fic: Blue Eyes White Dragon: Kisara's Shadow 03
Chapter Three
Ryou awakened to the sound of hushed voices by his bedside. He couldn’t make out what they were saying through the sleep-induced haze that was clouding his mind, but he guessed that it was probably the healer come to check on him. His whole body was sore, his limbs were heavy and the cuts and scrapes either stung or itched under the linen bandages. He laid very still, feigning sleep until the initial discomfort faded enough so that his breath didn’t catch if he so much as twitched.
Eventually, the fogginess in his mind receded enough so that he could differentiate the voices around him. There were two people, both male, but one with a deeper, mellower voice that he vaguely recognised. The other was higher pitched and slightly nasal, one that he knew belonged to the healer that had seen to his wounds yesterday. Rather than having to sit through another healing session - once the man started lecturing on medicinal lore, he could be quite a bore - he waited until the healer’s voice disappeared with the receding footsteps.
“You don’t have to continue pretending to sleep,” the deep voice told him, sounding amused. “I’ve sent him away for now.”
Flushing with embarrassment, Ryou opened his eyes to find Atem’s dark violet eyes staring down at him, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He pulled the covers off his body, wincing as his muscles protested, but firm hands on his shoulders forced him back down. He wheezed when the sudden movement caused sharp bursts of pain to shoot out from the bruises on his torso and Atem winced.
“Sorry,” he apologised.
“Pharaoh Atem…I am honoured that you will take me into your house,” Ryou said politely, trying to imitate the flowery speeches he had heard his master use in formal events. “An honour someone as lowly as I do not deserve.”
“You are our guest, Ryou. It is of no consequence.” There was a pause, in which Ryou could see a twinkle in the Pharaoh’s eyes. “And I would much prefer it if you spoke in the way that is most natural to you.”
“Sorry - was I that bad?” Ryou flushed even darker while Atem chuckled.
“Court language is an art form - one that would take many years to master if one is not raised with its use,” Atem told him kindly. “I am sure you will eventually learn to compose long, flowery speeches that will turn even my most outspoken courtiers green with envy. But, for now, address me as you would your former master.”
Ryou’s expression immediately darkened and the sudden change was not lost on Atem. From the healer’s reports, the boy’s numerous injuries were partly due to his journey to Kul Elna, but the majority of them were old wounds and reopened scars. There were scars from multiple lashes on the back of his calves and on his back, a slightly deformed elbow that would have been from a badly healed break at some point in his life. Callouses covered his palms and soles from hard labour and the crisscrossing of silvery lines up and down his arms told something of the boy’s emotional and mental state at the time.
“Yes, master,” Ryou murmured demurely, lowering his gaze so that his long hair obscured his features in a subservient fashion. His shoulders slumped visibly, so much that Atem was disgusted at what the very exchange suggested.
“No, don’t call me that,” he snapped. Ryou jumped in shock. “I am not your master, Ryou - and you are no longer anyone’s slave.”
“But you are the Pharaoh.”
Ryou sounded completely bewildered. He shrunk back when Atem began pacing in frustration, a deep frown marring his brow under his diadem, not understanding why the Pharaoh had asked him to do something and yet gotten so mad when he did. Sensing that Ryou was not following his train of thought, Atem sighed and folded his arms thoughtfully, one hand propping his chin.
“When I said to address me as you would your former master,” he began slowly, picking his words, “I said so under the impression that the form of address your former master commanded was one of respect. I had not realised that was not the case and I apologise. So what I meant to say is that I would like our relationship to be based on respect and trust, but there is no need for formalities when there are no others around to remark upon it.”
He paused, watching Ryou process the information. The boy frowned for a long while and lay very still, undoubtedly wondering how he should react to the Pharaoh apologising to a slave like him. Just as Atem was beginning to worry whether his declaration had frightened him, a tentative smile found itself onto Ryou’s lips and he blinked up at Atem.
“I would like that, Pharaoh. I would like that very much indeed.”
Atem returned his shy smile with a warm one, reaching out to clasp the boy’s shoulder in a comradely fashion.
