A Tomb-Keeper's Lot, Chapter 10
….
It was usually colder in the moon-lit meeting hall; colder than any other part of the tomb at night.
There were normally no torches in this chamber – the round walls were well lit by the bright moon beams radiating into it from the circular opening in the roof.
But now it was well lit in every nook and crevice, providing plenty of light for the men gathered in the space to mingle and dine on their supper.
Jibade sat on cushions against the wall, situated strategically between the two entrances to the chamber, giving him a wide view of the area around him as well as optimal security.
It was just how he liked it.
The fire pit in the middle of the room glowed brightly before him, radiating heat to those gathered around it and bringing the room closer to temperatures it would normally only reach during the day.
Deliciously pungent air wafted towards The Chief from the lamb roasting over the fire, and he languidly leaned back to enjoy the aromas of the cooking meal, reaching for a piece of flat bread from the plate next to him.
As he sat in the crowded chamber, chewing his bread and spitting out the bits of rock that had cooked into it, he took a moment to reflect and inwardly revel in his conquests of the day.
The long-lost Ishtar heir had shown up out of the blue, and had been just as quickly subdued with hardly any effort. Admittedly, obtaining the secret to the Pharaoh's treasure had proven somewhat difficult when he had checked the young man's back and realized he could neither read nor translate ancient Egyptian, but he didn't have to worry about that now. He would simply get the other Tomb-Keeper's to read and translate it for him, and he now had that fool Fenuku to use as collateral. Not only did he have him, he also had the other Ishtar siblings to force Marik's further cooperation.
Jibade smiled. He had almost forgotten about the lovely Ishtar sister who was now stuck in the women's quarters; he would very much enjoy paying her a visit later in the evening.
The meat over the fire crackled and spit, breaking Jibade's reverie and bringing his attention back to the center of the room, where the men seemed to be getting restless waiting for their main dish.
He almost laughed to himself; these men were so easy to please, making them just as easy to manipulate. All he needed to do was provide them some coins and a day's meal, and they were his to command.
Just as he himself was about to stand to take the first pick of meat, there was a commotion from the tunnel on his right.
He perked up, listening intently as sounds of scuffling and protest were becoming audible.
Had one of the men brought a woman for some entertainment? Or was there trouble with one of his new prisoners? He had sent guards down to the embalming room ages ago to remove the now surely broken prisoners and give them a reprieve before the next punishment, but he had not heard back from them for a while.
The Chief couldn't suppress an irritated groan; he was enjoying his evening, and he was not in the mood for it to be soured.
He was in for more than just a souring though, when two large guards stalked into the room, each one firmly grasping an arm of a struggling Marik Ishtar, who (despite having his hands tied in front of him) was putting up a tremendous fight.
Jibade's eyes were like saucers, his eyebrows twitching as he watched the young man stumble into the room, desperately trying to wrench his arms from the firm hands of his captors while shouting at them loudly in ancient Egyptian.
The anger in Marik's voice was unmistakable, even if Jibade couldn't understand what he was saying; he had never bothered with learning any real Egyptian – there were enough people in the tomb who already spoke Arabic, so he has opted to save himself some time and energy.
He was regretting that decision a little now though.
"WHAT is this miscreant doing here? Why have you brought him and not locked him up like I directed?"
And within his mind the thought occurred 'how has he not broken yet?'
One of the guards looked up, and Jibade only vaguely registered that he did not recognize this man; 'no concern though, probably a newer guard.'
"Sir, he demanded to be brought to you. He claims he has something you need, and that the only way you'll get it is if you talk to him."
Jibade scoffed. "Is that so? Well when the prisoner stops shouting gibberish at me, I'd like him to know that I've already seen the thing I apparently 'need' and that I have plenty of time to unravel it's mysteries, with or without his assistance."
Marik glared at the man, disgust plastered across his face. "Well now that's a lie – there are things about those markings that only I know. But that's not really relevant – I never intended to give you information anyways. That was just to get me up here. But now you've crossed a line. How dare you look at those marks! They're not meant for you to see. They're sacred."
The Chief responded with a roll of his eyes. He'd heard that phrase before from Fenuku many times; it seemed everything was sacred to him.
