The night was Arabian, as Arabian day. More often than not, truly this was hot, but far more in the terrible ways. Winds from the east meant nothing. The sun grew west here, and it only burned to emphasis the dormant chaos that lay within its anticipating sands, watching… waiting… waiting for something dark.
Two camels strode in the night, softly, slowly, respected by their owners in regards to their poor health. Upon camel, a skinny man of thirty, his hair properly oiled and slicked beneath his scarlet turban, a well sharpened scimitar hoisted to his side. He was ready. He was anticipating. His companion was far more subtle, a shorter man but no less intently prepared within the face. He concealed his face behind a fat face wrap, but around his neck he adorned the use of golden chains that bore red rubies on its ends. The sign of a rich man, who refused to bestow upon any the honor of looking at him.
The sands of the desert were intense, the camels stumbling even after years of experience in these kinds of terrain, at some points even sinking, as if the pre-glass were quick with moisture. But these lands here was cursed. It had not rained in two hundred years, and probably never would again. Thanks to the Cave. Thanks to the man who had constructed the Cave…
Their destination, of course, was the cave. The cave was needed because the proof of it all was required to see. To acknowledge its existence was no less rewarding than what that acknowledgment would bring about: incentive. The taller man of proper hold fingered the sword at his side with care. He was ready for anything.
"Kayfa haluk?" the swordsman asked the richer man, inquiring to his health at the moment, for the journey from Palantir's Frost had been hard upon both of them, in this accursed land of nightly burning air and sulfur scented earth.
"Anaa bikhayr shukran," replied the rich man from behind his shroud, but his voice suggested that he was lying. He was not fine. Not in any way. No, he was far from it, and the swordsman knew this, because he was in every way the same. No man could be "fine" in this hellhole of a wasteland. No man could even be remotely positive to travel its fiery inclinations for anyone foolish enough to think that they could best its sands. The old ones, high Rubians who had once demanded submission of the native people, would take this as challenge, and the demons would be more than happy to submit them to harder trials if they lied with the promise of "being fine".
"Ana Aasif," the swordsman apologized. The sands of this land depressed him that they had had to come to these great lengths just to clarify what he already knew in his heart. The Cave had to be close. The merchants in Agrabah had spoken of the Twin Spike Rocks. Well, they had passed the two landmarks more than an hour ago, and had kept north as instructed by the local people. Surely, it had to be close. Surely, it had to be waiting for them, for in its accursed state, it could not be fooled. It was smart, alive even. The swordsman was not so foolish that he refused to believe that a possibility. Legends always have truth to them. Olympians who were truly demons in disguise, forcing people to worship them in false idolization. The terrible Tall Men of the Black Forest, sneaking away the souls of children to eat within the privacy of the night, in truth the tall tribals of the eastern flock, who lived in the ways of cannibalism and witchcraft… every legend was true, to some extent, only ridiculed with fabrication.
So, the Cave of Wonders… what fabrication poisoned it these days? What legends had survived out of its depths to give the place a newfound sense of horror and local superstition. They had inquired to the stories back in the city, back in Agrabah. Our city was attacked by the Cave, only a few years ago… a madman there was, a sorcerer who had once served as advisor to the sultan… he tried to destroy the world, ripped the palace apart and used whole buildings as projectiles against one man… a genie he was, powerful, twisted corruption, too…
Indeed, the name of Jafar was quite feared in Agrabah, even though the madman had been dead for three years now, killed by a local hero that the people referred to by the name of "Aladdin". To think that such a man could instill such a fear, even after he was dead and gone and not coming back… this was why the Cave of Wonders needed clarification. An incentive to make the proper approach was in order. To see where all that power had come from…
"Laa afham," the rich man grunted after a while, as he began to fight back sleep where he sat upon his animal's back. The swordsman nodded. He did not understand, either. They should have come across it, by now. Why? Why could they not find it!?
After several minutes, the swordsman finally pulled his steed to a halt, and the rich man thankfully mimicked the motion. They were stood upon a tall dune, still with not in a landmark as far as they eye could see, no indication whatsoever that any Cave of Wonders awaited them here… where was it? How long would it be before they died in vain, attempting to reach that which clearly could never desire to be found?
