Title: Not Without a Price
Author: Rissa85
Part: 2
Author's Note: Part two, yay! The real action starts now. Feel free to write comments and reviews.
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She awoke to an amulet already glowing, her blood feeling as hot as molting lava, her heartbeats faster than galloping camels. The legitimate arguments posed by Aladdin the night before donned her with fitful sleep, and she drug herself to the porcelain vanity.
The first thing she noticed were eyes. Too large for her tired and dried face. Her eyes. Red-rimmed with salty-tears. Her eyes which held so many secrets of humiliation and greed.
She could no longer stand them.
Grabbing a flask, almost reflexively, she smashed the colored glass against the mirror, turning from her reflection. The glass cracked, the shards falling across the vanity and a few cascading to the polished floor.
Good that there's magic. Sadira thought, looking at the shards.
Seeing more flasks channeled her fury, the mirror had not all been destroyed but cracked and dozens of her aquamarine eyes stared back at her. With condescension and blame, and a hint of shame and mysteriousness. So much like her life. The flasks crashed against the mirror destroying the shards, the colored pieces falling to the floor, making a tinkling noise.
She again turned from the mirror, standing up, the seat turning over from her furor and desperate internal struggle. She imagined what her body would look in the mirror. So used, cheap. A tool. Occasionally a tool. She remembered incidents, her stomach growling for days. Her mind accompanied by fatigue and weariness. With no possessions, no talents save for stealing and lying. She did what she could. She sold her body.
The first time, she was so desperate and grateful for money that the aftershock of the effect did not hit her until well after the action. Only after her hunger had subsided, the customer long gone, had she felt the overwhelming guilt, her body dirty and used. Though, it wasn't the first time. She had been raped, in the alley-a town faraway, where she grew up in an orphanage until finally slipping away. Just another damn runaway.
The effect was astonishing, only a small girl, only eight years of age. She didn't even know how to cope with her already miserable childhood. Always the quiet child, she kept more to herself. The more mysterious, the less chance of becoming hurt. Sneaking off into the night to play a game with small children, trying to outwit the orphan mistress. Somehow, she had gone astray from the group and was lured into a dark alley by a shrouded man, where forcibly, his hot breath and hand on her mouth, she was taken.
She winced her eyes. The effect had not fled.
The blood dripping from her, the aching between her legs. The pounding of her head. And the overwhelming sense of being dirty and cheated. Later, she hobbled into the orphanage where she received a beating from the awful orphan mistress. Being the only one out late, she received a thrashing that produced welts on her tiny body in front of the other children who remained silent, refusing to acknowledge her in their ruse.
Her first act of prostitution was better than her first act of intercourse. Albeit, it was a drunken fool in the latter. Again, in her old town. At night, so desperate for food. It was over quickly, with a sack of gold coins tossed in her direction without so much as a look. Perhaps she did not deserve a look. Again, the cheap feeling. The dirty feeling of being used. But what could she do? No talent save for stealing and lying. And her body.
During her stay in a village a nice woman had managed to see her potential. So charitable, she never asked Sadira's name, nor given hers. Through her charity, her beautiful body managed to capture the attention of a palace attendant who took her home with him, offering her gifts and money, all to attend him. She knew what he wanted. He wanted a whore. And through greed and self-denial, she submitted. How else would she live?
Through him, she managed to obtain silk, satins; his name was a blur in her memory. Secretary to royal treasurer, making a hefty sum and giving Sadira much of the latter. What a high-priced whore she was, and she knew it. Wheedling information out of him which would ultimately lead to his demise. Her head, always scheming, through her own mind made her a better treasurer than he. And when she was to be appointed another treasurer to the Sultan, her former 'patron' became jealous. Conspiring against her, she had found. To rid damage to her reputation for his masculinity was damaged by her to-be higher position, she slain him.
Her stomach revolted against the thought, already feeling the bile rise in her throat at the memory, she held her breath.
From there, a journey of embezzlement from one kingdom to the next. Presently, she was late for a meeting with Xerxes' master-A Mozenrath. From the dinner in Agrabah.
She stole herself to her elaborate wardrobe. All sorts of colored satins which complimented her skin and her guarded teal-hued eyes. Slippers, shiny and polished, all fitting to the last degree of comfort. Dozens of tops and dresses sheer and not sheer. And she looked down, the even surface of the polished floor, underneath was a small pit of coins, in case she ever became too desperate. No, she would never resort to harlotry ever again.
The dirtiness, the cheapness. It was not worth the few coins she could wrestle. She passed her wardrobe. And a rough cloth attracted her attention, a dark grayish cloth. Former street-rat wear. Listlessly, she grabbed it, memories rushing her mind, and her mind was set upon it.
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She was very late. His impatience increased. His full lips set in a distasteful grimace. A figure walked slowly in the room, gripping yet a another figure. Draped in all gray cloth, concealing hair and all, to the polished slippers it wore. The mamuks, the dead souls walking, securing his kingdom, their decayed bodies poorly concealed in black sand. They were awaiting his command and the captive held no response.
"Kill that." He muttered.
"Mozenrath?" the figure spoke quietly but with underlying authority. The mamuks set on killing her. It was a woman. It had to be, the feminine voice. Sadira.
"You've a fine time to show." His mood was evident.
