“Ridha,” he sighed.
“My beautiful Tariq,” Ridha whispered, settling his nude body beside Tariq.
“It didn’t work.” He wasn’t sure how he knew.
Ridha shook his head, less seen than felt. “The Safwah family of the Matgahri tribe invoked the curse. It is not in my power to break it.”
“Even though I wish it.”
“Even though.” Ridha slid his strong hands over Tariq, eliciting a soft sigh.
Tariq allowed himself to be seduced, but he could not remain a passive partner for very long. Where once he had yearned for the slightest touch of his master’s hand, now he hungered for Ridha. A hunger of the body, but also of the heart.
Because this was Malik’s house, they swallowed each other’s cries of passion into mouth-devouring kisses. In Ridha’s sensual embrace, he’d forgotten he once thought this was wrong. That outside this room, almost everyone thought it was wrong.
It was a risk, but one Tariq took without hesitation.
When they lay in quiet satiation, he asked in a small voice, “Where did you go? I could feel you left Merzouga.”
“There was a spell,” Ridha replied unhesitatingly. “Your wish activated it. It took me to the Land of the Jinn, an empty room, where I had to wait for a council of elders. I was as bound to that room as I am to the perfume jar. They told me that the breaking of the spell is not up to those whom I serve, for it was felt I might be able to charm someone into releasing me before—”
“Before? Is there a time limit on your servitude?”
“Before it was appropriate,” he said, his voice as bitter as northern citrus.
Tariq stroked Ridha’s back, hoping the gesture was soothing. “Was the curse laid upon you by a jinni, at the behest of the Matgarhi?”
“A jinni and a human saahir, working together. One more powerful than your beloved Malik.”
Stung, Tariq replied in a low voice, “He is not my beloved.”
“Have I replaced him on your pedestal?”
In spite of himself, his eyes burned. Yet he could not pull away from Ridha. “Why do you say such things?”
“Do you still wish for my freedom?” Ridha continued in the same bitter tone.
“Knowing I shall never see you again, you mean? Yes,” he added in a harsh whisper. “I am nothing. A man grown with no proper trade, for I left my father’s house before I learned enough of his, and my master only took me on to use my lack of magical talent.” Tariq fell into the same dark bitter tone. “But you, my wild and beautiful jinni, you should be free.”
Ridha, in contrast to his words, drew Tariq close to him, kissing him tenderly. “You say you are nothing, and by the measures of humans, perhaps you are right. Yet I am the one who feels unworthy.”
RIDHA FOLLOWED TARIQ through Merzouga’s winding streets to the city’s western gate. His conjured clothing was proper, according to Tariq, in order to avoid undue attention, and he couldn’t hold Tariq’s hand as he wished, but they were together. Tariq had just received his wages and seemed in a terrible hurry to be rid of them.
“Where are we going?”
“Not far.”
Good. It could be dangerous in the desert, away from the cities, if one wasn’t careful. Tariq knelt and began pulling sand towards him, as if to bury…or unbury something. Tariq reverently drew up a delicate-looking wooden box, decorated with red stained inlay in the shape of a rose and seemingly none the worse for being buried in the sands of the Maghreb. Something about it seemed familiar to Ridha, not that particular box but perhaps the style. It was old, from before his exile in the treasure room.
“This belonged to my mother,” Tariq said, as he opened the lid. “I am the only child my parents had, and my father never remarried after my mother died. So I put a third of my wages away, to help my father when he is too old to work.” Tariq’s expression grew wistful as he put in the coins and closed the lid. “I imagined that one day I would be a successful saahir, supporting my father easily. This—” He lifted the box back into the shallow hole. “It was meant to be a reminder to never forget my family.”
Any other human, Ridha would have been surprised, but Tariq had a concept of honour he’d seldom encountered. “Your mother died?”
Tariq nodded. “She never recovered from my birth.” He gave a sad little laugh. “My father says she is with the old gods, as if they passed into the afterlife, too.”
