《Aladdin: A Tale of Terror》 The Stranger in the Caravan Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡°¡ª Chapter 02 - City of Peace, City of Blood Under the scorching Arabian sun, in the city of Agrabah, where the streets were built narrow to protect the people from the snapping wind and blazing light, joyful music overwhelmed the peasant''s agonized screams. He writhed on the ground and watched with bulging, panic-filled eyes as his blood ejected from his wrist, soaking the dirt in wet crimson. On the ground beside him, his severed hand still clutched the red apple. In the shadow of a tea shop awning, where the scent of stewed goat was richest, a young boy of twelve watched the horrified peasant crumple against the stone wall of a pottery house. When the peasant slumped over, the young boy recognized the agonized expression of a pain-filled death. Such deaths had become part of daily life in Agrabah. So much so that not even the children at the end of the block had bothered to pause their sword-fighting game. The guard holding his bloody scimitar wiped the blade clean with the cloth tucked into his belt. He bent down to pick up the severed hand and pried the fingers open, freeing the bloody apple. He handed it back to the stall vendor who then placed it back on his apple cart. The boy touched his olive-skinned arm where a drop of blood had landed on him and wiped it away with his finger. ¡°Ja¡¯far al-Barmaki!¡± A stern, but loving voice called to him. ¡°Your mother only has so many hours in the day and she spends most of it looking for you! Maybe spare her the trouble today by helping me refill the cart. You remember where the figs are?¡± Ja¡¯far nodded. ¡°Yes, papa.¡± He turned to his father, Yahya al-Barmaki, and saw the hint of a smile on his round, leather-tanned face. His skin was much darker than Aladdin¡¯s from the years he spent peddling figs from his cart along the street. The cloth above the cart was more for the fig¡¯s protection than his. Today, his father had found a special place to set up is fig cart along an adjacent road from the bazaar. The bazaar was a maelstrom of activity with booksellers spreading hundreds of titles on silk sheets on the ground, and some stacking them in various towers. Ja¡¯far¡¯s knew he was to bring the figs from their home, but he slowed his pace, the allure of adventure stories, foreign languages, mathematics, and insights on the culture of distant, exotic lands. He stopped altogether when he saw the stack of political books, mostly in the form of tatty hardcovers made of leather. Too expensive for his poor family to afford. Despite the beautiful silks, delicious foods, and vibrant Agrabah colors, he had witnessed the rise of poverty as goods and labor were used to build the Sultan¡¯s palace, along with his army, and without regard to the safety of his people. Ja¡¯far looked up from the stack of political books as an elderly man with a thick salt-and-pepper beard gave the book vendor several gold coins in exchange for a handful of books. Embossed on the covers were a strange language Ja¡¯far couldn¡¯t read. ¡°Aren¡¯t you suppose to be somewhere?¡± Another calm, feminine voice said from behind him. Ja¡¯far turned around. ¡°Mother, I was just on my way to get the figs.¡± His mother, Admatah al-Barmaki, smiled a beautiful smile. She was nearly ten years younger than Ja¡¯far¡¯s father, with a sharp angular face. When she smiled, her green eyes shimmered like emeralds. ¡°Today is a special day,¡± she said. She knelt down to look him in the eyes. ¡°I know. It¡¯s Princess Jasmine¡¯s sixth birthday today.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll be very busy. We might even sell our entire stock. Which is why I think you deserve this in advance.¡± His mother took Ja¡¯far¡¯s hand and pressed three coins into his hand. He opened his mouth to protest, but Admatah cut him off. ¡°Hurry, before the crowds take the best ones.¡± Ja¡¯far thanked her. ¡°I will get the figs as soon as I find a good one. I won¡¯t forget. Promise.¡± Admatah placed her hands on Ja¡¯far¡¯s shoulder and softly touched his cheek. ¡°My smart, young man. You¡¯re going to do wonderful things with all the knowledge you possess. You could even rule Agrabah one day and liberate our people.¡± Ja¡¯far laughed. ¡°Mother, you know that peasants can¡¯t be sultans. The princess would have to marry a prince, and I¡¯m not a prince.¡± Admatah smiled. ¡°You are to me. Now hurry. I¡¯ll tell your father I had sent you on an errand for me.¡± Ja¡¯far had raced through the crowds and shuffled through piles of books. Mounds of books. When he heard the joyous music begin to play Agrabah¡¯s song for the princess, he rushed back to Yahya¡¯s cart with no intention of breaking his promise of retrieving the figs. When Ja¡¯far arrived, he saw his father¡¯s fig cart had been filled, with several more bags of figs beside it. His father was putting a handful of figs into a customer¡¯s sachet. ¡°So this was the errand your mother sent you to do for her.¡± Yahya finished with the customer and bid him farewell. ¡°Language? Mathematics? Philosophy?¡± ¡°Political finance.¡± Yahya laughed. ¡°I bet you¡¯ve read more books than the Sultan himself.¡± When the music grew louder, others in the bazaar remained observant, while others stretched and craned for a better view of the palace at the center of Agrabah. Yahya stepped aside for a better view beside Admatah. Ja¡¯far hoisted himself up on an empty crate so that he could see above the other adults. Standing above the shadows he looked to the palace with excitement. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Makam music accompanied by a four-piece ensemble, a Chalaghi Baghdadi, consisting of a hammered dulcimer, a spike fiddle and two types of small drums, and the occasional tambourine drowned out the voices from the bazaar. He was so enamored with the exotic dancers, baton twirling, the vibrant silk flags raised high, and the masses surrounding the palace, that only when Yahya grabbed Ja¡¯far¡¯s arm did he realize his father was talking to him. ¡°Can you see anything up there, my boy?¡± ¡°I can see all of Agrabah!¡± Ja¡¯far raised his arms excitedly. ¡°Papa, I can even see the palace!¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°But I can¡¯t see the princess. Do you think she¡¯ll see us?¡± ¡°I think it may be a little too far for her to see,¡± Yahya replied. A look of disappointment fell over Ja¡¯far¡¯s face. "But she might; from up there she can see the whole world!¡± Yahya slipped his arms around his son¡¯s waist and hoisted him down from the empty crate. ¡°Let¡¯s get some of these figs sold and then we¡¯ll sneak away for a closer look.