"In proportion as I gain power over words, I shall lose dominion over sentiments…"

—Edgar Huntly in Edgar Huntly: Memoirs of a Sleepwalker

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The Power of Words

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His Majesty's palace operated like a machine fueled by information and loose tongues. Circuits of information ran from the kitchen to the Pharaoh's very throne, facilitated by an intricate network of spies. Generally spies were maids, valets, pages, all of whom were invisible and apparently unimportant to the people they served. Shada's own trusted informant cleaned toilet jars for a living. This morning, in Shada's closet, Mihos reported some very important news…

"What information do you have for me, Mihos?" Shada demanded. The room was dark, and he could barely make out his spy's small, sharp-boned features.

"Master, nothing more than the usual activity within the palace," the servant replied. "But there is a great deal of activity outside its walls. Arrests have gone up in the capital and my sources tell me that arrests in the countryside have gone up too. Interestingly the palatial dungeons are nearly full to capacity, my Lord."

"Have you found out who is responsible for this?"

Lo and behold, Shada's instincts were confirmed! The Gaurdian of the Millennium Key swept across the marble corridors of the palace and headed to the dungeons. Who couldn't have thought that Set was involved in this? Ever since the High Priest came to court five years ago Shada could never quite trust his colleague--well, that was not to say Set was wicked. It was just that the means by which Set rose from peasant to High Priest and Guardian of the Millennium Rod could only have been achieved by great ambition, and ambition, Shada knew, often corrupts the Heart and its intentions. As Shada passed the barred cells and the miserable-faced inmates, there was no doubt in him that Set's intentions were cruel. What kind of backhanded methods is he using? He thought with outrage.

"My Lord, may we help you?"

Shada looked over his shoulder. Three guards stood behind him; one of them held a torch. They looked rather wary.

"Actually, you can," Shada told them. "Where is the High Priest?"

The most senior guard bowed. "Sir, I must be rude, but the Honorable High Priest is busy and is not receiving visitors at this--"

"I know his laboratory is down here," Shada cut through the guard. "You will take me there at once."

The guards exchanged hesitant glances; Shada could see deceit in them. Finally the senior guard grunted, "Take the Honorable Master there." Before long, the three of them arrived at Set's laboratory. It was a solid stone room fitted with massive bronze portals, watched by two sentries who Shada ignored as he pushed past them and burst through the portals. The High Priest was standing over a table strewn with scrolls. As the sight of his interruptions, he straightened his posture and snapped, "Shada, you had better have a hell of a good reason for disrupting my working and privacy. What's going on?"

"I should ask you," Shada said coldly. "Why are the palatial dungeons full all of a sudden? Why does their capacity exceed that of the Memphis Jail?"

As Shada expected, Set did not react with so much as a flinch. If anything, his expression was indifferent. "An interesting statistic," he replied evenly. "I am conducting my study."

"Does the pharaoh know about this?"

"Watch your tongue, Shada." Set's voice was colored with warning. "Do not suggest that I would act behind my master's back; I submitted a prospectus to His Majesty just as you and the other Guardians have done, although my plan seems to be the only one that is moving ahead."

There was an awkward, rather tense silence. Perhaps I have judged too quickly, Shada reconciled. If the Pharaoh knows, then surely everything here is approved. But Set had a few answers before Shada released his suspicions. Nevertheless, Shada raised his hands in apology. "Forgive my offense. But you have yet to answer my question. Why have you rounded up the commoners?"

"It is from these specimens I shall assemble an army of strong Ka powerful enough to defeat Bakura."

"'Specimens,' you say? Is that what you call these innocent people?"

"Shada, the very reason I am doing all this is to protect the pharaoh and the citizens of Egypt. Take a look at them yourself! All are criminals if not potential criminals. These are hardly 'innocent' people; I doubt one of their Hearts is fit to balance the Feather of Ma'at."

"That may be so, but—"

"And you can agree that at the very worst I am merely moving one step ahead of our justice system? Everyone wins."

