It's been a while, hasn't it? Good news, I am definitely gonna keep going with this story. Thank you so much to all the lovely people who reviewed last time: taste the rainbow eat crayons (lol), Mel-Girl, Melissa Brite, Bokua Haiiyou Kai, BlueFox of the Moon, mystralwind, albino-yaoi, Mittzy, Dawn3, and especially Ryou VeRua and ltkk022. You guys are awesome, I send you much internetz-love.
About this chapter: bear with me – it's a lot of setup for what comes next. On another note, I have discovered a new inspiration in the form of Coptic hymns. The language is actually directly descended from Ancient Egyptian. The music they are set to, I think, is actually the same music that was once used during ceremonies in Ancient Egypt. Anyway, that's what I listen to when writing this. You should check out the one called "Epouro" on youtube. Tangent.
Disclaimer: Sorry to post this chapter twice but I forgot it the first time. I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh or any of its characters. I kind of own Zaza though, because I invented him.
Anyway, without further ado, the chapter!
Ω
It was the dead of night, at the hour when a cold spell came over the desert – leeching away the warmth of the sun, sending forth one's breath in clouds. It was incredibly dangerous to be in the tomb when the full moon was out. The tomb robbers of Egypt favored its light, working only when the sun was down. He was without defenses, and if he ran into any outlaws, Malik knew they would not hesitate to cut him down. He wished with all his might he was anywhere but here. But did he really have a choice? When one of the priests gave an order, they expected it to be carried out.
The young man's footsteps were loud in the dark hallway, echoing hollowly off sepulchral wastes of limestone and granite. The only other sound was his own labored breathing – his chest was tight from inexplicable dread. He forced himself to keep walking, tightening his grip on the oil lamps he was carrying for fear his arms would give out. A lone candle was his sole illumination, casting a feeble light on the hieroglyph-riddled walls.
The underground tomb of Aknamkanon was vast and dim, filled with traps meant to lead robbers to their deaths, sealed-off exits, and long passageways that went nowhere. Malik had been there many times before, when the exhausted slaves had still been busy laying down the final stones. He had not been present for the ritual, when they had laid the god-king to rest before his journey to the Afterlife. How thankful he was for that, they'd never know. But now he was back again, alone this time. How ironic that, for someone who hated being in tombs so much, he couldn't seem to escape them. He was not a priest-in-training himself, but because of his proximity to Ishizu, he often got saddled with lower-level duties the priests needed done. Usually slaves would have performed these tasks, but Mahado, naturally a suspicious man, didn't trust any of the palace slaves enough to let within a mile of the dead Pharaoh's tomb.
There was little ventilation in the tomb, and as a result, the air he now breathed was heavy, stale and dead, ripe with the underground smell that never failed to turn Malik's stomach. The lack of fresh oxygen was beginning to make him dizzy, but he refused to let himself stop, knowing that the sooner he got the job done, the sooner he could escape outside.
By candlelight, Malik consulted the map he'd been given. It was cryptic and difficult to read, but after a few wrong turns that led nowhere, he'd managed to more or less make sense of it. Bypassing a dead-end passageway, Malik finally arrived at the wide, low-ceilinged hallway that led to the dead Pharaoh's chamber. He knew this was the right one, even though it was neither as imposing or extravagantly decorated as the other passageways. It was built purposely plain and demure; an old ruse to confuse tomb robbers and lure them somewhere else. With a sigh, Malik put down the heavy clay oil lamps he'd been carrying. He took one and, reaching up, placed it in the shadowy alcove that had been specially carved out. The lamps were needed the next day, for the priests were coming in to perform a special post-burial ritual on the Pharaoh's mummy. The young man tried not to imagine what that would entail. He was simply thankful that this time he did not have to go inside the actual sealed chamber where the sarcophagus had now lain, gathering dust, for seven months.
Amazing how seven months could make such a difference. And wondrous too, how one man's life could sustain an empire. In his sudden absence, the Kingdom of Egypt, like a dead tree, had begun to groan under its own weight. Perhaps it too was slowly dying, crumbling like the body in the sealed chamber. But to Malik it seemed that if the Kingdom fell, the sky must follow soon after.