“I don’t know anything of the afterlife.” But the old gods…that was why the box looked familiar. The design. The art of the era of the One God was geometric, mathematically precise. Tariq’s box couldn’t possibly be that old, though. “I’ve heard there are nomadic tribes that still hold to the old gods. Was your mother from one of those?”
Tariq frowned as he pushed sand over the box. “I don’t know. My father doesn’t like to speak of her. Normally a man left with a baby remarries, but he raised me on his own. I think he loved my mother beyond all reason.”
“Perhaps she was a jinni,” Ridha said lightly.
Tariq scowled.
“The idea displeases you?”
“No, it’s not that.” Tariq rose to his feet and studied the sand. “Malik told me I have no talent for manipulating sihr. If my mother was a jinni, I would surely have some.”
“But sihr has very little effect on you. I watched one of Malik’s spells break apart on you. He can never compel you magically.”
“That’s something, I suppose,” Tariq replied, weariness in his voice.
“If I’d had such immunity, I’d never have been bound to a perfume jar.” Ridha was trying to cheer his young master, which was nothing he remembered caring about before.
“Were you close to your mother?”
The question stirred old regrets. “I was not, though it’s surely my fault.” He hesitated. It was not normal to speak of the Land of the Jinn to humans. “The Jinn are…practically made of sihr. As such, there are many rules we must live by, even in our own lands. When we venture beyond them, the rules are simpler and the penalties harsher. I was rebellious at the best of times. I never had a chance to say goodbye.” Ridha could feel Tariq’s sympathy. Before he could speak it aloud, Ridha changed the subject. “I would like to tell you I never harmed anyone, but that would not be true. The best I can say is I never caused a death, no matter the accusation brought against me. I…” He could now feel Tariq’s curiosity.
Enough time had passed that the admissions of his guilt only embarrassed him because he wanted to be a better person in Tariq’s eyes. But then, Tariq needed to know just whom he thought he was falling in love with. “I didn’t accept my punishment with good grace.”
Tariq made a sound like stifled laughter and settled himself down by the fountain just inside the city walls. “Do tell.”
Still visible, Ridha sat on the ground at Tariq’s feet, drawing up his knees to tuck his feet under his thighs. “I have been thinking of it as an unfair punishment, but now that I recall how long it took me to understand…perhaps it wasn’t so unfair after all. As you can imagine, I deeply resented being subservient to anyone, most especially mere humans. Which is ironic, since the Jinn fascination with the human world exists because ‘mere’ humans can do things beyond our imagining. I granted wishes very literally until being in possession of my jar was considered a curse of its own.”
Tariq definitely snickered, and Ridha looked up into his face. In the darkness, he could see almost nothing but a gleam of moonlight highlighting his hair and sparking in his eyes.
“I learned nothing. Eventually, I came to believe that my curse was actually my destiny and I was an instrument of the gods, sent to punish humans for their foolishness. Convinced I was serving a purpose, I at least told them to use their last wish to undo all the consequences caused by their first four wishes.” He paused, feeling regret for his arrogance. “I would have been dead many times over, living a normal course of days, before I began to understand my punishment. Finally, I was locked away
for so many years, with only thoughts as company. Only then I truly understood what I had lost. The pain I’d caused, not only to the humans unfortunate enough to encounter me, but my family as well. And it was far too late to make amends for they were all, all gone.”
“I’m sorry,” Tariq said.
“I know. I can feel it. Though I do not understand it.”
“I…have another stop to make this night. Shall we?” He rose from the fountain’s edge, a graceful shadow, and extended a hand to Ridha.
Ridha accepted it, unfolding his legs with ease until he stood over the young man.
Tariq released his hand and began to walk towards the temple. Ridha would have liked to continue holding his hand; it was warm and felt…natural. But even in the moonlight, it was not safe for Tariq to do such a thing, not in Merzouga.
“I suppose that fifth wish thing won’t work in this case.” Tariq sounded wistful.
Ridha hesitated before answering. “That is why the curse does not allow a saahir to hold my jar. Your Malik found a way around that.”
“He is not my Malik,” Tariq said sharply. “Stop saying that.”
“I am sorry, my master.”
