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 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, names. Since the names seem to be causing some, ah, issues...here is my reasoning for the names I'm using.
First of all, Marik. The Japanese have the odd tendency to switch their "R"s and "L"s around, so both are used. It's a Japanese inconsistency that can be found in several places. For those who have seen the Petshop of Horrors DVD, you will have noticed this contradiction in the scene where there is a poster for the actor Robin Hendrix while the characters pronounce it Hendlix. In the subbed version of Yu-Gi-Oh!, you can hear the characters saying both Marik and Malik. I prefer the sound of Marik, so that is the one I am using.
Odion. I know some people want me to use the Japanese form, which no one can seem to agree on how it's spelled or even pronounce. Not only is Odion simpler to say and type, but it is an actual Egyptian name, and it means "Born of Twins." I don't particularly wish to use the Japanese form, because Odion is not Japanese. He is an Egyptian. So I will use the actual Egyptian name.
Isis. Same reasoning as Odion. Not only easier to say and type than "Ishizu," but it is an actual Egyptian name ( a myth name for the goddess of magic). Because she is Egyptian, I will use that form instead of the Japanese form.
Review Responses!
Elusia: I'm glad you like it! I love writing Marik...he really has a lot more to his character than a lot of people write, and he is a lot of fun to write. Thanks for reviewing!
HANDHELD Uber Rei Modely 05: I know! Marik's so abused...and yes, his yami will come into play...what would a Marik story be if Yami Marik wasn't there? Only, I might be doing it just a little differently...
Nightengale13: I'm so glad you've read Aria now! Grins It took some pushing, but I got you here! I really want to thank you for helping me with chapter five...your assistance is greatly appreciated. I enjoy your criticisms because it helps me find stuff I wouldn't find otherwise, and it helps me improve. I hope chapter five lives up to yours and everyone else's expectations. Talk to you later!!
IcyPanther: I'm glad you're enjoying the story! Yes...he's on his way to Cairo, the poor guy. hugs Marik I've realized and come to terms with the fact that the more I love a character, the more I torture them. I wonder if I have some sort of complex...
K.O.B Writer: Good! And I will finish! Sorry this chapter took so long....I had to buy a new version of Microsoft Word, since my trial version expired.
Expletive deleted: Yay! Another Ishtar fan!! huggles They're so much fun to work with, even if they do challenge my patience once in a while (read: every frickin' two minutes!!!!). AND you get another cookie for agreeing with me on their names. I think you and I are the only two people in the entire world who go by the names I've chosen. When I take over the world, will you be my minion? As for the Rod....smiles slowly you'll just have to keep reading. Of course, if you want hints/spoilers/flat out statements as to what it will be like later on in the story, check out my other fics. I work with the Items a lot, and it would be neat to hear your opinion on them!
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Chapter Five "Arco"
Arco: a note to string players to use the bow rather than pluck the strings
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It was a lonely place, the field. The hills stretched to the horizon in every direction, while the long grass rippled like water in the bitter wind. A blanket of rain clouds covered the sky, turning the earth into a pale mix of washed out pastels. It was a cold and eerie sort of place, but Marik was more concerned about the crack in the stone. The stone was hardly a large one-it made only the minimum requirements to be thought of as a boulder-and it was covered in moss, but it was the only thing that broke the monotony of grass and wind, and it had a crack in it.
Marik sat before the rock, hands resting on his knees as the dampness of the ground seeped through his pathetically thin layer of clothing. He was wet and cold, but the stone was cracked. It was only a small split, as the jagged line stretched only inches on the vertical from the center of the stone, but the edges were a charred black, and a mass of worms writhed behind it.
Even as he spoke them, the words sounded odd to Marik's ears.
"I'm stuck in the silhouette."
As Marik reached out to touch the fissure, the edges melted away, quickly eating up the rest of the stone and becoming a black sludge that oozed down Marik's fingers and hands and exposing the worms within.
"Rip them one by one," Marik said as he dug his nails deeper into the slime. "Tear them two by two."
The rock melted quickly, but as the mire spread across the ground, it became a rich golden color, and the grass became a waving mass of wheat. The sky hardened into a frozen shell of royal purple, and though the light never dimmed, the air grew colder, and Marik could see his breath mist in front of him. A small, dark patch no larger than a human skull was all that remained of the rock, as well as the ball of worms. It was only moments, however, before the worms began to change as well, and Marik pulled his hand out of the congealing sludge. He watched with an artist's stare as the worms rolled and twisted so tightly until they became a single creature, and they traded their smooth skin for rough and layered scales. Marik stepped back as the viper reared up out of its stained nest, its tongue flickering in and out as the mud dripped away from its head like blood. When it turned its inky eyes onto him, Marik knew what was going to happen, and he wanted to run, but his muscles turned to molasses, and he could move only inches before the snake struck, embedding its fangs deep into his right hand.
Marik fell to the ground, his voice too tired to scream, and as he realized that an odd sort of numbness was settling into his head and heart, he settled for watching the dew, once perfect drops of clear water and now the color of finely aged champagne, settle onto the swaying stalks of wheat.
