Zatanna #8 - Aeaea, III

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Author: ScarecrowSid

Book: Zatanna

Event: Aeaea

Arc: Season of the Witch

Set: 9

Recommended Reading:

Wonder Woman #8, Aeaea I

Zatanna #7, Aeaea II

    Lukewarm and briny, the puddle formed in Zatanna’s cheek soured as she pushed herself up from the pale sands. Her dive into the island had gone worse than planned. Instead of a direct landing in the palace at its heart, she and Diana had been hurled, rebuffed by some ward around the structure.

    “You’re awake,” said a voice to her right. Zatanna turned, blinking against the sun and saw Diana. The Amazon was wringing out a length of her black hair, her attention directed toward the tree line. There was a small fire behind her —nothing especially noteworthy about it— and a small log upon which sat a familiar coat, shirt, and pair of pants.

    A whisper of a breeze brushed past her, chilling her skin as it drew away the moth-eaten, amber cape she was swathed in. Zatanna clutched tight at the ragged cloth as she found her feet. “What happened?” she asked.

    Diana shrugged. “We drowned.” Zatanna noticed now that the Amazon stood over

    Zatanna frowned as she approached the fire. “I know I aimed for the palace,” she said. “I should have expected wards.”

    “It was an honest mistake,” Diana replied. She turned from the jungle and walked toward the shoreline, toward a glinting length of metal dug into the sands. Zatanna noticed the shape beneath, a peak rising from the mass that stood just shy of the hilt of the sword which ran parallel. The sand beside it was darkened, but not to the muddy brownish red one would expect of a bleeding beast. Instead, a dark, green bile was spreading across the sands. Diana frowned as she pulled her sword from the occasionally writhing beast. “Poor soul.”

    Zatanna, clutching the cloth tight across her shoulders, neared the creature on unsteady feet. The prominent fin, which could have belonged to a shark, was not attached to a creature that fit that description at all. Where she expected a tail, Zatanna found a forking menagerie of eight tentacles, the ends covered in barbed, chitinous tails that looked more suited to sinking ships than slithering through seas. But what alarmed her most was the upper half of this fateless creature. What sat before them was no shark, but it was a predator nonetheless. The upper half of the creature had smooth, pale skin the color of moonlight that ran along a perceived spine. It met its crest at the base of a slender neck, which led to full, rosey lips and lifeless green eyes. A mane of golden hair fanned out beside the creature, and Zatanna didn’t need to see the bare breasts tucked into the sand or question the absence of its arms, severed at the shoulder, to know what it was.

    “A siren,” Zatanna said, nearly breathless. There was, as her father constantly insisted, a difference between seeing and believing. She knew very well that oddities like this creature had once been prevalent in the world, but there were now so rarely glimpsed that every one was a wonder.

    “Yes,” Diana replied. “She had quite a hold on you.”

    “Thanks.”

    “No need,” Diana replied, smiling. Zatanna felt a sneeze well up, and it quickly presented itself. The Amazon frowned placed a hand on the sorceress’ shoulder. “Come. Sit by the fire.”

    Zatanna eased herself onto the log beside her clothing and looked it over, there was a rather vicious looking slash across the right thigh of her leggings. She drew back her borrowed cape and saw a band of red cloth bound over the corresponding section of her own skin. She looked up at Diana, who was watching her intently.

    “Is something wrong?” Zatanna asked.

    “Are you well?” Diana asked in return.

    “I...yes,” Zatanna said after brief consideration.

    “I wanted to bring you closer to the fire before,” Diana said. “But...did you know you talk to yourself in your sleep?”

    “I do?” Zatanna asked.

    “And cast spells,” Diana added, frowning. “Cleaning your wound and binding it was challenging, but getting you into that blanket was a labor to rival the Twelve.”

    “I remember things in my dreams, things I’ve forgotten,” Zatanna said, then shrugged as she caught Diana’s quizzical gaze. “It’s a long story.”

