Enchantment

Chapter 7: One for One


For a moment Bakura was mute with shock. …brother… The word soaked into his consciousness. Like a parasite it contaminated every hall, every corridor and minute crawlspace of his mind. His ears were ringing with it. For a second he was afraid his heart would stop beating. How did he know about Mariku being here at all? Ryou. That stupid…

"He was your brother?"

The silence held more certainty than any confirmation the slave could ever utter. In a way Akefia had always known it was true. It went beyond physical likeness. It was a feeling—a knowledge lodged deep in his gut—that this slave, this…Namu…was something altogether significant.

"You…knew him then, as a child?"

That sneer, so cold…so exactly like Marik's…

"Knew him? Of course I fucking knew him!" The boy's eyes blazed. His grip on the knife tightened, knuckles blossoming white beneath the pressure. The resemblance was so strong that for an instant Bakura was tempted to ravish him completely. However, he refrained.

what was he like as a child…does he have any other siblings…who taught him to read…what was his life like before he became a bandit…There were so many questions he had wanted to ask…so many questions Mariku had always refused to answer. Now was the lord's chance. He asked the one question that had always bothered him, that had always been there, just beneath the surface.

"How did he get those scars?"

The loathing in Namu's eyes dimmed abruptly, giving way to something even more brutal. A look of abject horror spread across his face. It remained untarnished by time and distance, a memory that overtook the present, a sensation so real it bordered tactile.

"Do you really want to know?" Eyes hidden by a shock of golden hair, Namu's words came out a sort of baritone growl. "Well, Master? Do you think you can handle it?"

Bakura snorted. "Handle it? Of course I can fucking handle it!"

The blonde did not reply immediately. Instead, he looked as if he were concentrating, bringing forth something horrible and spectral, something that he normally would try only to forget…but such phantoms could never be forgotten. Out of sight but rarely out of mind, they continued to fester until the wound split open, infected, contaminating the unmarred flesh around it so that everything was diseased. Bakura shuddered. Maybe the boy was right. Maybe he didn't want to know where Marik got those scars. Maybe he couldn't handle…

"I was young at the time." Namu spoke calmly, but his hand never once loosened its grip on the blade. "Marik had just turned ten. I-I didn't know what was going on at first. I…"


"Isis…Isis!" A nine year-old Malik scuttled down the halls of the underground temple, catching the hem of his sister's tunic just as she was about to turn the corner. She greeted him with a smile, but there was something anxious in the upward quiver of her lips.

"How are you this morning, little brother?"

"Fine, thank you…um…Isis?"

The woman gulped. "Yes?"

"Where's Mariku? He wasn't in bed when I woke up."

"I…I'm afraid our brother will be gone for a few days. He left with Father this morning. He…"

"But where did they go?" Malik frowned, the nearly infallible intuition of childhood glimmering in his gaze. "Why did Father keep it a secret?"

"It's not a secret. It's just…today is Marik's tenth birthday. You know that, I'm sure."

"Yes, I…oh. You mean the ceremony."

Isis nodded and buried her face in Malik's hair. "They will return from the Tablet chambers three days from now. At that time I must ask that you do not disturb him. Mariku will…he will not be well for some time."

"…it's not fair."

The woman frowned and cocked her head to one side. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it's not fair! The ceremony…why should Marik have to stay down here when everyone else can spend their whole lives in the sun if they want to?"

"That may be, but in Heaven the gods will favor such a sacrifice above all others. Mariku will truly be beloved by Ra."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I…" She could not meet the innocence of his gaze, the complete lack of assumption. The question was not contemptuous. It was honest…and infinitely more painful. "…I want to…but sometimes it's difficult…to believe, I mean."

"I wish Marik would believe. Then maybe he wouldn't be so angry all the time."

"Yes." Isis ran her fingers absently through the boy's hair. "When informed this morning of his duties, our brother was…less…than pleased."

Malik nodded, a mature gesture rendered ridiculous by his youth. "If…if it was me…I wouldn't be happy either. I think I would run away."

"G-GET AWAY FROM ME!"

The pattering of feet—sometimes loud, sometimes soft—fluctuating with the bizarre acoustics of the underground labyrinth. Then there was shouting, the flickering of torches, the deep bass rumble of their father's voice. Malik covered his ears. Unlike most children, he was used to quiet. Silence befitted the crypt.

"I won't! You bastards! I WON'T!"

