Suffer The Little Children by Michael Ferrier

Index

Chapter 1: 1: Sharks and Little Fish
Chapter 2: 2: Seeds of Discontent
Chapter 3: 3: Heart of Stone, Teeth of a Gale, Flames of Passion
Chapter 4: 4: Strange Things By Moonlight
Chapter 5: 5: Parental Guidance
Chapter 6: 6: Nesnas
Chapter 7: 7: Shadow Play
Chapter 8: Epilogue

Chapter 1: 1: Sharks and Little Fish

Mozenrath stood on the deck, oblivious to the swaying of the ship as it rocked and rolled in the waves. His body was moving, slowly, a soft, fluid, swaying motion, almost mimicking the waves itself. He held his hands before him, gauntlet fisted, the palm of his left flattened and held out, like a man signaling someone to stop. He drew his hands back to his chest, and exhaled, pushing the air deep from within his diaphragm. Then he slowly straightened, and stood up. The Chi Gung breathing had served its purpose. He was relaxed now.

An ordinary sailor would have thought the ship to be almost eerily quiet. The only sound was the creak of the rigging, and the soft groaning of the ship's timbers in the swell. The Mamluk who manned this vessel had one thing in their favour: they didn't jabber and moan about storms, typhoons, or tsunami like some sailors did. Being dead, death was not high on their list of worries. Also, Mozenrath would have preferred not to use a ship at all: teleportation, though draining, was much more economical. You made no noise, and no-one saw you coming. But, he had to use a ship this once. It was bait. And to ensure his little expedition went as planned, he had to be here. A snatch of verse from some foreign poet floated through his mind.

Oh, have you built your Ship of Death? Oh, build your Ship of Death, for you will need it...

It was a Ship of Death, the sorcerer thought. A Ship of Death, sailed by the dead, manned by a skeleton crew, he thought wryly. And, the time was right. The time, in fact, was now. Suddenly, all forward motion ceased. The rails did not creak, the rigging was silent; even the wind seemed to have dropped away. There was nothing. It was, he thought, the calm before the storm.

The tentacles erupted from the larboard side, and he did not see them, but he heard them. There was a series of quick, wet, tearing noises. Something was dismembering Mamluks as a child pulls the petals from a daisy. Unhurried, unworried, he turned and saw the muscular tentacles writhing across the deck. He blasted one as it glided tentatively over his boot, and it drew back quickly. He saw Mamluks, mummified in the wet, pulsating coils, being dragged over the side, to a watery doom. Or perhaps not: whatever fate awaited them they would not drown.

Then the ship pitched and buckled inward at its very centre. There was a strong signature of magic all around him now. The ship was crumpling inwards and beginning to spin: he saw the signs of a vast whirlpool forming about him. He smiled, his lips pulling from his teeth in a vulpine grin. He just had to wait. He stepped away from the centre of the devastation, planted his feet, and waited. The ship whirled around him now, like a stream of water being sucked down the plug hole of a giant drain. The water was lapping at his boots. He muttered a spell and was surrounded instantly by a sheath of air. The water drew back. The sorcerer closed his eyes, and breathed normally. He did not even try to resist when the water sucked him down.

The descent to the bottom was slow, almost dreamlike; he was untouched by the whirling maelstrom about him. He was alone now: the Mamluks had either fallen victim to the tentacles, or the force of the vortex had battered them all to pieces. The ship had been reduced to so much splinters and toothpicks, and floated towards the surface. There was only him, his bubble of air, and the vortex that imprisoned him.

Sucking in another mouthful of air, Mozenrath let himself go limp. He relaxed the shield to let a stream of bubbles drift from his mouth. The appearance was vital. The person he was coming to see needed to think he was drowning, or already drowned. It wasn't his style to thrash about and struggle, face pinching as he tried to breathe, he was not that sort of man. To bring it off successfully would have been difficult. Better to play the victim of the fierce water: lungs filled with seawater, their incessant pumping having flooded them, the brain slowly dying, flickering like a candle going out. In aqua mortis.

He would endure for as long as it took, and when the time was right, he would strike. His involuntary smile sent another group of bubbles from his mouth. Right now, he had to enjoy the ride.

Saleen studied the newcomer with interest, as his body slowly bobbed in the vortex like a cork. She was slightly disappointed: the elemental enjoyed watching the sailors struggle and drown, this effeminate nancy-boy had no staying power at all, it seemed. He had been a living man on the surface, now, he was just so much flotsam. She sensed the changes in the water pressure as Armand, her faithful
octopus, loomed up behind her.

'Get him out of there,' she ordered. In a way, it was almost a shame, she thought. He wasn't as handsome as Aladdin; he was a bit older, in fact, but his face and body did have a certain sensuality about it. It might have been fun to know him for a while, but that chance had passed.

Armand drifted over, cradling the body in his tentacles. Saleen looked at the drowned man closely. Whatever headgear the man had been wearing had come askew, or perhaps been lost; his hair was thick, black, and curling, drifting in the swell like ebony seaweed. His clothes were rich, and well-tailored: she'd sunk a few treasure ships too, and merchants had added their bones to her ocean-floor trophy case. The clothes this man wore suggested something similar. His eyes were large, though closed, the lids delicate, and long-lashed. His lips were thick and sensual. Saleen touched them with her finger. A single bubble escaped from them, drifted upwards to be lost like a dream.

Saleen started back. This was not right. He should have no air in his lungs. He had drowned. He --. And then she froze as his eyes flicked open and stared at her. They were deep and black, probably capable of great expression. But now they were flat and lifeless as the eyes of a shark. More bubbles flowed as he sat up, face twisted into a mocking grin. And Saleen realised that some sharks walk on two legs.

Armand's tentacles coiled round him with the speed of thought, much quicker in the water than he. The young man made a shrugging gesture with his shoulders, and fire -- yes, fire! though a strange blue-black -- erupted in the water behind him. The octopus fell back, tentacles thrashing and beating the water like snakes. Then the man's hand, covered in a strange leather glove, was lunging for her wrist, clamped around it like a band of steel. That strange fire flared again, and she lost consciousness...

Mozenrath allowed himself his tight little grin again. Then, there was a flash of light so bright the water actually foamed and steamed. When it cleared, they were gone. Armand stared at the empty water in disbelief.

Saleen woke, imprisoned behind glass. This wasn't the first time it had happened: her last attempt to snag Aladdin had resulted in her being trapped in a similar container. The man was obviously a sorcerer; there was no reason to believe the glass here was any different. She swam up to the edge of the bowl and cupped her hands against the glare. He was seated cross-legged, staring at her, and smoking a hookah with calm deliberation. The smoke rings made fabulous colours she could not even name.

'What do you want of me?' she asked abruptly.

No sound but the suck and hiss of the water-pipe as it bubbled. The smoke rings drifted.

'Land-dwelling wretch! What do you want?'

No response. A gentle suck and sigh. Smoke rings.

'Answer me!' The elemental's fist hit the glass so hard it rocked, then steadied itself. Water spilt over the rim, wetting the fine carpets. No response. Instead, he blew a tremendous smoke ring that hovered over the bowl, and descended. Upon contact with the water, it changed to a thick, rich, black, like cuttlefish ink. The water went black as pitch. Saleen realised she was feeling logy. The smoke was reacting with the water, becoming some chemical that was soaking through the pores of her skin. She thrashed her tail around, trying to fight the lassitude creeping up on her. She failed. Instead, she heard, as if from a long way away, his voice in a slow chant:

'What master do?' Xerxes wanted to know.

'Quiet!' Mozenrath hissed. His left hand, on the knife, was steady and sure. Strips of the ebony bark were peeling away, showing the glossy interior. 'You'll break my concentration!' He continued to whittle.

