AN: This is set in an alternate timeline, after the events in ancient Egypt. The main changes are about who has survived the battle/is born in ancient Egypt.
I'm also having the Ishtar clan live underground from the very beginning. They're also, at this point, already separated from the part of the clan Shadi and Bobasa later belong to.
I'm not a native English speaker, and might have left in language mistakes; corrections are always appreciated.
Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, I make no money with this, no copyright infringement intended.
Sunset
Behind him, the sand continued, monotonous, until the horizon. It was hard to believe he had left Thebes only two days ago. It seemed as if there could be no human presence anywhere close, like this was a place at the edge of the world – or, rather, in a sea of sand that went on forever.
He had never felt this infinity like that before. And he had made longer journeys through the desert.
But that had been before. Time and space seemed to have changed since the king's death. A strange calm had fallen upon all Kemet, like a gentle slumber after a long, chaotic fight. As if the king's victory over the darkness had not only destroyed the danger from the thief and the dark god he'd been serving, but had brought everything to calm. The cries on the market place in Thebes, the sound of the horses' sabots, even Seto – the king's – angry, cold voice seemed to be coming to him only from a long distance.
Maybe it was the truth: the darkness had infiltrated so many people, from the sacrilegious robber to Akunadin himself, one of the chosen priests and, as they had found out, of royal blood; it might have gone deeper, infected all of Kemet.
Now, it had been sealed away.
But, he knew, it could also be nothing but his own feeling. He was tired, and he could feel the world sway away from him. Sometimes, he wished he could lay down his function, never use a word of magic again. He didn't know back then, but all he had learned, he had learned for this one battle. There could be, would be other dangers, but never one as great as this one, not before an eternity; for him, the battle was over.
For the future, he could do nothing but teach his student as well as he could.
Mana was talented, more than she knew it herself. He would not be surprised if she'd one day surpass him in strength. For now, she still lacked discipline in her use of the Art, but soon, he would be able, if he wished to, to retire and lay the ring and his responsibilities into her hands. Even Seto, who had never been very found of the loud, nosy mage-apprentice, would not protest.
But maybe he was reaching too far for the reason for the strange feeling of distance and peace that had been assaulting him. Maybe it was nothing but the long, stretching silence that surrounded him, mixed with the closeness of very vivid and ancient memory; even though he had never been here before.
And maybe, it was just because he knew he would see Isis again.
Thinking of Isis was painful, but it was a pain that was dull and distant, like everything else. He might have loved the priestess, and if there had not been the imminent danger and the ancient prophecy that had chosen her family, he might have married her. There was regret when he thought of it, but he had found that it was hard to recover love once it had been sacrificed for other things. In the end, both of their loyalty to the King had been greater. And they both understood.
They'd never needed words to understand each other.
Isis was cursed with the gift of foresight, as the one chosen to hold the necklace, and the day he had left to confront Bakura inside Akunumkanon's tomb, she had known she had lost him. And if...
"Master Mahado?"
He glanced up, to see a man standing a few feet from him, bowing deeply. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he'd not noticed the man emerge from what, from the outside, looked like a simple, normal well, and was the entrance to the undergrounds. Someone from the Ishtar clan, obviously, through probably just a servant, not a member of the family itself.
There were few people other than him in the small construct that was surrounding the well, a few guards, and he knew there was a village not far away, though he could not see it, that belonged to the Ishtars. But these walls would one day crumble down, those guards die. The place, the real hiding-place, had been built so that it would last long, beyond unspeakable things, the end of the dynasty, the fall of Kemet!...
He made a faint gesture to signify the man to stand back up.
It was a long way down, and the daylight faded and faded to a small, yellow circle as he climbed down behind the man. By the time he finally reached the ground, the ghostlike light of the torches had replaced it, and the small circle of sunlight seemed an unreachable memory.
He needed a few moments to get used to the darkness, and resisted the urge to call on his magic to light his way. He was not inside a tomb, and he was a guest.
"Mahado."
Isis was standing a few feet from him, inclining her head slightly, in a respectful greeting which he returned. She had not changed since the last time he had seen her, but her clothes were much simpler than anything she'd been wearing when she'd been a priestess in the palace, a white dress, and a scarf over her head. No jewellery at all, not even the necklace.
"Isis."
She smiled.
"It's good to see you again." She hesitated for a moment, before asking almost timidly: "Did you come to leave the ring?"
He raised his hand to his own millennium item. The five pointers tingled faintly, sensing the closeness of other items.
"No. I haven't decided yet."
Isis breathed out and nodded understandingly, smiling again.
All six items would soon be deposited in the Ishtars hands, to be guarded by them along with the memory of the king, to be ready for him on the day on which he would awake again, safe for the puzzle itself, which had, of course, been deposited in the king's own tomb, close to his mummified body.
Seto himself had brought the rod, declaring that from now on, Kemet would need no such dark magic to be protected. Isis had brought the necklace with her when she had left to stay in the undergrounds and, as it seemed, she had ceased to use it.
The other items were still in the hands of the priests, and it seemed that there would still be arguing over how soon they should be sealed away for a while; some had argued that keeping them all in one place, no matter how secure, might be dangerous, and that bringing them all to the Ishtars' sanctuary was a bad idea to begin with.
Mahado was not sure what to think. He wished he knew what the king would have wanted.
"You have come only to visit, then?" Isis asked.
He straightened up, and acquiesced. Part of him was jealous: he would give anything to have been allowed to be the king's memories' guardian. But not for a moment, he had thought of arguing against a prophesy that had been made long before the battle that had killed Him had even begun, by the previous and first owner of the necklace.
"Not solely. I have come to bring knowledge no-one else might be able to give the guardian."
Isis smiled again.
"You can stay," she said softly, guessing his thoughts as she did so often.
"I'm not needed here at all," he answered, grateful, however, that she had said it.
She didn't insist; instead, she turned round to look at something behind her, before continuing, in an a little more business-like tone.
"You must be tired from the journey. Why don't you come and rest?"
He thanked her, and she stepped aside to let him go first, to the next chamber. He was not really tired, he was used to much more strenuous journeys, but he liked the opportunity to sit down with her, and, maybe, meet the guardian...
The undergrounds were large. He followed Isis through a few corridors, before they came to a larger room, in which they found a place to sit down at. Isis dismissed the servant.
"Is your father not here?" Mahado asked carefully, wondering only now why the chief of the clan had not greeted him himself.
"He's ill," Isis answered, her eyes downcast.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"It's nothing serious. He will only be unable to stand up for a few more days. However, if you wish to speak to him, he will be able to receive you."
Mahado nodded, a little absent. It would be impolite to come and not visit Lord Ishtar at all. He could not remember ever having seen him: it had been before his birth that he had left the court with his whole family, after learning the fate that awaited them. Isis and her brother had both been born here. Her brother had never left the place, and, as far as he knew, his father had not since then either.
"He was so proud to have been chosen," Isis said quietly, as he talked about it. "He was afraid the gods were punishing him for his pride by refusing them a son. For a while, they thought that Rishid was meant to be the guardian." She paused. "You've never seen Rishid?"
He shook his head, hesitating. Rishid was her foster brother, a child left in the desert, and it seemed evident that they might have thought that even though he was not of their blood, he had been chosen by the gods to be adopted by them. Isis had never said much about him.
"He should have taken an office at the palace, but he refused to leave Malik."
"Can I see Malik?" Mahado asked carefully.
There was a brief pause, before the former priestess smiled again, and he knew her well enough to tell the smile was fake.
"Of course. He'll be honoured. Shall I fetch him?"
"It does not have to be right now."
She swallowed, seemed fearful for a moment.
"Isis, what...?"
"Nothing. It's just... don't be too angry if he appears not to be honoured, actually. He'd going through a phase of... rebelliousness, right now."
Mahado narrowed his eyes a little. While he didn't care for particular respect to himself, rebelliousness was not a trait he could imagine appreciating, at least not in the guardian of the king's memory.
Then again, he had put up with Mana for many years, and she wasn't the most easy, respectfully attentive student one could imagine.
