Djinn
Night fell on Mar-ha-shesh, and in the Apricot Palace silence fell. Tomorrow the host would march out the Sun Gate and win the Qvizartch-Sha-shen the great trading city of Na-ha-lamh. Wealth would be his, and the rich lands of the Begemot would be laid bare before him.
All things happened as the Qvizartch-Sha-shen desired them, all his actions succeeded. This war would be over before the seasons changed and war became impossible, for it was what he desired. The eunuch had seen the Qvizartch-Sha-shen’s desires manifest themselves as soon as he spoke them. Once, a great many years ago, he had heard a great and terrible voice speak, like a voice from down a well, great and terrible. It spoke in a voice so loud that all in Mar-ha-shesh heard it. The Qvizartch-Sha-shen’s Djinn.
Three wishes the Djinn gives to men, three wishes to whoever holds its jar. Held by a greedy man who could only ever desire more, held by a man who won at all he played for, who had forgotten all kindness, who took gold for its luster, not for his need, and who took women from their homes to satisfy his urges. Who took him from his home, enslaved him, maimed him that he might be trusted watching the women.
All the Qvizartch-Sha-shen’s desires were manifest, but he was asleep, resting for his war. All the Apricot Palace was asleep, waiting for the war. It would be their last rest for some time. All were sleeping that night, except the eunuch.
The eunuch was his most trusted slave, his favorite, his nearest advisor, and he knew where the jar was hidden. He crossed the courtyards of wafting flowers and swaying sweet samrand trees. Hidden away in the darkness were singing Massu Massu birds. They were not native to here, but were gifted to the Qvizartch-Sha-shen when he first heard their song. It was beautiful to listen to. He was going to miss these gardens, they were the only good the Qvizartch-Sha-shen made.
Up a secret stair hidden behind a fragrant bush. Through the hall tiled with blue and amber, lined with doors behind which lay uncountable treasures. Gold was nothing compared with the treasure he sought. The guard, with studded leather armor and their great axes, watched him pass blandly. Had they known what he was about to do, those axes would be running with his blood.
Past them, to a great door unguarded. The Qvizartch-Sha-shen had wished that his Djinn would not be stolen, and so it could not be. But the eunuch was not there to steal the jar. He was there to use it.
He opened the great door and entered a barren room. It was made for treasures, yet all it held was the Djinn jar resting on the plinth, and the braziers which lit it. The eunuch stripped his robes and tied the doors closed. It would buy him time. Then he walked to the jar.
How many times had the Qvizartch-Sha-shen brought him here, to watch him marvel over the jar’s smallest detail, to listen to him claim the Djinn’s works as his own. No more. He did not wait, he was not awed by the tool of his slavery. He would break that man’s power.
He took the lid off and peered in. It was nothingness, perfect blackness. He could not even see the insides of the jar. Then a mist began pouring out, spilling over the floor. It did not smell of anything.
“WHAT IS YOUR NAME?” came the rumbling darkness. There was no form, no face, only smoke and nothingness. The walls shook and the guards shouted. All of Mar-ha-shesh would be able to hear him.
“Hamal of Elma-gal,” he whispered into the jar. The Qvizartch-Sha-shen had told him about this, about the Djinn needing his name.
“HAMAL OF ELMA-GAL, WHAT IS YOUR FIRST WISH.” The palace shook violently. There was banging at the door. Even if the guards broke through, this would all be done. Hamal knew what his three wishes were.
“I wish that no wish can remove another.”
“GRANTED.” The banging was replaced with dull thuds. The axes. They were too late. “WHAT IS YOUR SECOND WISH?”
He could put it away, close the jar right now, save his wishes for later. The Qvizartch-Sha-shen had told him so. But there was more work to this day.
“I wish that all human beings, those living and all those to live, to see me make my three wishes and understand why I do this, now, or when they turn ten years of age.”
“GRANTED.” The axes fell silent, the guards were viewing him right now, too disoriented to strike the door again. “WHAT IS YOUR THIRD WISH?” Part of the roofing fell in, rocked by the voice from the jar.
“I wish that all humans will have three wishes, that they ask in their life and that you will grant, without them needing your jar, and when you grant their wishes you will be silent.”
The jar was silent.
Thus the king fell.
Thus Hamal the Giver spoke to the Djinn and mankind gained three wishes.
Thus the world was broken.
Michael Frutig 