Chapter 25: Awakening
"They seek for you," Osiris said. "Return and fight."
When Odion opened his eyes, the world seemed too dark, and he thought for a moment he was in the tombs, wondered how much of life had simply been a nightmare.
Then his mind settled, and he knew the truth.
He expected his room to be empty. It should have been empty. The only person who ever would have stood at his bedside would have been Marik, but Odion had felt the lightning shatter the balance, felt one form of guilt lift from his chest only to be replaced by another.
He knew Marik was gone.
And yet his room was not empty. Instead, a woman stood at his bedside, the same blonde finalist who'd brought him dinner and introduced herself warmly at the start of the finals. She forbade him from rising, and when he asked her why she'd come, she called him honorable.
"And I am here," she said, "because while sickness is misery, loneliness is more so. I know the music."
Odion swallowed. He realized his hand was on hers, and he released it, yet she did not move hers from his shoulder.
"But you owe me nothing," he said.
Ms. Valentine raised a delicate eyebrow. "It is not about owe, monsieur. It is about want. Promise you will not rise?"
After a moment of hesitation, he nodded. She lowered her hand and stepped back.
"I will retrieve the nurse. After your health is settled, then you may see to your brother. You understand?"
Another pause, then another nod. She slipped from the room, and Odion was left in silence. The silence was not a friendly one; thoughts of Marik filled his mind, memories from that horrible time four years earlier. Odion touched his face gently, felt the scars. He'd carved them after accepting Shadi's offer of balance, told Marik they were the symbols of shared suffering, let the boy believe it was about the initiation. It was one of the boldest things he'd ever done, but those weeks had been full of bold actions as he'd sacrificed duty and obedience for the selfishness of simply trying to keep his brother alive whether Marik wanted it or not.
Ms. Valentine returned with a doctor, and Odion straightened. The man checked his temperature, his heartrate, his blood pressure, tested his speech responses and his reflexes. In the end, he removed the IV.
"You need more rest," he said firmly, "but it's a vast improvement from yesterday. Welcome back. Try not to scare us again, alright? I'll have someone on staff bring you breakfast."
"I can do it, monsieur," Ms. Valentine offered.
"No, I think you should stay." The doctor smiled. "Keep our patient company."
He exited once more, and Odion began to pull the blankets away until his fierce guardian stopped him with a raised eyebrow.
"The doctor has ordered more rest. I will not see you run frantically only to collapse again."
Heat rose in Odion's face. All his life, he'd been expected to care for Marik. There had never been anyone to care for him. Ms. Valentine's insistence on it was both uncomfortable and unfamiliar.
But it wasn't terrible. Somehow, it reminded him of that first sunrise aboveground.
"It is nice to see you smile, monsieur." She winked. "Beneath that fierce Ghoul cape, I suspect there is a tender heart."
He coughed. "Just Odion is fine, Ms. Valentine."
"Then you may call me Mai, as friends do."
"I don't have friends." It wasn't a contradiction so much as a confession.
But she only smiled. "Quelle chance! I am honored to be your first."
He couldn't imagine why.
The door to his room opened again, but it wasn't a doctor who entered this time, nor was it a staff member bearing a meal.
"Ms. Ishizu!" Odion almost moved to stand, then stopped himself just in time. It had been months since he'd spoken to Marik's sister face to face; he certainly hadn't expected a visit from her.
"You're awake!" the girl beside her burst out, smiling widely. "I'm so glad!"
Odion could scarcely remember a time he'd been more confused.
"Oh." The unfamiliar girl rushed forward, hand extended. "We haven't officially met. I'm Anzu Mazaki. I'm Marik's friend."
If Odion thought he'd been confused a moment before, the river suddenly became a flood; Marik possessed as many friends as himself. But perhaps this girl was like Mai—the first of her kind.
With a practiced calm he didn't feel, he shook her hand and said, "Odion Ishtar."
The blimp gave a shudder, and everything seemed to settle with new weight.
"We have arrived, it seems." Mai smiled at him as she reached for the door. "I must prepare for my finals."
He nodded, surprised to feel a weight in his stomach that had nothing to do with the landing.
She winked. "Until next time, my friend."
Then she was gone.
Odion swallowed in the silence. He looked at Ishizu. "Master Marik . . . ?"
She touched her throat, and he realized with shock the Millennium Necklace was gone. "Anzu, perhaps we should take a seat. There is much to discuss."
Ms. Mazaki took the empty seat beside Odion's bed, and after Odion adjusted to a more upright position, Ishizu seated herself at the foot of his bed, one arm braced on the plastic footboard. Most of what Ishizu outlined was no surprise—it was simply his worst fears realized. Marik had remembered the truth of Ahmed Ishtar's death. His mind had been lost to the evil within the rod.
A maid arrived with breakfast, but though Odion thanked her, he had no appetite. As soon as she left, he set the plate aside.
"I've been a fool," he whispered.