"My apologies, Mozenrath. I had trouble in my palace." The mamuks had stopped, awaiting his orders, he waved his hand to dismiss them, and with intermittent steps, sluggish steps, they fled. He watched her, pulling back the hood of her long and concealing gray cloak. Dark and full hair, dark skin, and aquamarine eyes, hardened. An arcane austerity.
She spoke with confidence, "Your zombies. From magic?" she inquired.
"Yes." His answer was concise, never using more words than necessary.
"You wanted to meet with me. I was told you're a sorcerer. From Xerxes, your eel?" her voice was tinged with monotony.
He was silent, and simultaneously she felt her gem, concealed under her cloak, warm her blood, the familiar glow of magenta surround her. The puissance was comforting, but strange that she should feel such a rush of power here. Just the object she wanted to conceal had become so bright that it was illuminated under her cloak.
She looked over, the black glove glowing so dark it seemed not to be glowing. A black light. The room was illuminated by it. The torches in the room had burned out, Xerxes had fled, and with wide eyes Sadira had seen her jewel and his glove float toward the middle of the air, where her jewel rested in the palm of the glove.
A sickly warm-ness brought her to her breastbone, where it had been gnawed to the bone by the jewel. Her bone, her flesh, and placing her hand to her breastbone, a wet sensation rested on her fingertips. Blood. Looking across the room, she saw Mozenrath's skeletal hand.
The amulet then floated back to her breastbone, where it rapidly latched to her breastbone, piercing her skin which caused her a moment of intense pain and discomfort.
The two lights dissipated, until the amulet was only left with its own faint magenta glow, and the glove, with its own black light. The torches lighted themselves again and all was perfectly reticent.
"This is why you summoned me?" she questioned, breathlessly. "A daring move."
"A daring response. My glove emitted a tingling sensation at the Grand Palace gathering. More potent than usual. Through investigation, I found it to be that amulet." He gestured toward her breastbone. "With it, we could become the most powerful beings in the land."
"I need more investigation." She countered. "I'll summon you when I've found something."
His snarl was a comment. "These gems have never been brought together before. What more investigation can you retrieve?"
She gave no response, but tapped her head in thought with her index finger. "Patience and observation are acts of the wise."
"Considering your tardiness, and my patience with that, and my research and observation of the gems now, it seems a likely conclusion, Sadira…. that it may be, I am wise." His face twitched with insult.
Sharing power with him permanently did not reap positive thoughts in her mind, but temporarily it might be helpful. And so forcing down a fireball of insults, she smiled a sour smile full of deference and feigned humbleness. "Forgive me if I have insulted you, it was not intended to be so. I will summon you after more thought and will attempt research in your wait."
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Night had fallen, and in the cool of the desert night Sadira was glad for her covered gray tunic which hid her ostentatious amulet which she was presently annoyed with because of its innate tendency to reveal its shining luminance in the most inappropriate situations. This thought brought her back to the conversation with Mozenrath. The two objects had not been brought together. But it was too much to ponder at the moment and she settled to climb the last two crates to the small hide-out she had set up for the little children she found herself growing increasingly attached to.
She pulled back the thick worn cloth she had put up to keep beggars and the suspicious from thinking it any more than a dirty hovel. Near every night, she found herself spending time with these children. And she looked around. The place did not look awful, for her pains, of course.
Magic was not an inconvenience to use, although producing the comforts in the hovel had drained her considerably. A small fainting couch, one gigantic bed with marvelous pillows and linen, the floor wooden, through another small door was a room with a cupboard with food she would supply with at the beginning of each week, and a table with four chairs, for she ate dinner with the children also. In another small doorway was her room, which was tiny compared to the enormous one at her palace, but comfortable, and the bed was sizable which Izedin often climbed into and snuggled against her.
"Izedin! Danereth! Aveina! I've got a story to read to…you." Her tone gradually slurred from charming and enthusiastic to one of disgust and reluctance. A dark head with tanned skin, oddly enough without a turban switched his head from the children sitting around him, enchanted with his strong and masculine voice.
"Why, Aladdin…" She feigned her pleasant surprise, all the while damning him under her breath. "It's near time for dinner, why…" her voice rose, "…is there trouble in the Royal Palace?"
Aladdin, always patient, always calm, guilelessly looked up with soft eyes. "I came to story-tell, Jasmine, you see, is sick and I decided to spend my time with Danereth, Izedin, and Aveina while she takes her rests, until she becomes better…I don't like them out here by themselves at night or by day. You give them unsafe amounts of money. All they would need is to be robbed."
"Until you give them money, then maybe you should keep your mouth shut!" she hissed, irritated with his condescending tone, so deftly concealed in a masque of feigned sincerity. The children, hearing her raised voice and his calm responses looked up at her with their large eyes, the look of innocence prevalent.
Sadira closed her eyes, feeling her pulse return to its normal state, attempting to calm her frayed nerves. How often it was that she was irritable, especially at intervals such as this, when her consciousness plagued her with past images she'd rather forget, and the pressure of a distant accomplice urging a potent bond through greed was not aiding her in relaxation.
Their wide eyes looking up at her with their innocence, often she herself wished for someone to look up. She had never had anyone she wanted to imitate, no one to copy their speech, or their gestures, their wear, or their personality. No one but herself. But now, in this light, she felt responsible. A pristine kind of example, one she wished to enjoy for once.
"You look like you've had a rough day." Aladdin commented, at once seeing her furrowed brows and weary expression, something had flickered in her eyes, and she had sufficed a tired smile. Not to him, but towards the small children listening to him, as he continued his story.
