Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! is the intellectual property of Kazuki Takahashi and Konami, and is being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Yu-Gi-Oh! or its derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.
Description: Pharaoh Set dreams, stymies Kheffrey's torture of Mihakrates, indulges Mana, and learns some things about Kaiba – and Pekhasu.
Note: I rarely post warnings, but I will say this: in this chapter, if you don't like what you're reading and don't have faith in where I am leading you, just stop.
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From Page Forty-one, Chapter 4: Transference
by Animom
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Each time he drifted off, he dreamed the same: he was alone in a vast flooded field, rich with heavy green stalks of grain. A speck of light from his chest ascended and grew, turning into the sun as it rose. He wanted to fly after it, but when he held up his arms they were bare, human arms, not falcon's wings. As soon as he had this thought something seized the sun, pulling it from the sky and covering the land with darkness. He splashed through the field after the dwindling spark, emerging onto a riverbank. In the middle of the river stood Zorukh, the Great Darkness, on an island of corpses. In one hand Zorrukh crushed the sun; in the other a silvery orb with a white-haired woman trapped inside. Infernal flames spread over the land, baking the river to ash, blackening the fields.
And then he would wake, his heart pounding. He had not saved Kisara, he had not saved the sun, he had not saved his people. Ashamed of his inadequacy, he'd clutch his sheets and stare at the tiny flame of his lamp until sleep dragged him under again.
When morning finally came, he was weak with relief.
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The morning's duties were mercifully light. A delegation of ambassadors from an eastern kingdom had come to offer gifts, praise, and the vaguest of assurances that their borders were immoveable. The ambassadors from the East were long-winded, taking a thousand words to say what could be said with three, and so it was past the Hour of No Shadows when they finally left, crawling backwards out of the room on their hands and knees. Set then went out on the balcony to give the people his blessing – not that it was worth anything – and then withdrew to a private inner courtyard for his noon meal.
The dread that had clung to him all morning was wearying, and so when Mana came into the courtyard he beckoned her over. "Join me."
She sat and nibbled a small piece of bread, frowning.
'What is it?"
"Pekhasu. He slept on the library floor all night," she said. "But now that he's awake, he might as well still be sleeping."
Set waited for more.
"Do you know what he's done all morning? Stared at the floor. I can't get him to talk about anything."
"I would think you'd appreciate the silence," Set said.
Mana shook her head. "All day yesterday he told stories, about his childhood and his family, about his wife and his Seto, about his painting and his house and his servants. They were interesting and funny. It wasn't distracting at all! The stories made me laugh, and looking for counter-spells went so much faster. Today … he's quiet and sad, and it makes me feel like there's a big stone tied around my neck pulling me to the bottom of the ocean. It's horrible."
"He wants to return to his own time. His home, his people." Set suppressed a smile: it seemed that Pekhasu's resolve not to discuss his own time had faded.
"Yes," Mana said, "but I think knowing that he's a copy of another Pekhasu bothers him more. I told him that even if I couldn't figure out how to send him back, we would love to have him stay. That it didn't matter if he was a copy, because he was our copy, the only Pekhasu we would ever know." She sniffled. "It didn't help."
"He feels of no value here," Set said. "Less than a man." He folded his arms: clearly Mana would not be buoying his spirits this day. "Have you found how to send him back?"
"I'm working on this spell," Mana said, "to sort of ... " she pressed her hands together, palm to palm. "Put the copy back into the original. To reverse the spell that brought him here." She sighed. "The other plan is to go back and talk myself out of copying him in the first place."
Set raised an eyebrow. "Powerful magic." He hoped that he didn't sound too skeptical.
She bit her lip. "I'm still working on it. I just wish there was some way to make him happy in the meantime. I hate it when people are miserable."
"You will find something, I'm sure of it," Set said as Mana stood to go. "Ask the Chamberlain to find him a room. Honored guests of the Pharaoh do not sleep on the library floor."
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Mana returned a short while later, elated, to report that a small room in the north watchtower was being set up as a sleeping chamber for Pekhasu. Set was not surprised to see that she had brightened; he had early learned that Mana's mood was as changeable as a windswept sky.
