Enchantment
Chapter 3: How You Want To Die
As the city of Baranis rose before them, Malik's stomach gave an unpleasant clench. He still hadn't gotten over the shock of Ryou's confession.
"My brother has been very…lonely of late. I was hoping that, by obtaining someone to keep him company, he would…I don't know…be happy."
Realization hit the blonde with enough force to knock out oxygen. "My lord, you plan to...to give me to him?"
"Yes." To Ryou's credit, he did appear to be ashamed. "It's despicable, I know, but…but Akefia, he… You have to understand! I-I love my brother very much!"
And the scary thing was that Malik did understand. He knew what it was like to love in this way, to worship someone so completely that there was no sin too grievous, no law that could not be broken, if only for one instant it would make that person happy. It was addiction, an all-consuming devotion constantly threatening to run too deep. Oh yes, Malik understood all too well the crippling bondage of absolute veneration.
Because of this, he could not bring himself to hate the boy. He was angry enough, angry and terribly, terribly frightened, but Ryou…no. This wasn't really his fault.
"Namu?"
"Yes?" Malik spoke with as must petulance as a slave could get away with. He may not have hated Ryou. However anger did not necessarily go hand in hand with hate.
"I-I…" It was all the young noble could do not to flinch from the blonde's unyielding gaze. "I must ask that you be careful around my brother. He…he's not a bad man, not like the Pharaoh's men paint him out to be, but Akefia…he's good at sensing weakness, and when he's in a foul mood…"
Malik didn't really pay attention to the rest of what Ryou was saying. Already, he had a clear picture of what the Lord of Baranis would be like. Rulers were all the same. The degree of cruelty might vary, but the basic facts rarely held any deviation. Rulers were selfish, narrow-minded, only as clever as their closest advisors. What made an aristocrat formidable was not his talent, but his ability to surround himself with talented people.
As Malik thought about this, he could barely restrain a bitter smile. I've become almost as cynical as Marik.
Ryou felt increasingly nervous as they entered the city. He didn't like that glint in Namu's eyes. There was anger there, resentment…and something darker, something that the boy couldn't begin to describe. He wondered if this hadn't all been a horrid mistake. What would Akefia think when he saw his gift? Namu's features were so…peculiar. And those tattoos on his back…inexplicable. Somehow, there had to be…
"Your Lordship!"
Ryou was shaken from his thoughts by a foot messenger, who came skidding to a stop directly in front of him and bowed.
"Yes?" the youth inquired. "What is it?"
"Your brother the…the elder Bakura…sends word…" the man spat out between gasps. "He welcomes you back my lord and…and wishes for you to…to hasten…to the palace!"
Refusing to allow his nerves to get the best of him, Ryou gave the servant a courteous nod. "Thank you. You may go."
As the herald departed, he young lord paused for a moment and stared out across the sea. The frothy luster of the waves, the way water met sky in a faultless, crescent-shaped seam…all so beautiful. He felt as if the ocean were a part of himself, something deep and metrical, keeping beat with the underlying rhythms of his soul.
Often times Ryou found himself wondering if the Mediterranean was just as stunning from the other side, from Europe. All his life he had been told of the richness of that land, of its beauty and vitality and its vast, indomitable wilderness…all of which, by right of blood, should have been theirs if not for the acts of that wicked Macedonian twenty years ago. Akefia had dedicated his entire life to reclaiming this land, but Ryou sometimes questioned this commitment. He loved Egypt, loved the desert, the people, the dizzying endlessness of the sky. It was home to him, home in a way no foreign Greek province could ever be. And deep down, somewhere where a family's influence cannot possibly hope to burrow, he knew his brother felt the same.
Starting up again, Ryou winced at the slight ache in his wounded shoulder. There was no doubt Akefia had already received word of this injury. The pale-faced boy grimaced. The last thing he wanted was a verbal reprimand from a man who clearly led a far more hazardous lifestyle than his own. Then again, when he sees Namu he'll probably forget all about that.
"Master Ryou?"
Turning to said boy, Ryou was forced to repress a shudder. Really, he's quite beautiful. "What is it?"
The blonde swallowed dryly. When he did speak, there was an unmistakable tremor in his words. "Exactly what kind of…services…am I to provide...to your brother?"
