Xerxes, son of Xerxes, was a generous man. Everyone knew him to be a generous man, and he liked to remind himself that he was indeed a generous man. One way he flaunted his giving nature was by surprising people with unexpected and thoughtful gifts.

For instance, he knew the governor of Qom, whom he was acquainted with through his father, to be a connoisseur of fine wines. And whenever Xerxes came across a particularly rare vintage, he’d send several cases worth all the way back to Qom with a friendly note and his love.

He always sent people his love because Xerxes, son of Xerxes, had love in abundance to share and accepted the love of all, however little they had to give. He’d been offered the hands of daughters in every town and hovel he’d graced with his brief presence, brief for he was a busy man. And when he humbly declined, which he always did, he left the family a small token in gold to pay for their lovely daughter’s dowery.

It was the honorable thing to do, and Xerxes, son of Xerxes, was an honorable man. When his enemies yielded, he would show mercy either by a clean death or a show of leniency. He never negated on a promise or cheated his way to advantage. For Xerxes, son of Xerxes, was already so fortunate.

His family owned plantations, mills, ships, warehouses, slaves, mines, horses, and cattle, and the sons of Xerxes could be found occupying the highest offices throughout the land. They served as governors, justices, magistrates, commanders, champions, knights, priests, and even renowned poets could be found among their kin.

Their blood was pure, their hair fair, and they were all tall. Each one beautifully chiseled through generations of careful breeding.

Yes, Xerxes, son of Xerxes, had been matched to the perfect bride before he could even walk. And though Xerxes, son of Xerxes, had never met her, he was sure she was beautiful and intelligent as well as humble and dutiful and would wait for him, chaste and unspoiled, until he returned to marry her. She would give her maidenhead on the happiest day of their lives, and they’d have many beautiful and talented children who’d love and honor them into blessed old age.

Truly, there was nothing left in life to wish for but some adventure. And above all, Xerxes, son of Xerxes, craved adventure.

“Open it,” said a deep voice from behind the door of the apothecary.

“I can’t open it with you in the way,” answered a child, boy or girl.

“It opens inward,” said the other voice, gravelly and agitated.

“No, it doesn’t—”

With a loud crack, the doorpost splintered at its hinges, and the wooden door fell into the conjurer’s shop, slamming hard on the wood board floor.

“Now it does,” said the shadow in the doorway. The figure stepped inside and turned crimson in the light. “We need a healer,” he declared, holding an unconscious woman in his arms. She wasn’t human, but Xerxes, son of Xerxes, had never seen a more beautiful creature.

Her skin was green, her ears pointy, her body a match for any nymph, and she had thick, lustrous hair that gleamed like spun gold.

Had the crimson monster harmed her? Xerxes drew his blade, crafted from the finest Damascus steel, and hefted it towards the trespasser. “Stop there, beast,” he said. “What are you doing with that young maiden in your claws?”

The monster blinked, staring back with eyes that burned unlike anything Xerxes had ever seen.

Beside him was a little girl, though only in appearance. Her snout held a jagged grin of black teeth from behind which shone an eerie white glow. Xerxes wondered if she was some kind of chimera or perhaps an imp.

“Who, Juva?” the little not-girl said.

“The maiden in the brute’s arms, yes, Imp,” Xerxes said. “Release her at once. I command it.”

“Maiden?” they said in unison, trading looks before, inexplicably, bursting into laughter.

Xerxes shook his head, though kept his eyes fixed on the giant, and the point of his blade aimed true to purpose. “Vile cretins,” he muttered under his breath.

From the backroom, the other members of Xerxes’ party joined. Raakel, one of the best students of the Delphic arts he’d ever met, and Jasper, whose polearm was second to none.

“You better do as my Lord says,” Raakel said, a tome manifesting in her hand through the etheric conduit. Her aura burned like a violet flame, illuminating the esoteric tattoos on her hands and face.

“Fancy,” said the Imp, grinning its blackened teeth.

“I’m a lot less fancy,” said Jasper, the butt of his spear coming down with a knock. “But I’ll do my best if you don’t abide by my Lord’s commands.”

The tall crimson monster wasn’t laughing anymore. “I don’t have time for this. You, girl, are you the conjurer of this shop?”

“No,” Raakel said. “He’s away and not your concern.”

“Don’t talk to her,” Xerxes said. “I’m the one you deal with, monster.”

The crimson man sucked his fanged teeth and took a step forward. “Very well.”

