.:Author's Note:. Heeeeyyy guys! Sorry this chapter took so long. I've been a bit busy lately and never had the chance to upload it. It's annoying when I know what's supposed to happen, but I get writer's block every time I try to scribble it down. Anyways, Akefia and Marik finally begin their escape!
Enjoy the story and remember to review!
-DxH
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Chapter Six: Escape
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As the sun began to fall from its peak in the sky, Marik pulled on his brown cloak and rushed down the empty corridor. He slid open the hidden doorway and scrambled through it before shutting it, a little louder than he would have liked. After listening for any movement outside the room, he turned about and strode briskly to the wooden chest at the end of the room. He opened it and pulled out the copper map-holder, setting it on the table before rummaging through the chest, where he found a small leather side-pack, decorated with a large, eerie, gold eye.
Marik pulled out a small ivory-handled dagger, tucked in a small leather sheath, and cautiously removed it from its covering. The steel blade was slightly rusted, but the edge was still sharp and could come to good use. Marik shuddered before sheathing the knife. Since the initiation, he'd carried with him a deep and undeniable abhorrence to knives. He felt his back tingle and quickly shoved the dagger in a small leather sheath, tossing it into the side-pack. Marik dug into his pockets and pulled out the gold earrings, a small box of matches, and a thick cloth. He shoved these into the pack as well, before slinging it over his shoulder and pulled his cloak back on, hiding the pack.
Marik retrieved the map from its case, slipping the holder in his bag, and looked around the room one last time. The dim flickering of the candles against the cool walls, the various, strange objects, the armchair; this room had been his sanctuary and one true escape. Marik blew out the candles – which never had been extinguished since his discovery – and left the room forever.
With vague knowledge of the path, Marik hastily made his way through the corridors towards a room he seldom ventured in – the kitchen. Thanking the Gods for having met no more than a servant along his way, he darted into the empty room, shutting the wooden door behind him. At this time of day, no one was present, especially not on the day before Sham El Nesseem. Marik had recently discovered that the day of fasting was conveniently occurring a few days from when he'd decided on his plan.
'No one will be in the kitchen until at least three hours from now,' Marik thought triumphantly as he rummaged through the wooden cupboards.
Finding, at last, a small bottle of yellow-white powder, he grabbed from behind several other medical herbs and powders and set it on the clay counter. He grabbed two wooden bowls and a casserole, in which he poured two cups of sheep's milk. He placed the casserole on the makeshift stove – little more than a small hole in the counter above a small rusty iron stove filled with hot coals. As the milk steadily simmered and warmed on the stove, Marik popped the cork off the bottle and grabbed a small spoon from a drawer.
Ishizu had bought the powder from a pharmacist from the Outside as a painkillers and sleeping drug for when Marik had been recovering from the Initiation.
"Two spoonfulls is the normal dose…" he muttered pensively. "Eight should do the trick." Marik stirred in eight spoonfuls of powder into the simmering before closing the bottle and returning it to its rightful place. He then adding a few small slices of vanilla stalk to hide the bitter taste of the medicine. Once the milk was properly warm, Marik gingerly poured the drink into the two wooden bowls, hissing as some of the milk splashed onto his finger. He quickly put the empty casserole down and lifted his burnt finger to his lips, only to freeze and dash to the sink.
"Almost forgot… not a good idea." He winced, washing his hands and rinsing the casserole. After having cleaned up behind him, Marik placed the two bowls on a wooden tray and cautiously made his way out of the kitchen. He glanced around, but saw no one, and proceeded.
'Where is everyone?' He wondered. However, the boy didn't question his luck and hastily made his way towards the Central Wing. As he rounded the last corridor and headed into the Central Wing, Marik was suddenly caught off guard as a figure nearly ran into him. He froze, keeping his gaze glued to the tray in his hands, and felt every vein in his face run cold.
"Hmmmm? What are you doing here, young one?" The person asked in voice Marik did not recognize, brittle with age, and raspy. Marik slowly looked up to timidly greet a tall man, wrinkled and white-haired with age, with baggy, yellowed eyes and a crooked nose. His long white robes hinted that he might have been a priest or a scribe – not that Marik saw much of either since they all remained in the Central Wing. Marik mentally swore, swallowing as the old man's hollow eyes narrowed in scrutiny.