True, Shada considered, but was it ethical? The doubt on his face must have been obvious, for Set added with mild sarcasm, "And do you know of any other significant plans to defeat Bakura?"

Shada could barely say the word. He chose not to. Set flipped open a scroll and began skimming the text. "Shada, you yourself must admit that at times one must do a little evil for a greater good. It is the nature of the gods. Osiris was butchered to death so that we may have an afterlife. The great rivers, the Tigris and the Euphrates, decimate all in their paths so that new life might spring again. And likewise we, not unlike those before us, must do the same. Is that not true?"

The answer was yes, but Shada could not speak even if he wanted to. In that moment, he was not sure whether or not to trust his fellow Guardian, and he hated to mistrust Set especially in these difficult times. The man was so different from the other Guardians; Shada always thought it had to do with Set's rise to power. Certainly the High Priest had a remarkable turn of phrase as well as industriousness and ambition, and certainly he needed a good way with words to accelerate himself to such a high-ranking position. Why, minutes before he was sure Set had committed some offense; now, Shada almost sympathized with his colleague—he didn't know what to think anymore! Shada was speechless.

"You still doubt me," Set remarked. He walked past Shada and past the portals. "Come, we shall go to the cells. Take a good look for yourself."

Shada walked with Set through the dungeons, past the cells, once again surveying the shadows and shapes behind the bars. Indeed, he did not need the Millennium Key to feel the aura of evil dogging them; these people—the wretches—at least had the potential to commit some heinous act, and their Hearts were impure. Shada did not feel it when he came down here because he was angry. Perhaps Set is right, he thought.

Just as he was about to apologize, Shada was interrupted by a great commotion down one of the dimly-lit tunnels. A few moments later two senior guards approached the Guardians and bowed. They said, "Honorable Lords, we must be rude by interrupting you, but a prisoner has escaped."

"Well then, what are you waiting for?" Set said with annoyance. "Capture the escaped immediately. If he should make himself apparent to the rest of the palace, all responsible will be heavily punished—including you!"

The guards scattered down the tunnels. "Yes sirs!" Their footfalls echoed heavily against the walls; Shada pitied whoever was in this dungeon. Every sound was a headache.

"As you see," Set explained grimly, "it is only a little evil for a greater good."

The phrase made Shada uncomfortable. "If you could explain your plans in greater detail that would be appreciated."

Set said he would later. The two men returned to the underground laboratory. As soon as they stepped past the portals, Shada felt tremors rumbling beneath his feet. The Millennium Key, safely strapped to his chest, glowed gold underneath his shawl. "Something is strongly present here," Shada muttered. "Do you not sense that?"

"The antechamber." Set pointed to a small wing connected to the main chamber. There was a faint light glimmering there.

Shada went inside; Set soon followed. The small room was empty except for a heap of curtains pitched in the corner, which, for some reason, the maids never a got a chance to tidy up. It was strange. What thing was here? Shada approached the curtain pile.

"There is a secret passage, I know," Set remarked, pointing at a narrow chute placed high in the stone wall. "Someone has fallen through."

Their eyes fell on a shapeless figure beneath the curtains. They looked more closely; Shada's Millennium Key glowed intensely. He lifted it from behind his shawl and tentatively unlocked the hidden figure's secrets--certainly it was a human there, surprisingly a woman--and when he unlocked her soul, he saw the image of blazing white dragon come forth, burning its flaming gaze into his eyes and electrifying his brain. The pain was so sharp and intense that Shada cried out and stumbled backwards.

"Shada!" Set cried in alarm.

"It's--too much!" Shada grunted, locking her soul once more. "Too strong!"

He was actually on his knees, trying to catch his breath and overwhelmed with shock and a little fear. "This is your missing prisoner, I reckon," he panted.

"He--overwhelmed you," Set remarked with shock. "What did it look like?"

Shada laughed mirthlessly. "Well, she. It was a dragon."

Set's eyes widened. "Not a white dragon?"

"Yes. How did you know? Did you see it yourself?"

"Did it have blue eyes?"