"I think he'll love it," she said, hopping in place. "I'm so happy I remembered what he said yesterday about how good north light is to paint by."
Set could not see how light could differ by direction – all light was the gift of the Sun – but then Pekhasu was a man who said many strange things. As Mana went on about how Pekhasu made his art on skins and papyrus instead of stone, Set nodded, pretending to listen, as he thought on more important matters.
Nafattah's prophecy said that Pekhasu would spend three nights in three different beds. It was obvious that Pekhasu's second night would have to be spent in a different bed – he could not be allowed to sleep on the library floor, after all – but was Nafattah's prophecy coming to be because it was true, or because they were all just ants, blindly fulfilling what the prophecy suggested?
Either way, "blue blood of three" was worrisome.
Mana had stopped talking, and was looking at him with exasperation. "So do you want to hear it, or not?"
Set nodded, "Proceed."
"It's partly Nafattah's idea, but we've talked it over and we're sure it will work."
"So let it be done."
"Well," Mana looked shifty. "It's … a little unusual. And only you can do it."
"What do you mean? I am not a magician."
As she explained, emotions warred in his breast. His first reaction was anger – even had he not been Pharaoh, what Mana was suggesting was ridiculous, even demeaning. Anger was followed swiftly by discomfort, as he wondered how the two had even thought to suggest such a thing – unless Nafattah had had a vision that she hadn't told him of. His face reddened as he considered the possible content of such a vision. Opposed to this was his pride, his sacred duty to ease the travails of the people under his protection – and, to be truthful, he had a small curiosity about the outcome should Mana and Nafattah's plan succeed. As if all this was not enough, a lone archer wove through the battle, piercing him with the fear that performing this action with Pekhasu would somehow sever him from Kisara's memory.
No; that last was not possible. No one would ever eclipse her.
"Gather what is required," he said. "Write out the words. I will consider it."
And then, before he could take it back, he hurried out of the courtyard.
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He never knew what guided his feet to the dungeon: perhaps it was simply that, being in turmoil, he unthinkingly sought one whose mind was even more muddied.
Although he hadn't been to the dungeon since he became Pharaoh, there was no need to ask where Mihakrates was being kept: the corridor at the lowest level was heavily guarded.
"You have kept all from the prisoner?" he asked the captain of the guard.
"Yes, my Pharaoh," the man replied. "We have allowed no one to pass except the High Priest Kheffrey."
Set should have been angry, but there was nothing to be done. He strode down the passage: ahead of him he could hear echoes of Kheffrey, saying with fury, "It will not stop until you tell me!"
As he turned the corner he saw the High Priest, his teeth bared, pointing the Rod at the unseen prisoner. Scuffles and whimpers came from the prisoner's cell.
"Kheffrey!"
Kheffrey spun, lowering the Rod. "Pharaoh!" He bowed quickly, but not before Set noted his expression of fear – and resentment.
"What are you doing?" Set asked Kheffrey, then looked. The shackled man huddled, naked except for a leather hood that covered his entire head. The torchlight glinted on a dagger – its blade and hilt brown with drying blood – that he held loosely in one limp hand.
Kheffrey lifted his head. "What must be done to discover how he acquired his ka."
"No. This is finished." Set held out his hand. "Give it to me while I consider your punishment."
Kheffrey shoved the Rod at him. "You value a murdering, degenerate whore above your own High Priest? Do you know what this filth does in the marketplace?"
"I expect nothing from such as him. From you, I expect obedience and understanding," Set answered coldly. The Rod, which Set had not held since his ascension to Pharaoh, felt unusually heavy, even without the dagger that was usually concealed in its base.
Kheffrey bowed his head. "Forgive me."
Set turned to leave, but a movement from Mihakrates stopped him. Dropping the dagger, and kicking it away with a blood-webbed foot, the pathetic creature crawled toward Set as far as his chains allowed. "Let me touch it," he croaked. "Let it burn me to ash."
"Why?" Set asked.
"So I might die."
Set motioned to the guard to remove Mihakrates' hood. Kheffrey backed into the shadows.