¡± Ja¡¯far beamed with excitement. He turned and peered down into the crate and noticed a few figs must¡¯ve fallen from the cart. He reached inside, a big stretch for his short arms, and scooped up the last few in his tiny hands. While Ja¡¯far watched the crowds surround the bazaar, he caught a glimpse of the pottery store owner without either partiality or compassion, drag the dead peasant into a desolate alley which stank of stale urine and camel manure. Then, from the side, he saw Armand Shar, the fat bearded man who owned the fig cart and stall Yahya sold figs from. Yahya¡¯s pleasant expression remained, though with much reservation. Ja¡¯far stood at the stall alone for only a few minutes, long enough to watch one of the three kids from the street¡ªparticularly the one with shaggy black hair who had reputation for being a clever thief despite his age, younger than Ja¡¯far. The skinny boy with shaggy hair chopped off at the shoulders slipped forward into the shadows like an assassin. He then stopped dead still. He made almost no noise with his hands straight down at his sides. His face, like most children¡¯s, was round, and impertinent; a slight point to his chin and a tall, flat forehead, with invasive, watchful, desiring eyes that moved from vendor to vendor. Ja¡¯far looked away when he felt his mother¡¯s hand fall gently on his shoulder. He looked up at her. She smiled back, but there was a hint of concern on her face. He looked past her to Yahya and Armand. Armand stood with his chest out, his chin up. Yahya¡¯s appeared concerned and he was gently nodding. Ja¡¯far strained to listen through the celebratory music. ¡°If you let us, we can give you the leftover figs to make up for what we owe in rent, but I¡¯m certain after today we¡¯ll have enough. There are many hungry people in Agrabah today.¡± Armand Shar squinted, and when he shook his head no his fat cheeks and neck wobbled. Admatah said to Ja¡¯far, ¡°How about we have some tea?¡± Ja¡¯far watched his mother enter the tea shop behind their fig stall. Squinting into the sun, his father was still in discussion with Armand, and observing the smiles on each of their faces Ja¡¯far could only presume their negotiation had reached a fair accord. He stood behind the stall and offered a handful of figs to a bearded man wearing a white dishdasha and a colorful shemagh to protect himself from the Arabian sun that was now blazing hot directly above. The man continued passed without even a glance and disappeared into the crowded bazaar. Returning his attention towards the streets Ja¡¯far noticed the shadows were gone, replaced by the high noontime light. Along with the shadows, two of the three boys had gone too. The one who had appeared with such strange countenance, slipping away into the darkness so still, so steady, was nowhere to be seen. The boy¡¯s friend, a much younger boy with clipped hair and broken sandals carried in his hands a tambourine that he shook and banged in Ja¡¯far¡¯s direction. As Ja¡¯far watched the child, a figure raced passed the stall. A pair of small child¡¯s hands dipped low for a handful of figs then sprinted towards the bazaar. Ja¡¯far instinctively chased after him for several steps. He quickly realized that pursuing the thief would only put himself in danger. Ja''far reluctantly stopped and watched as the criminal disappeared into the crowded marketplace. The air filled with swirling dust, and the music crescendoed in the background. The kid was nowhere to be found. The tambourine kid, too. Realizing he had left his father¡¯s cart unattended, Ja''far turned around and raced back to it. Panic gripped him as he discovered the entire lot of figs had been stolen. As he spun around, Ja''far caught sight of the shadow boy on a wooden beam above before slipping into the darkness of an upstairs window. The rest of their supply of figs had been stolen. Ja''far''s cheeks flushed red with anger and salty tears stung his eyes. He wiped the dirt and moisture from his face with his sleeve. He would go after them, he decided. Ja¡¯far saw his father approaching with a serious expression, his gaze shifting between the empty stall and the little boy who had shamed their family. Armand stood behind his father, visibly irate. As Ja¡¯far looked up at his father, attempting to explain, he was interrupted by Armand¡¯s thick voice calling for the guards. ¡°You think you can swindle me? You have been selling your figs and concealing your profits. Trying to get free rent, are you?¡± ¡°Armand Shar,¡± Yahya drawled, ¡°if you will pardon my candor, I might remark that you are something of an ass.¡± Armand, in a frenzy, turned purple and shrieked at the top of his lungs, punctuating his words by clenching his fists at Yahya. ¡°You will lose your hands, the lot of you will!¡± Armand screamed, and again he called for the guards. "Papa, I''m so sorry for what I''ve done!" Ja''far said, tears welling in his eyes. At the end of the street, he watched in terror as three hulking guards barged through the vendors and shoppers, causing chaos and destruction far exceeding the value of the figs. They shoved a young woman dressed in fine silk, her scream mingling with the crash as she fell into a crate of fish. The vendor screamed at her and then shouted profanities at the guards who drew nearer, their faces twisted in a beastly fury. ¡°Ja¡¯far!¡± Yahya yelled, ¡°You have to run!¡± But Ja''far, his heart gripped by fear for his family, tearfully pleaded with his father for forgiveness, the weight of the situation heavy on his young shoulders. From the doorway of the tea shop, Ja''far''s ears filled with his mother''s piercing screams, the sharp clatter of teacups shattering against the hard stone floor resonating in the air. Yahya grabbed his son by the shoulders and stared him straight in the eye. "I have faith in you. You are a noble and honorable son. Take what is rightfully ours and let it shape the destiny of the stars. But you must leave. Go!" The guards dragged Yahya back to his feet. Beside them, the vendor screamed at the guards for the destruction they had caused. Ja''far watched his father get pulled away, while his mother stepped between Ja¡¯far and Armand. Armand, seeing Ja¡¯far about to flee, pushed his mighty weight against Admatah, like she was struck by a boulder. Admatah fell into the road like a rag doll, her scream sharp and abrupt as the first set of hooves trampled her ribs and crushed her spine. Her body rolled in the dirt as a hoof caught her by the throat, causing her head