Chapter 3

Ancient Egypt

True to the prediction made by the Millennium Necklace, Aknatem grew strong and healthy. The instincts that Aknamkanon had proved to have their own trace of prophecy as he and his Queen were unable to have any more children. It made the love they had for Atem all the more precious. The young prince received all the attention and care he needed as his mind and body started to develop. Atem had inherited his mother's coloring, her fiery red hair, and (Aknamkanon suspected) her stubbornness also.

Aknatem learned how to walk just before his first birthday. With Aknamkanon's and Mer-en's outstretched arms as a bribe, they waited patiently for their son to reach them. He fell several times, sometimes giving up and choosing to crawl instead or sit until he was collected. It took many days of practice and his parents alternating their positions as the finish line before he was finally able to walk on his own. That day, Aknamkanon was alone with his son in the main courtyard.

Unbeknownst to the Pharaoh, they were being watched by Siamun, the king's head advisor. Siamun muttered encouragement for the little prince under his breath as he watched Aknatem's pudgy legs shake and wobble. Prince Aknatem's little face was scrunched in stubborn determination as he painstakingly made his way over to his father. He wobbled constantly, threatening to fall several times, but finally, with much sweat and action he reached his father's embrace. Having reached his goal, the small baby started to cry, letting all of his pent-up frustration loose, his tears falling on his father's shoulder.

"Now, now, my son," Aknamkanon's deep voice soothed. "There's no need to cry, hush now," Smiling, Siamun disappeared back into the palace, giving his king and his prince space to celebrate.

…

One winter, when Aknatem was four, a young dignitary presented himself to the Pharaoh. The prince stood slightly bored at his father's side next to the throne, waiting for whatever was going to happen. He wiggled with childish impatience, noticing a frayed thread on his clothes he started to play with it.

"Atem," Mer-en quietly whispered the chastisement from behind her son. "Be still now. You must watch and learn,"

Atem made a face but stopped his ministrations. He wanted to play and jump into the Nile where it shared space with the lower palace. Just that morning, he had found a frog who had made a home on the bank where he usually played.

Cymbals and flutes were playing quietly from the other side of his father's court. Just before his limited tolerance for boredom was about to break, the massive doors to the Pharaoh's court were opened and a throng of people entered. A small man in official-looking garb led the crowd. The man in the front was a compere, whose sole job was to formally present his master to others. He pulled himself away from the group and stood aside, letting the people behind him pass.

"Presenting Lord Irynefer and his daughter Mana," the compere shouted, "And young master Mahado, Master of Ceremonies," bowing to his masters and to Pharaoh, he slinked away, disappearing into the crowd of the court. His face was as quickly forgotten as his speech.

The Lord and the small Lady now leading the entourage were impressive. Irynefer was a stocky man with slick, long black hair and fairer skin than that of the Pharaoh and his court. He looked regal and confident. Here was a man who knew that when he spoke, he would be listened to closely and obeyed immediately, a trait that he shared with Aknamkanon. Mana was a study in contrast to her father. Other than their shared skin tone, she was the opposite of him. Where he was straight, she was curved. Where he was tall and confident, she was short and leery. Her hair stood up every which way like Atem's, but not in an unkempt way. Clinging not only to the back of her father's knee, she tightly clutched a small bundle in her other hand.

Lord Irynefer was a long-time friend of Aknamkanon and Mer-en. He was a trusted governor from Ur, a vibrant and lush country to the northeast. The tiny Lady looked only a little younger than the prince. Mana's eyes danced over everything, looking at everything with wonder. Mahado, an older boy, looked to be taking his title and rank far too seriously for Atem's liking.

The Pharaoh rose and completed the distance between them. Gripping each other's forearms, they embraced as friends.

"Hello, old friend. It has been too long,"

Without waiting for permission, Atem left his mother's grip and ran to the older boy. Mahado stared down with raised inquisitive eyebrows at the prince who had raced to stand in front of him. The adults in the room looked on with paused interest in the young pair.

After a short moment of childlike inquisitiveness, Atem bluntly said, "You're too tall,"

Aknamkanon and Irynefer laughed.

"Your son has taken his boldness from you, I see," Irynefer said.

"Want to play?" Atem asked, gripping Mahado's hand. Without waiting for a response, Atem dragged his unwilling participant to a corner of the court room and showed him his toys that had been hidden from older eyes. The adults in the room started to talk about things that Atem was no longer interested in. The volume in the room rose rapidly as the formal necessities seemed to be over. Atem's mother seemed to have given up whatever lesson she had intended to teach him and turned away from the main conversation, speaking with her handmaiden.

