Mazenderan Chronicles

A/N: This is my first real story here. Unfortunately, I do not own Phantom of the Opera. The characters in this story belong to Gaston Leroux with a quite bit of Susan Kay in them and perhaps a little from the musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber. Summary: A story about Erik's years in Persian with an epilogue briefly describing the events in Leroux's novel. Based on Phantom by Susan Kay and my own crazy imagination, this story will most likely be told from several characters' points of view (starting with Erik). There may be a bit of an Erik/OC relationship, but since I am a devoted E/C fan, it will not last long and will be nothing deeper than the relationship with Giovanni's daughter in Kay's novel. Please read and review.

Part I: Erik

Chapter One

An Encounter with the Persian

The hour was midnight. I had just finished my performance, and the barbaric crowds were finally leaving my tent. True, like most artists, I enjoyed displaying my skills before an audience; however, I always dreaded the close of my exhibitions, for that was the time of the appalling unmasking. If ever I refused to perform this task of my own will, jeering members of the crowd would demand that I remove my mask. Soon others would join in, closing in on me like a pack of angry dogs. At this point, I would be forced to reveal my face or be attacked by a bloodthirsty mob. They were never satisfied to view the tricks of a masked magician. No, they had to see the devil's face which accompanied the angel's voice. And so each night I unveiled my hideous visage before the peering eyes of those foul spectators. Every evening I would assume the pretence of cold statue that feels nothing, as the crowds studied my face with a gruesome mixture of horror and delight.

At the time in which this narrative begins, the fair had been in Nijni-Novgrod for over two weeks. I was young, restless, and quite ready to move on, although I suppose that it did not matter much. The crowds were the same in any city. They were all perverse and villainous simpletons who could not wait to catch a glimpse of my face. I offered them a display of wonders that would completely baffle even the most intellectual of observers; yet the masses came to view something more extraordinary than an artist's tricks. After all, where else could one observe "The Living Corpse"? Since my return to the fairs, my act had become much more than a death-like, inhuman creature in an upright coffin. Now I was allowed a tent of my own, provided with whatever comforts I could wish for. I was a respected and feared performer and treated as such. All other tents seemed to clear at the hour of my performance, and I was surrounded by a gawking throng. They watched my entertainment with delighting amazement, but still I knew the reason that they had come. To them, I was purely a freak of nature, a mere animal if you will. Nothing brought the multitudes as much macabre satisfaction as looking upon the repulsively disfigured skull that served as my head.

This particular night, I was extremely worn out. Once my show was finished, all I wished to do was lie down. When my tent had finally been cleared, I wearily blew out all of the candles, put out the oil lamps, and then removed my mask. Then I retired to my cot in a state of utter fatigue, not bothering to change into more comfortable attire. I had nearly drifted off when I heard a strange voice penetrating the solitude of my dwelling.

"Excuse me, Sir, may I have a word with you?" the man's voice said.

With one fluid motion, I had the mask in place and was on my feet, my Punjab lasso grasped tightly in one hand. I was prepared to strike. Should this strange man pose any threat to me, I certainly would not think twice about killing him. A thousand thoughts flashed through my mind in rapid succession. Who was this man and where had he come from? More importantly, what was the purpose of his ill-timed visit? Lastly, what weapon was he hiding beneath that flowing robe of his? In the darkness, I had the advantage; my glowing yellow eyes could watch his every move, but to the stranger I was merely a dark shadow.

I made a quick mental note of his features. The man was only a few inches shorter than I, with dark hair and a swarthy completion. He wore an astrakhan hat. I immediately recognized his robes to be Persian. His stance spoke of nobility, and yet there was something in his countenance that told me that this man felt lost and entirely out of place.

"I am sorry, Sir," I replied rather sharply, "but the performance is over. If you come back tomorrow evening, you may be able to view my act. I'm afraid that I do not give private performances. If I were to stoop to such an extravagant kindness, I would have no time to call my own."

The man only stared at me for a moment, his eyes round with disbelief and his mouth gaping in a rather ill-mannered fashion. When he recovered from whatever it was that had so astounded him, he laughed nervously.

"Pardon my intrusion, but I have not come to see the show." His Russian carried a distinct Persian accent, confirming my speculation. "I am Nadir Khan, the Daroga of Mazenderan. The king of all kings has sent me to implore your presents in his court." He introduced himself with the stiff bow, typical to that region of the world.

I glared at him in contempt, viewing his invitation, or rather his king's command, as more of an insult to my intelligence than a complement to my skills.

"And the Shah of Persia wishes for me to come and be his play thing? What makes you think, Daroga, that I will obey the orders of a ruler that is not my own, or any monarch for that matter?" The defiant tone of my voice evidently conveyed precisely what I desired; that I was not one to be ordered by the whims of any man be he peasant, detective, or king.

He starred at my dark form for a moment, entirely at a loss for words. By this time, I had deduced that this man had no intention of attacking me. Far from it; he was gaping at me in unreserved perplexity and bafflement. I took a seat on the edge of my cot, nonchalantly crossing my legs. At that time I did him the courtesy of lighting a single candle, which I placed on the small table beside my bed. As I completed this action, my eyes never left the Daroga. He nodded his thanks for the light. I realize that the Persian tried not to stare, but most people find it impossible not to gawk at my mask.

"You are impudent, aren't you?" I said with a short laugh. "Answer me, Persian. Do you really think that I come and go on the whims of every king who asks for me? No. I am hardly willing to stoop so low. That is what you are asking of me?"