What he had, looked like a stick approximately three feet in length, made of polished black wood. One end had been honed to a fine point, where it was split. The other end was open. To the eel, it seemed that the tube was being hollowed, somehow. There were the suggestions of tiny holes along the top. It looked like some sort of flute, or recorder. 'Master make music?'

'I told you,' Mozenrath said tightly, 'to be silent!' He abruptly stopped whittling, and placed the flute, or whatever it was, down on the bench beside him. He gathered his cloak. Strangely, he kept the knife, turning it over and over in his fingers, as if it were a toy. Light flashed from its blade, which seemed made from some crystalline substance. Abruptly he slipped it into a pocket of his cloak, and stood up. He gathered his will. Then he was gone.

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Chapter 2: 2: Seeds of Discontent

A soft jingling sound made him look up. There was a man behind him, wearing saffron robes, and with his head, bald and shaved, gleaming in the moonlight. He held a staff topped with metal rings: it was this that had made the jingling sound. One of those nature priests from the island over the sea, Arbutus mused. The intruder was, the elemental thought, technically trespassing, but he decided he would do nothing. He'd visited Nippon, long ago, and found some of their arts -- the crafting of bonsai, the ephemerality of the cherry blossom -- to be akin to his own. They were perhaps the only humans, Arbutus thought, who appreciated not only nature, but in the artistic patterns it wove for itself every day, as well as the applications that could be developed through selected breeding and management. Some of their flower arrangements were sheer masterworks. For humans, anyway.

'Come in peace,' he said, voice deep and rich as the earth. He stood up, unfolding himself to his two and a half metres of height, towering over the bonze in his saffron robes. The face was wrinkled, but the eyes twinkled merrily enough. The bonze smiled at him. 'Kami-sama no zono,' he said quietly. In their alien language, it translated to something like 'God of the Garden', or 'Garden God', something to do with gardens anyway. Arbutus did not consider himself a god: he was an artist, first and foremost. But, like any artist, he appreciated being understood. He bowed, elegantly, bending with the suppleness of a willow.

'Thank you,' he said, deeply flattered.

'Kami-sama,' the bonze said, suddenly. 'May I have your hand?'

A strange request. But perhaps the priest merely wished to hold his hand in friendship. But that again was odd. The people of Nippon did not touch each other as signs of friendship, or first contact. They tended to bow. But, whatever their faults, they were worshippers and appreciators of nature. That seemed innocent enough. He extended his hand forward, and the bonze reached out his own. Then there was a brief flash of light. Arbutus felt absolutely no pain as his hand was severed from his wrist. The greenish sap-like fluid that trickled from the stump was already beginning to stop; flesh like bark was scaling it over, and a series of small, twig-like extensions pushed through. In a moment, his hand was whole again. He stared at the priest again, not in anger but a strange puzzlement.

'Thank you, elemental,' the bonze said. But his voice was changed: it was the voice of a young man, capricious and cruel, and speaking Arabic fluently, without an accent. And his face was flowing and rippling like the surface of a stream. His body wavered. And in an instant, the bonze was replaced by a young man, dressed in dark finery, wearing a leather gauntlet on his right hand. He picked up the severed hand -- it was darkening and hardening, as a newly severed green branch will eventually do -- and thrust it into his belt. He bowed, and a mocking smile played across his lips. He thrust his hands behind him, and a pair of plane trees, centuries old, burst into flame. Arbutus felt their wailing and agony through the very ground of the place. He staggered.

'Stop this!' he cried. His voice had lost its power: it was a thin reed frantically bending in the force of a gale. 'What reason to you have to do this?'

'My reason,' the young man said smugly, 'which is all the reason I require. He took a long slender tube from his cloak, and closed the severed hand gently over it. He began to chant.

Arbutus saw his hand change. It lengthened, became like a vine, and twined itself slowly about the tube, turning black to match the colour. He looked at it, trying to fathom its purpose. He couldn't, but knew it was evil. And to think his art would be used for this -- it was an obscenity. The young man read his emotions in his face.

'I know,' he said. 'You're so fond of how your power will always bloom. Bloom this!' The gauntlet, fingers held forward like a sword, stabbed downward. And the garden burst into flame. The last thing Arbutus heard was the young man's laughter as he faded into the swirling smoke.

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Chapter 3: 3: Heart of Stone, Teeth of a Gale, Flames of Passion

Almost immediately, his ears detected the soft sucking, and he saw the forms ahead of him shamble into view.

They looked like representations of the human form as done by a child. Legs and arms were moist flippers, formed without the benefit of thumbs, toes, or fingers. Their muddy bodies constantly ran and flowed, changing their outline and shapes as he watched. The eyes were simple pits, that nevertheless glowed fiercely. The toothless mouths opened and closed with hideous sucking sounds. They began to move towards him.

He let the Al-Muddi splatter themselves harmlessly against his shield, then drew the power into a ball, and enveloped the now-amorphous elementals. His next act was to teleport himself away from the cavern. He emerged in his workship.

Keeping his power focused, he removed the flute from inside his garments, and placed it in the centre of a pentagram he'd chalked on the floor.

'What Master do?' Xerxes croaked again, almost as if he'd been cued for the line.

'Shut up, Xerxes!' Mozenrath snapped again. 'Unless you care to be an Al-Muddi's main course!' The eel hurriedly swam away through the air currents. Then, he at last relaxed his grip on the shield, and allowed the Al-Muddi to flow over the flute. Trapped within the pentagram, they conformed precisely to the small space. It covered the flute completely. Mozenrath summoned his power, and examined it closely. There were no air bubbles or imperfections. Perfect. He chanted again.

The Al-Muddi darkened, like the clay in a firey kiln. It hardened, surrounding the flute in a thick crust. As Mozenrath's chant finished, it began to break off and flake away. The flute looked absolutely normal, once again. Mozenrath plucked up the flute and shouted.

'Kamikaze!' he snarled. 'Kamikaze-sama, you who style yourself a lord of the Wind Jackals, a species far more craven than the earthly one! It is I, Mozenrath, the enslaver of your brother Scirocco, who call you! You once desired to rip out my heart and feast upon my flesh! I'm prepared to give you that chance!' He waited.

'Master?' Xerxes stuttered. He looked at his master as if the young sorcerer had gone insane.

'Yes, Xerxes, what is it?' Mozenrath said calmly. A gentle breeze had begun to pluck at his cape: a breeze from no appreciable source. 'I'm expecting a guest, so would you kindly be brief?' The wind was slowly picking up in intensity. Xerxes looked like he was pressing against a glass barrier. Mozenrath started to laugh, very slowly, and very deliberately, like a man who wishes to calculatedly insult someone. He glanced at a brazier in the corner, and gestured, flaring it alight. Then he took a strange looking candle from a shelf, and lit it in the brazier. High, golden flames erupted, and he saw a large molten crack appear in the earth at his feet. A small shape, looking as though it had been carved from basalt, stood in front of him. The eyes of Magma, Lord of Volcanoes, were huge and red. Molten lava bubbled and seethed in the cone of his head. 'WHO SUMMONS MAGMA?' he bellowed. 'WHO BRINGS HIM TO THIS FRIGID PLACE?' Mozenrath did not reply. Magma gestured, and set part of the stone floor afire.

The wind picked up further.

'Fire elemental!' Mozenrath shouted. 'Come, join the fun! Here is oxygen on which you can feed!' The wind was growing more fierce by the moment: it took all of Mozenrath's strength to remain upright. The flames Magma had set were not extinguished. They grew and swelled, growing brighter and more cheerful by the minute. They grew in spasms, like balloons, expanding, then pausing, then expanding again.

