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sasasarararara · 7 years ago

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The Infallible Girl: Chapter 4

Trial by Fire

“Isis pulled her Duel Monsters deck out of its drawstring bag. To most of the world, it was simply a toy. To her it was both an outward expression of her soul and a tool of immense power. She absent-mindedly cut the deck and examined the card she had stopped at. She didn't need the Torc to predict which one it would be. It was always her favorite.

"Blast Held by a Tribute."

It had been in the lone Duel Monsters booster pack that Malik and Rishid left in the alleyway as they fled from the game shop. The card graphic depicted a figure holding a ball of fire in their bare hands. It was prepared to sacrifice itself to the opponent's monster, then burn for the sake of the other cards on its team.It was prepared to give up everything for its family.

And so was she.“

Trigger Warning: Descriptions of violence.

Isis didn't bother trying to conceal her amazement in Turgoman. There was no point. The place was massive. Vehicles came through in unceasing waves. People from all over the world swarmed around her. The sounds of motors, chatter, laughter, horns, yelling, and general turmoil deafened her.

There were more people in this one place than Isis had met in her entire life.

And this was only the bus station.

The press of the crowd hampered her progress to the exit. Each time she was bumped by a stranger she expected a quick apology, but none ever came. A few times she accidentally hit people and, likewise, nobody seemed to mind. Nobody noticed.

She soon gave up trying to cut her own path and let the push of the crowd guide her out of the station. It was then that she got her first good look at Cairo. She hadn't known exactly what to expect from Egypt's capital city but had a vague idea that it would be a larger version of the village.

She couldn't have been farther from the truth.

Cairo was more massive and teeming with life than she possibly could have imagined. The crush of people around Isis made her feel claustrophobic in a way that the Tomb never had. The scents of the city made her head spin. It took mere moments for her to become completely disoriented.

Isis stepped clumsily out of the crowd and tilted her head up in hopes that the sight of the open sky would ease her anxiety. This turned out to be a mistake. From this angle the skyscrapers looked ready to topple over and crush her at any moment. And was it just her, or were they closing in on each side?

She quickly looked away from the monstrous buildings before nausea overwhelmed her. The last thing she needed to do was vomit in the middle of all these people.

Isis stood still for a few more moments and gave the world time to stop spinning then started on her way again, wondering vaguely where to go. She had originally planned to get food and rent a room that evening, but that was before she knew how massive Cairo was. Her situation, which was already painfully difficult, was becoming more complicated by the minute.

But she had to do something. Her brothers needed her.

Isis decided to explore the city on her own for a while and learn as much as she could. Anyway, things weren't so bad. She had money, clean clothing, and food in her bag, and the Millennium Torc to guide her way. She straightened her back and set her jaw. If anyone could do this, it was her.

A strange thought drifted across her mind. I've never met anyone so in command of their destiny. Isis had no idea where it came from. She was pretty sure it wasn't the Torc. As protective as it was, it had never spoken words of encouragement. The sentiment felt like a memory, only she couldn't recall where it had originated. Regardless of where it came from, it gave her a rush of confidence. She squared her shoulders, set her jaw, and faced the city.

As she walked Isis felt a slight pressure on the shoulder her bag was slung over, but she ignored it. It was probably just someone bumping into it. She kept walking only to feel the pressure again.

"Look down."

Isis took the advice of the Torc and saw an arm elbow deep in her bag. She was being robbed in broad daylight while surrounded by hundreds of people. But growing up with brothers and minimal parental supervision had prepared her to dispense rough-and-ready justice at a moment's notice. Without a second thought she stomped hard on the thief's foot and drove her elbow into their ribs. The pickpocket withdrew their arm with a pained yelp. Only then did Isis get a good look at her assailant. She was shocked to see a girl who couldn't have been more than nine or ten years old.

"I am sorry!" Isis gasped. The girl, however, did not seem overly upset by the encounter. She gave Isis a measured look and a small shrug as if to say, "You got me." Clearly this was nothing unusual for her.

Her dispassionate response did nothing to make Isis feel better. She dug through her bag for a handful of bills and held them out to the girl. "Take this offering as a token of my sincere apologies," she said. The girl snatched the money with snake-like speed and melted back into the crowd without a word.

The whole interaction confused Isis. The little girl had looked so tired and dirty. Was there nobody to take care of her? And not a single person had noticed besides Isis, and even then only thanks to the Torc. It shocked her that anyone would have to resort to theft and begging, but especially a small child. Isis had never seen poverty before. The little village was far from wealthy, but everyone she had encountered seemed well fed and relatively content. What kind of place let its children go hungry?

A sudden noise made Isis jump. She turned to face a man who was shaking his head in disapproval. "Whew, that was a lot of money," said the man. "You shouldn't give so much to beggars. It only encourages them and causes a nuisance."

Isis glared at the stranger. Who was this person to tell her what to do with her own possessions? "It is my money, and I will do with it what I choose," she said shortly.

The man scowled back at her. "Weird accent you got there. You're not from around here, are you." It wasn't a question so much as an observation. A small shiver of fear ran up Isis' spine, but she calmed herself before any emotion showed on her face. Cairo was massive and she'd already seen people from across the world. He'd probably think she was just another foreigner.

"That is right." She raised her chin and narrowed her eyes imperiously, daring the man to comment further.

He rolled his eyes and mumbled "damn tourists," under his breath. "Always making it difficult for the rest of us."

Half a dozen retorts flooded to Isis' mind, but instead she turned her back haughtily and continued on her way. The nerve of that man! The servants would never speak to her like that, and from a stranger it was even more insulting. However, as much as she was loath to admit it, he did raise an important point. She had given away what felt like a lot of money. On top of that she'd nearly been robbed of everything.

When Isis was out of sight of the nosy stranger she pushed the money down to the bottom of her bag so that it would be difficult to reach. Additionally, positioned the bag so that the zipper was in front of her where she could easily see anyone trying to rob her. Then, for what felt like the millionth time in ten minutes, she gathered her resolve and stepped back into the teeming streets of Cairo.

As the initial shock of the city wore away, Isis began to notice how fascinating it was. Buildings both new and old flanked the roads, each one full of mysteries and a life all its own. The occasional statue or minaret gave the streets a surreal, anachronistic ambiance. Stalls similar to the ones in her home village lined the roads. They sold food, colorful juices, and any number of random items labeled variously as "souvenirs" or "curios."

People, particularly westerners, seemed most attracted to the stalls selling trinkets but Isis was immediately enchanted by the food vendors. Meals in the Tomb typically consisted of the few things Rishid knew how to cook and were rather bland. Meals with the Rahals had certainly been more exciting, but nothing she'd ever eaten could compare to the street food of Cairo. The aromas of roasting vegetables, toasting bread, fresh fruit, fried pastries, boiling stews, and more spices than she had known existed assaulted her stomach by way of her nose. All she'd had to eat that day was a few handfuls of dried fruit. Even the scent of charred lamb and chicken was painfully enticing despite her distaste for meat.

Isis followed the scent of sautéed onions to a cart and ordered flatbread stuffed with grilled vegetables and feta cheese with a cup of icy water that had been tinted green by the sheer amount of cucumbers floating in it.

"You're not from around here, are you?" the vendor asked as he prepared her food. "I've never heard an accent like yours before. Where you from, kid?"

This time Isis was prepared for the question. "Saudi Arabia," she answered without hesitation. "I come from far out in the country and our dialect is different. This is my first time in Cairo."

The vendor beamed. "Well, welcome to our city. Hey, is this your first day?"

Isis smiled. "I just got off the bus about an hour ago," she answered. "I'm still trying to find my way around."

