Note: So this is my next multi-chapter story. Oh, and I am aware of the fact that certain things in this story were not invented at the time. Well ya know what? I don't do this often but I'm pulling the Author Card. So DEAL WITH IT! Heehee And enjoy!
Warnings: None. Not in this chapter. Absolutely none. HA!
Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-gi-oh
Chapter One
You've all heard the story, I'm sure. Of the boy who sold his family's cow for a hand full of magic beans. You've all heard that the beans grew a stalk that stretched to the cloud palace of a giant who owned a hen that laid golden eggs and a harp that played itself.
Well obviously it's all wrong. I suppose the most glaringly inaccurate bit would be the setting. The original did not take place in some tiny English village in the early renaissance; it took place in Egypt. And I have no idea where the giant bit came from, but I suppose the travelers who spread the story couldn't believe that a mere mortal would be so powerful. Though whoever decided the Pharaoh of all Egypt was a mere mortal was severely mistaken. As for the chicken, it must have been made up to explain the huge amounts of gold that he wore around his neck, decorated his palace with, and had buried in his tomb.
Nevertheless, the most personally offensive part of the whole ludicrous hyperbole was the idea that the harp was inanimate…sort of. Why did it bother me? Because I was that harp; not a being of twisted and manipulated metal, but a boy of flesh. Though they told me the blood of the moon ran through my veins rather than more human liquids. Iah inm, is what they called me. I do remember a time when I did not live in the palace, awaiting the next time the Pharaoh would beckon me. I remember my parents hiding me when the time to build came. Those days when the Pharaoh's soldiers rode through the towns, rounding up men to pull the heavy blocks up precariously secured wooden platforms; and women to mix the crude 'mortar' that was little more than a sticky substance to spread over cracks.
They hid me for fear of what the close Egyptian sun did to my silvered skin. If there was a name for me in our time I was not aware of it, however the name in your time is 'albino'. The sun reddened my alabasters kin till blisters covered its otherwise unmarred surface. But the tiny dirt-floored hut we lived in had few places to hide, so when they came, ignoring my mother's panicked pleas, the dragged me from beneath a pile of pallets and shoved a bucket of water into my hands.
Being a small, malnourished child, the had deemed me useful only to carry water to the parched workers. And that is how he found me, scampering from patch of shade to patch of shade, with my bucket and bowl, singing softly to myself to pass the time.
That day the Pharaoh had come to survey the progress on his grand tomb, he had paused and raised his hand for silence. Oblivious, my back turned toward my King, I had continued the simple peasants song into the abrupt silence for a full five breaths before I snapped my mouth shut. I spun around, arms raised to stop the whip that would surely be whistling down towards me.
"Why do you cower boy?" The Pharaoh asked me. I blinked in the light glittering from his necklace.
"I'm sorry. I'll be quiet and get back to work," I promised with a quick lowering of my eyes. He smiled good-naturedly and took the bucket from my quaking hands. Then he bade me sing. And I did, for when the Pharaoh of all Egypt bids you sing, you do.
I'd like to say that I sang the most beautifully I had ever sung before, that I was the envy of all that heard me. But I was terrified. So notes came out vibrato when they should have been clear; the frantic beating of my heart forced the air out of my lungs long before notes were supposed to be over. However when I finished, eyes locked firmly on the ground, the Pharaoh hand even some of the guards were clapping.
That was the last day I ever worked near the pyramids. I learned the Pharaoh's name was Atemu, and he had a great love of music. He had a strange assortment of instruments, long hollow pipes with holes, great heaps of metal that you banked on with mallets, and other things I can't even begin to describe. But my favorite, the one I taught myself to play, was a small golden loop, with thing strings stretching from top to bottom. Atemu called it a harp.
