This idea came after I read one of the manga volumes (the number escapes me at the moment) involving the theft of the Millennium Ring. I always wondered if the Tomb-Keepers ever had anyone break into their underground hideaway; this is the result of my musings.
Quick note: "akhi" is Arabic for brother, and Ishizu uses that term several times in this story.
Pre-canon, no pairings, and leave reviews on the way out!
My footsteps are masked by sand.
As I walk down the dimly lit stone corridors, I have no other company that is beside me other than the sand under my feet and the torchlight that illuminates the hallway. It is very rare for anyone to walk in these forbidding corridors; I have not passed any other living soul as I go about my errand. Perhaps it is due to the fact that outside my brother, sister, and Master Ishtar there are only fifteen other people that live down here.
I am certain that not one of those people, including myself, has ever stepped out of the underground catacombs we call home.
It is forbidden to us to set a foot beyond the boundaries of our 'city', if it can be called that. The only time I have ever seen the sun or the moon is from a small well, whose open shaft allows natural light to penetrate the otherwise dark halls. The reason for our seclusion underground and hidden from the world is simple, yet morbid.
We are Tomb-Keepers.
I shake my head softly, and there is a soft swish as my dark ponytail brushes against my left cheek. The feeling of my hair on that side is still foreign to me, mostly because of the hieroglyphs carved into the side of my face. The marks that recently arrived are barely two weeks old, but they have already almost healed; the skin is still tender, though, so I still must exercise caution when it comes to the marks.
Of course, no one knows what they say except for Lady Ishizu, Master Marik, and Master Ishtar.
Master Ishtar, of course, is not pleased with me at the moment; to him, what I did constitutes as a pale imitation of the Induction ceremony, which Master Marik was a part of only two weeks ago. But what is done is done—I can no more remove my handiwork than I can fly.
Most people have questioned my sanity in such an act, but I ignore their incredulous gazes. I carved these hieroglyphs onto my face, mainly because of Master Marik's induction ceremony that occurred on his birthday. The poor boy had been terrified of what lay in store for him on that day, and he begged me to find some way to prevent its occurrence. But I could not, and I had no other choice but to watch as they carted my precious brother off to have the Tomb-Keeper's Rites carved into his back.
I placed the hieroglyphs on my face while my brother's muffled and haunting screams of pain echoed throughout the corridors.
My wounds have healed, but Master Marik's have not yet begun to close; though some of them have already scabbed over, there are still many open sores and seeping cuts on his back. I know this because Lady Ishizu and I are the ones changing his bandages. The boy cannot lie upon his back and he can barely walk, so I have become his legs. He reads and plays games with either Lady Ishizu or myself; Master Ishtar rarely checks on his son.
I have in my arms a new stack of scrolls and ragged, leather bound books that Master Marik requested for—he had finished the previous ones I had given him. I notice that I am nearly to his room, and I begin to quicken my pace. Despite Master Ishtar's adamant claims that I am nothing but a mere servant, Master Marik refuses to view me as such. He insists that I call him by his name only and not place the "stupid" (in his own words) title in front of it.
I have certainly tried to do as he wishes, but I fear I am too deeply ingrained in the habit.
Nonetheless, the stubborn child refuses to give up, and he corrects me every time I call him by that title. I feel a smile creep onto my face, the recently healed skin stretching out in a weird sensation, but I ignore it. Master Marik and Lady Ishizu view me as their brother—and they have never thought otherwise. It is such a shame that Master Ishtar refuses to acknowledge his own daughter, for the Lady Ishizu is very intelligent and demonstrates wisdom that should be well beyond her fourteen years.
Mother was the very first of the family who insisted on me calling her "Mother" and not "Lady Ishtar." She would not allow me to do so, despite Master Ishtar's wishes. I am not from this family that is doomed to forever lie beneath the sand; I was found as a sickly and helpless babe near the very well that lets in the light from above. She raised me as her own son, and refused to treat me as a servant; she even had the same, gold-colored eyes that I myself possess. I only wish she was alive now, because things here in the catacombs have gotten hellish since her death.