to snap all the way back. Terrified and frozen in his place, Ja¡¯far sensed Armand¡¯s rough hands grab him. Searing agony bolted up his arm and into his neck. For a moment, all he could see were white explosions in front of his teary eyes. Yahya was still screaming when he broke free of the guard and lunged at Armand, his fist punching into his fat face. Armand¡¯s cheeks wobbled and shook; blood gushed from his split gums and broken nose. His eyes went wide. Then, from behind Yahya, appeared another guard with his scimitar drawn, who plunged it deep into his back. As the blade entered, Yahya arched his back and his arms splayed wide, the blade pushing through him and emerging from his chest. Then swiftly, the guard withdrew his blade, and Yahya fell to the dirt. Wiping the blade clean of blood, the guard met eyes with Ja¡¯far. The Book Vendor and the Mystic For twelve years, the blood-drenched memories gripped Ja¡¯far al-Barmaki. In his first month alone, he endured considerable grief while finding the means to survive in a crime-filled city. He no longer had a home to return to. Armand saw to that. Armand was not a man to vouchsafe amnesty to even an innocent child. The very next day, Armand chained the front door to his house, locking him out. The greedy landlord was already making plans to pick through his family''s belongings. Ja''far had to put his grief aside just for one night. Long enough to retrieve whatever he could carry of his family heirlooms. He had to move quickly. If Armand or his croonies spotted him, they''d take from him everything that he was trying to retrieve. He traveled by moonlight through the streets amidst blackguards and thieves. After waiting for a couple men to pass, he slipped in through the window and retrieved only what he could carry. He wrapped several valuable trinkets in fine silk and shoved them into a clay pot. He went to his parents''s bed and snatched a small sachet of gold coins, which he tied to his belt. He untucked his shirt to keep the sachet hidden. Then he returned to his new home. Nights were always the hardest. He had swiped enough in that first week to make his new home look less derelict. But nothing was the same. There was no cheerful laughter or oil lamps burning. There are no flickering flames to cast cozy ambient lights and dancing shadows. No smell of tea or incense. Just empty, cold, darkness, and the sounds of rats gnawing at something in the corner. The wooden beams had collapsed, creating a gaping hole in the ceiling from which he could see the second floor ceiling. A second beam snapped in front of the back windows so that he could not pull back the curtain. There were six windows total, three more than his home, and the room itself was nearly four times as large as what he was used to, sectioned off with tattered draping canvas. The area in the corner was where he prepared his simple stew meals. At the other end was a thick, padded mat made of woven reeds and a dozen silk pillows with colorful designs. The area between them was a sitting room. Pillows were arranged on the ornate Persian rug with a small table in the center where Ja¡¯far had drank his tea and enjoyed his father¡¯s hookah. Two more years passed. Ja¡¯far¡¯s gold had long run out. He sold nearly all the family trinkets he had left. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. On his fourteenth birthday, the book vendor, simply known as Altin, gave him a scholarly textbook bound in sturdy crocodile hide. Altin was a quiet old man who slept in a wagon barely large enough to hold a bedroll and chamberpot. Altin took a liking to him as the years passed, slipping him an extra piece of fruit when he was hungry and letting him borrow books when he couldn''t afford to buy them. It was on his birthday when Altin gave him that special crocodile hide textbook and gave him the news. Ja''far couldn''t believe with this man was saying. Altin, this bookkeeper whom he''d shared hardly a spoken word with, had enrolled him in one of Agrabah''s finest educational programs. Ja''far was astonished. He thought his dreams of becoming someone influential had died along with his parents. Nothing would bring his parents back, or regain the years he''d lost without them, but at least their deaths wouldn''t be in vain. The academy allowed him to study earth and sky sciences, mysticism, history, geography, and much more. He remembered how excited he''d been to attend. How the other students dressed in expensive shirts with billowing sleeves that shimmered with vibrant colors, waistbands and exotic boots. They claimed to be descendants of wealthy families. Even royalty in their own kingdoms. He also remembered how they looked at him, dressed in rags. They hated him even more when he was summoned by the Mystic of Agrabah. The mystic was mysterious older man with dark dreadlocks. He was known for his intuition and connections throughout the kingdom and recruited students to work in the palace as advisers, or in another field depending on their skills. Ja¡¯far had learned that being enrolled in the academic programs was a lot like being a prisoner. He had no freedom, no choice in occupation, and was under constant supervision. ¡°The magic is in you.¡± the Mystic had said the day he was sent to live in the palace. ¡°It was always in you, but you didn¡¯t need it to accomplish great things. You started with nothing, and through your pursuit of wisdom and honesty, you have become a great man. A man worthy of guiding the Kingdom of Agrabah to a better future.¡± ¡°I am just a man,¡± Ja¡¯far replied. ¡°I am not a sultan.¡± "There''s a great evil coming to Agrabah, and not a sultan can stop it." the Mystic warned. "It''s a darkness that will devour us all. Agrabah will burn like fire and the streets will bleed red." "If the sultan can''t stop then what am I to do?" Ja''far asked. "Only a man with a heart as troubled and honest as yours can stop it," the Mystic said. "On a dark, dark night, when you become the royal vizier, take your men and ride into the desert. This is the culmination of your training, the fulfillment of your destiny. You possess a great power and everything that comes with it.¡± ¡°But how will I know where to go?