Prince of Persia 1. Spoils of war

**Disclaimer: **If I owned PoP I wouldn't be writing fanfics but designing the third game.

**Author's note: **Don't worry about the confusing start. It's just for the effect. You'll understand the meaning later, so stick with me and please review if you want to know what happens next.

**Episode I : "Spoils of war" **

"_It all started on the day that I died._

_If there had been an obituary, it would have described the unremarkable life of an unremarkable woman, remembered by no one._

_But there was no obituary, because the day that I died was also the day that I really started to live."_

It was still early in the afternoon but the sky was frighteningly dark. And yet the air was more dry and suffocating than ever, baring no signs of an upcoming storm. It was as if the Gods themselves had stoke a curse upon those who on that day had decided to turn a once magnificent and flourishing plain into a horrific battlefield. The sweet scent of blooming flowers had been replaced by the sharp smell of death and rivers of blood flowing between the feet of the soldiers seemed to bring from beyond the cries of those who had been slain there, and their bodies left at the mercy of nature's predators.

The now matured Prince of Persia, mounted on his white stallion, holding the reins in one hand and his eagle-sword in the other, was leading his troops into battle. They rode up a hilltop and stopped there at the Prince's command. He surveyed the valley before him and saw another legion of enemy soldiers approaching. They seemed to be charging right at them, hopping to strike hard at their enemy's defense, using a full-force frontal attack. Despite the inappropriate situation, the Prince was unable to prevent the right corner of his lips from twitching into a faint smile at the sight of their rash decision and underestimation of their opponent. They had been undoubtedly fooled by the rather small number of soldiers standing to the Prince's left and right, when twice as many Persian soldiers as well as small troops of foreign mercenaries waited behind the Prince, on the other side of the hill, where the enemy's eyes were unable to reach.

The Prince turned to his left, where his right hand man and most trusted officer, general Markug stood mounted on his dark-brown stallion, awaiting orders from his commander. After receiving them, he turned to three other mounted officers behind him and passed on to them the Prince's instructions.

"My lord, the soldiers are moving into position just as you ordered."

"Than it is time to attack," he told Markug after which he raised his voice and shouted so that all of the soldiers around him could hear. "Men, ready your weapons," and the soldiers did as such. "For Babylon," he shouted even harder as he urged his stallion down the hill, swinging his sword through the air. In a matter of seconds the Prince's battle cry was on every soldiers' lips and the peaceful valley was shaken by their deafening roars as they descended the hilltop to confront their rivals.

When the two armies met the impact was so great that it made it seem as though the very moon had fallen form the sky and smashed against the earth. The soldiers pushed into their enemies with fury and hatred, madly swinging their swords, axes, clubs or daggers, taking pleasure in ripping the flesh of their opponents and throwing them out of their way one by one, while cutting their way through the forest of people. For a few moments the battle seemed really tensed for the Persians and their opponents were under the impression that their victory was certain, until more and more Persians seemed to be appearing out of nowhere. That is when the enemy soldiers realized that their foes had surrounded them from every direction.

The Prince had marched into battle only with his pedestrian troops, while the two legions of cavalry and the troop of mercenaries had been ordered to go around the battlefield and encircle it, forming a human barrier around the enemy army. Now that the entire Persian army had joined the fight the enemy was clearly outnumbered and it wasn't long before only the bravest of the rival army remained alive, desperately trying to change the outcome of a battle they had clearly lost.

The Prince had fought bravely along his men, to whom he was a true model, a hero and a living legend even, just like his father and older brothers had once been to him. He managed to stay on his horse almost halfway through the battle when he was forced to jump off it in order to avoid several spears that had been thrown in his direction. The sudden gesture made him trip instead of landing on a safe position on the ground and this filled him with rage.

Clenching the handle of his sword in fury, he raised his eyes from the ground and looked in the direction from which the spears had come. He took out his other sword that rested against his left hip, attached to a belt that went around his waist, and started running towards two enemy soldiers that continued to throw spears at him. To their amazement, he was advancing with great speed, easily dodging every spear thrown in his direction by sliding past them with great accuracy and determination. He found himself in front of them just as they each raised a spear, preparing to throw it, throwing himself forward and landing before them in a crouched position, with one leg stretched backwards to maintain balance. While he did so, he pointed his swords forward and as he landed, each sword was impaled into the abdomen of one soldier. He then quickly proceeded in bringing his extended leg forward as he stood up, simultaneously raising the two swords, slitting the upper body of each soldier in half in doing so.

Hardly had he disposed of the two men when a dozen arrows were shot in his direction. Hearing the sound they made as they cut through the air, flying towards their pre-established destination, the Prince turned just at the right moment and was able to easily block the attack using his two swords. Once again, he started running fiercely towards the man who was responsible for the attack. The man kept firing arrow after arrow and at times even two at once, but the Prince was unstoppable. As he ran faster and faster he used his sword to cut through the shower of arrows, leaving behind him only useless pieces of wood. Seeing the rage in the Prince's eyes as he came closer to him, the soldier was unable to stay focused and the slightest distraction cost him his life. As he saw the prince approaching he started moving backwards, until his heel smashed into something which made him turn his head in that direction for a fraction of a second. But that was more than the Prince needed to run up at him, kicking his chest and pushing against it in order to jump up and over him. While in mid air, the Prince swung his powerful eagle-sword, struck the man in the center of his skull with it and sliced him vertically in half while landing behind him.

The two halves of the man's body fell to the ground in opposite directions as a stream of blood spilled from within him, splashing into a huge puddle on the ground. Drops of blood sputtered on the Prince's already dirty face and lingered along his temple, cheeks and neck. The enemy soldiers near-by stopped for a few seconds and simply stared in amazement at the Prince and at the disfigured body lying on the ground. Taking advantage of the situation, the Prince began to swing his swords and slash to his left and right, bringing down each enemy with a single but very powerful blow.

He used one sword to block the attack of a soldier and push his weapon away, while with the other sword he sent his head flying to the ground. Without taking any pauses, he flipped the sword with which he had decapitated the soldier and pushed in backwards into the body of another attacker. He had no time to take it out when he was forced to block with his other sword yet another attack. He kicked the man away and abandoned one of his swords in the body of the man he had recently slain only for a brief moment during which he needed a free hand to catch a dagger that he had kicked upwards from the ground with one foot and throw it at the neck of the soldier that had last attacked him.

He then retrieved his other sword and proceeded to slay other attackers. When the enemy army had been visibly diminished and the remaining soldiers could be taken down even by the less experienced Persian warriors, the Prince started looking for the commander of the troops, the one who had initiated the attack, to settle things once and for all. However, he had no such luck as Markug informed him that the enemy leader had managed to flee the battlefield as soon as he realized the Persians had surrounded him.

"Damn coward," the Prince spat out with rage.

**One hour later … **

Darkness had fallen like a thick veil over the plain and with it, a feeling of relief and tranquility seemed to have settled among the Persian soldiers, or at least among the remaining Persian soldiers. The battle had ended bringing victory to the Persian army, but the war was far from being over.

The Prince made his way along a pathway through the tents of their encampment, lit by numerous torches, heading towards his own. The leader of his troop of mercenaries caught up with him, finding it difficult to hide his admiration for the Persian ruler, despite the fact that he was of a different nation and fought only for money.

"You are as fearless as a god," he told him.

"The gods are immortal. What could they possibly fear?" came the Prince's wise but also a bit sarcastic answer.

"I am honored to go to war with you," the man continued and the Prince looked at him and nodded with a smile while shaking his hand.

As the Prince approached his tent he was greeted by Markug.

"My lord, we have captured the one responsible for our previous inconvenience."

"Good. I hope this was the last traitor we had among us."

"Actually, my lord, this person is not one of us."

"Who is it then?"

"We don't know."

"What do you mean? Haven't you questioned this person already?"

"Given the circumstances, we figured you might want to question this supposed traitor yourself."

Saying nothing more, Markug held open the tent flap. The Prince looked at his general for a moment before entering the tent. He curiously scanned the surroundings and was very surprised to see a woman sitting on the ground near a wooden pillar that supported the tent, her hands being tied to it. She was wearing a long, sleeveless, white dress with a golden cord tied around her waist and her wavy raven hair reaching half way between her shoulder and elbow. But her back was turned to the entrance of the tent and the Prince could not see her face.

"This woman is your traitor?" he questioned Markug looking quite irritated. "Take her out of here, you know I am in no mood for this."

"But you haven't even seen her yet. She is a rare beauty and by the looks of her robs, she must be royalty. It would be a shame if I gave her as an entertainment for the men."

"If you care so much for her why don't you take her then?"

"You know I have a wife waiting for me at home whom I could never betray, but you need this. Relax, and enjoy. We can win this war, I give you my word," Markug placed one hand on the Prince's shoulder, telling him what he knew he wanted to hear, after which he left, leaving his commander to get acquainted with his new guest.


	2. The traitor

**Author's note: **Many thanks to all those who reviewed this story of mine. I know the first chapter had a couple of flaws but that was because I'm not a native English speaker and also because I wrote it between 9 o'clock in the evening and 3 o'clock in the morning and I didn't reread it before posting it.

This time however I tried to be more attentive and make fewer mistakes, but if you happen to spot any, please mention them to me because this is a perfect way for me to improve my knowledge of the English language.

**Episode II : "The traitor " **

The Prince stood still for a moment, contemplating Markug's words, after which he started walking to the left side of the tent, towards a small table where a large bowl filled with warm water and some clean towels had been prepared for him. He had so many things on his mind that for a few moments he completely forgot about the woman tied to the pillar on the other side of the relatively large tent. After washing off the blood and dust from his face and arms, he finally took notice of the woman and approached her.

"What is your name?" he asked, not knowing what else to say, especially now, when he had no desire to discuss anything with anyone, unless it was a matter of great importance.

The woman slowly raised her head and turned to look at him.

Truth be told, he had a bit of a shock upon seeing her. He had expected to see a young, frightened girl, trembling and pleading him with tears in her eyes not to hurt her, just like the majority of girls captured as slaves in times of war.

Instead, he met the cold and piercing glance of a woman who, although seemed to be young in years, looked matured, and experienced in the ways of the world.

Another curious thing was her very dark eyes, whose shape was outlined by a black line, in the same way Egyptian women outlined theirs, resembling to a certain extent a cat's eyes, an animal worshipped as a demi-god in The Kingdom of The Pharaohs.

"You can't rape me without knowing my name?" she shocked him yet again, speaking on a very serious and emotionless tone.

"Why do you think I would do such a thing?" he responded with another question, on his own serious tone.

"I am prisoner in a camp full of men who haven't been with a woman for a very long time. What else could I be useful for?" she asked, smirking ironically.

The Prince didn't respond, but stared at her for a moment, after which he pulled out a knife from his belt and came closer. She was able to appear indifferent although his unknown intentions startled her. To her surprise, he kneeled behind her and cut the ropes that were bounding her hands to the pillar.

"You're not a prisoner and are free to leave whenever you wish," he told her while making his way to the right side of the tent where there was another, much bigger table with a couple of maps spread all over its surface.

"With this war going on, no road is safe for travelling," she reminded him, this time with a milder voice, as she stood up and removed the pieces of rope from around her wrists.

"That's not my problem," he responded with his back turned to her.

"That would have been an appropriate answer only if I had come here willingly, which is not what happened."

Hearing this, the Prince stopped examining the maps on the table and looked at her questionably as if her previous words had been meant to insinuate something.

"One of my generals told me you were the one who revealed the location of our army to the Syrians. I didn't believe him at first but now that idea doesn't seem so implausible anymore."

"Your general was right."

"How could you do this, betray your own people? Because I assume you are a Babylonian."

"Was. My ties to the world of mortals have been cut long ago. I am a servant of the gods now."

"You are a priestess?"

"Yes."

"And do the gods tell you to bring death and destruction upon the kingdom they protect?"

"I don't serve any of your gods, but the Egyptian goddess Bast."

"Why would you choose to serve a foreign god?"

"It is the goddess who has chosen me, not I her," she answered with a faint smile, appearing to be greatly pleased with the idea, in which it was clear that she strongly believed.

At this point the Prince had to admit to himself that the woman's fanatical beliefs made his brain reel, so he decided to change the subject as soon as possible not wanting to engage in a pointless conversation about religious beliefs.

"No matter what god or goddess you choose to worship, you are still a citizen of Babylon and here treason is punished by death."

"Are you going to kill me then?" she smirked.

"I should," the Prince tried to sound menacing, not liking the woman's defiant attitude.

"I'd like to see you try," she responded without thinking twice, this time wearing the same serious and emotionless expression she had worn when she first greeted him.

He simply stared at her for a few moments, being quite amazed at her bold answer and great self-confidence.

"Do you truly believe your goddess will protect you against all evil?"

"Bast has taught me to protect myself against evil."

"Right …... "

"I am not asking you to believe me."

"This is getting nowhere. Leave the gods aside for a few moments and tell me why did you do it."

"I had no choice. We, the worshipers of the goddess Bast, have a very small community in Babylon and we cannot let it perish. The Syrians invaded the temple of Bast with the intention of taking everything and everyone as spoils of war and then destroy whatever remained inside. I threw myself at the Syrian leader's feet and begged his mercy. Fortunately, he accepted my offer and left as soon as I told him what he wanted to know."

The Prince looked at her very intrigued, not because of what she was saying but because of the way in which she was saying it. In an instant, her entire personality seemed to have changed and she had become the frightened girl he had expected to meet when he first laid eyes on her. No traces of the confident and defiant woman he had been used to could be seen and she was now trembling as she spoke, while actual tears seemed to appear at the corners of her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she spoke on a mild tone while gazing into his eyes with a look that asked for forgiveness.

"It's all right. It doesn't matter any more," he finally spoke, as he came closer and put his hand on her shoulder, hopping to comfort her. "You will be safe here and as soon as it is possible I will have some of my most trustworthy men escort you back to the city. Now come with me."

He walked in the direction of the small table with the bowl of water and towels resting on it, and stopped a few paces to its right, where there was a curtain that seemed to serve as a door to another room within the large tent. The woman followed him and then entered the smaller room when he held the curtains aside and motioned for her to go in.

Inside there was a beautifully carved wooden table to the left, with a lot of food and drinks laid on it, surrounded by many cushions, serving as chairs, the table being a low one. Around the table there were a few props holding lit candles and the floor was covered with beautifully designed Persian carpets. To the right, there was a relatively large bed covered with many small pillows -of almost all colors and designs- and surrounded by golden silk drapes.

"You can sleep in my bed," the Prince informed her without thinking his intentions might be misunderstood.

"You changed your mind about taking advantage of me?" she turned her head towards him in a very swift movement, obviously having switched again to her previous personality.

He watched her intrigued and wondered whether she was doing it on purpose or was possessed by some sort of demon, that could very well be, metaphorically speaking, the result of her unquestionable belief in the existence and power of the divinity she worshipped.

"I'm not going to stay with you. In fact, you will see very little of me or any of my men during your stay here. Some servants will come every day to bring you food and attend to your needs, but apart from that this tent is all yours."

Saying nothing more, the Prince turned to leave, but was stopped by the woman's statement.

"You shouldn't have so much confidence in people you barely know."

"Who says I do?" he immediately responded before exiting the room.


	3. Haunting memories

**Author's note: **Guess what I found out? There's a city in nowadays Afghanistan called …… FARAH! Also, in Arabian "FARAH" means JOY.

Btw, thank you so much for your reviews!

**Episode III : "Haunting memories" **

After his chat with the priestess who had claimed to be the traitor they had been looking for, the Prince made his way across the encampment towards the second largest tent in the area, belonging to his most trustworthy man and also very good friend, general Markug. As he stepped in quietly he noticed Markug standing in front of a round table, studying some maps and most likely making future battle plans. With one hand resting against the table and the other rubbing his forehead, he looked as though he was concentrating upon something, but was unable to come up with a good solution no matter how hard he tried.

Markug was a relatively good-looking man, sharing the typical features of a common Persian male: tanned skin, dark hair tied at the back in a braid, and dark eyes, unlike the Prince's, whose clear blue color amazed everyone who saw them. The military uniform he wore was the traditional Persian one, similar to that which the Prince had worn when he was younger, the only difference being the colors. He had a yellowish-brown, long sleeved blouse with traditional patterns outlined by simple red lines, and golden circular stripes around the collar and cuffs. The blouse, which was relatively long, reaching down half way between his waist and knees, was tightened to his middle by a brown leather belt, which also held his sword on the left side. Of the same color and material were his boots, while his pants were dark-red.