Xerxes winced. The wind had a sound now. It sounded like the howl of a wolf, blown up and distorted beyond the normal range of human hearing, and it sounded angry. Even Magma seemed to shrink back for a moment. Then a massive pair of eyes appeared in the centre of the storm. Golden, very large, and staring fiercely at the sorcerer. Kamikaze was expending so much force and effort, he wasn't even trying to maintain a coherent shape. He was a ravening wind, a force seeking only to tear and crush this impudent speck in front of him, suck the air from his lungs, and batter him to bloody powder. Mozenrath just threw back his head and laughed louder. Then he threw up the gauntlet, the flute in it, and began to chant.

Kamikaze had time for one vast howl of cheated anger, and Magma flared inarticulate rage. As the Wind Jackal found himself shaped into a cone that pulled itself to the flute, he realised he had been duped. The fire elemental was changed to a stream of smoky ash. He vanisbed into the instrument like sparks down a tunnel. Kamikaze's howl died away into sudden silence, and there was nothing. Silence lay thick and heavy.

Mozenrath's turban had fallen askew. His hair hung in his eyes, damp and sweaty, but he felt exhilirated. He'd done it. He passed through the workroom into the antechamber. Saleen's bowl was clear and uncontaminated now: he saw her floating gently in stasis at the bottom of the tank.

Xerxes followed dazedly behind him.

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Chapter 4: 4: Strange Things By Moonlight

Amal thought it strange to enter Agrabah again. The last time he'd seen Aladdin, when his soul had been rescued from the damnation of the El Katib, he'd said there'd been no need to stay. Agrabah had Aladdin as its champion, and soon, one of its wise rulers. He'd thought there were other things he could do in the Seven Deserts, and some of them, he had done. But tonight....it was as if something had drawn him back.

The moon was high and full tonight. Passing through the centre of the main square, he saw the dark bulk of the well...the well that years ago, creatures had come to take him down to darkness. Where a woman with a cat's face had spoke to him of immortality and power...though it had meant creeping round of nights, on a full moon like tonight, and then once every seven years. All else had been to stew and fester in blackness beyond the edge of the world: the Shadow Realm. No light, no joy, no noise. Or rather, enough noise and joy to filter through and get them angry. Mirage had let them see enough of their old lives to make them resentful. Then, when the time for release came, it was only natural to take your vindictiveness out on the nearest available child: to snatch them away from their parents, and join them in the ranks of the Shadow Walkers. He looked into the well. Nothing there now, but darkness, water, and emptiness.

'Can I help you?'

Amal spun, hands raised for attack or defence. A low growl vibrated along his throat. The figure behind him took an involuntary step backwards, and the moonlight glinted on the crucifix he wore around his neck. A priest of the Christians. Amal let himself relax.

'No, Father,' he said quietly. He'd noticed the man's eyes were odd as well: yellow, like his own, but not as large, and with slit pupils like a snake. Still, he seemed sincere. Though purging his seed of evil had given back some humanity, Amal was able to recognise the taint of it in others. The man was somehow alien, but not evil. 'I was just enjoying the night air.' He glanced up. 'The moon is particularly lovely tonight.'

'Yes,' the priest said. 'It is.' He extended his hand, and Amal took it. 'Father Tochet, at your service.'

'Amal.'

'No last name?'

'No. Just...Amal. It's the only name I've ever gone by.'

'An orphan, were you?'

'How do you know that?' Amal seemed a little alarmed.

'I work with the orphans,' Father Tochet said slowly. 'People who've grown up on the streets tend to have certain attitudes and manners about them. I noticed that. Aladdin has them too, though civility has bred some of them out of him.'

'You know Aladdin?'

'Vaguely.' The priest shrugged. 'He and the Princess Jasmine saved me from a lynch mob. You seem familiar with him: he must be a friend of yours.'

'He was. We renewed it recently after a long...absence.'

'Hold it!' the priest said softly. Amal froze. His street rat instincts told him he had to freeze. The type of freeze that if you moved, it might even be your death. He saw, in the corner of his eye, the priest pointing at the top of the souk. 'Look there.'

A small shadow, barefoot, crossed the souk with an easy child's walk, vanishing into the next street. He heard Father Tochet let out a long, slow, breath. 'That was Dondi, or I'm a Rosicrucian. Why is she out this late, and Eden not with her? She's not even carrying the bottle. That's very odd. Come on.' He beckoned with his free hand, and they moved forward. Amal was impressed. The priest may not have been a street rat, but he knew the ways of stealth as though he were born to them. But that wasn't all he was concerned with: there were questions he wanted answered.

'Dondi? Eden? Who are they?'

'Dondi's an orphan, Eden's the djinniyeh who lives with her.'

'She owns a genie? She can't be more than five years old, seven at the most. How the --'

'Too long to explain. Eden spends time with Aladdin's genie friend, and they go to synagogue together with Dondi, sometimes.'

'A genie who's Jewish?'

'What's wrong with that? I'm Christian, but they can worship whomever they want. Yahweh, Allah, it's all one to me. Dondi comes over for Bible instruction, after Torah and Hebrew classes. Eden believes its important for the girl to be well-rounded. It's neither here nor there at the moment. Hush up or we'll lose her.'

Despite the child's lead, adult length of stride quickly cut it down, and soon they were standing right behind her. Father Tochet placed a hand gently on her shoulder. 'Dondi? It's Father Tochet, child. You'd best go home. Eden will be worrying about you.'

Dondi didn't move. Peering at her face he saw her eyes were closed, but her chest was moving up and down in normal breathing patterns.

'Sleepwalking?' Amal asked.

'Don't think so. I'm getting heavy magic signatures here. This is not a normal sleepwalking state; it appears to have been induced somehow.'

'Induced? How would you --'

'Shh!'

The scrape of feet on stones filled the square. A young boy now emerged from the darkness, eyes closed. A thread of drool hung down from the corner of his mouth and darkened his light cotton nightshirt. His face was pleasant and freckled.

'Wahiid!' Amal said in a burst of emotion. Now it was the priest's turn to look puzzled.

'You know him?'

'Our histories have crossed...once again, it's too complicated to explain, like you said. So what now?'

'I'm going to go back, and tell Eden about this. Do me a favour, and keep an eye on them.'

'Sure.' Amal found himself talking to empty air. When he'd away from Father Tochet, the priest had slipped silently away. Like a ghost, or Amal thought, just like an El Katib...He shivered slightly.

Eden groaned, and tried to bury her face in the pillow. 'Oy gevalt! Let a poor djinniyeh have some sleep, would you?' The knocking at the door was easy enough to hear, even inside her bottle. It was also dreadfully persistent. 'All right, all right,' she groused, rubbing sleep-gum from her eyes, 'I'll be out in a minute.' Transforming to smoke, she drifted out of the bottle, and saw Father Tochet looking at her. His snake's eyes were incapable of reflecting concern, but his worry was etched in every other part of his face. 'What's wrong?' she asked as she solidified.

'It's Dondi, Eden. She --'

The genie frowned. 'Dondi? But she's --'

She looked at the futon. The bedclothes were scattered all about, and the pillow had been knocked on the floor. 'Where did she go?' she suddenly asked, puzzled.

'We found her up by the souk. She appeared to be sleepwalking, but its not normal sonambulism. I got heavy magic signals when I touched her. She seems to have been put into that state by an outside source.'

'Up by the souk? That's a long way to go, especially barefoot.'

'Not so far as it used to be, Eden,' Father Tochet pointed out. 'She's not grubbing down by the pier anymore, like she was when she found you. But, I will admit, it would be difficult to reach that destination sleepwalking.'

Eden suddenly cocked her head. 'Do you hear something, Father?'

Tochet listened. 'No, but your ears are sharper than mine.' He looked at her elfin, delicately pointed ears, and realised, perhaps crazily, what he'd said may have been offensive. 'I meant your hearing is --'

The djinniyeh waved the apology away. 'I know what you meant. We'd better get over there. I'll carry you.'