Suddenly – inexplicably - a cool breeze from behind swirled around his body, lifting his hair. Startled, Malik gasped and spun around so fast he dropped the candle and the oil lamp he'd just picked up. The candle fell to the ground, flickered, and went out, plunging the young man into total darkness.
"Oh no…" Malik moaned to himself.
Trembling, the young man closed his eyes against the inky blackness that surrounded him and took a deep breath, trying to suppress his rising hysteria. As he felt around on the ground, his fingers encountered the shattered pieces of the oil lamp, and Malik immediately felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He'd been given just enough lamps to fill all the alcoves in the hall. If one was missing, Mahado would be sure to notice. Mahado was just as painstakingly attentive to detail as High Priest Seth, but unlike the latter, he was less forgiving of mistakes.
Malik shuddered, thinking of the punishment he'd no doubt be given. The cuts on the soles of his feet were not fully healed from the last mistake he'd made – when he'd accidentally come into the room where Mahado was having a private talk with the Pharaoh Atemu. Mahado always made sure to make the wounds on a part of his body he could conceal. The priest had made it abundantly clear that if Ishizu ever found out, Malik would be in more pain than he'd even considered possible. Malik had no desire to find out what that meant, and so, he remained silent. He didn't want to hurt his sister by telling her either – although she had never told him in so many words, he knew Ishizu was in love with Mahado. He couldn't blame her really; Mahado was quite attractive, and he could be very charming and likeable in public. He knew Mahado was fiercely loyal to the Pharaoh Atemu, and would serve him with his dying breath. How could you not love a man like that? Sighing, Malik shook his head. He supposed he couldn't really blame Mahado either – after all, everyone had a good side and a bad side. The young noble was just unlucky that the priest chose to unleash his darker side on him.
Malik opened his eyes wide, trying to see something – anything – in the darkness, but it was no use. His surroundings were pitch black; he might as well have been submerged in ink. He couldn't even see his hand two inches in front of his face. He couldn't hear anything either, which could be good or bad. Good if it meant no one was there, bad if it meant whoever was there was so good at being silent.
The darkness was so complete, it seemed to press at his eyes with an invisible weight. Malik felt his way over to the pile of oil lamps and began to fumble around, searching for a match, flint, anything he could use to relight the candle. But there was nothing there. Malik collapsed to his knees, and huddled against the side of the hallway.
Utterly forsaken, Malik let out a long, shuddering breath. He was really in the middle of the Pharaoh's underground tomb, with no light and no way to get back. Only one person knew he was here. He had a map, but now wouldn't be able to read it. Even if he tried to feel his way back to the exit, the chance was much better than even he would run into one of the deadly traps. What if the priests decided not to come the next day? It was entirely possible; they tended to play things by ear, and there was certainly no rush to get the ceremony done. After all, the King was dead. By the time they found him, he stood a good chance of either having been killed by robbers, or having starved to death in the dark. What a hideous way to die. Malik gulped; despite his best efforts to keep himself under control, a few tears rolled down his face. He buried his face in his hands, trying to pretend he was anywhere but here. He would gladly withstand any punishment Mahado could dish out, as long as he didn't have to be here.
The lack of oxygen was getting to him. His head felt dull and heavy, a throbbing pain in his temples refusing to subside. Malik closed his eyes, and the ground beneath him began to spin and reel crazily. Before he knew it, the young man had slipped into unconciousness.
Ω
A rustling noise, somewhere close to him. Malik stirred where he still sat against the wall, murmuring an unspoken question in half-sleep.
The rustling, there it was again, but farther away. Malik opened his eyes and sat up, groaning as he remembered where he was. He put a hand against the hewn rock wall to steady himself and pulled it back with a shudder as something cold crawled over his fingers. Had he imagined the rustling sound? It was gone now…
His head still hurt, but it seemed to be slightly easier to breathe now. Vaguely, he wondered how long he'd been out. He hugged his legs against his torso, willing the darkness invading from all sides to disappear. Darkness is not the absence of light, Malik thought to himself. Darkness is something else.
