Chapter Thirteen
The corridor of shadows between the upper chambers and the dueling arena beneath the temple of Ra became a hellish maze, an endless series of twists and turns in what had once been a fairly straightforward passageway. Jounouchi and Honda came to a panting halt as they crashed against an unforeseen wall, one against the other.
"What the hell…?" Honda yelped reflexively, as he plunged against a soft, breathing resistance and bounced off with a stagger. Jounouchi – the body that took the brunt of contact with the wall – gasped out a blistering curse, before drawing back as well, sword drawn in the dark.
"The Shadows have changed our path. They lay across it now…waiting…like leopards in the palace garden." The whites of Jounouchi's eyes were all that Honda could make out – the dark irises were dilated to black, and stood like soulless wells in his face. "Honda, I…I fear that we are all doomed."
Then, like a blessing of the gods, beams of gilded light broke free from the evil dark. Their labyrinth had vanished. They stood before the doors of the Arena.
The battle was over.
Kaiba was a still form, sprawled on the smooth limestone floor. Honda looked down on him as they passed. The startling blue of his eyes was wide open and staring, lips parted in cold shock – as though he could not have imagined defeat, even in death.
His chest was still.
But there was no rejoicing…no glory in the victory.
"No! …Damn you…!"
Jounouchi crumpled to the floor beside the pharaoh's wildly convulsing body, a body taxed so far beyond its strength that even the thrashing limbs seemed heavy with exhaustion.
They won their battle.
Yami defeated Kaiba.
And yet…they lost.
Honda knelt on Yami's opposite side as Jounouchi pulled the resisting body into his arms and clutched him tightly to stay his wild throes; the swordsman's face a still mask of pain. "I wanted to tell you…I tried…oh, gods, didn't you realize? Didn't you know that I wasn't trying to hurt you? That I believe in you?"
There was no response. The convulsions abruptly halted. Yami's velvet eyes rolled beneath his lids, but besides the labored rasp of his breath, it was the only sign that he still lived.
"Don't you dare leave me, you ass! Not…not after all this…" Jounouchi threatened, "You're such an idiot! You knew you couldn't do this alone!"
"Jou…" Honda reached out to touch Jounouchi's shoulder in quiet understanding and comfort, but the other swordsman shrugged his hand away.
"Help me get him upstairs." Was the frigid order. Honda swallowed a sigh, and struggled to his feet, accepting the pharaoh's body as Jounouchi pressed him into his arms. Cold eyes razed Kaiba's pale, fallen form.
"I wish you could lie there until you rot," The warrior hissed, and bent, wrestling the priest's lifeless body into his arms, "but you defame the Son of Ra while you do."
"What are you going to do with him…?" Honda whispered fearfully, as he led them back up to the surface
"String him from the palace gates with the thieves," Jounouchi replied with a feral snarl. "Take the pharaoh to his rooms. I'll be back soon enough."
Neither of them had the free hand to push the heavy slab door over the underground entrance and secure the sacred portal.
They never saw the malevolent shadow slip into the arena after they'd gone, drawn by the remnant tatters of power.
Honda didn't ask Jounouchi what he really had done with Kaiba's body, but as the older warrior pointedly watched a column of smoke rising that evening from the desert's verge…he realized that he didn't have to.
The pharaoh – once so proud and strong a young man – was reduced to an invalid, weak as a kitten and hovering near death as he lay propped against a bank of pillows in his bedchambers. He did not speak. He did not eat. He merely breathed, and even that grew fainter with each passing day as his weakness grew.
He was dying, and everyone knew it.
The Saint-Dragon sapped all of its victims with inexorable venom, and as Jounouchi and Honda discovered when they plunged down into the lower chambers of the temple, its ire had already claimed Kaiba's life utterly.
Jounouchi never left his side – curse his duties, and let the palace walls crumble around them. Let the sky fall. Without his golden god to protect…he was lost.