¡± Ja¡¯far asked. ¡°Seek the Seer of the Sands,¡± the Mystic said. Without a chance to respond, the palace guards swiftly escorted Ja''far into the palace, where his fate was sealed to live out the remainder of his days. Chapter 4 - On a Dark, Dark Night On a dark night, when the moon was new and the air was still, Ja¡¯far and his twelve men rode across the desert. Whipping the reigns, their camels and horses galloped faster. Sand caught the hooves then burst into the air. He tucked his shemagh tighter to protect his face from the sand that stung like hot needles in his eyes and against his flesh. Ducking low, his lengthy cloak caught the wind, thrashing behind. Time was running out. Agrabah didn¡¯t have long. Across the dune crests and down the flanks they raced, faster and faster until Ja¡¯far saw it standing alone. It was a figure all in black, blending into the night. Ja¡¯far only noticed it because of the purple mist swirling from its almond-shaped eyes. Like a mirage, it didn¡¯t appear to move, yet as fast as Ja¡¯far and his men traveled, they could not reach it. The Seer had been right about this. Their instructions were clear: to follow but never grasp. Long into the night, they went, following the spirit¡¯s glowing eyes down the dunes and into valleys, until their guide vanished in a puff of purple, sparkling sand. They had arrived. Ja¡¯far raised his torch and swung it to the side, halting his men. Ja¡¯far was the first to dismount his horse, eager and confident. The others were reluctant. Everything was silent. The desert had a way of smothering the natural symphony of life, suffocating even the faintest whispers. They were now distant from Agrabah, trapped in a desert valley encircled by dunes that loomed ominously, threatening to engulf them if they let their guard down. They were left vulnerable, at the mercy of the deadly sands. Despite the darkness, Ja¡¯far and Navid could see the worry reflected in their expressions. Navid was Ja''far''s head guard. He had a tough, imposing build. Slightly shorter than Ja''far, with a tough muscled physique. His shoulder-length dark hair was tucked behind his ear. He had a long scar that slit his left brow to the center of his sharp, angular cheek. Ja''far thought it made him look tough and indimidating on his stony, almost expressionless face. But there was passion in his eyes. Especially when he caught Ja''far eyeing him. The other guards eyes darted around, flinching back to Ja''far as they waited for his command. ¡°The travelers say this place is cursed,¡± Navid said. ¡°Daevas possess one¡¯s body to corrupt him so that he may not be blessed by Allah.¡± The warm, dry desert air filled Ja¡¯far''s lungs as he took a deep breath. It was unlike Navid to be superstitious, but that was before Navid had seen Ja¡¯far¡¯s magic and the Seer of the Sand¡¯s apocalyptic warning. Beneath Ja¡¯far¡¯s shemagh, his skin had begun to perspire, his sweat causing him to feel itchy in his beard, under his armpits, in his groin. Wearing lighter clothing in the desert, where temperatures could freeze in minutes and sand could strip flesh from bone, would have been unwise. The Seer had warned him to stay protected. Only now that he was here, where a strangeness overwhelmed him, did he understand that there was more to the Seer¡¯s warning that he had foreseen. Midnight would soon be upon them. There was no time to discuss daevas. ¡°They¡¯re afraid,¡± Navid said. ¡°There are terrible, evil things out here.¡± The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°There are,¡± Ja¡¯far responded. ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯re here.¡± He turned around, gazing at the night-shrouded desert where dunes rose like colossal waves in a black, wrathful, and tumultuous ocean. Ja¡¯far sensed the eerie presence of magic enveloping them, unlike any he had encountered before. This was dark magic. It flowed around them, a buzzing vibration in the air, that emanated from within the sand. He looked over Navid¡¯s shoulder to observe the eleven other guards as they peered into the desert with a dubious countenance, then to his assistant, Iago. Iago had dismounted his horse and was padding the inside of a satchel to hide and protect the artifact they had come for. With some encouragement and reassurance, the guards, supposedly the finest in the kingdom, remained dubious but complied with Navid¡¯s orders. Iago brought with him the satchel made of a strong oryx hide lined with wool and silk and stood one shoulder behind Ja¡¯far. ¡°The moon is new and the night wears on. We haven¡¯t but an hour ¡®till midnight,¡± Iago warned. He shuffled by. If a rhinoceros was ever bumbling, Iago was preposterous. He was hefty at the waist and chest with short, stubby legs that bowed slightly at the knees which caused him to shuffle wherever he went. His rugose face was lousy with pockmarks and the shape of his head was like that of an autumn gourd. Despite his unsightly appearance and raspy voice, his bumptious mien seemed a better fit for a handsome intellect who possessed an abundance of wealth and an inadequate supply of modesty. ¡°Should you not find it, there is another way,¡± Iago¡¯s voice trailed up at the end in a way that indicated he was anticipating Ja¡¯far¡¯s piqued curiosity. The princess, known for her discerning nature, had once again declined a suitor. The ibn il-homaar, unlike the previous one, had left for good after her rejection, signaling a shift in Agrabah''s political landscape. Ja¡¯far regarded Iago with a mix of curiosity and disdain. It resonated with Ja¡¯far that Iago would mock the princess''s latest suitor, calling him the son of a donkey. The prince was a man with uncouth behavior much like his father, the King of a minor African kingdom. Iago chuckled, ¡°That ravenous little beast of hers sank its teeth into his rear end and almost ripped his leg off. King Donkey will certainly have a fit.¡± Ja¡¯far scoffed at Iago, a gesture of disdain. ¡°Do not dare suggest my failure, you wretched being, or I will hand you over to the deava¡¯s and witness them rid you of your pitiful existence. The Seer of the Sands has guided me to this place. The Seer is never wrong.¡± ¡°We have but one hour,¡± Iago said again with more urgency. Ja¡¯far lowered his head, the shadows deepening in his dark amber eyes. ¡°Mark my words, your eagerness will wane when the hour strikes, and the true peril reveals itself.¡± The guards stood in a tense silence, their gaze fixed on the encroaching darkness that enveloped the desert, almost as if the night itself crept closer with a curious hunger for intruders. They shifted their weight restlessly, some instinctively reaching for the hilts of their scimitars, poised for any sudden threat that might emerge from the shroud of darkness. As several tense minutes slipped by, a sharp metallic echo pierced the air¡ªa swift whoosh followed by a stifled, ominous gurgle, shattering the stillness of the night. The guards looked around, each of them withdrawing their scimitars while their wide eyes searched among themselves, ten of them in count. ¡°Where¡¯s Malek?