"Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged." ~Samuel Johnson
The smell of decomposing vegetables, fruit, straw, and camel dung hung stiflingly in the air.
"How long has he been in there?" Shiva asked, shifting around uncomfortably behind the large pile of garden compost. Her long pale gold hair fell in waves over her face. Another few moments of silence passed. She grabbed the sleeve of her darker-haired companion's robe and shook it. "Come on, Saze. How long?"
"I don't know!" Saze hissed, pushing her away and leaning forward more. "Now be quiet. He'll be out as soon as he gets them." He lay on his stomach, peeking over the top of the pile towards the empty doorway of a small mud-brick hut. Shiva frowned and turned on her side, digging a little hole in the pile of weeds, dead vegetable plants, and rotting fruit. After only a few moments she turned back to Saze impatiently.
"Where is he? You don't think he got caught do you?" She said with a worried expression.
"No! He never gets caught. They're in the back of the house, near the entrance to her garden. He probably just had to sneak back there the long way since Rama is still home."
"Obviously that wasn't a problem for me."
The new voice came from behind them and they both jumped, startled. The newcomer was their same age, around eleven years old, and wore a simple cotton robe that hung off his shoulder loosely and that matched Shiva's and Saze's almost exactly with some minor differences. Like the pockets patched onto the sides and the hidden alcoves within the inner folds of the cloth. His stark white hair was messy and hung to just above his shoulders. His pale violet eyes were bright with excitement, and a crooked smile adorned his face, which brimmed with the confidence of success.
"Did you get them?" Saze jumped up. Shiva was on her feet moments later.
The new boy's smile widened. "Have I ever come back empty handed?" He asked.
Shiva jumped at the boy. "Stop hiding them. I'm starved!" She complained, though she was smiling at his supposed triumph. He held up a hand though, his face serious. A pout slid onto her face. "Come on Bakura! I'm so hungry I think I could eat a whole cow."
"If you're patient and wait for the right moment, then you'll get what you want. Paitence is the most important part of being a thief." Bakura threw up his empty hand in the air. From his sleeves, though it appeared to be out of thin air, three tiny peaches flew up. As they returned to earth, he caught them and held the small fruits one between each of his four fingers. Saze and Shiva greedily each grabbed one and bit into them.
"Is that it?" Saze asked. Bakura raised an eyebrow and sat down on the ground, pulling out two large pomegranates, an onion, and a loaf of bread in the process. Shiva squealed in delight. He tossed her one of the large red fruits then ripped his own open. Saze snatched the bread and ripped a chunk off the end.
The friends sat behind the pile of moldering produce and devoured the spoils of Bakura's raid.
"How did you get behind us without us seeing you?" Saze asked with his mouth full. The white-haired boy took a large bite out of the onion, spitting some of the tougher skin onto the ground. He reached into his sleeve like a magician doing one of his tricks and pulled out a string of golden beads.
"I took a detour." He stated, dumping the shining article of jewelry onto the ground.
Shiva touched them, stroking them gently. "How are you so good?" She asked in awe. "Someday, you'll be the best thief ever."
"Yeah," Agreed Saze. Joking, he said, "Someday he'll even steal from the Pharaoh himself!" Shiva gasped.
"Would you do that Bakura?" She said, having missed the joke, and practically bouncing up and down. "Would you steal from the Gods' chosen? The Pharaoh?"
Bakura smirked, playing along. "Well, I won't be the best until I do, will I? And if the Gods have a problem with it, then they can come tell me themselves."
"Bakura, the King of Thieves!" Announced Saze.
Shiva and Bakura both laughed, though Bakura's eyes held a certain interest. He liked the name. It sounded strong and threatening. "Thief King Bakura." He said to himself, sounding it out. "The only thief brave enough to steal from the Embassy of the Gods."
Saze ripped another large chunk out of the bread before Shiva stole it from him. "We'll be your thief henchmen." Saze exulted.
"A thief generally works alone." Bakura corrected, staring up at the cloudless sky, stained a bloody red by the fading light of the sun and feeling the last shreds of daytime heat beaming onto his dark skin. "But you two could be my generals. You can lead my army when I conquer Egypt."
Shiva looked at Saze and he shrugged. "Are you really going to conquer Egypt?"
He looked at them then laughed slightly. "Probably not. If I did I couldn't be a thief anymore. And where's the fun in that?" He looked to the sun, beginning to disappear beyond the mountains of sand.