“Excellent. Now, I will have the servants bring you a hot meal, you must be famished.”
---
He recognised this place.
He recognised the fallen pillars, the crumbled architecture and the wide expanse of courtyard littered with debris from the wreckage. The sun pounded on his back, heating the stones beneath his feet so that they burned through his clothed feet. On the far end of the courtyard, there was a large stone tablet, its surface blank. A crumpled figure lay in front of it.
He recognised this scene with dread. He started running towards the figure, aware of the shadow growing at his back, its breath sending chills that went straight through his bones. His limbs felt sluggish, as if he were once again a child running through the muddy banks of the Nile. No matter how long he ran for, he could not reach the tablet. The shadow grew larger, until he could feel it overtaking him, swooping downwards and over the tablet, encasing it and the person in a dark cloud. Desperation was replaced by a fear that froze his body in place and he could only stand and watch as the cloud swirled and expanded until it burst like an overfilled waterskin. He raised a hand to shield himself from the backlash of power, crashing to the ground as it threw him off his feet.
As the ringing in his ears ebbed, a terrible scream rose from the place that had been the centre of the dark cloud. Terror clawed at his senses, clenching around his throat and chest until he couldn’t breathe. He knew that voice - knew what the sound of that drawn-out agony meant. He scrambled to his knees, panic and desperation taking away control over his body as he pitched forward and grasped at ground with his fingers helplessly.
Suddenly, the screaming ceased and the silence rang even louder in his ears. He stopped struggling to get to his feet and his hands reached up to tear at his hair as the first sobs wracked his body. He didn’t have to look to know what had happened to the person who had screamed. He didn’t have to look to know that the stone tablet was no longer blank. He was dimly aware of his lips moving in a continuous mantra even as his body threatened to heave and convulse with endless tears.
Nononononononononononono…NO!
“KISARA!”
His eyes shot open and he bolted into a sitting position, mouth contorted as her name tore itself from his lips. Cold sweat matted his brow and trickled down his body in rivulets, sending chills over him in the cold night air. As he reached up a hand to scrub at his face, he saw his whole body was weak and trembling. He clenched his fist in an attempt to stop it.
It was that dream again. It started out differently each time, but it always ended in the same way - Kisara, dead and he helpless to prevent it. The image of her lifeless body in a crumpled heap by the stone tablet bearing the carving of a roaring dragon was burned into his mind and soul, haunting him in dreams and in waking.
The first light of dawn touched the horizon outside his window. He could hear the faint sounds of the servants stirring in the grounds below, signalling the beginning of another day. Today, he was to finally face what he had been dreading these past two days. He threw off the bed sheets and called for his body servant.
---
Ahkenadin glanced up from the scroll he was poring over at the sound of hurried footsteps in the corridor outside. A moment later, a servant was kneeling in the doorway, announcing the arrival of the Pharaoh. The Priest’s servants already in the room dropped to their knees and pressed their foreheads to the floor as Atem strode into the room. He nodded shortly to the servant who had announced him and the man shuffled into an inconspicuous corner of the room to await further orders. Akhenadin walked out from behind his desk and bowed to his nephew.
“Pharaoh, this is a surprise,” he said. “Are you here to discuss the morning’s court business?”
“Later, perhaps.” Atem dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. “I’m here to talk to you about something else altogether.”
He moved over to the window, hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the view. From here, he could see the seven towers traditionally belonging to the Pharaoh and the Six High Priests holding all the stone tablets sealed with Ka-creatures that had been accumulated over the years. The practice of collecting and sealing the creatures into tablets had begun with his father and the creation of the Items, but prior to that the towers had been places of worship and duties for their respective owners. Up until the events of two years ago, Atem had little reason to venture into the Pharaoh’s tower unless it was by his father’s expressed wish, but he had since been loathe to even step inside. The hundreds of tablets set inside reminded him too much of the horrors the creation of the Items had wrought and just how easy it was to be lured into a path of darkness with the promise of power.