It wasn't Ishizu who answered; it was Ms. Mazaki. "No, you've been a good brother. And it means everything to Marik, even if he's too dumb to say it."
"How . . . ?" He couldn't even finish the question, but she laughed, rubbing her neck as if self-conscious.
"I've been in his mind. Well, he's been in mine more, I guess. Item stuff, you know."
Odion had only briefly felt the influence of the rod on his own mind, but he'd often seen the way it darkened Marik, the hold it had on his moods, the way it buried his natural warmth beneath an unnatural rage. Yet the girl at his side seemed nothing but cheerful in discussing it.
He looked to Ishizu, and to his shock, she smiled.
"Marik taught her of the gods," she said, as if that were explanation enough. "Willingly."
Odion frowned. "He hardly speaks of them." Such business was for tombkeepers, the boy would say.
"It wasn't a big deal." The girl shifted in her seat, fidgeted with her oversized bracelets. "I just asked for a crash course, and he gave me one."
Marik never did anything he was asked. Such business was also for tombkeepers.
"You're special to him," Odion said, his tone one of amazement.
Her cheeks darkened to red. "I wouldn't say that! We're just friends."
Friends was plenty special.
"Perhaps there is hope after all." A weight seemed to lift from his chest, allowing him to breathe again.
"Anzu is convinced," Ishizu said, "that Marik has not yet fully succumbed to the rod's power. I had previously believed that the only way to save him would be to banish the rod's darkness in a shadow game, but she believes Marik can overcome it with his own strength if we only provide the right help."
"I've seen him do it," Ms. Mazaki said fiercely.
Odion swallowed. "So have I."
The first time the rod had consumed him, when he'd stood laughing beside his father's corpse with the blood still fresh on his hands. Odion had stood trembling in the doorway, unsure what to do, unsure if the brother he knew even still existed. When Marik had collapsed, it had been instinct alone that had carried Odion forward. As he'd pulled the frail, starved boy into his arms, he'd expected to feel the rod pierce his own ribs. Even after he twisted Marik's wrist, forced him to drop the artifact, that third eye still glowed on his forehead. The madness still glowed in his eyes.
Then he looked at Odion like he was seeing him for the first time, and the madness faded, and it was just Marik again, clinging to him and crying the same way he'd done before the initiation ever took place.
"I thought you were dead," he kept saying, the words almost indiscernible amongst his sobs. "I thought you were dead."
"The key will lie with the rod itself." Ishizu tapped her thumb against the footboard, her eyes glazed in thought. "Kaiba could break its hold easily, were he willing."
Ms. Mazaki frowned. "Kaiba?"
"In Ancient Egypt, he was one of the nameless pharaoh's most favored high priests. He was perhaps the first to ever command the rod's power."
The poor girl looked like she'd swallowed her tongue, and Odion's level of shock wasn't far behind. Ishizu had never been forthcoming with information of the past, especially not to non-tombkeepers. She revered her duty as a guardian of sacred knowledge above her own life.
"But Kaiba is . . . Kaiba." Ms. Mazaki shook her head. She looked to Odion as if seeking support, though he had none to offer. "Kaiba's Kaiba."
Ishizu waved a hand carelessly. "He has taken to the modern world as if he were born to it, and he is determined to maintain such a façade by the strength of his own willpower. When I first came to Japan, I called him to the museum. He looked directly at a carving of himself on an ancient tablet and refused to see it at all. So, capable or not, he will never assist us. Not when it involves his past."
"I'm not from the past, am I?" Ms. Mazaki looked ill at the thought. "I would know."
Odion shook his head, giving what he hoped was a reassuring look.
"Okay, good. I like my life as is, and it's complicated enough without a big secret like that crashing through the roof."
At that, he winced.
"What you did was noble," Osiris had said. "Perhaps even necessary. But the nature of secrets is the nature of a wrecking ball. Only time will tell what can survive amongst the wreckage."
Still unwilling to dissect his time with a god, Odion pushed it from his mind once more.
"That's why," he said.
Ishizu and the girl both looked at him. Waited.
"When Master Marik tried to command Mokuba Kaiba with the rod, the boy broke his control, the first ever to do so. He must hold sway with the item."
"Kaiba's little brother." Ms Mazaki grinned. "He'd help us—he's a really sweet kid."
But Ishizu frowned. "Seto is from the past. Mokuba was born to this world. They are related only by adoption, not by blood; such a relation could never transfer the power of a Millennium Item."
Of course. Odion looked down, sufficiently chastened. He should have known; after all, such a relation could not even transfer the title of tombkeeper.
But Ms. Mazaki stood and planted her hands on her hips, staring Ishizu down like she was chastising an unrepentant child who'd broken a dish. "Are you blind? You're sitting next to your own brother, idiot. Sure, blood makes family, but more than that, family makes family."
Ishizu shifted uncomfortably, glanced at Odion. "I only meant . . . in certain circumstances, it isn't . . ."
