Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Turn Away ❯ Chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )

SUMMARY: Part of my Ryou/Bakura series… takes place mostly in the past, so I guess it's a prequel to "Silent Fortress". Then again, it COULD be a sequel to "Where Evil Grows". *evil grin* Take it however you want it. ;) Nakhti's reasons for hating Yami and Seto are further explained.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh. I do, however, own a Dark Magician toy. And a Malik toy. That's about it.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Inspired by the Billy Joel song, "An Innocent Man". Many, many thanks to both my beta readers, Masaki Uke (who helped with many of the Egyptian aspects of this story, including the name "Set-khuh") and Silver/Pachelbel (my grammar coach). Thank you both so much!

/blah/ is Yami Bakura talking to Ryou. //blah// is Ryou talking to Yami Bakura. And I made up one of the places in this story, the Valley of the Dead, as I highly doubt anyone who was NOT Pharaoh would have been buried in the Valley of the Kings. Yami Bakura's family history is also entirely my own creation.

DEDICATION: Kris, as always.

***********

Turn Away, Part 2

Nakhti stumbled away from Yami's chambers, tears streaming freely down his face. *His* Yami and High Priest Set-khuh were...no, he didn't want to think about it. Thinking made it true and it couldn't be true. Yami loved him, not Set-khuh. He'd said so himself that very morning.

If Yami loved you, why would he be bedding Set-khuh? The voice in his mind cruelly asked. The High Priest was right...Yami is tired of you. You're nothing to him anymore. His love was just a lie to get you into bed.

"...I'm nothing," Nakhti whispered to himself. "Yami doesn't love me. He lied to me." Anger began to replace the pain and he stopped at one of the windows, looking out at ia'eh (A/N: the moon). "He betrayed me."

He needs to be punished, the little voice said. Only then can you get your proper revenge for what he's done to you. Make him HURT.

"Yes, hurt him like he's hurt me." Nakhti paused. "But how? He won't care if I sleep with someone else...he's shown he doesn't care about me or what I do."

What does he love more than anything else?

"The Shadow Games, but I have no power over those."

What else?

"His father. But his father's dead."

Even in death, revenge can be taken. Just look at what your precious Yami and his father did to YOU.

Nakhti smiled, a cold, bitter smile that had never touched his face before. "Yes...they made me suffer for the sins of MY father....They deserve to pay for that, if nothing else. But first, I need to get out of this place." He leaned out the window, gauging the drop from the window to the ground. It wasn't that far, only ten feet or so. And once he was out of the palace, it was simple matter of getting over the wall, finding himself in the maze of alleys that surrounded the House of a Million Years.

Go, Nakhti, said the voice, and learn new ways to hurt those who hurt you. Never be weak again. Never let someone do to you what he has done. Make what he has broken into something unbreakable-you can be invincible!

"Yes..." the white-haired boy's eyes glittered with anger. "I am not weak. I am strong." Pulling himself out of the window, he dropped the short distance to the ground and ran for the wall. As it was between patrols of Pharaoh's guard, this section of wall was unwatched for the moment and Nakhti slipped over it effortlessly. The lesser palaces and temples surrounded him and Nakhti embraced the darkness that had fallen. Silently, he slipped through the shadows until he reached the marketplace of Thebes.

For the first time in his life, he was free and in control of his own destiny.

****

"Boy!" A shout came from behind him. "Thief!" Nakhti just laughed and ran faster. Despite his tell-tale hair, he was still quicker than the fat old merchant he'd just stolen dinner from, and he would not allow himself to get caught. His years in the palace hadn't slowed his reflexes any.

"You'll have to catch me first!" he couldn't resist calling back over his shoulder as he darted into a dark alley, laughing when the market guards ran right past his hiding place without even a glance. He'd been on the streets for a week already, and not once had the guards even come close to catching him. Checking quickly to make sure they were, in fact, gone, Nakhti snuck out of his hiding place and continued on his way.

"Slave! Stop right there!" Came the shout and Nakhti froze for a moment. How did... Then he realized that the shout wasn't directed at him, but at someone else. A someone else that was currently on a collision course with his chest. Nakhti barely had time to brace himself before the boy crashed into him, sending them both flying.

"Oomph!"

