Zanzibar the Magician - Unleashed

12 || RIPPLES

From the abyss of oblivion, Zee's consciousness began to stir. Distant sounds, muffled and incoherent penetrated the black world she inhabited. With this breakthrough, image fragments swirled around her mind; memories, taunting, teasing.

Portals, giving passage to millennia-old soldiers; banners flying, swords and polearms at the ready; ghosts from the past becoming living, breathing warriors once more. A witch, strikingly beautiful in an elaborate kimono, hovering in the air, commanding the forces of ages old, and new.

Pain seared through those memories; magic lacerating flesh, bruising bones and leaving Zee emotionally and physically drained. But she had not lacked her own punishing sortilege; the witch was finally exiled to another era and left equally injured.

Then someone - something - was floating above - almost a spectral being with a white shroud undulating around its form. A Banshee. A saviour!

Memories shifted within Zee's murky depths, and she found herself reliving the battle of New York. She felt restless, her chest tight, as breathing was strained. The images stormed her mind's eye; billowing smoke clouds, fire and ice bolts, filled with the cacophony of screams, shouts and roars. Countless heroes deflected, beaten, wounded and yet, they valiantly rallied to battle the Sorceress and her vile minions.

Alas, before the Sorceress was banished, a very different punishment was bestowed upon Zee that day. The memory would forever hold her to ransom. No longer was Zanzibar the Magician a handsome, charismatic man, no. He was now cursed; altered by the Sorceress' magic, doomed to live his life as a woman.

"Another time, little magician. Another time." The Sorceress' parting words in Tibet thundered through Zee's brain, over and over until -  With a jolt, her eyes sprang open.

"She's awake!" a small, joyous voice enthused.

Zee took a few moments to recognise her surroundings and the expectant faces hovering around her. To her left, little Tommy stared, with eyes wide, as he nestled between Yarko and Jim Andrews, aka Dynamo. Jim O'Donnell, the sonic saviour, Banshee, stood to the right, smiling down at her.

"How a' ya feelin'?" Yarko's Bostonian twang drifted through the air.

Zee gulped some air. "Fine. I think." She shifted in her bed, her bones aching, skin cinching where she'd suffered cuts and grazes. With effort, she pushed herself up.

The Irishman quickly plumped pillows for her to rest easier against the headboard.

Zee smiled her gratitude until an unbidden thought fogged her mind, and her face paled; she was in her pyjamas - who had undressed her and put her to bed?

"What's wrong? Did I ... did I hurt ye?" O'Donnell asked, a look of concern written upon his rugged features.

Zee shook her head, dispersing an unsettling possibility; under the circumstances, it didn't warrant a lot of thought. She was sore, tired and just grateful to be home. "No, it's nothing, just a few aches and pains. Thank you." She managed a weak smile as she noted the relief cross his face.

"I was worried about you, Zee," the Irishman said, his voice lilting. "For a while there, I thought I'd lost you, your breathin' was so shallow. I started to wish I hadn't closed all those darned portals and somehow zapped you back in time so you wouldn't be hurt..."

"Ahem!" Yarko coughed into his hand. He caught the Irishman's eye and indicated the small boy who was in the room. 

Tommy was hanging on every word. "Portals? Back in time?"

Jim fell silent immediately, his jaw tight with embarrassment at having forgotten about the street urchin.

"It's just a figure of speech, Tommy, I don't wantcha getting all excited now," Yarko told the boy. Tommy looked disheartened.