    Diana looked at her again, the stern sort of a way a parent does to wheedle away a child’s lies. The same searching way Zatanna’s own father had often employed. After a moment, the Amazon turned her head toward the treeline once more. “We have time,” Diana said. “I have not yet been able to set foot in the jungle.”

    “Maybe another time,” Zatanna said, offering her best attempt at a sincere smile. “I have a bad feeling about this island, we should grab the decrepit bitch and go.”

    “Very well,” Diana said. “But I will hear your story. Someday.” It wasn’t a question. “You should get dressed,” Diana added, grinning. “Unless you plan to startle Circe with your nakedness.”     “Would that work?” Zatanna asked, smirking as she loosed the cape and felt it slide over her shoulders and down her arms. “Perhaps you should have brought an exhibitionist instead of a magician.”

    “Well,” Diana said. “She does prefer her men in the form of pigs, who knows where her tastes lie.”

    Zatanna held her left hand over her clothing and drew forth a spell, “Sserd em!” The fabrics coalesced into a troupe of dancing patterns, the colors blended and revolved upon themselves before they dissolved in a violet haze. The haze then drifted toward the sorceress and enveloped her, offering a warm embrace that eased her chills.

    “That is quite useful,” Diana said, grinning again. “It takes me longer to pull on my boots.”

★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★

    The jungle was a dense, braided thing of vines and plumed foliage. What little of its mystery was broken by the midday light revealed only that there was more of the same behind it. The Princess and the Sorceress stood before the treeline, the latter of the two brushed her forefinger along the greenery and recoiled slightly as it sparked in her direction.

    “A barrier,” Zatanna mused. Diana kneeled over the remains of one of the dozen worn sailors that stood, or rather lay, sentry along the treeline. Some of their armor had survived the, likely, centuries spent prone in the sand. A few even had the benefit of their cloaks, and all were clutching some rusted arm or another. The Amazon had taken to liberating the few archers among the gathering of their arrows and stocking them within her own, albeit borrowed, quiver. Diana had taken a liking to the Exile’s bow and wore it as her own.

    “Can you break it?” Diana asked. She seemed to be done with her scavenging, and took up a position beside Zatanna.

    “Perhaps,” Zatanna replied. “We should walk along the shore, see if it has any weak spots.”

    Diana fastened a sword belt to her hip and sheathed the rust licked sword, now wiped clean of the jade blood, within a cracked wooden scabbard. She checked the strap of her quiver, then gave a quick and, evidently, reassuring pat to the gold thread hanging on her hip.

    Zatanna turned and took a step, but Diana caught her with a hand on her shoulder and spun the sorceress around. “One last thing,” Diana said. She held out another sword belt, complete with another rust worn sword and sun-bleached, leather scabbard.

    “I don’t know how to use that,” Zatanna admitted as she took hold of the scabbard. “There won’t be much use for me in any situation that requires this.”

    Diana looked at her again, her brows knit in confusion. “You misunderstand, sister,” Diana said. “It does not matter if you use it or not, I want whatever is waiting for us in there to think you can. It will be easier to draw them in, and then,” Diana gave a quick, heartening squeeze of Zatanna’s shoulder. “Then you show them what you’re capable of.”

★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★

    “Damn,” Zatanna said. She glared at the fire some hundred yards ahead of them, an hour after their trek began. “We’ve already circled the island.”

    “That isn’t our fire,” Diana said, bringing the bow to her hand. In a single, graceful motion she nocked an arrow and drew it back. She stepped in front of Zatanna and made her way toward the fire, her eyes scanning. “Zatanna, stay—”

    The Amazon’s voice was chased down her throat by another, a colder one that set the hairs on Zatanna’s neck on end. It said, “Princess.”

    Both women whirled to find a man standing behind them, smiling in the direction of Diana. His hair was wild, overgrown in a manner than complemented his beard, but nothing else. He wore gold plate over a tunic so white and so clean, it was surely enchanted. His feet were bare, and his hands caked in soot. Beneath the tangles, he appeared to be a man of middle years, but his eyes looked younger. They seemed to dance as they settled on Diana.