“What did you wish to discuss with me, Pharaoh?” Akhenadin asked, not having moved from his side of the room. His expression was that of polite respect, but his eyes were wary.
“I am sure you have heard, uncle, that a boy was brought back from Kul Elna and put into Seth’s care,” Atem began. When Akhenadin murmured in assent, he continued without turning around. “You should understand, then, why I am concerned about this.”
“I have heard…some news,” the Priest replied slowly. “And I believe I may understand the reason for your worries to some extent.”
When Atem turned around, his expression was grave.
“Two years ago, when the girl - Kisara - was found, I understand that you were the one who managed to successfully have the her unleash the White Dragon. I need to know how you did it.”
“Pharaoh!” Akhenadin visibly balked at the request and backed away. “I must strongly advise against this!”
“Uncle, you must understand that I cannot risk the safety of my people with a creature as destructive as the White Dragon.” Atem took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, folding his arms over his chest. “I am not looking to kill the boy - I just want to know if there is a way to seal the Dragon away in case someone has designs upon it that would be potentially detrimental to my people.”
“Pharaoh…” Akhenadin sighed. “There is a chamber underneath my tower that is connected to the dungeons - I used to bring prisoners there and they would be pitted against each other to fight to the death. The idea was that fear and anger increases the strength of a Ka creature, so I put the girl in a situation where she was in mortal peril in order to summon the White Dragon in the strongest form. She did - eventually - but not without cost to her health. The White Dragon was never sealed.”
“Are you saying…there is no safe way?” He took Akhenadin’s silence as confirmation and began pacing back and forth in frustration. “There must be a way - the Items have been extracting these creatures from people for years and sealing them away! Surely there must have been survivors of the process? The Priests?”
Akhenadin shook his head.
“The Priests summon our creatures with the DiaDhank and each summoning consumes Ba. The Items we hold protect us by buffering the depletion of our Ba and lending the necessary power to control the monsters we summon - without it, we would not be able to use the DiaDhank. The boy has no DiaDhank, no Item - and it is unwise to give him access to either if you have any reservations.”
Atem dropped into the chair behind Akhenadin’s desk, burying his face in his hands. He was not unfamiliar with the way the Items and the DiaDhank worked, but there was still much to learn about their powers. In his father’s day, Akhenadin had been the foremost expert - if he did not know, then no one would - but his uncle had torn himself away from his research in fear that he would once again be tempted by the darkness that simmered beneath the depths. After his possession and attempted revolt against Atem, Akhenadin had thrown himself into affairs of state, refusing to have anything to do with the Items or Ka creatures, even going so far as to cease wearing the DiaDhank, which he kept locked safely away in his tower.
“I don’t want to kill the boy when he hasn’t done anything,” Atem told him, voice slightly muffled. “I don’t want to be the kind of ruler that kills as soon as he perceives a threat.”
“You are a good Pharaoh and a kind ruler,” Akhenadin replied. “There are other things you can do - other measures you can put in place - while we solve this problem.”
“You’re absolutely right.” Atem stood and clapped his hands together. The servant by the door shuffled forward on cue. “Send a message to the healers and to Seth. Until further notice, the boy shall be restricted to the palace grounds and be supervised at all times. We must limit the area of influence until we can ascertain that the White Dragon is no longer a threat.”
“Very good, Pharaoh,” the servant murmured.
---
The boy looked distinctly uncomfortable in the new - or, at least, clean - tunic and sandals he had been provided with. His wounds had healed enough for him to get out of bed, but the healers had insisted on confining him to the room he had been assigned. The room was small enough, with minimal distance between the bed, the table and the chamber pot so that he would not have to overexert himself. Still, when Seth entered the room, Ryou was sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching the covers underneath him as if he were afraid to stray too far away.
“You will have to leave the bed at some point,” Seth told him pointedly as he set down the scrolls he had brought with him on the table
Ryou bowed uncertainly, pushing himself to a standing position. When he straightened, his hands were twisting together in front of him as if he did not know what to do with them and he was biting his lower lip. The Priest finished arranging the scrolls and looked directly at the boy.