Although he was still young, the stress and pains he had endured, as well as the many battles he had fought in his life, made him look a bit older than he actually was. He was now 36, being ten years older than the Prince. One reason for which the youngest son of King Sharaman and he had become good friends was that the King had entrusted him with initiating the little Prince into the art of combat, since his skills were very promising and he was also the son of a nobleman from the court.

"I thought you said we can win this war," the Prince spoke as he approached the table next to which Markug stood. He told him this because he saw him looking very concerned, whereas less than half an hour before he had been quite confident in his belief of an ultimate victory of the Persian army.

"I wasn't expecting to see you until tomorrow morning," he smirked.

"If you're referring to the woman, I have no plans with her besides sending her home as soon as possible. A battlefield is no place for a woman, especially a priestess."

"You're just going to let her treachery go unpunished?"

"What can I do? Have her tortured to death? Besides, from what she has told me, it seams that she had no choice but to tell the Syrians what they wanted to know."

"So she is the traitor after all?" Markug asked quite intrigued, as if it hadn't been he who had said that to the Prince in the first place.

"Why are you so surprised? Didn't you already know about this?"

"No, not really. I mean, the men did tell me something along those lines, but to be honest, I found it difficult to believe."

"Then why did you brought the woman to my tent?"

"I thought …… she would please you."

The Prince looked exasperated at Markug, but before he could answer, his eyes caught sight of a small piece of parchment lying on the table, appearing to bear the Persian royal seal.

"What is that?"

"A message from your brother," Markug explained while handing to the Prince the piece of parchment, the tone of his voice becoming more serious and his figure expressing the same preoccupation as before. "Apparently his campaign in the north is not going on so well. They suffered great damages and lost many soldiers."

"So I see," the Prince sighed with grief and regret, as the letter confirmed to him all that Markug had told him. "He is asking for at least four units of soldiers. Can we comply?"

"We have suffered many loses as well and at the moment I am still expecting word from the Mesopotamians. If they agree to ally with us, then we will be able to send some troops in the north."

"Can we trust the Mesopotamians? They were our enemies not long ago."

"Yes, but now they are at war with the Syrians and the Romans, and an alliance with Persia is all that could save them."

"Are the Syrians in alliance with the Romans?"

"Not that I know of. From what my sources told me, the Romans want to have control over Syria while the new Syrian king wants to establish his own empire."

"Foolish dreams for such a small kingdom."

"I thought the same, but what puzzles me is the huge army the king has at his command. Syria never had such a powerful army. He must have some really strong ally backing him up and we must find out who."

"So for now all we can do is wait for the Mesopotamian troops to arrive."

"And pray the Syrians aren't planning any surprise attacks."

"Yes, …… pray," the Prince spoke absent-mindedly, glancing at the letter from his brother he still held in his hand. "Let me know when our new allies arrive," he told Markug, before putting the letter back on the table and turning towards the exit of the tent. Markug thought about saying something back but the Prince's sudden depressive mood made him think twice before putting his thoughts into words.

As he stepped outside the tent and made his way past the two soldiers that were guarding it, the Prince tried to figure out what was happening to him. Deep in his mind, he knew the answer but he hopped it was something else this time, something simpler that he could understand. No such luck though. When Markug uttered the word "pray", it worked as some sort of spell upon him, bringing him back to reality.

For the past six years he had filled his time with countless hours of training, perfecting the skills he already possessed or developing new ones. He had fought many battles alongside his father until, eventually, when the king grew older and his illnesses prevented him from fighting his own wars, the Prince took the command of half of the Persian army. The other half of the army was under the command of one of the Prince's brothers -the oldest son of King Sharaman and also the future king.

The Prince had done all of this not only for his own amusement but hopping that keeping himself busy would help him ignore something that had been tormenting him for many years. He was not exactly a religious man but now he realized that praying was probably the only thing that might save him, since ignorance did not do him any good. He had grown to be a very courageous man and he wished to confront and destroy his fears, but how could he do that if he did not know what his fears were in the first place?

All that he knew is that it all started after the incident with the Sands of Time, when he was forced to reverse time and prevent The Sands from ever being released. Less than a year afterwards, he started to have weird dreams and even visions when he was awake. At the beginning nothing was clear but over the years the dreams turned into frightening nightmares. He was running like mad through a narrow, deserted alleyway of his own city. He felt overwhelmed with fear and knew that he had to keep on running but he did not know who or what exactly he was running from. At one moment he always turned and looked behind him, desperately wanting to know what or who was there; but all that he could see was a cloud of darkness enveloping everything in its path, coming closer and closer and in the end, enveloping him as well. Then was when he would wake up almost screaming, finding himself shaking with fear because of something he could merely remember.

"The dream is always the same. Every night the same dream, for six years. But why? What does it mean?" the Prince thought as he continued his walk, ignoring the fact that while being absorbed in his thoughts he had walked from one end of the encampment to the other. "If I go on like this for ever I'll go mad. I must discover its meaning and put an end to it once and for all. But where to begin?"

The Prince had no time for further analysis of his personal problems, when a soldier came running towards him, hardly catching his breath.

"My Lord, beg your pardon, but something very strange is going on."

"What is it?" the Prince asked concerned, remembering Markug's mentioning of a possible Syrian attack.

"Most sentries around the encampment have been slaughtered and yet there is no sign of any intruders."

"Awake the men and search every tent and all the surroundings. Whoever killed them did it with a purpose. Now go."

"Yes, my Lord."

After receiving orders from his commander, the soldier rushed to carry them out, while the Prince made his way back to Markug's tent. On his way he encountered a group of Persian soldiers armed and ready for battle, that would have passed him without even taking notice of their commander, if he had not stopped one of them.

"Hey, you," he shouted at one soldier who was walking behind the others, just as the group passed him by.

As the others went on their way, the man stopped, but did not turn to face the Prince. Instead, he kept his head bowed and looked at the Prince only from the corner of his right eye, as if he was afraid of being recognized.

"Yes, my Lord," he answered with a half-opened mouth.

"What is going on here? Who is attacking us?" the Prince demanded.

"We don't know, my Lord. We heard about the sentries having been killed and decided to search the area."

"Carry on then."

The man bowed his head before the Prince, but just as the latter turned to leave, he reached towards his sword with the intention of pulling it out, when he was stopped by another soldier.

"Not yet. You'll spoil everything," the man whispered and the other one obeyed, after which both of them went on their way.


	4. Higher purposes

**Author's note: **Love y'all who reviewed my fic. Couldn't have done it without you.

**Episode IV : "Higher purposes" **

After the Prince had left her alone, the priestess took her time to admire the beautiful surrounding of the small room she was in. Although not being pleased with her position as a prisoner she enjoyed very much the silk sheets and golden plates that were now at her disposal. She stretched down on the cushions surrounding the table and rested there for a few moments, doing nothing but admiring the colorful surroundings, after which she began tasting the delicacies that filled the plates laid on the table. When the plates were almost empty she finally got up and, without having anything better to do, she lay down on the bed.

She dozed away for almost an hour, when she woke up looking very startled around her, as if she had no idea where she was or how she had got there. She made an effort to gather her thoughts and eventually she managed to remember exactly how she had ended up in that place and for what purpose.

**2 days before …**

Troops of Persian soldiers were approaching a secluded temple, located at the foot of a mountain, not very far from the city of Babylon. Before the entrance to the temple stood two women, watching the soldiers who were still far away.

One of the two women was dressed in a combat attire, consisting of a short black leather skirt, with two large cuts on each side and a black leather top, her abdomen being exposed. Over her chest and shoulders she wore a light, armor who's purpose was also to hold the sword that she was carrying on her back. In fact, the armor she wore was more for the design rather than for protection, since it was rather small, following the form of the top, which had a large décolletage.

She had an ankle long black cloak, attached to the armor on her shoulders and to some silver bracelets that she had on her upper arms and wrists. A pair of black leather boots covered her legs till above her knees and around her waist she had a belt that held a small pouch, a beautifully designed dagger and a whip.

Her features were both delicate and harsh, showing that she was not only a sensual woman but also an experienced fighter. Her slightly tanned skin had a beautiful gold tone, her lips had a dark red shade and her eyes were completely black, as well as her hair.

The other woman was a few inches shorter, a bit more slender and with a paler complexion, but her hair and eyes were also dark. She was wearing a long, sleeveless, white dress with a golden cord tied around her waist and light brown sandals. She looked as old as the other woman, but not as mature, appearing to be rather sensitive and naïve. Nonetheless, she managed to suppress her fear upon seeing the Persian advancing towards them and spoke to the other woman as if with resignation.

"They have come for me and I must go with them willingly."

"Why do you say this? What could they possibly want from you?" the other woman asked surprised, as she was not yet aware of the situation.

"They are looking for their traitor, the one who revealed the position of their armies to their enemy, and that traitor is me."

"You? But how …… and why?"

"I overheard the Persian soldiers talking when they sought shelter here a couple of weeks ago. Soon after they left I noticed that a most sacred artifact was missing, so I assumed one of the soldiers must have stolen it. When the Syrians came I told them all that I had heard from the Persian. I did this to protect the temple but also because I hopped that the Persians would come to seek their traitor and once they had taken me to their camp, I would be able to retrieve the artifact."

"I admire your devotion but this is insane. Even if the Persians believe you are really the traitor and take you to their camp instead of killing you on the spot, how do you plan on finding the artifact if you do not even know who took it and assuming you are fortunate enough to find it, do you truly believe you will be able to escape with it?"

"I must try. There is no other way. We, the priestesses of Bast have sworn to protect her temple and all her earthly belongings with our lives, if necessary and the urn that has been stolen is the most sacred of them all."

"I can't let you go there, but I have an idea," the woman told the priestess, as she turned to look towards the soldiers that although still far away, were approaching very fast. "Are there any private chambers here?"

"Yes, but please understand that I must at least try."

"I promise you the urn will be returned. Now take me to the chambers."

Half an hour later when the Persians arrived in front of the temple and started climbing up the stairs towards the entrance, they came across a priestess who appeared to be waiting for them.

"We have been informed that a man we are looking for is hiding here," a higher ranked officer began, but was quickly interrupted by the woman.

"Your traitor?" asked the warrior woman who was now wearing the priestess's clothes.

"You knew who he is and still offered him shelter? Do you know you can be imprisoned, even executed for this?"

The woman did not respond and just stared at the man with a defiant smile on her lips.

"Search …… ," the officer began to give orders to his soldiers but the woman interrupted him for the second time.

"That won't be necessary. Your traitor is not inside."

"Where is he then?" the man demanded menacingly.

"Right in front of you," came her calm response.

As she had expected, the men all laughed, but after which they searched the temple and found no one except three other priestesses and some female servants they had no choice but to take as prisoner the woman who strongly claimed to be the traitor.

**Present time …**

Remembering all this made her wonder if the real priestess dressed in her clothes and riding her horse had managed to safely reach Babylon and go to the address she had given her. She also though about the urn she had to retrieve, a job she did not find all that easy since she did not know who took it or even what it exactly look like, as the priestess's explanations hadn't been so clear.

The woman got off the bed and started walking towards the red curtains that were meant to cover the entrance to the improvised bedchamber she was in. While she had been tied to the pole in the larger room of the tent, she had noticed various trunks laid around and she thought that perhaps the urn might have somehow reached the Prince's treasure chests.

She was just about to pull the curtains open when some terrible noises coming from the other side made her back away. It sounded as if there was a fight going on in there and she wondered whether the enemy troops had attacked the Persian encampment while she had been asleep. She peeked through the curtains when the noise had settled down a bit and to her surprise, she saw that four Persian soldiers had killed the soldiers who were guarding the tent –their own comrades.

"Why is he not here? Where is he?" one of the men, supposedly their captain, yelled furiously at the other tree.

"Over there! Look!" one man suddenly alerted the others, pointing towards the curtains behind which the woman was spying on them, as he had noticed some movement in that direction.

"Maybe it's him," another man said.

"Hiding?" the captain replied sarcastically.

When she saw the man pointing at her, the woman panicked and stepped back quickly, but then she calmed herself, she took a deep breath and all the fear in her eyes disappeared, being replaced by a cold, piercing stare. She lazily turned her head to look down at the table. Her eyes fell on the knife she had used to cut the meat and a wide grin appeared on her face.

While this was going on, a bizarre and chaotic situation had settled within the encampment: soldiers running frantically in every direction, bodies lying on the ground in pools of blood, arrows flying through the air. Yet another battle, one would say, but what made this particular battle be so out of the ordinary was that the Persians were fighting each other. No one had any idea what had been the actual cause. All that the soldiers knew was that some of their comrades-in-arms had gone mad all of a sudden and attacked them as if they were enemies. The soldiers did not want to harm their brethren, but when faced with the situation of kill or be killed, they chose to put their own lives ahead of everything else.

The Prince experienced this himself when he was about to enter Markug's tent; three Persian soldiers rushed upon him, ready to cut him with their swords.

"Wait! Why are you doing this?" he asked confused.

There was no response though, and the soldiers kept coming towards him with the clear intention of killing him. He did not want to hurt his own men but when he realized that it was hopeless to try and talk some sense into them, the Prince quickly took out the two swords he always carried with him, blocking their attack. He kicked the man in front of him in the stomach, smashing him against the ground, while with the swords he held in his hands he slashed the two soldiers standing on either side of him, producing severe cuts on their necks, which led to an almost instantaneous death.

Before he could even catch his breath, an axe flew past his right ear from within the tent, through the gap between the curtains that served as a doorway. He turned around and stepped inside, only to see more of his own soldiers starring at him with rage in their eyes, and Markug trying to fight off the ones who were attacking him.

The soldiers that were nearest to the entrance attacked him at once, but with a few rapid moves of the two swords, the Prince easily disarmed and afterwards killed them. Some more soldiers attacked and he ran to the pillar in the middle of the tent, to which he grabbed on and used it to spin around and kick several men directly in the forehead, rendering them unconscious. When he was back on the ground, one soldier tried to slash him with a sword from behind, but the Prince dodged the attack by flipping to one side. Before the man could realize what had happened, the Prince twirled in mid air and kicked him to the ground, after which he impaled one sword in the man's back, as the latter was lying disorientated on the ground.


	5. The night attack

**Author's note: **Once again, thank you all so much for your reviews.

**Episode V : "The night attack" **

When there were no more soldiers standing, the Prince turned to Markug who in the meantime had successfully overcome all those who had attacked him.

"What is the meaning of this? Has the world gone insane?" he shouted furiously, as if Markug was the one responsible.

"I am as shocked as you are. If the mercenaries we have hired rebelled against us it would have made more sense, but our own soldiers? When have we ever mistreated them?"

Markug had a slightly trembling voice when he spoke more in his defense, and the Prince regretted having shouted at him, knowing that Markug would never betray him. And yet, in this period of his life he found it difficult to trust even his most reliable subjects.

To apologize to Markug he didn't make use of words as he once did, but he just turned around and considered it enough apology simply not bringing up the subject again.

On the ground, the Prince noticed a soldier that he had rendered unconscious, and not killed, during the fight, who was now starting to wake up. He strode towards him, grabbed hold of his uniform, raised him up and slammed him against the support pillar in the middle of the tent.

"Who planned this? Give me a name!" the Prince demanded furiously as he grabbed the man by the neck and smashed his head against the pillar.

Although obviously in pain, the man grinned at him evilly and managed to say a few words while gasping for air.

"The …… one who …… will end your …… miserable existence."

Becoming more furious at the man's insolence, the Prince punched him hard in the face, making him fall to the ground. Once he was down he drew out the sword he carried on his back and was about to strike him with it when he was stopped by Markug.

"Don't kill him yet."

The Prince looked at him inquiring, once again as if he suspected Markug to be involved in the rebellion of the Persian soldiers. But the general spoke again allowing his commander no time to make false assumptions.

"Take a look at his wrist."

For a few seconds the Prince still looked at him suspiciously, but as Markug also approached the man, he directed his attention to what he was showing him.

"It's only a scar," the Prince replied as he saw the simple, reddish, winding line on the man's wrist, that Markug had accidentally noticed and was now showing to the Prince.

"Yes, but it is the scar of a wound made on purpose, as a sign of recognition. This man is no ordinary soldier, and he is definitely not a Persian. According to this mark, he belongs to a special unit of highly skilled assassins …… of the Syrian army."

"Syrians. Damn those people," the Prince cursed through gritted teeth. Then, he turned to the man lying on the ground. "Not much of a skilled assassin, are you?" he muttered before he drew his sword through the assassin's body just as the latter opened his eyes and watched with horror how the sword pierced through his body and blood spilled out.

"Maybe we could have got some information from him," Markug suggested.

"There are others."

