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Falls the Shadow

Part 1 - Once Upon A Dream

Paralyzed force

“Incoming!!”

Abu, Iago and several of Agrabah’s Royal Guards dove headfirst behind the safety of a convenient ridge. Just in time, for where they had stood rocks and dust fountained up dozens of feet into the air lifted by a multicolored tornado of light. The air sizzled with the glowing detritus of Genie’s magic gone wrong.

They cowered for several minutes as the debris rained down upon them. When the last pebbles had fallen, Abu and Iago risked peeking out from under their cover. They saw Genie still floating there, but looking quite the worse for wear, blackened and scorched. The djinn drew in a deep breath and let it out again as a puff of smoke.

“Well, that didn’t work, did it?” asked one of the guards.

“And that surprises you?” Iago muttered.

Everyone looked around at the sound of someone approaching in a rush. Scree clattered back down the slope as Aladdin skidded to a stop. “Did I just hear an explosion? Was anyone hurt?”

Iago flapped to the top of a nearby boulder and shook himself, sending a cloud of dust everywhere. “Just another one of Genie’s fiascoes, Al.” The guards grumbled in agreement and started back towards the camp.

Genie puffed up as he started to protest then deflated suddenly. His shoulders slumped forward and his arms dragged the ground. “It’s no good. Nothing I seem to do even so much as scratches that spell on the city.” He looked at himself, and added, “Although, it seems I’m not so lucky.”

Aladdin went to his friend and laid a hand on Genie’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Genie. We’ll find something to break this spell.”

Genie looked at him and smiled wanly. As if on cue, they both looked down on the city they called home. It didn’t look very welcoming now. They had returned from the Land of the Black Sands to find Agrabah transformed into a nightmare world. While Aladdin had been away rescuing Jasmine from the horrid transformation Mozenrath had wrought upon her, the sorcerer had made Agrabah part of his dead kingdom.

The city itself was unchanged, save that even at the sun’s zenith, a great shadow seemed to lie over it. Inky darkness gathered in thick draperies in the alleyways and side-streets. Small things scuttled under the cover of that darkness, things best left unnamed. Worst of all, Agrabah’s dead roamed the streets. At night it was worse; not even the bravest could be convinced to step foot within the city.

Aladdin sighed and looked away. It had been nearly a month since their return, and the Mamluks had only recently put in an appearance. Immediately after Mozenrath’s defeat, the undead guards had mysteriously disappeared, leaving the city unguarded. The Sultan had tried to move everyone back into their homes, but it proved unbearable to live in that place. Especially when at any moment one could come face-to-face with relatives, loved ones (or enemies) who had already made the journey to happier (or sadder) lands.

Eventually, the populace had moved out here to the cliffs that surrounded the city. There was nothing to drive them further, and no one wanted to leave. The Sultan had moved his government to the makeshift camp and had given Aladdin the task of finding a way to break the spell.

That had been the way things stood until a week ago. Then the first sightings of Mozenrath’s Mamluks had begun pouring in. Scouting parties had visited the city each day to bring supplies back to the camp. The Mamluks had driven them out, and had for the past week kept a tight perimeter patrol. Not even single scouts had managed to break through; a few had not returned from the attempt. However, the Undead seemed uninterested in anything that happened beyond the city’s borders.

Aladdin returned to the present as a raucous voice penetrated his reverie. “Aladdin. Oh, Aladdin. Hey! Earth to Al! What are we gonna do now?”

The young man looked down at the brightly colored parrot and shook his head. “I don’t know—" He broke off as movement down in the city caught his attention.

They stood on the northern escarpment near the palace. They could clearly see the destruction wrought by the Simin Golnar during the first attempt to free Jasmine from Mozenrath’s power. A hollow burned out shell surrounded by blackened and shriveled gardens. Aladdin held up his hand and motioned everyone to get down. They were high enough that they could not be seen from the palace--normally, this area was patrolled by the Guards to prevent attacks on the city from this quarter--but one could never be too careful, especially when sorcerers were involved.

Aladdin crouched behind a rock and watched the darkened and broken palace below. A patrol of Mamluks passed under him where the city backed up against the cliffs. He watched them until they disappeared around a corner and headed back towards the long main avenue that lead up to the gates of the palace. He waited for them to reappear; when they didn’t, he let his attention wander up the avenue to the gates—and stiffened as he saw the figure standing on the platform above the gates.

“Genie!” he hissed. The djinn looked up from where he was poring over a book from which he had been trying to learn ways to break this spell of Mozenrath’s. As Genie looked over, thin-wire-rimmed spectacles disappeared from before his eyes.

“Look!” Aladdin looked back, but pulled back in surprise. “He’s gone!”

“Who?” Iago demanded as he joined the two of them. Abu leaned over the rock and nodded. “Yeah, who?”

“I swear I saw Mozenrath standing on the walls of the palace! Just above the gate!” He leaned outward to scan what he could see of the city.

“Mozenrath? Are you sure?” Genie pulled out a spy-glass and joined in the visual search. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“He’s gone now,” Aladdin reluctantly admitted. He pulled away from the edge and started down the path towards the camp. “We have to tell the Sultan about this. If Mozenrath is here, it can mean nothing but trouble.”

Genie hurried along beside his friend. “You’re not whistling Dixie, either. That kid’s middle name is Trouble!” Iago and Abu scrambled to their usual places on Aladdin’s shoulders.

“It was Mozenrath, I tell you!” Aladdin nearly shouted in Rasoul’s face.

“Don’t shout at me, street rat,” the Captain growled at the shorter man. He fingered the edge of the scimitar he held drawn and ready to use.

“Stop it, this instant!” came another voice. Rasoul and Aladdin turned as the Sultan strode across the sand towards them. “What is going on here?” he demanded as he came up to the small knot of men.

“The street rat insists that he saw Mozenrath in the city,” Rasoul explained as he bowed to the Sultan. “I, however, have seen nothing but Mamluks within the city.”

“I know the difference between Mozenrath and one of his Mamluks,” Aladdin insisted.

“Aside from Moze’s horrible fashion sense, it’s not like there’s a whole lot of difference,” Iago muttered from Genie’s shoulder. Genie shushed him as Aladdin turned to glare at the bird.

“Captain, that is enough,” the Sultan said in a firm voice.

Rasoul ducked his head in acknowledgment. “Sire. As I was saying, Mozenrath hasn’t been seen for the past month, since the spell on Agrabah was cast; there is no reason to believe he has shown up now.”

“It’s about time then, isn’t it? It’s been more than enough time for him to have recovered!” Aladdin persisted. “He's not about to leave us in peace, even on the outskirts of the city.”

“You don't know that—“ Rasoul started.

Aladdin rounded on the Captain. “If anyone knows, it’s me, and I know he’s overdue for an unwelcome appearance any day now.”

“Who?” a new voice asked from the shadows.

The response to that voice was universal: Everyone froze as the speaker approached.

“You needn’t worry yourself about that, my dear,” the Sultan began.

“I asked a question,” Jasmine said in a flat, unemotional voice. “Who will show up?”

Aladdin looked at the Sultan and sighed. The look that passed between them was full of silent suffering and compassion. “I think I saw Mozenrath in the city today,” he said softly.

Jasmine’s eyes went hard when she heard that name. “And why didn’t you tell me?” Not one man in the tent could meet her steely gaze. After an uncomfortable silence, she continued. “I have given strict orders that I be informed of these developments. I am the princess of Agrabah; it’s safe-keeping and well-being are my responsibility. I must be kept informed of these things!”

Aladdin looked at her helplessly. “Jasmine, I didn’t want—”

She rounded on him, her eyes and face hard. “You didn’t want what?” She demanded. “To remind me of what he’s done to me? To upset me? You’ve all been dancing around me for the past month as if I were made of glass!” she said. “There’s absolutely no reason for that; I’m perfectly fine!” Her tone, strained nearly to breaking, shouted that everything was NOT fine. She held herself rigidly, but Aladdin could see how her knuckles whitened as she clenched her fists tightly at her sides.

He took a step forward, hand outstretched, willing her to understand, to let him close enough to help her. “Jasmine, that’s not it at all—”

She cut him off. “Then what is it?” She turned to Rasoul. “Get your men together; we’re going to go take our city back.”

The Sultan stepped in front of her. “We will not,” he said gently. Before she could protest, he added, “We simply do not have the men to spare on such a foolhardy mission, Jasmine. We cannot afford to mount a frontal assault against him while he holds such power over Agrabah.” Though soft, the Sultan’s voice held that firm note that brooked no argument, a tone that Jasmine knew all too well.

Jasmine’s lips pinched together into a thin line as she glared at her father. She whirled, the black cloak she wore flaring dramatically around her. She stormed out of the tent without another word.

Aladdin started after her, but paused and looked back at her father.

The Sultan nodded. “Go after her, my boy. Keep her from doing anything foolhardy. We will investigate your claim that Mozenrath has returned. He arched on bushy eyebrow at Rasoul. The Captain stiffened, but nodded in acquiescence.

Aladdin turned without another word and hurried out of the tent; Genie, with Iago and Abu, followed in his wake. Jasmine was already well ahead of him, shoving people aside in her haste to reach her tent. Aladdin ran after her and caught up with her just outside her destination. He caught her arm and pulled her gently around.

“Jasmine—“

She started violently and jerked her arm out of his grasp.

“Let go of me Aladdin,” she said in her “princess” voice. “And leave me alone.”

Aladdin reached for her again but did not touch her. “Jasmine, don’t be angry. We only want what’s best for you—“

“Leaving me alone is what’s best for me. Now go away; I have work to do.” She shoved aside the tent flap and disappeared inside. Aladdin grabbed the tent flap but hesitated. “Wait here,” he said to the djinn as he as the others caught up with him. He ducked into the tent and disappeared inside.

“Jasmine, I am not one of your subjects that you can order around,” he said softly but firmly. “Talk to me, Jasmine,” he pleaded. “Let me help you.”

She picked up a length of rope and inspected it as she pointedly refused to look at him. “I don’t need your help. Not unless you’re offering to help go after Mozenrath.” She coiled the rope, set it down, and picked up a curved-bladed dagger and jerked it out of the sheath.

Exasperated, Aladdin grabbed Jasmine’s arm and pulled her around. “Jasmine, you can’t go after Mozenrath like this,” he said as gently as possible.

She shrugged her arm out of his grasp and glared at him. “Why not?” she shot back. “He’s got to pay for what he’s done. At the least, he must be made to lift this nightmare he’s cast on the city. And if the rest of you are unwilling and unable to do what must be done, then I’ll see to it myself.” She turned away from him and continued going over her equipment. “It’s my duty as princess to see this usurper overthrown and brought to justice!”

“Is it really Agrabah that concerns you?” he asked. “Or is it your own desire for revenge?”

Jasmine rounded on him. “How could you think that? My own desires are secondary to those of my people! All I want is to see the city free of his evil presence.” She looked at him long and hard. “And since you and your pet fool have been having little luck, the responsibility falls upon my shoulders.”

Aladdin’s jaw dropped at her words. He glanced over her shoulder at the tent flap; her voice had been loud enough he was certain Genie could not help but hear her words. Knowing they would wound the djinn made him angry.

“Jasmine,” he said in as level a voice as he could manage. “That’s not fair and you know it. We’re looking for a way to reverse the spell, but these things don’t happen overnight!”

“It has been a month!” Jasmine shouted at him. Her voice dripped with the venom that festered inside her. “If you’d spend more time on your responsibilities—a word you don’t know the meaning of, I’m sure—and less time clowning around with those buffoonish parasites, perhaps you’d be having better luck!” Still unaware of Genie’s presence outside the tent, Jasmine continued. “As for Genie, why is it whenever we really need his magic, it never works properly?” she demanded in a voice that wasn’t quite her own.

Aladdin took a step backwards at her vehemence and stared at her. “Jasmine, you’re being unreasonable. You know very well mixing different types of magicks has unpredictable, not to mention catastrophic, results! It’s not Genie’s fault; it isn’t anybody’s fault!”

“I’m not so sure about that, “ she spat.

Truly angry now, Aladdin glared down at her. “Jasmine, this isn’t like you. I hardly recognize you.”

In a bitter voice, Jasmine said, “Then perhaps you don’t know me at all.” She turned away from his anger and ripped open the tentflap savagely only to draw up short as she came face to face with Genie, Abu and Iago. Her eyes went wide with surprise, then as she realized they had probably heard more than enough her eyes hardened. She turned and glared accusingly at Aladdin then brushed past the djinn. Aladdin took a step after her but she was gone. Lost in the crowd

“Genie,” he started. “I’m—I mean, Jasmine—”

“No, Al. It’s not her talking. We all know that.” Genie looked at his friend sadly.

Aladdin nodded and turned his attention back to the camp. He spotted her ducking into her tent and sighed. “Everyone except Jasmine, that is,” he said softly. “What am I going to do, Genie? Jasmine wants the city freed of this spell, but how do I free Jasmine?”

Abu crawled onto his friend’s shoulder and put his arms around Aladdin’s neck. “Ah…” he said unhappily. Aladdin let the tent flap fall as he turned away from it.

Genie put a hand on Aladdin’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Al. She’ll get over it—somehow. These things have a way of working themselves out. Usually for the best, but occasionally for the worst—” Genie broke off awkwardly, aware he wasn’t helping.

Aladdin smiled at his friend. “I know, Genie. Thanks. This is something Jasmine has to face herself. I just hope she realizes it soon. For everyone’s sake.” Aladdin looked the way she had run off.

* * *

As the sun was setting behind the horizon, Jasmine returned to her tent. Fortunately, she found it empty, something she was infinitely grateful for. She was unsure if she could face Aladdin—or Genie—after her outburst. She burned with shame for having said such dreadful things, but there had been some truth to her words…hadn’t there? And yet, even as much as she wanted Mozenrath to pay for his crimes against her city, she was filled with dread at the thought.

With a shiver, Jasmine lied down on the pallet that served as her bed and sighed. Her throat felt constricted and her eyes burned, but she would not weep. She hadn’t yet and she would not now, not ever. She would not give Mozenrath the satisfaction. Yet…Why did she want to so badly?

She stared up at the ceiling of the tent as she faced the prospect of yet another sleepless night. Nights were the worst, since the forced inactivity let her mind wander into those areas she carefully blocked off during the day, when her duties helped keep her mind from probing the darkness. But at night—First there were the dreams—dreams in which she relived over and over the horrifying time she had spent as a creature of living fire under Mozenrath’s control. Fortunately, most of it was a blur, but there were certain moments which stood out with frightening clarity. How many had suffered from the power Mozenrath had wielded through her? How long would the city remain enslaved, something Mozenrath had been able to do only with her assistance? Because she had given him the power?

Jasmine turned on her side and tucked her hand under her cheek. Why had she spoken so of Genie? She knew he was doing what he could to help; it wasn’t his fault if no solution had presented itself so far. Still, though, she couldn’t help but feel that there was something else she should be, could be doing to defeat Mozenrath. Somewhere in this train of thought, she slipped into sleep.

As had been typical of the past weeks, Jasmine woke to the sound of screams. Only, for the first time since Aladdin had freed her, it was to a scream from a throat other than her own. She sat up abruptly as the distant cry for help repeated itself. A little disoriented from her sudden waking, Jasmine blinked and rubbed her eyes. The cry came again. Jasmine frowned. “Who?” she whispered as the cry came again. Then it hit her; it wasn’t a cry for help, but rather a peacock screaming in the distance.

“A peacock? In the middle of the desert?” she mused. The lonely cry came again. Didn’t anyone hear it? Overcome with curiosity, she stood and caught up her cloak. She threw it about her shoulders against the chill desert night as she went to the tentflap and flung it open.

The camp was still, save for the sentries that stood at their posts. The full moon was at its zenith and the camp was lit up nearly as bright as day. Jasmine stepped from her tent and looked around for the peacock that had woken her. The call came again and she took off in its direction.

As she passed through the camp, she couldn’t help but feel sorrow at the sorry state in which they were forced to exist, and wonder at tenacity of the human spirit. Forced from their homes, the feeling of helplessness was palpable, yet life went on. Most of the former citizens of Agrabah were asleep, huddled around their cookfires, their meager possessions scattered around them.

She paused in the shadow of a tent after passing the third sentry without so much as an acknowledgment. Jasmine listened as the peacock’s cry came again. Why didn’t any one else notice it? Even as she had that thought, she wondered if perhaps she was dreaming. But…it was unlike any dream she had ever had. She reached into her belt and pulled out the curved dagger she had taken to wearing everywhere she went. As she sucked her thumb after having tested it’s edge, she dismissed the possibility that this was a dream. One couldn’t feel pain or taste blood in dreams…Or could one?

As if calling her on, the peacock cried again. Jasmine slipped the dagger back into her belt and ran swiftly across the open expanse of sand that surrounded the camp. As she came to the line of low dunes, she slowed and crawled to the top to have a look at what was beyond. When she reached the top, she sat back on her heels and stared.

There, where no palace should have been, a palace of glass and crystal rose from the desert floor. Towers of cut crystal pierced the night sky. Moonlight reflected off domes of white marble refracted in the crystal until the towers appeared formed of light itself instead of earthly glass. Mist gathered around the base of the palace lent it the appearance of floating just above the desert sands; such a creation of heavenly beauty surely could not rest directly on the earth’s soil. A peacock called from somewhere within.

As if drawn against her will, Jasmine scrambled to her feet and slid down the dune towards the palace. Soon, the ground was hidden by the mist that swirled around her ankles as she walked. After only a few steps, her bootheels clicked against marble. She continued into the palace; almost drawn against her will. She knew it was foolish to be entering a place as strange as this so boldly, but something…something benevolent beckoned her. She knew there was something waiting for her within—yet how she knew, she was at a loss to explain.

On and on she walked; through mist-carpeted halls accompanied by the mist-deadened sound of her bootheels striking the marble. The halls were inlaid with intricate patterns of colored glass and tile. Most depicted images of a race clearly not human. Tall and striking with bird-like features, they stared at Jasmine with eyes that seemed more real than Jasmine herself.