'Mother of God!' Tochet said to Amal as they landed beside him. 'When did this happen?'

The souk was filled with children: they crowded into the square, rank upon rank, clustering as thick as ants. Some of the smaller ones, including toddlers just mastering how to walk, had been forced out into the surrounding streets and alleyways. All their eyes were closed, and they seemed to be in a deep sleep. They did nothing: they just stood there, as if waiting for something.

Amal spoke quickly, tersely, not taking his eyes of the group in front of him. 'Shortly after you left. They began showing up in droves. Even as a member of the El Katib, I've never seen so many children in one place at one time.'

Eden frowned. 'The Shadow Walkers? You were --'

'Was,' Amal said, stressing the past tense. 'It's why my eyes and feet look like this. It was Aladdin who saved me. We were old friends, and since then, I've been working to regain my humanity, usually in other places in the Seven Deserts. It's worked pretty well: no more kidnapping for me, thank you. This reminds me of
what I used to do, and it's not pleasant.'

Eden said, 'So you know Aladdin, do you?'

Amal grinned. The moon stirred some old memory in his teeth: they seemed very long, and white, and pointed. 'Why, this is Agrabah,' he said wryly. 'He's the hero-in-residence, and next in line as the Sultan of this fair city. Doesn't everyone?'

Eden grinned back, but there were reservations.

'You don't trust me, do you?' Amal said. 'Perhaps I never should have mentioned I used to be El Katib. Divided loyalties are of no help to us right now.' He moved through the shadows liked he still owned them. Eden glared after him, lip curling.

'What is it?' Father Tochet asked. She could tell the stress was affecting him also: he was beginning to hiss his sibilants.

'He makes me nervous,' she admitted.

'You don't believe he can harm you?'

'It's not for myself I'm worried. The children,' she said simply.

Just then, they heard a sound. Eden stiffened, and Tochet actually saw the fine hairs on the nape of her neck, before it was drawn into her ponytail actually begin to stand on end.

'Is that music?' Father Tochet wanted to know.

Someone, somewhere was playing a flute. It was high, piercing, and there was an otherworldliness to it. It seemed as though the world spoke to them. Elements rushed past with the brutality of wind, and then the tinkling slowness of water, the sighing of vegetation, the grumbling of the earth. And through it all, something that reached out to them with the heat of a fire.

And the children began to move.

Slowly, calmly, as if they had rehearsed this, they began to walk with measured, slow, steps out of the square and down the streets. Not one child was awake, but it seemed that they all knew where they were going. There was no pushing; no trampling, no eager sounds of feet running. They simply moved forward, en masse.

'Where are they going?' Father Tochet wanted to know.

Amal materialised out of a slice of shadow as though it gave birth to him, his white teeth cutting the darkness. They seemed sharper by the minute. 'The gate,' he said quietly. 'They're heading for the city gate.'

'Do you know where the music is coming from?' Eden asked him.

Amal gestured with an arm. It seemed thicker, muscular, beastlike; his nails more ragged and sharp. His eyes glowed. 'Out there, across the desert.' He gazed at his hand in wonderment. 'I think we'd better be moving along,' he said quietly. 'I don't like what I see happening here.'

'What do you mean?' Father Tochet wanted to know.

'That music,' the thing said (it was becoming hard to think of Amal as a man), 'is evil. It speaks to the dark parts of us all, but children are the most susceptible. I can see myself changing again: slowly but surely, into El Katib. I thought I'd purged my seed of evil, but perhaps I was naive. As everyone knows, once-ploughed ground laid fallow may be twice as fruitful the following season.' The voice dropped as it spoke, becoming more and more ragged and guttural. 'Find Aladdin,' he rasped. 'Let him know what's happened, and tell him to come as fast as he can. I'm going after them.' He began to run, no longer fully upright, but hunched over in a shambling lope that was surprisingly fluid for its apparent awkwardness. The moonlight fell across tatters of clothing and displayed a broad, increasingly muscular back. In the ruins of his robes, a stumpy tail was beginning to twitch and grow. When he reached the wall surrounding the souk, he suddenly leapt up and scaled it with the celerity of a lizard. Silhouetted against the moon, they saw vast sails of ears fanning out from a low-slung head. Then Amal was gone, loping smoothly away over the rooftops. Father Tochet and Eden looked at each other and shivered.

'Do you think we can trust him?' the genie said softly.

'Well, you learnt to trust me,' Father Tochet said quietly. 'It all depends, I suppose, how well he can resist what's happening to him.' He looked at her with his snake's eyes. 'I'm going back to my church to collect some materials. Do you think you could tell Aladdin?'

There was a sudden pop of displaced air as he finished the sentence, and when he looked around, the genie was gone.

After collecting the crosses, the Bibles, and the holy water, Father Tochet moved to the altar. He placed his palms against it, tensed his muscles, and pushed. The stone moved across the floor surprisingly easily, revealing a small cavity beneath, and a case made of some unusual, leathery substance. He drew it out, and traced the ceremonial Muuktar characters tooled into its surface. His father's hunting case, which he had only ever looked at once. It disgusted him. Hands trembling, he opened it.

The sword, daggers, and throwing irons gleamed in the votive candle flames with their own deadly brilliance. He ignored them. Instead, he looked in the rest of the case. A dozen anti-magic bolas, calibrated by cord length and weights attached on
each end. This was it. He was not planning to kill anything. Subdual would be the best option. He selected four different bolas, and laid the other ones aside. Then he looked at the only other thing the case contained: a small metal box, two feet wide, and about three feet deep. Something rustled in there, and there was a series of soft clicking sounds. Father Tochet fought to control the urge to throw up. He reached for the catches, and flipped open the case. The light made them shift for a few seconds, then they grudgingly subsided. Tochet lifted one out onto its palm. It felt oddly leathery.

The things -- he never knew their name, and his father had never told him -- looked like a clam that had been given the toothy, hairy appearance of a Venus fly-trap around its edges. The one he held was about as large as his palm. The toothy edges opened and closed, silently, as if the thing were breathing. Again, he felt sick. He laid it among its fellows, and they shifted uneasily in the bottom of the box. Hurriedly, he closed the lid, but even then he could still hear the rustling, and the clicking, as they champed their jaws shut on air. He placed the case in a specially sized pouch, and attached it to a strap to go over his shoulder. He slipped the bolas into a specially designed series of cloth tubes in the hood of his travelling cloak. folding them closed over the twine. When he donned the cloak, the weights would dangle over his shoulders, and appear decorative, unless someone looked too closely.

Then, he gathered his Bible, his holy water vials, and his crucifix. The crucifix was silver, and he hung it round his neck. The Bible and holy water went into a pouch on the other side of his body. He was, he supposed, armed well enough for any supernatural or magical encounters. If anything else came by, his hands and feet would have to serve him. He crossed to the back of the church, and stood looking at a pew for a few seconds. Then he raised his right hand to his left shoulder and chopped diagonally across his body, aimed the edge of his hand at the pew's corner. Following the crack of splitting wood, the pew sagged and listed to the right side. It saddened him, but it had been necessary. His hands would have to be enough.

He blew out the votive candles, moved easily through the darkness, and back into the night, locking the church behind him.

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Chapter 5: 5: Parental Guidance

'Impressive,' said a voice behind him. There was a rich, purring quality to it; it sounded like velvet. 'You ncver played that way for me when I made you take lessons.' Mozenrath felt his face tighten, but did not turn from the window.

'Mother,' he said quietly, 'let's not fence; your music lessons were a thinly disguised exercise in creative sadism. Also, I wish you'd told me you were coming, I could have welcomed you properly.' Like get the wards up to make sure you didn't get in, he thought sourly.

