Chapter Text
1
Regression
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“Ah, would you look at that, Iago… first desert storm I’ve seen in a long time.”
The horizon had shifted dramatically, puffing up with dark storm clouds and the long shadow of sheets of rain. Thunder rumbled in the distance, ominous and foreboding, accompanied with small crackles of lightning, glowing white in the clouds. The air grew humid but cooler as the sun was blotted out into darkness. Iago bristled on Cassim’s shoulder, his feathers bunching up around his neck as he clenched his beak, eyeballing the oncoming storm with paranoia and disgust.
“I hate storms,” he grumbled.
“I thought you were a tropical bird,” Cassim chuckled, much to Iago’s chagrin.
“Yeah well, you wouldn’t like it either if you had to create one to help some jerk magically locate a streetrat.”
“Hey now, that’s my son you’re talking about,” Cassim feigned offense, his voice light and amused, only because Iago was fidgeting and clearly getting more agitated by the moment. Why not push it? “And how exactly did you create this storm?”
“I ran my little parrot butt on a treadmill until I was struck by lightning!” Iago squawked and he was fully in a tizzy. Cassim burst into laughter at his feathered friend’s distress. He was always such a dramatic bird.
“Eh, shut up,” Iago grumbled after Cassim’s fit, hunched and moody. He tacked a “Jerk” on the end for good measure.
Cassim grinned at him. “Well, I am glad you are alright, Iago. I promise never to make you run on a treadmill.”
“Good. Wait, what about the lightning part?!”
Cassim urged his horse forward toward the storm, peering into the sheets of rain ahead of them. “There is a legend of a hidden city right around here, you know. One with many magical – and expensive – artifacts.”
Now Iago was intrigued. “Oooh, sounds like a good investment.”
“It’s not typically an easy find. Why don’t we see if this rainstorm will be on our side? Fly ahead and take a look.”
“You got it, boss,” Iago replied, popping into the air and flapping off into the distance.
Cassim followed at a slower pace, keeping his eyes trained on the ground, the whirling sands around him. He hoped that they were not chasing a fever dream. Ever since he had located the Hand of Midas, Cassim found himself a little more gullible to tall tales about treasure. After all, if he had found that, anything was possible, really. The wild goose chases didn’t always turn up with a payout, but at least they were satisfactory when they did. He just spent a good bit of time exploring a lot of nothing. He also didn’t have forty men underneath him to do all the dirty work.
“Hey Cassim, two o’ clock!” Iago shouted from above. “Somethin’ shiny!”
“Hm?” He caught the glint in a small ray of sunlight that crept back behind the clouds as fast as it had appeared. He hopped off his saddle and crouched down to pick up the object, dusting the sand off with the edge of his cloak.
He examined it for a moment. A kind of gem, probably an ornamental clip for a turban. Its curved, golden sides were tarnished, and the deep scarlet gem in the center was cracked and chipped away. It had clearly been in the desert a long time, weathered and neglected. Cassim shook his head as Iago fluttered down to perch on his shoulder once more.
“I don’t think it’s worth anything,” he said, slightly disappointed. After a moment of thought, however, he added, a bit more optimistically, “However, it means that someone has been here. We may very well be in the right place.”
“That thing looks familiar,” Iago murmured, eyeballing it with intrigue. “I’ve definitely seen it before.”
Cassim shrugged. “You lived among enough royals to see your fair share of ornamental turbans, Iago.”
Iago continued to brood, taking it in. “No. I’ve definitely seen it somewhere in particular.” He squinted his yellow eyes, taking in the details and muttering to himself. “Blue… and gold… blue and gold… and…” Then the bird grew silent (a rarity), as the knowledge washed over him. Panic sprung to his form, feathers flying as he jolted, shouting, “We gotta get OUT OF HERE! We gotta go!”
Cassim, just inches away from finding treasure, was certainly not going to do that, especially not over a parrot’s paranoia. “What? Why?”
“That thing, right there? It belongs to a powerful sorcerer. Way more powerful than Jafar. And he wants to kill me!”
“How long is the list of people that want to kill you, exactly?” Cassim deadpanned, unimpressed.
Iago glowered in response, pouting. “Well, fine. He wants to kill your son. Feel better? I don’t. I’m an excellent appetizer to his four-course meal!”
Cassim was dubious. “Iago, this thing has been sitting in the desert for who knows how long? Even if this all-mighty sorcerer of yours owns this, it’s pretty doubtful he’s anywhere around here now.”
“I don’t know, Cassim. Magical artifacts are his bread and butter. Last time I saw him, he stole Al’s body because his was getting too weak. Al’s spirit was too strong. This guy’s definitely going to be around here somewhere. He’s not someone to mess with.”