Everywhere were birds. Paintings, frescos, inlays, carvings, sculptures. Flying, swimming, walking, perching, sitting, strutting birds of every shape and form. Small, large, drab or brilliantly plumed, they were all here. When Jasmine came to the large room under the central dome she found the room filled with dozens of peacocks. The floor seemed to shift as they strutted around a large dais in the center of the room, dragging their magnificent tails behind them. Nearly hidden by the wealth of feathers, a cloaked and hooded figure waited for her.

“Princess Jasmine, welcome.” The voice deep, rich and warm, was female.

“You know me?” Jasmine asked as she came closer.

The woman nodded. “And I’ve come to help you.” The woman gestured for Jasmine to come even closer.

Jasmine obeyed. She stepped carefully through the scattered feathers of the peacocks and gently nudged one out of the way so she could sit. It obeyed, but without a disapproving squawk.

“Are you going to lift the spell over Agrabah?” Jasmine asked.

The woman leaned forward and lifted a gilled samovar from the low table to her side. She poured an amber-colored tea into a pair of matching gold and hand-blown glasses and handed it to Jasmine.

“That is not within my power, child. Only you can do that.”

Jasmine stared at the woman, and wished she would remove her cloak. “How?” she asked; a wave of despair washed over her and she lowered her gaze to see her hands clenched tightly around the gilded glass of dark liquid. “I don’t know anything about magic,” she said softly.

“Drink,” was the woman’s gentle yet stern response. Confused, Jasmine looked up. The woman remained motionless and silent in the shadows of her cowl; after a moment, Jasmine obeyed the woman’s command that she drink. Strong and dark, it tasted of honey and herbs and filled her with a sense of well-being and confidence. She felt as if she could do anything.

“It grieves me, but in this time my powers are limited. I can do naught but tell you what you need and where to find it.” The woman held up her hands and brought them together in front of her. “To break the spell over Agrabah, you must gather items that will cleanse the spirit, body and mind of the city. They are salt, oil and the Amaranth.

Jasmine’s frown turned into a wide smile. “That’s all? I can get those things right in any marketplace—”

The woman shook her head. “No, Jasmine, it’s not that easy. The things you seek are common, true, but the places from which you must fetch them are not. You must journey to the land of Cimmeria to get them.”

Jasmine drew back. “Cimmeria?” She stared at the cowled woman in horror. “I can’t go there; only the souls of the dead can go there!”

The woman bowed her head. “It is fraught with peril, and you will face many dangers. but there is a way.” The woman looked at her. “Do you accept your task?”

Jasmine looked at her a moment, then nodded. “I don’t have a choice, do I? I have to save my people.”

The woman smiled; Jasmine wasn’t sure how she knew that, as she couldn’t see her face, but Jasmine was certain that she was indeed smiling.

“You are indeed of noble blood, Jasmine of Agrabah,” she said. She reached out and stroked Jasmine’s cheek. Her touch filled Jasmine with a sense of peace she had not felt for weeks.

The woman dropped her hand. “Gather the things you need to break the spell in this order: Salt from the city on the plains; oil from the palm groves; the Amaranth, the flower that blooms in the never-ending darkness in a twisted garden of despair.” She paused a moment before continuing. “Beware, for Cimmeria is a land of dark magic and danger.”

Jasmine hung her head, her dark hair hanging like a curtain around her face. She took a deep breath, then looked up at the cowled woman.

“Is there no other way?” she asked in a frightened voice.

The cowl moved from side to side as the woman shook her head. “The sorcerer deals in necromancy; his power is drawn from Cimmeria and her Lord itself. You must break the spell using the same methods, but with holy ingredients to counter the unholy ones he uses.”

Jasmine’s eyes clouded with fear as her throat constricted and strangled her voice. The woman nodded her head in response to Jasmine’s unspoken question.

“Yes, the sorcerer will pursue you. You must be strong, and not let him sway you from your task.” She paused and looked away. “One final word of warning: Eat nothing while in the Realm of the Dead. Harm nothing of Cimmeria; take nothing save that which I have instructed you. If you do any of these, your soul will be forfeit.”

Jasmine shook her head; this was just too fantastic for her to believe. “I don’t understand--”

The woman held up her hand. “I’m sorry, Jasmine, I cannot tell you more. My time here is short, and any question you may ask of me, you will find the answer within yourself.

“Take these,” she said. She held out a red silk bag, took Jasmine’s hand and pressed it into it. “Use this to hold the elements of the counterspell.” She pressed the bag into Jasmine’s hands, then picked up three feathers, iridescent purple and gold; feathers from the wing of a peacock. “Should you run into any trouble, cast a one from you and help will come. But only in the direst of need.” Again, she smiled. “You may be going into the Land of the Dead, but there are always friends to be found in any situation.”

Jasmine clutched the feathers and the bag to her. “But how do I get there?”

“Where the sun dies, search among the dead, Princess. I can tell you no more. Go now, and may the gods go with you.”

A darkness fell over the room. Jasmine felt a cold, evil presence that came with the snuffing out of the light. As if sensing it as well, the peacocks began screaming. Like a spun sugar confection left out in the sun too long, the palace dissolved around her. Jasmine woke in her tent with the sound of the peacocks’ screams ringing in her ears.

Part 2 - Escape from Agrabah

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams

Real screams chased the memory of the dream from her. She jumped up, shoving the things she found in her hands into her belt as she rushed out of the tent. The camp was in chaos; absently she noticed that the moon was at its zenith. She spotted Rasoul and caught his arm.

“Rasoul! What’s going on?” she shouted.

He turned to her. “The camp is under attack!”

“Under attack? By whom?”

“Jasmine! Rasoul! Over here!” came a familiar voice. The two of them turned as Aladdin swooped by on Carpet.

“It’s the Mamluks!” he shouted in explanation. Rasoul picked the princess up and deposited her on Carpet next to Aladdin. “Mozenrath is with them!”

Jasmine grabbed a sword from a passing guard and gripped it tightly. She pushed down the fear that twisted her insides. “Where?” she asked in a deadly voice. “I want him.”

Aladdin caught her arm. “No, Jasmine. I’m not letting you near him. Not like this.”

She glared at him. “Not like what?” she demanded in a low voice.

Aladdin returned her look without flinching. “Are you so bent on trying to get yourself killed that you’ve forgotten your responsibility to your city?”

Jasmine jerked her arm out of his grasp. “I have forgotten nothing!”

Aladdin nodded. “That’s the problem. Jasmine, I barely recognize you; the old Jasmine would understand that she can’t put herself in danger when the good of her people come first!”

“Are you trying to tell me how I should behave now?” she demanded.

Aladdin picked her up and put her on Carpet before she could protest. “No, I’m reminding you, that’s all.”

Jasmine stared at him. “How dare—”

“Get her out of here!” Rasoul shouted at Aladdin.

“Sorry, Jasmine, this is no place for you.”

“You can’t tell me where I am and am not supposed to be!” she shouted at him.

Aladdin shook his head. In an angry voice he said, “To protect you from yourself, yes I can. Rasoul and I will protect the Sultan. You are to do nothing to endanger yourself.” His voice softened as he looked into her eyes. “Besides, we’ll need you in case something goes wrong here.” He looked into her eyes and the love in them was painful for her to see. “Jasmine, you are the people’s only hope. You cannot fall into Mozenrath’s hands!” He pulled her forward and kissed her quickly, the pushed her back and twisted the sword out of her hands. “Carpet, take her someplace safe.”

Carpet saluted Aladdin and swooped off over the city. Too stunned to react, Jasmine stared back at Aladdin as Carpet took her away from the camp. He waved to her before turning and dashing off into the milling crowd.

* * *

Within the shadowy streets of Agrabah, a patrol of Mozenrath’s walking undead paused in their patrol. Another shadow, from above, fell over them and they looked skyward. Their eyes glowed as they watched the flying carpet pass overhead until they could no longer see it.

The leader turned to the others and motioned for them to continue their patrol. It shambled off to report to its master what it had just seen.

* * *

Jasmine took a deep breath to calm herself and felt something sharp press into her side. She pulled the red silk bag and feathers out of her sash and stared at them. The dream returned with startling clarity; she knew what she must do. She pushed her hair out of her face and tucked the items back into her sash. “But what way?” she mused to herself. The voice from the dream returned to her: Where the sun dies, search among the dead. Jasmine smiled to herself as she understood at least half of that.

“Come on, Carpet. We need to go west.”

Carped waved his tassels at her.

“Why? Because that’s where I’ll find what I need to lift the curse on Agrabah.”

Carpet perked up and gave her a jaunty salute as he veered off towards the west.

“PRINCESS!!!” came a rasping voice behind them. Jasmine turned and found Iago flapping as hard as he could to catch up with them.

“Iago!”

“Don’t leave me!” Iago gasped as he tumbled to Carpet. Jasmine caught his tail feathers as he rolled toward the edge.

“Why aren’t you helping?” she demanded.

“What? Me against those Mamluks? Are you crazy?” Iago gasped. “Mozenrath wants my blood. I just know it. I’m the one that knew about the counterspell, so he’s come to get me!”

“I’m sure, Iago. Mozenrath has come all this way for one little parrot.”

Iago lifted himself up from Carpet. “Hey! You could at least pretend! Talk about makin’ a bird feel insignificant.” He put his wing feathers to his temples and closed his eyes. “I foresee years of counseling—expensive counseling—due to the extensive bruising my ego has suffered today.”

Jasmine sighed and turned to face the way they were going. “That’s all right, Iago. You can come with us. I’m sure I can use all the help I can get.”

Iago flapped to her shoulder. “Now you’re talkin’, Princess. With your looks and my talent we can take the casinos of Getzistan by storm! After making a royal killing (and taking a few weeks off to enjoy the fruits of our labor), we can always come back and buy Agrabah back from Mozenrath—and considering what that kid does to property values, we can get quite a deal!”

Jasmine grinned with a trace of her former humor. “I had something a little more immediate in mind, Iago.”

Iago narrowed his eyes at her. “Oh?” he faced west as they flew towards the horizon. “And just where are we going?”

“Cimmeria.”

“Cimmeria?!” he squawked. “You goin’ suicidal on me? Cimmeria is--”

“The Land of the Dead, I know,” Jasmine finished for him.

Iago was silent a moment as he looked at her sideways. “Princess…Cimmeria isn’t exactly a good place to begin building a financial empire. Unless we were planning on selling funeral plots? Cornering the market on Mamluk parts? Why Cimmeria?”

“I had a dream and in the dream a woman told me what I need to lift Mozenrath’s spell over Agrabah. What I need is in Cimmeria.”

“Have I ever mentioned my dream of being a filthy rich, spoiled bird with a palace in Getzistan? Why don’t we flip for it?” He pulled a coin out of his feathers and held it ready to flip into the air.

Jasmine took the coin from him and slipped it into her belt. “It was a very real dream, Iago,” Jasmine told the parrot. She held up the bag and the feathers. “The woman gave me these in my dream and when I woke up, I had them.”

“Whoa, nice plumage. I’d like to see the hen these were attached to,” Iago commented. He took the feathers and examined them. “She gave you a bag and some feathers and now we’re going to Cimmeria. Jasmine, if I gave you one of my tail feathers, could I talk you into going to Getzistan instead?” She shook her head. “Then I don’t suppose you know what these are for? Tickling the Lord of the Dead into submission? Somehow I don’t think Mozenrath is into that sort of thing.”

“She said that if I should get into any trouble, to cast one from me and help would come.”

“Trouble? In the Land of the Dead? Gee, imagine that…” The sarcasm in his voice was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

Jasmine took the feathers and put them back into the bag. “You don’t have to come along, Iago. I’m sure Mozenrath has completely forgotten about the part you played in messing up his plans.”

Iago went pale under his feathers. He glared at Jasmine as he muttered, “I was running away from Mozenrath so I wouldn’t get a first class ticket to Deadsville, and you want to take me on a sightseeing trip there.” He huddled into his feathers. “All right, but let’s take the whirlwind tour instead of the extended stay.”

Jasmine smiled at him. “Thanks, Iago.”

The parrot shook his head. “Don’t thank me, Princess. I expect a big reward for this when we get back.”

* * *

“I want them captured! All of them!” Mozenrath ordered his Mamluks. They barged through the camp overturning and slashing tents, scattering possessions everywhere. The refugees were rounded up and dragged into a group on the outskirts of the camp and chained together. He stalked through the camp as his undead soldiers rounded up those that had escaped from the city. They were beneath his notice; worthy only as replacement parts for his Mamluks down the line. There were only two people he was interested in at the moment.

Xerxes flew down into his line of sight and he pulled up.

“Mamluks find them!” His familiar did a series of flips in the air before him.

“Aladdin and the Princess?” Mozenrath asked. Xerxes bobbed vigorously up and down and he nodded. Mozenrath’s mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “Then let’s not keep them waiting.” He motioned to Xerxes to lead the way.

He followed his familiar around behind a group of tents to where several of his Mamluks held their captives. Mozenrath’s smile turned to self-satisfaction as he counted the Sultan, Rasoul, Aladdin and most of all Jasmine, among the group. He gave her a cold look as he paused in front of her before turning his attention to the others.

“Well, well, well. Isn’t this a moment I’d like captured forever on canvas? So I could take it out and gloat over it any time I wanted.” He smirked even as he rubbed his chin with his gauntleted hand. “Too bad there’s very little in the way of artistic talent inside a Mamluk’s head. Now that I mention it, there’s very little but rotting brains inside a Mamluk’s head.” He grinned at his captives as they struggled to free themselves. “But it’s not what’s in their heads that makes them useful to me, now is it?”

“I demand you release us!” the Sultan shouted, anger making his voice harsh.

“You’re in a position to demand nothing, you fat, old man,” Mozenrath said dismissively. His eyes were on Aladdin. He was about to deliver a scathing commentary on the situation when he paused and looked around. “Where’s the Genie?” he asked Xerxes, his voice harsh.

Xerxes sniffed a moment, turned this way and that, then flew over to Jasmine. He sniffed her. “Here, Master.”

Mozenrath took a step backwards. “What?” Xerxes snapped at the princess; she yelped and turned a bright shade of blue. The djinn shrugged, dislodging the wig and clothing he had donned.

“Sorry, Al.”

“Silence!” Mozenrath shouted. He crossed the distance to Aladdin and pulled him out of the Mamluk’s grasp. “Where is the princess?”

Aladdin glared defiantly at him. “Someplace where you’ll never find her.”

Mozenrath snarled at him and shoved Aladdin away as he took a step back.. He pulled a stoppered flask out of his cloak and held it in his left hand while he summoned his power through the gauntlet on his right.

As the Mamluk made a grab for him, Aladdin knocked its feet out from under it. “Now, Genie!” he shouted as he grabbed the Sultan.

Genie shifted form into a that of a giant octopus and grabbed the Mamluks with his tentacles. Mozenrath evaded the tentacle meant for him and sent his power after Aladdin. It caught the Sultan and threw the little man forward into the sand.

“Sultan!” Aladdin shouted as he skidded to a halt in the sand. He rushed back but Mozenrath beat him. He loomed over the unconscious man and glared at Aladdin. He yanked the stopper out of the flask and held it out. “Unless you want your bride-to-be orphaned, tell your Genie to get inside.” He gestured with the flask.

Aladdin looked at the Sultan; the old man shook his head wearily. “Don’t do it, Aladdin.”

Mozenrath whipped his hand to the side and sent a burst of fire into the heart of the trampled remains of the makeshift camp. “Tell him to get in now or the next time someone gets hurt.” With his still glowing hand, he gestured towards the sad knot of refugees, chained and helpless, waiting to be dragged off to the dungeons by Mozenrath’s Undead servants.

Helpless and trapped, Aladdin’s glare never left Mozenrath’s face. “Do as he says, Genie.”

The djinn reverted to himself; the Mamluks tumbled into an untidy heap. He flew over to Mozenrath and peered with an oversized eye into the bottle. He made a face and looked up at Mozenrath. “Euuwwww…What have you been keeping in this thing? Dead flies?”

Mozenrath sneered at him and jerked his fist menacingly.

“Genie—” Aladdin said through clenched teeth.

Genie nodded. “All right, all right. Keep your glove on.” He morphed into a bizarrely colored, tight-fitting outfit, large oversized shoes on his feet that resembled the fins of a fish and a mask made of glass that covered his eyes. He stood poised in the air a moment before placing his hands together in front of him and diving into the bottle.

Mozenrath slapped the stopper into place and backed away from the Sultan. Aladdin and Rasoul both hurried forward to help as the Sultan gasped and pushed himself to his hands and knees. They jerked backwards as a bolt of energy engulfed their ruler. Aladdin rounded on the sorcerer.

“That was uncalled for!” he shouted.

Mozenrath grinned and brushed a bit of imaginary dust from his sleeve. “I know. That’s why I did it.” He gestured and they were all seized by the Mamluks again.

“Well, Aladdin,” Mozenrath continued. “That takes care of the djinn. Now, what shall I do with you now that I finally have you?” He paused and made as if he were considering. “I’ve spent many hours devising the perfect end for you—the only problem is I don’t know which one I like the best!” He was about to continue when a lone Mamluk approached.

The sorcerer scowled. Only something important could have caused it to leave its patrol, something very important, indeed. “Report,” he ordered it.

The Mamluk mumbled and gestured towards Aladdin, the sky and Mozenrath.

Mozenrath looked puzzled as he waved the Mamluk away. It shambled off back the way it came. He turned to Aladdin. “Where is Jasmine and that miserable flying rag of yours going, Aladdin?” He reached out and took the edges of Aladdin’s vest and pulled him forward against the Mamluk’s hold on him. “Going to recruit help? Let’s see, what’s to the west? Perhaps an ally I don’t know about?” He grinned maliciously into Aladdin’s face. “I’m just going to have to find out, aren’t I?” He released the street rat with a shove that sent the other stumbling back into the undead monster that held him in a death’s grip.

