Chapter Twenty

Location unknown

The shadows curled in sinuous arabesques around Yami, glowing like dark embers borne up by the wind. They whispered to him in a forgotten language that was at once strange... and strangely familiar.

'...Nesu...'

Their voice was the voice of ghosts, of desert winds and the haunted echoes of lost tombs. At once one and many, the shadows' voice resonated in his bones and blood. He shivered with the realization that the voice seemed to by-pass his ears, arriving directly in his brain without any physical aid. As a Duel Mecha pilot, he had become accustomed to having another entity's thoughts touching his, but this...

This made his blood run cold.

Beneath his closed lids, Yami's eyes moved restlessly. His body tried to obey his mind's commands to get away from the entreating shadows, but he was lost somewhere between dream and reality and the paralysis of sleep still held sway.

'Netjer-nefer...'

A soft sound of denial escaped his throat. His head moved, shifting minutely on the thin pillow beneath it.

'...Sa Re...'

Yami stood on a featureless plain of black and purple shadows. It stretched endlessly all around him, the "ground" beneath his feet a mirror reflection of the "sky" above him. The air was still and thick, almost too thick to breathe. The sharp tang of ozone burned his nose and throat with every labored inhalation. The atmosphere crackled with something like electricity, raising gooseflesh on his bare arms. The air seemed heavy with the weight of an approaching storm, the circling shadows eager and expectant as they closed around him. He shivered, wondering if they wanted more of his blood.

'Neb Tawy...'

Flashes of photo-negative lightning, purple against the dark pseudo-sky, lit the surreal landscape at intervals. One such strobe-light flash revealed that he was no longer alone: a dark silhouette stood across from him, just out of reach. The silhouette was vaguely man-shaped, but completely featureless except for a pair of eyes that blazed red in the gloom.

'... Nesut-bity...'

Inwardly, Yami shuddered. Outwardly, he refused to show fear. He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. His voice strong and clear, he demanded, "Who are you?"

The silhouette had no visible mouth, but Yami heard its whispered reply as clearly as a shout. '...Bakek...'

"Is..." Yami had to swallow before he could continue. "Is that your name?"

The figure's red eyes bored into him. The creature's gaze was predatory, mesmerizing. Yami felt like a tantalizing morsel placed before a hungry leopard. He forced himself not to give way under the weight of that awful regard. He could almost feel its slow smile like the scaly glide of a snake across his skin.

"Why have you brought me here?" He licked nervously at suddenly dry lips. "What do you want from me?"

'Ankhek ... khepeshek...'

That last word had sounded like something he should know. Khepesh? Like the sword? Or was that 'khopesh'? His thoughts spun dizzingly. He was beginning to wish he had paid more attention to his mother's lectures on ancient history.

' ... Khet nebet nefret wabet...'

The negative lightning flashed again, and in its purple wake, Yami was shocked to find that the creature had gone down on one knee. Its left arm was crossed over its chest, clenched fist resting over where a man's heart would be; its right arm was raised in what seemed to be a respectful salute. The odd posture struck him as somehow familiar, but he couldn't immediately place where he might have seen it before. He shoved the mystery to the back of his mind, where it continued to nag at him. For a long second, Yami could only stare at the thing kneeling before him. When he found his voice, it was strained.

"What the hell are you?" Yami whispered, fighting the urge to back away -- or, worse, to run. But he couldn't run from the thought that suddenly reared its shaggy head like a lion about to pounce. "...What am I?"

The creature raised its head, its red gaze piercing him once more, pinning him in place. That terrible smile widened with satisfaction as it intoned its answer. This time, its eerie voice rang aloud, causing the dark clouds to tremble and shaking the very ground beneath Yami's feet.

"...You are ours."

---------------------

Yami bolted from sleep.

Panting as if he had just run a marathon, he lay for a moment, his gaze darting about the stone room to reassure himself it had only been a dream. When he saw that he was alone, that no strange figure made of shadows hovered over him ready to pounce, he relaxed against the thin pillow. An explosive sigh parted his lips, then he gulped down a deep breath and tried to force his racing heartbeat to slow. Sweat stung his eyes; he dragged a corner of the sheet up to scrub wearily at his face.

