by Anthology
“My prize has three components. First: Tekhno shall be required to pay as much funds into my account each month as I deem fit. I’m not gonna deal with this electric bill bullshit again. Second:Tekhno is never to bother me again, in however way I deem ‘bothering’ at the time. And third,” at this an evil grin spread on his face, “Tekhno is now responsible for any paperwork I might have to do, in any context, from now until the end of time, and must do it correctly and to the best of his ability.”
“WHAT? Absolutely not. This is ridiculous! I challenge you!” Tekhno stood up and tapped a few buttons on his arms and stomach.
Gob started its droning monotone, “If a loser of a challenge wishes to re-challenge the challengee, he or she or it must wait for a period of no less than seven thousand years, and at that time fill out forms 1098A, X-860, 826-R-C-”
“Actually, I think that challenging me would constitute bothering me, and we’ve just established you can’t do that.” Zeus crossed his arm with a smirk.
“But—”
“He’s right,” said Themis. “Now Tekhno, I believe you have some post-challenge paperwork to fill out.”
“This sucks. This sucks SO HARD. But just you wait. I’ll expand and become the god of innovation, too. I have this startup idea…”
*
A week later, it was time for the next therapy appointment.
“So,” said Dr. Brinkman, “how are things?” He leaned back in a leather burgundy armchair and twitched open the button on his burgundy corduroy blazer.
Zeus filled him in. “And you know what? You should be really proud of me. I didn’t kill anybody. I used the breathing techniques and everything.”
“Well,” Dr. Brinkman looked a bit uncomfortable, not looking up from his yellow legal pad. “I mean, that’s not quite true. The massive blackouts killed a few patients on respirators who couldn’t get on backup generators fast enough, and there were three plane crashes when the air traffic controllers lost power. But overall,” he hurried to add as he looked up, “you didn’t do so badly! After all, you didn’tknow that those were the consequences, and you refrained from slaughtering Tekhno. You didn’t even enact an overly-onerous punishment. I am proud. So what are you doing now?”
“Oh, nothing much. I’m staying retired, like we talked about. But with these new funds I’ve upgraded to a bitchin’ bachelor pad, and this one’s in New York City. Everything is now voice-activated—the fridge, the lights, the shades, the rotating bed…and lemme tell ya: the ladies love it.” Zeus grinned. “Between that and me offering to file taxes, fill out loan paperwork, and do immigration forms for free, I’m the most popular guy in town.”
Tahmeed Shafiq
The Djinn Who Sought To Kill The Sun(Novelette)
by Tahmeed Shafiq
Originally published by LIGHTSPEED MAGAZINE
They travelled all day, and at night came to rest by one of the large rocks that jut from the desert. The last caveat to voyagers before the plains of windswept sand.
Here is what the boy heard:
“Long ago, almost fifty years by official counting, there was a boy named Alladin living in the alleyways of the city, a scavenger, thief, and trickster.
“When he had seen seventeen summers pass, he thought it high time he sought out his fortune. So, with all the arrogance and strength of youth at his side, he set out for the mountain caves where the sorcerers were said to live.
“When he asked to join them he was turned away. He was too young, too inexperienced. Full of anger he left, swearing revenge.”
The rest was…vague. The djinn seemed to have slipped into another language, one the boy didn’t know. The little he was able to make out made little sense. He caught the words “punishment” and “fools” and “beloved,” but aside from that…
Eventually the djinn’s tirade subsided and he continued:
“The guardians told him what the place was, who I was, but that only seemed to encourage him. He killed them, and entered the chamber. He freed me from my shackles…and bound me again. In a lamp. Cheap copper bought from a trader. To contain me.
“For the next forty-eight years he kept me a slave. Had me kill the magicians and build him his kingdom and win your mother’s heart. Forced to do his bidding, for…forty-eight years…”
Two hundred years in chains, overall.