He turned away from Aladdin with a flare of his cloak and ordered the Mamluks to take the prisoners to the city and imprison them in the dungeons. “Oh, and make sure these three,” he added, indicating the Sultan, Aladdin and Rasoul, “are chained securely. And this.” He handed the stoppered flask containing the Genie to another Mamluk. “I may have use for them in the future.” He waited as his undead servants slapped chains on Aladdin, the Sultan and Rasoul. The sorcerer gloated as the prisoners were paraded past him in chains. Aladdin glared at him, but said nothing; he was more concerned with whether or not Jasmine was safe.

After they were gone, Mozenrath turned his attention to the sky. How was he going to follow Jasmine? And it was the Princess he wanted. Nobody toyed with him and got away with it. His mouth twisted as he remembered her standing over him with the sword raised and ready to disfigure him. He’d teach her to make threats she didn’t intend to carry out.

A gesture with his right hand caused the sand in front of him to run in trickles around his feet as it bulged upwards. A dark flower of black sand broke through the dun-colored silicates as it fountained upward. Another gesture brought a whirlwind to scoop the sand into a shimmering fountain. Faster and faster it spun, gathering the black sand that surged upwards into an increasingly dense center. As it grew, it sprouted projections that pulsed grotesquely from the main mass.

The whirlwind died away abruptly and the remaining loose sand fell to the ground around the shimmering demon horse that stood before Mozenrath. Black as night, great membranous wings sprouted from it’s shoulders. The teeth of a flesh eater were only partially concealed beneath its lips; the sand around its ebony hooves bubbled and fused into glass where it stood. It’s eyes, though, were dull and dark.

Mozenrath stepped forward and passed his right hand over the demon’s eyes. At his touch, they flared into life. Spooked by the shifting sands under its hooves, the demon danced away from him, bared its teeth, and screamed as it beat its great bat wings. The sorcerer pulled the drapes of his headdress across his face to keep out the stinging sand.

He held up his hand and let his power flare incandescent around it. “Stop!” he shouted. “I summoned you and I command you! I hold power over you, you must obey me!”

The demon fought him a moment longer before it folded its wings against its back. It glared at him out of its redly glowing eyes and pranced in place as he approached, but allowed him to swing up onto its back. It craned its neck around and snapped at his leg as he settled on its back. He pulled his leg back and kicked it. The demon horse shied then subsided.

Mozenrath turned to Xerxes. “Well, don’t just hang there being useless, Xerxes. Put your magic-sniffing nose to good use and find that flying rag’s trail!” Xerxes startled and hissed at his master but turned and began quartering the area like a bloodhound searching out its quarry. The sorcerer nudged the horse forward as Xerxes search lead them into the camp. The horse trod the broken and abandoned possessions of the former camp dwellers under its hooves, leaving a trail of flame behind it.

After a few moments of searching, the eel caught the trail outside one of the few tents that remained standing. His feathery fins bristled with excitement as he scented the faint supernatural spoor of a magic carpet. He waved a fin at Mozenrath as he pursued the trail. Mozenrath touched his heel to his steed’s side and it spread its membranous wings and leapt from the ground to fly after the familiar.

* * *

As Carpet flew westward, Jasmine scanned the countryside as it slid along below them. “Search among the dead...” she mused aloud.

Iago glared at her. “For your sake, they’d better have a few coins on them!”

Jasmine looked at him in shock. “Iago! You can’t steal from the dead!”

“Why not? It’s not like they need it where they’re going! Are you absolutely certain we have to do this?”

“Positive.”

“I hate my life,” Iago muttered.

Jasmine shook her head at his grumbling. “Sorry, Iago. The woman in my dream said that to find the way to Cimmeria, I had to search among the dead.”

“What do we have to go to Cimmeria for, anyway?” he asked plaintively.

Jasmine went back to scanning the countryside. “I told you the things I need to break the spell over Agrabah are there.”

Iago hunkered down into his feathers and looked miserable. “I just hope you know what you’re doing, that’s all.”

Jasmine ignored that remark. “What could she have meant, ‘search among the dead?’” Jasmine wondered aloud. At that moment she spotted a roundish structure on a hilltop below. “Wait! Carpet, take us down!” Carpet obeyed; she guided it to a stop outside the building.

She climbed off Carpet and stood looking up at the structure. Iago flapped to her shoulder and craned his neck up. “What are we doing here?” he asked. His voice was shrill—more shrill than usual. “Do you know what this place is? It’s a dahkma, for crying out loud!”

Jasmine remained silent as she warred with the dread she felt at being in this place. “‘Search among the dead,’” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. How appropriate; she was surprised she hadn’t thought of it sooner. A dahkma, or Tower of Silence, the final resting place for those with who followed the teachings of Ormahzd—very different from what she believed. The very thought of having to set foot into this place filled her with a sense of dread and uneasiness.

Yet, it had to be done. Taking a deep breath, she pulled her cloak about her, and stepped through the great archway into darkness. Iago hunkered down on her shoulder and Carpet followed close on her heels.

She looked around and was glad of the darkness. The place reeked of death; Jasmine held her hood over her mouth and nose to keep out the worst. This had to be the place! But where—

Iago gasped. “Look over there!” he said in a harsh whisper. Jasmine turned and stepped behind the nearest column to watch. A soft glow came from one of the many niches in which the dead were laid out. As they watched, a shape, roughly human in size and shape, emerged from the niche. It glowed faintly in the gloom; a soft, eerie phosphorescence like a will o’ wisp. It cast about sightlessly as if getting its bearings, before turning, finally, to make its way deeper into the building.

“A ghost! Let’s get out of here!” Iago gasped.

“No! We have to follow it!” Jasmine slipped out of the shadow and set off after the glowing apparition.

“Follow it? Have you lost your mind?” the parrot demanded.

“Where do you think it’s going? Where would a spirit go?” she asked as she stalked the shade. “To the Land of the Dead! Where we’re going!”

Iago paused in mid-complaint. “Although I cannot disagree with your logic, that does not change the fact that I think we should RUN SCREAMING FOR OUR LIVES!!!!!”

“Iago!” Jasmine hissed in a strained whisper. “It might hear you!”

Iago clapped his wings over his beak and held it shut. Jasmine could feel him shivering as he huddled against her. A soft touch behind her told her that Carpet was doing the same, only much, much more quietly.

“Come on,” she whispered and took off after the shade. It flitted down one corridor then backtracked, forcing them to retreat before it. They watched in confusion as it paused beside a niche carved into a wall and made some sort of motion in the air before it moved on. Jasmine stole quietly after it; she paused to look into the niche and found a strange stylized symbol like a tongue of flame there. She quickly averted her eyes and hurried after the shade.

It paused twice more, each time at the long hollows which held the remains of the dead. Each time they waited impatiently for it to move on. The shadows grew more dense and oppressive as they journeyed inward.

“Uh, is it my imagination or does this place seem bigger on the inside than on the outside?” Iago asked.

“I was thinking the same thing. We’ve been going inward for quite a ways now, haven’t we?”

“Too far. We shoulda come to the other side by now.” Iago hunched into his feathers. “This is still a bad idea. I just want to go on record as having said that. Have I mentioned that lately?”

“You could always stay here—and wait for the next ghost to come along,” she said as she slipped from one pillar to the next as she followed their shadowy guide. “Or go back to Agrabah.”

“What? And risk meeting Mozenrath or his Mamluks when they come after you? Cuz you know that’s what’s going to happen, don’t you? He’s not going to just let you get away. The kid is persistent, you gotta give him that. Creepy and psychotic, but persistent.”

Jasmine ignored him and stopped as they finally came to the heart of the building. Their shadowy guide glided to a stop at the edge of a circle carved in the floor. As they watched, the shade spread its arms and keened. None of them could hear it, but they could feel it. Jasmine cringed as that unheard sound touched something within her. Iago groaned as he covered his head with his wing. Even Carpet rolled itself up tightly against it.

After several eternal seconds, they looked on aghast as a large stone plug rose out of the flooring to reveal stairs that led downward. Downward into the earth and Cimmeria, the Land of the Dead.

The shade started downwards without hesitation. Jasmine left her hiding place and eased over to the edge and peered down apprehensively. Iago took one look and drew back to cover his eyes. “Don’t tell me we’re going down there. “I’d rather lose my feathers in Getzistan than go down there,” he muttered. “Please don’t tell me we’re going down there...

Jasmine gave him a crooked smile. “All right, I won’t.”

Iago uncovered his eyes and glared at her. “Gee, thanks. That makes me feel so much better.”

Jasmine skirted the edge of the pit to the head of the stairs. “Come on, Carpet, we’d better get started. It looks like a long way down.” Carpet obliged by hopping into the air; Jasmine climbed on board. As they drifted downwards, Iago stared worriedly up at the huge stone plug.

“I hope there are signposts in Cimmeria, cuz we’re not getting out the way we came in, “ he said as the stone plug drifted downward to seal the entrance to the Underworld shut behind them.

* * *

Xerxes drifted into the archway and sniffed around. He turned and exited almost immediately. He darted to his master’s shoulders.

Mozenrath scowled at him. “Well? Where are they?” he demanded.

Xerxes used his plumy tail to point to the building. “There!”

Mozenrath eyed the building with suspicion. “Why would the Princess come here?” he wondered aloud. She must know that he was familiar with these places and their purpose; did she really think she could hide from him here? He touched his heel to the demon-horse and it landed on the sandy stretch outside the entrance. He dismounted, waved negligently and the horse dissolved into a pile of sand.

Without hesitation, the sorcerer entered the building. He looked around with professional interest as he strode boldly through the aisles lined with the dead. With clinical detachment, he located a few fresh corpses and transported them back to the Citadel to be reanimated later.

Xerxes led him through the building towards the center. Mozenrath could feel the borders of the two worlds blur and become indistinct and it troubled him. As they reached the center, the massive stone plug was just settling into place. “Well,” he demanded of his familiar. “Where is she?”

Xerxes sniffed a few times then circled the chamber. He pointed downwards with his plumy tail. “Here, Master.”

Mozenrath looked downward. “Cimmeria? She’s gone to the Land of the Dead?” He stepped back and took a good look around. “But why? She can’t hide from me there! She shouldn’t even know of this place! Unless—That flying encyclopedia!” he shouted. “That mangy parrot must have told her of the counterspell! Oh, what I’m going to do that bird when I get my hands on him!”

His face was dark as he summoned his power. The stone plug obeyed, albeit grudgingly, to the power that extended from the kingdom it guarded, and lifted into the air. Mozenrath glowed as his magic gathered around him and he stepped off the edge of the well in to nothingness. Xerxes wrapped himself around his master’s neck and the pair drifted downwards into the darkness.

Part 3 - The Other Side of Life

This is the dead land

Down and down the stairs twisted around the wall of the well. Down and down into the depths of the earth. There seemed no end to the stairs, no bottom to the well. Carpet took them down fast enough to cause a breeze, yet still they went down. Their glowing guide outpaced them, seemingly with little effort as it drifted ever downwards, but never quite out of sight.

The stairs ended at the foot of a massive archway, beyond which there was more darkness. The spirit they had followed tarried at the entrance a moment before slipping through and leaving them to their fate.

Carpet flew over and the little group peered warily out into the forbidding land beyond. “Creepy,” Iago muttered. And indeed it was: A dark forest of cedar trees crowded close about the arch. A thick ground fog cloaked the ground like cotton wool. The trees were draped with thick folds of webbing; the archway was choked with it. “Now we know where Mozenrath hired his decorator,” the parrot added with a shiver.

He looked up at Jasmine. “Any idea which way we’re supposed to go?” the parrot asked. “That dream woman wouldn’t have happened to have stuck a map into that bag, would she?”

Jasmine shook her head. “There’s no going back the way we came. That leaves one direction,” she said staring out into the forbidding forest.

Iago looked around. “Oh? Do you see a signpost that I don’t, perchance? Which direction?”

Jasmine’s voice shook slightly. “Forward.” Iago looked at her and was about to say something when a movement above and beyond them caught his attention. Far above he saw a shimmering light that grew larger even as he watched.

“Jasmine,” he said in a thin voice as he tapped her shoulder. “I think we’ve got a problem.”

She looked up and pushed her hair out of her face. “What is it, Iago?”

He gestured upwards. “Company!”

Jasmine looked up and saw the light. It grew bigger as they watched, with a dark figure at its heart.

“Mozenrath!” she whispered in a voice filled with dread. “Go Carpet!” Carpet zipped through the archway and took them into the dark forest.

* * *

As he watched the little group escape through the arch, Mozenrath’s mouth twisted into a sneer. No matter, he thought as he settled gently onto the last step. Jasmine was in his world now; the situation was well under his control.

“Ah, Xerxes, it’s good to be home, isn’t it?” Mozenrath closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if savoring the scent of the place. “Feel the power…” he murmured as he drew it to him. His gauntlet glowed with it as he swept majestically through the arch and strode purposefully through the fog. The clinging stuff swirled around his legs and clung to him as if welcoming him. He smiled as the tress moved back from him and bent forward in grudging respect.

A movement ahead through the trees reminded him why he was here. A gesture sent Xerxes flying after them while he struck off on a path parallel with the one the group had taken. He was in no hurry; he could take the time to enjoy the hunt. And enjoy it he would. He owed Jasmine that much at least for the way she had toyed with him. His turn to toy with her, just as a cat toys with a mouse before the kill.

* * *

Carpet skimmed along just clear of the fog; tendrils of it clung to its underside like ghostly fingers reaching out to snare them and drag them under. Jasmine resolutely looked ahead and tried not to think about what might be concealed under that clinging fog.

She glanced behind them. The light from Mozenrath’s spell had faded and dimmed. She grinned. “Maybe we managed to lose him,” she commented to Iago as Carpet took them behind a thick copse of trees.

“No, we’re the ones lost in the Land of the Dead!” Iago muttered. Jasmine gave him a hard look before turning her attention to this dark, desolate place the woman from her dream had sent her.

Jasmine had expected a place filled with desperate wailing as the dead were punished for their misdeeds in life. Legend had it that Cimmeria was the area of the otherworld to which those spirits that cannot rest were sent. Those with unfinished business or that could not let go of life were doomed to wander here until they found their way out. The virtuous would find their way with guidance, though they would pass through Cimmeria as a reminder they had left worldly ways behind.

Instead, this place was desolate and eerily quiet. Where Jasmine had expected darkness, there was a directionless silver light. Shadows were a tarnishing of the silver to steel. But even that light was enough to show the adventurers that this was an alien land. Not the blasted forbidden place they had expected, but rather a place that simply wasn’t meant for living persons to visit. Dark brooding trees hemmed them in and the fog that hid the ground shifted only reluctantly to let them through.

* * *

Iago hunched himself against her neck and shivered. “This place gives me the creeps,” he muttered. Jasmine patted him to comfort him, but mostly it was out of habit as she agreed with him. The parrot puffed himself up and glared at her. “Stop that!” he squawked. “I ain’t a kitten, you know!”

Jasmine dropped her hand and sighed. “Sorry, Iago.”

The brightly plumed parrot shook himself. “Yeah, sure you are. Well, we’re here, now all we have to do is get the stuff and get out. Hey! You never told me what we’re here for! C’mon, Princess, spill it! And if it involves horrendous death-defying acts of self-sacrifice, I’m going to be very disappointed I wasn’t told in advance.”

Jasmine thought back to her dream. “We need salt from the plains, oil from the palm groves and an Amaranth blossom,” Jasmine said.

“What? You mean we gotta get some rotten salt, crummy oil, and some stinking flowers? We could get those from any old marketplace, and not have to come all the way here for them! What sort of quest is this? I was expecting to have to get Cerebus’ flea collar, or Iblis’ walking stick…or…or the wicked witch’s broomstick, for crying out loud!”

Jasmine took a deep breath. “Iago, I’m only repeating what the woman in my dream told me.”

“She didn’t happen to give you some Ruby Slippers while she was at it, did she?”

As she wondered how they were going to find their way, she spotted a faint shimmering in distance and recognized it. Perhaps not the same guide as on the way down, but still useful, perhaps. “Carpet, follow the light, there!”

Carpet turned to follow—and the trees moved to block them. It pulled up short and tried going around, only to be confronted by another tree. Where once several clear paths lead away in all directions, now dark forbidding trees draped with silken webs shifted to hem them in. As they watched in surprise, the small clearing around them shrank significantly. There were gaps, narrow ones, through which they could slip. The tress didn’t actually threaten them, but seemed intent on hindering their progress. They shivered angrily whenever the three of them came close. Jasmine and Iago looked at each other then at the trees, each wondering what other surprises awaited them in this dark land.

* * *

Mozenrath tracked the group with little effort; the trail Carpet had left was as plain to see as the nose on his face. He spotted them behind the copse and detoured so that he could circle around behind them. He shook his head in disappointment; to think he had actually expected more from her. However—that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy tormenting her that much more.

Grinning maliciously, Mozenrath slipped his hand into his cloak and withdrew a black leather pouch. He tugged at the drawstring and spilled some sparkling dust into his hand. He muttered a word of power over it as he cast it in Jasmine’s direction then slipped back into the shadows to watch.

Jasmine felt something brush her neck and reached up to brush it away. She jerked as something crawled onto her fingers. Reflexively, she shook her hand to dislodge it. An insect with wings that glinted gold and silver in the dim light flew into her face. “Ugh! What is this thing?” she cried as she tried to bat it away; it refused to be distracted from its goal

Iago slapped at it, catching and crushing it in his wings. He opened them and his feathers were dark with a substance that shimmered in the weak light. “Some kind of crummy moth,” he said as he examined the crushed body in the light. He flicked it away and dusted his wings. “And me without my mothballs.” A shudder ran through Carpet at the word “moth.”

Jasmine felt another one on her hair. Calmly this time, she reached up and grabbed at it. A black and sliver moth crawled on her fingers as she brought her hand down again.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed as she watched it crawl over her fingers. It was the size of a small bird; feathery antennae touched her fingers as if questing for something.

“That moth looks awfully familiar—” Iago muttered. “Be careful, Princess.”

“Oh, Iago. What harm can a moth do? Ouch!” She exclaimed as something bit her neck. She slapped at it; a cloud of dust made her sneeze. She barely had time to wave the dust away when she felt another prick, this time on the back of her hand. She turned her hand over to find the moth had stuck a long proboscis into her skin.