My thoughts are interrupted by the terrified scream of Lady Ishizu.
The scrolls and books fall unheeded from my hands and I hurtle down the stone corridors, my footsteps echoing but a little. Panic rushes through my veins and my heart is racing. I know that Lady Ishizu would not scream like that unless something dire has transpired in the few minutes I was gone. I round the corner and halt my run, easily regaining my breath; working for Master Ishtar has only a few benefits, but this time I am glad for the fortitude that has resulted from Master Ishtar's work.
Lady Ishizu has sunken to her knees outside of a doorway, an ashen look paling her tan skin. Her raven hair is slightly askew, and her features are distraught. I hurry to her side and softly call her name, gently shaking her shoulder when she does not immediately respond. I look around and realize with a jolt that she is near the room where the sacred Items are kept; what mischief has come here?
"Akhi…" says Lady Ishizu at last, and my eyes immediately return to her. I note that there is fright dancing across her features, replacing the shock and she grabs at my sleeve urgently. "Akhi, there is an intruder. He stole an Item and he took Marik!" she finishes, the last part of her sentence ending in a cry.
My heart stops beating and I swallow hard. "Lady Ishizu, which way did he go?" I ask at last, an urgency of my own creeping into my voice.
She seems to regain her composure briefly at my question, though it seems to be with an effort that she manages the feat. "He went down the hall and took the left tunnel. Rishid," she continues, struggling to keep a lid on her emotions. "You have to stop that man before it's too late."
I begin to head in the direction that Lady Ishizu has indicated, but turn at the last second as a thought occurs to me. "Lady Ishizu, get the Guard. Tell them what has transpired and then go to Master Marik's room; I will bring him back," I promise her as I hurry down the passage.
Behind me, I hear the soft rustling of Lady Ishizu's cotton dress and hurried footsteps as they recede in the opposite direction that I am going. But I focus on the task at hand and begin weaving my way through the darkened catacombs.
How could something like this happen? I can only wonder as I make my way through the silent tunnels. These passageways—our very existence—were supposed to be hidden from the civilization above us. How had a common thief found his way here? And why take Master Marik with him? Did he intend to use the boy as insurance, in case a situation arose that made him use my poor brother as a bargaining chip?
I continue to run for some time before coming to a halt, leaning against a pillar and regaining my breath as I mull over the torrent of thoughts racing in my head. What if this vagabond managed to escape us and took Master Marik with him? Or worse, what if he decided that Master Marik was useless to him and he—
No. I cannot make myself think of that outcome. That will not happen, I vow fervently as I push away from the pillar and stagger forward a few steps. I stop once again, however, as another thought hits me. There are too many different ways that the intruder could have gone…too many places to hide…
My eyes widen in realization and I hurry forward, praying I'm not too late to act. I have just now remembered something vitally important about my home.
Though the catacombs lead to many different areas of these underground ruins, there are only two exits that one can possibly escape or enter through. The first is the main entrance, but that is always watched by the Guard—the eight men who are the enforcers of our rules. It is near impossible to slip by them, for they rarely take breaks and they are as silent as shadows; some occasions, they are able to sneak up behind you and you would not know they were there until they acted.
I skid to a stop in a large, open area where the dying sunlight is lazily drafting in.
The well is the second place that one could have come in.
I step backward into the shadows, waiting anxiously for the intruder to make his way in here. This thief could not possibly slip by the Guard, coming or going. He has to come back through here if he wishes to escape.
Nonetheless, I see no activity taking place, and I fear that I figured this out far too late. I am about to step outside of the shadows to make my way to the main entrance when I hear soft footsteps in the passageway beyond the chamber and I freeze once again.
I have long since learned to recognize the footsteps of my family and the few others that live here: Lady Ishizu's are gentle yet firm, Master Marik's are full of a boundless energy, and Master Ishtar's are loud and commanding. The Guard is impossible to hear, and the midwife's are slow and shuffling.