    Diana, after a moment, seemed to recognize the man. She let her bow arm slacken and returned the arrow to her quiver, then approached the man. They clasped forearms and she greeted him, “Hello Hermes.”

    The two exchanged pleasantries, and carried on in a dialect of ancient greek that Zatanna feigned ignorance of, both for the sake of politeness and suspicion of the so called god. When their formalities had reached a natural end, Hermes spoke. “It seems Zeus brought us together.”

    “Did he now? I’m here for Circe,” Diana said, nodding toward the jungle. “My business is my own.”

    “And mine,” Hermes said. “Was with you, after a word with her.”

    “You knew I would come here?” Diana asked.

    “Not at all, a happy coincidence,” Hermes said, his eyes dancing again. He folded his hands behind his back and made his way back to his fire. The Amazon and the Sorceress followed, and each settled atop one of four logs laid in a square around the burning heart. His only company seemed to be two skulls resting atop the last of the logs, one had a rather large hole in the center of its forehead. The other wore a helmet, an almost flat, iron thing smeared with dried flecks of much and blood. On either side were two gold wings, still shining despite their obvious age.

    “Hera bid me wait here until Circe returned, she didn’t like that. The witch stole my sandals,” he said, sighing. “And my cap,” he added, absentmindedly running a hand through his wild hair.

    “I see you found the cap, at least,” Zatanna said. Hermes turned to regard her for the first time— It was uncomfortable. The eyes were no longer dancing when they focused on the Sorceress, they were hollowed. As if he looked at nothing.

    “That isn’t mine, magos,” he replied. “Some poor soul that dressed in my manner, perhaps. I don’t know how he got here…”

    “Hermes,” Diana said, cutting in. The man faced her, his eyes sparkling to life once again. “Did my mother leave word?”

    “Yes.”

    “What did she say?”

    Hermes raised an eyebrow and nodded toward Zatanna, then said, “Not in front of the mortal.”

    “She is my friend—”

    “No,” Hermes said, his tone deadpan. His eyes darkened as he drew his gaze to Zatanna once more. He looked down and drew away the sand beneath his feet, exposing a square package wrapped in a worn cape. Hermes brought it up and held it out to Zatanna, “I borrowed this from Circe while she was away. I admit ignorance on the subject, but I recognize a book of spells when I see it.”

    Zatanna took hold of the wrapped book, more eagerly than she had intended to, and undid the cloth bundle. It was lighter than she expected, given the size of the bundle. The volume was a deep mauve, an unnatural color of leather that complimented the unnatural knowledge within. She carefully undid the simple knot holding the cover in place and opened the plain cover to reveal the script within. The pages were a shade of black like swatches of night sky, complete with greek letters glowing like constellations. Zatanna ran a finger along the page, it felt like vellum, but smoother.

    “Her barrier is on page forty-nine,” Hermes said. Zatanna looked up and met his dead gaze, then nodded. She stood and turned to approach the jungle, pausing only to hold a hand over the fire.

    “Wollof em,” Zatanna said. She stepped away from the camp and walked toward the jungle, several tufts of fire in her wake.

★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★

    The day whiled away, Diana sat at the fire and spoke with Hermes. Their conversation may have taken a turn toward the serious, given the stoic expression the Amazon wore. Zatanna glanced at them every now and again, but her attention was fixed on the book resting over her crossed legs.

    She had considered eavesdropping —it wasn’t beyond her abilities— but it felt wrong. Instead, she kept her attention directed toward the book of spells. There were more than she could learn in the time she had, more than she could learn in a lifetime.

    “Zatanna, can you break it?” the Amazon asked.

    The sorceress, startled, felt the paper slice her forefinger. She cursed silently and drew her hand away, blood slowly pooling on the finger. She eased a stack of turned pages back into place and softly covered the tome, a reverence that was greeted by a hiss as the spine creaked back into place.

    “No,” Zatanna said. “Well, yes. I could, but not with what we can gather on the beach. I doubt the argonauts carried virgin’s bones engraved by a blind priest.”

    Diana’s left brow arched. “That seems rather specific.”

    “No, but the directions are equally ridiculous,” Zatanna said, sighing. “But I can make a door, and for our purposes that will do.” The sorceress stretched out her legs and readied to rise, taking hold of Diana’s offered hand. “Is he coming?”

    “Hermes?” Diana asked. “No. He said, ‘I will find my own way, I always do.’”

    “Cryptic,” Zatanna mused. She drew down one of the fiery sprites, it hovered just above the tips of her paired right index and middle fingers.

    “His kind often are,” Diana said.

    “I guess if you live long enough, explaining yourself becomes more than just tedious,” Zatanna said. She began forming letters with the flame. They floated along the barrier, the ancient characters sparking as the spells reacted. Moments later, the entirety of her statement was glittering in the air against the black and green backdrop of jungle growth.

    “Evig em a rood,” Zatanna said. The letters coalesced upon one another and drifted toward the edges of her script, they framed a doorway wreathed in flame.

    Diana stepped forward, free of hesitation, and said, “Let’s go.” She stepped through the ring of fire, and Zatanna followed.

★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★

    Zatanna was unsure of what exactly she had expected find in the jungle. Perhaps the way she’d snuck past the barrier gave her a false sense of security. Perhaps the book of spells, now nestled within a makeshift satchel at her side, had made her think she could easily undo whatever traps waited. And perhaps there was some part of her, though she was unsure exactly which, that expected a yellow brick path to the goddess’ palace.

    Instead, the Amazon and the Sorceress found themselves in a flatout sprint, pursued by a pack of rotting bones.

    “Necromancy,” Zatanna said, nearly stumbling as Diana ran headlong into a trio of bone soldiers ahead of them. There was a splintering thump as she bashed them with a borrowed iron buckler, they fell to pieces in a rag wrapped bundle.

    “Poor souls,” Diana said. “Circe makes a mockery of everything. Has she no caution against the wrath of Hades?” She wasn’t out of breath, but color crept across her cheeks. A flush. She enjoyed the fight.

    “I think we’re going in circles,” Zatanna gasped as she came to a halt.

    “I am unable to fly here,” Diana said. “Are you?”

    “I already tried,” Zatanna replied. “She must have warded against that as well.” Zatanna scowled, not willing to admit a begrudging admiration. Though she had control of the Shadowcrest, she hadn’t built it. Those secrets were lost to her.

    Diana came to an abrupt halt, turned on her heel and jolted right through the dense undergrowth. Zatanna followed, gasping. The two arrived were in a clearing, the flat face of a mountain on one end.

    “A dead end,” Zatanna said, catching her breath.

    Diana frowned, then drew her bow. “In a multitude of ways,” she said. The dead crept through the surrounding greenery, easing their way into the clearing. “I’m sorry,” she added. “I’ll hold them as long as I can. Run.”

    Zatanna stared blankly at the Princess for scant seconds, then sighed and drew the sword fastened at her hip. “I don’t take orders from you, your Highness,” Zatanna said, a smirk drawing itself across her lips.

    “Now I understand how my mother felt,” Diana said, shaking her head. “Stand ready, sister, they’re coming.”

    “Dnefed em,” Zatanna whispered. The sword floated away from her hand and put itself into a guard position in front of her, as if wielded by some invisible warrior. She grinned in Diana’s direction as the Amazon fired off a volley of arrows in rapid succession, her arms nearly mechanical in their precision. The line of the dead failed to wane, however, and throngs of the rotting forms continued to bleed from the greenery. They formed a line as Diana felled another dozen with inhuman swiftness.

    “Hades,” Diana scowled, her fingers grasping the air above her empty quiver. The line of the dead, emboldened, let out a cry that should have been impossible. Bones didn’t have lungs, it was as if their very souls were crying out. Diana took hold of the buckler and drew her borrowed blade, then tapped the flat of her blade against the shield in a steady rhythm. “Come then.”