Ms. Mazaki cleared her throat, her stare growing even more pointed until a bit of color rose in Ishizu's face. The silence sat heavily in the room as if it, too, had been chastised.
"I could never be a tombkeeper," Odion finally said, his voice hoarse, "but perhaps in the case of the Kaiba siblings—"
"Excuse me?" Ms. Mazaki's terribly piercing gaze turned on him. She couldn't be more than sixteen years old, yet Odion suddenly felt that she was the adult and he the misguided teenager. He could hardly look her in the eyes.
"I could never be a tombkeeper—" he tried again.
"Screw tombkeepers; I'm with Marik on that one. Do you know what he said to me during your duel with the pharaoh?"
Odion swallowed. Shook his head.
"He asked me how to convince an older brother to be smart. He didn't say 'Odion'; he said 'older brother.' How many older brothers does he have?"
Again, Odion shook his head.
"Just you. You're all he's got. And he's never once cared if there's blood to back that up."
Odion's eyes stung; he looked away.
"You both could take some lessons from him."
The silence returned. An intercom message came and went, calling for duelists and audience alike to gather.
"If Mokuba Kaiba can break the rod's connection," Ishizu finally said, "even for a few moments, it would give Marik his opportunity." She looked at Odion. "Seeing you and Anzu would give him his motivation. I believe under such an arrangement, Marik could fight his way back."
"You too," Ms. Mazaki said.
Ishizu shook her head. "There is no positive motivation seeing me could provide."
"I don't care. If he sees you and wants to come back just to punch you in the face, he deserves that chance. That's another part of being family. You stick it out, even if it sucks. You learn to apologize, and you learn to forgive. If my stupid brothers and I can figure it out, you and your stupid brothers can figure it out, too."
Despite himself, Odion smiled, because it was now obvious exactly how Anzu Mazaki had broken through Marik's defenses.
Ishizu finally relented with a small nod.
"Well, good." Ms. Mazaki adjusted the bottom hem of her shirt, squared her shoulders. "Now that we have a plan, I'll talk to Mokuba. Agreed?"
Odion almost said, "Yes, master." He cleared his throat and tried again: "Yes, Ms. Mazaki."
"Ugh, that's way too formal. Just Anzu, thanks."
If Odion didn't know better, he'd say he'd gained two friends in a single day. Maybe if his luck held out, he could have his brother back by the end of the day as well.
Experience told him not to hope. Anzu's bright smile told him experience wasn't everything.
So he chose to hope anyway.
Yori wasn't sure where she'd hoped to end up with her little bracelet trick; she'd simply thought that if the bracelet could allow her to see spirits, it could also allow her to be one—to leave her body behind and go somewhere else.
She was somewhere else, all right. The darkness was gone, as was the beast, but though she'd hoped to see Yami, he was nowhere to be found. And neither was any other familiar face, though there were plenty of faces around.
She stood in what seemed to be a garden. Stone walls shaded the courtyard edges from the sun, and vines flowered in the shade. The air was heavy with the green scent of life. And everywhere, people enjoyed it, reclining in sun and shade, basking in the pool of water at the courtyard's center. Each time she caught someone's eyes, they smiled and nodded, like there was nothing strange about her at all even though she couldn't have been more out of place. Everyone was dressed in white and gold, in robes and wraps. And there she was in her black Battle City T-shirt and ocean-starched blue jeans.
"Where am I?" she finally asked because it wasn't like she was going to figure it out on her own.
The woman she'd addressed smiled and lifted a hand. "Go to the roof. He'll speak with you there."
"Who's 'he'? A god? An alien?"
But the woman turned away, moved to the pool.
Alright, the roof. Why not.
Yori crossed the courtyard to the looming stone house behind it. It was blocky in design, decorated with pillars and beveled edges. She pushed aside a curtain of woven reeds and entered the cool, dark interior. There were people inside, though not nearly as many as had been in the courtyard. A large, open room stood at the center of the house, painted a friendly yellow, and at the edge of it, a set of stairs led up.
The stairs took her to the roof, and she squinted against the sun as she emerged. Other houses and other courtyards filled the surrounding area, and in the distance, she could see the houses shrink and diminish to simple mud architecture that crumbled at the edges and testified of a much less elegant life than the one lived by the people in the dwelling below her.
There was only one other person on the roof. Yori hardly noticed him at first. He sat on a low stool beneath a reed canopy, staring out at the desert. He wore a white robe and gold armbands, and his head was bare except for a line of simple black tattoos across his forehead, like calligraphy strokes that never formed letters but were elegant nonetheless.
When he looked at her, his blue eyes were startlingly familiar, and in his features, she recognized someone else.
"Shadi?" No, it wasn't Shadi. It had to be—
"You look well, Yaara." The man smiled. "It's been a while."
Shadi's father.
Note: Next update will be Thursday, February 27th.