Author notes: Short note because it's 3am, but I really want to post this!
Review replies:
Mina: Thanks for the epically long review, really made me smile, and I love seeing which bits were your favourite! xx
Sorree: I know exactly what you mean about the sparring between Dastan and Tamina. That's the great bits, and even though I plan to have them more romantically involved with each other in my story than the film, this won't change their arguments ;)
Starfish: ITS SO FLUFFY IM GONA DIE! (That reference is totally wasted unless you've seen Despicable me XD) And yup, our favourite little Zolm antagonist is back!
Vera1992: Well, thanks very much, i'm really flattered. Being told the characters follow the movie makes me really proud, as do your comments about the OC. Thanks, and hope you stick around to read the rest! xx
WingedShadow: You left like a bazillion comments! My review counter really appreciates it, and so do I! And I tend to end on cliffhangers a lot... it may annoy the readers, but it sure as hell keeps them coming back.
Chapter warning - Long and (I don't know if this is a British saying that will be lost on non native english speakers/ americans but here goes) the... 'excriment' is about to hit the fan. Enjoy.
Woffles92
Chapter 6 – Resurrection
Through the darkness, Zolm could see the people leaving the tavern. Their drunken ramblings and stumbling amused him somewhat. Most of them, he guessed from the angry words and rude gestures, would have preferred to have stayed all night, drinking themselves senseless. But the owner of the drinking house had a business to run, and when the men started getting too rowdy, it was time to shut.
His pale lips turned up in a smile as he saw her. She wasn't alone of course. That was part of the deal. To an onlooker if would simply have looked as though she was helping one of the more particularly inebriated men back to his house, though he hardly merited the description of man. Boy, would have been more accurate.
Nasreen spotted him standing in the alley and made her way over, her slight figure coping remarkably well with the weight of the strong young lad who was leaning against her and muttering incoherently.
"Perfect," Zolm grinned. His arm flung out and grabbed the boy by the throat, lifting his weight away from Nasreen.
She watched with fascination, where others would have looked on in dread as the drunken young man made a few pathetic bats of his hand to try and fend off the Hassansins grip.
The snake slithered silently down his arm to the hand that was grasped around the neck. It reared back its head, and then in one swift motion, it struck, and sank the long fangs into the soft flesh of the neck. Immediately, the boy went limp, as he entered into a state of unconsciousness.
"What are you going to do with him?" Nasreen asked when it was over, her eyes glistening with excitement.
"It's none of your concern," he muttered quickly, shifting the body so that it would look as though the boy was leaning on him for balance.
"Oh…" she grinned, "So that's why you haven't been very interested in me. You prefer a different sort of company?"
Zolm rolled his eyes as he begged for the strength not to slit her throat.
"Why," he muttered under his breath, "must everything be about desires to you?"
"Does anything else really matter?" she countered with a raise of her eyebrow.
"You are too young to understand," he said, "Not everything is about money, friends or lovers."
"How about power?"
He narrowed his eyes, annoyed that she had managed to strike the nail on the head. Changing the subject quickly, he said, "Thank you for your assistance."
Reaching inside his robes, he rooted around for the coin which he'd promised her.
"I don't want your money," she laughed.
"Then what?"
"I want your name."
"What is this obsession?" He demanded.
She shrugged, and although a mischievous smile danced across her lips, she didn't answer him. He took the coin from his pocket and tossed it to the ground at her feet.
"That was our agreement. Now, go back inside before I change my mind about paying you at all."
She picked up the little gold disc and slipped it inside a pouch that was tied to her belt.
He turned, and began to walk down the street, his pace somewhat hindered by the extra weight of the boy. A slightly eerie feeling began to wash over him and instinctively, he glanced over his shoulder.
Nasreen was still standing in the middle of the street, watching him with those all possessing eyes. There was something ethereal about the way her hair moved about her face in the slight breeze, and it stirred a feeling of unease deep in the pit of his stomach. He had killed countless foes without thought, slit the throats of dignitaries for a price, and casually slipped in and out of the well-guarded fortresses of the lands. But this, creature, had some unearthly power to unsettle him. Turning away, he tried not to let his thoughts dwell on her, for fear that it would cloud his resolve for the impending mission.
Following Horus' map wasn't difficult, he was skilled enough at drawing, and the layout of the streets was easy to follow. There had been several entrances to the fabled chamber of the sand glass. The ones marked with X's were the ones that had been collapsed in the Persian raid. Circle's marked the ones deemed too hidden to even be discovered by accident. He made his way to one of those.
It was by the wall to one of the lower walls of the palace. An ornate fountain covered the entrance, and as instructed on the parchment, he pressed three independent parts of the fountain. There was a little rumble, and a hole, just big enough for one person appeared in the wall.
He pushed the boy through first. Nizam had requested a young man, but he had failed to state in what condition.
Zolm followed after checking to make sure no-one could see him. The note had informed him that the hole would cover itself again after a few minutes. He considered waiting around until it did, just to make sure, but he was too anxious. The last few weeks had been accumulating to this, and he was eager to see if the impossible plans of a dead man would really work.
The tunnels were dark, and were his eyes not so good at adjusting it would have been near impossibly to negotiate them, especially with the cumbersome body he was trying to carry.
Suddenly, there was a noise in the darkness.
Zolm dropped the boy and unsheathed his sword. He frowned in the direction of sound, and his luminous blue eyes peered into the darkness. A movement caught his eyes and he lunged forward. The blade met with stone as the shadow dodged, and his blade connected with the tunnel wall.
"Careful!" a female voice hissed, "You'll have someone's eye out with that thing."
Disbelief was the first emotion that graced him, followed quickly by anger.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed. Nasreen giggled.
"I followed you, of course. Life's so much more interesting with you around."
"Go back, now." His words were laced with venom and danger.
"I can't, it closed behind me," she said with a hint of bitterness. Perhaps she was regretting taking her little games quite this far.
Zolm debated whether or not to dispose of her right there. He couldn't risk her knowing about Nizam's plan. He raised his sword and gritted his teeth. If there had been enough light, Nasreen would have been able to see the wild look in his ice blue eyes as he held the weapon aloft, ready to strike. But as the seconds slipped slowly by, he remained in that position. His breathing was heavy, and every part of him screamed for the follow-through, but it was as though his muscles had frozen into place.
Then, a voice drifted through the tunnels and like he'd been splashed with cold water Zolm snapped out of his trance. He lowered the sword quickly and grabbed Nasreen pulling her roughly into the shadow of one of the pillars that had been constructed to hold the ceiling of the tunnel in place. He darted out and pushed the boy's body to the other side of the passage. Tendrils of light began to dance on the uneven walls and cast uneasy shadows. He sped back to the pillar where he'd left Nasreen.
As the priestess rounded the corner, she could be heard muttering to herself. It was impossible to tell whether or not her words were that of prayer, or if she was just voicing thoughts out loud. In the labyrinth of tunnels, he couldn't be sure if she was heading toward, or away from the chamber. If he was a gambling man, he would say the latter. He hoped that to her, they would just appear like more of the shadowy apparitions her burning torch was casting.
They were close, too close for his liking, but there was no other way for them to be hidden, and to be sure that Nasreen didn't do anything foolish. He tried to concentrate on anything but his proximity to her slight body, but was unable. Her luminous eyes were watching him with an emotion he couldn't place and he felt hot and uncomfortable under her gaze. A fire raged in the pit of his stomach and he imagined taking her delicate throat in his hands and squeezing until her eyes bulged and her face drained of colour and life. He closed his eyes, trying to keep himself in check, but he only felt worse, infuriated by the way she had burrowed under his skin like some vial insect.
The priestess disappeared, having failed to see them. As soon as her light stopped dancing across the walls, Zolm moved away from Nasreen.
They didn't speak. He grabbed the body of the boy from the ground and slung it over his shoulder. Let her follow me, he thought as he angrily stormed down the stone corridor, when all hell breaks loose, she can be the first to fall in its path.
Continuing down the path in silence, it began to get lighter. As they turned the final corner, Zolm had to stop and stare at the sight which greeted him. A twisted pillar of what looked like fire and stone dominated a chamber that was taller than any palace or city he'd ever been to. It was the sand glass.
"What in the name of the gods…" Nasreen breathed behind him.
"That is the gods," he smirked, "Or at least, the closest thing to them."
She just stood there, the light from the pillar reflecting on her awestruck face. He was struck for the briefest of moments by the revelation that her face would have been pleasing, were her intolerable attitude not taken into account.
The pillar was connected to several of these passages by rocky outcrops that led all the way to the base. That was where the ritual would take place. Taking care where to step, he began to cross the walkway, careful not to look down. Below him, the cavern continued, deeper than the eye could comprehend. One wrong step was all that separated him from plummeting to certain death.
He set the body in front of the pillar, which roared as the fiery sand raged behind the glass. He got out the phial of Tamina's blood, the letter Nizam had written, and reached into his robes for the pouch of ashes. His heart missed a beat. The pouch wasn't where it should have been. He checked everywhere, every pocket and crease and fold of his robes, but it was gone.
He whirled around and saw that she was standing a little way away, still mesmerised by the pillar.
"Give it back," he snarled. Why, at every stage, must she be a hindrance?
She looked at him and batted her long eyelashes, feigning innocence. He closed the gap between her in two long strides and reached out to grab her. Expertly, she moved out of his way, dancing dangerously close to the edge. She clambered up some rocks so as to get to higher ground. Dangling the little pouch over the abyss she smiled down at him.