With a noise of disgust, she slapped it away. She put the wound to her mouth and tasted the sharp, salt tang of blood.

“Blood moths!” Iago shouted in sudden recognition. He slapped others that flocked around them. Suddenly it seemed as if there were hundreds of them.

“What?” Jasmine cried as she slapped at the moths that landed on her neck and face and tangled themselves in her hair.

“Blood moths! They suck blood!”

“Where did they come from?” she shouted.

“Consider them a gift, Princess,” came a familiar voice from behind them.

Jasmine whirled only to have her vision obscured by the silvery wings of the insects. More flocked around her, covering her, forcing her to shut her eyes against their beating wings. They forced their way into her mouth and choked off her breath. She collapsed under the sheer weight of them.

Iago looked from Mozenrath to Jasmine. “Carpet!” he shouted. “Get us out of here! Where’s the Orkin man when you need him?” Iago said as he tried to beat the insects away. They fluttered out of reach only to settle on her the moment he stopped.

Carpet zoomed off through the trees only to have them close in around them. The sound of Mozenrath’s laughter trailed them as the magic carpet dodged this way and that and still the trees blocked their escape. We gotta loose that brat, Carpet! Find someplace to hide!”

Carpet darted in and out of the trees trying to lose the sorcerer. They finally succeeded by taking refuge under a tree hung especially thick with webbing.

“Oh, gross!” Iago spat as he brushed the webs from his feathers. He fell silent though, and listened for Mozenrath. “First moths and now spiders. Spider silk sticks in my feathers something awful! Mozenrath’s going to get my dry cleaning bill for this!”

They huddled under the webbing and listened for sounds of pursuit. The place was quiet as death—

Iago cringed as he immediately regretted using that simile. He peered through the webbing. “Think we lost him?” Iago asked Carpet as he flicked a spider from his shoulder. Carpet shrugged its tassels in a “Don’t know” gesture.

Iago looked up at the webs that hung thick around them. Black bodies moved in the webs as the spiders that wove them scuttled away at the disturbance. On impulse, Iago threw a moth into a web and watched impassively as it struggled. A huge black spider dropped down on it and encased it in silk almost instantly. More and more moths getting stuck in the webs and similar things were happening to them. Iago shivered, but set to work knocking even more into the webs. Carpet helped by covering Jasmine as the moths thinned.

By the time most of the moths had been devoured by the spiders, Jasmine was stirring. She sat up and looked around. “Where are we?” she asked in a shaky voice.

“Hiding in the spider’s parlor,” Iago said. “Wonderful choice, isn’t it? We can either be a meal for the spiders or the moths. Take yer pick.” He lifted a foot to crush a spider that had fallen onto Carpet.

Jasmine saw him and reached out. “No! Iago, don’t!”

Iago froze. “Why? It’s just a spider!”

Jasmine shook her head. “We mustn’t harm anything while we’re here. If we do, we’re doomed!”

Iago froze with his foot poised above the spider. Carefully, he set it down and shooed the spider away. “NOW you tell me!” he shouted at Jasmine. “It’s a good thing those pesky moths are Mozenrath’s creations or we’d be spending the rest of our lives here!”

Jasmine managed to turn a shade paler. “The moths…How do you know they’re Mozenrath’s creations?”

Iago looked indignant. “I didn’t spend all my time with Jafar having moldy crackers shoved down my throat!. I did pick up a few things about evil magic. Blood moths aren’t native to Cimmeria. Now,” he said with exaggerated calm. “Is there anything else you’re not telling me…Like foreknowledge of my impending death?” he griped as he peered out into the gloom through the webbing.

A gray form popped up in front of him. “YAHHHHHHH!!” he shouted as he fell back into the webs.

Xerxes hissed at him and swam off. “Carpet!” Iago shouted. Carpet flew over to him and Jasmine plucked the parrot out of the webs as a dozen spiders the size of figs swarmed towards him. Carpet sped off just as Mozenrath blasted his way through into their little hiding place.

“Stop!” Mozenrath shouted from behind them. A directed a blast at Carpet that sent them tumbling into the thick fog and rolling up against a thick sheet of webbing. Jasmine cringed away from it as Carpet and Iago huddled behind her.

Mozenrath rubbed his hands together as he advanced on them. He grinned down at them as Jasmine sat up. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Princess Jasmine. Looking rather pale, Princess. I must say, Death looks good on you. Right now, even I might find you attractive.” She glared up at him, batting away one of the few straggling moths not yet consumed by the spiders.

Mozenrath’s laugh turned ugly. “By the time I’m through with you, Princess, you’ll wish you had carried out your threat.” He was nearly on her; she glared up at him and waited—

The sorcerer stopped just out of her reach. Jasmine held quite still but ready to lash out him should he come closer.

His expression turned suddenly petulant and he sighed. “I had such high hopes for you, Princess. It’s been weeks since I’ve had the pleasure of a good hunt.” Contempt replaced the petulance as he mocked her. “You are pathetic. You can’t even make a satisfying quarry.”

Jasmine glowered at him. “So sorry to ruin your fun, Mozenrath, but I’m not in the mood to play your little games.” She tried to keep the waver out of her voice but couldn’t quite manage.

Mozenrath heard and gave her an ugly smile. “But not so long ago you couldn’t please me fast enough.”

Scrunched down behind Jasmine, Iago felt the princess stiffen then begin to tremble. He looked at Carpet; they were going to have to get her out of here and fast. Jasmine was in no condition to face Mozenrath. He looked at the barrier they had come up against and tested it with a wing. There was nothing behind the webbing. Now all they needed was a distraction…

“So, Princess, do you like my little pets?” he asked as he plucked a moth out of a nearby web. The creature fluttered helplessly in his hand. “Individually, they can’t do much damage, but a whole swarm—” He reached into his cloak and drew out another handful of the sparkling dust and cast it at her.

Jasmine blinked as the dust got in her eyes. She scuttled backwards; Iago and Carpet pushed through the thick webbing behind them. The dust blossomed into hundreds of moths at Mozenrath’s command.

Jasmine stifled a scream and covered her head with her arms. Iago and Carpet pulled her backwards—right through a massive web.

The moths followed them and the spiders began dropping silk in earnest upon them. The insects fluttered helplessly as they were caught in the sticky webbing. Large black bodies slid down the silken ropes and neatly trapped the moths with nets of silk.

The sorcerer scowled and blasted the arachnids. Several black bodies curled and shriveled as his power washed over them; the webbing turned black and fell away from the trapped moths. They resumed their attack on Jasmine and her friends.

Jasmine could do nothing more than keep her head covered against the moth’s attack. “Jasmine, this is no time to have a breakdown,” Iago pleaded. When she didn’t respond, Iago and Carpet had no choice by to back away as Mozenrath advanced on her.

The sorcerer increased his destructive blasts as he fought off the spiders. Iago and Carpet watched in horror as the spiders swarmed back up their silken lines. What moths hadn’t been caught began their attack anew.

Gathering his courage (what of it there was), Iago stepped forward and confronted Mozenrath. “If you so much as touch her, I’ll—” He broke off as he stared above Mozenrath’s head.

“You’ll what?” Mozenrath sneered. He looked down at Jasmine and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m supposed to be afraid of on little featherduster of a parrot? I don’t think so!”

Iago grinned suddenly. “If you touch her—I’ll dump a bunch of spiders on you!” He launched himself into the air—not at Mozenrath, but at the branch above the sorcerer’s head. Startled, Mozenrath looked up just in time to see the crawling mass of spiders tumble from the branch towards him. He managed to avert his face in time, but the arachnids swarmed over him and swathed him entirely in silk.

Iago flew down to land next to Jasmine and tapped her shoulder. She finally appeared to have regained her calm and looked up at him. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered. Jasmine nodded and climbed aboard Carpet. They flew away and left the sorcerer cocooned in silk.

Part 4 - Pillars of Salt

Between the motion

And the act

As Carpet flew through the silent forest, the dark cedar trees hemmed them in on all sides and the silvery webs glistened in the dim, directionless light. Jasmine kept glancing backwards as they threaded their way through the trees, but there was no sign of Mozenrath. Finally, she turned her attention to their search. Iago tried to speak once or twice, but the forbidding look on Jasmine’s face kept even the usually irrepressible parrot silent.

This didn’t last for long, however. Always practical, he decided it was time to move onto the next order of business. “Where are we going to find the salt? There aren’t exactly any marketplaces around here.”

Jasmine shook her head. “I don’t know,” she answered stiffly.

Iago muttered under his breath. Jasmine looked at him sharply enough to make him cringe, then turned her attention back to the landscape.

Eventually, the trees and fog thinned and gave way to a broad expanse. Carpet pulled up as they came to the edge and they stared at it in wonder. Even Jasmine broke her silence to make noises of admiration. “What is it?” Jasmine whispered.

Beyond the edges of the forest, the cottony fog unraveled enough to let them finally see what lay beneath it. Outward from the edge of the forest stretched a vast sea. Under the directionless light, the surface surged soundlessly into the last remnants of the fog beneath them. Carpet took them forward, out from under the gloomy trees and glided to a stop where the sea met the fog.

“A sea? Down here? I hope someone remembered moonblock.”

“No, Iago. It’s not a sea—of water, at least. Carpet, take us forward.” Carpet glided out a little ways and Jasmine stuck her hand down into the waves.

“Jasmine! You don’t know what’s down there!” Iago screeched.

Jasmine withdrew her hand and smiled at him. “Why, Iago. I didn’t know you cared.”

Iago blustered over that one. “I don’t. What I mean is I do, but I don’t—Aw, forget it, all right?”

Jasmine smiled and nodded. She put her hand back down. “Look, it’s not water at all. It’s a sea, but of grass.”

“Grass?” Iago leaned over the side and watched as the full grain heads brushed against Jasmine’s hand. “Why so it is. Imagine that. So where do we find this salt?” he asked, shifting gears suddenly as he turned to the practical issue of finding an expedient way out of this place.

Jasmine gestured around them. “It’s here, somewhere. ‘Salt from the city on the plains.’ Here are the plains, we just have to look.”

“Princess, I don’t think it’s occurred to you, but these plains are huge! How are we going to find a salt shaker in all that. Ever hear of the needle in the haystack?”

“We won’t know that until we start looking, will we? Go on, Carpet.”

Carpet sailed out over the waving grass. The waving grass gave them the illusion of flying over the plain at breakneck speed—and of a rolling, rocking motion. Iago turned a bit green and glassy eyed. “Oh, great. On top of all this, I’ve got Carpet sickness.”

So vast was the plain that even though Carpet sped along as fast as he could, there seemed no end in sight; the seed-laden grasses tossed their silver heads in the faint wake made by their passing. They flew on and on; after the cedar forest had shrunk out of sight behind them there were no landmarks with which they could mark their passage. Similarly, the light did not change, nor were there any stars or moon to mark their passage through time. It was as if they were set adrift in a timeless place. Jasmine laid down on Carpet and watched the seedheads rush by beneath them. With Iago nestled against her back and the smooth motion of Carpet’s flight, she fell into a light doze.

* * *

Spiders swarmed over the man-sized cocoon and draped ever more silk between it and the tree nearest it. Working as a single mind with many bodies, they shortened the silken ropes to bind it securely to the tree.

Xerxes flew around it and chased the spiders away, only to have them return as soon as he had moved on. He edged nearer and sniffed at it worriedly. “Master?” he croaked

No response. Xerxes tried biting the silk and succeeded in only in getting entangled in the sticky stuff. He spat it out, along with a spider or three, and circled the cocoon several times. Mozenrath was alive in there; that much he knew. But how to get him out—

Xerxes felt the power build-up in time to fly to safety. The whole sticky mass exploded outwards in a fireball of blue-black flame. Mozenrath dropped forward onto his knees as he gasped for breath. Anger twisted his features into a hideous mask as he laid waste to the surrounding forest. Indiscriminate in his need for retribution, he destroyed arachnids, moths and trees alike.

The forest quivered with anger at his wanton destruction and surged forward to surround him. This only served to anger him further.

“How dare you defy me? I am your Master, you will obey me!” he raged at the forest. Using pure brute force, he subdued the forest and forced the trees to let him pass.

The sorcerer brushed the last of the webbing from his clothing as he stalked angrily through the forest. It puzzled him how first the spiders then the trees had been able to attack him; how had Jasmine managed that trick? He was the one with the control here! No matter. She wouldn’t get away that easily.

Xerxes started at the dig then hung limply in the air. “No find, Master.” He shrugged with his fins. “Too much magic.”

This was too much for Mozenrath. First the spiders, then the forest, and now his own familiar? “If you’re going to be this useful, Xerxes, you can do it elsewhere! Go back and oversee things in Agrabah. I want nothing else going wrong, do you hear me?” Xerxes drew back in shock at the abrupt dismissal. He nodded indignantly, did a backflip and disappeared with a slight pop.

Mozenrath turned. He didn’t need his familiar in this place. He could use the land itself to find his quarry.

He stared out across the sea of grass. What were the ingredients of the counterspell again? He thought back tot he scroll from which he had learned the spell he had cast on Agrabah. “Salt from the city on the plains, oil from the palm groves, Amaranth, the flower that blooms in the never-ending darkness—“

“To find Jasmine, I need only go where she’s going.” He turned his attention to the land itself. “Show me the way to the city on the plain,” he commanded the land around him.

Two of the paths closed, leaving only one option open to him. Mozenrath levitated himself and followed it. As he sped over the plains, the path closed behind him without a trace.

* * *

Jasmine came out of the doze as she sensed Carpet’s slowing and sat up. Carpet gestured with a tassel and she looked in that direction. He circled around so that they could get a better look.

“Gazelles? In the Land of the Dead?”

“Follow the herd? Just where is this herd going?”

“Do you have a better suggestion? If you do, I’ll be happy to entertain it.”

Iago opened his beak then shut it. “No,” he muttered.

Carpet paced the herd as it moved. Their presence did not seem to affect it or even acknowledged.

They followed the gazelles into a silent city peopled by statues. Exquisitely carved out of a whitish stone, they were everywhere. “What is this place?” Jasmine wondered aloud. The gazelles spread out of their orderly lines and roamed aimlessly through the streets, pausing occasionally to lick at the statues. As they licked, water collected at the base of the statues, trickled into the center of the street. The water collected in carved aqueducts that sluiced it inwards towards the center of the city. By the time they reached the central square around which the town was built, the trickles had become streams. The aqueducts emptied into the well beneath the fountain there.

In the midst of the fountain, on a raised pedestal, was another statue. Jasmine drew back in alarm at the sight of it; horribly twisted and weathered into a grotesquely bent parody of a man bent by hideous grief and torment. The face had been scoured cleanly away to leave the featureless face turned forever towards a heaven it couldn’t see. The stone from which it was carved was cracked and broken.

“What is this place?” Jasmine asked aloud as she climbed off Carpet. The main square was crowded with the statues, as she passed on, a gazelle wandered over and began licking the base of it. She paused as something sparkled in the eyes. Tears welled in the empty sockets and rushed down to pool around its feet.

“The statues are crying!” she exclaimed. As she took a step backwards. The puddle joined with another and rushed inwards to join the tears from the other statues. “But why?”

Iago shivered. “I don’t wanna know. Something hideous they did while they were alive, probably.”

“‘Raised in celebration of ----- ruler of the city of ----- defeat of the people of the city of ----- in the year blank. To commemorate the victory over the citizens of the city responsible for the cruel and untimely death of ----- 125 years earlier, it is decreed by ----- that ----- shall never rise again. The lands were salted and the people cursed to live in torment for so long as this statue stands!’” Jasmine broke off and backed away in horror. “How monstrous! What could drive people to inflict such things on one another?” She turned away, sickened.

Iago looked around. “I’ve heard of this place. Not this place, obviously.” He gestured with a wing around them. “But what happened in the real world. Two cities had been at war for generations. Over what, no one could remember it had been that long. Both sides were too proud to deal with the other, and refused to settle their differences. Finally, one side got the upper hand and defeated the other. On the day that the conquering army rode into the city, they found the area around it littered with the carcasses of the livestock. In retaliation, the king ordered that the lands be salted so that nothing would grow.” He gazed around at the silent city and its weeping inhabitants. “Looks like there’s more truth to the saying than anyone realized.”

“This is their punishment,” she whispered in a stricken voice. “Both sides doomed to live in torment.” She looked around. “Surely they don’t deserve this.”

Iago shook his head. “Jasmine, they brought it all on themselves. No one twisted their arms to make them fight. What happened to them happened because neither side was willing to put aside their desire for revenge. The whole fight was over something that had happened so long before this, neither side even remembered it any more.”

Jasmine smiled weakly at him. “Iago, I didn’t know you were a philosopher.”

Pondering Iago’s words, Jasmine looked around without really seeing the city before her. She looked deeper, past the pity and sympathy she immediately felt. Iago was right; they had brought it on themselves with their desire for revenge. She watched a gazelle that licked the base of the statue next to which she stood; such a curious action and reaction, almost as if…

Jasmine’s forehead creased in thought and she touched the statue lightly. It wasn’t carved from stone at all, but from a crumbly, crystalline material. Her hand came away covered with crystals and the cut on her thumb stung. “Salt! The gazelles are licking the statues as if they were salt licks,” she whispered. The animal paused and looked up at her. For the first time, one of the animals met her eyes; Jasmine shuddered as she realized their eyes were human. Solemnly, the gazelle lowered its head then lifted it again as if nodding to her. It looked away and moved on. “They salted the lands. Salt from the city on the plain. Iago, this is it. It has to be it.” She began roaming through the square.

Iago watched her impatiently. “Great, we’ve solved the first riddle. Can you get your salt so we can get out of here?”

“Push one over, for crying loud.”

“Iago! I can’t do that! That would be disrespectful!”

“How did I know you were going to say that?” Iago muttered.

“Besides,” Jasmine added. “I think that falls under that heading of ‘harm nothing.’” She sighed and walked back to the fountain to join Iago and Carpet. “I can’t find a broken one anywhere.”

Iago looked up. “What about that one? It looks pretty crumbly.”

Jasmine looked up at the faceless statue. She shivered. “It’s so horrible.”

