Enchantment

Chapter 11: Absence of Cruelty

A temporary peace had been called between the armies of Mahaado and General Atemu. They had been fighting off and on for nearly a fortnight, and neither was making any headway. Because of this, Atemu delivered a message to the Pharaoh's former servant requesting a meeting. He hoped to convince him to abandon Bakura.

"General Atemu, the enemy has just entered camp."

From where he sat resting beneath his tent, the short man nodded to the guard. "Let him in. After that, you may leave us unsupervised."

"My lord, do you not fear…"

Atemu laughed. "I fear nothing."

Soon the guard was gone, and in his place stood Mahaado. The man seemed to have aged beyond his years. His face was more lined than Atemu remembered. His blue eyes spoke of a fatigue that had little to do with physical exhaustion.

"It's been awhile." The taller of the two bobbed his head in greetings. "You seem to be doing well for yourself."

"Well enough, I suppose."

For a minute there was silence, and the magnitude of their situation began to take hold. They had been friends once, allies, lovers of the same principles. Together they had fought, and together they had watched their comrades perish. And now, for three year they had waged war against each other. Atemu remembered well the day he heard of Mahaado's desertion. The brunette made no formal announcement. He did not even say goodbye. He left for Baranis as a migratory bird leaves for the equator, drawn by something both deep within and beyond himself.

"This battle is going nowhere." Atemu surprised himself with the coldness of his voice. "I won't waste time asking you to surrender, but surely we must work out some kind of armistice."

Mahaado smiled wanly. "With all due respect, Atemu, I do not see how that is possible. On my honor I cannot allow you to pass on into Abydos, and on yours you cannot return to Alexandria without having done so. So you see our struggle really is ridiculous."

Atemu was struck by the disparity of the other's words. He had known Mahaado since childhood, and never once had he seen him so despondent. "Tell me, what cruelty has Bakura inflicted that makes you turn from hope?"

The former general of the Pharaoh smiled. "Cruelty, you say? No, my friend, it is the absence of cruelty that is the problem."

Atemu balked. "You're saying Bakura is kind?"

"Kind is not the right word. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I can relate to him. You see, Bakura has done terrible things in the name of justice."

"And?"

"So have I," Mahaado murmured. "We both have. Though we fight on opposing sides, our motives are the same. We fight in the name of Egypt, and lately I find myself wondering just what that means."

"…this isn't like you, Mahaado."

The brunette laughed, a sound neither joyous nor bitter but filled with the same abject exhaustion found in the depths of his gaze. "All my life I have loved Egypt, but the government in Alexandria is a farce. ………. is no Pharaoh. He's just a halfwit installed until someone intelligent and infinitely more dangerous comes to take his place. I fight in the name of an ideal Egypt exempt of foreign rule, an Egypt that the kings of old set down for us."

Atemu sighed. He understood all to well the other's sentiments. "The kings of old are just that, Mahaado. Old. I know what you desire, but the Egypt of our ancestors is dead. You're fighting in the name of a fading specter."

"…perhaps you are right." For a moment the color of Mahaado's eyes seemed to fade and go grey like the sandy wastes around them. "But even if my fight is doomed, I will continue. You see, I cannot…"

"And what of Seto? Would you so gladly sacrifice his life to the rebels for such an unattainable goal?"

For a moment Mahaado said nothing. He seemed to shrink somehow, to age before Atemu's eyes. "I'm sorry, my friend, but Seto of Abydos became my enemy the instant I crossed to Bakura's side. As did you and all those who back the stinking filth that fills the government seats of Alexandria. Nothing can be gained by this meeting, Atemu. In the future I must ask you not to waste my time."

Mahaado was gone with a swish of the tent flap, and Atemu, general of the Pharaoh's army, was left wondering how a plight so hopeless could affect him so profoundly.

It had been four nights since the capture of the golden-haired thief, and Bakura still didn't know quite what to do with him. Mariku had been tied to one of the tent posts the entire time, wounds swathed in grubby bandages and with just enough water to go on living.

Food, though. He hadn't eaten in days.

