Disclaimer: I do not own Yugioh or any Yugioh characters depicted in this fic
Author notes: I have posted some links in my profile that indicate the mythological basis for certain aspects of this story. Please feel free to check them out, if you are interested :)
The River of Thought
All was quiet except for the distant, plaintive wailing of the mourning family. Floating ash from the charred ruins of the once extensive farmhouse drifted across Seth's vision as he spurred his horse forward. It was truly destruction in the worst sense. Ibbin-adad dismounted some way ahead of him and he followed suit, leading his horse onto the property as a show of respect. The family had been temporarily housed at a neighbouring outbuilding, generally used for grain storage after the harvest was complete. Wood and glass crunched beneath their feet as they approached the main entrance, a dark, gaping, ragged-edged tear where the door had been ripped off its hinges.
Seth felt it the minute he stepped into the soot-blackened room. It was faint, only traces left behind after the hours it had taken them to arrive. He ran his fingers over the doorframe, the walls, traced his foot across the floor. Yes, unmistakeable. Ibbin-adad had advanced further in and was kneeling beside a dark smudge on the once pristine floorboards. Seth joined him and he pointed without looking up.
"This is where his son died trying to stop them."
"Ambassador, some form of shadow magic was used here," said the High Priest, quietly.
Ibbin-adad's head shot up, a dark look in his eyes. "Do you think Bakura . . .?"
"No." Seth shook his head firmly. "These attacks started long before the Thief made his appearance. Since we can account for all of his movements up until now, it's highly unlikely that he was involved. Besides, he would only strike in this manner if there were considerable wealth to be gained. But I felt the remnants when I came in here. Somebody has definitely been using something related to the magic we in Egypt use to summon shadow beasts."
A frown of consternation creased the Ambassador's forehead. "But that leaves only the Priest class. Why would they attack their own?"
"The Priest class is divided into factions here," said Seth slowly, "It is not entirely correct to group them all together. You yourself indicated the land debates and claims made between the various city-states."
Ibbin-adad looked unconvinced. "But High Priest, these contentions between the city-states are not serious enough to warrant such bloody and devastating reactions. There have been small skirmishes in the past, but those were generally of a personal nature. Clans used the land-debates as an excuse for settling vendettas."
"Maybe something similar is happening here," said Seth doubtfully. He stood suddenly, examining their surroundings with renewed interest.
"What is it?" asked Ibbin-adad, quickly following suit.
"The other priests who were attacked . . .what was their financial standing? Were they well known in the community?"
The Ambassador looked at him curiously. "Well, it varied. Inim-shara was an extremely successful land-owner. He had a great deal of wealth. The others were of average status. They all owned tracts of land, but not enough to cause disagreements."
Seth nodded. "This Maru-yatum, however. He doesn't seem to be particularly wealthy. He has a farmhouse instead of the usual estate house. He has few slaves to assist him with the crops. He owns a small portion of land, hardly profitable, but enough to make ends meet. What possible reason could they have for targeting him?"
Ibbin-adad bent his head in thought. "Maru-yatum was a renowned scholar . . ." he said.
"A scholar? Of what?"
"Of interpretation of religious texts. He also transcribed popular myths into tablet form, such that they could be copied and the people have better access to them."
"I see. So he was a learned man," Seth paused and turned towards the outbuilding where the mourning rose in a keening crescendo. "I think we should question the family."
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Bakura had struck gold. Literally. This was obviously one of the wealthier families. Although the valuables stored with the body of the patriarch occurred mostly in perishable forms, such as expensive cloth, incense and spices, there was more than enough here to allow him to live in luxury for a year. Small jade, onyx and mother-of-pearl figurines of Sumerian deities, priceless jewellry studded with rubies, amethyst and sapphires, strings of imported freshwater pearls, gold leaf and ivory-inlaid caskets filled with small, handcrafted, crystal bottles of scent all jostled for room in his already crowded bag.