Set was startled to see that the Greek had pale hair and eyes – very much like the thief Bakura had had. Was this how the gods marked those with the most powerful ka? Bakura, Kisara, this prisoner … Set wondered if the white-haired Pekhasu had a ka – and if so, what it was.
Mihakrates, now staring, began to slowly lick blood from his arm. "So good to eat," he said, waggling his tongue. He put his hands between his legs. "From loins, lust," he said softly, seemingly lucid again. "From kisses, love; from breasts, milk." He shrieked, "They made us watch as they carved her back to play senet!"
Set couldn't move.
"Let me die!" Mihakrates raged. "I everywhere see their faces, tiny skulls split and rotting!" He reached for the Rod, straining at his chains. "Cut out the womb, let the seed fall on stone and salt, let us die sterile and barren!"
Set took a few steps toward Mihakrates and held out the Rod, expecting screams as the flames of judgment burned the eager hands reaching for death – but instead Set had a vision, an overwhelming blur of sight and sound, and he felt himself falling …
… and then Khinubis and Nafattah were suddenly there, holding him up, pulling him away. Set handed the Rod – its golden orb now darkened with Mihakrates' bloody handprints – back to Kheffrey. "Retrieve and purify the dagger that you have desecrated."
"What is to be done with him?" Nafattah asked.
Set, unsure if Kheffrey or the prisoner was meant, said simply, "I have not decided," then turned and wearily climbed the stairs out of the dungeon.
It felt as though the weight of all the palace, and all the lands surrounding it, was bearing down upon him. As much as it was his duty to bear it, he longed to escape. Was there, he wondered, another Set somewhere? a Set who served the country at Atem's side, who went home at night to embrace a living Kisara, her body soft and warm against his chest as they were surrounded by the litter of their playful blue-eyed children?
If there was, he hoped that this other Set appreciated how deeply blessed was his existence, and thanked the gods daily for the bounty of his life.
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The Shrine of Wedju was as cold as the dungeon had been.
He sat at the tablet of the White Dragon and silently begged her forgiveness: for not protecting her from his father; for never giving her the happiness of marriage and children.
As he sat, dry-eyed and bereft, wishing for a sign that she had forgiven him, a small white butterfly alighted on his hand. It fluttered in front of him as he stood, and then flew out of the temple, pausing at each intersection as if leading him.
He followed, through the hallways and courtyards, up and down stairs, until he came to the library.
Mana's table was piled with an even higher pile of scroll-cases and tomes.
"This Seto Pekhasu speaks of," he asked, after making sure that they two were alone, "was he the silent dragon who fought alongside us against Zorukh?"
"I don't know," Mana said. "That man was far away that day. But he did call the White Dragon." She asked gently, "Have you decided?"
Set watched as the butterfly landed on a blue cloak, then beat its wings slowly. "Yes," he said. "I will do it. Have you prepared what is needed?"
Mana handed him a scroll, and then, gently shooing the butterfly aside, she rolled a long, dark green tunic inside the blue cloak and held it out to him.
"No headdress?"
"No," Mana said. "He mentioned that in his time most men display their hair."
"Green clothing," he said, taking the bundle reluctantly.
"I know," Mana replied, and Set supposed she was thinking of Nafattah's prophecy as well. "But Pekhasu described the colors very clearly: He wears dark garments as green as shadowed reeds, and over them a coat as blue as still water."
"Take me to him."
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While Mana stood guard on the stairs leading to the room in the watchtower, Set put on the strangely-colored garments and then re-read the lines that Mana had written out for him. When he had them memorized, he re-rolled the scrap of papyrus. "I am ready."
"You're not to be disturbed? By anyone? For any reason?" Mana asked, and Set was almost sure that there was a saucy twinkle in her eye. He nodded, his face once again burning with embarrassment. He stepped over the threshold into the antechamber of Pekhasu's room, and Mana shut the door noiselessly behind him.
Taking a deep breath, Set walked to the inner room. Pekhasu was sitting at a small table near the window, reading. At the sight of Set his eyes went wide in astonishment.