From the country side, fresh off the bus, strange and fake sounding accent, finding her own way around? The man looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on her baggy hand-me-down clothes, over-stuffed duffel bag, and noting the lack of any adults. Ah, a runaway. There were more and more every day. "This'll be your first meal here, then?" the man asked. Isis nodded. "Well first taste of Cairo is on the house," he said as he passed the glistening plate toward her.

"I, uh, do not have a house," Isis answered with a frown. "I am sorry. But I do have money." She dug her money out of her bag once again and held it out. "How many pounds is it?"

The man stared at her for a moment, trying to conceal his pity. Offering what looked like all her money to a stranger? She won't last the night. Allah, save these kids. "No, dear, it's an expression. It means I'm giving it to you for free." He gently pushed her outstretched hand away. "And to go with it I have some free advice. Don't go waving that money around, okay? Most people are decent, but there are those out there who would take advantage of you."

Isis blushed and put her money back in the bag. That was two strangers in a row who'd noticed her unfamiliarity with money. Apparently it was a much more complicated subject than she'd thought. "Thank you," she said. "You are very kind."

The man waved his hands dismissively. "I'm glad to help. It's a big city," he answered. "I've lived here all my life and I still feel lost sometimes. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"There is one thing," she said. "Do you know of any cheap places to stay the night?" the prospect of finding a place to sleep had begun to concern her. She had passed a few hotels but they were all intimidating and seemed very fancy. Isis didn't know much about money, but she knew she probably couldn't afford a place like where Malik and Rishid were staying in her vision.

The vendor pointed her in the direction of a hostel a few blocks away. "You'll have to share a room," he explained. "But it's mostly university students on backpacking tours. It should be safe." Isis thanked the vendor again and began to head in the direction of the hostel, eating her stuffed flatbread as she walked. The taste somehow surpassed even the scent of it and the cucumber water was the most refreshing thing she'd ever tasted.

She was licking the last drops of grease off her fingers as the sun finished setting and the city burst into light. Rows upon rows of street lamps flickered on, neon signs glowed above storefronts, and even the windows in the buildings above her gave off a soft, golden glow. Isis gaped at the shimmering city, hardly able to believe her eyes. It felt like she was walking in a dream. She found herself desperately missing her brothers. If only she could have seen Malik's face the first time he'd experienced Cairo at night… Just imagining his expression made her giggle despite her broken heart.

The hostel was on the second floor of a squat building that was slightly set off from downtown Cairo. It cost £413 (about $25) a night and smelled permanently like baked goods thanks to the café on the first floor. The proprietor led Isis to a cramped room where three other girls were already staying. Just like the street vendor had predicted they appeared to be European students. They were huddle together on one of the room's four beds looking at what appeared to be trinkets from the souvenir stalls. As Isis entered the room, they smiled and greeted her in a language she didn't recognize. She waved shyly at them, kicked off her shoes, and settled onto the only bed free of luggage.

In that moment she wanted nothing more than to relax, change into the pajamas Farah had packed for her, and get back to the book about the sorcerer, but there was still work to be done. Quite important work.

It was time for her to figure out her money.

She knew the basics, but based on her encounters with the pickpocket, the annoying man, and the kind vendor, it was becoming clear that the subject was much more complicated than she had expected. Though she had helped the servants shop during the past year nobody had ever explained in any detail where money came from, the meanings of the different pound notes, or how to budget. She didn't even know what a lot of money vs. a little was.

Isis pulled her money out and quickly totaled it up. It added up to £6554 (roughly $400 USA) which seemed like a big number, but she wasn't sure how far it would stretch. The hostel had cost £413, and the menu at the food cart said her meal would have cost £82 ($5) if she'd had to pay for it. Isis figured she could get by on two meals a day. But there were cheaper items on the menu. So that was…

She found a pen in her bag and began to draft a budget on the hostel receipt. Eventually she came to the conclusion that if she used the money for necessities only, she would have enough for a little over two weeks in Cairo. It wasn't a lot of time, but all she needed to do was find Rishid and Malik. Cairo was big, but they were her family. They were connected. It couldn't possibly take more than a few days to track them down, especially since she had the help of the Millennium Torc and Malik was extremely bad at subtlety. All she had to do was use the Torc to see where he would strike next and be there waiting for him. It would be simple.

The other girls left the room just as she was finishing up her budget. Isis took the opportunity to change into her pajamas, then grabbed her book and sank into the small bed. She felt a little guilty for not practicing with the Torc, but it had been an eventful day and she wanted to relax. Besides, she'd been practicing with it every night for over a week now. Last night's vision in particular had taken a lot out of her. A night to rest her mind would probably be good for her.

Isis read until her eyes were heavy. She fell asleep listening to the hum of traffic and enjoying the scent of baking bread coming in through the vents. Her last thought before drifting off was "we'll be together in no time."

The money lasted less than half the time she had expected. In her budget Isis had only accounted for food and a place to sleep. She hadn't considered things like laundry, personal hygiene, and transportation. Not only that, but most meals were more expensive than she had expected. £82 would get her a vegetable sandwich and water but it wasn't enough to keep her full for hours. Despite her resolve to spend as little as possible, Isis found herself frequently darting into bodegas and buying snack food that was equally unfilling. But snack food was only a few pounds. Hardly anything, really. There could be no harm in buying a pack of crisps. And the waterless hand cleanser was also only a few pounds. And so was the little waterproof map of Cairo. And the giant bottle of tea. And a taxi ride back to the hostel wasn't that much either.

It was shocking how quickly a handful of pounds here and there added up.

On her fifth day in Cairo, Isis had a vision of Malik and Rishid.

They are at a game store and where they are stuffing a bag with packs of Duel Monsters cards. There are employees and customers nearby. Their expressions are placid and void of all emotion. Rishid slings the bag over his shoulder. They run out of the store without stopping for anything else. The only things they take are the Duel Monsters cards.

Isis jolted back into the present and struggled to figure out what to do through the lethargy that always came after a detailed vision. She knew where that game store was. She'd passed it several times already and had even peeked inside hoping to see Malik who had always enjoyed games. It was in the heart of Cairo only a few blocks away from her hostel. Unfortunately, she had taken a bus to a motorcycle dealership on the outskirts of the city.

Isis had no idea how far in the future her vision was. For all she knew it could be mere seconds away. She was more than an hour's walk from downtown Cairo and the bus traveled only marginally faster. The quickest way to the shop was a taxi.

The only problem was that if Isis spent money on the taxi, she wouldn't have enough for a room that evening. It was a huge risk.

But this could be her chance to save Malik and Rishid. If she found her brothers and convinced them to come home, money would never be a problem again. The thought of hugging them, of feeling safe and secure in their arms, of knowing that she'd never be away from them again overruled any argument for prudence.

Isis dove into the first taxi she saw with no regard for the couple it had actually stopped for. She pulled out a fist full of cash and yelled "I will give you all the money I have if you take me to the game store downtown as fast as you possibly can" before the driver had a chance to protest.

The driver, a young man raised on western action movies, grinned and floored the pedal. He had been waiting for this moment since starting the job and couldn't believe it had taken a whole month to be in his first high speed chase. The cab screeched out of the motorcycle dealership and began to rocket toward the heart of Cairo.

Isis was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to process the dangerous speed at which they were traveling. Why on earth were Malik and Rishid robbing a gaming store? And why were they targeting the Duel Monsters cards specifically? A few months ago Isis had smuggled a few packs of Duel Monsters cards into the Tomb, justifying her actions by telling herself that it would be a fun way to teach Malik Arabic. In reality she had read the rules at the small toy booth and had immediately been intrigued. In any case, the game had been fun and easy to hide from their father. Malik had especially enjoyed the colorful pictures and hoarded the prismatic cards for himself, but Isis had a hard time believing he loved the game enough to rob a store specifically for it.