The sounds approaching me are not any of these.
I hold my breath, watching the entrance intently for the first sign of movement. I know he is there; all I have to do now is wait patiently for him to step into the open. After what feels like eternity has passed, a figure slips into the room.
He is short, I note with a frown. He is taller than Master Marik and Lady Ishizu, but he would probably only come up to my chest. He wears a dark cloak, stealthily slinking from the passage and into the chamber. His face is obscured by the hood he has over his face, and there is a veil masking what facial features are not hidden by the hood his features.
A glimmer of gold is dangling from his hand, what Master Ishtar refers to as the Tauk, but I hardly care for that. My eyes are only for the limp form draped over his shoulder; the shock of sandy blonde hair is instantly recognizable.
I cannot see Master Marik's face at the moment, but I do see that his back is bleeding badly through his cotton robe, perhaps from being jostled around so much. My heart skips a beat when I do not see him move, but my fear is unfounded. The boy mumbles something that I can't decipher, but it proves he is alive.
Why was my dear brother in the Item's room when this ingrate was? Did he hear the man and try to see who it was? Master Marik's room is down the hall from the one containing the sacred Items of the Pharaoh we guard, so it is entirely possible. Most likely, though, the thief passed by Master Marik's room on his way there or on the way out and saw the child.
My attention comes back to the present when the man grabs a rope dangling from above him, leading to the surface.
He attempts to climb it with the Tauk stuffed into his pocket and my brother on his shoulder, and I realize with a jolt of horror that he indeed plans on taking my Master Marik with him.
Master Marik must be conscious or else close to it, because I notice him briefly put up a struggle in an attempt to escape, but his effort fails because the pain in his back prevents him from doing much.
The thief is not pleased about Master Marik's actions. He mutters darkly under his breath and releases the rope. "Be still, you little brat!" he snarls, pulling Master Marik off of his shoulder and holding him by the collar of his gown. He punches the boy harshly before throwing him over his shoulder once more. He grips the rope and tries to climb again.
Righteous anger stirs in my veins at this ingrate's treatment of my brother, and I stride forward, seizing the thief by his bared ankle. He clearly was not expecting me, for he lets out a startled cry as he hits the ground. The two objects he carries slip from his grasp; I care not for the necklace, which lands safely in the sand beside my foot.
"MARIK!" I hear myself shout in alarm, just barely reacting in time to catch the child in my arms. My hands inadvertently brush his wounded back and he lets out a yelp of pain, but otherwise makes no other noise; he is semi-conscious from the earlier punch, and his actions are sluggish.
I pause to make sure he is mostly unharmed before carrying him to the doorway that I came in through. As an afterthought, I pick up the Millennium Tauk gingerly between my fingers and carefully set it beside Marik before returning my attention to the thief.
The man has regained his feet and now has a dagger in his hand, the steel flashing in the sunlight. HE brandishes it at me with a evil leer on his face. I regard him coldly and ask in a steely tone, "Who are you?"
"That's none of your concern!" snaps the man in a grating voice.
He tries to lunge for me, and I barely manage to dodge the blade aimed for my face. I hear Master Marik's terrified voice call my name, and I spare a quick second to ensure that I am between the helpless boy and the intruder before returning my attention to my opponent.
The second costs me, because he is in motion and I just barely dodge the deadly weapon, but this time his blade has caught my hand and the wound stings. I let out a low growl of displeasure.
"Rishid!" Master Marik cries out fearfully, noticing that I am clutching my hand to quell the bleeding.
More to reassure the child than to comfort myself, I let my hand fall to my side. I know the thief's little game now—he is trying to give me a severe enough injury to distract me from his escape. Yet I hold an advantage: I have the very objects he is risking his life for behind me.
I have no intention of stepping aside.