'I was in the neighbourhood,' the voice behind him purred. 'And why shouldn't I be able to see my favourite son when I want to?'

'I'm your only son, as you well know. And that was a fluke: not in the conception, but that someone could get close enough to you for the possibilty of procreation to even happen.'

There was a slight hiss of indrawn breath behind him, and the voice said: 'Oh bravo, I'm glad to see your lessons in disrespect at least took root and flourished. For that I am proud of you.' Mirage moved up to stand beside him. Her eyes were lambent green in the deepening dusk. She reached out a delicately clawed hand to touch his shoulder. 'So,' she said, adopting the gushing tone of a new parent, knowing it would irritate him in turn, 'what has my widdle Mozey-Wozey been up to, mmm?' A nail caught him as she chucked him playfully under the chin, and he felt the spider silk trail of blood drip down onto his collar. 'And does my little Mozeykins want to play with his Mumsy-Wumsy? Does he?'

He caught her wrist in his left hand, and twisted it, just enough. He was rewarded with a sharp yowl, and twisted his head slightly to avoid a half-hearted slash at his face. 'I,' he said pompously, 'am actually improving on one of your ideas, Mother. You should feel honoured.'

'One of my ideas? Which one, pray tell?'

'The El Katib. Seven-year raids are inefficient, useless, and a waste of time.'

'A waste of time? The legions worked for years and years until Aladdin got involved. It was his fault. Him and that Amal. He was my prize; the dark jewel in my army.' A savage, hissing, spitting, sound. 'And Aladdin took him away from me. And then his Genie mocked me by taking his form and pretending to
surrender. The blue buffoon kissed me!' she snarled. 'That, I have not forgotten.'

'Don't prevaricate, Mother. You were complacent: you lack discipline. At least it made more sense than your obelisk plan. What were you trying to prove with that little toy? If you had wiped out Agrabah, no-one would have been left to fear you.

'Of all your plans, I most admire what you did to Jasmine, turning her into a snake. That took cunning, it had style. But you were complacent, and underestimated Aladdin again. You didn't think he would be willing to transform himself to be with her. And you lost.'

'And what of you, my son? What about what came of your playing with windy puppy dogs, pray tell? You were the one who slunk off with his tail between his legs thatday.'

Mozenrath felt his jaw tighten. He turned so Mirage could not see the flush along his cheeks. It was cosmetic only: his mother knew she had scored a hit with that one. 'Aladdin got lucky,' he said tightly. Then he bit his tongue when he heard her whoop of laughter behind him. 'I didn't regard the parrot as a threat.'

'Luck,' she sneered. 'You, who preach so highly of discipline, and self-control, the bester of Destane, and ruler of his kingdom, claim luck was responsible for your downfall?' Then she really laughed, cackled actually. It grated on his nerves like a steel file.

'Much as I would like to continue batting the ball of yarn, I could do it all night, Mother, I have some children to lead to their doom. Would you kindly leave me alone?' She didn't disappear; instead he heard her footsteps moving away, it was enough. Abruptly, they stopped. He heard a slow hiss of indrawn breath, and it spoiled the note in the process of forming. 'What?' he snapped irritably, letting the flute fall again.

'Amal,' she said, purring very loudly. He turned to face her, and he saw her eyes were glowing almost feverishly. 'The little traitor is on his way here; I can feel it. I think I'll stay a little while longer.'

'Do what you will then,' he said acidly. 'But kindly let me get on with my work.' He heard the door close behind him, and breathed a sigh of relief. Flute to his lips, he began to play again.

Aladdin felt the wind rushing in his face, and loved it. He was playing hero again, something that, despite the risks, despite the danger, was a part of his life he hoped would never go away entirely. Even Jasmine, he suspected, loved it for the same reasons: it was an incredible rush.

He looked at her now. She was wearing her black combat gear, her whip coiled at her side, and stropping a long knife on her boot with frightening efficiency. He'd once asked himself: where does a Princess learn these things? and had given up on it when he realised not only did he not know, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to know.

He looked at Eden, hovering on his left side, and easily keeping pace with Carpet, and back at Father Tochet, who was sitting directly behind him. 'You're sure you saw Amal there? He rattled off a capsule description of his friend as he'd last seen him, and both the genie and the priest nodded in reply. 'That's close enough,' Father Tochet said. 'And he said he did know you. But then, you do have a reputation.'

Aladdin grinned. 'I suppose I do, don't I?'

Eden suddenly pointed down below. 'There!' she said sharply. Genie appeared beside her, and followed her finger. 'That's them all right, genie woman. Good eye. Have you ever played baseball?'

'Allah preserve us!' Jasmine said suddenly in an emotional burst.

The moon was high and bright, and it gave the dunes the colour of powdered sugar, white and stark. But the white dunes were rendered black by the children -- thousands of them -- pouring in a stream from the gates of Agrabah. It was a tide, an unending flood. They went on, marching in a slow, steady, and mile-eating pace. They seemed driven. And above the moan of the wind, the sinister music wrapped them in its song. Aladdin was concentrating on other things, so only a few bars got through. Still, he had to admit there was something seductive about it. It made his head light and swimmy, and he had to take deep breaths before it was normal again. Jasmine looked at him, concerned.

'It's the music,' he said simply. 'It's playing games with my head.' Jasmine nodded. 'I know. I don't feel so comfortable either.' Abu chittered something, and fell silent.

Behind them, Father Tochet stiffened, and gurgled something. He sounded like he was having a fit. They looked. Foam was leaking out from his jaws, and he whispered, 'Not there. By the mercy of all the Saints in Heaven, please don't let it be there!'

'What?' Aladdin said sharply. 'Look...over...there,' the priest said, sounding like he was struggling not to drown. His trembling finger pointed, and then they all saw it. The vastness of the Citadel, rising up like a blasphemy into the night sky. The Land of the Black Sand. Its borders were coming
closer.

'Oh great,' Eden muttered. 'I suppose this is no coincidence?'

Iago squawked harshly with laughter. 'Lady, I'd give you equal odds on a band of Odiferans successfully launching a sneak attack from downwind. Does that sound like a coincidence to you?'

Eden said nothing.

'I rest my case,' Iago said, and then there was silence.

Mozenrath felt a queer sense of pride as he gazed down into the courtyard. There were so many children here: meek, docile, malleable, and he had so many plans for them all. But first...

He turned, as his alarm systems became active, flashing crazily and wildly. The Hero who Would be King is coming, he thought, and as usual, he's brought the heavy magic hardware. He smiled grimly. Leave it to Aladdin to never disappoint. He supposed he should send a couple of Mamluk squads as a courtesy, even though with what was probably two genies, a certain Christian priest, a magic carpet, and his pet zoo, it would hardly be more than an irritant. Then a nastier smile creased his mouth.

No, he thought. Forget the Mamluks. He had something new he wanted to try. They wouldn't be any more successful, but they would keep them off balance and surprise them, and that would give him more time to do what he wanted.

Yes. That would be much better.

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Chapter 6: 6: Nesnas

'Of course he does,' Genie said. 'There's no way that magic could sneak through here, especially in this concentration, without alerting Magic Man. Right, Jas. Of course he knows.'

'But he'd send the Mamluks anyway,' Eden argued. 'When I came to get you,' she said, speaking to Genie, 'I walked through batallions of those dead guys. Not that they were any serious opposition, mind you, but they took time to get through. So where are they?'

'I don't know, genie woman. It's quiet, isn't it?'

Eden shapeshifted. She had a cowboy hat on her head, and was wearing boots with spurs. 'Yeah,' she drawled, glancing around, 'too quiet.'

'Does anyone hear something that sounds like hopping?' Aladdin wanted to know.