"Gotcha!" Hands descended on the two boys before they could even move, yanking them to their feet and holding them prisoner. The strange boy struggled and howled, but didn't succeed in loosing the hands that held him. Nakhti just stood quietly in his own captor's arms, hoping that they wouldn't look too closely at him. From the look of their kilts, they were palace guards, and he'd heard rumors in the marketplace that Pharaoh's guards were looking for a white-haired prisoner who'd escaped Pharaoh's justice. Nakhti didn't particularly want the men to recognize him as the runaway slave they were looking for-no matter how dirty it was, his hair was a dead giveaway. Thankfully, the two men were more concerned with containing the boy they'd captured than looking at their other prisoner.

"You little brat!" The one holding the boy shook him violently. "You upset half the palace, scared the scribes, and, most importantly, angered the Pharaoh! Your punishment will be severe."

"Go bugger a camel!" the boy shot back, kicking out and nearly connecting with the guard's shins. "Then again, you `d probably enjoy that, wouldn't you? Son of a camel's whore!"

"Hrekin!" Nakhti's guard changed his grip slightly, preparing to aid his partner in subduing the more unruly of the two prisoners. "Your mouth will get you killed, boy."

"Better killed than a SLAVE!"

"You are a slave!" The guard slapped the boy viciously across the face, earning himself an eyeful of spit.

"You'll wish you were dead when the Priests of Ma'at get through with you," the second guard snarled, handing his partner a length of rope from his waist pouch. The first guard tied it tightly around the boy's wrists, pinning them behind his back.

"You're more trouble than you're worth, but Pharaoh wants you back." The boy howled a few more curses at the guards, kicking even more violently than before and even connecting once or twice. The boy's struggles offered Nakhti the distraction he needed. While his own guard's attention was otherwise diverted, he carefully slipped his arm free from the man's grip and vanished into the crowd that had gathered.

By the time the guard realized what had happened, Nakhti was long gone.

****

"That was too close," Nakhti scolded himself. "You just about let yourself get caught! And you know what will happen if they catch you-it's back to the palace and HIM." He allowed his lip to curl, just a bit, with hatred.

You're getting distracted, the voice chimed in. Finish what you started.... You're still weak and have much to learn.

"Then I will learn faster. Pharaoh needs to pay, both for what he did to my father and what he did to ME."

Yes, yes...let your anger guide you. You are becoming strong!

"I am not becoming strong-I am strong."

The night was cool as he walked to the edge of the City. The sands of the Red Lands stretched before him, a never-ending sea of gold turning to red in the fading light of Ra's descent into the underworld. Beyond the Red Lands lay the Necropolis of the Dead-his destination. No sense of going to all the trouble of raiding Pharaoh's tomb if he was only going to get caught. He needed to hone his skills before he attempted *that* feat. Slowly, he began to walk across the desert.

This night, he would begin his revenge.

****

The Necropolis rose before him, dark and silent in its majesty. Nakhti paused to take in a sight he hadn't seen since he was a very small child. "Home..." he whispered, allowing his voice to be caught by the wind and carried into the winding streets. A true smile escaped as he began the familiar trek to the traditional dwellings of his family.

The house stood empty, as Nakhti expected it would. When Pharaoh's guards had swept through the town, they'd arrested his entire family and confiscated the house in the name of Pharaoh's treasury. Obviously, the old bastard had never gotten around to selling it. It would prove to be his undoing-Nakhti knew secrets of the house that the invading guards hadn't. Specifically, the location of his father's tools.

"You should have killed us when you had the chance," Nakhti said to the night sky, "for now I will take my revenge on you, both for what you did to my father and what you've done to me. You turned me into your son's WHORE. May Ammut devour your soul when you stand before Osiris and Anubis!"

The false wall was still intact, despite the number of years the house had stood empty. Carefully, Nakhti tapped the hidden catch and smiled when the wall shifted to reveal his father's secret storage area. Everything he would need lay in that one chamber, hidden from Pharaoh's guards. Rope, a ladder, digging tools, torches...it was all there.

Nakhti sat down on the floor and took a deep breath, and grabbed at his hair, puling it back into a tight braid. His mind was racing, remembering the lessons he'd learned at his father's knee with his brothers. Some of them were ordinary, everyday things-how to count, how to barter, how to fight, how to use a knife, how to read, how to write, even how to speak Mitanni.

