Hey everyone. I'm back. I know I've been away for a long time, and I won't ask for your forgiveness. Part of the reason I've been away was because I've been working on my 3 websites (feel free to check it them out if you wish: Moonlit Garden, Shadows Within The Soul, Whitelighter's Lover). Another part was because my teacher gave me projects, essays, etc. for homework—and most of them were due at the same time.
Another reason was someone really close to me and my family was brutally killed at her college, and my mom got rid of my dog. I was kind of in a slump actually, I was completely and utterly depressed for a while after that, but I know I won't get anything done being like that, so I tried working on my fics. If this chapter isn't as good or up to my usual standards, you know why.
I'd also like to mention this one flame I received on this fic. It was unsigned. Normally, I don't resort to name calling, and the person who left that flame probably won't even get to this chapter, but I just felt like writing/typing this down. I specifically put on the summery that there would be Tea-bashing in this fic, and if you don't like that then don't read it. But of course, she or he just felt like giving me a nasty review. I'm not going to condemn them for liking Tea—it's their own opinion, and they choose who they like and don't like—but to badmouth my story—and me, for that matter—because I don't like an anime character that they do is just ignorant, and very, very, VERY immature. You know nothing about me, and yet you go around condemning me for bashing Tea? I wouldn't mind if you just left it at my story, if there was something wrong in it that I had to correct that is. To say that my story is trash without even reading it, I take that as a very high insult. As I said before, I explicitly put "Tea-bashing" in the summery, and that if you didn't like it then don't read it. I can't press that enough. If you absolutely insist on sending me a flame, I'd appreciate it if you were honorable enough to sign the flame, instead of being a coward and hiding behind "Anonymous". I accept all reasonable flames because they help me become a better writer, but flamers that flagrantly abuse my stories without having read it and don't give out their names do not help my writing improve, and certainly shows that they are incredibly narrow minded. Not everyone thinks the way you do; not everyone likes the same people you do. Just deal with it like everyone else.
I apologize for going on and on like that, but I feel very strongly about this topic. For all those who reviewed (kindly/reasonably), arigato thanks.
Enjoy.
Chapter Four: The Pharaoh's Request
"Ahh!" The yell was closely followed by a muffled thump. Rayah turned back to find that Varey had fallen once again. He frowned slightly as a guard roughly pulled him up by the ropes tied tightly around his friend's wrist. Varey noticed his frown, and smiled reassuringly.
The captain of the guards watched as Ra slowly made his way towards the horizon; it was almost time for his death.
"We shall make camp here," he said, swinging himself off of his horse's saddle.
Rayah glared at him, turned away, grabbed Varey's rope from the guard who held him captive, and lead him a little ways away. He sat down heavily in the sand beneath the shade of a lone palm tree, pulling his surprised friend down with him.
The guards watched, anxious expressions on their faces, as their leader stared impassively but for a hint of fear that was visible in his eyes; the tree had not been there before, and certainly no tree could grow as green as the one Rayah was seated beneath in this area of the desert for there was no trace of water nearby. They turned to each other, glancing back nervously every few seconds at the teen.
"Then what the priest said was true," said one in a soft whisper that could barely be heard. "He was born under the gods' favor!"
"We have angered him," whispered another, shaking violently. "Surely he would ask the gods to punish us!"
"But it was the Pharaoh's will that we bring him," said another in an attempt to rectify what they had done. "The Great Pharaoh represents the gods; surely His Greatness' will is above the Healer's!"
"But still–"
"There ain't no 'but' about it!" cried another, the one who had abused Rayah back at the tent. His friends desperately tried to hush him, but he waved them off. "He's just a little brat, nothing to worry about. Feh! Favored by the gods...I didn't see any of that shitting 'divine intervention' back there! I coulda beaten him into a pulp and nothing woulda happened! Ha!"
"Stop gabbing, and set up camp," barked their captain, turning towards them with a frown on his face.
"Yes sir," they replied, some grumpily and others obediently.
As the guards set to setting up the tents, Rayah irritably checked Varey's wrists, ignoring his own wounds; they were rubbed raw from the tightness of the rope and the amount of tugging the guard had done. He sent another glare at the guards, who inched away from him, before turning his full attention onto the wound.
