Chapter Seven
Please God just let me die…
Honda groaned as he turned over on his pallet and discovered yet another new muscle. He could handle the pike, the dagger, and the sword with the best of the new recruits. By lucky chance, he'd even managed to strike a 'kill' on Jounouchi. Once. For which Jounouchi had thoroughly retaliated by upping his sparring partners from fellow recruits to seasoned members of the palace guard.
Oh, he hurt. Were dreams supposed to hurt this bad?
There was a big, fat difference between the dreams he'd had and what he was going through now.
Two, actually. First off, when he was dreaming, he hadn't been able to do a damn thing. He was just a passenger while his body moved on its own, felt its own feelings, and utterly ignored him. Now he was lord and master of his own arms and legs, but he had a head full of unpredictable memories that kept popping up without warning and hitting him in the gut like a sucker punch.
Second, he hadn't actually lived any of the time he'd felt passing in the other dreams. Now, he'd been here for…what…three weeks? A turn of his head to the wall of his quarters and the charcoal scratches thereon registered that yes, it had been. Almost four.
And for every bruise that had faded in that time, Jounouchi presented him with a brand new set, in interesting new places. The man – his mentor? – insisted that his name was not Jounouchi, but Honda's subconscious continued to rebel, as it did to the name that Jounouchi had given him.
What did it matter? He ached in places that he didn't know he had, and in another two minutes, Jou would be coming down the hallway to collect him for another hard day of training. When he hadn't wanted to know what was in store for him, all that long time ago…his instincts had been absolutely right on.
It was the most realistic dream he'd ever had. If it was a dream.
I don't know how in the hell I got here, or what I'm doing here, but if there's a way out, I'm taking it.
Until that way and his chance to take it came, unfortunately, the point was just to stay alive.
Okay. Retract my previous statement, God.
At least he was better off than the low slaves – though Jounouchi made it very clear to him that he was only one scant step above them, and one mistake could send him plunging back down there again. He had his own room – private, for the most part – he had regular meals, and his work was peanuts compared to the hard labor down in the quarries and along the walls of the temples being constructed outside the palace walls.
This was Egypt. He'd figured that out on the second day, when his 'mentor' led him from the high wooden walls of the arena and through the city to the palace. Somehow, he'd managed to take a serious jump back in time, too. There were no jet trails overhead, no hydraulic lifts or cranes, and no indoor plumbing.
It took some getting used to.
Heh. Understatement of the century. Whatever century this is.
But if three weeks had passed, there was no reason why it wouldn't last another week. Or two.
Or years…
But he didn't want to think about that possibility.
Desperate, lonely tears began at last to well. He was alone in a world of strangers. Now, at last, he knew how Mai had felt, a few months and a lifetime ago.
Strange…her image kept treacherously changing, every time he tried to imagine her. When he saw her, she was lithe and strong, brown as a berry, and clad in leather from her boots to the thong that bound long black hair into a tail behind her. A long tunic of white linen protected her skin from the sun, but the wind billowed it, exposing her in glimpses.
She was one of his own people. He knew this on an instinctive level.
There was one of those unexpected clinches of pain, again. Honda rubbed at his eyes in frustration, and sat up with another groan. He heard the steady, measured footfalls of his mentor, and got to his feet. Damn if Jounouchi would find him crying…
That thought led to a stinging that had nothing at all to do with his new memories or his new bruises.
It would be worth any embarrassment or punishment to look into eyes that shone with recognition and glowed with love. He missed his friends more than any other part of his 'old' life. But the Jounouchi that he knew now was standing in his doorway, frowning as he assessed his pupil with…was it worry? Anticipation?
If this is my dream, why can't I make you remember me?
"The pharaoh will watching you today at your practices. If He is pleased with you, you will join me as personal bodyguard to the Son of Ra."
"Yes, sir." By some strength of will over the weeks, Honda had at last controlled the muscle that jumped in his jaw every time he said 'sir' to the boy. It was difficult to believe that Jounouchi was really no older than himself – had he been trained to this life from birth?
"His Exalted Majesty has graciously offered the use of one of His Legion for your spar today." Jounouchi turned, and by force of habit, Honda fell in step behind him. "I expect you to do your best."
…Legion…?
"I will, sir."
"I made you what you are. Do not fail me."
"No, sir."
"Good lad," Jounouchi clapped him on the shoulder, and as they reached the end of the corridor, he led them into the morning light of the arena.
His opponent stood at the center, huge and muscled and oozing deft skill. Honda tried not to cringe. I can't even play a decent game of Duel Monsters. What says I can beat some guy twice my size with a freaking sword!
Three weeks of aching muscles say so, the tiny voice of confidence replied.
The pair of fighters stretched, jogged together to warm up in the dry, frosty air, and then set to sparring with blades.
Live blades. No more wooden stakes, or pot metal that lost an edge in a heartbeat. These were not steel, but the beaten metal they were forged from was hard and strong, and sharp.
Honda brandished his sword and shield, and eyed the other man's blade. It looked a little familiar, to be honest…flattened and broadened at the very end, and curved in its lines. Unlike any of the other swords. And the other swordsman himself seemed uncannily familiar as well. The expression…the sigils on the broad face of the blade as it glinted almost orange in the new light…
The Flame Swordsman!
Oh. Shit.
Realization dawned with a shock of fear, as the other man rushed him. But muscle memory took over where momentary terror left off, and the initial ringing of metal filled the empty stadium.
Clash. Thrust, slash, and dodge out of the way.
Duck.
Roll. Come up behind, and sweep his opponent's legs from under him.
Glad I didn't slack off in fencing class, at least.
The fellow swordsman hit the ground hard, and staggered to his feet only through a struggle.
I'm winning!
Honda waited for him to regain his guard, and moved in again.
Unexpectedly, the flash from his opponent's sword shone in his eyes with the burn of fire, and he yelped.
Fire lanced him utterly, then, as the stranger's sword scythed between his ribs. He fell.
Familiar, blessed darkness closed over him again.