Markug looked behind him and saw the men he and the Prince had fought earlier. Some of them were dead, others just unconscious. He approached them and examined their right wrists.

"They all bear the same mark. So this was their plan, to make us kill our own soldiers. Excellent strategy. If only I had fought of it," Markug spoke with regret and sorrow.

"What do we do now, if we cannot tell our soldiers and our enemies apart?" the Prince asked.

"I suggest we first find the men we know better, the high-ranked officers. We should gather as many of our men as possible before we find a way to deal with the intruders."

"Then we shall meet back here in half an hour," the Prince concluded and they both exited the tent, going in opposite directions.

**Half an hour later … **

The Prince and Markug had managed to gather about two dozen officers, a couple of soldiers and about twenty of the mercenaries working for the Persian army. Now they were all in Markug's tent, awaiting orders from their leader, after they had all been informed about the situation.

"I think I know how we can chase away the Syrians without having to kill any of our soldiers," the Prince informed the men. "We use their own strategy against them. On the two opposite hilltops on either side of our encampment there are about a dozen Syrian soldiers waiting to light a fire as a sign of retreat in case something should go wrong. We will divide in two groups and take hold of these strategic points. Once we are there, we will light the fire while some of you will ride through the camp announcing the retreat. Since all soldiers are wearing the same uniforms and it is also nigh time, the Syrians will obey the order, believing it is from one of their own. When the Syrians will be half way between our camp and the two hills, soldiers standing both on the hilltops and around the camp will fire arrows with flaming tips at them. If we are fortunate enough, we will kill them all and perhaps this will teach them once and for all that the Persian Empire cannot be defeated."

The men all cheered at the Prince's final statement and after that they began making the arrangements for their counterattack. When every details was set in place, the Prince and Markug each took fifteen soldiers and rode in the direction of the hilltops, after they had managed to leave unseen the encampment, where the battle was still on. Fortunately the gods were on their side that night and everything went according to plan. Both Markug and the Prince, together with their own group of men, surrounded the Syrian soldiers on both hilltops, eliminated them easily enough and set fire to the two large pyres that had been prepared beforehand. When the Syrians infiltrated within the Persian army saw the two fires and soldiers riding in every direction desperately announcing the retreat, they thought that something serious must be going on and immediately abandoned whatever they were doing and ran for their lives. Just as the Prince had hoped, they split into two groups and began ascending the two hills. When they had covered almost half of the distance, a shower of flaming arrows descended upon them from the hilltops. The ones who hadn't been hit instinctively turned the other way around only to be faced with the same situation, as the Persian soldiers from the encampment had been advised to do the same. The Syrians who had been fortunate enough to not lose their lives in the incendiary massacre soon met their doom when the Persians from the hilltops and from the encampment rushed at them, trapping them in the middle. A real army of Syrian soldiers had invaded the Persian camp that night and only a few men had lived to tell the tale –the ones who chose to run a way in a cowardly manner when things became too much for them to handle.

It was dawn when things had calmed down in the Persian encampment. Heavy clouds of smoke were rising on both hills from the fires that had settled down, the earth had turned red from all the blood, mutilated corpses were lying everywhere and the Persian soldiers were still bewildered from everything that had happened. The Prince left Markug to resettle order within the army and hurried to his tent as soon as he remembered that the Syrians had also come with the intention of murdering him and he had left the priestess all alone in his tent, where the assassins would be bound to search first. When he arrived, he saw the two guards lying dead before the entrance. Inside, the carpets that covered the floor where soaked in blood and more corpses were lying around. He bend down over one of the dead soldiers and examined his right wrist; the now familiar Syrian mark could clearly be seen. But there was something odd about this soldier: he was dead and yet there was no sign of any injury. The Prince turned him around, for the soldier was lying on his stomach and saw that a small knife had been impaled with great precision into his neck; and not any kind of knife, but a dinning one. This made him think again at the priestess and he quickly stood up and made his way to the small bedchamber where he had left her. Despite everything that had happened she didn't seem to have been affected in the least. He found her outstretched on the bed, playing with the fringes of a curtain above her head and looking quite absent-minded.

"Are you all right?" he asked concerned that perhaps the state she was in had been provoked by a trauma she might have endured.

"No, I am bored to death," she answered without interrupting her activity or even bothering to look at him.

"People were killed just behind these curtains," he informed her, astonished by her indifference. "You mean to tell me you don't know anything about this?"

"I only told you that I was bored."

"What happened here? Answer me!" he shouted and grabbed her chin, turning her head so that she was looking him in the eyes.

"How should I know? I slept most of the time, since there was nothing better for me to do."

"You slept?" he asked distrustfully, with faint irony. "What about the dinning knife impaled in the neck of one of the dead men?"

"Perhaps whoever killed him ran out of weapons."

"And you didn't see the one who came in here to take the knife, because I see no knife on the table?"

"Like I said, I was sleeping."

"Then why is your dress so dirty?" the Prince demanded when he noticed that the white fabric of her garment had brownish stains and sprinkles of blood around the part that covered her ankles.

"I went and looked around and since the floor was so dirty …… "

"Did you have anything to do with these men getting killed?"

"You think I killed them?" she laughed. "But I am just a poor, defenseless girl."

"Didn't you say your goddess taught you to defend yourself?"

"Oh, so you believe me now?"

"No."


	6. Dark reality

**Author's note: **Many, many thanks to my 3 faithful reviewers. I appreciate your support very very very much.

The purpose of the urn will be explained …… well, as soon as I figure it out myself. Hope to get to that soon enough, though.

Oh, and Hannah, the thing with the scars is my personal creation.

**Episode VI : "Dark reality" **

Giving one more suspicious look to the priestess whose attitude was really starting to worry him, the Prince exited the tent and ordered the two guards who had come to replace the ones who had been killed, to take the dead bodies out of the tent.

The sun was shining brightly that morning, the sky was blue and clear, with a couple of birds flying about, peacefully. Everything looked uncommonly calm, as if there was no war going on. The Prince was more than pleased with these moments of silence and he was grateful that the carnage had stopped for now, although he could not help it but feel proud for vanquishing the enemy in such an ingenious way.

The little that was left of the anxious and spirited young man he once was leapt up with pride and joy, thinking back at his victory. But none of these emotions could be seen on the matured Prince's face, which remained as serious and plain as ever, with his brows always frown and his vigilant eyes spying from behind the strings of untidy hair that fell on his face.

He was walking slowly across the encampment, not really having a target destination in mind, when he saw a group of men approaching on horseback. They were definitely not Persian, but, fortunately, they were not Syrian either, although there were certain similarities regarding their uniforms, and apparently they did not come to wage another battle.

Presuming they were the Mesopotamian troops they had been expecting, the Prince quickened his pace and followed them inside a big tent. This tent was undoubtedly the largest one in the encampment. Over the actual walls of the tent there hang drapes of different shades of blue and yellow, adorned with traditional patterns. A long dark-blue carpet led from the entrance to a larger, golden chair, similar to a throne, which stood on the opposite side of the tent. To the right there was a round table with maps on it and as he entered, the Prince saw a large number of Mesopotamian soldiers gathered around it.

Markug, who was the only Persian officer attending to the foreign visitors, saw the Prince standing at the door, but quickly looked in another direction when the Prince shook his head slightly, signaling him not to reveals his presence, since none of the Mesopotamians had noticed him arrive. Markug then turned his attention to the Mesopotamian general he was talking to, a tall, large man with a bushy light-brown beard that covered the lower half of his plump face. Over his left eye he had a deep scar, reminiscent of a really brutal wound, which prevented him from opening it, so he had to use only one eye in seeing. On his head he wore a red turban, with a yellowish line at the bottom and his uniform was similar to that of the men he was with: a simple, red-yellow tunic, black, loose pants, a brown leather belt adorned with metal spikes, used for carrying a sword, going around the waste and another one going diagonally across the chest, used for carrying a double-blade axe, on his back.

"The Mesopotamians are willing to accept an alliance with Persia, but only on certain conditions," the Mesopotamian general spoke loudly on a somehow brutal tone, as if he was the only one empowered to give orders.

"Very well, what are your conditions?" Markug tried to hide his uneasiness, not knowing if the Prince had decided to stand aside in order to observe the Mesopotamians' attitude or his negotiating aptitudes.

"First of all, each Mesopotamian soldier is to receive proper payment, according to his rank, for the duties he carries out at war. Secondly, the alliance between Mesopotamia and Persia goes only as far as the war goes. Once the enemy is defeated Persia shall no longer have any claims upon Mesopotamia, which will be an independent kingdom and not a Persian province," the general presented his demands firmly and again, rather brutally.

"Your demands are quite high, taking into consideration Mesopotamia's current situation," Markug remarked, feeling more at ease.

"Our demands remain the same. If you agree to them, the Mesopotamian troops will join the Persians in battle, if not, the Persians will have one more enemy to face in battle," the man stated imposingly and a bit irritated, almost shouting.

"Think about it, Mesopotamia needs more this alliance than Persia does."

"Yet, it is Persia who has requested the alliance."

"True, but we did it because Mesopotamia needs our help."

"Mesopotamia needs no help, especially from Persia. If this is your final word, than we shall fight in opposite sides on the battlefield. Any Mesopotamian would rather die fighting for the freedom of the country than submit ever again to the Persian rule," the Mesopotamian tried to change things to his advantage hoping his display of anger would confuse the Persian general and submit him to his will.

"Please, we have no intention of fighting against you, " Markug attempted to calm down the other general, fearing things might get out of control. "But understand that your demands are not that simple to comply with. The king alone can take this decision."

"Before you speak to your king, the Syrians will have already defeated you."

"The king agrees," came the Princes' voice from behind, and everyone turned to look at him, rather startled. "As Prince of Persia and commander of this army, I take the liberty of accepting your conditions on behalf of the king and the country."

"My lord," the Mesopotamian general bowed his head before the Prince, as did all the others who were with him. "Then we have a deal?" he spoke again, this time standing up straight and looking very proudly, with one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"We have," the Prince confirmed while he approached the table. "And tomorrow morning we'll fight the Syrians …… here," he informed them, pointing towards a certain point on a larger map, spread on the table, above many other.

"Shouldn't we wait for them to make the first move?" the Mesopotamian general asked with a daring that could get a soldier killed.

The Prince stared at him for a few short moments, obviously not content with his interruption, then he replied.

"We've all heard of stupid haste in war, but cleverness has never been associated with long delays. We attack the enemy when he's still weak."

Let us hope he is, Markug thought.

"As you command," the Mesopotamian responded, sounding neither pleased nor upset. "We have set up camp not far from here and tomorrow at dawn we shall join you on the battle field." And with that the men bowed their heads once more before the Prince, after which they turned around and exited the tent.

**2 days later …**

It was a couple more hours till dawn and everything was still enveloped in darkness, when the Persian troops slowly returned to camp after their latest confrontation with the Syrians. It had been a most bloody and gruesome battle, with many casualties on both sides, especially on the Persians' side. Nonetheless, surprisingly enough, the ones who suffered the greatest loses came out victorious in the end.

The Prince, though very satisfied with their miraculous victory, was more preoccupied with his own well-being, as he hadn't got a wink of sleep in more than four days in a row. He idly made his way inside his tent, walking with his head slightly bent down, his eyes half closed and his left hand pressing against his waist –on the same side–, as if trying to cover up something. He took out the swords he carried with him, threw them carelessly on the ground next to a weapon rack, and walked inside his small bedchamber. He approached the bed, with his left hand still pressing against his waist and his right one rubbing over his forehead and eyes, like someone who was making great effort to stay awake. Stretching his right hand forward he reached for the silk curtains and pulled them apart. He was about to lay down when he suddenly realized the obvious –the woman lying on his bed, starring right into his eyes– and grumbled furiously, cursing himself in his mind for having allowed her to occupy his tent.

"I was so curious to see how far you were intending to go," she told him playfully, but he pretended he didn't hear her and turned to exit the room.

"Don't go, there's enough room for both of us," the woman tried to sound serious, but then broke out into a mocking laugh.

The Prince walked to the other side of the tent, hardly standing on his feet, intending to lay somewhere on the ground and try to get some sleep there, when a strange whistling sound drew his attention towards the entrance to the tent. Curious to see what it was, he approached the curtains and watched how a strange wind was slowly moving them. When he took a few steps closer, the wind blew harder and the curtains were thrown violently upon him, as if trying to stop him from getting out. But as he retreated, the curtains kept dancing about more violently and all that the Prince could see behind them was a thick, dark fog.

Having a very bad feeling about this, he felt the need to protect himself and reached for the sword on his back, only to find that it was not there. Remembering where he had left his weapons, the Prince wanted to go and retrieve them, but just as he was about to turn to his right, something like four dark tentacles sprung forwards from the gap between the curtains and came upon him, going around him and through him.

When the tentacles went through his body he gave out a sharp cry of pain, feeling as if a thousand sharp spears had ripped through his flesh. With the little strength he had left he tried to fight whatever was attacking him and in a desperate attempt to escape he grabbed hold of two tentacles that had pierced his chest, right through his hard armor. Once again, he cried out in pain as touching the tentacles was like placing his hands into fire; and it was not an illusion, his palms being severely burned.

The Prince felt as though he was being lifted into the air, but it was not at all a pleasant sensation. It was like his very soul was slowly being sucked out of him, while his body experienced unimaginable pains. As he stood there helplessly –or floated, he couldn't really tell–, he managed to raise his eyes and look towards the black fog, which now seemed to start enveloping him as well. He saw two white, sparkling lights and heard a muffled roar, sounding very much like an evil laugh. He had a certain feeling that in any minute he would be pulled into the darkness before him, but to his surprise he found himself thrown to the ground and in a fraction of a second everything went back to normal. Lying on the ground, still in great pain, the Prince saw how his vision was gradually starting to go dim, and all that he could make out before going unconscious was a blur image of the woman running towards him.


	7. Divine remedy

**Author's note: **Ocecat, any resemblance between some parts of this chapter and your story is pure coincidence, because I had written down these ideas before you posted your story and I couldn't change it completely afterwards, due to some things that are important plot elements. I hope you're not upset.

**Episode VII : "Divine remedy " **

When she had heard those frightening screams of pain the Prince let, out the woman rushed to see what had happened and when she arrived she saw him lying on the ground.

"Hey! Can you hear me?" she repeatedly asked him while gently slapping him across the face, as she kneeled by his side. "Were you attacked? What happened?"

"It's real …… it's real …… that thing …… it's ……coming after me …… wants …… to kill me …… it wants to kill me …… can't escape …… can't escape …… it's real …… wants to kill me."

The woman watched baffled how the Prince muttered bits of phrases that made no sense to her, while he kept turning his head from one side to the other, like he was having a bad dream. She slapped him again, trying to wake him, but all of a sudden he sprang up screaming, making her lose her balance and fall on her back. Remembering all that had happened, the Prince was amazed to see that the pain was completely gone. He looked at his chest and saw no marks left by the tentacles that had pierced him earlier.

Must have been another dream, though it seemed so real this time, the Prince thought, preparing to get up, when he realized that it wasn't a dream after all.

As soon as he placed one palm against the ground to push himself up, he felt a sharp burning sensation and instinctively broke contact with the ground, bringing his palms before his eyes –they looked as though he had placed them on live coals.

"What happened to your hands?" He heard the woman ask on a concerned tone from behind.

"Nothing," he responded coldly, clutching his fists and getting up without the support of his palms. "Go to sleep, it's late," he ordered her while he approached the bowl of water where he usually washed his hands and face.

"It's almost dawn."

"And you should still be sleeping," he replied irritated by her insistence.

"It's not easy to rest with you screaming about like mad. What happened?"

"Why should you care?" the Prince made another attempt to get rid of her, as he began to carefully wash his wounded hands, when a shudder of pain went through his body like lightning. Forgetting about the burns, he pressed one hand against his left side –the same as before he was attacked–, and with the other one he held onto the table, sensing that his legs would not hold him for too long.

"What is it?" the woman came interfering again and he shoved her off, breathing hard.

"Go away."

Seeing the state he was in, the woman didn't pay attention to what he was telling her and attempted to remove his hand and see what he was trying to hide.

"Let me see."

This time he didn't have the strength to chase her away, and he removed his hand by himself and placed it on the table for more support. The woman looked at the spot where his hand had been pressing and saw behind the armor a linen cloth soaked in blood.

"It's nothing," he muttered, sensing her fingers slowly removing the cloth.