"I did not get a good look at it," Shada said. "Perhaps it did."

---

Perhaps it did. Shada's description certainly fit the associations he had in mind— female, a white dragon…white dragon, a female… Many questions buzzed through his mind, so he stepped forward and whipped through the curtains, until the intruder was uncovered.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

The young woman was so frightened she leapt out of the pile and tried to run; Set caught her by the shoulders and said with more authority: "I said, who are you?"

He tilted her chin upwards with his forefinger, forcing her to look up, though she kept her eyes modestly lowered. The young woman trembled with fear as well as thrill. As soon as she glimpsed his face, she knew it was Seto. She thought he was beautiful. His olive face, though narrow was strong with its sharp, angular jaw and straight nose. She couldn't look at his eyes! Blue like hers, vivid though dark and they captivated her with his intense gaze. She knew him. She could never forget those eyes, even if they looked down on her with their upper-crust contempt, but it would be rude to broach the possibility of their past acquaintance now.

"Kisara, my Lord."

Set studied her closely, feeling both stunned and bewildered. Yes, this was the girl he saved in the desert all those years ago! And if he was correct, her Ka was the monster that destroyed his home. She certainly looked like the girl—her hair was long and white, parted in the middle like curtains that swung around her peaked face. Her eyes were blue like his, but much lighter, and the pupils were dark red. Set was almost sure he was right. He tried to recall more details about the girl he saved.

"You are the prisoner who escaped. Feh. How did you manage such a feat, a sparrow like you." When she did not answer, he said firmly, "That was a question."

"I—I can't remember sir," she whispered.

"You can't remember?"

"I'm sorry."

"You have an accent. Where are you from?"

"I am from the marshes, sir, in Mesopotamia."

Set could barely make out her soft, lilting speech. She was from the marshy region in Mesopotamia that straddled the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, two fearsome beasts of nature that, unlike the Nile, decimated everything in its path. She would have spent her childhood bending reeds into primitive huts and so forth. If he remembered correctly, the young girl he met years ago had an accent. He could barely remember her voice: Take care Seto! I will repay you someday!

"How did you come to Memphis, then?"

"I was sold into slavery, my Lord."

"When did you become a slave?"

"I think I was eight years old, sir."

"And you are now how old?"

"I think about twenty, sir."

"Who was your most recent master?"

Kisara flinched. She could only murmur, "Apis, the p-p-pig-farmer."

"Where does he live?"

"Just outside th-the c-city, my Lord."

"Did your work put you in contact with pigs?"

"Y-yes sir."

Hmmm, he thought. If she was going to stay in the laboratory, she would need to be cleaned. And, he would need to scour his hands well once he let her go.

Kisara whispered timidly, "Please don't return me to him."

"That is not my intention," Set assured her. "Why were you sold?" he demanded.

He felt her chin flinch under his thumb--either because of her timidity, or perhaps because of her defiance. "Because I am cursed, sir," she said softly.

In short, she was an albino. In Egypt as well as other places it was a curse to be born with the affliction the wretched girl had—drape-like hair as white as clouds, sky-blue eyes and skin so transparent Set could see her blue veins. Common Egyptians especially associated albinism with evil because the death god Set (for whom Set himself was named) had red hair and fair skin, and this girl was even lighter than that. It was not uncommon for one to hear stories about an albino being chased into the desert or made to roast their pale hides in the sun like pork flesh--for entertainment. But Set knew that albinos would be as magical as they could be wretched; no wonder Shada found her Ka to be so strong.

Set raised her chin a little higher and said, "Then we shall make something of your cursedness, shall we, Kisara?"

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Chapter Five Preview:

21st Century

Domino, Japan

Kaiba tapped his foot impatiently against the parquet floor. "Tell me this story gets to a point, Scheherazade," he said sarcastically.

"While you are still here," Isis retorted, "I advise you to sit."

"Feh. Like I'm going to stay for this nonsense," he snorted.

Isis could barely hold in her smile, although she was annoyed with Kaiba's petulance. "Just as you have stayed for the past hour and a half."