The man is readying himself for a third try, but this time I am ready for him. As he lunges forward once more, I side-step him and grip his wrist tightly. I twist it violently behind his back and pull upward with a hard jerk, feeling and hearing his shoulder disconnect all at once with a dull snap. The man howls and drops the knife, sinking to his knees and grabbing his wounded arm.
I keep a wary eye on him, relief filling me as I hear the sound of approaching footsteps. I barely turn my head in time to watch as three members of the Guard and Master Ishtar burst into the sanctum.
"Is that the intruder?" asks one dark-cloaked man grimly.
I nod mutely, conveying as much respect as I can through the gesture.
"Well then, we shall deal with him," stated another guard, the contempt in his voice tangible
I step back respectfully, allowing the Guard to access my prisoner. The three men—much taller than I am and certainly much stronger—grab the thief's wrists and unceremoniously begin to drag him from the room, indifferent of the man's piteous screams of anguish and pain. I watch the man's struggles for a short time before turning my attention to Master Marik.
The child has tears of fright gathering in his lavender eyes, and his face has a bruise already forming from the man's cruel punch. He reaches for me silently, and I tenderly scoop him into my arms, taking care not to touch his back. He wraps his arms around my neck and burrows his head into my shoulder, his blonde hair tickling the left side of my face.
The relief that Master Marik is all right overwhelms me for a few moments and I sit with him, murmuring words of comfort to the child and reassuring him that everything is all right. The child doesn't say anything, but his body is trembling and I can tell he's trying not to cry.
After Master Marik has calmed down significantly, I slowly rise to my feet with him still in my arms. "I will take you back to your room now. Lady Ishizu is waiting for us there," I whisper comfortingly, beginning to head for the doorway.
"Servant."
I freeze.
Master Ishtar had been watching the intruder's struggles all this time while I had been comforting Master Marik, but when I got to my feet the motion must have caught his attention. His own appearance, so similar to that of Master Marik's, is hidden by the hood of the cloak he is wearing. In his hand is a golden, glittering object—the Tauk the thief took. My heart sinks when his eyes glance at Master Marik and they darken. I can see the thought almost as plainly as day.
My suspicions are confirmed a moment later when he voices what's running through his head. "Why is Marik here, servant?" he asks, his voice carrying a menacing note to it.
I know that I will be placed with the blame for this mishap. It is my duty to protect Master Marik from any and all threats; I learned this lesson long ago, when Master Marik was bitten by a cobra. I avert my gaze humbly and remain silent—he wouldn't listen to me even if I bothered to I explain where I was.
It's Master Marik's voice that breaks the frosty silence first.
"Father, it's my fault," he says, pulling away from my shoulder to gaze at Master Ishtar. "I asked him to get me some books and scrolls from the archives. He was not there to protect me because of what I asked. But he saved me, Father," he continues, his voice holding a hysterical note to it. "You can't punish him now. Please, Father, don't punish him because of me."
There is another long silence; Master Ishtar is obviously debating on what should be done, and though it is quite obvious what he wants to do he is considering his options because of Master Marik. At last, I hear a heavy sigh and he says flatly, "Take Marik back to his room before I change my mind, servant."
"Yes, Mater Ishtar," I murmur as I try to keep the relief from my voice, turning to quietly exit the sanctum. Master Marik has buried his head in my shoulder once more, but this time his hands are clutching my robe tightly—his wounds are hurting him once more. I quicken my pace; the boy needs to have his injuries dressed, and I am confident that all of the nearly closed ones are open again.
"Are you truly all right?" I inquire softly as I navigate down the halls.
The boy nods. "I'm fine, Rishid, thanks to you. That burglar didn't know what hit him!" he says with a smile, looking up at me for a moment. His smile widens after a few seconds. "Rishid, when that man dropped me...you called me 'Marik'."
I blink in surprise, coming to a halt in the passage to look at him. "I did?" I ask at last, not recalling the event.