Tariq snorted. At the temple door, he deposited a good half of what was left of his wages into the alms box.
“Why did you do that? You could have used the money.” Ridha followed Tariq as he turned on the path back to his room in Malik’s small riad.
“I have a roof and food as part of my apprenticeship…” His voice trailed off into silence. “For now, at least.”
“You could buy yourself some pretty clothes,” Ridha suggested lightly.
“So I can look nice when I’m homeless? Or do you think I should make my way by…looking pretty?” There was sad bitterness in his words.
“No!” Ridha had not meant that at all. The idea of Tariq selling himself was horrifying. He’d not let that happen. If there was any way he could control that. He hated the curse that would sooner than later remove Tariq from him. “You must wish for something for yourself.”
Tariq shrugged, visible even in the darkness. They passed the threshold of Malik’s home and Ridha faded out of sight, following Tariq up the stairs to his room and retaking visible form after Tariq lit a small lamp. He looked tired in a soul-weary way.
Ridha opened his arms and Tariq walked into his embrace. Ridha felt something strange move inside him, as if the bond created by the curse changed. Yet he could not grasp the difference, if indeed there was one to be grasped. He tried again to encourage Tariq to use at least one of his remaining wishes for his own benefit.
“There is nothing you want for yourself?”
Tariq smiled, his mouth curving against the skin of Ridha’s neck, but the feeling he got from the beautiful boy was sadness. “What I want for myself money cannot buy.”
Was he speaking of Malik? No, surely not, not after Malik had finally told Tariq the truth. He tilted Tariq’s head up for a kiss, and it was his own name, his own self wholly in the youth’s thoughts now. Good.
Ridha returned to his jar after waking Tariq with kisses and caresses. He had no idea how he had come to hold this beautiful young man’s loyalty. Even after confessing by the fountain. It would be pleasant to believe Tariq saw something in him, something worthwhile, but then the boy had been infatuated with Malik.
The name, so noble, made his mouth turn down so deeply, it pulled at his face. Malik was hardly a man of hidden virtue, so clearly the boy had poor judgement all around when it came to where he bestowed his affections. Except he didn’t really believe that.
Perhaps if Malik hadn’t kept his apprentice at such a remove, Tariq would have seen the truth of his nature far sooner.
Ridha felt a degree of guilt now. Not for ruining the youth’s delusions regarding his master—Malik had needed no help in that regard—but for taking advantage of him physically. He was Tariq’s first lover, and perhaps that was why Tariq believed himself now in love with him.
It was purely physical, though. Indeed? So his tender care of you after Malik’s abuse, that affected you physically? Accepting comfort wasn’t love, he argued with himself.
And when you must argue with yourself, what does that mean, hmm?
But Ridha’s thoughts were interrupted when Malik strode into his study and snatched the jar from the cabinet. Although he was insubstantial, a smoke form, cramped into the small perfume jar, the motion of being picked up and carried was disorienting.
He didn’t feel the same pull as when Tariq had picked up his jar, but he supposed that was because he was still bound to Tariq for two more wishes. He had almost believed Tariq could wish him free. It irked him that his fate was in other people’s hands. In Malik’s hands.
Malik pulled the stopper and Ridha contemplated staying inside the jar. It was cramped, but he’d spent much of the past few days out. Enjoying more than just the pleasure of Tariq’s bed. But he thought Malik might not know he could exercise that small amount of free will, to decide if he should leave or stay when someone not his master opened the jar. Reluctantly, he manifested.
Tariq was not within, but he knew that. He had never experienced a bond with a master quite so intense, so intimate. He resisted the urge to look towards the courtyard, where he could feel the young man’s presence.
Malik was studying him. “Are you still bound by Tariq’s wish to grant mine?”
“No.” Ridha did not intend to say more, but the words came out of their own volition, “Does it not bother you, using him this way?”
Malik laughed. “You? You ask me that? Isn’t that why you’re bound to a jar? To be used as you used people? Surely my use of Tariq can’t bother you?”
But it did. Ridha shrugged.