"Nothing? This wound will take months to heal," she informed him, being somehow stunned but also disgusted upon seeing part of his flesh barely hanging onto his body. Indeed, it was not an overly large wound, but it was deep enough to produce such a strong pain that could make one faint at any time. Inevitably, he felt more and more dizzy and he would have collapsed to the ground if the woman had not grabbed him at once. Still, his knees could not sustain him and she made great efforts to prevent him from falling, as he was too heavy for her.

"I know it's hard, but you have to make an effort and stand up. You're too heavy for me to carry."

Being now in some kind of trance due to the pain and the exhaustion, the Prince allowed the woman to guide his every move. Thus, she placed his left hand around her neck and put her right one around his back and in this way she carried him to the bedchamber and sat him down.

"I'll have to take this thing off you, so try to stand still," the woman instructed him as she bent over him to release the straps that held his armor around his body.

As she did this, she felt his head falling forward and resting against her chest. For a few moments she stopped what she was doing and stared down at him, amused at how such an almighty warrior was now leaning helplessly against her like a drunkard against a wall. But she knew he had no control over his body and was not aware of what he was doing, so she didn't push him away and continued detaching his armor.

"What are you doing?" he murmured and attempted to turn his head and look at her, but without raising it from her chest.

"I told you, I have to get this off you."

"The case, bring me the case. It's on the table."

"What case?"

"Just bring it."

"All right, but let me get this off first."

After many efforts, the woman finally managed to get off the Prince's armor, as well as the many belts that went around his waist.

"Lay down," she told him, although she was the one who grabbed him by the shoulders and settled him on the pillows, and afterwards lifted his legs as well, so they would not be hanging over the edge, which would not have been at all a comfortable position for the Prince.

Not knowing what case he was talking about, the woman turned to look at the food table. Seeing nothing there, she went to look for it in the other room. There she found many cases but only one of them held supplies that could be used for mending wounds so she presumed that was the case the Prince had refereed to, and brought it to him.

When she returned to the bedchamber she saw that he had regained his conscious, though not his strength.

"Give it to me," he demanded, stretching out his left hand and she gave him the case.

He opened it and took out from it a needle and some sawing thread, which he combined, with the intention of closing his open wound.

"Isn't there a physician around here?" the woman inquired.

"He's dead."

"Have you done this before?"

"No, but I don't have any other choice, do I?"

The woman remained silent for a few moments, observing the Prince's attempts to sew his wound, while his hands were trembling and he clenched his teeth and frowned his brows in pain every time the needle pierced his skin. Seeing him struggle like that, not really getting anywhere since the pain was too great, she suddenly disappeared into the next room.

"Where are you going?" the Prince stopped his activity and shouted after her when he saw her leave, thinking she was taking advantage of the situation to escape, although he had promised her she would be escorted back to the city.

But after a few minutes she returned, carrying a large tray on which there were some purple candles and all sorts of small pots and bottles.

"What's with all this?" he asked her curious.

"This is to ease your pain," she responded while she arranged the candles on two sides, near the bed, lit them, and then proceeded to combine some of the oils and herbs she had brought.

"Where did you get those?"

"In the other room. It's amazing what one can do with such insignificant things."

"And what is it that you are intending to do?"

"Be quiet," she ordered him as she kneeled down before the bed, between the two sets of candles, crossing her arms over her chest, so that each palm was resting against the opposite shoulder. (The same way in which the figures on the Egyptian sarcophaguses hold their arms.)

Though he was not at all pleased with her tone, he soon forgot about that and watched her intrigued as she whispered something like an incantation, or a prayer, in a language he could not understand.

"Nehes, nehes, nehes, nehes em hotep, nehes em neferu, Nebet hotepet, weben em hotep, weben em neferu, Nutjet en ankh, nefer em pet, pet em hotep, ta em hotep.

A Basti, per em setat, shu asem.

Bast nefer, dy udja, dy seneb, dy ankh, Sesept em kekui, I kua ser-ten uat sesh-tha, ta em hotep.

Nutjert sat Ra, Anekh hrak, kai-imakhu,

Tu a atu, Nebet Bast."

("Awake, awake, awake, awake in peace, awake in beauty, Lady of peace, rise thou in peace, rise thou in beauty, Goddess of life, beautiful in the heavens, the heavens in peace, earth in peace.

Hail Bast, coming forth from the secret place, casting light into the darkness. Beautiful Bast, giving prosperity, giving health, giving life, I have come before you, the path is opened, the earth is at peace.

O Goddess, daughter of Ra, All praise to you, beloved one,

I adore you, Lady Bast.")


	8. Revelations

**Author's note: **I appreciate very much your reviews and I am grateful for your suggestions (because in this way I can improve my writing), but I would also appreciate if people paid more attention to the content rather than to the form of the story.

Perhaps it was wrong, but I thought it best to lay more emphasis on making the story accurate from every point of view (historical, mythological, linguistic and so forth) and develop a complex and believable story line.

Aside from that, the reason I intend to write excessive descriptions is that I want the reader to get the exact message and not leave room for misinterpretations. Nonetheless, I think you are right, Shian, and I will do my best to show instead of tell from now on.

**Episode VIII : "Revelations" **

The woman took her time to recite the prayer using the proper intonation, as if this were a condition for whatever magic she was doing, to be efficient. When she finished, she slowly moved her hands away from her chest and brought them over the Prince's chest, holding them very close to his skin but without actually touching him. He watched her stay like this, with her eyes closed, for a short while, when all of a sudden he realized his pain had disappeared almost entirely. He found this quite odd and wondered whether it was because she had truly used some magic on him, or because he just forgot about the pain as he watched her intriguing ritual.

Then, the woman moved her palms above his wound and picked up the needle that had remained attached to the Prince's flesh, through the sawing thread, after he had abandoned his attempt to close his wound. She opened her eyes and with great care, she proceeded in finishing what he had begun. However, hardly had she pierced his skin with the needle, when he let out a short cry of pain.

"I'm sorry," she quickly apologized, sounding as if she was afraid not to be punished for her deed.

Once again she underwent a change of personality and the confident and defiant woman she had been before, turned into a frightened, shy girl. Strange as it may seem, it was the way in which she apologized that puzzled the Prince this time. He did not know when or where, but he had a strong feeling that he had heard the same voice before –for the woman's voice had been milder than usual when she apologized–, speaking the same words and displaying the exact same gestures. For the first time, he had a strange feeling of deja vu in the presence of this woman and yet her face appeared thoroughly unfamiliar to him. Realizing what she had just said, the woman understood his surprised stare, but unlike him, she knew exactly where he had heard those words before, and in a matter of seconds, memories of one of the most unpleasant events of her life flashed through her mind.

**Six years ago … **

There was a great feast at the royal palace of Babylon, as king Sharaman was celebrating his anticipated victory over the Indian kingdom he was planning to invade. The large dinning hall of the palace was crowded with a great variety of people: noblemen, men who held high positions at the court, foreign guests, slaves who performed various forms of entertainment and servants who were constantly refilling the tables with new delicacies. The king stood, of course, at a separate table, accompanied by his four sons. The Prince and his oldest brother stood on the king's right and the other two brothers on his left. Before the five members of the royal Persian family stood, at the opposite side of the table, five of the most important people in the kingdom, including general Markug.

Near the servants' entrance, an eighteen year old girl, holding a tray with several goblets filled with wine was looking frightened around, not having the courage to do what she was suppose to do. She was wearing an ankle long gray dress with multiple stripes in shades of red, blue and green. The dress made of a ragged material was quite loose, with long sleeves and almost no neck opening. She also wore a pair of worn-out leather sandals and a cream-colored veil that covered her black hair, which fell past her waist. Though she had pretty features, she did not know how to take care of herself and at a first look she could be mistaken for less than a slave, who were taken care of by their masters.

"Go on, don't be frightened," a plump and short, elderly woman, wearing more elegant servant's clothes and a veil over her head, urged the girl from behind. "This is your chance to prove that you can do much more than scrubbing floors. Come on, isn't this what you've wanted?"

"Yes, but I'm afraid. What if I do something wrong?" the girl asked shaking.

"Nonsense, you're a very bright girl. You'll do fine."

The woman gently pushed the girl and she started moving towards the king's table, trying to smile and ignore the mocking smirks of the more attractive and well-dressed servant girls. The girl walked slowly across the crowded hall, careful not to make a wrong move, as some strings of hair were hanging loose from under the veil, dropping right over her eyes and preventing her from clearly see where she was going. When she finally arrived at the king's table, she calculated her every move so that nothing could go wrong and with small steps she slowly approached, her heart almost bursting out from her chest. But faith is always cruel with the most wretched of all creatures and just as she was about to lay the tray on the table, her foot accidentally slid under the carpet beneath the table. This made her trip and drop the tray, which fell with a great thud on the table and the content of the goblets spilled in every direction, but mostly over the white outfit of the oldest prince.

"I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry," she repeatedly apologized, almost crying and trembling with fear.

"What is wrong with you?" the Prince shouted, jumping from his seat the minute the wine started flowing across the table, in his direction.

The girl did not dear to look at him and kept her head bowed the whole time, while she apologized between sobs and tears, as she attempted to clean the mess she had made. Even though, to her surprise, the oldest prince, whose clothes she had ruined, proved to be most kind and offered to help her clean up, the king took the side of his youngest son.

"Take this clumsy woman out of here immediately," he commanded and the girl looked alarmed behind her to see two brutal looking guards approach her.

"Your Majesty, please, this is all my fault ……," the elderly woman rapidly intervened, but the girl could not hear what the woman was saying, the only sounds that rang violently in her ears being the deafening laughs of both guests and servants. The next moment she found herself dragged out of the room by the woman, after the king had considered the subject too meaningless to give it further importance.

**Present time …**

"Is something the matter?" the woman finally asked, seeing how the Prince had been staring at her for quite a while.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded, remembering what had determined him to cry out in the first place.

"What do you mean?"

"The pain. What's with the pain?"

"Well, one usually feels pain when a sharp object pierces one's flesh."

"Then all the babbling from before was for nothing?"

"You though I was casting spells that would heal you at the snap of a finger?"

"Give me that, you're wasting my time," he demanded the needle from her.

"Lay down," she commanded, pushing him back as he tried to raise from the pillows, "What I did earlier was not in vain. You will notice the effect later on."

"And what if I don't?"

"You will, if you have faith."

"Faith in what?"

"You do not have faith in anything in your life?"

"I have faith in my sword."

"Well …… the gods are, nonetheless, merciful …… with any mortal."

Turning her attention back on the Prince's wound, the woman picked up the needle and was about to finish closing his wound when he interrupted her again.

"What …… ," he wanted to ask what she had meant earlier but the woman quickly cut him off, annoyed by his constant interference.

"Smell this," she said, holding out to him a small plate on which there was something that looked like burning incense. She moved the plate one time, from left to right, in front of his face and he inhaled the smoke that was constantly rising, without even realizing it. The fragrance was a most delicate one, but the Prince had little time to enjoy it or make any more comments, as his eyes slowly began to close. In mere seconds his head fell back onto the pillow, and he sunk into a deep sleep.

The woman laid the plate back on the tray from which she had taken it, the one she had brought in earlier, and proceeded to sew the Prince's wound.

**The following day … **

It was almost noon when the Prince woke up from his slumber. At first, he felt a bit dizzy and confused, but then he remembered everything and what amazed him the most was that he felt no pain at all, not even from the wound he had received in battle. He pulled the covers off him, curious to see if his wound was still there, and he discovered a thick, white cloth, the kind that was usually used as a bandage, tied around his waist, covering the place where his wound was. At the same time, he remembered the burns on his palms and turned them around. Though they didn't look as nothing had happened to them, like he had hopped, there were no severe wounds. His palms were simply of a more pinkish color and the skin was slightly thinned and wrinkled.

Seeing the scars on his palms made him think back once more at what had happened the night before, trying to find some answers. He started getting out of the bed when he was suddenly pulled out of his thoughts, as his feet, which still had the rough and dirty boots on, hit something soft, at the foot of the bed. He quickly looked down and saw the woman sleeping, curled up on the floor, between the candles whose light had been extinguished by a soft breeze coming from outside.

The Prince got up from the bed, stepping over her and for a short while he just stood there, staring down at her. On the one hand, her attitude had been quite arrogant and defying, taking in consideration that after all, he was the Prince of Persia and she was just a subject whose duty was to obey, and she had also rendered him unconscious. But on the other hand, she had healed him in an extraordinary manner and she did not try to escape, though she had had the opportunity. Finally, deciding he could not just let her lie there, the Prince lifted her up and laid her down on the bed, after which he put his armor back on and left the tent.


	9. Escape

**Author's note: **Many thanks to Ocecat, Saddened Soul, Hannah, Melanie, Shian, and anyone else who read my story but didn't review.

**Ocecat -** actually the last chapter was not shorter than the others because I've decided to make all chapters exactly 3 pages long (when written in Word using "Times New Roman" no.10); However, I've made this chapter longer because I couldn't brake it into 2 separate chapters and also because this chapter ends the first part of the story. (This doesn't mean that the story ends here; I'll try to post chapter 10 as soon as possible.)

**Saddened Soul -** The Dahaka will be back soon, don't worry. He just went to freshen up a bit, but he'll be back 'cause he doesn't give up that easily, does he? Come to think about it, he doesn't give up … ever.

The Dahaka (really pissed off): "It's my job. I take it seriously, man!"

The Prince (trying to sound concerned): "You look kinda tired. Have you ever considered retiring?"

The Dahaka: "You know, you're right. I think I'll do that …… right after I kill you."

Sorry about that, but I've been watching some stand-up comedy lately and I felt like writing something funny for a change.

Yeah, basically I'm updating every Monday but sometimes I make an exception from that rule.

**Hannah -** yep the servant girl was the fake-priestess, and you'll find out much more about that later on in the story.

**Melanie -** the youngest prince yelled at her, namely THE PRINCE.

**Episode IX : "Escape " **

Later on that day, the Prince returned to his tent to inform the priestess that everything had been arranged for her to be escorted back to the city. He had had a long conversation with Markug on that matter, who suggested they took her with them to Babylon, but the Prince disagreed, claiming she would only slow them down. Word came of the victory of the Prince's oldest brother, in the northern regions of the empire, after he had been sent the troops he had asked for earlier and King Sharaman was now requesting an audience with his two sons who were in charge of his armies. Thus, the Prince and Markug, as well as a few other men, were to go immediately to the royal palace, leaving the soldiers on their positions, since all the Syrian soldiers seemed to have vanished over night, after their latest defeat, and the Persians did not know whether they had retreated or were planning other surprise attacks.

Upon entering the tent, the Prince saw the priestess desperately looking through some large trunks settled on one side of the tent. He tried not to make any noise as he stepped inside, curious to see what exactly she was searching for. When she discovered a trunk full with gold and precious stones, the woman appeared so fascinated by the beautiful things shining before her eyes, that she forgot what she was looking for. She took out a few pieces of jewelry and admired them with a deep craving in her eyes until suddenly she gave a start, as if hearing a strange noise, and in one very swift movement, she turned her head to see the Prince staring at her with his arms folded. He found this very peculiar because he hadn't made any noise at all, but he did not give her the time to acknowledge his bewilderment.

"I thought those who serve the gods have no interest in material things."

"Feeling better?" she asked with a sweet smile, deliberately showing fake concern.

"What are you doing looking through my belongings?"

"You told me I would see little of you during my stay here and yet you've bothered me so many times," the woman avoided answering his question.

She dropped the jewels back in the trunk and before he could come up with a reply she got up and walked proudly before him, disappearing behind the curtains, into the small bedchamber. The Prince's patience was beginning to grow thin and he immediately followed her, catching up with her just as she was about to sit down and enjoy the fresh meal the servants had brought earlier. He knew exactly what he wanted to say to her but she did not give him the opportunity to speak.

"Where am I to leave?" she asked while sitting down before the table.

"Tomorrow morning."

"Perfect."

The Prince thought for a few minutes whether he should try to get some answers from her, seeing how she was not even bothering to look at him when she spoke. Finally making up his mind, he turned to leave without saying another word, remembering more important problems he had to attend to.

"You ought to eat something," the woman called out to him just as he was stepping out of the room.

"Why? You didn't use enough magic on me?"

Hearing his mocking commentary, the woman smirked and lazily turned her head around to look up at him, with a cocky smile on her lips.

"I used no magic on you, just very efficient treatment."

"Why did you go through so much effort to heal me?"

"Who attacked you?" the woman tried to change the subject, in another attempt to avoid answering his question.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Mine's more important."

"You go to war, you're bound to end up with a couple of wounds. That's how things go."

"It was more than a wound. Please, tell me what happened," she pleaded, actually sounding serious this time.

At first, the Prince gave her a curious stare, but then he sat down at the opposite side of the table and proceeded in answering her question, and at the same time, taking a few bites from the many plates on the table.