Jibade was growing tired of the word.
"And another thing;" Marik continued, his voice growing stronger and more outraged, "not only do you overrun my home with your goons, but now you're defiling it with unclean food and uncouth behavior."
A derisive laugh erupted from Jibade, and he stood up with a jerk, walking slowly towards Marik with an almost predatory gate.
"Now don't tell me you're going to be like your uncle and start lecturing me on the evils of a good cut of lamb. Tell me boy, wouldn't you like to try some nice, juicy mutton?"
Marik grimaced involuntarily; the now cooked lamb was giving off an even stronger smell than before, and it was starting to make him a little sick.
Even after living in the outside world for so long, it was one thing he still wasn't used to and didn't like.
But he managed to turn his grimace into a sturdy frown, remembering words he had learned from his father as he said in almost chant-like reiteration "As Tomb-Keepers we make sacrifices; we've adopted a purer life style to keep ourselves worthy before the gods. We abstain from meats and strong drinks so that we can better serve the Pharaoh in mind and body. This place is a shrine to the Pharaoh, and we are its priests."
Jibade let loose with another loud laugh, staring down at Marik as he stood before him, saying "Almost word for word; that's exactly what your uncle told me when my men and I first started to… make ourselves comfortable in this Hell-hole. He's said it many times since. Come on boy, it's time to stop living in the past."
The guards held onto Marik firmly yet carefully as he tried to lunge at Jibade, who just laughed in his face; the man reminded Marik too much of himself sometimes – of how he used to be. Obsessed with power, concerned only with his own needs, arrogant, disrespectful… Marik was all too familiar with these traits. Looking at the man before him was like looking into a distorted mirror. At least now the mirror was a little more faded. And he liked to think that even in his darkest moments he had still held more respect for his family's traditions and customs than the man before him did.
At the very least, Marik was trying to do better.
"Why did you even ask then, if apparently you know so much about us? Aren't you supposed to be part of this family? Or have you finally given up on that lie?"
Jibade smirked coolly at Marik, but made no response, instead turning to walk back to his seat by the wall.
He plopped back down onto his cushion and grabbed another piece of bread, tearing some off with his teeth and speaking through his mouthful "Guards, take this… eyesore back to where you found him. Perhaps some more time with the mummies will calm him down. And while you're at it, bring back his brother – you'll think twice about acting up once you see what we have in store for him."
Not expecting the confident smirk that appeared across Marik's face at his words, Jibade lost his concentration over his chewing for a moment, and when Odion's deep baritone voice echoed in from the opposite passage saying "There will be no need for that", Jibade clamped his jaws down firmly and right onto a large rock in the dough, chipping a tooth while his muffled cry of pain was lost in his outraged shout.
Before he could even wrap his head around seeing the tall and muscled older Ishtar stride into the center of the room, his eyes were overwhelmed as what appeared to be his guards swarmed in behind Odion, only to tear off their hoods to reveal the faces of his captive Tomb-Keepers.
They all stood in the center of the room, staring at a now frozen Jibade with icy glares.
The Tomb-Keepers outnumbered Jibade's guards 3 to 1, and as the Chief looked around the room, the growing alarm on his face seemed to show he was aware of the odds.
Marik's smirk grew even wider, and with a flick of his wrists the rope tying his hands fell to the stone floor in a heap, his supposed guards flinging back their hoods as they went to join the rest of their family members.
It took a great deal of will-power to simply walk and not strut arrogantly towards the former Chief, now prone and gawking on the floor, but Marik did indulge himself a little by soundly kicking the rudimentary fire-pit, sending sparks in all directions as the spit fell over, sending the now over-cooked lamb into a bed of ashy coals.
He heard a murmur of approval emanating throughout the crowd behind him.
Stopping about a foot from the shell-shocked man, Marik sat down in front of him, spreading his legs out comfortably as he smiled and said "Well then. Looks like you'll be needing a change of plans, won't you Jibade?"
The man's eyes flickered in recognition, his mind starting to clear.
Marik's smile turned devious as he added "Or should I call you… Fathi?"
At that his eyes unclouded, and he jerked toward Marik spastically, though he didn't actually move any closer.
