Intro Notes: This is a fic I've been working on off and on, so it's sure to be choppy. I'm certain there are plenty of mistakes because I don't have any beta readers to check it for me.
The story doesn't follow the plot of the show, because I needed to make Seto older so I set it in the future, except that I only have a vague idea of what happens in Battle City and I don't know a lot about Ishizu, Marik, or Serenity, because I've only seen the eps WB has played. *wince*
Ishizu is the woman in the present, and Isis is who she was in her past life. Marik is her brother and Malik is his yami (did I make it opposite?). I wrote this before I realized how many "dreaming of a past life" fics there were out there, so yes, I know this is an unoriginal plotline. I also realize that the spirit of the rod was created out of Malik's anger and did not exist in ancient Egypt. I apologize in advance my stupid mistakes and for any trauma you may experience while reading this story.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except this story. The show, characters, quotes, and songs are not mine. They belong to other (more talented!) people.
Quiet whispers that melt amidst the bustling crowd
Blurring the memories that are scattered amongst the footsteps
Waking, lost in the sparkling streets, glaring one way
The dream pushes through the cold and shakes me by the hand
Waking me from counting my hopes,
I recall a shimmering image of you—
That vague silhouette that guides me…
-Gravitation (translation of closing song)
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In the weak light of the night, the water would be invisible except for the white ripples flitting across its surface. He breaks the pattern of the ripples, with his thin body, bringing his hands down to cup the water and pour it over his pale skin where it runs down him in threads of white and silver. The water sways gently against him, lapping softly at the small of his back.
From the shadows under the vines, she watches him splash another handful of water against his chest, run a white hand through the dark hair clinging to his face. He turns his head and she smiles inwardly at the subtle beauty of his face, strange in a foreign way, but undeniably striking in its brooding indifference. His hair and skin are lighter than that of the ordinary Egyptian, but his very presence seems, to her, infused with dark.
At last he climbs out of the pool and the moonlight slides over his wet skin, turning it even paler and more unnatural. Water drips steadily from his sodden kilt and runs down his long legs.
Now he turns around again and she sees the laughing smirk on his face, the smile that makes her want to run and hide.
"Enjoying yourself, Priestess? Sneak into the temple gardens after noon and you can observe the scribes bathing without their kilts."
Silently, Isis turns and strides away, striving inwardly to remain collected, as he laughs quietly behind her. She should be afraid. She should be terrified. But all Isis can think of are the unnatural blue eyes looking at her from under the shaggy, dripping hair, and the subtle heat sliding under her skin.
Waking in the tangled dark, Ishizu Ishtar gasped and pushed aside her covers to let the cool air soothe her body. Her breathing slowed as she touched the hard, golden choker that encircled her throat. The Millennium Tauk, warm from her body heat, winked almost slyly in the faint light. Unclasping it, Ishizu set it on her nightstand and lay back in her bed, seeking to escape the disturbing images running through her memory. Even without the Tauk, images of him enveloped her vision. The young sorcerer in the black water, brushing aside clusters of lilies to rake the water with his long, pale fingers.
"Four raids in one night!" Marik laughed, splitting the morning darkness with his sharp glee. "They told me that the Dark Masters would never back down, but we took every single card out from under them!"
Sitting up in bed, Ishizu groaned. She had spent a restless night trying to recover some sleep, and now Marik had to barge in, raving about his latest criminal activities, looking at her without even seeing her.
After a weighted silence, he remarked, "You're rather quiet this morning. Give away anymore of my god cards?"
Ishizu glared at him as she picked up a bathrobe and slid it on over her nightgown. "I don't have any more to give away." Her light eyes came up to meet his purple ones. "Stop looking at me like that."
The young man blinked as a shocked expression came over his face. "You're my sister, Isis."
"I'm not Isis!" she hissed, pulling her robe tighter. "Malik is my brother, not you!"
"We are the same. You are the same."
She breathed in, her chin tucked against her throat. "Get out of my brother and leave him alone or I will be forced to hurt his body."
The Egyptian boy laughed and changed slightly in a flash of light. The youth who looked at her now, appeared little different, but Ishizu knew there was a difference. She had to believe there was a difference.
"Did he actually listen to you?" Malik asked, staring at the golden rod he held in his hand. "I've never seen him take orders before."
Ishizu turned and went for the stairs. "You should never have taken that rod, Malik. You must resist the spirit or he will take you over."
She heard his voice come at her as she descended the staircase. "Marik is very helpful, Ishizu, and you know it. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't even be here. Besides, he's part of me. He is me."
Ishizu closed her eyes and whispered a prayer. "Gods forbid it should ever be so."
Malik sighed as he went down the stairs. His sister didn't understand the power and knowledge of the spirit in the Millennium Rod. She saw things as good and evil, black and white, honorable and dishonorable.
The two of them made a strange pair: Malik, the wild one, the vengeful wolf, who wanted to taste power and dominance, and Ishizu, the prophetess, the dreamer, the practical older sister who knew how the world ran, or at least how it should run.
He expected to see her plugging in the coffee machine, ironing out her clothes for work, checking the papers in her folder. But instead he came upon Ishizu sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the convoluted pattern of the wallpaper, stroking the shining Tauk around her throat with one golden finger.
For a moment he wondered if she was having a vision, but the Tauk did not glow with power, and Ishizu appeared simply absorbed with her own thoughts.
"Ishizu? Are you getting enough sleep?" His hand went for the coffee pot, but it was empty and he had no idea how to make the brewed beverage. Ishizu hated tea but she had grown quite addicted to coffee during her archaeological digs.
"We need to catch us a few good slaves," he growled, spinning the coffee machine around in bafflement. "You wouldn't have to cook or clean or make anything, and neither would I."