"I was in battle, surrounded by many enemies, and they all kept attacking me from every direction, but it was no big effort scattering them like flies. A few minutes afterwards, they were all lying dead around me. Then, one more attacked me. He didn't seem much of a skilled swordsman so I easily disarmed him and was about to deliver the final blow when his helmet accidentally fell off and I saw he was just a boy, no more than fourteen years of age. I couldn't bring myself to kill him and I lost my concentration for a few moments; just enough for some coward to attack me from behind. I was not too quick in putting up a defense, since he took me by surprise, and the bastard actually managed to cut me. Of course, he didn't live long enough to enjoy his victory."

Finishing his little tale with a superior grin on his face, the Prince noticed that the priestess looked as though she was trying to suppress laughter. He himself did not know what had come over him that made him share his memories with her. Perhaps he had just felt the need to boast about his adventures and prove his abilities, just like in his youth. Dropping back on the plate a fruit he had intended to eat, the Prince stood up ready to leave, not appreciating the priestess' lack of consideration for his glorious deeds.

"Get ready. You may be leaving much sooner than tomorrow."

"That was a nice story, but I was not referring to that wound," the woman stopped him again from leaving. "I sensed a dark presence last night. What happened that made you scream like that?"

"Nothing happened. I was just …… angry," the Prince said the first thing that came to his mind, hoping that would be enough to make her stop asking him any more questions.

"Angry?" she chuckled, understanding his real intentions. "Sometimes anger, is the mask of the man who is shy and afraid."

As soon as he heard that, the Prince didn't waste any more time talking to the woman and left the tent boiling with fury deep inside, because she had plainly told him to his face what he had refused to admit for a long time.

**Later on in the evening … **

Returning to his tent with the intention of catching some more sleep, even if it was on the floor, since he didn't want to be in the same room with the priestess and be asked some more questions he didn't want to answer, the Prince sensed some familiar aromas in the air. He approached the bedchamber and peeked between the curtains to see what the woman was doing.

"So you finally decided to come back?" she asked all of a sudden with her back turned at him, making him wonder how she had once again sensed his presence since he hadn't made the slightest noise.

Since there was no turning back, the Prince pulled the curtains aside and stepped in. He saw new candles in shades of green and white arranged in the same order as the previous night, and the woman preparing again something, by combining various herbs and oils.

"Lay down," she ordered him, not bothering to even look at him, as she went about her business.

"I'm fine. I don't need any more of your witchcraft."

"Your body may be fine, but your mind and spirit are not. Now lay down. And you might also want to take off that armor. You will most likely fall asleep quite soon."

"Just like last night?"

"That was for your own good. The pain would not have been easy to bear."

"You should have let me be the judge of that."

Receiving no answer from the priestess, the Prince finally decided to do as she said, thinking he would at least get a decent sleep, after she will have finished with her wannabe magical performance.

"Close your eyes," she told him as she kneeled down between the lit candles just as she had done the previous night, and placed her left palm on his forehead.

Though he was making great efforts to hide his amusement, the Prince decided to play along and closed his eyes, hoping to fall asleep quickly. The woman, having her own eyes closed, removed her hand from his forehead and reached out to get a small cup, containing some sort of perfumed substance.

"Your spirit is tormented by a dark force," she informed him, as she brought the small cup in front of her.

Whatever ritual the woman was about to do next, is something the Prince did not find out that night, for the minute she spoke those words he jumped up like burnt, grabbed the cup from her hand and threw it violently across the room, its content spilling over some of the cushions around the table. From the look she gave him, he knew she probably thought he had gone mad, but in his mind he knew he was right, because no man likes to be reminded of the thing that troubles him the most.

"That's not helping."

"Then there is nothing more I can do for you."

Her expression turning serious and her voice presumptuous, the woman stood up and turned to leave but the Prince caught her wrist and pulled her back.

"Perhaps there is. Not all remedies come from the gods."

The woman was taken aback by his sudden change of attitude and she found a bit disturbing the way in which he seemed to be examining her. After a relatively long period of silence, the woman wanted to say something, but the Prince was faster.

"As a priestess, are you obliged to live a more distinct life?"

"What do you mean?" the woman was dazed by his odd question.

"Are you allowed to have your own family or must you live a secluded life?"

"Why the sudden interest in priesthood? Slaughtering people isn't that rewarding anymore?" she smirked.

"Just tell me, I want to know."

"The great goddess Bast wants her subjects to enjoy all good things life has to offer, so yes, we can have our own families."

"Good," he grinned. "Then the gods' wrath will not be upon me."

Before she could make out the meaning of his bizarre response, she was pulled downwards, by the wrist, with more strength than before.

Meanwhile, in a more shabby part of the encampment, where the common soldiers stayed, a young man was pretending to be asleep, lying on some animal skins on the bare ground, this being the only kind of bed available. When he was certain that the other three soldiers he had to share the tent with, were fast asleep, he reached for a leather bag he kept hidden under a pile of clothes next to his bed and took out from it a copper urn, the size of a larger orange, and with peculiar markings on it that he was unable to clearly make out in the darkness of the tent.

This was the first time he had had the chance to look at the urn, after taking it from that temple, due to the constant agitation of the past few weeks. He examined it carefully, making use of his tactile senses, since his eyesight was not too much of a help in those circumstances. With his fingers, he traced the engravings on the surface but found nothing unusual until, what appeared to be a dim blue-greenish light flashed between the lines of the engravings. The soldier jumped up in an instant, blinking several times as if there was something wrong with his eyes.

For quite a while, he simply starred at the urn, turning it around in his hands, waiting for something to happen. When nothing happened, he attempted to open the lid, but to his great disappointment, he realized he was unable to do so, no matter how hard he tried. Settling with the idea that he must have imagined seeing a light coming from within, he took a deep breath and leaned back down. After all, it didn't really matter what or if there really was something inside, as long as he could get a good price for it, and he was positive he would get a very good price. Smiling satisfied, he put the urn back in its place and went to sleep for real this time, holding one hand over the pile under which his most precious possession lay.

**A couple of hours later … **

The woman woke up with her heart beating very fast, just like the first time she had fallen asleep in the Prince's tent. At first she was confused and scared, not knowing where she was, but then she recognized the surroundings and remembered she was in the bed she had slept in for the past couple of days. She calmed herself down, beginning to rub her eyes to become fully awake, when she started shivering all of a sudden. She found this rather odd, since her dress and the sheet with which she had covered herself every night where enough to keep her warm. The problem was that, this time, the sheet was touching her bare skin.

Realizing this, she suddenly jumped up from the pillow, trying to understand the reason of her condition. Memories offering a possible explanation went through her mind, but she refused to accept them, until she took notice of the Prince sleeping in his usual place. Her eyes narrowed and her hands clenched the sheets around her, as she watched him sleep peacefully as if he had done nothing for which he should have qualms of conscience. But she had no time to express her anger when a soft sound caught her attention, a mewing to be exact. A broad smile appeared on her lips and her face lightened all of a sudden. In a swift movement, similar to that of a feline, she jumped over the Prince and landed in a crouched position on the floor, from where she retrieved the priestly robe she had had to wear during her "trip" to the Persian camp.

Before exiting the tent, she cast one more glance at the Prince, who was beginning to look agitated, like he was having a nightmare. Then her eyes caught sight of the cup he had thrown from her hands the previous night, and its content, which had not been entirely spilled. She looked back at the Prince, this time with a compassionate stare and after a brief period of thinking, she sighed heavily, as if she had just consented to do something which was not completely to her liking.

"After all, it was not exactly …… unpleasant," she said to herself as she went to pick up the cup from the floor.

When she finally exited the tent, passing by the two guards who were sleeping soundly on the ground, before the entrance, the woman came face to face with the cat that had mewed before. She was a slender cat, with bright green eyes and gray fur with black stripes.

"Hello Nasmat," the woman greeted joyfully the cat she knew too well. "I was wondering when you might show up."

Staring right into the woman's eyes, the cat answered with another mewing and then ran off. The woman smiled delighted and quickly followed the cat.

**The following morning … **

The Prince woke up calmer than usual, though he had had the same nightmare that was haunting him for almost six years. It was the same nightmare, and yet something was different, something that gave him an air of tranquility. This time he no longer allowed the shadows to envelop him and he stopped all of a sudden from running, drew out his swords and turned to face bravely whatever was chasing him. He woke up the minute he was preparing to stroke the dark shadow behind him, before the dream would make more sense, but this had been enough to gave him strength and courage to confront whatever was after him. If what had happened two nights ago in the tent had been real and if there was any connection between that incident and his dreams, then his pursuer would attack again and when that happens, he will be ready.

Standing up, the Prince felt something wet on his forehead. He wiped it with his hand and discovered a perfumed substance, whose smell reminded him of the potions the priestess made. Remembering the priestess, he looked to his left, but found no one there. He got out of bed, got dressed and afterwards searched the other part of the tent and the surroundings, but the priestess was nowhere to be found and none of the guards knew anything about it. The more puzzled one was, however, the young soldier who had stolen the urn, for when he woke up, his bag was no longer where he had left it. He was both astonished and upset, but he could not possibly accuse his comrades of theft, because they would not be too comfortable with the idea that he had no intention of sharing with them the fortune he would have made after selling the urn. Another misfortunate character was a poor guard, whose horse had gone missing.


	10. A different fate for each

**Author's note: **Well, this is definitely the longest chapter I've ever written for this story. It has a lot of action and adventure (about ¾ of the chapter) right after some info regarding the past life of the priestess. Hope you like it.

**Ocecat **- I can't call her "the Priestess" because she's not really a priestess. Her name's Manyia. I just need the perfect time to introduce her name in the story and since the Prince didn't bother to ask her again …… .

**Hannah -** The urn …. well, I'm not sure what it could do at the moment, but it's time will come. I just need to straighten some other things first. Manyia's actually very cat-like and yes, it has much to do with the goddess she worships, namely Bast. But all of that will be explained soon enough in the story.

**Saddened Soul** - "Something very naughty?" Yeah, I guess that's one way to call it. Yep, I've played Sands of Time, but because I played Warrior Within first, it seemed quite short and the fights … not so exciting. But the story, the music and the views were superb (some even better than in WW), so all in all, it was a cool game to play.

As for the Dahaka chases in WW, though they were very cool and original, it took me ages to get over them, and I got really annoyed at some points.

**Episode X : "A different fate for each" **

The first rays of the warm, morning sun had begun to scatter the grisly darkness of the night, when the woman reached the gates of Babylon, after a four hours' journey on horseback, through rocky landscapes. Normally, it should have been a tiresome journey, but for her, time flew by unexpectedly, along with her thoughts of distant memories. Seeing how much the youngest prince had changed since she had last seen him, made her realize, as well, how much she had changed –perhaps more than he did, much more than he did.

Born a slave, from parents coming from generations of slaves and servants, she had been sold from one master to another after her parents died –or were killed, she didn't really know, since that happened when she was of a very young age. When she turned fifteen, fortune smiled upon her, and she was freed from slavery by a kind, elderly woman by the name of Delasa, who took her as a servant in the royal palace of Babylon, after the girl's former master –an acquaintance of the woman's– passed away. Delasa gave her a basic education, teaching her to read and write, and for three years she had done all sorts of chores that were meant to ease the already facile life of the so-called superior class of society.

She had never been abused or mistreated by any of her masters and for a slave, and afterwards a servant, she had lived a decent life. But although she was of a kind and submissive nature, always hurrying to do whatever she was asked to do and swallowing without retorting, the sometimes cruel and unfounded accusations and complaints of her masters, she had always felt like something was wrong, like she was not doing precisely what she would like to do. At one point she had had a dream of becoming a priestess, but it was shattered by Delasa, who told her that only women of noble ancestry could occupy such a privileged position.

Now these memories made her smile. Society did not allow her to fulfill her dream of becoming a priestess, but fate offered her a life like few are destined to live. Her thoughts drifted back to the present times only for a short while, when she had to urge the horse to go right, to avoid crossing the large bridge, and entering the city through the main gates, so as not to arouse the suspicion of the guards. As she rode towards a smaller bridge, situated to the south, on the lower course of the river, where there was a more secluded entrance, she began to think once more at her past life, which she often chose to forget.

She remembered the very first event that marked the beginning of her transition from her old life to her new one, namely the present one. Of course, at that time, she paid no attention to it, for she could have not possibly imagined what life had in store for her. She was in the bazaar one morning, sitting on a stone bench near a fountain, when a woman approached her. She was a tall, thin woman, with pale skin, long, curly, light-brown hair and eyes like two emerald stones; she was a beautiful woman, although she might have already passed the age of fifty. She was dressed in a sleeveless, black, silk dress that touched the ground and wore exquisite jewelry –earrings, necklace and bracelets. She had a golden shawl over her shoulders, but no veil covering her hair, which attracted disapproving glances from most of the women who passed by.

The woman, who introduced herself as Nadira, seemed preoccupied by the girl's sorrow and as the two started talking, the girl, who felt the need to take the burden from her heart, confessed her misfortune. She told the woman about how she would never be able to fulfill her dream of being a priestess, but the woman simply smiled and told her something she would always remember, though at the time it only deepened her suffering, for it sounded completely implausible.

"Sometimes when the gods don't give us what we want is because they have prepared for us something greater than we could ever imagine."

Then, Nadira got up from the bench where she had sat next to the girl, and before leaving, gave her a silver pendant, representing the profile of a sited cat.

"Keep this close and it will fulfill your innermost desires."

After her meeting with Nadira, the girl remained puzzled for a while, but that feeling lasted only until she resumed her daily chores at the palace and by the time the sun disappeared behind the hills into a pool of reddish light, she had forgotten all about it. Morning came soon and the girl leaped out of bed as soon as the first rays of light made their way inside her small, deplorable and almost empty bedchamber. She rapidly put on the gray, stripped dress and cream-colored veil she always wore and was about to exit the room when the insistent mewing of a cat made her approach the only window of her room, with no curtains, no grating, no shutters –just a square shaped hole in the wall.

On a higher ledge on the opposite building there was a cat, looking down directly at the girl and mewing as if asking for help. It was Nasmat, but the girl did not know that back then and considered it just an ordinary cat.

"Kitty, what's wrong?" she asked from the window. "Come down from there."

But the cat wouldn't move and continued to mew at her.

"Come on, it's easy. Just jump on that beam over there. It's right below you," the girl pointed towards a beam coming out of the wall.

"What, are you stuck?" she asked when she saw that nothing would make the cat come down. "Don't make me come after you," she sighed deeply seeing how the cat kept mewing at her.

Gathering the little courage she had in her, the girl climbed out of the window onto a beam coming out of the wall, about two feet below. Praying to all the gods she knew, the girl stretched out her arms to maintain her balance and with small and very insecure steps she walked across the beam till she reached its end. Every inch of her body was shaking violently, knowing that there was a thirty feet distance to the ground, but she was looking straight forward, trying not to make any wrong moves.

When she reached the end of the beam she realized that in order to get to the cat, she would have to jump forward and grab onto an upper beam, coming out of the wall in front of her. She cringed at the thought, and regretted her decision, wanting to go back but something inside her urged her to go on, not to mention the cat who seemed to be crying for help with her mewing. Putting her faith in the hands of the gods, the girl jumped with her arms stretched forward, in order to grab the beam. Unfortunately, she had forgot to take into consideration the ten feet distance between the two beams, plus the fact that her dress was too tight for her to make such a jump, and she fell about three feet down, when she somehow managed to grab onto another beam below. She hanged from the beam for a while, until her sweaty hands could not hold on anymore and she fell again, screaming. Luckily, she landed on a canopy that served as a roof for the market place that stretched along the narrows alleys between the buildings, but as soon as she made a move the linen tore apart and the girl fell flat on her face on the dusty, stone pathway. Groaning in pain and still shaking with fear, the girl slowly raised her head from the ground when she heard the cat's mewing, which, this time, sounded as if it was coming from somewhere very close. Pulling aside the strings of her messy hair that fell over her eyes, she blinked a couple of times in total stupefaction when she saw the cat standing a few feet away from her.

"Kitty? How did you …… ?"

Finding herself at a loss of words caused by the state she was in, the girl instinctively looked upwards, towards the ledge where she had first seen the cat. Though it took her a fraction of a second to do this, when she looked back down, the cat was nowhere to be seen.

It was late in the morning when The Prince, accompanied by Markug and about a dozen soldiers of the royal guard, left the encampment, heading towards Babylon. Up to this moment, the Prince had still not discovered a good reason for the priestess' sudden disappearance, but then again he didn't give it too much thought, being glad to take one problem off his mind, though a part of him regretted his incapacity to control himself.