"Are we going to go camel chasing tonight?"
Bakura closed his violet eyes. Camel chasing was something they did in the dead of night, although not very often because then they would almost definitely get caught. They would go around to people's homes that had camels. The camels were generally tied in front of or behind the house, so the three kids would untie the halters and chase them with sticks until they were off and running into the desert. It was a great laugh to see who could keep a straight face when the neighbors complained the next morning.
Finally Bakura sighed, "No. We went last week. Most of our 'victims' have only just gotten their camels back." He sat up. "Besides, my father is expecting me home tonight."
Shiva pulled a lock of Bakura's hair playfully. "And you've never ignored what your father wants?"
He frowned. "I said no."
"Ok, ok. I was kidding." Shiva said defensively. She looked at the sun, almost completely devoured by the oncoming night. "If we aren't going then I should get back."
Saze stood up. "Me too."
Bakura grabbed the gold beads that still lay on the ground. He started to hang them around his neck but suddenly he handed them over to Shiva. She looked at him in surprise. He shrugged. "Keep them. I have enough stashed at home anyways."
She looked at them, amazed. "Thank you!"
"Alright. I'll see you both later." Saze said, sounding slightly jealous of Bakura's gift to Shiva. He ran off into the quickly dimming twilight.
"I need to go too. See you Bakura! Thanks!"
Bakura was left standing alone behind the compost pile. He grabbed the remaining bread and took a bite before dropping the remains in the compost pile by the leftover pomegranate skin. He started to walk down the nearest alley towards his house, but suddenly he sprinted forward, leaping onto a wooden box and jumping. His fingers latched on to the lip of a hut and he lithely pulled himself up onto the roof. Like a shadow he began scaling the rooftops, leaping across empty space to the next nearest hut when the roof ended and opened to an alley.
Suddenly he slipped. A crumbling brick fell out of its sun-baked concrete and Bakura grabbed desperately for an edge, finding one just before falling to the ground. He hung there for a minute, feeling the blood pounding behind his ears and breathing deeply, and then he pulled himself back up and sat down cross-legged against a stack of bricks that was the chimney.
He looked at the horizon. The sun had finally slipped away completely. The dark velvet sky was pinpricked with stars; tiny dots of light trillions of miles away. On the distant sands, purple with the fast-fading light, were many dark shadows. Black traces on purple sand. Bakura squinted, trying to discern what they were. He looked about the town, wondering if merchants were due to be arriving. Some of the huts had lights glowing in their windows, but other than that the small village was readying for night and no one seemed to be waiting for anyone to arrive.
He looked hard at the inky shapes. He could barely make out the tiny particles of light that indicated torches. The night blurred them though, camouflaging them effectively. "What are…" he murmured. Suddenly it occurred to him that the shapes were getting closer, larger. And now, vaguely, he could hear the jangling of horse bits and the metallic rasp of metal on metal. Angry cries of men wafted towards him.
His eyes widened. He turned and swung off the roof by a rope meant to hang clothing and cotton to dry. His feet pounded in time with his heart as he began sprinting north. His home was on the far side of town, an eight-minute walk, and a three-minute sprint. Pushing himself faster, he skidded around a corner.
The sound of men was clearer now. Louder. They weren't going to even talk with the village. Why were they here? What did they want? Bakura ran past Shiva's house and wondered if he should warn her. But the pounding of horses' hooves was like a thundering vibration under foot. No time.
He was just nearing his home when the shrieks and yells of surprise started. He looked behind him. People were lighting the lamps and torches, curious as to what the racket was about. And he could see the soldiers, flooding in like a wave on foot and horseback. He recognized their simple guard clothing despite the lack of branding on the horses' tack, meant to preserve anonymity.
They were royal soldiers, the Pharaoh's men. This was confirmed as Bakura spied four men on black horses, wearing dark blue and brown robes. There was no mistaking the Pharaoh's 'Sacred Guardians', more commonly referred to as his sorcerers for their magic by the members of Kul Elna. They were headed into the center of the town, avoiding conflict as best they could. Their men, on the other hand, were wreaking havoc upon the people. They kicked open the doors of dwellings, dragging out the inhabitants harshly regardless of age.
A small boy screamed as a soldier kicked him, then picked him up and carried him away under his arm. Bakura couldn't watch any more, he had to find his parents.