"I don't have time for this," he roared, his voice bouncing off the walls, "Give it back now!"
"All I want is your name."
He took three breaths, in and out, through clenched teeth. The hell with it.
"Zolm," he spat his name out like it was an offensive word, "My name is Zolm. Now give me the pouch or I swear…"
"No need for that," she chuckled, tossing the little pouch down to him. He caught it expertly and could feel the relief wash over him.
Composing himself, he read over the instructions once more, even though they were ingrained on his mind. Taking a deep breath in preparation, he threw the little glass bottle at the pillar of glass and sand. It smashed, sending the blood running through the cracks in the crystal like surface. Nasreen watched with avid curiosity from her perch.
After a moment of superstitious hesitation, he plunged his fingers into the pouch of Nizam's ashes and approached. He smeared the ashes and blood together on the surface, forming a repulsive paste. Then, with his finger, he traced the symbols from the parchment exactly into the mix. With a disgusted look, he wiped his fouled fingers on his robes and took a step back.
There was a moment of expectant silence which dragged on too long. He frowned. Something was supposed to have happened.
"What exactly are you trying to do?" Nasreen asked sceptically.
Zolm checked the letter to be sure that he'd done everything.
"Maybe he was just an old fool," he sighed, dejected.
That was when the winds began. They came from nowhere, whipping up around the pillar like a ferocious desert sandstorm. The roar of it almost deafened him, and he fell to his knees, trying to brace himself.
Nasreen screamed. It was so uncharacteristic of her that he looked up, just in time to see a gust of the devilish wind knock her off balance. Time seemed to slow as she fell. He didn't even know that he'd moved until he was looking down at her, his hand locked to hers, with her body dangling perilously over the endless darkness.
"Don't let me go!" she yelled over the noise, as he saw fear in thoes eyes of hers for the first time.
With a surprise he realised he hadn't even thought of that. This was his moment; he could be rid of her once and for all. But even as the voices in his head urged him to let go, the muscles in his hand tightened, securing his hold. She didn't weigh much, but nevertheless, his shoulder began to ache from the sudden strain, and because his hand refused to cooperate, he had no choice but to hoist her up. She clung to him like a child to a parent, refusing to relinquish her grasp, even when her feet were back on solid ground.
The wind began to calm, and the cavern darkened, as blackness began to mix with the fire and sand.
That was when the voices began to speak.
The initial price is paid. Do you, wretched one, understand the terms?
It was both a thunderous roar of hundreds of voices, and the quiet whisper of one. Zolm's heart thundered inside his chest, as he realised this night would be burnt into his memory for the rest of his days, be they short or numerous.
"I do!" a feeble, yet recognisable voice replied. The silhouette of a person appeared at the glass.
Should you fail to meet our demands, or, if you are pierced by sacred blades, you shall return to the unimaginable punishments which you deserve. Do you consent?
"Yes!"
There was a noise of cracking, as the seemingly solid wall of the pillar became fluid, and the shadow stepped forward.
Nasreen, who had been watching this unfold before her eyes, released herself from the embrace she had forced upon Zolm, and sprinted back across the walkway. It was too much.
The Hassansin wrenched his gaze from the pillar to watch as she fled. He considered for a moment, that she would get lost in the tunnels, and eventually thirst and hunger would claim her, but what concern was that of his? Turning back, the shadow behind the glass began to form features, and to his utter amazement, he recognised the form. With a final push from unseen hands, the body was pushed through the molten glass. It tumbled to its hands and knees on the ground, unable to stand. Behind him, the pillar reformed, as though nothing had happened.
"Hassansin," it croaked, "Bring the boy."
Too dazed to argue, Zolm complied and dragged the body over beside the new addition. The wretched figure placed his hands on either side of the boy's head, and began to breathe in deeply.
What seemed like a golden thread of sand and light left through the boy's open mouth and into his. The transformation was miraculous, as the light was transferred from one to the other. When it was done, he tossed the now useless body over the side of the rock and into the abyss.
Amazed, Zolm began to laugh. It was one of relief, and of victory.
"What time of what day is it?"
"It's the early morning, Lord," Zolm replied, "Today is the day Dastan marries the Princess."
It gave a chuckle.
"Well, as family, I think I'm entitled to an invitation, don't you?"
Dastan paced his bedroom, unable to settle. He felt like a painted peacock with the hot uncomfortable layers of ceremonial robes. Despite himself, he was nervous. Something his father had said in the other time line sprang to mind, and he smiled a little as he remembered it.
"He plunges into a hundred foes without thought, but before marriage he stands frozen with fear!"
The two were incomparable, war was war. But marriage, that was a whole different kind of battle. He just hoped to god that he would make her happy, that was all he wanted.