The lord of Baranis watched from his bed as his captive drowsed fitfully. Even in such a state of filth and infirmity, Marik couldn't seem but help being beautiful. The scars on his back were the blonde's only flaws—not counting his impertinent personality. But about his punishment? What sort of retribution befitted a murderer and a thief?

"If you're going to kill me, I must ask that you do it soon. I don't know about you, but I find being tied up in your bedroom to be rather dull."

Bakura's head snapped up, and he found himself glaring into a pair of spiteful, purple eyes. "The more you beg for death, Mariku, the longer I will take to kill you."

The blonde laughed and stretched his uninjured leg. "So you tell me, but I have yet to see evidence of your cruelty. Could it be that Akefia Bakura, Lord of Baranis, is not so dangerous as he seems?"

The paler of the two bit back his anger with a sneer. "Want to test that theory, do you?" Enraged grin still plastered on his face, Bakura cut Mariku from the post and hauled him to his feet. He used the tail ends of the rope like a halter, dragging the other by his still bound hands out of the tent and through the rebel campsite. The soldiers leered at the blonde as he passed. It seemed their master had finally decided upon an appropriate punishment.

Bakura didn't stop until they were far from camp, out above the sand and beneath the stars where they wouldn't be interrupted. "You mock the depth of my cruelty, Marik, but before this night is through I'll have you screaming for death."

The blonde grunted as he was forced to his knees. He looked good like this, skin taunt from dehydration, body shivering with hunger and the chill of midnight. Bakura would take so much pleasure in breaking him, in hearing that rough voice crack and watching as those heartless eyes welled with tears.

"You're pretty ugly, you know that? All those hideous scars…" Bakura dug his nails into the dead tissue of his captive's back, pleased as his actions invoked in the blonde an involuntary shudder.

"Ugly, huh?" Marik's voice betrayed none of his discomfort. "Is that what you think about each night when you stare at my naked body?"

Bakura snarled and dug his nails in further, forcing the other down until his cheek brushed against the dirt. "Would you like to know what I'm going to do to you, Marik? Tonight, I'm going to rape you. I'm going to fuck you until you bleed. Then, I'm going to tie you up outside beneath the sun so all my men will know you for the whore you are." The Lord of Baranis paused to lick Marik's blood that had collected beneath his fingernails. "Do you understand, boy? I'm going to destroy you."

"Destroy me?" Marik's body shook, but the steel of his voice was unrelenting. "I'll take that as a challenge."

They struggled fiercely. Bakura didn't expect the blonde to deliver, but he put up a hell of a fight. It was only when the paler of the two brought out that devious Damascus blade and held it tight to his throat that Mariku ceased his movement and gave Bakura the chance he needed. Using one hand to keep the knife pressed flush against his captive's neck, he allowed the other to wander, examining the expanse of Mariku's flesh with the touch of a horse trader.

"This is proving to be fun."

Marik didn't reply, but Bakura imagined he heard a whimper as he shoved a finger up between his thighs. He curled the appendage just right, and, with a startled grunt, the blonde pitched forward into the sand. Bakura began to laugh. "Never been on the receiving end, eh?"

Marik tried to break free but found himself trapped between a blade at his throat and the paler's fingers setting off embarrassing sensations in the cavity of his stomach. His body twitched. Sweat lent an amber sheen to his skin as he continued to struggle. However, the Damascus blade was not letting up, and neither were Bakura's fingers. The blonde was getting tired. He was injured and starving and there was only so much more that he could…

The blonde greeted Bakura's entry not with a scream, but with a sharp intake of breath. Agony wasn't the problem. It was the shame he found harder to dispel. However, Marik managed to do it. He was a creature of hatred, and this hatred left no room for embarrassment. With a colossal will he ignored humiliation and focused all of his bitterness on destroying Bakura.

The paler man wasted little time in setting a cruel rhythm. Mariku was ill-prepared, and performing the act was extremely difficult. Everything was dry and with too much friction, and the only pleasure Bakura gleaned from it was the knowledge that the blonde was twenty times more uncomfortable that he was. The awareness of the other's agony was enough to keep him hard for ages.