They listened. Thump, thump, thump. It did sound like hopping, or at least an even, steady rhythm. Thump, thump, thump. Thump, thump, thump. It was a constant noise, but they saw nothing, and moved forward cautiously. Thump, thump, thump.

Abu chittered something.

'You and me, Monkey Boy,' Iago said. 'That sound is starting to freak me out.'

Thump, thump, thump. Thump, thump, thump.

Jasmine was fingering a knife now. Father Tochet unhooked one of his bolas, and was running it through his fingers like a rosary.

Thump, thump, thump. Thump, thump, thump.

Why doesn't some Mamluk just erupt from the sand like they usually do, and grab me? Iago thought. Anything's better than all this waiting, and nothing to listen to but that...

Thump, thump, thump. Thump, thump, thump. ...sound.

Then, as they got closer to the Citadel, the sound changed. A new note was added, though it still sounded like hopping.

Thump-a, Thump-a, Thump-a. Thump-a, thump-a, thump-a.

Then, just for the sake of variety, it seemed, Jasmine shouted: 'Look out!'

Thump-athump-athump-a. Faster now, quicker. Thump-a thump-athump-a. Still nothing. Everyone, even the genies, had started to sweat from nervousness and adrenaline.

Aladdin turned around almost angrily. 'Is this Mozenrath's idea of some sick joke?' he wanted to know. 'Because if it is, I'll personally --'

Thumpathumpathumpa. Thumpathumpathumpa. Then two step time. Thumpathumpa. Thumpathumpa. Thumpathumpa.

Then, in a flash of moonlight, they saw one. Eden and Genie, completely involuntarily, screamed. So did everyone else.

In the Citadel, Mozenrath heard the scream, and smiled. It looked like his new toys were paying off.

It seemed in profile at first: half a face, one arm, one leg. Then, it moved in a half circle, and they saw it wasn't a figure in profile at all.

One side was perfectly formed. The face was normal: a bright blue eye peered at them from under dark hair, and half a mouth smiled at them. The arm and leg were muscular, and looked fit. But that was all.

It was as if the thing had been cleft in half, and one half discarded. It moved in a slow circle. and as it came around, they saw half a rib cage, half a skull, half a brain, even part of a groin. A man, perfectly divided in half, that lived independently of its other half. The leg, they saw now, was flexing like a piston: the creature would bend its knee, and spring forward, the foot instantly flexing at the next contact to cushion the impact, then propel it forward again. Each time the foot struck the sand, it puffed up
silicate. The curious sound they had heard was the thing's unusual form of locomotion.

Father Tochet moved toward the creature. The beast's eye glared at him, and it began to hop forward eagerly, hand and arm outstretched to grasp and hold. When it was about two feet from him, Tochet started to run: not panicked, quickly, fluidly, easily. Incredibly, they saw, the creature kept pace with him. In a moment, it was about to outrun him. Just before it reached him, Tochet dove aside, and the creature hopped by: its speed and movement did not allow for easy direction change.

More of the things were beginning to pop into view, all males, all divided perfectly in half, all moving with the same piston-spring motion. The company would soon have no choice but to fight.

Jasmine reacted instinctively, and the whip whined and cracked, curling about the creature's leg. Instantly, she tugged, but immediately realised she was in error. The thing's knee flexed, even though entangled in the coils, and it sprang at her, long fingers reaching at her neck. She let her hand slide down the leather, friction burning her palm, side-stepped, and lashed the butt of the whip into its face. The thing collapsed to a heap on the sand, and twitched, not having enough balance or leverage in the powder to get back up.

Aladdin dove at a pair of the creatures, scything their legs out from under them as he rolled. They collapsed on their backs, helpless as turtles. Eden and Genie were busily vanishing legs: they were surrounding by a pile of half-torsos and clutching hands, which feebly tried to dig for purchase in the sand.

Father Tochet was discovering the creature's necks were particularly vulnerable to the bolas. Once struck, they became top-heavy, and were helpless to stop going over. And once down, they seemed equally powerless at getting back up. He would then retrieve the bolas from around their necks, calmly, and quite deliberately.

The combat lasted very shortly after that.

Aladdin breathed heavily, and looked at the creatures twitching in the sand. 'Mozenrath is getting more creative, it seems. I've never seen those before.'

'Nesnas,' Genie said. 'I've read about them.'

Aladdin looked at him in disbelief. 'Why didn't you say so before?'

'Al, it was hardly the time for conversation by then, was it?'

Hanging on the Citadel like a fly on a wall, Amal inched himself closer to the window. Very high, and barred, but he could find a way through. He reached out with his finger, and drew a small circle on the stone beneath the glass. It darkened, and a perfect black circle appeared. Amal inched himself through.

The re-emergence of his shadow-walking powers was both frightening and exhilarating at the same time. It made some tasks: such as getting access to the Citadel, easier, while it reminded him of a period in his life, in retrospect, he wasn't too proud of. He remembered:

Aladdin stared into his hot-lemon irises and their huge pupils, felt the power in the grasp that held him. Aladdin was a brave man, but he trembled, none the less. And yet, he saw something familiar about this creature. A large earring in the left ear; the way it cocked its head, something...

And then it had come to him.

'Amal?' he'd said. Fear had dried his palate, and his voice was a husky croak.

'Yes.' Deep, dark, growling: the voice the darkness at the bottom of a pit might have. 'Amal. I too have made something of myself, Aladdin.'

And later:

...Mirage screeching, 'Yes! Destroy him! Crush his spine!' Amal felt Aladdin's vertebrae writhing in his grip, knew, despite the sheaths of muscle that covered them, where the slightest pressure would break them like matchsticks. At the top of the neck, they would pinch off Aladdin's suboccipital nerves, and he would die. He supposed it would be relatively painless... But Aladdin had been his friend. He looked at the handsome face, arched backwards in the pain of his grasp, looked at the moon that was on its way down...and let go his grip. Enough.

'No,' he said. His voice was thick. 'He was my friend.'

The sun was rising: he saw the other El Katib surrounded briefly in swirls of flame, sputtering, going out like candles. 'Then die, Amal,' Mirage said bitterly, and vanished...

But, he had survived. And now this was happening. He felt no great urge to do evil: it was something of a kick using evil powers to break into its own stronghold; he visualised himself giving Mirage a good kick in the teeth at the same time. But, he realised, there lay the problem. It was so very seductive. It was how she'd got him hooked the first time.

But, he told himself, forewarned was fore-armed.

Wasn't it?

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Chapter 7: 7: Shadow Play

'Well,' she purred. 'You've got the first part of your great plan in motion, what do you intend to do now?'

'I am going to summon the Shadow Realm here, and keep it open artificially. Placing the children there in such a state will hyperaccelerate their development as El Katib. They'll have all the powers: shadow-walking, immortality -- and none of the handicaps. They'll creep about of all nights, raising terror and havoc wherever they go.'

Mirage rubbed her hands approvingly. She stepped close, and kissed him with her rough tongue. 'Today, Mozenrath, you are truly my son.'

The sound of his magic alarms made him look up, irritated. 'Intruders. And I have so much work to do.'

'I'll handle them,' Mirage said. 'They've caused me enough problems on my own.' She moved toward the stairs.

'Mother,' he called softly, 'do your little boy one favour? Don't kill them, will you? I have plans for all of them.'

She gazed at him, halfway up, and he was struck by something. It couldn't be love she was gazing at him with, was it? No, respect. That's what it had to be. He wouldn't let it be anything else.

'For you, my son,' she said softly, 'I would do anything.'

A swirl of her skirts, and she vanished up the stairs.

Mozenrath began to study his conjurations.

'Where are we now?' Eden wanted to know.