It was the *other* lessons he was interested in now. The ones where his father had imparted to him the wisdom of a tomb robber. How to choose the best tomb to rob. The best way to break into said tomb. How to avoid the traps. How to hide any evidence of his presence. The objects that fetched the largest prices in the market.

"Your memory lives, Father," Nakhti said after a moment of silent contemplation. "Your son will avenge you. I am the last of our line, and so it is my duty to do this." He allowed himself a moment to think of his family-his mother, with her soft blue eyes, his five brothers, wild and proud, his two sisters with their doe eyes and gentle laughter. All dead now, victims of Pharaoh's so-called "justice". They'd made both him his father watch as their family was butchered, and when Nakhti had cried, Pharaoh had laughed.

"Know this, traitor," Pharaoh had said to his father, "because of your actions, the souls of your family will never arrive in the Hall of Truth to be judged before Osiris. They will never know the love of the North Wind in the world beyond."

"And my son?" his father had asked, daring to look Pharaoh in the eye despite the chains on his wrists and ankles, a grim reminder of his status as a condemned prisoner. "What of him?"

"Your son belongs to me now, Ameny. His fate, and his life, are in my hands."

"Let him be! He's just a child!"

Pharaoh had barely looked over at Nakhti, kneeling, hands bound, between two guards. "He is mine. And because he is a child, I will allow him the courtesy of not seeing his father's death. Take him to the slave quarters!"

Nakhti heard later that it had taken the slaves a week to clean all the blood off of the floor after Pharaoh's justice had been done.

But the time for remembering was over. Pushing himself to his feet, Nakhti grabbed the equipment he'd need and walked out of the secret room, closing the door tightly behind him. He'd chosen his mark, the tomb of a minor priest who'd died that had only been sealed a few days previously. The perfect place to begin his new career as a tomb robber.

Like father, like son.

****

The Necropolis was silent as Nakhti slipped through its winding streets, headed for the cliffs above it. The eternal resting places of the honored dead were dug into those cliffs by armies of workmen like Nakhti's brothers had been. His father had been a priest of the dead, supervising the funerary rights as the souls of the dead departed to the Western Lands.

Reaching a vantage point just above the entrance to the Valley of the Dead, Nakhti paused to watch for the guards he knew were lurking about. Sure enough, a dark figure entered his vision, passing just below him and continuing on. After making sure there were no further guards coming, Nakhti crept down the cliff face and entered the Valley of the Dead. His chosen mark's tomb lay just within the gates.

Nakhti gently dropped his pack on the ground, ruffling through it for his chisel and then approaching the stone door of the tomb. The builders hadn't even had a chance to properly seal the tomb yet, which was to his benefit. Carefully, he made a small hole in the stone, just large enough to squeeze through. For the first time, his relatively small size worked to his benefit. Once inside, he placed a small piece of cloth over the hole he'd made in order to hide any evidence of light from within the tomb. Grabbing a torch from his pack, Nakhti continued his way into the tomb, stopping every now and then to pick up a small golden object.

The real treasure, however, lay deeper in the tomb, in the Burial Chamber. It was for there Nakhti made. The sarcophagus stood silent in the centre of the dark room, but Nakhti ignored it. It was far too large to concern himself with, nor did he have the time to break it down. Plenty of gold and jewel-encrusted objects lined the walls-cups, jewelry, furniture. Quickly grabbing a few pieces of jewelry and a few small cups, Nakhti threw them to his pack and began his journey back.

Extinguishing the torch, Nakhti removed the cloth and listened for the guards. Only silent greeted him and he carefully slid back out the hole he'd made. No time to fix the damage, but he shoved a few loose pieces of gravel into the spot so that only someone looking closely would be able to see that something was amiss.

Nakhti shouldered his now-heavy pack and began the trek back to the Necropolis, allowing a smile to steal over his face. He'd done it-he was a tomb robber.

"For you, father," he whispered to the stars.

****

The next morning, the Necropolis was buzzing with the robbery. The Valley guards had inadvertently kicked away the debris he'd left, revealing the damaged door. But as nobody had seen anything, the robber walked free.