"What do you mean?"
Isis made a faint gesture, signifying that he would see for himself, and called a name; a servant entered immediately, and she asked him to bring Malik along, if he could be interrupted in his lessons.
They didn't say anything after that. It took only a few minutes, but they seemed long, in that silence that wasn't really a comfortable one. Isis had never been tense, never seemed like she had to hide something from him before, and it pained him.
He stood up when two silhouettes appeared, the taller one towering behind the first one like a menacing shadow. Isis rose more slowly, and remained standing a few feet behind him.
He was startled, at first. Isis had described her brother to him, once, but he had still imagined him to look a lot like her; there was a faint familiarity in the traits of his face. But his long hair was of a light blond; the violet eyes were showing with unnatural intensity.
Malik made a few more steps, briefly glanced at Isis, and bowed down.
"Priest Mahado. Your visit honours us."
Mahado returned the greeting, but the boy was looking at Isis again. He seemed timid rather than rebellious, and appeared strangely young. Which was absurd. Malik was older than Mana, than the king even, barely younger than he was.
"This is Rishid," Isis introduced the taller man, whose face was hidden in the deeps of a hood, and who had, somehow, been forgotten by the priest; Rishid barely acknowledged his presence.
When Isis explained that the priest whished to speak to Malik, alone, it first seemed to him as if Rishid would tear him apart rather than leave Malik, no matter with whom. Mahado couldn't tell what exactly Isis told him; but in the end, they were left alone.
Malik watched them leave with a small smile that looked oddly smug, and kept staring at the passage through which they had left; he only seemed to remember Mahado's presence, when the priest lightly tapped him on his shoulder. He looked at him with caution.
"What can I do for you?" he asked. His gaze fell to his chest, where, over the long white robes, he was wearing the ring, and asked the same question as Isis:
"Did you come to leave the ring?"
Mahado didn't answer right away.
"Where do you keep the items?" he asked.
"That is a secret to be known only by the Ishtar family," Malik answered with a thin smile.
Mahado bit his lips, angered by the jolt of pain these words made him feel. Jealousy. It was absurd. Those items were not even closely connected to the king.
He nodded in acknowledgment of the guardian's words. Malik's smile dropped, and suddenly he looked bored. Mahado was reminded of Mana, when she had a particularly non-entertaining lesson ahead.
And just like Mana would have, Malik shifted uncomfortably when Mahado didn't say anything else, as if, just like his student, he wished to run away and terrorise poor zoo-animals in the gardens, rather than stand here and be looked at.
"Is that all you wanted to ask me?" Malik finally inquired. "Really, if you've come to spy on us, you could have chosen a more subtle way."
Mahado frowned, recomposing his severe face, to show he did not find that amusing. Malik was smiling faintly again, seeming to be entertained, now.
xxx
"How long are you going to stay?" Isis asked, as they sat together again, after their dinner.
Malik had been very silent the whole time, and left early, together with Rishid, whose face he had still not seen a single time. Somehow, things in this place were rather weird.
He'd seen the father, finally. The head of the Ishtar family had not exactly seemed pleased, but he had not tried to outtalk him of his plan.
"I don't know yet. It depends on how fast he memorises things, I guess." He narrowed his eyes at her as she looked away. "What is it, Isis?"
"It's just – don't take this wrong, Mahado, I know that you could teach him many things – there are parts of the fight you know more about than any of us, but – I don't think this is a good idea."
"What do you mean?"
"It's... there are things you don't know, either..."
Mahado put his cup down rather violently.
"Not you as well," he murmured.
"Hm? Did Malik say that?"
"Something of the sort," Mahado grumbled.
She smiled mildly, not looking surprised.
"You know that there's nothing I'd willingly keep from you. But this isn't my choice. We made a vow to keep the secret."
"How is that an obstacle? Are you afraid that all I'll teach him is part of the secret he already knows?"
Isis didn't answer. After a while she said.
"You know that if you'd choose to stay definitely, it would erase the problem..."
He blinked.
"If I'd stay or – if became part of the Ishtar family..."
She bit her lips.
"Didn't you think of it at all?"
"I..." He shook his head. "Not seriously."
There was another long silence. Mahado felt strange, having this idea of marriage brought up again when he thought it passed since long. He couldn't tell either if Isis asked only to allow him to stay, knowing how much he wished to, or if she still loved him...
She broke the silence first.
"How are things going in Thebes? What is the king doing?"
Mahado couldn't help making a face, which made her smile. They both knew quite well that Seto could do whatever he wanted, Mahado would never cease thinking he'd never be as worthy as the previous ruler.
"That bad?" Isis asked, amused.
Mahado shook his head.
"Of course not, no. It's just... If He had reigned..." He swallowed, whished he hadn't brought up the subject. "He had plans for change..."
He had told no-one but him about it; ideas that were beyond surreal, and enticing and wonderful, about erasing all differences, and Seto could be a most just and worthy ruler, he would never think of stepping down from his throne.
"He's not really dead..." Isis said softly, more to herself than to him.
He nodded. But there were other, selfish reasons: when he reappeared, he would be gone since long, and never see him again.
Unless, maybe... He went through with the ritual that would forever keep him from moving on to the afterlife...
Isis stood up.
"Well, you'll see yourself how useful your presence will be. I'll have a bed prepared for you."
xxx
When he arrived at his place, he was surprised to find Malik, occupied with rearranging the sheets of his bed.
"Malik?" He looked dumbfounded. The boy glanced up. "What are you doing here?"
"Taking care of everything."
"You have servants for that."
"I assumed that as the apprentice of a magician, I'd be assigned to your service. Isn't that the custom?"
His voice seemed innocent, but there was a mocking smile playing on the corner of his lips. Mahado frowned at him, not amused.
"You are the guardian of the pharaoh's memory. Maintain some dignity."
How many times had he unsuccessfully told Mana similar things? He had been a serious student, back when he'd been one.
"Dignity?"
Malik's eyes flashed and he threw his head back, so for a moment Mahado wasn't sure if he was about to explode in anger or start laughing.
But then the moment passed; the guardian bowed his head.
"Of course, Lord Mahado."
Mahado watched him critically. He couldn't detect any irony in the tone though.
"You're not my apprentice," he explained, calmer, but still stern. "I won't teach you magic, not to use at least." He thought for a moment, and added, more for himself. "What would you use it for?"
Malik stared at him, another flash passing in his eyes, before he shook his had.
"Indeed," he sneered. "If you'll excuse me..."
He left, leaving his bed half-made.
Mahado looked after him, stupidly staring at the door, before shaking his head. Isis probably did know what she was talking about.
xxx
He had never thought he would miss Mana.
He loved Mana, of course, but he had always sincerely believed that he would be relived when he didn't have to have her around for a little while.
Certainly, she had matured a little over the fight against the dark god, and sworn she would work as hard as she could to become a magician as great as he was, especially after, in a moment of weakness, he had told her of his plan to give up his own afterlife. But then, this was the distant future, at least in her mind, and now they were both alive, and even the king's disappearance had not entirely destroyed her constant good mood.
He tended to forget how uplifting the latter could be.
Here, there was no chatter or the sound of an irrupting spell – Mana sneaking in his room at night after one of her spells went wrong and she didn't want to admit it before Seto, and he trembled at what they would think if she was caught there at that hour of the night!...
Instead, a silent, seemingly mute servant woke him early in the morning – so Isis told him later, since there was no way to tell what time it was – and he found both silence and lack of light and free sky above him oppressing. He couldn't tell why: he'd been in dark and closed spaces before, had fought in one of them, he was used even to truly mute slaves, and he'd never had this feeling before.
He met Isis a while later, as she instructed Rishid to take him to Malik's room.
"Unless you want to have the lessons take place somewhere else? You know you have free reign over the place."
"It will be fine." He stopped. "You could just tell me where to go. I'll find the way."
"I thought that it might be better if Rishid stayed with you."
"Isis..."
The ex-priestess shot a glance at Rishid, who had not moved the whole time, still standing by the door, ready to lead the way.