I lived in the palace after that, I even had my own room. By today's standards the room was little more than a glorified closet, but it was far grander than anything I could have hoped for in the village. He gave me new clothes, beautiful things spun from linen and lined with silk. He gave me two necklaces, the first was a pair of golden birds, wings extended to touch its twin; though I gave that one to my family. They had enough wealth now to higher their status. The other was a circle of cold, the pints of a pyramid touching the loop, and an eye covered the pyramid. Five thick gold points dangled from the ring. I had thought about giving them this necklace as well, but I couldn't bare to part with it. Instead it hung from a thick leather cord around my thin neck.
The Pharaoh would call for me whenever he desired, and I played and sang for him. He left for long spells during the day, to go check on the progress of his grand tomb. I took to wandering about the palace during these times.
There were grand rooms and hidden passages, long hallways and big bedrooms, but my favorite was the gardens. A tall wall separated the garden from the rest of the palace and from the outside world. I liked to lean against the wall where the great shadow it cast protected me from the sun. My sudden elavation in status meant that I was no longer a village slave, but that only meant that I was a palace slave now. Not that I was complaining, I got to sing often, and I no longer had to brave the scorching Egyptian sun.
On one of these days my wanderings found me in the palace gardens; vast courtyards of plants, flowers, and shrubs. They were so different from the gardens of my village, whose soul purpose was to feed the family who tended to it. These gardens were made to be enjoyed, simply to look pretty.
I was inspecting a particularly vibrant when a head popped over the lip of the wall. I started, surprised. The owner of the head turned toward me and raised a finger to his pale lips. The teenager on the wall winked at me, and slipped back down the side of the wall that separated us.
That was the first time I met the infamous 'King of Thieves', though I didn't know it. He…looked like me. The same silver skin, the same long vanilla hair. But his features, they were…sharper than mine. Harsh angles, as if they had been cut with the desert winds, his eyes were a deep crimson, where mine were the color of dark wood. He was wild where I was tame, hard where I was soft, strong where I was weak.
He came often after that, though I never saw him in the same place. When I was alone I would hear footsteps in an empty hall, followed by a dark chuckle. I would spin around, hoping to get a glimpse of my mystery visitor, but the most I ever saw was the tail of a crimson cloak.
It was on one of these days that I was wondering through the empty throne room, the Pharaoh was gone with all his guards and servants. I'm sure there were other people somewhere in the palace, but I never came across them. That was the day the phantom came again. I spun, I searched, and I saw nothing. Deciding I had imagined the noise I continued on my path. Then came the low chuckle. I froze, wide mocha eyes darting around the empty room. I licked my lips.
"He-hello?" my voice shook with the same vigor as my slim fingers. Another chuckle, and my head snapped to the side.
"My, what pretty things the Pharaoh warms his bed with," the voice sang, mockingly. A blush colored my pale cheeks and my hands balled into fists.
"I am not a bed slave!" I yelled, embarrassed and angry. One of the torches lining the walls flickered out, then another, then another till the great room was half submerged in shadows. A few seconds passed while I trembled in the dark, then I was aware of a presence behind me. He laughed at me again, a small sardonic sound. The heat of his body was pressed against me, his hands wrapped around my shoulders.
"Then what does the Pharaoh in his infinite wisdom," the sarcasm dripping from his lips was nearly tangible, "waste such beauty on?" I flushed again, remaining silent. He waited a moment, then ran a sharp nail down the length of my jaw line, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end and my breathing to speed up. "I asked you a question, little slave." My courage crumpled.
"I-I sing for him. And I play for him," I confessed, then his body was gone, leaving me suddenly cold. I turned again, the phantom had seated himself on the Pharaoh's throne. I froze, but Atemu wasn't here. And he wouldn't be back for a while.
"Ah, a little song bird for our god king," he rolled his eyes. "What is your name, song bird?" I licked my lips and watched as he slung his legs over the armchair.
"Iah inm." I gave him the name the guards called me, but he shook his head.
"That's a description, not a name," he admonished with a dismissive wave of his hands. I looked down.