    “Nrub meht,” Zatanna said, calling forth fire that scored a half dozen hits among the ever growing line of dead soldiers. They simply stepped over their fallen and reformed their line, as if they waited for something. “Nruter reh sworra,” she added. Diana’s arrows, those not broken beyond use, darted back toward her quiver.

    There was a low, steady growl from the shadow behind them, followed by a rhythm of pulsing earth that drowned out the clang of Diana’s. Zatanna continued to summon pillars of flame, they burned through the ranks of the dead until they formed a path, a path they did not fill.

    “There’s our way out,” Zatanna said, preparing to step forward just as the crook of her arm was caught by Diana.

    “No,” Diana said. “That path was not made for us, something is coming.”

    Almost synched to her declaration, the head of a man appeared among the green. It looked to be floating, and was far larger than any normal human head, nearly three times as wide across and twice that from forehead to chin. The rest of the oddity stepped through the bush and revealed itself. It had a long mane of mud brown hair, so long it trailed the ground in front of it’s front legs, which were scaled like an alligator’s. It’s body was that of a lion, but with three pairs of legs instead of the normal two. Each of the six legs had the same scaled hide and long, smooth claws jutting from their paws. No, not claws, they looked more like tusks as they dug into the ground with every step.

    Zatanna took a step back as the whole of the beast was bathed in the dim light of the clearing, it was vile. Vile in a way that was only matched by its stench, like rotting meat boiling under a summer sun. At the end of the form was a forked tail, it split into three whip like prehensile appendages capped with the broad heads of shovel-like spears.

    It seemed to notice her anxiety, and turned its attention toward the young witch. It bared a row of teeth as its lips parted in a wicked smile, teeth that would have been at home in a shark’s mouth. It began to chuckle in her direction, dark eyes curved down in apparent joy.

    “I’ll take the large one,” Diana said, stepping ahead of Zatanna. “You handle the dead.”

    “I can help,” Zatanna protested. “I can do something.”

    Diana smiled, “You haven’t noticed yet?”

    “Noticed what?” Zatanna asked.

    “Your magic is weaker here,” Diana said, shrugging. “The trees have been siphoning the energy from your spells. I suspect that is why they keep finding us.”

    “Shit,” Zatanna said. “I didn’t—”

    “I have a keen eye for these things,” Diana said, she took another step toward the beast. “Today is not the day we join the Wonder,” she said. It felt like a promise.

    The Amazon charged at the beast, who snarled in her direction and lashed out with one of the tusk ornamented paws of its front legs. Diana stopped short and shot up, into the sky, spinning in the air. She dropped, hammering her way into the outstretched paw and pinning it to the ground.

    The beast howled, then jumped back. Steel grated against its scales as the sword’s edge split its paw, the blade held firmly in place by Diana’s sure grip. Zatanna, emboldened, turned back to the approaching horde of the dead. She burned some, and her floating sword worked its way through several more.

    Diana shouted something, but she couldn’t hear it. Explosive concussions deafened her, and the artifacts of her flurried spellwork filled the air. If her powers were less potent, then the only option available to her was volume. The ranks thinned, then filled, and thinned again. It was, to an extent, pointless.

    Zatanna felt something tug on her wrist, but the haze made it impossible to see. The only thing visible among the cinder and ash was one of the spear tipped tails, slithering its way through the air, toward her.

★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★

    A dull lit space, garnished by curtains of various colors and printed patterns. There was a pleasant scent in the air, something that gave it a spiced flavor. Zatanna looked down at her hands, smaller than they were a moment ago. How old was she, twelve? Thirteen? She didn’t remember this place, or this night.

    Her knees were clutched tight by her arms, a gesture of safety. Was she dreaming?

    “Sweetheart.” Zatanna looked up. She was met by a woman’s face, smiling down on her. The woman had dark hair, smiling green eyes, and a wandering hand that found its way beneath Zatanna’s chin. “You haven’t eaten anything.”