"I would not quite put it in those words," he said at last in reply to my cutting remarks. This time, his phrases came out in a rather apprehensive tone. His voice quavered, and he even stumbled over his Russian a bit. "Your fame has been spread throughout the world. Naturally, it has reached our land. Everyone in Mazenderan is speaking of a great masked magician who works wonders beyond those known to any man. The Sultana, the younger sister of our great Shah, whishes you to take the position of her personal entertainer as our new court magician."

I raised one eyebrow skeptically, although my mask hid this gesture of incredulity from his sight. My arms instinctively crossed in front of my chest, and my head tilted to the side as I pondered the Daroga's words. So, this man attempted to flatter me. I chose to return his praise with an expression of indifference. His anxiety seemed to grow when I made no sign of falling prey to his flattery. I could not help but chuckle to myself as I observed his trepidation, and my laugh only severed to send then Persian trembling from head to toe.

"In return for your proficiencies," he went on, this time slipping carelessly into his native tongue, "you will receive great riches, a most comfortable living space in the royal palace, and…" he added with exaggerate drama, "power."

Riches hardly mattered to me. Although I appreciated the finer things of life, I had no one but myself to lavish them upon. However, that last word stuck out in my mind. Power. Yes, power was definitely something that appealed to me. In my life it had become a satisfactory replacement for love, or so I had thought.

"What kind of power?" I asked, drumming the tips of my elongated fingers together. At this time, I had also switched over to speaking in the language of his homeland.

The Persian looked relieved that he had finally drawn me into this idea of accompanying him back to his native land, and it seemed perfectly natural to him that I should speak his language with such fluency. He spread his hands in a broad gesture. "As long as you satisfy the Shah and the Sultana, you may do as you please. You will have servants and possibly others placed under your command. If you find favor in the sight of our rulers, you may possess anything that takes your fancy. In time, I have no doubt that your word will be law."

I allowed my eyes to show that his answer had pleased me. The favor of the Persian king and his sister would surely be temporary, but while it lasted… Perhaps I should consider his proposal. "You pose a tempting offer, Daroga," I spoke, watching him carefully.

After a moment of silent contemplation, I stood and moved to the pot of tea that I had prepared before my performance. The liquid inside was still tolerably warm. I poured myself a glass, adding lemon and sugar in the traditional Russian manner, all the while keeping a wary eye on the Daroga. As I completed this simple task, I noticed a look of alarm coming over my visitor's countenance. The man was literally trembling.

"Are you suffering from a chill, Daroga?" I asked. "You may have some tea if you like. It is certain to warm you up."

"No thank you. I am feeling quite well," he responded courteously, still not losing his appearance of severe unease. After the passing of a few seconds, he spoke again. "Forgive me for asking," the man said fearfully, "but are you left-handed?"

I gave a short, biting laugh at his anomalous question. "My, but you are an insolent fool, Daroga," I replied abrasively. "Yes, as a rule I tend toward performing tasks with my left hand, although I pride myself in being ambidextrous. Is there something wrong? I must say, you look as though you have seen the devil himself."

He shook his head and muttered a brief supplication to his god beneath his breath.

"I am truly sorry," he said, turning his weary attention toward me. "It simply startled me to notice your use of the left hand. You are correct in your assessment of my fear. Please, I mean no offence. You see, Sir, my people believe the devil to be left-handed and by Allah-"

"Say no more, Daroga. You are forgiven," I said, waving away his attempted apology. "I am quite accustomed to evoking fear in people. Perhaps I shall consider accompanying you to your country. I find the life that I am leading rather dull at the moment. A change of scenery would be most welcome."

I then returned to my cot, took a seat, and began sipping my tea in aloof contemplation. The soothing liquid eased my frayed nerves as I considered the proposition that this foreigner had placed before me. Travel… riches… power… It all sounded most alluring. I chose to remain silent long after my decision was made, loving the suspense that I held him in. When at last my cup was empty, I rose and placed it back onto the table beside the teapot. Then, I slowly returned to my seat, reveling in the power with which I held this stranger captive. Once again, I studied him. The man seemed to be honest enough.

"I accept," I finally replied. "When shall we leave?" Again I saw a wave of relief wash over him.

"Whenever it is convenient for you," the Persian answered. "I have made arrangements for our ship to depart twenty four days from this evening at six. We will need to leave tomorrow morning to reach the port on time; however, I can easily make other plans if that does not suit you."

"A mind-reader, eh?" I asked, letting out an incredulous chuckle. Somehow, this man had assumed that I would accompany him to his homeland, and that I would do so instantly at his bidding. I strived to make myself completely unpredictable and his presumption of my acquiescence displeased me gravely. "You are an imprudent dog, Persian," I challenged. "Making previsions as if I would follow you without the slightest explanation! Now I think that you may be forcing me to change my mind. What on earth made you think that I would be willing to go to your country? The crowds pay well enough in Russia. You had better be on your way now."

A panicked look came over his features, and I knew that I had this man right where I wanted him. "But you just told me that-"

I let out an aggravated sigh. "You needn't remind me of my own words. I will go with you, Daroga. I am a man of my word… when I so choose. Never fear. And yes," I said with a slight nod of my head, "you may return for me at ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Very well," he assented with another look of relief. He then bowed wordlessly and made his way for the exit of my dwelling.

When the man had left my tent, I blew out the single candle, removed my mask, and lay down once more. A thousand thoughts now clouded my mind, visions of the strange, new country to which I would soon be bond. However, after some time I was able to push the thoughts aside and drift off to sleep.