Third Chance

She gasped. Air filled her lungs, burning air, welcome air. The first after the last, nevermind the hours between. Frozen blood came alive as her heart started up again with unsteady beats; it felt as if liquid fire coursed through her veins. Muscles that had grown rigid in the cold of death agonizingly stretched once more. Energy filled her, unearthly power, magic that should not be.

Her eyes snapped open and her back arched high as she convulsed in intense pain, not unlike that of birth's. Very, very few ever walked under the blue skies, who knew what it felt like to return from the Beyond, and none came before her, who were lucky or cursed enough to experience it twice.

She sat up slowly, feeling even fainter than the first time she returned from the dead. With a dreadful, sinking feeling, she took in the familiar surroundings, the high gates of the Temple, the cold marble altar of her people, and the Tree of Life stretching upwards, towards the high heavens, larger than eternity. A piece of transcendence in the mortal world; a prison for an immortal enemy. But not for long. Her gaze drifted from the ever-old (but not everlasting) tree to the worried face of her resurrecter.

The Prince, the concubine had called him. Sharp features and a few days of stubble, framed by his scarf. His glacier-blue eyes were filled with worry instead of the usual insolent smirk, as he sought her eyes. There was no denying the fact that her heart beat, and there would be no denying the price paid for it.

Men will do stupid things for women.

He betrayed her, just like her father before him, and making all the sacrifices, all that she lived for, all that she died for, null and void. The air, the ground, no, the very fabric of reality shook around them and the magic screamed within her as the dark god tore free of the last of his shackles. All she could do was to breathe out one word, filled with unspeakable hurt before she collapsed into the welcome arms of unconsciousness.

'Why?'

She did not feel when the Prince lifted her lithe body, cradling her in his arms, but she regained her consciousness for a moment when the world exploded around them. The waves of power that washed over came in sync with the faint beats of her heart. Maybe.

She felt him watch her, yet she turned away, unable to meet his eyes. She allowed herself to be carried, because she could not raise the strength to protest. She felt empty, like never before. There was nothing left. No fertile grounds, no temple, no Tree of Life, no City of Light. No hope for mankind. All that she had ever known, all that had ever mattered, has fallen.

Ahriman roared free, and the man who bore her weight was the sole reason for that. The pain of betrayal burned all-consuming in her heart. She had given all she had, more than anyone could have asked for, more, more and more, and it had not been enough. In the end even her sacrifice, her noble death had been stripped away from her by this… stranger, this nameless drifter in the desert. She hated him, and she heated herself, because the heart wrenching desperation was infected with a sliver of guilty joy, that yet, she lived, once again defying all odds.

The sky darkened above them, and the scorching heat of this forsaken desert was overcome by the icy cold of death and decay. The storm of Corruption raged around them, with dark tendrils snapping at their heels, but never catching up, and miraculously, they could leave the valley of the Ahura unharmed. The shock of rebirth made her weak, but the steps of the Prince did not falter carrying her weight, not even once. She was too tired, too drained physically and emotionally to protest against being held this close to him.

Then suddenly it was over. The cacophonic noise stilled as the Prince took the last steps leading out of the valley, and abruptly clear, azure sky stretched above them, in blinding contrast of the boiling clouds of infernal magic that threatened to swallow them alive. The otherworldly wind that tugged at them wildly was gone, only the constant, light breeze of the desert remained, born of the mundane shifting of hot and cold air. She slowly opened the eyes that were clenched shut at the sudden peace. Maybe they have died. Maybe this was all a dream in the afterlife. She was weary beyond all measure, and half-delirious from death and magic.

Was it only hours? Was it days? The mad dash through the crumbling capital of a once vast empire, trying to do the impossible, to reach all the chains that once bound a god, racing against an unseen clock. And for a moment she had dared to believe that they had succeeded. That she could finally rest in peace, her final task complete. Bitterness flooded her again. The world was done for, she thought. Who could resist Ahriman, unleashed once more, roaming the Earth unchecked?

She was shaken out of her dark thoughts by a rude sound; the loud, happy braying of a thirsty donkey. Strong arms lowered her to the ground and placed her gently on the sand.

'Stay here, okay?' he said softly. She didn't acknowledge him; even hearing his voice filled her with helpless rage. Raising to his feet once again, he turned to the still braying donkey which trotted over to them.

'Farah!' Patting her head, he started to looks through the disheveled packs still bound to the animal's back.

'There you are, good girl, good girl!' and answering the insistent donkey, 'Yes, I know you are hungry and thirsty, just give me one second, oooh here you go, just don't drink like a pig!' He put one of the waterskins to the dehydrated animal's mouth and gave her the full content, then put the fodder on her neck.

'You are good girl, you found me, you found me', he continued to talk in the way reserved for animals and very small children, when the words don't matter, just the tone, and kept patting her head. 'Now eat, and stay still while I check your bags.'

