Chapter 4: Disney's Aladdin AU!
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Kisara stops shaving her head one day. She's reached the city on the Nile before the sea and, finding it much the same as the other places she'd passed along the way, she's decided to be done with waking up to itchy sunburns on her scalp. They recognise her accursed body even without the white hair; she can't be rid of her blue eyes and pale skin. She's always had to rely on theft to eat – she just doesn't have the will anymore to act as ashamed about it as she feels.
Her hair's grown out to her shoulders – not so long that she can't cover it with her hood. She most often steals at dusk, as they pack up their stalls, when they cannot so easily make out her features. They see her anyhow. They remember her. They remember Abu. But she's prolonging it as long as she can.
Abu, her white lizard, distracts them, as Kisara flings dates and beans and fruit and bread into her bag. She cannot run the fastest, but she is deceptively strong for her stature, and she creates blockades in her wake and pushes her pursuers back down the streets, in the direction from which they came, with nothing but her bare hands.
They start calling her Kisara of the Cursed Eyes. It's a silly name. It doesn't mean anything other than she's not welcome, which is how it's always been anyhow. She takes shelter in abandoned warehouses and empty rooms and easily accessed rooves. And she curls up with Abu, who is not warm, being a reptile, but he appreciates her warmth in the cool of the nights.
It doesn't really register to her as a problem before a squadron of palace guards begin to pursue her instead. Somehow, the name she's unwittingly made for herself has spread. And she cannot push knives and scabbards away from herself without cutting her hands.
She's had to become nimbler, quicker, more clever.
It would mean more if she could use it for anything good.
There's a parade in town, and huddles in a corner to see the arrival of a visiting Princess.
Ah, Accursed Kisara, the townspeople greet her. You should not show yourself to the visiting Lady. If she is cursed while travelling to this land, you will make things very difficult for the Pharaoh~
Or perhaps you should show yourself. It would teach those rich fools in the castle to bade the wishes of the common folk.
Kisara heads the first warning, and ignores the second.
When the crowd dies down, she slinks down to the streets. In the wake of the fabulous parade, there are children crying from hunger, and Kisara's had a good day today. She pulls the bread and dates from her satchel, and offers them, against Abu's protests.
But, even as hungry they are, the children will not touch food offered by the accursed. Any food they eat, they will steal for themselves.
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The man is obviously out of place. He wanders through the stalls, and eyes them with a disinterest that temporarily crumbles, breaks down to reveal awe. And then the solid, stoic expression is replaced, once more.
It's more than that, though. His clothes are simple, but too well kept. He looks through the crowds, like he's never seen any of these people before, and Kisara has certainly never seen him before. She watches from above the market street, from the balcony of a deserted residence. She's climbed up here, to eat the melon she stole, and watch the sun move across the horizon. Abu lazes in the shade.
The man's gathering what looks like travel supplies. He's shouting at the merchants for a horse and non-perishables. He refuses to haggle with them. Everything in his gesture and his being are a source of irritation for the merchants and patrons around him. The guards have already been alerted to his presence.
Kisara giggles.
Abu catches her attention with a flick of his tail. He's warning her not to get involved.
Kisara's not so gullible though.
At least, not until the man notices a pair of young brothers clamouring for apples at one of the stalls. The man turns, taking note of the merchant's stubborn glare, and he plucks two apples from the pile and tosses them directly to the children. He doesn't break eye contact with the merchant. The challenge is clear.
A brawl has broken out a moment later.
And, perhaps it's foolish, but the guards are approaching – to apprehend the man, undoubtedly. The children are running away, already chewing contentedly on their apples. And the man has done something Kisara has wanted to do her whole life and, if there's one thing Kisara's become really, really good at, it's avoiding the guards.
Or maybe, she just really, really wants someone to talk to.
"Let's go, Abu," she prods, flinging herself off from atop the balcony.
She's directly behind the man, by the time anyone realises she's entered the fray. He swings at her, instinctively, but she ducks and pulls at the bottom of his robe.