Towards noon, when the sun was burning fiercer than ever and the hot air was hardly breathable, they had covered almost half of the distance, riding through a semi-desert region, with the Prince leading the way and the others trying to keep up with him. They had reached the point where the main road split into two –a longer one, but leading straight to Babylon and a shorter side-road, leading through a canyon of some sort– when a soft breeze started blowing from nowhere. At first, none of them gave this too much importance and they continued riding along the main road, but before they could realize it, the soft breeze turned into a powerful wind, trapping them in the middle of violent sandstorm. Barely seeing one another, the men were finally able to make their way out of the vortex of sand, taking shelter behind huge blocks of rock, at the entrance of the southern canyon.

"I suppose we'll have to wait here for the storm to pass," Markug told the Prince, while watching the most devastating-looking sandstorm he had ever seen.

"No. That may take too long. We'll go trough the canyon," the Prince decided quickly and as he spoke, he urged his horse to take the narrow path that wound through the gigantic, stone walls of the canyon.

"But my lord," a soldier called out, "This is said to be a very dangerous place and none of those who have taken this path are known to have returned."

"They say demons live in the caves of these mountains, creatures that are half man and half snake," another, more frightened soldier, added.

"Oh, those are just old wives tales," Markug smiled, "But indeed, this is a very dangerous crossing."

"Whatever creatures or men may dwell here, for their sake, they best not cross our path," the Prince said aloud, more to himself.

Knowing that it was an almost impossible task to make his commander change his mind after he has taken a decision, Markug, followed by the other men, took the narrow path downwards, to catch up with the Prince who had already reached the bottom of the valley. They rode at a slightly low pace through the sinister valley, more or less by twos, in a straight line, until they could see a big hill ahead of them, and the path they were following going up, and leading out the canyon. As the path led them closer and closer to the hill, they took notice, for the first time, of some vultures standing on some rocky edges along the path they were to take, but also around them, at the top of the canyon.

"Vultures feed on corpses and never attack people or any living creatures," Markug informed the Prince, seeing how he slowly drew out the sword on his back, at the sight of the large, frightening birds.

"It is better to be prepared for anything," he answered as his vigilant eyes scanned the surroundings.

As the group of men came closer to the ascent, the vultures flew out of their way and onto higher surfaces. The men were relieved to see that those winged creatures would not pose a threat after all and quickened the pace of their horses to climb up and out of the canyon as soon as possible. But just then, something totally unexpected happened. Reacting as if someone had given them a signal, tens of vultures, resting on rocky edges on either side of the canyon, spread out their immense wings and rushed upon the riders, descending in circles towards them.

Before the men could realize the impending danger, the vultures were upon them, attacking them savagely with their talons and sharp beaks. Almost all the men fell to the ground, either thrown by their terrified horses or because of the wind produced by the constant flapping of the five-foot long wings of each bird. The Prince and Markug had managed to draw out their swords in time and slay many vultures before they could get too close to them, unlike the other men, who died a painful death, after having their flesh ripped off, their eyes torn out or their ears, noses and fingers cut off by the steel-like sharp beaks of the flying predators.

A totally chaotic situation had arouse: the soldiers were now all lying dead on the ground with more than twenty vultures fighting over each body, tearing apart the already mutilated corpses, the horses that had not been taken down, as well, by the vultures, were running like mad in every direction and some more vultures were still circling the are, while a thick cloud of dust had covered the entire portion of the valley.

"They're are too many. It's best to take cover in one of the caves here."

Cutting off the heads of two vultures at a time and then slashing a couple more of them, the Prince replied, moments later, to Markug's suggestion.

"I see no cave anywhere in sight."

After bringing down the vultures that were near him at that moment, Markug took a moment to look behind him, but that was enough for a more agile vulture to dig its talons in his back and tear part of his shirt, besides leaving deep cuts on his flesh. Having been taken completely by surprise, the man let out a cry of pain and almost lost his balance, but his anger gave him sufficient strength to spring around and severed the bird's claws with one blade. Shrieking terribly, it backed away and rose a few feet into the air, only to lunge at him more furiously.

Fighting off his own attackers, the Prince took notice of that and threw a big stone at the head of the bird against which Markug would not have been prepared to defend himself. As the dead bird's body fell at his feet, Markug looked at the Prince and nodded in sign of gratitude, after which he grasped his sword more firmly in his hand and blocked the attacks of some more vultures. If in the eyes of men, saving his friend's life was a most praiseworthy dead, the beasts seemed to think differently for his slight inattention caused him severe cuts on his arms and small bites on the exposed portions of his skin, between the straps of his armor. Overwhelmed by rage, he cried out loudly and began to literary chop in pieces every bird that approached him.

For what seemed like an eternity, the Prince and Markug defended themselves against the perilous creatures that kept appearing from nowhere, until Markug spotted an opening in the stone wall, hidden behind some tall rocks.

"Over here! I think it's a cave," he shouted at the Prince, who rapidly made his way towards him, through the cloud of dust, while trying to avoid the restless, bloodthirsty predators.

Reaching the narrow gap, they squeezed in rapidly, just as three vultures were rushing in their direction, and found themselves in an obscure cave, illuminated here and there by a few rays of light, reaching inside through some small cracks in the high ceiling.

"We'll have to find another way out of here. There's no going back there." Markug spoke as he began to descend inside the cave, following the singular rocky path, slightly similar to a stone staircase.

"What the hell was all that about?" the Prince demanded, as if Markug had any fault in it, remembering how he told him vultures never attacked people.

"I could not say. It was completely unnatural. I've seen animals gone mad in my life but this was too much."

Not finding any appropriate topic to start a conversation, they both walked in silence until they reached the bottom of the cave, after descending the semicircular path.

"There seems to be another way out," Markug informed the Prince, who was a few feet behind him, holding one hand pressed against his left shoulder, where he had a more severe wound.

Walking straight in the direction from which the light was coming, where he had assumed there was another opening leading to the surface, Markug disregarded the possible presence of any dangers and as soon as he stepped from the stone pathway onto the sandy ground, he was absorbed by quicksand before he could have the chance to grab onto something solid around him.

"Markug!" the Prince cried out, running towards the place where Markug had disappeared.

"I'm down below. It's not really quicksand," came his response a few moments later.

"Stay there," the Prince ordered before jumping into the camouflaged hole.

After a harsh ride through a rocky tunnel filled with sand, the Prince fell twenty feet to the ground, landing in a pool of sand.

"Don't make any sudden moves," he heard Markug's whispering voice, who was standing close to where he was, on a stone surface.

"Why?"

Before Markug could give him an answer, the Prince saw a snake crawling along the surface where his companion was standing and without taking into consideration the possibility that the snake might have had no intention of attacking either of them, drew out his sword and cut off its head.

"I hate snakes," he muttered while climbing out of the sandpit.

He grimaced at the sight of the dead snake and kicked its body away with disgust. Then, he noticed that Markug was simply staring forward and wanted to ask him something, when the corner of his left eye caught sight of a shocking image that made him gasp in surprise. Before them, in a huge, lower sandpit, thousands of black snakes were crawling about as far as the eye could see. Observing the snakes for a few moments, the two men noticed that their number was slowly decreasing and shortly afterwards they were able to see how each of them was disappearing under the sand, until not one snake remained on the surface.

"Something tells me you shouldn't have killed that snake."

"Let's just find a way out of here."

Both men looked around for an exit and for the first time they realized that the reason they could see inside the cave, although there were no rays of light reaching inside, were some peculiar crystals fixed in the walls. The cave sunk in total silence, as they stood still, admiring the astonishing and yet eerie view, until the Prince whispered to Markug.

"We should go."

The man nodded and they both started walking slowly along the stone walkway they were on, hopping it would eventually take them at least out of the snakes' lair, if not to the surface. Some faint hissing sounds flying past their ears made them quicken their paces and they were right in front of a corridor leading out of that section of the cave, when two figures jumped in front of them. At first they thought they were men, but as they stepped forward and into the light, the Prince and Markug saw that, although the form of their bodies was identical to that of a human, they had features that no person could possibly have. For a start, they had no hair whatsoever on their bodies and their yellow skin was similar to that of a snake, with black scales on some parts of their legs and arms, on their hands, fingers, toes, on their back and on either sides of their had. They had no ears, no nose –just a small protrusion with two little holes–, their lidless, bulging eyes were completely black and their long, forked tongue was coming out of their thin mouths –with no lips–, as they produced the same hissing sounds as a snake. Besides the fact that they were wearing nothing except some sort of animal skin tied like a skirt around their waste, and the fact that both their fingers and toes ended with a long, sharp, black claw, perhaps the most astonishing feature regarding these creatures was their long tale. Though they had natural means of defending themselves, each of them carried two completely black swords, attached to a leather belt around their waste.

As he and Markug were standing there, facing the two snake-creatures, the Prince suddenly felt something wrapping around one of his legs and pulling him to the ground. He grabbed onto a ledge just as he was pulled with force to the ground and looked behind him to see that another snake-creature had wrapped its tail around his leg with the intention of pulling him into a pit full of snakes. Quickly taking out the sword on his back, the Prince cut off the creature's tail, freeing his leg and jumped to his feet. The creature screamed in pain and crawled back down into the pit from which he had come, while the other two creatures standing in front of the men drew out their swords on the spot and charged at them without hesitation. More creatures crawled out of the sandpits, others dropped down from the ceiling and very soon, the Prince and Markug were surrounded by almost thirty snake-creatures, each of them armed with two of their black swords.

"Careful not to be cut by their blades. I think they're poisonous," Markug advised the Prince, noticing an unusual shine of the edge of the black swords, just before the creatures were upon them.

The Prince and Markug fought side by side for a while, guarding each other's back, until a stronger snake-creature wrapped its tail around Markug's neck and threw him to a farther side of the cave. Seeing this, the Prince dispersed, with rapid strikes of his two blades, the creatures around him and ran towards the larger creature. When he got close enough to it, the creature intended to hit him with his powerful tail, but the Prince dodged the attack by rolling forward. The minute the creature's tail rested on the ground, near him, the Prince impaled his sword into it, immobilizing it to the ground for a short while. While the creature roared in pain –proving that snake-creatures could make other sounds except hissing–, the Prince removed the sword and ran towards the creature, pushing with one foot against its chest, to help him leap upwards and flip over the creature. Standing now behind it, the Prince impaled both of his swords into the creature's stomach and then took them out and used them both to perform a perfect decapitation. The creature's body collapsed to the ground, soon after its head was sent flying in front of some smaller and more frightened snake creatures, and the yellow-greenish liquid it had for blood spilled out, forming a big puddle on the stone floor.

"What's the matter, already tired? Or am I too good for you?" the Prince taunted the creatures, more to his own delight, not knowing whether they could understand any human language.

Either way, his words did not seem to please them, and the remaining snake-creatures charged at him frantically.

"That's it, come to me. You'll make things so much easier."

Spinning around, the Prince decapitated with a single strike the first two creatures that approached and afterwards quickly adopted a defensive stance, blocking a powerful blow from a braver creature. Their swords remained locked for a relatively long period of time, when each of them tried to overpower the other, but were faced with a strong resistance. Two devious creatures, wanting to help their fellow kinsman, could have slain the Prince from behind if Markug, who had been fighting his own share of creatures in the opposite side of the cave, had not stopped them.

Gathering all his strength, the Prince pushed the creature backwards just as it was on the verge of throwing him to the ground. Since it was still standing, the Prince swept its feet off the ground, and the minute it fell to the ground, he drove his most powerful sword through its heart, extracting one last gulp from it. Two more creatures charged at him, one from the right and the other from the left. Putting his sword back in their place, the Prince ran towards the creature on the left, vaulted over it, and right after reaching the ground, while being still in the air, he kicked the creature in the back, with both feet at the same time, pushing it against the creature coming from the right. The impact was too great for the second creature to pose any resistance against it and it stumbled backwards, until it reached the edge of a deeper bit behind it. Trying to regain his balance, the creature grabbed onto the one in front of it, but instead it pulled the other creature towards it and they both fell into the dark pit with sharp rocks at the bottom.

"Now we really must find a way out of here," Markug stated after slaying his last attacker.

Following the tunnel they had spotted earlier, taking a few turns and climbing up some ledges, the Prince and Markug were lucky to find themselves back in the part of the cave they had been before Markug had fallen through the sand trap. Walking towards the light they had seen then, the two men managed to reach the surface and get back to the main road.

The sun was still shining brightly, but taking into consideration its position on the sky, it was not difficult to tell it was late in the afternoon. The two men continued their journey, walking along the road they had been forced to abandon a while back. For almost half an hour they walked in silence, each one sunk in his own thoughts. Markug had trouble getting over the uneasiness he felt, thinking back at the bizarre events he had experienced, but also at the loss of some many good soldiers, while the Prince was more concerned with the meeting with his father, since it wasn't the first time he had to deal with the world of the supernatural. Just when they were both starting to think they would most likely have to spend a night in the desert, they saw their own horses in a small valley with some scattered vegetation, among a few other horses that had been able to escape the massacre in the canyon.

Darkness had scattered the last rays of the sun when the two men rode through the gates of Babylon. Eager to know why his father had requested a meeting, the Prince quickened the pace of his white stallion and sped towards the royal palace with Markug following behind. They were only a few feet away from the main entrance, when the Prince unexpectedly brought the stallion to a stop. A strange wind had began to blow and he had had the impression that he could actually hear faint voices, reaching out to his ears like echoes, mixed with the whistling out the wind. At first they sounded like many voices, that passed by as fast as the wind, but then they blended together into a deeper and more mysterious voice, which although was still hardly discernible, could be heard by the Prince, calling out to him.

Totally ignoring Markug's questions, who was intrigued by his sudden change of attitude, the Prince carefully scanned the surroundings, from where he thought he had heard the voice. A flickering torch, lighting the entrance to a side alley, caught his eye and as he continued to watched it with growing interest, he gasped in surprise as the flame faded away when a dark fog passed before it, disappearing inside the alley; the same kind of fog that he had seen when he had been attacked in his tent, a few nights before.

Whether that had been real or not, this would be the night he would find out.

"This ends tonight," he shouted and kicked the horse, making it go faster and faster, until they both became one with the darkness of the alley, much to Markug's astonishment, who remained starring after the Prince.


	11. New faces, old ways

**Author's note: **My dear faithful reviewers, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support. I did not imagine that after all this time you would still want me to update. Love ya!

Also, many thanks to my new reviewers. I hope you will enjoy this chapter as well.

Oh, and another thing, I've found on a site a brief description and info on some of the weapons in PoP:WW. Here's one:

**_FRAVASHIS SWORD:  
  
"Within Babylon there exists a small cult of elite Warrior-Priests dedicated to the protection of the royal family. Named for the Fravashis (Guardian Angels), they are sworn to watch over the King and his kin, though always from a distance. It is said that the Fravashis' swords derive their strength from the life-force of the guardsmen themselves, a continual reminder of the meaning of sacrifice.  
A small band of Fravashis were dispatched from Babylon following The Prince's departure. They have tracked his ship to the Island of Time, remaining in the background – hoping there won't be any need for them to intervene. But while the Fravashis have come to protect The Prince, no one has come to protect them. And the Island is home to foes they are ill prepared to face."  
_**

I figured it would be a shame to overlook this piece of info, because it adds nicely to the story. Read the chapter and you'll understand what I mean.

**Episode XI : "New faces, old ways"**

Once inside the alley, the Prince slowed down the pace of his stallion when he realized he had blindly rushed into a pool of utmost darkness. There was a full moon that night, shinning in all of its cold splendor on the clear sky, but its vague light was not enough to guide a lost soul through the labyrinthine streets of Babylon. The Prince had stopped his stallion, being reluctant about venturing into the blackness that lay before his eyes. Seeing how his sight was not much of a help, he strained his ears for any sounds that might alert him in case something would approach him. For a few moments nothing could be heard except the wind, but then the eerie voice from before burst out of nowhere, echoing in the Prince's mind, and then faded away as fast as it had come.

Although he was unable to make out any exact sounds, the Prince assumed it must have been some sort of voice, because it was too intense to be a simple breeze, and he felt like it deliberately smashed against his ears. When he heard the voice, it seemed to have come directly from behind him. He turned and looked in all possible directions, now that his eyes had accustomed to the darkness and he could scarcely make out the shape of things, but he found nothing. Soon afterwards, he heard the voice again, this time coming from far away, and when he turned around he saw a smaller alley, with all its torches lit. The Prince was certain that there had been no light coming from that direction a few moments back, and as much as he hated it, he had to admit his courage had started to abandon him. The thought of going back had briefly cross his mind, but he shook it away rapidly.