"As you wish..."
"Isis..." he repeated, but she shook her head.
"I'll explain this later," she promised.
xxx
"All right. At first, you could tell me all you already know about the fight. I will then fill in the details: since the king has sacrificed even his memory, it is our duty to preserve it for him, so he will not have to enter the fight unprepared."
"Everything?" Malik sighed, and then began in a monotonous voice: "Kemet was attacked by strangers trying to steal the book of magic. King's brother, father of the current king, enticed by evil divinity to free it; massacring a village, creating the items, opening a slice for the god. Enemies defeated.
Common thief managing to steal the ring-" He marked a pause, looked up at the object. "Almost killing one of the priests in the process; getting the other items as well, freeing the god; the latter then sealed away as well as the king; both to awoken in the future; history will then repeat itself, except that this time, we win."
Silence greeted this exposure.
"Well?" Malik eventually said. "Did I make a mistake?"
"That was quite... condensed," Mahado finally commented.
Malik nodded, as if he felt it was a compliment.
"I would prefer a detailed version," the priest added.
Malik sacked back against the wall and sighed; he reached over to the table to take a handful of fruit, and, mouth still full, asked:
"Are you going to marry Isis?"
"What?"
Malik gave him a disarmingly innocent glance.
"I'd just like to know. Want some grapes?"
"Where do you get those?" Mahado asked, while refusing the fruit Malik was trying to push into his hand.
"Rishid gets them for me."
"I thought he never leaves the undergrounds."
"I know. I know that's what you thought," he added, at the priest's confused look. "That's what Isis and the others think." He smiled innocently again. "You won't tell on me, will you? It's hard to get good food down here."
Mahado straightened up, and shook his head, in general disagreement. He certainly wouldn't run to Isis to tell her, especially since he didn't see what was wrong with it, but he wouldn't lie to her either. He found it hard to believe that there was anything Malik did that she didn't know anyway.
"Get back to the lesson," he said.
The strange, a little mischievous glimmer that had appeared in Malik's eyes died down, there was that flash again, instead. Mahado frowned. The guardian could hardly have been thinking that he came here to entertain him!
Malik seemed, however, to recover rather fast, and, after a sigh, began to talk monotonously.
Working with him, however, proved to be quite frustrating. He did retell a more detailed version of the events, but the more they went on, the more Mahado suspected he was purposely leaving parts out, so he had to fill in. Malik would then stare at him the whole time. Mahado wasn't really used to that. Mana usually looked at everything but him when he talked for too long. She was brilliant, but had a very short attention span.
"Malik," Mahado interrupted himself in the middle of a sentence. "Are you listening to me?"
"Of course."
"Maybe you need a pause," Mahado finally said, his voice disapproving. Working with Mana had taught him that even intense interest in the subject and great liking for the teacher (Mana assured him so, at least, and it would be highly unfair of him to suppose otherwise) still didn't make a student able or willing (he'd never been able to tell: Mana always seemed to be genuinely worn out) to be concentrated for a too long time. He would have expected a little more from the one who'd been chosen for this unique task than from a spoiled teenage-girl, but...
Maybe he was quite right to, too, since, at his words, Malik gave him an odd look, before bursting out laughing. Mahado decided that he didn't like Malik's laughter very much. It sounded positively nasty.
xxx
Days went by, and then weeks. Working with Malik didn't become easier. On some days, he seemed to have taken his advice to heart, and was very sober and attentive, and seemed sincerely determined to fulfil his mission at his best; Mahado was impressed how well he remembered and understood things when he sincerely tried to. On other days, he was morose and difficultly convinced to give more than monosyllabic answers, and the priest caught himself being lenient with that, cutting lessons earlier to leave the boy to whatever was bothering him.
It was only considerate, and after all he did have time, but it could turn out to be dangerous. Malik could easily jump from one mood to the other, and the apparent sadness might very well be a trick half of the time.
He first came to that conclusion when one day, after he had told his student that they were finished for today and he would leave him to his other work – never did he say anything about him just taking a rest, even while this was what he thought – Malik thanked him, before immediately regaining his good mood, and innocently inquiring if he had ever left the undergrounds since he'd arrived.
Mahado had done so twice, though he didn't leave the building that was surrounding the well, and said so, eying Malik carefully as he did. He'd learnt to be cautious about the guardian's questions.
"Hm..." Malik sat up from his chair and went over to his bed, and stretched out on it. He closed his eyes. "You shouldn't stay locked in here so much." He sat back up and looked at him. "It's not healthy."
"I can judge that for myself," Mahado answered stiffly.
He couldn't tell why Malik's small pries into his private life – which meant anything not directly connected to his lessons – made him that uncomfortable, and why, if they did, he didn't firmly tell him to mind his own business.
The answer to the first was easy, if irrational: he didn't like the way the guardian was looking at him, eyes half-lidded, the shadow of a smile on his lips, and something in his eyes the always gave him the feeling he was secretly out to get him, that there was some sort of a trap in those questions. But, of course, that could just be paranoia. Which explained the second part...
"Well, you should be; but if you were, you would leave the place more often..."
"Malik..." He found nothing satisfying to say, and just stood up to leave.
"What? Oh, come on, stay. You've nothing else to do, do you?"
On other days, Malik was demanding; he'd been used to spend most of his time studying, true, but he'd also grown up being able to boss around about everyone around him; beginning with his foster brother.
Rishid was something else that made him uncomfortable, the mystery surrounding him so that his face had to be hidden, and the way Malik was so dismissive of him when it was clear that his servant was offering him such a deep devotion...
"Malik!" he said again, in a sharper tone, to signify his student was beyond his limits.
But it had no effect whatsoever. Malik was like a predator, sensing weakening emotions – fear, incertitude, doubt – and ready to strike when he found them. Mahado found it highly worrying that he would find such emotions in him so often; certainly, he knew them, as he believed they could be strength as well, saving one from dangerous overconfidence, but he had prided himself in being self-assured, and, more important, had lived in certitude to be doing what was right. For he knew Atemu, and thus trusted him and served him. And this was all that counted.
Maybe Malik was right when he said he should leave the place more often: it seemed to be going under his skin, the silence heavy with unspoken accusations and curses, the walls seeming to be screaming at him...
"What?" Malik repeated, smirking at him.
As he had before, Mahado wondered if the intense violet eyes would look pale and unspectacular in normal light; but there was no way to find out, and in the candlelight, they were amazing.
Malik met his gaze, still smirked, aware of the way the priest didn't seem to be able to look away, winning.
"You still have other work to do," Mahado eventually said softly.
He had helped Malik a little in his writing lessons as well, but they both knew that wasn't really necessary. At least, Mahado feared Malik knew that he knew as well.
Malik rolled over unto his back, and leaned his head over the edge of the bed to keep looking at him.
"How would you know?"
He was about to call the other's name warningly again, before deciding that he would just seem ridiculous. Which was a rather new problem to him as well. He came out being ridiculous to Mana sometimes as well, but it had never quite mattered.
He glanced down at Malik who had bucked up his hips slightly, and who reminded him of a trusting cat that was rolling onto its back, expecting to be petted.
Deciding he didn't have to answer, after all, he simply stood up and left the room without looking back. He could hear Malik's laughter behind him.
xxx
"How long are you going to stay?" Isis asked softly.
She looked tired; Mahado knew why: after seeming to get better for a while, her father's health had decreased drastically. It didn't seem as if he would survive this newest attack of the illness. Mahado had suggested that he might be transported to the capital, or that a healer could come to take care of him. But lord Ishtar had fiercely refused to leave, and Isis had assured him that they had skilled healers themselves. He had not insisted, and simply done his best to comfort her.
The question made him uncomfortable: if he was honest, he had to admit that his work was done. He had told Malik what he had meant to tell him. But he didn't want to leave yet. He tried to convince himself he just didn't wish to leave Isis when she was in such a difficult situation, and it was certainly no lie.
But it wasn't the only reason. He was intrigued and even scared by the secrets that weren't revealed to him. He knew he should know better than to pry, it was none of his business, and he was aware of the danger of going too far, just to find something that would again, let him find more closeness to the king he had lost.