Cassim squared his jaw, turning the gem over in his hand. He knew Iago tended toward melodrama and cowardice as was his nature, but there was a real fear there.
“And who is this exactly? I may be Aladdin’s old man but I am fairly certain I can hold my own in a fight just like he can.”
“Cassim, this is Mozenrath we’re talking about. He is not an easy guy to deal with. He’s dangerous.”
“Hm. I think I have heard that name before,” Cassim said absently, casting his eyes to the horizon. “The rain is coming.”
Indeed, it was. It began to cascade down a large, foreboding shape. A shadow began to stretch out over them, and as if a curtain had been lifted, the large structure of the citadel’s walls loomed right in front of them. Cassim felt his breath catch as it always did when he stumbled upon what he’d only heard as stories. He knew Iago had no chance of turning him back now. The lion had stumbled upon the gazelle.
“Let’s go,” he said, ignoring Iago’s pleas for escape.
“Are you serious, right now?! Good grief, you never listen to me! This is so stupid—”
Iago’s complaints fell on deaf ears as Cassim mounted his horse, kicked off, and headed for the jagged, towering stone walls.
--
Maeqil, like its namesake, was a stronghold. The city loomed like a gargoyle over the desert sands, only materializing under a storm cloud. Fortunately for the inhabitants, Maeqil was also populated with beings that could magically create whatever storms were needed to enter its walls. Also within said walls was an enormous, sinister palace of black marble with high arched doorways and pointed, angry looking spandrels in deep violet. Around the base was a smattering of cobblestones, some fully buried in the sand and worn down with age. Old vines had snaked over the walls in wet seasons only to crumble and die, leaving the dust in their wake. The entire place emanated the weight of a large magical force, quietly tamped down as if the stone itself was holding it in place.
Within the palace was a dungeon, and within the dungeon was Mozenrath.
He lay, withered, shackled, and silent. His cell was meager and bare. Chains hung from the walls and occasionally clinked together at a stray breeze that flitted through the space. In the corner lay a pile of bones of indeterminate nature. Mozenrath was crumpled in the corner across from them, pale, unmoving. An unknown passerby could have determined him a corpse until he jolted at the sound of the heavy metal door squealing open, raking against the stone floor.
In came the guard, a large, balding man dressed in black. His meaty hands rapped against the door in a knock that could easily be seen as mocking since he was already in the room. Mozenrath swallowed but refused to acknowledge him quite yet.
“How are you feeling?” He asked and it was the furthest thing from maternal and the furthest thing from safe and the closest thing to threatening.
Mozenrath rolled his eyes in the man’s direction and said nothing. Apparently, that wasn’t the preferred response as he was yanked violently to his feet, even though his legs trembled under their own weight. The guard gripped him by the chin, forcing Mozenrath to look at him. He cringed at the rancid smell of his breath, sour and smoky, pouring through his gritted golden teeth. He was then tossed haplessly back to the dungeon floor. Mozenrath didn’t even flinch at the action but crumpled when the stillness settled. He half expected the man to just leave.
“Your magic is coming in handy, boy.”
“So glad to be of service,” Mozenrath spat, not moving from his spot on the floor, even when he received a swift kick in the gut for the response. If he had his gauntlet that man would be history.
“You should be grateful,” the guard hissed. “You like having your hand back, boy? Being normal?”
Mozenrath gritted his teeth so hard he was certain he could chip one of them. Normal? That was a laugh. There was no normality in being a slave. He’d rather be dead.
“Get up,” the guard commanded with another kick.
“Why not just kill me already?” Mozenrath gasped. “It’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“We have bigger plans for you, boy. UP.”
When Mozenrath didn’t move he was once again dragged to his feet by calloused, cruel hands. The man turned his head. “He’s ready.”
Ready for what, exactly? Mozenrath felt the sting of panic starting to roll through him. This was different than his usual treatment in the dungeon. They had plans today, apparently. He found himself looking to the guard, his only familiar in this awful place, for explanation. He knew he wouldn’t receive any. Through the door came the shadows of three other men with curled spines and dark cloaks. He had never seen them before, but there was an energy buzzing around him that made him feel heavy and tingly and completely terrified.
His eyes darted to the door behind them, his only escape. He was shackled and weak. There wasn’t much acclimating to the situation. He wasn’t Aladdin by any means – he never had to be. He strained against his restraints as he was guided toward them, wishing desperately for the gauntlet that had pulled him out of so many situations, even at the expense of his own flesh. He longed for the control. That was long gone. He felt his breath shudder in his chest as they approached. He found his feet kicking desperately trying to get them away, but they overtook him with ease. He had been malnourished for far too long to put up any kind of fight.
All he could do was scream.
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End 1