Mariku's voice, usually devoid of the light, soprano quality normally associated with youth, sounded strange in Malik's ears. It was tinny, high-pitched, afraid. This caught the blond boy off guard. He expected his brother to be angry, hurt even…but afraid?

"Malik! What are you…"

He was running, running as fast as he could down the halls. He ignored his sister's outcry and forced his legs to move faster. He didn't know where he was going. In the temple noises could not be followed. They came in from all directions, echoing a thousand times over through deserted, windowless corridors. In searching for his brother, Malik was essentially groping blindly. He didn't call out Marik's name. This would only add more cacophony to the already chaos-filled passages. He simply kept running, praying dumbly that he wouldn't run into Father or one of the lesser tombkeepers.

"Malik!"

The boy skidded to a halt. There it was, a sulfurous whisper. Too low to be affected by echoes and too cutting to be anywhere but right under is nose. Malik's head swiveled, searching desperately for the source of the noise.

"Marik, is that…"

"In here!"

The boy was hiding in a storage closet. He had tucked himself away neatly, wedged between a broken-legged chair and a shelf littered with crumpled bits of parchment. Scrambling over chipped vases and furniture that had long fallen into disuse, Malik knelt before his older sibling.

"A-are you alright? Why did you run away?"

"I won't." The boy's eyes were wide, almost to the point of absurdity. "I won't be like him!"

"Don't say that! Isis says …"

"She's wrong! Whatever she tells you, Malik, it isn't true! It can't be!"

"But what else can you do? There's no way out."

Mariku's body jerked horribly. For a moment he was overcome, overcome with something crueler, something so crushing and hopeless it rendered him physically ill. His body was at the mercy of these convulsions. Spit dribbled down the corner of his lips. He began to vomit, bile spilling from his mouth in short, erratic bursts.

Malik was horrified. Mariku…Mariku was not this weak. He was tough, tougher than people three times his age. He didn't tremble. He didn't throw up. He…he was just a child. Barely older than Malik. This wasn't weakness. It was human.

"Are you alright? B-brother, are you hurt?"

"N-no!" The wilder haired blonde gasped, attempting to scoot farther away from his younger sibling. He wound his arms tightly around his knees, burying his face between his chest and thighs. "I-I don't need you! Leave me alone…"

That's when he saw it—the blood running down Mariku's back. It swept in two great swaths across his shoulderblades. The wings, Malik realized. The wings that are part of the tombkeeper's insignia. So that's what it looked like, to be branded by a hot knife. There was more blood than he would have expected. The boy reached out impulsively, laying a hand on his brother's cheek.

"I'm sorry…that you're hurt."

"Don't…" Mariku jerked away from him. "I-it's not that…not…not…"

He knew what his brother was trying to say. It wasn't the agony tearing through his back that made Mariku gag. For a child, he possessed a startlingly high tolerance for pain. Rather, it was the idea that came with that agony. A lifetime trapped underground, pointless rituals no one would see, prayers from a forgotten era, left to decay by those who walked in sunlight…alone…hopeless…

"He's wrong if he thinks he can force me!" Mariku wrung his hands feverishly, bitter, violet pupils glinting in the torchlight. "He's dead wrong."

"But what can you do? Neither of us knows the way out of here!"

"I don't care! I'll think of something! I'd rather…"

The older boy's words died fearfully on his lips. His face paled. "Brother?" Malik was confused for a moment, then he felt a shadow pass over the back of his neck.

"You'd rather what, Mariku?"

The elder Ishtar was an imposing figure. Nearly six feet tall, he towered over his sons. They trembled in fear not just of his strength and quick temper, but of his resignation as well. The man had an aura of accepted fanaticism. His zealous nature was one born out of necessity…the desperate need to justify his self-imprisonment.

"Father…Father, plea…"

"Silence, Malik." The man didn't deign to look upon his younger child—second born, second rate. His glare was all for Marik, who's quivering did not dint the determined stillness of his gaze.

"I won't." The words were biting, clipped, ferociously apathetic in every way. There was a fervor behind the boy's coldness…calm as a bird is calm when locked inside a cage. "You'll have to tie me down again. Y-you'll have to kill me!"

At this, there father's face seemed to split with rage. He became taller somehow, darker and more terrible. The man loomed over them like a ghost, but he was no ghost. He was real, palpable. Still, when he lurched forward to grab Mariku by the arms, Malik caught a brief whiff of the grave.