And then, he was intrigued – and even scared – by Malik.
Several times he'd seen this clouded look in his eyes when he was angered, a change that went through his whole being – always only for a second.
xxx
"Malik..."
He silently reprimanded himself for his lack of assurance even as he spoke; Malik had been particularly inattentive. Mahado told himself that he was upset about his father's illness, and so this would make him less nervous if it wasn't for the fact he had not much left to tell his student.
Of course, there was always something. But those weren't things Malik needed to know; and he forgot himself enough to talk about the king – to make the other one understand, for Malik retained and repeated everything, but remained cold and unmoved – it always risked to become more personal than he wished.
"What?" his student asked, while rolling his eyes. "I was listening, you know. And even if I wasn't – you've said exactly the same thing two days ago. I don't have such a bad memory."
He smirked at him while saying the last words. They were in Malik's room again, with Rishid somewhere in the corridor right next to it, silent and always close, Malik sitting on a chair that was the only piece of furniture safe for the bed and a series of wooden and stone boxes. Mahado himself had chosen to remain standing, and scowled at this, but without being able to come up with a retort.
"And... " Malik went on, waiting until the priest was looking at him again, "I still don't see what you're trying to prove. It was his duty to sacrifice himself. There's nothing particularly admirable about it."
A while ago he would have – and had – become angry over this. Now, Mahado only sighed.
"You said these exact words two days ago as well," he replied tiredly.
And two days before, Malik had been furious when saying them: he received peace, and the guaranty of a second life – I have to live with this, and do I get any of this praise? And nothing the priest had said could make him understand. At the time, Mahado had only seen his anger over what he considered an injustice, not any kind of jealousy. Now...
Now, Malik's voice had been even, off-hand.
"I didn't think you'd remember what I said," Malik answered, sounding interested, and studying his face, before cracking a smile.
"Of course I do," Mahado snapped.
Malik continued to smile at him, and Mahado did his best to pull himself together. Here they were again. Malik was trying to seduce him.
At first, he later realised when looking back their previous conversations, he hadn't noticed Malik's actions at all. So Malik had become somewhat less subtle: poses meant to create, if not desire, then at least attention; and constant, intense attention to everything he said, as long it as wasn't directly connected to the lessons. Mahado was too intelligent to fall for this, but with the new void in his heart, Isis secretiveness and the distance it put between them, and the oppressing atmosphere in this place, he couldn't pretend he wasn't tempted too.
He wasn't used to being dependant on attention. But he, himself, was not needed anymore. His king had died, and Mana had learned enough to be able to go on without him.
Maybe he should just leave, and let Malik think what he wanted about Him, instead of trying to explain – but he was beginning to guess that Malik was doing this on purpose, to get to him... But the guardian of his memory shouldn't be thinking like this, where would this end if this was what he would hand over to his heir?
It was an excuse – no, it wasn't, but it wasn't the only reason. He didn't want to leave Malik. He hadn't sorted out things further than that, aside from realising that Malik was toying with him because he was bored and lonely, and that he shouldn't fall for it, for Malik's own sake more than his own.
"And," he finally forced himself to add, "you obviously haven't listened to my answer..."
Malik shook his head and stood up, and stopped right in front of him: he was shorter than he was, but not by much.
"Because I couldn't just be disagreeing..." he said.
"You can't," Mahado agreed sadly. "This is part of why you're here."
Malik rolled his eyes at him.
"Trust me, I know why I'm here. Better than you do, priest..." He stepped even closer, which shouldn't have been possible, touching him now: Mahado could feel his body's heat through the thin fabric of his robes. "Can't we stop that?" Malik added, quietly, and before Mahado could find an acceptable answer, leant closer and kissed him.
Mahado didn't move, and allowed himself to relinquish thought. The kiss was gentle, tentative, timid and light, nothing he had experienced from Malik until then, soft lips barely grazing his lower lip, and lasted only for a moment; Malik made a very small step backwards, and Mahado could feel the sudden rush of coldness.
"Malik," Mahado whispered, staring at the violet eyes, only a few inches away from him, half lidded now, and at the tempting lips that were now turned into a strange smile.
Victorious, he thought after a moment, and while he could feel it was dangerous, felt strangely endeared by that.
"Malik," he repeated, with more force, and, as the younger man leaned closer to kiss him again, gently pushed him back.
"What?"
The blond narrowed his eyes, the pleasant look disappearing from his face immediately.
"You should not – " Mahado gulped; it was harder than he had expected, but he couldn't just let him go on and pretend it wasn't his fault. "You're lonely."
Malik stepped back, and his eyes were flashing angrily at him.
"Don't treat me like a child," he snapped angrily.
"That's not..." Mahado began, the guilt that was building up inside him because of how hurt he looked pushing aside everything else, even his own beginning desire.
"Shut up!" His voice had grown lower, oddly foreign; he snapped his fingers. "And go away. Now."
xxx
He was gathering the few things he'd brought with him. He should have left earlier. Mana might not still need him, but that didn't mean it wouldn't help her to have him there. And as much as he disliked this, he owed the new king his services, at least until he choose to get through with the ceremony: then, he'd owe no-one anything anymore, except Him.
He turned round, startled, as he heard steps behind him: and only an instant later, Malik entered, only shortly followed by the servant that had been assigned to him, and who was wearing a very sour look on his face: technically, Mahado had a higher rank, but Malik was the one he'd be stuck with for the remains of his days, and Mahado could almost understand why this might bring him to overlook his order to let no-one but Isis inside.
"Hi..." Malik smiled at him. "I haven't seen you all day." And, quickly, before Mahado could answer. "Could you send him away?"
He made a dismissive gesture towards the man behind him. Mahado repressed a sigh, and gave the servant a small nod: he disappeared as quickly as he could, obviously glad.
"What are you doing here?" Mahado asked impatiently.
Malik looked completely refreshed, not angry or foreign at all, and vaguely dangerous.
"What are you doing?" He threw a contemptuous glance around the room. "Weren't you supposed to come teach me...?"
He drawled out the last words; Mahado narrowed his eyes at him.
"I thought you wanted me to leave," he said, and realised immediately at the look Malik was giving him that that was not the right thing to say.
"I didn't know you'd started following my orders, priest..."
Malik smirked, and walked closer, and, in a single swift movement, threw both arms him, and drew his head downward, to have their lips meet; the kiss was more like what Mahado might have expected from him, throughout and forceful, and he broke it immediately.
"What now?" Malik asked him, while stepping back. And before Mahado could answer, he added: "And I'm not lonely at all. I could have every single person who lives here, you know..."
Mahado glared, but he was aware that he didn't look all that severe: somehow, Malik acting more like he had come to expect him to felt safer.
"You know that that's not what I meant, Malik," he said mildly. "Is that why you want me?"
Malik shrugged and stepped back. (Mahado guessed that he didn't like being looked down at much.)
"I didn't say that." He paused. "Don't leave yet. It... No-one new comes to this place, and no-one will ever leave. It feels like there isn't a world outside that makes it worth preserving anything."
He had turned away with the last words; now he glared up at him angrily, and Mahado thought that beneath the anger, he still looked afraid and lonely.
"Would that make it easier for you?" he asked softly. "To forget there is a world outside?"
Malik blinked: he hadn't expected that question, and he seemed to think about it seriously. Only his clenched jaw indicated how on the edge he was.
"I... don't want it to be – No," he added briskly, and, defiantly, daring him to blame: "I've been outside, once." (Mahado said nothing, waited.) "It's already a few years ago. Isis was here for a few days, and she took me. My father never knew."
He said the last words with even more defiance, obviously expecting him to be angry.
"You were both still children," Mahado said carefully. "There's not much harm in this."
Malik looked at him, then shrugged, back to casualty; Mahado was beginning to think he'd never quite figure out if any of his personalities was an act, and which.
"You wouldn't know," Malik said, with that edge of provocative arrogance and underlying anger. "I was over ten years old."
xxx
They were eating alone, once again. Rishid had come by earlier to deliver Malik's half-hearted apology, and Lord Ishtar, their father, was still too ill to stand up.