He sat there, seething, making even the now confident Marik twitch uneasily.
With a hissing intake of breath he shut his eyes tightly, then slowly breathed out, his posture slackening as he did so.
When he again looked at Marik he was no longer fuming, but his anger was still there, bottled up in his eyes.
"Alright Ishtar, what is it you want?"
Marik stared at him, put off by his shifting moods, but managed to respond "For you and your lackeys to leave and never return, and never speak of us to anyone."
The now unmasked Fathi feigned a look of surprise through his anger, and with sarcasm dripping from his voice responded "Oh is that all? Just let me go pack my things and wipe my memory of your little treasure-trove in the middle of the desert, ripe for the picking."
His eyes narrowed dangerously, and he leaned forward, hissing at Marik "I have a better idea; why don't you give me the key to the Pharaoh's gold and I won't kill you. Better yet, I'll take the treasure you useless people hoard off of your hands, and you can have your precious, miserable tomb all to yourselves again."
Marik leaned away from the vicious expression on Fathi's face, though his remained calm and collected as he said quietly, almost to himself "You really don't get it do you? The true treasure of the Pharaoh isn't just something you can dig up from the ground. And even translating the words on my back won't get you any closer to finding his power."
Fathi looked at him skeptically, some of his former ferocity fading into more sarcasm as he asked "And why would that be?"
"You can't just read the words – they're sort of… a coded message. They can only be truly understood by someone who holds the Pharaoh's power, and to do that…" Marik fumbled a moment, wondering how he could possibly explain the intricacies of ancient magic in a way that this greedy man would understand, "you need to prove worthy of it. You have to win it."
For a moment Fathi just sat there, staring at Marik and beyond him. Marik watched him carefully, trying his best to test out the faith that his brother and sister so keenly relied on, hoping that somehow this imposter would see reason and learn that he would never get what he wanted, so he might as well leave.
But there was a wicked smile growing ever so steadily on Fathi's face, and Marik could almost feel what little faith he had flickering out of existence.
"Fine."
Marik paused, caught off guard by the response, and not knowing quite what to make of it; the only response he could think to formulate was "… What?"
"Fine. I'll win it."
His grin spread across his face, and he looked for all the world like a hungry crocodile.
"I challenge you, Marik Ishtar, to a duel."
Confusion worked it's way even deeper into Marik's mind, as well as a hint of panic. Memories of his ordeal during the Battle City Tournament resurfaced – he hadn't been able to handle a game of Duel Monsters since he had surrendered to the Pharaoh, and the very word "duel" brought all of his nightmarish memories back to him.
But somehow he didn't think that card games were what this man had in mind.
"Tonight. Right here. I believe the guards have some suitable weapons for us to use. If I win, that information is mine – as is your life. Oh, I'll wait to get that information before I kill you, don't worry. And if you win, well… you can win by killing me. After that you are free to drive us out, though I suggest that if you want the rest of these men silent as well you'll kill them too."
His guards looked on in alarm, sharing worried glances while their leader only laughed.
"What are you worried about? He's not going to win."
Fathi's predatory grin turned back to Marik, who could only stare back in trepidation. "You don't have it in you. But you have no other options."
Marik stared into the malicious expression on Fathi's face, racking his brain for anything that could get him out of this – any idea that would allow him to get what he wanted without having to fight; but he could find nothing.
A man like Fathi would never agree to another's idea unless he felt it was to his advantage, and he seemed in no mood for negotiating.
It was useless.
Marik could only hope that Fathi would stick to his own terms, and that somehow… somehow… he wouldn't have to kill anyone.
"… Alright. I accept."
…..
*Author's Note:
… I swear, I'm not lying about updating on purpose.
It just… yeah, it's been like, two weeks. Sorry.
Anyways, now that finals are over and I have… basically nothing to do from now until… like… March, I will be focusing a lot more on writing.
Oh, and this story is only about a chapter away from being done. And in honor of Marik Ishtar's birthday, I plan to finish this on December 23rd. So… yeah, not a long wait after all! Exciting!
As always, thanks so much to all those who favorite, follow, read, etc. It's like a Christmas present for my inbox! :3
Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion!