Zatanna #5 - Wen Snoitcerid

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Author: ScarecrowSid

Book: Zatanna

Event: Origins

Set: 6

   As the sun faded from view, Zatanna pondered the sudden evolution of the world. Two men, in admittedly bright and silly costumes, were filmed floating in mid-air. One of them wouldn’t stop plastering his face across every screen in sight, the other was giving interviews. In the days following these developments, Billy and Jason had cycled in and out of her room with assorted bits of information from the outside world.

   She came to learn that the ghoul she’d fought was still wandering Fawcett at night, it crept across rooftops searching, waiting. Jason, with Billy in tow, had left for the day, they were keeping a watch on the ghoul in her stead. The wound to Zatanna’s side proved impervious to her magic, it wicked away every attempt to heal or bind the stinging flesh.

   Her thoughts drifted back to the new memory which haunted her dreams, of the strange thing in the mirror and the fiendish eyes. Zatanna dreamt of nothing else now, her waking hours flashed images of that night the corner of her eyes. After her brief distraction by the two men hovering on the television, her mind had been flooded with the wonder and disbelief of a child unwrapping gifts under a solstice tree. She waited every night for a new cycle of her life to reveal itself, but none did. Zatanna followed the same winding path through a single memory night after night, always ending with whatever spell her father had concocted that fateful night.

   She settled back into the pile of pillows on her bed and frowned as she took up a lock of her hair. The sheen had become a shine, the ends were frayed in places, clumped in others. Zatanna sighed and said, “Hsaw.”

   A tingling of tea leaves massaged her scalp, an altogether pleasant aroma filled the room as her personal concoctions worked their charms across her skin. The room below began to flood with the suds, rising slowly as her crafts continued. A single searing pain at her side quickly became her chief complaint, whatever sorcery the ghoul employed repelled any and all of her own spellcraft.

   As the room continued to flood, she smiled at the castles, creatures, and characters that frothed across the water’s surface before saying, “Yrd.” At once, as if a drain had appeared in the ground below, the bubbling world was drawn into itself, it whirled into a single vortex and vanished. Her bedding, sheets, skin, and hair began to dry next, the slow glow of an imagined sun radiated from her as the night took hold of the world beyond her room.

   Feeling refreshed, Zatanna leaned back against her bedding once more and stared at the ceiling a moment. Suddenly the lights flickered and died, leaving her sitting in complete shadow. She waited a moment, surely the hospital had some sort of reserve power. When none came, she sat up in her bed and slowly swung her legs over it’s side. They dangled there, the cold biting her toes as she sat upright for the first time in days.

   The sensations of rising after a restful night’s sleep are not akin to the sensations of rising from days of confinement within a motorized gurney, it took a moment for her muscles to remember themselves. There were quick, quiet pops as her spine straightened into place, no longer supported by the mound of pillows or the bed beneath. She pulled back her shoulders and pressed out her chest, her lungs filled quickly and expired slowly.

   Zatanna grinned down at her toes as they wiggled to life, she spread them wide as she stretched the soles and arches of her feet. It was odd that sitting up hadn’t occurred to her earlier, but she was often galvanized by forces beyond her control. Her playful stretching was interrupted by a flash of green below her door, a smoky light seeped through and into the air around her, still holding onto the odd green glow as it wafted toward her. Beyond the door she heard a low, guttural growl that surely belonged to some manner of predator. Her heart quickened, pulsing into her ears, nearly deafening her. Something big, something powerful seemed to stalk the halls beyond her door, but where were the staff? Surely they wouldn’t abandon their patients in the event of some beast stalking the night.

   After a second’s deliberation, Zatanna pulled herself from the bed and found her feet. A moment’s wobble was replaced by sure footing, she kept her feet turned wide to avoid losing her balance. With careful ease, she began to take gradual steps toward the door and smirked at how simple it seemed. Dread was a powerful motivator.

   Zatanna placed her hand on the door and paused, suddenly aware of the chill of her bare ass. “A toac,” she muttered with a small smile before stretching her arms behind her. Two sleeves enveloped her arms as she shrugged a black coat lined with violet silk over her shoulders, she buttoned the top two buttons and placed her hand on the door knob. It was uncomfortably cold, almost icy, as she turned it.

★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★

   Zatanna found herself in a dark, empty hallway. All doors were clamped shut, including the one she’d just walked through. Despite her best attempts, it had not given way a second time. She stared at each of the doors as she wandered past, the green glow beneath her door was gone and the hall behind her faded into unnatural darkness. The opposite end, the way ahead of her, seemed to end in a single door, she supposed that was better than the void behind her.

   Magic always elicited a certain sensation, something in the air made it obvious she was spellbound, entranced, or otherwise bewitched by some otherworldly force. Zatanna casually made her way down the hall, mindful of the many doors and their own billowing smoke. As she neared the first, the white smoke was engulfed by a yellow glow from beneath its frame. Zatanna carefully approached the door and turned the handle.

   Within the frame was a world, a window to another place in time that left her winded, as if it drew life from her. She stared out into the cavernous interior, a liquid sloshed across the surface, bubbling and giving off steam. It was now she saw the first of the people drowning in this strange bile, they poked their heads out of the dark, bubbling ooze and swung one wild arm. They shouted inaudible curses, or prayers, as the muck dragged them below once more. Zatanna hesitated, then attempted to step forward. She felt her toe stub against the barrier soon enough to halt the rest of her body. There was ward here, a wall perhaps, that kept her from crossing the threshold.

   Whatever illusion played behind the frame began to fade, the spell waned but Zatanna glimpsed the briefest moment of a man in a tall, black hat waving a gloved hand before being back into the depths.

★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★

   She stared a moment at the empty frame, filled instead by the vestiges of a hospital suite. Whatever world she had glimpsed was gone, replaced once again by the mundane. Curiously, the room was empty, completely devoid of an occupant or staff. She spared only a moment for investigation, unsure of what it was she had seen.

   Had that been her father? The hat was recognizable enough, and the gloves, but the man’s face had been shrouded by the waves. She ventured into the hallway once more and studied the second door, a red glow beneath its frame. Hesitantly, she turned the handle and revealed the second spell.

   The room was empty, no rocky walls or strange lake. Instead the space was filled with the skeletal remains of some thousand figures scattered in oblong patterns. At the center of this chaos sat someone small, a child perhaps, seated amongst the ruin. Everything seemed to radiate from that child, a mess of black hair was tucked beneath a ragged red hood and small, pale hands traced something in the white sand that constituted the floor.

   It took Zatanna a moment to recognize the child, she only became sure when it took a handful of sand and let it trickle back onto the ground. As the last grains left the child’s hand, it open its palm and stared at the scar running along the palm. Zatanna rubbed ran her thumb along her own scar and stared, bewildered, at the child a moment. Her younger self stared back at her, piercing blue eyes visible beneath the clumps of hair.

   “I don’t remember you,” Zatanna said, entirely unsure if the girl would even hear her. Zatanna pressed her scarred palm against the clear barrier that prevented her from entering the illusion and smiled a somber smile at the young girl seated amongst the carnage. As the vision faded, Zatanna hoped she had seen the scar upon her hand.

★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★

   Zatanna, somewhat horrified by the menagerie of visions behind the doors, chose to ignore then and strode past, straight for the final door at the end of the hall. As she passed each, the glows gave a kind of rattle as their illusion faded. The first she skipped, a blue lit frame, exploded behind her, fire and stone crashed into the walls of the hall and vanished in hissing disapproval.

   The second was less forceful, from beneath the pale blue glow a parade of snakes slithered down the hall, tickling her feet as they slid past and vanished in faint white wisps. The third of the remaining doors, emitting a bright orange glow, gave a chorus of toads, completely out of sync, as she passed. Only one door stood between her and the door at the end of the hall, one that gave a violent, violet hiss before she approached and swung open of its own accord.

   She peered in as she put her hand on the handle of the final door, looking over her shoulder at the scene within. A man with dark, reddish brown hair with white streaks was suspended upon a wheel, weeping down at a hulking figure below. Zatanna recognized them instantly, for she had spent so much of her life in their care: Jason and Etrigan. The demon wore a cloak similar to the one he wore in her employ, but the style was different, perhaps older and more ornate than his usual attire. The scaled yellow hand and forked ears gave his identity away, even if was turned away from her.

   The two seemed to ignore her but, curiously enough, she could hear the tortured shouts coming from Jason.

   “Hail...The King who was!” he shouted as Etrigan raised a hand, now holding a smith’s hammer and brought it down upon Jason’s left arm. Between the yelps and howls, Jason’s weeping mouth managed another call, “Hail...King that shall be.”

   As Etrigan readied another strike, Zatanna looked away and turned the handle in front of her, frightened by the insight this spell seemed to bear.

★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★

   The last door lacked a barrier, instead she stepped into a large antechamber. Like the hall behind her, it was shadowed, but beyond it lay a dimly lit cathedral with a narrow red carpet leading to a shrouded throne. Zatanna made her way through the antechamber, attempting to the decipher the strange text scrawled across the walls as she passed. This sort of spellcraft was special, unique in the way her own family’s manor, the Shadowcrest, occupied its own place in space.

   The cathedral was plain, more scrawls across the walls and pockets of light from windows overhead. It seemed to be carved into a mountain, this cathedral was a cavern. There were statues on her left, mosaic in a way with the same strange script chiseled into their pedestals. The distorted faces seemed to glare at her as she passed, some scowling, as if ready to spring to life. She clutched at her coat as she neared the throne, still in shadow, and held out one of her hands.

   “Thgil eht yaw,” she said. A ball of light rose from her hand and floated toward the throne, revealing the occupant, Billy. Zatanna stared for a moment at her friend, he made no acknowledgment of her presence. As she drew a little closer she noticed his eyes were shut and his nose gave a slight whistle, he was asleep.

   “Billy,” she hissed. The boy didn’t move, but she drew nearer. She was within arm’s reach when another, deep voice halted her.