No, I will not run like a coward. I must get to the bottom of this, the Prince thought as he dismounted, unsheathed his swords, and ran inside the lit alley.

He had reached the middle of the alley when he heard what sounded like a strong breeze blow behind him. He turned around on the spot and saw the torches being extinguished before his eyes, by a dark fog that retreated into the darkness, at the back of the alley. His curiosity arousing the same time as his fear, the Prince took a few steps forward, hoping to spot something in the fog stretching before him. No sooner had he done this than he heard the same mysterious wind blow once more behind his back. He spun around and saw the fire of the last remaining torches disappear. Once again he found himself alone in the darkness of the alley, his only companion being the full moon on the sky, which he prayed would not vanish behind a curtain of thick clouds.

Not knowing what path to take, the Prince became aware that there was nothing he could do other than keep a tight grip on the hilts of his swords and wait for whatever he had gone after, to come after him. His wait was not long and bizarre noises echoed once more behind him, always behind him, as if whatever was after him wanted to sneak up behind him and take him by surprise. But the Prince was not one to allow his enemies this kind of satisfaction and stood courageously in the face of the dark fog that had started to slowly swirl around in one spot. In his left hand he held his secondary sword right in front of him, prepared to block incoming attacks while in his right hand he held up his magnificent Eagle Sword, ready to strike down any foe.

He had a menacing air about him and in an ordinary battle there would have undoubtedly been adversaries who would not have waited to experience the Prince's advanced fighting abilities on their own flesh, to flee from his sight, but this was no ordinary battle. The Prince stared at the swirling fog before him and in the darkness of the night he thought he could see a silhouette emerge among it, rising to impressionable heights and shaping into an enormous form. Whatever it was, it was most certainly not human, though the outline of its body held some familiar traits. The Prince did not know what it was but he knew who it was, the same creature that had attacked him in his tent, in what thought it had been only a dream. If this was another dream, it was without any doubt the most realistic dream he had ever dreamt.

Breathing soundly and heavily, as if from the depth of an abyss, the creature took one step towards the Prince, who, in his turn, reluctantly took a few steps back. Stepping from the dark shadows into the moonlight, the creature revealed its true form before the Prince. Its massive, three feet tall body was as black as coal, bearing odd white markings that for an unknown reason could be clearly distinguished in the dark, as if they were somehow, glowing. Its hands had sharp claws for fingers and two, very large, turned horns rested on its head, while its face was difficult to distinguish amid the fog that still swirled around it, though much slower, even peaceful one would say, had the circumstances been different.

Staring back at the Prince with its small eyes that, unexplainably, had turned from a glittering white to a bright, burning shade of red, the minute it stepped closer to the Prince, the creature remained motionless. Remembering the way it had attacked him in his supposed dream, the Prince kept his defensive stance till the moment he decided to make his move, turning both his sword towards the creature's stomach, from where the deadly tentacles that burned his flesh, had sprung on their first encounter. Upon being attacked, the creature did not retort, but instead began laughing a demonic, muffled laugh, as the Prince slashed in vain at its body that seemed to be made of smoke and not of flesh and blood.

Before the Prince could attempt a different attack, the creature clenched his neck into its metal-like hand and lifted him to its level. Gasping for air and cringing at the pain of having the creature's sharp claws piercing his neck, the Prince fought hopelessly to free himself as warm streams of his own blood lingered, from the inflicted wounds, down his chest and back and his life-force was slowly drifting away. At a moment when he thought he would surely die, he found himself thrown by the creature to the opposite end of the alley, at a speed greater than the most powerful catapult in the world could reach. Smashing against a stone wall, the Prince fell to the ground on a pile of baskets, most of which now lay flat beneath him.

A good couple of minutes passed before the Prince found the strength to move his body, which felt to him heavier than ever. Sustaining his weight first on his hands and afterwards on his knees as well, he managed to push himself up and stand straight. His tired eyes scanned the surroundings and fortunately there was no sign of the creature. Also fortunate was his finding of his two swords, lying close-by. Unfortunate, however, was the roar that came from above him as the creature jumped down from the tall building he had just smashed the Prince into. Jumping to his right, the Prince barely avoided being stomped upon by the gigantic monster.

The only solution that the Prince thought of immediately, acknowledging the state he was in, was running, at least until he could think of a way to dispose of the creature. So, he ran as fast as he could, without looking back, taking whatever turn his instincts told him to take. He was running aimlessly, with the creature close behind him, just like in his dream. At one point, the wild chase took him through a narrower alley, where the buildings on either side were connected by wooden beams, forming more or less, some sort of rooftop over the alley. Hastening his pace, he made a sudden jump and grabbed hold of one of the beams. Next thing he knew, he was running on the improvised rooftop of wooden beams.

Looking back to see if this made any difference whatsoever, he saw the creature approaching furiously in a vortex of black fog that devastated everything in its path. He knew it was high time to conceive a plan and there was not a moment to spare. He had to act quickly if he wanted to live through the night. As he approached the end of the alley, and therefore of the rooftop he was running on, he all of a sudden deviated from his path and sprung to his left, grabbing onto a metal pole, higher on the wall, from which hang a street-lantern, where a fire still burnt brightly. Putting his acrobatic skills into practice, he swung on the pole and then let go at the precise moment, grabbing onto a higher pole, situated not too far in front of him.

Once he had climbed up, onto the pole, the solid rooftop of a large building was only a step away. He took that step and started running back, looking down at the alley that he had just came through. The creature was there, searching for him. Now it was the Prince's turn to take it by surprise. Drawing out his smaller sword, he threw himself upon it, landing on its upper back, at the back of its neck. The same time he landed, he impaled the full length of his blade into the thick nape of the creature's neck. The creature roared and started to move around frantically, as the Prince pulled out his blade and stroke it again and again, only to find that the results were no different from the time he had attempted to cut its stomach.

Before the Prince could take notice of what was about to happen, the creature smashed its back against a nearby building, making him relive the previous, painful experience. Falling two feet to the ground and this time landing directly on the stone pathway, the Prince did not loose consciousness, but he soon wished he had, as the creature's tentacles tightened around his ankles, lifting him upside-down off the ground. Everything occured the same as before, only this time the Prince was thrown with greater strength, smashing through a large, wooden door, and landing in an interior court, inside a water basin where women would come to do laundry.

Soon the creature came after its prey, but something peculiar happened. Seeing the Prince lying unconscious underwater, it simply stood and stared. Then, it began circling the basin, never reaching inside with its claws or tentacles, to pull out and destroy its opponent, careful to avoid even stepping into the puddles that had formed around the basin when the Prince splashed into the water. The creature waited and waited, groaning and breathing hard, as if in frustration, until sounds of humans approaching reached its hearing.

**Earlier that day …**

Before the Prince had even set out of the encampment that morning, the woman had already entered Babylon and had traversed a great section of the city. She passed through poorer neighborhoods, situated close to the surrounding walls, on her way to the more impressive dwellings, in the proximity of the royal palace and the other grandiose buildings. Having abandoned the horse she had stolen outside the city walls, she had made her way through the city in her own, particular way. From the rooftop on top of which she was currently standing, she had a perfect view of the house she had told the real priestess to go to and wait for her there.

A feeling of nostalgia took hold of her as she admired the house that had been her home for the past six years. Although she was happy to be back, at the same time she was aware that once inside Babylon, she would inevitably have to face old problems, which she had not yet been able to deal with once and for all. She remembered this when she heard familiar noises coming from the street below, and as she saw someone moving in the shadows, near the only path she could take in order to reach her home, she sighed with annoyance:

"Not again … "

For a brief moment she contemplated going back and taking another way home, even though that meant going halfway around the city, but that was only until her keen senses detected an unknown presence behind her. Ready to make her move, she was stunned to see that her opponent had anticipated it. Before she could even begin to turn around, several large strips of purple cloth came from behind and wrapped themselves around her, pinning her arms against her body so that she could not move them. After that, whoever had thrown the strips at her, pulled them back, and her along with them, thus getting her tied up even more.

"We will take what you have stolen, and this time you will face the proper punishment for your crimes," spoke the man who had captured her and who was now holding the ends of the strips like reins.

His tone, though not menacing, was nevertheless very serious, speaking like a righteous man, entrusted to do justice. The woman on the other hand, far from being scared or worried, broke out into a slightly hysterical laughter.

"We have been through this so many times, I was hoping we'd be friends by now," she smirked turning her head to look at the man behind her. "How about showing me your face for once. No one's looking. I bet you are a very handsome man," she taunted her captor who wore a purple turban and various cloths of the same color that covered his head almost entirely, revealing only his eyes. He was dressed with a loose black blouse, black pants and a purple, sleeveless coat with silver patterns, reaching halfway between his knees and ankles, tied at the middle with a red sash.

"Give us the bag," the man ordered, indifferent to her comments.

"Certainly, if you tell me how exactly to do that."

The man sighed, finally acknowledging the fact that the bag was pinned to her body, wrapped under the wide strips of purple cloth and there was no manner in which she could have reached it. He pulled out a knife and attempted to cut several strips, just enough to be able to retrieve the content of the bag, when the woman, who had her back turned to him, used her heel to inflict pain upon a very sensitive part of his body. Hoping to catch him off guard she turned and attempted to perform another kick, this time to knock him over, taking advantage of the fact that only her upper body was tied up in purple cloths. Unfortunately for her, he caught her foot in his hands just as she was about to deliver a powerful blow to his head. Trapped in a very uncomfortable position, the woman acted fast, flipping backwards and hitting the man under his chin, with her free foot. He stumbled backwards and collapsed, but not before releasing her right foot from his grasp.

The woman landed safely in a calculated position and noticed two other men, dressed in outfits identical to that of the man she had just defeated, advancing fast in her direction. Smirking at them, the woman quickly turned the other way around and started running towards the edge of the roof. The men gave chase and came to a sudden halt when the woman stopped in front of them on the very edge, nearly making them bump into her. She turned and stared at them with a puzzling grin on her lips, waiting for them to approach. Not knowing what she had in mind, the men came towards her with very small steps, and when they were close enough, she jumped. Leaping forward, one of the men wanted to grab her, but instead he was only able to grasp the loose end of one of the strips, which was exactly what she had hoped for. With the man holding tight the piece of cloth, she rolled all the way to the ground, undoing the bonds. He attempted to pull her back up but succeeded only in hastening her escape.

Once free and in full control of her body, she twisted during her fall, when she was very close to the ground, so that she would not fall on her back, and landed smoothly in a crouched position. The entire weight of her body was sustained only by her palms and the tips of her feet, while her back was arched almost like a cat's and her bent legs were close to her body. She stood up slowly, undulating her body in a rather sensual manner, and when she turned to gaze back at her pursuers it was somewhat like she had performed a pirouette. She smirked at them, relishing her success, and just as she was about to make her triumphant exit, the bag she carried on her right shoulder, containing the urn she had retrieved, was snatched away harshly and pulled upwards.

Enraged more by the fact that she had been caught by surprise than because of the bag being stolen from her, she looked up to see a not so ordinary bird, flying with the strap of the bag clenched in its talons. The bird, which was about the size of a hawk, had a slender body with long feathers in shades of purple and red, the tip of each feather being dipped in black. It had only three, very long feathers for a tail and a crest of another set of three feathers, though half shorter than those from the tail and colored in bright orange. The woman's eyes trailed after it in astonishment, watching it fly directly to the two men who had remained on the rooftop. When it got next to them, the bird was suddenly enveloped in a purple fog, which spread around it until the other two men were nearly hidden from sight, as well. The fog cleared as fast as it had appeared and now three men were standing on the rooftop, all of them dressed identical, the only difference being that the one who stood where the bird had stopped, was holding the woman's bag.

"So it seems I don't know all of your secrets. How frustrating," the woman muttered, with concealed anger in her voice.

Still eyeing the three men with intense dislike, any plan she would have devised to get the urn back that very moment was shattered when loud voices coming from down the alley announced the passing of the King's guards, other acquaintances she had no desire to meet. Though it took her mere seconds to cast a short glance in the direction from which the noise was coming, when she looked back up, the three men were no longer there.

When she eventually reached her house, the woman chose to sneak inside through the somewhat secluded servants' entrance. She crossed the narrow corridor and entered the kitchen, hoping that no one had gotten up that early in the morning. She made her way across the room and stopped in front of the door leading to the main hallway, peeking from behind the curtain of wooden beads to see whether there was safe for her to pass unnoticed. She gently pulled the beads apart, careful not too make too much noise and was with one foot over the threshold, when a familiar voice called her name.

"Maniya!"

"And here I was concerned about not waking you up," she smiled at the woman who had crept behind her.

Nadira approached, welcoming her home with a warm, motherly embrace that Maniya was delighted to receive.

"This time I was actually concerned about you. Venturing off like that into the Persian camp was a foolish thing to do. What if someone recognized you?" Nadira spoke very seriously, grasping Maniya's shoulders with her hands and looking her straight in the eyes.

"My quarrels are mostly with the palace guards, not the King's soldiers. Besides, I could not have let the priestess go, and she was very keen on it."

"Yes, that is also true," the elderly woman sighed, removing her hands from Maniya's shoulders.

"Where is the priestess? Has she arrived safely?"

"Yes, she is resting now. It is, after all, very early in the morning"

"Then what are you doing already up at this hour?" Maniya sneered.

"Waiting for you, of course. Where is the urn, by the way?" Nadira inquired, which put Maniya in an uncomfortable situation, making her lower her gaze in embarrassment. "Did you fail to retrieve it? I sent Nasmat to help you. Did she not come?"

"No, she did come," the woman made her way across the room to a small window with a view to the street " …… and it was not difficult to retrieve it, but when I reached the city I was attacked and the urn stolen from me," she continued while glancing absent mindedly out of the window.

"Stolen? No, this cannot be," a shrill voice cried out with despair and both Maniya and Nadira turned to look at the priestess standing in the doorway. "We must retrieve it, we must. The urn has to be put back in its rightful place."

"Fear not, the urn will be returned," Nadira spoke with confidence. "Do you know who took it?" she addressed Maniya.

"Yes, my dear old friends, the Fravashis," she answered sarcastically.

"Typical of them, always meddling with things that are none of their concern," Nadira added on an equally sarcastic tone, though with traces of slight indifference and resignation.

"Actually the fault was mine. My staying at the Persian camp had diminished my power of concentration," Maniya cast a glance at Nadira, who shook her head smiling.

"Does this mean we will never get the urn back? No, there must be a way. Who are these people? Why do they want the urn for?" the priestess was in a high state of distress and her hands and voice trembled as she spoke.

"They don't want the urn. In fact I am certain they do not know what it is. The Fravashis are a small cult of elite warrior-priests, who, for hundreds of years, have dedicated their lives to protecting the royal family. They are sworn to watch over the King and his kin, though always from a distance. When they saw me carrying a bag with the King's coat-of-arms on it, they must have assumed I had stolen some of his majesty's possessions," she made a short pause, then added with a sneer, " …… again."

"Now they have probably taken it to the King's treasure chamber," Nadira continued.

"That is what I fear."

"But you can take it back, can you not?" the priestess inquired, dismissing from the start a negative reply. There could not be a negative reply. The urn had to be returned.

" …… I can't," Maniya finally responded with deep regret, gazing at the trembling priestess who looked back at her with wide, watery eyes. "There is only one way to get inside the treasure chamber, through the main doors. I cannot get in and out without alarming the guards or setting off the complicated defense mechanisms, unless I had permission to enter, which is thoroughly impossible."

"There is one thing I forgot to mention," Nadira spoke before the priestess could display further outbursts of panic. "The King's eldest son is to be married soon and his bride is arriving today."

"I really do not see how this information could be of any use to me," Maniya responded, slightly confused.

"The prince has not yet seen his future wife, and she is an Arabian princess who, according to their customs, must keep her face covered at all times in the presence of strangers."

"Well, I believed this information may be useful after all …… very useful."


	12. A queen to be

**Author's note: **First of all, I would like to thank my dear reviewers, who I hope will support me once again, and I would also like to present my sincere apologise for the extremely long delay. I have no intention to abandon this story, because it is my most favourite and I truly wish my devoted reviewers could once again aid me with their commentaries and suggestions.

The cause of this delay was due to the fact that this was the year when I entered college and moved from home to a new city. I was very busy accommodating to the new way of living and to college life, which, unfortunately, turned out to be more stressful than I have ever imagined.

Nevertheless, I promise to find the time and continue working on this story.