That finally provoked a reaction from her. Ishizu chuckled and took the ridiculous contraption from his hands, reaching up to the cupboard, to pull out a bag of coffee grounds.
"Who would you capture for your slaves, Marik? We could bring in a few of your greasy old gang members. But would they know how to cook?"
Marik only rolled his eyes at her and poured the entire bag of coffee grounds into the machine, eliciting a shriek of outrage from his sister.
"You're destroying my coffee!" She swatted distractedly at Marik and he backed away rolling his eyes.
"Not a morning person, are you?" Stepping out of the kitchen, he flipped on the TV in the den and turned to the early news. I wonder if they've found the two losers we left in the dumpster.
The cheerful newscasters traded jokes about the arrest of a sports figure, discussed the latest robbery, and played a sappy bit about twins dying from leukemia. Marik sighed with disappointment. He liked to see his work on the news, but never feared arrest. His yami, Malik, proved too clever for any law enforcement organization and his gang of Rare Hunters practically ran the city.
Now the business news was playing and Marik lifted the remote to switch off the TV, but a familiar name caught his ear. On the screen, a grainy picture appeared of a logo with the words Brechren Technology and a gravelly voice spoke.
"…marks the fifteenth anniversary of the corporation and a beginning of its end. In a short time, the company started by Helen Garmon will pass out of his hands and into the possession of KaibaCorp, following a contract developed by Mr. Gozaburo Kaiba ten years ago. But Gozaburo has been dead for almost five years, and the company will instead be owned by his heir—"
"Seto Kaiba," Marik breathed, clenching the remote.
"—a young man of considerable talent, but little experience. Seto Kaiba was thirteen at the time of his guardian's death, and did not gain control of KaibaCorp until two years later, after months of aggressive development and campaigning to gain his position. All of KaibaCorp went to Seto Kaiba when he was fifteen, but Helen Garmon managed to hold onto her company through legal proceedings, to keep it out of Kaiba's hands…until now. In two months Seto Kaiba will turn eighteen, and Brechen Technology becomes legally his."
The screen showed shots of an impassive young Kaiba, his company and his technology products as the reporter droned on, and then it stopped on a video of the young CEO at a recent press conference.
Raising a blank face to the camera, Kaiba spoke quickly and curtly, "Brechen Technology will be another important part of the KaibaCorp network—"
Marik heard a clatter from the kitchen and observed Ishizu enter the room suddenly, out of the corner of his eye.
"—and we hope for great things from it. I do not think that I am stealing this company from anyone, as Director Garmon has implied. She started a fine development in technology, and I intend to build on it."
Seto Kaiba went on for a few moments about the future of his corporation, looking entirely bored to death. But all Marik could think about was the way his sister watched the screen, her lips slightly parted, her hand against the Tauk on her throat, and her eyes wide and soft, staring at the emotionless figure on the grainy screen.
The sorcerer leans against the railing beside the temple, and she sees the muscles on his back tighten. His long, lithe body never relaxes. Isis wants to know what deserves so strong a gaze, but can't see the object of his scrutiny.
Finally, Set looks away, scowling at the stonework of the temple. His thick hair, the color of fertile Nile earth, trails down the back of his neck untidily, and hangs in his strange eyes. She fears those eyes, full of an entirely different kind of sorcery. She has never seen any gentleness in him…or any fear. Such a fierce, strange young man can mean nothing but trouble for the priests, for the pharaoh, but mostly for Isis herself.
Look at me! Look at me! she urges him silently. But when his head finally shifts toward her, Isis wants only to turn and flee. She tries to feign an interest in the garden below her with the intricate fountains, the lush growth, and…the pharaoh…
Yami, king of the Two Lands and guardian of the Shadow Arts, lounges in his garden, speaking with a few bald priests in the cool of the shade. Isis never even hears the footsteps coming up behind her, but a low, rough voice speakse in her ear.
"Fascinating, isn't he?"
Fortunately, Isis does not jump, but she lets out a little breath, and feels her body tense instantly. He doesn't touch her, but he stands so close that she knows a single move will cause contact.
"So powerful, so arrogant. He owns the world, and he knows it."
The moisture in his breath makes her ear feel moist. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the tip of his nose, a flicker that is the movement of his lashes. She presses herself harder against the railing, disorientated by this sudden nearness, his voice, the voices of the pharaoh and the priests, muffled and low in the garden below.
Yami lies in the shadows, draped over a bed of cushions like a cat in the sun. The young pharaoh seems to always be in the shadows; even when sitting on his throne dark envelopes his face. And yet, I do not fear him, only this strange sorcerer standing behind me.
Decisively, Isis steps away from the railing, expecting to back into Set…but there is nothing behind her now. The sorcerer left as silently as he came, and Isis stands alone by the railing, listening to one of the priests laughing softly, and fighting back the sudden emptiness echoing inside of her…
Someone bumped into Ishizu and her eyes flew open. She sat on the crowded bus, blinking confusedly. The man across from her stared wearily at his newspaper while the woman on her left crossed her long legs and flipped her chic little purse back and forth on her lap, glaring out the window with suppressed impatience.
Ishizu looked up at the front of the bus and sighed with relief. She had not passed her stop, despite dozing off on her way to work. Now all she had to do was concentrate on the task at hand and keep ancient complications out of her mind.
One finger ran absently over the smooth curve of the Tauk, clasped around her throat, and she wondered if the dreams would cease if she took it off. Her mind went back to the boy in Egypt, standing in the pool of lilies, water running over his long body in threads of silver…and a familiar warm shiver ran through her body.
She wouldn't take the Tauk off just yet.