Death never really separates us from who we love. Death is only another point on a road that never ends, like the day a boy becomes a man, or a marriage day. Those we love don't leave us, they run ahead of us on the road-merely out of sight.
This is true for all. But for only a few, the lines of death and life are blurred to the point of nonexistence. Those who can see the dead as well as the hidden living, are the Imperiori, the advocates of the gods.
Many years ago, even the most minor gods had an Imperiori. They could be a head priest, or a simple magician; whatever the god needed. They were many and strong, welcomed in this world teeming with magic.
But mortal's fear and jealousy turned the tide of that age, and magicians, sorcerers and Imperiori alike were struck down or forced into hiding.
They became rarer and rarer until they were almost unheard of. Witches and sorcerers, elves and creatures hid for their lives. But there were some who refused to fade, and tried to live in peace with mortals, and they did for a time.
The last Imeriori, a priestess of Eris, a woman with the purest of magic running through her veins, was a sorceress of peace. She did not live in the temple nor in the magic community that surrounded it. She lived in the no man's land in between, hoping by this, she could bridge the gap.
Her name was Rathana. Fierce and strong, shrewd and beautiful, she was a force to be reckoned with. She promoted peace, but valued loyalty and duty more. If ordered by Eris to steal, she stole; to kill, she killed.
And one day, a handsome, penniless man found her, and enchanted her. They loved, and they seemed to be the connection, the link between mortal and magic. One day she tried to show him the extent of her power, to impress and please him. She only achieved reaching the coward in him.
Running like a skittish cat, and in his fear and hysteria, he caused the mortals to rise up and massacre the magicians' village. Neither woman nor child was spared. Rathana ran, for her life and the life of her child, and also to stop the hate spreading like a virus; to warn other communities of the event. She failed, and those who came to remorse their loved ones and fellow magicians buried her body in the temple.
As for her son…nobody knows if he is alive or not-not for sure.
But most magicians believe he is alive, somewhere, tucked away by force.
And he will return...
Mozenrath's eyes popped open. Within his first breathe, pain flashed so violently that he gasped, only causing more pain. A vicious circle of suffocation and pain. He panted gently, and tested out his right arm. He could move it without too much pain, so he used that hand to touch his side. Gritting his teeth through the pain, he felt the bones. Two broken ribs, and a lot of caked blood.
Shaking he tried not to bend his side as he pushed himself up. Pushing the limp hair out of his face, he saw the desolation of his home. The polished black marble that once stood so tall and grand now lay in dusty piles across the great expand. Scrolls half burnt, and ripped lay on places that were free of stone. Ripped fabric protruded, the colors faded, the pictures once beautifully crafted, looking demonic and slashed in the ruin.
The wall map of the world he had painted and magiced himself, which changed with the weather and civilizations expansions, was smashed into rocks-the flat, polished sides still moving.
Dust was still settling, making the moon's rays look serene over the horrid wreckage. The stars twinkled innocently down at him. Laughing, like the whole world was no doubt.
The pain was reseeding slightly, now standing up. But it didn't matter much. Everything ached. It would be just his luck that Aladdin and his merry band of destroyers would come bursting in while he was working on extremely volatile material.
Mozenrath leaned against a wounded pillar, and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to remember exactly what had happened. He had been working in his lab...then he had heard crashing-like the front oak doors being broken into-and then the crystal alarms started blinking rapidly.
He'd tried to put away the dragon's saliva and the elemental's blood before they could spill into each other, when that fez-wearing-bastard burst into the room knocking him over-and the mixtures.
Aladdin had gone on some spiel about how he just didn't know when to quit and blah, blah, I'm a hero, blah, blah, I apparently have no other clothes but these, blah, blah. Then the blood and saliva mixed and-boom! Blackness...and that was all he could remember.
All his work, his clothes, food and living space-were obliterated. The tangible reminders, the good and the bad, were lost in the wreckage. He held his hand to his face, as he trekked through the mountain range of jagged stone. Bones of inanimate zombie Mamluks crunched beneath his feet, the skin tripping him once or twice.
One, two, step after agonizing step he looked for anything that could be salvaged. He had to hold back tears. Tears were childish weak. He hadn't cried in years, not even in pain. Bare through it, keep walking. Step followed by step. Step followed by step. His side protested as his path went up and down, jarring his every foot fall. The cold desert wind pricked at his bare ruined skin like cold teeth. Twenty nine, thirty,-and suddenly he stepped on something slick and slippery, that made a stomach retching squelch.
Mozenrath lifted his foot. Sticky trails of skin stuck to the bottom of his shoe, and as he raised his foot higher, the stretched from the floor, dripping beads of black liquid. The sorcerer moved his hand over his mouth, his stomach pushing his dinner to his neck.
Xerxes lay, forever wide eyed, and forever screaming on the floor. His one eyes was some distance away, his jaw set at an impossible angle. Some of his entrails were swimming in his black pool of blood.