The djinn looked up at the night sky to clear his eyes from the smoke. Two tears slipped down his chin to lie in the sand. My love, he thought sadly. He glanced at the boy, asleep curled up like a cat.
“Sleep well,” he said. “Tomorrow we go to kill the sun.”
***
The desert stretched out before them. Waves of sand rolled across the vista under a blue, empty sky, boiling in the heat of the sun. Every breath the djinn took felt like fire in his lungs. He shifted in his saddle and glanced at the boy. He was slumped over the back of his camel as the beast plodded its way along. His lips were cracked and bleeding. If they didn’t find water quickly…
He looked to the horizon, ignoring the shimmering mirages, and his heart lightened as he saw a dark blot perhaps two miles away. As they got closer it became clearer: a cluster of reddish rocks shaped like a pyramid, twice his height, one side open to reveal darkness and the sound of cool, flowing water.
The boy wasn’t asleep, but he had been struck hard by the heat. The djinn made him lie down in the shade of the structure and ventured inside.
It had been made by human hands a long time ago, for weathered steps cut into the rock descended into darkness. But those would have to wait. The dripping sound he had heard came from a tiny well set into the floor. A crudely excavated hollow flung the echoes of the flowing stream upwards, one of the many that crisscrossed the desert just like the caravans. There was no bucket, so the djinn called forth the water with magic, using only the barest amount of energy required. He would need it all later. He filled both waterskins and took them to the boy.
The lad was so tired he couldn’t even sit up, so the djinn forced water in between his lips and washed his dusty face. Somewhat rejuvenated, the boy sat up and drank by himself.
“Slowly now, not too much all at once.” He took the chance to water both himself and the camels and to chew a strip of dried meat, tough as leather between his jaws. The boy ate what little he could and promptly fell asleep with his head on his chest. Let him sleep. I’ll be long enough.
He took off his cloak, covered the boy with it, and disappeared into the cave. The steps were steep and there was no light to see by, which didn’t really bother him. He’d spent half a century languishing in a prison far darker than this.
He couldn’t tell how far down they went, or how long he descended, but it felt like hours. When the steps leveled out into a long corridor, the djinn cast a small spell and summoned a little light for him to see by. A flickering will-o’-the-wisp hung suspended over his head.
At the far end there was a large stone chamber, directly below the stream he had heard earlier. A tiny trickle of water had wormed its way through and laid a sheet of water on the floor. Drip. Drip.
Standing in the center of the room was a figure that stood head and shoulders above him, and human save for two dappled wings emerging from his back. They shimmered in a translucence of rainbow hues.
Ifreet. The djinn had heard stories of them in his youth, but he had never believed them. They were all dead. Yet here one was.
The legendary being looked at him with eyes filled with yellow flames. The djinn watched as two shimmering wings spread to either side. They were so long they almost touched the walls.
But it was old. Its face was deeply lined and haggard, its beard tangled and grey, and it stood hunchbacked. Naked, its feet were longer than his and twisted backwards like the old minister his jailer had kept, the one who’d danced so nicely with the pokes from the djinn’s sword.
“How strange,” the ifreet said, “to see another of my kind here, after all these years.”
“
Not your kind, old one. Your kind died out a long time ago.”
He received a soft, toothless smile. “Yes. They did. But you are my kin, are you not? The children of my children of my children’s children. How long have I been here?”
“The last of your kind died out over three thousand years ago.”
The ifreet’s eyes changed colour, the fire turning red, and the djinn felt something probe his mind, checking his memories.
“You speak the truth.”
Here was his chance. “That is why I have come. You have knowledge that is long gone. Tell me how to kill the sun.”
A dry chuckle. “Kill the sun? Has the heat addled your brain? How can you kill the sun?”
“Tell me.”
The ifreet gave him a curious glance. “Why do you want to know?”
No reply.
Its eyes flared vermilion, and its voice gained a harsher, stronger edge. “I see you, sorcerer. I see what you desire. And why.”
“I will bring her back.”