When all was said and done, the lord of Baranis rested. He reclined against a boulder, watching the immobile figure of Marik Ishtar lying silent in the dirt. The blood-stained sand beneath him was black in the impersonal starlight.

"Don't think this is the end of your punishment, boy. Scum like you has no right to mercy."

The blonde did not reply, but Bakura could tell by the tension in the air that he was very much awake. "Didn't you hear me, little Marik?" He strode across the sands, toothy leer splayed across his face. He pulled the blonde up by his hair, allowing the rest of him to hang there brokenly. "Face me!"

And Marik did just that. He turned to face him and on his lips was a grin every bit as lewd and twisted as Bakura's. It was in this gesture that the lord of Baranis realized his depravity had been matched. Marik was no peasant, no little thief unlucky enough to steal from a rebel chief. He was a monster, already too broken to be destroyed. In the face of pain, in the face of humiliation and death, he was smiling, and Akefia was left trembling with something he did not fully understand.

Bakura stared blankly into the sand ahead of him. Why did his mind insist on remembering such things? He was in a situation in which it was perilous to become distracted, but as they neared Anubis' hidden city distractions were becoming more and more a nuisance.

"Malik! Ryou! I want to reach Kul Elna before dusk."

There was no reply, but Akefia could hear the soft, sandy clopping of the others' horses, lagging a sand dune behind. He thought little of it. Neither Malik nor Ryou was a soldier. It made sense that they should be weary by this time. Still, they had to get going. The Sahara was even deadlier at nightfall.

"Didn't you hear me? I said…" But words withered on Bakura's lips as Kul Elna's jagged remnants flickered into view on the horizon. Even at a distance it reeked of death, and though Marik had convinced Bakura long ago that there were no such things as spirits the hair on his arms prickled out of habit.

"Is that it?" Ryou was beside him suddenly, gritty with sand and flushed with what Bakura presumed to be sunlight. "It certainly doesn't appear very hospitable."

"Ryou, I think that's the point." Malik, also blushing from the desert's heat, studied the still distant ruin. "They say it's haunted, huh?"

Bakura snorted. "The only haunts in this world worth fearing are all too mortal."

"…you sound like my brother…"

Silence. Hotter and more oppressive than the desert sun. The things they didn't say.

I will always hate you for what you did to him.

I don't sound like Marik. I'm quoting him.

They continued on to the broken city of Kul Elna in silence. The air was quiet, the desert stained purple with approaching dusk. In this state of unreality Bakura felt nothing could surprise him. Not even a white-haired horseman hidden in a ruby cloak.

"Halt." The lord of Baranis said this with none of his usual authority. "Who are you?"

Hoary eyes peered out from beneath masses of unruly bangs. They studied the travelers scrupulously, but with an air of impersonality that may or may not have been deceptive. Bakura was unnerved by the stranger's eyes. They were unreadable…and gray was much too close to violet.

"My name is Touzouko. You must be Akefia of Baranis."

"Akefia lord of Baranis. And you? Do you have a title?"

The man smiled strangely, gaze finding neither Malik nor Ryou but boring relentlessly into Bakura. "There are God Kings and Rebel Kings, but I am neither. Call me Thief King if you call me anything." Without another word the Thief King turned and led them towards his haunted village.

They met Mariku standing at the ruin outskirts. He wore a dirty linen cloak with gold trim that matched his hair. His body looked sick, his eyes feverish in their brilliance.

Malik cried out. Even Ryou gasped a little, but Bakura stayed silent. He had not anticipated Marik's resurgence, but he wasn't surprised by it. Like magnets, it was inevitable that they be drawn together.

"Brother…" The word passed Malik's lips in an agonized moan of oxygen.

Marik didn't reply, but his gaze swiveled sharply and for a moment his face slipped from anger into absolute astonishment. He opened his mouth, shrunk back in a way that was almost apologetic, then got a hold of himself and addressed his younger brother.

"I didn't expect to see you again, Malik."

"I…for a long time I thought you were…then…" The younger blonde gestured hopelessly and laughed. "You look like shit! I mean…Anubis, what did he…"

"Anubis is what I want to talk about. My friend Touzouko has information you may find important."

