Ok guys, this has gotten to be a bigger story than I'd planned, so I will put this up with a promise of more to come. I hope you enjoy it. I don't own YGO or any of its characters.
Chapter 5: The King of Egypt
Three Days before…
Excerpt from the Egyptian Book of the Dead:
Beam of light, sun and moon. Shining beast, man and woman. I am passing through. Come outside among the people. I am light. Gaze on me. Moon in darkness, sun in morning. Light is what I will on earth, along the Nile, among the people.
I have traveled through the tomb, dark and lonely ground. I am here now. I have come. I see.
The young Pharaoh stood before her motionless body. He recited the prayer again, grabbed the dagger from his waist, and presented it to the raven black statue of Anubis for a blessing. He then cut an incision lengthwise from his wrist until the blood flowed freely down his forearm. Careful not to waste the precious substance he allowed it to drip into the wide golden bowl. Again, he said the prayer.
Heat filled his stomach and radiated to fill his extremities. The pressure became too much to bear and he screamed. Searing pain filled his head and he fell to his knees. Arms outstretched in subjection to the god's power; blood covered his arm and upper torso. The guards and priest responded to his cry and raced to the room.
"M'Lord! We heard you cry out…by the gods!" They gathered around the bleeding monarch, as he crumpled to the ground.
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Hours later in his chamber, he winced as he flexed his bandaged arm, and poured over the books again. Too much power, have to adjust the ingredients, try another chant. Raking his hand though his hair, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his burning eyes. Hundreds of chants, myriads of spells, cluttered his mind. He'd spoken to every sorcerer, priest, and mage in the kingdom, gathered information from the farthest reaches of his power, nothing worked. There must be a way, I will find a way. He had never given up on anything in his life, and he wasn't going to start now, not with Cassandra's life in the balance.
The vizier entered the chamber with his usual silent grace. "Yami, you need to rest. Why don't you let this go till morning?" His familiar voice was a balm to Yami's raw nerves.
"Seto, I don't know what I'd do without you. How goes negotiations with …"
"Sire, don't concern yourself about that tonight. You will do no one any good if you collapse again." Always practical, always logical, his right hand, Seto had been his counselor, friend, ally and occasional sparing partner during the games. The games, how they loved the games! Only the very privileged, and powerful could play. The stakes were always high, but the thrill of competition was remarkable. Using shadow demons to battle one another, the gamesters would continue until one opponent was devoid of life points. The battles were so ferocious; it was as if the creatures in the other realm were real! He knew that they were not, just some images conjured by the mages to represent the monsters, but still, nothing short of war could excite his competitive nature as the games did.
He gave his vizier a weary smile. "You are right as usual. I will retire, to start fresh again tomorrow."
"I'll extinguish the lamps, my lord."
Yami put a hand of appreciation on Seto's shoulder before he left.
He didn't notice the vizier reach into his robes, extract a parchment, and place it strategically in the Pharaoh's pile of spells, nor did he hear him mutter, "Rest well."
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One day bled into another, and another. He was becoming more desperate with each failed attempt. The window would close soon and no magic would be able to recall her soul. Frustrated, he stood up, clinched his teeth, and slammed his hands onto the massive table in front of him. Papers flew in all directions. Yami shook his head and leaned over to pick up the documents. It was then that he saw it.
The paper was so fragile; he marveled that it had not disintegrated on impact. Writing on the parchment was faded and the dialect was different than anything that had been used in the kingdom for centuries. He had been schooled in ancient text, and it wasn't long before he had deciphered the message.
The realm of shadows has been sealed. The power over life and afterlife, ultimate command over the elements, and control of men's hearts and minds, should belong to no one. In time of great need, one of royal blood, filled with righteous power may come. The chosen may tear the curtain, between life and death, between darkness and light, between evil and good, between spirit world and reality, between future and past. Take heed, once opened the portal may only be closed by great sacrifice, blood, and Spirit….
