I had this up quicker than last time, huh? Only a month and a week. I would've had it up sooner, but…my dog Rags died. I'd had him since I was three. I was the only who held him when the vet had to euthanize him. So…any of you people who pray out there…pray for my puppy, okay?
And since no one really gives a rat's ass about my life, on with the fic! -;;
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CHAPTER THREE
The White Darkness
We all know Him. The knowledge lurks in our body's long memory. We have all walked in His shadow in the moonlight, for He is the King of Dreams as well as Death. And besides, the Divine within us will recognize its own.
A twilight being with eyes like lamps, like a star in the darkness, He seemed to sit in His own light among the shadows. The King of All Shades, the King of Tuat, the Underworld. The God Ausar.
He was old. Gods, He was old. His name, and the legends the people attributed to Him were only humanized tales for a being as old as time, an attempt to fathom the unfathomable. As long as life had existed, so had He. For it is true that if there is life, there must also be death.
Eternal, but He seemed almost young to Bakura, with the face of a youth and the bearing of a king. For truly, 'King' was the closest human word for what He was.
But Bakura knew this was only one of His guises, a form for a formless thing. Should He have appeared as He truly was, the sheer magnificence would have destroyed the simple child that looked upon Him.
But He was not terrible, no. He seemed only ancient and eternal, and vaguely sad. For death is not always a terrible thing, but only a sorrow at the end of life.
He watched the boy stagger to his feet and stand facing Him, the Death King's eyes calm but without the utter coldness of the Jackal God's. His voice, too, was gentle and soft, with only an echo of the Gods' thunder. "Yes, it was I who bent the laws of the universe - at least for the moment - and brought you here. And with good reason. A little longer, and you would have killed Him, the Jackal God," the King of the Dead said quietly.
Bakura bared his teeth in what might have been a smile. "Good. I wanted to."
"Yes, but one can only guess at the consequences of killing an immortal thing. Bringing to death a thing of Death."
Bakura crossed his arms.
The King of the Dead cocked His head slightly to one side, truly intrigued now. "You're not afraid of much, are you?"
Bakura glared up at him, eyes fierce, arms still crossed in front of his chest, chin jutted forward, defiance written in every contour of his small body. "Nothing."
The God did not say anything in reply. But Gods do not always speak solely through words, and the Divine has a way of bringing out the truth in us.
The child's rage seemed to fall in upon itself. His shoulders slumped, his head bowed, and his eyes lowered to the ground before him, uncharacteristically demure. "Yes," he finally said softly. "I am afraid. I won't lie. But no one who gives into fear was ever made great." The boy's bright eyes glared up at the God, his head still low.
The Death King gave a low chuckle. "I beg to differ, child. But no matter. Your greatness will come with or without courage."
Still smiling slightly, He looked at Bakura and seemed to see someone else. "How like your mother you are," He murmured to Himself.
The child's head jerked upwards, and his downcast eyes flew open. "You knew my mother?"
The smile on the God's face faded. An expression of painfully human hurt flickered across His terrible immortal countenance. "Yes, I knew her. Before she was born, I knew her. She was marked by destiny always, in the darkness of her own mother's womb, and now in the endless tombs." The corners of His lips lifted slightly at the rhymed couplet.
He continued. "From childhood's hour I have known her. I came to her when she first entered the world, and she reached her arms out to me, smiling. The child of slaves who would be so much more."
The God raised His eyes to the high arch of darkness above them. "Sometimes the fire of the soul is too great for the vessel that contains it. Her body was only the shell of the immortal flame that would forge new life for her people."
His gaze returned to Bakura. "But yes, I knew her. I was her patron-god, her protector. I taught her the things that would save both her and her village - for truly, the two were one. I veiled her from the sight of her enemies, I armed her against those who would destroy her. And I fought with her in that battle against the Pharaoh's outpost. Don't think it was all mortal things that moved in the darkness beyond the fires' edge." He gave a dark half-smile to Bakura.
Then He looked back out into the darkness. "I loved her. I felt for her when I could feel for nothing else. I was her guardian, her companion, her friend. And so perhaps it is fitting that I should become the father of her only child."