Malik said, “How is it you’ve taken him from me?”
Ridha smiled. “You should have fucked him.”
“I banished you after every wish.”
“True.” Ridha’s smile broadened. “But you are not my master.”
Malik narrowed his eyes. “Tariq has no magic to access your jar.”
Ridha inclined his head in acknowledgement that Tariq could not use magic, but he was under no compulsion or obligation to share the truth with this…Malik. He would not call him saahir, because it implied a certain morality to the use of sihr. Ridha had seen no evidence that Malik used magic for anything other to advance his own greed and lust for power. Even his shop seemed to exist only to cover his activities and pay for his schemes.
The sorcerer slid open the door to his study and called loudly, “Tariq.”
Ridha drank in the sight of his lover, as if he hadn’t just left him an hour ago. He licked his lips before he could stop himself, but Tariq still wasn’t looking at him. Had the failure of his wish to free Ridha convinced him he had no choice but to obey Malik?
No, he could feel the strength of will in Tariq, though he presented himself so submissive to Malik.
“There are but two wishes left, my boy. We must make the most of them. Let your wish be for the jinni to grant my desire, as you did the other day.”
“No.”
Malik’s eyes narrowed, and he drew himself up to his full height. He used an intimidation spell that Tariq would never feel as magical. “No?”
Tariq shivered under the weight of the spell but raised his head in defiance. “No, master. The wishes are mine, and my responsibility.”
Malik’s thin lips grew even thinner, and he whirled in a flurry of embroidered silks, throwing open a door that blended perfectly with the back wall. A man staggered out, hands a peculiar vivid blue bound in front of him with a strip of unbleached linen, a matching piece tied across his mouth. His hair was beginning to grey, and he looked vaguely familiar to Ridha.
“Father!”
Pieces fell into the place—the familiar facial structure, the blue dye on his hands. His obvious less-than-willingness to be here.
“You may be impervious to my magic, dear boy, and you may no longer pine for m
e, but I can still ensure you do as I say,” Malik said with a cruel smile.
Tariq’s resolve crumbled as he rushed to his father’s side, but this time, the magic barrier Malik threw up stopped him. Magic used on him had little effect, but indirectly, he was still subject to it.
“What have you done to him?”
“Nothing, dear boy. Nor shall I, so long as you do as I command.”
Ridha hated feeling so helpless, able only to watch the tableau unfolding before him. His gaze went from Tariq to his father and back. Tariq’s father lifted his chin and shook his head at Tariq, as if to urge him not to give in.
Ridha spared a glance towards Malik, expecting to see a bladed weapon to drive home his point, whatever Tariq decided. But Malik held no weapon. It seemed he counted on Tariq’s love for his father to be more than enough to ensure his compliance.
“Very well,” Tariq said, dropping his eyes.
His father looked at Ridha as if he could do anything. Did he even know who or what Ridha was?
Malik smiled in triumph and Ridha felt the magic barrier vanish.
Tariq turned to Ridha and raised his head. “Jinni, I wish you to take me and my father to the court of Zeyn ibn Safwah.”
“What?” Malik’s surprise was echoed by Ridha’s, but then Malik added, “I forbid this!”
Ridha said, “It is done.”
Chapter Ten
RIDHA DIDN’T KNOW why Tariq would want to go to the court of a king whom he—or his likeness—had threatened with an armed coup, but he’d granted the wish immediately. Zeyn ibn Safwah, from what he’d learned on his Malik-given task, was a fair man, but he had many reasons to simply execute Tariq on the spot. It seemed like a leap from frying pan to fire.
It wasn’t until they rematerialized and Tariq collapsed gagging and choking that Ridha recalled his lover’s strange reaction to travel spells.
Heedless of the startled members of the court and the ring of guards with drawn swords, he knelt beside Tariq and soothed him, as the young man had done for him only a few days ago. Tariq gave him a stricken look, and the weight of dozens of stares abruptly struck him, including from the boy’s own father. He had forgotten that in these times a man’s love of men was not acceptable.
Once Upon a Rainbow, Volume One Page 5