The night that followed had been a quiet one. The day was long, and the air was filled with the somber atmosphere that had followed them ever since they left his home. Greshme cried in Nathaniel's little cousin's room alongside her, until she fell asleep. Mohammed sat on the couch cuddled against Nami. She had let him rest on top of her bosom, allowing him to let out all the tears he wanted.
The arrangement happened after they led Greshme into Nathaniel's little cousin's room. The two sat on the couch together in silence before Nami stood up to hug him, telling him to simply "Let it out."
It had been 3 hours since then and the sun had long since set. In silence Mohammed laid on top of her Bosom with his arms wrapped around her waist and his body between her legs.
Nami passed the time by playing with his dark and curly hair. Their hair was about the same length, but at least with his she could actually run her fingers through it without them getting snagged. It was soft and silky, a bit of dandruff thanks to him not using his hair cream for a week, but she didn't mind. She just played on, getting lost in her own thoughts.
"Nami." She nearly jumped at the mention of her own name. Mohammed's voice was hoarse, like he had something stuck in his throat.
"Yes." Her answer came out as a whisper, but he was close enough to hear it.
"Did I do the right thing?" Nami thought deeply on the question, but she knew she had to give him an answer eventually.
"You did what was best for you." She answered. "There was no right thing to do in that situation, you picked what worked for you, and there's nothing wrong with that." She honestly didn't know how her answer affected him and just spoke from the heart.
"What if I never see them again? Or by the time I get back it will already be too late?" She could hear the sadness in his tone, and hearing it almost made her want to cry.
"Well, that depends. Do you love them?" Mohammed shot up.
"I do! More than anything in this world." Nami propped herself up with her elbows, shortening the distance between them and staring deep into his amber-colored eyes.
"Then you will see them again." She fixed herself to sit up straight, seeing that her bosom wasn't needed anymore.
"I haven't seen my father in 5 years, the bastard doesn't even call. But I love him, more than anything in the world, I love my dad. Before we parted he told me, Love always finds its way back to you, so long as you love someone you will see them again." She finished, twiddling her thumbs on her lap. She didn't notice the smile that had crept its way on her lips, only focusing on how embarrassed she was to admit that.
"Your dad sounds like a wise man." Mohammed commented as he sat himself next to her.
"He's an idiot. An irresponsible, heavy drinking, airheaded idiot who's lucky that he made it to 34." She ranted. "I love that idiot, but I swear I'll kill him the next time I see him." Mohammed nearly broke into laughter after hearing all of that, covering his mouth to prevent it from spilling out. His efforts proved useless as he broke down into a laughing fit. Nami joined him as the irony of the situation hit her.
"Maybe one day we'll both get to kill our dads." Moe said in between his laughs.
"When I kill my dad it would be out of love, not whatever you got going on." She teased.
"Oh please, you can't deny that I won't be satisfied when I kill that bastard. You'll be crying like a baby over yours." Moe jabbed.
"Will not! I'd be too busy basking in praise because killing him would do the world a favor!" She shot back.
"Cheers to that, the world would be so much better without scummy fathers." The two laughed together for a while. This time it was Nami resting on Moe's thighs.
"Take me home dummy." She said, poking the tip of his nose with her index.
"And what if I don't want to?" A sly smile came over him as he looked down in her dark brown eyes.
"That's kidnap Mohammed, you wouldn't want me reporting you to the principal now would you?" Moe grunted before flicking her nose with his middle finger. She groaned in complaint.
"Let's take you home then."
The drive to the border was a quiet one, but the silence between them was comforting. They only started talking again when they were a few minutes away from the border with Moe being the one to break the silence.
"Thanks again, Nami. You helped me a lot today." Moe thanked yet again as he still couldn't believe what happened.
"It's nothing really, I just wanted you to come back to school is all." Her statement was only a quarter of the truth.
"You do, don't you? Then I want you to be straight with me. What is going on in Rosemary?" Nami was slightly taken aback. Did he know what was going on?
"I know it sounds ridiculous, but I believe that there's a mage working behind the scenes at school." She answered.
"A Mage?"
"Yep, one with the ability to possess and manipulate other people like puppets, that's the only thing I'm sure of at this point." Nami admitted.
"And what role do I play in all of this?"
"To be honest with you, I'm not 100% sure as to what I'm going to do with you." Moe looked at Nami questioningly.
"You telling me that you came all this way to come get me and you don't even know why you wanted to get me?" Nami groaned at his assessment.
"I have a plan."
"Oh please, enlighten me with this "plan" of yours." Nami flailed in her seat as she racked her brain for an answer.
"Well, you're a Mage and…" She trailed off.
"And?" Moe asked, getting slightly impatient.
"That's all."
"You're hopeless." He sighed with a deadpan expression
"I'd like to see you try balancing school and the threat of your reputation at the same time!" Moe chuckled, before giving her the floor to speak.
"You see, I know a lot about Mages. Almost as much as I know about God styles. So, I was hoping to run some experiments with you." She whispered out the last part.
"So, I'm your guinea pig?" He asked, unimpressed with her answer.
"I know what I'm looking for, and I wouldn't put you under a test I know will fail." She turned to him with pleading eyes. "Trust me."
With a sigh Moe answered with a tired "Fine." and Nami jumped for joy. The border came into view and Moe stopped near the gate. The last bus of the day was getting ready to leave so he dropped her off after inspection from the guards.
"The bus leaves in 10 minutes, so why don't you keep me company until then?" Nami asked, and she didn't need to wait for him to answer as they both sat at the station together.
"So, do you mind telling me how this experiment works?" Moe asked, starting up conversation as they waited.
Nami looked at her lap for a while before facing him.
"Is anything wrong?"
"The scars on your body, I want you to tell me exactly how you got them." Moe's expression bittered as he turned to her frowning.
"And why do you need to know that." His voice was low and apprehensive.
"When Mages learn spells, they first learn their incantation before mastering it and being able to perform the spell without incantations. The methods used to do this vary between every teacher, but it all has the same effect. The method used on you, is tariqat alnadba(Way of the scar)." The mere mention of that name sent shivers down Mohammed's spine as he remembered his father mentioned it on numerous occasions.
By inflicting a scar on your body, your brain is forced to remember how you got that scar, and in turn you remember the incantation of the spell. If you can tell me how you got each scar and the incantation that's tied to it, then I might have a way to counter the puppeteer's control."
Moe hugged himself as his blood began to run cold.
"A…And you won't tell anyone about this?" Nami rolled her eyes and sighed.
"Come on Mohammed we've been through this already, I'm on your side." Moe grinded his teeth together creating an unsavory noise.
"You are, aren't you?" His shivering worsened even though he wore a smile.
"Moe, it's okay. I will never go behind your back." Finally, his shivering ceased, and he stood up.
"Moe?" Nami asked worriedly. He stared off into the distance ominously, not even turning to make eye contact with her.
"Give me your dominant hand." He demanded. The request was strange, but Nami complied. Handing him her right hand.
Moe grabbed it and pulled her on her feet. Walking toward the bathrooms, away from prying eyes.
"Moe, what are you doing?"
"My family comes from a long line of Mages that was nearly killed off a while back. In a way you can say that my family is Royalty." Moe said as he began drawing symbols on her right palm.
"So, are you like some sort of prince or something?" Nami asked jokingly, trying her best to hide her nerves.
"Yes." He answered plainly, which didn't help at all. There was a bit of a silence between them, and Moe looked to be hesitating with the symbols he drew.
"Why are you telling me this?" Nami asked, letting her curiosity get the better of her.
"Royal Bloods like my family have the ability to draw our mark on the people who submit to us. Now say your name." Mohammed demanded as he finished with the symbols.
"Nami." Her voice came out in a squeak as her nerves got the better of her.
"Every time I use his magic, I remember those days in that basement. Almost as if I never escaped. Maybe that's the work Tariqat alnadba." Mohammed's gaze was distant almost as if he was some place else. "I need your full name, Nami. Your true name." Moe demanded still dawning a menacing look, but his voice didn't match his expression, being soothingly soft.
"Na-Namibia. Nala. Mandisa." Mohammed's eyes glowed a light amber before Nami began feeling a burning sensation on her right palm. It burned so bad that it brought Nami to her knees.
Once the burning had subsided Nami looked at her palm and noticed the mark of a horse head imprinted on her. The mark slowly faded away until it was invisible, but she could still feel it at the spot it burned her.
"What did you do to me?" Nami asked in horror. Something had shifted, her eyes, her ears, her tongue, her nose, her skin, her thoughts… her soul felt as if they weren't hers anymore.
