be on the outside, behind the driver. As they drove away and felt a slight breeze on their faces, Mahmoud studied the landscape that was slowly trickling past. He saw soldiers performing formations in the dust, a high-ranking and self-important officer striding across the grounds and he saw the little girl with whom he and Ali had spoken before breakfast. She saw him as well, and her sapphire eyes smiled at him. She held up her hand in a wave and without thinking he waved back. When he turned back to the interior of the Vauxhall he found Amir looking at him with a slight smile. He looked back at her evenly and felt no need to explain himself. Holmes spoke and mindful of the driver he addressed her as Amir and spoke in Arabic.

"You looked unsettled this morning. Did you pass the night satisfactorily?"

"If by satisfactorily, you mean plagued by odd dreams, then yes. I did."

Ali snorted in derision at the topic of conversation and settled as far into his side of the car as was possible. Mahmoud turned around again and listened to her as Holmes inquired further.

"What did you dream, Amir?"

"I dreamt I was at the sea shore, but I was young. Maybe six or seven years old." Mahmoud stirred slightly thinking of the officer's young daughter. Ali snorted again. Amir ignored both of their reactions and looked absently at the seat in front of her, trying to remember.

"There were other children as well. We were playing on the sand, digging with spades and buckets and things. There was a child riding a donkey behind me -- I turned and looked at it, still holding the shovel, and then... I woke up."

"Fascinating," Ali sarcastically commented, sounding bored.

"Amir," Mahmoud started to speak and then stopped.

They heard noises from below them, the sounds of running water and laughter. They looked down at the stream and saw a child accompanied by three long eared black goats who were either being washed, watered, or both. All four occupants of the stream looked up simultaneously as the motor car lumbered along the road. The driver set the car into gear as the side of a hill approached and swore as a roadblock appeared around the bend, slowing their speed to a crawl.

"It causes affections for one's blood relations, that no harm should befall them."

What happened next was engraved into the memories of the three men -- the events not blending together as battle conditions of soldiers sometimes do, but standing out with each action fixed in perfect clarity. Both the Hazr brothers and the team of Holmes and Russell were trained to notice, to watch and listen. But by the time they had, it was too late. As the car slowed to approach the spray of large rocks and dirt blocking the road, Mahmoud felt movement behind him on the ridge above the car. Ali saw movement opposite of him on the right almost at eye-level and as the brothers turned toward each other in the second before the gunshot rang in their ears, there was a moment that passed between them of perfect understanding of what had happened and what was to be. Russell caught the glance that the two men had shared and saw the movement on the hills, but did not appear to comprehend what it meant. And Holmes finally registered the low hum of awareness that something was undeniably wrong.

By then, though, the ambush had begun.

The Hazr brothers reacted with the gifted instincts and almost preternatural awareness that their lives had afforded them. They were still too late, and as the gunshot rang out the driver slumped forward instantaneously. Even Holmes, whom Mahmoud had thought would be extremely defensive if the safety of Amir was truly threatened, was not fast enough when the gunshot echoed over their right shoulders. She cried out as the driver was killed and the thought that radiated through the minds of each man was the same, though the accompanying emotions differed. In Ali, it was annoyance covering slight worry and apprehension. In Mahmoud, it was one of genuine concern and frank anxiety. In Holmes, the thought was one of unadulterated panic and a torrent of images and memories of Russell. "Dear God, was she hit?"

Mahmoud saw the gunmen behind Amir only for a second as the car lost control. Amir cried out again as a backward lurch sent out a stream of blood from the deceased driver. The driver seemed to be the only one injured, Mahmoud and Ali quickly assessed, until the car made its final stop. In the five seconds it took for the car to lurch into the shallow ravine Amir was thrown against the side of the car and into unconsciousness. Ali looked at her sagging features and blood soaked face and threw himself across the car grabbing her from her seat and throwing themselves over the side of the car in one fell swoop. He tumbled to his feet, grunted at her weight and, scooping her up in his arms, ran for the shelter of an alcove of rocks. Mahmoud was a pace or two behind him. Mahmoud heard no footsteps behind him and quietly made his way to the location of Ali and Amir. As he turned the corner Mahmoud saw that she looked completely lifeless, that death had taken her, despite the fact that he could see her shallow breaths rise and fall. Ali had stretched her along the ground with a strip of his garments cradling her head. Ali's eyes were fixed on a track of blood that had carved red lines into the brown dye of her skin. Ali's hands were shaking and he moved them helplessly over her as if unsure what could be done. He kneeled over her and looked up at Mahmoud with a gaze that was hard and bright in its anger. Ali turned his attention back to Amir and tried to wake her.