With shaking hands, he lifted up a goblet of wine from the table and took a sip, hoping it would calm the nerves that were bubbling below his surface.
The door opened a bit, and Bis popped his curly haired head through.
"Dastan!" he hissed.
The prince spun around, his eyes wide.
"Is it time?" he spluttered.
"No, not yet, but your father's coming. He'll be here any moment!"
Dastan set down the goblet, and brushed himself down.
The door opened fully this time, as King Sharaman entered.
"My boy," he called holding out both hands towards him. Dastan went into his adopted father's embrace and kissed his cheek. Sharaman patted him on the back and laughed.
"How are you holding up?" the king chuckled, "Have you thought about running away yet?"
"A little," Dastan smiled. He wanted more than anything in the world to marry the princess, but to have his whole life set out before him like that was daunting, and made every man second guess his motives.
"Good!" Sharaman roared, "That means you're ready! She shall make a wonderful first wife, and a fine Queen of Alamut."
First, and last, Dastan thought, unable to imagine taking another after Tamina. But he would cross that bridge when he came to it. Now was not the time for defying ancient Persian traditions.
His father let out a sigh, and took Dastans face in his hands.
"Just look at you," he beamed, "Look how you've grown. You're a fine young man Dastan, and no matter what people may say of your blood, your heart is as pure and full, and noble as any man born into royalty. I'm so proud of you. I just wish your Uncle could have been here to see this, he would have been proud of you too."
Dastan faltered a little. Nizam would have been anything but proud, but it was supposed to be a joyous day, and Sharaman would not have a bad word said about his brother after his tragic and misunderstood death.
"Thank you, father," he said, "It means a great deal to know that I've pleased you."
Both men laughed and embraced again.
"Come then, let us take the first step down the path towards the rest of your life."
He didn't even remember how he got to the room where the wedding would take place. It was all just one big blur of fussing and talking. Bis was by his side as always, his two brothers, Tus, and Garsiv, his father of course, and a lot of other Persian dignitaries were present. There was also a large Alumutian gathering, priests and some of Tamina's family. Her mother and father had passed into the afterlife some years ago, but her cousins and other extended family and friends were there to see her wed.
Dastan stood at the front of the room, his mouth as dry as the desert beyond the city walls. He tried not to fidget, but found it impossible. Normally, he couldn't give a damn how he looked, but these weren't his regular clothes. He pulled a sleeve straight, then adjusted the fit of the robes. Running his hands through his hair was another nervous habit of his, and he did this several times in a row. Bis placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Relax."
The Persian prince managed to nod in response.
A hush fell over the room and with a violent thud of his heart, Dastan realised that Tamina must have entered. He swung around, and as he looked at her, he felt all the breath leave his body at once.
She was so beautiful it was almost physically painful to look at her. Her hair was adorned with golden beads and jewels that glinted in the afternoon sunlight. Those deep brown eyes of hers were lined with black to accent their shape and they were even more dazzling than usual. Her hands and feet were painted with complex patterns of waves, swirls and flowers, as was her custom. As she walked towards him, she shifted her eyes up from the floor, to him, and smiled.
So many things could be said with a smile. He could see she was apprehensive, and he would even go as far to say a little scared, but it was mixed with excitement and expectation. She wouldn't have smiled at him, had she loathed him, as was his fear. Alone, she walked to meet him, with her gaggle of maids waiting behind her.
She glided to his side, and taking a quick glance at him, they both knelt on the embroidered cushions on the floor, in front of one of the high priests of Tamina's religion.
The priest began to speak, summoning the gods into their presence to preside over the ceremony.
That was when the noises started. They were quiet at first, enough so to be easily ignored as the tactless arguing of servants. But as it became gradually louder, people began to get restless at the intrusion on the ceremony. When the clash of swords sounded, the rumble of dissent in the room became a frenzy of talking. Dastan looked over his shoulder at his brothers. Garsiv's hand was at his sword, and Tus had a worried frown painted on his face, as he glanced nervously over his shoulder.
Tamina grabbed Dastans arm abruptly and began to speak in a rushed whisper.
"I don't have time to explain," she hissed under the growing din. Her brown eyes that had been filled with expectation only moments before were not drowning in fear, "But in a few moments you're going to get a very nasty shock. We need to leave, try to escape the moment that happens, do you understand?"
"What are you talking about?" he asked dumbfounded.
"You just have to trust me," she pleaded, and he could almost feel the anxiety and dread radiating off her like heat from a lamp. He frowned, but nodded quickly in affirmation.
At that moment, the doors at the far end of the room burst open. Dastan snapped his head around to look, and were it not for his already being on the floor, he was sure that he would have fallen over from the shock.
The name tumbled from his lips uncontrollably as the impossible situation unfolded in front of him.
"Nizam."