Wait, didn't her reoccurring vision have cards in-

Suddenly the world lurched and turned sideways. Isis screamed as she was flung against the cab's window. Her head slammed into the thick glass and purple spots exploded in her vision. Then the cab lurched again, throwing her in the opposite direction and causing her neck to snap back with a painful pop. Again, the cab lurched. This time the whole car flipped upside down. Isis was hurled from her seat and landed in a crumpled heap on what had been the roof of the cab. With one final spin on its axes, the cab came to a stop. The entirety of the crash had taken no more than five seconds but it felt like an eternity.

Isis rose shakily to her hands and knees and pushed at the battered door until it popped open. She crawled clumsily out of the upturned vehicle and tried to take in her surroundings despite the purple blotches still obscuring her vision. They were on the curb of a busy intersection. Long skid marks traced the cab's path and showed where it had rounded the intersection corner too sharply, hopped the curb, and glanced off a street lamp causing it to flip.

Isis reached back into the cab to take her bag and felt the world reel beneath her. It was a feeling that was becoming all too familiar; the feeling that she was about to faint.

No, she thought furiously. Not this time. Not when I'm so close.

She grabbed her bag with trembling hands, rose to her feet, and began to walk the remaining distance to the gaming shop. As she went she heard people calling to her, trying to help her, but she ignored them. There was no time to be hurt. When the world stopped whirling around her and her vision cleared, she broke into a run. It was agony. Every step made her neck and head throb but she refused to stop. She was so close. So close. So close.

Isis burst around a corner and onto the long downtown street that housed the gaming shop. Even from a quarter mile away she could see police cars with their bright blue lights surrounding the building. Her heart threatened to break at the sight of them but she pushed her encroaching despair away. It didn't necessarily mean her brothers were gone. Maybe the Millennium Rod had finally failed. Maybe this would provide a distraction that allowed her to reach them in time.

But when she reached the shop it was clear that she had missed them. The police officers were already taking statements from witnesses and searching the shop for evidence. Isis ran up to a group of officers paying no heed to the portable yellow barricades shielding the crime scene from the public.

"How long ago did the thieves leave?" she asked breathlessly.

The officers paused in their investigation and regarded her coldly. "Young lady, please stand on the other side of the barricade," he said in response.

"Please!" she begged, trying to keep her eyes from filling with tears. "I can still get to them! Please?!"

The officer put a firm hand on her shoulder led her to the other side of the barrier. "You can't impede an investigation miss, unless you want to be charged with hindering an officer. If you have any information about the crime or suspects, you can give Officer Mahmoud over there a statement. Otherwise, stay out of our way." And with that the officer turned and left.

Isis was about to charge right back in when someone tapped her shoulder. "They went that way," said a small, elderly woman. "About five minutes ago. A kid and a young man went up that ally. I'm the only one who saw, and I told the police I wasn't hypnotized by the mind ray like the rest of them, but they just looked at me like I was crazy-"

Isis took off toward the ally before the old woman could finish her story. Malik and Rishid only had a five-minute lead on her. Maybe she could still get them! There was still hope.

That hope evaporated when she reached the ally. Not only was it empty, but it led to a dozen other alleyways and streets. Those alleyways and streets led to hundreds of buildings, thousands of doors, and millions of people. She turned this way and that, frantic to find a clue. The rapid motion made her head throb and her neck seize up again. The only thing she spotted was a lone pack of Duel Monsters cards lying in the middle of the ally. She picked the card pack up, looked at it through dull eyes, then sank to her knees and began to cry openly.

She had lost them. She had lost everything.

Isis found it easiest to measure time in terms of events.

It had been nine months since she had lost the last of the money that the Rahals had given her. Nine months since she had been able to pay for a room to sleep in, or a hearty meal, or basic human comforts.

It had been eight months and two weeks since her shoes had worn out. They had been made for a mostly sedentary life in the Tomb. The paved streets and sidewalks of Cairo had eaten through the hardened canvas with ease. After a few weeks of walking, they had been reduced to gray rags.

It had been eight months and one week since her last full night's sleep. Between aching hunger and fear of theft or worse, she found herself waking up frequently to change locations.

It had been eight months since she had sold most of what Farah had given her. The book, the spare clothing, most of the contents of the first aid kit, the bus pass, and every other non-essential item in her bag with the exception of her mother's headpiece and the photograph of her brothers was sold for less than one night's rent in a cheap hostel.

It had been seven months and three weeks since she first resorted to begging. The idea of asking strangers for help made her stomach hurt, but she couldn't eat her pride. Soon she learned that western tourists were most likely to pity her and give her money while native Egyptians would usually shoo her away with a scowl. She didn't know which reaction shamed her the most.

It had been seven months and two weeks since a vision showed her that Malik and Rishid had left Cairo. She saw them in a city whose buildings made Cairo's skyscrapers look like mere toys. She would eventually recognize the city as Dubai, but in the moment it looked like they may as well be on another planet while she was stranded in Cairo. She had debated going back to the Tomb but it was over 300 miles away. She also didn't know what she'd find when she got there. The idea of seeing her father's body sickened her. The idea of meeting servants who thought she was responsible for his death was even worse. No. She couldn't go back.

It had been seven months since she'd lost her curves. Pervasive hunger and near constant movement had robbed her of the small amount of body fat she had to spare.

It had been six months and one week since she had first resorted to theft. She told herself that she would only take small necessities such as food and fresh water. It was nothing like the crime spree that Malik and Rishid were on but it still made her conscience pang with guilt.

It had been five months since her last period. Her body didn't have energy to spare for unessential processes. From what Isis knew, this wasn't supposed to happen until she became pregnant and there was no chance of that. At first she was vaguely concerned but this soon gave way to relief. It was one less thing to worry about.

It had been four months since she had been poisoned. She had eaten what looked like a perfectly fine pastry that she'd fished out of a trash can near an upscale bakery. That should have told her that something wasn't right. Nobody would throw away an untouched pastry, especially from such an expensive store. It was lying right on top of the trash can, still wrapped in tissue paper, unsullied by the garbage. Isis had taken it as a gift from the gods, but of course it wasn't. The following two days were a haze of pain. She vomited more food than she could have possibly eaten and drifted in and out of a fever. Relief only came when she desperately stumbled into a mosque where she sometimes slept (rarely though. Competition for refuge in shelters and churches was fierce and often a hunting ground for thieves and other predators) and begged for help from the worshipers. They had given her water and let her sleep until her fever broke, then sent her on her way. Before leaving, a fellow refuge seeker had warned her that sometimes upscale restaurants would purposefully throw away food laced with rat poison to discourage beggars and dumpster divers.

It had been two months and since the Millennium Torc had last responded to her. She had been making good progress with it before the gaming shop incident, but was hard not to blame the Torc for losing her brothers. Why hadn't it told her about the cab accident? Why hadn't it told her about the rat poison? Why couldn't it tell her how far in the future events were going to happen? Why had it failed her so horribly? After that day she had given up on the gentle coaxing method and gone back to demanding it give her the answers she wanted. Her practice sessions had become more and more frantic as the months wore on. She had changed from raging at the Torc to begging it for guidance, often to the point of tears. The more desperate she became, the less active it was. Finally it stopped interacting with her entirely. The only visions she still received were echoes of the very first one.

It had been four hours since she had attempted to rob the wrong tourist. Usually they were easy prey. On the rare occasion that she was caught, their reaction was simply to yell at her or stare in wide-eyed astonishment. A few times they had even given her the money she had attempted to steal. It was strange to think that she had once done the exact same thing. When she remembered her first days in Cairo, it almost seemed like she was thinking of a different person.

Isis crept silently through the crowd at the train station. Her eyes never left her target: the suitcase of an overweight man in a suit. When robbing tourists, Isis usually chose people like him who looked like they were coming to Cairo for business. They didn't carry as much cash as regular tourists, but they frequently had valuable goods like watches and cell phones that she could sell. It also helped that Isis felt much less guilty stealing from them than from visiting families.