"What happened during the ritual – when he was ten? I'm not asking for details, Isis, you know that. But he – "
"I can't tell you, Mahado. I wish I could, but I can't."
"How can I help him?"
"There's no – " She paused. "You like him, don't you?" Mahado nodded, worried by the suspicion in his eyes. "I wouldn't have thought."
"He's alone. And..." He paused, looked down at his hands.
And furious and scared, and there's no-one he can lash out at, no-one but Isis and his father who's not a subordinate, who won't falter under his anger and yet firmly stop him if he ever tries to disobey the clan's rules. No-one new comes to this place, and no-one will ever leave.
There was something defiant in Isis' tone. She had changed since she had been a priestess. She wouldn't have been suspicious of him before. Maybe Malik was right, and the place made one ill...
"I don't know," Isis eventually answered his previous question. "But maybe you are helping him. But – I'm sorry to ask this again, but how long before the king calls you back?"
"He won't," said Mahado. "Maybe he wasn't expecting me to come back in the first place. I'm not needed in Thebes anymore... And Seto hasn't said a word since His death, but I know he is – still angry."
"He has no right to be – you were as important in the battle as any of us. He cannot blame you for having survived."
"I failed, Isis. Bakura survived, and I lost the ring."
"You're letting Seto's words get to you."
"No. The high priest was harsh, but everything he said was true."
"That's not what the king said."
"He forgave me." He smiled bitterly. "That was worse."
"If that really was all there was to it, then it was his pejorative to do so! Do not be sacrilegious, Mahado."
"I already am. When I think of Him – he's my childhood friend as well. And he was my friend later. It's him I care for, not the son of Rê..."
"Don't you think," Isis said, more softly. "That this is what he would have wanted?"
Mahado pressed his lips together.
"I... like to think so, sometimes."
"You should have more faith in Him. As your friends, not as your king."
Mahado nodded slowly, unsurely.
"Who's Rishid?" he asked briskly.
Isis gave him an odd, inquisitive look.
"He's our brother – adoptive brother. And Malik's guardian. I can't tell you that either," she added, and despite the answer, Mahado smiled at her promptness to guess what he had been about to ask.
He wasn't surprised. Rishid wore the hood at all time, even here, where secrets ought to be safe. Of course he wasn't to know what he was hiding.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" he eventually asked.
Isis hesitated, before she walked towards a wooden box in a corner, and took out a piece of parchment.
"I have a message for the king – nothing special," she added, when he gave her a curious look. "I was just thinking that the running of some of the farms that are assigned to us could be changed. I'll send a messenger, unless – unless you're going back to Thebes within the next ten days, that is...?"
"I'll take it," Mahado said quietly.
xxx
"She didn't tell you anything, did she?" Back in Malik's room, and it was relieving to let go of the pretence that he was still here to teach. Mahado was sure he managed to keep his face completely blank, but Malik still grinned. "I can get the servants to talk," he explained.
Very naturally, he walked up to him and pushed his lips against his, demandingly; after a brief hesitation, Mahado responded, let the younger man take control of the kiss. Two arms came up behind his head, drew him closer. He didn't move away: he didn't want to, and Malik actually looked happy – devious, proud of his talents as a spy, but happy.
Malik drew away just a little: "You should have asked me instead."
"You're not allowed to tell me," said Mahado, when he could talk again; in protest, Malik bit down softly on his lower lip, and sucked.
"Nothing forbidden," he promised, against his cheek. I'll just show you something. Maybe convince you to leave this after all."
He tugged at the ring, a clue for Mahado to lower his head further: he complied, leaned over Malik, holding him with both hands; jewellery jingled when Malik leaned back exaggeratedly.
"You'll fall," Mahado warned, standing, and trying, in vain, to draw Malik back up with him.
Malik just grinned.
"Hold me," he said, and reached up to trail a hand over his waist, very softly. Mahado had not choice but to obey.
xxx
It was a small room deep within the edifice; a stone slab stood in the middle, which looked as if it had been carved into the stone itself instead of having been brought there, unless you were very observant, which Mahado was. Tall golden candleholders stood on both sides of the stone: two small white candles, almost burnt down, were already lit when they came inside. A huge pool of wax had formed at their foot, indicating that whoever was responsible for replacing the candles didn't often bother with cleaning up as well.
Aside from that, the room didn't look different from any of the other ones Mahado had visited so far, the same grey walls, a feeling of confinement, no ornaments or furniture at all. There were four torches on the wall, which Malik lit with haste, visibly impatient to show him what they had come for, but if this was to prevent Mahado from noticing on his own, he was bound to fail: on the stone slab, half buried in holes in the stone that had been carved to their shape, were two golden objects, glinting faintly. The spaces for the four other ones were empty. Mahado's eyes automatically fell on the one obviously intended for the ring.
"This is not supposed to be a not-so-subtle hint," Malik's voice came from behind him, dangerously cheerful. "Promise. It's your choice." He grinned when Mahado turned to look at him. "Besides, it's just junk. Not what we're really guarding."
He grinned again, showing teeth. Mahado didn't rise to it.
"How long?" he asked, caressing over the stone, careful not to touch either of the two items. "How long ago has this been created?"
"Shortly after the creation of the millennium items," Malik answered promptly. "The first bearer of the torque had a vision, and here we are."
Mahado looked down at the items for a little longer. Yes. He would like to lay down the ring with them, and never having to lay hands on it: the items were evil. He could feel the blood pulsate through them even now, could feel the ring, cold and motionless on his skin, distantly tug on his mind, powerless, but not dead. He was looking forward to their destruction.
But were they even safe here? With Malik waltzing in, unhindered, for no other reason, he was sure, but to annoy him?
"Are we allowed to be here?" he asked wearily, without much hope.
Malik smirked at him.
"That's confidential information, priest." He stepped forward, ran a hand aggressively over his torso, and gripped the ring through the fabric of his robe. "Kiss me."
Mahado complied: placating Malik seemed like a good option right now, and then he forgot about this sensible reason, as Malik's warm body was pressed very close against him, and Malik's tongue explored his mouth with newfound passion. The trill of doing something forbidden, he thought in a distant part of his mind, and wrapped both arms around the other man. Malik tasted of stolen grapes.
"You've showed me," Mahado said softly, when they separated. "Now come back."
"No hurry. You didn't touch them at all," he remarked, and shamelessly ran his fingers over the gold. "I'll bet you wouldn't be able to use any but the ring, either." He tipped his finger against the stone, at the place where the ring would lay. "It's not hard to learn, mind you."
"Malik," said Mahado, beginning to lose patience. "Stop trying to – "
Malik ignored him.
"The millennium rod," he said, picking it up in one fluid movement, and waving it around. "The item held by the high priest. To seal the soul into stone – did you know you can use it on people without extracting the soul with the eye first? It has a slightly... different effect, of course, but it's what we'll have to do if we ever have to use any of them, since they don't seem ready to give us the eye..."
Mahado hadn't understood, nor approved, though he had respected this decision; but if the ones who had decided the split had met Malik...
"Put it down, keeper," he said softly. "It is yours to guard, not to whield."
"Says who?" Malik raised an eyebrow at him. "You wouldn't know, would you...?"
He drew his hands apart, and revealed the blade hidden in the handle of the rod, smirking.
"Don't worry, we will keep the ring well for you." He spun the knife around in his hand, then thoughtfully tipped the hollow part against his lips, and sucked at it absently. Mahado stared. Purple light flickered on the rod. "Isis hasn't touched the necklace ever since she put it down, but I know how to use this..."
He closed the shaft over the knife again, with a loud snap. Mahado felt magic well up inside him almost in its own, defences coming into place automatically. The ring's pointers raised into the rod's direction.