**Episode XII : "A queen to be"**

Marriage has always been a greatly awaited and sumptuously prepared event among families of royal ancestry, especially when it involved the King's successor and the princess who will one day be the queen of a nation. The Persians made no exception from this tradition, and so, the palace of Babylon rang out once more with joyful sounds of music and laughter as a great feast was prepared to celebrate the arrival of Princess Yasmeen-bint-Hamid of Arabia, who was to marry Prince Sogdian, King Sharaman's eldest son and heir to the throne.

The grandeur of the feast was nevertheless shadowed by the absence of a most important figure, the eldest prince himself. The king explained his son's delay by claiming the military services he had to perform in distant lands to maintain a political and administrative stability within the empire, but was not entirely capable of hiding his embarrassment in front of the princess' father, whose cold and emotionless stare betrayed his lack of confidence in the excuse he had been given. Moreover, he would have immediately cancelled the wedding, considering the prince to have a disrespectful attitude and no diplomatic skills, had it not been for the advantages that would follow the alliance of his kingdom with the Persian Empire, as a result of the marriage.

**A couple of hours later …**

King Sharaman stood awake in his chamber long into the night, after the feast ended, looking time and time again over the scroll of parchment Sogdian had sent him, motivating his incapability to attend the banquet. A knock, in the middle of the night, at the large wooden doors of his chambers, echoing strangely through the room and inside his head, startled the brave king. Without waiting for the king's permission, the doors were pushed open and the eldest prince stepped inside casually, knowing he would find his father awake and waiting for him.

Sogdian was a tall, well-built man in his late thirties, although he could easily be mistaken for someone much younger. He had an olive complexion, hazel eyes and long, wavy hair that fell past his shoulders. His Roman nose and firm chin emphasised his noble heritage, yet he had not the appearance of a stern and vigilant lord, but bore a calm and peaceful expression, denoting his honest and generous self. The armour he was wearing, together with a heavy sword that hung to his side and a long cape, showed that he had just arrived and had hurried to see his father, before anything else.

"I would so much like to believe, Sogdian, that your delay was not caused by any more of your aberrant ideas", the king stated without any introductions, waving the piece of parchment Sogdian had sent him, before his son's eyes.

"I told you no lies, father. It seems fate assent to my aberrant ideas," the prince answered boldly, with a smile.

"Fate? What about the fate of Babylon, of Persia? Who will rule the empire when I'm gone?" the king took rapid steps towards his son, sounding highly alarmed.

"You will rule for many years to come," Sogdian added quickly, finding it difficult to imagine a time when his father would no longer be a part of his life.

"The more I rule, the older you get. What if, when your time will come to step on the throne, you will be an old man with no heirs? Will you allow our dynasty to perish in shame while strangers, or perhaps our very enemies will fight for the throne?" the king frowned his brows and heightened his voice as he shook the prince's shoulders with both hands, as if attempting to make him acknowledge the reality of things.

"Father, you are exaggerating. I never pronounced myself against marrying, it is just that I see marriage as a union that should be based not only on interest but also on love, and marrying a woman I have not even met …… ," Sogdian was abruptly interrupted by his father.

"You will have an entire lifetime to find love with whoever you wish and take as many wives as you please, but you must take Princess Yasmeen as your first wife. Arabia has quickly risen to be a powerful nation, having become a possible threat even to our great empire. An alliance with their king is our only alternative to war."

"I do not mean to be disrespectful, but we cannot be entirely certain that …… "

The king raised his right hand to silence his son, and directed his paces towards the balcony, speaking while doing so.

"The arrangements have already been made. Tomorrow we will appoint the date of the ceremony, and as your king and father, I command you to obey me," the king faced his son, addressing him almost menacingly.

Sogdian remained silent, with a slightly disappointed look on his face, and the king turned his eyes in the opposite direction, when he felt his authoritarian gaze slowly turning into a compassionate one. A brief moment of silence followed, then the king addressed his son once more, making a forced attempt to ease the atmosphere.

"Go and wonder the corridors of the palace if you please, and if you should find a princess you can love, you have my consent to marry her instead."

"Good night, father," the prince broke through his sadness with a smile, which lingered on his lips as he left his father's quarters.

**Earlier that evening …**

Before Prince Sogdian and his men had arrived, while the guests and courtiers were still enjoying themselves at the king's feast, Maniya wasted no time in putting her plan into action and sneaked inside the Tower of Babel. She climbed the walls and exterior columns of the most abrupt part of the structure, and therefore the less accessible and less guarded part, making her way from the base of the tower to the balconies of the royal palace, which together with the marvellous hanging-gardens crowned the top.

She knew precisely what she had to do and for no reason would she allow herself to be distracted from her mission, but as she crept along rooftops and supporting beams, searching for a more secluded entrance, something happened that she did not intend. The corner of her left eye caught sight of something familiar and as Maniya spun around to see what it was, she froze on the spot, her eyes almost filling with tears and her mind abruptly invaded with memories from her past.

Looking straight at a certain balcony in the distance, the one that had drawn her attention, she completely forgot about everyone and everything concerning the present, while various images flashed before her eyes.

**Six years before …**

"You stole it. Admit it!" a tall, skinny woman, with a wrinkled face, dressed in elegant robes and wearing excessive jewellery and a turban on her head, also adorned with gold and precious jewels, barked at Maniya, who was dressed very poorly and looked nothing like her present self.

"No! I swear, mistress. It is mine. A gift," the scared girl tried to defend herself, clutching in her hand the pendant, representing the profile of a sited cat, which a mysterious woman by the name of Nadira had given her and which she now wore at her neck, on a string made of thin rope.

"You cannot possibly expect me to believe the lies of a pathetic servant. Guards! Guards!" she yelled with all her strength and two guards rushed into the room. "This servant has been caught stealing from the king's treasury. Take her to the dungeons and give her the proper punishment, then lock her up."

Hearing this, Maniya entered a state of utter shock, that preventing her from reacting in any way, or even thinking. She knew very well knew that anyone caught stealing had their right hand caught off, but if she was accused of stealing form the king himself, then it was very likely she could be hanged afterwards. As she saw the guars approaching, their eyes glistening with fury, Maniya did the only thing that her instincts told her to do, she ran. Bursting through a smaller door, hidden by red curtains, at the other side of the room, Maniya reached a corridor along which she ran desperately, as fast as she could, striving to outrun the two stronger men.

Turning left and right, looking back at the guards rather then where she was going, fate made it so that she reached a balcony, from which it was impossible to escape. Desperate as she was, seeing the guards approaching rapidly and shouting at her, Maniya made an attempt to straddle the banister, not knowing herself how she could escape if the ground was barely visible from the impressive height where she stood. The banister, however, proved to be very difficult to straddle for someone who wore a long dress, not vaporous like silk but rough and tight like a sack.

But just as she sat there on the banister, one leg almost over it and the other hanging in the air, she heard a familiar sound, a mewing. Looking above the archway door of the balcony, she saw sitting above it, on a girder, the cat she had once tried to rescue and which afterwards disappeared without a trace. The cat was looking straight at her and mewing insistently, which distracted Maniya's attention and she did not hear one guard shouting Stop right there, thief or see the other aiming his bow at her and releasing an arrow that did not hit her, but swished past her ear, which, ironically, proved to be fatal for her.

She instinctively threw her head backwards to avoid being hit, but unconsciously she also removed her hand from the banister, thus loosing her balance. Her heart was pounding furiously, her entire being was filled with a terrifying fear and her eyes swum in tears when she felt her body slipping backwards and her hands could no longer reach the banister and grab hold of it. Still gazing at the cat that was now starring back in silence, she whispered desperately with trembling lips "Help me!" and then she fell.

The guards rushed to the banister and looked down, watching the girl's body smashing against a sharp rock, then bouncing off it and falling down on another one, and so on until it felt into the river that passed near the palace, in that more remote area of the city, near the defensive walls.

Warm, golden rays of the sun invaded the small chamber, filling it with soft, morning light. Maniya frowned when the rays tickled her eyes, disturbing her from her slumber. Without opening them, she stretched her arms and afterwards proceeded to turn on her right side, only that, when she did so, she found herself slipping down from what she thought to be her bed, and collapsing to the ground from a height of six feet. She woke up on the spot and jumped to her feet, looking perplexed.

The place from which she had fallen was a supporting wooden grind, where apparently she had been sleeping. Casting a glance at the floor just bellow the window she noticed her usual outfit lying there, soaking wet and full of mud. She, on the other hand, was shinning clean, her skin and hair carrying a sent of sweet perfumes. But what astonished her the most were her clothes, all colourful and silky and rather revealing. The silver pendant now hang at her neck on a exquisitely designed silver chain and she also wore earrings, bracelets and rings made gold or silver, and adorned with precious gems.

The sound of footsteps outside her door made her turn and as she was starring at the door concentrated, wondering who was approaching and would probably enter her room, for a brief moment, something odd happened. She thought she had seen, through the door, the shinning white form, like an aura, of the person approaching. Before she could ponder on it further, the door burst open and Delasa entered, looking very concerned.

"Maniya, what has …… ?" she began but was struck dumb upon seeing the girl's new appearance. "Dear me, what is this? Where did you get all of these? Gods be merciful, you didn't …… steal them, did you?"

"Aaaa ……," Maniya was also speechless, realising she had absolutely no memory of how she came to possess such expensive belongings. "I …… don't know."

"Where were you yesterday? I was so worried. I had to make preparations for the celebration and ……," Delasa began but was interrupted by Maniya, who all of a sudden remembered she also had important chores to do for the summer solstice celebration that took place at the palace.

"The celebration! I almost forgot," Maniya shouted and ran to the door, but was stopped by Delasa.

"Where are you going?"

"There is still much to be done and so little time before the celebration begins."

"My dear, the celebration was yesterday," Delasa explained to her, puzzled by her attitude.

Maniya starred at her, looking very confused, when suddenly, she once again heard the familiar mew. Running to the window and looking down in the street below she saw the same cat she had once attempted to rescue, looking back at her. Possibly out of the desperate need to find some answers, Maniya left the room in a hurry, pushing past Delasa without saying a word, and ran into the street, searching for the cat, which had once again vanished from sight. The mewing rang again in her ears and she immediately knew where to look to find the cat. She saw it at the end of the alley, sitting on a basket. The dizziness and anxiety that possessed her body prevented her from wondering how she had been able to hear so clearly the mewing of the cat, when there was a great distance between the two of them, and the alley packed with stalls and counters was crowded with people buying and selling, walking about and making great tumult.

Following the cat further on, Maniya did not realise when she had reached the more sumptuous neighbourhoods of the city, situated in the vicinity of the Great Tower. She ran after it through narrow, winding streets, then came to a stop after making a left turn and finding herself before the beautifully decorated entrance doors of one of the mansions in the area, the cat once again being out of sight. She pondered for a while, hopping to hear the cat again, but nothing happened this time, except for the doors opening just as she was about to head back. Curiosity made her approach and she saw that there was no one there who could have opened them. Stepping over the threshold she entered a small interior court decorated in a mixture of Arabian and Egyptian styles, with arabesques, coloured tiles and mosaics. In the middle there was a fountain, and on the sides many flowerpots adorned the court, some of them accommodating trailing plants, which stretched on the pillars that were supporting the balcony above.

"I've been expecting you," Maniya heard a woman's voice speaking to her left, as she was gazing upwards at the exceptionally carved screen windows, and the coloured, transparent curtains.

"Nadira?" said Maniya, recognising the woman who nodded in response.

"I knew you would come, when you were ready."

"What do you mean?" the girl frowned in confusion.

"Follow me."

The girl did as told and they both entered a even more beautifully adorned room, with chairs, sofas, a low table and bookcases, on the ground as well as on a high wooden platform, for the room was as tall as two. The stone walls were of a simple cream colour, but the multicoloured drapes, curtains and flowers, as well as some simple green plants, compensated for the lack of tiles. However, what really surprised Maniya was the great number of cats, about fifteen, that moved across the room or simply laid somewhere on a comfortable cushion. Even more bizarre, when she entered the room, all the cats rushed to her, mewing and fawning on her. Only one cat stood still, looking straight at her, the one she had been following.

"Her name is Nasmat. She is a Mau, a rare Egyptian breed," Nadira explained as she walked towards the staircase that led to the platform. Maniya walked behind her and stopped when she stopped, in front of a shelf upon which there was a statuette of a woman with the head of a cat.

"The Egyptian goddess Bast," Nadira began to tell her. "The Maus are sacred to Bast, they are her messengers. Bast is a rarity, goddess of the moon, and of the sun. She represents the duality in all women: docile, yet aggressive, nurturing, yet ferocious."

"But, why are you telling me all this? What has it got to do with me, I mean ……?" Maniya was both impressed and confused.

"What happened the other night?" Nadira interrupted her, surprising her at the same time with her question.

"I …… don't remember."

"Do you want me to tell you?"

"Yes," Maniya said promptly, very eager to see what the response would be, to find out answers, both concerning her situation, and concerning the woman who seemed to know more about her than she herself knew.

"You died," Nadira gave her a simple answer, but one that shook her entire being.

"What? …… I didn't die, I mean look at me, I'm right here," Maniya could not prevent herself from laughing at the absurdity of the words the woman had uttered.

"You died ……, but you were reborn."

"Oh, you're crazy! You are crazy cat lady," Maniya spoke frightened this time, seeing how Nadira stuck firmly to her explanation and starred at her very oddly, with wide opened eyes.

"Bast knew your fate. That's why she tested you, to see if you were worthy of a gift she could give you, a gift that could change your life ……," as she spoke, Nadira approached Maniya with slow paces, while the girl backed away in fear, until she reached the edge of the platform, for there was no banister, only six cylindrical pillars that connected the ceiling with the floor bellow. " …… and give you a new one," the woman concluded just as Maniya turned to face her again, and stretched her right arm towards Maniya's chest, pushing her gently, but enough to make the girl loose her balance and fall.

What followed was something that amazed Maniya beyond words. While she was falling, without even realising it, she turned in mid air and landed safely on all fours, imitating perfectly the graceful moves of a feline. Forgetting even to stand up, she looked back at Nadira, and even though she found herself incapable to compose a single phrase, her pleading eyes desperately demanded an explanation.

"You're not alone child. There have been others before you," Nadira told her, hoping to calm her down and make her accept things as they were.

"What has happened to me?"

"The goddess Bast has chosen you to be her emissary on earth, to do what she commands and in so doing assuring the triumph of light over darkness, of justice over lawfulness, bringing order where there is chaos and maintaining the natural balance of things, without which our world would fall apart," Nadira spoke while descending the staircase and coming to stand in front of Maniya, who had also stood up from the floor.

"You speak of the impossible. This is not a task to be appointed to a common mortal."

"But you are no longer a common mortal. You died as a common mortal, but you were reborn as a child of the Goddess of Light, who has passed on to you some of her most precious gifts. You are no more tied to this world."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that you are not contained by the rules of society. You follow your own desires. This is both a blessing and a curse. You will often be alone and misunderstood, but you will experience a freedom other women will never know. You are a daughter of Bast and therefore possess some of her most powerful attributes: every sight, every smell, every sound, incredibly heightened, fierce and independent, total confidence, inhuman reflexes."

"So, I'm not Maniya anymore?" she asked on a trembling voice.

"You are Maniya …… ," she began and then she walked to a nearby table from which she took something covered in a black cloth, which she held with both hands in front of Maniya as she continued " …… and you are a daughter of Bast."

Removing the cloth with one hand she revealed a beautiful and rather delicate looking sword, with a thin, curved blade and a golden hilt, shaped in form of the goddess Bast, a woman in a tight, long dress, with the head of a cat and her arms crossed over her chest.

"This is the sword that only the emissary of Bast may carry. Now it is yours. It is your destiny." Nadira looked into Maniya's eyes for a brief moment and saw that she was still frightened. "Accept it child. You spent a lifetime caged. By accepting who you are, all of who you are, you can be free …… and freedom is power."

"I have never held a sword before," Maniya reached forth reluctantly to touch the weapon.

"Bast is your mother and your protector. A part of her is within you, guiding your every move, and you will often find yourself doing things you had, so far, not even thought possible."

Maniya took the sword in her hands and as she examined it she also tried to put everything together, to better understand what had happened to her and most importantly, what was to become of her. Then she realised something and looked up to Nadira full of sorrow.

"Where am I to go? I cannot go back, resume my old life."

"I too am a servant of Bast, and therefore, a servant of her daughter. Whatever is mine, from now on is also yours. The daughter of Bast is welcome to call my house her own, for as long as she wishes."

**Note:** "bint" means "daughter of …" in Arabian (Yasmeen-bint-Hamid)


End file.