There it was. The dreaded question. How Ryou wished he would not have asked! What was he supposed to say? That he was giving Namu up to the life of a forced concubine? That he was to be a bed slave to Akefia Bakura, foe of the Pharaoh and Lord of Baranis? That wasn't what Ryou wanted. He was growing fond of the Egyptian. Namu was…he was a good person. For Ra's sake, he saved my life! What kind of repayment was this? Forced intimacy? Rape? Ryou loved his brother, but even he was unbiased enough to recognize his own guilt and Akefia's definite streak of sadism.
But that didn't matter now. What mattered was that Ryou answered.
"Listen, Na…"
"Ryou!"
The voice was unmistakable, as was the visage…pale and handsome, powerfully built, tall, eyes that glittered haughtily from where he sat perched on the back of his equally impressive warhorse.
"B-brother!" For a moment Ryou forgot his dilemma. This was Akefia, his brother, his friend and protector, the one pillar of true stability left to him in these turbulent times of war. The guilt in his heart was overwhelmed. Loyalty did that to people.
For the first time since the arrival of Anubis' letter, Bakura felt his mood lighten ever so slightly. Despite reports of injury, Ryou didn't appear to be too much the worse for wear. His shoulder looked a bit stiff, but considering the circumstances things could have been much worse.
Urging his horse into a canter, Akefia met his younger sibling halfway up the steps to the palace gates. He dismounted and stood, mentally taking note of the shorter boy.
"You seem well enough."
Ryou beamed, a look that caused an unnatural though slightly pleasant tension to build in Bakura's stomach.
"As do you, brother. Tell me, how is Baranis?"
The lord snorted and took a light swipe at Ryou's hair. "Shut up already with the formalities. Baranis is just as filthy and full of lowlifes as it was when you left it. Now…" The lord's visage became visibly darker. "Tell me about the Pharaoh's ships."
Malik watched nervously as the siblings exchanged greetings. Even from a distance, the one known as Akefia seemed rather intimidating. He looked like Ryou. Same white hair, same eye color, same slight, if much more powerful, build. However, there were subtle differences that made them completely discernable from each other. The way the elder Bakura moved, assertively, with an air of disdain and superiority to those around him. Then there was his voice. It was dark and husky, frightening in a way Ryou's could never be.
And despite this the love between them bordered palpable. Malik could practically taste it, Ryou's brotherly affection being returned ten times over by this seemingly cruel and heartless man. He didn't know why he was suddenly feeling so emotional…why it took everything he had not to choke up and cry. It shouldn't have had such great effect on him, and yet…
A boy huddled in the corner of an abandoned hut. It was black outside. A strange scuffling caused the youth to tremble.
"Who…who's there?"
A short, derisive laugh. "Who do you think?" the voice bit out sarcastically. "The Pharaoh's whole fucking army?"
"Hell, Marik! How was I supposed to know? It's not as if I can see you!"
A hooded figure slipped through the doorway and moved to the center of the room. The faintest trace of moonlight illuminated the hollows of his face, his eyes like bright gems in the surrounding darkness.
"What'd you steal this time?"
Mariku laughed again, a sound that held startling resonance in the deep shadows of midnight. "Look at this, little brother."
It was a dagger. About as long as Malik's hand. Gold hilt carved with foreign lettering and studded with onyx and lapis lazuli, a wicked, delicate little blade. Malik took it from his brother's hand and examined it. Despite its size, the weapon was finely made. Light, balanced…and exceptionally sharp.
Mariku smirked and retrieved it from the younger blonde. "The blade's made from Damascus steel," he murmured, running his finger lightly along the dagger's edge. "And I'm not sure, but I think the carvings are in Greek." Pressing ever so lightly on the blade, he gave a short nod of approval. It cut through his thumb as though the flesh were insubstantial as unskimmed milk. A trickle of blood ran rich and poignant from the wound.
"Sharp, huh?"
"Yeah, no shit." Malik studied his brother's face. His cheek was bruised and a great deal of alien blood had left a dark stain on his cloak. "Where'd you come by it, anyway?"
Tossing back his hood, Marik ran still bloodied fingers through his unruly hair. "There's a foreigner staying at the inn on the other side of town. Must have been pretty wealthy judging by the number of guards he had. I didn't see his face…found this in the saddlebag next to his horse. It was wedged between a water gourd and a couple of papers."