All of a sudden, a pinprick of light appeared on the opposite wall. Malik blinked and stared at it. Could it be daylight? No, it was wavering around, flickering, yellow and white with heat. It was beautiful.
"Hello?" Malik tried to call, but all that came out was a cracked whisper. He tried again, louder this time, and the rustling came again. The burning flame drew closer, hypnotic in its intensity. Malik tried to form words, to ask if he was going to be killed or not, but found himself unable to do anything but stare at the dancing fire.
The flame was very close now. The thought occurred to Malik that perhaps he had died. Hesitantly, he reached an unsteady hand towards the fire, feeling its warmth…
Suddenly, a hand shot out of the dark and closed around his wrist. Malik cried out and tried to pull away, but whoever had just grabbed him was strong, and not about to let go. The young man twisted this way and that, but the unseen assailant just tightened their grip until a sharp pain shot up his arm and he stopped struggling.
"Please, who…" he managed to get out.
"You don't recognize me? How insulting." The candle moved, and suddenly Malik could see Mahado's face illuminated fitfully by the flickering light. His face was like one of the stone carvings – grim and still. His eyes, a dull purple-grey in the gloom, betrayed no emotion. It was rare that the priest was seen out of ceremonial garb; tonight he was dressed just as simply as Malik was, with his long hair hanging free around his shoulders. Yet the uncharacteristic casualness of his dress put the younger man on guard as nothing else could have.
Malik was confused, torn between joy at the fact someone had found him, that his prayer had been answered, and dull dismay at who it was. "You followed me here?"
Mahado gave a short, humorless laugh, as if Malik was being a simpleton. "What do you expect? You honestly think I'd let a fool like you alone in Aknamkanon's tomb? You're practically a walking invitation for robbers. Do you know you didn't even deadbolt the entrance?"
The sting of his words brought sudden tears to Malik's eyes. No matter what he did, there was always something he'd screwed up, something he'd forgotten…
"I see you managed to break one of the ceremonial oil lamps as well. Good job, half-wit." Mahado released Malik's wrist and stood up. "Get up, I don't have all night."
Malik slowly got to his feet, keeping his eyes on the priest. "I beg your pardon?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level. He could have died in the tomb, for a stupid errand Mahado had thought fit to send him on, and even now, as usual, the man was treating him like a dog. Worse than a dog. Nobody, no matter how twisted, would cut up a dog's paws so it couldn't walk, would they? He knew Mahado would be quick to pick up on any anger he failed to conceal, and at the moment it was threatening to overflow. He had no doubt Mahado would inflict punishment later anyway, but he tried to calm down, telling himself there was no need to dig himself in deeper.
"The lamps?" Mahado placed the candle in an alcove, so it threw a faint light over the interior of the cavernous hallway. There was just enough for Malik to make out the priest's shadowy form. "Why are your hands shaking like that?" the priest demanded impatiently. The younger man suspected he already knew the answer to that.
Malik tried to make them stop. "No reason. It was just…unpleasant…being here without a light. That's all."
Mahado scoffed. "You have no-one to blame but yourself, imbecile."
Turning away, Malik found the pile of lamps and bent to gather them up, feeling Mahado's eyes on him the whole time. Taking care not to fumble, he began placing each of them in the alcoves that lined the hall.
Why would he follow me here? Malik wondered to himself. If he knew I'd make a disaster of this, why ask me to do it at all? Wishing for nothing more than his own warm bed and the delicious oblivion of sleep, Malik sighed to himself and continued down the hallway. It was that hour of the night; his vision swam slightly, and everything around him seemed a little bit distorted. The sounds of his own footsteps faded in and out. Out of the corner of his eye, Malik watched the carvings and statues that lined the walls of the tomb. He didn't entirely trust them at this moment not to suddenly start moving. Everything about this night was so strange…
Wearily, he put the final lamp in the final alcove. Yawning, he turned to go back and walked straight into something. Something solid…and warm. Blinking, Malik looked up. Mahado was standing right in front of him, gazing down at him with a strange look in his eyes. The younger man looked away quickly, unable to understand his sudden nervousness. What's wrong with him? Something black flew by overhead, and the breeze almost put the flame out. The unsteady gleam of the candlelight threw Malik's fluttering shadow on the floor.