"You threatened my brother," Set proclaimed, "but even so, I, Kaiba Seto, cannot help but be drawn to your manly beauty and artistic talent! Pekhasu! Disrobe, for I have come to share your bed!" This last was delivered less convincingly than the first lines, but Set considered it an accomplishment that he had been able to say the words at all.
Pekhasu didn't move for long moments, and then he threw back his head and laughed, clapping. "Wonderful! Marvelous! Bravo!" Seeing Set's consternation, he rose from his chair came across the room, putting his hands on Set's shoulders. "Thank you. I am … deeply touched that you and Mana would go to such lengths to cheer me. No one has ever cosplayed for me before."
Set wondered how Pekhasu knew that it had been Mana's idea. "Is it not an adequate imitation?"
"It's a wonderful imitation, and quite an imaginative recreation of what Seto wore at Duelist Kingdom: I had no idea ancient dyes were so vivid." He took his hands from Set's shoulders. "Almost as good an imitation as I am." He turned away and went back to his table. "Sit with me, why don't you? Share my repast."
As Set sat down Pekhasu rested his chin on his hand and smiled at him fondly. "So why did you agree to do this?"
"Mana said that you were unhappy," Set replied. "She believed that this would make you happy. That made her happy."
"So you did it to make Mana happy?" Pekhasu asked, still smiling. "Are you sweet on her?"
"Sweet?" Set asked as he poured himself a cup of beer.
"Do you cherish her?"
Set frowned. "We understand each other. She grieves for Mahaado as I grieve for Kisara."
"Was Mahaado her lover?"
"No, her teacher. The former Keeper of the Ring. A powerful magician." Set saw no point in mentioning that it had always seemed to him that Mana had inappropriately strong feelings for her teacher, and that – unlike Isis – she had never been able to see that Mahaado's own heart was directed elsewhere.
"Ah," Pekhasu said. "The sting of unrequited love." He sighed. "Cupid's arrows fly where they will."
"Arrows? What have archers to do with it?"
"Cupid is … a symbol of the capriciousness of love," Pekhasu explained. "I suppose that the Greeks haven't invented him yet."
Mention of Greece made Set think of the wretched prisoner far below.
"What's made you so somber all of a sudden?" Pekhasu asked.
"It is of no import." He was here to amuse Pekhasu, and he doubted that Mihakrates' tale would contribute much laughter to that goal.
"Tell me anyhow."
"There is a man in the dungeons, a young Greek," Set said carefully, "whose wife and children were casualties of war. Their deaths disordered his mind and heart to such an extent that he became possessed. The demon drives him to attack women." Set folded his hands. "He believes that, by thus preventing them from conceiving, he is saving them from the pain he endured when he lost his own children."
"How horrible." Pekhasu's eyes glittered. "What will you do with him? I can't imagine any punishment could be worse than the hell he's already been through."
"We will allow the families of his victims to kill him." Set said. "It will not bring back the dead, and it is neither just nor merciful, but it will be an end to his suffering." Kheffrey, of course, would not be pleased with the judgment, especially given his unusual behavior toward the prisoner. "Pekhasu … what are your thoughts on my High Priest Kheffrey?"
Pekhasu looked surprised. "I don't have any thoughts about him. Should I?"
"He has sent you gifts and poetry." What would Kheffrey do once Pekhasu spurned him? The High Priest had shown such odd reactions of late: would he accept it calmly? Become morose? Enraged? Or would he abuse his station and his sacred power as he had with Mihakrates, and bend Pekhasu to his will?
"Oh dear. Is he – courting me? I thought such liaisons were punishable by death in this era."
"Death?" Set scoffed. "No, only if force was used on an unwilling participant. Or to avenge public dishonor."
"Dishonor?"
Pekhasu seemed genuinely puzzled, so Set explained the obvious. "To take another's seed into one's body is a woman's role. Men do not willingly do such a thing."
"Ah, right," Pekhasu said. "I keep forgetting the mind-set in place here. Double standard, rigid gender rules, tops and bottoms … now that you mention it, isn't there a story about Horus and Set and Isis and a leafy green salad with dubious dressing?"
"Do not mock my gods, Pekhasu," Set warned.