"I… uh… Ishizu asked me to bring this down… to the guards… you know, for a drink." The man studied Marik for a few lasting seconds, before flitting his eyes down to the frothing bowls. Marik bit his cheek, praying that his hands wouldn't tremble, or the pallor of his skin wouldn't be noticed. Every second was begrudgingly slow, and with each breath Marik feared failure – that his plan would be discovered and all his planning would be for naught. He'd known he'd eventually bump into someone, and had come up with an excuse, but his mind and body had gone numb at the stranger's first touch.
'Please, Ra, if anything, let this one endeavor succeed. I will ask no more of you!' he pleaded silently. The man leaned forward to gather a whiff of the milk, and Marik tried not to wrinkle his nose as he caught the scent of moldy parchment and sour milk.
"Ah… sheep's milk and vanilla. How reminiscent of my earlier days, though I'd always have a date or two to accompany it." The man sighed. "Well, let me not hinder you any longer. It's up that-a way. Oh and," Marik stiffened as the man tugged on his cloak with two pale fingers, "good thinking with the cloak. Darn cold down there." Marik nodded, and with a vague gesture to his left, the man gathered his robes and vigorously shuffled away with all the briskness an old man weathered under the tombs could muster. It wasn't until the steps of the man were muffled and lost in the corridors that Marik released the breath he realized he'd been holding. He steadied himself, clutching the tray firmly in trembling hands and, with newfound haste, hurried on in the direction he'd been pointed to.
As he passed through the main room of the Central Wing, Marik cast a longing glance at the center of the room, where a large, marble sundial stood motionless beneath the light of the Outside. Marik tore his gaze from the unfamiliar beam and rushed past it.
After passing the main room, Marik found the entrance to the dungeon room. He set the tray down and opened the door, peering down the dim, torch-lit, stone staircase which winded down into the darkness. Swallowing, Marik picked up the tray and cautiously made his way down the stairs, careful not to slip on the stairs. The damp rock felt cold beneath his naked feet, and Marik shivered as he descended further down into the cold and dank dungeon. When the stairs finally ended, Marik looked up to see a small space, empty except for two wooden benches and a few rusty hooks nailed into the walls.
"Who's there?" Marik started as one of the guards who'd been sitting slumped on a bench stood up to greet him, spear in hand. The guard was tall, and large – a good three times his size – dressed in only a cloak, a cloth skirt, and a light tunic. Another man he hadn't spotted rose from behind the first guard and joined him in curiously observing the small visitor. He was dressed similarly, though much smaller and skinnier, a cautious hand placed on the pummel of his sword, and eyed Marik suspiciously.
"Uh… would you like something to drink?" Marik asked timidly. The guards exchanged a glance before the first cocked an eyebrow.
"Who sends it?" he growled.
"M... my sister," Marik stuttered. The huge man was becoming more and more intimidating by the minute. And longer and Marik feared he might faint. "Ishizu thought you… might enjoy something warm after sitting down here in the cold all the time." The slighter guard tentatively picked up one of the bowls and smelled it.
"What's in it? This sure doesn't smell like just sheep's milk." Marik felt his palms moisten.
"Just… vanilla," he said. The guard nodded appreciatively and took a sip. He smiled, eyebrows lifting.
"This is pretty good," he grinned. The larger guard grabbed the other bowl and downed it in three gulps, belching loudly.
"Oh you're right. Really hit the spot too." The man turned back to Marik, grinning widely, and slapped him heartily on the back. Marik stumbled forward against the firm, though well meaning, touches. "Sorry if I scared you, little guy," he said humorously. "Can't be too careful now days. That thief's bound to have connections." The other guard, who was draining the last of his milk, nodded in agreement.
"True that. At least the Palace is getting him off our hands tomorrow. I was starting to get sick of it down here. No one to talk to but the rats and this big oaf."
"Hey, watch your mouth," the larger guard growled playfully. Marik watched this exchange with large eyes. A tumult of questions ran through his mind. Why wasn't the drug acting up yet? Had he put enough? Would it work? Would they realize what he'd done and kill him before the drug put them to sleep? Suddenly, the smaller guard yawned, stretching his arms.
"Damn… I'm really tired all of a sudden. I think it's the milk. Isn't there something in milk that's supposed to help you sleep or something?"