His heart leapt in his chest. This is it. He knew it, beyond any doubt. He was destined to save his beloved. I am the incarnation of RA, god on Earth; I will master this magic, and use it to save her. Smiling widely went back to his studies.
The room was dark and silent; the others had left long ago. The spell was to be spoken by the light of the moon, and that was some time away. He'd spent so much time in this room he'd ceased seeing her lifeless body. Now he slowly approached the podium. She seemed only to be asleep. He missed her voice, her laugh. The way her eyes would sparkle when she teased him, his heart felt like a stone in his chest.
They had hated each at first sight. Their wedding had been set years before they'd ever met. He hadn't thought about it really, he knew what was expected, but obviously duty and honor were not words she was familiar with. He remembered her first day here vividly, she stalked into the room black hair swinging, hands on her hips, and refused to unpack. "Don't expect me to stay," she stated loudly, "Unless I see something that strikes my fancy." She stared at Yami with pointedly with distain. He was equally unimpressed, by her power plays and flamboyant attitude. He had doubts the alliance would work until, that night after the games. He'd returned to the palace flushed with excitement, another win, another victory snatched from the very brink of defeat. He wanted to celebrate and the appeal of the palace whores did little to whet his appetite.
He flew up the stairs, waved the guards away, and entered her chamber. She was only partially clad in near transparent material. He looked at her appreciating for the first time exactly how beautiful his fiancé was. Perfectly formed features, topped by an elfin face and almond eyes. She truly was striking.
"What are you doing here?" She looked only mildly interested, but there was an edge in her voice, not her usual flippant attitude. Good.
"I heard that you are a dancer," he sat on a plush crimson pillow, and leaned back.
"Yes, it looks as if you have blood in your veins after all." After a sideways glance at him, she sighed and began to dance to the soft music that penetrated the thick walls of her rooms. The musicians would play continuously, on shifts unless he told them to stop.
She moved in rhythm to the mysterious music, teasing him without mercy. Swaying her hips and artfully positioning her hands, he'd never seen a dance of such passion. She reached forward and wrapped a gauzy scarf around his neck, pulling him from his seat and toward her. Bending herself backwards, she pressed herself against his chest. She rose from her backbend to look him in the eye, holding the stare until his heart skipped a beat. Then she twirled away with a florish. Her dance complete, she fell to the ground at his feet, in an uncharacteristic subservient gesture. His eyebrows furrowed.
His breathing was harsh with the excitement she had aroused in him, he reached down grabbed her shoulders, and pulled her up to her feet. Her head remained bowed. Hoping to meet her eyes again and indulge in a kiss, he used a finger to raise her head. What he found there surprised him. Tears.
"What is wrong?" He said huskily.
She looked confused, then pulled her face away from his grasp and turned her back to him, saying nothing.
"Cassandra, I don't understand. Are you in pain?"
A bitter laugh escaped her lips, short, brittle and hard. "Aren't you going to …"?
"To what..?"
She made no move; silently he put a hand on her shoulder. Moving his long fingers lightly across her back, he pushed her hair aside in a tender caress. She flinched. The reaction of an injured animal.
Her exposed back reveled scores of long white scars, invisible from a distance; they criss-crossed the whole of her upper body. He gasped aloud.
"Cassandra, what happened?"
She shivered and stepped away, "I did not always please my father," she paused, "and I was punished." She turned to face him. Tears still shining in her eyes, she glared at him defiantly. The same glare she had given her father. The same glare he had failed to beat out of her. Yami's heart ached for the pain she had suffered.
"I would not harm you for the world, and no one will ever hurt you again. I promise you, my word is my bond." He turned to leave, her musky scent still reeking havoc on his senses.
"Wait. How do I know what you say is true?" Her voice was small, barely above a whisper.
"You don't. You just have to trust me."
In the tomb the promise echoed in his head and he stroked her cold cheek. I promise you. He put a blanket over her still form and tucked the edges around her, as if to keep her warm.
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