Aria of the Divine
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! And all related characters therein do not belong to me. They belong to Kazuki Takahashi. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: From the moment of his birth, Marik Ishtar has been bound to fate. As he struggles to forge his own path...to regain a lost power...he becomes entangled in a war between gods, and the Millennium Rod may just have a plan of its own.
Author's Note: Okay, since Wednesday doesn't seem to be the best part of the week to update a story, Aria of the Divine will now be updated every other Friday. Also, I have been using the website "20,000 Names from Around the World" as my resource for finding names and their meanings. Now, to respond to reviews!!
IcyPanther: Yay! My first review for my first epic! Boy, you sure know how to put me on the spot with questions! I'm going to have to be very awake in the future so I don't give anything away! I don't want to say too much...not yet, anyway, but I will tell you that my interpretation of the Items is slightly different, so look for clues, especially in chapter three! And yeah, I call him Marik. I always just thought it sounded better...I'm not too fond of "Malik." But to each his own, right? Anyway, I'm glad you liked it, and thanks for reading!!
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Chapter Two "Poco a Poco"
Poco a poco: a musical term meaning 'little by little'
Marik slowly stirred his soup, occasionally blowing on it though it was already cold. He had rejected all offers of companionship earlier that morning, and because he did not want to take any of it back, he was forced to remain ignorant of all events outside of his room. And only until too late did Marik realize that after he had been brought his mid-day meal, Abdul-Qahhar locked the door himself.
Angrily pushing his bow aside, Marik buried his face in his arms. He was a Tomb Guardian—he should be in the shrine, helping to fix whatever was wrong with the Rod.
"It's not fair!" Marik cried viciously, his voice muffled by the desk. "He has no right—"
A loud crash outside his room startled Marik out of his thoughts and he quickly straightened, drying his tears with his sleeve. He jumped up and ran over to the door to press an ear against it.
"Are you all right, Odion?" Marik heard someone ask.
"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."
There were several shuffling noises before Marik felt something hit his foot. He looked down to see a key ring and he grinned.
"Thanks, Odion!" he exclaimed quietly and waited several moments before unlocking the door. Cracking it open, Marik checked to see if he was alone before creeping into the hall, taking great care to shut the door and tightly clasp the keys against his hand so they would not jangle together.
The sounds of murmuring filled the corridor, and, steeling his nerves, Marik softly made his way to the shrine. He stopped frequently, always listening for others and he dared to breathe only after he had tucked himself up against the space of wall in between the corner and open door of the shrine. Pausing for only a moment, Marik peeked around the door frame. The room was filled with torches, providing more light than was necessary. Marik could see some of his cousins and uncles scattered throughout the room, some deep in meditation, others talking quietly amongst themselves and casting suspicious glances towards the stone and glass case that held the Items. Badr was in the far corner of the room, close enough where he could keep a tight observation, but far enough so he would not be in the way. Odion was nearest the door, and Marik could swear that his servant had shifted just enough so that Marik could get a better view. There was no acknowledgement of his presence, though...that would be far too risky.
Abdul-Qahhar was in the center of the room, giving a calculating stare towards the Items. He was still for quite some time before he dropped down to his knees and bowed his head, eyes closing in meditation. He began chanting under his breath, and the talking in the room ceased as all attention was caught in the scene at hand. Marik watched in rapt fascination as the air around the case seemed to distort and waver, the magic making a slight humming sound as it was tested and retested. This continued for ten minutes before Abdul-Qahhar stopped the test and opened his eyes, tongue rolling around in his mouth as he thought the situation out.
"You feel it now, too?" Badr asked quietly.
Abdul-Qahhar did not answer. He merely stood up and took the few steps towards the case. There was nothing obviously wrong with the Rod, and its bonds were still strong, however there was a slight unease that touched Abdul-Qahhar. It was the same feeling that one gets if another has been staring at them for too long. The Rod did seem to be waiting...but for what, Abdul-Qahhar could not tell.
Marik let his gaze fall to the Rod, trying to see what every one else seemed to be looking for. At first he saw nothing, but then the light began to distort, making the interior of the room contract while the walls bowed outwards. Marik continued to stare at the Rod as though hypnotized by it...it held his gaze by near physical force. The longer he looked at it, the more the changing light played against its surface, and it appeared that a red liquid was pouring from its engraved eye and flowing down the staff. It was too thin to be blood...