"Shouldn't we be heading back now, sir…?" The words leaving his mouth felt like they belonged to someone else. Mahado didn't move. Malik began to carefully edge out sideways between him and the wall.
"Not so fast." Mahado's hand was on the wall next to him, trapping him there. He gazed down at the younger man with an unpleasant gleam in his eye. "What's your rush?" He was way too close now.
"It's late," Malik stammered, still looking at the ground. "And if there's nothing else you need me to do here…"
"On the contrary," returned Mahado. "There is." With a vague smile, he reached up and ran his fingers through Malik's light-colored hair. The younger man was stock still, barely daring to breathe. "The night is almost spent," the older man murmured. "Why would I go back now?"
Ω
With a gasp, Malik started in his sleep and jolted back to consciousness. The dream was already fading. His heart, however, was still pounding in his chest, so he lay where he was for a short time and tried to get a hold on himself. It had just been a memory; nothing more. With luck, a memory that would fade with time. He was thankful, at least, that he had woken up when he had. Groggily, Malik forced himself to sit up and rubbed his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept so well…
With one look at his surroundings, Malik forgot all about the dream. With a queasy sensation in the pit of his stomach, the events of the previous night came flooding back to him – how he and Ishizu had stolen out of the city under cover of darkness, how the Thief King and his band had appeared in the desert amid the thunder of hooves and how he'd been sure they were going to die…and that horrible, dizzying moment when he finally realized Ishizu planned to abandon him there…
This room – if it could be called that – was totally unfamiliar to him. It wasn't really a room so much as a small cave, about the size of one of the servants' bedrooms back in the palace. It was hard to see; there were no windows and the only light was a burning lamp on the other side of the floor. Malik tried not to let it remind him of the dream. The wick of the lamp had diminished to almost nothing, and it cast just enough light for Malik to see the dim outline of the interior of the cave. The rock walls, which were a reddish color, stretched up into dimness. It was impossible to tell how high the ceiling was. He looked down and discovered he was sitting on a beautiful divan, carved of mahogany. Running his fingers over the mysterious golden material of the couch, he was surprised at how silky and luxurious it felt. Where on earth had it come from?
He could just make out a pile of blankets and coverings across from where he now sat. The thought occurred that someone else could also be in this room, and a twinge of cold dread went through him. What if it was one of the thieves? Malik rose to his feet, took the lamp from the floor, and hesitantly walked over to the mountain of blankets. A feeling of relief, like a cool hand on a hot forehead, went through him as the light illuminated the rest of the room and he realized he was indeed alone.
With a sigh, Malik turned away. The room was too quiet. His surroundings felt unreal, as if he would wake up any minute now and Ishizu would be kneeling by his bedside, telling him soothingly he'd only imagined the whole thing. He would still be living with her in the palace, surrounded by servants and watchful guards. The boundless wastes of the desert would be kept safely at bay. Atemu would still smile in his direction every once in a while, and Mahado would still be alive…
A dull golden gleam from the corner of the cave brought Malik back to reality. No wonder – on second glance, the room seemed to be filled with strange treasures. Over there was a marble statue of Anubis, midnight-colored stone polished to a brilliant shine. It was, no doubt, stolen from a temple; here was a chest of palm-wood, full of maps and jewelry and coins of gold and silver. Many of the coins were from faraway lands Malik had only heard of in tales – Nubia, Assyria, Greece…
There were several embalming jars standing off to the side. Malik suspected they had been taken for the opulent jewels that adorned them; he didn't really want to know if they still held their contents. A shudder went through him as he realized that their owners' bodies would probably forever be incomplete; they would be lost souls for eternity. Unless these were returned, they would never be able to gain admittance to the Afterlife. The young man couldn't rip his eyes away from the stolen jars. This one for the liver, that for the heart… It was one thing to steal jewels, but depriving some innocent spirit of Paradise? No matter how he tried to understand, he doubted he would ever be able to understand how someone could commit such a hideous crime. He tried to put it out of his mind.