    “I’m not hungry,” Zatanna said, reflexively. It wasn’t what she wanted to say, but she didn’t seem to have a choice. The woman snapped and a bowl appeared in her hand, she warmed it by twirling her finger just overhead.

    “Food makes us mirthful, child,” the woman said. “Please, have some.”     Zatanna took the bowl in her hands, the warm porcelain was a comfort in of itself. She took a few sips of the broth within, then looked up to find the woman had retreated behind the curtains. “Are you a sorceress?” Zatanna asked.

    The woman stepped through the curtain again, she tugged absentmindedly at a scarf of brocaded red silk around her neck and smiled down at the girl, “No.”

    “But you know magic,” Zatanna insisted.

    “I was,” the woman said. “Now, I’m something else.”

    “Could you teach me?”

    “Teach you?” the woman asked. “Perhaps, child.” There was a knock on a door somewhere in the shadow beyond the curtain. The woman smiled at her then stepped through again.

    Zatanna sipped on her broth and sat in silence a moment, before a new voice spoke from the shadow.

    “Xanadu,” said the new voice, a man’s. It was graveled, but warm in its way. “Where’s the girl?”

    “Hello, Richard,” the woman named Xanadu said. “Please, let yourself in.”

    “Don’t fuck with me today,” replied the man named Richard. “Where is she?”

    “What business is that of yours?” Xanadu asked. “John entrusted her to me.”

    “John’s gone,” Richard said.

    “He’s dead?” Xanadu asked, her voice a near whisper.

    “No, I don’t think so,” Richard replied. “I don’t know. It happened fast.”

    “Then she stays here,” Xanadu said.

    “No,” Richard replied. “John and I had plans.”

    “Fuck your plans,” Xanadu said. “She has potential. More potential than a back alley charlatan like you would understand. Go back to hunting ghosts, Detective.”

    “Charlatan?” Richard said. “I’m not the one dressing up in a thousand colorful rags to look ‘mystic.’ I’m taking the girl, Rose and I will keep her safe.”

    “Safe?” Xanadu adopted a mocking tone. “Where the hell is ‘safe’ at this point? Her mother is dead. Her father is likely dead. If he hasn’t caught wind of her already, Peck will find her soon enough.”

    “She’s a child,” Richard said. “We’ll run, we’ll hide. She needs a chance to grow up.”

    “She’s a soldier,” Xanadu replied. “Your soft heart will be the death of us.”

    “I’m taking her,” Richard insisted. Beyond the veil, a pulsing red light appeared in a pair of thin fingered hands.

    “You can try.”

    A new voice cut in, colder and lower than the others, “Zatanna Zatara, there you are.”

★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★

    Zatanna’s thoughts drifted back to the clearing. All around her, the dead were frozen in place. Their bodies swayed in the motions of a dread waltz, but were wholly unable to break free. Their jaws hung askew at the hinges, and the few with sinew struggled to free themselves.

    In the center of the herd stood a tall man, his face partially in shadow. He wore a fine, tailored suit of a deep violet hue, nearly black, over a black shirt with silver buttons in the shape of seven sided starbursts. A thin, violet tie of a lighter shade was cinched around his neck. Though his face was obscured, piercing red irises glowed from deep sockets.

    “Look at you,” the man said. “All grown up. You look just like my Sindella.”

    “My mother?” Zatanna asked, her jaw felt sluggish. She found herself unable to move, she too was bound by whatever held the dead in place. Her eyes darted to her left, hoping to find Diana, but she could not see her.

    “You wound me, child,” the man said. “Did your mother never tell you of the stalwart soul that took her in when her own parents died?”

    Zatanna tried to scowl, but failed. She glared at the man, then spoke, “She kept a diary, in it she spoke of a mad warlock who murdered her parents, then kidnapped her.”

    “Circumstances are a matter of perspective,” the man said. “Take, for example, the ones that find us here. You crippled my poor Romalthi, he whimpers in the corner every night. To you, he was a villain. To me, he was a son. And so I sent my beloved Philomela after you, and still you survive!”