By the time he reached his house the soldiers were everywhere, armed with swords and spears. He rushed into the broken in doorway of his family's house.
"Ab…? Um?" Bakura called into the dark rooms. A small fire was in the kitchen where a lamp had been dropped, and it was spreading quickly. He didn't bother to put it out and ran back into the chaotic street quickly. In the short time he'd been inside, things had only worsened. The villagers were trying to fight back, but the fact was they were wholly unprepared and they weren't the Pharaoh's army.
Bakura began sprinting towards Shiva's house. Who knew where his parents were. If he was lucky, they had escaped, but Shiva might still be saved if she were in danger. He was running, dodging, and was about halfway to the center of town where Shiva lived when a soldier stepped in front of him, spear held at the ready. Bakura looked at him, feeling angry and fearful and sick at the same time. The soldier's face was twisted in a sadist's grin, feeling pleasure at his bloody task. But something was off, different. It was the man's eyes. They were blank, dilated, possessed.
Bakura backed away from the man. It was no wonder that the soldiers ruthlessly dragged women and children from their beds with no remorse. They were living the experience like a dream. The felt it was the right thing to do. Justified. It was the work of the sorcerers. There were rumors about how they possessed people to do their will.
The soldier thrust the spear in front of Bakura, cutting of his escape. A flush of fear induced adrenaline pumped through him. He burned with confusion and anger. In moments he had grasped the spear and pulled it away from the unaware man. Then, in the same movement, he had spun it around so the deadly sharp tip was pointing at its master. Bakura thought of his parents, missing somewhere in the town, and of Shiva and Saze whom he'd seen just earlier. Who knew if he'd see them again?
With those sad thoughts in mind he jerked the length of wood and metal forward. The soldier doubled over, groaning as the weapon pierced his bare torso. Blood spilled out past the wound and a pure ruby drop slid out his mouth. Bakura watched, feeling disgusted and revolted at what he'd done. He'd never killed anyone. Yet he felt a sense of angry satisfaction as the man's eyes regained their human awareness and the light fled from them leaving him a hollow shell. The man deserved it.
"La'na anta." The boy hissed weakly as the man, the spear jutting out of his body and blood spilling onto the orange dirt as his heart fluttered and failed, fell limply at his feet.
Suddenly feeling a fiery determination, the eleven year old abandoned the corpse and ran toward Shiva's house. He told himself that he'd had to kill the man to save his friends, and that made it seem better. He tried to tap his fear, focusing on his goal. But before he could get there he realized that he was running with a crowd. More accurately, he was behind a crowd. Behind him the streets had become strangely empty. A few straggling guards were herding remaining villagers towards the center of the village.
The guards ignored Bakura and he dodged into an alley, watching them pass. One of the villagers stumbling by, hands held up defensively against the spear at her back, saw Bakura hiding in the shadows.
"Bakura!" She snapped, not bothering to lower her voice. Bakura slid back farther, trying to hide himself. He recognized it as Shiva's mother. She must have tried running and got caught. The soldier shoved her, but she tried to stall, falling to the ground. "Bakura, I know you're there, and I know you can get out. These soldiers won't catch you like they caught my Shiva." Bakura's throat tightened. "You'll get out, grow up, and then you will avenge your village, won't you boy? You'll avenge us!" Her voice rose until it was panicked and hysterical. Her eyes were angry and scared. The soldier wrenched her up by her hair and jabbed her in the back with the butt of the spear.
"Move, she-devil." He snapped at her, his voice monotonous.
"If it takes your life, you will avenge us!" She screamed, far past hysterics.
He watched the man shove her down the street away from him, still babbling madly.
He slid to the ground in the alley, holding his knees. Everything had gone so wrong. The adrenaline rush he'd felt earlier had passed. A cold fear leaked ice down his spine, and a frigid claw clenched around his chest. The village felt empty all of a sudden. Fire's burned in homes where lamps had dropped; they crackled and snapped, sending smoke into the night sky.
Hesitantly he slipped out of the shadowed alcove between houses and padded down the street, using every cart and corner as cover in case any soldiers were behind raiding or searching for hiding citizens. He met none though. He followed the path of trampled food and fires to a stairway in a street that branched from the town center. It was intended to be a food cellar for storage. It had been empty for years though. People in Kul Elna had just never bothered to use it. The items stored would likely have only been stolen by the village's own members anyways.