By the base of the jars were scattered some papyri. Out of habit, Malik knelt and began to straighten up the haphazard pile. It was certainly an eclectic collection of literature – along with the pyramid inscription texts and some pages from the Book of the Dead, there were many spells, hymns and legends. Clearly most if not all had been stolen from tombs; where else would the thieves have gotten access to the texts? The noble frowned as he began to organize the papyri according to content. He couldn't imagine why they would have stolen these papers of all things. Monetarily, they were worth next to nothing, and it was highly unlikely that any of the thieves could read – after all, they were uneducated commoners. Malik yawned and rubbed the remaining sleep from his eyes as he stood up, placing the papyri on top of the chest. They had probably just stolen them to make some kind of point. It was a shame.
He took a step backwards, surveying his work – and almost collided with something. A tall arched harp stood beside the chest, carved of ebony and meticulously inlaid with ivory. The Eye of the Moon was carved into the centerpiece of the harp. The familiar symbol seemed to radiate comfort, with its unspoken promise to keep evil at bay. Captivated by the instrument's unexpected beauty, Malik reached out without thinking and plucked a few of the strings in the first few notes of a lullaby.
The smooth, deep tones sounded out louder than he expected. Worried, he quickly put a hand out to stop the strings from vibrating. Standing stone-still, Malik listened intently for any sign he had been heard. The last thing he wanted was to run into one of the cave's other inhabitants. He was happy to stay here, in this dimly lit dwelling, as long as he could avoid everything. Sleep sounded good again; it would be lovely to just be able to fall asleep and not wake up…
"Hello?" an unfamiliar voice called out. The notes must have carried to the outside of the cave. Malik waited uneasily, listening.
"Come on out of there," said the voice again, after a moment's pause. It didn't sound threatening, exactly. Whoever was speaking was relatively young. There was a lilting quality to the voice that made Malik feel slightly more at ease. After a few moments of feeling around the walls, he had finally managed to locate the way out – there was an opening in the mouth of the cave covered by a thick red curtain that didn't seem to let any light through. No point in postponing the inevitable anyway, he told himself. If you don't go out, they'll just come in here and find you. Steeling himself for whatever might come next, Malik took a breath and pushed aside the curtain.
The warm, golden light of late afternoon flooded his vision, and he had to turn away momentarily, covering his eyes. The voice laughed, sounding amused.
"Ah, I forgot. You haven't been out of there in ages. Wait a minute or two, your eyes will adjust."
Bit by bit, Malik's vision returned. An even stranger sight greeted his eyes. He was standing in a much larger, low-ceilinged cave. Around the edges, there were several more small caves, enclaves hollowed out of the rock, like the one he had just come from. All of the openings were covered by curtains or cloths of some sort. It occurred to Malik that these enclaves must be where each of the thieves slept. Vaguely, he wondered whose room he had just been in. Towards the back of the cave, there appeared to be a set of crude steps, leading downward, away out of his field of vision. In the center of the cave was a fire pit, bordered by stones. Around it stood several long wooden benches.
"Done gawking? Come over here." With a start, Malik realized he'd totally forgotten about whoever it was that was out here. Shielding his eyes, he turned towards the mouth of the cave, where the voice was coming from.
The cave opened onto the wide expanse of Sahara desert, blinding in its midday brightness. In the arch of the entranceway sat a man. Malik tentatively drew closer. The man looked up from his work as he heard footsteps approach. He had a shock of messy, curly black hair, and large, searching dark eyes that seemed to hold a hint of sorrow, even though he otherwise seemed looked perfectly happy. He had a pile of knives in his lap and was sharpening the blades, one by one.