"I've made you my slave."
_____________________________________________
The chains rattled in the emptiness of the dark basement. Hot air made it difficult to breathe as he heaved heavy breaths to try and stay conscious, knowing what would happen to him if he passed out. He reeked of piss, emphasized by the heated air around him. His skin plagued with sweat that did nothing to cool him off. How long had he been there?
A footstep echoed as a moment of cool air brushed him, causing him to flinch. The footsteps approached and he began flailing in his chains, trying to pull away from what was to come. His efforts proved useless as the grip his cuffs had on him denied him escape. Then again, where would he go? He was already being tortured in his own home and it wasn't as if the outside world was accepting of him either. He'd die before a day would pass, either from weakness or getting stabbed. All of which sounded like a mercy to him.
"Aha'med, what have you done?" Another voice, that wasn't his father's, asked in shock.
"Tariqat alnadba. have you ever heard of the term my friend?" His father walked in front of him, ducking under the chains that held him captive.
"It is a sacred practice, done to pull out the full potential of a Mage." Aha'med pulled out the knife he had been using to conduct his torture and all Mohammed could do was hopelessly pull at his restraints, trying his hardest to get away from the man. The knife was as dark as charcoal, its edge being the only silver that stood out. An old language had been carved onto the blade of the knife and on its hilt, a sign of a pheonix.
"I have produced an Heir, Jumbo. But unfortunately, he is too weak to take after me. Should I pass, my family will have no one left to protect them. My bloodline will go extinct." Mohammed continued his desperate flailing. His wrists getting bruised from all his violent pulling. His mouth opened to scream, but his throat was burnt from all the screaming he had done up to that point. Only able to let out tired groans.
"The South will be without a hero, and the North will slaughter every last one of us." He continued as the black knife began to glow orange at its edge. The text lit up a second later and soon the knife was engulfed in a blue flame. "The only way to ensure that never happens, is by producing a Mage equal to me in strength." He pushed the knife into Mohammed's stomach and began dragging it down his abdomen. Mohammed's body tensed as the pain paralyzed him. His cries of agony only being met with Aha'med's cold emotionless gaze.
"Aha'med! You're going to kill the boy!" Jumbo pulled Aha'med away and the knife began to go back to its original color, the blue flame extinguishing itself.
"If he is my son, then he will live." Mohammed's heaves of agony continued as the gaping slash on his abdomen repaired itself. The iron of Mohammed's cuffs began to glow a bright orange as they heated up from Mohammed's touch. He chanted the spell in desperation as it was the only thing keeping him conscious. His entire body erupted into flames forming the shape of what seemed to be a bird.
"That's my boy." Aha'med said with a proud smile as he reached out his hand to control Mohammed's fire.
He pushed himself as hard as he could, the goal being to melt the cuffs off his wrists. If he achieved that, then it will all end. No more cuts, no more chains. He poured his all into the spell, the image of the twins he had not seen in 2 years pushing him further. If not for himself, then for them. I will see the twins again, I will break free from these chains, I will be free from this place. These were the thoughts that drove him. These were the thoughts that kept him going. But something burned deeper than all these thoughts combined. A thought that burned bright within the pits of his soul. I will kill you! Aha'med!
The cuffs of Mohammed's chains began to return to their normal color as Mohammed vomited all over the floor.
"Mana sickness." Aha'med said, lifting Mohammed's slouched head with his boot. "It's an affliction that affects us Mages once we have exhausted the Mana from our body. Similar to how a computer freezes when its processors are overworked, a Mage's bodily functions will cease and often result in death. He has been chanting that spell for 2 months, and only now is he showing signs of this affliction." Aha'med pulled his foot away before another set of footsteps walked in the room. These set of footsteps were lighter than his father's and Jumbo's.
"Heal him, Zara. The boy is useless to me if he is dead." Gentle hands lifted Mohammed's slouched head, and his dead gaze locked onto the soft set of amber eyes that could only belong to his mother.
"Leave." She said, her gaze not leaving Mohammed's. The two men began making their way out, leaving Mohammed alone with his mother.
"Oh my son, mama needs you to stay strong. It will all be over soon." Her hands glowed a light orange hue and for a moment all the pain he felt vanished. For a moment, he forgot about the chains that bound him in that terrible place. For a moment. He felt. Oblivion.