Mariku lingered on the word friend, but gazed fixedly at Bakura.

"He's plotting an ambush." The Thief King spoke without interest, almost lazily. "I don't know why, and I don't know the details of his plan, but Anubis and a man named Akunadin are planning to betray you."

"Akunadin?" the lord of Baranis choked out. "How is that possible? He's loyal to the Pharaoh!"

"Loyalties fade, Akefia." A toothy grin illuminated the hollows of Marik's cheekbones. "You should know that."

With a hope that defied his resignation Bakura searched Mariku's eyes. In them there was no forgiveness.

They followed Marik and his thieving companion in silence. Ryou and Bakura kept their feelings checked, but Malik's emotions had exploded confusedly onto his face. He was excited, nervous, pissed off, relieved, and ultimately horrified because his brother looked so much worse than he'd ever imagined. Marik wasn't just hurt; he wasn't just banged up and in need of food and a good night's sleep. There was something permanent in his physical damage, something that leeched into the listlessness of his speech and the too-deep rattle of his cough.

Brother, you're scaring me.

This thought had materialized a thousand times before, but never in this context. Malik was no longer afraid of his brother's strength, of his mad temper or the stifling intensity of his gaze. Rather, he was afraid of Marik's fragility…and the way he leered at Bakura's with the ferocity of a wounded predator.

"It isn't far now." Touzouko remained unaffected by their surroundings. He spoke of Kul Elna as though it were alive and well and not a place shrouded in death.

"Why do you live here?" Ryou's neck swiveled incessantly. His eyes were wide and unnervingly curious. "It's so dismal."

The Thief King merely shrugged. "Kul Elna is my home."

There was nothing in Touzouko's voice that suggested he was offended, but no one pushed the subject. They didn't have to. The thief obliged without reluctance. "Bandits once used Kul Elna as a place to hide from the authorities. Then, about fifteen years ago, one of the Pharaoh's generals discovered it. He had the village burned and slew all of its occupants."

"And what about you?" Ryou furrowed his brows worriedly. "How did you come to live here?"

The Thief King grinned, betraying for an instant a slightly morbid sense of humor. "I told you, kid. Kul Elna is my home."

"Come off it, Touzouko. He gets it. You survived the attack on Kul Elna. No need to rub your glory in our faces."

"Your insight into the workings of the human mind amazes me, Mariku. Though I'm not sure one of such stable and sunny disposition as yourself can fully appreciate the darker things in life." The thief mimicked perfectly the blonde's snide playfulness. He kept smiling and looked a little bit hurt.

"Your sarcastic wit astounds me."

"Likewise, I find your cruelty inconceivable."

They laughed like broken men, people who understood each other. Malik was struck by this. He had never heard Mariku laugh this way.

Nor had Bakura.

There is perhaps one difference between the love of a sibling and that of a lover. One laments the beauty that has died. The other is so blinded by the memory of this beauty that he will deceive himself completely.

And so it was that Malik looked at Mariku and was horrified by his weakness. Bakura on the other hand saw no weakness. Mariku was as beautiful to him now as he had ever been. Each possessed a separate truth, a customized torture that would become more potent as time went on.

Mariku either did not see this or was too much of a beast to care.

From the ramparts of Anubis' fortress, Akunadin watched the sun descend. The sky melted in a cloudless sheet from blue to red, and he found himself wondering at the beauty of such a heartless world. One day, Seto…

It had been six years since he had seen his son. Akunadin did not fool himself into believing the adolescent boy he remembered was the same person as the High Priest of Abydos. Still, if he could see him once before he died—if only to remember what he himself was fighting for—Akunadin might pass on without regret.

'As long as our paths are parallel we fight together.'

'And when they cross…'

'That depends, Akunadin, on the interests of the victor.'

But what Anubis would never understand, what he would never even come close to touching, was the fact that, no matter how inconceivable, how unexpected or blatantly wrong it sounded, Akunadin would win. He would win because he wasn't fighting out of greed. Well, it was greed in a sense, but a selfless greed…the desire to see the only person in the world he loved achieve the greatness that was meant for him.

Seto, when you become Pharaoh we can put all of this behind us.