Bakura felt a sudden chill inside, and his eyes widened. Realization rocked his soul. "But I am her only offspring."
The Death God's eyes rested on him, calm and cool. "I know."
Even Bakura had no reply to that.
The God went on. "You see, child, your mother gave her life to bring you into being. Everything has its price. Mortal flesh cannot mingle with immortal fire, and live. And the price of love with these powers is to be lost to them forever. The Gods do not set their mortal chosen free to live a few more doddering years."
Fire flashed in Bakura's eyes, and his little body tensed for battle, the shadow-knife in one hand. A great shadow like stormclouds began to gather around him. The child had brutally dispatched of those who intended harm to his mother's people. The Death God was under no illusions that Bakura would not try to destroy Him if he thought He had killed his mother. The child's voice was as cold as his eyes. "If you loved her, why did you kill her?"
The King of the Dead met Bakura's accusing glare evenly, calmly. "It was not I who destroyed her. Child, the Gods are only facets of a jewel. I was only the vessel for something more.
"When I lay with her, I was but a conduit for the Higher Divine, one of the great powers of creation. A mortal cannot touch something that makes the universe and still live. Nor can they die, but are taken by that very power itself. And she will never walk these halls with me, or dance the measure of life upon the earth ever again." The sorrow in His eyes was beyond human comprehension.
Bakura did not quite relax, but seemed to accept what the King of the Dead had said. "Now that I know what has become of my mother, might I know what has become of the people who were her heart and soul?"
"You do not seem to mourn her."
"I do not have the luxury to."
The King nodded and thought for a moment. "Your people…yes…your people. You wish to know their fate, do you not?"
"Yes," Bakura replied without thinking.
"And I will show you. But I must prepare you for what you are to see, and tell you where your fate lies in this. Besides, would you know the end of the story before ever you heard the beginning?"
Bakura met the eyes of Death fearlessly. "Tell me. Tell me all of it."
"And I will," the Death King said. "That you need not fear.
"The legends among all the peoples of the world speak in riddles about this place, this world from which the Gods came, this Heaven from which humanity fell…and they speak also of the Shining Ones from across the sea.
"This place was a jewel set in the heart of the sun-struck sea, where universes collided and were cast anew. This island was made of gold and silver, and the eternal green of nature's bounty - for indeed this place was where the human and the natural worlds came together.
"Though the people who lived there knew it as Poseid, the Sea God's Kingdom, to all future generations it became known as Atlantis.
"It was here that the Angels, the Gods of higher planes, first stumbled upon the Earth and saw Her beauty - and saw too the beauty of Her children. They came into the daughters of men - so say the myths of the Hebrews - and a new race was born from these unions. And this race was called humanity."
Here the Death King paused, and seemed to struggle for words. "How can I ever explain such a nation of enigmas to you? They walked in dreams and lived off fantasy, and they knew things that will never be known again. Hw can you ever comprehend the lives of people who knew nothing of the enslavement, war, poverty, strife, and thievery that you have grown up with?
"They were at once the most ancient and most advanced race this world has ever known. They had no laws, no kings or queens, for they needed none. They knew nothing of the hatred that drives one man to strike down another, and merits a law against it. And the Earth Herself was their Mother, their only Queen.
"The children of Heaven and Earth, the people of Atlantis lived by the laws of nature and their own souls, and by the will of the Gods that smiled down upon them.
"You must remember, child, that at this point in the world's history, human beings were only another kind of animal -"
"They still are," Bakura said. "Except that no animal has ever inflicted the kind of atrocities on another that humans do every day."
"No," the Death God replied. "Humans are neither animals nor Angels, but something caught in between, without the simple acceptance and peacefulness of the first, and without the Divine vision and comprehension of the second. Humans are tragic and terrible, weird and wondrous. We have never seen anything like them before, and probably we never will again. They are destined to fly higher and fall harder than any other creature that has ever been or will be.
"But never mind. This is another argument for another time. Back to my tale of the Atlantis legend.
"Human beings were only another kind of animal, but it was in Atlantis that they were touched by the Gods, and shown the sciences, arts, and magics of the higher worlds.