"I've had a rough day." She held her head, "Aladdin, would you please be so kind as to make the children dinner? It's in the cupboard, the wood is next to the coal pit on the floor. The fresh fish is in the other room, follow to your right." Her speech was slow but precise as she attempted to dilute her irritation with tranquility. "I'm going to take a faint rest." Her deliberate steps exited to the small room that belonged to her and drawing the think cover over the entranceway, she went to nap.
"Is she sick?" Izedin questioned, his frightened expression meeting Aladdin's gaze and interrupting his tale of a poor child who finds a charitable patron and then becomes rich.
"Oh, she isn't. She's had a bad day and probably has a headache. She works hard." He answered warmly.
"I wish you could live with us, at night like her." Izedin's smile was contagious, and modestly Aladdin replied. "I have my own place to go home to. But I'll come over when I can." His promise was sincere, though in the back of his mind, he wondered how he would be able to keep his 'slipping' from the palace a secret for long.
Her suspicions never seemed to cease and he felt as if under a microscope lens when inside the palace. The guards, obviously watching him, never trusting a had-been street rat. The Sultan, always talking and commenting on his young ruling days. Jasmine, constantly scrutinizing and chatting,. Iago quiet but always forming some kind of cynical or sarcastic remark. And Genie who seemed to always make joke in the most inappropriate of situations. Carpet and Abu, on the other hand, where quiet and he was thankful of them.
Izedin, Danereth, and Aveina, as he found out their names had an insatiable appetite for hearing stories, and being dear, they almost never interrupted and followed him into the pantry while he fixed dinner for them on the coal pit. It had been so long, years since he had fixed his own meal and it brought back intense memories. Of him and Abu, before he fell in love with Jasmine, on top of a fruit stand, eating melon and watching the common folk go by, wishing for nothing, except to never have to wonder where the next meal is coming from.
The meal was good and as the smell of cooking fish wafted through the atmosphere. Sadira, expectantly pulled back the thick cover and trudged in, replying on how good the smell was, and feigning complaint that her food never smelt as good as his when she cooked. Aladdin didn't eat, though, he was full from the palace dinner that left him feeling stuffed, but he watched as Sadira dished the salmon onto each ceramic plate and then a loaf of coarse bread and fruits. A large jug was in the corner of the room with an airtight seal and sweet fruit juice was given to everyone.
After the meal had been cleared and Sadira used soap shavings to wash the plates with water , the plates went back in the cupboard and the children immodestly changed for bed, though Sadira commented that Aladdin should divert his eyes to the little ones which he did, feeling for once, a hint of irresponsibility and childishness. It was a missed feeling.
The youngsters went to sleep swiftly as Aladdin promised them that tomorrow they could look at the animals. Questioningly, Sadira wanted to know what animals and where. Aladdin smiled mischievously and replied to her that he would be taking the children, if it was alright with her, to the royal palace and see the room where they kept the doves, Abu, Rajah, Iago, and Genie. The end factor he hinted on a sarcastic note.
"Please," Sadira whispered as they stopped at the thick cloth that concealed the fair opulence from the world, masking the atmosphere as just a dirty hovel. "Don't come here so often, I don't want them to get hurt."
"I won't. Jasmine won't mind me seeing the children."
"She will when she knows that they are mine to take care of." She whispered.
Aladdin held up his hand. "No, she can't stop me from helping the poor of Agrabah, the needy."
"They aren't in need. They happen to live well here!" she sensed the patronizing tone once more.
"Sadira, stop it! You've been nothing but satirical and full of yourself all evening. Everything I say, I'm afraid will come under attack. Have you forgotten?! I know what it's like to feel hungry, to starve, to be desperate. We've had our share, Sadira. Enough to feel lifetimes full of misery and worry, and we're not anywhere close to our middle years yet. I'm in charge of a kingdom that a few years ago I spat on and stole from. I'm related to a Sultan who years ago I'd wished to rip to pieces for all his talk of loving Agrabah and taking care of the poor! Do you ever see anyone else's side beside your own, Sadira?" his voice was scathing.
Smoldering in rebuke, she replied keeping her voice lowered. "I've seen it from so many angles I've wondered if I too, have the eye of Allah. I've seen it from the children. From their eyes, their looks, from them. I gave them what I never had when I was their age. A warm bed, someone who cared, and well-spent time with someone I could look up to. Living through them, it's…it's..." Her voice became soft, feeling the familiar burning sensation and knowing her eyes were about to water.
"Sadira! I….sorry." his apology was awkward, as she looked up her teal eyes watering. "It hurts, it does. It hurts me too. I…I'm sorry. If there's anyway to make it up, I'll…sorry. I…"
"Leave Aladdin. Good night." Her voice came out strangled and choked, as the curtain dropped from in front of her. He stood there for a moment. It seemed an eternity, then he left, the cool Agrabah wind on his perspiring skin.
---
Blistering sun, unrelenting and unforgiving, hit skins naked and exposed to the harsh weather, all the tones slightly deepen from the now going on two hours of exposure save for a minor rest in shade for about fifteen minutes. Izedin, Danereth and Aveina bounded about the palace grounds, all three tugging on the posh robes of the inexperienced and pristine sultan who let himself be hauled about the gardens in a fun-loving way, laughing and pointing out certain objects and weaving legends and fables from his mind as effortlessly as one could pick up a handful of sand and toss it around, letting the little grains slip through fingers, too inattentive to care.