The boy nods emphatically, his eyes dancing with mirth. "I knew you could do it, Rishid," he says happily, but a second later a pained grimace crosses his face and he lowers his head against my shoulder once more. "My back hurts," he whimpers softly, his voice muffled by my robe.
This signals me to start my way back to the boy's room, and I weave through the complicated passageways quickly, anxious to help Master Marik. I finally arrive at the doorway to his room and I step inside it carefully, making sure I don't jostle the child or bump him against the door.
Lady Ishizu is waiting for us inside, sitting on the bed with barely controlled calm, but when she sees me she rises to her feet almost immediately. Her eyes are filling with relief and color is returning to her pale face. She hurries to my side and assists me as I lay Master Marik back in his bed, placing him on his stomach so that my sister can reach his back.
I note the bandages and ointment on the bedside table; Lady Ishizu must have realized that they would be needed. Master Marik sits up long enough for Lady Ishizu to gingerly slip off the top half of his robe before lying on his stomach once again. He burrows his head into the pillow and his lavender eyes close. It's apparent moments later that he has drifted off to sleep.
We both smile at the boy before Lady Ishizu begins carefully cutting away the bandages so that the child does not have to sit up for the treatment. Slowly, her gentle movements begin revealing the engraved characters on the child's back.
She reaches for the ointment and tends to him quietly, softly apologizing when her hand brushes too hard against his bare skin. I stare at his back, conflicted feelings welling within me all at once.
The skin is red and enflamed, some of the characters a yellowish hue from infection; a few hieroglyphs are bleeding openly, slowing down when Lady Ishizu applies the ointment but still flowing sluggishly. Those marks will never fade from the child's back—they will always be there as a morbid reminder of who we are.
I gingerly brush a strand of his hair away from his back to avoid having it get caught in the ointment; we will not leave the wounds exposed for long, but until Master Marik's skin absorbs some of the ointment we cannot fully bandage him. As I tuck the rebellious hair to the side, Lady Ishizu's gentle hand catches mine and holds it. A frown is on her face, concern alight in her eyes.
"Akhi, you've hurt yourself," she says, worry lacing her tone.
I realize that the hand I had used was the one that had been injured from the fight. I had forgotten about it when I was comforting Master Marik, but now my hand throbs in pain as I take notice of the long but shallow cut.
Lady Ishizu dips one of her hands in the jar of balm on the bedside table, rubbing it on the wound carefully. She wipes her hands off before she reaches for a cloth and begins to wrap my hand securely.
"You needn't have concern for me, Lady Ishizu," I begin, but she cuts me off with a frown.
"Yes I do, akhi. The last thing we need is for you to get that injury infected; it is all too easy for that to happen down here and Father won't care if the wound worsens," she says grimly. Her features soften after a brief pause, and she looks up at me. "You were injured while you were helping our brother. I believe it is a fair trade that I treat your hand," she says, a gentle smile gracing her features.
"Rishid's best brother i' th' worl'," says Master Marik sleepily, his eyes closing again in drowsiness.
Lady Ishizu shakes her head in amusement. "Go back to sleep, Marik," she chides softly.
The boy does not need second requests—he is asleep once more. I settle down with Lady Ishizu and we silently watch over our brother. We will not leave him alone for a long while yet—besides the fact that we still need to finish bandaging his torn back, he was almost taken from us. It will be a while yet before we let him out of our sight.
Sometime later, Lady Ishizu and I hear the anguished scream of the thief echo down the passageways, followed by an odd gurgling sound that the sand surrounding us swallows greedily. We stiffen and look anxiously to our brother, making sure that the noise did not disturb him. But the sound was very faint and Master Marik barely twitches.
We both know what has just happened, so there is no need to ask.
I adjust my position and feel my hair brush against my own set of hieroglyphs. For the first time since I put them there, I am happy with them. Only I and the immediate Ishtar family knows what they say. They are the Rites of a Guardian, dictating the duties of one and loyalty to family.
After what has transpired today, I can certainly say that I am succeeding in my efforts.