"Wine?" Marik breathed. "Why...why don't they see it? Can't anyone else...."
The pounding of blood in his ears drowned out all other sound, and he began to feel the familiar crawling sensation along his arms. Accompanying it was a strong burning palpation, and Marik began to sweat from it. He felt it flooding his body, and it built up into a climax of great pain—a twisting in his heart that made him feel as though he were being cleaved in two...and letting out a cry as he tore his eyes away, crouching back into his corner. He was doubled over, arms wrapped around his chest with his forehead tucked in between his knees. His heart was thudding painfully and he clenched his eyes tightly against it, not noticing the way his father sucked in his breath and narrowed his eyes.
There! There had been...a flicker...of...something...
Abdul-Qahhar took the few steps that separated himself and the Rod, and he reached out to grab it. Hissing, he jerked his hand back and cradled it with his other arm. One of the other family members stepped forward, his usually impassive face breaking into deep concern.
"Is it hot?" he questioned, retracting his hand when Abdul-Qahhar flinched away.
"No," came the response. Abdul-Qahhar winced, flexing his sore, burnt fingers. "Cold."
He turned his attention back to the Rod, which was lying in its case like nothing had happened.
"A reflex," one of the others spoke up after a long silence. "It's old magic...unstable."
"Breaking down?" Odion asked.
"A possibility," Abdul-Qahhar interrupted, giving a harsh glare to Marik's servant. "But whatever it was, it's done now." There was another stretch and curl of the fingers. "It's done now."
Marik waited until he felt somewhat normal again, before he unfurled himself and peeked back in the doorway. Everyone had gathered a bit closer, and no one was speaking, but other than that, nothing had changed. They were all basically were they were placed before....except...
'Badr,' Marik thought. 'Where did he go?'
Marik suddenly froze, his eyes widening in realization. Slowly he turned, stomach clenching when a long, dark gray robe came into view. He looked up to meet Badr's steel gray eyes, which betrayed no emotion. He had been discovered, and he would surely pay dearly for it.
"Badr..." there was only one thing that Marik could try. "I am a Tomb Guardian, as my father is. Do not betray me and this pledge I have taken. Please, do not tell."
Something akin to sympathy flashed in Badr's eyes before it quickly disappeared.
"I'm sorry, Master Marik. But I am under your father's jurisdiction only."
With a swish of his robes, Badr returned to the room, and Marik covered his face with his right hand so he would not have to see the way Badr could whisper his discovery into a most unsympathetic ear.
"But...I only wanted to see."
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Marik did not try to run. He did not bother to go back to his room and pretend that he had been there the whole time. It would have been useless, and he had learned that lying earned him a far worse punishment. He merely waited as the rest of the family filtered out of the room, none of them noticing that he was curled up in the shadowed corner, dreading what awaited him. All was silent for a long time, feeding Marik's anxiety, and he began to wonder if perhaps it would not be better to just leave...to go back into his room and stay out of his father's sight until his sin was forgotten...
"Marik!"
The booming voice echoed through the corridor, and Marik winced. Biting his lip, he slowly stood up and entered the room, making sure to keep his head down and hands at his side. Out of the corner of his eyes he could Badr against the wall, still as a statue. Odion was there was well, standing next to Badr, but he held none of his counterpart's professionalism—he was betrayed by nervous glances and the occasional wringing of his hands. Badr seemed to want to show exactly how a servant of the Ishtars should behave, so he remained quiet as ever, not acknowledging the younger man's presence even to scold.
Marik stopped just before his father, bending his spine slightly into a small, submissive bow. Abdul-Qahhar did not say anything for several minutes. Marik could feel his father's gaze piercing into his skull, and he tried to distract himself by thinking of his treasure box that was still safely hidden away in the well. This was one of Abdul-Qahhar's favorite tactics: to let the person sweat it out...their imagination did far worse things to them than he ever could, so Marik tried to mentally review the magazine, going picture by picture. He tried thinking of his daydreams of riding across the open desert...nothing but sand and sky as far as the eye could see...
"You directly disobeyed me."
Marik winced again.
"Yes," he answered. He offered no explanation nor excuse, for it would have been useless in everything except annoying his father more.