She had been following this particular man for a few blocks, hoping to find the right moment to make her move. It didn't seem too difficult. As he walked down the street his eyes drifted from the buildings to the crowd to the street vendors and back again. His suitcase rolled loosely behind him, completely vulnerable. It was clearly his first time in Cairo. 'What a fool,' she thought. 'He's lucky it's just me robbing him. I'm practically doing him a favor.' Again, Isis was taken aback by the idea that she had once been just as naïve.

He turned off the crowded street and into the labyrinth of alleyways that laced through Cairo's less picturesque neighborhoods. That was a little odd, Isis noted. Most westerners tended to stay exclusively downtown amidst the museums, shops, and restaurants. The backways tended to intimidate them. But this man didn't seem especially bright which was all the better for her. He continued through the near empty lanes, making turns seemingly at random, with an expression of good natured confusion. Isis followed him at a safe distance. It was a little tricky now that she didn't have a crowd to blend into, but she was able to make use of the shadows caused by the press of buildings that overhung the streets.

They were approaching an abandoned clothing factory when an electronic chiming sound caused the man to pause. He pulled a pager out of a little holster on his belt and began to fiddle with it. He even set the suitcase down so that he could use both hands. It was the perfect opportunity. Isis grinned humorlessly and pulled a Swiss Army Knife out of her waistband. She'd found it in the gutter a few months ago. It was almost completely broken with the exception of one application: the screwdriver.

Isis darted forward silently and picked the trunk-style suitcase's lock with the screwdriver. She winced as it opened with an audible click but the man was too absorbed by his pager to notice. She hesitated for just a moment before diving into the case. 'Look down,' she thought. 'Don't make me do this. I'm just under your nose. Look in my direction and I'll go.' But he didn't. She'd done this a dozen times before and each time her conscience raged against her. Her bruised morality hurt almost as much as an empty stomach.

Almost. At the end of the day integrity wouldn't feed her.

Delicately, and praying that the hinges were well oiled, Isis eased the suitcase open a sliver and began to dig through the contents, relying on her sense of touch rather than vision. Her eyes never left the man's face. If he so much as glanced away from the pager she was ready to bolt.

First Isis pulled out a wallet, then a second pager, then two cellphones, and finally a portable CD player. She could hardly believe her luck. Who on earth needed two phones and two pagers, and what are the odds that Isis would find them? This was the best haul she'd ever come across. The money she made selling the electronics could feed her for a week and there was no telling what she'd find in the wallet. This suitcase was a veritable gold mine.

The first thing Isis had learned about theft was to never get greedy. The more you took, the more likely you were to be caught. And taking an entire suitcase or bag was unthinkable. The movement and obvious lack of property would attract attention within seconds. If the owner of the bag didn't see you then another pedestrian certainly would, and too often they'd want to help the target. It was much easier and safer to go for smaller items that wouldn't be missed for some time. So far Isis had taken just enough from the man to likely avoid getting caught. She knew that pushing her luck any further would be foolish.

But it had been so long since her last solid meal. Longer still since she'd slept indoors. The idea of taking enough to rent a room was too tempting, especially now that the weather was starting to get cold at night. If she found one more thing to sell, she was sure she'd be able to rent a cheap hostel room. Maybe even one with a shower…

Once more she delved into the suitcase, still not taking her eyes off the man. He seemed to be involved in a heated conversation with the person on the other end of the pager. As soon as he stopped typing the little device would chime with a new message. He was completely absorbed and looked as if he would be for at least a couple of minutes.

Isis dug blindly until she felt an interior pocket. She reached in hoping to find valuables that had been tucked away for safer keeping; maybe a nice watch or a silver flask. Instead she grasped what felt like a plastic bag full of powder. She cautiously pulled it out and glanced briefly at the mysterious loot. It was a big zip-top freezer bag full of what looked like cooking flour. She couldn't help but wonder at the strangeness of it. Maybe he was a baker.

She hastily tucked the bag of flour down her shirt with the rest of the contraband. It was worthless compared to the electronics, but it would fill her up on a painfully hungry night. Anything helped.

Isis would later thank the gods that she'd never tried to eat the "flour."

She reached back into the suitcase's interior compartment and felt a few more bags of flour which she ignored. 'He must be some kind of chef,' she thought. 'Who else would carry so much flour around with them?'

A grin flitted across her face as her hand brushed something metallic. This was more like it. Metal usually mean value. She explored the object a little more, trying to determine if it was worth taking. It had a hole on one end, some sort of lever or switch that could be flipped with some effort, a couple of other movable parts, what felt like a handle…

Sudden realization hit her like a train. A gun. She was holding a gun. She had just touched the trigger of a gun. She had just pulled the trigger of a gun. It must be unloaded or otherwise inactive, thank all the gods.

Never in her life had Isis expected to encounter a gun while pick-pocketing. She'd never even seen one up close. She was sure it was valuable, but handling even an unloaded gun was so far beyond her comfort level that the very notion scared her. And it raised so many more questions. Who was this strange baker with so many communication devices and a gun?

At this point it occurred to Isis that she may be in over her head. In any case going back into the suitcase had been a mistake. It was time for a hasty retreat.

She withdrew her now trembling hand from the suitcase and began to crawl away when disaster struck. One of the cellphones down her shirt began to ring cheerfully and flash. Immediately the man's attention snapped away from his pager to where Isis was crouching. Between her lumpy shirt and glowing stomach, it was pretty obvious what was happening.

The man's demeanor changed from jovial confusion to cold rage. "You bitch," he hissed in perfect Arabic.

This was far from the affronted yet pitying reaction she was used to upon being caught by tourists. Isis pulled at the hem of her shirt and let the stolen goods fall to the ground, save the bag of flour which had become stuck to her torso by cold sweat. "Sorry, sir," she said and lifted her hands in a placating gesture. "Sorry!"

"You're sorry?" he said in a shrill, mocking imitation of Isis' voice. "Do you know what you've done? How much you could have cost me?" He began to advance toward her. "Do you know what you've seen?"

She shook her head frantically, eyes wide with fear, and began to back away. "No, no I'm just hungry," she whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry!"

She turned to run away right as the man lunged at her. He was startlingly quick for his size and managed to grab her by the Millennium Torc. She coughed as it dug into her throat and restricted her breathing. The man dragged her into the abandoned clothing factory and threw her to the ground.

"You've seen my face," he growled. "You've seen my products. Hell, you may have seen my ID for all I know." He punctuated each sentence with a kick to her ribs. "If I let you get away, who knows who you'll tell?"

"Nobody!" Isis spluttered. "I won't tell anyone, I swear it!"

The man sneered down at her. "That as may be, but you see…" He knelt until his face was inches from hers. She could smell meat on his breath. "I can't let you get away with trying to steal from me. Not without teaching you a little lesson."

With that he began to pummel her mercilessly. Isis curled into a ball to protect herself but it barely made a difference. The man rained blow after blow upon her, first with his fists and then with his feet. He didn't stop when she sobbed out another apology. He didn't stop when she began to bleed. He didn't stop when pain caused her words failed her.

After what felt like an eternity the man's onslaught came to an end. As he stepped away Isis rose to her hands and knees to make her escape only to see him rummaging in the suitcase. Her mind immediately leapt to the gun and she began to scrabble to her feet. There was no way she could run faster than he could shoot, especially in her current condition, but she wouldn't just sit there and be executed.

Just as the man turned to her with the gun, the bag of flour freed itself from her stomach and toppled to rest on her feet. It had sprung a small leak giving her ankles a fine coating of powder. The man froze and stared at the ripped bag. His expression changed from cold rage back to cheerfulness and he slowly tucked the gun into his pocket. "Easy there, sweetheart" he said, his voice dripping with forced gentleness. "Now you just stay riiiiiight there- DON'T MOVE- and I'll take that for you."

His syrupy façade only faltered as Isis swayed slightly on her feet. She stilled herself, too afraid to disobey. Though the gun was now in his pocket it would take him only seconds to draw it again.

Between the man's reaction and the way the powder made her feet tingle, it had become obvious to Isis that it was not flour. The man slowly approached her and began to reach for the bag. As he knelt Isis felt the strange sensation of the world falling away from her.

It was her first vision in months.

The man kneels and removes the bag from Isis' feet. He slides his nice shirt up to cover his mouth and nose. He uses his tie to gently brush the remaining powder off her legs and into the bag. All the while he speaks to her in a soothing voice, calling her pet-names and urging her not to move. The platitudes sound like curses when spoken by such a foul person. When all the powder is back in the bag he ties off the leak and carefully sets it behind him. Isis begins to back away but the man draws his gun, aims, and-

Isis was plunged back into the present. The man had paused mid kneel as Isis gasped in shock from the vision. "Hush," he soothed. "Stay still, kiddo. I'll get you all cleaned up and you can be on your way."

"Hold your breath," the Millennium Torc whispered. Isis obeyed.

"Cover your nose." Isis clamped a hand over her nose.

"Kick."

Isis' foot, which was still holding the bag of what she now assumed to be drugs, smashed against the man's chin. It burst with the force of her kick and the man was consumed by a cloud of white powder. Despite the all of the man's caution, Isis' attack took him by such surprise that he gasped before remembering to hold his breath.

"Run," urged the Torc.

Isis didn't need to be told twice. She spun on her heel and sprinted toward the door, adrenaline and fear making her forget how horribly she ached. The man tried to roar out a stream of obscenities, but his words came out in frenzied slurs. As Isis burst out the door of the factory she heard a blast from the gun and the ping of metal as the bullet ricocheted harmlessly off the wall several yards away from her.

She was able to run for several blocks before collapsing against a building, her injuries finally catching up to her. "Keep going," the Millennium Torc ordered. She had a brief vision of the man running out of the building, his eyes wild and his breath quick. His head snapped back-and-forth spastically as he tried to decide which way to go. He noticed the trail of blood specks that she had left behind and began to follow it.

Isis forced herself up and continued on. Each breath she took felt like a knife in her side but she knew she had to keep going. The Torc had bought her some time but it appeared that whatever was in the bag had only energized the man further.

Fortunately she was only a few blocks away from her bag. It was stashed in an industrial dumpster down one of Cairo's many back alleys. She'd memorized its garbage removal schedule a while back and knew she had several days before it would be emptied. It was the perfect place to store her belongings when she needed to travel light.

Isis stood on her toes and tried to push the heavy lid off the dumpster. Stretching her battered body was torturous and, try as she might, the lid wouldn't budge. She was too inured to do what had felt like nothing just a couple of hours ago.

Just as she was about to give up, the Torc made one last demand. "Hide. The man is upon you," it whispered barely perceptibly. Sure enough Isis could hear spastic mumblings, half in Arabic and half in a language she didn't understand, from around the corner.

She planted her hands firmly against the dumpster's lid and summoned up her last bit of strength. With a push so painful it made black spots dance in front of her eyes she was finally able to heft the lid and scramble into the dumpster. She closed it over her, taking care not to let it slam, and hunkered down in the garbage.

She lay with her ear pressed to the wall of the dumpster and listened as the man, still mumbling frantically, rounded the corner and walked towards her. She hardly dared to take a breath lest he hear her. His footsteps made scrabbling noises on the unkept street and she caught the occasional crude insult against her as he passed by her hiding place.

Only when the sounds of his footsteps completely died away did Isis allow herself to relax. She rested her head against her bag and nestled down amongst the refuse. During her stent in Cairo she'd slept in some pretty questionable places, but never anywhere as shameful as in a dumpster. However, in that moment of pain and exhaustion, the garbage felt better than the most comfortable bed. Isis gave a final, painful sigh and drifted off to sleep.

It had been five minutes since Isis had given up.

She awoke to a combination of pain, hunger, and cold. While still warm during the day, Cairo's winter temperatures could plummet to freezing at night. The dumpster kept the wind off of her but the thin metal walls seemed to amplify the cold. Isis reached out blindly and grabbed a handful of what felt like old newspapers and tried her best to pull them over her for warmth. Her efforts hardly helped and even the small movement caused pain to ripple through her.

She ran her hands over her face and sides in an attempt to assess her condition in the dark. Her left eye was swollen shut and her jaw ached at her touch. Her mouth tasted like blood and she realized that she was missing a molar. Dried blood from her nose crusted her chin and chest. Her arms and legs were probably a patchwork of bruises and she had several scrapes and open wounds on her shoulders and knees where she'd hit the ground.

The most concerning issue of all was her side. There were no open sounds but every time Isis took a breath it felt as if she was being stabbed from the inside. She had a horrible suspicion that the culprit was a broken rib. All the other wounds would heal over time on their own but a broken rib, especially one pressing into her side, would take a long time to heal and severely restrict her movement. It would be impossible to pickpocket if she couldn't run away.

Isis gingerly rummaged through her duffel bag until she felt a tattered grocery sack that held a few stale slices of bread and an apple she'd been nibbling on over the last couple days. It was the last of her food. She began to eat a piece of bread without bothering to ration it. It didn't matter anymore. There was nothing left she could do. It was time to give up.

"I do not believe that."

Isis froze. The soft voice seemed to be coming from inside the dumpster with her, but even in the dark Isis was certain she would know if someone else was there. "Who's there?" she asked, her voice hoarse from the congealed blood in her throat.

"Somebody who has been searching for you for quite some time now," the voice responded in classic Egyptian. "Do not be alarmed, Miss Ishtar. I am a friend."

It dawned on Isis that she had heard this voice before. The last time she'd heard it she had been scared to her core. This time, however, she was too exhausted to feel anything beyond annoyance.

"Listen," she rasped, not bothering to conceal the frustration in her voice. "I'm not in the mood for games, or riddles, or threats. I also refuse to talk to the air. Show yourself."

"Ah, that is more what I was expecting from you." A faint shimmer like a heat haze filled the dumpster and began to take shape. Eventually the stranger from the village sat across from her. He was holding the Millennium Ankh out towards her, the tip hovering just above her heart. It gave off a soft light which allowed Isis to see the interior of the dumpster clearly.

The stranger smiled and lowered the Ankh. "Good evening, Miss Ishtar," he said. "I am glad that you are finally ready to speak to me."

"I suppose you're here to take the Millennium Torc," Isis said flatly. "Well go ahead. I'm done with it." She began to unhook the clasp when the man held up his hands in a placating gesture.

"I am not here to take your Millennium Item," he assured her. "I could not even if I wanted to. It is yours and yours alone." He gently touched the Millennium Ankh around his neck. "I have my own Item and as of right now, it is all the responsibility I wish for.

Isis lowered her hands but kept glaring at the man. "What do you want then?" she asked. "Are you here to tell me how badly I've failed? How much of a disappointment I am to my family? Or are you just here to make more threats?" Tears began to roll down her cheeks making her swollen eye and open scratches itch. Her heart began to beat faster and a wave of heat flooded her face. "Why won't you leave me alone?!"

Her annoyance was turning into genuine anger. Up until that day, no matter what Cairo had thrown at her, she had held onto hope that things would get better, that the Torc would start working again, that her brothers would come back to Egypt, and that they could be a family once more. In order to keep her resolve she had pushed all other emotions deep down inside of her. As far as Isis was concerned she didn't have the time or energy to dwell on fear, anger, or pain.

This system had worked fine for as long as she could remember. It had kept her strong in the Tomb and allowed her to survive her father's death and her brothers' betrayal without succumbing to grief. But now she was starting to slip. The last few hours were proving to be too much for her to repress and the sudden appearance of the stranger was the final stroke. Nine months of buried feelings came bubbling up to the surface.

"Who are you?!" she shouted, her anger finally boiling over. Her voice cracked and her ribs sang out in pain. The volume of her outburst filled the dumpster and made her head throb, but she didn't notice. What was a little more pain after all that she'd been through?

The stranger simply gazed back at her, his expression unfathomable. His impassive reaction only angered Isis more.

She slammed her fist against the metal wall, scraping her knuckles and sending a shock of pain down her arm. "Bast's tits!" she cursed. "Answer me!"

The stranger sat motionless.

"How dare you- how dare you- defy me?!" she screamed. It was an old phrase that sprang naturally to her lips. Other familiar words followed close behind. "You insolent fool!" she roared. "You simpleton! You stupid child! You blasphemous cur!" You-! You…"

Her tirade echoed in the small space and rounded back on her. These were words that Isis had heard dozens, if not hundreds, of times directed at her and her brothers. They had cut like a knife and made her feel small and foolish. Hearing them again, especially in her own voice, reignited those feelings of weakness and the trauma of the last few months amplified them beyond what she had ever experienced.

Isis covered her face with her hands and began to sob as her rage dissolved into grief more potent even than the night her brothers abandoned her. She slumped against the dumpster wall and let despair wash over her. The stranger, the dumpster, her injuries, the Millennium Torc, and everything else seemed to drift away until the only things left in the world were Isis and her misery.

She stayed this way, crying so hard it made her chest and sides ache, for what seemed like hours. Eventually her energy waned and her sobs turned into a soft whimper. As she calmed she noticed a warm sensation. It started at her feet and began to spread up her legs and into her torso, easing her physical pain as it went. Slowly she opened her good eye to see the stranger kneeling before her with his hands wrapped around her feet.

"Wh-what are you doing?'" she sputtered.

The man glanced up at her with a look of concern on his face. It was the first time Isis had seen his expression change. "Warming you. Helping you heal. I can not soothe your broken spirit, but I can at least make your wounds easier to bear," he answered. As he spoke the warmth continued to flow up her shoulders and neck, her tension dissolving in its wake. As it moved to her face she found herself able to open her bad eye.

Isis sniffled and wiped some dried blood away from her eyelid. "Thank you," she said. "I… I'm sorry I yelled at you…"

"It is quite alright," the stranger assured her. "Trust me when I say that I have survived far worse than being yelled at. Metaphorically speaking, anyway." He smiled and began to rub her ankles so gently that she couldn't feel his touch. More warmth raced through her. "And you are right to ask who I am," said the stranger. "I know you, Isis Ishtar. I know your family. I know your history. I know your mission. It is only fair that you should know me."

The stranger sat back against the opposite wall of the dumpster and extended his arm. "My name is Shadi."

She grasped his elbow in greeting. "Thank you," she said with a small, wavering smile. "How did you know-" Her words were cut off by a gasp as her hand slipped through Shad's previously solid arm as if it was nothing but mist.

Shadi smiled. "Ah, your Torc has begun to work again. You must be feeling better if you have enough energy to break my corporeal form."

"You're an Akh?" she asked nonchalantly as if meeting disembodied spirits was a common occurrence. Her sudden, unnatural calmness did little to mask her fear. She silently prayed that his strange abilities were simply gifts from the Millennium Ankh.

"Indeed," he replied. "I was born with a sacred duty. However, I was killed before my destined time of passing and there was nobody to inherit my task. Thus the gods saw fit to bind my soul to the Millennium Ankh until my mission is complete."

That didn't bode well. Isis had read about Akhs in the Ishtar family texts. It was said that if someone died with unfinished business, Osiris would combine their Ba (personality) with their Ka (living soul) to form an Akh, a dead spirit that could interact with the living, and send them back to the realm of the living until they were ready to move on. According to the texts they were extremely rare and usually very dangerous. It was said that a good person should have no worldly matters pressing enough to keep them from the afterlife. A wicked person, however, would have their souls tied to greed, power, or worst of all, vengeance. It was said that an Akh seeking vengeance would stop at nothing until it got what it wanted.

Like most kids, Isis had been morbidly fascinated by the idea of ghosts. For a while she had been sure there was an Akh living in the closet outside her room. Once she had even asked her father to tell her more about them. In those days, though still reclusive, Mr. Ishtar had seemed to enjoy it when Isis asked about matters of history and religion. At least one of his children was interested in it, though it was the wrong one.

Isis had expected a history lesson while secretly hoping for a ghost story. Instead her father had flown into a rage seemingly out of nowhere. He had raged at her, yelling that women shouldn't concern themselves with such matters and that she should know her place. Then he accused her of stealing texts from his private collection. She had broken down into tears and told him that she had learned about them from a common religion scroll, which he immediately confiscated and locked away. She had sworn to him that she would never read of, speak of, or even think of Akhs ever again.

It had been the first time Isis' father lost his temper with her, and it had been more terrifying than any evil spirit she could imagine. However, it had confirmed her suspicions; if a simple question about Akhs upset her father so deeply, then they must be very real, and very dangerous. And here was an Akh that had possessed a Millennium Item. The only more powerful beings she knew of were the gods themselves.

She was completely at his mercy.

"Please, do not be afraid," said Shadi. Isis shifted uneasily. She thought she'd been doing a good job of keeping herself calm but apparently he hadn't been fooled.

"I'm not afraid," Isis lied.

Shadi smiled gently at her. "Yes, you are. I can sense it." He held the Millennium Ankh up between them for Isis to look at. "Do you know the abilities of the Millennium Ankh?" he asked.

"Only a little" she answered. While Malik had learned the intricacies of every Millennium Item, Isis and Rishid had only been allowed to learn the very basics.

"I figured as much. Here." Shadi slipped the Ankh over his head and passed it to Isis. "It's okay, you may hold it," he said in response to her anxious expression. "Take a look. What does it resemble?"

She turned the glowing Ankh over in her hands. As she did, she noticed the notch at the base of the stem. "It looks like a key," she answered.

Shadi nodded encouragingly. "Precisely. And what do you think it unlocks?"

"I know it lets you look at a person's soul. So would it unlock… a soul?" Shadi nodded again. "But I have no idea what that means," she admitted. "It sounds like mind reading, but that's what the Millennium Eye does."

"Ah, good reasoning," Shadi said approvingly. "It does not let me read a person's thoughts in the manner of the Millennium Eye. No, the Ankh is far more powerful than just that. By unlocking someone's soul I gain access to their emotions, their memories, their intellect, and their ambitions. To put it in simple terms, I can see the very essence of their being." He smiled gently. "As you may imagine, detecting your fear did not pose a challenge."

Isis stared at him in awe for a moment, then whispered, "you… you know everything about me? You can see it all?" She raised her hands to her head as if to protect herself from the Ankh.

Shadi made a calming gesture. "I assure you I would never violate your mind in that way. I only use the full power of the Millennium Ankh if I absolutely must. If I am not mistaken, your Millennium Torc will sometimes show you visions you did not request. The Millennium Ankh does something similar. You are radiating fear, along with about a dozen other strong emotions, and the Ankh cannot help but channel them."

Isis relaxed a little and lowered her hands. "Well, okay I guess," she conceded. Still, she didn't relish the idea of someone sensing her feelings and was not yet sure if she could trust Shadi. He seemed sincere, but the man from earlier that day had seemed naive. Seeming wasn't good enough. "You said that the gods sent you back to complete your sacred duty. What is your mission?" she probed, hoping that the Millennium Ankh wouldn't expose her distrust.

A brief look of discomfort crossed Shadi's face only to be instantly replaced by his customary tranquility. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to bother him very much. "I have a duty similar to your brother's. In fact, I myself am a Tomb Keeper," he replied.

