The deserts' shadow – Part 1
The Theft
Atem's POV
'The sun has just set and the world is still filled with its warmth. But it will soon give way to the relentless cold of the Egyptian night. I am so tired. The day was filled with endless work – governing, learning spells, training and trying to keep order in the court. Mana is a handful...I am sure the high priest will not have much more patience with her. She gets on his nerves...then again...who doesn't? *chuckle*
What a day! And tomorrow it starts all over again. Maybe I should go for a walk in the city to see how the people are getting along. *Sigh* But first; I think I shall have a bath.'
Atem walks through the second door in his room that leads to the bath-chamber with the notion to conjure a heating spell so that he may thaw-out the water, only to find that someone in the palace has already done so and in addition, tossed in some rose petals and scented oils. He smiles at himself and makes a mental note to thank Isis. Her magic is a great help. She must have used her Millennium Necklace to foresee that his nerves would be shot today. He starts to take off his jewellery and walks to the cabinet in his room to put it down. The Millennium Puzzle however, remains firmly around his neck. He cannot afford to let the pendant land in the wrong hands for the end of Egypt – a task easily accomplishable with the power of the Puzzle - would be much too heavy a burden for him to carry...not to mention what might happen to the rest of the world...He really hated dwelling on the subject. In his short life, the young King has seen enough bloodshed, destruction and dismay to fill a thousand scrolls...'The horrors I have witnessed...the inhumanity of it all...I cannot understand...cannot forgive...cannot forget...'
Atem suddenly flinches as one of the earrings he was taking off, pinches his ear. This makes him shake his head in amused disbelief. One might think that after so many years of wearing the jewels, he would either be used to the misfortune of hurting himself when taking it off (as this happens quite often) or be able to avoid it all-together. But for some reason, every time he does not concentrate - or his thoughts wonder off to faraway places - when ridding himself of the heavy gold, he ends up bleeding. Even the armbands seem to put up a fight today. The last piece he takes off, is a strange looking amulet. It consists of an ankh infused with various precious stones and gold and silver charms on either side of the chain – they were decorated with tiny patterns (the gold being decorated with silver and the silver with gold) and great attention was paid to detail. A spidery desert rose was draped in brass across the ankh and there were strange traces of black symbols dotted all over the petals. In a way, especially from a distance, it came across as quite plain; any passer-by would not give it a second glance as it was not at all flamboyant. But in truth it was the most beautiful piece of craftsmanship in all of Egypt...as well as an item with great magical power. It was also, along with the puzzle, his most prised treasure. His father had given it to his mother as a wedding gift and it is the only possession he owns that belonged to her. He furrows his brows in dissatisfaction at the amulet. Other than that, he does not know much about it. His father had only spoken to him about its power once and made it clear that it was not to be toyed with...although he never got around to telling his son exactly what it could do...or how to use it... After staring at the trinket for a moment longer, he puts it down to go soak his sorrows away.
At the bath, Atem undresses and slowly wades into the water, allowing the warmth to sooth his acing mussels. He slides down the smooth marble steps of the inlaid pool and closes his eyes. After a while of trying to clear the events of the day from his weary mind, he sits up slowly and reaches for a glass bottle containing washing oils on the floor near the water's bounds. His extravagant hair, despite being weighed down by the heavy water, remains in its strange seven black spikes framed by a brilliant magenta edge. His golden-blond bangs however, slightly stick to his face from the steam and vapours in the room. He pours some of the oil into his hand and vigorously rub down his tan body to remove the sweat and dirt that tends to inhabit one's skin after a long day of training. When the King was once again unsoiled, he closed his eyes and slid back down, breathing deeply, to unwind a little longer.
By the time he feels rested, the cold of the night has already sneaked into the palace like a shadow. He gets out of the now almost cold water and walks to a cabinet against the wall. Drops of water race down his slim muscular frame – tickling him as far as they go – and leave a spotted trail on the marble floor. He picks up a white linen cloth from the dresser and dries himself off while shaking his head to expel the remaining water from his hair. Once dry, he spreads the cloth open over the cabinet to dry and puts on his white and blue shendyt.
'Just as I walk through the door, I look up into a pair of big lilac eyes. The face of Marik Ishtar. Shock is evident in his features, but a smirk quickly creeps over his face. In his hand, he is holding my mother's amulet. With a flash he runs to the balcony and jumps. I run after him only to get entangled in the curtains by the window - thrown up by the wind. When I finally manage to rip them down and free myself, I see him riding off into the night on a sandy horse. Without thinking, I put my hand on the railing and swing my legs over the balustrade to jump down the balcony and land rolling across the floor. I swiftly rise to my feet – ignoring the burn in my ankle - and run to my white stallion to set out after Ishtar.
He leads me deep into the desert...but I will not let him have the amulet. I will not give him the pleasure of knowing he could best my guards, break into my home and steal from me. And who knows what he could do with its magic? After hours of harsh riding I finally catch up to him on an enormous dune. I can feel the sweat on my horse's pelt against my legs as I continue to tear bareback after the boy. He quickly glances back to see me not far behind him when suddenly his horse misplaces a foot on the loose sand and trips.