"How did you get out?"
Marik dug the keys out of his pocket and presented them to his father, still keeping his head down. Abdul-Qahhar quickly snatched them away and examined them.
"How did you get these?"
"I...I found them."
It was not a lie, but Abdul-Qahhar was not a man so easily put off.
"Who lost them?"
"I'm not sure.
Again, there was no lie—he never actually saw Odion drop the keys. Abdul-Qahhar was silent for a long time before speaking again.
"Badr, hold him."
Badr quickly stepped behind Marik and took the young boy's arms to twist them behind Marik's back. Furrowing his brow, Marik tested Badr's grip, but he was held fast. Odion jerked forward, his protective instinct taking control for a moment before a harsh glare from Abdul-Qahhar froze him in his tracks. Odion gulped as he realized what was happening. Badr moved Marik backwards as Abdul-Qahhar unhooked his whip from his belt. Abdul-Qahhar was not a man who would physically harm his own son, but he was not above punishing a seditious servant.
Once Marik saw this, he struggled as fiercely as he could, but Badr was unmovable. Marik aimed his heel down on Badr's toes, but the man was too well trained to react with anything other than a slight wince. He tightened his grip, twisting Marik's skin to inflict just enough pain to get the boy to stop fighting. It worked, as Marik clenched his teeth and arched his next backwards to rest his head against Badr's chest.
"On your knees," Abdul-Qahhar commanded, and Odion dropped to the ground to crawl to the center of the room. It was humiliating, but he had gotten used to it. Once he was at Abdul-Qahhar's feet, he sat up, leaning back to rest on his heels. He stared at the floor, hands folded neatly in his lap. "Take off the robe."
Shrugging off the dark gray tunic, Odion let it bunch around his waist before he knotted it in place. This way, it would soak up the blood, and only a minimal amount would reach the floor. Abdul-Qahhar wasted no time and immediately lashed Odion, who hissed and fell forward to balance himself on his hands and knees. The whip whirred and fell upon him again, causing him to bite his lip to keep from crying out. The whip was Abdul-Qahhar's choice of weapon when it came to fighting, and he was skilled with it. Each stroke fell in a different place, not allowing his body to become numb to the pain.
Marik felt his eyes water as he watched his father flay Odion's body, the skin splitting into thick slices of red. A well aimed blow to the bicep made Odion crumble to the ground, and Marik stopped struggling so he could rather try to turn into Badr's arms and hide from the spectacle in front of him. Badr's grip did not lessen, but he did pull Marik more tightly against him into more of an embrace than a restraint.
Abdul-Qahhar stopped the whipping to reach down and tear a strip of bloodied cloth around Odion's hips. He quickly balled it up and stuffed it into Odion's mouth. Gagging at the taste for a moment, Odion bit down on it as hard as he could before the next stroke came. Abdul-Qahhar had created the gag for him just in time...the lash landed squarely over Odion's shoulder blades, forcing a scream of agony from the teenager. Marik was reminded of the way he was similarly muffled during the tattooing, and his back ached from the memory.
"Do you understand, Marik? This is your fault...you are not the only one who suffers your errors," Abdul-Qahhar said, striking Odion again. Marik knew that it was not just Odion that his father was talking about...he was also referring to the family in general, where so many things would be brought to ruin if Marik did not accept his place as a Tomb Guardian. All Ishtars would be wounded if Marik did not sacrifice himself entirely, and anything bad that happened would be his fault. All his fault.
No. It would not be.
Marik looked up, startled as he heard the whispered words float through the room. Neither Badr nor Abdul-Qahhar seemed to have heard anything.
Not your fault. Only his, that miserable fool. You are different.
'Who...'
Let me go... let me out...I can help you. Free...me...
'Tell me who you are!'
I've waited for you...for so long...
A sickening crunch of flesh shook the wisps of thought from Marik's head, and his attention was wrenched back down to the beaten body of Odion...his shout, gasping breaths the only indication that he was still alive. Marik tried to free himself so he could run to Odion's side, but a nod from Abdul-Qahhar was all that Badr needed to keep his hold on Marik and start dragging him back out the door and back to the boy's room.
"No! Odion!! Odion, answer me!" Marik shouted. "I hate you, father! I hate you!"
Yes...anger...be angry...