To say that Bakura prided himself on his considerable skill as a thief was something of a gross understatement. There was nobody who could rival him in terms of speed, strength, agility and cunning. Thus it was that no matter how illustrious the booty, there was always one eye on the escape route, a sixth sense which had lent him the advantage on numerous occasions. He felt rather than saw her coming, spinning around, the loaded sack dropping to the floor as two weighted throwing knives arced in silver blurs to where she had been but a moment before. He dropped to the floor and rolled as twisting tendrils of a dark substance coiled outwards from her shadowy form and attempted to wrap around his wrists and ankles. The gleaming blade of a scimitar flashed in the half light as Bakura slashed at her, dancing just out of her reach. He narrowed his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of the creature's shape, only distinguishing the large silhouette of considerable bulk in the growing shadows enveloping her form.
Diabound he hissed in his mind, come to me, I need you now! The insipid essence of his Ka monster swirled into existence at his side, wispy claws striking out, inflicting little damage on the thickening strands of darkness convoluting around his retreating form. Cursing his bad luck, Bakura snatched up his sack of loot and raced for the entrance, gracefully dodging the debilitating tendrils, now growing in strength and rapidity. He was certainly not expecting the large, sinewy arm, covered in coarse hairs, that wrapped around his waist and began to drag him back within the tomb. Something flexible and strong encircled his ankles as he thrashed powerfully, but fruitlessly in the monstrous grasp. Grasping his concealed dagger, he plunged it deep into the scaly, flaking skin below, earning a sharp hiss from the creature's mouth. Talons of considerable length dug into his side, almost crushing his ribcage. Gasping, he twisted in increasingly frantic movements, dragging the knife upwards through flesh as the pressure grew.
Don't fight, my sweet bird. Bakura almost stopped struggling when he heard that voice echo through the gloom. I mean you no harm. Let me show you, lovely Thief.
Worse than the sound of shattered bone grating together, hoarse as a saw against metal, the vilest crooning Bakura had ever heard in all his years filled the small space. Abruptly, a claw pinned down his leg whilst another turned his body to face the beast which had spoken. Eyes widening in shock, Bakura felt a shudder of horror course down his spine when he beheld the creature that had maneuvered itself into the flickering light cast by his abandoned torch. Diabound vanished and a terrible chuckling greeted his expression as the repulsive face was lowered until it hovered a few inches above his. The reek emanating from the gently parting lips was incredible. What's the matter, little one? Am I not . . .beautiful?
A note of mock sadness crept into the voice as Bakura thrust his head away violently, lips curling upwards in the snarl of a caged and bound tiger. Is that any way to treat the one who will help you? Who can give you exactly what you desire?
A stream of choice profanities escaped the captive's lips as he snapped viciously at the cold talon that stroked the side of his face. Another spine-chilling laugh ghosted grotesquely against his ear. My, my, quite the fighter, aren't you, sweet one? But no matter. You will trust me in time. I will not release you until you have heard my . . .proposition.
"I want nothing from you, you Ra-damned bitch!" spat Bakura, eyes blazing with madness and fury, "Let go of me or I swear, by Anubis, I'll spill your guts and choke you with them!"
He was answered with a light sigh. But my love, that would not be any fun. And besides, have you forgotten who holds you captive, or need I remind you? The claws dug painfully into his side again, this time puncturing skin and drawing blood. Giving no sign of pain, Bakura lay still, shooting her a glare potent with undisguised hatred. That's better. I wouldn't want to hurt you too badly, beautiful one. The long, blackened tongue shot out and lapped up the blood, tracing the contours of his chest and lavishing odious caresses down to just above the top of his belt. Bakura suppressed another shudder of repulsion as she looked up at him, the slanted yellow eyes rimmed with scabs and drooping flesh, filled with an unholy desire and amusement. His breath caught as a strange sensation sang though his body, flaming throughout his system as the split ends of skin knitted together, mending the fresh wounds in an instant. Her sly gaze followed his eyes as they travelled down his own form, relishing his concealed surprise. He could sense her power, capricious, wild, far more ancient than the shadow magic practised by himself and the nobility of Egypt. What is she?