“Then don’t look at it.” He launched himself off Carpet and flew up to circle it. “There’s some loose salt around the base here,” he said.

Jasmine stepped onto Carpet. “Take me up, Carpet,” she said. Carpet obliged. She could see the small piles of salt that had accumulated around the base just as Iago had said. She pulled out the bag and scooped a handful of the salt crystals into it and pulled the strings taut.

Iago settled onto Carpet next to her. “That’s the salt. Now can we get out of here? This place gives me the creeps even more than Mozenrath.”

“Ah, that sounds like an entrance cue if ever I heard one.” Jasmine startled and dropped the bag. It slipped off the edge and would have fallen in the fountain had Iago not caught the drawstrings in time.

“Am I one to pass up such a golden opportunity? Never.” Mozenrath strode purposefully into the square. “I am so disappointed we didn’t get to finish our conversation, Princess. Considering how rudely we were interrupted, I may have to teach someone a lesson,” he added with a glare at Iago.

The parrot ducked behind Jasmine. “Let’s get out of here, Jaz,” he muttered. “The atmosphere just got stifling.”

“No, Iago,” Jasmine said as she hopped off Carpet. She landed lightly on the edge of the fountain.

“‘No, Iago?’” he squawked. “What do you mean by that?”

“I’m tired of running.” She stepped off the edge off the fountain and drew herself up.

“You’re tired of running from me, are you?” Mozenrath said with an unpleasant smile. He put his hands together in front of himself as he approached her. “But I thought you were afraid of me, Princess.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said as she fought down the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. The only way she kept herself rooted to the spot was her desire to see him pay.

“You should be,” the sorcerer said in a low voice. He held up his gauntleted hand. It began to glow as he called his power.

“I am!” Iago shouted. “Jasmine, are you crazy? Let’s get out of here!”

“I said no, Iago.” She dropped into a defensive stance. “Mozenrath, you’re going to pay for what you’ve done to my city.”

Mozenrath laughed. “Your city? How noble, Princess, but it’s mine now, and there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s only the start, too. Soon all the Seven Deserts will be mine.” He examined his gauntlet. “If you ask me nicely, I might consider making you my Queen.”

“Oh, how disgusting,” Iago muttered.

“I would die first,” Jasmine whispered harshly.

“I know.” He smiled and flung out his hand at her; the glow arced towards her.

Jasmine lunged to the side. “Hah!” she barked as she straightened. “I think you need to work on your aim, Mozenrath!”

“Who says I was aiming for you?” he scoffed.

“Jasmine! Look out!” Iago screeched from his perch on Carpet.

Jasmine whirled at Iago’s warning in time to see the monument fall towards her. She dove to the side and it crashed into several statues near the fountain and crushed them.

“I’m getting really tired of you, you loud-mouthed pest!” Mozenrath growled. He blasted Carpet and sent it spinning through the air. Iago tumbled off but managed to catch himself before he smacked into the ground.

Jasmine turned back to Mozenrath. “And I’m getting really tired of you! You’ll pay for that!”

“And who’s going to make me? You? Don’t make me laugh.” Mozenrath gestured at her and several statues near her exploded to shower her with crystalline shrapnel.

Iago flapped over to Carpet. “What are you doing, Princess? You can’t fight Mozenrath!” Iago covered his eyes with a wing. “What does she think she’s doing? Trying to throw her life away? Now’s the time I wish Al was here to talk some sense into her!”

Jasmine ignored him and dropped into a crouch. Before she could launch herself at the sorcerer, a heavy hand fell upon her shoulder. She jerked around and froze as still as the salt sculptures around her. Animated by Mozenrath’s magic, the monument loomed over her in faceless horror. It reached for her again, arms outstretched to embrace her as she scrambled away from it.

The faceless monument pursued her relentlessly. Mozenrath casually blasted Carpet and Iago yet again when they tried to sneak up on him. They slid into one of the piles of salt that had been created when the monument toppled. Chunks of salt tumbled down and buried them.

Jasmine found herself backed into a corner by Mozenrath’s animated sculpture. Trapped, she turned and searched the wall for possible hand and footholds. Mozenrath saw her and zapped her, and she slumped dazed against the wall. She slid down the wall to her knees.

The sorcerer crossed the square to loom over her. He smiled. “How fitting. I’m going to enjoy telling Aladdin how you went: On your knees.” He raised his hand and gathered his power—

Jasmine heard his voice over the ringing in her ears. Oh, Aladdin, she thought. If only I’d just run. Now who will save Agrabah? She hung her head in defeat.

She was interrupted by another voice. Should you need help, cast a feather from you and help will come. Using her cloak to cover her actions, she reached into her belt and pulled out one of the golden feathers. She cast the feather to the ground at Mozenrath’s feet.

Mozenrath looked down at the feather. “What is this?” he said as he bent to pick it up. He stumbled forward as something bumped into him from behind. He wheeled around only to be jostled again as the forgotten gazelles milled around him. They shoved him aside and began attacking the salt statues in earnest. Jasmine looked down as she felt the knees of her trousers become wet and found herself kneeling in a puddle.

She jumped to her feet and used the distraction to slip around and put some distance between her and Mozenrath. The gazelles jostled and bumped him until he was pressed against the faceless statue from the monument. That was the last she saw as she turned her attention towards finding her friends, and making good this chance at escape.

Jasmine spotted the edges of Carpet under the tumbled statues and pushed the crumbling blocks of salt off it. She picked up Iago and cradled him against her as she settled onto Carpet. “Take us out of here, Carpet,” she said. She didn’t glance backwards as the magic carpet propelled himself into the air and out of the square.

“Get away from me, you filthy animals!” Mozenrath shouted at the milling gazelles. They neither acknowledged him nor obey him. Instead they pressed him against the faceless statue and licked at the smaller statues.

The fountain in the middle of the square overflowed with the sudden deluge. The aqueducts could no longer contain the flood and the water crept upwards. Churned up by the gazelles as they crowded Mozenrath against the statue, the waves ate away at the base of the twisted manifestation of their grief. Already unstable, it began to crumble. An arm fell into the rising waters and a leg cracked. It washed away completely as Mozenrath fell against it. Without that support, the whole statue collapsed upon him. As if it suddenly lost its cohesion, the crystals buried him.

The gazelles stopped milling as the statue crumbled. As it dissolved in the deluge, the city began to glow. The gazelles looked skyward as the salt statues that remained ceased their weeping. The glow intensified to painful incandescence. Jasmine, looking back at the place, had to avert her eyes from the glare.

When it finally dimmed, Jasmine looked back and found the city had vanished, with the exception of the fountain and a lone pile of salt. She smiled sadly; the souls trapped her had finally found peace. Feeling as if a weight had lifted from her heart as well, Jasmine turned her eyes forwards, to the horizon and the rest of her journey.

Part 5 - Burnt Offerings

Between the emotion

And the response

“Iago, wake up. Can you hear me?”

Iago stirred and tried to shut out the voice. It kept calling to him no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.

“Do I hafta go on the camel ride again, Ma?” He ached. He was hungry and thirsty. Most—and worst—of all, he itched.

“You can hear me!” The voice grew hands that picked him up and tried to crush him against something soft.

“Hey, get off!” he said. He opened his eyes to find Jasmine looking down at him. “Where am—wait. Don’t answer that. Are we dead?” Even as he gazed up at her, he realized against which part of her anatomy she was cradling him. Well, he thought. That accounts for the softness.

“No, Iago. We’re not dead,” she said with a smile.

“Oh, too bad. It would have saved me the trip.” He shut his eyes. Except for aching, itching and being parched and half-starved, it was quite comfortable being cradled against the Princess’—

“Iago! We did it!” she said as she held him up away from her.

“Did what? Break the bank at the Nest Egg?” Darn it. He opened his eyes again and looked at her. Suddenly he felt dizzy. Or at least that’s what he told Jasmine, hoping she would hug him again.

Jasmine set him down on Carpet and smoothed his feathers. He sighed; at least it had been worth a try. “Princess, has anyone ever told you you have the softest…er, hands?” He closed his eyes and had he been a kitten, he would have been purred.

She smiled. “Why—”

“You should be a masseuse in Getzistan, I tell ya. People pay top money for hands like yours.”

“Iago!” she exclaimed. She sat back, put her hands on her hips and glared at him. In spite of herself, it was an affectionate glare.

“You stopped,” he said plaintively. He twitched and jumped up and sneezed while he tried desperately to reach an itch in the middle of his back. “I itch like I’ve got feather mites! I can’t have feather mites; Abu and I had ourselves disinfested just last month at Crazy Hakim’s Two For One Sale!”

Jasmine brushed his feathers off. “It’s salt. You’re covered in it. You and Carpet were buried under the stuff.”

“Salt? Do you know how hard salt is on feathers???” He fluffed himself up and shook like a dog. Jasmine held up a hand to shield her face as salt went flying everywhere.

“When we get back to Agrabah, you can use Father’s bath and his bath oils, Iago.”

“No thanks. The last time I did that, I nearly got turned to stone—Hey! Are you trying to get rid of me or something?”

“Of course not, Iago!”

“Huh. Likely story.” He fluffed his feathers one last time and looked around. They were flying over the endless sea of grass. “Where are we?”

“Looking for the next item.”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me you don’t know where we can find it? Please, don’t,” he added as Jasmine was about to answer.

“All right, Iago, I won’t. But we found the salt, didn’t we?”

“I’d call that dumb luck.” Under his breath he added, “More dumb than luck.”

“Then dumb luck is about to help us again. Look.”

Iago looked in the direction she pointed. He could just make out a dark smudge on the horizon. As they neared, he could see palm trees. As they approached, the grove lit up with a cherry red glow and thick black smoke poured into the sky. “I don’t think I like the looks of this,” he muttered under his breath.

“Fire,” Jasmine whispered in a shaky voice.

Iago fluffed himself up. “This does not give me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. You know, that’s the nice thing about Getzistan this time of year—It’s not being consumed by a raging inferno!”

A strangled noise cut him off. Iago looked up at Jasmine and noted with shock at how pale she had gone. The red glow from the grove made her look as if her eyes were made of fire—

Iago shivered as he remembered a time not so long ago when they had been full of fire. He stared forlornly at the burning grove as Carpet took them closer.

* * *

Mozenrath sat up abruptly, scattering salt everywhere with his flailing. Cursing silently, he rubbed at his tearing eyes, blinking frantically to clear them of the stinging substance. He spat out a mouthful and raised his arm to wipe his mouth only to find his sleeve encrusted and discolored from the brine. His focus shifted from his sleeve to the rest of his ensemble and he growled. He was soaked to the skin, clothing was spotted and stained from the brine.

The sorcerer staggered to his feet only to be pulled down again by his salt-and-waterlogged cloak. He reached under his mantle and ripped it and his cloak off with a savage jerk. Unhampered by their weight, he staggered towards the fountain only to find it dry. The flood had receded with the disappearance of the statues.

He took a deep breath and drew in his power. Panic turned his blood to ice when his power did not answer his call. He tried again, and again it filed to respond. Another try and a faint glimmering danced around the very edges of his person. Salt crystals sparkled like stars as they drifted away from him.

Frowning, he brushed what he could from his clothing. Again, he tried to summon his power, and while exceedingly difficult, the response was stronger. Encouraged, he brushed and stamped more of the interfering substance off as possible. Taking a deep breath, he drew upon his will. It was difficult, but he had faced and overcome greater obstacles in the past. He let his power build then pushed outwards against the salt that encrusted him from head to toe. Slowly at first, single crystals winked into the aether, but as the amount on his person lessened, his power grew until he was able to send it away wholesale.

When it was gone, he took a deep breath. He stamped over to his discarded cloak and mantle and blasted them with his will to rid them of the salt. He grabbed them up; snarled angrily as he examined the finely woven cloth and stiffened leather. Stained and torn and waterlogged, like the rest of his clothing. He snarled, gave them a good shake, then settled them around his neck.

He turned and glared at the pile of salt that had fallen on him; angrily he kicked at it. He could hear Jasmine smugly imagining that she had outwitted him. “You haven’t escaped me yet, Jasmine,” he said at last to the empty square. “We’ll see who has the last laugh!” he shouted.

Mozenrath reached out with his undersenses and pulled the fabric of this realm around himself. Using the folds as a shortcut, he pushed himself through to the edge of the barren area around the deserted city. In no mood to play games, he redirected his will against the very consciousness of the land itself. “Show me the way to the grove of palms,” he ordered as he mercilessly warped the land to do his bidding.

Without hesitation, a path opened in the endless grasses, leading away towards the horizon. He smiled a superior smile, levitated himself and followed the path across the plain.

* * *

“Well are we going in or not?” Iago asked as Carpet slid to a stop just outside the ring of trees.

Jasmine nodded stiffly. She climbed off Carpet and walked through the palm trees towards where they had see the glow of the fire. It was gone now; the only light was the pervasive silver glow.

Immediately, they sensed this place was different from the silent city they had just left. Though still unnaturally silent, people moved about the area; many were using long poles to knock the palm fruits to the ground. Others gathered the fallen fruits into baskets and carried them deeper into the grove.

Curious, Jasmine, Iago and Carpet followed. The people didn’t seem to notice them, though they expertly avoided them if the visitors strayed into their paths.

“I wonder what they’re doing,” Jasmine mused as she followed one small group carrying baskets of palm fruits towards an unknown destination deeper within the grove. Carpet, with Iago crouched upon it, flew silently behind Jasmine.

“Oh, I don’t know. Gathering palm fruits, perhaps, hmmm?” Iago muttered sarcastically. “Princess, we can see perfectly well what they’re doing! Let’s get what we need and get out.”

The group approached a small group of mud and wattle huts, thatched with palm leaves that made a small but neat village. They veered away from the village around behind the circle of huts and to where a small press had been set up. The gathered fruits were dumped into the hopper of the press, while it was being worked by other villagers.

From the cover of the tress, the trio watched in silence. A burly man twisted the wheel that brought the two sides together to squeeze the fruit between the darkened wooden boards. The oil sluiced into a into a trough which in turn fed it through a screen-covered funnel into a tank. From the tank, the oil was drawn off into wide-mouthed jars, stoppered with cork and set aside on a table.

Jasmine stepped forward to examine the jars. She picked one up and examined it. Her fingers felt the incised markings on the side of the jar. She tilted it upward to catch what little light there was. “Funerary oil,” she whispered. She looked around with a mixture of open curiosity and bewilderment. “Why make funerary oil in the Land of the Dead?” Among the jars of oil were other jars holding water blessed for the same purpose.

Iago opened his beak to make a caustic remark only to be interrupted as a wild-haired, wild-eyed man burst upon the scene. He ran straight for Jasmine, trailing streamers of smoke and ash as he came. Alarmed by his wildness, Jasmine backed away from him.

“Must stop it!” the man wept over and over. Tears streamed from his eyes and made tracks in the soot upon his face.

Jasmine bumped into the table and came to an abrupt halt. He snatched the jar of oil out of her hand and turned to go running back the way he came.

Stunned by his actions, Jasmine remained motionless until the sky above was lit by a flickering glow. She stared hard at the reflected light, its source hidden by the line of huts. But the color and unsteady quality, there could be only one explanation:

“Fire,” she whispered hoarsely, frozen in horror. Not until she saw the flames themselves did she seem to find herself. Swallowing hard against the horror that dried her mouth, she forced herself away from the table.

As if suffering from the same unspeakable horror as she, the other villagers remained frozen. Her movement broke the spell; they caught her up in a wave that surged along the line of houses. She fought them, not wanting to see what had happened. Eyes full of fire, memories of another fire, she struggled against them, but to no avail.

The mob rounded the corner of one of the line of mud-walled huts only to find a wall of fire before them. The mob ebbed away from her, leaving her alone. She stumbled over her feet and fell, and still she struggled to flee the inferno. Carpet and Iago each grabbed one of her wrists and pulled, trying in vain to drag her away from the spreading fire.

The wall parted as the wild-eyed man staggered past her and fell to his knees. He stared into the inferno helplessly. Face turned upwards, the tears ran down his face unchecked. “Not again…not again…” he muttered over and over.

The other villagers fell to their knees and began wailing in sorrow and horror. Unable to look away, Jasmine thought she could see shapes moving within the fire, hear wails and screams over the roar of the flames that did not come from the miserable little group—

Overcome with panic, Jasmine scrambled up and ran into the grove. She ran until she came to the edge of the groove and staggered against one of the trees. She caught it and clung to it as if she would never let go. The leaves shook with her trembling.

Iago and Carpet landed near her. Iago waddled around and looked up at her worriedly, back towards the village, then at Carpet. Carpet wagged his tassels at him in Jasmine’s direction.

“Princess?” he asked in a uncharacteristically quiet and nervous voice.

Nothing.

“Jasmine.”

“What?” she managed to get out between a tightly clenched jaw. Her eyes were shut tight against something painful.

“Talk to me, Jasmine. Don’t do this to me. I don’t need you freaking out on me now. At least not until we’re out of this nightmare.”

Jasmine took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Looking down at him, his bright red feathers dulled by the gloom under the trees, somehow she was touched by the sentiment present in his intent if not his voice. She nodded and used the corner of her cloak to scrub at her face.

“I’ll be fine, Iago,” she said finally. “The fire, it—it—” Unable to finish, her voice trailed into silence. She pushed away from the tree and stood rigid, staring out over the endless sea of grass that isolated the grove. Without looking away, she said in a voice strained to breaking, “Let’s get the oil and get out of here.” She turned a deliberately marched through the trees towards the ruined village.

Iago shook his head at Carpet and looked sadly after her. Carpet sagged a little as he followed her dejectedly. Iago flew to Jasmine’s shoulder and settled on it. A moment later, they stepped out of the trees and they both stared in disbelief at the wretched ruin of the village. Burned to the ground, only a few charred sticks standing in piles of ash, the soot-stained stone alter and a fire-darkened circle on the ground were the only signs a village had even existed here.