    His name drifted to the forefront of her thoughts, remembering the exile’s words. “You’re Brother Night,” she said.

    Brother Night smiled, revealing a row of silver teeth as he stepped into the light. His skin was pale, but knotted like bark in a way that invited shadows. “And you’re irrelevant,” he said, musing. His hands were folded behind his back, but he brought one out to reveal a small gem, no bigger than an apple resting in his hand. It was black as night, a solid mass of irregular edges in an oblong, oval shape. “I have waited a very long time to find this, but there was never a way into this place. And yet, the fates brought us together.... Now it’s mine.”

    “What is it?” Zatanna asked.

    “Something that fails to live up to its name,” he said. “You have that in common, the last Zatara I met nearly killed me.” He held up the jewel to the light, it blotted out the sun in front of him. “You and this heart.”

    Brother Night held the jewel up for a moment, a rather long moment that stretched to the point of discomfort. A woman stepped out from behind him, a woman Zatanna knew very well. She wore a simple, white cotton shift and her hair was a series of golden waves that hung loose. She had the same icy blue eyes as her daughter, the same pale skin, and the same coy smile.

    “Mom,” Zatanna whispered.

    “Yes and no,” the woman said, smiling. “I hoped this form would put you at ease, child.”

    Zatanna looked at her, then to Brother Night. The man was still frozen in place. “This brute means to kill you,” the woman said. “This island means to do the same, let me help. My book has many secrets, secrets you will learn in time, but for now you need to listen to me.”

    “Your book?” Zatanna said. “This is Circe’s.”

    “She wrote what I taught, then bound me to it,” the woman said. “I’m a phantom of what I was, a piece of a greater whole bound to a single volume.”

    The specter in the shape of her mother imparted a spell in Zatanna’s mind, something that flowed from her in a dialect she didn’t quite understand. The scene around her unfroze, the invisible chains broken and the dead loosed. They creaked back from their statuesque stance and turned their attentions toward Zatanna and Brother Night. He lowered his prize and took a step back.

    “Who taught you to toy with the dead?” he asked. His eyes drew on the space beside him, where the specter in the shape of her mother had stood just a moment ago. “I’m not playing with you today, bitch. Go back to your abyss.” He stepped back into a haze of shadow and vanished. “We will finish this later, girl.”

    The specter was eerily silent, and Zatanna turned to her right and spotted Diana. The Princess was surrounded by a crowd of the dead, and muttering to herself in a frantic fashion. Zatanna took a step toward her, the dead drifting past the sorceress. They gave her a wide berth, avoided her as commanded. Zatanna looked down at her wrist and saw the Amazon’s lasso tied to her wrist, a last attempt to save her.

    The great beast was slain, its green blood seeped from wounds gifted by Diana’s sword. The last, and fatal, one was buried hilt deep in the creature’s skull. Around it, some hundred dead were scattered in pieces. The battle, it seemed, had raged for some time.

    Zatanna stepped closer to Diana, the dead parted to allow her passage. “Diana?” she said, uncertain. “Can you hear me?”

    “Please, Sable…” Diana said. “You know I wouldn’t.”

    “Diana,” Zatanna said. She stepped her way closer, three of the dead were beside her. Two held her by the arms, one by the throat. Her eyes were vacant, but her voice was filled with emotion.

    “No, I—,” Diana began, then paused at a slight catch in her throat. “You’re right. I wasn’t strong enough.”

    Zatanna took the opposite end of the lasso in hand and tied a matching knot around Diana’s right wrist, mindful of the dead. They didn’t seem to notice her, in fact, they almost showed deference. Whatever spell the specter had put on her, it kept then placid.

    “Diana,” she repeated, tugging on the lasso to try and move the Princess. She didn’t move.

    “You’re cheating,” spoke a voice from no particular direction. “Sneaking through my barrier, bewitching my pets...where did the half-breed find you?”