"Did anyone see you?"
"Not until it was too late." Marik smirked, and for a moment Malik was truly frightened. "One of the soldiers grabbed me, but I slit his throat before he could raise the alarm. By the time anyone got there, I was long gone."
Malik nodded. By now he was used to his brother's violent ways. However, he still felt a little bit nauseous. As time went on, Mariku seemed to become increasingly heartless. "Are you going to sell it?"
For a moment the older Egyptian admired the wavy pattern of the stiletto's blade. "Nah, I think I'll keep it. Why discard something so pretty?"
Pretty? Pretty wasn't exactly the word Malik would have used to describe it, but he knew better than to argue the point with his brother. What he was really thinking about now was his hunger. They had run out of food nearly two days ago, and Marik's dagger, pretty though it was, would do little to take care of that. He got up and moved towards the door.
"Listen, I'm gonna go out and see if I can find something to eat. There's a bakery I know of back in town, and at this hour…"
A sudden eruption of shouts caused both fugitives to fall silent. Dread building in his belly, Malik peered outside into the night.
There they were. Not a hundred yards away. What had to be at least thirty horsemen galloping towards them. The man Marik had killed…they must have followed the trail of blood left behind by his cloak.
"Shit!" The elder male realized immediately what must have occurred. "I can't believe...how could I…Malik, RUN!"
The youth didn't move a muscle. Run where? The hut they occupied was at the bottom of a deep ravine. They were surrounded on three sides by cliffs, and the only path out was being blocked by a group of pissed off soldiers.
"Mariku, do something."
The words escaped his mouth unbidden. All Malik could do was stare dumbly at his brother. Marik would fix this. He could fix anything. He would stand up to those soldiers and…
The men were so near they could hear their horses' hooves even in the softness of the sand. Their voices carried, full of righteous anger and contempt.
"The bastard must be in here! See! There's more of Salim's blood on these rushes!"
"Come out murderer! I'll tear you limb from limb myself!"
The men were almost upon them, and still Mariku did nothing. He was horrorstruck by his mistake, eyes wide as Malik had rarely seen them. A new volley of taunts pierced the night.
"What do you say men? Do we kill the rat outright or take our time and make him scream a little?"
"You heard our master. His Lordship wants him brought back alive!"
"That doesn't mean we can't have some fun with him first! YOU HEAR THAT, THIEF? BEFORE THIS NIGHT IS THROUGH YOU'LL WISH YOU WERE NEVER BORN!"
The thought of torture seemed to snap Marik from his daze. Grasping Malik by the arm, he dragged him to the back of the hut.
"Brother, what are you…"
"Go through there." The older blonde indicated to a partially caved in portion of the shelter's mud brick wall. "When you get outside, run to the base of the ravine. A man told me once of an old path that will bring you up onto the main plateau of the desert. Robbers are supposed to have used it back when that village was still a major trading post. I don't know if it still exists, but…"
"Halt!"
Three of the men were standing in the doorway. They brandished swords and torches and grinned darkly at the sight of the boys.
"So there's two of them, eh? Good. Maybe his Lordship will leave one for us!"
Marik turned. His eyes gleamed bright and terrible in the flicker of the torchlight.
"Run, Malik. I'll be right behind you."
The boy needed no further encouragement. With strength he had not even known he possessed, the blonde heaved himself over the collapsed wall and out into the night. He ran for all he was worth, ran until he could hear only the raspy inhalations of his own breathing. Somehow, amidst the craggy rocks and snake infested grasses, he found the path. It was dangerous, steep and unstable, but none of this registered as Malik sprinted up the sharp incline. He didn't stop until he reached the top of the ravine. Only then did he turn to survey the damage wrought by the troops of the rich foreigner.
The roof of the hut was on fire. Smoke rose like a great shadow into the sky, blotting out the stars' cool brilliance. Surely his brother was not still inside! No. He had said so himself. Marik could not be far behind.
As it was, it took nearly twenty minutes before said youth finally made it to the top of the ravine. His cloak was gone, and the scars on his back shone vividly despite the darkness. The stiletto was still clenched, bloody from fighting, in his right hand.
"Marik, are you alright?"
"I'm fine." With great effort, the older boy straightened to his full height. He was covered in blood, completely drenched in it. It came from a shallow gash across his chest and a deeper, rather more grievous one on the back of his thigh.