Carefully averting her eyes from the devastation, Jasmine picked her way around the perimeter of the clearing. They were halfway to the press when a wailing noise made her stop in her tracks. Jasmine looked around and found the wild-eyed man still on his knees where they had left him. He held his face in his hands and his shoulders shook. Jasmine went to him and knelt by him. She reached out, ready to pull away at the fist hostile sign. She drew back in surprise when he started at her touch and pulled away. He looked up at her fearfully; his face was still streaked and wet with an odd mixture of soot, tears and dust; his eyes were anxious as he searched her face, anxious and wild with grief.

“It never stops,” he whispered to her. “Over and over and over and over!” His voice rose to a frenzied wail as he clutched her hand. “Make it stop! Please, make it stop!” He held her hand to his face and pressed it against his cheek as he rocked himself like a child.

“How do I make it stop? Make what stop?” she asked quietly.

He looked up at her again—something in his eyes made her wonder what he saw when he looked at her. “The fire—everyone knows that during the winter months the fire burns too hot, too unpredictably to approach it safely!” He closed his eyes against some internal pain as he bent over her hand and wept. Interspersed among his sobs were more of the broken wails. “Why did she do it? Why did she have to risk it?”

Jasmine put her hand on his shoulder. “Calm down and tell me what happens. Maybe I can help.”

He took a deep breath and nodded. “I am Asha, Keeper of the Flame.” Jasmine nodded; she had heard tales of villages deep in the desert that had a village fire from which all fires were lit. It was tended by a holy man so it would not go out.

“The hearth fire in the square supplies us with fire. In the winter months it is too hot and dangerous to approach; it’s prone to sudden flares. The hearth fires must be guarded well during the winter, so the won’t go out because they cannot be relit.” He shook his head. “I am the Keeper; she knew better than to relight her fire!” Asha looked back at the village. He wailed and released Jasmine’s hand to cover his face. “I tried to stop her,” he said, “but I couldn’t. The fire burned out of control and consumed not only her but the entire village! No one was spared!”

A hot, dry wind brushed Jasmine’s cheek in passing. Asha looked up at it’s passing and shook his head. “It’s starting again…” he whispered, his voice hoarse with weeping.

The wind stirred the ashes, picking them up and dashing them around the clearing. Like a ghost, the outlines of the village solidified out of the ashes. Within moments, it was whole again, untouched by fire.

It made her skin crawl as she straightened. Leaving Asha behind, Jasmine wandered into the square. The last of the ashes drifted around her feet as she approached the large stone alter-like structure there. A large granite block supported a basin in which a fire burned. Halfway there, a movement on the outskirts of the village caught her eye. She paused to lean against a wall as she watched a young woman steal up to the alter and put something in the flame there.

Asha, wild-eyed with grief and remorse, brushed past her. “Stop! Please!” he pleaded.

The girl started and let slip the jar she clutched. It crashed onto the fire; the flames leapt upward and engulfed her. As if liquid, the fire ran down the sides of the alter to spread out from the alter like spokes of a wheel to engulf the other structures in the village. The villagers ran back and forth desperately trying to beat out the flames and save their homes. Asha rushed by carrying a large jar. He scrambled up the stairs to the alter and dumped the contents of the jar onto the blaze as if trying to douse the flames. Instead of dying, they leapt up and engulfed the alter. Asha scrambled away, helpless and unable to change the course of events. Wailing, he fled from the scene.

Jasmine whirled around, eyes clenched tightly shut, by not before the image had been burned into her mind. Tears welled up as memories she had tried to suppress came bursting to the surface. They threatened to consume her as surely as the flames consumed this village. She gasped at the remembered pain and torment she had felt and caused only to find she couldn’t breathe.

“How lame-brained can you get? He was trying to use oil to put out the fire!” Iago exclaimed.

The parrot’s abrasive voice and callous sentiment gave Jasmine the anchor she needed to keep from being dragged under by her sorrow. Somehow she managed to draw a breath around the tight knot in her chest; each successive breath came with more ease. She rounded on Iago, bearing down on him mercilessly. “Iago, that was a cruel and heartless thing to say!”

Startled by her vehemence, Iago hid behind his wings. “I—“

“Save it,” she ordered. “I don’t want to hear it.” She turned marched away from him.

Iago watched her a moment before following. He turned to Carpet, who floated beside him. “What are you lookin’ at?” he demanded of the rug, then took to wing to follow Jasmine away from the flames.

He found her on the outskirts of the village with the unfortunate Asha as the village died a horrible death behind him. He settled to the dust with a soft mutter.

Jasmine laid her hand on the man’s shoulder; she could feel him trembling. “What kind of place is this that this poor man is subjected to this horror over and over again?” she demanded of the grove. “We have to help!”

“How?” Iago demanded brusquely. “We barely know what to do to help ourselves.”

Jasmine gave him a stern look. “We’ll find a way,” she said resolutely. “We will find a way. If only there were some way to break the cycle…”

It was all Jasmine could do to keep from running when she felt the strange wind that accompanied the resurrection of the village. Asha pulled away from her and dashed back towards that village before she could react.

“Carpet!” she shouted as she stumbled to her feet and took off after him. “Stop him!”

Carpet zipped in front of the man and blocked his path. Jasmine drew back as he became enraged at the hindrance. “Get out of my way! It was my fault; I’m the only one that can save the village! It was my fault!” he shouted again. Carpet wrapped himself around the guilt-crazed man only to have him seize the flying rug’s tassels and twist them around a nearby palm tree. He rushed towards the oil press.

“No!” Jasmine shouted. She grabbed one of the feathers out of her belt as she ran after Carpet and Asha.

“Princess! What are you doing?” Iago shouted at her, flapping desperately to keep up with her.

“Trying to stop this!” Jasmine screamed back at him. Iago back-flipped with the vehemence in her voice. “Free Carpet!” she ordered him. Still stunned, the parrot flew off without another word.

“If you’re going to help me, help me stop this now!” she whispered as she held up the feather. She cast it at the man’s back—and watched it fall to the ground.

Her heart sank as nothing happened. Asha grabbed up the jar of oil and whirled around, grinding the feather into the dust as he did so. Jasmine was forced to take a step back as he elbowed her roughly out of the way. Helpless, she watched as he rushed towards repeating the same mistake he’d been making for however long this had been playing out. She gathered herself to start after him; she was going to stop this one way or another. A sharp touch on her cheek made her pull back. A small whirlwind picked up the feather and carried it towards the village; it had brushed her cheek on the updraft. As Jasmine watched, the whirlwind gained in strength. She ran after it as it disappeared around a corner.

She rounded the corner just in time to see Asha splash the oil onto the fire. The whirlwind descended as the flames flared; the wind stretched the flames into a tall, thin pillar that lit up the moon-silvered sky like a torch—then winked out. The fire was gone, the wind was gone. The village stood, whole and unharmed.

Asha stared at the sky a moment, then as if suddenly released, he grabbed the girl from the alter and crushed her to his chest. He wept into her hair as she clung to him and wept in turn. After a moment, he looked up at Jasmine and held out his hand. “You have my thanks, my lady, for stopping this unceasing tragedy. Now my daughter, my village and I can rest.” For the first time, he smiled.

Jasmine smiled. She opened her mouth to say something but Asha, his daughter, and the gathered villagers faded into shadows then were gone. She looked around the now empty village; she felt emotionally drained from the experience, yet somehow…relieved.

Iago flapped to her shoulder as Carpet settled to the ground next to her. “You did it; now can we get out of here before Mozenrath catches up with us? He’s overdue to put in an appearance, and I’m not keen on sticking around to wait for him.”

Jasmine nodded and turned. As if in a dream, she went to the oil press where the villagers had labored at preparing the oil that spelled their doom. She looked helplessly at the jars; she couldn’t fit one of those in the silk bag, and there was no way to stopper them. Her foot touched something and she looked down. She squatted and picked up a palm fruit that had been dropped and rolled forgotten under the press. She held it in her hand a moment as she realized she had forgotten the sorcerer. For the first time in weeks, she had gone a significant amount of time without thinking of him, and fearing him. She smiled, albeit wanly, but a smile nonetheless.

She took the bag from her belt, opened it and slipped the oil-laden fruit inside with the salt. She straightened and turned to Carpet. “Two down, one to go.” She stepped onto Carpet and sat and it took them up over the village and across the endless silver sea of grass.

* * *

On the opposite side of the grove, the grasses waved then parted. A shadow fell over them as Mozenrath lowered himself to the ground and stalked through the palms. “What a waste of time!” he muttered savagely under his breath. The land had led him to a palm grove, all right, but not the right one! He’d lost precious time—he could only hope that he hadn’t arrived too late.

As he approached the village and found it empty, he snarled and incinerated a nearby palm tree. “Empty!” he shouted. Panting with outrage, he upended the press then blasted it with his power; the oil ignited and burned brightly. He extended the blast to include the village. Once again the village became a blazing inferno. It flared briefly then died to cold, black ashes.

Mozenrath looked over the scene of destruction thoughtfully. “She has the salt and now the oil. All that’s left is the Amaranth.” He strode through the remains of the village and to the edge of the clearing. Once again, he seized the land and twisted with all his will. “Show me the way to the Garden of Death,” he ordered. Again the grasses parted to obey him. Mozenrath followed it as he resumed his pursuit of the Princess of Agrabah.

Part 6 - Garden of Despair

Between the essence

And the descent

“What was that third item again?” Iago asked as they flew on through the darkness.

Jasmine thought a moment. “The Amaranth, the flower that blooms in the never-ending darkness in a twisted garden of despair,” she said, repeating the words that had come to her in a dream.

“Oh, you’re just full of cheerful thoughts, aren’t you?” Iago shivered and turned back to the landscape.

They had left the sea of grass behind some time ago, and now sailed over a sea of sand. The directionless light turned it into an argent see, frozen forever in time. The dunes were waves frozen on the point of breaking, even with no wind to sculpt them. After a time, rocks began appearing, at first scattered upon the sand, but soon becoming boulders that rose up out of the silicate sea like huge behemoths.

At last the sand gave way to the rocks, and they flew through a series of canyons. Carpet took them above them eventually, and they found the land was a vast labyrinth. And, as with most labyrinths, this one held a secret on the other side.

“Would you look at that?” Iago whispered as they approached the huge canyon. Or trench, for there appeared to be no bottom to it. None that they could see, that is, as Carpet hovered over the edge of the rock wall that plunged straight down into blackness. And it extended across their path from horizon to horizon as straight as a ruled line.

“What’s holding it up?” Jasmine asked. The object in question was a huge irregular cone-shaped rock hanging point downwards in the in the air in the middle of the trench-like canyon. Relatively flat, that is, for it had a series of terraces, each planted with dark vegetation. From a distance, in the silver light, it looked black and twisted, with a faint green glow pervading the place. Corpselight, Jasmine thought, then wished that particular adjective hadn’t come to mind.

From the floating garden, two twisted bridges were tethered to the canyon ledges. They dipped slightly in the middle, obviously they weren’t supporting the rock.

“I don’t like the looks of this. Do you suppose that we could go around it?” Iago said softly.

“I think that might be a good idea. Let’s go, Carpet.”

Carpet gave her a thumbs-up signal and flew out over the trench. Jasmine grasped Carpet’s edges as it suddenly lost altitude and they plunged into the depths.

“Hey! We want to go across, not down!” Iago shouted as he grasped Jasmine’s arm and held on for dear life.

Carpet flailed helplessly, seemingly unable to keep altitude. They dropped like stones while Carpet struggled to turn them around and head back towards the side of the canyon. They continued their downward plunge as he angled towards the wall. Their breakneck descent slowed, and finally stopped then turned upwards again. Carpet sailed along, hugging the wall, until they were level with the top of it and they had something under them again.

“What happened, Carpet?” Jasmine asked as they climbed off it. The flying rug stood on two tassels and shrugged the other two. Jasmine looked thoughtful. “Try it now—without us,” she suggested.

Carpet straightened a little, nodded at her, and flew over the trench again. As before, it started losing altitude the further away from the edge that he got, though not so quickly as it had with passengers aboard.

“Oh, lovely. Of all the times to run across the typical unsurpassable obstacle.” He cocked a bushy eyebrow at Jasmine. “Well, this time we can’t go forward or backwards. Any suggestions, Princess?”

Irritated, Jasmine fixed him with a sharp glare. “Tell you what, Iago. You decide.”

Startled, Iago floundered, speechless. “Uh, well. Why don’t we try the bridges?”

Jasmine shook her head. “I’m not ready to give up that easily. I don’t like the looks of that floating island, and we’re not going to visit it unless we’ve exhausted all our options.”

Iago flapped to her shoulder. “Funny you should mention exhaustion. Have I mentioned that I’m exhausted? And famished?”

“Not in the last five minutes, no,” Jasmine said with a smile in spite of herself. She was grateful for his attempts to distract her attention from the situation, no matter how obnoxious they were. “All right, Carpet. Let’s see if we can go around this canyon.” Carpet saluted her, and they flew off along the canyon ledge.

* * *

In an endless sea of sand, in a land of the dead, a single living being trudged up a sand dune. As he reached the crest, he turned and looked back at his progress. The trail he’d made while slogging through the sandy morass was as clear as an arrow drawn towards him with the legend Here Be Mozenrath inscribed beside it.

He cursed under his breath and was grateful he needn’t fear detection in this place. When the grasses had ended at the edge of this desolate desert, he had lost his only guide to Jasmine’s destination. The most he could do was force the land to keep him going in the right direction. The constant strain of bending the land to his will was taking its toll; to his chagrin, he found himself exhausting his reserves and had been forced to proceed on foot if he wish to have anything left when he finally caught up with the princess.

Mouth twisted into a scowl, he turned again towards the opposite horizon. He wished Xerxes was here, if only to have someone to vent his rage upon. Summoning his familiar would be painstaking and probably not worth the effort. At least it appeared that the sand was ending as he could see a darker smudge along the already dark horizon that indicated some sort of change in the terrain. Trusting to his instincts, he trudged down the lee side of the slope as he continued on his way.

* * *

“Carpet, stop. This has to be some trick,” Jasmine said. Carpet glided to a stop as Jasmine twisted around to look back the way they came. “No sign of that floating island,” she observed casually.

“And no sign of the end of this canyon,” Iago said unhelpfully. “It just goes on, and on, and on—”

“But how can it do that?” Jasmine wondered aloud.

“Hey, this is the Land of the Dead. How can mere mortals such as we understand what lies beyond the veil of life?” the parrot said with an extravagant sweep of his wings.

Jasmine grinned. “How very philosophical of you, Iago.”

“Philosophical, nothing. It’s a fancy way of saying that everything about this place scares me featherless!” Iago looked up at Jasmine. “Well? We’ve been down both sides of the canyon and there’s no end in sight in either direction. What do we do?”

In a very unprincesslike manner, Jasmine chewed on the end of a lock of hair as she pondered the answer to that question. She realized what she was doing and smoothed it back into the rest of it and shrugged. “The only thing we can do. Go back to the bridge and cross that way.” She was not heartened by that decision when Iago failed to give her a wiseacre comeback. Carpet turned and headed back towards the bridge that spanned the canyon.

Even though it seemed they had flown for at least an hour before turning back, the floating island came within view in a matter of moments. Carpet slowed and came to a stop beside the anchoring supports on this side. They had avoided it before and now up close they could see that entire bridge was formed from dark, twisted vines covered with thorns. Jasmine climbed off Carpet and approached the bridge cautiously, alert for any signs of danger. Iago settled lightly onto her shoulder and Carpet stepped in close behind her.

Jasmine put a foot on the bridge, carefully testing it before committing her weight to it. It seemed solid enough. She took another step forward, and was surprised that it didn’t even sway. With rising confidence, she started out across it carefully. Carpet kept close to her, tassel-hands resting on her hips.

Before they had gone a score of paces, the winds began. They sprang up without warning, rocking the once solid feeling bridge. Jasmine clutched at the viney banisters only to pull her hands back as she pricked herself on the thorns that lined them. She turned to go back, and found more of those thorns blocking her way. Gritting her teeth against the onslaught, she inched forward, keeping well to the center of the walkway, and away from the edges and thorns.

In what they would later remember vaguely and with nightmare-ish overtones, they crawled forward, against the wind that threatened to pluck them from their precarious perch and the thorns that closed in behind them, forcing them ever forward.

And at long last, they reached the floating island of rock and tumbled onto it. The winds either died down, or they did not extend over the land, but whatever the reason, they were all glad to be out of it. Jasmine lay there panting with relief and release.

When the rushing of the blood in her ears subsided enough so she could hear herself think, she rolled over and pushed herself up. “Come on,” she said to Iago and Carpet, where they lay sprawled. “Onward and upward. The only way to get through this place is to keep going.”

Iago said nothing as he fluffed his feathers and settled them again. He followed quietly behind Carpet as Jasmine led the way forward along the path. She looked at him strangely but kept her comments to herself. Instead, grateful for the peace and quiet, she turned her attention to getting them through this, and to the next item. There were more of the thorns that formed the bridge growing here; she definitely didn’t like the look of them, either. Black and leprous looking in the faint light, a soft rustling came from the depths. Nothing else grew here save the thorns; upon closer inspection, she found that they wrapped around the edge of the island and spilled off the edge. The idea that they somehow held the island together entered her mind and didn’t make her happy.

The path circled around the perimeter of the island, and turned inwards upon itself. As they walked, Jasmine could tell they were heading towards the center of the island—something she didn’t want to do. “Carpet,” she called quietly. The rug hurried forward and gave her its attention. “Do you think you can fly now?” She looked at the thick walls of thorns; there was no way to go through them, but perhaps they could go over them.

Carpet “looked” upwards and held it’s tassels up as if trying to fly, and gave a little jump. Thrown off-balance, it landed in the dust of the path with a soft thwap. It picked itself up and tried again with the same results. It bunched itself up then fell back into the dust as if dejected.

Jasmine put a hand on Carpet and stroked it as if she would a cat. “That’s all right, Carpet. We can walk for now. Come on. The sooner we get off this island, the happier I’ll be.”

* * *

“Perfect. Just perfect.” Mozenrath stared at the cliffs before him, his face dark with anger. “I’m not supposed to have to overcome the obstacles in this place!” he shouted at the rock face.

No response. Well, there was no way he was going to fight through the windy, twisty little passages he knew made up this particular maze. He still had enough energy left to levitate—which he did.