"Now, science is that which speaks of the body of the world, and art of its aesthetic mind…but magic is the heart and soul of all creation, and the life energy of the universe.
"It is said by some that the people of all cultures, no matter how advanced, can at their best but mimic the arts and sciences of Atlantis, simple and pure technologies beyond anything you have ever known. But magic was the gift of the people of Atlantis to all their future children, for it flows in our very veins.
"Ah, Atlantis. Such a place of beauty, of nature, and of human growth and progress, I have never seen before or since.
"But growth comes at a price, and progress leads to decay. And if Atlantis was the birthplace of human glory, then so too was she of human hatred, corruption, and cruelty.
"Not being animals, the people of Atlantis could not stop reaching for power. And not being Angels, they could not handle it, either.
"So it began to destroy them."
The King of the Dead stopped and looked away, as if the long-ago hate of these people troubled Him still. "The people learned greed, when they lusted for more and more of the beautiful things that were once freely given. They learned sorrow and despair, when they could not have these foolish material things. And they learned hatred, finally, towards a world that would not give them what they wanted.
"They railed against the Gods who would not give them these things they did not truly need. They hated, and divided themselves from the old Gods that had given rise to them, a schism whose consequences would echo down millennia. And they became their own Gods, Divine and utterly human.
"Being a new and a different thing, they called themselves superior, better, above all the creatures of this world. And they called these creatures that were once their brothers property, and the Earth Mother theirs to do with as they pleased.
"The beasts of forest and field they slaughtered at will; the human peoples of newborn nations they dominated, waging a war against the world. And the sacred forests they cut down for firewood to fuel their corrupted human society on into Armageddon.
"The crimes that humans commit against themselves mounted. A little bright light of a human heart sinned against another little light, a dark line from the wounded to the one that wounds, and to another tainted light, to another, to another, until the brilliant stars of human souls were obscured by a web of human darkness.
"The casualties grew, one upon another, human and animal, until all good in the world seemed beyond recall, and the very Earth like a dying phoenix needing a blaze to be renewed, a flood to be pure again.
"The Gods knew this. They looked down at the human below Them, these cruel, hate-filled destroyers, so far from the mortal-born Divine children They had loved that there seemed nothing left of them. And so the Gods were made to purge the earth of this darkness that consumed it - to destroy Their beloved children, lest those children destroy all life.
"The sky darkened, and a long night fell over the island. A rain began that would never end, and Atlantis was ravaged by violent storms both inside and outside the earth. The very elements themselves turned against the people. The roiling seas rose, and the earth, stricken from within, shook and shifted and sank into the sea from which it came. And Atlantis, in all her glory, disappeared into the deep blue abyss as if she had never been.
"But there were survivors. There are always, it seems, survivors -"
"And is this a triumph or a tragedy," Bakura asked. "That human beings can so defy and abuse the Earth and the Powers that created them, and live to tell of it?"
"Only you can answer your own question," the Death King replied. "The fable must find its own truth. Let me continue on.
"There were survivors. The Gods whispered in the ears of some, those in whom the Good still lived, a whisper of the storm gales that would come to destroy them all.
"They fled the dying isle in their little hollow boats, cast out into the eternal, ever-changing ocean, entrusted their fates to this great entity that gave them life and could just as easily give them death.
But they lived, all of them, so far as I know. The Gods hold Their chosen in the palm of Their hands. Far the people paddled in their little boats, far and long, and they set down all over the world.
"They landed in Alba, Eire, Gaul, Etrusca; in Phoenicia, spreading out into Sumeria, Mesopotamia, Canaan; in the African countries far to the south, jungles and deserts alike; In Ch'in, India, the lands of the Silk Road, and the little islands of Japan; in Hy-Breasil, and countries on the other side of the world that have no names.
"And a group of them landed in the Valley of the Nile, and saw the goodness there. They founded a little settlement there, on a branch of the Great River in the shadow of the cliffs, and named it Kuru Eruna.
"All over the world, the Atlantean refugees set down their anchors and came together in peace with the peoples already living there, fusing their bloodlines and their fates.
"So you see, child, there is not any person on any nation of the earth in whom their blood does not flow. It is in you, in your cousins and relatives and friends, your brothers on the other side of the world whom you will never know, and even in the Pharaoh and all his people.