Marik is flung from his mount and roles across the sand coming to a stop face down. He moans slightly but gets up and starts to run. I lead my horse up to him and jump out of the saddle on top of him. Our bodies collide with force and topple over the highest point on the mountain-like dune and it is then that I realise exactly what is on the other side...
...a sheer drop of certain death...
Marik and I tumble down the stony slope - rocks are scraping flesh from my body and as I roll over a sharp rock I hear a loud snap which is immediately followed by a searing pain in my left arm. I finally reach the bottom of the rock-strewn dune, coming to a stop face down on the hard sand, with the puzzle digging into my chest, and slowly open my eyes to search for Ishtar. He is sprawled on the sand on his back, his face twisted in pain. I get up slowly. Painfully. My body is bruised, scraped and my arm is broken. I scan the surrounding area noticing that we are in some sort of broad crevice...I have no idea where my horse is...he won't survive if he can't find his way back...neither will I for that matter. I have absolutely no idea where we are...nothing about the place looks remotely familiar. I stare up at the full moon and mentally scold myself for acting so impulsively...how very un-pharaoh like. Suddenly I hear a moan coming from Ishtar's direction and snap my head his way abruptly remembering the reason I was in this mess in the first place.
I start walking in his direction and in the distance; I see the silhouette of a rocky outcrop against the crevice wall. I lower my eyes to Marik and unexpectedly hear a strange whistling sound. I look up and before I can fully comprehend what the source of the sound is, I am starring into the tip of an arrow.
My heart involuntary starts beating dangerously fast. There is nothing I can do...there is no way that I can react fast enough to evade it...I just close my eyes and wait for the tip to pierce my skull...
The impact never came. I know I have not died and gone to the afterlife because my body is still in immense pain...and...the afterlife could not be filled with such pain...could it?
I slowly and disbelievingly open my eyes and nearly die of shock. The tip of the arrow is a mere hear-breadth from the skin between my eyes. I follow the arrow down the end and see that there is a hand wearing a black fingerless-glove attached to it. Attached to the hand was an arm and attached to the arm was a cloaked figure. A hooded man wearing a dark cape that fell to the ground, is standing with his back towards me on my left. He has caught the arrow in mid air, saving my life.
Shock overcomes me and I slide down to sit on the sand, willing my heart to calm down. I stare at the man in front of me. He has lowered his arm, still holding the arrow. He is just standing there...staring at the outcrop in the distance...I tear my eyes away from him to also look at the outcrop and open my mouth to thank him, but as soon as I do, I feel myself being slung from the ground. With a powerful grip he pulls me by the arm and starts to run. I was just about to ask what the hell he was doing when I heard the familiar whistling sound in the distance. The man swings me behind a rock just as an arrow hits the ground on the spot where we were moments before, causing sand to shoot up in my face. My back violently hits the rough rock and my broken arm shifts painfully causing me to cringe in pain. The man, who is on his haunches at my side, takes note of this and looks in my direction examining my arm. His cloak completely covers his face...I cannot see any of his features. Before I could say anything, he rips a strip of cloth from his cloak and swiftly and skilfully wraps up my arm in a sling – tightly against my body. He then returns his attention to the whistling arrows now pelting down on us as if there is now tomorrow.
I look at him and notice he has swung his cloak back to reveal a loose fitted belt around his waist. In the belt are numerous shuriken. Strange...he must not be an Egyptian...that is foreign weaponry. At closer study, I see he has a sheath on his back held there by a leather strap that runs across his chest and shoulder. His clothes are all black and loose fitted. He is not wearing a shendyt but strange looking pants. Who in the name of Ra is this man? And where on earth did he come from?
This is also the moment that I realise that in my impulsive haste; I have neglected to arm myself with a weapon of any kind...I have nothing with which to defend myself...I am totally, completely and utterly defenceless...
After a moments' pause, the man summarily grabs twelve of the shuriken, six in each hand, and while on his haunches, lowers his body to the ground, extending his arms straight back and prepares to leap over the rock into the swarm of arrows.
He must be senile! He is going to get himself killed! I must stop him! He jumps just as I sway towards him to hold him back. As he does so, I half run from behind the rock, narrowly avoiding the onslaught of arrows, to see him dexterously twisting his body two and fro in the air avoiding the instruments of death with ease. In the peak of his jump, he suddenly faces his body forward and slings the shuriken from his hands into the dead darkness towards the outcrop. He lightly lands on his haunches with his hand in-between his legs for balance and his one leg stretched out to the side...like a cat...
Suddenly the arrows stop.
After the slightest moment, twelve dull thuds can be heard echoing through the night...bodies falling from their posts in the crevice walls.
How...? How is this possible? How could he see them? It is pitch black! How did he manage to hit them with pinpoint accuracy from this distance? It just isn't possible...
Suddenly, a voice laughs menacingly into the night.
My blood runs cold and drains from my face. Now is NOT the time to be caught unarmed because I know exactly who THAT voice belongs to...
Bakura...'