Varey winced slightly as the young Healer moved the rope to inspect his wrists, and bit his lip to keep from crying out when they were prodded. Rayah barely glanced up as he gave a disgruntled sigh. He reached into his sack and pulled out a small vial and a small dagger. With a quick flick of his wrist, the ropes fell from Varey's wrists, ignoring the guards' protests. He placed his dagger back into his sack, popped the lid of the vial with his teeth, spat it into the sand, and proceeded to pour some of the clear liquid onto the raw skin.
Varey inhaled sharply through clenched teeth, but otherwise didn't react. Rayah began to rub his wrists gently, and he relaxed slightly. He glanced up and watched his friend's face, and flushed slightly.
Rayah's mouth was set in an unhappy frown. His silver-blue eyes were narrowed in concentration and barely contained anger; despite this emotion, his hands and movements were gentle. It wasn't long before the redness disappeared and the swelling went down.
Rayah removed his hands, and Varey smiled in gratitude, holding his wrists to himself. Rayah pretended to not have noticed, and leaned wearily back onto the tree's trunk; the guards had, in their haste, forgotten to bring a steed to carry him. Despite their leader's intent on letting him ride one of the guard's horses, Varey would not have received the same treatment, so the young Healer declined, much to the relief of the other guards.
Rayah closed his eyes, and soon fell asleep. Varey sat back and was contented to watch the guards set up camp. He only roused the Healer once it was time to eat.
Rayah grumpily woke, and seated himself before the fire one of the guards had managed to bring to life, Varey right beside him. He sullenly ate his dinner, which consisted of bread and a bowl of broth. Once he finished, it set his bowl down and waited for Varey to finish, before dragging him back to the tree and away from the guards.
Varey sat down in the fast cooling sand in surprise, and blinked as he watched his friend climb the tree's trunk. Something hard fell on his head and landed with a muffled 'thump' in the sand.
"Hey!" he objected, rubbing the sore spot.
"Sorry," was Rayah's mumbled reply. This happened a few more times, and Varey finally moved over, an irritated frown on his face. His head was really sore now, and he felt a headache coming on. He rubbed his temple as Rayah jumped out of the tree, landing nimbly on his feet. He sat down and handed some of the fruit he collected over, receiving a surprised stare. "Here. That wasn't much of a dinner, and I thought you'd still be hungry, so…" He drifted off, leaving his sentence hanging in the air, and Varey smiled at him.
"Sorhk tah, Ray," he said, accepting the fruit. Rayah, still confused as to what tongue his friend spoke besides Egyptian, shrugged it off and mumbled something that sounded like "No problem". He took a bite out of his own fruit, and the rest was silence between them.
They finally reached the palace, and Rayah looked up at the building impassively, though his eyes held and annoyed glint. It looked to be carved of gold, and for all he knew it might have been. The doors towered and dwarfed all that stood before it and were flanked by many guards, each holding a spear in their right hands and a sword on their left hips.
Rayah glanced back at the city behind them, and frowned slightly. On the surface, it looked like any normal city: people bustling about in the market, buying goods for their homes; children ran about in play, disrupting the peaceful rhythm of any unfortunate senior who stood in their way; pets meowed and barked, chasing their young masters or following faithfully at their heels; wives hung laundry to dry on lines stretching across the streets and husbands worked or laughed with friends. But Rayah saw much more than that, his eyesight being as good as it was.
The alleyways were filthy, filled with rodents that crawled quickly about, frequently quarreling over a piece of food that had been dropped and forgotten. Huddled bodies crouched or lay by buildings, some begging passersby's for some food or money while others lay eerily still. He also noted that the city had more than its fair share of thieves, the majority of them children that where only a few years younger than he himself was—orphaned, by the looks of them.
His silver-blue eyes narrowed somewhat, and his hands clenched at his side. Varey wisely chose to remain silent.
They entered into the Main Hall, and the leader of their 'escort' brought himself before Rayah, bowing slightly for politeness' sake.
"I shall go inform His Greatness of your arrival," he said, before turning away. If he noticed the glare that was aimed squarely on his back, he didn't show it. He continued to another pair of looming doors, and disappeared behind them.
Rayah crossed his arms and began to tap his foot on the waxed floor, the normally soft sound echoing within the large chamber. The other guards twitched with annoyance as each resounding 'tap' reached their ears, their frowns drawing taut and their eyes either bulging or narrowing in aggravation. Rayah noted this with sadistic pleasure, and continued his ministrations, only at a slightly quicker pace.