Izedin, the eldest boy, with the dark hair and dark eyes led what Aladdin believed to be his younger brother and younger sister about the grounds with an air of unquestioned and gentle authority, following up with what Aladdin told them with a bit of his own commentary which made his younger brother and sister laugh at some times, and then gasp until Aladdin chuckled, and explained that Izedin was only making a few harmless jokes, which caused the elder boy to pout and complain insincerely that the "Sultan is ruining my jokes."
"And these are where we keep the doves. The Sultana, former Princess Jasmine, loves doves, especially white ones, and insists on keeping them here." He gestured to the white cage in which intricate holes were carved to let in fresh air to the chirping birds. Looking through one of the holes, one could see the stout white birds, some colored off-white, some ivory and a few with white bodies but wings dusky-colored and bills painted in bright and vibrant hues.
"How pretty!" the blond girl cooed, her skin tinted a light bronze which made her eyes seem all the more brilliantly cobalt, and then placed a finger into the cage where a dove fluttered above her small hand before settling on her forefinger, all the while chirping and not minding the little girl which laughed and giggled.
"And so you see…that is the palace grounds. Now would you guys like to see the inside?" Aladdin waved his hand toward the palace. His skin tanned and his eyebrows, thick and black, complemented his handsome face and with his teeth demonstrating a genuine grin; he made for a charming, charismatic leader and very much unlike the calculating and impersonal leaders in adjacent kingdoms.
"Ah, Doves are pretty. But I think the Tiger will be funnier to look at!" the youngest boy grinned eagerly, tugging on Aladdin's hand, attempting to lead the group into the palace; but Aladdin, ever the diplomat began to speak and he found it increasingly charming the way the children hung onto his every word and listened to him attentively as if he were the epitome of life and the center of their beings.
"Since we've been outside for so long, maybe we should go inside for a little while. Then, when the sun begins to go down, we can come outside again and play some games until dark? I'd really like to show you Abu, my favorite friend. He's almost like a human and is the friend I've had the longest. And, you guys can see carpet!" he was almost as enthusiastic as the young children, talking animatedly.
Aveina paused, turning from the dove chamber and spoke, her small voice settling on Aladdin's ears with thundering sound. "Can we take a dove to Sadira?" As soon as she spoke, the conversation grew quiet except for the constant chattering of Izedin to Danereth. Aladdin's face twisted into a pained expression and then for a split second there was an awkward moment.
"Yeah! To Sadira!" Danereth reiterated, placing his even smaller hands into the cage as the Doves fluttered about and the settled onto his little fingers as though they were just another branch to sit upon. Izedin, noticing Aladdin's reticence reminded silent as well, waiting for a reaction.
"She can't have them because they're royal property!" Izedin burst forth from his silence, attempting to settle matters in his own way. " And you know what happens to people who take royal property…they cut off your hands. So no, we can't give them to her!" his voice was brutal and harsh, enough to cause little Danereth's eyes to water, but his older brother patted him on the hair and gave him a reassuring smile, "But Sadira's so pretty and nice that she doesn't need these stupid doves anyway!"
"No, she doesn't!" Aveina agreed, turning away from the doves and grabbed one of Aladdin's hands and Danereth agreed and kicked the dove chamber for good measure before grabbing the other hand of the Sultan who stood, watching the whole event, a silent spectator.
As they began to walk away, an imposing figure, with a muscular tanned body and two golden bracelets on each wrists coupled with a black moustache and beady dark eyes, a constant snarl affixed to his features with a red sash about his waista dn a tiny red jewel encrusted into his beige turban spoke. "The Sultana would like to have a word with you."
In those 10 words, Aladdin's heart immediately dropped and he sighed irritably. Something had nagged at him, when he decided to bring the children to the palace grounds that someone would see them and report it back to Jasmine; but he had ignored it. Now he would hear it. He could almost make out her exasperated and slightly desperate voice when she became angry and again, he sighed.
---
"So you bring her children to our house?" her voice, which could arouse him and make him smile slid over each word dangerously, almost too vulnerable-sounding and saccharine to be credible.
"I promised them. What could I do, Jasmine?"
"So you have seen her then? And not at the market?" her voice was accusing and her face a mask of jealousy. The children moved closer to him, all except for Izedin who stood apart, his face glowering and becoming darker and darker with each implied slight to his surrogate mother.
"Well, yes. But I'm married to you, Jasmine, "he attempted to appease her, reassure her that he indeed had been faithful; however, his rebuttals and instances to calm her down were falling on deaf ears.
"Married to me? Then why do you see her?!" her calmness disintegrating and her shrill voice echoed in the empty hallway.
"I don't see her! I see them!"
"You have to see her, then! She doesn't leave them alone does she? Unless she's as useless a parent as she is a friend!" Jasmine spat, twitching and her eyes darting from each child. "And from the looks of it, she hasn't been too faithful a wife either."
"Stop!" the conversation was interrupted by the eldest boy, stepping in from of the Sultana, hesitantly if with an undercurrent of audacity. "She's not useless. She's good and kind and pretty. And don't talk to her like that!"
Jasmine lifted her eyebrows, and stood as a silent figure, all dressed in light purple satin and gold, twitching and irate, waiting for Aladdin to defend her and chastise the child. But he didn't.
"Come on, we'll walk back." Izedin cast a sour look at the Sultana, who met his gaze condescendingly, and then to Aladdin, who held his head slightly cast down. But as Aveina and Danereth released his hands and clung to their brother; he looked up and watched, almost helplessly as the children rounded the corner of the long hallway to the back entrance gate that led into the marketplace and city square.
"We need to talk." She muttered, sauntering up to him and clasped his hands in hers. Her hold was clammy and her grip strong, almost desperately strong. Her dark eyes searched his face, lovingly and attentively, ready for whatever he was to say to her.
"We do. Look, " he swept his hand over his forehead as if to bat away the pending headache which was closely forming, "Just because the children adore me and I spend time with them doesn't mean I am spending my time with their- Sadira. And just because she was like that, in the past doesn't mean that she is now. And even if she was, I wouldn't. Because I love you, and you are my wife."
Her eyes filled with tears and she wrapped her pale and slim arms around his trim waist embellished with amethyst satin. "I love Aladdin, more than anything in the entire world. More than anyone in the world. As I do Allah. And I always will. I've never needed anyone else."
He rested his chin on her dark hair, thrown up into an intricate bun at the top of her head which made the motion a little awkward since there also was a golden crown studded with different jewels there also. "I'm always here for you. Always."
---
"Sadira, are you there?" A voice wove smoothly through the cloth partition in the darkness of the enclosed space, the moon lay behind a strange array of fluffy white clouds. For a full five minutes, no one came, no one came to answer his call. He had left the palace quickly and in a huff from another argument with Jasmine, this time over what decorations to make for the annual kingdom charity ball in which rulers from all over the seven deserts would be present. With a myriad of nastily flung comments toward Sadira, his patience snapped and he left.
Now, a quarter of an hour later, he stood at the entrance of what looked like a small dark hovel, fit only for a vagabond; however, he knew of the eiderdown beds which lay behind the dark dirty cloth and locked wooden doors. It was remarkable, how the street rat mind worked.
Ingeniously, she had planned the residence, with the outside appearing to be a dirty hovel. The dirt cast about the ground, the cracked wood and peeling cobblestones and plaster made for a disinteresting and unsatisfying picture, the cloth was held by bent rusted iron nails. Once past the cloth lay a worm eaten door, with spaces between the planks of wood so wide you did not even need to open the door to peer into the small space which was no more than five and a half feet tall and ten feet wide, complete with a shredded dirty wool blanket of indeterminate color and a cracked porcelain plate, too dirty to eat from. The floor was of sand.
Nonetheless, the secret entrance was deftly concealed, a street rat could hide anything anywhere. Necessity demanded it. Nowhere did it seem as if there was an opening unless you happened to go to a corner of the room and scoop up a few piles of sand, where a knob opened up a door which introduced stairs which descended two flights where the residence lay.
At the second cloth partition which led to the home, he stood still. And then sighing, he pushed past the partition and strode in.
The children were at a wooden table, playing with little dolls and a miniature palace when he arrived. The children all looked up expectantly at Aladdin, and then seeing that it was not who they expected dropped their gazes and continued on with their game as if he did not exist. All except Danereth , who in that way of instant forgiveness which children have, stood up and rushed over to him excitedly.
"Aladdin!-" then he cast a glance at Danereth who frowned. "Uh, Sultan! And…you came to play with us?"
Aladdin nodded curiously, his eyes swept hastily around the front room. "Call me Aladdin." Then he spoke to the other children as he glided over to them and sat at the open chair left at the table. "I'm sorry for the way Jasmine acted today."
"You were supposed to show us the palace and eat sweetmeats with us. You lied to us!" Izedin spoke as Aveina nodded, Danereth clung to Aladdin's hand hesitantly, loyalty strained between his older brother and the awkward Sultan.
"You made Sadira mad." Aveina spoke in her small and delicate voice, offhandedly as she gripped the miniature statue of a little princess with blond hair that bore an uncanny resemblance to herself.
"I couldn't find anyone who sold sweetmeats this late. But I did bring..." she glanced up from rummaging through a chocolate-hued burlap sack and was startled to find Aladdin sitting at the empty chair usually left for her at the table.
"What the hell are you doing here?" And before he could answer she dropped the sack unexpectedly, clutching her chest and staggered uneasily toward the table. "Get out." She ordered, albeit weakly as she steadied herself. Aladdin rose quickly to help her, curious as to her fainting spell.
"You don't have a heart problem do you?" he questioned, letting her take his seat as she exhaled sharply.
"No," she spat back wearily, removing her hands and smiling at the children with their wide eyes. "It's okay," she ruffled Danereth's hair. "I'm okay, just a little tired."
"Aladdin wanted to know where you were." Aveina remarked importantly, grabbing a dark-skinned figure with a white turban and making the figures "walk" using her hands to move them from one part of "town" to the other.
"You left them." Her tone was accusing and he groaned.
"Jasmine was upset."
She slammed her small fist down onto the wooden table so hard; it shook as figures clattered to the floor, the miniature castle wobbling dangerously on the edge. "They could have been kidnapped, robbed. They have a good amount of coins on them in case of an emergency…and then what would've happened? They're nothing to you…"
"Wait a minute, Sadira! They are something to me. I'm not on speaking terms with my own wife over this!"
"Then why did you let them leave alone? You didn't have the decency to escort them back home? Street rat never make could make it in the palace."
