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 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: I don't really have anything to say here, so I'll go ahead and just respond to my review!
IcyPanther: If I haven't said it already, thanks for reviewing! It's really appreciated, believe me. And yeah. I call him Odion. I'm not entirely sure why, though the meaning of his name can make your brain whirl if you think about it...and there are story possibilities in it, I'm sure. I hope my plots keep you interested, and now, I think, I may have to throw some extra twists in there! I'm really glad you like my story, and it was good to hear from you!
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Chapter Three "Galop of the First Hegira"
Galop: a quick dance in duple metre
Hegira: a flight to escape danger
At first, nothing happened. But then, as the seconds melted into each other, Marik fought a grimace as his blood turned to serpents...twisting and slithering underneath his skin and constricting around his heart. His head began to pound and he saw the light splitting behind his eyes. Dark tendrils of magic laced their way up his arms and down his body, his whole frame quivering from the onslaught. His blond hair doubled in volume, and it fell heavily across his shaded eyes. Power surged through him, and he grinned maliciously as he noted the raised ring at the base of the rounded head of the Rod.
Abdul-Qahhar immediately ceased the beating, and he pivoted on his toes to see Marik standing quite composedly before the display case, the magic shields whining under the strain before cracking and falling into pieces. The magic had changed from sleepy subservience to a wakened monster. It was out, and it was growing...feeding from all the energy around it. It was free, and Abdul-Qahhar was filled with dread.
"A sacrifice," Marik said, his voice projecting with a double echo. "Will not be necessary."
Here, Marik turned, and Isis raised a hand to her mouth in astonishment. Marik had changed, and his amused sneer held no warmth. Marik raised his arm and the Rod released a burst of energy, throwing Abdul-Qahhar to the wall and pinning him there. Marik glided up to his father, unscrewing the bottom half of the staff to remove the pointed blade from its sheath. Abdul-Qahhar struggled against the bonds, but the magic held him fast.
"A blood offering, however, may be well appreciated," Marik continued and lifted the Rod above his head before plunging it deep into his father's heart.
Abdul-Qahhar groaned at the impact, his tongue catching in his throat to turn it into more of a choked gurgle, and he looked down at his son. At the sight of Marik's blank eyes, he gave a superior smirk.
"I wonder...just...what do you think...you'll be able to do next," he said, swallowing the blood that was rising in his throat. Marik pulled the Rod out and smiled back.
"I'll think of something," he replied and once again drove the Rod downwards, making sure to twist and twirl the staff to do as much damage as possible. Abdul-Qahhar gave one last, deep shuddering breath, and then as the magic bonds disappeared, he collapsed to the ground. A trail of blood against the wall marked his last stand, and his eyes were glossed over.
The Rod slipped from Marik's fingers, the metal ringing loudly as it collided with the stone floor. Lines of blood streaked its otherwise pristine surface, but it did not stain. It merely slid off like drops of water, pooling beneath the Rod. Marik slowly turned away from the body of his father, musing over his crimson colored hands and stained sleeves. Isis was staring at him in disbelief, her hands unconsciously clasped in prayer. Odion was the first to recover, and he struggled to climb to his knees.
"Marik," he rasped, stretching out his arms. "Marik."
Marik lifted his head back up to look at Odion, his orchid eyes glistening. He was back to normal, and the shadows were quiet once more. On the corner of his vision, he could see great webs of cracks in the stone walls, giving silent testimony to the magic that had been released. All protection spells in the room were in tatters, some of them with visible shards that glinted like black glass in the torch light.
"What...have I..." Marik shook his head before running into Odion's outstretched arms, clutching at the tattered gray robe as tightly as he could. "What have I done?" he whispered. "What have I done?"
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Badr moved as silently as a ghost through the hallways, his head down in contemplation. The bones of his hands were itching, and he frowned at the sensation. He was not like the Ishtars. He could not use magic, but like any man, he could sense it when it was strong enough, and this evening he knew that something was terribly off. Something was not right, and he rubbed the back of his hands in an uncharacteristic display of anxiety.