The captain returned—too quickly for Rayah's taste—and informed him that the Pharaoh wished to see him immediately, to which the young Healer responded to with a derisive snort. A guard made to drag Varey with them, but Rayah, having seen this, quickly grabbed his friend's wrist and pulled him through the large doors with him.
The two entered an even larger chamber. Rayah continued down towards the throne, completely ignoring the large statues that lined up on either side of him. He took in the six priests situated before the throne, and grimaced slightly; he not wanting to be there was a gross understatement.
Once he reached the throne, he didn't bother to kneel. Instead, he settled for crossing his arms and staring at the Pharaoh with a scowl. It didn't bother him that the Pharaoh was around his own age; in fact, this only infuriated him even more. Varey attempted to calm him, without much progress.
Atemu ignored the scowl he was receiving, and greeted the boy before him. "How was your trip here? Comfortable, I hope?"
"None of the sort," Rayah bit out, and Atemu's eyes widened in surprise. "Our sorry excuse of an escort not only used my friend here as collateral," at this, Rayah gestured to the pale boy beside him, "but they also handled us poorly. The only guard who was even close to competent was the captain."
"I am sorry. I will correct it any way I—" started the young Pharaoh, only to be interrupted by a crisp, "What do you want?" from the aggravated teen. The priests murmured to each other disapprovingly, sending the only priestess doubtful glances, who sighed wearily. Priest Seth glared at Rayah's impudence, but didn't say anything. With a wave of his hand, Atemu silenced them.
"Just recently, Priestess Isis," he gestured to the priestess who bowed her head, receiving an impatient stare, "had received a vision from the gods. A great plague is headed for this city, and only you are able to stop it from killing thousands of innocent people." Silver-blue orbs narrowed.
"And what makes you think I will help you?" Atemu studied the boy before him with a close eye, and saw a glint in his eyes that stated he must answer correctly…or else.
"I have been told of your great dislike for me…" he replied softly. Rayah snorted in disdain.
"And yet you still summoned me?" he asked. "Knowing full well that I might say no? A great risk, if you ask me."
"Yes." Rayah quieted, his scowl lightening somewhat at the definite answer. "Please help, if not me then my people. They have done nothing, and so do not deserve to be killed off by this cursed plague!" Rayah's silver-blue gaze flickered slightly, but he remained still.
Varey glanced between the young Pharaoh's earnest expression and his friend's seemingly blank one, but he knew better. The Healer's body was taut, every muscle coiled tight and ready to spring at any given moment; his eyes, which had held unadulterated hate, now held uncertainty and guilt, as he contemplated his decision; his eyebrows were no longer narrowed, but rather furrowed above his eyes in thought.
To anyone who didn't know him, Rayah still appeared to despise the Pharaoh and have not intention of helping. This also went for the High Priests of the court.
"Pharaoh, do not waste your time pleading with this riffraff," said Seth, staring down derisively at the young boy who wasn't that much younger than himself. Rayah sent him a glare, which went purposefully unnoted.
His request was disregarded, much to the High Priest's chagrin, and Atemu voiced his plea once again, bringing those enigmatic silver-blue eyes back onto him. A moment of silence passed in the great chamber, a moment in which Seth sent the young Healer heated glares—all of which have been ignored.
"…I'll help," said Rayah quietly, albeit reluctantly. Atemu visibly relaxed, as did many of his advisors. "…If only for the sake of the people."
"I am eternally grateful," replied the Pharaoh. He summoned a servant and said, "Please show them to their rooms." Rayah followed the overly coddling servant, his scowl putting a much deserved dent in said servant's cheery demeanor. Varey bowed politely to the Pharaoh, apologized for his friend, and hurried to catch up with their departing backs, leaving a very amused Pharaoh and his bewildered advisors.
"They're completely different from each other," he commented quietly. "Like night and day…" Seth harrumphed at the remark, though he didn't deny it.
"The pale one is much more likeable," he grumbled. Atemu watched his cousin, amusement shining brilliantly in his crimson violet eyes.
"I suppose," he said. "…It appears the Palace life will become even more interesting now that they're staying here…" A small intake of breath to his left captured his attention. It was Isis, once again.
"You have no idea how 'interesting', my Pharaoh," she replied furtively, hilarity shining in her dark eyes. The look in her eyes almost made the tri-colored teen nervous. Almost.