Screams echoed up, penetrating the silence from the black depths. All his instincts told him he didn't want to see what was happening in the dark pit before him, but he swallowed and told himself he wasn't afraid. A hand trailed the wall as he snuck down the stairs silently. Light filled the cave at the bottom of the stairway. Soldiers lined the walls except for a group that stood in the middle of the room, blocking off any escape for the villagers. His friends and family stood in a large group in the center of the room.
Standing in the stairwell, he took a deep breath and jumped over so he stood behind a large rectangular pillar. He stood with his back to it, pressing himself hard against the stone. His heart pounded loudly and he was surprised no one heard it and dragged him from his hiding place. Slowly he gripped the edge of the stone pillar and peered out warily. His strong drive to find Shiva was a distant memory. He felt horrified and terror threatened to send him to the brink of hysteria. His hand shook and he gripped the stone harder, his knuckles turning white.
Dark flickering shadows danced on the walls, reflecting the nightmare he was witnessing. One of the sorcerers, seemingly the leader, nodded at a guard. A deep well was in the middle of the room. The brick walls that bordered the deep hole had been knocked down and stood in a pile to the side. A fire burned in it, dark red flames leaping up to scorch the ceiling, as though a doorway to the underworld had been opened and Ra's fiery wrath had been let loose.
A man was chosen out of the crowd. A guard pressed him forward despite his cries of protest. The other huddled villagers, crying and moaning, watched in a fear-induced paralysis as the guard announced, "For Egypt!" And shoved the brown-haired man. His arms flailed as he was thrown off balance, but with another prod from the spear, he tumbled backwards. The flames leaped up in excitement, greedily seeking out more fuel and devouring that which it had been given.
Bakura flinched back, his violet eyes wide. The smell of burning flesh and cotton mixed with a sickly sweet incense suffocated the air around him and forced him to stifle a cough.
After that it was a massacre.
Growing angrier and number with every passing soul, the boy, still a child, watched his village being eaten by the flames of the Sacred Guardian's sorcery. He watched his father fight valiantly, only to lose his wife while he was distracted. Person after person fell into the pit.
The worst was when he spotted Shiva. Her hair was ratted and ash and dirt smeared her face. Streaks, indistinct lines in the filth that covered her skin, indicated the tears that flowed silently down her face. The golden beads he'd given her circled her throat, wrapped around twice because of their length. When a soldier grabbed her, he saw her eyes open to twice their normal size. Her mother tried to grab her but she was dragged away, separated from her only child.
Bakura hid his face behind the pillar, closing his eyes and clamping his hands over his ears, trying not to think.
Finally the scuffles and shrieks came to an abrupt silence.
"You have all done well." A deep voice said. It was layered with an undertone that was mesmerizing. Bakura covered his head under his arms, holding himself tighter. The soldiers filed out of the cellar, staring straight ahead. He pressed himself against the wall behind pillar though none of them looked his way.
He cautiously looked out from behind the stone again. The four sorcerers stood around the well. The fire had died down and now a golden-yellow glow burned from within it, illuminating their faces and casting dazzling yellow light on the ceiling.
"Grab the cauldron and the mold." The leading sorcerer ordered, gazing grimly down at the fiery mixture before him. One of the other sorcerers moved to the left where a large black cauldron sat. He dragged it over a third sorcerer helped him to lower it into the brimming well. Once submerged they lifted it back out, straining against the weight. While they had been doing that the fourth sorcerer had built a glowing fire on the ground using straw, wood, and coals. With a grunt they heaved the black pot onto the flames where the contents continue to glow and simmer quietly.
The mold was a large stone slab. It had a line through it, indicating that it had once been two stone slabs, which had been put together. On top of it were holes where the metal, or other mixture, was to be poured so that it could set and form in the concealed impressions.
With the lead sorcerer overlooking the whole process, two of the first sorcerers used large tongs to grip a stone pitcher-type device. They dipped it into the glimmering substance in the pot, filling it, and then dumped it into the molds quickly.
"What now, Master Aknadin?" A black, bearded guardian asked.
The leader patted the mold and pulled out a leather bound book with gold inscriptions on the cover. "Now we wait." He said somberly, his face bleak.
The minutes blended into hours. At some point while whatever was being made hardened Bakura fell asleep. His dreams were nightmarish, forcing him to relive the last hours in his village again. He woke to the sound of a hammer hitting rock. The sound bounced around the room, echoing and thudding rhythmically.