¡± a guard asked. The guards looked to where the missing guard had been standing among them when the metallic swipe of the blade sounded from behind them. ¡°Tevo?¡± Nine remained. Their hands trembled. Beads of sweat formed on their face. They swiveled about defensively in half-circles like a flock of flamingos worrisome of predators rather than properly skilled Agrabaian palace guards. Navid''s hand rose, commanding the men to hold their breath and stand motionless, as he glided through them like a coiled asp, poised to strike at the faintest hint of disturbance. It had been dismembered in a single clean swipe. Beside the leg, Malek''s severed head lay, still blinking, its mouth opening and closing as if warning them of what was to come. ¡°Sand furies!¡± cried one of the men. And then there were eight men remained, facing the looming threat of the sand furies. The Seer of the Sands The fury materialized from a cloud of swirling black tendrils. Its lean, slender body pirouetted into existence. Long, sturdy legs spun out. Her lean, slender body pirouetted into existence. Her eyes shimmered like a beetle¡¯s back under the midnight moon. The guard standing on Navid¡¯s left opened his eyes wide in confusion, unaware that his leg had been cleanly severed at the kneecap. Only when his hands darted out for support and found nothing in the air did he topple to the sand, unleashing a pain-filled shriek. The sand fury was already gone. Navid and the other guards spun about in search of the whirling dervish, their scimitars raised. Sand furies were a type of dervish that had been known to be the spirits of slaughtered desert dwellers and nomads who had been granted the power of resurrection by a force unknown to the living world. According to legends told by Ja¡¯far¡¯s Mystic, sand furies were said to live in cities both on and beneath the sand, in a realm invisible and unreachable to the living. In their spirit world, they exhibited wild ecstatic movements, dancing to enhance their agility in battle and executing flips and dives faster than the human eye could follow. Combat with sand furies was a swift ballet, accompanied by mocking laughter between strikes. In death, they were granted protectors of possessions and loved ones that had been wrongfully taken from them in life. Being reincarnated as a sand fury offered the opportunity to deliver justice. To the living, they were fatal nuisances. For Ja¡¯far, it signified that his long-awaited treasure was within reach. What he had been searching for since a dozen years ago could only be located at his feet, beneath the sand. A place where he could not reach, no matter how many men he recruited. From six inky vortices, six furies appeared. Male and female, their black-as-night naked bodies spun from the depths of the netherworld to pierce the men¡¯s flesh with their blades. They were vicious, otherworldly things, their bodies made of neither solid nor gas. The men wore only turbans on their heads adorned with ibex horns, symbolic of the treasure god, and the women wore veils across their mouths to hide their serrated teeth. They spun and danced a vicious ballet of teeth and swords as they sliced the neck arteries of the sultan¡¯s guards, bleeding them until the desert turned red. Ja¡¯far witnessed the gruesome demise of each man, one after another. One guard even dragged his scimitar across his own throat to avoid disembowelment. Iago darted towards his horse, beckoning Ja¡¯far to follow suit in haste. Uncertainty clouded Ja¡¯far''s mind, his hand trembling as he contemplated his next move. Despite commanding the mightiest army in the realm, Ja¡¯far stood aghast as these formidable warriors were swiftly turned into dismembered corpses before his eyes. He watched in awe until Navid enveloped Ja¡¯far''s slender frame in his muscular embrace, lifting him onto the horse with ease, like a fragile puppet. Navid held the reins and gave the horse a hard kick as Ja¡¯far held on tightly. Navid shouted for Ja¡¯far to take the reins. Ja¡¯far stretched both arms around Navid, grabbing the reins to guide the horse, while Navid turned to face him, bringing them eye to eye. With the reins relinquished, Navid seized the opportunity to wield his sword and drive it into the advancing fury¡¯s head. The fury dissipated in a swirling black wisp, vanishing into the night. Ja¡¯far let out a bitter, defeated growl as he yanked at the reins, and together they sped off into the night, the weight of defeat heavy on their shoulders.
The following night, Ja¡¯far stood in mourning beneath a colorless crescent moon while waiting for the boat to arrive. A faint, ghostly light bathed the river Tigris, while a warm southern breeze whispered through the cattails and papyrus lining the sandy banks. Across the Arabian Empire, Ja¡¯far could see the flickering glow of homes lit by candlelight. Homes with families inside. Wives who¡¯ll lay awake in tears for many dawns to come and children who¡¯ll never know their father. "Deliver generous financial compensations and resources to the families of our men," Ja¡¯far commanded Iago as he pulled the boat from the reeds. ¡°Ensure they understand that their service to the kingdom of Agrabah and its citizens was invaluable. Make sure they know they are heroes.¡± On the opposite banks of the palace resided the enigmatic Seer of the Sands. Ja¡¯far had ordered Iago to guide a boat made of reeds woven with palm fronds for his journey across the river Tigris. Black snakes slithered through the water with them, moving sinuously like silent river guides. Their shiny bodies broke the surface, then slipped back under. Cats and ferrets hidden in the reeds perked up when they heard them approach, their watchful eyes catching the glow of the moon. Once , Ja¡¯far stood where the reeds thinned and the sand extended far into the night, blurring the line between land and sky. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Iago joined him after securing the boat, and together they traveled on foot to an isolated hut made of sandstone that had been built against the protection of steep, rolling hills. The interior of the hut appeared blue beneath the moon, and stars and shadows stretched across the austere single room. From inside, they appeared larger, built deep into the hills with a tall roof where petrified animals and bones, including ibex horns, hung from rope. A threadbare rug adorned the floor with three faded pillows. The only other piece of furniture was a large marble slab on which the seer had been resting. The elderly Seer was neither male nor female and didn¡¯t own a spec of clothing. The Seer, only to be identified as ¡®the Seer,¡¯ had a pair of breasts where breasts usually sag at such an age and, between the legs, a penis and set of flocculent testicles, also sagging low where testicles usually sag at such an age. A specific age was yet to be determined. In the years Ja¡¯far had known the Seer, the Seer had never aged or grew younger. In his studies, Ja¡¯far read stories that the Seer was not human but once a beautiful forest creature from a distant land that was said to have lived since the very first seed was planted by the first kiss of true love. The Seer was a creation by the desert spirit Gaszi, the King of Treasure, who lived in and guarded a cave known to most as the Cave of Wonder. ¡°You were supposed to help me,¡± Ja¡¯far said, hurt. ¡°Why would you do such a thing? I trusted you.¡± The seer opened its eyes, white as ivory, as they stared up at the ceiling. Though there was not a breeze in the air, the Seer¡¯s hair floated about its head as if submerged in a placid water. ¡°To see, you must un-see,¡± said the seer. Ja¡¯far noticed a body mirror behind a tattered cloth hanging from the stone wall. Was that always there? Ja¡¯far wondered. The mirror was a wide, rectangular shape made of beaten brass and polished smooth. When Ja¡¯far peered into his reflection, he saw his face and knew what the seer was asking of him. To see, you must un-see. Ja¡¯far stood prepossessing, hirsute beneath his dishdasha and cloak from his angular chest to his naval and around the pendulous appendage between his tall legs. A lustrous raven-colored beard adorned his long, sharp-featured face with hollow cheeks, thick brows, and a prominent nose. The seer wanted something from his body, but it wasn¡¯t his hair, his appendages, or his organs. Ja¡¯far winced. ¡°To see, you must un-see!¡± the seer hissed again. Ja¡¯far took a deep breath, feeling the cool night air on his skin, then raised his left hand and, with a shiver, pushed his fingers into his eye socket. He didn¡¯t scream like he thought he would¡¯ve, or if he did, he didn¡¯t hear it. All he heard was the ringing in his ears. Then screams. Thousands¡ªhundreds of thousands of citizens and visitors to Agrabah¡ªcried out at once. Like the sound of innumerous souls being torn from innumerous bodies. As he dug deeper and yanked his eyeball out with his bloody fingertips, the screams faded. Ja¡¯far gripped his eyeball within his fingertips and let it roll into his palm for the seer to see. The seer took the eyeball and shoved it greedily into his mouth, pressing down with its teeth. The eyeball burst, dripping a glob off the lip onto the breasts. When the seer swallowed, its ashy hair thickened. The skin around the jawline and neck tightened, the breasts rising up in sumptuous orbs. Between its legs, the penis grew long and thick, riddled with crossing veins as his testicles filled large, tight, and round. The color of its eyes went from a dull hazel to a glossy, sparkling emerald. Its muscles hardened, its torso thinned, and its hair, which Ja¡¯far had always considered an ashy blonde, surprisingly turned an effervescent blue with opalescent swirls of cerulean and turquoise, the color of peacock feathers. The seer swallowed the last of the goey drops of eyeball. ¡°Only one may enter the Cave of Wonders.¡± Ja¡¯far¡¯s temper flared. ¡°You may have been so good as to mention this before! Who is it? Who shall enter the Cave of Wonders?¡± ¡°The only one who can enter the Cave of Wonders is the one who can destroy it, Agrabah, and the entire realm,¡± the seer hissed. It caressed its newfound youthful body, taking extra time to admire its perky breasts and erection. ¡°It is the one who will destroy Agrabah.¡± ¡°Who is he?¡± Ja¡¯far demanded, growing impatient. ¡°A boy of the shadows. A street rat.¡± ¡°Who? What is his name?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know his name,¡± the seer said. ¡°I can see only that he is a street rat with no mother or father, from a poorly populated neighborhood, who had to learn the ways of Agrabah on his own. An orphan. A rat of the street.¡± Ja¡¯far glared at the seer. Harder and harder still, until the seer flinched. ¡°You believe it is Aladdin. Aladdin Baba is the diamond in the rough.¡± Ja¡¯far felt a tingle under his hands. He lifted them and saw that Seer''s smooth skin had aged a decade. Two decades. Three decades in a moment. Ja¡¯far stumbled back. The magic had been used. The seer was withered to the bone like a fig in the sun. ¡°Agrabah will fall.¡± ¡°You told me I could reach the lamp!¡± Ja¡¯far snarled. ¡°Ah, but you can,¡± replied the seer, ¡°but only once it is taken.¡± Now irate, Ja¡¯far cursed the withered seer. He rose and adjusted his turban before storming from the hut. Iago, who had been waiting outside, used his stumpy little legs to keep up. A few seconds later, Ja¡¯far, with Iago¡¯s help, sat in the boat as Iago pushed them off the riverbank. They drifted in the lazy river for several minutes as Iago made use of the reeds and a torn piece of fabric from his shirt to bandage Ja¡¯far¡¯s head wound. To help sedate Ja¡¯far, Iago had him ingest a medicinal powder made of desert flowers and herbs. ¡°You¡¯re asking the questions next time,¡± Ja¡¯far grunted. ¡°There are too many questions to answer,¡± Iago replied. ¡°Then I suggest you choose your words wisely, for the next time it may be your eye she takes. Or better, your tongue.¡± Ja¡¯far had learned magic many years ago and knew his sacrifice for knowledge could not be revoked. He¡¯d given his left eye in pursuit of Agrabah¡¯s future, a noble cause, and he had gained enough information from the Seer to find what he was looking for. ¡°You heard the seer,¡± Iago said. ¡°You can¡¯t enter the Cave of Wonders, so what are you going to do?¡± Ja¡¯far felt something like lightning course through his nerves. He had no choice but to do the unthinkable. ¡°I have to kill Aladdin. It¡¯s the only way to save Agrabah.