Honda found solace in the prisoner's room – exchanging threats with one of the two nomads they'd brought in the day of Yami's…victory…
Neither the man nor the woman had allowed themselves to be tethered into slavery, but Jounouchi's last coherent command was to spare them from death, no matter what, and so they sat, chained in a dark prison to a cold wall, patiently awaiting their own demise.
Honda sat across the room from the chained man, legs folded, watching him. It was easier to watch the angry youth tear at his fetters and curse his name than bear witness to the terrible, sad silence in the King's bedchambers.
"Kill me."
Honda no longer winced at the command. Otogi asked for it daily, sometimes hourly.
"No."
"Kill me or set me free. Or by the judgment of Sekhmet, when I am free I will draw a new smile across your throat where you should have when you first had the chance!"
"I don't have time for this. And you take yourself way too seriously."
"…"
"The sorcerer who hired you to attack the city is dead."
The previously cold emerald eyes blazed hotly for a moment, and subsided.
"It was to be expected." Otogi shrugged listlessly. "He gorged himself on power, and choked."
"You don't pity him?"
"Why should I? He has done nothing to make me pity him. Save fall prey to his own ambition."
The tone of disgust spoke volumes – and Honda had the distinct impression that the other man was asking himself why he'd ever thought otherwise of the dead priest.
"You would have liked to see him live."
"I admired his skill. That is all."
"You cared for him, or you would never have let him manipulate you the way he did." Now he was deliberately baiting the other man, speaking in familiar tones and prodding with observations sure to incite his anger. Oh, there were a dozen or so very good reasons for the ease with which Kaiba pulled the ranks together, but the Children of the Horse were not stupid…and rare were the reasons for anyone to charge into the jaws of certain death with clans that they distrusted.
But they did, however, trust their war leader.
No wonder Otogi was always asking for death.
"I won't answer that."
"It's true, isn't it?"
"You don't know anything about me!"
Honda shook his head adamantly. The other's insistence in speaking only in native tongue was beginning to frustrate him, but he kept his peace. If it was a deliberate power play, he didn't have time for these silly games. If it was defiance…it was a child's show of rebellion, and a fruitless one.
"I am one of your people," Honda insisted calmly, "whether you like it or not, I know everything about you. I know what drives you. I know your desires. The Children of the Horse cannot lie to me."
"Then what is it that drives me?" Otogi raised his chin defiantly, and Honda found himself chuckling. A memory resonated from the future like a phantom, and he could see Otogi's drilling glare. He was one of those rebels-without-a-cause then…but now…he had a purpose. And still it was the same Otogi. Even the passing of five millennia couldn't change that attitude.
"Ka'desh," Honda spoke the word reverently, "Love. Love drives all of us."
"Touching." Was the ponytailed youth's dryly sarcastic comment. "How philosophical. Come, prophet, tell me more."
Honda flushed, but continued bravely on…speaking as much from his own heart as from the heart of the man deep within…the heart that could not remember this youth before him, but remembered what he stood for.
"Love of freedom, of truth; love of tribe…care for the family and for the friends, and for the animals that we ride, and the spirit-beasts that guide and guard our people and give us their names."
"And?" Otogi's voice was vaguely skeptical, "Is that all, prophet?"
"No, that's not all." He closed his eyes, feeling the inner struggle as he sought to drag a deeply buried memory from its hiding place. It wasn't one he knew…but he knew it was there. The words came in a rush of measured, foreign rhyme – the creed and call of the Children of the Horse.
"We are a race of passion…our hearts thunder to the beat of our spirit-beast's hoof, our voices rise to answer his call, and our bodies are but vessels to carry his passion."
Otogi sat upright, regarding him with interest, suddenly.
"You speak very prettily, but were you old enough to know the meaning of those words before you were taken by these slow-blooded fools?"
"It means that we are made to love one another, freely and without fear. We are not a people to be tied."
The eloquently expressive green eyes caught him up in a transfixing gaze, and Honda knew his mistake, then. He'd been led into the trap, and followed blindly.