All I need is a moment.
The world spun in and out of focus as Marik woke, and his eyes watered from the onslaught of sunlight that was flooding through the gap between the tarp and truck wall. A muted collection of sounds pooled in Marik's ears, and he twitched his nose against the smell of burning trash and fried foods. Once his orientation was found, Marik climbed off his stack of boxes and crouched down in the small space between the cargo and loading ramp. He pulled back the tarp and cautiously peered out, allowing for only the minimum of his body to be seen. It was early morning yet, and the air was still cool and quiet. The rose-tinted light was heavily filtered through the closely packed buildings, and it was the deep patches of shadow that gave Marik the courage to pull the tarp farther back.
The Khan el-Khalili, or "The Khan," as it was known to the locals, was at a corner of a triangle of markets, and it was a premier shopping destination for natives and tourists of Cairo alike. It was a bazaar that had essentially survived since the fourteenth century, and though it had seen an endless procession of merchants and vendors, there were a few permanent shops--businesses that had been passed down through the generations. A labyrinth of alleys and unnamed streets cut their way through the souk, and it was into one such dead-end lane that the truck finally stopped. The alley was a large one, separating the shops from a row of run-down apartments. Clotheslines connected opposite facing balconies, where cracked and weathered flower pots stood in stark contrast against the dark walls. A layer of dirt and grit coated the pavement, accompanied by several pieces of shapeless pieces of plastics and trash, but the alley was also abandoned, so Marik thought it to be heavenly. He fished the Rod out of a crevice between two boxes and made to climb out of the truck. Swinging his leg over the raised loading ramp, Marik sought his balance against a lift chain, but the Rod made his grip difficult, and he slipped from the bumper and fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
Marik's nose crinkled in disgust as he tasted the dust in his mouth, and the awkward stretching of his legs made him groan as he sat up. He had slept cramped up in the truck for several hours, and his muscles ached as he tried to stand.
"Hey, you! What are you doing!?"
Snapping his head up at the sound of the driver's voice, Marik ignored the twinges in his spine and shoulders and jumped to his feet. He quickly brought his hands behind him to hide the Rod, but the gold glinted traitorously in the climbing morning sun.
"How did you get in there? And what are you holding?"
The driver was approaching Marik from the head of the truck, near the alley's end wall, leaving escape an easy option, but Marik stayed his ground. He was still slightly sleepy, making his limbs heavy and sluggish, and though he could not understand what the driver was saying, he knew what his sudden appearance from the truck-bed would look like. He had had enough experience with encountering angry relatives after emerging from an unauthorized trip to the kitchens to know that it was better to stay and explain.
"I'm sorry...I just needed a ride...please, is this Suez?" Marik asked as he backed up a few steps and slid the Rod up his sleeve to conceal it properly. The driver's brow furrowed in confusion, and he lengthened his stride towards the strange boy.
"What language is that?...are you lost? Where are your parents?"
"I didn't take anything, I promise. Just let me go," Marik continued, hoping that the driver would start speaking his language.
"English?" the driver asked. At Marik's confused expression, he tried again. "Francais?"
Marik frowned, his nervousness growing with each approaching step. It was possible that this man worked for his family, and was trying to frighten him with gibberish. He decided to just put his head down and make a run for it, but as he tried to leave, the man reached out and grabbed the back collar of his robe, holding him fast.
"Listen, I'm just trying to help-what is that?"
Marik stared down in horror as he noticed that the Rod was slipping out of his sleeve and was close to falling to the ground. The driver, with a slightly mesmerized glaze in his eyes at the sight of the golden metal, reached for the Rod, but Marik was quicker. He grabbed the Item with both hands and doubled over slightly to protect it.
"Where did you get that?" the driver asked, his voice suddenly filling with suspicion. The Khan el-Khalili was filled with gold and jewelry dealers, and the rarer the piece, the more the attempts at thievery.
"You stole that, didn't you? You're a thief!" the driver exclaimed, and brought Marik closer so as to grab the Rod.
"I don't know what you're saying!" Marik yelled and delivered a harsh kick to the larger man's shins.
"Why you little-"
Marik swung his arm up and slammed the Rod into the man's face, the sharp edge of the flare carving a deep gash through his ear. The driver screamed in agony, and Marik took the opportunity to tear away and sprint out of the alley. The man was in too much pain to immediately follow, but his grip had torn a large piece of Marik's robe away from his back, exposing his shoulder blades and upper half of his spine.
It was not far to the main road of Sikkit al-Badistan, and it would have been easy for Marik to disappear amongst the morning crowd that was starting to filter out into the streets, but the driver was far from incapacitated, and he took chase. Followed by accusing yells, Marik burst out onto one of the widest streets of the Khan and pushed his way into the throngs of people. The driver was screaming at the bystanders to "grab the boy," but by the time they had registered the statement, Marik was beyond their reach. He disappeared easily into the growing crowd of people, and often he would stop and pretend to admire the colorful Beduoin dresses while others would mull past him. He backtracked several times before finally crouching down in a cluster of potted plants near a small, but relatively lavish café. In the security of the leaves, Marik quickly shifted the Rod from his sleeve to a deep inside pocket of his robe, where the Item would remain but not have its shape betrayed. It felt odd to not have the Item in his grip, but Marik shook it off and peered through the plant's thick stems. Most of the café's tables were facing away from him and out towards the street, so no one had noticed his presence. The driver was nowhere to be seen, and no one else seemed to be in any state of high emotion.