And now that he looked, he could see the signs everywhere. Shadows that did not match the patterns of light, and the stone shivered almost imperceptibly under his feet, as though it were unsure of its foundations. A faint strumming leaked through the walls, the sound of ancient spells yawning with age.
Steeling his self control once more, Badr continued his trek to Marik's room. Abdul-Qahhar had wanted Marik present for Odion's death, and as always, Badr did not question his master's motives. He served, and obeyed.
Badr was startled out of his musings as another, lesser servant called out to him from one of the rooms he passed.
"Badr! Sorry to bother you, sir, but I was asked of the kitchen to inquire as to master Marik's breakfast meal tomorrow. When is he to receive it and where? Will he be dining with Lord Abdul-Qahhar?"
"It will be as always," Badr responded, frowning. "In his room with eggs and bread and water."
The servant looked confused.
"But...I thought...with Lord Abdul-Qahhar's order that Marik's punishment be ceased..."
"My master gave no such order," Badr interrupted, his storm gray eyes glinting as his hair, only a few shades darker than his eyes, fell across his face. "Who did you hear that from?"
"Well...master Marik's door was open...he's gone. We'd all just assumed—"
The servant was cut off again as Badr raced towards Marik's room. He knew that Isis was visiting her brother, but he had expected them to stay there. Isis had enough common sense to slip in and out unnoticed, and she would have convinced Marik to remain silent about their rendezvous. It did not make any sense for them to just...leave...
Badr stopped in front of Marik's open door, his eyes wide with shock at seeing the empty room. He would have to find them fast, before any harm was done, and Abdul-Qahhar realized that Badr had failed him in this task—
Gasping, Badr's posture went rigid as he felt a wave of residue magic crash through the hallways, causing the walls to sway under its touch. Several containment spells roared to life, reinforcing the stone and blunting the raw magic's touch.
"The Rod," Badr said, turning his head back the way he had come and paused for only a moment before taking off in a run. He had to get there first, for he knew that the other Ishtars and even the servants would have noticed that, and it would only be moments before everyone would gather at the shrine. He would have only those precious moments to learn what happened, and he should do next.
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Dead. Their father was dead.
Isis wanted to comfort her brother. She wanted to hold him and rock him as she had done for the past eleven years, but she remained rooted to her spot. She had not known her father well...she rarely spoke to him and when she did, it was only a few short sentences...answers to inquiries about her prayers and health. She had no delusions about her father being a kind or loving man, but he was still her father, and she loved him.
And Marik killed him.
It was a horrendous crime no matter the situation, but it was unforgivable in the Ishtar clan, and Marik would suffer dearly for it.
"Marik," Isis said, her voice shaking with fear for her brother's safety. "You're going to be in a lot of trouble."
Marik looked up at her, clutching Odion's robes even tighter than before. Odion's expression was also tumultuous, torn between the pain of his beating and the prospect of Marik's own death sentence. He came to a decision almost instantaneously.
"We have to get you out of here," he said, moving Marik out to arm's length. "You have to run."
"What? L—leave?"
"Where would he go?" Isis questioned.
"Anywhere...somewhere far away. We just have to get you of here."
Odion climbed to his feet with a grimace, and he straightened himself despite the sudden dizziness that overcame him. "We have to run now."
"But—"
"Marik!"
It was the first time Odion had spoken to his master without any formal address, and it worked well for stunning Marik into listening. "I refuse to let you die," he continued, his tone much softer. "I know you don't want to go, but...after what's happened here..."
Marik looked to his sister, but she offered no help. She looked as lost and confused as he was.
Yes. Run.
The whispers came back for the first time in over a week, but they had changed. Now they were stronger, speaking more as one voice than many, and they were extremely anxious.
Run...danger...run...run NOW!