“Is that it? Is that why you want this knowledge? Or is it greed? I see you, sorcerer. Even after all this time, after your punishment? Oh, young one, have you learned nothing?”
A blast of hot desert wind rushed through the chamber, stirring the dust and, for a second, the ifreet staggered. “Still your tongue and tell me what I want to know!…Tell me…and I will free you from this place.”
The ifreet’s hollow eyes grew large in wonder. The djinn listened carefully to what it told him.
When he emerged, the sun had crept past the horizon. The blue stripe across the world was as thick and bold as a master-painter’s stroke. He checked on the animals; they were almost dead, poor things. He’d been forced to draw the energy from them to summon the wind. They wouldn’t be able to be ridden.
The djinn drew on the last vestiges of their energy to cast a spell. Then he took a long drink of water, topped up both waterskins again, and picked up the sleeping boy. He slung one pack on each shoulder and carried the boy on his back. He bunched a headcloth behind his neck to serve as a pillow. Checked the faint stars, and began to walk east.
When they were no more than a dot on the horizon, the spell began to take effect. The pyramid began to sink beneath the sands. Within seconds, what had once been the tomb of an ifreet was a sand dune like any other. Streaks of sand were silver under the moon. Only a tiny pebble remained to mark the spot, and when a gale blew and moved a fine layer of material, even that too was covered. Silent dunes were the only land under the moonwashed sky.
***
It was a small town, but essential for trading. All the caravans stopped at the oasis, so it was natural that a town should spring up there. The water was strictly rationed and the food was often scarce, but the people made up for it by trading what they had in excess with what they needed from the caravans.
The boy and the djinn arrived with the latest caravan, which bore news of the king’s death. The djinn pulled the boy into an alleyway and told him to hush while he listened to what the leader was saying to the crowd that had gathered. He murmured a spell that would prevent the child from hearing what was said.
“The king and queen are dead! They were both found stabbed in the heart. All the ministers and castle guards were slain too!”
“What of the prince?” someone shouted.
“He is missing. For now, the Captain of the Guard holds the throne as Regent.” His voice fell. “Brothers and sisters, darkness has fallen over the land. There is chaos in the capital. No one knows what will happen next. I urge you all to take caution and prepare for the worst. We may be the last caravan to pass by here in a very long time.” He whipped his camel and led the procession out of the town to a restless series of murmurs and conversations.
We must move fast. The djinn broke the spell and pulled the boy deeper into the alleyway.
***
The beggar was taking a nap behind a stall in the marketplace. He had his bowl in front of him, just in case, and his hat over his eyes to protect from the sun. Just when he thought he was going to get some rest, he heard the chink of coins landing in his bowl, and someone saying, “Beggar. Look at me.”
Cursing in his native tongue, he pushed his wide-brimmed hat back and squinted at the man. He was tall, with almond skin and a black, neatly trimmed beard.
“What do you want?”
As always, he received a shocked look. Qian was from fairer, and wetter, lands to the East, and the fact that one of his people was here always seemed to surprise the natives. But the man quickly became solemn again. “You speak our tongue very well,” he said. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve met one of your people.”
“So you’ve met us, eh? And no doubt you think we’re barbarians?” He scowled.
“Not at all. I admire your people deeply. When I was younger, I journeyed east myself, and I met the philosopher Kong Qiu. He was a very wise man, though we often disagreed on his ideals on family.”
“You…” Then it dawned on him: The stranger was telling a joke. He laughed. “You’re a funny one,” he admitted, “but don’t tell me you’ve come to make jokes.”
The stranger fixed him with a long flat stare, and then squatted to look at him in the face. He looked at the coins in the bowl, and Qian saw him mumble something. The bowl rocked to one side, as if pushed, and a rat jumped out and scurried away.
Qian’s face paled. As a child, his mother had told him stories. His grandmother had told him stories. He knew them all. But, he had never truly believed them.
“Wizard,” he breathed, unconsciously slipping into his own tongue.