Marik sighed in deep relief and settled back against the pots. He was tired, and a thirst itched in his throat. He needed a place to think, and his instincts sought for the darkest, most closed off spot he could find. Marik had run away from the Ishtar manor, but he was far from free of it. Taking a deep breath, Marik steeled his nerves and stood--calmly, as though he had bent to pick something up--to survey the area. Almost immediately, his lungs closed off and a prickling numbness climbed up his arms and into his head. He had been able to stop and absorb the situation he was in, and it rushed to his gut like a swift kick. There were people everywhere...their voices a dull, shapeless roar in his ears, and their clothes a dizzying rainbow of color. He had been to the village before, but the wave of lights, horns, shouts, and music from the café assaulted him brutally, and he staggered back against the wall. With each passing second, dread filled him. He was lost...he knew no one...and they were after him....
A sudden blaring from a car horn thoroughly startled Marik, and he jumped, only to lose his balance and collapse into a nearby display of pottery--sending the racks crashing into the ground. Groaning, Marik tried to pull himself up and was only vaguely aware of shouting until a man yanked him up and started yelling at him. Marik tried to pull away, but the shopkeeper kept a firm grip on his wrists. Spittle was flying in his face and though he still did not understand what the man was saying, he tried to apologize.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! Let me go!"
"Do you have any idea how much this cost me, you little brat!? Your parents better have some way to pay for it!"
"I said leave me alone!" Marik yelled back and struggled wildly. The shopkeeper drew back a hand as though to smack him, but another arm shot out and stopped the descent.
A few of the more knowing locals quickly backed away from the newcomer, as they recognized his ice blue eyes and sandy hair that fell down over shoulders expensively covered with a black blazer.
"Surely such violence is unnecessary," the man said with a calm, deep voice. "Especially against a child."
"He broke the entire display! Everything is ruined!"
"I'm sure it can be replaced." The man released the shopkeeper's hand and reached into his pocket to pull out a checkbook. "I'll pay whatever you think it was worth."
"But--"
"Unless, of course, you feel that the money of Harun Harari is not good enough."
The shopkeeper's face blanched, and his Adam's apple bobbed under deep gulps. Harun Harari was one of the richest and most influential men in Cairo, and his presence commanded respect wherever he traveled. If one truly wanted to exist in the upper echelon of society, they had to go through Harun first.
"You're right," he said. "It can be replaced. I'm sure it was an accident."
Harun frowned disapprovingly and quickly scrawled out a check.
"Here. I'm sure this will cover the damages. Now give me the boy. I'm taking him with me."
Marik was immediately handed over, and the shopkeeper disappeared quickly back into his shop to set his employees to clean up the mess. In shock, and not entirely sure of what happened, Marik tried to fight against Harun's grip, but the older man was surprisingly strong. He dragged Marik easily back to the café's parking lot, where another man waited beside a large black car. The door was opened for the two of them, and the chauffeur quickly climbed back in and started the car up. Panicking, Marik kicked and squirmed his way to the other side of the back seat. Harun had let him go, but he no longer needed physical restraint. Marik froze the moment he heard not only his language, but his name fall from his captor's lips.
"Now, why don't you explain to me what you're doing so far from home, Ishtar."
Marik's eyes widened in unfiltered terror, and he pressed himself tightly against the side door.
"Of course, this may not be the best place to speak," Harun said as he settled back into his seat. His eyes seemed to glow unnaturally behind their curtain of butterscotch bangs, and his upper lip thinned in concentration. "We'll get you to the house first, and then I'll think of something..."
But Marik no longer heard him. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest, and a rush of vertigo made his head swim. The slight breeze from the air conditioning vents felt suddenly hot and heavy, causing him to gasp for breath.
Harun had turned back to Marik, his gaze clouding with concern. He reached for the boy but Marik flinched away and curled his arms around his torso. The pain was a dull knife that rotated in his ribs...twisting around itself a heavy weight of dread.
'I'm going to die,' Marik thought. 'All this way...and I'm going to die.'
He could feel the Rod quiver in his pocket, and the tattoo on his back itched.
'I should have known...they got me...I wasn't...fast...enough...'
Marik whimpered as the world around him faded...not noticing as Harun pulled a needle from a bag under the seat and injected it into his arm. He fainted as the drug flooded through his veins and drove back the pain...calming his racing heart....and the world was black before Harun gathered him in his arms and buried his face into Marik's hair.
"Not yet," the man whispered. "I have to get you home first."
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To be continued.
The meaning of the name Harun:
Harun--the Arabic form of "Aaron," meaning "superior, exalted."