'Does Wonder Boy keep changing the layout every time we come?' Iago groused. 'Wouldn't surprise me.'

'WELCOME, FOOLS!'The voice seemed to echo from all around them.

'WELCOME TO YOUR DEATHS!'A pair of green, glowing eyes, appeared in the air before them.

'Mirage,' Aladdin said, startled.

'What's she doing here?' Iago said, equally startled.

'Taking care of us, obviously,' Jasmine said.

Mirage appeared in a swirl of light before them. 'Why thank you, Princess. So nice to see your lovely face, although, I think you looked better in scales.'

'What's new, Pussycat?' Genie quipped.

Mirage looked at him with tired disdain. 'You bore me, Genie.'

Suddenly, they were all distracted by a tremendous scream from behind them. Father Tochet was clutching at his neck, and making gurgling sounds. 'No,' he gargled, foam dotting his chin. 'I am a man of my faith! You cannot do this to me! It's wrong! I've done nothing to --' Then he let out an absolute bone-chilling shriek, and collapsed on his face, trembling.

'Priests,' Mirage sniffed. 'Make them doubt their faith, and they're the first to find despair. Muslims, Christians, Jews, Hindus -- I've terrified them all. Even a half-Muuktar wasn't a challenge.'

Eden stepped forward. 'Why don't you try me, kitty?'

Mirage's slash was so casual, there seemed to be no preparation. Eden leaped away, but the stone she landed on tilted, and she tumbled away into the darkness. Genie rushed to her, bellowing, but the section he stood on tilted, and he plunged into the gloom after her.

'The chute is lined with anti-magic charms,' Mirage said smugly, 'so don't expect your friends to be rescuing you anytime soon. Your genies have been effectively neutralised.'

Jasmine uncoiled her whip, and boldly stepped forward. 'I'll take a strip off your hide for that,' she said tightly.

'Why, Princess,' Mirage purred, 'you're looking peaky. Have you seen yourself in a mirror, lately?' She gestured, and Jasmine suddenly collapsed, trembling. Aladdin moved to her side. 'Jasmine?'

The face that turned to him was old. Deep wrinkles scored it, the hair had gone white, and fine as straw. Her deep, brown, intelligent eyes, were clouded with cataract. 'Aladdin?' she said dryly. An old woman's voice. 'I can't see you. Where are you?'

A blur suddenly interposed itself between them, and Mirage's claws were at Jasmine's throat. The message was unspoken. Aladdin backed away, and set the sword he'd been carrying on the floor. The minute he disarmed himself, Jasmine's face regained its former beauty. An illusion.

'Do you know how long I've actually waited for this?' Mirage said, in a light, conversational tone. 'For years I've tried to make you despair, and now I believe, I've actually done it.' She snapped her fingers. Mamluks descended on him and pinned him to the ground.

'You'll have a lot of time to think about it, Aladdin...an eternity, in fact.' She gestured to the Mamluks. 'Take him downstairs. He won't want to miss the show.'

'Tell you what, Monkey,' Iago said from his hidden corner, 'I'm glad it was them, and not us. In fact, I'd gladly -- AWKKK!', He spluttered, and Abu screeched, as a pair of clawed hands descended on their necks.

'Oh, no, no, no,' a voice purred seductively, sadistically, behind them. 'You musn't think we were forgetting you.'

Mozenrath looked at the prisoners chained to his wall with satisfaction. Anti-magic manacles
in appropriate places; so no interference from anyone. He looked at the entrance to the Shadow Realm he'd conjured, and smiled. He reached out, and took Dondi in his arms. Cradled her in a hideous parody of father and baby. Seeing this, Eden cried out.

'Don't touch her, you monster! If you harm her, I'll --' She saw a wolfish smile slowly twist the corners of his mouth. 'Tell me,' he said casually, 'do you actually know her?' He studied Eden's face for a moment, and his grin widened: a few teeth slipped into view. 'Yes,' he said at length, 'I see you do.' He turned away and looked at Dondi again. 'Well, it seems right you should witness this, then.' He turned to Eden again.

'Watch this, genie. You'll enjoy it.' He began to slide Dondi into the Shadow Realm, headfirst. She went through without resistance. Eden began to sob.

Suddenly, there was a loud snarl from upstairs. A shout -- Mirage -- and the sound of something breaking. Mozenrath looked up irritably, then returned to his work.

'Whoever it is, they can wait. When my work here is done, then I shall deal with him -- and you,' he informed his prisoners. He began whistling tunelessly, as he went back to work.

Amal emerged into the Citadel at a place he hadn't expected. Mirage was startled to see him pop from the wall in front of her, and she dropped her captives.

'Hello, Mirage,' Amal growled. 'It's a pleasure to see you again. I'm back, and I'm very, very, angry. I still haven't forgiven you for what you conned me into. And now, it seems, you're doing it all over again. Naughty, naughty.' He shook a clawed nail in her face. She laughed at him.

'Soon, you'll be mine again. Thanks to the flute of the Elementals, all the children of Agrabah have been enslaved, and you will become fully El Katib once more.'

'Yours?' he snarled. He grabbed her upper arms, and pulled her cat's face to his bestial one. 'But this is the Citadel. You can't tell me it's your show. Where's Mr Magic? And where's this flute?'

'I won't tell you,' she said smugly, 'and it doesn't matter. The power of the Elementals trapped in the flute will enslave even you, Amal!' She started laughing again.

'Elementals in the flute?' A slow grin broke across Amal's face, revealing his sharp, sharp, teeth. 'Well, if someone broke this flute, they'd be released, wouldn't they? And my guess is, they'd be none too happy about it.'

Mirage suddenly felt sick.

'I won't bother asking you where it is,' he said. He cocked his head, and began to walk her over to a corner. 'I'll follow the screaming. And you don't need to worry about me hitting you,' he said. 'I was taught to never hit a lady.' Too late, Mirage realised where she was standing. When Amal let go, her weight tripped the oubliette, and she plunged down the chute beneath, screeching all the way.

'Bon voyage,' Amal said. Then he shadow-walked through the floor, and into the dungeon.

Mozenrath was surprised, not to mention irritated, when Mirage came tumbling into the dungeon from the chute. He bit his lip and refrained from making a comment. Mirage got up and began to preen herself, like any other cat would in her situation. The sorcerer glared at her for a second, then turned back to feeding the unconscious Dondi into his mystic portal.

He was however, extremely upset when a figure seeming all muscle, claws, and teeth, landed on him, knocking him down. With the gauntlet half-pinned, he tried to blast the intruder, but it twisted lithely aside, and escaped with only a minor scorch mark on its leg. Having floored Mozenrath temporarily, Amal scooped up Dondi, who had remained unconscious throughout the procedure, and carried her over to Aladdin.

'Is there enough slack in the chains for you to hold her?' he asked Aladdin. 'I'd free you all now, but I don't want Mozenrath to get any screwy notions or ideas.' His language was getting rougher all the time: his teeth, tongue, and palate were altering themselves continuously, and speech was becoming difficult.

Aladdin tugged experimentally. There was a bit of slack: not much, but it would be enough. He nodded. Amal dropped the unconscious gamine into his friend's arms, then covered the space between he and the sorcerer in a bound. Mozenrath, stunned by Amal's landing on him like the wrath of God, was just managing to get to his feet. Amal grabbed him under the arms and lifted him. The sorcerer could feel the sharp claws pricking beneath his armpits, and hung loosely in Amal's grasp. Any violent motion, and he could lose the use of his arms.

'Where's the flute, Mozenrat?' Amal growled at him, breathing sour breath directly in his face. He thought he saw the young magician flinch, but perhaps not. Mozenrath was an expert at controlling fear: he said nothing.