With all his heart Akunadin wanted this.To see his son cast off the rottenness that had taken Egypt and restore it to its former glories. It would happen. He didn't care who he had to kill, which vows he had to break. Still, in the pit of his stomach, Akunadin was worried…

What if Anubis had guessed his plans? Though he had yet to be found out as a traitor, Akunadin was too far from Alexandria to receive any reports of the Rebel King's other actions. For all he knew Seto was dead! However, if that was the case certainly he would have heard something. No. It was best not to dwell on the worst that could happen. When the time came, he would kill Anubis and instill his sun as Egypt's ruler. He didn't bother himself with the morality of such an act or even the reasoning behind it. All he knew was that he had wasted his life catering to the whims of the Pharaoh, and that his son would suffer no such fate.

"High Priest Seto! The slave boy has returned!"

Said man looked up slowly from the stack of papers on his desk. For a moment his blue eyes seemed clouded, lost in the corridors of his most private thoughts. Then reality came to him, and Seto's gaze began to clear.

"Bring him to me."

The servant nodded and bowed, backing out of his master's study as quickly as possible. Despite the siege, Seto was maintaining good control over the people of Abydos. So far he had managed to ward off the internal chaos that threatened to take the city. However, the High Priest was growing weary. It showed in the pinched expression on his face and the short temper he had taken to unleashing on his subordinates.

Seto waited nervously for Jounouchi's arrival. If he did not find my father Abydos will fall within days. The priest passed back and forth by the window but did not look out. He knew what he would see.

Enemy troops as far as the eye can see. Walls both protecting and trapping thousands of civilians.

Muffled footsteps in the hallway, and Seto's stomach gave a nasty spasm. If Jounouchi has failed…

"Here he is, Priest Seto. A little the worse for ware but still alive." Two soldiers entered. Jounouchi was supported between them. His body was bloodied and thin, lips cracked and eyes glassy from exhaustion.

"…hey boss…" Letting go of the others' soldiers, the blonde sunk helplessly to the floor. "Wouldn't happen to have some water, eh?"

"Here." Waving a hand to dismiss his soldiers, Seto offered the boy a goblet.

Jounouchi seemed to perk up a bit as he peered into the gilt chalice and took a sip. "Wine, eh?" But his good humor only went so far. Seto recognized in the slave's demeanor something that was deeply troubling.

"You failed to find Akunadin."

"No." Jounouchi shook his head. "That isn't it."

"Then where…"

"He betrayed you!" Jounouchi's eyes met those of his master, and even Seto was touched by the outrage he saw in them. "I saw him talking with Anubis! They were planning a murder!"

The High Priest words came out pinched. His head was spinning. "…my murder?"

"Not you. Some guy named Bakura. Still, it proves…"

"Bakura!" Seto's world lurched violently into focus. His father had betrayed him. This was a truth not worth dwelling on. Doing so would only increase his chances of becoming emotionally driven, and the High Priest knew better than most that emotions led to failure. Seto could do nothing to retract Akunadin's betrayal. However, he could use it to his advantage.

"Bakura, did you say? Until this point he has been Anubis' greatest ally. However, if we warn him of the betrayal…"

"What do you mean warn him? Let the enemy crumble from within. That's what I say!"

"No." Seto shook his head. "It'll take too long. By the time their little rebellion breaks apart, Abydos will be taken. We need an ally now."

"What about the reinforcements coming from Alexandria? Aren't…"

"Alexandria isn't coming. That fact is painfully clear to me. We have nowhere else to turn!" The priest slumped, exhausted, against the wall. "It must be Bakura."

"But your father! Certainly he won't actually…"

Seto snorted, and his fleeting exhibition of weakness was gone. "You don't think he'll betray me?" Slowly, the High Priest straightened until he was his usual formidable self. "Even if it were true, I would not risk my city on the fickleness of a father's love. I will fight Akunadin as I fight all those who go against the Pharaoh."

As Seto said this, the last vestige of weariness left him, and Jounouchi was left gazing at a statuette, motionless and with eyes so clear and bright he wondered if they saw at all.

-TOT

Please Review.