“Wait,” Raakel said, and the monster stopped. “My Lord, I think this is an Afreet.”

“Guilty as charged,” the Afreet said. “I’m Demon Lord Tarikh. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get my servant—”

“Stay where you are,” Xerxes said. “An Afreet? Are you sure? I thought his kind had horns.”

“They’re outside,” the little Imp said. “Don’t ask, long story.”

Xerxes didn’t ask. “Surrender the girl to us, and I’ll let you leave in peace, demon. Those are my terms.”

“Funny. I have a few terms for you myself.”

“Don’t sass me,” Xerxes said. “Do you know who I am?”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The Afreet narrowed the gap with a single step. “And who—are you?”

He had an imposing figure, but Xerxes didn’t back down, maintaining his posture and form perfect. “The name is Xerxes, son of Xerxes, descendent and heir to Xerxes the Conqueror.”

The Afreet’s lips curled into a faint smile, and Xerxes could’ve sworn there was a glimmer of amusement in his burning eyes. “Xerxes the Conqueror? Now that was a few generations ago. Good man. Good with the javelin. Shame he was impotent.”

Xerxes narrowed his eyes. “I assure you, Afreet, Xerxes is my ancestor.”

“I guarantee you, he’s not.”

“Lies. Your kind truly can’t help themselves, can they? I must distrust every word you utter out of hand. You are tricksters and harbingers of division and strife. But I know the truth.”

The Afreet yawned theatrically. “The truth is the best way to bring about division and strife, but do go on.”

“Again with your lies. But here is the truth and the only truth. The blood of Xerxes the Great runs strongly through my veins.”

“Is that what you believe? Then, if I were you, I’d focus on keeping that diluted mud in your skin sack and not, let’s say, spilled over the floor.”

“Don’t threaten my Lord, Afreet,” Raakel said, and the pages of her tome magically flipped. “I know how to deal with your kind. The Afreet are notoriously weak to magic.”

The Afreet chuckled. “Where did you get that nonsense from, you hapless girl?”

“Laugh all you wish, but the Delphic priests taught me everything about your kind.”

The Afreet cocked his head and swung the helpless maiden over his shoulder. “Show me.”

“Raakel, don’t,” Xerxes commanded, but it was too late. She’d already started her enchantment.

Her eyes went distant and began to glow, wisps of blue smoke leaking from them, following the curve of her long dark lashes. “Man royahai tho ro nafreen miknam—” she chanted, but the Afreet kept advancing. He plucked the tome from her hand and flung it to the far corner of the room.

“You were saying?”

The glow faded, and Raakel staggered back. “Wh—what? But the priests—”

“Only care for your parents’ money, you silly girl.”

Jasper charged, but the little Imp attacked like a rabid dog, catching his spear between her jaws and shaking it frantically. He struggled to shrug the creature off as her jaws ruined the wooden shaft.

“Let go, you little pest!”

Xerxes had no choice but to attack, and he brought his blade down on the Afreet’s arm. The blade bounced back. He’d hit him hard with the proper technique, but it hadn’t left as much as a mark.

“Did you really think that would work?”

The Afreet’s glare was just long enough for utter terror to make its home in Xerxes’ heart. He felt a knotted hand trap his sword-arm in a steel grip, and the Afreet hefted him off the floor.

“Shakka, do you want a ‘tastier’ chew toy?”

The Imp grinned, the spear clenched triumphantly between her jaws. Jasper wasn’t holding it anymore.

“No, please!” Xerxes begged. His friends must have been too paralyzed with fear to conceive of a way to help. “I can give you riches, fertile lands, slaves, women!”

“Really?” the Afreet said. “That’s quite generous. Those things usually cost an arm and a leg.” And then the Afreet twisted and tore off his arm and then his leg.

The pain was odd. It began as a sting, but then quickly developed into everything that ever was and ever would be, completely and thoroughly defining his existence. A woman screamed louder than he could hear his own screams, a haunting wail that continued well after he had stopped, and it followed him long after the world had gone dark.

~

Raakel saw the life leave Xerxes’ eyes as quickly as the color drained from his cheeks. Xerxes bled to death in moments. No matter how hard she pushed, how many tears she cried, or how warm her hands radiated with etheric energy, she had failed. Xerxes was gone.

The wooden floorboards creaked under heavy boots as the Afreet shifted, looming over her, but she couldn’t find any reason to flee. Her heart was no longer inside of her; it no longer beat for anything in this world. She was ready to die. It would be quick, she believed. Like with Xerxes. Violent, painful, but over in a flash.