He sailed upwards along the cliff face to the top. He landed lightly and started walking. The pull on him as the land itself guided him towards the princess ebbed and flowed as he tried to avoid the fissures that crossed the rocky table-top. He was going to have to use his power to cross them; there was no way around.

It was just another item to add to the long list of grievances he had against the Princess of Agrabah. He stepped to the edge of the first fissure and lifted himself across. After traversing a few like this, he felt himself slowing as fatigue crept up on him. He scowled and forced himself onward.

* * *

“Who are you?” a voice asked.

Jasmine jumped and whirled around. Iago and Carpet ducked behind her. “I, uh, I’m--” So unexpected was that voice, directing a question directly to her, she found herself nonplused and at a loss for words. She stared at the person who had so suddenly appeared; so suddenly, it made her wary. Dressed in the tattered remains of what had once been finery, his hair and beard were bedraggled and gnarled. His robes were ripped as if he had tried to push his way through the ubiquitous thorns; there were scratches upon his hands and face, as well.

He looked disappointed. “Oh,” he said and turned to follow the path that lead further into the island. “I thought you might be someone important.” The feeling that she had been dismissed as inconsequential was palpable.

Jasmine stared at his retreating back. She shook her head and gave a short, sharp bark of laughter. “No, it’s just me, Jasmine. No one important at all. In fact, I’m just passing through.” She pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked around. The corner they had turned gave onto the roughly open center area of the island, and a grotesque parody of a garden. The thorns that formed the hedges grew in little, well-tended plots, but looked no more welcoming than the hedges.

She turned and hurried after the mysterious personage that had dismissed her so off-handedly. “Wait a minute,” she called. “Who are you?” she asked as she pulled level with him.

“That, unworthy one, is not for you to know,” he said haughtily. He paused to pick up a hoe and a bucket and carried them to one of the raised beds, knelt and began digging in the dirt around the roots of the thorny plants.

Jasmine stared after him. “I guess good manners aren’t needed in the Land of the Dead,” she muttered.

“Like there’s really any reason to be polite?” Iago commented, his voice returned with the appearance of the newcomer. He flapped to her shoulder. “What’s he going to do here? Invite the thorn bushes to dinner? Practice protocol on the trees?”

“Enough, Iago,” Jasmine said. “It’s just not good relations to dismiss someone just because they don’t happen to be someone of importance.” She smiled crookedly and looked sideways at him. “Besides if that were true, then we would have had to get rid of you at the start, wouldn’t we have?”

Iago gaped at her, then winced and put his wings over his heart. “Oh, Princess! You wound me! Are you insinuating that I’m rude?”

Jasmine started along the path again. “Not insinuating it—I’m saying it.” Carpet padded silently along behind her as they passed the tattered scarecrow of a gardener and between the beds of tended thorn bushes.

Iago grinned and resettled his wings along his back. “Good. I thought I was losing my reputation. Do you mind if I ask where we’re going?”

“Where else? To try and find the path that leads to the other bridge. Besides, it appears to be the only way through all these thorns.”

“Yeesh, have you ever seen so many thorns? Not even Prince Philip could cut through these no matter how many magic swords he had,” Iago muttered.

* * *

Finally, they reached the top. Jasmine looked around, amazed to find she could see above the thorny hedges that lined the perimeter of the island. She looked down on the opposite side of the hill for any sign of the path that led to the bridge. There it was—

“Jasmine,” Iago said in a hushed voice. “Look.”

Jasmine turned and looked around, trying to see what Iago had seen. There, so startling white it glowed, bloomed a flower of delicate beauty. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked around. “‘…the flower that blooms in the never-ending darkness in a twisted garden…’”

“You don’t get more twisted than this,” Iago commented. “You think that’s our final item?”

“It has to be,” she whispered in an excited whisper. She started towards the bush; just as she lifted her foot to step off the path, a horrendous wailing stopped her in her tracks. She whirled just in time to side-step the tattered gardener as he rushed at her.

“Thief!” he screeched at her as he clawed at the mound upon which the bush that held the single brilliant bloom. “Thief! You’re trying to take it away from me!” He seemed unmindful of the thorns that clawed at him; soon blood and tears were mixing with the rich loam under his hands.

He looked up at her. “I won’t let you have my Amaranth!” he said, grabbing the hoe he had dropped and bringing it around between them.

She shook her head and smiled. “I’m not going to take it.”

“Jasmine!” Iago squawked.

She straightened and looked at the parrot where he sat on Carpet. “No, Iago. I will not take it from him.”

“Jasmine?” She looked around at the man, who just a few minutes before had been threatening her. “Your name is Jasmine?”

“Yes,” she said. “It is.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. I was sent here, but I’m not sure about this particular place.”

He shook his hair and took her hand. He beamed at her. “No, no! You were sent! To help me! I know it!” He paused and looked at the hand he held. “You’re alive…”

“Yes, I was sent here on a quest to help my city. I have to break a spell over it and I needed—”

“On a quest! Your city, you say? What city? Who rules it? Why were you sent?” His questions tumbled over one another in his eagerness to get them out.

“Agrabah. My father is Sultan. I was sent because I was partly responsible for its being enspelled.” She didn’t like the way he was looking at her and tried to extricate her hand from his grip without offending him.

“Sultan! That makes you a princess! A princess with the name Jasmine! Surely you were sent here to help me!” He nearly danced a little jig, so pleased he seemed at this turn of events. “Tell me, Jasmine, do you have gardens in Agrabah?”

He smiled at her. “I had gardens, too. Magnificent gardens, full of plants and flowers from all over the world. Hothouses full of flowers found only in the tropic forests on the other side of the world, those tiny trees they grow in the Oriental lands. Gardens to rival the famous Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Surely you’ve heard of me? Farid of the Gardens of Farid?”

Jasmine smiled politely and shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not.”

Farid looked troubled. “Ah, well, I have been here a long time.” He put trembling fingers to his mouth and thought a moment. “I can’t seem to remember how long exactly, though—”

“Short term memory is always the first to go,” Iago muttered ungraciously from behind them.

Farid turned and Jasmine caught his arm. “You spoke of me being sent here to help you. While I’m not certain that was my purpose in coming here, I am willing to help any way I can. Tell me what I can do.”

The little man beamed at her. “My dear Jasmine, indeed you are worthy of being named after that wonderful flower.” He took her hand and turned towards the mound on which the bush that held the Amaranth was planted. “The Amaranth, the flower that blooms only in the Halls of the Dead. And here.”

Jasmine looked up at the Amaranth. Shaped like a lily, it fairly glowed in the near darkness. “Let me try,” she said. She had always been good with plants, a legacy she suspected stemmed from the deal her father had made with the earth Elemental Arbutus.

“I would be so grateful if you would,” he said in a honeyed voice. She looked at him curiously then stepped onto the mound. It shifted uneasily beneath her feet, but she kept her balance. She approached the bush and reached out and cupped the flower in her hand. It glowed more brightly at her touch; she smiled as the glow turned from silver to gold. It seemed to come freely into her hand; she hadn’t meant to separate it from the rest of the bush quite yet, though.

“You’ve done it!” Farid cried. “Quickly, bring it over here!” He picked up his hoe and dug a hole in a nearby bed. Jasmine hurried over to it and set the flower in the hole. As soon as she took her hand away from it, the glow faded, and the flower turned to dust.

“No!” Farid cried and fell to his knees. He looked over at Jasmine. “You didn’t try hard enough! You let it die!” He bent over the hole in the dry dirt and sobbed inconsolably.

Jasmine pulled back. “I’m sorry—I don’t know why it didn’t do this sooner—”

“If we were back in my city, I would have you flogged!” he shouted.

Jasmine nodded, but said nothing. She looked back up at the bush—there was another flower just opening. While Farid sobbed, Jasmine got to her feet and went back to the mound. Again, when she put her foot onto it, it shifted. She took a step and it shifted again, this time with more force. She lost her balance and fell heavily.

“Ouch!” she exclaimed as something sharp jabbed through the black cotton of her trousers and into her leg. She rolled away and climbed to her feet. She reached the bush and again, at her touch, its glow turned from silver to gold.

“Give me that!”

Startled, Jasmine whirled, lost her footing and slipped, landing heavily on her backside. Farid snatched the Amaranth from her grasp and wailed as it turned to dust. He tore at the bloom that opened as the one he held withered, and it too withered and died. He rounded on Jasmine.

“You! How dare you! Such a crime would have been punishable by death in my kingdom! No one desecrates my garden!”

“With death?” Jasmine said. “For this? What kind of king were you?”

“A king of ungrateful subjects! People came from all over to see my gardens! I made them famous with my gardens! Were my people appreciative? Grateful? No! All they were concerned with was filling their bellies and having clothes on their backs!”

He growled and lunged at her, slipping on the shifting mound beneath them. The loam gave way, tumbling them both to the path below. Jasmine tucked herself into a tight ball and rolled. She came to a stop only to find a booted foot dominating her line of vision.

She rolled away quickly when she saw it move, rolled and pushed herself to her feet in one smooth motion. “Mozenrath,” she said as she crouched low. Without taking her eyes from him, she tucked the flower into the silken bag that hung from her belt.

“Princess Jasmine,” he sneered at her, as always turning her title into an insult. “Did you really think you could evade me in this place for long?”

She drew in her breath to say something when she realized that the fear she had felt all during the past month at the thought of seeing him again was gone. She straightened, and once again assuming her most royal manner, gave him a cool look. “Actually, I didn’t think it would have been as easy as it has been.” She grinned at the sudden flash of anger as the barb hit home.

“You can rest assured that I was merely taking my time. Enjoying the hunt, so to speak,” he drawled.

Anger caused the little man to puff up self-importantly. “I am a king, you loud-mouthed brat! What are you?”

“‘Loud-mouthed brat?’” Mozenrath repeated in a dangerous voice. “I’ll have you know that I am Mozenrath, Lord of the Black Sands, and you’re dead! Which makes you subject to me!” He held up his glowing hand and threw his power at Farid.

Jasmine drew back as Mozenrath’s power engulfed Farid and the surrounding thorn bushes. Farid fell to his knees while the thorn bushes rustled menacingly. They crept forward towards the sorcerer. Mozenrath drew back in alarm.

“Stop! I command you!” He transferred his blast from Farid to the thorns. Those caught in his power stopped and withered, only to be replaced by other vines, more than Mozenrath could blast. A vine grabbed his foot and pulled him off-balance. He fell into the embrace of other vines as the island began to quake.

A soft sound behind her caused Jasmine to turn. The mound of bones, dislodged by the sudden motion of the floating island, collapsed.

A great cracking sound, followed by the sudden rocking of the island, sent her sprawling. She rolled over to see the great vine bridges that had connected the island to either side of the trench were unraveling. Already the bridge they had crossed to get the island was frayed to one slender vine.

“Jasmine, we’re going to be greasy stains on whatever there is below us unless you do something fast!” Iago shouted as he clutched at her.

She grabbed a vine between the vicious looking thorns and held on. One-handedly, she groped for the bag and the final feather. She pulled it out and threw it from her, praying as she did so that it would help her.

With a great lurch, the last vine snapped and the island went spinning downwards. Jasmine’s stomach lurched upwards then slammed backwards as the other bridge stopped their descent as they tumbled downwards into the chasm.

Jasmine screwed her eyes shut as Iago and Carpet held onto her. Iago screeched painfully close to her ear and for a moment, Jasmine couldn’t hear herself think. During that moment of disorientation, she couldn’t tell which way she was falling or which way was up. A strong light stabbed through her eyelids; cautiously, she opened her eyes.

..“Come on, Carpet,” she said. “Let’s go home.”

Carpet made a quick circle of the light shaft in response then tried to fly out of the light. As soon as they left the circle of light, Carpet fell downwards. It angled back into the light and they stopped falling.

“Well, Carpet,” Jasmine said as she looked upwards. “Looks like there’s only one way to go. Up.” Spirally sharply upwards, Carpet flew them upwards into the sky.

* * *

“Get off of me!” Mozenrath shouted at the vines that held him. He blasted them away from him enough to rip himself free. He winced as he heard silk ripping, but eventually he won free of the thorny vines.

The island dangled dangerously from the end of the remains of one of the vine bridges and was bathed in a golden glow that was completely unknown in this place. Glancing upwards, he caught sight of his quarry slipping out of his grasp yet again.

He was beyond anger. With a great heave of his will, he ripped time and space. He knew exactly where this column of light was taking them; he didn’t know how it came to be here, but he wasn’t going to let her get away from him now.

A glowing hole appeared in front of him and he swung into it. With the sound of rushing wind, it collapsed behind him just as the golden glow died.

Farid hung limply in the vines that had tormented him. Once the glow was gone, the vines exerted themselves, knitting the island back together and dragging it upwards again. The mound of bones was rebuilt and the Amaranth bush placed atop it. After a moment, Farid picked himself up off the path and looked around. He lifted his eyes to the top of the mound, to the bush that held not a single bloom upon it. He sank to his knees, his head fell forward onto his chest, and the tears fell into the dust on which he lay.

Mozenrath stormed through, looking worse for wear. His clothing was ripped and stained with salt deposits. His rage was palpable at a distance; the Mamluks nearest him fell back before him.

“Out of my way!” he shouted at one that didn’t move fast enough. He raised his hand and blasted it before it could react to his order. In his haste to reach the dungeons, he let nothing stand in his way. He would have simply blasted a whole in the wall had he thought it would get him there that much faster.

He reached the level of the cells and paused. “Where is the Sultan and Aladdin?” he demanded of the Mamluks on duty. They practically scurried towards a door, fumbling with the ring of keys.

“Never mind that!” He raised his hand and blasted the door off its hinges. He stepped through the smoking ruin and looked around.

Aladdin and the Sultan gaped at him. He reached forward and ripped the chains that held them out of the wall and wrapped them around his hand. A gesture brought the bottle in which he had trapped Genie to him. With a snarl of rage, he used his power to take them from the dungeon.

They reappeared on the outskirts of Agrabah. Aladdin and the Sultan fell to their knees as they landed in the sand. Aladdin helped the Sultan stand and turned to Mozenrath.

“That’s a new look for you, isn’t it, Moze?” he said in as offensive a voice as possible.

To his surprise, Mozenrath ignored him. Instead, the sorcerer stood scanning the horizon as if he expected someone to appear. Aladdin could make a good bet as to who that someone was. He turned to the Sultan and gave the little man an exaggerated wink. The Sultan nodded once and smiled.

Mozenrath caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and rounded on them. “Quiet!” he shouted at them. He spared them no more than a moment’s attention as Aladdin spotted movement in the predawn glow..

“Look! It’s Jasmine, Iago and Carpet!”

“At last,” Mozenrath breathed. “We settle this now, Princess,” he muttered and wrapped their chains more firmly around his fist.

* * *

The golden glow faded, and Jasmine blinked away the after-images while her eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness. She looked around, trying to get her bearings. Below, lying in inky shadow even though the eastern horizon was beginning to lighten, was Agrabah. “Look!” she exclaimed. “We’re home!” Carpet angled downwards towards the city.

“Good,” Iago muttered from where he lay spread-eagled and clenching Carpet’s fibers as he hung on for dear life. “I don’t think I could take much more excitement.”

As they flew over the wrecked remains of the camp, Jasmine frowned. “I don’t think we’ve exhausted those possibilities quite yet. We have to break the spell over Agrabah now!”

Iago exaggeratedly unclenched his wing feathers from Carpet and pushed himself up. He opened one eye and peered up at her. “Great. Thanks for reminding me,” he muttered. “Well?” he said, shaking his wing feathers at her. “Go on, break it, already.”

Jasmine took the bag from where it hung on her belt and stared at the bright red silk. With an awful sinking feeling, Jasmine realized she didn’t have the slightest clue as to how to do that. “The woman in my dreams never mentioned anything about what to do with the ingredients once I’d found them.”

“Perfect,” Iago muttered with a scowl. “Now you tell me.” He looked over Carpet’s edge at the city below. “You’d better figure out what to do fast, cuz there’s Mozenrath!” Iago pointed. Jasmine leaned forward; she gasped when she recognized the two people he held in chains beside him.

“Princess!” the sorcerer shouted at her as Carpet circled closer. He held the chains grasped in his fist up for her to see. “I have your boyfriend and father; surrender or they’ll suffer!”

Jasmine lightly touched Carpet in a silent signal to fly closer. It obeyed and glided to a stop just out of Mozenrath’s reach. She stepped off and stood facing him; the pearly predawn light fell upon her and she seemed to glow. “Let them go, Mozenrath,” she said in a quiet yet forceful voice.

Iago crouched upon Carpet who hung back out of range. “Don’t you think a quick trip to Getzistan would be nice, Carpet?” he asked softly. “It’s nice an quiet compared to what’s gonna happen here—Hey! Where’re ya going?!” he squawked as Carpet angled sharply upward and away from the group “I asked you a question, moth bait!” Carpet just gestured vaguely and disappeared into the shadows of the city.

The sorcerer ignored them, as if they were beneath his notice; his attention was firmly fixed on Jasmine. Grinning a nasty grin, Mozenrath tugged on the chains. He was about to say something when Aladdin hobbled forward. “Jasmine! Run!”

Mozenrath rounded on him. “Silence!” he bellowed. The chains he held glowed and flexed within his grasp. They looped themselves first around Aladdin’s legs and then the Sultan’s and pulled the two men to the sand. The loops lengthened and wrapped around them and constricted around them. Aladdin gasped as he felt the pressure increase around his chest and it became increasingly difficult to draw a breath.

Jasmine took a step forward. “No!” she shouted. Mozenrath whipped around, causing her to take a step back. Then she gathered her courage and drew herself up to her full height. “There is no need to do that. Release them and I’ll surrender.”

Mozenrath looked over his shoulder at his two captives and appeared to consider her proposition. “All right,” he drawled. “I’ll let them go in exchange for your lovely self.”

His voice sent shivers down her spine. “And you release the city,” she added quickly

Mozenrath arched an eyebrow at her. “I hardly think you’re in a position to make any demands, Princess.” He held up the chains; they glowed as he gathered his power.