"My name is Ryou," I told the floor. The spirit made a small sound of appreciation. "And yours?" he remained silent for a while.
"Bakura." I smiled.
The door behind me swung open and I turned toward the noise. Atemu came through, his gurads close behind. My head snapped back to Bakura, worried for his safety, but the throne was empty, the rich purple silk throw barely even rumpled.
"That damned their! That low, petty little pickpocket!" Atemu yelled, making broad gestures with heis closed fists. My eyes dropped as my King passed me. He semed headed for his thorone, but the second he threw himself angrily into it he popped bac up. "How long before we can replace what he took?" The gurads answered him with bewildered shrugs and nervous glances. I was aobut to duck out of the room when he noticed me.
"Ry-" he started. But the gurads were there. "Iah inm, play something. Something calming until the architect gets here." One of the gurads took this as his que, turning to leave the room in search of the master architect. I lifted the small harp from my hip. I had taken to keeping it one me at all times. I strummed a simple lullaby, keeping my voice low and mostly just plaing the harp. Just as I finished the door opened again, and the tubby short master architect hurried through. Atemu simply raised an eye brow at him.
"Your Highness, the designs that were stolen, they were the revised copies. The originals are in my privet quarters. They will only take half a day to put the revisions on and passed it to the lesser architects," he assured the Pharaoh. Atemu smiled, running his hand through his blond bangs.
His hair was what made him more god than mortal. The few blond bangs were rumored to be rays from the sun god Ra himself, the sun shape of his black and red hair was further testament. If Atemu had been chosen and marked by the sun, did that mean that I had been marked by the moon? Had Bakura?
I was awakened from my musings by Atemu beckoning me to follow him. He swept from the room with me closer behind. Once we were out of ear shot I stopped walking behind him and matched my pace to his.
"What happened?" I asked quietly, eyes still fixated on the ground. Atemu seemed to crave not only my music but my company. He sometimes called me to his room to talk, I would sit on the floor, legs crossed and he would sit on his great bed. He told me of lands far beyond Egypt, places he had been to and heard of, stories he knew, people he had met, anything that crossed his mind.
I was fond of the Pharaoh, he had taken me in, protected me, he even called me by my real name, though only when there was no one to hear it. But he sometimes became inexplicably angry at me. Well, perhaps not angry, but he would snap at a question I had asked, or demand why I kept my eyes on the ground so constantly. He once called me meek, and though he meant it as a joke it hurt my feelings all the same.
"That damn child thief has come to the village. He stole a number of the villagers' possessions and took the plans for my pyramid. And we were making such progress today!" he seethed. I licked my lips and remained silent. The thought of Atemu dieing scared me. He had yet to find an heir, and I was afraid of what would happen to me. Would I be cast out of the palace and back to the village.
I followed him to his room, and he ushered me inside. I took my place on the floor and he sat on the bed. He asked for another song, but I didn't even have the chance to pluck the first note. The same architect came bursting through the door without even knocking. He panted, as if he had run very far and fast.
"F-forgive my…Your Highness!" he panted, hands on his knees.
"What, what is it?" he demanded.
"The-the thief, he has broken…into my room. Your Highness, he has taken the designs from my room as well!" he yelled, panicked.
Atemu shot up from his seat.
"THAT BASTARD!" he yelled in a fit of rage. The architect nodded.
"It is all gone, I'll have to start from scratch."
"And no one saw him? No one saw the fiend come to my palace and sneak about?" The man shook his head.
"One of the servants said she saw a boy with silver hair by my room, but it must have been…" he paused, trying to remember my name. "Iah inm. Was it you boy?" he demanded, his tone angry. I shrank back into myself.
"Do not accuse one of my personal slaves," Atemu hissed angrily.
"I beg your pardon."
My phantom…he must be…Bakura must be the Thief King. And he seemed to have taken an interest in me.
Haha! Cliffhanger, sort of. Well, please review and all that. Hope you enjoyed this.