"You don't have to like me, Marik," Abdul-Qahhar said. "Only submit."
No...never to him. Bow only to your anger...your hatred...let it burn inside of you...
Abdul-Qahhar whirled on his heels as he felt the magic around the Rod flex and twist, and the room felt like it started to spin. He glanced back down at Odion and tried to confirm if it was the presence of blood that had started it. Old magic always seemed so drawn to blood...
"Lock Marik's door," Abdul-Qahhar said, tossing Badr the keys. Badr caught the ring with one hand and carried a struggling Marik out of the room.
Abdul-Qahhar bent down to grab Odion by the arm and dragged him out as well. He shoved the servant into the hall before slamming the door shut, sealing whatever malice had suddenly arisen inside. The blood presence was gone, and it would calm again. He swept through the corridors back to his own room, making sure to stop and tell another servant to go back and tend to Odion. The wounds were not to get infected, and he needed Odion back at work as soon as possible. He snuffed out the torches on either side of his door and quickly shut it...a clear signal to all that he should not be disturbed under any circumstances.
There were rarely any open doors in the Ishtar palace.
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Marik fought against the lock in his room, but it was no use. Badr had the keys, and there was no other way to leave. He slid to the floor, suddenly resenting all the light around him.
His fault...all his fault...
"Make it stop. Someone, make it stop...anyone..."
Yes. I can help you.
The whispers were far weaker than before, and they sounded distracted, but a warmth crept up Marik's back and encircled him, as though someone were embracing him.
"S—stop," Marik breathed.
I can make it stop. Do not worry. I will protect you. I will make it stop. It will all end.
Marik turned then, but he saw nothing except shadows.
"Who are you?"
I will help you.
"But—"
Just not now. Sleep. I will be here when the time comes.
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It was a long time before Marik fell asleep, but the shadows in the room were patient, and when his breathing slowed, they slithered up the bed and through his covers to wrap around his body.
Pleasant dreams.
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Isis quietly thumbed through her book, more enjoying the sound of paper than actually reading. It had been a week since the incident with Marik, and she had heard no work of her brother's welfare. Not even the servant who brought Marik his meals could tell her anything, and she had not seen Odion either. Marik, under Abdul-Qahhar's order, was to stay under lock and key. His door was to be opened only for food, and his washbins were cleaned while he slept. If Marik continued to misbehave, it would be years before Isis ever saw him again, and she despaired at the thought.
Closing her book, Isis climbed off her bed and assumed her prayer position, knowing that the meditation would soothe her mind. While she did not possess the outright magical strength like that of the males in the family, she knew the value of extended cogitation. In rare moments, Isis could pick up impressions in the walls...they would speak to her in mere wisps of ideas, but she always listened. Walls could tell her more than any person could, and they knew more, as well. They knew what was contained in the shrine, and they knew its chains were rusting through. They knew the danger, and she always listened.
A gently tapping at her door drew Isis out of her reflections. Frowning, she stood up and straightened out her clothing.
"Come in," she called.
The door was gently pushed in, but the visitor did not enter.
"Odion!?" Isis gasped and she rushed to the doorway. "Odion, is everything all right? What about Marik? I haven't heard anything—"
"I'm here to bring you to him."
Isis froze in her tracks, almost not believing what Odion had said. At her stunned silence, Odion continued.
"We must be swift, my lady. And quiet. I have managed to get a key for master Marik's room. We don't have much time, so if you wish to go..."
"Yes, of course! We'll go now!" Isis exclaimed, tucking her long strand of black hair behind her ear.
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Isis followed Odion through the maze of corridors, her heart clenching every time he stopped to listen and avoid any notice. She was confused, however, as to why Odion was taking such risks for her and Marik. He had been severely punished before for other, lesser infractions. If he was caught for this, he would be disgraced, perhaps even killed. No one was ever exiled from the Ishtar family...there were too many secrets that could be leaked...told to the wrong people. The options were loyalty, or death. In some cases, perhaps like Odion's, the two were intertwined.
After several minutes, Odion and Isis finally stopped outside Marik's room, and Isis could not hold back a grin of excitement. It had been far too long since she'd seen her brother, and she very much wanted to talk to him. Once the door was unlocked, Isis immediately went in, but her greeting died on her lips.
