Michelangelo
Warnings: Absent-minded-ness on my part, and the assumption (again) that people know what scrying is, and what it entails. So, in case you don't...here's an explanation: Scrying is the art of looking into the future and/or present; most often it shows a viewer only what s/he needs most to know. Oh, and it's important to be in *trance* for scrying. Sleeping = screwing up of interpretation.
Parings: The pairing for this is MISCHIEFshipping ((ManaxThief King Bakura)), but there's also quite a bit of Apprenticeshipping ((ManaxMahaado)).

I have never been able to resist power.

"You will probably see things you never wanted to, Mana." Mahaado's voice was quiet. His hands were cold on mine. I clung to them, staring into the eyes of the one who had been my teacher since before I could remember. He was so much changed now from when I first encountered him. I nodded, holding back the tears of joy that threatened to spill. He wanted me to look –

I had never meant enough before, never been strong enough – well, in control enough – to be allowed to scry. He brushed a hand through my hair, and smiled. Once. One smile – it was enough to set my very heart alight.

"Thank you, Master," I murmured softly.

Then he was gone, and I was alone once more. But it did not matter. Mahaado had smiled. At me.

*~*~*~*~*

"So he has sent you?"

I don't like dealing with Isis. She is…fearfully quiet, and sees far too much for anyone's good. I nodded, tentative. Yes, the Master has sent me. And I have come, have I not?

She regarded me with care, as if thinking that perhaps – very slim a chance, but there anyway – I had come of my own accord, without Mahaado's blessing. As if I would. As if I could. Mahaado is the Master, is he not? Who should know better than Isis – one does not defy one's master's wishes.

"Then come."

I went. She placed her hands on my shoulders, and for a long time, simply stood there, staring into my eyes. Then Isis nodded, and turned, nearly dragging me along with her. "You will be one of the dreamers."

"Of course." I had no idea what she meant, but she would teach me about the art Mahaado had promised. It was all I needed. And then I could return to my Master, and make him proud.

*~*~*~*~*

Weeks had passed since my training first began. Isis had been insistent that I leave off performing the rituals on my own. Only when we were together, she had insisted. I had not wished to disappoint, but now, she was no longer teaching. Every moment of the time we spent together was wasted on simple things. Isis ordered me to roll papyrus into scrolls, to copy down ingredients for various pastes and potions. Nothing – nothing – about the art.

Nothing

So tonight, I had decided, that no matter the rules that had been given me, I would ignore them. If Isis had indeed already given me everything she knew – and I had no doubts that she had – then it was up to me to pull all the pieces together.

Mahaado had said it best when he told me that the past, future and present were all one puzzle, waiting for a mind sharp enough to untangle them. Once that mind knew…then anything was possible. My master could never be wrong about anything.

Tonight was my night.

I lit the incense, and it began to smolder gently, the tiny pinprick of red glowing at the top of the stick. Slowly the scent began to fill the room, waves of the smoke gathering on the ceiling. Then I sat down, the way Isis had taught me, and I closed my eyes. Meditation, she called it. I usually fell asleep, but tonight I was determined. This for my master. I would succeed, and prove myself.

*~*~*~*~*

I dreamed about you. I dreamed that you were older. Your hair…stained whiter than the clouds. There was still the same fierce pride in your steps, the same strength of character to your motions. I saw the scar, cast upon your skin, and knew it was you. How could it not be? You told me of your childhood. As I watched, I saw you kneel beside a river, taking up a stick and begin to prod the mud, pulling up chunks of earth. Then you used your hands, digging through the mire until I could see what you were pulling up. Bodies. Dead bodies.

I woke. Had I been dreaming? No… I denied it to myself. I had Seen, as Isis Saw. But it was not enough. No clear image, nothing to stay in my mind and remember.

I dreamed about you. I dreamed you were a pilgrim. You were traveling, seeking someone. In the way dreams have…I knew you were searching for someone. A woman. A mother. There was a face, too, because I saw her… But I could not remember it. You took her in your arms, and asked…asked about the children. Someone, somewhere, you abandoned, so very long ago.

I woke. Dreams…only dreams. Mahaado would have told me if he had… No. It was only my imagination. Or maybe it was our future. That seemed more likely, no matter that Isis had told me scrying showed only the present and early past. This was to be our future then. I was content.

I dreamed about you. I dreamed that you were riding. The horse was red like the desert sun as it descends to the horizon. The horse ran along the Nile river, bearing you along with it. The sky began to darken, and a path of white and grey formed for the both of you. Together, you ran up the bridge of clouds, until you were gone from my sight. A thousand years, a thousandth of a second – time without measure later, and I saw the two of you…falling. There was nothing I could do.

I woke. Heavy breathing, choked me into consciousness from the realms of dream. Future – no. No, this had to be something different. Perhaps I ventured into the places Isis had never imagined. And yet, I still was searching for something of use.

I dreamed about you. I dreamed that you lay dying. The cry of a hawk echoed through the empty sky. The fields were drenched with gold, shimmering under the burning sun. Little pinpricks of red glowed in the midst of brown thorns…dots that were roses. I was close to you, hearing your breathing, watching you. Around you there were ghosts of the past, echoes of things I'd never seen before. The shaft of an arrow protruded from your breast, but when I reached out to pull it from you, my hand went through it. A ghost… And so were you.

I woke. Dreams seemed so real. For a long time, I sat awake, tears streaming silently down my face. The moon outside was bright, pouring silver light down. I stood and walked to the window, leaning on the frame, trying to calm myself. I was afraid to see more. Question still lingered in my mind – was this my Master who I was seeing? Who else could it be? And yet…for all the senses in my heart saying it was, there were more in my head shouting nay. It was with hesitation I laid down for my last rest…to sleep.

I dreamed about you. I dreamed you were weeping. The tears carved out paths across your cheeks. Did I ever tell you that I loved you? Your hands raised to brush away the little diamond drops, using one of the silken cloths I'd gifted to you on your birthing day celebration years ago. You looked at me then – more, looked though me, and I felt my heart grow cold. It was not you.

I woke. Only a dream. But I knew…it was not Mahaado.

*~*~*~*~*

I never told anyone. My lessons with Isis continued. My master looked upon me more favorably, and perhaps things might have turned out well enough, perhaps… If I hadn't dreamed.

The city was aflame one night when I woke, and Mahaado was pulling at my arm, dragging me from my sleep. He pressed a wet cloth over my mouth and nose, and ordered me to get out. He was going after the others. The other keepers.

I listened to him. I always had. With the blessing of my master, I fled the palace, into the city. Everything, everywhere – smoke choked the sky, and I thought of how the incense I had once burned had done the same. Was some god, somewhere, attempting to see the present, and burning our lives as his sacrifice? I did not know, and at the moment, such a care was far from my thoughts.

I reached the outskirts of the city, and stood, looking down at the valley where the palace and its surrounding area was located. The sky was stained grey from the smoke. Anguished cries echoed through the night air. At the heart of the chaos was the palace, glowing gold. I realized I was crying, and turned to flee into some other chapter of my life.

Warm hands caught me, and I looked up, to see the face of the man I had once thought was Mahaado. How I had mistaken them… The light in his eyes said he was the one responsible for this. He turned me back to face the destruction, wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his head on my shoulder. Too close…much too close.

"Have you ever wanted to paint?"

I shuddered.

His breath was hot against the curve of my ear. I was shaking.

"To capture the souls of the living in a dead state… We'll paint the whole world burning. What skill, what talent, what power."

I have never been able to resist power.