Bakura's eyes snapped open and he almost cried out, shuffling backwards away from phantom soldiers until his back hit a wall, when he didn't recognize where he was. Another clash of metal on stone resounded this time followed by a loud crack.
"That's it, almost!" A voice commented, loud with anticipation. Another crash. Bakura crawled over to the edge of the pillar and quietly looked around the corner. The man holding the large hammer brought it down again. With that the stone mold shattered, caving in on itself.
"There! Stop!" Aknadin cried, holding up a hand. The four guardians stood still for a minute, just looking at the rubble. Bakura leaned out a little farther and he thought he caught a glimpse of shining gold. His view was obscured as the four sorcerers surrounded the stone debris and began sifting through it.
One by one they each drew out their creations.
One, two, three, four, Bakura counted. How many of these had his village been slaughtered to create? Five, six. There were six. The leader, Aknadin, held a perfect golden sphere in his hand and without hesitation pressed it to his face. The man clenched his fist and when he relaxed again a golden eye had taken the place of his real one. Blood ran from the socket, staining his beard. Breathing deeply he sighed. "We did it."
The floor began shaking, rumbling. Dust fell from grooves in the ceiling where mortar was shaken loose.
"What--" Aknadin began but suddenly the floor began crumbling away. A sorcerer with light brown, almost blond, hair slid into the gaping hole that appeared. One of his companions leaped forward to grab him but not before he'd completely slid out of sight, crying out in fear as he went. The shaking intensified. Bakura covered his head again and curled up, too afraid to move.
The sound of grinding stone penetrated Bakura's ears, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter as though that would make the sound go away. The rumbling thunder beneath them lessened slightly and two of the guardians screamed before their voices were cut off.
The rumbling stopped with what sounded to Bakura like a roar of anger and he dared to uncover his ears.
"Master Aknadin…We must leave." Said the black-bearded guardian who was picking himself up off the floor by the wall from beside a broken companion. The man gathered up the golden items and dropped them into a burlap sack. "We have these evil items, now let us go."
Aknadin nodded. "Yes, Harado, the items are created with evil souls. But they are what will save Egypt. There's one more…" Bakura's eyes followed the elder sorcerer, widening when he saw that a large ornately carved stone tablet occupied the center of the room. The man climbed atop of it and grabbed another item, a golden ring with sharp tassels. Bakura stared at it in awe before the two sorcerers fled the subterranean storeroom…The Slaughter Room Bakura thought to himself. He frowned; there were seven. His village had been killed to make seven items.
He stumbled numbly out of his hiding place, not stopping to examine the stone tablet, and tripped up the stairs into the remains of his village. It was morning, he realized. The sun was peeking out from behind the sand. Most of the fires had gone out by now, and they left the black charcoal shells of homes behind. A few still burned where they could find fuel.
Bakura walked slowly out of the village. Climbing until he was at the top of a stony ridge that overlooked the spattering of blackened homes and markets, he looked down at it and saw the view from where the soldiers would have seen it last night. With the sun climbing into the sky, he could pick out the building that he had been sitting on when he'd seen them. Why hadn't he warned people while he ran past? Why hadn't he said anything?
He should have yelled, called out, anything. He could have. He shook his head. What mattered was that he hadn't. And what was done was done.
The image of the sparkling golden ring, and the rest of the items – whatever they were – ran through his mind. His village had been slaughtered and burned to make whatever those things were. He didn't know what they did or why the Pharaoh wanted them, but he knew that it must be powerful. The king had been willing to let a whole village die for them, so he must have wanted them very badly. And the only way to avenge his village, like Shiva's mother had told him, was to get them back and put them back where they came from. It couldn't reverse the damage, but it would take away the reward of it from the Pharaoh and his men who'd created them.
Bakura turned around, eyes closed angrily, away from the scene of black destruction before him. "I'll bring them back." He whispered. "I'll get them back…I…I will be the best thief ever." He opened his eyes with determination. "I swear I will not stop stealing until I get those Items back!"
With the sun rising ever higher into the sky, and the sand beginning to sear underfoot, Bakura walked away from his village, following the footsteps of the two sorcerers. He knew he'd come to a neighboring village soon enough, and when he got there he would practice. He would practice until he was the best thief the world had seen, and then he would go after the items. In the end he would avenge his village, and then, only then, could they rest.
Only then…when the items were his…would he rest.
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