Marik was sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing the far wall and making abstract shadow puppets. Next to his hip was a chipped clay bowl, its insides smeared with a tick red paste. It was an amateur's attempt at paint, and Isis could see why her brother seemed unusually thin. Scattered around the room were eggshells, almost empty bottles of spices, and a few dried rose petals. Marik had barely been eating...all of his food had gone into his paint, which oddly smelled of nothing stronger than curry. Isis could see markings on the wall that Marik had made with his paint...a series of lines and curves all connecting in a random pattern.
"Marik," Isis called softly, not wanting to startle her brother too terribly. There was no response as Marik continued to twist his hands and flex his fingers in a pale imitation of the graceful lines on the walls. "Marik," Isis tried again, her voice raising slightly. When she was once more ignored, she stepped in front of one of the lamps. Marik frowned and twisted to look over his shoulder, the look of confusion switching to disbelief.
"I—Isis? Isis!" Marik jumped up and ran to his sister, nearly knocking her over in the process. "Father said I'd never get to see you again!"
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Odion exhaled softly in relief, his lips quirking into a small smile before he walked away from Marik's room. He would give them some time to themselves by making a loop through the hallways. It would only be for a little while, but Odion felt that it would greatly soften Marik's confinement.
As he walked, Odion noticed that the corridors were very quiet, and he felt the suspicion rise within him. When the next hall he turned into was dead silent, Odion sucked a breath in through his teeth and dashed back to Marik's room. When he arrived, he skidded to a halt and felt his heart skip a beat. Badr was standing placidly in the middle of the hall, facing the closed door.
"Badr, "Odion said, fear giving way to anger. "Let them have this. You surely can't think that Abdul-Qahhar is correct in keeping them apart!"
"I do as my master wishes," Badr replied obediently. "As I always have, and will. Come with me. Now."
Odion clenched his eyes shut as his hands curled into fists. He had been caught, and he had to suffer the consequences. He was not afraid of death, and he was proud to have been able to make Marik happy, but he worried about what would happen to his charge when he would not be there to protect and guard him.
"Odion! Now."
Taking a deep breath, Odion followed Badr back to the shrine. As they stopped outside the entrance, Badr held Odion back for a moment.
"You will not survive this."
Odion was quiet.
"Why did you do it?"
"I do...as my master wishes. As I always have, and always will," Odion replied, shaking Badr's hand from his arm and striding into the shrine, where Abdul-Qahhar waited with a whip and a death. Odion did not bow his head this time, and he kept his posture proud. Abdul-Qahhar made no mention of this, but rather he played with the leather in his hands.
"The Millennium Items are old gods," he said. "They like blood...they like seeing it spilled and staining the earth. For such a long time they've been forgotten by the rest of the world...perhaps they would like another sacrifice?"
The Millennium Rod flashed with a secret, inner light, the magic barriers around it suddenly flexing and groaning under the strain. Odion closed his eyes against the blinding light, but it disappeared quickly, and Odion shook it off.
Marik froze. He raised his head from his sister's should to see the shadows on the wall jump, writhing far more violently than the candlelight should have allowed.
"What's happening?" he asked.
Isis had her eyes closed, but they quivered as though she were dreaming. Within seconds, however, she gasped and her eyes shot open once more.
"Odion," she answered. "Father means to kill him!"
"We have to help him!" Marik exclaimed, tearing himself from his sister's arms and running to the shrine.
"Marik! Wait for me!"
Isis chased Marik to the shrine, skidding to a halt as Marik abruptly stopped in the doorway. He was standing very still, his expression of stunned horror melting into impassiveness. His violet eyes blinked slowly up at his father, all light fading from them.
"No," he whispered.
Abdul-Qahhar remained unaware of his son's and daughter's presence, and he continued to administer his punishment to the dying servant.
"No," Marik said again, and stepped into the shrine. Isis reached out to pull him back, but he was quickly out of range and she dare not to follow him in. Isis watched, petrified, as Marik calmly walked past his father and stood before the display. Abdul-Qahhar still did not see him, as the shadows hid him well.
"No," Marik said once more, and he put a hand through the glass to wrap his fingers around the glowing, golden Millennium Rod.
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To be continued.
And because I forgot to do it in the last chapter, the meaning of the name Odion is this:
Odion: (egyptian) "Born of Twins"