She looks up and meets his eyes. His eyes are dark, squinting out from under his bangs, but his expression catches her with only the basest level of surprise.
"Run," she commands, pointing to the guards piling around them. And then she shoves him forward along the path – the quickest way to safety.
He falters, as he stumbles forward. She goes to grab his hand to pull him along, but he flinches back from her. For a second, she thinks he's reacting to her eyes, or her hair, or her reputation, but then the merchants begin to throw rocks at the two of them. And, instead, he eyes them with hatred. He moves to cover her.
She's somehow dragged this traveller into her own struggle, in the process of trying to help him. She feels guilty, but perhaps it's for the best. This way she will receive the bulk of the blame.
"Traveller, you should run," she says. "Before the guards see fit to arrest you."
He frowns. He obviously doesn't enjoy being told what to do. But then he nods.
"Which way?"
And then they're off. Abu catches up with Kisara, and crawls deftly up her leg, under her tunic, and onto her uncovered hand.
The man eyes Abu. His eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth to speak, but there is no time. They're barrelling through the streets, past merchants and customers, and then performers and day workers. And the guards and the rocks are in hot pursuit. Kisara finds a pile of barrels along the river street, and she topples them with a heavy push of her arms, so they fall behind to create a commotion to slow the guards. She turns down another alleyway, intent on getting the guards to lose their train, and the man follows her, through to the streets on the opposite side.
They pass a number of oddities. River reeds, palms and sands, a herder with his donkeys, hostels and brothels. And, eventually, they're not running, but walking. And then they're not walking, but sitting, exhausted, with their backs against the clay wall of a communal house in the slums. The guards have long since been lost.
Kisara pulls her hood up over her head, tighter, to hide herself from passers-by.
The man eyes her, curiously, out of the corner of his eye.
She laughs. "Stranger! Traveller!" she addresses him. "Have you seen this city before?"
The man's eyes narrow. It's a moment before he deigns to speak.
"I have not seen anywhere," he admits. "This is my first time out of my village, my first day here, my first stop."
"Where are you from?" Kisara asks. "I've seen many places, to the south and to the west. Perhaps I know what village you come from."
The man snorts.
After a moment, Kisara realises he's not going to speak more on this subject.
"Stranger," she prods. "I know the place – with the best view in the city." She smiles. "Do you want to see it?"
The man glances at her out of the corner of his eye. His cheeks have tinged, ever so slightly.
"Please," he agrees.
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"Your… pet," the man decides, as he climbs with her up the steps against the steeps. He pauses when she climbs up a seemingly flat wall-face, and up onto the roof of a building. She turns and reaches down to pull him up – but it takes him several tries climbing the wall himself to let her help.
"Your pet," he starts again, after he shrugs off her hand, and pulls himself up against the side of the building. "What is it?" he asks.
Kisara blinks. "You mean Abu?" she asks. "He's a lizard."
"A lizard with the same completion as you," he prompts, pointing to Abu's white scales and deep blue eyes.
"That's just a coincidence," Kisara waves him off.
"He seems awfully intelligent for a lizard," the man continues.
Abu, sitting on Kisara's shoulder, turns his head up dismissively.
"Isn't that normal?" Kisara asks, distracted. She's intent on making the jump over to the next of the rooftops.
The man frowns. "No," he says, jumping ahead of Kisara. "Lizards are not that smart."
"Well…" Kisara follows. "What else would he be, if not a lizard?"
The man frowns. "A dragon."
Kisara laughs. And when she does, the man's face scrunches.
He lets the subject drop. Which is good, because Kisara has finally led them to her cove, built into the corner of a rooftop. You can see the whole of the river and the desert from here but, most importantly-
"Isn't the palace beautiful?" Kisara asks dreamily, as she slumps against the dilapidating clay. She's surrounded by broken vases, and torn curtains.
The man snorts. "Spoken like somebody who's never seen the politics and pain luxury can bring."
"Yes," Kisara says. She turns to him offended. "Why would I have? I've never had a single sliver of luxury."
The man snorts again, but his expression softens.
"Apologies," he grits out, through clenched teeth.
Kisara sulks. Abu crawls over to her opposite shoulder.
"We'll face the other direction then," Kisara says, turning away from the palace. She goes to sit on the opposite end of the roof, with her legs dangling over the edge. She gazes off towards the south, where the river spreads to floodplains and, eventually, to valleys and lakes.
After a moment the man joins her.
He sits close to her, but not too close. She supposes this is also part of his apology.
"Why did you come here, if not to see the palace?" she asks.
The man frowns again. "A palace… is like a cage. I wanted to escape," he says. "But I also wanted to find something…"
The man's speech peters off again. He is unwilling to share more.
Kisara scoots a little closer to him, on the ledge. The man does not move away.
"You are not afraid of me?" Kisara asks.
The man's brow furrows in confusion.
"Afraid of you?" he says, almost dismissively.
"My hair. My skin. My eyes," Kisara says. "They say my body, even my existence, is cursed."
She smiles.
The man snorts.
"Albinism," he says.
It's Kisara's turn to squint in confusion.
The man elaborates.
"Either your relatives are not from around here, or you have albinism, a pigmentation disorder," he says crisply. "Do you know where your relatives are from?"
Kisara finds this line of rationalisation very odd. She's not entirely sure how to take it, so she defaults to answering his question.
"Not really," Kisara says. She remembered growing up, ostracised at the orphanage steps. She remembers travelling from town to town through the desert, and the way Abu would crawl in front of her and lead the way through the night, reflecting the moon off its back. She remembers getting caught by the slavers, and escaping, and then getting caught again.
But there are no parents in her memories.
The man nods. "You know," he rambles, "they say white snakes and white elephants are revered in the south east. Even here in Egypt, white peafowl are kept as pets in the palace. In the centre of Africa, there are albino frogs that are popular pets as well."
"And how do you know all this?" Kisara teases.
"I have studied a great number of texts," the man says.
"A scholar?" Kisara asks, surprised. She knew the man was of higher birth than her, but- "You can read?"
The man seems bewildered. "You cannot?"
Kisara cannot. Where would she have learned?
"Of course you can't," the man answers for her. He's mumbling to himself, trying to place together pieces of a puzzle Kisara can't see.
Kisara breathes. She thinks about the palace – a cage, as this man says.
"You cannot keep me like that," Kisara says.
"Excuse me?" he asks, peeking out from underneath his brown bangs.
Kisara smiles.
"You cannot keep me like that. Your albino fowl and frogs. I won't be your pet."
She taps him on the shoulder and, when he turns to face her, she taps him on the nose.
"Ah," he falters, "I did not mean to suggest-"
"I know you didn't," Kisara said. "I'm just making our relationship clear."
The man blinks. "Relationship?"
"Of course," Kisara says. She turns away and shrugs, without missing a beat. "We are speaking. We've saved each other from the guards. We are already acquaintances – that's a relationship."
The man looks confused again.
"I don't even know your name, woman," he says. It sounds stern, but his face is softening again.
"Kisara," she answers. "And you are?"
Before the man can respond, the guards are yelling. They've been found.
Kisara scrambles to her feet, and the man does as well. Abu is already at her heels.
The guards are approaching from one side of the roof. On the other side is a drop, but one Kisara knows will be safe.
The man follows her blindly to the edge, but pales when he sees where Kisara is heading.
She turns to him.
"Do you trust me?" she asks.
Set seizes. His posture becomes stiff and ramrod straight, and he looks afraid.
Kisara understands that, but fear cannot be a reason to not move. She reaches for his hand and, with her deceptive strength, pulls him forward into her body.
He doesn't resist as they topple together off the side of the building, and down into a pile of love and cloth.
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They are caught, of course. And Kisara is chained. Not only for theft, but for kidnapping a Prince of the Royal Court.
The man, Akhenaden, comes to speak to her. Except it is more than just the man. Behind him is the shadow of a beast. A grinning man with a scar. And then another shadow – the ultimate darkness.