    “Circe,” the words barely escaped Zatanna before a cackle echoed all around.

    “She is a noble one, isn’t she?” Circe said. “I’ll make you an offer, little witch. Leave that book on the ground… I know you have it…. And I will let you leave.”

    “My souvenir?” Zatanna asked, adopting her best attempt at an innocent face. “I think I’ll keep this, it’s kind of a family tradition.”

    “Hah!” Circe said. “That work is beyond you, mortal.”

    “It was beyond you too, apparently,” Zatanna said, aware of the growing smugness within her. “Tell me, who did you steal it from?”

    “I stole nothing,” Circe replied.

    “And you would have me go to war for your sins? You—,” Diana muttered.

    “Ah, her and her beloved,” Circe cooed. “A tale to rival any of our great tragedies.”

    “No, I did. I truly did, Sable. As princess I couldn’t… love,” Diana muttered, hoarse. “I couldn’t afford that luxury...but I loved you.”

    “Love,” Circe said. “The greatest weakness of all.”

    “You’re one to speak of weakness, surrounded by dead men and monsters,” Zatanna said, gesturing to the clearing. “What’s the matter, can’t you come down and face her on your own?”

    “Why? I’ve won,” Circe said.

    “Have you?” Zatanna asked in reply. With a wave of her hand, the sorceress forced the jungle around her to wilt. “It’s dying. Everything you built is dying now.”

    “And?” Circe said. The voice had direction now, the facade of the dense canopy was withering at an ever increasing pace. Within moments, she saw the island for what it was: sand and stone. The wall of the mountain was gone, the gates of a palace of white stone now stood in its place.

    “All a lie,” Zatanna said. “Goddess of Magic, what a joke.”

    “You have a foul mouth,” Circe said. Zatanna knew now the voice was coming from the palace, though this fact offered little comfort for the young sorceress as she taunted a goddess. “Come then, I’ll add your tongue to my collection.” The doors of the palace swung open, two attendants in stood at either end, nearly naked but for a few discrete places swathed in linen.

    “Well,” Zatanna muttered. “That was a shit plan, but it worked.”

    Circe floated toward the sorceress, violet light surging from her fingertips. A wry smile had settled on her face, but her eyes apparently failed to share the sentiment.

    “I know,” Diana said. There was a small tug on Zatanna’s wrist, it had done its work. Zatanna spared the briefest glance, caught Diana’s eye, and looked up at the goddess.

    “Here I am, witch,” Circe said. “What will you do now?”

    “Now?” Zatanna asked. “Now, I’ll say Nas Ocsicnarf!”

    Behind the goddess, a window tore into the world and cut her off from her precious palace. Zatanna hurled herself forward, and Diana did the same. Both women leaped into the air, the lasso taut between their wrists and caught Circe in its grasp.     Had the goddess had time to react to their absurd plan, she would have thwarted it with ease. This, thankfully, was not the case as all three women hurdled into the skies of San Francisco.

★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★・゜゜・。。・゜ ゜★

    Diana found her feet first, then helped Zatanna to hers. The goddess lay beside them, propped up on one arm.

    “You saved me,” Diana said, smiling at the sorceress.

    “You saved me first,” Zatanna replied with a smile of her own.

    “How very touching,” Circe scoffed.

    “Nosaj,” Zatanna canted, summoning her cohort through the doors of the Shadowcrest. Jason appeared one street over, stepping through with a glass of wine in one hand. Upon witnessing the scene, he discarded the glass and sighed.

    “I have a message for you,” Zatanna began. She felt the specter’s hand rest on her shoulder, imparting new wisdom.

    “Save it,” Circe said. “I’m going home.”

    Zatanna nearly beamed, “That’s the message: ‘You can never go home.’”

    “Hecate,” Circe said, nearly at a whisper. Zatanna nodded, far more enthusiastically than she intended. “You wouldn’t.”

    Zatanna mimed locking a door and tossing away the key, her smile ever broader.

Next >> Wonder Woman #9, Aeaea IV

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