This caught Isis' attention. "You're a Tomb Keeper?" she gasped. "Does that mean we're related?"

"Very distantly, yes. Our family branched off from yours a long time ago. We are the clan Shin."

"I thought we were the only Tomb Keepers!" Isis exclaimed. She had known that there were five more Millennium Items that must need protecting but had been discouraged from asking about them. While her fascination with history was smiled upon and her basic understanding of their rituals was a compulsory, her father had made it clear that anything pertaining to the Items and their powers were strictly his and Malik's business. In the interest of self preservation, Isis had not pressed the subject.

Still, she couldn't be sure that Shadi was telling the truth. While Isis desperately wanted to believe him, she'd studied the Ishtar family genealogy and had never seen the name Shin.

"Why have I never heard of you?" she asked.

"I cannot say for certain, but I have my suspicions. I knew your father…" Shadi let the sentence trail off and watched Isis. It seemed like he was waiting for a reaction, but she simply returned his gaze in silence. "I saw his soul," he continued after a moment's hesitation. "He was very, ah, traditional in his views. He most likely did not approve of my family's more proactive approach to protecting our Millennium Items. I believe he did not want you or your siblings to know that there were Tomb Keepers who could interact with the world."

Isis nodded. That certainly sounded like something her father would do. "Is that why the family split up? Because you wanted to go outside?"

Shadi gave a small chuckle and shook his head. "No, not at all. In fact, the decision to divide the family was met with much sorrow. It was, however, necessary. I assume you know about the dangers of grave robbers?"

Isis nodded again.

"Then you can appreciate their predicament," Shadi continued. "While grave robbers have always posed a problem for us, they have never been as bad as they were during the eighteenth and nineteenth century. That time is referred to as 'the Age of Enlightenment.' It was a quest for knowledge that swept across North America, most of Europe and into Africa. Scholars from across the world began to search for any new information they could find."

"That sounds nice," Isis said. It seemed like an endeavor that Malik would enjoy.

"It is true that much good came of it," Shadi conceded. "However, that knowledge came at a high price for many. One thing that fascinated these scholars was ancient people, and in their mind the best way to learn about ancient people was to rob their graves."

Isis grimaced scornfully. "Archaeologists," she sneered. "Yes, I know about them. We have a whole group of servants whose job is to keep them away."

"Be thankful that you did not have to deal with Enlightenment archaeologists, if you can even call them archaeologists," said Shadi, his expression transforming into an uncharacteristic look of bitterness. "In modern times they must follow strict guidelines while excavating, but a mere hundred years ago they took what they wanted with impunity. Countless graves were unearthed. Thousands, if not millions of artifacts were stolen. Bodies were taken and put on display for cheap entertainment. Some especially reprehensible thieves even used mummy skin in the production of medicine and paint."

"That's disgusting!" Isis gasped.

"Indeed," Shadi nodded. "We decided in those times to spread the Millennium Items out. We reasoned that should their resting place be found and sacked, the thieves would only get a few items which could then be more easily recovered."

As Isis listened she became aware of Shadi's odd speech affectation. He spoke of long past events as if he had personally experienced them. She shrugged it off as a strange habit. Regardless, his story made sense. Growing up she had been told stories about archaeologists the way most children were told stories about boogie men. However, she still had several questions.

"Why did you come looking for us in the village?" she asked. "You said that you had no suitable person to inherit your role as Tomb Keeper. Does that mean you left the other items unattended?"

Shadi smiled with approval at her question. "Not as such," he said. "You see, my duty is a little bit more complex than that of your father and brother. I do not merely protect the sacred items. My mission is to use the ancient prophesies along with the powers of the Millennium Ankh to make sure that each Millennium Item reaches its chosen master at the appropriate time. If necessary I train each bearer how to use their item. You may think of me as a shepherd for the Items.

"At the moment, all of the Millennium Items are with their bearers. However, things are not happening the way the scriptures foretold." He glanced down at his hands. Isis watched as they flickered briefly, then solidified once again. "Events which were fated to take place over a number of years have come to pass in mere months. It would appear that someone- or something- can manipulate the flow of destiny. I knew that you and your brother were about to inherit your Millennium Items years before you were ready. That's why I came to find you; to help guide you."

Isis was struck by a pang of guilt at the mention of someone manipulating fate. "Was… was it my fault?" she asked, already fearing the answer. "Did I throw fate off its course by taking Malik outside?"

"No," Shadi answered. "You did nothing to harm fate. The initial incident occurred several weeks before your misfortunes began. And rest assured that no mere human, no matter how willful, could achieve that."

"Still," Isis sighed. "If I had not taken Malik outside none of this would have happened. At least some of the blame is mine." She looked down at her soiled clothes and emaciated form. "I deserve this." She could feel another flood of sorrow coming for her.

Shadi reached out and placed his hand over hers. A wave of warmth shot up her arm and quelled the grief before it consumed her. "Miss Isis… my dear cousin," he said quietly. "I sense the weight you bear. You are burdened by a measure of guilt that nobody should have to carry. I wish I could take it away from you, but even using my Millennium Ankh I can only ease your pain temporarily. All that has happened was destined to happen. It is not your fault."

Isis didn't answer. Shadi's words were kind but she was sure she was more at fault than he claimed.

"Would it help if I showed you other possible outcomes?" he asked. "I saw into the souls of the men pursuing you, Paki and Nizam, the day you left the Tomb for good and I found some disturbing ambitions."

Isis glanced up at Shadi, her interest piqued even through the haze of guilt. "What were they plotting?" she asked.

"I believe that if fate had moved at its correct pace, you would have been married to Paki in a few years' time to secure their role in your family. Then upon your father's death, they planned to manipulate Malik into leaving the Tomb and seeking out the other items so that they could assume their powers and use them for selfish means."

As he spoke, Shadi raised the Ankh and positioned it just over Isis' forehead. She had to stop herself from staring at it cross-eyed. "If that had been the case, you and your brothers would have united to thwart them and come into your Items in the right time. However, with fate the way it is now…"

There was a burst of gold light and a sensation of movement as Isis was plunged into a vision. Unlike the immersive nature of her visions this one flickered by in a series of images, each one lasting no more than a few seconds. The effect was similar to watching a faulty television.

The vision began, First there was the Tomb. She saw her father sitting at a table, reading from a text. As soon as she looked at him, she knew he was in a foul mood. It had nothing to do with his actions or anything he said. The knowledge simply seeped in from out of nowhere. Furthermore, she knew he was in a rage because he had caught Malik trying to sneak out of the Tomb the previous day.

The vision changed. Suddenly Paki and Nizam were there. They wanted to discuss the future. They had just said something that upset her father. He was in no mood to think about that. Who were they to suggest such an arrangement? It was his choice, not theirs.

The vision changed. Her father's mood had shifted from seething anger to an unbridled rage. He was yelling at the men. Nizam held up his hands pacifyingly. He wanted to calm the situation. Paki was glowering. Now he was starting to lose his temper. He had been working for this family all his life. He deserved power. He deserved privilege. He deserved Isis.

The vision changed. Paki was standing over her father. Her father's eyes were open, staring at nothing. His face was bruised and some of his bones were broken. Paki's knuckles were bloody. It hadn't been difficult. Master Ishtar, though not yet an old man, was weakened from more than a decade of too little food and too much mourning. Paki however was a strong young man. Nizam was horrified, but already plotting how to conceal the murder He was going to frame Rishid. Malik was peaking in through the doorway completely unnoticed by the men.

The vision changed. Malik had the Millennium Rod. He was using it to torture Paki. Nizam was already dead. So much rage poured out of him that it made Isis ill.