"Uh," Mahado didn't know what to do. As Master of Ceremonies, it was his job to help serve his uncle with his (limited) experience in magic. He was here to learn from the magicians and priests of Egypt, not to play. Mahado had already been filled in on the reason for this visit, but apparently, Prince Aknatem was not privy to that knowledge or simply didn't care. As a small boy who would one day be king, Mahado had expected a more…regal prince, much like the other ones he had met previously. Instead, other than being adorned in gold and noble clothes, Prince Aknatem looked and acted like any other child his age. Mahado's uncle, Lord Irynefer was here to ask a favor of the Pharaoh. He was here to seek permission to allow his daughter and nephew to stay in Egypt to learn and marvel at the vast knowledge of the magical arts. Mahado took this potential vocation seriously, but his cousin Mana did not. He suspected that Mana was more interested in playing, just like Prince Aknatem was.

"I'll play!" came a squeaky excited voice. "I brought my doll, see!" Mana presented the rag doll she had been clutching so tightly to the two boys before her.

"Mana, go bac—

"Ok," Atem interrupted Mahado before he could order his new playmate away. "But only if she can ride in the chariot,"

Against Mahado's will, the two younger children fell naturally into childish glee, making up rules to their game as they went along. – "No, you can't do that. It goes like this,"— Mahado sighed, defeated. Relaxing a little from the formality, he looked back at the Pharaoh and his uncle who were already deeply engaged in conversation. Their faces were relaxed with familiar frivolity and companionship. No formal introductions would be completed now. Even Queen Mer-en was speaking with a group of women, her face light and pretty.

"How do I play?" Mahado sighed.

…

"You're sure of this?" Aknamkanon asked. The two friends sat staring at a fire. Smoke rose through an opening in the high ceiling of the Pharaoh's private receiving room. The chill of winter sent occasional pockets of cold air into the room, making them curl closer to the fire. Lord Irynefer and Aknamkanon sat in comfortable chairs facing the flames next to each other, both clutching their preferred alcoholic drink. Gone were the beaming faces of friendly reconnection, instead replaced with grim seriousness. They were completely alone, no servants waiting in the wings. For this discussion, they needed complete privacy.

"I am positive, my friend. The signs are unmistakable,"

Aknamkanon made a sound akin to a thoughtful growl in his throat. He never doubted the predictions of Irynefer; they were never wrong, but a glimmer of hope danced in his mind wishing for him to be wrong.

"How long?" He asked, taking another drink.

"I cannot be sure, but one thing that is absolute is that it will be your son Aknatem who will be the one to fight it. He must be prepared,"

Silence fell between them, each man thoughtful. Atem is just a boy… He's not ready… Inhaling sharply through his nose, Aknamkanon mentally cursed his ancestor for his weakness. He cursed his own weaknesses. Knowing that his son would have to be trained quickly and perhaps harshly to even have a modicum chance of success to survive filled him with anguish. Atem already had a full slate of tutors and skilled trainers working with him now. There would be even more when he was older.

It seemed that Atem and his children, and his children's children would inherit the battle. His friend's prophetic warning did not tell details, but he assumed that if Atem led the fight, he himself would be dead, buried in the Valley of the Kings.

"How do the Millennium Items play into this?" Pharaoh asked.

"I know not," Irynefer replied. "But it is time that you investigated their genesis more closely. Your brother had them formed, yes?"

"Um-hmm," Aknamkanon affirmed.

"It is time that you no longer overlook the details of their origins,"

Aknamkanon's head felt heavy, he let it rest gently in his hand. One of the Items, the Millennium Puzzle, hung from his own neck. It would then be passed down to Atem after he could appreciate its power and significance.

"I am afraid of what I will find," He admitted. "Aknadin is more like our father than I. There is a...ruthlessness in him that I cannot contend with,"

"We must face our fears," Irynefer said with kind wisdom. "So that we can teach our children to face theirs,"

My son. My only son...

The more brewing storm clouds that started to slowly build on the horizon, the more Aknamkanon felt deep in his heart that he was responsible. Aknadin may have presented the idea and carried out the requirements for their formation, but it was he who had permitted them to be born.

I am so sorry, my son. Please forgive me...

Irynefer pretended not to notice his friends tears.

The two men let their conversation fall into empty silence.

Not so far away, in a ragged tent, a small homeless boy spoke to his imaginary friend. To an outsider, the boy was alone, curled around a campfire in an abandoned village. Homes and businesses that had once stood tall, were crumpled and broken everywhere around him. He looked frail and malnourished, his features were somewhat Egyptian with his tanned, sturdy skin. It was his hair and eyes that labeled him as a foreigner. Blue eyes and light hair were rare in the wilds of the Egyptian desert.

"I hate them," Bakura said to his friend. "I want them all dead,"

"Good, little one," His dark friend whispered to him. "Feed your hatred, and one day, I shall show you how to wield it as a weapon."

Bakura sat, freezing despite the fire. In the flashes of the flames, Bakura imagined the slaughter of the Pharaoh and all that he held dear.

Please Review

Aknatem = Atem. They will be used interchangeably throughout the story, depending on the perspective of the person.

Personal Note: I got a bit of a Darth Vader/Sith Lord vibe from Bakura and his "imaginary friend".