"Min faDlik," the swordsman sighed, his heart breaking as he fell face first from his camel and into the sand. He was too tired, too overwhelmed by the powerful pressure of the wastes. His camel reared back and trotted away from him, most disloyally, and the rich man gasped, jumping down from his steed at once as he ran over to drop down beside the swordsman. The man was crying into the earth, clawing at the very sand…
He sobbed as he begged Allah to give him a sign, a meaning. Please, guide me, for I am empty in the sands. Please, help me, for I know nothing of this land. I am bound by invisible chains and ask that You set me free…
The rich man did not know what could be done, and merely stroked the swordsman's shoulder, offering him words of comfort in a way to install peace. As he held the man in place, allowing him to take out his frustration upon the sands, a silent understanding passed between the two of them. Words in thought. A telepathic connection. The rich man spoke first. A mind speech between two people who knew such magic would work better in a way than to use their mouths physically, for both were far too tired to shear at their throats.
Did you ever think that perhaps we were going to find the easy path?
Of course I did not. How could I ever have seen that coming? I had assumed, by the fury of the tales, that it would be little less than a suicide… but I had to see it… I had to know…
And has this journey taught you nothing? Has the heat and terrain instructed you little? The entire quest was your clarification, son. The intensity of the journey, and the lives that have been wasted in this pursuit. The death toll itself told us of our clarification long ago. We were never meant to reach the end, because that is all this journey consists of: anguish. Loathing.
Don't get poetic with me! I HAVE to see. Don't you understand? Because if I can see it, I can touch it. And if I can touch it… then I can TAKE it!
And what exactly are you going to be taking, Attuck?
Taking? What will there not be for the taking?
Treasures untold? How many wonders can one old cave hold? The riches of man mean little to the man who is rich enough in mind to see that foolishness only leads to decimation.
Riches? Riches!? You think this about riches!?
"Lih," the rich man nodded, affirming his belief that the swordsman did desire riches. What man would not be tempted by beauty, whether in bodily form or that of gold? Men were sinful. Men desired. What man could take, he took, and what feelings of envy he held, he would use a thousand fold. The swordsman stood to his feet, turning on the rich man at once.
"La!" he fought back, refusing the suggestion.
I am not going to become a pig bred from man's flesh! That cave has so much more in it than you could ever imagine!
When I undertook this journey with you, it was for this reason alone: you aspired to discover the truth of your brother's demise, and your heart was set upon bringing the murderer to justice. It was noble, because you were a smart man and could be more practical in the situation than any other being possibly could! I saw that potential, and aimed to give you a chance! I wanted to protect you from making an idiotic mistake!
I fully intend to stick to that former ground, Amal! I am not afraid! I never have been afraid to take this upon myself! That cave holds a secret. A secret answer to the folklore of the land. A genie indeed!
But you have already seen that power like that exis-
You fail to understand! Attuck was getting very frustrated now. His anger was getting the better of him, and he had begun to sweat madly. The rich man, whose name was indeed Amal, backed away only a little, but in his age, at his level of wisdom, he knew better than to stray far. Attuck was young, and needed guidance. He was filled with an intent mission, but even in the young man's wisdom, he knew not everything. And he belonged to a family who thrived on the obsession to fulfill a goal: that the goal become a "god" in their eyes, and to fail in that goal meant to them that they had failed their "god". You fail to understand this! I KNOW that this power exists, but I am not so foolish as to actually fulfill the mistake that so many others before me have made! I know the difference between righteous anger and unjust vengeance, Amal! People ask little questions in deciding the necessity of justice in the name of their loved ones. They act without researching, act without a simple knowledge of the truth that could impact everything that they do! I need to see because I need to know. Is my pursuit righteous, or is it unjust? To strive for justice in the name of a monster… what would that mean for me? If I see where it all came from, if I study hard enough, I can see whether or not my incentive to seek that justice is needed! You understood this when you agreed to tail along with me! If you doubt my intentions, doubt my ability to reason all of this, then LEAVE, Amal.
He stood stony to the spot, breathing hard, his fists clenched in anger as he beheld the rich man before him, contesting him to challenge that which he has established for himself. But the rich Amal was far wiser than him, far superior in the mental arts of experience, for he had seen so much, lived through far worse… he had not become rich by living the life of thief or a conqueror. His family had fought for their wealth, and fought hard. They had lost many lives, bathed in their own blood for centuries… Amal himself was a war hero, and he knew well the power of the inclination of justice. If indeed Attuck's brother was guilty and undeserving of justice, then he had to place a hope, a strong faith, that Attuck would reason the deservingness of it. He was not so much a fool that he would stand in the name of a murderer… in the name of a false god, no less.