The vision changed. She, Rishid, and Malik were standing outside among the ruins. They were having nearly the exact same fight they'd had nine months ago. Malik blamed the Pharaoh for Nizam and Paki's actions. During the argument with their father, Nizam had spoken of the will of the Pharaoh. From there, thing happened exactly as they had in reality, except there were now three bodies instead of one.

The vision faded away and Isis was back in the dumpster, staring at Shadi in dumbfounded silence. "That- that is what would've happened?!" she spluttered when she was finally able to speak.

"I cannot say for certain, but based on their souls, previous actions, and the prophesies, that is my best prediction," Shadi answered. "My Ankh does not allow me see the future like your Torc, but it does allow me to see the past and present so clearly that predicting people's future actions becomes a simple matter, and I have had much practice.

"In any case, you can see that what happened is not your fault. No matter what you had done that day, your father would still have died, Malik and Rishid would still have run away, and you would still be where you currently are." As Shadi spoke, a rare smile began to cross Isis' lips. Though the vision had been disturbing to put it mildly, the knowledge that she had not single-handedly destroyed her family filled her with relief. She knew that Shadi was right; it would take her a long time to completely let go of the guilt. She had still transgressed horribly by smuggling Malik out of the Tomb and despite what she'd been told was sure she'd caused at least some of what had happened, but in that moment she felt as light as a feather.

Shadi smiled and pated Isis companionably on the head. "What matters now is that you learn how to use the Millennium Torc, and that's why I am here. Of all the Millennium Items, it may be the most challenging to master. But you are its chosen one and should be proficient very soon, especially since you have already had almost a year of practice with it."

This immediately snuffed out Isis' glimmer of hope. For all of the Millennium Ankh's powers, it seemed that Shadi was unaware of her failure with the Torc. "I… I don't think I'm the Torc's chosen one," she admitted. "It hasn't worked for me in months. I just get a headache when I try to use it, and the only visions it sends me are nightmares. It gave me a vision today, but only because I was about to die."

Isis began to fiddle with the Torc as she spoke. It had become something of a nervous habit. Sometimes she woke up because she'd been holding it so hard in her sleep that the Eye of Horus left marks on her palm. "Shadi, it doesn't want me. I failed."

"Failed?" Shadi repeated incredulously. "You have not failed. Far from it. Please, tell me you know what powers the Millennium Torc possesses."

"It shows me the future," Isis said with a shrug. "That's about it, right?"

Shadi sighed and shook his head. "Your arrogant, archaic father deserved everything he got. The nerve of leaving one of his children unprepared," he hissed. "But that is beside the point. No, that is not all the Millennium Torc can do. The morning you left the Tomb we met in the village. I was there to guide you to safety and teach you how to use the Torc, but I unwittingly chose a horrible time to appear and you fled. The power of my Millennium Ankh allows me to sense souls from vast distances, especially if they are entwined with my sacred mission. Why do you think I did not pursue you? For that matter, why do you think I approached you when you were so full of fear?"

This caused Isis to pause. "I… I don't know. When I woke up in the Rahal's house I was so relieved that I didn't think much about it. I actually assumed that you were a hallucination from exhaustion. Then you mentioned seeing Paki and Nizam and I assumed that they distracted you."

"They did distract me, but only for a moment," Shadi answered with a smile. "And I might add that I am delighted you met Kakra. Now I feel a fool for not seeking her out immediately."

"Who's Kakra?" Isis asked.

"Ah, one moment," Shadi said, then made small upward gesture with the Millennium Ankh in her direction. "Oh I see she's using her Saudi name now. You know her as 'Farah.'"

"You know Farah?" Isis asked in surprise. "How?"

Shadi smiled and shook his head. "Now is not the time to discuss her. If she withheld her identity from you, she had a good reason to do so. For now, let us just think of her as a family friend. More to the point, why do you think it took me nearly a year months to find you?"

Isis just shrugged.

"And why do you think you can break my corporeal form so easily? Would you like to hazard a guess?"

While Isis didn't know the specifics, it was fairly clear where these questions were guiding her. "It has something to do with the Millennium Torc," she said.

"Indeed," Shadi confirmed. "The Millennium Torc has three powers: it shows you the past, it predicts the future, and it defends the bearer's present, especially from other Millennium Items. For nine months it has made you invisible to my Millennium Ankh. Even during our discussion tonight it has been preventing me from reading some of your feelings. In fact," Shadi grinned, "this has been one of the most interesting conversations I have had in quite a long time for that reason."

"How?!" Isis gasped. "I never even knew it could do that."

"It's a passive ability. It decided that I was a threat based on your discomfort toward me and hid you. In nine months, the concealment only wavered once and that was earlier this day. You mentioned that you had your first vision in a long time today?"

Isis was sitting up as straight as she could with her injuries. "Yes!" she answered, desperate to hear more.

Shadi nodded. "I am certain that is when the Millennium Torc stopped hiding you from me. Like all Millennium Items, it takes energy to use the Torc's powers. Based on the emotions I read while you slept as well as your appearance, I am correct in assuming that you are quite exhausted most of the time, both physically and mentally?"

Isis cringed at the thought of having her soul read while she slept, but Shadi was right. "I've been tired for a long time," she confirmed.

Once again, Shadi took her hand and sent a wave of heat through her body. "Indeed," he said. "That is why you have not been able to use your Torc to the fullest extent of its abilities. You only have enough energy for one power at a time and it chose protection from you. And not merely protection from me. It has been subtly guiding you through the streets of Cairo. This is a dangerous city and the fact that it took you nine months to have a violent interaction is miraculous considering how sheltered you were."

"I was also poisoned," Isis interjected. "It didn't stop that."

Shadi raised his eyebrows pointedly. "Did you die from the poison?" he asked.

"No, I stumbled into a Mosque and… got help…" Isis only had a handful of blurry memories from the poisoning. She remembered stumbling down a street and entering an open door at random, then waking up on a cot.

"There you have it," Shadi responded. "You have not failed, Isis. You have been effectively working with the Millennium Ankh for months. Truly, you are the chosen bearer."

Isis found herself unable to stop smiling. "I'm not a failure," she repeated.

"Not at all," Shadi confirmed, matching her smile. "And as you practice with it, your skill will grow immensely. I look forward to teaching you, dear cousin."

"Thank you!" she exclaimed. "I am so eager to start! Wen can we- aaugh!"

Isis' words were cut off by a sharp pain in her side. In her excitement she had tried to sit up on her knees. It had been a mistake.

"Slow down," Shadi said. "The Millennium Ankh can only help soothe your pain. It cannot heal broken bones and open wounds."

Isis sighed in disappointment and eased back down onto the old newspapers that carpeted the dumpster. She had almost forgotten her injuries. "How does the Ankh soothe pain?" she asked, hoping to distract herself from the freshly revived discomfort.

"In simple terms, it convinces your mind that you cannot feel pain," he answered. "But there will be plenty of time for questions and answers when you have recovered. For now…" Shadi held the Millennium Ankh to her forehead once again. This time, instead of a vision, Isis felt herself becoming drowsy. Her body slumped against the dumpster wall of its own accord. "Sleep."

The command was impossible to ignore. The last thing Isis remembered before drifting into a deep sleep was a feeling that she hadn't experienced in almost a year.

It was the sense of warmth and safety that comes only from family.

Isis pulled her Duel Monsters deck out of its drawstring bag. To most of the world, it was simply a toy. To her it was both an outward expression of her soul and a tool of immense power. She absent-mindedly cut the deck and examined the card she had stopped at. She didn't need the Torc to predict which one it would be. It was always her favorite.

"Blast Held by a Tribute."

It was prepared to give up everything for its family.

And so was she.

#Yu Gi Oh!#yu gi oh #yugioh #isis ishtar #Ishizu #Ishizu Ishtar #marik ishtar #malik ishtar #odion ishtar #Rishid Ishtar #shadi #shadi shin #yugioh dm #yu gi oh duel monsters #fanfiction

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