¡± Chapter 6 - The Street Rat Aladdin Baba was taking a drag of opium as he fucked her. That¡¯s how he always fucked them, so he could see their faces and they could see his. His face was his best feature: caramel-smooth skin, a long jawline, high cheekbones, and warm, flirty eyes. Or maybe it was his sinewy chest or strong arms. Right now, it was his thick, unforgiving stone protruding from a thatch of dark, masculine foliage. It was almost too wide for her to take, and she moaned. He liked that. Then she¡¯d lose control, wetting his dick in waves of blissful orgasms, one after another, all night long, until dawn, when they finally collapsed on the bed, drenched in pheromones. He could smell her on him, like roses and frankincense. In the slickness of sex-sweat, Aladdin Baba rolled to his side for the hookah. This brothel had the finest opium. The buzz had been a good one. The luxurious hot pink, purple, and red silks lined with gold fringes that adorned the walls and vibrant greens and beiges of the fine couches never looked brighter, and the bed felt as if he¡¯d been fucking her on a cloud. She was the third girl tonight and had nicknamed her Labiwa, meaning ¡®lioness.¡¯ It was an extremely offensive insult used to describe a sexual woman, reflecting her fierce and bold nature. She had rightfully earned it. Plus, he didn¡¯t care to know her name. Yet she was the one he always came back to. ¡°Labiwa,¡± said Aladdin, ¡°perhaps we can bury the snake once more before I am forced to flee.¡± ¡°You are a primitive beast,¡± she responded. Labiwa was already out of bed and slipping on her embroidered morning dress. She reached with delicate hands for the golden blouse resting on the back of a chair. Aladdin smiled from the bed. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°It was not a compliment.¡± ¡°Then why did you let me in?¡± Aladdin said, and he slipped his hand up her thigh to where he could feel the brush of her pubic hair. His fingertips found the soft, hot opening, slick with their fluids, until she pushed his hand away. ¡°It was out of pity. It won¡¯t happen again.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what you said last time.¡± Aladdin grinned. He reached for the bowl containing figs on top of the side table and popped one into his mouth. ¡°Don¡¯t you have a home to go to?¡± Aladdin jumped from his bed. Still naked, he strolled with confident strides to the window, his semi-erect penis leading the way. ¡°Agrabah is my home.¡± From the third story, he could see across the city to the eastern wall of the golden palace. Aladdin, of half-Chinese and half-Syrian descent, had survived on the streets since he was five when his mother died. By six, he was an adept thief. It was how you survived on the streets. The need to survive forced him to be stealthy and even quicker with his escapes. His body grew strong by leaping across rooftops and swinging from fixtures and posts. No one loved Agrabah as much as he did. He knew it from every angle and tunnel as if it were his private lover, and he could slip through the darkness as if his muscles were made of shadows. As he grew from a child to a young man, he watched his city grow. Buoyed by extraordinary levels of immigration, the population of Agrabah exploded, setting the city land aflame with a property boom. Waves of more than ten thousand people seemed to arrive throughout the year in caravans, bringing with them more luxurious exotics to pilfer. No other place in Agrabah, with the exception of the brothel, bathhouses, the Round City, and of course the palace, was as luxurious as the south-east end known as Rusafa. Here rose the caliphal and Barmakid palaces, sylvan gardens, royal stables, markets filled with valuable foreign foods like Egyptian corn, public baths, cemeteries, and winding canals. Wealthy citizens worshipped at the mosques peacefully alongside Jacobite and Nestorian churches, and at night, music and other revelry from street performers from all corners of the world could be heard as far as Aladdin¡¯s distance neighborhood. Disguised, Aladdin could always find a way to blend in among the elite. When he was in disguise, he could, for one moment, pretend he was a member of Agrabah¡¯s finest. ¡°You are a street rat,¡± Labiwa told him. Aladdin disliked being called a street rat, but not as much as Labiwa hated being called Labiwa. Coming from her ruby lips, though, the street rat possessed a sense of endearing charm. ¡°I prefer to think of myself more as a diamond in the rough,¡± Aladdin responded. Labiwa rolled her eyes. ¡°A diamond? Does that mean you plan on paying me this time?¡± She crossed the room to gather the two scarves, one pink and the other gold, to complete her outfit. ¡°I¡¯ll give you all the diamonds I have,¡± Aladdin said. ¡°So, nothing.¡± Aladdin turned so that he faced out the window once more and placed his arms on the ledge. The smooth surface was hot from the blazing sun and gritty from the sand that blew in from the desert. Agrabah offered a breathtaking view no matter the time of day or night. Of course, like any city, Agrabah wasn¡¯t without its problems¡ªpoverty and crime have worsened since he was a kid, and the number of neighborhood militias has increased since the sultan¡¯s reign. Crime and Aladdin¡¯s name had become synonymous among the city guards and local merchants, but Aladdin was merely a petty thief, only stealing what he needed to live and nothing more. His crimes were many and small, more of a nuisance to the vendors than a dangerous threat. It was his charm and agility that had gotten him out of capture, but it was his charm and good looks that got him into the beds of many women. Some men would too if they provided him with food, jewels, and a bed to sleep in. ¡°One day,¡± Aladdin said with a sigh, ¡°I will have diamonds and rubies and all the gold you could ever need.¡± She couldn¡¯t help it, seeing Aladdin gazing across Agrabah with that dreamy, childlike wonder in his eyes. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. ¡°Oh, Aladdin.¡± She let her arms fall to her sides and crossed the room to kiss him on his bare shoulder. He smiled back at her. ¡°Then we can live a beautiful life together,¡± Aladdin said. ¡°We could travel across the whole world. We¡¯ll live happily ever after.¡± Labiwa shook her head. ¡°Aladdin, this isn¡¯t a fairy tale. This is Agrabah. There are no happy endings here.¡± Aladdin watched her pick up a jar of fragrance without feeling put off by her remarks. She didn¡¯t understand. Riches were for the rich, and life as a street rat did have its perks. Aladdin leaned out the window to see what caused a raucous sound on the street below. As a thief, Aladdin was always conscious and alert to loud noises, especially shouting. There was always a lot of shouting. Labiwa appeared beside him. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± A muscular guard with a thick neck, groomed facial hair, and arms so large he had to wear his sleeves rolled up intimidated a small, frustrated-looking trinket vendor that Aladdin had stolen from earlier this morning. The trinket was a porcelain elephant that he planned to sell in exchange for some stew and bread, but gave it to a little girl dressed in rags he¡¯d seen scrunched up into a corner at the edge of an alleyway. Her bare feet were blistered from the heat of the roads. With it, he told her to buy food and clothes and directed her to a vendor he trusted to look after her. The vendor Aladdin stole the trinket, raised his hand to indicate Aladdin¡¯s height, proceeded to gesture to his shoulders, the length of Aladdin¡¯s hair, and then pointed at the empty space on his cart where the trinket had been. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be such a free spirit all the time. What you did was very sweet, but now you¡¯d better get moving,¡± Labiwa advised. Aladdin snatched up his salwar, vest, and leather sandals. Dressed, he wrapped his arm around Labiwa and kissed her plump lips underneath the veil. He could still taste himself in her mouth. ¡°I¡¯ll see you tomorrow,¡± Aladdin said when he pulled back. ¡°I never want to see you again,¡± she replied. ¡°I¡¯ll be back at dusk.¡± ¡°Aladdin, please take care of yourself.¡± Aladdin kissed her again. From the bed, the other woman propped herself up. The sheets dropped off her breasts to her waist as she rubbed her groggy eyes. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± ¡°Aladdin was just going,¡± Labiwa said. And then she said to Aladdin, ¡°You¡¯d better hurry. The guards are not nearly as frightening as Mother should she catch you here.¡± Mother was what all the women called the burly, middle-aged woman who ran the brothel and looked after the women. Her husky voice was as subtle as a drunken elephant and just as equal in body mass, with a fat nose on her pushed in face. The thought of Mother catching him motivated him to go to the side window, where below was a canvas awning that he could land on before slipping behind a stack of wooden crates. Behind the wooden crates he kept a burqa, a disguise that proved useful often. ¡°They¡¯ve had enough of you. it seems. Look.¡± Labiwa pointed out the window. Aladdin returned to the window and saw five guards approaching the brothel. They knew he was here, Aladdin realized. "Clearly, they are not fans of Aladdin Baba. All this over a little toy elephant?¡± ¡°Quickly! Make haste!¡± Labiwa was urged urgently. Aladdin went to the other woman in the bed, cupped her right breast, kissed her mouth, and then returned to the window. One leg was already out when Labiwa stopped him. She held out her hand. In her palm, she offered him three gold coins. They were enough to buy his way out of trouble if it came down to that, plus food to spare. ¡°I knew you cared about me,¡± Aladdin said in an I-told-you-so manner. He pursed his lips for a kiss from her. Instead, she gave him a gentle shove out the window. Aladdin slipped down the angled roof, landed on the canvas awning, and rolled off into a cart of wool. By the time Aladdin removed himself from the wool and cart, Mother had answered the guard¡¯s knock. Her red face bulged, and her pudgy eyes squinted in disdain. She shouted with a booming, mannish voice that Aladdin could hear from around the corner. The guards appeared equally irate, all of them flapping at their mouths. Mother¡¯s chin wobbled, and her breasts, giant pendulous things, lumbered side-to-side as she shook her fists. One of the guards drew his scimitar and impaled her. Screams rose from within the brothel. Among the voices were Labiwa¡¯s, urging them to return to their rooms and lock the doors. Mother had been impaled but hadn¡¯t fallen down right away. Even fatally wounded, she was stubborn. She opened her bloody mouth and pressed her tongue between her lips to make a flatulent sound, a most insulting gesture in Agrabah. The guards at the door appeared more shocked than angry and were probably not used to being treated with such disrespect¡ªespecially by a woman. A woman of matched size and strength. A woman who could¡¯ve easily pummeled at least two at once. Even with the sword stuck in her, Mother swung her heavy, trunk-like arms at the largest guard and grabbed him as if she were starving and he was a plump autumn roast. A quick flick of her wrists, and the guard¡¯s neck snapped. The guard stood for a brief moment. His head remained turned and cocked to one side with his left eyelid half-closed and the other dull eye looking off in another direction. Mother reached out once more for the next guard, whose expression was pulled tight in a mixture of terror and shock. She would¡¯ve snapped his neck too if the third guard hadn¡¯t slipped behind her and drew his scimitar across her throat. Even on the way to her knees, she fought, clawing at their skin and biting his arms. Her teeth breached the soft flesh of his wrists, and she chewed at the tendons underneath. The line of red ribbon around Mother¡¯s neck spilled down the front of her clothes as the light from her eyes faded, and though she collapsed dead on the stoop, her body seized, her jaw still locked tight on his arm. The street was in uproar as the guards confronted the brothel. The remaining guards had run toward the palace, screaming that they had seen the devil¡¯s fury in her eyes. People pushed and shoved one another as they fled, and vendors fought off the impoverished as they attempted to steal the goods that had fallen from the damaged carts. Aladdin heard the girls sobbing in the brothel. He wanted to check on them to console them, but there were still other guards nearby terrorizing the citizens as they searched for him. Aladdin had seen many murders in Agrabah. Some occurred during drunken fist fights, others from street gangs, vendors defending themselves from thieves, women who had been beaten to death by their husbands, and women who had offed their husbands for jewels. There was something disturbingly nostalgic about this murder and the chaos. Something made his face twist into a frown and his skin tingle. As he looked up at the window, he realized why this chaotic scene felt so familiar to him. The window he had crawled out of was the same window where he had once eaten the figs he had stolen just before the guards murdered the vendor¡¯s family in front of their innocent child. What happened to that poor boy? Did the guards catch him? Did he die of starvation? Was he sold into slavery like so many others? When he looked back, he saw a repulsive man with a fat nose and bulging, lazy eyes shove a canvas bag over his head. Chapter 7 - Over the Palace Wall ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡° The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡°