Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Heartless: The Life of Thief King Bakura ❯ The Devil's Child ( Chapter 2 )

[ P - Pre-Teen ]

Heartless: The Life of Thief King Bakura

- Chapter Two: The Devil's Child

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The tranquility of the Egyptian night was broken by the sound of a woman screaming. The pained cries echoed throughout the small mud-brick home in which the woman dwelled, and no doubt they rang throughout the entire village of Kuru Eruna.

Outside of the small home, a middle-aged man waited impatiently, striding nervously back and forth in front of the small entryway, which was covered merely with a flimsy piece of fabric so that he could not see what was happening inside. Of course, the man knew what was going on just beyond the clay wall and piece of fabric that separated him from the woman inside; his wife was in labor, and she had been for several long hours now.

Giving an aggravated sigh, the man ran his fingers through his thick black hair, and his brown eyes traveled to the entryway of his home. He could hear his wife moaning, and from the strain of her voice he could tell that the infant was closer to arriving than it had been several seconds earlier. Most likely only a few minutes more until he heard the scream of a new life.

Just as the man expected, after several more pants and cries of pain from his wife, the man heard a sound that he hadn't heard in the village for at least a year - the sound of a child being born. Infant squeals filled the air, and, the man noticed with some unease, all other noises seemed to come to a halt. No other noises could be detected, other than the child's sobs, which were steadily growing louder and louder. The dark-haired man raised a curious eyebrow, looking in both directions and then back at his home.

The flap of cloth that covered the entryway was suddenly pushed aside to reveal a very tired, and very frightened, elderly woman.

“It is a demon!” the woman declared, her voice shrill as she made to depart the home. The man quickly jumped in her path, grabbing the woman's bony shoulders. She looked up at him; her dark eyes still glistened with anxiety. The man looked at her expectantly and she sighed, dropping her voice to a whisper as she spoke next.

“Bakari, it is like nothing I have seen before.”

“What is?”

“The wretch that your wife has given birth to - your son. A monstrous thing... I've never seen a child quite so ugly. I meant what I said when I came out; this newborn is a demon, and you'll see why if you go in and lay your own eyes on him. Spawn of the God of Death, more so than of a man and a woman, it appears.”

Bakari's eyes narrowed slightly and his gaze darted once again to his home. “What shall I do?”

“I would not suggest keeping the child,” the elderly woman said, shaking her head negatively. “If the other villagers see the monster, they will certainly view your family as cursed, and will exile you from the village.”

“But my family has lived in this village for generations!” Bakari argued. “Surely they would not exile us.”

The woman sighed. “Believe what you like. I merely speak what I know is the truth, and the truth is that the child is bad luck. If he remains in this village, the Gods will surely not look upon us in favor. Terrible things will happen if the child stays alive. The only sensible thing for you to do is drown him.”

“Drown my son?” Bakari asked in disbelief.

“It will be an easy task, you'll see. Once you lay your eyes on the little monster, it will be easy for you.” The woman stepped around Bakari, continuing down the dirt pathway towards the center of the village. “I will return tomorrow to check on your wife. The child better be dead by morning, or you will see just how serious about exile the villagers of Kuru Eruna are.”

Bakari said nothing, merely watching in shock as the woman disappeared down the path. He stared straight ahead of himself for a long while before turning around. Hesitantly, he parted the fabric and entered the house, bracing himself for what he might find.

His wife was lying atop a straw mat in the center of the small room, her breathing still labored. Her cream-colored dress was plastered to her dark skin, a think layer of sweat covering her, and her light brown hair was matted. In her arms, was a bundle of white cloth which would stir every few moments and release a small cry.

Cautiously Bakari approached the mat, kneeling down beside it once he reached the edge. His wife turned her head minutely to the side, staring up at him with a tired smile on her face.

“Rebekah,” he said to the woman, who raised her eyes slowly.

“I've birthed you... a son,” she whispered.

Bakari's eyes narrowed slightly. “So I've heard.”

He reached a hand out to the bundle, slowly taking it into his arms and just staring for several moments. He was unsure if he wanted to look upon the child after hearing the old woman's words earlier. Was the newborn truly so hideous?

Anticipation eating at him, he pulled the cloth away from the baby's face, catching a first glimpse of his new son. Bakari almost dropped the child in shock and the baby, feeling insecure in the man's arms, let out a piercing wail.

Really, the child wasn't as bad as the woman claimed he was. His skin was rich and sunk-kissed, the same as everyone else's skin in Egypt, and he had all ten fingers and toes. He had a small, round face with two pudgy cheeks, think lips that were a shade paler than his skin, one button-like nose, all normal and identical to any other newborn in Kuru Eruna.

Then came the child's eyes; large and round and innocent, but the color of storm clouds. Bakari had never seen a person with grey eyes in his life - the normal eye shade was brown, sometimes blue - and so it was understandable why the child's eyes startled him. If the boy's eyes weren't strange enough, his hair was certainly an oddity. There was a lot of hair atop the newborn's head, more than the usual amount. The hair was still wet, and stained a slight crimson thanks to the blood that hadn't yet been cleaned from his body since his birth. However, the long tresses which weren't tinted with blood were silky in texture, and the unforgettable color of moonlight.

“White hair, grey eyes... the old woman was right. He is a demon.”

Rebekah groaned, her head turning to the side, away from him.

“He is your son,” she whispered slowly.

Bakari glared down at the baby in his arms, which cooed innocently. “He shames my family with his unnatural appearance,” he said, lips curling in disgust. “I do not want him.”

“He is your son,” his wife repeated, voice growing fainter.

“I will not raise him.”

Rebekah was silent for a while, and for a moment Bakari thought she had fallen asleep from the exhaustion of giving birth. Then she opened her mouth once more, to plea one final time.

“Please... do not kill him. He is my son too, and I love him already.” Her eyes slipped closed. “... I will raise him.”

Bakari sighed, tearing his gaze away from his wife and focusing on the bundle he held. The baby squirmed, as if trying to break away from his father's hold. The child truly was disgusting in appearance, and the man hadn't the slightest idea as to how his wife could ever care for such a little monster, or want to keep the creature alive.

“He would be better off dead.”

“I want him to... live.”

Shaking his head, Bakari gave in to his wife's wishes and placed the baby next to his mother.

“Keep him indoors at all times,” Bakari instructed, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “I do not want him ever leaving this house. No one is to know he exists save for the two of us. I will inform the villagers that he passed after his birth. Tomorrow, when your mother returns, you will hide the demon from her, for she is expecting him to be dead.”

The woman nodded shakily, taking her baby gently into her arms and holding him close to her bosom. Seeing that she had agreed without argument, Bakari left the home, saying nothing more. The child cooed softly, snuggling against his mother, who smiled fondly down at him.

“Your life will never be easy,” she predicted, kissing her son's forehead tenderly. “But I will always be there to protect you, my son... Bakura...”

- - - - - Seven Years Later - - - - -

Bakura sighed, staring blankly out of the small box-shaped window. The sun shone merrily outside, and in the dirt streets played several young children - two boys and one girl. Dull gray eyes studied each other the children, remaining on the little girl for the longest amount of time.

It wasn't the first time he had seen the girl before; he often spotted her trotting loyally behind the two older-looking boys. She was pretty, far prettier than all the other girls in the village. Her hair was brown, but lustrous like silk - Bakura always wondered if the locks would feel like silk if he ever touched her. The girl's eyes were wide and innocent, and clear blue like the afternoon sky.

Bakura watched her every day, always wishing he could go out and join her and her friends as they played. Sometimes he wished that she knew he was there, watching over her protectively - that he'd seen the day she'd fallen and scraped her knees, and how he'd so sorely wanted to run out and help her back on her feet.

But he knew as long as his mother and father forbade it, he would never be allowed to do any of that; he'd never get the chance to talk with her, or play with her like the other boys did.

As the days went by, Bakura grew restless just sitting inside the house. He'd taken up carving statues of Egyptian deities - a task his father was skilled in, which Bakura had tried to learn as well. Unfortunately he wasn't as talented as his father when it came to the art. But for being so young he did fairly well. His favorite thing to carve was a creature that was half man and half snake, a being that he made up on his own that later became almost a friend to him; he would spend hours with this particular carving, acting out battle scenes against the other sculptures.

“Diaboundo,” he'd said one day, holding the carving up victoriously as his mother asked what he was playing with. “My only friend - Diaboundo.”

Rebekah had merely chuckled under her breath and left her son with his toys.

Later that evening, Bakura sat with his mother and father at the low wooden table, picking silently at his food.

“Sa,” Rebekah said, staring worriedly at her fair-haired son. “Is something wrong? You're usually such a healthy eater.”

Bakura blinked in acknowledgement, but didn't say anything. Across from him, Bakari grunted.

“You were not raised to be disrespectful,” Bakari snapped, glaring pointedly at his child, who merely frowned at the scolding and apologized softly. “Your mother works hard all day to put that food in front of you, you ungrateful wretch. Eat.”

The child nodded slowly and did as told, beginning to consume the food at a snail's pace. After several minutes, he looked back over at his parents quizzically.

“Father, when can I choose a wife?”

“You do not choose your own wife. Your mother and I will pick one for you,” was the curt reply.

Bakura leaned forward, placing his head in the palm of his hand. “But Father,” he said again, “How does that work? Who will you choose? And when?”

Bakari snorted and dropped the slice of bread he had been about to put in his mouth. “I hardly wish for you to carry on my family name. It would be a curse if I allowed a girl to marry you.”

“I want to marry Téana,” the white-haired boy said, smiling and disregarding his father's words. “Will you let me marry Téana, Father?”

Rebekah, noticing the agitation on her husband's face, quickly answered before Bakari was given a chance to.

“I think you are still too young to be asking these questions, sa,” she said, petting her son's hair affectionately. “When the time is right, your father will choose someone he thinks is worthy of bringing into the family. Now enough talk of this. Why don't you show father the carvings you've made? I don't think he's seen them yet.”

Bakura sighed and hung his head, not daring to go against the word of his mother, and stood up, going to fetch one of his carvings.

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The next morning found young Bakura staring listlessly out of the small window, gazing at the small group of children playing just down the road. After several moments of watching silently, he turned away from the window and shyly approached Rebekah, who was folding newly washed-and-dried clothes.

“Mother,” he began softly, catching her attention with the word. “Mother, can I go outside today?”

Rebekah paused for a second, and then sighed. It was the same question he asked every day. To the routine question, she gave her routine answer, “You know you may not,” and continued on with her chore.

“But why?” Bakura asked, lowering himself down onto his knees so that he sat beside his parent. “Why must I stay inside all the time?” When Rebekah only exhaled tiredly in response, he persisted. “The other boys are allowed outside. I see them. I know you told me not to go near the window, but I'm sorry... I had to look. And, Mother, I saw the other boys - I see them every day - and they are all outside. I want to go out too!”

Rebekah finished the last of the clothing and, after placing them neatly into a basket, she stood up. “Bakura, enough of this. You know your father's rules.”

The white-haired child followed his mother as she entered the next room of the small home. Timidly, he questioned her once more. “...Are you ashamed of me, Mother?”

The Egyptian woman nearly lost grip of the basket in her arms. She whirled around, staring down at the boy with a shocked expression on her face. Bakura's face - which seemed to grow paler with each day he was denied the warmth of the sun - was as serious and depressed as ever.

“Bakura! How can you say such a thing?”

The boy looked down at his feet, as if in apology. “Father says I am a disgrace... a curse on Father's family. Is that what you think too, Mother? Am I a curse?”

Gray-blue eyes glanced back up, finding his mother's eyes. Rebekah could see all of the loneliness in the world hidden within those large, innocent orbs, and it made her heart break. This time she couldn't keep hold of the basket, and it slipped from underneath her fingers, landing on the ground and tipping over. Several of the clean white linens spilled out and landed on the dirt floor.

“Oh, Bakura,” she cried, wrapping her arms around her son's thin frame. “I could never think of you that way. You are such a special boy...”

“I'm a freak,” Bakura whispered, turning his head to the side. “That is why Father can't look at me in the eye. That's why he doesn't let me go anywhere... why he tells everyone he has no son.”

“You are not a freak. You are just... different,” she admitted. “But I love you all the same.”

“You are the only one.”

Rebekah stared at her son, brows furrowing slightly at the words. She couldn't believe to hear such a thing coming from the usually-content young boy. She knew that her child was unhappy having to stay indoors all the time thanks to the order of his father, but to think that his parents were ashamed of him?

“Your Father loves you too, Bakura. He loves you very much, even if he does not show it. I promise.” The Egyptian woman placed a tender kiss to the boy's dirty forehead. “And someday, you will find a wife who loves you even more than we do. You'll see.”

For the first time in his short life, Bakura felt a small spark of hope ignite within him at his mother's kind words.

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Sa = Egyptian word for `son'.