"Ungrateful brat!" The elder Ishtar shook him ruthlessly, paying no mind to the boy's bloodied shoulders. "Do you think you are the only Ishtar to ever feel this pain? Do you dare dishonor those who have suffered before you?"

"…they were weak…"

"What?" Mariku was slammed up against the wall. He cried out in pain, burnt skin grating against unforgiving sandstone. "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!"

"THEY WERE WEAK!" The boy's voice did not crack. Instead, it was forceful, contemptuous. Defiance resonated from every fiber of his being. Angry…intoxicating…it lent power to his small, childish frame in a way no muscles ever could. "Do you think any of them wanted it…did you want it? No! The only reason they went through with the ceremony was fear. They were afraid to face the outside world! To throw out tradition and create their own way of living! They were cowards…"

"Cowards?! They devote their lives to the honor of the gods, and you call them cowards?"

Mariku's breathing sounded heavy in the stillness that ensued. "I do."

"Our sacrifices will be rewarded by the gods in Heaven. Can you not understand this?"

"Prove it." There was something new in the young boy's voice. A timbre both dark and desperate. "Prove that they will reward us! PROVE THAT THE GODS EVEN EXIST!"

For a moment the elder Ishtar didn't answer. Then a terrific groan rose in his chest, something between a choke and a snarl. "INSOLENT CHILD!" He shook Marik so that his head cracked sharply against the back wall. "YOU ARE NOT EVEN WORTHY OF CARRYING THE ISHTAR NAME!"

"THEN TAKE IT!" The boy's apathy began to shatter, breaking down into something disjointed…childlike, even. "I-I don't want it…I never have…hate you…hate you so much...I don't want to…"

The man's hands fell lax, allowing Mariku to fall limply to the floor. His limbs seemed to collapse around him, his small frame losing both stability and malice. Malik wanted to reach out, to touch him…if not in comfort then for the reassurance of his tangibility.

"Is that your decision, then?" There was a weight to their father's words. Heavy, almost labored, it had less to do with tradition and ritual than one might think. "To forsake the name of Ishtar. To turn your back on what is both your duty and your privilege. Is that your choice?"

Marik didn't need to reply. His gaze spoke volumes.

A sigh rattled in the man's throat. It was as if he were preparing himself…or letting go of something he had only just realized to exist. "Very well. I will honor your request. You will be allowed to leave this place and Malik will take your place as heir, but first the mark of Ishtar must be erased."


For a long time there were screams. Deep and wracking, rising in pitch until Malik thought his ears would never stop ringing. He couldn't escape them, his brother's cries. They echoed unmercifully, bouncing off every wall. Mariku sounded as if he were dying. Slowly…painfully…what remained of his innocence leaked out with those screams. In the end they didn't sound like screams at all…just detached, inhuman howling.

Isis held Malik tightly as this happened, ensuring that he would not attempt to follow the desperate keen of his brother's voice. She would make sure he, at least, held on to it…that last vestige of childhood. She didn't try to say it would be alright. She knew it wouldn't. All the woman could do was clutch frantically at her youngest sibling, muffling her sobs in his sandy-colored hair.

After a long while, Mariku's cries did cease, but the silence that followed was even worse. There was a finality about it; nothing could be the same…not after this.

Footsteps. Slow, measured and mournful—Rishid.

The Ishtar servant appeared at the end of the hall. He was carrying something—a bundle—but at this distance Malik couldn't quite make it out. Wriggling from his sister's insistent embrace, he ran out to meet him.

"Rishid! Rishid, where's…"

"Shh…" The man put a finger to his lips, eyes cast towards the mess of blankets in his arms. "Where is Isis?"

"I'm here." Slightly breathless, Isis materialized beside them. She took one look at Rishid and paled. "Oh God…is he…"

"Miss Isis, please stay calm. Master Marik requires medical attention."

Realization hit Malik like the brunt of a sandstorm. That…thing…in Rishid's arms…something pinkish was seeping through the cloth. Tufts of blond hair poked out through the folds, and it was…it was quivering.

"Marik! Marik, is that you?"

The boy tried to move forward, only to be jerked back by his sister. He wailed, beating at her with his small fists, but Isis held on with grim determination. "No, Malik!" She gave him a forceful shake. "You can see him later…when he's cleaned up."

"But I...sister, why are you crying?"