I am Dinne she said, almost as if she had read his thoughts, At one time, the people of this land called me Lamashtu. I am here to offer you my help.
"What makes you think I need your help?"he sneered.
She smiled, revealing her row of large, plate-like teeth, strong enough to crush bone. Oh, my lovely, bitter thief, I know all about your . . .what do you say? Soul monster?
Bakura stiffened in her grasp and she chuckled in satisfaction. I always know. You want to bring him back, do you not? You want him to be powerful once more so that you can exact your revenge . . . I can help you. I can return him to full strength . . .
Bakura gave a mirthless laugh. "And for what price, demoness? My soul, no doubt. Do you take me for a fool?"
Indeed, I have a price. But certainly not one beyond your means . . . or skills. As she had planned, this caught his full attention.
"You would have me steal something, then?" The disdain was etched deeply into his voice. Lamashtu smiled. This one had more guts than all the rest of her victims through the ages put together. Nobody else had dared mock her when they were so completely at her mercy.
Indeed. But this is no ordinary item I would have you obtain. It is one of immense power. If I had this, I could fully restore your soul monster.
She was answered by a bitter laugh. "That would be wonderful demoness . . .if your claims had the slightest shred of credibility."
He winced as her claws pierced him again, in exactly the same positions as before, only deeper. His mouth opened to taunt her again, but he was cut off by his own astonishment as Diabound poured unbidden from his mind, and, just for an instant, he felt a river of strength flow into his Ka, deepening the shadows around them, filling him with more life, hope and power than he had felt in a long time. As quickly as it had come, he was cut loose from the glorious outpouring of dark energy.
You see, my love, what we will acheive together if you bring me but this one thing? The Thief King watched her, the oozing eyes gleaming and the sore specked lips curving upwards in delight as she read the reluctant answer in his eyes. And Lamashtu's laughter filled the tomb once more.
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"I . . .I didn't get a good look. They were all hooded. Robes, grey robes, that is what I remember."
Ibbin-adad nodded encouragingly at the terrified young slave clutching a ragged balnket around herself to protect her exposed flesh from the afternoon chill. The family had proved to be in no condition to coherently answer any questions regarding the attack on Maru-yatum, thus they had resorted to asking the slaves who had been present at the time. Ahasunnu, the girl who had been helping in the kitchen when the strange assault had occurred proved a nervous, but lucid enough witness.
"What did they do?"
"The man at the front blasted the door open. They surrounded the house . . . the Master shouted at us to run for the back entrance, but when we got there, they were coming from that way too. I saw them . . .they used sorcery to bind his hands and feet and they dragged him out. They were shouting something about serving the Enlightened One." She paused again, shutting her eyes tight against the terrible images she was conjuring for them.
"You're doing well," said Seth, "Please continue."
"The young Master ran out after them. He tried to stop them . . . they shot strange bolts at him and he fell where he stood. We . . .we didn't know that they'd set the house on fire so we stayed inside. And then they broke the windows and threw in the torches . . ." The girl's resistance crumbled and she lowered her head to a blackened palm, sobbing raggedly.
Ibbin-adad placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, gripping firmly. "Thank you."
When she had been taken away, the Ambassador turned a troubled face to Seth. "The Enlightened One?"
The High Priest was staring into the dark doorway of the house. Although it was impossible, he almost fancied he could see the scratches inflicted by desperate nails, clinging to the wooden frame as a body was dragged out into the night, into the unknown. Shaking himself out of his uncharacteristic reverie, he turned to Ibbin-adad.
"Do you think this is why they took him? So that he could assist them in their 'search for enlightenment'?"
Ibbin-adad looked slightly startled. "So you're suggesting some group of religious fanatics?"
"It's certainly possible. The other men were all well-educated, of high standing in society and with a certain amount of experience in priestly duties besides their land-ownership skills. Since wealth is obviously not the connecting factor, perhaps it is this?"
Ibbin-adad let out a long, slow breath. "Dear Inanna, let it not be so."