"Your leg!"
Mariku ignored him and glared down at the men still in the gorge. "They saw me escaping by that path. We have to keep going."
"But..."
"Is this how you want to die?" His voice cracked, and for an instant Marik appeared to have truly lost his mind. "This wound is nothing! Ra knows I've endured worse. Now, come on!"
It was then that they had fled into the desert. Malik could remember with stark clarity how cold it had been in the early morning stillness. They had run until daybreak, stopping only when the sun had risen fully above the dunes, making them too hot to walk upon. Marik collapsed then, and Malik had been forced to drag him to shelter beneath a small, rocky outcropping. He had lost a great deal of blood, and the younger of the two used the cloth of his shirt to stem the flow.
They had thought there was no way they could be tracked in the vastness of the desert, that all they had to worry about was the heat and finding food and water. However, revenge is a quest that fuels determination with fire, an inferno that pales only to that of carnal desire and avarice. By late afternoon, the soldiers could be seen coming over the final rise. By nightfall, they were upon them. It was then that Malik had fled, abandoned his injured brother in favor of his own life.
'In my position he would have done the same.' For a long time he had convinced himself of this, but the thought never did sit quite right with him. In the end, Malik came up with two conclusions. Marik may have been insane, but he was the coward.
The blonde looked again in the direction of Ryou and Akefia and nearly stumbled backwards. The elder of the two was staring right at him. In his eyes was a gleam of emotion so full of anger and brutish astonishment that Malik couldn't even find the strength to avert his eyes.
He hates me. The thought was as irrational as it was true. Just looking at me…it makes him nauseous.
Four hours passed, and Malik found himself walking down a long corridor. As he neared the Lord of Baranis' chambers, Malik's legs began to tremble. He was being led by one of the servants, Ryou having mysteriously vanished immediately after the confrontation with his brother. The door leading to the lord's rooms had been stained with dark varnish, ornately decorated in a manner unfamiliar to the boy. On either side of the structure stood two guards. In passing, he could feel their eyes boring into the back of his neck.
The door opened with a creak, and suddenly Malik was alone in a dimly lit sitting room. The servant leading him had, as servants are wont to do, disappeared, and the boom of the door swinging shut had a distinctly ominous edge to it.
Hesitating a moment longer, Malik finally began to make his way forward. This room was obviously deserted. The finely crafted tables and couches appeared unused, existing as treasures on display rather than objects to be put to use. There was something lonely about them, a neglectful, polished perfection far worse than abuse or brokenness. How desperately he wished to leave this place!
On the opposite side of the chamber, there stood an archway. It was tall and narrow, a curtain of thick, purple cloth obscuring the room that lay beyond. Light shone from beneath the skirts of the fabric, unfurling with luxuriance and warmth across the cool darkness of the polished stone floor. Malik reached out, forcing his hand to grasp at the amethyst folds of the veil.
"Ex-excuse me…"
The light below the curtain shifted, as if disrupted by a living shadow. However, there was no response.
"M-Master?" The blonde was truly frightened now. "…Master Bakura, I…"
Malik stumbled to his knees as the curtain was wrenched violently open. Akefia Bakura stood at the lit room's threshold. The lamplight pouring through the archway was gold and radiant, contrasting sharply with the figure himself, all coldness, chill and white and hard and wraithlike.
Malik wilted beneath the garnet intensity of his glare. "…your l-lordship…I-I was sent here by…"
"I know why you're here."
Turning abruptly, the ruler of Baranis reentered his bedroom. The blonde slunk quietly in behind him. Compared to the sitting room, this place was relatively well lit. However, there was still an eeriness to it, not of disuse this time, but of reclusion. The lord's bedroom was smaller than he would have guessed, small and strangely…intimate. Unmade bed, a mess of papers strewn carelessly across the desk. A half-eaten plate of food sat on the windowsill, a large tabby cat eyeing it from his place in the corner.
"Suit you well enough?"
Nearly jumping out of his skin, Malik whipped around to find Bakura lounging on a shabby looking futon. His brows were furrowed, handsome and malevolent, lips pulled into a disturbingly fetching sneer.
"What's your name again, boy?"