Pekhasu held up his hands. "Please, I meant no offense. I was just reminding myself that sexual relations in this time are all about dominance and creating descendants. In my time, other aspects factor in." He leaned forward. "Why did you ask what I thought of Kheffrey?"
"It might be prudent," Set said, "to be wary of him."
"Why?" Pekhasu looked alarmed. "Is he a danger to me?"
"I do not know." Set mentally castigated himself for straying further and further from his task. He needed to draw the topic of the conversation back to something more enjoyable – and then it came to him: From what Mana had said, Set guessed that Pekhasu was one who very much enjoyed talking about himself. "So in your time," he asked, "you court ... both women and men?"
"I have only ever courted one woman ... and I do not court men." Pekhasu looked mildly offended.
"But what of this Kaiba Seto?" Set asked. "Mana said you speak of him excessively."
"I suppose I do, but it's certainly not a courtship. Not in any way."
"He must have the same qualities as your wife had," Set said.
Pekhasu laughed, long and boisterously. "Oh, what an idea!" he said at last, wiping tears from his eyes. "No, no ... he is as unlike her in all ways possible."
"Surely not?" Set said stubbornly. "They must be similar, for you to be drawn to both."
"How shall I convince you … " Pekhasu began. "Cyndia was kind and gentle. He is harsh." He held up his hands, palms up, and lifted first one and then the other as he spoke, as if weighing his words on a scale. "Where she was playful and sensuous, he is entirely joyless. She loved to help others; he has disdain for the weak and an unhealthy obsession with vanquishing the strong. She saw beauty in everything, while he sees … hm, I don't know what he sees, really, but I imagine it's probably just some dull lifeless hue. Or spreadsheets."
"Spreadsheets?"
"Calculation tablets."
Set leaned back in the chair. "This man Kaiba Seto is the night to her day."
Pekhasu chuckled. "That is ... a much less long-winded way of putting it, yes."
"Then I cannot understand what about him interests you."
"It's – have you ever had a deadly animal as a pet? A leopard, or a poisonous snake? Weren't you tempted to poke a stick into the cage, to make it snarl and hiss and strike? ... That is what Seto is to me. Although it's almost impossible these days to get him in the same room with me – I've annoyed him quite often, at times to the point where I feared for my life – I nevertheless crave his company. I find his aura of imminent explosion thrilling."
"So you do not desire him?"
"Hardly," Pekhasu scoffed.
"You pursue elusive prey, with no intent to capture?" Set found this claim humorous, and said, "Even a Royal Hunt is followed by roasted meat."
"No," Pekhasu made a sour face, "I have no interest in 'capturing any roasted meat,' as you so charmingly put it. What I do to Kaiba – it's just a game I play when I'm bored. Or maybe it's not even boredom – perhaps I'm just a sadist. Or a masochist. I don't know what it is. Flip a coin."
"I do not know those words," Set said. "For those who stand within arm's-length, one may feel respect, friendship, or desire." He shrugged. "Or disinterest."
"Ah, the joys of a simpler era," Pekhasu said.
"So this Kaiba Seto is violent? Threatens your life?" Set asked with a frown. "What have you done to anger him so?"
Pekhasu looked away. "It's complicated." And then he laughed bitterly, and looked down at his hands. "Well, no, it's not." He looked at Set, and said as if the words burned him, "Back in my time, when I had the Eye, just before I came here, I did some things … to him. To his family. They're pretty much unforgivable, I suppose, and so yes, he hates me because I am a horrible, horrible person."
Set said thoughtfully, "It is not for me to judge what you have done, Pekhasu. But I will say that my father, who was Keeper of the Eye before Duau, was a good and pious man before the Eye twisted him into a monster of darkness."
Pekhasu looked shocked – and relieved.
"When my father could not bend me to his will," Set said quietly, "he tried to kill me." He had never told this story to anyone living. "Kisara died saving me." He had to pause for a moment, to swallow a lump in his throat. "So I would say that the demon of the Eye killed your future happiness as surely as it killed mine."