“Not exactly,” the stranger replied in the same tongue, “but close enough.”
Qian had a thousand questions, but the first one that came to his lips was, “Kong Qiu? Truly?”
“Yes.”
“What…what do you want with me?” He was almost afraid to know the answer.
“I want the thing you have hidden in your robes.”
“This?” He held up a large lodestone. It was nothing special, just the last of his trinkets nobody wanted to buy. A child’s toy.
The stranger’s eyes brightened. “Yes. I will buy it from you. What do you want for it?”
Qian was dumbfounded. He’d come to this land two years ago, and for a while had made a living selling and trading curiosities and trifles like the lodestone. Later, when he’d had enough money, he began trading weapons, foodstuffs, spices, and jewels. He used to be rich. But six months ago he’d lost everything on a business venture that went horribly wrong. The lodestone was the only thing he’d kept, simply because its properties fascinated. They were almost like magic.
And now this stranger wanted to buy it from him. A sorcerer, as they called them here. He would use this opportunity.
“Home. Take me home.”
The stranger’s gaze softened, and he sat down beside Qian. He asked, “How long have you been away, my friend?”
“Long enough. I want to go back now. I want to get away from this place. If I were back in my village, I wouldn’t have to trade; I could simply grow my crops and live easily. I might even find myself a pretty wife, who knows? Start a family, cultivate plants, and every year I’d thank the gods for their bounty with a portion of the harvest and enough wine to drown a cow.” He glanced up at the sun, cresting its arc at the zenith. “But here, here no plants grow. What little isn’t sand is dry and arid. And no woman even wants to look at me.”
“And the wine?”
Qian shook a clay bottle. “All gone,” he said.
The stranger laughed, drawing looks from people nearby. “Very well,” he said, smiling, “I agree to your price.” He held out a hand for the lodestone.
Qian handed it over. It was a rough chunk of black stone larger than a man’s hand. When it was brought near iron, it would pull the metal towards it. Magic. But, the stranger could do magic as well. So why would he want it? Why? When he could do—
Magic.
/> He was no longer behind a stall in the marketplace, talking to a stranger.
He was standing on a hill, overlooking a valley containing a small village. He could see the cozy homes of the people, and the trails of smoke drifting up to the sky, vanishing against the white clouds. Cheerful sunlight fell on the fields of rice where men were working diligently to feed their families. He could hear laughter piping up from somewhere.
Home. He was home.
Qian broke into a run, dashing down the hill as fast as he could without tripping. He laughed with unrestrained joy, and leapt straight over the fence at the edge of the village. He kicked off his shoes, running barefoot in the soil of his village, and made for the largest building in the center of the town. Entering with sudden speed, he startled the men drinking inside.
Qian stood for a second in the doorway, his face red with exertion and eyes shining with tears. Then, “One cup of your finest wine please!”
***
With the lodestone tucked away safely, the djinn went back to the stall where he had left the boy. The lad was looking at the toys a vendor was selling. The djinn bought him a wooden horse, and asked for directions to the Plaza of the Alchemists. He brooded as he walked.
The ifreet had told him where to find the trinket-seller, and what he would ask for the lodestone. He’d prepared the power beforehand, but still…
The metal is vital, it said. But I find it hard to believe something that looks so plain will help me kill the sun. And the lodestone wasn’t enough on its own—its power needed enhancement. He had the rock in his robes, could feel the weight of it as he walked. The beggar’s price had seemed just to him. He knew what it was like to pine for a home you could not return to.
There was only one alchemist in the small, walled oasis, and he made his stall in the corner of the plaza, hidden from view. Everyone knew of his reputation and he received visitors from many lands, ferrying gifts of jewels and silver in exchange for a favor: a tonic to heal the sick, some parchment bearing a spell for power, stolen from the tomb of a long-dead king…and for the power to turn lead into gold. He turned them all away, claiming if they wanted magic, they should see a magician. This was what he was doing when the djinn and boy approached.