"Amir," he whispered fervently.

"Amir," he repeated. The trickle of blood dripped off her face in small droplets into the dust and dirt and Ali's anger flashed out at the figure sprawled in front of him.

"Damn you Amir!" he whispered hoarsely. "You speak when you should be silent -- damn you woman! You came here to us when you should have not and you came with your irritating habits, infuriating strength and stupid brains! Now look at you!"

"Ali," Mahmoud murmured and moved toward his brother. He waited for Holmes to come running down the path and tried to put a comforting and restraining hand on the back of his brother. Ali squirmed away and returned to the girl's motionless form. He whispered softly but with more urgency coloring his voice than before.

"Amir!" He paused, "Russell, damn you, Mary Russell wake up! Russell!" He paused again.

"Mary, please." He addressed her softly and as she stirred he sat back on his heels with his face in his hands, suddenly drained of energy. Mahmoud saw that she was waking, slipped back to the point of the crash and saw another motorcar pull up to the road. He saw a figure emerge carrying a weapon, and Mahmoud tensed as the figure pointed the gun at the ground, which Mahmoud assumed was where Holmes lay though he could not see it. Mahmoud held his breath when he saw Holmes get up and stand in front of the armed man. He saw how the man tracked him with the weapon and that he moved behind him in order to march him over to the waiting transport. Mahmoud saw Holmes enter the automobile and the man who held him at gunpoint followed. Someone from inside the car leaned out and shut the door and they were gone.

While Mahmoud was ascertaining Holmes' whereabouts, Ali had stayed with Russell as she roused herself. He said her name softly to let her know that she wasn't alone and was absurdly pleased to hear that the first words she groggily uttered were in the Arabic she had learned.

"Holmes?" She tried to sit up, winced at the pain and slowly lay her head back on the ground.

"Amir."

"Hello, Ali. Where is Holmes?"

"We became separated, Mahmoud went after him."

At this statement she bolted upright and faced him with angry anxiety. "Separated, what do you mean?" She swayed on her feet, locked her eyes with his and said forcefully, "If anything's happened to him Ali, I'll kill you myself." With that declaration her eyes rolled up to their whites and she fell into his arms. The movement caught him by surprise and he tried to lay her on the dirt as gently as possible so as not to complicate her injuries. She had slipped into unconsciousness again but he was still smiling ruefully when Mahmoud approached.

"Taken?" Ali asked. Mahmoud nodded his affirmation.

"How is she?"

"She stood up and told me that if anything happened to Holmes, she would kill me herself." Stating these words Ali absently brushed a strand of errant hair from her face.

"Ah. Good." Mahmoud replied. He went to kneel beside her, checking her injuries and pulse. Ali raised an eyebrow, smiled and fixed her turban over the wound she had received.

"I thought so as well."

"We must get her some care and we must get Holmes back," Ali stated.

"Yes. We will." Mahmoud looked at the sleeping girl and wondered what she was dreaming now.

"Mahmoud?"

"Ram Allah -- Rahel is the closest friend we have. There are horses nearby?" Mahmoud asked although he already knew the answer.

"Not for long," Ali said with a grin.

Without any more words between them the two men divided up the tasks- Ali to borrow the horses and Mahmoud to watch over Russell. For the moment they could do nothing about Holmes' disappearance and Mahmoud's face became set with harsh lines. Once at the inn he and Ali would be free to contact associates and family to help get him back.

"We've got to find him first, I suppose," he murmured out loud. Russell stirred at his voice and he touched her forehead checking for fever.

"One feels shame when one's relatives are mistreated or attacked."

Ali took two horses quietly and effortlessly from the small farm. But he stopped and breathed in the morning air deeply. He was upset by the incident that had occurred; that at the most it implied a betrayal along the chain of command and at the least that he and his brother were neither fast nor strong enough to protect the two English. He was shaken by seeing Russell so weak, a direct contrast with her normal strength. He shook off the self-analysis and led the two horses back to Mahmoud.