Marik scrambled to his feet and ran out of the shrine, stopping only to grab the Rod and replace the sheath. Odion was soon to follow, leaving Isis behind.
"Wait! Marik, you can't! You have to tell!" she shouted after them. When she was ignored, she made to follow them when a weak light stopped her. The Millennium Tauk was glowing faintly in its case, and she paused only a second before going to it and reaching down to grab it. As her fingers brushed along its golden surface, she gasped with the sudden onslaught of images and sounds that raced through her mind. All of her blood seemed to stop flowing for a moment as her vision clouded with the perception of events yet to come.
Isis clenched her teeth as her fingers tightened around the Tauk.
"What...why...is this the future?"
The walls were speaking to her again, though their voices were stronger, more urgent. Time compressed into one moment, past and future melding into one feeling of the present. Isis dropped to her knees from the overwhelming sense of vertigo, losing all sense of direction and feeling in her body. There was darkness everywhere in the vision...even the shadows shied away from it....it was choking her, drowning her, piercing her with its bottomless well of hatred and vengeance. She could see Marik bound to the darkness as it tore into him, ripping his flesh and tearing at his heart. There was so much anger and despair...an utter anguish that Isis felt that she would never be happy again, and she screamed against it.
Behold the destruction of the Ishtar clan.
"Stop showing me this!!!"
Immediately the vision ceased and Isis collapsed forward onto her hands and knees, her shoulders heaving as she gasped for air. Beads of sweat dotted her face, and her heart was pounding painfully. Her left hand was resting on top of the Tauk as she dug her nails into the floor.
"Please don't let it be true," she breathed. "Don't leave me, Marik."
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There were plenty of places to hide in the manor. It was easy enough to disappear—a fact that Marik had come to appreciate over a series of hide-and-seek games with Isis. He had long since memorized the seemingly endless amount of rooms, turn arounds, and hollows, and it was to his favorite hiding place that he ran.
Extending from the Millennium shrine was a sweeping, curving hallway, its walls lined with imposing statues of priests and magicians—torches placed in the spaces between them. Marik had always found them disconcerting, but as he fled, their lifeless eyes seemed to follow him accusingly. It made him falter, but a deep vibration from the Rod brought him back to his senses, and he managed to make it to the end of the corridor and into a large rectangular room. Several other hallways branched off from this room, but Marik knew that the rest of the family would be arriving at the shrine soon, and he could not leave this room without being intercepted within the next few minutes. Instead, Marik rushed to the nearby corner and brushed away some sand and dust that was covering a small metal loop—the ring that was once attached having long since disappeared. He pulled up on it, the wood of the trapdoor creaking slightly from age and three months of disuse.
Built in the ancient times when the manor still had the chance of being raided, the space beneath could comfortably fit four people, though it was musty, dank, and pitch black. Marik had to place part of his robe over his face until his nose adjusted before he collapsed to his knees, sitting back on his heels and doubling over to hug the Rod tightly against his chest. Silent, dry sobs wracked his frame, and he started quite badly when another form opened the door and dropped down to the floor.
"Stay away from me!" he shouted. "Leave me alone!"
"Lord Marik! It's me," came the response, and two strong arms reached out to subdue the flailing child.
"Odion!" Marik exclaimed and quickly a hand was placed over his mouth.
"Hush. They'll be passing through, soon. Then we'll need to get you out of here. You're going to have to run away."
"But where—"
"Shh!"
Odion covered Marik's mouth again, clamping down tighter than was necessary as numerous pairs of feet entered the room, accompanied by bewildered and somewhat frantic voices.
When everything was quite again, Odion stood on the tips of his toes and pushed the trapdoor up to peek through the crack.
"They're gone. But they'll be back soon...he have to hurry," he said and pushed the door all the way up so it flipped back over its hinges. Marik immediately pushed a large box he had dropped in there from one of his previous games and climbed on top of it. With an extra step up from Odion, he was quickly out. Odion soon followed and promptly grabbed Marik's hand to head out the opposite doorway. He was limping badly, but even then Marik had to jog to keep up, and the two began their escape from the Ishtar manor.