"You used this?" Malik stepped back quickly, avoiding the hand that made a grab for the gleaming rod. "You mustn't – "
"I mustn't?" Malik waved the rod around angrily, but the gleam died down. "I'm going to be locked up with this bloody thing for the rest of my life. Who's going to tell me I can't use it? I learned to, didn't I? I have as much right to it as anyone. You people slaughtered a whole town to make these, what right do you have on them? Your mad robber has more of a rightful claim on them than your king! He just – "
"Be quiet!"
Malik stopped, taken aback by the harshness of the priest's tone; he whirled around, narrowed his eyes at him in that dangerous way Mahado had learned to recognise, but this time he was too angry to pay attention.
"I will not allow someone who shows such disrespect to carry on holding such a holy mission." His voice was loud, stern. "I will take the charge of the keeper from you."
Malik didn't say anything. He stared. His face was completely blank.
"You will take the charge of the keeper from me," he repeated, as if that was a completely new set of words, and he had yet to figure out what it might mean.
"I will not call punishment upon you for your past behaviour, even though this would have been done to anyone else – but in the future, you will not be able to count on your sacred mission to save you from being judged like any other servant of the king would."
Then he stopped, and glared down at Malik; already, he really felt very little of the anger his words seemed to prove. He felt sorry for Malik, as well as for Isis, and to a certain degree, he could understand his revolt. But it was his duty not to let this carry on, or it would –
Malik had started to laugh.
It has, earlier in this story, been established that this was, at least to Mahado, not a pleasant sound.
He watched, surprised, as the blond had thrown his head back and laughed, and laughed – before briskly stopping, and fixing him with clear, amused eyes.
"Will you?" He smiled. "Will you take the charge from me, Lord Mahado? You have no idea what it even is..."
"Whatever the secret's –"
"Don't. I'll show you."
"Malik!"
His anger, which he would have needed now, was gone, and there was, instead, this constricting helplessness, like something was terribly wrong, and there was nothing he could do, and it somehow made him unable to blame the young keeper for anything.
And then, it was too late; Malik had turned round, and lifted the shirt he was wearing – Mahado easily pushed aside the thought that he had whished him to do this at the sight that was presented to him.
Malik's whole back was covered with deep, black scars. They looked horrible, all over the otherwise clear, untainted brown skin that appeared soft, pale from the lack of sun. And they weren't just any scars: words were inscribed all over the boy's back, as well as images, very carefully carved, in thin, clear lines. Mahado could tell they had probably been made with burning hot metal.
He was used to see misery, death, horrible wounds, but suddenly, he felt sick.
When he didn't say anything, Malik let the shirt fall back down, and turned round to face him. The mocking look in his eyes had vanished, and he glanced up, angry, hateful, and strangely desperate.
"This is the keeper's duty, priest." He observed him for a moment. "Do you know what that means?"
He walked over to the stone slab, sat down there, and removed the shirt completely, in falsely deliberate motion.
"It means you will have to inflict this upon anyone you wish to be my successor."
"Malik – " Mahado began again, more assured. All his anger was gone now.
"Of course," the other one interrupted him, "I could – should – have you killed for having penetrated our secret." His eyes seemed to glint. Power was his only compensation for the hopeless servitude he'd been condemned to. "Unless you kill me before I can talk, of course..."
He was smiling widely.
"But you won't do that. You could also stay – marry Isis after all. As a woman, she can't be the guardian, but she's still permitted to pass on the charge..."
Maliciously glistering eyes, like obsidian. Mahado shivered and his mouth was dry, but all his anger, even his horror was gone. He understood, now.
"Malik."
The young guardian glared at him, determined to glare him down, convinced he could break him. Convinced that he had every right to destroy without any consideration. Convinced of his victory.
"Malik."
"Don't use my name, lord Mahado," he snapped. "I can have to impaled right here, I can call Rishid – "
He paused, his voice heavy with menace. He could call Rishid and Rishid would do everything he said, no matter if it was legitimate. How much, Mahado thought, would all of them have to pay for what had been done to this boy?
"Malik," he repeated, and when the other one didn't listen, he leaned forwards and kissed him.
Malik responded, hungrily, impatiently, without trying to dominate the kiss like he usually did, before pushing him back.
"What the hell?"
"I'm sorry," Mahado said quietly.
"Sorry." Malik's lips curled to a mocking smile, and triumph showed in his eyes, though he seemed a little startled by the calmness of his reaction. "For kissing me?" Mahado shook his head, not taking his eyes off him, as if he was a dangerous animal whose every move needed to be watched carefully. "For what they did, then? I'd thought you would think it's a great idea."
"To preserve the message, we cannot trust papyrus or stone, or humans' minds," the priest guessed. "But there is one thing we have control over, our own flesh..."
"How well you know them," Malik mocked, but the triumphant tone was gone, replaced by the just as familiar fear.
Them, Mahado thought, and knew he shouldn't feel so glad that by that statement that was condemning him, Malik was yet separating him from them – it was a trap. All Malik said was made of traps, but even this realisation could become one, should not become an excuse to let it rest and leave...
He was tempted to caress Malik's cheek, to hug him, to give him any gentle gesture, but he knew that that too, he could not simply permit himself.
"Well?" the boy went on haughtily, annoyed by his silence. "Do you?"
Mahado needed a moment to figure out what he meant; then, slowly, he shook his head.
Had there been another way?
Had he any right to judge?
To condemn?
Not to?
"Stone and memory can't be trusted," he said softly. "How else...?"
Malik leaned back, and seemed almost reassured.
"Of course. I should have known," he said dismissively, and smirked triumphantly as he could see the priest flinch at his words. "You know," he added, leaning forth again, and Mahado didn't move, "you're so damn easy to manipulate it's not even funny."
Mahado closed his eyes, accepting the blow. What else could he do?
"Listen – Malik."
Malik leaned backwards again, amused by the way Mahado would blush when he approached, and only be able to speak again as he gave him room.
"Speak," he conceded to command.
"I am not saying that this is fair to you – but we have to fight the evil that is menacing to destroy us all, everything. We wish we did not have to – or that we could win without any sacrifices." He closed his eyes, and thought of Him, the image more immanently present than since a long time. Here was someone who, even though he had never met him, was more closely connected to him than even he was now. "But we can't."
"Sacrifices," Malik spat, and didn't manage to keep up the detached pretence anymore; there was something frighteningly dark deep in his eyes, and Mahado was sincerely afraid all the sudden; not that it mattered, though. Whatever Malik would do to him – it would still be out of legitimate anger.
He was easy to manipulate, wasn't he? What would He say if he could see him?
Painful, again; he had always thought that if the King died before him, he would become a God, and thus be close to him, be able to watch him; but the King was gone and yet not dead, and he was truly absent.
"What have you ever sacrificed, priest?"
Mahado closed his eyes, thought of the stone panel he'd prepared and to which he would give up his eternal life, just as the King had maybe done. He should have died when he lost against Bakura. He would have remained pure.
But he wasn't important now: there was Malik to save, to help at least.
"Nothing," he whispered softly. "Nothing that could come close to what you gave; no-one has."
Malik glared at him.
"It was no sacrifice," he said, precise, fierce. "It was a crime. I didn't agree to it."
Mahado looked back up, seriously.
"Would you have refused?" he asked.
Malik seemed taken aback by the question; his eyes widened, then narrowed dangerously, as if he suspected the priest of trying to trick him; Mahado forced himself to return the intense gaze calmly (and not to let his eyes drift downward to Malik's lips).
"Yes," Malik eventually said, but it didn't sound as vicious anymore. "If I knew what it is like – I would refuse."
"And force someone else to take it upon themselves?" Mahado went on.
Malik raised an eyebrow at him, reassured by what he felt was just a low blow.
"Why not? It's what the others did, isn't it? Besides..." he paused, grinned cynically. "I didn't say that."
"Someone has to preserve the king's memory."
"Why?"
"You know – "
"Do you think I care? Do you really think I care if the whole world crumbles down? It already did for me. Why should I let the others have it!"
Mahado was silent, but Malik glared at him, feeling powerless against this:
"Say something, dammit!"