Angrily, he spat back. "And neither do swindlers."
"Will you get the hell out?" her voice never rose, but increased dangerously dark. Obviously, her patience was being tried. Aveina and Izedin moved toward Sadira while Danereth remained clutching Aladdin's fingers with his tiny chubby ones, his eyes wide.
"No, I'm not leaving you. Not after you almost passed out in the doorway."
Her hands began to shake as she spoke, "You will get out, if I have to use something to get you to do it!"
All eyes glued to her shaking hands, her gem glowing, she strained to restrain herself. Feeling her gem heat her dark blood, she stood with a slack jaw and partially glazed eyes. If she were to use her magic against his power, it would completely deplete her magic and render her useless until it replenished itself- and that would take nearly a week.
"Just leave." She barked her shaking fists at her sides.
And wordlessly, he stood and left.
---
She wasn't an ugly girl. And she wasn't plain. But she had dark skin, and that enough was clue that she wasn't royalty. Someone commissioned this portrait a while ago when she was in that one Kingdom. But that wasn't anything irregular. From urban myth, she had already ransacked a handful…or more. That's why she was here.
The fabric was excessively expensive and exceptionally gorgeous. A lilac Chinese silk sleeveless and modest top which contrasted with her deep chocolate skin which always seemed to Jasmine to be ashy when she had been one of the streets. Her black hair that always seemed much too full and dry was sleek and woven into a single silky braid whose texture resembled that of the Princess of Agrabah's that fell over her left shoulder held together with a golden band.
Her eyes were a bit slanted at the corners and though she would never admit it, were a captivating aquamarine which in itself was highly irregular considering nearly all of Agrabah and everyone she had met in her entire life had chocolate-hued orbs. Her brows were too thick and heavy to be womanly and sweet and her face carried an expression a tad bit too disarming, still…they helped frame her heart-shaped face and complimented her attractive nose and not-too-full dark lips.
This portrait had been gilded in solid gold for a royal something-or-other, a treasurer in Quirkistan with whom Sadira had been sleeping and with a little effort and some jewels sent, she had retrieved the picture. Now that she had it, she wondered why she wanted it in the first place.
At any rate, she, Princess Jasmine, was prettier anyway.
Tucking the frame underneath the royal mattress once more (which required a bit more effort than she would admit), she sat again on the Egyptian linen. Why did Aladdin, then, seemed so intent on her now then?
---
Freezing and thick fog permeated the entire kingdom; not that its citizens would matter. They were half-dead at any rate. Slow-moving and obedient only to their masters, these creatures seemed to be held together only by an invisible thread. Any time of combat would sever a lifeless and bloodless arm or leg. Their mouths fixed into an ever-present grimace, some of their clothes tattered. Nothing matter to these creatures.
This kingdom was habitually dim, with sunlight being blocked by the fog and clouds which for eternity swirled above in the dismal sky. All hope lost, except for the black sand which seemed as ubiquitous as the sand around her castle or Agrabah. Shadows danced about eerily as she walked and as she moved about the city toward The Citadel, the myriad of torches magically burst into a brilliant blue flame.
Unlike the last time, she did not wish to conceal herself inside a street rat cloak; but, instead chose to visit her associate in her normal rather expensive and tasteful garb and her dark hair hanging down her back like a black waterfall. Her slender limbs were wrapped snugly in midnight and cerulean cotton. She was abundantly gorgeous in a inexplicable and strangely captivating way. It took effort not to crane your neck as she waltzed by. He was no exception.
--flashback--
One of the few days that Destane and he traveled to one of the markets in the local kingdom. He hated crowds, Destane and that hatred of crowds and of nearly all people would transfer to his pale and full-lipped student. The heated bodies with a faint stench of sweat concealed in heavy cotton pressed together under the hot sun and smells of fresh fish (some almost rotten) and produce and heavy far-away colognes smashed together in a unmixable frenzy of odor.
All the ladies appeared modest in their drab cloaks, some married and escorted by a male family member. Their voices tinkled together lightly and smoothly, fresh gossip on their sharp tongues. He never noticed ladies before. His mother passed during childbirth and he never knew who his father was. In the Land of the Black Sand, mamuks were ubiquitous and female forms were nonexistent.
Being a boy of about fourteen years, ladies crossed his mind from time to time. Just a fleeting moment; but, nothing more. He lacked real contact of the outside world. And so now here he was, periodically accompanying Destane to the marketplace for some ingredients in spells. As long as the afternoon dashed ahead, he was fine. Besides, he did enjoy sweetmeats and Destane arbitrarily bought them in rare moments of tenderness.
A whiff of vanilla and sandy hair collected his thoughts suddenly and rather rudely and through them into the wind, scattering them. The first thing he noticed was the waist-long blondish-brown hair that was straight as a pin and pulled up into a ponytail which sat on the top of her head.
Her hair had brushed past him and tickled his arm in a way that made him uncomfortable but strangely wanting for something just a little more. Her lips were rosy and full like his, and her nose was pointy and rather large (now that he reminisced on her) but suited her oval-shaped face. Angled bangs teasingly fell in front of her purplish eyes and she laughed a tinkling laugh, bubbly and carefree. She was beautiful.
As she walked away with a heavyset older lady with the same light-colored hair, no doubt a guardian and most likely her mother, he craned his long neck to watch her and almost jostled an entire barrel of fish in the process.