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Badr was the first to reach the Millennium shrine, and he burst into the room to see Isis standing very still off to his right, her back to him and facing the wall.
"—going away," Badr heard her murmur. "Not coming back..."
The light was very dim, but Badr could see the tattered remains of the restraining spells, and the shards of glass that were littered around the stone case.
"Isis," Badr addressed, turning back to her. "Child, what has happened? Where is your father?"
"Gone," she answered, her voice filled with mist and haze.
"Gone? Where to?"
"Gone. They weren't enough, you see...the spells. They never were."
"What happened to the spells?" Badr asked, his suspicion rising as he approached the girl.
"It thought they were funny."
Here, Isis turned, and Badr's eyes widened as he saw a large smear of blood on her front. Her hands were covered in it, and his gaze dropped down to the floor, where a body was crumpled at her feet. Gray hair was poking out through the hood, and violet eyes were wide in glazed contempt.
"Master..." Badr breathed, and he rushed to the fallen patriarch's side, no longer noticing Isis or the other family members that were arriving. His breath catching in his throat, Badr carefully turned Abdul-Qahhar's head towards him and placed two fingers underneath the jaw. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of the man's mouth, and after the absence of a heartbeat, Badr moved his hand downwards, to touch the blossom of blood on his master's robes. Swallowing deeply, he looked back up at Isis.
"Who did this?" he whispered.
"Marik," she answered, her voice and expression still dazed. "He killed him."
"With what?"
"The Rod."
"Marik has the Millennium Rod?"
When Isis nodded, Badr stood and turned to address the family members that had gathered...all of them standing in shock and confusion.
"Marik has stolen the Millennium Rod. The entire compound must be searched."
There was an immediate upheaval, a chorus of voices springing up.
"The Rod!?"
"It can't be!"
"—he can't go far..."
"It has to be brought back! Who knows what it is capable of!"
Badr ignored them and began to run through his own options.
"That bastard orphan Odion is probably with him...Isis! Do you know where Marik is now?" he questioned harshly.
"He's running."
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Never before had Odion so regretted the magnitude of the manor. Normally he enjoyed the curving, sweeping hallways and the pools of light and shadows that always formed in the corners, but now they were nothing more than a hindrance...and it was only a matter of seconds before the rest of the inhabitants would start hunting them down. They were fortunate enough to have a head start, but only if Odion led his charge right could they survive. Marik followed him easily until they passed the well...then he quickly broke free of Odion's grip and went inside.
"Marik! We don't have the time!"
"I have to get something!"
Marik dashed to the opposite wall, falling to his knees in front of the picture of the man and his white dog. Pulling out the stone and opening the box, Marik tucked his book into the inside pocket of his robe and grabbed the golden jewelry with his free hand. Though he was loathe to leave his magazine and other trinkets behind, he knew he could not carry it all and quickly replaced them and the stone. He ran back out of the well and past Odion, and headed towards a statue a few yards down. It had a large, heavy base, but that did not deter Marik as he crouched down and pulled at a small niche near the floor.
"Marik! What are you doing? We have to leave NOW!"
"Just a minute!" Marik shouted back and gave one strong heave. A perfect square of stone gave way...sliding sideways into the rest of the hollow base. It was Isis' favorite hiding spot in their games—she could crawl in and then pull the stone across, leaving a small crack through which she could breathe. It had taken Marik forever to discover it...he had found it only when he had heard her cough.
It was in this spot that Marik dropped the jewelry, making sure it was far enough back to escape unintentional discovery, and then pulled the stone back across.
"Marik, let's go!" Odion exclaimed and pulled the boy to his feet.
"I'm sorry, Odion. I just...had to give my sister her birthday present."
Odion's expression softened for a moment before he shook his head.