"Is this really what you want?" Mahado finally asked, very quietly. "What has been demanded of you wasn't fair – but if this had not been inflicted upon you, it would have been done to someone else; and if no-one had been found, the future of the word would have been destroyed. The curse is going to break one day. One of your descendants will be set free, and all those after him."
There was another silence; Malik stood and turned away; he could see his silhouette before the torch, painting his shadow on the wall behind, and throwing light over him like from a dying sun, orange-red, golden at the edges, and Mahado could barely see any details. In a low hiss, Malik whispered something he wasn't sure he understood – damn you! – and for a while, seemed about to stand up and leave any moment.
The whispered words resonated in his mind: this wasn't how he wanted to convince Malik, not in a way that would make him feel like he'd been defeated.
You're just hurt because he curses you so easily, a nasty voice in his mind protested.
"We will be guarding those secrets for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years..." Malik's voice was changed, dark, almost blank, and Mahado couldn't name the faint emotion that was still detectable. "In silence, in darkness, in pain, while the world changes outside." He looked up; the flames from the torches on the opposite wall were dancing in his eyes; Mahado wondered how much of the fire was real, and what it meant, what panic it hid. "What makes you think – even imagine – that we will ever agree to give them back?"
xxx
"Malik?" There was no answer; Rishid, standing beside him, might as well have been a statue. Mahado resisted the childish urge to perk over the corner too see the boy; "May I come in?"
A silence, ruffling, then Malik's impatient voice:
"Of course you can! You have free reign over the whole place!"
"I was asking you," Mahado protested, hurt.
"Don't be so fucking complicated! I told you to come in, didn't I?"
Malik didn't look up as in answer, he heard the steps approach – in all this darkness, you soon learned to recognise people by their walking – and didn't move even as the priest stopped only a few feet from his bed. He had a scroll sprawled out in front of himself. He was supposed to be studying, and the priest knew it, but it didn't matter. He wouldn't tell on him. And his father's strength was declining anyway.
"I'm sorry," Mahado said quietly.
Malik didn't look up, stared at the scroll.
"What do you want?"
"I only wanted to see how you are."
"I'm fine," Malik snapped, leaning his head back to look at him this time. "Chatted about me with Isis again, did you?"
Mahado winced and shook his head. He was so used to talking to Isis. He hadn't thought that it might hurt Malik.
"You shouldn't go back. I'm not saying this because of a rule. The millennium items are dangerous, and you haven't been taught in their use."
"Did you come to see how I was?"
"Yes."
"Then shut up."
Malik stood up briskly, and stopped in front of him.
"They're easy to use. I learnt it alone. That's why you think they're dangerous, priest." He smirked at. "Don't worry. I won't get out of this place, ever."
"Did you never think of fleeing?" Mahado asked softly.
Malik shrugged.
"They won't let me. You, and your people won't let me. And even if I do... They'll find someone else. You said so yourself."
"Then you will stay?"
Maybe the insistence was unfair to Malik; but he couldn't care. This was important.
"As long as I don't find a way... to be sure to... win..."
The priest was reminded of some of the things the thief had said: that he was only pursuing his own justice. A justice that dictated that all of Kemet, all of the world would have to pay for Akunadin's crime. But Malik was sounding not angry, but unsure and wounded.
Mahado gently raised a hand, caressed his cheek.
"You can't," he said sadly. "Not alone. You will have to wait, like the rest of us, for the king's return. I was wrong to say you are not worthy of this duty – you are brave to endure. You will be rewarded as well."
Malik smiled mockingly, in a half-heated way, and leant his forehead against his chest, tiredly.
"I wish I could believe that," he murmured; Mahado, who had laid an arm around him could feel him relax...
"Master Malik?" a servant, though he looked more like an accomplished soldier, had appeared in the doorway; Rishid was standing behind him, motionless. Malik straightened up briskly, demeanour immediately back to angry arrogance; he made a dismissive gesture in Mahado's direction, indicating one could talk inf front him because he didn't matter. Funny, Mahado thought, how fast this became true, how quickly he'd become nothing but another shadowy figure that existed only for the heir's sake. "Master Ishtar wants to see you."
Malik thought for a moment, visibly composing an answer, and his voice was harsh again when he spoke:
"I don't want to see him."
"His condition has worsened," the servant went on, in the same deferent tone.
Malik stood very straight.
"So?" he said, voice strained.
"He wishes to speak to you."
Malik remained motionless for a whole ten second.
"Worsened?"
"He might not survive the night, master."
Malik turned briskly, circled the room once; when Mahado caught sight of his eyes, they were fearful and angry – the most dangerous combination he knew.
"Tell him you couldn't find me."
"Master – "
"And now go away!" He turned round to the guard with a snarl.
"Master Ishtar has insisted..."
Briskly, Malik walked up to him; the man was taller than he was, but somehow, he managed to look him down.
"You said he's dying?" The servant nodded: something in the look Malik was giving him was freezing his tongue. "Then you don't want to cross me."
The man fled.
Malik paced through the room twice, restless and so obviously out of control that even Mahado didn't say anything. Finally he stopped, looked at Rishid who hadn't moved, and gestured at him.
"Go." When the tall man turned, Malik reached out briskly and held him back. "Don't go to him," he added, tone insistent and nasty. Rishid didn't answer. "Swear."
Rishid stood very still for an instant; Malik was standing so close to him now that, Mahado guessed, he must be seeing his face under the hood. Eventually, Rishid bowed his head in agreement. Malik let go of his arm and turned away briskly, not watching his brother's retreat.
"You should go to him," Mahado said very softly, when Malik's eyes fell upon him.
"He said he was dying, didn't he?" Malik asked, not seeming to see him.
"Yes."
"My father?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"You should – "
"Shut up!" Malik snarled, turning away again. "Serves him right! He can hardly order me around now!"
"Malik..." Mahado had stood up, and gently laid a hand on the younger man's arms: Malik shook him off, absently, as if he wasn't really noticing.
"I can let this whole damned place crumble to dust as soon as it's mine. Don't think you'll stop me either! You only have this –" He jabbed a finger at the ring. " – And I can have an army with the rod! I – "
"Malik, I understand that you are upset about your father, but you – "
"I'm not upset!" Malik snapped so violently that the priest instinctively backed away. "I'm glad the bastard is dying. Do you know he cut them into my back? All on his own! He only has some of them, all they knew from the vision alone! They tied me down for – Do you have any idea how long I've wait... waited for – "
The last words were strained, like coming though a constricted throat; and then, he broke down to tears.
He was making no sound, his body shaking violently, and tears streaming down his face...
At a loss at what to do at that sudden breakdown, worse than the previous anger, Mahado unsurely wrapped his arms around Malik, surprised when the latter leant into the touch, still crying, still without sound, before he raised his own hands to draw him close, and when their lips were only inches apart, it only seemed natural that Mahado would lean down and kiss him.
For a moment, he forgot where he was, as if this was the first time, only feeling Malik's soft lips against his, and his tongue, gentle, but insistently seeking entrance, and a taste of smoke and salt and a fruit he did not recognise but which recalled indistinct memories of a spring garden in him, and he thought that Malik might never have seen one, and broke the kiss.
Tears were still running down Malik's cheeks, and for a moment, they looked at each other, Malik's eyes expressionless, before he pulled him close again, with authority this time.
xxx
When he woke up, half-naked, on the bed in Malik's room, Malik was already awake, dressed, and looking down upon him.
He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked back, a little dazed, and observed Malik's face; his eyes were still red, and he wondered if he had cried again since he had woken up.
"Well..." Malik waited until he was sure he had his full attention. "That was easy."
Mahado sighed, more reassured that Malik was obviously over the worse depression for the moment than hurt – Malik might have planned to sleep with him, but hardly like this, and in either case, he couldn't claim he had been tricked.
"Are you feeling better, then?" he asked, feeling unusually sarcastic, and absently noticing that Malik's tousled hair looked fluffier than ever before.
Malik smiled pleasantly at him, and seemed to think for a moment, before answering:
"Of course I don't. Do you think I'm going to forget my father's death just because I got to fuck you?"
Mahado blinked at him. Twice.