A sound outside the door to his cell had him untangling himself from the twisted sheet. He flung it aside and scrambled to his feet. Silent as a spirit, he glided across the floor and took up station beside the doorway, flattening himself against the wall. The rough, uneven stone dug into his back through the thin fabric of his robe, but he ignored the discomfort, all his attention focused on the sounds coming through the closed door. Yami held his breath and tried to blend into the shadows along the wall as the door slowly creaked open.

A lone figure stepped into the opening. Yami had a brief impression of a white robe, similar to his own, and a turban-wrapped head before he lunged forward. Yami caught the other man by surprise, one arm snapping tightly around the slender torso. Using his captive as a shield, Yami hooked his other arm around the man's neck and gave it a warning squeeze. The man stopped struggling, though his body remained tensed. Yami knew that the man would try to escape his hold if the opportunity presented itself. He had no intention of giving his captive that opportunity. His hold secure, Yami twisted them both around so that his back was to the room and they were facing the open door.

That was when he spotted the second man, looming in the doorway.

Guy Number Two was taller than Yami's unwilling shield and much broader across the shoulders. He filled the narrow opening, almost blocking the dim light from the corridor beyond. He was dressed in another of the ubiquitous robes, this one a muted saffron color, and his shaven head was bare. He scowled at Yami.

"Is this how you repay our hospitality?" the tall man demanded. His voice was deep and rather coarse, as if he gargled regularly with gravel. "Release Lord Malik, at once!"

Yami tightened his grip and forced his captive to back further into the room. "Hospitality? Is that what you call it?"

"We tended your wounds," the tall man pointed out, his tone full of anger. "Gave you shelter--"

"Locked me in this cell," Yami countered. "Who are you working for? Tanaka? How did you bring me here?"

The man he held captive had ceased to struggle -- probably because struggling only threatened to cut off what little air Yami was allowing him to take in -- but he choked out, "We are not your enemies!"

"I'll be the judge of that," Yami snapped. He kept a wary eye on the man in the doorway. The big guy would have to duck to clear the lintel. That might allow Yami to dodge around him and escape the cell, but he had no idea what awaited him outside of this room. He needed more information. "If you're not my enemies, then answer my questions. Tell me who you are!"

"He is Rashid. I am called Malik," Yami's captive wheezed. "Release me, and I'll answer your questions as best as I can."

"No... I can't take that chance..."

"No one here wants to harm you," Malik said.

"I've heard that one before," Yami growled. The last time someone had said that to him he had been beaten up, shot, and tossed off a tall building. "Are you working for Tanaka?"

"I do not know this 'Tanaka,'" Malik said. When Yami let up some of the pressure on Malik's throat, the man greedily -- and noisily -- sucked air into his lungs. "I assure you, we do not serve him."

Something about the way Malik phrased it, set off new alarms in Yami's mind. Malik "oofed" as Yami's grip tightened involuntarily. In a dangerous voice, Yami said, "Then who do you serve?"

It was Rashid who responded. "We serve the Nameless Pharaoh, he who gave himself to the Shadows so that mankind might not be enslaved to Chaos."

Yami froze. Gave himself to the shadows...? The words brought the memory of his nightmare crashing down on him. He felt the floor waver under his feet.

He gave himself to the shadows.

You are ours.

"No!"

The denial was ripped from Yami's throat just as an all-too-familiar agony stabbed through his temples. The others forgotten, he staggered back, his hands clutched to his head. His skull felt as though it were being split apart by the pain. His breath coming in sobs, he sank to the floor.

Distantly, as if they were coming from far away, he heard voices speaking, but the disjointed words barely penetrated the red haze of torment clouding his thoughts.

"...happening ... him?"

"...should we...?"

"...know... help..."

"Send for... physician..."

"Help me..."

Gentle hands lifted Yami, though he was barely aware of it. He felt the rumpled sheets beneath him as he was placed back on the cot and a cool hand settled on his brow. The touch was oddly soothing.

"Rest," said a soft voice.

Then the pain crashed down on him again like a punishing wave, sweeping away all thought, and Yami sank once more into the black depths of unconsciousness.