Amal had heard the stories revolving around Attuck's brother. This land whispered that terrible name every night, in hopes that the reminder of him would ensure that they kept the strength to always fight his spirit, and his memory. By staying close to him, they could ensure that the gap widened. By dedicating mind to the man, they could ensure that he could never haunt their thoughts. It worked as much as it had following in the perception of Eden Lost. To know good, you had to see evil. Otherwise, why would you pursue to overcome it, if you could not recognize it? How could a snake be allowed to tempt mankind into sin, if we could not use that terrible event to see why we needed Goodness in our lives? In that regard, the people of this land, the children of Agrabah, especially, knew that in order to combat the evil that poisoned their minds by the thought of the dark one, they could ensure that his own life became a lesson unto them. Like the betrayer Judas Iscariot or the First of Eden, those who brought upon wickedness were in every way some of the greatest teachers.
I am not going to question your wisdom, Attuck… I just want to make sure that you are ready to accept whatever consequences arise from all of this. You are young, and questionable. A true man who holds the proper wisdom, Attuck, acknowledges his flaws as stepping stones. Can you do that?
You had better believe it, Amal. Flawed as a man can be, he can learn from it… especially if the major flaws are branching off from close blood.
I am sure that the people of this land could never acquaint you to your brother in any way, other than one remarkable quality that the two of you share: your inclination to fulfill. The power that you put behind your dedication speaks volumes, Attuck, as they did for him. And whether or not he chose the wrong path and you chose the right one, what matters is your both fell on your faces. A child who is allowed to fall upon his face will do so seldom, in his remaining days. Your brother, pampered as he was in his pursuit of power… he knew from the beginning what he was getting himself into. And you, Attuck, your wisdom ensure this: you are ready.
Of course I'm ready… Attuck slid down to sit upon the sand and stared out into the horizon. How could I not be? People's lives could very well be at stake after I see all that I need to see. What kind of power is that, to bear? Determining fate itself as a way of inciting justice. It terrifies me.
It terrified me, too, when I stood upon the hill of Samaria Incarnate, and held the sword of my father Jokul at his killer's throat. When his blood spilled, it emptied me, for years did it empty me, because I had exacted the revenge in fury, in hatred, not in purpose or need. He had been defeated, his legs broken by my brother's staff, and the town of Ishmal Port lay only five miles to the east. But I did not take him there, to be subjected to the law of the land and the punishment that it entitled upon murderers like him. No. I took on that responsibility for myself, and in my haste, I became nothing less than the man who died by my hand: a creature of a human being, who killed because he had seen no other way, as the killer had when he had taken my father's life out of a desperation to steal gold, so that he may eat for a week. Desperation led to a kill on both of our parts: I thought not of allowing him to see the error of his ways, locked away in a prison cell for the rest of his life, or perhaps for one night, pending execution. No. I took an initiative and gave the matter several years of thought afterwards, as he haunted me in my sleep.
There is no justification for murder… or theft…
No, there is not, nor would I ever dare to be the man who would make sure an accusation… but here in it lies the truth: a man with initiative holds life in his hands, and he can screw up, no matter how good his wisdom is entitled to himself. The righteous, you see, are seldom found in the ones who take little time in discovering what that means!
And you are saying I know little of righteousness in this regard!?
I am saying you know little of initiative! If you believe in the local tales, believe in the stories of the people who fear and who detest the black arts, then you should never have left Oru-dan. You would have been safer in contemplating the possibility that you should have taken an initiative, than to throw yourself into the fray without truly knowing if it was needed!
Then you should not have come with me!
I came because I had to protect you from yourself!
Then you waste your time. I have an initiative, and it is to investigate. So, you are bound by the choice to aid in that search, or to sit back upon your camel and leave this place before the sands take you. He stood up once more, and threw himself back onto his own camel, staring down at the rich man, who, although his face was concealed, teared in his visible eyes, which punctured through a gap in the cloth like fire. I have to know the truth. To see how this madness started. It's a duty and I am going to take it on with or without your help, Amal. But if you truly think my soul in need of guidance, then hop onto your camel and off into the night with me. We'll ride until our camels die of the tiredness, and we have to crawl upon the sands to discover the Cave for ourselves… He looked into the dark horizon, his heart swelling with intentness. I do this for my brother. I do this for Jafar.