Thank you, lovely Cantare!
"Now what could I possibly do to help you," Aphrodite had said, meeting Eris in her entrance hall. "You can create chaos within love well enough without my help."
"I want an explanation," Eris said through gritted teeth, throwing the bottle down.
Athena raised her eyebrows at the pink smoke that rose from the liquid. "What? It didn't work on whoever you gave it to?"
"So you did sneak it into my possession," Eris snapped. The floor shook with her barely controlled anger.
Aphrodite rolled her eyes. "No, I didn't. Why would I want a love-struck chaos machine walking around? Who would that help?"
"Then how do you explain this?"
"Well if you would stop shaking the floor, we might be able to go into my store room and see if one of my vials was taken."
Eris took a deep breath. The floor calmed, and she smiled. "Is that better, princess?"
"No, you're still here, but let's go," Aphrodite said, turning on her heel.
The chaos goddess gritted her teeth. As soon as this mystery was over, she was going to wipe the floor with the blonde and dance on her corpse. Smiling at this very pleasurable fantasy, she followed Aphrodite.
In the very back of the white marble palace were two large wooden doors, their knockers shining golden. Inside, shelves upon shelves held millions of tiny vials in wide-ranging shapes and colors of soft purples and pinks. The potions glowed slightly, splashing light over the goddesses' faces. Aphrodite grabbed a hold of the old rolling ladder and climbed to the very top. She called down to Eris as she searched through the different bottles. "The bigger or more powerful the creature, the stronger the love potion must be. More powerful creatures have larger defenses. With mortals, it takes a drop, or a prick of my son's arrows, and they're enamored immediately with the first person they see. With wizards and witches, it takes a bit more, but it can't be too powerful or it becomes obsessive love, and you know how that'll end up.
"But for a goddess, it needs extra oomph. When given to a god it needs to have the essence of the person they're trying to make the god or goddess fall in love with-blood, a hair-in the worst cases a limb."
"How lovely," Eris called back.
"And that is one of the main reasons I don't give the hard stuff out--whoops."
"What?"
"Seems I do have a missing vial." Aphrodite grasped the sides of the ladder and slid down. "I can assure you, I didn't do it--I'm already in hot water after being caught with Ares again, I don't need any more attention."
"Who else has access here?"
"It's only my son and I."
"Eros," Eris growled.
"Stay away from my boy," Aphrodite said. "Accept it, Eris. Hades wasn't shot by Eros, he just fell in love. Persephone is beautiful and bright, can you blame him? It also was a perfect way to wheedle his way back among the Olympians after that takeover plot went south. Do you think it would have benefited him at all with you on the Underworld's throne with him?"
Eris took a step forward to make her murderous fantasy a reality, but was stopped as the doors behind them swung open.
"Eris," Eros' overly smooth voice crooned. "I thought I'd find you here." His usually long mahogany hair was cut short, giving his violet eyes room to shine. He leaned against the door frame one hip cocked, his black silk shirt open across his chest, smirking. He was absolutely gorgeous.
Too bad Eris would now have to rip him apart limb from bloody limb. Her hands closed around his throat, throwing him back against the wall. "You little cretin, I swear I will mount your head on my throne!"
"Wh-what?"
"Eros, really," Aphrodite said, bored. "How could you do this-who wants to be in love with her?"
Eris whipped around. "Not the time Aphrodite."
"You didn't drink it," Eros asked panicked.
"No, of course I didn't. I will not play party to your pranks," Eris spat.
Eros stopped hurriedly re-lacing his shirt, muttering darkly. Eris circled him, seething. "So, what did you plan? To have me stumbling about like a lunatic? That would have been funny for you, hmm? Funny to have me acting like a fool for a man-who was I to fall for-,"
"When did you get this bottle," Aphrodite interrupted, apathetically plucking at her sleeve.
"Three days ago," Eris snapped, never taking her eyes off her prey.
"Hmm."
"It doesn't matter," Eros said, planting his hands on his hips again, facing off against the raven haired goddess. "It was a stupid idea; you found out, it's past."
"Oh? And what else of mine have you booby-trapped, eh? "
"Nothing! I've never-,"
"Three days ago, that's the day after you cut your hair, wasn't it Eros," Aphrodite interjected again.
"Mother," Eros snapped, face gone white.
"Does it matter," Eris snapped. "I hope the Olympians haven't gotten so bored with their lethargic lives that they're trying to amuse themselves by knowing each other's personal schedules."
"No, not my point, it's just that it takes a day for the ingredients to dissolve completely into the solution or the love potion."
"What does that have anything to do with this? Are you really suggesting that Eros put his hair in the potion...?" Eris turned to Eros.
The culprit was currently fingering the protruding feather of his wing nervously. He shifted from foot to foot like a scolded child, not looking at her.
Eris' anger drained out of her faster than Cleopatra's armada in battle. She started at Eros in disbelief for a long moment before slapping him harshly across the face. Eros started back so violently that he fell back onto the floor, clutching his bleeding cheek, watching Eris' retreating back.
"I just don't know what's wrong with him," Jasmine fretted. She was pacing back and forth in the sitting chamber off the main hall. Genie sat, with Abu on his shoulder watching her. "He's barely talking to me; he's walking around here like he's a zombie."
"He's even avoiding me," Genie said. Abu squeaked something that sounded like 'me too'.
"Oh, this is really bad." Jasmine fell onto her backless couch. "If he doesn't talk to me, he's usually confiding in you. Genie, what's happening to him?" Her voice was growing thick. "Is he possessed? Do you think Mirage did something to him?"
"I don't know, Jas..."
Aladdin, who was seeking relief in the hall, listened with a heavy heart. He didn't want to ostracize his family, but he just couldn't stand to be with them. Just not at the moment, not when he felt so sick. He couldn't look at Jasmine, and not see her as he had seen her.
He had tried reasoning with himself. She had always been a beautiful girl. If Mozenrath had seen her, how could he have not felt warmth from the very sight of her? Aladdin himself had fallen in love the first time he'd laid eyes on her.
And that's what made him feel so dirty. That there was any parallel between him and the cruel, evil sorcerer made him cringe. It also didn't help that a sickening sensation overwhelmed him whenever she was near. It wasn't her fault Mozenrath had thought her lovely. Why should she endure his censure because of another man's feelings? So he avoided her, not wanting her to see the darkness in his eyes.
As for Genie, Aladdin simply couldn't stomach his antics at the moment. He couldn't pretend that he was okay, and laugh and smile when he felt so dark. He wouldn't lie to them.
The lamp. The way Mozenrath had thought of the lamp scared Aladdin; scared him because a part of him thought that the wizard deserved it. He had seen the torture Destane had put his servant through. Aladdin couldn't even nap without seeing snippets of Mozenrath's life before his eyes. Most times he woke up sick after seeing Destane test out his torture devices on Mozenrath.
Everything Aladdin knew-thought-was right had been flipped on its head. Mozenrath had had a choice, and he had chosen evil...hadn't he? Or could it be that not everybody had a choice? Not everyone could be saved, or not everybody was as evil as he thought?
Aladdin himself had stolen to survive, and while not being completely evil, it was wrong. But he needed to live. Mozenrath did Destane's bidding to survive, and that was all he had known, like all Aladdin had known was stealing and running. How cruel had Mozenrath had to become to not break?
But Aladdin was a hero. Mozenrath was a villain. Their paths were clear-cut. Mozenrath would never have the same sympathies for Aladdin as the street rat felt for Mozenrath now. Because he was a villain...right?
"Until I stole his power, and his throne," Mozenrath had once gloated. He had overthrown an evil force and freed himself from slavery, as well as Xerxes (though how Xerxes had gone from brown-blond boy to eel, Aladdin didn't know). Mozenrath had been Xerxes' hero, hadn't he? And hadn't he freed those children?
The Sultan's head started to pound, and his stomach felt sick. Everything had been so simple. Hero defeats villain, and he had played that out with nary a thought. But this formula, widely accepted by all as 'justice,' was now in question. Mozenrath was doing all he knew how to do, what he was good at. Could Aladdin fault him for that?
Aladdin could almost hear his enemy's sneering voice: "I don't need a street rat's pity," Mozenrath would proudly declare. And why shouldn't he have been proud? He had singlehandedly overthrown a wizard that would have made Aladdin run in the other direction immediately.
Now Aladdin felt truly sick. How could he be admiring Mozenrath for stealing a man's humanity? Because that man had no humanity, because he deserved what he got. Aladdin clapped his hands over his ears. Now he was starting to think like Mozenrath! Aladdin stumbled down the hall. He would go to the apothecary and see if he had anything for a dreamless sleep.
It was getting dark by the time Mozenrath reached the stairs of the temple. The building was made of black marble. Seventeen years worth of graffiti was splashed across the worn stone; things like 'Devil's house', 'Demons dispelled,' 'Purify this land', and pictures too crude to dwell on. Purify? Is that what they think they were doing? Then again, all asinine mortals think that magic is inherently evil.
It's not like you're an advocate for proving them wrong, a small voice sneered. He made a note to find a way to eradicate that annoying subconscious presence.
The tall stone doors were cracked and roughened by two decades of weathering. The dark marks carved into the stone had faded to illegibility except for the sign of Eris. The symbol still stood black and ominous. He rubbed his tattoo over his shirt again. The door had no knob, and no indication there had been any. Pulling his gauntlet tighter, he pressed a finger of his right hand to the door. The glove glowed and he attempted to open the door with his magic. His blue power turned black and backfired on him. A sharp pain raced up his arm into his chest.
Hissing, he cradled his arm against his chest. So this place didn't like any magic other than its own, eh? He tried pushing the door manually, but that didn't work, not that he really expected it to. "Gods below," he swore softly, leaning from foot to foot, thinking. He ran his hand across the granite, eyes sweeping for some kind of button or handle.
As he examined the door he saw that all the symbols were interconnected. Some flowing directly into each other, and others were only connected by thin divests. "Oh for the love of..." he murmured, "She could not be that cliché." Having no other option, he reached behind him and pulled his knife from his belt. Closing his left hand around the blade, he cut into his palm.
Wincing as he stretched the broken skin, he opened his palm and laid it against the crack in the door. His blood skittered quickly up the carvings, crawling up to the Chaos mark in the middle. With a scraping rumble of stone, the doors slid open.
Mozenrath blinked as the faint, familiar scent of decaying flesh reached his nostrils. It was vast and empty inside the temple. From the dying afternoon light, he could make out a tall obelisk at the far end of the structure, and two rows of mirrors on the left and right side reflected the light from the moon to illuminate the windowless structure. The walls were covered in dust and spiderwebs.
"Homey," he remarked.
He looked over his shoulder at the dusty road stretched behind him, then back at the desolate temple. Shrugging, he took a step inside. The doors closed behind him with lightning speed. With a sizzling hum, the top of the obelisk started to glow with a menacing purple light. Mozenrath flattened himself against the doors, eyes wide. A beam of light burst from the point of the tower and scanned the room. He covered his eyes with his left hand as it shone directly into his eyes. The light looked him up and down and lit on his gauntlet, where it stopped.
The humming sound grew louder, as if the light was charging up. Mozenrath's heart started to race. This place was going to do anything to keep opposing magic out. The young wizard leapt to the side, just missing the blast of energy that smote the ground where he had been standing.
Mozenrath stared at the smoking crater that could have been him before realizing the light was searching for him again. She gets a servant, and then tries to murder him, Mozenrath's mind screamed. He ripped off his gauntlet and shoved it into his belt behind his back. He held up his ravaged hand. "It's gone, look!"
The light looked him over, pausing at his waist before retreating. Mozenrath slid down the wall. His heart was beating so wildly he could hear it. He pinched the bridge of his nose and calmed himself. Lovely, what next? Spikes from the ceiling? The floor turns into fire? A warning would have been nice!
"Okay," he breathed, "okay, it's over now. Just...move with caution. You've been in worse situations before." But not without his magic.
The gauntlet had stolen just as much as it had given; as a natural magic wizard, a Propori, he should be able to produce magical energy from his bare skin, but with the gauntlet that ability had been ripped away. Yes, it doubled the power behind the energy, but it could still be easily taken off or stolen. That was the problem.
But he still had his Sense of magic, albeit a dull one from years of abuse. He could sense something extraordinarily strong here, just out of reach. The Sense felt like pressure on his chest, pushing in on his lungs. The closer he got to an object, the more pressure he felt.
Yet there was nothing but the obelisk in the room, and it had obviously powered down. He ran his hands against the walls, sweeping away the thick cobwebs. He searched for a crack or something that would indicate a secret chamber.
He didn't find anything, but on the walls there were thousands of names, like a huge family tree that spiraled around the walls again and again. At the beginning the names were in ancient runes, slowly descending into more modern text. It surprised the young wizard the variations of names and cultures the Greek goddess had employed (as he assumed these were the names of her previous servants). After five rotations of the room, the line ended near the door.
The name Cercio was connected to Ananya. From them, the name Rathana was connected. Mozenrath's mother's name also had a marriage/companion line connected to it. But her love's name had been violently blasted out of the stone. Mozenrath ran his thumb over the crevice. With a smirk, he wondered if Rathana had done that herself.
While he had meandered around the room, he hadn't noticed his hand still bleeding. A thin trail of blood marked his journey through the temple. While the sorcerer was examining his family tree, the trail of blood across the middle of the floor glowed. Silently the stone tiles melted away, revealing the hidden chamber below.
It was only when his Sense sent a shock down his spine that he realized what had happened. He whipped around. The magic was positively radiating from the compartment below. He approached the edge, peering over. Below, lying in a mass of old books and papers was a thin, long, leather-sheathed sword. The hilt was wrapped in black leather as well, the three ends topped with silver and a single black amethyst.
"Well this was anti-climatic," Mozenrath said hopping down into the cubicle below. Ripping off part of his belt, he wrapped his sliced hand before picking up the weapon. The sword didn't seem especially powerful. "All this for a blade? What's so special about a sword-oh..."
Mozenrath had pulled the sword out of its sheath. The blade was shining slightly, and radiated magical energy. This was elfin steel, stronger than iron, more beautiful than white gold. Near the hilt was another chunk of black amethyst surrounded by intricate, delicate designs burned into the metal. Below that, in Hindi, Rathana was written. But as the necromancer stared, the letters writhed into his own name. Mozenrath was now proudly displayed on the steel. But that was not the only thing that was changing. At first it was far too light for him, but as he continued to hold it, it grew heavier until it was perfectly balanced in his hand. The sword had acclimated to its new master.
Mozenrath knew he had to restart his collection of magical artifacts, and this was a perfect place to start. This object was so powerful it was almost sentient. He grinned in his excitement. Damn, he wished his lab was still standing; he could spend hours studying this blade. Mozenrath had read about elfin steel before, but never actually seen it, just as he had never seen an elf either. They'd hidden long ago, to protect themselves from mortals.
But the wizard knew they existed. When Mozenrath had looked through his masters things after his 'death', he'd seen that Destane had had a correspondence with a fire elf called 'General Ashai'. Still, to be holding, nay, to own something made of elfin steel made his heart race with excitement. If he was still unsure about his chosen method of returning to power via servitude, all doubt ended here.
"Pretty isn't it?"
Mozenrath jumped and spun around. Eris lay on her stomach on the floor above him, her chin resting on her palm.
"That is getting extraordinarily annoying."
"It's my house, so to speak." She disappeared into smoke, and reappeared next to him. Mozenrath noticed something off about her. She was looking him over repeatedly, leaning from foot to foot, the heel of her foot tapping annoyingly against the paper covered floor. She was agitated about something. The wizard hadn't known her long, but she didn't seem the type to have a nervous habit. "Like it?" she asked, pulling him from his observations.
Mozenrath sheathed the sword. "It's...fascinating. How old is it?"
"A few centuries. It was acquired by your ancestor, Jalalun. He had a little...tryst with a royal from Underground Elfin court."
"Delightful," Mozenrath said wrinkling his nose. Underground Elves that mined their metal were depicted as disgusting creatures with leathery graying skin and metal welded onto their bodies. The pictures he had seen in books didn't necessarily disturb him, but thinking of romancing one was...creepy.
"The ends justified his means don't you think?"