"She was a beauty, wasn't she?" Destane arched his dark heavy brows as he slid to a stop in front of a fruit stand. "Close your mouth boy, I've seen better."
Mozenrath swallowed hard, hoping the blood traveling to his groin helped by his ensuing thoughts wouldn't expose his inner thoughts to the world in the manifestation of an awkward bulge. He nodded briefly, and then followed Destane's command for him to eat and pick out a fresh piece of fruit for a snack.
As he bit into the juicy green apple, he passed her twice more and then stopped feeling the awkward bulge he feared appear. In a panic, he began to think about something. Anything which would detract his thoughts and barely succeeded. But Destane, sensing his awkwardness, looked down at Mozenrath's attempts to conceal himself behind barrels and tables and laughed quietly.
If there was ever a time that the younger man hated the pastiness of his complexion, it was now. He felt the heat rise from his neck and over his cheekbones to the roots of his hair. He was red-faced now in his embarrassment and slightly humiliated.
"You haven't known a lady, yet? Have you boy?" Destane spoke quietly, thoughtfully, and rhetorically to himself, rubbing his black beard languidly.
Little known to Mozenrath that months later he would bed the same young lady in a dark empty parlor at a royal feast. Destane decided to attend after refusing the same invitation annually since before Mozenrath was born. The reason was what he confessed to Mozenrath later "purely in your interest. In order to prevent a woman's control over you, you shall have a woman. If you have it, you won't be lured. You will follow in my steps; you won't fail."
Through letters, the blond young lady a few years Mozenrath's senior and he himself communicated to each other. Destane had contrived a way for the two to meet within a month and through subtle and painstaking courtesy and a myriad of lies supported by documents and items contrived through magic, had maneuvered Mozenrath as one of her "careless" suitors. A suitor which the families knew were not to be serious; but accompany the young lady to a very few events and attend their dinner parties and feasts.
-----
Her skin had been soft. That much he did remember of the entire encounter. Pale and soft and carrying that same faint vanilla fragrance. On the floor of that dark parlor, he "became a man". With some thrusts and grunts and her soft pants, he met bliss- his heart pounding, his head spinning, and his release sweet and inviting. He pulled her into a graceful kiss, more graceful on his part than hers. He carried that natural kind of grace.
He lay between her slender limbs, feeling lightheaded and tired as she lazily stroked his short wavy black hair. Their sweat mingled together along with their breaths as they lay on the thick and soft rug that cradled them both in the night.
Wordlessly, she smiled softly and stood, helping Mozenrath to his feet and steadying him. Although she was slender, she must've been at least twenty pounds heavier than her temporary partner. "I was the first girl, huh?" she laughed softly, showing her brilliant teeth.
"What?" he said, his smile faint as he panted, wiping the sweat from his brow.
"Your first girl?"
"Oh…yeah."
"You'll remember me then. It's good I knew what to do."
She touched his hair tenderly and brought her lips to his cheek. "They await us, Mozenrath." And with a fluff of her hair and smoothing down her emerald satin gown she stalked outside the parlor door, leaving him to pant and gaze after her, a ridiculous and satisfied grin on his face.
Oddly enough, he never became attached to her. No doubt in due part to Destane's constant heckling and indoctrination instilled on the near futility of women in general, except sorceresses- he deemed them "tolerable."
For a few more times, he bedded the pretty young lady whom he found to bed not a few of her suitors. A common pretty nymph who wound her way through the crowds and throngs of men who desired her and some of whom she desired in return. She was captivating with an innocence you deemed her to have until you found out much later that she lacked. You noticed her physical appearance first and then her laughter next which soothed and was as rare as a gentle rain.
Then she ran off. Leaving a short letter to her guardian, she fled with her favorite suitor and was never heard of again.
Without a letter, without a word, without a touch- she left Mozenrath feeling a bit empty and longing for her simple caress, just a simple lustless affection which he had grown entirely dependent on. And while he never would admit or even entertain the idea of having loved her, he did grow used to her.
Even now, in one of the darkest rooms of his Citadel, in a dusty bureau in the dimmest corners of a small room, barely 3 yards by 4 yards, he kept her letters, sealed in an air-tight container that still emitted that intoxicating vanilla aroma which smarted his nose and sometimes caused his dark eyes to water with the power of the smell. He had longed for her, even when rolling in the sheets with other women. And like a spell, he felt that to some degree, he always would.
--end of flashback--
As usual, it was dim in the front room of the palace. Too dark and sinister. Not evil… not malevolent . But something dark. Sacrilege. She was not irreligious, as with her dark skin, she also stood apart in a land of Muslims when she happened to be the few Catholics she knew. Although she was not devout and was not fanatical, she did own a rosary and recited her Hail Marys when she remembered.
But this place seemed to dissolve religion. Though she would never admit it, it frightened her. Immensely. At times, she kept reminding herself that she shivered because of the wind, not the aura. Never the aura. She had magic too. With a wave of her hand, she could produce a gloomy environment just like this one. She couldn't be scared. But still, if she would only cease this violent shaking!
He had been alerted by her presence already; otherwise the clammy mamuks wouldn't be shuffling past her heedlessly and wordlessly, thoughtlessly without already having pounced on her and ripped her limb from limb.