"Yeah, you're right." The other guard agreed, sitting down on the bench.
Marik said nothing but tried instead to contain a sound of glee as he realized the medicine was doing its job. The large guard eyed Marik curiously, his eyes becoming heavy with sleep.
"Whad'ya say was in…that…?" Seconds later, both guards were slumped against the wall snoring infernally. Marik took a deep breath and exhaled, allowing his jittered nerves to relax. The drug should work for a good few hours so he wouldn't have to worry about them for a while.
Marik searched both guards, and smiled victoriously as he found a ring of keys attached to the larger guard's waist by a thin rope. He cut the rope with his knife and rummaged through the keys, trying each one into the rusty lock. When one of the keys finally fit appropriately, he strained against the lock and, with a triumphant click, pushed the dungeon door open. Marik removed the keys and closed the door behind him, locking it from the inside. He dashed towards the last cell, breathlessly stopping before it. A familiar, dark shape shifted in the corner.
"So, you came." The voice, cold as ice, asked from the corner of the cell.
"I did. Just like I promised." Marik said, surprised at the firmness of his tone. He held up the keys. "I'll deliver you from here. But you have to take me with you, just like you promised." A small glimmer of white shimmered from the dark.
"Of course." Akefia acquitted. Marik immediately shuffled with the keys, inserting them one by one into the rusty black lock. Finally, the lock clicked open and the jail door screeched open.
Marik stepped back and watched with a racing heart as the dark figure molded from the shadows, tearing himself from the darkness as if it were where he belonged, padded forward a few steps before stopping. Marik paused, not understanding why the thief wasn't leaving the cell. A jangle of chains caught his attention as the thief moved his foot and Marik hastily understood. He shuffled into the cell, wrinkling his nose at the strong smell of decay and god knows what else, and unlocked the cuffs binding the thief's slender feet.
Marik quickly stood to his feet and left the cell, grabbing a torch from its hold on the wall and setting it against the back wall beside him. He knocked against the stones, pressed with the urgency to find the movable piece that would lead them to their freedom. Marik heard a slight creaking behind him and turned to see the thief standing outside the cell, piercing blue eyes locked on his. Marik shuddered, shocked by how emancipated the man looked. Dark bruises littered every chunk of flesh exposed from beneath his long, dirt-muddied red coat, which only served to make the thief appear smaller. Dark circles hung beneath his sallow eyes, and the dark scar lingering over his eye only served to make the figure all the more menacing. The thief blinked slowly, and a small smirk touched his chapped lips.
"I've looked worse, you know," he muttered. Marik blushed, realized he'd been staring rather rudely.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "All those bruises… did you get them from when you were escaping?" The thief looked down at his body and back up again.
"Some of them. The rest the guards gave me for fun." Marik's eyes widened in horror.
"They… what? That's horrible!" He cried. He remembered the kind grin and hearty slap of the burly guard and shuddered to think he was capable of such cruelty. The thief grinned, pearly white teeth glittering eerily in the firelight.
"Well, I don't blame him. I did kill his brother." Marik swallowed. He remembered the lifeless corpses of the guards in the tomb, and was reminded that the man in front of him had been justly imprisoned. For a minute, Marik paused, hand resting on the stones. If he released the thief, he would be releasing a murderer into freedom. Was his own freedom worth it?
Of course it is.
Marik glared at the wall meaningfully, resuming his search, until his hand glided over a familiarly different stone. He strained against it, and to his delight, the stone began to slide forward. As the entryway finally opened, Marik released a small squeak of triumph. He turned to alert the thief, when a cold, brittle hand clamped itself over his mouth. Marik froze in shock and fear, the scent of dirt and blood wafting nauseously up his nose. The white haired thief crouched beside him, eyes fixed on the door, and quietly motioned for him to listen. Marik held his breath, straining his ears when he heard the faint opening and closing of a door far away, and the gentle echo of footsteps getting gradually closer. The blood in his veins ran cold and his body stiffened.
'Not now,' he pleaded anxiously. 'We can't be stopped yet.' The thief suddenly removed his hand and shook Marik from his state of trepidation.