Malik raised a hand, bringing his fingers close to his face, and Mahado automatically closed his eyes, waiting for their gentle – or not – touch.
Nothing came. Briskly, Malik rolled to the side, stood up and made a few steps away.
"You're leaving, aren't you?"
"I..." He paused.
He had told Isis he would take her message to Thebes in less than ten days, but he wasn't sure he'd meant it even then. It had felt like the right thing to do, and now he wasn't sure even of that much. He knew for sure now that he didn't want to leave Malik alone.
Quickly, he put his clothes back in order.
"Do you want me to leave?"
Malik glared at him.
"Make your own fucking decisions, priest."
"I will. But I wish to know."
"So, you're asking me, and if I say I do want you to stay, you'll leave anyway?" He bent down to pick up his discarded jewellery from the floor and tossed the ring that lay among it at him; Mahado stood up. "That's nice of you."
"I do want to stay. But if you wish me too, I will leave."
"You want to stay?"
"I love you," he simply said, and looked at Malik; despite himself, he was hoping; not for a positive response. But at least, for a serious one...
Malik said nothing. He narrowed his eyes at him, as if he was suspecting him of lying: not in menace. Honestly unsure; but calculating.
"Do you...?" he finally answered slowly, dangerously. Mahado collected himself for whatever was to come. Malik stayed still for another moment, before he seemed to come to a decision; he sat down in the centre of the bed, cross-legged. "I'll tell you a story. You know who Rishid is?"
Mahado nodded, unsure where this was leading.
"Rishid," Malik explained, "is not part of Isthar-family. He's only my adopted brother, and to most other members of the clan, he's not even as much; just an orphan who was rescued, and my servant."
Cold rage in the violet eyes, even as the voice remained casual. Mahado wondered if Malik's power over his people would really be as absolute as he had gotten the impression: if so, things might not end well for some of them...
"He always wanted to be recognised as my father's son, though. And he..." Malik stopped, pressed his lips together, and turned away from him on the bed. Mahado was careful to be very still. "On the day of the... ritual, he went to my father, and asked him to perform it on him.
My father refused, of course. There was nothing Rishid could do. And so, while the scars were carved into my back..."
He interrupted himself again, sat up and called: "Rishid!"
The hooded man appeared instantly in the doorway; Malik looked up at him, which his servant seemed to understand as a silent order to make another step inside the room, while Mahado was still standing next to the bed and looking down at him, unmoving. Malik marked another pause, very aware of the way the other two were dependant on his next move.
"Take off your hood," he ordered.
There was the faintest movement in Rishid's body, an almost imperceptible shift of his head, the only indication he might be startled or undecided. Malik narrowed his eyes.
"Now," he hissed.
Mahado shivered; he wanted to stop whatever was about to happen, but felt he had no right to – there was no way at all for him to come to stand between the two of them. And whatever he said, it would not count against Malik's command.
This time, Rishid obeyed: he bowed his head faintly, and brushed the hood off in a single, swift movement, and straightened back up without hesitation.
His upper head was bald, all his hair tied to a ponytail on the back; his traits were regular, but looked too pronounced for his young age; impenetrable green eyes were staring right ahead, and not a muscle of his face moved, even as both Mahado and Malik stared at him: all over the right part of his face, there were thin scars, as clean and deliberate as the ones on Malik's back. Words scribed all over it, blurred at times, but still legible. A spell.
"That will do." Malik's voice was sharp, but wavered slightly, as if he had to make an effort to keep it so.
Mahado didn't register what he meant until Rishid replaced the hood to conceal his face again, before the magician had been able to read more than two words.
"You can leave," Malik added after a brief silence; his voice had become lower, softer even, intimate, and Mahado wondered if the friendliness was genuine, or played for his benefice.
There was another fractional hesitation, but Rishid followed the order – it was nothing else – before Malik had to repeat it. Mahado looked after him, secretly wishing he could ask him to stay: he had never been able to talk to Rishid, and he had been the guardian's heir for years, before Malik's birth, and maybe would be again, after lord Ishtar's death...
"Well," Malik interrupted his thoughts impatiently. "Could you read them? He made them without help, you know. By candlelight."
Mahado looked down at him, beginning to understand; he couldn't read the look in his eyes – he liked to imagine it wasn't all malice and joy – but his smile was clearly mocking: did you think you were actually needed here?
"I didn't have the time for it," he answered calmly. "What does it mean?"
"You don't need to know that," Malik snapped, more violent than mysterious, unlike the other times he had purposely kept the clan's secrets from him, and made a nervous gesture. "The point is..." He paused to regain his composure, and looked up at him with hard eyes. "He did all he could to keep me from suffering alone."
Mahado sat down on the edge of the bed and said nothing. Malik had to make the next move. For a moment, it looked like he would renounce; then he quickly turned to the side, snatched a small dagger from a piece of cloth next to the bed, and stood up to hold it into the flame of the closest torch.
The he turned back round, and slowly walked back toward him, until he was kneeling on the bed right in front of him, holding the gleaming dagger up between their faces; it was reflecting in his eyes, a sharp, threatening blade.
"Well?"
Mahado wordlessly took the dagger. He had been hurt in battle, baldy hurt in the last one; and he had inflicted pain upon himself during his mastery of magic, often knowing that he would. But he had never done it without any reason but the pain and the marks that would subsist.
After thinking for a moment, he held the knife into the flame; Malik followed his movements with hungry eyes. He concentrated, much like for a spell: he mustn't flinch when the burning metal touched his skin, or the words he meant to draw would be ruined. The knife slid closer, slow but steady.
He was so focused that he didn't notice Malik's movement until a hand clasped around his wrist. He glanced up; the hunger was gone from Malik's eyes, replaced by terrible fear.
"Don't," Malik hissed. His voice was trembling. "I didn't – "
Mahado freed himself of Malik's weak grip, and slowly lowered the knife.
"It was my choice," he said softly, unwilling to leave his lover the whole responsibility and the guilt. "And if it is what it takes to convince you I know and hate what has been done to you – "
"Convince me?" Malik was back to glaring. "You said you loved me."
Mahado sighed.
"Yes. But I can't prove that."
Malik managed to snort, but it didn't sound very convincing.
"Would you stay if I asked you to?"
"Yes."
"I mean, would you stay as just another member of the clan. Without the ring, without your title." The discarded viciousness was back now. "Just for me."
"Yes," Mahado repeated; Malik cast him an irritated look.
"Would you give me the ring to find the seventh millennium item and let me tear down his tomb?"
There was a pause.
"No," Mahado said softly.
Malik smirked at him and stood up.
"Rishid would," he said. Mahado believed him
Malik paced the room, once, twice, gracefully and reckless again. The terror he had showed at what he'd almost made him do seemed gone altogether.
"You will leave," he said eventually, only faintly mocking.
Mahado nodded slowly. The empty stone tablet stood before his interior eye, beckoning as never before. If this was what his guardians were, his king would need him when he awoke.
xxx
Before him, the desert continued, monotonous, until the horizon.
Isis' message to the king safely tucked away, he rode toward Thebes.
What strange delusion had brought him to perceive the land as peaceful and calm? He had known that they had won only a battle, that the war would go on for millennia. He hadn't realised that they hadn't won anything at all, that they were only just pushing down the adversary for a short time, keeping him from doing the worse damage possible, never fully binding him.
The darkness was not locked away. It was barely kept it check. It streamed through the creaks as it had even before the millennium items' creation, calling to Akunadin and his jealousy. Now, it feed on Malik's despair, would be with the keepers for many hundred of years, and when it was time for the king to return, they would have to pry the secrets, their sacred keepsake, from their hands, from their corpses' crisp fingers maybe.
There had been no farewell. There was nothing he could do or say to him that would not be hurtful to Malik or treacherous to Him, and he could bear neither. Isis had come with him to the door, the first time since her return that she had seen the surface. She didn't know – it was a strange thought. He had grown used to Isis knowing.
He rode on, never slowing. Far away, a waterfall from which an enemy had remerged unharmed after his worse defeat rolled on in a deafening roar.