   “Let him sleep,” it growled. Zatanna whirled around and searched the room. Despite breaks of daylight, the room was still shrouded in many places, only the path to the throne and the idols were lit in any significant way. “You’ve interfered enough.”

   “Who are you?” she asked. “Show yourself!”

   “You’re dangerous,” it said. Two green, flickering lights prowled, they betrayed the silent, calculating beast roaming the shadows before her. Its eyes were fixed, dead set on their prey as it stalked. The creature crept into view, and settled upon the path to the throne, staring up the dais she and Billy occupied. The voice, surprisingly came from a massive, striped feline whose ginger coat gleamed beneath the throne-light.

   “Who,” she stopped herself and started again, “What are you?”

   “I am his protector,” the tiger said. There was something unnerving about seeing a tiger speak, but she took it in stride. “The old man isn’t here right now, or this conversation would be more direct.”

   “Your master?”

   “The Wizard doesn’t take kindly to people messing with his plans,” the tiger replied. “You put Billy in harm’s way.”

   “I did no such thing,” Zatanna replied. “That sorcerer, that ghoul, put him in danger.”

   “Was it that sorcerer that led him to slaughter tonight?” the tiger asked. “No, it was you and your demon. If not for my intervention, the boy would be dead.”

   “Listen,” Zatanna began. “What I’m doing is important, I didn’t ask Billy to…”

   “You didn’t need to,” the tiger replied. “That’s the kind of man this boy is, he has a good soul. That’s why the Wizard favors him. You, on the other hand, your soul is plagued. Don’t even get me started on your pet.”

   “Don’t presume to know me,” Zatanna said, her voice cooler than she’d planned. “You’re in no position to judge.”

   “A frightened little girl surrounded by chaos,” the tiger spat. “The vain desires to hunt down memory and solve mysteries about oneself, you have the power to do more and you choose not to. Humans care only for themselves, that is why this boy is special. And tonight, he nearly died by your hand. Tell me, girl, can you read that script?” The tiger nodded at the idols, the strange scrawl upon them was no clearer now than before.

   “No,” Zatanna said.

   “You wouldn’t be able to,” the tiger said. “Unless you were worthy.”

   “Enough,” Zatanna replied, anger rising through her. “Where is my friend?”

   “Your pet? Back where he belongs,” the tiger said. “I put him in a cage and sent him to your friends, the so called sorcerers and sorceresses you consort with.”

   “Oblivion?” she asked. The tiger nodded. “What happens to Billy?”

   The tiger walked past her as she stepped off the dais and came to rest at Billy’s feet. “The boy will forget all of this,” he replied.

   “You shouldn’t play with his memories,” Zatanna said, still brimming with fury. “You have no right to change them.”

   “How noble,” the tiger scoffed, she could swear he smirked. “I’ll offer you a choice, because we both know you could compel him to wake and undo my work. You can wake him, tell him everything and leave him with more questions than answers, or I’ll tell you where the sorcerer you fought, and his master, reside.”

   “You’ll...what?” Zatanna stared at the tiger a moment and thought over his proposal. Despite the horrors her lost memories likely held, she wanted them back without exception, but Billy was no sorcerer. Where she could manipulate the world, and the forces within it, Billy would never even scratch the edges of the dam that hid the last few days from him.

   “I’m waiting,” the tiger said in a low growl. She stared at Billy. For years, everyone had been telling her that digging through the gap in her memory was trouble, and for years trouble had followed every attempt to do so. Would he be better off not remembering? Would he hunt the truth, or would he simply move on?

   “Will he ever know?” she asked.

   “We won’t engage in the same shoddy craft that was done upon you,” the tiger replied. “He will never know, and you, you will never return.”

   “Agreed,” she replied. “But only if you help me remember.”

   “That is beyond me,” the tiger said. “But the man who controls that ghoulish thing you fought, has a prisoner that may be of some service to you.”

   “What is his name?”

   “We only know him as ‘Night,’” the tiger replied. “As for the charmer, the one who may be able to help you, she is called Nimue.”

★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★ Some time later ★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★

   Zatanna stepped past the veils of her Shadowcrest and admired the city below. The winding array of streets was lit now by mid-evening traffic, tail-lights spelling out some arcane, forgotten passages like so many of her father’s texts. She looked down from her balcony at the rooftops, fresh rain began to spatter gargoyles lining the span of the high-rise opposite her. Every fleck revealed a lost lustre faded by sun-kissed years, there was something about old statues that worried her. Some old fear, something forgotten.

   She brought up a hand and twirled the forefinger, a small souvenir snow globe hovered in front of her eyes. A tall, crimson wire bridge was suspended in the center, with large buildings stacked upon one another along a green hillside. White block letters floated over the bridge’s paved road, spelling out ‘San Francisco.’

   With one last glance, she said, “Goodbye Gotham.” The Shadowcrest began to hum beneath her feet, the roots freeing themselves of the steel and glass below. “Olleh Nas Ocsicnarf.” As the city faded from view, something leapt from the pack of stone demons, something with horns and wide, black wings.

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