Isis shook her head, trying to ignore the tears that trembled on her lashes. "Please, little brother…for me. Wait awhile. You can't…I don't want you to see him like this."


The silence that followed was perhaps the most terrible thing Ryou had ever experienced. He stood at the brink of the bedroom, hands gripping the doorframe for support. They hadn't noticed him yet. Malik was staring bitterly at the Damascus blade in his hand. Bakura gazed at the window, completely unseeing.

Ryou was struck by the absurdity of all of this. What were the chances? That Mariku had a brother, that said brother would one day too be their slave. It was reminiscent of a Greek drama.

"Hey, Bakura." Malik's voice was coarse. Tears glittered in his eyes, but his was a grief overcome by malice. "Have you ever seen an animal after it's been flayed?"

Helplessly—as if by another being's volition—Bakura's body jerked violently to face the slave. His mouth twitched, a spasm brought on by some hellish realization. Ryou felt bile rising in his throat. Akefia's going to kill him.

But Bakura did not kill Malik. Instead he stood there, staring past them, at something miles and miles away.

"B-brother, are you…"

Akefia's head reacted to his voice. His neck swiveled, but he hadn't heard anything. There was a blankness to his eyes. Not the careful, deliberate blankness he usually wore over his emotions, but true, hollow emptiness. Beyond desperation, beyond even sorrow, it was the gaze of a corpse.

"Brother, please…"

He began to walk, past the window, past Malik, hand still clenched around the devious little blade. He brushed against Ryou's shoulder as he exited into the darkness of the other room. The boy recoiled as if touched by death.

Long after his brother's steps had faded, Ryou continued to stand in the doorway. His mouth tasted bitter. Something cold and hard seemed to have worked its way into his stomach.

Malik.

The blonde was still standing in the middle of the bedroom. His body did not shake. However, it was unbelievably tense. When Ryou reached out to touch him, he turned pointedly away.

"…leave me alone…"

The white-haired noble shook his head. "I can't. You…you shouldn't…"

"Aren't you angry?" Malik turned on him, but his voice came off weak…exhausted. "Aren't you angry about what I said to your brother?"

"...yes, a little…but he deserved it. We both know that."

"You know, Ryou…" The slave moved closer, this time allowing his arm to be touched without complaint. "When I first met you, well…let's just say you're more complicated than I thought."

The boy smiled. "I get that a lot."

"You're smarter too."

Ryou did not reply. Instead, he pulled the other into a gentle hug. They stayed like this for a long time. Gradually, the stiffness began to leave Malik's body. His shoulders slumped. His face fell easily against the crook of the shorter boy's neck. Ryou could feel the deep rhythm of his breathing, the delicate indent of the tattoo that crossed his back. He liked the smell of Malik's hair. It was sweaty, a mix of salt and body heat that he found bizarrely exhilarating.

"Malik?"

He buried his face deeper into Ryou's shoulder, pretending he hadn't heard.

"Malik, are…are you…"

A strangled sob tore itself from the blonde's throat. He clenched tightly at the paler's shoulders, nails threatening to draw blood. In this moment Ryou realized something. Malik looked like Marik. Malik sometimes acted like Marik. But Malik was not Marik. Marik did not cry. Marik did not show weakness. Even when he was given over to Anubis, his eyes had glimmered with defiance more so than injury.

No, Malik was not like him, and Ryou certainly didn't mind. He liked that the boy could cry. He liked that he was sensitive, that he could show his emotions without…without disguising them as something else. That's what Mariku always did. He was the master of double meanings.

When Malik's legs gave out, Ryou went down with him. He knelt beside the boy, stroking his hair as tears continued tumbling unchecked down his cheeks. Did Bakura ever hold Marik like this? He wondered. No, that's not likely.


Running, running down corridors so black even the sight of a thief was fallible. He was following a shadow, a phantasm that had been born unexpectedly from the surrounding darkness. But this mirage was his only hope. It knew the way out.

The air was hot. At first he blamed adrenaline, but in actuality they were nearing the kitchens. Fires blazed. Mixed with the flavor of his fear, the roasting meat smelled sickening. No servants—they were all out looking for the thief. He studied his savior as they flitted through. Even now, the blonde's eyes lingered hungrily on the abandoned food, but he did not touch. No…no, he never touched.

There was a tunnel. Behind the biggest of the ovens, a shaft for garbage. It smelled of rot, of freedom, of holding on just one more day. Narrow and dark. He combated claustrophobia with years of experience spent crawling through tombs. Up ahead, his guide was wheezing. Something about the noise wasn't right…a broken rattle deep within his chest.