"The Fox are a people of cunning, the Jackal of hunger and fear. The Snake we have no truck with for their deception, and the Scorpion we avoid for their anger. If you know that we are a people of freedom, then surely you know how much these tethers kill us within. How can you, who call yourself one of my people, bind yourself to these men, and then ignore the pleas for mercy from your own?"
"I…"
"And moreover, why do you ignore what it is that burns within you? There is something. Every time you look upon me, there is something. I am one of your people, just as much as you are one of mine. The Children of the Horse cannot lie to the Children of the Horse…this much you said before." Otogi's slender throat tipped to one side as he regarded Honda questioningly, and across from him, the taller warrior caught his breath. "What is it you remember? Do you know me? And why do you stay so often at my side?"
"You wouldn't want to know the answer if I told you," Honda replied miserably, and rose. "I'll come back later."
"If I haven't talked one of the guards into giving me my death."
"Yes. If you haven't managed that by tomorrow, of course."
Mai took matters into her own hands. How she had secured the arrowhead, none of them knew for sure. But she had forced herself and Otogi into a life without dignity, and a life without freedom. A life without freedom was no life at all, and in the depths of the night, she spilled her own lifeblood with a slash of both wrists.
They found her in the morning, the symbol of her people painted on the wall of her cell in drying ruddy-brown streaks.
She lay slumped beneath her artwork on the floor, a pleased smile curving the full lushness of her cooling lips.
Three men mourned her that day. The Honda that was, the Honda that remembered, and her raven-haired companion in the adjacent cell.
There's too much bloodshed…
Everything seemed to be falling to pieces around them. And through it all, the vultures waited…the jackals circled their dying fire – their dying pharaoh – with gleaming teeth and glowing, hungry eyes.
He remembered Mai. Both as the free-spirited warrioress, and the fiercely independent young woman with a deck full of Amazons and the beauty of a model. These words meant nothing to his mind…just so much gibberish that his 'old' self supplied, and yet…the image of her persisted. And she was…gone…
"Hey!" One of the guards called out, upon looking into Mai's cell, "Hey boys, get over here! This one's done herself in!"
Honda caught their words from the corridor, and raced to peer over their shoulders. The scent of blood was heavy, and he turned away from the sight with a gag. His mentor had confided once that no matter how many corpses he saw, no matter how deadened Jounouchi became to pain and suffering, the sight of a friend in that sorry state would never soften with time.
He understood. At last.
And she hadn't even remembered his name.
Another echoed Honda's low, muffled sob. It snapped him – momentarily – out of his funk, and his head whipped around in search of the sound again. He stepped back, toward the open door of the other inmate's room.
Another soft sob came from beyond the portal. From inside.
Otogi?
The other guards were already busy removing her body. "What do we do with her, sir?" One of them asked, stirring Honda once again to reality. He glanced through the entrance, and met a pair of tortured green eyes, set deep in a face so deathly pale that the scar beneath his eye stood out like a seam of chalk. Honda's eyes turned back to the guardsman, who cradled the poor woman's wretched, stiffening form in his arms.
Mai…
"Give her a warrior's burial," He began, "she deserves…"
"No."
The soft denial seemed to echo from everywhere at once. All eyes moved to the doorway where Honda stood, and inside, the young man chained to the wall was on his feet. "No. She was no warrior of yours"
"What would you have, then?"
"Give her to the desert. Our people…" he swallowed noisily, the blazing emerald of his eyes suddenly finding a port in the deep, dark wells of his watcher's gaze, and spoke privately to him in their common tongue, "what is left of our people will find her."
Those eyes…they held him captive…and they begged him to understand.
The guards turned with questioning murmurs to Honda, who suddenly found himself in the uncomfortable position of first-in-command, as his mentor had successfully rendered himself incapacitated. He broke his trained gaze on Otogi at last, and gave the men a curt nod. "Do as he says. Take the warrior's body to the desert. And return her weapons before you do."