"Perhaps-it is a beautiful artifact, powerful and lithe."
"It can cut through any kind of magic spell."
"I can do that by myself," Mozenrath said.
"No doubt you could for most, but the most ancient and binding spells? And now that it bears your name, anyone else who tries to touch it will burn their skin right off."
"Really," Mozenrath laughed. "Wonderful! This is the most amazing thing I've acquired." Holding the sword awkwardly in his skeleton hand, he kneeled down amongst the papers and books. "What are these?"
"Journals. Texts. Various miscellaneous things, anything my Imperioris thought was of importance, they wrote it down and placed it here for safekeeping. I know there are a few medical journals, some scientific texts. Chemistry and science seem to run in your line, as well as megalomania. "
"Really," Mozenrath snorted, thumbing through a scientific journal from a few decades ago. "From what I hear, Rathana could have ascended to heaven at any moment. I'm surprised a girl like that is your servant."
"Is that the impression you got?" Eris chuckled. "She was an assassin."
"Really now," Mozenrath asked, glancing up. That was different.
"I'm assuming you read the little memoriam on the front door?" She continued at his nod. "People like to romanticize legends and leaders after their death. Just because she kept the peace doesn't mean she wanted to. She had no warmth for most mortals for what they did to her kind-but she was smart. She knew it was better if there was peace, since her kind was globally outnumbered. She was wise for her young years and extraordinarily strong--like another magician I know."
Now Mozenrath knew something was wrong. Not only had been forthcoming with her information, she had complimented him.
"She also wasn't as powerful as they say."
"I had my suspicions," Mozenrath said, leaning against the wall. The only time a Propori, or a wizard with 'the purest of magic through their veins', was born of a Propori was centuries ago, and was most likely a myth. Proporis were few and far between. The farther down the family tree from them, the weaker their children's magic. Most wizards in this day and age were so weak they needed incantations or objects to channel their magic, like wands or amulets.
"She was a telepath, that's perhaps what made her such a good assassin." Eris disappeared again, returning to the upper level.
Mozenrath selected a few of the older books and tossed them onto the level above. Tying the sword to his belt, he pulled himself up, struggling slightly on his bone hand.
"You have a new mission."
"Yes, going home." Mozenrath shoved the journals into his pack. "I have a rat to kill."
"Not yet."
Mozenrath's jaw tightened. Somehow, he knew this was going to happen. Gods below, isn't there another man the fates can toy with? He held in the many oaths he wished to shout and turned to his mistress, trying to keep calm. "You said if I took your mark you would help me kill that street rat filth," he shouted. So much for control.
"And I will. Patience."
"When?! "
"When he's not on guard. Mirage didn't help by revealing herself either."
Mozenrath groaned softly. He felt his headache crawling back. "What does she have to do with anything?"
"She framed you for the marketplace scuffle, and proceeded to gloat about it to the pauper sultan."
The wizard growled. "So that's what the street rat was babbling about. Oh," he growled, "If I ever get my hands on her..."
"I've taken care of it," Eris said dismissively."She shouldn't be bothering you anymore."
'Shouldn't', didn't mean she wouldn't rock the boat again. With what he heard and seen of Mirage, it was more of a guarantee that this wasn't the last of the cat. But the sorcerer felt his irritation diminish slightly. "You've taken care of it?"
"Yes," the goddess said, not explaining further. "Now, stay away from the seven deserts for now. He's more then likely watching the Black Sands, and reinforcing his protection. I'll take care of the little rat." Eris placed a hand on Mozenrath's cheek. He jerked away. Eris smirked. "I'll prime him for your arrival. In the meantime I have something to keep you entertained."
"Which is...?"
"Doing what you do best," Eris said smiling. "Ruining heroes."
"Let me guess-Rome? You want me to sabotage the wedding?"
Eris leaned against the obelisk. "Nothing so complicated. Just the lady. Get her to come with you, willingly."
"Why?"
"To sabotage Hercules, bring him down, cause general chaos throughout the city," Eris said, bored.
"As true as that may be," Mozenrath said, equally nonchalant, "let us not insult each other. You and I both know there must be something more substantial to this. You're not that shallow."
Eris rolled her eyes. "Curiosity, curiosity, the death of the feline. If you must know, she is the former slave of Hades."
"Former slave of Hades marrying a hero. Let me guess, he saved her form the underworld, they fell in love and plan to live happily ever after."
"Bravo. Yes, and her former master is still watching her, in secret. If she were to disappear all of a sudden, Hades would have to reveal his dirty little secret to get her back. It will be interesting to see him explain it to his perfect little wife."
"Toying with the king of death. Bold. And what do I do with her after that?" Mozenrath didn't want to carry around some air brained damsel. He despised having someone around, slowing his progress. Having to make sure they both were covered, hidden and not followed would be a tedious, sluggish process. Not counting the mindless chatter that would come with a princess-like escort.
"Oh, I don't know," Eris said, annoyed. "And I don't care-just keep her alive."
"Leverage," the sorcerer asked. If he ever needed to get out of a situation, he'd need something to trade for his freedom without causing a bloodbath.
"Exactly. I'm sure you'll figure it out when you get there. Now, off you go, get rest, you have more traveling to do."
"Why can't you just send me there? Or heal me? I am your servant- you should be protecting me," he said, internally wincing at how childish he sounded.
"Ask no questions and receive no lies," came her ghostly voice. She was nowhere to be seen, now.
Mozenrath felt a strong urge to stamp his foot in frustration. Every time he thought he got close to an answer, it seemed to slip away from him, like water through his fingers. Even in this strangely forthcoming mood, Eris was frustrating and secretive. How had his mother ever lived being under this goddess' command?
She accepted it because it brought her fame. It brought her power.
"It brought her a sticky end," he murmured. His stomach lurched at the vicious comment with a bit of guilt. No, it her fame hadn't been her downfall. Romance, the sweet smelling fog that clouded the mind had. She had fallen in love with someone unworthy, a dirty, no good, street rat. A thief that had been below her importance and breeding. And because of that he'd caused her death.
Like mother like son, don't you think? To let first love mislead them, play them for a fool? Bit hypocritical to judge her. The young wizard felt uncontrollable anger bubble up inside him. Illogical as at was, he felt cheated. Maybe her blood had made him the fool he'd been in his youth?
Easy to hate someone, when they're dead isn't it? Easy to be angry and vicious toward her when she isn't here. She gave her life for you.
So? He'd been saved to be a slave. Her sacrifice was worthless. That's not fair, a tiny voice said. Hypocrite again. You risked it all to save Xerxes.
And it did so much for him, didn't it? Dragged myself through the River Styx only for him to be a slimy familiar only to die later in agony. If Rathana had been smart she would have saved herself-or better, not fallen so stupidly in love.
She was only human. Couldn't you have been to her what Xerxes was to you? He thought back to the sketch of Rathana holding him. She looked happy, looking at her baby son. She could be as easily deceived, as you were, by her 'love'.
He wasn't angry at her, not really. He was angry that he had been cheated from a life he deserved. A position of power, of significance. He had suffered countless years or slavery and torment to end up in the position he should have received at birth.
The magic of a genie was handed to you on a silver platter, he had said to Aladdin. The powers of a god should have been handed to him as a birthright, but he had to give up his right hand, his very home to reach this point. The son of a great leader had to crawl from the dirt to receive his due, while a street rat had been bestowed with a genie just by accident. The injustice of it all was what infuriated him.
But it's almost all set to rights. You've received your due, and with patience you'll see the street rat dead. Patience. You waited before, you can do it again. These things can't be rushed.
Mozenrath pushed himself away from the wall he had been leaning on. He could wait. Besides, he had a damsel to steal and a hero to ruin. He could see the pleasure that Eris got from pulling a string and watching everything collapse. This could be fun.
Swinging his pack on his shoulder, he paused before approaching the door. After a few moments though, he rummaged around his bag for some rubbing charcoal. He approached the wall where Rathana's name was carved. Under it was a small black snake holding an eye in its mouth. With the charcoal he drew a line from his mother's name. There he wrote: Lord Mozenrath. This impulse done, he walked to the doors. They opened upon his approach.
As he walked out, he thought he saw a dark shadow on the wall beside him. He turned his head fully, but nothing was there.