"You are all children of the glory, grandeur, and ultimate destruction of Atlantis.
"And your common ancestors, fleeing the ruin of all they had ever known, faced with the task of ensuring the future, refused to forget their past. Through myth and riddled tales, they passed down to their children and their children's children the legend of Atlantis, that they might know the majesty and power of that lost world - and never forget the price at which such power came."
Bakura spoke, and his voice was so cold that even the King of the Dead felt chilled. "No. People forget. Bright revelations pass into darkness. Legends become nothing more. But human greed and human hatred are immortal. We might have to do it all again someday."
The Death King smiled a little, and there was no humor in it. "Child, it is not a question of 'if,' but of 'when.'
"But let us not dwell on the future and the doomed unborn. Let us focus on the present and the living, and the past that makes us all.
"All that I have told you about, child, all this lost civilization - all the horror, wonder, suffering, beauty, and enduring majesty - lives in you, Bakura. Your people are descended in a direct line from the survivors of Atlantis. And know, child, that it is not your Divine half which will bring you to greatness, but this - your human side.
"You are a true child of your people, and of the name your mother gave you."
Bakura cocked an eyebrow and lifted the corner of his lips sarcastically. "My name?"
"Yes," The King of the Dead replied in a tone that brooked no rebelliousness. "For our name is what we are.
"And your name is, truly, a word of power. One can hear it even in the language of the common day: Bak-u-Ra. 'Service of Ra.'" The Death King laughed softly, and even the sweeping blackness seemed to echo that laughter. "The Pharaoh of the Gods Himself owes homage to you, little dark child.
"But few now know what your name truly means, in the language of a land that is only the legend of a legend.
"Its truth lies in magic. Magic is at once a barrier to reality and reality itself, the natural and the supernatural, yin and yang, light and darkness. It is in this opposition and this duality that its greatest power lies, for it is all and nothing at the same time.
"Your name is a testament to this, a word of power. The fertile void, the White Darkness. For that is a direct translation of your name from the language that the Atlantean people spoke, ten thousand years ago.
"Bakura. The White Darkness.
"The White Darkness. A paradox, but then, the universe itself is a paradox; creation in the face of nothingness, Life before the Abyss.
"Magic is, as I said, the soul of the universe. And magic at its core is the White Darkness, the play of shadow and light, life and death, across the face of eternity.
"You see, child, light and darkness, magic and time, the wisdom of a lost people, and the very truth of the universe itself - all this lies in the name you bear.
"And this is only the beginning.
"For it speaks also of another meaning that no one knows - another truth of your birth, your final fate, and your own indomitable soul.
"Child, hand me the weapon you hold."
Bakura blinked and looked down. Half to his surprise, he saw that he still held the knife with the shadows in its blade. He proffered it, somewhat warily.
The Death King descended His throne in a fluid, graceful motion, like a sweep of wind through the fields. He stood before the boy, face to face with Bakura now. He took the knife, and looked long at it.
"A knife is a symbol of power, Bakura, and power is devoted to neither good nor evil.
"And this knife…this knife was old long before Atlantis sunk into the deep blue sea. In ways you cannot begin to imagine, it was fashioned from the four Elements that are components of everything.
"The body of Earth is the steel of the blade, forged in the raging Fire, cooled by the deep Water, tempered in the everlasting Air…and blessed, finally, by the two great powers of Light and Darkness that lie at the heart of everything."
His luminous eyes turned back to the boy. "You too, Bakura, are a being of power, given neither to bad nor good - but something infinitely more ancient than both.
Your people may claim descent from Gods, but you are the child of something older than the oldest God, something that They are only a part of; a component of all the Elements, and of all creation.
"You are Darkness' child, Bakura."
Nothing in all the boy's life had prepared him for this. As if from a distance, he heard himself ask, "Am I then doomed to evil?"
"No," the Death God said in return. "Good and evil are a human construct. Light and darkness are a part of everything, and you are the avatar of Darkness. But they are power, and you are power, and you must choose well the way in which you use it.
