Chapter Two
Mozenrath felt like laughing. Truly, the man was completely crazy and was now impressively trying to persuade him to believing he was meant to lead an alternate life as ruler of Agrabah and not The Land of the Black Sands; his home for over a decade. "Are you mad?" Mozenrath suppressed a laugh and looked down at the cloaked figure. When he shook his head in response, the laughter began to bubble up. "Well, this is new, I must say. I give you credit for finding the nerve to come here and try to convince me that I should be Sultan of Agrabah. Perhaps one day I will be, but not due to the way you speak of."
"Stop being so damn full of yourself." He scoffed, unfazed when the gauntlet began to glow anew and Mozenrath's features turned hard and dark. "You've done nothing but sit around here and plot of new ways to torture Aladdin. You haven't even put a plausible plan of action into ruling the deserts in nearly two years."
"I was waiting for the right moment." He said sharply through clenched teeth. Surely, this was a test. It had to be. No one besides Aladdin ever flared his temper so quickly without much effort.
"When? The next apocalypse? No, your primary focus is to see the end of Aladdin and his friends; that personal vendetta has taken all of your attention since the day you met him. Each encounter thereafter was a desperate attempt to kill him. And we all remember what happened the last time . . . it failed. Just like every other ploy you conjured to try and rule the Seven Deserts. And you know why . . . ? Because they were never meant to happen in the first place. It was never in your cards to rule anything but one kingdom, that's why I personally think they got away with sending you to this one, another bent and broken rule." The old man muttered, becoming quickly lost within his own thoughts of the conspiracy. "Maybe if they thought that if they just changed the place of your upraising, everything would occur undiscovered by us." He laughed slightly. "Well, it worked before today."
"I have no time for this." Mozenrath sliced the air with his hands, signaling the end of the conversation for him before he turned and began to leave him. "Let yourself out." He murmured, nearly reaching the end of the room before the man's soft and calm voice stopped him.
"It is the truth, Mozenrath." He sighed, never turning away from the wizard. "This has gone unnoticed, until now. The change must be made before more lives are severely altered and permanently fixed. Either way, this is going to happen whether you like it or not." He sighed again, beginning to approach Mozenrath who started to immediately back away in retreat.
"No one tells me what to do!" He cried out in anger and a slight twinge of fear. "I am warning you, stay back!" But the man came closer to him, no break or waver in his gait. When the man became less than a foot away from the enraged Mozenrath, he simply placed his hands on his shoulders, muttered a few words and darkness consumed them both.
Mozenrath fell into a world of haze and mist alone, falling and falling as wind and water washed over him. He watched in awe as his clothes were stripped away, his hair and skin were altered, his gauntlet dissolved within seconds before he could make an attempt to salvage it. Moments later, the world spun in every which way before him and everything blurred. The last thing he remembered before he lost consciousness was the eerie voice of the old cloaked man murmuring, "The broken thread must be mended."
When Mozenrath awoke, he groaned and rubbed the back of his neck by a strange new reflex that felt oddly natural. His blurred vision began to alter and adjust to the low lighting in the room he was in. It was nighttime; the air was crisp and moist, the sky was black and the sound of evening silence filled his ears. Gazing around, he noticed a figure sleeping not far from him; the decrepit habitat of a commoner. What trick was this? Where had the old man put him? Rising, he stood and looked over the area. Ignoring the sleeping person only a few feet from him, he gazed out the massive window area that overlooked much of Agrabah. In awe, he stared at the Palace and licked his lips. What was going on?
Mozenrath ran his hands over his face and rubbed throughly, as if to brush away this dream, before suddenly catching the color and tint of his skin in the corner of his eye. Slowly bringing his hands down in front of him, he stared in wonder at the bronzed flesh, and the complete right hand that rested where his gauntlet once had been. Panicking, he quickly began to search around him and on him for his glove, but soon gave up the search and felt a warm feeling overflow him at the sight of his completed arm once again. 'It's been so long . . . ' He thought in marvel, rubbing the skin over with his other hand, feeling the warmth and muscle beneath. 'It feels so wonderful, so complete.'
Checking over the rest of his body, he noted how much more muscle and tone he had, how much heathier he felt and how his hair was now short and slightly mussed. His garbs, to his annoyance, were tattered pants and a ragged, old shirt that was filled with holes and dingy stains. Why was he here? And where was that old man?
The person near him stirred, rustled awake by the sounds of Mozenrath's strained breathing and sudden movements. "Moze?" He grumbled, turning over. "That you?" Drowsily, Aladdin turned over, still half asleep and not quite coherent.
Mozenrath's jaw dropped and a new sense of anxiety flew over him. He couldn't find the words to speak or anything remotely clever to say. So, he did the only thing he could think of . . . he simply nodded and watched Aladdin fall back into his slumber. Heart pounding within his chest, Mozenrath quickly made his way out of the hovel and over onto the roof nearby. Standing near the ledge, he looked over the city, panic quickly spreading throughout his blood and making his knees weak.
"Still think I was bluffing?" The old man spoke from behind, arms crossed at the chest and a smile across his face. The hood of his cloak was gone, showing his gray and tattered features. His chalk washed hair and his wrinkled smile greeted Mozenrath's own terrorized shock.
"Why am I here!?" He demanded breathlessly, staggering over toward him. "Send me back! I demand you send me back!"
"This is where you were meant to be. This is how your life was meant to be lived." He motioned over Mozenrath's clothes and looked him up and down. "The Land of the Black Sand is no longer yours, it is still being ruled by Destane."
"No!" Mozenrath shouted, anger quickly returning and fueling his madness. Surely, he decided, if he was going crazy, he was more than willing to take a few people along with him. "Take me back! The Sands are mine! Not that weak, old man!"
"No!" The man shouted, his own rage beginning to dawn. "You have to listen to me now. You are not Mozenrath. You are Moze. You've lived in Agrabah all your life." Mozenrath simply shook his head at the notion and wouldn't accept what he was telling him. "I know this is a lot to take in all at once, but this is the pure and utter truth of what Allah had intended for you at birth. As I said before, someone altered your fate . . . they kidnapped you." The man spoke briskly, sharply and to the point. "They took you from your home here in Agrabah, ripped you from your family, and kept you hidden for nearly ten years before making a deal with Destane and practically handing you over to the dark side of this world." Mozenrath had given up fighting, his will drained and exhausted. In near anguish, he sat where he had stood and let what the man tell him sink in. It was all plausible.
All of it had been heard, but only one part was crucially examined in Mozenrath's mind. "I had a family?" He said in a near whisper, his sight far off into the distance as his intellect played with the idea of someone once caring for him.
The old man merely nodded in response. "Yet, your father and mother are gone now, your mother is dead and your father has been away for years. I'm sorry that you didn't get the chance to meet them. But, they knew you. You grew up with them, lived with them, raised by them into the man people know you today. You should know you have other family that lives in Agrabah as well, people you never knew were related to you, even as you attacked this city. When you were Mozenrath, the ruler of the Black Sands, they didn't know it was you, didn't even know you were still alive. Some were too young at the time of your kidnaping to even remember you. But now, its like none of that ever happened."
The man paused before continuing, allowing him time to accept and take in everything he was sharing and explaining. "Moze, you have a lot to learn about the life you were never truly given. Everything here has now been changed and has happened as if you were never gone, as if that person never took you away. This is how your life would've turned out, had you stayed in Agrabah with your family. Mozenrath never existed to anyone besides you. Everyone here knows you as Moze and has known you since birth, the original way things were meant to happen."
"But what if I want my old life back?" He questioned, staring up at him with bewilderment. The anger and fury interestingly gone from his heart and replaced by a strange new veneration and yearning for acceptance that he found vaguely remarkable.
"You've been handed another chance at life, don't treat it as a punishment. Who knows, you may even come to like it better than your last." The man shrugged, looking over the land.
Mozenrath simply scoffed. "Enjoy being a street rat?" He sneered down at his ratty clothes and dirty hands. "I think not. This is the exact thing I tried to destroy." He flexed his recovered hand, more than relieved when no pain flared up his arm, when the only thing that rested against his bone was the flesh that was meant to be there. Perhaps there were some good qualities toward this alternate universe.
"I personally love the way irony works." He smiled, a glint in his eye. "At least here you have more companions than a slimy eel."
"Xerxes!" He cried out, suddenly remembering the slight figment of his past. It was then he felt the void over his shoulder where the eel used to rest and mutter raspy things in his ear, words of encouragement for his master. As much as he beat on the animal, physically and emotionally, he did care for him.
The man shook his head. "He lives with Destane, and knows nothing of you." Surprised, he watched Mozenrath's crestfallen expression cover his face. He always knew there was more to the man before him than an evil and wicked soul; he just needed the proper guidance and environment to flourish. "There are pros and cons to everything in life, but you can't always focus on the negative aspects. I promise you, there are many more pros to your new life than the small cons you are insisting on now." In thought, Mozenrath flexed his right hand again.
"So, I have no powers?" He questioned, still staring at his hand. "No strength purely brought on by thought? The magic to make things move, to bring fourth energy and dispel it all within seconds?"
"No." Mozenrath took it better than expected, merely nodding his head and sighing with slight grief. "None of that ever happened. Your past life is a memory, and only a memory to you. It means nothing to anyone else. You are allowed to keep those memories in order to learn from them, to change who you were for the better. You never met and bested Destane, you've never attacked this city, you never gave away your right hand and you've never even been to the Land of the Black Sand."
"What of the street rat?" Mozenrath said suddenly, remembering his brief encounter in the hovel when he awoke. "Why did I wake up in his dank hole?"
"Oh . . . " The old man smiled and chuckled, shaking his head with amusement. "Just so you know, there are many more surprises you're going to soon discover about your new life and just who you are, but I suppose there is one more thing you should know about this life tonight. Aladdin is not only your best friend, but he is, and always has been, your brother."
To Be Continued . . .
Please R/R! - Much Appreciated