Elika moved for the first time since her resurrection, raising her body from the sand, and looked up. Even though she was trembling with fury, she couldn't help the feeling of, well, normalcy she felt seeing the perfectly domestic scene, Man Taking Care of Donkey. The serenity flitted away in the wind when the man in question reached into one of the carefully closed bags and pulled out a couple of trinkets that shone brightly in the noon sun. Gold. A king's ransom, she remembered. Grabbing another waterskin, he closed the few steps to her sitting form, and put it into her trembling hands. Like hot and cold, the fury was gone, and despair took its place.

'Why?' she asked once again, her voice quivering. His answer was quite unlike him, soft spoken and almost apologetic.

'You must drink, you need strength. We need to get away fast.'

'WHY!?' she screamed throwing the waterskin far away. It landed with a thud and the life giving wetness started to seep out the half open cork. He took a few swift steps to pick it up, then turned back to her. He kneeled next to her, his face dead serious; there was no half smile playing on his lips.

'Who do you think sent me to your kingdom?'

'WHAT?' She screamed at him, too angry to hear his words.

'Who. Do. You. Think. Sent. Me?' he grabbed her, with fingers biting into flesh, leaving marks that would last for day, and the waterskin fell to the ground, forgotten, while he formed the words one by one.

Magic welled up in Elika, rising to meet her need for the death of another. She felt the blinding-white flames dance under the skin of her palm, yearning to burn, to consume. She hissed back at him, through clenched teeth.

'Let go of me.'

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax his hold, and asked again, 'Who do you think sent me? It was no accident I fell into your hidden kingdom, you said so yourself. So who guided my path? Whose pawn am I? Ohrmazd's or Ahriman's?'

Finally tearing herself from his grasp she stood up in one fluid movement, ready to fight, death's weariness forgotten.

'You are the lapdog of Ahriman, for all I care!'

'When was the first time you used your magic? It was to save me!'

'And don't you think I won't regret that until the end of my days!'

'Think about it! If Ahriman's ploy had lured me to that place, would Ohrmazd have allowed you to protect me countless times? Would he have allowed me to stay unharmed in his Fertile Grounds when you cleansed them of Corruption?'

'Only to have you sell them to Ahriman himself once again!'

'Can we please stay on topic?' He burst out, almost indignant. 'I'm trying to explain myself.'

'There is no explanation, there are not even words for your betrayal!' She spat the words. The magic fought to be unleashed, fueling her anger. Sparks danced on her palm, and blood thudded in her ear.

'You think so, Princess?' He took a step back. 'Let's see what your God thinks! Come, do your worst, blast me or whatever you do! Let's see if your Lord thinks I'm a servant of evil!' He lowered his hands, offering his unprotected chest, the trademark smirk back on his face. He was enjoying this, she realized. He had betrayed the world and now was making a joke, a game out of his deed. Her eyes narrowed to slits, and quicker than lightning her hands snapped up. White streaks of deadly force flew free, fueled by need and anger. They raced towards his chest, and time froze.

In slow motion, she saw his eyes widen in terrified surprise that she would actually take him up on his offer, and reality washed through her like ice-cold water, dousing the flames of passion. She tried to reach for the magic to call it back, but it was late, too late. Fire, her fire arced through the distance between them.

Then, at the very last moment, the snakes of white light veered off harmlessly, curving up and left, avoiding their target. He stood there unharmed, and apparently pleasantly surprised that once again, somehow, he cheated death.

Spent mentally and physically she fell on her knees, and his strong arms closed around her. She collapsed into his embrace, and sitting in the sand, under the cruel eye of an unforgiving sun, she started to sob, uncontrollably.

The dam breaks, and all the unshed tears, all the locked away pain begin to flow, while she clung to him with a death grip. The final goodbye to her mother; the despair at watching her kingdom wither away, the loneliness of the endless nights spent alone under the stars on top of the Queen's Tower; the weight of the world on her untried shoulders; the knowledge that if she failed, none will pick up the mantle; the loss of her father to a fate far worse than death… These pent up feelings, kept under the cool exterior, now ran amok in her. Each of them, alone, would have reduced the strongest of men to quivering wretches, and she had stood her ground, stone cold, unfeeling for so long.

But no more; she couldn't hold them back anymore. Then came the tears for herself, for the life she resigned to sacrifice so that others may live, the tears for an Elika-that-could-have-been, patched together from half-hopes and daydreams, from tales of travelers, and knowledge garnered from books.

All of this and more were finally given way. She shook violently, and tears drenched his shirt, until she could cry no more.

And all the while, he held her wordlessly.

Time passed.

Slowly, she stilled, and when he thought she was ready, he let her go. Hazel eyes met blue ones for the first time in her life. This life. And once more, she asked softly:

'Why?'

And this time, she was ready to hear his answer.