Mahmoud did not question the number of horses and only asked, "Shall I ride with her or do you want to?" Ali locked eyes with his brother and sneered at the inert figure, "You ride with her." His companion drew himself sharply up.

"Ali," he commanded. They moved away from where she lay and stood with their backs to her.

"What?" Ali glanced at her and then away, feeling ashamed of his earlier thoughts.

"Let us get these issues out of the air right now. She is not Amir, a boy from out of town. She is Mary Russell the partner of Sherlock Holmes. She is extremely intelligent, she is very strong and she is a fast-learning individual with whom I am proud to be," he said simply.

"Mah--" his brother interjected.

"She is not a threat to you Ali," he finished softly. "Just respect her. For who and what she is. No one is more surprised than I to find an ally from one too young and one too old English, but if someone treated you the way you have been treating her, you would have slit their throat." Ali cleared his throat and cast his eyes at her form.

"I am not so sure she won't when she wakes up," he said, raising his eyes to those of his brother. Mahmoud smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, "Don't worry, if I find your throat slit I'm sure you'll be proud to know that when motivated to, she will in fact resort to murder."

"I'm not worried," Ali said defensively.

Mahmoud tilted his head towards him and gestured at Russell. "Aren't you? Because I am."

Ali paused and spoke slowly. "This... occurrence has made me... uneasy, my brother. I feel... responsible for both of them."

"We are responsible to them as they are to us."

"Now there's a comforting thought," Ali said derisively in pure English. They were silent for a while.

"You know who she reminds me of?" Ali asked suddenly.

"Iris," Mahmoud replied.

His brother turned to look at him and mused, "Perhaps... she reminds me of... obligations from long ago."

"She and Iris have very similar characters I think," Mahmoud reflected. Ali shook himself from this reverie and faced the matters at hand.

"Should we try to wake her?"

"Let her rest, Ali. I'm the lightest, just put her on with me."

"What and stretch her across the horse?"

"Put her in back of me, Ali," Mahmoud lightly chided.

Ali and Mahmoud worked silently -- Mahmoud getting on the puzzled horse first and then helping his brother move Russell behind him. Once they had completed this arrangement, with the horses stamping uneasily back and forth all the while, they set off for the inn of Rahel and her daughter. During the three-hour ride to deliver Russell to Rahel, the brothers were silent. The desert heat gathered around them and at first each rider was consumed by attentiveness to their surroundings, an almost painful sensitivity to the place to which they had devoted their hearts and lives. They relaxed slightly as they settled into the rhythm of the journey and both brothers thought of unconnected things. Mahmoud thought of their beginnings in Berkshire. He thought of Iris who looked like Russell. He thought of Henry and Sarah. Mostly though, he thought of Gabriel, who was essentially another man's son. Ali also thought of Gabriel and he reflected on the nature of loyalty as he looked silently at the two figures beside him. It is an odd thing, he thought, to see strangers that you had never set eyes on before and then to discover that they were members of your family. Surprisingly unexpected, resolutely unwanted, and irretrievably connected. Family.

They arrived in Ram Allah around three o'clock. Mahmoud helped Ali with Russell, who was still sleeping off her wounds and then got off the horse himself. He winced as he gracefully jumped down, the long journey with the entirety of her weight slumped against him had taken its toll. So Ali carried Russell in his arms to the waiting innkeeper. She had seen them approach and came out to greet them, showing neither surprise nor hesitation to taking in the stranger. Ali carried her up the stairs to a disused attic and carefully laid her down. He smoothed her turban, tucking her hair underneath, and Rahel brought him a bowl of warm water. While Mahmoud explained to her the bare essentials of the situation and the precautions that needed to be taken, Ali cleaned the blood that had dried to Russell's face, making it seem as if she had wept red, coarse tears. With this task completed he rejoined his brother and together they swept into the hot desert air to find their companion and arrange his return. After an exhausting day of contacting local friends, finding witnesses and locating trustworthy men, they at last found the small compound where Holmes was being kept. Ali waited a cautious distance away from it with a small number of allies and did not object when Mahmoud stated that he was going back to the inn. Some seven hours after Ali had deposited her in the attic, Mahmoud returned.

"Salaam aleikum, Mahmoud."

"Aleikum es-salaam, Amir."