Amal quickly looked behind him. Mirage was standing against the wall, saying nothing. She didn't seem inclined to make a move, but who knew? She certainly wouldn't try
something when he was watching her. He turned back to Mozenrath, bathing his face in his hideous breath.

'Last chance, Mr Funnyman. Where is it?' Then, as Amal's eyes swept the chamber, he saw it lying on a tabletop a few feet away. Holding to Mozenrath with one hand, Amal shambled forward --

And howled in pain as Mirage darted in and raked him across the back. Mozenrath responded with a left-handed chop to his collarbone, and Amal felt something give there. He let go the sorcerer and lunged for the flute, dove for it. His El Katib reflexes were preserving him today, it seemed; he twisted in mid-air as blue-black fire just whispered over his back. He caught the flute in both hands, and held it firmly. He howled, and raised it over his knee, preparing to bring it down with all his might and snap it.

'Stop!' Mozenrath's voice was just forceful enough to check him. Amal turned, and saw him pointing the gauntlet at Aladdin and Dondi. Mirage had her claws at Wahiid's neck. 'I don't think you want to do that, do you? If you move, they die.' His smile was calm again: the man who holds all the cards.

Amal shrugged, and moved to lay the flute on the floor. Mozenrath did not relax, but did not seem inclined to blast him, either. Then, in the same motion, Amal leapt towards Aladdin, twisted, and threw the flute at Mozenrath's face, like a spear.

Mozenrath's reaction was completely instinctive. He saw only the missile coming at him. The gauntlet came up, and vapourised it in a flash of fire. Then he realised what he had done.

'No,' he whispered. He sounded, unbelievably, like a frightened child. 'Nooo!' Mirage made an odd keening sound.

A large molten zigzag appeared in the stones at his feet. The stony, misshapen form of Magma, Lord of Volcanoes clambered from the fissure. Lava slopped from the cone of his head, and made steaming ruts in the floor. He grinned his gap-toothed grin at the cowering sorcerer, and smiled.

'Magic one has made a great mistake,' he said in his deep voice, hot gases wafting from his face. 'He has angered Magma!' He lobbed a fireball in Mozenrath's direction, and the sorcerer skipped back from it. It left a large crater in the floor.

Abruptly, a vast howling filled the chamber, and all the cloaks and skirts were set vigourously flapping. Compared to Scirocco, Kamikaze was a giant. His fur was a strange reddish-orange colour, but his eyes were the same. Huge, golden, and very angry. He snarled at Mozenrath.

A water bowl lying half-full on the table suddenly expelled its contents at the sorcerer in an aqueous fist that hammered him in the stomach. Mozenrath slipped on similar puddles lying on the floor, and just barely managed to avoid falling into the Shadow Realm.

A great rush of water suddenly filled the chamber, being pushed from apparently nowhere. Saleen was riding the crest of the tsunami, and glaring at him. She did, however, Aladdin noticed ruefully, wink suggestively at him as she poured by.

Aladdin suddenly gasped. Tiny plants were forcing themselves through the cracks in the wall, crumbling the brick and mortar that held the shackles on. Tinier rootlets were twining around the shackles themselves, forcing the locks open. Aladdin, wrists numb, almost dropped Dondi, but managed to catch her before she hit the floor. Then Eden knelt and took her from him.

'I think we'd better move from that wall,' Genie said suddenly. Prophetic, as the wall instantly crumbled in on itself. There was a large, strange looking plant in front of them. It had many leaves in it, all curled tightly into themselves, as if holding something. And there was someone standing next to it.

He looked tall: at least seven feet, and thin, like a collection of sticks bound together. His skin, if it was skin, was a rich, dark, green. The only clothing he wore was green, though in lighter shades. They were, in fact, large leaves, one artfully arranged ranged around his head in the shape of a turban. His eyes were small, and very black: they looked at you the way rose thorns felt, and several large thorns did adorn his shoulders.

He bowed, courteously, yet at the same time, theatrically.

'I have brought them to you,' he said, in a deep, rich, voice. At a gesture, the curled leaves opened. Sleeping in each of them, side by side, were four of Agrabah's children, from the youngest to the oldest. All of them were there, though how the feat had been accomplished, no-one could guess.

Jasmine gasped, and the man, creature -- whoever he was -- looked at her, thornpoint eyes studying her carefully, like a masterwork in a museum. Catching her gaze thrown back at him, he merely nodded. Then the tall figure glided away, and they were left standing with the children.

Amal moved up, and placed a comradely hand around Aladdin's shoulders. It was still bestial, Aladdin noticed, but not as much as before.

'It seems,' he said wryly, 'that we're playing out an old scene
here.'

'Perhaps,' Amal grunted, 'but I think it's going to be finally re-written this time. It --'

There was a squelching sound behind them. They both stopped. The Al-Muddi. The last elementals, they were virtually mindless, and only lived to devour flesh. They wouldn't be particularly set against Mozenrath...unless they were hungry. Amal cocked his ear in their direction. 'We'd better move.'

He grabbed two children, conjured a shadow in the floor, and leapt through, reappearing almost instantly, holding out his hands. 'Give me more.'

'What are you doing?' Aladdin snapped.

'Taking them home, old friend. The quickest way I know how. Don't you trust me? I hardly think the genies can teleport everyone, seeing as how they've been weakened by Mozenrath's manacles.' His deep yellow eyes gazed into Aladdin's brown ones. 'Either help me, Aladdin, or by Allah you'd best get out of my way.'

Jasmine appeared beside him. 'I trust him. We don't have any choice.' Judging from the sounds in the dungeon, thaumaturgical war was in progress. The Citadel shook.

Aladdin nodded. 'Go.' Amal took four children this time, and vanished again. He whistled for Carpet. 'Let's move.'

The evacuation was accomplished in record time. The children were returned safely to their homes, and Amal once again began the slow process of regaining his humanity. He found, to his delight, that the process was much quicker than the last time. Soon, he told Aladdin, he would be completely human again. Once again, he refused offers to stay in Agrabah. 'They have you, remember? I can do more good out there.' Then, he had moved out of the city gates and into the bright day. Aladdin had waved to him, but he didn't see Amal wave back. It was enough.

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Chapter 8: Epilogue

He sank down onto his bed, head in hands. There were, he thought, compensations for all this. Despite his costly defeat, he had not had to worry about the pairaka, or any of the other creatures imprisoned in the Citadel for a while.

But Aladdin had dealt him a nasty blow, and he was determined to have his revenge. At least, no-one had seen him forced to retreat to the Shadow Realm like some neophyte.

He stiffened, face flushing as he heard giggling drifting down to his chamber from somewhere above. It took on the words of an impromptu singsong:

There was a torrent of fresh giggling, and his face flushed. If he would do one thing right this week, he would --

'Master, Master!' Xerxes burbled, flying in front of him, 'where you been? Pairaka worried --'

Whatever else Xerxes was going to say was cut off, as Mozenrath grabbed him by the throat and began busily strangling him, teeth clenched.

To my knowledge, this is the most ambitious fanfic I have yet written; I'm almost sure it's my longest, or one of them. Many characters from many episodes went into this, so in no particular order, here are the various inspirations. For important characters, I've put their names beside the episodes. For characters or situations referred to in multiple episodes, their names are listed beside the last one, unless the connection isn't clear, in which case they are listed each time. Mozenrath, needless to say, needs no introduction.

Other inspirations were: Wendyrath (Pairaka), my own fanfic, A Question of Faith (Father Tochet, though he wasn't named then), and Margaret
Weis and Tracy Hickman's 'Rose of the Prophet' series for the Nesnas, and the tale of the Pied Piper.

My only other convictions are that I made things especially nasty for Mozenrath, and that the Elementals and Pied Piper story were originally separate pieces; I had no idea they'd come together like this.

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