"You're finally up!" The man was young – he looked no more than twenty-five, deeply darkened by the sun, with a friendly, reassuring smile that threw the noble off guard.
Malik couldn't help but smile back, despite his nervousness. "I suppose. How long was I asleep?"
"Let me see, that would have been…" Brow furrowed, the thief began to count off on his fingers. "Almost three days. Sleep of the dead, huh? Have a seat."
Gratefully, Malik sat down beside the man. His informal way of speaking, so unfamiliar to the noble, was strangely soothing. "I hadn't slept in about a week," he told the other.
The man glanced over at him, concern and curiosity apparent in his eyes. "I heard you had some kind of trouble with the Pharaoh."
"How did you know?" Malik asked, surprised.
"Akefia mentioned it. He didn't bother to elaborate though. Not that he ever does." The thief shrugged.
Now Malik was lost. "And Akefia is who?"
Hesitating, the thief frowned slightly. "You don't know him? Akefia's the boss around here. I thought you met each other – big, strong guy, bizarre white hair, lots of mood swings…"
"Oh, you mean the Thief King!" Malik exclaimed.
The other man just stared at him blankly for a moment, and then burst out laughing. Unsure, Malik frowned at him. "What's so funny?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing," the thief managed, wiping his eyes. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled to know you call him that." He settled back again and took up another knife blade to sharpen. "He'd better not start telling the rest of us to call him Thief King though," he muttered to himself, "'cause I'm sure as hell not doing it…"
Malik nodded with a smile. Secretly, he was glad he now knew the Thief King's name. Somehow the fact that he had a name made him seem less terrifying. In theory, anyway. "What's your name?" he asked the thief suddenly.
"Oh right, I forgot." He smiled, extending a hand. "I'm Zazamoukh. Everybody calls me Zaza. And you are Malik, correct?"
The noble nodded. After a split second of hesitation, he took the thief's hand. "Pleased to meet you."
"Same here." Zazamoukh settled back against the edge of the cave and set aside the blade he'd just finished with. Inexplicably, Malik could feel some of his anxieties lightening. Perhaps this wouldn't be as terrible as he'd thought…
Ah, speaking of which. "Where is, uh…everybody else?"
Zazamoukh raised his eyebrows. "Off on a raid in Edfu. It's my turn to stand guard here. They set off right after Akefia left you here, so they should be back before midnight."
"Back from Edfu?" Malik asked, incredulously. According to Zazamoukh, he had only spent three days in the thieves' den. "Isn't that a week's journey, at least?"
"Not the way Akefia rides. The horses are used to it though." Zazamoukh laughed. "That's why the Pharaoh's men never catch us. Their horses spend all their time standing around and eating, and they still wonder how we get away with it." He turned over the blade he was working on and began sharpening the other side. "I'll admit, back when Aknamkanon was Pharaoh, they used to give us a run for our money every once in a while. But since he died, well…" The thief trailed off.
"It won't last long," Malik interjected. He had no idea why he suddenly felt so confident saying this – the thought hadn't even crossed his mind before that the dynasty might come to an end, but now that he'd given voice to it, it made sense. In the city, rebellion was in the air, rising in hushed whispers and furtive glances from the bazaar and the crowded marketplaces where people gathered.
Zazamoukh grunted. "I wouldn't be surprised. Everybody hates that rotten son of a bitch." The noble knew without asking the thief was referring to Atemu, Aknamkanon's teenage heir.
Malik decided to change the subject. "Did the Thief King happen to mention what exactly it is I'm supposed to be doing around here?"
Zazamoukh grinned. "There you go with that 'Thief King' business again. He didn't say anything about that. Don't worry about it for now, I'm sure he'll find plenty for you to do once he gets back. Take it easy for now."
The two fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound the rasping of Zazamoukh's sharpener against the blade. Ra had descended, and was approaching the horizon. Darkening shades of lavender and orange had begun to spread out against the clear blue sky, and the desert was cooling down. The scorpions and snakes had begun to emerge from their hiding places, and some had started to crawl across the sand, looking for prey.