“Stop it!” Jasmine shouted as the chains began to undulate. She took a step closer, hand out as if to stop him. With the speed of a striking snake, Mozenrath lashed his hand towards her. A thin thread of light flew between them and wrapped itself around her, solidifying into chains as it came into contact with her.

“Jasmine!” Aladdin and the Sultan shouted in unison. Al tried to push himself to his feet, but a casual jerk by Mozenrath on the chains he held sent the shorter man tumbling back into the sand.

Jasmine glared at Mozenrath. “You said you would let them go,” she said in a low voice.

He simply laughed at her. “I lied.” He turned and surveyed his little group of prisoners. His smile faded as he turned again to look at Jasmine. “That was just a little too easy. I’m disappointed, Princess.” He gathered the chains around his wrist. “So much for your quest; I still have your city, Aladdin and your father. And now I have you!” He gestured and the sand behind her lurched as two Mamluks rose out of it and grabbed her.

Unmoved, Jasmine did not react. “I should have known you wouldn’t honor your word, Mozenrath.”

He laughed at her. “You were a fool to think I would. After all, what do I know of honor? I have no need of it.” He paused as if suddenly reminded of something. “Oh, yes, your quest. I believe you have certain things that I don’t want you to have.” He stalked forward and grabbed the red silk sack from her belt. He held it up and watched Jasmine’s face intently as he loomed over her. “It seems the trouble you went through to get this was for nothing,” he sneered.

Try as she might, Jasmine could not keep her face from reflecting her horror that the items she had risked so much for had ultimately fallen into her enemy’s hands. He laughed at her, vicious and maliciously, as he turned from her. “What do we have here?” he commented casually as he opened the bag. He dumped the contents into his hand; salt trickled away through his fingers, but a small pile remained. “Salt, oil and the Amaranth. How ever clever of you to deduce that the city could be cleansed by these things, thus breaking the spell I’ve placed upon it.” He dropped the last of the salt, palm fruit and the flower into the sand at his feet and ground them under his heel. “Pity you’ll never get the chance to use them. Agrabah is mine, just as it was the moment I turned you into living fire and as it will be forever more!

“So I don’t have you as a willing slave any more. A small wrinkle in my plans,” he added with a shrug. “I still have you, though.” He looked over his shoulder at Aladdin and the Sultan to see if they were taking this in. “And I’ll have my revenge on you.” He turned back to Jasmine; a signal from him caused the Mamluks that held her to force her to her knees. The smile fled from his face, leaving in its stead only cold hatred. “I will teach you to threaten and humiliate me, Princess.” His voice was deadly quiet. He held out his gauntleted hand. “You should have taken the opportunity when you had the chance, because you’ll never get it again.”

He turned away with a dramatic swirl of his cloak. “Bring them,” he ordered his Mamluks. “I have my revenge to plan.” His undead servants shoved them roughly along in his wake.

Jasmine looked over and caught Aladdin’s eye. She smiled faintly at him; as well as she could given the situation. Her spirits felt like leaden weight in her boots: Her journey to Cimmeria had been in vain; the valuable time and effort she had spent finding and gathering the ingredients, for nothing!

Along the long avenue that stretched from the edge of the city to the palace gates, the Mamluks dragged them. Through the abandoned marketplace in the center of the city, normally so noisy, but now deathly quiet. Ghosts flitted through the darkness as they passed.

Once at the palace gates, Mozenrath swept arrogantly through them and up the stairs that led to the blasted throne room. Aladdin, Jasmine and the Sultan were hauled mercilessly and ungently up the stairs. Mozenrath stood staring at the destruction for a moment before turning to Jasmine. He gestured to the Mamluk that held her; with inhuman strength it pushed her forward. The sorcerer looked coolly down his nose at her.

“Look, Princess, and tell me what you see.” He waved his hand at the magnificent onion domes of the Palace of Agrabah. Jasmine winced as the memory of the place jarred with what her eyes told her of it present state: The great central dome gone, collapsed upon the now cooled molten ruin the Simin Golnar had made of the throne room.

Mozenrath smiled tightly at her as he saw the pain in her eyes. He leaned forward and whispered to her, “You served me once, Jasmine. You’ll do it again.”

Jasmine pulled away as much as the Mamluk’s hold would allow. “Never!” she spat at him. Her heart pounded with terror within her chest at his closeness. It was all she could do to keep her voice from quavering when she spoke to him.

As if he could feel her fear, his smile darkened. “And who is going to stop me? Aladdin? Your father?” he asked quietly. He looked at Aladdin and made a negligent flipping motion with his hand and they were bathed in a greenish light. When it cleared, they were no more than statues formed carved from salt. Jasmine gasped and glared at him.

The sorcerer stepped back and looked at her critically. “Don’t you think that’s fitting for them? When I repair the fountain, I’ll have them placed within it and you can watch them being slowly worn away. A wave of my hand, and it will take years, possibly centuries before they’re reduced to nothing.”

Jasmine gathered the scraps of her courage and pulled against the chains. Before she could speak, however, he held up his hand. “You’re going to say the djinn will stop me. How? I have him, too.” He pulled the sealed bottle that held Genie from within his cloak and held it up for her to see. He laughed as he placed it back within his cloak. “The djinn will be my servant as well. You may have delayed it a bit by leading me a merry chase through Cimmeria, but in the end it amounts to the same thing: Agrabah is now mine and you with it.”

The Princess of Agrabah hung her head. Her hair fell around her face like a veil as she realized that she had failed. She had failed the woman in her dreams, her city and most of all Aladdin. Everything she had been through had been for nothing. Then a voice, her own perhaps, told her that nothing was ever for nothing. Perhaps, but it was hard to see what it had accomplished at this very moment.

She looked up as she heard Mozenrath chuckle. In the darkness, it echoed around the blasted garden eerily, returning to them in series of sharp cracks. The last crack caused her to look at him sharply. The sorcerer stood with his back to her, and from the tension in his back and arm, she could tell he was calling on his power. Breath held in apprehension, she waited for the results.

Before them, the wreckage of the palace surged as if something were buried underneath it and was trying to heave the fallen masonry from its back. Jasmine gasped as a thin glass spike shot its way skyward. Unnaturally gelid, it twisted and bent back upon itself, as it knitted itself into the shape reminiscent of a leafless tree trunk. Jasmine drew back in renewed horror as Mozenrath used his power to start a small bonfire next to them. A sleek shape glided out of the shadows and deposited something in his hand.

“Thank you, Xerxes.” The sorcerer rewarded his familiar with a slight bow before turning back to Jasmine. “Ah, I see you already know what lies in store for you. Yes, you’re more useful to me as the Simin Golnar, Jasmine. I have no use for you as a flesh and blood princess. But a princess of fire…now, that is powerful indeed.” He carefully set the cup on a block near the fire and reached for her.

Had he touched her, Jasmine knew she would have screamed. But as it was, before he could lay his hand on her, his gauntlet glowed briefly and he flinched as if bitten. The Mamluk holding her loosed it’s hold on her and took a step backwards. Mozenrath shook his hand as if to dispel an ache while he glared at his servant creature. “Get back here, you lout!” The Mamluk moved as if to obey, but its movements were jerky and uncoordinated. The chains that held Jasmine crumbled and fell away from her and she evaded the Mamluk’s fumblings. Mozenrath snarled and made a grab for her. Seizing the opportunity, Jasmine neatly evaded him. He stumbled past her, giving her time to put some distance between them. She started down the stairs in double time. Mozenrath whirled around.

“Where are you going, Princess?” he shouted after her. “Haven’t you forgotten your boyfriend?”

Jasmine halted and turned slowly to look up at him, at the top of the stairs beside Aladdin and her father.

“I see you haven’t,” he said with a laugh. “Very wise.” He leaned against Aladdin as he taunted her. “All it would take is just a little shove on my part, and Aladdin will have a broken heart.” He gave Jasmine a significant look. “As well as a broken everything else.” He gestured and another Mamluk grabbed her wrist and brought her to its master.

Mozenrath grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. “Fortunately for you, I have a use for you or you’d be one of these salt carvings.” He turned his attention back to the glass pillar he had created. She could feel the hair on the back of her neck stand up as he drew on his power. Quite unexpectedly, she felt it turn back on him and flood through him and through his hold on her.

The backlash made him stagger and release her. Knowing it was no use to run, she took a step back and watched as he put a hand to his temple and shook his head as if to clear it.

He recovered almost immediately. His face twisted in anger and he gestured towards the pillar again. This time the backlash was enough that Jasmine could feel it even though he was not in contact with her. He dropped to his knees and groaned with pain.

The sound of glass splintering drew her attention away from him. The glass pillar dissolved into countless shards and splinters and fell in on itself. Mozenrath looked up in bemusement. A beam of light fell upon the two salt figures and Jasmine looked up. The thick clouds that had blanketed the city since Mozenrath cast the spell were breaking up and allowing the rays of the rising sun to filter through.

Jasmine gazed around herself in wonder. The shadows that hung thick in the darkness thinned and bled away. Mozenrath lurched to his feet and looked around, but not in wonder. “What in the name of Ahrimanius is going on here?” he demanded of no one in particular. “This shouldn’t be happening!” he shouted. He grabbed Jasmine’s hand and pulled her forward.

This time she was ready for him. She let him jerk her forward, something he was not expecting. Thrown off-balance, she was able to hook a foot around his and jerk his feet out from under him. As he fell, she twisted her wrist against the weakest part of his grip to break his hold on her. Once free, she backed away, keeping herself between him and the carved salt figures.

With cat-like grace, he sprang to his feet and advanced on her. “You’ll pay for that,” he growled and gathered his power around him. His eyes went wide as the power arced away from him harmlessly.

The sound of rattling bones drew him up short. He whirled around just in time to see two Mamluks collapse in a heap of body parts, bones and rags. Confusion clouded his face as one after another the Mamluks disintegrated.

Jasmine watched him stumble about the broken portico, looking as lost as a child without his power. This impression lasted only a moment however. Rage darkened his features as he rounded on Jasmine.

The princess looked into his face and drew herself up. In the last few moments, something had become clear to her. “Mozenrath, you don’t even understand the nature of your power, do you?” she asked in a pitying voice.

“What in blazes are you talking about?” he demanded. “My will is my power! It’s a part of my very being!”

Jasmine shook her head. “I don’t think that’s completely true. Look around you. Your spells and enchantments are unraveling even though you grasp desperately at them. Even in Cimmeria, you had trouble making the land obey you,” she stated, remembering how the land had fought him, even though he had declared himself its master.

“That’s not true!” he shouted at her. Yet, even as the words came out of his mouth, the salt carvings of Aladdin and the Sultan lurched. A thin outer layer of salt encasing the captives flaked away like a stone second skin. Jasmine rushed to their sides as they gasped for air. Mozenrath stared at them, aghast. “That’s impossible!” he roared and flung his hand at them. He screamed as the resulting glow encased him. He slumped to the ground as it faded from him.

“Princess!” She whirled around at the sound of a new voice. Iago flapped furiously towards them, carrying Abu as Rasoul came rushing up the steps with his guards behind him. “Highness! Are you all right?” He hurried over to the coughing and gasping Sultan while several of his guards ranged themselves around the fallen sorcerer. Carpet sailed over their heads, Abu and Iago riding on it. The magic rug circled several times before coming to ground nearby.

The princess took a moment to convince herself that Aladdin and her father were well and whole before turning her attention to the sorcerer. She waved the guards back, and approached him. The aborted blast meant for Aladdin and the Sultan had hit him full force and he crouched on the steps as he fought the pain. She looked down at him--not with fear or hatred or anger—but with sorrow. No matter what this young man had done to her, the ones she loved, or her city, she could not hate him. It was not in her nature to hate. She looked at him, twisted and bent with pain, and felt saddened that he had chosen the darker arts of his craft. And she pitied him. How much had he sacrificed to have his power? How long would he suffer for his choices? How much had he given up to have this power now? What might have been had he not made that sacrifice?

She sighed and held out her hand. The guards rattled their swords in surprise, but a look from her subdued them. Mozenrath reared back and looked up at her in shock. His face hardened and he batted her hand away as he levered himself up. “I don’t need your help,” he managed to gasp between teeth clenched in pain. “And I don’t need your pity, either,” he added. She knew he had seen it in her eyes and would never accept it. She sighed and made a motion with her hand; the guards closed in around him, pulling his arms firmly behind his back. He made an indignant noise, but could not fight against the greater manpower. He snarled at them, but stopped struggling. Jasmine approached him, reached into his cloak and removed the bottle in which Genie was trapped. She stepped back and uncorked it. Immediately, the djinn appeared. He flicked away a few desiccated bodies and shivered.

“I was beginning to feel the Lord of the Flies in there,” he muttered.

The Sultan and Aladdin approached from behind her as she spoke. “Have it your way, Mozenrath. If you don’t want our help, no one is forcing you to take it. Leave Agrabah and never return—”

Wait,” the Sultan interjected. “There is the matter of the damage he’s caused to the city to address! And what he did to you, Jasmine!”

Jasmine turned to her father and laid a hand on his shoulder. “No, Father. Let him go. Please.” She pleaded with him with her eyes. Aladdin said nothing, but somehow he understood without question what she was talking about.

He opened his mouth to protest but one look into his daughter’s expressive eyes told him she would not be swayed on this. “As you wish, Jasmine,” he said tightly. He turned to Mozenrath. “He may leave.”

Mozenrath glared at the little group. “I may be powerless now, but I’ll be back. You can count on that.”

“Know this, Mozenrath,” the Sultan said in his “official voice”, reserved for only the most serious of issues. “Should you ever return to Agrabah, you will be shown as much mercy as you’ve shown it’s people. That is, none.”

Jasmine stepped forward. “Bind him, Genie.”

Mozenrath bit off his protest as the glowing bands that appeared around his body. He struggled mightily but in vain; the bonds held. He glared at them all indignantly.

Jasmine turned to the magic Carpet. “Carpet, take Mozenrath back to his lands and leave him” Carpet saluted her, flew over and hovered behind Mozenrath. Genie picked the sorcerer up and deposited him on Carpet’s surface. It sailed up and over the city towards the still dark horizon to the west and to the Land of the Black Sand.

Epilogue

The rising sun finally lifted itself above the horizon and bathed the city in sunlight. Jasmine turned her face to it; the warmth of it on her face was welcome, even as it revealed the decimated remains of the palace before and below her.

A soft step behind her made her turn. Aladdin approached cautiously, as one would a wild stallion. “Jasmine?” he ventured. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her, but he couldn’t find a way to ask any of them. Instead, he touched her face lightly, as if to make certain she was real.

She smiled up at him and covered his hand with her own. “It’s me,” she said, answering the one question foremost in his mind.

“Welcome home,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”

Jasmine smiled at him and leaned close. He grinned widely and kissed her. “What happened?” he asked when he reluctantly released her.

“We took a journey,” she said as she turned to look at the rising sun. “A journey that revealed the truth to me. About myself and about Mozenrath.”

“A journey? Where?” He pulled her close and held her.

“You wouldn’t believe us if we told you,” a harsh voice interjected. “We shoulda visited Getzistan like I told ya, Princess,” Iago said as he settled on Aladdin’s shoulder.

Abu, who had taken his place on Aladdin’s other shoulder, reached around and yanked on Iago’s tail feathers. “Hey! Watch it, monkey boy!” Iago squawked.

Jasmine shook her head. “But it all turned out for the best, didn’t it, Iago?”

Iago fluffed himself up and resettled his feathers. “I suppose. Although we took a big risk. How did you break the spell without the spell ingredients, Princess?”

“I didn’t break it; Mozenrath did. He abused his power to the point where it refused to obey him any longer. He may draw his power from Cimmeria, but apparently there’s a limit to the amount of abuse even a slave will take before it rebels.”

Aladdin stared at her. “The Land of the Dead? Is that where you went?”

Jasmine nodded but covered his mouth with her hand. “I’ll tell you about it later,” she whispered.

Iago rubbed his beak. “And since he draws his power from that place, when it rebelled, he found himself cut off. Very clever. I suppose it’s to much to hope he’s gone for good?” the parrot asked.

The Princess shook her head. “He’ll find a way to regain what he’s lost. He’s resourceful enough to appease whatever master he serves.” She sighed. “I doubt he’ll have learned anything, though.”

Iago put his wings on his hips and cocked his head at her. “Then why, pray tell, did we even need to go to that horrid place?”

“Because…” she began. She turned and leaned against Aladdin and looked at the sunrise. Below the guards were freeing the imprisoned populace and they were spreading out into the city. The golden sunlight washed away the shadows and darkness that had blanketed Agrabah for the past month. The deadly black sand that had surrounded the city had disappeared and with it Agrabah’s dead. With the lifting of the shadow, Jasmine felt a weight upon herself lifted as well. She smiled and turned in Aladdin’s arms to put her arms around his neck. “Because there was a shadow on me as well as Agrabah. And now it’s gone.” She pushed away from Aladdin and took his hand. “Come on. Let’s see if we can find Genie and get him to rebuild the palace. Besides, I owe him an apology.”

Aladdin grinned his crooked grin. “I think he’s already way ahead of you.” He turned and they could hear the djinn and the Sultan arguing.

“Genie, I do NOT want a skylight! Just put it back the way it was! Please!”

“But, Sultan, baby, a skylight would be just the thing! Imagine how much more light we’d get in that gloomy old throne room!”

“Genie, the throne room was designed by my ancestor Hamid and I want to you fix it up so that it looks just the way it was before!”

Genie pouted. “Tradition! Always tradition! Why can’t anyone be adventurous any more?” Undaunted, he held out his hands, fingers spread to form a view finder through which he examined the damage. “I see—Art Nouveau. It’ll be new before it’s nouveau!”

“GENIE….”

Aladdin and Jasmine smiled at each other. “Let’s go before Genie decides the floor needs to be sunken, too,” Aladdin said. Together they turned and with the rising sun behind them, joined the Sultan and djinn just as the central dome reappeared. The light reflected off the dome and bathed the two in a blaze of light.

Finis

Copyright 1997

Verse taken from T.S. Elliot’s The Hollow Men