Nakhti heard the chatter and laughed.

****

Each tomb he chose got a little harder to break into, a little more difficult to find. But Nakhti always had loved challenges, so he attacked each new tomb with fury. Each one he robbed brought him one step closer to breaking into Pharaoh's tomb and wreaking his eternal vengeance. His latest target was one of the High Priest's own men, killed by crocodiles while walking along the Nile. If he could successfully rob that tomb, he was ready to go on to the final stage.

The night was clear and thankfully moonless as Nakhti crept into the Valley of the Dead. The guards had just finished their rounds and were resting for a moment. They never even sensed Nakhti's presence as he walked right by them. The path under his feet was smooth and mostly clear of stones, which made things easier, as there was nothing to kick or make a sound as he passed over it.

"My final test," Nakhti murmured to himself as he stood outside the newly-sealed tomb. "I can do this... And then I shall be ready for the final test. Pharaoh's tomb itself. My time has come!"

Do it! The voice in his head urged. You are almost ready. Finish what you have started!

"Yes." Nakhti's eyes glittered with a strange mix of anger and satisfaction. "I will prove to them that you cannot enslave me. He will pay for what he did. Even Pharaoh himself is not invincible!"

The tomb itself was stupidly simple to get into-didn't even have a decent trap by the door. Nakhti was able to get around it with no difficulty, and almost immediately found himself standing in the middle of the largest mound of burial items he'd ever seen. Grinning, Nakhti took many small items, and a few larger ones, and one that was sure to receive notice in the marketplace when he went to sell it. The solid gold figure of Bast bore a maker's stamp and Nakhti smiled to himself.

It was time to re-introduce himself to Pharaoh.

****

"Ra's blessings on you, sir!" the shopkeeper called out merrily as Nakhti entered. "What can I do for you?"

"I acquired an object and I wish to sell it."

The man's eyes nearly gleamed. "Of course, good sir. May I see the item?"

"Certainly." Nakhti reached into his cloth bag and pulled out the statue of Bast. The shopkeeper's face went white.

"Where...where did you get this?" The man asked, turning the statue over in his hand. "I made this piece myself for the High Priest's inner council."

The other man never even flinched. "From his tomb."

"You ROBBED a tomb to get this?"

"How else would I get it?" Nakhti gave the shopkeeper a look. "What are you going to do now? Report me to the market guards?"

"I...I have to. It's punishable by death if you don't!"

"Well then, little man, I have a message you can pass to the guards when you tell them."

"What's that?"

"I want you to tell Pharaoh a name. MY name."

"Being?"

"Si-Ameny," Nakhti said to the man, a twisted smile on his face. "Tell Pharaoh that Si-Ameny has been here." Trembling, the man nodded, closing his eyes as the tomb robber stalked out his front door and into the busy marketplace of Thebes.

****

A/N: Not sure what "Ameny" means, but "Si-Ameny" means "son of Ameny", which is the name I gave to Nakhti's father.

****

"Ameny has returned!" was the whisper in the marketplace of Thebes all that week. "The most legendary tomb robber in the history of Egypt had returned from the dead! He has come to wreak his vengeance on the Royal Family, and Pharaoh's furious! He's vowed that this tomb robber shall be punished and his soul shall be forever damned."

Nakhti had to fight very hard not to laugh. His soul was damned already, but it was nice to hear that he could raise Pharaoh's ire by simply using his father's name. His father's name still lived, was whispered with awe behind secret hands.

"Beware," Nakhti heard one builder cautioning his trainees, "you must not reveal the secret of the tomb you are building! It must remain hidden or else the soul of the departed shall never reach the Western Lands! Beware, lest Ameny hear you and take his vengeance-price from the very souls of the dead!"

The trainees looked properly horrified at the thought and Nakhti snickered, idly twirling a lock of hair that had escaped its tight braid. For all the dirt that covered his head and body, his hair was still unmistakably light. On this day, Nakhti did not want anyone looking at him too closely. He could not afford to make mistakes now.

Tonight, Nakhti would show them that there was a new legend robbing the tombs of the rich and the powerful.

Tonight, Pharaoh Yami would learn just what it meant to anger the son of Ameny.

Tonight, he would damn Pharaoh's soul, both father AND son, for all eternity.