Malik was staring off into the distance, wondering if Ishizu was all right. The moon had just become visible behind some dissipating clouds on the horizon. He knew she would be praying to Nut right about now.
Suddenly, there was a flash of silver to his right. Malik quickly glanced around to see a twitching scorpion lying not two inches away from him, cut neatly in half, its black blood soaking into the sand. Zazamoukh was wiping off his knife.
"Thank…thank you…" Malik managed to gasp. How had he not even noticed the scorpion? It was huge, it looked to be almost a foot long.
"Don't mention it," said Zazamoukh, nonchalant. "It wouldn't have killed you, but you'd probably have been in bed for about a week. If you're going to be living out here, you'll have to work on your reflexes."
Malik nodded, still in a state of mild shock. Zazamoukh took a minute to gather all the knives into a basket, and then stood up.
"I think it's probably time to go inside," he told Malik. "That is, unless you fancy the idea of being devoured by scorpions before morning." Zazamoukh seemed to think this was very funny. Malik didn't. Glancing about for any more deadly creatures, he hurriedly stood – but immediately a dizzy sensation made his head swim. He lost his balance and would have fallen if Zazamoukh hadn't reached out and caught him as he was about to go down.
"I forgot, you haven't eaten, have you?" asked the thief. Rather than waiting for a reply, he helped Malik back into the cave, supporting him with one arm.
Inside, the noble took a seat on one of the benches in the middle, feeling better as soon as he did so. The thief disappeared into one of the smaller caves and came out a moment later with a bowl of dates. He sat down on the bench next to Malik, placing the dates in the middle. The younger man took one thankfully. Zazamoukh bent, and with a piece of flint, struck up a spark in the pile of dry wood in the stone pit. A moment later, a bright fire was burning merrily.
"You'll have to keep your strength up around here," Zazamoukh told him seriously. "We can't have people fainting left and right."
Malik nodded. The sun was lowering on the horizon, lengthening the flickering shadows inside the cave. If only Ishizu were here. With his sister by his side, anything was bearable, but without her, Malik felt like a shadow himself. He'd never really been without Ishizu before – never been without the promise of a loving embrace, and someone to come home to. He'd promised to Ishizu he would not try to return to the city, where certain death awaited him, but as twisted as it was, he found it hard to restrain the urge to just run out into the evening and face his chances in the desert.
Suddenly, Zazamoukh frowned to himself and got up abruptly, leaving Malik alone by the fireside. He leaned out of the entrance of the cave, and turned his head – silent, listening.
Malik came out as well and joined him. "You hear it?" Zazamoukh asked. He sounded excited. The desert wind swept across miles and miles, yet Malik could hear only silence.
"Nothing."
"Listen! They're coming back." Zazamoukh pointed at the darkening horizon. Malik narrowed his eyes to see better. He was about to protest that there was nothing there, just an empty expanse of sand and a purple sky above it, when a dark point on the horizon came into view.
It looked like a blur at this distance, nothing more, but Malik could tell it was coming closer. It could only be the band of thieves. Suddenly, anxiety tied a queasy knot in his stomach. He wasn't just nervous, he was terrified. Unconsciously, he grabbed Zazamoukh's arm to keep himself from fleeing. The thief looked down at him, surprised, but didn't shrug him off.
With almost inhuman speed, the outlaws were drawing closer. They had to have covered miles in the last few minutes. He could see the black horses now, their hooves a blur, and the shadowy forms of the men astride them.
Malik closed his eyes.
Ω
That's all folks! I feel like the style is more flowery and descriptive than usual. Blame the Victorian Gothic novels I've been reading…
Sorry if it seemed like too much filler or setup, things will start happening over the next chapter and we'll meet the band of thieves! I'm kind of excited, they'll be an interesting bunch. I've been busy with schoolwork (to the point where I don't have time to eat, isn't that sad?) but I will probably update over winter break. Thanks for reading, and I would love it so much if you reviewed. Make me happy?
Comments, criticism, suggestions are all welcome! See you next chapter!