Pekhasu looked moved. He started to stretch his hand across the table toward Set, but then stopped, as if unsure if it was appropriate. "I am honored that you have shared your pain with me, Set; I feel blessed by your understanding." He sounded entirely sincere, with no hint of his customary flippancy. "I wish – I wish that Kaiba were more like you. You are the exemplar of how he might have turned out, if he had not been so warped by fate and circumstance." Pekhasu dropped his eyes and said, "In fact, were he more like you, I might indeed be interested in … capture."
"Then he should transcend his flaws, and seek your companionship."
"And wouldn't that be interesting," Pekhasu said, leaning back with a small smile. "But enough about me. What about you? Where does the joy come from in your life, Pharaoh?"
"A pharaoh has no room for private joy," Set said. "My country, my people, are my joy."
"If Kisara had lived," Pekhasu asked, "or if Mana had brought her back instead of me, wouldn't you have married her? To produce heirs, someone to succeed you on the throne?"
Set had thought much on this painful question, but he had never before said aloud the painful answer. "I could never have made her my Queen, only an honored concubine."
"And any children she bore?"
"They would have my divine blood, and so would be rightful heirs." As he said this the vision that he had had when Mihakrates touched the Rod came back to him: a pale-haired infant with a freshly-cut birth cord. A man with a hideously scarred face. Flashing knives. Dim stone corridors echoing with screams. The tablet of the Three Gods, carved into human flesh.
"What's wrong?"
Set shook his head and looked out the narrow window. The sun had set, and stars were beginning to emerge in the dusky sky. "Inheritance."
"Come again?"
"It's getting dark. Did they provide you a lamp?"
"I think so." Pekhasu got up, banged around in the antechamber; there was the sound of the door opening, and then Pekhasu and Mana's faint laughter. A few moments later Pekhasu returned, carrying a flickering oil lamp, which he set on the table.
"Whether I have sons to follow me … " Set said, watching the small flame. "… is a selfish wish for my own glory, and matters not. It is my kingdom that must survive." He looked at Pekhasu. "Tell me – does my kingdom last? Or is it forgotten by your day?"
"Oh, it lasts," Pekhasu says. "And is still greatly admired."
"That pleases me," Set said.
They sat listening to the sounds of the night, to the cicadas and the wind, to the calls of the soldiers guarding the city gates and the far-off whinny of horses.
"It's getting late," Pekhasu said suddenly. "Let's go to bed." He grinned at Set's shocked expression, then lifted his arms, ran his hands through his long hair, and said sweetly, "I wasn't suggesting anything lewd, of course. Just that we could share the bed for mutual comfort. It's quite pleasant to sleep next to a warm body, be it a lover's or not."
"I will do it, since it pleases you." Set wondered if sleeping in a strange bed would make the dreams unable to find him.
He could see as he undressed for bed that Pekhasu was hesitating, as if unsure of the protocol of laying himself down next to a Pharaoh. "No need for ceremony," Set said, and then, in hopes that it would make Pekhasu less anxious, paraphrased one of Siamun's adages. "I am Pharaoh, but like all men I squat to shit."
Pekhasu chuckled, but once only his loincloth remained he turned his back to Set, sat on the edge of the bed, and lay down on his side, his head even with Set's shoulder.
"It is pleasant," Set said. Pekhasu's hair was a smooth silvery wing on his arm.
Pekhasu made a soft sound of assent.
"What would you do," Set asked, "if he did say those words?"
"It would never happen," Pekhasu murmured. "But if it did, I would laugh and laugh, and be instantly on my guard waiting to see what trick he had planned."
"What if he spoke honestly?" Set asked. "What then? Would you allow yourself to … ?" He lifted his fingertips just enough to brush Pekhasu's skin. "Be captured?"
Pekhasu took a long time to answer. "Well," he said at last, "Why don't you say the lines again, and we'll see what happens?"
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~ To be continued ~
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A plea: if you review, please avoid mentioning spoilers?
A big thank you to Dark Rabbit for once again being an insightful, merciless beta.
Some author's notes, including a link to some artwork done for the story, is at my LiveJournal and Dreamwidth.
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(09) 21 Nov 2014 ~ clarify butterfly.