Otogi's gaze glowed with a strange light, before he managed an incredulous nod.
Reverently, the warriors set to their task. And ultimately, they would complete the path of freedom that Mai had laid for herself.
But in her wake, she left three men in chains of sorrow.
At last, Honda's feelings converged, no longer separated by the gap of years between the man of the past and the man of the far future. No longer were the memories unbidden. They flowed into him as Mai's death touched sorrow in every part of his being; became a whole part of him. It was a strange feeling, to be utterly conscious of both lives at once, but at least he was in control, and no longer fighting to glean pieces of his past from shadowed, unexpected corners of his mind.
Overcome by the power of it, Honda staggered through the doorway and fell to his knees beside Otogi.
Otogi. The friend he remembered…the one companion he'd been willing to utterly share everything with…since Jounouchi had fallen into mourning Yami's loss, far in the future.
It was damned confusing, all of these tangled ties, but at least feelings didn't lie. Help me, Honda's eyes beseeched, as he gazed up at Otogi, I remember you…help me, and I'll help you…
The dark-haired boy stood over him for a quiet second, before his brows drew down. "What have you to mourn? She was my sister, in soul if not in blood!"
"I remember her…" Honda answered, quietly, too emotionally overdrawn to make an issue of Otogi's sudden willingness to speak in the language of the King, "but when I tried to speak to her…she never knew me." Such was the way with all of his friends, here. The world was becoming a vastly lonely place…was he doomed to wander this ancient earth by himself as some kind of divine punishment?
Some of his despair communicated itself to Otogi, and the other boy lowered himself again to the stone, offering himself to fill Honda's empty arms. "I know you."
"You know me now…" Honda sighed, but certainly didn't resist the other's quiet lean toward him, and his hands slipped around Otogi's hunched shoulders.
The world froze beyond the prison's doors for them, as each found some small measure of comfort and understanding in the other's arms.
A half hour passed on that cool stone floor, until a messenger came fleeing from the King's chambers in search of Honda. The page found him curled around the lightly dozing form of the young nomadic warrior, and an eyebrow arched. But she said nothing. Her place was only to deliver the urgent message, and deliver Jounouchi's protégé to Yami's bedside.
"The pharaoh has awakened," The page said, without further pretense, "and he is asking for Honda. You are requested at the King's chambers immediately."
"Oh…" Honda blinked sleepily…a half hour in Otogi's embrace had reminded him of just how tired he was. Then the news cut across his senses, and he struggled to his feet, shoving Otogi rudely to one side in his haste. The other boy stared up at him in irritation and – was that hurt?
"Go, prophet," he sneered, the walls once again in place between the nomad and the bodyguard, "go and speak wise words of comfort to your pharaoh."
"Get me the keys to this one's chains." Honda demanded of the page. She blinked.
"S-sir?"
"You heard me."
She had.
She went.
Honda met the eyes of the yet-seated youth, whose gaze was upturned and wide with shock.
"What, you think I was going to leave you here?"
"What do you think you're doing, is what I wonder."
"You were right, in one thing at least. You shouldn't be tied up."
"You're just going to let me leave?"
The page returned with the keys, and without a moment to spare, Honda set to unlocking his fetters.
"Can you think of any reason why I shouldn't?" He asked, without looking up from his work. Honda possessed the only weapons in the room. He had the keys. He had also only recently comforted the nomadic warrior just as much as the other provided comfort for him.
"But I…but you…" Otogi sputtered, "…no…?"
Honda smiled thinly. "Right answer." The last manacle came free, and he tossed it aside. "There. You're free to go. The stables aren't far from here. If you're quick, you can make it out. Go tell your people…about…" He clapped a hand on Otogi's shoulder, "Go tell them."
Otogi caught his wrist, squeezed it, and backed away to flee.
Honda was already going the other direction as Otogi turned, dashing full-tilt after the page to Yami's room.