“I am High Priest Seth. I serve the Pharaoh as his representative in the courts of justice, along with High Priests Mahad and Kalim. The Pharaoh has placed you in my care.” He held up a slate to show Ryou. “Your duties will include various administration tasks such as filing, copying and sorting, and will eventually include fetching and sending messages on my behalf as soon as your condition allows.”
He paused to let the instructions sink in. To his credit, Ryou showed no outward signs of intimidation, although his eyes had widened a fraction in surprise. After a moment, he cleared his throat.
“Are there any questions so far?”
He expected Ryou to simply remain silent and thus was surprised when the boy finally opened his mouth to speak.
“My lord…” the boy’s face darkened with embarrassment. “I cannot read.”
Seth was silent, but otherwise did not seem fazed. He set down the slate and pushed it towards the boy, handing him a reed brush.
“I surmised as much.” He motioned for Ryou to sit and picked up one of the scrolls. “You will simply have to learn as you go.”
“But…I do not wish to waste your time,” Ryou protested. Even so, he took the brush obediently and sat down at the table, staring at the slate in front of him.
“Believe me,” Seth snorted derisively, “you not knowing how to do so is more troublesome than having to teach you. At least we will be doing something productive while I’m here.”
He spread the scroll and laid it on the table. Ryou automatically shifted in his seat to get the best view of the contents, even if he did not understand any of the symbols. Seth reached over and set an ink pallet down next to the boy’s slate and pointed to the first glyph, reading it aloud. He made Ryou repeat it after him and then trace it onto his slate over and over until he could do it without referring to the scroll. They went through the first few glyphs in that fashion, working diligently until Ryou’s hand started to cramp and he dropped the brush with a wince. Spots of ink splattered over the slate and the tabletop.
“I’m sorry!” He picked up the brush, but Seth took it from him and placed it carefully aside.
“It’s fine. We’ll move on to something else.” He saw how miserable Ryou looked and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his strained eyes. “Really, it’s fine. Cramping is unavoidable when you aren’t accustomed to writing.”
Ryou nodded mutely and stared at his hands. Seth could see that the right hand was still twitching slightly, so he reached out and took it between his own. When he began to press gently against the palm, Ryou hissed under his breath and winced.
“Whenever your hand cramps up like this, just massage it gently until it goes away,” Seth told him. “Surely you would have had this before, when your previous master set you duties involving hard labour.”
The boy pulled his hand away suddenly, twisting in his seat to turn his back on the Priest. His long hair hid his face from view.
“I…I haven’t been that kind of slave for a long time,” he muttered.
Seth stared at him, comprehension dawning on his face and revulsion bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He knew pleasure slaves were common amongst the lower classes, especially in towns further from the capital where the Pharaoh’s influence was not as strong, but it was an issue that mainly concerned the womenfolk. The idea of young boys being subjected to such treatment was sickening. He clenched and unclenched his fists to relieve some of the tension in his body.
“I disgust you, my lord,” Ryou whispered, voice cracking. He was burning with shame. “I am just a slave and I am unclean - ”
“No.” The boy glanced up in shock at his vehement denial. “There is no shame in your past - you were merely the victim of circumstance. There are no slaves working for us - the Pharaoh and I both abhor the practice.”
A part of him wanted to share the secret of his past with Ryou, to let the boy know that he had not been all that much different, once upon a time. He knew what it was like to be impoverished, to starve for days on end and to not know where you were going to end up from one day to the next. But he caught himself before he could tell him. Those were private memories. And he had never been a slave - it was presumptuous to think that he could truly understand what Ryou had been through.
“Thank you, my lord.”
Ryou’s head bowed in gratitude and Seth had to admire the boy’s pride and how it prevented him from weeping, as most would have done already. In deference to that pride, Seth diverted the topic back towards work. He picked another scroll, one of the many volumes of judicial case studies that had been recorded by court scribes and preserved in the library, and started explaining the many civil laws that governed the kingdom. A small smile touched his lips as Ryou’s eyes widened with interest, but he quickly smothered that and continued with the lesson.