They need a thief, and that's what Kisara is. And, while Kisara is unsure about helping them, she is made aware that Akhenaden is the man's – Prince Set's – father.
She has no way to help Set from the dungeons. It's either she takes this opportunity and asks the rest of the questions later, or she rots in the cell. So she accepts.
She's not even aware of what she's gotten into, until she's lying broken on the stone floor. Her back is split with pain, and she gazes up at the darkness of the stone ceiling.
The oil lamp rattles on the floor. And she's not sure if it's an unconscious delusion, when the djinn pour out like so much smoke.
Your desire? they ask.
Kisara's voice cracked. "I only wanted to be someone who could be of use," she whispered. Abu curled up against her elbow.
Silence, then-
If you don't mind me saying, it kind of depends on what that means to you, one of the djinn calls out.
Let's just do somethin' already, the other one says. It's been forever since we were out!
The magic is already working. Her wounds are healing. The sunburn is retreating. Her eyes shimmer and darken.
Aliye, is the name they decide upon, at her rebirth. A diplomat – Princess Aliye.
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She looks up from the garden to Set's balcony. The night blooming flowers smell sweet, and the pollen and fragrance gathers around her in a whirlwind, as the carpet takes flight underneath her feet.
He pretends not to see her, not until she's right in front of his face.
"The carpet," he says, warily. "How did you get it to fly?"
Kisara flusters.
"I, uh, found, er, bought it like that," she stammers. "Pre-enchanted."
"I don't believe you," he says, annoyed. "You have to enchant it yourself to get an item like that to work."
Kisara's not sure what to say to that. She had found the carpet like this – with an almost human-like sentience and the ability to fly. Only Set has every reason to be distrustful.
She has to convince him to leave with her. Has to convince him of the danger of the shadows that surround his father and his uncle. Except he doesn't seem to be convinced of anything Princess Aliye has to say.
A pair of locusts are buzzing near her ear.
Listen! You're more than a match for moneybags now, after everything we've done for ya! Just make a move! A pathetic guy like that's just dying for a babe who's willing to do the work for him!
The other locust bumps into the first.
Don't be crude! Their stars are already aligned! You know all she has to do is be herself!
Don't you start with the creepy horoscope crap again-
Kisara waves the locusts away.
"Have you ever ridden on a carpet?" Kisara asks.
Set meets her expression with the slightest hint of disdain.
"It's really quite something," Kisara says. "You know, I could show you a great number of places, from atop a magic carpet."
"Don't care," Set says.
"Didn't you want to see the world? See more than just the palace?" Kisara persists.
Set grits his teeth. "And how do you know that?" he accuses.
Kisara feels herself blush, ashamed.
Moneybags is a tough customer, eh?
Kisara waves the yellow locust away again. She pouts and ducks down below the balcony, to grab a hold of the carpet with both hands.
She's gratified to see Set bend over the balcony to watch her.
She grabs the carpet and pulls it forward. It races through the air above the garden. She directs it into turns and swirls and loops, and she feels oddly confident that this performance isn't going unnoticed.
The carpet tumbles back and forth, and weaves through the gaps in the palms at the edge of the garden. They circle through, one last time, before pulling into a triple summersault above the balcony.
The white locust seems to understand her need for a grandiose entrance. And Kisara hears him chant and sparks erupt in a colourful burst as the carpet lands flat on the balcony, next to Set. Kisara's standing, if a bit unsteady on her feet.
Set's watching her, stunned.
She reaches her hand out to him.
"Let's go," she says. She tries to grin shyly. "Do you trust me?" she pleads, her hand outstretched.
It strikes Set as foolish, that she thought he wouldn't recognise her, even before she's said those words. He's not so blind that he can't see the similarity of her features, plain as day on her face. He's not sure what the magic is that surrounds her – how she changed her eye colour and skin tone and name. But he's going to find out.
"Yes," he says tentatively. And he takes her hand.
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