Finally. Outside. No time to rejoice. There were bells, horrible, noisy, screaming bells, alerting the oasis, tolling out treacherous stories of thievery and death. Running, running faster than he ever thought possible. Past ghostly, mud-brick houses, down side streets thick with sludge and garbage.

Then they were out. The moon was bright, the desert sands rolling out in a constant bid to outpace the stars. They stared at each other for a moment. The blonde began to cough, violently, deep and wracking. Unfit for the mad dash through the city, his body shook. Falling. The fool had passed out!

An unconscious body lying in the dirt. The thief should have left well enough alone. He should have just got on his horse and…


And that's how Touzouko had ended up here, hidden beneath a rocky outcropping, an unconscious blonde his only companion. He still didn't understand it. Why hadn't he left him for dead? He was already one foot in the grave. Skinny…battered…there wasn't much left too kill.

Besides, it was as the slave said. He held no fear of death.

After last night's furious activity, the morning stillness seemed abnormally surreal. Somewhere nearby he could hear his horse grazing, but besides that there was only the wind. A breeze just strong enough to shift a little sand.

The thief stared at the too-still figure huddled near the adjacent wall of the shelter. The night's exertions had sent the blonde's body over the edge. Months of strain were forced to the surface, leaving him feverish and pale. He absolutely did not move. The only sign of life was his shallow breathing, occasionally interrupted by an ill-boding hitch in the throat. Touzouko had seen sickness like this before. He probably wouldn't last much longer.

He peered out into the slowly lightening sky. Soon, the sun would be clear of the horizon, and they would have to move on. Searchers from the oasis would be looking for them, and the thief was keen to return to his hideout. Another journey, even on horseback, would not prove beneficial for his new companion's health. However, it couldn't be helped. Touzouko had his own wellbeing to look after.

A soft rustling caught the thief's attention. He's moving… It seemed the blond bone-bag had more resilience than he'd previously thought. With a light cough, he opened his eyes. The pupils were clear. Not even delirious.

"I didn't expect you up so soon."

A slight twitch of the lips. "…yeah…early riser…and all that…where are we?"

Touzouko shrugged. "Just a temporary resting point. We're leaving at dawn."

"Hmm…" The blonde gave him a lean, hard look. "Tell me, mister…eh…what was it?"

"Touzouko."

"…right…Touzouko…tell me, why the fuck did you drag me all the way out here? I had you pegged as a pretty smart person and…well…that wasn't very smart of you…pretty damn stupid, actually."

Touzouko felt a shiver. This was no run of the mill pleasure slave. He was sharp as hell, and, quite frankly, it unnerved him. "Why'd I drag you here?" The thief hoped his smirk was more confident than he was. "I owe you, and being in someone else's debt doesn't sit well with me."

"I see." A weird spark flared at the back of the blonde's purplish gaze. "Well I suppose the one for one philosophy's the best we can hope for in such a heartless world as this."

The thief frowned. Perhaps the blonde wasn't really as lucid as he seemed. His eyes were almost too clear, actually. There was a madness to them that didn't quite sit right.

"It's your turn to tell me something."

"Hnn…" The other's grin widened, a thin slash on his face both mocking and strangely seductive.

"What's your name?"

"Mariku Ishtar." The blonde seemed strangely excited by this question. "You know, you really do remind me of someone!"

Touzouko arched an eyebrow. "Who? A friend?"

Mariku tried to stretch but grimaced as his spine gave a splitting crack. "A friend…why yes…you could say that he's a friend of mine."

"Where is he now?"

The blonde's smile vanished. At once his features lost their disoriented joviality. They became calculating, sharp and ruthless so that the thief could barely stand to look at them. This new madness was infinitely more terrifying than the one that came before. Mariku was no longer a broken man laughing at his own destruction. That sordid humor had left him. The person Touzouko saw now was much more twisted.

"Where is he now?" The blonde bit back a laugh with a vicious upturn of his lip. "I don't know, exactly. That is to say, I have a good idea of where he is, but…what does it matter? I'll kill him eventually."


-TOT (The rewrite is finally done! I'm sorry it took so long. I was a bit lacking in motivation. However, I actually feel that some parts of this chapter are better than the original, but there are also parts I'm not completely happy with. I'll be happy to know what you think of it.)

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