"Hurry." He hissed. Marik managed a tight nod and hastily pushed the loose brick aside, leaving the passage open. He looked up at the man, whose gaze was locked on the door, and tugged on the end of his coat, urging him to go through. Akefia glanced at the passage, grabbed the torch, dropped into a crouch, and began slinking through the hole. Within seconds, he'd disappeared into the dark. Marik heard a cry of surprise from behind him, causing him to jump. The visitor had apparently found the sleeping guards and realized the keys were missing. Marik crouched and hurriedly scuffled through the passage, wincing as the visitor thumped loudly against wooden dungeon door in a futile attempt to open it. As soon as the young Egyptian pulled through, Akefia easily slid the stone back into place and roughly pulled Marik up to his feet.
"Lead the way," he growled, shoving the torch in the Tombkeeper's hands and pushing him forward into the dark. Marik nodded tensely and retraced the somewhat familiar path through the dank passage. When they reach the ladder, Marik handed Akefia the torch and, with the smallest amount of movements as possible, clambered up the rusty ladder and pushed open the trap door with a grunt. He crawled out into the room, sneezing as a disturbed cloud of dust irritated his nose. He looked back at the thief, about to warn him about the ladder, when, in three agile bounds, the man leapt through the hole and crouched beside him, torch still in hand. Marik blinked, impressed by the sheer agility and grace exhibited by the man. However, the thief impatiently urged him on with a wave of his hand and Marik grabbed the map from his pack, accepting the torch, and began making his way through the dark, winding passages of the West Wing.
As they passed through the room furnished with threatening metal object, Marik averted his gaze and hurried forward, only to realize the thief was no long behind him. He whirled around, nerves poised, to see Akefia standing beside a large contraption of unknown use, made up of a simple cross-shaped wooden platform, with rusty cuffs at each end. Two thick chains hung from above, lengths likely controlled by a pulley beside the platform, sharp, wicked hooks hovering over the center of the platform at the end of the chains.
"What… is that?" Marik asked cautiously, sidling up next to the young man.
"A torture device. A person would be laid out and bound to this platform here" he gesticulated towards the cross shaped platform "and their stomachs would be ripped open. Then, the torturer would lower the hooks and pull the unlucky prisoner's organs out one by one. The liver, intestines, stomach – everything that wasn't vital for immediate health – would be pulled out in front of the very victim's eyes." Marik felt his stomach lurch in discomfort, and averted his eyes from the cruel looking hooks. He heard Akefia chuckle beside him.
"Imagine watching yourself being disemboweled. Not a very pleasant way to go."
The thief strode past it, disappearing into the darkness until the nervous Egyptian followed him, passing beside threatening looking objects and contrivances. He skidded to a halt with a muffled gasp as he found Akefia, standing motionless in front of a wall covered in every imaginable weapon. Marik's eyes widened. Curved scythes, long and broadswords, rusty machetes, huge maces the size of his head and covered with pointed metal spikes, nets of chains, sharp spears – deadly looking weapons shimmered threateningly in the firelight, looming over Marik and casting flickering shadows over a fungus-covered wall. Marik cringed beneath the sight.
'Why?' he thought furtively. 'Why would so many weapons be present within the tomb, a place of sacred peace and worldly knowledge?' He started as Akefia began sorting through a pile of daggers on a small stone table leaning against the wall.
"What are you doing?" Marik hissed. Akefia glanced darkly at him.
"Grabbing a weapon, idiot. We can't just go out there empty handed." Marik opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He closed his mouth, and meekly watched as the thief rummaged through a pile of rusty daggers of various shapes and sizes. He flinched as Akefia tossed a chipped, curved dagger to the floor.
"You're probably wondering what this stash of weapons is doing in the middle of your precious tomb," the thief commenced, examining a small, double edged dagger and pocketing it satisfactorily. Marik sunk back as the thief whirled around and stepped towards him. His ice clue eyes danced with the flame of the torch, emitting a similarly ominous exuberance.
"There is much you do not know about this place, Marik Ishtar," he whispered. "Come, we must hurry." And with that, the thief brushed past him and disappeared into the dark.
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.:Author's Note:. So? What did you think? Akefia is such a creep - evil, sadistic, cruel... man I love him xD He'll melt a bit later. And for those like "OH GOD MARIK IS ONLY 12! AKEFIA IS SUCH A PEDO!" Nothing has happened yet, if you haven't noticed. There's going to be a time lag before anything happens, so don't worry about that.
-DxH