"Xerxes..." Mozenrath said kneeling down. He lifted the head of his half dead friend and familiar. The tears came now, raking his whole body. His head pounded as his nose choked and his face grew hot. The blood pounded in his ear, keeping in rhythm with his head. It seemed he couldn't get enough air into his lungs as sobs shot through him. He didn't care that the vile creatures blood on his face, dripping into his mouth has he gasped for air.
Everything he ever worked for destroyed. Relationless, homeless, fortuneless, and practically powerless. He would be better off dead to the world. How was he ever to rebuild this palace? He was too weak, and only one man. Anyone could simply come in and kill him, removed the wreckage and take over the sand teeming with magic. His land.
"Worthless boy. Worthless. Do you think there's anyone there who wants you? Would take one look at you? No one. Weak and worthless. Your mother was too weak to even save you." Mozenrath could hear his footsteps, coming closer. He edge away inside the cabinet. "Come out Mozey, I won't hurt you pet..."
His mind started back tracking. Through his closed eyes he saw children , dead and dying, reaching towards him, suffocating, begging through gasps. A hand slapping his face. Pain, so much pain, ripping him, hurting him. Stop! Stop, please make it stop! The walls of his home crumbling down, down around him. Roaring and crashing-so loud, too loud! He couldn't see, breathe, move! Trapped, closed in-no air! He needed air! He needed to move!
Aladdin shaking his head down at him. "He's dead, I think."
"Good," she said, her dark hair framing her face, casting shadows over the planes of it, eyes narrowing, glinting dangerously. "Who is better with him...?" She leaned down close, kneeling by him, her clothes dusty from the battle-cheek singed from the explosion. "You know..he's always reminded me of someone..."
Now it was colder...and it didn't hurt so much, except his stomach and chest, liek some one reached in him and wrung his heart and organs. "Did you really think anything could happen? What are you? Not a prince, no family-a murderer. Now leave! You make me sick! Murderer!" Her hand struck out and slapped his face. "Get away from me!"
Darkness again. Was he still remembering? Or...was he awake? Wind whistled by him. Mozenrath stayed absolutely still, listening to the wind's breathing, moving fast as it inhaled, slowly letting the breathe go, ruffling his hair. His muscles, clenching and shaking, relaxed, behind his eyelids he saw a flash of bright light as pain ripped through him again. Eyes flickering open, he tried to register what happened. An episode.
He hadn't had an attack like that in over ten years. He did not need the extra pain of a seizure to his bleeding wounds.
Spitting out the gelled blood, he looked up over at the sky…
And some one was starring back. With a poorly stifled cry he scrambled back.
"Good morning, star shine," the being said. It was a female, her skin tainted slight turquoise, Her body solid, trailing off into smoke. Her raven black hair moved gracefully around her, as if she was suspended in stormy water. Her eyes were trained on him, pale yellow and thick eyelashes. Her full magenta lips tiled up at his pain and shock. "Now that's not anyway to treat a guest."
Mozenrath, heart still thumping from the shock, raised an eyebrow. "Uninvited guest," he panted, "rude, really..."
"I would have knocked but..." she looked around, an elegant brow raised. "Sstill love what you did with the place." She walked over to one of the few pillars that was standing. Placing her hands on it, she leaned against it. Where her skin touched stone, it cracked, the lines snakes up and down it with ominous snaps. Mozenrath made a mental note to make sure she never touched him on his bare skin.
He placed his hand on a pile of stone, and heaved himself up, the other hand cradling his side. She had a glow about her, and that was never good. It meant extreme power, a god's power. Why would any god come to his aide? She wasn't an Indian god, nor and Egyptian, he knew them and what they looked like, from his many trips to Egypt. So there was only one option left: Greek. Why would a Greek god be here, with him?
More importantly, he could not try and trick her, or take her power, per his usual. He must tread lightly
"Thank you, but I'm afraid I'm not the one to thank for this...state."
"Ah yes, Aladdin again? Like a pesky fly-"
"Yes, Aladdin-why-how do you know? More importantly, to what do I owe this visit?"
"It's very rude to interrupt," she said, inspecting her fingernails lazily. "But I suppose I could forgive it. Firstly, I know, because I'm a goddess-but you knew that already, my smart little sorcerer." She reached to pinch his cheek, but he ducked back.
She pushed herself away from the pillar. He backed away as she loomed closer, tilting his head back to compensate for her height, three feet taller than him. She stopped a few inches in front of him, and smirked. She dissolved into smoke, and repapered, at his eye level. "Do you know, my dear child, that you are the only known Propori Sorcerer left in this world?"
Mozenrath jerked back as her hand came dangerously close to his cheek again. How had she known he had natural magic? "Yes I know I am-thank you very much, but it still doesn't answer my question."
"Someone like you should not be lying here, in a destroyed citadel, bleeding and crying like a peasant."
His ears and neck flushed with embarrassment and pure rage. He shook with the effort to control himself, his question all but forgotten. Calm yourself, breathe, calm, wait. Breath, calm, wait. She is a thousand times more powerful than you, and you are weak at the moment...
Maybe it was best to appease this goddess, perhaps she came to help. Clamping down his anger, he fixed his face into a mask of no emotions. "You speak the truth."