Malik flinched, causing the other's frown to darken further. "M-my name…my name is…is Ma…"
Bakura laughed viciously. "Wh-why d-d-don't you stop…s-stop stuttering a-and tell me?"
"Namu," the blonde gasped. "My name is Namu!"
"Namu, hmm? Well now, that's rather dull."
Moving with the fluidity and deliberation of a snake, the pale-haired noble stood and moved towards Malik. He circled him lazily, eyes roving unashamed across the slave's quivering body. The linen smock the boy wore seemed less substantial than air standing up to this acrid, mocking gaze. It held neither compassion nor admiration, only hatred, revulsion, contemptuous lust.
"Where did my brother find you? A brothel?" Bakura let loose a barking laugh. "God, you even cringe like a whore!"
Malik said nothing. Akefia was testing him, probing for weakness, seeking to illicit any type of reaction. What exactly was he playing at?
"And this hair, huh? So soft…you've never been mistaken for a woman before, have you?"
The blonde shook his head, trying to ignore the pale hand stroking his bangs, too harsh to be anywhere near comforting. It didn't stop there. Slowly, the fingers continued exploring. They brushed over his cheeks, his eyelids, the fine gold hairs at his temples and the back of his neck. The other palm slid across his chest, pausing for a fraction of a second as they came into contact with the boy's shamefully erect nipples.
"Tell me, Namu, how do you like it? Do I get you off?"
Blood rushing to his cheeks, Malik tried thoughtlessly to jerk away. This served no other purpose than to piss Bakura off. The slave let out a sharp yelp as a fist connected sharply with his lower jaw.
"What's the matter, boy? Are you really that afraid of me?"
Barely registering what his master was saying, the slave scrambled dumbly towards the other side of the room. His jaw ached. His vision was spinning. All he could do was…
Malik yelled in surprise as a powerful, icy hand grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him forward. Bakura was laughing, a derisive, humorless sound that caused bile to rise in his throat.
What…what have I done…for him to hate me so already?
"Idiot, stand up!" Grabbing the boy by the collar, Bakura jerked him to his feet. The linen rode high on Malik's hips, revealing legs that quivered fearfully.
"Where did you learn to be such a bitch, little Namu? Come on! Fight me!"
Malik screamed as he was thrown onto the bed. The sheets smelled of sweat and bath oils. He had bitten his lip, and it was now bleeding.
"COME ON, NAMU! THROW A PUNCH!"
Even in his current state, the blonde began to notice something strange. Bakura's threats had gone beyond taunting. There was a desperation to them now. A neediness. The lord would really like nothing better than for him to fight back, but…but why? What sort of sick fetish was this? The lord's weight was bearing down upon him. He could feel his breath, hot and bitter, against the back of his neck. Burying his face in the embroidered blankets, Malik began to cry.
Bakura didn't feel bad for his treatment of the boy. He really didn't. At this point, he was so pissed off and confused that the emotions of the other seemed trivial at best. Trembling. Furtive, nervous glances. Chewing subconsciously at his lower lip until it was flush and swollen. What a perfect picture of naivety and submission! Akefia hated it, loathed it! Weakness was pathetic, a disease, something that sickened him far more than the gore and ferocity of battle.
Sneering in disgust when he noticed his plaything's tears, the lord straddled the boy's lower back and dragged his tongue mockingly over his salt-stained cheek.
"You look repulsive. Your eyelids are red and puffy. You're crying like a little girl!"
Namu began to sob harder, his position, as well as Bakura's weight pressed down upon him, causing him to hiccough and hyperventilate. The sound caused the noble's hard on to twitch in anticipation.
"You're ugly! Your breath smells like semen! You're nothing li…"
Catching himself before his thoughtless and irrational insults went too far, the pale man used his biting fingers to map out the expanse of the blonde's back. There was no denying his beauty, but this revelation only caused Akefia to hate him more. Such beauty should be reserved for the strong. This weak, pitiable, useless imposter did not deserve it.
These thoughts caused Bakura's blood to boil. His nails dug deeper into the flesh of Namu's back. The linen of his smock was cheap. It tore as easily as papyrus beneath his fingertips.
-TOT (I was finally able to create a decent cliffhanger! Next time: the result of this conflict as well as some new character appearances! Stay tuned! Heh, heh…sorry about that. Anyway, thanks for the reviews. I hope Enchantment lives up to your expectations.)