"Come on," he said and pulled Marik after him again.
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It was with some relief that Odion ran through the expansive dining hall—they were one room from Marik's only exit. Halfway down the table, though, Odion grounded to a halt and pulled Marik in front of him, gripping the younger boy's arms tightly.
"Marik, listen to me. You know the way to the nearest village, right?"
"Yes...it's a few miles north of here, but I can walk it easily enough."
"No, you don't understand. Whatever you do, you must not go to that village. They'll search for you there...you won't be safe. No, you must go east, into the rising sun. Go far enough, and you should reach Suez. It's a long walk, though...there ought to be roads nearby, anyway. But you must remember to stay as low as you can. They're going to be looking for you, Marik."
"What's in Suez?"
"A way out—"
There was a sudden shaking in the ground, and a deep rumble like thunder echoed in the walls—the distinct sound of ancient spells suddenly forced into their paces after millennia of slumber.
"You must go now!" Odion exclaimed and then tore away from Marik to head back into the complex.
"Odion? Aren't you coming with me!?"
Odion slid to a halt and turned his head to look back at his charge.
"No."
"But...why!? You have to come with me!"
"It'll be too easy to track two of us, and with these injuries, I'll just slow you down. You run, Marik, and I'll lead them away from you."
"How—"
"Go NOW!"
Marik spun on his heels and sprinted out of the dining room and into the Main Hall, spurred on by the weeping walls.
"Goodbye, Marik," Odion whispered and ran back the way he came.
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The Main Hall, at eighty feet long and thirty feet high, was the largest room in the complex. It was bright and grand...waiting to impress visitors that would never come.
The doors that Marik entered through opened up onto a large, rounded pulpit, with two staircases curving out and down in a horseshoe shape. The Ishtar family crest decorated the pulpit, and as usual, Marik paused as he examined the design. A stylized version of the Ishid Tree encompassed the platform, its branches curling and stretching while a cobra was wrapped around its trunk. Two arms spread out at the tree's base, their fists raised as seven scorpions filled the air around them. The image gave Marik a chill, but he shook it off and bounded down the left staircase.
His footsteps were muffled by a long red carpet as he made his way to the main entrance, but they sounded clamorous to Marik's ear, and he hastened his way past the hanging pans of fire and out of the Main Hall. He could feel the magic searching for him...it scratched at the back of his neck and palms of his hands, and he knew it was only a matter of time
After exiting the Main Hall, Marik made it into the much smaller corridor that led to the exit. It was cramped and steep, but Marik clambered through it until he reached the simple wooden slab—so similar to his own trapdoor—and he once again stopped in his tracks. The hinges and catches were easy to undo, but when he moved to push it open, the door held fast.
'I'm caught,' Marik though. 'I wasn't fast enough...I can't get out...I can't GET OUT!'
Quiet. Relax. This is nothing.
'But the spells...they're coming...I don't know how to break it—'
I do. But you must relax. Clear your mind, and let me work through you...
Marik was filled with anxiety, but he fought to do as he was told. He closed his eyes and worked to slow his breath, willing his pounding heart to calm. As he did so, he started to feel a warmth building in his right hand. The Rod had not changed temperature, but rather, the heat was in his own blood, and it was filling him...it was dark and dreamy and heavy, but a welcome weight...comforting...
'Your power,' Marik acknowledged.
No. Your power. It's all yours...but let it flow. Give it to me, and I will do as you bid...It will do as you wish.
Marik slowly opened his eyes again, making sure to keep his concentration on the flowing warmth within his arm, and he raised the Rod up.
"Open," he commanded, and the door flew up and back over its hinges, the wood splintering slightly at the latches.
Rich light flooded the tiny passage, its orange and yellow hues momentarily dazzling Marik, and he closed his eyes against it. It was too bright, and he almost stumbled back before there was another furious rumbling in the complex, and he swung his arms forward and climbed out onto the still burning sand.
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To be continued.