"Of course I do," she said, clasping her hands in front of her, and smiled a little bit, almost like a mother-a murderous mother-but a mother none the less. "How old are you? 25? And you've come so very far-only to lose it all. That's just not fair, is it?"
"No," Mozenrath breathed, eyes trained on her. What was she doing?
"Some pampered street rat, spoiled, angry because another little boy might have what he has. He wants to be special, when he's nothing more than common-while you, who is," here she laughed, "anything but common, just wants to survive."
Mozenrath's breathe caught. She had used the word that had become almost sacred to wizards. To survive. Wizards were spit at, chased, hunted really and called evil. Were they? Some maybe, some may not be, but either way, light and dark, they had one thing in common in the magic fearing world, they had to survive. And the lengths they would go to survive might be called evil, but when it was down to simple life and death, one must do everything necessary to come out alive.
"And survive you did," she continued, circling him slowly. "Not only, survive-but thrive! You've done very well for yourself-by yourself. You started out with beyond nothing, and because a Lord of your own making. Who is he to tell you can not have what you've worked for? He who has worked for virtually nothing these past three years?"
Oh. She was good. She pushed every button that he had, every scathing, nasty thought he had had towards Aladdin she had said in only a few sentences. Rage was filling him up, licking at his insides like fire. His face felt like it was on fire, as his eyes never left hers. "No right," he spat.
She came face to face with him. "That's right-none. He doesn't know who's blood runs through your veins-I do. He doesn't know your potential-I do. And I can make you great."
So she was offering to help. Mozenrath, quelled the rage inside him. But for what price? If you jump in quickly, fool, you'll never get out. Be calm, be level headed. "Indeed," he said step back a few paces. "How...inviting."
Her smile widened , eye narrowed, and brow cocked. "You don't trust me. Very smart, cautious one. Perhaps I should define terms?"
"That would be helpful," Mozenrath nodded. His side was screaming in protest, crying out for some medical attention. But he couldn't appear to her weaker than he already look. She might not help him-or worse, kill him.
She pointed a finger at him. "You, have more power than you know. And, granted, you've made the utterly idiotic choice of putting that nasty...mitt on," she said, practically spitting out the words. "But none the less, your irreplaceable mind, cunning and intelligence, when put to good use-could move more mountains. I don't think I can offer that but..." She held out her hand, and swirled her finger tips over her palm. Gold smoke collected there and formed something solid. She held her hand out to him.
Wary, Mozenrath stepped close to her, eyes locked with hers. She was still smiling, her gaze on his face, rather than what she held. With one last look at her, he looked down into her hand. There, in her palm, sat a three dimensional map of the seven deserts. He could see his land, a black patch south east of Agrabah. It shown, lighting up Mozenrath's features, making everything around him seem dimmer. He was captivated by this living map. She was offering him half of Arabia.
She closed her palm, and smoothly moved, like oil in water, around him, arms around his neck from behind, hands raised, fingers twitching in a 'come hither' motion. Shards of glass, sand and wood sliced through the air towards them, stopping, and repairing themselves into his hour glass. It spun slowly, as if to taunt him.
"Not only land, but I can help you with this...thorny problem."
"You can give me my life back," he said, glancing side long at her, his voice smothered in sceptisisim.
"Not, your entire life, not the life span a wizard should have." I knew it. "But I can at least give you a human's life span."
He cocked an eyebrow in thought. At 25, that was a fair enough deal. There was, indeed, no hope for anyone wear The Gauntlet to live past 37, and he had resigned himself to that fact. So the offer to live out a good 80 years was very appealing.
Then reality slipped in. That was powerful magic-very powerful, to stay off death. Even necromancers, such as himself, could only revive the dead partially. So she would want something heavy in return.
He moved out of her arms, a comfortable distance away. "My life, lands--"
"And the street rats head," She said, smirking.
"And my enemy...for...what? What do you want in return?" He narrowed his eyes. "What is in this...for you? Who are you?"
She laughed, tossing her head to the side. "Ha! I had forgotten that question." She drew herself up to her full height, splaying her fingers as they grew and webbed like bat wings. "Eris, The Goddess of Chaos. Discordia to the Romans."
Mozenrath blinked. Then again. She wasn't just a goddess. She was an extremely powerful goddess. A goddess who's blood was tainted by Titans, direct descendant of Nyx and Erebos. His mouth went dry. What could she possible want from him?
The disbelief must have shown on his face, because she shrunk herself back to relative human size again. and placed a hand near his cheek again. He jerked away from it, eyes returning to the pillar she had disintegrated a few minutes ago.
"You'd give all this to me-why," he said, eyeing her. If refused, this could turn dangerous, very fast.
"Well," she said, gazing at her fingernails again, "let's say, besides you being cute, I owe someone a favor."
"And that favor includes me...how," he said, annoyed at how she tended to talk in circles.
Eris eyed him again for a long, silent moment, before returning to look at her manicure. "Your mother."
Black Amethyst by savyleartist