"Child, come here, and I will baptize you into this world, in the only rightful way - through blood, through that river within us that is life, and its loss ultimate death.
"Come here, and I will initiate you into the world of the living and the dead. Death may set its mark upon you, and you will bear this favor of the dead upon your living flesh forever. The scars a reminder of your power, and the blood a reminder that always, power comes with a price.
"Come, child."
Bakura did not even hesitate. His bright dark eyes fixed on the God, he stepped forward fearlessly.
The Death King lowered the knife to that little upturned face, and His other hand cupped Bakura's chin to hold him steady. Bakura shivered; the God's hand held within it the cold of the grave.
Delicately as He could, the God drew the knife across Bakura's left cheek; two small lines written in blood, parallel to the Earth, parallel to each other. "One for darkness, one for light," the King of the Dead whispered like a dream. "Forever divided, forever with each other. Because always, one is the other."
Then He cut another line, only one, vertically against the first two. He spoke again, and something changed in His voice. "And the other that stands in the shadows of them both, and like the shadows it stalks them always, seeking as ever it has to consume them. Like the shadows, it will never be dispelled or driven out…and like the shadows, it will never win."
The God's eyes bored into Bakura's. "And know you, little Bakura, that this is not just a rite that I speak, but a prophecy."
The Death King looked down at the knife in His hand. "It knows you now. Your blood has marked it, and it is a part of you. Blood is life, and blood bound to blood is soul bound to soul upon the pact of the knife. Indeed, this knife will bind to your spirit the spirits of those whom you kill with it.
"This blade is yours now, and yours alone. Call it, and it will come." The God lifted it up, and opened His hand. And it was gone.
He turned back to face Bakura. "After all you have seen, after all that I have shown you about the true nature of humanity and yourself, do you still wish to see what has become of your people? Far have you come along this path, farther than any before you, but I warn you now, you have come to a crossroads, and a simple yes or no will determine the course of your entire life.
"So, child, what will it be?"
Bakura did not even have to think. "Yes, I will see them. I have no other choice."
The Death King nodded solemnly. "Very well."
Raising His arms in the gesture of summoning, the God called out over the gathering wind, "The behold: the fate of the people of Kuru Eruna."
To be continued…
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Notes:
- 'Ausar' I the original Ancient Egypt name for Osiris, the Lord of the Underworld
- 'Tuat,' as some of you may know, is the Ancient Egyptian name for the Underworld
- And it's true what I said; almost all the world's mythological traditions have some place or person that can be taken as Atlantis or Atlantean. There's a very interesting book on this subject, "The Fingerprints of the Gods," I believe it's called. I spoke of this Higher Race as Angels, but that's used loosely, more like Gods and Goddesses than actual Judeo-Christian Angels.
- Poseid was, as far as I know, supposedly what the Atlanteans themselves called their country. 'Atlantis' is a Greek word
- If you see some kind of parallel between what happened to the Atlanteans (the destruction of resources, animals, people, and finally themselves), and what's happening to our society today, that's no coincidence. I put that in there on purpose
- When listing the names for the ancient place the Antlanteans fled to, I used the ancient names when I knew them, and the modern ones when I didn't. I'm too lazy to explain all them and the countries they pertain to out for you all xX My summer job takes a lot out of me
- 'Service of Ra' is one possible translation of Bakura's name in Ancient Egyptian. 'Bak' is service or labor, usually the kind owed to a lord or superior. 'Ra' is, of course, the Sun God Ra. Or maybe just 'sun.' I don't know. My Ancient Egyptian is still fairly basic
- I had the name 'Bakura' mean The White Darkness not just because that made a really great turning point for the story, but also because there's a modern Arab name, Bararukah, that means 'white one.' And meanings change a little, pronunciation alters a little more and a little more over the years, so… (thanks to Valie for telling me about this! )
- So the little rite thingy is my version of how Thief King Bakura got those scars on the side of his face. I think they make him sexier :D
- The little "one is the other" thing about darkness and light is a spoiler for the later Ryou and Bakura romance
And last of all…
REVIEW! I don't work for money, but I do work for reviews. Please? Reviews for the poor? ;-; :::standing out with a sign, "Will Work for Reviews":::