The silver torches blazed with a dazzling sapphire flame on either side of the enormous empty area with the shining marble floor with the mirror-like reflection. For a touch of reassurance, she brought her chilly fingers to her breastbone. To the warm and dark ruby amulet underneath her thin cloak. It did little to reassure her. For a few more minutes she waited, impatiently albeit, tapping her silver-clad slipper hastily and casting her eyes about her for any signs of Lord Mozenrath, Ruler of the Black Sand.
Alas, a figure emerged from the doorway of a corner about 20 yards away, dressed entirely in what appeared to be charcoal and dove-hued material, and with a dark turban which covered short and black hair that curled about an ashen face. His gauntlet glowed with a dark purplish-almost black light as he approached her, and she noticed his wry smile.
"It's about time you showed." his smooth voice greeted her as he glanced pointedly at her breastbone. Her gem had begun to glow underneath her top and illuminated a small expanse of light about a foot in diameter. She restrained the retort that it as he who was late this time, not her. And besides, she did arrive punctually, save for a couple minutes late.
"I found nothing on that jewel. So I think we should just let them react and see what happens." she paused, blinking and watching his indifferent expression. He was extremely arduous to read, his moods or his thoughts. You never knew quite what he was thinking until he actually responded.
"Quite an observation considering I told you that you would find no research nearly two weeks ago. At any rate, I don't usually take accomplices or suggest alliances- But I need that power and you need mine. I would take your gem from you, but the items seem too identical in magical content to be any lesser or greater in power."
"So what are you saying?"
"You and I are in an alliance." He finished off-handedly, that hideous eel swirling about him.
"And you just think I'll agree?" her thick brows furrowed, a smile nonexistent.
"I'm not forcing you. You'd just be denying your lust for power."
"I lust for nothing!" she retorted sharply, unashamed of her outburst and clenching her fist at her sides, the gem in the middle of her breastbone illuminating her face in a scarlet glimmer. She breathed deeply and then continued in a calmer voice, "What type of alliance are you after?"
"A simple one. We need to see how the gems react in the nearby kingdoms together in real-life situations."
He spoke concisely and efficiently, never using more words than necessary.
"So I'm supposed to be with you as we go around other kingdoms…like a couple?" she spat irritably, rolling her shoulders.
"Not as a couple. As an alliance. Besides, the couple thing is far cliché. Don't flatter yourself, Princess." His tone remained indifferent, but the insulting overtone shone clear. He was using sarcasm, mocking her street-rat origin subtly and quickly escorted her to wrath.
"Fool!" she hissed, raising her clenched fist and flinging her dusky hand out toward the pale-faced offender.
A rush of sand emerged from her hand in the shape of a dagger which flew through the air like a speeding arrow and quickly transformed into the real metal weapon, gleaming and lethally sharp. It rushed toward Mozenrath who stood about two yards away and nonchalantly with a wave of his hand, a blue light encompassed his gauntlet and charged toward the oncoming weapon which instantaneously disappeared.
Surprise flashed on her features, and Mozenrath chuckled at her reaction.
"Don't think you're the only one who practices magic, Princess. And I will call you Princess if I wish. I've been a sorcerer since before you knew what black magic was. My powers are far more cultivated than yours. It would be in your best interest not to anger me."
"Are you trying to say I have no control over my magic?" her eyes narrowed as she placed an arm on her hip.
"You have limited control. Like I told you, I do not favor alliances nor people. I've decided that we should travel to Ganastan first and then swing into a sort or arc," he motioned using his arm in a wide gesture, "then on to Paramoor and Vicar. We'll need to travel to all of them, but we won't go all at once. It'll be wiser that way."
"People might ask who we are. What do we tell them?" she questioned shortly.
"You are a relative of mine, whom I'm escorting about town."
"Are they going to believe that? We don't look anything the same." her look remained skeptical.
"You want to tell them we're married then?" his look masked his internal irritation and surprise.
"We won't want to create suspicion." she declared, biting her lip.
"You know about that." he muttered, smiling softly.
"It got me results, didn't it?" she shot back, holding up her hands.
"Relax," his nonchalant voice answered her. "I'm not insulting you."
"Well, good." she rolled her shoulders once more and smiled faintly.
"But I'm not complimenting either."
"So I'm your wife during all this?" she mouthed slowly, as if testing the words out on her lips like a foreign delicacy for the first time.
"Yes."
"What about the children in my charge?"
He could not mask the ensuing look of astonishment and displeasure on his face at her inquiry. "What children?"
"They aren't really mine. I just take care of them."
He crossed his navy-clad arms over his chest, "It'd be too much of a hassle to bring them."
With a wave of her hand, she spoke. "I'll take care of it. But between kingdoms I need time to myself for about a week before starting again."
"Deal." he began to retreat slowly, "We'll embark a week from today."
"Why are you making all the decisions like I'll say yes?" she almost pouted.
"With your track record, I think my plans will be more than a little careful. If only because we won't be embezzling." his continued to leave, back into the darkness and chuckled quietly to himself at her discomfort and rising petulance.
"Ooh!" with her dusky hands on her hips, she shook with indignation.
"Relax. I'll meet you here in a week, at sunrise, Princess." and with that departure, he receded into blackness.
Calming herself and returning to her usual casual demeanor, she smiled as she looked down at her glowing gem as the undead brushed past her in the foggy streets of the Land. A opportunity for power had arisen, and by this simple alliance she would find a way to snatch his power and incorporate it into hers. She would have the power. She was sure of it.