She sensed the Afreet lowering, perhaps a hand, perhaps his war hammer coming down to flatten her like an insect. She certainly felt like one. A thing without meaning or consequence to the world and soon to be winked out of existence. It would be sudden, like getting hit by lightning or pounced by a lion.

‘Sudden’ was taking its time.

“You’re a healer.”

“Not that good of a healer…” she confessed, the evidence of her inadequacy laying between them.

“Would you look at my servant?”

It took a second, maybe longer, for Raakel to hear his words and then wondered if she’d heard them correctly. “What?” she said, finally raising her gaze to meet his infernal eyes.

“Would you help me—please?”

Help you? “Help you?” Her jaw slacked, her eyes widened, her chest rose, and anger roared within her.

“If you can.”

“A-after what you did?” She wanted to cuss him out, to curse him and all of his kin, to hit and kick, scratch and claw. To gauge out his eyes and tear out his throat with her bare teeth. But when the moment came, her voice had cracked like glass, and she sobbed like a child. Saliva webbed her lips, and her vision swam in blurry eyes.

“Why not? I only defended myself.”

“Defended? He couldn’t harm you! You knew he couldn’t hurt you; none of us could. And you killed him. He was a good man, and you killed him!”

The Afreet groaned and pushed himself up off of his knees, the goblina still draped over his shoulder. “How is that my fault? You shouldn’t go around attacking people. Actions have consequences.”

“He was trying to protect that girl, your servant! He meant her no harm. He was a good man.” She grasped at Xerxes’ breastplate, leaving crimson smudges on his crest. The blood dried quickly.

“That’s what you get. You don’t start a fight you can’t finish,” said the smaller monster, and Raakel figured on some level that she was a werewolf. Those hadn’t been seen in a long time, but Raakel no longer cared for the exotic.

The Afreet unceremoniously stepped over the remains of Xerxes, and Raakel watched as he carefully lay the goblina down on the table. He treated her as if she were something delicate, smoothing out her hair and folding her hands atop each other on her stomach. Her breathing was shallow, and Raakel could tell she had a severe fever.

“A-are you going to kill me like you did my friends?” Raakel whispered.

“Your friends?” the Afreet said, and Raakel followed his gaze to the werewolf girl who proudly held Jasper’s spear as if it were a trophy.

“The other guy ran away,” she said. “Didn’t even look back.”

“J-Jasper—fled?”

The lupin girl grinned. “He sure did.”

“I do love it when they run away. I would have run him down, but this is no time for games. Healer-girl, my servant isn’t doing so well—Healer-girl?”

But Raakel wasn’t listening anymore. She stared at the doorway, the door broken from its hinges and on the floor. She couldn’t believe Jasper had fled, abandoning them without a word.

She cupped Xerxes’s cheeks, her fingers curling under his strong jawline, feeling his fresh stubble. He was perfect. A good man, handsome, loving, and brave—so, so brave. He always knew what to do, and she always wanted to prove herself to him. To show him she was worthy to serve by and under his command.

Raakel, don’t! That’s what he’d said, what he had commanded. He told her not to attack, and yet she did. Her breath staggered, and it was like even the air found her too wretched a vessel to be inside. “It’s my fault…”

“What?” the Afreet said.

“It’s my fault he’s dead. I attacked you—I’m the reason… the reason—”

“Yeah, it kinda is,” the little werewolf said.

“Hush, Shakka. She’s processing. Now, when did you say the conjurer will be back?”

Raakel slowly turned toward them, her lips trembling, and she suddenly felt the urge to laugh. “He won’t be coming back. Not for a while. He went into the mountains to pick some herbs, and your precious servant won’t live long enough to be saved.” She didn’t know when she’d grabbed Xerxes’ sword, but she was keenly aware of her fingers tightening around its slick handle.

“Then you know what’s wrong with her?” the Afreet said.

Raakel nodded slightly, smiling the insanity away. “I curse you, Afreet. I curse you and your dog.”

“Shakka,” the girl said. “I mean, werewolf. Or Gorgineh if you want to be formal—”

“You’re a dog!” Raakel felt the sharp tip press against her abdomen. It would be quick. She would make sure of that. “I curse you all.”

“Wait—wait!” the Afreet reached for her, but as promised, she’d ended it quick. Her knees were the first to give. She just didn’t feel them anymore, and she fell. A chill seeped into flesh. But at least she was conscious for long enough to curl up against Xerxes and whisper that she was sorry.